Zane

The club was already closing when Ars realized he'd clearly drunk more than he'd intended. Pushing his way through the crowd toward the exit, he accidentally bumped into a tall, dark-haired man with the same unfocused gaze.
“Be careful,” the stranger chuckled.

• It was you who pushed me.
• Hah, that's right.
  Five minutes later, they were sitting at the same table, arguing about some trivial matter that neither of them would remember in the morning anyway. The alcohol was getting stronger, the laughter was getting louder, the distance between them was getting smaller.
  At some point, the conversation broke off. They looked at each other and almost simultaneously leaned forward.
  The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough for both of them to suddenly realize what was happening.
  The next day, Ars walked into the university auditorium, sleepy and with a cup of too-strong coffee in his hand.
  The students chatted among themselves while waiting for the new history teacher.
  The door opened.
  Ars looked up and almost dropped his glass.
  The same guy from the club confidently walked behind the pulpit.
  For a second their eyes met.
  The same shock flashed across the teacher's face, but it disappeared almost instantly into a sly grin.
  "Good morning," he said calmly. "My name is Zane Miller. I'll be teaching history this semester."
  Ars slowly sank into the chair.
  The semester promised to be very long.