I would later swear up and down that it was a spur of the moment whim. It was just hanging on the back of his office chair unattended. Before I knew it his sweater was in my hands and held close to my chest. Feeling exhilaration, breathing in the scent of my favorite professor.
Who was this person? This wasn't the Autumn everyone knew. I'm not the type to get obsessed with someone, let alone obsessed with an authority figure. If I was being honest, on the first day of Professor Kuznetsov's Archeology and Mythology class I was enamored. His class introductions were the run of the mill college course but by his fourth lecture I caught myself rushing to his class early. Hoping to catch him soon enough to chat before class. He was charming, a little old fashioned at times but an absolute sweetheart. Occasionally switching to his native tongue when he got excited and then bashfully backtracking in english. He offered a kind and calming presence. One that I found myself gravitating to. His passion for his subject paired with his empathy towards struggling students was heartwarming.
"I'm in so much trouble" I had thought one day in class. He had just given me praise for my answer. Flushed and heart racing I could no longer deny I found him deeply attractive.
Yes, he was the typical tall and built but he had a full healthy shape. One that showed he was active but not someone who lived in the gym. His face was always warm and friendly. Framed by a short trimmed beard and deep brown hair with a few streaks of gray around the temples. The age in his hair and body looked exactly like my alt tumblr account from my teens. An attraction that I felt ashamed of back then but my years of dead end relationships had taken their toll. I was no longer a child learning how to navigate a relationship. I was 24 years old with an idea of what I wanted. And Professor Kuznetsov was exactly that. This should have been a warning for me to back off. But when I had the opportunity to be his office aid I jumped at the chance.
At the beginning of the year I was originally a library aid. Tasked with collecting abandoned books and cleaning up messes left by exhausted students. The workload wasn't too bad but the head librarian was an absolute nightmare to work with. The question of why anyone would work with young people if they hated them so much had been on repeat in my mind. Library Head, Jamison Rowe spewed so much brooding energy that would be off putting to anyone. He was young for a head librarian, early to mid 30's. But the permanent scowl and dark tired eyes made Mr. Rowe unapproachable.
The only reason I had stuck it out as long as I had was my free housing required a position on campus. Plus it gave me little moments to watch my favorite professor. He often took his lunch breaks in the back and with the way the work stations were set up I could easily watch him. He never actually ate, just drank from his thermos and worked on something or another on his
laptop. He was almost always deeply focused so I had grown comfortable watching him from afar.
If I was lucky the table next to him would be a mess and I'd get an opportunity to talk to him while I worked. Our conversations at the time were short and good natured but they were the highlight of my week.
Then Mr. Rowe decided to make my life miserable. The stress of midterms and him breathing down my neck for a week straight got to me. After being berated in front of a small crowd of students I went to the back of the library to cry in some privacy. I didn't even know that Professor Kuznetsov had seen the whole ordeal and his sudden presence made me jump. He didn't have to say much, just softly said my name and gave a brief reassuring rub to my mid back. All it took was a small amount of empathy and I spilled all my frustrations with the job and school. A job with the school was required for one of my scholarships so I couldn't just quit. He sat there listened and gave affirmations to my rant.
For the first time in a long while someone actually listened to me. He wouldn't let me apologize when I stopped venting and began to feel embarrassed. Professor Kuznetsov even offered me an out, his current aid was taking time off from school and he needed a replacement. All his classes were in the morning and he struggled to find a student willing to get up early every day. As we parted ways my heart warmed at the thought of a personal invitation and the memory of his hand on my back.
It was only a few days later I got an email that the position opened up as his aid and I had jumped at the opportunity. Perhaps a bit too quickly in retrospect. But isn't that how I got into my current situation? With him it was like my body moved on its own. Instinctively I had done everything in my power to get close to him without being inappropriate.
Well, sneaking a sniff at a sweater could hardly be described as appropriate. My face flushed as I took another breath, comfortable in the scent of him. It smelled similar to
his office and didn't have an overpowering masculine scent. No real trace of a deodorant or cologne. He smelled of light cotton and old books with a hint of metallic copper just beneath the surface.
"Π΄ΠΎΠ±ΡΠΎΠ΅ ΡΡΡΠΎ Π·Π°ΠΉΠΊΠ°... Morning! have you started the... " The professor in question starts to walk into the office. With a burst of panic I quickly turned my body away from the door and stuffed the sweater into my bag.
There's a brief pause before I realized I hadn't heard his question.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear the end of that." Turning around I did a gentle kick to my bag to the corner of the office and turned around to face him. He was always alert and put together no matter how early. Always smiling with a freshly trimmed beard and hair combed back, save a few stubborn strands hanging on the left side of his face.
"I was just wondering if you started the printouts already?"
"Ah, I just came in a little bit before you, I'll get started on them right away" There was a spark of shame for lying.
He seemed tense as he walked to his desk. I could see it in his shoulders and the weight behind each step he took. He was deep in thought and his eyes were off in the distance like when he was trying to solve an inner philosophical debate. He had days like these and it seemed more common as of late. I deeply wished we were close enough to ask what was bothering him.
There was a thick silence that felt different than the usual morning quiet. It didn't seem to be one sided. I couldn't figure out if it was something going on in his personal life or if he noticed it missing. For once I felt antsy and couldn't wait to get out of the room. What if he noticed his sweater wasn't on the back of his chair? The thought was looming over me and I was hyper focused on any small movement he made.
