#I think living in the grad student dorm may be a good point to bring up

[badolmen]

The graduate workers at my university are unionizing - which is awesome - I just don’t know how I can support them when I have a hard time physically attending the most important events.

[the-ss-zemyx]

PVP(umpkin Spice Lattes)

Zexion and Arpeggio are Discord friends. They chat in private messages, raid in Verum Rex together, and may or may not have feelings for each other.

Ienzo and Demyx are college roommates. They hate each other, for the most part. At least they can both agree on pumpkin spice lattes.

Happy 2nd Zemyx Day of 2020!!

Specifically for today, the S.S. Zemyx Discord Server hosted a collaborative fic-writing event! Over the course of the past five days, four of our writing members teamed up on a Google Doc in one glorious, inspirational, chaotic, frankenstein-esque fic-writing bonanza! That's right, the fic you're about to read is the product of -four- people's efforts!  Enjoy!! :D

(A HUGE thanks to my co-writers: Aliceslantern, Ennarcia, and Carbonpixel. This was a hell of a lot of fun to do and I'm immensely proud of us!! - Mod Arxsia)

Also available on AO3!

__________

      Demyx hated his roommate. Okay, no, hate was a strong word, and Demyx did his best to be a friendly, outgoing sort of guy, so ‘hate’ was definitely too strong a word. He liked to make friends. Having friends was nice. Having friends was very nice, and so, he tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. But his roommate was a different story, and Demyx did not like his roommate very much at all.

At least he was easy on the eyes, because everything else about him got on Demyx’s last nerve. His name was Ienzo, but his name might as well have been "Jerk," with a capital J. When he wasn't hogging the Internet bandwidth doing God-knows-what on a chunky Alienware laptop, he was lecturing Demyx on the virtues of keeping the floor free from dirty clothes and giving empty soda cans a proper burial in the plastic wastebasket by the door. Lame. Also, he was a little condescending. That jerk . 

One day, Ienzo burst into their dorm room with the gusto of a hurricane aiming to speak to a manager about a botched coffee order. He swung his laptop bag onto his mattress. It bounced when it landed. "Out," he commanded.

Demyx looked up from his phone. He sat with his legs crossed on his own bed, his Discord app open to a private message thread on his phone. In a few minutes, one of his server friends, a guy with the display name "The Cloaked Schemer" but going by his Discord handle, Zexion#1309, would be starting a voice call with him. It was kind of a big deal--they had been chatting in their shared server for almost a year, and in private messages for almost as long, but they had yet to actually speak to each other. "I'm actually busy," Demyx said.

"I don't care. Out."

It turned into an argument, of course, neither yielding and probably disturbing their neighbors with the yelling. Yep, Demyx didn’t like his roommate one bit. 

He ended up in the lounge by the kitchen, utterly fuming, cursing his idea to “go rando” with a roommate all the while. It’s the best way to make friends, Demyx , his mother had told him. What better friend than a roommate?

Very funny.

At least he’d been able to grab his phone. Of course, Zexion was wondering where the hell he was. 

The Cloaked Schemer: Do you need to reschedule?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: roommate’s being a dick and kicked me out. Sorry!

The Cloaked Schemer: Ah, I too am having roommate troubles. I can sympathize. I know too well what it’s like when one’s privacy is denied.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: he’s driving me NUTS! 

The Cloaked Schemer: Have you tried talking to him about it?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: He didn’t exactly uh seem receptive to talking

The Cloaked Schemer: It’s always a good idea to try for maturity first.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I did! Not my fault the guy wasn’t having it.

Anyway. Id hate to let that guy take up any more time.

Hru?

The Cloaked Schemer: Doing as well as I can, I suppose. I’m enjoying my classes so far. It seems a little easy, but then again, it is only one of the first weeks. Things should pick up more by midterms.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: ure too smart zexy. And didnt you skip a grade?

The Cloaked Schemer: A year, yes. I don’t think they call them grades in college.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Considering some of the people ive met, couldve fooled me.

The Cloaked Schemer: If I’m hoping to have a grad degree within five years, I have to fast track it. I’d rather not spend much more time in undergrad than necessary.

Though I am especially resentful that, despite the fact that I am technically a sophomore, I’m considered enough of a freshman to still be required to dorm.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: That blows

But dude, ure here. Might as well try to enjoy the journey, yaknow?

The Cloaked Schemer: Oh, Arpeggio. Your naivete is too obvious sometimes. It’s sweet, I think.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: har har

The Cloaked Schemer: I am disappointed though. I was looking forward to meeting you--in a manner of speaking. You’re probably one of the most sane people from our Verum Rex server.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Issa game, bro. Some of them, idk, take it a little too seriously

The Cloaked Schemer: Well, aspects of it are worth being taken seriously, but I understand what you mean.

Though the ship wars are grating.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: ha! Yeah.

The Cloaked Schemer: We’ll have to find some other time, then.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Mann i was hoping to see if you sound as smart as you type

The Cloaked Schemer: You flatter me.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Do you think if we lived near each other we would hang out?

The Cloaked Schemer: If it’s all the same, I’d prefer to keep my location anonymous.

At least for now.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I know. Just a hypothetical question

The Cloaked Schemer: I’d like to say yes.

But for all I know, you’re actually a forty year old serial killer who lives in his mother’s basement.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: harsh

You listen to 2 many true crime podcasts 

Anyway, I g2g. See if the roomie will let me back in. Got homework.

The Cloaked Schemer: Enjoy your night, Arpeggio.

Hopefully one of us has a good one.

Demyx closed the app and repocketed his phone. He flopped back on the lounge couch, eyes squinting at the fluorescent lights above and his limbs ragdolling in uncomfortable directions. A good night, huh? It’d be better if he could spend time in his own room without having to engage in guerilla combat whenever he wanted to exist in his own space. Wishful thinking, he thought.

__________

      Ienzo stared at the chatlog open on his computer screen. The circle next to Arpeggio’s icon turned a dull gray, and the remaining bits of Ienzo’s hope for decent conversation dulled with it. He had finally caught up enough with his classwork to have some free time to spend, finally arranged to voice chat with Arpeggio, finally gotten Demyx to leave the god-forsaken room so he could have the one conversation he’d been looking forward to for weeks , and now… nothing. All that planning, gone to waste. Another wave of irritation hit him, and suddenly he was out of bed and grabbing his keys. He needed some tea.

Ienzo didn’t get tea at the coffee shop, despite his plans. The alluring, hipster scent of pumpkin spice hit his nose instead, and he caved before he could stop himself.

The college employed students as baristas in the campus coffee shop, as part of the work-study financial aid, so it wasn’t uncommon to see one’s peers at the shop. “Hey, Ienzo,” Riku said. It was getting late; chairs were already on top of all the tables. They’d met in Ienzo’s anthropology class.

“I’m not too late, am I?”

“I can bend the rules for you.” He went back behind the counter. “What’ll it be? Your usual?”

He blushed guiltily. “Pumpkin spice. Please.” Curse that glorious, wonderful scent.

He smirked. “Coming right up.”

“I know it’s dreadfully popular.”

“Yeah, cause it’s good ,” Riku said. “As long as you’re not one of those “half-caff, no whip, vanilla and almond, five shots” type of people.”

“Why complicate coffee so much?”

Riku handed him the paper cup. “At that point, just drink coffee-flavored syrup.” There was a pleasant lull for a moment. Riku began cleaning the espresso machine. “So why are you out so late? Don’t you have an early class tomorrow?”

Ienzo grimaced. “My roommate and I got into a fight.”

“...Again?”

“We are not well suited for each other.” A sigh. “I went to the Residence Life office to try and apply for another room, but the period for that is over. I was told, and I quote, “unless he’s hurting you, tough it out.””

Riku chuckled. 

“He is simply-- obnoxious ,” Ienzo continued, the pressing need to vent taking over. “Slobby, loud, and always around at precisely the most inopportune times. I was supposed to have a call with a good friend of mine, and it took some doing just to get him out.”

“Right, your Discord friend.”

“You have a good memory.” Ienzo swished the coffee around a little; it was slightly too hot to drink.

“The one you have a crush on,” Riku said with a grin.

Ienzo flushed painfully. “I do not have feelings for him,” he said.

“Dunno. You managed to bring that call up in almost every conversation we’ve had. If he was really just your friend, would you be that excited? Enough to hype about it for weeks?”

Ienzo shrugged. “I do not know where he’s from, I don’t know his real name, I don’t even know what he looks like. For all I know, he only uses he/him pronouns online.”

“And?”

“I just… see no reason to desire something I cannot have.”

Riku wiped at the counter. “Oh, don’t be so doom and gloom,” he said. “If the call matters so much, it’s going to happen eventually.”

“I know.” He smiled. “Well, thanks for the tea and sympathy. Er, coffee and sympathy.” 

“Any time.”

“Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“You too. Play nice.” 

“Just promise to bail me out if things go awry, will you?”

“Ha, on my salary?” Riku winked.

Ienzo left the coffee shop. He didn’t want to return to the dorms yet, but the fall night was calm and quiet. He checked his phone (maybe Arpeggio was free? Though he did say he had homework…).

As a stroke of luck, he had a message waiting for him.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I have a room again! \o/ 

the jerk was gone when I got back!

The Cloaked Schemer: How fortunate for you. I assume you’re flying through your homework now?

Mel0d10us N0cturn3: nope! :p 

this science paper is kicking my ass!

Im really no good at this sort of thing

The Cloaked Schemer: Do you have any tutors available? Ordinarily I’d love to help but it might be easier and more private to go there instead.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: \o/

We actually do have one of those tutoring centers I think! Thanks for the idea!

Don't want you to waste your special brain-powers on little ol’ me lol

The Cloaked Schemer: I’d hardly call helping you a waste of my “special brain powers.”

It’s not a bad idea to check your local resources though.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: o7

Don’t think I’m gonna make any progress on this paper tonight tho lol

The Cloaked Schemer: Giving up already? I didn’t have you pegged for a quitter.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Awww, come on! Don’t guilt meeee

My poor brain!

It’s mush!

;-; will you not spare some mercy for my poor mushy brain?

The Cloaked Schemer: I suppose just this once, provided you use your resources and go to the tutoring center.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: o7 Yes sir !

First thing in the morning!

My mushy brain thanks you for your mercy and endless kindness!

Ienzo’s cheeks grew warm, but whether it was from the message on the screen or the sip of pumpkin spice coffee currently running down his throat, he neither knew nor was willing to explore.

Despite the late hour, there were plenty of students milling about campus, taking up their little spaces. It had taken him some time to find an empty bench to sit on, but one eventually caught his eye and he claimed it immediately, sitting down with his coffee in one hand and phone in the other.

The sky was inky black, dotted with stars, the sun long gone by now. Nights were starting to grow just a tad chilly, the beginnings of autumn seeping into the atmosphere. It was Ienzo’s favorite season and the aroma of pumpkin spice wafting past his nose was just what he needed to make up for the disappointment of having his voice call with Arpeggio abruptly cancelled.

Well, maybe not entirely. He’d been really looking forward to hearing Arpeggio’s voice for the first time, but this did nicely enough, he supposed. It was better than sitting around stewing in annoyance over his damned roommate anyway.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: so what are you up to right now?

The Cloaked Schemer: It’s a lovely night out. I needed some tea. Got coffee instead.

What is it about pumpkin spice that’s so irresistible? 

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Never wouldve pictured YOU as a devotee of the PSL.

The Cloaked Schemer: Guilty pleasure. 

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: theyre so good. I can’t have that many of them cause caffeine makes me SLEEPY

The Cloaked Schemer: Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me at all.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: whats that supposed to mean?

The Cloaked Schemer: Nothing derogatory, I assure you.

Though the idea of you being hopped up on caffeine amuses me.

You seem like one of those people who has energy all the time.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: i wish

The Cloaked Schemer: I should--begrudgingly--head back to my room.

You should try working on that paper.

I mean it about the tutor.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: yeah, yeah. I hear ya

Hopefully your roommates not being a dick anymore

The Cloaked Schemer: Fat chance. M3l0d10us N0cturn3: enjoy your coffee~~

__________

      Demyx sat for a long time looking at that exchange. He could’ve heard Zexion say those words. He was just so painfully smart, but Demyx could listen to him say anything. About anything. For hours.

He showered and got ready for bed, hoping that Ienzo would stay gone. But as it was, he was back. Ienzo scowled in greeting.

“Nice to see you too,” Demyx muttered. He noticed the coffee cup Ienzo had set down. Ienzo seemed to live on caffeine and spite. 

“I needed to clear my head, as I do not have the luxury of privacy.”

“Well I gotta sleep somewhere,” Demyx said. He crawled into bed. Ienzo rolled his eyes. Demyx saw him grab his own shower caddy and head out to the communal bathroom. He thought he smelled--he blinked. Slowly, ever so slowly, he got up, crossed over to the cup, and sniffed it.

Of course he likes pumpkin spice lattes, Demyx thought bitterly. Ugh.

He went back to bed and fell asleep listening to music.

__________

      The universe thought it was just so funny. Demyx had taken Zexion’s advice and the tutor he’d met with was his jerk of a roommate. At least Ienzo was unhappy too, if the scowl on his insufferably nerdy face was anything to go by.

“What are you doing here?” Demyx blurted before he could stop himself.

“I work here,” his jerk of a roommate answered in response, “as a tutor, for my work study. I take it your procrastinating finally caught up to you and you need some last-minute help?” Did he really have to be so damn condescending though?

Demyx hiked his backpack strap a bit higher on his shoulder and rapped his fingers on the tutoring center's reception desk. Ienzo could glare daggers at him all he wanted from his seat at the computer behind the desk, but the curious eyes of the other tutors and students around meant that he would have to maintain decorum. They both would, lest Ienzo lose his job and Demyx lose his tutoring privileges. He took a deep breath. "I need help with a biology paper."

Ienzo's expression tightened. "Would you like to make an appointment?"

"No? You said it yourself: this is last-minute." Demyx tapped on the desk. "I need to talk to the science tutor on duty, please."

"It seems like we're both out of luck tonight, then," Ienzo replied dryly, absently clicking at something on the computer monitor. "I'm the science tutor on duty at the moment."

"You? Gross." 

"I'm not particularly happy about it right now, either."

Demyx considered his options, and cringed at his conclusions. His paper was due in two days, and it was only half-drafted. Without a passing grade on the assignment, he would set himself up to fail the class. Petty squabbles were not worth the hit to his GPA. He sighed. "Well, can you help? I'm kind of desperate, here."

Ienzo returned the sigh. "Fine. Follow me."

Demyx followed Ienzo around the reception desk to a square table in the far corner, a plastic chair on each side. Ienzo alighted onto the seat closest to the wall. "This better not be a waste of time."

Demyx pulled his laptop out of his backpack before sitting down across from Ienzo. "Has anyone ever told you that you have excellent people skills? Because if they did, they lied to you."

Ienzo rolled his eyes. Yep , Demyx thought, amazing people skills. They were off to a great start. Getting through this paper was going to be agony. "I'm paid to tutor, not practice social niceties."

The laptop screen lit up as Demyx swiped one finger over the trackpad. A screenshot from one of his more memorable raids in Verum Rex guarded the rest of his files behind his login password. Demyx typed his password as quickly as he could, shooing the image of his and Zexion's avatars away before Ienzo could ask any unwanted questions. Evidently, he did not type fast enough. 

“Verum Rex? You're familiar with it?” 

Demyx nearly jumped, shoulders tensing. He knew Ienzo was there; that shouldn’t have startled him as badly as it had.

“Duh? It's only the best MMO on the market right now. Not that you would know, since you're so committed to the whole 'smug asshole' thing,” He snarked on reflex, feeling slightly guilty about it afterwards. Ienzo was being friendly for once, or was at least making something of an attempt at it. Yikes. Demyx wasn't usually one to make low blows like that. He opened the Biology folder on his computer and selected the draft of his paper, making an effort to get along with Ienzo while they were forced to sit together. "Please help me with this? If you would be so kind, please?" Demyx made praying-hands in Ienzo's direction in apology.

Eyebrow rising - was it just one, or both? - Ienzo shot him a look, obviously unamused in the slightest. “If you’re trying to be cute, it’s not going to work.”

Demyx pouted and opened up his biology paper, turning the laptop toward Ienzo. “Fine, fine, just help me?”

Rolling his eyes yet again, Ienzo was just about to lean in to read what Demyx had so far, when the familiar sound of a Discord ping had Demyx scrambling to turn the laptop back toward himself. Shit. He’d forgotten to close his Discord window before showing up at the tutoring center.

While Demyx closed the Discord app, Ienzo watched him carefully, contemplative. “You use Discord?”

Turning the laptop back, Demyx gave him a look, half in disbelief because surely Ienzo was too much of a nerd, but not in the cool way, to know what Discord was, and yet he did. Shit, it would be really awkward to end up in a server together. “Yeah, who doesn’t use Discord these days? I mean, especially if you play games or are into, I dunno, any fan community stuff.”

For a moment, Ienzo said nothing, slowly turning to look at Demyx’s biology paper on the screen. “Alright, let’s see what we have to work with so far, if anything.”

Demyx sighed. Asshole.

__________

      Was this some kind of joke? Ienzo was being pranked, wasn’t he? Any moment now Demyx would start laughing about wasting his time and walk out, like the lazy slacker he was. Halfway through, he half collapsed on the table.

“This is impossible,” Demyx whined. “You don’t really understand this stuff, do you? You’ve gotta be lying.”

Ienzo felt his eye twitch. “Not all of us are lazy fools who give up after 15 minutes. Why are you even here?”

“Because my friend said I should, and I trust his advice. He never leads me wrong, so even if I have to spend time with you , I’m gonna do this.” 

"Your friend sounds like he has the sense that you very much lack," Ienzo deadpanned, scrolling through Demyx's paper. He took stock of the misformatted section headings, missing in-text citations, and the off-center data table in the middle of the mess. The topic of the paper did not appear in any of Demyx's written work. "Can you tell me what this assignment is supposed to be? I can't tell from what you've given me."

"It's…" Demyx shrank back in his seat. "I don't know what it's supposed to be. My professor gave us all a table of data-results-things and told us to organize and analyze them. I don't know what he wants, exactly."

Ienzo huffed, and almost slammed Demyx's computer closed on the spot. Thankfully, his better faculties kept him from breaking Demyx's laptop. "There's your problem. You can't complete an assignment if you don't know what the assignment is . Email your professor for clarification and request an extension. If you do it early enough, they might grant you leniency."

"Really? That's your advice? Beg my way out of it?"

"Not begging. Requesting. It shows forethought, self-awareness, and emotional maturity, even if you don't actually possess any of those things. The adage of faking proficiency to gain proficiency has some truth to it." Ienzo pushed the laptop over to Demyx. "Is there anything else I can help with?"

Demyx's arms crossed, and his expression took on the quality of a betrayed toddler. "You didn't even help me with what I came in for, asshole."

Ienzo waved away Demyx's indignation with a dismissive hand. "There's only so much I, or any tutor, can do without having a good idea of what your professor expects. Emailing is the best advice I can give right now."

"So if I email my professor, you’ll help me?” 

“I give you my word.” A promise made in haste, if only to appease the barest responsibilities of his job. Hopefully Demyx wouldn’t make him live to regret it.

Not long after Demyx was gone, Ienzo checked his Discord app, surreptitiously on his phone behind the reception desk, to find a message from Arpeggio.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Zexy, this worst thing ever just happened!

My roommate is my tutor!

Save meeeeeee

The Cloaked Schemer: That is peculiar. Though colleges are small worlds, so I hear.

What did he have to say re: the paper?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Ugh he couldn’t even help

Because I had licherally no idea what the professor wants

I mean, the dude has an F on ratemyprofessor so

He said to email and beg for clarity and an extension

The Cloaked Schemer: ...That is sound advice, actually.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Youre taking his side???

The Cloaked Schemer: Not exactly.

But in academic situations, it always looks good on you to take the initiative and seek help when you need it.

I guarantee the professor will work with you, and perhaps be able to refine that same assignment in the future.

If he’s worth his salt, he’s seeking to improve himself the way you are.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I GUESS

You wanna do a raid tonite? 

The Cloaked Schemer: Alas, I, too, am a college student with coursework.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: RUDE

Ienzo leaned back in his chair in the campus library. How coincidental, he thought. He’d just given Demyx the same advice. Then again, college papers--especially in the sciences--were not always diverse on the gen ed level. He recalled Demyx’s paper; he should’ve asked him to see the email, or post, or handout with the assignment on it. Chances are the moron had merely misunderstood.

Demyx liked Verum Rex. Perhaps they could have this to talk about. Ienzo wondered who he mained. Probably Yozora, he thought with a sneer. 

The Cloaked Schemer: Actually, I can do one raid.

ONE. Brief. Raid.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Thats more like it! \o/

One raid turned into two, then Ienzo ended up staying in the library, at the tutoring center, until it closed.

__________

      Demyx begrudgingly took Ienzo’s advice. After his marathon raid session with Zexion, he sent a brief email--agonizing over the wording--to his professor, who responded almost instantly with an apology. Several students had already asked him about the assignment, it turned out, so he was going to extend the entire class’s deadline. But if Demyx needed a few days after that, he could have it.

“You were right,” Demyx murmured out loud, as he read the email the next morning. 

“Of course I was,” Ienzo said, not looking up from his desk. “See? All it takes is a little maturity.”

The irony. Demyx grimaced. He looked over at him. “So you’ll help me?”

“When--and only when--I am on duty,” he said. “I have a life outside of work, you know.”

Demyx wondered how true that was. Ienzo spent a lot of the time in the room if he were not in class or in the library. Did he have friends? Did he go to societies? He nearly asked. Then he looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in weeks. He had bags under his eyes, and was washed out, books spread in a circle around him. “Outside of studying, too?”

Ienzo opened his mouth, then shut it. “I am not here to socialize. I am here for a degree.”

“But don’t you… have any friends?”

“Of course I do,” Ienzo said, just a little too quickly. 

Like he would honestly tell Demyx. “Sure,” he said, shutting his laptop and tucking it into his bag. “Well. I got class. I’ll see you at the center later?”

“Much to my chagrin,” Ienzo responded evenly.

Demyx’s day was ordinary other than that. After the professor clarified what he wanted in class (and, to Demyx’s immense relief, it was much less daunting than what he’d thought), he stopped by the library to check out some books which might point him in a vague direction. Ienzo could tell him if they were any good. He stopped by the coffee shop to grab a croissant and a coffee, and, on impulse, got one for Ienzo as well. The idea of it made him nervous. Maybe I’ll say they made an extra by mistake, he thought. He already knew Ienzo drank them.

There Ienzo was, sitting in the office. “It’s you,” he said in an unreadable tone.

“It’s me.” He cleared his throat. “Um…” He thrust out the coffee without saying anything else.

“Is this for me?”

“Uh, yeah.” He felt his face heat--though why? 

Ienzo took it, looking confused, and sniffed the small hole in the lid. “Oh,” he said softly.

“I wasn’t sure if you liked--”

“No. I do. That was kind of you.” He blinked, his expression odd, slackened; Demyx realized it was without malice. “Let’s get to work, shall we? I don’t want this to take any longer than it has to.”

Ienzo helped him structure the paper, and reviewed proper citations with him. It would take a little work, but seeing it outlined, Demyx felt a lot less overwhelmed. Something he thought was a mammoth project would maybe take an hour or two to write.

“Once you have it written, come back and I can help you with grammar and syntax,” Ienzo said.

“Awesome.” He took a deep breath. “I feel… a lot better now.”

“One typically does when one stops procrastinating,” Ienzo said. He leaned back in his seat. For a second--but just one--he sounded like Zexion, all firm and proper, genteel without being rigid.

__________

      "You got your grade back already?"

Demyx beamed as he held his laptop screen-out, his browser logged into the university's online grading system. One score was listed under BIO 101, labelled "Paper 1." The percentage displayed next to the assignment name was higher than Ienzo expected from Demyx. "I didn't completely fail!" he practically cheered.

"So you didn't," Ienzo agreed, nodding slightly at the number from his desk. "It's amazing what a bit of work will do."

Demyx dropped himself onto his bed and turned his laptop. He bounced on the mattress a few times while he looked at the number. "This is the best news I've gotten all semester and it's the best feeling. Is this what it's like to be a genius and get good grades all the time?"

Ienzo returned his attention to his own laptop, where a half-drafted essay mocked him with its blinking text cursor and nonsensical thesis statement. He clacked another line of bullshit into the document. It was for English class, he reminded himself. Any answer was correct if it could be argued well. "No, not really. You get used to it."

"I… I should thank you," Demyx said, after a beat of silence. "For your help. I wouldn't have had anything to turn in at all if you hadn't told me to email my professor."

Another line of bullshit trailed across the screen. Ienzo squinted at it, unsure of what he had typed. "Don't mention it. It's my job."

"But still. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Ienzo could hear Demyx shuffling on his bed. "So… you play Verum Rex?"

"Fairly regularly, yes."

"Do you do raids or multiplayer at all?"

Ienzo shot Demyx a warning glance. "I already have a raiding group. I'm not looking for another one."

Across the room, Demyx had tucked himself into bed, his Star Wars sheets pulled all the way up to his chin. He blinked at Ienzo unceremoniously. "Jeez, forget I asked. No need to be snippy about it."

Demyx's head disappeared under the covers, and Ienzo returned his attention to his essay. At least, he tried. The Discord notifications in the corner of his screen kept distracting him.

Eventually, Ienzo admitted defeat and opened Discord. All of the messages were from Arpeggio.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: hey, do we have an opening on our raiding party?

Zexion?

Oh nvm he said no

What are you up to?

I'm taking a victory nap after getting a good grade on that paper I had to 

write a while back

My roommate is typing something and he's so loud

What is he writing that makes him so angy

The Cloaked Schemer: I am also typing angrily at something

It is a universal collegiate experience

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: still so angy tho

Are you angy atm?

The Cloaked Schemer: I am… frustrated

I'm meant to be dissecting the themes in a short story but I feel like I'm only spewing garbage on the page

Perhaps if I present the garbage with enough conviction, I will be able to maneuver through this class

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: if youre writing it, it's definitely not garbage :P

you need to have more confidence in yourself, Zexy

The Cloaked Schemer: Ha. I think my roommate would disagree

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: well then he's a bum

Tell him that

Arpeggio says so

Ienzo looked back at Demyx, cocooned in spaceship bed sheets and doing who-knows-what under the cover of bed linens. He thought he saw the flash of a phone screen through the fabric, but the light disappeared as quickly as he caught it.

The Cloaked Schemer: I'll pass. He seems busy.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Busy doing what? Bum things?

The Cloaked Schemer: I certainly hope not. We're in the same room right now.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: oh. Awkward

The Cloaked Schemer: I’ll say.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: so you know ive been thinking

The Cloaked Schemer: Have you? What a concept.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: ha ha.

Its been a while since we tried voice chatting

Maybe we could try again?

The Cloaked Schemer: You would want that?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I want to hear your voice. To see if youre actually as smart as you write

Maybe youve got, like, a transatlantic accent, or something. Thatd be cool

Ienzo blinked, staring hard at the screen. His heart beat a little faster. It was so hard to determine tone through text. 

The Cloaked Schemer: Maybe I’m not as cool as I seem.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: highly, HIGHLY doubt it

Youve kept me sane

I really appreciate our

Ienzo saw him type “thing” and then frenetically edit to “friendship.” He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

The Cloaked Schemer: The feeling is mutual.

A long, long pause. Ienzo did not know what else to say. His face was burning.

The Cloaked Schemer: Normally I’d rather be caught dead than admit this.

But it does get somewhat lonely here.

It’s nice to have someone to talk to.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: I know what u mean

Sometimes i feel like i dont really know who i am

And like college is supposed to be about finding that

But its hard.

The Cloaked Schemer: You don’t have to tell me twice.

Part of why it’s so easy to exist in online spaces, in games. Appearance doesn’t matter. It’s like being a more concentrated version of oneself.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Do u feel like a more concentrated version of yourself?

The Cloaked Schemer: When I talk to you.

Ienzo’s heart was pounding. He thought he heard Demyx sigh across the room. Was he typing too hard?

Arpeggio started and stopped typing several times, just making Ienzo more nervous. What is he going to say? Did I push it too hard? Was I too forward?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Me too, Zexion

I wish we knew each other. Like, irl

Getting to do raids in person

That would be so fun

And i dunno, maybe do other things

Go out to eat. Go to the movies. Maybe go dancing.

Do u like clubs?

The Cloaked Schemer: I’ve never been.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: it takes some getting used to

But the energy of a crowd is electric

Especially with people you know

Oh god oh god oh god , Ienzo thought. His hands were trembling. 

The Cloaked Schemer: Where would we go to eat?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: anywhere you want

Well. on a college students budget anyway

-laughs in poor

The Cloaked Schemer: Ah, so, five star cuisine, then.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Just dont order the lobster

In all seriousness. We need to vc sometime

The Cloaked Schemer: Yes.

There’s going to be a raid event on Saturday. Perhaps then?

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Depends on if i have the room :/ 

Wanna say yes so bad

The Cloaked Schemer: I know the feeling.

I suppose if I get desperate enough I can rent out a study cubicle in the library.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Awww you’d do that for little ol’ me?

The Cloaked Schemer: Yes, I

His finger slipped, hitting the enter key a moment too soon before he could even finish the thought in his head. His hands felt almost clammy, the inner mechanizations of his mind working on overdrive, as if trying to race against the pitter-patter beat of his heart. Shit. Perhaps… Riku was right after all? Had Ienzo, usually so level-headed, actually developed a crush on Arpeggio? It was utterly nonsensical, and yet he couldn’t deny that he felt a comfort with Arpeggio that he didn’t feel with anyone else he knew, online or offline. Was it possible to fall- ...to develop a smattering of feelings for someone based on typed text alone?

Well, wasn’t that a theme in literature? Two people falling in love over written letters? For all Ienzo knew, there could very well have been instances of it happening in real life, in the days of old, long, long before the age of technology and the internet. A pair of penpals, miles and miles of distance between them, communicating through the written word; it could happen, couldn’t it?

Hold on. When the hell did he turn into a sap ? Frowning, Ienzo ran a hand over his face, feeling like a lovestruck fool.

No. No, this couldn’t be a crush. Just because it was so easy to talk to him, just because they’d been talking for a year or so by now, it didn’t mean-

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Zexy?

You ok?

Shit, how long had he zoned out for? 

The Cloaked Schemer: Sorry. Got distracted.

But regardless, I think we should aim for Saturday.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Great!

Hoping we don’t get interrupted by our dick roomies

The Cloaked Schemer: Quite. It’s a date, then.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Yes :3

Ienzo took a deep breath. Regardless as to whether or not this was practical, it seemed that Arpeggio reciprocated his flirting.

Wait. Ienzo looked at the screen, cheeks heating up as he realized he’d typed the word ‘date,’ and Arpeggio said ‘yes .’ He couldn’t deny the little flutter of his stomach in that moment.

__________

      Demyx set his phone aside, his heart beating heavily in his chest, his face bright red. He swallowed. There was no way sleep would come easily now, and it probably wouldn’t be until Saturday.

He thought about the nature of crushes. He’d never seen Zexy’s face, or heard his voice, but he was so adept at weaving words in the way Demyx wanted to be with music. He tried to imagine him, what he might be like.

He rolled onto his back. Ienzo’s frenetic, noisy typing had stopped. Demyx sat up, rubbed his eyes, and pretended he’d been napping the whole time. “You good?”

Ienzo shut his computer quickly, like he’d been doing something questionable. “Yes. Fine.” He was a little out of breath. What the hell had he been writing?

Demyx blinked. “I’m gonna go get a coffee,” he said instead. “Want me to bring you one back?”

“Sure,” Ienzo said, his face flushed.

Demyx shook his head. Well. If Ienzo needed to take care of that he had at least a few minutes now. “Cool.”

The whole time he was at the coffee shop, he kept thinking about Zexion, all their little conversations. It was evolving, and evolving fast. Demyx knew from brief experimentation with dating apps that just because a person sent you some flirty words didn’t mean anything would come of it. For all he knew, Zexion lived in New Zealand, or something.

That didn’t stop him from wanting it.

He drew a deep breath, exhaled. Well. Saturday he would find out.

Demyx wasn’t going to let Ienzo ruin his chances of meeting Zexion. He decided to strike preemptively, pausing at the door of their dorm room and sucking in a breath, steeling himself. He could do this. He could ask his roommate for the room for one night, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Hey, so, I have a thing Saturday,” he said vaguely. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t coming off as strongly as he intended, but he could still try. “Mind if I hang here alone for a few hours?”

Ienzo glanced up. The flush was gone, and he seemed much more composed. “Yes, that’s fine. I was going to go study anyway.”

“Study? Don’t you ever have any fun?”

“Perhaps I find studying fun,” Ienzo said.

“Suit yourself.” As he passed on his way back to the bed, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Ienzo had Discord open.

__________

     Friday night, Demyx barely slept. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. Crushes didn’t usually… hit him this hard. It’s dumb. It’s so dumb. His loneliness was getting to him. Even Saturday morning, there were some hours until the events started. He looked at his DM history with Zexion. They’d spoken briefly, only to confirm a time and place for their characters to meet and chat. He sat at his desk, his hands trembling, as the game booted up.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: You ready?

The Cloaked Schemer: Of course.

M3l0d10us N0cturn3: Cool.

My mic isnt like great

But you can still hear me

He was shaking. He was shaking. “Get it together,” he muttered to himself.

The Cloaked Schemer: You’re a broke college student. I’m not expecting a professional setup here.

Though I will say my booth is pleasantly soundproofed.

Let me connect.

And Demyx thought his heart might stop. I’m so gay, he thought. A second later he heard that familiar call connection. He twitched a little, and his mic clattered loudly on the floor. Shit!

“Arpeggio? Are you alright?”

“I just dropped the--”

A long, long pause.

He knew that voice.

“Zexion?” He picked up the mic and set it down.

“Arpeggio?”

“I dropped the mic.” Demyx swallowed.

“You…” Zexion fumbled for words. “Speak a little more, please.”

“Is that really you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re in a library right now.”

“And you had an event… Saturday.” 

“Ohh my god,” Demyx mumbled. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, just that he was feeling a lot of it. “Ienzo. You’re Zexion?”

“It’s an anagram,” he said, his tone numb.

“Seriously, this whole time--”

“Evidently.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but at the same time, there was something warm in his chest.

Wait, no. No. This was Ienzo, and they hated each other--

Demyx realized he was panicking. He also, vaguely, in the back of his mind, realized the call had disconnected.

Demyx spent the next few minutes desperately trying to control his breathing, trying to not focus on how Zexion- No, Ienzo- was so disgusted it was him that he’d immediately dropped the call.

Of course. Of fucking course. The universe hated him. The universe had it out for him, surely. Why else would this have happened? He finally meets this sweet, smart, wonderful guy who takes him seriously and actually likes talking to him, on a regular basis , and then… And then… It turns out to be the very same roommate who hates him. That would just be his damned luck, wouldn’t it?

Grabbing his pillow, Demyx face-planted into it, pressing it furiously against his eyes to stop them from burning, to stop the tears that threatened to spill. Of all the people it could’ve been. Why Ienzo ? 

Demyx had been nervous enough as it was, afraid the person on the other end would think him annoying - his voice, his tone, the way he just couldn’t fucking shut up sometimes when he got excited about something. Alternatively, the filter between his brain and his mouth was immensely weaker than the filter between his brain and his fingers, and he could’ve said the wrong thing, unable to stop himself in the same way his hand can catch itself on the enter key before hitting it, or quickly delete the message before Zexion could read it.

But this was so much worse, because Ienzo already knew him, already had an impression of him, and that impression was far from good. It’s no wonder he disconnected the call so suddenly. He likely couldn’t stand hearing the truth any longer, stomach churning with disgust, head filled to bursting with regret, and not just regret over the voice call, but everything .

An almost entire year’s worth of conversations, soiled now, because Demyx was, well, Demyx . A slob. A slacker. An idiot. He wasn’t worth Ienzo’s time, and now he knew he wasn’t worth Zexion’s.

A sharp ache spread over his chest, cold and numbing, all of him tense with it. He… liked Zexion. He very genuinely liked him, so excited to get to talk to him, his bristling nerves aside. All week he’d thought about it, daydreaming, wondering what the person on the other end would sound like, if he’d love that voice as much as he loved the text on his Discord screen.

It no longer mattered, not when it was now clear that Zexion - no, Ienzo , was utterly disgusted with him.

It was over. It was all over - their friendship, a year’s worth of personal conversations, these budding feelings he was beginning to have, or that he’s been having for a while now…

On the flipside, was Demyx disappointed that it turned out to be Ienzo? He… didn’t know the answer to that, still reeling in the fact that Zexion, his dear friend and crush, hated him. The pillow was starting to suffocate him and he instinctively pulled it away from his face, eyes still burning. He sucked in some deep breaths and just when he was finally on the cusp of calming down, his door swung open so fast Demyx feared it’d break off the hinges. 

Ienzo leveled him with a determined stare. “You.”

__________

      Ienzo sat.

And sat.

And stared, and sat some more.

He was dizzy. Slowly, so slowly, all the pieces clicked together. The coffee. The references to Verum Rex. How they were always just missing each other. The whole tutoring scenario. Good god . So this person he’d been harboring feelings for this whole time was--

He pressed a hand to his forehead. And yet, a small part of him… was relieved?

It could be…

No, it couldn’t be anything! They hated each other! They’d complained to each other about each other more times than Ienzo could count. They had--

Ienzo felt the walls of the study booth begin to close in around him, pushing the breathable air out of the room. His ribcage constricted around his lungs, and his heartbeat pounded at his temples. He gathered his laptop and microphone in his arms and burst out of the room, chest heaving.

He braced himself against the outer wall of the study booth and willed himself to breathe normally, his head tilted all the way back to rest on the door. This was real life, and he was fine. He would be fine, anyway, with a bit of finessing. Okay, perhaps a little more than a bit.

Ienzo retrieved his backpack and stowed his equipment inside as he analyzed the situation. Arpeggio and Demyx were the same person. A strange revelation, but not world-ending. He could find another raiding party. He could join another server. There was more than one person with whom to play Verum Rex.

But--

Ienzo caught himself zipping and unzipping the top pocket of his backpack, more forcefully than necessary each time. A new server didn't sound appealing. A new raiding party, even less so. He would have to chat with new people, learn their idiosyncrasies and fighting styles, learn their pseudonyms and remember how they differed from their usernames. It all sounded so… hard, and boring, and unnecessary. 

He zipped his backpack closed for the last time and held it at his side by its tiny top handle. Its back straps kicked at his calves as he raced out of the study area, through the main lobby, and into the courtyard. His mind was set. His choice was clear. The only thing to do was follow through.

Ienzo made a beeline back to the room. He found Demyx sitting cross-legged on his own bed, his computer accessorized with a small budget microphone and his face awash with something that looked like guilt. His eyes widened when Ienzo crossed the threshold. 

"You." Ienzo's statement rang out like a gong.

Demyx swallowed. "Yeah?"

"We need to talk." Ienzo shut the door behind himself. It slammed closed, though Ienzo had not intended for that. 

"...yeah." Demyx turned back to his computer, fiddling at the USB port where his microphone connected to the rest of the machine. "Ienzo, I--"

"Shut up." Ienzo stalked into the room, single-minded. He stopped at the edge of Demyx's bed. "Shut up and listen, for once."

Demyx's shoulders rose to his ears. He stayed quiet.

Ienzo dropped his backpack to the floor. Though his fingers trembled, his resolve held firm. The moment of reckoning was upon him. "Did you know?"

Demyx shook his head.

"Did you want to know?"

He responded in a whisper, pained and hushed. "I wanted to meet Zexion."

Ienzo's hands trembled faster. He balled them into fists to compensate. "And now that you know," he said, "do you regret it? Wanting to know? Learning the truth?"

A tear trailed down Demyx's downcast cheek. "No."

Something deep inside Ienzo wanted to reach out and wipe away the tears that followed, while Demyx's breath caught in gasps over his laptop keyboard. Ienzo steeled himself. "I… don't regret it, either."

"You don't?" Demyx looked up and met Ienzo's gaze with caution. Aside from the red tinge at their edges, his eyes looked almost hopeful. 

Ienzo softened, relaxed his fists. "I don't want to find a new server, or a new raiding party."

Sniffling, Demyx nodded. "I don't, either."

"I don't want to stop talking to Arpeggio," Ienzo continued, his heart playing timpanis in his chest. "He is a close friend of mine."

"He's also your lazy roommate." Another tear escaped, this time going down the side of Demyx's nose. Demyx wiped at it with the heel of his hand. "Ienzo, I--"

"We've had differences. We've also had commonalities, albeit in virtual space. There's no reason we cannot bring the two together."

"Ienzo--"

"There's no reason we should be at each other's throats. We--"

"Ienzo!" 

He blinked. The drum performance in his chest missed a beat, then started from the top at full speed. "Yes?"

Demyx unplugged the microphone from his computer, sighed, and tossed it to the far edge of his bed. "I don't think that will work."

Ienzo frowned and crossed his arms. He was beginning to remember why he and Demyx didn't get along in meatspace. "Why, pray tell, is that?" he asked.

Demyx swallowed again, more conspicuously than before. "It's just… I…"

Ienzo leaned forward, his head cocked to the side. "You what?"

"I, um, I…"

"Go on. I don't have all night."

Demyx pushed his computer aside and drew his knees into his chest. "I… shit. I had a thing for Zexion." His shoulders hitched with sardonic laughter. "Shit. Fuck. This sucks." He reached behind himself for his pillow and buried his face in it. "This is so embarrassing," he whined, his voice muffled.

Ienzo's budding anger deflated. "You… you did?"

Demyx nodded into his pillow. "Uh-huh. And now you know, too."

Ienzo opened his mouth to respond, but couldn't make the words in his head form coherent phrases. His throat sputtered with half-formed consonants instead. Words. For fuck’s sake, wasn’t he good at words? Why was this suddenly so damn hard?

"This is the worst," Demyx groaned. "Just kill me now. Make it look like an accident. Tell my family I loved them. Don't let my sister take my bedroom at home."

Ienzo's faculties returned in the bumbling, clumsy way that drunkards stumbled home from dank local pubs. "I... don't think that will be necessary," Ienzo managed, through his own confusion.

"No?" Demyx put his pillow back in its place, and faced Ienzo with dried saline clumping in his eyelashes. "What, are you gonna torture me instead? Make me regret being born? Because you're a little late on that front, buddy, I already do."

Ienzo took a deep breath. His crossed arms dropped to his side, then held each other at the elbows. "I may have developed… similar feelings. For Arpeggio." Ienzo's mouth went dry. The drum performance upgraded itself to a full marching band drumline, twenty-five snare drums pounding paradiddles and rolls in synchronized sweeps. 

A silence consumed the space between them, interrupted only by Demyx's sniffling and Ienzo's heartbeat. It stretched into the abyss and the stratosphere in equal measure, and stung more acutely than the idea of never speaking to Arpeggio again.

Demyx broke the silence by clearing his throat. "So…"

Ienzo coughed. "So..."

"Are we…" Demyx unfolded his legs and swung them over the side of his bed. His hands grasped at his mattress, and his head hung from his shoulders  "Are we, y'know… do we still, like…"

"Do you want to be?" Ienzo shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Friends, cohorts, party members, server mutuals? Or…"

"Or what?" 

"Or…" Ienzo trailed off. Or what, indeed? Friends with benefits? Significant others? Boyfriends? The mere thought made Ienzo's palms sweat. "Or…"

In the moment between Ienzo's efforts to name his emotions and act on them, Demyx had sprung up from the bed and slipped his hands around the sides of Ienzo's face, his thumbs resting just below the apples of Ienzo's cheeks. His breath tickled at Ienzo's nose and lips. "Or… this?"

Heat seared at every inch of Ienzo's face. If he could feel Demyx's breath, Demyx could feel his as well. "...I suppose, yes."

"In that case," Demyx murmured, somehow purring and wavering at the same time, "tell me no." He rested his forehead on Ienzo's. "Tell me no, and we won't. I promise. Things can go back to normal."

A whimper, wholly undignified and unbidden, escaped from Ienzo's higher register. "I can't," he whispered.

Demyx leaned forward, and Ienzo followed. At some point, they met in the middle, and the world's axis shifted two degrees to the left. It was a tentative press of lips, but Demyx’s hands on his face kept him anchored. It didn’t feel like Ienzo thought it would, and self-consciousness invaded. Suddenly Ienzo felt very young and immature; vulnerable .

But… after a moment or so, not so much. Demyx was so warm against him, and Ienzo realized it was a learning curve, one he was picking up with his usual speed. He was shaking a little in disbelief. It was so-- nice.

Demyx pulled away and brushed his fingers across his cheek. "You're trembling."

"Forgive me. I--" He swallowed.

"No, it's cool." Demyx pulled away and smiled, brighter than Ienzo had ever seen someone smile before. "Do you… want to go again?"

Ienzo did, very much so. "I'm not opposed, per se, but I think we should… explore our relationship a bit. Perhaps starting with our mutual interest in pumpkin spice flavors." 

“Sounds like a plan to me, Zexy,” Demyx grinned.

__________

      Riku set the pair of pumpkin spice lattes down on the little square table in the back corner of the coffeeshop, glancing at Ienzo, then Demyx, then back at Ienzo, one eyebrow shooting up into his hair. “Is the world ending? Did I miss a memo on the corkboard in the back room?”

Ienzo coughed. He was vaguely aware of the heat rising in his cheeks. Damn it all to hell. Of course Riku was here, why would it have been anyone else? Sighing, he gestured to Demyx, bracing himself for the inevitable bit of humiliation, courtesy of the one friend who knew about his very apparent crush on his Discord friend. “Riku, meet Arpeggio.”

Riku’s other eyebrow shot up into his hair. “You’re shitting me.”

Demyx looked across the table at Zexion, clearly trying to fight the incoming of a shit-eating grin. “You talked about me to people?”

"Only the unimportant ones," Ienzo said, picking up his cup and sipping loudly.

“Psh,” Riku spat with a roll of his eyes. “Yeah, and every damn minute of the day. If I had a dollar for every time you made heart eyes at the ceiling while talking about him, I could quit this job and pay off my tuition.”

Ienzo balked at that, nearly choking on his latte. “It was not that often.”

Waving a hand, Riku corrected himself, looking pointedly at Demyx. “Wait, no, he’s right. I’m forgetting that half the time, he’d be complaining about his horrible room-”

“Shouldn’t you be behind the counter?” Ienzo hissed, glaring at Riku. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Demyx’s gaze flicking between him, like he was watching a game of ping-pong. “Or should I text Sora and Kairi about all those little hearts you like to draw around their names on the garbage receipts every time they come in?”

"Go ahead. I'm ninety percent sure they're both into me, anyway."

Ienzo pulled his phone from his pocket and brandished it at Riku. "Are you willing to test that theory?"

"Make sure you write it down," Demyx chirped, blowing into the hole in his drink's lid. "If you write it down, it's science. I learned that in Biology this semester."

"I'll do more than that," Ienzo said, tapping on his phone screen with both hands. After his phone played a short 'whoosh' sound, he placed it face-down on the table. "Images sent. Now we wait for our results."

Riku scoffed, then balked, then turned beet-red. "You're an asshole," he hissed through his teeth.

"Relax. I was just kidding,” Ienzo said with a glint in his eye that Demyx barely caught.

"Forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical." Riku scowled for a moment, but eventually softened into a smirk. "Whatever. Enjoy your Discord date, Casanova." He knocked on the table once before returning to the checkout counter.

"Discord date?" Demyx asked, taking a swig of his pumpkin spice latte. "I thought we were hanging out in real life."

"Let's not split hairs. We're about to see a show." Ienzo jutted his chin in the direction of the cafe's front door. As if on cue, Sora and Kairi burst through it like a duo on a mission.

“Oh Riiiiiiiiku!” they chorused in sing-song at the top of their lungs.

"Sometimes," Ienzo said, turning back to Demyx, "I like to watch the world burn."

“Yeah, I know. That’s actually kind of hot,” Demyx admitted, taking another sip of his latte. "Remind me not to piss you off again, though."

[embeanwrites]

Finding Home Gavin Reed x Reader

Chapter 8

Masterlist

We pulled back into dad’s house. Walking back inside I immediately noticed Sumo was laying down with the old blanket dad was talking about earlier. He perked up the moment we walked in and started wagging his tail.

“He kept crying after you left, he’s a big softie.” My dad said through a mouthful of noodles. I smiled and walked over to pet Sumo and gave him a kiss on the top of his head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sumo.” I said softly into his fur. I looked at the blanket. It was a faded blue and a lot smaller than I remembered it. Or maybe I was just a lot smaller in my memories with it. Sumo had chewed a few holes in it from carrying it around. After all these years, he hadn’t forgotten about me. I wondered if my dad ever took the blanket and thought about me. I sat next to my dad on the couch, grabbing a pair of chopsticks and stealing the container of noodles from him.

“Hey!” He yelled through a mouthful of food. I smiled.

“So, what are we watching?”

“You’re the guest, you pick.”

“Hmmm…Connor have you seen the original Muppet movie?” My dad laughed.

“That movie is older than me, (Y/n)!”

“I have not seen anything about ‘Muppets’.” Connor responded sitting down on the floor with Sumo. It was interesting, even though there was plenty of room on the couch he still chose to sit on the floor with Sumo.

“Then that’s what we’re watching. Everyone needs to watch the Muppets. If I could find a way to show it in my class, I totally would. Hey! Connor you could analyze it and see if there’s any way I could connect it to humans and androids or sociology!”

“Oh, your students must love having to watch old movies.” My dad snorted.

“Hey! I showed my class at (dream/school) ‘The Iron Giant’ and they loved it!”

“How on earth did you connect that?”

“Dad, it’s about a giant robot and people immediately assuming he was going to kill everyone, and, in the end, he was the hero. It’s literally perfect.” I laughed, grabbing the remote from the table and found the movie. I took my phone out of my pocket and placed it face down, so I wouldn’t get distracted. Clicking play I snuggled into the couch and continued eating.

“I'm Statler.

I'm Waldorf.

We're here to heckle

The Muppet Movie.”

“Why are some puppets and others human?” Connor asked, I looked over at him. He once again had tilted his head.

“They’re Muppets, Connor. And I wouldn’t question it too much, in the next movie they say a bear and a frog are twin brothers.” He furrowed his brow and kept his eyes intently on the movie.

As the movie went on, I couldn’t help but hum along to the songs. Muppets always felt like home. When I was younger, me, dad, and mom had a Muppet movie marathon on my birthday. I don’t remember much about what else we did, but I remember watching the movie and laughing with them. It was right before they got divorced. It was the last happy memory of all three of us I had.

Through the corner of my eye, I watched my dad move his foot to the music and laugh at the funny parts. I wondered if he remembered the last time we watched this together. I wondered if he ever watched them with Cole.

When the movie ended, I got up and stretched. Looking at the clock, I noticed it was only 7 pm.

“I’m going to change into my pajamas.” I said while picking up my backpack. “What room should I use?”

“You can use mine, it’s the one at the end of the hallway.” Connor said. I nodded and walked in.

The room had sparse decorations, which wasn’t too surprising. I could tell by what was on the walls that this must have been Cole’s room. I changed into sweatpants and a giant t-shirt, putting my dirty clothes in the bottom of my bag. I walked back out to find Connor putting a leash on Sumo and my dad cleaning up from dinner.

“Dang, Connor. If you had told me you were going to go walk Sumo I would’ve waited to change, so I could go with you!”

“I’m just taking him out for a couple of minutes. I will let you know the next time I plan on walking him. Come on, Sumo.” I smiled and walked over to my dad.

“Gun to my head, if you were to ask me if Hank Anderson would ever let an android live with him, I would say no way in a heartbeat.” My dad chuckled.

“Before Connor, I would’ve agreed.”

“What changed?”

“When we were hunting deviants, it was clear that they all just…wanted to be free. There were two girls that seemed to be truly in love. Connor’s mission was to bring in the deviants, but he had a gun trained on them and he let them go. I guess I just realized that humans and androids aren’t that much different.” I nodded as I kept my eyes on the front door.

“If you had read my articles you would’ve learned that sooner.” I said with a laugh.

“How did you know so early on?” I shuffled uncomfortably.

“I’m not really sure. It wasn’t one moment that made me realize. In undergrad I took a lot of sociology and history classes and I just kept seeing the same issues repeating over and over again. Humans have always had an “us vs them” mentality, so it was just the same thing we’ve seen since the earliest civilization.” My dad hummed.

“I don’t know how you got so smart. You certainly didn’t get that from me.” I laughed.

“I studied really hard and never stopped. Going into college I didn’t even know I was going to go to grad school and get my PhD. I just started learning and I never wanted to stop. Especially after I read about how some androids were being treated. I wanted to make a difference.” I sighed. “I’d like to think I’ve gotten most of my students outside their comfort zones and got them to accept androids as free beings, but I have a feeling that may be harder in Detroit.”

“Well, I’ve never seen you teach, but just by that statement I can tell you really care. Your students will see that too and that’ll get them to listen. There’s a reason everyone hates math, no one could be passionate about that.” I laughed. Connor walked back in with Sumo. The moment he unhooked his leash he came bounding over to me. “Man, he’s going to attack you every time he sees you.” I got on my knees and started petting him.

“Good, because I’ve missed him.” I scratched behind his ear and he thumbed his back leg. I got up and walked back over to the couch and stretched my legs out. Sumo followed me and laid down on the floor next to me, I reached over and grabbed my phone off the table. I checked my messages. A couple from friends back home. I bit my lip, debating if I should text Gavin. In the end I decided I had bothered him enough for one day.

“(Y/n), when did you want to go walk the rescue dogs?” Connor asked sitting next to my feet on the couch.

“Do you work tomorrow?”

“He doesn’t, but I have too.” My dad grunted coming back to the living room.

“Why?” My dad shook his head.

“Captain Fowler is having the Lieutenant take some refresher classes and some of the detectives are getting together to discuss how android crime cases should be handled from now on.”  I sat up.

“Is it an open meeting?” I asked my dad quickly.

“Not that I know of.” He answered.

“Hm…ask the Captain if I could possibly assist you guys with that. I know I’m not a police officer, but I understand a lot about androids and humans. I even minored in forensics in undergrad, but that was a while ago.”

“I’ll ask him, I think it’s a good idea. It wouldn’t hurt to get more opinions on how to handle it. The government is sure taking their sweet time coming up with laws covering everything.” I nodded in agreement. “Well, I’m gonna head to bed, read your book a little before sleeping. See you guys tomorrow.”

“Good night!” Me and Connor said at the same time. My dad kept walking and waved a little before going to his room and shutting the door. Still sitting up I looked at Connor. His LED was blue and looking at my backpack.

“I brought a scrapbook if you’d like me to show it to you.” I said gently, grabbing my bag.

“Will it cause you more emotional distress to look at it tonight?” He asked softly, causing me to laugh.

“No, Connor. This is filled with good memories.” I got the book out and moved closer to him, so the book sat on both of our legs. “This is me with my freshman orientation group. I was so scared that day. The campus felt so much bigger when I started living on it, but over time it felt smaller.” I kept flipping the pages stopping to explain some pictures.

“That is Officer Chen.” Connor said pointing to an old picture of me and Tina painting each other’s toenails. I smiled.

“Me and Tina have been friends for a long time, before she went to the police academy, she would come to my dorm room to crash.” I grabbed my phone and snapped a picture and sent it to Tina.

 Look at these babies!

 “Officer Chen is on duty right now. She may not respond right away.” I sat my phone down.

“I know, but she’ll see it eventually.” I flipped a couple more pages. There were pictures of graduation and friends.

“Who’s that?” Connor asked pointing to a picture of me with a KL900.

“Oh, during my research I interviewed some androids. She was designed for social work. It’s been so long, but I think her name is Lucy.” Connor’s LED flashed yellow.

“She died during the revolution.” I looked intently at the picture, remembering how kind she was.

“She was a really good person.” I clenched the book a little tighter. “I wish I could have done more during the revolution. I helped a couple of androids, but if I had been in Detroit maybe I could’ve done more.” Connor awkwardly patted my shoulder.

“You were safer outside of the city. Hank would be upset if you had gotten hurt.” I nodded, closing the book.

“Could we look at the rest some other time? There’s a few more androids and I’m not sure if I’m ready to hear about their fate.”

“Of course. Are you going to bed?” I looked at my phone.

“Nah, it’s only 8. If I sleep now, I’ll mess up my sleep schedule even more and wake up at like 4 am. What do you want to do?”

“Would you like to watch the second Muppets movie?” I smiled.

“So, you liked the movie?” Connor smiled back.

“It was interesting. I enjoyed the fact that they knew it was a movie.”

“Well, the next one is ‘The Great Caper’, but that one’s probably my least favorite.”

“Is it essential to watch them in order?” Connor asked, tilting his head.

“God no, they’re a mess. Some of the ones that were made later have an order, but for the most part you can watch them in any order.”

“You can pick which one next.” I smiled widely.

“’The Muppets take Manhattan’, it is then!” I found the movie on the tv but waited to press play. “Hey, Connor. Sometimes you tilt your head a little. Is that in your programming or did you pick that up somewhere?”

“I was programmed to blend in with humans, it’s one of the few ‘quirks’ Cyberlife gave me, why?” I watched him, he looked as if he was about to tilt his head again but stopped himself causing me to chuckle.

“I’ve noticed you do it a lot and when Nines was in my office, he did it a couple times. I was wondering if you both were programmed to do that or if he picked it up from you.”

“I believe it is in both of our programming.” I nodded and clicked play on the movie. I patted the couch and Sumo jumped up next to me. “Sumo is not allowed on the couch.”

“It’s a special occasion, one night won’t hurt, Connor.” He frowned as his LED flashed yellow.

“It’s Friday night, there is no holiday today.”

“Exactly.” I said, turning my eyes to the movie. His LED changed back to blue as he sighed. He glanced at Sumo one more time, before finally starting to watch the movie.

 “Together again

Gee, it's good

to be together again

I just can't imagine that

you've ever been gone

It's not starting over 

It's just going on

Together again…”

[bb-bambam]

Can you talk more about your family au/s headcanons

sorry this took so long skdhdhkd i just have so much to say about this universe!! the premise of my family au is basically the members of a bunch of groups (got7, bap, exo, vixx, monsta x, red velvet, blackpink, nct, ikon, winner, seventeen, astro, etc) living in a small college town, with two generations growing up together

1st gen:

• 89 line - minseok, yongguk, luhan, himchan, hakeyon, kris

• 90 line - irene, junmyeon

• 91 line - leo, jinwoo

• 92 line - yixing, seunghoon

• 93/94 line - seulgi, wendy, mj, mino, baekhyun, shownu, daehyun, mark tuan, jongdae, chanyeol, jaebeom, seungyoon, yoo youngjae

• 94/95 line - jinhwan, jackson, taehyun, taeil, jinyoung, jisoo

• 95/96 line - yunhyeong, johnny, taeyong, seungcheol, jeonghan, yuta, bobby, joshua, jennie

• 96 line - kun, doyoung, ten, jinjin, jun, hoshi, wonwoo, hanbin, woozi

• 97 line - donghyuk, jaehyun, junhoe, winwin

2nd gen:

• 09/10 line - joy, kyungsoo

• 10/11 line - wonho, ken, tao, minhyuk, kihyun, jongin, hyungwon

• 11/12 line - jongup, ravi, yeri, sehun, choi youngjae, hongbin, jooheon, changkyun

• 12/13 line - rosé, dokyeom, lisa, eunwoo, mingyu, bambam, hyuk, junhong, minghao, yugyeom, seungkwan, chanwoo, moonbin

• 13 line - lucas, vernon, rocky, mark lee

• 14 line - chan, sanha, renjun, jeno, donghyuck, jaemin

• 15 line - chenle, hohyeon

• 16 line - jisung

families/relationships:

• minseok, junmyeon, and jongdae are brothers, and chanyeol and jinyoung are brothers

• xiuhan meet when they're 12 after luhan moves to town, start dating when they're 14, and get married and adopt kyungsoo after they've settled down in their jobs. minseok is a college professor and luhan is a soccer player

• krisho meet in college and start dating a few months later. a couple of years after graduating they get married and adopt sehun and tao. kris is a basketball player and junmyeon works in arts management

• chanbaek meet in high school during their senior year but don't start dating until the middle of college. they decide they don't want to get married and stay in a domestic partnership instead, and adopt jongin together

• jjp meet in high school and start dating at the end of jaebeom's senior year. they get married after jinyoung graduates college and adopt yugbamjae. jaebeom works as a producer and jinyoung is a kindergarten teacher

• markson meet at the college they both go to in la and after they start dating, when mark moves back home after graduating, jackson comes with him. mark works as a martial arts instructor and jackson is a fencer

• yongguk and daehyun are stepbrothers

• banghim meet in college and start dating while also raising jongup together, and they adopt junhong after they get married. yongguk owns a daycare center and himchan owns a restaurant

• daejae meet in kindergarten and are best friends but only start dating in their senior year of highschool. daehyun proposes while youngjae is completing his master's degree and after they get married they adopt hohyeon

• winwin and renjun are brothers, kun and chenle are brothers, and doyoung and jisoo are siblings

• jaemin and jisung are taeyong's nephews (his sister's sons)

• mark is johnny's son from a one-night stand who johnny is raising while also being a college/grad student. taeil, taeyong, and ten help johnny out the most with mark

• dojae meet in middle school and are awkward around each other even though they're part of the same friend group and have crushes on each other. they finally get together after high school, and adopt jeno and donghyuck after college

• shownu is aroace and loves kids, so he adopts 6 of them (the rest of monsta x) as an adult. he's the son of a rich ceo and takes over the company at a young age, which is how he can provide for the kids

• hakyeon is a dance studio owner who adopts 4 kids (all of vixx except leo). his neighbor leo helps look after them sometimes

• mino and yunhyeong are brothers, jinwoo and jinhwan are brothers, bobby and donghyuk are brothers, and hanbin and jiyong (yes i mean gdragon djfhsjkf) are brothers

• hanbin is jinhwan and jinwoo's cousin, and seungyoon and seulgi are cousins

• double b meet at a summer camp in the usa because hanbin's parents send him to their vacation home there every summer. they start dating when they're 16 and after they get married they adopt chanwoo

• junhwan meet through the college band started by triple kim and start dating shortly after meeting

• seulgi and irene may date but i'm not set on that

• i'm not totally sure about this either but i think mj and jinjin are also a couple and adopt the other 4 astro members

• jeonghan and joshua are half-brothers who are raised together by their moms who left their dad after they found out he was cheating on them with the other

• i'm not sure about this either yet but jeongcheol do start dating at some point and adopt some number of kids (who are of course the members of seventeen but probably not all of them)

random headcanons:

• yongguk, minseok, and hakyeon have been good friends since elementary school

• chanyeol thought jongdae and baekhyun were dating when he first met bc they're so comfortable with each other

• the winner members and jinhwan aren't from the town but moved into the college dorms and fell in love with the town

• hanbin's older brother jiyong is one of the four founders and owners of the big bang winery, which makes the most popular wines in town

• bobby has asked hanbin out every summer since they were 11 and hanbin says yes at age 16 because he decides he likes bobby enough to take a chance on a long-distance relationship. they ultimately end up going to the same college anyway so it works out well for them

• 93/94 line go camping for their senior trip (i have a bunch of scenes written for this but idk if it'll ever become a full fic sjfhhfkd)

• minseok, junmyeon, and jongdae have monthly kim brother wine nights where they meet up and catch up on each other's lives

• yixing is a first grade teacher and doyoung is a second grade teacher at the same school as jinyoung

• ten, winwin, seulgi, and donghyuk work as teachers at the dance studio hakyeon owns

• jinyoung, doyoung, and hanbin volunteer at yongguk's daycare center during their high school/college years

• yunhyeong and jaehyun work at himchan's restaurant as chefs

• daehyun gets recruited by a musical theater company as a high school senior so he doesn't go to college

• jaebeom meets seungyoon in college because they're both photography and music double majors

• the winner and ikon members are part of bands called winner and ikon that sing/rap and dance but they perform a lot together too as winkon

• jongdae lives with chanbaek during college and for a few years while he's doing his master's but he starts dating a girl during that time and eventually moves out to stay with her

• jaebeom proposed to jinyoung early, during his senior year of college, because he wanted to show his commitment to their relationship. jinyoung was of course elated and eager to say yes!

• yoo youngjae always like to bring up the fact that jjp's son youngjae is "named after him" (he isn't)

[cofferi]

I love you, no expense spared

ao3 ; 5k ; victuuri

loosely based on one anon’s prompt(s) for victor spoiling grad student yuri a lot. but it’s mostly friends to lovers, the casual bants, all that good stuff

Before now, chatting up others at parties used to be a boring and rather tediously expected thing for Victor Nikiforov to do. It’s not that he hated talking and going to parties, at least not in the beginning, but it had become something so monotonous. Or maybe it’s the people that were monotonous. There didn’t really seem to be a difference in Victor’s mind.

“Trust me, I wouldn’t be here either if I had a choice,” Katsuki Yuri tells him one New Year’s Eve dorm party, hanging off his arm at a table surrounded by punch bowls and finger food. He has an empty glass, or nearly empty, hanging precariously from his fingertips. “I live here,” he boasts.

“Ah.”

Victor doesn’t live here. He’d made a choice to come here. One that he’d been regretting more and more as the night went on, when midnight came and went, and Victor had all but had his fair share of free drinks that he could get his hands on.

“Hey, what’s your name again?”

“Victor,” Victor says, staring down at a scruff of messy black hair wobbling about against him.

“Victor, can you get me another champagne? I don’t think I can get up.”

Such a proposition makes Victor laugh more than anything. “Maybe that means I shouldn’t be getting you another champagne.” He carefully swindles the glass from Yuri’s fingers, placing it on the table where he nearly makes a half dozen or so other empty glasses fall, and Victor realizes then those are probably all Yuri’s as well.

Yuri doesn’t really protest or put up much of a fight, but he does swivel around in his seat in order to stare up at Victor with wide, rather sober-looking eyes, ones that try their best to convince Victor of his levelheadedness.

And then he pouts.

With a hand firmly on Victor’s thigh and face far too incredibly too close—It’s a trick, Victor tells himself repeatedly. It’s a dirty trick.

“Please…” Yuri slurs against his ear, plays with his emotions and his weak will. “I’ll be right here, all night long.”

But it’s not the usual obligation that makes Victor get up to get that champagne for a boy that’s clearly had way too much already.

-

Victor hadn’t been to a single dorm party since then. Maybe it was the constant excitement that finally wore down on him, and it wasn’t like he tended to have much fun, anyway. This time he had to take care of someone the whole time, too, and it was quite a difficult task. Well, that might have been the only fun part, actually.

“Oh,” Yuri says, leaning over the glass of a campus sandwich shop they’re at. “I don’t remember.”

“What! You don’t remember at all!?” Victor protests, draping himself against Yuri’s shoulder like it’s a punishment for betraying him like this. “How could you get that drunk off champagne that you don’t remember anything at all?”

Yuri shrugs, pushing Victor up and down with the movement. “How much champagne did I drink?” He points out a turkey club sandwich to the cashier.

“Uhh.” Victor scratches at his head. Well, counting the drinks on the table, and the ones Victor went up and got willingly for him, not including the ones Yuri had surely drunk before Victor had sat down next to him, and not including the ones that Yuri hadn’t even finished but went up to get his glass topped up anyway… “I don’t know,” Victor admits.

Yuri grimaces at him. “You’re really the worst chaperone ever.”

“Chaperone! That was the first time we met!”

“Oh.”

“You don’t even remember that, either…”

Well, at this point it almost feels like they’ve known each other forever, even to Victor, so he can’t exactly blame Yuri for not remembering how they first met. It’s been a while.

“By the way, I’m broke today,” Yuri says when the cashier holds his hand out for sandwich money. Yuri puts his hands together in front of Victor, smiling sheepishly. “Please?”

“You came to buy lunch and you didn’t even bring money?” Victor says incredulously.

“I remembered just now I forgot my wallet at home,” Yuri says simply, sounding like it's definitely not something he remembered just now. “Besides, they’re pretty lenient around here. Maybe there are a lot of broke uni students or something. Usually they accept it if I just give them my watch or something as collateral.”

“What! Seriously?”

The cashier in front of them nods like this is all true information.

“Yeah, see?” Yuri reveals his watch from beneath his sleeve and brings it up for Victor to see. Somehow it looks like it’s indeed been passed over a counter numerous times.

He squints. “What…” Victor is so confused. But Yuri is already in the process of stripping the watch from his wrist when Victor grabs him. “Wait, okay, I’ll pay for your sandwich. It’s only like five bucks? Why are you giving away your watch so easily?”

“It only cost me like five bucks, anyway,” Yuri tells him obviously like he should’ve known this.

Victor is still so confused. He’s never in his life seen a watch that nice that’s only cost five dollars. Well, it’s not that nice a watch but it’s definitely not crap. And definitely not worth handing over for a damn sandwich.

Victor reaches into his pocket for a five, wondering what kind of shady bartering deals go on in Yuri’s dormitory, and maybe that there’s a reason why Yuri never seems to have cash on him. Like ever. Victor has never lived on campus himself, doesn’t have a clue if this is what all integrated university kids are like, or if this is just Yuri.

“Thanks!”

Victor may have been annoyed if Yuri didn’t look so heartbreakingly cute munching away on his 6-inch turkey club as they leave the shop.

“Yuri,” Victor says to him, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket, clutching at his cell phone. “If you ever can’t pay for something, just call me. Don’t start handing over valuables, okay?”

He’s being serious but Yuri doesn’t seem to take his proposition with any ounce of seriousness at all. He continues eating, humming, like Victor’d just told him the weather was very nice today.

“It’s not a valuable—it’s only worth five bucks,” Yuri has to say to him again.

-

It had always annoyed Victor when people would use their phones in front of him, if he were on a date or something, and they’d be texting someone else. Or even if they talked excessively about someone, like, say, gossiping about the sexual exploits of other people. It had really annoyed the shit out of him. He’d gotten used to staring out expensive restaurant windows and wondering if he were the most boring person on Earth. It wouldn’t be often that someone would tell him right to his face that he seemed nice on the outside but actually had a rather sour personality when getting to know him, but when they did Victor wasn’t much inclined to disagree.

If Victor didn’t know any better, he would have thought Yuri had no other friends.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about this as Yuri works away on his laptop while they’re at the library, and not once does Yuri’s phone ever blink to indicate a message or notification or anything. Or if it does, it does it rarely. And even then, Victor’s almost sure it’s because of some game app.

“What are your other friends like?” Victor asks out of the blue, hoping he’s not interrupting any important work Yuri’s doing, just because he’s curious and doesn’t seem to have any boundaries about these kinds of things.

Yuri doesn’t get mad or upset or anything, though. Or if he does he doesn’t show it. “Why do you ask?” he merely says back, not taking his eyes off the computer.

Victor shrugs. “Dunno.��� Okay, so maybe all Victor’s been doing for the last hour is trolling social media, and he’s been maybe wondering if perhaps Yuri has an internet presence of some sort. Don’t get him wrong—Victor has looked. He’s tried finding Yuri Katsuki on various different platforms to no avail. At this point it would probably be wise to close a few tabs with Yuri’s name.

“I have a roommate…” Yuri says slowly, as if Victor doesn’t already know this. “You’d probably like him.”

Maybe. But Yuri doesn’t say much else about any of his other friends, and it only contributes to Victor’s suspicions that it really is only game apps flashing on Yuri’s notifications.

“Do you have a lover?” Victor asks with a bit of leer in his voice, leaning his head down against the desk, looking up at Yuri like he’ll be able to tell better from this angle.

The question gets Yuri instantly frazzled though, and it piques Victor’s interest more than it should.

“What! Uh… no.”

“Hm,” Victor hums contemplatively. “Ex-lovers?” he prompts, leaning in further across his side of the table.

Yuri is already ten shades of on fire when his shoulders stiffen even higher. “I’d really rather not talk about it,” he answers vaguely but not at all like there isn’t some story behind this that Victor finds himself wanting to hear more about.

“Oh, too bad.”

Yuri actually looks at him now. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Victor shrugs, clicks his tongue. “I mean absolutely nothing by it.”

He doesn’t know why he’d even asked in the first place. He’s not that curious. He’s not being judgemental. He’s most certainly not jealous. But there’s something about Yuri that makes Victor crave to know more, even if he has to ask about it and get some answer that really answers nothing at all.

Like for example, Yuri’s not the most social person—Victor’s already figured that much out, at least. But he’s not unsociable, either. Though since when did a person have to be only one or the other?

“I’ll get us some coffee,” Victor suddenly says, standing up, shutting the lid of his MacBook. “What do you want?”

“Black,” Yuri responds without missing a beat.

So, he goes to get them coffee because he feels like Yuri deserves a drink as a little apology for his prying.

The cafeteria isn’t far, anyway. Victor comes back with two coffees and a muffin for himself that he’s already peeling the paper off of when he notices Yuri taking his attention from his computer to eye the sweet scent from across the table.

“If you wanted food you should’ve told me,” Victor mentions, taking a bite.

“How much was the coffee?” Yuri asks him instead, still eyeing the muffin though. “I have change.” He starts reaching for his bag to show his sincerity.

“It’s fine, I got it,” Victor tells him.

Which makes Yuri pause. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” It’s nothing, Victor wants to say but holds his tongue.

It doesn’t look like Yuri’s satisfied, though, when his hands remain on the zipper of his bag. Maybe he’s finally starting to feel bad for all the money he’s sponged off Victor. Neither of them are stupid. The money adds up after a while. “Do you do this with all your friends?” Yuri asks him innocuously, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Not really.”

“What does not really mean?”

Not really, just you, Victor thinks. Maybe Yuri’s also noticed that Victor’s phone lights up with notifications about as much as his does.

Regardless, it’s not about how many friends Victor has or if he does this with any of them. There’s just this pull that makes him want to buy things for Yuri. Specifically, Yuri. That’s all. Considering he, at one point, was going to trade a watch for food like this was the middle ages, the knowledge that Yuri will be okay at least for the next few hours gives Victor peace of mind. Good food and a warm drink also tend to make Yuri talk more.

“If I’m on a date or something, I’ll pay for dinner,” Victor mentions casually, wiping crumbs off the table when they fall from his muffin. “Unless they really want to split the bill, but that doesn’t happen often. Not many will turn up a free dinner.” He laughs.

“You go on dates often?” Yuri says.

“Mmm… not really.”

“They never work out?”

Victor has to think about it a little bit. “Yeah, I guess they never do.”

“Even with someone as cool and handsome as you?”

“Oh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was a compliment.”

“Then I’ll take it as one.”

Yuri uses putting his bag back down on the floor as an excuse not to look at Victor, and even when he’s done doing that he picks up his coffee cup to hide his expression behind. “Is this a date?”

Victor has to pause in his muffin-eating.

“…A date? Oh, like a study date?” Victor proposes, touching a finger to his lips. “A study date isn’t really a date, is it?” he wonders.

By the look on Yuri’s face, at least from what Victor can see, that’s not at all what Yuri thinks, though it flashes for only a second. Replacing it is a smile in understanding, a little like that’s the kind of answer he was expecting out of Victor, and it makes Victor want to say he’s just joking even though he doesn’t have an explanation to back it up.

“Oh, okay.” The coffee is put back on the table.

Victor really had never thought about it that much, though.

He’s already paid for tons of Yuri’s food up until now regardless of time or place or if there’s some sort of obligation for him to pay or not. And even though they have their laptops and their coffee and their one muffin out right now, Victor hasn’t spent even a second of their time together actually studying. Just reaping the rewards of small talk and food.

He doesn’t know exactly if a date always requires taking place in a restaurant and ending with him taking the bill. Yuri looked at him like he was an idiot for not getting the word date out of study date, though.

He can’t see Yuri’s screen from the other side of the table, but Victor has the urge to know if Yuri’s actually working on anything school-related on his computer, as if this knowledge would somehow solve what Victor’s put himself with.

Like if knowing Yuri has ten tabs open with Victor Nikiforov’s name on all of them would solve anything at all. Just the thought itself has Victor warming all the way to his fingertips.

“I’d actually gotten two muffins,” he brings up as a well-timed distraction, producing a wrapped cafeteria chocolate chip muffin from the pocket of his jacket and holding it out to Yuri. He grins when, as usual, Yuri is quick to accept it.

“I knew it,” Yuri says, just as quick to scarf it down.

-

Yuri is a grad student. He’s hardworking, even on Fridays.

And sometimes, he accepts Victor into his living space even though he has absolutely nothing in his personal fridge or laying around in his room or the shared kitchen. It’s rather a disgrace. It makes Victor wonder how the hell this boy is living day to day, if he was even planning on feeding Victor anything after letting him come over. But more than anything it sets off Victor’s worrying for Yuri’s health—at risk of seeming like Yuri’s actual mother. He can pursue higher education but he can’t remember to eat three times a day? Does he have parents, or do they just let him do whatever he wants, too?

“You have a lot of posters,” Victor comments, walking around Yuri’s half of the room like he’s inspecting a high-end art museum. “Of men,” he tacks on notably.

“Yeah? What of it?”

“Who is he?”

“A famous figure skater. You wouldn’t know him,” Yuri answers, apparently not keen on telling Victor much about the scantily clad man dancing across his otherwise barren dorm room walls. Is it all the same man? Victor can’t tell. This is only his first time here—he might be able to tell after a few more visits. The poster is quite handsome, though.

He looks like me, Victor thinks obnoxiously.

“You have good taste.”

“Ah?”

“In men,” Victor clarifies tactfully.

Yuri glances up and down at Victor from where’s seated at his desk, and Victor only gazes back innocently at him to the point that even he’s not sure if he’d meant what he meant.

But Yuri merely turns his attention back to his books, keen on being hardworking even though it’s a Friday and Victor thought they might do something fun. “You’re damn right I do,” Yuri mumbles.

-

The restaurant they’re at is mediocre, at least to Victor’s standards. But it’s all he could do when he’d gotten sick of eating the no name brand cereal in Yuri’s pantry. The plan for the night was restaurant first, grocery shopping at a 24-hour mart later.

“What you’re wearing is fine,” Victor reassures him, pushing the menu forward until he’s poking Yuri’s arm with it. “Jeans are fine. You look cute, like college chic! And nobody’s looking, anyway.”

“They are looking,” Yuri insists, glaring at Victor up and down like the staring is somehow his fault. And then Yuri lowers his voice even further to hiss, “I thought we were going to get fast food or something. I’m wearing a shirt that I usually go to bed in! And I didn’t wash my hair! Oh god, they all think I don’t belong here.”

“I doubt it. This is a family restaurant.”

“But at the very least you have to look presentable when you’re out in public!” Yuri retorts, his hand holding the side of his head like he’s trying to block people from looking at him. “I barely look decent.”

Victor scrunches his face, trying to come up with a solution. “Maybe put your coat back on, then.”

“I’ll die of heatstroke.”

“Take your shirt off and then put your coat on.”

“…I’m not doing that.”

Yuri’s wearing a plain navy blue long-sleeve. What’s there to worry about? And his hair looks fine. It looks cutely mussed, if anything. If this were up to Victor he would say that Yuri shouldn’t care about what other people think, especially when this place and these people are the furthest thing from fine dining.

But it doesn’t seem like Yuri cares. He keeps rolling up his sleeves, adjusting the hems the best he can, tucking the bagginess of his shirt into his pants like he’s trying to hide the stains on it. When it doesn’t seem like it does much, Yuri looks to be planning his escape route, about ready to book it out of there if Victor doesn’t do something. And quick.

He shrugs out of his grey cardigan, holding it out over the table, and Yuri looks at him weirdly. “Put this on,” Victor tells him.

“What.”

“Put on the cardigan.”

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

“Why not?” Victor demands. When Yuri doesn’t answer him immediately, Victor nudges it against Yuri’s arm on the table. “It’s soft,” he says enticingly.

He brings the cardigan back down when Yuri doesn’t bite, his arm beginning to tire from holding it out for someone not willing to take it. He would be inclined to forthrightly insist Yuri take it, that neither of them are going anywhere nor eating anything until he does. But Yuri stares him down with eyes that so earnestly say don’t fight me on this, and it makes Victor fall back without another word.

It makes him wonder whether the material of the cloth is soft enough for Yuri. Maybe Yuri has delicate skin.

When the waiter comes over, Victor is feeling the cardigan in his hands beneath the table while distractedly trying to order. It seems Yuri doesn’t fare much better, smoothing his hands over his hair every chance he can get whenever the waiter glances away to write on a notepad. The waiter, who otherwise looks like they might be the talkative type, thankfully seems to not want to bother with the two of them and walks away.

“Well?”

Victor looks up. “Well, what?” He has one hand on his water glass and the other still on the cardigan on his lap underneath the table, ready to be handed over if that’s what Yuri wants after all.

But Yuri only places his chin in his hands, creasing his eyebrows and biting his lip like he’s almost frustrated at Victor’s complete ignorance. That he has to make Yuri say it.

“Your cardigan looks good on you. So, keep it on, please.”

Victor is barely processing the statement when the water glass he was sipping from slips from his fingers and spills all over the table, getting the place settings drenched with ice water.

“Shit,” Victor swears, his fingers instinctively scrambling for the napkins before they can get too soaked. “Shit, shit. My bad.”

His mind forgets what just happened in favour of immediately mopping up the spills the best he can, telling the passing waiters that everything’s fine and he’s got it and it’s no big deal, this happens all the time. The cold water against his hands help to quell the heat pulsating through him, at least.

“Wow, I’m surprised the glass didn’t smash to pieces,” Yuri says, laughing, not even helping clean up much save for idly sliding around an already-soaked napkin across the table. “No wonder you don’t go on dates much.”

“…Thanks.”

At least Yuri seems to be amused. Victor might be more offended if he didn’t remember that this was all definitely Yuri’s fault to begin with.

Suddenly, Yuri’s gasping, dropping the soaked napkin on the table in favour of quickly cupping his hands around the waterfall of ice cold water that slowly drips down his side of the table, having dripped right onto his legs. Yuri’s expression turns sour. “Great.”

Victor grabs a fistful of fresh napkins with lightning speed. “I’ve got it.”

Standing on his feet, he reaches over the other side of the table, curving his hand against the underside before any more water can fall on Yuri.

“This… doesn’t happen as often as it seems.” Victor chuckles awkwardly, feeling his own shirt dampen from his stomach pressing against the wet edge of his side of the table.

“Oh, it doesn’t?”

“No. It could be worse. One time it was red wine.”

Yuri still can’t keep in his laughter like he’s having the time of his life. “Oh, Victor…”

It’s really hard to follow up with another joke when all Victor can think about is keeping his head down and not fucking things up further. Yuri might end up needing that change of clothes, after all. He feels bad. Yuri can't even move with the water dribbling into his palms.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m cursed,” Victor cuts him off bleakly. “There’s no other explanation. One time I paid for a girl’s dry-cleaning, you know? She said I didn’t have to but I felt bad. She took the time to put on a pretty skirt and all. But I couldn’t bring myself to see her after that. Though, I guess if she asked again I wouldn’t have said no... Shit, I’m doing that thing I hate—I’m talking about other people during a date. Sorry, I’m not normally like this.”

He dials back a bit when he realizes the word that sort of just slipped out. They're only eating out at a restaurant because Yuri's hungry, he's starving, it's practically good will on Victor's part more than anything. But if this is what it is or if this is what Victor is telling himself, there might actually be a fine line between what one does with a person they like and the sorts of things you do with a person you like. The only concern now is at what point does the feeling become mutual?

There’s something warm, a faint pressure, that appears out of nowhere against the top of Victor's head that makes him halt over the table mid-wipe. The water he's drowning his hands in skids right off the edge and onto the floor, possibly hitting the table over. And then the soft pressure from his head is gone within an instant, like Victor had only just imagined it.

It was a pair of lips, his brain translates just a second too late.

“Uh—m!” he hears Yuri stuttering, reclining back in his seat so fast he hits the back of the booth. “Sorry, I… your head was right there? I couldn’t help myself? I mean I said it wasn’t your fault, okay. So, stop looking so mopey.”

Victor chances a glance up, sees Yuri shifting anxiously in his seat like he wants to get up and run away, not seeming to know what to do with his hands still cupped with a puddle of water. He’s looking around, anywhere else, searching for somewhere to dump that’s not just back on the table.

“You really just…?” Victor asks.

“Yes, I did.”

Victor’s hand grips the soggy napkins on the table in a desperate attempt to feel something other than his heartbeat throbbing in his ears, still running manically from knocking over the glasses earlier. Well, Victor actually can’t quite remember if the heart throbbing started there or a little bit earlier.

And Yuri’s face has suddenly become so close, with Victor leaning so far over the table.

There’s a sumptuous clarity in the lips that press together after having touched his head, a wide frenzy in Yuri’s eyes behind his frames that so badly want Victor to say or do something, anything, and Victor can’t understand why Yuri has to keep ramping up the stakes like this. Victor’s head tingles, and he can feel the greed inside himself well up to unparalleled amounts.

Like what would it be like? If Yuri would turn towards him and indulge him just one more time?

“You’re not getting another,” Yuri tells him quietly when Victor finds he’s craned his neck so far forward he nearly falls flat on the table. Yuri stares resolutely to the side, but Victor can tell the sidewalk outside the window is not at all what he’s really focusing on. “You’re not getting another one,” Yuri repeats, strained, just barely above a whisper. And then his expression softens. “…Not today, anyway.”

Victor falls back down in his seat, his legs having totally given out.

Yuri finally looks at him expectantly like he’s making sure Victor’d heard him. And of course, he had. He wants to tell Yuri to just dump the puddle of water in his hands back onto the table.

“Okay,” Victor says instead, and Yuri seems pleased. “You don’t have to make such a cute face, you know.” Though he secretly loves it.

“I was just thinking you don’t have to pay for my dry-cleaning.”

“I don’t?”

“Well, no,” Yuri remarks. “It’s just water. If it was red wine I’d tell you to buy me a whole new set of clothes.”

And Victor finds that when he can’t just whip out his credit card for everything, Yuri really gets off on making him wipe down tables and pick his forgotten sweaters up off the floor.

It doesn’t change the fact that Victor still takes the bill at the end of the night, but he finds it’s not for any particular feeling of obligation to pay or anything. Even if all those other times before hadn’t quite counted as anything in Victor’s mind—times where he’d bought Yuri food and coffee, and paid for the countless opportunities of small talk and studying-but-not-really with Yuri. Mostly, Victor wants at least tonight, especially tonight, to be counted indisputably as a date. That’s all he really wants.

-

I think I’m in love, Victor says eventually. And it’s like a weight has finally, finally been let off of his chest.

-

“Do you think he would like it?” Victor asks more as a nervous rhetorical question than expecting any real answer.

Chris stands by him in the expensive jewelry store as they peer down through the glass the attendant had pointed out to them. “He’ll probably like anything you give him,” Chris says unhelpfully. “Does he even have standards with this kind of thing?”

“He’s not—you know, he’s not fucking poor, Chris.”

“I mean, even as a romantic gesture,” Chris explains. “I think he’ll be happy with anything as long as it’s coming from you.”

He leans in until his nose nearly touches the glass, but it’s still not as close as Victor’s being. “…You think?” Victor almost squeaks. “You don’t think it’s too shiny? Too flashy for him?”

“If he doesn’t like it, you can always give it to me instead.”

“Fine. I’ll get it. No, not for you. I know Yuri will probably like it,” Victor convinces himself as he hands over his credit card with shaking fingers. “I hope he likes it.”

-

Yuri is already a little tipsy by the time Victor is handing over a pretty gift bag.

“What’s this?” Yuri asks him.

“Merry Christmas,” Victor answers, perhaps a shade or two redder than even Yuri is. He can feel it. Though, Yuri probably can’t tell anyway in the state he’s in. “Open it up.”

“I can open it right here?”

“Yep.”

Yuri sets aside his wine glass on the counter before taking out the gift wrap, letting it fall to the floor. He must really be in a state if he’s just going to leave the paper out in the middle of their hallway. Of course, Victor’s already known for years what Yuri’s like under the influence.

“Oh, you got me a watch!” Yuri says, marvelling at it in the white satin box in his hands. Even with the slight dip his head makes, his eyes twinkle as he holds it up to the light. “It looks expensive.”

“It wasn’t that expensive.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to—uff.” Yuri comes in to hug him, letting the empty gift bag rustle to the floor, and Victor wraps his arms back in a tight embrace around Yuri, breathing a sigh of relief. He mumbles into Yuri’s hair, “So, you don’t have to keep wearing that shitty five dollar one. And you can stop threatening me with trading it away in exchange for food.”

“I don’t do that anymore,” Yuri whines.

Victor laughs, lifting Yuri’s wine glass off the table to take a sip of it. “That’s true.”

Maybe Yuri isn’t the type to be wearing fancy watches, Victor thinks as they lounge on the couch together, Yuri comfortable in his lap, as he hooks the watch onto Yuri’s wrist so they can see what it looks like on him. It kind of clashes with the blue knit Yuri’s wearing.

Well, he can always wear it for special occasions or when he wants to feel high class. Victor doesn’t really care either way. Even if it lays forgotten on Yuri’s desk or in a drawer as just a gift that Victor got him that one time during that one forgettable Christmas of the many Christmases they might spend together. If it makes Yuri feel special, even for just this one moment, that’s all that Victor has ever wanted. An infinite amount of special moments.

When he feels tingly movement against his hand, he looks down to see Yuri, with his wristwatch still on, playing with Victor’s ring finger and slipping a golden ring out of nowhere onto it.

Victor nearly jumps off the couch, his eyes widening impossibly. “Wha—!? What the hell are you doing??”

Yuri finishes sliding the band all the way down to the bottom of Victor’s finger. “Oh, uh… I thought I could just put it on you while you were dozing off.” Yuri takes a sip at his wine, showing off Victor’s hand like it’s a beautiful work of art he’d created. “Tada?” He takes another sip, nervously.

Victor rips his hand from Yuri’s grasp, brings it up close to his face to see despite it shaking so badly he can hardly concentrate on really seeing it. It’s… definitely a golden ring band, glinting and reflecting in the fairy lights they have up along the walls behind them, looking well-made and expensive like Yuri had poured all his money into getting it. Victor’s feeling suddenly dizzy, flipping his hand over every which way before the severe heart attack he’s currently experiencing makes him pass out.

“Yuri…” he wheezes, already past the verge of crying and about to go into hysterics. He grips onto Yuri’s knit sweater, burying his face, like he can’t bear to lay eyes on such a thing but he also doesn’t dare look away. “Please explain.”

Yuri looks at him from over his shoulder, a harsh blush against the curve of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose from where his glasses have slipped a little in the commotion. He takes Victor’s hand, his own already donning a matching gold ring—Victor has no idea where or when that appeared, either. The butterflies in his stomach rise up to his throat, nearly choking him, he can’t breathe. Yuri takes his hand so gently but Victor can’t help squeezing him back uncontrollably. All the while Yuri only smiles sheepishly at him.

“Victor Nikiforov, will you…”

And Victor’s lips are already on him, the wine glass in Yuri’s other hand slipping from his grasp to shatter spectacularly against the floor.

[proofthatihaveaheart]

sentence thing: harley/pamela, they are assigned as college dorm-mates and meet at a 'freshman/first year' week thing. :)

sorry this took ages. i wrote most of it months ago, got stuck on one part, lost half of it when my laptop died, and finally rewrote and finished it now. hope you like it and again, sorry for the wait ��though hopefully the fact that it’s far more than 3 sentences makes up for it

also warning for underage drinking

planting the seedlings for the rest of our lives

Her roommate arrives in a cacophony of sound, suitcase banging along, just as Pamela places the orchid, her last plant and a rare one at that, alongside the other plants at her window. Pamela ignores her roommate as she shifts the pot over a few inches and scrutinizes it. There, perfect. It’ll have just the right amount of sunlight to flourish. She finally turns to her roommate who’s already dropped her stuff in a pile on her side of the room and is now staring at Pamela and Pamela’s collection of plants. 

Harleen Quinzel, the email had said. Her light hair’s pulled into twin pigtails with streaks of cotton candy blue and pink darting through it. Her shirt reads Bad Reputation with Joan Jett’s eyes below that and she’s chewing gum like it’s the final piece of her ensemble. Pamela approves of the shirt but isn’t sure what to make of her yet.

“I like your plants.” The roommate states with no preamble, nodding over at the collection on the window sill. Pamela glows at the compliment. “I can’t do anything with plants, I always end up killing them, but I have two dogs. Though I couldn’t bring them here.” Her face pulls into a pout and it’s very clear that if there had been a way, even if it had involved illegal smuggling, Harleen would have brought the animals here. Pamela’s rather glad she didn’t; she loves plants but she’s never been too certain about what to do with animals. “Anyway you must be Pamela. I’m Harleen, but nobody calls me that. It’s just Harley, like the motorcycle.” 

“Nice to meet you, Harley.” And it is. Anyone who says something nice about plants is alright in Pamela’s book, at least until they turn around and betray that. Which, granted, is not very hard to do, people call her judgmental and she calls it having standards, but Harley seems okay right now. 

Harley grins and it’s a lot like looking at the sun, her face just lights up that much, and it blindsides Pamela. “Ditto.”    

–

There’s a big, long speech by the chancellor of the university about the virtues of the school, the fortune in their education, the opportunities college provides and this college in particular. Pamela comes for the promised free food at the end of the event and plans to space out for the rest of it. 

Harley leans over and whispers in Pamela’s ear, breath warm against her skin. “They can stop with the high-and-mighty spiel. We already paid tuition.” 

“It’s just to inflate egos.” Pamela replies and then smirks. “Theirs and ours. We need to know how lucky we are to be here.” 

Harley smirks back. “So lucky that we should send them all our money after we graduate out of gratitude?”

“Exactly.” Pamela nods. “Even though we’ve already indebted ourselves taking out loans to pay them in the first place.” 

“Speak for yourself. I stole from them to pay for my tuition.”

It’s the way Harley says it, one hundred percent serious so Pamela doesn’t know for a moment whether she’s joking or actually a hardened criminal, that makes Pamela laugh. A couple heads turn their direction. Pamela glares - what? you never laughed before - until they turn back around.

–

“They’ve literally got a club for everything.” Harley remarks after about a minute of walking through the fair and passing such exciting stands as Costco Club, Rock-Paper-Scissors Club, and Squirrel Fishing Club (the last of which Harley promptly signs them up for). She pauses at an especially colorful stand handing out free red noses. “Hmm, clown club, reminds me of my ex.” 

“You dated a clown?” Pamela is less than impressed with this information. She has never liked clowns.

“Part-time clown, part-time edgelord.” Harley nods. She goes quiet for a moment, long enough for Pamela to wonder if she genuinely misses him, and then adds in a quieter voice, “He was an asshat.”

“Sorry to hear about that.” She isn’t. 

Harley shrugs. “I’m over it.” 

Her tone makes it seem like maybe she isn’t entirely over it yet. Pamela isn’t sure if she should say something comforting, make a jab about how she’s better off without him anyway, or offer a distraction. She’s never really dealt with the break-ups of other people before… or her own really. She’s always the one who dumps people and she never cares afterwards. 

Then Harley’s eyes widen and she grabs Pamela’s arm tightly. “Look! The dance club is giving free dance lessons this week! We have to go.” She turns to Pamela with a pout, ready to fight her way to acquiescence, but Pamela is already laughing and nodding her head in agreement. 

“We’ll go.”  

–

They go to the dance class and learn how to salsa. Surprisingly both of them are pretty good at it. Harley says it’s because she used to be a gymnast; Pamela has no similar excuse, just a natural rhythm and grace. After they head to a party to show off their new moves.

They dance for hours, with each other and with another girl they met back at their dorm - Selina, who put up cat photos in her room, Pamela’s pretty certain she heard a mewing from under the bed too - and with whoever happens to pass by because it’s the sort of party where everyone is just moving and having a good time. There’s chips and beer and punch. Hours later, Harley is stumbling around, her dance movements having lost the gymnast grace she’d bragged about earlier. 

“How many drinks have you had?”

Harley puts up two fingers, thinks about it, and guiltily raises a third. Pamela sighs and places an arm around her shoulders. (She isn’t sure when she got so… touchy. Usually she prefers to avoid physical contact but there’s something about Harley that makes it okay). “Let’s get you home.”

The cool air is a relief after the heat and sweat of the party. For a moment, Pamela closes her eyes and simply breathes in the fresh air before turning them both home. Harley talks the whole way. Mostly she doesn’t seem to expect a response, so Pamela lets her ramble. Harley talks about the beauty of the stars (there aren’t very many visible but Harley insists each one is beautiful) and the party (”it was fun, really fun, wasn’t it?”) and how utterly ridiculous human minds are (turns out she’s a psychology major) and her garbage ex (”promise not to let me call him”; Pamela promises).

At one point, Harley has to stop to throw up in a trash can. Pamela holds her pigtails and rubs her back through the process.  

“You had the same number of drinks as me.” Harley speaks slowly with a furrowed look of concentration on her face. The focus seems to be working, she’s slurring less at least. “How come you’re not so wobbly?” 

“I have a high tolerance for all kinds of poison. Alcohol included.” Pamela says, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Hmph.” And then she’s back to talking about the human mind and the way it absolutely fails at self-preservation sometimes. 

They arrive at the dorm. Pamela tiptoes them past the RA’s room, no use upsetting Diana over a little drunkenness, and successfully gets them back inside their room. She sits Harley down on the bed and gets her a glass of water. 

“Tonight was fun, yeah?” 

Pamela considers it and yes, apart from Harley throwing up, it was a good night. 

“Let’s have a toast.” Pamela raises an eyebrow at Harley because more alcohol is the last thing she needs in her body and Harley shakes her head. “I meant with water.” 

“Okay.” So Pamela pours them each a cup and then flops back on the bed by Harley. Harley raises her cup. 

“Here’s to many more nights like this one!” 

“To a good college experience!” 

–

At the graduation ceremony, Isley, Pamela is seated far from Quinzel, Harley, which is a damn shame because speeches are always better when you’re throwing sarcastic jabs back and forth about the proceedings. Pamela spends most of her time shifting in the heat and searching out Harley in the crowd to meet her eyes with an eyeroll at the stage. Finally the speeches are done and the students file up to receive their diplomas. 

Once Pamela takes the proffered scroll (it states that the real diploma will be in the mail in a few weeks because of course that’s how it works) and takes a photograph with a professor, she slips out of line and waits at the side of the stage. Some people cast her curious looks as they pass, but most of them are occupied with the grandeur of the moment. For the people who aren’t heading on to more education, the people who aren’t Harley or Pamela who both need grad school to go anywhere in their fields, this is it. The end of the line. Good-bye schooling, hello working world. And even though Pamela’s education is continuing next fall and she’s never put much stock in ceremonies, she feels that same thrill of excitement about the end of college. 

Finally, “Harleen Quinzel,” rings out and Harley is grinning as she accepts her fancy piece of paper and then she’s coming down the stairs. Pamela can tell the exact moment Harley spots her by the way her eyes light up and her grin, impossible as it may seem, widens.

“Ivy, you waited!” 

“I always do.” 

Harley steps down and Pamela steps forward, so they meet in the middle for a kiss, sloppy with the euphoria of the moment. 

“We made it.” 

“I never doubted it.”

After there’s a reception for the graduating seniors and their families. Harley comes to Pamela with two glasses of water.

“Let’s toast.” 

“We’ll need a new phrase now that we’re out of college.” Pamela reminds Harley before she can launch into the usual spiel. 

Harley frowns. They’re both quiet for a moment, thinking about the enormity of that, of how the future stretches out in front of them, laden with possibility and promise. 

“To the rest of our lives?” Harley suggests. 

Pamela smiles and clinks their glasses, “To the rest of our lives!”