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The cold afternoon wind swirled between the cars parked in front of the school. Asa adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder, the worn leather creaking softly, and leaned against the stone wall, trying to occupy as little space as possible. He didn't want to obstruct the students' exit, he didn't want anyone to ask what a man in a beige knit sweater and dress shoes was doing there, standing like a lamppost in someone else's territory. This wasn't his world. It was Anthony's world.
Anthony, who glided through the hallways in his black jacket with an air of someone who understood the secrets of the universe, spoke of quasars and elliptical orbits with a glint in his eyes that made even the most disinterested students tilt their heads. Asa loved that glint. I loved it so much that sometimes it hurt.
The bell rang. Doors opened, voices echoed, young people passed by in droves. No one looked at Asa. He was fine with that. In fact, it was exactly what he expected. Being invisible was safer. Being invisible meant that no one would wonder why Professor Crowley, so magnetic and ironic, would have someone like him waiting outside. Someone who still fumbled with his backpack zipper when he got nervous, someone who read menus three times before deciding on a tea, someone who preferred the quiet corner of the bookstore to any bar.
Asa had spent the entire afternoon feeding his anxiety. he had come to pick up Anthony because he wanted to see him sooner, because the previous night Anthony had arrived late, exhausted, and barely managed to exchange more than a distracted kiss on the forehead before collapsing onto the bed. But now, standing there, the idea of being seen seemed like a mistake. What if his friends think he's in a relationship with someone like me? The thought wasn't new. It was an old weed, with deep roots. What if Anthony was ashamed? Not exactly of Asa, but of the lack of chemistry. Anthony was fire, he was muffled rock and roll under a skin of disdain. Asa was… quietude. Chamomile tea. A Vivaldi concerto on a rainy Sunday.
He bit his lower lip and pretended to be interested in the parking lot sign, already plotting an excuse to leave before Anthony saw him.
That's when the voice reached him, coming from the gatehouse, still somewhat breathless.
If I had known you were waiting here, I would have walked faster.
Asa looked up too quickly. Anthony was coming toward him, his leather briefcase under his arm, his sunglasses already in his hand—he'd taken them off as soon as he stepped outside. His amber eyes were warm, and the smile on his face wasn't a teacher's smile, that cynical corner of his mouth he used to challenge students. It was the smile Asa knew from breakfast, from late nights under the covers, from when Anthony chuckled softly against his neck and said, "You're ridiculous, angel." A particular smile, one that shouldn't be shown in broad daylight in front of the whole school.
Asa's heart skipped a beat, a mixture of relief and panic. "He didn't expect you to be here." Asa processed the sentence, and anxiety immediately offered a distorted interpretation: you caught him by surprise, he would have preferred to be prepared, perhaps he didn't want to be seen.
"I... I could have warned you," Asa stammered, clenching his fingers on the backpack strap. "Sorry. It was an impulse. I just wanted to..."
Finishing the sentence was too dangerous. I just wanted to see you. You seemed needy. I just wanted to make sure you still ... Worse still. He swallowed the rest.
Anthony stopped a hand's breadth away, tilting his head as if analyzing an equation that didn't add up. But it wasn't calculation, it was Asa's tone. His brow slightly furrowed.
"Hey." The voice lowered, losing any trace of performance. The free hand touched Asa's arm, long, cold fingers on the fluffy sweater. "Asa. Look at me."
Asa obeyed, but it was difficult. His grey-blue eyes were those of someone who had spent the afternoon fighting with his own mind.
"I wanted to walk faster," Anthony repeated firmly. "Because you were waiting in the cold, standing here like an abandoned penguin. Not because I didn't want you to come."
Asa blinked. “Abandoned penguin” was so Anthony it hurt. He tried a smile, but it came out shaky at the corners.
I know you don't... You don't need to meet me here. Your students can see, and...
"And what?" Anthony raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving into a half-smile that was pure defiance. "They're going to think the astrophysics professor has an absurdly adorable boyfriend who came to pick him up? What a scandal. Should I resign now or wait for the gossip to reach the administration?"
Asa let out a short laugh, another sigh, and shook his head.
"That's not it. It's just that..." Anthony's hand was still on his arm. Asa instinctively covered it with his own, as if warming a wounded bird. "They're young, modern, you're so... you. And I'm..."
"You," Anthony interrupted. No sarcasm now. "Literally the person I chose. The only person who makes me want to leave a department meeting early, which, believe me, is a remarkable miracle."
Asa felt his face grow hot. He lowered his head, but a smile now took root, involuntarily.
" You're exaggerating."
"Exaggeration is my middle name, angel." Anthony gently tugged at him, an invitation to start walking. "Now come on, before you freeze completely and I have to explain to the building manager why there's an ice cherub on the sidewalk."
They began walking down the street side by side. No one looked. No one pointed. The world kept turning. And inside Asa's chest, the weed of doubt lost some ground to the warmth of Anthony's hand, which had already moved down from his arm to intertwine his fingers with his, slowly, without disguise.
"Next time," Anthony murmured, looking ahead, but his thumb was tracing slow circles on Asa's skin, "let me know you're coming. That way I'll run. Literally. You seeing me run is quite a spectacle. Very clumsy."
Asa laughed, now for real, a low, sweet sound that mingled with the wind.
"I think I'd like to see that."
"Okay, so it's settled."
The conversation died down in a comfortable tranquility. Asa took a deep breath. The scent of autumn, gasoline, and Anthony's woody perfume. There was still much to unlearn within his own mind, but for now, walking like this, hand in hand, seemed like a small step in the right direction. A step that no group, no outsider's gaze, could diminish.
Weeks had settled into a sweeter rhythm since that afternoon in front of the school. There were still days when Asa's anxiety whispered old lies, but Anthony had learned to recognize the signs—the furrowed brow, the excessive silence, the way Asa looked away when receiving a compliment—and had become adept at disarming them with an absurd comment, an unexpected touch, or simply by staying close, quiet, until the cloud passed.
That Saturday morning, the park was too mild for the season. The leaves had already turned amber and gold, and the lake reflected a pale, porcelain-blue sky. Asa was crouching by the water's edge, the bag of frozen peas that Anthony had sworn was better than bread resting on his knee, when the first duck approached, quacking with the authority of one who had seen many gullible humans before.
"Hello, my dear," murmured Asa, tossing a few peas with the reverence of someone serving appetizers at a formal reception.
Anthony stood behind him, hands in the pockets of his black jacket, his hair tied in a loose bun that was already losing the battle against the wind. He watched the scene with an expression that, if asked, he would describe as neutral, but which was actually pure, barely disguised adoration.
"You know they're not going to invite you for tea, don't you?" he said, dragging out the words with the slowness of someone dangerously relaxed. "No matter how full your bow is."
Asa turned his face away, his eyes shining.
" That's what you think. This one here, the brown one? He already owes me a gingerbread cookie from last time. He knows what he did."
Anthony let out a short laugh, which was lost in the sound of children playing in the distance. It was at that moment that a third sound infiltrated: young voices, muffled laughter, the unmistakable shuffling of sneakers on the grass.
Asa looked first. His whole body stiffened.
A group of teenagers had just circled the bandstand, three boys and two girls, backpacks slung over their shoulders and cell phones in their hands. And in front, with his unmistakable brown quiff and a smile that seemed to know more than he was saying, was Adam Young. Beside him, Joshua, tall and lanky, pointed enthusiastically towards the lake, and behind them came the others—Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale, Asa deduced, based on the casual descriptions Anthony had already given of the extracurricular astronomy class.
Panic hit Asa like a gulp of ice water. He wasn't prepared. Not there, in the middle of the park, peas in his hand and knees dirty with soil. Anthony was on his day off, relaxed, and suddenly his students were going to see him... with him. With Asa. The strange boyfriend who didn't belong in that world.
Asa's fingers tightened on the bag. He began to stand slowly, already calculating a safe distance, some excuse, but Anthony's hand slid to his shoulder and held him in place. Firm. Not possessive, but an anchor.
"They're just my favorite little rascals," Anthony murmured softly, just to Asa. "Nothing to worry about, angel."
"But they're going to..." Asa began, but Adam had already seen them.
" Professor Crowley!" The boy waved, and the whole group changed course, approaching with that adolescent energy that occupied twice the space of normal bodies. " I didn't know you frequented the park!"
Anthony spun on his heels, his cynical smile automatically positioned, but his eyes still carried a glint of protectiveness.
"Young. Don't you have homework to do? A nebula to catalog? A black hole to photograph?"
"Saturday, professor," Joshua reminded him, with a knowing wink. "Day off. You taught us that even the stars need rest."
Asa remained a step behind, his hands now clasped in front of his body, his eyes fixed on the ducks as if they might offer an escape route. But the ducks were more interested in the peas.
Adam, however, was not the type to overlook details. His curious eyes traveled from Anthony to the quiet figure beside him, then to the hands that almost touched, and back to the professor's face. He smiled, a slight smile, without malice.
"Will you introduce us?" he asked, with the casualness of someone asking about the weather.
Asa felt his face burning. He opened his mouth to say something, a "no need" or "I was already going," but Anthony was faster.
"This," he said, sliding his hand from Asa's shoulder to the small one on his back, in a gesture that was both casual and deliberately affectionate, "is Asa. My boyfriend. Asa, these are the terrors I put up with three times a week: Adam, Joshua, Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale."
The silence lasted a second, maybe two. Asa swallowed hard, expecting laughter, a judgmental look, a silent question: him ?
Instead, Pepper tilted his head and said:
"Oh, you're Asa! The teacher said you own a bookstore."
"And he knows all about first editions," Brian added, as if it were public knowledge.
"And he makes the best carrot cake in the universe," Wensleydale added, adjusting his glasses with an approving look.
Asa blinked, perplexed. He looked at Anthony, who suddenly showed a deep interest in a particular duck, his jaw tense. The tips of the professor's ears were slightly pink.
"You... are talking about me?" Asa managed to articulate, his voice coming out weaker than he would have liked.
"All the time," Joshua replied, with the nonchalant sincerity of someone who didn't understand why that would be surprising. "Like, every class has a 'Asa said that,' 'Asa read an article about this,' 'Asa made that dessert.' We already knew you existed before we even saw a picture."
Adam stepped forward and extended his hand to Asa, a firm, decidedly non-adolescent handshake.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Asa." He smiled, and there was something about that boy that reminded him a little of Anthony: a sharp intelligence wrapped in warm manners. "The professor gets less grumpy when he mentions your name."
"I don't get grumpy," Anthony grumbled.
"Of course not, professor," Adam agreed, unconvinced.
Asa didn't know what to answer. He shook Adam's hand, then Joshua's, and nodded to the others, feeling his chest expand with a complicated emotion. It wasn't just relief; it was the feeling of being seen, truly seen, and yet accepted. Not as an eccentricity of the professor, but as part of his life.
Anthony finally looked back at the group, his arm now resting possessively around Asa's waist.
"Okay, you've had your fill of embarrassment for today. Go enjoy the park, will you?"
"We were going to ask for a selfie," Pepper said, already pulling out her cell phone.
"Absolutely not."
"Too late!" Brian pointed his own cell phone, and the click was heard before Anthony could protest. The photo would probably capture the professor rolling his eyes, Asa with an expression somewhere between surprise and a shy smile, and the ducks quacking in the background.
As the group walked away laughing and nudging each other, Adam lagged behind for a moment.
"Hey, Asa," he called softly. "Take good care of him, okay? He pretends he doesn't, but he's got a soft heart." He winked and ran to join his friends.
Asa stood still, watching the teenagers' backs disappear among the trees. Anthony's hand tightened lightly around his waist.
" I told you they were just a bunch of brats."
"You talked about me in class." Asa turned, and there was something in his eyes that shone, moist, but not with sadness. "About my cake, my bookstore... Anthony..."
Anthony grumbled, scratching the back of his neck, all the cynicism evaporated.
"It's not a big deal. They ask about my life, and I answer. You are my life." The confession came out quickly, in a rush. "There, I said it. Now give me those peas and let me feed the ducks before I die of embarrassment."
Asa handed over the small bag, but before Anthony could turn away, he grabbed his wrist. With the boldness that only moments of tenderness allowed, he stood on tiptoe and placed a kiss on the corner of the professor's mouth.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For not being ashamed of me."
Anthony closed his eyes for a moment, as if those words stung a little, and then rested his forehead against Asa's.
"The only thing I'm ashamed of is my hair when I wake up. Never of you. Never ever." he opened his eyes and placed a chaste, but lingering, kiss on Asa's lips. "Now feed the ducks with me, angel. They're ready to declare war."
And so they did, shoulder to shoulder, the ducks quacking a discordant concert, the peas scattered on the grass, and the afternoon unfolding like a clean sheet. Asa could still hear the echo of anxiety, but now it was more distant, muffled by the sound of Anthony's students' laughter in the distance, by the warmth of the body beside his, by the certainty—planted with patience and watered with small gestures—that being seen was, after all, a way of being loved.
Autumn had already bid farewell, taking away the golden leaves and leaving in its place the discreet winter that seeped through the cracks in the school gate. Asa now knew that sidewalk as well as he knew the aisle of his bookstore: every crack in the concrete, every lamppost with its peculiar angle, every tree that dripped raindrops on damp days. What was once foreign territory had become an emotional map.
He adjusted the cloth bag on his arm—it contained a jar of oatmeal cookies with chocolate chips, a recipe he had tested three times before Anthony declared, "Now that's more like it, angel, you've conquered the culinary world"—and leaned against the wall, but no longer trying to disappear. His shoulders were relaxed, and a ready smile played on his lips when the bell rang.
The doors opened, and the ritual repeated itself, but now with a fundamental difference: Asa was no longer invisible. He was expected.
" Asa!" Pepper's voice cut through the murmur before she even appeared. The girl came running, her red scarf flying behind her, and behind her came Brian and Wensleydale, like two satellites in orbit. " Did you bring the cookies? You promised on Friday!"
"A promise is a debt," Asa replied, already opening the bag.
Pepper grabbed a cookie and bit into it with the satisfaction of someone who has just received a favorable verdict. Brian and Wensleydale didn't wait for an invitation. In seconds, the sidewalk transformed into a small open-air bakery.
"The teacher's going to get jealous," Joshua commented, approaching more slowly, flanked by Adam. "He thinks the cookies are all his."
"I'll share," Asa said, with the gravity of someone announcing a peace treaty. "Let him learn."
Adam laughed and sat down on the curb, taking a notebook out of his backpack.
" Take advantage of being here, Asa. The professor tried to explain dark matter today and we were completely lost. Do you understand anything about dark matter?"
"Honey, I hardly understand why ducks prefer peas to corn." Asa tilted his head, genuinely curious. "But I'm a good listener. Try to explain to me what you understood."
That's how, when Anthony finally managed to escape the lightning-fast meeting the department had forced down his throat for the past fifteen minutes, he encountered a scene that made him stop at the gate and simply stare.
Asa sat on the low wall, his legs dangling like a boy's, surrounded by students. Wensleydale gestured, trying to draw something in the air with his hands. Brian interrupted with guesses. Adam read aloud from his notebook, and Joshua pointed to the sky, even though it was still broad daylight. Pepper, a biscuit in his mouth, made notes on his arm with a pen.
And Asa listened. With that absolute attention he devoted to the most indecisive customers in the bookstore, to friends who needed to vent, to the ducks in the park. He didn't understand dark matter, but he understood people. He asked questions, sought clarification, and somehow, just by being there, the tangle of doubts among the teenagers began to unravel.
Anthony crossed his arms, leaning his shoulder against the gate frame. There was a smile on his face that he could no longer control—a small smile, without cynicism, without a mask. It was pride, but it was also something else: the feeling that the universe, which he knew so well in its laws and constants, had conspired to give him this. An ordinary afternoon. A boyfriend in a sweater surrounded by hungry teenagers. A happiness that didn't need black holes or supernovas to justify itself.
"You're bothering Asa," he said, finally approaching, his voice drawling but without any real warning.
Six heads turned.
"He likes it," Pepper defended herself.
"He brought cookies," Brian added.
"He was helping me with dark matter," Adam added. "We almost came up with a metaphor using borrowed books that were never returned."
Anthony raised an eyebrow at Asa, who simply smiled, a genuine smile, without any shadows.
"I was saying that dark matter is like that customer who disappears with a book and we never see it again," Asa explained. "You feel the gravitational effect, but it remains invisible."
"That's terribly inaccurate," Anthony muttered.
"But it's poetic," Joshua retorted.
"And we understood," Wensleydale added, adjusting his glasses.
Anthony rolled his eyes, but the smile didn't fade. He extended his hand to Asa, who accepted it, jumping down from the wall with a small, awkward leap.
Okay, you little rascals. Extra class over. Asa is mine now.
There was a chorus of muffled protests, but Adam stood up and made a vague gesture to the group.
"Okay, okay. We were leaving anyway." He looked at Asa, the same smile from months ago, but now filled with familiarity. "Thank you for the cookies. And for the metaphor."
"Come to the bookstore any day," Asa replied. "I have an astronomy section that needs young readers."
The teenagers waved goodbye and made promises, dispersing down the street like constellations rearranging themselves in the sky. Asa stood still, his hand still intertwined with Anthony's, the empty bag on his other arm.
"They are good boys," he said softly.
"They're unbearable," Anthony corrected, but his tone was sweet. "And they like you more than they like me. I've noticed."
"Impossible. You're their favorite astrophysics professor."
"Favorite because there's no other option. You're a favorite because... you."
Asa lowered his gaze, but his smile remained unwavering. Learning to receive compliments was still a work in progress, but the ground was no longer so shaky.
"Do you know what Adam once told me?" Anthony asked, starting to walk hand in hand with him down the sidewalk. "That you're like a binary star."
" That is good?"
"Yes. Two stars orbiting so close together that they appear as one from a distance. But it's the union that makes the light stronger."
Asa felt his eyes sting slightly and squeezed Anthony's hand.
"Did he say that?"
" He's a poet disguised as a teenager. But... he's not wrong."
They walked in silence, the afternoon slowly fading into twilight. Asa thought about how many times he had been in that same place, months ago, huddled up and certain that he didn't belong. Now, the students called him by name. Pepper asked for recipes. Adam discussed metaphors. Joshua showed him constellation apps. It was a life he hadn't expected, a life that anxiety had almost made him reject.
" Anthony " he called, stopping suddenly.
Anthony stopped as well, his face turning with a silent question.
"Thank you. For not giving up on me. Even when I... even on the days when I thought you would be ashamed."
Anthony brought his free hand to Asa's face, his thumb touching his cheekbone with the delicacy of someone adjusting the focus of a telescope.
"Angel, I'm an astrophysicist." His voice came out half hoarse, half playful. "I study things that take billions of years to reach us. Learning to wait is my job. And for you... I would wait as long as it takes."
Asa closed his eyes, leaning in for the touch. When he opened them, there were tears, but also a serene certainty, the kind that needs no metaphors.
"Let's go home," he whispered. "I made apple pie."
" I love you."
"I know," Asa replied, and for the first time in his life, he felt no need to add a "but" or a "maybe?". He simply smiled and pulled Anthony by the hand, leaving the school behind, heading towards all the afternoons that were yet to come.