New Life

It was still a small number of hours before sunset in Junon, and Rufus was only just preparing to leave the University. His last class of the day had ended some forty-five minutes ago, but as he stood behind his desk gathering the last of his things, his classroom door was thrown open, and a tall, lanky boy with dark red hair rushed inside. He glanced around hurriedly, his chest rising and falling with his quick, erratic pants. “Am I late?”

Rufus ticked an eyebrow as he glanced to the boy, looking him up and down. He was just barely filled enough to avoid being called skinny, but his legs seemed twice as long as his torso, and his long arms hung listlessly down at his sides, moving along with his shoulders as he breathed. He wore dark blue jeans that were faded on the front, as though someone had polished something against them, clinging shamelessly low on his slim hips only to become baggy further on down his legs, the cuffs falling over a pair of heavy black boots. His ragged-looking t-shirt was white, with a small hole near the bottom hem, and the words “Touch my monkey?” across the front in brown, a silhouette of a small cartoonish money behind them. His left ear had been pierced with a small silver hoop, and oval sunglasses were perched on top of his wild bangs, which hung down to his cheekbones. The rest of his hair was cut short in the back, with the exception of the thin rattail that trailed down his back to finish just above his hips. Bright blue eyes peered up at Rufus with mischief almost seeping out of them, but for the moment that was faded by his exhaustion. He really wasn’t at all bad looking, except perhaps a bit scruffy.

“Only by about three and a half hours. You must be Mr. Nevada. We were beginning to think you had given up on class entirely.”

“Shit,” the student spat. “I seriously meant to come today. What’d I miss?”

“Today, or the past three classes you were not present for?”

“Both, I guess.”

“You do realise that normally, since you have missed over three classes already, it is my responsibility to tell you not to come back.”

“Don’t come back? Well shit, I just got here!”

“I noticed. That’s why I’m going to give you another chance, but if you aren’t present for the next class, I will have no choice. However, this favor will not come for free,” he said firmly, giving the boy a pointed look.

The redhead took a step back, his expression twisting into one of faint disgust. “Man, listen, I know how you college profs get paid for freebies, but I just don’t swing that way.”

“Oh please,” Rufus grumbled, tapping a stack of papers into a neat pile on his desk before sliding them into his briefcase. “Rest assured, you are quite safe from me in that respect.”

The boy let out a sigh of relief, placing a hand over his heart. “Good. Scared me. What do you want me to do, then?”

“I want a handwritten summary of all we’ve covered so far, plus elaborations from other sources. We’ve covered pages 215 to 380 in that book.” He gestured to a shelf behind his desk. “No less than 3,000 words. Come here and I’ll give you a book.”

“…” The student stepped over to the desk as Rufus turned and picked up a book. He watched him sit down at the desk and remove a black pen form his inside coat pocket.

“Normally you pay for these yourself. I’m letting you borrow mine only until you can find enough change in your sofa to allow you to purchase you own.”

“Right—Hey!”

“What’s your first name?” he continued, ignoring him as he scrawled the last name into the front cover of the book with his slightly messy handwriting.

“Reno,” he grumbled, perturbed at the professor’s assumption, however perfectly true it may have been.

“How quaint.” He finished writing the name and closed the book before offering it to him. “There you are. I will expect that paper the next time we meet.”

“But that’s in three days!”

“Should it take you more than one?”

“Hell yes! That’s a shitload of work!”

“Must you be so vulgar? I am providing you with a service here, one that goes against regulations, might I add.”

Reno hmphed, folding his arms across his chest and leaning his weight on one foot to take on a posture of defiance, merely staring at the man who still held the large Economics book out to him. “You really don’t want a blowjob or something? You look like you like the man meat.”

“I shall take that as a statement that you do not wish to continue Economics education at this University, and shall inform Dean Reeve of your dismissal first thing tomorrow.” Rufus placed the book back on his desk, and stood, gathering his things.

“Hey, no!” The younger man hastily snatched up the book, grinning up at his instructor. “I’ll have that paper for you next time we see each other, Mr.….uh…what is your name anyway?”

“To you, I am Professor ShinRa.”

“Right. I promise I’ll have that paper for ya, Professor. Later!” With that the boy scampered out of the room, the door closing noisily behind him.
Rufus sighed, and moved to touch his forehead, but then he paused, and slowly removed his pure white gloves, using his handkerchief to wipe away the small amount of sweat that had built up in his palms. What in the world was that about? He hadn’t been nervous, had he? That was usually the only time he sweat that way. He shrugged, and set the gloves aside for a moment, dropping back into his chair and rubbing his temples to ease his new headache. Sometimes it seemed they never ended anymore, they just let go enough to allow him to go on with his day, and then grabbed hold again later. No amount of pills helped. He had nearly put himself in the hospital once for accidentally taking too many.

It was because of the empathy, he was sure of that by now. Even when he wasn’t touching anything, he could feel strong emotions of anyone around him, be it joy, anger, or sadness. Every day was a constant roller coaster ride. And, expectedly, it gave him a headache. It had happened more and more frequently since his powers became strong enough for him to notice. They had been there since he was a child, very weak then, and gradually gotten stronger until they leveled out at about his eighth grade year. The year before that was the first time someone had suggested wearing gloves to him. Not the doctors, of course. One of his friends had seen it in a movie, which apparently had said that most of empathic perception came through the hands. So he tried it, and was quite happy to discover that information to be correct.

The doctors had told him that his powers would fade as he got older, but here he was, nearing twenty-six, and they had improved since his high school years. His visions were more clear now, more distinct, and quite frequently he could even figure out what in the hell he was looking at.

Ah well. No time to be worrying about it now. Rufus rose from his seat and scooped up his familiar briefcase, completely forgetting about putting his gloves back on. How he managed to do this is a mystery, but perhaps he was so used to the constant influx of information and emotion from the classroom and the school in general that he did not notice the relatively minor difference his gloves made. Just as he was halfway out the door, the intercom in his room clicked on.

“Professor ShinRa.” Dean Reeve’s voice.

“Sir?”

“Oh good, I caught you. Could you stop by my office before you leave for the day?”

“Not a problem. I’m on my way.” And he left the room, closing it behind him and heading down the hallway. He didn’t bother to get his car, taking his time and walking through the large campus to reach the administration building. When he found the Dean’s door, he knocked, but stopped before he touched the doorknob upon hearing Reeve call him to enter. His gloves. They were on his desk. Fuck. Well, it was too late to go back for them now. He dug his handkerchief back out of his pocket and opened the door with that covering his hand, managing to quickly stuff it away before Reeve turned to him and wanted an explanation. He had managed to go through his entire college and career experience so far without letting anyone know about his little condition. He wasn’t about to let anyone tell him he was disabled and put him on some kind of special dysfunctional unemployment program. Dean Reeve especially was ignorant to his abilities. He intended to keep it that way.

Reeve smiled to him as he turned towards the door, but Rufus paused as he noticed numerous small boxes stacked on the now bare desk, and on the floor. Was he packing?

“Professor. I appreciate you coming. I…needed to speak to you about something.”

“So I see…what’s happening, Reeve? Have you been reassigned?”

“…I’ve been fired. The board has decided that I am too young for a position like this, and therefore I’m untrustworthy. So they’re bringing in some old fart from Mideel to replace me. Someone trustworthy. I guess that means they’ve had time to figure out how much they have to pay him to get him to do whatever they say.”

“Tch. Reeve, if you want to go against this—"

“No. Can’t you see I’ve already agreed? I just thought you’d like to know. I’m planning to go to Gongaga. It’s smaller over there, but they have a small area college there. Perhaps I can start teaching again. I’ve e-mailed you an address and phone number where I can be reached once I’ve arrived.”

“…All right. I don’t think it’s particularly right, but if it’s what you’ve decided, then all right.”

“I don’t mean to keep you. Go on home. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Right.” He turned and headed rather angrily towards the door.

“Rufus.” Reeve stepped out from behind his desk and approached the slightly taller professor, offering his hand. “I think it may well be awhile before I see you again.”

Rufus mentally panicked. Shake his hand? With no glove on? Hoping Reeve didn’t see his wince of anticipation, he reached out to accept the hand. A wave washed over him as soon as their skin touched—sadness, regret, anger, and bitterness, all of it from Reeve. But then something new altogether—guilt. Guilt, remorse, and pain. A flow of images rushed at him as well, crowding his mind with visions of bare metal walls, marble floors shining with wax. Electronic doors slid open with a quiet sound of hydraulics being released, red and green lights illuminating over them to indicate the state of the door. A room with a large, circular desk, near blackened despite the gleaming metal by the floor-to-ceiling window extending all the way across the back wall to show the night stars. His view moved closer, around the desk slowly, and to the window, revealing a balcony and a horrible, twisted-looking city of grungy steel beneath. The view then looked out straight ahead, seemingly towards the horizon, but the focus was on the windowpane—in which his own face was reflected.

All of this happened within mere moments, of course, and then as soon as it began it was over, and Rufus still had time to gain enough of his senses to shake Reeve’s hand and make a quick exit. What in the hell was all of that?