Chapter Text
It had taken you three months to get some semblance of normalcy back. It felt like you had to slowly claw your way out of a grave that someone dug you into, your nails bleeding and fingers raw. To say you were exhausted was an understatement. The breakup went horribly; at first somewhat amicably (if wracked sobs and pleading for some kind of answer, if you did anything wrong, anything, if you could fix it, please just tell you, could be called that), until you found out through a mutual friend that it wasn't just "falling out of love," but rather a secret fling that kept continuing.
You bite your lip hard as a burning sensation scalded your hand, not realizing the coffee cup you were filling started overflowing. With a hiss, you yank your hand back from your cup and quickly snatch some of the nearby napkins, cleaning the mess and wiping your hand. A tired sigh leaves you. Maybe normal wasn't the correct way of phrasing it. Acclimating, more like.
Three months straight of constant crying, trying to distract yourself, and going back to the vicious cycle of blaming yourself, then him when the distractions ran out. What could you have done better? Did he just not love you anymore? Cheating is an act of hate, your friend had said, holding you in her arms while you cried for the third time that day. There's no way he'd "risk" you feeling this fucking awful if he had any respect for you left. She rubs your back, eats ice cream with you, and reassures you when she can. You deserve so much better, menina. I'm so sorry.
He stood at the entrance to his apartment, a hand at the back of his neck, rubbing idly while you sobbed through hot tears, asking quietly to retrieve the laptop and other shit you'd left at his place. It took maybe eight minutes (hard to see through blurry vision), the only thing grounding you being your friend's comforting hand at your back. Walking down the hall to the elevator, you heard some scathing remarks she spat while leaving, "...fucking disgusting, I hope you know that..." A few more hushed words, you couldn't make it out. It sounded like two parents on the verge of a divorce, trying to keep their argument quiet, "...can't fucking believe you! No, she's not..." A final curse in Portuguese, a quiet scoff, and angry footsteps behind you. The scowl on her face softened when she returned to your side. "Let's go home."
At some point the crying wore you down; you hoped you'd run out of tears, but eventually, you had probably just desensitized yourself. After throwing away all those stupid gifts—the sweaters, the shirts, the bracelets, the promise ring (god, you cannot believe he told you he loved you just a month before he cheated)—things were a little more palatable, until you found out more evidence that all those songs and poetry about breakups actually had some fucking merit to their lyrics and stanzas where a broken heart is a horrible, all-consuming feeling. Every goddamn day felt like you were sucked out of all your enjoyment, replaced by some miserable husk who was just sick of crying all day.
"Tired?" A voice from behind you makes you startle, whipping around to see a clothed chest. You look up, attempting to speak, but clear your throat when you realize your voice didn't come out quite right at first. A pair of pretty, almond-shaped brown eyes hiding behind rectangular black glasses met your own. A sharp jaw, and even higher cheekbones. He had a small smirk, thin lips curved in amusement. You realized you were staring.
"God—yeah, sorry, didn't mean to take this long." You turn, swiftly plucking a cap that sat near the coffee machine, and close your cup, only to wince when you remember it was full to the brim. A few drops leak out when the cap is pushed on, and you suck in some air through your teeth. Can't even function well enough to get coffee—Tayane would be so disappointed in you.
He'd said something akin to, "No problem," but it didn't seem like you heard him. He hears you suck in a breath, and he can't help but peek around your shoulder to see your overflowing cup.
You assume the guy waits patiently behind you, and, upon turning around again, you're proven right. His eyes are filled with a subtle mirth, and you realize he has a French accent as he asks, "Are you... okay?"
You grimace, remorseful that your post-breakup blues managed to leak into some other poor soul's morning just trying to get coffee. Humming a little, a small laugh leaves you in an attempt to cover your embarrassment, "Yeah, just a little tired. Projects—you know. Sorry, you can go now." You sidestep him, the scalding hot coffee burning your hand, reminding you to grab a cup holder.
As you're doing this, the handsome stranger grabs a cup to fill of his own, slender hands deftly uncapping some cream to pour in. He side-eyes you, catching you as you're glancing.
"So, projects? What major are you in, if you don't mind me asking?" He stirs his coffee, fully turning to you, his hip leaning against the counter. He's wearing a comfortable dark blue pullover, the sweater's sleeve not quite hiding the golden tattoo that flows out from his left forearm. The collar of a white shirt rests perfectly over the neckline, more of that gold curving up his neck and, to your surprise, over the left of his brow.
"Ah, I'm here for Visual Development and whatnot—art." A small fluster makes its way to your face, but you can't help yourself, "...Your tattoos are beautiful, by the way."
He lets out a laugh, his smirk from earlier transforming into a wider grin, "Merci, they're my pride and joy."
You ask him about his major, "Engineering," he replies, and the conversation continues to your differing projects and professors that may or may not give you a harder time.
You take the polite conversation as a somewhat pleasant distraction—you'd frankly take anything at this point if it meant you could keep talking to him for just a bit longer. His voice brings a nice calm over the buzz of your usually overwhelming yet simultaneously stagnant thoughts—and it's been a while since you've spoken with anyone past a few curt greetings; other than Tayane, anyway.
He clears his throat after the talk comes to a lull, "Well, I hope whatever's bothering you doesn't last—you look quite exhausted," he checks the time on the clock on the wall, "Even for five in the morning." He gives you a cheeky smile.
"Oh, really?" You place a hand to the side of your face, tilting your head a bit, looking up at him with a coy smile and batting your lashes, "I think these dark eyebags only draw out my innate beauty in the dead of morning, don't you?"
The two of you share a laugh, and he humorously runs with your bit, "Ah, of course, you're stunningly exhausted, my dear."
The witty comment, although probably nothing but humor, makes your face heat up nonetheless. If you had a clearer mind, you'd probably notice the way he'd been appreciating you while you laughed, but instead, a ping from your phone catches both of your attention.
Tayane :) | 5:21 AM
Menina, are u okay? Been lik 26 mins
"Mm, holy—has it been that long?" You rub a hand over your face after you put your phone back in your pocket, the other still holding your coffee—though now you notice its temperature no longer searing your hand through the cup holder.
"Sorry, am I keeping you?" He asks.
"No, no, just a concerned friend. Kind of... going through a tough breakup, is all."
His brows jump up a bit, sympathy adorning his sharp features. "Apologies. Those are never easy."
"It's..." You look off to the side, trailing off for a bit, before looking back at him, a sad smile on your lips, "It isn't, you're right. But thank you."
He lets out a breath, "Well, if you ever need help with Professor Reithwin, let me know." A pause, and he fiddles with his phone. You can't help but stare at his hands as he does it.
"If you want," He sheepishly offers his phone, the contacts page open for you. At your surprised look, he coughs into his hand, "He can be a bit of a hardass, and, well—if you want to exchange numbers, you do not have to—" He almost pulls away immediately, the hesitation and sudden shyness endearing compared to his confident ease earlier.
"No, no, I'd love to," your shock wears off, a smile replacing it.
You type in your number and name, handing his phone back to him.
He looks it over, a small grin and a look of surprise—he murmurs your name under his breath, the sound of it makes you shudder slightly, and he chuckles, "Right, I'm Vincent, by the way."
You laugh as the two of you forgot to introduce yourselves to each other, and you shake the hand he offers you. It's warm, calloused, and engulfs yours; a small part of you relishes in how pretty his hands are and how... nice his grip feels.
Before you can dwell on that, another ping comes from your phone, and you let go, a little pang of remorse (god, this breakup isn't treating you well) settling in your chest. You look at Tayane's message,
Tayane :) | 5:23 AM
Istg menina if my coffees cold
You swiftly type a message back:
You | 5:23 AM
Sory was talkig to someon ill brt haha
Tayane :) | 5:23 AM
Joking, menina, ty :]
You | 5:23 AM
:*
He finds the gentle look on your face while you read your messages... lovely. Vincent cards a hand through his combed-over hair, shaking his head as he reminds himself you'd just told him you were dealing with a breakup. He waits for you to be done typing.
"Mm, I should probably go to her." You look up, your eyes bright, "I'll message you soon?" Worried about how that sounds, you awkwardly clear your throat, "About Professor Reithwin."
"Of course." He nods his head to you, smiling.
You both turn to walk your separate ways, the memory of his smile and voice echoing in your head.
____
Tayane is lounging on the couch as you walk in, your tablet in her hands doing what you can only assume is doodling something effortlessly chaotic and beautiful, as she usually does when bored.
She looks up as you close and lock the door, a wide grin splitting her face once she notices the coffee in your hand, "Thank you, thank you, menina." Her gratefulness is almost like a prayer as she sips down the coffee, and you laugh as she acts as if it's the only thing keeping her afloat. Now that you think about it, considering the all-nighters she's been pulling, it might actually be.
Plopping down next to her, you take the tablet and look at her work; abstract splashes of color among the faint outline of a beautiful face—you wonder who the woman could be, with her plump lips and eyes darkened with heavy shadows. Something about the sketch tugs a sense of familiarity in the back of your mind, but you can't quite place it. Tayane glances at you from around her coffee cup, almost as if she were waiting for you to ask your question.
So you do, "Where'd you get the inspiration for this girlie?" You playfully hold the tablet at arm's length, tilting it this way and that as if trying to find some specific angle to better view it with.
She stops gulping down her coffee, and quickly you realize how she's drawn inward like she's about to combust. You wait, biting your lip like an excited schoolgirl talking with her best friend about a crush. It might be a more truthful image than you think.
"So you know that girl in my Advanced Physics class?" Tayane messes with the lid of the cup.
"The cute one with the beanie and the glasses—?" You gasp and snap your fingers, finally getting it. She'd talked about the cute techy girl in her classes before, and once you saw them studying together in your shared apartment, presumably working on a group project. "So that's why you're somehow managing to wake up for your morning classes. That, and coffee." Tayane sighs in response.
And you continue, "Aand you're pretty into her, huh?" You're wiggling your eyebrows at her, and she scoffs, giving your shoulder a light push.
"She's..." Tayane groans, burying her face in her hands, her braids in a high ponytail today, falling to frame the sides of her head, "God, she's so cute, she tinkers with these robots in her free time, she's witty and funny and so smart—and whenever she laughs it's like, I get these goosebumps and can't help but just laugh with her. She's infuriating and gets on my nerves but I just... can't stop thinking about how she's so amazing and dedicated and..."
You watch as Tayane rubs her face, laughing a little at her outburst. "How long has this been going on? Like, does she know you like her?"
She leans back onto the couch, idly playing with the drawstrings of her crop top sweater, the coffee all but forgotten on your table. "...No. I don't know. I haven't told her anything directly. And I guess... since the start of second semester."
You hum, saving the drawing on your tablet before it could be lost. You quickly name it, "Cute Beanie Girl," and close the app before Tayane could see. Second semester—that was a bit before things crashed and burned with your ex. A very, very tiny part of you is upset that you weren't exactly available in the headspace to hear about your friend's crush until now. "What was her name again?" A harmless question, partly to distract, and partly out of genuine curiosity. It's been a few weeks since you saw said techy girl at your apartment.
"Klara." Your friend is still pulling at the strings of her sweater, a wistful look on her face as she stares ahead at the TV that wasn't on.
"Well..." You grab the remote, turn it on, and navigate to some streaming service, finding the "silly serial killer" show that you both loved, pressing play on an older season, "I think that maybe you should ask her out."
Tayane groans, again. "Not like I didn't think of that before, thank you Ms. Genius."
"Well, duh, but you're going pretty crazy, and it sounds like you really like her."
"Hmf."
"What's stopping you?"
Another huff. "Not sure if she feels even remotely the same."
"Has that stopped you before?"
"...I guess you're right." Tayane reaches for her coffee again. "I dunno, she feels more... real. Special. I don't wanna mess it up."
"Hm."
Tayane hums back in response. As she's drinking, she turns her head to you, "How come you took so long to get coffee, by the way?" She sits up suddenly, "Not that you should be rushing."
"There was a guy," judging by the look on your face, Tayane leans forward, a brow raised.
"A guy?"
"Yeah. A really handsome guy." A surprisingly dreamy sigh leaves your mouth before you can stop it.
"At five in the ass crack of dawn?"
"At five in the ass crack of dawn." You confirm.
There's a pregnant pause. At some point, a gunshot is sounded from the TV, and dramatic music is playing while agents are rushing to check if the victim is okay.
"Are you gonna say more about this 'handsome guy?'"
"He's just, really pretty. Sharp face, thin lips, really pretty gold tattoo."
Tayane's brows shoot up at your last descriptor, "Gold tattoo?"
You hum a confirmation.
"His name wouldn't happen to be Vincent, would it?"
You look at her, "Do you know him?"
"He's in my Advanced Physics class." She pauses. "Freakishly smart. Bit of a smartass, too."
The two of you watch more of the episode, and you contemplate.
"But yeah we just... talked. He seemed really nice." You murmur. "Exchanged num—"
Your eyes snap open, your hand grasping wildly for your phone. Tayane looks at you as if you're insane. With a groan, you comb your contacts, feeling like a complete idiot.
"I forgot. We forgot." Another groan.
"Forgot what?"
"I put my number in his phone! And—and we just left it at that, I didn't even ask for him to put his in mine."
Tayane side-eyes you. "'Just talked,' huh?"
You're too busy feeling like an idiot, the heat of your cheeks combining with the sharp prickles at your neck, embarrassment flooding you.
"'Seems nice,' huh?" Tayane has a shit-eating grin on her face.
"Oh, fuck off." You try your hardest to suppress a smile. Eventually, it does fade, as something tugs at your heart, thinking of Vincent. Your friend notices the shift in your mood. "I don't think it'd be very fair to him if I'm still... miserable."
Tayane hums. "Very fair thought process, honestly."
She then continues, semi-lost in thought, but manages to get her point across, "I mean, hey, if you feel uncomfortable, you feel uncomfortable. Don't push yourself. But also, if you're into him, I think you deserve some affection after all the shit you've been through." She's looking at you from the corner of her eye, a small smirk on her face. You laugh a little. Right, some.
You nod, and so the two of you sit. The agents on screen are sharing a tender moment, as the initial fear of losing one another is abated. Perp caught, victim saved, threat gone.
You want to feel your stomach flutter each time Vincent looks at you. You're sure it does, each time. You just feel a twinge of guilt at it, for some reason. Guilt? Right, guilt. Even though your ex cheated on you. Despite all that, a part of you still feels chained down. Like a weight has settled on your shoulders—you still care about what you had with him. And it feels both awful and infuriating.
You glance at Tayane and take her hand, pulling it onto your lap. She lets you, even softly clenching yours in response.
There's surely more to worry about, attending a prestigious university—something more pressing than your love life. But you worry about it anyway.
The two of you watch more of your show until the sun rises.