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It’s his own damn fault, really.
When Ian first applied to college, he signed up for a bunch of different courses that interested him from the catalogue. Literature, Linguistics, Psychology, Philosophy, even a Biology course to fulfil the science requirement. All of the classes were interesting and fun to try out but eventually, he narrowed down his degree to Education - specifically focussing on early childhood education. After four years of non-stop studying, taking one semester off to balance his meds after a particularly rough episode, plus working two part-time jobs to save his tips and pay for his tuition - he was finally on track to graduate on time and apply for the teaching certificate program in the fall. One step closer to becoming a full-fledged teacher at an underfunded public school.
Everything was working out in his favour.
Until he met with his college advisor before his what was supposed to be his last semester, who told him he wouldn’t be able to graduate because he was missing a math credit. His most dreaded subject, the one he kept putting off and off until it completely slipped his mind.
So now he’s forced to take Intro to Mathematics 100. Fuck.
The worst part is, the lectures are at eight-fucking-thirty every Monday and Wednesday morning, plus a tutorial right after on Monday. His other courses were on Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, meaning he had to take the train to campus every single day, instead of sleeping in or working a couple extra shifts at the coffee shop in the morning.
But he’s not going to let a measly math class ruin his graduation plan. He’s worked too hard and gotten this far to let anything derail his future. All of his siblings had high hopes for him and he couldn’t let them down, not after all the support they’ve given him over the past few years.
So Ian drags himself out of bed Monday morning, grabs a double-shot of espresso from the campus coffee shop, and plops himself down on a seat in the back row of the lecture hall. He scans the room and internally groans, already feeling a bit embarrassed to be one of the oldest students there in a sea of over a hundred annoying freshmen. The prof - who looks ancient and decrepit enough to have invented Math itself - stands at the podium, and Ian silently curses at his younger self for not getting the class over with earlier.
But it’s an intro class, he tries to reassure himself. How hard can it be?
Without preamble, the prof turns on the projector and clicks to the first slide.
“We’re going to start off with quadratic equations…”
Ian is glad he’s not the only one that outright groans out loud.
After what honestly felt like the longest two hours of Ian’s life, the prof finally turns off the projector. His voice telling the class to read chapters one and two for Wednesday is drowned out by the sound of chairs scraping against the floor and everyone rushing out the door to their next class. Ian stares blankly down at his notebook and is met with his own illegible handwriting. A sinking feeling rises in his chest. Sure, his current grade point average is above 3.5, so technically he can get a C in the class and still be able to graduate. But now, he realizes there is a very real chance he might fail his very first class. And that? Cannot happen.
Ian hurriedly looks around the room, unsure of who or what he’s looking for, until his eyes land on someone walking up the stairs of the lecture hall towards the exit. A guy who looks to be around Ian’s age, maybe a bit older, with blue eyes and dark hair and a sort-of swagger to his step. Someone who doesn’t look like a clueless freshman like everyone else, who seems even more out of place than Ian in an intro first-year class.
Someone who just might be the hottest guy Ian has ever laid eyes on.
So of course, without thinking, Ian frantically blurts out, “Hey! Can I ask you something?”
Surprisingly, the guy stops in his tracks and turns his head towards Ian, causing a minor traffic jam and blocking the line of other students behind him. Ian feels his cheeks heat up and regrets opening his gigantic mouth. But the guy looks completely indifferent to the other students grumbling as they walk around him, only raising his eyebrows at Ian as if to silently say, what the hell do you want?
“Uh.” Ian nearly trips climbing out of his seat and tries not to stumble his words. “Is it okay if I borrow your notes? I’m just… I’m a bit lost and I barely remember anything from high school math and I can’t fail this class so if you can share your notes with me that would be… great…” he finishes lamely.
The guy continues to stare at Ian, an amused expression on his face. Ian wishes a sinkhole would appear and swallow him through the floor.
“I didn’t take any notes,” the guy finally answers. “Textbook’s all you need, anyway.”
Ian groans. He just paid off his tuition fees and the books for his other courses already ate up most of his last paycheck. He’s not getting paid until next week and he really doesn’t want to dip into his savings for a stupid math textbook he’ll never look at again in four months. Maybe he can find a second-hand copy online…
Ian has no idea what comes over him, but the question slips out of his mouth before his brain can stop it.
“Can I borrow yours? I promise I’ll give it back to you before the next class.”
The guy lets out a snort, shaking his head like he thinks Ian is an idiot. To be fair, Ian does feel like an idiot at the moment, embarrassing himself in front of a stranger. A hot stranger. A stranger who Ian wouldn’t mind getting to know better, maybe under all his layers of clothes…
Thank god the guy can’t read his thoughts because to Ian’s surprise, the guy digs into his backpack and tosses a tattered, dog-eared copy of Introduction to Mathematics over to him. Ian catches the book before it clunks to the floor.
“Look, Professor Lang pretty much repeats everything from the textbook word for word, so do the fuckin’ readings and the practice questions and you’ll be fine.”
“You’ve taken this class before?” Ian asks, brows scrunching in confusion.
“Sure,” the guy shrugs. “Many times.”
“Many…?”
“When’s your tutorial?” the guy cuts Ian off.
“In an hour…” Ian replies slowly.
The guy nods his head. “Okay,” is all he says before turning on his heels and walking away, leaving Ian with his jaw dropped and wondering what just happened.
Who the hell was that guy?
*
Ian has time to kill before the tutorial, so he spends the next hour checking the college’s online used books marketplace and mindlessly rifling through the first couple pages of the textbook. His brain doesn’t register a single word. Either he’s incapable of understanding anything related to numbers or he’s still reeling from his encounter with the hot unnamed stranger, who has apparently taken the class multiple times? Probably a mixture of both.
There’s a couple of students already in the classroom when Ian walks in and he immediately beelines to a seat in the back corner. All of them look like they’re freshmen, all bright-eyed and chatty with an air of optimism that is not yet tainted by stress and all-nighters and final exams.
Ian senses a couple of curious looks directed at him. Most likely because it’s painfully obvious he’s the oldest student in the room and they’re all probably wondering why a senior is in an intro class. If the tutorials weren’t mandatory and if he didn’t desperately need some guidance in the subject, then he probably would’ve skipped. But they are and he really is desperate so he sulks into his seat and hopes the boring old professor isn’t the one guiding the tutorials.
Except it’s not. It’s someone worse.
“Alright, alright, enough chit chat. Everyone sit your asses down and let’s get this shit over with.”
Ian eyes widen. No no no this can’t be happening no no no–
“Name’s Mickey and I’m one of Professor Lang’s TA. Here’s how things are gonna go down.”
Maybe there’s another tutorial with a different TA Ian can sign up for. Sure, he wouldn’t mind seeing this Mickey every week, but does it have to be under such circumstances where he’s bound to embarrass himself?
“Attendance is mandatory, but if you can’t make it ‘cause your grandma died or whatever excuse you come up with, shoot me an email first. If you got questions, this class is your chance to ask ‘em. I’m here to help you out, but I’m not gonna give away answers for free. Don’t cheat or try anything stupid, I can smell bullshit from a mile away. You need to show me you put in some effort and actually tried doing the work first.” Mickey looks around the silent room and barks, “Got it?”
Everyone quickly nods their heads. Most of the students look scared shitless. Ian, however, is the opposite. Weirdly enough, he finds Mickey’s threats a bit endearing. Attractive. Cute, even.
There is definitely something very wrong with him.
“Good.” Mickey pulls out an attendance sheet and clicks his pen. “I’m not good at putting faces to names but if you keep participating in class then there’s a high chance I’ll remember you. Eventually. Don’t bother being a kiss-ass though, that shit won’t work on me. Do the work and you’ll pass. Andrea?”
A girl timidly raises her hand in the front row. “Here.” Mickey nods and lists out a couple other names before–
“Ian?”
Ian clears his throat and raises his hand. “Here.”
Mickey’s eyes flicker to Ian’s face for the briefest moment, before looking down at the attendance sheet again and moving onto the next name. Ian swallows down a gulp. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Ian swears he saw the tiniest hint of a smile on Mickey’s face. The room suddenly feels too warm and beads of sweat prickle the back of Ian’s neck, the heat simmering underneath his skin intensifying to dangerous levels.
Fuck. How is he going to last four months in this class?
Since it’s only the first tutorial of the semester, Mickey lets them off early after assigning some practice questions from the textbook as homework.
“My office hours are every Thursday from two to four, Room 509 in the South Wing,” Mickey calls out, as everyone packs up their stuff. “If you show up a minute after four I’m kickin’ you out.”
Ian lingers behind in the back, taking his time to close his notebook as the other students leave the room. When it’s just the two of them left, Ian can feel Mickey’s expectant eyes on him, waiting. Ian takes a deep breath, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and slowly approaches Mickey’s desk.
“Thanks for lending me your textbook, but I found a used copy online, so…”
“Keep it,” Mickey says casually, waving his hand. “I can swipe another copy from the math department.”
“Oh.” Ian bites his bottom lip. “Are you sure? Because I don’t want to get you in trouble or anything.”
“It’s all good, Red.” Mickey reaches over to pat Ian’s cheek, a smirk on his face. Ian nearly jumps at the contact, the nerve endings in his body igniting sparks all at once. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about me.”
Ian stands there, frozen, as he watches Mickey pick up his bag and head towards the door. He has to say something. He needs to.
Mickey’s already at the end of the hallway before Ian catches up to him. Ian clasps his hand on Mickey’s shoulder, out of breath and panting slightly. Mickey turns around, surprised.
“I know this might be random,” Ian starts to babble, “but would you like to grab a coffee with me sometime? I mean, not just to talk about math, I do need a lot of help with that, but we can talk about other things too, if you want. If you’re not busy. No pressure or anything, but, um, yeah.”
To Ian’s shock, Mickey shrugs. “Sure, why not.”
Ian fights the instinct to throw his hands in the air. “Great, cool, that’s great,” he says, as casually as he can.
Mickey narrows his eyes. “But you’re not some overgrown freshman, right? ‘Cause I don’t–”
“No, no,” Ian objects quickly, “I’m a senior. I’m just missing a math credit to graduate.”
“Okay.” Mickey nods, an amused smile on his face. “Well, I’ll see you around, Red.”
“Ian,” he blurts out. “I know you’re not good with names, but my name’s Ian.”
Mickey takes a step back, their eyes meeting each other. Ian does everything in his power to stop his strong urge of throwing his TA against the wall and crushing their lips together.
“Yeah,” Mickey smiles, “I know.”
*
(They go on a coffee date, and another, and another. Ian doesn’t remember the last time he had so much fun with another person, talking and laughing and spending long periods of time together and laughing some more. How comfortable and light he feels when he’s around Mickey is nothing he’s ever felt before. No one else even comes close.)
(But to Ian’s disappointment, it turns out Mickey can’t be in a relationship with any of his students or else he’d lose his position as a TA. Definitely no fucking either.)
(But it doesn’t stop them from sending flirty texts to each other all semester. Or casually hanging out with each other as ‘friends’ on and off campus. Or watching movies on a laptop in Mickey’s dorm room and staying over some nights, when Ian is too tired to take the train home. Or having late-night study sessions in the library where Ian tries not to have a mental breakdown about algebra and Mickey patiently teaches him the correct formula for each question.)
(They do get drunk at the campus bar one night and make out in the back alley, but that doesn’t count right? And sure, they might’ve jerked each other off maybe once, or twice, or three times, but who’s counting?)
(And it’s not like Ian rushes over to Mickey’s dorm room the second he receives the email of his final grade in Intro to Mathematics 100 - a B minus.
No.
Because Mickey is already there with him, attacking Ian with his lips and hands, both tearing each other’s clothes off, releasing four months worth of pent-up tension and energy until they’re sweaty and panting and completely spent.)
(“Who knew sleeping with my TA could be so hot?”
“Not your TA anymore.”
“Right. You’re just my boyfriend now.”
“Boyfriend, huh?”
“Yup. You’re stuck with me now.”
“Your ginger ass has been stuck onto me since that first tutorial.”
“I’m never letting go of you again. Or your ass. Especially your ass.”
“Sap.”)