Chapter Text
When he entered the room, time stood still for a moment.
It was those eyes, gray like the stormy sea, gray like a cloudy sky. And they were ice cold. Sasha nudged your elbow and smirked at you.
“Haven’t seen the new professor yet, have you?”
You chuckled to release some tension and suddenly you were glad that you sat at the end of the lecture hall, as far away from him as possible. You observed him while he took his place at the podium and plugged in his laptop, all the while looking like a moody statue that had just escaped from the museum. How could someone be so handsome and so gloomy at the same time?
“He doesn’t look like he wants to be here," you commented and Sasha nodded in agreement.
“Well, that’s one thing we have in common.”
An early Monday lecture had to be somewhere on the list of things that violated the Geneva convention. Maybe not right at the top, but definitely on there.
“Doesn’t he look a little too young to teach?”
"Don’t tell me you don’t know.” Sasha’s eyes widened. “The faculty hasn’t talked about anything else in the past few weeks.”
You stretched an arm over your head, trying to get rid of the fatigue in your body.
“I’ve only just come back last week. Haven’t really had time for gossip while settling back into my apartment.”
Sasha shot you a look that said there was always time for gossip, but she humored you nonetheless.
“He’s the youngest professor to ever hold an academic chair in his field.“
You studied him from afar.
That actually made sense. You had thought his face eerily young for the rest of his body, almost angelic. You caught the thought and pushed it away. Thinking like that wouldn’t be helpful if you had to attend his lectures in the future.
“Where is the rest of you?”
The voice was so deep it made you jolt. You looked up and saw the professor expectantly examining his students, fixing his gaze on one after the other.
“This is all of us," Armin explained.
He was sitting in the first row, evidently taking the brunt of the professor’s discontent.
“What – like…” The professor’s eyes flicked around, counting. “Fifteen people?”
“Yes, Professor Ackerman," Armin replied meekly.
The professor shook his head, clearly annoyed, and rummaged through his documents. When he found what he was looking for, he slammed the paper on his podium.
“I was promised thirty people," he snarled. “I guess you’ll just have to work twice as hard to make up for it.”
Oh. So he was an asshole.
At least that would make it easier for you to keep your distance from him.
Without any explanation on what exactly he meant by his ominous announcement, he began his lecture, not an ounce less sullen than before. You were soon to find out that he had not only high cheekbones, but even higher expectations. His course load would be astronomical. While speaking, his eyes kept piercing through every student, making them quietly squirm under his gaze. He didn’t seem to tolerate any distractions, prompting students to hurriedly hide their phones even though it was entirely impossible for him to see them under the table. A few minutes in, his eyes darted to the back of the room and landed on Sasha. You could sense her shift in her seat, suddenly unable to get comfortable. And then it was your turn.
The ice in his stare went right through you, conjuring up every superior that had ever criticized you, every authority figure who had voiced their disappointment in you. Professor Ackerman knew how to command a room, you had to give him that. But you still refused to budge. You didn’t shiver, you didn’t flinch. You just looked right back at him, hoping to unsettle him in the same way he tried to unsettle you. Seconds passed and neither of you faltered. He continued his lecture as if nothing was happening. Now it was almost half a minute and you still didn’t look away. He raised one eyebrow, but you refused to give in. After what felt like an eternity, he gave you a slight nod, the hint of a smile flashing over his lips. Then he turned to torment another student.
You didn’t exactly know what had just happened, but you knew one thing for certain:
This would definitely not make it easier.
Professor Ackerman intended to start the semester off with a bang, scheduling a quick oral exam to determine whether you had read the assigned literature he intended to base his lecture on. You almost couldn’t hear him over the onslaught of sighs and moans that erupted once he made his intentions clear. There was nothing to strike hate into students' hearts like a last minute exam and if Professor Ackerman wasn’t disliked before, he definitely was now.
You had gathered the impression that he was an absolute control freak. Not only did he intend to hold two lectures per week, he also informed you that he would be teaching the accompanying seminar as well. Sounded like someone who didn’t trust anyone but himself which didn’t surprise you in the slightest from the way he had carried himself in his very first lecture. So much for taking it easy with classes and primarily focusing on your master’s thesis.
You forfeited sleep in exchange for cramming the next three days and when the day of your exam came, you had turned into a groggy nervous wreck. Exactly as the professor had intended, no doubt. You sat outside his office door, knees trembling against your will. You moved them ever so often to stop them from shaking, but every time you were convinced they had calmed down, they started up again. It was hopeless.
A click and the soft sound of boots on carpet made your eyes shoot up.
From the look on Mikasa's face as she quietly exited Professor Ackerman’s office, this would be a nightmare. You had never seen her this shaken. You had never seen her display any strong emotion, to be honest. But whatever she had witnessed in that room must have been horrifying.
Well, good luck to you then.
You would definitely need it.
When you entered the small office, you took a moment to adjust your eyes to the orange sunlight that bathed the room in warmth. The sunset had already begun, breaking through the window behind the desk and wrapping the figure before you in a soft halo. He did look like an angel, now more than ever. His sharp but delicate features were brought out by the illumination, his hair soft as feathers.
Professor Ackerman didn’t look up when you entered the room and he didn’t spare you a glance when you sat down in front of him. His eyes were fixated on the notes under his hands, too busy for performative pleasantries.
He stated your name and you flinched a little.
“Yes, Professor Ackerman," you confirmed.
He scrawled a checkmark on the paper before him.
“You’re the last one for today. Let’s see if you’ll be the first one to actually impress me.”
Your intestines tied themselves in knots.
“I’ll try my best, Professor.”
He hesitated for a moment before he began to speak, eyes still trained on his notes.
“Explain the difference between Prospect Theory and the Expected Utility Hypothesis.”
You sighed in relief and an odd look skittered across his features.
If all questions were like this, you’d pass with flying colors.
You began by stating the basic premise of each concept and then went on to highlight a few differences, all the while aiming to be precise and to the point. Something about Professor Ackerman’s behavior told you that he valued his time more than anything.
“State and define the formula for expected utility.”
This, you could do as well.
Your eyes never left his stern face, which was completely unfazed by the spate of words that left your lips. You couldn’t tell if he was content or annoyed or disappointed or even impressed. He gave you nothing while you gave him everything.
“Explain risk aversion using Prospect Theory.”
No problems here as well.
You didn’t know what he had done to poor Mikasa, but either she didn’t prepare enough which you thought entirely impossible or you were getting incredibly lucky.
You allowed yourself a triumphant little smile that didn’t escape the professor’s attention and for the first time since you entered the office, he looked up. Right at you. There was no air left, only his piercing gray eyes boring into you and wiping the joy off your face.
“Tell me the wavelength responsiveness of cone cells. By type.”
Your heart began to race.
“Wait, this wasn’t in the book.”
“But it is something you should know. It was in the syllabus of your bachelor’s degree.”
You fiddled with your hands. They were slowly beginning to sweat.
“That was quite a while ago for me. I worked for a few years before entering the master's program.”
His face was unmoved.
“I don’t care.”
You sighed and tried to conjure up the information he needed from you. It had to be more than five years by now. You remembered the wild parties, trying to fight stress with alcohol and a lack of sleep. Paradoxically, it had kind of worked. Although you wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. You remembered your biopsychology professor from way back then, her fluffy hair and her thick accent. It must have been around winter time. You remembered being cold, sitting on a flimsy wooden chair and half listening to a lecture that bored you to death. You couldn’t care less about sensory organs. This wasn’t what you had come here for. But you had written the information down anyway. Every single word.
“Short wavelength cones respond the most at 420 nanometers, medium cones at 534 and the large ones at 564. Rod cells sit at about 500.”
His eyes widened for a second before they turned back to his usual stoic expression.
“Can you be more specific?”
“About what?”
“About the rod cells.”
“That wasn’t even part of your question.”
“And now it is.”
You sighed and tried to get back into the memory, but it was gone now. You had worked your magic, there was nothing left.
“I don’t know. 499?”
You could swear he was trying to suppress a smirk.
“498. I have to deduct a point for that.”
“You can’t be serious.”
He regarded you with a look of feigned shock.
“I can't?”
You ground your teeth, but stayed quiet. It was no use antagonizing someone who was drunk on power.
“Am I done then? Is that it?”
He didn’t look up from his notes.
“Yes, you can leave.”
When you pulled the door closed behind you, the sound was a little louder than you had intended it to be.
That arrogant fucker.
No wonder he was the youngest professor in his field. Other academics had probably given him what he wanted so they could get the hell away from him. The thought was strangely comforting. Much easier to bear than the possibility of him having earned his position.
But as you strolled down the hallway, his penetrating gray eyes caught up to you, overtaking your vision and your mind. He had looked so captivating, so beautiful despite his aloofness, evoking feelings inside of you that did not belong there. Feelings that would haunt you at night, when you were sleeping inside your shabby dorm room, alone in your bed, until you snaked down a hand to touch yourself and shut them up.
At least for a few minutes.