Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It only took a glance at the notification for Chase's blank expression to morph into one of disdain. He was just barely through two weeks of college and a specific type of email had quickly become a blight upon his inbox.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding- Already?" he mumbled. He let the screen go dark without opening the notification, then tossed it aside on the couch before he did something irrational. Like throwing it across the room. Or responding with some… choice words that would surely get him called to his professor's office on Monday.

Chase groaned and leaned his head against the back of the couch, laying an arm across his eyes. After adding his response to Friday's discussion post for his Intro to Literature class — a class he was regretting more and more every day, it seemed — Chase made the drive back to his grandpa's house. From the minute he got enrolled, he decided to take that drive as many times as he possibly could before his workload no longer allowed the time to do so. It was familiar; comfortable. He could get college advice from (or pester) his cousin, Deacon, if he was around. Plus, it was much closer to his mother and he enjoyed being able to relax away from the school for a bit.

Or at least he would enjoy it and feel relaxed, if not for an annoyingly timed email.

This weekend Deacon was, in fact, around. He was sitting on the floor between the coffee table and the couch pretending to still be studying. Chase could tell he finished that specific homework assignment 20 minutes ago and was now blatantly playing more attention to the TV than to the textbook in his hands. It was showing some daytime soap opera that Chase couldn't remember the name of and that Deacon couldn't get enough of, not that he'd ever admit it.

"Deacoooooon,"  Chase whined. He glanced past his arm at his cousin, who didn't turn around at all. Deacon knew what that tone went and the slight movement of his head was enough to tell Chase that he was listening. Chase continued.

"I just posted on that discussion board before I drove here. This morning! And they've already left a reply on it. Does this asshole not have a life or is it just their new goal to make mine miserable instead?" Chase flopped over on the couch, landing on his back with a fwump.

Deacon sighed, sat his textbook on the table, and lowered the TVs volume. He rotated to face the couch, then crossed his arms against the cushions and rested his head on them. "For starters, don't you think you're being a little melodramatic?"

"It's how I cope!" Chase exclaimed, tone laced with indignance. "Don't judge me, Dorkin." He reached over to flick Deacon's forehead and Deacon swatted his hand away.

"….Right. Anyway, what did they say this time?"

Chase fixed his gaze to the ceiling. "Ugh, I haven't even read it yet. The message preview was all like—" Chase cleared his throat and waved a hand dramatically over his head— "'Are you certain that you read the correct passage? Because I'm not so su-'  YES, Buddy, I'm certain!" Chase propped himself up with his elbow so quickly that he knocked his phone to the floor and he glared down at it. "I'm SO certain, in fact, because I had to read it three times before it even started to make any sense! And it still doesn't, really!" His eyes bore into the phone as if his frustration would reach "Buddy" through it, with enough focus.

"Why are you taking this class, anyway?" Deacon asked. "I can't imagine that a music theater degree would require Intro to Literature."

Chase sighed and dropped back down onto the couch. "That's because it doesn't. But my advisor advised me to pick out an elective for the semester, and I saw that on the list, and I thought 'Oh, how hard can it be to read some old stories and explain why the curtains are blue or whatever?'" He rolled over to face Deacon. "And now I'm stuck in it because the deadline to drop classes passed before I realized that it IS hard and that I HATE it, actually!"

"Yeesh. Yeah, good luck with that, dude. I got through my English Comp classes freshman year and I haven't had to think about that kind of stuff since then. Unless you count casual reading."

"I know your taste in books, so I don't."

Deacon rolled his eyes. "Okay, rude." Chase faced the ceiling again. "Anyway, I can try to help you with your homework if you need it, but no promises. Pre-Med is already kicking my ass this semester." Deacon grimaced at the thought.

"I know, I know. I'll be fine," Chase mumbled. He abruptly turned toward Deacon again. "And who's bright idea was it to make discussion posts anonymous!? I still can't get over that. The professor said it was to 'promote conversations between all of the students' and to 'keep people from just replying to their friends and no one else all semester.'" Chase emphasized the words with constant, exaggerated air quotes. "But it's stupid, because now I can't figure out who Buddy is so I can tell them to be less of an asshole and stop singling me out!"

"Well, they can't be replying only to you or they'd fail the discussion post requirements," Deacon clarified. "Actually, if it's all anonymous how are you even sure it's the same person?"

"I can just tell, Deacon. No one else in this class is going to be using words like 'insufferable,' 'colloquialism,' and 'alas' in discussions that are worth a whopping 10% of our final grade."

"Fair enough," Deacon shrugged. Deacon placed a hand on Chase's shoulder and smiled. "Well, as annoying as they are, try not to let them ruin your whole weekend, okay?" Deacon removed his hand and leaned back against the coffee table. "We're going to see Aunt Myra later and I bet she'll love to hear all about your new life as a college student. You remember how thrilled she was to hear you had enrolled. And my mom said she seemed to be feeling well today! Deal with that 'Buddy' nonsense later."

The tension in Chase's face started to smooth over at the thought of his mother. He nodded, returning the smile. "Right. That can wait until later."

The room lulled back into near-silence, only being broken by the TV still playing softly in the background. After a moment, Chase sat up with a sigh to retrieve his phone. He reluctantly unlocked it and almost opened the email just to see what they'd said, but dismissed the notification with a quick swipe instead.

The rest of the morning passed by slowly, but peacefully. With how hectic college life had been, Chase didn't mind that one bit.

||———||———||

Soon enough, they were packing into his grandpa's truck to make the drive to Deacon's parents' house. Chase was excited to visit his mom, but a little seed of dread always seemed to plant itself in the back of his mind during these car rides. Chase's mother is getting better. Things still weren't great, but they were better. And she was improving slowly, but surely, according to his aunt and uncle. Even so, she'd been sick for so long that Chase found it really hard to feel assured by just that. He felt a little guilt, as if he lacked faith in his mother. Really, it was just a lack of faith in the nature of things. Some part of him just didn't trust it — couldn’t trust it — until the day he watches her ring that little bell at the cancer center and never have to step foot in there again.

He was hopeful! And optimistic! And so, so proud of her for how far she'd come. But he was also just… so anxious. Very, very anxious that one day they'll show up for a visit, and the prognosis will have changed, and—

Chase shook his head. He knows that she likely thinks about all that plenty on her own and she wouldn't want him to see him worrying so much. He pushes those thoughts back into their little box in the far corner of his mind for now and by the time they made it to the front door, a genuine smile had made its way back onto Chase's face. He said a quick hello, silently apologized to Deacon for leaving him to deal with Aunt Beth alone (Grandpa is still down there. He'll be fine, he thought), and snuck past everyone in a beeline for the stairs. He climbed up them quickly before Aunt Beth could ruin his mood with some snide remark, then he padded along the upstairs hallway until he reached his mother's room. He knocked on the door, no different than the last dozen times or the dozen before that, but hearing that familiar "Come in" from behind the door still felt like unadulterated relief every time. He pushed open the door and crossed the threshold into the room.

His mother was sitting on the edge of her bed and a gentle smile spread across her face at the sight of Chase. She wore the new, floral headscarf that he'd brought her last weekend and a casual outfit of a t-shirt and sweatpants. There was a pair of house shoes laid out on the floor in front of her bed, and the sheets looked as if she'd just finished smoothing them out.

"Oh, I knew it sounded like you all were here now. I was just getting to my feet so I could come downstairs and greet you, but it looks like you beat me to it," she chuckled. She slipped on her house shoes and stood up at the same time that Chase had crossed the room to meet her. He pulled her into a tight hug and her arms settled around his shoulders like muscle memory.

"You know that I always come up to see you right away, Mom," Chase said, fondly. Seeing her up and about with such ease gave him a swell of joy and relief. "And I definitely don't want you to ever think you need to push yourself if you can't." They separated slightly but neither quite released their hold on the other.

"I won't, Charlie. I promise." She laughed lightly. "Oh, sorry. Chase, I mean. It's just nice to be able to walk around a bit sometimes."

Chase remembered all the days where she couldn't do even that much as clear as day, so that sentiment alone was nearly enough to bring him to tears. Or maybe it was enough, judging by the motion of his mother's thumb brushing across his cheek to wipe one away. He leaned into her hand briefly and then quickly reached up to rub his eyes. He knew she didn't like for him to fuss over her so much — motherly habits and all — but at times like this she'd just have to forgive him for it.

"Of course," he breathed, pulling her back into a brief hug. "And you can still call me Charlie, you know that right?" They finally stepped apart entirely and Chase looked up at her. She nodded.

"I still want to go downstairs to see everyone. I have a bit of energy and I haven't really left this room much today." She lifted one of Chase's hands, cradling it in front of her. "Would it make you feel better to walk me down?" Her smile had never left her face and it radiated a warmth that Chase could only wish was able to follow him everywhere.

"I don't want to overstep," he explained. "Would you like me to?" He knew the answer.

She nodded. "I'd love that."

Chase all but beamed up at her and looped his arm around hers.

||———||———||

Before he knew it, they were all eating dinner together, and then Deacon, Chase, and their grandpa were waving yet another goodbye from the truck as it backed out of the driveway. The entire visit had put Chase in such high spirits that the anxiety from before was almost entirely eclipsed by it. He knew that anxiety would creep back in — inevitably seeping out of the imaginary box that he stores it in — but at that moment the feeling of walking arm-in-arm with his mother down the stairs with ease, and then back up with minimal effort, was enough to ward it off for a good while. It had been a great evening.

After she said her hellos to the others, Chase and his mother sat together on the living room couch. She talked about a new puzzle that she completed and wanted to get a frame for, and how optimistic her doctors had sounded in the last few check-ups, and how lately she's even started walking out to check the mail on most mornings. Chase felt pride, and joy, and relief, relief, relief with every word. It seemed like every positive update came with monumental relief after spending so long in an atmosphere that was only getting heavier and heavier. Chase was clinging to them until his lungs relearned how to breathe without the pressure.

Chase told her about his class schedule. His favorite class by far was Acting I, and he really liked the private lessons teacher he was assigned to in his Vocal Performance class. He talked about how weird it felt to have so much time between classes and to only go to each class every other day instead of every day like in high school. He told her about how he got lost on his first day and showed up to Music Theory just as the professor was dismissing the class. Luckily the professor was understanding and quickly went through the syllabus with him as the other students filed out of the room.

He talked about taking College Algebra, which he was less-than-stoked to be enrolled in but it's apparently a required credit. It's an evening class, which was certifiably annoying, but at least it was only on Mondays. Lastly, about his Intro to Literature class and how he kind of, really wished he hadn't enrolled in it. He omitted a certain menace in his emails, though, to avoid souring his mood. If he wasn't going to let Aunt Beth do that, Buddy definitely didn't get to either.

Their goodbyes were understandably drawn out, but eventually the three men were back on the road. By the time they arrived at the house, it was well past dark. Their grandpa went straight to bed — something about an important flea market; bright and early or he'll lose his spot — leaving Chase and Deacon to themselves in the living room.

"Deacon?"
 

"Hmm?"

"Are you going to be awake for a bit?"

"Probably. Why?"

"Good." Chase flopped down on to the couch in almost an identical position to that morning. "I need moral support."

"…..For wha- Oh" As soon as Deacon saw Chase pulling his phone out of his hoodie, it clicked. Deacon plopped himself down at the other end of the couch, careful not to sit on Chase's legs. "Go on. What'd they say this time?"

Chase groaned dramatically for the entire length of time it took him to unlock his phone, load his emails, and open the one from this morning. He rolled his eyes the second he saw the beginning of the text.

"'You have received a reply to Discussion Post #5.'" Chase cleared his throat and put on the most pretentious voice he could muster — something akin to a PTA member who's only on the PTA so they can boss around the kids and the parents. "'Are you certain that you read the correct passage? Because I'm not so sure I agree with any of the points,' — Wow, shocking. — 'that you've touched on here. For example, you say the variation in sentence structure serves only to make the piece too hard to understand and tedious, seemingly without any considering that the author's entire intention was to depict the narrator's disordered mental state and loosening grasp on reality. Also, you misspelled 'cynical' in the second paragraph.'"

And with his performance completed, Chase let his phone fall onto his chest with a thump.

"You know, that wasn't as bad as I expected actually," Deacon observed. Chase shot a glare at him.

"Okay, fine, that one was pretty tame. Whatever. But that's every post, and they just sound so snarky every time! Sympathize with me a little bit here, Deacon!" Chase whined.

"Yes, yes, I'm very sorry for your plight, etcetera, etcetera," Deacon replied, sarcastically, then he relented. "I can see how that would get annoying quickly, though. I guess I can sympathize."

"Thank you! Jeez," Chase muttered.

"Have you done your replies yet?"

"No, I was planning to do it when we got back, but I'm exhausted. Now it's Tomorrow-Me's problem." Chase explained.

"As long as you get it done on time, I suppose." Deacon shrugged and stood up from the couch. "I think I'm going to head to bed as well. Goodnight." He waved as he walked out of the room.

"Night," Chase called after him. He sighed and laid there in the silence for a bit, just enjoying the space. After a few minutes, he caught himself dozing off and decided he ought to follow suit.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

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By Monday, Chase was at least a little grateful that his classes could serve as a distraction from his thoughts. He wasn't feeling as bad as he had over the weekend, but that anxiety was still lingering around the corner for any break in his attention span to slip through. He was… less grateful for whatever the packet under the "Take One!" sign at the classroom door was for. Even the little sign was far too cheerful for a Monday morning. The first page had 'Intro to Literature: Final Project' printed in bold across the top and that was as far as he was willing to read before he was actually required to think about it any further.

Despite not needing a 'vantage point' anymore, Chase decided to keep that seat as his official-unassigned spot. There were only a few students who sat in that row at all and they seemed to be pretty laid back. Plus the lecture hall wasn't too large—only 5 tiered rows of seating—so it was still easy enough to see the front of the room. The room itself was painted a calm beige and had brown carpet. A large, white projector screen stood out in stark contrast to the wall it was affixed to and the professor's desk sat just to the left of it. The tiered seating always made Chase feel a bit like he was sat in a small auditorium rather than a classroom, if not for the seating being desks and not theater chairs.

He wished it was theater chairs, honestly.

Chase settled into his spot and pushed the set of papers off to the side while he unpacked the rest of his things. Within a few minutes, the quiet chatter of the room started to taper off as their professor made his way to the middle. He cleared his throat to speak.

"Before I start, is there anyone who didn't get one of the packets by the door on your way in?" A couple of sheepish hands raised across the room and the professor nodded. He passed a stack of paper in each of their directions as Chase idly skimmed the first page.

"Alright!" The professor clapped his hands together. "As you can see, this will be your final project. That means you shouldn't stress too -too much yet." He gave a reassuring smile to the class then picked up another packet from his desk for himself. "This won't be due until finals week, but I prefer to assign it early so you all will have plenty of time to pick your topics and get them approved," he explained. Chase was already not looking forward to any of that. The professor continued.

"This assignment will consist of selecting three works from different authors—they can be poetry or prose—which all cover the same topic. It can be an emotion, an event, an item, whatever you'd like as long as they all match! And as long as it's school-appropriate for a college class, of course," he chuckled. He fixed his gaze on the packet he was holding. "You will write a report discussing how each author approaches the subject matter and compare each one to the others. How did they use metaphor to convey it? Did they use much metaphor at all or did they approach it quite literally? How does the format they chose affect the mood and tone? How does one's tone differ from the others? So on and so forth."

He flipped to the next page and tapped it lightly. "There are more ideas for talking points on the second page, but don't hesitate to reach out if you're struggling with them. Oh, question?" He nodded toward a student raising their hand two rows in front of Chase.

"Do they all need to be the same format?"

The professor shook his head. "No, not at all! You can pick a short story, and a limerick if you'd like," he laughed. "So long as they all cover the same topic, that part is up to you. You could even use the lyrics to a song if you find one that's appropriate, though I will ask that you only use that for one of your sources if you chose too." Chase heard a disappointed sigh from the row directly in front of him.

The professor paused to allow the students a moment to digest the information. A mixture of shuffling papers and hushed chatter enveloped the room when he did. Some students whispered to each other about which authors or topics they might choose while others were grumbling to themselves over having to think about finals so early in the first place. Chase vaguely observed the chatter and turned to the second page of the packet.

"Another reason I'm giving you this assignment now—" he continued, "— is because once you've chosen your topic I'd like you to check in with me for approval, then again once you've chosen your three works. You'll need to have both approved by two weeks before the due date, but you are welcome to do so any time between now and then. I will remind you all periodically, so hopefully that part won't sneak up on you." He paused again and scanned the room. "Any questions?" he asked, brightly. The only response was a few heads shaking and a couple mumbled no's. He folded the pages back into place and sat his packet on his desk. "Very well! Let's get started on today's lesson then."

||———||———||

Monday dragged on exactly how Chase expected it to by this point. He was already feeling drowsy by the time his Algebra class started that evening and that feeling would only creep up on him more and more as the class went on. And, maybe —just maybe—checking his email wasn't the best means of combating that. There really wasn't a reason to do that except for general curiosity. But when he was only halfway through the class and suddenly his boredom was crashing against that curiosity like a pair of cymbals around his head, how could he possibly ignore all that for the rest of class? It wasn't just that the lesson was boring, actually. It was that 20 minutes prior Chase realized he had entirely lost the plot of this lesson and would have to figure it out from his textbook later anyway. What else was he going to do? Stare blankly at the wall? Stare even blankly-er at the lesson? No way.

Chase glanced around the room full of students with varying attention spans. Their professor was standing in front of the whiteboard explaining a formula Chase vaguely remembered from the previous week. The room was far too bright for 6pm in late September and it all made Chase hope the class would end early that day. It wouldn't, but he could hope.

And so, with his laptop already open in front of him for the notetaking he'd long since given up on, he may have been idly fidgeting with it to pass the time. And he may have thought back on that discussion post from Friday which he had promptly and completely ignored for the rest of the weekend. And he wasn't… not curious about a certain reply that could potentially be there.

He pulled up his email. At the top of the inbox was some newsletter about on-campus events, followed by several replies from that discussion post. Chase quickly glanced over his laptop toward the professor and hoped that if she looked his way he wouldn't appear too detached from the lesson. He looked back down at the screen and clicked the newest reply.

The first couple were completely normal and, admittedly, a little disappointing. The first one was from the student whose post had helped him understand the poem better and that he had thanked. The next few were typical responses to Chase's own post. Some of them did add insight that was a bit interesting to read at least. Finally, he found the one that he was vaguely—definitely—looking for. A reply to his reply to Buddy.

" I think I will have to agree to disagree with you ," it started, " but, to be blunt, I fail to see how you came to that conclusion at all. " Chase fought an eye roll, still hoping it wasn't too obvious that he wasn't actually taking notes anymore. He wasn't surprised that Buddy would have something to disagree with. In fact, he would have been more surprised if they hadn't . Chase continued reading.

"I think the use of metaphor here is fairly straight-forward— " Chase huffed " —and it ties the themes of the poem together neatly. I will agree about the last couple of lines though. You did make a good point there. Good job. " Chase blinked at his screen.

That was… well, much tamer than he expected.  Still full of that usual brand of snark, but not as much as Chase would have thought considering the way that they usually reply to posts. They even agreed with him, although reluctantly from the sound of it. He pursed his lip in thought as he clicked over to the next, older reply and—Nevermind, there it is.

" I think you need to reread the poem. Maybe twice, for good measure. It's like you missed the entire point — " Chase closed his browser entirely, abruptly reminded why he had pushed the whole thing out of his mind in the first place. Luckily they hadn't been assigned another discussion board that morning which gave Chase at least a couple days before having to deal with it again. He then, in fact, spent the rest of Algebra staring blankly at the wall.

||———||———||

Friday rolled around as slowly as ever. It wasn't a bad week, just a bit boring now that the novelty of college life was wearing off. He'd met up with Deacon for dinner a couple times, told him about his classes, and learned that Deacon wouldn't be coming to Grandpa Ralph's this weekend because he had a big lab report due Monday, or something like that. Chase was already trying to plan things to keep himself occupied when he got home. Preferably things that doubled as a good excuse to not to help plot against Diane all evening. He'd be visiting his mother the next day, so at least he had that to look forward to. He wandered back to his dorm room after he finished with classes for the day so that he could pack his bag for the weekend. It didn't take long, of course, leaving Chase without much else to do until dinner. He could get an early start on the homework he had for the weekend, but he really didn't want to. Or he could do that weekend's discussion post early so he can otherwise pretend it doesn't exist for the rest of the weekend again.

Yes, that was definitely the best idea. By that point in the day there were enough students' posts for him to make his own, reply to two, and forget it. Deacon should be so proud, Chase thought. He pulled out his laptop and found the new discussion board. This one was a little more involved, with an assigned reading related to the topics of that morning's lecture. It wasn't long, but still more than Chase would have preferred to do at all. Reluctantly, he opened it in a separate tab and started reading.

Once he felt like he understood the idea of the passage, he tabbed back to the discussion post to form his response. He fumbled through wording some of it, but for the most part felt like his answer made sense and answered the prompt appropriately. He clicked submit and scrolled through his classmate's answers. By now he could recognize several of them by their way of writing, even if he didn't actually know who was who in class. A couple of them started to sign off with an emoji like he did, so in his head he referred to them as whatever it was. Some students clearly understood the assigned reading much better than he had and he grimaced a little for not reading their responses before making his own, but he stood by his post. He then made his two replies.

Buddy's post was there too by now, of course. Chase recognized their phrasing immediately and once again had to admit that this person clearly knew what they were talking about on the subject. Chase read their post, but closed the tab afterward. He laid in bed on his phone until it was time for dinner then set off. He even convinced Deacon to take a break long enough to join him. They met at their usual spot—a little later than normal—and Deacon showed up with his laptop and lab notes. Chase had hoped to chat a bit, but decided to let it slide and the two ate in silence while Deacon worked. After a while, Chase spoke.

"How much do you have left?"

Deacon looked up from his screen.

"Of your report, I mean," Chase clarified. He picked at the empty cup in his hand.

"Oh, uh—" Deacon glanced at his screen then back to Chase. "I'm not sure, actually. About half, maybe?" he shrugged.

"Glad I'm not you," Chase laughed. "What's it for?"

Deacon frowned. "It's for my biology class. It's a partner project, but mine hasn't replied to me all week and I really don't trust him to finish his part on time at this rate," Deacon grumbled as he tapped his pencil against the table. He sighed. "So I'm writing his half. I guess."

"Why didn't you just tell your professor?"

"Oh, I will ." Deacon furrowed his brow, returning his focus to the screen. "Class was cancelled today and it's still due on Monday, so I'm just going to finish it myself then talk to Professor Haub when I turn it in. She's understanding enough." He let out another long sigh and went back to typing. Chase let them lull back into silence while they finished their food. After a little while, they said goodbye so that Deacon could continue his work and Chase could start his drive home before it got much later.

When he drove home alone, Chase would put on his favorite music and turn it up much louder than Deacon would ever normally allow. It was a perfect mood boost. Regardless of the volume though, Deacon still couldn't stop Chase from singing just as loudly when he was in the car. Especially now that Chase was in college and could call it studying in a way. Chase was very pleased to realize that. Deacon, not so much.

By the time he arrived at his grandpa's house, Chase was in good spirits. He even entertained this week's ploy against Diane for a while—something about needing the most expertly crafted lawn gnome Grandpa Ralph could create in a weekend. He did eventually bow out to… do homework. Maybe that "homework" was actually just laying in bed on his phone, but who's to say? He'd been laying in bed for nearly an hour, alternating between scrolling and staring at the ceiling, all the while pushing away a certain wayward thought that had been trying to surface. Just one—simple and benign, really—but the lull in his evening had created just enough of an opening for it.

I hope she's feeling better this time.

The thought found a lapse in his attention span and pushed its way to the forefront. It's a perfectly reasonable thought to think. And Chase knew that, but the sense of disappointment coating it still made him feel guilty.

"It's fine," he muttered, letting his phone come to rest on his chest. "I can be upset about it. Even Deacon said that's fair." He furrowed his brow. "Because it is fair."

He knows Deacon is right, or at least he knows Deacon wasn't lying. Still, Chase couldn't quite believe him. Unfortunately, both feelings can coexist and butt heads as much as they want to. He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. Chase tried to remind himself that the sentiment was also for her sake . Mostly for her sake, really. It wasn't selfish to hope his mom would feel well enough to do whatever she wanted to do with her day. That reminder did soothe the guilt, but he still felt so sour.

And that aside, he really did hope she felt better this time. He wanted to talk to her for the whole visit, and for her to feel well enough to do that without pushing herself. He wanted to quell his anxiety, bit by bit, until he stopped feeling like he needed to prepare for the other shoe to drop. He rolled onto his side, letting his phone slide onto the bed as he did, and pulled the blanket over himself tightly. Things were good now. They were better. They were improving. He knew that and he was so frustrated by the fact that he still couldn't quite believe it.

After a few minutes he picked up his phone again and saw a new notification on the screen. Chase rolled his eyes and reclined back against his pillows. He definitely wasn't in the mood for one student in particular, but before he could think better of it he opened the email.

"I will commend you on improving your analytical skills slightly, but I still can't help but feel like at best you only read half of the assigned reading before you made your post. Tell me, what's the point-" Chase shut his eyes tightly to force himself to stop reading and took a slow breath through pursed lips. He laid his phone face down on his chest and stayed like that for a minute before quickly lifting his phone again. He tapped the link to the reply and let it redirect into his schoolwork app before his better judgement could catch up to him.

"No, you tell ME what's the point of replying then? Can't you just lay off for ONCE?? Or do you HAVE to be a jerk on EVERY post?"

Chase sent the reply and tossed his phone to the end of the bed before he could overthink it. There was a dull thud as it slid off and hit the floor, but he couldn't be bothered to care. He covered his face with both hands and let out a loud sigh. "Only read half-" what did they know? Chase read ALL of it. He tried . He really tried! He just wasn't good at figuring this stuff out. And he certainly didn't need some anonymous jerk to remind him of that constantly.

Once his indignation finally settled, Chase took another slow breath and removed his hands from over his eyes. He got up just long enough to retrieve his phone and put it on the charger, then went to bed.

||———||———||

Chase was immensely relieved when not only was his mom feeling better than the previous week, but she greeted them at the door when they arrived. The two of them spent most of the visit sat in Aunt Beth's living room talking about school, the song he didn't get to finish showing her last time, the new sitcom she had started watching, anything and everything. The day flew by too quickly, but Chase felt so much lighter by the end of it that he could almost forgive the sun for setting so soon.

He and his grandpa arrived back late that evening. It was a bit later than usual, but with how his mom was feeling that day neither were too eager to cut the night short. Chase settled back into his room with a lot less weight on him than he had felt the night before. He settled into his room for the night then pulled out his phone. After a minute to think, he frowned at the screen.

On one hand, he stood by his reply to Buddy. It's not like he had any other means of contacting them to air those grievances—of which there were many to air. Their replies were getting more annoying and pretentious by the day and Chase was really fed up with it. How else was he supposed to communicate that?

On the other hand though, Chase wasn't… unaware of how it might look to the rest of the class if they see that exchange on a discussion board even if it was anonymous. And he was the one to open the email in the first place when he definitely didn't need to. It had also registered later that the first part of the reply was almost a compliment. Only almost and very backhanded, but somehow that was still an improvement.

He slumped onto his bed with a groan, phone still in hand. After thinking it over for a moment, Chase opened the schoolwork app with the intention of deleting his reply. He knew it was probably for the best even if Buddy would already have seen it by now through the email notifications. Possibly their professor, too. Chase winced at that realization. Maybe deleting the reply — or even replacing it with a more constructive one? — would look like a show of good faith. A way to say Hey, yeah I shouldn't have said that and I'm mature enough to realize that on my own, or something like that.

However, when the discussion post loaded up Chase could only find his original post. He refreshed the page a couple times but, sure enough, his reply was gone. Buddy's was too, now that Chase was looking at it. The only replies on his post were a couple from earlier in the day. When he followed the link from his email, it only brought him to his original post with  'This response is no longer available'   displayed underneath.

…Uh oh.

||———||———||

By Monday, Chase had all but lost his nervousness over the ' discussion post debacle' —a term he had coined in a text to Deacon the next morning.

("Isn't that like… every post for you two?" Deacon sent back. Chase did not answer.)

He had lost the nervousness, that is, until he was asked to stay behind at the end of that morning's class. After most of the students had filed out of the classroom, Chase slowly stood up and walked to the front of the room.

"H-hey, Professor Glenn!" he said, a little louder than he meant to. "You needed to talk? Uh—to me?" The professor looked up from the stack of papers he was collecting and smiled, then nodded in reply.

"Hello, Chase! Yes, and I'll make it quick so I don't keep you too long."

"Okay,"  Chase replied evenly. He fidgeted at his bag strap, knowing exactly where the conversation was going.

"About last Friday's discussion post—" Chase grimaced and the professor gave him a knowing look. "Yes , that .  Please be sure to keep your replies constructive and on topic. This was a first for you and you completed the requirements otherwise, so I think a warning should suffice." Chase gave a quick nod. "However, if it does happen again, I will likely have to dock points from the assignment. Sound fair?"

Chase nodded again with a nervous smile. "Y-yes sir. I'm sorry. It definitely won't happen again!" His gaze skirted across the desk and he sighed. "I was having a rough evening and let my emotions get the better of me. That's all."

"I can understand that."

"It's just—it's the same student every time! Or at least, I have to assume it's the same one." Chase's eyes were still elsewhere while his words tumbled out. "No one else sounds so snarky all the time, so it has to be the same one! And I swear they've gotten worse since I replied to one of their posts, but I was constructive and polite! I don't know why that would set them off!" Chase finally made eye contact again and froze. "Uh— sir ." Chase smiled nervously and tightened his grip on his bag. His professor chuckled.

"Ah, yes. I'm aware. And don't worry, I've contacted him as well with a similar warning. I know that student enough to know he means well, but I also know he's a bit…" He trailed off momentarily.

"Stuck up?" Chase mumbled. Professor Glenn frowned.

"' Particular ' is the word I was looking for. In any case, I didn't tell him to—what was it?" He gave a joking smile. "—' lay off'? But I did tell him to dial it back a bit." 

Chase's tension eased enough to crack a sheepish smile at the comment. "Thank you, sir. Like I said, it won't happen again!"

"I'm glad to hear that. Oh, and Chase? If you are struggling with your assignments, don't be afraid to ask for help, okay? You can stop by during my office hours if you have questions. I can even point you toward a good tutor if needed," he explained sincerely. "Alright, that's all I needed so I won't keep you any longer. Have a good rest of your day!"

Chase nodded with a quick 'Thank you' and walked out of the classroom with a slightly quicker pace than usual. Once he was sure he was out of sight, he dropped his shoulders with a heavy sigh.

Chapter Text

Eventually, that shimmery veil of college life finally wore off and Chase fell into such a steady routine that his weeks started to blur together. Aside from a particularly unique (or boring) class period here and there, it felt like he blinked and another had passed. What he did notice, however, was a distinct lack of annoying emails in his inbox after the Discussion Post Debacle.

(Deacon still wouldn't call it that, but Chase was sure he'd come around.)

It wasn't that Buddy had stopped replying altogether—at least, Chase assumed he hadn't stopped—but if they were there it had become so toned down that Chase could barely tell them apart from the rest of his anonymous classmates. The only hint was the occasional flourished vocabulary and a subtle hint of snark that Chase was certain he could detect somehow. He was practically a pro at that by now.

It was civil, though, and he certainly wasn't complaining. He reasoned that Professor Glenn must have been convincing enough and so Chase left it at that. At least it finally got that dude off his case. And so, Chase's days fell firmly into that blurry routine. So firmly, in fact, that he was a little caught off guard when the last slide in one day's literature lecture—which he had definitely been paying attention to—said "Midterms" in bolded text.

"Alright! Before class ends for the day, I would like to discuss how midterms will work since I know many of you are first years," Professor Glenn began. His gaze swept across the room.

"It will be a fairly standard written exam, not unlike what you're probably used to. The multiple choice section will be a mixture of general literary analysis and identifying key figures of speech, so be sure to study up on those. There will also be a few short-form response questions—"

Chase tapped his pencil against his desk in a steady rhythm. He definitely wasn't looking forward to any of that and already anticipated using most of his free time that weekend to study for that exam, specifically.

"—at our normal class time—and it should be completable within that time frame—so I would ask you to stay in the classroom after you finish your test so as to not distract your fellow students." The professor smiled. "Of course, you can leave once class time is over even if others are still testing. Since this classroom isn't used for another hour after, you'll be able to stay and finish—"

An affirmative murmur came from around the room and Chase nodded absentmindedly, trying to work out how to convince Deacon to help him study while they were at Grandpa Ralph's that weekend. Maybe he could bribe him with some cheesy pirate romance novel? Maybe a cheesy fantasy romance novel? Or both, even, but he'd have to make sure it's one Deacon doesn't already have…

Professor Glenn clapped his hands together lightly, recapturing Chase's attention. "Very good! One more thing and then I'll let you go for the day. Don't be too caught off guard if you see some new faces in class for the exam. I've had a few online students request to take the test in person instead of using a virtual proctor. Can't say I blame them!" he laughed.

That comment caught Chase's attention more than anything else during class that day. He wanted to say it was just because now he could prepare to avoid one in particular if needed, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't also a little curious to finally put a face to the… nickname.

"—said they could sit in during our exam period if they'd like—" And they practically have a truce going too! "—so we'll have a few extra—"

Sure , it was teacher-sanctioned truce with no actual, binding agreement between them directly, but they've barely interacted on discussion posts since then! Probably. That had to count for something! If Chase happened to put a little extra brain power toward observing the online students to gauge if one might be Buddy, was there really any harm in it? Knowledge is power, as they say!

"—all I have for you today! I'll see everyone next time."

Chase's thoughts shifted from bribing Deacon to making a mental list of Traits That Buddy Probably Has In Real Life that he should look out for. For starters: an air of ‘Don't talk to me without a bachelor's degree in pretentious literary analysis. ’ 

…Maybe Chase was looking forward to midterms a bit after all .

||———||———||

It turns out that all it took for a study session with Deacon was a copy of the newest book in his favorite historical romance series, and for Chase to conveniently and urgently need Deacon's help the next time Aunt Beth started asking too many questions about med-school. Luckily for Chase, a digital receipt for the book order was enough for Deacon to accept and bugging Aunt Beth is something Chase would have done anyway. By Friday evening, the two of them were sitting on Chase's bedroom floor. Chase was surrounded by his class notebook, two pens, at least three crumpled pieces of notebook paper, his laptop, and various half-eaten snacks, while Deacon was holding Chase's Intro to Literature study guide over the medical textbook in his lap. Chase was hunched over with his head in his hands and Deacon gave him a sympathetic look as Chase groaned in frustration—for the fifth time in 20 minutes—in response to hearing another question that he didn't know the answer to.

Chase ran his hands through his hair without raising his head. "Dude, I actually think this might be hopeless," he admitted. Deacon let the study guide rest on his textbook with a wince.

"I know I'm supposed to disagree with you to be supportive, but—"

Chase's eyes shot up to meet Deacon's with a pointed glare. "Do NOT finish that sentence, Dorkin."

"Hey, I didn't say anything." Deacon lifted his hands and Chase narrowed his eyes even more.

"No, but you thought it, and I felt it, and that's practically the same thing!"

"In my defense, you thought it first."

Chase groaned loudly—for the sixth time now—and flopped backwards onto the floor. A few seconds passed before Deacon sighed and tossed another crumpled piece of paper at him. Sympathetically, of course. It bounced off his forehead to join the others on the ground. "Come on, it can't be completely hopeless. We've only been at this for half an hour," he reasoned. "Maybe we should switch subjects for a bit? I can't help much with music theory, but—"

"No, this is the one I suck at the most. I want to get through the study guide, at least." Chase rolled himself up into a seated position.

"Okay, then—" Deacon knocked his first against the floor twice to grab Chase’s attention and stood up. "—five minute break," he declared. Chase looked up at him skeptically. "I need to refill my drink anyway." He shrugged. Deacon extended a hand toward Chase, who reluctantly took it and pulled himself up off the floor as well.

"Okay. Five minutes."

The two of them made their way to the kitchen, waving a quick hello to Grandpa Ralph as he fought with the little strings of glue coming from a hot glue gun, but not lingering long enough to be dragged into… whatever all that was about. Once in the kitchen, Chase let out a weary sigh and opened the fridge. Deacon patted him on the shoulder.

"I'm sure you'll do fine, Chase. We'll go through the rest of the study guide and then this midterm isn't until Wednesday, right? You've got plenty of time!" Deacon smiled reassuringly, but Chase's expression didn't change. He took a drink from the fridge. "Plus, at least it's just an elective class, right?"

"Sure."

They did end up finishing the study guide—after which Deacon went back to his own textbook and they both studied independently for the rest of the evening. By the end, Chase did feel marginally more confident that he wouldn't fail. It was enough to ease his nerves a bit, at the very least. Chase knew that even failing the entire course wasn't the end of the world, but there was something about his own pride that made him really not want to fail a class at all in his very first semester college. Like he'd be proving something right if he did.

He put it out of his mind as best he could before bed so he could focus on spending time with his mother the next morning, though he did bring his notes with him to Aunt Beth’s house just in case. His mom met them at the door again—an increasingly common occurrence the past few weeks. They chatted like usual and when Chase mentioned midterms she insisted on helping him go over his notes. Miraculously, she even made that feel less tedious just by the fact that she was the one reading the questions to him. Before Chase knew it, the sun had set and he was once again sitting on the floor of his bedroom with a different study guide in hand and Deacon working quietly across the room.

||———||———||

Chase set his alarm a little earlier than usually so he could get to the classroom early. As much of his focus that morning was on the exam itself, he still— kinda, sorta —wanted to get a good look at the online students who would be joining them. It was important to know what this dude looked like, right? Then Chase could avoid him around campus if he ever needed to. It was strategic.

He was also a little curious how in the world Buddy could "mean well," as Professor Glenn had put it. The comment had stuck in the back of his mind ever since he heard it. Their professor seemed to know the guy, apparently, and didn't act like he's all bad. Maybe somehow in real life he doesn't radiate so much pure jerk-face energy. Chase couldn't not take the chance to see for himself on that. He was certain that wouldn't be the case, but it piqued his interest nonetheless.

Chase left his dorm building and immediately wished that he grabbed his jacket on the way out as a cool autumn breeze hit him square in the face. Unfortunately, he was already leaving a little later than he intended to, so he put his headphones in and pressed on across the bustling campus. Only when he arrived outside his classroom did he realize he definitely could have gone back for a jacket. His brisk pace had gotten him to the hallway much earlier than he expected and the 8:30am class was still finishing up their lesson, leaving him stuck outside the door. He sighed, then walked over to the wall, let his bag slide to the door, and sat down.

Surprisingly, there were a few other students that he recognized from his class already sitting along the hallway, either scrolling on their phone or having one last look over their notes. One student in particular caught Chase's attention, though, for the fact that he wasn't a familiar face.

He was sitting in a chair a little further down the hall and hunched slightly over a small notebook. Somehow he still looked very poised despite the posture. Whatever he was writing seemed to have a lot of thought behind it, judging from the way his brow furrowed as he scribbled something out. He pursed his lips and pushed a strand of his black hair behind his ear, then continued to write. He looked tired—like he didn't want to be there anymore than Chase did, honestly. Regardless, New Guy had certainly caught Chase's attention. As a potential online student, of course. Plus, his mall-goth-adjacent style certainly stood out against the cream-colored walls of the hallway. It was unreasonable not to notice him, really.

…And, okay, maybe he's a bit attractive, Chase thought. Sue me.

Chase averted his attention away before he lost the window of plausible deniability and pulled out his study guide for one last review. He was confident that he wouldn't fail the exam, but that was about as far as his confidence went. Despite that, his attention remained split between his notes and this new, potential-Buddy. Every so often Chase would steal another glance toward him, but New Guy's focus remained entirely on his writing. Well, at least until one of those glances coincided with the moment he looked up from his notebook for the first time. The pair made eye contact for a split second and New Guy seemed very unamused by the idea that he was being watched. Or with the idea of being perceived at all, probably. Chase's eyes widened slightly and his gaze shot back to the papers in his hand to feign nonchalance. Just a casual glance at nothing in particular that happened to line up with someone else's eye-line. Happens all the time! He was betrayed by the faint flush that crept its way across his cheeks.

Okay, fine. Chase pressed his lips into a tight line as his eyes drilled into study guide. He's very ‘a bit attractive.’ Sue. Me.

After five minutes that lasted an eternity, the classroom doors opened and the previous class started filing out. Chase jammed the study guide back into his notebook with more force than he intended to and pushed himself up off the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, Chase noticed that his abrupt motion had briefly caught the attention of New Guy—Suspect B (for Buddy)—but Chase didn't look directly at him. Instead he gathered his bag—and his composure—and moved toward the classroom door. When there was a break in the flow of students, he slipped his way into the room.

Chase sat down at his usual seat with a sigh and retrieved the study guide from his bag again, smoothing out the new creases in it as best he could. His eyes stayed on his notes, but he certainly wasn't paying attention to them at all this time. The other students from the hallway slowly wandered in, and his suspicions were confirmed when Suspect B (for Buddy) eased himself into the classroom after a minute. The boy found an empty chair near the other end of Chase's row—close to the door—and sat down. He resumed whatever he had been writing without paying much mind to the rest of the room at all. Chase watched the door in his peripheral for any other new faces that might come through it. Suspect B (for Buddy) certainly had a very standoffish demeanor that could be Buddy-like, but Chase wasn't going to narrow it down that quickly. Especially since he could just be some guy who likes to keep to himself and Chase could respect that.

A couple more unfamiliar faces walked into the room over the next several minutes—the first of which also took a seat in Chase's row and the second walked a few rows ahead before sitting in a seat Chase was pretty sure is usually occupied—and neither of them stood out in particular. He sighed, quickly realizing that it wouldn't be as easy as he'd hoped. There was a lull in students entering the classroom and Chase went back to reading his notes.

Only one more online student showed up, but she seemed like such a human embodiment of sunshine that Chase ruled her out immediately. She smiled politely to a few students as she walked past them, waved to a student across the room that she recognized, then found a seat near the front of the room. Her backpack was covered in sparkly, silver sequins with a light pink trim around the zipper and Chase was a little jealous of it.

Shortly after, the classroom doors clicked closed and Professor Glenn walked to the front of the room. He greeted the class and started his pre-test spiel. Chase cleared off his desk while the professor talked and the test papers were passed around. He glanced between the online students and while he still didn't think any of them stood out that much, the first "Suspect B (for Buddy)" kept catching his attention. Chase only had a hunch, and he knew it wasn’t much to go off of, but he was already too committed to the notion to ignore it.

The class was told to flip their tests over to begin the exam. Chase was determined to finish it before the end of the class period.

||———||———||

Chase finished his exam with about 4 minutes to spare. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief and gently slumped forward onto his desk. Suspect B (for Buddy) was staring off toward the wall with a thoughtful—albeit bored—expression. Chase had no idea when he had finished the test, but he seemed like he'd been done for a while. Chase scoffed to himself and somehow he felt a little more justified in his hunch just from that.

Professor Glenn finally broke the silence. "Alright everyone, that's class time. If you're done with your exam you can place it here on my desk and you're free to go. Thank you!" He gestured to a wire bin at the corner of his desk and just as quickly the room was filled with the sound of rustling papers, zipping bags, and soft chatter. Chase pushed his chair back and swiftly swung his bag over one shoulder, test paper in hand. Chase took one last glance at Suspect B (for Buddy) as he was walking toward the aisle in the center of the room. The other boy didn't seem to be in as much of a rush as his peers—silently observing the room with his bag resting on his lap like he was waiting for the other students to clear out first. Chase stepped into the aisle leading down to the front of the room. Halfway down, he passed the girl from before and gave a quick compliment to her about her bag, to which she returned a bright "Thank you!"

Chase placed his test in the basket and made his way out of the classroom. Suspect B (for Buddy) was just starting to get up from his seat as Chase exited the aisle and turned toward the doors. Chase nearly knocked into a student in front of him when she stopped suddenly to pick up something from the floor, so he muttered a quick apology and exited the room. He found a spot on the same side of the hallway as—but several feet away from—the door and took up his post. He gripped his bag strap with one hand and pulled his phone out with the other to scroll absentmindedly like he was casually waiting for someone.

Well, in a way he was . A notch below 'casually,' perhaps, but close enough.

The other online students hadn't left the classroom yet and Chase hoped a glimpse at them outside of the exam setting might clue him in on their personalities more. Or maybe he could see if his initial hunch was right. Most of the class filed out, including the other two online students. Nothing about them tipped Chase off. As he watched the other students leaving, Chase had a moment of wondering what on Earth he was even doing, but by then he was too invested to leave. He could already hear the mini-lecture Deacon would give him if he knew what Chase was doing. Chase certainly didn't plan to tell him.

It seemed like all of the students had exited the classroom, but Chase hadn't seen Suspect B (for Buddy) yet. For a moment, he wondered if he somehow missed the other boy walking past. Chase inched toward the door to peak inside and saw that he was down at the front of the room talking to their professor about something. Chase backed out of sight and sighed. He decided to give it 2 more minutes and if Suspect B (for Buddy) didn't come out of the room he'd just leave. He scrolled on his phone and constantly glanced at the door. Another student walked through the door and the sudden movement made Chase jump. His shoulders slumped when he realized it was just a random student who had been finishing their exam.

"Well, this was annoying," Chase muttered. He tucked his phone into his back pocket and both hands into his front pockets, then hurriedly turned to walk away for lunch. Chase stepped in front of the classroom door just in time to collide with the infamous Suspect B (for Buddy) as he finally left the classroom, sending both of them to the ground in opposite directions. They each landed with a weighty thud against the tile floor.

" Ouch ," Chase hissed.

"Are you blind ?" the other boy huffed. He collected his notebook and phone from where they landed and stuffed both into his bag without looking at Chase. Chase blinked at him.

"M-my bad, dude! Sorry!" Chase raised his hands nervously then scrambled back to his feet. "Really, I didn't mean to."

He scoffed. "Yeah, I’d hope not," Suspect B (for Buddy) muttered.

A flash of frustration crossed Chase’s face, but he quickly tried to reign his expression back to something more neutral. "I'm sorry . Here, you okay?" Chase extended a hand. The other boy didn't take it, pushing himself off the floor on his own instead.

"Just watch where you're walking." He rolled his eyes and patted the dust from the bottom of his jacket. " Little idiot ," he mumbled under his breath. Chase clenched his fist at the comment and his neutral expression was overtaken by a pointed glare at the other boy, who wasn't even looking at Chase anymore.

"Oh my god, you are Buddy. Have to be," Chase muttered as the other boy started to walk past him. Definitely-Buddy stopped in his tracks in front of Chase.

"I'm who ?" he demanded.

Chase jolted, not expecting that Definitely-Buddy would have actually heard him, but suddenly determined to stand his ground anyway. "You're Bu— you're that jerk on the discussion posts who's been driving me insane all semester with your— your jerk-face replies!"

Buddy rolled his eyes again. "How eloquent . Do you think that narrows it down, whatsoever? I reply to most of the class on those," he argued. "Not that any of you care about the course material enough to learn anything," he grumbled. Having said his piece, Buddy tried to walk past Chase only for Chase to sidestep in front of him. Chase crossed his arms and glared up at Buddy, who’s expression shifted to match. He tried to step around Chase, only to be blocked again.

"You insufferable—Can you move?"

"Not until you tell me what your problem is?" Chase demanded. "I know I suck at this class and I didn't need you to remind me of that constantly!” Buddy stepped to the side once more and Chase followed again. Buddy pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exhausted sigh.

"First of all, it's anonymous . I don't even know which posts are yours . Most of you just post the same vapid drivel that I can hardly believe counts for participation, and you expect me to tell any of it apart?" he said, dismissively.

Chase scoffed to cover the fact that, well, he had a point there. About the anonymous part, at least. " Mine always have a little star symbol at the end!"

Buddy quirked an eyebrow. "Ah, you're star kid? " he deadpanned. Buddy looked Chase up and down once. "Actually, no. Somehow, that makes sense." Chase’s glare softened into a pout.

"You know, in any other context I'd agree that I'm a star , but it sounds so condescending when you say it."

Buddy smirked. "Good."  Then he sighed and rolled his eyes again, letting his gaze linger toward the ceiling. "Look, I haven't even bothered replying to your posts in weeks. At least, not with anything substantial when I do. And my ' problem' is how little most of you seem to care about what you're supposed to be learning in this class!" He narrowed his eyes and looked back down at Chase. "Now move, Star Kid . This exam has already made me late enough for my usual class." Buddy pushed past Chase and started walking away down the hall.

Chase blinked, eyes widened slightly. "I— You — First of all , Buddy, it's Chase! Not 'Star Kid'! " he shouted.

Buddy waved a hand over his head without looking back. "And second of all, it's irrelevant," he called back, almost in a sing-song tone. With that, he disappeared around the corner while Chase gaped down the empty hallway trying to process the audacity. He retrieved his phone and sent several rapid-fire texts.

Hope Deacon's phone is on silent.

That thought occurred to Chase a little later than it should have, but he was sure Deacon would be fine.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Chase read the email twice when he got it, then again the next morning just to make sure he hadn't hallucinated the whole thing. With a reluctant fourth reading by Deacon before they drove back to campus—just in case—Chase was convinced: Buddy had agreed to their truce, it seemed. 

It's not that Chase thought he'd go back on his word. Chase didn't know enough about Buddy to believe one way or the other, really. Something about Buddy's tenacity did make Chase lean toward believing that he'd take it seriously, though. Regardless, Chase was still a little surprised by how easy it had felt. That was all it took? He'd admit that he did put in extra effort, but he didn't think that he did that much better on that discussion post compared to his previous attempts. 

It wasn't until a new discussion post was assigned Monday morning that it finally clicked for Chase that he—hopefully—wouldn't have to deal with Buddy's snarky attitude on discussion posts anymore. It was almost weird to think about. He still saw Buddy around campus that morning, like he'd gotten used to over the previous week, but on the rare times they even made eye contact, the tension was significantly less. They weren't friendly by any means, but Chase didn't feel like he had some kind of angsty nemesis on campus anymore, at least.

In his free time between Music Theory and dinner, Chase decided to make another attempt at starting on his final project—hopefully with less of a threat of being banned from the library this time. He made it through the library doors and down the hallway without any kind of altercation, letting out a long sigh at the realization that he would actually have to browse the books this time.

The hallway opened up into the fiction section. There were several tall bookshelves lined up in the middle of the space, as well as shorter ones lining the walls. Halfway across the room past the bookshelves, there was a wide threshold that led to an area of tables. A single waist-high bookshelf stood in the middle of the threshold—almost like a border between the two spaces—splitting it into two walkways. Along the wall opposite to the entrance, there were several small alcoves and nooks with tables in them and small shelves along their walls as well. From what Chase could see, those shelves seemed to hold more art and decor than books.

Chase's only strategy was to look for author names that he recognized, and hope that something would catch his eye. Most of the authors he could think of were novelists, but Chase was pretty sure the assignment had said they only needed a page or two if they used a novel for one of their three works. The annoying part about those would be having to read enough of them to find a good passage. He let out another long sigh as his shoulders drooped, then stepped into the aisle between two shelves. He scanned the rows of books until he stumbled onto a thin book with a name he recognized in the middle of a tightly packed shelf and plucked that book from its spot. The other books shifted as that one was removed, causing the gap it left to disappear immediately. Chase made a mental note of where it had come from, and continued walking between the bookshelves until he reached the other end of the row.

As he stepped out into the tabled section, a familiar face caught his eye. Buddy was sitting at a table just inside one of the alcoves that connected to the main room. He was writing in the same notebook Chase had seen him carrying around before and Chase wondered if he was also getting an early start on his final project. He seems like the type. Although, Buddy didn't have any books or other class materials in front of him as far as Chase could tell… 

Chase shrugged and walked toward an empty table on the other side of the room.

The movement caught Buddy's attention and he glanced up from his work. The two made eye contact and Chase gave a quick wave, entirely on instinct. Buddy blinked at him, but surprisingly nodded to return the greeting, then looked back down at his notebook. He rhythmically pressed the tip of his pen against the page a few times, then his focus seemed to return as he started writing again. Chase pursed his lips as he watched Buddy for another second. When he reached the table, he slid his backpack off his shoulder and onto the floor. He plopped down into the chair and sat the book on the table. He opened it to the first page.

After nearly half an hour of what felt like reading the same few pages over and over, Chase pushed the book forward and let his head drop onto the table with a gentle thump . He groaned quietly. When he turned his head to the side to rest it more comfortably, he caught another glance at Buddy—surprised to find Buddy was already looking at him. Chase swore Buddy's eyes widened just barely , but the expression was gone so quickly that Chase could have imagined it. Instead, Buddy quirked an eyebrow at him—looking marginally more amused than smug. Chase squinted, too tired to actually glare, then raised his eyebrows like an unamused question . A faint smirk crossed Buddy's face and he tilted his head, like an innocent reply, then returned his eyes to his notebook like the exchange had never happened.

Chase blinked, unsure of what to make of all that.

It definitely felt… weird to make eye contact with Buddy and not have the interaction sour his entire mood for the day, that’s for sure.

And he's not… bad to look at when he's not actively trying to spite me.

Or…maybe that was him trying to spite me…Hard to tell.

Chase shook his head and returned his focus to the book. He pulled it toward him again and skimmed the page where he’d left off, but the words didn’t make any more sense than the first time and Chase finally closed the book. He checked his phone. There was a while until he needed to head to dinner, but since he was making no real progress Chase decided to just leave early. 

With a sigh, he pressed his hands against the table and pushed his chair back. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked toward the bookshelf from before. As soon as he reached the shelf, he was immediately hit with the realization that his mental note did not stick, and he couldn’t remember which spot the book had come from. He sighed and scanned over the books with his eyes hoping for a spark of recollection.

"Oh, come on. Where was it?" he muttered. Chase had narrowed it down to two shelves near the end of the aisle and racked his brain to remember which one it had been on. "It was, like, right here." He skimmed the rows of books again, then tilted his head back with another frustrated sigh. He debated just putting the book back close enough and silently apologizing to the scary librarian on his way out.

"…Just look at the numbers."

Chase whipped around to see Buddy standing sideways at the end of the aisle, as if he'd paused in the middle of walking by. Chase narrowed his gaze. "The what?"

Buddy rolled his eyes and turned to face Chase, taking a couple steps forward into the aisle. He nodded toward the book and pointed at its spine. "The numbers. On the label?" He scoffed. "That's how they're sorted, idiot."

Chase scowled further, but otherwise ignored the insult. "Okay, whatever, Mr. Probably-Haunts-The-Library-On-The-Weekends-For-Fun or… whatever. I'll use the numbers." he grumbled. Buddy took a step back and Chase looked at the numbers on the label, then to the shelves. Sure enough, they coincided with the upper shelf that he had been debating between. "Thanks," he mumbled. He skimmed the row of books with his eyes until he found the ones it had been between and he kicked himself for not remembering the bright blue book next to it that he had definitely noticed before.

Chase looked back toward Buddy, a little surprised Buddy was still there at all. Buddy nodded silently and turned to walk away. He disappeared around the corner of the bookshelves, and Chase realized that his track record for visiting the library and having a normal experience was… not very promising.

||———||———||

Wednesday was obviously a better choice for trying to work on his literature final, Chase decided. Intro to Literature would be fresh in his mind from that morning and he wouldn't have an evening class or a drive home to get ready for. Surely that was a recipe for making progress. He hoped.

He walked through the familiar, library doors and braced himself for another weird encounter, but he was pleasantly surprised when none occurred. In fact, he didn't see Buddy around at all. The table Buddy had been at last time was empty and—at least within Chase's line of sight as he entered the room—he wasn't at any of the others either. Chase sighed, a little relieved, and wandered back toward the bookshelf he had skimmed through on Monday. He was determined to make progress this time and ended up grabbing a few books by authors he recognized. While he remembered the whole "number thing" Buddy so kindly pointed out last time, Chase decided to work smarter, not harder, and took a photo of the bookshelf before he removed any to use as a reference later.

The table he had used on Monday was empty again, as were most of the tables around it. He dropped the books carefully, but unceremoniously, onto the table and sat down.

Chase flipped through a book on poetry he'd picked up with the thought that something without a lot of long paragraphs would be a better starting place. Unfortunately for him, it was simply difficult in different ways. He was proud to think he had an easier time understanding the text than he would have a few months ago, but it definitely wasn't sinking in enough to feel like he knew what any of them truly meant. He flipped through a second poetry book by a different author, but the older phrasing and word choices in it made it even harder to decipher than the first had been. He flipped it closed and put it back on the stack of books.

Finally, he pushed his notebook away from him and crossed his arms on the table. He kept his head turned enough to see the stack of books—lazily tracing the pile with his eyes and reading the spines. For a moment, he half-seriously debated if having a ' Withdrawal ' on his first semester transcript would really be that bad. With a sigh, he shook off the thought.

"Do you need any assistance?" a kind voice said from next to him. Chase couldn't place why it sounded so familiar until he turned in his chair to be faced with a polite smile and a sparkly backpack. The girl wore a pale grey blouse with a shimmery rose pattern looping around the collar, and a long, navy skirt that nearly reached the floor and flowed when she moved. Once she properly saw his face, she tilted her head and squinted. "Aren’t you in one of my classes?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah. I remember you from midterms." He smiled up at her. "I think I complimented your backpack? If I didn't, I should have."

Her eyes lit up and she lightly clasped her hands together in front of her. "Ah, yes, I remember! I knew you looked familiar. You did do that!" She smiled proudly and gripped her backpack straps as she turned her torso to the side so that Chase could fully see the bag—her long hair following the motion—then she swayed back to face him again. "I found it on sale right before school started and I just had to get it."

"It's sooo cute. You can't pass that up!" Chase laughed.

The girl shook her head. "No, sir!" She extended a hand. "My name's Sylvie, by the way."

Chase reached out and shook her hand with a smile. "Chase," he stated. 

She nodded at him. "Very nice to meet you, Chase. Now, my first question still stands: do you need any assistance? You seemed to be struggling and, though I'm not working right now, I'd be happy to help if I can." She smiled sweetly.

Chase pursed his lips, then let out a long sigh. "I'm just—You know that final project? I'm trying to get a jump on it, but I'm not much of a reader and I barely know where to start."  He picked up a book from the top of the stack and looked it over. "I thought maybe if I just grabbed some books by authors I recognized, something would click eventually." He sighed dramatically and let his arm with the book fall onto the table, then mumbled: "I swear I'm going cross-eyed just looking at these."

Sylvie pursed her lips in thought, then held out a hand. Chase passed her the book and she regarded it with a thoughtful expression. She hummed. "I'm not as familiar with this author, but perhaps I can help you find something if I know what your topic is." She handed the book back to Chase and looked at him expectantly.

Chase's eyes widened and he pressed his lips into a tight line, before they softened into a shy smile and he averted his eyes toward the wall. "Oh—I um, well I… haven't exactly picked one yet…" He chuckled sheepishly and made eye contact again. "I was hoping—I don't know—that inspiration would strike as I went…?"

Sylvie looked at him with a serious expression, though her eyes were still kind. "Well, you really ought to start there then. Finding the pieces you want to use will be much easier when you know what you're looking for, don't you think?"

"I… suppose that would help…" Chase admitted.

"Mhm!" She walked around the table and rested her hand on the chair across from Chase. "May I sit with you?"

"Of course." Chase pulled the stack of books toward him to make more room. Sylvie slid her backpack off her shoulders and hung it over the back of the chair, then took a seat. A dark green book in the middle of the pile caught her eye and she carefully pulled it from the stack, the gold title card on the cover catching the light as she did.

"Oh, I do enjoy this author. Have you read much from this book yet?"

"N-not really…yet." Chase groaned. "I hadn’t even got to that one, actually. I swear it's like I have no idea what these books are saying half the time."

Sylvie smiled and pulled the book closer to her. "Well, this one is saying—" She held the book upright on the table and hunched down to hide behind it, moving the book slightly as if it were talking. " 'Read me, read me!" " she said in a silly voice, a quick giggle escaping her mouth as she did. " 'I'm very good prose, indeed!'" She poked her head back into view without moving the book and met Chase's eyes with another giggle before placing the book on top of the stack.

Chase laughed. “Well I might just have to check that one out later!” 

Sylvie nodded. “You should. Now, do you have any ideas for your topic?”

 "Not… really, no," Chase admitted. He rested his head back on arms. "I'm realizing that I probably should have done that first," he muttered, voice muffled by his sleeves.

Sylvie laughed. "Well, it is the first section on the assignment page for a reason!" She smiled and picked up one of the other books, gently flipping through the pages. "That's okay, though. Hmmm." She held the book open to a page with one hand and tapped the table with the other as she looked off in thought. "Well, I'm writing my report around the theme of family in all its forms. And I chose that because it's very important to me, so I know I'll be able to write thoroughly about it and compare the pieces I chose well." She looked back at Chase, who glanced up at her without raising his head.

"Really? That's neat. So, have you picked out any of your pieces yet?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I have a few I'm thinking about—or rather, a couple authors that I know of who touch on those themes and I need to look into—but none set in stone yet."

"Ah, yeah I guess there is still plenty of time until the deadline for that part."

"Indeed, though I plan to have mine chosen by next week so I can get started on the rest. Never too early to start! I mean, that's why you're here now, right?" She smiled.

Chase laughed lightly and raised his head. "You got me there." He reached for the green book that Sylvie had picked up before and traced the cover with his eyes. He opened it to a random page, but didn’t actually read it."I'm just not good at reading. That's a big part of it. I swear dense paragraphs are like an alternate source of melatonin for me or something."

Sylvie furrowed her brow slightly. "Maybe you just need more practice, that's all! Or maybe you just need to find works that click with you. I love this author because their phrasing and word use really jumps out at me. I'd definitely recommend checking it out, but I may be a little biased, of course" she laughed. "Why not look into some poetry? Maybe you'll enjoy it since there aren't any dense paragraphs in it."

"Old-fashioned, flowery metaphors are a third source of melatonin," he grumbled. 

Sylvie laughed. She hummed and pressed a finger to her cheek as her eyes skimmed the bookshelves across the room. Suddenly, she looked back to Chase excitedly. "Oh! What about—hold on, I need to look up the name." She reached into her backpack for her phone and started typing almost as quickly as she found it. " Right!" she mumbled. "You should look into the Ode poems by Pablo Neruda." She flipped the phone around to Chase, displaying a black and white photo of a man standing in front of the sea with the text ‘ Pablo Neruda 1904-1973’ beneath it. Chase blinked.

"The Ode poems…?"

Sylvie nodded and turned her phone back to face her, then started slowly scrolling down the page as she explained. "Yes, it’s a small series that he wrote. All of the titles begin with 'Ode to' and are mostly just odes to fairly mundane things. Oh, like this one is Ode to Salt. Or Ode to Broken Things." Sylvie stopped scrolling with a small laugh and tapped the screen. "Or this one: Ode to a Large Tuna at the Market." She turned the phone back toward Chase to show him.

Chase laughed as well. "That sure sounds…specific." His eyes skimmed the lines that were displayed on her phone screen and he was surprised to see they were only a few words long with relatively simple vocabulary.

"Here,

among the market vegetables,

this torpedo

from the ocean

depths,

a missile

that swam,

now

lying in front of me

dead."

Chase furrowed his brow and looked back at Sylvie, whose excited expression had softened into something more politely amused as she turned her phone back to face her. 

"The lines are so broken up. It's weird to read," he observed.

"Hmm, that's understandable. Follow the punctuation more than the line breaks and it will flow better. For example—" she squinted at the screen for a moment, then nodded. "If you read the line breaks as actual pauses—rather than just a form of emphasis—then 'this torpedo. from the ocean. depths. a missile. that swam.' feels very choppy and disjointed, right?" Chase nodded emphatically. "Mhm. Right. But if you let the punctuation guide you instead, it reads 'this torpedo from the ocean depths, a missile that swam—’ and it flows much better, don't you think?"

Chase's eyes widened slightly. "Whoa, yeah. That makes a lot more sense actually. Why break the sentence up like that?"

"Like I said, sometimes it's a means of adding emphasis to certain words or phrases. Or it can be a means of creating pacing within the poem. Maybe an author wants a certain section to feel fast or slow to create the mood of the piece, so they can use line breaks as a means of doing that even if it breaks up a sentence. Perhaps this author wanted to create a gradual thought process he had while looking at a tuna in the market and realizing what it had once been. Or perhaps, he just preferred this formatting," she shrugged. "While there are rules and formats to poetry, there's a lot of variation between how different authors like to approach it. It's definitely a lot more elastic than, say, a novel." Sylvie smiled, then her eyes widened. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to turn this into a lecture."

"No, no! You're good," Chase assured with a smile. "If I'm honest, I think I understood that more than anything from the poetry lessons we've done this semester," he laughed.

Sylvie laid her hands on the table and her expression lit up again. "Good! I'm very glad to have helped you then," she said with a nod that was more akin to a polite bow. "With all that said, I'd definitely recommend you look into his other odes. Even if you don't use any of them for your project, it might be a good jumping-off point to get you into the swing of things. Oh, and figure out your topic so you can narrow down the pool of works you're choosing from!" She pressed her fists to her hips and narrowed her gaze at him.

Chase playfully rolled his eyes and waved a hand. "Yeah, yeah, I will." Sylvie's expression softened again.

"Try thinking of topics or themes that are important to you. Pick something that means something to you and it'll be much easier to connect with the works you end up choosing." She glanced at her phone. "My next class starts soon, so I must be going. Oh, but I’m a student worker here in the library! So if you see me around next time you’re here, don't hesitate to ask for help.” She pushed her chair back and stood up.

"Thank you! I'll be sure to at least say hi. It was very nice to meet you, Sylvie. Officially, anyway."

"And nice to meet you, Chase." She extended an arm across the table and Chase shook her hand for the second time with a small laugh. Sylvie pushed in her chair, then walked away with her skirt flowing neatly behind her.

||———||———||

The next day, Chase decided to visit the library again. He didn't really need to go there in order to look up the poems Sylvie recommended, but he thought the environment might help him focus and he was done with classes for the day anyway. After his vocal lesson, Chase went straight there. He walked into the building and planned to go to his usual table, but when he turned the corner into the fiction section he was shocked to find that every table was full. Which, arguably, wasn’t that many tables, but still. Many of the girls occupying the seats were wearing matching shirts—likely from some sorority or club on campus—and almost all of them seemed to be working on schoolwork. Some of them were chatting at their table, while others worked silently. A few were scrolling on their phones, clearly bored and only there out of obligation. They weren’t being too loud, a very present buzz of chatter was still floating around the room.

Chase walked further into the room, scanning the tables as he went, and sure enough even the tables in the little nooks seemed to be taken as well. He frowned. So much for that, he thought. Chase sighed and started to turn on his heel to go somewhere else, but he spotted an empty chair.

At an… almost empty table.

"You've got to be kidding me," he mumbled. Buddy was sitting at the same table Chase had seen him at before; alone in that small alcove and away from the group inhabiting the rest of the section. He looked focused on whatever he was working on, like usual, and Chase pursed his lips. He pressed a finger over his mouth in thought. He and Buddy were on better terms. Probably, anyway. And working in the library would be much more productive than working in his dorm. Probably, anyway. Chase closed his eyes briefly, then opened them with a sigh as his hand dropped to grip the strap of his bag.

Yeah, okay. Why not?

Chase started walking toward Buddy's table.

He had almost made it there before Buddy noticed him and looked up. Buddy's brow furrowed when he saw Chase approaching and his pen relaxed away from the page he was writing on. He followed Chase with his eyes as Chase made it to the table and tentatively sat a hand on the chair across from Buddy.

"What?"

"Can I sit here?" Chase asked plainly. "Since, you know…" He gestured behind him toward the full tables. Buddy leaned to one side to see past Chase and grimaced. He tapped his pen against his cheek in thought for a moment then shrugged.

"I guess. Don't be a pest," Buddy stated. He returned to writing

Chase rolled his eyes. "You got it, Buddy," he said sarcastically. Buddy pursed his lips for a moment, then shook his head. Chase sat his backpack on the table and pulled the chair out to sit down. After retrieving his class notebook and a pen from his bag, he sat the backpack on the floor beside him. Chase pulled out his phone to look up the poems Sylvie recommended and went to the tuna poem she showed him. After a moment of reading it, he heard what sounded like a scoff from Buddy.

Chase sighed and let the hand with his phone fall limply to one side so he could see Buddy fully. An annoyed expression crossed his face. Chase lazily turned his phone to face Buddy and waved it around, causing Buddy to glance up from his work. "I'm reading. Not that it's any of your business, or whatever you like to say. I didn't feel like carrying my laptop around all day just to look up some poems I could find on my phone."

"Oh."

"Oh," Chase mimicked. Buddy glared at him and Chase laughed. "Hey, you're the one making assumptions, jerk. I'm working on my final project. The one we have for Intro to Lit? Or I'm trying to start it, anyway," he added in a mumbled.

Buddy raised his eyebrows. He laid his pen against the page, still loosely holding onto it. "Why are you working on the final?"

Chase blinked. "Because I need to…?"

"Oh."

"Oh?"

Buddy shrugged. "I’m just a bit surprised, if I'm honest." He lifted his pen again and tapped the spot where he'd been writing before.

"Why is that surprising?" Chase challenged.

Buddy sighed and laid his pen down again. "I just didn't think you'd start so early on it, that's all," he explained. "Also, keep your voice lower. I know it's… noisier than usual here today, but it's still a library." Buddy glanced over to the group in the main room with a scowl, then shook his head. He looked back at Chase. "You just strike me as the 'start it last minute' type."

Chase glared at Buddy. "Oh my g—I thought we were over this whole you making dumb assumptions about me thing!" Chase said, keeping a hushed tone as best he could. Buddy raised an eyebrow. "Sure…maybe sometimes I am, but I've been trying really hard this semester and you would know that if you knew me. But you don't." Chase crossed his arms and Buddy looked back down at his notebook, nonchalantly. "So shush it, Buddy."

"Buddy." he repeated under his breath.

"Yeah , Bud-dy." Chase enunciated. "Unless you want to introduce yourself like a normal person now that I actually know your face. Here—" Chase extended a hand across the table. "I'm Chase. Nice… ish to meet you." Buddy blinked and briefly glanced down at Chase's hand. Chase nodded toward him expectantly and waved it.

"I'm not trying to be your friend."

"Yeah, dude, no duh." Another beat passed, and Chase let out an exhausted sigh then folded his hands together on the table again. "Alright, then. 'Buddy' it remains." Buddy rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. Instead, he went back to idly tapping his pen to his notebook. "What are you working on anyway? I swear you have that little notebook with you everywhere."

Buddy glanced up again, a smirk just barely ghosting onto his face. "Oh? And why would you know that? I don't think I've seen you around campus that much since we met."

Chase straightened up slightly. "I, uh—you— Well, you've been pissing me off all semester! It's only natural that I'd notice such a jerk around campus once I've put a jerk-face to the jerk-attitude." Chase babbled. "J-jerk."

Buddy snorted. "Okay."

"Okay??"

"Would you stop doing that?"

"Then stop being annoying!"

Buddy shrugged "I just asked a question, that's all."

"An annoying question," Chase grumbled.

"Whatever you say." Buddy paused, tapping his notebook again. "I'm working on an anthology," he added.

Chase blinked. "Huh?"

"An anthology. A collection of written works. Or, mine will be written works anyway. I suppose anthologies can include visual mediums as well, really."

"Oh. That's…kind of neat. What for?"

Buddy fidgeted with his pen, but didn't reply right away.

"Oh, come on. I just asked a question, that's all," Chase mocked.

Buddy pursed his lips into a scowl, then relaxed his expression again. "It's a personal project, but it might be able to double as a capstone project closer to graduation if I do it well." 

"Whoa, now who's the one starting a project early?" Chase laughed.

"I plan to graduate early, so the sooner the better," Buddy explained. "And anyways, it's also a personal project," he emphasized. "I enjoy working on it."

"What's your major?"

Buddy blinked at him.

"Dude, you have got to stop looking at me like I'm interrogating you. I'm making small talk."

Buddy’s smirk returned. "Are you even capable of anything other than small talk?"

"…If that's a dig at my height, I'm throwing that notebook across the room."

Buddy shrugged and unconsciously placed a hand over his notebook. "Could be. Also could be a dig at your conversational skills. Who’s to say?"

"Oh my god, you 're the one who's hopeless to talk to, apparently."

Buddy rolled his eyes. "Creative Writing."

"I…should have guessed that, actually. Well, mine’s Musical Theater," Chase stated proudly. Buddy stifled a laugh. "What?"

"Nothing, that just makes…a lot of sense."

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment."

"Take it as you wish."

Buddy returned to his work—actually starting to write this time—and Chase picked up his phone to continue reading. Chase read through the rest of Ode to a Large Tuna at the Market , and tried to use Sylvie’s advice to follow the punctuation instead of the line breaks. It took him a minute to adjust, but he slowly got the hang of it. 

The subject matter was interesting, as far as he understood it at least—to imagine something so large in its natural environment becoming so small in another. Or that death will indiscriminately take away any perceived power something has, no matter how strong it seemed to the living.

Chase bit the inside of his cheek. He decided to go to a different poem.

He saw a lot of poems under this author’s name, but decided to stick to the Ode To series like Sylvie had recommended. He clicked another titled Ode To The Cat, since surely that would have to be more lighthearted.

“The animals were imperfect,

long-tailed,

unfortunate in their heads.

Little by little they

put themselves together,

making themselves a landscape,

acquiring spots, grace, flight.

The cat,

only the cat

appeared complete and proud:

he was born completely finished,

walking alone and knowing what he wanted.”

Chase read the first stanza and decided he was right to think it’d be more lighthearted. He reread the stanza again before it completely clicked, but when it did he laughed lightly at the premise of the poem. Something about the last line stuck out to him.

“This one sounds like you. Well, kind of anyway… I think? I guess I wouldn’t really know.” Chase broke the silence and Buddy glanced up from his work. He gave Chase an odd look.

“What sounds like me?” he asked, skeptically.

“Here.” Chase passed his phone to Buddy with a shrug. “I’ve only read this first part and it’s mostly just those last couple lines. I don’t know, you just have that air about you.” Chase vaguely gestured with his free hand

Buddy blinked at Chase, then flicked his gaze to the phone screen to read. An amused laugh escaped Buddy as he finished reading. “ Far from ‘—born completely finished, ’” he muttered. “But I suppose the last line I could see. I am, and I do.” 

Chase frowned. “Oh…wait, that actually sounds kind of sad. I-I didn’t mean it like that. Just that you seem—independent, I guess? And determined. Like…a cat…? I don’t actually know where I’m going with this anymore, actually.” 

“I knew what you meant.” 

“Oh. Good.” 

“Why are you reading that anyway? Are you writing about cats for the final?”

Chase laughed. “No, I—um, well I don’t know what I’m writing my final about yet, actually…” He trailed off and Buddy raised an eyebrow at him. “But when I was here yesterday, Sylv- uh, one of the workers here—”

“I know her.”

“You do?”

Buddy shook his head and sat his pen down, folding his hands together over his notebook. “O-oh, no, I—well I don’t know her, really. But I know who you’re talking about. I see her here a lot and we’ve spoken a few times. She’s very polite.” 

“Oh, cool. Actually, that makes sense. Anyway, she recommended these Ode poems as something I might have an easier time reading to get me into the swing of things for when I start on my final. I was just scrolling through the list of them and this title caught my eye.”

“Ah, I see.” 

“Have you started on yours yet? Your project, I mean.”

“Not much,” Buddy admitted. “I know it won’t take me too long to finish though.” 

“Oh, what’s your topic?”

Buddy hummed and Chase wasn’t sure if it was because he hadn’t picked a topic or if he was debating whether to say it. When Buddy didn’t elaborate, Chase continued.

“Sylvie said I should pick something important to me, which is fair, but I haven’t really got an idea just yet. She’s doing hers on ‘family in all its forms’ or something like that. I think that sounds interesting, honestly.”

“My topic is independence,” Buddy finally said. “Probably,” he added.

“Aha! So I was right with the cat poem!” Chase pumped a fist into the air. Buddy rolled his eyes with an amused expression.

“Sure, I suppose. Also don’t be so lo—”

“—loud, this is a library , yeah, yeah, I know,” Chase mumbled. “As if I’m any louder than they are.” He nodded behind him toward the group of students that was still occupying the other tables. Now that Chase was paying attention again, he was sure they’d gotten a bit louder since when he came in and Chase was almost waiting for the scary librarian to come in. Unfortunately, she didn’t. “Man, they are pretty loud now, aren’t they?”

Buddy glared at the group and huffed. “Yes. They do this every week. I usually avoid the library at this time, but I’m done with my classes for the day and in a mood to write.”

“Why not just go somewhere else?”

Buddy shrugged again. “Habit.” 

“I guess that’s fair. Have you been able to write much at least?”

“A bit, but this blond-haired idiot sat at my table this time and keeps talking to me.” Buddy glared at him, but it wasn’t anywhere as sharp as the previous week.

“Wowww, rude.” Chase glared back. “And here I thought we had a truce to act civil.”

“Am I not being civil? I even let you join my table and engaged in your small talk, Star Kid.”

Chase narrowed his eyes further. “Buddy, I’m so serious about chucking that notebook across the room.”

Buddy rolled his eyes and closed the notebook. “Regardless. I got to a stopping point so I was planning to leave anyway.” He tucked the notebook into his bag and pushed his chair back from the table.

“Oh, uh, alright. Thanks for letting me sit with you then.” 

“Thanks for not being…a complete pest about it, I guess.” 

“Yeah, whatever, man.” Chase snarked. “See you around, probably.” 

“Probably.”

Chapter Text

The hum of the wheels against the road could just barely be heard over the music Chase had picked for their drive home Friday evening. He and Deacon left a bit later than usual with the sun already dipping below the horizon as they got on the road. Usually, their drive home would start with the pair chatting about their week or lamenting over coursework, before the conversation would taper off and Chase would be allowed to pick out the music for the remainder of the trip. It was always some combination of songs that had been stuck in Chase's head that week, something he was working on in lessons, or his typical walking playlist—all of which he would sing along to loudly, occasionally broken up by one of them starting a new conversation. Though sometimes Deacon would wish for a slightly less energetic drive home, by that point in the semester he was very much used to it.

He was not used to noticing the hum of the wheels against the road.

Deacon reached over to turn the music down slightly, sending a quick glance toward Chase before returning his eyes to the road. Chase didn't react. His eyes were fixed straight ahead through the windshield, loosely watching the border where the glow of the headlights faded along the pavement. Aside from a slight downturn of his mouth, his expression appeared entirely neutral. Blank, almost. Deacon tapped the steering wheel with his fingertips to the beat of the song that was playing.

The drive had started with the expected chatter. Deacon passed the quiz he'd been fretting over all week. Chase made a new friend at the library and read a couple poems. Deacon bumped into Brock at lunch one day and Brock had said to tell Chase "hello." Chase had officially confirmed his recital piece, though he still couldn’t quite pronounce the title out loud. Deacon heard of a new place with a gluten-free menu opening near campus soon. Chase had a civil interaction with Buddy.

The conversation reached its expected tapering-off point and Chase turned the music up slightly. When their chatter wasn't replaced with Chase at least humming along to the track, or Chase showing Deacon his newly-appointed recital piece—despite Deacon definitely having heard it several times before—a thought somewhere in between suspicious and…concerned crossed Deacon’s mind.

He stopped tapping the steering wheel and sighed without removing his eyes from the road. "Dude, what's up?"

Chase jumped slightly at the sudden voice, effectively snapped out of his thoughts by the sound. Out of the corner of his eye, Deacon could see the confused look Chase was giving him. Chase blinked. "Huh?"

"You're too quiet." Deacon motioned toward the dash with a subtle nod. "So's your music. Not that I'm complaining about the quiet, per say, but something's off. So what's up?" Deacon glanced at him again with a skeptical look. "Was that conversation with Buddy less 'civil' than you say it was or something?"

"N-no. Uh, he was…fine, surprisingly." A renewed vigor crept into his voice. "Actually, no. That was so weird! A week ago we hated me for no good reason and we nearly got kicked out of the library over it—"

"You what? How on Earth did you manage to do—"

"AND — " Chase interjected, a bit louder than he meant to, "—then this week he just lets me sit there and work on my final project like it’s nothing?"

Deacon started to question further, but quickly decided that it probably wasn't worth it. "Didn't you…ask to sit with him?" he asked instead. "I'm almost more surprised about that part, honestly."

Chase crossed his arms. "All of the other tables were full," he grumbled. "And there's…no way I would have got any work done in my dorm, so—" He shrugged.

"Fair enough, I guess. So that's not what's bothering you. What is?"

"Oh, uh…" Chase trailed off. He chewed the inside of his cheek and tried to work his thoughts into sentences. Deacon waited, letting the hum of the road fill the space again. Finally, Chase spoke. "Do you…think Mom would actually, um—Do you think she'd come to Recital?" he said quietly. Chase fixed his gaze to the floor of the car and loosely gripped at the ends of his sleeves.

Deacon blinked. "…Of course…she would?" he replied slowly.

Chase shook his head. "N-no, I mean—Hm...Do you…think she'll be able to? Like, to be out of the house that long, and all…" Chase's eyes returned to light shining on the road with his hands still worrying away at his jacket. He quickly glanced toward Deacon, then back at the road.

Deacon mouthed an oh and pursed his lips. "I mean, probably. Aunt Myra's been up and around the house a lot more lately. I think she even goes with my mom to the shop once in a while now." He glanced at Chase as the car slowed to a stop. The ticking of the blinker filled a brief gap in conversation and Chase let out a breath. Deacon looked at the road again. "So I don't see why not."

"Yeah…" Chase mumbled. "That's true."

Deacon furrowed his brow. The car accelerated again to turn the corner. "Isn't she planning to go?"

Chase turned his head to look out the passenger window, propping his elbow against the door and resting his head on his hand. He puffed his cheeks for a moment before releasing the breath and pressed his mouth against his palm. "…She doesn't know about it." His voice was muffled slightly by his hand, but just audible enough.

Deacon's brow furrowed further. "She doesn't?"

Chase sighed and shifted so that his cheek was resting against his hand instead and his eyes were loosely focused on the blurry border of the road zipping past outside.  "I…haven't told her," he admitted.

"Why? You told me weeks ago."

The car slowed to another stop, then moved forward again.

"I just—I don't—" Chase trailed off, searching the passing pavement for the words. After a moment, he found some. "I haven't mentioned it...I want to, but I just—what if she's not feeling well enough to go that day?  And I—She shouldn't push herself over some dumb recital." Chase sat forward slightly, shifting his gaze toward the approaching stoplight. "Or feel bad if she can't make it. It's not like it's even that—” He cut himself off and pressed his lips together, then exhaled. "I don't...want her to feel like she has to go if she really shouldn't, and I—you know?" He murmured. Chase slumped back against his seat again, any vigor he found before dissolving into the faint music still playing and the slowing hum of the pavement as they approached another stoplight.

Deacon looked at Chase again once the car was stopped. "Okay. Yeah. No, I get it. I think." The light changed and Deacon looked ahead again as the car moved. "You should just tell her tomorrow then," he stated, like it was easy. When Chase didn't respond, Deacon continued. "I get why you're worried, I do. But I'm sure she'd at least like the chance to be there, right?"

Chase nodded. "Um—probably, yeah," he mumbled. The car turned another corner and the farmhouse came into view at the end of the street. Chase was relieved to see the living room light was still on.

"Plus, you've seen how much she's been up around the house when we're over, right?"

Chase exhaled a relieved sigh at the thought. "Of course! It's been… really nice to see." A warm smile worked onto his face, despite his unease.

"Dude, I swear at least once a week I have to hear my mom talk about how Aunt Myra won't stay in bed when she should be resting! Although, I'm sure that's exhausting in its own way. For Aunt Myra, I mean." 

Chase chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that sounds about right."

"So you should tell her and let her be the judge then."

Chase went quiet again as the car pulled into the driveway. Deacon turned off the ignition, but the music continued to faintly play until Deacon pulled his door handle and left the pair in ambient silence. Deacon pushed his door open.

"What if—" Chase started, causing Deacon to stop and turn to look at Chase again. "Do you think she'll be mad?"

"Mad?"

"Y-yeah." Chase picked at his sleeve. "That I waited so long…to tell her. What if she's upset with me for that? I feel like I've been lying to her."

Deacon frowned. "Have you been lying to her?"

"Well, no…"

"And have you… met your mom?"

Chase blinked at him. "Um…yes?"

Deacon rolled his eyes jokingly. "Rhetorical question. Chase, I doubt she'd be mad over that." He stepped out of the car—closing the door with a thud —then moved to retrieve his bag from the back seat. Chase exited the car as well, grabbing his backpack from the floorboard and swinging it over his shoulder. He waited by the front of the car for Deacon to join him, house keys already in hand. The pair walked toward the front door.

"I—"

"Chase, she adores you. You're fine."

Chase put his key into the door and the lock clicked as he turned it. "Okay." The pair walked into the house. "Grandpa, we're here!" Chase called out.

"Hey, boys!" Grandpa Ralph's voice replied from another room. He stepped into view to greet them. "I was just about to go to bed, but I thought I'd wait a bit longer for you two."

Deacon sighed. "Yeah, sorry we're so late. I have a report due that I really didn't want to worry about over the weekend. Stayed a bit late to finish it so I could submit it earlier."

Ralph stepped forward and patted both Deacon and Chase on the shoulders. "No worries there! I can't fault you for being a good student, now can I? How'd it turn out?"

"Oh, uh, as good as I could, I guess. It'll get a good grade, that's all I really care about."

"Fair enough! Good on you, Deacon."

"Yeah, nice job, Dorkin!" Chase said sincerely, despite the nickname. Deacon faintly glared at him then rolled his eyes.

"Thanks," Deacon sighed. "I'm ready to be done with that class, honestly. It's a drag."

"You've made it past midterms, at least. Almost there, right?" Ralph said.

Deacon grimaced—just barely, but still enough for Chase to notice. "Yup," he said.

Ralph glanced at his watch. "Well, since you boys are here now I'm going to turn in for the night. Don't stay up too late, you two. Goodnight!"

"Night, Grandpa."

"Goodnight."

Ralph nodded and left the room. "Oh, and don't forget to turn off the big light when you're done out there," he called.

"We won't," Deacon replied. He turned to Chase. "Actually, I think I'm going to bed now, too. I'm exhausted. Are you staying out here?" Chase shook his head so Deacon reached for the light switch and turned off the overhead light. The dim glow of a night light plugged in behind the end table faintly lit the room as Deacon and Chase walked toward the stairs. "Oh, and for the record, I'm pretty sure Aunt Myra knows you won’t be mad at her if she can't go. I mean, you wouldn't be, right?" It was said more like a statement than a question. Deacon knew the answer.

"Of course not. That's why I asked you to record it in the first place. Just…in case," Chase stated.

Deacon nodded as they climbed the stairs. "And I'm sure she knows that. But I'm also sure that she'd love the chance to show up, and that you'd love for her to be there if she can."

Chase pursed his lips, then relaxed with a sigh. "Right. Yeah, okay, I—I'll tell her tomorrow."

"I can't really blame you for worrying, but just—try to breathe a bit, dude," Deacon laughed.

"Yeah, yeah," Chase groaned.

||———||———||

Chase was nervous. He knew he didn't need to be, but that didn't stop him from fidgeting with his sleeves, his phone, the bottle he tea he'd picked up for his mom—anything within reach during the drive, really. After a while of trying to settle his hands, Chase finally resorted to just watching the blurry, passing edge of the road like he had the night before.

It was mid-morning and much brighter outside, so he could see the blur of the trees beyond the shoulder of the road as well. Some of them had leaves that were changing colors. Some were steadfast in their green, and others had dropped nearly all of their leaves at the first sign of a cold evening. For the first time in a while, he registered the changing season. He registered how much time had passed since he last registered that it had passed at all. It gave him pause. He was over halfway through his first semester of college and that alone was…interesting to think about.

After taking a year off school for his mom's health, both of them had been excited the day his acceptance letter came in the mail. Chase waited until he was in the room with her to open it, partially so she was there for the reveal, and partially because he was too nervous to open it alone. His mom was tired that day—Chase could see it in face and her movement and hear it in her voice—but when they opened the letter to find good news, she insisted they celebrate somehow.

"Celebrating" ended up meaning they spent the whole afternoon laying in bed and watching movies, but that was more than enough. Chase smiled at the memory, his eyes still on the passing trees.

He sighed. A lot of time had passed since then. Seeing his mom that tired on an average day felt like yesterday and a lifetime ago all at once. Comparing the two felt both relieving and nerve-wracking. He shook off the latter of the feelings.

No, he thought. She's doing so well. She'll continue doing well.

Chase's eyes refocused out the window as a familiar welcome sign came into view—then passed by—and he puffed his cheeks. The past few months had felt like a blink and a year. His college's campus felt familiar, yet still foreign—like time had passed without passing at all. All of the dissonance threw Chase for a loop, unsure if it even made sense. He pursed his lips.

He had also known about the recital for weeks by that point. How could he have not told her about it? Deacon was right. Surely she'd at least want the chance to go. And she had been getting so much better.

Maybe she will…

Chase shook his head, hands clutching and releasing his sleeves again and again. He didn't want to assume she'd be able to go—that she would go. Disappointment was too good at sneaking in under expectations, and Chase didn't want to feel as selfish as to have either toward his mother. Not over something like that. 

So he would tell her about the recital. And tell her that Deacon agreed to record it. And that there would be other recitals, so really it's okay if she's too tired that day, or if she has a treatment scheduled, or—

The feeling of the truck coming to a stop followed by the engine shutting off pulled Chase from his thoughts. He blinked, turning his eyes toward the familiar house they'd stopped outside of. He picked up his jacket from the floor and climbed out of the truck alongside Ralph and Deacon.

The trio reached the front door where Deacon's parents were waiting to greet them. Chase felt a little anxious knot form in his stomach at the realization that his mom wasn't standing there, too. He let out an exhale as he stepped into the living room and looked around it. She wasn't there either. Chase pursed his lips.

"Good morning," Aunt Beth greeted.

"Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad." Deacon waved to them both, then turned away to sit his bag on the couch.

"How's school going? Oh, and that exam?" Dale asked.

A grimace crossed Deacon's face, but disappeared just as quickly before he turned around to face his parents again. Chase frowned.

Deacon put on a pleasant tone. "It's good. It was only a quiz, actually, but I definitely passed."

Beth loosely crossed her arms. "Well, quizzes are important to your grades, too. I hope you aren't just aiming for a passing grade."

"No, ma'am," Deacon muttered flatly. He gripped the hem of his shirt. "I'm not, don't worry."

"Well, good —"

Ralph stepped forward and put a hand on Deacon's shoulder. "Now, Beth, come on. The boy just got home for the weekend. Surely he can relax a bit! Rest is good for the mind, you know? He even finished a report early so he could turn it in last night, didn’t you?" He patted Deacon's shoulder and Chase used the break in conversation to back away from it, continuing to listen as he did so.

Deacon nodded. "Yes, I did. Submitted it last night, but it isn’t due until Sunday evening." A subtle bout of pride crept into his voice as he spoke.

"I'm glad you're staying on top of your studies!" Dale chimed in.  "That proactiveness will serve you well, especially once you're out of pre-med."

"I know," he replied, almost more like a sigh.

"Anyway," Ralph continued. "Let the boy rest a bit, he's earned it."

"Y-yeah! Deacon's been working really hard," Chase added, inching closer toward the stairs.

Beth gave Chase an unamused look, but didn't reply. She looked back at Ralph. "That's fair, I suppose." She turned to Deacon. "Just make sure you don't slack off all weekend, though."

"I won't."

"Good." She glanced back at Chase, who stopped with one foot on the first step. "You, either."

Chase sighed. "I know."  He continued up the stairs without looking back and Beth let him. Chase could hear their chatter pick back up as he reached the bedroom door. He stopped. 

…If she was asleep , surely Aunt Beth would have mentioned that by now. And if she was feeling sick she definitely would have mentioned it. Chase raised a hand, then paused, then lightly knocked on the door.

"Come in," her muffled voice replied. Chase was opening the door before she had even finished speaking. The two made eye contact and Chase released a sigh at the sight. When had he started holding his breath? It didn't matter. His mom was sitting up at the desk, knitting something Chase couldn't quite make out and basking in the morning sunlight streaming through the window. Maybe she was just sitting there because the lighting made the stitches easier to see, but to Chase she was glowing.

Myra looked at Chase with a surprised expression for only a moment, before something much warmer replaced it. She smiled up at him. "Oh, hello Charlie." She glanced over her shoulder at the clock across the room, then back to Chase. "I'm sorry. I must have lost track of time. I'm surprised I didn't hear you guys come in, though," she laughed.

Chase's shoulders dropped slightly. "Th-that's fine. We haven't been here long," he explained. His eyes moved to the ball of yarn resting on the desk. "What are you making?"

She turned sideways on the chair and lifted her work slightly for Chase to see. So far, it only extended a few inches from the needles. "Oh, just a scarf. Or it will be one eventually. It's not much of anything yet. Here, let me just—" She lowered the project again in front of her and started working the rest of the stitches on the row. Chase watched her loop the yarn over the needles and knit each stitch in silence. Once she finished the row, she pushed the stitches further onto the knitting needle they were looped around, then carefully laid the project and her loose knitting needle on the desk. The metal needle clicked against the desk as she did. "There. I can continue later."

Chase smiled. "Maybe I should learn how to knit someday, too."

His mother smiled back. "Well, I'd love to teach you. You're always welcome to ask."

"I'll think about it," he breathed.

Myra smiled back at him and stood up. "We can go downstairs with the others now if you'd like."

"Ehhh, I'm not…sure I want to be lectured by Aunt Beth about schoolwork just yet.” 

She laughed. "I guess I can't blame you for that. She means well, though."

"She sure has a weird way of showing it," he mumbled. Chase shook his head. "I—we can stay up here for a bit. If you want to keep knitting, or…something. It's nice, uh, watching you work."

"Alright." His mom nodded. "We can stay up here for a bit longer, then." She picked up her knitting from the desk and moved it to the bed so she and Chase could sit together. Both of them sat down on the bed and Myra picked up her work again. They fell into silence as she worked on another row and Chase watched.

…Recital.

The thought crossed Chase's mind suddenly and he fought back a wince. Right. He still needed to talk to her about that. He…didn't know how to broach the topic. It felt silly, but he felt so nervous. Where was he ever supposed to start?

"M-mom?"

She looked up at him—his tone causing a faint worried expression to cross her face. "Charlie?"

His eyes widened slightly, realizing the conversation he had just initiated and apparently still didn’t have the courage for. "I—Um, it's…nothing. Nevermind." He smiled. It didn't reach his eyes and Myra frowned at him.

"No, no, none of that. Something's bothering you." She sat her knitting down on her lap and turned her full attention to Chase with pursed lips. "I suppose if it's something personal, you don’t have to tell me, of course. But I'm always here to liste—"

"No! Uh, no. It's no—It’s something I need to tell you about. O-oh, but it's nothing bad, don’t worry," Chase clarified.

His mom nodded and smiled patiently. "Okay."

"I—" Chase paused. He felt silly for feeling so stumped and decided to just rip the bandage off. "There's a recital. At…at the end of the semester. I'll be performing in it—I, uh, just confirmed my song this week actually, and I—it's open to the public so I…" The words tumbled out until they didn't. Myra's smile widened.

"Oh, Charlie, that's lovely! How exciting." She laughed and leaned forward to place a hand over his. "Is that all? I thought you were in trouble or something!" Myra gave his hand a small squeeze then released it.

Chase laughed nervously. "O-oh, no! Nothing like…nothing like that. I just—" He bit the inside of his cheek and Myra furrowed her brow.

"Are you alright?"

The softness of her tone made something unravel in Chase's chest. "I was afraid —Because it feels like I've been—I thought you might be upset with me…" he stammered out.

She took his hand again. "Why would I be upset with you?"

Chase looked at the floor. "Because I—I’ve known about it all semester and…I almost didn't tell you. I wasn't—I've known for weeks and I was just…I was afraid you'd be mad that I hadn’t told you or…I don't even know," he babbled. "I didn't want you to think you needed to push yourself to be there for some dumb recital if you aren't feeling well that day, or—" Chase cut himself off, unsure of what else to say. He looked over at her again "I…should have already told you, Mom. I'm sorry, I just—I don't know." He shook his head and looked away again.

Myra watched him for a moment, thinking over what he'd just said. She squeezed his hand and he turned his hand over to squeeze hers back. "For starters, it's certainly not a 'dumb recital,'" she said.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled again. Myra gently tugged his hand and he leaned into her without looking up. She moved her arms around his shoulders to pull him into a gentle hug and Chase unconsciously placed a hand on her arm.

"I'm not mad at you, Charlie."

"You're not?"

She released him and placed her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back just enough to see his face. "Of course not. I understand that you had good intentions." Chase nodded, briefly wiping his eyes without responding. Myra continued. "You know, I really have been feeling a lot better lately. More and more the past few months." She laughed lightly. Chase didn't meet her eyes, but a small smile crept onto his face. "It's been wonderful, but almost a little nerve-wracking at the same time, though."

Chase quickly met her gaze again. He blinked. "It… is?"

"Yes, of course! Maybe it sounds silly, but I get scared too, you know?" She removed her hands from his shoulders and leaned back slightly. "There are…days when I wake up a little more tired than usual and I worry it's all a façade. Today started out like that, actually. I wake up a little breathless and worry that something's going wrong again. What if next time I wake up to a call from the doctor? Or back in a hospital? That thought scares me sometimes."

The pair sat silent for a moment, digesting the words. Chase sniffled and rubbed his eyes again—gaze turned back to the floor—then nodded.

"Yeah," he breathed. "I—" He had opened his mouth to speak, but no words came forward. He pressed his lips tightly together and exhaled a shaky breath.

Myra took his hands, pulling them gently to get his attention. He still didn't look up, but the slight turn of his head told her that he was still listening. "But now…for every bad day I have, I have at least a week of okay days. And a lot of those are even good days."

"I—" Chase's voice broke, just barely, and he looked at her again. "I know. I'm so happy about that, Mom," he whispered.

She reached up to brush his hair away from his eyes and gave him a gentle smile. "I am, too."  She used her free hand to wipe her own eyes. "I've gotten a lot better. Not just on the scans or on paper, but I've been feeling better. So, Charlie?" Chase hummed in response. "You can trust me.”

He furrowed his brow. "I…I do trust you," he insisted, confused.

Myra gave him a fond smile and placed a hand on his cheek. Chase closed his eyes and leaned into it. "I know you do, sweetheart. But you need to trust me to know my limits, too, then."

Chase blinked at her, eyes widening. "Oh, I—um, I…I'm sorry."

"It's alright." She squeezed his hand again.

"No—It's…it's not. I'm sorry." He squeezed her hand back. "I…trust you. I trust you, I promise."

Myra smiled at him. "Thank you. So, does that mean you want me to come to your recital, then?"

Chase nodded. "Of course! Of course! I—of course I want you to come! I just—" A worried look crossed his face. "Y-you don't have to if you aren't feeling well that day! I don't want you to think I'll be mad or something—I won't be! There’s…There will be other recitals, and I asked Deacon to record this one if you can't come, which is practically the same thing—" His babbling was cut off by an affectionate tap to his forehead. He shook his head and blinked at the abrupt motion.

"Here, let's make a deal, okay? If you can trust me to make the call, then I promise I won't force myself to come if I'm really not feeling well enough that day. Sound fair?" she laughed.

Chase rubbed his eyes again and nodded. "Yeah…that's fair," he mumbled. "B-but, really if you can't make it I won't be upset, I prom—"

"Charlie. I'll be there." She gave him a teasing smile. "Trust me, remember?"

He nodded sheepishly. "Oh, uh—sorry. I trust you, Mom."

"Good. Give me a chance, Charlie, alright?" She smiled, then crossed her arms with a playfully narrowed gaze. "And I better get an autograph from the future-famous Chase Hollow afterward!" She lifted a hand to ruffle his hair and he leaned back out of reach.

"Mom,"  Chase giggled, swatting her hand away.

She put the hand to her chest instead and raised an eyebrow at him. "Does that mean I can't have one?" She faked a gasp. "Your own mother?"

Chase laughed harder, waving a hand at her. "Mom!"   He took a deep breath and took her hand. "Of course you can."

Chapter Text

Coming back to school on Monday, Chase almost felt lighter. The conversation with his mother had stayed in the back of his mind for the rest of the weeknd and carried over into Monday morning. He allowed his hopes to get up—just barely—that she would be at the recital, sitting in one of the auditorium chairs to cheer him on. He smiled at the thought. He really hoped it'd become a memory later, as well.

His final project had mostly left his mind in favor of spending time with his mom, completing a couple different homework assignments he had, and still wanting a bit of time to zone out and do nothing. After his Acting class Tuesday afternoon, he had officially turned in the last of that homework and decided to return to the library. He passed through those familiar doors and made his way toward his usual section. Chase was only planning to go sit at a table—just there for the space more than the books—until he spotted a familiar figure pushing a cart of books between the freestanding shelves. Chase approached her.

"Hey, Sylvie!"

Sylvie looked up from the spine of the book in her hand and smiled. "Oh, Chase! Hello," she greeted. Her eyes returned to the row of books, scanning them briefly before gently sliding the book back into place. 

"How's it going?" Chase's eyes followed the motion of her hand as it reached down to pick up another book. "Oh, sorry. You must be working."

"That's quite alright. I can chat while I work." She nodded, then read the label on the book she picked up. "It's going well. How are you?" 

Chase smiled back at her. "I'm good. Oh, I read that poem you recommended about the tuna. And another by that author about cats." 

Sylvie pressed her hands against the book she was holding, as if clasping them together. "Oh, I'm glad to hear that!" She skimmed the row of books until she found the spot for the one in her hands, then slid it into the shelf. "I actually reread the Ode to a Large Tuna after you left. I'm not sure I've read one about a cat though. What did you think of them?" she asked excitedly. She pushed the cart forward and picked up another book. 

"I liked them! Well, I think I liked the cat poem more. The tuna poem…felt a bit heavy, I guess." He shook his head. "You were right about them being easier to understand though. Thanks for the recommendation. And for, uh, explaining how to read them," he laughed.

Sylvie shelved another book and turned to him with a nod. "I'm glad you enjoyed them! If those two caught your eye, I would definitely recommend reading some of the other odes. Even if you don't use them for your project, it might help you get an appreciation for the artform!" she explained.

Chase laughed. "I'm still not sure I'm much of a poetry guy, but I'll give them a—"

"Hey Syl, here are a few—Oh, sorry. Didn't realize you were helping someone." A voice came from behind Chase and he turned around to see another student with a small stack of books in her arms. She brushed a piece of her long hair behind her shoulder with her free hand, then gave Chase a polite wave. "Hello." 

Sylvie peered over Chase's shoulder with a bright smile. "Oh, no, we're just chatting while I work! This is my new friend, Chase." Chase looked back at Sylvie as she nodded toward him, then followed her gaze back to the new person. "Chase, this is my best friend Idonea. She also works here." 

Idonea stepped further into the aisle and into Chase's field of view. He took a step back so she could fit by.

"Pleasure to meet you," she said with a nod as stepped past him. She gently sat the stack of books on Sylvie's cart and lifted up the first one to read the label. She pursed her lips at it and sat it aside, then sorted the rest into the rows on the cart. "These were on the nonfiction cart for some reason. I told Ray to pay more attention when he's checking books in," she mumbled, then sighed. She picked up the book that she had set aside. "Anyway, it looks like you've already passed where this one goes. I'll put this one back while I'm over here. Thanks, Syl!" And just like that, she disappeared back around the corner.

"Bye, Idonea!" Sylvie called after her. She pushed the cart forward to the last section of that aisle and picked up another book.

"She seems nice," Chase observed, then laughed. "Maybe a bit intimidating."

"She's very nice," Sylvie confirmed. "We've been friends since the start of the semester. She can seem a bit intimidating at first, but she's actually very sweet." She slid the book into the shelf and picked up another.

Chase nodded. "Ah. That makes sense." 

They pair fell into silence for a moment as Sylvie shelved the last couple for that aisle. Chase stepped out of the aisle and Sylvie pushed the cart out and turned the corner. She pulled the cart into the next row and Chase followed behind it. Sylvie picked up another book and slid it into the shelf. She nodded to herself and pulled the cart further into the aisle. 

"Oh!" Sylvie broke the silence. "Have you had any luck with your final project?" 

Chase rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah—Um, no. I haven't. I thought about it a bit last week! But I couldn't come up with anything…" 

Sylvie shelved the book in her hand and paused, tapping a finger to her chin with a hum. She picked up another book. "Well, have you thought of anything you connect with, like what we spoke about? Oh! What's your major?"

"Musical Theater." 

Sylvie's eyes lit up. "Oh, how neat! Well, what if you picked something related to music then?" The pair stepped forward with the cart and Sylvie picked up another book. 

"I thought about that actually, I just—I don't know. I'm not sure if I can connect with written stuff about music the way I do with, like, performing it. You know? I love performing, but I don't think I'd like reading about performing. Or whatever." 

"Ah, that makes sense. Still might be an idea to consider. Maybe there's another angle you could take with it. I do understand your point, though. Hmm…" The cart was pulled forward and Chase took a couple steps to match it. Sylvie picked up two books and slid them into the shelf in front of her. "How would you describe yourself?"

"Huh?"

"Maybe you can find a trait that you feel is important and spin that into a theme. Something you try to be or that you look for in others, even," she explained. 

"Oh. Hmm, maybe." Chase put on a jokingly smug expression. "I'd describe myself as being pretty cool."  

Sylvie laughed as she picked up another book. "I can certainly see that. I'm not so sure you'll find many literary works about being 'pretty cool' though, unfortunately. How about—Hmm, imagine how you'd describe yourself on a resume."

"Oh…um—"

Sylvie looked over at Chase and tilted her head. "Have you ever made a resume?"

"…No?" Chase smiled awkwardly.

"Ah. Might come in handy someday! But that's beside the point. If you were applying for a job and the interviewer asked you to describe yourself in a few words, what would you tell them?"

Sylvie finished up with that aisle of bookshelves and pulled the cart around to the next. Chase followed her, thinking about his answer. When Chase didn't reply for a moment, Sylvie spoke again.

"You're very friendly, I think. There's a start." 

"Oh, uh, thanks. I try to be." Chase smiled. He looked off in thought, then back to Sylvie. "I think I'm…determined?" 

"Yes, there you go! Keep going," Sylvie urged with a smile. She picked up another book and pulled the cart forward.

Chase hummed, tapping his chin with one hand and gently nudging the cart forward as Sylvie walked. "I care a lot about the people I'm close to. Like my family, for example." Chase smiled softly. "Oh, but I guess that wouldn't really go on a job application."

"No, no, that's a good one! Forget the job application thing now that we've got the ball rolling."

"You suggested it!" Chase laughed.

"Yes, and it worked, did it not?" Sylvie laughed in reply. She waved a hand at him then reached down for another book. 

"Okay, fine. It did." 

Sylvie nodded proudly as she looked over the label on the book. "Oh, it seems this book was in the wrong order on the cart." She looked up at Chase and extended it toward him, gesturing toward a shelf to his left. "This goes back there. Would you mind?"

"Oh, yeah, no problem," he said. He took the book from her hand and copied what she'd been doing—looking over the numbers on the spine and using them to find the spot on the shelf where it belonged. He found it with ease and grimaced slightly at the idea of the smug look Buddy would probably give him over it.

"Thank you. I'd say you also seem quite kind," Sylvie observed.

"I'd like to say I am," Chase agreed. "Thank you." 

Sylvie nodded and picked up another book. "I respect that. I think we should all try to be kind." 

"Agreed. Hmm. I'm…not sure how these traits can translate to the project, if I'm completely honest," Chase admitted sheepishly.

"Well, I didn't mean for them to translate directly, per say. Rather, use those to inspire an idea! For example—" She shelved a book and picked up the last one. "—you said you're determined? You could use determination as a topic and look for works about a character or narrator who's determined to meet their goal. Or determined not to do something. Does that make sense?"

Chase nodded. "Yeah, I think so. I think—Thanks, Sylvie. I'll think about it more."

"Of course. Well, I've run out of books," she said, gesturing to the empty cart. "So I must return to the office to continue working. It was good to see you, Chase!" 

"You too, Sylvie! Thanks for letting me bother you at work," he laughed. 

Sylvie waved a hand at him. "Oh, none of that. You're not bothering me at all." She pulled the cart out of the aisle and Chase followed. "If you start struggling to think of more traits in yourself, try thinking of the things that you look for in other people, instead. Or the kind of characteristics you respect the most. That kind of thing." 

"I'll keep that in mind. Thanks again, Sylvie." 

"Anytime!" 

The two exchanged a friendly wave, and Sylvie walked away with her cart. Chase turned back to where the tables were located, intent on coming up with his topic before he left. Or at least coming up with some tangible ideas. He made it nearly halfway to an empty table when he noticed Buddy sitting in the same place as last time. He had his usual notebook open in front of him—not that Chase noticed it that much, or anything—but he wasn't writing at that moment. Instead, his eyes were absently fixed on something off to the side in the alcove where the table was.

Chase watched Buddy for a moment as he walked toward an empty table. He sat his backpack down on it, but stopped before pulling out the chair. He pursed his lips and glanced toward Buddy, who still hadn’t seemed to notice him.

Buddy already figured out his topic, he thought to himself. Maybe I could…?

He lifted his backpack up again and walked toward Buddy.

As he approached the table, Buddy noticed him much sooner this time than the previous time. Chase was surprised when his expression wasn't immediately annoyed. Definitely somewhat annoyed, but also…confused? Chase waved and Buddy blinked at him.

"What?"

Chase shrugged. "I don't know. Saw you over here and thought I'd say hi, I guess." 

"Oh," Buddy said flatly. "Hello." 

"Can I sit here again?" Chase gently rested a hand on the chair in front of him—just enough to suit the question without it seeming like a demand.  "I won't 'be a pest,' promise," he deadpanned.

Buddy glanced toward the other tables in the room, then looked back up at Chase. He folded his hands across his notebook. "…Why?" 

Chase shrugged again, removing his hand from the chair and gripping the strap of his backpack instead. "Easier to stay focused on my work with some so judgy is at the table, don't you think?" Chase joked.

Buddy narrowed his eyes, then rolled them. He looked back down at his notebook and pressed his pen against the page. "Fine," he said nonchalantly.

"Cool." 

Chase pulled the chair out and sat down, letting his bag drop onto the table. He pulled out his own notebook and pen, then dropped his bag down to the floor. Chase scribbled down the few keywords from him and Sylvie's conversation, then started trying to think of more words to add.

After a moment, he broke the silence with the entire reason he had approached Buddy in the first place. "How'd you pick your topic?" Chase glanced up at Buddy, only to realize Buddy had started writing again and had now stopped mid-sentence. "Oh, my bad,” he added.

Buddy finished writing a word, then looked up at Chase with a skeptical expression. "My topic?"

"For the final. I'm struggling. You said yours is about independence, right?" 

"Oh. Yes, I did." Buddy lowered his pen and thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I just picked a topic I felt I'd be able to connect with."

"That's what Sylvie said, too!"

Buddy nodded. "It is an effective way to pick a theme for projects like this. Easier to analyze the works you choose when the subject matter resonates with you."

"That makes sense. So 'independence' is something that resonates with you, then?" Chase asked, idly scribbling on the corner of his notebook page as he did. 

"Yes, very much so," Buddy stated.

"Why?"

Buddy hummed, tapping his pen against the paper. "Just suits me, I suppose." 

"Seems like it fits, honestly."

"Oh, um—" Buddy blinked at him. "I mean, I would say so, of course." 

"Of course," Chase repeated. He sighed. "I'm just struggling to come up with much. Sylvie and I just had a few ideas, but I don't know." He groaned and put his head down against the table. "Sorry, if I'm being a pest or whatever," he said, voice muffled slightly.

"It's fine." 

Chase lifted his head just enough to see Buddy. "Oh, so I am being a pest, but you tolerate it, then?" he laughed.

Buddy rolled his eyes, though it looked more joking than genuinely annoyed to Chase. Buddy waved a hand at him. "Sure, sure. What kind of topic ideas did you have, then?" He peered across the table toward Chase's notebook. 

"Well, she said I should start by trying to describe myself. And that certain qualities I have—or that I respect in others—could be a good starting point." 

"It’s a fair place to start, I suppose."

"So, she said I seem friendly. Which I'd like to say is true," Chase explained. He pressed his pen against his paper next to each word as he read them. "And I said I'm determined. When I really get a goal in mind, I tend to stick to it until the end. Sylvie said I seem kind. I said I care a lot about people." He glanced down at his notebook. "That's…as far as I got." 

"I see." 

"And I'm really not sure how to turn those into a topic for this project anyway. I mean, Sylvie gave me an example, but—I don't know." 

"That's the easy part, really. Any of those traits could be a literary theme if you condense them down enough to know what you're looking for. Did you come up with anything else?"

Chase glanced away toward the shelf Buddy was probably looking at earlier. A painting of some kind of flower was displayed on a small easel. "Well, um, no. Nothing else yet. I swear my brain goes blank when I start trying to think about it." 

"Just from picking a theme?" Buddy smirked.

Chase looked back at Buddy, narrowing his eyes. "Hey, I bet if I asked you to describe yourself as a person, but in simple terms right now, you'd also struggle."

Buddy shrugged. "Touché, I suppose. Well I'm sure there's more to come up with than that. What about traits you respect in others, like you mentioned?"

"Well, those are all traits I respect in other people as well. Hmm. Maybe patience? Or people who are trustworthy—like, they'll keep their word, you know?"

"That's fair. Those are good traits to have," Buddy stated with a nod. 

Chase wrote down those two ideas and stared at his list. Nothing in particular stood out as something he could turn into a literary theme that he would also resonate with. He pursed his lips then let his head fall forward and land against his notebook with a gentle thud. Buddy quirked an eyebrow.

"I'm so going to fail this class," Chase mumbled, muffled by the notebook.

"Maybe you should write about taking risks,” Buddy laughed sarcastically. “Like the risk of signing up for a literature class when you can't read.”

Chase lifted his head just enough to meet Buddy’s eyes with a glare. "I can read, Buddy. I struggle with this stuff, but I'm trying." Chase narrowed his gaze for emphasis.

Buddy's smugness faltered at the words and the memory of their previous agreement. He looked down at his notebook again and cleared his throat. "O-oh, um, yes. Right. I didn't mean to imply you weren't." 

Chase rested his head against the table again. "Good, or else I might have to get us kicked out again.”

Buddy grimaced. "Yes. I would rather not do that." 

Chase turned his head to see Buddy without lifting it. "Cool. Then don't be a jerk," he said, voice still slightly muffled.

The pair went quiet for a moment as Chase silently lamented his woes and Buddy tapped his pen against his paper. He wrote a few words to finish the line he'd stopped at before, then spoke again without looking up.

"Um. F-for the record, that was…only half a joke," he started. Chase glanced up at him a bit surprised by the edge of timidness in his voice. Buddy cleared his throat. "Taking risks could be a good theme. If y-you're as determined as you say, surely you're no stranger to them. And there's plenty of literature on the topic; taking risks, fearing risks, contemplating them, and so on." 

Chase slowly sat upright again as Buddy spoke. He looked off in thought. "I—That's not a bad one, actually." He sighed and made eye contact with Buddy again. "I don’t know if I want to have to analyze works about such a negative-sounding topic, though." 

Buddy rolled his eyes, then stopped to think. "Okay, taking chances , then," he huffed. "Basically the same meaning, but a lighter connotation."

"A lighter…?"

Buddy sighed. "Lighter feeling to the word."

"Ah." 

"Again, there's plenty of literature on the topic, regardless of which specific word you use. I could probably—” He cut himself off with the tapping of his pen against the table. "Taking chances, contemplating chances, thinking about how the chances you're taken have shaped where or who you are now. I suppose there's also the concept of chance itself. Chance encounters and events and whatnot, and how that also shapes things."

"Like how something small can snowball into a lot more."

"Exactly. It can be interesting to think about."

Chase hummed in thought. "I don't know that I've really thought too much about it, but you're right."

Buddy nodded. "it's something I think about a lot "

"That sounds about right," Chase laughed.

Buddy raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Chase raised his hands. "Oh, no, I just mean like you seem very—there's a word for it..." He trailed off. "Intro—introsk-"

"Introspective?"

"Yeah! Introspective. You just have this—" Chase gestured vaguely, "—air about you."

"I'd suppose so, sure." Buddy chuckled.

"I like that idea, though." Chase picked up his pen and added ‘taking chances’ to his list of ideas, then smiled. "Thanks, Buddy." Chase idly wrote a star next to the words he'd just written.

Buddy's eyes were on his notebook again. "You're welcome "

Chase nodded and clenched his fist in accomplishment, but the pleased look on his face quickly fell. "Oh, man...now I have to actually start looking for writing-stuff that fits the topic, don't I?" he groaned.

Buddy smirked. "Oh, come now. If you're that determined I'm sure you can manage it, Star Kid."

Chase narrowed his eyes into an exhausted glare. "Are you really still on that, Buddy?"

"On what?" Buddy shrugged.

"You know my name!"

"I mean—" Buddy started, a feigned innocence in his tone, "—if I recall, you're the one who gave me a nonsense nickname first."

Chase rolled his eyes. "Yeah, because I didn't know your name. And I still don't because you won't introduce yourself. What, should I start calling you Moon Kid, instead?" Chase chided.

Buddy's smirk fell to a mild grimace. "Ah, um. No. Buddy is fine."

"Ha! So it's not a 'nonsense nickname' then, is it Buddy? Or else you’d tell me to call you something else," Chase said smugly. He narrowed his eyes again. "But 'Star Kid' is one, and you know my name now!"

Buddy shrugged again, nonchalantly looking elsewhere in the room. "Where's the fun in that?"

Chase sighed, long and exaggerated. "You are insufferable, you know that?"

Buddy raised an eyebrow without looking at Chase. "Yes, I believe you said as much before." 

Chase rolled his eyes. He pulled out his phone to check the time and saw he still had a while until dinner. He really didn’t feel like starting on the whole looking for related literature part yet, so put his head down on the table and scrolled on his phone while Buddy went back to writing. After a couple minutes, he glanced up at Buddy again. Buddy looked fairly focused—actively writing now—and Chase debated a moment if it would be that rude to break his focus.

“What are you writing?”

Buddy jumped slightly, as if he’d forgotten Chase was there at all, but the startle didn’t show on his face. He gave a quick glance to Chase—just enough to acknowledge the question—before looking back at his notebook to finish what he was writing. Chase watched him as he did. Buddy seemed to finish the sentence before he looked up at Chase properly.

“Why?”

Chase shrugged. “Just curious. And bored. That’s all. Is it for the school or for that aaan— anthology thing?” 

Buddy pursed his lips and tapped the end of his pen against the paper, then sighed.

“The anthology, I think.” 

“That’s cool.” 

“I suppose.” 

They lulled into another brief silence, but when Buddy didn’t start writing again, Chase spoke up.

“What are you writing?”

“You…already asked that?”

“No, I mean like, specifically. What kind of thing are you writing?” Chase clarified. He lifted his head to sit upright again, leaning forward against the table.

“A poem.” 

“Man, I can’t seem to escape those lately, can I?” Chase laughed. Buddy raised an eyebrow at him. “Sylvie recommended some to me, remember?” 

Buddy mouthed an oh and nodded. “Right, yes.”

“What’s it about?” Chase nodded toward Buddy’s notebook. 

Buddy furrowed his brow, as if debating whether or not to answer. “A…forest.” 

“A forest?”

“Well…in a sense. Yes,” Buddy stated. His eyes skimmed over the words he’d written. “It’s using the forest as a metaphor for something both benevolent, but smothering, depending entirely on the viewpoint from which you’re looking at it. But in a literal sense, yes. A forest.” 

Chase blinked. “Oh. That’s neat”

“I suppose.”

“So that is for the anthology, then?”

Buddy pursed his lips again and he tilted his head, eyes vaguely focusing on the painting from before. “I’m…not sure, yet.”

“Why’s that?”

Buddy shrugged, his eyes coming back to Chase. “I’m just not sure I like it enough. The metaphor is something I had to write last semester for a class and I just thought I might try again.” 

“Can I read it?” Chase asked. Buddy seemed to tense slightly at the question. “O-oh, um, no—not if it’s, like, personal or something, I—uh, nevermind.” Chase lightly twirled his pen between his fingers, flinching slightly when he lost his grip on it and it rolled across the table. Buddy picked it up and moved it back toward Chase.

“No, it’s—well, I suppose everything is at least a little personal, but—” Buddy sighed. “You, um—you can read it if you’d like. I-it’s not done, but—” Chase was once again thrown off by how timid Buddy sounded. The odd demeanor was quickly overtaken by his usual faint bravado, though. He cleared his throat and a much more neutral expression took over his face. “You may not understand the metaphors and whatnot,” he smirked.

Chase narrowed his eyes. “Wow, what luck that I have the author right here to explain them then,” he deadpanned. Buddy scoffed and rotated his notebook toward Chase. He hesitated for a split second long enough for Chase to notice, then pushed it forward. Chase gingerly pressed his fingertips against the edge of the page, pulling it toward him. His eyes scanned the words. 

A canopy of foliage shadows the ground 

on even the brightest of days.

It has no remorse for the sunlight it steals;

nor for the rain that it shields

from ever falling to that which needs it. 

The ecosystem evolves to live with the scraps,

and live, it shall.

Persist by nature; its nature to persist.

And I, a lark. High above the ground.

Calling

The poem cut off—unfinished as Buddy had said.

“Honestly, I think I understand it,” Chase said, sounding somewhere between casually observational and smug. “Don’t underestimate me so much, Buddy.” The smugness faded from his expression after a moment. “That’s neat though. I like that.” 

Buddy blinked at him, then gave him a skeptical look. “You do?”

“Yeah, I mean the imagery is pretty cool. And I like how you worded it. The forest doesn't sound very ‘benevolent’ though,” Chase observed.

“I said it wasn't done,” Buddy grumbled, his tone bordering on haughty for just a moment. He shook his head. “The benevolence is implied. It shields from storms, but blocks the sun. It protects, but, by its nature, it oversteps.”

Chase looked down at the words as Buddy explained them. He skimmed the lines again and nodded. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” His eyes met Buddy's again. “You're a good writer.”

Buddy’s eyes widened slightly, then he averted his gaze with a quiet scoff, propping his head against his hand. “You’ve seen half a poem that I'm not even sure I like yet,” he mumbled.

“And it's a good half-poem! Just take the compliment, jerk.”

Buddy huffed. “Th-thanks,” he said into his hand.

“And for the record, I've also seen you replying to my damn discussion posts all semester! Which…was really annoying, by the way, but…” Chase crossed his arms with a defeated huff. “...you clearly know what you're talking about,” he grumbled. “I’m not surprised it would carry over.” Buddy’s eyebrows raised slightly and he shot a quick glance toward Chase from the corner of his eye, but didn't reply. Chase continued. “That one time I replied to your post—at least I assume that was you; I don't know who else types like that. Anyway, if you remember that—”

“I remember,”  Buddy said.

Chase paused. “Oh, um, okay. Cool. Well, I was being sincere. I can't even remember what it was about, actually…but I know I meant it.”

Buddy hummed, still not looking at Chase. Chase couldn’t tell if it was the lighting or if there was actually a bit of pink dusting across the part of Buddy’s cheek that wasn’t covered by his hand. 

Chase shook his head, then remembered something. “Oh, yeah. Did that post like…piss you off, actually?”

Buddy looked toward Chase again without turning his head. He furrowed his brow. “I—what?”

“Like, you were so normal for— I don’t know —at least a couple weeks! Then I swear you hated me again or something,” Chase explained.

Buddy’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed into a dull glare and this time Chase was sure his cheeks were a bit pinker than before. Buddy opened his mouth to speak, but only stammered briefly before closing his mouth into a tight line and averting his eyes again.

Chase tilted his head and squinted at Buddy, then sighed. “You know—whatever. Nevermind.” Chase pushed the notebook back toward Buddy, whose eyes tracked the movement.  “Have you written anything else for it yet?”

Buddy’s shoulders relaxed slightly and he pulled his notebook the rest of he way toward him without his eyes leaving the page. “A…bit, yes. I’m not sure how much of it will actually make it in by the time I’m compiling everything, but—” He trailed off, then crossed out a word on the page and wrote another in its place. “That's just how that goes, though.”

“Ah. Makes sense, yeah.”

Silence fell across the table again, until Buddy cleared his throat and closed the notebook. “I need to get going then.” He tucked the notebook into his bag.

Chase glanced at the time on his phone. “Oh, yeah I probably should, too. I only really came here to figure out my topic and, well—” Chase gestured toward his own notebook, then looked up at Buddy with a polite smile. “Thanks again, by the way.”

Buddy nodded as he stood up. Chase gave him a friendly wave and Buddy walked away from the table.

Chapter Text

The first fallen leaves of the year rustled across the ground as Chase exited the library, swirling past him to congregate in little whirls near the corners of the staircase. The breeze had picked up a bit in the time he’d been inside and that combined with the setting sun made for an autumn chill that blanketed him immediately. He tugged his jacket around him and snapped the buttons closed to block it out as he walked to find something for dinner.

By the time Chase had finished packing up his things, Buddy was long gone from the building. The entire interaction remained in Chase's mind though. He might venture to call it — helpful? Productive, even. More than he would have expected. It was hard to imagine that Buddy was, well , Buddy. Sure, the snark and pretentious whatever was still there, but Chase didn't actually hate talking to him. 

Chase kicked a rock resting on the sidewalk, causing it to roll several feet ahead. He kicked it again and it skittered on until a perfectly pointed bounce sent it flying into the grass. With a sigh, he pressed his hands into his jacket pockets. He was on his own for dinner that evening—Deacon had to study for a test or something like that—and Chase's mind continued to wander as he walked toward the usual minimart. After agonizing over finding a topic for as long as he had, Chase was surprised that Buddy's suggestion had clicked for him so easily. Taking chances. The more he thought about it, the more he realized how much that topic resonated with him.

He thought back to his conversation with his mom over the weekend. About giving her a chance and the chances she was consistently taking as she worked out her ever-changing normal. About the chance he had taken by starting college at all. How he had met Sylvie entirely by chance and already really enjoyed having her as a friend.

How he— metaphorically and not at all literally —ran into Buddy after midterms by chance, and that had snowballed into Chase thinking about any of these things at all. Suddenly, he understood why Buddy had said it was a concept he thought about a lot. Chase could already imagine falling down a rabbit hole by following all of the strings to their origins and figuring out what single choice or chance or moment had woven him into where he was in the present. Regardless, he was glad to have finally figured out his topic.

That said, he wasn’t looking forward to finding literary works to actually fit it that he’d both need to read and write about by finals week.

I could ask Professor Glenn for suggestions when I go to get my topic approved…

Chase tapped a finger against his cheek as he gripped the door to the minimart and pulled it open, stepping inside to the sound of the little doorbell overhead. No one was standing at the counter, but the rustling sound across the store made it clear that whoever was working was probably restocking shelves. Cued by the doorbell, Brock's head peered over a shelf near the refrigerated food.

"Hello—Oh, hi," he said, dropping into a significantly more casual tone when he made eye contact with Chase. He lifted his hand just high enough to be visible over the shelf and waved. Chase waved back, but Brock had already disappeared from view again. Chase walked toward his go-to choices, idly glancing at the other shelves as he did without really looking at any of the items. The rustling of whatever Brock was restocking—bags of chips or something similar—filled the silence of the store.  

As Chase walked, he ran through his memory of anything he might have read in the past that could fit the topic of taking chances. There had to be something, right?

It could even be a song, Chase remembered. Maybe that'd be an easier place to start…

Brock came into view again as Chase passed the shelf he was restocking and Chase stopped in front of the refrigerated shelves next to Brock. His eyes scanned the various fruit cups available that day—picking one up to look at before sitting it back down with a sigh. He tapped one next to it with his fingertips before returning his hand to his pocket.

"You seem pensive."

Chase turned to look at Brock, tilting his head slightly. "I look...what?"

Brock laughed. "Lost in thought"

"Oh. I guess a bit, yeah."

"Penny for your thoughts?" Brock asked, extending an empty hand as if he was offering something. Chase looked at it with an amused expression then back to Brock, who shrugged. "I don't have any change on me."

Chase laughed, then reached out to take the invisible penny. "Fair enough." He flicked his thumb as if flipping a coin into the air, then sighed. "It's just one of my classes. I figured out what I want to do for my final project, but then I remembered I kind of...suck at the rest of the classwork. And what good is getting a good grade on the big project if my grade ends up being too low for that to matter anyway, you know?"

"Yikes."

"Yeah, yikes! Like, I think I'm better at it than I was at the start of the semester at least, but…my midterm was rough. I'm just not sure if I'll be able to improve enough before finals week." Chase turned back toward the shelf of fruit cups.

"Are you passing the class currently?"

Chase picked up a cup of strawberries and winced at the question. He gave Brock a sheepish smile. "…Barely, um, last I checked."

"Yikes. Again," Brock chuckled. He placed the last of the chips on the shelf and picked up the newly empty box from the floor, then walked around the shelf toward the counter.

Chase let out another long sigh. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he huffed. He moved to browse the drinks and the pair fell into silence, only broken up by the sound of Brock breaking down the box he'd just emptied and the faint music playing over the store speakers. Chase never paid much attention to it, but he assumed it must be the student radio station on campus. He picked out the rest of his things and carried them to checkout.

"Why don't you get a tutor?" Brock asked as Chase dumped his items onto the counter. Chase blinked at him.

"I…Actually, I hadn't thought about that…"

Brock picked up the first item to scan it and nodded. "You're welcome, then," he joked. "Some subjects have scheduled study sessions around campus. Not sure about yours though." He scanned the next item and passed it back toward Chase. "Sometimes you can find contact info for individual student tutors on bulletin boards around campus. The board out front has them sometimes." He passed the last item toward Chase and motioned for Chase to scan his meal card. "Or your professor might be able to recommend someone."

Chase scanned his card and nodded. "That's not a bad idea." He furrowed his brow as he picked his items up from the counter. "Feels like something I should have done before midterms though," he laughed lightly.

Brock shrugged. "Better late than never."

"Yeah…" Chase chewed the inside of his cheek. "Thanks for the advice."

"Of course," Brock nodded, stretching his arms overhead as he leaned against the wall behind the counter. "My brother basically gave me a whole run down of all his college 'tips and tricks' back when I enrolled. They're of… varying relevance, but one he emphasized is knowing how to ask for help when you need it."

Chase laughed. "'Varying relevance?'"

"Well, you know. Tips on how to find a good tutor? Solid advice. Tips on which gummy bear brands have the best ratio of the 'good flavors' in each bag? Little bit more niche ," he explained.

"Ah. Yeah, definitely niche," Chase agreed. "Well, thanks for letting me chat a bit."

"Anytime."

Chase stepped back out into the cool, autumn air and debated for a moment if it was too cold to sit at his usual outside table for dinner. As if making the choice for him, a firm breeze picked up and whipped the edge of his jacket around at his waist. He used his free hand to tug it back into place and turned to walk toward his dormitory instead.

Brock is probably right, he thought. He might benefit from getting a tutor.

Actually, he would…definitely benefit from it.

Asking his professor would likely be the easiest way to go about that, but something about asking so late in the semester made Chase grimace. He felt silly that he hadn't thought to do it much earlier. Honestly, he might have avoided Buddy's headache of a discussion post presence if he had. Or at the very least, he might not have had to deal with it as long.

Then again, if that were the case, he may have never ended up having the conversation that just helped him figure out his final project topic.

Huh. Interesting how that worked.

Chances, chances, and whatnot.

Chase swiped his ID card at the door of his dormitory, hearing it unlock with a loud click to let him into the building. As he pulled the door open, the bulletin board across the lobby caught his eye. He had noticed it before, but he didn't usually pay it much mind. That time, he approached it and skimmed the various flyers pinned across it. A few were for general campus and dorm resources, and several of the others were for upcoming on campus events. Chase made a mental note of a couple event posters that looked interesting and saw one for the small musical some of the seniors musical theater students were putting on. Chase was required to attend that and already had the date on his calendar.

Just like Brock mentioned, there were a couple flyers about student tutors and tutoring sessions around campus. Unfortunately for Chase, they weren't anything helpful. There were a couple for different math classes or general math, one for chemistry, one for Spanish, but nothing for literature. or English comp, or anything similar enough to be helpful.

"Dammit." He sighed and turned to walk toward the stairs, dodging another student coming down them and waving to them apologetically. He jogged up the stairs and got to his door, unlocking it and stepping inside. As the door clacked shut behind him, he let his back slide off his shoulders and land heavily on his bed. He placed his food on his desk and plopped down into the chair.

"I guess I can...ask after class tomorrow," he said, thinking out loud. Chase pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair, fidgeting with a strawberry in the cup. "Come on, Chasey, it's a simple question," he mumbled. "Totally reasonable thing to ask. Easy peasy." He raised a strawberry toward his mouth, but stopped mid-motion.

"Unless — "

||———||———||

Chase impatiently sat through his classes with a couple of the gluten-free chocolate bars, from his personal stash, and an iced coffee tucked into his bag. And a plan in his head. A very rough plan, but still a plan. He hoped snacks would be convincing enough.

…And that Buddy's library habits were as consistent as they seemed.

Luckily for Chase, that habit held true. He rushed straight to the library from his last class of the day and, like clockwork, as he turned the corner into the fiction section he spotted Buddy sitting at the usual table. He was leaning over his notebook with a relaxed expression, but didn't seem to be writing anything at that moment. Chase hesitated, his confidence dropping marginally at the sight. Buddy hadn't noticed him across the large room yet and Chase wondered if he should turn and leave—just go talk to the professor during office hours instead or something. No, he was already there. He shook his head and sighed, steeled his resolve, then approached the table.

The sound of the glass bottle clacking against the wooden table pulled Buddy's attention away from his notebook, but he didn't seem at all surprised by the interruption. His pen tapped lightly on the table as his eyes moved from the bottle placed in front of him, then up to Chase.

"You can't have food or drink in here, you know," Buddy stated, lazily pointing his pen toward the drink.

Chase cleared his throat. "Oh—um, I know. It's not open." He gently pushed it toward Buddy, then sat his bag down on the table. Chase unzipped the bag and started digging through it while Buddy watched him. "It's, um, a peace offering?" he mumbled.

Buddy's gaze returned to the bottle and he raised an eyebrow. "Peace…offering?" he echoed.

"Aha," Chase whispered, finally retrieving the chocolate bars from his bag and placing them next to the coffee. He looked back at Buddy again, whose eyes lingered on the chocolate for an extra moment before meeting Chase's again. "Okay, maybe it's more like a bribe? Trade offer? That sounds nicer than calling it a bribe, actually, and I am talking too much—" Chase cut himself off.

Buddy motioned for him to continue. "A bribe for…?" he asked, tilting his head. Somehow Buddy's look of subtle confusion made Chase more nervous than his usual scowls. Chase broke eye contact and pulled out a chair, then slumped down into it. He pursed his lips, then let his nervous demeanor fall with a sigh, leaning forward and folding his hands together in front of him on the table.

"Buddy, I'm just going to be so for real with you," Chase started. "I'm definitely going to fail this class. Or…if I somehow don't, it'll be a lot closer than I'd like."

"Okay."

Chase gently pushed the items further across the table toward Buddy with a small grin. "Aaand you definitely know what you're talking about, underneath your…pretentious exterior." Buddy's confusion mixed with a slight scowl and Chase faltered, raising his hands in front of him." N-no, wait. Sorry, that was rude. Uh—" Any speech that Chase may or may not have been rehearsing all morning had gone out the window as soon as he started talking, apparently, and he paused again to collect his words. Surprisingly, Buddy only watched him with a curious look and waited for Chase to continue.

"Would you be willing to tutor? Like, tutor me, I mean," Chase finally asked. He looked over at Buddy again, who seemed a little caught off guard by the entire interaction. His eyes had widened, just a bit.

Buddy huffed a laugh and glanced back down at the snacks. "Ah. A bribe."

“Trade offer,” Chase corrected. "You can keep it even if you say no though."

Buddy blinked, then schooled his expression back to something neutral. He placed a hand on the chocolates and tentatively slid them across the table toward himself before quickly tucking them into his bag. "Why do you want me to tutor you?"

With another sigh, Chase let his head fall forward and gently thud against the table. "Like I said, I'm totally going to fail at this rate if I don't do something. I'd really rather not, if I can help it."

"Why not ask Professor Glenn to find someone then, instead of bribing me with snacks?" Buddy nudged the coffee back toward Chase. "You can keep that actually. I'm not much of a coffee person. Uh—th-thank you, though." There was a shift in Buddy's tone that caught Chase off guard for a second, but he shook it over and peered up at Buddy from where his head was resting on the table.

"Because, believe it or not, that somehow sounds more embarrassing," Chase muttered. Buddy snorted and Chase shot him a dull glare. "It just is, okay," Chase groaned. "I don't know why."

A small smirk formed on Buddy's face. "More embarrassing than—" he gestured loosely toward Chase, who was still slumped entirely against the table. "—this whole mess?" he asked.

"Yes, Buddy. I just—it just is, okay?" he grumbled. Chase sat upright again. "Are you willing to help me? Uh — please," he added quickly.

To Chase's surprise, Buddy looked like he was considering it rather than outright denying the request. He looked off in thought, idly tapping his pen against his notebook as he absentmindedly hummed a short sequence under his breath, just barely loud enough for Chase to notice.

Suddenly, Chase remembered the other part of his “trade.”

"Oh!" he started, regaining Buddy's attention with the abrupt sound. "Your anthullll—anth—whatever you said it was called. I could give you feedback on what you write, if you'd like. You know, in return for you helping me with classwork and all."

"Anthology," Buddy corrected. "And if you need tutoring on analyzing literature, what kind of feedback could you expect to give?" Buddy crossed his arms loosely and raised an eyebrow at Chase.

Chase fumbled slightly. "I—okay, so maybe I can't give in-depth feedback on things…But! I mean, having a fresh set of eyes on your work can be helpful, right?" Chase laughed lightly. "Oh, plus if you're tutoring me and I get better at this whole thing, I'll be able to give better feedback over time. Win-win, or…something."

Buddy had looked off and pressed his pen against his cheek, then spoke again after a moment. "Alright."

Chase nearly choked on air. "Wha —really?" His bewildered expression forced an abrupt laugh out of Buddy before he could catch himself. He cleared his throat.

"You approached me to ask and you're that surprised I would agree?"

"I mean—" Chase gestured vaguely between them. "—yeah."

Buddy thought for a second. "Touché." He folded his hands across his notebook with a small sigh. "It sounds beneficial. You need to not fail—which I can respect—and I suppose having a second opinion on my work would be… nice from time to time," he reluctantly admitted. Buddy glanced away again, almost bashful in a way that Chase might have called cute in another context.

He…tucked that thought away and ignored it. Mostly.

Buddy cleared his throat, but kept his eyes on his notebook, gently tapping his pen against it. "So, yes," he continued. "As long as you take it seriously enough to not waste either of our time, I could tutor you."

Chase beamed at Buddy. "Dude, yes! I will take it so seriously. Scouts honor. Well—actually, I was never a scout, so I’m not sure that counts. I think my neighbor's kid is one. She might as well be anyway, so close enough." Buddy looked at Chase again with an amused expression and raised an eyebrow at him. Chase shook his head. "Point is, I'll do my best." He gave Buddy another bright smile and Buddy shifted his gaze back to his notebook.

Buddy bit his cheek. "Stop looking at me like that," he muttered.

Chase laughed. "Sorry, sorry. I just really thought I was going to fail, but I might actually have a chance now. Thanks." He picked up the coffee and gestured with it toward Buddy, who shook his head. Chase tucked the bottle back into his bag before one of the librarians spotted it, then hesitated for a moment.

Initially, Chase had only planned to stay long enough for Buddy’s answer and then to figure out when they should meet up, if he agreed. 

(And in Chase’s head, that was a very big “if.”)

But halfway to the library, Chase had another thought.

“Sooo,” he started, looking back across the table at Buddy. “Are you busy at the moment…?” Chase gave a smile that often came with batting eyelashes, but Chase had enough dignity not to add that part. 

Buddy raised an eyebrow skeptically, then glanced down at his empty notebook page and back. “I…suppose not. Why?”

Chase’s hand returned to the zipper of his backpack in anticipation. “Would you…mind helping me with that new discussion post?”

If Chase didn’t know any better, he’d almost think Buddy stifled another laugh. “Ah, so is that the reason you came to ask?” 

“No! Uh, no, I actually got the idea to ask about the tutoring thing last night. Then we got the discussion post assigned and on my way here I thought well, if you did agree then…” Chase shrugged, like he was reiterating his question with the gesture. Buddy pursed his lips in thought without breaking eye contact, then sighed.

He shrugged and waved a hand toward Chase. “Fine. I still need to do mine anyway.”

“Great! Thanks, dude,” Chase said, already unzipping his backpack to retrieve his notebook—just in case he needed it—before he’d finished the words. “Let me pull it up on my phone.” He sat the notebook down on the table and started tapping at his phone screen to navigate to the post. “I remember it was something about—man, what was it?” he mumbled. 

“Discussing the use of symbolism.” 

Chase glanced up at Buddy. “Right!” His eyes returned to his phone as he scrolled through the school’s app. “Ah! Here it is.”

“Have you read any of it yet?”

Chase bit his cheek. “I, uh, skimmed a bit while I was at lunch? Something about…laundry.” Buddy didn’t respond, instead tilting his head slightly and giving Chase a skeptical look. Chase smiled sheepishly. “I should, ah, probably actually read it.”

Buddy nodded, expression unchanging. “That would be helpful, yes.” 

“Right, fine,” Chase sighed. Buddy rolled his eyes and got his phone out to do the same.

——————

Upon the clothesline—within the neighbor's yard—resides a swaying, linen shirt. I watch it from my perch atop the porch. It is orange, and buttoned, and gently dripping into the grass beneath it—whipping and writhing as a fire in a whirlwind until the breeze relents once more and allows the solace of a familiar, vertical posture. Wild, then waning, then wild, then waning, too unpredictable to be a cycle yet too consistent to be called an unknown.

Two clips hold it firmly to the line so that it is kept secure through that of a storm and contained even after it passes. Is that stifling or a comfort? Perhaps both, at the same time. The discomfort in the calm is worth the security in the gales and gusts.

Perhaps neither. Perhaps such a simple act of grounding is so known and expected that it delves into indifference. Any potential discomfort is factored so firmly into the known and expected that we pay it no mind at all. The clips take the form of a friend; the practice of a parent. Inhibiting as little movement as possible while keeping it safe from flight.

My neighbor returns to retrieve the laundry. A gust picks up against my back and nudges me half a step forward. She removes the clips from the shirt.

——————

“Yeah, see? Laundry,” Chase said as he finished reading.

“It’s symbolic.” 

“Duh.”  

Buddy rolled his eyes. “Okay, so let's discuss that then. What is the symbolism?”

Chase hummed and tapped his cheek. He squinted at his phone screen to skim over the passage again. “The line about the clothespin being ‘stifling or a comfort’ is probably related to that. Since—uh, considering a T-shirt can’t feel either of those things?” He shrugged. Buddy regarded him for a silent moment.

“How do you usually go about these assignments?” 

“I have to read the thing a few times, and then I skim other students’ responses to kind of—” Chase gestured vaguely. “—fill in the gaps.”

“Ah.”

“Hey, it works! It’s a discussion , so it’s totally fair to look at what other students are discussing,” Chase defended. He crossed his arms and leaned against the back of his chair.

Buddy sighed. “I suppose that’s fair. Though, if you lean too heavily on that you definitely won’t develop your own analytical skills very well.” 

Chase narrowed his eyes with a slight pout. “I suppose that’s also fair.” 

With a nod, Buddy returned to the passage. “Okay. ‘Is it stifling or a comfort? ’ Since you pointed that out, let’s start there. Why did it catch your attention?”

Chase hummed. “I think it’s the—I don’t know—contrast? Something being stifling and something being comforting are pretty different, I think.” 

“That’s true. And that line is referring to the clothespins, correct?” Buddy asked.

“Yeah.” Chase looked back at that paragraph of the passage. “So then, hmm. Okay, the clothespins are holding the shirt in place no matter what. Is it asking if that is stifling or a comfort?” He squinted at the words again, then nodded. “Yeah, it definitely is.” 

Buddy nodded as well. “Yes, essentially. Is it comfortable or stifling to be stuck in place.” 

“Well with how she describes the winds as being crazy in the first part I would assume it’s a comfort, right?”

“It could be seen that way. But then it describes how even when the wind relents, the shirt is still held in place. It has no choice to leave, regardless of the conditions around it. Hence: stifling, and the question as a whole.” 

“The wind always picks back up though, so without the clips it would go flying when that happens.” Chase pursed his lips in thought. “Actually, it wouldn’t be able to stay on the clothesline at all without them.” 

Buddy unconsciously mimicked Chase’s expression. “Hmm. That’s also true…” He shook his head. “But with the logistics of gravity aside, the point is that the clips keep it there no matter what.”

“Which is a good thing.” 

“Or a hindrance. Stifling or comforting, depending on perspective.” 

Something clicked for Chase. “Ohhh, okay. Yeah, okay. I think I get it?” 

“But, again, it’s symbolic. The entire thing is a metaphor.” 

“Right—hm…” Chase trailed off.

“Here.” Buddy motioned toward Chase’s phone. “Pay attention to the last few lines.”

Chase looked at his phone again and scrolled to the bottom of the passage. "My neighbor returns to retrieve the laundry. A gust picks up against my back and nudges me half a step forward. She removes the clips from the shirt," he recited, turning his eyes back toward Buddy.

“The subject switches from the clothing to the narrator herself.”

“She was talking about herself for the first few lines too, right?” 

“Right. I feel that was more of an expositional choice, though.” 

“A…?”

“Just setting the scene. And introducing the narrator,” Buddy explained.

“Ah, okay.” 

“There’s a reason the author shifted back, though. Any ideas?”

Chase bit his cheek and looked back at his phone. He skimmed the last few lines again, then skimmed the rest of the passage as he felt his eyes start to glaze over. He suppressed a sigh and looked back at Buddy.

“...Okay. Buddy. If I admit that I am so lost, will you agree not to look at me like I’m an idiot?” Chase asked bluntly.

Buddy scoffed. “I wouldn’t have—” He was cut off with a dull glare from Chase and narrowed his own eyes to match before relenting with a sigh. “Fine. I promise.” 

“Good,” Chase said. He finally let out a long sigh, with “Because I am so lost,” carried on the exhale, then dramatically slumped forward against the table. 

“Where are you lost?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be lost, Buddy,” Chase exasperated.

“I—Whatever, okay. The narrator shifts the focus back to herself after focusing on the shirt the entire time because, symbolically , the shirt is her.”  

Chase’s face lit up with realization. “Ohhh.” He glanced at the lines again. “Actually, no, yeah, I think that makes sense. I can see that.” 

Buddy nodded. “Good.” 

“So if the shirt is the narrator…” Chase trailed off and Buddy waited for him to continue. “Okay, so she feels like something is holding her in place. Like the clothespins. And she isn’t sure how she feels about it, right?”

Buddy raised an eyebrow at Chase, eyes widening slightly. “Uh, yes, actually. That’s exactly it. Keep going, if you can.” 

“I can,” Chase huffed. “Alright, so then…hmm.” 

“Stifling or comforting,” Buddy supplied. 

“Right! Right. Like I said, she’s not sure how to feel about the thing that’s holding her in place. Like a grounding thing, but she’s not sure if the comfort from the thing holding her in place during the bad winds is stronger than the… hindrance—?” Chase paused and Buddy nodded. “—hindrance it is when things are calmer.”

“Exactly. Having something constant to ground you through tough times can be comforting—”

“But if it’s still pinning you down when you’re ready to move again, not so much.” 

Buddy hummed in acknowledgement without replying further, and Chase rested his chin against his hand. A feeling flickered through his mind. Worry that becomes constant and grounding in its own way, but when it lingers longer than it’s needed…

“I get it, I think.” 

“It’s a good use of juxtaposition, I think.” Chase opened his mouth to speak and Buddy elaborated. “Putting two opposite somethings next to each other to emphasize the contrast between them. It’s a common, but effective narrative tool.” 

“The idea that the clothespins are comforting—because they keep the shirt safe and familiar—or stifling—because they won’t let it leave.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Huh.” Chase paused to think about it before clicking the power button on his phone to unlock it again. “So then for the—” He glanced at the discussion prompt again. “‘Discuss the use of symbolism in the passage below. What is the author—’ Right. So for the discussion board I could talk about how she feels trapped by whatever it is that’s keeping her grounded. Like, she feels comforted by the security of it, but trapped by how it won’t let her go. Or, uh, how the shirt symbolizes that, anyway.”

“That’s—yes. For the most part. But one more detail you could talk about is the reason why the narrator suddenly becomes the subject again.”

“Does there have to be a why?”

“I—Well, no I suppose not. Sometimes things like that are just a stylistic choice or necessary to making the narrative flow, and such. It does have a meaning here, though,” Buddy explained.

Chase looked at the discussion board and idly scrolled through the other replies on it. He pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair.

After giving Chase a moment to think, Buddy continued. “The neighbor returns as the wind does, and the wind pushes the narrator from the spot she was standing as the neighbor unclips the shirt.”

Chase’s face lit up. “Oh! Wait, wait, okay. So then if the narrator is the shirt, but she gets moved by the wind instead of staying in place, and, like, the clips got removed so she—” he paused. “What am I trying to say, hold on.” He tapped his fingers lightly against the table while Buddy watched, allowing Chase to work through his thoughts. “The clips got taken from the shirt, which would let the wind blow it around. And she got pushed by the wind, so she also doesn’t have her ‘clips’ anymore. Whatever was keeping her in place before. Right?”

“Right. She could be comparing herself to something recent—in that: a grounding element of her life was recently taken away—or even reminiscing on something that happened in the past.” Buddy elaborated. “That part is very much left up to reader interpretation, perhaps to allow the reader to relate it to whichever situation most fits their own experience.” He paused for a moment. “Though, I looked up this author earlier and, if you want to use external context, it’s likely referring to a past event or shift in her life that she’s recalling. The passage on its own is left vague, however.” 

“Like if she went through an event that shifted her life around,” Chase trailed off, suddenly realizing how close to home those last few lines hit now that he understood their meaning. 

“Exactly.” 

The pair fell into silence and thought. After a moment, Buddy raised his phone into his line of sight and started typing—likely his response to the discussion post—while Chase looked across the room as he thought over the passage. 

“She doesn’t move very far though,” Chase said, breaking the silence and pulling Buddy’s attention away from his phone. Buddy glanced over at him curiously, but not seeming at all bothered by the interruption. He nodded for Chase to elaborate. “It just says she moved a half-step. So whatever it was hasn’t tossed her into the deep end right away. I guess that’s a silver lining—it started gently at least.” Chase wasn’t sure if he was making sense, but Buddy seemed to understand as he nodded back.

“Mm, that’s true,” he agreed. “Sometimes those things start off subtle or slow, but gradually shift more and more things around. Or it could be something that stayed subtle, but felt unsettling or off-putting by the nature of change.”

Chase hummed in response and tapped the table. “I definitely get that,” he mumbled. 

“I’m sure a lot of us do,” Buddy said plainly.

Chase glanced across at Buddy, not missing the use of the word us— or the flicker of …something beneath his neutral expression—but not thinking much further into it than the passing acknowledgement. Chase unlocked his phone again and tapped on the discussion board’s reply box. He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts, then started typing out a response. 

——————

The author is using the shirt to represent the narrator and maybe herself. The narrator watches how the shirt is moving wherever the wind pushes it, and wonders if the clothespins holding it in place are comforting to the shirt or keeping it from moving freely. That line uses juxtuposition to emphasize that idea by putting the idea of "comfort" and "stifling" side by side without telling which one applies for sure, since the narrator herself isn’t really sure either.

The narrator is like the shirt, which is removed from the clothesline at the end when the wind pushes her forward. I think it feels like having something that feels grounding in your life suddenly shift or get taken away and now the "wind" is able to push you out of place, even if it’s just a little bit.

- ☆

——————

Chase skimmed over the words he’d typed, making sure he’d got everything down that he wanted to say. Satisfied, he glanced across at Buddy again, who’s focused expression made it evident that he was also working on typing his response. 

“Hey, Buddy?”

“Hmm?” Buddy finished typing the sentence he was on then looked across at Chase.

“Would you check what I wrote?” Chase asked, holding his phone out toward Buddy.

“Oh. Um, sure.” Buddy gently sat his phone down on the table and took Chase’s from his hand. He settled it in front of his face and silently read the text. “I think it sounds good enough. You misspelled ‘juxtaposition,’ though.” He passed the phone back toward Chase, who took it. “The second U should be an A.”

Chase narrowed his eyes with a sigh. “Always got to point that out,” he grumbled as he found the typo and corrected it.

“Would you rather me have not mentioned it when you specifically asked me to proofread your reply?” Buddy argued lightly.

“Okay—” Chase hit submit on the post. “Fine, fair enough. Hurry up and reply so I can reply to your post.” 

“Why” 

Chase shrugged. “Might as well. I have to reply to two people anyway, right?”

“Ah. Fair, I suppose.” Buddy picked up his phone from the table.

“You can reply to mine too. Not that a lack of permission would have stopped you and your track record from replying like a snob,” Chase teased. Buddy glared at Chase over his phone and Chase raised his hands defensively with a laugh. “Kidding, kidding. Just, like, be normal about it at least.” 

Buddy scoffed with indignance. “I’m always ‘normal about it,’” he argued, adding air quotes around the last part. 

“Okayyy, fine. Be normal -normal about it instead of you- normal.” 

With an eye roll and a scowl, Buddy turned his attention back to finishing his own reply. Chase returned to the discussion board, scrolling through it for another post to reply to while he waited for Buddy to post. He found one that had a similar sentiment to what he and Buddy had talked about, but had an interesting perspective on the fact that the clips were deliberately removed from the shirt rather than coming loose naturally. They related it to the idea that the unsteadying event was caused by another person rather than the “whims of fate.” Chase tapped the reply button and typed out a response.

“Alright, one down. You posted yet?”

“Just finished.” 

“Cool.” Chase refreshed the page and scrolled to the bottom to find Buddy’s post, then let out a small laugh. “You used the moon thing again?” he asked.

“So you could find it.”

“As if I can’t tell yours apart from the other students’ anyway,” Chase retorted. “No one else in this class sounds like they read the thesaurus for fun.”  

“Apologies for having a vocabulary,” Buddy replied sarcastically. 

Chase laughed again. “Okay, Buddy. The moon is cute and it’s like you joined my little trend,” he teased. Buddy waved a hand at him dismissively, turning his attention back to his phone screen as he looked for Chase’s reply. Chase rolled his eyes jokingly and started reading Buddy’s reply.

——————

The author utilizes symbolism through the linen shirt on the clothesline and the clips that are holding it in place. The shirt is symbolic of a person—the narrator and possibly the author as well—being held in place by some constant in their life, while the changes and trials of said life—represented by the wind—push them around. The clips are keeping the shirt from being flung away by the wind, but they also keep it from being able to move at it pleases otherwise, and the narrator ponders whether that constant should be called a comfort for the safety it provides, or a hindrance for the restriction. Is it more important to always feel secure at the cost of your mobility—so to speak—or is it worth some uncertainty and instability to retain your own sense of freedom? The narrator doesn’t give us a clear answer one way or the other, depicting her indecisiveness on the matter.

The end of the piece switches from a focus on the shirt, to a focus on the narrator, as the wind pushes her forward and the neighbor removes the shirt from the line. This is symbolic of something occurring in the narrator's life—either in the past or recently—to cause her to feel off kilter, as the "clips" that kept her grounded have shifted or moved and she is able to be truly pushed by the wind. 

- ☾

——————

Chase laughed lightly. “Totally could have picked it out without the moon,” he murmured. The slight tilt of Buddy’s head told him that Buddy had heard that, but had chosen not to respond. 

One line had caught Chase’s eye. 

“Is it more important to always feel secure at the cost of your mobility—so to speak—or is it worth some uncertainty and instability to retain your own sense of freedom?”

That was roughly what they had just spoken about, but something about the way Buddy had phrased it in text—laid out so succinctly—made it stick into Chase’s mind. When it was worded like that, he would easily see why Buddy might call it a “hindrance” over a comfort. Chase tapped the side of his phone while he thought, then started typing out a reply. 

——————

I like how you worded your question about the “cost of your mobility” vs the “sense of freedom.” That’s a really interesting way to word it and is making me think a lot more into the meaning of this passage. When you look at it that way, I guess I can see where something grounding could be a hindrance. 

- ☆

——————

Chase pressed the submit button and heard a sigh from across the table.

“At least say something of substance,” Buddy mumbled.

Chase tilted his head. “Huh?”

Buddy glanced across at Chase. “Not you. Just another post I saw.” 

“It can’t be that bad.” 

“Well, it certainly isn’t good,” Buddy argued.

“So you really are like that to everyone in class,” Chase laughed. Buddy narrowed his eyes.

“Not everyone.” 

“You literally said ‘everyone’ in the past.” 

“I was being hyperbolic,” Buddy huffed. 

“Whatever you say, dude. What did the post say?”

Buddy grimaced and turned the phone to face Chase so that he could read it and he skimmed the relatively short reply. He furrowed his brow and looked back at Buddy.

“Seems fine to me. It’s just a discussion board, right?” Chase asked.

“It’s bland and uninterested.”

“Yeah, that's how I feel about the discussion posts half the time, too.”

“Come on, at least pretend you’re trying to learn something in this class,” Buddy chided. 

“I am! Okay, fine, mostly I am. I don’t NOT care,” Chase argued. Buddy looked at him skeptically and Chase shook his head. “Regardless, I can’t really blame someone who’s just trying to pass the class, you know? Especially if this has nothing to do with their degree.”

Buddy’s expression relaxed into less of a grimace and more of a loose pout. He clicked the lock button on his phone and placed it on the table, then crossed his arms. “I just think people should at least try their best, regardless.” 

“Honestly, sometimes just trying to pass is someone’s best.” Chase glanced to the side. “Believe me,” he added in a mumbled, then continued: “I mean, you saw my ‘best’ and you still assumed it wasn’t, just on principle. Remember?”

Buddy looked across the room and leaned against the back of his chair. “I—Hm.” He pursed his lips.

Chase laughed and held his hands up. “All I’m saying is not to judge a book by its cover, or whatever.” 

With a sideways glance, Buddy raised an eyebrow at Chase. “Ha,” he said flatly.

“I…Okay I didn’t mean to make a pun, but now I did. And thank you for laughing,” Chase said proudly, puffing up his chest for dramatic effect.

Buddy lazily turned his head to face Chase again, expression unchanging. “I didn’t laugh.”

“For you, that was close enough. I’m counting it.” Chase looked at Buddy with an amused expression and Buddy waved him off without a word, instead returning to the discussion board. Chase rolled his eyes. “Anyway. Do you have anything you want me to read?” Buddy hummed, but finished typing out a reply before the question registered.

“What?” he asked as he tapped the Submit button.

“Like, how I said I could give you feedback on things. In return for helping me,” Chase clarified.

“Ah, right.” Buddy paused to think for a moment. “I don’t think I have any of my personal projects to share right now. I could give you something I’m writing for a class, if you’d like.” 

Chase considered it, then shrugged. “Sure, why not. Get me into the swing of things!” 

Buddy moved to pick up his bag from the floor next to him. “Okay.” He moved the bag flap and pulled out a different notebook, then began flipping through it as he spoke. “It’s a spin on Cinderella, but from the point of view of someone other than the main characters.” 

“So, like if it followed the stepmother instead or something?”

“Potentially. We were given a couple fairytales to choose from, but I think a couple of my classmates went with that angle.”

“But that’s not what you picked.”

“No, I didn’t think following the antagonist sounded as interesting.” Buddy laid the notebook flat on the table as he found the right page and Chase shrugged.

“That’s surprising. Who’d you pick then?”

“The palace staff, roughly,” Buddy replied, turning the notebook around and pushing it toward Chase slightly. Chase’s eyes skimmed the top of the page. 

“Cinderella Circumvented?” Chase read aloud.

“The name of the assignment. Because we’re taking a fairytale—like Cinderella, for example—and ‘circumventing’ the main plot by following someone else,” Buddy explained. “That’s just what the professor calls it.”

“Ah, okay. That makes sense.” Chase’s eyes continued to scan the page, which seemed to be an outline, then he looked back up at Buddy. “So, palace staff?”

Buddy nodded. “To be more specific, I’m loosely telling the story of Cinderella’s night at the ball, but through their gossip during the ball and the following day.”

“Interesting.” 

“I thought it was. Various palace servants chatting about their preparations for the ball. Butlers attending to the guests whispering about the mysterious girl who seems to have caught the prince’s eye and affections. A groundskeeper who sees the very same girl hurriedly running through the gardens late that evening. And so on. I’ve enjoyed writing it. It's in a script format, which is tricky, but I believed I've managed so far.”

“That does sound like a pretty cool project,” Chase said genuinely. “I’ll definitely read that. Er—well, I’m not that big of a reader— shush— but I’ll do my best!”

Buddy huffed out a small laugh. “Fair enough, I suppose.” He pulled the notebook back toward him, closing it with his thumb inside to keep the page marked, then started to push his chair back from the table.

“Are you leaving?” Chase asked, tilting his head and following Buddy’s eyes as he stood up from the table. Buddy shook his head.

“I’m not finished writing it so I can’t give you the actual rough draft. Plus, I’d rather not remove them from my notebook and I wouldn’t trust you not to bend it up. I’m going to make a copy.” 

Chase’s mouth formed a silent Oh. “That makes sense. I’ll have you know I’m very good at taking care of papers, though!” he retorted jokingly.

Buddy fixed him with an unimpressed look. “Right. Of course.” He picked up his bag and put it over his shoulder, notebook still in hand. “I’ll be right back then.” 

“Oh, actually—” Chase tapped his phone screen to make it light up and checked the time. “I’m supposed to meet my cousin for dinner in a bit, I’ll just walk with you.” He started gathering his own backpack.

“Alright. I suppose I need to leave soon as well anyway.” Buddy pushed his chair in, then walked around the table to wait for Chase as he finished collecting his things. Once his back was zipped up, Chase pushed his chair back and stood up, swinging the backpack over his shoulders.

“Good to go! You…know where the printers are, right?” 

“Of course. There’s a room near the main entrance with printers and a copy machine that students can use,” Buddy explained as they started to walk.

“Huh. I guess I usually come straight to this section so I never noticed.”

“Hm.”

They turned a corner and passed one of the information desks. Chase tensed at the sight of the same scary librarian from before sitting there typing at her computer. He didn’t miss the suspicious glance she passed between him and Buddy at the sight of them amicably walking together, or the way her gaze narrowed slightly before returning to her work. Chase glanced at Buddy, who hadn’t seemed to notice, and let out an exhale once they passed a bookshelf that put them out of sight. 

The main entrance came into view and, sure enough, there was a small room just on the opposite side of the hallway’s entrance. They passed through the threshold and several printers came into view, as well as a couple computers and a large copy machine in the far corner. Buddy approached the machine.

“I’ll have to remember this room is here in case I ever need it,” Chase observed. He looked around the space as Buddy raised the lid on the copier and pressed his notebook against the glass. 

“Most of the dorms have their own as well. Printers, anyway. Mine does, so I’d imagine whichever one you’re in does as well,” Buddy explained. The machine whirred awake as he pressed the buttons on the keypad. “Assuming you live on campus, anyway.” 

“I do. I live in Anderson East, so it’s a bit of a walk from here. I’ll have to find out where our printer is sometime.”

“It’s usually in the lobby or the common area.” 

“Noted. Thanks,” Chase smiled. Buddy nodded silently in reply as the first page printed out. He raised the lid again and flipped his notebook over on the glass. The sound of the machine filled the silence that fell between them as the second page printed out. Buddy picked them both up, tapped them against the copier to line them up, then handed both to Chase.

“Here. And since it’s a copy you can mark on it, if you choose.” 

“Cool, cool. Sounds good.” Chase dropped his backpack onto a small table in the corner and slid the pages into his notebook for safekeeping. As Chase finished zipping his backpack, Buddy started walking toward the door and by the time the bag was over his shoulders, Buddy had disappeared from view. Chase jogged slightly to catch up.

“Are you going to the cafeteria?”

Buddy turned his head toward Chase, instinctively slowing his pace as the other caught up to him. “Yes. Why?”

“I’m going to one of the minimarts for dinner and it’s in that direction. I’ll walk with you a bit.” Chase laughed. “If you still consider me a tolerable pest, that is.”

“A tolerable pest,” Buddy echoed. They passed through the library doors and started down the staircase out front.

“Hey, that’s what you called me,” Chase argued jokingly.

Buddy scoffed with a smirk. “I don’t believe I ever said that, actually.” 

“You didn’t deny it, though.”

“Whatever.” Buddy waved a hand dismissively with a sigh. “Do as you wish.” 

“I will, thank you,” Chase said as he hopped over the last few steps to the ground. He turned to face Buddy while Buddy caught up. “Oh, uh—we should probably plan to meet up again, then. If we’re doing the whole tutor thing for reals.” 

Reaching the bottom of the staircase, Buddy nodded. “Ah. Yes, we probably should. I’ll be back in the library Friday afternoon, if you have time. We can sort out a more regular schedule then.”

Chase laughed. “Do you really just live in the library?”

“It’s a good place to focus,” Buddy said defensively. 

“Okay, that’s true. Fine,” Chase conceded. He tapped his cheek. “I’m done with my Friday classes by 2pm. Oh, but I’m going home this weekend and I have to leave around 5.” 

“Hmm. I’ll probably be there until dinnertime again, so that would work for me. You should bring your notes from class that morning.”

Chase pursed his lips for a moment before allowing them to morph into a sheepish smile. “Well—”

“You take notes…right?” Buddy all but stopped walking to look at Chase incredulously.

“I take some notes!”

Buddy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, bring what you have then. And if we get a weekend assignment, bring that too.” 

“Can do!” Chase chirped. “I’ll try to read the Cinderella thing before then, too.”

“Alright.” 

“And I’ll give you good feedback on it.”

“Right,” Buddy said flatly.

This time, Chase did stop walking, planting his feet in a spot directly in front of Buddy so that he stopped as well. “I will.” Chase pressed his hands against his hips and glared up at the other. 

Buddy smirked slightly, then sidestepped around Chase and continued down the sidewalk, idly resting a hand on top of Chase’s head as he passed. Chase swatted it away. “I didn’t say anything,” Buddy said innocently. Chase followed him with his eyes for a moment before turning to follow with a huff.

“You definitely thought it, though,” Chase grumbled.

Buddy hummed. “You can’t prove that.” 

“I can prove you’re a jerk.”  

That time, Chase was certain he heard Buddy bite back a laugh. “A ‘ jerk’ you tried to bribe into tutoring you.” 

“A jerk I succeeded at bribing into tutoring me. You agreed.” Chase nudged Buddy’s arm lightly. “Pretty easily, I might add.” 

Buddy ignored the last part. “Ah. So you admit it was a bribe then?” 

“Yeah. Sure. Yeah,” Chase babbled. Then added “Jerk,” for good measure. 

“Pest,” Buddy quipped.

Chase puffed out his chest. “Hey, that’s tolerable pest, thank you very much.” 

“Of course,” Buddy deadpanned. “So tolerable.” 

“I am. Thank you for noticing.”

Buddy glanced at Chase and rolled his eyes, allowing them to drift into silence as the conversation tapered off. Chase heard Buddy hum the same faint sequence as before in the library. After another moment, the pair reached an intersection on the sidewalk and Chase slowed.

“Okay, I go this way now,” he said, pointing vaguely over his shoulder. Buddy stopped walking as Chase did.

“Ah. Alright.” 

“Thanks again for agreeing to tutor me. Seriously. I definitely need the help,” Chase said sincerely. “I really appreciate it.” 

“Oh, y-you’re welcome,” Buddy replied. He faintly cleared his throat. “Don’t forget your notes on Friday. And actually take notes in class Friday, for that matter.” 

“Fine, jeez. I will …try. I will try,” Chase said. Buddy crossed his arms and gave Chase an unimpressed look and Chase huffed. “I will, okay,” he groaned.

The corner of Buddy’s mouth almost twitched into a smile. “Good.” 

“See you then, Buddy.” 

“Goodbye, Starkid, ” Buddy smirked. Chase pursed his lips and let out a narrow sigh through his nose, then turned on his heel to walk away down the sidewalk with a wave.

“I’m going to ignore that,” he called behind him.