Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Fox lidded his eyes, watching them over the pen propped between his fingers, before flicking his fingers.
“Continue, Mr. Hemlock. Mr. Rockwell, please have a seat and allow Mr. Hemlock to assist you.”
That bright smile lit Summer up again, and he flashed a grateful glance at Fox before beckoning to Craig. Craig looked more uncertain, gaze flicking between Fox and Summer, before he settled down gingerly in the second chair, propped his book open on the arm of it, and leaned toward Summer, underlining a passage with his fingertip.
“Here,” he said slowly. “This is the part that confused me.”
“Oh!” Summer perked. “Wow, we’re still using the same textbook? I remember this. Look, if you flip back here it talks about age ranges as defined by psychiatric assessment standards versus like, child milestone development standards in pediatrics, so you’ll find the range...”
He was already flipping back through the pages, while Craig leaned in curiously, eyes wide, following along.
Fox simply leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together against his stomach.
Interesting indeed.
Summer’s effusiveness seemed to put Craig at ease in a way that Fox had never truly mastered; he wasn’t one for ease, not really. He had to draw clear lines between himself and the students, and he simply...
Wasn’t one for demonstrative emotions.
You weren’t always like this, Fox.
His therapist’s voice in his head again.
How long had it been since he’d made an appointment? Years. Maybe even a decade. At some point grief counseling had seemed pointless, when every day was unchanging, unending, and he had nothing more to report but another day of fulfilling his job, keeping himself closed away so that the children couldn’t sense a moment of weakness and prey on it like the strange little things they were.
That was the odd thing about children.
So vulnerable. So sensitive. So easily broken.
So very carnivorous, with their underdeveloped brains and still growing sense of empathy.
They needed gentle handling, nurturing.
With iron gloves so they couldn’t bite with their ferocious little teeth.
Fox had the iron part down.
But Summer...
Summer seemed to be the one who understood the nurturing in ways that Fox couldn’t.
And it was quite curious to watch both how Summer smiled and bloomed with easy warmth as he explained concepts in simple terms, and how Craig’s face cleared with comprehension and almost pride as he grasped onto them.
“Oh,” Craig said. “Oh—that, I get it, so it’s about measuring functional capacity. I think I can use that to answer the question. Thanks, Mr....what was your name again?”
“Su—” Summer caught himself, flicked Fox an almost sheepish look, then half-smiled, eyes creasing, brightening. “Hemlock. It’s Mr. Hemlock.”
“Thanks, Mr. Hemlock.” Craig gathered his things up, standing with the awkward, jerky motions of effusive youth; a quick look toward Fox, a nervous dip of his head, and he scurried out of the office, the door slamming closed behind him with an absolute lack of manners.
And leaving them alone.
Summer looked over his shoulder at the door, then back to Fox, before offering a rueful smile, hunching down into his shoulders a bit. “Sorry, I just... I kind of jumped in there a bit.”
“I was actually quite surprised you did,” Fox said. “You seem much less anxious in singular interactions.”
Shrugging one shoulder, Summer said, “I mean...he’s just one kid. It’s a lot easier to talk one-on-one than it is to stand up in front of a bunch of them, all of them staring at me, while I’m actually trying to make them listen. I’m... I’m not someone who captures people’s attention. I’m not someone who can impress people. So I just feel like they’re staring at me and wondering what I’m doing up there, because I don’t belong.”
I’m not someone who captures people’s attention.
And yet...
Somehow he seemed to have captured Fox’s.
“What you’re describing,” Fox said, “is impostor syndrome. You’re well aware of your technical qualifications to do the job, and yet you doubt them nonetheless because you fear others can see your personal failings and insecurities.”
A ghost of a smile flitted across Summer’s lips. “I know the textbook definition of impostor syndrome, Professor Iseya. But knowing it doesn’t make it any easier to get past it.”
“I am far too familiar with that unfortunate dichotomy.”
“I guess you would be, huh.” But before he could explain that cryptic statement, Summer looked away, clearing his throat softly and rubbing his hand to the back of his neck, a pink tinge seeping into tanned cheeks. “So...was that brave enough to earn my kiss for the day?”
Fox nearly choked on his next breath.
He didn’t know why he thought, after a night’s sleep and by the light of the next day, Summer might well have forgotten this little gambit.
Or realized, at least, that Fox was quite old, quite dull, and quite impossible to deal with in any sort of...romantic context.
Yet here he was, with that tiny smile still playing about his lips, nearly quivering with a sort of shy, sweet hope that seemed to radiate off him in a cloud of warmth.