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Not Peter's first year of teaching, nor his second, but his third: Broxholm came back to Earth again, this time to teach with him. And not just teaching in the same school, as colleagues, but teaching together—co-teaching a combined class of fifth- and sixth-graders—and it was great. Broxholm was no longer stuck using the same "hardass" teaching style he had been assigned to use during his first mission on Earth—the aliens had learned a lot since then about the teaching styles humans responded best to—and it was a joy for Peter to see the ways Broxholm connected with students now. It was exciting to be a part of, and Peter knew that working with Broxholm energized his teaching to a new level beyond what he had achieved before. Whether they were on the same electrifying wavelength in class, or quietly sharing grading together over one of their kitchen tables, or even tearing their (metaphorical) hair out over how they could revise their original (and carefully planned) lesson schedule after entirely too many snow days threw it completely out of whack—they were so great together.
And then, at the end of the schoolyear, Broxholm was gone again. Back to the stars with their joint report in hand, ready to teach the teachers who would come with him back to Earth to join the next round of their program—
And Peter was left with a long summer to think about things in Broxholm's absence.
Things like how many ways he'd enjoyed spending time together with Broxholm again, more than he'd even expected—while they had worked together before (not least on the report to save Earth), it had never been possible for them to teach together before, and Peter found the experience made him appreciate Broxhom in new dimensions he hadn't even realized he'd been missing before. He missed Broxholm in all those new ways now.
And he wondered for the first time about even more ways he might like to spend time together with Broxholm once he returned.
Which is why he had started trying to research—as unobtrusively as possible, as if trying to sneak up on himself—how exactly it was that people on Broxholm's home planet asked each other out. If asking people out was even a thing they did. Were there ways people hinted they were interested first—either in making an advance, or receiving one?
Well. Not that he needed to worry about being unobtrusive, apparently, because what he found out was that among Broxholm's people, when you were interested in a relationship with someone, you just straightforwardly told them so.
…Right. What was the first thing Broxholm ever told Peter about his home planet, after all? "On my world we don't worry nearly so much as you people do about talking nicely to each other. We speak the truth and get on with things."
Of course they just told people their feelings, just as if they'd never been afraid of getting hurt. No hints, no signals, no rituals; no way to feel the situation out before you just put everything out there on the table. Honestly, why hadn't Peter expected that?
He still wasn't quite up to leading with all his feelings when Broxhom reappeared—though he didn't even try to stop himself from rushing in for a good long hug. (Hugs were nothing new between them; hadn't been for years.) "It's so good to see you again. I really missed your face," Peter said, still pressed close. It wasn't everything he felt, by a long shot, but he could say this much of it.
Later, when he and Broxholm were deep into revamping their class plans for the year again, this time incorporating all the feedback Broxholm had brought back from his training sessions in space, Peter realized Broxholm was still wearing his human mask over his face, which he didn't usually do when they were alone. "Hey, do you want to take your face off, get comfortable?"
Broxholm leaned back in his chair and looked toward the back door behind the kitchen table, evaluating. The solid door was open, with the screen door letting in the cool evening breeze. The house Peter rented didn't have a solid wall of hedges around it, like Broxholm's house in Kennituck Falls on his first mission, so there was a greater possibility someone might see Broxholm's alien face by accident. Broxholm brushed the end of his nose with his thumb and forefinger—as if, Peter thought, the gesture he really wanted to make was his species' equivalent of sighing, stretching his nose out and letting it snap back—but he settled for the human version of sighing, shook his head, and turned his attention back to the papers between them. Even without speaking, it was clear he had judged the risk to be too great.
"Come on," Peter said. "Even if anybody sees anything we'll just say your face is the mask. It's almost Halloween, it'll work fine."
"Almost in what sense, that we're in the same half of the year? It's only August," Broxholm remarked wryly, still making no move to remove his mask.
"We're teachers. We plan everything in advance!" Peter gestured to the table between them in illustration.
Broxholm snorted in amusement. Still without looking up from the papers, he said, offhandedly, "Anyway, you said you missed my face."
"Uh, yeah," Peter answered, with a half-shrug gesturing: So, obviously, this is why I'm trying to see it.
In the beat of silence that followed, Peter realized that this obvious conclusion must somehow not be obvious to Broxholm, and that meant there must be some miscommunication here. He had enough practice now at trying to understand how someone was misunderstanding something—even if the misunderstanding didn't seem to make any sense—
"Wait. Did you somehow think…that I meant I only missed your human face? The mask?"
Broxholm was looking up at him now, a slight frown on his face—of concentration, Peter thought, not unhappiness. "You have often remarked on how attractive you find it."
Well. Peter hadn't realized he did that enough to be called often, but anyway. "Yes—it's—do you somehow not realize that you always make your human masks incredibly attractive? I figured you must do it on purpose—but, Broxholm." Peter laughed and shook his head. "I was sad when I saw limes in the grocery store this summer because they reminded me of your face—your actual face—reminded me of how much I missed you." Peter finished in a small voice.
"Limes?"
"They're the same color as your skin. Almost the same texture, too. Some of them, anyway. Listen. Yes, I like the mask just fine. Yes, I think it's incredibly handsome. But it's like…" This maybe wasn't the feeling Peter had been going to lead with, actually, but there were too many to say them all at once, and he had to start putting them all on the table somewhere. "It's like, if you were wearing lingerie. It's appealing, yes; it's a nice decoration—but when you take it off, it's not the mask I'll be interested in." Peter's voice deepened for the end of the sentence. He could feel his face heat with a blush, he was breathing more heavily, and he had started to prickle with sweat—but he kept his face up, looking directly at Broxholm.
"Ah," Broxholm said, looking slightly stunned. "To think I was worried it might be only the human mask you were attracted to."
Peter let out a laugh, releasing some of his nervous energy. "Yeah, that was pretty silly of you," he said fondly.
Broxholm pinched the end of his nose in a clear approximation for his usual "sighing" gesture. "To be fair—it can be very hard to understand what humans want. And I have been trying very hard, lately, to figure out what one human in particular might want. It's possible I may have let myself get tangled up in all the possible contradictions."
Oh. While Peter was trying to figure out how to declare his love in the manner of Broxholm's people, Broxholm was trying to figure out how to navigate human courtship rituals for him? "Oh, wow, you really must love me," Peter said, then almost clapped his hand over his mouth. If it was too soon for him to tell the other person in a relationship (what he hoped was going to be a relationship!) that Peter loved him, it was definitely too soon to assume the other person loved Peter!
Broxholm's face softened. "Surely you cannot doubt that I love you."
"Not…that you love me, no. You're right, that's been clear for a while. Only unsure about how you love me." Fuck too soon—time to put it all on the table. "If it's the way I want—I hope you do. All the same ways I love you."
"I think I'm confident enough in my studies that this gesture will provide a clear answer to you," Broxholm murmured, and leaned around the corner of the table to kiss Peter.
Oh. Yes. After a long moment basking in the warmth, the delight, the feel of Broxholm's hands careful and tender on Peter's face, Peter broke away just enough to ask, "Do you even enjoy kissing?"
"Mm. More with the mask on than I would otherwise—these sensitive lips you humans have."
Peter nibbled his sensitive human lips around the lips of Broxholm's mask for a moment, then said into his mouth, "Good, I'm glad you enjoy it." He traced his fingers across Broxholm's face, as close to tracing the ridges of his real face as could be managed without being able to see them and feel them. "And what will you enjoy once we take the mask off?" Probably not kissing, Peter thought, since Broxholm's real face didn't have lips. But were the ridges sensitive? Would Broxholm enjoy having them touched as much as Peter would enjoy touching them?
Broxholm grinned. "Why don't we go upstairs to your bedroom, and we'll find out what we both enjoy together?"
Peter made sure to close the back door before taking Broxholm's hand and leading him there.