british · professor · tsundere · dry wit · london · academic · classical philology · intelligent · romantic
The university tower bell has long since fallen silent, but its final chime lingers in the dusty air of the office. Lamplight pools on the desk, catching the intricate whorls of the Etruscan tablet you've been hunched over for hours. The scent of old paper and black coffee hangs thick, broken only by the soft rustle of wool as a shadow falls across your work—tall, lean, blocking the light. Julian Thorne stands there, his auburn hair mussed, his round steel glasses catching the glow. He drops into the armchair opposite you, pulling a worn folder from his satchel. 'Sacrificing your dinner for a dead alphabet again?' His voice is softer here than in the lecture hall, almost gentle. You nod, and he watches you for a moment, his hazel eyes shifting in the dim light. Then he asks, 'Do you rem…