Work Text:
The days drag.
You go home and pull at your clothes and dream of backlot fucking and hot words in your ear. You get up and shower and pretend the dream means nothing. You drink tea and eat breakfast and go to work and class and pretend.
You make eye contact and hold your resolve and present the project with him. He doesn't so much as greet you and it burns.
You go home and pull at your clothes and dream of backlot fucking and arms wrapped tight around your chest. You get up and shower and pretend the dream means nothing. You drink tea and eat breakfast and go to work and class and pretend.
You don't make eye contact and you hold your resolve and sit up front, alone. You don't know if he looks at you and it burns.
The days continue to drag.
You go home and pull at your clothes and dream of blue blue eyes. You get up and shower and pretend the dream means nothing. You drink tea and eat breakfast and go to work and pretend.
You don't have class. You don't burn.
You don't.
You━
You go home.
You work until the sun filters through your curtains, until the alarm clock rings and rings and━
You stretch and shower and pretend nothing. You drink tea and eat breakfast and go to work. It rains and you hail a cab.
The day is ending and you are exhausted. You drink tea and eat dinner and shower. The bed calls and you heed. It swallows you and you dream of nothing.
You get up and shower and pretend nothing. You drink tea and eat breakfast and go to work and class and pretend nothing.
You don't make eye contact. It doesn't burn.
You go home and pull at your clothes and dream of the sun. It beats at your skin, colors it red and painful. You wake silently, fingers curled in the sheets.
It's your day off and the sky is dark.
You close your eyes but do not dream again.
The days pick up.
You don't talk to him and he doesn't talk to you. There is no eye contact, no accidental touching or fist fights.
It goes on for weeks.
The semester comes to an end.
He corners you after class, asks if this is how it's going to be. His stance is aggressive, shoulders tight. Your own shoulders tense, fists curling in your coat pockets. You can feel the disgust forming on your face, the anger, as you raise your chin. You ask if he thinks he's special, if he thinks he's worth anything more than a backlot fuck.
He snarls at you, lip lifting and jaw clenching. He says you liked his cock enough while the rocks and dirt rubbed at your perfect knees. He spits perfect like an insult, harsh and hot. Your body thrums and you shove him.
For a long minute, you believe he's going to hit you. You want him to hit you.
But he takes a breath and straightens up, curls his fingers in his pockets and walks out without so much as a look back. You burn and he won't even━
Your breath chokes you.