#zsyree

           Allura was logging into the classroom’s computer when she heard a polite, “Excuse me?” from behind her.

           She turned towards the smoothly masculine voice and smiled pleasantly even as her stomach flopped. Standing before her was a handsome young man, her age or maybe a little older, with a shock of white hair, a scar across his nose (just under warm, dark eyes), and an easygoing smile. Broad shoulders and chest… she made herself stop and look him in the eye. Remain professional, she chided herself. Aside from the black turtleneck he was wearing, he looked like a military recruitment poster come to life.

           “You’re Professor Smythe?”

           Her smile widened a little at how surprised he sounded. “I am Ms. Fala,” she corrected. “I’m one of Professor Smythe’s grad students. I’m teaching this section. Can I help you?”

           His gaze had been drifting a bit south and he cleared his throat and straightened up again. Well, at least I’m not the only one who likes what they see. “I’m Takashi Shirogane. I was told to give you this when I arrived.” He held out a piece of paper and when she looked down to take it, she realized almost immediately what it was. Not because of the paper, which was neatly folded in half, but because where his right hand should have been was a jet black mechanical prosthetic.

           She accepted the paper and unfolded it and, sure enough, it was a notice of need for accommodation. She read it and nodded. “All in order. Do you need this back?”

           “Yes, please. I have to show it to all my teachers.” She handed it back to him and he thanked her quietly as he tucked it back into his jeans pocket.

           “What sort of accommodation do you require?”

           “Not much. I just need to sit front and center with my laptop and mic. It’s not a big setup; it shouldn’t be in anyone else’s way. I can use a mouse pretty well but I can’t really type fast enough to keep up, so I’ve got a speech-to-text program set up to take notes on what you say. I also have a notebook for jotting things down the old-fashioned way, but I’m still getting used to the new hand, and I want to make sure I don’t miss anything important.”

           She nodded and gestured to the still empty front row. “I would suggest sitting here, actually, rather than in the center. I spend most of my time at the computer podium or very near it. Also, I do upload my PowerPoints at the end of each class, so you can access those online.”

           His smile widened. “Great, thank you. That’s a big help.”

           “Do you need a plug? There are several free ones on the podium.”

           “Oh, I’ve got plenty of charge, but if it’s not too much of a bother…”

           “No bother at all, Mr. Shirogane.”

           “My friends all call me Shiro.”

           She cleared her throat. “Get your things set up, Mr. Shirogane,” she said pleasantly. Unfortunately, you’re a student, so you’re going to have to stay “Mr. Shirogane.” That was a disappointment, but hey, at least she’d have a nice view during class. STOP THAT. Stop objectifying one of your students. “There’s a plug right here you can use,” she said, indicating one on the back of the podium.

           “Thank you, Ms. Fala.” And he went to his seat, already slinging his backpack off to get it open.

           She resumed setting up her “first day of class” slides and tried to keep her thoughts professional and on the topic of Comparative Politics.

           The first class was standard and boring – talking about the curriculum, where to find the syllabus and PowerPoints online, her grading scale, etc. It was a first-year introductory class, and most of these students were just taking it for the necessary “Breadth of Inquiry” credits that the university required. Still, if she could turn even one of them into a poli-sci major, she’d count that as a huge victory. But ultimately, her job was to relay the required material to them, go over their papers, and compile their grades.

           Still, for a boring introductory class on a basic topic, she found Mr. Shirogane alert and attentive. The small microphone clipped to the lid of his laptop was unobtrusive. While other students were barely staying awake, he hand-wrote the URLs, her college-affiliated email address, and her office hour times down in his notebook and never once looked bored.

           She let them out early (promising them they were unlikely to get this consideration for the rest of the semester) and began the process of logging off and shutting down. Due to his extra preparations, Mr. Shirogane was quickly the only one left in the room with her.

           “Well, it should be an interesting class,” he said conversationally as he started unplugging everything and packing it up.

           “I appreciate your interest, but don’t get your hopes up,” she warned with a light chuckle. Be careful not to flirt, she reminded herself.

           “I’m not. I’m genuinely looking forward to it.”

           “Are you going to major in political science?” she asked.

           He shook his head. “Minor. Well, double minor: this and history.”

           Her eyebrows went up. Not quite a major, but at least he has a definite interest in the subject instead of just taking it as something to get out of the way. “Very nice. Do you have a major in mind?”

           He nodded. “Double major: physics and astronomy.”

           “Double major AND double minor?” She whistled quietly at the mere thought of the workload for that. “Well, you’re not afraid of hard work, that’s for sure. And physics/astronomy with poli-sci/history? Unusual choice.”

           He shrugged. “Well, I want to be an astronaut, so that kind of dictates my majors. There are a few other options, but those were the ones that were most interesting to me. I can pretty much do what I want with my minors, and I thought it’d be nice to diverge a bit, indulge some of my other interests.”

           “An astronaut?” She blinked.

           His smile thinned. “I know, but just because I lost my hand doesn’t mean I can’t…”

           “Oh, no!” She rushed to reassure him. “I wasn’t… that’s not…!” She cleared her throat. “Of course you can. I was just surprised that I have a future astronaut in my class, that’s all.”

           His smile turned apologetic. “Sorry. I’m used to people thinking I’m,” he looked down at his right hand, which closed up into a loose fist, “broken. Like I can’t do anything like that anymore. Everyone talks like I have to give up the dream I’ve had since I was a kid, just because of the hand.”

           “So, it’s… recent then?” She realized what she was asking and cursed at herself mentally. “Not that you need to talk about it; I shouldn’t pry.”

           He shrugged. “It’s okay. I lost it a year and a half ago. Afghanistan.”

           “Oh, you’re in the military?”

           He started to nod and then caught himself. “Well, I was. Air Force.”

           “Thank you for your service…” She paused. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your rank.”

           “I was a Staff Sergeant, but you don’t have to call me that. Medical discharge and all that.” He waved his prosthetic hand. “Finally getting back into the world. I generally prefer Shiro or Takashi to ‘Sergeant Shirogane’ all the time.”

           She cleared her throat. “Well, Mr. Shirogane, I’ll see you in class again on Wednesday, yes?”

           “Bright and early!” he confirmed. “Did you lose a bet to get the 9 AM class?”

           She smirked. “I’m the newest grad student, so I had little choice. And you can’t really complain; you signed up for this section.”

           “Well, technically, yes, but it was the only one that still had available seats.” They both laughed and he swung his backpack onto his back again. “See you, Wednesday, Ms. Fala.”

           She watched him go, chided herself for ogling him again (I’m not sure how jeans that tight can be comfortable, but bless him for wearing them anyway), and grabbed her things. She had her own coursework to see to, after all.

 *****

             Coran set aside the work she’d handed him on her thesis. “So, how’s your first semester of teaching going, Allura?”

           She barely caught her smile from slipping. “Fine.”

           He arched an eyebrow at her. “You know I can tell when you’re lying to me.”

           “No, really, it’s going as well as could be expected, it’s just…” She chewed on her lower lip.

           He reached over his desk to pat her hand. “Students can be rough, especially on a new teacher. They can smell it, like sharks smelling blood. We’re nearly to midterms; I know it’s probably getting stressful.”

           “No, it’s… well, I mean, it is, but not because of that. It’s just,” she took a deep breath, “I think I’m going to need you to grade one of my students’ work from now on. Just the one!” she added quickly. “I know you’re busy and I’m asking a lot of you, but it’s really just the one, and he’s honestly one of the best students, so…”

           “Allura, slow down!” Her advisor was clearly confused. “If he’s one of the best students, why are you trying to pawn his work off on me?”

           She looked away. “It’s… um…” She risked a look back at him.

           Professor Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe had a single eyebrow arched and the most “Well?” face she’d ever seen. (The mustache helped.)

           She sighed and looked down at her hands in her lap. “I am developing an inappropriate attraction. Even though I’m not acting on it, I feel like my ability to grade his work objectively could be called into question.”

           “Oh. Yes, that is a pickle. And you’re not acting on this attraction at all, correct?”

           She nodded. “I’m very careful, honestly. The only times we’re alone together are just before and after class, and only for a few minutes each time. Well, and sometimes office hours, but they’re entirely professional!”

           “He comes to your office hours?”

           “Well, so do some of the other students,” she pointed out.

           “And comes early and stays late? For a 9 AM class?”

           She cleared her throat. “He has a prosthetic hand. He needs the extra time to set up his computer and software and to pack it all up again. And when he comes to office hours, it’s usually because his speech-to-text program misheard some of my words and he needs clarification for what they’re supposed to be. It’s all entirely professional!” She realized she was sounding defensive (and repeating herself wasn’t helping), so she shut up, feeling ashamed of herself. My first semester teaching and something like this happens.

           Coran just nodded. “You’re doing everything right then. That’s fine. I’ll grade his work for the rest of the semester, just to be safe.”

           She sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

           But then he leaned forward and asked, dropping his voice conspiratorially, “So, how bad is it?”

           She blinked. “What, his work? It’s not bad at all, he’s working towards a minor, so he’s actually interested in the subject matter and…”

           “No, no, not that. How bad is this crush of yours?”

           “Coran.”

           “I’m just going to be an insufferable git until you tell me,” he pointed out.

           She groaned and flopped back in her chair, tilting her head up to look at the ceiling. “His smile makes my heart stop, my stomach flip, and my knees weak.”

           “Oh ho! That is bad!” He was enjoying this.

           “And he sits right in front of me. He has to, because of the speech-to-text. He can type, but not fast enough to take good notes. So he’s right there all the time, and he’s always paying full attention to me and the lecture, and …”

           “Handsome?”

           “Extremely,” she confirmed. She lowered her head to look at Coran again. “He was in the Air Force! He wants to be an astronaut! He’s only a few months older than I am. He’s strong and brave and charming and I may die if he wears that one sweater to class again.” She dropped her head into her hands. “Don’t even get me started on my inappropriate staring as he walks out of the classroom.”

           Coran guffawed. “Well, the rules are no fraternizing with students, but nothing wrong with looking! You can’t help who you’re attracted to.”

           “You’re not helping,” she muttered through her hands.

           “Well, I’m helping by grading his work for you,” he pointed out. “Courage. The semester won’t last forever, even if it seems like it will.”

           She lifted her head. “But then I won’t see him again at all.”

           Coran tsked at her. “Midterms really must be stressing you out. You’re overlooking the obvious.”

           She frowned at him, brow furrowing. “What?”

           He shook a finger at her. “You’re a bright girl – one of the best grad students I’ve got – you’ll figure it out! In the meantime, send me the astronaut’s work. We’ll see if it’s truly ‘out of this world.’” He chuckled, clearly pleased at himself.

           She groaned again as she stood. “Can you try to write any comments legibly? I’m beginning to believe the campus rumors that the anthropology department tricks their students into trying to decipher your handwriting as if it were some long-lost ancient script.”

           “I make no promises,” he declared loftily.

 *****

             “Mr. Shirogane!” she called after him when she saw him in the student union. She hurried up to him and smiled as he turned. “I’m glad I found you.”

           “Ms. Fala,” he greeted her. His smile was warm, as always, and elicited that now-familiar feeling of happy sickness within her. But his smile faltered a little. “Is something wrong?”

           “No!” She cleared her throat and tried to calm herself down. “No, nothing at all.”

           He let out a sigh of relief. “I was worried that there was a problem with my test or my essay or something.”

           “No, it’s not about that. Can we talk somewhere a little… quieter?” They were by Sugar ‘n’ Spice – one of the main coffee hubs in the union – and the hallway by it was half-filled with people waiting in line for a hot beverage.

           It was full-on winter now, and students had been hiding their increasing finals-induced stress under hats and scarves and bulky coats. Mr. Shirogane had a black-and-purple beanie, black gloves, and the sort of coat she imagined Arctic explorers would wear to find the North Pole. Or, well, models would wear to give the impression they were exploring the Arctic. Maybe that was just her impression of all of his clothes.

           He nodded and looked around. “Um…”

           “If you don’t mind the cold, we could go outside?”

           He snorted. “Well, it will be much less crowded.” He gestured grandly. “After you.”

           She headed downstairs and ducked out into a tiny courtyard off a seating area. She liked coming here in warmer weather, enjoying the relative peace and quiet of the usually-unnoticed outdoor spot. It offered some nice benches and a lovely little sculpture, all of it surrounded by ivy-covered walls, with an old, high, wrought iron gate leading to stairs going up to the main street level. It was bitterly cold, so naturally no one was out here. It was also rather dark; this late in the year, it got dark so early, and with the courtyard’s relatively low position, it was already well-hidden from what sunlight there was left to them. The union’s exterior lights were already on, so she could still easily see his curious expression as she turned to face him.

           “So, there was nothing wrong with my final?” he asked.

           “You did fine. In fact, I just finished submitting all the grades for the class.”

           He arched an eyebrow. “You submitted my final grade or Professor Smythe did?”

           She fidgeted. “I submitted all the grades except yours, but Professor Smythe has submitted yours, yes.”

           “Can I ask why I seem to be the only one in class who has to put up with his handwriting?”

           She couldn’t help laughing at that, and it took her a moment to pull herself back together. “Well, if you had asked me before now, I would have told you that it was because I wanted him to see your work.”

           He studied her. “Okay. So what’s the real reason?”

           “It’s not a lie. I did want him to see it. You’re a very thoughtful and dedicated student. I can tell you’ve been giving this class a hundred and ten percent, and I appreciate it. So it’s not a lie, but it’s also not the entire truth.” She cleared her throat and tried to keep herself from fidgeting out of nervousness. “I had to turn your work over to someone else to grade. Someone who could be objective.”

           Both of his eyebrows went up. “You… Why couldn’t you be objective?” His voice sounded hushed.

           She bit her lip, then made herself stop that. C’mon. You rehearsed this about a thousand times. You can do this. “I…” You have to do this. “As incredibly unprofessional as it is to say, when I first found out you were my student, I was terribly disappointed.”

           He looked like he’d been slapped.

           That spurred her on (and also made her speak a bit quicker, sound less smooth and steady than she’d hoped). “Not because of…! Because you were so handsome!”

           That transmuted the wounded look into stunned silence. She made herself take a deep breath before continuing.

           “I thought it would be okay. There are a lot of very attractive people on campus, and I’ve always handled things well. I thought things would be the same with you. But they weren’t. They haven’t been, ever. My attraction to you only got worse as I got to know you. So, I turned your work over to Professor Smythe, because it was too hard to view your work objectively.”

           He blinked and, after a moment’s consideration, asked, “Is that why the professor always sat in on class on days I had to do oral presentations?”

           She nodded and stopped herself from fidgeting again. “Exactly. I would never have been able to give you a proper grade on your work. You have a very nice voice and you use it well.” She blushed. “That sounds terrible out of context, but… your delivery is good, and you have such a deep interest in the subject… Oh heavens, it’s just getting worse!” She cleared her throat. “He had to be the one to grade your presentations, is my point.”

           He readjusted the straps of his backpack. “So, you’re… um… telling me this now because…?”

           “Because soon I won’t be your teacher any more. And I was hoping that we could go out, get some pizza and beer, just talk.”

           “About us?”

           Her blush was getting worse, she could feel it. “About us, about one another, about… about anything. I love our little chats before and after class. I always want more time to just talk with you.”

           He just stood there, looking at her. She wanted to scream, but she held it in, trying not to look as anxious as she felt. Then he held out his forearm to her. “Pinch me?”

           She blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

           “Pinch me, because I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming this.”

           She laughed. “I am not going to pinch you!”

           “Why not?” he demanded.

           “Well, for one thing, that’s your right arm; I can’t really make much of a dent in that.”

           He huffed at himself and withdrew the arm. “Sorry, I still forget sometimes.”

           “And, for another, I doubt you’d feel it much through that thick coat anyway.”

           “I’m pretty sure you could do some damage if you really wanted to.”

           “Which brings me to my final point: I don’t want to hurt you!”

           “You really want to go out with me?” he asked, dropping the levity.

           She smiled and nodded. “Ever since I first saw you. Having you sit right in front of me all semester has been driving me mad.”

           “I’d like that. Uh, when you’re not my teacher anymore. Speaking of which, when will that be?”

           “Well, the grades for the class are submitted, so I will officially no longer be your teacher at 6 PM.”

           “What time is it now?” he asked immediately.

           A deep gong from the campus clock tower began declaring the hour. Allura silently counted out the booming chimes until the 6th one sounded and the clock tower’s bells fell into silence again.

           A wide grin split his face. “So. Pizza & beer then?”

           She nodded. “Sounds wonderful.”

           “And, just so we’re on even footing, I have to tell you, I’ve never been one for those ‘hot for teacher’ type scenarios until I met you.”

           Her blush cranked to full volume as she laughed. “And here I was going to tell you how charming you were.”

           Unexpectedly, he reached out and took her hand in his right. He lifted it to his lips to kiss the back of her …well, glove. “You’re the most beautiful and intelligent woman I’ve ever met,” he told her.

           “Okay, you can have your ‘charming’ title back. C’mon, I’m starved, and getting a seat at Mother Bear’s is going to be madness.” She grabbed hold of his hand and tugged him towards the gate.

           “I don’t mind waiting for a table.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “More time to spend with you, Ms.. uh..” He laughed.