When Ansel finally left the shower, his skin bright red and squealing, it did not take him long to realize that Lucio had left. The young man's clothes were gone and all traces that he had been there had been erased, save for a handwritten note that had been left on Ansel's bed. Ansel, dark hair clinging to his face and a towel hanging loosely off of his waist, gently took the note from the bed and read it slowly. Upon finishing, Ansel felt a lump instantly grow in his throat. He tried to swallow it but it didn't seem to want to go down no matter how many times he tried. He crumpled the note in his hand and tossed it onto the floor, bitterness blooming where once only adoration for Lucio resided.<br/><br/>When Ansel went back out into the kitchen, the decorative box with the golden rose sat on the kitchen counter, as if waiting for him. He moved to the box and opened it, lifting up the golden rose carefully and twirling it around in his hand. It truly was an exquisite piece. And Lucio had picked the flower himself. As the rose slowly spun, catching the sunlight that filled the room, a warmth sprouted at his fingertips, traveling up his arms and spreading throughout his body. The stinging of his skin seemed to dissipate as he continued to stare at the flower in his hand, and after a few silent minutes, Ansel returned the gift to its box.<br/><br/>He returned to the bedroom with the box underneath one arm. He walked to where Lucio's discarded note lay and picked it up, unfurling it as carefully as possible so as not to accidentally tear the paper. He flattened the note out as best he could, opened the box, and tucked the note underneath the stem of the rose. He set the box down on one of the bedside tables and left it open, the rose sparkling brilliantly in the light.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center">&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;​</div><br/>The week went by like a dark, inky blur, leaving Ansel unable to remember anything that happened or anyone who spoke to him. Lucio hadn't been present in his class on Monday, but he hadn't been surprised as the two hadn't parted on the best terms. There was still a residual anger left over from his momentary breakdown back in the apartment, but he had decided that he couldn't let those worries get in the way. Lucio was worth the effort, any effort. He'd have to talk to him, do his best to work things out. Being separated from Lucio was only doing him harm, and he had to believe that Lucio wasn't doing all that much better.<br/><br/>However, whenever Ansel tried to call or text Lucio, he couldn't seem to do it. Something was holding him back. Despite his note, perhaps Lucio really didn't want to see him. After all, wouldn't he have called? Or texted? Or done anything to show Ansel that he was still interested? When Lucio didn't show up for his class on Thursday, Ansel couldn't manage to finish the lecture. He ended class halfway through and told his students he was feeling ill, and they were excused from their typical assignment that week. Was Lucio avoiding him? Or was he avoiding classes altogether? Ansel had to find out, but he didn't know about any of Lucio's other classes.<br/><br/>Except one.<br/><br/>Ansel hadn't intended to harm Buckley as he made his way to the man's office. All he wanted to know was if Lucio had shown up for class, then he would walk away. That was it. But when he stepped in to inquire about Lucio, the professor had given him such a smug, satisfied look that Ansel couldn't stop the rage from building in his gut.<br/><br/>A snarky comment was made, something about Lucio having a hard weekend. Ansel felt his muscles tense up. Buckley said something else, about how he wasn't surprised Lucio didn't show up. He was a bad student and probably didn't show up to class because he was out making his grades some other way. When Ansel asked Buckley to elaborate, the slimy professor laughed.<br/><br/>"You don't know? He's just a dumb whore."<br/><br/>After that, all Ansel saw was white.<br/><br/>The stoic, professional, charming professor had lept at Buckley, and before he could stop himself was landing blow after blow on Buckley's homely face. The sound of Ansel's hard fist coming into contact with doughy skin and soft muscle was sickening, but Ansel didn't stop. It was like punching raw meat, and soon enough blood began to poor from Buckley's nose and the side of his face began to swell. Buckley tried to fight him off, but the academic was no match for taller, stronger, fitter man, and by the time Ansel started to land punches into Buckley's gut the latter had given up, simply begging in a high pitched, pathetic voice for Ansel to not kill him.<br/><br/>When Ansel was finished, a bloodied, bruised and cracked James Buckley lay beneath on the floor, gasping for breath. "You will never touch Lucio ever again, do you understand me? You won't even fucking look at Lucio. You won't talk to him, you won't bother him with your disgusting existence. You will give Lucio the grade you two agreed upon and be done with it." Ansel's words came out in a low, threatening growl. It was obvious that his threats were not hollow. "If you so much as breathe in Lucio's direction, I will not hesitate to break every bone in your pathetic little body. And remember, I know what you do to your students. Particularly your male ones. If you don't want anyone finding out, then I recommend you telling everyone you were mugged. They'll believe you."<br/><br/>With that, Ansel left, making his way as quickly as possible across campus to where the dorms were. His hands were bruised and bloody, and the fist he had previously used to punch a hole in his apartment wall just a few days before was red, throbbing and swollen to twice its size. Buckley's blood was all over his hands and his shirt; it would have been easy enough for a passerby to assume it was Ansel's own blood. He pulled his jacket around him as tightly as he could to hide the stains.<br/><br/>When he reached the dorm buildings, he stared, not knowing which one was Lucio's. Ansel shakily pulled his cell phone out and called the younger man, waiting for him to answer. When the other line was picked up, Ansel spoke in a hurried, hushed voice.<br/><br/>"Lucio, where are you? Are you home? I need to see you immediately."