Dinner was eventful as always.

No sooner had it started, Violet had already berated Edith for continuing her relationship with Sir Anthony Strallan – "There's less of an age difference between him and I then there is between you two" – insulted Cora's new décor at Downton – "I feel like I'm in a Picasso painting and not the good kind" – and questioned Isobel's decision to return to the hospital – "At this late in the game? Things have changed since World War One, my dear Mrs. Crawley."

Naturally, Sybil would have been smirking at her grandmother's display and been thankful that she wasn't this week's target but instead, she found herself thinking of one person – Tom Branson. Tom. It was odd for her to realise that she finally knew his name especially since they tried so hard in Paris to keep their identities hidden. Although, she was curious to see how he'd react if she 'accidently' called him Bogie in class.

Ever since she had discovered he was her professor, she knew that she'd have to push aside everything that had happened in Paris and maintain the teacher-student relationship with him. This, however, seemed easier said than done since she had the strongest urge to find out more about him. She had meant to ask Matthew on the trip to Downton, but he had been so excited rambling about the Sorbonne that she had completely forgotten until now.

"Sybil – Sybil dear, are you listening?"

"What?" Sybil exclaimed, shaking out of her reverie to find her family staring at her.

"I asked how your first day back at school was," Cora said, concerned about her daughter's silence.

"Oh, it was fine," Sybil said quickly. "Just one more year and then I'll be done."

"And we're very proud of that," Robert said. He raised his glass at her and beamed. "I remember when you were a little girl and you wanted to be a ballerina."

"Now she wants to be the next British Prime Minister," Edith joked.

"Well," Violet began and Sybil was bracing herself for an insult, but instead her grandmother's lips curled. "It's only a matter of time."

Even though he had been at Cambridge for a couple of days, Tom still managed to become lost. Granted, the university was made up of various colleges scattered throughout, he cursed himself for choosing an apartment near one of the largest – St John's.

He wondered through one of the courtyards, the morning sun starting to rise, and he felt his stomach grumble as he tried to remembered where the Dining Hall was. There were barely any people out, as he expected, and he dug his hands into his pockets, trying to keep them warm. It still surprised him that he was finally teaching at a university and even though he had Matthew to thank, he knew that this was finally the break that he needed.

"Fuck it," he declared when he walked past the same building for the third time and when he weaved through the hallways and the grass patches, he hurriedly entered the first café he saw.

Just as the school grounds had been partially empty, so was the White House Cafe and he quickly ordered himself a mushroom omelet and plain espresso – far too early for an Irish coffee and the Moroccan brands the café seemed to specialize in – and grabbed a seat by the window overlooking the River Cam. Whilst he waited for his coffee to arrive, he looked around the place, trying not to seem like an Irishman caught in headlights. The café's outside décor lived up to its name, but the inside was a great contradiction and an eyesore with all the walls painted a different colour. The wall he leaned against was a dull black and to his discomfort, he noticed that most of the staff seemed to be looking in his direction.

Trying to avoid them, he glanced out of the window and found the rowing team already training in the cold weather.

"Crazy bastards," he murmured, grateful that he was inside.

"Excuse me?"

He looked up and found the waiter with an awkward expression as he placed Tom's beverage and food on the table.

"Oh—" Tom mumbled, "I meant them outside not you guys."

The waiter nodded his head slowly and when he began to walk away, he called out, "You have a good day, okay? Just take a deep breath and relax" before returning to the counter.

Tom scrunched his face. What?

Shaking off his confused thoughts, he began to eat his breakfast whilst going over the day's lesson plan. He was halfway through recapping the Russian government when he heard her.

Instantly, he raised his head and found Sybil leaning against the counter, talking to the barista. She was dressed in yesterday's clothes with her hair in a loose bun but Tom noted that her smile never left her face. It was a mesmerizing sight especially when everyone else in the café looked like zombies.

When her coffee was ready and she was about to head out, her head turned as though she finally realised he was watching and she stopped at the doorway. She gave him a soft wave and he did the same, although he was certain the goofy grin on his face made him look more embarrassing.

She bit her lip, contemplating what to do and just as he thought she was about to leave by the way her hand was gripping onto the door, she walked over to him with a shy smile.

"Hello. You're up awfully early," she said, standing next to his table.

"I'm an early bird."

She glimpsed at his empty plate. "And that must've been your worm."

"Thank god, it didn't taste like one," he replied, proud to have made her chuckle.

She's your student, Tom. Remember, your student.

"Why are you up so early?" he said, glancing at his watch to find it was barely past seven.

"I just got back from Downton. I thought I'd get some coffee before I head back to my dorm. Unfortunately, the coffee there does taste like worms," Sybil replied. Students and professors can be friends, she thought to herself as she eyed the empty chair opposite him. Of course, they can.

He noticed her gaze as well and stuck his hand out "If you want to sit," he said, his voice a touch hesitant but when she did, he was secretly pleased. "So Downton. Matthew's told me a bit about it. I should've known I'd have the daughter of an English earl in my first class."

"Ah yes, your dislike for the British aristocracy," she said with a grin. "I was certain that Larry was going to have a fit in class yesterday."

"He'll definitely make this class interesting, won't he?"

Sybil tried to suppress her smile as she nodded. "Don't worry, I'll make sure I go easy on you."

"Will you now?"

"That's not what I meant," Sybil gasped when he smirked, but she could feel her cheeks flush at the thought.

This is your conscience, Tom Branson, and I'm telling you, she's a student, so quit flirting!

"I'm just teasing," Tom said, chuckling. "But, uh—I'll admit, it's good seeing a familiar face in the classroom."

"Really, now?"

Tom shifted in his seat. "Yeah, I mean. It's a bit daunting having my first real class and one that's about modern political theory but it's practically a dream come true."

"You mean ambition come true," she replied.

"Right. Ambition."

She smiled at him and he was certain his conscience had definitely abandoned him when he felt tingles creeping in his stomach.

"So, Matthew's gone—"

"How long have you—"

They both paused at exactly the same time, snickering at each other's failed attempts at continuing the conversation.

Tom cleared his throat. "You were saying?"

"Um, I guess, how long have you known Matthew?" Sybil asked, sipping at her coffee. "You two seem close and I forgot to ask him last night."

"You were thinking about me last night?" Tom said, raising his eyebrows. Jesus Christ, you're going to hell, Tom.

Sybil blushed. "No. Of course not. I mean, I was just curious. It seemed like you two have known each other for a long time."

"Well, we met at Manchester. I did a year there as part of my degree and Matthew was the first person I met. I would've been lost without him. Although, I'll never forgive him for making me play cricket, I've got a reputation to uphold."

"Oh, don't mention the word 'cricket'. My father and Matthew are obsessed with the sport. You should see them when they play the village. I don't know whether it's hysterical or absolute hell."

"I can imagine," Tom replied, thinking back to all the cricket matches when the usually calm lawyer would go psycho at the opposing team.

"Do you play any sport?"

Tom shrugged. "Not really. I played a bit of rugby back home but that was a while ago."

"You better not tell anyone here that or else they'll make you play at the 'Bring It' match," Sybil said, trying to keep away the creeping thought of Tom in shorts.

"The what?"

"The 'Bring It' match. It's this tradition here during the second week back where students verse the faculty in a rugby match," she explained. "Usually it's just for laughs and a way to get us all just back into the school spirit but I warn you, some of the old professors get especially competitive."

"I'll do my best then to not be part of it," Tom asserted. "Although, I suppose they would probably need all the young professors they could get."

Sybil chuckled at him. "Yeah, shame they won't be asking you then. What are you? At least fifty right?"

"Fifty two, to be precise," Tom replied.

"I knew it," Sybil gasped, trying to hold a serious face only to dissolve into giggles.

"Just thinking back about my school days with Matthew is making me feel like I am fifty, though. It was such a long time ago," Tom shared. "God, I was pretty wild back then. Young and naïve and thinking I could change the world."

Sybil tilted her head, resting her chin on top of her hand. "What happened?"

"Life, I suppose," Tom said. "I mean, it's great to have beliefs and conviction to live by and I do try to stick by mine to the best that I can but if anything, I've had to learn to think before I act."

"It sounds like there's something you're not telling me," Sybil said, eyeing him curiously.

"Let's just say," Tom said, "it's a good thing you didn't know me back when I was in university."

Sybil nodded, feeling that would be all on the subject. She peered over at Tom's watch and found that they had been talking for longer than she had expected.

"Shit, is that the time?" she said. "I've got a class in an hour and was hoping to change."

"Apologies then," Tom said. "It's alright, go on then. I won't get depressed or heartbroken or anything."

Sybil rolled her eyes as she stood up. "It was good chatting. Who knows. I'm usually here in the mornings so …" she paused, hoping he would get the hint without her sounding too forward.

"Well," he began, "in that case. I'm definitely finding a new café."

"Hey!"

Tom smiled. "It was a good chat."

Just as Sybil was about to leave, she turned to him, "Oh, and make sure the next time you come here, you sit by the yellow wall or at least at the white tables by the counter."

"Why?"

"I'm guessing you didn't read the sign at the counter," Sybil assumed. "Well, there are different walls here for people feeling different things. If you're in a happy mood, you sit by the yellow wall, sad or stressed then by the blue wall so the baristas know to give you an extra piece of cake or something to cheer you up. The black wall basically means 'stay the fuck away from me'."

"No wonder," Tom exclaimed. "Well, what if there's just nowhere to sit? And I have to sit here?"

"Tell the barista that and then maybe they won't be afraid of an outburst when they bring you your coffee," Sybil said. "Trust me, I've had my experience with that."

She waved him at him when she left the café. He watched her walk toward the riverside and took her shoes off, walking through the grass back to the campus.

He sighed.

Fuck, Tom. No, just fucking no.

He eyed his waiter at the counter, staring at him with a cheerful smile as he had watched Tom and Sybil's entire encounter.

All he got in return was a scowl from Tom.

AN: Once again, a big thank you to scarletcourt for putting up with me and being an amazing beta! This chapter is dedicated to elleisforlovee for all the help she has given me and for being a dear! So, I wonder if anyone can pick up the subtle Casablanca references in the chapter? Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this chapter and let me know what you guys think!