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It was, Lahabrea mused, to be one of those days. He grimaced at the steaming mug of coffee he had poured and prepared for himself before discovering said mug was firmly superglued to the desk. He would have to get more. And find another mug. Damnation.
His first inclination was to blame one or another of his more troublesome students, but as much as such a prank might be typical of a few of the jokesters, he doubted any of them would have the access necessary. No, it was most likely one of his peers, and he had a short list of who most likely was to blame.
The kitchenette was, fortunately, just down the hallway. He kept a brisk stride, eager to finish preparing for the coming class. To his dismay, though, the pot stood empty, and a sign on it proclaimed it out of order. How? He had just used it not fifteen minutes before. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He could run to the bio building across the way; it wouldn't be the first time. It meant writing off any hope of finishing his preparations before class started, but the alternative—going without coffee—seemed far worse for all involved. Gritting his teeth, he wheeled about and made his hasty way next door.
This kitchenette revealed a nearly empty pot of coffee, boiled down to toxic levels. With a hiss of aggravation, he dumped it and started a fresh pot brewing. While he waited for it to finish, he ransacked the cupboards. The only mug of appropriate size had to be Halmarut's, judging by the adorable rendition of a creepy ambulatory plant on it. Hopefully it would not be missed, or at least its temporary disappearance attributed to someone who actually worked in the building. A quick juggle deposited the mug under the still-drizzling nozzle as he poured a quick cup, dumping hasty portions of sugar and cream in after putting the carafe back in its place.
He sighed, blowing steam from the coffee's surface and taking a deep drink. Which he promptly turned and spit into the sink. The cream had spoiled, it seemed. His lips pulled back in a snarl. Surely the biology department should know not to leave the cream out? He would bet money it had been Loghrif—well-meaning but distractible fellow that he was. With a curse he sent the rest of the mug's contents down the drain. A quick check—no, there was no more cream. The spoiled bottle was over half full; no one had realized more would be needed this soon. He sighed, debating trying to choke it down black.
He wasn't quite that desperate.
In a mood darker than the coffee that had just finished brewing, he headed back to his classroom. Of course, what with this debacle, he was going to be late, on top of everything else. Just perfect.
You fight to keep a smile from your face as the tearful student bemoans her painful experience in debate class this morning. Something seems to have Lahabrea in a particularly foul mood. You hasten to reassure the poor darling: she doesn't deserve this treatment; he's just having a day; no need to drop the class, it will get better; of course you can go talk to him on the students' behalf. As she leaves your office, visibly calmer from your reassurances, you sit back with a sigh.
Any number of things could have him cranky, but there are a few sure-fire ways to improve his outlook. It takes only a few minutes to make your way to the vendor and buy a particular sort of elixir. Dose of remedy in hand, you make your way to his classroom. The current period is almost over; a few minutes of waiting sees the room hemorrhage an eager torrent of students. Waiting out the stragglers, you slip in once the room has emptied out.
Hunched over his notes and papers, Lahabrea doesn't react to your footsteps until they stop beside his desk. His eyes go wide as they travel up your form, recognition finally sparking in their golden depths.
"What is it?" You know his brusque mien stems from his mood and his hurry to prepare for his next class, not a lack of pleasure from your presence. You hoist the cup in your hand.
"White mocha latte, double, with cinnamon and extra whip. Whole milk, of course."
He stares at you, sudden desperation in the gaze. One hand twitches; seeing it, your face breaks into a smile despite yourself.
"Of course it's for you." He reaches for it, but you draw it back at the last moment. "As long as you'll be nicer to the students even when you're in a bad mood."
His eyes narrow at your playfully hummed caveat, then his shoulders slump. "Was I that terrible a tyrant today?"
You set the cup on his desk and shoot a glance at the door. No sign of students yet… You wrap warm arms around him. "We all have days, dear. I hope this helps." His lips meet yours eagerly, his arms curving to pull you tight against him. He makes a soft sound against your lips, quiet desperate need. When you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours for a moment.
"Thank you." His lovely voice is husky, some combination of remorse, desire, and perhaps a lack of coffee roughing the dulcet tones.
You drop one last peck on his lips. "Hope this helps, my love." You turn to the exit in time to see a grinning face in the door's window draw hastily back out of sight. You sigh, passing a hand over your face. You put on your sternest look as you reach the doorway.
There is a suspiciously quiet gaggle of students just outside, most of whom avoid your gaze. One brave soul, though, pipes up.
"Bless you, Professor. You're a lifesaver."
You turn to see a face you've seen around, though you don't yet have a name to go with it. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."
The grin doesn't waver; he waves one hand at the door. "You brought him coffee, right?"
Cheeky bastard.
"Ah. That. Well, you're welcome." Face warm but a smile lingering despite it, you head back toward your office.