A Golden Opportunity

Marching to the Mathematical Gallows

Victor spent the entire day studying for his exam the next day, so much so that when the responsible hour of nine o'clock came around he was too exhausted to even attempt doing another round of memorization. His brain felt as if it had been simmering low and slow since he had woken, as if his blood was some sort of baste with numbers and variables sprinkled in like spices. His brain, locked in the crockpot of his skull, had become something of a mathematical brisket, raw and tough when he had woken and now so thoroughly assaulted that Victor was sure it would pull apart with a simple prod. He felt knowledgeable, knowledgeable enough that he didn't feel the need to open his book once more. He had spent the day memorizing the chapter, so much so that he may be better off writing an essay on its word choice and grammar. Usually when Victor became exhausted of a subject matter he knew he was ready to be tested on it. When his brain panics with a gap in knowledge he could go for hours without sleep or food, instant upon understanding a concept when it was his grade on the line. But for once he was not so panicked; for once Victor could lean back in his chair, switch his lamp off successfully, and ease a long breath from his chest, one which felt to be diffusing all of the stress which had built up throughout the week.
"Mastered it?" Reggie presumed from his desk, the tapping of his typewriter keys keeping a consistent pace even as he turned his attention towards his roommate. One would have assumed typewriters would break focus, though over the years Victor had grown to appreciate the consistency of Reginald's typing as a sort of background noise. Like a fan humming or a dryer tumbling laundry, Reginald kept the same pace of typing, dinging, and sliding, so much of a rhythm that Victor could oftentimes use it to fall asleep. It was the song of his roommate, the song of his friend.
"Maybe not mastered, but understand....yes. For once in my life, yes," Victor admitted with a thankful sigh.
"Maybe we've discovered a new tactic for teaching. Make each one of professors hide a deep dark secret, and throughout the semester let the students discover it. A shocking motivator, really. A miracle worker."
"It's not because of his secrets that I understand the course, it's because of his competency as an educator."
"I believe it's because your brain can't imagine him speaking any other words. So when you imagine him making sweet love to John Watson it's a calculus lecture he's using as his pickup line."
"Oh don't...don't make it gross!" Victor defended. "I don't imagine anything."
"Oh really? Nothing at all?"
"Nothing in regards to his sexual life," Victor defended, understanding that such answer admitted him guilty of imagining all other things under the sun.
"Then what fun is there, really?" Reggie chuckled, his tapping continuing at his predictable pace and a ding erupting just when it was due. "Even I've been trying to age him down to a point where he could be anything near to admirable, just to see if John Watson was as unhinged as his little lover." Victor's eyes slanted, finding this a strange jest. It was unlike Reggie to talk about sex, especially in the context of homosexuals.
"I didn't imagine from that letter that they had ever...well it seemed as though the surgery was the most intimate part of their relationship."
"From that letter, yes it did. Though there had to be something more, or else that man wouldn't be pining for him for forty some years. Must have been the best lay of his life. Maybe the only lay."
"How vulgar," Victor complained, though he leaned over onto his elbows thoughtfully.
"He seems like a virgin to me. One who got lucky once in his life, so lucky it could hardly count for his record."
"War made people do crazy things," Victor agreed. "Maybe he...maybe in the hospital tent."
"Behind a curtain, you think?" Reggie chuckled. "With that leg, though? Must have hurt either way. My money is on beforehand, they knew each other before the bullet."
"They fell in love before?"
"Why else would John Watson save his life so fiercely? How did Sherlock write it, he threw his body overtop of his own on a riverbank? Probably in enemy fire. Must have been love there beforehand."
"Maybe they shared a tent," Victor suggested.
"Or maybe they snuck off into the woods when all the rest of the battalion was asleep..." Reggie just chuckled, as if this discussion was as common as discussing what they had each had for lunch that day. Victor felt his face growing hot, hating to be dedicating such time for such a lude suggestion. Though he had to wonder, he had to agree. Professor Holmes had said on Monday he had more than nothing...was there more to this love story than Victor had once imagined?
"Either way I'd rather not know," Victor decided truthfully.
"Either way there's no way he'll tell you. Unless you intercept the next letter at the mailbox, of course, one filled with all the steamy details."
"After last time I hope he's not writing anything else," Victor grumbled. "Besides, he's got other things to write. Like a last will and testament."
"Oh?" Reggie's typing paused, as if this thought was finally the one to halt his academic flow.
"I thought you knew?" Victor muttered, looking up again and catching Reggie's vacant expression behind those thick glasses.
"Obviously not. I can't read your mind."
"Good," Victor muttered with a sigh. "He's dying, unfortunately. He told me so on Monday, when I went in for extra help. He has a life expectancy of three months at best."
"From the leg, or from being too pathetically alone?"
"The leg!" Victor growled. "Don't be rude."
"It's not a lie," Reggie defended with his hands raised high. "He is alone."
"It's a blood borne pathogen, from the very bullet that sailed through him years ago. He called it the slowest murder."
"Well I'm sorry for your loss, but hey, what if he dies before the end of the semester? Automatic passes I'm sure."
"Don't cheer for his death, Reggie." Victor couldn't help but frown, and in an effort to conceal his dread he pushed back against his desk, deciding to ready himself for bed while keeping his head tactically turned in the opposite direction.
"At this point I can't tell if you care more about passing this class or cherishing its instructor," Reggie admitted thoughtfully, his typewriter resuming its normal speed. "I've never known you to be so preoccupied."
"I care for him, Reggie. And perhaps that's only because no one else does."
"You have a big heart, perhaps bigger than what's good for you. So large it's like a vacuum, pulling in anyone who doesn't have a stronger force tugging them in the opposite direction. Anyone who doesn't have someone to love them more fiercely."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Victor wondered, taken aback to the point where he had to twist his head to catch his roommate's eye. Unfortunately Reginald was still typing, his grey eyes focused on the paper that was slowly progressing its way to the right. He didn't seem willing to explain himself with just his eyes.
"Yes, it is. Not every day you get one of those, huh?"
"Not from you, certainly."
"Then don't just stand there looking stupid," Reggie suggested, his fingers pausing if only to snap his gaze up to meet his roommate's. Victor swallowed hard. "Say thank you!"
"Oh, right." Victor shuffled his feet, almost embarrassed to admit that he had expected something much more meaningful from such an abrupt request. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Victor." Reggie smirked, his typing continuing at his easiest pace. Victor sighed, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling it up and over his head in preparation for bed. He half hoped that his bare chest would start some other conversation, that it would prompt Reginald up and out of his bed if just for the chance to settle a palm against Victor's shoulder blade. Certainly it was too much to ask for, and certainly something he could not be daydreaming about on the eve of the deciding exam. Victor had to stay focused on mathematics, on all the calculus he had absorbed in the last couple of hours. He could not think of Reggie, he could not think of Professor Holmes. Perhaps he should take Reggie's advice, however sarcastic it had originally been. Whenever he started to daydream, whenever he started to wander off...instead of love poems imagine lectures. Instead of sweet nothings, imagine derivatives. To compliment a kiss, the first words leaving their lips in the aftermath would be the explanation of a complicated formula. Mix the two things, don't leave them separate. Recognize calculus as part of Professor Holmes, and vice versa. Such a method may just work.