@naturecalls111 prompted me kevaaron + procrastination and was like âpost gradâ, meaning theyâre not undergrads if itâs canonverse, & something abt the phrasing latched into my brain so we ended up with this vaguely professor au w/ the flimsiest excuse for a TA-adjacent situation ever instead. idk. as ever this was just for her texts & iâm coming off a 30hr migraine so pls forgive me LMAO <3
âI can see right through you,â Kevin murmurs.
âOh, yeah?â Aaron challenges. God, heâs close.
âMm,â Kevin says. âYou just donât want to mark the test.â
It's an accusation, but thereâs no censure in his voice. He's amused, mostly; fond too, despite himself. Itâs not exactly behaviour he should be encouraging, butâ
Aaron huffs. âI never want to mark a test,â he points out. âUndergrads are fucking stupid. Or these ones are, anyway.â
âYou were an undergrad once,â Kevin says. He very determinedly keeps his hands steady on the bench. Maybe heâs gripping the edge so he stays in place; so what? That's between him and whatever God Renee believes in enough for the both of them.
âThese ones,â Aaron repeats, scoffing. âAnyway, I'd never have taken a history paper. Get real.â
Kevin canât help the frown there. âHistory is fascinating,â he argues. Aaron scoffs at him again, but the way he watches Kevin runs counter to that. Like heâs listening to whatever Kevin says, regardless. âIt is,â Kevin insists again, clearing his throat.
Aaron's gaze tracks the movement, eyes following the motion of his throat, and Kevin kind of wants to clench the counter edge hard enough to crack the formica. Jesus Christ.
âYou like research,â Kevin says. He keeps his eyes on Aaron, watches as he steps in closer again. âHistory is an endless study of every mistake weâve ever madeââ
ââSo we donât repeat our forefathersâ mistakes?â Aaron asks wryly. âHate to break it to you, but thatâs a non-starter.â
âNo,â Kevin says, shaking his head. âWeâre bad at learning. Mostly, we donât even see the patterns for decades, if not centuries.â
Aaron cocks his head. âDoesnât that frustrate you?â he asks. âI've seen you watch sports. You get mad if people make the same fuck-up within, like, three minutes.â
An image floats in Kevinâs head, unbidden: the two of them at the sports bar, late one night after they finally convinced Jeremy to go the fuck home because the college wasnât paying him enough to sleep at his desk to reply to nineteen year oldsâ panicked emails at 11:17pm before a midnight deadline. Kevin had been unbelievably put-out by the Astrosâ scoreline; Aaron hadnât cared so much, but had seemed to find great entertainment in prodding at Kevin to express his opinion to a bar full of patrons who strongly disagreed with him.
Do you even care about baseball? Kevin had asked in the end, exasperated. Heâd unknotted his tie and slipped off his jacket, heated by his opinions and the game and the alcohol and the way Aaron had sat there, head tilted, that clever mouth of his quirked up to the side like a smirk, like a secret.
Not really, Aaron had said, shrugging. He swished his beer a little. I played hockey at school myself. Before Kevin could get too excited about thatâa sport! An actual goddamn sport! that wasnât only worth watching European leagues for, cough cough Jeremy and Jean and fucking footballâAaron added, I like seeing how much you care about it, though, and knocked Kevin right on his ass, metaphorically-speaking.
That night had ended in a blur: Kevinâs flushed cheeks as he lectured the bar at large about heliocentrism after finishing his grumbling about the baseball, Aaronâs quiet snort and eyes that laughed more than his mouth did, alcohol-sticky wood beneath his feet as he made his way to the bathroom, the taste of Aaronâs beer on his lips, Aaronâs cool fingers a balm against his cheek, his mouth a searing heat burning all the way through Kevin.
Then when Kevinâs TA dropped out because of âunmanageable stressâ (which was not Kevinâs fault, no matter what Dan says, she and Matt can fuck off) and he had to scramble to figure out what to do, Abby had offered one of her tutorsâbut only for marking, Kevin, he has no base in history. Heâs just smart enough to use a rubric and willing to help. Between this and Jeanâs long-suffering offer to lead the tutorial that didnât clash with his meetings with his advisor, and even Neilâs unlikely assistance in the form of helping restructure the syllabus, it all seemed pretty manageable. (The history department had quietly come to the conclusion that this was not, strictly speaking, acceptable by university standards, but elected to ignore this information until the conclusion of the semester. As far as Kevinâs been able to tell in his years in academia, this is how things tend to work.)
When Abby showed up at his office with Aaron, though, Kevin's cheeks had gone hot enough that sheâd asked him if he was sure he wasnât coming down with a stress fever. Aaron's face had stayed blank, but his eyes were â amused.
It was one thing when Aaron had been the regular third person in the staff room late at night alongside Jeremy and Kevin, rubbing his eyes as he scowled at whatever it was he was looking at. (Anatomy exams, Kevin found out later.) Heâd been mostly quiet, but sharply funny when heâd ended up interacting with them, mostly starting with indelicate snorts at whatever madcap thing Jeremy was saying, then incredulous stares at Kevinâs rebuttal, and finally muttered jabs as he worked the coffee machine and Jeremy laughed delightedly and Kevin stared at him with disbelief and a slow-building warmth in the base of his stomach.
It was yet another thing when Aaron had been the guy he bundled up Jeremy with, the guy he got drunk with for hours in a sports bar, the guy who laughed at him and offered him buffalo wings so spicy that they made Aaronâs cheeks red and Kevinâs lips feel like they were on fire, until Aaron kissed him, tipsy outside the bar, the warmth spreading through Kevin overtaking both the chilly night air and the spice-stained echoes on Kevinâs mouth.
But it was another thing entirely for Aaron to be Aaron, meaning Abby's favourite postgrad and the guy who diligently read Kevinâs syllabus on top of his own work just to better understand the marking rubric and hater of psych majors everywhere. Aaron, with his tired eyes and quiet laugh and complete inability to answer a phone call from his brother in a normal way. (At one point, Kevin had been half-concerned he was ordering a hitâless about the morality or legality of the situation, more in a if you get arrested, Iâm screwed again type wayâuntil Neil had shown up half an hour later with lunch for Aaron and Aaron had gone, ugh and Neil had rolled his eyes, spotted Kevin, and turned to Aaron to say, youâre one to talk. Aaron had flushed a little, then scowled and flipped Neil off, and said fuck off, to which Neil said, gladly, then see you at dinner? And Aaron had waved his hand. If you eat your fucking vegetables, to which Neil had laughed, and flipped him off, and walked out. Kevin had stared at Aaron, nonplussed, but Aaron had ignored him, focusing instead on the test he was marking while he ate the sandwich Neil had brought.)
Aaron, with his unbelievably rude opinions about Kevinâs lack of video game knowledge, and the genuinely unreasonable amount of sour gummies he can put away in an hour, and the unbearably soft look he gets on his face when heâs sleepy and huffy and Kevin has gently dragged away whichever test heâs marking or article heâs reading thatâs made him so grumpy late at night.
Aaron, who Kevin actually knows now. And likes even more for it, which is inconvenient and inopportune and probably inevitable.
Kevin clears his throat. âPeople are meant to try and win in sports,â he says. âHistory is about things that have already happened. Itâs a different ballpark.â Thereâs a moment, and then, âTheyâve already lost the battle. I'm not rooting for anything else there.â
Something flares up in Aaron's eyes at that, and he snakes his hand forward, tugging on Kevin's tie. Kevin, hands still holding onto the bench, allows it.
âBut sports are about victory?â Aaron asks.Â
Heâs not even subtle about procrastinating, Kevin thinks. He wants to laugh. He swallows a sigh instead, and says, a little warningly, âAaronâŠâ
But he doesnât move. Doesnât stop Aaron, doesnât do anything to stop him. Maybe leans in a little, even.
âYeah,â Kevin says after a long moment. âHistory, you live or you die. Sports, youâre the best or youâre not.â
âThat's a reductive way of looking at the world,â Aaron says, but itâs that tone he gets sometimes, the one where Kevin doesnât know if he believes it or if he just wants to poke at Kevin a little. Kevin hates that he likes it as much as he does; that he lets it stoke him up, bites at the bit every time.
âYou are not subtle,â Kevin murmurs. The tests are sitting on the table behind Aaron, staring up at the ceiling. Aaron's coffee is abandoned, probably cold.
You are not subtle, Kevin says, and means it, but Aaronâs cocked his eyebrow at him, and thereâs something a little taunting in his eyes, and heâs still holding onto Kevinâs tie, and something in Kevin loosens. He sighs, and lets go of the bench, tucking his fingers into Aaron's belt loops instead and pulling him forward.
âIs this a sport?â Aaron asks, because heâs a dick and facetious and he knows just how to make Kevin want to shut him up.
âYouâre not as funny as you think you are,â Kevin scolds, and then leans forward to kiss the rebuttal out of Aaron's mouth.
48 notes
·
View notes