Chapter Text
Garlemald history might have proven more interesting if Aletheia hadn’t been eyeing her professor’s tie. It became her daily custom to stare at the patterns every morning - it was a dark blue with specks of purple today - to wake herself up. Of course, this was her excuse as she amassed interest in Professor Emet Selch as time went on, and things like his tie became secondary thoughts to other things. Other things such as the pulse on his neck as he swallowed after a long drawl of lecturing. Things like the white unknown fabric on his gloved hands as he reached for dark, heavy square frames that sat perfectly perched on his nose. Things like his amber-yellow eyes too resemblant of the cat she had at home, and the curve of his arched brows as he skimmed the room for his pupils’ attention.
Things like that.
There was a brief pause in his lecture as his long fingers flipped through pages of the heavy book on the podium. It gave Aletheia a chance to press her cheek against her palm and watch her professor’s lip curl upward in a smile as he skimmed through a passage he encountered. There was something obviously fascinating about Garlemald that her eccentric teacher felt compelled to, but the spark wasn’t there for her. So, she spent the long hours memorizing the perfect curves of his jaw, the natural smirk of his lips and the admittedly strange way he’d prance around the room as he lectured. Surely the fear of not passing the class might have made it to the forefront of her mind, but whatever consequences came from her lack of attention Aletheia would make up through self-study.
His announcement surprised her. He asked the lecture hall to put themselves in groups of no more than five. Usually Aletheia wouldn’t have been opposed to talking to her peers, but Professor Selch asked that they share the knowledge they had gathered in the readings from the night before - the ones that she had skipped. She looked down at her empty notebook and still-capped pen briefly before slipping them into her bag without a sound. She pardoned herself as she passed through the front of the three students off to the right of her, saying ‘excuse me’ as she did so. The ruckus in the room as the groups came together were enough distraction from her slipping out of class.
She threw one careful glance behind her to ensure no one was watching her. To her relief, no one had noticed, and then her heart stopped as her eyes passed through her professor’s. What she might have expected as a frown was a gentle smile. Even if it was genuine, Aletheia was looking at his eyes - eyes that nearly cut through the room right to her - and they spoke volumes of something she could not describe. He must’ve been used to this type of behavior by now, however old he might have been, and those sunken eyes of his bore into her for no particular reason. Tomorrow would come and he would surely forget that it was her that was skipping his class.
In time, she’d learn what that hardened gaze would mean.
———
The next time Aletheia got a chance to gleam into that gaze was when she was caught mid chew of her lunch. Professor Selch made his presence apparent but it seemed as though no one in the room had noticed there was a professor amongst the sea of students. She quickly closed her mouth and made an attempt to look away from those eyes.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked her in that dull, smooth voice of his.
Aletheia looked around to ensure it was she that he was talking to.
“I don’t think that’d be appropriate,” she admitted quietly.
“But would you mind it, was the question,” he said, grin widening.
She waited for a moment, taken aback by where this conversation was going, and quickly shook her head. He pulled the chair from across, before soundlessly sitting down. Aletheia swallowed - such a gesture emphasized the curve of his bicep briefly, and the noise from the expected scrape against the floor never came likely because bore enough strength to lift it with ease. She blushed at the thought that he was not only gifted in brains, but brawn as well.
He eyed the book that sat next to her lunch.
“An interest in aether, I presume?” he asked smoothly.
“Just brushing up on some of the concepts,” she nodded shyly.
“I take it you find the subject much more interesting than Garlean history,” he smirked, reaching for the book slowly, “You have an eye for the sciences, perhaps?”
Aletheia was on the fence of offending her professor, and the shimmer of panic across her face made him hold up his hands for a moment before he chuckled lowly.
“Please, I’m not one to mock my students’ preferences,” he said, leading her to think he might have been alluding to something else.
She felt a sigh of relief for a moment and nodded in agreement.
This sort of banter went on for half an hour, where Aletheia exchanged her passion for aetherial magic for nods and quiet glances. At some point, there was a brief period of quiet that made Aletheia shift nervously. She was not one to make conversation go, and she looked to her professor in hopes that he would carry it. That was a mistake.
“Aletheia, are you seeing anyone?” he asked quietly.
Out of fear that she might have been assuming his intentions, she shook her head immediately to answer his question. He took a moment to respond, flipping his fingers through the textbook she had shoved his way in response to his interest. Aletheia listened to the sounds the fast pages made like a deck of cards being shuffled, as if it echoed and were the only thing she could hear in the ambience of the cafe.
“Pity,” he finally said.
She was drawn, nearly seduced by his response and dying to know what he might have meant by it.
“Indeed,” she replied aimlessly, her fingers grabbing the ends of her skirt and pulling them down forcefully, thighs brushing against one another to soothe the growing ache between there.
She felt a blush creep along her cheeks when she saw his lips twirl into a grin. It must’ve been quite obvious because he laughed lowly at her response.
“Appearances aside, no boy would deserve your presence given your knack of knowledge,” he mused in explanation, “Boys your age can hardly keep up.”
Aletheia looked down for a moment, a feeling of shame rousing in her gut for some reason. He had just caught her skipping class, and yet he was complimenting her all the same. Perhaps he took pity on her, or something else entirely. She was not quite sure of the enigma that was Professor Emet Selch. Although, she couldn’t necessarily disagree with his statement - perhaps that would be the reason she did not fancy anyone.
“It’s not high on my list of priorities,” she mumbled, “I’m only barely of age.”
“Just so,” he chuckled, and Aletheia was surprised that he wasn’t deterred by her age.
Another part of his response had confused her - which part was he responding to anyway?
“Professor Selch-“
“ Emet,” he pleaded, his tongue appearing briefly to lick his lower lip, “please.”
Aletheia didn’t dare practice his given name on her lips. The conversation had long surpassed amiable and allowable territory. What with Emet far in his late thirties and his student barely of age, she could’ve been his daughter for Hydaelyn’s sake. But she couldn’t deny that he was by far much more interesting than any peer she had interacted with in her first semester thus far - not to mention broodingly handsome. At the thought of his appearance, he ran his fingers through the white strand of his bangs briefly.
“Professor,” she muttered weakly, disobeying his request.
His smirk widened and Emet stopped thumbing the textbook on the table. He pushed it towards her slowly, and waited for her to accept it back from him. Aletheia took his cue and began to reach for it, nearly jumping when she felt his fingers reach for hers. It could’ve only been an accident - except her hand was frozen over top the faux leather of her book, and he did not retract his fingers from hers. She felt her body seize when he brushed his gloved hands along the side of her hand, allowing her to confirm the sheepskin fabric of his gloves.
Her eyes became increasingly interested in his tie all of a sudden and how it might have looked tied around her wrists, or loosely hanging from his neck as she pulled on it. Emet had planted the ideas of indelicacy without even breathing a word of it. Aletheia swallowed, quickly pulling her book towards her to the edge of the table and clearing her throat in the process.
“Perhaps,” Emet started, watching her like a predator as she stuffed her book into her bag and closing it with an audible snap, “you’ll ask me to indulge you in my knowledge as I did yours. History is not my only forte.”
It was so clearly an invitation, but her naivety got the best of her and - admittedly - the part that thoroughly appreciated transparency and forwardness.
“When?”
Emet smiled broadly at her, clearly glad that she asked the question in favor of taking up his offer. Aletheia swallowed when he reached for his tie’s knot briefly, his long fingers dragging along the silk fabric much slower than necessary. He loosened it, giving her the hint that he was finished with lectures for the day.
“Whenever you may find yourself aching for my company.”
It was insinuated in such an absurd way, that the word nearly concocted such a reaction within her body. Aletheia felt faint wondering what sort of game her professor was playing at, but he was quick in his farewell, pulling his chair back in a small motion and disappearing through the crowd. She indulged herself with another glance at his back, the crisp white shirt covered any semblance of muscle, but she knew if her hands were to reach for his shoulders, slide them down his arms and over his back, they would be there waiting for her touch.
———
The next time they had their encounter, Emet smirked and pressed his hand back against the spine of a book so that it slotted back into its place on the shelf. Aletheia was seconds too late from retreating into another aisle before her professor saw her, and she committed to allowing him to see her.
“We have to stop running into each other like this,” he teased lowly.
Aletheia turned her head slightly at the comment, one she was more familiar with with peers her age. It made her wonder how young her professor actually was - or how adaptive. Emet watched her body sway slightly as she turned to the section of the shelf next to his, eyeing the titles until it neared the one still touching his fingers.
“Magitek?” she asked curiously, “And here I thought your interests lay only within history.”
Emet thought of her like a mouse - she certainly had the features of one. Large red eyes and small button nose with lush lips. Her face was rounder than many, but it certainly added to the charm of her youth. That would make him the cat, eyes widening at the mouse flicking its tail around the corner.
He didn’t say another word before pulling the book back out and handing it to her. Aletheia received it without a response, his fingers brushing over her knuckles carefully before she took it out of his hands. She immediately flipped it to the spine of which he had covered and read the author’s name.
“Yours truly,” he mused with a light chuckle.
Aletheia looked up at him now, not yet impressed, for professors were well renowned at her university for publishing many books, but she was certainly pleased. She wondered if it would’ve been past her boundaries to comment on his self obsession of reading his own writing. She decided against the idea regrettably.
“Your interests lay in the most boring material,” she said instead, the comment hardly any better than what she was thinking, “Anything else you’ve written that might pique my interest?”
She watched Emet’s lips turn upwards and widen into a grin, and Aletheia wondered if she should’ve resorted to her initial plan instead.
“I might,” he replied slowly, “If you’re willing to indulge me in some of your other interests.”
She thought for a long moment, carding through the ones that were appropriate and then the ones that weren’t. Needless to say, this conversation had long passed friendly banter, and she would be the one to push it further. Aletheia had a place to, after all; he’d be the one in trouble.
“Music,” she said plainly, but with a tinge of hope.
He stifled a snort before smirking wider.
“You flatter me, my dear,” he said softly.
Aletheia let the sound of the endearment roll around in her head for a moment, memorizing the cadence and depth of it from his chest for future use.
“Ravel? Satie? Heller?” she asked proddingly, taking his smile in.
“Yes, I know them well,” he confirmed, remembering those names as companions from his many lives before this, ushering the memories to the forefront of his mind briefly.
Aletheia perked up now, and it showed. Her red eyes glistened when she rattled off more names, watching Emet nod at each one.
“Your history perplexes me to say the least,” she admitted in embarrassment, “Though it comes as no surprise if you’re a history expert.”
He certainly had lived in such rich history much more than the mere memorization of it. It wasn’t long before she asked her next question.
“Do you play?” she asked, barely hopeful.
“Just a little,” he lied, having played for hours to pass the time away.
It was the first time he had caught her off guard. She sighed softly, seemingly caught up in memories of her own, or of awe. Was it no longer common for her generation to dabble in the arts?
“And what of you?” he asked curiously.
She flushed, snapping out of her slight daze.
“Up until recently, yes. University occupies most of my time now, but I miss it very much,” she said quietly.
“You have favorites, perhaps? The ones you listed off to me?” he gauged slowly.
He watched her twist her body so that she was parallel to the books. She craned her neck to look up at him from the side for a moment before looking forward at the spines before her.
“Liszt,” she said shyly, “Cliche. I know.”
“A romantic then, are you?” he teased lightly.
“Hard not to be when music can be written to sound like that,” she mused thoughtfully.
“You are your own history buff,” he told her, “Certainly you dabble your interests in the unconventional topics, but it’s history all the same.”
Aletheia said nothing about his comment. There was a small silence between them before she turned back to him.
“Do you play anymore, Professor?” she asked quietly.
Emet smiled at her ruefully, conjuring up memories of his own lengthy history. Alas, this conversation was broaching dangerous territory, and as much as he thought about playing for her to placate her obvious wishes, it would do much more harm to him than much else. The air between them was so thick, it was likely no one paid any mind to them simply because it was so hard to see through the haze.
Instead of answering her question, he let his mind wander. Surely she had been doing the same what with the way her eyes darted from his lips to his spectacles. It took a moment before she considered looking further to the pulse on his throat, and then to the two vacant buttonholes on his shirt. He laughed inwardly when he saw her swallow. Emet could’ve had her, surely, but he’d play this dangerous game of cat and mouse with his student a little longer.
“Perhaps I’ll flatter myself to think you’ll indulge me further and listen to me play,” he said lowly, almost to the point of a desperate growl.
She swallowed again, nodding slowly in her own desperation to look away from this gold eyes. Half-lidded, and so effortlessly seductive, they proved to be the most dangerous part of him yet.
Within seconds, her professor had disappeared out of the aisle.
———
The game came to an end. He extended an invitation to her to meet in one of the concert halls, which she accepted without hesitation. There was no “if you wish” or “please,” simply the demand of “meet me there.” She had no room to deny him, nor did she want to. The time he had usually allotted to office hours had been postponed for the following day, and he extended that demand to her swiftly after class - half surprised she had stayed for the entirety of his lecture. There was that drawl in his voice, after all.
She arrived promptly after class, pressing her full weight against the heavy doors to reveal an empty hall with an array of seats. Aletheia had never visited the place willingly, but it came as no surprise to her that the university could afford something so grandiose. Surely, the seats themselves could have been sewn with expensive velvet. But nothing compared to the way her pupils dilated at the sight of the piano on center stage.
The lighting was ethereal for one thing, but towering over it was Professor Emet-Selch. He had abandoned his usual maroon vest, but she knew the white dress shirt well. Aletheia swallowed at the reveal of his forearms, both sleeves folded neatly to the elbow, gloves still on his hands. The light that softened his features also hid his eyes from where she was standing - the single strand of white hair framing the curve of his angular jaw. She might have stared forever - painting the folds and creases of where his shirt his obvious muscles to memory - had he not turned to look towards the direction of the heavy door’s thud.
Aletheia had expected that charming grin, but he looked at her expectantly and in some form of desperation she was unfamiliar with. She picked up her pace quickly to the front of the stage, dropping off her bag on the floor. Climbing the set of steps off to the side, she met him on the stage.
She let out her breath, realizing she had been holding it in, and revelled in the sound of it through the quiet echo of the concert hall. Emet wondered if she realized her arrival and acceptance of his invitation meant they were past the point of no return. He could’ve spelled out his intentions to her and Aletheia would still be none the wiser, perhaps. And so, he laced it with seductions where she might have understood more so - the language of romance that had died a long time ago.
He wished there was a part of him that could continue their charade with no words, but time had made him otherwise. When there was no one to speak to, he spoke to himself. He wrote plenty and mastered everything with ease. But as such, he had to abandon prior trades to the past. Aletheia was certainly more familiar with said trades, understanding his plea for her to play without any words.
She reached out her hand, pointer finger to middle C and pressed it with familiarity and confidence. She blushed when she watched Emet pull the bench towards him, muscles rippling along his arm for a moment before leaving it. There was no other way to decipher his silence than to play for him.
It was obvious he had experience, but for some reason, Aletheia felt at ease to play without judgment. For the briefest of moments, she forgot that he was Professor Emet-Selch, and she was his student. She played a piece from memory, slow and full bodied. Unbeknownst to her, he was watching her much more than he was listening. He had lifetimes of listening.
There was nothing spectacular about the piece because of that, but what made it sensual and foreboding was the way Aletheia’s body moved to the music. They were small gestures like the way she’d careen her neck, or how her hand would lift occasionally at the long fermatas. Regardless, nothing was too hyperbolized for Emet to draw conclusions of his own. It was simply scenery he had not yet seen from her.
Aletheia never got to the end of the piece, leaving it hanging off through the echo of the pedal at the end of some passage.
“Liszt,” he whispered quietly, requiring no confirmation from her.
She made it clear she wouldn’t play any more. Over her shoulder, he reached for the same middle C that she had. Aletheia held her breath for a second, and then exhaled. She couldn’t let her professor know there was any nervousness - she wanted to be taken seriously.
Emet pulled his hand away after listening to the echo of the note, and sat right beside her. It was the closest they had ever been proximity-wise, the side of her body heating up as seconds passed. There was an obvious hitch in her breath when he reached to pull on the white gloves with his teeth, abandoning it on the top of the piano. She might have stifled a moan in her throat when he reached for the other in the same fashion. The slow seduction, and wordless trifling was proving too much - and then he removed his glasses. With how much light spread on the stage, she could’ve sworn there was no prescription in them, but she pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Aletheia couldn’t help but drink up the sight of her professor without glasses - and he immediately looked at least 10 years younger. He pushed away the strand of white, carding his hand through his hair some form of emphasis. She swallowed.
There was a moment of quiet where Emet shuffled through all the music since the beginning of time to find the perfect solitary piece to play for her. In that time, he hoped she was not so naive that she would have missed his obvious intentions of having her. She had merely become of age, but it was obvious with one glance at her that she bore the soul of someone he knew once upon a time. A subtle spark within her that needed time to flicker, and he would be that friction she so desired.
Emet’s intentions clearly included bedding her. It was all he could think about since laying eyes on her, but a part of him wished to protect her as much as he wanted to embrace her. The desire to encroach upon her volatile nature and succumb it to his own spread him thin for the last few months. And now, with her body pressed against his in the most innocent ways, when he was so close, was slowly undoing him one note at a time.
Perhaps it would be too soon to play her the piece he had first seduced her with. And as much as he was emboldened with flattery throughout the ages, he had no desire to show off his extensive repertoire. He played for her something that matched her own piece’s moments before. It was slow and harbored the same feeling of want and pining, and he conveyed it with smaller gestures and movements than hers. He had learned patience after all this time, and he decided to leave his seductive nature to when he was fully courting her.
Aletheia watched in his awe, drinking up the movements of his long fingers. Come to think of it, she had never seen his hands without gloves before and she was mesmerized to say the least. Emet did not leave his piece hanging off like hers, instead, he ended it with obvious improvisation. He felt her body shift to the sound of new music, smiling in secret at her expertise in identifying it as such. Oh, now he was flattered.
The piece ended, and Aletheia clapped quietly. When her hands dropped back to her lap, he turned to look at her. She did the same, but in her mind, she could only hope there was still that ounce of her innocence that he would consider. In three heartbeats, he could have pinned her on the lid of the heavy, expensive concert grand, and it would have mattered not whatever else happened afterwards.
He was a shapeshifter, and he could make his disappearance so easily, wiping his existence from the university to start anew. But he had done it too many times before, and when he had finally found her, Emet swore to follow through with making her his again. That wasn’t to say it was painless, but sitting there now, centimeters away from her lips and her head tilted just perfectly angled towards her neck was fraying at his self restraint.
He wondered if he could wait any longer when her pupils returned to normal, and then slipped into the beginnings of a panic. Aletheia’s bottom lip trembled for a moment before she opened her mouth to speak. He knew what she was going to say - where am I? Who are you exactly?
The eons of waiting overcame him frantically, and his tongue darted between her lips before she could breathe the words he feared so much. For the first time, he tasted her and groaned inwardly at the amount of instruction he had to look forward to in the near future where he would bestow all of his years of yearning unto her.