Chapter 80

                                    

                                          
Brian stared at himself in the mirror hanging on the back of his bedroom door, tugging at the flaps of his suit jacket and adjusting the tie wrapped around his neck. The professor had always worried about what to wear to events like this, surrounded by judgmental colleagues whose opinions meant everything to him. First, it was about impressing his superiors. Then it was Chrissie, and now it was Roger—the curly-haired man dressing up for him in preparation of their night together.  
                          
Just as the professor extended his hand back, reaching for the bottle of cologne perched next to the barely-tapped-into bottle of vodka on his dresser, the phone began to ring downstairs. An unconscious, irritated groan emanated from the back of Brian's throat, expressing his disdain to no one but himself as he ripped open his bedroom door and barreled down the stairs. He swung around the banister and the threshold separating the kitchen from the entryway, tearing the phone off the receiver and bringing it up to his ear. "Brian May speaking."
                          
"Brian, where the hell are you?" Chrissie snapped at him, her voice hushed and at risk of being drowned out by the loud music and competing conversations in the background. "It's nearly quarter past nine!"
                          
"I-I'm sorry, I'm running late," the professor stammered, his eyes squeezed shut and a hand pressed to his dropped forehead, pinching the area between his eyebrows in hopes she wouldn't detect the deceptiveness in his response. 
                          
Brian neglected to tell Chrissie that he was bringing Roger, wanting to be petty for her decision to go to the Christmas party with her husband instead of him. Timothée never came with her before, not once, so why now?  To make him jealous? 
                          
The professor didn't even have the right to be jealous; he knew that. After all, he was the one in the wrong, sleeping with a married woman, but Brian couldn't deny the small part of him that wanted more from their no longer secret relationship—perhaps to compensate for the disappointment his feelings for Roger brought on, reminding him of how he failed to live up to his parents' expectations. All he had ever wanted was to do good by them and make them proud, but how proud could his mum and dad be if their son turned out to be interested in men, even in just the slightest way? They'd be the laughingstock of all of London. He couldn't do that to them; he just couldn't.
                          
"Running late?" the headmistress repeated, miraculously maintaining a scolding tone to her whisper, "What do you mean you're running late? You're never late!" Before the professor could even gather the sense to respond—wanting to tell her that that hadn't been true in a while, not ever since Roger came into his life—she rambled on, "You know what? I don't care why you're late. Just get your arse here soon." 
                          
"Okay, I will. I l—" Brian tried to get in before she hung up on him, but he couldn't even get out the rest of his affectionate sentence prior to Chrissie hanging up on him and the line clicking shut. He heaved a sigh and slowly lowered the phone away from his ear, staring at the device in anguish before slamming it down on the receiver and rushing towards the front door. He yanked his jacket off the coat rack and shimmied into it, all the while stumbling outside and ruffling through his pockets for his keys and the slip of paper Roger had scribbled his address down on. 
                          
It had only occurred to the professor after the blonde had walked away from their encounter in the faculty lounge that he'd never been to Roger's true home before, and therefore had no idea how he was going to pick him up for the party. So, pushing his way through the suddenly crowded corridor and ignoring the scattered calls from students and other professors as he sped by, he caught the music instructor and managed to get him to write down his address—but only after some witty banter that only further excited them both about their agreement.
                          
"You're not going to stalk me now, are you?" the blonde teased as he led the professor to his classroom, the hallway deserted—a stark contrast from the rest of the school.  
                          
"What makes you think I would do that?" Brian chuckled, his cheeks growing warm with embarrassment.
                          
Roger smirked and took a quick look back at the professor, responding, "Because you've been doing it the whole time I've been here." A blush of his own formed as he faced forward and continued slyly, "You probably thought you were real clever, standing at distance and behind walls so that I wouldn't notice you, but I noticed, Professor May. Oh yes, I noticed." He stopped dead in his tracks, right outside his classroom door, and spun to face the startled man behind him. "I just wished you would've come closer."
                          
Brian bit his lip, staring at Roger's mouth and wanting to bring it to his. However, before he could act on his lustful desire, the blonde slipped into his small classroom and flicked the lights on. The professor took in a deep breath and readjusted his pants, hoping to conceal the growing bulge before entering the room. As soon as he stepped in, he was met by Roger, holding out a scrap piece of staff paper with his handwriting scrawled over the thin lines.
                          
"Here you go." He grinned, giving the slip a quick, emphatic tug before placing it in the palm of the older man's hand. "It's really not that hard to find. Just look for the shittiest complex in the area, and that's where I'll be. Got it?" 
                          
"Got it," Brian whispered under his breath as he pulled his car up to where Roger had directed him, an unnerving sense of discomfort washing over him as he leaned over the steering wheel to get a better look at the place. He hadn't prepared himself for how dodgy the area Roger lived in was, and for a second, he doubted he had shown up at the right location despite the blonde's warning. Although he didn't know much about Roger's previous profession, he figured the money would've afforded him something at least a little nicer than the shadow-cast housing he hesitantly approached. It was only when he pressed the button to the flat the music instructor had indicated on the scrap sheet of paper, followed by an annoying buzz and the click of the locks allowing him entrance, that his doubts were proven wrong.