It was a late, drowsy evening when Professor Tophat took shelter in the building. Toronto, as usual, never failed to turn his fingers to ice at this time of day. He had just given the students their midterm that morning. While Tophat was sure they felt quite confident, he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. They already acted as if the final didn’t exist. As the cold weather began to burn his cheeks, Tophat broke out of his thoughts and began a brisk pace, ducking into the building and letting the heater’s glow thaw him out. He walked toward his office, legs dragging, and absentmindedly pushed open a door. It was then that he realized that it wasn’t his office after all.

“Ah,” Tophat realized, turning on the light of the room. He had stumbled into Professor Schrodinger’s office instead. It was a strange mishap; his own office was a building away. Yet, here he was.

Before he could turn to leave, a faint glimmer caught his eye. A stripe of white light cut across the inky black of a grand piano in the corner. It would seem that all of Tophat’s thoughts disappeared once he stared at the beautiful instrument in the corner of the room. Tophat told himself this, even if there was only one thing he was thinking. As he walked over, he briefly looked through the room, noting the thin layer of dust that had accumulated on the books left askew across Schrodinger’s desk.

A few days before the midterm was Schrodinger’s last day teaching in this school term. For a brief three months, he had taught a chemistry course alongside Professor Tophat. It had been like this for the past few years of the course. While Tophat taught the first half of the course, Professor Schrodinger taught the students for a few weeks in the middle. Most professors would enjoy the break that Tophat got from a busy schedule, but how did Tophat spend his time? He attended every single one of Schrodinger’s lectures (In the front row, mind you).

A small smile touched Tophat’s face as he recalled those classes. After the students left, Schrodinger would jokingly dub him his top student. Yes, it was the third time he heard that lecture series. But Tophat could never get enough–especially when Schrodinger started every session with a dad joke and that damned, cute smile.

Woah. Okay, maybe Tophat’s nostalgia was talking for him. Tophat shook it off as he approached the piano. It was in the exact same position as he left it, dust on the keys and everything. It seemed that Schrodinger wasn’t in the mood to play it before he left.

Tophat sighed. As usual, he would have to wait a term to see Schrodinger again. He was likely on his plane right now, headed for vacation. 

Yes, Tophat thought to himself. That was enough. It was enough for their paths to cross for a term. That one term would be all it takes to keep Tophat happy. To watch his lectures and share late evenings in these offices. That was all he needed.

He remembered the first time he’d seen the piano. “If you sprung for a grand piano, I hope you know how to play,” he had joked.

Shrodinger smiled over his shoulder, patting the mahogany rim. “Why don’t you watch me?”

Tophat huffed a laugh and went to sit at the spot Schrodinger directed him to. From this angle, Tophat noticed a slight tremble in Schrodinger’s hands as he hovered over the piano’s keys. What could he be nervous about?

Schrodinger struck a few chords, stopping abruptly when a note rang off-key. Tophat, smiling at the furrow in the other man’s brow, had placed a hand on his shoulder. Instantly, Tophat’s own heart rate had quickened.

Schrodinger had restarted the piece. It was a beautiful melody, Tophat was sure. But he couldn’t quite recall the sound. It seemed he focused too much on Schrodinger’s hands. Every movement of his elegant, long fingers, Tophat had committed to memory.

Back in the present, Tophat stared at the dusty keys. He tried to mimic Schrodinger’s starting position. As his hands hovered over the keys, he played the first few keys quite disjointedly. But then, those first few keys began to jumpstart his memory.

Tophat began to hum the tune. The melody that brought them together. A warm feeling spread through his chest, almost as fiercely as what he felt that night.

Yes, he thought to himself. This would be enough.

Suddenly, a familiar warmth enveloped his hands. His fingers were being pressed into the keys, guided by another’s. He turned his head.

Schrodinger. Holding his hand, puppeting his fingers to play the tune.

“…Your plane?” Tophat breathed.

“Vacations are meant to be spent with those you hold dear,” Schrodinger said. “I’d like to spend this one with you.”

It seems that this time they would see each other for more than one term. Like a closed pack plane of atoms full of linear imperfections, their bond would not easily be deformed.

The end.

The next day:

“Say… I can write the final exam for the students if you would like,” said Shrodinger.

“Sounds good!” Tophat said.

The students would never pass the course. But at least their professors found each other. :)