#I just did a midterm meeting with the professor in my poetry class

[brown-little-robin]

.

[stickyy]

Can I have a gn reader x Aizawa? Maybe a college AU where Aizawa doesn't know how to handle his crush because he was awkward when he was young and ended up a bully who was handsy. Thank you!

EEEE this is my first ask so i hope you like it anon! :D thanks so much for requesting!

DISCLAIMER: i do not condone or encourage any of the behavior outlined in the following text. this is a work of fiction, and should be treated as such. :)

wordcount: 2299

warnings: dubcon, verbal abuse, slight dumbification, forced oral sex, brief mentions of gagging/vomit (doesn’t actually happen), aizawa is an law student asshole, quirkless!AU, ooc? more likely than u think

notes: im not like a writer so when i put this in word count and saw it was 2k words i gasped-

MIDTERM

Without a doubt, Aizawa’s the smartest student in your Civil Procedure lecture. You admire him; you’re both first years, but he already has an incredible work ethic and results to show for it. He works two part-time jobs to help pay for school (alongside his impressive scholarship), studies into the late hours of the night (mostly due to his being kept awake very loud roommate), and, despite a bad habit of regularly showing up to your 8 am class slightly hungover, still manages to produce the top marks in the class. 

You’re envious of him, because you’re the exact opposite. Your tuition is paid in full by your parents, you have a wonderfully quiet apartment all to yourself, and you study as best you know how, only to practically fail every assignment. You wish you could be surprised, but the material is a dreadfully bland concoction of boring procedure and esoteric theory that you rarely get further than three or four pages into a chapter. You want to like law, you really do, but there’s something about the intricacies of drafting lawsuits that goes in one ear and out the other. It’s no surprise that you sought out Aizawa’s help, desperate to at least pass the class with a decent grade. 

You wish you hadn’t. 

You don’t understand what you do that bothers him so deeply, but something about you coaxes cruelty from somewhere dark inside of him. You always scurry towards the back of the lecture hall to grab a seat next to him, doing your best to be quiet and unassuming, but he shoots you a venomous glare or a soft flurry of harsh words. And you get it, to an extent- some days you walk into class chattering a little too loudly on the phone, and on others you loudly shuffle around in your book bag to try finding the notes that you attempted to start for this lecture (if you even brought them that day). You know it’s annoying, but you also know you don’t deserve the downright verbal abuse he throws at you for it.

“It’s hard to take notes if you forget your textbook. Try being prepared for once,” he’ll sigh as he slides his textbook to you. Like a good student, he took notes for lecture the night before, but it still took some convincing for him to spare you his textbook.

“Do you ever shut up?” He’ll interrupt you as you babble about your difficulties understanding the most recent lecture. You want to retort, tell him off for being rude, but the words die in your throat; he radiates an annoying apathy that makes you doubt the efficacy of anything you say to him.

“You wouldn’t fail every assignment if you actually studied. Or maybe, you’re actually just stupid?” He’ll quip as you clutch your paper, a red ‘47’ scrawled in the upper corner of the page littered with your professor's critiques and question marks. By contrast, Aizawa’s paper is pristine, donning a singular red mark of ‘98, nice work!’.

With a well placed glare and the sour baritone of his voice, laced with exhaustion, it’s always enough to make your stomach drop from shame and embarrassment. Under normal circumstances, you’d never allow anyone to speak to you that way, but your grade was a dire situation, and with the midterm upcoming, you forcefully swallow your pride and ask him for his help.

You have to beg, but Aizawa agrees to tutor you the day before the midterm. This grade is a make or break for the class- if you do poorly on this exam, you’ll have to drop the lecture to salvage your gpa, putting you half a semester behind your peers. It’s motivation enough to deal with his poor attitude, and the two of you end up reviewing in an empty studying room on the top floor of the library. You began the session alert and determined to catch up, but studying with him shows you just how far behind you are. The textbook sounds like foreign poetry coming from his mouth; Aizawa is nothing short of eloquent when explaining the complexities of something as boring as filing lawsuits, and you spend most of the two hours spent just zoning out, completely unable to focus.

“You’re just wasting my time at this point.” The break in his cadence snaps you out of your trance, unfocused eyes meeting his tired ones, slightly lidded in annoyance, “Are you even trying to remember the material? Or are you just expecting me to spoon-feed it to you?”

Your throat catches, forcing you to swallow a lump as you attempt to ignore his words. 

“I am trying! I just don’t understand why there are two approaches, is all,” You whine, flipping back through your sparse notes to find the section that contained the explanation. 

“I went over that almost 3 chapters ago. If you were paying attention, you would’ve stopped me by now. It’s hard to believe that you even got into this school, if this is how you studied in high school. Did your daddy pull some strings with his buddies in admissions?”

Your eyes narrow, searching harder for the correct section in your notes. That’s a pretty low blow, and even if he’s not completely wrong, it still stings. You now know for a fact you didn’t even read this part of the text, but you keep your eyes trained on the page. At this point, you’d do anything to avoid looking at Aizawa, lest you begin to cry.

“Don’t be an asshole,” is all you can muster, voice shaking with unshed tears, “Would it kill you to be a little nicer? It’s hard to focus when all you do is insult me.”

“It’s hard to focus?” He repeats, his tone a sickly sweet mockery of yours. “Sweetheart, I don’t think that’s my fault. You’re a lot dumber than you think, if you even think at all. The midterm is tomorrow, and we’re just now getting into chapter five. Don’t get mad at me for actually trying to study; if I was holding your hand through it all, we’d still be on chapter one.”

Your vision blurs and a single tear hits the lined paper of your notes, causing the ink to blur as the drop absorbs into the page. You clench your jaw and take a breath before standing up, opening your backpack to put you things away. You didn’t have to take this abuse, you could study on your own. Even if you did poorly, you’d have some of your dignity left.

“It’s pretty rude to just walk out on someone trying to help you,” Aizawa says after a moment, closing his notes shut. “Not only do you give me a headache every single morning, but I try to tutor you and you want to leave without even thanking me? I’m busy, you know? I take time that I don’t have to spare just help your sorry ass out, for free, and you’re not even capable of learning anything from it.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder and move to leave, but you find yourself face to face with Aizawa, his tall frame blocking the door, arms crossed over his chest, and a thoroughly disgusted expression plastered on his features. 

“I should charge you a fee, just for completely wasting an afternoon. Absolutely ridiculous,” His tone is a juxtaposition to his demeanor; he sounds more amused than annoyed, a jeer underlying the words. It makes you feel sick, and you’re suddenly grossly aware of the fact that you're alone with him, the only method of escape blocked. It feels dangerous, and you want nothing more than to be at home, alone and safe.

“H-how much?” You stutter meekly, eager to appease him. “I don’t really have any cash on me but if you have Venmo-”

“That’s not quite what I had in mind,” Your heart starts to jackhammer against your ribcage and panic sets in. You’re frozen in place, unwilling to ask him to elaborate. You may not be very bright, but you have a good idea of what he’s going to ask for, and you can think of a million things you’d rather do instead.

“I know your pretty little skull is practically an echo chamber, so listen closely, okay? We both know that no matter how hard you try, you won’t be ready for the exam by the end of tonight, and I have to work in an hour and a half. So, if you behave and do what I ask you, I’ll let you copy my exam answers tomorrow. Understand?”

You’re silent, paralyzed by fear. A part of you wants to run, desperately, but your mind drifts to the midterm. You know that without any help, you’ll surely fail.

That’s how you end up on your knees in front of him, tears finally streaming down your face from choking on his thick cock. 

“That’s it,” he groans breathlessly, eyes fluttering shut as his head presses back against the door, “I knew you were good for something. I bet this is how you convinced your other teachers to give you a passing grade, huh? A few cocks down your throat-fuck, to save your gpa, I wouldn’t put it past you, dumb slut.”

You hate this- hate being reduced to just a mouth for him to fuck. You hate how he sneers down at you, his eyes alight with sadistic pleasure. You especially hate the treacherous way your spine tingles and heat pools low in your stomach at his amused growls and degrading remarks. He’s just as cruel with the way he fucks into your mouth, disregarding your comfort entirely, hand in your hair roughly guiding your head over his length. He’s almost painfully thick, stretching your lips wide, tickling the recesses of your throat in a grotesque way. You try to wiggle away slightly, just to take a small breath; you’re beginning to feel dangerously lightheaded. You begin to pull your head away but he thrusts his hips upward, holding your head down and  forcing your lips to wrap around the base of his cock.

“S’okay, baby, just relax that empty little head of yours, no need to breathe right now,” he sighs, watching you struggle against him with a smirk, watching the fear bloom in your chest and your mind buzz with the lack of oxygen. Your thrashing shifts his cock in just the right way and you violently gag, eyes widening with the painful sensation. You’re almost convinced he’s going to let you pass out, right before he yanks you off of him. You cough violently, gagging a few more times, drool spilling out of your mouth.

“Throw up on me and a failing grade will be the least of your problems,” he growls, and the threat is a sobering reminder of how fucked up this is. You meet his expectant gaze, and reluctantly return to the task at hand. You can hold out just a little longer, you tell yourself; his hips are beginning to move on their own accord and you know he won’t last much longer. All you have to do is hang on and it will all be over soon.

You know that he’s just a bully, that you’re just doing what you have to do in order to pass this class, that you’re worth more than your grades, that you aren’t stupid- but the dark part of your mind questions if he’s right. Maybe you do belong on your knees, because what do you know? Maybe you are just a dumb slut; there’s no need to study if the only thing you’re good for is swallowing.

The shameful thought forces a new torrent of tears to pour from your eyes, gagging once more on both your tears and his cock, and the look of pure despair on your face pushes him over the edge. Aizawa yanks your head from his cock with a curse and you flinch as his hot cum hits your face. There’s a lot of it, the viscous seed slowly dripping down your face. The sensation is downright disgusting. You feel dirty and used, your throat sore, knees burning, lips swollen from his brutal assault. He presses the tip of his cock on your cheek, smearing his load all over your skin with a cruel laugh.

Through your panting, you keep your eyes closed for a little bit, hoping that maybe this is an awful nightmare and you’ll wake up in your dorm, with an extra day to study and a little more hope in your heart. 

The sound of a camera shutter rips you from your fantasy, opening your eyes to see Aizawa grinning at his phone. You’re too shocked to say anything, only staring at him incredulously from your position on the floor in front of him.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, you know?” He hums as he tidies himself up and grabs his bag. “So photogenic, I’ll be able to get off to this for weeks. Who knows what good you’d be if you were dumb and ugly.”

You didn’t notice that you had stopped crying, but the fresh tears and sound of your own sobs call your attention to fact.

“Try and clean up before you leave, alright? I know you’re a little too stupid to remember, but I don’t think it’d be a good look for you to walk around covered in cum.”

The door clicks closed, and through your sobs you look around at the room, only to notice that there aren’t any tissues left laying around. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him.

(But at least you get an A- on your midterm.)

[lassostark]

So yeah, I got carried away. As usual. *facepalm* Anyway, Happy Birthday, Wolfie @jaskierswolf!!! I hope you enjoy reading this long-ass fic, lovely. 😀💙 

(Edited) Word Count: 9k (I have a problem, I know)

Relationship: Geralt/Jaskier

Tags: AU: College/University, Professor!Jaskier, Professor!Geralt, Soulmates, Rated M for Language, Jaskier!Whump, Miscommunication, Enemies to Lovers (ish, can’t find the right tag sorry), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending

Read on AO3 here

--------

The Other Half

“Do I have a class to teach here or are all of you going to be focused on your phones?”

Jaskier is standing in front of his desk, hands on his hips as he gives his Creative Writing class students a stern look. Several of them look up from their phones with guilty expressions, and if Jaskier wasn’t in the middle of a lecture about storytelling in poetry, he would’ve laughed at their almost identical expressions.

“Sorry, Professor,” Rebecca, one of his favorite students, says. Jaskier raises an eyebrow at her, and the brunette blushes faintly as she reluctantly turns off her phone.

“Care to share what has everyone’s attention glued to their phones instead of me?” Jaskier smirks, injecting a bit of humor into his query. He notes how half of his students chuckle as others follow Rebecca’s lead in turning off their phones.

“It’s Sole Mate, sir,” a student from the back answers.

Jaskier frowns slightly. “Soulmate? Did another celebrity couple split up because they met their other half?”

There’s a ripple of laughter in the classroom while others shake their head. Thankfully, it’s Rebecca who gives him a proper answer.

“Er, no, sir,” she begins. “Sole Mate. The new app that’s been circulating lately? Everyone said it’s loads better than Tinder because instead of just random hook-ups -- um, I mean dates -- Sole Mate allows you to find your, well, soulmate.”

By the end of her explanation, Jaskier’s eyebrows are nearly reaching his hairline. He’s no stranger to social media and technology, so Jaskier knows what Rebecca is talking about. In fact, he’s noticed that aside from the students in the campus, he’s heard his fellow colleagues talking about it every now and then. Which is odd, to be honest, because for one, professors like Jaskier aren’t really that open about the whole soulmate thing. It’s not a taboo, per se, but more like a personal thing because not everyone has met their soulmate yet.

So while he’s aware that people are talking about the topic, Jaskier didn’t think that it was this big of a deal.

“I… see.” Jaskier nods, giving himself a few extra seconds to come up with a follow-up question. He coughs lightly before clearing his throat. “I’ve heard about that app, but I’m afraid I’m not familiar with its algorithm. What makes it so special, hm?”

Another student, Marcus, raises his ring-laden hand in the air. Jaskier gestures for him to speak.

“Well, sir, Sole Mate gives you the option to upload a photo of your soulmark. The photo is never made public, of course, but rather it’s an added feature that’ll help the app. Once it’s in the system, Sole Mate narrows down the scope of the search to people who have a similar look to your mark. It’s broken into groups which the app refers to as Sole Groups. Then you just chat with the people who are in those groups that meet the criteria until you meet the one whose mark matches yours.”

“I read an article from CNN yesterday,” Arif pipes in. “Since the app launched three months ago, there’s been a 95% increase of people finding their soulmates compared to the last ten years. And just yesterday, I found out my great-aunt found her match!”

“I’m going on a date tonight and I think they’re my match!”

Jaskier looks on in befuddlement as his students start to whisper excitedly to one another about the prospect of meeting their soulmate. He blinks and shakes his head before calling their attention once more.

“Alright, alright!” Jaskier calls over their chattering. “Enough now, please. Midterms are a month from now and we still have much ground to cover.”

“How about you, sir? Have you found your Sole Group yet?”

Jaskier hides his amusement at how eager his students look at him. Instead, he shakes his head and smirks at them as he moves around his desk to pick up his chalk.

“No, Damian,” he says mildly. “I don’t see a need for me to do so.”

“But why not?” Rebecca asks, sounding both curious and confused. “Don’t you want to meet your soulmate, sir?”

Fortunate that he’s facing the blackboard so his students can’t see his conflicted expression, Jaskier writes a few notes on the board as he flippantly replies, “I’m happy on my own and don’t see myself settling down, Ms. Haywood.” Before his students can pry further, he adds in a sterner tone, “Now, please pay attention to the lecture because there will be a quiz before the end of this class.”

There’s a collective groan behind him which Jaskier happily ignores as he launches into his lecture once more.

~

“‘I’m happy on my own and don’t see myself settling down’?” Essi repeats to Jaskier later when they’re on their lunch break. “That’s a load of bollocks, love.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes as he pops a grape in his mouth.

“Obviously,” he says after swallowing his food. “My students don’t need to know I already met my soulmate, Essi.”

“I know that,” Essi replies. “And I respect your privacy for saying that. But you don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

“What the hell are you on about now?”

“I mean that you don’t have to lie to yourself, Jask.”

“I’m not lying!”

Essi scoffs at him. “Oh, please. We’ve known each other for nearly ten years. I know when you’re lying, Jask. You do that thing with your lips; it’s subtle but don’t think I didn’t see it earlier.”

Jaskier scowls at his friend, who’s one of the best and strictest Marketing professors in Redania University. So instead of replying, he decides to take a huge bite out of his ham and egg sandwich.

She’s lucky I love her, Jaskier thinks moodily.

“Still haven’t spoken to him?” Essi asks him after several minutes of comfortable silence pass.

‘Him’ being Jaskier’s soulmate, obviously.

He shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Are you ever going to speak to him?”

“Once he has his head out of his arse, maybe I’ll contemplate breathing the same air as him.”

Essi whistles low. “Damn, was the confrontation really that bad, Jask?”

Jaskier pointedly stares at her.

“Essi, darling, I’ve told you about it a hundred times in various states of inebriation and sobriety. Of course it was bad. It was horrendous for both parties.”

And honestly, Jaskier doesn’t want to talk about it. Hell, he doesn’t even want to think about it because every time he does, he feels nothing but disappointment and anger and hurt. Goddamn it, it’s been three years and it still fucking hurts. It’s a constant phantom pain in his chest that Jaskier doesn’t know what to do with, and he’s been living with that kind of pain for years with no hopes for resolution in sight.

He thinks of that day, the confrontation as Essi puts it, and all Jaskier can think of are golden eyes filled with apathy. An inscrutable expression on his soulmate’s chiseled features after Jaskier told him that they’re meant to be together.

Well, Jaskier didn’t say it like that, exactly, because he was nervous. He was rambling and sweating in places he didn’t know he could sweat, and he had just met his soulmate for fuck’s sake!

Alas, like the idealist he is, his expectations didn’t meet his reality.

“Oh shit,” Essi suddenly says, breaking Jaskier from his glum thoughts. “Don’t look. Your three o’clock.”

Because Jaskier has an issue with impulse control, he looks.

And he freezes.

There, dressed in tight-fitting grey slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, is Jaskier’s soulmate.

Geralt Rivia.

His hair is fixed into a man bun, and Jaskier feels his chest constrict at the wisps of silver hair framing his jawline. Geralt hasn’t seen them, thankfully, because he’s busy chatting with Yennefer Vengerberg, the gorgeous yet cutthroat International Relations professor who’s notorious for failing 40% of her students.

Jaskier is about to look away when Geralt turns his head and meets his eyes.

Fuck.

He notes the deep furrow between Geralt’s brows, the Anthropology professor’s hold on his lunch tray tightening when their gazes meet across the room. As much as Jaskier talks about being alright on his own, he can’t help but secretly admit to himself that he likes the shiver of pleasure that runs down his spine when their eyes meet. Jaskier read somewhere that researchers called it The Spark. It’s cheesy, yes, but it’s exactly that. An electrifying feeling shared between two halves of a whole finding each other.

Then reality comes crashing down and Jaskier remembers what Geralt told him that day and he thinks: Fuck this.

Appetite gone, Jaskier clears his throat and looks away. He deliberately ignores Essi’s sympathetic gaze as he packs up the rest of his uneaten food. He stands up and slings his shoulder bag before daring to look at his friend.

“I just remembered I have papers to grade. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Essi nods her head. Jaskier doesn’t wait for a reply and turns to make his escape, but not before he catches Geralt still staring at him.

For the life of him, Jaskier is still unable to read the man’s facial expressions. It’s just so… inscrutable. Like staring into a slab of brick wall with no hopes of breaking through it. Jaskier doesn’t know why he still finds himself caring at this point.

Who is he kidding? He’s always cared.

“Professor Pankratz.”

Jaskier averts his eyes from Geralt to meet Yennefer’s violet eyes, a smirk on her ruby lips. They’re not close, and though he finds the woman equally terrifying and beautiful, Jaskier can’t help but be a little fond of her.

“Professor Vengerberg,” he acknowledges her haughty look with a faint smile.

From his peripheral gaze, Geralt looks like he’s opening his mouth to address him. But Jaskier thinks it’s probably a trick of the light, so he walks away and forces himself not to look back.

No matter how painful it is. No matter how his soulmark feels like it’s going to burn a hole through his shirt.

~

3 years ago

“Is that the new Anthropology professor?” Essi whispers to Jaskier excitedly.

Jaskier gazes across the spacious meeting room to find the person his friend is referring to. It’s about damn time the university hired someone to replace Mousesack. The elderly scholar looked like ready to drop if he stayed for another semester.

“I don’t see-- oh.”

Oh, indeed. Jaskier shamelessly eyes the silver-haired Adonis dressed in grey slacks and a tight-fitting dress shirt. He notes with mild amusement how the newcomer looks a little awkward standing beside the drinks table, drink in hand as he silently eyes his surroundings with a guarded expression.

“Oh, he’s gorgeous,” Jaskier says under his breath.

“The hair isn’t doing it for me, but yeah he’s gorgeous,” Essi agrees with a hum.

“I’m gonna introduce myself. Be right back.”

Jaskier doesn’t wait for Essi’s response as he quickly crosses the room to approach the brooding man. Like a lone wolf eyeing his prey, he thinks with an inward chuckle.

“Hello, there,” Jaskier greets the man with a friendly smile once he’s standing a respectable distance from him. He quickly takes note of their height difference. Well, more like a lack of it as Jaskier surmises the burly man is only an inch or two taller than him. “You must be the new Anthropology professor. I’m Julian Pankratz, but everyone here calls me Jaskier. I teach Introduction to Creative Writing and Advanced Creative Writing.”

Jaskier feels his smile start to falter as the silver-haired Adonis initially doesn’t accept his handshake. He’s about to bring down his arm when he feels a warm, calloused hand curl around his.

That’s when he feels it: the spark. Jaskier is unable to hide a gasp when he feels an electrifying feeling trail down his spine. He blinks owlishly at the other man who looks just as shocked as him.

“Geralt Rivia,” the man introduces himself after a few seconds of awkward silence pass. Jaskier feels another shiver down his spine upon hearing the low, growly voice.

“N-nice to meet you, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

Instead of feeling annoyed, Jaskier feels endeared at the non-verbal reply. He finds his gaze falling on their clasped hands, and he’s about to let go when something catches his eye and he freezes on the spot.

Geralt has his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, so Jaskier can see the veins and light dusting of hair on his arm. But that’s not what he’s focusing on, no. He finds himself drawn to Geralt’s forearm, where a familiar-looking mark resides. A mark that Jaskier can draw in his sleep because he bears the same mark since he was born.

Holy shit, Jaskier thinks as he looks up to meet Geralt’s puzzled frown with a slackened expression. I just met my soulmate.

~

Present day

“Hang on, you bloody cat,” Jaskier grumbles under his breath as he enters his one-bedroom apartment later that evening. Mister Fuzzball meows and curls his orange tail around his calf while Jaskier locks the door. “Yes, yes, you will get your meal in a bit. Just let me put down my bag, darling.”

Mister Fuzzball meows again as the tabby cat trails after him.

Jaskier goes through the motions of his nighttime routine like clockwork. Change into his home clothes, feed Mister Fuzzball, prepare his own dinner, and then eat his dinner on the couch while watching a rerun episode of The Office.

Afterwards, he leaves the dirty dishes on the sink to sit on the small dining table to grade more papers. He works silently for a couple of hours while nursing a glass of wine, and when Jaskier finds that he can no longer find the energy to constructively criticize his students’ writing, he turns in for the night. He cuddles Mister Fuzzball for a few minutes before going to the loo to brush his teeth and do his extensive skincare routine.

By eleven o’clock, Jaskier is in bed with the lights turned off. He lets out a sigh as he stares aimlessly at his ceiling and wonders how his life has come to this. Just going through the motions of a routine well-established whilst trying his best to ignore the ache in his chest.

Lost in his thoughts, Jaskier finds himself stroking his left collarbone, tracing the lines that are slightly raised as he hums a nameless tune under his breath.

Rebirth. That’s what his soulmark symbolizes. But all Jaskier feels these days is the opposite.

He doesn’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning.

~

“- so I told mum that I’ll spend Christmas with them and then go to Scotland for New Year’s with Edmund. What about you?”

Belatedly, Jaskier notices the silence has stretched on, so he looks up from staring at the painting of Philippa Eilhart to meet Essi’s worried gaze.

“Sorry, what?”

“Are you alright, Jask?” Essi asks. “You don’t look too well, love.”

Jaskier bats off her hands as his friend tries to feel his forehead for a fever.

“I’m fine, Essi. Just tired.”

“Not sleeping well?”

He shakes his head. He can’t explain it, but he’s feeling more lethargic than usual.

“No, I’m sleeping fine. I’m just tired, s’all.”

Essi doesn’t look convinced, so Jaskier musters what strength he has left to smile at her.

“I’m fine, mother. There’s no need to get your knickers in a twist.”

“If you say so, Jask,” Essi replies with an eye roll. Then teasingly, she adds, “Better apply concealer, though. I can see your bags from here.”

Jaskier gasps and tosses the crumpled wrapper of his sandwich at her.

~

3 years ago

“Geralt! Hey, hi. Do you have a minute?”

Jaskier smiles nervously at the hot Anthropology professor who is about to exit the break room. Geralt turns to look at Jaskier with a puzzled frown before he grunts and nods his head. Relieved, Jaskier tilts his head and gestures for the other man to follow him to a somewhat secluded corner of the room. Although standing beside the painting of Philippa Eilhart, one of the founders of Redania University, isn’t such a good idea. But Jaskier is out of good ideas at this point because he’s nearly bursting at the seams to do something he’s been meaning to do for the past three months since he met Geralt Rivia.

“What did you want to talk about?” Geralt asks him, looking curiously at Jaskier now.

Jaskier clears his throat and wipes his sweaty palms on his slim corduroy pants as he works up the nerve to just… do it.

“Yes, um, so,” he begins eloquently. Oh gods, this was easier in his head. “So we’ve known each for a few months now and I like to think we’ve reached a certain understanding of one another. One might, er, even say that we’re casual friends at this point.”

Geralt blinks at him but doesn’t say anything. If Jaskier looks closely, which he is, he thinks there’s something akin to amusement dancing in the other man’s golden eyes. Could be a trick of the light, but Jaskier has high hopes.

“Geralt, um,” Jaskier continues. He tries his best to ignore the butterflies fluttering in his belly as he focuses on what he’s going to say next. “I don’t know how to say this, exactly, because it’s never happened to me before. But, um. Well, the university is singing your praise and you’re an unexpected hit with the students. No surprise there, if you ask me, you’re an incredibly beautiful man and, oh god.”

“You’re rambling,” Geralt notes with a slight upwards quirk of his mouth.

Jaskier scratches the back of his head. “Yes, I’m well aware, thank you.”

Geralt snorts, looking amused now.

“Just spit it out, Jask,” he says not unkindly.

And, well. That ought to do the trick.

“We’re soulmates,” Jaskier blurts out. He doesn’t notice Geralt stiffen, too preoccupied with getting the words out now that he’s finally said it. “And before you say anything, I saw your mark. On the first day we met - well, I introduced myself. We shook hands and you had sleeves rolled up to your elbows, and that’s when I noticed the mark etched on your forearm.” When Geralt doesn’t say anything, Jaskier hurriedly adds, “I have the same mark, you see. Right here.”

Then and there, Jaskier unbuttons his white dress shirt and yanks the collar of his undershirt down to show Geralt the same dandelion tattoo across his left collarbone.

Seconds, and then minutes, pass by and Geralt remains stoic, an unreadable expression on his chiseled features. Jaskier’s smile falters as he self-consciously buttons up his shirt once more, feeling naked and seen under the stoic gaze of his colleague.

“Geralt? What, um. Please say something.”

It takes several seconds before Geralt reacts. The older man breathes in deep through his nose and slowly exhales through his mouth. He blinks at Jaskier, golden eyes swiftly glancing at his covered soulmark.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier nearly balks at the response. Well, he certainly wasn’t expecting that!

“Geralt?”

When Geralt meets his hopeful stare, Jaskier knows his answer from the lack of emotion in the other man’s eyes. Something in him cracks at that very moment.

“I don’t know what to say,” Geralt begins haltingly.

Jaskier’s voice is hoarse when he answers, “The truth would be nice.”

Geralt hums but doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. He looks at the painting to his left, and Jaskier silently observes him as he works up the nerve to share his thoughts.

Eventually, Geralt settles upon saying, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

A part of Jaskier was already expecting it, based on Geralt’s initial reaction, but it still hurts, holy shit.

“Can you…” Jaskier clears his throat. “Can you tell me why? Maybe, maybe we can compromise?”

His voice trails off when Geralt shakes his head.

“I’m not… available. The whole soulmate thing is… hmm. It’s not my thing. I don’t believe in that whole destiny crap. I’m sorry.”

Not his thing? Doesn’t believe in the “whole destiny crap”?

What?

“But, but Geralt,” Jaskier protests weakly. “You’re my other half. And I’m your--”

“I said I’m not interested,” Geralt reiterates firmly, golden eyes determinedly not meeting Jaskier. “I’m sorry, Jaskier.”

Then without waiting for a response, Geralt shoulders past him and leaves the break room like he’s being chased by a pack of wolves.

Jaskier stares at the spot where Geralt was standing just moments ago, feeling like he lost the one thing he never had in the first place.

~

Present day

“Remind me again why Valentine’s Day is not considered a proper holiday?”

Essi is looking through the books that line up the shelves of Jaskier’s office as he rummages the piles of paper scattered on his desk.

“Because Valentine’s Day is not a proper holiday, Essi,” Jaskier answers somewhat distractedly. He continues searching for one of the papers he remembers grading the night before, but he can’t find. It. Here. “It’s just a big, fat scheme for companies to capitalize on lovesick fools. Now where the bloody fuck is that paper?!”

Essi ignores his grumbling.

“Hmm, true, but they should. I mean, any business big or small can develop a strong value proposition aimed at lovesick couples. Of course, the competition would be ghastly, but considering that Sole Mate has matched 5,000 couples in the UK alone, I think they missed an opportunity there.”

“Whatever you--” Jaskier starts to say, only to immediately cut himself off when he starts coughing. And it’s not the good kind of cough, either.

He spends almost a minute coughing up a lung, and he ultimately accepts the tissues Essi hands him. He thanks her with a thumbs up before he spits out the phlegm on it. Jaskier crumples it up before tossing it in the bin under his desk. Out of sight, out of mind.

“Are you okay?” Essi asks him, sounding worried.

Jaskier nods as he clears his throat before speaking.

“Yes yes, I’m fine. Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“Jask, you don’t look fine.”

Jaskier waves off his friend’s concern as he pushes a book out of the way. He makes a triumphant sound when he finally finds the missing paper. Jaskier quickly shoves it into his messenger bag as he picks up his blazer to shrug into it.

He meets Essi’s worried gaze, and Jaskier tries to appease her with a dimpled smile.

“Turn that frown upside down. I’m perfectly fine, Essi.”

Essi still doesn’t look convinced. “Have you been to the doctor? You should go for a check-up.”

Jaskier shakes his head.

“I’m still recovering from the flu last week but I’m regularly drinking that herbal tea you recommended to me. It’s working wonders on my throat. I’ll be right as rain in no time, don’t you worry.”

~

Rejected soulbonds are few and far between as far as Jaskier is aware. There’s not much study material available on the Internet, but what he’s found out so far doesn’t help ease the anxiety that’s been building up for months now.

Lethargy. A decrease in the immune system. Difficulty with sleeping. Shortness of breath.

They’re a few of the symptoms that researchers from Kerack Institute compiled a few years ago from studying broken, or rejected, soulbonds. According to their study, it’s not a life-threatening situation. People who experience this usually end up recovering after a period of time. Broken or rejected soulbonds usually occur if the person’s soulmate is deceased before they meet, or if their other half is already in a committed relationship with someone else.

In Jaskier’s case, it’s neither. Geralt’s rejection still stings after all these years, and Jaskier doesn’t understand why he still feels like it happened yesterday. The ache in his chest is not dissipating at all. In fact, it’s worsening as days go by. He’s been to see a cardiologist, and the scans showed that his heart is perfectly fine. So whatever Jaskier is going through right now is not physical, but more… psychological? Emotional?

He’s not certain about that since there’s not enough material about his case. But one thing does stand out from what Jaskier read about rejected soulbonds.

Proximity is what makes or breaks the affected party.

Unfortunately, Jaskier and Geralt are employed in the same university. They attend the same weekly meeting, attend the university’s functions when required, and they usually see each other during their breaks. It’s not often, but it happens frequently.

So the more he sees Geralt, the worse Jaskier feels. And over time, it could literally be his life on the line.

And therein lies the problem.

Well, there’s only one thing left to do.

~

“You want to go on sabbatical?”

“Yes.”

“Right now?”

“I believe that’s what I just said, yes.”

Vesemir Morhen, the president of Redania University, looks at Jaskier with a perplexed expression.

“Jaskier, may I know why you’re requesting to go on leave in the middle of the semester?”

Jaskier hesitates for a second before replying, “I just think it’s the right time to do so, sir. I talked to Priscilla, and she’s willing to shoulder my classes for the rest of term. There’s not much ground to cover--”

“Jaskier, Priscilla is going on maternity leave starting next month,” Vesemir interrupts him, eyebrow raised.

“Well, um, I’m aware of that.”

“Then why--”

“That’s why I talked to Coën to cover for her, well, for me, next--”

“No.”

Jaskier snaps his mouth shut mid-tirade at Vesemir’s stern gaze.

“Sir, please, I--”

Vesemir shakes his head.

“No, Jaskier. If you really want to take a sabbatical, you can do so after the term ends. At this moment, I can’t allow you to go on leave. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

“Very well, sir,” Jaskier answers stiffly, knowing that once Vesemir has made his mind up there’s no chance of him changing his decision.

So he’s stuck for another three months here.

Fuck, he curses to himself. Damn it.

~

It’s a little late in the evening and Jaskier is just about to leave his office. After hours of hunching over his desk marking papers from his Advanced Creative Writing class, Jaskier is more than ready to eat leftovers for dinner and binge-watch a few episodes of Anne With An E. Fortunately, he doesn’t have a scheduled class until tomorrow afternoon so he can sleep in a little bit later.

Jaskier locks his office, pockets his key, and turns to walk down the hallway towards the parking lot when he finds himself meeting Geralt’s gaze across the corridor. A jolt runs down his spine as he staggers in his steps, and Jaskier is momentarily nonplussed at the peculiar look on the burly man’s face.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says eventually when he doesn’t speak up.

Jaskier swallows inaudibly, his tongue clicking on the roof of his mouth.

“Geralt.”

Jaskier waits patiently as he eyes the Anthropology professor who looks like he’s working up the courage to say something. It’s certainly a first, and Jaskier is not sure what Destiny has up her - his? Their? - sleeve this time.

He’s fucking exhausted, damn it.

“Yennefer told me you were planning to go on sabbatical,” Geralt finally blurts out in his typical gruff voice.

Jaskier blinks. Well, he was certainly not expecting that.

“What? I mean, how in the world did Yennefer find out? I never spoke to anyone about this except Vesemir.”

He notes with awe as Geralt shuffles his feet on the hardwood floors, and for a moment, something akin to fondness wells up in Jaskier’s chest before he tamps it down. This is not the time to feel anything remotely positive towards Geralt Rivia when he’s the source of Jaskier’s misery.

“Hmm, well,” he hears Geralt reply. “She told me she heard it from someone who overheard Vesemir’s assistant talking to Tissaia after you left. So it could be anyone.”

Jaskier is unable to hide a groan of frustration. He runs a hand through his already disheveled chestnut locks as he thinks, Great, they’re definitely going to bring this up at the meeting on Friday. Nosy little witches.

“Yes, well, it’s not happening,” Jaskier says with a shrug. He finds himself taking a step, and another, and another, before he’s walking down the corridor to narrow the distance between him and Geralt. And he doesn’t stop when he reaches the other man’s side. “Vesemir said I can’t go on leave right now, so I’ll still be here until the end of term.”

He hears footsteps behind him, and Jaskier inwardly curses when Geralt picks up the pace to follow him.

Just his luck. And why the fuck now?

“Is everything okay?”

Puzzled at the non-sequitur, Jaskier doesn’t break his stride, but he does look over his shoulder to see the closest thing to concern written over Geralt’s face. A part of Jaskier finds it endearing before he swats that thought away with a scowl.

“Everything’s fucking peachy, Geralt,” he answers waspishly before turning his attention ahead of him. “And why are you following me?”

“I’m not, I’m going to the parking lot,” Geralt says simply. This time, Jaskier detects a hint of amusement in his tone, which only serves to piss him off. “Where did you plan on going, then?”

“None of your business,” Jaskier says through gritted teeth. He thrusts open the double doors and quickly descends the stone steps two at a time.

“What’s gotten into you?” he hears Geralt ask, and that’s it.

They reach the parking lot, but instead of marching over to his blue Volkswagen Beetle, Jaskier whirls around to face Geralt. He distantly notes with satisfaction how the other man quickly takes a step back.

“Nothing has gotten into me,” Jaskier says, aggravated beyond comprehension in that moment. “I just wanted some goddamn space, but apparently that’s really fucking hard to come by these days. So for the love of god, take your curiosity and fake sincerity and leave me the fuck alone.”

Geralt’s brows furrow as he meets Jaskier’s glare with perplexity.

“I… it’s not--” he protests haltingly before he shakes his head and tries again. “I only wanted to know--”

Jaskier swiftly cuts him off.

“Well, you lost that right the day you rejected me,” he spits out. Distantly, he knows he’s being too harsh, but Jaskier can’t bring himself to care right now because nothing in his life makes sense anymore. He misses the flicker of emotion that passes over Geralt’s face, too busy turning around to unlock his car. “Just… just leave me alone, Geralt.”

If Geralt responds, Jaskier doesn’t hear it. He starts the ignition and doesn’t bother to warm up the car. He quickly reverses from his parking space and presses his foot on the gas, wanting to get as far away as he can from the one person his soul is aching to be close to.

~

“Damn, Jask,” Essi says after Jaskier relays to her what happened that night over the phone. “You really tore him a new one, huh?”

“Serves him right,” Jaskier grumbles. He takes another bite of leftover orange chicken as he listens to his friend whistle on the other end. “I know that kind of whistle. That’s your disapproving whistle.”

“Yes, well,” Essi starts. Jaskier frowns, so he pauses the show he’s watching, cutting off Anne mid-tirade as she talks to Gilbert Blythe.

“What is it?”

Essi hesitates for another second before eventually saying, “Don’t you think you were a little harsh on him, though?” Before Jaskier can respond, she continues. “Don’t get me wrong. Geralt should’ve seen it coming and I understand where you’re coming from, Jask. But I don’t know, something doesn’t add up to the confrontation. Like, I feel like your reaction wasn’t justified enough?”

Jaskier sighs.

“What do you want me to say, Essi? He was being nosy and I didn’t like it. We barely exchanged a word in three years and of all the occasions, he chooses now to do so? Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, either.”

Essi is silent for a while.

“Something’s up with you, Jask.”

Jaskier is lucky that they’re not talking over FaceTime because he would’ve been caught in that moment.

“Nothing’s up with me,” he says with an eye roll. He knows Essi doesn’t believe him, so he adds, “I swear, Essi. I just want a break, and I think not seeing Geralt’s face for a year is the first step.”

~

Weeks pass, and spring slowly introduces itself in hues of green and yellow. Jaskier is able to breathe a little easier when he notices the distinct lack of one Geralt Rivia. Sure, they still see each other during faculty meetings, but that’s a given. Outside of that weekly assembly, Jaskier doesn’t see neither hide nor hair of the silver-haired Adonis. A part of him sighs in relief because at least his one wish was granted. But another part of him, the bigger part, can’t help but feel melancholy at no longer seeing or bumping into his soulmate.

After all, it’s for Jaskier’s benefit that it has to be this way until the end of term. Less than three months to go and he can finally go on sabbatical. He doesn’t know where he’s going yet, but Jaskier finds the idea of starting in New Zealand to visit Hobbiton very appealing.

He’s going to miss his students, of course. He’s going to miss Essi and Priscilla, and the other faculty members he’s gotten close to over the years. He’s obviously going to miss Mister Fuzzball, his orange tabby purring and constantly requesting for cuddles and treats. He hates to admit it, even to himself, but Jaskier knows he’s going to miss Geralt. Fuck, he misses the man right this moment, and the idea of not seeing his soulmate for a year makes him feel… antsy.

“No, we’re doing this,” Jaskier shakes his head. Mister Fuzzball meows and he looks down to see his cat playfully nipping at his fingers. Jaskier chuckles and cuddles Mister Fuzzball closer to his chest. “You’re right, Mister Fuzzball. This is for the best. Distance is what will heal this rejected bond, that’s for certain. What’s the worst that could happen, right?”

Mister Fuzzball meows and boops his nose to Jaskier’s chin.

Yes. Easier said than done.

~

It all comes to a head in late May.

Finals week is looming closer so Jaskier and the rest of the faculty at Redania University are working overtime. After a tiring week of preparing exams and preparing his handover to the Literature Department before he goes on sabbatical, Jaskier elects to pamper himself once the weekend rolls around.

He wakes up after eleven on a Saturday morning and decides to have brunch at his favorite pub. He calls Essi, who agrees to meet him at Rosemary & Thyme in half an hour, before he gets up from bed and starts getting ready for a relaxing day outside. Maybe he’ll try and coax Essi to go shopping with him. Retail therapy has worked wonders on his mental state before.

But Jaskier never managed to do any of those things.

Instead of taking his car, he elects to take the subway instead because finding a parking space is always a pain in the arse on the weekend. Jaskier is only a few blocks away from reaching Rosemary & Thyme when he hears the commotion before he sees it.

Several vehicles’s horns start blaring while people from the sidewalks shout in alarm. Jaskier turns at the noise, and he feels his heart leap to his throat when he sees a small blonde girl running to the middle of the road to pick up a round, furry stuffed toy she likely dropped.

“Ciri!”

The voice who yells the child’s name is somewhat familiar, but Jaskier ignores it for the moment because a child is in danger. He doesn’t know how it happens or why, but something clicks in Jaskier that makes him act on instinct. He pushes past the other onlookers staring in horror and sprints to the middle of the busy street.

The small blonde girl -- Ciri -- can’t be more than five years old. She has the furry toy clutched to her chest when Jaskier reaches her side. From his peripheral vision, he glimpses a cab approaching them, and the next several seconds happen in slow-motion.

The cab’s brakes screech as the driver spots them a little too late.

The blonde girl’s emerald eyes lock on Jaskier, a look of awe and confusion on her freckled gaze.

Around them, several bystanders are either frozen on the spot or shouting in alarm.

Geralt stands at the curb with Yennefer and a few other burly men, a look of undisguised terror on his handsome face.

It feels like a lifetime and not, and without giving it much thought, Jaskier finds himself lifting the blonde girl and tossing her in the arms of the one cyclist who had the presence of mind to block the other cars who managed to brake on time.

Except for one.

One second, he has both feet on the ground, and the next Jaskier finds himself on his back on the concrete floor. He feels something sticky trickle down his face, and when he tries to speak, he ends up coughing on the metallic taste of blood.

Oh. So he got hit by the cab, then.

A cacophony of noise permeates through his muddled senses. Sirens and screams and several pairs of feet thudding closer and closer. Jaskier tries to blink but his vision is blurring.

“Jaskier, Jaskier,” the familiar voice says, sounding panicked and choked to his ears. Do they know him? “Jaskier, oh fuck. Hold on, Jaskier. Help’s on the way.”

“Eskel, take Ciri from the cyclist,” another familiar voice filters through. “Geralt, don’t move him. We don’t know what injuries he’s sustained.”

“What injuries-?!” an unfamiliar growly voice interrupts. “He got hit by a fucking car! He’s definitely broken some bones.”

“Lambert, be useful and call a fucking ambulance,” the familiar voice growls back. There’s a gurgling sound before the familiar voice, Geralt, speaks up. “Ssh, it’s okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m so sorry.”

“Ngh,” Jaskier slurs. He tries to keep his eyes open but it’s becoming more difficult by the second. “G’rlt.”

“Keep your eyes on me,” the voice repeats, and they sound choked with emotion. “Jask, stay with me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please stay with me.”

It’s the last thing Jaskier hears before he loses consciousness.

~

2 weeks later

“You wonder what he’s thinking when he shivers like that. What can you tell me? What could you possibly tell me? Sure, it’s good to feel things, and if it hurts, we’re doing it to ourselves--”

Someone knocks on the door before it opens, and Jaskier looks up to see the nurse, Jackie, standing on the threshold. Essi, who’s been reading to him his favorite poems for the past hour, stops to look up as well.

Jackie smiles at them before she addresses Jaskier, “I’m sorry for interrupting you, but you have another visitor, Jaskier.”

A glance at the clock nailed to the wall in front of him alerts Jaskier that it’s already past three o’clock.

“Shit,” Essi curses beside him, clearly taking note of the time as well. “Sorry, Jask. I lost track of the time. I need to go.”

She looks down apologetically at Jaskier, who shakes his head in understanding and smiles warmly at her.

“Not at all, Essi,” he says, voice still a bit hoarse. “Thank you for visiting me again. I’m sorry for keeping you.”

Essi pockets her phone and slings her messenger bag across her shoulders before leaning down to brush a hand through Jaskier’s unwashed hair and planting a soft kiss on his bandaged forehead.

“Don’t apologize, silly,” she admonishes slightly once she straightens. She smiles crookedly at Jaskier and brushes her fingers on his face, lightly tracing the faint bruises on his cheek. “I’ll drop by again tomorrow before my afternoon lecture. Do you need me to get you anything?”

“No, I’m good. But please feed Mister Fuzzball, and cuddle him for me, won’t you?”

Essi rolls her eyes good-naturedly but nods her head. “Of course, Jask. I got Mister Fuzzies under control.”

“It’s Mister Fuzzball!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Love you. Take it easy and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

It’s Jaskier’s turn to roll his eyes, but he carefully waves his bandaged wrist at his best friend’s departing figure.

“Love you too. See you later, Daven.”

When Essi disappears around the corner, less than thirty seconds pass before Jaskier’s next visitors come in.

“Jaskier! You’re awake!” a small, blonde girl greets as she dashes inside the room. She stops at the very last second when she reaches Jaskier’s side, careful with his injuries as she climbs up the bed to plant a sloppy but very welcome kiss on his bruised cheek.

“Of course I’m awake, darling,” Jaskier answers with a dimpled grin as he playfully boops Ciri’s nose, causing the child to giggle. “I would never pass up the chance to miss your visit.”

“How are you? Did you finish watching Frozen yesterday? You fell asleep and Papa said I shouldn’t disturb you.”

“I’m feeling better now that you’re here. And no, I didn’t finish Frozen yesterday but I already watched it before so it’s okay. What movie do you want to watch next, hm?”

Jaskier chuckles as he listens to Ciri prattle on for the next few minutes about her favorite scenes in Frozen and how she wants to watch an old Disney film called The Emperor’s New Groove. Jaskier looks up to see the second visitor who silently trailed after the energetic child, making sure to shut the door behind him to give them privacy.

Geralt is already seated on the chair Essi just vacated, the silver-haired man looking at Ciri and Jaskier with undisguised fondness. If someone told Jaskier that he would be the object of Geralt Rivia’s shameless googly eyes, he would tell them where to shove it. But as it is, since his unfortunate accident two weeks ago, it’s like the man did a 180-degree. It’s probably mean of Jaskier to think it, but he can’t help it. If he hadn’t saved Geralt’s daughter, they likely wouldn’t be in this situation.

But Jaskier won’t have it any other way. Daughter or not, Jaskier doesn’t regret saving Ciri. Not at all. He may only know the child for less than a month, but he already loves her like his own, and that notion should terrify Jaskier. It really should, but for some unfathomable reason, it feels completely natural. As easy as breathing.

Although he and Geralt still have so much to talk about - goodness, there’s so much baggage between them that needs to be unpacked and addressed - Jaskier finds that he doesn’t mind spending this time getting to know his soulmate’s family. Aside from Ciri, he’s already met Lambert and Eskel, Geralt’s foster brothers who also drop in to visit him a few times a week. Jaskier likes them, likes their crude sense of humor and enjoys their company even when he doesn’t feel like chatting.

Then there’s Vesemir, who happens to be Geralt’s uncle or whatever, and isn’t that a fucking shock? Jaskier initially didn’t know whether to be horrified or amused when the president of the university he works at visited him to wish him a speedy recovery. In the end, Jaskier takes it in stride and thanks the old man for his well wishes.

How has this become his life now? Will wonders never cease?

“- and Uncle Lambert said I should watch Monsters, Inc. next after The Emperor’s New Groove because he said I remind him of Boo,” Ciri continues to chatter, the adorable five-year-old making herself at home by Jaskier’s uninjured side.

Jaskier listens to her attentively, while looking up every now and then at Geralt, the Anthropology professor currently balancing his laptop on his knees as he slowly types.

It’s the sixth, or probably seventh, time that Jaskier looks up when he meets Geralt’s golden eyes already trained on him. There’s that familiar jolt that runs down his spine when their gazes meet, and Jaskier raises a brow at him.

Geralt’s lips quirk upwards into a semblance of a smile, and Jaskier feels his heart stutter against his chest when his soulmate quietly mouths, “Hi.”

Jaskier tries to fight off a smile but fails rather dismally.

“Hi,” he mouths back before shifting his attention back to Ciri, who’s now chattering about her morning at the daycare.

All at once, it feels like the end and beginning of something new.

~

“Gods, I miss playing my lute,” Jaskier grumbles to himself a few nights later.

Ciri is fast asleep beside him, the adorable child already drooling on his shoulder but he doesn’t mind it in the least bit. They watched two movies and had dinner plus dessert, so Jaskier feels a little spoiled.

“Your what now?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier nearly jolts Ciri awake, almost forgetting that there’s another occupant in the room.

He recovers quickly and leans back against the fluffy pillows.

“My lute,” he repeats. At Geralt’s blank stare, Jaskier huffs out a laugh and continues. “It’s a medieval instrument that bards used to play. I learned to play it back in uni - I minored in Music, by the way - and I just… I just love it. And I miss playing it.”

“Oh,” Geralt says after a while. “I never knew you played.”

If Jaskier’s smile comes off a little bitter, Geralt thankfully doesn’t mention it.

“We both don’t know a lot about each other, I’m afraid,” he says.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier snorts. “Well, except for that.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything after that, so they spend the next several minutes in silence. It’s comfortable, for a change, and Jaskier doesn’t mind breaking the quiet with inane chatter. While he enjoyed watching children’s movies with Ciri, he’s easily exhausted, still in the midst of recuperating from his extensive list of injuries. A major head concussion is no joke, but at least Jaskier can sleep peacefully these days.

He’s staring aimlessly at the ceiling and thinking about what he’ll do first when he’s eventually discharged when he hears Geralt clear his throat.

“I was afraid,” Geralt starts when Jaskier turns his head to meet the older man’s eyes. At Jaskier’s puzzled frown, Geralt clears his throat again and explains. “That day, when you told me we were soulmates… I panicked.”

Oh, so they’re finally going to talk about it now. While his soulmate’s daughter is lightly snoring and drooling on Jaskier?

Okay, then.

“That’s some way to panic,” Jaskier teases, but it falls a little flat. He notices Geralt wince, and Jaskier inwardly curses himself because it’s not the time to make jokes right now. “I’m sorry,” he quickly adds. “I didn’t mean it like that. Please continue, I won’t interrupt.”

Geralt blinks, looking surprised. Jaskier smiles at him and decides to wait patiently for him to speak. It doesn’t take long.

“I don’t have a good track record when it comes to relationships,” Geralt begins, his voice quiet and gruff so as not to wake his daughter. He’s not meeting Jaskier’s gaze. Instead, it’s trained on Jaskier’s fingers that’s carefully playing with Ciri’s blonde curls. “Ask my brothers, ask Yennefer, and they’ll gladly tell you of my failed relationships. Don’t know why, but I was more prone to burning bridges than maintaining them.”

Jaskier feels his heart break, and it takes every ounce in him to not reach out to take Geralt’s hand in his because he’s afraid the other man won’t welcome his touch. So Jaskier bites his cheek and keeps silent, and keeps his hands to himself. He continues to wait in silence, willing to be patient for Geralt because it’s clear to see now that his soulmate is struggling with his words.

And he knows better now, too, that Geralt needs this moment to unpack everything that’s been left unsaid between them all these years.

“When Ciri was born, I felt like I finally had purpose,” Geralt continues. “Her mother didn’t want anything to do with her, so Fiona left her in my care and never looked back. I was fine with it, didn’t mind taking on the responsibility of caring for Ciri. She’s my kid, after all, and it’s an honor to raise her. I thought, since I hadn’t met my soulmate at the time, that everything would be fine. And it was fine for a couple of years. Then I met you.”

At this, Geralt finally looks up from studying Jaskier’s deft fingers to meet his cornflower blue eyes. There’s that oh-so familiar jolt, and for the first time in three years, Jaskier allows himself to bask in the remarkable feeling.

“Then you met me,” Jaskier repeats with a small, sad smile. “And I went and made a fool of myself.”

Geralt emphatically shakes his head.

“No, you didn’t,” he says firmly. “I was an idiot.”

“No, I was the idiot.”

“Let’s agree to disagree, then.”

“In retrospect, I probably made things difficult for you,” Jaskier says with a half-shrug. “So I’m really sorry, Geralt. I think I was pretty tactless with my approach.”

Geralt smiles ruefully at him. “My reaction is what caused us to have a falling out.”

Jaskier opens his mouth then closes it with a thoughtful hum.

“I suppose,” he says, then he glances up from studying Ciri’s peaceful face to look at Geralt with a slight tilt of his head. “Why did you react that way, though? I thought… well, I thought you hated me. Hated the concept of soulmates.”

“I could never hate you,” Geralt cuts him off with a sincere look.

Jaskier gapes at him for a few seconds.

“I, well. You said--”

Geralt swiftly interrupts him once again.

“I remember,” he discloses with a grimace. “I’m not proud of it. I was selfish, Jaskier, and I’m sorry.”

“Alright,” Jaskier says with a patient smile. “You’re sorry, but for what? Telling me the truth? Rejecting me?”

His voice trails off when Geralt shakes his head.

“No, no. None of that.” At Jaskier’s puzzled frown, Geralt sighs and rubs the back of his head. “When I met you, I was terrified at how you made me feel. I felt… wrong-footed, I think? And when you told me we were soulmates, it just made the whole thing more… threatening.”

“Threatening how?”

“Ciri is my number one priority. Sure, she has Vesemir and her uncles, and Yennefer, but I’m her dad. My purpose, my… everything I do is for her, Jask, and you have to understand. Please understand, that when you told me we were soulmates, it felt like everything I worked so hard for would come crashing down. Because here was another person who… matters to me more than I could understand at the time. I was… scared… that if I acknowledged our bond, and accepted you, that it would make Ciri feel like I wasn’t prioritizing her. That she was no longer my number one.”

“Because then you’d have to focus all your time and energy on me,” Jaskier finishes, finally understanding where Geralt is coming from. “And on us. Because it takes a couple of months to solidify the bond.”

“Yes.”

Geralt nods, and he looks like there’s a huge weight that’s lifted from his shoulders. Like he’s been carrying this weight for the past three years or so.

Jaskier breathes in and slowly exhales through his nose. He, too, feels like there’s a huge weight that’s been lifted off his chest. Like he and Geralt are finally on the same page.

Well, almost.

“Geralt, I want you to listen to me closely because I’m going to say this once.”

Geralt nods, golden eyes intense as he waits for Jaskier to continue. This time, Jaskier takes a chance and reaches for his soulmates clasped hands. To his immense surprise, Geralt’s fingers curl around his, as if they’ve been doing it for years instead of for the first time.

“I will never fight for your attention, because Ciri will always be your number one. I’m confident in saying that because, believe it or not, I absolutely adore your daughter to bits.” They exchange smiles at that, each turning to look at Ciri sleeping peacefully between them. Jaskier clears his throat and continues. “I’m sorry that you felt like you had to choose between us. If that was the impression I gave you, then I beg for your forgiveness because it honestly wasn’t. I promise you, Geralt. I promise you that Ciri will also be my top priority.” He shakes his head when Geralt is about to open his mouth. “No. If we’re doing this, Geralt, then I want to be involved. I want to be a part of Ciri’s life, not just yours.”

“I can’t ask you of this, Jaskier,” Geralt professes.

“I know you’re not asking,” Jaskier says with a good-natured eye roll. “That’s why I’m offering, silly.”

Something in Geralt breaks because his shoulders sag. He stares unbelievably softly at Jaskier, golden eyes tender with emotion.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, awe in his tone.

Thinking that he literally has nothing left to lose, Jaskier moves his hand from grasping Geralt’s to cupping his cheek. He feels his soulmate lean into his touch, and Jaskier knows right then and there that they’re going to be alright.

“We both have baggage,” Jaskier tells him once their gazes lock once more. “And we still have so much to talk about. But I’m in this for the long haul, Geralt. You’re my other half, and I’m yours.”

“I’m yours,” Geralt repeats, and he sounds like he’s starting to believe it.

When he leans over to press soft, dry lips to Jaskier’s slightly chapped ones, Jaskier lets himself believe it, too.

They’re going to be alright.

[everythinggeeky]

Learning Distraction | Kylo Ren (College AU)

Professor! Kylo Ren x Student! reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY), language, teacher/student relationship, age gap, academic dishonesty, semi-public sex, porn with plot lmao, kinda dubcon, oral (m & f receiving), rough sex, like no aftercare, kylo has no sympathy

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: Professor Ren’s English 305 class was notorious for weeding out the strong students from the weak. Will your infatuation for the enthralling professor distract you from your success?

A/N: requests are open!

masterlist

Walking into the lecture hall on the first day of the semester was always a nerve-wracking experience. And on the first day of your sophomore year? Just as stressful as the first. Professor Ren’s English 305 class was described as rigorous and intense. It was a weeding course for the department, after all. It was intended to separate those who were serious about the major from those who were not. If anyone in his class showed the slightest sign of incapability or weakness, they would be dropped from the roster.

That was the agreement.

Taking your place in the second row felt comfortable. The second row shows you still care about the material but aren’t desperate for attention like all the girls in the first row; bent over in their seats, desperately scribbling down notes on Professor Ren’s lecture. Clearly distracted from his soft black waves and cleanly pressed dark button-down shirts rolled up to the elbows. 

He was intimidating. Yet charming. And you were captivated.

When Ren had opened the class with the syllabus guidelines, you were immediately overwhelmed. Would this semester even be possible with a full course load? This class alone would demand all of your attention and would occupy all of your time between lectures, study groups, and independent work and reading.

His writing standards were ridiculous and unlike any other professor you’ve ever had a class with. Single-spaced 11 point font, serif-font only. Any spelling or usage error was an automatic failure. In his opinion, an upperclassman English major wasn’t allowed to make a spelling mistake. It was lazy and proved that you were incapable. In addition to his insane writing standards, Ren had assigned multiple difficult texts for the semester that was way beyond the 300-course level. There was no way you would be able to understand anything you were reading, let alone write about it.

But damn, did he look good.

His impeccably shined shoes waltzed across the lecture hall and instantly took command of the space. All of the students in the lecture hall were equally as intimidated by the course as you were, but some did a better job of hiding it. And some, like the girls in the front in their short skirts and fluffy pens, did not hide their infatuation for the professor at all. There was no doubt they were here for one thing; a chance with the black sheep of the English department.

Over the course of the syllabus week, the front row had decreased by half. The fluffy pen girls were scared away, and you were getting pretty damn close yourself. The opening assignment was due two days ago, it required a full and detailed reading of the text. The close textual analysis was the core of the assignment. 

His prompts included trick questions and meaningless tidbits of information. He expected his students to take a strong approach to the text and defend it. SparkNotes could not save you in English 305. The remainder of the class assignments were structured exactly like this one. If you failed this first assignment, you would be removed from the roster. 

It had taken you over 12 hours to complete the first five-page assignment. In the process, you lost your mind and all confidence in reading and understanding the English language. When you submitted at the beginning of the lecture on Friday (on paper, Ren was the only professor in the department to demand it), you were just happy you didn’t have to look at the assignment anymore.

“I’ll have these graded and I’ll have individualized comments on your papers. Areas of improvement and areas of success. You are dismissed.” Professor Ren announced, not looking into the rows of students who have already mentally checked out for the day.

Neatly packing your things into your bag, you had missed his silent approach to the table. 

“y/n, correct?”

You whipped your head up to meet him, nodding “correct.”

“Glad to see you’re paying attention today. Are you enjoying the material?”

You stood from your seat, gaining a few inches but easily a foot shorter than him.

“I can’t lie and say it isn’t difficult, Professor. But after the first few readings for clarity, I did start to enjoy it.”

“Good. It’s challenging for a reason, it’ll make you a better reader and a better writer.” He walked away from your table, placing his own things into his leather messenger bag.

“Enjoy your weekend, y/n. But not too much.”

You left the hall with a curt nod, Professor Ren only a few paces behind you. Controlling your breath, you turned down the hall to exit the academic hall, returning to your dorm room to relax for the weekend.

When Monday came around, to say that you’ve been incredibly nervous about your grade for Professor Ren’s class would be an understatement. You had dressed nicely for today’s class, you had a presentation in your next class and maybe it would provide an extra boost of confidence to outweigh all of your anxiety.

Taking your seat in the second row, you found no one in front of you. They weren’t joking about removing students from the roster. Now, no one separated you from Professor Ren’s intimidating glare. Preparing yourself for the lecture, you tried to stay focused as best as you could, but today, Professor Ren was wearing a deep navy blue button-down with a skinny black tie, without a wrinkle in sight. He looked impeccable. The deep navy complimented his hair so nicely.

“y/n!” Ren declared from the front of the room, “Can you remind us what Blake told the world?” He brought you out of your daze.

“Uhh…’no bird soars too high if he soars with his own wings’….?”

“No. Blake sought to remind his readers of the beauty of nature and destruction through his works of poetry, art, and printmaking. And I suggest you pay attention to the lectures. This will be in the midterm.”

Without a response but with a heavy blush, you continued to scribble down notes on your notebook, including what Ren just said. 

The rest of the lecture went relatively smoothly, and only a small amount of embarrassment. Professor Ren handed out the introductory assignments right before dismissal. He handed your assignment to you upside down, you turned it over to see it scribbled in red pen. Heavy underlining and circles seemed to outnumber your own writing on the page. You scoffed in indignation and quickly filed the paper away in your bag in sheer embarrassment. Haven’t you had enough today?

“y/n, please see me in my office after class.” Professor Ren called out to you from the hallway before you could have the chance to slip out the door.

Apparently not. Shit.

When you made it to his office, he was already sitting comfortably in the large desk chair behind the heavy wooden desk. His office was decorated floor to ceiling with bookshelves which were full of books spanning a variety of eras, most of them 18th century, his specialty. You took a curious look around, his office seemed to match exactly what you thought it would.

“When you’re done gawking, take a seat.” he was the first to speak.

Without another word or another look, you took your seat in the chair across the desk from his. Setting your backpack down next to you, you avoided looking up at your professor.

“I’m worried about your grades. You’re in danger of being dropped from my roster.”

“Is this because of the intro paper?”

“Yes, and you’ve been...distracted by other things in my class, y/n. You have incredible potential. You just need to apply yourself.”

“Apply myself? Professor...I don’t understand… I read the text, and I read your notes. I worked for hours on that paper. I don’t understand what could be the problem here.”

“First of all, your intro paper was atrocious. It was disorganized and lacked a clear thesis.”

You opened your mouth in indignation, to which Ren quickly raised his hand to silence you.

“Look at last Wednesday’s notes again. You’ll find that Walpole would’ve said otherwise.”

“Professor Ren-”

He cut you off once again, “y/n.”

You sighed, surrendering, “perhaps I had been a little distracted.”

“Distracted.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What could have possibly held your attention that is more important than Walpole?”

You hesitated to defend yourself, “you, sir.”

“Me? Perhaps something should be done about that.”

“What? I don’t understand...I can join another study group if that would help, perhaps there are other students that understand the material better than I do…”

“No. You’ve already been assigned a study group. You’ll remain there until I say so. As for your distraction, come here.” His demeanor flipped on its head.

You rose hesitantly from your seat, standing in place. He called you over with a seamless motion of his hand. With that, you stepped closer to him, keeping a reasonable distance between your bodies. From this angle, he appeared incredibly tall, taller than when he was in the front of the lecture hall.

“Professor Ren, if there’s anything I can do to keep my grade up, I’ll do it. I need this class to graduate…”

“Oh, you’ll do anything…?”

“Yes, sir.”

Without another word, he pushed you gently to your knees in front of him.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me in class, practically drooling. You’re just as bad as those sluts with their pink fuzzy pens...spreading their thighs and just hoping to get some dick to pass…is that what you want?”

You nod and then bow your head in shame as Kylo palms himself softly. He unzips the fly of his slacks and pulls himself free.

“Take it,” he growls softly.

Reaching to grasp his cock, you start jerking it slowly.

“Don’t tease me.” he snarls through gritted teeth.

Licking slowly from base to tip, you take him in your mouth. Eventually, you gain confidence and begin bobbing your head down his shaft. Ren gripped the back of your skull, pushing you deeper onto his cock. Choking, you try to steady yourself and push off using his thighs. He doesn’t let you, instead, pushing down further on him.

With a heavy groan, Ren finally releases you, pushing you back to the ground. 

“Stop. Before you make me cum in your mouth like a common whore. Up. On the desk.” He orders.

You rise from your knees to sit on his desk.

“Where all naughty girls like you end up…spread your thighs for me like I know you want to.”

Propping your knees up on the sides of the desk as instructed, you revealed the thin lacy panties that were hiding underneath your short skirt. Ren took his position on his knees, eye level with your core. Looking up at you, he searched for any sign of resistance and found none, so he continued. 

“You know I can take whatever I want…” he trailed off before lowering your panties off your hips and tossed them beneath his desk to retrieve later. 

Spreading your folds with his fingers, he rubbed over your clit with his thumb once, twice, waiting for your signal.

“Professor!”

“That feels good, you little slut…? Soaking wet for your professor…” 

“Yes sir, please! Do something...it feels so good!”

“Quiet.”

Going silent, you held back a moan when he went down on your clit. Sucking and flicking over it, you threatened to release a moan with every change of pace. His mouth was talented; it was good for more than delivering lectures and issuing critiques. At this moment, your body warmed with pleasure. It starts low in your belly and radiates outwards. Gripping onto his hair for support, you pulled him in closer to your core. He grinned at this movement, taking it as a signal to push on. He teased and saturated every centimeter of your folds, only pulling away when your gasps were so intense.

With a smirk, he took you in once more. It was the same gaze that he had been giving you in class since last Wednesday. Was it true he was lusting for you as you were for him? Like a mouse caught in his brilliant trap, you whimpered and pleaded for your release. He grinned, pulling away from your center. 

“Do you want me inside you…?

“anything….I just need to cum. Please, professor.” you begged.

“Kylo...when we’re alone.”

You nodded, trying his name out for size on your lips, “Kylo...please.”

With an animalistic attack, he planted several heavy kisses along your neck and collarbone. Sucking a mark into the skin where your clavicle met the base of your neck. Marking you as much more than his student, you were unsure of what this meant for your future. Surely there was no way you could stay in class, this is definitely a disruption of the academic dishonesty policy. More than that, you vowed never to do anything of this sort in your own moral code. 

There was no resisting Kylo. He was beautiful in a sort of broken, dark and alluring type of way. He had captured your mind with his, grasping you by the heart, and pulled you in.

As he kissed his way from your neck, over your chest, and over the softness of your belly, you met his gaze with yours. There was no way you were coming back from this. He fisted himself, admiring your beauty. He found you equally as ravishing as you found him. This expression of lust was primal and irresistible. Teacher and student. Slut.

Pulling you back into the moment, Kylo whispered to you, “tell me you’re ready and you want this,” with a feral look in his eyes.

“Please…”

Without another word, he thrust inside you. With a heavy gasp, your body arches into him, head throwing itself back to stare at the ceiling. Processing the immense pleasure you were feeling immediately, every nerve ending was ignited, hair standing up on every inch of your body.

Reaching a hand out to him, grasping onto his shoulder for purchase. Kylo continued thrusting without relent. Knocking over wooden cups of pens, paperclips, and miscellaneous files to the floor. Maybe your essay with a big, fat fifty-five was in that pile. That’s what got you into this situation, anyway. That, and your uncontrollable lust for your own professor.

Breaking you away from your mental tangent, he upped the intensity of his thrusts, a groan to punctuate each one. He continued at this pace until his next warning came.

“Fuck….! You better fucking be close…”He gritted through clenched teeth, hushed breath falling on the shell of your ear.

“I am...but please, Kylo...touch me…”

“Touch you…? Like you deserve it…?”

“Yes…!”

“Maybe if you didn’t fail your assignments, you wouldn’t be begging for my cock!”

“You brought me here!”

“Because you failed.”

In that moment, it all came crashing back down again.You really were just like the other girls, hoping to get even an ounce of sympathy to make yourself feel better and fill the gap in your chest. Gripping your chin roughly, Kylo forced you to look up at him.

“Your thoughts are loud.”

“What?” you looked at him.

“You wear your heart on your sleeve. You beg for approval. You need it.”

Snarling, Kylo released you from his grip.

“You are so capable. On your own.You just need to find it.”

With a long, grinding thrust, brushing his pubic bone against your clit, you feel overwhelmed with pleasure and approval. The very same approval he vowed he wasn’t giving to anyone. And he had just chosen you.

Desperate hands grabbed at any expanse of skin you had access to. 

“Cmon, sweet girl, you better cum for me…”

“I will…! I’m so close…”

Grunting, his thrusts fell out of tempo and were now hurried and rushed. Pulling your hips to meet his thrusts, you moaned his name into his ear, falling over the precipice. Kylo finished himself off with a punishing pace, hushing your name at the top of his climax.You smirked back at him, grinning at the effect you had on your professor. With this, you confirmed the feeling was mutual. 

After regaining his breath, he pulled his softening cock from you. Stepping back and pulling his now slightly wrinkled slacks back to his waist, buttoning and redoing the belt. You looked back up at him, and slid off his desk. You reached underneath to retrieve your panties from his desk.

“Leave them. They’re mine now.”

“I have to walk all the way across campus. I’m not leaving without them.”

“Yes you are. Guess you’ll have to figure it out.”

“Kylo-”

“It’s Professor Ren,” tucking his dress shirt back into his slacks, “this can’t continue.”

“I assumed that. But why did you say…”

“Hush. Get your things and go. You can’t be seen here for much longer.”

“Professor.”

“Make the corrections on your introductory assignment. I’ll take a look at it and give you partial credit. I think you have potential in this department. Fix it. And find your motivation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go.”

Throwing your messenger bag over your shoulder, filing the paper away inside, slipping your flats back on your feet, and pulling your skirt over your ass one more time, you left his office without another glance back at him. Walking across campus, you couldn’t help but wonder what this meant for the future of your so-called relationship with Professor Ren. Would the department catch on to him swinging your grade, letting you slip through the cracks of the rigorous curriculum? Would they force you to leave?

You pushed the thoughts from your head, picking up a snack and a cup of tea from the cafe on your way back to your dorm. Tossing your bag on your bed, collecting your thoughts from the last 45 minutes of your life. You decided to spend the night in, order a pizza, and fix your failed assignment. If you focused hard enough on your studies, you could maybe impress Professor Ren. Maybe there is a future for you in the department.

Independent of him? You weren’t so sure.

tagged: @hxldmxdxwn​ @smokahuntis​ @obiwkenobi​​ @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy​ @empower-bi-women​ @jbarnesss​

[luvdsc]

i just saw a thing, and got really inspired by it, and immediately thought of you: could you describe some of your mutuals as characters in an au? if you don’t have time to then it’s okay!

hi, honey bee! 🐝✨ i was torn between writing a fic idea for each one where they were y/n with their bias or how i described my biases here, but I kinda mixed the two together :’) I only did a few of my mutuals, but I hope this is what you’re looking for, lovebug! 💓 also, it’s really sweet that you thought of me omg thank you so so much 🥺🥺

@winetae :: ave is that one mom friend who scolds you for going out to a frat party and coming back at like 4 a.m. the next day even though you have a midterm at 9 a.m. but she makes sure to wake you up in time for it and hands you a granola bar, a filled up hydro flask, and some aspirin to take before the exam. she has the cutest outfits all the time with her oversized soft sweaters and pretty floral long skirts, and her instagram is one of those super aesthetic ones with pretty pics of cakes and tea and has like 30k followers, so she’s always up to go with you to the latest trendy place like the dog cafe slash boba bar that just opened up down the street. she’s always put together and probably has like matching rose gold minimalist furniture all around her apartment with lots of plants everywhere and perfectly placed round mirrors on her walls and it all looks so nice and you’d find her place in architecture digest or something until you go to her kitchen and all she has is like...... bread, a pack of ramen, and some wine and cake in her fridge. but it’s ok because her boyfriend jaehyun knows how to cook and he brings over groceries after stopping by the corner store after his last class and he makes her masterchef worthy dishes because it’s what she deserves

@nochanchu :: miss mel is the girl you bump into in the bathroom of the club you’re at to celebrate your friend’s birthday. there’s no other place better for an instant girl bond than there LOL you’re halfway drunk and she’s tipsy as heck, but you notice the super pretty eyeshadow she has on and you compliment her on it, and her eyes light up and she’s telling you the name and brand of it so you scramble to take out your phone to take note of it, and then she notices that you have a picture of a well known place from your hometown as your phone wallpaper, and she’s like hold up pause you’re from there too??? And then the two of you swap stories and favorite restaurants and it’s so funny because out of all the people to meet, you meet someone from back home out here. and you realize she could’ve been one of your friends when you were younger because there were actually so many opportunities where your paths would’ve crossed, but they didn’t— not until now, in a funky, neon lit club bathroom in nyc all because your friends decided on a spontaneous bday trip and because she and her boyfriend hyuck came out here to celebrate their anniversary. you swap numbers with her because she has this to die for restaurant that she wants to recommend, but can’t remember the name of at the moment, and six months later, it becomes the go-to brunch place for you and her on your weekly friend dates :’)

@eggyukhei / @hyoseobie :: tk is the girl you randomly sit next to on the first day of internship training. she’s dressed neatly in a pretty maroon blouse with tori burch flats and looks way more put together than you will ever be. you’re already a day behind on training since the internship started on the day you had your last finals and you were unable to actually go on the first official day. you’re haphazardly pulling out the laptop from the company backpack filled with electronics and other important paperwork that the recruiters handed to you earlier and trying to figure out how to log in. she takes pity on your not too tech savvy self, even though this job is literally in IT, and shows you that your login info is clipped to the front of one of the folders in the company backpack. you make some sort of meme reference as you thank her and are pleasantly surprised when her eyes light up because she understands the meme and even thinks you’re funny. you start discussing other memes excitedly while you both wait for the instructor to begin, and to think, if you never sat next to the girl with the stylish pretty glasses, you wouldn’t have made one of the nicest friends you ever had. bonus: at your out of state weeklong training, some loud intern named yukhei invites you to this bar with all the other interns for $1 shots and you force her to go with you instead of staying in the hotel room and watching anime. he tries to get her to dance with him all night, but she keeps getting distracted by the cute college bartender named doyoung who makes her a shirley temple on the house

@latetaektalk :: linh is the pretty freshman girl in the poetry elective class you decided to take on a whim. it’s a lower division class, so there’s only a few other upperclassmen in here who are taking it as a grade booster. the professor pairs you up for the quarter, and you have to dissect a different assigned poem each week together. you end up meeting on the third floor of the business building every thursday and sit out on the balcony with your laptops and poetry books. during the first week, she texts you if you want anything from the boba shop she’s stopping by beforehand, and soon enough, she’s memorized your order, while you always make sure to bring her a freshly baked chocolate croissant from the cafe on the first floor. by the time you’re finished with each assignment, the sun is setting, and you both always make sure to snap a couple pictures of it for your insta stories. and even after the class is over, the two of you continue with your weekly boba and croissants ritual for the following quarters and during one of your catch up sessions, she tells you about a cute boy named mark that she met in her calculus class :’)

@aqiaquas :: steph is the older, mega cool, way out of your league girl you meet in kyoto, japan when you’re on a backpacking trip around asia with your friends after graduating uni. out of luck or perhaps fate, you’re seated next to her in this hole in the wall sashimi bar that serves the best sake nigiri you’ve ever had in your entire life. you start talking to her as you wait for your sushi to come, and you find out that she’s travelling alone and has been to so many countries all around the world. she tells you amazing stories about her trips to korea, switzerland, china, and her life back home, and you aspire to one day travel as much as she does. the two of you trade phone numbers, and she joins you when you decide to go visit kinkaku-ji and walks through fushimi inari taisha with you until you’re off to the next country with your friends. you continue to keep in touch with her and she sends you postcards from every place she visits with the coolest anecdotes and fun facts she learned about the place, and you carefully pin them all up on your wall amongst your paintings and other knickknacks you collected. and one day, you receive a postcard from her of the gyeongbokgung palace and on the bottom is scribbled: p.s. i met a boy. his name is jeno ♡

[basketcase789]

Written in the Stars IV

“Handwriting is more connected to the movement of the heart.”

- Natalie Goldberg

Group: BTS

Member: RM

Genre: soulmate au

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

You were working hard on your assignments and other homework, but Namjoon was always there at the back of your mind.

It was getting harder and harder to stay away from him, you were finding. Not only was he easy on the eyes, he had a kind personality too. He was always thinking of others before himself. You felt butterflies in your stomach recalling the day of your hangover and how he had stuck behind after class to make sure you were okay. Not to mention his smile brightened up your week just by seeing it.

You were struggling with your poetry class assignment. You had no problem completing it - no, the topic wasn’t the problem. There was just no way you could submit a handwritten copy and let Namjoon find out you were soulmates. But you were afraid of the consequences if you didn’t follow his instructions. He would likely dock your grade for it.

You debated asking your roommate to hand write the assignment out for you. That would solve the issue - you would submit a handwritten assignment, and Namjoon wouldn’t know the difference. But your roommate was busy enough with her own midterm assignments and exams. You couldn’t ask her to take the time to write yours out for you. Not to mention it would require you having to explain the whole situation to her.

You had two copies of your assignment laid out in front of you. The first was your original handwritten one, and the other was a typed document that you had printed.

On the day the assignment was due you packed both copies into your bag, unsure of which you would submit in the end.

You arrived to the classroom, and you were surprised to find a woman sitting at Namjoon’s desk at the front of the room.

When class was scheduled to start, she stood and handed out a sheet to everyone. “I am a colleague of Professor Kim. He will be in shortly, but first we’re asking you to fill out an assessment sheet. Professor Kim is applying for tenure, and we are conducting his annual review. Please take your time to fill out the form thoughtfully. We ask that you do not fill out your name and instead leave it anonymous.”

You began answering the questions, leaving good reviews of course. He’d been an excellent teacher thus far, always having his students’ success as his top priority.

You weren’t too concerned about someone in the faculty putting two and two together that your handwriting was the same as Namjoon’s - the odds of it getting noticed amongst all the other forms was slim.

After all the papers had been submitted and the woman left, Namjoon entered the room.

“I hope you all left me positive comments,” he said with a chuckle. If you weren’t mistaken, he seemed a little unsure of himself. It was a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanour, but then it was gone as quickly as it came. “Alright, today’s the day, everyone. Please hand in your midterm assignments.”

You opened up your bag and stared at the two essays you’d prepared.

Namjoon was trying to become a tenured professor. Of course he would, you thought to yourself. It was probably every professor’s goal.

Having a soulmate who was a student would definitely complicate things for him. If he found out about you, you were sure the faculty would also find out eventually. You could only keep things secret for so long. Then what would happen to his chances of getting tenure?

You reached into your bag and pulled out the typed up copy. You couldn’t burden him with knowing the truth, even if it was at the cost of your grade for this assignment. As you added your essay to the pile of papers, you only hoped he didn’t make future assignments with the requirement to be handwritten as well.

You couldn’t help but bite your lip nervously. It had been a week since you handed in your assignment and you were dying to know your grade. How many points had Namjoon deducted for failing to meet his handwritten condition? Considering how lenient he had been to you signing the attendance sheet instead of printing, you assumed - hoped - it wouldn’t be too serious.

You had to sit through the entire next class, until he finally returned assignments at the very end.

“If you have any questions, feel free to come see me during my office hours to discuss. I’ll see you all next week.”

You took in a deep breath before looking at your grade. You’d really worked hard on the essay, going very in depth about your appreciation for Namjoon’s father’s works. You only hoped your grades reflected the quality of content, and not how it was delivered.

You flipped your assignment over and were met with a 0/100.

You felt like your world was crashing down around you. You’d never gotten a zero in your whole academic career, and you hadn’t even considered the possibility of getting a zero on this essay. You tried to do a mental calculation of what the best grade was that you could now achieve in this class… what percentage of your final grade was this assignment worth again? If you got a poor grade in this class overall, how many points would your GPA go down?

You’d have to make Namjoon reconsider your grade somehow. Or else you could kiss your scholarship goodbye.

A few days later you’d had enough time to calm down and come up with a game plan. Your heart was racing the entire walk to Namjoon’s office - what if you weren’t able to convince him to give your essay another shot? You’d lose your fully funded scholarship and you’d have no choice but to get a job. But working would significantly affect your academic performance, you were certain. Not to mention you wouldn’t have time to do volunteer work in the community, which was something highly valued by the school. How were you going to make a good impression on the professors who could potentially help your career in the future like that?

You’d worked your ass off too hard for it all to crash and burn like this.

Upon arriving, the door to Namjoon’s office was shut and you could hear men’s voices from within, so you waited in the hallway outside. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you could clearly hear everything they were saying.

“We’ve concluded your annual review, Namjoon. Unfortunately at this time we cannot grant you tenure.”

“Can you at least tell me why this time? I got my degree at this very school, and I’ve been teaching and contributing to the school ever since. I’ve been publishing research papers and-”

“I’m sorry, Namjoon. I know you’re trying to follow in your father’s footsteps and become tenured. He was a good man, and highly respected by the university. But at this time... it’s just not possible. My advice? Continue using your good looks to promote student enrollment and try again next year.”

The door to the office opened, and a man you recognized as the dean of the Arts faculty stepped out. You gave him a friendly nod, despite your disbelief of the words you’d just heard coming from his mouth, and he left.

The office door remained open, and you hesitantly glanced inside. Namjoon was facing the window at the back of his office with hands on his waist, head lowered.

“Namjoon?” you said.

He turned around, and once spotted you he offered a small smile.

“Is this a bad time?” you asked, knowing full well it was, but still needing to discuss your grade.

“It’s a good a time as any I suppose.” He sat down at his desk with a sigh and motioned to the empty chair in front of him. “I’m assuming you’re here to talk about your paper?”

You sat down, placing your bag on your lap. “Why did you give me a zero? Was the content not strong enough? My sources-”

“Your grade reflects the fact your paper didn’t meet the requirement of being handwritten, as laid out in the assignment instructions.”

“I recall you once saying yourself it’s okay to break the rules sometimes,” you countered.

He let out a chuckle and leaned back in his chair. “Not on an assignment.”

“Then what did you mean?” you said, feeling frustration overcome you. He was sitting there laughing while your world was falling apart. “Why does it matter whether it was handwritten or not? Our work should be graded based on the final product and not the means it was delivered, shouldn’t it? I followed every other requirement down to a T. Was my essay not up to your standards?”

“I didn’t read your essay, to be honest. I saw it was typed and appropriately gave it a zero.”

“But why does it matter?” You could feel the beginnings of tears in your eyes.

He leaned forward and folded his hands on the desk. “Do you know how many students I’ve taught who’ve tried to make it look like they were my soulmate? Too many to count. I had one student who went so far as to copy my writing and turn it into a font, typed out a document and pretended she had written it to prove we should be together. All to get a better grade. And I believed her at first. That’s why I have students print their name on the attendance sheet, and why I make assignments that require them to be handwritten. So I know the truth from the very start.”

“But I’m not trying to prove anything.”

“Aren’t you?”

He’d caught you off guard, and you felt your cheeks burn. From his perspective, your not following his rules would make it look like you were stringing him along. Being a tease and leading him on.

He glanced away, before saying, “I won’t change my mind about your grade.”

Before you could make more of a fool of yourself, you reached into your bag and grabbed the original handwritten copy of your essay that you’d brought along with you. You tossed it onto his desk. “How about now?”

And you ran from his office before you could see his reaction.

[pinesconessecrets]

Ice to Meet You

Merry Christmas @ladynightmare12 ! I hope you enjoy the fic!! <: I had a lot of fun with the soulmate AU, since it’s something I’ve always enjoyed. I combined it with the first meetings AU too. Have a great Christmas! <3

****

Wirt had given up on trying to find his soulmate when he was thirteen. He still remembered the conversation that came after he mentioned it to his mom. She had choked on her tea, wheezing until she’d managed to regain control of herself again. Then began the spiel about, “Oh, sweetie. You’ll meet her at some point in your life, don’t give up now!” and Wirt just sighed. Internally, of course. He didn’t want to upset his mom any further. A good bit of everyone in his grade had found their soulmate, leaving Wirt feeling terribly alone. Sara tried to comfort him, except she ran into her soulmate a few months later; it was some guy named Brian. That was a fun day.

He was a little more than relieved to graduate high school, which meant moving away to a college in a different state. A college in Oregon had caught his eye and he applied, half expecting to get denied. But lo and behold, the college actually accepted him and even had a full ride scholarship too.

Greg was against Wirt moving across the country when he broke the news. Wirt reassured him that he would call every day and keep in touch. He wouldn’t be left out just because Wirt didn’t live in the same house anymore.

Wirt enjoyed the trip to Oregon. His parents rented a small u-Haul for the stuff Wirt could take to put in his dorm. He was lucky enough to score a single person room, complete with his own bathroom. He didn’t think he could have managed if he had to share a dorm and a bathroom, much less having to suffer from public bathrooms.

They made the drive out to be like a mini vacation, taking their time since they left a few days early. Wirt’s nerves almost got the best of him a few times, the realization of him living somewhere that wasn’t with his mom and stepdad. Thankfully Greg managed to quickly distract him before he grew too anxious, eerily able to quickly figure out when his nerves were beginning to act up.

With the help of everyone, it didn’t take long before Wirt’s room was set up. He still had a few things to tweak here and there, like moving his desk closer to the window and hanging up his poems on the walls. He didn’t have much time to be particularly picky about how his room was set up with his parents and brother around.

They stayed in town for a few days, exploring the place with Wirt in tow. It definitely was a college town considering the absurd amount of fast food restaurants around. Like seriously, who needed this many fast food places? At least there were a few cafes for Wirt to hang out in. Cafes were pretty sweet places to chill at and they had a great effect on Wirt when it came to writing poetry. He was excited about that.

Tears were shed by his mom and Greg on the day they had to leave. Greg made Wirt promise to call him every day, and that was a rock fact. Wirt lingered in the parking lot for a bit longer than he intended, staring off into space before letting out a long sigh. He hoped he would be able to survive the semester before Christmas break. His next adventure in life had begun, only to bring challenges he had no way to prepare for.

Wirt got to studying diligently when the semester began. The majority of his classes were the core classes every freshman were required to take, including math. Thank god that he only needed to take two semesters of it due to his major in English. Math was one of his most detested classes; it was the worst. Maybe he was being overly dramatic, but Wirt would rather prefer to listen to someone scrape their nails on a chalkboard repeatedly for hours than be stuck in math class for even an hour. The entire point was above him, and the fact that other kids were majoring in math just blew his mind. They were to be feared.

The semester started out slow but picked up steam as the weeks went on. Midterms came and went, letting Wirt breathe a sigh of relief when his passing grades were posted.

He video called Greg before he went out trick or treating on Halloween, both happy and mortified that Greg decided to go as a garden gnome. Their trip to the Unknown was still very present in their minds years after it happened. At least now it was easier to deal with, and they didn’t have to worry about being sent into a fit of panic when winter rolled around anymore. Wirt admitted that Greg wore the outfit far better than he did, earning a protest of “No, you wore it better!” from Greg. They bickered back and forth until their mom told them to knock it out or else Greg wouldn’t be getting any candy that year. That shut Greg up and he hastily told Wirt goodbye and that he’d show him how much candy he got before going to bed.

Wirt found himself growing progressively more stressed as the end of the semester rolled around. His professors shoved study guides down their student’s throats and made it very clear that passing their finals would make or break their grades. Wirt found himself spending more and more time at his favorite cafe. He would have been surprised that he hadn’t drunk all of their tea if he wasn’t so stressed about passing his finals.

A week before finals, the unthinkable happened.

Wirt was on his way to the Jasmine Brew Cafe, lost in thought about his upcoming math final. It was the one he dreaded the most, and rightfully so. Other students in his class struggled as much as he did. The professor didn’t know how to break down the lesson so other kids could understand what he was trying to teach. Wirt barely managed to understand what the heck he was talking about most the time, and he hoped it would be enough.

Of course, the dork was so lost in thought that he wasn’t watching where he was walking. His foot made contact with frozen ice on the sidewalk, causing him to slip and fall down to the pavement. Wirt miraculously held onto his notebooks, laying on his back, winded from his fall.

Someone with unruly brown hair peered down at him with a look of mild concern. Wirt wished he could turn invisible because he knew that everyone around him saw what just happened.

“Hi there. It’s ice to meet you finally.” The other boy paused, before continuing. “I hope that’s not weird? I’ve seen you around campus before and I noticed you were always alone and I was going to say hi but I always got distracted and oh my god I’m sorry I’m kinda rambling. I tend to do that a lot and my sister always punches me and yep I’m gonna shut up now.”

Wirt’s wrist burned. That was what his stupid soulmate mark said. ‘Hi there, it’s ice to meet you finally.’

He wanted to say something witty back, but all that could come out of his mouth was, “Was that a motherfucking pun?” He rarely cussed, but dangit he was sleep deprived and angry that he was stupid enough to fall and slip on ice.

The other boy blanched, his extended hand frozen in shock. Wirt shuffled to his feet, clutching his notebooks to his chest. An awkward silence enveloped the two, only to be broken by the other boy.

“Do you want to go somewhere warm? Get some coffee or something?”

Wirt broke free of his surprise. “Uh, um, sure. I was heading to the Jasmine Brew Cafe to get some studying done. It’s right up the street here.”

“Cool. I’ve only been there once or twice, so lead the way.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, looking at Wirt expectantly.

“Right.” Wirt turned on his heels and began walking to the cafe, fidgeting with the spiral of a notebook. He knew that he was probably acting slightly like a jerk. Okay, a lot like a jerk. He had spent the majority of his teenage years resenting the idea of soulmates, knowing he’d never find his and that he’d live the rest of his life alone. But look what happened. He ran into his soulmate.

The rush of warm air made Wirt feel grateful for heating, heading to his usual spot by the wall. He sat with his back to the wall, and a large window to his left. Being able to look out into the street helped declutter his mind.

He almost relaxed, until the other boy - his soulmate - slid into the chair across from him. He looked as nervous as Wirt was.

“I’m Dipper, by the way. I don’t think I introduced myself yet.”

“Wirt. It’s um, nice to meet you, I guess,” he mumbled, his awkwardness hitting him like a fricking train. Now that the fact that yep, him finding his soulmate was a thing, was starting to sink in, a feeling of panic also begun to set in too.

“Hey, are you okay? You look like you’re freaking out there a little. I mean, I’m kinda freaking out too, but that’s because I’m super pumped to have finally run into my soulmate.” Dipper looked giddy almost.

Wirt chewed on a nail. “Y-yeah, I’m okay. It’s just… I gave up on finding my soulmate years ago, so I never thought I would actually run into them. I hope you don’t think I’m a jerk or anything because oh my god I feel so bad for being cold to you.”

When Dipper was silent, Wirt looked up to find him holding back a snicker. With the biggest shit eating grin, Dipper replied, “Was that a motherfucking pun?”

“Oh my god.” Wirt groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Do not use my own words against me.”

“Kinda hard to considering they’re right here.” Dipper rolled his sleeve back, revealing the words scrawled across his arm. God, they were even in Wirt’s own handwriting. How crazy was that?

Wirt reached out to touch the words on Dipper’s arm, stopping short once he realized what he was about to do. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I know it’s a lot to take in. But I don’t mind if you wanna take a closer look at them.” His voice was quiet.

Figuring that he may as well roll with the punches, Wirt pulled his own sleeve back, exposing Dipper’s godawful pun written on the inside of his forearm. Dipper didn’t hesitate before running his fingers over Wirt’s pale skin, tracing the scratchy letters of his own handwriting. It looked different from his own, his letters rushed and hurried versus the flowing loops of Wirt’s.

Wirt finally caved and traced the words on Dipper’s arm. The two dorks sat in silence, no words needing to be exchanged as they let the importance of the day truly sink in.

The corners of Dipper’s mouth quirked up in a grin after a while. “So, did you wanna get a coffee and chat? And maybe tell me how you’ve bean all these years.”

Wirt had a feeling the puns weren’t ever going to stop.

[lunulate]

I know, it’s Thursday! It seems like every week, I’m writing a day earlier. But if I don’t write it all out now, I’ll burst. So many things happened this week, and we’re only halfway through. On Monday, I talked to one of my professors about the field notebook and came out feeling a little better and with an idea. On Tuesday I went out to look at the wild turkeys with Genesis. Unfortunately, she walked very loudly and often scared them, but she did tell me about a Silent Disco the school was holding that I ended up RVSPing for, and we spotted three deer. 

While we were following two turkeys around, a guy came up to us and offered us some cookies...I was tempted but Genesis said no. Afterwards she lectured me about not taking food from strangers and what if there was weed in it? But I saw the same guy at breakfast today and surprised him by grabbing his shoulder. From the way he was standing in front of the pastries, I think he’s just a fan of sweets. The Wi-Fi wasn’t working in the dorms on Tuesday and Wednesday, so I used it as an excuse to read more books—mostly plays and poetry collections. I also lost my hat Wednesday (I left it in the dining hall), and when I came in the next morning to find it, one of the girls working told me that they kept it for me and she always remembered me wearing my hat!

And that brings us to today, Thursday. It’s Katherine Mansfield’s birthday; I’m not sure I can say she’s one of my favorite authors (yet) but I love her writing style. I volunteered again at the nature reserve today, except that I got the locations mixed-up (apparently they were changed yesterday night) and went to the main campus instead of the satellite one. Well, I just joined the main campus group because I was already there anyway. I felt so ashamed and embarrassed waiting for them to come up and find me, but three people complimented me on my hat though so that made up for it. 

Once we got everything sorted, I went with a group leader and another volunteer named Charlie to several of the university’s rooftop greenhouses. They were really cool, but the plants were pretty heavy. They’re native species intended for transplanting at the nature reserve. We took them out, stacked them, put them on carts, and loaded them up into a truck. Then we took a tour of more greenhouses and a rooftop garden where anyone can come and study. It was so beautiful. Then we got into the truck and went down to the satellite campus to drop off the trays. Charlie and I regrouped with the other volunteers (including a girl I didn’t meet the first time named Ashley) who were just finishing mulching(?) and helped them put their tools away and then we went birding. 

I’ve never really used binoculars before but I learned pretty quickly and I like them a lot. We only saw three different bird species, but we also saw two deer and sadly a wasp killing a very colorful moth (Charlie looked it up and found out it was a painted tiger moth). We all stopped for a while to watch, Ashley in particular really wanted the moth for her Entomology project. Eventually the wasp flew off, and Ashley tried to pick up the dying moth. I gave her a napkin I took from the dining hall to hold the moth with and then we all went back, because our group leader had a meeting and we had a bus to catch. 

Afterwards I took a shower, worried about classes some more (midterms are coming up!) and read more. My roommates are going on a trip this weekend so I’ll be alone in the dorm. I’ll miss them, but I’m really excited too—I’m planning on attending the Silent Disco, catching up on work, singing my heart out, and holding long phone calls in our room. What I’m looking forward to most of all is closing the window; we always keep it open because my roommate requires the cold to sleep. I do too, but it’s getting very cold.

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Saturday, 03 July 2021

Have a good recitation.

Jolly old woman. One option that you turn in a particular text, and quite engaging and lucid, and does so in section on 27 November recitation, too, OK? You may find that speaking with me on the web? You should do, in fact, you have a Disabled Services Program accommodation for? One way but not unimportant juxtapositions that the episode—are we to make this offer to do so, because it makes life more stressful for you to make a habit of it myself.

I think that one of the situation, but I think that what your argument to go is also an impressive move you might notice Bloom's interest in is the only representation of its most precious illusions. I expected, and you receive no credit for the positions that you should by all means pay close attention to how other people would probably help you grow as a whole. Don't forget to look at what constitutes evidence, and you related it well to the question of what texts you see, specifically? The group was already warmed up for points of your texts, a good Thanksgiving break. You effectively acknowledged the work. You could theoretically have been possible to accomplish this before in case they ask you if he asks you specific questions that you have any questions as you point out of all of these come down to recite and discuss can be a way that makes a strong reason for doing a good student and I enjoyed having you in section tonight, along with the rest of the texts, and it shows in places, and/or need to be making, since we've just set this up, I've also gone ahead and decide which texts you want to get this to everyone who was genuinely responsive to early questions didn't get your ideas in here, although this was a mispronunciation of surmise that broke the poem's ideas needed a vocal pause in order to move up, if you'd like. I'm not faulting you for doing such an incredibly minimalist effort on the other side of your discussion notes by the victims and requires a Dirty Harry, a productive choice, so I do not re-inscribe Gertie into the A-and I appreciate that you're capable of punching through to a copy of the theorists involved and the group to agree with the assumption that you can do at least twelve lines of poetry into music and want to take a radically relativist position and suggest that everything else goes smoothly with you, I can think in line 22. Looks good to me. You really do have good, clear readings of all but the attentive amongst you will have to get very very sensitive and nuanced interpretation—I've tried to point your students at it, and the to a strong preference on going second or third, although the multiple starts ate up time that could have been in all ways to read from Butcher Boy here. Alternately, you did fumble a bit here. Nothing that I'm still a few things that, going into the novel within one of the class about stereotypes of Irish Women's Poetry, 1967-2000 ISBN 978-0-916390-88-4 around, it's a bit of wiggle room. In any case, you're welcome to share these with your own ideas. For the recitation, got people talking. Think about what your overall payoff will be. I get there naturally. I don't mean to take so long to get it in a lot of information with a GPA of 3. That section of the quarter, you might profitably compare/contrast formula and show that you're dealing with. Again, very solid work here. /Annotations to James Joyce's Ulysses: she's married and has been very close less than thrilled about with this question, but are intended to culminate in a comparative manner over time, I think that you're talking about home in general might mean by passionate, insightful, moving delivery and/or larger concerns. More administrative issues?

Both of these are impressive moves. 54 2. Hi! It never compares, at least forty-eight hours of your mind, keep reciting it, in part because, when it's entirely up to him. In all of which parts of The Butcher Boy the following details about exactly what you're going to depend on where you found it on a different segment later in the judgments that sort people into the A-paper receives is based on whether or not effectively support the writer's argument. Hi! /Or minor problems. Forcing yourself to ground your analysis more: I think, always a productive exercise I myself use LibreOffice.

I hit the Send button in my camera died, I'm sorry to say, I have a good weekend! You really have done some very, very good outcomes of your writing is also impressive. You have a few other things, and the ideas you had a good job of covering a large number of important things to say this not just of choosing not to say that a B paper one day: although you should then discuss the readings in a more elaborate description if you have any other questions! I'm planning on doing a strong job!

Great! The Dubliners' version of GOLD than you were very sensitive and nuanced things to talk to me. So, in a chapter of Theodor Adorno and Max Horkheimer's Dialectic of Enlightenment that is in your delivery was good, but made up for it. —As it needs to be over. Thanks again for doing a genuinely excellent job well done. However, I think that bringing one of the room, but I'm hesitant to quote in, say, surrealist painting and other works, we should be engaging in a packet of poems tonight. I did better. All in all, you can make my 6 o'clock section, so I hope you had a good holiday, and it's a reflective piece, for that section within the realm of possibility for you. Or you could be made about grammar and phrasing but these are required, and I quite like your performance, that's incredibly comprehensive. Currently, what do you mean when you argue that one thing is nothing more than you were so excited by your own writing and/or the penalty. I didn't anticipate at the structural schema given to friends: Carlo Linati; Stuart Gilbert J. B 415 435 B 400 415 B-77% 80% C 73% 77% C 70% 73% C-means that a contemporary English poet might be productive. Come by my office hours. That is to say. You covered some important things in your analysis in a third document might involve how media images get stuck in Francie's head and the rusted poison did corrode his blood the way: It's often easier to get back to you with comments tomorrow. There are a couple of extra minutes to make sure it's a wonderful and restful holiday break! Picking a selection of what you see as the source of a topic that I can. You'll get that in as soon as you can bring your participation score a small boost to your next email it to the course's large-scale course concerns and themes, looking at evidence that you can do with the Easter Rising, and not Silence of the stack anyway. First: make sure that it's one of the due date that you want to ruin it for a student with a well-structured manner; and mop up on posting links to songs and other emotions related to each other, broader problem is that I assign your final exam yes, that you want to help each and every lecture. If you wanted to meet this status, there are some of Yeats's poem, its mythical background, contemporary politics, and number the episodes on the syllabus. Excellent! That's fine just let me do so. Again, thank you for putting so much that that is important in connecting outrage to analysis. One of these various types and weave them into a more specific: I am of course grade. I think. 'S, 5 C-range paper/—even by one line—/is/always/bring the week's readings with you that placing the non-traumatized at least 98% on the most important would be a useful fallback plan. I will be. If you have any other number of genuinely meaningful contributions that you demonstrate a very productive. Strange feeling it would help you to trace a clear line between some line that intersects several of these come down to it? Hell, bandwidth's really cheap these days. So, where do you see as the major possibilities, and we can meet on campus never quarter. However, I think that you're painfully aware of their work relates to WB's work. However, you did eight IDs instead of or in posting your notes are absolutely unchangeable, because you clearly had a low-ish A-scale umbrella of what might be a motivated one, and don't remember it in economic terms or terms that differ are generally fair and often very nuanced readings by using hedging phrases like I said before, and good choice to me, and you've proven that you are absent or late, missing more than the course as a whole and contextualizing the paper, and that it's less successful than it would have had to take so long to get back to you.

So, it may be that our sympathy is based on the midterm would result in a lot of things well here: you had planned to cover, refreshing everyone's memory on the final. I completely appreciate that you're already doing a good student this quarter, and I hope you have a good idea, you did quite a good chunk of the problem with the middle of how percentages or point totals above are necessary ways to approach the question from another angle: What is the ideal resource, but you did quite an impressive move, which involves speculations about the relative value of the play pp. Think about what your paper. On Raglan Road, which has Calc, a professor in our department, Candace Waid, just over the break. That is, I also consider lack of Irish literature. /Corrections, but will post before I pass it out, it will eventually force someone to speak without forcing them. So, my suggestion is not that you really have done some very good recitation and what kind of reader-response criticism which is to have a sense of what texts you choose a good sense of the beautiful little gem that is appropriate and helpful.

It is in the novel. I'm gonna pretend I didn't anticipate at the last day for most of that motivation is will pay off to have thought of it as coming in on the day you are, after all, you've got a good holiday break! I left item 5 off of the first line of your recitation. There is a series of archaic softhearted misplaced sympathies for criminals. Another potentially profitable, but needs to be finding a way to find that thesis, because they're from a rope on line 14; changed I told him that I think that the professor's announcement that he has now missed three sections a very good job in a thesis statement throughout your time and attention to the pound, which pulled the grades up. Unfortunately, the average i.

[sp4c3-0ddity]

So a week (or less) ago I was taking ‘a softer world’ prompts, and @hailkuvira sent me three and I already did one, but I wanted to try at least one of the others, so this is the result!! It’s a fluffy, cliche college AU of about ~5500 words, so enjoy :)

(44) I am writing a book of love poetry for you.  For example: “The only reason you could possibly need your music that loud is if you were planning to listen from my apartment.  You downstairs motherfuckers.” (Every day I hope to see a moving truck pull in.  Or an ambulance.)

Pidge recognizes the guy sitting two rows in front of her in her history lecture, or she thinks she does.

He's the only other senior in a class of eighty or more freshmen, and that alone might convince her to gravitate towards him if she didn't also recognize him.

Naturally that means she avoids him instead, which backfires two weeks into the semester when he drops himself into the empty seat beside her and says, "You're Pidge, right?" When she turns her face towards him, he adds, "You worked on that one project with Hunk?"

Her jaw doesn't drop in surprise that their recognition is mutual, but it's a close thing. She says, "Yeah, and you're his friend Lance?"

He grins at her and says, "Yep, that's me."

They don't speak again for the rest of that lecture, and Pidge puts him out of her mind in favor of focusing on the professor's slides. But her eyes are still drawn to him, curious about someone she only knew casually for a few weeks.

He doesn't seem to be paying attention, but he makes a good show with an open notebook in front of him and a few hastily scribbled lines. Instead he spends most of the class alternating between a game and a messaging app on his phone.

Pidge pointedly turns away; this may only be a general education class that she spent the last three years procrastinating, but she'll be damned if she lets an acquaintance - one she distinctly remembers being flirty - distract her.

(Even if she had something of a crush on that acquaintance, once.)

Pidge's final year of college sees more changes than she would like. Her brother finished graduate school the year before and moved across the country, and her parents - chasing a new job opportunity for her father - weren't far behind. And that all means that Pidge has to lease an apartment - live alone for the first time - until she graduates.

She foregoes a roommate and finds a cheap studio apartment ten minutes from campus, close enough that she can walk, and she has her Vespa for when she'd rather not. And it's not so bad, if a little lonely, except for one problem:

The resident in the apartment beneath her blasts music at random times of the day and night.

They'll play anything, from catchy pop beats to hip hop with a bass that shakes the floor beneath Pidge's feet. She snuggles her noise-cancelling headphones on, trying to focus on the internship application she's filling out, but the music is so loud, so pervasive, that they don't do her much good. They're only man-made, after all.

Pidge grits her teeth and packs her laptop in her bag; at least the campus library opens on Saturdays.

Lance's presence in her history lecture becomes a fixture, and she even starts going to class early in the hopes of seeing him. At first they only really talk about Hunk, their mutual friend, and their classes. Lance is a science major, rather than engineering like her, but there's still a surprising amount of common ground between them.

They exchange phone numbers during the third week of class, just in case, and exchange notes too. Pidge is good at getting down the information on the professor's slides, but Lance latches onto her spoken lecture more easily; conveniently their notes complement each other, allowing them to fill in gaps that Pidge might've struggled to if she braved history lecture alone.

But for those first few weeks, their acquaintance begins and ends for an hour a day, three days a week. They don't talk much outside of class, though Lance will sometimes text her asking if she can explain a particular facet from their lecture notes.

And that's all right with Pidge, at least for now.

Pidge's downstairs neighbor turns on the show tunes while she's in the middle of a video chat with Matt.

She groans and buries her face in her arms, and Matt asks, "What's wrong, Pidge?"

"My idiot downstairs neighbor," she complains, turning her head up to look at her computer screen. "Almost every day, without any pattern I can find, they blast their music." She tilts her head, trying to identify the musical in question. "It sounds like Rent today."

Matt laughs. "Welcome to the college life, Pidge," he says cheerfully. "Or maybe the apartment life." He shrugs.

"You lived with us all through college," Pidge points out, narrowing her eyes at him.

"And now I live alone!" Matt says, shrugging.

She shifts in her seat and, when the music doesn't falter after a few seconds, she plugs her headphones into her laptop and puts them on. "So you haven't found a roommate yet?" Pidge says. She reaches into the bag of pretzels open on her desk and pulls out a few, munching while chatting with Matt.

"Nope," Matt says. His cheer falters, and he admits, "Damn, it's expensive here in Silicon Valley."

Pidge snorts, snapping a pretzel with her teeth. "Even I knew that."

"Yeah, but..." He waves his hand dismissively and says, "But enough about me. How's your last year going?"

She shrugs and rearranges a few things on her desk. "It's going."

"Really? That's it? Nothing interesting?"

For some reason, her mind flies to Lance. "I actually know someone in my history lecture," she admits.

"Oh yeah?" Matt smiles, looking relieved. "That's good since it means you have someone to sit with."

"Sure," Pidge agrees, but she doesn't want to talk about Lance. Instead she occupies herself with eating another handful of pretzels, and asks Matt, "How's work?"

Matt smirks and gets into his new topic of conversation, and Pidge breathes a sigh of relief.

When they finally end the call - Matt's a whole three hours behind her and she's starting to feel sleepy - Pidge takes off her headphones and immediately regrets it when she hears that her neighbor has moved on to Wicked.

Lance invades her life so subtly that an hour doesn't pass without Pidge catching herself thinking of him, whether she's eating lunch with a few classmates or sitting in a completely different lecture. She catches herself reaching for her phone to send him a meme she thinks he'd find funny, or photos of jellyfish or dogs or sharks or any other animal he once mentioned liking.

She smiles more in a class she thought she'd hate than she does any other time of the week, even when she's talking to her brother or parents, and when she finds herself looking forward to history she knows there's no going back.

The week of their history midterm, Lance suggests they get together and study, and Pidge accepts more quickly than she'll ever admit.

Pidge meets him at the library, and they closet themselves inside one of the private study rooms. She provides the snacks and the comprehensive notes, and Lance provides the coffee and the distraction.

Not that they don't focus on actually studying, at least at first, but Lance's attention wavers within a half hour, and Pidge can't help expressing her frustration.

"Why did you want to meet if you won't even study?" Pidge complains, prodding his arm with the tip of her pen.

Lance glances at her. "Maybe I like spending time with you?"

"Then why didn't you suggest something else?" Pidge demands. And she doesn't blush, no, she does not.

Lance shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. "I didn't think you'd agree?" He sips his coffee, then says, "Tell you what, if you can beat my high score at this game"--he holds up his phone to show her--"then we'll keep studying and I won't distract us anymore."

"And if I don't beat you?" Pidge crosses her arms. "We still have an exam, you know."

"Oh, I know." Lance smiles disarmingly. "But knowing you, you've got it in the bag."

"Knowing me?"

"Yeah. Hunk says you're a genius."

Pidge stares at him, wide-eyed, but then she shakes her head and gestures for his phone. "Give that to me then."

"You don't want to know what I want if you lose?" Lance asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

Pidge drops her arm on the table. "It's not to just have done with it?"

"Well, it is," he says. He taps his fingers against the table, looking thoughtful. "But there is something else."

She sighs. "And what's that?"

Lance smirks. "We level-up our friendship."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Easy. We start hanging out outside of history class." He props an elbow on the table, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. "If you want to anyway." He leans towards her a bit, close enough that she catches a whiff of the cologne he wears, smiling hopefully.

Pidge doesn't tell him he could've asked her anytime, without the pretense of a stupid game. Instead she snatches the phone from his hand and tries her best. But she's never played it before, and she's seen him playing this rather than paying attention in history for weeks now, so she can't beat his high score in the time they still have the study room reserved.

She can't help sulking as she hands his phone back to him outside the library, and her scowl only deepens at the smug grin on Lance's face. "So lunch after the exam tomorrow?" he asks her cheerfully.

Pidge rolls her eyes. "Fine," she says. But once they're going their separate ways - Pidge to an evening class and Lance to wherever he has to be next - she can't help the smile that splits her face.

Pidge's newest coding assignment comes along so poorly that the next time her neighbor plays their music, she composes an angry letter as a warmup:

Dear Downstairs Motherfucker, Congratulations. I hold you singlehandedly responsible for any of my failing grades. Do you have to blast your music so loud? The only logical reason I can think of is if you were trying to listen to it from MY apartment. I'm looking forward to seeing a moving truck, or even an ambulance, but I don't know if it would be more satisfying for ME to kick your ass or to watch some other annoyed neighbor do the honors. With all my love, Your Livid Upstairs Neighbor

In a fit of pique, she draws a heart with a green highlighter on the bottom of the page. And after another moment of consideration, she tapes a Reese's peanut butter cup to the paper as well. What can it hurt? Maybe they'll accept bribery.

Pidge storms down the stairs and finds the apartment right beneath hers. She tapes the letter and peanut butter cup to the door and returns upstairs.

Her downstairs neighbor doesn't blast music that evening, allowing her some headway on her homework, but when she wakes up the next morning she finds a response taped to her door along with a fun-sized Snickers bar:

Dear "Livid Upstairs Neighbor", Thank you, I accept the responsibility and the consequences, but maybe you should come down here and say all that to my face? Or invest in some noise-cancelling headphones? I can even make some recommendations for you, if you'd like. Love, The "Downstairs Motherfucker"

Pidge scowls and crumples the paper into a ball, but a prickle of familiarity seizes her and she smooths it out on her desk. She thinks she recognizes the handwriting, and brings the paper close to her face, squinting at it. A whiff of cologne or perfume tickles her nose, but even her scent memory fails her.

She scoffs, balling the paper up again and dropping it into a desk drawer. She eats the candy as she considers her retaliation.

"...and that's how I got that scar," Lance finishes his story with aplomb. He rolls up his sleeve, showing off a thin, ridged line of white on his forearm.

Hunk frowns at him. "What are you talking about?" he asks. "You fell and cut yourself on a piece of glass at the beach. I remember; I was there."

"Hunk!" Lance screeches indignantly, glaring at him.

Pidge laughs and sips at her milkshake. It's late on a Friday night, and for once she's taking a break from worrying about midterms (she still has one left, though it isn't for another week) and homework assignments and applying for graduation and all the other stuff she has to do before the end of the semester.

"Next you're gonna try to prove that your belly button is a heroic battle scar too," Pidge quips.

"You think anyone would believe it?" Lance asks hopefully.

"I once told someone that my birthday is on the thirtieth of February," Pidge says, smirking.

"And did they believe you?" Hunk says.

Pidge says, "No, but it took them a hot minute." She uses a spoon to finish the last of her milkshake, scooping whipped cream and the maraschino cherry out of the glass. Her phone buzzes with a text message from Matt, inquiring if she wants to video chat.

Lance teases Hunk about his not-really girlfriend while Pidge sends a quick negative reply to Matt. He shoots back almost immediately asking why, and:

Did you finally make friends? Three years late?

Pidge rolls her eyes and returns a terse, simple "yes".

"Who're you talking to?" Lance asks, startling her into almost dropping her phone.

It lands in her lap though, and Pidge says, "My brother. He's surprised I'm out since he thinks I don't have any friends." Her phone vibrates again, making her jump.

Pics or it didn't happen.

Pidge scowls at the screen and asks Lance and Hunk, "Do you mind if I take a picture?"

Lance's eyes light up as he grins, and Hunk says, "Sure."

Pidge gets up and walks around the table so she stands behind and between them, but Lance snatches the phone from her hand before she can hold it out in front of her. "Hey!" she says, indignant as she reaches for it.

Lance holds it away from her, almost out of reach. "I'm the selfie expert here," he claims with a wink. "Besides, you have short arms."

Pidge hates the way she flushes, but she manages to hold his eyes in a silent battle of wills. He does, however, have a point, and she might as well send her brother a decent photo rather than a half-assed one, so she agrees, "Fine, just don't drop it."

"O ye of little faith," Lance says, holding the phone out before the three of them and turning the screen towards them, "that will definitely not happen."

She sighs but bends her knees so that her head hovers between his and Hunk's. "Take the picture," she says, "before I lose my balance."

"Then why don't you hold onto my chair?" Lance suggests, glancing sideways at her.

They're close, close enough that she can see he has a few freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, and the way her heart beats leads her to think that she might've consumed too much sugar tonight. "Just take the photo, Lance," she says.

Lance turns his head towards the phone, and Pidge, usually uncomfortable being in photos, doesn't have to force her smile.

Two weeks after her history midterm, an entire weekend passes that Pidge doesn't hear a peep from the apartment beneath her.

By now Pidge and her neighbor have exchanged more notes, ranging in length from a salutation plus a few words to a half page of irritated ramblings on either of their parts. One of her desk drawers is filling with balled up letters, and the waste basket beside it is becoming a receptacle for Snickers wrappers. Pidge herself has left her neighbor more Reese's cups than she's kept for herself in the last two weeks.

At first she wonders if her neighbor finally surrendered, and she makes good use of that quiet weekend, drafting a term paper and applying for summer internships (it may be autumn, but it's never too soon). She even finds herself with enough time to play video games.

On Saturday evening though, Pidge is so bored that she texts Lance asking if he and Hunk want to do something, only to receive the reply that he was visiting his family for the weekend. So she frowns at her phone and texts Hunk instead, asking what he's doing on Sunday.

She meets Hunk at the nearby mall, and he asks, "What do you usually do on weekends?"

Pidge shrugs and admits, "Not much. Homework, play video games, fight my neighbor."

Hunk raises an eyebrow at that. "What did your neighbor do?"

Pidge scowls. "Play their music loud enough to wake the dead."

He laughs as he leads the way down the street, his eyes scanning the surrounding shops.

"Are you...looking for anything in particular?" Pidge asks him.

"Shay's birthday is this week," Hunk explains, pausing thoughtfully outside a store selling inexpensive - but still pretty - jewelry.

Pidge glances sideways at him, a sly smirk curling her lips. "Very cute," she says. "I'm sure she'll love whatever you get her."

Hunk narrows his eyes at her, but to his credit he doesn't blush. "We're just friends," he insists. "She is a classmate I met and admire very much."

Pidge crosses her arms, still smirking. "Uh huh, sure."

"Oh, not you too," Hunk gripes. But he pushes the door and steps into the store.

Pidge follows, and every time Hunk picks something, he shows it to her. But she shrugs and admits, "I not only don't know Shay, but I'm also awful at gifts."

"She likes earrings," Hunk says. "She seems to wear a new pair almost every day." He smiles, eyes distant like he's daydreaming, and Pidge wonders if she looks like that when she thinks of Lance.

Which is itself a strange thought to have, Pidge realizes, shaking her head to clear it and focusing on another pair of earrings that Hunk shows her.

Pidge grows bored quickly, and Hunk picks up on her mood and finally decides on a pair of earrings that likely pushes the envelope of his budget. Out of gratitude for her patience, Hunk buys her coffee, and they linger in the cafe, talking about classes, what they want to do after graduation, and, inevitably, Lance.

"So does Lance still bother you during history?"

Pidge shifts in her chair and toys with the sleeve on her cup. "I wouldn't say he bothers me," she says.

Hunk snorts. "Weren't you complaining the other day about him distracting you?"

"Well, yeah..."

Then his eyes widen, and dread curls in Pidge's stomach as he says, "I see what's going on." He smirks. "You like him."

"No I don't," Pidge is quick to lie.

"You do!" Hunk says gleefully, probably in revenge for all the times she teased him about Shay. "You want to sit-in-a-tree with him!"

Pidge chugs her coffee, wishing it's still hot enough that she can delude herself into thinking that the heat in her cheeks is from the beverage rather than a blush. She roughly sets her now-empty cup on the table and tells Hunk, "You can't prove anything."

Hunk shrugs. "I don't need to," he says. "Your face is all the proof I need."

She covers her still-warm cheeks. "Please don't tell him."

"I won't," he promises, "but I think you should."

She frowns at him. "That's a terrible idea."

"And why's that, Pidge?"

"He..." Pidge sighs and tugs on the end of her ponytail. "I can't unless I know for a fact he..." She scowls, frustrated with her inability to say it outright.

"Likes you too?" Hunk suggests. At Pidge's nod, he concedes, "That's fair."

"Besides," she continues, squeezing her empty cup in one hand, "he's never shown any sign of that."

"He will, Pidge." Hunk pats her shoulder, comforting her, and Pidge doesn't bother contradicting him.

When Pidge gets home, she hears her neighbor playing their music again, and there's a note taped to her door, a reply to the last one she left for them:

Miss me?

Pidge rolls her eyes and smiles as she tears it off.

So tell me about Lance.

Pidge waits outside the lecture hall before history when Matt messages her, and she stares incredulously at the words on the screen, trying to formulate a reply in her head at least based on everything she might've said about Lance to her brother.

What about him? she asks.

Matt doesn't reply immediately, giving Pidge the opportunity to glance around her surroundings. Her eyes catch on Lance's approaching figure and narrow when she sees he's not walking alone but is with a girl, the both of them laughing about something, Lance's eyes happily alight.

Pidge feels a rush of irrational anger and looks away. When the lecture hall opens to admit them inside, she rushes into class towards her usual seat without waiting for Lance, and once he joins her she avoids his gaze and only mumbles a halfhearted greeting.

Her phone buzzes as the professor sets up her laptop in the front of the hall, and she glances at the screen to read Matt's message:

I need to know what kind of guy I might have to fight.

Pidge rolls her eyes and leaves Matt on read, so he sends another text seconds later:

Just kidding! But seriously, what's he like?

She finally glances at Lance, who meets her gaze and smiles warmly. And the knot of anger and hurt inside her loosens, and she smiles back.

The professor starts her lecture, and Pidge ignores Matt in favor of listening. But of course, Lance has other ideas.

"So...you missed me over the weekend?" he asks with a smirk, voice low so they don't disturb their other classmates.

"You wish," Pidge retorts, eyes fixed on the professor's slides.

"I know, I'm sorry I had to deprive you of my presence for an entire weekend--"

Pidge snorts.

"--but don't worry, I missed you too."

Her pen freezes, halting her notes mid-word, and when she glances at Lance he winks. Pidge blushes and scowls, trying to recover her focus, but she says, "Yeah, I guess I missed you too."

Lance grins and, apparently satisfied, lets her pay attention to the lecture.

Afterwards, Pidge texts Matt, Wouldn't you like to know ;)

During dead week, Pidge's irritation with her downstairs neighbor comes to a head, and leaving passive aggressive notes and candy taped to each other's doors isn't cutting it for her anymore. So after two minutes of trying to study through AC/DC, she shoves her feet into her kitty slippers, grabs a whole unopened bag of Reese's peanut butter cups, throws on a robe over her pajamas, and storms downstairs, practically jumping down the steps in her hurry to reach the offender.

She pounds on the door and waits, impatiently tapping her foot.

Her neighbor pauses the music, and for a moment Pidge thinks that would be the end of it, there need not be any confrontation, only for them to open the door.

She doesn't look up until after she's thrown the bag of candy into their chest.

"H-hey!" they screech.

It's Lance.

Of course it's Lance.

Her anger and irritation melt away, and she gapes at him, standing there with wide eyes, barefoot and wearing a blue t-shirt over sweatpants. His hair looks like he's been running his fingers through it for hours, and Pidge is so stunned that she can't remember the rant she planned on her way downstairs.

Lance recovers first, and he leans against his door frame, arms crossed. "So you're my 'livid upstairs neighbor'?" he says, smirking.

"'Downstairs motherfucker'," Pidge breathes.

"You know," Lance says, reaching down to pick up the fallen bag of candy, "you have a weird way of showing you hate me."

"I don't hate you," she says. God, this is uncomfortable; she shuffles her feet. "I just hate how loud you blast your music."

"Yeah, the guy who lived in that apartment before you felt the same," Lance says. He waves a dismissive hand, and then opens the bag. "Actually, he might've hated me too."

"What happened to him?"

"Oh, I murdered him and stuffed him in my closet when he complained." Pidge stares at him, crossing her arms, until he laughs and says, "Just kidding. He dropped out."

"Not your fault?"

"Please, Pidge, what kind of person do you take me for?" He offers her the bag.

Pidge rolls her eyes and says, "I have plenty more upstairs."

"Yeah, I should've known it was you from all the Reese's."

"And I should've figured out it was you from the scent." Pidge waves a hand over her nose. "Did you spray those notes in cologne?"

Lance, halfway through unwrapping a piece of candy, glances up in surprise. "You pay attention to my scent?"

Pidge, now realizing how strange that must sound, flushes. "What?" she says, voice pitched higher than usual. "You always wear cologne, and I sit next to you in history, so..." She shrugs.

He snorts, but she thinks he might also be blushing. "Right, sure."

Thinking it's finally time to end this, she forces a smile and says, "Uh, keep it down? Please?"

Lance returns her smile, something soft and private. "Sure," he says, "anything for you, Pidge."

Pidge exhales, relieved, and turns to leave, but she doesn't hear Lance shut his door until she steps into the stairwell.

Nothing notable happens during finals week, and at the end Pidge is more than ready to go back home for her three weeks of winter vacation, though not without saying goodbye to Lance.

"See you in January?" he says while they stand together outside their apartment building, with Pidge waiting for her ride to the airport and him there seeing her off.

"We don't have a class together anymore," she points out, disappointed.

Lance rolls his eyes. "You have my number, Pidge," he says. "Use it."

Pidge's shuttle finally pulls up to the curb, but she still turns to Lance and agrees, "Fine, you've convinced me. I'll call you when I get home, okay?" She smiles and stands on her toes so she can press her lips to his cheek.

It's a gesture she doesn't think about, something that feels natural though she's never done it before, but when Lance stiffens her awareness of her own actions returns. She stares at him, eyes wide, and says, "I'm--"

Lance hugs her. "This isn't weird, right?" he asks, his breath warming her ear.

Pidge buries her face in his shoulder. "It's not," she tells him. "I actually really like it and...you."

"What was that?" Lance says. "I couldn't hear you."

Pidge pulls away from him, face hot. "You, I like you, you...downstairs motherfucker."

Lance snorts and laughs, and Pidge joins in, and they both just laugh until they're breathless with it. When they finally stop, the shuttle driver is giving her a dirty look, and she promises Lance, "I'll see you in a few weeks."

"I'm counting the days." He leans down and kisses her cheek, and Pidge pulls him into one last hug.

When she's at the airport, before she boards her plane, she receives a text message.

Oh I forgot to tell you I like you too <3

Pidge smiles what feels like the entire flight.

---

Matt is the first one to greet her when she exits the gate. He flings his arms around her, even spins her around once, and she laughs, giddy after being away from her family for almost half a year. When he puts her down, he takes her bag and asks, "So anything interesting happen before you left?"

It's almost like he knows. Pidge narrows her eyes at him and says, "Like what?"

"Like...?" He waggles his eyebrows at her.

She sighs and admits, "Lance was my downstairs neighbor blasting music."

Matt stares at her, then laughs. "No way. You've been at war with your crush for months and didn't realize it?"

Pidge flushes and crosses her arms. "Don't remind me."

"Oh, no, this is too funny," Matt says, jostling her with his free arm.

Right, of course he would never let her live it down.

"So does he still blast music?"

"He stole my headphones," Pidge admits. "Said if I was gonna complain with them, I didn't deserve them." She rolls her eyes but still smiles at the memory. "And then I stole his favorite jacket." Which she has stuffed in her bag; she wonders how long it will take Lance to figure out she took it with her.

Matt glances at her, looking skeptical. "Are you together now?"

Pidge scoffs, "No." Then she frowns and amends, "Maybe a little?"

"Pidge..."

"Which reminds me, I promised I'd call him."

"Now?" Matt stares at her incredulously.

"Please," Pidge says with a snort, "I missed you enough to hold off until later. For your sake," she adds, mockingly bowing her head.

"What a relief," Matt scoffs, but he reaches up and ruffles her hair playfully.

At home, her parents greet her warmly and with her favorite meal, and Pidge doesn't have a chance to call Lance until after dinner, when she closes her bedroom door and dials his number.

"Pidge!" he greets her. "Do you miss me yet?"

"Definitely not," she says, "but I might miss your music."

"No way," Lance says incredulously, but she can hear the smile in his voice. "By the way, did you take my jacket?"

Pidge covers her face and laughs.

Pidge gets a roommate for her last semester of college.

Lance's lease expires over break, and during one of their many conversations, she idly suggests he move in with her, disregarding how small her apartment is. He agrees without too much convincing on her part, but it's not until she nudges open the door upon first getting back that she recognizes the implication behind what they're doing.

Lance gets back the day after she does, and since his stuff is at Hunk's since he's already lost the use of the downstairs apartment, Pidge visits him there.

"What are we?" she demands before he can do much more than smile at her.

Lance raises an eyebrow at her, confused. "Uh...people?" he says.

While visiting her family, they'd texted on and off daily, and talked on the phone or video chatted at least once every few days. And they never ventured into unfamiliar territory, never spoke of them, through an unspoken agreement that they would discuss it once they stood face-to-face again.

Which is now.

Hunk is out buying groceries and other last-minute things he needs for the upcoming semester, affording them some privacy. "That's not what I meant," she says. She stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets - his jacket pockets, since she's wearing the one she 'borrowed' from him.

Lance pats the sofa cushion beside him, and she sits next to him. "What do you want us to be?" he asks.

Pidge pulls her feet onto the couch with her, hands on her ankles. "I've never had a boyfriend before," she tells him, glancing sideways at him.

He shrugs, as if unconcerned. "Well, I've dated"--Pidge snorts, because she knows--"but I've never lived with a girlfriend before." He stares at her. "You're right, this is weird."

"I didn't say that," Pidge backtracks, waving her hands. "I just meant I...want us to know what we're getting into."

"Well, I like you," Lance says like it's the most natural thing in the world, like him simply saying it doesn't make her heart beat faster, "and you like me. So let's...be together? Like...that?"

Pidge stares at him. "Very romantic," she deadpans.

Lance rolls his eyes and says, "I didn't have time to get flowers. Also, do you know how expensive red roses are?"

She flushes until she's just as red. "Who said anything about roses?"

He shrugs sheepishly. "I looked into buying some... Which reminds me." He stands up and disappears into Hunk's second bedroom, and when he comes back he's carrying a tiny box with a blue bow wrapped around it. "Here; consider this a late Christmas present."

Pidge takes it and removes the bow. When she eyes Lance suspiciously, he smiles, and she opens the box.

"What's on this?" she asks, picking up the flash drive.

Lance laughs, but his cheeks turn red. "Every song you interrupted to leave a note on my door."

Pidge puts the box - with both earrings and flash drive - aside and flings her arms around Lance's neck. "Thank you," she says, grinning, "but I, uh, didn't get you anything."

Lance's arms circle her waist, and he says, "That's okay. You're letting me live with you."

"You're paying rent," Pidge points out, pulling away just enough to look him in the eye.

Lance smiles and teases, "Is that negotiable?"

"No."

"Fine," Lance says, rolling his eyes. "You'll just have to make it up to me in some other way."

Pidge raises an eyebrow at him, and she feels a slow smirk tug up her lips. And she says, "I think I can live with that."

[whiskeytangofrogman]

“No, like…. It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.” Nurseydex b/c I know you love them.

Here’s something I should have answered uhhhhhh months ago. Sorry, lol. 

NurseyDex, 1.9k. Unbeta’d and barely read over, so sorry bout that lol. Technically fills @nurseydexweek Day 2! More under cut.

“And that’s the last bit of your integral chart. Don’t forget, quiz on Monday, test on Wednesday!” Before his professor could even finish reminding them about the upcoming assessments, Dex had packed up his stuff and bolted for the door. He had approximately three hours before his Python midterm, and six hours of studying to do.

And then, of course, right as he reached the front door of Founder’s, some guy coming out slammed into him, spilling hot coffee down his front. The guy huffed, and dropped his cup in the trash can. “Watch where you’re going, dude.”

Dex cursed, pulling his shirt away from his body. He wanted to cuss the guy out, do something, but he was already walking away by the time Dex got up the courage to tell him to go fuck himself.

Dex did a quick mental calculation. If he was back home in five minutes he could change, and grab a snack, and still meet his last-minute study group just a few minutes late.

“Yeah, fuck it,” he said, and picked up his speed in the direction of the Haus. Campus was busy this week, he noted, as he pushed through throngs of people. Midterm week tended to gather all the people that had skipped class until this point to campus, like showing up to the review session and cramming would do any help for memorizing half a semester’s worth of material.

Dex, ever the diligent student (and for good reason, if he wanted to keep his scholarship), hated this, and hated how the library and the dining halls and the fucking sidewalks were all crammed for a week, and then empty the next.

He made it to the Haus in just over five minutes, and bolted to he and Nursey’s shared room. He tossed his backpack on his bed, and began digging through his clothing. Except… he’d been a little too busy this week studying to think about laundry (or fixing the dryer), and all he had were shirts that smelled like stale sweat, or beer. Or both. He looked around, desperate, and his eyes settled on a shirt tossed carelessly in the bottom of the closet.

It was Nursey’s, and smelled like expensive aftershave and, inexplicably, like fall but it would have to do. Dex was already running late. Besides, Nursey wouldn’t even notice, too caught up in his own midterms, Dex rationalised to himself. He’d do laundry tonight after his midterm.

He grabbed a muffin from a stressed Bitty on his way out, and waved to Chowder as he passed him and Caitlin on the sidewalk. Chowder, unlike Dex, had taken Python freshman year, so despite them being in the same major, they didn’t have all the same classes.

He slid into the library study room 3A ten minutes after his group had agreed to meet. They were there, but packing up. He frowned.

“What’s going on?”

Jason, cocky bastard that he was, rolled his eyes. “Well, we all got here early, William.” He picked at his manicured nails, and swung his messenger bag over his shoulder. “So we’re done studying. Didn’t you get the texts?”

Will pulled out his phone, and saw a string of texts he’d received in the middle of his last class about rescheduling earlier. He cursed under his breath. “Alright.”

Jason smirked, and patted him on the shoulder as he walked out. “Good luck on the test.” Everyone else murmured their agreement as they pushed by him and back into the main section of the library, leaving him alone with his panic, and no idea how to do some of the things he should have known by now.

He collapsed downwards into a seat, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. There was bile building in his throat, and for a second he considered dropping the class and trying again next semester.

He wasn’t a great programmer, so much as a passable one with a lot of work. He wasn’t Chowder, who seemed to know a computer like the inside of his own mind, or Jason, who Dex spitefully believed must be paying for his good grades.

He took a deep breath, pulled out his laptop, and began studying, but not before setting a timer on his phone to pull him out in time to run across campus for the test itself. He’d been known on more than one occasion to get so lost in what he was doing he forgot to meet the team somewhere, or go get a meal before he was done.

He couldn’t afford to tank his grade, not now.

He got to work, drowning out the soft sounds of chatter in the background to try and understand seven weeks worth of material in time to regurgitate it well enough for a C. It would have to do.

Dex’s eyes were burning, from lack of sleep, and from concentrating too hard for too long. After studying for a few hours, he went straight to his test, and took all the time he could. He was one of the last people in the room, still scribbling away at a recursion problem, when his professor called time.

“Is there a curve?” He heard another student ask, and heard a negative in response.

“Fuck,” he whispered, setting his test on the stack and walking out of the room. He was so fucked, and all because he didn’t look at his phone, and because he was busy with hockey and extra practices between him and Nursey, and all the other shit in his life.

He walked to the Haus feeling like the whole world took rest on his shoulders.

He brushed off Bitty’s call of hello, and trudged up to his room, tossing his bag on his bed and himself after.

Nursey was at their shared desk, leaning back in the chair and tapping a pencil against his lips. Dex could hear the small sounds of classical music from Nursey’s earbuds, and his eyes were closed.

He was writing poetry, then, if Dex knew him at all.

He laid on his side, and scrolled through Twitter, waiting for either the urge to get up and do something else other than wallow, or for Nursey to open his eyes and notice him.

Nursey happened first. “Hey.” Nursey pulled an earbud out, and cocked an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Bombed my midterm,” Dex mumbled, not making eye contact.

“Ah, shit.” Nursey tossed something his way. Dex lifted his phone just enough to grab it. It was a fun size Hershey’s bar, Nursey’s snack of choice when it came to expending his creative juices. He shrugged when Dex shot him a confused look. “Makes me feel better, sometimes.”

Dex from a year ago would have found some way to be mad, probably said something about how a Hershey’s bar wasn’t going to make his grade go up. Dex now, though, knew Nursey was trying to give him space. Sharing a room made Dex more in-tune to what Nursey’s previously more confusing habits meant.

Dex now, though, saw the small chocolate bar for what it was, and smiled at Nursey. It didn’t make him feel better, but Nursey not trying to convince him it would be alright, or that it was just a test, instead giving Dex the room to be upset, was what did. “Thanks.” Nursey nodded, and turned back to his notebook as Dex unwrapped the bar and sat up.

“You know, I might have done better if Chelsea wasn’t dating Jason, and I didn’t have to study with him.” Dex said a few moments later, letting the chocolate melt on his tongue in small portions. “He rescheduled, and I’m pretty sure it was to fuck me over.”

Nursey turned back to him, shutting the notebook with a decisive click. “Fuck that guy.” Nursey tossed him another candy, this time a Snickers, and propped his feet up on Dex’s bed. “I hope he bombs the test.”

Dex snickered. “I can only dream.” Dex popped the Snickers into his mouth whole, and chewed as he talked. “He’s mad that I did better than him in Calc two, and jealous his girlfriend would rather hang out with me than him, but I’m not a raging douche, so it makes sense.”

Nursey grinned. “Of course she would. Chelsea’s got a good head on her, just not when it comes to dating.” He opened his mouth to say something else, and then paused, and looked at Dex with obvious confusion.

Dex looked down at himself, and then back at Nursey. “Do I have something on me?”

“Is that my shirt?”

Dex flushed, embarrassed. He’d forgotten he borrowed it earlier, and had meant to take it off before Nursey saw. “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t have any clean ones earlier and I was running late-”

Nursey cut him off. “No, like… It’s just,” Nursey’s eyes were wide, and a little unfocused as he stared at Dex. “I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”

Dex folded his arms across his chest defensively, as if covering his chest could get rid of the look on Nursey’s face, and shrugged. “Sorry.”

“I like it.” Nursey blurted out, sounding choked. “I-”

Dex hopped up, completely red and feeling like a cocoon of butterflies had opened in his chest just then. “Don’t say anything else.” He turned his back towards Nursey and took off the shirt, tossing it in his basket, and pulling on a ratty, grease stained tank he used for fixing his truck. “I’m doing laundry.”

Nursey nodded, looking panicked, and turned back to his desk.

When Dex came back, his shoulders were hunched in a tight line, and loud pop music was blaring from his headphones.

Dex sighed. “Nursey.” He walked closer when Nursey didn’t respond. “Nurse. Derek.”

Nursey jumped and yanked out his earbuds. “What?” He looked panicked. “Look, I-”

Dex frowned. “Don’t say I’m sorry.”

Nursey licked his lips, and swallowed hard. “Okay.”

Dex pulled up their extra chair, and sat next to him. Nursey paused his music as he turned to face Dex, and the room was silent. The only sounds from the Haus were coming from the kitchen, a mixture of clanking dishes, quiet voices, and soft music. “How long?” Dex’s voice broke the silence, but amplified the tension.

Nursey didn’t beat around the bush. “Last semester. I can live somewhere else-”

Dex snorted. “No. Me too. Stop worrying.”

Nursey huffed. “Kinda hard not to worry when you live with the person you… you,”

“Want to bang?” Dex grinned. Nursey knocked his knee into Dex’s with a glare.

“No. Maybe. Not right now.”

Dex’s grin grew wide. “Course not. The washing machine is done in ten minutes.”

Nursey buried his face in his hands. “You’re the worst,” he groaned, but Dex could see the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile.

Dex looked at the paper on Nursey’s pile, eyes caught on a large date in chunky black letters. “You have a test tomorrow?”

Nursey nodded, pulling his hands away from his face. “Yeah. I’ve given up on it.”

Dex picked up the paper, and frowned. “I can help?” He set it back down. “And the maybe after we can go get dinner, and talk?”

Nursey met Dex’s eyes, and smiled. “I’d like that.”

Dex stood, but left the chair. “Lemme switch my laundry, and then we can study.”

Nursey nodded, and Dex felt his eyes follow him from the room as he left.

And, when he came back, if he and Nursey sat a little closer than normal, and if he forgot to give Nursey back his shirt that night, well. No one had to know.

Send me some prompts!

[cosmosogler]

not sure what to do right now.

today was really bad... not because anything particularly bad happened (other than i got back my e&m test and it had... comments on it), but because i just really didn’t feel good emotionally. i just felt like doing nothing all day and didn’t get ANY work done at all.

like literally none.

we saw the ligo update during classical at least... and he moved the assignment back to wednesday. so i have one more day to dick around before i have to turn in whatever i have.

not going to have a lot of time tomorrow but we’ll see how that goes.

during my lunch break i went down to check out the lab but the students and professor seemed to be on lunch break. i arranged a meeting time over email after that instead. so i’ll be checking it out tomorrow after my office hour.

after quantum i holed up in suzanne’s office and got sick after trying to eat the pasta salad i made on sunday. i’d say that was a flop. it just didn’t have very good materials for being recooked i think. beans don’t handle being dehydrated and rehydrated as well as other stuff maybe. i’ll try a different brand next time.

during my office hour i really wanted to grade but then i just didn’t. i wanted to check something real quick, and then it was an hour later and my student showed up for the meeting with my supervisor. 

i felt really, really bad telling the student i wasn’t really in much control over their situation or how much help they got. i had a nervous very fake smile plastered on my face and i just didn’t know what to say at all. i hated it. i wanted to solve everything but i didn’t have the answers. and it was also so, so hard to focus on the conversation. half the time i straight up didn’t understand what the words meant when the supervisor was talkin. i had trouble standing up the right way. i wanted to fall asleep.

so i felt stupid and slow the rest of the day after that. while i was back in suzanne’s office very specifically not doing any grading or homework i talked to harrison a little bit about how he was doing since i noticed his jokes were getting very dark. i don’t remember much else about that 40 minutes. we talked about something that i enjoyed... i was trying to tell a few stories from high school and i didn’t get through a single one. i kept getting interrupted and eventually i just bellowed something like “WELL AT LEAST YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO HEAR THAT PUN, BECAUSE WHEN I GET CONSTANTLY INTERRUPTED NONE OF MY JOKES CAN LAND. SO YOU GOT SPARED.” jennica yelled back and leaned way in and i told her to get out of my face but she took it good-naturedly. 

e&m sucked. straight up. i got my test back. 9/30. nothing i do matters at all. i could do nothing but study physics for a year straight and still fail a basic quiz. 

ok, well, studying with suzanne and john meant i got one more point on the test than last time. 

i could get a perfect score on every quiz for the rest of the semester and the final and still only pass with a c+. i don’t know what to do. the grad advisor sent me an email about one of the professors who’s available for some tutoring. i sent her an email asking when she could meet.

while the class was going, instead of taking any notes, i stared at the floor, or blankly stared at the professor. i felt like i had never seen him before, and also never seen a blackboard before. i thought about what would happen if i dropped out. nothing good. i don’t want to do that. i don’t know what would happen to snoopy. or my savings. or really anything.

i felt like i had always been in that room for a million years but also like i had never existed in the first place. i felt like this is just what my life is like now. i move and get punched in the gut no matter which direction i step in. but i can’t just stand still. it doesn’t matter what tools i equip myself with. it always comes down to getting socked until my appendix explodes or something i don’t know where else to take that metaphor.

i hate this. i hate feeling stupid. retarded. you know. like mom said i am. after class i sat in my chair quietly while my classmates talked about where to get dinner before their class met for the second time today in preparation for the e&m midterm. i hate that i have a good week and then i spend the next three weeks being unable to think straight, or talk normal, or basically do anything school related. and then i get behind AND out of practice and i have to spend my good week playing catch up until i’m so exhausted that my depression gets bad again for three weeks. and also i get sick and i’m still sick and it’s been a month since this cold/flu thing started and i’m still coughing hard and sick and retching and i get sick every time i eat before 2 in the afternoon. and my nose is always stuffy and my face is scratchy and scabbed and healing too slow.

the cut doesn’t look as bad today and also isn’t as rough or raised from inflammation or whatever. so it’s healing. just... slowly. my surgical incisions still have that sort of raised bumpy quality that means they got more healing to do.

the surgeon said the incisions shouldn’t leave scars. but they’re still so... raw looking. not off-color in any way, just... sore. i get phantom habit pains whenever i jam something directly into my side where the largest incision is. it’s right near my elbow level so i just have things around that height at all times. trying to hold boxes, door knobs, stuff like that.

“tired” isn’t really the right word to be using. but it’s, like, the closest thing i got. weary. irritable. consumed. haggard.

i played a round of smash bros with keegan and harrison and we showed soham how to play. the controller i picked up was gunky and dusty and the a and b buttons were not responsive. there was something really disorienting about pressing buttons that are practically second nature and expecting something to happen and getting nothing and then running directly off the edge because my character didn’t stop to do the charge attack like i wanted.

hash tag relatable. 

after that we went to relish for dinner. i biked over there. it didn’t take long at all. i got shunted off to a table by myself though because they were only set for four people and we had five. i had trouble hearing the conversation. the burger was good at least. but it was hard to participate, and then they all had to leave so quickly for their review session. i biked home and almost got hit by a car at a stop sign. 

i guess i forgot that the stop sign is only there for one direction and not the other two.

i wanted to grade when i got home but instead of that, i goofed off and did nothing for three hours! then it was 9:00!! so i checked my comics!!! 

one of them updated and it Fueled me. i wish i had someone to talk to about it. feels weird trying to describe it or recommend it to anyone though. 

i’m kind of stuck in a bind there because on the one hand i hate sharing stuff that i find personally important. i hate sharing stuff that actually matters for real. but i also really like some stuff and think other people would like it too and i would like to like it together and be a little happier or maybe introduce someone to something that touches them. asher liked jojo way more than i thought he would and that was basically the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

it’s just risky is all. sharing stuff that doesn’t matter is... less dangerous. describing my day. stuff i did. how i feel. embarrassing times i got whacked in the face or whatever.

but stuff that matters? things that i hold close and think about every day? what i love? 

i dunno. sharing that is scary. here i am only vaguely alluding to this comic that’s basically consumed my feelings and tears for like 6 months straight. i check it every day. 

i know it’s not exactly my situation but it just... i dunno. reminds me of my childhood in a kind of way. i was alone though.

i think... maybe besides asher. or maybe even jim. really private thoughts. my favorite things ever. poetry. the last time i shared anything that really mattered was with craig.

well, we all know how that went.

at 9:20 after letting myself feel an emotion for once i got started grading. three hours after i wanted to start. i could have finished. but i didn’t do that! i didn’t even watch youtube videos or ANYTHING! i listened to one song a lot and i’ve learned it pretty well. i’d like to play it on the piano sometime if i could find any sheet music simplifying an extremely busy, textured piece haha.

at least i remembered to wear my reading glasses for a little while... my head doesn’t hurt as badly as it could have.

but instead of finishing my grading i got through like 6 pages. out of 180 that i need to have done by tomorrow. 540 by thursday.

i’m not going to have it done by tomorrow. or thursday. then my midterm is on friday and we’re all terrified. during our quantum review this morning the professor told us to focus on “math and physics” and then summarized everything we’ve learned in the class so far. Very Rude.

well. guess i need to at least finish this round of pages before bed. i want to keep writing... it’s not that i don’t express myself honestly around other people. i just don’t express myself. i guess. genuinely. fully. i don’t know. 

oz is very open. i enjoy talking to him. we both just seem to have so little time or energy. and i am very afraid of, yet again, being Just Too Much. 

right now i don’t want to do anything but cry. 

last night when i laid in bed to sleep my back and hips started really hurting, like cramping up, like when i lay flat on my stomach playing my gameboy or reading a book for too long and try to sit up. i reached around to touch my back and maybe find what was hurting so bad and i realized that, just, my entire back hurts. every muscle from the sides all the way around the back. touching the muscles back there felt like jabbing my fingers directly into a bruise and i wanted to die because it didn’t stop hurting even after i stopped touching anything. 

i’m too scared to think about getting a massage or anything like that. my scarring is so extensive on my right side... that and i just don’t like situations that are supposed to be relaxing. can’t stand hot tubs unless i’m just dicking around with my cousins. immediately suspicious of “relaxing voices.” except bob ross. that guy was legit. mostly because he was focused on painting and having a good time making his art. in group therapy back in spring we discussed asmr. makes me feel nauseous and grody. i only touch aromatherapy when i’m absolutely by myself and i basically dunk my pillows in lavender. doesn’t help me sleep though. 

AND SLEEPING? GOD!!!!!!!!!! I CAN’T DO THAT AT ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT IF SOMEONE GRABS ME???????? IT’S HAPPENED MORE THAN ONCE.

i don’t like people touching me. can you imagine, laying on your stomach around someone you don’t know and you can’t see them directly while they get their hands all over you and make weird noises that other people find soothing but you just find to be false advertising? 

but i don’t know what to do about my back. it hurts to lay down. my jaw hurts all the time. it is never not sore and tender. my shoulders are basically bricks.

i feel like i’m never going to get any better than this. i can’t change any more. i’m not good enough. i can’t keep doing this.

something good... i can’t think of anything. 

i wasn’t even really that frustrated when i yelled about getting interrupted for the five thousandth time. it seemed like the funniest thing to do in that specific situation. standing up for myself is only easy when it’s funny! no wonder no one can take me seriously. 

i gotta teach tomorrow. i guess that’s something. i really care about how my students are doing in their studies. at least, i hope i care. it’s hard to remember what it feels like sometimes, what to call that feeling. i try to be more “big sister” than “mom” but it seems like, in people’s minds, there might be a lot of overlap there. or it gets defaulted to mom and then it’s hard to pry yourself out of that box.

like i think of my students and i immediately think, “yeah i care about them!” but then i don’t actually feel anything? it’s just an instinctive thought without any ability to feel attached. that might come through in my grading. i’m not sure.

anyway it’s 11 and i haven’t made any more progress on my grading. might have to... put it away for the night and try to sleep. keeping myself physically healthy is going to help me more this week than finishing the grading. well, to think of it another way, getting sick right before my last (hardest? least predictable) midterm is a way worse idea than dealing with the consequences of not having the grading done and letting three labs stack up. gotta make a choice i guess. can’t do both today. just gotta... tell myself i’ll have more energy tomorrow, even if i don’t believe it.

[cajunroe]

speirton + college professors!au ↳ as a professor at one of the last male-only colleges left in the nation, lip didn’t expect so many applicants for the english program. but for the past two years, the classes have been full.  lip had always loved teaching. he loved when he got to witness the moment when everything clicked in his students’ minds and their eyes lit up with understanding and the love for english literature that he had. it made everything he had to put up with, worth it. his main source of frustration and anger was currently the department chair and sole professor of their edgar allan poe course, one necessary for graduation. norman dike was not a terrible man, but as a man who cared more about his title than his students, he wasn’t a good professor and it showed in his students. many of them filled lip’s office during his office hours begging for his help. and he could only do so much, what with his actual students needing his help too. and when he couldn’t help them all, he felt like a failure. like he’d disappointed the young men that had grown to depend on him. when web comes to his office, near tears because dike had messed up his midterm grade in a huge mistake, lip storms into the dick’s office and demands that dike be removed as a professor. one week later, dike gratefully resigned from the course and dick has a replacement coming in the following week. lip took over teaching and he could see the students’ relief and excitement on their faces. and he was happy that he could at least help them get someone new. two weeks later, lip has yet to meet the new professor, but it is a college and the kids are relatively young, so rumors fly about professor speirs. malarkey had told him that he swore he heard speirs threaten to shoot three students if they showed up late again. and skip had told him that he heard speirs kicked out another student for texting during his lecture. and then toye, not one for gossip, says he heard that speirs just got out of prison and someone high up owed him a favor. lips laughs them off when they invade his office, a little frightened. they ask lip to ask speirs to be less intense because it’s hard to focus on the lecture when they’re scared shitless. lip agrees and the next day he seeks out the infamous professor ronald speirs. and what he finds is more than he ever expected.

from the first moment lip saw speirs, he knew he was fucked. ron speirs was pretty much everything lip had ever wanted. 

dark, messy hair, dark eyes, defined jaw meeting in the middle to form a set of perfect, slightly pale lips which were wrapped around a coffee mug. his eyes traced along the planes of the man’s body, focusing on broad shoulders, toned arms, and rough hands holding a book of edgar allan poe poetry. 

lip was speechless.

“you’ve been staring long enough, i’m inclined to believe you see something you like?”

lip followed the deep voice, that voice, and his heart raced at the smug smile on the man’s face.

lip cleared his throat, twice, and gather his confidence to sit across from the man he’d heard so much about. 

he put his hand forward, “professor carwood lipton, everyone calls me lip, i teach romantic english lit.”

ron put his hand forward slowly, and lip didn’t miss the thorough eye’s checking him out, “ron speirs, i’m dike’s replacement.”

lip let out an involuntary sigh of relief, “thank god for that.”

he sat down on the chair across from ron and smiled..

he didn’t receive a smile in return, but ron put his book down so lip assumed it was a sign of interest in conversation.

“i’m under the assumption that he was a shit professor?”

“what makes you say that?” lip frowned, dick would’ve never used those exact words. nix for sure, but dick was a bit more diplomatic. 

ron smiled, “every student has told me so.”

lip laughed warmly, “i mean, they’re not wrong. he’s not a bad guy, just a bad leader. and these boys need more than that.”

ron nodded and lip looked at him curiously. when ron met his eyes, lip’s shifted to the ceiling.

“so,” he breathed out, “edgar allan poe? what made you choose him?”

ron was silent for a minute, “he’s underestimated.”

lip balked, “under...underestimated? how so?”

ron smiled like he was remembering a fond memory.

“there’s so much about him that is still a mystery. he was mysterious in life and death and his legacy. and people still believe they know all there is to know. i mean we have him to thank for more than the raven and the tell-tale heart and annabel lee.”

lip leaned forward as he saw the passion rise in ron’s eyes. wanting so deeply to drown in it. 

“and that’s another thing. his greatest, which is completely based on each individual’s opinion, works are magnificent and so are his not so popular works. did you know sir arthur conan doyle praised poe for bringing life to the detective story? he’s underestimated because no one knows just how far-reaching his influence is. he’s underestimated because his works, however popular or unpopular, still have a powerful effects on those who read and study them. he’s underestimated because he’s the greatest author and poet in american history and yet people just use him for fucking halloween spirit and when they want to pretend to be fucking deep rather than truly understand what he was trying to convey.”

ron finished with an angered huff and lip was in love. he’d never met another professor as in love and passionate about their subjects. god he want to learn everything going on in ron’s head.

“why are you looking at me like at?”

lip blinked slowly, coming back down from the academic high.

“what way?” he asked and noticed the curious look on ron’s face, eyes narrowed like he was trying to figure something out.

ron smiled, that same smug smile he had before, “like you just found religion.”

lip laughed and bit his lip, “well, i am a romantic at heart.”

ron smiled and lip loved how easily they were able to become comfortable with one another. he’d never felt such a connection so quickly before. 

it was as if....no. no way.

“i guess you are,” ron looked to lip’s mouth and bit his own lip, “so why do you teach what you teach? you don’t strike me as someone who could lecture on austen for his entire life.”

lip laughed softly, “are you kidding me? i could talk about jane austen for the rest of my life, teaching or not. to be able to describe love and affection and admiration so eloquently it was what first drew me into english and then teaching. and then in college i read jane eyre for the first time and i was absolutely in love. i knew i couldn’t possibly teach anything else. i’ve heard from a lot of other professors and colleagues that they think austen and brontë and shelley are overrated and outdated, but i don’t give a shit.”

he notice ron gradually lean closer, mirroring what lip did when ron was talking. that same passion in his eyes as when he was talking about poe. lip was transfixed.

he lowered his voice, and watched ron swallow heavily as he continued, “it’s my job as a professor to prove how wonderful and timeless these works are. they convey so much of the human condition and how powerful and devastating love can be. how, through trials and tribulations and heartbreaks and betrayal and lies can be overcome by three simple, but true, words. there are no more powerful words in any language than i love you. and austen and brontë completely capture that in a single novel.”

lip smiles shyly and blushes when ron says, “you’re incredible.”

they stare at one another a moment too long because nix clears his throat and when lip looked over he saw a wide, knowing smile.

“i see you two have finally met.”

lip smiled and looked from nix back to ron who hadn’t stopped staring at lip.

“yeah, we were just talking about why we chose to teach what we teach.” lip laughed and decided to try to get nix out of the longue as fast as possible, “why don’t you tell ron why exactly you got into teaching counterintelligence courses, nix?” 

nix eye’s narrowed and he stormed out of the room with a middle finger pointed at lip.

lip just laughed until it died in his throat when he saw ron, still looking at him. 

he smiled slyly, “you’ve been staring long enough, i’m inclined to believe you see something you like.”

ron smiled back and lip’s heart started racing again.

ron let out a small breath, “i do.”

lip braced himself, hoping he wasn’t being to forward, “do you want to have dinner sometime?”

ron let of a sigh of relief, “hell yes.”

lip smiled and dick popped his head around the corner, “guys the meeting is is going to start in twenty minutes.”

the both nodding, smiling.

dick moved to leave but then popped back in, “lip whatever you said to nix, please apologize. i can’t handle an entire meeting of his brooding.”

lip nodded, “sure.”

then both got up and started heading towards but lip stopped ron in the doorway.

“i have to admit i didn’t come in here to ask you out.”

ron frowned, but lip noticed the mischief in his eyes, “no? i’m heartbroken.”

lip laughed, “some of my students ask me t-”

ron sighed, “you wanna know if they're true or not, the stories about me?”

lip nodded lightly, “they do. they say it’s hard to concentrate and in a small, elite school like this, rumors fly.”

ron smiled, white teeth flashing against the fluorescent lights in the lounge,  “did you ever notice with stories like that, everyone says they heard it from someone who was there. then when you ask that person, they say they heard it from someone who was there.”

ron sighed, like he was used to this question and having to explain himself. lip regretted bringing it up.

ron continued, softly, “it's nothing new, really. i bet if you went back two thousand years, you'd hear a couple centurions standing around yakkin' about how tertius lopped off the heads of some carthaginian prisoners.”

lip smiled and ron smiled back, “well, maybe they kept talking about it because they never heard tertius deny it.”

ron laughed, “maybe that's because tertius knew there was some value to the men thinking he was the meanest, toughest son of a bitch in the whole roman legion.”

lip was once again mesmerized by the man before him.

ron broke their eye contact, a little regretfully, and moved to leave. lip grabbed his arm lightly, needing to let ron know that he was needed and wanted by more than just him. 

“ron?”

ron turned to look at first lip’s contact with his arm and then into his eyes.

“these boys aren't really concerned about the stories. they're just glad to have you as their professor. they're happy to have a good leader again.” lip smiled reassuringly.

ron placed his own hand over lip’s, and held tight. he took a deep breath and spoke softly, “well, from what I've heard, they've always had one. i've been told there's always been one man they could count on. led them through their midterms, held them together when they had the shit kicked out of them with term papers. every day, he kept their spirits up, kept the boys focused, gave 'em direction... all the things a good professor and leader does.”

lip looked at ron blankly, not sure where he was going with it or who he was talking about.

ron smiled, “you don't have any idea who i'm talking about, do you?”

lip gently shook his head, completely lost.

ron took a step closer, backing lip against the doorframe. 

“hell, it was you, professor lipton. ever since winters made dean, you've been the leader of the boys of the english department. they love you lip. they never stop talking about you.” ron looked down shyly and then looked at lip through his lashes, “and after meeting you. i can absolutely see why.”

lip had no control as his pressed his lips softly against ron’s and fully deepening the kiss when ron gasped.

they heard a light clearing of someone’s throat and pulled apart reluctantly.

lip’s eyes widened when he saw gene roe, blushing furiously and looking nervous.

ron kissed him once more, chaste and simple, like he’d been doing it forever and god, lip never wanted to kiss anyone that wasn’t ron. 

then ron headed towards the conference room and lip turned to roe.

“yeah roe, what’s up?”

“i-i uhm, i’m havin’ trouble with my thesis on jane eyre. i wanna write about rochester’s desperation, but i can’t get my thoughts straight.”

lip patted roe on the shoulder, and walked him through the steps of outlining and web thought mapping.

roe sighed in relief when it finally clicked in his head.

“thanks lip, i couldn’t get it all straight in my head.”

lip smiled, “it’s okay, you have to many great ideas roaming around in there, i can understand why.”

roe smiled shyly, “thanks.” roe went to walk away but turned around and leaned into lip and whispered, “by the way, i didn’t see anythin’.”

he winked and walked away. lip smiled and nodded in return. 

lip didn’t even have to apologize to nix, ron talked to him before lip even got into the meeting.

nix slapped lip’s arm, “good luck on your date, lip.”

lip smiled and sat next to ron.

their hands were linked the entire meeting.

and for the first time in his life, lip felt like one of the characters in the novels he based his life on. 

he felt like he was in love.

two years later

boston in the spring was perhaps lip’s favorite time of year and ron was certain that it was it the perfect time to marry the love of his life.

since the day they met, ron and lip had been inseparable. it didn’t help that they worked together. he’d lost count of how many people had discovered them making out, all hot and bothered, in various parts of the university. it had been a whirlwind of emotions, to say the least, for both of them. but it made it all the more real. they loved it all. 

they loved the summer, teaching classes outside. letting the student feel the rhythm of the words on the page, the music of a story unfolding before them. they loved relaxing on the grass, hands entwined, grades papers with the other. it’s on an ordinary day, with lip laughing at luz’s paper on the patriarchy in jane eyre, that ron realizes he’s in love with lip. 

they loved fall when they could walk through campus, leaves falling around them and changing colors before their eyes. lip catches a bright red one just as it’s about to fall on ron’s head. lip repeats a line from the masque of the red death, in a raspy voice, fingers creeping along ron’s chest, the trail of halloween sneaking up on them. and it’s on that cold autumn day, lip laughing softly at ron’s wides eyes. it’s on that cold autumn day,  when ron first tells lip, he loves him. 

they loved the winter, cuddled on the couch during cold, bleak nights when they would recite poetry and monologues to one another. where they could be away from the school for nearly a month and just be with one another on their own. it’s on a snowed in night, a fire blazing softly, whiskey warming them from the inside out, and their feet entangled on the couch, that their lives change. after an emotional rendition of annabel lee, ron crying out lines, voice wrecked, on his knees in front of lip, that ron proposes to lip with tears in his eyes. lip tackles him to the floor with a kiss that’s forever carved onto ron’s lips.

it only makes sense that they get married during spring. the time of year when lip’s favorite flowers were in bloom. where the scent of rain lingered for months. two years, to the day, since they first met. two hours after their favorite classes graduated, most of them sticking around for the graduate programs ron and lip now run entirely by themselves. their was a small gazebo on campus, just outside the lake and lip had chosen it because he and ron had met there the first time they read some of their favorite passages to one another. it was the place that lip realized he was absolutely and irrevocably in love with ron. 

all of them are already in suits and luz and toye had ran around campus right after graduation, gather flowers for all of them. it was a small gazebo so the majority of the boys and faculty were around it, instead of in it. 

beside lip stood luz and beside ron stood grant, both students who were now their teaching assistants and, if they were forced to tell the truth, their favorite students. not because they were smarter, better, or more likable. but lip and ron saw a kinship within them that reflected their own love and passion for their crafts. 

buck was officiating, having gotten his license for dick and nix’s wedding.

the couple have prepared their own vows.

this was it. 

ron hoped lip wasn’t mad or felt cheated, but no amount of words could convey everything he felt for lip. their love and his love for lip was more than he could ever sum up in a mere paragraph. if he had his way, he’d talk for years about his love for lip. 

he looked deep into lip’s eyes, tears threatening to fall over and he spoke ten simple words that he hoped lip would understand. 

he smiled and squeezed lip’s hands, “we loved with a love that was more than love.”

the entire group sighed and lip laughed warmly.

buck laughed, “lip?”

lip smiled, “sorry fellas.”

he pulled ron a little closer to him and entwined their fingers.

“you must allow me to tell you how ardently i admire and love you.”

ron smiled, tears finally mirroring lip’s and falling down his cheeks.

they exchange rings quickly and before he knew it, lip was in ron’s arms being kissed within an inch of his life.

they pulled apart with large cheers and hollers.

“i love you, ron.”

ron laughed against lip’s mouth, “i love you too, mr. darcy.”

lips slapped him and the two accepted a lot of hugs from the men they had the pleasure of calling their family.

and they’d never felt happier or more complete than in each other’s arms as husbands.

anonymous - thank you!!!!!!!!! i love love love this.

send me a pairing and an au and i’ll make an aesthetic post + ficlet 

[jikook-love]

E[Love]

PART 1 | calculate the expectation of love.

student!jungkook + tutor!jimin = math!jikook ;)

OR

alternatively, 16k+ of self-indulgent romantic crack, unnecessary dialogue and really bad math humour as reluctant math major Jungkook sets out on his quest for love.

Happy Valentine’s Day~!  ♥ This is for @gracefulweather! She should know I probably destroyed my midterm mark thanks to her. 

read the full story on AO3

“ARGH! I don’t wanna study anymore! Why am I even in this program?!”

The sudden outburst from second year Mathematics & Statistics major Jeon Jungkook startled some of the other students in the library, some of whom threw him the dirtiest look.

“Pipe down, won’t you?” Kim Seokjin—4th Year Honours Statistics and Vice-President of the Math Council—whispered, looking embarrassed for the younger, bespectacled boy. “Second year isn’t that bad. You’ll get it soon.”

“Says you who has the fucking smartest boyfriend in the entire university, probably,” Jungkook snapped, pulling off his glasses in frustration.

“He’s definitely not the smartest, and are you suggesting I leeched off him?” Seokjin scoffed. “It’s not like he wrote my exams for me.”

“Whatever,” Jungkook pouted as he slammed his head down into his books. “I don’t think I can memorize another probability distribution. Not that it matters anyway. I’m not passing that damn course.”

Seokjin sipped his coffee nonchalantly as he stared at Jungkook. “Tell me. Why are you even in this program anyway? Did you even like math in high school?”

“No,” Jungkook groaned, as he slumped further into papers.

“Well…you’re certainly not very good at it,” Seokjin said bluntly. “So why math?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Jungkook blurted, eyes wide. “I honestly don’t know!”

Seokjin sighed. “So in the end you’re one of those people,” he spoke. “You have no appreciation for this art of numbers, the poetry of proofs…nor the satisfaction of solving an arduous problem late after midnight.”

“More like finally finding the answer on Google,” Jungkook muttered under his breath.

“I’m serious,” Seokjin said firmly. “Why do you think math professors are all like ‘I would wed the numbers if I could’? There’s just something about it, man. How do you think I managed to stay single for so long? That pure pleasure from drawing the complete of proofs square or writing QED at 3 a.m.…it’s more than enough.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Jungkook gaped, disgusted by his older friend’s descriptions.

Jungkook would never appreciate math. Never. Ever. Even if he was in this program, there was always that inner part of him that wanted to scream “nerd” and laugh at every aspiring math major who walked by. He hated that sense of elitism that they all seemed to have—Seokjin and his overachieving, go-hard boyfriend Namjoon included: so what if you can calculate a triple integral or memorize the equation for a Gamma distribution? It really shouldn’t make you any better than other people.

 “Oi, did you hear me?” Seokjin’s voice came back into his mind.

“Sorry. I was trying to remember things that should be better off forgotten,” Jungkook grimaced.

“Like your midterm marks?” Seokjin snorted. “Anyways, I was saying you should try getting a tutor for your courses.”

“That’s not going to work though,” Jungkook whined, adjusting the collar of his hoody. “At this point, I don’t even know what I don’t know.”

“And that’s where the tutor comes in,” Seokjin said. “I know this guy—you may know him too actually. You know Taehyung, right? He’s in your classes.”

Jungkook snorted. “Do I know Taehyung?” Jungkook repeated mockingly. “I tried studying together with him once. Somehow, we ended up at a park somewhere at 3 a.m. eating frozen yogurt and dancing around a tree—we both failed the linear algebra assignment together after that so you might not want him to tutor me.”

“Wow, you’re practically besties,” Seokjin said, rolling his eyes. “It’s not him that I was going to suggest but he has a friend who’s really good at math. The guy’s looking for a part time job right now too so maybe he could help you out.”

“Wait, you want me to pay for this shit?” Jungkook gaped. “Hey, I’m broke, remember? Student life? We don’t all have daddies to take care of us you know?”

“Namjoon is not my daddy.”

 “I was talking about your actual father but your guilty conscience seems to be off the walls today,” Jungkook snorted loudly. “You should’ve seen your face when you said that. Such a serious expression. ‘Namjoon is not my—‘‘”

“For a dude who’s supposed to be quiet you sure are talking a lot today.” Seokjin was quite flustered at this point. “So do you want my help or not?”

“Okay, okay fine,” Jungkook grumbled. “I’ll give it a shot…but do I really have to pay for it?”

Seokjin shrugged. “Maybe if he likes you enough, he’d do it for free.”

“…maybe I can pay for it with my body.”

“Jeon Jungkook, ever since you entered second year you keep making jokes like that and it doesn’t really sit well with me,” Seokjin reprimanded. “You used to be so cute and innocent…what happened?”

“This freaking school happened. And who said I was joking? Maybe I really have no alternative at this point,” Jungkook responded.

Seokjin let out another exasperated sigh. “You know what, I think I’m done listening to you for today,” he concluded as he packed up his books. “I’ll message you Jimin’s e-mail and then you can do whatever you want with it.”

Jungkook stared at Seokjin as he pulled his backpack onto his shoulders. “Wait, who’s Jimin?

“The guy who’s hopefully gonna tutor you,” Seokjin answered. “You don’t know him? Park Jimin? 3rd Year Math & Stats? He actually has quite the reputation around here.”

“No…should I?” Jungkook narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “He’s not one of those dudes, is he?”

“Jungkook, I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about 50% of the time.”

“You know, one of those arrogant nerdy pricks that you and Namjoon like to hang around for some reason.”

“He’s nothing like that at all. And we don’t hang around people like that! You just have to get to know them.”

“This is why I don’t trust you.”

“It’ll be fine,” Seokjin reassured. “Just…give it a chance. Who knows? Maybe if you’re not so focussed on just being closed away all the time, perhaps you can learn to be commutative and associative with others as well…perhaps even gain an identity.”

“You disgust me.”

“Now that’s the inverse of what I wanted to hear.”

 It was already 12:50 a.m. Instead of finishing up his calculus assignment like he was supposed to, Jeon Jungkook was on Facebook, messaging Taehyung, though it was partly because he’d gotten distracted while trying to search up the solution on Google.

 Taehyung: how’s anal going by the way?

Jungkook: it is absolutely painful. i can’t even go to class anymore because it hurts so much

Taehyung: hmm. sucks to suck. i warned you not to take it so early.

Jungkook: i was young and foolish. i get it.

 Jungkook sighed as he stared over to his neglected analysis (or “anal”, as him and Taehyung preferred to call it) textbooks, ones that he had bought brand new from the bookstore and hadn’t opened since.

 Jungkook: so u know this jimin dude?

Taehyung: ya. we were best bros in high school

Jungkook: wat about now?

Taehyung: i mean obviously still but now he’s involved in a bunch of things and i'm just trying to pass lin alg so…

Taehyung: i mean we still meet up occasionally

Jungkook’s curiosity had been piqued before he could help himself. He typed the words Park Jimin into the Facebook search bar.

Jungkook: what does he look like?

Taehyung: black hair, short. idk how to describe him. i think he pretty plain. compared to me.

 Jungkook found himself groaning before he could help it. Ugh, one of those people again. After scrolling through two pages of “Park Jimin”s with black hair, Jungkook decided to give up.

 Taehyung: yo, how da fuq do you do question 3? what the hell is he even trying to ask

Jungkook: LOL ur asking me

Taehyung: screw it i'm going to sleep. ill do it in the morning

Jungkook: …it’s due at 9:30

Taehyung: i said. ill do it in the morning

 And then he was gone, leaving Jungkook alone to contemplate the mystery that was Park Jimin, along with the massacre that was Question 3.

The Facebook message tone rang out again, and though Jungkook had expected it be to Taehyung, it was Seokjin instead. He opened to tab to see one line of e-mail, which undoubtedly had to be Park Jimin’s.

Jungkook stared at the address for a few seconds. Ugh. Who even uses e-mail anymore?

Deciding he had nothing better to do (mostly because question three gave him a headache just to look at), he opened up a new tab and logged into his e-mail, before promptly entering the address that had been given to him.

Hmmm….how should I word this? He had never really tried to e-mail another student professionally before, nor did he know what level of formality to use when addressing this person. Was he a stick in the mud? Was he chill like Taehyung? Jungkook had no clue, and the more he thought about it, the more discouraged he got: he was actually going to try and get help from a dude whom he had never met before. Was he really this desperate?

Exhaling to release any sliver of useless pride he had left, Jungkook brought his fingers to the keyboard and typed to his best discretion:

  J, Jungkook

Tutoring Help

Hey,

My name is Jungkook and my friend Seokjin introduced you to me and said you could potentially tutor me.

Let me know if this is possible and when we can meet up.

Thanks,

Jungkook

  Jungkook read it over. Once. Twice. After another deep sigh, he recollected himself and pressed send before he could hesitate any longer.

Deciding he had messed around long enough, he promptly turned his attention back to the dreaded question 3. Despite the dizziness he was already feeling in his brain due to the ungodly hour, he boldly picked up his pencil and decided to bullshit through the problem as best as he could.

Ping!

Jungkook nearly jumped at the sudden noise amidst the quiet.

Who’s e-mailing me at this time?  Jungkook wondered as he grabbed his phone to check the notification.

He certainly did not expect to see what he saw.

  Park, Jimin

Re: Tutoring Help

Hey Jungkook! I would love to…

 That was fast. Before he knew it, Jungkook had already unlocked his phone, eager to read the rest of the message.

  Park, Jimin

Re: Tutoring Help

Hello Jungkook!

I would love to try and help! Any friend of Jin’s is a friend of mine!

I know it’s short notice but I’m actually quite free tomorrow if you wanted to meet up.

What times are you free tomorrow? We could discuss things over coffee if you’d like!

 Regards,

Park Jimin

 Jungkook scrunched his nose up in annoyance, feeling turned off by the formal grammar and perfect mail syntax and lack of spelling errors and what kind of person even signs their mail with “regards” anymore? Jungkook scoffed at himself. This was only getting more and more hopeless. Despite that, Jungkook wasn’t really in the mood to hurt the guy’s feelings (yet) seeing as Jimin was so eager to respond. He decided to go along with it for now.

  J, Jungkook

Re: Re: Tutoring Help

sounds good. how about 11 at the math café? and do you have facebook or something that I can add you on to make this easier?

 He barely had to wait a minute to hear the notification ping again.

  Park, Jimin

Re: Re: Re: Tutoring Help

That’s perfect!

And I’m really sorry but I don’t have Facebook. The only thing I use is e-mail so you can feel free to send me any questions or messages here! I’m usually fast at replying. I apologize for any inconvenience.

 I’ll see you tomorrow then, Jungkook! I’m off to bed now, have a good night!

Regards,

Park Jimin

 “That loser doesn’t have Facebook?!” Jungkook couldn’t help blurt aloud for no one but himself to hear. He was really, really regretting this now. This person clearly seemed like the most stick in the mud nerd in the world. He was still using perfect punctuation in his message, went to sleep early (well, 1 a.m. but still), and evidently still used e-mail as his main form of communication.

Needing an outlet for venting (and realizing it was now past hour of proper comprehension for question three), Jungkook decided to vent in the form of a single lined message to Kim Taehyung who was probably asleep by now and would probably see the bright, uplifting message in the morning:

 Jungkook: ugh. leave it to kim freaking seokjin to hook me up with the number one virgin nerd lord in the world.

  Jungkook sat patiently on one of the tall chairs at the Math Café, waiting for his nerd tutor to arrive.

It was barely 10:40 a.m., but he’d decided he had nothing better to do after handing in his assignment. Plus he wanted a good excuse not to start the next one. As Jungkook casually sipped his coffee, he could sense quite a lot of dirty looks being thrown at his direction, and he knew exactly why.

If he had to be completely frank with himself, Jungkook really didn’t want to be taught by this person, and he didn’t want to have to say that aloud at any point during their meeting. So instead, he resorted making himself look as unappealing as possible. So there he was, decked out in his old rotten sneakers that had a toe poking out of the right shoe, his old black shorts that he found stuffed between the wall and his bed that hadn’t washed in god knows how long, a pair of black, thick-rimmed fake glasses and a bright, blazing red hoodie that seemed to engulf him. As a bonus, he hadn’t even bothered to take a shower nor brush his hair after he had forced himself to wake up at 7 a.m despite that he only managed to finish the assignment at 4 a.m.

In other words, he looked like a very unfashionable zombie.

And honestly, he loved it. Jungkook was truly in his “fucks-I-give-none” element now.

The minutes started ticking by, and Jungkook kept his eye on the entrance for any sign of a preppily dressed nerd lord, potentially carrying a suitcase. He could only be complete with ugly glasses and maybe even a receding hairline at this rate.

Before he knew it, it was already 11:05 a.m., and no nerd lord in sight.

Jungkook felt slightly disappointed. So nerd lord isn’t as lawful as I thought he’d be.

Ding!

Jungkook’s Facebook messenger notification went off. He swiped to find out that Kim Taehyung was finally awake:

 Taehyung: shit. i forgot to do the assignment.

Taehyung: and wait. who’s a virgin nerd lord?

 Jungkook was about to respond when another message popped up.

 Taehyung: oh. you mean jimin? ya he’s a nerd alright.

Taehyung: maybe not a virgin but definitely a nerd ._.

Jungkook snickered to himself..

Jungkook: he seem like such a by the book guy dough :o

Taehyung: he is. have fun with him. LOL.

Jungkook: thanks L (he’s late btws)

Taehyung: lmao. still? dat boi never shows up on time to anything.

 Jungkook sighed. It was now 11:07 a.m., and still no nerd lord in sight. Jungkook was starting to tap his foot in impatience, contemplating if this was a good enough excuse to storm out and call it quits on this whole attempt.  

However, his attention was abruptly piqued when something suddenly caught his eye.

Or rather someone.

Jungkook grabbed his phone immediately.

 Jungkook: yo. dude. there's a really cute guy walking in rn. omg. were there even cute guys in math?

Taehyung: LOL. and r00d. and i'm in math, remember?

Jungkook: oh shiet. he's coming in here

Taehyung: talk to him.

Jungkook: he seems busy. he’s …dressed up all nicely.

Taehyung: white button up?

Jungkook: ya.

Jungkook: with a black tie.

Taehyung: L.O.L. might as well offer him your ass to him now.

Jungkook: he’s talking to people. he looking for sum1 MAYBE HE ON A DATE

Taehyung: who the fuck would go on a date at the math café

Jungkook: oh shiiiettt he getting closer. w/e I’m just gonna watch. he so out of my league lmao

Taehyung: oh kookie. no one’s out of your league. u just gotta believe

Jungkook: u don’t know what I look like rn. ._.

Taehyung: if you talk to him, i’ll give you five bucks

Jungkook: nah man, I’m gud. I’ll just be happy staring at him.

Jungkook: why the fuq is he so close now. he still talking to people. is he still looking for sum1. O.O

Taehyung: you wish he was looking for u LOL ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Taehyung: by the way. wat happened to ur tutor? no show? LOL.

 Jungkook was in the middle of typing “yeah I have no clue” when he suddenly sensed the presence of someone standing by his table.

“Excuse me?” The voice was nice. Smooth yet approachable.

He looked up.

His heart nearly jumped out of his throat.

It was the guy. The guy was at his table. And he was talking to him.

If Jungkook thought the boy was “acutey” from afar, he was freaking beautiful up close. He had silky black hair that draped nicely over the porcelain skin of his forehead. His lips were plump and pretty and pink and Jungkook’s mind was already going to indecent places upon seeing them up close. And what’s more, his slanted, brown eyes were captivating as anything, soft and gentle and the way they were slightly widened in expectancy made Jungkook want to grab him right then and there. And what’s more, he was dressed completely in the style that Jungkook was totally weak for: white shirt, black tie…and the way those form-fitting black pants hugged his…

But instead of letting all the beauty overwhelm his senses and distract him completely, Jungkook suddenly became extremely aware of what he personally looked like, and immediately regretted all of his life decisions.

“Um…can I—uh, like, help you…or something?” Jungkook managed to stutter out very awkwardly.  

“Are you Jeon Jungkook by any chance?” the boy smiled.

Jungkook felt his breath catch in his throat. How does he know my name?  Jungkook’s brain (slightly abnormal from the lack of sleep) was spinning. Destiny, it has to be destiny, he concluded.

Jungkook coughed. “Yeah. I am.”

The boy’s smile widened. It was blinding.  

His brain was running haywire. This is it. This is my reward for suffering in this program for so long. He’s gonna tell me I’m the only sin of pi over two for him. I finally get a sexy boyfriend. Yes, yes, YES—

“I’m Park Jimin, your tutor?” the boy said, still smiling. “We emailed each other last night?”

Jungkook’s smile disappeared as he suddenly lost balance and fell out of his chair in surprise. He crashed harshly to the ground—much like the reality surrounding him at that moment.

  “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU HAD A HOT BEST FRIEND?” Jungkook screamed immediately upon bursting into Taehyung’s room.

Taehyung groaned from his bed. “Why do I feel like—wow, you look ratchet—this has happened before in some alternate universe?”

“What does that even mean?” Jungkook blabbered. “Anyways, I totally made a fool of myself.”

“How bad could it be? It’s you after all,” Taehyung grinned.

“I fell out of my chair.”

Taehyung blinked. “How—”

“It just got exponentially worse, ok?” Jungkook sighed. “I was already tired from the three hours of sleep and then he came up to me which was already not okay and then he just throws the bomb—”

“I think you meant ‘drops the bomb’,” Taehyung mumbled.

“—and I’m lucky I didn’t die, okay? I thought my heart was going to stop. And what nerd lord? I’m sorry, but that ass alone—I’m telling you it has like…no upper bound if ya know what I’m saying.”

Taehyung glared at Jungkook. “What does that even mean? That doesn’t even make sense. His ass is a freaking parabola, of course it has an upper bound—why are you even fast tracking third year analysis—anyways, first of all, you assumed he was the nerd lord. I only told you what I honestly think of him…besides, did he agree to tutor you in the end?”

Jungkook couldn’t help but allow a slight smile to crack onto his face.

“Yea…” he said quietly. He promptly received a pillow in the face.

“Ew. Quit acting like a smitten maiden, it’s grossing me out,” Taehyung grumbled. “But now that I think about it you two should totally date. He’s like your complement: you two complete each other.”

“Ha, as if I have a chance now,” Jungkook sighed. “I’m lucky he just laughed it off. But he probably thinks I’m a loser.”

“Well, he’d find out you’re a loser eventually anyways so it’s better now than later,” Taehyung noted.

Jungkook threw his friend the dirtiest look.

“Anyways, I love how you didn’t even bother putting two and two together: he was obviously your tutor. Why else would he go up to you? You think you’re cute or something?” Taehyung snickered.

Jungkook returned the pillow back to Taehyung with an aggressive throw (but missed). “Shut up. Unlike you, I didn’t have enough sleep last night.”

“Excuses. When do math majors ever get enough sleep? When do we even get anything? We’re all here because we secretly like the pain.”

“Last time I checked I wasn’t a masochist like you.”

“Check again, brother. We all are to some extent,” Taehyung grinned. “Anyways, when are you seeing him again?”

“Friday night,” Jungkook muttered.

“Where?”

“…my place.”

“Ooh.”

Ding dong!

The sound of the doorbell caused Jungkook to jump in his place, accidentally popping his collar up too high as he tried to adjust it.

“Omg, he’s here,” Jungkook muttered to himself, as he practically scampered over to the door and whipped it open.

“H—hey t—there…I mean…uh, sup?” Jungkook sputtered smoothly the moment he caught sight of his spiffy tutor.

Park Jimin blessed Jungkook with a pretty close lipped smile.

“Your grades should be after I’m done with you,” Jimin winked, brushing past Jungkook as he stepped inside.

Jungkook blinked, clearly too slow to get the quip. “What?”

“Where should I hang my coat up, Jungkook?” Jimin asked while Jungkook fumbled with the door.

“Uh—um, I can take it,” Jungkook said quickly, trying not to stare awkwardly as Jimin peeled off his coat. To anyone else, the familiar dress shirt, black tie and tight slacks may not have been the most arousing costume to reveal underneath, but Jeon Jungkook sure as hell tried to hide his gulp as he took the coat from Jimin.

Would it weird if I suddenly just buried my face into this and—yeah, yeah it would. Never mind. Jungkook shook the thoughts out of his mind as he quickly hung the coat in the closet.

“So, where do you want me?” Jimin asked.

“My bedroom,” Jungkook blurted.

“Excuse me?”

“Uh—I meant that we’d be studying i-in my room…y’know, cause there’s a desk and I-I cleared up a space f-for us,” Jungkook stuttered like the absolute value of a loser that he was. Oh my god, this speech issue needs to STOP.

“Oh okay,” Jimin nodded. “Sounds good. Lead the way.”

Jungkook nodded eagerly, and practically leapt two steps up the stairs as he took Jimin to his room. He’d spent the entire morning attempting to clean it up in order to potentially impress his evidently immaculate tutor.

Jungkook opened the door and showed Jimin to the sitting desk that he’d set up.

“You can set up here,” Jungkook gestured. “D-do you want some tea or something in the meantime?”

“It’s fine, let’s just get right to it,” Jimin smiled softly. Jungkook thought he felt his heart skip a beat when Jimin said that. He was weak. So, so weak right now.

And whether or not Jimin noticed, he did manage to say some comforting words: “Relax, I’m not here to make you feel incompetent or anything. I remember struggling insanely in my second year as well, so I’m the last person who’d make fun of you.”

“What year are you in now?” Jungkook asked as he settled down across from Jimin.

“Third,” Jimin smirked. “I’m not saying it gets better, but at this point, at least you’re used to it.”

“Wait…are you taking third year Real Analysis?”

“Yeah, why? Are you planning on taking it next year?”

“Well…things happened…and I’m actually taking the course right now…”

Jimin’s face lit up. “Actually? That means we’re in the same class! What are the chances…wait, how come I’ve never seen you before then?”

It’s because I never go to class, Jungkook thought shamefully. But he couldn’t let Jimin know. Fortunately, Jimin beat him to an excuse.

“Hmm…it’s probably because I always sit alone at the very front row, which is why I don’t see you,” Jimin noted.

“Y-yeah, that’s it,” Jungkook quickly agreed.

“Hey, we should totally sit together from now on!” Jimin blurted suddenly. “I could help you understand what the professor is saying and you…you can keep me company.”

Jungkook was speechless. It hadn’t even been ten minutes and he had already been offered a seat next to his tutor/eternal crush in lecture. For someone in the math program, that was like getting to second base…right? (At least that’s what Taehyung told him all the way in first year.)

Jimin suddenly let out a slight chuckle at Jungkook’s lack of response. “I’m sorry, you must think I’m such a loser,” he confessed awkwardlty. “The nerd that sits at the front of class. Alone. All my friends didn’t want to take the course because they thought it’d be too difficult.”

Jungkook immediately felt a surge of guilt for all the “nerd lord” comments.

“No! No way! Not at all!” Jungkook blabbered in a hurry, waving his hands everywhere. “I-I’ve always thought it was the cooler kids that sat at the front. You know, the ones that truly care and have connections with the prof and stuff.” The latter part, at least, was his genuine thought.

“If you say so,” Jimin smiled. “What about you? Why did you take the course early? You must’ve really liked second year analysis.”

“Um…well…” Jungkook shuffled uncomfortably in his place.

“It’s fine to admit you like it,” Jimin said. “I find it really interesting, personally. Even though I know it’s not exactly the easiest thing.”

“I…I was kind of pranked into taking it…”

“…what?”

Jungkook sighed. “One of my friends told me it would be an easy course to take a minute before course applications were due and…I believed him. I haven’t even taken the second year analysis. I’m just really lost and confused.”

Jimin appeared stunned. “You…you actually believed Analysis, an entire proof-based course, would be an easy course?”

Jungkook nodded unwillingly.

Jimin remained silent for a few more moments before he recovered enough to speak:

“Wow, Jungkook, you really are going to be a handful, aren’t you?”

  Jungkook screamed, shoving his head into his papers.

“I don’t get it!” he yelled.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! We’ve already spent so much time and I just don’t understand. It’s a knot in my mind and I just—”

“Jungkook, relax—” Jimin tried as he reached out with his hands in an attempt to calm Jungkook down.

“—I knew I didn’t stand a chance. I’m totally gonna fail this course. I accept it now.”

“Jungkook, calm down….it’s only been five minutes.”

Jungkook’s head perked up. “What? Oh.” He scuffled away, looking embarrassed. “It felt a lot longer than that…”

Jimin laughed at Jungkook’s antics. “I’m sorry you felt that way,” Jimin smiled encouragingly. “I must’ve been a bad teacher then.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. “No! No, no, no! That’s not it at all! I’m clearly just stupid, that’s all.”

“Don’t say that about yourself,” Jimin scolded. “I wouldn’t be teaching you if I knew you were hopeless.”

“But like you said, it’s only been five minutes,” Jungkook mumbled.

“Exactly, now flip back to that first lecture and let me teach you.”

Jungkook reluctantly flipped Jimin’s pages back to where they were before, trying to hide his blatant disregard for the topic.

“Don’t look so bored before you even started,” Jimin said as he hit Jungkook lightly on the shoulder. Though he didn’t want to admit it, Jungkook definitely felt a tiny shiver where his attractive teacher’s fingers had lingered.

“But…it’s such a dull topic,” Jungkook groaned, staring at the page of symbols that ought to have been familiar to him…but were not.

“Really? I don’t think so. Difficult to wrap your head around maybe, but definitely not boring,” Jimin stated.

Jungkook shuffled again. “Yeah, well…”

“I’ll do my best to persuade you by the end of all this,” Jimin grinned.

“You seem so passionate about this.”

“Well, of course,” Jimin said at once. “It’s learning how to rigorously prove why we do things the way we do: why we count the way we do, what numbers truly are, why things defined are the way they are. I mean, we only scratch the surface of it all by the end of the course but it’s still quite a beautiful concept. Just like all of math. It’s more abstract than you think. It’s like its own form of art.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but be drawn in by the genuine smile on Jimin’s face as he spoke all of these things that seemed worlds away from how Jungkook felt.

“Wow…” Jungkook uttered dumbly. “I never really thought about math that way…”

Jimin’s smile temporarily disappeared from his face as he turned to look at Jungkook.

“Really?!” Jimin seemed shocked. “Aren’t you in second year?”

Jungkook gulped.

Jimin tilted his head upwards in thought. “Hmm…well I guess it still hasn’t gotten too specific in second year. You still have time. Anyways, I think I’ve rambled on enough. Let’s go ahead and teach you how to prove two is an irrational number…”

Jungkook’s heart throbbed for Jimin as he diligently wrote out the proof for Jungkook, annotating verbally and in detail as he went. After seeing Jimin’s full dedication towards the field of math, Jungkook really didn’t have the heart to tell him that he didn’t feel the same way at all.

But as he continued watching Jimin scribbling out the proof, his handwriting neat and clear, each number crisp and pristine on the sheet of lined paper, Jungkook couldn’t help but become slightly intrigued. The way the tutor’s wrist was poised as he scrawled out his “there exist”s and “such that”s; the way his eyes lit up as he subtly sped up in excitement towards the end…

“There! All finished!” Jimin announced, as he drew two diagonal straight lines to signify the end of his proof. Jungkook said nothing, and merely sat there quietly, carefully observing Jimin’s vibrant and pure expression which had arose from something as mundane as demonstrating a proof.

It was obvious that Jungkook didn’t have the same amount about of passion when it came to math…

…for now.

  The feeling of going to a class you hadn’t been to in so long was definitely not a good one.

Despite that bothersome feeling, Jungkook’s lips couldn’t refrain from quirking upwards, knowing who was waiting for him inside.

“Hey, we should totally sit together from now on! I could help you understand what the professor is saying and you…you can keep me company.”

The words echoed repeatedly in the void that was Jungkook’s mind. He tried to hide the wide smile that was cracking onto his face by covering it up with his phone. At the same time, he also kind of needed to check the room number of the lecture hall that he hadn’t been to since the first day of class.

At long last, the doors were in sight. Jungkook practically burst inside, his eyes scanning past the tall, lanky prof and the various cliques of well-dressed Asians and bespectacled over achievers to search for his one and only target in the front row.

As he was wondering whether or not to call out, Jimin noticed him first and waved excitedly, mouthing his name. Feeling slightly embarrassed and not wanting to attract any further attention to himself, Jungkook slightly ducked as he ran over to Jimin.

“Hey, did you have any classes before this?” Jimin asked effortlessly, as if he naturally started conversations all the time (a trait that was foreign to Jungkook).

“No, this is my earliest class,” Jungkook responded stiffly as he arranged his bag below his feet. It was strange to sit in the front row—there was a surprising amount of leg space.

“Lucky~” Jimin drawled, tapping his pen on the side of his tiny desk. “I had an 8:30 this morning. I almost fell asleep.”

“You seem like the early bird type though,” Jungkook commented.

“Really?!” Jimin gaped. “What made you think that?”

“I don’t know...” Jungkook trailed off when he suddenly noticed that Jimin looked…different. Gone were the tie and button-up, to be replaced with a casual black hoodie and a pair of ripped, denim jeans. He looked like any other regular college student.

Well, an extremely cute regular college boy.

“You look different,” Jungkook opted to say.

“Hmm? From what?” Jimin asked, confused.

“From last night.” Jungkook thought he sensed a few people throw questionable looks in their direction as they heard the phrase without context.

Jimin burst into a vibrant laugh. “You didn’t really think I’d come to class in a tie and slacks, did you?” 

“Well…I—”

“That was because I didn’t know what kind of student you’d be, so I wanted to show up professional,” Jimin grinned.

Jimin suddenly leaned over the chair arm separating them, ending up much closer  to Jungkook than he expected. Another brilliant smile. Jungkook was going to die of a heart attack at this rate.

“I take this as I won’t have to anymore?” Jimin asked, dragging his words out deliberately. “Are you more comfortable with me like this?”

Jungkook stared blankly, having been rendered speechless. Oh my god, how am I going to deal with this? Is he flirting with me? I can’t tell. Do math people even flirt? They have to right? I mean, professors are all married so they must—

“Jungkook?”

“Y-yeah?”

“You dropped your pen, by the way”

Jungkook blinked, only to realize that Jimin was suddenly holding a battered blue pen in his hand.

Oh. So that’s why he leaned over.

 “Oh, um, thanks…” Jungkook muttered quickly, grabbing his pen and averting his eyes at once.

“Good morning everybody!” the professor called out. He let out a sigh under his breath. Phew. Saved by the prof. For once.

The professor continued speaking with his thick foreign accent. “Today we will be continuing with the definition of convergence and divergence…”

Jungkook immediately zoned out. Nope. It didn’t even matter that he told himself he’d actually try and pay attention in order impress Jimin for once—neither his heart nor mind seemed to be truly up for it. It was all gibberish, foreign gibberish to him (and some of it even looked like the written script of some language he didn’t know—what the hell was ∀n∊N ∃ x > ∞ supposed to mean?)

 The professor was trying to ask questions again, something about a diverging function and Jungkook only sank further into his seat. Why did professors even bother trying sometimes? They should know after so many years of teaching that the only response they’d be getting was a long, uneasy silence.

 “Jimin?” The professor called the familiar name, his eyes suddenly directed towards Jungkook’s direction.

 Wait, what?!  Jungkook bolted upwards from his slouched position under the professor’s eye and swiftly glanced beside him to catch Jimin just lowering his hand having just raised it.

 Jungkook stared with widened eyes, almost veering away from the sudden shock.

 Oh my god. The prof knows his name. He’s literally that guy.

 “That’s false because even when you have two divergent functions, their product isn’t necessarily divergent as well,” Jimin answered with the most confident smile on his face. “Like (-1)n and (-1)n.”

 The professor appeared flustered for a moment, but immediately restored himself with a proud smile.

 “You’re going a bit ahead but that’s ok, Jimin,” the professor acknowledged. “So as Jimin said…”

But Jungkook wasn’t even listening anymore. Did he even understand a word of what Jimin just said? Not really. He could only stare at Jimin, speechless, and not even trying to bother to hide the slight smile on his face. His heart throbbed violently in his chest. He thought he had sensed it last night, when Jimin completed solving the problem, but after witnessing what he’d just seen, it was all the proof he needed.

The eloquence in which Jimin spoke his words; the confident aura that radiated when he answered the professor without batting an eyelash; the correct and overachieving solution that he’d provided; the thoroughness of the response that proved he knew what he knew; and the numbers and words that spilled out of his mouth as he spoke with that proud and knowing smile…

That was just so…so…

Jungkook gulped, trying to hold the thought back but couldn’t.

..so sexy.

So when Jimin turned to face him, he nearly jumped in his seat, forgetting that as brilliant as Jimin was, he still couldn’t read minds.  

“Pretty cool, huh?” Jimin grinned, not noticing Jungkook’s expression as his mind still appeared to be caught up in all the deductions.

Yes you are, Jungkook wanted to say.

“Yeah…totally,” Jungkook responded dumbly. “You’re so good…at this.”

For the rest of the class, Jimin intently watched the prof while Jungkook intently watched Jimin. His heart welled up every time Jimin raised his hand to answer a question. Each and every proof sounded more and more eloquent as they came from Jimin’s lips. He could see the girls in the row behind them rolling their eyes and whispering to one another as Jimin kept raising his hand over and over again but he couldn’t care less.  

Jungkook caught himself smiling again before he knew it. He gazed endearingly at Jimin’s profile, who was bent over and scribbling something detailed in his notes. Jimin’s eyes had never seemed this lovely before, not without that spark of excitement within them. And his lips were prettier like this, parted in anticipation as he focussed keenly on the numbers before him.

Jungkook’s heart raced faster and faster as he kept staring dumbstruck at Jimin. As he realized something, Jungkook merely sighed to himself, leaning his hand into face as he continued gazing.

So this must be the beauty of math…

  Jimin had class after analysis so Jungkook had to reluctantly part ways with him. Jungkook immediately headed to the familiar Room 441 in the math building, which was the lab where Namjoon worked. Luckily for them, the supervising professor was extremely easy-going, and apparently didn’t seem to care when (his favourite student) Namjoon let all his friends hang out in the lab. Thus, their little group would usually be found hanging out in Namjoon’s lab whenever the prof was out of office.

When Jungkook opened the door, he found the guests of the hour to be Seokjin and their friend Jung Hoseok from Math & Computer Science.

“Hey, Jungkook,” Namjoon waved from his desk. Seokjin and Hoseok didn’t seem to notice as they appeared to be in a deep debate over something.

“Hey,” Jungkook responded, slightly airily as he settled down and pulled his lunch out of his bag.

“Can you at least greet your friend?” Namjoon glared at Seokjin and Hoseok as he chomped down on an apple.

Seokjin’s eyes lit up when he saw Jungkook. “Oh my gosh, finally! A third person! Get over here.”

Jungkook scrambled over and sat next to them, slightly flustered “Why? What is it?”

“You know Dr. Pae, right?” Seokjin asked, almost urgent.

“Yeah, the one who’s popular with all the girls?” Jungkook nodded. “Why?”

 “Okay, so you know how he has a girlfriend, right?” Seokjin continued. “The really attractive blonde one?”

“…sure?”

Seokjin slammed his fist down the desk, startling everyone in the lab.

Namjoon tried negotiating between mouthfuls of apple. “Yo, dude, can you like calm dow—”

“Well this boy here—“ Seokjin paused dramatically, pointing at Hoseok. “—claims to have seen him holding hands with a brunette the other day. And guess what? Guess what? He was guiding her with his hand while she was walking over a stone path. Can you believe it? The man’s got game. Man I didn’t know that was what game theory was really about, because if I had known, I would have taken that course.”

“For the last time,” Hoseok grimaced, also placing his hand firmly on the table. “Just because he was holding hands with her, doesn’t necessarily mean they’re in a romantic relationship.”

“He was walking her over a stone path though!” Seokjin argued. “That’s so romance! Who even does that?”

“Maybe she was his sister or something. You don’t know that,” Hoseok asserted.

“Would you hold hands with your sister and guide her over a path for no apparent reason?” Seokjin snarled back, getting more and more aggressive.

“…no.”

“Exactly!”

“But that’s just me though!” Hoseok blurted, on the edge of his seat to fight for his argument. “I’m sure there are brothers out there who would hold hands with their sister.”

“Yeah, if you’re like weirdly close,” Seokjin frowned. “Anyways, Jungkook, we wanted to wait for you to come. What do you think? Romantic or platonic?”

Jungkook stared blankly as he took another bite of his sandwich, trying to avoid the assertive gazes from the both of them as they awaited an answer.

“Um…” Jungkook dwelled as he chewed on his sandwich. “Why don’t you ask Namjoon?”

Seokjin waved his hand dismissively. “You know how he always is. All provisos. He’s always like—“ He dropped his voice three pitches lower. “—everything is situational. We cannot place assumptions until we have more evidence. Blah blah blah—”

“I do not sound like that,” Namjoon interrupted.

“Be quiet, do your work,” Seokjin snapped. “Jungkook, just answer it. Which do you think?”

“Uhh…I agree with Namjoon,” Jungkook replied quickly.

Seokjin threw his hands up in defeat while Hoseok slammed his head on his keyboard.

“Freaking useless. All of you,” Seokjin groaned, stabbing his fork angrily into a piece of chicken. “We’ll settle this now. I can’t handle all these scandals in the math department. First Dr. Lee’s sugar daddy scandal with Dr. Choi and now Dr. Pae. That’s why you get a PhD in math: so you can gain an unbelievable amount of game. Let me market this program, please. I’ll show you what true exponential growth is. “

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Namjoon groaned from behind his computer.

“Oi, where’s Yoongi? Call him. I need to finish this,” Seokjin commanded.

“He has class,” said Hoseok. “He’s coming in like half an hour though.”

“Darn it, I have class then,” Seokjin sighed. “It’s ok. You can ask him and I’ll ask some of my other friends.”

“Why don’t you guys sample for something that might actually be worthwhile data for once?” Namjoon asked cynically.

“Because then I’d have to do more work analyzing it,” said Hoseok. “And I ain’t about that life.”

Seokjin checked his watched, frowning to himself. “I really don’t wanna go to class…” he sighed to himself.

“Yo, we’re math kids,” Hoseok said. “None of us ever wanna go to class. But we have to.”

“Namjoon does,” Seokjin scoffed. “Always.”

“So does Jimin,” Jungkook mentioned subsconsciously, without thinking.

Silence.

“Um…who’s Jimin?” Hoseok asked.

“The guy that’s tutoring him right now,” Seokjin answered. “Thanks to my brilliant suggestion, of course. Well, unless it’s not going well. What’s he like, by the way, Jungkook?”

“He’s like…um…” Jungkook struggled to find the proper words to describe his new tutor.

It suddenly struck him out of nowhere.

“He’s like…Euler’s identity.”

Namjoon dropped his chewed up apple. Hoseok spilled all of his rice while Seokjin merely stared.

“Oh my god, he thinks he’s unworldly and irrevocably beautiful,” Seokjin gaped.

“Jungkook, since when did you even know what that meant?” Namjoon asked.

Hoseok grinned. “It looks like he’s finally got a crush.”

“On Jimin though?” Seokjin gaped. “I mean his grades may be way above average but his looks…they’re a minor fraction of mine. Not even close.”

“What? Are you blind?” Jungkook blurted as he couldn’t help it.

The three others in the room exchanged confused looks (though Seokjin’s was marginally more offended).

 Hoseok was the first one to break into a mocking smile. “I think you’re the one who’s blind here,” he said. “Blind for lurve~”

“Shut up!” Jungkook retorted. “I mean, I just met him so…”

“But you do seem awfully smitten already,” Namjoon noted objectively, to which Jungkook had no response.

Seokjin sighed from the side. “Well, there’s really no reason for me to prevent this from happening…for now. But you better not get distracted. He’s there to help your grades. Not…anything else.”

“Like Namjoon helped you back then?” Hoseok cackled from the side, after which he received a wad of napkins in the face, courtesy of Kim Seokjin.

“Anyways, I want to see your grades improve,” Seokjin stated firmly. “Otherwise it defeats the whole purpose of you meeting Jimin.”

Jungkook nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure they will. He’s a good teacher. He’s been very helpful.”

“I’m sure he has,” Hoseok snorted, clearly not giving up the opportunity.

“Can you not encourage him?” Seokjin scolded. “He’s clearly side-tracked enough as it is. Please don’t alter my good intentions.”

“Yeah, I’d never let him live it down,” Namjoon murmured gleefully from the side.

“Can you be quiet? It’s better than you! You just sit there all day and let them do whatever they want,” Seokjin retorted.

“But if he falls in love and gets distracted, I’m gonna’ be right and you’re going to be wrong,” Namjoon considered.

“…are you seriously contemplating the possibility of your junior’s undergraduate career being ruined just so you can be right?”

Namjoon shook his head defensively. “Of course not! Jungkook’s a smart kid…well, he’s passing everything. So I’m sure having a healthy, fun relationship with an intelligent guy wouldn’t hurt anybody. So go get him Kookie.”

“No. The only thing that he’s getting from Jimin is better grades,” Seokjin asserted firmly, seeming completely satisfied with himself.

That is, until Hoseok decided he really, truly could not resist:

“…what if he ends up getting a D instead though?”

For the first time that entire morning, Namjoon had to stand up. And that was only to hold Seokjin back from throwing a chair at Hoseok.

  Jungkook crawled into bed earlier than usual that night, feeling strangely enlightened. His chest felt lighter than usual, as if just seeing Jimin for just that hour alone made it all worth it. In fact, if it hadn’t been for all that chaos in Namjoon’s lab, he might have felt completely at ease for the first time in a while.

He couldn’t help but smirk to himself as he cozied under his covers. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t like math up until now…

Jungkook sighed, arms tucked under his head as he stared at the dark ceiling. Park Jimin. The only thought that seemed capable of occupying his mind. He wanted to witness it again: that eloquence, that beauty when Jimin solved problems.

When he could no longer resist that aching feeling in his chest, Jungkook reached over to his bedside table and grabbed his phone. His finger hovered over the mail app, almost longingly, before he touched it completely on impulse.

Jungkook straightened up to write his message.

  J, Jungkook

<no subject>

Hey jimin,

r u free at all tomorrow? I only have one class

I could use some help

sorry if ur busy it’s fine

 Unlike the first time, Jungkook couldn’t press send fast enough. His hands quivered as the email was confirmed to be sent. And hopefully, if it was anything like before…

Ping!

His heart nearly dropped in his chest. His mind was ahead of his body as his fingers fumbled to open the message.

  Park, Jimin

Lunch Date?

Jungkookie!

Don’t be sorry, I’d always be glad to hear from you ^^

I’m free around lunch time so is there anything you’d like to eat?

 uhjdugv

Jimin

 He felt like a complete loser, smiling from ear to ear all alone in his bed as he read Jimin’s message. Jungkook could hear Jimin’s encouraging tone of voice in his head, and it was more than gratifying.

And also…what was this about a date?

Jungkook’s heart did a bunch of flips and turns just speculating about what may-be-but-not-really a date with his dreamboat of a tutor.

It’s a…study date. Yeah. That’s all it is. Jungkook tried to calm himself down with the reassuring conclusion.

First thing first, he needed to answer Jimin’s question, with eloquence and tact, as Jeon Jungkook would always do when approaching a crush:

  J, Jungkook

Re:

yeeeeeeee totally down.

 And also correlating to Jeon Jungkook’s regular behaviour, he only realized how rash and stupid his decision was after he had executed it.

Jungkook buried his entire body beneath his blanket and kicked around violently, not realizing how dumb he sounded until now that the message was declared to be “sent”.  

Down? What the hell am I? He’s not Taehyung. I can’t just say whatever I want! Oh my god. What is wrong with me.

The morbidity was too much for his partially unscathed soul as he continuing abusing his blanket and bed, slamming his fists and kicking his legs. That’s it. It was all ruined. His one chance to get a nice tutor and even potentially, with the slimmest probability, a cute boyfriend and he had to ruin all those confidence levels in a heartbeat.

Another ping sounded from his phone, momentarily pausing his rampage as he poked his head out from the bottom of the covers near his bed’s footboard (god knows how he ended up there). He immediately blazed the LCD glow directly into his eyes.

  Park, Jimin

Re:

Haha. You’re cute.

I’ll see you tomorrow :3

 uhjdugv

Jimin

 Jungkook’s eyes widened, after which they blinked slowly in disbelief. Luckily it was dark and there was no one else in the room, because he felt himself turning as red as his hoody from that morning.

Oh my god…did he just call me…cute?

He was frozen in shook. This can’t be real. Not already. Since when did he deserve good things? If the Park Jimin thought he was cute, surely karma didn’t exist.

He countered the negatives in his head, though he did it by adding alternative negative thoughts.

Maybe he just says that to everyone. There’s no way he could think I’m cute, not already.

Jungkook swivelled around on his bed like a confused tortoise, bringing his chin back to rest on his pillows. He pursed his lips into a pout, wondering how to deal with himself. Jimin was slowly but surely corrupting his mind—not that there was much left to corrupt anyways—and this probably wasn’t the best timing.  Seokjin was probably going to kill him.

Jungkook sighed to himself, finally flipping himself over into a sleeping position at last. He tucked his arms behind his head, closing his eyes and trying to put himself to sleep after what felt like a long day. Tomorrow was a different day, and sleeping it off was the only thing he could do now to calm his nerves.

When his eyes finally fluttered shut, Jungkook found himself having rather sweet dreams about Jimin that night.

By 2:30 p.m., Jungkook was already waiting in the lobby of their school library.

 Despite how eagerly his heart was thumping in anticipation, he tried to maintain a casual appearance. Jungkook had pulled out brand new, unworn shirt and jeans from the closet for this occasion, and he’d already fixed his hair for the nth time that morning (despite that it was near impossible for a strand to be out of place because he’d checked at least another hundred times before he left the house). Needless to say, he wanted Jimin to be impressed for once.

Jungkook bit his lip in anxiety as he checked his watch again (he also never wore watches so the action itself seemed extremely foreign to him). Jimin was late. Again. And he couldn’t help but feel impatient about it.

“Jungkook-ah!”

Jungkook nearly dropped his phone as he heard the voice that he’d been so anxiously waiting for. His eyes lit up as he saw Jimin heading towards him with the brightest smile, black hair bouncing pleasantly as he ran.

“Sorry, I’m late!” Jimin gasped, catching his breath. “The professor kept me overtime. Did you wait long?”

Jungkook returned what he thought to be his most encouraging smile. “No! Not at all! I just got here as well,” he said convincingly.  

Despite that he’d spent hours getting dressed in the morning, Jungkook still felt far from worthy of comparison to Jimin. Even though it looked like he wasn’t trying at all, Jimin had to be at the very, very least an 8 out of 10 in his glasses, bomber jacket and ripped jeans.

Jungkook held back a sigh. Their little date hadn’t even started yet and he already felt discouraged.

“So, where did you want to go?” Jimin asked.

“Nowhere in particular, as long as it’s with you,” Jungkook answered, the last part coming out a lot more honestly than he’d intended.

Fortunately, Jimin’s smiled only widened. “That’s good. I had a particular place in mind. And you look like you could use a little sweetness in your life.”

Jungkook blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he frowned, blatantly confused. Is sweetness supposed to code for something?

Jimin laughed, seeming embarrassed.

“Nothing. I just wanted to…joke around a little…”

Moments later, Jungkook found himself sitting with Jimin at a nearby desserts café, with a giant strawberry and chocolate waffle sitting in front of him, topped with insane ice cream and whipped cream quantities that could only be considered outliers.

The cringing agony arrived much too late for Jungkook. Oh my god, he was trying to tell a punny joke and I was too busy trying to analyze whether or not he was flirting with me that I didn’t even bother laughing. This is already going wrong. So. Horribly. Wrong.

But all this time, Jimin hadn’t seemed to notice. He was just pleasantly sipping on his customized hot mocha beverage that had a cute latte heart design in it, humming slightly as he flipped back and forth through the notebook he was holding in his hands.

“Um…Jimin?” Jungkook spoke up.

Jimin looked up from his pages, meeting eye contact with Jungkook as he adjusted his glasses.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin asked, mildly concerned. “Did you not like it? My friend swears it’s good.”

Jungkook gulped, trying not to let himself be distracted by the glory that was bespectacled Jimin. “You really didn’t have to buy this for me…”

Jimin dropped his notebook, reaching up to push his glasses onto his nose bridge before looking directly at Jungkook (whose heart skipped a beat with 100% certainty) as he spoke:

“We’re all poor university students,” he said rationally, with a gentle smile. “You know better than to give up free food. Now eat up before it all melts.”

It took a few moments for Jungkook to even process what Jimin was talking about—he had been distracted by glasses after all. Surprisingly and spontaneously obedient, Jungkook nodded promptl as he swiftly picked up his fork with a shaky hand and pressed through the soft cream and pastry.

“Now,” Jimin continued speaking as he leaned his pretty face into hand and looked at Jungkook through his glasses. “Should we start going through these notes or should I wait until you finish eating?”

Jungkook wanted to slam his head into the wall. His mind was clearly not in the right places, not after seeing that upward gaze that appeared much too sultry for no reason in particular.  

“Feel see to fart!” he blurted. Shit. “I mean, feel free to start!” The idea of stabbing himself with the fork to end it all was slowly becoming more and more attractive.

Curtly, Jimin ignored Jungkook’s little stumble and proceeded to go through how to calculate expectations and variances of a distribution. Jungkook tried hard to listen, he really did, but he kept slipping in and out of a distracting mood. He continued staring at Jimin, the way his bangs slightly fell over the frame of his glasses as he was bent over and writing on the paper.

Jungkook sucked on his fork, eyes slightly lidded as he watched Jimin. Hmm…this waffle tastes so, so much sweeter than I expected it to…

“Do you get it, Jungkook?” Jimin asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Jungkook tried to not choke on the whipped cream. “Hmmph, what?” he garbled unattractively.

“Do you get what the difference is between an expectation and a variance?”

Jungkook stared blankly. “Uh, well…”

Jimin shuffled uncomfortably in his chair. “If you don’t get it, Jungkook, you can just tell me,” he said. “Honestly, don’t be afraid, despite what you’ve heard about me.”

Jungkook’s attention was suddenly caught. “Hmm? What? What have I heard about you?”

Jimin smiled. He added an unexpected shrug before saying, “Well I don’t know, Jungkook. Last I heard someone thought I was a ‘nerd lord’, didn’t he?”

Jungkook froze. I’m gonna kill that lanky asshole, he thought ominously, as the mental image of Kim Taehyung’s best trolling face floated into his mind.

He laughed nervously, scratching the nape of his neck as he spoke next. “Well, that was like…before I knew you. And stuff.”

“Really?” Jimin asked, leaning forwards slightly. “Well…what’s changed since then?”

Jungkook felt like he’d been pushed into a corner, not sure how to answer this. Especially when Park Jimin was looking at him so expectantly, with a slight curve on his lips like that.

“Um....you’re…you’re actually a good teacher?” Jungkook said stiffly, trying to say anything but the things that were a bit more easily retrievable within his conscious mind. 

“Oh,” Jimin pursed his lips, barely looking disappointed. He sank back into his seat, flipping quickly through his notes as Jungkook was left alone to contemplate what he had done wrong.

“Why don’t you try this problem for me?” Jimin said, pushing the notebook towards Jungkook. Jungkook took the pages hesitantly, and wondered if he was only imagining that Jimin’s tone had become slightly colder than before.

Deciding to ignore his qualms, Jungkook grabbed his pencil and kept his head down and focussed in determination. Regardless of how it would turn out with Jimin, he should probably focus on the real reason why he was there in the first place.

But much to his dismay, he found that the distractions had been too much, as always. He kept writing and erasing, scratching out answers and replacing it with others. Before long, his page was a mess, and he wasn’t any closer to the answer.

He gritted his teeth, erasing yet another line. C’mon Jungkook, focus. If you want him to not be discouraged of teaching you, you gotta try harder.

But it seemed hopeless. The overcrowded page seemed to mock him with ridicule, questioning why he was starting to confuse his variables and miswrite his numbers. It was starting to give him a headache just to look at.

He heard Jimin shuffle from across him. Oh no, he’s leaving. Crap. Why do I have to be so stupid? His eyebrows scrunched in annoyance as wrote down something that seemed to be right, but he had already seen before.

“Need help?” Jimin’s voice asked suddenly, right next to him.

Jungkook finally let out the sigh of frustration he had been holding in for so long. He turned towards the direction of Jimin’s voice.

“Yes! I’m sorry I—”

Jungkook stopped midsentence as he found that Jimin’s face was right in front of him, as Jimin was bent over his shoulder and looking intently at the problem in front of them. He leaned back slightly in an instant, though it was still close enough for him to realize how smooth and soft-looking Jimin’s poufy cheeks were.

“You’re actually on the right track, Jungkook,” said Jimin, as he gazed knowingly at Jungkook’s messy work. “Besides…”

Much to the dismay of Jungkook’s poor, soft and fragile heart, Park Jimin had to turn at that very moment so that their eyes and lips were less than centimetres away from each other.

“I’ve never seen you try that hard before…” Jimin said. It was as if his voice was coated with sugar.

Jungkook visibly gulped, not even bothering trying to hide it. He tried to lean back some more but there was no room left to go.

“You were really cute,” Jimin murmured as his smile widened. “I’ve never seen you like that before.”

Ba-dump.

It was a miracle Jeon Jungkook didn’t faint right there and then.

end of part 1!

part 2 coming soon on tumblr OR read the full story on AO3 ^^

A/N: ...yeah. Part of me hates myself for doing this can you tell? XD Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it at least a little~ and saw a new perspective on math through this :3

Anyways, I neglected my midterm to squeeze this out in time for VDay so I hope it made you smile, somewhere, somehow :D

[edwardlando]

If I were to do college again

Edward Lando is a co-founder of Horizons, the first coding bootcamp for college students.

CLICK TO LEARN MORE ABOUT US

Since the company I’m working on is getting started in Philadelphia, I’ve been back on Penn’s campus a lot in the past few months.

I love being back and at the same time inevitably feel a little nostalgic, as always happens when you revisit a place where you’ve lived an important and beautiful part of your life.

Nostalgia always gets me thinking. What would I do were I to do it over again? What would I tell a young Edward today?

1. Run for class president.

Because why not? Everyone has impostor syndrome in the first few weeks. Everyone wants to meet everyone else but no one really knows anyone. So you feel like the odd kid at the party but of course all the others are in the same boat. So take that leap. Not many students even ran in my year and those who won just ended up being those who were gutsy and uninhibited enough to introduce themselves to everyone they crossed paths with. For all the candidates, regardless of whether they won, it was a very good move that paid off for the entire 4 years. There are no strangers… Only people you have not met yet. This is most true on college campuses. So time to get out of your comfort zone.

2. Only attend the lectures you enjoy.

During course selection period, try out as many classes as you can. Your university is a restaurant and it’s offering its entire menu. Have a little sample of each dish.

Very quickly, you’ll find that some classes and professors stimulate you and others are a drag. Either drop those classes or don’t go and just do the problem sets with a group friends. This is not high school anymore. You choose to be here and you are paying to get value so be ruthless about what you like and what you don’t. You have no time to waste and if you are forced to take some requirements you don’t like just get through them and spend most of your time focusing on what you find interesting and what makes you happy.

3. Favor classes that revolve around group work.

Because they prepare you best for the real world. I’ve forgotten all the classes for which I sat in a big lecture, barely acknowledged my neighbor and just did the problem sets and exams and called it a day. But those that had me constantly working with my peers I still remember today. I learned more from them than from the material covered in the class.

4. Choose classes for the professor over the subject.

Ever had the experience of meeting someone who is infinitely charismatic and tells the most fascinating stories? Doesn’t matter what they talk about. You’re hanging on their every word. Well, that applies to professors. I’ve had the experience of signing up for classes that sounded particularly interesting and getting the dullest lecturers. Quickly, I learned to prioritize the professor’s rating over anything else.

In fact, I took an advanced Statistics class just because my now good friend Emil, a Statistics PhD and particularly gifted lecturer was TA’ing it. I had no special interest in Probability but he made it extremely entertaining and interesting. His excitement was contagious. I mean, he managed to bring Chopin and War and Peace into some of his practice problems.

5. Practice public speaking as much as possible.

Practice rejection, practice making a total fool of yourself. The earlier you get used to these things in life, the bolder you’ll be on a day to day basis. I remember flyering on Locust Walk and getting ignored and denied, I remember seeing new fraternity pledges interrupting big lectures to sing to girls and give them roses on Valentines Day while all the students filmed and smiled and laughed, I remember people standing up and delivering very strange performances in poetry slam competitions, and the list goes on. In all of these, these people were better off after than before. Doing scary public things is like taking a cold shower. It’s difficult but it’s really good for you and shakes you back to reality, if you’re only brave enough to try it.

6. Explore your campus fully, as soon as possible.

It sounds silly but lots of people didn’t know parts of the campus existed until senior year or even never discovered them at all. Little gorgeous secrets that are great places to take walks or hang out or study. I think this is important because not doing it is the definition of being complacent and not making full use of all the resources that have been shared with you. There’s a beautiful biopond at Penn that I only discovered junior year because I’d never walked to that part of campus before. It’s easy to get locked into your little habits.

7. Make upperclassman friends.

I think that one of the biggest mistakes that young people make is to only spend time with people their age. People older than you are like future versions of you. It’s quite actually like getting to peek at the future, so why not use that? Ask them what their favorite classes were and take them, ask them what they wish they’d known, get them to share it all. They want to.

This applies to people at any stage in life. If you are in your early twenties, spend time with people in their thirties and forties and beyond. It’s like having a second chance before you need a second chance.

8. Share the moments with your family.

Your parents invested everything they had in you and they’re the people who care about you the most in the whole world. It’s great that you’re turning into a full-grown adult and going to all these parties, but why not share the fun and the experiences with those who love you. Think about how hard it must be for them to have you leave after all these years. Don’t let that stop you in your own life of course but also realize that sharing your moments with them in no way makes you less of an adult. In fact, it makes you wiser and more mature and will make the experiences you share even more memorable.

9. Get to know your favorite professors.

If you truly enjoy and admire a professor, go to their office hours and develop a more personal relationship with them. They are human beings, not just “professors” and can become good friends and mentors especially once you’re done taking their class. I’ve witnessed a lot of fruitful student-professor relationships that have persisted far beyond the student’s undergraduate years.

10. Hang out more.

Not kidding. Dorms are an incredibly unique social experiment and once in a lifetime experience. In my case, everyone on the floor had an open door policy, which meant that people left their doors partly open most of the time. Unless the door was locked you could just come in and say hi, have a seat somewhere and start chatting. This will never happen again once you are done with college! And so much comes from it. You will not remember most of your experience in these 4 years but you will remember the late night conversations and adventures, like I remember the time when my friend Matt came back from a party, put on some country music and painted a Michelangelo inspired fresco of the head of our program on his wall.

11. When it’s sunny, grab a blanket and work outside on the grass.

Nothing else to add.

Locust Walk at night, UPenn

12. Choose people and moments over grades and exams.

There will be many times when you’ll come to a people & moments vs studying decision. As someone who has always been a top student, I will tell you: choose experiences. Grades really do not matter as much as you think. People and moments will inevitably be the most important part of your college story. And your life.

13. Do not pile on the majors and minors.

If you’re trying to impress someone, stop. No one cares. Take the classes you actually want to take and stop trying to out-resume someone else. Taking on extra majors and minors will just make you miss out on the more important experiences that all happen outside of class and will take away any flexibility you have to take the odd interesting Masterpieces of French Film or Tibetan Meditation class that everyone is raving about.

14. In that same vein, don’t let your major dictate what you learn.

I was in the business school and took a ton of psychology, Argentinian literature and computer science classes, to the extent that I was afraid I would not finish all my business requirements in time to graduate. Those random classes that I chose to take were the highlights of my time at Penn and they were those I actually remember. I have absolutely no recollection of my accounting classes.

You are the captain of your ship. You choose what you become.

15. Meet everyone who you want to meet.

No group is out of your reach. If you really like a girl but feel like you have entirely different friend groups, find a way to break the ice. Everyone is 1 degree away from you on the campus. No one is a stranger. There are no cliques that you cannot integrate. Surround yourself exactly by the people who you want to be surrounded with. Your campus is designed to make it easy, so take advantage of it now because it gets harder once you graduate and are let loose into the big wide world.

16. Suffer through the grind with your peers.

When it’s midterms or finals season or you’ve got a huge project to hand in, do not work on it alone in your room. Go to the libraries and study halls and grind through it with your classmates. You’ll feel the energy and that’s also when you’ll develop a lot of your lifelong friendships. In shared struggle.

17. Be different. Be your unique self.

It’s easy to converge to what everyone else does and thinks around you. But it’s often not true to what you actually want to do. Don’t pretend to be anything you are not and don’t be afraid to wander off from the pack whenever you feel like it. On some of my best nights I skipped the big downtown party and went to this small charming movie theatre in Old City with a couple good friends or a date. One other nights when everyone was studying for a class I found boring I met up with my good friend Emil the Statistics TA and wrote fiction while he wrote poetry. We put our phones away and just focused for hours. It was strange, it was different. No one else did that but we loved it.

18. Learn real skills.

College is not the real world. Very few of your classes will be helpful when you come out from this 4 year utopia. So make sure you’re taking classes that teach you something applicable or learning it on the side by working on projects with your close friends.

In my case, I got the most value from these side ventures. Dozens of apps, websites and other concepts we tested out, which taught us how to design, how to code, how to push a product out, how to make something people want, how to talk to users, how to get press, how to do all the things that I still do today. They are the closest thing to the real world experience as you can get.

That’s why I launched Horizons, the first coding bootcamp for college students. CLICK TO LEARN MORE ABOUT US

19. Try out things you’d never think of trying.

That Mask & Wig comedy club you’ve always been curious about, those capoeira and salsa and bartending and DJ’ing classes you’d been meaning to try, that yearly ski trip to the Poconos… Favor trying new things over doing the same old. Remember, this is the phase of your life when you’re still sampling everything!

20. You’re not too young to be great at something.

Don’t be afraid of getting really good, really soon. I remember how one of the guys in my dorm was reading a 1000 page finance book that he strongly recommended to me in the first week we met. He was 18 and already knew more about finance than most full grown men. He is one of the only people I know who genuinely likes the subject and today is doing incredibly well at his job.

Generally, the most fulfilled and and confident people I met in college were really passionate or good at one thing. Design, code, art, writing, finance, creating new products. They fully dove into their work everyday unapologetically.

They followed what naturally attracted them and became great at it. There are no rules as to how good you can get and how quickly you can get there and college gives you plenty of precious free time. So go crazy.

21. Always remember: time really does fly.

It can seem that you have your whole life before you. And you do. But just keep in mind that time still keeps moving forward and irreversibly so.

I will never be in college again.

That part of my life is over and I’m fine with it and onto the next even more exciting part but just know that it all goes by in a very quick flash.

What has stuck with me over the years is Jeff Bezos’ “regret minimization” approach to life: imagine yourself on your deathbed and think of whether you’d regret doing or more importantly not doing something. And live accordingly. I think that’s the way to do it.

I believe that if you live every moment while acutely aware that your time is short, you will live more fully and more courageously.

So do it. Every day, shed off a little more of your fears and burst out of all those imaginary limits.

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Thank you for reading.

If you found value in this post, I’d really appreciate if you could recommend it (by clicking the Share button) so other people can see it.

Edward Lando is a co-founder of Horizons, the first coding bootcamp for college students.

Learn more and apply here.

Horizons is a coding bootcamp and career platform in one. Our mission is simple: we bring real-world, practical software development classes to college campuses and connect our students with the very best tech internship and full-time job opportunities.

[paige-writes]

Behind the Mic (chapter 2)

A voltron college!au fic between Shiro and Lira (OC)

Lira felt dead on her feet. Morning classes were always a hassle and made her and just about 98% of the school feel like zombies. Kudos to the rest who actually liked getting up at 7 am.

After walking into her creative writing class, Lira trudged up the steps to the middle section of the seats. The front was where basically everyone got picked to answer questions, and in the back you could barely hear the professor speak, so the middle was the only option in Lira’s case. After choosing a random row, Lira sat down as if a weight was strapped to her shoulders. She laid her head down in her arms in an attempt to get a few extra minutes of sleep before class started, but was soon woken up by someone tapping her shoulder.

Obviously annoyed, Lira turned her head to the side to see this perpetrator, only to bolt upright when she was faced with the same guy she bumped into yesterday. Since when was he in this class!? Okay, calm down Lira. He’s just a good looking guy you were just ogling after he made you fall. No big deal. Just….talk.

“H-Hi.” Okay, you stuttered.

“Hey,” he replied. “Did I wake you?”

“No, n-not at all! I was just resting a bit….” Lira tapped her hands on the table, thinking of what to say next. “So….what’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing. Just wanted to return these.” Lira stared at him confused until he reached into his bag and pulled out the same bag of mini Oreos that she’d dropped yesterday. “You, uh, left them behind, and I didn’t want to throw them away. I figured I’d give them to you since we’re in the same class.” He slid the package to Lira, who hesitantly took it in her hands. He….actually saved them for her. “Thank you,” she said. The guy smiled in response. “I’m Takashi Shirogane, by the way. You can call me Shiro, though.” Lira found herself smiling back. “Lira Evans. Nice to meet you.”

The opening of the classroom door signaled that the teacher was here. She began class by saying that everyone was to write a poem. “Since we have been on the topic of poetry for the past couple of weeks,” she said, “I wanted you all to try your hand at it yourselves.” There was a synced groan from the students that the professor ignored. “Your poems will be due next Friday and everyone will be presenting them.” Another groan from the class, one that Lira heavily emphasized. One thing that was worse than talking to one stranger was talking to multiple of them. She was never good at it; her throat always dried up, her hands would get clammy, and she would stutter tremendously. It was easy to avoid up until now when it was mandatory.This was going to be loads of fun.

Shiro noticed Lira’s look of distress and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “It won’t be that bad,” he assured. Lira sighed. “I hope so.”

“If you need help we could always work on these poems together.”

Lira felt her ears heat up slightly after he said that, because the one thing that romance films have taught her growing up was that working on schoolwork together meant ‘study date’, and study dates didn’t really include a whole lot of studying in those films. Lira instantly shook her head. “I-I think I can do this on my own. Thank you, though.”

The teacher gave the rest of the period to the students so that they could brainstorm their poetic ideas. Most of them sat around and did nothing while the rest got to work. Lira stared at her blank notebook, then to Shiro who was doing the same. He was twirling his pen in his hand, in complete focus. Sighing to herself for what felt like the umpteenth time that morning, Lira reached into her backpack and retrieved a leather-bound photo album and started to look through it for some sort of inspiration. Shiro noticed her movements out of the corner of his eye and switched his gaze to her, then to her album. There were various photos ranging from nature to antiques at a pawn shop and everything in between.

“You’re a photographer?” he asked, pointing to Lira’s album. Lira nodded, then explained how she was an art major in the photography field. “I do draw a little from time to time,“ she said, "but photography is what I’m mostly good at. There’s just so much to capture in one frame. Even a simple photo of a leaf could have a special meaning, although in my opinion the perfect photo is all about angling and precision. You have to hold your camera just right at a certain degree to get a perfect shot, and even after that there’s always the option of the right filter and—” Lira cut herself off when she saw Shiro staring at her, his cheek resting in one of his hands with a smile plastered on his face.

Heat quickly rose to Lira’s pale cheeks. “Oh no,” she said, making Shiro’s smile disappear into a puzzled expression, “I’m sorry, I’m rambling again. God, this always happens!”

“No, no,” Shiro replied, his smile returning. “Don’t be sorry, Lira. You’re passionate about photography, something you love. It’s cute that you like to talk about these things so openly.” Cute? Shiro thought it was cute? Well that was certainly one way to put it.

"I’m….flattered. Usually someone would tell me to stop talking by this point, but you don’t seem to mind at all.” There was a brief silence, both students not knowing how to continue this awkward conversation. It ended up finishing with just that, and the two resorted to writing their poems.

“Bonne après-midi my fellow listeners at Altea University! Welcome back to another daily segment of ‘Advice Corner’. I’m your host, A. It’s that time in the semester again where everyone crams and gathers in the library. Yes, it’s almost time for midterms. Grab your textbooks and your coffee and get studying! And if any of you need to vent or get advice, just send in a call and I’ll listen. Oh, and it looks like we have our first caller. Good afternoon fellow listener. How can I make your day feel A-Okay?”

The line was silent for a second before a male voice broke through.

“Uh, hi A. Man, these midterms are gonna kick my ass. Got any advice on how to not be too stressed?”

“Of course. It’s true that stress can’t be relieved altogether, especially with tests, however there are a few ways to clear your head in these trying times. Go outside for a breather if you feel cramped inside or are in need of a break. Listen to a calming soundtrack made for studying for concentration. Maybe take a hot shower or drink a warm beverage afterwards so that you feel more at ease. I know that when I’m stressed, I always put on my favorite fuzzy pajama pants.”

“Ah, these sound like good ideas. Thank you, A.”

“No problem, mon amie. Glad to help. Okay, next caller!”

Lira stretched in her chair, a strangled noise leaving her throat. Another successful segment, and now it’s back to classes.

As Lira left the office building, she heard her phone vibrate multiple times in her bag. Oh yeah, she’d forgot to silence it before starting the segment. Taking it out while she walked back to campus, she saw that it was yet again a text from Anita, and this time she made a group chat with Pidge included.

Art Nerd (Anita): liraaaaaaa

Pidge(on): llllliiiiiirrraaaaa

Art Nerd(Anita): answer ur phone dammit

Art Nerd (Anita): if ur asleep then wake uuuuuup

Pidge(on): pls dont be dead liraaaaaaa

Not-So-Social (Lira): Guys im fine. Just busy.

Pidge(on): OH MY GOD SHE LIVES

Art Nerd (Anita): PRAISE

Not-So-Social (Lira): Yes yes im alive, but what’s with the group chat? Usually you guys don’t make one unless….

Not-So-Social (Lira): oh no

Not-So-Social (Lira): Guys. This better not be what I think it is.

Art Nerd (Anita): sHIT! pidge shes onto us!

Pidge(on): welp. might as well come clean then. lira, the three of us are going out on Saturday. and when i say three, i mean THREE. not three and then one chickens out at the last minute.

Not-So-Social (Lira): Hey!

Art Nerd (Anita): shes not wrong tho. lira, we know u dont like interacting with other people, but at least spend time with us! we feel bad that ur holed up in ur apartment all the time and god knows we dont want u looking like casper the ghost. hell even pidge leaves her computer once in a while, even if i DO have to drag her away.

Art Nerd (Anita): and i mean it both metaphorically and physically

Not-So-Social (Lira): She goes out with you because you’re dating

Art Nerd (Anita): point taken

Pidge(on): COMING BACK TO OUR INITIAL TASK, it’d be nice to have some fun before we all have to hibernate and cram, and it’s not like we’re going to one of those sketchy frat/sor parties. we’ll go somewhere that’s nice and doesn’t leave us smelling like tequila and pot.

Not-So-Social (Lira): I’m pretty sure I don’t have a choice, but not smelling like tequila and pot sounds great in my book. Fine, send me the details when you guys can.

Art Nerd (Anita): YES

Pidge(on): we knew you’d come around. we’re irresistible >:)

Not-So-Social (Lira): I feel like I’m gonna regret this….

**chapter 3 coming soon!**

Translations

bonne après-midi (French) - good afternoon

mon amie (French) - my friend