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Iwas getting up to leave my Thursday afternoon film criticism tutorial when Professor Alexander said, “Jude, would you mind hanging back a minute?”

Nikita threw me a look over his shoulder that I couldn’t decipher, before saying he’d see me later. The others filed out without comment. I’d no clue what it could be about; I’d handed in my paper on Tarkovsky on Tuesday and so assumed it had to be about that. It wasn’t the best thing I’d ever written, but I also didn’t think it was ‘a quiet word after class’ bad either.

“I just need to send an email,” he said and I nodded, turning my attention around the office.

As he typed furiously on his keyboard, I perused the shelves by the door. There were well-worn books about film theory and autobiographies of long dead directors. I slid out a pristine copy of Quentin Tarantino’s Cinema Speculation and flipped through it, vaguely curious about what he might have had to say. I imagined Professor Alexander got a lot of books like these as gifts and likely hadn’t read half of them.

“You can borrow it if you like,” he said.

I slid it back and shook my head. “Not a big Tarantino fan, honestly,” I said. I likely wouldn’t have said it in front of the class, a bit too risky in front of a group of rabid film critics, but I didn’t mind admitting it to him.

He smiled. “Me either. Fucking loathe him.”

I liked him already but I liked him more immediately.

“So, is it about my paper? Was it that bad?”

“Ah, no, actually. I thought it was decent.” He scanned his desk and flicked through a pile until he found what he was looking for. “Sounds like you hate Tarkovsky, too.” He held up my paper. It had notes down the margins but a ‘pass’ marked on the top right corner.

“He’s another overrated nightmare, yeah.”

“Really, eeeesh, big talk.”

“If there are any more of his films on the watchlist for this class can you tell me now; I’m going to put in a transfer request.”

Alexander laughed. “There’s one more, but it’s better, I promise. No horses were hurt in the making of this one.”

“That wasn’t even the worst part. I went to see it with a friend, he’s Russian, and he hated it more than me. Even Russians can’t stand his films.”

“Okay, I get it, I get it. Jeez, no need to hurt my feelings.” He put his hands out, surrendering.

“You really like him that much?”

“I do.” He looked a little apologetic about it. “But it’s fine. You wrote a good paper about all the reasons why I’m mistaken. No, I actually wanted to talk to you about something else, apologies if it sounds a bit bizarre.”

“Bizarre?”

“You’re from Jersey, right?”

“Yeah. Well, not originally; I lived in Devon until I was eight. Then moved there.”

He was nodding. “Well, I’m writing something. A speculative period piece about the occupation; I have a couple of production companies interested in it. I guess I’m looking for an ‘in’. Someone local who might be able to show me around.” Here he smiled at me, and I understood I was to be his ‘in’. I wasn’t sure what kind of bizarre I’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“You want me to be like a guide?” I didn’t know that much about the history of the island, but I didn’t want to look stupid in front of my professor by telling him so. It didn’t occur to me that if I agreed to this then I’d look even more stupid when he realised I didn’t.

“Nothing like that. I just thought it would be helpful to see the island through the eyes of someone who lives there. I’ve booked a house for the summer – not sure what your plans are? I don’t expect you to give up your entire break or anything.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that.” I was worried because I hadn’t planned on going home that summer at all. I wasn’t sure how to tell him that though, so instead I asked:

“Where’s the house?”

“Northeast of the island, Fliquet?” He posed it like a question.

I nodded. “Nice spot.”

“You can say no, Jude,” he said with a smile I’d soon learn made up a whole catalogue of smiles Nathan Alexander possessed. Smiles he could whip out for any and every situation. “I told you it was a little bizarre. I heard you mention it the other week and thought I’d ask, but there’s absolutely no obligation here. I promise.”

“Oh, it’s fine. I just wasn’t sure about my summer plans yet, that’s all.” Even that sounded rude to my ears, but Nathan didn’t seem to notice. He was still smiling as he moved to sit back at his laptop.

“Okay, well I’m gonna be in Jersey for a few weeks over summer and if it turns out you’re there at the same time, and don’t mind showing me around a little, then you can let me know. How about that?”

“Yeah, okay.” I nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Perfect, okay, well. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

It turned out I saw him before that.

It was Sunday morning, and I was on my way back from an all-nighter at the flat of the girl Bast was sleeping with. There’d been alcohol, weed – a lot of both – before I’d passed out on an uncomfortable leather sofa in the large airy hallway. I’d caught sight of myself in the mirror as I’d taken a piss and promised to stay off the weed for a bit. I looked like utter shit.

After splashing some water on my face and checking that I had my phone and keys, I slipped out of the flat without even looking for Bast or Nika.

On Merchant Lane, the scent of cooking bacon stopped me in my tracks, and I followed it inside a little deli where I ordered two bacon rolls and a large tea, intending on inhaling both and proceeding to sleep until Tuesday morning. But when I pulled my mobile out to hold it to the keypad, it was dead, my screen black, and my phone long drained of any battery. I looked at the tall, bespectacled, arty-looking guy behind the deli counter with a desperate pleading look I’d be ashamed of later.

He said, without a single shred of sympathy, “Shit, that’s unfortunate.”

“I’m just up the street,” I began. “Let me take this now and I’ll come back this afternoon and pay? What time do you close?”

“We close at 3 p.m. Go get some cash, and I’ll keep this warm for you.”

I wanted to fucking cry. I was so hungry, the smell of bacon was flooding my nostrils and tastebuds, and I knew that even if I went home, I had no clue where my bank card was and I couldn’t wait on my phone charging. I could only imagine what I looked like. Hungover, unshaven, and starving with wild, bloodshot eyes and a mop of unruly hair. This arsehole seemed to be enjoying it too.

I knew there’d be no food in the kitchen at the dorm either. I looked at the brown paper bag, greased spots of bacon already seeping through the sides, and the large brown cup of steaming hot tea. Salvation is what it looked like.

“I’ll get it,” a familiar American voice said from behind me. I whipped around to see Professor Alexander holding out his card towards the cashier. “Stick it on my order, Bailey.”

Professor Alexander was dressed for running. Black shorts, black fitted running top, cheeks flushed and healthy, curls damp on his head. He looked exceptionally good, startlingly so, actually. I was a little stunned by it so early in the morning.

He gave me a cheery, friendly sort of smile as he took me in. “Late one was it, Alcott?”

“Um, yeah, I was...out and yeah,” I stuttered. “And my phone died.”

His silver eyes gleamed with something like amusement as he moved to swipe up my order.

“I honestly don’t know how you kids do it.” He held the cup and the small brown bag out to me.

“Usual, Nathan?” Bailey, Keeper of the Bacon Roll asked. If the overly familiar way they’d addressed each other wasn’t clue enough, when I glanced at him to find him plotting my death, I got the picture. Bailey had a crush.

“Yeah, thanks,” Professor Alexander said without looking away from me. I took my breakfast from him gratefully.

“Thanks, sir. I’ll pay you back.”

Alexander’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. “Sir, is it?”

“Shit, sorry,” I groaned, cheeks flaming. “I don’t know why I said that. Professor, I mean.

“Nathan,” he corrected. “That whole professor thing makes me feel weird most of the time, but here in a coffee shop on Sunday morning?” He shuddered visibly. “All kinds of wrong, Jude.”

“Right, got it,” I said.

The shop was getting busier now and I was starting to feel increasingly worse the longer I stood there. I was well past hungry and the thirst had me about ready to topple over. I was sure I’d regret craving a grilled bacon roll altogether when I thought back on this incident but right now I wanted to take it home and shove it down my throat in one go.

“I’ll be off, then. Thanks again, Prof – Nathan.” I held up the bag and cup of tea and grinned stupidly before scurrying out of the shop and back home towards the dorm.

They were, admittedly, the best bacon rolls I’d ever eaten and after finishing them and gulping down the lukewarm sweetened tea, the lingering embarrassment over my run-in with Professor Alexander was all but wiped out by how blissfully full and satisfied I was. I slept for twelve straight hours after.

I’m not sure when I realised Nathan was attracted to me, when I understood that his rapt attention whenever I spoke in class – and furtive glances when I didn’t – was more than just scholarly interest in his student. But certainly it was sometime into Trinity term of my second year, after the coffee shop and after he had announced to our close-knit film studies class that he wouldn’t be returning next term. (A couple of the girls had actually cried during that class.)

He’d only been due to stay for one academic year, but had extended when a job he’d had lined up in London had fallen through.

He’d told us after one of our trips to the local cinema, he had an apartment in Brooklyn to get home to and a dog his sister had been keeping for him, and a job on a play (with a well-loved actor) off Broadway, that he was expected to start in November.

If not for all this, he said, he’d absolutely stay. He couldn’t tell us about his replacement yet but he said she was exceptionally cool and we’d love her way more than we’d ever liked his pretentious American ass.

He’d been decent enough never to mention the bacon roll incident. On the Tuesday after, I’d set a slice of vegan banana loaf and a large iced black coffee on his desk with a note that said, ‘Bailey said this was your usual – thank you ’. He’d lifted his head and given me that gleaming American smile and a nod, and that had been that.

Until one night in the Upper Camera library I’d been typing away so long on my laptop that my hands had gone numb. I stopped to shake them out. It was late on a Friday, and I had a paper due on Medieval language on Monday. I was working at PP all weekend, so this was the only time I had left to finish it without having to pull an all-nighter on Sunday. I hadn’t eaten yet, though it was about 8 p.m.

Suddenly, a cheese and pickle sandwich appeared in front of me along with a bottle of water still chilled from the fridge. I twisted in my chair to find him standing over me, avidly reading my laptop screen. He was tall, so he needed to crouch over me in order to see the screen.

“Eat something,” he said, eyes still fixed on the screen. “You’ve been here four hours and haven’t eaten.”

My brain was too overloaded, too exhausted, to think about asking how he knew how long I’d been here or that I hadn’t eaten. I opened the sandwich – from the vending machine on the ground floor, I noticed – and ate it in four large bites while Nathan read my paper over my shoulder.

As he read he said, very close to my ear, things like, “good point”, “ah, so smart”, “really good”, and “clever boy.”

“You need to stop buying me food,” I joked when I’d finished the sandwich and drained half the bottle of water.

“And what if I like feeding you?” he said softly.

I turned my head to look at him. The library was quiet – not empty – but quiet. On Friday nights, most people had better things to do. I would normally have better things to do. But it meant there was no one in the immediate vicinity to see Nathan turn his head and bring our mouths just a breath away. His eyes dipped to my lips and I felt something stir nervously in my gut, then lower between my legs.

Want.

Different in nature and flavour from the want I’d had for Finn’s mouth or his dick, and closer to the kind I’d had for Caspien. It was just the forbidden nature of it, I told myself. It was the knowledge that I could never really have it. It was knowing that a boundary existed that couldn’t be crossed. It was, ridiculous as it sounds, safe.

But still, the abruptness of it frightened me. I hadn’t known I’d felt that way about Nathan, not to mention he was my bloody professor, and that part had come on me very much like it had for Caspien. Sudden and breath-taking.

I stood abruptly, slammed shut my laptop, grabbed my bag and ran out of the library as fast as I could.