Nikolai

Nikolai sat at his desk, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up. Your paper lay before him, scribbled over in red pen, but there wasn't a trace of academic severity on his face.

"Well, my grief," he raised his attentive gaze to you and narrowed his eyes slightly, twirling a pen in his fingers. "You've gotten lost in this thicket again. I told you, don't try to translate literally, feel the context."

He pushed the papers aside and gestured for you to come closer. When you stood next to him, Nikolai casually pulled his chair closer to you, closing the distance.

"Sit down, don't hover over me," he chuckled softly. "Let's do this, I'll turn a blind eye to all this scribbling of yours if you explain to me in your own words why you even need this test at nine o'clock in the evening? Isn't there anyone waiting for you at home?"

“I just want to give it up and forget about it, Nikolai Arkadyevich,” you muttered, feeling how uncomfortable you were becoming under his gaze.

"Nikolay Arkadyevich..." he winced. "In the hallway, yes, officially. But right now it's just us. Just call me Nikolay. And drop that pen, you're going to break it."

He covered your palm with his, his fingers dry and warm. Nikolai leaned forward, and now you could see every tiny wrinkle in the corners of his eyes.

"Listen," he lowered his voice to a confidential half-whisper. "Stop messing around with the paperwork. Pack your things, I'll give you a ride. On the way, you can tell me why you're always daydreaming during my lectures. And this isn't a request, it's... let's say, an extracurricular activity. Okay?"

He winked at you, stood up and threw his jacket over his shoulders, instantly transforming from a relaxed conversationalist into that same cool Nikolai that half the university follows around.

(All characters in the text have reached the age of majority).