Sebastian POV
The next morning, Sebastian found himself looking forward to his tutorials with an uncharacteristic lightness. The brief, unexpected conversation with young Blackwood in the Bodleian seemed to have unsettled something vital within him; Sebastian found the usual drag of morning essays replaced by a sharper focus, words on the page yielding their meaning with surprising clarity. It wasn't often he encountered a DPhil candidate with such a keen, yet refreshingly unpretentious, interest in the more esoteric corners of seventeenth-century devotional poetry. Most were focused on the critical darlings, the well-trodden paths. Blackwood, however, had asked questions that suggested a genuine, searching intellect.
He was halfway through a rather pedestrian essay on Marvell when his college telephone jangled, making him jump. It was rarely good news. Usually, it was Margaret, her voice tight with unspoken reproaches, reminding him of some tedious domestic obligation or, worse, reporting on her latest conversation with his mother. The calls from Yorkshire were always a trial, laden with the heavy expectation that he uphold the family name, an expectation that felt increasingly like a lead weight around his soul. His parents' brief, stiff visits were even more challenging, their disapproval of his quiet, academic life, his childless marriage, radiating from them like a physical force.
But it wasn't Margaret. It was the porter. "Professor Ashworth, a Mr. Ethan Blackwood is here asking if you might be free for a brief moment. Says you met last night?"
Surprise, quickly followed by a pleasant anticipation, warmed Sebastian. "Oh! Yes, of course. Send him up, Baines, thank you."
He quickly straightened the pile of books on his desk, a nervous flutter in his chest. It was foolish, this sudden eagerness. He was a forty-seven-year-old academic, not a schoolboy.
***
Ethan POV
Ethan had timed his arrival carefully. Mid-morning, when tutorials might be winding down but before the lunch rush. He'd chosen a small, independent café just off the High Street, one he knew Sebastian frequented – another piece of intel gleaned from casual observation. He'd "coincidentally" be there, engrossed in a book (Donne, naturally), when Sebastian passed by.
The porter at St. Aldric's had been suitably deferential. Ethan waited in the antechamber, his back straight but not stiff, a neutral expression on his face. He held a book, though his gaze lifted expectantly towards the staircase every few moments, a study in composed, polite patience. When Sebastian appeared at the top of the narrow staircase, there was an almost boyish eagerness in his expression that Ethan clocked immediately. He's pleased. Good.
"Mr. Blackwood! How good to see you again," Sebastian said, descending the stairs. "I wasn't sure if you'd remember my offer to chat."
"Professor, of course I remembered," Ethan replied, his tone conveying sincere gratitude. "I was actually just on my way to grab a coffee and steel myself for another round with Lacan. I wondered if, by any chance, you were heading out? I'd be delighted to buy you a cup, if you have the time. To thank you for your insights last night." He made it sound spontaneous, a hopeful afterthought.
Sebastian's smile widened. "That's very kind of you, Blackwood. As it happens, I was about to do the same. Lead the way."
***
Sebastian POV
The aroma of roasted coffee and warm pastries in "The Quill & Bean" was a welcome change from the musty scent of ancient texts. Sebastian found himself relaxing in Ethan Blackwood's company in a way he rarely did with colleagues, and certainly never with his family. They settled into a quiet corner booth.
Sebastian initially felt a prickle of caution. He was, after all, a married, senior academic, and Blackwood a young, intense DPhil candidate. He should maintain a certain professional decorum. He resolved to keep the conversation strictly to Herbert.
"So," Sebastian began, perhaps a little too formally, once their coffees had arrived, "Herbert's 'The Collar.' What new questions has it thrown up for you?"
He listened, genuinely captivated, as Ethan spoke. The young man's observations were astute, his interpretations fresh, occasionally even challenging. He wasn't just regurgitating established criticism; he was thinking, wrestling with the text in a way that reminded Sebastian of his own early, passionate engagement with literature, before the weight of expectation and the slow erosion of loneliness had dulled its brighter edges.
"It's the suddenness of the turn," Ethan said, his brow furrowed in concentration, "the 'Me thoughts I heard one calling, Child! / And I replied, My Lord.' After all that railing, that desperate assertion of freedom… it feels almost too quick, too easy. Is it a true submission, do you think? Or is there an element of exhaustion, of simply giving in to a voice he can no longer fight?"
Sebastian leaned forward, forgetting his lukewarm latte, his hands, usually so still, now gesturing to emphasize a point. A brighter tone entered his voice, the familiar cadence of his lectures quickening as his passion for the subject, rekindled by Ethan's keen interest, forgot its usual constraints. "An excellent question! And one that critics have debated for centuries. My own feeling is that the poem charts a genuine spiritual crisis, and the resolution, while abrupt, is earned. The 'Child' is a call to his truest self, a self he's been denying in his pursuit of worldly pleasures and freedoms. But your point about exhaustion is well taken. Perhaps it's not an either/or, but a both/and. A surrender born of both love and weariness." It was as if a dusty window had been thrown open, letting in fresh air and light.
***
Ethan POV
Ethan listened intently, nodding, his expression one of rapt attention. He let Sebastian guide the conversation, subtly steering it with carefully placed questions, designed to showcase the Professor's expertise and flatter his intellectual vanity. He watched Sebastian's face soften, his eyes lose some of their habitual sadness, replaced by the glow of academic enthusiasm. He's starved for this. For someone to see him, to value his thoughts.
When there was a natural pause, Ethan shifted slightly, allowing a shadow of vulnerability to cross his features.
"It's… well, it's a privilege to discuss these things with someone of your insight, Professor. Back home…" He hesitated, as if reluctant to share.
Sebastian felt himself lean in, his earlier resolve to maintain distance wavering. The boy looked genuinely troubled.
Ethan continued, his voice softer, "Well, let's just say serious literary discussion wasn't exactly a common pastime. My father… he loved books, he had grand ambitions, brilliant ideas even, but things didn't work out for him. He tried, God, he tried, but the world has a way of crushing spirits like his. It made things… difficult. For a long time, I felt that same shadow over me, that fear that my own efforts would amount to nothing but bitterness." Ethan looked down at his hands, his fingers lacing together tightly on the table for a moment, his gaze fixed on them as if seeing a landscape of past sorrows. He let out a sigh, so faint it was almost imperceptible, before slowly looking up, his expression carefully composed into one of poignant reflection. "Sometimes I still feel like an outsider here, like I'm waiting for it all to be snatched away."
This fabricated story, echoing Sebastian's own unspoken fears of inadequacy and his father's more complex, damaging failures, struck a deep chord within Sebastian. The professional distance he'd intended to keep felt suddenly churlish, impossible.
***
Sebastian POV
Sebastian felt a pang of sympathy, deeper and more immediate than he expected. He knew something of thwarted ambitions, though his own were more of the emotional than the professional kind. And the boy's talk of feeling like an outsider…
"I understand," he said gently. "Academia can be a harsh world. And family… well, families can bring their own complexities." He thought of his own parents, their rigid expectations, their thinly veiled disappointment in his quiet, childless life, their complete inability to comprehend, let alone accept, the truth of his nature. A familiar ache settled in his chest.
"It's just… to be here, at Oxford," Ethan continued, his voice softer now, "it's everything I've ever worked for. Sometimes it feels a bit overwhelming, like I don't quite belong. But conversations like this, with someone like you… they make it feel real. Possible."
There was a sincerity in the young man's eyes, a raw hunger for knowledge and acceptance that resonated deeply with Sebastian. He saw a reflection of his younger self, perhaps, before the compromises and disappointments had taken their toll. He felt an unexpected surge of protectiveness, a desire to nurture this bright, earnest student.
"You belong here, Blackwood, make no mistake," Sebastian said, with more conviction than he'd felt about anything in a long time. "Your insights are valuable. And please, call me Sebastian."
A slow smile spread across Ethan's face, a smile that seemed to reach his eyes, making him look younger, almost boyish. "Thank you, Sebastian. That… that means a great deal."
An awkward, yet not unpleasant, silence fell between them. Sebastian found himself reluctant for the conversation to end. As Ethan spoke, the familiar weight on his own shoulders seemed to lessen, the clatter of the café around them fading to a companionable hum. He even noticed the taste of his lukewarm latte seemed richer, the world momentarily less stark. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the chill of his intrinsic loneliness seemed to recede from the edges of his awareness.
"Perhaps," Sebastian found himself saying, the words surprising even himself, "we could continue these discussions sometime? My rooms at St. Aldric's are usually quiet in the late afternoons, if you ever feel like dissecting another poem or two."
***
Ethan POV
Ethan's internal smile was one of pure triumph, but outwardly he merely looked grateful, a touch overwhelmed. "I would like that very much, Sebastian. Very much indeed."
The hook was set. Deeper now. The carefully constructed bridge of shared intellectual passion, buttressed by feigned vulnerability, had borne its first significant weight. Sebastian Ashworth wasn't just a mark anymore. He was an investment, and Ethan intended to see it yield a handsome return.
Ethan's Internal Log: Emotional rapport successfully deepened. Fabricated personal history elicited desired sympathetic response, dismantling target's initial reserve. Invitation to private rooms secured. Target exhibiting signs of protective sympathy and burgeoning emotional dependency. Exploitation of loneliness proving highly effective.