Sebastian POV
The weeks that followed Ethan's first visit to his rooms unfolded for Sebastian in a haze of heightened emotion and quiet anticipation. Their meetings, sometimes in his rooms, sometimes for coffee, occasionally just a "chance" encounter in a library corridor that stretched into an hour's intense discussion, became the undisputed highlights of his week, each one a vibrant splash of colour against the muted grey of his everyday existence. The rest of his life – the tedious faculty meetings, the dinners with Margaret that felt more like ceasefires than shared meals, the gnawing ache of his own unfulfilled life – seemed to fade, losing their sharp edges.
He found himself thinking about Ethan constantly, not just his intellect, but the way his eyes would light up when grasping a new concept, the surprising vulnerability he sometimes allowed to surface like a rare flower. Sebastian would replay their conversations in his mind, his own thoughts quickening, a forgotten enthusiasm for debate and discovery rekindled. His marking pile grew, his own research languished, but these felt like small prices to pay for the renewed sense of vitality Ethan brought. Nothing else feels as real, as important, as this connection.
A tumultuous war raged within him. Guilt, sharp and cold as a shard of glass, pricked at his conscience whenever he thought of Margaret, of the vows he had made, however reluctantly. He was deceiving her, not yet in body, but certainly in heart, his thoughts and emotions straying far beyond the bounds of their sterile marriage. And yet, this guilt was invariably overwhelmed by a rising tide of something akin to elation, a sense of burgeoning life in a part of his soul he had thought long dead. With Ethan, he felt his own mind sharpen, his spirit lighten; he felt seen, understood, alive, in a way he hadn't in decades, perhaps ever.
Ethan, with an almost preternatural sensitivity, seemed to know exactly when Sebastian was wrestling with these conflicting emotions. He would offer a perfectly timed word of encouragement, a shared glance of understanding over a particularly dense passage of text that somehow felt like a moment of profound personal connection. Sometimes, a light touch on the arm, a lingering gaze across a crowded room, spoke volumes, a silent reassurance that Sebastian clung to. He never pressed, never demanded, but his quiet, constant presence became Sebastian's anchor in the churning waters of his own confusion.
One late afternoon, as rain lashed against the mullioned windows of Sebastian's study, casting the room in a sombre, intimate glow, the conversation veered, as it increasingly did, from the academic to the deeply personal. Sebastian, fortified by sherry and the comforting, almost hypnotic cadence of Ethan's voice, found himself speaking of his youth, of the stifling atmosphere of his upbringing, the crushing weight of his parents' expectations that had shaped him like a bonsai tree – carefully pruned, never allowed its natural growth.
"They meant well, I suppose," Sebastian said, staring into the amber depths of his glass, the liquid catching the dim light. "They wanted me to be… respectable. Successful. To fit in." He swirled the sherry, watching the patterns. "But I always felt like an outsider, even in my own family." He thought of the constant, subtle pressure to conform, the unspoken disapproval of his quiet, bookish nature, the outright horror that would have ensued had they ever suspected the truth of his desires.
Ethan listened, his head tilted slightly, his expression one of profound sympathy, his eyes dark and unblinking. "It's hard," he said softly, his voice a gentle counterpoint to the drumming rain, "when the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally can't see who you truly are."
The simple, direct empathy in Ethan's voice undid something in Sebastian. A dam he had carefully constructed over decades of repression, brick by painful brick, began to crumble. He looked at Ethan, at his earnest, intelligent face, his dark eyes filled with what Sebastian could only interpret as genuine understanding, and the words tumbled out, clumsy and raw, like stones dislodged by a flood.
"I… I've never been able to be myself, Ethan," he confessed, his voice thick, the unshed tears burning behind his eyes. "Not really. There were always things I had to hide. Desires… feelings…" He faltered, his gaze dropping to his trembling hands, which he clenched in his lap. The air in the room felt thick, charged with unspoken truths.
Ethan reached across the small space separating them and gently placed his hand over Sebastian's. The touch was warm, firm, a steady point in Sebastian's swirling emotions. "It's alright, Sebastian," Ethan murmured, his voice a low vibration. "You can tell me."
Sebastian took a ragged breath. The fear was immense, a cold fist clenching in his gut, the fear of a lifetime of concealment. But the need to speak, to finally give voice to the truth he had suppressed for so long, was even greater. And looking into Ethan's compassionate eyes, he felt, for the first time, that he might actually be heard, accepted, not judged.
"I… I'm not like other men, Ethan," he whispered, the words tasting strange and liberating on his tongue, each syllable a tiny act of rebellion against years of silence. "My attractions… they lie elsewhere." He couldn't bring himself to be more explicit, but he saw a flicker of understanding – or so he believed – in Ethan's gaze. "My marriage to Margaret… it was an attempt to be normal. To please my family. But it's a sham. A lonely, empty sham."
Tears finally escaped, tracing hot paths down his cheeks. He felt stripped bare, vulnerable, exposed, like a creature pulled from its shell. He waited for Ethan's reaction, bracing himself for shock, disgust, perhaps even pity – any of which would have been a fresh wound.
Ethan's hand tightened on his. He used his other hand to gently tilt Sebastian's chin up, forcing their eyes to meet. There was no shock in Ethan's expression, no revulsion. Only a deep, unwavering tenderness that seemed to envelop Sebastian like a balm, soothing the raw edges of his confession.
"Oh, Sebastian," Ethan said, his voice incredibly soft, a breath against Sebastian's skin. "There's nothing wrong with who you are. Nothing at all." He paused, his gaze intense, holding Sebastian's. "And your attractions… if they are for men… that doesn't make you any less of a person. It certainly doesn't make you any less of a person to me."
The simple, unequivocal acceptance in Ethan's words washed over Sebastian like a wave, cleansing him of years of shame and self-loathing. He let out a sob, a sound of profound relief and release, the sound of chains breaking. Ethan moved closer, and Sebastian found himself leaning into the young man's embrace, clinging to him as if to a lifeline, the scent of Ethan's skin, the warmth of his body, an unexpected sanctuary. Ethan held him, stroking his back, murmuring soothing, indistinct words that Sebastian didn't need to understand to feel their comfort.
In that moment, held in Ethan's arms, Sebastian felt a sense of peace he had never known. The last vestiges of his resistance crumbled. This brilliant, compassionate young man, who sees me so clearly, who accepts me so completely – he is everything I have ever longed for.
Later, as he walked Ethan to the college gates, the rain had stopped, and a watery moon was visible between the clouds, casting a silver sheen on the wet cobblestones. Sebastian felt lighter than air, as if a tremendous burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He looked at Ethan, his heart overflowing with a confusing, exhilarating mix of gratitude and a deeper, more potent emotion he dared not yet name.
He was falling, he knew. Falling deep. And for the first time in his life, the prospect didn't terrify him. It felt like coming home.
Ethan, for his part, watched Sebastian's retreating figure, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips in the shadowy archway of the gate. The confession, the tears, the embrace – it had all played out perfectly. The Professor's emotional dependence was now almost absolute. The groundwork was well and truly laid. He's mine.