Sebastian

The night in the departmental archives was a Rubicon crossed. Sebastian had stood guard, his nerves screaming, his palms sweating, while Ethan, with unnerving efficiency, photographed pages from past review files and sample essays with his phone.

Ethan's phone camera flashed discreetly, again and again, the small sound echoing unnaturally loud in the stillness. He wasn't just looking; he was meticulously documenting, each photo a digital shackle binding Sebastian tighter. Sebastian averted his eyes from the methodical nature of Ethan's collection, a cold dread settling in his stomach, the taste of fear metallic on his tongue.

The silence of the deserted library had pressed in on Sebastian, amplifying the frantic thumping of his own heart. Every creak of the ancient building, every distant footstep from the street outside, had sounded like impending doom. When they finally slipped out, unseen, into the chill night air, Sebastian had felt not relief, but a profound, soul-deep weariness, and a chilling certainty that he was now inextricably bound to Ethan by a shared, illicit secret.

The information Ethan gleaned from the archives quickly translated into a polished, confident performance at his DPhil review. Sebastian, sitting on the periphery of the panel (having declared a conflict of interest due to being Ethan's informal 'mentor' – a deception that now felt laughably inadequate, a thin veil over a gaping ethical void), watched with a mixture of pride that felt like acid in his throat and sickening dread as Ethan fielded questions with an assurance that bordered on arrogance. It was a triumph, but it felt like a tainted one, built on stolen knowledge.

Ethan, however, was not content to rest on this success. The departmental exams were looming, a significant hurdle for all first-year DPhil candidates. A few weeks after the archive incident, as they lay in the dim intimacy of Sebastian's bedroom, the scent of their lovemaking still heavy in the air, Ethan turned to him, his face a mask of carefully constructed anxiety, his eyes wide and vulnerable in the soft lamplight.

"Sebastian, darling," he began, his voice a low murmur against Sebastian's skin, his breath warm on his neck, "these exams… I'm terrified. I know I did well in the review, thanks to your… guidance." He nuzzled closer. "But this is different. It's all on one day, the pressure is immense. What if my mind goes blank? What if I can't perform?" He buried his face in Sebastian's shoulder, a theatrical tremor running through his body. "I can't bear the thought of failing, of disappointing you."

Sebastian stroked his hair, his heart clenching at Ethan's distress, the familiar urge to protect and soothe overwhelming him. This "performance anxiety" act was becoming a familiar, and effective, tactic. "You won't fail, my love," he murmured, his own voice husky. "You're brilliant. You'll be wonderful."

"But what if I'm not?" Ethan persisted, his voice muffled against Sebastian's skin, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly. "The questions… they can be so unpredictable. If I only had some idea… just a hint of the areas they might focus on…" He lifted his head, his eyes wide and pleading, glistening with unshed tears. "You're on the examination committee, aren't you, Sebastian? You help set the questions."

Sebastian's blood ran cold. This was a far more direct, far more egregious request than access to archives. Sharing exam questions was an unambiguous act of academic fraud. It was a betrayal of his colleagues, of his students, of everything he was supposed to stand for. His stomach churned.

"Ethan, I… I can't," he stammered, pulling back slightly, the warmth of Ethan's body suddenly feeling oppressive. "That's… it's impossible. It's unethical. I could lose my position."

Tears welled in Ethan's eyes, spilling onto his cheeks, catching the light. "So, your position is more important than me? Than us?" he whispered, his voice cracking with perfectly feigned heartbreak. "I thought… I thought what we had was special. I thought you believed in me." He turned away, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

The emotional blackmail was blatant, brutal, and devastatingly effective. Sebastian felt like a man caught in a vise, his ribs cracking. His professional ethics, his fear of ruin, were being crushed by the overwhelming weight of his love for Ethan, his desperate need to keep that love, to alleviate Ethan's (feigned) distress. The internal war was agonizing. He thought of the desolation of his life before Ethan, the prospect of returning to that grey, empty existence. The thought was unbearable.

"Don't say that, Ethan, please," he pleaded, his voice hoarse, reaching for him, turning him back. "It's not that… it's just…"

"It's just that you don't trust me enough? Or love me enough to take a risk?" Ethan's eyes, glistening with unshed tears, searched his, their depths seeming to hold a universe of pain and disappointment.

And in that moment, looking at the beautiful, anguished face of the man he loved, Sebastian's resolve crumbled like ancient parchment. The thought of Ethan failing, of Ethan being disappointed in him, was unbearable. What was his career, his reputation, compared to this all-consuming love?

With a sense of fatalistic despair, a cold knot forming in his stomach, he nodded slowly.

"Alright," he whispered, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "Alright, Ethan. I… I'll see what I can do. But this is… this is incredibly dangerous."

A few days later, after a tense examination committee meeting where the final questions were set, Sebastian, his hands trembling so much he could barely hold his pen, his heart pounding like a trapped bird against his ribs, relayed the key topics and even some specific phrasing to an ecstatic Ethan in hushed tones in the dead of night. He also shared snippets of confidential committee discussions about what constituted a "first-class" answer, the particular arguments certain examiners favoured or disliked. Each word he uttered felt like another nail in his professional coffin, another betrayal of his colleagues and his own deeply held principles.

Ethan's gratitude was effusive, his kisses passionate, his declarations of love more fervent than ever. He pressed his body against Sebastian's warmth, his hands tangling in dark hair as each tender kiss ignited an urgent heat in his veins. His heart pounded against Sebastian's chest, every whispered 'I love you' searing into memory like a vow—and yet desire and strategy merged in that electric moment.

***

Ethan

In the dim lamplight of his room, Ethan's fingertip drifted over the inked words Sebastian had whispered. He felt the memory of their collision—every gasp at his collarbone still fluttering beneath his skin. A flush of heat lingered as the paper trembled under his touch.

A calculated smile curved Ethan's lips. That same mouth that worshipped Sebastian's skin now sought his secrets. He tapped the pen against the page, eyes sharp with private desire and cunning.

He opened his encrypted journal.

Ethan's Internal Log: Major ethical breach achieved: exam questions secured. Subject fully emotionally compromised, prioritising relationship above all professional integrity. Explicit admission of wrongdoing noted. Documentation of this confession (audio snippet captured during pillow talk) and specifics of leaked information added to archive. The Professor is unravelling beautifully. His dependence is absolute; his destruction will be all the more spectacular.

The compromises didn't end there. Ethan, emboldened, soon came to him with another "dilemma." He was applying for a prestigious summer research grant, one that required evidence of prior research experience and publications – experience Ethan, as a first-year DPhil, largely lacked.

"It's such a long shot, Sebastian," Ethan sighed, feigning discouragement as he leaned against Sebastian's desk, idly flipping through a book. "But if I could just… enhance my CV a little? Perhaps list that conference paper I'm planning to write as 'in progress' with a well-regarded journal? Or imply that my undergraduate thesis received some minor commendation it didn't quite get?" He looked at Sebastian with wide, hopeful eyes. "You wouldn't even have to do anything directly. Just… not contradict it if anyone asked. Your name as my primary supervisor carries so much weight."

***

Sebastian

Sebastian felt a wave of nausea, the room seeming to tilt slightly. This was venturing into outright forgery, creating a false academic record. But he was already so deep in, so compromised. What was one more lie, one more ethical breach, in the grand scheme of their illicit arrangements? He found himself agreeing, his voice a dull monotone, offering to "casually mention" Ethan's "promising early work" if any informal inquiries were made. He was helping Ethan construct a persona built on deceit, and a part of him knew it was a house of cards doomed to collapse, yet he couldn't bring himself to pull away the supporting hand.

His isolation grew. He avoided colleagues, his guilt making him withdrawn and secretive, his eyes constantly scanning for judgment. He could feel their curious glances, sense their unspoken questions. The easy camaraderie he had once shared with some of them was gone, replaced by a strained formality that felt like a constant accusation. The other DPhil students, too, were becoming more openly resentful of Ethan's seemingly effortless successes, his uncanny ability to anticipate exam questions and seminar discussions. Whispers followed Ethan, and by extension, Sebastian, like a miasma.

One evening, after a particularly gruelling day of feigned normalcy, Sebastian sat alone in his rooms, the sherry bottle nearly empty. He looked at his reflection in the darkened windowpane – a pale, haunted face, eyes filled with a weary despair. He had crossed lines he had once believed inviolable. He had sacrificed his integrity, his peace of mind, all for a love that felt increasingly like a gilded cage.

He knew, with a chilling certainty that settled deep in his bones, that there was no going back. He was trapped, bound to Ethan by a web of shared secrets and escalating transgressions. The realisation was a cold, hard stone in the pit of his stomach. He had chosen love, or what he believed to be love, over everything else. And he was beginning to understand, with dawning horror, the true cost of that choice.