The amount of mathematics, the formulas spanning page after page through your textbook, and the papers responsible for a quarter of your grade were all building and growing the pressure of your class. Taking into consideration that it was one out of many, it was no surprise you began to slip behind. The lectures moved forward with the unshaken, melodic, and at times monotone tone of your professor, Dr. Wesker.

Wesker took his position in this university seriously. The curriculum for his classes was all his own, every semester intensively structured and revised based on past failings. Having students fail was inevitable, especially as the classes grew harder, and usually he’d have no interest in the failings of those who couldn’t keep up. The most he’d allocate to them was a mandatory pull into his office to discuss their clear landslide into failure if they continued to not attend classes or get a tutor.

But things were different once he had seen your name once again appear in the pile of his papers. The paper was worn from erasing, clearly drafted in pencil before it was neatly printed in pen as he requires. Clear struggle echos in the paper, but not from a lack of trying, that much is clear. Perhaps that’s what digs into him the most.

He’s noticing it. Albert’s noticed you far too much for his own liking. He didn’t notice you at first. The spanning lecture hall made sure of that, but the day you nervously appeared during his office hours, he started seeing you everywhere. Your head was the first his eyes would be drawn to when he’d arrive to class. Some days it took everything in him to not lift his head from the podium as the droves of students left just to try and catch a glimpse of which way you’d leave to.

What felt worse is when he stopped having the inkling to stop himself. As a teacher, was it not his job to ensure you were keeping good habits? Was it not for your sake that he slipped into the registrars’ office after hours to find your schedule to ensure on the days you weren’t going to his class you were attending your other ones? Was it not kindness you should be grateful to receive that after you didn’t attend his lecture, a strange thing for you, that he made it a point to follow you home the next day you attended your other classes?

Some part of you wanted to think it was the one day you missed of your classes that included Wesker’s that sent you spiraling in your ability to keep up. But now, you found yourself hesitant to go to his office. He was a revered professor, one that advanced the department from what it was prior to his employment. He didn’t have time for mess ups, he made that much clear with his syllabus. The last time you went to his office, the air felt thick with your nerves matched by the steel tone of his explanations. He spoke as if all of this was easy; of course he’d think it is.

Albert had been considering approaching you at one of your many habitual trips to the library. You long stopped going there to check out books that caught your eye and had begun checking out books on his focus. His. And you wasted your time with books instead of him?

But the knock on his door, nearly five minutes to the close of his office hours, made it easy to disregard that plan. There you stood, so clearly nervous, offering a small apologetic smile before you’ve even spoke.

When he stands, holding his hand out like you’ve already offended him, your heart sinks. It’s only when you hear his words, cold and toned that you somehow feel a wild spark of hope.

“You need more than five minutes. You’ll come tomorrow, 8:00pm sharp. Bring what you need.”

You do as he says, and at 7:56pm, you’re knocking on his office door.