Chapter Text
“I’ll be back by dinner!” Jayce calls out as he grabs the doorknob to his front door, plucking his keys off the hook. He glances at himself in the mirror, runs a hand through black hair, and straightens his collar for something to do with his hands. A tiny difference he can make. A way to have control over something, anything. “Good luck in class,” Caitlyn responds from her spot studying at the kitchen table. It’s her usual response, but there’s an edge to it that isn’t normally there. An unspoken “You need it.” hangs heavy in the air. They make eye contact over Caitlyn’s giant textbook and the bright blue eyes that sear into Jayce’s soul are too much to bear. Ducking out of her stare, he opens the door and walks out, calling a devastated “thanks,” over his shoulder.
And it’s devastating because he does need it. She knows. Caitlyn always knows. They’ve known each other since they were kids, practically brother and sister. There’s not a thought that crosses Jayce’s mind, an emotion that afflicts his heart, that Caitlyn doesn’t catch in her fast hands and examine every corner of, relentless and overbearing.
Failing classes isn’t even that big of a deal. It’s normal. Failing classes is a completely normal thing that completely normal students do. The problem is, Jayce can’t. His scholarships, the only reason he can attend this stuck-up joint in the first place, would all disappear if he so much as got a D in any course, and it’s too late to drop classes without penalty. The penalty isn’t a fee Jayce can afford. He’s already taken out the maximum loans he can, Caitlyn already pays all of their rent, and Jayce is already in deep, deep shit.
But if he thinks about it too hard he’ll have another one of those things Caitlyn's girlfriend, Vi, called a panic attack. No, she said it was an anxiety attack. But they’re the same thing. Or they’re not? Or they are and they aren’t? Jayce can’t remember. He can’t remember anything. Can’t remember anything with his no-good, very-bad brain. And here comes said panic attack- or anxiety attack- whatever- in 3… 2… 1…
Crying behind the wheel isn’t new to Jayce. Driving home from campus after a bad day or a bad class or a bad test always results in a cathartic cry session while listening to sad music. Better than on campus in front of other students. (Not that he hasn’t done or seen his fair share of crying on solitary outdoor benches.) But this, this is not crying. Jayce can’t breathe. He can’t breathe and he can’t think and everything hurts and his stupid brain doesn’t work. He should pull over. He should really pull over. But if he pulls over, he’ll be late to class. And being late to class means missing the quiz. And missing the quiz means a 0. And a 0 means not having a chance to fix this. He has to fix this. Please. He just has to make it to campus.
By some miracle, he does. Jayce is genuinely surprised by the feeling of his hand throwing his car into park. Like he was gone from his body and is coming back, the sight of the parking garage fades into view. Good. Great. Now all he has to do is sit through class and pretend everything is fine. Par for the course. He can do that.
Except that he remembers on the walk to class (when his stupid brain finally decides to work) that he doesn’t have to sit there, he has a quiz to take. And it’s not that Fluid Systems doesn’t make sense. It would, it should, but something isn’t clicking in his brain. It’s probably the part of his brain that decided this class would be easy and put 17 hours in the last 3 days studying for every other class except for this one. The same part of his brain that spent 11 hours in the last 3 days huddled over an office desk in the Student Government building planning a senate proposal with the student body president, Mel Medarda, who has a knack for making him forget all his other responsibilities. The same part of his brain that remembered this quiz at 8:00pm last night, opened the study guide, and immediately short-circuited upon realizing he knew nothing on it.
“But, Jayce, one quiz isn’t going to ruin your entire grade!” you say. And sure, that’s a fair point. For most classes. Unfortunately, this class has exactly 6 assignments: 4 quizzes, a midterm, and a final. Jayce can technically fail this one, a 60% wouldn’t do him in, but he’s heard 60% is a decent grade for this class for students who studied. And missing all the information for this quiz means he’ll have to go back and relearn it all before the next one. Where will he find the time?
-
Life seems to be fading in and out of existence when Jayce stumbles into the giant lecture hall. Focus. Find a seat. Jayce spots an empty seat halfway up (not too close that he feels anxious, not too far that he feels like he’s hiding something). “Excuse me, pardon me, sorry,” Jayce mumbles apologies as he passes already seated students to make it to the available spot. No one responds except to shift out of the way, as is courtesy, until the last person before the empty spot. Jayce is halfway scooting past when he notices there’s a short crutch propped against the chair. Oh shit. “Ah, sorry,” the student mumbles, accent thick. (Russian, maybe? Vaguely Eastern European? To be blunt, Jayce is American and ten seconds from another panic attack, so he has no idea.) He leans and grabs the cane to move it. “Did you need the open seat? I can find another-” Jayce tries to start, flustered and worried he has offended the other guy, but he’s cut off. “No, no. I simply forgot I set it there.” Jayce finishes his awkward shuffle, being extra careful not to knock into this guy's legs or step on his feet. It’s difficult, given Jayce’s large stature, but he manages. There’s one thing he got right today, at least. “Well, thanks, then!” Jayce offers as genuine of a smile as he can muster.
When Jayce sits down, he finally gets a good look at the other student as he shuffles his set-up around to accommodate for moving his crutch back into the small space each seat provides. Thin face and arms, curling sandy-brown hair combed neatly away from his face, and bright golden eyes. Is that even genetically possible? Before he can think about it too much, Jayce is distracted by the student’s outfit: a soft cardigan over a striped button-down, tailored pants, and a fancy belt. He looks like… what had Vi’s younger sister called it? Academic? Academia? Yeah, academia aesthetic, that was it. He’s probably another 3rd year since most students don’t manage to go faster than the track when it comes to Mechanical Engineering. Maybe he’d be a good study buddy? That had been Caitlyn’s suggestion at the start of the semester, to find someone to study with for each of his classes. He should’ve done it sooner. He wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place if he had. Jayce decides to judge a book by its cover and assumes the very studious outfit means this guy is smart.
He checks his phone. Ten minutes until class starts. Perfect. Just enough time. “I’m Jayce, by the way!” Jayce sticks his hand out to shake, and it seems to startle the other student. He turns wide eyes on him. “Uh, Viktor. Nice to meet you, Jayce,” Viktor shakes his hand with a surprising amount of steadiness and grace despite his initial shock at the gesture. “That’s a cool name,” Jayce almost asks where he’s from but thinks better of it. He’s anxious to the point of throwing up about this quiz but he’s not anxious enough to start being accidentally insensitive. Mel would be proud of him.
“You, uh, ready for this quiz?” Jayce asks, desperate to keep up the conversation with Viktor to distract himself from the failure that was about to wreak havoc on his life. “I think so,” Viktor replies, “Your tone, however, tells me you are not as confident?” His voice is light and teasing but Jayce is surprised by the amount of genuine concern in his eyes. Ah, this was a bad topic choice. Jayce feels this panic rise with bile in his throat. “I kinda forgot this class existed until last night, not gonna lie. It’s my only one that doesn’t require lecture attendance, so…” Jayce feels the shame of looking stupid in front of this stranger wash over him. He feels the urge to justify everything. To tell Viktor about his accomplishments, to talk about Student Government, to bring up his GPA. He decides to shut up instead. “A fatal mistake. I have definitely been there.” Viktor nods like he understands the full depth of Jayce’s situation. It feels terrible and wonderful to not hear “I’m sure you’ll do fine,” like he thought he would. Because he will not do fine.
“Did you study?” Jayce presses on. Five minutes until the quizzes are passed out. “I did. I did not get much sleep last night, as a result. I am never sure where to draw the line between extra studying and proper sleep,” Viktor chuckles to himself like he’s been told that a lot. Now that he’s said it, actually, Jayce can see the sheer weight of the bags under Viktor’s eyes. “Would you consider having a study buddy for the next one?” Jayce asks, hopeful and rushing because he sees the TA walk in from the corner of his eyes. A bolt of panic runs up his spine. Something in Viktor’s expression shifts. “I usually study alone, but I would consider making an exception.” Viktor barely gets the words out before Jayce is pushing his phone into Viktor’s hands. “Mind if I get your number then? The quiz is about to start and I don’t want you to have to wait for me to answer 50 questions I don’t know to set up a time or something,” Jayce can tell he’s rambling. The papers get pulled out of the locked desk at the front of the room. Here goes nothing. “I am international, so I do not have a phone number, but I can give you my WhatsApp or GroupMe,” Viktor places the phone back in Jayce’s hand and reaches into his pocket instead to pull out a tiny leather-bound notebook with an equally tiny pen that slots through the spine.
As Viktor flips through the pages for a clean one, Jayce sees gorgeous script in an unknown language, scribbled notes and diagrams like the writings of a madman. Woah. Just as the TA begins to get everyone’s attention, Viktor writes his information down (thank god it’s legible) and tears it out, placing it in Jayce’s outstretched hand. “Thanks,” Jayce mutters, zipping it into his backpack and praying to any deity that might actually exist that this doesn’t go as terribly as he thinks it will. A piece of paper makes its way to his table. He reads the first question. A very complicated diagram involving two cylinders and a bunch of numbers he doesn’t understand. Okay, not helpful. What about the question? “The figure shows two cylinders of diameter D and 2D, connected to each other and containing an incompressible fluid. The two cylinders are fitted with leak-proof pistons of weight W1 and W2 as shown. Which of the following is a correct expression?” Nope. No way. He’s so fucked.
Tears fill his eyes. Not now. Please, not now. But the anxiety is back. And the salty tears trail lines down his face towards the paper. He’s careful to shield the quiz from the rain. How embarrassing would it be to turn in a quiz stained with tears? Maybe the TA would feel bad and give him bonus points. Maybe the TA would laugh and take extra joy in writing F at the top of the page. Either way, Jayce does not want to find out. At least he gets to keep most of his dignity because the people around him don’t spare a glance in his direction (and he manages to keep any snotty-ness or sniffling in check).
Jayce Christmas trees any questions he doesn’t know, takes an unhealthy amount of joy at the ones he does, and loses all the gained joy in questions he swears he read the solutions to in his textbook last night but cannot for the life of him figure out how to apply to what the quiz is asking. And then Viktor finishes. Jayce is careful not to actually look up, he doesn’t want to look like he’s cheating, but there’s a comfort to watching Viktor sigh from his peripheral vision. His new acquaintance gives the quiz an obvious one over, picks his backpack up, puts it on still seated, and hauls himself up using the table and his cane, quiz firmly in his right hand.
And when he’s gone, Jayce looks at his own shoddy work and decides he’s looked at it enough. No amount of staring into the void is going to magically teach him fluid systems. Time to bite the bullet. He does the same song and dance as before, avoiding feet and legs as he makes his way out of the aisle (and wonders how Viktor doesn’t stab someone in the foot with his cane trying to do this).
Jayce blames the searing brightness of the sun for why tears well up again when he’s outside. He can’t go into the office today, not like this. Mel will understand. Student Government is always promoting mental health awareness shit. Surely, they can excuse him from his self-chosen office hours. He’ll work extra tomorrow. Jayce sends a text to President Medarda <3 on his phone: [( hey, can’t come into office today. We can meet online though if you have changes to make to the proposal. )]> The response he gets is immediate: <[( Sounds good! Everything alright? You sound upset. )] How can he sound upset over text? And, more importantly, if he does, how can Mel tell? [( class stuff )]> and he leaves it at that. No denial, no elaboration. Because he doesn’t have the energy for either. It works, his phone never dings with a reply.
-
Caitlyn’s still at the dining table when he returns. “You look awful,” is the first thing that comes out of Caitlyn’s mouth. “Gee, thanks.” Jayce drops his bag into one of the dining table chairs with an unceremonious thud, slumping into the neighboring one himself, across from Caitlyn. “What happened?” Always looking for information, this girl. Jayce swears every day of the last 8 years of his life has been an ongoing interrogation with Caitlyn around. He snorts, wishing he could laugh but lacking the capacity to do so. “Forgot about one of my classes. Got my ass kicked by a quiz,” Jayce admits, knowing that trying to hide will result in a miserable 12-hour murder case starring Caitlyn as the detective. “Jayce, I told you to find study buddies,” Caitlyn chides, not looking up from her textbook. It’s better that way. Jayce is afraid that if she looks up, she’ll see how much worse it is than Jayce is letting on with his words.
“I know you did, I just- oh wait!” Jayce scrambles for his backpack, unzipping it and rummaging around for the piece of paper inside. Viktor’s contact info! “I know it’s a little late, but I did find a study partner today. He said we could study together for the next quiz,” Jayce holds up the tiny notepad paper like it’s the most precious thing he owns. Caitlyn looks up to see what he’s referring to. Her eyes examine every edge and corner of the paper, trace the words with her eyes. “Good.” She nods her approval after her thorough examination, strands of inky black and blue hairs that don’t reach her ponytail fall from behind her ears. They’ll have to re-dye it soon. Jayce wonders if his days of helping her do that are gone and if she’ll ask Vi next time. It’s a fleeting thought. He’s distracted by Caitlyn hastily retucking the fallen strands of her hair as she pushes her textbook to the side.
“Vi is coming over tonight, so I’m making stir-fry for dinner. If that’s okay?” And Jayce hears the question underneath. The same as always. Is it okay if Vi comes to stay with us for a while? “Yeah, of course. It’s not like I paid for the groceries, anyways. So I don’t really get a say, do I?” He smirks with no real joke behind it and knows Caitlyn hears what he’s saying. It’s not like I pay for rent, anyways. So I don’t really get a say in if your girlfriend practically lives here, do I? Caitlyn doesn’t appreciate it if the roll of her eyes is any indication or the condescending tone when she replies, “I already told you to stop making self-deprecating jokes about you not paying for stuff.” And that’s the end of their conversation.
Jayce pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens WhatsApp, typing in the number Viktor gave him. At first, he thinks it’s a fake number because the international dialing code is +420, but he gives it a google and it turns out it’s a real dialing code. And it’s the Czech Republic. Lovely, a place Jayce knows nothing about (and embarrassingly clicks on the map button to see where it is). After double-checking that that is, in fact, Eastern European, he feels a weird satisfaction at being correct about Viktor’s accent. If you couldn't tell, geography and history aren’t Jayce’s strong suits. He’s more of a math kind of guy. But hey, wouldn’t it be funny if Viktor was a big weed guy with a dialing code like that?
[( This is Jayce from Fluid Systems :) if you saw me crying during the quiz, no you didn’t. I promise I’m not stupid and that I usually get A’s in my classes and that I’ll be a good study partner )]> Jayce types the message out, reads it about 15 times, considers asking Caitlyn to give her opinion (decides against that), and hits send.
He doesn’t get a reply until half an hour later, half a beer in on the couch: <[( I didn’t see a thing. )] Jayce can’t help but laugh to himself, mood lifted after a mind-numbing scroll through TikTok. Perfect. <[( If you want to study for the next one, it is only two weeks from now. Going to start studying this weekend, if you would like to join. Does the library work? )] This weekend… Jayce doubts he’ll be doing anything this weekend if Vi is here entertaining Caitlyn. And he doesn’t feel like doing anything regardless, even though it might be too early in the week to decide since it’s only Tuesday. Oh well. [( My weekend is open! Just let me know what day/time you’re going and I’ll join )]> In lieu of a verbal response, Viktor sends him the smiling cat-face emoji. Huh? Is it cute or super weird? He laughs. And then catches himself. Jayce is going to move on. No judging, because people are different all over the world. That’s what Mel would say. But… the cat-face emoji can’t be a cultural phenomenon in the Czech Republic… right? No, surely not. He lets himself laugh at it again.
-
He shows the text to Vi at dinner, who laughs way too loud at it. Jayce is tipsy so it doesn’t grate on his nerves like it usually would. “How the fuck is that emoji an acceptable response to anything?” Vi hollers, shoveling another bite of stir-fry into her mouth. Jayce likes to think she got the scar on her upper lip from stabbing herself with a fork while eating too fast. “I have no idea,” Jayce says. “I’m surprised this guy thinks he can tolerate you long enough to study with you,” Vi replies, mouth full. Gross. “Rude!” Jayce laughs it off. He has to keep his good mood going until he falls asleep or he’ll cry himself to sleep. And that never feels good. “Jayce is much more tolerable when it comes to school-related endeavors,” Caitlyn sends him a sly smile. “I’m being bullied,” Jayce complains around his spoon. “Oh, shut up, you big baby,” Vi cackles back, flicking her bright pink bangs out of the way of her right eye.
Jayce’s phone vibrates. He waits until Caitlyn and Vi start a conversation on their own before he peeks at the message. Caitlyn always gives him shit when he uses his phone at the table. <[( I have been informed by a colleague that the cat emoji was a weird choice. But he is old and I do not trust him. Was it a weird choice? Is it not just a smile but cat? )] Jayce chuckles, getting the attention of Caitlyn and Vi and interrupting their frankly very interesting debate about what things sour cream does and does not pair with. He’ll have to give his opinions later. “Whatcha giggling at over there, bud?” Vi wiggles her dark eyebrows at him, nudging Caitlyn like they’re sharing an inside joke. “Viktor asked if the cat emoji was weird.” Jayce shakes his head, still chuckling. “You better tell him the truth. He deserves to know,” Caitlyn says, nodding like this is a very serious matter, but she doesn’t manage to hold in a tiny smile.
[( I was caught off guard but it was pretty funny, not gonna lie. I showed it to my roommates and we had a good laugh )]> Jayce replies. <[( Laughing at me, or with me? I’m being told this is a very important distinction )] Who is this colleague that is making Viktor such a riot to talk to? Jayce didn’t think getting Viktor’s number was going to be free entertainment. He turns the phone to Caitlyn and Vi, who get a giggle out of it before they start clearing the table of dirty dishes. [( should I lie to make you feel better? )]> Jayce hits send and then stands to help, but he gets another immediate reply. <[( no, you should not )] Who is this guy? Jayce doesn’t usually reply right away, but the conversation seems so easy and silly. [( laughing at, but in a good way. Like a ‘please tell me this is for real because it’s hilarious’ way. )]> and he clicks his screen off. Jayce is pretty sure Mel wouldn’t approve of this conversation, would dote and worry about Jayce making fun of someone, about Jayce making a bad name for Student Government. But, as he takes another sip of cheap beer, he can’t bring himself to care.
-
The next day, Jayce goes into the Student Government office after his 8am class feeling like shit. He’s hungover, the pastry he got from the vending machine isn’t doing it, and neither is the coffee from the free dispenser at the entrance to the office. Jayce wishes he wasn’t working directly with Mel so he could avoid her. “You seem a little under the weather, Jayce. Is everything alright?” A delicate hand curls around his shoulder from his side. “Y’know, Caitlyn said the same thing to me last night but not nearly as nicely,” Jayce chuckles and turns out of her grip to face her instead.
“Well, my apologies for her word choice.” Mel Medarda looks fantastic today, as always. Long braids piled high into a lovely updo with gold beads that looks like it took years to perfect, white blouse and tan skirt a perfect compliment to her soft, dark skin. It makes him inexplicably mad. She’s never a millimeter short of perfect. “I didn’t say I liked your version better,” Jayce quips back, feeling spicy today from his pulsing headache. “Point taken, Mr. Talis. Next time I will say you look like shit,” and her mouth curls into a conspiratorial smile, green eyes twinkling with mischief. “Perfect,” Jayce breathes out with a grumble and downs the rest of his coffee, walking to the front to grab another.
Mel falls in pace with him. Looks like he’ll have company. “Would you like to talk about what is wrong?” She asks and Jayce tries to think of a nice way to say any of it. I’m upset because I prioritize all the wrong things. No, that sounds like he regrets taking this job as Vice President and helping her with the very important senate proposals that would help a lot of students. He loves doing that. He doesn’t regret that. I’m angry at myself for being stupid. She’ll just rub his shoulder and tell him he’s wrong. He’s not. I’m constantly fluctuating between very happy and very sad and I keep having panic attacks- no, anxiety attacks (stupid) and I think something deeper is wrong with me but I don’t have the time or money to look into it and I don’t want to make Caitlyn worry or hear lectures from Vi or trigger Jinx or- oh.
Jayce swallows around the dryness in his throat. “There’s not much to say,” he lies. It comes out so fake and flat. He flashes his winning smile to make up for it, the one he’s been told shows off his canines in a beautiful way. Powerful and surefooted. Mel knows it’s fake. She smiles back anyways with sad eyes, takes his cup from his hands, sets it down, and hits the cappuccino button for him on the machine.
After coffee, he and Mel throw themselves into their work. Jayce’s favorite part of the day. “But if we propose a budget increase for the food pantry, where will we pull it from?” Mel is standing in front of a whiteboard with every one of their initiatives laid out. In their campaign for President and Vice President, they made a lot of promises to the student body to increase support for marginalized and struggling students, and Jayce intends to deliver on every single one of them. “Are we paying for anything that students don’t use? I remember there being a report on that last year in the school newspaper,” Jayce shuffles through the various papers on his desk, looking to see if it’s in there by some stroke of luck. “I reread that one yesterday. Unfortunately, the university has made promises to a lot of those companies that we can’t really break,” Mel says far too casually for the words coming out of her mouth. Those words should be seething with anger, no? Shouldn’t “We can’t support students because we’re morally corrupted by monetary gain” have more of a bite to it?
“It would still be worth seeing which ones the university might be willing to drop,” Jayce says instead of commenting on her tone. “Alright, I’ll go grab that article and scan it to ask around with the advisors if they think any of them would have some wiggle room,” and she’s off. Alone in their private office, Jayce continues to dig through his pile. It has to be in there somewhere. He swears it is! “Gotcha!” Jayce whispers to himself when he finally fishes the article out of the mess.
Do students even know that half of these services are available to them? This article was written last semester, and when he contacted the students on the reporting team for it a month or so ago, they said that the number of students didn’t increase even with the awareness brought by the article. So it can’t be only a lack of knowledge of the services stopping them. He decided to run a little test on a random average student in his contact list. But who to ask? Most of his friends were in Student Government or the Honors program, the people who set these things up and write about them in the first place. He opens his phone to see a little (1) notification on WhatsApp. Viktor! Perfect.
Opening their thread from last night, Jayce laughs again at the little cat emoji waiting for him. The confidence took to send that, Jayce cannot fathom. There’s a new text waiting for him in their conversation. <[( Thank you for articulating that, I no longer regret sending that emoji so much. I was worried I had ruined my social career before it even started )] This kid is something else. [( Hey Viktor! Could I ask you something for a tiny experiment for my job? )]> He waits a minute to see if he’ll get an immediate response. No such luck. Looks like he’ll have to send his question without waiting for confirmation and see what he gets in response. [( Have you used either the food bank on campus or the free Adobe suite access? If you have, I’d love to pick your brain about it. )]>
Mel returns with a stack of papers in hand and the Dean of Students in tow, looking like she’s seen a ghost. Oh god. Mrs. Kiramman. Caitlyn’s mom. One of the most intimidating people Jayce has ever met. And if Mel looks afraid in this moment, Jayce should be very, very afraid.
“Mr. Talis, please do not look so much like I have arrived bearing terrible news before I have even opened my mouth,” Dean Kiramman sits politely in the guest chair in front of Jayce’s messy desk, crossing her legs at the ankle. He plops into his seat across from her. “My bad, Dean Kiramman. I’m a little bit frazzled today,” he says and hopes that’s enough to appease her. “You must be, considering you thought it was a fruitful idea to go knocking and ask others about cutting very useful services we provide students through the University.” She interlaces her finger together in her lap, sharp blue gaze condescending. It’s a stare Jayce gets all the time from Caitlyn. They have the same eyes. It never gets easier to stomach.
He looks at Mel for support. She’s hovering over Dean Kiramman’s shoulder, clutching the stack of copies to her chest like it could protect her from the Dean's wrath. Her eyes hold nothing but dizzying shame. “With all due respect, Dean Kiramman, we have the data that shows that despite knowing about these services, students don’t find them very useful. Shouldn’t we be using the money on something they’ll actually benefit from?” Jayce pushes the original article he was reading, the one Mel made copies of, towards her. “Be careful with your words, Jayce. I would hardly call the student-run newspaper a reliable source for unbiased data,” Dean Kiramman grabs the article off the table but doesn’t read it through. She stares at it. Like she could turn it to ash in her hands if she glared long enough.
“If we found a way to collect unbiased data from a representative sample of the student population, do you think the university would be willing to listen?” Jayce presses. He’s going to find out if this is about the data or not. “Regardless,” Mel finds her voice, the puff returning to her chest, “It’s not the university we have to convince. It's the student body Senate.” Dean Kiramman hums - hums the way Caitlyn hums when Jayce says something she knows to be false but doesn’t feel like starting a fight about. “What?” Jayce snaps. Is it so hard to get the truth out of anyone in this office? The look Dean Kiramman shoots at him is full of fire and rage, a caged tornado, until it releases into disdain. As if Jayce isn’t worth the time. “A lot of these items are contracts that have another 10 or so years on them until they expire. Even if you vote them out, you will have to wait years for the money to be usable again.” With that, Dean Kiramman stands. “I expect more thoughtful work from the two of you in the future. I will forgive this time, but only because the semester has just started and you are getting used to your positions. And you will get used to your positions.” There’s nothing to do but watch the back of her tweed maroon pantsuit as leaves.
As soon as the door shuts behind her, the click of her heels audible through the door, Jayce lets the waterworks come forward. He expects horror and shame to rise, but when he looks at Mel, she’s as shaken as he is. It quells his personal anxieties. “I don’t know how much more I can take this week, Mel,” he says, the most candid he’s ever been with her. A cry for help. A call for attention. He needs something, anything, or this week is going to end in a spectacularly horrible way. But she’s not Caitlyn, she can’t hear the subtext to his words. Mel shakes her head, sets down the copies, and dusts off her shirt. “It’s going to take a lot more than that to make me give up on this.” Mel glares at their closed door. Jayce’s phone buzzes where it sits on the desk. The screen lights up with the notification. Viktor. <[( I wouldn't be alive if not for the food bank lol I heard the Student Government was looking into expanding it. That would make me and a lot of my friends very happy. )] Damnit. Now it’s personal. Jayce slams his forehead into the desk with a groan, startling Mel. Time to add Viktor to his list of people Jayce will disappoint if they can’t figure this out. Great.
-
Friday morning rolls around and Jayce wakes up to a notification. Quiz 1’s score has been posted to the grade book. Fuck. Oh fuck. He stumbles out of bed, still in his underwear, and into the living room. Empty. Caitlyn and Vi aren’t up. Fuck fuck fuck. He looks at the clock. 8:30am. They won’t be up for a while. Okay, that’s okay. He can do this. He doesn’t need Cait to open it for him. He can open it. He can do it. Everything is going to be fine.
His hand shakes. Time slows. Time moves too fast. His fingers slip on his own password. He’s going to open it because he can do it and everything is going to be fine. The notification. Click the notification. No, that's too sudden. Too much. Open the app first. Then the class. Okay. Okay. Everything is going to be fine. Close your eyes. Click the grade book. Everything is going to be fine. Open your eyes.
26%.
Everything is ruined.