Page 24 of His to Teach

I crumple the note in my fist, a roar of frustration tearing from my throat. The sound is primal, animalistic. I don't recognize myself in it.

She thinks she's saving me? By leaving? As if I give a damn about tenure or academic reputation or anything else compared to her?

I grab my keys and storm out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the frame. My mind races as I take the stairs two at a time, too impatient for the elevator. Where would she go? Her dorm? She hasn't properly lived there in weeks. The library? Too public for someone hiding. A friend's place?

I start with her dorm, pounding on the door until her startled roommate answers.

"Professor Davis?" She blinks at me in confusion. "Flower's not here. Hasn't been for like, a month."

"Where is she?" I demand, not bothering with niceties. "It's important."

The girl shrinks back from my intensity. "I don't know. She texted asking if she could stay here tonight, but I was in the middle of an exam. Maybe try Liz's room? Down in Marshall Hall?"

I'm already moving before she finishes speaking, ignoring her call of "Is everything okay?"

No. Nothing is okay. Nothing will be okay until I find her.

The campus is dark now, night having fallen while I searched. Students hurry between buildings, hunched against the December chill, too preoccupied with finals to notice the professor stalking across the quad with murder in his eyes.

Marshall Hall. Third floor, if I remember correctly from her early-semester paperwork. I scan the directory in the lobby, finding Elizabeth Chen listed in room 312.

The elevator is too slow, so I take the stairs again, ignoring the burn in my thighs. When I reach room 312, I don't knock politely. I pound on the door, wood reverberating under my fist.

"Coming, Jesus!" a voice calls from inside. The door swings open to reveal a small Asian girl with purple-streaked hair, expression shifting from annoyed to shocked. "Professor Davis?"

I look past her, scanning the room until I find what I'm looking for. Flower sits frozen on the twin bed, eyes wide with disbelief, tear tracks staining her cheeks.

"Out," I tell the roommate, voice brooking no argument. "Now."

To her credit, the girl looks to Flower first. "Flower? You okay with this?"

Flower nods mutely, face pale. The roommate grabs her phone and keys. "I'll be in the lounge if you need me," she says pointedly to Flower before slipping past me into the hallway.

The moment we're alone, Flower stands, arms wrapped protectively around herself. "How did you find me?"

"You really think I wouldn't tear this campus apart looking for you?" My voice comes out rougher than intended. I close the distance between us in two strides, gripping her upper arms. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I was thinking about you." Her chin lifts defiantly despite the tears gathering in her eyes. "About your career. Your life. Everything you've worked for."

"And you thought leaving would fix that?" I give her a gentle shake. "You thought I'd just go back to my life, pretend none of this happened? Pretend I never had you?"

"You could try." Her voice breaks on the words. "The dean might believe nothing happened if I'm not around. If I transfer schools⁠—"

"No job is worth losing you, princess." The words tear from my chest, raw and honest. "You're my everything."

She stares up at me, those impossible green eyes swimming with tears. "But your career⁠—"

"Fuck my career." I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. "Listen to me, Flower. I had a life before you. A good one, by most measures. Respected. Accomplished. And completely fucking empty. I won't go back to that. Not for tenure. Not for anything."

A sob escapes her, shoulders shaking. "I just wanted to protect you."

"That's not your job." I brush away her tears with my thumbs. "I protect you. Not the other way around."

"I love you so much," she whispers. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"The right thing is staying with me. Always." I kiss her then, pouring every ounce of fear and rage and desperate need into it. She responds instantly, arms wrapping around my neck, body molding to mine like she's coming home.

When we break apart, I don't give her time to think. I scoop her up in my arms, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She weighs nothing—a slip of a girl who somehow holds my entire world in her small hands.