۪ ֹ ᮫

still sleep deprived and still very much stuck on vinnie hacker

[kissesandcigarettes]

ೀ 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒆

ﾉ hello, and welcome .ᐟ

    ⋆. 𐙚 ̊ i’m 𝒍𝒊𝒗. she/her . 𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓 . full-time 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒕 & part time 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓 .

𝒜𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕. espresso connoisseur. gemini. june bby. stem & academia. pantone blue and green colour palettes. mediterranean heart. summer breeze. art history. michelangelo & alexandre cabanel. jazz. hans zimmer. comfort movies & tv shows. bucky barnes and ilsa faust protection squad. natasha romanov and steve rogers ship defender. jude bellingham. paperback books. ink pens. wired earphones. train rides. paper copies. pistachio ice cream. oud & tobacco. leather jackets. new balance sneakers. bulky scarves. clear lip gloss. stacked jewelry. hoop earrings. long walks. scented candles. fresh linen.

                                                         ˗ˏˋ masterlist .ᐟ                                  

                            ⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ writing muse of late : vinnie hacker .

     .ᐟ author disclaimer: all of my works contain mature/nsft content unless noted otherwise. minors are strongly discouraged from interacting; that being said, you are responsible for the media you consume. thank you for your understanding.

ℒ𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕 . ﾉ love on court chapter 3 (miniseries). kiss the light that touches you (excerpt).

𝒰𝒑𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 . ◞ love on court chapter 4 (wip). vinnie/f!reader, soulmates!au (wip). boxer vinnie/f!doctor!reader, mma!au (tbw).

𝒯𝒂𝒈𝒔 . # to be added .

                                 INBOX ― open to all requests .ᐟ

                   please dm or comment to be added to taglist(s) .

copyright © kissesandcigarettes, 2026. understand no circumstances is feeding into ai or crossposting on another platform allowed.

[kissesandcigarettes]

; “KISS THE LIGHT THAT TOUCHES YOU”

— pairing: vinnie/f!reader (no physical descriptions given)

— word count: 4.9K+

— warnings: implied underlying smut, but not explicit. 

summary: in the early hours of the morning, when the sun breaks over a world at sleep, vinnie becomes one with its golden glow. you are eager to admire him be basked in it. he is more than content to let you gaze upon him to your heart’s content. 

you are an early riser. 

your body, attune with the dawning of the morning sky for much of your life, wakes you up just in time for you to watch the violet-streaked dark purple of the night give away to the soft hues of powdered pinks and dusty oranges of a new dawn, peeling back across horizon like an unfurling orange that reveals the glimmering slice of sun peeking underneath it. 

the spacious bedroom located on the second floor of the east wing of the house is occupied mostly by the bed you are lying on, covered in a downy white comforter that melts around your body like a cloudbank molded to the lines and contours of your limbs. drowning in unfiltered, unblemished sunlight pouring in through the sliding glass doors that open up to the terrace, the visual feast of colors and ethereal brightness has become a part of your daily morning scenery. 

currently, half of your golden scenery is obscured by equally golden curls. 

you’re still not fully awake yet yourself; cradled within the warm arms of sleep, you rock back and forth like a crib floating on gentle waves, lulling in and out of the depths of the morning’s slumber. you turn your neck slightly sideways, burrowing your nose into the cooled silk of the pillow next to yours; the smell of vinnie’s shampoo welcomes you, worn into the pearlescent threading of the pillow cover, yet the absence of the person of your affection is noticeable beyond simply being sufficed by his familiar scent. you tilt your chin down, a sleep-laden smile curling lazily on the edge of your sleep-swollen lips as you peek through barely open eyes. your eyes feel heavy and swollen like a newborn fawn; the small price you have to pay for the long hours you spent awake the night before, exhaustion belonging to the pleasure-invoked kind still hanging off your lids like a reminder, reminiscent of the love bites etched into your shoulders and neck in a patchwork of blurred reds and muted purples. 

it’s no surprise when you come face to face with the halo of curls crowned on the head tucked against your chest. spilling out like the rays of the sun, the looping strands tickle your bare, bed-warmed skin as he moves in his sleep. 

unlike you, vinnie is not an early riser; whether it’s from late-night streaming, working at his desk on a coding project that is in an entirely foreign language to you, or just simply having a circadian rhythm that thrives in the lack of light, you think it’s from a combination of all. at this moment, it is more so from the hours both of you spent in each other’s company the night before, exchanging your pressing him into the sheets beneath your hips and legs for his body molding you into his frame as he hooked your legs over his shoulders and made himself more than well-acquainted with that spot inside of you that had you blacking out as stars cartwheeled and shattered into diamond-like dust behind your clamped-shut eyes. which is more than okay, for it is your favorite time to dote on him to your heart’s content, to let your eyes admire him, your brain absorb every line, every curve, every contour of him until every brief moment captured by your eyes stands clearly in your memory on their own. 

he’s sprawled across you, taking up half of the bed as he lies diagonally. legs tangled with yours under the sheets that cover your entwined bodies like the vines of the bougainvillea he planted himself last summer, now growing on the limestone walls of the arch the terrace door is tucked underneath, blossoms bursting in jewel-toned purples and magentas. you are happy with the fact that he prefers lying on the other side and lets you have the space on the bed closer to the windows; that way, you get to see what he looks like when the morning sun pours over his face—the softest, warmest paint that could ever be bottled, with him as the canvas that brings its liquid warmth to life. 

and like every morning, you get to do it in this one, too. 

you blink until your eyelids are no longer droopy with sleep and your vision is not swimming behind a film of smeared watercolour paint, coming into full focus frame by frame until you can tell apart the subtle shade differences in the blondes of vinnie’s hair. he moves against you, burying the side of his face already hidden from you deeper into the hollow space between the junction of your neck and the line of your shoulder. you chuckle silently, doing your best to not move your chest so much. lifting your free hand—the other one trapped under vinnie’s on the bed, his fingers enclosed over the length of your palm, thumb fitted on the crook in between your knuckles—you let your palm rest on the crown of his head. the curls cushion your touch, soft beyond belief and warm, basked under the not-yet blistering heat of the late spring sun, glistening as if weaved through with spun gold. beautiful, you whisper the word to yourself, letting the syllables roll off your tongue delicately as if you are tasting their sweetness between your lips. so, so beautiful. the kind of beauty that melts your heart, turning your bones into liquid warmth, like the sun melting across his face and his arms and back where his skin lays bare and visible to your eyes. 

you move your fingers experimentally, drawing circles with the tips of your fingers in gentle rolling motions, feeling the heat of his scalp prickle the pads of your fingers. he stirs slightly, his forehead rubbing against your collarbone where it nestled into through the course of the night. his thumb, in a feather-like motion, brushes across your knuckles once, and then he stills as if the feeling of your skin under his touch grounds him even in his sleep, safe and content to continue wandering through the sun-lit halls of his dreams. 

you move your fingers through his curls, letting the strands catch through but releasing them without creating any knots. your eyes track the golden coils wind up your fingers before you pull them back, barely disturbing the way they are laid out over you. you gently tug at them, stretching out the curl without pulling at the roots so that it does not wake him up, then let it out of your grasp, watching it lightly bounce as it goes back to its normal length. you repeat this, keeping your movements soft and slow, changing between letting your hand roam through his hair, combing through his soft curls in brush-like motions, and rolling the strands between your fingers, watching the sun fall through them as you let them unwind from your hold. his hair is still a bit damp from the shower he took the night before, running free and gentle like a streaming river, lit-up bright like a golden flame, a piece of the sun dropped onto earth. the scent of his shampoo rises up like a stream of perfumed air released out of a diffuser, brushing past your nose and marking itself down in your memory each time your hands card through his halo-like tresses laying at your disposal. 

it does not escape your notice how his hair is getting longer—the curls now reach all the way down his face unless he tames them with product, draping over his forehead and covering his eyes when he lets his hair down free. you adore the natural pattern of his curls, adore watching the way he styles his hair after he showers—sitting up on the marble counter in the bathroom, legs tucked up and cheek pillowed against your kneecaps as your eyes wander over his shower-damp, water-flushed skin while he’s entirely focused on applying enough curl cream and leave-in conditioner and foam throughout each strand, bending over at the waist as he shakes his head down, scrunching palmfuls of curls to give them shape while tugging them closer to his scalp, face sharpened in keen focus in his reflection on the steam-fogged mirror.

despite his hair framing the planes of his face, you can still see his nose and lips—the smooth slope of his nose curving down gently to a pointy tip, unblemished and even save for the warm metal of the thin silver nose ring looped at the side of his left nostril; the plush fullness of his lips, the soft curl of their corners that you have memorized the fit of across yours, pink and petal-soft. you risk your hand to venture farther down his head, pushing the thick pile of curls that fell overnight across his forehead back towards you so that his face is visible to you. the sunlight falls over him, caressing the sleep warmed powdery-pink dusted tops of his cheeks and catching along length of his enviously long lashes, turning them translucent as they flutter with the barely-there flickering of his eyes beneath their closed lids. 

you catch the frown pulling across his eyebrows, the skin above them straining into a harsh line that betrays the peace of the moment. you click your tongue softly, rubbing across the spot with your thumb, smoothing down the crease and easing the frown until his features relax once more. you can imagine the sunlight painting over his eyelids, shining down on whatever dreams he is seeing, warming them. you brush the backs of your fingers against the hollow of his cheeks, pleased with feeling smooth skin rather than the prickling of hair that he sometimes doesn’t bother with shaving until it gets too long. you can almost smell the sandalwood and the clean undertones infused into the lotion he uses after shaving, the scent long-since worn into his skin and became a part of him with repeated use. you brush your fingers against his temple absentmindedly, tucking a few strands that lay unruly behind his ear. 

your fingers continue to trace the hollows under his eyes, smoothing across the skin so often marred by varying shades of lilac and violet, as if his skin were a canvas and your fingers the paintbrushes covering up the blemishes of a portrait. you run the tip of your finger across his eyelashes, across the fragile softness of them, admiring how long they are and how unnoticed it goes by him unless you mention it. more often than not, it is to see him smile that shy, lopsided smile he gives you when you compliment him so naturally, so comfortably; when you compliment a part of him that he always had and got used to seeing that it never occurred to him how it might look to you. beautiful, you think again, wishing he were awake so you could press kisses on each eye, appreciating their beauty once more for him to feel too. but for the moment, you will appreciate them as the way they are while he is sleeping: dipped in the golden warmth of the sun, whispering against the skin on the tops of his sun-melted skin. 

he stirs again, this time murmuring sleepily. he is moving out of his dreams, making his way back into the waking world as the sun gently caresses him with wakeful hands. his hand around yours tightens, fingers twitching around your palm, flexing, and curling once, twice, before going still again. his head tips back sleepily, chin turning upwards as amber eyes stare up at you behind closed eyelids that lay sun-kissed. you give him a gentle smile as if he could see you, looping your arm around him as your fingers trace the contours of his lips, the slight dip at his cupid’s bow, trailing down to the line of his jaw and trace upwards, brushing across his temple and over the length of his eyebrow. your fingers move across his eyelashes once more, delicately fanning out as they touch on the hollows of his eyes. they flutter under your touch and you stop, afraid that you have woken him up before they stop moving and all is calm again.

continuing to mark a path across the spreading warmth of the planes of his face, your fingers reach his lips again. your index finger smooths over his bottom lip, soft and supple from the healing of his coco oil-infused lip balm, glistening with a thin sheen of it that he had put on before going to sleep. you are so entranced with him, his presence in your shared bed, his warmth spreading across you as he lays in your arms, his skin under your touch that you don’t feel the fingers of his free hand gently wrap around your wrist, stilling the motion of your finger. you suck in a gentle breath, your body going still as his fingers move against you. his thumb brushes gentle circles onto the racing pulse point hidden under your wrist in soothing motions as his lips pucker and he presses a small, gentle kiss onto the pad of your finger that had just been tracing his lips, and stays like that for a few, slow-stretched minutes. 

“did i wake you?” you say quietly, slotting your fingers through his as he moves away to enclose his warm palm over yours. 

“no,” he responds in an awake voice that’s laced with just the remnants of sleep, dripping with golden warmth like the sunlight bathing the walls of your bedroom. “i started waking up when you kept playing with my hair, but i didn’t want you to stop you so i pretended i was still sleeping.”

“i’m sorry, baby,” your voice reflects the traces of heat staining upwards from your neck. “i tried to be careful so that i wouldn’t disturb you. i didn’t mean to wake you.”

“no, it’s okay, my love,” you feel him shake his head from the way his curls move against your bare skin. “don’t be sorry.”

he moves slightly away from your hold so that he can twist himself around and face you, propping himself on one elbow as he looks down at you. from this angle, with his curls spilling down their messy halo around his head, the sunlit backdrop casting him in a golden glow that makes his skin prickle with goosebumps, he looks like the painting of an angel lounging on clouds. you move your eyes all over him, trying to capture every detail that you can take notice of before the moment fades away, searing it into your mind so that you can remember him like this for as long as the memory lasts in the winding archives of your mind. 

“best ten minutes of my life—this morning, just like all the other ones when i get to wake up to you doing that.” his hand reaches up, sweeping a few strands of hair away from your face and onto the pillow under your head. his fingers linger over the tresses, letting the pads of his fingers trace along where they are spread across the fabric of the pillow cover. 

“i wanted stop you only because i knew that if i let you continue, i would’ve never wanted to wake up. i would never want to—” 

his eyes travel across your face, down your body underneath the covers before moving back up again, swallowing like he is still shy to look at you in this manner, to talk to you openly about wanting you. to want you. the steadiness in his eyes is betrayed only by the miniscule flutter in his lashes, the sliding shift in the hinge of his jaw, the way the corner of his mouth pulls when he bites the inside of his cheek.

“—i would never want to leave the place i have in your arms in this bed if it meant i would feel your touch just for a moment longer. if it meant i would have your touch just for myself for just a moment more. if i could have you all to myself, only for myself, just a minute longer.”

your heart squeezes and shudders in a way that makes your chest ache and your breath stutter inside your throat. your skin is buzzy, not just from the heat of the morning slowly seeping into the room through the open windows and the warmth of your bodies trapped inside the cocoon of the covers over you, but from the way his eyes gaze down at your face with so much purpose and adoration. the ease and familiarity in the movement of his fingers brushing down your cheek and over the line of your jaw, tracing along the contours of your lips in a way that mirrors the way you had done on him earlier, makes you think how much time he has spent memorizing you as you slept in the past without you knowing it. seeking you out in the dark, drawing your image in the eye of his mind without daylight to guide him. you wonder if he is able to capture your likeness that way, if he feels restless when he can’t remember the shape of your eyes or the rise of your cheekbones, or if he rests easy in relief, knowing that in the morning you will be there for him to look upon until he is satisfied, until the details of your familiarity come to him as easy and natural as breathing, a permanent piece of his subconsciousness.

“vin—” your eyes burn with a tepid heat, voice wavering despite your attempts to hold it steady as your words catch behind your teeth. a thin sheet of moisture collects on the outer edge of your lower lashline, hanging against the feathering of your lashes before letting gravity take over. Two lone tears, one from each eye, slides leisurely down your temples when you blink to clear the blurriness pulled across your eyes. 

vincent gives you a small smile in return, reaching down to wind both of your arms around his neck before he moves over you, arms on either side of your head so as to not trap you underneath him. his palms cup your face, thumbs rubbing gently over your cheekbones, as his hands brush away loose strands from your face. his palms move upwards until his thumbs rest on your forehead and his fingers braid into your hair, moving back and forth gently over your scalp while his thumbs stroke reverently along the crown of your hairline. his eyes are large, and bright like liquid amber that melts into your skin, dripping down your ribcage and encasing your heart in his warmth. he stays like that for some time, his gaze fixed on yours, eyes only flitting to look upon the corners of your face. the movement of his fingers in your hair, the blunt drag of his nails against your scalp, the persistant and easy motion of his caresses on your forehead makes pleasant tingles spark along the back of your neck and reach down along the line of your spine. with this constant devotion, you think that you can fall asleep almost as if you never woke up to begin with. 

staring back beneath heavy-lidded eyes, you feel the brush of his curls againt your cheeks as he reaches down, lips pressing kisses just as gentle, just as soft, just as sweet as the one he gave your hand earlier, on your cheeks, followed closely by kisses laid down on your chin, the tip of your nose, your forehead, your eyelids fluttering shut with each press of his soft lips down upon your eyes. he kisses the corners of your eyes, following along in a line towards your temples, and down to your hairline where your tears left behind trails, letting his lips linger after each kiss on the dampened skin. each time he presses his lips on your skin, it leaves behind a flower of warmth in its path. he continues down the edge of jaw and the column of your neck, murmuring about the smell of your shower gel when he buries his nose against the hollow of your throat and the junction of where your neck meets your shoulders. his lips move up the same way, as if he is mapping out every detail once more to fully commit your features to memory, to memorize you so wholeheartedly, so earnestly that he can recognize you even in the darkest of places. 

you tip your head up towards where you feel his lips linger over you, eager to let him kiss you where you want to be kissed the most. he picks up on your intentions before you even make a move, the huff of a silent laughter grazing over your cheek. vinnie brushes his lips against yours in the most delicate manner—not at all unlike the stroke of a paintbrush laying down the finalizing, most crucial streak of colour on a canvas—letting them hover above an inch from yours as if he is about to press them against the lines of your own, only to move away with a teasing, lighthearted chuckle when you chase after with closed eyes. he repeats the motion a few times over, letting his lips linger on yours in a gossamer-like sensation, only to move away before you can encapsulate them against your own seeking lips. a small, aching whine that hums in your throat is what makes him finally give you what you want—his lips sweep across the seam of your mouth in an open-mouthed kiss, letting his tongue trace the line of your bottom lip before he moves away for a split second only to kiss you just as quickly once, twice. his lips move in a pattern you can’t follow, can’t really predict, as he presses kisses to each corner of your lips, the shadow spot below your bottom lip, the crease of your cupid’s bow, and unexpectedly gently biting down on your bottom lip and giving it a small tug before releasing it. he is so, so close for you to feel and yet too far away for you to touch, and the paradox of his gentleness with the underlying hunger you feel in the way his pulse kicks against your fingers on his pulsepoint below his jaw and the way his breathing is labored and cleaved in parts makes you realize he too is holding himself back.   

he continues his descent on you, lips trailing down as he kisses along your jawline, letting his lips linger along where they touch as if he wants to leave behind a print of his work, as if he wants to leave behind a piece of himself resting along your skin. as he kisses across your chin towards the other side of your jaw, you make a sound of protest, tugging at his hair and he gives you an airy chuckle, muttering words of fondness before he finally kisses you, lips molding over the shape of yours like they were made to just kiss you and you were made to kiss him. you kiss lazily, drifting in and out of your consciousness quicker than any sleep can claim you, as he kisses you like he wants to make you forget about anything and anyone outside of this room, outside of this bed, outside of the two of you. despite the drumming of his pulse and the heave of his chest, vinnie does not act on the hunger palpable in the way his pulse drums an aching beat against his skin and his chest heaves against your own. there is no selfishness in his movements, no greed—just an unmistakable adoration, pure and true, warm like the sun you love to admire him wash over him, sweet like his eyes that look into yours. 

your entire body feels hot and your lips tingle as vinnie brushes his fingers against them, kiss swollen and and sensitive, when you pull away. he stares down at you like he is mesmerized, as if this is the first time he has ever kissed you and not another addition to the countless times you have forgotten to keep track of long ago. he dips his head down, giving you a last kiss for once, twice, before he gathers you in his arms, rolling over so that you are lying over him. his arms keep their hold over you, palms smoothing down your hair and back. you lay a hand on his chest to rest your chin on, your other hand retracing over the lines you had mapped out earlier, brushing back his hair until his face is left open and his curls halo around his head on the pillow. he doesn’t move his eyes away from you for a second, as if he wants to memorize every expression on your face, mirroring the one you undoubtedly have on your face when he grabs your wrist again, stilling your finger against his lips, and pressing a soft kiss on the same spot against your pulse. 

“you’re such a sappy romantic, did you know that?” you softly tickle the sensitive spot under the side of his jaw until he swats your hand away, huffing a breathless laugh, but not before gathering it within his and pressing a fleeting yet burning kiss to your open palm, the warmth of his lips sealing a mark of his love into your skin. 

you continue, as if you are unfazed by the look he is fixed on you. “a complete romantic who yearns with an intensity you can only read about in old books now. i don’t know a single person who still believes in the utter tenderness of kissing the palm of your lover with such devotion in the way you do.” 

“clearly you didn’t think to include me in that group of people,” he scoffs in mock offence, hugging you closer to him as if you are already not pressed against him without so much as a hairbreadth of a gap left between you that not even water would pass through. skin to skin, bone to bone, until your joints merge into each other, and your pulses beat as one harmonious rhythm. “if i don’t take my time showing you my love then who will, hmm? who will get to have the true blessing of tasting the sweetness of your lips? who will have the honor of kissing the softness of your skin? or get to hold you so close i can feel your pulse on my chest? no, absolutely not. we can’t have you thinking that romance is only reserved for books when i can give you just as much, even more if i can, can we?”

“that is true,” you muse, pushing back the curls that fall into his eyes. he is drenched in the golden light of the sun, glowing as if the warmth he holds inside manifested onto his skin for the morning sun to envy and try to outmatch it. he looks at you through hooded eyes, lashing cast down towards the crests of his cheeks, translucent as they catch on the light. you swallow, your hand trembling underneath your chin.

you trail your hand along the lines of his face again, watching as he closes his eyes when you trace the hollows of his eyes, the high points of his cheeks, following the narrow slope of his nose that ends at a pointy tip down his cupids bow. your finger rests on the middle of his plush lips and your eyes lift back to his to see that he has already been staring at you. he always does, always watching you with those curious, soft, honeyed brown eyes that you want to sink into.

 “only—i think i would only be convinced if you were to give me kisses like that every day.”

he raises one eyebrow, as if your words are a challenge. without another word uttered, he takes hold of your hand within his, keeping his eyes on yours the entire time as if you are daring to see who will look away first while he bestows a soft kiss, featherlike in touch that you don’t even feel the pressure of his lips, onto the pads of each of your fingers. sparks of heat blossom where his lips linger, a buzz not at all unlike an accidental zap of static electricity shooting up your arms and along the length of your spine, leaving behind deliciously pleasant chills to cascade down your neck and goosebumps to burst along the bare curve of your back. he lays your hand on his chest where his heart is tucked underneath, bringing up your other hand. his eyes stay on yours as he kisses each tip of your fingers with the same care and gentleness as the other hand, then lays it down on his chest over your other hand. his palm, warm and carrying a hint of roughness along the base of his fingers from hours spent lifting weights, is large enough to cover over both of your hands placed almost side by side. it’s an anchor, a stabilizing weight, grounding you in the moment that otherwise flits and shimmers like a mirage, like the sunlight casting as rippling shadows along the wall behind the head of the bed, ethereal and evanescent unless captured in the moment. 

a small, warming smile tugs at the corner of his plush lips. 

“it’s a good thing that i don’t ever have to worry about running out of them, then.”

[kosmogrl]

we got august this week

[soulmvtes]

BELLINGHAMMMMMM WHO ELSEEEEE

[kissesandcigarettes]

˗ˏˋ LOVE ON COURT 🏀๋࣭ ⭑ ╱ MINISERIES .ᐟ

          ⤷ 0:3 | turnover : a loss of possession, either during ordinary play or as the result of a penalty for an infraction of the rules.

                                        previous ‧ MASTERLIST ‧ next

˗ˏˋ pairing: basketball player!vinnie/tutor!reader; college!au

˗ˏˋ word count: 12.4k+

˗ˏˋ warnings: language.

summary: your second meeting with vincent hacker feels like an echo from the past. this time, however, it is vincent who draws the boundaries.

a/n: hello hello <3 i hope everyone is doing well. i realize just how much time passed since i last updated this miniseries 5 months to be exact and i do apologize for that :') it's been a busy few months for me with little to no time or inspiration to write. i had this chapter written beforehand and added in the remaining parts as time went along before i finished it. it is long and i feel like it is still not perfect after reading over it and editing many times, but i do hope you enjoy it! as always, feedback from you is much appreciated <3

monday comes far too quickly for your liking. 

you feel as though you blinked once after the talk you had with thomas in the kitchen that morning – minus the part where larray came in, where you had to make up a story on the spot that he wouldn’t question too much about in his sleep-induced haze – and the two days had passed before your eyelids finished opening. 

while there was no word on your end about vincent yet, you still went through the weekend with a twisting, painful knot of anxiety in your gut that squeezed your insides each time your mind sauntered in its direction. thomas kept a faithful and watchful eye over you, raising his eyebrows every so often that you responded back with a subtle shake of your head, a hand clutching your phone or fingers poised over the mousepad of your laptop. 

you knew he meant well with the hidden yet intentional check-ins he did. however, at one point, you couldn’t tolerate staying under the scrutiny of his inquisitive gaze any longer - but mainly the guilt of bothering him with the triviality of this debacle - so you holed yourself up in your room, announcing loudly to the unknowing mia and larray that you had a shitload of work to get done if you wanted to sleep for the next two weeks, meeting up with them only for meals and some breaks in between. you were mad at yourself for revealing that you were tutoring vincent to thomas, but also knew that his quick perceptions would have made him pull the information out of you if you didn’t do it voluntarily. you pushed through those two, agonizingly long days with an expression of steel, your face embracing its new stoic mask like it was your lifeline. never in your life were you this afraid of logging into your emails or refreshing your homepages before. 

regardless, the whole thing was a shitshow. one that you were eager to put an end to. 

you kept yourself busy in any way you could find during the weekend so that you wouldn’t fall into that deep pit of overthinking. you took up deep cleaning your room until you saw your face shine on the floors and the windows glimmer with the light of the autumn sun outside. you even lit up a sandalwood incense stick thomas had bought for you from a trip to thailand with his family for good measure. you ran the two loads of laundry that you had kept on pushing off – the overgrown pile sitting in the hamper having finally gotten on your last nerves – and organized your closet for the rapidly cooling temperatures, packing away your summer items in the suitcase that previously held your warmer clothes. you had a few zoom calls with dr. ratanawa, your advisor and lab PI, to discuss the details for a poster you would be presenting in the spring and also with dr. kwon, the director of the science tutoring center, since you were the head TA for his introductory level organic chemistry course sequence this year, to go over the final draft of a study guide he gave out early in the quarter so that students could start to prepare early for the final a few months ahead. 

you also prepped for your own lectures, ticking off items in your to-do list and planner as you finished reading assigned textbook chapters, typed up lab report drafts, watched pre-recorded lecture videos to take notes, and completed practice questions from packets and textbooks for your quantitative courses. when you felt like your brain was on the verge of combusting if you looked at the screen a second longer, you took the bus to the gym on campus which was thankfully empty, and did a combination of weights and the stairmaster until your legs and ass were shaking. 

the busy work kept you away from going to your phone or laptop to check your gmail every few minutes. despite being deprived of sleep the past two days and running purely on adrenaline, you wake up at three in the morning on monday and lay in your bed for a good few minutes before you get tired of staring at your wall in the dark. your hand goes automatically to your phone, swiping up the screen to look at your muted notifications – a few emails from the school’s bookstore about merch discounts, a confirmation about your credit card bill being paid, your daily morning affirmation from an app larry downloaded (unbeknownst to you) on your phone, but nothing from the secretary. you remind yourself of the time before shutting your phone off and throwing it next to you on the empty side of the bed. eventually, sleep overtakes you, which is the only thing that seems capable of shutting off your brain and your anxiety these days. 

—

you wake up later for the second time that morning about two hours later, this time with bright light seeping through the cracks of your shutters. you roll over to check your phone once again, sinking heavily into your pillow with a deep sigh once you notice the email you are waiting for is still not among the notifications that came through after you feel asleep. shutting off your phone, you tell yourself it’s still too early in the morning and the secretary probably hasn’t come into the office yet.

what you do notice is that the apartment is already warm with the heater running. it has to be thomas, you think, since he is usually up the earliest on weekdays to go to the gym before coming home to make breakfast and spend time with mia and you and larray. what makes you frown is the additional sounds and voices, which has your heart almost dropping to your ass before you are scrambling to check your phone again for the time – only 6:30am. more than enough time for you to get ready, albeit a bit later than when you normally wake up – so why is the apartment already so alive?

checking the time once more to make sure you have enough to get completely ready for your 8:00am lecture and investigate the apartment, you speed through using the bathroom and doing your skincare. you quickly change into a pair of jeans and a sweater, then get your hair in order and put on a bit of make-up, minding to cover up the dark circles under your eyes and pack on a bit more blush than usual when you cringe at the pallor of your skin under the light of the bathroom. when the reflection you see in the mirror satisfies what you would call “pulled together,” you grab your bag that you made last night and your coat before heading to the kitchen where the commotion is coming from. 

the scene that greets you is one you did not expect, but is pleasant in a way that lights up sparklers in your stomach and sends a bursting wave of warmth from your chest to every corner of your body that makes your fingers go numb. 

thomas is standing over the stove, four identical plates lined up on the counter next to him as he tends to two pans containing scrambled eggs and sizzling strips of crispy (but not burned) bacon. there is a sweet smell permeating the air, which you notice is coming from the waffle maker currently being flipped by mia, who recovered from her cold over the weekend with thomas’ dutiful care, the aid of nyquil, and sleeping almost the entire day. you notice a plate stacked with the fluffy golden squares already next to her, looking like a slightly tilting jenga tower. larray is singing softly along to the smooth voice of josé manuel calderón coming through the portable speaker on the opposite counter, doing a simple 1-2-3 step bachata as he moves around, carrying cutlery and mugs for the fresh batch of hot coffee in the coffeemaker. after he sets them down, he makes his way around the table to grab mia’s elbow and twirls her around, gently clasping hands as she joins him in the dance, moving her hips fluidly to the beat of the song. 

“morning, sparkles,” thomas snaps you out of your reverie, smiling at you over his shoulder as he turns off the stove top and starts plating up the food that is making your stomach grumble as you continue to look at it. 

“morning, tommy” you say softly, extending the last syllable for a beat as mia and larray turn towards you. 

“good morning, mi hermosa reina.” mia bounds over to envelope you in a hug, the cinnamon and musk layered scent of her perfume wrapping around you like a warm blanket as you return the hug as best as you can with your bag and coat in your hands. larray graciously takes them away, moving around you to leave them by the table next to the doorway by the entryway table where you keep your key bowl and wallets. 

“morning, mia.” you smile, giving her cheek a small kiss in return to the one she gives you before she bounces back over to thomas who teasingly mutters no kiss for me, giving him a soft peck on the lips before grabbing two of the plates and placing them on the table. 

you’re suddenly being lifted off the floor, a squeal of surprise escaping your lips as larray’s strong and ridiculously long arms wrap around your midsection, his broad frame towering over you as he carries you over to the table, laying a kiss on the top of your head as he sits you down. you can’t help but wonder if you’re missing a special occasion or reason for celebration from the way they’re acting. larray has always been very affectionate with you, doting on you with hugs and kisses but never in a way that has made you uncomfortable as he swings completely the other way in the romance department. so has mia, who grew up in a large spanish and italian mixed family, spending the majority of her early life in tenerife before she moved to california with her parents and younger brother, who is a freshman at yale all the way on the other side of the country. 

you keep wracking your brain as you lay your chin on your open palm, a slight frown tugging at your eyebrows while you try to remember what you’re forgetting as your friends settle down around the table, bringing the last few things. 

“everything good, (y/n)?” thomas speaks first, passing around the plate of waffles to larray and accepting the mug of coffee mia is handing to him, laying a soft kiss on the back of her hand that brings a rosy blush on the tanned skin of her cheeks. 

“uh – yeah – yes. i mean, aside from the fact that i’m forgetting something, obviously, i’m good.” you look at the three of them and the small, mischievous smiles they have, clearly in cahoots about something you don’t know about. 

“no, but, seriously – you guys – you’re actually not putting me at ease with those smirks – mia? – larray –? can someone please tell me what i’m missing?”

thomas stands up and exits the kitchen as if your question was the cue while mia takes a sip from the small espresso cup thomas set in front of her as he got up and larry chews thoughtfully on a strip of bacon, both of them sneaking glances at you and at each other that continue to make you squirm in your seat, wishing you could bolt out of the door right now. 

what the fuck is going on?

thomas returns back only a few seconds later, his arms behind his back, clearly holding something that needs to be hidden from your gaze for the time being. he sits down, shifting his arms so that the mystery item is still hidden as he places his hands underneath the table. all three of them look giddy with what seems to be excitement and if you didn’t know better you would think that larray would spill the beans, but this is clearly something they have agreed to keep quiet about. 

“we actually wanted to give this to you over the weekend, but it just didn’t feel like the right time, and we wanted you to savor the moment to its full extent.” thomas explains, though you still don’t know what it is he is referring to. frowning, your nerves buzzing so much that you can’t even busy yourself with your breakfast, you crack your knuckles. 

“tommy, i have no clue what you’re talking about,” you say hesitantly, doing your best to hold onto your blank, emotionless face though you feel a hint of anxiety creep into your voice.

larry rolls his eyes, playfully punching thomas’ shoulder. “pero, can you just give the poor girl the news, thomas petrou? she’s gonna go through her day starving with her nerves all shot if you keep dragging it out like this.”

your nerves are already shot, but you appreciate his efforts, nonetheless. 

“alright, alright,” thomas relents, giving you an apologetic smile and larray his best side eye. “i didn’t mean to make you nervous. i know you don’t like surprises, but this one felt too special.”

“tomas– ” larray emphasizes his name.

“yes, larray, i’m giving it to her now.” 

thomas brings out what he was hiding underneath the table – a seemingly simple white envelope, the longer kind that carries folded up documents. you notice that your name is written in elegant cursive on the front, with the name of the sender typed in navy blue ink in the upper right corner. 

wait, is that – 

oh fuck – it was this week, wasn’t it?

your stomach swoops as if you are freefalling. you shakily reach for the envelope, swallowing down hard as you read the typeface print with trembling eyes: american association for cancer research. 

fuck fuck fuck. 

you’re going to have a heart attack.

“open it, open it,” larray gestures encouragingly, his voice distant and smudged in your ears.

“don’t rush her, larray.” you think you hear mia say over the blood rushing in your ears. 

you can feel each breath that touches your lips with every exhale as you carefully pick at the seal, painstakingly lifting up the thick material so that you don’t rip it where it sticks to the paper. you want to press your fingers into the envelope to steady your hands, but you fear that you’ll leave indents behind from how tightly you are wound up. gently, you lift the tab and pull out the crisp paper folded neatly inside, laying the envelope down on your lap as you unfold it, eyes scanning over the page-length writing although you barely register any of the words that slide across your vision like sand in an hourglass. 

food forgotten over the anticipation of the moment, thomas, mia, and larray crowd behind you, leaning down to get a glimpse of the letter as you stare at it blankly, completely frozen in your seat as if you have been petrified. you can’t even tell if you are breathing.  

“dear ms. (y/n) (l/n),” larray begins, reading out loud for all of you as mia and thomas follow with their eyes and you only manage to listen barely.

“it is with great delight that we inform you that the paper you submitted, “use of precision chemical modification of DNA probes for early detection of pancreatic cancer–linked genetic damage,” has been selected as one of the three finalists in this year’s ‘american association for cancer research undergraduate scholars research symposium.’ the quality of your paper and the breadth and depth of your research has not only shown a remarkable attention to detail, but a clear and strong dedication to contributing to the science of and helping advance the progress made in clinical research for cancer treatment. we commend you on your efforts and scholarship as not only an undergraduate student but a flourishing scientist, and wish that you will continue to strive for excellence in your higher education and career aspirations. we would like to extend our heartfelt congratulations once again and look forward to seeing you at our annual conference in april. regards, dr. sylvia roberto-perez and dr. anwar mostafa, chief of oncology at mount sinai hospital, new york city, and chief of oncology at boston medical center, boston–!”

there’s a collective rise of whooping and shouting – oh my fucking god! you absolute genius you fucking did it! – in glee as you’re suddenly being hugged from all directions, your previously numbed-out nerves now buzzing with bursting energy as you let out a laugh in disbelief, too much in shock to register larray once again lifting you in the air and spinning you around, thomas and mia hugging you as you huddle together like penguins, jumping up and down while still screaming praises and excitement in your ringing ears. you feel like you are floating on air, launching into the stratosphere so close you can see the stars burning away, feeling like you’re still in a dream and you haven’t actually woken up yet. any time now your alarm is going to start blaring and you’re going to open your eyes, the reality of the day settling in and washing away the blissful remnants of this moment that just seems too good to be true. 

you pinch your arm just in case, almost sobbing when you feel the burst of pain that shoots up your skin immediately. 

“i told y’all the letter was good news!” larray daps up then hugs thomas and mia, his warm brown eyes sparkling like embers, giddy, crinkling in the corners. “who the fuck would send a letter of rejection when you can just write it over email? these are big industry dudes, they won’t waste resources for it, ain’t nobody got time for that.”

“(y/n) this is so incredible, oh my goodness–” mia is actually crying, cradling her face between her palms as thomas hugs her, his eyes misty and an expression of pure, unfiltered pride etched into his features.

“i expected nothing less than our very own flame spark,” thomas says, giving you a hug and lifting you up in the air as you squeal in delight.

you have been more airborne this morning than you have ever traveled by plane in your life. 

“you guys –” you blubber out, voice choking in your throat. you poorly attempt to wipe your eyes with the tissue larray handed over to you and mia, thanking silently for the small miracle that is your waterproof mascara. “ – i don’t nowk hwo – i can’t even speak properly, fuck –” you all laugh at the twist of your tongue, your eyes scanning over the letter again as to make sure it’s not fake and you didn’t read anything wrong. you shake your trembling hands like you are trying to shake off the pins and needles suddenly crawling all over them. 

“how did you forget that you sent the paper last spring, (y/n)?” thomas chuckles fondly as you all settle back down in your seats, the letter still clutched in your hand – placed in the envelope – unable to put it down. you want to etch each letter into your skin so that you can’t ever forget the words, turn back to them to seek hope when you fall into doubt. 

“i didn’t!” you chuckle, still teary-eyed and your voice watery, wiping at your nose. “i didn’t forget, i promise – it’s just been so messy this past week, and even before then at that – a lot of things happening at once that it slipped my mind that they would notify the applicants sometime this week.”

“we actually got the letter on saturday morning, so they were earlier than what you expected.” thomas says as he takes a bite from his waffle.

“we wanted to tell you sooner,” larray nods, the small golden hoops on his ears tinkling softly. “but you seemed to be in a bad headspace this weekend, so we didn’t want to taint the moment with anything negative.”

“you deserved to enjoy the moment and not think about anything else.” mia adds on, her eyes now dry and nursing her fresh mug of coffee between her palms, the rich chocolate brown of her nails complimenting the color of the mug that is designed as a chocolate bar.

“and we wanted to prepare this feast–” thomas says gesturing to the table that feels like a sunday brunch at mimosa - a quaint breakfast place in malibu that you all go out to for celebrating the end of finals - rather than a monday morning, “ –so that we could properly celebrate it. and we didn’t wake you up and let you sleep in so everything would be all set once you woke up.”

there is a warmth emanating from your chest, seeping deep inside your muscles and bones, radiating throughout your veins until you’re basked in it from the inside out as if someone carved up a little pocket of space underneath your sternum and placed a piece of sun in it. the thoughtfulness, the gesture of your flatmates, the effort they put in to make this moment – which could have been as simple as you just finding and reading the letter over the weekend, without being able to feel the accomplishment and felicity you feel right now as it would have been ruined by your all-consuming thoughts – into an occasion worth a celebration to make it as memorable and unforgettable as it turned out to be. for you, they did not mind waking up earlier than they usually did while minding to not disturb you. they did not mind spending more time in the kitchen than usual to cook up a comforting meal. they did not mind waiting off on telling you, keeping your emotions in consideration they thought about how to get the news to you. they knew that you could have done this yourself, cooked up the same feast for them on your own; they knew that you would say, “i can do this myself,” but chose to respond with, “we know, but we want to do it for you.”

the foreignness of receiving these gestures is something that still catches you off guard, having only experienced a tight friendship group as the one you have with them in university. you wouldn’t have dreamed of this in high school or before, when you were the quiet, observant, sharp-tongued and sharp-minded, unhesitating to get in the face of bullies with your words or fists student who stayed in the good graces of teachers because you whizzed through with straight A’s. the girl who resembled a feral cat, nobody knowing when you would strike at them and in fear of that, staying away, but never shying from sneering at you and inflicting harm on you to satisfy themselves.

your eyes feel warm again, moisture collecting on your lash line in a slow and steady build-up, spilling over before you can wipe it away and before you can hide it from your friends’ quick and observant gazes.

“agapi,” thomas breathes, putting his palm over the back of your hand. larray and mia join him in seconds, glancing at you worriedly. it’s not usual for them to see you cry or shed tears so openly. 

“i’m okay,” you say wetly, wiping under your eyes again but this time with your forefinger on your free hand. “i’m okay, i promise – i’m sorry i didn’t mean to cry or get teary…i just – this is such a beautiful gesture and i don’t know how to – i love you guys. so much. thank you for everything, i didn’t – i don’t deserve this.”

larray tilts his head to the side, brows furrowing deeply, his lips twisted into a sympathetic line. “you deserve the best of everything, (y/n). you work so hard and do so much to make sure everything is perfect – literally ask anyone and they’ll say the same thing. of course you deserve the best, what are you talking about, not being deserving of this?”

“it’s also more than okay to get emotional – i mean they only have what? like three finalists? that’s insanely competitive, amor. people who got cut would sell a kidney to have your opportunity.” mia adds in, nodding fiercely. “and you’re more than deserving of this –” she gestures at the letter, “ – and this –” she moves her hands over the breakfast table. 

thomas gives your hand a gentle squeeze, smiling across the table. he prefers to let his actions speak instead of his words, but you can hear them in his mind: i’m proud of you, you deserve this, you are deserving of every good thing. then, as if he remembered something, he swiftly rises up and walks out of the kitchen, disappearing down the direction of his room. 

“thank you guys,” you say, your voice steadier than it was earlier. “i’m so happy to share this moment with you. this is like, the highlight of my entire day – no, scratch that, the highlight of my entire week.”

“and i have just the thing to make that highlight stay with you forever.” thomas comes back in, clutching his polaroid camera in his hand. you roll your eyes playfully, giving him a hard time about always wanting to take a picture as you banter and forth while he tries to give directions on how to group all of you into the frame. mia fans over your face with her hands rapidly, flicking here and there nimbly with her fingers to wipe out any smudges that might come up in the picture.

“alright, positions please everyone – larray, turn a little this way so that the light comes down better on you - beautiful, that’s gorgeous. that’s perfect mia – sparkles, scootch your chair to the right just a bit – okay perfect, let me set the timer on it –”

he bounces to his seat as the camera ticks down the counter. you are in the middle holding up the now unsealed letter in your hands with larray sitting on your left and mia and thomas on your right. larray throws his arm over your shoulder, sitting relaxed and tilting his head towards you, while mia hugs one arm around your waist and cradles thomas’ face in the palm of her free hand, the latter hugging close to her with his arm around her shoulders. 

the camera shutters just in time as you finish arranging yourselves, capturing the moment when you display your smile – a genuine one that crinkles your eyes and lifts up your cheeks – that you feel like you have not shown for a while with everything happening in your life. 

if only everything could stay as perfect as this moment happening right now all the time, so that you didn’t have to find consolation in the small plastic frames that decorate the wall of your bedroom. 

—

your day, which goes by in a blur after the morning, comes to a screeching, crawling halt as the clock finally - and regretfully - ticks to land on the hour in which you make your way to clock-in before your evening shift starts at the tutoring center. 

there’s an unfamiliar pit of dread and anxiety opened up wide deep inside your stomach, so much so that you think it’s going to swallow you whole like a black hole. your feet drag on your way to the library as you take your usual walking path through the founder’s garden, a hot cappuccino clutched in between your palms and earbuds plugged in your ears to drown out the loudness of your mind. instead of falling into the loop of nerves that has been chasing itself around inside your head for the past few days, you lament at the loss of the beautiful greenery that will bloom once again in the spring. the bare, tangled branches of the trees and the dry, winding limbs of the vines reflect the restricting cage squeezing tight around your chest like a vice, threatening to squeeze all air out of your body if you dare to breathe so much the wrong way. 

although you have always enjoyed the various walks you take through the campus in between getting to places you need to go, you’re more than just simply grateful that this walk in particular exists in your schedule. the only drawback is that it is far too short of a distance than what you need to clear out your mind like the way you clear out your inboxes on a friday night. nonetheless, it gives you the chance and time to work on schooling your face into plain neutrality and gaining an iron grip over your nerves - what nerves, you’re not exactly sure about it either. nerves because you are going to face vincent after the events of friday night when you swore that you would rather gouge your own eyes out than see his face again? nerves because you don’t know what is expecting you when you go inside? nerves because of the circumstances that brought you into this specific moment?

or nerves because of something else entirely? 

the last one, most unlikely. 

you don’t know if it’s a blessing in disguise that your walk ends before you can dwell any longer on this topic. perhaps this one time a walk is not what you need. unlike other times when it gave you the therapeutic effect you are craving, it doesn’t ease the painful tugging behind your eyes any less than something else would have. you would prefer to be handed a challenge that could be fixed with a walk, no matter how short, instead of one that you feel you can’t overcome if you were given every long distance running parkours in the world to complete for as long as you wished. 

as if it’s an automatic reflex, you push the heavy set of double doors that open to the first floor of the library, a blast of hot air washing down over you from the overhead vents. you’re not surprised to find that the entrance is packed with its usual monday night steady flow of busy. you navigate around students walking with their heads bowed over their phones, wearing air pods or headphones to block out the noise with music, either in a rush to get upstairs to secure a good cubicle for studying or in a leisurely pace to meet up with their friends at the cafe or the lounge on the second floor. there are frazzled ones with textbooks jammed underneath their arms or backpacks bouncing against their backs, and you overhear bits and pieces of conversation related to the brutality of the intro level chemistry classes that make you grimace on the inside. others talk on their phones in the corner or wave at friends they see on the other side of the floor, relief flooding their faces to see a familiar face they love.

you immediately make a beeline for the elevators, pushing the button to call it down with more force than necessary. your eyes watch the digital red numbers count down from the top most floor to the first floor, fingers tapping a rhythmless beat against your forearm. one of the weeknd’s songs rolls up on the cue in your shuffled playlist, drowning out your impatience in its heavy opening synth and bass. when the elevator reaches your floor, you make your way all the way to the back since you will be getting off on the top floor and don’t want to constantly make way for earlier departees. you lean against the wall, tipping your head back to rest against the smooth metal wall. you watch as other students shuffle inside, asking the person closest to the button panel to press their floor before the doors close and silence takes over the space. 

you don’t know if you like that it’s not as crowded inside the elevator as it’s during finals season or regret it when you sense that earlier dread coming back as its cold fingers crawl up your spine at the realization that you will be getting off too soon. your eyes follow the floor numbers go up one by one, students hopping off at each of the floors the elevator makes a stop at until you are the only one left inside. 

your palms and neck feel too warm, a thin sheen of sweat gathering near the base of the baby hairs along the crown of your head and on the nape of your neck. you fan yourself uselessly with one hand, wishing you had opted for an iced latte instead or tied up your hair beforehand. although the weather is slowly but surely becoming chillier, the summer heat making way for the upcoming coat season, you feel like there is a furnace being constantly fed inside of you. you wipe off the perspiration gathering along your top lip and your forehead with the back of your hand, closing your eyes for a brief moment to take in a few deep breaths. your hand burrows into the pocket of your coat where your phone is tucked into, lowering down the volume of the song. the pounding inside your ears is enough to dull your hearing and yet you can hear your own pulse as if someone is making you listen to it with an amplifier. 

you pray to the highest being that you arrived before vincent. 

it is not too long before the elevator stops moving and comes to a gentle standstill, the doors opening smoothly to the quiet outer hallway of the top floor. you take out your earbuds, wrapping the fraying cord around your phone loosely a few times before tucking it in your pocket. it’s quiet out here, so quiet that it betrays the ongoing chaos of the lower floors. there are a few couches but no tables in this area of the library, so it’s not a very popular destination for students unless they want some place to chill and escape to noise from. circular spotlights on the ceiling bask the room in a warm yet bright golden-yellow hue. next to the surprisingly plush and comfortable couches placed around the large room, there are charging stations jutting out of the floor, a pair of outlets stacked on top of each other framed by a square of LED lights that gently flow white-blue, covered by an outer shell of dark wood. 

you let your feet carry you on their own accord, knowing that if you let your mind take charge, you might as well just turn back and go home. you’re not a pussy - you are many things, but a pussy is not one of them. gritting your teeth and cracking your fingers one by one, you push open the door to the tutoring center, your eyes immediately scanning your surroundings. the busyness of the library continues up here - as if you walked out of a vacuum, there is a clear divide created by the sound-proof semi frosted glass walls that separate the tutoring center from the hallway outside. nearly every table is full with both tutors and students, except for a few in the back that are too far away from the whiteboards. you say a quick “hi” to the secretary at the entrance as you swipe your center-issued ID card to clock in, however you don’t make eye contact with anyone as you cut through the floor to the small office in the back that’s reserved for tutors to drop off their belongings. you’re itching to take off your coat and bag, your steps hurried but not too fast to draw attention to yourself. 

the moment you shut the door behind you and take off your coat is one of true relief. letting out a huff of air that had been pressing down on your chest, you push back your hair and pull at the fabric of your sweater where it sticks uncomfortably to your skin, the smell of warmth and your perfume radiating off of your body in waves. sitting down on one of the office chairs tucked into one of the long desks in the middle of the room, you close your eyes and rub your aching forehead, focusing on getting your breathing back in order. you are grateful that one of the tutors had pushed for installing color-changing lights in the office instead of keeping the awful ceiling lights; right now, the room is basked in a soft, golden-red hue that reminds you of the inside of a lava lamp. it’s easier on the eyes and strangely, the color helps to relieve the ball of anxiety knotted above your sternum. 

it takes a few moments, but at some point you no longer feel like you walked up a countless number of steep hills to get here. your movements are slow but intentional as you grab what you typically use during a session out of your bag. your well-used binder containing all of the necessary paperwork for a first time tutoring session meets the tabletop, followed by your iPad, pencil cases (one for white board markers, one for pens and pencils), laptop, and chargers. your lanyard carrying your ID badge goes around your neck, the card hanging down your chest. after placing your bag in your designated self along with your coat, you grab your coffee and give yourself one more minute to compose yourself, hoping that your face isn’t as blotchy as you feel it is. not a moment later, you are back out in the middle of it all. 

your eyes make quick but efficient work of looking around the large room, trying to locate the head of blonde hair among the sea of heads that crowd your vision. you stand on the edge of the main floor, your teeth grazing over your lower lip in focus as your eyes dart over different faces. you don’t know if it is the anxiety trapped in your throat that you can’t swallow past or if it is the slight fuzziness you feel in the back of your head that makes your eyes blurry like you are looking underwater, all the faces looking the same, but-

you feel the kick in your pulse and the crushing sensation inside your chest before your mind can register and process what it is seeing when your eyes do finally find him.

sitting at one of the smaller empty tables in the back of the room, tucked away from the prying eyes and the buzz of chatter, is vincent hacker. even with his back to you, hunched over as he leans on his arms placed on the table, he is still broad and imposing, taking up more space than he should. he is larger than life in every aspect of the saying, not just metaphorically; his frame, his height, the way the chair is sitting on looks so comically small with his mountain of a body perched on it, the table clearly too short to accommodate to his height. it is the second time you are seeing this man so close and with your own eyes, in person, but you are already feeling suffocated in his presence that seems to take up all the space around you, including your own.

your face - no, your entire body - feels cold all of a sudden, the sweat on your back freezing over into a sheet of ice and your tongue turning dry as you process that he is here. he actually came, despite the utter mindfuck of an evening you spent together only a few days ago here in this very room. he came, despite having every reason and every right to not show up. he came, despite every cell in your brain screaming at you over the weekend that he would not, that he would rather turn away than go through the trouble of this arrangement with you. 

he came, and you don’t know if it’s the relief that washes over your chest like cool water or the anxiety pooling in your stomach that makes your heart lurch inside your ribs like it wants to bruise the bone. 

he came, and you don’t know how to act because you had prepared yourself for every alternative scenario of this specific moment but this one. 

pressing a slightly trembling, sweat-slick palm flat across your thunderously beating heart, you compose yourself, schooling your face into a neutral expression and make your way towards him with the same confident steps you always walk in, albeit slower than usual. the carpeting on the floor masks the sound of your shoes as you pad over to the table, the only indication of your nerves being the blanched knuckles of your hand that is clutching your belongings on your side against your leg. 

it catches you slightly off guard when he turns his neck around to look over his shoulder enough so that only the top half of his face is visible behind the broad slope of it, as if he heard your near-silent steps approach him. your heart lurches again when his eyes fall on the same line of sight as yours, a shiver-like sensation rushing inside your chest all the way down to your gut. your steps slow down further, their steadiness faltering as if you can close the distance between you and him longer than it actually takes. there is no startle or light or any other emotion passing across his face when he sees you; however, he does not move his eyes off you as you round the table to stand on the other side. 

you take the brief few seconds you have to wipe your face clean of any unfavorable emotion you may have already shown, relaxing your eyebrows and lips to be as neutral as possible. you stay that way even as you feel his eyes pierce straight through your back as you pull the chair away from the table to sit down and lay your stuff in front of you within reaching distance and your coffee well away because you don’t know if you have full control of your hands at the moment. you put your elbows on the table, folding your hands neatly over each other to hide the slight tremble in your fingers. 

what the fuck is wrong with you? get a fucking grip, the voice in your mind hisses in your ear. 

the silence that takes hold of the gap stretching between you and him across the table feels loud in your ears against the blood rushing under your beating pulse. your mouth is dry, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. you don’t know if you should be the one to break the silence - you wonder if he’s thinking the same or if he would rather sit in this suffocating bubble than utter a single word for the hour and half you are going to be here together. 

thomas, why did i ever listen to you, you lament in your head as you stare back at the scrutinizing eyes of the young man sitting across from you. 

contrary to the rod-like straightness of your back and the tightness with which your knee is crossed over your other leg under the table, vincent looks remarkably - and frustratingly - relaxed. while his posture is perfect, he isn’t sitting as if someone is pressing a knife against his spine. his arms, hidden underneath the thick dark hoodie he is wearing, are crossed over his broad chest. and while you can’t see his legs, you assume that they’re spread out underneath the table. he doesn’t look remorseful or regretful at the slightest about the things he said the first and last time you had seen him up until today, and from the calm - albeit a little pinched - expression on his face, it doesn’t seem like he will be the one to take the first step this time. 

it bothers you that you can’t read him when his eyes are trained on you with this intense, sharp focus, as if he is staring down an opponent player in the heat of the game instead of you. it bothers you to not be able to decipher what he’s thinking inside his head at this very moment that might give you an idea on how to approach this. it’s as if he has drawn the shutters across the planes of his face, effectively barring you from peeking inside to see what is happening underneath the heavy set of his brows and the slight scowl pulling on the corners of his full lips.  

while he may be content with just sitting back and chasing the hours away staring at you as if you’re just a mild inconvenience, you can’t just stay dead silent without bouncing off the walls. 

clearing your throat lightly, you pat the surface of the desk twice with your palm. shifting in your seat, you arch your back just so that it gives a few satisfying pops to relieve the tension building at the base of your spine.

“well,” you begin, the words escaping you before you have time to grip them and pull them back. “i’m surprised you decided to show up today after all.”

your eyes never leave his as you speak. you’re not the person to shy away from staring or locking eyes with someone; in fact, you enjoy the unsettlement that crowds over them when they realize you’re not backing down. most of the time, if not always, the other person looks away first - this time, however, you realize they may not be the case.

you don’t know if it’s because of the years he spent on the court underneath blazing spotlights and the ruthless eyes of fans and scouts and coaches or the seemingly easy, natural confidence he wears around him like a second skin, but vincent does not seem to be intimidated by you. he doesn’t even seem unsettled by the way you are locked in this staring contest where you blink almost in tandem with each other, as if neither one of you wants to miss the microexpressions flitting across each others’ faces. the flat, detached way you speak doesn’t seem to have any affect on him, and neither is the implying tone you use. his large eyes stare back at you with the same blank look in them that’s been there since you sat down. the only change you notice in his features is the small shift in his jaw as he swallows, his adam’s apple sliding down and up, before opening his mouth to talk. 

“i’m surprised you weren’t early after all that talk you shoved down my throat last week.” he says in the same flat voice you used on him. “if others being late bothers you that much i’d have expected you to be more punctual.”

“right,” you scoff just barely, a small sound that grates the air. 

“what?” he quips, eyes narrowing. 

“i get that you’re not used to being outdone, vincent, but you’re the last person to teach me about the logistics of my job, much less about being punctual.” you reach for your phone and tap the screen once, then turn it over to him. he slightly leans forward in his seat, eyes staying on yours the entire time he does so, before he shifts them down to look at the time writing at the top of the screen. you think you catch a brief look of displeasure cross his face, but it disappears quicker than the speed of light so you don’t know if it actually was. his gaze shifts up to yours once again as he leans against the back of the chair with a shrug. his hands move about where his palms are clasped against the bulge of his biceps. 

“so?” he says dully, but there is a biting edge to the tone, as if he doesn’t like not understanding where you are trying to get at with this. 

just as you did the last time, you say, “it’s five pm, vincent. meaning it’s right on the dot for the session to start. but of course, you knew this, right? or what, did they forget to tell you anything about this too just like they forgot to tell you about everything else apparently?”

he uncrosses his arms, his back going ramrod straight as he leans on the table with his elbows, tilting his body forward towards you. one of your hands clasps around the edge of the table before you realize what you are doing, having not expected this hulking mass of a man to come this close to you without any warning.

“i told you this already. i was trying to apologize to you for being late last time, but you decided to put on a lecture instead of listening to me. and like i said that time too, you’d have gotten your rightful apology if you weren’t so focused on taking your anger out of me.” his tone, while calm and steady the way it has been since you started this conversation, carries an edge of sharpness that betrays the collected demeanor he has on the outside simultaneously with the light flus spreading down his neck like a splash of paint dropped in water. 

“i’m early this time. earlier than you, actually, if you didn’t notice. hell, i- i set up ten different alarms just so that i wouldn’t miss the shuttle or miscalculate how far it would take me to walk in between places.” 

his speech is slowly becoming faster, you also notice, the previous bite in his words now accompanied with something akin to a panicked want to convince you. there is a frown pulling on his eyebrows that carves small marks on his forehead. his eyes, which were dull and empty just moments earlier, are now bright with something you can’t give a name to. you bite the inside of your cheek and clamp down your teeth, hard, feeling that familiar spark of anger you felt days ago creep up inside your ribs again, masking the inklings of fear that pierce your throat as if you swallowed glass.

“i didn’t say anything about you being late if you didn’t notice, vincent.” you respond back with an equally sharp voice. you lean forward on the table just like he did, but maintain the distance between the two of you. from this up close, you notice the slight tremble of his pupils. 

“i said what i said because i didn’t expect you to come at all after what happened on friday.” you continue, keeping your tone level with his and steady to push out the anger itching to seep into it. “i wouldn’t have been surprised if you didn’t. i was waiting for an email to come all weekend saying that you were assigned to someone else. you and your people don’t really have a stellar record when it comes to academic commitments and responsibilities outside of the court, and i stand by that. you’re not an exception to that rule, so don’t act so offended that i’m not commending you for doing the bare minimum.”

“bare minimum-?” his voice is laced with the same unmistakable anger that flashes across his eyes, sharp as a razor. his brows furrow even more, deep lines cutting above the heavy set of them, the heat in his voice reflecting across all of his features from his slightly parted mouth to the pupils blown wide in his irises to the tick of the muscle in his sharp jaw. 

“is this all you’re going to do every time you see me? make some half-assed low-grade stereotyping comment about who i am without even knowing me?” he retorts, voice halfway between seething and disbelieving. his fingers are curled into his palms so hard that his knuckles blanch around the skin, the veins on the back of his palm shifting with any slight movement they make. “who are you to judge me? what gives you the right to make assumptions about me like you’re changing clothes?” 

“the fact that i’ve seen enough people like you come and go out of this place.” you quip without missing a beat, narrowing your eyes as you meet him in the middle. the anger you felt the first time towards him is now a flame enveloping your ribcage whole and scorching down the last bit of calmness you desperately told yourself - and promised thomas - you would hold onto. 

“the fact that i’ve worked with enough of your kind to know what kind of assholes you are. the fact that i’ve seen how you act on and off the court to know you swap personalities like you’re changing clothes.” you spit out the last part as you mimic his words back at him. one of your hands is hanging in the air, three of your fingers splayed open as you counted off only some of the few examples that came into your mind at that moment. vincent’s eyes are like two gleaming bullets, bright and dark and sharp enough to make your heart lurch against the rungs of fire that your ribs have become. your mouth goes dry again as you watch the redness on his neck crawl up to his cheeks, turning the pale skin a dull shade of pink that is most likely no different than yours. 

“do you want me to keep going? i can go on until next week-”

“fuck off,” he hisses, his voice deep and cut through with every emotion that comes from the same family as anger. there is nothing left from the calm, neutral composure he had when you first sat down here. nothing left from the easy going, splayed back confidence he wore around him earlier. instead, he is now sitting on the edge of his seat, tilted dangerously forward on the table as if he would fly across the table and punch you across the face if the circumstances were different. you wouldn’t be surprised if he did, and neither would you be surprised if you gave back just as much until your knuckles were raw and bloody. 

what the fuck are you thinking? where is this line of questioning coming from?

what instead gripes you is the incessant tugging inside your chest as you register the quick and downward spiral this interaction took when it was supposed to be the complete opposite of it. what was supposed to be an opportunity for you to make amends with the seething man sitting across from you became a continuation of the events of a night you would like to forget and pretend like it never happened more than anything. 

it’s not the fact that you gave into your base emotion so easily, winding yourself up and allowing your logic to get consumed in the tantalizing sweetness of your quick-burning anger, but rather the fact that you disproved thomas and his belief in you in the most humiliating way. it’s the fact that you disappointed him without him knowing you have done so when you promised yourself over and over again that you would try to overlook the deep-rooted beliefs engraved in your mind that were a result of a past you don’t even remember that well anymore. it’s the fact that your head clears only when your anger sizzles out, leaving nothing but dying embers behind and the skeletons of a foundation so fragile it’s built in thread. 

it’s the fact that vincent is staring at you with not just anger but something else that you don’t know what to name as but it’s enough to make you see past the frown etched on his face and the heave of his chest and see the trembling of his pupils and the wet look in his eyes, and you realize you are not even on square one anymore but removed so far away from it that you can’t even see where the starting point is.   

“fuck it, i’m leaving. it was a mistake to come here and expect it to be different-” vincent mutters to himself, putting away the notebook and pencil case you didn’t notice up until that point lying on the table in front of him into his bag with more force and hurry than the zipper can tolerate. he stands up so fast that the chair rolls away from him and somehow that’s enough to snap you out of your trance. 

“sit back down, vincent.” you muster as much force into your voice as possible, your eyes shifting away from the point in the empty distance they had focused on to his face, now towering over you as he looks down. his bag is hanging off one shoulder, his hand clasped around the strap in a vice-like grip. you notice that a few people - both students and tutors - who had already been sneaking glances at you earlier are now full on staring at the undoubtedly tension-filled stand-off between the two of you. you fix them with a look so sharp and cutting that without uttering a single word they all look away and turn back to their respective activities. fucking nosy gossipers, you curse in your mind, knowing that this will inevitably become a topic of talk among those who were here today. 

“nah, i don’t think i will. i’m done with whatever this is. i’ve had enough of what you’ve put me through.” he says firmly, already taking a few steps to move away from you.  

“vincent,” you barely raise your voice just enough so that it only reaches across the space opened up between you and him. “come back here and sit down. please.” 

the last word comes off as an afterthought but as the thick cloud of anger dissipates away from your mind’s eye, you realize that you can keep on arguing and throwing words at each other, but it will only take you so far until you’ve worn your nerves down completely. the change in your tone catches him off guard as he flinches, almost as if the newfound politeness in your tone hurts more than the rage you threw at him earlier. he stops walking away and turns back to you, his face drawn and rigid, tension pulling tight at the seams of his jaw just as its pulling on the skin over his knuckles. there is s a split moment - you can feel it, the weight of it pulling on you as if it is connected to you by an invisible bond - a split second second where he will ignore you and walk away, but in that split second there is a pause long enough for another thought to seep through and change the course of his decision. he looks at you for a moment longer, then starts to make his way to the table again, the grip of his hand never ceasing with each hesitant step he drags forward. 

it is impossible to ignore the lines of tension drawn around his body and the rigidity wrapped around his muscles as he settles down onto the chair in front of you. you feel like you are facing a mountain, a peak that has never been conquered before, a trail that is unmarked and untouched, completely foreign in not just the lay of the land but also what it holds within it. 

you don’t know how much time passes before you can compose the derailed train of thoughts inside your head, gathering enough brainpower together to form some semblance of a coherent sentence. your throat is thick and heavy, a weight heaving its brunt down on your chest.

“i want to-” you begin, your words falling short without your doing. vincent turns his eyes to you from where they had been fixed on the smooth surface of the table, but he doesn’t speak. instead, he waits, patiently if nothing else, but doesn’t speak. you look at this neck - still flushed - instead of his face, where you know you would see a scowl and a closed-off look in his eyes. this is the one time you know you are the one who has the form and cross that bridge to make any reparations, if you can at all. you look off to the side once before turning to him, your hands folded on your lap and hidden from his view so that he can’t see your thumb drawing back and forth over the top of your hand incessantly as if you are trying to break down the skin. 

“i want to apologize. for the way i acted towards you and for the things i said. all of it.” you say at once, feeling like your heart is about to fall out of your throat, your pulse hammering down in a painful rhythm against that hollow spot between your jawline and the column of your neck. you watch vincent as your words bring about a stillness over him that stops all movement, even his breathing, and that coldness, that barring shutter that had been pulled across his eyes and the planes of his face briefly cracks open to expose something possibly softer underneath. he is listening to you, and although he does not openly show any tangible emotion, the unwavering plainness on his face, the absolutely undivided attention in his gaze towards you makes you continue. 

“it was…incredibly wrong of me to make assumptions of you the way i did. but more than that, it was incredibly wrong of me to insult you like that. i believe that it’s not that the student is incapable, it’s the way they are taught that is lacking. i shouldn’t have treated you like you were an exception to that just because your circumstances are different. and you’re right in every way - i don’t know you and i don’t know your circumstances. all i know is that you’re struggling and asked for help, and i didn’t deliver that or honor in any way you deserve. and that’s on me - it speaks more to who i am than who you are. i’m…i’m genuinely, truly, so sorry that i talked to you and treated you that way.”

you move your gaze to the side for a split second, the feeling of heaviness pressing down upon you reaching through his stare too much to look at when coupled with the emptiness in his face. he blinks, the corner of his lip twitches, but he does not say a word. you take that as a sign of him still listening, still processing your words, so you take in a shallow breath through your nose before you continue. 

“truth be told, i didn’t expect you to come back because of that, and i was shocked when i saw you and i thought- i felt that i needed to be defensive when i saw you again. i’m sorry for talking down to you once again. you didn’t deserve that kind of treatment last week and you certainly didn’t deserve it this time. you don’t deserve it at all. i’m sorry that i didn’t make a good impression on you the first time and uphold my role to help you. if you…if you would want to- if you can give me a chance, i would gladly do my best to help you succeed so that you can continue to stay on your team.”

if you were hooked up on an EKG machine, you’re absolutely positive that it would be going haywire, giving all sorts of signals that indicated you having a stemi. there’s no way on earth that the beating of the pulse points on the insides of your wrists, the hollow of your throat, and your heart, tucked between your breath-deprived lungs, is normal. your mouth has gone completely dry, your tongue close to sticking to the roof of your palette from the lack of saliva. you’re glad that neither vincent nor you can see your hands - underneath the table, they’re hidden from the view of your eyes but you can feel them wrack with trembles against your thighs, the tremors accompanied with cold sweat coating your palms and the skin prickling with pins and needles that are steadily making their way up your arms. you can’t see your face but your cheeks feel hot and cold at the same time; your overshot nerves crawl down your neck in a hot flush in contrast to the cold sweat that runs down your back, slithering over your spine languidly as if your nervous system wants to make you bathe in the agony you’re putting your body through. your stomach is swooping down, down, down in constant tumbles, pulling out the floor underneath you completely. 

maybe you are actively having a heart attack and you just can’t tell. 

the silence that stretches out in the small space across the table between you and vincent overflows into the space around you, growing and growing until you’re not sure if the burning inside your chest is because you’re not breathing or because of the anxiety that has consumed your body thoroughly. the expression on vincent’s face is one that you don’t even have an iota of steadiness left to understand. from the slight frown that knits the space between his eyebrows to the slight part of his mouth, the shutter that has pulled across his face makes it harder when combined with the way your nerves have sent your brain into overdrive by your own doing. you swallow bitterly against the lump in your throat, unfolding your hands just slightly to wipe your palms on your jeans. 

the stillness, the silence, that sits between the two of you is unnerving with each passing second. as if he is measuring every word you said, weighing them one by one in his mind amidst the heaviness of it, vincent continues to only look at you. you find that unlike the last time you were standing before him in the dimly-lit nighttime atmosphere of this room, where you could keep yourself grounded in the shadows that fell on you and pretend that you were unaffected, you don’t like the way vincent’s large, dark eyes stay on you without moving an inch. there’s something almost predatory in his gaze - a look you are sure many players on opponent teams have been subjected to under the brutal heat and scorching brightness of stadium lights on the court - like he is memorizing every subtle shift, every small flinch and tick, every flicker and bit of movement that passes across your features that you are desperately trying to keep schooled. as if he is cataloging them, storing the information to use for a later time. getting familiar with the gameplan and the layout of the court, so that he can calculate how to respond in a way that gets him to shoot that winning three-pointer. 

you don’t think he has even blinked once since you stopped talking - did he even realize that you stopped talking? but it’s his stare, his damn eyes, that make you feel like you’re a butterfly pinned on a board for study; the way they are seeing you, seeing through you, unraveling what you’re feeling inside - that’s what makes you sink your nails on your legs hard enough, deep enough, until you can feel the blunt edges of your nails pressed against the soft flesh of your thighs through the denim. 

“damn,” is the first word he utters, his voice low and hoarse as if with disuse. he blinks, eyes casting away from yours to look at the table. “that’s the first time i’ve heard you talk like that.”

you’re not sure what you had expected him to say - if you even expected him to say anything at all. but this - this wasn’t what you would have expected at all. maybe a mocking laugh, or something entirely dismissive, or maybe nothing at all until the time ticked away in that suffocating silence. but not this. definitely not. so naturally, you don’t know how to react either. 

you swallow, pressing your palms down flat on your thighs to compose yourself. “what do you mean?” you say, grateful that your voice doesn’t reflect the chaos currently wreaking havoc inside you.

“last time i talked - well, tried to talk - to you, you just went at me. if you could verbally kill someone i wouldn’t be breathing. so, yeah. i wasn’t…expecting all this. i don’t even know what to say.”

you swallow again, uncross then cross your leg under the table. 

“i didn’t say what i said to have you forgive me or get an apology from you, if that’s what you’re thinking. i don’t- it’s easier to say my part and move on from it if we’re going to be seeing each other for the year. it wouldn’t be benefitting either one of us if we’re going to be jumping at each other’s throats every time we see one another.”

“you mean if you’re going to keep jumping at my throat?” vincent looks up at you again, the faintest hints of a sardonic smile lingering on the corner of his mouth. “because if i remember correctly, you were the one who attacked everything about me and didn’t leave a single thing untouched.”

“yes - i mean, no. what i mean is, yes-” you let out a shaky breath and tuck your hair away from your face. “you’re right, i’ve been the only one acting that way. which is why i said what i said - why i apologized. so that we could start fresh and have another chance to do what i need to do for you.”

“we? i haven’t even done anything to you that remotely comes close to what you did.”

“i know that, and i’m not denying it either. but i can’t just sit here with you staring at me like this and without at least acknowledging what i’ve done was so wrong.”

“and you think that spitting out some flowery ass story is going to wipe this all clean how?”

your cheeks burn, your throat tight as you try to speak. “it was to apologize to you, to show you that i am genuinely sorry and at least look for a way to get your forgiv-”

“you said i didn’t have to forgive you.”

the deadpan tone in his words feels like a slap to the face, a bucket of ice poured over bare skin.

“what - so - are you not accepting my apology?” you say, your voice uncharacteristically quiet and unsure. 

“i never said that.”

“then what are you saying, vincent?”

“i’m just saying that instead of jumping through all those hoops to give a whole speech, you could’ve just said let’s start over and we could’ve gone on our way.”

it’s your turn to frown now, your brain being pulled in all sorts of directions that dulls your ability to understand where he is going with this. your head is throbbing and you think you will throw up if you stay here for much longer, and yet you’re trying to stand on the same footing as him.

“i said what i said because i wanted to apologize, not because of anything else. i didn’t - what are you trying to say, vincent? just speak plainly.”

“right,” he nods to himself, sitting up straighter in his chair and crossing his arms. “so you’re saying that you just wanted to undo all the damage you did solely out of the goodness of your heart and not because you wanted to rid your conscience of the guilt you felt after ripping into me like i did you the wrong of the century?”

“no, that’s not-”

“i’m just wondering,” he cuts you off, the razor-sharp edge of his voice cutting seamlessly through the fragile links of your words. “would you have acted like you did if i was just some other, normal student? or would you have even apologized to them after? like, would they have made you feel guilt too or would you’ve justified yourself in some way and gone about your way without thinking again?” 

there’s a horrible, sinking weight inside you, hanging down from the rungs of ribcage as if it can tear it off from its place. a pit has been steadily forming inside your stomach, deep and aching like a cavity, throbbing and twisting your gut into knots. you don’t even know what you can say - you’re not sure if you can even speak. 

for the first time in a long time, you’re entirely speechless, completely lost. 

you’re not used to being in this position, of being the one who is spoken down to. armor ripped off layer by layer until you’re standing bare, vulnerable to the opposing force that you were facing off. but if you’re being truthful to yourself, it’s not that you’re not used to being in this position, it’s that you’re unused to being in this position without having something to protect you, to give you strength. usually it’s your wits, your words and your bite. vincent ripped that away from you so easily, so unexpectedly that you didn’t have the time to recognize it or get your bearings together to go against him. he left you to stand vulnerable and mute, mind run down and ripped apart, heart lodged in your throat and skin numb with the heat of anger and shame and the frigidness of anxiety and fear clashing against each other. 

“yeah,” vincent soundlessly laughs once, a paper-thin, dry sound that makes the back of your neck hurt and travel down your spine in a rush of scorching heat. “that’s what i thought too.” 

he pushes away from the table calmly, silently, and stands up, heaving his bag onto his shoulders as he looks down at you. suddenly, you’re lying down at the base of that mountain, your body battered and pulsing like a giant bruise after falling down the entire way back before you could even take a step in the direction towards the peak. 

“don’t talk to me again unless you have your shit figured out.” he says, his shoulders squared and voice blunt, devoid of emotion. “i’m not your fucking battering post to project on.”

a/n/n: i don't think i mentioned this before, but this fic is going to be a slowwww burn. like, i do not see the reader and vinnie becoming a thing, let alone develop feelings for each other, for quite some time. the way this chapter developed and became what it did without my control is a prime example of that. but i feel like it's necessary for the buildup of the story. i hope it's not boring, for anyone who is reading it. but i just wanted to give this warning before we progress further into the story. with all this rambling out of the way, once again, i hope you enjoy this chapter <3

LOVE ON COURT 🏷️ list: @3madmax3 @ennycutie @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom

[kissesandcigarettes]

when times get tough, we go back to comforting habits. so, i will be going back to writing and hopefully finish the chapter i started writing and left off on for “love on court”

[kissesandcigarettes]

Hello!! I read your latest piece a couple of days ago and I CANNOTTT stop thinking about it. I’ve reread it like 4 times now along with your other work and it’s all so so lovely. Just wanted to share :) hope u are well :)

hello!! this is all the way from april :') and i'm so so sorry to this lovely anon who sent in this message for not getting back to you sooner. thank you for the beautiful and encouraging words, it means the absolute world to me that you've enjoyed my writing so far. i hope you will be here as i try to keep posting more for vinnie <3. thank you so so so much once again, and i hope you are well too <3

[kissesandcigarettes]

I was thinking about Love On Court 🖤

ahhhh my lovely vein, i can't believe this ask got hidden beneath a wall of notifications and i'm only seeing it now :') i'm so so sorry for getting back to you so late - this aesthetic board is absolutely gorgeous, thank you so much for taking the time to make it and sending it to me <3 that one frame from the diner booth may or may not have inspired a scene in my head that might potentially be in the story as it progresses

i hope you are doing well and taking care of yourself, my love <3

[kissesandcigarettes]

More time out pls queen

part 3 will be out veryy soon i hope :') i'm still working on it and will edit it from start to finish before i can post it once i finish writing it. thank you for reading up until this point and being interested in the story, it means the absolute world to me <3

[kissesandcigarettes]

More of the vinnie story pls

i'm hoping to post part 3 very very soon!! i have a bit more to go through before i can finish it and then will read through it from start to finish for any edits that i need to make so that it can be perfect! thank you for reading up until this point <3

[kissesandcigarettes]

TIME OUT PT 3?!!!

it will be out soon!! i'm working on it right now and have just a bit more before i can read through it in its entirety to make sure that everything looks polished and neat and perfect before i can post it for you guys <3

[kissesandcigarettes]

Girly we need time out part three, it’s amazing. Your an incredible write seriously I’m hooked on it, stay hydrated and I hope your doing well!

helloo dear anon <3

thank you for this lovely message, i'm so so so glad that you've enjoyed reading it up to this point. i'm working on part 3 as we speak!! at the moment and hope to put it out veryy soon. i just have to make sure that everything looks polished and neat before i can post it. thank you so so much for your support and i hope it will continue to keep your interest in reading it as i put out more chapters. thank you so so much once again, and i hope you are doing well too!!

[kissesandcigarettes]

hi my angel livie!!!<3 i just wanted to pop in . . . i hope you have an amazing day && im sending you lots n lots of love and hugs and positive energy 🤍✨mwah!

p.s. did you get my last ask ? i hope it went thru 🥺

hiii my love🫶🏻

i’ve been terrible at keeping up with messages on here and they got buried under other notifications :’) but please know that your asks do come through and they make my heart skip every time i see them🥺🫶🏻

sending you much love, and i hope everything’s going well with you sweet girl🫂🥹🫶🏻✨

[kissesandcigarettes]

omg you are the sweetest angel. i really missed chatting with you so so so much!!!! thank u for your kind words as always they made my day 🥹🥹🥹<3<3

as for a little life update . . . i’ve been doing good ! im still working with my little kindergarten kiddos, we just had their graduation yesterday so i am officially off for the summer!!!!! ( we’re so back ) && earlier this spring i finally bit the bullet and enrolled in school so i’m officially in my college era & a few weeks away from finishing my first semester! :3 alsoooo i have a boyfriend that i’ve been with for over a year now so that’s been great !!!! andddd yeahhh . . . that’s all i can think of right now! life has honestly been pretty good , im just trying to get back into a better routine & my healthy girl era once again . but i really missed it on here and i missed u 🥺 i think im ready to make my comeback to tumblr

but anyway! how have you been ? i need a full life update! i hope everything is well <3 sending you big hugs & lots n lots of love 💌🫂

meg my love your messages got hidden under notifications😭i know this is an older message but i hope it’s okay that i’m answering this now.

i don’t have a lot of updates to give to you :’) i graduated from university last year and spent this year working before i go back to school again. i’ve been trying to do things for myself and took up writing again for vinnie which i realized i missed so much after i started do actually write it🥹i have one new miniseries that’s ongoing right now that i would love for you to read and hear your thoughts on🫶🏻

i hope everything is going well with you since you sent this message back in june my love🫶🏻it’s so good seeing you active on here and i hope you’ll be around more often🥺🫶🏻sending you much love🫶🏻✨

[kissesandcigarettes]

˗ˏˋ LOVE ON COURT 🏀๋࣭ ⭑ ╱ MINISERIES .ᐟ

         ⤷ 0:2 | timeout : an official temporarily suspends the game due to injury, or to allow the team to discuss strategy.

                                        previous ‧ MASTERLIST ‧ next

˗ˏˋ pairing: basketball player!vinnie/tutor!reader; college!au 

˗ˏˋ word count: 10.8k+

˗ˏˋ warnings: none.

summary: your unsavory first meeting with vincent weighs on your mind more than you would like to admit. when you share the details, your best friend lends you more than just a listening ear.

˗ˏˋ a/n: hello hello! i have included the link to the first chapter above and it is also in the masterlist. please read it before this one so that everything makes more sense. long author's note at the end, i hope you enjoy reading this chapter <3

the next morning, you’re in for a rude awakening. 

your alarm goes off half an hour earlier than it normally does, slicing clean through the lulling quiet of your room and the semi-deep sleep you fell into after knocking back two melatonin pills and a cup of peppermint you brewed in a rush after getting back home the night before. your head feels like it’s about to split open from the remnants of the day-long headache that had morphed into a migraine and crept over your brain soon after you left the tutoring center. a throbbing ache settles behind your eyes like an icepick chipping away at the orbital bones that makes you shut them as soon as you open them in a startle, blindly reaching around to find your phone and turn off the alarm. 

your neck is tight with tension curled around it like a noose, and you can feel the cricks and knots settled deep into it, the bones popping and cracking as you gingerly tilt your head side to side, no doubt because of spending too much time bent over the lab bench or your desk, or the constant tossing and turning you do throughout the night when you’re in a fitful sleep. the dull ache in your jaw and the way you have been unconsciously tightening it tells you it’s the latter. great, you think as you rub the sore hinges with your fingers. you started grinding your teeth in your sleep again. maybe you should invest in teeth guards for real this time. 

you let out an irritated, tired breath, rubbing your aching eyes with curled hands, and slump down on your back, wishing nothing more than to sleep for at least four 24 full hours without any disturbances to wake you or riddle your mind with ruminating thoughts. you want to bury yourself underneath the warmth of the heap of fresh covers you changed yesterday and close your eyes and forget about the reality waiting for you outside. as the items on the day’s to-do list start rolling down your mind like the end credits of the movie, you know you’re too awake to try to go back to sleep now. pushing the covers off, you silently thank yourself for changing into your bed socks the night before when your feet touch the ground and you feel the chill of the hardwood floors. you had gone to bed last night with what you were wearing – a set of dark sweatpants and a tight-fitting turtleneck sweater – having been too tired and angry to even consider changing out of your warm clothes and into your cold pajamas. your coat lies on the ground by your bed, which you pick up as you grab the zippered hoodie hanging on the back of your desk chair and move out of your room, ready to get the day started. 

you flip on the heater switch in the hallway to melt away the morning chill in the apartment, then head to the kitchen, turning on the stove overhead hood light as you move about. you scoop out coffee from a freshly ground batch and boil water in a kettle for the coffeemaker, then grab a few mugs out of the cabinet as the coffee gets going for the rest of your flatmates who will start to wake up soon themselves. 

you share an off-campus place with a few of your closest friends in an apartment complex mainly inhabited by UCLA students: thomas, a computer science and engineering major with a concentration in software engineering; mia, thomas’ girlfriend and a double major in aerospace engineering and statistics with minors in chemistry and anthropology; and larray, who is a double major in applied mathematics and cognitive science with a minor in spanish linguistics. 

you all had gravitated towards each other after meeting by pure luck at a house party organized by a frat during your freshman year welcome week. at the time you had been living in the on-campus dorms. you had decided to come to the party on a whim after some people on your floor were talking excitedly over it, but you didn’t feel comfortable with asking your roommate, who already had a group of friends she seemed close with it if you could go with her, so you bit the bullet and came on your own. having nursed a cup full of fruit punch spiked with more than what you could simply call a “concoction” of the usual vodka and juice the entire night, you were you were quickly growing feeling out of place and not all that interested in the hyped-up, alcohol-fueled socialization that seemed to be going for everybody else. not that there was anything wrong with it, but you got the impression that this type of crowd was enjoyable when you were part of a group rather than braving it out solo. 

okay, maybe it wasn’t the smartest decision you made in your life since you barely even knew your way around the massive campus yet - let alone the grounds outside of it - but you didn’t want to hold yourself back from having fun when you wanted to and that would have to start with forgoing your comfort for one night.

as the party progressed, just hitting the one-and-a-half hour mark, you felt a sense of disappointment that this is what everyone in high school had been gushing over. frat parties were this mystical thing that people talked about as one aspect of their college life they looked most forward to, but it was quickly dawning on you that that was the case if you were into setting yourself up to get more and more drunk as the night went on and had a group of people who would join you in the madness. it was not the case if you were here alone, not knowing anyone, one eye checking your phone watching the minutes tick by on the screen and one foot already out the door. 

you consoled yourself with the fact that your resting bitch face masked the internal discomfort brewing underneath the confidence you wore in the form of your outfit and overall appearance – a sparkly, backless butterfly halter top that tied around your lower back, a pair of low cut wide-legged jeans, your favorite pair of white air forces, and a shoulder purse. your makeup – which consisted of your masterfully practiced siren eye liner with a bold wing, mascara, and berry-tinted lip oil – complimented the updo you wound your hair up in with a claw clip. 

larray had found you first, appearing out of the crowd in the dimly lit room like some guardian angel (minus the glowing wings and a chorus singing an aria in the background). you were getting ready to leave just as a very drunk and very eager guy, no doubt one of the frat brothers living in the house, had stumbled over to you, caging you against the wall and the table you were standing next to. as he leaned down to say something he thought was smooth that you completely tuned out (and it wasn’t just because of the music spilling out of the bass-boosted speakers droning in your ears), you were contemplating whether throwing your drink in his face or swinging at him with your purse if he leaned in any closer would be more sensible. before you could pick the worse of two options, larray had smoothly ducked under the guy’s arm and slid his arm around you, making you almost turn on him – he wasn’t there one minute and the next he was squeezing your shoulder in what you guessed was a reassuring way, a sign to just keep going with what he was doing. you didn’t know what exactly he was planning, let alone trust him, but you weren’t about to consult every single cell in your brain to decide what to do when he seemed like the only person to help you at that moment.

standing up to his full height and lifting his chin defiantly, larray had met the guy squarely in the eyes, clenching his jaw in a way that made his entire face go sharp and dangerous, like the way he looks when he’s focused on solving a complicated practice problem in his textbook while revising for an exam or prepping for an supplemental instruction session he is leading before an exam for one of the classes he is a TA in.

“you tryna put hands on my girl?” his voice had been so deep that you felt the rumble of the air rushing into his chest throughout your body, a gravelly baritone that wiped the confident, sly smirk on the frat guy’s face off clean in one sweep. he moved away at once, standing rod straight as if he was called to attention by a drill sergeant.

“nah-nah man, i was just leaving.” he gestured with his hands up over his chest, palms facing you. “my bad, bro. didn’t know she was taken. sorry.” he said, not directly speaking to you or meeting your eyes once. you scoffed, rolling your eyes, as he scurried away as quickly as he had appeared. fucking idiots, the lot of them. 

it had not escaped larray’s notice that your free hand was wrapped around the strap of your purse, the red cup in your other palm clutched tight and the dark red juice inside rippling just so.  

“wow,” the shift in larray’s voice was almost instantaneous, as easy as if he had switched between languages. he had coughed a few times into the crook of his elbow before composing himself. “that was the most painful thing i had to witness tonight and i haven’t been here for an hour yet. he really needs to step up his flirting game. and his wardrobe choices, clearly. who the fuck still wears martha’s vineyards with oxfords?” 

“at least his lack of fashion matches his lack of self-awareness.” you said dryly, finally taking a sip of your drink to steady your frenzied nerves, immediately spitting it back into the cup when the sharpness of the alcohol hit the back of your mouth and your brain like a sledgehammer. 

“hmm,” larray nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets, as if he realized how awkward this must have been when the moment of need passed. “i’m so sorry if i scared you, i didn’t mean to get up all in your face and personal space. it’s just that i had been watching him ever since he like…radar-locked you and wouldn’t have forgiven myself if he did something and i stood on the sidelines like some fucking bystander in a movie.”

“i don’t think you would have weird intentions if you were willing to put up that impressive of a role.” you reassured him, giving a small smile. “but really, no. thank you. seriously…i thought creepy shit like that had gone extinct with his species, but i was wrong i guess.”

larray chuckled, shaking his head. “i guess he had enough brain cells left to realize it was a meteor and not a football, and that’s why he’s still here and we’re suffering – oh my god, i’m being so rude – i’m larray, by the way. i would say nice to meet you, but i wish the circumstances were better than this.”

“i’m (y/n),” you introduced yourself. “i’m guessing you’re a first year?”

“yep.” he smiled, eyes crinkling in the corners. he had a cute, bunny-like smile that was incredibly endearing and completely betraying not only the menacing front he put up not too long ago but also his height and well-built frame. “i’m not exactly here because i didn’t have anything better to do on a thursday night. my best friend and his girlfriend half-dragged-half-convinced me to come. you?”

you shrugged again. “everybody on my floor was talking about this party and i thought it wouldn’t hurt to come.” shaking your head you continued, “i don’t think i will be returning anytime soon, though.”

larray nodded sympathetically, pressing his lips together. “well, if you feel comfortable enough to stay, i’m sitting over there with my friends and some other people. they were playing spin the bottle or something but i don’t think anybody’s really paying attention anymore. do you wanna join us?”

and the rest had been history. you spent the entire night with larray and his group, which turned out to be his best friends by the names of thomas petrou and mia hayward. true to his word, there was an empty ketel one bottle on the coffee table in the middle of the L-couches placed in a U-shape around it, but nobody cared enough to spin it or keep the game going, all engaged in various levels of conversation and laughter of their own. you had fallen into conversation with the three after introductions were exchanged, nobody bothering to say their majors to delay the t-10 hours before the first day of your first quarter at university officially started. both thomas and mia were not only smart and funny, but their energy and welcoming natures calmed your still-jittery nerves and anxiety. you weren’t shy but you weren’t the most outgoing person either, preferring to keep to yourself unless someone approached you first. 

larray had hit you like lightning, loud and blinding, before your brain had time to kick in place and make you keep yourself at a distance healthy enough that you didn’t feel like you were acting too buddy-buddy with a stranger you met for the first time. you wanted to place that distance with thomas and mia, but it was difficult to try to keep your guard up when they were being nothing but kind and open, happily chatting away with you and listening to larray recount the events earlier, their expressions as he went into the details mirroring each other’s so comically they were identical, making you join in without even trying and before you knew it you were doubling over in laughter as thomas started telling stories of him and larray from high school. before the end of the night, you had exchanged phone numbers and socials with the promise of meeting up after classes on the first day. 

after that night, you stayed together. at the end of your first year, your group felt more like a family than just friends who had bonded over the best and worst that came with your own majors being in such grueling disciplines and the convenience of having met at a party where social interactions were more often than not fleeting. if anything, it was a testament to the value of having true, genuine connections rather than surface-level interactions many first-years had that were bound to crumble away the moment you all went your separate ways.

by the time you snap out of your thoughts, the heater had already started to run in a gentle hum, a stream of warm air hitting your ankles from the vents underneath the counter. the kettle had also finished boiling the water, bubbles jumping around the surface as the blue light illuminating the transparent screen marking the water level faded out. you pour some of the water into the teapot sitting on the stove and the rest into the coffeemaker then start it, not in a rush knowing that both will be ready by the time everybody wakes up. that’s the good thing about being an early riser, you think as you pull yourself up to sit on the opposite counter, listening to the soft sounds the coffee maker lets out as it starts to pull the water through the ground-up beans. 

listening to the soft gurgles of the coffeemaker, you let yourself wander through the various thoughts building up on the back of your mind. even though it’s only october, the quarter having started not that long ago, there is already the promise of a busy year hanging in the air. although you’re used to the way things are at this point, having started your third year, the anticipation of it never fails to leave you a little nauseated. you can already picture it – the long nights spent at the desk in your room or the table in the living room, the constant refreshing of the library’s page to secure a cubicle or study room, the drafts you will undoubtedly go through with a scrupulous eye to find sections that you would want to include in the final version of your thesis, the midterms and finals and all the quizzes in between. even if one day or one week feels calmer than the other, there is no promise the next one will be the same. 

you just have to go through this month you tell yourself as you let out a breath to ease the sensation of overwhelm pressing heavily down on your chest, and before you know it will be thanksgiving break. you will end up going home with thomas, mia, and larray since they all live in the same town and spend the holidays with their families. you had already met their parents, the trio having taken you with them during the christmas break of your first year, which was also the first christmas you spent with other people instead of on your own. 

the memories from that time still fill you with a warmth and light nothing has come close to yet. thomas had finished his finals earlier than you, but he had waited until you were done with yours. mia and larray had left a couple days prior since they both had extended family coming to visit them: mia’s were coming from tenerife and sicily while larray’s were coming from sao paulo and santo domingo. you would all get together once you reached san diego. you drove with thomas that night after your last final in the morning was done. that car ride had been the longest two hours of your life. the invitation to come and spend the holidays with them had been a complete surprise; normally, you would have stayed back at the apartment and found something to do on your own. you couldn’t remember the last time you had spent a holiday with people. when you had mentioned in passing that you would be staying in los angeles in a conversation while studying together, they had all but refused to let you do that, especially during christmas break. no matter how much you tried to brush them off or put up a fight against their firm stance on you spending the most wonderful time of the year with them and their families, in the end you had packed a single suitcase and one backpack and sat in that seat on the plane.

the anxiety and uncertainty that had been gnawing on your insides like some feral beast that you had pushed down to hide from thomas’ all-seeing eyes had proved to be misplaced once you met mr. and mrs. petrou, or anastasios and irena as they had insisted you called them. that looming dread pooling in your stomach and gnawing at your mind incessantly had been melted away by the warm, perfume-scented embrace of irena and the deep, lumbering voice of anastasios. you didn’t know if they were so welcoming to you because you were thomas’ friend or if they were naturally just like that, but regardless of the reason behind it you had gotten to see what a proper family and household looked like during your stay with them. they gave you the guest room in the house, complete with an in-suite bathroom and fully stocked with everything you might need and more, and included you in the pre-christmas activities they traditionally did like the five course meals you ate throughout the day, wrapping remaining gifts, and visiting a traditional greek neighborhood that held a christmas market. both of them were excellent cooks, which was how you understood why thomas cooked so well, and had prepared a feast for your arrival. it had been the first time you didn’t have to hesitate to ask or wonder if you could receive a second plate before they were piling it high with food once again and encouraging you to eat until thomas had to bashfully tell them in greek that you had probably eaten more than you realistically could. you had gone to bed with a full stomach and soaring heart, chest tight with tears you bit the inside of your cheek to not shed, that night. 

the next day you had gone to both mia’s and larray’s homes where you met not only their parents but extended family, having hugged and kissed more tias and tios, abuelas and abuelos, and avós and avôs – or as larray affectionately called them “vovó” and “vovô” – than you had ever done in your life. you got to try an array of delicious, rich meals that you would have never gotten to try otherwise, and listened intently as both mia and larray explained to you the significance behind each dish and what made them special and how it carried pieces of their childhood in them. despite the abundance of alcohol floating around with each meal, you hadn’t really drank any, but you felt giddy, happy as if you were drunk each night. you accompanied them on the makeshift dance floor where you danced as best as you could. larray insisted that you had to learn forró, which he taught you in beginner’s steps then put on a show with one of his older cousins who was a professional dancer; mia brought you along for bachata, which she and larray got into a playful argument over whether the tenerifian or the dominican version was the superior one; and thomas helped lead you in sirtaki that a group of his pleasantly drunk uncles had initiated. you still don’t remember another time when you had laughed and danced as much, or you feet had become numb with the pain of standing up for so long. 

on christmas day, you hadn’t been able to hold back your tears anymore as you exchanged gifts with thomas, mia, and larray, only to learn that their parents had also gotten something for you to show how important you were for their sons and daughter. 

you find yourself smiling at the thought of what that christmas meant for you, and as your mind ventures off to remind you of the reasons why you always look forward to going back with them during holiday breaks, it just so happens to land conveniently on the events of last night. your mood rapidly takes a downward turn – you could have gone the whole day without remembering the stand-off you had with vincent hacker and wouldn’t have even thought of it unless you purposefully pushed yourself down this rabbit hole. you were good at that, forgetting things and people you wanted to, but your mind was also good at betraying you and being cruel when it wanted to. 

this was one of those times. 

you would check your emails later on in the day and tomorrow, your inbox hopefully graced with the standard-issue paragraph informing you that you were no longer paired with vincent hacker. you would shut off your laptop with a satisfied smile and go about your days, not having to worry about seeing his face anywhere else other than the shiny banners the school hangs up around campus during the opening season for basketball and march madness, or the floor-to-ceiling posters that cover the columns of the athletic complex on a regular basis.

there is a small voice in the back of your head, irritatingly coy, warning you to not get your hopes up for nothing, but you choose to ignore it for the sake of your own sanity. you want to go through this weekend without thinking about vincent hacker. at least until monday – by then, you think you will be prepared to face the proverbial music. key word – you think. but you’ll cross that bridge when you get there. until then, no more thoughts about that infuriating boy who shaved off ten years from your already-reduced life thanks to your chronically high cortisol levels that will no doubt take a toll on your heart sometime in the future. 

you hear footsteps coming down the hallway as you snap out of your thoughts for the second time that morning, turning your head in the direction of the kitchen entrance as you wait to see who it will be. you aren’t surprised when it turns out to be thomas, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, a shirt peeking underneath the hem, his hair sticking up wildly like a porcupine from under the hood snapped over his head. he looks absolutely exhausted, dark circles settled underneath his half-shut eyes. 

you feel a pang of sadness seeing your friend so worn down in the bare, raw light of the morning, especially because he is so good at putting himself together that an outsider wouldn’t know the most amount of sleep he had gotten this week was a grand total of 14 hours. he has a lot on his plate this quarter, you think, as he told you so many times during sleepless late nights you spent together in the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch while taking a break from the umpteenth study session that had been going on for however many hours at that point (you stopped keeping track of it, only knew that it had been going on for obscenely long enough for your youtube history to be riddled with pomodoro videos), the dining table strewn over with a battlefield of scrap papers and textbooks and pens, crowded in between with drained mugs of stale coffee and barely empty take-out containers, anxiety and never-ending mental to-do lists tying your stomach into knots that suffocated your appetite. on top of his classwork, any free time he had was being successfully taken up by the chaos of academia including working on his honors thesis, being a TA for two lecture classes and a sophomore level lab, applying for summer internships, and taking care of his duties as a board member for the organizations he was involved in on campus (bruin consent coalition and bruin partners).

“morning, tommy,” you say softly, using his nickname as you sense that he is in a sensitive place of mind this morning and you have to thread carefully until he comes to his senses. 

“morning, sparkles,” his voice is still deep with sleep, and he is slow in his movements as he rubs his hands across his face, sniffing once before leaning against the counter and shutting his eyes, his head tilted forward. he looks as if he is battling against the temptation of calling it a day and going back to his room, crawling in bed and sleeping until next week. 

“is mia still sleeping?”

“yeah,” he gives a barely there nod without lifting up his head, rubbing his eyes again. “she couldn’t fall asleep last night. i think she’s coming down with a cold or something. she was tossing and turning and shaking the entire night, kept me up too.”

you grimace, knowing all too well how shitty it is to get sick so early in the quarter, barely a month in. “does she have anything for next week?”

“she had two exams for tuesday and a lab report for wednesday, but the professor let her take the exam later and she got an extension for the report.” he looks towards the hallway briefly, and you can feel him itching to go back in and check on his girlfriend. “i’m just gonna let her sleep in. she’s fucking exhausted and barely slept this entire week. we could fire a cannonball in here and she wouldn’t stir an inch.”

you chuckle, swinging your legs back and forth softly where you sit on the counter as thomas remains leaning against the counter, tipping his head back slightly. you consider turning off the overhead lights, but his hood is large enough to shield his eyes and he doesn’t make any complaints as he stays very still, arms crossed over his chest. the only sound in the house is the soft humming of the heater and the gurgling of water from the coffeemaker, which gives a final hiss and beeps for two long beats before falling silent. just in time, you think and give yourself a mental pat on the shoulder. 

“thank god for (y/n),” thomas says as he opens his eyes, “what would we do without you?” he smiles softly at you while grabbing his mug from the ones you had put out earlier and moves to get milk from the fridge. you grab your mug, a stout fat one covered in traditional spanish floral designs hand-painted in bright yellows and reds and blues that thomas bought for you from madrid after going there last summer for vacation with his family, carefully removing the pot to pour yourself and thomas coffee. the steam wafting from the sides of the lid licks up your face as you twist it open, first filling up thomas’ cup and then handing it off to him in exchange for the milk. he watches you carefully as you top off your mug with the coffee and place it back so that it stays warm, going to back to where you were sitting on the counter across from him.

you don’t speak for a moment as you both take your first sips of coffee, holding it in your mouth as you take note of the sweet and earthy aromas coating over your tongue in layers. it’s hot but comforting as it moves down your throat, warming you from the inside out. you hold the mug in between your palms, pressing the pads of your finger against the radiating heat to warm up your hands and ground yourself before your thoughts pick you up and drag you into the next century. 

“long night?” thomas asks, sounding more awake now as he takes a sip of his coffee. his voice is inquisitive but not unkind, bringing your attention back to him. there is an underlying tone there to tell you that you don’t have to answer in detail if you don’t want to. he has a small, coaxing smile on his face as he looks at you when your eyes slowly shift over to him. 

shit, were you spacing out again?

“yeah…yeah.” your voice sounds more unsure than you actually feel as you busy yourself with placing your mug on the counter to rub your hands down your face, hot fingertips pressing over your eyes. “you have no idea.”

“anything i can help with – or we can help with?” he cocks an eyebrow, looking at your over the edge of his mug. “minus mia, i fear. i don’t think she’s gonna leave the bed anytime soon.” 

you feel your shoulders sag down, then hike up close to your ears, the tension that had been lying dormant in your spine awakening in a slow crawl as you mull over his words and your thoughts. dealing with uncooperative students isn’t something you’re new to – you’ve done plenty of private tutoring through the center, logged hundreds of hours poring over the same practice exams and same textbook questions with countless students who were adamant on refusing to do outside work to solidify their understanding of the material, having no shows on days they were scheduled to meet with you, sending out one email after the other to try to get in touch with them and biting your teeth through looping their professors in as a last resort, no matter how humiliating it must feel for them because you feel responsible for them. 

but not once did you tell thomas about it – outright anyways. he’s always been perceptive and quick to pick up on shifts in the air, quick to hear you let out a sigh before gritting your teeth and typing furiously on your laptop, quick to notice your eyes darting between your watch and phone screen to the clock on the wall to see which one was running behind, quick to feel your anger simmering underneath the calm you wore as you had to report an incident during a session whether it be a student walking out on you or throwing down a verbal assault. you didn’t need to tell him directly that your work sometimes wore you down, made you question if your efforts were all in vain or if it actually meant something to the other person. if you were just wasting your time when you could have been getting some much-needed sleep or a moment to breathe for yourself without feeling a hand gripping tight around your throat and squeezing down, choking your lungs as you fought to catch your breath. 

“–(y/n)?” thomas’ voice feels like a distant echo in your ears, as if you are coming out of a tunnel in a vacuum. his eyes haven’t left your face, standing as if he had been calling out to you multiple times before you finally heard him, but yours had drifted away to the wall across from you, stuck on one spot. it’s a miracle you haven’t lost your grip around the mug and got whisked back out of your head by thomas calling out to you instead of the mug shattering on the ground, destroying such a precious artifact. 

“y-yeah?” you shake your head quickly, tightening your hands around the still-warm but cooling mug. “i-i’m here, what were you saying?”

“that’s the third time i called your name, hon.” he says calmly, but you can hear the underlying concern slowly rising to the surface the longer you stay silent. “is everything good?”

“yeah, yeah, all is good.” you try to brush it off, gesturing with your hand as if to wave it away. “just a bit tired this morning, that’s all. i’ll wake up once i drink all of this.”

“you look too thoughtful to be just tired,” thomas says in that knowing voice of his, pinning you on the spot with a single raise of his eyebrow and an expectant look on his face. 

well, there’s no use in trying to hide it or try to brush it off. no need to drag it out like some useless drama. 

you sigh, leaning back so that your head rests against the cupboards behind you, one hand pushing your hair out of your face. you place your mug at a safe distance on the counter so that your hands are freed. 

thomas perks up, catching on to the motions you always go through before you divulge in a piece of high-stake information. he takes his listening stance, which is placing his chin in his free hand and his elbow on his other arm that’s wrapped around his torso, mug clutched in his palm. he crosses one leg over the other and rests his back against the counter behind him, then gives you a subtle nod to show that you have his undivided attention. 

thank fucking god for thomas petrou, because you didn’t realize how much you needed to talk before he opened the floor for you and became your one-man audience. 

“alright,” you lick your lips, letting your palms gently fall on your thighs. “remember how i was telling you guys about the athletic director coming to the tutoring center asking dr. kwon about me?”

thomas frowns quizzically, but nods. “yeah, i remember thinking it was weird as fuck, like – wait, is this about him?”

“i wish i could say no but yeah. it is.” you scowl. “anyways, so, you know how i told you he was asking for me because apparently they were in touch with the AAC before and they told them how they needed to get in touch with the STC because that’s where all the tutors for STEM are? and i was the only tutor who had their schedule ‘open’,” you say and make air quotes around the word for emphasis, “for private tutoring even though i technically don’t because i’m not working those hours for a reason?”

thomas nods again expectantly. 

“yeah, well.” you let out a bitter huff. “tell me how i decided to be a stupid fuck and say okay to taking on a student for one-on-one even though i don’t have the time for it and i’m not getting paid overtime because of the budget cuts to the center.”

his eyebrows raise just a bit, not completely taken aback because he knows that you stretch yourself out too thin for your own good, but still surprised you were willing to go to this length for a branch of the school you absolutely hate with a burning passion. 

“i didn’t know about that, that’s news to me now.” he takes a sip of his coffee as you watch him, and you can hear the next question that’s about to come out of his mouth. “well, it’s only right that i ask since you set it up so nicely for me – why did your brain give an error 404 when what you should have said was no, i don’t have time for this?”

“i didn’t have a blue screen moment, tommy, i just…panicked.”

you cringe internally at how lame you sound.

“you? panicking? about a job that’s as easy as breathing for you that you can do it in your sleep? come on, (y/n), i wasn’t born on mars, you’re not gonna fool me with that.”

“okay, yeah, i know. do you think that’s not what i thought after? but like, you can’t tell me you never had a moment like that before when people literally pushed you to say yes to doing something you’re good at for them.”

“actually, i haven’t thanks to those brilliant tips you taught me on how to say no so that i don’t become a doormat to people back in freshman year.” he gives you a saccharine-sweet smile. “tips that everyone else but you use, apparently. something something about the apprentice surpassing their master and all that.”

“yeah, you’re real cute, you know that? fuck you.” you scowl, giving him the bird for good measure. then you remember you have to tell him the next part that might send him into a cardiac arrest or actually cause him to give a blue screen and malfunction for the rest of the year. 

“but that’s not all.”

“that’s not all?” he cocks an eyebrow, and you can hear the intrigue spring into his voice. if he wasn’t already, he’s now awake completely, the previous traces of sleep all but erased from his body. you did tell yourself that you wouldn’t drag this out like it’s some juicy gossip when it’s one of the most boring pieces of information you have yet to share with your best friend, and yet you can’t deny the fun of giving him your non-gossip gossip when he’s eating it up the way he is right now. 

“oh, no. there’s more.” you say, your voice dry as sandpaper.

“there’s more?” he echoes.

you hum for two short beats, clutching the mug tightly in your stinging palms to ground yourself before delivering the news to the unexpecting thomas. 

“you know how i was supposed to meet with the student i got forced to tutor?”

“okay, i wouldn’t say forced, because you technically did say yes–”

“thomas!” you hiss, incredulous, feeling betrayed by his sudden jump of ships. “you’re supposed to be on my side. and that’s not the point! what would you do if the fucking-if the fucking dean of engineering came up to you one day and was like, “hello thomas. i want you to take on a temporary teaching position in the department while we look for a new faculty member because you’re a genius and the only student who broke the fuck all knows however long years of failing donaldson’s differential equations class streak in your major?” would you be able to say no to him so easily?” 

“i mean, i guess i – well, i wouldn’t immediately – i mean, maybe, like – or –” he sighs when you deadpan him with an unimpressed look that would flatten a mountain. “nah, you’re right. i would have folded so quickly. all those tips you taught me? straight out the window. saying no? don’t know her.”

“hmm, that’s what i thought.”

“okay, yeah, yeah. you’re right, whatever.” he waves his hands in the air as if pushing your words away. “stop switching the subjects. this isn’t about me and i don’t like how you’re dragging out the mystery. i like mystery, don’t get me wrong, but it’s too damn early in the morning. so, please continue.”

“right, right. sorry,” you shake your head, letting out a sharp breath. “so, like i said, i was supposed to meet with the student last night, right?”

“yeah, that’s why you came late. i mean, i didn’t expect it to be that long for an icebreaker, but stranger things i guess, and you didn’t say anything about it either, so,” he shrugs, “i didn’t really think too much about it, either. what about it. though?”

you nod, scoffing dryly. “well, for one thing he was more than two hours late, so let’s start there.” 

“two hours?” thomas says a little bit too loudly, and immediately clamps his mouth shut, looking out the other way to wait and see if you have disturbed mia and larray, who is also still sleeping in. when no indication of it comes, he continues but speaks significantly softer now. “two hours?–”

“more than two hours–”

“– fuck if he was einstein’s descendant, i would have left after the first half hour.” he shakes his head while you chuckle. “you have the patience of a saint for dealing with these adult children. the elementary kids i work with have more respect for time, hell they have a better work ethic too. none of them come without at least two freshly sharpened pencils.”

chuckling, you suck your teeth and tilt your head in a way that says you agree with him. “yeah, well. this is where it gets better.”

“i’m dying to know, please tell me. did he fly in with his scooter because he was coming from halfway across the campus and remembered it mid taking a shit?”

“very funny, but no. even better thanks to my bad luck – guess who the student was?”

thomas cocks an eyebrow again, “is this supposed to be a trick question?”

“not at all.”

“uh, no idea. care to humor me?” he takes another sip of his coffee, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can wait for him to swallow.

“it was none other than vincent hacker–”

there is a brief moment where all is silent and thomas is enjoying his coffee, and the next moment he’s sputtering and coughing like a fish out of water as he chokes on the hot liquid in the most comical way possible, complete with his eyes going wide over the edge of his mug and a hand beating against his chest to get out the remnants of the drink. you would have laughed if this was any other time, but now you feel sorry for just dumping the news on him so unceremoniously. 

“vincent hacker? – ”

“yes, vincent hacker.”

“you mean, the vincent hacker? the fucking beast of a shooting guard the basketball team and the school has seen in the last ten years? vincent a.k.a. iceman hacker?” he emphasizes the nickname with the signature move the man in question does after scoring 3-point shots, which is placing his hands, flat with the palms turned outright, behind his ears as he listens to the roar of cheers and whistles and shouts rising out of the student sections like thunder breaking across the horizon, then extending out one arm to display one half of his ridiculously wide wingspan and bringing down one hand so that his index finger presses against his lips in the universal gesture for “shh.” you find it corny, but it gets the people going, the pavilion buzzing with rogue energy for the rest of the game that makes the lights flicker in short circuit.

you roll your eyes as he continues on with the laundry list of titles you knew he would say like everybody else, but you can’t still feel but disappointed that even though he is one of your best friends, he is the complete opposite of you when it comes to participating in on the bandwagon of hype for the school’s basketball team. as in, he keeps the school spirit very much alive within himself while you have an entire graveyard dedicated to it. 

all jokes aside, you’re the only person in the household who refuses to join in on the game day festivities – even larray, who doesn’t know all that much about basketball, but loves sports unequivocally because of being raised in them and running track and field in high school and having a mean fucking record to back it up with – never misses a game or homecoming tailgate at the beginning of the season. you’re the only one who doesn’t go to watch parties people organize in their dorms and houses or home games at the pauley pavilion or celebratory events to show support or just be there for fun with your friends. hell, if you were living alone, you would turn off the tv the moment you saw a live game and would do anything to avoid it at all costs – but since you love your friends too much to criticize their interest in the game much like the remaining 99% of the school, you simply leave the room and don’t come back until the game is over, usually indicated either by their celebratory cheers or down-spirited mumbling and groaning. 

“yes, tommy.” you say exasperatedly as thomas grins like a maniac, unable to contain his amazement and joy over the news, expression slack in awe like he can’t believe this is real. “how many vincent hackers do you think go to UCLA and happen to be on the basketball team too?”

“oh my fucking god, this is incredible.”

“no, the correct answer should be ‘oh my god, this is fucking horrible.’ there’s nothing incredible about this, thomas.” 

“correction,” he continues with the teasing, completely ignoring the stony state your face has taken, even though you would like for him to be serious and listen to you at this moment. you already have the misfortune of hearing about the almighty vincent hacker from the 32,420 other people on this campus, you would rather not hear his praises being sung so loudly by the remaining one of three people you actually care about and won’t contemplate walking into traffic to escape from.

“there are so many incredible things about this that i suddenly need a dictionary to look up as many words as possible to describe just how much it is to you.”

“tommy,” you press down on your words, meeting him square in the eyes. you want him to realize this is one thing you will not joke about, ever. you watch as thomas’ smile slowly but surely dissipates, the crinkles around his eyes melting away as he realizes how serious you are. “i’m being serious about this. this isn’t something i wanted you to be elated over.” 

(it was also not the news you would have wanted to receive on an already-shit monday as you stood over the fume hood, staring at the botched experiment you had been working on for a week straight to get right and yet another batch of ruined samples over a miniscule imbalance in the titration, feeling your jaw tick not only in anger.)

“oh, c’mon (y/n),” thomas tilts his head, frowning in disbelief. “i know you hate the air the athletes breathe, but like…why are you taking your anger out on him? it’s not like he was the one who gave the green light to the board of trustees for approving the new stadium.”

yeah, well. it’s also his new set of jerseys that has taken away from your salaries. and extending resources for students who need them. and cutting down on funding. so. you would like to think you have some right to be more than just mildly bitter at the institution that is single handedly bleeding your place of employment dry. 

“i’m wondering if you’re going to keep thinking this way after i tell you what happened next.”

thomas rolls his eyes in a playful manner, “enlighten me.”

you tell him about the near-scream match you and vincent had, the full extent of the argument, and the remarks exchanged between you two. while thomas does have a flair for the dramatics when time calls on it and the place is appropriate, he watches you with a near-indiscernible expression, eyes slowly blinking and head nodding, but never saying a word to make a side comment or agree with a point you make. you hate to admit that it does make a tiny vine of doubt crawl up your ribcage and wrap slightly around your throat, ready to choke you the moment you tug on it. you try to ignore the dullness creeping over thomas’ eyes, the disapproval seeping out of the walls of his face the longer you talk, divulging in the details of the prior night.

“-and that’s pretty much everything.” you say in, your voice uncharacteristically flat, considering you were making a case to justify yourself. you tug down the rolled-up sleeves of your hoodie, feeling the sweater unbunch underneath, and fold your arms over your chest, palms gripping your forearms tightly so that your knuckles turn just barely white. 

when he says nothing, standing there with his head bowed and starting into his coffee mug, you feel the familiar ticking in your jaw, and you can’t stop yourself.

“well?”

thomas doesn’t look at you. “well, what?”

“well, what are you gonna say?” you say a bit out of breath, anxiety brewing inside you like a slowly morphing storm. “i’ve given you a whole dissertation and you’re just staring there silently. what am i supposed to think?”

“i’m thinking. trying to process what you said.”

you chew on the inside of your cheek thoughtfully, but steel your face so that you don’t give away the anxiety brewing inside you. “you think i was too harsh on him, don’t you? like, uncalled for so?”

he hums in agreement. “you definitely overstepped boundaries, more than you had the right to in that moment.” he tilts his head to emphasize his point. “and even though you were in the right to be upset and frustrated, i feel like you didn’t have to let it rip on him the moment he walked through the door. that put you at a disadvantage in the argument when he was the one at fault for missing out on an important meeting.” 

you feel yourself bristle. “what do you mean?”

“well, for one thing, you didn’t have to insult him right off the bat. you always say that it’s not the student or the coursework, it’s the teacher who makes a difference and everyone deserves to feel capable of succeeding, but you went completely against that when you belittled him and called him straight up stupid.”

“thomas, i was mad–like–i didn’t…i wasn’t paying attention to what was coming out of my mouth in the heat of the moment.” your eardrums twinge as if you heard nails on a chalkboard when you listen to how lame your defense sounds despite the hard edge in your voice, and you have absolutely no doubts thomas feels the same way. sure enough, he gives you a deadpan expression and his brows rise up just a bit, one of them arching as if it’s personally offended by your bullshit. 

“now, (y/n),” thomas says in a quiet, serious tone that makes you want to sit down and write down an apology letter to vincent hacker himself, complete with a candle-wick seal and a messenger pigeon to deliver it to his window. “i’ve seen you be an absolute patron saint to students who actually deserved to get yelled at for using fucking chatgpt on their exams instead of going back to high school and repeating algebra 2. if you didn’t lose your temper with them then and single-handedly raised their grades to god-tier levels, you had no reason to act differently to vincent hacker-”

“–but it’s not the sa– ”

“–just because he’s an athlete. yeah, maybe cares a bit more about how many 3-pointers he’ll shoot in the home game next week on friday then the midterm grade he’ll take or the lab report sitting in his google docs. but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid or incompetent,” he gives you a pointed look which would have made you shrivel up and wither into the ground if you were a lesser person. “on the contrary, i think it’s admirable that he owned up to struggling in something he’s not naturally good at and wanted to get help for it. we have a whole student athlete success program for them to use with tutors and everything, and instead it’s like this mystical thing when it’s literally a walking distance from where their campus dorms are. you would be surprised how many of them crawl their way through shit grades and don’t even know it exists.” 

yeah. so not only do they get privileged access to everything other students can only get scraps of and expected to be satisfied with, they also have their own personal tutoring program and yet it gets barely used. you don’t know if you want to scream or laugh until you pass out from the sheer irony of it all. 

you sigh tiredly, rubbing a hand down your face, choosing not to take on a fight over this new piece of information. “thank you for this riveting revelation, thomas. how could i not think that you would also try to save vincent hacker’s goliath ass from me?”

thomas rolls his eyes. “don’t be dense, (y/n). you didn’t let me finish. i was going to say while that’s admirable and all, it still doesn’t make up for the shitty fucking move he pulled by making you take up a perch literally the entire night and then sit in an empty city bus at some wack hour of the night and commute thirty minutes back here. what made him feel so entitled to think that you would just happen to be waiting for him to finally show up whenever he felt like it? i have no idea. truly a single-digit iq move on his part, i have to give you that.”

“you would think they would have a better sense of time management with how much it gets emphasized in their daily lives.”

“but–”  

“but?”

“i think there might also be a chance that the situation came out of a misunderstanding on both your parts – he didn’t explain himself all the way and you jumped the gun too quickly.”

you do hate it when he’s right. more often than not. 

“what do you think i should do then? or – i guess – what would you do in my place?” 

thomas scoffs sarcastically. “if i were you, i wouldn’t be a tutor in the first place. i’m TA’ing for two professors right now and let me tell you, it’s not a hidden joy i unlocked. but it’s a rewarding experience and at the end of the day, i feel really proud of myself when i can help them somehow and the students for sticking through with it and not giving up. so, if i were you, i would do it. at least for some time – you have the option to raise up concerns you have, and they can switch out tutors for one-on-ones, no?

“yeah, they would probably pair him with someone they have in the athlete’s own program.” you frown at your own words. “i don’t know why they didn’t do that to begin with anyways.”

thomas shrugs. “you don’t have to worry about that right now, they’ll figure that out if it comes to that. right now, i think you should just focus on doing the best you can and treating him like you treat any other student who comes to you. you have a lot of experience and you’re a fucking genius – no seriously, stop playing humble about this, you’re a fucking beast – and he’ll benefit a lot from being taught by you. and it’ll be a growing experience for him too in the humility department and realizing not everyone will work for his convenience, so he has to show up outside the court.”

you let out a small breath, mulling over the words for a moment before giving him a small scowl. “i really do hate it when you are the voice of reason, you know that?”

thomas chuckles, holding your eyes warmly that feel like a hug. “one of us has to be, sparkles – and it’s not like i’m always the one who has common sense. you’ve seen me do some clown-level shit plenty of times and talked logic into me, so think of this as me returning the gesture.”

“you’re right,” you let out a small breath, wrapping your hands around your warm mug, tracing your nail over the intricate mosaic pattern on the body. “so…what do you think i should do now? wait until monday to see if he’ll come despite what i did and said, or ask dr. kwon how i can reach him to ask him myself?”

thomas ponders for a minute, busying himself by taking a sip from his coffee. “there’s a game next week, so i’m almost one hundred percent positive their coach won’t let them sit on their asses for a minute this weekend – he won’t think about checking his texts, is what i’m saying. so i doubt you’ll get any emails about him not being partnered with you either.”

“then waiting until monday is the best option i have?”

thomas tilts his head in agreement. “waiting until monday is all you can do for now. on monday check in with the center first. if there’s nothing there, go to the athletic department – i know you fucking hate that place, don’t give me the eye roll – to ask about his contact information if you don’t have it already. you can text him or if that’s too awkward ask his coach to call him and meet with you. whatever’s gonna be more comfortable for you.”

you would rather do the former, no matter how much of a hit or miss it would be to text him, than the latter and repeat the actions of the athletic director. if you reach out to him yourself, it will be more sincere, giving you the chance to at least apologize, even though thinking about the act makes you want to sink into the floor. even if you had kept on telling yourself up until this point now – as you marched out of the science center last night, as you waited for the bus, as you got home and lay down in bed, as you waited for sleep to overtake you, when you woke up this morning – that you want nothing more than to never see vincent hacker and never have a single more interaction with him, you can’t shut your consciousness screaming guilty arias at you. no matter how much you dislike the man and his entire team, deep down you know you can’t judge him based on that identity outside of the court when he is in your presence simply as a student. outside of the court, he is just like any of the other countless people who come to the science center seeking help, albeit shy and withdrawn and maybe even embarrassed for not understanding something so simple, they say as they watch you and your co-workers in quiet awe and disbelief writing away on the whiteboard the steps and solutions without a stutter. your record has been spotless, showcasing nothing but glowing reviews from students, and you’re not about to let one person tarnish that. and besides, you tell yourself, you’ll never see the man again after this year, when he will undoubtedly get drafted at the end of this year’s march maddness and instead of gracing the screens of bruins tv, he will be the new golden boy of the nba–  

“–earth to (y/n)? (y/n)? are you there, hon?”

you almost slap yourself ask thomas’ voice comes back into focus, pulling you out of the tunnel you got lost inside the depths of your mind for the third time that morning. jesus fucking christ, you need to get a grip. 

“yep. i’m here,” you clear your throat softly, ignoring his amused expression and drowning down the dregs of your coffee. you hand your mug to thomas, who is busy with washing his own empty one. “i’ll just text him myself. it’s too much trouble to go all the way across campus.”

thomas nods in approval, speaking over his shoulder. “plus, it’s always better to speak to him yourself and work to make amends. i’m sure it will set you guys back on a better footing when you explain your end and hear him out. i guarantee you he’ll appreciate you owning up to what you did and he’ll be more open with you too and own up to his. he might not immediately accept your apology – and don’t get me wrong you don’t have to accept his either – but at least you guys will know that you’re both starting on the same page and you made some unfortunate mistakes last night.”

thomas has a lot of faith in you, sometimes more than you have in yourself – and more faith in others than you will ever have, which has often times been a cross for him to bear. his belief in your inherent goodness, kindness, and patience is something that never ceases to amaze you. you don’t think anyone has ever believed in you this much apart from yourself, and even then there had been moments where you almost failed yourself – thomas has been the single most unwavering force of humanity you have seen so far in your life.

you manage a small smile that thomas can’t see, but feel it seep into your words and know he will sense it regardless – he’s known you for too long to not at this point. “i hope you’re right, T. i keep telling myself how much i don’t want to see him or have it become a regular occurrence…but i also don’t want part ways without apologizing if it comes down to that.”

thomas shakes his head, turning around to face you as he dries his hand with a hand towel. “i highly doubt that’ll happen,” he says, emphasizing on the word. “it’s not like he was completely faultless in the situation either, so i’m sure you guys will come to an agreement and go from there.”

“you…really think so?” you ask with a small grimace, not feeling the certainty thomas seems to be somehow feeling. how can he be so certain that the great and invincible vincent hacker will accept to work with you, much less bother to even come to see you?

“yes, (y/n). i really think so.” he crosses his arms and shrugs. “if anything – hell, if this whole thing goes belly up – you can blame me for giving you misguided encouragement and fucking it up.”

“okay,” you say, the lump of bundled nerves and anxiety sitting heavy in the middle of your chest as you think ahead about monday, but you lean on the wall of steel you worked hard to build up for yourself over the years and brace your voice against it. “but if this ends badly, i’m coming for your fucking neck.”

thomas chuckles. “duly noted, sparkles.”

just then, you hear the quiet padding of footsteps heading your way. your combined quiet laughter dies down as larray comes into view, shirtless and wearing a pair of oversized, fluffy “nightmare before christmas” themed sleep pants. he runs a hand through the mass of curls on his head, eyes still bleary with sleep, the gold chain of his cross necklace winking in the light. as he sucks in a breath, hand stilling on his head, his eyes fall on you and thomas – and flicks between the two of you to understand why you’re holding council in the kitchen at the crack of dawn. 

“uh – am i missing something?”

˗ˏˋ a/n: helloooo! a VERY long chapter (10,821 words YIKES liv wtf are you doing???) i had written earlier and edited today as a way to make up for the time i was away from here and this story. this time it is a filler type one without vinnie in it but is mentioned heavily. i wanted to write this chapter to show the friendship between the reader and thomas, as well as some of the other characters important to her, and show some more character details about the reader that will fall more in place as the story goes on.

at this point in time, i have no idea how many chapters this mini series will be - ideally, i wanted it to be 10 chapters but i have a feeling it will be more than that. i am trying to keep the chapters long so that in total there is a less number of them. do you like reading longer and lesser vs shorter and more chapters? please let me know what you think about this! i hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you for the love shown to the story so far. i appreciate each and every comment and interaction left on it more than i can put into words. until next time, please take care of yourselves. sending much love to all of you🤍

˗ˏˋ a/n/n: this will be the first time i will be doing this, but if you would like to be added to the tag list, please let me know and i will do so!

LOVE ON COURT 🏷️ list: @3madmax3 @ennycutie @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom

[kissesandcigarettes]

hii livie!!! i miss uuuu💌

MEG MY DARLING🥹🥹🥹🥹

i can’t express in the necessary words what an absolute wonder it is to hear from you🥹🫶🏻

how are you doing angel???? i hope everything’s well with you and your life at large🤍i kept on coming to your page to see if you were active and you’ve always been on my mind. i’m so so so glad to see you on here and hear from you. i wish i could hug you right now, that’s how happy i am to know you’re here🫂🤍please tell me if anything new/exciting/and the like has happened recently and since we last spoke🥹🫶🏻

i’m sending you the biggest hugs and kisses and positive wishes your way. i have missed you SO much i can’t even describe it. i love you meg bby🥹🫶🏻🫂✨

[kissesandcigarettes]

˗ˏˋ LOVE ON COURT 🏀๋࣭ ⭑ ╱ MINISERIES .ᐟ

         ⤷  0:1 | air ball : an unblocked shot that fails to hit the rim or backboard.

                                           MASTERLIST ‧ next

˗ˏˋ pairing: basketball player!vinnie/tutor!reader; college!au

˗ˏˋ word count: 5.9k+

˗ˏˋ warnings: language.

summary: your first meeting with vincent hacker, the campus basketball god, is marked by a rather tumultuous beginning.

˗ˏˋ a/n: longer author's note is at the end, i hope you enjoy the first part of this story!

the main floor of the tutoring center in the science and engineering library is uncharacteristically quiet, devoid of the constant, never-ending disorder that gives life to the machine-like organized chaos otherwise running this space. 

your eyes flit back and forth between the clock on the wall and the blue piece of paper – a student pre-evaluation sheet – laid down in front of you on the table. your fingers are busy with spinning and flipping a stray pen you found lying on the table earlier, a poor attempt at trying to stop yourself from leaving if you keep track of time with each passing minute. you’re itching to go, sitting close enough on the edge of your seat to fall, one leg bouncing up and down as the heel of your foot keeps rhythm. your body is taut with unreleased tension, wound up so tight you’re scared that if you let it unravel its hold around your muscles, there will be nothing to stop you from bolting out the door. 

you tell yourself that you will for sure leave this time if the student you are supposed to be meeting doesn’t come exactly in the next five minutes – but then again, you had said the same thing more than an hour and half an ago, so you doubt you’re going to stick to your word now. 

you laugh a quiet laugh that tastes bitter on your tongue as your mind spins up some out of place joke about how you got stood up over a tutoring meeting before you have ever gone on a first date. 

leaning your pounding forehead against your open palm as you shake your head in the tragically comical nature of your current reality, your eyes focus on a marker scratch on the table as you freefall into your thoughts. the dimly-lit room consoles your headache, your eyes falling shut against your will as exhaustion wraps around your resolve.  

you have been a tutor for almost two years now, having started working as one when you were a first-year student. you had applied for the job on whim after seeing a flyer about it among the many others on the main bulletin board in the student union’s plaza and stuck with it ever since. at the time you were desperate for a job, having moved away from your home without the luxury of having someone to rely on for supporting your finances if you fell on hard times. after numerous applications and unanswered emails, the green and blue flyer appeared before you like a beacon of light. over the course of the following quarters you spent as a student at UCLA, you grew immensely attached to your position, the main reason being your deep passion for teaching and providing equal learning opportunities for all. 

more than that, you liked the structured and steady routine the job had allowed you to get into amidst the chaos of your first year trying to figure out the workings of university. as your schedule was determined for that quarter, everything fell into place naturally – going to class during the day and tutoring at night, with your spare time mostly devoted to studying and/or getting involved in some student organizations, and of course looking for research opportunities, which you had done by floating through various labs in the chemistry department, with the help of professors who welcomed your eagerness and strong work ethic with open arms.

now that you think about it, your routine back then hadn’t changed all that much as a third-year student. your days still consisted of those dreadful 8am lectures and long study sessions in quiet reading rooms and devoting your spare hours to tutoring in the science center – only now, whatever little spare time you had were spent locked up in dr. ratanawa’s lab, whose cohort you had decided to join at the beginning of your second year, poring over samples and running batches of experiments and writing scrupulously detailed notes for the ever-growing-almost-final draft of your thesis stored in the depths of your laptop. you had claimed a lonely lab bench in the corner of the lab as your own, the top of which now was covered in colorful test tube racks, various pencil holders filled with bright neon highlighters, notebooks that contained all of your recordings and taped scraps of paper and post-it excerpts for your thesis that came about in your mind spontaneously, and other miscellaneous equipment you needed the most, such as pipette tips and clean test tubes. 

sprinkled throughout all of this were brief coffee breaks in the trustee garden - a coveted square piece of lush, shaded greenery, dotted with wood-and-metal benches and cut through with large cobblestone pathways, hidden amidst the towering giant concrete buildings of the sciences - for cherished moments of sunlight, almost falling asleep in the shower when you were the last one to come home and your flatmates were asleep, the campus cafes’ baristas knowing your order by name too much for your liking, and if you needed to put the pent up stress in your body to good use, going to the campus gym. the last one didn’t happen as often as you wanted, but it was better than nothing. 

long story short, you had managed to somehow elongate your 24-hour days into 25, sometimes 27 hours. if he could, einstein would rise up from his grave to give you a kiss on the forehead.

well, that was before the school’s athletics department decided to throw a fucking bulldozer of a wrench into all of it.

you don’t know who you should be more angry with: the head of athletics, who put pressure on the head of the science center to find a tutor in your group of already overworked and overstressed tutors, or yourself for being the one who readily accepted to take on the extra, un-paid hours in a brief moment of sheer, pure fucking stupidity that would make michael from the office break the fourth wall and reach through the screen to throttle you if he witnessed it.

bless your heart for your endless supply of senseless altruism. 

as the clock ticks the minutes away, it being almost 7pm and the student already being two hours late to the meeting, your anger is shifting dangerously more in the latter direction. 

after the initial wave of pure red you felt towards the balding and wire-glasses wearing man, steven or steve something, for not even bothering to learn if what he was asking was allowed or not - or not being considerate enough to wonder if you had a life of your own - dissipated, you felt much of that misplaced anger had been towards yourself from the start. anger for not being able to say no to authority figures when you needed to, anger for not being able to form firm boundaries between yourself and overcommitting, anger for your boss’ attempts to advocate for you going unheard. anger that an entitled and spoiled ball chaser’s needs are being prioritized over students who don’t have guarantees for a cushy future and have no choice but to succeed in the ruthless, cut-throat environment that is academia and beyond.

your thoughts come down crashing and burning, shattering throughout the scattered corners of your mind as your fingers stop mid spin to firmly slam the pen down on the table. 

“fuck it.” you mutter behind gritted teeth. you have waited more than long enough for this entitled brat who can’t read a clock to take the courtesy to show up and you refuse to wait any longer. you move to gather your stuff, shove your laptop in your bag with more force than necessary and grab your water bottle—

—just as the door swings open so hard it creaks at its hinges, hitting the wall behind it with a loud bang that makes you bite your tongue in alarm as it rams through the absolute silence of the building. the water bottle in your hand drops first onto the table’s edge, then onto the floor, rolling away soundlessly. 

a guy stumbles through the door, looking as if he ran all the way from the other end of the campus, quite literally breathless as his chest heaves, loud enough that you can hear the shudder of his breaths that struggle to fill his abused lungs. he looks like a racehorse trained to the brink of exhaustion, with his hair falling down to conceal his face as he bends over, hands clasped on his knees, back moving like a rising and falling mountain.

thank fucking god that you have grown to develop nerves of steel since childhood, because if you had been someone with less wits, you would’ve let out the most inappropriate shriek.   

“h-hey, are you okay?” your first instinct is to say, your hand instinctively reaching out to hover in the air as you hesitate whether you should reach for the guy or let him recover on his own. you swallow with difficulty as you watch his back spasm in a way it definitely shouldn’t. your other hand reaches for your phone in the pocket of your coat, your mind working on figuring out what you would say to the operator in the likelihood of dialing 911. 

“are-are you looking for someone–?” you try next, unsure of what to say when you don’t know if he can even hear you. you haven’t taken a single anatomy course outside of high school but have been around pre-meds too often to know that his ears must be ringing with the deafening beat of his pulse, loud enough to make your words go unheard, the thick rush of blood throbbing in his forehead.

“the tutoring center is closed for the night,” you say, your voice louder this time and steady despite the blood rushing past your own ears and your heart thundering a bruising beat against your ribs. you place a tentative palm over the left side of your chest, gently stroking over the spot as if you can calm it down.

you think that he may not have heard you once again when he doesn’t acknowledge you, but his breathing seems to be in better condition, so you repeat yourself after clearing your throat. you taste blood on your tongue when you speak. nerves of steel, indeed.

“the tutoring center is closed for the night. can i help you?”

the guy moves to stand upright, breathing more under control than when he first barged in, the only indication of his earlier exertion being the redness staining his cheeks and neck on his otherwise pale skin.

“i was–” he still sounds a bit winded, drawing in a deep breath that scrunches up his face before continuing, “–i was supposed to meet with a tutor named (y/n)? are–” another deep breath, a pant, “are you her?” 

as your startle reflex diminishes, your heartbeat reverting back to its natural rhythm and your hands left feeling clammy, you realize this must be the student you were paired with. the ringing in your ears subsides as your initial shock quietly but swiftly gives way into your earlier anger. keeping your face neutral despite your mind trying to go against you, you decide to go along with where he is taking this conversation to.

“yes,” you speak more coolly now, no trace of your earlier worry for the guy’s wellbeing left in your tone. pulling up the zipper of your coat, you shove your hands into its pockets as your lips move around the metallic taste in your mouth. “do i know you?”

“i’m vinn–i mean, vincent hacker–” he stops abruptly when you don’t make any indications of showing that you know or at least are familiar with his name. you continue to stare at him blankly, cocking an eyebrow as if what he said explains everything. you hope that you are at least masking the anger you felt earlier as it kindles back to life, not wanting him to realize he’s gotten under your skin already. 

the look on his face is that of confusion, his eyebrows pulling into a light frown. “uh, i’m…vincent hacker? i’m on the basketball team? i was told that you are the tutor assigned to me? for chem 30A? dr. orlov’s class..?” 

you get the feeling that this situation is not common for him, and neither is the lack of confidence in his words. when you don’t make any attempts to reply to this either, he stops talking all together, an expression of unease and uncertainty beginning to rise rapidly over his face. his frown deepens into one that strains his forehead. 

“am–am i in the right place? this is the science and engineering library, right?”

“right,” you say tightly, slinging the straps of your bag over your shoulders as you walk around the table to stand in front of him, yet maintain a good distance. “let me ask you this, then. do you realize what time it is, vincent?”

he blinks a few times as if it takes a moment too long for him to register your words. his eyes look around then for a clock in the room, even though you can see the lit-up screen of an apple watch peeking underneath the sleeve of his student athlete-issued hoodie. 

“um–” he stammers while his eyes continue to dart around, and you can almost taste the panic on his face seeping into his voice. 

“it’s quarter past seven, vincent.” your voice snaps his attention back to you, eyes still moving about everywhere except for your face like he is searching in his mind what the time means, and finally remembering it as his panic shifts into a sinking sense of realization across his features in one single sweep. 

“we were supposed to have a meeting - this meeting to be specific - exactly two hours and fifteen minutes ago.” you say dryly, tilting your head slightly towards the side. “you know, to discuss how i can help you do better because you are struggling in the class? so that you can stay in the team for the rest of the season? or did your coach not tell you about this?”

you see the flush of red that had settled down crawl steadily up his neck and reach his face once again, no doubt his ears that are hidden underneath his hair, too. he shifts in place awkwardly, crossing then uncrossing his arms, then finally tucking his hands in his pockets and looking away from your accusing eyes when he meets your scalding gaze for a brief second. he doesn’t say anything, but the response is as clear as day on his face that you don’t need to waste your time with giving him the benefit of the doubt thinking it could be something else. the ticking of the clock on the wall accompanies your breathing, the slight shudder you feel as you draw air in through your nose. it’s so quiet that you would hear a pin drop on the carpeted floor.  

“i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to be so late.” his voice is apologetic, colored with what you think is shame, which catches you off-guard. you had expected him to be defensive, not standing here with his head bowed and cheeks burning with embarrassment. you don’t know what to make of it and if you should believe him. is he being truthful? you want to believe he is. you think the downward curl of his lip and the way his eyebrows have scrunched up and his voice is so quiet and the flush on his skin has become deeper with each word isn’t an act. you notice the puffiness surrounding his eyes, most visible underneath where you also notice are prominent bags and darkness as if he hasn’t been sleeping. you almost feel sympathetic towards him, ready to ask – 

is everything okay?

– but the small, cruel voice that hides in the back of your mind and rears its ugly head out only at times when you want to give in to your emotions pipes up. whispering cold, sharp words mockingly into your consciousness, it pulls you back from the edge you’re standing on of softening your gaze and dulling the bite of your words. you don’t even realize the shift within yourself until you start thinking again. you highly doubt his words. it’s just another way for people like him to charm others to gain undeserving sympathy and make the situation when they’re at fault work in their favor. the shame you saw in his face and heard in his voice suddenly makes red flash across your vision and burn your tongue as if you held it over an open fire. there is a bitter, all-consuming ache blooming in the middle of your chest that winds up your throat and settles in the back like an unmoving lump. you swallow with difficulty around that weight, your fingers catching on the material lining inside the pockets of your coat as your hands curl into fists. 

he cracks his fingers one by one as his hands hang by his side, voice timid almost as if he wants to disappear the way the syllables disappear at the back of his throat. “the coach made us all stay back longer because we started late and there weren’t any shuttles running at night because it’s friday so i–”

something in you snaps. the small voice chuckles like nails scraping on ice. your throat aches in tandem with the ache inside your chest. 

you stupid fuck. stupid, stupid girl. 

“no. no–vincent–just stop.” you cut him off with a startle, shaking your head as his words die out underneath the force of yours. “are you really going to do this? i mean, isn’t this getting old for your crowd – blaming your coach every time? like, what are you trying to accomplish by giving me all these excuses to cover up the fact that you’re lying?

he almost does a double take at the way your tone shifts - not a slow build, but a snap that echoes like a crack in the air between you. the pressure of the weight behind your ribs finally bursts, the ache filling the space inside like steam rising from a fissure. you watch as his eyebrows rise - not too much but enough so that you see the movement on his forehead - his lips parting open. the flush of warmth on his face dissipates away like water going down the drain as your words hit him across the face like a bucket of cool water. this, you can tell, was not what he expected to hear from you. 

you continue when he doesn’t speak, letting out a dry scoff that sticks behind your tiredly aching teeth, pushing loose tendrils of hair out of your face. the words seem to tumble out before you can reel them back in or find the reason in yourself to stop and address your logic. “i don’t have to do this, you know. i really don’t. i don’t know if you even thought about this, but do you realize i’m taking time that i don’t have out of my night to come here, only waste all these hours i could have used otherwise to instead wait on you?”

he looks at you with an expression you can’t pinpoint as to what exactly it is when it’s a combination of many things at once – shock, surprise, embarrassment, confusion. except for that moment just before a rising swell of anger, which you know all too well. you don’t like the way he’s suddenly scrutinizing you, as if he is looking at you underneath a microscope, as if he could see right through you if he wanted to with just a few turns of the focus knobs and tuning the sharpness, holding light to whatever you are keeping hidden inside you in dark corners. 

“are you done so that i can get a word in too? or do you think everyone likes listening to you speak as much as yourself?” he says in a steady voice that betrays the ticking in his jaw, yet the words bite deeper than just at the surface level like you pretend they do. 

“i’m just wondering, do you automatically accuse everyone you’ve known for less than five minutes of being a liar if you don’t like what they say? or am i the only exception?” he continues, his eyes narrowing slightly as he continues to scrutinize you with that searching gaze you think you don’t like at all. 

you hold back a scoff that had been climbing its way out of your throat. “i would say the head of the athletic department coming to request private tutoring for you, plus the fact that your spot on the team hinges on your grades and gpa, should’ve been enough to ring some bells, don’t you think? or do you still think i’m automatically accusing you, just wondering?”

his frown deepens at your words, and you take that as a sign of his growing frustration as you confront him with the truths that brought you here into this moment. 

“i know the logistics of what i need to do to stay on the team.” he deadpans, his movements stiff as he straightens his stance now that the initial surprise has worn off and he can match you head on. a simple straightening of his back fixes his posture, which makes you look him up and down when you realize how imposing his frame is when you see him this close in the flesh. “what i don’t get is how you made me out to be a liar when you don’t know anything about me besides the fact that i’m an athlete and doing poorly in a class.”

so, he’s not entirely as dense as you thought. 

crossing your arms to meet his stance, “it’s simple, really, and it’s quite easy to understand. you just don’t want to.” you quip back. “this meeting was arranged almost a week ago, which means you should’ve been well aware of meeting me here today last friday. which means that there should be no excuse for you to be more than two hours late. you’re just arguing-”

“–i’m arguing? you’re the one who started going off on me the moment i walked in here-”

“–because you’re trying to cover up your own ass for being neglectful and not taking responsibility over your academics and you’re trying to make me look like the bad person here-”

“–trying to make you look like the bad person?” he tilts his head in confusion, eyes widening and face scrunching like he ate something sour. “what are you talking about? i was trying to apologize to you and you would’ve rightfully gotten it if you didn’t cut me off like that when you did. seriously, do they hand out attitude like it’s candy when you get hired? because i’m starting to think it’s part of the job.”

“on the contrary, vincent, does every single athlete i have the misfortune of working with have to read a manual on how to make entitlement and arrogance a part of your personality? because i’m starting to wonder if humility exists for you only when you’re speaking to the cameras for espn courtside.” your palms grip around your forearms so tight that the material of your coat wrinkles to stop your voice from wavering as your anger threatens to boil over. “why don’t you think about bringing your sense of responsibility off the court too, rather than blame the ones who are actually doing well and trying to help incompetents like you?”

yikes yikes yikes. that was a blow so low that it would have made your mom slap you across the face in retribution if she were in your life.

he barks out an incredulous laugh, like a hot knife poking at your nerves, but you don’t miss the expression of deep hurt flash across his face as quick as lightning or the way he flinches at the insult like you physically struck him. a deep, chasm-like silence stretches between your bodies before he breaks it.

“incompetent? no - now you’re just taking this way out of proportion and making it into something else entirely. who gave you the right to be this disrespectful, my god-”

you should stop. you really should. 

but you don’t. 

“-you’re the last person to be giving me a lecture on disrespect when you-” you point your finger towards him, “-don’t even have the decency to come up to me and ask me to give you tutoring yourself-” then point at yourself with the same threatening gesture “-or the courtesy to let me know that you will be late and make me waste my night by sitting here doing nothing.”

“i didn’t have any way to contact you.” he says as if that’s supposed to be the explanation for everything. “you didn’t leave any of your personal info with anyone from the team, so i couldn’t reach out you even if i wanted to.”

what? you’re absolutely sure you had your phone number and university email written on the form you gave to the athletics office – if anything it’s mandatory for you to provide that for the benefit of the student. how did they not give it to him all this time? 

but still. you don’t think that’s valid enough to justify his negligence when you’re keeping up with the responsibilities on your end more than someone else in your position would have. 

“that’s no excuse.” you almost seeth, the words coming out of your mouth rapidly as if they can hurt him with their speed. every new piece of information that leaves his mouth adds onto the notches that you’re collecting in giving rise to your fury. “you could’ve come here during our regular hours. there’s a secretary here that you can leave a message with, she could have saved it for me and let me know when i was here the next time.”

vincent lets out an exasperated sigh, rubbing a closed fist over his eyes which you notice look very red and irritated even from the distance. “i don’t have time during the day, do you not get why-”

“then you make the time for it!” you slap the back of your hand against your palm in frustration. you realize distinctly that you’re yelling, but you can’t seem to stop once you let it out. “just like i am trying to make the time for you when i don’t have to. you’re all so inconsiderate–you just–you just look out into the world from a tunnel and can’t see anything around you besides yourselves and that fucking court. do you think i want to be here at this time of the night? that i just have free time lying around to use up because i’m bored? no, i’m stretching myself thin to help you out, but you obviously don’t even care about any of this!”

a muscle tics in vincent’s jaw as he grits his teeth, staring at you behind narrowed, wet looking eyes and a sharp, dissecting gaze. you think it would indeed be intimidating to be on the receiving end of that stare if you weren’t the person you were. 

when he talks, his voice is cold as ice and distant as the look in his eyes. there’s no sharpness, no emotion behind his words, which scares you more than if there was underlying anger in them. with the latter, you would know that he is matching you head on, that he feels the same as you do so that you are right in some way to be so harsh with him. but when he is completely numb like this, as if this brief argument just carved his insides and left him hallow, you feel as if you are yelling at a child who doesn’t know any better. 

“where are you getting all of this from, huh?” his voice is rough, but there’s something else beneath it too - not just anger, but something close to exhaustion. “who made you believe you’re so special that you think anyone who’s not like you is stupid or not busy enough? do you know what i have to do to–” 

he cuts himself off as if he realized he was about to give himself away, jaw clenching hard as he bites down on the words that almost escaped out, as he looks at you with an expression you can’t understand. his face slackens at his near mistake, but shutters back up just as quickly. a sharp inhale makes his chest shudder. shaking his head, he wipes a hand tiredly down his face. you shove down the urge to rub your eyes, moving past the stinging ache that’s consistently been there the entire day. you are once again thankful that the room is dimly lit and you don’t have to squint to see him like a newborn mole rat.

“nah,” he huffs out an empty sound that breaks into shards in the air. “nevermind. it doesn’t matter what i tell you. nothing i say would change your mind, would it?”

you scowl at his words, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “i don’t have a reason to when all you’re going tell me is how hard it is for you to practice every other day and just do the bare minimum to pass your classes-”

his eyes flash. “-here you go again with this crap, who gave you the right-”

“regardless of whatever else you have going on outside of your academics, the fact that i was asked to accommodate you, by someone that i wasn’t given much of a choice to say no to, for you to act like this, says a lot about how this will go.” 

vincent looks at you in disbelief, as if he can’t comprehend how the conversation spiraled so out of control so quickly. you feel like you are stranded on a floating raft in the middle of the ocean, struggling to stand on it. you are trying to stay afloat, keeping the raft from tilting too far in one direction by constantly shuffling in place. but one movement too much, just one sudden disturbance, and you will both get swallowed in the salty depths of the waves. eventually, though, one of you will move too much, and you will both fall over into vast, unknown darkness. you just don’t know who it will be yet. 

vincent looks at you in what you can only call puzzled, hurt disbelief. “i seriously don’t understand you. i told you i was sorry, i was trying to apologize until you decided to go off with that tirade.” he shakes his head, a hollow laugh escaping him. “forget it. i can’t– i can’t do this if you’re just gonna give me this-this attitude, whatever this is-” he gestures at you with his hands, “-every time you see me. i would rather fail that class and retake it than have to see your face every day.”

you laugh bitterly; you knew in your gut your argument would end in this way. the raft is slippery and unsteady underneath your feet as vincent inches away to the other edge, jaw tight and shoulders squared as if he’s bracing for the incoming fall, and you think you will need to push only a little more before you are both drowning. you’re not surprised, but disappointed in yourself for believing maybe this would have been different. you really should reduce your expectations if nothing else but for your own sanity.

“it pains me to say this, but i think we finally agree on something here.” your left eye pulses in a slow twitch from the exhaustion of the past couple days catching up with you. it’s crowding inside your brain, your thoughts and words going fuzzy as you grip onto your adrenaline to keep you awake until you can get home. “i don’t think that we’re a pair fit to be working together. i can’t tutor someone who won’t take responsibility for his own actions and don’t know what his priorities are when they’re so obvious.”

you walk up to him, closing the distance between you by reaching out to hand him the piece of paper you had been holding onto just in case. “here’s the form that you need to fill out to have someone else replace me. it might take a while since there’s only a few of us, and everyone is booked already for the year. thanks to you and your team for that architectural monstrosity you call an arena, we lost our previous budget and had to settle for a new one that cut down half of the staff here.”

his eyes are seething and red as he rips the form out of your hands - too fast, too rough - the sharp edge of the paper slicing clean through the underside of your finger as you move your hand back. the cut is clean and burning, but you don’t register the pain right away - you feel the breaking sensation through your skin before you feel the pain. it sends a small shock through your hand and you bite down on your stinging tongue to trap the small gasp that forms at the back of your throat. instead, you match his gaze with an equally furious one of your own - and you’re horrified to find that he’s not looking at your face, but at the hand you’re cradling in your palm. you don’t look down to see what damage lies there; instead, you close your fingers over it tightly and completely to hide it away, putting your arms down, which makes him look back up at you. underneath the redness and swelling in his eyes, you see something else flicker in his pupils - something like regret, but it’s gone before you can catalog it for processing later when your mind isn’t so consumed by anger. 

you stare at him for one more second, then shoulder past him as roughly as you can and head out the door with big steps, shutting it behind you hard enough it slams close with a bang that echoes in the empty hallway. you don’t bother with calling the elevator, knowing it will take ages to get to the fourth floor, and make your way down the emergency stairs, taking them as fast as your feet will move. 

you notice the sensation of something sticky and warm pooling inside your closed palm when you push open the door to step outside, the crisp, chilly night air hitting your coat-warmed body all at once. you open your trembling, tightly closed fist to see that the cut is bleeding, more than you thought it would. there is a thick rivulet of it running down that you look at with a dull gaze. you blink away the angry tears forming in your eyes as a shiver settles into your body, wiping them away harshly with the back of your hand as you let out a shaky breath. the pain of the cut is acute, but it’s real, grounding you when everything else feels like it’s spiraling. you walk to the bus stop with your free hand pressed around your bleeding finger, prying it away only when you can’t tolerate the cold wind chilling the warmth of the tears sliding down your cheeks. 

you just want to get to your apartment and sleep this night off to forget about it, hoping that tomorrow morning you won’t remember any of it.

a/n: it's been such a long time since i've been active on here, let alone write anything, but this was a little something i had been working on while i was away. the university i went to was HUGE on their men's basketball team and i started to think about if vin was in an engineering major student athlete on the basketball basketball team with a fireball of a STEM tutor thrown into the mix and here we are.

i love my reader character already, she means so much to me you guys don't understand. right now it looks impossible for her and vin to be in a romantic relationship, let alone a friendly one, but doesn't the transformation make it all the more satisfying?

i want to hug vin in this chapter. i just know it that he was holding it together when the reader was there but the moment she left and he went home he had a good angry/hurt crying session lying down on his bed. he may or may not have listened to music, i'll leave that up to you to decide and pick the song.

i was debating whether to make it one-post long or divide it up into a multi-part series and considering this part is almost 6k words alone...i think it's the healthiest option to do a multi-part miniseries. i still feel rusty about writing and edited this so many times (and will undoubtedly come back to edit again after its posted) so i hope it's not boring or dull or a drag to get through. thank you thank you thank you if you finished this rambling all the way here. if you enjoyed, please leave down your thoughts about any part of it - your words mean the absolute world. until next time, sending much love to all of you.🤍