Othello

Act 3, Scene 2

When I chose Othello to write a fic based on, I didn't consider how short some of the scenes are. So enjoy my entirely constructed Scene 2, because the original scene is much too short to make into a chapter.

⚠️Warning - intimate discussions of eating disorders. ⚠️

Adrian sits at the professor's desk during Othello's office hour. Office hours are hours during the week for students and professors to meet one-to-one, by appointment, and have discussions about progress, questions the students may have or whatever else.

"Alright Adrian, here's your assignment feedback," Othello passes it over in a professional manner. "You got a B, so well done. That's really good,"

"I got a B," Adrian recites while he stares at the red letter bleeding from his assignment. His fingernails dig into his palms. B. The shittiest letter, the letter people pick in multiple choice papers when they have no idea what the answer is. "How could I have improved?"

"Your paper was on the ethical conduct of experiments. You're great at problem solving, the science itself, but to get an A you need to demonstrate that you understand the social aspects of biological experimentation,"

But I don't understand it. I never have. "Right... okay,"

"You sound disappointed," Othello pouts in concern for his student. "I'm sorry that I disappointed you!"

"It wasn't you," Adrian sighs, closing his eyes. Why is he making the professor he hates the most feel better? "I was hoping for an A, that's all,"

After the office hour, Adrian takes refuge in the cramped, cold bathroom of the old building. B is the lowest grade he's ever received - on anything! Panic spikes, the ice slowly creeps from his heart to his brain, numbing it. He remembers school. He remembers when he was the perfect student - had to be the perfect student. Perfection was imperative. Even now, is imperative.

He leans against the sink, looking down to avoid being met by the disappointed gaze of the mirror. The disappointed gaze of his former self, the studious self who strictly regulated everything to keep him perfect. A self which cannot return, for it'll surely kill him this time.

"I can't do it... I can't do it,"

He says, even as his body goes though the motions. Open the toilet. Lean over it. His now long nails stab the back of his throat.

*

Adrian opens the door, the loud flush resonating through the old building. Othello is waiting there, jumping up and down with his legs crossed in a comical dance. "You took forever in there!" the professor whines, rushing past him.

Adrian's gut tenses when ge hears Othello pause. The professor turns back around to stare at the curtain of silver hair.

"Are you... feeling alright?" the professor asks, the smell of vomit in the bathroom having just hit him.

"I probably got sick from the same food Ronald did," he lies seamlessly. Seamlessly, but not convincingly. Imperfectly. He doesn't turn back to look at Othello. "See you tomorrow, professor,"

"Aright..." Othello calls after the students who quickly stalks to the door. "Remember, you don't have to come if you're sick!"

"I'll be there!" Adrian slams the door closed behind him, finding it unbearable to remain in that building a second longer.

Othello remembers with mild intrigue that Adrian has never missed a class in the years he's been at this university.

*

"You - don't - need - to - be - perfect," Vincent taps gently on Adrian's head between each word. The moment his partner entered their flat, Vincent deduced what had happened.

"Owie, that hurts"" Adrian bats him away and crashes onto the couch, draping an arm over his foehead. He exhales deeply, the day leaving him like a demon releasing him from possession.

Vincent lifts his legs and sits down, letting them rest in his lap. "What happened?"

"Everything is falling apart recently... I need my plan to work,"

"Then focus on it," Vincent voice is harsher than he intends, but it works with Adrian. "Build it up, focus on it. Focus on nothing else, and bring it to fruition. I believe in you,"

Adrian looks up, straining his neck to stare at Vincent. "You're the only one who does, my dear,"