-I-
Luuk Smit
800 Sand Hill Road,
Palo Alto, CA 94304
June 30, 2019
Bolivar House
582 Alvarado Row
Stanford University
Stanford, CA 94305-2150
Dear Professor Copper,
I am thrilled to inform you that I am tendering my resignation from the Senior Lecturer position at Department of Romance Languages and Literatures, effective today.
As a member of this institution, I had some fundamental expectations. However, nothing in this department has satisfied me. During the past three years, I have been fortunate enough to learn that this place doesn't butter my toast.
I will be four hundred miles away in two days, so I can't offer my help during the transition period.
I know it will be hard for the department to grow and be successful without me, but I wish you luck and the very best moving forward.
Sincerely,
Luuk Smit
I changed the date to January 2020, leaned back on the chair, and hit enter. The printer on the small table beside the office door quivered and spat out a sheet of paper. I snatched it.
I hadn't had the chance to send the resignation letter six months ago. Now that the research was done and the paper was almost completed, it was safe to resign in the short run. Hopefully after Christmas, and before Dean Copper formally promoted me to Deputy Dean to substitute for the now ten-year-convict Norman.
My brother needed me more than ever now that he was expecting his first child, and I was ready to come back to the company, not to be someone's proxy again.
"Come in." I said when there was a knock on my door. I tossed the folded letter into my drawer when Ethan's blond head peeked through the small gap.
"Do you have some time to spare now, Professor Smit?" He held a binder of papers in his hand.
"Yes. Half an hour. What do you need?" I pushed the drawer close.
"A second eye for the draft. I've finished the paper for the journal."
Ha! One of the reasons why Ethan was my blue-eyed boy. And some teachers and students alike thought it was outrageous for a teacher to favor any students. Apparently, they didn't have students like Ethan who always made my life easier. "Drag up a rock." I pointed to the chair with my chin as I took the papers he offered me.
I spent the next half an hour checking his research paper, occasionally circling an out-of-context term here, crossing out a protracted sentence there.
The work felt so innate, so natural, so right. Now and then, my gaze trailed off to the drawer.
It would be a lie if I said I hated this job.
Language is my defense mechanism. I learned languages to reinforce the conviction box in the back of my mind, so I could shrink the memory box that keeps my dreadful past. Although it was as slow as a sloth, the fixation finally morphed into devotion. Language is not my armor anymore; it has become a part of me, like my favorite, worn out t-shirt.
I guess when you devote yourself to something (even the ones you regard with disgust), it becomes your normalcy and you're inherently attached to it.
It would be a lie if I said I didn't hate humans anymore.
I still hate humans, but not as holistic as before. When I sat in this same chair six months ago, I was emotionally congested, particularly when it came to intricate emotions such as love. But after Jona, I was not so sure anymore. It was amazing how a random person, a man, could alter my perspectives on the entire human race. Love works in mysterious ways, indeed.
Another knock on my door.
"Come in." I passed the draft to Ethan when Jona pushed the door open.
Jona said, "Ah, I'm sorry. I should've called first."
"It's fine. We're done here. Come in." I turned to Ethan. "Email the final draft to me. Let me know once you get the email from the journal site, I'll pay for the publishing."
"Sure. I'll let you know. Thank you, Professor." He stood. "Hi, Jona."
"Hey." He took Ethan's extended hand. "How's your first class with Noel yesterday?"
"Great. Damn, I used to watch him fight in MMA tournaments. I didn't know he works with you. He's a genius fighter! I seriously thought you were the one who would teach me, and you're amazing enough."
"He's cool, right? He's the gem of the gym. People come for him." Jona cackled. "I don't teach people our age, no offense. I'd rather deal with bundles of energy than bundles of testosterone."
Ethan laughed. "You're starting to sound like Professor Smit. You'd better be careful."
"Why? What's wrong with the way I talk?" I stood next to them.
"Nothing wrong. But I can't speak for the other students." He laughed again, rubbing his glasses on his black shirt. "Anyway, it's good to get to see you after the village, Jona. Let's meet for coffee sometimes. Maybe after my class? You have karate with the kids every Saturday too."
"Sure. Sounds good. Let me know."
Ethan patted Jona on the arm. "Merry Christmas, Jona, Professor Smit." He stepped outside and closed the door.
"I don't know you're in a chummy relationship with Ethan." I kissed Jona's jaw, and his skin deepened in color. It was a wonder how long it took for him to familiarize himself with my tactility. He was still uncomfortable with me touching him.
It was another mountain to climb.
"We're not chummy." He looked at his papers. "It's normal to befriend someone your age."
"Ah, yes. Você ainda é um garoto como ele também." [You're still a kid like him too.]
He clicked his tongue, but smiled. "Tenho vinte e quatro anos." [I'm twenty four.]
"What are you doing here, by the way? Come, drag a seat."
"I wanted to see Aarón to show him my draft, but he asked me to show it to you instead. He's on his way to Muir Woods with his undergrad students. I need to send the progress report today by midnight."
"Let me see what I can do to help. You're already my favourite student. I can play favorite and pass you easily." I winked.
He blushed. "Não tem graça." [Not funny.]
I gave him back his marked paper half an hour later. "What? You've been fidgeting nonstop."
He cringed when he peeked at it. "Thanks. And can I talk to you after work?"
I glanced at my watch. 4:32 p.m. "I'm done for the day. We can go now. My place? Your place?"
"Your place." The response was too fast to sound casual.
He did it again. After three avoidances in two weeks, the pattern and insinuation were as clear as cloudless sky. For whatever reason, he didn't want me to visit his place.
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"Sure. Let's go."
-II-
Jona sat down with a steaming mug of chamomile tea in hands.
Last week, he had nagged me for not having tea in my apartment (why would I have it in my house when I abhor the tasteless soup?). He went to Costco the next day and bought the whole nine yards, the whole caboodle of tea I didn't even know existed out there, and piled them up in the kitchen cabinet. If that made this penthouse feel more like home to him, then sure. Whatever ruffles his truffles.
"Luuk?" He turned to me as I approached him.
"Yes, querido?" I kissed his head, and a drop of water from my hair fell onto the mole on his cheek. I licked it.
He harrumphed. "Can you look after Karma for a while? Aarón won't be here for a week." He rubbed his ear. "It's fine if you can't. I can send her to Madeleine's boarding shop."
I poured a mug of tepid coffee for myself and drank it in one go. Another mug was filled, and I stood next to him. "Nah, I can do that. She's a dog. Not a tot. I don't need to bathe her... right?" It would either be me drowning the dog, or the dog drowning me if I gave a bath to the beast.
He smiled, still not meeting my gaze. "No. Let's not kill anyone."
Sometimes I swear he's telepathic.
"But if she needs a bath, you can just send her to Madeleine."
"Though it also depends on how long is a while. And where are you going?"
He tinkled with his spoon. "Vou voltar para Lisboa esta noite." [I'm going back to Lisbon tonight.]
I drank my coffee, trying to keep my countenance despite the corollary questions racing in my brain. "Christmas is in a week. That's a bit early to go back." For someone who doesn't celebrate Christmas.
"It's not about Christmas. I just have to see my father," he said to the tea.
"Then why don't you just go back for the Christmas holiday? You don't have to apply for leave that way."
"I have an appointment with him, that's why. He has his own family now, he won't like it if I bother him on Christmas." His fingers drummed against the steaming ceramic.
What kind of appointment? Why you don't want to bother your own father on Christmas? And shouldn't your father want to spend the holiday with you in the first place?
I wanted to ask him those questions, but his eyebrows were making those little 'S' shape again. He could be a little bitch when he got annoyed, so I let it go. I needed to choose my battles and keep them for what matters.
"Can you fly with your fear? You need me to come with?"
"Don't treat me like I'm physically inept." He spat as he headed to the sink. "I have my medication with me. I don't need you to baby me."
Tsk. This little bitch.
Before I could ask the question, he answered in the prosaic pre-recorded voice in autopay machines. "The flight is in six hours. If you can take care of Karma, I'll send her here. If not, I'll just send her for boarding." He turned around and jerked when I stood close to him. "What?" He laid his arm on my chest, as in barricading me from coming any closer.
"Você está bem, amor? Algo aconteceu com você? Você foi inquieto a semana inteira." [Are you okay, love? Did something happen to you? You've been restless the whole week.]
"No, estou bem." [I'm fine.]
I took his face in my hands. "Why don't you look at me and say that?"
He looked at me. "I'm fine."
Tsk. What a shitty lie.
He winced when I pulled him closer. His shoulders sagged when I hugged him. The thumping in his chest gave him away. Something was wrong with him; he was keeping things from me. The more I knew him, the more inexplicable he acted. He didn't see it, but it was apparent to me. There was a thick, parasitic bubble around him. Inside it, he thought he was safe. I could get near, but the bubble took his form. It didn't burst. It was a tough piece of shit to tear.
"When are you coming back?" I asked against his cursive tattoo, still struggling to find a juncture to ask him "Who's Junko?"
He stayed silent for a few seconds. "Maybe I'll stay with Kurosaki-san for Christmas. I haven't met him for a year."
My heart broke a little. "So you'll not be here to celebrate it with me."
Stone-cold silence.
His heart thumped faster against my sinking heart when I trailed kisses up his neck and pushed my thumb between his lips. I kissed him. He touched my neck with his small hands, but he barely kissed me back. He whimpered when I bit his lower lip to open his mouth. But I broke away from the perfunctory kiss.
"I really don't have the faintest idea what is wrong with you," I whispered into his mouth. "Do you think I'm a mistake you've made? Are you having second thoughts?" At times, I felt like it was almost unobtainable. His heart.
He stared at me, mouth agape. The glaze in his eyes told me: "Oh shit, he knows I'm having second thoughts."
"I've had my doubts for weeks on end. You don't like it when I touch you. You humped Chaves all the time back then, so I doubt you're asexual. So what's the deal with you when it comes to me? Is it really hard to care about me the way I care about you?" My head thumped from bitterness, envy, and inimical emotions I didn't enjoy amassing in my chest.
He flinched. "Não é assim. Não diga isso. Desculpe—" [It's not like that. Don't say that. I'm sorry.]
I clasped his mouth and put a finger on mine, shushing him. After a breath or two, I said, "Desculpe. Está tudo bem. Você não precisa inventar desculpas. Não pode forçar o que não pode sentir." [I'm sorry. It's fine. You don't have to make excuses. Can't force what you can't feel.]
"Sabes que—" [You know I—]
"I said it's fine!"
He touched my arm a few seconds later. "Por favor. Desculpe." [Please. I'm sorry.]
I rubbed my eyes, trying to cool my volatile mood. "Desculpe eu gritei." [Sorry I shouted.]
He shook his head. "Eu mereço." [I deserve it.]
"No. You don't deserve it, dammit, Jona. You don't deserve any shitty treatment from me."
He chewed on his lower lip, then slid his arms around my waist and hugged me. I didn't appreciate the pity, but I let him hold me. We stood like that for a few moments. Only our heartbeats filled the stillness.
Then something came into mind. "I have something to give you. Come."
His eyes asked "What?" when he clasped my hand and followed me into my bedroom.
"I planned to give it to you on Christmas, but... well, you'll not be here. Sit." I nudged my head toward the blue couch in my bedroom.
"You don't have to get me anything."
"I don't have to, but I want to," I said, entering my home office next to the closet.
The present lay on the table, next to my notebook. The idea of the red Christmas tree wrapper was derisible at the moment, so I tore the wrapper and forced it down the filled-bin with my leg. The bin tilted and rolled away, spreading all the crumbled papers in it. I kicked it when my eyes filled up. I crouched down, burying my head between my knees, waiting for the heat in my chest to cool down.
Give him time. Give him time. All the fucking time he needs.
Two minutes later, after an exorbitant amount of deep breaths, I sat next to him and offered him the big marblewood box.
He looked at it and flinched, hard. He shook his head as he said, "Just... why would you buy that?"
"What? You don't have one. It's just a Christmas present. Take it."
"It's too much. You have given me your watch, and it's already excessively expensive."
"The one I gave you is a used watch. And excessively expensive is subjective. Sure, it's excessive to you, not to me."
He chuckled, but sounded like crying at the same time. "It's Patek Philippe, Luuk. Even the cheapest one costs more than my gym rent for a year." He glanced at me, eyes thinning in their sockets. "Just... how wealthy are you?"
"Tsk. I'm ten years older than you, Jona, and I wasn't always a teacher. You know what my family does for a living." I sighed. "Jesus. It's absurd to argue about this. Don't be a Debbie Downer. Just take it. It's your Christmas present." I unlatched the box for him and took out the gold watch. Pulling him closer, I said, "Look. See those little blue canaries in the middle of the dial?"
His face scrunched when he peeked at the watch, as if I was giving him a box of spiders for a present. "Canary?" he whispered, and only then he realized something about it. The muscles on his face relaxed a bit. "They're the same birds you have on your back."
I nodded as I loosened his old watch and kissed his temple. "I want you to have something similar, a permanent kind of thing, if possible. A tattoo is a bit of a stretch to ask of you. So I got you this when I saw it last week. The canaries on my back mean a lot to me." His hand jerked a bit when I slipped the new watch into his wrist. "This might not be a fun fact about my tattoo, but the dragon is my brother, and the canary is me. It expresses liberation, how I felt when Alex saved me. Like a canary flying for the first time after it has been saved from its cage by the dragon."
"Luuk." He glanced at the watch I clipped around his left wrist. The diamonds gleamed in his glistening eyes. "It's... pretty. But—"
"It's a collateral. Now every time you check the time, you'll remember me... and maybe you'll not stay in Lisbon forever." I smiled, though my chest ached from the conjecture. He's gonna come back. Relax.
"I'm sorry," he said, biting his lower lip. "I... really need to see my father. I was supposed to see him months ago. But with the accident and the Amazon..."
"Is it fine to ask why you need to see him now?" Might as well tried asking. The proof is in the pudding.
He stared at the appalling blue-red-yellow acrylic painting on the wall.
"É um doutor. Eu tenho uma nomeação com ele." [He's a doctor. I have an appointment with him.]
"For your leg? You see the orthopedic at Stanford Hospital, right?"
"No, not for my leg. It's... just an annual health checkup routine of some sort." He tore a stray cuticle on his thumb. "It has been a thing between us since I was a kid."
That was nothing if not suspicious. His father gave me a nasty vibe. "You have something to share with me? You can always tell me anything. You have no reason to hide things."
His face lost some color. "What? I'm not hiding anything from you." His husky voice raised an octave.
"Honey... I'm not deaf and I'm far from stupid. It's obvious that some shady stuff is going on between you and your father. Why would he grandfathered you from Christmas even when he has a new family now? You're still his son."
He stood, his back on me. "Por favor. Nem todo mundo tem a bela grande família que você tem. Não quero falar do meu pai contigo." [Please. Not everyone has the lovely big family you have. I don't wanna talk about my father with you.]
I turned him to face me. His face was red. From anger, from sadness, from embarrassment, I didn't know. But red isn't a good color to have on your face when you talk about family.
"You don't have to tell me anything." I cupped his warm neck. "But what you don't get is, you also don't have to keep anything from me. It's crude simple."
He scrutinized me, as if I was a huge illegible Persian scribble. The golden in his eyes shimmered when he blinked. Then he whispered something unintelligible.
I hummed. "What?"
His breath trembled when he took in a BIG gulp of air. Long and big. "You're right. There's something I'm keeping from you and I'll tell you about it when I come back from Lisbon."
My eyes trailed to his neck tattoo.
Is it about Junko?