Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Coffee. She can do coffee.

She stares at the outside of the ambiguously branded campus coffee shop and lets out a breath, willing herself to go inside.

It’s not like she hates the poor guy. She just… happens to think he’s really annoying and pretentious and that he would put literally anyone beneath himself if it meant a positive success for him.

She just doesn’t think their values quite line up.

However, she doesn’t really think Dr. Bennett will accept “a general distaste and displeasure towards everything that he does” as a valid reason to change project partners (and she knows, because she tried). So… they’re meeting for coffee to discuss the division of work. She made it painfully clear to him that she only had a small window of time to meet and she can only hope that he'll actually be respectful of that and not want to get a jump start on the project today.

Best case scenario, they divide the work evenly and work on it separately for as long as possible until they absolutely have to make a whole out of the parts. Worst case scenario, he wants to actually work on the project together and commit time to having to collaborate and actually work with each other.

She just has to go in and find out.

She pushes through the anxious swirls in her chest, shaking her head and stepping into the shop, her eyes glancing quickly around for the nuisance she’s been paired with and letting herself relax for a second when she realizes she’s beat him to the shop.

After getting her nonfat latte and neatly setting her laptop up with notes about her ideas for the project, she takes a quick glance at the clock and notes that he’s ten minutes late. While it might be out of character for him to be late in general (she’s fairly certain he’s been there, sitting up obnoxiously straight in his seat, primed and ready to be practically perfect and up the teacher’s ass at least ten minutes before her for every single class they’ve had together), she’s actually not that surprised that she’s taking time out of her very busy schedule to meet with him to discuss a project that she’d rather lick concrete than be paired with him on and he can’t even respect her time here, especially when she told him explicitly how little time she had free for this. That part, the blatant disrespect, is pretty in character for him.

It’s as if she summoned him with her ill thoughts of his attitude, because as soon as she unlocks her phone to text him and ask where he is, a flurry of gangly limbs and a whiff of panic rushes through the door and glances aimlessly around the coffee shop until his eyes land on her and his shoulders relax, long legs striding over to her table to shed the messenger bag from his shoulder and sit down across from her, working quickly to take his laptop out and settle in, launching into an almost frenzied apology.

“I am - I’m so sorry, I was ready to go and then my roommate had this whole thing he needed help with and I kept trying to leave, but he’s really - um, he’s really convincing,” He laughs nervously, fingers fidgeting as he lays out his work setup in front of him, seeming to be unable to stop talking. “It won’t happen again, he’s just -”

“It’s okay,” She cuts him off with the blatant lie, a terse smile on her face as he relaxes (though, relaxes is a strong word, as his posture stays obnoxiously straight and perfect, he just stops fidgeting with his setup and it looks like he feels lighter). “Do you wanna… get a drink or…?”

She trails off, expecting that the reason he asked to meet in the coffee shop might’ve been because he maybe liked coffee and she’s surprised when that grants her an almost deer-in-the-headlights look.

“Oh, uh… No. I’m kind of on a caffeine detox.” He hesitates, a weird paradox of an awkward, almost forced, confidence encapsulating pretty much his entire being as he opens his laptop. “I just figured, uh - you always come in with coffee and I didn’t really care where we met, so this seemed like a good bet. I mean, not that I don’t like coffee, I love coffee, my relationship with it just got kind of unhealthy and -”

“Okay,” She cuts him off again and he almost looks grateful for the opportunity to stop talking. “Got it. So, I’ve come up with some ideas for what we can do and I think you should look over them.”

“O… kay.” She shoves a couple sheets of loose leaf paper with messily scrawled notes on them towards him. “I actually also had some ideas and -” He cuts himself off as his eyes skim through her own notes and take in the fact that - “These are the same ideas. We had the… exact same ideas.”

“Oh.” Zoey is actually surprised and she doesn’t really know what to say. She had kind of assumed she would have to fight for him to even consider her ideas and she wasn’t really ready to process the notion that the project might actually be easy and that they would agree. She almost wants to come up with a new idea just to have something to fight him on, but she decides quickly that this actually makes her goal of spending as little time as possible with Leif surprisingly easy. “Well, that’s - um, that’s great. So, we can pick one of these ideas then. And then we can just divide it in half and work separately until we need to bring the pieces together, yeah?”

Leif gives her a thoughtful look, the awkwardness he’d entered with fading a little bit as his (alright, mostly earned) confidence returns.

“I was actually thinking that we would -”

“Listen,” She cuts him off again and ignores the annoyed look he gives her (she’s aware that this is the third time she’s cut him off in as many minutes, but she can’t really bring herself to care that much). “I’m just really busy and I don’t really know if I’ll have the time to plan out meetings to work… closely together on this. I think a loose together would be fine for this project and it’ll be easy to bring together.”

The fact that she’s busy in and of itself isn’t technically a lie, but she’s well aware of the fact that she’d be more than willing to work around her tight schedule for pretty much anybody in her classes except for Leif (why couldn’t she have just gotten paired with Max? Hell, she’d take Glenn.). She’s also well aware that their project would probably be better if they worked closely together. They’re both insanely smart, talented, and dedicated and both of their passionate energies directed towards one project could actually potentially be one of the greatest projects their professor ever lays his eyes on (alright, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but her point is that she’s aware they’d be a good team - she just doesn’t really want to be on his team).

“Um… Right.” He looks doubtful as he takes a swig from his water bottle and her eye catches on the small pieces of fruit bouncing around with the ice (because of course Mr. Perfect can’t just drink normal water), waiting for him to actually respond. “Look, I’m willing to work my schedule around yours, but I’d really be more comfortable actually working together on this. It’s not that I don’t trust you.” Doubtful. “I just think it’d be smart to use all our resources and put our brains together on this. I don’t think Dr. Bennett would’ve made this a partnered project if working with your partner wasn’t the most efficient way to go about it, y’know?”

Right. The great Dr. Bennett, benefactor of his precious time to their little university when he’s not busy being a CEO, would, of course, know best in Leif’s eyes. This is exhausting. She had tried, desperately, to get into his wife’s class, hoping for a more open and understanding experience, but all of the seats had been full. It made her happy, at least, to know that there was a higher demand for seats in her class than his.

“Okay, how about a compromise? Let’s schedule, like... three meetings and work as much as we can outside of that. I’ll,” She pauses mid-sentence, maneuvering swiftly on the laptop in front of her. “Send you my class schedule real quick and you let me know when you’re free outside of that. Okay?”

“I’m sensing that I don’t have much of a choice here.”

She stares at him blankly instead of responding, hoping the look she’s giving him in and of itself is enough to convey that he’s absolutely correct in that assumption.

“Right. Yeah. I’ll… let you know my schedule.”

She nods with a light smile now, closing her laptop and shoving it back into her bag, glancing quickly at her watch to ensure she’s not gonna be late for her next class.

“Sweet. Just text me.” She stands up and goes to shake his hand, deciding very quickly that that’s weird before he can even give her a confused look. She awkwardly drops her hand, choosing to do a short, stunted wave instead.

“I’ll -” He turns to say goodbye, but finds she’s already disappeared through the doors. “See you around.” He finishes to the empty air where she was standing seconds ago.

Chapter Text

She’s late. Fuck.

Okay, she’s not actually late; leaving now, as she scurries out of her dorm with granola bar in hand to shove into her mouth for some sort of sustenance, she’ll still get there about five minutes before class starts, but that’s so much less time than the usual fifteen minute or more buffer she tries to allow. What if someone is already sitting in her unassigned assigned seat that she picked on the first day? What if she then has to sit in someone else’s unassigned assigned seat and throw off the whole balance of the class? What if Dr. Bennett decides to start class early for no reason? Or what if she thinks of a question she should ask before class and then doesn’t have time to ask it?

She needs that fifteen minute buffer.

She misses the buffer even more when she casually rushes into class and sees that no one is sitting in their unassigned assigned seat, but instead with their project partners. There are still several empty seats and she could totally break the pattern (and she wants to, the thought of sitting next to Leif for the next fifty minutes instead of her best friend making her skin crawl), but she’s not 100% sure if it’s just a social pattern that she woefully hadn’t thought to prepare for or if she just missed the memo from Dr. Bennett.

She’s grateful, at least, that Leif chose to sit at the desk in front of Simon, which still puts her in front of Max and not completely outside of her comfort zone (or, more likely, Simon and Max had chosen to sit behind Leif, as she’s fairly certain that Simon and Max have never been in the classroom before her and Leif (save this one, horrible time); now that she thinks of it, can she actually prove that Leif doesn’t live in the classroom, sitting up with obnoxiously perfect posture until Dr. Bennett plugs him in?)

After only a moment of hesitation and dread, she slips into the seat next to Leif with a terse smile, all but ignoring his polite greeting as she pulls her laptop out of her bag and begins to get ready for class to start, distracted only by the ‘ding’ of her phone lighting up with a notification where she’d set it down on her desk. She curses herself for not remembering to silence it before she left after what she thinks is a glare from Leif’s direction, but she won’t give him the dignity of looking to make sure, choosing instead to just silence it now and look at the notification.

Mad Max (10:13): You okay? You look kinda miserable.
Zoey (10:13): Yeah, just overslept.
Zoey (10:13): I had a pretty long phone call with my mom last night and forgot to set an alarm. :/
Zoey (10:14): And I’m not exactly thrilled that everyone’s sitting with their partners. I liked sitting next to you.
Mad Max (10:14): Awwwwww, you miss me. :)
Mad Max (10:14): I’m always here, though. Quite literally right behind you.
Mad Max (10:14): But Simon’s cool. Way too cool for me, actually. I’d never embarrass myself quite as much if I were still sitting with you.
Zoey (10:14): Aw, Max. You can embarrass yourself sitting anywhere. :)
Zoey (10:14): But at least Simon is cool. Talking to Leif feels like pulling thread out of your favorite sweater and knowing it’s gonna be ruined.
Mad Max (10:15): … That… sure is a metaphor, Zo.
Mad Max (10:15): But you got this. ♥ Do you wanna get coffee after class and complain?
Zoey (10:15): God, yes.

Zoey quickly puts her phone away with the last response, straightening up when Dr. Bennett clears his throat at the front of the room just as two people she vaguely recognizes as “people she’s seen Leif talk to before class” slip into the seats in front of them. Dr. Bennett launches quickly into the lecture part of class, giving her an excuse to focus all of her attention on him and the actual class content instead of the intense discomfort she’s found herself in. The distraction of focusing on class is nice, until he wraps up the lecture and everybody’s packing up swiftly, eager to get to their next responsibility (or lack of responsibilities).

“Hey, uh,” Leif’s voice pipes up from the desk next to hers with what seems like almost a nervous edge to it as he carefully slides his laptop into his backpack. “I hope these seats were okay. I just got here first and, uh, I kind of like to be near the front, but not so close to the front that all I’m focused on is the fact that I’m near the front, y’know?”

Huh. In her initial panic entering the classroom, Zoey hadn’t even stopped to notice that the empty seat next to Leif had actually been the exact same seat that she’d picked out herself for the first few classes. Weird. She’s not sure if he noticed the same thing and his little speech was a weird way to flaunt how similar they are (and don’t think she didn’t notice the obviously pointed jab that he had gotten there before her, pointing a glaring spotlight at the fact that she had almost been late), or if he's being his own special weird brand of genuine.

“They’re fine.” She attempts nonchalance as she packs up her own stuff, ignoring the awkward way he lingers, almost as if he wants to say something else.

“Yo, Leif Broth,” The voice of the girl who’d been sitting in front of Zoey is commanding as her and Leif’s other friend stand only a few feet away, already having started to leave. “Tobes and I are gonna go back to your dorm and get a head start on our project before our next classes, you up for a work sesh?”

“Uh,” He falters, nervously adjusting the backpack straps on his shoulders and shifting a worried glance towards Zoey, seeming to know exactly what her answer would be - a big, fat “no way”. “Do you… wanna get some work done?”

The thing is she technically doesn’t have a good excuse not to, other than the principle of the matter that she'd agreed to meet with him three pre-scheduled times and three pre-scheduled times only. She sent him her class schedule when they’d initially planned their meetings, so she can’t say she’s gotta rush to another class without the chance that he’d call her on her bluff (and she thinks he would call her on her bluff) and she’d feel wrong saying she had other plans when her ‘other plans’ consisted of complaining about Leif, who was now giving her a kind of sheepish look that read mostly as ‘it would be really embarrassing if you said no’ (and she kind of wants to say no, just to put him in his place a little bit), in a coffee shop with Max, who she can actually overhear right behind her telling Simon that he ‘could totally raincheck with Zoey to get a head start if he really wanted to hang out’. It seems she’s the only one who doesn’t really want to get a head start right now (which isn’t even technically true; she’d love to get a head start and formulate a plan to kick this project’s ass, she just doesn’t wanna have to spend time with Leif and his friends to do it).

“Sure,” She gives in to his sheepish look with a sigh, resisting the urge to roll her eyes when a smug smile quickly makes its way onto his face, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Why not?”

“Cool.” He nods lightly, long legs striding towards his friends as Zoey turns around and shrugs lightly at Max.

“I gotta raincheck. The project calls, y’know?”

What? It’s easier if she rainchecks him first, even if she knew he was gonna do the same thing.

“O… kay.” Max gives her a confused look as he speaks, his eyes flitting from her to Simon. “Uh, cool. Then I’m definitely free to work.” He quickly catches Zoey’s attention before she can leave. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yeah, for sure.” She smiles tightly, still working herself up internally for an afternoon with the clowns. “I’m sure we’ll have… a lot to talk about.”

She gestures to the three talking behind her with a lighter smile and it makes her feel slightly at ease when that earns not only a laugh from Max, but one from Simon, too, followed by a thoughtful look.

“Don’t have too much fun, Zo.” Max says and Zoey attempts (and fails) to resist rolling her eyes at the sarcasm, leaving Simon and Max to make their own plans.

“Hey, so, uh, this is Tobin, my roommate, and his much cooler girlfriend, McKenzie,” Leif introduces his friends when Zoey makes her way back over to the group and the group starts walking into the hallway and towards what she’s trusting to be Leif’s (and Tobin’s, who she now knows is his roommate) dorm.

“I’m also his best friend. Nice job leaving that one out.” Tobin chides, speeding up a little bit, presumably so that he can look cooler when he turns around to walk backwards (which majorly backfires when he almost immediately runs into the door behind him, stumbling into it and pushing it open with his back, pretending like that was his plan all along).

“Yeah, that’s cause that part’s embarrassing.” Leif laughs when he says it, no actual malice in his voice and if Zoey wasn’t still caught up on the whole ‘not liking Leif’ thing, she thinks it might have even made her laugh, too. Leif briefly gestures back to the doorway once they’ve passed through it and sunlight shines on each of them. “Case in point.”

“Ouch. Ten years of friendship, down the drain. Swoosh. That’s the sound of a toilet flushing, along with my love and respect for you.” Leif rolls his eyes as Tobin drones on, though there’s still a soft smile resting on his face, an obvious admiration for the goofball who’s stopped trying to walk backwards and has instead taken his place back walking next to the tallest of the group.

“So, you got stuck with the gentle giant, huh?” McKenzie falls back a little bit to strike up conversation with Zoey, an admiration for the pair laughing in front of them underlying the naturally sardonic tone of her voice.

“I wouldn’t exactly use the word ‘gentle’.” Zoey tries not to let the coldness she feels towards Leif seep into her voice - McKenzie is obviously his friend and, as much as she holds him and his attitude and his stupid perfection in contempt, McKenzie seems cool and she doesn’t wanna get off on the wrong foot with her.

“He’s really not that bad once you get used to, uh… everything about him,” McKenzie shrugs as they approach one of the huge dorms off the quad and Leif opens the door, gesturing for the other three to go in first as he holds it open and Zoey nods curtly at him as they pass. McKenzie leans in to whisper in a hushed tone now that Leif and Tobin have temporarily ceased their goofing off. “They’re kind of an acquired taste.”

Leif leads them to a dorm on the second floor and swiftly unlocks it, holding that door open for everyone, too.

As she takes in the carefully decorated left half of the room in contrast with the messy, boyish right half of the room, she decides she’s got her proof that he’s a living, breathing human with a home and that he’s not a robot that Dr. Bennett plugs in in the classroom every night. Sometimes hypotheses can be disproven fairly fast.

Tobin and McKenzie almost immediately sit down in two chairs that are already set up at his desk, apparently choosing to settle into a little bit of light flirting and chatting before they start work, leaving Leif and Zoey standing awkwardly in the middle of the room until Leif finally breaks the silence of their half of the room.

“So, uh, sorry there’s not really… anywhere for both of us to sit.” His eyes catch on the singular chair at his desk somewhat dejectedly, clearly having not quite thought this through. She almost feels bad for him, before she remembers that she kind of doesn’t even wanna be here in the first place. “Um, we can set up on my bed or the floor or -”

“The floor is fine.” She cuts him off before he can come up with another bad option, setting her bag down and sliding down the wall next to the door. He nods awkwardly, letting a small breath out before joining her, pressing his back against the closed door, and grabbing his laptop.

They work for a while in silence, one that’s at first awkward, but fades into a comfortable one. They only speak up to ask each other clarifying questions; their goal was to write up two separate pitches for their project, hoping to take the best parts from each pitch and turn it into one solid pitch that Dr. Bennett would have no choice but to love. Zoey actually scoffed at the idea at first, almost certain that Leif would just choose all of the parts from his pitch and she would have to fight to get any part of hers included.

Or, that’s what she would expect to happen, if either of them had finished their pitch before Leif’s phone starts ringing in his pocket and he has to fish it out to check the caller ID.

“Uh,” He sounds hesitant and a little confused when he looks at it. “I should, um… I should take this.”

He stands up quickly and gracelessly, opening the door and slipping out before she can think to ask any questions (not that it’s any of her business or that she even wants to know, but she does think she has a right to be nosy here, considering he’s slipping out of a project meeting for it).

She doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, but, in her defense, he doesn’t leave the other side of the door and it’s an awfully thin dorm room wall. The onus really shouldn’t fall on her to move away from where she can hear him.

“Shit, Lil.” He almost sounds disappointed in whoever he’s talking to, a hesitancy still holding tight in his voice. “Um, yeah, I can… I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Is everything… okay?” She asks when he slips back into the room and she can’t really tell if the slight worry or the slight annoyance she feels wins out in her voice.

“Yeah, I just, uh,” He sighs, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck and not bothering to hide the annoyance in his own posture. “I really hate to do this and waste your time here, but my sister’s here and kind of going through something and I, uh… I really need to be there for her.”

“Right, yeah.” She stands up swiftly, feeling a little bit bad that she was as annoyed as she was at what seems now to just have been him being a good brother. “Family is everything.”

“Uh… Sure.” He sounds dismissive as he says it and okay. Olive branch retracted if he’s gonna be rude and judgey about how she chose to respond. He has the decency to at least look a little apologetic afterwards, even if the annoyance and judgement doesn’t leave his face. “Uh, let me walk you out.”

At least he responded with an olive branch of his own.

The walk outside is silent and awkward and she kind of misses the comfortable silence that had taken over his half of the dorm room as they’d worked sitting next to each other.

“So, uh… See you in class.” He dismisses her with a wave and heads in the opposite direction as he walks, checking his phone. If she’s honest, she’s still reeling a little bit from the sudden end to the productive session of working and she can’t quite pin why she hadn’t wanted to stop (she very quickly tells herself that it’s obviously just because they were on a roll with productivity and she’s certain that she could’ve convinced him to merge their pitches in a way that would’ve been practically impossible for Dr. Bennett to shoot down).

She tries not to let it get to her when she sees him walk up to a car in the distance with a very clearly upset young blonde (that she has to assume is his sister) standing outside of it and envelop her in a gentle hug. Maybe McKenzie had a little bit of a point.

Chapter Text

Leif ignores the pit of guilt that sits in his stomach as he’s now the one to wait for Zoey to show up in the coffee shop, an oat milk latte sitting next to his open laptop, caffeine detox be damned - he’s sure the reintroduction of caffeine to his system has nothing to do with his increased anxiety. He’s not sure where exactly the weird sinking feeling pulling at his gut is coming from, but he thinks it has something to do with having to raincheck Zoey in the middle of working on their project. It certainly didn’t help that he spent the rest of his day comforting a crying younger sister who had gotten dumped and wanted an escape from their overbearing parents and their questions about “what the hell happened” for a day. He didn’t have the heart to tell her he had other things he needed to do, so he didn’t end up having time to touch his pitch at all after Zoey left his dorm. He figured the statistics homework that had been staring him down all day required a touch more priority and that getting an ounce of sleep took a little more priority over even that. Hence, the reintroduction of caffeine.

But Zoey doesn’t need him to dump all the factors that lead him to an unfinished pitch on her in the middle of a coffee shop when all she wants is to get through this project, so he figures he’ll just mutter some rushed excuse about not having time. Which, after all, is the most basic version of the truth.

“Hey,” Zoey’s voice catches him off guard as she slides into the seat in front of him, quickly pulling her laptop out. He must not have noticed her getting in line because she has a drink that she sets down with her stuff. He must look as caught off guard as he feels, because she speaks up again, asking, “Sorry, am I late?”

“Uh, no, I was early.” She gives him an odd look at his response that he can’t quite decipher and it makes something stir in his stomach, readjusting awkwardly in his seat and choosing to take a prolonged sip of his latte to avoid the weird silence that’s settled between them (if he misses the comfortable silence that overtook them in his dorm room, he doesn’t mention it). “Listen, I felt really bad about having to leave and I feel worse that I haven’t really… had time to finish my pitch. Can I hear yours?”

“Why, so you can tear it down and build yours on top of it?”

Uh… okay. He’s kind of gotten the vibe that Zoey doesn’t like him by now, but he still can’t really peg what makes her so predisposed to roll her eyes at anything he says. And it’s not like she hates him 100% of the time either; they can go from seeming fine, albeit stilted and awkward, to a comment like this without him having actually done anything in a matter of minutes and he doesn’t really know how to respond to that.

“Um… Yeah. Yeah, that could be it, totally. Or so that I can hear your pitch and we can move forward with the project?”

She almost looks guilty when she glances over her laptop at him and he raises his eyebrow, shaking his head lightly before moving to open up his half-finished pitch. He appreciates the muttered, “yeah, right, sorry”, at the very least, followed by some maneuvering on her computer that ends when an email notification lights up the corner of his screen.

He takes a second to read her pitch, supplemented by a piece of paper she slides across the table while he’s reading that has a very messy timeline of how long the project would take and when they would need to have each step done by.

If he’s honest? It’s good. Like, almost ridiculously good. It’s well thought out and it all makes sense and it’s just… good. If his ego were just a little bit smaller, he would admit that he couldn’t have done better himself.

“Um, the only part I didn’t get around to including was that I was thinking we could implement a social media component?” She adds when he finally glances down to actually study the timeline, nodding slightly.

“That’s -” He almost laughs, looking up and meeting her eyes over their laptops. “That’s exactly what I was in the middle of writing when Lily called.”

“Wow.” Zoey looks surprised, but the usual annoyance that would accompany an exclamation like “wow” directed from her to him isn’t there. It’s refreshing. “Um, but you didn’t tell me what you think of the pitch.”

“Right.” He smiles with it, sliding the timeline back across the table. “I mean, it’s good. I think we’ve got a really solid start. I can send you mine, too, but it’s, uh, it’s mostly the same, actually. Just… unfinished.”

“I mean, I’d still like to see it. So, we can make a complete decision and, uh… build the pitch together.”

There’s a weird edge to her voice at the end of her sentence that he chooses not to spend too much time trying to dissect. If there’s anything he’s learned over the past couple days it’s that Zoey, particularly the way she treats him, doesn’t really make sense to him and he doesn’t think she ever will.

“Alright, uh,” A couple clicks on his laptop and the document in front of him is on his way to her. “There we go.”

His doesn’t seem to go through quite as fast as hers had, so another awkward silence takes over their small table, as he fidgets with his hands, desperate for something to do that isn’t making uncomfortable eye contact with each other, with nothing else to talk about.

“So, uh,” Her voice cutting through the silence is a relief and his eyes shoot up from where they’d been so focused on his hands. “Dr. Bennett’s kind of a hardass, right?”

Alright, common ground. He doesn’t necessarily agree, but he’s grateful for something to talk about while they wait for an email that should arguably not be taking this long to go through. He was an inch away from asking if he should resend it when she’d spoken up.

“I mean, yeah, but isn’t that kind of what’s great about him?”

He pretends not to notice her roll her eyes; she probably thought it was subtle, too.

“Yeah, for sure, I love when my professors are blatantly misogynistic and refuse to be understanding of personal issues, that’s exactly what I look for when I’m choosing my classes.”

Common ground quickly makes way for bickering. Cool. This is fine. This doesn’t bother him at all.

“I didn’t say that -” He starts, quickly deciding that the way he was going to phrase that would not come off good. “I just meant that… I mean, there’s a reason he is where he is. He’s crazy smart and he’s… I mean, he’s a visionary. Better World is pretty much the reason me and Tobin got through high school, it was a lifeline of connection and communication.”

“Y’know, I’m really not surprised that you worship the ground Charlie walks on.”

“I don’t -” He can feel himself getting defensive, moving to resend the email (seriously, it should be in her inbox by now, it has to have gotten eaten somewhere between their connections) instead of maintaining eye contact with her. “I didn’t even wanna be in his class, I signed up for Jo - uh, Professor Bennett’s class.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, she just dropped me from the class because there was a conflict of interest.”

Zoey’s eyebrow is practically in her hairline now and he feels like he should applaud her for resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Bravo.

“A conflict of interest?”

“I’m doing an internship with her, so I took his class instead. She didn’t want anyone to think I was getting special treatment just ‘cause we already…” He knows the hesitancy is a little suspicious, but he can’t help the length it takes for the right words to form in his brain and move to his tongue. “Knew each other.” He hits send again and he hears the notification from her computer. Thank God. “Have you ever heard about not judging a book by its cover?”

“I think your cover is pretty revealing.” It’s meant to be under her breath, but he hears it and it makes something under his skin crawl. Why does she hate him so much? The silence lingers between them again as her eyes skim over his pitch, nodding lightly as her posture softens.

“Alright, this is good.” She finally says, shutting her laptop with the words, the previously terse demeanor replaced with something more... resigned? He can't quite place it. “You were right, they’re almost exactly the same.” He, very politely, resists the urge to say ‘I told you so’, because he’s mature and better than that. But he wants to. “We have a really good start. So I think we should start. Separately. We can each take a deadline and we’ll meet again the day before?”

He wants to fight. The itchy feeling under his skin is still there and he still can’t quite place what it is. He wants to say “no, I really think we should actually work on this together”. He knows it’ll result in a better project, but does he really wanna sit here every other day and get insulted under her breath everytime she doesn’t immediately agree with him? Yeah. Thanks but no thanks.

“Sure.” His tone is the tightest it’s been since she sat down, the guilt resettling in his stomach where he pointedly ignores it as he shoves his laptop into his bag and picks up the latte, ready to make his exit faster than she can make hers. Why should he feel guilty for her tearing him down all the time? “I’ll see you then. Uh, if you’ve got any questions, you’ve got my number.”

Chapter Text

Zoey doesn’t think she’s ever been more ready for a week to end. Between beginning work on her project with Leif, a phone call with her mom where she not-so-subtly dropped that her father's condition was getting worse (and she can’t even make time to go home and see him because her schedule is so jam packed and it’s driving her crazy, settling for facetimes where her mom props the camera up on a nearby book for her to talk at him and ask for advice that she knows he can’t give), and her normal load of work, she’s exhausted by the time Friday night rolls around and she’s ready for her and Max’s standing arrangement of a casual study time. While studying isn’t necessarily what most people would consider a relaxing way to end the week, especially when your main source of stress is schoolwork, Zoey finds far more comfort in maintaining her routine. Besides, it hardly ever remains study time for very long, attention spans falling to the side to chat about whatever nerdy thing they’ve fixated on or for Zoey to pull gossip from him about the few other friends they have.

She looks up from the textbook in front of her, eyes scanning the library for any sign of Max, who happens to be late and finds no trace of him in the almost empty surrounding areas. She sighs and picks up her phone, surprised to see a text from her randomly assigned roommate (who annoyed her, at first, but if she’s being completely honest, is kind of growing on her as they’ve begun to have actual conversations) instead of any communication from Max.

Mo (7:15): What are you doing tonight?
Zo (7:20): The usual study date with Max.
Zo (7:21): I mean, not a date. You know it’s not a date.
Zo (7:21): Why? Do you need help with something?
Mo (7:23): Well, I was going to invite you to my friend’s party. I forgot about your whole loner nerd vibe.
Mo (7:23): You’re still free to accompany me if you come back to the dorm before 8, but you will be in my shadow. I’m not ashamed to say that I look fine tonight.
Zo (7:24): How is it a loner vibe if I’m literally with a friend?
Zo (7:24): But I’m perfectly happy studying with Max. Thanks for the invitation, anyways.

Or she would be perfectly happy studying with Max if he had shown up yet, but a quick glance around the library still shows no signs of him. It’s not entirely out of character for Max to be late, but it is out of character to be almost thirty minutes tardy with absolutely no communication.

Just as she thinks ill of his tardiness, her phone lights up in her hand. Speak of the devil.

Mad Max (7:25): Shit, Zo, I’m so sorry.
Mad Max (7:25): Simon and I kind of got sucked into a zone working on our project and then we started talking sports and he invited me out for drinks. I totally forgot about studying. :(
Zoey (7:27): It’s cool, I’ll just -, I’ll be - I think I’m actually gonna go to a party with Mo.
Mad Max (7:27): You? Are gonna go to a party?
Zoey (7:27): I can totally party. I’m the dancing queen.
Zoey (7:27): …Do they play ABBA at parties? I think that might be the only song I know.
Mad Max (7:28): Good luck, Zo. ♥

Well. Shit.

Zo (7:29): I’ll be back at the dorm in like… fifteen minutes?
Zo (7:29): To go to the party. Plans changed.
Mo (7:30): Ooooohhhh, she’s a party girl?!
Mo (7:30): I will see you in a few, Scarlet Fever. 🔥🔥
Mo (7:31): Can I please dress you up to your full hot, hot potential?

Okay. She can totally do this whole party thing. Wait, shit. Does she even have anything to wear to a party?

“What are you doing tonight?” Tobin’s voice carries when he opens the door to their dorm, moving straight to his closet to rifle through several hoodies hanging loosely off of hangers. Leif’s head shoots up from where he’s doing his math homework on a sheet of loose leaf paper with a pen (like a monster), the cap of the pen stuck between his teeth where he hadn’t bothered to remove it when he’d been fiddling with it before he started writing.

“Homework. Why?” The words come out smushed together through the cap in his mouth.

“Ugh,” Tobin groans, pulling a patterned bomber jacket from the mess of hoodies and starting to pull it on. “Chess club is supposed to be throwing a banger party tonight off campus and Mac is hella busy. Do you know how lame I’ll look showing up alone?”

“And you think showing up with me will make you look… cool?” Leif raises his eyebrow, finally taking the cap out of his mouth to re-cap the pen, setting it on his desk and settling back in his chair. “I can’t, anyways. I’m supposed to meet up with Joan to talk internship stuff.”

“I thought you said you were just doing homework tonight.”

“Internship stuff totally counts as homework.”

It doesn’t. And Leif knows that, but he doesn’t really like talking about Professor Bennett with Tobin. He always finds a way to make it weird in ways that give Leif a stomachache and a pit of guilt, knowing that Tobin thinks of him that way and also… knowing that Tobin is right. He’s totally sucking up to her and he’s willing to do just about anything to get into her good graces. Sue him.

“Leif,” Tobin turns away from the small mirror he has hung up on his closet door with putty, giving him his best dopey begging look. “Please?”

“Why do you care if the chess club thinks you’re cool?”

“I don’t.” He lies, finally finishing fixing his hair in the mirror with a shrug. “It’s a joint party with one of your equality clubs, does that sweeten the deal at all?”

“If you can name a single one of ‘my equality clubs’ by name, then yeah.”

Tobin opens his mouth and then closes it, deep in thought for a second before he makes an ‘a-ha!’ noise and points at Leif.

“It’s the GSA! Take that!” Tobin says, triumphancy ringing in his voice as he moves to grab his wallet from his desk.

Leif is quiet for a second, weighing his options. On one hand, he doesn’t wanna cancel on Joan; on top of needing her to think highly of him for career prospects, he also just likes the time they’ve spent together while he’s been working under her. On the other hand, he has a very hard time saying no to Tobin and he has been meaning to make more connections in the GSA and put some good roots down in the on campus queer community, small as it is.

“Fine.” He acquiesces, feigned annoyance coming out in an exaggerated sigh. “Give me like 20 minutes to change?”

“For sure, I wouldn’t dream of showing up to a party on time.”

He picks up his phone quickly before moving to get dressed.

Leif (7:44): Rain check?
Leif (7:44): My roommate is dragging me to a club meeting, so I probably won’t make it.
Joan (7:46): Have fun. I’ll see you Monday.

It’s not that Leif doesn’t like parties. He can totally get down. He’s a freakin’ delight. He’s just… also stressed and a little anxious and kind of regrets blowing off official internship business that could actually affect his future to be immediately ditched by Tobin in a house that smells strongly of stale beer and expensive cologne that’s attempting, and failing, to cover up the stale beer.

After several minutes of pretending to do something important on his phone (and actually just reading an article comparing the Pilot G-2 to the BiC Cristal; which isn’t even a contest, G-2 or bust), he decides that the music is far too loud for him to try to remain sober, slipping his phone into his pocket and walking pretty much on autopilot into the kitchen where an array of alcohol and a much smaller array of soda lays out on the counter.

He’s never been great at making his own drinks, but free-pouring some vodka and blue raspberry soda into a red solo cup sounds much better than remaining sober right now, with the music pounding through his head. A quick sip of the drink reveals that it tastes like ass, but he’s not about to waste the absurd amount of vodka that he poured in there when his one goal is to leave sobriety; if he drinks it fast enough, he can’t even taste it.

“What are you drinking to avoid?” Zoey’s voice from below him (literally below; he guesses he’s never really processed how short she is, having only ever really talked to her sitting down in class before they started their project) shocks him, causing him to choke a little bit on the last of the drink - he’s glad for the excuse to be a little bit speechless because she looks good. Like, he has to take a second to force his jaw closed like a douchebag and swallow heavily, rethinking every perception he’s ever had of her.

“Oh, uh, noth…” He clears his throat when his voice squeaks, regaining a little bit of composure. “Nothing.” It’s a lie, he’s drinking to avoid quite a lot at this particular moment, but Zoey is quite possibly the last person he wants to talk to about any of it.

“You just fully chugged that drink.” The tightness in her tone quickly reminds him why he’d had the perceptions that he had of her, but it’s not as tired or mean as she usually is with him. It’s almost a joke.

He looks down at the empty cup in his hand with a thoughtful look and then sputters for a second.

“You know me, I’m just, uh - ready to… party.” His heart isn’t in it as he looks from the empty cup to her, a thoughtful look on his face, before she lets out what has to be a pity laugh at his joke; despite the fact that it wasn’t funny, it makes him smile, shaking his head and moving to make another (better) drink.

“You don’t really wanna be here, do you?” She asks, grabbing a cup and starting to make her own drink and - wow, that’s a lot of tequila.

“Not a bit.” He chooses to be honest instead of biting his tongue, sighing lightly before taking a rather large sip of his drink, enjoying the burn through his chest as he leans up against the counter. “Tobin didn’t wanna come alone and I don’t wanna say he’s dumb, but he did pretty much immediately ditch me, so didn’t he pretty much come alone, anyways?”

The alcohol hasn’t had nearly enough time to kick in, yet, but it’s making him feel warmer and more relaxed already, quickly draining the energy to maintain the defensive nature he usually lets reign full force around Zoey. It drains even more when she actually smiles and laughs.

“Well, yeah, that’s kind of counterintuitive.”

“Thank you.” A comfortable silence lingers between them as they both drink. “So, uh… why are you here?”

“I… actually came willingly.” Zoey herself sounds surprised, hiding the light flush of her cheeks behind another sip.

“Really? You came to a party of your own accord?”

“Why is everybody so surprised by that?” She feigns offense, her voice going up an octave as they both are well aware of why everybody’s surprised by that.

“Do you wanna dance?” The question takes Zoey by surprise, but it makes perfect sense to Leif, who’s starting to feel the first buzz of the alcohol in his veins and wants to get out of the kitchen, which suddenly feels too small for the both of them as the light laughter, which was entirely uncharacteristic for their dynamic, fades and leaves him feeling lightheaded, the heady presence of Zoey entirely too much in a way he’s never processed before. “I mean… not like dance dance, but, uh, just get - get out of here, y’know? Here, uh, here being... the kitchen. I'm gonna...”

He stumbles over his words, trailing off with a sip of his drink as he attempts to backtrack and force himself out of whatever slight haze he’d been in from the unexpected camaraderie. Pull yourself together. It’s a relief that Zoey doesn’t even seem perturbed - she just laughs, albeit a bit awkwardly and backs towards the door.

“I’m actually gonna go find my roommate, I think. Try to have some fun, Praying Mantis.”

Praying mantis? Is she, like… pranking him or something? Where is Zoey and what short, nice, funny, cute alien had replaced her?

Chapter Text

Roughly One Month Later

Zoey (7:04): I’ve come to a horrible realization.
Blonde Menace (7:15): Are you going to… elaborate?
Zoey (7:18): We’re definitely gonna have to have more in person meetings than we planned to finish this on time.
Blonde Menace (7:20): Do you know how hard it is not to say “I told you so” right now?
Zoey (7:21): Aren’t you saying “I told you so” in bragging about not saying “I told you so”?
Blonde Menace (7:24): …No. Not at all. That’s different.
Zoey (7:25): …Anyways.
Zoey (7:26): Dr. Bennett canceled class today. Should we meet up, anyways?
Zoey (7:29): Look, you were right. We need to work together on this. Is that what you want me to say?
Zoey (7:40): Leif?
Blonde Menace (7:45): You can chill, I was just eating breakfast.
Blonde Menace (7:45): But I do like having “you were right” in writing. It’s nice.
Blonde Menace (7:46): Anyways, yeah. Dr. Bennett is out of town for a conference, let’s make good use of that time. The Grind at normal class time?
Zoey (7:47): Sure thing.

Zoey puts her phone down as she slips a jacket on, getting ready to leave for her first class of the day, but something lingers uncomfortably in the back of her mind.

“Dr. Bennett is out of town for a conference”.

She’s not sure why exactly Leif saying that strikes her as odd, so she grabs her phone again, opening up her email and quickly navigating to the one from late the night before.

Charlie Bennett ([email protected])

No class tomorrow (10/11). Work on your projects, if you can (I highly suggest making sure you can).

That’s weird. Nowhere in the email had Dr. Bennett mentioned a conference or why class had been canceled. And yet…

There was actually no reason for this to be suspicious. The obvious answer is just that Dr. Bennett had elaborated on his absence in another conversation with Leif. That makes sense. Zoey has reason to believe that, as his student, Leif would be in the position to be having a conversation with Dr. Bennett where he might mention his plans to attend a conference. God knows the guy loves to brag.

Regardless, it leaves a weird feeling in her chest as she locks her phone and heads out to grab coffee before her class.

“It won’t happen again”. The words he had assuredly uttered to Zoey at their first meeting ring through his head as he weaves through dozens of people on the quad, dodging people who are moving slower than him as he rushes towards the coffee shop just off campus.

He really didn’t mean to be late again. He never does. He, quite frankly, hates being late more than he hates Todd Howard’s stupid face, even if it’s just to a project meeting with a partner who he’s pretty sure would rather be licking concrete than working with him.

After rain checking his meeting with Joan to get ditched by Tobin, they’d had to do some fighting and serious comparison of schedules to find time for another one outside of times he was in class, times she was teaching class, and times he was working for her (and, between the two of them, in a fleeting moment of vulnerability during a late night working together, she had confessed that she was trying to schedule around Dr. Bennett’s busy schedule as well, in an attempt to “make their marriage work” that she hadn’t mentioned since - coincidentally, the absence of her mentioning it coincided with her schedule suddenly being much easier to work around); when they did find extra time while he was working for her, they didn’t really spend it talking about the merits of his internship and what he could do with the experience. So, the meeting kept getting delayed. When they’d finally gotten around to discussing scholarships that the internship qualified him for, along with future positions he could apply for with the experience (as well as an opportunity to continue the internship in the Spring Semester), the meeting ran over and, after that, they just got… carried away. Before he knew it, he was supposed to meet Zoey in five minutes at a coffee shop that was at least a fifteen minute walk away.

Joan quickly offered him a ride, off-handed and casual, as if it was a given and she would do it for anyone (which he knows isn’t true, her stand-offish nature shining through in every interaction he’s seen her have with someone else) as he shoved his jacket back on and got his backpack back together, and he considered it for a second. He considered it heavily. The idea of making it on time and not giving Zoey another baseless reason to dislike him? Pretty appealing. The idea of not having to practically run across campus? Even more appealing. But he also doesn’t really want anyone to get any ideas about them, especially looking at his rumpled clothes where he’s made a hasty effort to put himself back together, coupled with where he knows his hair has shifted out of its perfectly sculpted place from desperate fingers running through it.

Because if people got ideas about them… they wouldn’t really be incorrect ideas.

It started roughly two weeks prior, when a late night work session had turned into Joan offering him a drink (at the time, Leif wasn’t sure if it was more inappropriate to accept a drink from his boss or more impolite to refuse it; she has to have realized that he’s just barely not twenty-one, yet, but he’s starting to realize that Joan is about as bad at professionalism and societal convention as he is; he didn’t have much time to consider it either way before there was a stiff drink of whiskey in front of him that she commented he would “appreciate a lot more when he’s older”). The drink swiftly made way to them abandoning the bureaucratic paperwork he’d been helping her work through in favor of Joan moving to join Leif on the other side of her desk, idle conversation helping the whiskey take the edge off of a really long week.

“I really do appreciate you helping me, I know these kinds of hours aren’t really in the job description. And I’m not paying you. And you signed up to do research and actual application of ideas, not sort papers.”

“I’m happy to help. Really.” He paused, considering his words carefully through a small sip, avoiding making a face like a petulant toddler. He's not ashamed of the fact that he doesn't like whiskey (no matter how many people tell him he'll appreciate it when he's older), but he doesn't exactly wanna highlight how young and inexperienced at life in general he is. “Any experience is good experience. Especially from someone as… talented as - as you.”

He’d tried not to stumble over his words and failed; yes, he was absolutely blowing smoke up her ass because he thought it would make her like him, but the compliment wasn’t exactly untrue either, regardless of the blush it brought to her cheeks that made Leif’s heart feel a little like it was starting to constrict.

“Well, I hired you because you’re talented, too.”

“No, seriously, I mean it, you’re… You’re creative and passionate and…” He hesitated, leaning forward in the absurdly comfortable (for an office chair, anyways) chair that they had turned to face each other when they’d started chatting instead of working. “You’re beautiful.” He’d let the words hang in the air for a second, observing her face carefully for any sign that she was on the same page as him. That he could earn her favor in more ways than professionally. When all he found on her face was confusion and more than a little apprehension, he took two figurative steps back and reevaluated his strategy. “And, I mean, you take chances on dumb undergrads who were definitely not qualified for your internships.”

“Oh, please, you are far from dumb.”

“I never said I was dumb.”

He let out a smile with the words that drew a laugh out of her chest, guttural and full and just a little bit tipsy as they both moved to take small sips of their drinks, letting a small comfortable silence fall over the room until Leif broke it.

“We make a really good team.” He moved to the edge of his seat with the words, setting his drink down on her desk without looking at it.

“We do.” She nodded with the statement, surprising him by following his lead and moving to the edge of her chair as well, her drink clinking against his slightly when she set it down.

“I think… Um…” He hesitated, his eyes catching on her fingers around the glass milliseconds before she let go. He swallowed heavily as his eyes moved to make eye contact with her. “I think we have something real here. Something… Something that could go all the way.”

He watched her face carefully as she processed, the hint of interest piqued on her face betraying the words she let out.

“Then that is something that definitely shouldn’t happen.”

“Right.”

The monosyllabic word lingered in the air as he moved forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees so that his hands lingered a hair’s breadth away from her own knees, fingers ghosting the edge of the fabric of her slacks. It was her turn to swallow heavily as her eyes moved up above his head to avoid eye contact; in any other circumstance, it would almost look like she was rolling her eyes.

“It’s a terrible idea.”

“I absolutely agree.”

“You’re a student. You’re not my student, but I’m your boss. I’m in a position of power over you. I’m still very technically married, either way. Not to mention, it’s completely, unequivocally unprofessional.”

“I could not agree more.”

Her eyes dropped back to meet his again.

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

The statement lingered between the two of them, the definitiveness heavy despite the enduring, intense eye contact. Her eyes traveled very briefly to his lips and then he was gone, both of them lunging forward to meet in the middle, practically slamming into each other as her hands immediately went to grasping the back of his head and a fistful of cardigan, respectfully, his own hands falling to rest on her thighs, briefly using the crook of her knee to pull himself as close as possible to her without falling out of his chair.

So… hooking up with his boss, who is also a well-respected professor, isn’t exactly on his list of ‘things Leif is most proud of’, but he can’t really bring himself to care, still feeling the ghost of her lips on his as he rushes across campus, remembering how her hands had felt pulling him against her and wrapping around his tie to pull him closer by the throat. If there’s a pit of guilt in his stomach every time he sits in Dr. Bennett’s class and watches her husband drone on, or everytime he lies to Tobin about why he’s working late, then so be it. Thoughts of guilt and technical infidelity conveniently leave his mind every time she closes the door to her office or invites him over for “extracurricular research” when Charlie leaves for a conference or a TEDtalk or whatever convenient excuse he’s found to flaunt his power and avoid spending time with his wife.

When he lets himself think about it (which hasn’t been often; it’s really hard to think about it without also developing a pit of guilt and shame in his stomach; it’s easy to actually do it, but it’s not quite as easy when he gives himself time to think about the fact that her and Charlie are decidedly not divorced (he had asked in a moment of self-reproach and clarity, tangled up in the man’s own bedsheets (not that he was often actually in the sheets) and she had assured him that they were separated, a fact he was sworn to not utter outside of the walls of her office or house, and that the divorce itself was imminent) and that she’s in a position of power over him and that he’s not even really getting anything out of it other than a good time), it’s a little difficult to reconcile sleeping with Joan and the admiration he’d had for Charlie in his youth.

Charlie had been his hero. He grew up playing Better World; it had been an escape, a safe place in an otherwise mediocre life (alright, that might be a little dramatic; but he was a queer kid in both definitions of the word and he wasn’t blind to the fact that he had to force himself into most spaces that he was accepted and often pretend to be someone that he wasn’t; Better World was a nice escape from that pressure, where he could just be). He’d spent hours memorizing Charlie’s TEDtalk, all of his ideals about the world of tech, all of his ideals about how to make it in tech. Leif had been thrilled when he found out that he would be doing a stint of teaching at the university where his wife taught and even more thrilled when Leif realized it was the university that he was attending. He wouldn’t have to settle for recorded videos and clips of Charlie’s wisdom, but he’d be on the very campus where that wisdom was being dispersed.

There had been some hiccups; Charlie’s class wasn’t actually available for registration when he was signing up for classes. He’d done some quick research and decided that Joan’s class could be just as exciting (and, hey, one step below being his hero is being married to his hero, right?) and signed up for that instead, right after putting in an application for her internship over the summer and the fall semester (an opportunity he was interested in far before the knowledge that Charlie would be teaching). By the time he was certain he would be working under Joan and needed to switch out of her class, Charlie’s class was still unavailable and very full. It was only because of Joan pulling some behind the scenes strings that he was even able to get into his class before the semester started.

Suffice it to say, it hurt to go through the slow realization that Charlie’s wisdom wasn’t all that wise. The acceptance and self-reflection that Better World had fostered in Leif’s lonely youth didn’t seem to come from “the great Charlie Bennett” at all (maybe he could’ve taken comfort in the fact that that meant it came from himself, an ultimately more valiant fact, but it was hard to look past the disappointment of disillusionment at the time).

The disillusionment started in his class. He’d started to notice that they disagreed on a lot (not that he would ever confront those ideas in class; he’s opinionated and he’s proud of that, but he’d rather not actually have to argue with the guy he’s idolized since he was a kid). Then… The Joan stuff. Even if the infuriation hadn’t started during class hours, the glimpses of him he got through Joan would’ve been enough. Before their thing and before he knew about their separation, it grated at him. Every time Charlie would drop in, things got quickly uncomfortable. He was dismissive and cold and it was like Joan turned into a different person entirely. Sometimes when they talked in front of him, it felt like they completely forgot he was there (or, in Charlie’s case, maybe he just didn’t care; each strained talk between the two of them filled with Joan glancing away, seeming almost too aware of Leif’s presence, half-focusing on research on his laptop).

The strength and conviction (Tobin had referred to Joan many times as a “bad bitch”) he’d come to associate with Joan tended to disappear when she was talking to Charlie, replaced by a feeble attempt to appease him, to avoid an argument in front of someone she was a mentor to (a position that Leif thinks it’s entirely unfair of Charlie to have put her in, anyways), to maintain professionalism without making him mad.

He got more glimpses after their thing started, passive complaints of things Charlie never did or used to do or got mad at her for doing that left a weird, sinking feeling of disenchantment with his hero in Leif’s chest. It wasn’t like she was even trying to complain about Charlie or turn him against him or anything and he thinks that might be worse; there was very clearly still a part of Joan that loved him, despite the divorce (that’s a part of Joan that Leif tries not to think about too often, lest the unbearable pit of guilt return; he’s resigned himself to doing a lot of “not thinking about it”), and each complaint was followed with a reassurance or a backpedal or a “well, he wasn’t always like that”. And maybe he wasn’t. But it felt pretty fucking bad that he was now.

So… moral of the story, never meet your heroes sleep with your heroes not-yet-ex-wives?

His mind finally gets a reprieve from its manic overthinking when he rushes into the coffee shop to find Zoey casually on her phone, waiting for him with her laptop open in front of her.

“God, I’m so sorry, it won’t -”

“Happen again?” She cuts him off, though there’s not the malice, or even annoyance, he would usually expect from her giving him shit. “Now, hm, where have I heard that before?”

“Yeah.” He laughs, letting out a huff of a breath (and simultaneously trying to catch his breath; he hadn’t actually realized how much the speed walk to the coffee shop had taken out of him until he starts to sit down). “Well, I mean it this time. It was just a, uh, internship meeting. Ran overtime.”

“Ah.” Zoey nods, playing with the stopper on the lid of her to-go coffee cup. “How is Joan? Y’know, there are some really nasty rumors flying around campus.”

If Zoey were a touch more observant, she would surely notice how Leif blanches, his mouth flopping open slightly, trying to form words that won’t make him sound like a total dunce.

“What - uh, what kind of rumors? I’ve not, um, I’ve not… heard any rumors.”

He did not succeed at not making himself sound like a total dunce. Zoey’s obliviousness can only go so far in his favor as she gives him a curious look at that.

“Everyone’s talking about it. How Charlie’s running away from her because they’re getting a divorce. Because she cheated on him. Because he cheated on her. Because he stole her dog? There are, like, seventy versions of the story at this point. It’s… kind of insane.” She pauses, taking a sip of her coffee. “You’ve seriously not heard anything?”

“No, uh,” He swallows, grabbing his water bottle to take a nervous swig, an excuse to delay his response by mere seconds. “I guess I just don’t really hang around those kinds of people.”

It’s a lie. If he’d managed to find any time to spend with Tobin outside of sleeping in the same dorm recently, he’s sure he would’ve heard at least some of the rumors. Ironically, it’s probably because of his relationship with Joan that he hadn’t. Weird how that worked out.

“Well, to be fair, I don’t, either. People just don’t really expect me to be listening. And I kind of wish those kinds of people would shut up about it. I mean, can you imagine how she feels if any of that is true?”

“Uh, no. No, I can’t.” He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes falling to the table with a thoughtful look before leaning down to grab his laptop, trying desperately to signal that he’d like to move on from this conversation and start working, please, dear God.

“Oh, uh,” Zoey starts speaking when his laptop is in front of him. “You have something…” She gestures on her own face to where there’s a mark of something on his own and he instinctively moves to wipe it away. “No, it’s, uh - let me.” She reaches forward, swiping her thumb from the edge of his mouth to his jawbone and looking at it on her finger before wiping it on a napkin. He can see from across the table that it was a smear of lipstick. Joan’s lipstick.

Zoey’s eyes briefly meet his, the look on her face unreadable, but somehow still damning. LIke she knows without knowing. The look is fleeting, passing in a mere moment before he forces a smile and a small “thanks” and she returns the smile with a sip of her coffee.

“Let’s, uh… Let’s get to work.”

Chapter Text

The days following until their next meeting pass without much fanfare. They go to class, Zoey hangs out with Max, Leif gets roped into Tobin and McKenzie’s shenanigans (of which there are many), they work on their parts of the project. The only thing of note is that they exchange a few texts unrelated to the project, which surprises both of them a little bit.

Oct. 10th

Zoey (8:39): This you?
[Attached is a picture of a cat wearing a bowtie with a ‘laugh emoji’ reaction on it]

Oct. 13th

Leif (5:47): Did you see the farmer’s market on the quad?
Leif (5:48): I know that’s not exactly your style, but I remember you said your parents work with flowers a lot and they have some pretty neat (and rare!) ones out on display.

Oct. 15th

Zoey (11:47): Have you ever seen a grown man eat shit because he was trying to help one of the little delivery robots and it took off while he was leaning on it?
Leif (12:40): You saw that?!?!
Zoey (12:45): I see everything. :)
Leif (12:49): He was stuck. :( :(

Oct. 17th

Leif (1:13): Missed connections: Blue journal, lost outside the library. Seems lonely. When you get close enough, it appears to be crying. A strange, tall man picked it up to return to its owner, one “Zoey Clarke”, according to the front page. Also appears to be somebody of approximately eleven years of age, given the aforementioned front page is covered in hearts and glitter?
Zoey (1:45): You know you could’ve just said you found my journal, right?
Leif (1:53): This was more fun. :)
Leif (1:54): I am curious about the absurd amount of hearts and glitter, though. I fear my backpack will never recover from the glitter leakage.
Zoey (2:06): My poor journal got caught in the crosshairs of my roommate’s art experiment. :(
Leif (2:09): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WChTqYlDjtI
Leif (2:10): But also… experiment?
Zoey (2:15): I wish I could give you more context. All I know is that he asked to borrow my journal, said something about paper mache and mod podge, and then my journal looked like that.
Zoey (2:15): If it helps, your backpack may be covered in glitter, but my entire dorm is. 😃👍🏼
Leif (2:18): That does actually help, yeah. Schadenfreude.

So, the same feeling of dread that Zoey had come to associate with their project meetings doesn’t actually manifest this time. She finds herself walking into the science building (where they were meeting at Leif’s suggestion, to avoid the influx of ‘midterm studiers’ who only ever utilized the libraries around midterms and finals and therefore did not know all of the subtle unspoken rules of regular library use; such as "don't be obnoxious") with an uncharacteristically optimistic feeling as she settles into one of the many study spaces littered throughout the building.

He’s actually on time this time, too, easily settling across the small table from her when he arrives with two coffees in hand, almost like a peace offering (one that she will happily accept), accompanied by her lost and found journal that she suddenly hopes he hadn’t decided to peek at the pages within. Not that there’s anything incriminating in there; it’s mostly filled with boring drivel about how her days have been side by side with small ideas of cool things she could create in the future. But there’s also some complicated stuff about her friendship with Max and how she feels about Mo ‘dragging her out of her comfort zone, girl’ and, the part she’d actually prefer if he didn’t see, her talking about her father’s condition and how bad it’s getting. He doesn’t need to know what she’s going through. How vulnerable she actually is.

But it doesn’t seem like he peeked. Maybe he’s more of an honest man than she gives him credit for. At the very least, he doesn’t seem to be treating her any differently, having settled directly into work, only looking up from the laptop in front of him when he had a clarifying question or she had a clarifying question or they each needed to talk through a piece of code.

She’s on a roll, feeling confident about the progress, when he takes off the blue light glasses he’d been wearing and puts his head in his hands for a second, rubbing at his eyes before sighing and running his fingers through hair that has become much less immaculately styled throughout the meeting before grabbing the empty coffee cup from the beginning of the meeting and contemplating it for a second.

“I think… I’m gonna die if I don’t go get some shitty, burnt vending machine coffee. Do you want one?”

“No, thanks.” She laughs a little bit, taking the second of reprieve from the screen in front of her. “I prefer my coffee to actually taste like coffee.”

“What? You mean you don’t like the taste of… vending machine?” He teases as he gets up, fully grabbing the empty cup now to throw away. “I’ll be right back.”

Zoey takes the chance to relax and take a break from working, relaxing into the shitty campus chair; she hadn’t realized how tired her eyes were from staring at her laptop for so long until she looked away.

So, it makes perfect sense to check in on a tinier, bright screen, where she immediately hones in on a missed call from her Mom, followed by a text.

Mom (6:22): Your Dad’s appointment went fairly well. Some good news, some bad news. Call me when you can, sweetie.

She pushes down the urge to just keep working so she doesn’t have to confront whatever the doctors had to say about her dad. Could she convince Leif to have an all nighter study session for Dr. Bennett’s next test when they wrap up project work for the night?

But no. Avoiding it won’t suddenly make her dad able to speak to her or give her the ability to hear his wise, loving advice again. Avoiding it will only make her regret not confronting it. As much as she wants to put her head down and drag her poor project-mate into her unhealthy habits, she knows she needs to call her mom back. At the very least, her mom’ll appreciate her keeping in touch. So, she steps a little bit away from their work setup and dials her mom’s number.

“Hey, sweetie.”

“Hi, Mom. Uh, what’s up?” She pauses. “What’d the doctor say?”

“Well… He’s doing good.” Zoey doesn’t like the hesitant pause or the fact that she can practically already hear the ‘but’ coming. “Right now. He’s doing good right now. But he said… actual permanent improvement is unlikely.”

“So there’s… no telling how long he’ll be doing good?”

“Yeah.”

“Should I come home this weekend? I think I should come home this weekend.”

“No, Zoey, honey, don’t worry about us. You need to - to live it up and enjoy your college years. David and his girlfriend are staying over for a little bit to help me and we’ll see you at Thanksgiving, anyways.”

“Mom, I want - I wanna be there. I wanna see him.”

“I know you do. Honey, I will tell you if he gets any worse. You know I would love to have all of us home and together, but I know you’re busy and your studies are important to you.”

“Dad is important to me.”

“He’s okay right now. He really is. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

Zoey wipes away a tear and sniffles; she can practically feel Leif throwing her a curious glance from where he’s sat back down with his shitty coffee.

“How’s school, sweetheart?”

“It’s - um, it’s fine.” She forces a deep breath into her lungs and looks up, willing herself not to cry anymore where she can feel the tears pricking at the edge of her eyes. “Can we talk later? I’m - I should get back to - I was in the middle of a project.”

“Of course, hon. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

She hangs up and stares at her lockscreen for a second, a picture of the whole family from a couple years prior.

This is so unfair.

A deep breath as she steels herself before marching back over to Leif, trying to push down all of the emotions and uncertainty that welled up inside of her at the thought of her dad getting worse.

“Everything okay? That sounded kind of -”

“I’m fine.” She cuts him off, but the crack in her voice and the redness around her eyes betrays her. Repeating herself probably makes her seem about two hundred percent less fine than she wants to, but she does it anyways. “I’m fine.”

“No offense, but you don’t… look fine.” His eyes search her face as he speaks and she’s surprised to find real worry there, a sympathetic gloss covering his own eyes. “We can… we can rain check and finish this later if you need to go.”

“No, I’m -” She pauses as she sits down, her eyes fruitlessly searching the table in front of her for something to do that’ll make her feel less pathetic and ignoring the almost pitying way that he’s looking at her, that makes her almost angry. “I’m really… fine…”

As if her saying ‘I’m fine’ again was unconvincing enough, a sob breaks out with the last word that she can’t keep in, like it’s pouring out of her, every single emotion that she’s kept bottled up since her dad’s diagnosis, everything she hadn’t let herself feel because she was too scared. She doesn’t even process him moving around the side of the table to sit next to her, pulling her into his arms and letting her sob into his (probably very expensive) cardigan, mumbling empty reassurances of “hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re good, you’re okay”. At any other point in time, she’d probably push him away. It’s Leif. They don’t… have that kind of dynamic and his reassurances are cliche at best. But, at this particular moment, with the fear of losing her father fresh on her mind and her mind clouded with emotions that she doesn’t even wanna begin to dissect, she just clutches onto his shoulder and keeps sobbing until there’s quite literally nothing else she can sob out.

“I’m… really sorry. Wow.” She lets out a morbid laugh as she wipes the tears away with her sleeve, shaking her head. “That was…”

“Are you okay?” He sounds so serious and that note of worry hasn’t left his voice (she supposes she can’t really blame him for being worried; she’s sure she would sound the same if he’d sobbed into her sweater for a straight five minutes).

God, why did it have to be Leif she’d broken down in front of?

“Yeah, I’m - I’m fine.” She lets out a breath and fakes a smile, pointing to it almost cheesily. “I mean it this time.”

The worry doesn’t leave his face (not that she’d done a convincing job of parading her ‘fine’ness at all) as his eyes dart around her suspiciously (almost like he might actually care about her, a notion that she very quickly dismisses).

“Why don’t we call it for tonight?” He finally speaks, presumably when he’s assumed that she doesn’t wanna talk about whatever had caused her to break (a correct assumption on his part). “We can recoup later, I think - uh, I think you might need to rest.”

As much as she hates to admit it, he’s right. Crying has left her exhausted and thinking about her dad is just making that worse. But if they stop working, then she has to be alone with her thoughts which might be worse.

“No, we don’t -”

“Zoey.” He cuts her off with stern eyes and the anger bubbles back up at the pity in his voice. “With all due respect, you look like you’re about to pass out. And my shirt is still very wet from you sobbing. We can work on this later.”

“Fine.” She snaps her laptop shut a little too forcefully and starts to shove her stuff into her bag, earning a slightly confused look from Leif that makes her soften. He’s just worried. There’s no point in being mad at him when all he’d done was try to comfort her; it’s not like he’d made her dad sick. “...sorry. I can… I can text you tomorrow to figure out when we can set up an extra meeting to make up for this.”

“Don’t sweat it, we’ll catch up.” He reassures her and she nods absentmindedly, grabbing her bag with a mumbled ‘thank you’ that she’s not quite sure if he catches as she starts to head out.

“Hey, Zoey,” His voice calls lightly after her after he shuts his own laptop, turning around in the chair he’d moved back to when she started to leave. “I, uh, I hope whatever’s going on gets better. If you ever… want to talk about it, I’m here.”

She gives him a thoughtful look as he finishes packing up.

“Thanks.”

She’s already halfway back to her dorm when she realizes she’d left her journal on the table where he’d given it back to her. Shit.

She swiftly checks her phone, half hoping to have another cheesy text from him about rescuing her journal, but finding nothing.

On any other day, she’d just continue walking home and go to sleep and hope some kind soul would turn it in to lost and found where she can grab it in the morning, when she’s not bone tired and emotionally exhausted. But today is not any other day and the one thing she really wants to do when she gets back to her dorm is dump all of her thoughts onto a beige page and get them out of her head. So, she’s gotta go back.

It’s not that far of a walk back to the science building and she’s already walking back through a corridor of classrooms between her and the study area they’d commandeered when she hears a giggle from an open doorway.

Okay. It’s not exactly weird for someone else to be here; the building is technically open and her and Leif had been here less than 30 minutes prior, but it was 8pm on a Thursday night and it was extremely unlikely that anybody else would be using their Thirsty Thursday (a term she’d unfortunately picked up from Mo) to study in a building they just happened to keep unlocked. Maybe it’s just a professor working late.

She almost lets it go, content to just make a beeline for her forgotten journal and get back to her dorm room in time to completely crash and maybe cry a little more before Mo gets home from whatever party he’d decided to go to tonight.

But just when she’s starting to move on, she hears a voice she recognizes; a voice she’d assumed had left the building shortly after she had.

“Should we be doing this here?”

What?

“Oh, definitely not.”

That’s Joan’s voice.

Joan. Leif works for Joan. His internship is one of the only damn things he talks (more like brags) about. Maybe they just had a work emergency.

She tentatively peers through one of the windows to Dr. Bennett’s classroom, where she can now pinpoint the voices are coming from.

“Mhm, feels scandalous.”

That… certainly doesn’t look like work, with Joan sitting on one of the desks and Leif hovering over her, his hands bracing himself on either side of her legs.

“God, stop talking.”

He must take that as the command that it clearly was, because oh, God, he’s kissing her now, his hand having traveled to her leg and her hand pulling at the roots of his hair and - holy shit.

Joan and Leif.

It feels wrong that she’s watching them make out, but it feels... wrong-er (she knows that’s not a word and she doesn’t particularly care right now, the effort to tear her eyes from the trainwreck through the window far more important to her than her vocabulary) that they’re doing it in the first place.

Fucking sleazeball.

Right when she was starting to think he wasn’t that bad, that there was a good heart capable of comforting a friend (acquaintance? enemy? frenacquaintancemy?) in need, buried beneath his obnoxiously well-kept cardigans.

He’s sleeping with his boss. And a professor. Who is very much still married. And more than likely vulnerable on top of that, given the rumored state of her marriage. In her husband’s classroom.

Not that she really cares about Charlie Bennett’s feelings at all, but it still feels shitty.

All of his suspicious behavior and adamant defense of Joan and (probably feigned, now that she thinks about it) cluelessness about the rumors swirling around campus crash back on her now, the dots connecting in her head.

God, how long has he been being an absolute shitbag?

At the very least, the anger and disgust she’s overcome with feels better than the crushing sadness of the rest of the night. Anger is good. She can do something with anger. Anger takes away the feeling of helplessness that’s enshrouded her all night.

She clears her head and finally tears her eyes away from where Leif’s lips have apparently swiftly traveled to Joan’s neck, hightailing it back to their study area and grabbing her journal, pushing all thoughts of Leif and Joan and Leif and Joan to the back of her mind as she rushes back to her dorm.

What a goddamn night.

Chapter Text

Leif is confused.

He’s more than confused, actually, he’s fucking confounded.

See, when he’d texted Zoey to ask when she was free to fit in another meeting, he’d gotten the short reply of “Tomorrow. 7pm. Library.”; which, alright, wasn’t too weird on its own, if a little short and cold compared to their previous texts. What was weird was that she’d shown up ten minutes after him, passive aggressively set up her laptop and notebook and hasn’t uttered a single word to him since, even when he’d asked how she was doing; a seemingly reasonable question, given the state she’d been in the previous night.

He’d thought they were finally on good terms? She kind of sobbed into his arms less than twenty-four hours ago and he’d thought that the tentative “I’m here for you” note they’d left on had been a good one, but her silence and coldness to him is telling an entirely different story.

At first, he’d thought maybe she was just still thrown off from whatever had thrown her the night before, but it’s becoming clearer the longer she sits in front of him that she just doesn’t wanna talk to him. What gives?

After thirty minutes of silent keyboard taps and the cold shoulder, he decides he can’t take it anymore, shutting his laptop swiftly, which seems to bring the cloud of tension tighter around them, almost choking the words out of him.

“Can I ask why you’re blatantly ignoring me?” He finally asks, leaning forward with the words, a bite to them that he doesn’t really intend - he supposes the intensity might not have been the best idea to get a response, considering she glances up at him and then pointedly back at her laptop. “I mean, am I allowed to ask that? Or are you just gonna… keep ignoring me?”

She shuts her laptop now, even sharper than he had, leaning forward to match him.

“Am I allowed to ask why you’re sleeping with your boss?”

Okay. Uh. Wow. How did she even…

It’s not even close to a guess. He can tell by the look she’s fixing him with that she’s certain. (Or, the guilt bubbling up in his stomach is telling him that.)

“Why would you -”

“Don’t.” She cuts him off with a roll of her eyes, not even giving him a chance to try to sloppily lie his way out of this one. “Don’t do that, I saw you two last night.” A pause and a grimace. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unsee you two last night.”

Oh.

He’s silent for a second, willing any reasonable explanation to come to his brain, anything to make her stop looking at him like he’s the scum of the earth (before he might start thinking it’s true; or, maybe worse, before he starts getting defensive, the urge to protect his ego already starting to uproot itself), but nothing comes, leaving him sputtering instead.

“I don’t - I, uh, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Outright denial? Probably not the best way to go if she saw it with her own eyes, but he’s not exactly in the position to have a whole lot of other options right now. If she knows, then she knows.

If he’s honest, he’s not particularly concerned with her opinion of him at the moment; he’d given up on her actually liking him weeks ago, content with moments of tolerance shining through her prickly demeanor. But he is concerned about what she’d do with that information. He’s not exactly 100% sure what the consequences would be for a situation like theirs, but he can’t imagine any timeline where their thing getting out would end well for Joan’s reputation or for him, just in general. Maybe people would pity him - she was in a position of power over him and nobody had any way of knowing that he’d been the one to push it, because he wanted something (he’s still not entirely sure what he had wanted; power? career prospects? to be wanted? to be liked?) or how infatuated he actually was with her the more time they spent together and how much he loved their stupid jokes and the things she probably wouldn’t let slip if she knew how not-casual it was becoming for him. They might hate him (he thinks they probably should, given the aforementioned selfishness). Or maybe they just wouldn’t care and it would fall under the radar. Or maybe Zoey had no plans of blabbing, maybe she didn’t want anything from confronting him, and she’s just as mad as she appears to be where she’s not responded to him and is staring at him blankly and disbelieving. Maybe she’s just honest to god disappointed in him, despite not even liking him. He thinks that might be the worst one.

He finally deflates under her stare, putting his hands up in surrender, though the urge to avoid eye contact doesn’t dissipate with the admission.

“Alright, yeah, fine, you got me.” He tries to act like it’s not a big deal, like she’s making mountains out of molehills despite the guilt still piling up in his stomach. He’s well aware that what they’ve been doing is wrong on so many levels, but damn, it felt good. Didn’t he deserve a little bit of good? Didn’t Joan?

“What are you thinking?”

“I don’t understand why you care.” Leif says, indignancy filling his voice in a needlessly hushed tone; it’s not like anyone else in the library actually cares to eavesdrop on them. Zoey pauses for a second, a series of facial expressions that Leif is far too exhausted by the conversation to even try to interpret crossing her face, before speaking again.

“I care because Professor Bennett is obviously very vulnerable right now and you’re - what? Taking advantage of her? Ruining your future? I mean, if this got out, both of you would -”

“I’m not taking advantage of her, I’m -” He shakes his head, cutting off his train of thought, leaning back in his chair, trying to ignore the way she’s still looking at him like he’s up to something. It doesn’t help his propensity for absolute word vomit. “It’s not gonna get out, that’s - that’s a non-issue, we’re careful.”

“You’re careful? You were making out in her husband’s classroom. And, speaking of that, she has a husband.”

“Barely. They’re… That’s not gonna be an issue soon. And Charlie’s an asshole.”

She doesn’t have a rebuttal for that one. Charlie is an asshole. Point blank. Leif: 1, Zoey: 200.

“I could point out every moral objection to what you’re doing and still probably be missing one.”

“And I wouldn’t really care.” He says it plainly, shrugging his shoulders and hoping the desperation he feels doesn’t come across in the words. “I like Joan. She doesn’t hate me. I think she deserves better than what she’s been getting and if, right now, that’s me, if I can make her feel good, where’s the crime?”

“That’s… nauseating. And there are so many crimes there, I can’t even count.” She pauses, her eyes glancing up as she takes a breath to center herself (it doesn’t work) before squaring him with a cold gaze that he shifts uneasily under. “Look. I don’t think it’s a secret that I didn’t like you when we started this project. That was starting to change. We’re back at square one. We’re gonna finish this project, we’re gonna get an amazing grade, because we’re us, and then I’m gonna do my best to never talk to you again. Got it?”

He kind of feels helpless here. The idea of an actual friendship with Zoey, all nervous smiles and cheesy jokes and dorky glory, had been starting to sound really appealing. Never talking to her again is probably the last thing he wants.

But he also knows he kind of screwed the pooch here (he’s not sure if he means that completely figuratively). He also also knows that he’s not really prepared to give up what he’s got going on with Joan. So… He doesn’t really have a lot of options.

“Fine.” The monosyllabic word comes out too tensely, too defensively, and just a little too vulnerable, letting the discomfort and disappointment the agreement makes him feel slip out into the word.

“Fine.”

Chapter Text

Going home for Thanksgiving was exactly the break from practically everything that Zoey needed. No jerk professors, no confusing developments of feelings from her best friend, no extroverted roommate, no lanky, skeevy, scheming project partner to haunt the back of her thoughts with his amoral behaviors (and if it’s not just The Joan Thing haunting the back of her mind, she’s ignoring that as hard as she can).

The downside of being home is that she has to confront exactly how bad her father’s condition has gotten. When she’s at school, she can pretend that everything’s still okay; that he can hug her and tell her he’s proud of her, just like he did not even two years prior when she graduated high school; that he could still respond when she tells him about her grades and her professors; that he could still tell her he loves her when she slings an arm around him to bring him into the best hug she can get now and presses a kiss to his cheek before she goes to bed on the first night she’s home.

A home renovation show plays on the TV now as she lays with her head on his shoulder, all thoughts of kitchen nooks and grand foyers playing out on the screen shoved to the back of her mind as it races with other things.

“Max told me he likes me.” She says out of nowhere, the first time she’s said it out loud since he’d shoved the confession at her right before they both left for break and the first thing that left her mouth had been an apology, freaking out and spewing something about ‘needing time to think’ and leaving the poor guy with nothing as she grabbed her bags and practically ran off to her car. “You remember Max, right? You always liked him.”

On top of being the only friend she’d really talked about Freshman year (and the only friend she’d really had), Max had come home with her for Thanksgiving and winter break the year prior, citing the fact that it was harder to go all the way back to the east coast. Both of them knew it had just as much to do with that as the fact that he didn’t really want to see his own family and be bombarded with questions about what he was doing at college and why he wasn’t following in the rest of his family’s cavity-shaped footsteps.

He was quite literally exactly the kind of guy she could take home to her family. And the kind of guy that she had. Her family had taken to him immediately - it hurts now to remember how her dad shook his hand and welcomed him in with that wide winning smile that she’s starting to accept she might not ever see again. By all means, if she was gonna fall for someone she already knew, why wouldn’t it be him?

“Well, that’s kind of… not true. He didn’t tell me he liked me, he told me he loved me. Which is… a lot. And kind of awkward, because I’m pretty sure the only feelings I have for him are… platonic. With a capital ‘P’.”

She sits up from where she was leaning, swallowing the lump in her throat at his unresponsive eyes, staring straight at the renovation budget meeting happening on the TV.

“And my roommate met a guy. Which is great. Y’know, I’m just… I’m glad to see them happy. It’s nice to see them so committed to something- someone. But it’s also kind of overwhelming, cause it’s hard not to think about my own feelings when I’ve been around them being all mature and relationship…y. And then Max shoved his feelings at me and it all felt like so much and I just wanted to run away. And I guess I did, kind of, because I’ve not talked to any of them since I left campus and I -” She breaks off, ignoring how the almost-shed tears build in her eyes and reside in her voice, raw and cracking around the edges, barely hanging on to a crumbling edge of calm, glancing at his empty gaze for just long enough to tug at her heart and remind her that no reassuring response is gonna come, forcing her eyes back to the TV as she shakes her head. “I don’t know what to do. Because Max loves me and I can’t just leave him hanging forever and I can’t keep avoiding him, that’s so not gonna work when we’re back at school. But I also don’t wanna break his heart or lose his friendship, especially because I -”

She stops again; this time it isn’t to glance at her father but to swallow the lump in her throat at what she’s about to admit, what she didn’t even really wanna admit to herself, putting a voice to the reason it had hurt so much to realize that her project partner might not be any more than a slimy, conniving, pretty face.

“I think I like someone else. And I hate myself for liking him because he’s the worst. He’s annoying and he’s pompous and I can tell he thinks he’s smarter than me, but he’s also… I don’t know. He’s different, too. Or I thought he was different, but he’s…” She trails off, the tears finally breaking through when she looks back at her dad again, who’d spent so much of her life being there for her and helping her know what to do, helping her know who to be, possessing the uncanny ability to point her towards the best version of herself. “And I just wish you could give me advice like you used to. I could… really,” her voice breaks with the stressed word, her breath hitching in her throat as she leans her head onto his shoulder, “use some of that old wisdom right now.”

She waits for a response that won’t come, lacing her fingers through his where his hand rests on his leg, burying her face in his shoulder and letting the sobs rack through her chest, every ounce of pent up confusion and helplessness running into the soft fabric of his fluffy cardigan as the nice couple on the TV decides they’d really like a bay window, filling the thickening silence of their living room.

“Lily?” Leif’s voice drifts through their (far too spacious for his liking) childhood home, floating into what seems to be mostly empty space as he pokes his head in the door, noting the absence of either of their parents’ cars in the driveway (it’s not like he was expecting a parade or anything, but it kind of feels like they just… forgot he was coming home).

“Lucky!” The empty space is quickly disturbed with Lily’s voice in the distance, the sound of what he’s half certain is her jumping over the back of the sofa, and then the sound of her feet padding against the floor and skidding to a stop directly in front of where he awkwardly maneuvers his luggage through the door, kicking it closed behind him. “You’re home!”

“I’m home,” He chuckles with the words, leaning in for a hug and choking back the surprise he feels when she doesn’t let go for several seconds, her arms trapping him by the neck. “Is anyone else home?”

“No, and you’re not allowed to leave again, Mom’s gone insane - she’s probably at the country club again, practicing tennis because she’s decided we could totally be a mommy-daughter duo.”

Leif doesn’t disguise the look of disgust on his face, leaving his luggage by the door and following her where she’s drifted as she talked, heading into the kitchen and grabbing a banana from the ceramic bowl in the middle of the counter.

“Ew.”

“I know.” She rolls her eyes, hopping up onto the island in the middle of the room lightly with a thoughtful look resting on her face. “But I would look great in a tennis skirt.”

“And Dad?” He raises his eyebrows, leaning against the counter, barely masking the disappointment he feels (it’s not that he’s not grateful to see Lily; a bigger part of him is grateful that they’ve got a minute to catch up without the hectic energy of the rest of their family).

“Mhm, dunno.” Lily responds through a bite of banana. “He’s been acting really cagey. …I think they’re fighting again.”

“Oh.” The monosyllabic word falls from his lips dumbly, but he can’t think of anything more to say. It’s not like his parents have ever been the closest or most affectionate, but he knows it really grates at Lily when they actively fight - he used to go outside with her and point out constellations when it would happen at night, trying to draw her attention away from the hushed harsh words flinging behind closed doors. But he’s not been able to be there for her recently, caught up in heavy loads of schoolwork and illicit affairs (he’s ashamed to say there’s far more than a few missed phone calls from her sitting in his call log) and his heart breaks as he takes in the melancholy way she stares down at her legs where they swing absentmindedly. Just as quickly as the melancholy mood had come over her, it leaves with a shake of her head and she looks back up at him.

“Alex and Jude hit the jackpot, they’re spending Thanksgiving in the mountains with Grammy and Pa.”

“Lucky them,” He laughs with it, shaking his head. He’s not sure he means it, thinking about how exhausting it could be to be around their grandparents; but, then again, it’s not any less exhausting to be around their parents, so maybe nobody wins here.

As they chat some more, they gradually move into the living room, lounging ontheir large couch, feet resting on the coffee table in front of them as she fills him on all her high school drama (and he tries not to think about how much she reminds him of himself at that age, which makes him worry, because he knows how deeply unhappy and insecure he’d been at that age; not that he was much better at this age, either). Eventually, she draws his attention to the elephant in the room, her mind drifting just as much as his had to those unanswered phone calls and the distance between them (and if she’d also received a phone call from a slightly worried Tobin before Leif had arrived, she didn’t mention it, if only to save his ego).

“You seem stressed, Lucky.”

“Me? Stressed? Pft,” He tries to deflect, pushing himself deeper into the cushions, feeling entirely too casual and relaxed to have this conversation right now. “Nah, I’m… I’m good. I don’t even think about stress. I am… the most casual and relaxed guy ever.”

“Leif.”

“...”

“Leif.”

“Alright, do you expect me not to be? College is hard. Making friends is hard. Balancing all of that is hard.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Lily sits up straighter, staring him down. “But you can talk to me about it. Talk to… someone about it. Let a little bit of that off of your shoulders.”

“You want me to talk to you about it?” He sits up, too, turning towards her with his eyebrows raised, the anxiety he’s been holding onto stapled into his chest, bringing the tension through his shoulders and making it slightly harder to breath. He can feel the word vomit building before it’s even left his mouth. “Alright, yeah, let’s talk about it. Let’s talk about how I’m sleeping with my boss. I feel like I can’t do anything right. My project partner, who I thought was starting to hate me less, suddenly hates me more. And I don’t even feel like I get to be upset about that, because she hates me because of the whole sleeping with my boss thing, which, yeah, I think that makes me a total sleazebag. So maybe she’s right. Maybe I do just suck. And I gotta repeat, I’m sleeping with my boss. I also have a B, but that’s… that feels less important than the other things.”

“Okay, can we take that back about a dozen sentences, because what the fuck, Leif?”

Lily looks horrified and yeah. Yeah, that’s fair. He would be, too, probably, if it wasn’t him that had wormed himself into this sticky, shitty situation.

“Most important thing first: you’re sleeping with your boss?”

Leif has the decency to look ashamed, running a hand through what had been immaculately styled hair when he got home, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“It’s not - I didn’t mean to -” He sighs, settling forward so his elbows rest on his knees, running both hands down his face. “It was an accident.”

“What, you tripped into her bed?”

He shakes his head, dropping his head to rest in his hands.

“I’m a horrible person.”

“No,” Lily kindly resists the urge to roll her eyes, scooting forward to sit next to him. “You’re an idiot. And you seem like you’re heavily confused about how to, like… be a normal goddamn person. But I know you’re a good person.”

“That’s not -”

“Let’s talk about the girl.” She cuts him off abruptly, dragging his train of thought from one point to the other.

“What?”

“Why do you care so much that she hates you?”

“I don’t -”

“Bullshit.” She doesn’t resist the urge to roll her eyes this time. “You wouldn’t have mentioned it if you didn’t.”

“Alright.” He shrugs, deflating. “So what if I do? What does that mean?”

“It’s normal to care what people think about you.”

“It’s…” He hesitates, the thought still aching to be held back, unacknowledged except for the fleeting moments of awareness when she briefly acted like maybe he wasn’t the worst person she’d ever met. It’s too risky to acknowledge otherwise, too shitty to think about how much she hates him and how enamored he could let himself be if she didn’t. “I don’t know, it feels different.”

“Like…?”

“Like I really care what she thinks about me. And I don’t… want to.”

“You like her.”

“No, I -”

Lily’s laugh breaks his adamant denial, her hand clapping his shoulder.

“You like her.”

It’s him that rolls his eyes this time, pulling away and shaking his head.

“Okay, I’m done talking about this.”

Lily laughs again and he wants to be mad, but it’s so nice to see her let herself be carefree and young.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. But…” She sobers, ruffling his hair lightly. “You deserve to be happy, Leif. And I will… refrain from commenting on your boss situation.”

“Thanks.”

“But I mean it, you deserve to be happy. And I know you’ll figure it out. And until you do, let’s order some takeout and watch your favorite episodes of Doctor Who.”

“...thanks.”

She sits back, waiting for the tension to drain from his shoulders, but it doesn’t.

“Just to clarify, the B is okay?” He asks timidly, glancing back at her.

“Yes, oh my god, you’re allowed to have a B.”

Chapter Text

“I really don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

The words are still ringing in his head when he makes it back to his dorm, tossing his backpack to the side and crashing straight into his bed, acknowledging but lightly resisting the urge to scream away the tightness in his chest. He’s not sure it would help, anyways; the constricting feeling has been sitting there, clawing its way around his heart and up into his throat since long before the sting of rejection had hit him and the hot tears that are still threatening to fall had welled up in his eyes.

“What? Is this - are you firing me?”

“What? No.” Joan quickly shook her head, moving to the other side of the desk, a distinct physical barrier between them as she crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t…” A heavy sigh pushed out of her chest, letting a brief conflict play out on her facial features before they dropped back to her carefully constructed neutrality. “I don’t want this to affect your education, but this is - this was all a mistake, Leif. A big, giant mistake that should’ve ended before it even began. It was unprofessional and wrong, on… so many levels. I crossed a line and I’m sorry, but… it’s over.”

He doesn’t know why he cares, doesn’t know why the emotion is still rising up through his throat and choking him out as he finally lets the tears that have been on the edge of falling since he’d awkwardly left Joan’s office with the promise of returning to work ‘as normal’ (as if he even knows what normal is anymore) on Monday soak into his pillow.

It’s not like he was in love with her or anything.

…Right?

Sure, he’d let himself get a little too attached to the routine of whatever they had and to the idea of somebody really wanting him, no matter how inappropriate, but he’d also known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that their thing was always gonna come to an end. It was nice while it lasted, but there was no way for it to work long term with the positions both of them were in. Joan would come to her senses, or he would, or it would end naturally when he graduated or stopped working with her, but in every scenario he imagined, it always ended.

So why does he feel so supremely shitty now that it actually has?

He lets himself cry a little more, groaning and pulling a pillow over his head, accepting that the growing pulling feeling in his chest probably has a little bit more to do with a head full of red hair and an unfinished project sitting on a flash drive next to his laptop than it does with the end of a romantic fling that he’d known from the beginning was doomed.

A Couple Days Later

“Thanks for walking me back.” Zoey looks over at Max as they reach her dorm door. "And have fun with Simon tonight, Mr... Party... Man. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

“So… don’t do anything?” He looks proud of himself, raising one eyebrow with the hint of a laugh as he backs away from the door, until he backs into a trash can sitting by someone else’s door, fumbling over himself to stop it from toppling over and then leaning against the wall to regain his composure. “I’ll just… go.”

He points behind himself with his thumb, but the light air doesn’t dissipate as he nods lightly and starts to turn around. He’s caught by a small ‘wait’ from Zoey.

“I, um… I’m really glad we talked. About everything.”

“Me, too.” Max nods awkwardly with the words, looking at the floor and then back up at Zoey. “Seriously. I just want you to be happy. And… I’m just glad you’re my friend. Really. I love you, Zo. In every way that matters.”

She hesitates by the door, glancing at it and then back at him before making the decision to bring him into a hug, standing on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Thank you.”

She whispers the two words by his ear so low that he wouldn’t have heard it if they hadn’t been hugging.

“For what?”

She pulls away enough to look at him, shaking her head.

“Just for… being Max, I guess.” She pulls away completely, flattening to her normal height and looking up at him. “Um, have fun with Simon. Be safe, be careful. But have fun.”

“Alright, mom.” He smiles as he backs away, swiftly avoiding the trash can this time.

“Ugh, don’t make it weird.” She complains, but she’s still smiling as he ducks his head and finally turns around, leaving the dorm building.

She enters her dorm feeling lighter - even if everything else sucks, at least everything’s settled with Max and he doesn’t hate her for not returning his non-platonic feelings and they’re still good. She doesn’t know what she’d do if they weren’t good.

She dumps her keys on her desk and starts to turn away before something placed neatly in the center of the desk catches her eye. She turns back and sees a flash drive sitting on top of a small envelope with her name scrawled in elegant, but rushed, script.

She picks up the envelope, letting the flash drive clatter onto her desk with the movement, carefully opening it and slipping a folded piece of paper out.

Zoey,

I don’t really know what to say here. ‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t seem right. I didn’t really do anything to you, but… I did let you down. So… I am sorry. If that’s worth anything. And I know you don’t like me and you never did and you probably never will, but I really enjoyed working on this project with you. And getting to know you. And I liked you getting to know me, too. I don’t usually like that.

Um, anyways. I have a feeling you don’t wanna talk to me, hence… the letter. But the flash drive has a finished version of Cassiopeia on it. It should be a fully functional app, which, probably to your delight, means I’m done with my part and you’ll never have to talk to me again. You can make whatever changes you want before you turn it in.

And, for what it’s worth, me and Joan are… done. Totally professional.

Sorry again.

There are a couple different sign-offs crossed out at the bottom of the letter, but the only one that’s still legible is ‘godspeed’, followed by the only uncrossed one (‘best wishes, leif’), which brings a soft disbelieving smile to her face. The smile is immediately wiped away by the thought of never talking to him again, not even to call him an idiot.

She might be a bit in over her head here.

Her eyes quickly scan the third floor of the library until they land on his favorite table, shoved in a corner between two shelves, where they’d worked through several challenging parts of their project together over the last few weeks before everything had blown up, sometimes joined by Tobin and McKenzie but often just the two of them.

Sure enough, there he sits, iced coffee resting next to an open textbook as he scribbles something on a piece of scratch paper.

Here goes nothing.

“Hey… buddy.” She approaches the other side of the table cautiously, tensing when his eyes shoot up from the math homework sitting in front of him.

“Hey… Zoey.” He matches her inflection and it would almost be funny if he didn’t seem so hesitant, almost like he’s scared. “How did you, um - how did you know where I was?”

“I, uh, I went to your dorm first. Tobin said you’d be here.” She shrugs, settling her hands on the back of the chair in front of her as he avoids looking at her, his eyes glancing back down to the scrawled numbers of the assignment he’d been trying to complete (if he’s being honest, the assignment isn’t actually due for a week, but if he’s not throwing himself into his classes, then he has time to think and he doesn’t really wanna have time to think). “You’re also kind of predictable.”

There’s a tentative smile resting on her face when his eyes flit back up to hers and it breaks into a full smile when she sees his lip twitch up into a matching hesitant smile.

“Do you have a minute to talk?” She asks, already pulling out the chair and starting to sit down before he can respond. As he nods and gently sets his pen down in his textbook to save his place, flipping the book closed and settling forward on the table, she thinks maybe everything isn’t terrible after all.