Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Objectively, Jules didn’t have a lot going for her. She was a twenty-four year old senior in sustainable design at Stanford, used her FAFSA loans to pay for therapy, and was counterproductively giving herself brain and lung damage by using fixative spray over her drawings indoors without a face mask.

It was midterms. I was losing hair, sleep, and sanity. Pretty usual for me at that point. Midterms meant crazy hours for all of us. Some people even slept over in the studio. I did once, on accident, twice on purpose when I was a sophomore. After getting your soul crushed during freshman year, and a rude awakening to the downward spiral that is finishing your degree, you realize rules aren’t real if you’re barely connected to reality anymore. All I knew was staring at my monitor, crushing pink Monsters, and applying another layer of concealer over the remnants of yesterday’s attempt to look alive. 

Class ended, and I didn’t even bother packing up any of my stuff. I grabbed my laptop and mouse, and I booked it to the bio building. I was due to clock in for my work study job as a lab monitor. I burst through the door a little too aggressively and it slammed behind me. Shit, that wasn’t exactly fulfilling my job description of maintaining a calm and productive academic environment. A large, dark-haired man peeked out from behind his workspace and scowled before my boss appeared next to him.

”Dr. Smith! Saved by the bell.”

”Oh Jules, you know I’m always happy to see you, and so is he, despite the scowl. I’ll never fully understand computational modelists.” She nodded her head back towards Dr. Adam Carlsen, her partner in life and studies. He softened.

“Before I go, do you need anything? A bathroom break, a sandwich…?”

I smiled and shook my head. “No, but I appreciate it. I only have to make it til 10pm before self imploding,” I jested. Dr. Smith knew exactly what it was like to be me; she had been in her first year as a professor when I matriculated here and we were close in age. 

Dr. Smith chuckled and slung her backpack over one shoulder before joining Dr. Carlsen by the door. He nodded towards me, and then they were gone. Working the closing shift was sweet because I had a desk to myself and while it was comedically unrealistic to try model making or drawing here, I could at least work on my laptop. I rested my eyes while I booted up my software. Something tapped the desk three times. It was Dr. Carlsen with a bagel sandwich and a water bottle.

”Olive said you aren’t allowed to refuse this. She also promised that no one will know you ate in here as long as you use the office.”

He slid the sandwich and bottle closer, then the big, broody genius strode away before I could argue. Typical of Dr. Smith to take care of me because she knew I wouldn’t. I’d worked for her for a couple years, and knew she was just as bad as me when she was a grad student until Dr. Carlsen started taking care of her. 

There was no universe in which I wasn’t about to inhale that sandwich. I spun around in the office chair, bagel in one hand and phone in the other. Naturally, I went right to Tiktok to melt my brain with whatever influencers were trying to sell me that day or whatever new nonsense gen alpha cooked up. After three “ballerina cappuccina” videos in a row, I took it as a sign and went back to my desk in the main lab. 

At 9pm, two students finally came in. A tall brunette (see Kassidy Cook) and an even taller man who clearly didn’t need a visa to visit the Schengen region (see Chris O’Grady). I’d seen the guy before, but not usually at this time, and I had never had to speak to him before. He seemed like a man of few words anyways. The pair signed in and went to a bench across the room. I buried my nose back in my laptop and prayed I wouldn’t get carpal tunnel - at least not until after midterms. 

10pm rolled around quickly. The lab was empty and all I had to do was make sure everything was in its place before I could leave. The doors automatically locked from the outside at this hour, and environmental services cleaned overnight. I tossed out my empty water bottle on my way back to the 24/7 architecture studio.

Right on schedule, the last few students trickled out around midnight. 2am rolled around even faster. I stood up to stretch and moseyed over to the wall of windows facing one of the main campus quads. I closed my eyes and rolled my neck in slow circles. When I looked back across the quad, a green light illuminated one of the rooms of the building in front of me. Huh, maybe I wasn’t so crazy for working this late. Or was I crazy? Was there a light? 

When I woke up slumped over my desk with a pop up reminder on my screen to save my file after a period of inactivity, I decided it was time to pack up and go back to my dorm. After begging to have on-campus housing despite being a non-traditional undergrad student, I was given placement in the suite-style apartment building for upperclassmen and transfers. It was a three bedroom, 1.5 bath apartment with a kitchen that I used more than I anticipated when I paid extra for a meal plan. I slipped in quietly since my roommates were definitely fast asleep. I tucked myself in, caught up on my favorite Twitter (fuck X) account, @whatwouldmariedo, then trolled AI chatbot Sigmund Freud for his mommy issues until I fell asleep. 

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Fucking Friday. You know, I would’ve been excited if I wasn’t waking up to T-minus three days until midterms started. It wasn’t the end of the world. I’d been through seven semesters of midterms before, but this was the last time and if I got all As this semester, it’d boost my GPA to a three-point-EIGHT. Yeah, that’s competitive for grad school, and exactly what I needed. Letters of recommendation from Olive and one of my major program professors were good, but I needed cold, hard numbers to back it up. and so I thought, if this is my last semester of undergrad, why not burn myself out for the reward and take the Summer to recoup.

I actually still had a week until I got my acceptance (or rejection) letters from the programs I applied to. Stanford (obviously), UPenn, Penn State, Florida International University, Boston Architectural College, and UT Austin. There were perks to each, and I was clinging onto my pros and cons list for dear life as decision day crept up…

If I get into Stanford, I’d stay, but a girl has to have options. I’m clearly leaning towards Stanford with UT as my runner-up, but I’d be happy to get into any of them. Adding “avoid men with big belt buckles” to my packing list if I decide to go south…

After checking my email and watching Instagram Reels for exactly five minutes (I had to set a timer), I got out of bed to start my day. Approximately seventy-two hours until midterms and approximately fifteen hours until I might see the green light again. Most of my day was normal. I had environmental systems lecture in the morning, a short break for lunch and more work, my afternoon digital portfolio studio, and my evening physics II online lab/lecture. I hadn’t breathed fresh air since approximately 8:45 that morning, and knew I was in for a long night, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to stop at my apartment first, eat something, maybe finally talk to another human, and get my studio stuff. 

When I pushed through the front door, my three roommates were snuggled, or forced together rather, on our couch watching some TV. Grace, the girl who was my first ever roommate and now my best friend, jumped up to take my backpack and set it down before opening the fridge to find something for me. My roommates were all majoring in engineering/science-y stuff, and they knew midterms were always a hard time for me, but it was hard for them to understand design vs memorization. Fair enough, considering I couldn’t imagine taking an exam on… I don’t know, molecules? Totally out of my realm, but Grace and I were like glue, and she was determined to make sure I didn’t fail my midterms just because I “forgot” to eat. 

She held up two saran-wrapped bowls. “Penne marinara or chicken Caesar salad?”

”Both.”

I came over, popped my pasta into the microwave, then took my bag to my room and swapped out lighter stuff for what I needed for another night in the studio. The microwave dinged, and I ate my salad and pasta standing, in a rush like usual. I didn’t bother interrupting my roommates who were all engrossed in their show again, so I cleaned my dishes, grabbed my bag, and was back out again. 

On my walk to the studio, I thought about a lot of things: how nice it would be not to get acid reflux from eating in a hurry, to enjoy a tv show with my roommates (or even just see them more often), or to at least have a good friend in my program. There people within my program that I was friendly with and it’s not like I was last-picked for group projects, but I felt different for being a twenty-four year old senior in a program that traditionally graduated people at twenty-one. Keeping up with trends and slang wasn’t the issue, trust me, but I think I’d just lived a lot more life than most of the people around me. It was interesting hearing my classmates frustrated about how they were going to afford a Spring break trip while I was worried about how behind in life I was compared to most people my age. If I’m graduating at 24, that means I’m approximately three years of full-time salary behind, and will have to buy my first house later, get married and pay for a wedding later, and have a kid later. God forbid the economy keeps going in the way that it’s currently headed…

I settled in for digital portfolio class, which thankfully went by quickly, then moved myself to my favorite spot in the studio to sit through my online physics class on Zoom. I tried my best to pay attention, but my eyes kept flickering over towards that building across the courtyard. Once people started leaving, I logged off and closed my laptop. I took a lap around the department to calm my nerves and get back into my design headspace. 

When I looped back into the studio, a couple underclassmen had moved into a corner of the room, and I mean literally moved in. One girl was wearing a Snuggie (wise choice), another had brought a folding camp chair, and the other had a large cooler with enough food to last all of them at least two days. I couldn’t fight the spark of envy that rose inside of me at their easy vibe and apparently close relationships with each other. I pushed it down and reminded myself that this was my last round of Fall midterms, and if the promise I made to myself that if burning myself out was what it took to succeed, then I would do it. Nothing mattered more than getting an A. 

My phone buzzed at midnight, reminding me to get up, walk, and use the restroom. I never thought I’d be an adult needing reminders like this, but here I was. On my way back from the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of green. I paused and looked out the window. There it was. That green office light across the courtyard was on again. The excitement of seeing it again and knowing I wasn’t crazy or imagined it gave me a boost of excitement, enough to sit back down in the studio and crank out another two hours of work. 

At 2:30am, I figured it was time to turn in. Burning myself out was one thing, but psychologically torturing myself with sleep deprivation was another. Just when I had packed up my bag, I was drawn to the green light again. A shadow passed in front of it. Oh. So that confirmed it wasn’t just some closet with a night light or something. It was a room, with a real person inside. Not my imagination. The shadow passed in front of the window once more, and now satisfied by my findings, I walked back to my apartment. That night, I fell asleep imagining some hot person (professor Henry Cavill perhaps?) running experiments in there, maybe even watching me back.

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It was officially crunch time. I was in the final forty-eight hours before my final projects and presentations were due. During the odd hours I was at my apartment, none of my roommates were there either, all at the library or labs. Not having to fight for the shower was pretty nice. I was relieved that I could rely on my meal prepping from Sunday, and just toss a bin and snack in my bag. I didn’t have mental energy for anything else. 

I tried not to look at my classmates’ work in class, but I couldn’t help it. Shit. My projects didn’t look anything like theirs and theirs were stunning. Even more inventive than mine, I thought. Maybe individuality would work in my favor… I could bank on my public speaking skills and knowledge of my topic in the presentation portion. I took my lunch break on a bench beside the quad, hoping that somehow I’d run into whoever worked in the green glow all night. It was a worthless effort, and I returned to my usual spot. You guessed it - the studio.

I got my model out of my locker and laid everything out on the large desk in front of me. I forewent my high-top swivel chair and stood to get the best mobility around my work. I’d rather move myself around the project than risk moving it and damaging it. For design studio, I had a case study project. I had to pick an example of a building project from the 20th century, modify it to current sustainability standards and personal design preferences, make a physical model of it, then present it all live for a critique in front of pretty much the entire department and visiting jurors. Totally not terrifying. Even more terrifying was the amount of times I considered paying an art student to make it for me. I couldn’t, though. I had academic integrity, and anyways, how would I explain a seven week project to someone in seven minutes? I guess I had to figure that out as soon as possible, considering I’d be graded on doing exactly that in… less than 48 hours. Fuck.

I decided to pick the Wildwood visitor center in New Jersey, where I grew up vacationing. There’s a rich history of Doo-Wop design that local lawmakers and designers have been fighting to protect, and every Summer, I’d look forward to driving down the main roads with bright colors and funky shapes on each side of me. I figured that I could combine my favorite vacation spot with my interest in sustainable design to redo the visitor center in a way that reflects the new and the old. 

The base was a piece of foam core, like what I used for my grade school science fair posters. With more foam core, extremely hard to cut by the way, I had each piece of the building painted and ready to be glued together. All the plans were already drawn on the base: where to put sand, sidewalks, and each piece of the actual building of course. I used regular old Elmer’s glue to cover the base, and sprinkled sand on it, then covered the sidewalks and paths with tan construction paper. The hard part was putting the building together. That would require hot glue.

Oh, hot glue, the good and bad times we’ve had over the years… When I was seven years old, I unintentionally ended up with bangs. I was using the hot glue gun to put together a ginger bread house and leaned in a little too close. I was pushing the glue across the roof and right into my hair. When I sat back, the warm, goopy, string of glue stretched between the glue gun, gingerbread house roof, and my head. My parents and I tried everything from re-melting it with a hair dryer, peanut butter, combing it out, to using conditioner to soften it. After listening to me screaming and crying for over an hour, my mom decided it was time for a chop. She said that it was New Year’s Eve anyways, so why not try out a new look? She actually did an impressive job, but I was definitely not made for it. It took almost two years for me to be able to tuck my hair behind my ears again. 

This time, I kept my distance from the hot end, and worked with the precision of a professional arts & crafter. I was locked in, and time passed by quickly. I didn’t even notice it had gotten so dark and quiet until I saw green in the corner of my eye. I sprayed sealant over my project and decided I could go for a walk while it set.

I couldn’t fight my curiosity about who or what was behind the green light. It transfixed me at all hours, even when it wasn’t a glowing beacon in the dark of the studio late at night. It felt like following a siren’s call as I grabbed my phone and student ID, and slipped out into the courtyard. Then I was standing right in front of the building. I didn’t even know if I had access to it, especially at this hour. I swiped my card, and it blinked green (funny), letting me into the lobby. From my estimate, albeit not that great of one from the studio window, it was on the first floor, to the right, approximately eight doors down the wing. 

My shoes squeaked on the tile floors that had probably just been cleaned, given the time of night, and my head was on a swivel. Yes I had been able to swipe into the building, but I still wasn’t sure if I was really allowed to be in here. I didn’t even know exactly where I was. Step by step, I approached the green glow. Once it was right in front of me, I froze. I never planned to get this far. The green light was as much as a myth thus far. 

The placard in the door read: Dr. Cameron Easton, bio mechanical engineering faculty. Hmm. It was enough information to at least pull some Google results later, but I wasn’t satisfied yet. I peeked through the slim window in the door and couldn’t see much in the shadows. I could tell though, through my small vantage point, that the green light was a standing lamp that lowered over a desk and chair. I figured that maybe it was Dr. Easton’s preference to work under a softer, personal, colored light. No judgment there. I’m also severely anti big light. As soon as I graduate and get my own place (hold your horses, girl), it will absolutely have warm light lamps scattered about the place. 

Anyways, it looked like the office was in use, but currently unoccupied. I tried the handle, and it was unlocked, startling me. I quickly closed it and turned right around to head back to my natural realm in the studio. My shoes didn’t squeak on the walk back towards the lobby, but a different noise made me jump. A door swung open to my side and a man popped out, right into me.