22 - Cinderella Stories Are For Wimps

1.3K 104 45

We knocked on Prof and Adrian's door, waiting cautiously for any unsavoury and perhaps scarring sounds to emanate from inside. Hearing none—and thank god for that—we stepped through the entrance.

And immediately recoiled.

"Oh my—" I gasped, covering my eyes in horror. "Prof! Adrian! Control yourselves!"

Rian blinked, paused for a moment, then turned around and walked straight back out of the room. 

I longed to follow in his footsteps, but Adrian's voice rooted me to the spot.

"Hanna!" he said cheerily, getting up from where he'd been . . . servicing . . . Prof. "Glad you're back. I see you've made the necessary wardrobe adjustments," he continued knowingly, easily taking notice of my attachment to Rian's jacket.

Prof's face was bright red, a look I'd never seen on him before and that I never wanted to see again. Along with a few other things. 

Seeing my affronted expression, Adrian responded with a guiltless blink. "What?" he asked innocently. "A man can't sign his husband's cast?"

It was my turn to blink in surprise. "Huh?" I leaned over to where I'd seen Adrian bent across Prof's prone figure, and let out a shaky laugh of relief when I saw Adrian's signature scrawled on the cast haphazardly.

"Oh," I breathed happily. "Oh thank god." 

I did not need that image in my head, thank you very much.

Adrian nodded sagely, ignoring his beet-red husband when he covered his face with his hands in embarrassment. "You knew what it looked like, Adrian," Prof mumbled in shame. 

I let out a genuine laugh this time; it was fun to see Prof like this, with his cool-and-collected vibe completely turned on its head. Adrian certainly had a way with people.

Adrian patted Prof's arm. "Alright, Damien," he sighed. "I'm sorry. I forgot how delicate you can be. Like a lovely little flower." His resigned expression morphed into an evil smirk. "With a not so little—"

"Okay!" Prof interjected, cutting him off. "Let's move on, shall we?" I stood frozen, my mirth from before completely evaporated.

You know that feeling you get when you hear about your parents' romantic lives? That uncomfortable, oh-dear-lord-please-get-me-out-of-here feeling? 


And yes, I was fully aware that Prof was a perfectly healthy 30-year-old guy, and Adrian was even younger than him, but come on. I imprinted easily, and these guys had been around practically my whole adult life.

Prof's voice interrupted my cringeworthy train of thought. "Hanna," he said gently, sounding a little strained. "I'm very sorry you had to hear that. Now if you'll be so kind as to call Rian back into the room, I have something to tell the both of you."

That sobered me up. Prof sounded serious, so I removed my hands from where they'd been about to clamp across my ears and headed to the entrance to find Rian. 

I swung open the door and marched out, turning the corner immediately. I began to call out his name. 



My face smashed into a hard, cloth covered wall. It was weirdly warm, but my eyes had closed on impact when I hit the thing face-first. 

Even with my eyes closed though, I could tell that it was not a pretty little dainty run-in at all, like some spineless heroine of a badly-written romance novel. Oh no. 

Finding ObsidianWhere stories live. Discover now