Disclaimer-licious: Raphael and Mikael are not ours, fancy that. The rest of the Gakuen is, though.
Notes from Hoyden: Harukami accused me of a gigantic fake-out with this fic. What can I say, I've been reading really sweet Due South slash, and aside from the compulsion to randomly yell, "DIEF!", I've also been indulging my literary sweet tooth big time. Thanks as always to Haru for the beta, because I just wouldn't be happy without it. I love feedback - join the ML and make some noise.
Mikael shouldered his way into the Professor's office, hugging an armful of papers to his chest and clenching a folder between his teeth. He dropped everything onto Raphael's desk, or rather, the little corner he had cleared away to work on. He sat down on a chair he had borrowed from an empty classroom, preferring its sturdy, simple construction to the too-comfortable leather monstrosity that Raphael sat (and often napped) in.
He was going to go insane, he decided. How he was going to plan the symposium and get his latest round of exams graded was totally beyond him. And conference with his students, not to mention his annual evaluation with Gabriel. And take care of all the myriad details of normal life, like laundry and housekeeping and dinner.
Perhaps, he concluded, this was what drove people like the Metatron to wear costumes consisting entirely of bright pink feathers. Too much to do in too little time, and too many heavenly beings who always thought he could do better than his absolute best.
At least he had Raphael to split the work with. Everything was easier with a partner. He pushed up his sleeves and turned up the laptop. They'd get through this week, like they got through every week, and everything would be fine. Just fine.
Sophia was first on his list. He invited her to have a seat in his office, and she practically bounced into the seat. Mikael smiled at her, genuinely happy to see her. Sophia was such a pleasant student. Just the right way to start off the day. He shuffled some papers on his desk and cleared his throat. "Well, Sophia, it seems we have very little to discuss as far as your academic performance goes. Your work thus far has been quite satisfactory – your marks in mathematics have been quite solid and I'm impressed by the effort you put into the poetry unit." He smiled at her, feeling a measure of pride in her progress.
"Why is your office so bare?"
Mikael blinked. Every day in Sophia-land, it seemed, was an excursion to left field. "I beg your pardon?"
"Your office," Sophia repeated, ringlets bobbing as she nodded at the room as a whole. "There's, like, nothing in it. Is it because you're new?"
He felt a confused frown pull the corner of his lips down. "I – well. Perhaps it is because I seldom use it."
Sophia tilted her head to one side, rather like a puzzled puppy. "How come?"
I will not squirm in my own office, Mikael told himself sharply. "I frequently have business with the Professor, so I use his office to do the majority of my work." Sophia smiled in apparent satisfaction. "That's good. I can't imagine spending all my time in a place like this."
Mikael felt increasingly lost. "Is there something wrong with it?" he asked, feeling a trifle desperate as he scanned the room.
She nodded vigorously. "It doesn't feel like you at all, Mikael-sama."
Mikael flipped to the next paper, scanning the first paragraph and absently picking up the teacup that had appeared in front of him. The tea was too hot and he almost scalded his tongue with the first sip. "Damn," he hissed in pain and surprise, setting the cup down with a clatter.
Suriel lifted his head from the sketch he had begun. "Are you alright? I'm sorry, I should have warned you."
Mikael waved off the concern. "I'm fine," he muttered, going back to the paper. Thus far, Barchiel's paper was adequately argued – nothing wrong with it, per say, but it lacked some essential fire – no conviction, little interest. Mikael nibbled on the end of his pen. Was it right to mark someone down for a lackluster performance? He sighed and eventually settled for scribbling a low A on the last page, making a mental note to discuss the matter in conference.
"-brought in, would you like some?"
Mikael looked up in surprise. "I'm sorry, Suriel, I'm afraid I wasn't listening. Would I like some what?"
Suriel's eyes looked concerned. "Did you sleep well last night?"
Mikael pasted a smile on his face. "I slept fine, thank you." Which was true, for the few hours he had managed to catch.
Blue eyes darkened slightly. "I see. Well, do you want to brave these dumplings Uriel brought in from the City?"
Mikael felt slightly overwhelmed at the stack of papers still sitting in front of him, anxiety and his list of things-to-do suddenly settling in his stomach like a lump. And as if he didn't have enough to do, he had to plan the symposium Raphael suggested, as well. "Well, I'm trying to finish these before I conference – "
"Because I want some," Suriel interrupted him, making Mikael blink. Suriel actually interrupted him? "I'll go heat some up for us – it's finger food, you can eat it while you read." Suriel rose and bustled into the kitchenette.
Mikael was slightly surprised later, when the bell rang, that he had eaten every last one of the dumplings on the plate Suriel had set beside him. He managed a weak smile for the golden-haired angel. "Thank you…I must have been hungrier than I thought."
"Indeed," Suriel said softly. "Go on, Mikael, or you'll be late for class."
"And as we all remember," Mikael said, facing the class, "the log of e to the something is…"
"The something," his class chorused. He smiled approvingly, choosing not to notice that Cherior was staring off into space and that Afriel was paying rapt attention to the front of the room, though perhaps not to the mathematical proceedings on the board. Oh dear.
He looked down at his notes, and wrote their assignment down on the board. "Problems 1-20, odds today so you can check your answers as you go. It's not due tomorrow, but the evens will be due on Friday, so I suggest you get some practice under your belts first. Any questions?"
Books snapped shut in answer, and Mikael tried not to roll his eyes at the predictability. "Very well, then. You're dismissed. Afriel, if you'll join me in my office."
She snapped up out of her chair, and Cherior elbowed her in the side and muttered something that made her blush as only a redhead could. "Coming, Mikael-sama!"
They walked through the office, Mikael casting out for some topic of small talk on the way. "Are you having a good semester so far, Afriel?" he asked, before mentally berating himself for the inanity of the remark.
Afriel treated it like it had been the grandest, most insightful question ever uttered in the history of creation. "Oh. Wonderful, Mikael-sama." She lingered over his name in a way that made him cringe inside.
They passed Uriel in the hallway. Taking a girl back to your room?
Conference. Mikael pathed back, irritated at the innuendo.
So that's what they're calling it these days, Uriel said flippantly, a leer in his mental voice.
Mikael rolled his eyes and huffed slightly.
"Something wrong, Mikael-sama?" Afriel asked, tone and eyes uncomfortably adoring.
"Nothing," he said shortly, waving her into his office. Afriel sat on the edge of her seat, and Mikael almost felt like pushing his chair farther away. "So," he began. "English seems to be going very well this semester – your paper on Victorian women was very insightful, and I can tell you put a lot of effort into the poetry section."
Afriel beamed.
He cleared his throat slightly. "However, I think it's safe to say that your mathematics mark is not what it could be, and in fact, not what it should be."
The poor girl looked like he had slapped her full in the face. "But…but…I pay attention, I really do, Mikael-sama."
"To the board?" he asked gently.
Afriel flushed again. "It's not fair. Cherior doesn't pay attention, and you don't care."
He groaned inside. "Cherior had a natural gift for mathematics – he's one of the lucky few who pick up concepts with little or no effort. The rest of us have to work at it. That includes you, my dear."
Her face brightened a little, and he felt like less of a cad. "Perhaps you should try a little group studying with someone else, like Sophia. She's got a good head for it."
"Why not Cherior?" Afriel asked, pouting a little.
He smiled ruefully at her. "Trust me, Cherior would never understand why the average person has any trouble with it."
Afriel frowned and thought that over. "Yeah. Like he's not a jerk enough to begin with."
Amen, Mikael seconded mentally.
"Not at all like you, Mikael-sama," she enthused a second later, irritated frown morphing into a saccharine smile before he could blink. It was rather dizzying.
Home always looked good at the end of the day.
"Keep stirring," he could hear Raphael's voice through the front door.
"Is it supposed to be making this noise?" Cherior asked, above the familiar sound of a pestle grinding in a mortar.
"Hmmm? Yeah, it should be crackling. It's an emulsifier. Keep stirring, come on, put your arm into it."
Mikael dropped his things on the little table just inside the door, hanging his bag on a hook. "I'm home," he called.
"Hi!" Raphael called, poking his face out of his workroom.
"How nice for you," Cherior muttered, perfectly audible.
"Shut up," Raphael suggested cheerfully. He disappeared again for a moment. "Okay, now mash this up."
The grinding sound of marble against marble, then, "What the fuck IS this stuff?"
"Menthol. Dump it into the other one and mix it all up real good."
Mikael wandered into the kitchen. There didn't appear to be dinner on the stove, which, considering his growling stomach, hardly improved his disposition. "Raphael-sama, did you make dinner?"
Raphael hesitated a moment, then walked into the kitchen. "Aw, damn. I forgot, Mikael. I'm sorry – we got caught up this afternoon, making some stuff for a few of the healers."
"Right," Mikael said, suddenly feeling entirely exhausted.
Raphael pulled him close. "I screwed up, Kael, I'm sorry. How about I order in Japanese?"
"I want sukiyaki," Mikael muttered petulantly into Raphael's shoulder, the warmth of Raphael's arms around him relaxing him a bit.
"Anything you want," Raphael said, soothingly. He caught Mikael's lips in a soft, conciliatory kiss.
"Gyoza too," Mikael added after a moment, before kissing Raphael again. Raphael's tongue danced with his lovingly, and for a moment, the stress of the day melted away.
"Gawd. Get a room," Cherior complained, interrupting the moment.
Raphael flipped him off good-naturedly. "My house. My room. You don't like it, then go eat dinner with Ari and Dev."
Cherior rolled his eyes. "Hey, let me get out before you do him on the counter."
"Cherior!" Mikael snapped, mortified. "Watch your mouth."
Respect, Cherior, Mikael overheard Raphael reprimanding sharply.
"Sorry, Mikael-sama," Cherior mumbled half-heartedly before shutting the door behind him.
"Brat," Mikael muttered heatedly. Honestly, the nerve.
Raphael kissed him on the forehead once before phoning in their order. "They say it'll be a half-hour. How was your day?"
Mikael stared at him mutely, feeling horribly drained. "Long," he said shortly.
Raphael's eyes softened. "That so?" he said, leaning forward to kiss the side of Mikael's neck, sucking softly at the skin. "Mmm. Tense. I can fix that."
Mikael didn't feel very optimistic about that until Raphael knelt in front of him, purring slightly and nuzzling him through his trousers. "Raphael-sama, you don't have to – "
"Shhh," Raphael said, deft fingers unhooking the fastenings. "Actually, make as much noise as you want. You're beautiful when you moan."
The alarm went off entirely too early.
Mikael reached out and smacked the snooze button. Beside him, Raphael was still sleeping soundly. Because, of course, he could. Mikael fought down a swell of jealousy.
"I love you," Mikael whispered, kissing Raphael's forehead, feeling wistful and lonely and resentful all at once.
Then he reset the alarm and managed to tear himself away from the warmth of the bed.
"You're not listening to me. I don't want it," Mikael enunciated.
Some part of him was vaguely appalled that he was actually having an argument with the Administrator of Heaven. He was attempting to stare Gabriel down, for heaven's sake.
Gabriel was staring back, pale eyes unblinking. "You're doing the work. You're planning the symposium. Raphael's off playing mentor and teaching classes and ignoring his paperwork. If you're going to act as his assistant, we ought to give credit where it's due."
Mikael badly wanted to swear, but settled for leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. "I don't need a title. What does it matter who does what work so long as it gets done?" Gabriel looked at him hard. "Why don't you want it?"
Mikael took a breath and exhaled audibly. "I don't want to make a big deal out of it. I help Raphael-sama because I can, because we're partners. He helps me when I need him – he has helped, else I wonder if I would be here at all."
Gabriel nodded slowly, and motioned for him to continue.
Mikael leaned forward, as if physical proximity could make Gabriel understand. "Don't make me Assistant Professor. Let me be free to assist my partner as I please – we're working hard to make sure that we're no longer teacher and student, but equals." He stood up, barely aware that he had done so, and leaned over Gabriel's desk.
"The second you make me his subordinate, you destroy that equality."
"You are his subordinate," Gabriel pointed out. "You're a teacher, he's the Professor."
"Exactly. I am a teacher. I am an independent entity, answerable to him, as are all the other teachers. But an Assistant Professor exists only to serve the Professor – don't you see, if you make me that, I'll never be myself!" His outburst was rather loud and strained towards the end, and he found he was shaking.
Gabriel stood up and offered his hand, and Mikael blinked before shaking it.
"Congratulations, Mikael. This conference is over, and I have no other questions. I'll expect you to make an appointment for another evaluation about this time next year. You're dismissed."
From the Administration building, he dashed back to the teachers' lounge at the school for his meeting with the two angels presenting at the symposium.
"Well, then," Mikael started, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "Ardouisur, I've scheduled you to speak first. Is an hour too long?"
"No, that should be just about right," Ari murmured. "Drink your tea before it gets cold, dear."
Mikael frowned briefly, and picked up his cup. "If you confine your talk to 45 minutes, you can take questions for the remainder of the time. But between your talk and Uriel's, I've scheduled a break so people can stretch and also so the students can ask you questions one on one. They'll probably have many, and most of them will be indecent."
Uriel snickered. "I bet. Can I answer them?"
Mikael aimed a withering glare in his direction. "If I say no, will that stop you?"
Uriel leaned back and gave him a heated look under sable lashes, trailing one finger down his chest. "I've never forced anyone, darling."
Mikael felt a smile threatening his lips, and he quickly moved on to the next topic of discussion. "Uriel, your talk, also scheduled for an hour, will be after the break. Then, immediately following your session, we'll have a reception, so students can ask you questions then. Sound good?"
"It sounds just fine. And Mikael, I think it was an excellent idea to plan a presentation on intercessions," Ari said warmly.
Mikael blinked, and then forcibly relaxed his jaw. "I didn't plan it," he said, keeping his tone impersonal and professional.
Uriel's flirtatious grin faded, and was replaced by a rather piercing gaze. "Who did? And if you didn't propose it, why are you doing all the work?"
"Raphael proposed it," Mikael said flatly. "And. Well. I…"
"You're doing a wonderful job," Ardousiur cut in. "I'm sure it will go well."
Mikael felt his face heat a little at the praise. "Thank you," he forced himself to say. Looking at the clock, he realized that he should get started on the formal write-ups for the students' evaluations. "I have to go, but I'll see the both of you on Thursday before the symposium." Ari nodded, but Uriel followed out of the room.
"Hold up," Uriel said, touching Mikael's shoulder.
Mikael stopped and turned to face him, despite the urge to go be productive.
Uriel gave him a searching look, his expression devoid of its usual sensuality. "Did Raphael ditch you or what?"
"He didn't 'ditch' me," Mikael spat, his defense automatic.
Uriel's eyes were dark and serious. "Easy, now. Methinks the angel doth protest too much, but…Mikael, we're friends, aren't we?"
Mikael was taken aback at the calm question. "I…I'd like to consider us so. You're Raphael-sama's friend, and so I…"
"No," Uriel said firmly. "You're not just a friend of a friend. A friend by default is no sort of friend at all. That's not what I want for us – do you want that?"
Mikael shook his head, stunned and sort of mystified at this serious, somber Uriel.
"Good," Uriel said. "So. Between friends, do you have a little too much on your plate this week, more than your fair share?"
The truth of the statement hit him suddenly, as he realized that it was a rather precise diagnosis of what was wrong with this week. He nodded slowly, letting it sink in.
Uriel smiled. "That's the sort of thing friends tell each other." The smile faded again. "But it's especially the sort of thing partners tell each other, I should think. If Raphael ditched you, then you should say something."
"I don't like that word!" Mikael retorted.
An easy grin stole over Uriel's face. "Have I told you how sexy your self-confidence is?"
"Imagine if I hit you upside the head," Mikael muttered underneath his breath.
Uriel laughed, sounding truly amused. "Don't you have urgent business in the Professor's office?"
"I have work to do," Mikael said, his teeth clenched.
"Oh?" One eyebrow raised. "Tsk-tsk, Mikael, learn to prioritize. Just because it's not School business doesn't mean it's not important."
"Of course you'd say something like that," Mikael said, not a little bitterness in his tone.
"Because I'm right," Uriel said simply.
His office was inexplicably locked. Mikael stared at it dumbly for a moment, trying to remember if his door had always had a lock, and he just hadn't noticed. With a sigh, he trudged off to Raphael's office.
Raphael was working at his desk, head bent over a stack of papers. Which was suspicious, in and of itself.
"Raphael-sama?" He was rather pleased at the normality of his tone, when he was really quite sure that something was up.
More silence. Raphael continued to write, his pen whipping across the page. A moment later, he laid the pen down, though he did not look up. "You refused."
Mikael blinked. Oh, yes. Gabriel. "Of course I refused. I don't help you out because I'm looking for a promotion. You know that, Raphael-sama." He couldn't help but feel a little confused. He thought they were perfectly together on this issue, after some initial disagreement.
"Hmmm." Non-committal. It drove Mikael absolutely crazy, always had.
"What?" He demanded crossly. "I thought we'd worked through this. Don't tell me you've had a change of heart." Because if Raphael had, well, they were just up a creek, because he absolutely didn't want it, had already refused, and he wasn't going to back up on this one.
"Not precisely."
What the hell did that mean? What was going on inside that bedhead? He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Do you know why my office is locked?"
Mona Lisa smile. "Ah. Renovations."
There was nothing wrong with his office. Absolutely nothing. "If you wanted to see me, you could have just said so," Mikael retorted, stung.
"Is that so?" Raphael said sharply, looking up finally. "When have I seen you in the last three weeks, Mikael?"
That didn't sting – it burned, like acid. "We've both been busy. It's bound to happen occasionally."
"Bullshit," Raphael enunciated. "You come to bed late, you wake up early, and unless someone's with you, you frequently forget to eat. And it's because of me."
"It is not!" he denied fiercely.
Raphael stood up, pushing his chair away with a violent motion, and crossed the room to where Mikael stood. "Don't ever make excuses for me, Mikael. Ever," Raphael said quietly, eyes dark with anger. "I took on a new student, and I left you to pick up the slack, as if you were still a student with nothing more to occupy your time. As if you didn't have your own responsibilities. That was insensitive at best, cruel at worst."
Mikael wanted to shake his head – deny, deny, deny.
Except that resentment began to bubble from hidden wells that he'd conveniently managed to ignore. His fingers clenched into fists. "Yes. Yes, it was, Raphael-sama."
Raphael kissed him swiftly, a hard kiss, with no give to it. "And that's part of it."
"Part of what?" Mikael demanded, anger coiled like a snake in his stomach.
"'Raphael-sama'," Raphael mimicked his tone. "You're not doing me any favors with that."
Mikael wanted to shake the infuriating man by the shoulders. "What in the name of Most Holy are you talking about?!!"
Raphael gripped Mikael's arms. "Listen to me. You don't have to compete with Cherior."
Raphael might as well have socked him in the stomach. He wasn't sure he could breathe. "I'm not," he denied softly, to himself and to Raphael.
Raphael gave him one quick shake. "You won't lose me if you're not my student anymore." Eyes and tone so intent, so serious. "You don't have to work so hard, you don't have to be such an overachiever – you don't have anything to prove to me!"
Mikael looked at him mutely, feeling a welling sense of hurt at the words – he'd been working so hard! Why was Raphael blaming him, for…for…
Strangely, suddenly, Raphael's eyes went soft. "You don't have anything to prove to me, Mikael, tell me you understand that! Cherior's a pain in the ass, you know that. Don't you dare think for a second that I've changed my mind about you. You know, for a while there, you stopped calling me 'Raphael-sama' altogether. In fact, I think I heard the occasional 'anata' - darling - cross your lips, didn't I?" Raphael's thumb traced Mikael's lower lip.
Mikael's cheeks felt slightly warm. "Maybe."
Raphael actually chuckled at that. Then he sobered. "I was neglecting you, wasn't I?"
"A little," Mikael allowed reluctantly.
Raphael raised an eyebrow. "Which, in Mikael-speak, translates into, 'you were totally ignoring me, you dumb fuck, making me think you preferred a student to a partner.'"
"Does not," Mikael protested immediately.
Raphael smiled. "Does so. Repeat after me: 'you ignored me, you dumb fuck. I'm not your student, I'm your partner, and you were a jerk.'"
Mikael felt a small, embarrassed giggle escape. "I'm not saying that."
Raphael's fingers traced in a ticklish pattern over Mikael's ribs. "It's true. Say it, or you're going down." His fingers wiggled, threateningly.
"Okay!" Mikael gasped. "You ignored me…"
"'You dumb fuck,'" Raphael prodded, his fingers pausing over Mikael's stomach.
"You dumb fuck," Mikael repeated obediently, trying not to laugh. "I'm not your student, I'm your partner, and you. Were. A. Jerk."
"At the risk of being whapped, he can be taught," Raphael said, his tone a trifle smug. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a little oblivious sometimes. If something's not right, we've got to be able to tell each other. You're not my student, and I don't want to be your mentor. Which means you've got to tell me when I fuck up, not let it fester like this, okay?"
"I'll do my best," Mikael promised softly, his gaze glued to Raphael's eyes, like nothing could tear the elder angel out of his sight, ever again.
"We'll do our best," Raphael corrected gently. "Partners?"
"Partners," Mikael echoed, joining their hands together.
"I'm so glad," Raphael murmured, his heart in his eyes. "So, as your partner, I think the very least I can do is take you out to lunch."
Mikael thought about all the evaluations he had intentions of working on. Then took another long look at Raphael. Then he pretended to mull it over, despite the fact that he'd been craving fresh pumpernickel bread for days, now. "How about that bakery next to the Conservatory?"
"Anything you want," Raphael affirmed, offering his arm as they left the office.
Thursday had finally come, and Mikael was convinced that the water from the drinking fountain was laced with narcotics. His students had taken leave of their senses.
The symposium wasn't until the afternoon. So why in Most Holy's name was his morning mathematics class bouncing around like Noelle on a sugar high? Half of them weren't even subtly pretending to take notes. He was about to threaten them with a pop quiz when the door creaked open.
"Pardon my intrusion," Raphael said, face and tone serious.
Is something wrong? Mikael thought at him, alarmed.
Raphael didn't respond – indeed, it looked as though he hadn't heard Mikael at all, which was even more alarming. Raphael surveyed the class quickly, then briskly rubbed his hands together. "Is everything all set?" he asked the room.
The class nodded almost in unison, most of them fidgeting at their desks. Definitely crazed, Mikael concluded.
Raphael crossed the room to where he stood. "I'm sure you'll forgive us, but we'd like this to be a surprise, so…" Mikael tensed as Raphael blindfolded him, and clasped his hand. He added his lover to the "Driving Me Insane" list, as if Raphael had ever been off it.
Raphael led him out the door, and Mikael could hear his students shuffling behind him, excited whispers echoing in the hallway. He thought they turned a few times, and he was no longer at all sure where they were. Finally Raphael stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Here we are."
The blindfold removed, Mikael blinked a few times and stared at the door in front of him. There was shiny plaque on the front that read:
Mikael, Patronus
Mathematics and English
He shot a startled glance at Raphael, who gave him another Mona Lisa smile and pressed a key into his hand. "Go on," Raphael urged quietly. "Open it." The class echoed the sentiment, murmurs of "open it, come onnnnn," and "Hurry!"
He turned the key in the lock and the door opened soundlessly, and he walked inside in a daze.
A beautiful bookshelf dominated one wall, and he could see, without even looking close at the titles, that they were his books, all neatly arranged on the new shelves. Between two large windows was a small table, laden with various plants from Raphael's office that Mikael had managed to resuscitate. Another little table with a tea service was tucked in the corner. Mikael remembered Suriel asking his opinions on various sets in a catalog, but that had been weeks ago, surely…
Off to the side, facing the windows, was a large desk, with his papers collected neatly in a pile on top. He remembered to breathe after a moment, sucking in a lungful of air.
"Look at the walls!" came an exited suggestion behind him. So he did.
There were a few framed poems – a sonnet by Devecia, haiku by Sophia. One of Cherior's more bizarre mathematical proofs. A picture of his class, signed by the students. And between the two windows hung a rendition of himself, gesturing at the blackboard, brought to life by pastels. His eyes found the signature in the right hand corner – Afriel – and belatedly, he realized just why she'd been staring so hard at the front of the room all these weeks.
He turned around slowly to see the expectant faces of Raphael and his class. "My goodness," he choked out. He wasn't going to cry, he wasn't going to cry.
Raphael grinned at him. "This was supposed to be a separate office for my classwork, but I never used it and it seemed pretty silly to hang on to it when you were stuck in that closet…"
The class giggled.
"You're closer to your classroom, and if you look out the window, you can see my office, right across the courtyard," Raphael added, pointing. Mikael looked and his eyes widened when he saw it was true. "And I feel obligated to point out that the initiative for this little project was provided completely by your students."
Mikael stared at them, stunned.
Barchiel cleared his throat. "We, um, cleaned it out. Painted it and washed the windows and everything."
"Moved your books," Sophia chimed in. "Devecia alphabetized them."
"Cherior framed the pictures," Devecia said quietly, smiling. "He sanded and refinished the desk, too." Cherior was determinedly looking away. The tips of his ears were red.
"Suriel-sama helped me find out what kind of tea set you might like," Afriel ventured. "He helped me with your portrait, too."
The students chattered excitedly amongst themselves again, before Sophia shushed them all. "It's our present to you, because you're our first teacher and we're your first students. We wanted you to have something to remember us by, Mikael-sama."
The class shifted restlessly. "Say something," someone pleaded, and the rest of the class echoed the sentiment.
"It's the most wonderful present I've ever gotten," Mikael said hoarsely, tears welling up in his eyes.
The class cheered, and Raphael smiled and handed him a handkerchief.
Raphael drew one hand through his hair, which appeared to have no discernible effect on its overall appearance. "Good afternoon, class," he greeted them, smiling warmly.
"Good afternoon, Professor," they replied, in almost perfect unison. They were already staring in a sort of horrified fascination, wondering if they were really expected to understand today's lesson. Mikael sympathized completely, even as a slightly sadistic part of him welcomed the chance to join Raphael in his supposedly educational torment.
Raphael clapped his hands once, then rubbed them briskly together, jostling the red string tied to his little finger. "Now, today, we're going to have a small discussion on linguistics. Specifically, on the word, 'you.'"
He turned around, the string winding once around his body as he faced the blackboard. The motion from his writing made the string tug gently from where the other end was tied on Mikael's little finger.
"Professor?" one of the students ventured.
"Aa?"
"What does that say?"
Raphael blinked. "It's Sanskrit, of course. Moving on. In French, Spanish, and the rest of the Romance languages, there is a familiar and formal usage of the pronoun 'you.' Now, who can tell me what determines the usage? Ah, Vehuel."
Mikael fought the urge to smile, since Raphael had told him he wasn't really to interact with the classroom. But Vehuel was such a dear – and younger than most, looking thirteen years old if he was a day, his voice still a boyish soprano. "Social status, gender, and age?"
Raphael nodded, and Mikael couldn't help it – he cheated a little and sent Vehuel a little telepathic wave of approval. The boy brightened, and Mikael hoped that this one would join their ranks as an angel of Most Holy.
Raphael turned to the board again, the string winding around him, pulling Mikael closer. "Now. In Japanese, personal pronouns are frequently omitted – the subject of a sentence is often clear in context. In fact, the usage of 'anata' – you – is limited and specific. It's often used on surveys and other formal situations, but very infrequently used in day-to- day conversation. Except, of course, for married couples, in which case a wife may address her husband as 'anata' – which takes on the connotation of 'darling.'" Raphael turned to face the class again, pulling Mikael even closer, though still gesturing as though nothing unusual were going on, and that he wasn't wound up in red string and attached to his partner.
Red string….bound by fate? a voice whispered in Mikael's mind. Mikael looked at the classroom, and met Vehuel's knowing eyes.
I don't presume to speak for Most Holy. That's the Metatron's job, Mikael offered, wryly.
A little wave of amusement. As you say.
Raphael turned one more time, the string winding Mikael into his embrace. "So, remember to write down your dreams tomorrow morning, and we'll discuss them in class."
"What if you don't dream tonight, or if you do and don't remember?" someone asked.
Raphael closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Mikael's. The moment spoke of safety and love and togetherness, all the more eloquent for its brevity. "I never said you had to be asleep. You're dismissed."
There was something odd about Saturday morning, and Mikael mumbled the sentiment out loud without really realizing it.
Raphael's hand traced an idle design on his hip. "I'll give you a clue. It's big and yellow and bright, and you haven't woken up after it in about three weeks."
Mikael rolled over onto his back. "Don't make me jealous of all the sleep you've gotten lately. It could get ugly."
Raphael smiled lazily and nuzzled his jaw. "Don't be jealous. It's not nearly as satisfying without you." A little yawn, and Raphael snuggled closer. "So, what are we going to do today?"
Mikael sighed contentedly, reveling in lazy comfort. "Not a damn thing."
"I was hoping you'd say that. Back to sleep for awhile?"
Mikael leaned over to kiss him softly, before laying his head next to Raphael's on his pillow. "Nothing better, anata, nothing better."