your loving husband, PROFESSOR RICHARD J. GRAYSON 🏛️✎ᝰ.
PROF. GRAYSON, who teaches law and criminal justice part-time. He starts every lesson just ever-so-casually posing a deep moral dilemma. No context. Just struts in and it's the first thing that comes out of his mouth, willing silence in the lecture hall. It's brain-itching. Borderline existential. He asks his students what they would do. And just like circus magic, he seamlessly segues into the material, pulling them down the rabbit hole he opened at the start. No one’s bored. No one’s checking the clock. The examinable content feels real and they’re hooked before they even realise they’re learning. When the lecture ends, the dilemma still lingers, following them out of the room. And just like that, they know. This class, this professor, is one they won't forget.
PROF. GRAYSON, who remembers names, faces, and who can somehow keep track of most of his students’ dreams and ambitions. He advises them whenever they ask, whenever he can. Career pathways, life choices, reassurances slipped in whenever his students tell him about their small gigs and opportunities. He sees potential even when they don’t.
PROF. GRAYSON, who wears a button-up, no tie. The top button, undone. And still, looking effortlessly, unfairly classy. Handsome, in a respectable way. A worn leather messenger bag rests slung over his shoulder as he enters the lecture hall. A bright red apple in hand like he stepped straight out of a picture book. Ever so often, a casual black baseball cap donning a “gotham academy” patch makes an appearance. Or a navy blue denim wash cap embroidered “GCPD”.
PROF. GRAYSON, who has students not even enrolled in his class sitting in the back rows. Some came because they heard he's attractive as hell. But although most sneak-ins began attending that way, they never expected to be caught off-guard. To grow fond and in awe of the way he actually teaches. The deep ponders. The sudden puns. But most importantly, the undying passion. A kind of passion that makes even dense material feel alive. His voice: steady, grounding. Even for those who snuck in not knowing anything about the material, he’s become the perfect white noise for studying.
He isn’t oblivious to the increase in attendance numbers. But for the most part, he doesn’t mind in some of his enrolled students’ best friends tagging along, sliding into empty seats beside them. They pretend they’re there to keep company, to study quietly. But really, they’re listening. They can’t help it. They soak in the way he speaks with conviction, the way he cares. His lectures become a kind of sanctuary. Open, unguarded, welcoming to anyone who needs somewhere to sit, gain perspective, or, just feel a little steadier for an hour.
PROF. GRAYSON, who brags about you, his wife. His wedding ring never leaves his finger. He’ll find ways to bring you up. Slip you into his lectures through an offhand reference here, a fond anecdote there. Never boastful, always soft with pride. You could say it's casual, but it's far from that. He mentions you when talking about ethics, about truth, about humanity. Outside of the textbook material? About connection, about family. He brings you up. He sets you as a virtuous example in his life, and it's not secret to his students. His students couldn’t even count on their fingers how many times he says “My wife always says…”. Sometimes, he smiles before he realises he’s doing it. Sometimes, he pauses, just a beat too long, like he’s remembering your voice. And every time he talks about you, even just in reference, it’s clear that his passion is real. Clear, that he believes in what he teaches. Clear that he applies mere words in a textbook to his own life. And, clear that he is a man that loves and is loved.
PROF. GRAYSON, who genuinely cares for his students. “My kids,” he calls them. He stays back long after class ends, lingering to talk through the moral dilemmas he’s just dropped into their laps.
“Prof. Gray, I’ve got a thought—” a student will say as the class wraps up.
“Let’s hear it,” he replies, face lighting up as he tosses the apple into the air, takes a generous bite, and leans in. The student ramble, untangle, and wrestle aloud with their take on the legal and ethical knot. Suddenly everyone’s stayed in overtime and other professors are complaining why their students are “so late to classes whenever grayson’s was the previous class”.
He notices the quiet ones, the argumentative ones, the ambitious ones, the humble ones, and treats every single one as capable, as worthy of serious conversation and care. And quietly, without ever announcing it, he offers grace where it’s needed most. Students who’ve failed don’t get shamed; they get a second chance through an honest conversation.
“Do I have to do a retake, sir?”
“Nope,” he says, already pulling up a chair. “Just tell me—what do you really think?”
PROF. GRAYSON, who tells you, his wife, about his day when he’s done. About his students, the debates they sparked, the perspectives they brought into the room. You practically know them all by name and their personal dreams too. He asks for your thoughts, your advice, almost always.
PROF. GRAYSON, who grades papers in the living room, Earl Grey steaming on the coffee table, sipped thoughtfully between papers. He’s nestled on an armchair across from where you sit, flicking through your own book on the couch. Pj pants: a cobalt flannel. Top: a white, tight compression shirt. His pen rests between his lips intermittently as he ponders, humming softly as he reads, nodding at good arguments, pausing at sharp insights. Each of his facial expressions illuminate under the warm glow of the corner lamp.
PROF. GRAYSON, who gives an ending speech for the graduates. The kind of speech that stays with them long after they leave the room. He tells them there is more to this than money. That work, is service, and service is an opportunity to help others. An honour. That the help they offer, even in small moments, could be the very thing that changes the trajectory of someone else’s life.
He tells them this responsibility shouldn’t be taken lightly: the responsibility of caring for others, of being trusted, and of being paid to do the right thing. He reminds them to understand the privilege in that, to be conscious of it, and to never let good stop at a paycheck. To go beyond money, always.
He tells them that wherever life takes them, they will succeed if their heart is in the right place. If they know what they stand for and believe in it. That there is nothing heroic about being a billionaire, who is never truly there for a friend. That between money and company, there is a clear winner. And that real success looks quieter, steadier, present, more human.
And before they leave, he tells them this: wherever they go, whatever they become, he knows they will succeed, as long as they carry heart with them.
