Chapter Text
Keqing can’t help the deepening furrow between her brows. Just what the hell is this prof going on about? She had very much been looking forward to this class, but while the lecture is clear and informative, detailed in all the right ways, it’s also disappointingly archaic. She seems to be the only one who thinks so, however.
When the floor finally opens for discussion, Keqing doesn’t hesitate to jump in, although the almost indulgent look in the prof’s eyes sets her teeth on edge. No one else in the class seems to care enough—or more likely, is awake enough—to participate, which is fine by her. It’s part of the reason she likes taking these early morning classes so much.
As the lecture moves on to a new topic, Keqing catches a sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. She allows herself a quick glance over her shoulder. There, at the back of the room, a girl gives her head a shake as she sweeps a long braid the colour of a cloudless sky over her shoulder. Then, she pulls up her hood and rests her chin in her hands, her eyelids drooping. Keqing blinks once before returning her attention to the prof, who sorely needs correcting on the actual value of pastiche in modern filmmaking.
The rest of Keqing’s classes that morning go smoothly. She doesn’t foresee this semester to be any kind of a challenge. The hardest part will be keeping her eyes firmly inside her skull with how much she’s going to want to roll them at some of the readings being assigned. It will never cease to amaze her how blatantly pretentious film theorists can be. And what’s with them still using Freudian theory? Absurd.
Keqing cuts through the Student Centre on her way to the Library Tower, planning to kill some time before her afternoon classes by familiarizing herself with the film section and scoping out any good study spots when the smell of baking catches her attention. It hits her out of nowhere, and her stomach seizes the opportunity to remind her that breakfast was several long hours ago.
She follows the scent until she finds herself standing in front of a small cafe, half-hidden in the east wing and enclosed by tacky rippled glass windows. For several seconds she stands there, debating if she should go in or if it would be better to find lunch elsewhere. But when another waft of something fresh out of the oven hits her, her feet decide for her.
She pushes the door open to the chime of a bell. The cafe is deserted, devoid of any patrons or staff. But batter doesn’t bake itself; someone must be around.
She’s barely taken a step inside when a voice calls from the back, “Be with you in a second!”
Keqing nods as she steps up to the counter to wait, resisting a child-like urge to tap the call bell sitting next to the register.
A minute later someone rounds the corner, shaking off her hands. “Sorry about that, what can I get for—” She cuts herself off and hesitates for a split second before finishing her sentence, her voice noticeably lower, “you.”
Strange, thinks Keqing, raising an eyebrow and taking in her somewhat dishevelled appearance. A smudge of flour dusts one of her cheeks and her hair, mostly tied back in a long braid, still requires a varied assortment of clips just to keep the shorter layers that frame her face in check. Despite all that, there is something familiar about her and Keqing wastes no time telling her so.
“You look very familiar.”
The girl gives her an inscrutable look. “Uh, yeah,” she says. “I’m Ganyu. You’re in my 8 AM film theory class with Dr Zhongli.”
“Right,” says Keqing. “You’re the girl who was dozing off in the back of the room.”
“W—what? I was not—”
“I don’t know why you’d take a class if you don’t even bother showing up awake enough to pay attention,” says Keqing. Surely this Ganyu girl could have found a section held at a time more suited to her sleep schedule. It’s a waste of time and money otherwise, in Keqing’s modest opinion.
Ganyu’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and it’s then that Keqing notices how they are almost identical in colour and intensity to a late summer sunrise over the lake back home.
Ganyu swallows before replying. “Yeah, well,” she says. “It’s been a rough morning.”
Keqing hums, still distracted by Ganyu’s eyes. She blinks, tearing her gaze away and focusing instead on the menu mounted on the wall behind the counter. Ganyu’s fingers fly over the register as she rings up Keqing's order, and then she turns on her heel to begin making Keqing’s flat white with an enviable ease. Keqing watches as she grabs her sandwich and bags some cookies, then puts it all onto a tray before silently handing it over.
Keqing offers her a small smile as she takes the proffered tray. “Thank you,” she says. “I’m Keqing, by the way.”
Ganyu only hums in acknowledgement, her expression impassive.
“I’ll see you around, Ganyu,” says Keqing, liking the way Ganyu’s name feels on her tongue. Then she abruptly turns away, feeling a faint heat rising in her cheeks. She gives herself a mental shake as she takes her leave.
She finds a table in the main cafeteria to eat her lunch as her mind replays the conversation in the cafe over and over again. Ganyu seems a bit frigid, but she can’t help but think there’s more to her than meets the eye. And speaking of eyes, Ganyu’s are a work of art, as deep and dangerous as the ocean. Keqing would be very willing to drown in them for a while if ever given the opportunity.
As far as her lunch goes, the coffee is good, exactly how Keqing likes it, though the sandwich is nothing to write home about. It's all overpriced, though. But even so, Keqing can see herself eating there again sometime, if she happens to be passing by and is starving to death. She pulls out one of the cookies and takes a bite, humming in surprise. These cookies are fucking delicious, easily worth the cost of everything else and then some. Yeah, no, she’ll definitely be going back for more of these in the future. And the possibility of seeing Ganyu again will just be a nice added bonus.
The next couple weeks pass with a predictable monotony. Keqing attends and excels in all her classes, which is not surprising. She visits the cafe and Ganyu isn’t ever there, which is a bit disappointing. But she does catch her eye a few times as she arrives to class, slipping into her seat with seconds to spare. Keqing can’t find it in herself to approve of such a fine margin of error when it comes to punctuality, but she relishes any brief glimpses of Ganyu she can get.
Keqing’s finely crafted plans for a straightforward semester are dashed all at once when Dr Zhongli goes ahead and ruins everyone’s life by assigning a group project. Group projects are tedious at the best of times and this one promises to be a nightmare considering the topic, the fact that partners are assigned, and that it will be ongoing for the rest of the semester.
“Group eight: Ganyu and Keqing,” announces the TA from her list.
Or maybe this group project won’t be quite so bad after all, thinks Keqing, pivoting in her seat and locking eyes with Ganyu, who is slouched so far down in her chair that it’s a miracle she hasn’t spilled right onto the floor.
As soon as the TA finishes assigning the groups, Keqing heads to the back of the room, taking the seat in front of Ganyu’s desk. She hasn’t seen Ganyu up close since that one time in the cafe. It makes her spine tingle to see her eyes are just as vivid as she remembers them. It’s distracting, so much so that Keqing realises with a start she’s just been staring at her for a lot longer than is socially acceptable.
“I’m not sure how well this is going to work,” she says, groping for something to say. Ganyu straightens up in her chair, narrowing her eyes ever so slightly, and Keqing finds herself blundering on, anything to keep those eyes on her. “We seem to have very different schedules.”
As if she actually knows anything about Ganyu’s schedule. Although she can pretty safely assume it’s busy considering she has a job and always seems to be on the verge of falling asleep in class. Must’ve been the wrong thing to say though; Ganyu’s eyes seem to glaze over, even as she nods along with the plan Keqing pulls out of thin air to meet on Saturday morning in the Library Tower.
When class ends, Keqing hangs back, half hoping to walk out with Ganyu and attempt to have a semi-normal conversation, but Ganyu says she needs to speak with Dr Zhongli. For a half-second Keqing considers waiting for her anyway, but she has another class in ten minutes and nothing is worth being late for class.
Walking across the quad later that morning, Keqing debates going to the cafe. Some cookies would not go amiss just now and maybe Ganyu will be working. But it feels like a lot. Like maybe Ganyu might think she’s stalking her or something. Damn it, why is this so hard? A cute girl has never affected Keqing like this before. Perhaps it’s the mystery; she knows next to nothing about Ganyu. Give it a few weeks and this, whatever this is, will probably fade into the background and let her focus on what actually matters. Besides, she packed a lunch today.
She parks herself at a vacant picnic table under an ancient elm tree when her phone buzzes. Glancing at the screen, she sees the name Queen of Food Crimes. Smiling, she answers it.
“Hey, Xiangling.”
“Keqing! Oh my god, you answered,” says a bubbly voice, feigning shock.
“I sent you to voicemail one time. Let it go,” says Keqing, rolling her eyes.
“Never. That one time drove a wedge between us. Our friendship has been on thin ice ever since.”
Keqing sighs. “I sometimes wish that were true, then maybe you’d stop calling me for no reason. Why can’t you just text like a normal person?”
“Because you barely answer those either! And! I do have a reason.”
“Do tell.”
“How’s it going?”
Keqing is silent for a moment. This is very like Xiangling: exasperating and endearing at the same time. “To be clear. You called just to ask how I’m doing?”
“Yeah. I mean I was planning to call you after your first week, but I kept forgetting. So I’m calling you now.”
“Okay. Well, I’m fine.”
“Mmhmm, and?”
“And my classes are going fine.”
“Yeah, and?”
“And I finally finished unpacking. You should come visit when your term’s over.”
“Oh, I intend to. And?”
“And what? What do you want me to tell you?” says Keqing, her voice razor-sharp, her patience all but run out.
“I don’t know. Meet any cool people?” says Xiangling, unfazed by Keqing’s tone.
“No, not really.”
“Not really?”
“What is this, an interrogation?”
“Does it need to be?”
“Oh, my god. Okay, fine. There’s a big gym on campus. I’m planning to get a membership soon. And… there’s a girl in one of my classes. We’re partners for a group project.”
“Ooo! What’s she like?”
“Hell if I know. I’ve talked to her a grand total of twice so far,” says Keqing. Xiangling doesn’t need to know anything about how electrifying Ganyu’s eyes are.
“Well, find out! I expect a full report next time I talk to you.”
“How are we still friends?” says Keqing, but she can’t help smiling. Xiangling knows her better than anyone, they’ve been friends since their sandbox days: Xiangling making mudpies while Keqing built elaborate sand cities. She may be over the top and tiresome at times, but Xiangling has this way of putting everything into perspective. And sometimes it’s nice to just talk about nothing, even if it does go against Keqing’s nature.
They chat for another few minutes, Xiangling detailing a recent disaster in her pastry class (which she did not cause this time). Then Keqing bids her friend goodbye as she packs up what’s left of her lunch before heading off to an afternoon lab.
Keqing wakes up twenty minutes before her alarm is set to go off at five-thirty on Saturday. She lays there for a few minutes in the dark, trying to decide if she’s excited to meet with Ganyu later this morning. However she might feel, this is her opportunity to finally get to know Ganyu a little, to see if there’s any value in pursuing anything more than a casual acquaintance. She finds that she hopes there is.
She goes about her morning routine and then decides to head over to the library early to get a jump on their project. She has a vague idea of where she’d like to start, and if she can check out the books she wants before Ganyu arrives, it will save them some time.
It doesn’t take Keqing long to find everything she needs. She’s itching to crack open her laptop and get started, but she realises she has no way of telling Ganyu where in the library she’ll be. There’s nothing for it but to wait for her at the main circulation desk. The idle time is grating, but Keqing makes use of it by chatting up the library staff; it’s always wise to be on their good side. Keqing’s spoken to the head librarian several times now; she seems like a pleasant enough person, easily won over with a few well-thought-out queries and compliments
Finally, at nearly ten past eight, Ganyu shows up, moving at a glacial pace. When Keqing is sure Ganyu sees her, she jerks her head towards the bank of elevators. She slips inside one and waits for Ganyu to join her before hitting the button for the seventh floor with her elbow.
Keqing watches Ganyu as inconspicuously as she can as the elevator lurches upward. She looks half-dead, if Keqing is being perfectly honest. There are dark smudges under her eyes, and her hair looks like it’s developing sentience, coiling in big loose waves over her shoulder. Her hoodie is oversized to the point that the sleeves cover her hands almost entirely, leaving only her fingertips, her nails painted black with red accents, exposed. Ganyu never looks quite this exhausted in class, so the difference is surprising to Keqing. Ganyu could have said something when she suggested 8 AM as a start time for today. Keqing’s not unreasonable, she’d have been happy to negotiate if Ganyu had bothered to argue.
Keqing feels like she should say something, but she’s drawing a bit of a blank, which seems to be an increasingly common occurrence around Ganyu. Perhaps that’s something that needs unpacking, but now is not really the time.
“You look tired,” she finally says, feeling like she’s grasping at straws.
The corners of Ganyu’s mouth tug down in the barest hint of a frown. “I feel tired,” she says, the roughness of her voice underscoring the point.
Keqing purses her lips but doesn’t say anything else, getting the distinct impression that she’s quite possibly done everything wrong as far as Ganyu is concerned. The elevator doors open with a cheerful ding upon reaching the seventh floor and Ganyu winces at the sound. Keqing takes a deep breath and leads the way to the back corner where she’d found a nice secluded spot weeks ago. Plenty of table space, power outlets, and light; everything required for optimal productivity.
As Ganyu flops into a seat, Keqing shuffles through the books in her arms before she drops them onto the table.
“I picked these out for reference,” Keqing says, spreading the books out between them. “We can use them as a starting point.”
Ganyu slowly trails a hand over them before she reaches for her bag. “I figured we would start with the textbook,” she says, pulling out the book assigned for class.
Keqing doesn’t bother trying to hide her contempt. “We could,” she says, “but I think it’s pretty shallow as a reference book.”
Ganyu’s reaction catches her off guard. She seems surprised, bordering on offended. “How can you say that? It’s universally used as a reference, cited regularly by most film theorists, and it was written by our prof,” she says, pointing at the cover, where Zhongli’s name is plastered in boldface.
This is an unforeseen and rather disappointing turn of events. It had never crossed Keqing’s mind that Ganyu would be a Zhongli sympathiser. What was already sure to be a tedious project now promises to be an outright pain. But this is a hill, one of many, that Keqing is quite willing to die on.
She levels her gaze at Ganyu. “Yes, and of course he chose to use his own book as the assigned text for his class. Talk about an echo chamber.”
Ganyu just blinks. “Dr Zhongli is at the top of the field. He could teach anywhere he wants, work on any projects he wants. I don’t think it’s our place to question his expertise or experience.”
Keqing shrugs, but inwardly she groans. Does Ganyu realise how brain-washed she sounds? “He may be at the top now, but what goes up must come down,” she says. She points to one of her favourite books on the table. “This one just came out last year. It’s got some new theories in it that would probably curl Zhongli’s hair.” She looks up at Ganyu. “I’d say yours too if it wasn’t already so wavy.”
What the hell—what made her say that? Keqing quickly turns her attention to her bag, pulling out a few more books she brought from home and her laptop. While it’s true that Ganyu is incredibly pretty, wild hair and all, there’s no chance of anything more than a professional working relationship for the duration of this project. And the sooner she accepts that, the better. Keqing doesn't have the time or patience to be tiptoeing around people in an attempt to protect their fragile egos.
Ganyu takes a deep breath. “I just think I would feel more comfortable if we maybe started with less experimental materials. There’s no need to reinvent the wheel for this assignment.”
That… is a valid point. But Keqing is not one to take shortcuts. There is no benefit to rehashing what Zhongli has already written. Too bad Ganyu can’t seem to wrap her mind around that.
“You know, Dr Zhongli doesn't know everything,” she says at last.
“Of course I know that,” Ganyu scoffs. “But that doesn’t make him obsolete.”
“But his promotion of pretentious and outdated theories does,” says Keqing. She’s trying hard not to let a sharp edge creep into her voice. She thinks she succeeds. “There are newer and better sources out there.”
Ganyu frowns, but doesn’t present any new arguments. She pushes Zhongli’s textbook aside and pulls out her laptop.
Keqing wants to consider this a victory, but it doesn’t feel that way. Instead, it feels like the temperature in the library has dropped a few degrees despite the morning sun spilling across their table. It feels like still waters right before a storm breaks. That’s not something Keqing is used to. She’s used to being the storm, to being the one people give way to. But Ganyu, with her icy exterior, makes Keqing think that perhaps there are other kinds of storms to watch out for. She gives her head a shake and dives into her work in an almost desperate kind of way, clinging to the certainty and familiarity that comes with the process of preparing to write a paper.
The time ticks past at an alarming rate, and before Keqing knows it, it’s quarter to eleven. A shame really, she could easily keep working for another few hours. She finishes typing out one final sentence, then shuts her laptop.
“Well, that’s probably a good enough start,” she says, watching as Ganyu’s eyes flicker up to look at her before returning to her screen.
After a moment, Ganyu nods and slowly begins packing up her things. Keqing does the same, though at a more normal speed. Bag over her shoulder and books in hand, she rises to her feet, then hesitates. This would be the time to get Ganyu’s number. For the project. It just makes sense to have a way to get a hold of her if she needs to. Keqing manages to free up one hand, and after wiping her palm on her jeans, pulls out her phone and offers it to Ganyu.
“Here,” she says. “Add your number. It’ll be more reliable to text to set up the next time we can meet rather than trying to catch each other after class.”
Ganyu automatically moves to take the phone, then pauses halfway. For a split second, Keqing thinks she’s going to refuse, which honestly would be a first; no girl has ever declined to give Keqing their number when she’s deigned to ask, regardless of the reason.
But before Keqing can grapple with a feeling that might be something like rejection, Ganyu sighs and takes the phone, quickly punching her number in before handing it back with a little huff and a “There.” Keqing wastes no time in sending a text to Ganyu. Just her name, just to complete the number exchange.
“Perfect,” says Keqing. “Now we can get a hold of each other.” Though Keqing is doubtful Ganyu will be the one to initiate any kind of communication. But at least they can go about this project without having to resort to their university-assigned email accounts.
“I’ll see you in class, Ganyu,” she says. Then without waiting for a response she’s sure wouldn't come anyway, she heads for the elevators, mashing the button for the ground floor a few more times than strictly necessary.
As she walks to her car, Keqing reviews the morning. They did get quite a bit done, but it was nowhere near her usual level of productivity. She can’t decide if that’s because of the way Ganyu would look at her with those fathomless eyes whenever she would suggest a possible option for a section in their paper, or because she could feel how much Ganyu didn’t want to be there radiating off her in waves. Either way, it’s Ganyu’s fault.
Keqing hits the unlock button on her keyfob and slides in behind the wheel, tossing her bag and books onto the seat next to her. For a moment she stares straight ahead, wondering how the hell she’s going to get through this semester. Working with Ganyu feels like it’s going to be a lot more trouble than it’s worth. Perhaps she should go to the prof and see if he would switch the groups. Surely it’s not too late.
Determination renewed, Keqing jams her key into the ignition and shifts her car into gear. Before class on Monday, she’ll talk to Dr Zhongli. That gives her the rest of today and all day tomorrow to formulate her arguments. Pretentious as he may seem to be, she’s sure he’ll see reason.
That matter settled in her mind, Keqing peels out of the library parking lot, making her way across campus to the gym for her new-member orientation appointment.
Monday morning dawns bright and clear and Keqing feels great. She really should have got her gym membership rolling as soon as classes started. She’s missed working out, and the pleasant stiffness in her shoulders and legs tells her that her muscles have missed it, too. Add to that the note cards she prepared outlining her reasons for needing a new project partner and Keqing can't help the spring in her step as she walks through the classroom door at twenty to eight.
Dr Zhongli is already there, queuing up some film clips. Keqing makes her way down to the front of the room, pausing only to deposit her bag at her seat.
She clears her throat as she steps up to the desk at the front of the room. “Dr Zhongli,” she says, “Do you have a moment?”
Zhongli looks up from where he’s leaning over the desk, his golden eyes curious and calculating. “Of course, Keqing. What can I do for you?”
Keqing takes a deep breath and readies herself to present her opening statement. “I am requesting a change in my assigned partner for the group project.” She sees the corners of Zhongli’s mouth threaten to break into a smile, but presses on. “I have several concerns about compatibility which I can outline for you—” She doesn’t get to finish, however, as she’s cut off by Zhongli’s abrupt laughter.
Keqing isn’t quite sure how to react here. She’s never been laughed at by a prof before, and while she’s uncertain if he’s laughing at her generally or her request specifically, she doesn't like it. Thankfully, it doesn’t last long.
Dr Zhongli stands up straight as he regains his composure, but the ghost of his mirth remains. Folding his arms over his chest, he seems far taller than he actually is. It's a power pose if Keqing’s ever seen one, and she can feel whatever hope she’d harboured of a partner switch fading into oblivion.
“I apologise. And I appreciate the effort I’m sure you put into preparing your arguments,” he says as Keqing mentally braces for what she knows is coming next. “But there will be no changes made to the partner assignments.”
Keqing clenches her jaw but otherwise masks her reaction. She’s no stranger to opposition. It's irksome that he didn’t even hear out her complaints, though. If she ends up doing poorly in his class because of this, there will be hell to pay, she’ll make sure of it.
Zhongli softens his stance a fraction. “I know Ganyu can be—ah, perhaps that’s not for me to say. But I will say that she is, along with yourself, one of the top students in the film program. Give her some time. I’m sure she’ll thaw out.”
His eyes flicker to the back of the room, where a few other students have begun to trickle in. Keqing interprets this as a dismissal. She ducks her head slightly and mumbles an insincere “Thank you” before stalking off to her seat, where she spends the next few minutes stewing.
Keqing can safely assume that Zhongli has known Ganyu for a few years; she’s probably taken several classes with him over her time at the university. But still. It was weirdly familiar the way he talked about her. And Keqing hadn’t even gotten the chance to mention any of the specifics of her concerns. How would he have known it had anything to do with Ganyu throwing up an ice wall to rival the one in Game of Thrones?
A minute before class is scheduled to start, Keqing turns around in her chair. Sure enough, there's Ganyu, slipping into her seat in the back row, looking for all the world like she just rolled out of bed, but in a celebrity kind of way; she makes bedhead look really good. Ganyu meets Keqing’s eyes for a brief second before quickly looking away, and Keqing realises she’s been staring, possibly even glowering. She spins back around to face the front of the room, trying to clear her head of the confusing enigma that is Ganyu.