Work Text:
Friday, October 13, 2017
Spittalfields, London, England
“Argh!”
Jamie heard Claire’s frustrated cry through his wireless headphones, even over the thrum of MotoGP. He faced away from where she sat at her desk, ostensibly studying for a biochemistry mid-term, but it was hard to miss the tickertape explosion that skittered across the hardwood beneath his feet.
When he turned, Claire was leaning far back, staring up at the ceiling with hands tangling through her unbound curls. A stack of cue cards, each containing a neatly drawn organic compound on one side and its name on the reverse, now lay strewn across the floor in an arc of momentary outrage.
“Somethin’ the matter, Claire?” he ventured tentatively after pausing his game. He generally tried to ignore his flatmate while she was studying, leaving her to mutter arcane medical terminology under her breath and brew endless cups of tea in peace. This latest event seemed outside the norm, however.
“Nothing an extra twelve hours in the day wouldn’t fix,” she replied tartly, looking his way. The usual amber warmth of her gaze was dim and lined with strain. “I apologize for disturbing you with my outburst,” she added.
He bent down and started to collect the dozen or so cards that had slid as far as his perch on the sofa.
“Dinna fash. I was only killin’ time until my shift. I gather yer studies arenna goin’ well, then?”
“I can’t seem to wrestle my brain into focusing. Every nucleic acid looks exactly the same, and don’t even get me started with amino acid chains, with their bloody polypeptides and... Jesus, I’m sorry, Jamie. You aren’t interested in hearing about my biochem headaches.”
He approached the window, collecting cue cards from the floor as he walked.
“Nah, tis interesting. I barely recall Sixth Year Chemistry, save fer the fact that my lab partner was a budding arsonist. I canna imagine all the compounds and such ye’re expected tae ken. The exam’s Monday, aye? Why don’t ye take a wee break, tae recharge yer mind?”
Even as he said it, he knew it was a lost cause. Claire’s will was indominable, and conceding defeat, if only by way of a temporary reprieve, was out of the question. It was the warrior’s spirit he’d recognized in her from the start, far too cherished to wish away.
“What’s this do, then?” he asked, holding up a card where she could see the molecular structure.
“That’s dopamine.”
“Aye, I ken that fine. It says it right here on yer wee note. I asked what it does,” he goaded.
Claire huffed and rolled her eyes, but he knew she couldn’t resist the urge to put him in his place.
“It’s a neuro-transmitter associated with certain executive functions like motor control, reward motivation, lactation and sexual arousal. Often referred to as the love chemical,” she recited drily, eyebrow lifted in provocation.
“Ah,” he replied, shuffling the cards in his hands to avoid further eye contact. “And this one?” he asked, leaning back against the surface of the desk.
They carried on in this way for another fifteen minutes until it was time for him to leave for the fire station. As he donned his boots and jacket he could hear Claire humming along to a phantom tune while she drew on the back of a fresh cue card, a spare pen stuck into the crow’s nest of her newly upswept hair.
“Have a good night, Jamie!” she called out as he opened the door.
“And you,” he replied, waiting until he was safely in the hallway to quietly add, “mo nighean donn.”
***
Claire woke late the next morning, grateful for twenty-four hours without work or classes to really knuckle down and finish studying. After her brief tantrum the day before, she managed to complete a full preliminary review before finally succumbing to sleep. Even after Jamie left for work, she found herself reciting the characteristics of each compound aloud, finding the detail made the names and corresponding structures easier to remember.
You see, Jamie, carbon, hydrogen and oxygen form the core bonds of every carbohydrate, from simple sucrose all the way up to complex polysaccharides...
The door to her flatmate’s bedroom was shut tight, and she knew from experience that he’d sleep until noon after working a graveyard shift. Making herself some toast and fruit, she set the coffee on to brew, knowing Jamie would want it later.
Rather than sit at their tiny table, Claire stood beside the wall-to-wall windows while she ate, and watched the improvisational theatre of the street life below. She enjoyed these quiet mornings, watching the city come to life, in solitude but not solitary.
Once she was fully awake and fortified, she settled into her chair and prepared to do battle with her biochemistry notes. Next to her stack of textbooks, a small piece of paper with Jamie’s distinctive cursive caught her eye.
Spotify Playlist, Dopamine by JAMMF
Intrigued, she opened the app on her phone and typed in the search bar. As she read down the list of songs, she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry, so she ended up splitting the difference with a watery giggle. The ridiculous, precious man had made her a mixtape, and its theme wasn’t subtle. She plugged in her headphones and began to study.
Several hours later, the door to Jamie’s room cracked open and he emerged blinking like a bemused russet owl. He shuffled towards the kitchen, where she knew he’d drink a mug of black coffee in long, bracing draughts before truly waking up for the day. Her eyes sheered away from watching his progress as he lifted the torn hem of his favourite Mogwai concert t-shirt and absently scratched the line of hair that bisected his taut belly.
By the time he returned, she was engrossed in a chapter about protein sequencing. A fresh cup of tea was deposited near her left elbow.
“Thank you,” she smiled up at him.
“Ye’re welcome. How is yer studying comin’ along?”
“Really well, actually. This playlist is amazing! It must have taken you forever to pull together. Was it a slow night, then?”
“Aye, more or less,” he demurred.
“Well, it worked a charm. I may actually survive this mid-term. It was incredibly thoughtful of you, Jamie.” Bashful under praise, he raised his free hand to rub through his sleep-mussed curls, doing nothing to diminish their resemblance to a rooster’s comb.
“Weel, I’ll let ye get tae it, then,” he muttered, turning back towards his bedroom.
“Wait!” Claire startled. “I... uhhh... I could use a little break, actually. Did you want to watch the Australia Fiji match for a bit?”
“Aye. Aye, that would be excellent.”