Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mornings. Either you love them or hate them. There's usually no in-between. For Espresso, though, he seemed to be caught somewhere in the middle. There were days when he felt most energized in the morning after downing his usual dose of caffeine. Unfortunately for him, today wasn't one of those days.

Despite his coffee machine breaking down just before the day started, he still managed to arrive on campus on time. “Tardiness is a child of sloth,” he firmly believed. He walked down a busy hallway—his uniform ironed to precise perfection. His planner was tucked beneath one arm for easy access, and a cup of takeout coffee was in his free hand.

He looked almost too professional walking down those halls. He embodied the image of a council president: pristine, polished, perfect—at least on the outside.

Deep down, however, he had been running on adrenaline and caffeine for the past 48 hours, and he’d likely stay on that high until the end of the month. Jotted down in his planner were three “brief” meetings for the day: one with the school administration regarding the proposed monthly budget of the council, another with the theater club to address casting conflicts for the upcoming school play, and a quick check-in with the library volunteers about the nearby book fair. All of these were sandwiched between quizzes in Geometry and History, and deadlines for two papers due by the end of the week.

“I'm screwed. Royally screwed,” he thought to himself, trying to stave off the looming headache brought on by exhaustion and lack of sleep. Fatigue? Inevitable. It was the non-negotiable price he paid for excellence, and he wasn’t about to consider any alternatives.

He took a sip from his takeout coffee, bought from his go-to café for extreme situations like this—when his coffee beans weren’t enough to provide the kick he needed to go the extra mile, or in this case, when his coffee maker decided to break down at the worst possible time. The coffee was black—no sugar, creamer, or milk—perfectly mirroring his demeanor: sharp, focused, uncompromising.

The halls were already filling with noise: locker doors slammed and locked, hurried footsteps echoing from students rushing to their classes, voices rising and falling with either exhaustion or excitement. It was a confluence of teenage energy, and it grated on his nerves like that one specific part of a chalkstick screeching across a blackboard.

He passed by the council room before heading to class, only to find the bulletin board cluttered with new posters and flyers. He made a mental note to fix it later—that is, if he found the time. His plate was already full—no, full would be an understatement. His plate was overflowing, yet Espresso decided he’d rather burn at the stake for excellence than rot in the comfort of mediocrity.

For now, Room 3-B loomed ahead, along with his class for Contemporary Issues. It was a class he considered himself lucky to have landed as his first period. It supposedly encouraged “active discourse,” though this often diluted into students parroting phrases from assigned readings they had barely skimmed. He didn’t mind the subject. Their teacher was kind—approachable, even—and never batted an eye when Espresso handled council work during class, as long as he turned in his coursework. What he couldn’t stand were the classroom dynamics—particularly the overreliance on group projects, which only meant one thing: inefficiency.

He took a deep breath before entering the room. “Just survive the period,” he reminded himself. A side quest before facing the battlefield head-on.

The moment he stepped into the classroom, several pairs of eyes turned toward him. It was typical—the Council President, Star Student, the school’s walking manifestation of stress, all condensed into one person. He wore his reputation like an invisible, heavy crown. With a polite nod to the teacher—who had arrived early and was already scribbling on the board—he made his way to his designated seat.

Regrettably, the classroom was loud—too loud for Espresso’s liking. From the buzzing chatter, he picked up on the latest news: another group project was on the horizon. Most students were thrilled by the announcement. Naturally, it meant the usual uneven division of labor—some burning the midnight oil like their lives depended on it, while others frolicked through metaphorical meadows, stopping to smell every flower. He let out a deep sigh, already anticipating how things would play out.

Once the teacher was finished writing on the board, they made the formal announcement:
"You will be working in pairs for the next assignment—"

Screwed.

"—and I will be assigning your pairs randomly."

Sweet mother of God. Royally screwed.

If there was one thing he hated more than group work, it was being grouped into pairs. Oversaturated inefficiency—especially since no one could produce output at the same quality he did. Inputs from any of his peers, save for a select few, had to pass through his rigorous quality check, carefully scanned for errors and opportunities for improvement. Being paired with someone from this class meant sacrificing efficiency the moment an unwanted variable entered the equation.

Their teacher began reading through the predetermined pairs. All the names passed through Espresso’s mind like white noise—until his ears perked up at the sound of his own.

“Espresso—”

He sent a quick prayer to whoever might be looking out for him. He wasn’t one to settle for mediocrity, but even he had to admit his responsibilities were starting to spiral. A decent partner would be nice.

“—and Madeleine.”

He didn’t flinch, but whatever hope he had in that fleeting moment drained entirely from his body. Somewhere across the room, someone chuckled. Of course.

Once the teacher wrapped up the instructions for their project, Espresso felt a chair being dragged beside his.

“Well, would you look at that!” Madeleine grinned, settling beside Espresso and casually looping an arm over his shoulder, like they were old friends reunited after years apart.

“I was hoping to be paired with a different classmate this time,” the council president muttered through gritted teeth—just loud enough for his partner to hear.

He tried to remember when exactly his distaste for Madeleine began. While he generally held reservations toward members of the sports teams due to their inherent chaos, this particular dislike had roots. It wasn’t just one isolated incident, if he tried to recall. It was a series of red flags that accumulated over time. First, when Madeleine showed up late to another class they shared and brushed it off with excuses about his training drills. Then, there was the time he volunteered to help set up tents for a council-hosted event—only to vanish halfway through, claiming his coach had needed him to handle the junior members. His final straw? The way Madeleine would waltz back into everyone’s lives all smiles, still somehow earning praise from teachers who forgave him without hesitation.

And here he was again—golden and glowing, like the sun had come down to earth solely to pester Espresso’s entire existence. Wearing yet another sports team jacket in place of their uniform blazer, blatantly ignoring a rule no one seemed interested in enforcing.

“I'm free later after practice. We can work on it at the library,” Madeleine offered nonchalantly, as if scheduling a hangout with a friend. “If you need me to read something for the project, just hand it over by lunch.” He leaned further back in his seat, completely at ease.

Espresso was trying very hard not to break character. He managed a thin-lipped smile—polite and presentable, the kind he usually reserved for dealing with ridiculous complaints from students or vague demands from school administrators.

He busied himself scribbling down his thoughts for the project—a possible topic, a vague but promising outline.

“I got it covered. I can handle the paperwork. You, though—I assume you can present the paper on your own,” he said. A silent challenge.

“Are you sure?” Madeleine asked, visibly unconvinced by Espresso’s suggestion—or rather, decision. “That’s a lot of work, and with your council tasks—”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I’ll be fine,” Espresso cut in, tone firm and final. “I’d rather not deal with someone who thinks APA 7 is the name of a sports league he hasn’t heard of.”

Madeleine laughed, shrugging off the jab.

“Maybe you should crack jokes more often. You barely laugh at all. Cheer up, boss. No one needs you to be this stiff 24/7.” He leaned in closer, once again disregarding Espresso’s already fragile sense of personal space. “Besides, it’s just me.”

Espresso didn’t respond. Instead, he subtly shifted in his seat, inching away from his unwelcome partner. His hand trembled, gripping his pen too tightly. He hated every second of this. Even more now that he’d already scribbled Madeleine’s name next to his own on the project draft. Another free ride for the school’s golden boy.

He should’ve gotten more coffee when he had the chance. 

Chapter Text

As if the previous events weren’t enough, Espresso found himself in the gym for their scheduled PE class. The room was quite literally buzzing with energy—the kind Espresso so dreaded: lawless chaos, the certainty of sweaty bodies brushing against each other, and the undying squeak of sneakers against polished wood (the floor was fairly polished—he’d give the sports teams credit for keeping the place well-maintained). He stood at the edge of the court with his arms crossed, mulling over the setup for the day’s activity with thinly veiled disapproval: a class vs. class game of Capture the Star .

Espresso had played this before during one of their team-building events for campus leaders. The rules were simple—each team would hide an object, in this case, a star plush, somewhere within their designated half of the gym. There were also a couple of roles a player could take on. Defenders guarded the team’s star, while Seekers and Distractors entered enemy territory to retrieve the opponent’s star. Get tagged on the opponents’ side, and you're out of the game. First team to retrieve the other’s star—or rarely, tag out all of the opposing team’s players—wins the game.

Simple rules—Espresso liked that. What he didn’t like was their opponent for today’s match.

Well, not everyone, per se.

Madeleine was dribbling a stray basketball—which he’d probably snuck out of the storage room—with one hand, exchanging jokes with his classmates, looking like he was born, raised, and destined to own the place. A different sports team’s jacket was tied loosely around his waist, and his obnoxiously glowing face looked like he was about to host a party rather than partake in a PE match.

"Like his grades didn’t depend on today’s match results," Espresso thought, invisible fumes rising from his head.

He turned his attention back to the task at hand. Clicking his pen, he gathered his classmates around to explain their strategy.

"Attention here!" he called out, establishing authority. He modulated his voice enough to be heard clearly, but not loud enough to be overheard. "We need four defenders—two visible ones, and two hidden closer to the star, just in case. Seekers, I listed a couple of our fastest runners based on our previous activities. Keep your eyes out for their star. I’ve also listed a few possible hiding spots they might use. Discuss among yourselves who should check each one, and identify any other areas I might have missed.
As for Distractors—anyone confident in endurance, dodging, or pulling off any mental tricks, that’s your role. We’ll rotate players based on signals—raise one arm to call for a substitute. Raise both arms for backup. Keep noise to a minimum so we can hear callouts clearly. Any questions?"

A beat. No questions.

He pointed at a rough map of the gym he had drawn and tapped a spot. "Don’t look behind yet, but remember the high stack of foam blocks in the corner of the gym? The ones beside the climbing wall. That’s where we hide the star. It’s camouflaged and low-profile. They won’t suspect a thing."

His classmates nodded along. Most of them trusted Espresso, especially when it came to planning. None dared to challenge his strategy either.

Across the gym, Madeleine had gathered their class into what he called a “pre-game meeting,” which resembled more of a football huddle—laughter, shoulder bumps, and all the chaotic energy Espresso despised. Still, the council president noticed how the school’s golden boy glanced around the gym, more thoughtfully than usual. There was something calculating in those bright blue eyes, despite the carefree grin.

Their teachers called Espresso’s class out to give the other class time to hide their star. Espresso cast a quick glance in Madeleine’s direction—only to find him already looking back at him, with those bright blue eyes outshining even the warmest summer skies.

Espresso found himself thinking how satisfying it would be to see that glimmer fade once their team lost to their own chaos.

***

As the teacher blew the whistle, marking the start of the game, Espresso's class fanned out smoothly. His team moved with calculated precision—four of his classmates took their places at the corners of the gym, two of them acting as wandering sentinels. Their star was hidden just as planned, tucked within the stack of foam cubes beside the climbing wall. The stationary defenders had practiced guarding the area well while keeping themselves concealed.

The Seekers had devised a system of communication as they dispersed through the gym, searching for the opponents' star. Even Espresso could barely see them—props to them for staying hidden—but he'd have to trust, at least for now, that they were carrying out their tasks properly. As the class mastermind, Espresso stood by the court lines—not technically out of bounds, but just enough to monitor the entire gym. A mental map of people’s locations and movements, both teammates and opponents, ran steadily through his mind.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to do this much longer. Because upon seeing Madeleine’s class? It was chaos incarnate.

They moved like a handful of pebbles tossed into a vast ocean—no strategy, no formation, no clear objective. A few of them dove headfirst into Espresso’s territory and got tagged out by the first wave of defenders. Others lagged behind, circling like they weren’t even sure what they were supposed to be doing. It ticked Espresso off—no communication, no signals, no sense of purpose.

He thought he had this in the bag.

His narrowed eyes followed Madeleine weaving through their defensive line—all grins and loose limbs. One of Espresso’s teammates lunged for a tag, but Madeleine effortlessly slipped away and rolled into a safe zone, laughing as he landed.

"He's not even taking this seriously," Espresso muttered through gritted teeth. A nearby classmate gave him a look, one they quickly pulled back as the storm clouds above his head silently gathered.

From the opposite side of the court, one of Madeleine's classmates—a Distractor—suddenly began yelling off-key lyrics to a pop song, drawing attention to himself. Most of Espresso’s classmates were caught off guard, momentarily thrown off from their assigned tasks.

It wasn’t just some bizarre act—it was a signal.

"Move!" Madeleine’s voice rang across the room.

In an instant, his team surged into Espresso’s territory—three players who had previously just been loitering around the court now zoomed straight toward the hidden star. It wasn’t exactly elegant, but they moved before anyone could get a warning out. More Distractors from the opposing team flung themselves into the fray, forcing defenders to leave their posts. Half of them were tagged out in the chaos.

They were spiraling into panic.

"Backup in the rear! Nearest Distractors, retreat and cover!" Espresso called, trying to cut around the corner himself. But one of his classmates hesitated—caught between defending their star and tagging an intruder already inside.

That one second of indecision was fatal for the team.

Amid the flurry of bodies, Espresso spotted Madeleine—moving smoothly, swiftly, and not on the ground... but above.

Madeleine was climbing.

He had used the chaos as cover, scaling the climbing wall unnoticed by Espresso’s distracted defenders. With the grace of a seasoned athlete, he was ascending with terrifying ease. The foam blocks concealing the star were almost within his reach.

"No, no, no, no," Espresso muttered to himself, stress and sweat dripping from his forehead.

That’s too visible. Too bold. And obnoxiously, too stupid.

But it was working.

The rest of Madeleine’s team moved through the gym with chaotic ease— exactly as they were supposed to. They made a mess, wreaked havoc, and kept everyone’s eyes glued to the floor. Espresso’s team had fallen for the whole act.

When Espresso looked up, Madeleine was already halfway up the wall, the foam cube within his reach. He spotted a slight disalignment in the stack, where he shoved his arm and grabbed the plush star hidden inside. Almost five feet off the ground, he leapt down, miraculously landing with a thud that barely slowed him.

He pushed himself up from his crouch, still grinning like a madman, then dashed—faster, before anyone could fully process what was happening—toward his team’s zone, effortlessly dodging two of the opposing players who half-mindedly attempted to tag him with clumsy desperation.

Cursing in his mind, Espresso chased after him. He tried—but alas, with years of training, Madeleine was still faster. Not just in speed, but in spirit. He didn’t move like a runner in a marathon— he moved like a peregrine falcon darting through the skies, as if he was born to ride the wind. Something Espresso could only wish he had trained for.

Madeleine crossed into his team’s safe zone with the star in hand, beaming brighter than the actual sun. Cheers erupted from all corners of the gym, though most of his classmates were still scattered from the chaos they’d caused.

On the opposite side, someone from Espresso’s team let out a frustrated groan, crashing to the gym floor in defeat. Their entire plan— reduced to paper scraps —by someone who probably didn’t even read a single instruction.

"We did everything by the book," one of his classmates said between breaths. "Still, we lost to them," they added, voice sharp and aimed like a dagger toward the other class.

Espresso was speechless. He kept switching between hearing out his classmates’ frustrations and watching Madeleine’s class share high-fives and chants, like they’d just won the junior league championships.

While deep in thought—or the lack thereof— of course, he had to walk over.

"So," Madeleine said, perching a sweaty arm—his elbow—over Espresso’s shoulder, mocking him like they were long-sworn rivals. "Ever wish you were grouped with me instead of a different classmate this time?" he added, mirroring Espresso’s words from their last group assignment together.

Annoyed, Espresso shrugged him off like his blood rejected his very presence.

"First of all, you were stupid. You had no strategy in the first place. I bet that was all a fluke," Espresso's voice shifted from raw frustration to concern, laced with disdain. "Second, you were reckless as hell. You could’ve gotten yourself seriously injured with that stunt. What about your peers? Our peers? Anyone unskilled enough to chase you would’ve ended up—"

Madeleine’s laugh cut him off. Espresso was only about to continue with his complaints, but his opponent’s words stopped him in his tracks.

"But it worked, and we won. Your strategy was too tight. You weren’t even giving us a good fight—so we just took matters into our own hands."

Espresso was left dumbfounded, staring blankly, thoughts racing through his head. For a split second, he wondered what it would be like to be unshackled by textbook rules and just be free.

And then, the moment passed. That's not how we do things, he reminded himself.

"Next time, I’m considering everything under the sun, including off-key singing and mindless wall-climbing. Should I also account for the chances of your kind bringing parachutes and jetpacks?" Espresso asked, sarcasm slipping back into his voice.

"Oh, I look forward to it. Then again, you don’t have to be so stiff 24/7," Madeleine teased, throwing Espresso’s own words back at him. "See you around, boss. I have a team to congratulate," he finished with a wink before jogging off to his side of the court.

Appalled by his audacity, the defeated mastermind crumpled the strategy sheet in his hand. He wasn’t angry. The fact that Madeleine made more sense than the plan he’d so carefully devised was what truly got on his nerves— and Espresso hated that more than the fact that they’d lost to the likes of him.

🛡️

Madeleine had barely stepped away from Espresso when the rush of the match finally settled into his bones. His breathing slowed, the roar of his classmates behind him already starting to fade as the adrenaline wore off. He rolled his shoulders, letting the weight of the moment ease off with each step.

Knight approached quietly, not one to make a scene. He matched Madeleine’s pace, gaze steady.

"You okay?" he asked. Whether he meant physically or otherwise, Madeleine wasn’t sure—but the concern was there, gently tucked between the words.

Madeleine blinked, then smiled—smaller than his usual grin, but still bright with pride.

"Yeah. I'm good. Better than ever, actually," he replied, brushing his hair back with a hand. His tone held none of his usual bravado—just honest satisfaction. "I mean… we did it. We actually pulled it off."

Knight gave a short nod, his eyes lingering a little longer on Madeleine’s face, as if trying to read the things he wasn’t saying.

Madeleine looked ahead again, a quiet spark in his eyes. He usually went with the flow—whatever the team needed, whatever the coach wanted him to train for, whatever group leaders asked him to do. Maybe it wasn't too late for him to start living for what truly brought him bliss.

Chapter Text

"I'm telling you, Latte. I have never wanted to dig out someone's grave this badly—ever. That's big coming from me."

Latte's dorm was the exact opposite of Espresso's living quarters. Her place looked like something straight out of a meticulously curated Pinterest board. The scent of vanilla candles gently cradled the stressed council president; the fairy lights hanging over the ceiling flickered faintly as dusk crept in. Somewhere in the room sat an abandoned cup of half-sipped iced vanilla latte she swore she'd finish over the break.

Her household had taken Espresso in since he was a toddler. The pair had grown up together, almost like siblings. Despite their clashing personalities, Latte was the only one who held Espresso’s full trust—enough to become his running mate when he vied for the council presidency. Perhaps it was for the best. Latte had a knack for keeping him in check, and he did the same for her, especially when conflicts or heavy decisions needed to be made.

For now, though, Espresso needed her not as his VP, but as his confidant.

Latte had her hands full making sure Espresso actually took his break seriously. He was sprawled across a beanbag, dressed in the least Espresso-like outfit imaginable: soft grey sweatpants, a plain dark hoodie two sizes too big, and a pair of Sanrio socks (courtesy of Latte, who insisted he wear them every time he crashed at her place). His face, bare of his overused glasses, was covered in a green clay mask (again, Latte’s doing), drying and cracking slightly every time he launched into another rant.

"I swear. His so-called 'strategy' turned the gym into a warzone. An actual fucking warzone! Who, in their right mind, would mount the climbing wall without safety gear?" Espresso grumbled.

Amidst rearranging and reviewing some of Espresso's papers, Latte remembered her forgotten drink. She retrieved it from the countertop, eyed it critically, then took a sip.

"It needs more sugar. I meant my drink, not you," she said, half-joking.

"Scratch that, I think you do too, since you're too salty over your loss to an overgrown golden retriever in PE class."

Shots fired.

"We didn't lose. It was a fluke!" Espresso protested. "We did not consider sheer stupidity as part of their 'strategy'. I bet he didn't even know our star was in there. He just guessed it."

"And he guessed right," Latte replied, mockery thick in her tone.

Espresso let out a frustrated grunt and collapsed deeper into the beanbag. Only Latte could talk to him like this. But tolerating her teasing was a small price to pay for her presence.

"You know what? I hate his guts, but you're more insufferable like this."

Latte laughed—a full, unapologetic laugh. "You love me all the same, Essy."

Held hostage by the clay mask, Espresso could only lift his middle finger in response. Latte’s laughter echoed across the dorm floor.

"Oh, Essy. Watching you boil with your so-called hatred is free therapy."

Espresso opened an eye, confused and suspicious. "And what the hell do you mean by that?"

That reaction amused Latte even more— she clearly knew something he didn’t. And she was going to enjoy every second of it.

"Essy, you can't possibly hate someone who hasn't wronged you?" she asked, poking further.

"Logically, yes, but give me a break. Let me be illogical sometimes. I just hate his face, I hate his voice, and I hate those dumb jackets he wears over his uniform like it's his personal mandate to not abide by school rules."

Latte sipped her drink, feigning deep thought. "Sounds like a case of obsession to me."

Espresso groaned and began to move, as if preparing to get up and leave in dramatic protest, but Latte shut it down with practiced ease.

"You, sir, are not going anywhere. Your skin hasn’t fully absorbed the mask yet," she said, still clearly entertained.

There was no winning against Latte. With nothing else to do, Espresso reclaimed his beanbag spot, surrendering to the soft domestic chaos of her dorm and letting her quiet magic do its work.

***

Minutes passed, and the heat from their previous conversation dissipated. Espresso, now breathing slower and deeper, sank further into the beanbag, while Latte took the liberty of decluttering more of his files, occasionally asking whether to keep a specific set of notes or not. He was fairly organized with his things, but sometimes, he could get lost in his own hole.

Latte browsed through folders and planners—all color-coded according to subject and purpose—until her fingers stopped on one familiar document. Her eyes scanned the front page, then flipped through its contents. She shook her head in realization.

"Espresso," she called out, a trace of panic in her voice.

"Yes?"

"By any chance, have you given Mr. Golden Retriever his copy of your project?"

Espresso opened one eye and looked in her direction. "Gave him what?" he asked, completely ignoring what she called his unfortunate project partner.

She held up the document—typed, annotated, and perfectly formatted with the script for his report. "You wrote 'Hand over by Friday' here in all caps. Essy, it's Saturday."

Espresso shot up like he’d just been drenched with a bucket of ice-cold water. His body jolted into full panic mode, his mind spiraling into absolute horror . He didn’t even notice the clay mask cracking down the middle of his forehead.

Latte didn’t dare comment on his ruined skincare session and tried to hold back her laughter. "You're so dramatic. I’m sure he’ll understand."

Without his glasses, he was already fumbling for his phone. "How the fuck could I forget? I had it marked! I knew I was—"

"Espresso, breathe. It's not the end of the world," Latte said, trying to reassure him.

He sent a text with trembling fingers:

[ Espresso to Madeleine ]
Arewyou still at schooil for practice? Ifnyes,, stay pput

He might’ve committed a few typos, but he had bigger problems. He quickly rinsed off the clay mask and threw on his slip-ons. Latte could only stand by the door and watch— there was no point in stopping him anyway.

"You’re not even changing?" she asked, concerned by his... appearance.

"No time," he replied, giving the document one last scan.

"You’re going to show up in fuzzy socks and... you still have bits of clay on your face!" Latte exclaimed, torn between concern and amusement.

Espresso was already exiting the building when she realized something else.

"You forgot your glasses!" Latte called out from the balcony.

"Temporary blindness never killed anybody!" he shouted back before darting off.

Aside from decreasing her chances of being late due to her tedious morning routines, Latte knew she had made the right choice by choosing a dorm near campus. She went back inside to finish her drink and clean up their shared mess, still humored by everything that had just transpired.

***

The sky was already in deep shades of red by the time Espresso reached the school grounds. The guards were used to having him around beyond school hours, so making his way in—even in his unusual attire—was not a problem. He reached the open field where Madeleine's team usually held their practice. His target was just wrapping up, lugging equipment, and exchanging high-fives with the junior members.

He looked fine in this light— when he was just in his element, not being so full of himself (as Espresso believed him to be). His damp hair, likely from sweat, was messily tied in a bun at the back of his head. He wore their team's shirt— The Golden Knights—equally rugged with his hair.

That didn’t stop Espresso from marching up to him and shoving the folder into his hands. Madeleine turned around just in time to catch it.

"Script. Learn it. Present. Don’t mess it up."

Madeleine blinked, taking in the sight before him: Espresso in his most uncharacteristic form. He looked him up and down, then asked, "You came all the way here dressed like that?"

"I was... in the middle of something," Espresso replied, choosing the safer path. His mind was still fogged from the earlier panic—he didn’t have a retort ready.

Their school’s prized athlete was amused, but then he noticed. "Glasses. You forgot your glasses," he pointed out.

"I didn’t forget them. It wasn’t a priority at that time," Espresso replied, trying to mask the predicament he had dug himself into. The last thing he wanted was for Madeleine to know that it did, indeed, slip his mind to hand over the project copy.

Unfortunately for him, Madeleine had a way around people. "You look tired," he commented, still staring at the man before him.

Espresso, still handicapped by the lack of his glasses, squinted. "Is that an observation, a critique, or an insult?" he asked.

"Heh, could be anything you want it to be."

He was done. He handed Madeleine the copy, and bearing with his presence any longer was no longer necessary. He turned to leave, not bothering to shoot back another reply, but Madeleine grabbed his arm. "You’re not walking back on your own," he said, concern lacing his voice.

Espresso tugged his arm back. "I’m not fragile, and I know my way around."

"In daylight, sure, but I bet you can barely see me now."

"Believe me, Madeleine. It’s for the best."

Madeleine let out a hearty laugh as he walked toward the bleachers. Espresso thought he’d be off his hair, but he came back running—with his bag in hand.

"Come on, I’ll walk with you. Consider it insurance for your temporary blindness."

Espresso sighed but didn’t argue. They walked in silence, but in his mind, he recalled how Madeleine quoted his situation exactly as he phrased it earlier to Latte.

Of course, it meant nothing… but it was a nice thought.

***

Latte was already waiting by the door of her dorm by the time they arrived. She looked far too pleased with herself.

"Ah, my two favorite disasters," she said sweetly, thanking Madeleine for walking Espresso back.

"Another word," Espresso threatened—all bark, no bite—before making his way in, looking like a grumpy gremlin in his hoodie of shame.

Madeleine grinned. "Is he always like this?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"I'm taking your name out of our paper," Espresso yelled from the kitchen.

Latte smiled apologetically. "He's a handful, but he always comes around."

She thanked him again before he left. Once he was out of sight, Latte's smile grew bigger until her cheeks hurt.

Espresso was once again sprawled on his claimed beanbag, half asleep from sprinting. In his mind were fleeting thoughts of the school's golden boy, who insisted on walking him back from school after he forgot to hand over his copy of their project. Maybe he should thank him, after all.

Latte only stared at her friend with the same big smile. This is a lot better than reading fanfictions over the internet.

Chapter Text

His coffee maker was finally working again. Espresso arrived at school early—earlier than anyone else in the classroom. He was already reviewing their presentation and script for their Contemporary Issues project—the same one he had unceremoniously handed over to Madeleine over the weekend.

Time moved a little too quickly for his liking. Soon, classmates began to pour in, gradually filling the quiet he so carefully preserved. He could manage, though. He’d grown used to focusing amid background chatter after spending so much time surrounded by others.

By the time the golden boy took the seat beside him, the script had already been combed through four times. Espresso sat stiffly, papers spread out in front of him like scripture. He could handle the general noise of the room—but hearing Madeleine hum a tune that vaguely resembled a marching band theme? That crossed the line.

Maybe talking would make him stop. "I'll start," Espresso said—the first words he had uttered since his partner’s arrival. "I'll introduce the topic, while you handle most of the discussion as agreed. Keep transitions smooth, and if you forget something from the outline—"

"Don't worry," Madeleine cut him off. "I got it. My brilliant brain has got all your brilliant notes locked in," he added with a wink, tapping his temple as if that would ease Espresso’s worry.

It didn’t. Not even slightly.

Espresso’s eyes drifted from their materials to their teacher, who had just entered, then to the groups presenting before them. When their instructor motioned for the next group to proceed, he was already rising from his seat.

It was their turn.

They approached the front together. Espresso plugged in his laptop for the presentation and launched straight into his part. The topic they had chosen: media literacy and misinformation. As rehearsed, his delivery was crisp, rarely glancing at his cue cards.

He presented definitions, statistics, and context—"There is an increasing importance of media literacy to combat the spread of misinformation. As digital natives, the responsibility lies heavily on our hands to assess the information we read as the primary consumers of digital content." His voice carried the conviction of a seasoned speaker—or a skilled negotiator. By the end of his segment, he allowed himself the smallest breath of relief and subtly signaled Madeleine to proceed.

That was the moment things began to go downhill.

Madeleine stepped forward. His copy of the script? Still at their seats. Instead of following the outline, he spoke straight from instinct. While the essence of the material remained, the execution had taken a sharp turn into something... entirely his own.

"Basically," he began, hands shoved into his pockets, "it's like when granny shares a Facebook post about how the chemicals in vaccines are making people connectible to Bluetooth devices."

The room erupted into laughter. Even their teacher chuckled at the comparison.

Espresso looked like he might combust.

"Or when an anonymous account sent a 'free lunch' announcement through our emails, and half the school believed it," Madeleine added. Murmurs rippled through the class—clearly, the memory still stung for some of them.

Smiling at the reaction, the athlete continued. "Misinformation sounds ridiculous, especially in this age and time, but it happens. Even we're not safe from it. How many of you left your lunches at home upon receiving that email?" A quarter of the class raised their hands sheepishly. He glanced at his partner, who was now glaring with a quiet fury only years of academic responsibility could foster. Madeleine barely held his composure.

"The real issue here isn't just that people believe everything they see—it's that no one taught them how to question it. That's what media literacy fixes. It isn't just a classroom concept you write on your notes, then call it a day; it's an essential skill," he said, finally steering back to the core of their discussion. Espresso exhaled deeply. Finally.

"Especially when your parents still think you're a technological genius just for putting YouTube or Netflix on the family TV," Madeleine finished, then passed the presentation back.

The council president took over smoothly, concluding the proposal. "This is specifically why we're proposing a campus-wide media education program, which includes seminars, forums, and partnerships with media literacy organizations."

Madeleine nodded along—only to chime in one last time. "Maybe we can propose a sticker system for teachers who still believe in Wikipedia. Let’s give them stars every time they cite something from a credible source."

Once again, the class burst into laughter.

"That was nowhere near the script I gave you," Espresso whispered through clenched teeth, while the others were still recovering from their classmate's antics.

"But was I wrong?" Madeleine replied, eyes gleaming with shameless pride.

***

The rest of the period passed in a blur for Espresso. He responded in clipped sentences whenever the teacher called on him—none of his usual thorough explanations, though his answers remained brilliant nonetheless. When he reclaimed his seat, he gripped his pen too tightly, brows drawn into a deep furrow. Beside him, Madeleine didn’t speak either. No apology, no teasing. Just a calm nod here and there as he reviewed a handout, like nothing had happened at all.

When the bell rang, their teacher raised their voice just as everyone began grabbing their bags.

"You all had amazing outputs and presented fairly, but I have to say, Madeleine and Espresso, your report stood out the most. You put in great work in making strong content and made the delivery engaging," they said, much to Espresso’s disbelief.

"That's how you balance structure and audience impact," the teacher added to the rest of the class. "Keep up the good work, and I'll see you next meeting."

Espresso froze mid-motion, bag half-slung over his shoulder. He stared at the ground—not out of anger, exactly. Confusion? Frustration? Madeleine had gone off-script again, and once more, he got away with it. Worse, it worked.

His partner—or ex-partner, perhaps—must have noticed. A gentle nudge on his arm pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts.

"That went well," Madeleine said with a bright smile. "I know you wrote that script for me, and I really appreciate how well you made it. I did go off-outline—you probably hated every second of it—but look: best in class. That doesn't happen to me often." His tone was so sincere that Espresso almost doubted what he was hearing.

Espresso narrowed his eyes. "You went off-script," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"You knew I would," Madeleine mused. "Still, you handed me that wondrous report over the weekend, unfortunately ruining your skincare session, nonetheless."

His face flushed at the memory of their last encounter. "That was an academic crisis. Shut up," he muttered, trying to salvage his composure.

Madeleine's grin softened. "Well, thank you for facing most of it."

That tone nearly threw him off more than the presentation had. Espresso looked away, making a deliberate show of gathering his things. He still wasn’t sure how to respond—without sounding hostile, or worse, grateful.

With no reply, the athlete scratched the back of his head. One hand toyed with the strap of his bag. "Care to go out for coffee after class? Post-project celebration. My treat, of course." His voice shook slightly, the nerves unfamiliar to both of them.

Espresso hesitated. That didn’t sound like the Madeleine he knew. "You don't owe me anything."

"The offer still stands," Madeleine said with a shrug. "I'll be by the field later after practice. Just... show up if you feel like it." His voice was softer now, uncertain. With that, he stepped away and disappeared into the hallway, leaving Espresso alone with his thoughts.

He took one step forward, then stopped. Madeleine was already gone. Even if I catch up with him, then what? Ask if he’s being serious? Pathetic.

Espresso turned toward his next class, mind still buzzing with unanswered questions. For the first time in weeks, he had a problem he couldn’t solve.

***

The rest of the day passed by in a flash for Espresso. Throughout it all, he was plagued by thoughts he wasn’t used to entertaining. His head remained afloat—barely—amid the chatter of teachers and classmates. Between lectures, he kept replaying everything from first period: their report, Madeleine’s stupid improvisation, the unexpected praise from their teacher, and worst of all, his ex-partner’s annoying offer.

Why did he have to say that, anyway? Espresso hadn’t agreed. He hadn’t declined either— even when he knew he should have. Normally, he would’ve shut it down on the spot. This indecision was driving him mad.

By late afternoon, he made his way to the council room. None of the current officers were hanging around after class—not that most of them were present today, anyway. Latte was likely already back at her dorm, finishing the project she mentioned earlier. The secretary and treasurer were out attending a school conference, while the committee heads were busy with their respective department duties.

Just me, then. He took his seat at his usual desk, flipping through the paperwork submitted by other members for the upcoming school fair. Schedules, sponsor letters, logistics proposals—he had plenty to catch up on.

The room stayed quiet, save for the occasional bursts of noise from students outside, eager to go home. He lingered a moment longer than necessary, thumbing through booth proposals and tentative timelines. Then, with a sigh, he stuffed a handful of documents into his folder.

***

The next thing he knew, he was already making his way to the field.

Practice had already ended. Madeleine stood by the water fountain, sipping quietly. The golden hour caught him just right—its warm light resting on his skin, somehow making him look even more effortless. He perked up the moment he noticed Espresso’s arrival.

"Espresso! Nice to see you here. I didn’t think you’d actually come, though," he beamed.

The council president let out a deep sigh. Why am I hanging out with him longer than necessary again? "Neither did I. Don’t think too highly of yourself."

"That’s heartwarming," Madeleine replied with a grin. He picked up his bag and, ever the dramatist, offered his arm as if they were off to a ball. "Shall we, then?"

Espresso elbowed him in return. Madeleine laughed.

They walked side by side, exchanging their usual harmless jabs. Espresso grumbled about another group project they had shared—yet another one where Madeleine had abandoned the script.

"You can’t keep improvising everything just because you think you’re charming," he complained.

"I’m not improvising," Madeleine defended himself, "I’ve mastered the art of improv. There’s a difference."

Espresso rolled his eyes. "That was nowhere near improv. That was an academic free-fall."

"Don’t I always make a safe landing?"

He scoffed. Much to his dismay, yes.

***

They went to a café not too far from campus, though it was quieter than expected. Warm lights, low chatter—it was perfect, assuming Espresso didn’t want the whole school knowing he’d been spending time with the very person he was known to despise. Madeleine ordered something ridiculous—an array of flavors, syrups, and whipped cream stacked into one drink. Espresso, in contrast, got himself a plain iced Americano. Black, bitter, direct to the point— much like himself , he noted.

After getting their drinks, they found a quiet nook inside, tucked far from curious eyes. Not that they were doing anything wrong.

Once settled, Espresso pulled out the papers he had tucked into his folder earlier.

"You brought... documents?" Madeleine asked, brow raised.

Espresso sighed. "These," he said, gesturing to the papers, "are logistics for the upcoming school fair. Most of them, unfortunately, have to be restructured." His voice was calm and composed again, but there was a slight edge to it— a brewing tension he didn’t bother masking .

"Council drafts are due by Friday. Assuming all goes well, we’ll still have revisions to make. Considering exams are coming up, we’ll need to finalize most of this by next week."

Espresso blinked. He hadn’t meant to say that much. He looked to Madeleine, almost sheepishly, only to find him still listening, attentive as ever. Espresso wondered if he comprehended any of it, but he continued anyway.

"Given that it’s already midweek and half the council members are preoccupied with... other extracurriculars, I’d rather not wait until they decide it’s an urgent matter."

Madeleine hummed in understanding. He was impressed by how far ahead Espresso thought— not that it surprised him . This was “the” Espresso, after all.

He watched as Espresso got lost in his own rhythm. His pen moved quickly across the page; his notes shifted around as he cross-referenced drafts. Occasionally, he muttered to himself while working through thoughts aloud. He moved like clockwork—precise, deliberate—and Madeleine was intrigued.

At one point, he gently reminded him to take a sip of his drink.

Espresso didn’t notice Madeleine leaning in closer until he spoke, startling him slightly. "Is there a way to have a booth with an inflatable castle?"

Espresso looked up, genuinely taken aback. An inflatable castle? They were high schoolers, not hosting a kindergarten festival.   "From what dimension did you spawn that idea?"

"I’m just a kid at heart, Esprey. It was just kidding—"

Kids. Espresso blinked. Some of their sponsors would be bringing their children. If they wanted to keep the adults engaged, the kids needed somewhere to be.

"We can’t have a giant bouncy castle, but maybe we can convert one of the classrooms into a ball pit for the guests’ children," he blurted out, quickly noting the idea down on a blank page at the back of his folder.

"Can you add a petting zoo, too?" Madeleine added hopefully.

Espresso gave him the same incredulous look. "Maddie," he sighed, "as much as I appreciate the idea of animals in school, that would probably violate our sanitation code."

"Is there a way around it?" Madeleine asked, surprisingly serious.

"Unless they’re sanitary? You think we can get enough plushies for this?"

"I can ask everyone on the sports teams to pitch in. They can spread the word—you know how those guys are."

That was... unexpected. Espresso had assumed Madeleine was just trying to irritate him, as usual. But to actually pitch a solution? Maybe he wasn’t entirely insufferable.

Still, Espresso wasn’t about to get his hopes up. This was Madeleine—the same Madeleine who ditched plans when he felt like it, only to show up again, flashing that grin like nothing had happened. Espresso made a mental note to draft a backup plan just in case. He scribbled his thoughts down before they slipped away.

Madeleine, meanwhile, didn’t understand half the council jargon Espresso was talking about, but he sat through it anyway. There was something captivating about the way Espresso spoke when he wasn’t tossing insults—when he was just... being himself. Focused. Sharp. It was the most alive Madeleine had ever seen him.

Espresso didn’t smile, not really—but Madeleine could feel the passion behind the way his eyes scanned the paper and how his fingers moved with purpose.

He took another sip of his drink, still quietly reminding Espresso to take his own. Then he rested his chin on his hand and simply watched—watched as the student council president worked before him.

***

By the time they left the café, Espresso already had a sore back. The sun had long gone down, and the streetlights had flickered to life, casting a pale glow in anticipation of nightfall. The roads were quieter now, bathed in fluorescent light and soft shadows. Madeleine fell into step beside Espresso again after briefly thanking the café staff.

"I'll walk you back," he said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Espresso gave him a look. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm not breakable." Still... he appreciated the gesture—just a little.

"Never said you were. I'm just being nice, that's all."

Espresso rolled his eyes. If there was one thing he’d learned about Madeleine by now, it was that arguing with him was a waste of time. Negotiating, maybe—but arguing? Impossible. They shared the same brand of stubbornness, and Espresso wasn’t sure whether that was amusing or irritating.

They walked in silence—not an uncomfortable one, but one that made Espresso hyperaware of everything. Every step echoed faintly against the pavement. Every rustle of their clothes felt more noticeable whenever their shoulders brushed just slightly. Even Madeleine’s breathing seemed more uneven than usual—not the kind caused by physical exertion. This man could run miles without losing breath. So why now?

Then it clicked.

"What did you just call me earlier?" Espresso asked, recalling a moment from their conversation at the café.

"What?" Madeleine responded, puzzled.

"Esprey? Really?"

The memory resurfaced for Madeleine, bringing a grin to his face. He chuckled softly, something else coming to mind.

"You called me Maddie, too."

"Doesn’t everyone call you that?" Espresso countered, trying to mask his flustered reaction. He hadn’t even realized he’d called him that. Maybe it just slipped? Maybe it was a reflex? He couldn’t tell.

"Yeah, but you called me Maddie," Madeleine repeated, putting just enough emphasis on you . He didn’t mean to tease— well, maybe a little —but hearing it from Espresso was... something else.

"Whatever, Maddie."

"Back at you, Esprey."

Before they knew it, they were already standing outside Espresso’s dorm. Madeleine stopped walking, hands shoved deep into his pockets—a subtle, unconscious move he apparently made when nervous.

"Let’s... do this again sometime," he said, wearing that usual smile of his.

Espresso blinked. "Next time?" he repeated.

"Yeah, unless you’re allergic to free coffee and surprisingly half-decent company," Madeleine shrugged, not entirely sure where all that courage came from.

For once, Espresso had no clever retort. No eye roll, no dramatic sigh. Just silence. "Next time, then," he answered, a little hesitantly.

Madeleine chuckled, bashful this time. "I’ll look forward to it. Catch you later, boss. Rest up," he added, giving a playful salute before turning around and making his way home.

Espresso’s eyes stayed on his back, watching until Madeleine disappeared into the night.

Only when he snapped out of it did he head inside.

He wasn’t sure what had just happened or why it didn’t bother him. He wasn’t sure why, for some reason... he was actually looking forward to that ‘next time’ they promised.

🛡️

Madeleine took the long way home, passing by the old meadow he used to play in as a kid. The night breeze kissed his skin as he watched the tall blades of grass sway gently under the moonlight. There was a skip in his step that hadn’t been there in a long time—not even after winning championship matches.

There was no denying it. He was looking forward to that “next time.” Even if it meant cutting into his lunch money to buy something nice, or waiting for his schedule to clear up just for one more chance—he’d take the shot. He'd shoot his shot.

His phone lit up. Speak of the devil:

[ Espresso to Madeleine ]
Thanks for today, Mads. You should rest, too.

[ Madeleine to Espresso ]
A text from the president himself! I must be special

[ Espresso to Madeleine ]
Keep dreaming.

[ Madeleine to Espresso ]
I’ll take that as a compliment. Thanks!

And that was that. Madeleine received no further reply. He laughed quietly to himself and slipped his phone back into his pocket. His smile from earlier had lingered longer than he expected.

So he does remember to text people outside school-related matters, he realized.

He dared to look up at the sky, only to see the stars looking back at him. There was a faint glow in the cosmos, thankfully still visible amidst the haze of the city below.

He thanked all the stars he saw that night before stepping into his home.

Chapter Text

The council room was silent—only the occasional chatter from outside was audible to Latte, save for the rustling of a duster sweeping over the top shelves that few ever reached. Everything looked clean enough—most papers were neatly stacked on their desks, the main table and chairs properly aligned, even their old couch was free from its usual clutter. However, she knew this would only be temporary; most of their work was simply stashed in drawers. This cleanliness would only last until the meeting ended. Still, she deemed it worth the effort.

If she were administering a meeting in Espresso’s place, it might as well be in the tidiest possible version of their council room.

She had managed to charm her way out of her last class before lunch—well, her whole class had. They put on a dramatic display, begging their teacher to let them off early in exchange for a reading assignment that, quite frankly, no one ever did. She wasn’t one to complain. After all, it gave her time to prepare the room before the meeting.

It wasn’t often she had the space to move around so freely, especially with Espresso’s ever-hovering presence. Not that she minded having him around—he was her closest friend, after all. Still, the silence in his absence made her feel lighter, like she wasn’t just his shadow.

She recalled the quick briefing he’d given her earlier that morning—precise as always. His notes were complete with annotations and backup plans for every possible scenario. Even then, she could tell he was reluctant to leave the meeting in anyone else’s hands, even hers. She didn’t take it personally. If there was one thing she understood most about him, it was that he had to keep everything under his supervision to ensure its success. It wasn’t about distrust—it was simply his way of upholding the standards he set for anything he was part of.

At the back of her mind, Latte wished she could be more like him in that regard. But in hindsight, she’d rather not lose her mind over every little detail. She already had her hands full looking after Espresso, after all.

The door creaked open, just as she was about to finish reorganizing their pile of paperclips and folders.

"Latte," Clotted Cream, Council Secretary, greeted with a smile as he entered the room. He adjusted the cuffs of his blazer as he looked around. "You cleaned up? It’s spotless," he said, praising Latte’s work.

"Oh, save me the flattery," Latte replied with a soft laugh. "Someone has to fight the dust monsters here. It’s not like they’d pack their bags and leave any time soon."

Financier, Sports Committee Representative, followed closely behind Clotted Cream, holding up two paper bags for her senior to see. "We bought drinks. Thought it would boost everyone’s spirits for the meeting."

Latte’s smile grew at the pair’s initiative. "You really should’ve saved yourselves from the stress, but thanks! These are highly appreciated," she said, taking the bags from Financier and peeking inside. "Espresso will go berserk when he finds out he missed out on free stuff. Don’t mind if I save one for him," she added for permission, before keeping a can in his desk drawer.

She turned back to the pair, who had already made themselves comfortable on the couch. "How was the conference? I heard they held unannounced games during the latter sessions," Latte asked Clotted Cream, remembering why some of them had been away in the past few days.

"The Annual Academic Conference, right," their secretary recalled. "Most of it went by fine. I’m sure most of the topics were already presented last year when you attended with Espresso and Raspberry. I procured a copy of the presentation—I’ll send it tonight," he explained, making a mental note of his task.

"As for the academic fairs," he nodded with pride. "First place in Oratorical Speech. Eclair bagged second in History, and Prune Juice took the gold in General Science. Our team also got first place in General Academics."

"All three of you landing on the podium? Wow!" Latte exclaimed in awe. She clasped her hands together with genuine delight. "You’re making us look too good."

"We’re just doing our part," Clotted Cream said humbly. He brushed a speck of lint off his sleeve, then noticed Latte glancing at the clock. "I passed by the others’ rooms during break to remind them about the meeting. They should be here soon."

Slightly surprised at how easily he read her growing anxiety, Latte only nodded, her gaze flickering toward the still-empty room. She didn’t voice it aloud, but part of her mind wandered toward the future—toward the day her and Espresso’s time in the council would come to an end.

But the worry quickly melted away with one realization: if there was anyone who could keep the flame burning after their term, it was him.

She smiled, relieved at that thought.

True to his word, the rest of the council began trickling in through the doors.

Blueberry Pie, their Library Affairs Representative, arrived quietly, a new book in hand that Latte hadn’t seen before—perhaps something freshly processed from the library's circulation. Sparkling from Public Relations followed, phone at the ready to document the meeting for the council archives. Raspberry came in with Eclair, the two of them deep in a debate over a hypothetical ethical dilemma from a class they shared. Latte could guess the topic just from the tone of their conversation—and decided she’d rather not get involved.

Shining Glitter, the Non-Academic Committee Representative, emerged last, flanked by their juniors, Silverbell and Cream Puff from Community Services and Events Planning, respectively. Latte recalled that their youngest members had a slightly different class schedule, explaining their late arrival. They had probably asked Shining Glitter to walk with them to avoid the awkward stares of arriving alone. Latte didn’t mind in the slightest. The three of them sharing lunches always looked a little too endearing to interrupt.

Within minutes, the room buzzed with chatter. Some members sat at the table eating from their lunch boxes, others settled on the floor or the couch. A full house wasn’t typical for meetings like these, and it made the council room feel slightly more cramped than usual—but Latte didn’t mind. She found comfort in the light chaos that was the council itself.

Standing at the center, clipboard in hand, Latte clapped her hands to gather attention. She raised her voice just enough to be heard.

“Alright, everyone! I’m so glad you could all make it despite the tight schedule. I’m sure you’ve already noticed—Espresso... he’s not around. He volunteered as tribute to be stuck in another lunch meeting, this time with the school heads.”

“That’s our traitorous president, choosing the school heads over us,” Eclair quipped.

Laughter erupted around the room—some members choking unceremoniously on their food, while others scrambled to offer water. Even Latte couldn’t hold back her laugh.

“Now, say that straight to his face,” she challenged jokingly.

Eclair gave a mock-serious expression. “I’d rather keep my position here in the council, thank you very much,” he replied, trying to keep a straight face and failing.

Latte composed herself again and cleared her throat before shifting back into her meeting tone. “Going back—there’s nothing to worry about. He left me with strict instructions, and—let’s all be honest—that man color-coded our entire timeline. We should be fine.”

Espresso had finalized and sent out their updated timeline just the night before—right before midnight, as usual.

Clotted Cream held up his printed copy, annotated and lightly highlighted. It was a different method from the president’s usual tightly structured notes, but it was just as effective. “Some of us came prepared.”

“Some of us never stood a chance,” Sparkling murmured to himself while flipping through his copy—looking much like half the room, still trying to make sense of the details.

“In that case, we better get going. Main order of business—preparation for the upcoming school fair,” Latte began, her tone firm but light. “We only have a few weeks left, and with our exams coming up before the fair, we don’t really have much time.” She scanned her clipboard again. “We still need to finalize the event lineup, assign booths, review budget requests, and sort out manpower distribution. I want to hear from all of you—what’s done, what isn’t, and what’s driving you nuts.”

Everyone straightened up in their seats, lunch now mostly finished, though they still sipped from the drinks Clotted Cream and Financier had brought. After another quick glance at her notes, Latte raised her voice to bring the room to order.

“Let’s start with committee updates. Prune Juice, you’re up.”

Prune Juice blinked up from his half-scribbled notes, clearly not expecting to be called first. “Uhh… we discussed the academic game shows last meeting. The school academic head already approved everything, as far as I remember.”

He tapped his pen against the table as he tried to recall something. “Right—we’re just waiting on classroom assignments for the events. We need three rooms available for both morning and afternoon sessions. Our team already drafted the questions and invited proctors and arbiters in case of disputes. We just need to know where we’re hosting each round.”

“That’s quick on your end. Do we already have participants for the events?” Latte asked, jotting notes on her clipboard.

“Only a few slots left for two out of the six events. I haven’t checked the registration forms recently, though. I’ll send an update later today, but we’ll be fine regardless,” he reassured her with a shrug.

Latte nodded in response. “I’ll check in with the Facilities Office later this afternoon. We can finalize those details before the weekend,” she added, sounding visibly pleased.

“Next up—Shining Glitter. How are our non-academic activities?”

With a dramatic flip of her hair that earned a few chuckles from the group, Shining Glitter took the floor. “We’ve coordinated with the Performing Arts and Drama Club for a talent showcase! We’ve got a lineup of dancers, singers—just about every kind of performer. Still scouting for more hidden gems, though. Too many students are hiding in the shadows.”

A few approving hums and nods echoed around the room. Latte smiled.

“Approved on our end. If I may suggest—can we hold it on Saturday? That way, we can ask the school heads and security for clearance to allow performers’ families and guests to attend and enjoy the show as well.”

“Consider it done,” Shining Glitter replied. “I’ll send our timeline and other logistics once everything’s settled within the committee. Cream Puff, can you lend me a hand with this one? If you’re free, of course.”

Cream Puff gave a small, enthusiastic nod, clearly more than happy to help.

Two updates down. A lot more to go.

“Financier, you’re next,” Latte called out.

Financier gave a crisp nod. “We’re still short on sign-ups for the sports tournaments, especially for the non-ball games. If anyone can help spread the word in their classes—Capture the Flag, Tug of War, and Relay Games are still accepting registrants. I’d appreciate the support.”

“I can make call-out flyers with the sports schedule,” Sparkling offered from his seat.

“Thanks,” Financier replied with a short nod. “Also, the Gamers Club has been asking when Esports will be considered for events like this. It’s outside my area, so I’d appreciate any input.”

Latte paused. That hadn’t even crossed her mind before.

“Honestly, it’s not a bad idea,” she said thoughtfully. “But we’ll need to think through the logistics first—and get approval from the school heads, too. Please let them know we’ve noted their suggestion for future events. Thanks for bringing that forward.”

In hindsight, it was surprising no one had raised the idea sooner. The suggestion made her realize they needed to broaden their lens—what the student body wanted wasn’t always obvious. She scribbled it into her notes, a small mental reminder for the next round of planning.

“Moving on. Blueberry Pie?”

Their Library Affairs Representative answered without lifting her eyes from her book—evidently a master multitasker, reading and listening with equal focus.
“We’re curating a literary nook in the library annex. We’re gathering student-made zines and projects of similar nature. I’m also adding my promised ‘Blind Date with a Book’ corner, for anyone who wants to give reading a shot.”

“Sounds promising. Is there anything we can do to help?” Latte asked.

Blueberry Pie’s gaze shifted briefly toward Sparkling, a silent prompt passed between them.

“I already made poster designs and slogan options,” Sparkling chimed in. “Do you think Espresso will hate ‘Judging a Book by Its Cover’ as a theme?”

Laughter rippled around the room, easy and genuine.

“Possibly,” Clotted Cream remarked, sipping from his drink.

“That makes it even better, though,” Raspberry added, deadpan.

Latte tried to keep a straight face, but laughter bubbled out of her anyway. “Sparkling, send those to me. I’ll talk to him about it. Anything else, Blueberry Pie?”

Their resident bookworm gave a small shake of her head—succinct as ever, but clear.

Another one down, Latte thought to herself.

Silverbell raised his hand to speak next, and Latte nodded in his direction.

“Our volunteer programs are running well for now. Maybe we can use the school fair to get more exposure? We’ll be having an outreach at an orphanage in three months. Maybe we can open a call for donations in preparation?”

“Already on it,” Sparkling replied, no hesitation in his voice.

“I’ll check if we can coordinate with other clubs and booths to promote our cause. Thank you for the reminder,” Latte added warmly.

Encouraged by her colleague, Cream Puff shyly raised her hand.
“I... um, made a collaborative tracking sheet for the progress of all our fair projects and booths. I wasn’t so sure what to put in for every event, so... I’d appreciate feedback on what to add.”

Phones buzzed softly around the room—Cream Puff had just shared the document with everyone.

Latte opened it immediately, scanning through the tabs and notes. “This is so helpful,” she said, her tone both surprised and impressed. “Let’s go over it quickly.”

The meeting continued in that rhythm—updates and gentle laughter, a balance of momentum and camaraderie. Latte handled both business and banter with grace, her leadership measured but never rigid. She carried Espresso’s sense of pace and order, but there was something else she offered—something softer, more inclusive. She listened, created space, and let everyone breathe.

She was exactly what this council needed. And it was enough to keep them moving forward.

By the time the last pages of Cream Puff’s tracker had been reviewed and updated live during their discussions, Latte gave her clipboard a light tap with her pen—drawing everyone’s attention back to her.

“All updates are in. Let’s piece them together. We need everything smoothly planned out by next Friday, so let’s walk through some highlights together.”

Latte turned to Eclair, who had been silently reviewing the council’s budget spreadsheet on his tablet.

“Eclair?” she called. “How are we doing on our budget?”

He adjusted his glasses before answering, always composed. “Based on my records, we’ll have just enough balance to cover the school fair. However, we’ll need to strictly adhere to our limits if we want the rest of our council activities to push through. I recommend setting a spending cap per committee to avoid excessive plans from this point forward.”

“We can draft a proposed budget per booth and event,” Clotted Cream suggested, nodding thoughtfully. “Then we can discuss and compare them in our next meeting. That way, we can see where to cut costs, find more affordable options, and identify which events need extra funding. It’ll help us adjust before the final council review.”

“Great idea,” Latte said with a smile. She then shifted her attention to their auditor. “Raspberry, is there anything we should be mindful of?”

Raspberry’s answer was curt but clear. “Just make sure all receipts are submitted within two days after purchase. We are not repeating last year’s Homecoming Budget Incident.”

A wave of agreement moved across the room. Even Latte had to nod. As amusing as it might be to reminisce about that disaster, they had work to do.

“Now for the schedule,” Latte continued. “We originally proposed a three-day fair from Thursday to Saturday. However, the admins want us to limit the event to two days—Friday and Saturday. Thursday will be our prep day, and our teachers have agreed to lighten the academic workload. Clotted Cream, I believe you drafted something for this possibility?”

Taking his cue, Clotted Cream cleared his throat. “I anticipated this adjustment, so I prepared a tentative two-day schedule. Friday morning, we’ll open the fair with a ceremony. Booths can begin right after, along with the preliminaries for both academic and sports events. On Saturday, we’ll open the school to guests and have business stalls running. The student performances can happen late in the afternoon.”

Prune Juice nodded in agreement. “The finals for both academic and sports events can be held Saturday morning—better visibility, and better crowd engagement.”

Financier gave him a thumbs-up from across the table.

“As for the talent showcase, maybe we can frame it as a mini-concert?” Shining Glitter suggested with excitement.

Sparkling grinned. “Someone’s eager to shine,” he teased. “Planning to bring a guest with you on stage?”

Their popstar blushed, but didn’t deny the accusation—only fueling the council’s teasing further.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” Sparkling said, waving it off with a smile. “What do you all think of ‘Evening Encore’ as a name?”

Blueberry Pie looked up from her book. “I’d suggest ‘Spotlight and Sounds.’ But it’s really up to everyone.”

“Campus Crescendos?” Raspberry offered.

“What about ‘Espresso Yourself’?” Eclair added, not missing a beat.

The council burst into laughter.

Latte scribbled all suggestions down, even the absurd ones. “Let’s not add that—unless we want to get murdered,” she said, grinning. “Still, it’d be hilarious to run with it without Espresso’s approval.”

She skimmed the list of remaining tasks, then refocused the room. “Let’s assign coordination roles. First—Silverbell, please assist Financier with sports scheduling and brackets. Also, make sure we have clinic staff on standby in case of injuries.”

“Got it,” Financier noted, typing rapidly on her phone. Silverbell gave a small salute of agreement.

“Next—Prune Juice, I hope you’re not sick of Eclair yet. You’ll both handle academic events. Kindly coordinate with faculty heads and see if they’re available to supervise, in case of answer disputes.”

The two exchanged a tired look, then sighed in unison— Not again practically written on their faces. Still, they nodded, already resigned to their shared fate.

“Clotted Cream, I need you to help Sparkling with promotions. Sparkling’s got the design magic, but we’ll need some persuasion on your end. Posters go out this weekend—”

“And the program guide before next Wednesday. Say less,” Clotted Cream said, already whispering something to Sparkling, who beamed. A man of his word, Latte thought, watching them with quiet pride.

“Cream Puff, you’re with me on booth layout and registration. We’ll finalize the layout and open slots for booth proposals by next Monday. I may also need your help with logistics.”

Cream Puff nodded, determination shining clearly on her face.

“And Blueberry Pie?” Latte asked gently. “Do you need another hand for the library area?”

“I’m almost done finalizing the zine lineup,” she replied. “Our creators volunteered to self-produce their work, so there’s not much left to handle. Maybe Espresso could check the venue setup—if he’s not buried in other work.”

“Knowing him, he’ll offer to check everything , no matter how swamped he is,” Latte replied, her voice soft with mutual concern.

As tasks were clarified and responsibilities exchanged hands, an intricate network of collaboration took form. The warmth in the council room was no longer just from the sunlight slipping through the curtains—it was the quiet fire of teamwork, shared responsibility, and purpose.

There were still debates over small details, a few running jokes that softened the intensity, and minor adjustments made on the fly. But Latte steered everything with ease. She remained present—not overbearing, but attentive, creating space for her team to thrive.

Once all items had been discussed and delegated, she brought her hands together.

“Alright then. Let’s do a check-in on Monday after class. Espresso may not have been here today, but he trusted us enough—well, hopefully—to keep things moving. Let’s show him what we’re made of.”

A chorus of laughter, cheers, and affirmations echoed across the room.

As the meeting adjourned, conversations began to branch off—friends, classmates, and council members lingering in the comfort of shared momentum. Latte scanned her clipboard one last time, ensuring nothing had been missed.

It had gone better than she’d hoped—perhaps even more than they had planned.

At that moment, she knew she wasn’t just standing in for Espresso. She wasn’t their fill-in. She was leading. And the council—in all its chaos, talent, dedication, and brilliance—was right there with her.

☕

Espresso’s urgent lunch meeting with the school heads lasted far longer than anticipated. As the student council president, one would expect him to be well-versed in administrative jargon, but even he found the conversation dense—cluttered with policies, projections, and acronyms no one even bothered to explain or refresh. He sat through the entire hour with his usual composure, offering input when asked about council matters, and nodding along at the right moments. But by the time the meeting finally concluded, a dull throb had already settled behind his temples.

He may have looked composed on the outside, but internally, he had been pleading for Principal Pure Vanilla to cut off Vice Principal Shadow Milk, who had taken a liking to lengthy, unfiltered monologues. Perhaps he should’ve come with an extra cup of coffee. And a pain reliever. Or both.

Lunch had been served, at least—a carefully plated meal courtesy of the school’s catering team. Physically, it was filling. Emotionally? Espresso had to coax himself to eat every spoonful. He suspected it wasn’t the food that caused the headache, but the mental exhaustion that came with it.

By the time he returned to his classroom, the next period was about to begin. He had no energy left to drop by the council room to check on the meeting he had missed. He figured he’d catch up with Latte later in the day. As he moved toward his seat, something unfamiliar caught his eye.

There was a paper bag sitting atop his desk—nothing distinct, save for the familiar logo of a nearby bakery. The scent was unmistakable. He didn’t need to open the bag to know what it was. Still, he did. Inside sat a perfectly round doughnut, its glaze catching the fluorescent lights like glass.

Beneath the bag was a note, scribbled in blue pen. The handwriting was too chaotic to belong to anyone he would immediately identify.

But the message gave it away.

"Eat up, boss!"

There was no name. It didn’t need one.

The scrawl was a dead giveaway. So was the tone. But what truly sealed it was knowing who would be thoughtful enough to send this, and also mischievous enough to rope someone else into doing it.

He could already picture her—Latte, his most trusted friend and one of the few who dared to look after him, especially when he stubbornly refused to look after himself.

But she dragged him into this?

Espresso rolled his eyes, already imagining the smug look on her face.

Still, part of him wondered—had Madeleine even needed to be roped in? Maybe he volunteered. Maybe Latte simply passed it to him in the hallway, given how close their classrooms were. Maybe Madeleine insisted. There were too many variables, and Espresso was too tired to dwell on any of them.

With a quiet sigh, he sat down and pulled the doughnut from the bag. The sugar stuck faintly to his fingertips as he took a bite, mindlessly chewing through the sweetness he didn’t think he deserved, not after a day like this.

He was halfway through when familiar laughter echoed from outside the classroom window. Madeleine’s voice rang out, bright and unmistakable, cutting through the dullness of the afternoon. It was followed by another laugh—Crunchy Chip, then Wildberry. The last voice, he couldn’t quite place.

Espresso winced, gently rubbing his temple. That group always came with noise.

But still, he took another bite.

By the time class began, the paper bag was neatly folded and discarded, his fingers clean, the note tucked carefully beneath his notebook. The headache, miraculously, had dulled into a memory.

It was still going to be a long afternoon.

But at least now, it felt just a little more bearable.

Chapter Text

The weekend passed in the blink of an eye. The earth kept spinning—everything moved just as it should. The sports teams held their weekly practices, the academic cluster ran a special review session for an upcoming competition, and friends hung out, stayed over, and enjoyed their downtime.

Meanwhile, for Espresso, it was a whirlwind of everything imaginable landing squarely on his plate. Between catching up on the previous meeting and tackling his academic workload, he was completely spent. By the time he arrived at the council room that Monday, it was already alive with chatter and movement. Surprisingly—or maybe not, given his exhaustion—he didn’t feel the urge to spring into action.

He had Latte to thank for that.

It was rare for him to sit through council updates without feeling the compulsion to take control. Yet here he was, quietly observing as Latte ran the meeting with ease. She had already reviewed the minutes from last time, gathered committee updates, and resolved several issues before even moving forward with the agenda. Espresso skimmed through her proposed outline from the weekend. He had to admit—it was solid. Flawless, even.

More than that, it was relieving. Everything was falling into place, exactly on schedule.

With promotional materials distributed, most of the sports event slots had been filled, making it easier for the committee to finalize tournament brackets. Booth registration opened over the weekend and closed just before the meeting began—a surprisingly swift turnout that benefited both the school community and the council's upcoming projects. Poster designs were still awaiting final approval from the administrators, but that was expected to be cleared by the end of the day. Manpower and logistics for the talent show—now officially branded as “Spotlight & Sound”—were also on track.

And surprisingly, Financier, who happened to be in the same sports team as Madeleine, had already brought up the idea Madeleine pitched earlier—the playhouse for the sponsors’ children. Apparently, it had progressed beyond the initial suggestion. Everything was already being arranged, except for the school permit to use a classroom.

Espresso had already filed that permit in advance.

He was surprised by such initiative, but he didn’t let it show.

The catch-up session ended faster and smoother than expected—so smooth, in fact, that Espresso almost felt unsettled, like something was bound to interrupt their momentum. He shoved the thought aside as they all departed for their next class.

For now, everything was where it needed to be.

***

As the week went by, the atmosphere in the halls shifted.

Exams loomed ahead, crashing into them by the following week. The hallways—usually alive with cheerful chatter and friendly jeers—fell into a tense hush; the mood grew tighter each time students emerged from their lockers. Posters about the fair and other student events were temporarily ignored. Even practices for sports and academic teams, along with other club activities, had been put on hold. Council meetings were out of the question—unless absolutely necessary. Everyone was forced to take things one hurdle at a time.

Espresso threw himself into his own hole.

His standards hadn't changed since he first learned to hold a pencil: top scores, clean records, the very image of academic consistency. He wasn’t just any other student, after all—he was the elected student council president, a role model for the juniors, and, regrettably, a rival to one of his closest peers: Eclair.

All the council seniors had long joked about their rivalry. "Always one-upping the other," they’d say of the two’s constant push and pull. But for Espresso, Eclair’s win at the last academic conference stung. It was Espresso’s own decision to send their treasurer into the lion’s den—and Eclair came out crowned. Now, he had to reclaim that title.

Cursing himself silently, Espresso doubled down. He locked himself in a whirlwind of mathematics, science, social science, and language. His dorm desk carried towers of color-coded notes, marked with tabs and annotations for every key lesson. He barely remembered to eat, let alone sleep.

During class hours, whenever teachers allowed the time for self-review, Espresso never stayed in the room. Classrooms were too loud—too chaotic. And worse, too full of people who found ways to start conversations longer than necessary.

So, whenever permitted, he requested to study in the library. It was the only place quiet enough to help him think clearly.

But apparently, he wasn’t the only one who had that idea.

Espresso had barely reached the third row of shelves when he caught sight of a familiar, disheveled mess of blond hair.

***

Madeleine was hunched over, without his usual bravado. He was scratching his head with his left hand while his right clutched a pencil so tightly, Espresso swore it could snap at any moment. Several sheets of paper lay scattered and discarded on the desk—some still blank, others messily filled with crossed-out diagrams and what looked like a failed attempt at color-coded notes. A thick textbook lay open in front of him, right on the first page of the chapter on modern macroeconomic systems—its paragraphs practically begging to be understood.

Espresso paused, weighing the pros and cons of walking further.

He could pretend not to see Madeleine. That would be easy—just walk past without a word. After all, he was drowning in his own academic chaos too. It would be reasonable to keep walking. Logical.

But leaving Madeleine like this...

And as if sensing his hesitation, Madeleine’s head turned sharply toward him. No glint of mischief in his eyes. Just a raised brow—a silent question: "Are you going to pretend you didn’t see me?"

Espresso sighed. Against every instinct, he sat across from Madeleine at the table.

"Thank goodness, you're here. I was beginning to think I'd die on this hill," Madeleine whispered dramatically as Espresso settled in.

Espresso shook his head, the corners of his mouth threatening to twitch. "That would be a tragic death—assuming no one would come find and mourn you," he said flatly, though there was no malice in his tone.

"You wound me, Essy," Madeleine replied with a grin, tidying the table to make space between them. "Still, I’d rather perish on this hill with a genius than be snuffed out alone."

There was something genuine in his voice that made Espresso hesitate. It wasn't in his nature to entertain distractions like this—especially not with exams around the corner. But this felt more like community service. Educational charity. Definitely not part of the plan.

Still, his eyes drifted to the chapter Madeleine had been struggling with. It was one they had covered back in the middle of the term. Unfortunately, it was foundational to the succeeding topics.

Oh, boy.

"You're failing economics now?" Espresso asked.

Madeleine’s reaction was immediate. "Not failing," he said a bit too fast to be entirely truthful. "I'm... just not that close to passing either," he admitted, possibly the most honest answer Espresso would ever get from him.

Espresso glanced at the disorganized pile of notes again and realized something. "Did you even remember anything from basic economics last year?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"The one with a lot of charts? Of course, I do. I can draw one for you right now," Madeleine said proudly, already reaching for a fresh sheet of paper.

Espresso grabbed his wrist, stopping him before more paper could be sacrificed to another useless diagram. He stared at him, firm and focused. "I think we need to revisit the basics before you even think of moving on to this chapter."

Madeleine blinked. "Are we seriously doing this now?"

Espresso narrowed his eyes. "Do you want to fail this subject?"

A long sigh. Reluctant surrender. "I'd rather not. Carry on."

What began as a doubtful “aid” to a colleague escalated quickly into something else—something Espresso expected, but it still caught him off guard. While he explained concepts in the way he understood them, annotating over Madeleine’s notes with precise marks, the blonde boy listened intently.

Not without chiming in, though.

“So the whole thing is basically like… if the school took in more students than they can handle for pride and money, then they take off free lunches every Tuesday because they have to pay other teachers and staff?” Madeleine asked, clarifying something about economic recession.

Espresso paused to think about it. “I’m surprised at how that made sense for you, but that’s not actually a bad analogy.”

Madeleine beamed, his usual glow gradually returning. “See? I’m learning.” He said it with pride.

“You just got lucky with that guess,” Espresso muttered under his breath, but he continued writing down notes for his unlikely student’s easier recall.

That was how they worked for almost an hour. Espresso explained, Madeleine asked. A handful of clarifying questions came, some stranger than expected, and even a few theoretical ones that stretched far beyond their current lessons. But by the end, Madeleine managed to summarize the concepts without completely butchering them.

Weirdly enough, their strategy worked. For once, Madeleine wasn’t running on instinct alone. Espresso could see him making an effort—trying to understand, trying to recall terms he rarely used in conversation. A part of Espresso’s heart swelled with pride and relief.

His mind, however, refused to admit the truth: studying with someone didn’t seem so bad anymore.

***

Exam season passed in a haze—a whirlwind of shaded answers on test papers and hushed complaints filling the halls as soon as students filed out of a classroom. Each subject felt like a battlefield, and the school’s denizens trudged from one to the next, their heads overflowing with facts or whispered prayers to get them through the day.

By the end of each exam, the same ritual repeated itself: groans echoing through the corridors, hands dragging over tired faces, and frustrated laments of answers they should’ve written if only they had prepared more.

In between those grueling tests, Espresso and Éclair had been sharing glances, trading prideful nods—a silent wager on who would end the term with the higher rank. Neither voiced it aloud, but it was a raging war of perfect scores and extra credit, each clawing for the smallest margin of victory.

After what felt like one of the longest winters, sunlight finally broke through.

Friday marked the end of exam week. The afternoon sun had begun its descent, its rays slanting through the glass windows near Espresso’s locker. He was already switching out his materials, preparing for the next wave of academic duties.

“Essy, hi!”

He didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Madeleine leaned against the row of lockers opposite him, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

Espresso shoved his things unceremoniously into his locker, then crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at his temporary mentee. He already suspected what Madeleine’s expression meant, though he wasn’t about to say it first.

The blonde pulled a test paper from his bag and proudly waved it in front of him. “I passed. I’m officially an economist now.”

“Really now?” Espresso replied, feigning scrutiny as he tried to scan the paper shoved in his face.

Madeleine, suddenly self-conscious, pulled it back before he could look closer. “Yeah, by like, three points. But I passed! I’ll take it!” he blurted, hastily tucking the sheet away again.

Espresso gave a slow nod, like a proud parent indulging a child. “Well then, I suppose the cafeteria funds get to live another day,” he remarked, throwing Madeleine’s own analogy from their study session back at him as he turned to gather his things.

Madeleine laughed—genuinely this time. It was lighter than before, like he had been freed from a weight that had been pressing on him for too long. He looked alive again: still carefree, but now carrying a different kind of awareness.

“Thanks. I mean it. I don’t know how you got me to understand those concepts.”

Espresso noted the careful use of academic terms. He sighed. “I’m not sure either. Probably your fear of failing, most likely.” He shut his locker with a decisive click.

“Whatever it was, it worked,” Madeleine said absentmindedly, before catching himself. After a pause, he added, “Maybe we could do it again next term? Studying, I mean.”

Espresso knew exactly what that implied—and what it didn’t. He remembered hearing something similar the last time they accomplished something together. Back then, he hadn’t known what to make of it.

This time, he still knew better. And still, against his own judgment, he decided not to look away.

“Maybe.”

Madeleine’s grin widened at the word, almost as if Espresso’s hesitation itself was confirmation. With a casual salute, he headed back down the hallway, leaving Espresso with his thoughts—and the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

Espresso glanced into his bag once more. His Economics test paper sat inside, stamped with a perfect score.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.