Ozzy pulled his white shorts up over his thighs and turned around to stare at himself in the changing room mirror, his eyebrows drawn together in the middle. It was Friday morning, the day of the Varsity tennis match, and he was feeling anxious, more so than he could ever remember feeling in his life.
If he tried to put the sensation into words, he'd liken it to having a big, dark cloud stuffed into his brain, blocking his thoughts and casting a shadow over everything else in his life.
His head had always felt a little fuzzy, with all his thoughts racing through his mind at a million miles an hour, too fast for him to fully process most of them, but this was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.
It was almost like a fog, the type of fog where you can't see your hand in front of your face. It had been gradually getting thicker and thicker all week, and if he thought he found it hard to concentrate before, now it felt almost impossible.
Despite this, he had done his very best to attend all of his classes and keep up with his studies, even if he had to work against his own brain to do it. In between all the extra tennis practices, he'd spent almost every waking hour poring through his Criminology and Forensics textbooks, and had actually managed to catch up on everything he had missed during the first two weeks of term.
He'd also managed to remain focussed during his classes and listen to everything the teachers had said, for once in his life, even remembering to bring a notepad and pen and jot down all the most important points.
Well, he did technically get distracted once, but really, who could blame him?
It had happened during his Thursday morning Biology class. He had been listening attentively and taking copious notes of everything that Professor Roja was saying, making sure not to let his mind wander even for one second.
Everything was going great. All the information was going into his head and seeming to stay there, and he felt fully focused for the first time in his life, until the professor took hold of his water bottle, that is.
Ozzy slowly sat up in his seat, his eyes widening as soon as he saw the professor twist off the cap. It was a new bottle, so he had to exert some strength to open it, further accentuating the muscles in his forearms.
Ozzy took in a breath and swallowed thickly, watching as the professor brought the bottle up to his lips and tilted his head back, making the line of his throat all the more visible. Even just the way he was holding the bottle was making Ozzy's mind spin; his claws gripping so tightly around its girth, the way it looked so small in his hand, his lips tight around the opening.
But then, he started to swallow, and Ozzy felt his knees go weak.
He'd spent the remainder of the class just staring straight ahead at nothing in particular, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes lost. If you asked him now, he probably wouldn't be able to recall what that was said, or who had said it.
Luckily, the bottle incident had happened right towards the end of the class, allowing him to scuttle out and run straight to tennis practice before anyone had a chance to ask him why his breathing was so heavy and his cheeks so flushed.
However, despite this little slip up, he'd been a model student all week and had held up his end of the deal. Now the ball was in the professor's court, and all Ozzy could do was wait and hope that he would actually show up to his tennis match like he'd promised.
He placed his white baseball cap over his head and sighed, before picking up his tennis racket and unwrapping the old tape from the handle.
I wonder if he'll come. He said he would. He promised. But then again, I am just a student, one out of hundreds that he must see every week. He could have easily forgotten about today's match. He is a busy guy, after all, and I doubt he even thinks about me outside of class.
Ozzy reached for a new overgrip and started wrapping it around the handle, making sure to follow the faint etchings in the wood like his coach had shown him.
I mean, it's not as though he owes me anything. Promises get broken every day, and in the grand scheme of things, he's already done enough for me. Too much, really.
It's almost like he's here with me now, like he's always with me, even if not physically. As if he's watching over me, guiding me, encouraging me to be better.
All it took was a stupid contract and one little promise to get me to go to all my classes and actually pay attention for once in my life. Something so fucking simple, but something that no one had ever bothered to try before.
Maybe I was never a screw up. Maybe it wasn't all my fault. Maybe I just needed a different approach. Maybe the adults in my life really did let me down, rather than the other way around.
I was just a kid, for fuck's sake, but no one ever sat down and asked me why I was acting out so much, nor why I found school so hard.
Not until he came along.
Ozzy finished securing the grip around the handle and stared down at the racket for a moment.
I wonder if he knows… if he knows how important he is. How special. How much I need him here today. How much it'll hurt if he doesn't show.
Sighing, he swung himself around and headed over to where his coach was massaging one of his teammates legs. He sat himself down and tilted his head back against the wall, shutting his eyes. Please, please show up.
"How're you feeling, Jones?"
Ozzy opened his eyes to look down at his coach and forced a smile. "'M fine, s'all good."
"You don't look it. You look absolutely exhausted. Did you sleep at all last night?"
"Yeah yeah, I'm fine."
"You sure? Because you've got these big bags under your eyes and-"
"I said I'm fine, alright?" Ozzy replied, slight exasperation creeping into his voice.
The coach raised an eyebrow. "Right, well, it's perfectly normal if you're feeling a bit nervous. It is your first competition, after all, but try not to take it too seriously. Remember that you're only a freshman, so you'll have lots of chances to prove yourself. All I want from you today is that you have fun with it and learn the ropes."
Ozzy nodded and gave a thumbs up, before tilting his head back against the wall and shutting his eyes.
The funny thing is, I'm not nervous. At least, not about the match. Not in the slightest. I can't even focus on that right now. It's not that I don't care, because I do. It's more that my brain won't let me think about anything else but him.
About if he's gonna show up. About what he'll be wearing. About what he'll think of me. God, and if he'll be disappointed in me if I lose.
I don't like losing at the best of times, but if I lose in front of him, it'll feel so much worse. Like I'm letting down the very first person who ever truly believed in me.
Ozzy's eyes flickered open, and he started worrying his lip with his teeth as he mapped out the swirling patterns in the ceiling.
But… what if it all works out? What if he does show up, and I win? What would he do then?
Maybe he'll jump to his feet and cheer for me, or yell out my name and wave his hands in the air for me to come over to him so he can congratulate me.
Or maybe, just maybe, he'll climb over the barrier and run over the court to pick me up and lift me in the air, telling me how proud he is of me, before pulling me down into a kiss, not bothered in the slightest by all the people around us…
"Are you listening, Jones?" the coach said as he grabbed his shin to start massaging his left leg.
Ozzy sat up and cleared his throat. "Oh, uh, yeah… yeah I am, sure."
The coach narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. "I said that you have to be extra careful with how you behave down here at Heartvard." He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "They're a lot snobbier than we are up in the cornea, and they don't take kindly to any rudeness. I want you to be on your very best behaviour, got it?"
Ozzy gave a small nod and sank back down in his seat as the coach took hold of his other leg. He was silent for a moment while he mustered up the courage to ask a question that had been bugging him all morning. "So, uh, are pathogens allowed in this part of the body? Like, would they be let in?"
The coach looked up at him and furrowed his brow. "I don't know. Is it important?"
Ozzy shook his head. "Mhm, nah, I was just askin'. I know there are some sections that are restricted, I just wondered if the heart was one of 'em."
"I really have no idea, but I imagine the folks here don't take kindly to pathogens. I know a lot of them think they shouldn't even be allowed to stay in the body in the first place. They have a lot of rallies down here against the Virus Protection Program, for example. Does that answer your question?"
"Mhm, yeah, thanks," Ozzy said quietly, looking down at his lap and frowning. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.
The coach furrowed his brow, sensing that there was something deeper behind Ozzy's question, but he decided to let it go. "So… who's coming to support you today? Is your family gonna come and see you play?"
Ozzy tutted and shook his head. "Nah, it'll just be me today, I reckon."
"Oh, I see." He patted Ozzy on the knee and smiled up at him. "Well, the whole team's behind you, just so you know. I know you're new and you missed the first few practices, but we're really glad to have you. We'll all be rooting for you out there."
Ozzy raised his head to smile at his coach, before looking back down at his lap. He started fiddling with his racket and shut his eyes again, sighing deeply.
He truly was grateful for the coach's words, and appreciated his attempt to make him feel like he was a part of something, like he belonged. It did little to soothe his heart, though, and despite the team's supposed support, he'd never felt more alone.
Ozzy hit his last ball across the court and groaned as the whistle sounded. His warm-up was over, and it hadn't gone well at all. He'd complained to his coach that the lights were too bright, or that his teammate hadn't served correctly, or that his racket hadn't been properly strung, but he knew this was just deflecting from the truth.
He was upset. Not over his lousy swing, or the fact he had fallen over and grazed his knee in front of everyone, or even over the booing and name-calling from the Heartvard University tennis team. He couldn't care about any of that right now.
He'd spent the majority of the warm-up watching the crowd file in, the seats being occupied one by one, but there was still no sign of Professor Roja, and his desperation was growing steadily with every passing minute.
This was only made worse by his coach's words echoing around his mind: "the folks here don't take kindly to pathogens... they shouldn't even be allowed to stay in the body in the first place."
He trudged back over to his chair by the side of the court and grabbed his water bottle. He brought it up to his lips and started taking huge gulps, not caring that most of the water was spilling over the sides and drenching the front of his shirt.
Surely I'd have seen him by now? He's not exactly difficult to spot.
He lowered the bottle and exhaled sharply.
Maybe he just decided not to come. I shouldn't have expected him to, really. That was stupid of me. Of course he didn't come.
He crushed the bottle in his hands and tossed it into the bin to the side.
But… what if he did come, and they just didn't let him in? What if he got turned away at the door, and he's sitting outside now, all sad and alone? God, I wonder if I have time to go and check if he's alright-
Just then, Ozzy felt something lightly hit him on the back of the head. He frowned and looked down to see a crumpled ball of paper on the floor by the side of his chair.
These Heartvard fuckers… right, they want a war? They're gonna fucking get a war.
He snapped his head around to yell at whoever had thrown it, expecting to see a pretentious, well-dressed cell pointing and laughing at him, but his frown immediately melted into a big smile. There, sitting just behind the barrier on the first row of the bleachers, was Professor Roja, grinning at him and waving him over.
Ozzy jumped to his feet and ran over to him, standing on his tiptoes to peer over the railing. "Ahh! You're here! You actually came!"
"Well, yeah," the professor said, leaning in closer and pushing Ozzy's hat down over his eyes. "You kept all your promises, so I'm keeping mine. Nice hat, by the way. Looks good on ya."
Ozzy pushed his hat back up and smiled at him, before taking it off and placing it on the professor's head. "Looks better on you."
He rolled his gaze over his face for a moment, before gripping tightly onto the railing and taking in a deep breath. "I'm so glad you're here. I thought maybe you wouldn't come, or that you wouldn't be allowed in because you're a virus and all. Uh, I mean, ah, like maybe you'd have some problems gettin' into the stadium, it being in the heart, and all. Y'know, like, because my coach said that down here they can be kinda-"
"Nervous, aintcha?" the professor interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest.
Ozzy narrowed his eyes and grit his teeth. "Yeah… is it that obvious?"
"You babble like crazy when you're nervous. Also your eyes dart all over the place. It's pretty funny."
"Ohh, I see, you think you've got me all figured out, doncha?" Ozzy said cockily, taking a few steps back. He shut his eyes and cocked his hip, tilting his head to the side so the lights from the stadium were shining over his face. "What about now? Not so nervous lookin' now, am I? Nah, I'm oozing confidence, baby. Go on, admit it, I'm the hottest thing you've ever seen."
"Yeah, you're something, alright," the professor said with a laugh. "You gonna win this thing for us then, or what?"
Ozzy opened his eyes and smirked, drawing closer to him again. He reached up with the racket and lightly tapped the professor on the head a couple of times. "Depends… you gonna cheer for me?"
The professor laughed again, before glancing over his shoulder to check if anyone was looking at him. He then started slowly undoing the buttons on his jacket and leaned in closer, and Ozzy's eyes widened.
There, stretched tight over the professor's chest, was a T-shirt with a picture of Ozzy's face printed on it. Well, he assumed it was his face. It was a messy drawing of a white blood cell with four little curls on top of his head, two big bushy eyebrows, and a huge pearly-white smile.
"W-where did you get this?" Ozzy stammered, his voice weak.
"I drew it and had it printed. I figured maybe you could autograph it once you win this thing."
Ozzy blinked a few times, before nodding slowly and swallowing the lump now rising in his throat. "Yeah… sure."
The professor's face fell then, and he hurriedly buttoned his jacket back up. "I'm sorry, was it too weird? It's weird right? I'm sorry, I thought it would be funny, because the other day you made that joke about how I should get a T-shirt with your face printed on it… a-and also because of that picture you drew of me, I thought it'd make you laugh-"
Ozzy shook his head and tutted, a big smile over his face. "Now look who's babbling."
"I knew it, it was a stupid idea, I'll go change-" the professor started to say, rising to his feet.
"No, you sit back down right now, mister," Ozzy said as he grabbed onto the professor's sleeve. "Don't you fucking dare take it off. In fact, I want you to wear it to every class from now on, and if I see you in yet another sweater instead of this fuckin' masterpiece of a T-shirt, then there'll be hell to pay."
The professor smirked at that and rolled his eyes, before slumping back down in his seat. "Okay okay, steady, officer, there's no need to manhandle me."
They smiled at each other for a moment, until Ozzy noticed a piece of cloth that was tied around the arm of the professor's jacket. He furrowed his brow and reached up to run his fingers over it. "What's this?"
The professor looked down and groaned. "Oh, that's just to reassure everyone that I'm not a threat. It's something all latent, or 'reformed', viruses have to wear. They wouldn't've let me in without this."
Ozzy cocked his head as he studied the white markings sewn into the beige fabric. "So the 'R' stands for 'reformed'... right?"
The professor nodded and Ozzy withdrew his hand. "But… I've never seen you wear it before. Why don't you wear it in class?"
"I don't have to while I'm working, or while I'm on college grounds. The second I step out of those doors, though, I have to put it back on. Even if I'm just driving home."
Ozzy blinked at him a few times, before frowning and gritting his teeth. "That's bullshit. That's so fucked up!"
The professor shrugged. "Yeah well, that's one of the things me and Not All Viruses are pushing to get changed, but no luck so far."
"Right…" Ozzy said quietly. There was a moment of silence between them then, until Ozzy leaned in closer and said in a low voice, "do you have a spare one of these?"
"Uh, yeah, I always carry a spare just in case this one breaks while I'm outside."
"Can I see it?"
"Sure…" the professor said with a frown, rummaging around in his pocket. He held the armband out for Ozzy to take and raised an eyebrow. "Don't get too excited though, it looks just like this one."
Ozzy took it from him and stared at it for a second, before sliding it over his hand and up his arm. It was way too big for him, so he had to bring it back down, fold it twice and slip it back over his bicep.
He looked up at the professor again, to see him staring down at him with wide eyes. "There. Now you're not the only one who has to wear this shit. You got a pen, by the way?"
The professor simply nodded and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a pen and handed it to Ozzy, his mouth falling open slightly as he watched him start to write something on the armband.
He went over it a few times, making sure that the letters were as thick and readable as possible, before flicking his eyes back up at the professor. "NAV stands for Not All Viruses, right? You guys use those initials?"
The professor nodded again and took in a breath, his heart beating against his ribs. Holy shit.
When Ozzy had said the other day that he wanted to help him with his campaign, the professor assumed them to be empty words, or simply something to fill the silence. He knew that Ozzy was a cell of his word, but had expected any support from him to be limited to helping set up the rallies and demonstrations, or maybe coming along to the occasional meeting, if that.
But this. This was huge. One of the bravest and boldest things he'd ever seen, but maybe brave wasn't the right word. Naïve might be more accurate; never had he heard of a white blood cell aligning themselves so proudly and so publicly with a pro-virus movement, let alone with such a controversial one.
If he was thinking logically, the professor would probably try to talk Ozzy out of this act of defiance, for both their sakes. Although political statements were technically allowed, he could only guess how the crowd would react to seeing a fresh-faced first year with NAV written across his arm in big, clumsy letters after having just had a conversation with the movement's leader. It could cause problems not only for the campaign, but for Ozzy himself.
However, right now the professor was so stunned, so overwhelmed, so brimming with dozens of different emotions, that all he could do was lean over the metal railing and throw his arms around Ozzy's shoulders.
He felt Ozzy's body stiffen, before he dropped his racket to the floor and melted into his arms. The professor exhaled heavily and buried his face into the crook of Ozzy's neck, whispering, "you're so fucking special, you know that?"
He brought a hand up to cup the back of his head, shutting his eyes and sighing as he felt Ozzy do the same.
"Thank you… for being here," Ozzy whispered as he stood on his tiptoes again and slid his hands through the professor's braids, tangling them around his fingers.
The professor tightened his grip around him further and lifted his head slightly to press his lips to Ozzy's ear, making sure to graze them over his skin as much as possible. "How could I possibly miss this?"
They both stilled, and for a moment, it was as if they were the only two there; the crowd around them disappeared, the noise faded away, and nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered.
For some reason, that Ozzy couldn't quite explain, tears started pooling in the corners of his eyes, but he didn't feel sad or angry or upset.
He'd never understood the term 'tears of joy'. He'd always just chalked it up to people doing it for attention, or being unable to control their emotions.
But now he got it. He realised that he'd simply never had a reason to feel like this before; that nothing had ever made him so overwhelmingly happy that it literally drove him to tears.
He inhaled sharply and buried his face in the crook of the professor's neck. I should tell him how I feel, tell him everything, the whole messy, embarrassing truth. I know he feels something too; the way he's holding onto me right now, his lips pressed to my cheek, how his breathing falters whenever I run my fingers over his skin.
I think, secretly, I've always known it; known that he needs me as much as I need him and that it wasn't all in my head, but we've both just been too fucking scared of what might happen if either of us dared to make a move.
It feels like everything's against us; the age gap, the fact he's my teacher, the biological differences, not to mention that it's literally fucking illegal for us to be together.
Fuck it. I'm gonna tell him. I'm gonna risk it all, ask him to run away with me, to take my hand and lead me out of this stadium so we can go and disappear somewhere together. We could escape all the restraints that society forces upon us and finally be fucking happy.
Then, Ozzy heard the whistle blow, signalling that the match was about to start. He tightened his grip around the professor and shook his head. No, I don't wanna go. Why do I have to always do what everyone tells me to? Can't they see that I'm finally fucking happy?!
He frowned then and dug his nails into the professor's back as he felt him try to move away. No, don't let me go. Don't you dare. I don't care about anything else right now. My coach, my teachers, my parents, my teammates. They can all go fuck themselves. I don't give a shit about any of that. It's all bullshit. I just want YOU.
The professor nuzzled against his cheek and sighed. "I know, Ozzy, trust me, I know."
He pushed on his shoulder to create some distance between them and moved his head back to look into his eyes. "You'll be fine. You're gonna do great out there, I know you will." He stroked his cheek with the back of his hand and smiled. "I'm not going anywhere, I'll be right here the whole time. I promise."
Ozzy hesitated for a second, before reluctantly sliding his arms from around the professor and lowering his heels back down to the ground.
He sighed and went to start walking over to the court, but suddenly felt the professor grab onto his shoulder and spin him back around.
He cupped both his cheeks with his hands, forcing him to look into his eyes again, and grinned. "Go get 'em, baby. Give 'em hell."
Ozzy gripped the handle of the tennis racket tightly in both hands and hopped from one foot to the other as he looked his opponent up and down. He was huge, a whole head taller than Ozzy was, and much broader with it too.
He was currently bouncing the ball with his tennis racket and grinning at Ozzy, probably in an attempt to try and psyche him out, and, as much as Ozzy hated to admit it, it was working.
Ozzy stopped hopping from side to side for a second and took in a deep breath. It's okay, it's okay. Just breathe, relax. Try to remember that no one actually expects anything from you here. It's obvious that everyone thinks you're gonna lose today.
Look at your opponent, for Frank's sake. He looks like he's been taking steroids his whole life and spends every waking moment at the gym.
Ozzy turned his head to look over at the professor and shot him a big smile, trying to hide how nervous he felt. At least he's here, that's all that matters at the end of the day.
I mean, what will I actually gain if I win today? A pat on the back? A medal? 15 minutes of fame around campus?
That's all bullshit. It doesn't mean anything. It's nothing compared to how he makes me feel just by being here. Whatever happens today doesn't actually matter, because he came to see me, and that's all I really cared about.
The whistle blew then, and Ozzy snapped his head back around to glare at his opponent, watching as he threw the ball in the air and whacked it over to his side of the court. His serve was fast, but Ozzy was faster, and he managed to hit the ball back to him just before it flew out of play.
His opponent seemed surprised by the fact that Ozzy had actually returned his serve, and flinched as he felt the ball rush past his ear. The umpire yelled out "Love-15" in Ozzy's favour, and there was a collective gasp from the crowd.
Ozzy did a little jump and pumped the air with his fist, before turning around and waving at the professor. Okay, maybe winning does feel pretty good. It wouldn't mean anything if he wasn't here, though.
His opponent didn't hesitate in serving his second ball, and hit it over to the other end of the court, much harder this time.
Ozzy darted over to where he guessed it would land and delivered it back, before running over to the other side to return the next shot.
He could tell that this guy meant business, and could practically smell how much he wanted this win, how much he wanted to beat Ozzy and show him up in front of everyone for stealing that first point from him.
This game went on for a few minutes, and Ozzy was starting to get tired, not to mention pissed off. His opponent was trying to use every trick in the book to trip him up: hitting the ball towards the far left corner and then to the right to make sure Ozzy had to run as much as possible; spiking the ball down as hard as he could to then return it softly the next time; muttering insults at him about his cheap outfit and lousy swing. Anything to throw him off.
Ozzy wasn't dumb. He knew better than to let these intimidation tactics get to him, but a huge part of him wanted to beat this guy at his own game. He didn't have to win today, but he wanted to show this dickhead, and the crowd, that he wasn't one to be messed with.
Right, you wanna fight dirty, you posh fuck?
He sent the ball hurtling back towards his opponent as hard as he could from the back of the court and quickly squished himself down flat against the ground, before popping out right by the net and returning the shot. The hit was weak, but his little trick was just enough to startle his opponent, and once again Ozzy won the point, putting the score at Love-30.
He grinned at his opponent and pushed his hair back with his hand, sticking his tongue out and winking at him before spinning back around to wave at the professor again.
He was on his feet now, gripping tightly onto the railing with one hand as he whistled with the other.
He looked gorgeous under the stadium lights, and Ozzy noticed that he had unbuttoned his jacket to proudly show off his T-shirt. He then watched as the professor yelled out his name and pointed at his shirt with a huge smile on his face, and Ozzy felt his knees go weak.
God, I wish it was just me and you here right now. I can't even begin to describe all the obscene things I'd do to you. You have no fucking idea…
He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. No, now is NOT the time for that. Focus.
He spun back around to face his opponent, not realising that he'd already served. He saw the ball come straight towards him and was suddenly knocked back a few steps, before he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder.
He clutched his arm and yelled out, groaning through gritted teeth as he heard the crowd cheer when the umpire called the score. 15-30.
He watched as his coach argued with the umpire about how that was against the rules, but the umpire simply shrugged his shoulders and blew the whistle for the game to continue.
Ozzy cursed under his breath and walked back over to the centre of the court. Everyone's against me here, even the umpire, and I know why. It's this damn armband, but they can go fuck themselves if they think for one second that I'm taking it off.
He rubbed his shoulder and winced. His right arm was killing him, but he tried his best to ignore it in the hope that the pain would dissipate as the game went on.
He raised his gaze to look his opponent in the eye and forced a smile. "Gettin' scared, are ya? Scared that daddy will stop payin' ya bills if he sees you lose to a pleb like me?"
His opponent smirked and narrowed his eyes. "You're the one who should be scared. My dad works for the mayor, and I can't wait to tell him that you Cornea freaks are aligning yourselves with those nasty fucking pathogens. Just you wait."
Ozzy laughed at that and gripped hard onto the handle of his racket. "Do your fucking worst."
"As you wish," his opponent replied, throwing the ball in the air and hitting it towards Ozzy, clearly aiming for his shoulder again. Ozzy twisted his body to avoid the shot and managed to hit the ball with the edge of his racket, but it was sent hurtling off to the side. 30-all.
Ozzy groaned and grit his teeth. This just proves it, he knows he can't win without playing dirty. Well I'm not stooping to your level, pal, so feel free to keep showing yourself up. I don't need to win to feel good about myself, not anymore.
His opponent served again, slightly lighter this time, giving Ozzy the chance to actually return the ball. However, the pain in his arm was only worsening with every swing, his returns getting weaker and weaker, until he eventually just let the ball fly straight over his head.
The score was now 40-30 in his opponent's favour. The crowd cheered and Ozzy let out a long groan. He turned towards the umpire and signalled that he wanted a timeout, and they nodded and blew their whistle.
Ozzy trudged over to his seat and lifted up his sleeve to get a look at his shoulder. His coach winced when he saw the dark blue bruise now forming under his skin, and went to grab an ice pack from his bag.
Ozzy looked over at the professor and smiled at him, shrugging his shoulders as best he could and rolling his eyes over his opponent's behaviour, before turning back to his coach.
He flinched then as he felt him press an ice pack to his shoulder, and leaned in to whisper, "do they always act this way? The Heartvard lot?"
His coach shook his head and frowned. "No, I've never seen them be like this before. They're known for being judgemental and competitive to a fault, but they're not normally aggressive towards the other players, and they definitely don't cheat."
He lifted his head to look Ozzy in the eye and lowered his voice. "I think it's the armband. Now, I'm not saying you should take it off, but…"
"Yeah, it's definitely the armband, and no, I'm not taking it off," Ozzy said, his voice firm.
The coach simply raised an eyebrow, before gesturing at Ozzy to take the ice pack in his hand. "Hold this over your shoulder for a few minutes, it should help the bruise," he mumbled, before turning around and heading back over to another team member.
Ozzy sighed and swung himself around to walk over to the professor, wincing as he applied more pressure with the ice pack. "Great game, am I right?" he said sarcastically, speaking as loud as possible to ensure that some of the Heartvard players could hear, "I love gettin' to play against such a respectful team!"
The professor laughed at that and leaned in closer. "Can I see?" he said, pointing at Ozzy's arm.
Ozzy nodded and removed the ice pack, and the professor hissed. "Shit, that looks nasty."
"Yeah, it fucking kills! That dickhead didn't hold back one bit. Don't worry though, I'll sneak into his changing room later and steal all his clothes while he's in the shower."
The professor laughed again and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Need me to do anything? I can be quite… persuasive when I wanna be."
Ozzy grinned and narrowed his eyes. "I bet you can… but no, this is between me and him. Besides, he's mad because of my armband, so I think you gettin' involved would only make things worse, for both of us."
"Okay, whatever you say," the professor said, moving back slightly. "But just so you know, you're in the right here, and you're actually a really good player. I'd be afraid to go up against ya."
"Well, maybe we should have a game sometime. I could rent out one of the private tennis courts if you fancy it, just for us," he uttered, his eyelids heavy and his voice low. "I'd personally love to go up against you."
The professor leaned over the railing until they were almost face to face and mirrored Ozzy's expression. "Sounds like a gas, baby, but I dunno if you'll be able to handle the heat. Besides, I don't go down easy. Any game we play together is going to be long and hard, and I dunno if you'll be able to take it."
"Oh, don't you worry about that, sir, I can take you just fine."
"Jones! Get over here!" the coach yelled, prompting Ozzy to roll his eyes.
He rested his racket on his shoulder and pointed behind him with his thumb. "Well, I guess that's my cue to get back to the game, this isn't over though. Let me know when you're free for our little showdown and I'll book the court."
The professor smirked and pinched Ozzy's cheek with his claws. "Can't wait." He leaned in further then and took in a breath, softening his expression. "By the way, Ozzy, I wanted to thank you for inviting me here today. I'd never actually been to anything like this before. Just know that whatever happens out there, I'll be proud of you, whether you win or not."
Ozzy blinked at him for a moment. "Y-yeah, no problem." He paused then, before stepping forwards slightly, his heart pounding away in his chest. "You know, I was thinking, if you want, after my match is over, we could-"
"Jones! Now!" the coach shouted, his tone angry.
Ozzy groaned and shot the professor an apologetic look. "Right, don't go anywhere. Just stay here, and I'll come find you once the match is over. I've got something I wanna talk to you about," he said quietly, before chucking the ice pack for his coach to catch and running back over to the court again.
Let's get this thing over as quickly as possible. I'm sick of seeing this Heartvard guy's smarmy face, my arm hurts like a motherfucker, and, more importantly, Roja is waiting for me.
He got into position and stared down his opponent, making sure to make his smile as wide as possible. "Okay, fuck face, let's finish this."
His opponent flinched a little after seeing the way the corners of Ozzy's mouth stretched up to his eyes, making it look like he had at least three rows of teeth, before he relaxed his shoulders and forced a smile. "My pleasure, I've had enough of seeing your type around here. Make sure to take that virus with you when you leave, yeah?"
With that, he chucked the ball in the air and whacked it over the net, but Ozzy was ready this time, and sent it straight back. The ice pack hadn't seemed to have done any good, and Ozzy's arm almost hurt more than it did beforehand, but he pushed through, making sure to hit the ball as hard as he could every time.
A few shots in, his opponent returned the ball a bit too high, and Ozzy took the opportunity to leap in the air and spike it back down to him, hitting him on the chest. Ozzy laughed out loud as his opponent bent over double and cried out, his voice choked.
The umpire blew the whistle, but Ozzy simply gestured towards his shoulder with his hand and yelled, "what are ya you blowin' your whistle for? You said that this wasn't against the rules ten minutes ago!" before drifting his gaze over to the professor.
He shrugged his shoulders and mouthed the words "oops", earning a laugh, and turned back around to face his opponent.
He was seething, his eyes bulging and his shoulders shaking, and Ozzy had to hold back a laugh upon seeing his face. The umpire called out "Deuce," which only seemed to anger his opponent further.
Okay so we're tied. That means one of us has to win two more games and it's over. I can go back to Roja and ask him out to a little café nearby and tell him everything. Uff, okay, NOW I'm feeling nervous…
Just then, he heard the ball rush past his ear, just missing his cheek, before it bounced out of play. He glanced over at the scoreboard to see 'Ad-In' in big letters, meaning he'd lost the point. Shit. Nevermind…
His opponent didn't hesitate in serving again, seemingly wanting the game to be over as soon as possible too, and Ozzy returned it. This game went on for a few rounds, both of them whacking it back and forth, until his opponent decided to hit the ball softly for once, causing it to land just by the net on Ozzy's side.
Ozzy went to dive for it, but lost his footing and hit it at the wrong angle, sending it off to the side. The umpire shouted "game!", and Ozzy rolled his eyes as he heard his opponent yell out and the crowd start cheering.
Whatever, take your 'victory', we all know I played better than you did.
He walked over to the net and held his hand out for his opponent to shake. As soon as he did, Ozzy squeezed it tightly and pulled him closer, whispering, "great game, pal. Very sportsmanlike. I guess it's true what they say, money really can't buy class."
He let go of his hand and turned around to jog back over to the professor, when he suddenly felt his coach's hand on his shoulder. "Jones, you did amazing! Everyone's talking about how well you handled yourself out there! Come on, there's a journalist waiting to ask you a couple of questions about the match."
Ozzy pulled away from him and shook his head. "That's really flattering, but I've got someone over there who's waitin' for me-"
"Come on, Jones!" the coach said, putting his arm around Ozzy's shoulder and forcing him to walk over to the journalist's tent. "Just one short interview, then you're free to do whatever you want."
Unfortunately, 'short' was the very last word that could be used to describe this interview, and Ozzy emerged from the tent a full forty minutes after he had walked in, his head pounding. He'd had to answer over thirty different questions related to the match and his motives behind the armband, measuring his words the whole time to make sure he didn't say anything too inflammatory.
He blinked in the light and raised his hand to protect his eyes as he turned his head to where the professor had been sitting, only to find it empty.
Piss, shit, fuck. He left.
He let his arms fall to his side, tilted his head back and groaned. Part of him felt let down by the professor not having waited for him, especially since he'd asked him to, but at the same time he knew he couldn't really be mad about this.
For all I know, he did wait for me, glancing at his watch over and over to see the minutes tick by, before sighing in defeat and standing up to make his way out of the stadium…
Ozzy grit his teeth and pinched himself on the wrist. Stop beating yourself up. He's a big boy, he'll be fine. He probably just had somewhere to be. Don't focus on that now.
He then heard his coach call his name again to ask if he wanted to come back with them on the bus, and Ozzy nodded and swung his body around to follow his teammates.
He plonked himself down on a seat near the back of the bus and turned his body towards the window, not wanting to have to talk to his teammates about the match.
He stared out of the window at the city, following the tops of the buildings with his eyes, and smiled to himself.
Yes, he was disappointed that he hadn't had the chance to talk to the professor after the match, but he knew that there was no need to rush anything, and he felt reassured by the fact that he'd have another chance to have this conversation with him at another time.
Besides, after everything that had happened between them today, he was more sure than ever that his feelings were reciprocated.
That was enough, for now.
Ozzy pushed on the door and trudged into his dorm room, dragging his sore feet the whole way. Physically, he felt like shit; his thighs burned, his shoulder ached and his hands were covered in blisters. His whole body felt heavy, but inside it was like he was floating.
For once in his life, he didn't give a shit about anything. Normally, being beaten like that in front of hundreds of people would have ruined his entire week and shaken the very foundations of his self confidence. But not this time.
He didn't care that he'd lost against the rival team, or that over half the stadium had cheered when he'd been injured. None of that mattered, because there had been one person there rooting for him, and it just so happened to be the only person he actually cared about.
He groaned as he struggled to undo the armband, before looping it around his bedpost and pulling his shirt over his head.
He tossed it into the corner of the room and traipsed over to the bathroom, kicking off his shoes and slipping his shorts down over his legs as he went.
He turned his head to look at himself in the mirror and smiled. He knew he looked a mess; hair sticking up in all directions, cheeks still flushed, the bruise on his shoulder turning an aggressive shade of purple, but he didn't care. He felt like he was on top of the fucking world right now, like he was finally free.
After all this time, it turned out that all he needed was for someone to turn up and support him in something; for someone to actually show they cared about him.
He peeled his boxers off and turned on the shower, drumming his fingers on the glass door while he waited for the water to heat up. He stared straight ahead at nothing in particular and let himself think back to the moment that he and Professor Roja had shared that day.
There was no longer any no doubt in Ozzy's mind that his feelings for the professor were mutual. He'd always suspected something, but now it was unmistakable: the look in his eyes just before he'd leaned over the railing to wrap his arms around him; the subtle quiver in his voice every time he'd tried to speak; the increase in his heart rate when Ozzy had pressed his face into the crook of his neck.
Ozzy breathed in and let a smile break out on his face; a genuinely happy smile, one of those that lit up his entire face.
He stepped into the shower and sighed contentedly as the warm water trickled over his skin, feeling how every tight, wound-up muscle started to soften. He stayed there for a moment, just enjoying as the steam rose around him and the water rushed over his body, before reaching down for the shower gel.
He squirted a generous amount into his hand and lathered it up in his palms, humming quietly to himself. He started on his shoulders, making small circles over the dark purple bruise now blooming under his skin, before sliding his fingers over his neck and then down to his chest.
He shut his eyes then and breathed in deeply, trying to imagine that it was the professor's fingers on him instead of his own.
God, what I wouldn't give to have you here with me right now, your hands on my skin and your lips on my neck.
I wonder if you're thinking about me too, about what I look like in the shower, all smooth and soapy and wet, with my fingers gliding over my skin.
Do you ever get tempted to knock on my dorm room door? What would happen if you did, but I didn't answer? Would you let yourself in? What would you do then once you heard the noise of the shower?
Ozzy's eyelids fluttered, but he forced them shut, desperately trying to cling to this fantasy a little bit longer.
You'd frown, knowing deep down that you shouldn't be here, that you should leave, but curiosity would get the better of you, and you'd smile to yourself, before turning the handle and stepping inside.
Ozzy's fingers followed the line of his torso, stopping as they reached just below his navel.
I wouldn't notice you at first. I'd be facing away from you with my eyes shut, and I'd gasp as I felt the palm of your hand on the small of my back.
I'd try to turn around, but you'd wrap your other arm around my waist and press yourself against me to hum into my ear, and that's when I would melt into you.
Your rough sweater would feel so good as it rubbed against my skin, your belt pressing into my back, and then I'd feel you, feel how hard you were for me, how much you want this.
Ozzy sighed as he felt his cytoplasm rush south and his head start to spin. This was nothing new to him by now; it had happened almost every single time he allowed himself to think about the professor for too long, but this time was different.
This time, he didn't try to stop it. He didn't slap himself across the cheek or turn the temperature of the shower down. He was done pretending, done pushing these feelings away, done lying to himself.
He shut his eyes as tight as possible and tilted his head back, letting his face fall under the spray of the shower as he traced his fingers up and down the length of his cock, feeling as it started to harden.
Then, you'd whisper something about how much you'd been thinking about me, about how you hadn't been able to stop thinking about me, and about what you do to yourself every time that you do.
You'd lean over my shoulder to nudge my cheek with your own, and I'd turn my head to reply, but any words would then be muffled by you pressing your lips to mine.
Ozzy groaned as he wrapped a hand around his cock, leaning against the wall with the other to steady himself.
You'd move your hands to my hips and force me to tilt them back, moaning into my neck at the sight of me like this, not even slightly concerned by the spray of the shower as it made your hair stick to your cheeks and your sweater cling even tighter to your chest.
Then I'd feel you let go of me for a second to hurriedly peel your soaking clothes from your body, and of course I wouldn't be able to stop myself from turning around to catch a glimpse, and, fuck, your body would be so fucking perfect.
Perfect for forcing me against the shower wall. Perfect for pinning my arms above my head. Perfect for pressing yourself against me, leaving no space for even a single drop of water to pass between us.
"God…" Ozzy whispered, using his forearm to steady himself on the wall as his thighs started to shudder, his breath hitching in his throat.
Your eyes would be hungry, smouldering, possessive, and you'd cup my face with both hands before pressing your lips to mine again. Then you'd force me to hold my mouth open to lick all over my tongue and teeth, swallowing every moan, every sigh, every breath.
You'd be feverishly hard by now, and you'd break away to tell me how much you want me, how much you need me, and you'd wrap your arms around my waist to lift me up into your chest, and I'd feel your cock against my stomach, so hot and firm and thick.
Ozzy pressed his forehead against the tiles and spread his legs, his moans quickening as he felt himself start throbbing in his hand.
Then you'd carry me over to my bed and throw me on top, both of us still dripping wet from the shower, and your lips would quickly find mine again as you hold me by the backs of my thighs and force my legs open.
I'd tilt my hips up towards you, moaning your name as you continued to nip at my neck, suddenly gasping sharp as I feel your teeth sink into my skin and your cock slide into me, and, FUCK, it would feel so, so good, as if I was made for this, made for you.
Ozzy's breathing quickened, his back arching slightly as he felt the heat coiling tight below his stomach. He tilted his head back and moaned the professor's name, his voice quivering.
And I'd give myself over to you, my back arched and my legs held open wide, and you'd bite and kiss and suck marks anywhere you could as you continued to fuck me, the rhythm bruising and intimate and desperate.
The bed would be creaking beneath us, the sound of our fucking absolutely obscene. The bedsheets would crumple between my toes and fingers as our kisses became messier and your thrusts deeper, and I'd feel your claws tightening around my hips to pull me closer.
Our breathing would be heavy now, our words incoherent, as the heat continued to rise between us, and you'd bury your face into the crook of my neck and moan my name as I throw my head back and roll my hips to force you even deeper.
We'd both melt into each other, our mouths open wide and our eyelids flickering, and your hips would stutter, your breath shuddering in your throat, before you let out one final, blissful groan…
Ozzy moaned loudly, crying out as he felt his stomach twist in a knot, and then release. "Ah… fuck… T-Thrax…!"
He clawed at the tiles in front of him with one hand as his body continued to violently shudder, his toes curling.
He fell forwards and rested more of his weight on the wall, his legs now weak and lazy as the waves of pleasure continued to pulse down over his thighs. His whole body felt like it was full of warm water, slowly spreading out from his core to the ends of his fingers and the tips of his toes.
He breathed in raggedly, his chest feeling like it was on fire, all tingly and stabbing, but in the best fucking way possible.
"G-God…"
His eyelids fluttered open, and he stared straight ahead at his hand as he tried to get his eyes to focus again. He'd never felt anything like this before, not ever. It was as if all those times he had shut it down and denied himself had built up within him and come spilling out at once. It was dizzying, intense, and overwhelmingly hot.
After a few moments, his breathing slowed, and the feeling in his legs returned. He took a step back and washed his hands, before reaching for the shower gel again.
He washed himself down and shut his eyes, a huge smile spreading across his face. For the first time ever, he didn't feel confused, embarrassed or ashamed over how he felt towards the professor. It was as if he'd finally accepted his crush, embraced his feelings, and listened to what his heart had been trying to tell him all along.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt truly at home with himself.
After his shower, Ozzy put on his favourite outfit and called Drix on his phone to try and convince him to meet at the same café they had gone to last week. Ozzy's nerves about the tennis match had meant that they had had to cancel their Thursday friendship date last night, but right now Ozzy was in the mood to celebrate.
He had nothing else to do today, and also hadn't been able to stop thinking about the blueberry muffins they had eaten on their date night last week.
Drix agreed to meet up, enthralled by the prospect of getting to sample another one of their homemade cakes, and they both hurried on over to the little café near the corner of the eye.
Ozzy ordered five blueberry muffins and a rocky-road milkshake with extra cream, while Drix ordered a smoothie and a slice of raspberry tart.
Between mouthfuls of muffin and squirty cream, Ozzy was telling Drix about his almost-victory against Heartvard University, making over-the-top gestures with his hands and exaggerating every part of the story. "You shoulda seen me, Drips, I was incredible! I was like the Michael Jordan of tennis!" he gloated as he swung his arm through the air in slow motion.
Drix frowned and cocked his head. "Michael who? Oh! Isn't he that singer you like?"
Ozzy looked puzzled for a moment, before laughing and patting Drix on the shoulder. "Nooo, that's Michael Jackson! Michael Jordan is a basketball player. God, you really need a crash course in pop culture, Dripsy, my man."
He reached for another blueberry muffin, his third in under ten minutes, and bit down, the blue filling dripping down his fingers and chin.
Drix rolled his eyes and wiped a stain off his shoulder with a napkin. "And you need to learn how to eat properly. Look, you got blueberry paste on me, and not to mention all over yourself! You eat like you're six years old."
Ozzy stuck his tongue out at Drix and took another bite, rolling his eyes shut and groaning. He swallowed loudly and nudged Drix with his elbow. "Anyway, what's going on with you? How's your day been?"
"Well, to be honest, it's been dissatisfactory at best. Professor Roja didn't turn up for our lesson this morning, and we all waited outside the hall for over twenty minutes before we received an email from him telling us that the class had been cancelled."
Ozzy's eyes widened, and he shrunk down in his seat slightly. "Oh… that's unlike him, right? Normally he's super punctual. Can I see the email?"
"Yes, of course, but it's pretty difficult to decipher, I don't think he was really looking at what he was typing, to be honest," Drix said, handing his phone to Ozzy.
Ozzy looked down at the phone and furrowed his brow as he tried to understand what was written.
'Mornjng, no class togay, somrthig came up.
Roja.
Sent from my EyePhone.'
He looked at the timestamp on the email and his eyes lit up. 10:21am. Oh my God, he sent this during the match.
He handed the phone back to Drix and looked down at his plate to hide the smile now creeping over his face. He blew off work to come and see me. Fuck, that's huge.
"See, absolutely incomprehensible. Honestly, if he wasn't such a good teacher, I'd have half a mind to report him to the director. He's been so distracted lately."
Ozzy snapped his head up to look at Drix, still smiling. "Has he?"
"Yeah, he's been forgetting to mark our work, or setting us the wrong essays, or getting our names mixed up. I wonder if there's something going on in his personal life. But either way, he needs to get his act together unless he wants the board to-"
Then, they heard the gentle tinkle of the bell over the door, and Drix's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, speak of the devil."
Ozzy turned around to see what Drix was looking at and his mouth fell open. There, stepping into the café, was none other than Professor Roja, wearing the most ridiculously gorgeous outfit Ozzy had ever seen in his life.
Tight black jeans which fit him perfectly, accentuating the muscles in his thighs; a charcoal turtleneck sweater, tight and loose in all the right places; and a long, grey jacket that came down to his knees, somehow making him look even taller than usual.
Ozzy's gaze rolled up to his face, and he suddenly felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. The professor had pulled his hair up into a bun again, but this time he'd let a few strands hang loosely by the sides of his face. This, coupled with the way the light from the lamp was hitting his face, had Ozzy mesmerised, so much so that he didn't even notice when he started walking towards them.
"Good afternoon, boys. Fancy seeing you two here."
"Huh…?" Ozzy said, his mouth still open.
Drix frowned and nudged Ozzy in his side, breaking him out of his spell. "Ozzy, don't be so rude."
The professor smirked when he noticed the three empty muffin cases on Ozzy's plate and pointed at it with his claw. "Still got a big appetite, I see."
Ozzy's eyes flicked down to the plate, and he felt a blush spread across his face. "Uh, yeah, well, it's been a pretty big day. I kinda wanted to celebrate, y'know, because of the match. Oh, by the way, sorry about before, I wanted to come and speak-"
The professor narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly, hinting at Ozzy not to say anything about the fact that he had been at the match that day. "Yeah, you've been working really hard in class lately, you deserve… this," he said, gesturing at the remaining two muffins.
Ozzy smiled and grabbed the plate to hold it up in front of the professor. "Wanna try one? They're amazing, way better than those chocolates I got ya!"
The professor shook his head again and patted his stomach. "Nah, I'm trying to cut down. Once you get over a certain age, you have to really start watching what you eat."
Ozzy's eyes flew down to his middle, and he frowned. "What are you talkin' about? You're in perfect shape. There's not a microgram of fat on you anywhere."
The corners of the professor's mouth curved upwards slightly, and he turned to face Drix. "Sorry about this morning, by the way, I had a prior engagement elsewhere. It won't happen again. Also…"
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a few pieces of paper. "I just wanted to say that I thought your latest essay on the importance of the hypothalamus was truly inspiring. I think with a bit of work, we could even get it published."
Drix took the essay in his hands and nodded, pursing his lips to hide the smug smile that was threatening to spread across his face. "Okay, how about I pop into your office next week after our Tuesday class and we iron out a few points? I'd like to have it finished before we go on the trip."
"Sounds good."
Ozzy blinked a few times, before sitting up straight in his chair, his eyes darting between Drix and Professor Roja. "Trip, what trip?"
Drix turned to face Ozzy and frowned. "There's a trip to the hypothalamus next week for the sophomore Biology students. We'll leave on Friday morning and come back on Saturday night. I told you about it, I swear I did."
"Oh yeah, you probably did. My mind's been like a sieve lately-"
"You should come," the professor blurted out, prompting Ozzy and Drix to turn their heads to stare up at him, their brows furrowed.
Drix raised a finger and cleared his throat. "Uhm, sir, that trip is for second years only, and all the places have already been filled."
The professor tutted and waved his hand in the air. "Pfft, nah, we'll find room. I'm sure someone will end up dropping out at the last minute, they always do."
"B-but… he's a first year. He's not allowed to go."
"Tsk, you need to loosen up a lil, Drix. Jones has proven himself to be very mature as of late. I think he'll get a lot out of the trip."
Drix frowned and pointed his finger in Ozzy's face, feeling a sting of jealousy. "B-but he hasn't paid, and he wouldn't be able to afford it anyway! He barely has enough money to feed himself, let alone spend over 400 calories on a trip."
Ozzy scowled and swatted Drix's hand away from him. "Drips!" he hissed, "shut up!"
The professor raised an eyebrow as he watched Ozzy and Drix continue to bicker like an old married couple. "Ahem, Jones, I remember you telling me once that you and Drix knew each other, but I didn't realise that you two were so… close."
Ozzy flicked Drix on the cheek and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, we live together."
"Oh, right, together," the professor said, his eyes opening wide.
"Yeah, I moved in with him four weeks ago now, but it feels like I've got a fuckin' wife or something, always naggin' me and watchin' my every move."
Drix gasped and pushed on Ozzy's shoulder. "Ozzy! Don't use wife as an insult, you know better than that!"
Ozzy rolled his eyes and gestured at Drix with both hands. "See! It's like I'm fuckin' married to him!"
The professor's face fell at that, and he took a few steps backwards. "Right, well, don't let me get in your way… I'll leave you two alone."
He turned around and traipsed over to the counter, his steps heavy and his head low. He ordered his coffee and threw a couple of bills onto the bar top with a sigh. They couldn't actually be dating, could they? Not after the way he's been acting around me.
He said they were 'living together'. God, that could mean so many things. Are they roommates? Friends? Boyfriends?
Maybe I should ask him. Nah, that'd be too weird. I'm just gonna eavesdrop on their conversation for a bit to see if either one of them says anything else that might help me figure it out.
He smiled to himself then over all the colourful insults spilling out of Ozzy's mouth about Drix's "pretentious voice, weird fruity bubbles and holier-than-thou personality". Okay, maybe they aren't dating. Surely he wouldn't talk this way to someone he was in a serious relationship with? They're probably just friends.
He shook his head and laughed to himself, before turning around to walk towards the door, but his smile was wiped away as soon as he heard Ozzy say, "this is the worst date of my life! You're so fuckin' annoying, humiliating me in front of my teacher like that. The next time we go out together, you're paying for everything."