“Oh, it’s lovely,” Merrill chirps, and catches onto her hand. “What do you want for lunch? I was thinking maybe pasta.”

“Pasta sounds great,” Marian agrees. “Anders?”

He shrugs. “If that’s what you both want,” he agrees.

They start walking, Marian trailing a little behind Merrill’s bouncy stride, Anders keeping pace beside them with his hands in his jacket pockets. It’s a warm, bright day, and the sun in her eyes makes Marian’s head hurt. She’s glad it’s not a long walk, at least; moving too much or too quickly makes the pain in her abdomen worse.

“You had that review today, right?” Merrill asks as they find a table to sit down at. “For the test? How did it go?”

“Well, one of us is confident,” Anders says, sighing dramatically as he throws himself into the chair.

Merrill frowns, cocking her head. “When you say one of us,” she begins thoughtfully, “do you mean Hawke, or…?”

“He’s making fun of me,” Marian says, and rips off part of her napkin. “For having the nerve to take a piss during class.”

“Though,” Anders says, “maybe you’ve got a point about his confidence - ouch!” He flinches and looks up sharply as Marian flicks her balled-up napkin strip at his head.

“Absolute and unshakable conviction in everything he says doesn’t mean your dear roommate is always right,” she points out.

“Maybe not,” Anders sighs, “but it feels nice, sometimes.”

“You’re the one who’s been studying so hard,” she says. “You know the material, it’s just test anxiety.”

“I’m sure you’ll get everything right,” Merrill adds brightly. “You’re very smart.”

He grins and shakes his head as the waitress arrives with their food. “Fettuccine alfredo,” she says and Marian raises her hand.  “Garden pesto, and pasta primavera.”

“Thanks,” Marian says.

“Just plain alfredo today?” Anders asks lightly as he starts on his pasta. “I thought you liked a kick.”

“I don’t just eat spicy food,” she protests, frowning. “Can’t I just savor something creamy without being judged?”

He shrugs. “Sure,” he agrees, “if that’s what you want.” He looks up at her and raises an eyebrow. “Enjoy yourself.”

She glares at him across the table, and he looks back unfazed. Grumpy, she looks away and stabs at her pasta, trying not to think too hard about how pasta alfredo, even without spice, will sit in her stomach.

Merrill, bless her, seems entirely oblivious to his suspicion, cheerfully eating her pasta. “Well, mine is good,” she says.

“How have your classes been?” Marian asks sweetly, turning to her.

“Oh!” Merrill says, her eyes growing wide. “We’ve been studying the genus divergences of Oleeae and how the major genera developed, I’m really enjoying it!”

“Tell us about it!” Marian suggests, beaming at the sight of Merrill’s face so eager and bright.

A passionate speech about lilacs and a very exasperated discussion about psychology later, they’ve all finished eating, and Anders stands up, grabbing his bag. “I’ve got to get to class,” he says, and waves at them. “See you tomorrow for study group?”

“Same place as always,” Marian agrees, her voice a little strained. She’s starting to feel sick again, her lunch feeling very heavy in her stomach, but she grins as she waves back. “Have fun in class.”

He laughs at that and turns to head towards his lecture at a brisk walk, disappearing around the corner.

“Are you ready to go, too?” Merrill asks chipperly.

“Sure,” Marian says, and gets to her feet. Standing unsettles her stomach, and she has to close her eyes quickly and wait for her balance to catch up with her. The muscles in her abdomen clench unpleasantly.

“What do you want to do before your class?” Merrill asks, sweetly ignorant of her suffering.

“Um,” she manages, and shrugs, too distracted by her stomach to think of anything. “Anything you like.”

“I think I’d like to get a cup of tea,” Merrill says, and reaches for her hand. “Come join me?”

Marian follows a little helplessly as she leads the way along the road back to the union. God, just walking is making her nauseous, and she’s beginning to feel a little like she has a knife stuck in her midsection. She grits her teeth and tries to mirror Merrill’s cheerful smile despite the effort it’s taking not to gag.

There are too many people in the union, and the noise makes her want to scream. She clenches her free hand into a fist as Merrill heads for the coffee shop on the opposite side of the building. Her stomach gurgles unhappily and she swallows against the tight feeling in her throat.

“Do you want anything?” Merrill asks as they reach the cafe.

“No,” Marian says, her voice a little shaky, “that’s alright, thanks, Merrill.”

“I’ll be right back, then!” Merrill says, and goes to get her drink.

Marian stands where she is for a moment, swaying on the spot. Her stomach turns over and she stifles a sick belch with one hand. She can taste vomit in the back of her mouth and fights against her gag reflex so she doesn’t throw up on the spot. Clutching at her stomach, she turns and heads towards the bathrooms.

She manages to make it in time, at least, to lift the toilet seat and duck her head before she retches, her muscles convulsing around her stomach and forcing her lunch back up her throat. Curdling cream sauce and strands of pasta splash into the bowl, acid burning her mouth and nose. One heave after another wracks her body, so hard she can hardly catch a breath between waves of chyme spewing up from her throat. She must have thrown up half a dozen times before she’s able to even lift her head, sobbing and gasping raggedly for air.

The bathroom door opens, and she freezes up, her whole body taut, trying desperately not to cough or gag and make a sound. The last thing she wants is to draw attention to herself with someone else here.

“Hawke?” says Merrill’s soft voice.

Oh, fuck, she thinks, and tries to stay quiet before her stomach turns over. She groans weakly and retches again, coughing up a mouthful of watery off-white sick.

“Oh, Hawke,” Merrill says, and carefully pushes the stall door open. She kneels down next to Marian, brushing back her hair with light, gentle fingers.

“Sorry,” Marian mutters, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles. “Didn’t mean to leave you hanging.”

“I thought you looked a little unwell,” Merrill says sympathetically, and rubs her shoulders while she leans over to heave a few more times. “Oh, dear - it’s alright, you’re alright, just get it out.”

“You noticed, huh?” she manages when she stops vomiting. Her stomach still feels queasy, but she doesn’t think there’s actually much left to throw up.

“Well, you were awfully quiet at lunch,” Merrill says, tracing circles on her back with her hand. “And you’ve been looking terribly pale.”

“You kept quiet,” Marian says, and gives her a shaky smile.

Merrill shrugs, her eyes wide. “I didn’t expect you’d want to talk about it,” she says.

“You’re better than I deserve.” She leans over the toilet to spit into it, her eyes screwed shut so she doesn’t catch a glimpse of the mess before flushing it.

“Will you be alright?” Merrill asks kindly as she sits back on her heels. “If you need to go home, I could see about getting your assignments for you.”

She laughs and shakes her head, scrubbing at her stinging eyes. “No, thanks. I think I can make it to my other classes.”