Chapter Text
Trent opens his eyes and it’s pitch black, he squints even though he knows it’s useless. The room has no windows or doors, that’s why it’s his favorite study spot. He uses his strong arms to bring himself into a sitting position on the floor, then he stands. He flicks on the lights and the fluorescents blink for a moment before they steady themselves, he does the same as his eyes adjust to the harsh greenish light.
He sighs and turns on the room's tiny lamp instead, much warmer - far more comforting.
He checks his half dead phone and realizes it’s ten minutes to class, he shoves everything into his bag and sprints out the door.
He’s tall, not too tall, he’s met taller - but tall nonetheless. At 6’1”, he found it hard to sneak into class when he was… he checked his watch… 15 minutes late.
He slumped into his seat.
Three years into Arabic lessons and he still sucked.
Half-Palestinian and half-Black this is something he KNEW he should know but it didn’t come easy to him. He was relieved when his class ended. As he walked out of his university’s oldest building he put on his headphones, shoved his hands deep in his pockets, and walked his sly walk - leading with his hips as he strolled campus boasting his cool tattoos that peeked from beneath his crop top.
He’s handsome, not too handsome, he’s humble enough to know he’s no Michael B Jordan (or anything crazy like that) - but handsome nonetheless. His height was complemented by buttery skin the color of cinnamon, which glowed in that Friday morning sun. He was sort of wiry, his whole life he’d been the chubby kid; stocky and unmovable. One year his eating habits changed and next thing you know he’s got something that looks like abs.
He arrived at his next class a bit perkier now that he’d soaked in some sun and listened to a bit of… Mohammad Assaf. He watched wide-eyed as his Psych 3205 professor explained the Psychology of Human Relationships: Attachments and Loss. It was a long class but it flew by and before he knew it his last class of the day had come to a conclusion.
Again he’s off on his stroll, this time back to his study place, nestled neatly in the university’s club-house. He wasn’t particularly active in any clubs, he was just a cool dude that people liked having around.
It was still early but as the day waned on, the words on crumpled up papers that he’d shoved into the bottom of his bag (folder-less), started to blur and stopped making sense. He shook his head and stood up, no sooner had he done that did his stomach make the most hideous whale sound.
“Food.” he thought to himself. “Yeah, that’ll fix it.”
He walked to the club-house kitchen. When he opened the door he saw three familiar faces. Emma, Nisa, and Lee stared back at him.
Emma's dad was Iranian and her mom was a WASP-y thing from the ‘burbs. She was average height, 5’8” if he had to guess, with fair skin. You would never really be able to tell that she wasn’t another run of the mill Emma that you’d meet in an English class but her hair was what set her apart. Glossy, dark, thick bouncy ringlets that she kept short framed her pale face like a dark halo. She had her hair half-up half-down with the “half-up” part pulled into the tiniest bun her short curls could manage. Though her hair, glossy and distinctive as it was, she was also covered in scars. No one ever mentioned them; they were just… there. A shiny pink slit disrupting one of her bushy eyebrows, another through her lips, and another carving from just beneath her left cheekbone to beneath her chin - you couldn’t really tell where it ended.
Emma was in a frenzy, cooking the most elaborate Mexican meal he’d ever seen and it smelled amazing. She ran about like a chicken with its head cut off, stringing words together that barely made sense.
“It’s not that Isabella said she didn’t WANT to come, she’s just sick!” Emma flitted about some more.
Lee rolled his eyes and gestured at Trent, who’d drawn out what little charisma he’d had in him that day, to greet them all and in truth he was running a bit low.
Lee was a Chinese exchange student in his junior year. Though Trent and he hadn’t ever had a conversation that lasted longer than 10 minutes, Trent always thought Lee was a cutie, likely due to Lee’s bubbly energy. Lee was fashionable and Trent, who took full advantage of his gender-fluidity to dress outside the box, really appreciated that about him. They met doing an art project about a year ago, and exchanged numbers. Trent couldn’t tell if Lee’s pretty eyelashes and promises to hangout were flirting or just figments of his imagination. Still, they’d never gotten around to hanging out one on one.
“What’s happening?” Trent said, half listening, half making a PB&J.
Emma blushed.
“OKAY OKAY, so she’s not ‘sick’, TECHNICALLY, but she DID give me a heads up like an hour ago that she drank too much last night and she’s a TEEEEENY bit hungover.”
“Okay.” he looked at her frenzied state and thought about the best thing to say to someone manic over a tinder find.
“This seems like a lot… wait, are you bringing this to her? That seems thoughtful but did she ask you to bring some her way or like…” he trailed off.
The kitchen got quiet and the crackle of chicken was the only thing in the air.
Lee turned to Emma and raised his eyebrows accusingly. Obviously the answer was “no”.
Nisa, a particularly enthusiastic freshman, opened her mouth to give advice - spending words like they were mere change.
“Well” she said “when you think about it, when you give this person all of your attention, then they have all of your attention, so then you have more to think about, when quite frankly they don’t give a fuck about you honestly.” her smug babyface waited for validation.
Trent chewed his sandwich, he leaned against a wall nonchalantly watching the scene unfold.
“Mm. I wouldn’t say all that but” he paused pensively and took a bite “I think if it causes you this much stress you might want to slow down and just ask if it’s something she’s even interested in. You never know, she might not be in the mood for spicy food after all that drinking. If she really IS hungover, Lee doesn’t seem to think so.”
He shrugged and took another bite.
Nisa jumped in “EXACTLYYYYYY! She’s literally NAWT even hungover, like she’s literally… you know what - if she wanted to she would.”
The steam, the sounds, the smells, the composure he had to keep - Trent was overwhelmed.
He straightened himself and with a cool low voice he said “Well, if there are any developments or y’all need any more advice or anything… you know where to find me. I’m back on my grind.” and he sauntered away.
In truth the only one who knew where he was hiding away, pretending to understand complex Arab history, was Nisa. As annoying as she could be, Trent felt a weird obligation to her. He was new once, annoying and a bit self dignified, he wasn’t one to cast off people who were younger than him.
After about an hour of pretending to understand homework he got up and walked over to the kitchen again, a little more recharged but still hoping to find it empty.
It wasn't.
He walked in and there was Emma, packing a plastic take-out container with mole chicken, rice, topping it with sauteed red and green bell peppers and filling one of the kitchen’s to-go cups with jamaica agua fresca that he’d missed while he was “studying.”
She said “feel free to take some” as she and Nisa RAN out of the kitchen.
Moments later his phone buzzed and when he checked, it was Nisa.
BLOOP - “This girl has some serious issues”
BLOOP - “She’s literally telling me everything, she’s like fucked up”
Trent dropped his phone back into his pocket, he didn’t particularly care for gossip he didn’t ask for and he barely knew Emma. He didn’t need to know.