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astralaffairs · 9 months

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freedom of the press 08 | thomas jefferson

title: freedom of the press 08

words: 10k

warnings: a lot of angst sorry. 09 will be happier if i can publish it in less than 2.5 years this time. addiction/substance abuse mentions, STI mentions

pairing: thomas jefferson x reader

desc: the 2020 republican presidential frontrunner is an obnoxious, morally bankrupt people-pleaser, but what happens when you become the person he’s most eager to please?

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa @hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies @fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach @snazzydoesthings @shy-and-awkward-daveed @rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk @daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich @cryinghazelnutt @thefandomgirl03 @a-hopeless-fan @cloudynblw @tinywhim @lolidunnoaboutnow @siriusorionblackiii @fanfic-addict-98 @nyxie75 @i-know-i-can @yxseminx @yavin4andor @sugacita @sstrawberry-fanta @youtxbemusic @queenwilty @someinsanefangirl @foudre-aqua @whatevs2000 @rwr-ites @maxi-ride @moose-on-the-l00se @itshaileyn @toxicidity @malos-moving @luckyfriesss @lovecass123

"YOU SENT ASHLEY my fucking article?"

"Woah, honey, slow down," Angelica said, voice staticky through the phone, but Y/N was fuming. She was sure that everyone in the diner below her apartment could hear her yelling. "Yes, I sent it. You asked me to, last night."

Y/N furrowed her brow. "...What the hell are you talking about?"

"Seriously?" she asked. "Don't tell me you've forgotten. You promised you only had two drinks."

Y/N's stomach turned. She distinctly remembered downing half the open bar at the campaign fundraiser the night prior after the way her conversation with Thomas had ended. She less-distinctly remembered Angelica driving her home -- she'd been in North Carolina on a different assignment, but it turned out the CEO she was reporting on happened to be one of Thomas's biggest donors. "Okay, so maybe I stretched the truth a little, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with everything," Angelica said flatly. "You told me to send that article to Ashley in the middle of your soliloquy about how Jefferson was ruining your life. You were rambling, but you were coherent; I wouldn't have expected you'd wake up having forgotten all of it."

The more she spoke, the more was coming back to Y/N, though. Flashes of Angelica checking her out of her hotel, driving her several hours back north to DC.

"Fuck," she finally said, palming her forehead as though it'd restore her memory. "Wait, why would I have you send it to her instead of just doing it myself?"

"I don't know," Angelica said mildly. "Maybe you were too far gone to write the email."

"You said I was coherent," Y/N replied, raising an eyebrow. "So which is it? Was I drunk beyond belief, or did I just seem a little tipsy?"

"Honey, I don't know; you were just a little out of it. And you did just tell me you’d lied to me about how much you’d had to drink." Angelica sounded exasperated, but Y/N wasn't done.

"Forward me the email you sent Ashley. I need to see when you sent it and what you said."

"Why? I—"

"Because I don't believe that I asked you to do that," she snapped, and Angelica paused for a long moment, taken aback.

"...Why don't you believe me?"

"Because I'd already decided that I wasn't going to send it," Y/N huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"And so you think I did it behind your back?"

“That’s exactly what I think.”

There was a long pause; all Y/N could hear from the other end of the line was static.

“Y/N—”

“Either forward me the email you sent Ashley, or own up to it,” she cut her off, having no desire to hear Angelica push another excuse. “Prove me wrong.”

“I can’t.” Angelica’s tone was biting, and Y/N’s scowl deepened. “I did send it, but you know what? I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘save me from myself’?” she asked incredulously. “You were the one who told me that only I could decide what I wanted to publish.”

“You spent an hour on the trip home talking about how Jefferson was ruining your life,” Angelica reminded her. “So why don’t you want that article published? Why are you trying to protect him?”

“Because even he doesn’t deserve this.”

“Why not?” she asked. “Why doesn’t he? He’s been ruining your career, antagonizing you on Twitter; do you even remember how worked up you were yesterday? Talk about your integrity all you want, but that doesn’t mean you have to protect him.”

“It’s not about protecting him,” Y/N defended. “It’s just what I think is right.”

“And why don’t you think this is right? That’s what I don’t get.” Angelica’s huff sent a rush of static through the phone that made Y/N wince. “Honey, this would fix all the damage he’s done to your career; isn’t it only fair that you publish? You've been drowning in bills, and I know it's taking a toll on you. You deserve the money you'll get from this. Besides, you don’t owe him anything.”

You don’t owe him anything.

Y/N couldn’t reply; Angelica’s words reverberated in her mind like an echo — they were true. She didn’t owe him anything. That was what she’d been telling herself, it was what she’d been telling everyone else, and it was what she'd spent the past night arguing with him about.

And he’d agreed. She didn’t owe him anything.

“I… I can’t have this conversation right now, Ang,” she sighed. “I know you meant well, but this wasn’t your place to get involved. Now I need to figure out what my next move is.”

“It’s too late to stop the article. Ashley already has it.” Y/N winced at her words, and Angelica continued, “If you refused to give her the sources, she’d fire you. I know this job means too much for you to just throw it away when things get hard.”

"This isn't 'things getting hard'; it's me losing the reason I wanted to be a journalist in the first place."

"And if you want to stay a journalist, you'll send Ashley the tape of your interview with Adams," Angelica said. "She can't publish without it."

“Don't act like somehow you know what's best for me, Angelica."

"It seems like I know better than you. Your finances have been the worst part of your life for years, and those are your exact words," she said, and Y/N scoffed. However, there was truth to it. "If you just waited it out and let Ashley transfer you to another department, would you even be able to pay your bills? Or would you lose your electricity? Your running water? What would you do the next time a student debt payment rolled around?"

"Well, thanks to you, now Ashley's threatening to fire me altogether.” Y/N scowled. "If I lose my income, I sure as hell won't be able to pay off my debt."

"Then follow through with the article," she urged. "You know it's what you need to do. You have to do this for yourself, Y/N. You think Jefferson's never broken his code of ethics to get ahead? Do you even think he has one?"

“Of course—” Y/N had to cut herself off. Her first instinct was to defend him, but she didn’t see any way she could convince Angelica of anything without her believing she’d been indoctrinated. “It isn’t about him. It’s about me, and it’s about my integrity. It doesn’t matter what he’s done.”

“Ashley already has the article. Don’t forget that.”

"You shouldn't have sent it in the first place,” Y/N said. “This is my job, and it's my career; you aren't allowed to make decisions like this on my behalf. At least the tape will buy me time.”

“That buys you two weeks, tops.”

“Then I’ll make the most of it.”

____________

THAT’D BEEN THE first stop on her damage control from the previous night, but she still had a long way to go. Lafayette was gracious enough to get her Dolley’s phone number; Y/N had a number of things she felt she needed to clear the air on, but her conversation with Dolley wasn’t exactly short.

Y/N spent the better part of two hours trying to convince her not to tell James what she’d heard. Apparently, she’d been holding her tongue since she walked in on them at the state dinner months before, but she felt like she’d learned too much the night prior to keep it from him.

She couldn’t tell James, though — at least, that was Y/N’s firm conviction. If she spilled everything to James, he’d have done everything in his power to keep Y/N away from their campaign. After all, since whatever there had been between her and Thomas was over, James didn’t need to worry about anyone’s conflict of interest.

Y/N’s throat tightened when she realized that.

But Dolley didn’t budge, and Y/N was ultimately forced to give up her desperate plea.

A week passed. Y/N returned to her normal schedule at the diner, and Thomas returned to avoiding those shifts whenever possible. (Although, according to Mira, he hadn't stopped by at all.) To the untrained eye, everything was business as usual; Y/N was working both her jobs, going to election events, and interviewing politicians, but to her, there was nothing usual about what she was doing.

She hardly slept that week. It wasn’t because of Thomas, she’d like to have claimed; she was just busy, balancing everything she needed done, working two jobs and trying to figure out what needed to happen for her to keep the Adams article from getting a green light. This was just how she was getting by.

So when Lafayette called her the next Friday, she almost didn’t pick up.

Or, really, she didn’t pick up until the fourth consecutive time he called.

“Hey, Lafayette.”

“What happened between you and Thomas?”

“What?” Y/N was curled up with her laptop on her couch, indulging in retail therapy against her better judgment. At his words, she furrowed her brow. Why was he bringing this up? Why would he have known? “What are you talking about?”

“Do not act as if you do not know what I am referring to,” Lafayette snapped. "He 'as not been 'imself since his fundraiser in North Carolina. So what happened?"

"I…" Y/N furrowed her brow as she processed Lafayette's words. Had he really taken it that poorly? Y/N knew he wasn't thrilled about the development between them; that much went without saying, but they both knew it was for the best. What Thomas wanted, she couldn't give him. Not then. "What d'you mean 'he hasn't been himself'? And why the hell do you think I have anything to do with it?"

“I do not know ‘ow to explain it, Y/N.” Lafayette sighed. “‘Ave you ‘eard from him recently? He 'as been… distant."

She swallowed hard at the question. "Not… not really. Why, what has he told you?"

"Nothing. And zat is exactly ze issue." His tone was short, and the words left little room for discussion. "Did you talk to him about ze article?"

"No, actually."

"...Really?" The surprise in Lafayette's voice was unmistakably genuine, and it made Y/N crease her brow.

“Yeah, um… why is that such a surprise? Did he say something?”

“No. He has ‘ardly spoken to me since ze fundraiser, and I cannot decipher why. I supposed zat something ‘ad happened between ze two of you because of your article, but…” He trailed off, and Y/N could hear in his voice just how stumped he was. “Did anything happen that night?”

“I mean, no, nothing important," she said, brow creased. "Why do you think I have something to do with this?"

“When I asked him what was wrong, ‘e told me to ask you,” Lafayette replied. "So here I am. There 'as to be something, Y/N."

“Don’t worry about it, Lafayette,” she said, rubbing her forehead as though it’d make her headache subside. “It doesn’t concern you.”

"So there is something zat you are not telling me." She winced at the accusation in his voice, but she couldn't claim that he was wrong.

"Okay, fine, but it wasn't a big deal. I swear."

“Perhaps not for you,” he countered, "but you should ‘ave seen Thomas.”

“Is he really doing that badly?” she asked hesitantly, unsure of whether she wanted to hear the answer. "Maybe he's just stressed."

“He has ‘ardly left his apartment, chérie. I went by earlier to check on him, and he would hardly speak to me. He looked like a mess.”

"What d'you mean 'looked like a mess'? Is he okay?" The question was hesitant. "He's, like, safe and everything, right?"

"Alors... he is safe, yes. But he is," --Lafayette hesitated for a long moment, and all that could be heard was static through the line-- "self-destructing, I suppose is ze term. I do not believe zat it is my place to share anything further, though."

"...Well, shit. I didn't think it was that serious."

“You did not think zat what was zat serious?" he asked, voice exasperated. "Can you not simply be forthcoming with me?"

“Nothing, like, big or tragic happened between us,” she said, and she could hear the defensive edge creeping into her own voice. “We just… talked, and we decided it was in both of our best interests to stop sleeping together. That’s all I have to tell you.”

“Zere ‘as to be more to ze story.” Lafayette’s voice, though muffled through the phone, had a stern undertone. “Please, do not withhold things. I am simply trying to help.”

“I don't know what to tell you, honestly,” she said. “What’s done is done. I can't help him anymore. He wouldn't want to see me.”

“Why did you decide to end things?” he asked. “My impression ze other day was that you were happy.”

She winced. That afternoon at Lafayette's place felt so long ago, after what'd changed. “It just had to happen.”

“Is it because you are publishing ze article?”

“I… no. It isn't.” She swallowed hard. Whether she was publishing it seemed like an extraneous detail.

“Then what happened? What did you say to ‘im?”

“I didn't say anything wrong. I've told you all that went down,” she insisted. “We just… You know we’re not in a relationship. The choice to stop all this was mutual.”

“Was it really?”

“Yes. He was the one who suggested it.” That much was true. However, she wasn’t sure how candid the suggestion had been when he initially brought it up. “Whatever's weighing on him, it has to be more than what happened with me. I don't think our conversation would've affected him all that much."

“Y/N, please, be straightforward with me. He told me to speak to you about zis." The concern in Lafayette's voice was neither light nor well-concealed. "I am worried about him. Zis is serious."

“Then I don’t know what it is,” she insisted, throwing a hand up in frustration. “I'm sorry, Lafayette. You know this wouldn't be something I'd want for him, but I can't help you.”

He sighed audibly. “I realize zat I will not be getting any more information from you, Y/N, but I am not done with trying to figure zis out.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “And I wish you the best of luck.”

____________

SHE WANTED THE weekend to herself after that. She didn't think Thomas would be taking this all so hard, but then again, she'd bottled everything up the moment she returned to D.C., pretended she'd believed every word she'd said to him, and she figured he'd do the same. It didn't seem like him to dwell.

And yet, there he was, dwelling, and so there she was, too, worrying about him. Her stomach was in knots.

Lafayette called her a number of times, sent her countless texts. He asked her to come over and talk to him about what happened, but she had no interest. He'd get nothing out of it, and she'd only feel worse. Besides, she couldn't run the risk of seeing Thomas in their building when she was there for Lafayette. He seemed to be unavoidable whenever she was there, but then again, maybe that was why Lafayette asked her over in the first place.

She called off all her shifts over the next couple of days, claiming a head cold, that she didn't want to get anyone else sick. Mira sounded skeptical, but she let her go.

Despite her reluctance to leave her apartment, though, when Dolley called and asked her to come over to talk, she was in a double bind. She hadn't told James anything yet, she said, and she wanted to hear what Y/N had to say about it all before she did. If she didn't want James to resent her until the end of time, she supposed she didn't have much of a choice. She was struggling to pinpoint why she still cared so much about his opinion of her, though.

But she thought she owed it to Thomas to try to contain the fallout.

“Hey, Dolley. Thanks for hearing me out.” She shrugged her coat off, left it on the bench beside the front door of James and Dolley’s house.

“Of course, dear. I figured it was only fair." Dolley gave her a sympathetic smile as she came to pull Y/N into a gentle hug. "Can I get you anything? I was about to make myself a cup of tea, but I could put on a pot of coffee, too, if you'd like."

"Actually, tea sounds really nice."

"Alright. You just sit tight, make yourself at home, and I'll be back in a minute."

Her mind was racing as she curled into Dolley’s couch, glancing around her house. She knew James wasn’t home, but she couldn’t help her paranoia that, somehow, he’d hear her, astral projecting from his lunch meeting into his bedroom.

But Dolley came back after putting the tea kettle on the stove, and Y/N had to get herself out of her head. She’d boiled her advocacy down into a nice, itemized list; Dolley took a seat beside her, and Y/N began giving her the hard sell.

I’ll spare you the details — after all, it’s everything you already know. You’d been there, a fly on the wall beside the hotel hot tub, and you know that Dolley telling James what she’d heard would accomplish nothing — he'd likely resent Y/N for it (not that she'd blame him; she knew the problem her relationship with Thomas presented for their campaign). However, with everything between her and Thomas having been put to an end, it'd accomplish nothing. James would have her barred from their events to prevent her from becoming a distraction, but it wouldn't change anything, by then, and only hinder her career.

And besides, she and James were friends. She didn't want the brief, silly fling she'd had with Thomas to ruin that.

She finished monologuing, and, as if on cue, the doorbell rang.

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at the door and then back at Dolley. "Were you expecting someone?"

"I—" The tea kettle started whistling, cutting her off abruptly as she turned her head back toward the kitchen. Dolley sighed. "Oh, hell. Would you mind getting that while I get the door? I need to go see who's here."

“Yeah, sure.” She went to the kitchen as Dolley stood to get the door, and she found that Dolley had made her life fairly easy. There sat two mugs and a box of teabags on a little wooden tray, so all she did was put the little kettle on a potholder before returning to Dolley’s living room.

She couldn’t have been gone for more than a few minutes, but when she came back, she and Dolley weren’t alone.

She nearly dropped the tray.

“Thomas?”

He and Dolley both looked up from where they sat on the couch.

“Y/N.” The minute he met her eyes, she froze. Lafayette was right — he looked like hell. The bags under his eyes were deep, and he clearly hadn’t shaved in several days. His beard was growing in patchy. “What are you doin’ here?”

“I…” She was struggling to speak past the lump in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Dolley invited me.”

Her eyes widened as she turned. “What the hell, Dolley?”

“Oh, would you relax? You two need to talk, and you well know it,” Dolley snapped, and Y/N’s grip tightened on the handles of the tray she held. “Come here and sit down.”

“No. I...” She set the tray down on the side table nearest her, and Dolley furrowed her brow. “I'm leaving. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but there’s nothing more to say.”

"Come on, Y/N—"

"She's right, Doll," Thomas sighed. "We already ended things."

"Please, neither of you wanted to. You're just both too stubborn to say it."

"Don't act like you know the full story," Y/N scoffed.

"So you don't want to fix this?"

"There's nothing to fix." Dolley hummed skeptically as Y/N proceeded past her, grabbed her jacket from the bench by the door. "Thanks for having me, though. I'll see you."

"If either of you leaves, I'm telling James everything."

She paused. "Dolley, you can't—"

"I can, and I will. Now, get back here."

"This is blackmail."

"I won't deny that." Dolley raised an expectant eyebrow when Y/N turned back to her. "Are you going to come sit down, or was this a waste of both our afternoons?"

“Dolley.”

“Would you two like a minute to yourselves?”

“I…” She didn’t answer, instead turning to Thomas, waiting for any sort of a cue. He was watching her, though, and when their eyes met, both of them fell silent. She swallowed hard.

“That might be best.” Thomas’s words were soft, but Y/N couldn’t speak, not with the lump that was building in her throat. Dolley glanced between them, and maybe she could see the silent dread in Y/N’s eyes, but she didn’t say another word, just nodded before she left the room. And with that, Y/N and Thomas were alone.

She swallowed hard. When she finally took a seat, it was on the far end of the couch. Y/N felt certain that Dolley’s draping coats and resting books on every other chair in the room was deliberate.

He was the first to speak.

"So, what're you doin' here, then?"

"Dolley invited me, too." She pursed her lips. "I came to talk to her about… everything she heard."

"Why?" Thomas looked genuinely bewildered, but Y/N didn't understand his confusion.

"I was trying to convince her not to talk to James about it." She shrugged. "I mean, it's not like it's worth her telling him now. It wouldn't change anything."

"Then why d'you care if he knows?"

"I…" She trailed off, unsure whether there was any delicate way to say that she didn't want him to be on the receiving end of any hostility from James just because he'd fucked her a few times. She didn't think he deserved that. "I guess I'd rather James not think I'm sleeping around to get ahead."

"'N you're really that worried about his opinion of you?"

"More than I should be." Her voice was quiet. "Anyway, what issue do you have with that? This whole thing affects you, too, you know."

"Oh, believe me, I know." He huffed, folded his arms as he sat back against the couch cushions. "I, er… I came for the same reason. Didn't want James chewin' me out over it."

“James loves you. Even if she does tell him, you know he won’t be able to be angry about it.”

“James ‘s one of my oldest friends,” he agreed, “but when we’re workin’ together, that doesn’t matter anymore. He’d be furious.”

“Even after the fact?”

He shrugged. “We knew everything we were putting at risk here. He’d tell me my priorities weren’t in the right place, or that I shoulda been taking our campaign more serious than… whatever you ‘n I were doin’.”

“Then I guess it’s good that we stopped,” Y/N replied weakly.

“Yeah.” Thomas didn’t meet her eyes. There was a long moment of silence after that; she could tell his mind was elsewhere with the absent stare he wore, fixed on the ottoman of one of the armchairs, but his brow was furrowed. He was deep in thought. She pursed her lips. “What were you gonna say that night?”

The question caught her off guard; her eyes widened, and he looked up calmly to meet her eyes, wearing an inquisitive look.

“What?”

“The night of my fundraiser.” She pressed her lips together into a thin line. “When Dolley came in, she cut you off. I haven’t been able to keep my mind off’a it.”

God, she hated how he was always so blunt. He always spoke his mind, always said what he was thinking, and it was one of the things that scared Y/N most about him. He hadn’t been able to keep his mind off of that one little moment, that fragmented sentence.

“I… I don’t remember.” Her answer was honest, but Thomas wasn’t satisfied.

"You never meant to…?"

"Hm?” Y/N furrowed her brow, and Thomas's noncommittal shrug didn't help much. “'I never meant to' what?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out."

Oh. She pursed her lips, and her movements were hesitant. She knew what he was talking about — that'd been the last thing she said before their tense conversation ended abruptly the night of his fundraiser. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Thomas scoffed. “Really? I don’t even deserve the truth about this?”

“I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are.” His tone was unshakeable; he was beyond convinced of his words, and Y/N shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “After everything we’ve been through, I know you better than this.”

“And what have we been through? Hm? Fucking on your kitchen counter? I’m sorry to say it, but I’m not quite sure that’s the peak of intimacy.”

“Yeah, alright,” he acquiesced, “but what about all the time we didn’t spend fucking?”

“I…” Y/N trailed off, her jaw tight, entire body tense. “We both knew that was why we were together in the first place. I stayed over because I didn’t wanna travel through the city in the middle of the night. There wasn’t much more to it.”

“Oh, sweetheart, we both know that if you really just wanted to get into my pants, there was no need for you to spend so much time at mine.” His tone was frustratingly condescending, but he was right. “Don’t tell me the reason you made dinner with me, watched all my cheesy old movies, even watered my damn plants was ‘cause I give good head.”

Y/N scowled. "Fine. I like spending time with you. But that doesn't make us anything more than friends."

He hummed in acquiescence, giving a subdued shrug. "Guess not. Making out on the kitchen counter does that well enough, though."

"Okay, we were friends with benefits," she conceded, but Thomas didn't look quite satisfied. "What? What's wrong with that? We're friends, and we slept together."

"Don't try and tell me this is all in my head." Thomas scowled. "Yeah, we slept together. But we did a lot more than that. I know very well I'm not delusional for thinking something more was goin' on there."

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” Y/N scoffed. “You know it was never like that; it wasn’t what I wanted.”

“No, I know.” Thomas shifted on the couch to face her, and his gaze was heavy with scrutiny, with skepticism. “You didn’t wanna get too involved. You made all that clear as day.”

“Then what’s the problem?” The undertone of irritation in his voice was putting her on edge, and he let out a dry, breathy laugh, shaking his head.

“That you’ve been lyin’ to me.”

“What? I never—”

“I don’t mean your intentions. You never wanted us to be more than friends. That’s just fine,” he reasoned, and how measured his tone was made Y/N furrow her brow. “But what I wanna know now is if you did end up gettin’ more attached than you meant to.”

“I… ?” Her voice was breathless. It sounded as though his question had knocked the wind out of her, but Thomas just continued to watch her expectantly.

“You heard me. You know what I’m askin’.”

“Does it matter?” she asked, but the words sounded hoarse. She could feel her hands trembling where she rested them on her thighs, and she folded her arms to hide it. She didn’t want Thomas to see how uneasy she was.

“It does to me.” He pursed his lips, leaned forward to rest on his forearms on his thighs. Y/N didn’t respond. “If you’re not gonna gimme an answer on that, the least you can do is tell me what you were gonna say that night. Just give me something to go on here.”

“It won’t change anything.” Her voice was heavy.

“Then just tell me." He sounded tired. "I can't go on wondering if this was all in my head."

“Thomas…”

“Please,” he said. “What’d you ‘never mean to’ do?”

“Hurt you.” Her words were nearly inaudible as she stared down at her legs, unable to bring herself to look up and see how he was watching her. “Which feels silly to say now, but it’s the truth.”

His jaw was tight. He nodded. “Great.” He let out a heavy breath, leaned back off of his legs to sit up in his chair. “Great. ‘M gonna go tell Dolley we’re finished with talking. Don’t think there’s anything else to say.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide as he stood, particularly as she hadn’t moved an inch. “Wait, what?” He looked down at her with an expectant eyebrow raised when he went to grab his coat. She frowned. “I mean, yeah, sure, fine. But…”

“But what?” Thomas immediately challenged it when she trailed off, shaking her head.

“But that’s it?” she asked. “You’re just gonna leave now after you pressed for me to tell you that?”

He let out a humorless, breathy laugh. “‘Course I am. What else am I supposed to do with, ‘oh, I never meant to hurt you, Thomas’?”

Y/N wrinkled her nose at his mocking impression of her voice, taken aback by his shift in demeanor. “I don’t know. You’re the one who kept asking.”

“Mm, you’re right. My bad, sweetheart.” His tone was mocking as he pulled his arms into the sleeves of his coat, shrugged it onto his shoulders. He glanced back at the doors to the rest of the house. “‘S Dolley in the kitchen? Hang on a sec.”

“Hey, wait, slow down,” Y/N said, and she sounded affronted.

“What? You don’t wanna leave?”

“I… yeah, but…” She frowned. “Why do you sound so angry? What did I do?”

“I’m not angry.” The strain in his nonchalant gaze and his clenched jaw both said otherwise. “I can just appreciate some good irony, ‘s all.”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean,” he said. “You’re too smart for that, c’mon.”

“I got the implication,” she replied, struggling to keep her tone in check, “but no, I don’t know what you mean by it. What have I done to wrong you so sincerely? Hm?”

“Oh, please, I can’t do this again.” His frustration was unbridled in his voice. “Hasn’t even been a week since we went over it. Try ‘n think.”

“Do you mean in North Carolina?”

“When else?”

She huffed. “Alright, fine, but I don’t know what you want me to say to that. Do you really want to re-hash that argument?”

“Not in the least. ‘S why I’m leavin’,” he said frankly. “You take care of yourself, now.”

“Wait, come on,” she protested, finally standing up alongside him. “You seem even more mad now than you did last week. What’s your problem?”

He raised an eyebrow, and the amusement in his small smile was sardonic. “Right now? Sugar, you’re my problem. What’s hard to understand about that?”

How condescending his tone was made Y/N grit her teeth. “Then what do you want from me? What am I doing so incredibly wrong right now that I deserve—?”

“Same thing you’ve been doin’,” he spat. “Pretending to care about me ‘n then turnin’ around and makin' me feel silly for believing it."

"Hey, what?" The offense she took was clear in her voice. "Of course I care about you."

"Oh, save it. There's nothing to prove anymore. No need for the act."

"What the fuck do you mean 'act'?" He rolled his eyes at her question, went back to buttoning up his coat, and she scoffed. "I'm still talking to you."

"'N you're not sayin' anything I haven't heard."

"Then what do you want from me?" she asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. He looked her dead in the eye.

"Something you can't give me."

She was stunned to silence for only a moment after his biting words, and as he finished putting his coat on, she drew in a shuddering breath. "So that's what this is about. You're angry because I haven't sucked your dick in a couple weeks."

He huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "Please. If I needed to get off, I could go anywhere I wanted."

"Oh, right, because the women are lining up down the street to fuck you."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," he snapped.

"Then what do you mean?" She folded her arms, raised her eyebrows.

He paused for a moment, tongue burrowed into the corner of his cheek as he watched her. "I mean that I actually want you. Am I not bein' clear enough? I don't just wanna fuck you once in a while 'n then pretend to be strangers. But I have no idea what the hell you want from me, so I'm leaving. You can tell Dolley I said g'night."

"I will," she replied. "And I'm sure James will love hearing everything Dolley knows about us hooking up. Have fun dealing with that fallout."

He let out a mirthless laugh. "Thanks. Whatever he has to say, it'll be much easier than havin' to deal with you."

––––––––––––––––––––

mailto: [email protected]

Ashley:

I hope this email finds you well. Thank you so much for all your feedback on the Adams article; it’s been incredibly helpful in my redrafting process. However, many of the claims he makes about Jefferson’s past remain unsubstantiated, and I have faced numerous obstacles in finding a source who is willing to corroborate. None of Jefferson’s contacts who know him well enough to confirm or deny are willing to comment. As such, I am reaching out to request a two-week postponement on the publishing of the article while I straighten out the facts supporting it.

Thank you in advance,

Y/N L/N

––––––––––––––––––––

THOMAS’S WORDS HAD stung. He left that day with no further ado, and Y/N was left dwelling in the days that followed. She couldn't help but wince every time she recalled what happened. Her guilt was weighing on her even heavier than before.

"Mija, where is the order for Marcus?"

It was Mira's voice that broke her train of thought, pulled her out of her head. She blinked hard and found herself in the middle of absentmindedly assembling a sandwich. She checked the receipt— shit. Marcus had specifically asked for no mayo.

Y/N huffed as she trashed the bread and pulled out another roll. A minute later, she slid his order out in a basket complete with fries and a pickle, yelled it out over the counter, and went on to the next one. They were closing in ten minutes: why the hell were there still orders to make?

She slumped against the kitchen counter, resting on her hands against it after she finished the lobster roll for Sriya. Mira walked in to her left.

"Ay, this mess," she huffed, untying her apron and scrunching her nose as she surveyed the room. Y/N nodded, her blank stare not leaving the floor in front of her. Mira furrowed her brow. "Oye, you with me?"

Again, she nodded absently, and Mira frowned, folded her arms. "And you are happy to wash all these dishes, too? I can leave you here to mop the floors?"

The robotic nod she received in return made her sigh. "Mija." She snapped her fingers; Y/N visibly jumped, eyes wide. She looked at Mira. "What is wrong, hm? Why are you acting dumb?"

"Hey, uncalled for," Y/N defended herself, wearing a small frown as she looked over at Mira's impatient expression. "I'm just distracted."

"By what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know… work, I guess."

"You are at work," Mira pointed out, and Y/N sighed.

"You know I mean my other job. There's a lot on my mind. I'm sorry if I've been slacking here."

"Mm. Apology accepted," she said, and Y/N could only roll her eyes.

"Glad to hear it."

"But actually talk to me now, hm? You are giving me half answers." Mira raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips. Y/N pursed her lips.

"It's not a huge deal. Just an article I've been working on," she said. Her stare was absent. After a minute, she cleared her throat. "But hey, um, sorry to change the subject, but can I ask, has Thomas Jefferson been around here lately?"

"'To change the subject,'" Mira repeated skeptically. "So he is your problem. It is always a man."

Y/N furrowed her brow. "I thought you loved Thomas."

"Sí, sí, pero te quiero más," Mira replied matter-of-factly. Y/N couldn't help her small smile. "You know you always come first for me."

"Thanks," she said softly.

"But why do you care about Thomas Jefferson coming here now? Hm?" Mira asked, making Y/N frown. She assumed she was off the hook. "All you ever do is complain about him. Shouldn't you be happy?"

"So he hasn't been coming here?"

"Ah, ah. My question first."

Y/N shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know. I just haven't seen him during my shifts. I was curious."

Mira paused, eyeing her skeptically for a moment before she pulled her apron off over her head and folded it in her hands. "Yes, he has been by."

"Really? When?"

She nodded. "He was here yesterday."

"Did he seem… okay?"

Mira paused. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno." She shifted under Mira's disbelieving gaze. "I've heard he hasn't made many public appearances recently. Just wondering if something was going on."

"He seemed fine." Mira tossed her apron onto the counter. Y/N nodded, pressing her lips together. "He asked about you."

She froze. "He did?"

"He did," she confirmed. "Why did he ask about you?"

“What? I don’t know.” Her brow was furrowed, and her tone was defensive. “What did he ask?”

“The same thing you asked me about him. What is going on?”

“Nothing, I don’t—”

“No me mientas. I saw him leaving on a Saturday morning two months ago when I came in to open.” Mira’s tone was sharp, and Y/N’s stomach dropped. “I am not stupid; simply tell me what is happening."

“Mira, it’s really not what you think; he was just here while I was closing, and it was the night of that horrible blizzard, and his car wouldn’t start, and the roads were closed…”

“So you had an innocent little slumber party with Thomas Jefferson?”

“I just let him stay here for the night,” Y/N defended. “He didn’t really have any other options.”

“So why is he coming around here asking after you?” Mira folded her arms, and when Y/N shrugged, she sighed. “Please be honest with me. It is obvious that there is something more going on than you want to admit.”

Y/N’s long moment of silence following her words told Mira more than Y/N meant to divulge. Mira pursed her lips.

“Por favor, dime. I am only asking because I care about you.”

“Well, I appreciate it, but there’s nothing to be worried about,” Y/N assured her. “I’m obviously fine, and he’s apparently doing alright as well, so there’s no problem. I’ll come talk to you if there ever is.”

Mira looked her over as she cleaned up the counter she stood before. “Are you really doing fine, though?”

Y/N went to take out the trash.

–––––––––––––––––––––

SHE SETTLED BACK into her usual closing shifts at the diner within the week, returning to working the dinner rush. She could only feign illness to stay away for so long, and this wasn’t the shift Thomas typically came in during, anyway. Besides, she needed the money more than she needed to avoid him.

That week passed with little intrigue, limited to her favorite (and least favorite) customers alongside a surprise appearance from Lafayette on Wednesday night. Thankfully, he showed up during peak hours, so it wasn’t difficult to evade his questions under the guise of taking care of other customers. She assumed he left shortly after he came, but around an hour later, she noticed him in the back corner chatting animatedly with the old man who always ordered nothing but coffee and read his newspaper for hours. She couldn’t help but smile.

She was slowly walking back information from her article about Thomas, claiming she had another source denying the validity of its original claims, but she wasn’t sure her editor was buying it. Ashley was impatient, and her approach had always been to publish first and follow up later. It was surely only a matter of days, maybe a week, before the article went live without anyone corroborating it. Y/N was operating on stolen time.

But at that point, it couldn’t be her greatest concern.

The following Wednesday was slow at both the office and the diner. Thomas hadn’t appeared much in public since his fundraiser in North Carolina, so Y/N didn’t have much to write about to distract her from the exposé she was doing her best to stall. She had resorted to redundant think pieces about his economic policy platform.

When she arrived at the diner for the night, Y/N was already counting the hours until she could curl up with a glass of wine and watch Parks and Rec until she passed out on the couch. She’d take a night with Aubrey Plaza over her regulars any day.

She was working the kitchen with Jac until Mira left for the night, pushing Y/N to the register in her place. It wouldn’t have been a problem for her if not for the first face she saw when Mira brought her out to the front.

He was absentmindedly checking his phone when she approached, and she cleared her throat as she stepped up to the register. He looked up, and his eyes went wide.

"Hey." She spoke first. "What can I get you?"

"Hey." His voice was hesitant. "Sorry, I… thought you didn't work Wednesdays anymore."

She didn't meet his eyes, staring past him at the diner's patrons as she tapped her fingernails on the counter. "This is my usual shift."

"I know, but Lafayette said…" He trailed off, shaking his head. She raised her eyebrows, finally looking directly at him. His eyes were bloodshot. "Nevermind. 'M sorry. Can I get a roast beef on rye and a cappuccino to go?"

"Yeah. It'll be out shortly." Her words were soft, absentminded as she eyed him. He looked more put-together than she'd seen him when they were at Dolley’s, but the heavy frames of his glasses didn't hide the growing bags under his eyes.

He nodded, leaning down to pay, signing the screen before him. "Thanks, sweetheart."

He was tucking his card back into his wallet as he spoke, and as her eyes widened, he froze, both of them processing his words at the same time. He didn't say another word, though. He sighed as he turned to walk away, and she didn't interrupt him.

She sent his order to the kitchen and grabbed a cup for his coffee, marking it with his name. She stared at it for a long moment before glancing back up at him. He was seated at a table by the end of the bar, typing frantically on his phone.

They had his order out for him in around five minutes, and it was Jac who called it out to the dining room when he put it on the bar. Y/N went ahead and made his coffee herself, forcibly switching places with her coworker to transfer herself off of the register, and she was finishing it right as he came up to collect his sandwich.

"Cappuccino for Thomas?"

Her voice was weak as she met him at the end of the counter, and he gave her a halfhearted smile.

"Thanks."

As she handed him the cup, his fingers brushed against hers, and she couldn't bring herself to let go.

"Give me a call?" she asked quietly when he met her gaze. Her eyes were hopeful, and he swallowed thickly.

"Take care of yourself." His tone was impersonal as he broke her stare. She pursed her lips. He pulled the cup from her shaking hands.

––––––––––––––––––––

THOMAS DIDN'T CALL. Y/N wasn't sure she was really expecting him to after how he came in on Wednesday and made it clear that he'd been trying to avoid her. Still, her heart rate picked up every time she received a notification, not letting her rest until she had confirmed it wasn't him. She was let down every time.

She was the last employee there before they closed on Friday, as Jac had to leave early for a date, so she was left wiping down the counters as she waited for the final few customers to make their way out of the diner.

She looked up when the bell above the door rang, expecting the last person to be leaving, but instead, Thomas Jefferson was walking in. Her eyebrows shot up.

She came over to meet him at the register. "Did Lafayette also tell you I wasn't working Fridays?"

"Nah. 'M actually here to see you," he said. His expression was blank, his tone businesslike. "You did ask me to call, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Her voice was small. "At this point, I didn't think you were gonna."

"I didn't plan to." They both glanced over as the bell above the door chimed again, letting them know the last person had left the diner. "But it's been on my mind. I don't have time for that typa distraction, which is why I'm here."

"Right," she said softly. "Can I get you anything?"

"Coffee would be great if it's not too much trouble."

"Of course." The coffee pot was still hot and sitting under the machine, so it didn't take her long to pour him a cup in one of the mugs she'd just cleaned (one cream, two sugars). She turned back to hand it to him. "Here you go."

"Thanks." He accepted it as he sat down across the counter from her, putting it down in front of him. When he pulled out his wallet, Y/N raised an eyebrow, and when he started fishing out bills, she couldn't help but sigh.

"Put your money away; this is on the house," she said, and he glanced up with his dark brow knit.

"You should know by now that I can't be bought."

Her eyes widened at his words, and she looked him over skeptically for a moment as he put his wallet away. He held her gaze for another moment, watching her expectantly, and after a beat passed, the corners of his lips quirked up, giving the only indication that he might be joking. She rolled her eyes.

"How could I forget about your impeccable morals?"

"No idea." He reached for his coffee, and he took a delicate sip as she leaned against the counter across from him. "Why'd you ask me to call?"

"I wanted to talk to you, but I didn't think a text would cut it."

"What do we have left to say right now?" The bluntness of his question caught her off guard, and her eyebrows shot up as he watched her expectantly. "The conversation we had at Dolley's made it pretty clear any talk we had was gonna be more of the same."

She frowned, crossing her arms in front of her as she drew back from the counter. "If you think this is a waste of time then why did you bother to come here?"

"I don't think this is a waste of time," he defended. "I'm just not sure what you want from it."

"I don't know if you do, but I still have more to say," she said. He raised an eyebrow.

"Then why didn't you say it while we were at Dolley’s?"

"Because we started fighting, and you were angry, and I…" She sighed. "I didn't know how to. You had every right to be angry, but I didn't want to think I was in the wrong."

"So what's changed?" he asked, watching her expectantly.

She shrugged hesitantly, looking down at her hands on the counter. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you said. I felt bad, and… I've been worried about you."

"You've been worried about me?" he repeated skeptically, and when she looked up, she didn't like the disdainful look in his eyes.

"I have." When his disbelieving stare didn't budge, she sighed. "The last couple times I've seen you, you haven't seemed like yourself. You looked… tired."

"'Course I'm tired; I'm running a presidential campaign," he said flatly, and Y/N pursed her lips.

"I know, but then Lafayette called, and…" She trailed off when Thomas huffed. "I dunno. Mira told me you asked about me, and then Lafayette started talking like he knew something I didn't. So I was worried."

"Of course Lafayette called," he scoffed. "He can't just stay out of our damn lives, can he?"

"He means well," she reasoned, but he looked unimpressed.

"He needs to learn a thing or two about boundaries," Thomas said, "but I'm doing just fine. If that's all you wanted to talk about, I can head out."

"No, c'mon," she pleaded. "I didn't bring you here just for that. Bear with me."

Thomas said nothing but raised an expectant eyebrow as he took another sip of his coffee, waiting for her to continue.

"The real reason I wanted to talk is because I owe you an apology. Several apologies, really."

He put down his mug, leaning back in his chair. "What for?"

"You know what for." She gave him a tired look, and he shrugged innocently.

"Maybe." He drummed his fingers on the ceramic absentmindedly, watching them bounce on its glossy surface. "But I wanna know if you know what you're apologizin' for."

The bored look he wore made her feel small. She swallowed.

"I'm sorry for treating you how I did."

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"I think if I tried to be specific we'd be here quite a while."

"I've got time."

"It's late."

"You don't have work tomorrow." He paused, considering himself. "As far as I know, that is. Won't pretend I still know your schedule."

"It hasn’t changed as much as I pretended it did,” she said quietly. “So I guess I’ll start there. I’m sorry for lying to you about my schedule and trying to pretend I hadn’t been avoiding you. I should’ve been upfront when you asked about it.”

“Yeah, you shoulda," he agreed with a nonchalant shrug. "I never got an explanation on why you were avoidin’ me either, but with how you started deflecting when I asked about other men, I’m not sure I want one.”

“Woah, I wasn’t deflecting anything about other men,” she defended, brow creased. “I told you in no uncertain terms that I had no desire to hook up with Lafayette, and you decided to push that and scrutinize my dating life.”

He rolled his eyes. “‘S great to know you and Lafayette aren’t sleeping together, but you can’t pretend you were straightforward with me.”

“What was I not being clear about?”

“You’re really gonna make me do this again?” Thomas huffed, glancing to his right as disbelief flashed in his eyes. “I dunno why you wanted to talk to me if we were just gonna rehash this.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Every time I've asked whether you were sleeping with other people, you told me you didn’t owe me that information, ‘n it all became some big fight about me actin’ controlling,” he said. “If you don’t wanna tell me, fine, but don’t act like you’ve been transparent. We both know you’re keeping me in the dark for a reason.”

“I’m not, actually,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I haven’t been with anyone else. Not in any capacity. If I were having sex with other people, I would’ve been asking you to be a lot more careful.”

“So you didn’t call me up to tell me I needa get tested for chlamydia?”

“No, just syphilis.” Her tone was lighthearted, but Thomas didn’t offer any sign of amusement. She cleared her throat. “You’re the only person I’ve been with since we met, so the last thing you have to worry about is me passing on some incurable STI.”

“You haven’t slept with anyone else since I’ve known you?” There was surprise in his creased eyes as he fixated on the first part of her sentence. She shrugged.

“I guess I haven't.” She eyed his incredulous stare. "I didn't think this would be that shocking, either."

"You've been careful as possible to make that unclear," he said. "So if there's nobody else, then why all the lyin'? If you wanted space, you coulda just said so. I'm an adult; I can handle it."

"I know you can," she said quietly. She rubbed at a smudge on the countertop, trying to avoid his gaze. "I just… I've felt guilty about being with you and… whatever this is. Whatever we are. So much happened so fast between us, and the more time I spend in the outside world the more I feel like it was a mistake."

"'A mistake'?" The hurt in his tone was clear, and she sighed, resting her forehead on one of her hands.

"I don't mean it like that, but you know what the reality is here. We knew it from the start."

"I shouldn't have come here," he muttered, setting down his mug and moving to stand. Her eyes widened.

"Wait, hear me out," she pleaded, but he was off of his seat, buttoning his coat. "I got a lot more attached to you than I meant to, alright?"

That stopped him cold.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you said at Dolley's, and I'm sorry I spent so much time deflecting." She pursed her lips, watching him hopefully, and when he met her eyes, his tense shoulders softened. "I really like being with you, but with what our lives are, we can't be doing this. We’re not good for each other."

"I never asked you for any kind of a commitment," he defended. "You shoulda just told me if you didn't wanna do it anymore."

"I do want to keep doing it, though, and that's why it's such a problem." She sighed, her back sagging as she leaned against the counter. "I got too close. It's ruined all my objectivity as a journalist."

"You're good at your job," he reasoned. "The way you write about me's gotten more nuanced. I don't think that's a bad thing, sweetheart."

"No, you don't get it. This is a presidential race, and as a frontrunner, people have had enough of hearing about your politics. They get it by now. They want to hear about you and your ugly past and all the things that make you an unqualified leader." Her voice sounded hopeless, and it made him frown. "You've told me too much for me to play it straight. I care too much to be able to decide what the public does and doesn't need to know. I got this assignment because I wanted to serve up your dirty laundry on a silver platter, but I don't think I have it in me after everything that's happened."

"There's not much in my past worth hiding."

"Isn't there?"

"If I've made it this this far into my career without bein' hurt by what I do behind closed doors, I'm not afraid of anything you're gonna dig up."

"You were an alcoholic."

His wide eyes snapped to hers, and she didn't dare speak.

"'N how the hell d'you know about that?"

"So it's true?" she asked quietly.

"I was grieving my goddamn fiancée. She was all I had; I was surviving," he snapped, and she pursed her lips. "You try losing the love of your life 'n tell me it doesn't screw with your head."

"I don't blame you, Thomas, and I'm not judging you." Her soft words didn't save her from his skeptical gaze. "I’m sorry that you went through that. You didn’t deserve a second of it. But now that I know this, I’m supposed to publish an article about it. My editor wants to make this front page news, but I want to kill the story because I got too close to you."

"If I was anybody else, would you even know about this?"

"I got this information from an interview." She spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. "My source wants to remain anonymous, but it's sound enough to publish without someone else corroborating it."

"Are you tellin' me you're planning to publish an article about me bein' an alcoholic?" His voice was incredulous; he watched her as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. The look in her eyes was pained.

"I don't want to," she said. "I don't want to make this public because I care too much about you. I don't even know whether this would be a fair article for someone to write because I've lost all perspective on writing about you."

"So don't write the article," he said, and she could barely stand to look at the worry in his eyes. "'S all in the past. I'm under control now; 's not who I am. That was me at my worst."

"My editor already knows about the interview," Y/N said softly, and she winced at the dread she saw flash in his expression. "If I don't publish this, someone else will, and I'll lose my job in the process."

"Who did the interview this came from?"

"I did." Her words were tearful.

"Then you can still stop this," he said firmly. "Refuse to write about it. Don't send your boss the notes from the interview, or the tape, or whatever you've got."

"Thomas, it's already written."

Her words struck him silent, and all he could do for a moment was stare at her in disbelief.

"I'm trying to stop it from running. It's a rough draft, so my editor still needs me to—"

"I opened up to you about my fiancée's death, 'n you just turned around and wrote an article about it?" His quiet voice was heavy with hurt.

"It's not about that. It doesn't even mention Martha, and my editor doesn't know about any of that," she pleaded. "My source doesn’t know about her, so nobody else has to. But there are people out there trying to crush your campaign who know about your struggle with addiction. The information’s out there; it’s only a matter of time before someone goes public with it."

“So you figured you may as well fast-track destroyin’ my reputation? You wanna tell the whole world who I was in my weakest moments?”

“Wouldn’t you rather the story be written by someone sympathetic to what you’ve been through?” she asked. “If I withhold the source from my editor, she can’t run the story, I lose my job, and some asshole who wants to see you suffer casts this all in a much harsher light.”

“All I’m askin’ for is time,” he pleaded. “We’re in the middle of the primaries; if this comes out now, I’m through.”

“I’ve delayed it for as long as I can. My editor wants a final draft by the end of next week.”

“The end of next week,” he repeated softly, looking down at the counter. His teeth were gritted; his jaw tense, but he was eerily still. Y/N felt sick. “You asked me to come here to apologize and tell me you cared about me just so that you could, what, feel better about yourself before you stabbed me in the back?”

“I felt bad about how we left things.”

“And this is so much better.” His voice was harsh, thick with irony as he looked up at her. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? You have some goddamn audacity, trying to make peace with me knowing damn well you just wrote an article that’s gonna destroy everything I’ve been working for.”

“This isn’t going to kill your career. It won’t even kill your campaign; the primaries are almost over, and you’ve won. You’re the candidate; take your victory lap,” she said, and the source of the indignation in her voice was hard to pin down. “I’ve been writing articles for months in opposition to your presidential run, and you never cared. We even laughed about it. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that there’s finally some news that might make a dent.”

“This isn’t the same thing, and you know it,” he snapped, rising from his seat as his hand hit the countertop. His mug clattered against the surface.

“And what’s so different? I’ve said the harshest things about your career that I could think of; no matter how bad it got, you were still texting me on Friday nights asking me to come over.”

“This isn’t about my career. This is about me.” The words were firm, and he looked Y/N dead in the eye as he said them. “You don’t care about me; you care about climbin’ corporate ladders ‘n being national news. Nobody who really cared would be able to hear about what I’ve been through ‘n capitalize on it.”

“It’s not like that, Thomas, I—”

“Don’t call me,” he cut her off abruptly as he buttoned his coat. “Don’t text me, don’t talk to me, and don’t come near me. I’ve had enough of this goddamn game you’ve been playing, and I’m done having this conversation over and over again where I give you the benefit of the doubt n’ all you do is remind me that I’m expendable.”

“Wait, don’t—”

“I said I’m done,” he said. “And we’re done. You… you need to take a long, hard look at yourself before letting anybody else into your life.”

Y/N could barely speak with the lump building in her throat. She could barely breathe. Her eyes stung as she looked up at him, and she was afraid to move. All she could manage, her voice hoarse, was, “I’m sorry.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

When he walked out, he didn’t look back.

98 notes · View notes

astralaffairs · 1 year

Text

voltaire to versace 04 | thomas jefferson

title: voltaire to versace 04

pairing: professor!thomas jefferson x reader

words: 7.4k

warnings: this one is chill just like sexual tension. sorry ive been gone for two years lol

desc: from francis bacon to foucault, descartes to dante, your political philosophy seminar doesn’t promise to be a blowout — and yet, one mysterious stranger and a risqué evening later, your burberry-clad professor gives you the feeling it won’t be quite the snoozefest you’d expected.

tags: @lunariasilver @tinywhim @nyxie75 @wreakhavoconmacroissantdiggs @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @cubedtriangle @lunariasilver @lexylovesfandoms @fanfic-addict-98 @stephyra17 @notebookgirl30 @exorcisms-with-elmo @kmsmedine @itshaileyn @honeyand-roses @laic2299 @id-do-it-for-free-babe @luckyfriesss @golddiggs-x @drreamhugs @sillyteecup @notebookgirl30 @marvelouslyemily @checkurwindow— let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future parts!

SHE STILL FINISHED grading the first round of essays for Thomas, but she dropped them off at the faculty mailboxes that Sunday afternoon — she couldn't face him at that point. On Monday, she gravitated back to her seat at the rear of his lecture hall. She did the same on Wednesday.

Her responses to his emails and his texts were short and to-the-point. He needed her to grade the recent papers from his International Security class? Sure, but she was busy during his office hours; any chance he could leave them in his mailbox so she could pick them up the next morning? Thanks, that'd be great. He wanted her to work with him on laying out the rubric for an essay? No problem. She'd set up a shared Google Doc right away.

It was a week after Y/N had last spoken to Thomas that Dolley was over his apartment that weekend with James. She was smug when she came home to Y/N.

"Thomas is looking for you," she said mildly, and Y/N glanced up from her laptop on the couch with a skeptical gaze.

"And what, exactly, makes you say that?"

"He asked me to tell you."

Y/N's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, seriously?"

"Mhm." Dolley's smile was self-pleased. "He was home when I was over, and he said he needed to talk to you."

"Thanks for letting me know." Y/N's voice was tense as she looked back to the paper she was writing, and Dolley took a seat beside her with a glass of water.

"Can I ask why that might be?"

"No clue."

"So are you going to talk to him?"

"I have class with him Monday. I'll see him then."

"Y/N." She gave her a deadpanned look, and Y/N looked tired when she met her eyes. "Did something happen? You haven't mentioned his name even once all this week."

"No, everything's fine," Y/N assured her, but Dolley looked less than convinced.

"Then why do you look so unhappy right now, dear?"

"What? I don't," she replied defensively, and Dolley raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"How daft do you think I am?" she asked, folding her arms after she put her glass on their coffee table. "You can deny wanting to sleep with him all you'd like, but I know how much you like Thomas. It isn't exactly subtle. So what happened with you two?"

Y/N sighed, rubbing the side of her nose. "It's not really that big of a deal. I'm probably blowing it out of proportion, but he drove me home from the party at their apartment last weekend, and..."

"And?"

"And I came onto him." She was wincing at even the memory. "I was drunk, though, and he knew that, but it was so stupid. I'm still kind of mortified, so I've been dodging his attempts to talk to me. I don't know how I'm supposed to face him."

Dolley took a deep breath, eyeing Y/N where she sat with her head in her hands, her laptop closed on her lap. "Well, he clearly wants you to talk to him, so I'm sure he didn't think it was quite so bad."

"But I'm gonna be an anxious wreck the next time I have to talk to him," she groaned.

"You're his TA and his student," Dolley pointed out. "You can't avoid him forever."

"I'm not trying to," Y/N said. "But… y'know. I can still put it off for a little while. Midterms are only a week away, and then it's spring break. If I can make it that far, I don't have to talk to him until fourth quarter."

"You're being ridiculous."

“I’m being practical,” she replied, “besides, it’s only two weeks till break. The only time I’m gonna need to talk to him is when I turn in my midterm.”

Dolley snorted. “I’d wish you luck, but this one’s a lost cause, dear.”

————————————

IN THE END, Dolley was right. He hardly let her get away with it for more than a week.

"Y/N, can I have a word?"

She cringed.

It was 6 PM on Wednesday; the rest of her class was filing out of the lecture hall, but she paused where she stood in the row second to last. She'd already turned to leave. She shifted on her feet as she turned to Thomas, pulled her bag further up her shoulder, but when she saw him standing at the front of the room, arms folded and brow creased as he watched her, she couldn't meet his eyes.

Her classmates shot her curious looks as they left — Thomas never asked students to stay after class. If something was wrong, he sent them emails, he asked them to come to his office hours, he’d even used Twitter messages to reach people before, but he never publicly asked someone to hang back. She’d learned that it was against his ethos as a professor; he’d told her a story or two of his college days that made her understand why.

However, as much attention as this anomaly in his behavior drew, she had a feeling she knew why he wanted a word with her. She slumped back into her chair beside the aisle until everyone else was gone, and finally, the door fell shut, echoed through the hall, and she approached Thomas's desk with a looming sense of dread. He glanced up from packing his bag.

"Hey."

"Hey." Her voice was hesitant. "You couldn't have just approached me after the class got out?"

"In my defense," he started, "you haven't been makin' yourself all that easy to find. Everything okay lately?"

He was watching her expectantly, an eyebrow raised, and she folded her arms. "Yeah. Just fine."

"Then lemme rephrase that." Then, he turned fully toward her, his bag pulled shut and pushed aside. He frowned. "Why've you been avoiding me?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "What? I'm not."

"Yes, you are." The words left no room for negotiation, and she sighed. "And I mean, 's your prerogative. You've still been comin' through as a TA, so I'm not about to try and criticize you, but can I at least get an explanation?"

He looked pretty frustrated for someone who wasn't about to try and criticize her.

"You're not that oblivious," she said. "I have a feeling you know why."

Several moments passed in a tense silence. He was eyeing her tentatively, unmoving, and she couldn't meet his scrutinizing gaze, shifting on her feet. Finally, he sighed.

"The party?"

"Got it in one."

To her surprise, he let out a dry huff of laughter. "To be honest, I'm surprised you even remember that."

"I kinda wish I didn't."

Thomas offered her a reluctant smile. "I hear that. But..." He hesitated. "Which part of that night’s still bothering you?”

Y/N furrowed her brow, looking back up toward him. "Seriously?”

She figured it was obvious. Trying to seduce your professor while well-past drunk seemed like a clear, egregious issue, and she wasn’t quite sure why he was playing dumb.

"After all that time you spent avoidin’ me, you've gotta know what I'm talkin' about. C'mon." She stared at him blankly for another moment, and finally, he sighed. "Nevermind. I'm sorry about what happened then. We don't have to keep discussin' it if you don't wanna."

"No, hang on, what are you sorry for?" she asked, disbelief clear in her voice, and he raised an eyebrow. She hesitated before she went on, "I... I'm sorry for coming onto you like that. It was really stupid, and I know I crossed a line, but that's all my own fault; I don't—"

"You were drunk. Don't feel bad about it," he said reasonably. She was searching his apologetic expression as he spoke; she couldn't fathom why he looked guilty. Had something happened that she didn't remember?

"But why are you apologizing?" she asked softly, creasing her forehead. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I got real close to doin' something I shouldn't, though," he said, carding a hand through his curls. "I shouldn't have let it get that far. 'Specially not when you were drunk. I got too close to crossing that line."

"Too close to..." Y/N repeated, trailing off with her brow furrowed, but that was when it hit her. Had she not been so mortified by her own actions, she realized, she'd have been dwelling instead on the way his hands had tightened around her waist, how he'd pulled her into himself with a bruising grip when she tugged at his hair. That evening, she'd convinced herself he was going to spend the night. "Oh."

"Yeah." He swallowed hard, hands tucked into his pockets. "So, 'm sorry. I should've shut that down, and I get why you've been keepin' your distance."

"No, no, relax." She dismissed his apology with a flippant wave of her hand. "I was in the wrong. You were trying to be considerate."

"You're givin' me too much credit," he sighed, and a flicker of a smile graced her lips.

"I wouldn't say that," she argued, and she hesitated, cocked a brow before adding, "Unless, of course, you had an ulterior motive for insisting on taking me home in the middle of the night?"

His eyes widened. "Oh! Jesus, no, I swear, I didn't— I wouldn't..." As an amused grin split Y/N's controlled expression, though, he trailed off, squinting at her. "You're just messin' with me, aren't you?"

“Maybe,” she answered mildly, giving an innocent shrug. He scowled. “But, really, Thomas, it’s fine. We can forget it ever happened, okay?”

He watched her warily as she offered him a tense smile. He wasn't sure it was fine, and quite frankly, he knew he'd have a hard time forgetting it ever happened — he felt like there was more left to say.

But as his pause stretched on, as she raised her eyebrows at his uncharacteristic silence, he didn't have the words.

"You sure?" was all he finally said.

"Yeah."

“Alright.” He eyed her for another moment, wary, before he pulled his bag up onto his shoulder. "That’s good. I… guess I'll see you around. Good luck with midterms, Y/N."

She didn't miss the final, unreadable once-over he gave her before starting up the stairs out of the lecture hall. She didn't go after him.

————————————————

WHAT FOLLOWED WAS midterms week, which came and went without much pomp or circumstance. She didn't see much of Thomas that week after finishing with his test, which was more intentional than she’d like to have admitted. On Friday night, she finished grading the papers he'd delegated to her, but she just left them in his mailbox.

When Saturday afternoon rolled around, she was perched on the couch in her apartment flipping through the same Netflix suggestions she'd been seeing for the past hour. She'd had an incredibly relaxed day, and she assumed it would stay as such until Dolley came bursting in with a wide grin.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Where are you coming from looking so excited?"

"James's."

"Ah." No further questions were necessary, but when Dolley circled around to stand right between Y/N and the television, it was clear something more was up — something Y/N had no interest in finding out about. "Do you mind? I was watching that."

"Oh, please. No, you weren't," Dolley scoffed, but her eyes were alight despite her contrived annoyance.

"Well, I was going to," Y/N grumbled, and Dolley could only smile.

"You're going to want to hear what I have to say."

"Am I?"

"Certainly." Y/N raised an expectant brow when Dolley took a step closer to her. "Spring break just started."

"What else is new?"

"James's family has a home in the Outer Banks."

"Good for him." Y/N's responses were short as she tried to lean around Dolley, scrolling through the 'New to Netflix' category. Dolley groaned, rolled her eyes. Y/N's noises of protest went entirely ignored as Dolley pulled her remote from her hand, and she deadpanned as Dolley rested her hands on her shoulders, sitting down to straddle her lap on the couch. "Seriously?" Y/N whined.

"And we are going to the Outer Banks for spring break."

"I'm sorry, what?" She let out a dry laugh at the conviction in Dolley's voice. "Alright, maybe you're going to the Outer Banks over break, but last I checked, James and I aren't exactly on the level of road trip buddies."

"Please consider it. He told me I could invite you."

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because he likes you. Not because he wants me there."

"Oh, what does it matter?" she whined. "An invitation is an invitation. James just doesn't know you yet. I'm sure he'll come to love you."

"I don't care," Y/N groaned, shoving her off, and Dolley rolled off to sit beside her on the couch with a huff. "As much as I love you, I refuse to let your infatuation with James take over my social life."

"What social life?" Dolley scoffed. "I've already taken it over. Now I'm just adding James."

"Hey, I have other friends," Y/N said, but Dolley gave her a disbelieving look.

"Your professors and your study groups don't count."

"There's also the kid I see every day in the library," Y/N defended. "He's the only other one on the sixth floor."

"Do you even know his name?"

She hesitated. "That's not relevant."

"Darling," Dolley groaned, shifting onto her side to face Y/N. "Just come with me. It'll be fun. And I'm sure James is bringing Thomas; after all, they're roommates."

"That doesn't add to the appeal, Doll." Y/N wasn’t sure she trusted herself on a vacation spent with him in the Outer Banks, sleeping in the same house as him, trying not to stare at him shirtless on the beach. "I let you drag me to their apartment for a night, and it ended up sucking. I'm not gonna subject myself to that for a whole week."

"Ten days," Dolley corrected her.

"That's worse." Y/N’s huff was heavy, and as she raked a hand through her hair, Dolley wore a pout. “Besides, I can’t. I have that scholarship dinner thing, remember? I have to wine and dine all the donors.”

Dolley wrinkled her nose. “I forgot about those. I’ve always thought they were exploitative.”

“Oh, they are,” Y/N agreed, “but they’re giving me too much money for me to be able to complain. I can be their little academic Miss America for a night as long as they keep paying my tuition.”

Dolley hummed in acquiescence as Y/N returned to scrolling through her suggested shows on Netflix. “So it’s like a beauty pageant, but instead of hair extensions, you bring your resume.”

“Feels more like a strip club. I had to go to two at my old school, and it’s just putting on a show to get rich, wrinkled old men to throw us a few bucks. May as well wear a g-string and try to find myself a sugar daddy.”

“Mmh, let me know if any of your DILFs have pretty sons, alright?”

Y/N gave Dolley a skeptical look. “You’ve already got James; leave the rich legacy boys for me.”

“Sharing is caring.”

———————————————

ULTIMATELY, DOLLEY WENT to the Outer Banks without her. She left the next morning (but apparently couldn't leave without giving Y/N a serious tongue-lashing). And from there, Y/N was left to fend for herself.

The first couple days were fine. She ate the remainder of the groceries in the apartment. She watched seven seasons of Grey's Anatomy before deciding she hated all the characters. She cleaned out the fridge. She drank Dolley's nice red wine (with no plans to replace it). She organized her sock drawer.

Alright, so maybe she was going a little stir-crazy in Dolley's absence. So much for her having a social life outside of that apartment.

However, she didn't leave until she was clean out of food, bourbon, and episodes of SVU.

She was just around the corner from the nice CVS, though, so when she left, she didn't particularly expect to have any reason to look her best — if any of her classmates saw her in her pajama pants, it was far from her greatest concern.

She emerged with two white plastic bags, both stretching around the edges of the fruits of her pseudo-grocery run; the fact that she hadn't bought anything with nearly the nutritional value of actual fruit was beside the point. Regardless, she was feeling rather self-satisfied as she turned onto the sidewalk headed back to her apartment, arms weighed down with junk food, holding her CVS rewards card in the corner of her mouth, lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to re-organize her wallet — but apparently, she was too preoccupied to realize what was immediately in front of her as she took the next left.

"Woah, there."

She screeched as she ran directly into the man on the other side of the corner. As she stumbled backward, not managing to spare herself from falling on her ass, two of her grocery bags went tumbling to the ground; three split right through the bottom of the plastic, and as her pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream rolled to the feet of her accidental assailant, she let out a defeated groan.

She dropped her shoulders with an angry huff, and when the man before her leaned down to pick up the ice cream she'd spent the past week working up the energy to leave the house for, her gaze followed it up as he rose.

"Mint chip? Really?" When she caught sight of Thomas's amused expression, the exhaustion on her shoulders only compounded. He'd clearly been out running; he ran a hand through his curls, wiped the sweat from his brow as he popped out one of his earbuds. "You've got some awful taste, there."

"Of course, it's you," she grumbled. "Because I couldn't have been bulldozed by some stranger to, at least, spare myself the humiliation."

His smile was entertained as she dusted herself off, sparing what she could of her CVS haul, tucking her rewards card into her wallet and her pack of razor heads into her purse before she stood. "I think this belongs to you?"

"Yeah, yeah." The annoyance was clear in her voice when she looked up to see his outstretched hand, offering her back the ice cream, but (although she took the pint back immediately, as her priorities were still in order) that wasn't where her gaze stopped, instead trailing up his arm to his heaving (bare) chest and the earbuds hanging loosely from one of his ears. Her breath caught in her throat.

Sweat trailed down his torso to his abs, glistening in the mid-morning sunlight and drawing her eyes down to the waist of his sweatpants where they hung low on his hips. Her stare was only broken when he pulled his headphones out, wrapping them around his hand and yanking her gaze back up to his arms. The shift didn't help; instead, she couldn't break her wide-eyed, gawking stare from his biceps.

"Y/N?"

She was jolted back to earth with a start at the sound of his voice as he stuffed his earbuds into his pocket. His grin was broad, and her cheeks were on fire. "Shit, sorry, I, um—"

"Relax, it's fine," he said, tucking his phone in his pocket. "Need a hand with your, uh..." He picked up her extra-large jar of Nutella, "groceries?"

As he watched her expectantly, she swallowed hard, shaking her head with a tense smile. "No, no, that's fine," she assured him. "I wouldn't want to interrupt your run. I can manage."

He quirked a brow. "You sure? You're gonna have a hell of a time carryin' all of these on your own."

"I don't live far."

"I know," he said, and as she did her best to collect all her goods from the pavement around them, he did the same, "but there's no way you can get these all back by hand."

"I'll be alright," she said, her words taking on an undertone of annoyance (although it was ultimately born of her unease). Thomas didn't look so convinced.

"C'mon, just lemme help you out?" he reasoned with her, and as she tried to pull her purse shut around her two bags of mini tacos, balancing a package of laundry detergent pods on her lifted knee, she couldn't put up too much resistance. "You 'n I both know you need it."

Y/N pursed her lips. "Fine. Thank you."

Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Call me crazy, but you don't sound too grateful, now."

"Let's just go."

Though it took them a moment longer, between them, they did manage to balance all of her quasi-groceries in their arms, and Y/N nodded in the direction Thomas had been coming from. "My apartment is back this way."

"Yeah, I remember."

"Still?"

He shrugged. "I'm good with directions. And I've taken you back there twice, now."

"Right.” Against her will, the memories from those two separate nights began to surface in her mind, and she could feel her cheeks heating up. “How could I forget?”

Her tone was dry, uncomfortable, but to her relief, Thomas laughed it off.

"Someone's feelin' hostile today, huh?" he commented. Although she rolled her eyes, her face was burning; his presence had her on edge, reacting to even the smallest of his movements, and she was still trying to shake off how mortified she was from having run into him in the first place.

"Sorry. I'm just tired." He raised an eyebrow. "My sleep schedule's been all over the place without Dolley around to nag me about it."

"Oh, yeah, she's outta town with James, huh?" She hummed in confirmation. “Why didn’t you end up goin’ with ‘em? James told me he invited you.”

She huffed out a dry laugh. “Yeah, he invited me as an extension of Dolley because he wanted her there. I’m much happier alone in my apartment than stuck in the Outer Banks with people I hardly know.”

“Yeah, you ‘n me both.”

Y/N furrowed her brow. “I thought these were your friends that were going.”

He shrugged. “James ended up bringin’ a lotta grad students I’ve never met. Some undergrads in there, too. Would’ve been a shitty ten days, ‘specially once he let me know you weren’t comin’.”

“‘Especially once you knew I wasn’t coming’?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, don’t get ahead of yourself,” he replied. “I stayed behind ‘cause I knew I could pawn more papers off on you to grade.”

“Well, that is part of my charm,” she said frankly, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

“That and the pajamas you’re always wearin’ around campus?”

“Oh, come on, I’ve seen you when I was wearing pajamas once. That’s it.”

He hummed skeptically, and she glanced up at him as they walked. “I know you’re no math major, but addin’ today to the day you stormed into my office makes two days, not one.”

“Today doesn’t count,” she argued. “The plan was to go to CVS, go back home, and interact with nobody. Besides, you’re not even wearing a shirt, so it’s not like you have any room to judge.”

“At least you know that I own shirts, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you only own pajamas, sweetheart. Didn’t think I had to spell it out for you,” he said matter-of-factly, casting her a sidelong glance, and while his expression was playful, she could feel her cheeks flush.

“Oh, shut up; you know that isn’t true,” she defended. “Just because I’m partial to my sweatpants doesn’t mean I can’t dress up when need be. I have nice clothes.”

He eyed her skeptically. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

————————————

IT TOOK THE pair of them just a few minutes to reach Y/N’s apartment building, but it took several more for them to actually make it up to her apartment. Trying to get the door unlocked without dropping anything was a fiasco — it ended in one of her mini Coke cans rolling down the hall, no doubt fated to explode the minute she opened it, and a bag of pizza rolls splitting open at the corner when she dropped it. Thomas had little sympathy for her complaints about them being exposed to carpet germs.

"Thank you for all the help." Y/N turned to Thomas with a sheepish smile when she finally put her groceries down. "Sorry for ruining your workout."

"Don't mention it." He dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand after he put the rest of her things down into the pile she'd started. "After all, you're tiring enough that it doesn't make a difference."

"Shut up." Despite her scowl, he snickered, and she rolled her eyes as she went to open her fridge. "I should put everything away so it doesn't go bad, but is there anything I can get you as a 'thank you'? A drink? Something to eat?"

"This just your way of askin' me to stay longer?" He raised a teasing eyebrow, but when she turned to him, her eyes were wide.

“Oh! No, no, I didn’t mean… I mean, you don’t have to, I just—”

“Woah, relax.” His voice held a trace of a laugh at the panic that was slowly dissipating from her gaze. “I was kiddin’, alright? Didn’t mean to rattle you like that.”

“I’m not rattled,” she defended, closing her fridge, and she could feel her cheeks heating up as he eyed her with disbelief. “I just felt like I owed you something for all the help. I know I kinda derailed your day."

"I told you, it wasn't a problem," he said mildly. “But, y’know, if you wanna pay me back, I’ve got a whole lot more papers that need gradin’.”

Her groan made him laugh. “God, please don’t make me regret becoming your TA. I have better things to do with my spring break.”

“Like what?”

“Like eating all the ice cream I just bought?” she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, and he rolled his eyes.

“C’mon, if I give you the rubric, you really can’t multitask?”

She sighed. “Yeah, alright, if you really need the help. I’ll come to pick them up sometime this week if that works for you?”

“That’s just fine. I wasn’t plannin’ on going into my office, though, so you’ll have to swing by my apartment.” Her most vivid memories of the last time she’d been at his place flashed in her mind’s eye. “That okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She cleared her throat when she realized how long her moment of hesitation had been. He creased his brow. “Just tell me what time you’ll be home. I won’t have any scheduling conflicts.”

“What, you don’t have any big parties on the calendar?” he asked, cracking a lopsided grin, and she let out the lightest of laughs, the sound quiet and forced. “You aren’t gonna find yourself gettin’ arrested when a professor calls the cops on your rager?”

“Nah, not this time,” she said. Her smile was stiff, and he pursed his lips as he watched her continue unpacking her groceries, bending down to tuck various packages into different cupboards.

“Good to know,” he replied. In the pause that followed, Y/N was aware of every twitch of every muscle in her body; she could feel his eyes on her as she moved through her space. “I’ll text you when I sort ‘em out, then.”

“Cool.” Her mouth was dry. She didn’t look his way.

“Alright.” The hum of the fridge had never sounded louder. They could hear footsteps on an adjacent floor of the building and the soft buzz of their AC unit. Y/N swallowed. His next words were cautious. “So, should I, uh, head on out, then?”

Her eyebrows jumped. When she turned her head to look at him, she realized he hadn’t moved from his spot. She shrugged hesitantly.

“I mean, it’s your call.” His gaze flitted away from her when she met his eyes. “If you have somewhere to be, I don’t wanna keep you. I can finish putting my food away.”

“Wouldn't wanna overstay my welcome is all. I dunno if I should be spendin’ any more time in your apartment than I need to.” His expression was nonchalant, uncaring, but his shoulders were tense. She could see the tendons in his upper arms twitching, and it was only then that she was reminded that he was, in fact, very shirtless in her kitchen.

He glanced back at her with tentative eyes.

“That might be smart.” She stood up to her full height, looking down at the counter before her. “It’s getting kinda late anyway. You should probably head back before it gets dark.”

It was nowhere near sundown, but the message was certainly received, and Thomas nodded. “‘Course. I’ll see myself out.”

“Thanks for the help with the groceries,” Y/N said softly, and he smiled.

“Anytime,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

———————————————

“WHAT CLASS GOT a multiple choice midterm?” The indignance in Y/N’s voice made Thomas laugh.

“The freshmen.”

They were at Thomas’s apartment. Dolley and James would still be gone on their road trip for five more days, though, and that left them living alone about a block away from each other. Y/N wasn’t sure she knew where they stood, but when she went to pick up the midterms Thomas needed her to grade, he first had to walk her through the rubric. Then she started asking questions, and they both ended up sitting; then Thomas returned to sipping his coffee, and Y/N started leafing through one of the papers with a pen, and it only made sense for her to stay.

At least, that was how she justified it to herself as she reached the end of her second hour parked on his couch.

“I swear to god, you coddle those freshmen,” she said, twirling her pen absentmindedly as she went through the answer key. She scowled. “And they’re still getting, like, 25% off.”

“See? I’ve gotta coddle ‘em,” he defended. “If I make that class any harder, I’m gonna have a full class of Fs on my record. Won’t be gettin’ tenure, that’s for sure.”

“If you treated them like they were competent, maybe they’d be forced to learn,” she suggested, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. When you finish grading ‘em, d’you mind calculating the curve for me?”

“This is curved?” Her tone bordered on genuine annoyance, but her dramatic reaction was only entertaining Thomas. “I’m gonna need another cup of coffee to get through this.”

“Now, this feels exploitive.”

“You don’t even pay me to TA,” she pointed out. “With the bullshit I put up with, you owe me a drink from that fancy espresso machine you have tucked away.”

“Aw, c’mon, is workin’ with me really so bad, sweetheart?” He plastered on a pout, but the casual term of endearment made her pulse jump. It didn’t feel so natural to hear him call her that anymore.

"Don't get me started," she said, but she knew how shaky she sounded. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice (and if he did, he didn't mention it).

“Alright, alright. I was just headed to get myself another, anyway.” He acquiesced easily, and she was all but relieved when he left the room, taking both their mugs with him.

She wanted there to be a way for her to shake off any of the nerves he always seemed to leave her with. It wasn’t right; it wasn’t fair — he was her professor. He used terms of endearment without a second thought. She needed to stop overthinking it, especially given that she’d heard him call both Maria and Angelica “darling” and “honey” on more than one occasion. “Sweetheart” seemed to be reserved for her, though.

Stop thinking like that.

She cringed as the observation surfaced. She knew she was reading into it, and her mind was running a mile a minute to try and replace the idea with something else, any kind of distraction. She decided to chalk it all up to the caffeine she’d been consuming en masse.

So maybe another latte wasn’t the greatest idea. She pushed herself off of his couch with a grunt.

All she wanted was a glass of water, so she didn't expect that there'd be any problem with her just barging into his kitchen since she was already at his place.

But she'd just turned into the kitchen's doorway, and Thomas wouldn't have minded it if she hadn't turned with the worst timing imaginable.

"Oh, fuck." She felt the coffee scalding her skin before she processed what'd happened. Her grimace was involuntary and pronounced as she stumbled away from him, pulling the back of her shirt as far away from her body as she could. "Shit, shit, shit, that's hot."

"Jesus, are you alright?" It wasn't until a split second later that she turned to see Thomas standing behind her, mortified and frantically going to set down his mugs so he could go to check on her.

But she only shook her head, doing her best to regulate her breathing, control her expression despite the searing pain across her upper back. “Shit, I—” Her voice broke off as she swallowed hard, far from concerned with being a considerate guest when she pushed past him into his kitchen. Thomas was frozen to the spot, watching her rush to the sink and frantically yanking off the nozzle of his sink to run cold water over her shoulder blade (she’d never been more grateful for his bougie interior design). Her focus was nowhere near him.

She had no clue how to treat a burn. However, she didn’t think twice before tearing her shirt off — it was searing her skin.

Her tunnel vision may have blinded her to the larger context of her panic (and for good reason, all things considered), but Thomas was stunned as he watched her strip off her button-down in the middle of his kitchen, run it under water to use it as a rag. She tucked it under her left bra strap so that she could press the cold cloth directly against the burn.

Thomas was gawking. When Y/N caught her breath, turning to him, she met his eyes, and— well, actually, she didn’t meet his eyes. His gaze was focused a good ten inches below her eyes, and she chose to conclude that he was staring at her chest because he was concerned about having burnt her with coffee. The fact that not even a drop of the scalding coffee had touched her chest was a nonissue.

“Do you know anything about treating burns?”

“Not…” He cleared his throat, redirecting his stare up to where her eyes actually were. “Not much. I— Holy shit, are you alright? God… lemme Google it. Hang on.” She tried to catch her breath as Thomas pulled out his phone, and the first thing he said was, “Alright, says you’ve gotta get rid of any clothes over the burn.” He glanced back up at her. “Looks like you’ve got that covered, though.”

“Yeah, I figured that one out for myself. Thanks.” Her tone was dry.

“Right.” Thomas cleared his throat. “You wanna use my shower to run it under cold water, then?”

She nodded frantically, grimacing as she pulled her damp shirt out from under her bra strap, holding that as far from her skin as she could without her bra coming off. “Please.”

It took just about all of Thomas’s willpower to keep his gaze north of her collarbones as he showed her where the bathroom was and told her how to work the shower. If any god happened to be real, he was fairly sure he was being tested that afternoon — and all because he didn’t feel like calculating the curve on his midterms. He could safely say that this was far more difficult.

He gave her a towel and some of his spare clothes to change into, but when she dug the Neosporin out of his medicine cabinet, he heard her call his name.

He knocked on the bathroom door. “Everything alright in there?”

“Yeah, I just…” Her voice was muffled as she trailed off. “I can’t reach the burn.”

“Oh.” He swallowed audibly, although Y/N was far enough that she couldn’t hear it. “D’you… need help?”

“Please.” Her voice was hesitant and nervous.

“Can… can I come in?”

“Yeah, just hang on a second.” There was a pause. Y/N didn't meet his eyes when she came to open the door; she held a towel over her bra-clad chest, one of the straps having slipped off the side of her left shoulder. "I, er… can't reach my back to bandage it. Can you… ?"

Thomas's eyes widened. "Oh, um, yeah. Yeah, I've got it."

"Thanks," she said quietly, and when she turned to the sink, passing him the ointment and gauze as she faced the mirror, she kept her hand towel held over her front. "Sorry about… all this."

"Why're you sorry?" The amusement in his voice eased the tension in her shoulders. "Sorry for gettin' coffee spilled on you? Sorry for havin' skin on your back?"

"Sorry for having burnable skin on my back," she corrected him, and he laughed.

"Yeah, alright, good point. If you weren't so damn flammable we wouldn't have this issue," he teased, but he pursed his lips. "In all seriousness, this one's on me. Wasn't watching where I was goin'; I was the one that ran right into you, not the other way around."

"Yeah, but I was in the way," Y/N pushed back, and Thomas raised a skeptical eyebrow, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

"You've gotta stop apologizing for things, sweetheart. Especially things that I think we both know weren't your fault." How frankly he spoke made her sigh, and in that moment, it felt as if she was back in the entrance of her apartment, clinging to him as he tried to keep himself from pulling her closer. She swallowed her pang of guilt. “Lemme know if this hurts, yeah?”

“Okay.” Her voice was small.

Neither of them spoke as he dabbed ointment onto her wound, and his gentle touch had a warmth filling her skin that had nothing to do with the burn. He stood within inches behind her. The air in his bathroom was tense; both of them were aware of every movement the other made, every brush of their skin against one another, and it took every ounce of her willpower to keep her eyes down, to keep from staring at him in the mirror. She glanced up to see him knitting his brow, concern in his gaze.

He placed the ointment back onto his sink, instead unraveling the gauze he held in his other hand.

"Pass me the medical tape?" The sound of his voice made her look up, meeting his eyes in the mirror. It took her a moment to process his words, but when she did, she broke his gaze immediately, clearing her throat and nodding as she reached for it and handed it back to him.

Her skin tingled as he laid the gauze softly over her wound, doing his best to give her skin room to breathe. She shivered as he taped it down by the sides. "Alright."

"You're done?"

He nodded and although his touch was tentative as he pressed the tape down to her back, it was firm. "Yeah, that should hold. Looks good."

"Okay," she said quietly, giving him a small smile. "Thank you."

When he finished, she expected him to take a step back, to let himself out of the bathroom so she could get dressed, and so she turned to him, anticipating that he'd move out of the way and she could retrieve her clothes from the bathroom floor. However, it was at the same time that she turned that he leaned forward to put the gauze back on the edge of the sink behind the ointment. They moved in synchrony, but it wasn't the synchrony either expected.

They were both far, far too afraid to move, then.

Thomas's hand was on the side of the sink, now to her right as she faced him, and with him leaning into her, between his arm beside her and the rest of his body in front of her, Y/N didn't have much of anywhere to go. Thomas, however, could've moved. He should've moved, too, and he knew that well. But when she turned to him, he found his face mere inches from hers. His nose brushed against her cheek, and with her having used his shower, with her wearing his spare clothes, he could smell the traces of his woody cologne mixing with a sugared scent he couldn't describe as anything other than her. She swallowed hard.

This felt familiar to both of them, by then. The proximity between them was all but second nature with how much time they spent together, with all the late hours in his office or her apartment. But this atmosphere was charged.

Every interaction between them had been measured and meticulous for months — while they had both been pushing boundaries, neither dared to cross them. But this? Neither of them had meant for this to happen. Neither had meant to make it so easy for them to simply fall into each other, but something about it seemed so natural, almost fateful.

Thomas was exercising every last drop of his willpower as he looked down at Y/N's wide eyes, her wet hair, her (his) pajama pants that were far too long for her. He tucked one of her damp locks behind her ear.

"We can't do this." Y/N's words were cautionary as Thomas's eyes wandered to her lips, but there was no feeling behind them. She didn't want him to stop.

"I know." His thumb traced her jaw, and he made no move to step away. He did know that what he was doing was wrong, but with how caught up he was in everything that was her, he was having trouble remembering why. "So stop me before I do something stupid."

She couldn't take a breath. Her voice was trembling.

"I don't think I want to."

He was hesitant to lean in toward her, but when he shifted forward, she met him halfway with every bit as much trepidation, and this kiss was nothing like the night they met. His touch was careful. His lips were slow, savoring the taste of her on his tongue. He held her as if his gentle touch would negate all the implications of their actions, all the damage this might cause.

Because this didn't feel like the illicit affair that Y/N knew it to be. This was Thomas, her friend, her coworker, her fleeting one-night stand, and she held him against her in an embrace like that of a lover, her arms looped around his neck as the side of her nose brushed against his. This was easy. This was natural.

But this was her professor.

"Stop." She pulled away from him, a hand on his chest as she struggled to catch her breath, and Thomas's gaze didn't read as dejection or hurt, but instead it came with an air of concern. The silence that followed her single word was excruciating.

"Y/N?" His voice was hoarse, but it was heavy with guilt. She didn't meet his eyes.

"I… I'm sorry, Thomas. I really…" She trailed off as he took a wary step back; she let out a breath of relief when he was no longer boxing her in against the counter, his hips no longer pinning hers back. "I need to go. I'm sorry."

She left the bathroom in a rush, grabbing her shirt from the floor and pulling it back over her head without a second thought. When she took off, he didn’t try to stop her.

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