God, he’s so impatient. ‘Be ready at nine’, he said– like what sick individual would say this to a college student? You should report him for psychological warfare, but speedrunning your morning routine has priority.
You rush down the stairs of your apartment building, shoving the keys into your pocket while praying that Scara is still there, waiting and not too pissed. Once the front door closes behind you, you hear a car horn blare. Your head whips in the direction of the noise and, of course, it’s him. Sitting in the car, smug expression, knowing he embarrassed you.
You open the car door and sit on the passenger seat, saving your sarcastic comment since he’s doing you a huge favor today. “Hey”
Scara just shoots you a frown before starting the car. “You’re late.”
A guilty feeling starts to build up in your stomach when you see his tight face. He’s helping you and you kept him waiting. “I know… I’m really sorry, I’m not used to waking up this early… I didn’t mean to make you wait for me.”
Scara sighs softly, the tension on his face easing. “It’s okay, I’m not actually mad. Kinda expected it, to be honest.”
You shrink in your seat, a little embarrassed that he thinks of you like that, especially now that you proved him right.
He adds on. “Don’t be late again next time.”
“Next time???” You question, eyes wide, before you can even think about or process it.
His eyes widen slightly, and he doesn’t elaborate, eyes on the road. You decide not to say anything either, as to not make him snap at you again.
The two of you arrive at the café, which looks really cozy on the inside. Maybe this study session won’t be complete torture. You look around for a good spot. “Is this booth fine?”
You sit down and Scara hesitates for a few seconds before settling down next to you, leaving the seat in front of you empty. He takes out his laptop– that you see for the first time ever by the way since he ‘doesn’t need notes’ because note-taking is apparently beneath him– and the philosophy book your professor recommended. Following his lead, you put your notebook and your pen on the table.
Before you can start studying, a waitress approaches with a friendly smile. “Hello, what can I get you today?”
Scara gestures at you to go first. What a gentleman, consider yourself charmed.
Usually, you’d order a cup of cocoa, but you need some caffeine since someone made you get out of bed at this ungodly hour. “I’ll take a cappuccino, please”
“A black coffee for me” Either he’s really tired, or really tasteless.
Regardless, the two of you start studying. He opens something on his laptop –and wait… it’s the slides the professor doesn’t share?
You blink. How on earth does he have those? Did he sell his soul to the devil? Or to your beloved professor?
You lean over suspiciously.
“Where did you get those?”
Cryptic and stoic. Typical Scara behavior.
You don’t let it go easily.
“No, but seriously, where did you get them?”
Scara sighs, like you’re being unreasonable.
“My mom is a professor too. I made her ask for them. Now less talking about that and more studying”
Without any much-needed mental preparation for you, he starts out explaining all sorts of philosophy related things from the beginning of the semester, pointing at the presentation slides for emphasis. You start taking notes, occasionally asking questions when he’s going too fast or when something is too confusing.
He describes all these concepts and definitions with his calm and confident voice, his tone dipping when he’s a little unsure about something or rising when he talks about the things that interest him in that class– it’s almost hypnotic. You hold on to every word he says, and yet it feels like a blur, like you’re watching him speak instead of listening to his explanations. Something about it is just so captivating. After a while you find yourself staring at the way he moves his hands while he talks, just enough to make his point but not too much where it becomes obnoxious. His hand moves a little closer and–
“Yn? Are you even listening?” Scara snaps his fingers in front of your face. You flinch out of your trance, blinking.
He cuts you off, sharply, “You got distracted.”
You nod, apologetic look on your face. He drags out a long, exasperated sigh, but actually softens his tone. “I think you need a break, we already went over three lectures”
“Yeah, a break would be nice.” The tension leaves your body at the idea.
Scara takes a look at your notes, examining them for a second.
And no reply, again. Scara really just straight up avoids questions he doesn’t want to answer with no excuse whatsoever.
Instead, he asks you a question, “Did you eat yet?”
“No, I was in a rush…” You chuckle nervously.
“Me neither, let’s buy something.”
The two of you walk up to the counter, scanning the display for something nice for breakfast. The pastries all look so delicious, you’re having a hard time deciding on what to get. Deep in thought about this very important decision, Scara’s annoyed groan disrupts you.
“They only have sweets. Ughhhh.” Yup, his taste is questionable.
You fail to bite back your comment, “No shit, it’s a café.”
His brow twitches, he smiles wryly. “Coffee is bitter, so the food here should be bitter, too.”
You snort, taking the opportunity to smartass him for once, “I fear it’s common knowledge that Café food is sweet, you know. You could’ve taken me to the library if you wanted something bitter.”
He looks to the side, mumbling, “I know, I just thought you’d like this place.”
You pause. You surely misheard, right?
You glance at him from the side, he’s still looking away as if he didn’t just say something oddly thoughtful and– contrary to his bad taste in food– sweet.
“Well…”, you start, trying to play it cool while he caught you off guard, “I do like it. Despite your suffering.”
Scara hums, barely suppressing a small smile. “Good. At least I don’t suffer for nothing.”
Your mind goes back to the pastries, but his comment lingers in your head. You get a slice of strawberry cake, he gets a plain croissant.
Back at your booth, you start eating in a comfortable silence, before Scara breaks it with a question. “So… why psychology?”
You glance at him, surprised at his sudden interest. “I guess I like figuring people out. Why they are the way they are. It’s complicated, but… important.”
Scara hums. “Sounds exhausting if anything. People do what they do, why they do it doesn’t matter in most cases”
You shrug. “People always make more sense when you look at what they’ve been through. And I think it matters more often than you think. I mean, you chose this café. Why? Because you wanted to do something nice for me. I think that sentiment does matter.”
He goes quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on his coffee.
“…You read into things too much,” he mutters eventually.
“Now your turn. Why history?”
His shoulders relax a little, more comfortable with this topic. “It’s straightforward. Things happened, you just study why they happened. People say it’s just memorizing dates but there’s patterns that repeat themselves because humanity doesn’t change.”
Ha. Contradiction spotted.
“Oh, so the ‘why’ does matter in history, but doesn’t matter in psychology?”
He pauses, taking what you said into consideration.
“I guess it’s just on a larger scale in history?”
Now it’s your turn to think. “Maybe. You do like to analyze people, just not up close”
He rolls his eyes and smirks a little.
“Stop trying to psychoanalyze me”
The two of you go back to studying, going over the rest of the material. It’s surprisingly easy when Scara explains it to you and not that arrogant professor who talks like everyone has a degree already. Hours slip by and the sun sets, so the two of you decide to call it a day. He makes sure to bring you home safely.
Once he parks in front of your apartment complex, he turns to you. “Do you feel like you actually understand more now?”
You nod, shooting him a grateful smile. “I do. You don’t know how big of a favor you did for me. So… thank you.”
Scara looks away, as always. “Don’t mention it. At least you’re all caught up now.”
“Thanks to you.” You add quickly. You still feel kind of guilty that he spent his whole day helping you, but he doesn’t look like he regrets it.
“Seriously, it’s nothing.” He says.
“I don’t care, I’m still thanking you. And thanks for bringing me home, too.”
You unbuckle your seatbelt, grabbing your things, “Anyway, I’m heading in. Goodnight, text me when you’re home!!”
He blinks, giving you a mildly confused look. “I’m a guy in a car, I think I’m safe.”
You roll your eyes. “Just do it anyways.”
You step inside, trying not to think too hard about the fact that that actually went… really well.
summary⎯ It starts with a note in philosophy lecture. They sit together once, then again. Now they’re texting, sharing notes, and maybe something else they won’t admit. Minor in philosophy, major in denial.
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