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Professor Enjolras was scary. No one was ever going to say differently.
He was a fantastic teacher, sure, but he had also perfected his death-glare and was completely uncompromising when it came to subpar work and late assignments. His classes got excellent reviews and his students always came out of their exams with much higher marks than they expected, but still. Scary.
So when someone noticed Professor Enjolras had a wedding ring, speculation was rife as to what type of woman could handle being married to someone like him. One day when Enjolras was a few minutes late, they all started swapping ideas about his ideal wife.
"Someone quiet, who likes to stay home. His total opposite. She always wears a twin-set and pearls, and loves her KitchenAid. Likes gardening. Tall and willowy."
"Nah, only professors can handle being married to professors. She probably wears tweed jackets and has more books than he does. She’s probably even written a few. Bet you they have a Labrador."
"No way! She’d be a writer, or an artist, someone who knows everything about people, knows how to draw him out of his shell. Some sort of Manic Pixie Dream Girl joke who ‘taught him how to love.’”
"Are you kidding? He’s the type to be married to someone just as scary and gorgeous as he is. I reckon she’s just as blonde as him, some tall eastern European supermodel who can silence a whole room with a glare. She has a really glamorous job, in the media, and I bet you they live in a massive eco-friendly townhouse."
The students were nodding and murmuring as the idea fit into what they already knew about their professor. A model, they decided. That worked well for Professor Enjolras.
Then the man in question came into the room, and it slipped from everyone’s minds.
*
A few weeks later, there was a knock on the door halfway through one of Professor Enjolras’s lectures. They all knew he hated being interrupted, so the class held its breath as a scruffy man with paint stains and terrible bedhead poked his head through the door and edged his way to the front of the room.
"Sorry everyone, sorry. Enjolras, here’s your briefcase, I’m sorry I couldn’t get here any sooner."
The scruffy man reached the front of the room and handed Enjolras his case, and the students waited for the professor to verbally eviscerate this man who dared interrupt his classes with something so unimportant as a briefcase.
There was a collective gasp when, instead of yelling at the man, or even appearing angry, Enjolras simply smiled at him and took the case. “Thank you.”
The scruffy intruder leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Enjolras’s cheek, before waving sheepishly at the class and leaving.
The room was deadly silent. The students were waiting for a reaction, for Enjolras to call security, or mutter about time-wasters, or do something other than clear his throat and continue as normal.
One of the students had had enough. “Professor Enjolras? Sir? If you don’t mind me asking. Um. Who was that?”
A light blush spread over their stern professor’s cheeks as he picked up his notes, and looked up at his class. “Oh. Yes. That was Grantaire. My husband.”
Enjolras cleared his throat again and turned back to his notes, realising suddenly that no one had moved since he'd last spoken. He stared at his class. His class stared back at him.
“What has gotten into you? Surely me forgetting my briefcase isn’t really that remarkable to you all.”
The student who’d asked about Grantaire coloured and looked away, and everyone was finding the floor or their notes very interesting all of a sudden.
Enjolras crossed his arms. “Unless the reason you’re all being so strange is because my significant other happens to be a man?”
The class was silent.
"Oh, for heaven’s sake! We’ve spent the last month discussing the revolting prejudices that were written into our system of government, and the inherent classism, sexism and racism that are still stemming from that today, but suddenly the only thing keeping everyone’s attention is the fact that I’m not straight? I hope you’re ashamed of yourselves. I know I’m ashamed of all of you. And your petty, heteronormative, silly gossip.”
His students were silent, and most were red with mortification. His glare swept over them all once again and, satisfied he’d made his point, he turned back to the lecture.
*
A month later, their lesson in the folly of gossip had been ignored somewhat, and Professor Enjolras’s class was taking advantage of his lateness once again to speculate about his private life.
"Maybe Grantaire’s an ex-student? A secret affair they had to keep until he graduated! I bet they still have separate houses, just so administration doesn’t get suspicious."
"I bet they met somewhere really kinky. Like a sex club. Their home life is just the two of them shagging like rabbits on every available surface."
"Can you imagine what he’d be like as a husband though? This Grantaire must be a saint to put up with him. He’s terrifying enough when he’s behind a lectern!"
They heard Enjolras’s voice out in the corridor, and settled down in anticipation of a long two-hour discussion on electoral procedure.
But their professor stopped at the door, and moved away for a second, reaching out to something that was blocked by the door frame. He pulled back and moved inside the room, and his students once again learned that he would always have the power to surprise them.
Enjolras was standing at the front of the classroom holding a baby in a bright green onesie.
And he wasn’t just holding the baby. Their terrifying professor was humming softly, pressing gentle kisses to the baby’s head and smiling goofily at Grantaire, who stood next to him.
The baby had a chubby fist curled in Enjolras’s curly hair, giggling as she pulled gently on the blond locks, and Enjolras was smiling at the two of them like his students had never seen him smile before.
Then suddenly Grantaire checked his watch, grimaced, and gently took the baby from Enjolras’s arms, kissing his husband and winking at the shocked students as he left the room.
The entire lecture theatre was silent as Enjolras shut the door and stepped behind the lectern. He surveyed the room, smirking as he stared at his open-mouthed students.
"Been making assumptions again, have we, class?"