#but the cavieat was that it was because he never read them for school and therefore didn't have any disdain for them

[whitmanpumpkin]

I beg that we talk professor!hader 😩

i beg we do, too. because first off there’s the question of whether he’s your flustered english professor (assigned to helping you with your master’s thesis) or if he’s the kind of awkward (but in a sweet way) drama professor every freshman has an opinion on. 

i’m going to come back to the english professor concept, but let’s talk about about the drama professor for the moment.

he’s the professor who you’d never thought to be one. he dresses like a grad student, and one who never really learned to dress in the first place. in fact, on your first day with him, you talked to him like another student because it had never crossed your mind he could ever be the professor. you were hitting your head on your desk for the entire lecture. 

not only does every freshman have an opinion on him (because of course they do), but every other student that’s passed through his doors has one too. there are even some who have never had the guy, who all sigh when you tell them he’s your theatre 120 professor. 

he doesn’t like to be called “professor hader” and would much rather just be called bill. someone calls him william once, and he made sure no one ever did that again. but then someone else joked with him using “billiam” and that slides from time to time, but only because he’s laughing too hard to correct them. 

he likes to write a lot of notes, in sloppy handwriting, during all of your graded performances. at first, you’re terrified he’s writing so much because he’s going to give you a horrible grade, but instead he passes every student and has just given them a full page of constructive criticism that he hopes help them become better. 

and then there’s the fact every student that he has basically has a huge crush on him. those tend to intensify whenever his students see him preform and realize that he’s actually good at what he does. and he’s funny. and he’s great at impersonating the other professors in the program. 

you feel that same futile crush festering around in your ribcage on certain days, which are the same days you repress it. of course, it pops back up a few months later just a little stronger, but it’s not like anything is ever going to come of it. yes, he is the youngest professor and is technically only like 5 or 6 years older than you, but still. ethics, ya know?

you’re lucky enough to snag him for some of the higher level classes. and you’re not exactly the next meryl streep or anything (hence why you weren’t accepted to a conservatory like julliard’s or yale’s) but you think you’re pretty good. 

well, that’s until you get rosalind in as you like it your senior year. 

you knew all of her fun facts before you got the role. she’s the “female hamlet” and has more lines than any other female in shakespeare’s many plays. you just hadn’t prepared yourself for all of those lines, and you can feel your stress levels rising steadily as you start to drill your lines. but with the stress comes when your lines are falling flat during rehearsal, and you can see professor hader trying to hide his look of frustration as he marks his copy of the script. 

that only makes it worse, because now you’re worrying too much about the director’s opinion, and you’re starting to flounder the words all together.

which is when he calls it a day and tells everyone to go home.

“except for y/n. could you stick around for a while?” he asks as everyone else is starting to pack up their things and head out the door. you sigh and nod, praying this isn’t a long talk about the role and the stress levels you’re dealing with right now. you don’t think that you can cry in front of a professor and survive. 

he actually just wants to go over the scene and see where you’re trying to go with the character. “i really think you’re a good actor,” he reassures you. “you just look tense. how can we, uh, how can we fix that?”

“i don’t know,” you say. you can hear the stress rolling off your voice, and you try your best to push that back down when you continue. “would you run a few scenes with me and tell me what i need to work on?”

“sure.” he sounds so reassuring and warm, and you think your worries are starting to fall away – just a little. “what do you want to work on? how about act three?”

and it goes incredibly well. he puts everything into his lines (even if they aren’t technically his) and you’re able to actually feel the rhythm of the words. you feel your heart beating against your ribcage as the scene grows heavier, and orlando’s confessions of admiration to rosalind seem a little too real (but that has to be your imagination) for bill to be acting. but then again, he is a pretty good actor. 

after that rehearsal, you have a newfound bounce in your step and rehearsals continue to go well. 

and even through hell week, you’re doing pretty good. 

but then you notice that maybe bill isn’t? like he’s not laughing as much during run throughs, and in his lectures he’s not as prepared. plus, he looks exhausted. so, there’s that. 

you decide to knock on the door of his office one day, which is decorated in old movie and play posters, lit only by some lamps emitting a warm glow that covers the room. he has his head on his desk and he doesn’t even try to look professional for you, instead just lifting his head and wiping his face as he asks “what can I do for you, y/n?”

“i just came to check on you,” you admit. “are you doing okay?”

he doesn’t respond for a second, and then he sighs. “are you okay with shutting the door?”

you don’t mind at all, and hear it click shut. you take a seat in one of the chairs near his desk, but not the one that would have you opposite of him. there’s one in a corner that looks comfortable. 

you give him a look that says “spill”, and he laughs a little. but he talks, gently and a little reserved, about his stress and the fact that it’s only like the second show he’s directed in the program. so, he’s pretty nervous – but not about you. “you’re doing great,” he makes sure to say. he adds, “you’re always great” just a little quieter. 

you feel blush creeping up your cheeks. 

the two of you continue the conversation for another twenty minutes or so, and it only ends because you have another lecture to get to. 

he looks a little better the rest of hell week. when he doesn’t, you send encouraging smiles his way and thumbs up. he chuckles sometimes; other times he just smiles back. 

the run goes incredibly well. you don’t know why you were so worried to begin with, because it was like wearing a glove when you played rosalind. plus, it helped having an orlando that actually looked at you as though he was smitten. 

when the last show was over and done with, bows and thanks all done, you plopped down in your dressing room. the other girls in the room were all chatting about whether or not to go to the party that “orlando” (real name jack) was having that night. you planned on going, you just needed to do a few things first. 

as the other girls headed out and carpooled away and into town, you headed upstairs and back to bill’s office. the lamps were on, and you could see the tall outline of bill in a suit from the other side of the frosted glass. he looked good in a suit.

you knocked. 

when he opened the door, his eyes met your and there was such a joy in his eyes to see you. “the star of the hour!”

“the director of the hour!” you reply as you step inside. you shut the door without thinking about it, and lean up against the sturdy wood. your eyes glance over to his desk, where there’s a small bottle of whiskey opened. 

his eyes follow yours over. “do you want one?” bill asks. your shrug serves as a ‘why not?’ and soon enough, he’s pulling a glass out of one of his filing cabinets and handing a drink to you. he’s refilled his own as you toast to a great show. 

“hey, i couldn’t have done it without you.” he says. 

“and i, you.”

you both take the shot of the amber without much resistance, and it burns the back of your throat while you slam it back onto his desk. “it’s rough, i know.” he sighs. 

“no, it’s good.” you say. “why not have another?”

and that’s kind of how you end up having three more glasses? by which point, you can start to feel the heat rising up your neck and in your cheeks, which definitely means there’s a buzz going. getting drunk with a professor? something you never thought you’d do, but here you are. 

and as coincidence would have it, the lightbulb from the lamp he has goes out, plunging the room into darkness. you fumble up to try and turn on the real light to the office, but you don’t notice that he’s trying to do the same thing until his hand overlaps yours on the light switch. 

neither of you flip it.

you’re too entranced by how warm his hand feels, and how you feel him take a step closer. he’s right behind you now, and you don’t think you have an issue with it. 

you turn around to face him, only to find that he’s staring right at you. you don’t notice the missing warmth of his hand anymore, too invested by the fact his chest is rising and falling slowly, but so slow that you think he’s having to control his breathing. his eyes meet yours. you’re going to blame it on the drinks, but you lean up and press your lips to his. 

you expect him to pull away, but he does no such thing. instead, he takes the upper hand and kisses you with such a ferocity that your back hits the wood of the door and your feet lift off the floor just a tiny bit. his arms snake around you and up into your hair, pulling at the pinned portions used to hold your wig in place. 

your hair tumbles down in curls and he just gathers it back up in his hands as he holds you steady. you’re glad he is, because your legs are weak and feel like jello. 

when he finally pulls away to get a good look at you, you’re trying to do the same. even in the dark you can see his face is flushed, and you’ve managed to completely destroy the neat hairstyle he had pulled off for the night. and you’re not sure why that feels so good.