No feelings for you

Felix

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It was a known fact that the most famous Renaissance men like Da Vinci, Botticelli, and Michelangelo barely had time for anything else other than their work. Da Vinci even went as far as only sleeping in two-hour intervals. According to written accounts, he did this so he could spend less time sleeping and more time working. They barely spent time with their families, they barely developed long-lasting relationships. Every single waking hour of their lives had one purpose, to create.

Only difference between them and I was that I had one of my students resting on my living room couch, making it completely impossible to focus on anything.

I didn't really have any work to do. I just excused myself from the living room because one, Blair needed rest and two, I needed space to think and reflect.

I could still feel his body's warmth from when we hugged. It felt so natural to hug him, his lean frame fitting into my chest like a bird in a nest.

There was this duality about him that amazed me. On the one hand, he could be incredibly witty, smart on his feet. He always had a cheeky comment on the tip of his tongue. He could be confident, charismatic, unapologetic, and carry himself right. However, on the other hand, when he knew he had lost control, when he knew his words couldn't protect him like a shield anymore, when he knew he had made a mistake, he was vulnerable, transparent, soft, endearing.

He was both a man who could carry his own and a boy who wanted to be held.

When he realized he had probably been drugged, the fear and panic he felt pierced through me. I hugged him because I truly wanted him to feel safe in that moment, because I had failed last night.

And sure, you could say that it wasn't my fault at all.

After all, he was the one who drank, he was the one who made all those terrible choices.

But he did them to get a reaction from me, to rile me up like he always did.

I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed in frustration. This had to end. There was only one place this was going to go unless I stopped it. I couldn't let this go any further. If I already had the urge to hug him again, to hold him tightly and smell his hair and feel his body against my chest, what the hell would I be feeling in a month if I led him on?

Unwanted memories of him leaving a lipstick stain on my hand invaded my mind. When he asked me if anything had happened between us, I shouldn't have omitted this very crucial part about last night.

I knew deep down I hadn't told him because I wanted to keep the memory all to myself. I didn't want to admit how much that drunken, completely impulsive action affected me.

I balled my hands into fists.

I was so screwed.

My job at Durham was a godsend, I couldn't jeopardize it. If anyone at Durham even suspected one of my students had slept in my apartment they'd do a full-on investigation. I'd probably lose my job on the spot and lose my credibility. I couldn't put Blair's own fate as a student on the line either.

I sat at my desk, sulking. I had to entertain myself with something for the next couple of hours or I'd go insane.

I reached for the top drawer of my desk and pulled out a drawing pad.

My first instinct was to draw him. The way my baggy clothes fitted on his body, the curly pattern of his freshly washed hair, the color of his cheeks.

No, out of fucking question.

I told myself to draw anything but him, so that's what I did.

I found myself sketching the face of that sweaty pig who most likely drugged Blair, trying to remember his features. I'd rather feel anger and disgust than tempting thoughts.

Depending on my mood that afternoon, I'd decide whether I'd burn the paper or take the portrait to the police.

At one o'clock, I decided it was time for me to descend and take Blair home. When I got to the living room, he was sound asleep on the couch, his head resting on the sofa's armrest, his legs curled in a ball.

First step of straightening out the blurred lines was being firm with him.

"Mr. De Montmorency, wake up. I have to take you home now." I said, standing over him. He didn't respond, so I shook him and called out his name. "Blair. Wake up."

He stretched his arms, his eyelids laboriously opening.

"What time is it?" he asked. He probably still had a killer headache, but there was nothing I could do.

There was nothing I should do.

"Time to take you home. Come on, get up." I ordered. I could tell he sensed how tense I was. "Grab your stuff and let's go."

He got up without a word. He walked into my bedroom, coming back with his dress shirt and polished shoes in hand.

"Aren't you going to put those on?" I asked, noticing his feet were bare.

He made a face. "I'd rather go barefoot. It clashes with the outfit."

Blair De Montmorency strikes again.

"Will you stop that? Who cares?" I said, crossing my arms. I knew he was once again playing with me, but part of me really wondered if his reasoning for an outfit clash was slightly truthful.

"Seriously though, I can't walk in these. My feet hurt so bad."

He was so whiny. He sounded like a petulant child. Was he doing this because he wanted a reaction from me?

"Fine." I said, annoyance laced in my voice. I opened the door of my apartment, clicking on the elevator button. He walked straight out the door, completely unbothered by his lack of footwear.

Blair was many things, but he sure as hell was hilarious too. It was so entertaining watching him not giving a damn about not wearing shoes. I kept my amusement to myself though.

I had to straighten up the lines.

We stepped onto the elevator and stood there, side by side, in complete awkward silence.

"Aren't you going to make an annoying remark about me not complaining about feet-pain last night? That I'm being dramatic?" he asked, his eyes big and bright.

Oh Blair.

"No. You do whatever you want." I said coldly. He lowered his head. He didn't say anything else.

We made our way to my car in silence. The journey to his house was equally spent in silence. No jokes about last night, no jokes about my apartment being masculine, no jokes about the week ahead. Just total, awkward silence.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, his voice small. "You seem mad."

I clenched my jaw. This was harder for me than he realized.

"This can never happen again. I'm not just talking about last night, I mean all of it. The jokes, the teasing, the car rides. Everything." I said, sounding like a military officer. I parked in front of his house. "This is wildly unprofessional and unethical."

He shot me a grin. "Oh, I was hoping you'd carry me to the door. I really don't want to touch the sidewalk—"

He persisted with the provocations. He really didn't realize I was being dead serious.

"Blair!" I shouted. I slammed my hand on the steering wheel, making him stiffen and shudder. "There is nothing here for you. I have no feelings for you, but I understand how I might have led you on, and I'm sorry for that. Your behavior towards me is appalling. Go flirt with someone your age instead."

My words tasted like venom in my mouth. I just looked straight ahead, knowing that the walls I was trying to build would crumble if I saw his reaction to my words.

Blair didn't say a single word. He slammed the car door as he walked out, clearly upset. I drove away without waiting for him to get in.

I was an absolute asshole.