Chapter Text
A pale sparkle of snow covered the rooftops of London.
Light snowflakes fell slowly in the grey waters of the Thames as streetlamps lit up one by one, shining warm yellow in the evening mist. December had arrived, decorating houses all around with beautiful lights, filling the shop windows with fruitcakes and sweets. A soft veil of snow covered the sleeping angels in the yards of churches, the quiet in the outskirts of London seeming unreal, still in time like a photograph. The center of town, however, was a completely different story.
Diego's oxfords weren't the kind of shoes made for walking, much less in the snow- but he was late, way too late to walk back to the other side of Westminster Bridge, get to his apartment, change into something different and arrive on time. His gloved hand squeezed the handle of his briefcase, his steps accelerating. He repeated in his mind the same address over and over; he couldn't afford to forget, not after all the hassle that that meeting caused! He had to elbow his way through a group of tourists taking pictures with Big Ben in the background, a little too rudely, but there was no room for manners now. He hurriedly walked past the ferry bus stop, the urgency of the address repeating in his mind growing every second. He lifted his hand, his index raised to follow the numbers of buildings he passed by, finally stopping at the entrance of one- The right one. He rang the bell just as Big Ben’s bells announced eight in the evening had come.
The thoughts in his head finally settled as a wave of exhaustion washed over him. He realized just how sore his legs were from that stretch of walk, how wet his socks were from the flakes of snow that had slipped inside his shoes as he walked- but he had arrived on time, and that was all that mattered. He waited impatiently, a foot tapping rhythmically on the ground. In the brief span of a minute, his eyes lowered to the watch on his wrist three, four, five times. Time went by slowly, too slowly, unnervingly slowly.
When the entrance door finally opened, he immediately entered the hall, called the elevator, and waited a straining twenty seconds for it before butting in. He stared into the mirror in the elevator. His cheeks were red from the cold, his nose runny. He began to comb his fingers through his hair, attempting to fix the mess the snow had made of it. As he brushed the little snowflakes off his shoulders, he took a deep breath. He had prepared his speech carefully on his way there, studying his words one by one, paying careful attention to every comma and every accent. It would've been splendid. He counted on himself.
Finally stepping out on the third floor, Diego cleared his throat as he approached one of the doors- back straight, briefcase firm in hand, steps confident. He knocked lightly with his knuckles.
"Yeah, yeah...", a voice yawned from inside the apartment, slow footsteps approaching. Diego's eyes lowered at the rug in front of the entrance, squinted to read the writing on it in the blue darkness of the staircase. "Caution, home of a vegan.", he murmured. "Mass murderer of fruits and veggies...", his brows furrowed a bit, "... Who wanted to live.". His lips stirred perplexedly. His gaze moved to the side of the door where a wicker umbrella stand was, red plastic roses intertwined with the bamboo braids. A trail of faint classical music peeped from the serrature, making his eyes close a bit. He tried to remember who composed that piece- he was sure he heard it before.
“Ah, Brando”, the door opened. Diego’s posture straightened quickly, his expression sobered. In front of him was one of his professors from University: Ferdinand. Teacher of Geology, Paleontology, supervisor - and, as Diego apprehended moments earlier-, apparently a murderer of vegetables in his free time.
“What good news...”
“Professor, I am beyond insulted by the spiting words you've emailed me about my thesis!”, Diego opened his mouth, raising his chin a little to look at the man in his face. Ferdinand’s sleepy eyes blinked slowly in reply.
“I have always been a splendid student: I’m proactive, efficient, I work hard. I have applied to countless courses to improve my knowledge, to enrich my culture. I have studied myself to the bone to provide a high-quality thesis over the last semester. I, Diego Brando, will not stand by this insult to my intelligence! You wrote black on white this work wouldn't encourage a teacher to grade it more than a forty-two, it is a high offense!”.
Ferdinand looked at him slightly unimpressed, brows curved in perfectly symmetrical arches drawn across his forehead.
"I was told to bring up any objections I might've had, to this exact address, Professor. I was very uncourteous to a group of people on Westminster Bridge to make it on time. I wanted to be sure I wasn't late by a second, not a single second- because that is how reliable I am! I am dependable, Professor, I am fail-safe! I am the best in my courses, my classes, my institute!"
There was a stretch of silence, during which Diego realized the very center of his chest was trembling with adrenaline. His tense energy, however, didn't seem to pluck even one of Ferdinand's lashes. The man looked down at the watch on his wrist with his lips puckered slightly.
“It’s four minutes past eight, to be exact.”. Diego’s expression stiffened- An annoyed twitch to his nose, his lips stretched.
“My dinner is waiting for me... I should be eating right now, see? Instead, I’m here trying to explain why your thesis would get no more than forty-two...”
"I brought the thesis in question for a more accurate revision, Professor, so we can go over it together. It’s in my-”
"Your briefcase, I’m sure. Sadly, I have no intention to reconsider what was said. I've read that pitiful attempt to a coherent manuscript way too many times already for my nerves to hold another. See, Brando…”, the man gestured widely. "It's quite clear writing isn't in your nature. You're not exactly a talent.".
"If I may object-".
"No, you may not. As I was saying. The essays you turned in over the past year have been a genuine terror to supervise. Nothing is objectively incorrect: your grammar isn't weak, you never exceed word limits, you do your little task and call it a day. That might work for regular assignments, but for a thesis...".
Ferdinand's back rested against the doorframe, his ankles crossed. "... What you wrote would barely make you pass.". Diego's shoulders dropped.
"Professor, I do not agree!"
"You might regrade your thesis once you're a teacher, then..."
"You are disrespecting my hard work as top student of the University!"
"If you ever decide to write something more appealing, feel free to resubmit it... I can't promise it'll go well, but you might do better than... Whatever that thing is. Might.".
A beep from inside the apartment turned Ferdinand's head towards the kitchen.
"Oh, my dinner's ready... That's my call to go.". He threw Diego a complacent glance. "Happy Holidays, I guess.”.
The door closed with a dry thud, a faint puff of blueberry scented air reaching Diego's nostrils before dissipating in the dusty dark of the hall. His fingers, sore from squeezing the handle of his briefcase, loosened their grip for the first time since he arrived there. He stared dumbly at the door in front of him for a while, words and thoughts failing him. After a moment of complete silence, he walked back to the elevator, leaving the building.
He closed the scarf around his neck tighter as he stepped out of the front door, the London mist mixed with icy snowflakes tinting his cheeks red. His black, shiny oxfords sunk in the banks of snow piled on the sidewalks, soaking his socks that had just begun to dry. Diego's mood soured as he trudged back towards Westminster Bridge, the silhouette of Big Ben and its snowy top watching over his small figure as he headed home.
By the time he arrived in Lower Marsh, he could no longer feel his nose or his feet, both completely frozen. Angels decorated in wires glowed a faint electric blue in the fog; Diego stood still under them, eyes tracing the wires lining their wings, for as long as it felt right. With a quiet sigh, he shook his head and returned to his block on campus.
The inside of his apartment was quiet- meaning his roommate must've not returned yet- which annoyed Diego slightly. He tossed his briefcase on the couch, immediately started undressing on his way to his room.
Throwing his jacket on the frame of his bed, he sat down to finally take off his shoes. He clicked his tongue, irritated. His oxfords were full of melted snow, his socks soaking wet, and his feet frozen. Nothing could top that level of discomfort, nothing. Annoyed and cold, he walked over to the bathroom, opened the tap of the tub. He undressed quickly, scattering clothes across the bathroom; He somehow felt less cold completely nude than he did dressed- Probably because of how considerably wet his shirt and pants were from the snow.
He slid inside the tub, the water reaching his chest. His eyes closed, breath settling slowly.
There was no need to worry, not at all. Professor Ferdinand was jealous of him, that was for sure: after all, he was the best student of his University: people loved him, admired him, looked up to him, and wanted to know him. The racing world waited impatiently for his grand comeback, for more first places to pile up on top of his already thousands of races won. Who was Ferdinand next to him? Who did he think he was? It only made sense Ferdinand would try to embarrass him. All he had to do was outsmart Ferdinand by doing marvelous over good, the same as always. He relaxed his tense shoulders, unlocked his jaw. Ferdinand underestimated him. He wasn’t just anybody, he was Diego Brando- And Diego Brando wasn’t a quitter.
“Wait, you got how much?”
“Ninety-nine.”
Valentine's flat gaze lifted to Diego’s face, meeting his narrow and menacing eyes: “You wrote twenty-five bloody pages!”
“Twenty-five perfect pages”, Valentine corrected him, “Dramatically better than your lengthy, uninteresting research.”.
Diego’s knife sunk in the yolk of his egg, bright orange pooling on his plate. A stiff grimace stirred his lips, wrinkling the corners of his mouth. Silence fell, of the tense kind, but only Diego seemed to be aware of it; Valentine continued his breakfast unbothered, taking brief sips of his latte every so often.
“You’re just weak- as writer and researcher”, he cut his pancake in four perfect triangles, folding one with his fork to dip it in a disgusting colored jam- Diego’s face wrinkled in horror at his roommate’s eating habits more each day.
“I’m marvelous, as both”, he cleared his throat, looking away to recompose.
“Professor Ferdinand and I simply don't get along splendidly.”
Valentine raised his slim brows slightly.
"I wouldn't get along splendidly with you either if I were your supervisor and you submitted a thesis on paleoenvironment."
Diego scowled, a slight twist to his lips. "It wasn't paleoenvironment, you sopping wanker- It was vertebrate paleontology and paleoecology."
"Beyond thrilling, if you want to be a natural museum tour guide... I'm sure children will make you their prehistoric grass hero."
"Your mere existence is a disgrace to humanity, Valentine."
"I was told", Valentine finished his latte, lips pursed in a petty expression.
Diego scoffed, arms crossed. He wanted to destroy that complacent expression of Valentine’s with all his heart. Valentine was not smarter than him, not by any means; not more talented, not more intelligent. He knew Valentine must've thought such vulgarities of him: that Diego Brando is a loser, he could never handle this, he barks but doesn't bite. He squeezed his hands in tight fists.
"I'll submit my thesis in six weeks", Diego impulsively said.
Valentine choked on his food, coughing unceremoniously. Diego's lips stretched in a triumphant smile. Valentine's bony fingers grabbed the edge of the table as he took a long chug of water. He set his glass down loudly, moved his wide, incredulous eyes on Diego.
“Six weeks?” he repeated hoarsely, lips stirred to wrinkle his dimples in a strangely painful expression.
“Clearly”, Diego’s shoulders lifted almost playfully as he spoke.
“Why are you surprised? I had readied a second thesis I haven’t let Ferdinand examine yet. It’s almost unnerving how intelligent, brilliant, marvelous I am... Don't tell me you thought I wouldn’t have a plan B.”
Valentine wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, left it rested on his lips for a moment with a blank stare, lost in thought.
“And what’s this brilliant thesis on?” he asked after a pondered pause.
“Fossils”, Diego replied quickly. “Focuses more on certain species of dinosaurs, the Utahraptor for example... Not like a student of Politics would understand anything about this.”
Valentine glared at him weakly, crumpled his tissue and got up from his chair. Diego’s hands crossed behind his head: “Disheartened, Valentine?”
“I have to revise my defense, Brando”, Valentine adjusted the buttons of his coat in the mirror, briefcase in hand. “Unlike you, I got it perfect first time.”
“You got ninety-nine, not perfect. I, Diego Brando, will get it perfect.”
Their eyes locked for a tense, long moment before Valentine left for the library, leaving Diego alone to his victorious grinning.
He took a sip of his tea, cheeks sore from the expression printed on his face.
“He thought he could outsmart me…”, he snorted. “Ridiculous!”
He peacefully finished his breakfast, walked to his bedroom to get dressed, humming a tune quietly. He changed out of his pajamas and prepared another cup of coffee, sat down at his desk.
The smile on his face didn’t exactly have any meaning or reason anymore: it simply lingered, albeit faintly. He turned on his shiny laptop, moved the files of his old project directly into the bin where they belonged, and readied a new document. He stared intently at the blank white page before him, his smile the slight one of someone concealing tremendous pain.
Diego Brando never had a plan B for this thesis- he seemed to snap back to his senses in front of the evidence that there was nothing on his computer but a project in the trash bin.
His cheeks went pale as he took a long sip of coffee. If he didn’t want to give Valentine the satisfaction of stepping on his pride, he would’ve had to write a thesis in six weeks; A thesis on fossils, to get a perfect one hundred and exemplary grading. The sudden silence of his thoughts was mortifying.
He rubbed the adrenaline off his face with a weary run of palms. He sighed out quietly, crossed his fingers to cup his forehead, thumbs pressed on his temples.
Utahraptors- Out of all the smart things he could’ve said, he said Utahraptors.