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grayhandler:

Five points isn’t the end of the fucking world, although Grayson spends the rest of class being uncomfortably aware of how pissed his new lab partner is about that. He can see her color coordinated notes out of the corner of his eye the entire lecture. Along with the briefcase and the first day outfit that probably costs almost as much as his entire wardrobe, it doesn’t paint a flattering picture of—whoever this is, because she didn’t even bother to give Grayson her name. This is why he hates Manhattan.

They make it through the rest of the class somehow, but nothing about her makes him want to stick around. As soon as the professor releases them, Grayson shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets and escapes through the back door.

Except. Well. Grayson’s not completely unsocialized, despite what his new lab partner might think. More importantly, he’s stuck with her for the rest of this semester. As much as he’d rather not, it might be a good idea to suck it up and play nice. Apologize for the five points and offer to buy her a coffee or something, even if he isn’t that sorry. It’s a goddamn miracle he made it to class today at all, frankly, with the way the morning went. But maybe if he explains that, she’ll deign to make eye contact with him again. He’s not above playing the single dad card, especially if he conveniently neglects to mention that Alexis lives within walking distance or that she comes over almost every day.

When he pushes the door open to find his new lab partner though, she’s up by their professor’s desk instead of at their table. In the now empty room, their voices echo more than before. So Grayson does the obvious thing—he pauses in the doorway, straining to overhear, especially when his new lab partner says something about he didn’t even bring the supplies.

Now he definitely can’t bail. He shuts the door as quietly as he can, but he doesn’t walk away. Instead, he waits for Sophia to walk out into the hallway herself. “Hey, Miss Thompson,” he says casually, pushing off the wall to fall into step beside her. “Nice to meet you, by the way. I never got your name, but thankfully I overheard the professor.” He jerks his thumb back towards their classroom, as if she might think he means a different professor. “You went crying to him and called me a bad influence over five points? Are you serious? Something tells me you’re not going to be sweating five points at the end of this semester.”

Relief washes over Sophia like a cool breeze. She was as smart as she was manipulative; something her father taught her. Every interaction was an opportunity to plead your case and get someone to do exactly what you wanted -- that was what he always said.

She’s about to take a victory lap when she throws open the double doors and sees... her lab partner. Or, well, her old lab partner hopefully. She tries not to let the shock show on her face, but she can only bring her eyes back down from widening after a slip second. Shit.

But then Sophia realizes... what has she got to be ashamed of? As a woman she will always have to fight twice as hard as her male counterparts, whether they’re within her academic standings, or below -- just like this scruffy haired kid is. What was his name again? Something with a G, Sophia thinks... Greg? Gary? The brunette realizes it doesn’t really matter; she’ll probably never speak to him again.

And yet he’s blabbering on and on, like her speaking with their professor was some sort of dirty secret he’d uncovered. She can’t help but roll her eyes.

“Please, it’s really not that big of a deal.” She crosses her arms in front of her tiny frame. “I just think we’re both better suited with other partners.” She shrugs. Calm, cool, collected. Just like a professional.

“Good luck with the rest of the semester.” Sophia says finally with a forced smile, and walks away.

#001

grayhandler·:

Here’s the thing—when it comes to his classmates, Grayson’s normally pretty goddamn likeable. Sure, Grayson never has time to go out with them, but he’s friendly. He’s fun. He’s got a cute kid and he’s not afraid to use Andrew’s latest selfies on his cell phone to charm someone if need be.

All that relies on someone actually listening when he speaks, of course. And whoever this girl is, she interrupts him midway through his opener, levels him with an expression that says she’s obviously written him off already. Which…no, it wouldn’t be the first time someone’s done that to him here, when NYU is full of rich bitch kids with sticks up their asses, but God, does it get on his nerves every single time. Not for the first time, Grayson wishes Alexis could’ve applied to like, Ohio State or something.

Now that he’s settling into the classroom, Grayson pauses to actually take in the person sitting next to him. Her lab coat is perfectly clean and folded on the desk. Her outfit is more suited to an interview than a morning class, complete with a blazer that looks more expensive than anything Grayson’s owned. She’s even got a briefcase for some reason. Long story short, she looks like every try-hard Grayson’s ever mocked.

And he hates that sitting beside her makes him acutely aware of his reliable-but-beat-up tennis shoes, the hoodie he threw on this morning because it was a choice between putting effort into his clothes or making Andrew breakfast, the fact that, no, he doesn’t have his stupid lab supplies yet.

Grayson tries to remember anything about those being required for the first day, but if he’s honest, he hasn’t done much beside downloading the syllabus. Did he read it yet? He’s almost positive he did, but then again, maybe he just thought about it. Either way, unless he’s got a pair of goggles up his ass—which he does not, to be clear—it’s pretty clear he won’t have the supplies today.

“It’s cool, I’ll have them next class,” Grayson promises, a last ditch effort to make this work. That’s reasonable, anyway. It’s not like he’s never going to have supplies. Even he has to admit though, his smile’s faded, even if his flippant tone of voice hasn’t. “Today’s just like, syllabus day. No way we’re doing any real experiments on the first day.”

Oh my god, Sophia silently thinks to herself, I’m going to fail this class.

She would never admit it, but Science was not Sophia’s strong-suit, nor had it ever been. She would have to work twice as hard as everyone else to get an A -- and anything below that was just unacceptable. Normally that wouldn’t bother her -- Sophia was used to a busy schedule, filled with internships, part-time work at her father’s law-firm, volunteering at the local women’s shelter and the mayor’s office, along with studying and making connections with professors. Sure she ran on coffee and only slept for an average of four hours a day, but sleep was for the weak, and Sophia was not weak.

But now, sitting before her in... whatever it is he’s wearing, is the reason she’ll be failing this class, and all he can say is: “I’ll have them next class.”

No, this was unacceptable. She’d have a stern, yet open conversation with the professor after class. If that didn’t work, she’d have her father make a call -- he made a very generous donation to the school last year, so she was sure they’d be willing to hear her out. Switching lab partners can’t be that hard, right?

“You do realize that because of you, we’ve just lost five points off our final grade.” She can barely hide her disgust at this point. Syllabus day? Does he think NYU is a state school or something?

Sophia can’t even look at her companion now, turning away to face the professor. She keeps her eyes locked on the older man until he concludes the lesson. She closes her iPad, hiding her color coded notes and slipping the device into her briefcase. Sophia works on packing up slowly and approaches the professor once all of the students leave.

“Can I speak with you?” She starts, and the man nods. “It’s about my lab partner... he’s, well, not prepared. He didn’t even bring to supplies you requested,” she pauses to point at the table they’d inhabited just moments ago. “I’m really worried he’s going to bring down my grade.” The professor interrupts her, nodding his head.

“I’ll see what I can do, Miss. Thompson.” She smiles -- Dad’s right, she will make a good lawyer.

#001

grayhandler

@ascorpiorising

Grayson’s late for class; that’s nothing new. It is the dawn of a new semester, but his pattern is well established by now. This time around, he’s running behind because Andrew couldn’t find his backpack—and, after they’d spent all morning searching, they’d found the stupid thing in Grayson’s car. Great. Not the end of the world, especially when it was completely Grayson’s fault, but still pretty fucking unfortunate on the first day of class.

Now, normally, Grayson can slide into a class quietly when he’s late, coffee in hand and performatively chagrined look on his face in case anyone’s paying attention as he sits in the far back of the classroom. He’ll never be any professor’s favorite, but that was never on the table anyway.

Today, though, when Grayson opens the door as softly as possible, he realizes something’s different this time around. Everyone’s sitting in pairs, huddled over notes and textbooks together, chatting instead of listening to some boring lecture on the syllabus. Because, oh right, they were supposed to get partners right off the bat.

There’s only one person sitting alone, at least. Grayson slides into the seat next to her, smiling in a way he hopes covers for the fact that he’s somewhere between five and ten minutes late to class. “Sorry,” Grayson says, although he moves on quickly from that. “I’m Grayson. Are we supposed to be partners? What’d I miss? If this is an icebreaker thing, I have my two truths and a lie ready to go, don’t worry.”

ascorpiorising

Sophia’s kitten heels clack against the linoleum floor as she power walks down the long hallway of the science wing. She’s ten minutes early - which, of course, means she’s late. She sighs once she sees the double doors are swung open, hoping that her favorite spot - dead center, front row - is still open.

The brunette makes her way inside, and much to her surprise, it’s free. Most of the students are congregating towards the middle and back of the laboratory - underachievers, Sophia assumes. She turns up her nose and takes a seat, pulling a thin purple folder from her briefcase, along with an ironed and neatly folded lab coat.

Sophia sighs again once she takes a look at the tick and lifeless coat. Couldn’t they have gotten something... nicer for her to wear? The least they could do was purchase better quality cotton. It’s such a shame that no one will see her vintage Tom Ford blazer under this. And the goggles, yuck! Don’t they know she spends a fortune on her skincare and makeup routine?

As the students start to pile in, Sophia is still left lonely at the front of the classroom. This isn’t new to her - she’s used to being intimidating. Most of her peers are dressed in sweats, ill fitting tops, and scuffed up sneakers. Sophia wonders if any of them even know what a hair brush is. It’s understandable that someone with her presence could leave them scattering. Regardless, she doesn’t mind; she works better alone anyway.

Once the professor waltzes in - a tall man with a receding hairline and a beer belly that puts any dad bod to shame - he shuts the doors behind him and begins his short spiel. He reminds the students that “If you’ve forgotten your lab supplies, that’s an automatic 5 points off you and your partner’s participation grade” - but of course, Sophia has all of her supplies neatly displayed on her lab table.

She thinks she’s in the clear - no lab partner, how could she have gotten so lucky?! - when a disheveled boy bursts through the door. She scrunches up her nose, looking him up and down... this is going to be a long year. “Yes, it looks like we are,” she says, audibly displeased as he takes the seat beside her. He continues to ramble on, something about an ice breaker... what is this, speed dating? “Ugh, no,” she interrupts. “The professor was just going over the requirements for class. You have your lab supplies...” she trails off, noticing he has absolutely nothing with him. “Right?”