1.
Huang Shao Tian stood in front of the Psychology building, hands trembling a bit, pacing back and forth, slightly fidgeting, channeling his frustration through the piteous pebbles underneath his feet. After a minute or two, with intervals of mumbled nonsense, the kind that did nothing but existed only to alleviate one’s sense of stress, which was one of Huang’s personal specialty and hobby, he forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths, kicking the last pebble far away so that it collided against some poor dude’s bicycle leaning against the nearby fence under the green ivory, and he finally decided to step inside the vestibule to ask for that permission to enroll in Advanced Psychology for next week.
He looked for room 201, which was the first room on the second floor to his right, and checked the name board for verification.
“Professor Yu.
Office hours: xx-xx on Tuesday and Friday”
Plain wood, simple, oddly intimidating, just as Huang later found out that their first encounter was too.
He knocked twice, unconsciously holding back his breath. In his academic career, he had never dealt well with teachers before. If he was ever called into the office, it was usually more trouble than treats.
“Come in.”
He complied.
Huang Shao Tian stopped breathing, a fact that he had anticipated before that at some point today he would do so, but now for a whole different reason. He stood stock-still for a second, maybe more, maybe eternity, frozen, staring at the personal office that would keep haunting his dreams later on, both of its beauty and the turning point of his life it represented.
The room was brightly lit with dancing sunbeam covering the vast majority of the room, that golden layer of nature’s gift plastered upon two tall bookshelves on either sides, with a big desk facing the door directly in such a way that its dweller could observe visitors with ease, both through the main door and, with a slight push back from the swiveling office chair, the glass panels window overseeing the campus’s sidewalks.
Huang loved the room immediately, almost unbelievably fast, just like the way he loved the man occupying this room in just a matter of days from this wonderful moment.
Professor Yu greeted him, and he back, blushing a bit when looking at those always smiling yet fiercely unfathomable black eyes.
“Professor Youth.” He started out by calling the nickname that every student and staffers on campus used, only to recognize that it was impolite to address your yet-to-be Professor by an informal pet name.
However, Youth didn’t seem to mind, obviously used to people calling him that after many years even back from his days as TA at the University, since not everyone can pronounce his surname properly, which was partly his fault to some extent for not bothering much to correct them, instead happily go with the flow for convenience's sake since:
“Yes? How may I help you with?”
Huang gulped hard, not sure whether from such the close proximity they were sitting, just an arm length apart across the desk, that he could unmistakably count the numbers of buttons on Professor Yu’s white shirt and the eye lashes on his aristocratic face, or whether from the anxiety of asking, or to be more precise, begging, the notoriously self-discipline Professor to take him in his Advanced Psychology class after the enrollment period was already over.
“Huang, right?” Youth’s eyes gleamed thoughtfully, “Are you an international student?”
“Yes.”
“Your major?”
“World Literature.”
“Ah, I see. Psychology as a graduation requirement?”
“Yes” After a moment, he quickly added, “Sir.”
“How old are you?” Professor Youth leaned forth from his chair, smiling, pouring the younger man a cup of tea, after looking at his uneasiness, decided to add two spoons of sugar.
“21, sir.”
“How long have you stayed in New York City?”
“Two months.” Huang’s voice quivered a bit, almost unnoticeably, for he was never comfortable talking about his past, “Sir.”
Professor Youth stood up, grabbed a book on the desk to put it back to the self and withdrew another one without even looking at the cover just like he knew the order and position of his bookshelves by heart, and placing it in front of Huang.
“You can borrow this.”
“Sir?”
“Take it home and read it, I personally enjoy this very much, and come back next semester.”
“No, but Professor Youth, I really need to pass this class, please. It’s only half a month late from registration due day.”
“Huang, you don’t have the basics.”
“I could catch up, I promise. I took Basic Psychology in my freshmen year.”
“Back in China?”
“Yes...”
“And pass?” Obviously Professor Youth had noticed the wording and time gap.
“...” Huang was meant to lie, for he had the capacity for getting away with those thing thanks to his saving tongue, to elaborate on his love and talent for the subject, to boast how he had examined Youth’s countless papers and works and admired him so much that he could not wait for next semester to enroll with him, which was only half a truth because he only pulled those info up from his phone last night to skim through Youth’s profile and background, only to remember in the morning that for a 35-year-old, Youth’s accomplishment was just simply astonishing.
But as he started opening his mouth, facing the Professor’s knowing gaze, Huang reluctantly swallowed back his words, which not many people in this world can make him do that:
“It was a close C, sir. I could catch up, honestly, I could come in everyday and let you tutor me.”
Youth sighed, “Not just that basics I mean.”
“Sir?”
“You don’t know American college very well, which is not your fault. You just don’t.”
After a moment of silence, Youth continued, his voice softer to the young man before him, for whom he suddenly felt a surge of interest and trouble coming towards his way, because for some reason Huang’s youthful yet bursting way seemed to easily affect anyone around.
“Kiddo, do you know what day is it today?”
“July 29th, sir.”
“A Wednesday.”
“Yes, and fall semester starts next week.” Huang looked perplexed.
“My office hours don’t include Wednesdays.”
“... But you’re here now.”
“Not always the case. You’re lucky today.”
“Is this why you’re turning me down? Then can I come back again on Friday?” Obviously the kid had a good memory of his schedule.
“Yes, for tutoring.”
Huang’s eyes glimmered vehemently, “So is that a yes?!”
Youth smiled, “I never said that.”
“But...”
“Huang, second lesson for a US student, there’s no such thing as ‘only half a month late from registration due day’, there’s just a due date, only one, and I think 11:59 is a magical number that most students hold dearest to the heart.”
“Third lesson, you don’t choose your tutoring time, your professor does. Certainly not everyday for a week on end, ever, because we professors do have a life you know, contrary to what students may think. However, just like I had said, you are quite lucky, I actually could make some room for tutoring for you this week, or as we like to call it, ‘talk time’.”
“Last lesson” Youth beckoned him to come closer, peering through the window overlooking the pave way together, his voice amused, “I highly admire your persistence in training yourself to address ‘sir’ to your professors in such a short time, Huang, but I would be more glad if I don’t have to walk home today from a flat tire.”
Leaning against the green ivory, glinting pebbles innocently perched next to Youth’s slightly scratched bicycle’s wheels.
2.
For the next week before the new semester, even though Professor Youth had told him that he had room, Huang only met him fleetingly three times in the small study lab when Youth could extract himself from multitudes of staff meetings and paperwork and email that he had ignored during his trip to Rotterdam for research and training purposes. Most of their encounters were just Youth assigning piles of books and readings for him and instructing his TAs to help Huang catching up with “the basics”, which according to Huang was not basic at all, for he had asked some of the international students in his dorm who took Psychology before, and they still winced when they saw the content Professor Youth had given him. He shared this story with Professor Youth’s TAs, and they just bursted out laughing, telling him that Professor Youth’s class was “not like the other fundamental Psychology class”, and admitted Youth’s class was “one of the hardest courses to pass”.
One of his TA exclaimed:
“Prof. Youth is a renowned neuroscientist of the University. The man’s works are just impeccable, Huang. How could you expect his teaching to be anything less than that?”
“Yeah yeah, he’s a freaking genius, we all know that. I really wish he could be here to show off his smarty ass in solving this and explain how he got his answers in three seconds to me.” Huang, who was buried under countless pre-requisite materials that Youth had cordially ordered him to master when he visited yesterday, crankily countered them mercilessly as he scribbled the solutions, or what he thought was the solutions, on the margin so that he had something to turn in at the end of the day to Professor Youth.
“And it must be a beautiful ass too, for that matters, perfect just like anything on his body.” Huang secretly thought to himself, slightly blushed, wholly distracted that he didn’t recognize Youth had come in from the open door behind him.
“Prof. Youth.” All his TAs greeted him, scuttling to leave after he bid them a good afternoon and a good rest of their day.
“Do I overheard someone’s bearing grudges over my teaching style?”
Youth playfully chuckled at the crimson kid that looked like he would jump out any nearest window he could find, loosening his tie while making himself a cup of tea, for he had made some serious effort, from cutting back breaks to multi-tasking, in order to end his work early to come back here in time to check in on Huang for the last time before the new semester tomorrow.
“What are you having trouble with?” Youth made two cups of mint tea, put both on the table Huang sat, and casually pulled over a chair next to Huang, one hand disheveling his cropped hair, a habit that Youth happily and thoroughly enjoy since the second time they met when Huang averted his gaze and asked for his personal phone number for “further convenience and connection”, the other nonchalantly picking up a pen and Huang’s half-finished work.
“Not bad. Still having some problems with the Research and Disorders content like any other typical Humanities kid walking into my class I had before, but otherwise the rest I do think you now have a decent understanding by now.”
Professor Youth quickly graded his work and handed it back to him, stroking his hair once again out of instinct. Then, he stood up stretching, a little bit too long on purpose, calculating enough time for Huang to persuade himself to discreetly veer his greedy gaze from the provocative lines under those white shirts and suits.
Youth hold his cup to the window, relishing himself with some lingering daylight of the afternoon:
“Huang.”
“Yes, sir?”
Youth chortled, apparently enjoying himself very much:
“I would have expected after ‘further convenience and connection’ that you would drop the ‘sir’ after class time at the least.”
“But isn’t this kind of like class time?”
“Again, I would say you’re very lucky. Not many of my students, if ever, had their definition of class time just me and them.”
“Oh, really?” Contentment slightly permeated into the child’s tone.
"Huang," Professor Youth suddenly beckoned him over with an serious face that Huang quickly realized was fake for those penetrating smiling eyes had betrayed Youth's immense satisfaction: “I want to see you sitting in the front row of my class tomorrow morning.”
This time a longer pause, not an uncomfortable one though, for now outright exhilaration exhibited in the kid’s face, eyes glinting from joy and eagerness, such expressions that led Youth’s heart to skip a beat, realizing that since he had entered the room, Huang’s gaze never seemed fail to glue to his shape, paying the slightest detail to his every facial expressions and unhesitantly, almost eagerly, showing back emotions on his own face as well, constantly making Youth see what he felt.
“Professor, I will not let you down!”
“You never had, Huang. I know you are excellent; I found and read your admission and scholarship package. You have the potential, and from now on I can help you to seize those opportunities you need.”
3.
Huang never truly loved New York before he met Youth. Not when he lost his luggage in the airport during his first hour in a new country. Not when he endured funky, sometimes dirty, smirks thrown at him when people heard his sketchy accent. Not when he had to read and sign countless paperwork from student loans, housing, contracts, ID cards, driver license, insurance, transcript, health care, to even a bill of 10$ at the store. Not when he applied for his first minimum wage job that its boss fired him after a week for an immigrant took over his spot with half his pay. Not when he had to wait thirty minutes for a taxi and another thirty more in the traffic just to go to a twenty-minute route when not at peak hours, which was not much left at Big Apple anyway, The City That Never Sleeps, literally, which he founded out after moving in a dreary apartment nearby the University.
However, as summer ended and autumn approached, he attended Youth’s class, which he gladly found out from the first day that he was not the only one that struggled with the content. He actually scored average on his first assessment, which to him was a small victory after spending nights studying for it just so he would not look bad to the Professor’s eyes. He enjoyed walking on campus, saying hello to peers, breathing in the youthful atmosphere of this place, knowing that Youth had walked up and down this exact same path, going through the exact same things years ago as a student too.
He came to tutoring, or ‘talk time’ as he got used to call them these days now, a couple more times to Professor Youth’s TAs’ surprises, for they had never seen their busy-as-hell Prof. Youth ever showed up after lecture hours that much in his office just to tutor students, or to be precise, student.
He loved school more than ever before, eager to learn and to grow, to become better everyday, to match Youth one day. Thus, even this world’s largest melting pot seemed more bearable now, for everything done with Youth was bearable, because never anywhere else that he and Youth would ever meet in such a totally enchanted way besides New York City.
They went out to dinner a few times, the first one he urged on splitting the bill, spending all he made from his job the last few weekends on one meal at a decent restaurant in hopes of leaving a good impression to Professor Youth. Finally at the end of their second meal out, Huang just gave in to Youth’s tender offer “Please Huang, I insist. I want to have more dinners with you in the future, not just let you go bankrupt after a week eating out” that obviously left Huang weak and failed miserably to resist from looking into those caring eyes, a strategy in their love affairs that Youth successfully used over and over again.
One time, Huang led Youth to a bar downtown, which to be clear, he only gave the suggestion: it was Youth instead that chose and drove them to the specific location since he alone knew every nook and cranny of the city well enough. After a while, light-headed and dazed from all the alcohol and the raucous dancing, Huang stroked Youth’s butt and interlocked his arms around his neck.
They made out, fiercely, uncontrollably, Youth still completely sober to drive them home, and yet whose is still questionable. He caressed Huang's face and half-dragged him outside after mumbling something in his ears, which left Huang even more staggered and aroused from his attractively husky voice physically and symbolically running down his ears to his intoxicated brain.
They stopped at a convenience store on the way home, Youth’s home apparently by then, Huang grabbing some food and snacks as he was screaming how hungry he was for the past fifteen minutes in the car that Youth had no other ways but to stop here in the middle of the night for no other restaurant nearby opened this late. Huang merrily thrust his cart into Youth’s hands for check-out, at the same time not failing to notice through his drunken gaze that Youth bought condoms, three packs, extra large, strawberry flavour.
They made love that night, passionately and lovingly, starting from their kiss on the front door where all shopping bags dropped to the floors, both Huang’s arms and legs wrapping around Youth’s neck and waist. They cuddled to sleep afterward, legs tangled up, hands intertwined, Youth kissed him gently on the head and turned off the light, both quickly falling to sleep, and falling in love.
Huang Shao Tian stood in front of the Psychology building, hands trembling a bit, pacing back and forth, slightly fidgeting, channeling his frustration through the piteous pebbles underneath his feet. After a minute or two, with intervals of mumbled nonsense, the kind that did nothing but existed only to alleviate one’s sense of stress, which was one of Huang’s personal specialty and hobby, he forced himself to take a couple of deep breaths, kicking the last pebble far away so that it collided against some poor dude’s bicycle leaning against the nearby fence under the green ivory, and he finally decided to step inside the vestibule to ask for that permission to enroll in Advanced Psychology for next week.
He looked for room 201, which was the first room on the second floor to his right, and checked the name board for verification.
“Professor Yu.
Office hours: xx-xx on Tuesday and Friday”
Plain wood, simple, oddly intimidating, just as Huang later found out that their first encounter was too.
He knocked twice, unconsciously holding back his breath. In his academic career, he had never dealt well with teachers before. If he was ever called into the office, it was usually more trouble than treats.
“Come in.”
He complied.
Huang Shao Tian stopped breathing, a fact that he had anticipated before that at some point today he would do so, but now for a whole different reason. He stood stock-still for a second, maybe more, maybe eternity, frozen, staring at the personal office that would keep haunting his dreams later on, both of its beauty and the turning point of his life it represented.
The room was brightly lit with dancing sunbeam covering the vast majority of the room, that golden layer of nature’s gift plastered upon two tall bookshelves on either sides, with a big desk facing the door directly in such a way that its dweller could observe visitors with ease, both through the main door and, with a slight push back from the swiveling office chair, the glass panels window overseeing the campus’s sidewalks.
Huang loved the room immediately, almost unbelievably fast, just like the way he loved the man occupying this room in just a matter of days from this wonderful moment.
Professor Yu greeted him, and he back, blushing a bit when looking at those always smiling yet fiercely unfathomable black eyes.
“Professor Youth.” He started out by calling the nickname that every student and staffers on campus used, only to recognize that it was impolite to address your yet-to-be Professor by an informal pet name.
However, Youth didn’t seem to mind, obviously used to people calling him that after many years even back from his days as TA at the University, since not everyone can pronounce his surname properly, which was partly his fault to some extent for not bothering much to correct them, instead happily go with the flow for convenience's sake since:
“Yes? How may I help you with?”
Huang gulped hard, not sure whether from such the close proximity they were sitting, just an arm length apart across the desk, that he could unmistakably count the numbers of buttons on Professor Yu’s white shirt and the eye lashes on his aristocratic face, or whether from the anxiety of asking, or to be more precise, begging, the notoriously self-discipline Professor to take him in his Advanced Psychology class after the enrollment period was already over.
“Huang, right?” Youth’s eyes gleamed thoughtfully, “Are you an international student?”
“Yes.”
“Your major?”
“World Literature.”
“Ah, I see. Psychology as a graduation requirement?”
“Yes” After a moment, he quickly added, “Sir.”
“How old are you?” Professor Youth leaned forth from his chair, smiling, pouring the younger man a cup of tea, after looking at his uneasiness, decided to add two spoons of sugar.
“21, sir.”
“How long have you stayed in New York City?”
“Two months.” Huang’s voice quivered a bit, almost unnoticeably, for he was never comfortable talking about his past, “Sir.”
Professor Youth stood up, grabbed a book on the desk to put it back to the self and withdrew another one without even looking at the cover just like he knew the order and position of his bookshelves by heart, and placing it in front of Huang.
“You can borrow this.”
“Sir?”
“Take it home and read it, I personally enjoy this very much, and come back next semester.”
“No, but Professor Youth, I really need to pass this class, please. It’s only half a month late from registration due day.”
“Huang, you don’t have the basics.”
“I could catch up, I promise. I took Basic Psychology in my freshmen year.”
“Back in China?”
“Yes...”
“And pass?” Obviously Professor Youth had noticed the wording and time gap.
“...” Huang was meant to lie, for he had the capacity for getting away with those thing thanks to his saving tongue, to elaborate on his love and talent for the subject, to boast how he had examined Youth’s countless papers and works and admired him so much that he could not wait for next semester to enroll with him, which was only half a truth because he only pulled those info up from his phone last night to skim through Youth’s profile and background, only to remember in the morning that for a 35-year-old, Youth’s accomplishment was just simply astonishing.
But as he started opening his mouth, facing the Professor’s knowing gaze, Huang reluctantly swallowed back his words, which not many people in this world can make him do that:
“It was a close C, sir. I could catch up, honestly, I could come in everyday and let you tutor me.”
Youth sighed, “Not just that basics I mean.”
“Sir?”
“You don’t know American college very well, which is not your fault. You just don’t.”
After a moment of silence, Youth continued, his voice softer to the young man before him, for whom he suddenly felt a surge of interest and trouble coming towards his way, because for some reason Huang’s youthful yet bursting way seemed to easily affect anyone around.
“Kiddo, do you know what day is it today?”
“July 29th, sir.”
“A Wednesday.”
“Yes, and fall semester starts next week.” Huang looked perplexed.
“My office hours don’t include Wednesdays.”
“... But you’re here now.”
“Not always the case. You’re lucky today.”
“Is this why you’re turning me down? Then can I come back again on Friday?” Obviously the kid had a good memory of his schedule.
“Yes, for tutoring.”
Huang’s eyes glimmered vehemently, “So is that a yes?!”
Youth smiled, “I never said that.”
“But...”
“Huang, second lesson for a US student, there’s no such thing as ‘only half a month late from registration due day’, there’s just a due date, only one, and I think 11:59 is a magical number that most students hold dearest to the heart.”
“Third lesson, you don’t choose your tutoring time, your professor does. Certainly not everyday for a week on end, ever, because we professors do have a life you know, contrary to what students may think. However, just like I had said, you are quite lucky, I actually could make some room for tutoring for you this week, or as we like to call it, ‘talk time’.”
“Last lesson” Youth beckoned him to come closer, peering through the window overlooking the pave way together, his voice amused, “I highly admire your persistence in training yourself to address ‘sir’ to your professors in such a short time, Huang, but I would be more glad if I don’t have to walk home today from a flat tire.”
Leaning against the green ivory, glinting pebbles innocently perched next to Youth’s slightly scratched bicycle’s wheels.
2.
For the next week before the new semester, even though Professor Youth had told him that he had room, Huang only met him fleetingly three times in the small study lab when Youth could extract himself from multitudes of staff meetings and paperwork and email that he had ignored during his trip to Rotterdam for research and training purposes. Most of their encounters were just Youth assigning piles of books and readings for him and instructing his TAs to help Huang catching up with “the basics”, which according to Huang was not basic at all, for he had asked some of the international students in his dorm who took Psychology before, and they still winced when they saw the content Professor Youth had given him. He shared this story with Professor Youth’s TAs, and they just bursted out laughing, telling him that Professor Youth’s class was “not like the other fundamental Psychology class”, and admitted Youth’s class was “one of the hardest courses to pass”.
One of his TA exclaimed:
“Prof. Youth is a renowned neuroscientist of the University. The man’s works are just impeccable, Huang. How could you expect his teaching to be anything less than that?”
“Yeah yeah, he’s a freaking genius, we all know that. I really wish he could be here to show off his smarty ass in solving this and explain how he got his answers in three seconds to me.” Huang, who was buried under countless pre-requisite materials that Youth had cordially ordered him to master when he visited yesterday, crankily countered them mercilessly as he scribbled the solutions, or what he thought was the solutions, on the margin so that he had something to turn in at the end of the day to Professor Youth.
“And it must be a beautiful ass too, for that matters, perfect just like anything on his body.” Huang secretly thought to himself, slightly blushed, wholly distracted that he didn’t recognize Youth had come in from the open door behind him.
“Prof. Youth.” All his TAs greeted him, scuttling to leave after he bid them a good afternoon and a good rest of their day.
“Do I overheard someone’s bearing grudges over my teaching style?”
Youth playfully chuckled at the crimson kid that looked like he would jump out any nearest window he could find, loosening his tie while making himself a cup of tea, for he had made some serious effort, from cutting back breaks to multi-tasking, in order to end his work early to come back here in time to check in on Huang for the last time before the new semester tomorrow.
“What are you having trouble with?” Youth made two cups of mint tea, put both on the table Huang sat, and casually pulled over a chair next to Huang, one hand disheveling his cropped hair, a habit that Youth happily and thoroughly enjoy since the second time they met when Huang averted his gaze and asked for his personal phone number for “further convenience and connection”, the other nonchalantly picking up a pen and Huang’s half-finished work.
“Not bad. Still having some problems with the Research and Disorders content like any other typical Humanities kid walking into my class I had before, but otherwise the rest I do think you now have a decent understanding by now.”
Professor Youth quickly graded his work and handed it back to him, stroking his hair once again out of instinct. Then, he stood up stretching, a little bit too long on purpose, calculating enough time for Huang to persuade himself to discreetly veer his greedy gaze from the provocative lines under those white shirts and suits.
Youth hold his cup to the window, relishing himself with some lingering daylight of the afternoon:
“Huang.”
“Yes, sir?”
Youth chortled, apparently enjoying himself very much:
“I would have expected after ‘further convenience and connection’ that you would drop the ‘sir’ after class time at the least.”
“But isn’t this kind of like class time?”
“Again, I would say you’re very lucky. Not many of my students, if ever, had their definition of class time just me and them.”
“Oh, really?” Contentment slightly permeated into the child’s tone.
"Huang," Professor Youth suddenly beckoned him over with an serious face that Huang quickly realized was fake for those penetrating smiling eyes had betrayed Youth's immense satisfaction: “I want to see you sitting in the front row of my class tomorrow morning.”
This time a longer pause, not an uncomfortable one though, for now outright exhilaration exhibited in the kid’s face, eyes glinting from joy and eagerness, such expressions that led Youth’s heart to skip a beat, realizing that since he had entered the room, Huang’s gaze never seemed fail to glue to his shape, paying the slightest detail to his every facial expressions and unhesitantly, almost eagerly, showing back emotions on his own face as well, constantly making Youth see what he felt.
“Professor, I will not let you down!”
“You never had, Huang. I know you are excellent; I found and read your admission and scholarship package. You have the potential, and from now on I can help you to seize those opportunities you need.”
3.
Huang never truly loved New York before he met Youth. Not when he lost his luggage in the airport during his first hour in a new country. Not when he endured funky, sometimes dirty, smirks thrown at him when people heard his sketchy accent. Not when he had to read and sign countless paperwork from student loans, housing, contracts, ID cards, driver license, insurance, transcript, health care, to even a bill of 10$ at the store. Not when he applied for his first minimum wage job that its boss fired him after a week for an immigrant took over his spot with half his pay. Not when he had to wait thirty minutes for a taxi and another thirty more in the traffic just to go to a twenty-minute route when not at peak hours, which was not much left at Big Apple anyway, The City That Never Sleeps, literally, which he founded out after moving in a dreary apartment nearby the University.
However, as summer ended and autumn approached, he attended Youth’s class, which he gladly found out from the first day that he was not the only one that struggled with the content. He actually scored average on his first assessment, which to him was a small victory after spending nights studying for it just so he would not look bad to the Professor’s eyes. He enjoyed walking on campus, saying hello to peers, breathing in the youthful atmosphere of this place, knowing that Youth had walked up and down this exact same path, going through the exact same things years ago as a student too.
He came to tutoring, or ‘talk time’ as he got used to call them these days now, a couple more times to Professor Youth’s TAs’ surprises, for they had never seen their busy-as-hell Prof. Youth ever showed up after lecture hours that much in his office just to tutor students, or to be precise, student.
He loved school more than ever before, eager to learn and to grow, to become better everyday, to match Youth one day. Thus, even this world’s largest melting pot seemed more bearable now, for everything done with Youth was bearable, because never anywhere else that he and Youth would ever meet in such a totally enchanted way besides New York City.
They went out to dinner a few times, the first one he urged on splitting the bill, spending all he made from his job the last few weekends on one meal at a decent restaurant in hopes of leaving a good impression to Professor Youth. Finally at the end of their second meal out, Huang just gave in to Youth’s tender offer “Please Huang, I insist. I want to have more dinners with you in the future, not just let you go bankrupt after a week eating out” that obviously left Huang weak and failed miserably to resist from looking into those caring eyes, a strategy in their love affairs that Youth successfully used over and over again.
One time, Huang led Youth to a bar downtown, which to be clear, he only gave the suggestion: it was Youth instead that chose and drove them to the specific location since he alone knew every nook and cranny of the city well enough. After a while, light-headed and dazed from all the alcohol and the raucous dancing, Huang stroked Youth’s butt and interlocked his arms around his neck.
They made out, fiercely, uncontrollably, Youth still completely sober to drive them home, and yet whose is still questionable. He caressed Huang's face and half-dragged him outside after mumbling something in his ears, which left Huang even more staggered and aroused from his attractively husky voice physically and symbolically running down his ears to his intoxicated brain.
They stopped at a convenience store on the way home, Youth’s home apparently by then, Huang grabbing some food and snacks as he was screaming how hungry he was for the past fifteen minutes in the car that Youth had no other ways but to stop here in the middle of the night for no other restaurant nearby opened this late. Huang merrily thrust his cart into Youth’s hands for check-out, at the same time not failing to notice through his drunken gaze that Youth bought condoms, three packs, extra large, strawberry flavour.
They made love that night, passionately and lovingly, starting from their kiss on the front door where all shopping bags dropped to the floors, both Huang’s arms and legs wrapping around Youth’s neck and waist. They cuddled to sleep afterward, legs tangled up, hands intertwined, Youth kissed him gently on the head and turned off the light, both quickly falling to sleep, and falling in love.
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