Don't Lose Your Head (Roger Taylor)

8. I Believe To My Soul

A/N -- 🤷‍♀️ 🤷‍♀️ 🤷‍♀️

Layla
August, 1985

Archie's office in the heart of Cambridge was an... interesting blend of scholarly charm and locomotive enthusiasm. The man himself was stretched out in the worn leather armchair by the bay window, perusing a stack of papers rather diligently.

"I did knock..." I greeted him carefully.

Clearly he had been in a deep state of concentration, because my voice seemed to terrify him. Papers went flying, as did what Archie classified as curses.

"Bloody hell--" Archie exclaimed as he scrambled about on the floor, "I'm sorry, Layla."

"No, I'm sorry." I chuckled and closed the space between us in a few quick strides, "I shouldn't be disturbing you during office hours."

"No, no, I lost track of time." Archie smiled gratefully once I handed him a few stray papers, "I appreciate you driving up all this way."

"Well, you've come to London the past few times, it's only fair." I murmured and raked my gaze across the bookshelves which seemed to line every inch of the walls. The shelves were overflowing with a rather diverse range of historical epochs, and I noticed that a vintage model train wove in between the academic tomes on one of the higher shelves.

Archie seemed as though he may lean in to peck my cheek, but decided against it and simply gave my shoulder a featherlight squeeze. We had been out several times since our first date, and he still seemed half afraid to touch me. "Did you have much time to look around?"

"No," I winked, "I was waiting for my tour guide."

Red bloomed along Archie's high cheekbones, "Yes, quite." He fumbled about with his papers as he laid them back upon his desk, "Well, we best be off, I don't want you driving home in the dark."

It seemed like the prospect of me spending the night was completely out of the question. I wasn't really used to a man taking the slow approach, and it left me wondering whether he really was just a gentleman or he just didn't fancy me in the slightest. He was quite a difficult man to read, despite all of his blushing.

It was raining outside but luckily not heavily enough to warrant an umbrella or a postponement of my tour of the campus and Cambridge itself. Archie did his best to usher me beneath shelters and alcoves when he could, and when we were out in the open he hoisted his brief case above my head. I could certainly get used to all of this chivalry, especially against the beautiful backdrop of the Corpus Christi campus.

Considering Cambridge consisted of about 30 colleges, Archie and I agreed to only glance about King's College, and Caius once we finished up in his own arena.

Archie seemed nervous as he led me about and stammered through a whole host of historical anecdotes and architectural tidbits. Every time he thought my attention was elsewhere he chanced a quick sideways glance in my direction to gauge my reactions. It seemed like he was afraid that I found him boring, when that truly wasn't the case. No matter what my friends said about him.

I never thought that Archie would resort to gossiping to try and impress me, but here we were. I always knew he was intelligent but he was also deceptively funny. I was still laughing over his tales of outfoxing some of his more problematic former students when we arrived in the historic pub, The Eagle, as the evening drew in.

"You'd think they would close the window." I laughed, somehow shivering in the crowded and cozy space.

"Oh no," Archie plucked up his menu, "A window must be propped open at all times in this place. All to do with ghosts and superstitions."