ad astra per aspera

AO3

Stanford was quite possibly the most incredibly brilliant, uniquely infuriating person Fiddleford had met in his life.  He had no concept of self-preservation, no regard for safety precautions or basic human needs like food or sleep or downtime.  He drove himself harder than any three people, collapsed, regrouped, and drove himself harder still.

Fiddleford did his best to look after him.  Sure, he offered his help to anyone who really needed it, but Stanford was his friend.  An unusual friend, certainly, but a friend all the same.

Before midterms he’d come to Stanford with a question, one he needed an answer to before he could move on with a project.  In hindsight, perhaps he should have tried taking his own advice about sleep before tackling advanced physics, but oh well.  With hindsight comes wisdom and all that.

Stanford had clearly been in the middle of a work frenzy, looking more wired than any three of the contraptions in Fiddleford’s room.  Still, he’d somehow managed to understand the concept he was presented with and explain it in a way Fiddleford could understand.  

“Well,” Fiddleford had said, fairly disappointed with himself for missing the obvious answer.  “That wasn’t much.  I’m sorry for wastin’ your time, Stanford.”

Stanford had scoffed at that.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Fiddleford,”  he said, already turning back to his own work.  “You’re never a waste of my time.”

And that was Stanford for you.  Abrupt, distracted, probably running on caffeine fumes and stubbornness, but kind, in his own way.