#shout out to all my guys over at the dunkirk server! you are all the best

[smuggsy]

PART TWO. (Read it on AO3).

The cafeteria is buzzing with students on another freezing cold day. There are girls on other girl's laps and girls on boys' laps and people crammed into tables that are only meant for half its occupants. The smell of coffee and pastries fills the air and Collins chews his chocolate muffin with boredom as he nods at Alex's rambling monologue about that other kid in Creative Writing that has it in for him, like really, like he's just a little shit, I swear to you.

 "He said it was childish - childish!  As if he'd written some Shakespearean shit or sumthin' - he didn't, it was some crap about Dunkewque and the Great War because he's such a pretentious idiot," his curly-haired friend extends his hand from the other side of the table and swipes his finger over the leftover cream on the plate, takes a breath and shakes his head, "always got something to say, with his cute little French accent, well why doesn't he go back to his land of baguettes and crepes? He clearly can't shut up about it."

 "Second World War" Collins mumbles, and he looses up his tie and leans back on the chair, where his coat and scarf are hanging. 

 The air conditioning is a tad bit high, he's been in here for the last couple of hours and he doesn't need to look into a mirror to know he's looking like a tomato. 

 "Hm?" Alex snaps, having a quick look around no doubt looking for this exchange student that he oh-so-loathes. 

 "The Dunkirk evacuation, it was during World War Two, not the Gre--"

 "Whatever" Alex cuts him off, when he returns his gaze at Jack he's met with a knowing smile. "What? You're the bloody historian, not me" he snaps again, and Collins wonders if this is how he looks when he's had four cups of coffee in a day. 

 Jumpy, short-tempered, a little bit paranoid. 

 It definitely cranks Alex's snapyness up to twenty. 

 "What's this cute guy's name again?" Collins pokes, hiding another smile behind his bottle of water. 

 "Phili-- he's not cute! "

 "Your words, not mine" Jack puts his hands up in defence and this time he really can't hold back the laugh at the hint of panic on his friend's face, "yer lovestruck."

 "Oh, please " Alex rolls his eyes and shifts uncomfortably on his chair, "I'm not fucking-- Tommy! Hey Tommy!"

 It takes Tom a couple of tries to get through the sea of over-excited alumni all whilst preventing his brimming cup of tea from splashing out, but he eventually reaches their table with a look of annoyance.

 "I hate Sundays," he says, flopping down next to Alex. Collins returns the sentiment with a scrunched-up nose. 

 It's noisy and over-crowded. The antithesis of his comfort zone.

 "He dissed your poem too, didn't he? He's a dick." 

 Tommy frowns at that, takes a very calm sip of his fruity tea and fishes out his phone from his trousers' pocket.

 "Who's a dick?"

 "Little french-toast!" Alex blurts out, getting more incoherently annoyed by the minute. 

 "The exchange student" Collins provides, crossing his arms over his chest and biting his tongue to prevent himself from grinning at the exchange.

 "Ah, Gibby?"

 At that, Alex makes an exasperated noise that resembles a whine, waves his hands in the air insistently like he can't believe his ears.

 "Nah, he's alright," Tommy says distractedly, gently stirring his steaming tea with the spoon.

 "Alex here," Jack starts and promptly chokes on the water he's swallowing as Alex kicks him under the table. Tommy snaps his head up from his screen at the noise, "has a bit of a crush on Gibby."

 He gets another much more aggressive kick now but he doesn't have time to rejoice in his friend's look of mortification because he spots the tattooed, beefed-up flirty law student come into the already insanely packed cafeteria leading a group of another similarly-looking bunch of guys.

 Collins finds himself lowering his head and placing a hand over his eyes to hide his face just in the nick of time.

 "I do not. Have a crush. On that little frog."

 "That's rude" Tommy mumbles. 

 Jack peeks over his hand to see the guy stop at the counter to order for the lot. Alex follows his gaze immediately and Collins starts to feel a little panicked himself - just his bloody luck.

 "What you doin'?"

 "That's the guy" Collins blurts. 

 (Also, he doesn't know what he's doing. He doesn't know what he's doing at all.) 

 "What, library guy?" Alex turns around abruptly. "Where?"

 "Him with the black shirt?" Tommy inquires, and Jack lets out another curse. 

 "Just stop fucking staring will ya" Jack grunts.

 "You've got to be shitting me" Alex short of exclaims, voice going up almost an octave, "he's ripped."

 Collins gives up. He removes his hand from his face but keeps his head turned slightly towards the windows.

 "That's  the guy following you around?"

 "He's not following me around."

 "Are those glasses actually making you blinder?" Alex snorts in his direction, Collins stares daggers at him as Tommy giggles into his cup of tea. "You tellin' me you turned that down? He's a fucking snack!"

 He risks a glance towards the counter and low and behold - catches Farrier's eyes looking right at him. 

 "Right, see ya lads" Jack snaps, turning around and busying himself with wrapping the scarf around his neck hurriedly. He can't deal with this guy on a cafeteria full of students. He'll never live this down - Alex is sitting in front of him and he's high and he's calling him a snack. He is not going to live this down, ever. 

 He needs to leave.

 "He's coming oveeeer " Alex sings under his breath, turning back around in a very sharp motion that most definitely doesn't go unnoticed, and Collins only becomes incredibly clumsy, unable to retrieve his thick coat from where it's hanging behind him. "He's-- stop fuckin' fiddling!"

 "Afternoon, boys" Farrier stops right in front of the table, all smiles and friendly like they've known each other for years. Collins is frozen in place, trying to pretend he wasn't just about to bolt. 

 "Hey!" Alex replies enthusiastically almost immediately, with a shit-eating grin directed at Collins just after. Jack sends another murderous stare in his direction that means to convey just how much he'll make him suffer if he starts one of his rants.

  Make a scene and I'll strangle ye, ye little shite.

 Collins acknowledges the law student with a nod and makes the briefest of eye-contact before returning his gaze to the empty muffin plate like it's the most interesting piece of cutlery in the world of cutlery.

  Pathetic.

 "Bit stuffed in here, isn't it?" Farrier says, with a look around and a wave to whoever's waiting for him on the other side of the place; ignoring Jack's silence like it's not incredibly rude.

 "Aye, I was just popping out for a bit," Collins clears his throat, finally winning the battle against his clothing and buttoning up his coat. 

 "Yeah, it's super hot" Alex adds, fixing his very intense and mischievous blue eyes on Farrier. Jack can only take a deep breath in and clench his jaw, imagine himself being swallowed by the earth right there and then. "It's so hot."

 He needs to get better friends.

 Friends who don't smoke pot and hit on lads on his behalf.

 Friends who aren't Alex. 

 When he glances up again he sees Farrier sporting an amused grin.

 "Thomas," he says, extending a hand towards his friends.

 "Ayyy, it's full of Thomases around here!" Alex makes an exclamation born out of too much caffeine intake and slides an arm around Tommy's shoulders to give him a playful shake that almost has the other boy spilling his strawberry tea all over his lap. "Alexander. You know Jackie" he adds, nodding towards Collins who once again feels the urge to turn invisible.

 "We've met," Farrier says, his glinting eyes returning to suggestively eye him up and down. "He interrupted my shower last week." 

 Collins now pointedly stares at him with a disbelieving look. The nerve on this cheeky bastard!

 "Maybe if you returned your books to the library in time you wouldn't have your showers interrupted" he fires back at him.

 "Well, if that's what it takes to have you knocking on my door..."

 Now that makes even Tommy choke on his drink.

 Collins tugs at the coat he's just put back on and feels feverish all of a sudden - he still turns to Alex with a look that screams 'see what I mean?' though, and Farrier clears his throat.

 "We're going for some pints later, me and the guys," he says, pointing behind him but fixing his gaze on Collins again. Jack starts nervously biting his cheeks and adjusts his glasses - it's an unconscious tick that only his friends will pick up on. "If you wanted to tag along...?"

 He turns to the younger boys then, extending the invitation as if he knows. As if aware that's the button he's got to hit for his plans to work, to set his scheme in motion.

 And he does.

 Set his scheme in motion, that is.

 Whatever his scheme is, anyway.

 He leaves just one minute later with Alex's promise to meet with him at The Beehive at about eight. Collins manages to blurt out something about midterms and low marks and studying before his Performing Arts friend picks up the used fork and points at him threateningly.

 "None of that shit" Alex cuts him off, "you're coming, alright, you reek of blue balls."

 Tommy lets out a snort and sends Jack a suggestive look.

 "You do need to unwind," he says, and Jack gapes at him. "You look a bit..." he waves a hand over his own eyes, like Jack's supposed to know whatever the fuck that means, "...vampire-y."

 "Wha-- C'mon lad, you're the sensible one," Jack points at him, rather offended he's taking Alex's side - because Alex's side usually ends up leading to disaster. "Back me up 'ere!"

 "He was totally drooling, mate," Alex continues, "staring at ya. And I mean like, proper eye-fucking you like."

 Jack rolls his eyes.

 Pointless.

 "I'll see you at eight then," his mate says when he stands up to leave.

 "I don't think so."

 "Great, I'll drop by at eight!" 

 Jack's already far enough that he pretends not to hear him anymore.

 He's not good with relationships. He's never been good with relationships, and the last thing he needs is to get involved with a posh lawyer-to-be when he's holding onto his barely acceptable marks for dear life. This semester's already being shit enough without throwing in any other affairs into the mix. He doesn't need it to be any more of a train-wreck than it already is.

 He doesn't have time for Farrier, because Farrier is dreamy and looks at him like he really likes him and he is annoyingly persistent and probably only looking to hook up and never speak to him again. Because let's be honest, Jack looks like shit half the time, his hair is a mess, his eyesight is a mess, his uniform is ever-crumpled and his ties are never properly, well, tied.

 Farrier puts gel on his hair, he rolls up his impeccable shirts to his forearms and his striped tie is always the perfect length, he works out and smells of shaving cream and chocolate deodorant. He goes to pubs with his mates to get shit-faced (probably) and gets flirted at by the bartender (most definitely). 

 They're polar opposites and Collins really does try to be reasonable. To look at the bigger picture. And the bigger picture looks like some silly romcom poster: lads like Farrier just don't click with lads like him, and if Jack hadn't been the one to go up to him in the first place he would even be considering this whole thing to be a little bit too fishy.

 Thomas sure looks like the kind of asshole that gets egged on by his mates to do stupid things, like flirt with the short-sighted history major that has accidentally been locked in the library an embarrassing number of times, and then fuck him and cross his name off a list and have a laugh and a pint over it and get patted proudly on the shoulder.

 Yes, this is all feeling too romcom-y for his taste.

 Which is why, at quarter to eight, when Alex insistently knocks on his door and Collins looks through the peephole to see him wearing one of his many ridiculously funky shirts, he doesn't answer.

 And when Alex calls him an old-lady and threatens to get pissed off his head and suck Thomas' dick on his behalf, Collins only laughs and puts his headphones back on. He can't concentrate on his essay after that, though. Because he's got a very vivid image of Farrier's dick being sucked in his mind then, and before he knows it he's starting to bite at his cheeks again in an anxious manner. 

 Well.

 That's that then.

  Of course he's attracted to the guy! He looks like he's some kind of underwear model, for fuck's sake!

 Probably.

 Collins' only seen him wearing a towel. 

 "Aw, fuck" he grunts, yanking his glasses off and pressing his palm against his tired eyes, "stop it."

 And over the next hour, slowly, however strongly he tries to fight it, he finds himself less and less able to process the jumble of words on the paper. They start mixing together and looking like an intelligible blur. He tries to start up a new chapter but ends up reading the same introductory paragraph six times without taking any of it in.

  He interrupted my shower last week.

 "Ye arsehole" he mutters, shaking his head annoyingly as if that's going to make the image of Farrier's strong arms and six-pack go away, (and the image of his amused smile and those once-overs he throws at him like he's eating him with his eyes and fuck). 

 He puts the glasses aside for good, pressing his fingers against his heavy eyelids. He needs a hot shower.

 "What are you, the library police? " Collins mocks and scrunches up his nose at how stupid he sounds. 

 He lets out a very deep groan and rests his face on his hands.

 He's gone.

 He's so fucking gone and he's only seen him three times.

 He jumps on his place and cranks up his neck painfully at the sudden noise of Alex knocking the door off its hinges again. He gets on his feet with a sigh and swings the door open with a curse about to roll off his tongue.

 It's not Alex.

 "My god you don't give up," Jack says as Farrier stares at him glassy-eyed. His nose is red and he's rubbing his hands together.

 "One of my many qualities" Thomas offers a crooked smile, Collins takes pity on his shivering form and steps aside to let him in. 

 But the law student looks truly surprised to see that happen and he doesn't make a move.

 Jack feels a bit of panic twirling in his lower stomach because surely he's not about to fucking back down now. Now that Collins is definitely going to let him do whatever the fuck he wants - because Alex was right and his balls are about as purple as Barney at this point. 

 Oh, he'll regret this tomorrow.

 "Ye better fuckin' come in then" he snaps, a little bit more harshly than intended. Farrier stops gaping and Collins closes the door behind him. 

 The only light on is coming from the lamp on his desk and when Thomas turns around to look at him Jack starts biting his cheeks again.

 Shite.

 Maybe he was a bit too hasty.

 Just for a moment there, he forgot he's absolutely trash at making small talk. 

 "Tidy" Thomas nods, having a look around at the bed and neatly stacked-up books in a corner. "Your wallpaper's much nicer" he adds, awkwardly now, and Jack is going to internally combust if he doesn't turn around and kiss him right now.  "What you reading?" he leans over the sprawled out papers on the desk.

  Don't do it don't do it don't--  "Oh shut up" Jack snaps in frustration, taking two steps forwards and bringing their lips together in a desperate clash. 

 Farrier's got his strong pair of arms around his waist almost immediately, and Jack will probably kick himself for letting out that whine later but now - now he can't muster up any proper thoughts. All he feels is Farrier against him, his jacket is cold, his face is cold, and his mouth tastes of mint and ginger beer.

 Collins walks him back towards the bed without letting go of him - Thomas tangles his fingers on his hair and carefully pulls. It elicits another shameful noise from the depth of Jack's throat.

 Farrier bounces slightly on the mattress and Jack leans back only far enough to remove his sweater. It joins the jacket on the floor.

 "You haven't got a roommate?" Thomas asks against his mouth like he's only now realising that.

 "No" comes the rushed answer as Jack straddles him on the bed and my god, those thighs!

 He shakes off Alex's voice echoing through his mind: he's ripped!

 The next time they part to catch their breaths, Thomas stops him before he can lean back down and keep devouring his meaty round lips. Jack obliges, albeit a little taken aback by the sudden pause.

 Another thought gets cut off before properly forming in his mind as he gets stared at a little bit too fondly.

 "You've beautiful eyes" Farrier whispers all of a sudden, placing his cold palms on Jack's flushing cheeks and stopping him from moving altogether.

  Right.

  Glasses.

  Over at desk.

 Farrier breathes out his minty breath over Collins' lips and brings his face closer with unnerving slowness. 

 Jack's stomach does something weird.

 He swallows down through a suddenly very dry throat but stays still.

  Likewise, he wants to say.

 He only stares, panting.

 Then Farrier's hands return to his hair, and one of them rests on his neck and he tentatively starts bringing Jack's face closer again, setting a much tortuous pace.

 Slowly, Farrier's lips work him undone, his hands don't leave Jack's hair but rather keep giving gentle strokes there and Collins can almost physically feel all tension leaving his body with every flick of Farrier's tongue inside his mouth and every tender brush of his scalp. He'd never noticed he was so stiff and now - now he feels like a deflating balloon.

 It's every stroke, every breath in, every spot Farrier's tongue reaches inside his mouth, every inch of his body where he's touching him and the slow but unwavering movement of their bodies in unison - Thomas's jeans feeling tighter and tighter against his own cotton trousers. 

 He's getting rather light-headed. 

 He doesn't notice he's letting out those noises either until Farrier's hands are suddenly massaging his shoulders and he finds himself just resting his head down on the crook of the other guy's neck.

 "That's it" comes Farrier's voice in his ear, and Collins finds that his eyelids are so heavy he just can't bring himself to open them. The taste of ginger beer lingers in his tongue and his arms slowly work their way around Thomas' broad waist. "Let it out..."

 He feels sluggish.

 "Just let go" Farrier repeats, with that same hoarse alluring voice. Jack breaths in deep the scent of his skin - it's that deodorant again. 

 "Bloody hell" he mumbles against Thomas' skin, almost unintelligible, when the hands go to rest on his nape and his fingers keep on moving there.

 "You like that?"

 His strong hands press down on just the spot, and Collins almost feels his soul leaving his body at the unearthly noise he blurts out - the constant stiffness from past months of crouching down over his books being slowly worked out of his muscles.

 Hell, this is better than painkillers.

 He feels Farrier's chest shaking with soft laughter. 

 "I'll take that as a yes," he says, Collins can hear the smile in his voice. He doesn't stop massaging him and Jack knows that he should feel like a fucking idiot for this - surely this isn't Farrier's idea of a good shag, a spa session. 

 But his vocal cords are failing him - there's a voice at the back of his head as well, telling him that this is getting more personal than he'd initially planned, that this is not standard procedure, but he ignores it. 

 He ignores it for a bit, anyway, before he makes himself get his nose off Thomas' throat and sit up again, slides a hand in between them and finds the jean's zip. 

 Farrier's hand finds his almost immediately, making him stop again. 

 "How 'bout you let me take care of you first?" he asks, squinting playfully. The alarms in Jack's head go off again, like they're trying to kick-start the rational part of his brain. "You look like you need it."

  I do. I fucking do, he thinks, but what he says with an already peculiarly mushy voice is: "I'm going to fall asleep if I let you do that".

 He wants those firm arms back on his shoulder blades burning away the weeks of binge-studying. Shit, he's never wanted anything more in his life and Farrier smiles at him like he knows it. 

 "Well... I don't mind." 

  Bastard. 

 "If I'd known you were this compliant..." Jack starts but loses his thread of thought as Farrier's magic fingers return to his shoulders. "I would've..."

 Before he knows it Farrier's turning them around and having him lay down on the bed instead, and seeing Thomas loom over him and feeling his slightly-warmer hands under the elastic band of his trousers makes his eloquence slip away one more time. 

 "What?" Farrier prompts, slowly sliding his boxers down to his thighs. Jack throws his head back on the pillow and feels his heart hammering wildly against his ribcage. He's shamefully hard already, just another reminder of how stupidly touch-starved he hadn't realized he was. "You would've what?" 

 "I would've..." he tries, voice sounding like he's just run a marathon, hands resting on each side of his legs patiently and definitely not trembling with anticipation. "I..." he makes the very grave mistake of glancing down at the very same moment Farrier takes him in hand and lowers his mouth onto his cock. 

 After that, all rational thoughts fly out of the window and his knuckles go white grabbing at the duvet. 

  Fuckin' hell. 

 His eyes shut close again. Farrier's hands come to his waist to keep him down because apparently he's writhing and the sounds.  Oh, the sounds he makes - christ. Like he's gleefully sucking on a fucking ice-lolly. It's a good thing he can't look even if he wanted to because that would take him over the edge in under five seconds.

 Five very embarrassing seconds.

 Farrier hums before letting it out of his mouth with a wet popping sound. Jack is holding onto the bed like he's holding onto his sanity. Like he's drowning. 

 "Hey, relax..." Thomas says, but he sounds far away, so far away. 

 The ringing in his ears doesn't stop. Only when he feels one of Farrier's hands rubbing circles over his right leg does he snap out of it, blinking himself out of his reverie. 

 "You're so tense," Farrier adds like he's genuinely worried about it, "loosen up." 

 "Sorry" he blurts out, and it's the most Scottish-sounding sorry he's ever blurted out. "It's been - a while and..." 

  And what? And I'm a workaholic, I'm a fucking idiot. 

 "Don't apologize" Farrier coos. Jack re-opens his heavy eyes when he feels the mattress shift, Farrier's closer now, somehow balancing himself on the little space between him and the wall. "You're clenching your jaw." 

 He hadn't realized. He goes to say sorry again but Farrier's mouth is on his one more time, tongues intertwining and breaths mixing together. 

 He melts down on the mattress, helpless.

 "That's it" Farrier whispers, low enough that Collins almost doesn't hear him over the blood rushing in his ears, "Now stay like that..." 

 It's a bit difficult not to tense up when his hands start working his way up and down his cock again, but Farrier's tongue is claiming entrance into his mouth the moment he goes to bite his cheeks. 

 It works. 

 Having to keep up with the slow pace of his kisses helps him, it grounds him. Thomas manages to match the pace of his hand and keeps it slow. It's torture but heaven at the same time. 

 When he's close, though, he gets sloppy and loses focus. 

 Farrier's hand barely changes its pace when Collins starts panting into his mouth rather than kiss him back, and just as slow his climax takes over him. A neverending shock of electricity running from his head to his toes with overwhelming intensity. He makes a strangled sound and grips onto Farrier's shoulders as if his life depends on it, wishing he'd taken off that shirt, wishing he was touching him. 

 He can feel slumber coming and coming quick. In this pitiful state, he doesn't have the energy to even feel bad about it.

 "Ngggh" he tries, tugging at Farrier's shirt. 

 "That good, huh?" 

 "Yeah" is what he manages to exhale, ineloquent, stumbling over the vowels like he's pissed drunk, "com'ere," Jack asks, a bit out of himself still, and Farrier chuckles but settles down next to him. The bed isn't big enough for both of them. 

 "Only a bit" Farrier whispers, like he doesn't want to perturb him, "need to get back to my dorm." 

 Jack has already drifted off and doesn't actually hear the end of that sentence.

“You’re overdue on this book and I want it so I’m tracking u the fuck down” sounds funky as a modern au prompt, especially if it was a younger sibling of one of them or a real obscure/hyperfixation of the reader(s). If you don’t want to write it, don’t worry! Hope you’re doing well

COLLINS / FARRIER AU. Okay, so here it is, poster-thingy included (couldn’t help myself).

The kind girl on the counter makes a face at seeing him approach, Collins can only guess what a pitiful sight he is: bags under his eyes, uniform in disarray, hair unwashed and an empty coffee cup on his hand. If he'd crossed paths with any of the prefects roaming around he would've definitely got an earful for it -- that's no way to present yourself as a student! Fix that bloody tie!

 Ah, that would've really been the icing of the cake. A real shitty way to end his day indeed.

 "I thought maybe you'd forgotten to notify me" Collins smiles, aiming at friendly conversation but coming out rather miserable, "perhaps you'd lost my ID number?"

 "No, I'm sorry" is all she says, genuinely sounding like she means it, and Collins knows she means it, so maybe he'd get lucky today.

 "Are you sure it's not returned?" he insists, and having a look around to ensure nobody's within earshot he leans in closer, "I can go get it for you, kill two birds with one stone, aye?"

 Collins looks at her name tag and puts on his most miserable wet-puppy face. It's no use trying to flirt at this point, it's the fifth time he turns up this week looking like a zombie from The Walking Dead and she's been over the counter every single time. The fact that he doesn't remember what she's called is clear evidence of his exhaustion.

 "Sally..." he looks up and puts both his hands together in sign of prayer, maybe even pouts a little, because who cares about decency at this point? "Pleeease?"

 She shakes her head at the screen with a frown.

 "I'm really sorry, I'm not allowed to give out students' personal details. I'll give him another call later, how about that?" She offers, and Collins lets out a sigh and nods pathetically, thinking it's a he, what a fucking twat.

 He's ready to turn on his tail and leave without the only copy of Crónicas de la Guerra Civil Española in the whole campus yet once again. Except Sally then shouts a warning, pointing over his shoulder to one of the tables behind, "I said no drinking -- for heaven's sake" she storms out of her seat to the two young girls.

 Collins doesn't waste any time, he stretches his hand over and turns the computer's screen towards him, sloppily fishes his phone out of his pocket and snaps a quick photo of it and puts it back in place before the librarian has even turned around. When Sally comes back making an exasperated face, Collins tries to walk away in the same tired pace he walked in and not give himself away.

 Outside, out of her field of vision, he checks the photo. Some idiot named Farrier, block D, apartment 201. A law student.

 Fucking superb. Bunch of self-centered pricks.

 He storms out towards the east side of the campus, praying to all the powers that be for a quick exchange of words and a successful retrieval. He only even needs to read four chapters, but he's got only two days to do so, digest the information and have a decent sleep to sit a decent test.

 Collins gets quite a few odd looks as he strolls into the hall and turns directly to the stairs. His sweater gives him away as a Humanities student but he's sure that's not what's getting him stared at. If he bumps into any seniors here, he's bloody done. They'll revoke his pass on account of his appearance. They're known to be a bit of a pain in the ass, the prefects from this block... Then again, it's not like he goes out at all. Wouldn't be much of a loss, really.

He can't hold back his rotten mood as he knocks on the blue door exasperatedly, eager to get this whole business over with so he can return to his dormitory, have a proper shower and put something in his stomach that isn't an energetic beverage.

 Ten seconds pass by and there is no sound coming from inside the room. He tries again, letting out a whine.

 Nothing.

 He's pushing his luck, but he tries on the doorknob anyway.

 Locked.

 He bumps his fist on the door a couple more times and he's short of losing it right there and then -- all the stress from midterms weeks about to come flooding out.

 "Fuck’s sake, I ain’t your bloody landlord Peter!" the door finally swings open, "I told you to get a dupli-- oh", and behind it is one of its room's inhabitants, wearing nothing but a towel over his hips and dripping water over the wooden floor.

 On any other day, Collins would've taken a moment to appreciate the sight before him, but today isn't 'any other day' so he goes straight to the point and pays that six-pack little to no mind.

 "Are you Farrier?" he barks. The stranger blinks, mouths something but makes no sound, taken off guard by his hostility, no doubt. "Are you?" Collins pushes.

 Now this manages to put a scowl on the guy's face, and he crosses two tattooed arms over his chest. He's built like a brick wall and it only manages to set Collins' teeth on edge even more.

 "Yeah, who's asking?"

 Collins hears himself let out a sigh.

 "Look, I need a book you have. Spanish Civil War, just give it to me, I have a test." He adds, feeling like his soul is leaving him and taking his eloquence along with it. His eloquence and his ability to make himself sound less Scottish for other people's sake.

 Collins finds he doesn't give a shit about other people's sake today. It's their problem if they don't understand his accent, so they should sort it the fuck out.

 Farrier smiles at him, at his extended expectant hand.

 Collins feels like a ticking time-bomb about to go off.

 "Have you got the book?" He asks another time.

 "What are you, the library police?" Farrier scoffs.

 "Gimme the fuckin' book, alright? You're way overdue" he snaps, his brain catching up with his mouth too late.

 (Although even later he finds he doesn't care).

 "Jesus mate, it's only a book" he turns around and disappears for a couple of seconds, when he returns he's no longer sporting that amusing smile and he looks Collins up and down in anger before putting the heavy paperback copy on his free hand. "Take a fucking break."

 Collins stumbles back as the door is slammed on his face.

 The sound brings him out of his reverie, and he blinks at the book on his hand, considering an apology for the briefest of moments before turning around and walking towards the stairs. By the time he's outside the rush of adrenaline is gone and there's a slight pain on his chest. Still, he pushes on until he's back at his own block.

 Should probably cut down on the caffeine...

                                                             *  *  *

 They meet again one week later.

 "Hey"

 When Collins has fallen asleep on his usual spot, a hidden table in a secluded corner of the History section of the library. The usual drill.

 "Hey, Spanish Civil War…"

 He jerks awake, somebody’s insistent hand on his shoulder.

 When he looks up Farrier’s staring him down, but Collins only realizes it’s him after he’s put his glasses back on and ran a hand over his drooling mouth.

 He checks the time on his phone, disoriented.

 “Yeah, they’re closing up”

 “Ugh”

 Just then, the lights over them go off, and Collins stumbles to his feet, knocking his book over to the floor and almost slipping on a pencil trying to get it back. Farrier strolls over the corner of the towering shelf of books and shouts: “Hang on!”, then he returns and gets Collins’ laptop under his arm and the backpack hanging from the chair as well, like he’s picking up his child from school.

 Farrier takes a step away but stops when Collins quickly starts running his hands over the table to clear the remaining balls of paper. Then he makes sure the chair is quickly tucked in place and bends over to check there’s nothing being left under the table.

 Farrier clears his throat.

 “Take your time” he says sarcastically.

 The remaining set of lights go off.

 “Shit” Collins mouths, running along now, “don’t think they heard ye”

 “You don’t say -- wait!”

 They catch Arthur at the door.

 “Blimey, boys. Almost left you!”

 “Sorry Mr. Cornwell” Collins grins, sheepishly.

 “Ah, Collins!” the old-man adjusts his glasses and leans over to him. “You again.”

 It sounds incriminating, and Farrier lets out a small laugh next to him.

 “Should get you a key, I should…” he mumbles as they pass him to get outside. Collins shudders and makes a sudden stop, causing Farrier to bump right into him.

 “Shite, forgot me ja--”

 “Well then, night to you gentlemen” but Arthur is already biding them farewell and very bent on returning to his own cozy and warm room. Collins doesn’t have the heart to stop him.

 He’ll make a run for it.

 He tugs at his bag, hanging from Farrier’s broad shoulder.

 “Thanks” he mutters under his breath, and Farrier hands him the laptop as well.

 “So, how was your test?”

 Collins ignores the question for a brief moment, as he puts the laptop inside the backpack and then puts the backpack on.

 There’s no reason to be a dick, he thinks. Except he kind of wants to be a dick to this guy.

 “Dunno” he retorts. He rubs his hands over his arms, only a thin shirt on, and nods in Farrier’s direction without actually looking at him. “See ya” he takes a step forward only to be stopped by that arm again.

 Sighing, he turns to look at him now, and Farrier’s undoing his thick woolen scarf, much to Collins’ dismay.

 “Your dorm’s further” he says, aiming to put it around his neck as well. That’s when Collins reacts, pushing his hands away along with the scarf.

 “What’s your deal?” he asks, nodding again in Farrier’s direction and feeling his nose starting to drip already. Couldn’t have been a coincidence, this guy turning round a corner and finding him passed out exactly a minute before the lock-down. It isn’t necessarily a bad thing, Collins knows, on the contrary: the library sofas aren’t comfortable at all, and the air conditioning is turned off at night.

 He’d have woken up with a cold and a stiff neck.

 “What’s my deal? What’s your deal, mate? You always this snappy?”

 “Fuck off, I’m not snappy” Collins says, and closes his eyes in defeat just a second after. “Maybe I’m snappy. I’m having a shitty semester, why are ye following me around?”

 As Collins puts his hands on his trousers’ pockets to warm them up Farriers quickly takes advantage and rolls the scarf around his exposed neck before he can stop him.

 “Well, you’re the prettiest guy I��ve seen in a while and I think you need someone to keep you in check ‘cos you clearly overwork yourself” Farrier quickly explains, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

 Collins blinks, taken off guard, and he steps back.

 “What…?”

 “Yeah.” he shrugs again, nonchalant.

 Collins has a look around but sees no-one except for a couple of pigeons and a curly-haired blonde running back to the cafeteria. Is there a camera hidden somewhere near? Is someone hiding inside that trash-can with a cellphone?

 “I like a guy in glasses, sue me.”

 Collins lets out a disbelieving laugh.

 “Okay, bye” he’s resolute to leave now, and Farrier doesn’t try to stop him this time. He catches up with him, though, openly grinning.

 “I’ll walk you”

 “Alright” Collins stops on his tracks and faces him. “You want an apology for last week, I’m sorry I was a dick, as I said: I’m having a shitty semester,” he takes the scarf off and feels the cold embracing him fully back again, and his nose is impregnated with that fucking cocoa axe deodorant. “Please kindly fuck off.”

 “So that’s a no to the date?!” Farrier shouts as Collins hurries away.

 By the time he’s back at the dorm he’s openly shivering, Farrier’s perfume is stuck in his shirt and he quickly takes it off and locks himself in the bathroom to have a hot shower and pretend what just happened most definitely was a figment of his imagination.