Chapter Text
September, 2005
It was Curt Mega's first class of the semester, and he was already checked out.
Cursing himself for the mistake of scheduling Political Science as early as possible to “start fresh,” he slumped in his chair and buried his chin in his arms. Wasn't college supposed to be fun? He'd spent the past year looking forward to the stuff he'd seen in movies, sorority girls notwithstanding, but here he was. Staring blankly at the wall, taking nothing, in and for the first time in his life trying not to draw attention.
Thankfully, it seemed to be working. Professor Houston didn't spare a glance at him as she passed his desk, his reticence making him blend right into the background. Instead, she strode towards someone a few seats away and hissed what sounded like a violent threat. Curt made a mental note not to make any extended eye contact with this woman, and bore his eyes deeper into the wall.
There was a small dent in it, barely noticeable. Curt stared at it. Maybe Professor Houston had punched it into the wall in a rage one day. Even worse, maybe she'd shoved some poor kid into it who'd dared to answer a question wrong. Maybe she was a former wrestler, and she used her moves on students who crossed her. Maybe she could teach Curt those moves, like an ill-tempered brunette Mr Miyagi. Maybe–
“Mister Mega.”
Shit.
Curt scrambled to look like he'd been paying attention, giving Professor Houston a convincingly bright-eyed smile. “Yes, professor?”
She smiled back at him sweetly, and he relaxed a little. Maybe she'd give him a chance. “Would you care to tell me exactly what concept I just introduced you all to, or are you going to sit there with your thumb up your ass until someone else does?”
Curt stared at her, mind blank. Surely she wasn't supposed to talk to students like that, even if they were a little lacking in the focus department. “Uh,” he said, in an attempt to fill time.
Houston's face was stony. “That answers my question.” Slowly, menacingly, her high heels clicked towards his desk. “Mister Mega. If you're going to take my class, you need to understand this. You are going to kindly refrain from being a lackadaisical little fuckwad, and you're going to listen to what I am fucking teaching you. Do you follow me?”
Shocked into silence, Curt nodded, and Houston gave him one last withering look before turning on her heel and striding away. Quiet giggles bubbled up around the classroom, including from the guy sitting next to Curt, and he felt his face warm up. Shooting his seat neighbour a quick glare, Curt turned his attention to the professor and tried his best to focus. He could salvage the rest of this class.
Time passed even slower now that he was actually listening to the professor, and Curt fidgeted in his seat. He glanced at the clock. Just five more minutes, then he could escape to his dorm and talk to the only person at this school who didn't think he was a huge idiot. Well, maybe she did, but at least Barb was nice about it.
Curt was pulled out of his thoughts by a quiet snap and an even quieter “Oh, shit,” next to him. He looked properly at the guy next to him for the first time; the guy who was staring down at his broken pencil lead with what looked like genuine sorrow, like he had raised it from a sapling and was truly and utterly devastated at its fate. Curt vaguely wondered why the guy didn't have a sharpener if he cared so much about pencils, but it was cute.
He was cute – a little taller and thinner than Curt, with longish dark hair gelled back from his forehead. His eyes were dark too, Curt noticed, when they met his own. And shiny. With long lashes. Sort of Disney-princess doe eyes, the kind that reminded Curt of a puppy, or a baby cow. What? These weren't useful observations, especially not when Curt was trying to prove to his professor he had an attention span.
With some effort, he tore his eyes away from the guy's completely unremarkable gaze. He wasn't anything special, Curt just hadn't met enough people at this college yet. Why was he even looking at him in the first place?
“Could I borrow a pencil?” he asked softly, and oh god, he had an English accent. Curt was in trouble.
He managed an acceptably heterosexual “Sure, dude,” and passed the guy a spare pencil, which was met with polite thanks and a gracious and slightly crooked smile. God, he was kind of cute– no. Focus. Curt wasn't going to pass this class fawning over some stupid British guy whose name he didn't know.
Besides, he wasn't about to make the mistake of chasing after every guy he saw. College was for playing the field, not latching onto the first semi-hot schmuck who batted his eyelashes at him and for some reason didn't own a pencil sharpener. Curt Mega was not that easy. Anyway, the guy was probably straight.
Clearing his throat, Curt turned his attention back to Professor Houston, eager to focus on something other than the stupidly intriguing guy sitting next to him. He still made a mental note to say a casual hi to him at the end of class, though. It wouldn't hurt to establish a rapport. Plus, it might prove that Curt was actually cool after the incident with Professor Houston.
He was jolted out of his daydream by the sound of the bell ringing, and students began to stand up from their chairs and file out of the classroom. Hot British Guy joined them alarmingly fast, slipping out of Curt's reach and weaving through people like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Over the chatter, Curt could hear the professor saying something about reading a certain chapter in the textbook, which may have included an addendum about someone's face and a stapler. That was probably nothing. What mattered was that Hot British Guy was perilously close to disappearing from Curt's view among the gaggle of people.
Trying not to barge into anyone, Curt tried his best to catch up to him. Why did he have to walk so goddamn fast? Curt had had the perfect opportunity to start a conversation and he was about to miss it. This guy, with his sexy accent and what looked like a vintage leather jacket, definitely seemed cool. Making friends with him could be Curt's way into the most prestigious cliques in this college (assuming there were cliques in college; there had to be, right?). Even if the guy was straight, Curt was not about to pass up the opportunity to do some serious social climbing. And, if he wasn't, maybe Curt could get his number out of this too.
Weaving deftly through the crowd (bumping into several people and mumbling at least eight "sorry"s), Curt craned his neck to look for Hot Brit. It was no use, though; he had disappeared into the corridor in a flash of leather and what smelled vaguely like vanilla.
Damn it. It looked like Curt had some spying to do.