#much longer

“Did you ask to walk with me just to annoy me?” she asks, one brow raised. The path they’ve taken winds wide across campus, the long route, where the early chill still lingers between the buildings. It’s not as early as her runs, yet the air bites the same, sharp enough that her breath escapes in pale clouds. Around them, campus stirs awake, the hum of a vending machine, the clatter of a coffee cup lid, the shuffle of tired feet and hushed voices. A pair of students slip past, clutching steaming takeaway cups, their laughter thin and weightless in the cold. Somewhere, the smell of toast drifts from an open dorm window.

“That was half the reason, yes,” Jinu admits, grinning that easy, lopsided grin that never quite grew up with the rest of him.

Rumi snorts. “And the other half?”

He opens his mouth to answer — and then hisses, stumbling as his foot catches on a slab of uneven pavement.

Rumi reacts before she can think, her hand catching his elbow, the other hovering just shy of his back. The sound that leaves him is small, contained, tight and bitten off before it can become anything larger. the kind that’s more grit than pain but it ripples through her all the same.

It takes her a moment to understand what she’s hearing. At first she thinks it’s surprise, maybe irritation at tripping over the cracked pavement. But then she sees it, the way his hand drops to his thigh, fingers pressing just above the knee as if to steady something that won’t quite hold. The breath that slips between his teeth.

And suddenly it isn’t a stumble anymore.

Something cold settles beneath her ribs. It always does, whenever this happens, that sharp awareness that it’s that knee, the one wrapped, braced, rebuilt. The one that still remembers.

The one she broke.

The guilt doesn’t strike so much as bloom, slow and acidic, curling around her lungs until even her breath feels borrowed.

He straightens before she can speak, before she can steady him further, brushes her off with that same lopsided smile that never quite reaches his eyes. “I’m fine,” he says and maybe he is, but she hates that she can’t believe him. The limp is barely there, just a shift in weight, a hesitation between steps. But she sees the ghost of what she took from him walking right beside her.

“I’m fine,” Jinu repeats and it almost convinces her. Almost.

“It still hurts?” she asks, her voice quieter than she means it to be.

His smile falters, just a fraction, before he pins it back into place. It’s a good smile. Practised. If she hadn’t known him as long as she has, she might’ve believed it.

They’re both good at that — holding their masks where the world can see them, pretending the weight beneath is lighter than it is.

And yet, in moments like this, it feels like punishment more than protection.

If they hadn’t known each other for this long, she wouldn’t recognise the tiny hitch in his gait, the faint tension pulling at his jaw.

If they hadn’t known each other at all, she wouldn’t have learnt to read him this easily.

Wouldn’t have to.

Rumi forces the thought back down where it belongs. Deep, quiet, somewhere it can’t snag on her ribs. The sound of Jinu’s sigh follows, soft and unbothered, as if to steady the air again. He gives a small, lazy flick of his wrist, palm tilting side to side.

“Comes and goes,” he says. His tone is breezy, but the motion of his hand is not. “Whatever’s left is chronic, I guess?” A shrug, light enough to sound dismissive but heavy enough that Rumi feels the weight behind it. He glances her way, clearly reading the worry that’s already gathered between her brows, and adds quickly — deflecting, as he always does, as they both do, “How are classes?”

Rumi presses her lips together, draws in a slow breath that fogs faintly in the cold, and shrugs. “Okay.”

“Wow,” Jinu deadpans, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Riveting stuff.”

That earns him an eye roll, though it’s gentler this time, softened by the faint tug of a smile threatening the edge of her mouth. “They’re fine,” she says, a little more firmly, as though repeating it will make it true. “I usually have to catch up on notes in the evenings and go over everything again on weekends, along with whatever extra work they give us, but…” she exhales, a quiet gust of air that drifts between them, “I’m managing.”

The words sound steadier than they feel. She pauses, kicks at a pale leaf caught in a crack of the pavement, watches it spin once before it falls still again. “The reading takes forever,” she admits, “and the work’s starting to feel a bit… much, sometimes. But I’m managing.” She says it again, slower this time, as if repetition will make it sink in, will convince her lungs to believe it. She’s not sure if she’s trying to reassure Jinu or herself.

There’s a beat of silence, broken only by the distant hum of a bike bell and the soft thud of their shoes against the path. Rumi can feel his gaze on her even without looking. Steady and knowing, the same way it’s always been since the day he decided she was worth watching out for.

“If you need help—” he starts.

“Yeah, I know.” Her voice is quick to cut him off, quicker than she means it to be. She sighs, then peeks sideways at him, catching the curve of concern that’s still etched between his brows. “Thanks.”

Jinu hums, the sound somewhere between acknowledgment and understanding. The morning breathes around them again — crisp and slow — and Rumi focuses on it. The crunch of gravel underfoot, the faint sweetness of roasted coffee drifting from a nearby café. Anything to keep her thoughts at bay.

Before anything: in my timeline for Hollywood U, quest 5/“First Date” takes place in Jan/15, so around 6 months have passed since “On the Hunt”.

As I've written before, Claire spent her entire life with a distorted view of love. This led her into less than ideal situations (this one included). She has deep rooted self-esteem issues she's not aware of, she just knows she thinks she's not worth... "it" ("it" = always being a self-destructive gesture, risking "something"; she destroys herself to prove herself, so the other must too). This has much to do with how she first established "love" with her parents. Attention is love! Claire believes the people she's in relationships with will, inevitably, lose interest in her; and she believes this, because she truly thinks there's something extremely off-putting about herself. And she's much better as an idealised concept than a person. People don't like her naturally, so she must make them love her.

And, see, Claire has a terrible death drive: she's stuck in a cycle that will cause her pain; she's always pursued relationships with men that will not give her what she wants, which in turn will reaffirm her beliefs about herself, which will make her look for assurance from other people. It is through these relationships that Claire tries to find this feeling of worthiness: her main deal is trying to shift the power imbalance between her and her partners (because there always is one), and most of the time it comes through the simple act of these men crossing boundaries to be with her. Giving her attention when they should not be giving her any.

So, Claire saw her therapist as something to be conquered. Would her parents' divorce lawyer muddle the waters to be with her? Would this guy mess up his campaign plans just so he can go on a few dates with her? Yes, probably. But they're not committed to her: they also see her as something to be conquered, a fling. There is not much thought put into Claire, or into the relationship as a whole. No consideration for consequences. Claire is something. For Claire, this is not empowering, this is self-destructive behaviour. And when time comes, these men leave her and blame her for their ruin.

This is all part of her characterisation as a perceived femme fatale. "Perceived" because Claire does not do this out of malice. This is not conscious behaviour; at least it's not something Claire realises she's doing when she's doing it. I will return to this later.

Okay, well. Hunt checks all the boxes, right. He's her professor and by God, he does not want to cross any boundaries. This guy literally runs away from Claire in more than one occasion. Unfortunately for him, this is a dream come true to her. This does not play like in canon; like I said, Claire doesn't do this out of malice. She just sees a man who does not esteem her, and this is outrageous to her, and she needs to prove him wrong; and she needs to show him that, actually, she's totally nice and pleasant and, like, interesting! Claire is not even pursuing him romantically, at first. She doesn't even like him as a person that much. She just feels she has to prove herself to him, somehow. She must make him love her. It simply gets entangled in the midst of it all, as it often does with Claire.

I've talked before (in tags) why I think they work together. Hunt does not give Claire attention. At least, not in the way she wants to (positive attention.) There is something about Claire that is very offensive to Hunt: she is too much like him! This relationship is not about Claire wearing down a guy until he dates her (which, honestly, that's what it feels like in canon). This is about two deeply flawed people who see conflict as a form of connection. They cannot interact sincerely with each other because they are both too deep in their own prejudices. Claire has a distorted perception of herself. People dislike her not for innate, mysterious reasons, but because she is pushy and brashy. Hunt needs to get over himself. He is not being frank, he is just being rude and unpleasant most of the time. And these are two people who love pointing fingers at others, and then they decide to point it at each other.

They're deeply attracted to each other because one constantly challenges the other. And as much as they do not like to admit this (the great flaw of pride), there is something to be admired in a person that manages to humble you. These are characters that need to be wrong every once in a while. And they found that in each other. Claire has the unconscious need to make Hunt like her, but she's unaware of what makes her unlikeable. And he will make her aware of it. And Hunt thinks of himself as the judge of everything that is good in the world. Claire tells him he's not that important, actually.

There is mutual investment in this relationship. And I think that's what levels the ground between them. Not whatever Claire was doing before.

Once they get together, the issue with Claire and worthiness does not go away (and it won't for a long while); but this is a different relationship than any other she has had, because Hunt is a different person from all the men she's dated before. He is not a person who does things haphazardly, unplanned, not thought through. Most importantly: once he chooses something, he commits to it. So, when he decides to date Claire he's not doing it in precipitation. He has given thought to it, he has given thought to the consequences and he has given thought to Claire. Thence, when he tells her he's "all in", he means it and he is willing to risk it all for her (which does happen; he loses his job) because he thinks she, as a person, adds more to him.

This is probably when Claire realises that she's falling for him (and truly!). I think hearing that from him means a lot to her. It touches a wound in her. Oh, so there are people who are willing to do... things for her. And, of course, not implying this is healthy. This is not fixing anything, because that is not the point. Claire will not mature in this aspect through a relationship... and this all kinda reaffirms her worldview. As for Hunt: he literally throws his career away for her, so maybe he should visit an analyst as well. The point is that this is an important moment to Claire and Hunt's relationship; and this is why this, out of all the relationships Claire has had, lasts. There is a commitment from him in a way that enables her complex, but there's also being seen as a person in a way that she'd never experienced before.

I also like how this subverts Claire's archetype of a perceived femme fatale, slightly. Hunt does lose his job so, in a way, she would have "lead him to ruin". The difference here is that Hunt is fully aware of the consequences, he has given thought to the situation, and he still chose her. She has not "deceived him" (and I'd say she never deceived any man; they knew what they were getting into). The point here is that Hunt does not shift the blame to Claire at any moment: if he lost his job, then that's his doing. Claire is only a person! She has no way of coercing him into anything. He could've said no. And he chose not to.