#best programming languages for full stack

Keys takes his neatly folded stacks of clothes out of his suitcase and places them in color-coordinated piles in his dresser drawers.

The electronic lock on the dorm room door before it's carelessly swung open, the curved handle clanging against the white brick inside the room.

"Hey, roomie! What's up, I'm Steve. Steve Harrington."

Keys turns and pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, smiling politely with pursed lips. He takes Steve's outstretched hand in his and gives it two firm shakes, looking his roommate over with a scrutinizing gaze.

Steve's got on a snug-fitting striped polo tucked into even snugger-fitting light wash denim jeans. He lifts his sunglasses up onto his head, raking his glorious, tousled mane back away from his face. He had kind eyes and a wide smile, although he was smacking his fruity-smelling gum quite loudly which already grated Keys' nerves.

"Hey, cool to meet you. I'm Keys."

"Keys, hm? You were meant to be at MIT with that name, huh?"

"Well, beats Walter. I was captain of the Computer Science Club in high school, last name's McKey, had some clever friends so -- Keys." He holds out his hands demonstratively, fingers spread wide and jazzy. Steve laughs and nods right along.

"I like it, man. Wish I had friends that clever, best I got was like...dingus? Butthead?"

"I can call you Butthead, if that makes you more comfortable."

Steve lets out another bright laugh, and Keys finds himself chucking right along with him. The new roommate chucks his duffel bag onto the blank bed opposite Keys' neatly made one and starts rifling through it, tossing clothes in haphazard piles of shirts, pants, socks, and underwear. Keys cringes at the wrinkled destruction, but says nothing and just continues to put his own crisp wardrobe away.

"So, uh, I know we all kinda start out undeclared, but you know what you're going for, major-wise?" Steve asks over his shoulder, quickly folding his rumpled clothing into semi-thoughtful stacks to put away as well.

"Yeah, actually. Still the computer guy, so I'm going for my BS in AI and Decision Making, then I'll probably apply for my PhD in Computational Science and Engineering. You?"

Keys turns when Steve doesn't respond straight away and finds him slowly blinking, lips slightly parted in awe.

"Holy shit, dude. That's seriously impressive."

Keys feels the heat rising in his cheeks as he waves him off.

"Just sticking with what I already know. What about you? Know what you're going for yet?"

Steve shrugs, turning down his mouth in an exaggerated trout-like frown. "I think so, but I'm open to having my mind changed. Was thinking of either going for their Architecture program, or maybe a Humanities-Engineering major. Minor in Women's Studies either way, probably."

Now Steve finds that Keys is the one staring, slightly dumbstruck.

"Women's Studies? Any particular reason for that one?"

"I...love women." Steve smirks and Keys laughs under his breath, shaking his head.

"Can't argue there, I guess."

🕸️

"What do you mean, I can't switch it? I didn't sign up for it!" You growl at the admissions assistant, even though you're fairly certain they're just a student (like you), and don't get paid nearly enough to deal with this shit.

"Sorry, ma'am. The Wednesday morning class is full, there is only room for the Thursday afternoon."

"But I literally can't have class on Thursdays, do you get what I'm saying? I got an internship that was almost impossible to score, and it's Thursday through Saturday. I worked with the admissions people for weeks to make sure I had all my classes on Monday through Wednesday, I even got a professor to host a virtual Sunday lecture this semester because he owed my dad a favor. If I get put in this Thursday class, I'm completely cooked. Everyone's time is wasted, and I lose my internship."

Judging by the panic-stricken look on their face, you can glean what their answer is going to be; it's like they're scared you'll drag them out of the building by their ears, howling and screaming, when they inevitably say it. You put your elbows on the counter and your face in your hands, feeling the numbness wash over you.

"Ma'am..."

Your internship, ruined. The one you'd busted your ass to score an interview for, and then subsequently nailed. The Cambridge Courier had never taken on a Jr. Reporter in their freshman year, but they were so taken with your writing samples and stellar references that you'd gotten it anyway (with the caveat that you could be there Thursday, Friday, and Saturday each week).

A voice behind you, rich and sweet, like an angel (but moreso the latter because of what he says).

"Oh, hey. I'm in the Wednesday class for that. I can swap you if you need."

You spin around, fighting the urge to pull this wonderful human being into a bear hug and kiss him square on the mouth just for offering. Then, when you actually get a look at him...well, it's even harder to resist that temptation.

He's a total babe. Tall, a great head of carelessly ruffled hair that probably took a lot more time than you'd realize to look that effortless, freckles on his cheeks and neck that get lost in a thick thatch of chest hair peeking out from the deep v-neck t-shirt, and the sweetest, kindest set of hazel-brown eyes you've ever seen.

"Are you serious? Oh my god, you'd be a lifesaver, I'd owe you my life."

He holds his hands up and shakes his head, his smile growing wider and showing off two rows of straight, white teeth. The corners of his eyes crinkle with delight.

"No way! Don't want that, I'm happy to help. I'm Steve."

You tell him your name and give his hand a firm shake, noticing immediately how his engulfs yours almost completely, and that makes your knees weak.

"You'll both need to submit a request to the admissions office for a class swap, but it should be done within 48 hours." The student behind the counter tentatively adds with a shy smile.

You nod at them once in understanding and beam up at Steve.

"C'mon, we can go set up the transfer on my computer. I owe you a coffee, Steve."

🕸️

"So, why are you in an Intro to Women's Studies class anyway, if you don't mind me asking?" You sit across from Steve at a picnic table in the campus commons, sipping on a frothy frappe with a decadent caramel sauce drizzled over the top.

"It's my minor. Still deciding on my major, but I do know I wanted that for sure. I dunno, I guess I'd just like to know what I can do to help people that need it most. Thought it might help me have a little more perspective in whatever I do, other than just my own?"

You nod, impressed. "I can appreciate that, Steve. I'm majoring in Writing, I'm gonna be a journalist some day. I wanted the minor to have a better understanding of the things I want to write about, who I'm writing it for, all that stuff."

"Very respectable." He agrees, holding his coffee up in a cheers to you. You click your plastic cup against his cardboard one, and both of you giggle softly while sipping your drinks. You catch a glimpse of the time on your wristwatch.

"Oh, shit, I have to get to the library. There's a seminar I needed to listen to for next week." You throw your things in your bag and start to stand, Steve getting ready to go too, just at a much more leisurely pace. "Hey, um...we'll probably have lots of the same classes, if we're getting the same minor. Would you, like...I don't know, would you wanna be study partners? I could give you my number, and if you ever needed to chat about lectures, or whatever..."

"Yeah, that sounds great. Awesome, actually, I'll need all the help I can get."

You both laugh brightly and you put your number in Steve's phone. He texts you immediately with this GIF:

So without hesitation, you bite your lower lip and find this one to send back:

He grins even harder, and you give him a little wave over your shoulder.

"Later, Tiger."

🕸️

The seminar was on Artificial Intelligence in the Ever-Evolving World, and lots of MIT professors and students would be presenting their work. The Courier wanted you to attend and cover it for your first piece that would be in the Saturday edition of the paper next week.

Your heart swells with pride when you sign in and they have a press badge for you. A press badge.

You wander around the space taking photos and scratching down notes about various exhibits as graduate students speak about their different thesis projects.

After half an hour or so, they announce that the seminar would be starting in the next few minutes. You make your way inside and take an aisle seat towards the front, not wanting to miss out on any important information for your article. Not thinking, you set your messenger bag down on the empty seat next you.

A few moments later, while you were busy scribbling questions down that you'd like answered, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turn, immediately worried that you may be concussed.

Another tall, dark, and handsome babe talking to me in one day? Did I die?

This guy was equally as handsome as Steve, although he puts off a completely different vibe. Where Steve is carefree and laid-back (even slightly goofy), this guy was straight-laced and buttoned-up. If Steve were Technicolor, this guy was monochrome, but not in a bad way really.

His aura was soothing, confident, and relaxed. He wore glasses, but you could see that his eyes were hazel too, though with a bit more green to them than Steve's. He was in a collared shirt with a sweater over-top and khaki slacks, and the slightest cordial smile on his face.

"Hey, sorry, do you mind if I sit here? It's starting to fill up..."

You glance down and scramble to shove your bag carelessly under your seat, babbling apologies under your breath before glancing up at him with your own warm, inviting smile and patting the now-empty chair.

He settles into it and pulls out his tablet for taking notes. You glance at it enviously, feeling a little silly for bringing pen and paper to a seminar about AI and technological advances. Rookie move.

"My name is Keys, by the way." He leans over and extends a hand to shake yours. You take it and introduce yourself, trying not to seem overly eager.

"I'm a Writing major, and a Jr. Reporter for the Courier. My first big project is on this seminar, so I'm really excited to hear what they have to say."

Keys raises his eyebrows; they disappear briefly behind the hair falling over his forehead.

"That's really cool, I didn't realize this stuff would be of any interest to the press. I'd be happy to like, give you an interview after, if you like."

You scrunch up your face in confusion.

"An interview? Are you --"

"Walter, there you are! C'mon up, we're gonna get started."

He rubs the thighs of his slacks and smiles at you, shuffling by. He glances down one last time, and adds, "I'm the keynote speaker for the freshman AI Engineering Club. If you do wanna chat, come find me after this thing's over. This uh -- this offer's just for you, yeah? Don't bring a whole crowd with you, if you do come."

All you can manage is a slack-jawed nod, and he gives you a wink before walking casually up to the stage, hands in his pockets.

He delivers an incredible seminar, speaking confidently and clearly about what advances in artificial intelligence can do for the world and how it will change the future. By the end, people are standing in applause, camera lights flashing brightly across the room.

You snap a few pictures of Keys standing before the crowd, softly smiling like it was nothing out of the ordinary (maybe for someone as brilliant as him, it wasn't).

You indeed found him after the seminar, and both of you spoke for hours on what him and his teammates have been studying and developing in the AI labs here at MIT (to a degree...a lot of it was pretty confidential, actually).

You spoke your opinions on AI freely, never once feeling judged or undervalued in the conversation. Keys answered your questions thoughtfully and nodded along as you spoke, listening so intently it made you feel flushed at times.

As the evening wound down, he offered to walk you home. Both of you kept talking the entire way, no longer just about the seminar and your arm looped through his bent one.

"Okie doke, this is me." You tell him as you reach the girl's dorm.

You reluctantly slide your arm from his and suddenly, despite how easily the conversation has been flowing all evening, the air suddenly feels awkward now.

"Why does this happen?" He asks. You tilt your head in a silent question, waiting for him to continue. "Why do goodbyes always make things weird?"

It's like he read your mind. You laugh, and he quickly joins you. You hold your hand out, palm-up, and he puts his hand on top of it without a second thought.

"No, your phone, weirdo. I'm gonna give you my number. So we can...chat."

"Ah. Yeah, that makes a lot more sense."

You type your number in, questioning reality because this is the second time you were giving a hot guy your number today, and hand it back. He reads over your name once reverently, then slides the phone in his back pocket.

"Was really great to meet you. Have a great night." He says, body language leaning into you.

"It really was. Thanks, Keys. G'night."

You make it up the stairs to the third floor and walk straight into your room. Since you had a demanding work/school schedule (and a dad that managed to pull a few strings), you had special accommodations to have a single room on the corner of the floor.

You set your bag on the small twin bed in the room and start to pull off your heels, when your text notification chimes. It's from an unsaved number.

Goodnight again, gorgeous

You grin cheesily to yourself, biting down on the tip of your thumb and replying:

I sure hope this is Keys, otherwise I'm changing my number.

Shit yeah this is Keys.

Sorry.

No problem. And goodnight to you too, handsome. 💋

🕸️

When Keys swipes his card to get back into the dorm room, Steve is still wide awake and playing computer games with his feet propped up on the desk. He pulls his headphones off, and they've left a hilariously obvious indention in his voluminous hair. His smile is directed at Keys, though his eyes don't leave the screen and his thumbs keep working the joysticks.

"Hey man! How'd it go?"

"Good... Really good, actually." Keys bites his lower lip, brows furrowed in thought. Steve's eyes flicker to his roommate just standing there frozen in thought, so he pauses his game.

"You good?"

Keys didn't really have a ton of guy friends he could gush about girls and the like with. His buddies from computer club definitely weren't the biggest womanizers (and frankly neither was he), but he figured now was his chance to make one. Steve was nice enough, and they were going to be living together for at least a year, so...screw it.

"Yeah, man. I, uh...I met a girl there, actually. She was really cool. Super smart, we talked for like, hours."

Steve's brows nearly shoot off the crown of his head, and he throws his headphones off completely, leaning forward with intensified interest.

"Yeah?? Was she...y'know...hot?"

"Women's Studies, huh?"

"I have a deep respect for women and other marginalized communities. Now, was this girl hot?"

Keys chuckles and nods, conceding. "Yeah, dude. Really hot."

"Nice. You know, that's so funny...I actually met a super cute girl today too, I switched one of her classes for her to be about to go to her internship. I think we really hit it off actually, got her number."

"I got this girl's number too!"

Steve holds his first up for a friendly knuckle bump, and Keys obliges.

"Bro, how cool is this? What if we both met our dream girls today, and we can all like, hang out and get through this shit together? Two power couples!"

"Alright, getting a little ahead of yourself, Harrington. Maybe let's take our girls on a real date first, then we'll talk about campus domination."

"Deal."

Keys drags his sweater over his head, and though he knows Steve was most likely joking with his outrageous fantasy, he can't deny that he likes the idea of a close knit group of friends.

A girlfriend.

A family -- something he never really had much of before.

Steve really likes Keys, too. He does feel bad, because no matter how close they become as friends, he'll always have one secret he'll have to keep from him. A huge one.

Hell, he'll have to keep it from any friends, girlfriends, too; no matter how close he ends up getting to someone, in this one aspect he will always have to remain distant.

Suddenly the Spiderman costume tucked under his mattress feels glaringly obvious, and when Keys' back is turned to grab his shower bag from the back of the closet, Steve has to take a quick peek to ensure that it's still well hidden and not poking out anywhere.

That would really suck.

the palms was technically student housing, but barely. it was old. the elevator creaked like it was held together with prayers. the walls were so thin she could hear someone chewing two units over. the stairwell smelled like weed, sweat, and dryer sheets. and the mailboxes downstairs looked like they were last emptied in 2008.

but her place, the third floor apartment she’d already made home was kind of a vibe. huge windows, string lights, cluttered vinyls stacked in a crate next to giant ass speakers, mismatched throw pillows, blue highlights in her dark hair that matched her blue lava lamp. it was thrift core meets girl in red. every inch of the space screamed an interior designer’s nightmare but cozy.

her room was pink, orange, and blue. like, overwhelmingly so. no color theory. just vibes. guitar picks on every surface. incense burning next to her art supplies. hanging tapestries, thrifted mugs, old band posters, cracked mirrors, fake plants and real ones she forgot to water.

and the speakers—her babies—meant she could shred or scream sing whenever the mood struck.

fleetwood mac. girl in red. screamo she didn’t know the name of. music was her coping mechanism, her religion, her personality. she wasn’t playing it loud to be rude. she was playing it loud because silence made her spiral.

besides, it was college. csu. the most chaotic public university in the state. football, finance bros, frat parties, and—somehow—a surprisingly elite arts program. everyone was drunk, horny, stressed, or all three. it wasn’t her fault if her neighbor couldn’t handle a little thursday morning “somebody else” by the 1975 at full blast.

her neighbor, who she hadn’t seen yet. but had definitely heard.

he walked around like a fucking rhino. slammed drawers, dropped weights or something heavy every morning, and opened his fridge like it personally offended him. tessa had no clue who he was, but he, or she, sounded like a human migraine.

she didn’t tell her friends about him yet, mostly because she was too busy helping micah pick an outfit for a theme party he didn’t want to go to. micah, her gay best friend from freshman orientation, now a theatre major who dragged her to cast parties for free tequila.

rina, her freshman year roommate turned soul sister, was in fashion school and already sewing her own jackets while sending tessa “fit check or jail” selfies.

and jules—jules was a stoner girl she met in psych who sold weed out of her hydroflask and once wrote a breakup poem that made tessa cry in public.

they were her people. her chaos support group. her ride or die. but even they didn’t know she was slowly beefing with a man she’d never seen.

yet. because when she opened her laptop and tried to connect to the wi-fi that night, one network name stood out.

youretooloud tessa blinked. stared. tilted her head like a confused dog. and then, without hesitation, created a personal hotspot and renamed it dealwithitbitch

and that was the start of it. she didn’t know his name. she didn’t know his face. but she did know he had just declared war.

rafe cameron moved into 3B of the palms off campus with one suitcase, a duffel bag, and a list of shit he didn’t tolerate anymore.

noise. mess. surprises. people who chewed with their mouth open. people who touched his stuff. girls who laughed too loud and thought that counted as a personality.

he was transferred in—first semester at carolina state university after a “break” year that wasn’t really a break. he didn’t tell people the full story, but they knew enough. addiction, rehab, a coke problem no amount of therapy journaling fixed. his old school didn’t want him back. csu did. maybe because he could throw a football like a lunatic and had alumni money in his name.

now he was a business major. football team wide receiver. amateur boxer. he needed structure. something to hold onto. something to control.

his apartment in 3B looked more like a hotel room than a college dorm.

dark gray walls. navy bedding. black everything else. no posters. no clutter. no random personality trinkets. just a clean ass desk, a fully stocked mini fridge of protein shakes and prepped chicken and rice(and steak, i know, icky.), one black candle he never lit, and a weight bench shoved next to the window.

his boxing gloves sat on the sill like decor. his notebooks were color coded. he vacuumed his rug three times this first week and took out the trash twice a day.

nothing in the apartment moved unless he moved it. and he liked it that way.

but then the girl in 3A happened. or, more specifically, the noise in 3A.

he didn’t know her name. hadn’t seen her. didn’t care to. all he knew was that she was loud. like insane loud. like “who the fuck hurt you and why are you making me suffer for it” loud.

guitar riffs through the walls. screamo vocals during the day. weird indie breakup music at 3am like she was doing a one woman show he didn’t buy tickets to. would never.

it wasn’t just annoying. it was unsettling. it shook the walls. it messed with his head.

he’d gone from a soundproof rehab facility to this apartment complex where the drywall vibrated every time she played that one damn song that sounded like if anxiety had a guitar solo.

topper laughed when he brought it up. “bro it’s college, not the fucking library.”

evan said maybe she was going through something. cam didn’t say anything, just cracked his knuckles and nodded like he wanted to fight the music personally.

rafe didn’t talk to her. he wasn’t about to knock on a stranger’s door and start bitching. he was trying not to be that guy anymore. he wasn’t about drama. but she was pushing it. she was testing him.

so he renamed his wifi: youretooloud

just to let her know. just to be petty. just to feel like he’d done something about it.

he didn’t expect her to respond. definitely didn’t expect her to rename her hotspot to dealwithitbitch less than ten minutes later.

his eye twitched. he sat back in his pristine, borderline military grade desk chair. and for the first time since move in day, he smiled.

he didn’t know her name. he didn’t know she had blue highlights or that she kept a lava lamp in her window. he didn’t know she was going to ruin his life and make him like it.

he just knew 3A was now his biggest problem. and rafe cameron? rafe thrived on problems.

the thing about them, they’ve been side eyeing each other this week; in the hallways, campus–you name it.

brushing shoulders near the communal laundry room. waiting for the same shitty, creaky ass elevator in the mornings. leaving the mailroom at the same time with identical dead inside stares and headphones in.

he thought she was some art kid with attitude. she thought he was a finance bro with trauma.

they never spoke. never even made full eye contact. just glances. just tension. just something. and the funniest part? neither of them knew the other was the neighbor.

rafe didn’t know the girl who wore giant headphones around campus and scribbled in her sketchbook like she was gonna set it on fire was the same one who blasted fleetwood mac and screamo every night through his drywall like a war crime.

he didn’t know she laughed for a full five minutes when his wifi popped up on her phone and said youretooloud.

she had tears in her eyes. stood barefoot in her kitchen eating peanut butter off a spoon, absolutely cackling. “someone’s pressed as fuck,” she snorted, and changed her hotspot name to dealwithitbitch before skipping her way back to her room.

she thought it was funny. because it was funny. who tf gets that mad about music?

she didn’t know that rafe cameron hadn’t just moved from out of town—he moved from silence. he moved from group therapy and cold turkey withdrawal and lights out at 9pm. he moved from a soundproof bubble where quiet was the only thing that kept him sane.

loudness meant danger to him. it reminded him of the parties.the red solo cup sweat stained basements, the coke on bathroom counters, the girls dancing like ghosts and his own pulse shaking in his teeth. it reminded him of relapse. of who he used to be.

so when her music cut through the drywall, it didn’t feel like a joke. it felt like static in his brain. it felt like her hands were on his throat and she didn’t even know it.

but god—he didn’t know that either.

they were neighbors. strangers. and already enemies. it was going to be a long semester. and neither of them had any fucking clue.

they had no idea how close their worlds were. how their orbits almost brushed every day.

carolina state was massive, yeah—twelve thousand students and a football stadium that looked like it belonged on ESPN. the business school sat across from the art building like god was playing a joke. the frat rows ran through the center like a virus. the whole campus smelled like weed and iced coffee and overpriced laundry detergent.

but when you zoomed in—zoomed alllll the way into the cracked concrete of the palms off campus—it got small. more intimate.

tessa’s territory looked like this->bean me up. the off campus cafe with pink walls, mismatched mugs, and the worst espresso she’d ever tasted. she loved it. came back the monday she moved in and never stopped. the barista knew her name. her usual was a lavender iced coffee with oat milk, and she tipped like a stripper.

micah’s apartment. 1C. pregame central. he always had tequila and some dramatic playlist on loop. that apartment had seen more glitter, crying, and breakdowns (a lot of fucking too) than the entire theatre department combined.

“tessa’s” tattoo shop. off campus, 15 minutes by bus. she worked weekends, sometimes nights. mostly stick and pokes, minimalist linework, but she was good. fast. careful. always smelled like antiseptic and cheap perfume.

the shared balcony. outside the third floor, one long ledge that connected 3A to 3B and wrapped around. she sat out there to smoke, legs dangling off the ledge, hoodie on, headphones in. she didn’t realize someone else smoked there too.

the rooftop. she didn’t even know it was accessible until jules showed her the trick with a spoon in the stairwell door. she went up there to scream into the sky sometimes. nobody ever came up. except someone would. and soon.

the party hallway. second floor. tessa’s friends hosted shit there every weekend—led by micah and fueled by jules’ weed and rina’s outfit inspo. every thursday through sunday it was tequila shots, screaming girls, stolen speakers, someone crying in the laundry room. someone fucking in the laundry room.

the 24hr diner off campus. always freezing. always open. they served mozzarella sticks and pancakes all day. she’d go at 3am with jules when their brains were fried. she didn’t know the boy from 3B sat in the same booth every sunday morning after boxing.

rafe’s map looked different tho. very different. eh, i’m lying. not thaaat different, but different nonetheless.

the field. he ran drills there in the morning before class. headphones in. sweatshirt on. didn’t talk to anyone unless he had to. the team called him a machine. some of the freshman girls called him hot. he didn’t hear either.

the boxing gym. off campus, three blocks south. he went after class, after football, sometimes instead of sleep. cam trained there too. they’d spar, lift, ignore everyone else. it was dark. smelled like sweat and metal. just the way he liked it. the dark and quiet, not the sweat and metal.

the trap house. technically not a trap house. just evan’s cousin’s place with blackout curtains, pool tables, and the kind of girls who didn’t ask questions. rafe wasn’t proud of being there. but sometimes he needed to not think. and nothing made him not think like cheap drinks, half lit rooms, and hands he didn’t care about.

rogue bar. his go to. cheap whiskey, dark booths, one bartender who didn’t ID minors. tessa hated it. the one time she walked past it she said it smelled like “divorce and deadbeat dads” a place maybe her dad would go to. rafe liked that it was quiet. the bartender never asked questions. he could sit there for hours, untouched, unknown.

the shared balcony. he’d step out sometimes to smoke. late night. hood up. the first time he heard her laugh out there—too loud, too her—he nearly threw his lighter off the ledge. or himself.

the rooftop. he didn’t plan to go up there. didn’t even know how. not until one day he had to. the walls felt too close. the noise too loud. he found the spoon trick by accident. climbed the stairs like a ghost. stepped into the quiet.

she’d be up there too. eventually.

they lived beside each other anyway. shared a wall, a balcony, the same warped elevator, and the same broken mailbox key system.

but still. no clue.

but the semester was young. and bad signal travels fast.

“okay okay but is it crazy if i play my music even harder just to annoy my bitch ass neighbor?” tessa asked, dead serious, hanging halfway off the armrest of rina’s chair.

rina didn’t even look up from the sewing needle in her hand. “you already shook a framed picture off your wall this morning. do you want the ceiling to collapse? because that’s how you get a lawsuit, babe.”

“no because he started it,” tessa insisted, kicking her socked feet against the coffee table. “like, imagine getting so pressed you rename your wifi to ‘youretooloud’ like some suburban dad.”

jules, sprawled on the floor with a joint half-rolled and absolutely no sense of urgency, laughed. “he’s definitely bald. has to be. bald and bitter.”

“what if he’s like, fortyseven and going through a divorce,” micah added from the kitchen, microwaving a single taquito. “that would explain the anger. and the audacity.”

tessa grabbed a sharpie from rina’s pencil cup and scrawled LOUDER BITCH on a sticky note, slapped it on her speaker. “nah. he’s probably a finance major who thinks wearing deodorant is a personality,” she muttered. “he deserves pain. he deserves paramore at full volume.”

rina raised a brow. “and what if he’s hot?”

“then i’ll scream louder,” tessa grinned.

meanwhile. unit 3B. “bro,” rafe said, standing dead center in his spotless kitchen. “you don’t understand. it’s every night. like. every. single. night.”

“you could’ve just knocked, y’know,” topper replied, flatly, from the couch. “talked to her like a normal person.”

rafe blinked. “knocking is insane.”

“changing your wifi name is also insane,” evan chimed in without looking up from his engineering textbook. “just saying.”

cam was silent, as usual, leaning against the wall doing absolutely nothing but staring into the abyss like a goddamn statue.

“i don’t even think she’s human,” rafe said, annoyed. “like who needs to listen to the same guitar riff on a loop for two straight hours. i swear she’s trying to kill me.”

“maybe she’s summoning demons,” topper offered. “or just hates you specifically.”

“she doesn’t even know me,” rafe snapped, pacing.

“yeah but your vibe screams ‘i hate women and fun,’” evan muttered.

rafe flipped him off. “this isn’t about fun, it’s about peace. i’m used to… i don’t know. silence.”

and there it was. that liiitttle slip. none of them said anything for a second, not even cam. the room held its breath. rafe’s hands twitched at his sides.

“…look, she’s loud, okay?” he said again, quieter. “i just want her to turn it the fuck down.”

he didn’t say because it reminds me of the worst parts of myself. he didn’t say because rehab was quiet and safe and this apartment feels like a panic attack. he didn’t say any of that.

he just sat back down. jaw locked. breath shallow.

somewhere through the wall—bass shook the floor again. topper snorted. evan groaned. cam blinked once.

and in unit 3A, tessa cackled like a bitch, cranked her speakers to max, and hit play on misery business like it was a fucking battle anthem.

this semester?rafe was fucked.

“see?” rafe snapped, gesturing toward the wall like it personally insulted him. the chorus blared through the drywall. “see?! she’s a fucking bitch.”

topper didn’t even flinch, lazily scrolling through his phone from the couch. “what if it’s a he, though?”

rafe turned, full body, like topper had just committed war crimes. “ain’t no fucking way a dude listens to girl in red or whatever the fuck that was,” he shot back. “those are lesbian songs, top. like–those are for the girls and the gays. not your average beardy fucking frat guy.”

“you’re oddly passionate about this,” evan muttered from the kitchen.

“no i’m just logical,” rafe barked, shoving his fingers through his hair. “i know a lesbian when i hear one.”

“you heard a lesbian?” cam asked for the first time in four hours.

“yes!” rafe snapped. “she plays the guitar like she’s mad at god and sings like her ex stole her cat. i know the type.”

at the same time, paper thin walls away tessa was howling. “he’s gonna complain to the school board, i swear to god,” she gasped, clinging to rina’s arm as she wheezed with laughter. “he’s gonna write a strongly worded email like, dear CSU: my ears are bleeding and i think it’s a hate crime.”

rina was on the floor now, tears in her eyes. “he’s gonna talk to the complex lord,” she managed, wiping her face. “like one of those weird dudes who tattles on people for having weed and living.”

“he probably calls the cops on parties at 5 PM,” tessa added. “this man wakes up angry. has to.”

she was barefoot, half dressed in an oversized tee and shorts, clutching a half full soda and riding the high of victory.

the tee read I FUCKED THE BASSIST.

an old thrift store find. a cursed inside joke. a completely non factual statement. she wore it proudly, purely for giggles.

“you think he’s hot?” rina asked casually.

“absolutely not,” tessa lied, sipping her drink. “he probably looks like an off brand walmart channing tatum.”

she had no idea she was describing rafe fucking cameron, former kildare kingpin, future emotional disaster, and current veeerrry pissed neighbor in 3B.

and rafe? he still thought she was a faceless music gremlin sent from hell to test his sobriety.

god help them both.

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Crossing your arms you groan in frustration, "It will be, you know that this is our best chance at getting Parker's damn unobtainium."

You stand hand on the door frame before your eyes catch sight of a familiar picture. A small plain silver frame, a woman with long brown hair and dark eyes smiles, her hair whipping wildly across her face, her eyes squinting as the sun blinds her.

Your hand grips the door frame tighter, "Of course you kept it," you snap angrily as you slam the door behind you.

Storming through the hallways you nearly pass your door, when someone calls out to you. Looking over your shoulder you see Jake in the hallway. Your face heats up when the memories of the last few hours surface and you throw open your door.

He clears his throat before speaking, "Listen, about earlier-"

You cut him off sharply, "Goodnight, Jake."

You shut the door and slide down against it, holding your hands in your head, you whisper, "Fuck."

★⌒ヽ

Hiding from Jake hadn't exactly been easy, but you managed. It wasn't that you didn't like him, things were just complicated, especially after that night.

And hiding from Jake meant hiding from the others too. Grace had been hounding after you for weeks, she at least seemed to sense something had happened. And Norm, well, he didn't understand why you had been so avoidant, but he at least gave you space. Until today at least.

Your feet tap against the ground nervously as you reach for another cigarette, almost lighting it before someone clears their throat nervously in front of you, "Grace wants to see you."

You drop the cigarette and toss your lighter back into your pocket before following Norm to the link room.

Grace stands with her hands on the table in front of her, annoyance clear on her face when she looks up at you, "Where have you been?"

Taking a seat in front of the table you meet her eyes, "Nowhere in particular."

"Damn it, you know how important this is, we leave in the morning! You disappeared for two weeks!"

You shrug your shoulders and lean forward on your hands, your hair falling in your face, obscuring your vision. She grabs your shoulder, forcing you to face her, her eyes full of sympathy as she speaks, "Be here tomorrow, one hour before we depart."

She releases your shoulder and strides out of the room, leaving you alone with Norm.

"I'm glad you're back," he says with a nervous smile as he takes a seat across from you, flipping open a book on Pandoran ecology when the link pod at the end of the room opens up, revealing a disheveled Jake. His brow twists in confusion when he sees you, his mouth opening, "H-how, why. Where were you?"

Standing your shoulders tense, and you speed walk into the hallway, heat rising up your face before you light another cigarette, and hear Norm reprimand you for smoking near the link room.

You almost feel numb waking up the next morning, following Norm into the link room, watching as Grace makes preparations to leave.

"So where're we going?" asks Jake as he enters the room, stopping next to you.

Grace steps towards him, "Getting out of Dodge. I'm not about to let Selfridge and Quaritch micro-manage this thing," she says as she throws a glance at you.

"There's a mobile link up at site 26 we can work out of, way up in the mountains."

A look of shock comes over Norm's face as he steps closer to Grace, "The Hallelujah Mountains?"

"That's right," Grace says.

You groan, but at least Norm looks excited, "Are you serious?"

"Yes!"

You smile as he laughs, and cover your mouth with your hand, as Jake looks up at him in confusion. Norm's expression changes from excitement to one of jealousy as he speaks, "The legendary floating mountains of Pandora? Heard of them?"

You frown at him and whisper to Jake, "It's fine, he's just jealous," with a laugh.

★⌒ヽ

"We're getting close," Grace says over the noise of the blades of the helicopter.

You wince when Trudy replies, "Yeah, look at my instruments," and see them glitching all over the screen.

"Yep, we're in the Flux Vortex."

"Which means we're VFR from now on," Trudy says as she chews her gum.

You try to keep your eyes on the floor of the helicopter, so you don't get too dizzy, but look up when Norm asks what VFR means, and Trudy replies, "Means you gotta see where you're goin'."

"You can't see anything," Norm prompts as you glance out the window, seeing nothing but fog.

"Exactly," she laughs, "Ain't that a bitch?"

And as you crane your neck to look out the window, thoughts of dizziness now gone, you can see them. The mountains, floating, but not moving as you pass them by, are covered in vines and flowers, and ferns.

And you gasp, marveling at the beauty of them while Norm blurts out, "Oh my God."

Trudy laughs again, "You should see your faces!"

And seconds later you're landing.

"Thank you for flying Air Pandora," Trudy says before shutting off the helicopter.

You carefully reattach your oxygen mask and step down from the helicopter, walking up to the door of the lab. Although you don't bother waiting for Grace or the others to enter, quickly take your mask off again and inhale deeply.

Tossing your bag on your new bed for the next six months or however long, you watch as Grace turns on the power, led lights nearly blinding you as Jake and Norm file in.

Trudy tosses a bag down and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge as Grace starts to explain the layout.

"All right Jake, hang a left and you'll be in the link at the end," she points to the end of the room, "Unit One, Beulah. She's the least glitchy."

"Quaritch, you'll be in the middle, Unit Two. Second least glitchy," she says as she passes you directing Norm to where his link is.

You can feel your face heat up in anger when the name leaves her lips, Quaritch, truth be told, you'd rather be called anything else.

Dinner is quiet as you push your food, now turned to mush, around your plate, Grace stares at you, before turning to Norm. You feel a tap on your hand underneath the table and flinch, looking over to see Jake, looking at you, torn between saying something and staying silent.

You grab his hand, entwining your fingers, and you hear him catch his breath before his grip tightens on your hand.

★⌒ヽ

Jake watched as you walked past him to join Mo'at, and gave a small wave. Which you completely ignored before Neytiri appeared before him, her eyes inquisitive as she glanced back to see you.

So, you were still avoiding him, not that that was anything new, he thought to himself as Neytiri took a seat on a nearby moss covered log.

"Today you will learn the language of the people," she said as he sat down across from her.

After Neytiri had discussed the basics of the language, they began repeating words back to each other, starting with how to pronounce certain words and phrases.

"Na’rìng," Neytiri says slowly.

"Na’rìng," Jake says as she pronounces it again stressing the 'a' sound.

"Again, na’rìng."

"Na’rìng!"

He flinches as she smacks his head muttering, "Skxawng," under her breath.

It was just repetition after repetition after that. At first, Jake tried to use learning the new words to distract himself from thoughts of you, but he failed miserably. He wanted to say something, anything to get you to even acknowledge his presence, but he didn't know what.

Just as Neytiri is about to pronounce the word again, he hears your voice coming from behind him, "No, I don't think so."

Standing, Neytiri greets you, "Snatanhì, how are you?"

You laugh, and smile as she gives you a quick hug, "I am well, and you?"

"Jake Sully is difficult to teach, but I manage," her words make your smile drop, your eyes looking over to him.

"I see," you say, coughing into your hand before wishing her luck and following after Tsu'tey.

He frowns as he watches you leave. It had been almost two weeks since you had had any sort of conversation, well other than brief greetings and asking how the weather was.

His brow furrowed as he thought about how to get you to talk to him, or at least stop leaving the room every time your eyes met. Just as Neytiri starts with another word, and his eyes light up with an idea.

★⌒ヽ

The next day your eyes flutter open, and you sit up in your hammock and follow Neytiri, and Jake through the branches of the tree. Watching as Neytiri calls for her Ikran, you wonder where Tsu'tey is.

And then you hear the screeching of Seze, who lands in front of Neytiri, her wings flapping, kicking up the leaves, so they swirl around you.

"Holy shit!"

"Do not look in her eye," Neytiri says as she offers her a piece of meat, "Seze."

"Tam tam, Seze," she whispers as she pats her neck.

"Ikran is not horse. Once Tsaheylu is made," you watch as she makes Tsaheylu with Seze, "Ikran will fly with one hunter in the whole life."

You take a step back as Neytiri mounts Seze, "To become taronyu, hunter, you must choose your own Ikran, and he must choose you."

"When?" asks Jake his voice oozing confidence.

"When you are ready," Neytiri replies as she pulls down her visor and takes off.

You watch as she flies around the tree, and duck when she nearly knocks you off, laughing before you hear Tsu'tey behind you.

"Come, there is more training for you," he says, leaving you to catch up.

You give Jake a small wave and rush after him, wondering what training he'll have in store for you.

It turns out to be more archery. Your limbs feel sore as you hobble to your hammock and lie down, your eyes closing, and then opening. The lid of the link greets you.

★⌒ヽ

You pick at your nails as you record your video log, "Video log twelve, not much to say, it hasn't even been a full week yet. But I have made more progress with the bow, I don't miss my target nearly as much, so Tsu'tey hasn't been too upset with me. And I started helping more with Mo'at," you grimace, remembering how many different herbs and medicines you had to memorize with her.

"I think I know the name of every medicine, how to use it, alternative ingredients, and where to find them now. My brain feels fried."

Racking your brain, you try to think of something else to add, but come up with nothing, opting to instead end the video log.

"Done already?" asks Grace as she writes something down on a paper, free hand holding back her hair.

"Yeah, I'm going to the link now."

She hums in agreement as you pull the lid down, and close your eyes, and then open them.

The day goes by quickly, and you end up spending most of it with Tsu'tey practicing archery and hand to hand combat. You kick your feet at his legs, almost knocking him to the ground, but he catches it instead, slamming you into the ground, his knife on your neck.

You shut your eyes, thinking of a way to reverse the situation when his knife leaves your throat and you hear Neytiri and Jake approach.

Tsu'tey stands and greets Neytiri, ignoring Jake as you stand and dust yourself off, unsheathing your knife, and lunge at him. He stumbles forward as you hold your knife to his neck, your knee digging into his shoulder blades when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Looking up you see Jake, his eyes filled with uncertainty as Tsu'tey uses your distractedness to throw you off of him. Your knife falls to the ground with a dull thud and you groan in annoyance.

"You distracted me, I almost had him!" you shove his shoulder playfully, smiling before turning back to Tsu'tey, "What's next then?"

After your training with Tsu'tey and watching the sun set, decide to gather some more herbs for Mo'at, and let the bioluminescent plants guide you through the forest, pointedly ignoring the sound of footsteps coming from behind you.

Grabbing a fist full of bark from the tree in front of you, you carefully place it into the basket next to you. You reach down to grab it but feel hands on your waist. You gasp when you feel lips on your ear.

You turn to see Jake standing behind you as cups your face in his hand. You lean into his touch, your eyes closing as he leans in, lips meeting yours. You feel a shiver run down your spine as his hands move to grab your ass, and he pushes you against the tree behind you. His lips trail down your neck, and you cover your mouth to conceal a moan, but he yanks your hand away from your mouth, "Don't, I want to hear you, baby girl."

You stiffen at his words, your eyes going wide as he stares at you, before closing them, "Why?" you whisper, as he kisses your neck, his hands between your thighs.

His fingers slip beneath your loincloth, "I want to hear you when I make you come."

You throw your head back, your fingers grasping at the bark behind you, "Fuck," you moan as his fingers move to rub your clit. Your knees shake as he keeps your clit between his thumb and index finger, rubbing in small circles, teasing you, before he slides a finger inside of you.

You close your eyes and bite your lip to hold in your moan as he slowly slides a second finger inside of you, curling his fingers upward to stroke that spot inside of you.

"Please," you beg, wetting your lips, "L-let me come," you whimper, and he slides his fingers out of your warmth and shoves them into your mouth.

He turns you around to face him, your eyes meeting his, "Do it. No, don't close your eyes, look straight at me."

You whimper at his words, you didn't even realize you had closed your eyes. He slides his fingers out of your mouth, "I want to see the look on your face when you come, baby girl."

You let out a small moan, desperate to come when you realize he's already removed his own loincloth, before he slides his fingers back into your mouth. Your jaw drops as he puts his hands back between your thighs, quickly sliding his fingers back inside of you.

"Fucking hell," he groans, watching your mouth, as you suck his fingers.

His fingers slide out, and he grabs your hips, and slides his cock inside of you, thrusting forward, he slams his mouth on yours, muffling the  moan that erupts from you, he groans, "Fuck, you're so tight."

The bark scratches at your back and you throw your head back, your eyes falling on the bright blue sky above you as you focus on the feeling, You wrap your legs around Jake, and moving your arms around his neck and arch your back, to press your chest against him, "F-fuck," you moan, grinding your hips into his.

You feel his fingers dig into your hips as he fingers your clit, and you throw your head back, your hair falling in front of your eyes, as you moan.

You cry out, your whole body trembling, as your orgasm rocks through you. He pumps his hips forward and you feel his cock pulse as he spills himself into you.

You breathe heavily, gasping as you feel his come drip out of you. Jake rests his head on your shoulder, panting. Your arms wrapped around each other.

"Oh, shit," you gasp and Jake lets out a chuckle, kissing your neck, "Don't," you whine, covering your neck with your hand, "Your mouth is right there, I can still feel your mouth on me."

"Good," he whispers to you and you roll your eyes.

Jake pulls out of you and your eyes fall on your thigh, a small red mark from the bark where you gripped it.

"Damn it," you say, wiping at the mark with a slightly irritated sigh.

Jake laughs and kisses your cheek, "Maybe you should stop using trees as your cushion, then you wouldn't have that problem."

"I'm not always having sex with you," you pout.

You grab the basket and begin to gather your things, when you hear his voice, "I can make it so you do."

You look at him, your eyes widening, "Jake-"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything," he says, getting up.

You sigh, "No, it's just, complicated."

"I know, I just-" and he sighs, "It's just really nice with you, I don't want it to stop."

"I don't want it to stop either," and you meet his eyes, "But it's not that easy," and you grab the basket and begin to walk away.

Jake grabs your hand, "Wait," he says, and turns you to face him  "I just want you to know that I want... this," and he gestures between the two of you, "I don't want it to become awkward between us, I want this to stay the same."

You nod, "I-I want that too," your voice is quiet, "I'm sorry I avoided you then, I was dealing with a lot," and you sniffle.

Jake pulls you into a hug and kisses the top of your head and you bury your face into his chest.

"Your Father?" he questions, his voice soft as you nod your head.

"No, I just don't know if I can go through with this."

"With what?"

You sigh, tears brimming in your eyes, "The mission, assignment. Whatever the hell you want to call it, it's not right."

His hand brushes away your tears and pulls you closer to his chest, his thoughts in turmoil.

★⌒ヽ

You flinch at the sound of Grace stirring in her sleep. Looking over you sigh in relief, seeing that she's still fast asleep you maneuver yourself over the metal threshold and sit on the edge of Jake's bunk. His eyes blink slowly before they open and he grabs your arm and pulls you to lay down next to him.

Feeling his arms wrap around you, you smile and nuzzle into his chest. It was strange, you thought, being so close to someone. In your twenty-one years of living, you had never once really given thought to what it would be like to have someone who cared for you.

Of course, you had your Father and Mother. But your Father was never really around much or cared for you much at all until your Mother died of course. And your Mother, well, you had been sure any ounce of love you were capable of having had died with her. But now, you weren't so sure, you thought as you felt Jake's lips linger on the shell of your ear, his warm breath making your face heat up.

"Still awake?" he asked groggily as you felt his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Humming in reply your lips met his in a quick kiss. Hearing a muffled sigh you laid your head back on his chest, smiling. Things might turn out alright in the end, you thought to yourself as your eyes closed, ushering in a dream filled with past memories.

★⌒ヽ

You could almost taste the anger in the air as you walked to your Father's office, the door cracked open slightly, yellow light illuminating a small sliver of the hallway.

"You're going home, with-"

Your Father was cut off sharply by your Mother's voice, her voice angry as she whisper shouted at him, "I'm not leaving, my whole life's work is here on this planet, and you want me to abandon it because you think I'm getting 'too close' with the Omatikaya?"

Her laugh is bitter as she crosses her arms in indignation, "I can't believe you, it's because of her isn't it?"

You flinch when you hear his hands slam on the desk, its feet scraping as it moves forward.

"The both of you will be leaving after your next assignment, and if you don't, I'll make damn sure you're on that ship first thing in the morning."

She scoffs, "Is that a threat? I don't understand why I can't stay. Let me do my work, it's not like I'm interfering in whatever the hell Parker wants," she pauses to clear her throat before continuing, "And what about our daughter? She was born here, she's never even stepped foot on Earth!"

"She'll be fine-"

Losing your grip on the door, you fall forward, and his gaze snaps to you.

And suddenly you hear your name being called and feel a hand shaking you awake. Rubbing your eyes and look up to see Grace looking down at you, a small smirk on her lips as you sit up and push your hair out of your face.

"What time is it?" you say, words slurred with drowsiness as you rub your eyes again and stretch.

"6:30. Now, hurry up and eat, village life starts early, remember?" she says as you take a seat at the small table.

Norm gives you a good morning before turning back to his computer, and Grace passes you a plate of eggs. You eat them quickly before standing and rushing over to your link, hoping that Tsu'tey will be lenient with your lateness.

★⌒ヽ

The days rush by like a river, fast, and everchanging, and suddenly it's your forty-second day in the mountains. This also happens to be the day Jake convinces Mo'at to let Grace back into the village.

And it seems time flies by faster after that. Three weeks after Grace is allowed back into the village, Tsu'tey takes you to hunt. You follow him through the trees, listening to the sounds of animals chirping and drops of rain falling against the canopy of leaves above your head when he motions for you to stop.

You glance ahead and see a yerik standing in front of a moss covered log. Notching your arrow, you pull back the string and let it fly past you, the force of the string snapping cutting your cheek.

Rushing over to the now flailing yerik you feel guilt twisting in your stomach. But you push it aside and unsheathe your knife as Tsu'tey stands behind you, watching silently.

"I see you, sister, and thank you," you finish as you stab into it.

"Your spirit goes with Eywa, your body stays behind to become part of the people."

You sheath your knife and pull the arrow from the yerik as Tsu'tey looks down at you, "You are ready."

★⌒ヽ

na’rìng [ˈnaʔ.ɾɪŋ] n. forest

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