Simple moments

The lecture is coming to an end, and I have the honor of announcing the final exam to my students. I glance out at the crowd, trying not to let my suspicion show, but it's hard not to wonder if someone out there is the one who's been watching me.

"For your final exam," I begin, projecting my voice clearly, "you'll form groups of three, choose a peer-reviewed journal article, and deliver a critical analysis. You'll present the article and your findings to the class on the last day."

A collective groan rises from the rows of seats as students jot down the instructions. As always, the questions start pouring in, some insightful, others bordering on absurd, and I answer them with as much patience as I can muster.

David steps into the lecture hall just as the last of the students are filing out. That same student, the one who'd made a suggestive comment about me and David, catches my eye again. This time, he makes an obscene gesture behind David's back. A mock blowjob.

"Consider yourself starting with a fifty-point penalty," I say dryly, loud enough for him to hear me.

David turns around just as the student ducks his head and scurries off without another word. Once the amphitheater is empty, we finally allow ourselves to speak more freely.

"How was your night with Amy?" he asks.

I shrug. "Fine, I guess. We're not exactly relaxed, but we're managing. She's definitely relieved that I'm the one being targeted, though."

He gives me a sympathetic smile. "I figured. I was worried about you both."

Our hands find each other for a brief moment, just a small touch between fingers, quick, discreet, but enough to say what we don't say out loud.

Then the door swings open, and the next class begins to trickle in. We separate instantly, our hands slipping apart. I step aside and leave him to his lecture.

***

As the guest neurologist wraps up his presentation, I try to pull myself together and look serious again. Ever since the talk began, when I made the mistake of crossing my legs too close to David, accidentally brushing his with mine, we haven't stopped finding excuses to touch each other under the table.

Thankfully, we're seated around a massive conference table, the room darkened for the slideshow, making it easier to hide the little grazes and nudges.

Since Monday, any excuse to make contact seems welcome. Things have gotten strange between us ever since we crossed that line. There's a softness in the way he treats me now, a tenderness that wasn't there before. But he hasn't said anything that suggests feelings, or that he wants to do it again.

Our entire dynamic revolves around pretending to be professionals while quietly suppressing every physical impulse. And now that Amy's back, he has no reason to come over. I'm never alone anymore. I never come home late.

Eventually, the guest speaker finishes, and our lab director takes over, shifting us into the thrilling world of administrative updates. That signals the end of our little under-the-table game.

We go over plans for the upcoming neuroscience conference, in collaboration with the departments of medicine and pharmacology. Then come the usual funding concerns, security badge area changes… all the exhilarating behind-the-scenes logistics.

I catch Amy's eye a few times, she's clearly searching for something to entertain herself with. But otherwise, we stay quiet. I open my laptop and pretend to take notes while scrolling the internet aimlessly.

After the meeting, I drop off some equipment in David's office before heading home. Nothing special. Just a perfectly normal day, with no pressure on my shoulders... other than the weight I decide to carry myself.