Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Professor Nygma was an interesting character to say the least. Abby had only been in his class for a few days, but she could say with certainty that he was far more eccentric than any of her high school teachers had been. For starters, all of his suits were green. He seemed to rotate through the shades as the week progressed, shifting from shades that were almost eyesores to ones so dark they almost passed for black. This alone wasn’t much; after all, who didn’t have a favourite colour? However his bizarre fashion choices didn’t stop there. His ties and pocket squares were always a brilliant purple or a softer pink, matching the leather driving gloves he wore, and he wielded a cane with a gilt tip, often using it to gesture extravagantly. This, alongside his flaming red hair, the bowler hat he occasionally donned and his question mark cufflinks and earrings, made for a striking appearance. Comparatively, his facial features were not very noteworthy: crystalline blue eyes, pale skin that looked as though it should be freckled but was not, a sharp nose which, to a discerning eye, seemed to have been broken and reset at least a few times, thin pink lips that rarely stayed shut, perfectly sculpted eyebrows that he raised whenever someone asked a particularly stupid question, and a soft jawline that, combined with his talkative nature, made him appear deceptively approachable.

Initially, Abby had been sceptical about taking his class as, never one to jump into something without doing her due diligence, she had gone and read every single review of him on RateMyProfessor. Opinions were mixed. Many students found his class insanely difficult and his office hours borderline incomprehensible, while others considered him engaging and the course content fascinating. She cross referenced these reviews with the grades achieved by the reviewers and found that positive reviews coincided almost completely with higher grades. Having been at the top of her class in high school, she had decided to take the risk, confident that she could handle anything the professor could throw at her.

Her first class with him was a whirlwind: he had walked in exactly on time, in his peculiar getup, and had strode across to the blackboard, not saying a word as he wrote his full name on the board in a flurry of chalk dust. This silence was broken swiftly, and wouldn’t return for some time.

“Good morning students. My name is Edward Nygma,” he gestured to the board, “but you may call me…” another cloud of chalk dust, “Mr. E” He ran a hand over his carefully coiffed hair as he spoke, “I have three doctorates in math, computer science, and art history. I love questions, so long as they’re not completely stupid. There will be pop quizzes and everything and anything could be on the final exam. My office hours are on the syllabus which I will hand out momentarily.”

Abby looked down at the pamphlet that had been handed out. It contained a list of topics they would be covering, the percentages of their grade that each exam and pop quiz was worth, and a link to a website, under which was a riddle and a set of numbers. Upon seeing this, a boy from the third row raised his hand.

“Yes?” Professor Nygma intoned (it felt weird to call him Mr, even in her own head, knowing that he had three doctorates.)

“This is a riddle.”

“That’s not a question.”

“Oh, uh… Why is there a riddle here?”

“Why, to help you access my office hours of course. Now, if there are no more questions, we shall proceed with the lecture.” Without missing a beat he began his spiel, leaving Abby and the rest of the class to scramble to grab their laptops and notebooks and begin their notetaking. If his office hours were this obscured, they would have to make sure they didn’t need them. It was almost impossible to keep up as Professor Nygma spoke, one hand gesturing flamboyantly with his cane, the other making his own notes on the chalkboard, a borderline incomprehensible mess of words and numbers. By the end of the class, an hour later, Abby felt as though someone had put her brain through a mangle. Trying to keep track of everything Professor Nygma had said was proving difficult and she suspected that a significant portion of her free time was going to be spent going over the content until it stuck. Still, she couldn’t deny that the lecture had been engaging. Professor Nygma had a clear flair for the dramatic and, though it was clear he loved the sound of his own voice, it was understandable: he spoke in crisply enunciated syllables that rolled off his tongue pleasingly, and he never passed up the opportunity to drop in a pun or some form of wordplay. Talking around with some of the other students revealed that most felt the same way. Apparently he was pretty universally liked within the university, aside from a few disgruntled students he had failed.

Her next class with him came the very next day and this time it was a three hour long lecture to prepare them for a workshop the next day. Engaging speech be damned, half the class was struggling to focus after they passed the halfway point and it became clear that they weren’t going to be getting a break. Abby was considering becoming ambidextrous so that she could keep up with the ridiculous pace of notetaking when the student behind her leaned over her shoulder and whispered in her ear, making her jump.

“Ask about his husband.” The voice said.

“What?”

“His husband. My sister took his class last year; he loves to talk about the guy and it gives everyone a break.”

“Why can’t you do it?”

“Because –

“Is there something you two would like to share with the class?”

Abby immediately snapped to face forward, feeling all eyes on her, “No, uh we were just – I was wondering how your husband was doing.” She said, wishing she could slap the guy behind her, or that he could just shoot her in the back of the head. The professor’s face was impassable and she winced as she waited to see what he was going to do. To her immense surprise, instead of kicking her out of the class, calling her a world-class moron, or assigning her 3000 words on the importance of paying attention, as she had heard another professor did, his face lit up and the lecture stopped in its tracks as he began to talk about his husband and what they had done that weekend. The guy behind her clapped her on the shoulder and she breathed out, stretching her hands and letting the wonderful, non-academic words wash over her.

Soon though, like with his lectures, she found herself utterly engaged with his borderline gushing over his husband. It was honestly pretty sweet – Abby had always figured that over time love would die or at least sour to some degree, but when she asked how long he and his husband had been together, feeling emboldened by how excited he was about the topic, his answer was, “Nine years, six months, and four days.”

“Holy specificity.” The guy behind her whispered. She would have to learn his name at some point. Listening to the professor’s elaborate description of the play his husband had taken him to see (“He got us the best seats in the house!”), Abby has never felt more single. If what he’s saying is to be believed, her professor is married to the most sweet, doting man alive. He kept on like this for the rest of the class, and she left feeling oddly optimistic about her love life – if someone as strange as Professor Nygma could find the one, maybe hope wasn’t totally lost for her. She turned to the guy who had sat behind her and said, “We should do that every class – I’ve never known someone so totally head over heels.”

“Right? I thought my sister was exaggerating. Still, we can’t do it too often. He may look a little crazy but he’s pretty sharp – he’d catch on quick.”

“Makes sense. His husband sounds like a great guy, doesn’t he?”

“From what he says, you’d think his husband was a God.” He goes to leave, before catching himself and turning back, “Oh and don’t try the same trick with Professor Crane – you have him for Psychology right?” She nodded. “He’s got a husband too but unlike Mr E, he’s a grumpy son of a bitch who doesn’t believe personal matters should mix with professional – if you ask about his husband, he’ll totally bite your head off. There’s one student every year who tries it and Crane likes to make examples out of people.”

“Damn, thanks for the heads up.” She was pretty sure she had seen Professor Crane around campus. At least, she had seen a man matching the description of a “grumpy son of a bitch”, and she certainly didn’t want to get on his bad side.

 As it happened, she had her first lecture with Professor Crane the very next day, and he certainly fit the description Parker (she finally had gotten his name) had given her. He was a tall thin man, with hard lines in his face and hair that was threaded with gray strands. His brown eyes were sharp behind his glasses and when the light hit them just right, they flashed an unnerving orange. His mouth was set in a permanent look of disdain and his skin was scarred in several places. He wore a beige suit jacket over a plaid shirt and a bolo tie and though it was all perfectly ironed, he had the distinct air of someone who didn’t care for his appearance, as though he were just a coat hanger the clothes had been draped over.

When she entered the lecture hall, he had already been at his desk, poring over a battered copy of Ulysses. His name was already on the chalkboard in small neat letters and he didn’t look up until the clock struck one and class officially began, at which point he dogeared the page of his book and slowly sauntered up to the lectern to begin. He spoke with a warm southern accent that did nothing to hide the mild disdain he appeared to harbour for his students. He had a clear love for his subject and as an academic, Parker told her, was outstanding in his field, but unlike Professor Nygma, he didn’t seem to relish the idea of an audience and was noticeably curt with them. He refused entrance to a few frazzled latecomers, levelling them with a hard glare that could strike fear in the hearts of even the most stoic of people. He used this glare liberally and, despite this, it never seemed to lose its efficacy. He used it on anyone who dared to yawn, or cough, or sneeze, and even occasionally, on students who raised their hands at inopportune times.

His reviews on RateMyProfessor were not great. Most of them lamented that his lectures were dry and his tests hard, and, unlike Professor Nygma, he had few quirky eccentricities to endear him among the student body. If rumours were to be believed, he was not well liked by the faculty either. Frankly, Abby was shocked that he had a husband at all, given how universally despised he seemed to be. She herself wouldn’t have taken his course, except she needed the credits and the only other psychology professor had retired the week before she had arrived. So here she was, half listening to him go on about the psychology of fear – it seemed a particular fixation of his and he frequently went off on tangents about it – and half waiting for it to be over so that she could leave. The content was interesting, certainly, but the overall atmosphere that Professor Crane managed to create, whether intentionally or unintentionally, was hostile and even when he wasn’t glaring at her for some imperceptible slight, she still felt slightly scared. Parker seemed to share this fear, if the way he was white knuckling his fountain pen was anything to go off of.

It was as she was thinking this, a voice piped up from the back of the class.

“What’s your husband like Professor?”

Professor Crane stopped in his lecturing and narrowed his eyes. “Raise your hand if you have a question.” A hand tentatively rose, its owner hidden behind another, taller, student at the very back of the room.

“A question unrelated to my personal life.” He said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. The hand stayed up. “Yes?”

“What’s your husband like?”

The professor glared at him and spoke in weary tones, “He’s a manipulative bastard and I love him very much. Now, what’s your name child?”

“I’d rather not say.” The voice said, still hiding.

The professor smirked slightly, the most positive emotion anyone there had ever seen him display. “I will personally fail anyone shielding this student from view.” Immediately, the students in front of him parted, revealing the offender.

“There you are. Now, your name”

The student trembled slightly as he spoke, “Samuel Brown, sir.”

“Well Samuel, for disrupting the class and wasting my time, I’ll be expecting a 3500 word essay on the effects of fear on the body. Anything less than an A, and you fail the course automatically.”

“Yes sir.” The student stammered

Professor Crane continued his class from there, and Abby thanked God that Parker had warned her to steer clear of the husband approach. The harsh consequences didn’t stop anyone from speculating on his husband outside of class though, with far greater intrigue than anyone ever discussed Professor Nygma’s husband. After all, Professor Nygma was an open book; there was little point speculating on anything when they could just go up and ask him. You could ask him anything, so long as you had enough time on your hands and didn’t mind the occasional implication that you were of subnormal intelligence, so while no one had actually seen his husband, it was well known that he had “the most gorgeous eyes in the universe – well, second only to mine of course” and was “as tall as a tree but far handsomer.” The students would leave these conversations with a newfound knowledge on whatever topic they had originally asked about and a cavity from how sweet Professor Nygma got when they subtly directed the conversation to his husband.

Professor Crane on the other hand had not uttered a word on his husband since the first class, and no one could ask him about it without risking failure. And so, rumours abounded. Some believed that it was a loveless marriage, after all, how could anyone possibly tolerate that man long enough to marry him. He had said that he loved his husband but that could have just been a cover. Others argued that he must be married to someone with significant mental problems, though these claims were less serious in nature and more malicious. The primary conclusion people drew was that he was dating someone who was just as much of an asshole as he was. Like attracts like, after all.

Abby rarely engaged in the speculation, at least, not with random classmates. She and Parker had taken to studying together to ensure that they both actually passed and frequently discussed their theories once they were fed up with their work. They never managed to land on anything more solid than Professor’s Crane’s husband being some twisted misanthrope who was just as cold and sour as he was.

Chapter Text

Weeks passed with no more word from Professor Crane on his husband, and everyone was dying to ask about him, but the intensity of their courseload meant that few could afford to waste time speculating when they could be studying. Abby herself had just barely scraped through the last pop quiz, but she wasn’t too bothered. After all, she only really needed to pass Professor Crane’s class, not excel. So she concentrated most of her energy on Professor Nygma’s class and, as such, was able to spend more time than most discussing Professor Crane’s husband. She still kept up her study sessions with Parker, though he was more focussed than her on the actual studying part. Only slightly though, the both of them enjoying gossip and speculation over equations and essays.

It was at the end of one of these sessions that Parker had had enough of not knowing. “It’s driving me crazy.” He declared, throwing his pen across the room and running a hand through his hair. “If we don’t do something, we’re going to graduate without ever learning how the hell a guy like Crane convinced someone to marry him.”

“You just wanna know so you can use the tricks yourself,” Abby joked, “trouble on the dating scene.” He scoffed, “You wish. I’m a stone-cold stud – I’m doing just fine. I just can’t get it out of my mind. Someone agreed to marry him.”

Abby hummed. It did seem unbelievable, and it wasn’t like she had anything better to do: she’d finished the reading for all of her classes and had studied the content for Professor Nygma’s class until her brain felt fuzzy. “Alright then, what’s the plan?”

“What makes you think I have a plan?” She gave Parker a look. He rarely brought up topics that he hadn’t intensely thought over first. If he asked her opinion on anything, it was something he had already thought hard on, wanting to see if her opinion aligned with his.

“Alright, so I have a plan.” Abby nodded and that was all the go ahead Parker needed to start. “Right so what you’re gonna do –

“me?”

“Yeah, you. What you’re gonna do is go down to Crane’s office tomorrow during his office hours -

“Seriously? His hours are so early though. I swear he does that to keep people from using them.”

“Probably. So, you go down there during them and tell him you’re struggling in his class. He’ll believe you because you’re so close to failing.”

“Hey!” She found it particularly brilliant that she had figured out the exact minimum amount of effort required to pass.

“Sorry, sorry. He’ll believe you because you have a perfect C average.” Abby nodded. That was better. It took effort to be average; not nearly as much effort as it took to be good, otherwise she’d be doing that instead, but it still took effort.

“Anyway, you go and tell him that you’re struggling because you’re having boyfriend trouble – the way he responds may tell us more about how he actually is in a relationship, and if we’re lucky, he’ll mention his husband outright.”

“I can’t do that!” Abby exclaimed, mortified, “It’s embarrassing – plus he’ll just kick me out. He’s a professor, not a therapist.”

Parker shook his head, “No I swear it could work! You go in and say that you’re confused about the latest class and that you’d usually discuss it with your handsome boyfriend,” he gestured to himself, and Abby had to hold back her laughter, “but you’ve tragically broken up – look a little sad about it – can you cry on cue?”

Abby couldn’t take this seriously, “Do you really think a display of emotion is going to sway him? The man’s an emotional brick wall.”

“It’s worth a shot. I mean, he’s a psychologist after all; maybe he’ll want to pick your brain. Anyway, it’s not like it can hurt.”

She considered it. He made some good points. She sighed; there was no way she wouldn’t regret this, “Alright, but do you really have to be my fake boyfriend?”

“Fake ex-boyfriend.” He corrected. “Fake ex-boyfriend then.”

“Well, who would you prefer?” he asked in a mock-offended tone, “Who could be better than me?”

Abby pretended to think, “Is your sister available?”

“You are not dating my sister.” He deadpanned.

“Well, how else am I going to break up with her?”

“Ugh, fine, but I don’t know why you’d want to when you have access to the superior sibling right here”

“I’m breaking up with her so that I can date you, duh.” She couldn’t stop the giggles as she spoke. This whole situation was so ridiculous.

“This is going to make family reunions very awkward.” Parker declared, shaking his head.

“I could always make it more awkward.”

“How?”

“First your mom, then your dad, then the uncles, aunts and extended family.”

“Oh my god. I surrender. You can fake date and break up with my sister, just leave the rest of my family alone.”

“Sweet.”

 And that brought an end to their very productive study session.

The next morning, Abby made her way to the Professor Crane’s office. She would be shaking like a leaf were it not for the fact that she was dead on her feet. Professor Crane’s insistence on the earliest possible office hours would be the death of her. Even the two cups of coffee and a RedBull hadn’t managed to take the edge off her exhaustion. She trudged her way to the office and, perhaps because she was so tired, opened the door to Professor Crane’s office without knocking.

Her mouth fell open as she took in the scene before her. Professor Crane was sat at his desk, exactly as she had expected him to be. His office fell neatly into her expectations as well, with various papers and books messily strewn across every surface. What she hadn’t expected, what felt totally incongruous to the setting, was Professor Nygma.

Specifically, Professor Nygma with his manicured hands resting loosely on Professor Crane’s shoulders, as he straddled him in his desk chair, his face mere inches away from Professor Crane’s.

“Oh my god.” The words came out without her permission, and the pair swivelled to face her. Professor Crane looked decidedly flustered, which would be funny at any other time. Professor Nygma on the other hand seemed irritated and, other than turning to face the intruder, remained in place in spite of Professor Crane’s attempt to move him away.

“God, doesn’t anyone knock anymore?” He asked, his usually pleasant facial features twisted in annoyance. His irritation became more pronounced as Professor Crane finally succeeded in separating the pair of them, though he stayed close to his side.

Ignoring the other man, Professor Crane adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat and spoke, “Abigail, was it? I apologize that you had to see that.” He turned to face Professor Nygma, “He was just leaving.”

“Like hell I was!” he exclaimed, sounding to Abby’s ears, uncommonly frustrated and seemingly unable to determine whether to direct his glare at her or at Professor Crane. Professor Crane sighed and, clearly deciding that dealing with Professor Nygma wasn’t worth the effort, turned back to face Abby.

“You had a question, I presume?”

All tact and subtlety left her body as her sleep addled brain caught up with the scene that had just unfolded before her and, before she knew what she was saying, she blurted out, “You’re having an affair?!”

She couldn’t believe it. Well, perhaps from a severe and sadistic man such as Professor Crane whose marriage no one could believe could possibly be happy, but Professor Nygma? The man who gushed about his husband every chance he got, who seemed to love him with every fibre of his being, who wouldn’t stop talking about how wonderful and handsome and intelligent his other half was. She couldn’t fathom that he would ever cheat, especially not with someone as jaded and snide as Professor Crane. If it weren’t for the evidence right before her, she wouldn’t believe it.

Unexpectedly, the pair, instead of looking shameful or getting defensive, went totally silent for a beat before falling into raucous laughter. Professor Nygma’s laugh was as loud and carrying as he was, and he removed his glasses to wipe at the tears forming as he leaned against Professor Crane. The gesture felt immensely overfamiliar to Abby, and she took a step back.  “Oh, this is too good.” He cried. She felt offended on behalf of his husband, “That’s your response to me finding out you’re cheating on your husband? He clearly adores you, and this is how you repay him?”

Professor Crane’s laughter on the other hand was shockingly sharp, more of a cackle than real laughter and seemed utterly ridiculous coming from the usually stern man. Through his laughing fit, he gave the other professor a strange look.

Her eyes darted from one to the other, getting the distinct feeling that she was on the outside of an inside joke. Luckily for her, Professor Crane recovered from his spell of laughter and spoke between sharp intakes of breath.

 “Child, Edward here is my husband.”

“What?” Of all the things he could have said, this made the least sense. Professor Nygma, Edward as Professor Crane called him, the loud and charismatic man who somehow made every lecture into a show, married to Professor Crane? It just didn’t seem possible.

“No – but – he…” she stammered, “But the way he talks about his husband – there’s no way you’re that nice, and you hardly ever talk about yours except to call him a mean bastard.” Professor Nygma sobered up at that, his laughter finally abating, as he turned to Professor Crane and placed a hand to his chest in mock offense, “You call me that? I cannot believe you. That’s it, I’m divorcing you, we’re divorced – good luck finding anyone as intelligent and good looking as me.” Professor Crane just smiled fondly at him, and his southern accent appeared to get slightly more prominent as he spoke.

“We both know it’s an apt nickname, sweetheart.”

“I suppose…” he acquiesced, “moody old bastard.” They both chuckled at this, and the sight was sickeningly domestic. Abby felt like she had just been punched in the gut. The two men were clearly disgustingly in love, and she didn’t understand how she had ever doubted it.

She stammered her apologies, promising the pair that she wouldn’t tell anyone else. Professor Nygma looked confused at that and told her, “Tell away; I was under the impression that anyone with half a brain already knew.” It was Abby’s turn to be confused now, “How would we? Professor Crane doesn’t really like to talk about you…” She trailed off, not knowing if that was the right thing to say.

Thankfully, Professor Nygma didn’t seem upset by this news, “Oh yes, Jonathan’s always been adamant about “professionalism” and “not bringing personal matters into work”. I have no such qualms.” Abby nodded. That certainly rang true.

“How did you two meet then, if you don’t mind my asking. You just seem so different.”

Professor Crane didn’t seem like he was going to break his rules regarding professionalism, but luckily Professor Nygma, who loved the sound of his own voice, was more than happy to oblige.

“I was his student years ago, young, impressionable, naïve. He was the older, gruff professor, pursuing me for –

“You make it sound so scandalous.” Professor Crane cut in. Abby agreed with him; Professor Nygma’s flair for the dramatic was playing up and he pouted as his counterpart took over, not wanting his student, however mediocre her work was, to get the wrong idea. “He was on his second degree, and I was a new professor. I was the youngest person in the history of this university to get my Phd so I’m only three years his senior.”

“Really?” She asked, looking at him closely. She turned to Professor Nygma, “But he looks so…”

“Old?” He finished her sentence for her, “Yeah, well it’s premature. Still, I quite like it.” He confessed, running a hand through his husband’s grey streaked hair, “It’s like I preordered my very own silver fox.”

“Quiet, you.” Professor Crane reprimanded him, but he didn’t remove his hand from his hair. “Besides, you’d look closer to my age if you weren’t always dying your hair.”

“Yeah,” Professor Nygma seemed almost like he was about to agree, when a mischievous smirk overtook his features, “but I’d still have fewer wrinkles; some of us like to take care of our skin”

“Oh yes,” Professor Crane snorted, “with your fancy little skincare routine that takes hours. And these wrinkles are stress induced from having to deal with you”

“From having the privilege to deal with me.” He corrected.

“So you admit you’re something to be dealt with.”

“By you, yes. Such a pity that I fell head over heels for a man so uncaring. You know there are thousands of people out there who would kill for a piece of this.”

“Yeah, until you opened your mouth.”

Professor Nygma pouted, an expression Abby thought would look out of place on most adults but somehow seemed to suit him.

“I thought you liked my voice.” He sounded almost upset now and Professor Crane seemed to realise this, sighing before he spoke, “’Course I do. It’s just like you say: people are idiots.”

The smug look that so often took residence on professor Nygma’s face returned, “I do say that, don’t I?”

The two shared a soft look and Abby took that as her cue to leave. Even knowing that they were married, it still felt weird to see her professor’s kiss.

Besides, she had news to share with Parker, and everyone else in the school.

Chapter Text

That night, Edward and Jonathan lay in their bed, under the silk sheets that Edward had insisted upon, and Jonthan pretended not to love. Edward had his head resting on his husband’s chest, a position which logically should not have been comfortable at all; no matter how much Edward tried to feed him, the man couldn’t help but miss meals resulting in a rather bony physique. Still, it was his favourite place to lay his head, with the steady pulse of his heartbeat soothing him.

Presently, Jonathan was reading, holding his book loosely with his right hand and using his left to stroke Edward’s hair, relishing the satisfied grin it brought upon the other man’s face. Unfortunately though, that smile was absent tonight and no amount of hair stroking would bring it back, because right now Edward was in one of his ranting moods.

“It’s ridiculous,” he proclaimed, “absolutely ridiculous!” Jonathan rested his book upon the bedside table, accepting the fact that he wouldn’t be getting anywhere with it tonight.

“I know dear, I know.” He said, failing to hide his weariness. He supposed he should have expected this particular outburst. The news of their marriage had spread across the campus like wildfire, and their lectures had been plagued with questions on topics ranging from impolite to downright scandalous. Jonathan himself had blushed redder than he had previously thought possible and couldn’t remember how many new essays he had assigned. Apparently, their relationship had somehow also managed to elude their fellow professors as well, and the pair had been subject to far more congratulations and confused questioning than they would have liked.

“I mean, I’d understand if your students missed it, but I expect more from mine.”

Jonathan hummed and decided that he’d let that little slight against his students slide, instead pulling Edward closer to him and continuing to stroke his hair in the hope that he might fall asleep.

He had no such luck.

“I thought they knew!” he declared again, seeming genuinely confused that not everyone had his deductive abilities, “I mean, I visit your office every day – we drive there and back in the same car – our rings match – I call you dear!” He emphasized that last point particularly, slapping his hand down for emphasis on Jonathan’s chest. Jonathan winced slightly, more out of not expecting the feeling than of being in any real pain, and Edward silently pressed his lips to the spot he had hit in apology.

For a moment, Jonathan almost thought the night was going to go in a totally different direction as Edward seemed momentarily distracted, kissing at Jonathan’s narrow chest almost reverently and seeming as though he were about to move to his neck. Jonathan let his head fall back, humming slightly at how pleasurable the feeling was. All too quickly the feeling left though, leaving Jonathan with just the light warmth of Edward’s breath on him.

“You can’t stop thinking about it can you?” He knew the answer.

“She thought I was cheating.” Edward lamented in lieu of a proper reply. Jonathan planted a soft kiss to his crown and put on his best Reassuring-my-insecure-husband voice, “I wouldn’t put much stock in it darling. She’s practically failing my class.”

Edward didn’t respond, instead cuddling closer, as though he were trying to burrow his way into Jonathan’s skin. It was actually pretty endearing, Jonathan thought, he was usually someone who inspired fear or at the very least unease in others, so Edward considering him a comforting figure never failed to make him feel disgustingly warm and mushy inside.

“C’mon,” he intoned, his voice rumbling in the quiet of the room. It was always strange when a room with Edward inside it became quiet. “What happened to not caring about lesser minds?”

Edward sniffed and put on an affectation of confidence. He was well practised at this, and Jonathan was one of the only people who could tell when his arrogance was artificial versus when it was just him being his charming self.

“I suppose you’re right.” Jonathan grinned at that, “I can’t believe I almost let what that little ignoramus though concern me.”

“There he is.” Jonathan said, letting his hand fall to cup Edward’s face, “For a second, I almost didn’t recognise you,

Edward gave him a weak glare that they both knew he didn’t mean and set his head back in its proper place on Jonathan’s chest, feeling the enticing call of sleep pull him in.

“In a world full of idiots,” he said through a loud yawn, “I’m glad I have you by my side.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Jonathan responded, relaxing into the mattress as he felt the soft rumble of Edward’s light snoring lull him to sleep.