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“The counselor is ready to see you. Go in the back room, he’ll be with you in a moment.”
You thanked the receptionist and did as she said. You shut the door and took a seat on the couch. After a few minutes, a knock rapped on the door and it opened. A familiar crooked-smiled, dark-haired Brit stuck his head through the doorway.
“How ya doing today?”
“Professor Duncan ? What happened to the college counselor?” You shot up.
The professor hurried in and closed the door behind him.
“Ah, yes. For HR reasons I cannot disclose that information, I’m afraid.”
You crossed your arms. “You come to class hungover half the time. Since when do you care about HR?”
“Since they made me the mental health counselor.”
“So, yesterday?”
“Tuesday, actually. Excuse you,” Duncan said, offended.
You rolled your eyes and began to gather your things.
“What are you doing?” Duncan asked.
“Look, professor, I’m a full-time student, and these sessions are provided by the school for free. I’m losing nothing but study time by being here. I got along well with the old counselor, and to be frank, I don’t feel comfortable disclosing my personal matters with you.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
Duncan shrugged. “They assigned me this role until they hire a new counselor and didn’t give me a raise for my troubles. I don’t want to be here, so leave if you want. It doesn’t make any difference to me. If you leave I can catch up on grading papers.”
You were stunned at that response, but it made sense. You headed to the door.
“Well, that’s that, then. I need to find my own therapist. See you next class.”
“Bye,” Duncan said flippantly.
~~~
Yours was a knee jerk reaction, but truthfully you couldn’t afford a therapist. Why does it have to be him?
After mulling it over, you booked an appointment for the following week on Greendale’s student resources webpage. A shitty therapist was better than no therapist, right? At least you’d be getting your troubles out, even if Duncan was the receiving party.
~~~
When he stuck his head in the door again, Duncan’s face was a mixture of smugness and surprise. “Back again?”
“Look… financially, I really need these sessions. So I’ll try this ,” you gestured awkwardly around the room.
“Great,” Duncan replied, his smugness growing. He pulled out a clipboard and a pen and seated himself across from you. “So, why are you here today?”
“I’ve got a lot of stress. Anxiety, feelings of depression. I don’t feel I’m cut out for school, that I should just drop out. Half the time I feel like I’m only suited to work for Subway for the rest of my life. And aside from that, I have issues with some of my relationships…”
“Why do you feel like you aren’t cut out for school?”
“I — I don’t know. I’m overwhelmed and I feel like everyone around me gets it; understands the curriculum. My history class is boring as hell and my math class makes my brain hurt. In my other two classes I barely scraped by on the midterms. The only class I’m doing well in is…”
“—mine.”
You locked eyes with Duncan. “Yeah, yours.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“Wha — I just told you how I feel about it! I’m overwhelmed!”
“Kidding, kidding, kidding. It’s fun to ask that. I’ve never been a therapist before.”
“Could you take this seriously, please?”
“About as serious as that raise they gave me,” Duncan replied, scribbling something with his pen.
“Right.”
“So why are you in school? What do you hope to accomplish here at Greendale?”
“I don’t know. My whole life it was hammered into me that college is what you’re supposed to do if you want a decent life. I don’t want to work for minimum wage and never retire. I’d never hear the end of it at Thanksgiving dinners when I’m forty and never made anything of my life.”
“Uh-huh.” Duncan scribbled some more. His legs uncrossed. “What major are you pursuing?”
“I am undecided, currently. Just getting the Gen Ed stuff out of the way.”
“Any thoughts on what you might want to do?”
The room fell silent as you thought. “I like animals, so I’ve considered biology, but I’ll have to put a lot of studying into that. I’m also passionate about the current state of the world, but political science might make me more depressed about things than I already am, and I hate politicians. The arts will definitely ensure I never get a job.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Duncan smirked.
“Yeah,” you chuckled.
The session went on, concluding just at the hour mark. Although he made it quite clear he preferred to be elsewhere and you were sure half of his “notetaking” (you definitely spotted some stick figures) was a front to look like he was being productive, the session went better than you expected.
“Thanks, professor. This was alright.”
“Glad I could help,” he replied, and walked you to the door. “Despite your reservations and my lack of qualifications in therapy specifically, I am still a psychologist and definitely more qualified than say… Chang. They could always get him for the job, and he’d be terrible.”
You cringed at the idea. “No, not Chang!”
“See what I mean?” He laughed with you. “Anyway, see you next week, or not, whatever you decide to do doesn’t really matter to me.”
“Yeah, maybe. I’ll think about it. I gotta think about my assignments more though, so, see ya.”
“Bye,” he waved.
Overall, this afternoon was satisfactory. Duncan had his moments, and today was almost one of them. Later that night, after submitting a paper at 11:57pm, you booked another appointment.
“This is so weird.”
~~~
Your next appointment with Therapist Duncan was the following week, but your next class with Professor Duncan was the next day. At least you were receiving counseling, but this whole Duncan thing was so breaching the dual relationships rule. A few times in the semester you swung by office hours but your relationship with Duncan was pretty neutral. So now it felt awkward attending his class after admitting you might drop out and mentioning troubled emotions about your romantic life. And was Duncan keeping an eye on you during the lecture or were you imagining things?
He probably pities me.
And though he probably did, something about his constant attention on you made you blush. He was wearing a red checkered shirt underneath a black vest that fit him quite well. On more than one occasion you found yourself staring at him writing on the whiteboard instead of taking notes.
Something something something ‘bout a sharp-dressed man…
“Class dismissed.”
Everyone began to gather their supplies and pack up. Duncan called out to you while students filed out.
“Yeah?” you asked, approaching his desk.
“I’ve thought about what you said. Why not major in psychology? You have an aptitude for it, you did very well in the discussion we held in Week 6, and if I may be so bold: you seem to enjoy it.”
“P — professor, we’re not in session right now.” You protested, looking around. “I’m surprised you cared enough to bring this up.”
“It’s not a suggestion or advice, just an idea. There’s plenty of jobs out there that want people who know how to interact with other people, or understand them.”
“Um… Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
“Do. Or else you’ll fail therapy,” he said with a tease.
“You can’t fail therapy . Also, this isn’t therapy. This is psychology — actually, this isn’t even psychology anymore because class is over.”
“Look, I’m giving you free ideas on top of the already free sessions. I’m offering a lot here. And believe it or not, I care about my students.”
You smiled. He mirrored you with his own.
“Thanks.”
~~~
To your surprise, you felt kind of excited for your next session with Duncan.
The receptionist waved you in. You sat in the private room on the old dingy couch, waiting for the professor.
He came in and shut the door. “Let’s talk about our feelings!” he said, with a goofy flourish of his wrist. The professor approached his chair.
“Woah,” he said, tripping over one of the chair legs on his way to sit down.
You quirked an eyebrow at his silliness. “Hi, how are you today?”
“This session isn’t about me!” Duncan exclaimed. “It’s about you. I’m the therapist. How are you ?”
“Um… Fine?”
“Good,” he nodded. Duncan pulled out the clipboard and resumed his place in his notes. “Have you thought more about my proposition?”
“You mean the psychology major thing? Yeah, I have. I might do it. I’ve been really busy this week though, I haven’t thought about it extensively.”
He giggled. “Expensively?”
“ Extensively . Duncan, you’re… drunk, aren’t you?”
“That noticeable?”
You stood up again, much the same as you did during your first session.
“What the hell is wrong with you? I know I’m not paying you for these sessions but at the very least if you’re gonna get drunk you could have the decency to cancel.”
“No, I couldn’t cancel,” he slurred. “I’m supposed to be the counselor.”
“And how many counselors come to their sessions in this state? I’m leaving.” You stormed toward the door.
“Wait. Waitwaitwaitwaitwait –” he reached out.
You brushed past him. Your hand was almost at the knob of the door when you heard a thump . Jerking your head around, the sight of Duncan slumped on the ground lay before you.
“Ohhh… Woozy…” he mumbled.
The man’s head wobbled slightly as he tried to focus his balance. He used the chair as a crutch and lifted himself back to his feet, and even then he was hunched over like his face was going to divebomb the floor again.
“Stop!” you shouted.
You ran over and grabbed him, and just in time, too. His weight pressed into your shoulder but you were able to prop him up. Handling your teacher this way, you felt a little sheepish.
“Oh God, Duncan, this – this is a mess. Here, sit on the couch.”
Turning around, you half-helped, half-dropped the professor onto the couch. He groaned.
“Thank you, and I’m sorry –” he began to say.
“Do I need to call you an Uber?” You said pointedly. “You’re not fit to do anything right now and I’m scared you’ll be stupid enough to try to drive home.”
“Yeah, is probably for the best…”
You pulled out your phone and began to scroll through your apps to find a rideshare. In the background, Duncan was muttering something but you were too angry and focused on finding a ride to pay him attention. Why did they give the drunk this job?
You looked up from your phone when the ramblings began sounding repetitive. Duncan was monologuing a series of apologies.
“...and I haven’t even been counselor for that long but it’s so much pressure, but that doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to show up like this and –”
“Duncan, slow down. What are you saying?”
He stopped his tangent and took a deep breath.
“I’m a psychology professor. I’m not a therapist. Am I aware of the techniques therapists use? Yes. But being a therapist is… is… it’s so much. I’ve met with twenty different students since I’ve started doing this and it really takes a toll.”
He looked at you, you nodded for him to continue.
“The last student I saw, and for HIPAA reasons I cannot disclose… They’re going through a lot right now. Childhood trauma, financial burden, and so much more. I’m just not equipped for this. I’m really not. I want to help, but there’s only so much I can do, especially as someone who is not a therapist .”
Although he was clearly not in a right state, you couldn’t help but smile a bit. Duncan was extremely unprofessional and not equipped for this, but he cares about the students of Greendale. It was one of his few genuine qualities.
You let out a deep breath and joined Duncan on the couch.
“Hey, if counseling is taking this kind of toll on you that you’re turning to drinking, you should tell Dean Pelton that counseling services need to be put on hold until they find an actual replacement. This isn’t helping anybody.”
Duncan looked at you, then the floor, and finally nodded. “Yes, yes, you’re right. I need to figure things out. And… I’m very sorry about today.”
“It’s – I forgive you. Here, let me drive you home.”
“Really?” Duncan asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Yeah. Come on.”
It was amusing that the therapy session intended for you turned into a session for him. You wanted to make a joke, but decided against it. Duncan was in a pretty low place at the moment, but you would get him for it later.
The drive was rather quiet. Duncan seemed to be ruminating over things and sobering up. He gave you his address, which thankfully wasn’t too far of a drive from campus. You pulled your car to the curb and put it in park. However drunk or sober he might be at the moment, something compelled you to walk him to the door.
“Got all your things?” you asked.
Duncan rummaged through his pockets for keys. “Yes. Thank you for driving me. You did not have to do that.”
“Everyone has bad days, even not-therapists. I figured you needed the company.”
“Thank you,” he said. His floppy bangs hung in his face like a boy who needed a haircut. It was kind of cute.
Suddenly, the smell of alcohol and parchment filled your senses. Duncan’s arms wrapped around your body in an unexpected hug. It was a little awkward – his arms were too high and you couldn’t really hug him back properly – but sweet nonetheless.
“Okay, Duncan. I think it’s time to go home now,” you said.
He pulled away. “Sorry.”
“Give the alcohol cabinet a wide berth and go to sleep, ‘kay? See you in class tomorrow.”
Your professor nodded. He unlocked the door to his house and disappeared. Then you returned to your car and went home. Despite your words to him about getting some sleep, you had difficulty taking your own advice. Thoughts of Duncan, what he said about caring for his students, something about it you could not get off your mind. And then the hug… It was mostly awkward, but also… kind of pleasant? Had the circumstances been different, you began to fantasize about how it could have gone differently.
He was your professor and your therapist, and now he’d given you a drunken hug, and now you were thinking about the drunken hug. Yep, dual relationships – that whole thing was definitely out the window.
You hoped he was drunk enough that he would forget he hugged you at all.
~~~
The next day, Duncan came to class sober and ready to teach. Not only that, he seemed to be in high spirits. You were glad, his alcoholism was a problem and you worried he would cave after you dropped him off and come to class hungover.
Class went by smoothly. A few times, when your eyes locked, he gave you a quick smile. You hoped nobody noticed, but secretly enjoyed it.
When class concluded, again, Duncan called you to talk privately.
“Good morning, Duncan,” you said.
You readjusted the strap of your backpack awkwardly. By his disposition in class today, you really hoped that meant he didn’t remember the hug.
However, now that you were one-on-one with him, his demeanor grew serious. Please say he doesn’t remember .
“I took your advice.” Duncan began. “I spoke to the Dean. They really need me right now. Many of our students are in need of counseling, so we compromised. I’ll be the school counselor for two more weeks, and if they haven’t found someone by then, services will be paused until they do.”
“That’s great to hear, professor.”
“I can still counsel you if you need it, though I imagine you don’t want to after last night.”
Your stomach dropped. Oh, he remembers .
“I apologize for that,” Duncan said. He shuffled his feet and rubbed his arm, barely able to meet your eyes.
You gave a nervous giggle. You also found it incredibly hard to meet his gaze. His brown eyes were large and puppydog-like and they were flustering you. “I forgive you. You weren’t… in the best place. I was kind of hoping you forgot, to be honest.”
“You were? I mean – yes, me too.”
Your ears burned. “What?”
“I was saying me too. But unfortunately for both of us, I didn’t forget. Anyway, about our sessions –”
“I’m fine with us continuing. Please just cancel if you’re drunk.”
“Sorry about that, too,” he said sheepishly. Then he smiled his toothy, crooked smile. “Well, I guess I’ll see you at our next session then.”
“Yeah, see you then. Have a good day, professor.”
“Have a good day,” he said.
You turned and left the classroom, only now noticing that your hands were clammy and your heart rate elevated. His words replayed in your head: “ You were? ” You had heard him right, right? Was it wishful thinking?
Wishful thinking ?
Fuck, what was happening? He was a dorky, alcoholic psychology professor at a community college. Your respect for him was questionable at best.
Maybe you should have canceled.
~~~
Luckily, your next session with Duncan started off on a good foot, namely because he was sober. This was good because twenty minutes into the session, you were crying on the couch.
Duncan handed you a box of tissues. You thanked him, blowing your nose and wiping your tears away.
“I’m sorry you went through that,” Duncan said seriously.
“Thank you,” you sniffled. “It just reminds me of a very dark time in my life.”
You thought you were returning to baseline, but then the tears overwhelmed you and you were crying again.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Duncan said. “Do you need a hug?”
The image of Duncan hugging you the other day came to mind. You probably shouldn’t, given your now very complicated emotions around him, but a hug sounded really nice right now. With the tissue you wiped your face again. You nodded.
The professor rose from his seat. The cushion beside you dipped, and Duncan wrapped an arm around your shoulder in a side hug. He squeezed lightly. You leaned your weight into him and the two of you sat there for a time in silence as you gathered yourself. Pressed against his vest, he was warm and comforting. Instead of alcohol stinking your senses, a light whiff of his cologne did instead – it was nice. You wondered if he normally wore cologne or if it was light enough that you never noticed.
Butterflies fluttered in your stomach again. You wondered what he was thinking, and if he was thinking the same things. Did you feel nice to embrace? Smell nice to him? Was he stuck in awkward limbo between pulling away or doing something more? Because you were. It was so not appropriate and potentially deleterious to his career.
“How do you feel?” he spoke after some time.
“Better. Thank you.”
It should have been his cue to return to his seat. He didn’t.
You looked at Duncan for the first time since he sat beside you. He was slightly taller. He peered down at you from his nose, those big, brown eyes boring into yours. The air in the room could be cut with a knife.
“Professor?”
“Yes?” The way he said your name caused your tummy to do somersaults.
You fumbled for your words, but it didn’t matter, because the next thing you knew – Duncan’s lips were on yours.
His nose made the kiss a little lopsided, but that was more than okay because it was Duncan . He was awkward, dorky, and something about his awkwardness was incredibly endearing to you. You breathed in and his cologne assaulted your senses again, causing the hairs on your arms to stand up.
The kiss was probably no more than three seconds but for all you knew it could have been a lifetime. He broke off the kiss and now the two of you were looking at one another… neither knowing what to do.
“I – I’m sorry,” the professor said. “I just apologized to you about the hug, and now I’ve just gone and done this, um…”
“No, it’s okay. I liked kissing you.”
“You did?”
You nodded your head, pressing your lips together, trying to contain the nervous giggle that was bubbling up inside you.
“Oh, good,” he agreed awkwardly.
“Can we do it again?” you asked.
“Kiss?”
Okay, now he was just being stupid. “Yes, Duncan.”
“I’d like that,” he said.
This time you kissed him. Placing a hand around his neck, you threaded your fingertips through his dark hair. In response to your touch, he let out a sound of satisfaction. His lips were surprisingly soft. A fire within you alighted when he pulled you closer, placing his own hand on your back. You liked being close to him much more than you should.
The two of you broke away again. Wetness caused his lips to have a shine to them, like an invitation for one more.
“I don’t regret the hug, by the way,” you said. “When I said I wanted you to forget it was because I thought it was an awkward drunk hug thing, not an I-like-you thing.”
“Admittedly, it was a little of both. But I’m glad to hear it,” Duncan replied.
“And I don’t know a lot about therapy, but I’m pretty sure therapists and their clients aren’t supposed to make out.”
“There’s a lot of things happening here that therapists shouldn’t be doing. And speaking of, and I hate to say this: our time is almost up. I have a class after this.”
“Oh,” you said, crestfallen.
He cleared his throat. “I’m off at 5:30 this evening. Would you… like to have dinner with me tonight?”
You smiled. “I would.”