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Tahjun was almost always at the Prism if time allowed it, something about letting go to the music, to the hum of the crowd, the smell of alcohol, sweat, and perfume. It felt as if only a filled club like this could truly embracr all his senses and make him for a moment forget people and places and things. It silenced the mind, enough that he didn’t think about how to shake his own spirit. But his content smile soon faltered when the bodies around him parted and Lila appeared.
He considered Lila a friend, not just a friend by association - as most people were - but someone he'd actually make plans with, someone he wouldn't so quickly try to trick of his own amusement - unless it was so easy, then it would be a flaw to let the opportunity pass. Being ghosted was painful, and he would've hated it no matter the party, but being ghosted at the party, the one that was the last place he'd seen Lizzie. That was more than just bad taste, and no amount of liquids could wash it away.
He made a face as Lila spoke, trying to find it in his heart not to forgive her. He wanted to stay mad at her.
He crossed his arms. "You should've." Narrowing his eyes slightly, he found he'd rather speak with her than continue being mad, too much had happened. "One drink? Four at least to stop my bleeding heart!"
lila laughed before she could stop herself – too sharp, too sudden, but honest. it didn't reach her eyes, not all the way, but it cracked something open in her chest just the same. she hadn't expected tahj to joke, not after everything. she'd braced for cold shoulders and unfinished sentences, maybe even that easy charm turned against her like a blade. instead, he met her somewhere in the middle, and that – hurt more than if he'd just walked away. “four drinks?” she repeated, arching a brow as she tilted her head, feigning consideration. “that's a tall order, tahj. especially since i still don't know what you drink. you could be setting me up for the worst tab of my life.” there was a flicker of something softer in her expression, something tentative. she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, thumb hooking into the waistband of her jeans – nervous habit, always had been. it grounded her when her nerves threatened to crackle to the surface like live wire. and being here, being in front of him, brought back more than just guilt. it brought warmth. familiarity. memories she hadn't had the guts to revisit in weeks. “i don't expect you to just… let it go,” she said, her voice quieter now, as if the bass had somehow receded for her to be honest. “i know i bailed on something important. i know what that night meant. to you. to both of us.” her fingers toyed with the edge of her chain as she spoke, twisting the cool metal like it might anchor her in this moment. “and i hate that i turned it into something it wasn't supposed to be. i hate that i didn't show up for you.” she hesitated, eyes tracing the lines of his face – still so familiar, even after weeks of silence. still kind, even when he looked like he wanted to be mad. “but if you let me,” she added softly, “i'd like to start making it up to you,” a beat. “let me get you that drink, bleeding heart and all,” she mused, her smile crooked again – but this time gentler, not hiding behind it. “first round's on me. you can decide if the second's worth sticking around for.”
an academic weapon. that's what her teachers in high school always called her. she was bright, top of her class, always. so why was it so hard to put words to paper. she would be writing her thesis soon to graduate and yet she couldn't even get through a ten page research paper. ophelia wasn't at risk for failing or anything but she held herself to much higher standards than this. that's how the girl found herself sat in langley for going on five hours now... five hours of little to no progress. her eyes dart around the library hoping for a bit of a distraction that would ideally get her back in the right mindset to grind this paper out. chocolate hues fell on the familiar face not far from her own work set up, "lila, hey" she sighed in relief, "shit. i totally spaced on the climate policy paper. i've been trying to get anything into this document for my conservation class, sharking fining and its survival impact on immediate dependent ecosystems. " ophelia groaned at the realization that an entire paper slipped her mind. "i've had such bad brain fog recently so absolutely, swap notes, mutual rage, i'm down for it all at this point. i need to get my mind going back down the right path."
lila's gaze softened as ophelia spoke – maybe it was the quiet panic in her voice, or maybe it was just the familiarity of someone else unravelling under the academic pressure. either way, something in her chest eased a little. misery didn't just love company; it needed it sometimes. she nudged a stack of articles aside, creating space at the table like it was instinct. “then sit,” she said, voice low but laced with amusement. “come suffer beside me.” her fingers curled loosely around her highlighter as she studied ophelia a beat longer. the girl looked like she felt – tired, wound up, running on caffeine and expectations. it was weirdly comforting. “shark finning, though,” she added after a moment. “that's heavy. important, but… brutal. no wonder your brain tapped out.” lila reached for her cold coffee, took a sip like it might spark some genius, then made a face. disgusting. “we should, probably both be drinking water and going to therapy instead of this, but, you know. capitalism.” she passed a few color-coded pages toward ophelia, her own notes scrawled in sharp, decisive handwriting. “here, i covered the regulatory failures from 2008 onward. you might be able to pull something from it for your angle, too. ecosystem collapse doesn't like to stay in its lane.” then, more gently. “you're not behind. you're human. big difference.”
lila wasn't usually one for silence. not the kind that settled between bookcases, humming with fluorescent light and dust motes. but langley library had a way of stilling her – of quieting the chaos that usually lived just behind her ribs. and today, she needed that more than she cared to admit. she sat cross-legged at a corner table, surrounded by the organized mess of open books, sticky notes, and a hulf-drunk coffee that had long gone cold. her laptop was open but ignored, the screen dimmed to black. instead, she was thumbing through a worn copy of this changes everything, underlining with more pressure than necessary. her jaw tightened as she read another passage that pissed her off – in a good way, in a this should make everyone angry way. she let out a short breath, sat back, and rubbed at her temple. “jesus,” she muttered under her breath, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. except someone did. lila looked up, brows lifting as her eyes caught a familiar figure a few tables over. ophelia. her hand hovered in a pause before waving. “hey,” she said quietly, then gestured at the chaos in front of her. “guess we're both gluttons for punishment.” a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth – rare, but genuine. “i'm digging through all this for my climate policy paper. you too, or are you just here for the vibes?” she let her pen fall against the table with a soft clatter, then tilted her head. “i've gotta say… it's kind nice. knowing someone else here actually gives a shit.” her voice dropped slightly, more vulnerable than usual. “gets a little lonely, y'know?” lila shrugged it off quickly, already shifting back into something lighter. “anyway, if you wanna join forces – compare notes, or rage about fossil fuel subsidies – i'm not going anywhere for a while.”
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the prism was loud in all the ways lila needed it to be. bass heavy enough to rattle her thoughts loose, lights strobing fast enough to blur the edges of memory. she didn't come her often anymore – too many ghosts lurking between the barstools and booths – but something about tonight had pulled her in. she wasn't dressed to impress. black cropped tank, her old docs, a silver chain tangled twice around her throat. just enough to belong. not enough to be looked at. she'd perfected that balance ages ago. her palms were still a little clammy from the cold outside, fingers wrapped around a sweating glass she hadn't touched in ten minutes. she hadn't planned on seeing anyone. definitely not him. “tahj?” her voice rose above the music as she stepped into his line of sight, more uncertain than she'd like to admit. she didn't expect him to smile. maybe didn't deserve one. they hadn't spoken since that night. the one where she'd texted him be there soon and then never showed. no warning, no explanation. just silence. “i wasn't stalking you, if that's what you're thinking,” she said, offering a crooked half-smile. “i just… ended up here.” a beat passed. “i should've texted. after. i just didn't know what to say that wouldn't make things worse.” she took a shallow breath, tugging her sleeve down over the heel of her hand. “i know i ghosted. i know i probably messed that night up for you. but i didn't plan on blowing you off. something came up. and i should've said that. you didn't deserve the radio silence.” her eyes lifted to meet his, open and steady. “you were my friend. still are, if you want to be. that's why i'm saying this now.” she glanced towards the bar, then back at him. “you want a drink? my treat. consider it a very, very late apology.”
the scent of old fabric and citrus-scented disinfectant clung to the air, as familiar to liila now as her own shampoo. she was elbow-deep in a box of donations, pulling out a faded bon jovi tour tee that had definitely seen better decades, when the silence of the store struck her harder than usual. no laughter from the dressing rooms. no half-assed lizzie commentary from the fitting room bench. just the buzz of the ceiling fan and the low murmur of some indie playlist she'd queued up an hour ago. lila swallowed hard. the shirt in her hands crumpled in her fingers. she didn't allow herself to cry at work. that was for the confines of her dorm room, exclusively. she straightened up, her jaw clenched, and shoved the shirt onto a hanger. when she heard footsteps, soft-soled and familiar lila didn't even look up before she spoke. “you'd think murder would come with more closure, huh?” her voice came out flatter than she'd intended. not bitter. not angry. just… hollow. like she'd run out of steam three grief spirals ago. she finally glanced over at blue, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek as she nodded toward the donation pile. “someone donated a live, laugh, love wall decal. if that's not a goddamn sign, i don't know what is.”
lila stared down at the three bins like they were suspects in a lineup. blue. green. black. each one carefully labelled, color-coded, and adorned with laminated pictures she'd spent an embarrassing amount of time designing in canva. she even taped an actual banana peel to the green one for visual reinforcement. if brody didn't get it this time, she was going to lose her mind – or worse, her will to recycle. “okay, brody,” she said, tapping the green bin with her shoe. “let's say, hypothetically, you've finished your smoothie and you're holding a cup with the little leafy symbol on it. where does it go?” she waits for a beat, before continuing. “green,” she answered for him, before he could point to the black and break her spirit. “green, brody. because it breaks down. compostable. like food. plants. things that come from the earth and don't have barcodes.” she gestured to the bins again with the flair of a game show hostess running out of patience. “blue is for paper. clean paper. not paper with cheese melted into it. and black is for all the sad, unrecyclable garbage we pretend doesn't exist.” her eyes narrowed as she unwrapped a muffin and immediately crumpled the wrapper in her palm. “don't you dare say green,” she warned, voice low and dangerous. “if you say green, i swear i will dump this entire bin on your bed.”
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Dawn has only just begun to crack the night sky open when Ava makes her way to her favourite bench at the reflection pond. Another night of staring at the ceiling with a whirring brain has led her here - if she’s plagued to be an insomniac for the rest of her college days, she may as well make it scenic. Everything feels different in the dull glow of the rising morning - softer somehow in the quiet hours before the rest of the campus wakes up. A serenity the brunette is actually looking forward to bathing in when she rounds the small bend of shrubs and finds someone already there. “ Oh, ” Ava murmurs quietly, halting her stride. The night’s weariness seems to catch up to her in that moment when she recognises the frame, and with it all the uncomfortable messes Lizzie had made with them. “ I didn’t think anyone else would be out this early, sorry. I’ll go. ”
lila startles at the sound of ava's voice, her eyes lifting from the rippling surface of the pond to meet the girl she hasn't properly spoken to since before everything unraveled. her posture stiffens instinctively, but there's no edge in her voice when she speaks – just a quiet sort of guilt that's lingered ever since lizzie's name became something they don't say out loud anymore. “ava, wait,” lila says, rising slowly from the bench. the soft morning light catches on the tired lines under her eyes, evidence she hasn't been sleeping much either. “you don't have to go. it's a public bench. you probably have more of a claim to it than i do.” she swallows, the words tasting heavier than she wants them to. “i didn't know you came out here. not until after.” a beat. “i'm not here to start anything, i swear. i just… couldn't sleep either.” there's a pause, where she glances down at her hands like she's bracing herself. “i never got to say i'm sorry. not just for what happened. for – everything. for what i did. for what i let happen.” her voice cracks slightly, but she forces a soft breath out and looks up again. “you don't owe me anything, ava. i just… i'm sorry.”
who? open, capped at 0/3.
where? the montclair quad.
the anonymous campus menace must think they're real clever, and as a woman who much prefers to keep her own life personal, november finds their larking particularly irritating. her already barely-concealed rage simmers every time she walks past those goddamn flyers. they're everywhere, and she's already seen a few this morning. day ruined. the next one she spots quickly becomes the target of her fury—it's taped to a lamp post, and she tears it down without breaking her stride, crumples it in her fist without bothering to read past the first line. the quad itself is deceptively peaceful, and the brunette marches straight through it, a storm cloud veering towards the nearest trash can, the paper remains still clutched in hand. hand winds up like she's about to throw it hard; nova narrows her gaze like she's lining up the shot. the balled-up flyer arcs wide, hits the pavement, rolls for one, two, three seconds . . . and hits someone's foot. "fuck," she hisses under her breath before stalking a few paces closer, voice louder this time. "sorry. bad aim." a tilt of her head at the paper, then: "well? you gonna toss it out, or hand it over so i can?"
lila looked down at the flyer like it might bite her. it had stopped right against her sandal, edges crumpled, half-smeared ink still catching in the light. her brows lifted as she reached to pick it up, fingers brushing paper that still radiated heat from november's fury. of course it was her. no one else moved like a weapon. “hey nova,” lila said, voice warm but careful, like she was approaching a spooked animal. her grip tightened slightly. “you know, one day you're gonna throw something and actually start a fire.” she glanced up, studying the way november's jaw set like a trap. it made lila ache a little, in the soft spot that she always reserved for people who held in too much. “you okay?” she asked, gently, but she didn't wait for an answer. she offered the paper out like a peace offering. “here. i won't read it if you don't want me to,” she mused with a small, crooked smile. “but if you're starting a collection, i can help. i've got like, five in my backpack already.” she tilted her head. “we could make a collage. or… set them on fire. your call.”
[ madison bailey. ciswoman. she/her. subplot 29. ] welcome back to montclair university, lila rae brooks ! according to your student file you're a twenty-three year old junior, studying environmental studies, and funny enough you were voted most likely to turn a van into a tiny home your senior year of high school back home in burlington, vermont. i can totally see it with your empathetic, free-spirited and avoidant personality ! but enough about that — i heard you were lizzie harrington's partner in crime. makes sense when you take into consideration your status as a scholarship student… and the fact that you're hiding [redacted]. you're often seen at the brew house, and you kind of embody cosy thrifted sweaters, messy sketchbooks, playlists full of indie and soul, urban hikes, coffee shop work sessions, voice notes instead of texts… not to mention people always seem to hum dog days are over by florence + the machine when you're around, but you'll always be known on campus as the wildflower who enjoys journaling and has 15,000 instagram followers… good luck this semester !
lila rae brooks was born with a streak of summer sunlight warming her cheeks and the faint scent of wild mint in the air. her mother, celeste, a french immigrant from lyon, brought a poetic soul into their modest home -- a one-bedroom apartment above a hardware store with creaky floors, a tiny balcony garden, and stacks of well-loved books in both french and english. her father, jeremy, a local handyman and part-time mechanic, worked odd jobs to make ends meet while her mother waitressed long shifts, still managing to fill their evenings with stories and song.
from an early age, lila understood what it meant to live simply. they were never homeless, but they teetered close -- barely scraping by, skipping new clothes, and stretching leftovers into next-day meals. her younger sister, leah, was the bright-eyed balance to lila's thoughtful stillness. together, the girls learned how to thrive on creativity, love, and community instead of material comfort. celeste taught them how to mend clothes by hand, how to make lavender tea to ease anxiety, and how to speak up for things that mattered.
lila took that lesson to heart. she was the girl who organized recycling at school before it was trendy, who led climate change awareness projects, and who felt most alive barefoot in the woods or journaling by lake champlain. nature was her constant -- a steady, grounding force in a life of uncertainty. she saw beauty in overgrown sidewalks, in compost piles, in the slow resilience of the earth. her passion for the environment wasn't a phase -- it was a calling.
when it came time for college, lila knew her family couldn't afford it. but she also knew she couldn't stay still. her dream was to make real, tangible change, to protect the kind of quiet, natural beauty she grew up with. she applied for a scholarship to montclair, pouring herself into an essay about growing up in burlington with immigrant roots, scarce money, and an abundance of wonder. she wrote about how environmentalism wasn't just a cause -- it was survival, healing, and hope.
she got in. full ride. and for the first time in her life, lila could imagine shaping her own future.
about lizzie.
lila and lizzie were an unlikely duo at first glance. lila, the earthy, bohemian scholarship kid from vermont, and lizzie, montclair's golden girl with a polished smile and a reputation for perfection. but beneath lila's gentle aura was a sharp, curious mind, and lizzie saw it instantly. what started as a shared class and a few late-night talks in the campus greenhouse grew into something more calculated: a quiet alliance built on trust, secrets, and subtle power.
lizzie was the strategist, the face. lila was the shadow. while lizzie worked the social scene, lila gathered information others let slip in moments of vulnerability, her warm, safe presence disarming even the most guarded. they fed off each other, each bringing out a more dangerous edge in the other. lila, who once saw herself as a protector of truth and nature, learned the value of leverage. lizzie taught her how to weaponize it.
together, they were unstoppable. two halves of a brilliant, manipulative whole. but even in their closeness, lila kept parts of herself hidden. she admired lizzie, maybe even loved her in some twisted way. but she never forgot the game they were playing. and in that game, loyalty was conditional.
headcanons.
she never wears matching socks on purpose. it's her quiet rebellion against perfectionism.
she talks to plants like they're people. not for show, she genuinely believes energy matters, and her dorm is a mini jungle because of it.
she has a memory box hidden under her bed filled with dry flowers, old bus tickets, and handwritten notes -- souveniers from people she's loved, even if they hurt her.
she's fluent in french, thanks to her mother, and switches to it subconsciously when emotional or flustered.
she once ran a secret zine in high school exposing pollution from a local factory. anonymously, of course.
she has a complicated relationship with social media, keeping her profile vague and aesthetic-driven while rarely posting personal thoughts. she hates how curated everything feels, even though she participates in it.
she collects vintage tarot decks, even if she doesn't fully believe in them. she's more interested in the art and symbolism than the predictions.
she has a soft spot for sad indie music, especially lyrics that sound like they were ripped from someone's journal.
she always leaves places cleaner than she found them. whether it's a classroom, a campsite, or someone's apartment. it's a quiet habit passed down from her mom, rooted in belief that care for the world starts in small, invisible acts.
she still writes letters to lizzie, even after her death. folded carefully and tucked away in her notebook, never sent.
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