Chapter Text
Sans is the kind of professor who gets distracted and goes off on a tangent every other class, and eventually someone tells him the hour's up and he warns them that they’re not gonna get him to delay their quiz until the next session again after this. He may not be a loud talker, but his voice is deep enough to cut through any amount of idle chatter and cause a silence. He’s the kind of professor who gets genuinely worried when he notices certain students are skipping class - he understands, honestly. He tries to keep a respectable balance between telling them stories to keep things interesting and having their best interests at heart. They’re not strictly trying to take advantage of him, on the days when he gets distracted, but nobody really wants him to stop, either.
The period of novelty for him being one of the first monsters in a formal position was, actually, quite short. If anyone was going to adapt to having a skeleton half their height as a tutor, it would be young adults just breaking out of their personal shells. As it turns out, they’re the type of humans Sans gets along with best. They have more important things to worry about than making bone jokes past the first week, and their lives have lost almost all normalcy anyway. How can monsters on campus worry you when you’re typing in the library at 3 am, wrapped in a blanket and eating cereal?
If you asked his students about his style and demeanour, they’d have vaguely positive comments about their first monster tutor. He’s fair, smart, flexible, available, and he’s got a natural, effortless knack for it. Not to mention he has a bit of a rep as the kind of teacher you want to go get drunk with.
"I lied to his face about why I needed an extension, and he gave it to me along with a recipe for a monster hangover cure."
"I've only had him as an advisor for like two years but I shit you not, we have inside jokes."
"Yeah, he went to bat for me when I filed a complaint against Dr. Miller."
"I came in to talk about my capstone and ended up going out for a drink with him just so he could finish his story about his brother."
He’s not tenured. He might never get there. It’s fine. He knows this stuff, he’s good with people. The kids joke around with him. Best job he’s had in years, except for the grading, which he can never seem to keep up with. Still, it works for him. It’s a good fit and it’s worth even the boring parts of the job if it means every day isn’t the same.
There are things he’s not as good at dealing with, however. For all he’s comfortable with the science and the overwhelming majority of his students, he’s not entirely comfortable being in a position of authority. Some of these kids, they call him ‘sir’ and ‘Mr.’ and ‘Dr.’ (even though technically he still doesn’t have a formal degree) and most onerous of all, ‘Professor’, and sometimes he forgets to respond because, oh right, they’re addressing him. He doesn’t think of himself in those terms. But whether or not he’d choose them for himself, they mean something. The titles carry the weight of an obligation.
When it’s business as usual, that weight isn’t such a terrible burden. He’s had worse, much as he’d prefer not to be reminded. But sometimes it’s not business as usual. It never fails to wound him, personally, almost, when a student cheats on a test or winds up crying in his office because they just can’t do it anymore or confides that someone in his own goddamn department is treating them with less respect and decorum than they deserve. Damn convoluted, humans.
He has to be so, so careful.
Cautious, not just to tread a thin line of not making a huge stink as an untenured professor because sometimes his colleagues are just the worst, but also to give off the correct impressions, naturally as the respect for monsterkind will be guided by his actions. It was easy enough, if not extremely bothersome to find clothes that fit the guidelines of the faculty dress code. He sure as hell looks like a professor. But stiff shirts and shoes aside, it’s all too easy to fall on the other side of that line. To forget who he’s supposed to be for these -- well, they’re not kids, are they? Not really. He calls them that but they’re always surprising him with their insight and kindness and resilience and- ha, right. Determination.
There’s one student in particular who’s just brimming with the stuff. They’re in his PHYS 101 class, on the fifth row, usually, towards the middle. A senior, if he remembers right, one of those Humanities majors. He can’t remember them being late a single day (not that he’d know, since he’s usually the last one in the door about 5 minutes overdue) and they’re easily one of his best students in this class. He likes them more than the usual amount. More than what’s strictly professional.
He doesn’t mean to, it’s just he knows a good person when he sees one. They seem like fun, from the way he’s seen them interact with their friends before and after class and the few occasions he’s seen them around campus. They’re so quick, he’s a little jealous of whatever department gets to have them full time because they’re good at this. He likes their laugh, he can pick it out of the small crowd of 50 or so. And they have a nice smile, nice eyes. Whoops.
And as soon as he realises how dangerous this might be for him if it became a problem, he remembers to rein it in. He doesn’t joke back with them. He doesn’t let them goad him into talking, walking with him, anything outside of the classroom.
It’s maybe equally unprofessional to give a student the brush-off as much as he does with them, but he rationalizes that they’re smart enough, they don’t need his help as much as some of the others do. It’s better to just get them through his class. Better they think him cold and short on pleasantries than making an emotional connection that does not need to be and should not be made. And they probably won’t even notice. Not if he’s careful.
It’s quick and painless. They start making their way from their seat to the table next to the podium after class with a question on their lips and he thinks he’s being tactful when he pretends not to notice their approach and leaves the small lecture hall, legs carrying him out faster than he likes and is used to.
They start missing classes. And when he notices, he’s not sure if it’s concern for a student, or otherwise. Would he have picked up on it as quickly if it were anyone else? They do come to a session now and then. He answers their questions curtly. And then as he leaves the classroom bundled away with a cloud of undergrads who want to try and convince him to demonstrate some magic, he looks back - why did he ever look back - and meets that student’s eye as the group leaves them behind.
It’s not that much of a shock to see them shuffling their feet in the doorframe of his office the next day, timid knock on the open door, all awkwardness and uncertainty.
“come on in, i just gotta finish up this email right quick. have a seat.”
“That’s okay, I’ll just stand,” they say. Their posture is stiff and they look so uncomfortable, like they’d rather be anywhere else. That’s fine. It only stings a little and it’s better this way. He tries to focus on his email. It’s not actually an important one, but he’s having a hard time concentrating. Whatever they’re about to say, he isn’t going to like it.
Evidently he takes too long and they finally give in and sit in the chair by the bookshelf. Really, the only other chair in there besides his. It's only maybe their second time in his office. The first time was at the start of the semester and it hadn't been clean then, but it's way worse now that classes are in full swing. He had plants on his windowsill, gifts from friends judging by the ribbons tied around the pots, but they're all dead and rotting in the sunlight so the flies are made to choose between the dead amaryllis and the browned apple core in the tupperware container.
Finally he finishes up and swivels to face them. He nods toward the paper they have stretched between their hands in their lap and they hand it to him. The edges are warped by sweat where they were holding it. It’s a drop form, signed by them and their advisor, dated a week ago.
They’re within their rights. The deadline to drop a class without a penalty isn’t for another week. Still. He had wanted to get them through his class without incident, not see a bright student drop out a third of the way into the semester. Shit.
He takes their paper, clears a spot on his desk, signs it and hands it back to them. He hates how relieved they look.
“ok. well, uhh, you’re free to go-” They start gathering up their things. They’re halfway out of their chair already but he has to know. “-but i gotta ask. i mean, you don’t have to answer if ya don’t want, but why’re you dropping my class all of a sudden?”
They sit back down but their hands ball into fists. They remain silent.
"'cuz i know you've missed class for a few weeks now, and ya don't have to tell me about why that is, but if it's something dumb like the material or whatever, there's other options we can look at. cuz you're really smart, i'm sure you can bounce back from this with a little help."
They fidget with their hands.
“Ah, no. The- the coursework is fine. I don’t really, um, have an excuse for missing classes, and it’s fine. I can just take Chem or, hah. I dunno, Plants and People next semester. It’s fine.”
His eye sockets go wide at “Plants and People.”
“plants and p- oh, jeez, please do not do that.” That earns him a strained chuckle. “ok, so if it’s not the coursework, what is it? you can go at any time, but it’s killin’ me to know i’m gonna lose a student to feel-good fake science.”
They inhale deeply, the gears clearly turning in their head. “It’s the, uh. The learning environment?” they squeak.
He draws a blank. No, maybe he misunderstood. He listens again, in his mind.
“you’re one of those education majors, aren’t you.”
They nod.
“well, i’m not, so you’re gonna have to tell me what that’s code for. i mean, i don’t have control over the auditorium or the class size or anything so. wait, is it. is someone else in the class makin’ you wanna quit?”
Their brows shoot up. “Oh no, no! Well, okay, sort of, but it’s not-”
“who.”
Shit. Is he supposed to ask that? Is it a conflict of interest? He doesn’t care, the idea that anyone could make someone as bright and promising as this one student want to drop out is one that he can’t abide.
“Uh, well. I’ve sort of felt like,” they begin, eyes scanning the titles on his bookshelf, “I mean, really just on occasion, and maybe I’ve been imagining it.” He’s leaning forward in his seat, staring them down.
“But I get the impression that you don’t want anything to do with me. That you’ve been keeping me at arm’s length? And it wouldn’t be so much of a problem if, if you weren’t so different with everyone else and. I swear I thought I was just being oversensitive until I saw you running out the other day. And I thought, well, why bother if I’m clearly not wanted here?”
He can’t even deny that. That’s the conclusion he wanted them to come to, if it came down to a choice between thinking he’s way too interested in them or totally disinterested. This is his own damn fault. Because he wasn’t careful enough. He braces his hands on his kneecaps and squeezes.
“shit. shit. ok look, i know it probably means jack shit now, but you’re right. this is my fault, but i’m willing to make it up to ya. you have your paper. it's up to you whether or not you hand it in before the deadline, but hear me out first. if you want help catching back up so you don't have to throw away a third of a semester's worth of work, and i dunno why anyone would ever wanna do something more than once if they don't have to, then shoot me an email and we'll set up a time where you can come in and go over some of the key points of the lectures you missed, one on one. again, you're smart, i don't think you'll have a problem learning twice the material in half the time. i don't want an answer right now. but let me know what you decide. or don't. if i never hear from you again i'll know you betrayed me for one of the life sciences and you'll be dead to me anyway."
They glance at their completed paperwork, considering, then back to him. Meeting his eyes, they shove the form down in their bag with no measure of their usual care. He registers the sound of crumpling paper as a triumph. It's a premature one, but he gets the point he hopes they're trying to make.
They leave. Well, at least now he might have a chance to do his job properly. He considers the whole interaction once or twice, a few times, he keeps dwelling on the way he obviously showed he wanted to get away from them. It was not fair. To either of them. Sometimes he has to put his entire being into the effort of thinking back on the details, and not imagining some new ones.
Maybe it's just him, maybe he can't pretend any more that loneliness isn't a thing he does. Maybe he needs to address that he wants some companionship, and god, why did he have to discover this by thinking about someone he shouldn’t during the insomnia-wracked small hours of the morning.
The personal tutoring session starts off simple enough, they have notes, he has his lecture points. He reminds himself to correct his previous cold shouldering and that he’s allowed to make jokes. He’s allowed to ease out of his fake professional persona. He’d hate himself if a student failed or left because of him. They make a reference to a sitcom he’s only just watched and he victoriously returns fire, which spins off into a battle of human pop culture knowledge in which he’s eager to prove himself. An hour later and it's the evening and "we could pick somewhere else and keep going" and they agree and he knows he's making up for a lot of lost time to pal around because he was right, they're fun, and they end up going to a bar.
As long as he throws in a physics based pun now and then, it still counts. Right?
And it's not that weird, he knows his colleagues go to this bar along with the students, it's a relaxed sort of atmosphere much like how he gets along with people. It's not him he's worried about, it's this kid who's buying themselves drinks faster than he really thinks is necessary. Like hell he could bring that up.
A group of their friends arrives and surrounds them. He knows some of them, some of them he doesn't, but he sees his opportunity to escape while he still has a clear head, if he ever had a clear head. He tries to settle his tab while they're talking about whatever early 20-somethings talk about -- he's not delusional enough to think he knows, anymore -- but the bartender is taking forever and the printer runs out of receipt paper and… Shit, it's too late. They've already waved their friends away by the time he calculates the tip. He tries not to look at them as he signs his name because they're tipsy and transparent and hurt that he was so obviously trying to get away from them at the first opportunity. Again. They tease him about it, badly, betraying their wounded pride with a "Leaving so soon?" that's a parody of nonchalance.
He waves a hand at them in a vague, dismissive gesture. "yeah, i gotta get home, pretend i'm gonna grade some exams…”
This poor excuse is followed by polite, stilted arguing. But they're stubborn and yes, Determined. He agrees to wait for them to pay and catch up. Outside, at his very own maddening suggestion. Why the fuck's he waiting for them outside? He should have waited inside where there were other people around, witnesses , if waiting for them at all was a thing they were going to insist on. Just what does he think is going to happen? What do they think is going to happen? He's such a prize idiot, this is nothing but trouble and bad news all the way down.
They join him outside, shivering despite the drunken flush on their cheeks. They stand in silence for a moment too long for him to be comfortable. They clear their throat and ask, with as much clarity as they can muster, if it's not too much of an imp… impo. imp-sos-ition could he walk them home because it’s a ten minute walk and it's dark and they’re kind of drunk and they feel like the buddy system is highly underrated?
He can't say no to that, because that would make him feel like an asshole.
And he doesn't see any harm in the request, anyway. It's him with the problem. Besides, they have a point and they're safer with him than they know. In some ways, more than others. So he walks them home without incident, aside from a few stops to tie a shoe, pet a stray cat, or marvel at how fast the clouds are traveling, until their apartment comes into view. He's not gonna walk them the rest of the way to their door, that's overkill, that's date territory.
He disengages with as much tact as he can muster. They smile, turn to him and thank him for everything. For giving them the extra help and for his company. And that should be it, there’s nothing left, all possible appropriate words have been exhausted, but they're stuck there on the sidewalk, looking at him, staring almost, color rising on their face.
They lean ever so slightly and he flinches, clears his throat and gives them a cheesy grin and a salute. He stumbles back a couple of paces.
"no problemo, pal."
And he turns tail and leaves, practically shaking. He already knows he's going to be revisiting this situation a thousand times over in his head and pondering all the disastrous ways this could have gone.
If they end up not coming back to his class, if he’s managed to make this too intense, then he’s failed. But there's a gap of half a week before the next class, and anything awkward does fade away during the interval. He has to look nonchalant when scanning the rows - not like he's looking for them - and to not look surprised when they're there near the back. And funnily enough, it gives him some confidence. Is it that they didn’t reject the idea of finishing the semester with him? Is it a validation more close to home? He refuses to answer.
He really tries his best. He’s gonna set things out properly, talk about particles and minute forces and battling gravities without being distracted, and he actually gets lost in it and overruns. By the time he ushers the bulk of his students away and waves while he collects his notes and everyone files out, he's legitimately not really thinking about personal problems any more.
Until he looks up again and they are standing in front of him and he nearly drops his papers.
"Hey. I'm glad I didn't drop out, I'm pretty sure. You sure know how to make this stuff interesting. So... thanks."
It's just what he should have done. It's fine. He’s pleased with himself and he’s not staring, he’s just looking at them to note their appreciative expression.
"Also, thanks for the other night, that was fun. And making sure I got back okay and everything. Uhh. I just think more guys should be like you."
They leave quickly, and after they’re gone he slowly leans his head onto the desk and stays there.