Chapter Text
It feels cliché and a little pretentious to walk into the first class of the semester with a huge disposable cup of coffee, but Kevin resolutely decides not to care. He hasn’t been able to stock up on quick breakfast foods at his apartment yet, so liquid caffeine will have to suffice until he gets to the grocery store. He’ll probably have time this evening, so long as none of his professors assign loads of reading to kick off the semester.
He plops into a relatively safe seat, about a third of the way into the fourth row of the small lecture hall, and arranges his messenger bag at his feet so he can pull out whatever supplies he might need with minimal noise. He checks his phone while the other students trickle in. One of his housemates must have texted him while he was walking to class (“what time are you done today? we should go shopping”), and he dismisses a few stray Facebook notifications.
Kevin glances up just as the professor crosses the distance from the door to the desk that’s centered under the end-to-end whiteboards and elevated projection screen on the front wall. He has a big travel mug of coffee as well, so Kevin feels less self-conscious about the 24-ouncer sitting in front of him. The prof drops his own bag at one corner of the desk and skips the momentary comfort of the chair, instead coming around to lean his rear against the desk’s front edge and cross his ankles. He sips his coffee and watches the students settle.
Something about him tugs at a sense of familiarity in Kevin’s mind. It’s not surprising, since he’s seen plenty of profs around campus without knowing who exactly they are. The “C. Novak” name had been unfamiliar when Kevin registered for his classes, but the guy had decent reviews on RateMyProfessor. (“A little spacey sometimes, but really knows what he’s talking about.” “Gets weirdly enthusiastic about some things. Really smart. Grades fair. Loses stuff.” “Don’t ask him about the role of bees in the rise of agriculture, unless you want to lose a whole class to something that isn’t even covered on the midterms.” “Hottt!”)
Professor Novak’s eyes brush over Kevin as he continues scanning the room. Okay, he’s definitely familiar. Kevin knows he’s seen him more than once before.
Novak sets his coffee down behind his hip and glances at the clock on one side of the room. Two minutes past nine. He shifts to standing.
“Alright, this is Anthro 104: Introduction to Cultural Anthropology, and I’m Professor Novak. If you’re in the wrong place, now’s the time.”
His voice is familiar, too. Kevin doesn’t get much time to process it, because there’s a confused shuffle at the other end of his row and a muted chorus of titters as one student gathers her things and marches to the door. She saves face with a quick smirk and salute as she heads out to wherever she’s supposed to be instead.
When Kevin looks back at Novak, the man is smiling. It scrunches his face up and shows off a wide expanse of white teeth.
Everything slams into place and Kevin’s mind locks up.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
That’s Cas.
Holy fucking shit, that’s Cas and he’s right there and Kevin can’t spare a brain signal to breathe.
Novak is talking again, probably giving an overview of what they’ll be covering, but auditory processing is something Kevin isn’t capable of at the moment. His gaze is tethered to Novak’s hands and the way his mouth shapes words. It’s all so normal, nothing worth fixating on, and for some reason, that’s terrifying.
Playing on stuttered loop in Kevin’s head are entirely different scenes. Those hands wrapped in a tight grip around an ankle. Those fingers skittering wickedly along a bared torso. That mouth stretched wide in helpless laughter. That body taut and arching, with far fewer clothes–
A loud slap startles Kevin bolt upright. The student sitting in front of him bends low to pick up the notebook that fell to the floor. Novak’s attention has been drawn to the sound, and this time Kevin purposely stops breathing. If you don’t move, he can’t see you.
The professor’s – Cas’ – eyes flicker up to him briefly before sweeping away as he resumes his intro. Kevin feels like he escaped the notice of the Jurassic Park velociraptors in the kitchen.
The ninety minutes of class simultaneously takes three eternities and is over in a blink. Maybe because Kevin only actually blinked once; he can’t be sure. He has no idea what was talked about or if there are any reading assignments for the next class.
The next class. Jesus Christ. Kevin has to put himself through this twice a week for the entire semester. Maybe he should drop the class. No, no, he can’t drop this class, not without good reason. And it would be hopeless trying to pay attention to whatever he filled the timeslot with. Because Cas, of Cas, Dean & Sam tickling video fucking nirvana, is real and a goddamn professor at Kevin’s school. Shit, that has to mean he lives nearby. Shit, that means Dean and Sam live nearby. Shitshitshit.
How the hell is he going to survive this semester?