lara hums along absently as sam talks about her annoyingly obnoxious film professor, nodding at the right moments, pretending she’s listening while her eyes drift lazily over the room. 

well, she’s kind of listening… but she might just be a little distracted. because her eyes are watching you.

you’re across the room, surrounded by your friends, laughing at something someone just said when lara feels that irritating throb in her chest almost immediately. it’s the same one she constantly says that doesn’t exist. just another one of those things where she tells herself she’s just annoyed you’re here too, that even at a party, she can’t escape you, but it’s a damn weak excuse and she knows it. her grip tightens slightly around her drink as she watches you smile, completely oblivious of the fact that she’s staring. sam’s voice fades in her ears as lara tells herself again and again that she doesn’t care and that she’s just keeping an eye out because you’re a distraction. because you’re competition. 

that’s all you were. 

at least, that’s what it looks like. to be fair, she’s not exactly lying; the irritation you spark in her really is there. but, most times, it feels… complicated. she doesn’t know why. and it’s far louder in her mind than it looks on her face. you and lara didn’t start out as enemies. this dislike you had for each other had a long history, starting in both of your first years of college, building slowly, brick by brick, long before either of you realized it was about more than just who could get the highest grade. it began the first semester of archeology class, the first time you both walked into the same archeology class and lara had noticed you immediately. she was quick to see the way your eyes scanned the room as if you were already measuring everyone against some unseen standard and it irked her. 

but the two of you barely spoke that first year anyway. 

yet somehow… from that moment on, it was always who got the highest grades on exams, who had better arguments in class debates, who could uncover the more obscure historical references in readings, who could write better research papers, essays, presentations. and it’s no question that lara is fiercely competitive and witty. it’s just in her nature. she also knows you can’t stand her. she can see it clearly when you refuse to let her get an inch of advantage. she absolutely hates that you challenge her, that you think she has it all handed to her. that even though you barely know her, you’ve become her standard, the person she can’t quite measure herself against or let herself admit she wants to.

so here she is, at this stupid party. watching you.

“you’re not even listening, lara.”

lara jerks her head back toward her, blinking, and her cheeks suddenly feel warm. 

“oh,” she murmurs a little too fast, “sorry, sam… i was just… thinking.” 

sam sighs, clearly amused, lips twitching into a smirk. she leans closer, nudging lara gently, and glances over her shoulder at you. 

lara groans, pressing her free hand to her forehead, trying to hide the flush creeping up her neck. “stop. i really don’t want to talk about it.”

“sure, sweetie,” she leans closer, her smirk widening. “not like you’ve been staring at her all night.”

lara’s jaw tightens as she mutters, “she’s just… infuriating.” 

but it’s not quite convincing. 

“infuriating, how?”

she huffs, crossing her arms and leaning back slightly, trying to make herself seem detached, like she could care less, though the obvious heat in her cheeks betrays her. 

“well… for starters, she hates me. like, really hates me. and it’s not even like we’ve… talked. we barely know each other, and, somehow, it feels as if she’s already decided i’m this… this insufferable, privileged—” she pauses, searching for the right word—“snobby, arrogant, brat who thinks she’s smarter than everyone. and apparently, that includes her.”

sam raises an eyebrow and snorts, but lara continues almost as if she can’t stop herself. 

“and it’s not just that. she practically fights me in every class. she always tries to prove she’s better than me. even when i know i’m right, she’ll find some way to twist it or… or undermine me. and it drives me insane because—fuck, it shouldn’t matter, right? it’s just classwork. but with her… it’s personal, somehow. i don’t know.”

she pauses again, jaw tight, and mutters another curse under her breath. 

“whatever. i don’t even care.”

sam lets out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “riiiiiiight.”

lara groans, pressing a hand to her face as she rolls her eyes. “i don’t know why i even… i just—ugh, it’s like she exists to ruin my life, sam.”

sam notices it before lara can stop herself. she’s known lara long enough to recognize the difference between anger and something that only pretends to be anger. her jaw is tight, eyes uncertain, and sam watches her friend’s reflection in the dark window beside them, sees the way her fingers curl slightly, though she was never really one to fidget. this is the look lara gets when she feels dismissed. when she feels underestimated. lara’s clearly offended, yes. she’s hurt by the fact that you hate her, by the fact that you look at her like she’s already guilty of something she doesn’t even know how to defend herself against. she doesn’t like that you assume the worst of her, like you think she’s all entitlement and no effort. that her work, her obsession, her late nights buried in research will never count because of a name she didn’t choose.

but sam doesn’t think this is hatred at all.

“or maybe,” her best friend starts, nudging the brunette playfully, “you could try to get to know her? maybe the two of you got each other all wrong… there could be something there, if you try.”

lara glares. embarrassed. frustrated.

“what? that’s rubbish, sam.” she says, though her voice lacks conviction. they feel hollow even to her own ears. 

“is it, though? to be honest, with how much you’re staring, it just looks like you like her—”

“that’s absolutely ridiculous!”

sam sighs and takes a swig from her cup. 

“you’re hopeless,” she replies. 

lara shrugs and tries to pretend she’s completely above it all, glancing almost reluctantly across the room once more. 

she freezes. because suddenly, inexplicably, your eyes flick toward hers at the exact same time, locking with hers. 

but then it’s gone. 

you look away, trying too hard to act like you weren’t even paying attention. trying, and failing, to make it casual. on the other side of the house, lara doesn’t move. her thoughts go back to sam’s words and she feels another strange heat creeping up her neck. she looks at you, properly this time. she gazes at the way the light catches the strands of your hair, the tilt of your head as you try to listen to the person in front of you, the way you’re seemingly and completely unaware of the attention or… irritation you inspire in her. 

suddenly, she can’t deny it anymore, even if she wants to. 

suddenly, you look… beautiful.

suddenly, for the first time that night, she wonders if sam might be right all along.

but she could only mutter out the same few words, “like i said… rubbish.”

—

the week passes, but the feeling doesn’t. if anything, it’s more persistent than lara would like to admit. ever since sam planted that stupid, inconvenient thought in her head, no matter how hard she tries, she just can’t seem to shake you from her mind.  in fact, she still finds you infuriating in all the same ways she always has. none of that has changed. and yet, something about the way she remembers you has. when she thinks of you now, it’s not just how you irritate her, it’s also your smile at that party. the exact shape of it. she hates how vividly she can picture it. and that bothers her. to be fair, she’s always known you were pretty. that isn’t new. it’s not some revelation so… it shouldn’t matter. but why does it feel like she’s only just noticed? why does that smile linger behind her eyes when she’s supposed to be focused on everything else but you? why does she replay tiny details she never let herself think about before? like the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you turn your head or the way your brow furrows slightly and chew on the end of your pen when you’re confused about something.

it’s bloody ridiculous, she tells herself. 

still, by midweek, lara finds herself doing it all over again without thinking. glancing up from her notebook, pretending to scan the room while her gaze drifts unerringly to where you sit. it helps, too, that she’s sat just a few rows behind you, off to the side, close enough to see the way you lean forward when something interests you. and it’s far enough that you won’t notice and she can pretend she’s just looking around the room or following the professor’s movement if you ever look her way. she says she’s just keeping tabs on her competition, just as you are, making sure you’re paying attention, making sure she herself isn’t missing anything. 

but she’s doing the same thing today. and it’s driving her insane. 

because she’s been distracted all class. her notebook is open, pen resting against the page, but the notes are sloppy and unfinished. she watches you without meaning to, observing the way your pen pauses, then resumes, like you’re thinking faster than you can write. she thinks she’s just gauging how locked in you are, but that lie feels thinner every time she repeats it. 

she closes her eyes for just a moment before looking at you again. god, this is stupid. what is going on with me?

and as if you can sense it, your eyebrows lift slightly, before you turn your head. your eyes meet hers. it’s not openly hostile, but not exactly curious either. just… assessing. lara’s breath catches before she can stop it. she tilts her head a fraction, confused, wondering if you’re annoyed, or suspicious, or if she’s finally been caught staring like an idiot. her pulse beats faster in her throat as she searches your face for some kind of clue but— 

“croft?”

lara jolts, tearing her eyes away from you quickly, chin lifting as she looks toward the front of the room where she meets the professor’s gaze, while other students look over to see what’s going on. 

“i—sorry,” she says, heat creeping into her cheeks. she straightens in her seat, suddenly very aware of how she must look.

but the professor just gives her a brief, curious look before continuing. 

“croft and… y/l/n,” he says, glancing down at his list. “you two will be paired together for the project. shouldn’t be a problem for the top students in the class.” 

then, he moves on immediately, already calling out other names. the decision made and sealed like it’s nothing.

wait, what? she doesn’t move for a second. her brain stalls, like it needs time to reboot. paired together. with you. the words echo in her head, and slowly, almost against her will, she looks back toward you. but you’re already facing forward again, attention back on the professor, like nothing just happened. 

lara exhales through her nose, fingers tightening around her pen. 

shit.

the word project echoes in her head, followed immediately by paired, followed immediately by you. her heart suddenly feels like it’s beating too loud, like anyone nearby can hear it. she blinks once, then twice, trying to convince herself that maybe she misheard. 

but she knows she didn’t.

lara swallows. of course. of course this is how it happens… just the universe deciding to throw you directly into her orbit, with absolutely no warning. 

the rest of the lecture was terribly slow. lara tried to take notes, but her thoughts keep circling back to the same thing. she tells herself she doesn’t care, that this is fine, that she’s worked with difficult people before, but none of them looked like you. 

and when class finally ends, lara packs her bag methodically, slower than usual, pretending she’s not hyper aware of your movements a few rows ahead. she watches you sling your bag over your shoulder, exchange a few words with a friend, laugh softly which makes her fingers curl tighter around the strap of her bag. she’s not usually one to hesitate, but she does anyway. for the first time since this… rivalry, i guess you could call it… lara’s unsure of what to say. part of her wants to leave immediately, like she’d prefer to get a bad grade just to avoid this situation, but knows she can’t. 

she clears her throat and steps into the aisle. 

“hey,” she says. 

you turn, slowly. up close, she can barely read your face still—wariness, maybe. irritation? your eyes dart briefly to her, then away, then back at her.

“uh, project,” lara starts, then stops, suddenly not sure how to finish the sentence. she’s not good at this part. she’s usually good with answers, working alone. but this feels like unfamiliar territory... “we should probably… coordinate. schedules.”

you study her for a moment, and the silence stretches just long enough to make her uncomfortable. then you nod once. 

“right,” you say. not unkindly, but not exactly warm either. professional, it feels like. it almost stings more than outright hostility. “i’m free after noon on wednesday.”

“wednesday works,” lara replies immediately. “library?”

“sure.” you adjust the strap of your bag, glancing down quickly at her boots, then back up to her face. “i’ll see you then.”

and just like that, you turn and walk away, disappearing into the flow of students. lara stands there for a second, staring after you, her mind buzzing. 

that was it.

and by the time she sees sam that evening for a late lunch, she’s already wounded tight with thoughts of you polluting her brain all day. sam saw right through her the moment she sat down. 

“if you’re about to say something smug, don’t,” lara says immediately when sam opens her mouth, dropping her bag onto the chair beside her. 

sam blinks, then grins. “rough day?”

“we got paired. for a project,” 

her friend’s grin widens. “oh,” she says simply.

lara glares at her. “this is not funny.”

“i didn’t even say anything.”

“your face did.”

“ok, it’s a little funny,” sam replies, leaning back. “actually, it’s very funny. the universe is clearly on my side.”

“shut it, sam.”

—

wednesday comes faster than lara expects it to. class ends at the usual time and lara is halfway through packing her bag when she senses you there in front of her seat. she looks up, and you’re standing by her desk, face unreadable, your bag already slung over one shoulder like you’re prepared to leave the second this interaction is over.

“library.” you say firmly. blunt. 

lara blinks once, then nods. “right. sure.”

the walk there is quiet. painfully so. she’s aware of almost every step, every rustle of your bag, how you don’t quite look at her as you walk next to her. 

inside, it’s even quieter. you pick a table without asking by a large window towards the corner of the room, already pulling out your notebook and laptop, spreading your things without even thinking about it.

lara sits across from you, mirroring the movement, setting her bag down carefully. she watches as you pull up the project guidelines, scanning them once before nodding to yourself.

“okay,” you say, already writing. “i’ll handle the primary research on sites and theoretical framework. you can do the case studies and visuals, like artifacts and inscriptions. we’ll compile everything together for the report when we’re done. should be finished by the end next week if you’re quick.”

lara pauses. looks at you. really looks at you. 

“wow,” she says lightly, slight sass in her tone, leaning back in her chair. “you’ve got everything figured out already, don’t you?”

you don’t look up. “doesn’t hurt to plan ahead,” 

“right,” lara says, a hint of bite creeping into her voice. “except you didn’t ask if i agreed.”

you finally glance up at her then, eyebrows lifting just slightly. “do you disagree?”

“that’s not the point.”

“then what is?” you ask flatly, watching her closely.

lara exhales through her nose. 

“the point is we’re supposed to be working together. not you assigning me tasks like i’m some… employee.”

you scoff quietly, shaking your head. “don’t be dramatic.”

“i’m not being dramatic.”

“well, this is just me being efficient.”

“efficient,” lara echoes, lips quirking. “or controlling?”

your eyes narrow. “excuse me?”

she shrugs, casual, though her shoulders are tense. “just saying. you didn’t even hesitate. it’s like you planned everything out like i’m not even a part of it.”

“you’re making too big a deal out of this.” you close your notebook with a soft thud. “it’s better if one of us plans ahead so… i planned.”

lara’s jaw tightens. “so this is about competition now?”

“isn’t it always with you?” you shoot back.

she laughs once. “with me? you’re the one who acts like i’m trying to steal something from you every time i open my mouth.”

you roll your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “please. you don’t need to steal anything.”

lara goes still. “and what’s that supposed to mean, exactly?”

you look at her for a long second, lips pressed together in a thin line before shaking your head. “can we please just focus on the project?”

the brunette stares at you, then lets out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over her face. 

“fine.”

you open your notebook again. she does the same. 

for a moment, the only sounds are typing, scribbling, flipping through your text books and articles. 

after a beat, lara mutters, “for the record, i didn’t even hate your plan.”

you pause. glance up at her. “no?”

“no,” she says, meeting your gaze briefly. “i just hate how you say things.”

a corner of your mouth twitches despite yourself. “yeah. well. join the club.”

she shakes her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips before she catches it and looks back down. you roll your eyes, but there’s less bite in it this time.

yep. this is going to be unbearable, lara thinks. after a few seconds, she picks up a stack of papers, pretending to be busy, but she can’t stop sneaking glances at you. you’re seated across from her, elbows resting lightly on the surface, fingers flipping pages. every so often, your pen taps against the paper, which lara finds maddeningly distracting, somehow.

“okay,” you say maybe after fifteen minutes of reading, eyes scanning the guidelines again. “we need to make sure the timeline of these excavations matches. i’ll take the early digs, you handle the recent ones. don’t overcomplicate it.”

lara leans back and crosses her arms, nodding slowly.

you glance up, unimpressed. “like i said, it’s about—”

“efficiency, right,” lara mutters under her breath, shaking her head. “because nothing says fun like splitting the work in the most boring, analytical way possible.”

you roll your eyes, tilting your head. “this isn’t supposed to be fun.”

“it could be but,” lara huffs, leaning forward, resting her chin on her hand. “you’re a pain, you know that?”

“get used to it,” you reply without looking up.

“i’d rather not.”

you finally glance at her then, just to roll your eyes. 

for several minutes, you could only hear the scratching of your pen, the faint shuffle of papers, and light clicks as you type on your laptop. lara’s mind, however, is anything but quiet. she notices the slight curve of your jaw as you write, how you bite your bottom lip slightly, softly when you’re concentrating, the subtle tilt of your head that makes her chest tighten in a way she hates.

the rest of the afternoon stretches on like this. just like it does the next few days.

and by the end of the week, lara realized something that surprises her more than she wants to admit: she’s learning quite a lot about you. little habits, quirks, moments that slip out when you think no one’s paying attention. she likes the almost imperceptible raise of your eyebrows when you’re about to deliver some clever retort her way or how you can go from bluntly practical to almost impossibly patient depending on the situation. and you’re incredibly smart, meticulous and focused. it’s truly hard not to notice everything about you when you’re sitting right across from her… and lara’s is actually beginning to not mind your company. 

but it’s also maddening, still, mostly because she doesn’t want to notice any of it. because you’re rather rude most of the time. always throwing some smart remark at her at any time you see fit. and every time you roll your eyes at her sass or snap a small correction her way, lara’s stomach flutters in ways she refuses to acknowledge.

“croft,” you say one afternoon, flipping a page through the analysis she handed you to check, “you really need to check your measurements again. your scale is off by a centimeter.”

lara looks up, annoyed, tilting her head. “a centimeter? are you serious?”

“it’s very noticeable to me,” you reply flatly, already scribbling notes. “and we don’t want to be off in the report. not even a little bit.”

she groans, head tipping backwards. “i don’t think it’ll make a difference.”

you glance at her briefly, almost smug, then return to your work. “well, if you’d stop being so distracted, maybe there wouldn’t even be a difference to make.”

distracted? lara freezes, a flush creeping up her neck. “i—what? i’m not distracted—”

“whatever, just fix it,” you murmur, barely glancing up.

and it’s moments like that makes lara look at you more intently. she sees the way you organize your notes, always so neatly in contrast to her messy ones. she sees the subtle curve of your smile when your work is going smoothly. it makes her almost want to argue with you just to prove a point. but underneath it all, she just can’t stop herself from paying attention to you. lara can’t pinpoint if it’s chemistry, competitiveness, or just plain stubbornness, but every day she leaves the library more aware of you. 

okay, she is distracted.

and on friday, lara catches herself watching you before class even starts all over again, she hates that she’s drawn to you, that she’s fascinated, that she’s intrigued—but she can’t stop herself. 

because, god… you’re really pretty. 

also pretty fucking distracting, actually, and that only makes it worse.

she likes looking at you especially when the sunlight filters through the library windows, spilling across the wooden tables in long rays, and somehow, they always seems to find you. she’ll glance up from her notes and there you are, head bowed down slightly, brows drawn together slightly as you work, completely focused. and lara knows how brilliant you are—she’s seen it in class, in your arguments, in your questions, in the way you deconstruct a theory and rebuild it better for the class to hear. and then there’s the way you dress. every single day, you look good, effortlessly so. not like you stood in front of a mirror for an hour deciding how to look impressive. it’s like you don’t even try. like you just throw something on and somehow it works—soft sweaters, loose button ups, a pretty skirt or a nice pair of jeans, well-worn shoes, sleeves pushed up half way to your elbow at times. she hates that too. hates how natural it is for you. 

she’s used to people trying around her, being careful, being impressed because lara has everything. money. legacy. brilliance. ambition. she’s used to eyes lingering, to people being performatively kind to her, sometimes even avoiding her, sometimes talking behind her back, all because of her name and her reputation.

but you don’t do that. you’re rude to her half the time. well… maybe, all the time. you don’t tiptoe around her confidence or soften your words for her ego. 

and it feels strange how much lara likes it. 

when then the second week comes around, it’s a disaster. she is well and truly doomed because she’s starting to think sam’s right.

as the days pass, she starts noticing a few more things. you always bring fruit as a snack, but never the same kind two days in a row. one day it’s sliced apples, the next it’s strawberries, sometimes grapes. she notices the brand of water bottle you always have with you, recognizes it on shelves now without meaning to. she can hear the music playing quietly through your earbuds when the library’s too quiet and it makes her wonder what bands and genres you like to listen to. she even learns, accidentally, that you work after you leave the library. you mention it offhandedly one afternoon, gathering your things quickly when you felt like you were going to be late. at the local museum, a few blocks from campus. she imagines you there immediately, surrounded by the very thing she’s so passionate about. history. then you tutor afterward. at the library again. for other students who need it, you say. more work. easy cash. less rest.

she starts to see it then, the way your shoulders sag just a little when you think no one’s looking. you hide it too well but lara notices how hard you work, how full your days are, how you give so much of yourself without complaining. you’re driven. someone brilliant in a way that has nothing to do with names or money or expectations.

and that’s just another thing lara lo—no… hates? 

she hates how much it's starting to matter to her. how badly she wants to understand you. how she’s already memorizing the tiniest pieces of your life like they’re artifacts worth protecting…

fuck. 

sam’s right.

lara likes you.

she realizes it one night when she’s alone, sprawled across her bed with her laptop open and absolutely nothing getting done. it explains so much. why being in the library feels different now. why she notices the small things about you. why she knows your schedule better than she should. why she doesn’t mind being in your company even though you clearly don’t like her. why she stares. why she spends too much of her time imagining those soft, soft lips of yours, pressed against her own, soft whimpers slipping from your mouth and into hers—shit.

liking you is a problem. a big one.

she starts doing small things without thinking about them too much at first. things she can justify as… well, nothing. coincidence. politeness. lara has always been well-mannered, after all. so when class ends, she’s already on her feet, already reaching the door first. she holds it open as you pass, steps aside to let you go ahead. she doesn’t look at you when she does it, keeps her gaze fixed somewhere above your shoulder like it’s not deliberate. like her heart doesn’t skip when you walk by. you hesitate for half a second, just enough for her to notice, then you go through without a word. but she sees the way your eyes dart towards her. curious. 

in the library, it’s the same. she pulls out a chair for you without a comment, slides a book closer to your side of the table when she notices you leaning to reach it. when she stands, she nudges your bag out of the way so no one trips over it. thei they were tiny, stupid gestures that shouldn’t mean anything. except they do. to her, at least.

most of the time, she just watches you. 

and you notice. of course you do. you don’t say anything, but lara can tell you notice. you slow slightly when she holds the door, glance back when she slides something toward you. she knows you’re smart enough to be aware of her behavior, but you don’t pull away either.

it’s the only way she knows how to show it. she can’t say anything. not when you still look at her like she’s an inconvenience at best, an insult at worst. so she settles for being useful. she lets herself hope, just a little, that maybe one day you’ll realize she’s not trying to outdo you anymore.

that she’s just trying to be near you.

just like she was the other day. 

lara was sitting across from you like she always does now, pretending to read while secretly watching you. you’ve been rubbing your temples for the past ten minutes. rearranging the same stack of papers again and again. as if the right order might suddenly make everything click. you flip a page, sigh, flip it back, scribble something out only to cross it out again. you clench your jaw. lara notices all of it.

“you’re… doing that thing,” lara says eventually, voice softer than she means it to be.

you don’t look up. “what thing.”

“the violent paper shuffling thing,” she replies dryly. “you’re stuck?”

that gets your attention. you glance up at her, unimpressed. “i’m fine.”

lara hums, unconvinced. she hesitates for a half second—then pushes her chair back. “let me see.”

“lara,” you say warningly, already gathering your papers closer, “i said i’m fine. i can figure it out.”

“i just want to look at it,” she counters, already moving.

before you can protest again, lara steps around the table, turning the corner and stopping just behind you. close. incredibly close. closer than either of you usually get. she rests one hand on the back of your chair without really thinking about it, brushing against your back, leaning in just slightly to see your papers.

you don’t move.

you can feel her there. she’s warm. her shoulder almost brushes yours. her breath is closer than it should be, stirring the fine hairs at the side of your neck. the scent of her—clean, maybe a bit of eucalyptus?—it hits you all at once, and your mind just goes completely blank, unable to form a coherent thought in your head.

lara doesn’t see it right away. she’s far too busy scanning your work, brows furrowed in concentration. 

“okay,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “this part—the timeline jumps too quickly. see the inscriptions here?”

she points to a spot on the papers but her voice is right by your ear. and it’s all you can think of. she keeps talking, rambling a little now that she’s started, explaining excavation methods, historical overlaps, the writings and meanings on stone, why your what you have written in your notes is actually good, just slightly misplaced. she gestures vaguely with her free hand, words flowing easily, clear passion in her voice the way she always does when she talks about history.

but you’re barely hearing her at all. 

your thoughts are loud and useless and entirely focused on how close she is. her hand against your chair. the warmth of her body behind you. how unfairly intimate this feels, her leaning in like this. you know for a fact if the both of you  turned your heads at the same time, her face would be right there. 

her lips… would be right there.

lara finishes her explanation confidently, “so yeah. just move that section up, and it should work.”

“i—yeah,” you say quickly, a little too quickly. “i got it.”

lara pauses. she straightens slowly, heart suddenly pounding, like she’s just realized what she did. she steps back, ears burning, and clears her throat. 

“right. okay. good.”

she turns away and goes back to her seat, sitting down a bit stiffly, eyes glued to her notes like they’ve suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world. her hands feel sweaty. her heart is beating fast. all she can think about is how close you felt, how badly she wants to do it again.

she doesn’t see you on the other side of the table. doesn’t see the way your face has gone warm, cheeks flushed as you duck your head down further, pretending to reread the same sentence over and over. doesn’t see the way your fingers tighten around your pen, knuckles pale, trying hard to get yourself together. 

but neither of you are thinking about the project anymore.

in turn, it’s unbearably uncomfortable over the next few days. awkward. lara feels it immediately. you don’t look at her the same way. not that you ever really did, but now it’s different. she can see the faint shadows under your eyes. you barely sleep. and every time lara’s near, your body feels too alert, too aware, as if your nerves are buzzing under your skin. you don’t know what happened after you felt her so close to you that day, only that it left something open you can’t seem to close again. 

so you cope the only way you know how: distance.

you start leaving early.

“uh, sorry, i’m gonna be late for work,” you’d mumble, already shoving papers into your bag.

lara watches you go every time. the lie is obvious. mainly because she was observant enough to know you don’t work that early in the afternoon. but she doesn’t call you out on it. she just swallows the disappointment and tells herself you’re probably just tired. busy. stressed.

when you do stay, you’re quieter. too agreeable. when lara makes a suggestion, you nod instead of arguing. when she ask you a question regarding a certain part of the project, you shrug and say, yeah, that’s fine. 

it’s a bit unsettling. 

“you don’t have to just agree with me every time, you know,” lara says one afternoon, trying to sound casual.

you don’t even look up. “i know.”

lara presses her lips together, staring down at her notes even though she hasn’t read a single line. she misses the way you used to snap back at her. misses the… tension. 

you’re already on edge when you sit down across from her in the library the next day. lara notices right away, but she doesn’t comment. she waits. she  lets you work through it like she’s learned to do. 

but then she leans forward, just slightly, pointing at a line in your notes. 

“that source is outdated,” she says gently. “my father was actually there when they researched it several years back. there’s a revised study from—”

“i know,” you snap, sharper than you mean to. your pen slams down onto the table. the sound echoes louder than it should.

it’s not anger that flashes across her face—it’s surprise. hurt, maybe. she leans back slowly, hands lifting a little in surrender. 

“alright,” she says softly. “i was just trying to help.”

the silence that follows is awful. you stare down at your notes like they’ve personally wronged you, fingers curled tight, wrinkling around the edge of the page. your breathing is shallow, uneven. frustration radiates off you. 

lara watches you struggle, heart twisting. after a moment, she speaks again. 

“are you okay?”

you stiffen. your shoulders rise like you’ve been struck, and for a long moment you don’t answer. lara doesn’t push. she just sits there, eyes fixed on you. 

you finally look up, and you don’t look angry—not really. you’re conflicted. and she realizes, all at once, that whatever this is between you, it’s not hatred anymore. it hasn’t been for a while.

lara lowering her voice the moment she notices the way your shoulders are set too tight, she leans closer, trying not to poke at whatever raw nerve she’s clearly hit. 

“hey,” she murmurs, keeping her tone even, almost gentle. “i’m sorry. stupid question. you don’t have to…  answer that. and we can go over the notes later if you want. or not. it’s not that serious.”

that was the wrong thing to say apparently.

your pen taps once. twice. then stops. you don’t look at her when you speak, but your voice is sharp enough to cut. “it is serious. maybe not to you.”

lara blinks, taken aback. “that’s not what i meant.”

“then what did you mean?” you finally look at her, the sound of your voice trembling and eyes bright with exhaustion, maybe. resentment. something that’s been building for weeks. “because it always sounds like that when you say it.”

a couple of students nearby glance over. someone softly clears their throat. another whispers, shushing under their breath.

lara exhales slowly, forces herself to stay seated, to keep her hands visible on the table. 

“i’m not trying to fight with you,” she says quietly. “i’m trying to help.”

you laugh humorlessly. “right. because that’s what you do. i guess it must be nice to be in a place where you don’t have to take things seriously.”

“that’s not fair,” lara says, her own frustration bleeding through despite her effort to try and stay calm. “you’re twisting what i’m saying.”

“am i?” you snap back, voice rising just enough that someone a few tables over turns fully toward you. “because from where i’m standing, you don’t have anything to lose. you never have. you’re a croft. things work out for you. doors open. people listen. professors adore you. you don’t get what it’s like to actually be one mistake away from everything being taken from.”

“you don’t know that,” lara says, jaw tightening. “you don’t know anything about me.”

you scoff, leaning back in your chair, arms crossing defensively. “please. everyone knows about you. you’re rich. brilliant. you have connections. your future’s basically carved in stone. you could screw this entire project up, fail the class, dropout, and still land perfectly on your feet.”

lara’s hand curls into a fist against the table. she lowers her voice again, but it’s strained, fraying at the edges. “you think i don’t work for this?”

“i think you’ve never had to wonder if you’ll eat dinner,” you fire back immediately. “or if one bad grade means losing a scholarship. or if saying the wrong thing to the wrong person could ruin everything you’ve worked for.”

“that doesn’t mean i don’t feel pressure,” lara snaps, her composure cracking at last. “it doesn’t mean i don’t have expectations breathing down my neck every second. you talk like i asked to be born into this.”

“must be awful,” you say bitterly. 

“you know nothing about me,” lara repeats, louder this time, and that’s when the shushing gets more insistent.

“hey—” someone hisses from behind a bookshelf.

“please keep it down,” another student mutters.

lara barely hears them. she’s standing now, chair scraping softly against the floor, chest rising and falling too fast. “you decided who i was the second you looked at me. you never even gave me a chance.”

you stand too, matching her without realizing it, voice trembling. “because you already have them.”

lara shakes her head once, then grabs her bag. 

“i’m done,” she says tightly. “believe whatever you want.”

she turns and walks away before you can say anything else, footsteps echoing down the aisle between shelves. and for the first time since this whole mess started, you’re left standing there alone, heart pounding, realizing that whatever this was between you… was more than just a competition.

—

lara’s shared apartment with sam is maddeningly silent. the lights are off except for the glow from the streetlamp outside her window, orange light bleeding through the blinds and striping the brick walls. she’s on her bed, shoes kicked off somewhere near her door, staring at the ceiling like it might finally give her an answer if she looks long enough. and sam had just left to go to some party near campus. 

it’s been a couple days since she fought with you. two full classes missed. two mornings where she woke up, stared at her phone, saw the time, and decided it’s better for her to just stay in. she felt like she couldn’t sit in the same room as you. couldn’t pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t when the last thing you’d said to her was full of things she knows you’ve believed for a long time.

she hates it. god, she really fucking hates it.

she hates that the girl she likes—really likes, there’s no dodging that anymore—sees her like that. like some untouchable thing. someone who’s never had to fight for anything. like she’s already won before the race even started. it twists something ugly and sore in her chest every time she thinks about the way you think of her, about how your voice sounded when you threw it in her face. 

you know nothing about me, she’d said. 

lara shifts on the bed, rolling onto her side, pulling a pillow closer like it might help. it doesn’t, obviously. because all she can see is your face. and she wonders if you ever would’ve listened.

her phone buzzes softly on the mattress beside her. she already knows who it is before she even looks.

sam: u should come, sweetie. might be a good distraction?

lara stares at the screen, thumb hovering. she exhales slowly, then types.

lara: i’m tired. sorry. rain check?

the typing bubble pops up almost immediately, then disappears. sam doesn’t respond right away. lara drops the phone back onto the bed, eyes closing, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

sam knows. she always does.

it’s not that lara’s tired. not really. it’s that she doesn’t trust herself to be anywhere loud, anywhere crowded, anywhere she might accidentally forget herself for a moment and look for you in a room full of strangers. she thinks about how unfair it feels that the one person she actually wants to really see her already decided who she was before she ever got the chance.

lara presses her forearm over her eyes. she tells herself she’s angry. that she’s offended. that she shouldn’t care this much.

but underneath all of it… she misses you. she misses arguing with you. she misses how you look under the library windows, misses how you get smart with her, misses the back and forth, even the way you roll your eyes at her like she’s a problem you don’t have time for. at least then, you were talking to her. looking at her.

now there’s just silence.

the apartment feels too big. too empty. and lara lies there, wide awake. she stares at her phone like it might bite her. another text. she’s here btw. that’s all sam says. no explanation. just those two words sitting on the screen, glowing brightly in the dark. lara swallows, her thumb hovering uselessly over the glass. 

her first thought is why. 

her second is why would sam tell me that. 

and her third is that you probably don’t want to see her. 

it’s been a couple of days and the silence has been unbearable. she missed class. twice. the project is due friday—about two days from now—and she’s convinced you’ve already finished it without her. of course you have. you don’t need her. 

lara drops the phone onto her bed and stares up at the ceiling. she tells herself firmly that this is a bad idea. a terrible fucking idea. seeing you now would only make things worse. she’d say the wrong thing. or nothing at all. you’d look at her the way you did during the fight. 

but god. she wants to see you. she wants to know if you’re okay. if you’re still angry. if you’ve been thinking about her too, or if she’s already been neatly filed away as a mistake. 

sam doesn’t say anything else in their messages. 

lara exhales sharply and sits up.

“shit,” she mutters to her empty room.

she moves on automatically after that. pulls on her boots. grabs her keys. shrugs into her jacket. she doesn’t let herself think about it too hard because if she does, she knows she’ll stop. she’ll talk herself out of it. tell herself she’s being reckless. selfish. stupid. but by the time she’s locking the door behind her, her heart is already pounding fast in her chest. she could still turn back. but instead, she puts the helmet on.

she doesn’t care if it’s a bad idea anymore. she just wants to see you.

lara kills the engine of her bike quickly when she gets there and just sits for a second, hands resting on the handlebars while the noise washes over her. music blasts through the brick walls of the house and laughter flows out onto the street. cars are crammed along the curb, people clustered on the lawn and the front steps, red cups in hand, some already tipsy, some halfway gone. it’s messy and loud and exactly the kind of thing she’d sworn she wasn’t in the mood for—but she’s here now.

the house looks like every other cramped student place near campus. old brick, narrow frontage, windows glowing warm and hazy from the lights inside. 

lara pushes through the front gate, her eyes already scanning instinctively. she tells herself she’s just looking for sam. that’s it. nothing else. but her gaze keeps drifting. she weaves through groups of people on the lawn, muttering quick and empty apologies as she passes, the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke clinging to the cold air around her. inside, it’s worse. it’s too warm, too loud, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder. lara slips through it with practiced ease, nodding when someone recognizes her, ignoring a couple of half hearted attempts at conversation. 

she spots sam near the kitchen doorway, drink in hand, laughing far too loudly at something someone just said. but sam sees her at the same moment and absolutely lights up all over again.

“lara!” she practically shouts, pushing away from the group she’s with and beelining toward her. she throws her arms around lara’s shoulders without warning, nearly sloshing her drink. “you came. i knew you would. i knew it.”

lara exhales a short laugh, tension easing just a fraction as she hugs her back. 

“yeah, yeah,” she says fondly, pulling away. “have you been drinking long?”

“long enough,” sam grins, already rambling as she grabs lara’s wrist and tugs her a few steps further inside. “okay, so—this place is insane tonight, i don’t know who invited half these people, but apparently someone brought a speaker that shouldn’t even be legal, and—oh! and that guy over there tried to start a pong tournament outside but—”

lara nods along, but her eyes keep drifting past sam’s shoulder. she scans the room, the staircase, the hallway leading deeper into the house. every time someone with your hair color moves, her heart jumps stupidly, only to sink again when it’s not you.

sam notices. 

her rambling slows just a little, her grin turning knowing. she leans closer, dropping beneath the music. “the last time i saw her, she was by the staircase, by the way”

lara stiffens, jaw tightening. “i’m not—”

“you are,” sam cuts in, throwing a playful punch to her shoulder, still smirking at her best friend. “it’s okay. i’m literally the one who texted you about it.”

lara looks away, swallowing. 

“i don’t see her,” she mutters.

sam’s eyes dart past her then, looking around.

“yeah,” she says. “well, she’s gotta be around somewhere.”

lara’s nods once, forcing herself to stay still. she doesn’t ask anything else. she doesn’t ask who she’s with. she just stands there, hands shoved into her jacket pockets, pretending the room hasn’t suddenly gotten ten degrees warmer.

sam bumps her shoulder lightly once more. 

“go grab a drink,” she says. “or don’t. just… relax, okay? i’ll keep an eye out for her.”

lara gives a noncommittal hum, eyes already drifting again, searching t the room, the spaces between people. she still doesn’t see you but that she knows you’re here, really here, the thought settles heavy and electric in her chest.

she doesn’t grab a drink. instead, she spends far too long searching for you inside the house. she weaves through cramped hallways and rooms, shoulders brushing strangers, music bumping so loud the walls rattle. every room smells like cheap alcohol mixed with smoke, perfume, and sweat, with laughter, people shouting just to be heard. she checks the kitchen, the living room, the staircase, the second floor—anywhere you might be, but you’re nowhere. and every time she thinks she spots you, it’s someone else. 

sam eventually finds her again, follows her gaze, notices the way lara keeps scanning faces, doorways, corners.

then she grins.

sam jerks her head toward the back of the house, mouthing “backyard.”

lara hesitates for a second. then she nods,and slips away before she can overthink it.

the back door is a sliding glass one, slightly open, and lara slips through, and immediately the noise dulls. the air is cooler here, too. fairy lights hang lazily above the backyard and groups and couples of people sit scattered across the grass. some lying on their backs, some talking, some playing some games, some singing along to the music playing inside, some sitting in front of some fancy fire pit, and some just staring up at the sky.

and then she sees you.

you’re sitting alone on the steps leading down from the porch, slumped forward, elbows resting on your knees. your head is bowed, hair falling around your face, gaze fixed on the ground. there’s a half empty cup in your hand, almost forgotten but even from a distance, lara can tell, clear as day, that you’re drunk. and alone. how long have you been sitting there? she curses at the thought. 

she slows as she approaches, afraid she might scare you. she doesn’t say anything. she just moves to sit beside you on the steps, leaving a small space in between. for a moment, you don’t react at all. you stay exactly the same, staring at the ground. lara looks straight ahead, jaw tense, hands in her pockets. she feels painfully aware of how close she is to you, of the warmth radiating off your side, of the way your shoulder almost brushes hers.

then you move. sluggishly, you turn your head, eyes landing on her. lara turns to meet your gaze a beat later.

you scoff softly, “figures.”

lara doesn’t snap back. doesn’t defend herself. she just exhales through her nose, eyes glancing back toward the yard, the lights, anything that isn’t your face right now. 

there’s a long pause after that.

she steals a glance at you again. the way you’re hunched in on yourself. the way your fingers fidget with the edge of your sleeve. the way your lips press together like you don’t know what to say next. 

she came here knowing this was a terrible idea. and yet, sitting beside you now, she can’t bring herself to regret it.

“what?” she says gently.

you look at her with lidded eyes, giving yourself a moment to scan her lazily before answering. “figures you show up right in front of me after i spend all night thinking about you.”

lara watches you drunkenly giggle soon after. her heart swells, liking that you’ve been thinking about her. 

“i didn’t really plan on coming here,” she says finally.

you huff a quiet, humorless laugh, still staring at the ground. “yeah. well. you shouldn’t have.”

lara smiles and nods once, like she deserves that. “probably.”

there’s a long pause. you smell faintly like alcohol and something citrusy, maybe from whatever you’d been drinking earlier. your shoulders are slumped in a way she’s never seen before. she wonders if you’re cold, glancing down to your legs, sporting a skirt at your hips and sweater over it. 

you look tired. and drunk, obviously. but you look pretty still anyway. 

lara glances up at you then, just briefly. your eyes are glassy, unfocused, lashes heavier. you don’t look angry. not really. 

“you’re drunk,” lara says, thinking out loud. 

“wow,” you mumble. “that’s a…very brilliant observation, croft.”

she almost smiles, then thinks better of it.

“i can leave,” she says quietly. “if you want.”

that gets your attention. you lift your head a little more this time, eyes flicking toward her. you study her face like you’re trying to decide whether she’s serious.

“… don’t,” you say.

lara takes a breath. “alright.”

another silence settles in. lara adjusts slightly on the step, close enough now that your shoulders nearly brush but she doesn’t touch you. 

“did you finish the project?” she asks after a moment, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

you shrug lazily. “mostly. it’s due monday.”

“mostly,” lara repeats, glancing at you again. “doesn’t sound like you.”

you snort, “guess you don’t know me that well.”

“i’m pretty sure that’s my line,” she replies. 

your mouth twitches at that. you look away again, back at the ground.

“don’t start,” you murmur.

“start what?” she says sarcastically.

shaking your head, you almost topple over and instinctively lara’s hand moves, resting against the small of your back. you glance down at the red solo cup in your other hand and go to lift it for another drink, a lazy smirk tugging at your lips, but lara gently stops you, taking the cup out of your grip.

“hey!” you call sluggishly, a little grumpy, still giggling but with the faint edge of frustration creeping through your lips. “i’m still drinking that…”

you trail off, distracted by the way she’s looking at you.

lara shrugs lightly, looking down at the cup in her hand like it’s a minor inconvenience. 

“i reckon you’ve had enough,” she says softly, holding it, careful that it doesn’t spill. 

you stare at her for another long second. then you scoff softly, shaking your head. “you’re really… annoying, you know that?”

“yeah,” lara murmurs. “i’ve been told.”

you tip slightly against the step, letting out a soft, hiccupping giggle, and lara just watches, not exactly sure of what to do. but there’s mistake that the way you tilt your head and the little laugh that escapes you despite the redness in your cheeks makes her stomach flutter. a few seconds pass and you frown, closing your eyes and letting out a long, quiet sigh. then, gravity wins. slowly, you slump even further and let your head fall against her shoulder. tiredly. completely.

lara freezes, stiff at first, and then melting slightly as she feels your cheek warm through the leather of her jacket. your hair brushes her jaw, soft, ticklish, and she can feel your breath ghosting faintly against her collarbone. she inhales carefully, trying not to think too much about how impossibly close you are. her first instinct is to pull away. but she doesn’t.instead, she stays still, every muscle locked, heart beating so hard she’s certain you can feel it. her arm hovers awkwardly at her side, right behind you, not sure where to put it. she can hear the shallow rhythm of your breathing, the little hiccups, and it’s enough to make her feel… protective. possessive, even.

“‘m tired,” you whisper almost to yourself, followed a muffled hum against her shoulder. 

lara waits.

“i’m sorry about what i said,” she hears you whisper. “in the library…”

“it’s alright,” lara shakes head lightly.

“no, it was mean,” you tell her, words slurring as you mumble into her shoulder. “i was being a jerk… i think a part of me was… jealous, i guess. and i assumed the worst of you without actually… getting to know you first.”

“i understand.” you see her smile then.

her hand brushes slightly against your hair as she moves, just enough to make you more comfortable without waking you fully from your drunken haze. the rest of the party feels miles away all of a sudden. and you stay there, slumped against her, giggling softly now and then, completely oblivious to the way you’re driving her insane. 

“you confuse me, you know?” you tell her.

lara huffs a breath. “do i?”

“mhm.”

she tilts her head just a little, curious. “how so?”

you lift your head then, slowly, until your chin rests on her shoulder. it puts your face dangerously close to hers that lara can see the gentle pink flush still clinging to your cheeks. 

“because you’re always staring at me.”

you look straight into her brown eyes.

“why do you always stare at me like that?” you ask.

she smirks softly and pretends to think about it, dark orbs drifting upward like she hasn’t already replayed this exact thought a hundred times in her head.

“maybe,” she says lightly, “maybe i think you’re pretty.”

you blink at her, completely unimpressed. you give her a deadpanned look and roll your eyes at her, something she’s honestly missed seeing in the past couple days.

“what?” lara’s smirk turns into a gentle, fond smile. “you don’t like it?”

it’s a long second before you reply again, lazily slurring your words.

“i do like it,” you admit quietly. “… that’s the problem.”

before she can respond, your head drops back onto her shoulder. you grumble something else under your breath. 

lara smiles, hear heart fluttering at your words. “what do you want me to do about it?”

your nose scrunches faintly like the question feels too complicated. your brows knit together as you think before giving her a tiny, helpless shrug. 

“don’t know,” you mumble. 

she stares ahead for a moment, watching the fairy lights sway gently above the yard, gathering courage she didn’t know she needed.

“well,” she starts, “can i tell you a secret?”

you nod softly.

“i really like this girl,” she says

“you do?” you say lazily, pouting slightly.

“yeah.” she nods, even though you can’t see it. “she’s… stubborn. brilliant. kind of annoying too… constantly arguing with me. and gets on my nerves a bit.”

you sigh softly. “sounds exhausting.”

lara chuckles under her breath. “she is.” there’s a pause. then she adds, “but the problem is i don’t think she likes me that much.”

it must be the alcohol, she thinks. you’re far too drunk to put the pieces together, that the girl she’s talking about is you. and as amusing as it is, a part of her wishes you understood now. 

you lift your head again, blinking up at her. your eyes search her face, a bit unfocused.

“why?”

you watch as lara’s lips curve into a gentle smile. “uh, she’s a little… mean to me, sometimes.”

“and?” you say plainly, sitting up a bit more, wobbling slightly before leaning against her shoulder again. “does she know you like her?”

lara shakes her head slowly. “no.”

“why not?”

“because,” lara says quietly, “i haven’t told her yet. i’m little scared.”

then you scoff, shaking your head, words slurring just slightly. “i didn’t think lara croft was scared of anything…you’ll never know if you don’t shoot, so… maybe she likes you back.”

the girl next to you smiles, leaning closer to your body, warm against her side. she opens her mouth to say something, anything, really, but you’re already sagging back into her side and your head finds her shoulder like it belongs there.

lara huffs a quiet laugh. she doesn’t correct you. “i really hope so.”

you hide your face further into her shoulder, nuzzling close. 

“should i tell her?” she asks.

“no.”

lara raises an eyebrow, “no?”

“i don’t want you to,” you slur.

she smiles again, a little confused. “why?”

“because it’s not me.”

—

you wake up slow with a dull ache pressing against your skull. the sun that stream harshly through the blinds, stripes across the floor, across your arms, across your face, doesn’t help either. you sit up, groaning softly, pillows and sheets tangled around you, and blink at the ceiling. you try to remember anything about how you got here. the party flashes in your mind: music, laughter, people, lights, and… lara. the last thing you remember is being shoulder deep against her, your head resting on her jacket.

then—nothing.

fuck. you groan again, pressing a hand to your face, squinting at the sunlight. you didn’t intend to drink that much. never this much. maybe one of your friends noticed and dragged you here while you were too out of it to protest? maybe lara…? 

you shake the thought away, heart suddenly beating faster. no. no, there’s no way.

your dorm feels unfamiliar. well, its familiar enough that you know the room is yours but the sheets aren’t tangled around you in the way you remember leaving them. the window is slightly open, letting in the morning air that smells faintly of wet grass and smoke from last night’s barbecue someone probably hosted down the street. you were wearing the same sweater and skirt you wore from the night before, shoes neatly tucked by the corner of your bed. your bag is shoved to the corner like someone tried not to trip over it. the room is too tidy to be your memory.

you sit on the edge of your bed, swinging your legs over, head pounding harder. your fingers fumble through your hair and the room spins lightly when you tilt your head, and you groan again, curling down against your knees.

“this sucks,” you mutter to yourself, frustrated, teeth gritted. 

and there’s that gnawing feeling in your stomach. you remember laughing too much, maybe spilling something, talking… no, you were too drunk to even remember what you said.

you shove yourself up again, hand pressed to your forehead, staring at the walls like maybe they’ll offer answers. maybe someone left a note. maybe your phone will have some miraculous text explaining everything. it doesn’t. just notifications from classes you forgot to check, reminders you ignored, and a new text from… lara?

it’s just a single message: library tomorrow? 4pm? last day to work on the project

you stare at it, your stomach twisting.

oh god. oh no. the memory bubbles just a little at the edges of your mind: the steps outside, the quiet backyard, the way lara smelled, the way her shoulder felt under your cheek, the words you mumbled when you were half-asleep. you cringe and press your face into your hands. you were a mess.

you slump back into your pillows, staring at the ceiling again, and your thoughts drift to the leather jacket. you can almost feel it under your head. and then, stubbornly, impossibly, your chest tightens thinking about her. lara. what did you talk about? what the hell did she think about last night? did she…? was she…? damn it. why can’t you remember? you huff, running another hand through your hair, tugging at it slightly as if that could pull the details back into place. it doesn’t. nothing does. you hate that your own brain is working against you.

you hate that you could only remeber the small things. like how she smelled. hint of eucalyptus. and the jacket. oh god, the jacket. you remember pressing your cheek against that soft, worn leather under your skin, smelling faintly of her, you throw your arm across your face, pressing it into the pillow, wishing you could remember the words, the conversation, but it’s gone.

then you think, the library. tomorrow. lara. should you even go? your stomach twists at the idea. she’s going to be there. well, obviously. but god, after last night… after what you said in the library… you can practically feel the humiliation waiting for you. of course, she wouldn’t let it slide. maybe she’d smirk that annoying, perfect little smirk, maybe tilt her head, and absolutely, without mercy, embarrass you in some way. fuck. you can already picture it. you don’t want to go to the library tomorrow. you don’t want to see her. you don’t want to be reminded of… whatever happened.

but part of you also knows you’ll probably go anyway. you’ll show up, because avoiding lara croft is impossible. 

and that’s why you’re standing here, frozen near the entrance, gripping the strap of your bag. it’s four o’clock on a sunday, the sun dropping low enough to throw long streaks across the tables, and there she is. lara. flipping through a textbook, brow furrowed slightly, hair falling just enough to brush the sides of her face. she doesn’t even notice you yet. even then, you feel ridiculous for being so nervous. it’s not like you’ve never seen her before. in fact, you’ve seen her every day for weeks now. you’ve fought with her, argued with her, and yes—lately, thought about her far too much. but, you’re stuck like glue to the floor, staring at the way she moves, the way her fingers linger over the pages, the tilt of her head as she reads. 

with a sigh, you tell yourself to walk over. just go. it’s only a table. you can sit. act normal. finish the project. the, everything will go back to the way it was. and yet your feet feel like they’re filled with lead. every nerve in your body is screaming, reminding you of last night, of how close you were, and the way she looked at you. 

you glance down at your bag, twisting the strap through your fingers, nails pressing into the fabric. a small part of you thinks about turning back, heading to another table, pretending you had another errand, another plan, or something. anything to avoid facing her. 

you shake your head.

one step, you say to yourself. 

and suddenly you’re there. standing in front of the usual table, though your stomach is doing somersaults and your hands feel sweaty from all the nerves. 

lara looks up calmly, like she’s been expecting you anyway, and says, “hey.” 

your cheeks burn immediately, and you clear your throat, fumbling slightly. you pull your things out like your papers, notes, laptop, and books. lara doesn’t move or even comment. she just watches you, brown eyes softening, making your stomach flip all over again. you finally sit down across from her, and she smiles faintly with just a small tilt of her lips. it’s light, but it’s almost enough to make you want to both crawl under the table in embarrassment. 

you spread your papers out neatly, open your laptop, and start organizing your notes like you always do. aftera moment, lara picks up a pencil and starts absentmindedly tapping it against the edge of her notebook. she’s quieter today, but her eyes often drift up to look at you and you catch yourself glancing up just enough to meet her gaze and quickly looking away. you’r your cheeks feel hot. 

and for almost an hour, the you work in silence. the words you exchange are few, mostly about the project, what else needs to be done, and you keep them practical, trying your hardest not to look at her, to focus on the last of the work instead of… whatever she’s doing to you.

and all the while, lara’s eyes follow you. she smiles faintly from time to time until her gaze slips lower, drifting to your lips. she likes the curve of it, the way they move when you mutter something quietly to yourself, how they press together when you pause in thought. she can’t stop looking. even if she tried. she swallows, throat dry, heart pounding, entirely aware that for the first time in weeks, she doesn’t want to focus on the project anymore. she just wants to look at you.

and god, she can’t stop staring.

it’s impossible to ignore. you feel her gaze on you and it crawls up your spine, making it hard to breathe normally. you clear your throat for what feels like the tenth time, clenching your jaw strictly because of your nerves. you try to adjust in your chair, pretend to reread the same paragraph you’ve already read three times. eventually, you glance up, hoping that if you catch her looking, maybe… just maybe, she’ll look away. or she’ll realize she’s been staring. but she doesn’t. instead, lara just smiles at you. like she knows she’s staring at you, and whatever you tried to do, would do nothing to avert her eyes. it makes your stomach flip, heat rushing straight to your cheeks. you look back down immediately, your heart beating too fast. 

and you have no idea that on the other side of the table, all lara can think about are your lips. they look soft. impossibly so. she likes the way they part slightly and the way you press them back together when you’re thinking, with the tiniest curve of them when you mutter something under your breath. she watches them move and feels her focus slip further and further away from… what was it? oh… right. the project. fuck.

her pencil lies forgotten between her fingers.

she imagines it far too easily. her leaning in. slowly. giving you time to pull away if you want to. even though the thought of you not wanting it the same way she wants makes something tight twist in her chest. she imagines the hesitation first, where your breath stutters and her thumb might brush your jaw, silently asking you for permission. she imagines kissing you gently. she imagines the way you’d taste. how your breath would hitch, gasping before your lips soften against hers.

and it’s… really fucking distracting.

you clear your throat again. she looks up when she hears it. her attention zeroes in immediately and she notices everything. your cheeks are visibly flushed now, the color deepening as the seconds pass, and your eyes refuse to meet hers. and then you lick your lips.

i should tell her. that’s what she’s thinking right now. maybe now is the right time. 

lara swallows, throat dry.

“y/n,” she starts gently. “uh… listen, about friday night—”

you stand up so abruptly that it startles her. she flinches slightly, words dying in her throat as your chair moves back with a squeak against the floor. you don’t look at her still. you’re already stepping back, shoulders tensing up as you gently lay your pen down onto your notebook, watching as it rolls to the center of the pages.

“i–i have to go look for a book,” you blurt out, words unsure on your tongue. “j-just wanna double check on something, so… i-i’ll be back.”

it sounds like an excuse even to your own ears.

lara opens her mouth, then closes it again, stunned as you turn away before she can say anything else. you move quickly, retreating toward the tall shelves behind her, disappearing into the rows of books like you’re trying to hide inside them. for a while, she stays in her seat, staring at the empty seat in front of her.

shit. lara leans back in her chair, running a hand through her hair.

“smooth, croft,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head slightly.

meanwhile, you duck into an aisle without really thinking, just keep walking until the table is far enough away that you can’t see her anymore. the shelves loom on both sides of you, packed tight, smelling like dust and paper. it feels safer here, to be honest. soon, you stop halfway down the row and pretend to look for a book. your fingers trail along the spines absently, brushing titles you don’t even read, authors you don’t recognize. archaeology? history? literature? are you even in the right section? you have no idea. you’re not even sure which genre you’re in. you just know you needed to get away. because of the way she was looking at you, making your heart feel like it was trying to beat its way out of your ribcage.

about last night. your stomach twists. of course she was going to bring it up. of course. embarrassment burns hot and fast under your skin, creeping up your neck. you imagine her teasing you, smiling that maddening and cocky smile, making some offhand comment about how drunk you were, about whatever things you said. 

you try your best to remember… but your memory gives you nothing. just fragments of leather under your cheek. her scent. that’s it. no words. it makes everything worse.

you swallow hard. god. what if you said something humiliating? what if you cried? what if you insulted her again? or—worse—what if you did something gross? your face heats even more at the thought. what if i threw up on her? you nearly groan out loud at the mere idea of it. that would be so fucking embarrassing. you’d never recover. you’d never be able to look at her again without wanting the floor to swallow you whole. you’re going insane. and you know you are. you close your eyes, forehead tipping forward until it almost rests against the row of books. you breathe in slowly, then out, trying to calm yourself down. you have no idea where you are. no idea what aisle this is. no idea what you’re supposed to be doing here. maybe, staying home and finishing the project by yourself might’ve been the better idea. all you know is that your heart is still racing, your cheeks are really fucking hot, and somewhere back at that table, lara croft is probably sitting there thinking you’re ridiculous.

get it together, you think. you’re overreacting.

“y/n.”

you flinch, heart jumping straight into your throat, fingers tightening around the book you don’t even realize you’re holding. reluctantly, you look up.

lara stands a few steps away at the end of the aisle. “did you find what you’re looking for?”

your mouth opens. nothing comes out. and instead of answering, you turn and keep walking, deeper into the shelves. you can feel her behind you almost immediately. her footsteps are quiet like she’s giving you space. it makes it impossible to think.

you stop abruptly at the end of the aisle, tucked away in a dim corner of the library where the shelves press closer together and the light doesn’t quite reach. lara stops too.

you turn, reaching blindly for another book, pretending to look at the spine, closing your eyes with a huff. 

“lara, if you’re just going to make fun, please—”

“what?” she cuts in immediately. “no. no, i’m not. i promise.”

you finally look at her. really look. she doesn’t look amused. or smug. if anything, she looks… nervous.

“then why are you following me?” you ask.

lara lifts a hand and scratches the back of her head, gaze tearing away from you for just a second. 

“i…” she trails off, searching for the right words and coming up empty.

you sigh, long and tired, rubbing a hand over your face. 

“you’re being really annoying,” you mutter all of a sudden, turning back to the shelves. “and i don’t even know why i care, which is even more annoying, and i really don’t remember anything from friday and that’s driving me insane, because i knew for a fact you were going to bring it up and embarrass me, and i just—” 

you shake your head. 

“i shouldn’t have come today.”

now you’re rambling, half hysterical. 

“i don’t even know what you were about to say and my brain keeps thinking the worst possible scenarios and it’s stupid, because i’m being stupid, and—god—”

but behind you, lara smiles, head shaking. it’d probably infuriate you even more if you could see the way she was looking at you right now. but, she steps closer while you’re still muttering under your breath, caught up in your own sentences to even notice her coming up behind you.

until you turn. and the words die instantly on your tongue. because lara is right there. she’s so fucking close. you can see the faint freckle near her cheek and how her pupils dilate when they land on you. your breath hitches as she takes one step forward. but you take one step backwards, your back hitting the shelves behind you as lara stops inches away from you.

she just looks at you with that same look on her face again and it drives you absolutely crazy. 

“stop looking at me like that,” you say.

lara doesn’t.

she just smiles again like she’s been waiting for you to say it. “i thought you liked it when i look at you.”

heat rushes to your face. when did you say that? your heart starts beating faster and louder and you’re almost sure that she can hear it. 

lara lifts her hand slowly, giving you time to pull away. her palm settles against the end of the shelf beside your head and she leans in just a bit, her face close to yours making you swallow the lump in your throat. you’re painfully aware of how she stands over you, how the shelves box you in, how warm the air around your body suddenly is. your body eases into it without even thinking, yourchin tipping up slightly as your gaze falls to her face. to her mouth.

in return, lara’s gaze drops. her eyes trace the shape of your lips like she’s memorizing them. like she’s been thinking about this for a long time. the look on her face sends a shiver straight through you.

“lara…” you whisper. 

she doesn’t look away.

“what?” she asks quietly. “you don’t want me to?”

she says it, she’s already leaning in slowly as if she knows you won’t stop her. you’re staring at her lips now too. you don’t even realize when your eyes go heavy lidded, when it feels like it’s getting a bit harder to breathe, when lara’s closing the distance between you. 

“i do…” you whisper. she’s so close now that you can feel her breath against yours. “that’s the problem.”

and almost immediately, lara closes the distance before you can say anything else, capturing your lips as you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. she kisses you slowly and carefully, your lips as soft as she had always suspected… as she had always imagined they would be. lara can’t help but sigh into your lips as your hands fly up to grasp at her shoulders before moving to wrap your arms loosely around her neck. her hand drops from the shelves, scrambling to place both hands on your waist, pressing you firmly against her. and you  just melt into her without meaning to. she takes her sweet time, her fingertips rubbing the soft skin at your waist underneath the hem of your shirt, making you moan softly. fuck, she loved the sound of it. and decided she needed more. much more.

lara groans against your mouth, tilting and angling her head to kiss you even deeper. eventually, her tongue swipes your bottom lip and your lips part instinctively, letting her in and lara could practically drown in the taste of you. you taste good. so fucking good. it’s addicting. the strong hands at your waist tighten for a brief moment as she presses you firmly against the shelves. 

you feel dizzy. lara feels dizzy. her mouth feels so good and warm against yours. the way she kisses you all desperate and wanting makes your knees weak and if it weren’t for her holding on to your waist and your hips, you were sure you would’ve slid and melted right into the floor. 

god, you can’t even remember what you were talking about before. or even why you were here. all you could think about is lara. and all lara can think about is you. 

finally, you pull just slightly back to catch your breath, your forehead dropping to her shoulder as you gasp for air. your hands come up to press firmly against her shoulders, just holding her there.

and lara barely registers it. she’s dazed, pupils blown, breathing heavily as she follows your lips without even thinking, chasing them like it physically hurts to be without them. her mouth brushes yours again. one more kiss. another. then another. 

“lara—” you try.

she hums softly and kisses you again. you giggle into it, pulling back just enough this time to keep her at bay.

“t-the…” you breathe. “t-he project—we have to—”

lara tilts her head, clearly not listening, eyes lidded and fixed on your mouth like it’s the only thing she can see. she leans in and pecks your lips again. 

“f-finish the—” you start again, words falling apart as her lips presses against yours all over again.

when she finally pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, foreheads touching.

lara blinks, like she’s waking up.

oh.

she lets out a quiet, incredulous laugh under her breath, her hands finally stilling at your waist. 

“right,” she murmurs. “yeah. the project.”

you nod quickly, cheeks burning hot. your grip on her shoulders loosens for a moment but you don’t fully let go just yet. she smiles softly, letting her thumbs brush your sides. 

lara doesn’t move right away. she’s still too close and too aware of you boxed between her and the shelves. she likes how your eyes keep falling down to her mouth and then back up again like you’re trying not to be obvious and failing miserably. god, she really likes it. she studies your face like she’s memorizing it. the blush on your cheeks grow deeper, lips parted and swollen and it makes her weak thinking about how she’s the cause of all of it. 

and then she blurts it out like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“i like you.”

you blink at her. as if the kissing wasn’t already answer enough, she adds again. 

“i really like you.”

for a second, you just look at her. then you huff out a small laugh, shaking your head softly. lara’s mouth curves into a gentle smile immediately and she leans down and presses a quick and gentle peck to your lips. 

“i thought we hated each other,” you say quietly. 

“i thought so, too,” lara smiles again, her accent thick. she pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, raising one eyebrow mischievously. “well… do you still hate me?”

you raise your own brow in return, a tiny giggle slipping out before you can stop it. “i think you’re smart enough to figure that out.”

lara smiles knowingly, “i want to hear you say it.”

and then it’s quiet for a second. you can hear the library all around you; pages turning somewhere far away, footsteps echoing from a distance. you can’t help but stare up at her. she doesn’t rush you or doesn’t tease you. she waits, her beautiful brown eyes gentle and patient and soon, something in you finally gives. you lean in just a little, close enough that she can feel your breath, close enough only for her to hear. 

“i think,” you say quietly, “i really like you too, croft.”

lara’s smile grows even wider and her eyebrow raises again, “you think?”

“i’m still thinking about it,” you say with a hint of sass. 

she rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling wide now, completely unable to hide it. 

“uh huh. well,” she murmurs, leaning in, “think harder.”

and then she kisses you all over again. 

you melt into her for a moment, fingers playing with the loose hairs at the nape of her neck. lara sighs at the feeling, her lips pressing against yours with a hum.

soon, you pull away again, faces still close but you give her a curious look.

“you know, i thought you invited me here to embarrass me,” you admit.

lara snickers softly and her head tilts as she looks at you, brows knitting together, “why would i do that?”

“because… we’ve been at each other’s throats for a while now, so…”

lara hums, then shakes her head slowly. her hand slips from your waist to rest lightly at your hip.

“if i wanted to embarrass you,” she says gently, “i would’ve done it earlier.”

you smile.

“but that’s not what i wanted,” she continues before matching the curve of your lips. “and that if you said something you don’t remember… i didn’t think it was stupid. or embarrassing.”

“you’re saying i didn’t make a complete fool of myself?”

“well, i thought you were quite cute, actually.”

you scoff immediately. “i was drunk.”

“very,” lara agrees easily. “could barely sit up straight.”

you shake your head, dropping your head back against the shelf for half a second. “you don’t have to describe it.”

she laughs softly, and when you bring your head back up, she leans in just a fraction, placing a sweet kiss on your lips.

you hesitate for a second, then look up at her again.

“and were you the one who got me back to my dorm?”

she just nods once. “yeah.”

“oh.” then, after a beat, “wait—how’d you even know which room was mine?”

lara scratches the back of her neck, suddenly feeling a little sheepish. it’s a look you don’t see on her often, and it makes your stomach flip.

“you told me,” she says. “about three times, actually. full address and everything. room number. even which stairwell to take.”

you groan softly, dropping your face into her shoulder. “wow.”

“yeah,” she says, laughing under her breath. “you were very determined to make sure i didn’t abandon you in the wrong corridor. your words.”

“see?” you mumble. “you are embarrassing me.”

“you’re the one asking,” she says.

you press closer without realizing it, your cheek settling more comfortably against her shoulder.

you rest tour head there for a short while before finally saying, “thank you.”

lara lets out a content sigh, feeling relaxed about having you in her arms.

“is it…” you start, and she hums softly in response before you continue. “is it safe to say i want you to kiss me again?”

you watch as her grin grows wider, brown eyes already falling down to your mouth as she tilts her head to lean in closer.

“oh, absolutely,” she says, lips brushing against yours for a brief moment until she firmly places them back on yours with soft sigh.

the both of you never thought it would end up like this. you were both so sure of it. you were so convinced you couldn’t stand each other. 

but now, you’re tucked away in a far corner of the campus library, hidden by tall shelves, with your lips pressed against each other’s.

sam was right all along. that there is something there. and the project, somehow, got the two of you here. and maybe later you’ll panic about it. maybe tomorrow you’ll argue with her again—

scratch that, actually.

lara’s thinking she’ll take you to dinner, instead.