CHAPTER 3

When Layton arrived back at his and Luke's flat, he could smell the scent of cooking chicken and vegetables before he even opened the door. He inhaled deeply, and unlocked the door.

"Oh good, you're back," Luke said as he flashed a winning smile toward the man in the doorway. "I'll be needing that ginger in a second. Would you mind grating some for me?"

"Of course not, dear boy. How much do you need?" Layton asked, taking the ginger root he had purchased out of the paper grocery bag.

"Not much. A few pinches."

Layton tied on an apron and stood at the counter beside Luke, who was busily stirring a pot on the stove. He shot the young man a sideways glance and a little grin, and started grating the ginger. Luke smirked back at him, and nudged him with his elbow. A few nudges back and forth later, Luke burst out laughing.

"What has gotten into you?" Layton was now laughing himself. "What is so funny?"

Luke flashed his brightest smile yet as he added the ginger to the pot. "I don't know, Professor. It just struck me funny, you standing there in a suit coat and your hat and an apron. You just seem out of place." Luke snickered some more, and turned off the stove. He grabbed some plates and silverware and began setting the table.

"A proper gentleman wears his hat in every circumstance," Layton announced proudly. Luke gave him an eyeful of skepticism. How many times had he heard this before? "Except during dinnertime. Of course, you're correct, Luke." Layton took off his hat and hung on the hook by the back door along with his coat and apron.

Luke looked approvingly at the Professor. "That's better," he said as he gently brushed a stray hair off of Layton's forehead, and returned to setting out the dinner plates. The older man hoped Luke hadn't noticed how he'd shivered at his touch.

Layton couldn't help stealing a glance at his apprentice's behind as Luke leaned across the table to place a glass in front of his plate. He averted his eyes as soon as Luke started to turn around, silently chastising himself all the while for being a pervert. But he didn't look away fast enough. Luke did indeed see Layton's wandering gaze, but was determined not to let on. He sat down calmly at the table with Layton.

In truth, it tickled him pink to think that the Professor was attracted to him. He'd desired his mentor in some fashion for years now, but being that he was a child, he knew that it could never work out. But things were changing, and Luke could sense it. He was 18. People may not look favorably upon him for having a relationship with his male teacher who was many years his senior, but at least it was legal. He'd been dropping hints to Layton about his true feelings for awhile, and during their trip to Misthallery, on the night of his birthday, he finally received a bit of reciprocation. Had Layton been waiting for that day to show how he felt about Luke? If so, should Luke be concerned that Layton had fancied him when he was a child? Somehow, Luke didn't think that was the case. He'd only ever felt safe with the Professor, and that was one of the reasons he loved him.

He loved him? He loved him. He was in love with him. When Luke had mumbled the phrase in bed in Misthallery, even he wasn't sure how he meant it. But now he was certain. He was in love with Hershel Layton, and wanted to spend his life with him. The thought startled the young man out of his reverie, and he realized he'd been sitting at the table with a mouthful of unchewed chicken, not listening to a word the Professor had been saying.

"Luke, are you alright?" Layton looked at him with concern.

"Yes. I'm sorry Professor, my mind was somewhere else. What were you saying? Something about your hat?"

"Oh, it was nothing. I was just saying that Claire always had to remind me to take my hat off for dinner too…" The Professor trailed off. Talking about Claire still wasn't easy. And he felt silly for comparing Luke to her. It's not as if Luke was his fiancé…not yet anyway.

Luke honestly hated when the Professor spoke of Claire, but not out of jealousy. He hated to see the pain behind Layton's eyes. It was all he could do to hold back tears, and he wasn't even the one that lost the love of his life. Layton looked so sad at that moment that Luke couldn't stop himself. He reached across the table and took Layton's hand in his own. It was somewhat rough, but pleasantly warm. He squeezed it, and the Professor squeezed his back.

"Professor , I-" Luke began.

"Luke, my boy," Layton said softly, "we've known each other for so long, I think it would be appropriate for you to start calling me Hershel outside the classroom." Layton's thumb was caressing the back of Luke's hand, and sending shivers up the young man's spine.

"Hershel," Luke began again, leaning in closer to his mentor, "I can't bare to see you so upset when you think of Claire. Isn't there anything I can do to help you?"

Layton didn't answer. Instead, he leaned forward, and Luke knew this was it. Hershel Layton was going to kiss him. He moved to meet Layton's lips with his, but they never touched.