#chai.writes

“Yeah, which means she has some catching up to do!” Kaoru offers the red solo cup currently in his hand, full of whatever godawful concoction the Thetas have thrown together this time.

You shake your head, and he pouts at you. “You know my rule.”

“Never drink the jungle juice,” the three of you say in tandem.

Kaoru rolls his eyes, but takes the cup back, at least, knocking back most of its contents in one gulp. You can’t help but wince. Kaoru’s always had the strongest capacity for liquor of anyone you know, which makes you incredibly concerned for his health past graduation. “Spoken like someone who’s never really lived,” he says.

“Spoken like someone who wants to have a working liver when I’m thirty.”

“There’s some canned drinks in the kitchen, I think.” Hikaru says. “Want us to show you?”

“Nah, you can stay here. I’ll be right back.”

You push through the dark and sweaty room and are relieved to make it to the kitchen, which isn’t quite empty but is at least marginally less crowded. You pop open a watermelon seltzer and try to breathe.

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

You almost jump at the sound of his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Kyoya says. He’s leaning against the counter, looking relatively casual in a sweater and slacks. Not exactly frat-party attire, but at least it’s a departure from the suit. “You know overconsumption of alcohol can lead to fainting.”

You roll your eyes, and take a sip of your drink for good measure. A few sips. If Kyoya Ootori is going to try and engage you in some section-asshole-pedantry in the middle of a Theta party, you’d like to be as drunk as humanly possible. “I appreciate the concern, but I doubt one White Claw every three months is going to make me blackout.”

“You don’t drink a lot, then.”

“Are you surprised?”

“Maybe.” If it was anyone else, you would think he was teasing you. But he sounds so serious. Everything he says sounds so serious, and its seriously starting to get on your nerves.

“What, you had me pegged as an alcoholic?”

“Never mind.” He moves to take a sip of own drink, and you raise a brow, looking from the (mostly full) cup to his face. “Vodka and Sprite,” he says by way of explanation. You can tell by the wince on his face after he sips that he’s telling the truth. “Terrible.”

You can’t help but laugh. “What were you expecting, scotch? Or apple juice?”

“Right now I’d take either,” he says. “Gladly. It’d be leagues better than this.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Vodka and Sprite?”

“What you’re doing here,” you correct him. “I’ve never seen someone who looks like they’ve been to less parties in my life.”

“Unlike you, a true connoisseur,” he says, eyeing your can. “How you can make it through one of these with nothing but a White Claw every three months is beyond me.”

“Oh. No, I was dragged here by some friends. I’m not really a party person, either.” You angle your head in the direction of the living room/dance floor. “I wish I was. I mean, they’re good if I’m in the mood, which usually involves being drunk off more than a seltzer.”

“How do you feel about shots?”

“What happened to overconsumption of alcohol can lead to fainting? ” He shrugs. You blink up at him. “I’m not opposed.”

He reaches over your shoulder, and you flinch before realizing that he’s just trying to get at the drinks on the kitchen island. Only at fancy-ass Ouran would the Greek life kids be able to afford a house like this, you can’t help but think. You step aside to allow him better access, and take the opportunity to get a better look at him. He’s not bad-looking. He doesn’t have the type of vitality that Tamaki has, nor is he intimidatingly buff; but he’s tall, and well-dressed, and his shoulders press against the fabric of his shirt in a way that implies a bit of lean muscle. His face looks as though it should be committed to paint (knowing the type of wealth he comes from, it probably has, several times); the smooth, pale-velvet skin; the slim, curved nose, arriving at an offensively delicate point at the end; the dark eyes; the bow-drawn lips; and all of this framed by a defined jaw and well-shaped cheekbones and that strikingly dark hair.

If only he weren’t such an ass.

“Tequila alright?”

You clear your throat, looking away before he can catch you staring at him. “They have salt and lime?”

“They must.”

“Then yeah. Yeah, that’s great.”

He hands you an empty cup and goes about cutting a few lime slices. You take the opportunity to pour your own shot, and wait for him to finish. Ass or not, you have to admit that this particular interaction is going well. Even if it started out with him questioning your drinking choices. “To becoming party people,” he says once you’re set up with the salt and the lime.

“To becoming party people.” You touch your cup to his, lick the back of your hand, down the shot, and find your eyes meeting his as you suck on the slice of lime. For some reason, it brings a smile to your face. You certainly didn’t expect at any point tonight to find yourself in a frat kitchen, taking tequila shots with Kyoya Ootori, of all people. “Does this mean we’re not enemies anymore?”

Now he raises a brow. “Were we ever?”

You snort. “I mean. We didn’t exactly get off on the best foot in class.”

“I hardly think a difference in opinion makes us enemies. It made for interesting conversation, at the least.”

“Oh, no.”

“What?”

You point at him. “You’re one of those devil’s advocate guys. Is that it?”

A little crease appears between his eyebrows. “What?”

“You just like to argue for fun? You get off on it? Is that how you think normal people communicate, just pointlessly debating all the time?”

“We were having a discussion. In a discussion seminar. What’s pointless about that?”

You roll your eyes. “Can we take another shot? Whatever looks like it’ll taste the worst.” You know by now that if you want to get really fucked up, you have to go for the cheap stuff.

Once that shot’s been downed, you clear your throat. “Okay. I just…you really didn’t feel like there was any bad blood between us? I mean, okay, what about the hospital the other day?”

He pauses. “What about it?”

“We…well. I sort of jumped down your throat.” You take a breath, then a sip of your seltzer, then another breath. “So I guess that was my fault. Sorry about that.”

“Forgiven. Though, for what it’s worth, I wasn’t holding it against you.”

“Nice of you.”

“You didn’t seem to be having a great day.”

“Well. Mondays, you know?” You tip your head back, enjoying the buzz that is rapidly taking hold. “Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays…Saturdays. Sundays. Hard to pick a least favorite.”

“Sounds miserable.”

You shake your head. “I’m exaggerating. It’s not actually that bad. But the first week of the semester is always the hardest.”

“And the second week. And the third, the fourth, the fifth.” When you focus your unsteady gaze on him, you’re delighted to realize there’s something like a glint in his eye. He really is teasing you. “And so on, and so on.”

“Sounds miserable,” you parrot back at him, and he almost cracks a smile. “Well. At least Tamaki and Haruhi—”

“Kyoya? What are you doing hiding out—oh.” Olivia stops in the kitchen doorway, and takes in the sight of the two of you. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You respond to her closed-mouth smile with an uneasy one of your own. Olivia seems nice enough, from your little exposure to her, but sorority omegas always make you nervous.

“I thought you were grabbing us drinks,” she says to Kyoya, winding an arm through his. If you weren’t already tipsy-on-the-way-to-shitfaced, you’d swear you see him tense slightly. “But I see you found Little Miss Joan-of-Arc here.”

Your smile freezes on your face as she turns back to you. “(Y/N),” you offer.

“Yeah, I know. Crusading against the big bad alpha-omega industrial complex, or whatever it is, right?”

She laughs. You join in, if only because you don’t know how the fuck else to respond, and those two back-to-back shots were definitely a bad idea. Kyoya doesn’t laugh. She notices.

“What? I’m just joking. It’s funny. (Y/N) doesn’t care, right (Y/N)?”

“Yeah.”

“See?” She cocks her head. “Y’know, it’s so crazy, I feel like I know everyone at Ouran. But I, like, didn’t have any idea of who you were until Monday. Are you a transfer?”

“No, I actually went here for undergrad before—”

“It’s just that I’ve never seen you, like, out. At any benefits or anything.”

And there it is.

There’s no denying—Ouran is a nice school. A private university, an elite and expensive private university, where scholarship students are few and far in between. And the elite tend to flock together. So it’s no wonder that Olivia (Freidmonte, a Google search after that first class revealed, and a literal fucking diamond heiress) would know all of the other rich kids (aka ninety percent of the student body) from benefits and balls and whatever else rich people did to pass the time.

Olivia’s not stupid. She’s probably put two and two together and figured out that you’re just too poor for her to have taken notice of before. But it seems, from the way she’s clinging to Kyoya with a grip that would put an anaconda to shame, that she’s probably just annoyed that a lowly beta on a scholarship would have the audacity to talk to her boyfriend. Drunk or not, you know when you’re not wanted in a room.

You clear your throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…I just…I have to meet some friends out there. Sorry.” The room is starting to spin around you—in a drunk way, not a fainting way, you’re pretty sure—as you make your way out of the kitchen. “See you in class,” you mumble. Neither one of them responds.

Being in the louder, crowded room almost immediately makes you want to throw up, so you push through to the nearest door, which leads to the backyard. It’s not far enough into the season to be cold; a leftover summer evening, a gift in these early September days.

You stumble down the creaky wooden stairs and collapse with your back against the house, and absentmindedly take another sip of your White Claw, before realizing with a groan how that’s definitely not going to make you any less drunk.

Oh, well. You’re too thirsty to really care.

“Having that good of a night, hm?”

Not Kyoya this time; someone you don’t recognize. Or rather, someone you do, but not by name. “Oh. Hi…”

“Reese.”

“(Y/N).” They offer a very ring-heavy hand, which you shake. If you were more sober, you’d try to get a better look. Heavy jewelry bothers you to wear, but you always like seeing it on other people. And the sight of one particular ring rings some bell in your memory as to where you know Reese from. “Oh. You run the beta frat, right?”

If you were drunk, you wouldn’t have said that at all; especially not that bluntly. You’d spent years dodging Epsilon Phi’s recruitment efforts. They seemed nice enough, but you couldn’t justify carving out the time or the money (or the interest) to take part in Greek life. But it seemed like a nice space, as far as frats went. Friendly. Full of people (of all presentations) who didn’t think that betas ought to fade into the background.

One only had to look at Reese to demonstrate that. They were probably the best-looking person you’d seen in your life, right up there with Tamaki Suoh; they even had similar tanned skin and beaming eyes, though their hair was bright copper and closer-cropped than Tamaki’s. Wearing a bright, tastefully low-cut purple shirt and high-waisted jeans, with the aforementioned jewelry (in addition to the rings, you blearily clocked several necklaces, bracelets, and at least one cartilage piercing). “We don’t really call ourselves that, but yeah.”

“Sorry. Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.” To your horror, you’re getting a little choked up. Something about the slog of the week; the reality of Haruhi going on a date with a guy who is, by all appearances, perfect; Olivia; Kyoya; those two-and-a-half drinks—it’s too much.

“Hey! It’s not a big deal, really. You’re fine.” They peer at you with what you dimly register as concern. “Are you okay? Do you need some water?”

“M’fine.”

“Yeah. Water. C’mon, the kitchen’s this way.”

“No, no, no,” you say, clinging to some vague idea that Kyoya and Olivia might still be there. After some coaxing, you do allow them to get you to the (blissfully empty) kitchen, find you an unopened bottle of water, and get you to divulge the names of the friends you came here with.

They disappear, but you only have all of thirty seconds to feel abandoned before they return with the twins, who fuss over you and determine immediately that you should probably go home. Even though it’s, like, ten in the evening.

This part of the night is the fuzziest, even as you’re living through it. Stumbling down empty streets. Crashing through your front door. Crouching in front of the toilet with one twin holding your hair back. Being tucked into bed on your side. The door; Haruhi’s voice; the door again, and quiet. Someone leaving pills and water and a big blue bottle on your nightstand. Sleep, curling around you.

late bloomer, ch 11

“Olivia!” Reese goes over to her with a hug. “Perfect timing.” 

“Now that?” Lou whispers. “That I will definitely not miss.”

"Does she—" You look from her to Olivia, back and forth. "I mean, do they come here a lot?"

"Oh, yeah. Look I'm all for uniting forces or whatever. And most of the Triple O folks are super sweet—"

"Plus, they can organize the shit out of a fundraiser," Regan adds.

"—True. But I went to high school with Livvy Freidmonte, and unless she's changed since then…" Lou shakes her head. "I know a first-class bitch when I see one. I wouldn't trust that girl as far as I could throw her."

"Really?" you ask. "What exactly—"

"Alright, everybody!" Reese claps their hands together, and the room settles down. "Let's get started. Re-started. For the new folks, this is Olivia Freidmonte; she's one of our siblings over at Triple O, and our head coordinator for collabs! Olivia?"

"Hey there!" Olivia is all smiles and pep as she waves at the crowd. "So stoked to be here. Now, as most of you probably know, the Winter Wonderland end-of-term music festival last semester was a huge success. Between ticket sales, merch profits, and voluntary donations, we raised twenty thousand over the span of two days, all of which went directly to fund arts education programs at high schools in the surrounding areas."

A round of applause, which you find yourself joining in on. Whatever your personal feelings on Olivia may be, twenty thousand dollars in two days? You can't help but respect it.

"Looking into the future…the good news is, we're less than two weeks out from our spring fundraiser! Bad news: thanks to a little fire snafu, Grand's is closed for repairs all month. So we're on crunch time to find another venue. It's a smaller event, very lowkey; ideally we want to find somewhere closer to campus, with a kitchen or at least a fridge we can use to store food, mix drinks, stuff like that." She scribbles a phone number on the board. "Just shoot me a text if you know of a place. This is a great opportunity to…"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Regan whispers. "She seems super nice."

"You just think that because you're super nice, Ri," Lou whispers back.

"I'm just saying! High school was a long time ago."

"Yeah. I don't know. (Y/N), you're in the same year as her, right? You must have crossed paths. What do you think?"

As you open your mouth to say something, Olivia's gaze falls on you. You freeze. It feels as though time slows to a halt: she pauses in her presentation for a moment. Her smile falters. Her eyes narrow slightly.

Then, as though nothing happened, the smile is back on her face, and she continues on, just as peppy as before. You let out a breath, before remembering that Lou and Regan are still both looking at you, waiting for an answer. You give them a tiny smile. "No comment."

*************

As the evening winds down, you have to admit: you had a pretty good time. Olivia ignores you, to the point that you begin to wonder if you imagined her noticing you during her presentation entirely. You trade numbers with Lou and Regan, offering to answer any questions they might have about surviving senior year, and promising them you'll consider coming to the next Cozy Quorum. Overall, as you exit into the cool early-spring air, you're feeling pretty good.

"(Y/N)!"

"Hey!" You turn to Reese with a smile. "Thanks for inviting me. This was actually really cool."

"Not so bad, right?" You nod. "Now, listen, I swear I didn't have any ulterior motives when I ran into you this morning, but…"

You try to pay attention. Really, you do, but your head is too scrambled. If Haruhi isn't home (it's a Sunday, so probably she is) (on the other hand, she doesn't have any classes on Mondays…) (does Tamaki?) then you only have to worry about dinner for yourself, which means eggs. Or, no, you were supposed to pick up eggs today. Chips and dip, then. And then the paper proposal. Technically you have until the end of class, but you really should email it by morning—were you assigned an early morning shift at the cafe tomorrow? No, an afternoon one.

Your phone buzzes, and you can't help but glance down and see it's from an unfamiliar number, and you're suddenly too distracted to—

"—think?"

"Hm?" Reese is looking at you. Shit. Your cheeks heat up immediately, mortified as you are to be caught so blatantly zoning out. They don't seem to have noticed, though, so you take a crapshoot and give them your most enthused nod. "Right! I mean, yes, absolutely."

"You are a lifesaver." Reese claps. "This is perfect. Let me just put you in touch with—there she is."

Before you can stop them to ask whose life you're saving, and how, and what exactly you just agreed to, they tap someone on the shoulder. That person whirls around and—oh, wouldn't you know, it's—

"Olivia, this is (Y/N). (Y/N), Olivia. You're both first-year grad students, I think?"

"We've met," the two of you say simultaneously. She sticks a hand out, which you accept. "(Y/N) and I have a class together, actually. Some gender-studies thing."

"The Radical Dynamics of Jane Austen," you supply. This handshake is going on for way longer than is comfortable.

Reese nods, possibly sensing the tension, but eventually deciding to bowl through it anyway. "So. (Y/N) works at that incredible coffee shop on the corner of Oak and Whitley, and apparently it's free two Fridays from now, which means…"

Olivia's look of disdain explodes into an overenthusiastic smile. "Oh, my gosh! Seriously?"

Before you can say anything, Reese nods. "I'll leave you two to work out the details—but, (Y/N), seriously? Thank you. I owe you one." With a wink—to you? To Olivia? Who knows!—they're gone.

"Well." Olivia looks you up and down. Between the necklace and the blowout and the perfectly coordinated pink outfit, it’s like looking at Evil Elle Woods. “You’re just popping up everywhere, aren’t you?”

You meet her fake smile with one of your own. “Could say the same about you.”

“Oh, the Trips all love EpPhi. We throw mixers all the time. It was so awesome to have you join us last night!” The smile she gives you practically shows each and every one of her perfectly square, perfectly white teeth, making you feel even more like a mouse being toyed with by a cat. "I didn't realize Reese was finally able to get that due waiver program rolled out."

"Hm?"

"Oh, you know. Greek life can be so…you know. Old money. Reese is super dedicated to trying to diversify—" (somehow, she manages to make that sound like a bad thing) "—and I guess it's working."

"Oh, no. I'm not joining. I mean, not that there's anything wrong with joining." Why are you trying to explain yourself? If Olivia's decided to dislike you, nothing you say is going to win her over. "I just came to check it out. It was cool, though—your presentation was great."

She scrunches her nose at you. "Thanks. Well. Even if you're not pledging, that just makes it even nicer of you to get so involved."

"Oh, no, I'm not—"

"No modesty, please. You're a total lifesaver. Anytime we have insider contact for a venue, it's always, like, an executive whatever, and half the time they don't have any idea what actually goes into putting together an event like this. It'll be so helpful to have the perspective of, you know. A lower-level employee."

You are so, so tempted to just say it was all a big mistake.

But the cafe calendar is empty two Fridays from now. And Reese, who has been nothing but nice to you since you met, seems kind of desperate for you to say yes.

Not to mention, all special events at Ground Up get logged as overtime hours—meaning, double pay.

Double pay plus tips.

So, with no small amount of reluctance, you nod. "Mm-hm. Right." This fake smile is beginning to hurt your cheeks. You clear your throat. "So! We should, um, set up a time to talk through specifics, right? I have a shift at the cafe tomorrow afternoon after class, if that's a good time. That way you can get an idea of what the space looks like?"

"Perf." The gap between her words and the way she looks at you while saying them is starting to make your head hurt. She passes you a card. "Here's my number."

"Great." She's already halfway down the street, clearly just as eager to get away from you as you are from her. "See you in class!" you call after her. Your phone buzzes again—a two-minute reminder of the text from earlier. You swipe it open.

unknown: Shockingly, I did not get 'sexiled' tonight.

unknown: Hopefully this doesn’t mean you’re sleeping on the front porch.

A smile rises to your mouth unbidden. You create a new contact with the number, and then type:

Y/N: I have a bed of my own, you know.

*************

You're shutting the front door of your apartment behind you and kicking off your shoes by the time you get a reply.

Kyoya Ootori: I’m aware. 

Kyoya Ootori: It’s a good one. Best night’s sleep I’ve had in ages.

"You're home late."

You look up. "And you're…home." You toss your bag under a chair and tuck your phone into your pocket as you sit down across from Haruhi, who's typing away furiously at her laptop. "Rewrite?"

"Prewrite." She takes a sip of coffee, then goes back to typing. I'm trying to get ahead on work for the next two weeks, so that I'm not behind when I get back."

It's not unusual for Haruhi to be on top of things—but missing class? "Get back from what?"

"Tamaki's heat is coming up this week. Thursday, probably. Kiera's heats were always pretty long." Kiera…ah, yes, that was two ex's ago. "Tamaki says his usually only last a couple of days, but I want to be ahead. Just in case."

You feel like you're moving underwater. Even blinking seems to take twice as long as usual. "Can't hurt to be prepared," you manage.

"Mm-hm." She takes another swig of coffee, finishing the mug. You grab it and go to brew her some more, if only to get away from the table. Seemingly oblivious to your general state, she asks, "What about you? Good weekend?"

"Weird weekend."

"Weird? Huh." She chuckles, but doesn't press further.

The coffee starts to drip. "That's big," you say. "The heat stuff."

"Oh, this is nothing. I should have it all done by tomorrow."

"A big step in the relationship, I mean. Like, spending a heat together." You lean against the counter, chewing on your bottom lip and shooting another text to Kyoya.

Y/N: My halfprice preowned fb marketplace boxspring is honored

Kyoya Ootori: Hang on, checking my clothes for bedbugs.

Y/N: >:(

Kyoya Ootori: Just a joke. I promise.

Y/N: I know

Kyoya Ootori: Okay, good.

Y/N: That was just the face i made when i realized there isn’t a bedbug emoji

"I mean." You shake your head, bringing your attention back to the present. "Are you nervous at all?"

She stops to think about it, head tilted slightly. "No," she finally says, turning to look at you for the first time since you walked in. "Actually, this is the first time I haven't been nervous to spend a heat with someone new. Is that weird?"

"No." The way she says it, so matter of fact, sends an odd pang of sadness through you. You think of how Tamaki looks at her. The way she looks talking about him. Kyoya's certainty when he talked about what a good match they were. "It's not weird at all."

"Really?"

You pour the coffee, and try to smile as you bring it over. "You know I don't know anything about how all of this heat stuff works. But I do know this guy makes you happy, so. As long as he's treating you well, I'm happy." At least that much is true.

"Mh-hm." She gives a little smile, but you can tell her attention is firmly back on her work.

Which reminds you, you should be getting to your own work. You give her a pat on the shoulder. "I'm gonna hit the hay."

She nods. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Anytime. Don't stay up too late."

"I will."

You share a chuckle at that. "I know," you say softly.

As you reach your doorway, she calls out, "Oh, hey—did Kyoya end up dropping off the vitamins the other night?"

You freeze. "Uh, yeah, actually. He did." She doesn't look up, and you decide to test whether or not she's actually listening. "I invited him in to hide from the rain, we split the bottle of vitamins over candlelight and smooth jazz, he ended up staying the night. Super romantic. We're madly in love now. Instead of fighting during class we just make out on the seminar table."

"Cool."

Yeah, she absolutely isn't listening to you. "Yeah. Cool." Probably this is some sort of karma, for how you did the exact same thing to Reese earlier today—mm-hm-ing and yeah, sure-ing your way through a conversation. But it still stings. "Night."

"Night."

Kyoya Ootori: You’re…sad that there’s no bedbug emoji?

Y/N: Thatss a lie, actually

Y/N: Id pay the emoji people every cent in my bank account to never ever create a bedbug emoji

Kyoya Ootori: Noted.

Kyoya Ootori: I hope you had a good day.

You smile.

Y/N: You too. 

Y/N: Enjoy not being sexiled. I'll see you in class tomorrow?

Kyoya Ootori: Likewise. See you then.

Kyoya Ootori: I actually have something I want to talk to you about in person, if you’re free after.

But by the time that last text rolls in, you’ve already washed your face and brushed your teeth and started typing away at your own laptop, phone face down on your nightstand.

*************

Come morning, you've written a paper proposal that you're pretty proud of, actually. Abe was right—you are capable of more than that first effort.

Unfortunately, writing it did take you most of the night. Meaning you only got a few hours of sleep before your alarm went off. You skim your new notifications, only half processing them—until you see an email from TA Abe asking if you can swing by his office hours after class.

Shit.

Did he already read your proposal? Is it really that bad?

Whatever the verdict is, you’re not going to improve anything by skipping class. You drag yourself in and out of the shower, chug some decaf coffee—a placebo for dire situations like these—and run. When you get there, the seminar table is about halfway full. You slide into an empty seat by the windows. When Kyoya comes in, you give him a wave and a smile, which he returns. You're about to gesture that he should take the empty seat next to you—

When Olivia slides into it.

“Morning.” She pulls a lipgloss and tiny mirror out of her bag, touching up her already perfect makeup. God, you wish you were that put together. Even at nine in the morning, she doesn't have a single hair out of place. "Are you still free after class?"

"Yeah—I just have to pop by Abe's office hours super quickly, if that's alright?"

She gives you a thin smile as she snaps the compact shut. "Sure." Before you can respond, she's turned away from you. "Kyoya! Where did you disappear to this weekend? I was…"

You tune her out. It's too early in the morning to eavesdrop, you decide, especially on two-point-five hours of sleep. You'd estimate you have maybe five hours of awake time left in you before you crash, if you're lucky. And that's not even taking into consideration the sheer amount of energy you're going to have to expend trying to get through this meeting with Abe, and this meeting with Olivia, and your actual job.

Class feels ungodly slow. It's not boring, of course—how could it be? But your exhaustion makes you sloppy, combined with how on edge you are about your meeting with Abe. You try your best to keep a low profile. Kyoya must be able to sense you're a bit out of it, because he goes a little easier on you than usual. Or maybe that's just because he remembers your conversation from this weekend, and because Olivia is literally sitting smack in between the two of you.

In any case, you're relieved to make it through class more or less in one piece. When it's done, you stand up, ready to follow Abe and a few other students to his office elsewhere in the building. As you make it to the door, a wave of dizziness overtakes you, and you stumble.

"Woah." Kyoya is there, steadying you with a hand on your shoulder. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." You blink. "Sorry, I just had to pull an all-nighter last night."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It's nothing." You wave a hand. "I've been taking my multivitamin, so. Iron for days, over here."

He chuckles. "Glad to hear it." He sticks his hands in his pockets.

As he opens his mouth to say something, you glance a ways down the hall, where Olivia is giving you the death glare to end all death glares.

"—work?"

You blink again, and look up at Kyoya. You get the sense that he's expecting you to say something, though you have no idea what. You're about to ask what, but then, there, behind Olivia, Abe disappears into his office. "Work. Yes, office hours and then work. I have to run—sorry—but I'm all good, I promise!"

He says something else, you think, but you're too far down the hall to hear him. Oh, well. It probably wasn't anything important.

*************

You walk into Abe's office just as another student is leaving. Abe looks up and waves you over. 

“(Y/N), hey! Great timing. Have a seat—this’ll only take a second.”

You drop your bag and coat and sit. He’s busy pulling up something on his tablet. You feel more and more like you’re about to throw up with each passing second.

“So,” he finally says. Your stomach clenches. “Got your email. I only had a chance to give it a cursory lookover this morning, but…” He turns off his tablet, puts it onto the table, and gives you a smile. “It’s really good work, (Y/N).”

Your heart leaps into your chest. “Really?”

“Really. Look, I’ve read all the JLT essays for years now, and you’ve always been solid. But this is a step up.” He gives you a thumbs up. “Good job pushing yourself, kid.”

There’s still a lot to do, of course—the deadline for the assignment, and the contest, is less than a month away. But it’s a step in the right direction. It’s amazing what the tiniest bit of academic validation can do—you feel like nothing could possibly bring your mood down.

Not even Olivia, who's in the hall when you come out of Abe's office, still chatting with Kyoya. When she sees you, she waves to you, then leans in closer to Kyoya to say one more thing, her hand resting on his chest. You do your best to look disinterested. The last thing you need to do is give her any more reason to think the two of you are fighting over Kyoya.

After a few more giggles and another long touch to Kyoya's arm, she bounds over to you.

"Sorry about that," she says. "Let's walk?"

You give her a nod, and a tight smile of your own. As she grabs her phone to shoot off a quick text, you can't help but take one glance back at Kyoya. Kyoya, at the other end of the hall. Kyoya, who you still can't quite figure out.

Kyoya, who's looking at you, too.

*************

The planning part goes relatively painlessly. Olivia might be the most organized person you've ever met, with an event binder perfectly sectioned and highlighted in a rainbow of sunset tones. She has all of the forms needed—some for you to sign, others for you to pass along to your upper manager—and knows all of the right questions to ask about time, spacing, cleanup, fees.

"You're really good at this," you tell her, and you mean it. With her help, you've accomplished in five minutes what would take most people hours—weeks, even—to get done. She shrugs. "No, seriously. It's really impressive."

"Oh, this is nothing. My mom is involved in, like, a billion different charities, and I'm the oldest, so I got roped into helping out when I was, like, eight. And all of the planning for this was done already. All there really is to do is transplant all of the catering and things to the new venue. Reese was right about using this place. It's cute."

Was that…a compliment? Not to you directly, but still. "You think?"

"Yeah! Tiny, but cute."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. She turns a page, seemingly very interested in the binder as she asks, "So, like. How do you know Reese?"

"Huh?" You were expecting her to ask you about Kyoya. But in the twenty minutes you've spent walking to the cafe, and now sitting here, she has yet to bring up his name once.

"I mean, I'm by EpPhi a lot, and I've never seen you around there. And you said you're not pledging or anything."

"Right." This is still a territorial thing, then—just after actual territory, this time, not romantic territory. "No, yeah, I just—we ran into each other at a party, and I guess they were looking to recruit people for the open-night meetings?"

Before she can answer, you hear: "Livvy!"

Both of you look up and are immediately crashed into by a couple of red-headed whirlwinds.

"Hey guys," you say, once Kaoru has released you from his iron grip. "Oh, shit, am I late?"

"What? No way. You have, like, five whole minutes before our shift even starts." Kaoru says, ruffling your hair before turning to address Olivia. "Miss Freidmonte. Never thought we'd catch you on this side of campus."

You look back and forth between them as they start chatting. Before you can ask any questions, a new voice says, "I came here expecting to see one friend, and here's four!" Brighter than the twins, even. "What are the odds?"

Tamaki, radiantly cheerful as always. When he finishes hugging Olivia and each of the twins, he sweeps you up into a bone-crushing hug of your own. "(Y/N)! Long time no see."

"Oh!" You do your best to smile as he pulls away. "Hi!"

"I hope these three aren't giving you a hard time, are they?" He playfully bats one of the twins on the shoulder. You let out a confused laugh.

"No, we just—Hikaru and Kaoru and I work here, and Olivia and I were just going over a project—what brings you here?"

"Oh, Haruhi wanted some coffee, and I thought it would be nice to come say hello! Since I'll be stealing her from you for the next week," he laughs.

"Hi." Peeking out from behind him—Haruhi. She gives you a little wave, which you return. "I'll be out of the house tonight."

"Oh, yeah," you say, your brain almost entirely blank trying to process all of your different worlds colliding at once. "Totally. No worries."

"I picked up eggs, though. And some more tea."

"Thanks. That's—"

"Haruhi," Tamaki interrupts, "have you ever met Olivia?" As the two shake hands, he claps his own together. "So many of my favorite people, all in one place! And (Y/N), you said you two were working on some kind of project, right? Sounds fun."

"Yeah," Olivia says, flipping back a few pages in her binder. "The EpPhi-Triple O joint fundraiser next Friday? We're having it here—you guys should totally come!"

"Next Friday? I might be out—heat leave."

You're shocked once again at how casually he says it. Even more than that, how casually everyone else responds. "Oh, totally," Olivia says, with a sympathetic nod.

"First heat together, huh?" Hikaru says. "That's exciting!"

You are going to be ill if you have to sit through another second of this conversation. You glance at your phone, desperate for some excuse. "Two minutes! I should start getting ready for work." You grab the stack of papers to be signed. "Liv—Olivia—thank you for…" You wave the papers. "I'll email these to you?"

She nods, only half paying attention as she continues explaining the fundraiser. Good enough. You get up to go. Haruhi gives you another muted smile as you leave, and Tamaki another blinding one.

As you walk away, you turn your attention back to your phone, scrolling, scrolling…and see another text from Kyoya. One you'd missed, last night.

Kyoya Ootori: I actually have something I want to talk to you about in person, if you're free after.

Huh.

It was sent a while after his last text to you, too. You start typing.

Y/N: Sorry I missed this. I'll be at Ground Up until 5

Y/N: Is everything ok?

You backspace that last text, but send the first. Almost immediately, three dots pop up as Kyoya starts typing out his response…

Then the three dots disappear.

You stare at your phone.

*************

It can't be anything bad he wants to talk about, right? That's what you tell yourself as you go through the motions of manning the register, checking mobile orders, rinsing shakers. If it was something urgent, he could have told you as much. But you can't imagine anything he'd need to talk to you about that couldn't be discussed over text.

Olivia's still at her table, which isn't exactly helping your nerves. Not that she's looked your way since you went to go clock in. She's still pouring over her binder, cross-checking a page with something on her laptop, occasionally marking something in highlighter or Wite-Out. More fundraiser stuff, probably. Or homework. Tamaki and Haruhi are still here, too, on the other end, sitting at a table pressed up against the windowed wall. It's probably a bit creepy, you know, the way you can't stop sneaking looks at the three of them, but it's either that or keep thinking in circles about Kyoya.

Which you're still doing.

Maybe…maybe it's the breaking heat news?

That's the only thing you can think of. Yeah, surely that's it—you've set yourself up as someone he can complain to about Tamaki and Haruhi, after all. Maybe he just wants to have a vent session. God knows you could probably use one, too.

"Hello? Earth to (Y/N)?"

"Hm?" You look over to see Hikaru putting order stickers on cups and sliding them over to his brother.

"You've been washing out that one shaker for, like, two minutes straight."

"Oh." You shake your head, grabbing a towel to dry it off. "Sorry."

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Nickel?" Kaoru immediately tries to one-up him.

"Dime?" Hikaru counters without missing a beat.

"Quarter?"

You roll your eyes. "Livvy, huh?" They both just shrug. "So you guys just know everybody, now, is what I'm gathering."

Kaoru snorts. "We don't know everybody. You just happen to know nobody, which is why it seems like we know a lot of people by comparison."

"That's true," Hikaru says. "Although, she said you're helping her with this fundraiser thing?"

"Yep."

"(Y/N)!" He slaps you on the back so hard you almost drop the cup you're holding. "Look at you, going out and socializing! Trying new things! Can you believe it, Kaoru?"

"It's not a big de—"

Kaoru places a hand over his heart and sniffs. "They grow up so fast."

"You guys—"

"I'm just so honored we get to see it happen." They both step away from you, wearing identical expressions of mischief. "Although…"

You cross your arms. "What?"

"You still won't tell us who your mystery date was on Saturday."

"Oh, my God."

"You know, I just…" Hikaru lets out a huge, exaggerated sigh. "I thought we were friends, (Y/N)."

"No." You shake your head, turning away from them both, even as an unwelcome smile plays at the corners of your mouth. "None of that."

"I thought the countless hours we spent toiling away here meant something."

"I guess not."

"Kaoru, not you, too," you groan. "Guys. Seriously. We had this conversation. You thought it was Reese Barlow, right? So, sure. It was Reese Barlow."

"Nice try," says Hikaru.

"Yeah. No way we actually fall for that."

You press your lips more tightly together. They look at each other and sigh in unison.

"Such a shame," Hikaru says, shaking his head. "I guess we'll just have to ask Haruhi."

Your head snaps up. "Sorry?"

They both nod towards the far corner of the cafe, where Haruhi and Tamaki are still seated. Or no, sorry, just Tamaki is seated.

“Are you sure? It’s a classic for a reason. You can wear the blue blazer for color?”

She shakes her head. “It’s a date, not a Model UN conference.”

Right.

You came home from your shift at the coffee shop to find Haruhi in her room, and her room looking so messy that it might as well be your room. That was an hour ago, and it’s only gotten worse since then. An hour of her turning down everything you suggest; trying on every possible combination of clothing she owns; trying on the few articles of your clothing that she wouldn’t drown in.

Your phone buzzes—your group chat with the twins.

Thing 1: y/n. come out.

Y/N: Im busy

Thing 1: busy doing what, sniffing h’s dirty laundry?

Thing 2: EW

Y/N: Youre absolutely vile

Thing 2: ignore him

Thing 2: but also…..come out

Thing 2: pregame in 5 @hikarus place

Y/N: Homework

Thing 1: booo.

Thing 2: its literally friday are u kidding

Thing 2: get your ass over here and lets go frat hopping

Y/N: Ew x a million

Y/N: You know i dont do frats and ALSO i have HOMEWORK.

“How about this?”

You lock your phone, toss it on the bed. Look up. “Oh.”

You recognize the long-forgotten camisole, simple ivory silk. Must have found that at the back of a drawer, though God only knows how it’s so wrinkle-free. She’s tucked it into the dark, slim-cut dress pants (the pants you’ve mended for her at least once a year through college—cheaper than buying new ones, after all), and adjusted it to be just the right amount of baggy. Really, it’s not that much different from what she usually wears. There’s no reason for you to feel as though your heart has made a play for your esophagus.

But then she turns back to look at you, and something about her eyes, something about the arc of her neck, something about her smile, her smile, her smile —faint and familiar and more vulnerable than any you’ve seen—something about it has you lost for words.

Though the smile quickly disappears when she sees your lack of reaction. After all, you aren’t usually the stoic one. “Oh good? Or…”

“Yeah. No, yeah, it’s perfect.” You cross to the dresser, doing your best to seem very interested in the slim selection of costume jewelry you two have amassed over the years.

“Really?”

Your eyes meet in the mirror. And it’s funny, because you and Haruhi have been friends for years and years. Nearly two decades, at this point. You’ve seen each other through every year of school, through every major life milestone, through first kisses and funerals and everything in between.

But here’s the thing: you can’t remember the last time you ever saw her looking anything close to insecure.

You look down at the little gold hoops you have in your palm. You walk over to her, and place them in her hand. “Really.”

She swallows, and nods. Outside, you hear the sound of a car door opening and shutting. Haruhi turns back to the mirror to start putting in the earrings. “That’s probably him. Could you—”

“Already on it.” You stop at the door. “You know he’d be an idiot not to be into you, right?”

There’s a short moment of quiet. “Thanks, (Y/N).”

*****************

After awkwardly greeting Tamaki at the door (her brought her a small bouquet and a single rose for you, which, you begrudgingly admitted to yourself, was very considerate), giving him a half-joking version of your typical “hurt her and you’ll be sleeping with the fishes” speech, and closing the door behind them (because you’d already forbidden yourself from torturing yourself by watching them walk to the car), you check your phone again.

Thing 2: here btw

Thing 2: its raining pls come get me

Thing 1: y/n.

Thing 1: are you still playing dress up with haruhi.

Thing 1: you ARE aren’t you.

Thing 2: y/n just say youre coming so hikaru can come unlock the door

Thing 1: you know the door code, dumbass.

Thing 2: oh yeah

Thing 2: k im in

Thing 1: y/n. pls come save me from this idiot.

They must have started drinking, because the next text was twenty minutes later—and significantly less comprehensible.

Thing 2: look if ur.not gonna pregame at leastt meet us out

Thing 2: hango n ill drop the addres

It’s not far from your apartment; just a seven minute walk. Which you could probably make in five.

No! No. You are not going out walking alone, in the middle of the night, only to ruin your only sneakers on some filthy, sticky frat room floor, come home too exhausted to even take off your makeup, and wake up tomorrow morning smelling like sweat and beer and other unmentionable fluids. That is the last thing you want or need.

Thing 2: u promised back in aaugust youd come out with us atl east onxe

Thing 2: onxe

Thing 2: ONCE

Thing 2: cmonnnn

That last text was five minutes ago. Surely they wouldn’t have left for another party that quickly?

Chewing on your lip, you type:

Fandom: OHSHC

Pairing: Kyoya/Reader

Tags: 18+, A/B/O Dynamics, College AU, Fake Dating, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slice of Life, Eventual Smut

Summary: At first sight, you and Kyoya Ootori couldn’t be more different. He was raised in wealth; you work triple shifts at the local coffee shop. He’s a born-and-bred alpha; you’ve spent years fending off societal scorn at your status as a beta. He’s a pompous ass; you…well, you’ve never claimed to be the nicest person alive, but at least you have some concept of manners. However, you do have two very important things in common: first, you’re both grad students at Ouran University.

Second, you’re both desperately in love with your roommates.

(Or: the slice-of-life a/b/o fic in which you and Kyoya agree to fake date in order to make your respective crushes jealous. Everything goes according to plan and nobody falls in love with the wrong person…right?)

late bloomer, ch 5

“God, another flat white?” You grit your teeth together as you tack the order sticker to the cup and pass it off to Hikaru. “Fucking grad school hipsters.”

“Says Miss matcha latte, please, with oat milk and a pump of vanilla? ”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“One, yes you do,” Kaoru chimes in from your left, grabbing the cup from his twin. (He’s right. You absolutely do.) “And two, you’re just pissy because Haruhi’s missing your super-special, super-roomies slumber party thing.”

You snatch the cup back from him, and push past to the steamer. “It’s a movie night. And it’s tradition. We’ve done it every year since we were eight.”

“So? It’s not like you’ll never see her again.”

Hikaru nods. “You literally live together.”

“Every year,” you repeat stubbornly. “For almost two decades.”

“And I’m sure you’ll do it every other year for centuries to come.”

“Kaoru’s right, (Y/N). Look at it from her perspective.”

“I am .”

“You sure? Because last I checked, it’s not every day you get asked out by an incredibly rich, incredibly good-looking omega.”

“He wasn’t that good looking.”

“But he is rich,” he counters. You open your mouth, and he raises his hands. “I know, I know. Saint Haruhi would never care about something so superficial as looks or money.”

“Probably she just likes that he’s assertive enough to ask her out to her face.” Kaoru leans against the counter next to you, crossing his arms, and leans in, staring at you almost as hard as you’re trying to avoid making eye contact with him. “Instead of, I don’t know, pining after her for years …”

“Shut up.” You look at the clock, and shove the finished drink at him. “And start closing out the register, while you’re at it.”

You escape to wipe down the empty tables, stacking chairs on them once they’re clean. The last customer takes her drink and, mercifully, immediately leaves. You lock the door behind her.

“Someone’s in a rush to get out of here,” one of the twins calls over the counter. You roll your eyes, though it’s more out of affection than annoyance. Or at least equal parts affection and annoyance. When they first started working at Ground Up (one of the busier coffee shops on campus) two summers ago, you were primed to dislike them—the class clown energy, the endless quips and banter.  And you, as the most senior barista on shift, had the joyful task of trying to wrangle them into model service workers. In hindsight, maybe you were a touch too strict. You can’t imagine they liked you all that much back then, either. Those first few weeks in particular were so isolating—the way they talk to each other is almost like a secret language. You suppose that’s one of the perils of sharing a womb for nine months.

But at some point—somewhere between arguing about an espresso machine malfunction, and Hikaru walking in on you crying in the supply closet after a particularly stressful shift—they must have decided to adopt you, or something.

Of course, that doesn’t mean they tease you any less.

But it’s never mean spirited. And it’s nice to have that camaraderie. To be included in their secret language. And besides—no matter how much they may annoy you sometimes, there’s a special tie that forms between a couple of poor kids having to deal with the same stuck-up trust-fund babies coming into the cafe, day in and day out. You guys are trauma bonded, in a way.

“Remind us again why you haven’t asked her out?”

“I—”

“Ohhh, shit, that’s right—you don’t have a reason!” Kaoru cuts you off. “You’re just a wimp.”

Then again, being trauma bonded with them means they know all of your deepest, darkest secrets. Which gives them tons of material with which to be annoying as hell.

“I’m not—” You stop, and sigh. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”

“Mm hm.”

“And besides, it’s not like I haven’t told you before.”

“Right.”

“Fine! Fine.” You pause your chair-arranging to face them, ticking off reasons on your fingers. “I don’t want to ruin two decades of friendship. The last thing Haruhi or I need is a relationship when we’re already swamped with school and loans and all of that crap. I’d rather ask her out after school, when we’re employed and financially stable. Odds of college sweethearts lasting are zero to none already, and I don’t want to sour a perfectly good relationship with pointless arguments.” All that endless bickering. For some reason, your mind flickers back to your arguments with Kyoya—in class, at the hospital. The memories alone are enough to set that familiar fire of rage alight in your chest, send the blood rushing through your ears.

“But don’t you think—”

You put a chair up onto a table with such vigor that it ends up slipping right back off, crashing to the ground so loudly that you actually jump. They both rush to your side.

“You okay?” Hikaru asks, as his brother puts the chair up properly.

“I…I have to go.”

“...Okay.”

“I told Haruhi I’d be back in time to help her pick out an outfit,” you say. They both groan. You turn away from them, wiping down another table that you may or may not have already wiped down two minutes ago.

“(Y/N).”

“This is starting to get sad.”

“I mean, it was sad already.”

“Really sad.”

“But c’mon.”

“Guys!” You whirl around with your hands in the air. “Really. It’s not a big deal. She’ll go out on one date with him, and then she’ll get bored, and then…” You notice them exchange a look. “What?”

“Tamaki Suoh can be…a lot,” Hikaru starts. You snort.

“Yeah, I noticed. That’s what I mean, they’re nothing alike at all—”

Kaoru shakes his head. “What we mean is, he can be persistent.”

“Single-mindedly persistent. And charming.”

“ Really charming. When he sets his sights on a goal—”

“And right now it sounds like his goal is to romance Haruhi—”

“He won’t stop at anything.”

You roll your eyes. “So? Haruhi’s not going to get fooled by some…some insincere rich guy who’s just trying to smash.”

“I said romance ,” Hikaru repeat. “If he asked her out, it’s because he wants to date her. As in, a real relationship.”

You think back to the way he looked at her in the hospital. Sure. You suppose that makes sense. “Okay.” You cross your arms. “But, I mean, that isn’t only his call to make. She has to like him enough to want to date him.”

“Yeah. And clearly, she already does,” he points out.

You open your mouth, then close it. Uncross your arms, then cross them again. “How do you know so much about this guy, anyway? I’ve never even heard you mention him before.”

They exchange another look. An infuriatingly unreadable look. It's the kind of look that reminds you—no matter how good friends you may be, you didn't share a womb with them, and you'll never be able to read their secret language completely.

“We’ve had a lot of classes with him,” Kaoru finally volunteers.

“Yeah. That.”

You give them an odd look of your own, before returning to cleaning. “Whatever.”

They sigh in unison. “It’s really not healthy for you to be fixating so much on one person, (Y/N),” says Hikaru.

“You think I don’t know that? Trust me, I’d love to just be able to go on dates with people.”

“I don’t think you do, though, is the thing.” Hikaru hops up to sit on the table you’re wiping. You stop, but avoid making eye contact. “It’s starting to feel like an excuse, at this point.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Like, as long as you’re so focused on not-dating Haruhi, you don’t have to go through the stress of actually dating anyone.”

“And then you don’t have to open up to anyone, which means you don’t have to worry about getting hurt.”

You plop down in one of the remaining chairs, and raise your eyebrows at them. “What is this, one of your psych projects?”

“I mean it! And hey, look—if you want to be single, then stay single. But don’t do it because you’re stuck in a one-sided unrequited whatever.”

“And if you do have to be stuck in a one-sided unrequited whatever, why not switch it up? Pick someone else for a change. You don’t have to automatically be in love with the person you’ve known the longest.”

“Yeah. If that was the case, Hikaru and I would be screwed.”

You let yourself crack a smile at that. “Fine. I hear you, okay? I don’t necessarily agree with you…but I hear you.” You glance at your watch. “Shit. I have to run—you guys can put this last chair up, right?" You grab your bookbag off the floor and take off. "And don’t forget to take out the trash!” you call over your shoulder.

“Mmph.” You take a tiny bite of toast, relieved to feel your stomach immediately settle. Nothing to soak up a hangover like good ol’ fashioned carbs. “Speaking of big nights, how was your date?” You try to imbue the words with some girly, friendly teasing. Between the headache and your tongue getting all mucked up with peanut butter and dry bread, you’d estimate you’re maybe half successful.

“Well. I’m seeing him again tonight.”

You choke. The tea sort of helps, but you can’t help but sound just slightly hysterical when you ask, “Oh? That’s—that’s good! I mean, the date must have been really good. Or really bad, ha ha.”

“Yeah. We had to cut the night short, and I…” She closes the newspaper. “Is everything okay?”

Panic. Cold and immediate, blooming in your veins. “What do you mean?”

“Hikaru.” She goes an uncomfortable amount of time without blinking. You know that’s just a normal Haruhi-ism, and it’s one of the things you love about her…but it’s also just as unsettling now as it was when you were six. “When they brought you home last night, I was surprised you’d gotten so drunk and he said I should ask you about it in the morning.”

“Right.” You are going to murder Hikaru. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s just…”

You are going to murder him, and yet…for better or worse, Hikaru has presented you with an opportunity. A chance to be brave. For some reason, you are struck with the conviction that you will never have a better or clearer or more reasonable time to explain everything you feel for Haruhi than right now, right here, at this table.

This is it.

You can do it.

You can do it.

You look up at Haruhi. Meet her gaze. Steady, solid, and stoic as always.

And you say, “It’s just been a while since I’ve had anything to drink.”

She stares.

You shrug. “Forgot what my limits were, I guess.”

Silence. Not a comfortable silence at all.

“I’m sorry you you had to come home early,” you say. Anything to fill this deadly space. “To look after me. I was really okay, I just—the twins were being overdramatic. You know how they can get.”

“I know.” She worries her bottom lip. “You seemed really fucked up, though. I don’t think they were wrong to be concerned, especially after the fainting on Monday.”

That tugs at your memory…something from last night. A comment. You can’t remember exactly what.

In the present, Haruhi is still looking at you. You muster up an apologetic smile. “You’re right. I should have been more careful. I will be more careful. Although,” you add, raising the tea and the toast, “for what it’s worth, I think I drank enough last night to get me through the rest of the semester, so. No more big nights in my near future.”

She nods, rewarding you with a tiny, perfect smile of her own. “Good.” She goes to pick up the paper again, then pauses. “(Y/N).”

“What?”

The tiny, perfect smile deepens. “He’s so easy to talk to.”

*****************

The next week or so feels like you’re sleepwalking.

Monday: Wake up. Drink your tea. Wave goodbye to Haruhi. Sprint to class. Try to avoid eye contact with Kyoya and Olivia; succeed around forty percent of the time. Ignore the embarrassment-induced dizziness that washes over you when you pass by Kyoya on your way out. Go to your shift at Ground Up. Put up with your daily quota of roasting from the twins. Go home. Eat dinner with Haruhi. Go to sleep.

Tuesday: Wake up. Drink your tea. Wave goodbye to Haruhi. Go to class. Go to your shift. Try to avoid thinking about Haruhi and Tamaki; succeed around thirty percent of the time. Wish the twins were at work with you to distract you from all of the Haruhi-and-Tamaki related thoughts. Go home. Listen to Haruhi shyly gush about Tamaki. Go to sleep.

Wednesday: Wake up. Drink the tea Haruhi left for you. Catch up on all the work you didn’t do Monday and Tuesday. Try to avoid thinking about Haruhi and/or Tamaki and/or Olivia and/or Kyoya. Succeed around five percent of the time. Watch too many episodes of some trashy reality tv show without actually processing any of it. Try to ignore the fact that Haruhi doesn’t come home. Go to sleep.

Thursday: Wake up. Brew your own tea. Pour it out when it turns out awful. Drag yourself to class. Have a meeting with Seminar Leader Abe where he gently and thoroughly tears your midterm paper proposal to shreds. Run to work and spend the five minutes before your shift crying in the supply closet. Endure pokes from the twins and think about all of the things you don’t want to think about on loop until you can go home and eat dinner (alone) and take a Benadryl and try, try, try to sleep.

And so on and so forth.

The week after that passes more or less the same. Bringing you to yet another Friday night waving goodbye to Haruhi and Tamaki as they ride off into the sunset. Another Friday night ignoring texts from the twins begging you to get out of the house.

Thing 1: y/n, i’m starting to seriously worry about you.

Thing 1: we both are.

Thing 2: fr nobody has THAT MUCH HW get your ass out here

Thing 2: dont make us come drag you out

An empty threat; they’ve said as much before, but they’ve never actually followed through.

Thing 1: y/n.

Thing 1: you cant just wallow like this forever.

As if to prove (to them, to yourself, to everyone) that you’re not wallowing (even though you totally are) you force yourself to do a little self care night. A long shower, your comfiest pajamas. A face mask.

And, of course, your laptop. You weren’t lying about having a lot of work to do. Especially since Abe eviscerated your paper proposal; you basically have to start from scratch. “Don’t get me wrong,” he’d said at your meeting. “I’d accept this from a worse student. But I’m going to be picky because I think you’re capable of more.”

Which, as far as roasts go, is about as nice as you could have asked for.

But it still stings. Especially seeing as how you want so badly to win this scholarship. It’s a matter of pride…and of finance. Which means you’re going to have to rise to the bar Abe has set for you.

You head to the scholarship website. In the past, you’ve always avoided looking at the entries of the person who beat you. Skimmed them, sure, but you couldn’t bear to do a deep reading. You don’t even remember their name. But that’s held you back; not properly analyzing their work has kept you from properly eviscerating your own work, which has kept you from getting better . You don’t have that luxury anymore.

Your mouse is hovering over the Past Winners! tab when—

The doorbell rings.

More accurately, it makes a sound like a hornet getting electrocuted; in any case, you frown. Not at the hornet sound. That’s normal. The doorbell’s been broken for as long as you’ve lived here. But you can’t imagine who would be at your door at this hour. Haruhi left not twenty minutes ago, and besides, she’s never lost a key in her life. Maybe the twins, finally making good on their promise to drag you kicking and screaming to another frat?

You peer through the peephole more out of curiosity than any real intention to answer. Immediately your stomach turns. You yank open the door on angry instinct alone. “What are you doing here?”

Instead of answering, Kyoya holds out a bottle.

You don’t take it, but squint at the label. “One-A-Day multivitamins.”

“Haruhi had found this in her bag and was worried about you.”

He’s still holding out the bottle. You take it. “I…don’t follow.”

He sighs. “The fainting.”

“Fainting?”

“She said you’re forgetful, about taking an iron supplement. Worried that might be why you fainted, and then that made her worry about you being home on your own, and so…”

“And so she and Tamaki used that as an excuse to get you out of the house,” you finish the sentence for him.

He nods. “Presumably.”

“What, they don’t have some kind of fancy dinner or something planned?”

“Eating in. He cooked.”

“He cooks?”

“Beautifully.”

Of course he does, that motherfucker. “And… you guys didn’t communicate this ahead of time?”

“Tamaki’s allergic to calendars,” he says. “Or any other form of advance notice.”

“Right.” You could have guessed that. It seems they have a similar dynamic to you and Haruhi (though you’d like to think you’re not quite as scatterbrained as Mr. Tall, Blond, and Gorgeous).

Its pouring outside; he’s crammed himself as close to the wall as he can get without actually touching it. It’s too dark now to tell if there’s a car behind him. He doesn’t even seem to have an umbrella.

You aren’t quite sure what to make of Kyoya Ootori. In seminars you do your best to debate him more politely than you did that first day, but he comes at you with a fire that makes restraint increasingly difficult (which, in turn, elicits stronger death glares and snarkier comments from Olivia). You don’t remember much of that party a few weeks ago, but you do vaguely recall somehow making a fool of yourself, and pretty sure he was involved. And, of course, you can’t see him without being reminded of Tamaki and Haruhi.

In short, he is the very, very, very last person you want to see.

On the other hand…you do some mental math. Tempting as it is to shut the door in his face, doing so would place you squarely above him on the Assholery scale. And however much he remembers of that party, he doesn’t look like he’s here to make fun of you. If anything, he looks as uncomfortable as you feel.

Though that might be more due to the rain and cold of it all.

You sigh. “Are you just going to stand there, or…”

A crease appears between those slim, dark brows. “Are you inviting me in?”

“What are you, a vampire?” He doesn’t say anything. “Yes, okay, come in.” You hear him shut the door behind him as he follows you in. “Tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“Coffee?”

“…It’s eight p.m.”

“Just trying to be polite,” you mutter.

“Thirty seconds ago you accused me of being a vampire.”

“And?”

“And then immediately invited me in anyway.”

That gets a laugh out of you. “Well. I’m not exactly a prime target for blood-sucking, since apparently my iron levels are so fucked up that I can’t be left alone for one night without a babysitter.”

“Or a multivitamin.”

“Right.” You don’t stop opening and shutting cabinets. If nothing else, it gives you an excuse to avoid eye contact while you try to figure out what exactly you said to him that night . “Do you want water?”

“You’re very persistent.”

“I wasn’t raised to welcome a guest empty-handed. Expected or otherwise.” You shoot him a look that you hope doesn’t come across as unkind, but he’s not really looking at you. He’s too busy taking stock of your tiny living-dining-cooking-etc room. You put down a glass of water on the table in front of him anyway, before turning back to finish up your tea. “You sure your girlfriend will appreciate you being at another girl’s house this late at night?”

“What?”

To his credit, he looks genuinely confused. You grab your own mug and sit down at a safe distance away (which, given the size of your place, is the same distance no matter where you sit). “Olivia.”

“Oh. No, she’s not my girlfriend.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Does she know that?”

He smiles. Subtly, but still—it’s there. “Her father wants to make some sort of business deal with my father, I think.”

“Oh, okay. I get it.” You blow on your tea, and take a sip. It’s weak. Tastes like plain hot tap water. You put it down. “The follies of being super mega rich. You’re forced to be besties with all the other super mega rich kids, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Mm.” Based on how long he’s been standing, he must have appraised your apartment ten times over. “You can sit, you know.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He gingerly perches on the edge of one of the couches. “This is…nice.”

You shrug. “It’s an overpriced broom cupboard. But it’s home.”

“It’s just the two of you here? You and Haruhi?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s been just the two of us since kindergarten, basically.”

His brows lift. “Really?” You nod. He’s finally picked up the water. “Well, that explains it.”

“Explains what?”

late bloomer, ch 4

You wake up to a bright light and a high-pitched beeping and what feels like a bag of sand under your head. 

A few shifts later, you realize it’s actually a pillow. A stiff-to-the-point-of-uselessness pillow, but a pillow nonetheless, because you’re lying on some kind of cot. The ceiling above you is a painful shade of white; the walls, too, and as you blink the leftover sleep from your eyes, you realize that the beeping is coming from a machine to your left—a heart monitor, attached to you with various wires connected to your finger, arm, chest.

“Hey, you.” In your dizzy, drowsy state, the sound of Haruhi’s voice feels like a balm to the ache in your head. You turn to see her sitting to your right, looking uncharacteristically concerned. That has you nervous—it takes a lot to rattle Haruhi. “My advisor meeting ran late, so I only just got here, but the nurse said they brought you in twenty minutes ago. All you alright? What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” you say—half out of habit, half because you actually aren’t quite sure. What did happen? How did you get from the classroom to the student hospital? “Nothing serious. Really.”

“You’re hooked up to, like, ten different machines. It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“She fainted,” interrupts a new voice—this one familiar, too, but in a way that makes you tense up automatically. “You’re the emergency contact, I imagine?”

“Roommate.” She stands, and sticks out her hand. “Haruhi.”

“Kyoya.” Your eyes are already fluttering back shut from exhaustion, so you can’t see whether he accepts the handshake or not. “She fainted on her way out of class. Is this a common occurrence for her?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I can hear you talking about me,” you say. They both ignore you.

“Any history of stroke, seizure, anything like that?”

“I’m ba-aack,” sings a new voice. The door swings shut behind him with an audible thump that has your eyes opening, ever so slightly, to see the blonde boy from the hallway. “It took me ages to find the vending machines, and everything there looked so sad and tasteless, Kyoya, it really was tragic—Oh, you’re alive!”

“Awake. She wasn’t dead before.”

“No thanks to you.” He kneels before you and holds up a bottle of electrolyte drink, offering it as though it were a freshly-plucked rose. “On Kyoya’s behalf, as a token of apology.”

“It isn’t my fault she fainted,” Kyoya says, clearly trying very hard to keep his patience. “I wasn’t standing anywhere near her.”

“Exactly. You didn’t even make a move to catch her, and then maybe she would have hit her head and then maybe she would have died, and then where would we be?” The blond boy turns back to you, and flashes you a dizzying smile. “You must forgive my friend. You’d think someone of his pedigree would have better manners, and yet…”

In your most lucid moments, you’re not sure you’d have a good response to a sight like this: the most audaciously good-looking man you’ve ever met in your life, kneeling at your bedside like some knight-errant out of a book. As it is, this is not one of your most lucid moments. So instead of saying anything at all, you just blink at him a few times. He smiles more widely still, and presses the bottle into your hand. 

“Drink up, then,” he says brightly, popping to his feet. “You’ll need it. I used to have fainting spells before my heats, too.”

You almost do a spittake. “What? No, I—this is—”

“People faint for reasons other than heats, Tamaki.” There’s an edge to Kyoya’s voice—not unkind, but stern—before he turns back to Haruhi. If you had a better opinion of him, you might think he was shutting down the conversation to avoid outing your presentation. “So, you said she doesn’t faint often. No strokes, seizures—any history of anemia, maybe?”

Haruhi purses her lips. “She used to have low iron count, but not anemic levels—but she isn’t great at remembering to take her multivitamin. Maybe that could be it.”

You’re still looking at Tamaki over the rim of the energy drink bottle—so you see his face when he hears her speak for the first time. The head turn; the flushed cheeks; the look in his eyes. 

You know that look. You’ve been wearing one like it for the better part of two decades.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” He even sounds breathless, somehow. As though he weren’t just standing in place. “Miss…”

“Haruhi. We’re roommates.” She says it in the way only Haruhi can—as though she’s completely immune to his looks and charm (which, knowing Haruhi, she probably is)—before turning back to you. “Okay. You look fine enough to me, so I’m going to go see if we can get you discharged. Did they leave any paperwork here to fill out?”

Behind her, Kyoya lifts up a clipboard—but before he can so much as open his mouth, Tamaki leaps and grabs it from him. “Here! I’ll come with you.”

“I don’t thi—”

“I’ll read out the questions, and write down your answers—that way you can keep an eye out for a nurse or doctor.”

She glances back at you. “I don’t know if I should leave (Y/N) alone.”

“Kyoya can stay with her.” He looks over at him, his eyes pleading.

Kyoya sighs. “Happy to.” 

Before you can protest, Tamaki claps his hands, practically glowing. “Perfect!” He offers an elbow to Haruhi. “Shall we?”

If you weren’t so out of it, you’d swear you almost see the hint of a smile rise to her lips. She ignores his elbow, but walks with him through the door. You can hear his chattering fade as they disappear down the hall, leaving you here. Alone. With Kyoya.

He clears his throat, clearly about to say something. You interrupt. “You really don’t have to stay here, you know.”

“I know,” he says. “But your friend’s right. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone until they’ve figured out what’s wrong.”

“What’s there to figure out? I fainted. I’m here. I’m fine.” You hold up the electrolyte drink. “I’ll hydrate, go home, and sleep it off.”

“You’ve never fainted before?”

“No. So?”

“It can be a sign of a deeper underlying condition. Blood pressure, heart function, things like that. Normally I’d wave it off as a sign of an approaching cycle, but…”

He trails off, and you raise an eyebrow. “But?” He shrugs, and you laugh, sitting up straighter in your bed. “But we’ve already established that I’m a ‘defunct omega,’ so you know I don’t have a heat or rut coming up. Is that what you were going to say?”

He sighs. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m sure you didn’t mean anything. From how disinterested you seemed in the class as a whole, I’d be surprised to find out you put any thought into your comments at all.” 

“What makes you think I was disinterested?”

You give him a look. “Your little speech about how you were only taking it to fulfill a requirement, for starters.”

“Would you have preferred I lied?”

“I would have preferred you not announce to the world your disdain for the humanities, and for betas in particular.”

He scoffs. “Now you’re just projecting. Just because you clearly have some sort of beta persecution complex, that doesn’t give you the right to assume—”

“Assume what?” You feel fire rising in your throat. You push the blankets off of you, and stand, slowly walking towards him. “Maybe I do have a persecution complex; maybe I am making assumptions. Because I’ll tell you this: when I look at you, what I see is a spoiled little rich boy, probably a pedigreed alpha, raised from birth with the assurance that your opinion matters more than that of anyone else in any room you walk into; and because of that, somewhere along the road you decided that it didn’t matter if you learned manners or friendliness or basic human empathy, because all of that silly sentimental nonsense was below someone of your intellectual prowess.” You tilt your head, eyes locked on his. “Tell me, Mr. Ootori, is that an unfair assumption?”

“I—” You see a flush creeping up his neck, and you stop where you stand, half-pleased to have gotten a rise out of him. He takes a step in your direction, then, and you realize how close you really are. Behind you, the machine picks up in tempo. He’s breathing more heavily, and you’re half aware that his chest is rising and falling at the same rate as yours. He swallows. “You—”

“Looks like you’re good to go!” 

The two of you stumble away from each other as Tamaki all but bursts through the door, Haruhi and one of the nurses trailing behind him. The nurse and Haruhi both rush to your side. “You shouldn’t be standing.”

As they help you back to the bed, you say, dizzily, “Tamaki said I’m good to go.”

“Pending a check of your blood pressure and other vitals.” The nurse takes a glance at the heart monitor, which, as you lay back down, is starting to return to normal. You think she’s going to require you stay for another few hours, maybe even overnight, but as she surveys the room, something changes in her expression. “Ah. That’s nothing to worry about, then.”

“What?” Haruhi asks.

“No standing up too quickly, and reduce stress as much as you can, for the next day at least. But other than that, I don’t see anything of concern.” She bends down to pick something up, and places it in your hand. The sports drink. “Finish that before you head out, alright sweetheart?” You nod, and she smiles. “Alright, then. You all have a good one.”

She heads out. You sip the sports drink, trying to blink away the dizziness. When you’re back in focus, you see Tamaki step towards you.

“Good to meet you, (Y/N). Feel better soon.” He flashes a small smile at you, and then a brighter one at Haruhi, waving as he walks out the door, Kyoya close behind. The latter doesn’t turn back to look at you. You aren’t sure why that leaves you feeling disappointed.

Haruhi clears her throat. “How are you feeling?” You nod. “Good.” She comes over to you to help you sit up slowly. It brings your heart rate even closer to normal. Haruhi always does, somehow. You suppose it makes sense, given how long you’ve known each other. Crush aside, you’ve known each other practically since infancy. Since the death of your parents, she’s the closest thing to family you have left.

“You know,” you say, playfully as you can, “I think the blond one might have taken a liking to you. You should have seen the way he looked at you.”

“Forgive my lateness,” is the only thing he says as he crosses the room to take the lone empty seat on the other side of Abe.

“No worries. We were just going around and introducing ourselves.”

“Ah. Yes.” He sits, shrugging off his jacket to reveal a crisp white button down underneath. “My name is Kyoya Ootori. Second year. I’m not in any of the humanities departments, I’m simply taking this class to fulfill some requirement—my advisor told me I needed to diversify my courseload. So.”

He leaves it at that. After an awkward pause, Abe clears his throat. “Well! We’re happy to have you. Hopefully you end up finding something of interest in our work this semester.”

Kyoya makes a noncommittal hum in response, solidifying your budding dislike. He can’t even pretend to be a little invested? It’s the first day!

Abe launches into a discussion—a brief summary of the book (as though you all haven’t read it a dozen times); a few talking points to get you all started.

As you listen to your classmates talk, jumping in a few times to add a point of your own, you can’t help but let your attention drift over, again and again, to Mr. Tall, Dark, and Douchey. He hasn’t spoken up even once. Hasn’t taken any notes. You notice he doesn’t even seem to have a copy of the book with him.

All the while, you’re running his name over and over in his head—where have you heard that before?

Something Olivia says catches your attention: “To be honest, I don’t really get why this book is applicable to this class. They barely dig into the topic of presentation at all.”

Your reaction must show on your face, because Abe turns his attention to you. “(Y/N)? What do you think about that?”

You open your mouth, then close it, drafting up an argument in your head. It's not all that difficult to find the words—after all, your application essay for this class centered around this exact topic. “I think that's a common misconception. But I’d argue that the first proposal scene alone is one of the most complex examples of intersectional discrimination in any of Austen’s work, if not the entire Regency canon.”

Olivia tilts her head. “Really?”

You nod, relieved to have been met with curiosity and not disadain. “The first time he proposes to her, it’s framed as an act of charity. A pity ask.” She purses her lips. You notice, for the first time, the little pendant at the base of her throat—three silver Ωs, embedded with little pink stones (her birthstone, if you had to guess). Just like that, your enthusiasm dims slightly—and you choose your words even more carefully. “And I think the reasoning behind her refusal is actually really beautiful. From the text, we learn that it’s been a few years since Elizabeth has been confirmed to not go through heats or ruts. But Lizzie herself never draws attention to it, or shows any shame. It’s only her mother and society that seem to have a problem with it. To say yes to Darcy’s first proposal wouldn’t just be a rejection of her values—it would be a rejection of her own sense of self worth.”

“Still, I’d argue that the first proposal is the more honest of the two.”

You were expecting a rebuttal from Olivia (you’d been on campus long enough to recognize a Triple-O necklace when you saw one—and nobody was more protective of traditional dynamics than a sorority-pledged omega). But she’s completely silent; the voice that chimed in was lower, more melodic. You look over to see Kyoya looking straight at you.

“What?” you ask.

“After all, it is a pity ask, is it not? She’s a defunct omega—” You flinch at that. Here we go. “—from an impoverished family—”

“A beta,” you interrupt.

His brows lift. “They never use the term.”

“Because the term hadn’t yet been invented.” You catch a snicker or two from your classmates, prompted by your defensive tone. Deep down, you know that every word you say is just placing more of a target on your back, but you just can’t help it. And besides—who cares? A few laughs are nothing. You’ve dealt with worse before. “It wasn’t coined for a few years after Austen’s death. Decades more, by the time it was considered a medically sound diagnosis.”

Kyoya rolls his eyes. You bite your tongue. “Very well. She’s a beta from an impoverished family. Either way, she won’t be capable, to his knowledge, of giving him children. And, to top it off, she has no sense of propriety. Is it any wonder his aunt objected to the match?”

“But that’s what makes it so powerful when he finally comes around,” you say, patiently as you can muster. “He’s bucking both societal standards and his own internalized prejudice.”

“To what end? It’s a worthless match. She has nothing to offer him.”

“Love. A match of minds. Traditional dynamic compatibility isn’t everything.”

He mutters something—too low for you to be absolutely certain of what it was he said. But if you had to place a bets, you’d be pretty sure that the words “typical” and “beta” were included somewhere in there. You can’t stop the note of anger that enters your voice as you ask, “Excuse me?”

Abe claps his hands. “Okay, well. Looks like that’s all the time we have left for today. Don’t forget to check the syllabus before our next meeting; and I know it’s the first day, but the first paper is due in two weeks! That might seem early, I know,” he chuckles, in response to a few groans, “but it’s with good reason. The Jen T. Goodwin scholarship contest deadline is a week after you submit that paper, and the parameters are the same—five to seven pages, double-spaced.” That catches your attention. The JTG is the biggest writing scholarship the university has to offer—ten thousand dollars. You’ve come in second place every year you’ve submitted (to the same guy, you’re pretty sure), but hey, you were an undergraduate then—surely you’ll have a better shot now that you have a Bachelor’s degree under your belt? “The sooner you hand something in, the sooner you can get feedback, so it’s never too early to start thinking about a good topic.”

You’re almost lightheaded with annoyance as you zip up your bag and make a beeline for the door. God. College ought to have been better than high school—less people you'd grown up with since infancy, no more identifying bracelets announcing your presentation to the entire world. You’ve managed to make it through most classes without being outed. But you can’t bottle your frustration when people start to shit talk betas just for existing—and being so overzealous about beta rights is almost always a dead giveaway.

One would think that being a beta would make things less complicated—and in many ways, it does. Or in a few key ways, anyway. While betas aren’t unheard of, they aren’t exactly common, either. Less than one percent of the global population, according to modern statistics. Even in the present, with modern-day presentation-reassignment treatments increasingly available to the public, that number has stayed low (though that may be thanks to the difficulties of full gland removal. Easier to transition to being an omega, or an alpha, like Haruhi—hormone treatments are so much less invasive than surgeries, and better studied, too. And trans betas have even less treatment options, due to the risks of long-term cycle suppression).

In any case—you’ve long been accustomed to being one of two, maybe three betas in any given lecture hall, and the only beta in most seminars you’ve taken. Sitting in silence in a corner of the room during junior high, during the Health class unit in first cycles. And, of course, watching as, one by one, your peers had their own first heats and ruts. Most would just disappear for a few days, a week. Occasionally longer. But there was one kid you remember who started his in the middle of the day, without a pre-heat to warn him. The class was evacuated quickly, as soon as the teacher took notice, which only took a matter of seconds. But you were at the tail end of the line, and for a moment you and the boy locked eyes. You’ll never forget it: the sweat running down his brow. The pain and confusion in his voice.

But, worst of all: the look in his eyes.

Blank.

Hungry.

Helpless. Absolutely helpless.

After that day, you had an easier time coming to terms with your presentation. Softened the sting of being the odd one out, of all the jeers and taunts and snide comments made by your classmates. Even the jokes in sitcoms made towards betas didn’t bother you as much. By the time you reached college, you’d developed a sense of pride, even, in your status. Let the world laugh. You’d never have to deal with suppressants, or unexpected cycles, or the stereotypes associated with either of the Big Two presentations. A little loneliness was a small price to pay for all of that.

Plus, it’s not like you were always alone. You had Haruhi, after all. Nearly 20 years of friendship—from the playground days, through her transition, through the death of your parents, to living together throughout all of college—nothing had ever been able to come between you.

Or shake your crush on her, it seems.

Even now, the thought of seeing her later this week has you feeling a bit calmer. You and Haruhi often go days without speaking. It makes sense—you're both fairly introverted, and your schedules, at odds at the best of times, are downright hellish this semester, what with class and work and all. Besides, you've been friends for long enough to be able to fall into a silence that feels comfortable, rather that stifling (like an old married couple, the lovesick part of you can't help but chime in).

But no matter what, the two of you always carve out time to do something special the first Friday of the semester. Movie night, usually, with popcorn and face masks and pedicures. Already you can’t wait, your excitement causing you to pick up the pace slightly. You’ve almost reached the door when he cuts in front of you. Ootori. Kyoya. “Excuse you,” you mutter.

He turns—not fully. Just enough for you to catch a glimpse of those eyes, the glint of his glasses, before he turns back to greet the bubbly blond-haired boy waiting for him in the hall.