Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The library was almost empty by the time Leo found his spot. He always came here late—when the fluorescent lights were a little too cold and the silence just thick enough to drown in. Earlier in the day, the third floor was all noise: students whispering like they didn’t understand the concept of “quiet,” group study tables full of unearned confidence and overpriced coffees. But now, near closing time, it was his.

He dropped his bag with precision. Everything about him was like that—precise. Intentional. The corners of his notebooks were sharp, not bent. His annotated texts were color-coded, and his laptop stickers were aligned with geometric perfection. Not because he wanted to impress anyone, but because it was the only way to keep his brain from spiraling into static.

He was a third-year English major, and people tended to assume things when they heard that. That he was soft. Bookish. Romantic. Maybe even pretentious. Leo didn’t bother correcting them. It was easier that way. Let people think he lived in metaphors and drank chamomile tea. They never stuck around long enough to find out he hadn’t slept a full night in weeks and that most of his essays were written under the tight, shaky grip of adrenaline and caffeine.

He sat in his usual corner on the third floor, tucked behind a column where no one could walk behind him. He liked having walls at his back. It made thinking easier. Safer.

Tonight, he had a draft to finish. Something about fragmented identity in postmodern narrative structure—it wasn’t due until Friday, but Leo didn’t do “due Friday.” He did “done by Wednesday,” reviewed by Thursday, and resubmitted with edits five minutes before the deadline just to prove he could.

He pulled out his laptop, clicked it open, and took a deep breath. He was halfway through rewriting his introduction paragraph for the third time when it happened.

Not the argument. Not the words. Just the soft clatter of a bag hitting the floor behind him, barely registering as anything more than background noise.

Leo didn’t turn around.

His earbuds were in, noise-canceling on. He was deep in it—fully submerged in the line he’d just rewritten for the fourth time, finally starting to sound right. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, ready to keep going.

Then his screen went black.

For a second, he just stared. His breath caught. His pulse skipped. His file. His work. Gone.

He blinked. Tapped the spacebar. Nothing.

“Fuck.”

Leo yanked out his earbuds and ducked under the desk, heart already pounding, following the cable with frantic eyes. His charger—unplugged. And in its place, a second cable now connected to the outlet.

Someone was crouched beside him. Not even looking at him. Just plugging in a laptop, casual as anything.

“No way. You have got to be kidding me,” Leo muttered.

The other guy looked up—startled. His eyes were sharp and tired, framed by uneven bangs streaked with purple. He looked like he hadn’t planned to be here, but didn’t seem sorry about it either.

Leo narrowed his eyes. “Did you seriously just unplug my laptop?”

The guy blinked. “Shit. That was yours?”

“Yeah,” Leo said, voice clipped. “It was.”

The guy leaned back a little, hands raised half-heartedly. “My bad, bro. lol Didn’t think anyone was using it.”

“I’m sitting right here, dipshit” Leo snapped.

The guy scoffed. “Okay, relax dude.”

Leo exhaled sharply, fingers gripping the edge of the desk. “I was working. I just lost all my progress.”

“Should’ve saved.”

“I was in the middle of writing.”

“Still should’ve saved,” the guy muttered, plugging his charger in fully like the argument was already over.

Leo’s hands curled into fists on the tabletop. “You don’t even ask before you unplug something?”

“I didn’t see you.”

“I was literally sitting right here.”

“You're sitting all the way at the end of the desk, hidden in the shadows n shit and you had headphones in. It’s not like you were waving a flag.”

This stupid fuck.

Leo opened his mouth, then shut it again. This wasn’t worth it. His file was probably gone. He didn’t have the energy to yell about it. Still, the frustration burned in his chest like battery acid.

He looked the guy over: tall, maybe six feet, worn-out leather jacket over a hoodie, blonde hair streaked with purple, black boots, and a motorcycle helmet clipped to his bag like some kind of aesthetic. He looked younger. Maybe second year. Someone who didn’t know any library etiquette apparently.

Leo pulled his charger out of the guy’s power strip slot with a harsh click and plugged it back in without another word.

“I said it was an accident,” the guy added under his breath.

Leo didn’t look at him. “Accidents still have consequences.”

The guy didn’t answer. Just gave a little snort under his breath—quiet, amused. Like Leo had said something funny instead of glaring daggers at the back of his skull.

Leo resisted the urge to throw his pen across the table.

The guy didn’t even look like he belonged in a library. He had that half-awake, half-feral look of someone who only crawled into public spaces out of necessity. His jacket was dumped over the back of the chair beside him, taking up even more space. He was wearing a hoodie underneath, sleeves shoved up, showing a mess of bracelets on one wrist and a watch on the other.

Leo didn’t know what he was doing—coding, probably, judging by the blocky wall of text on his screen—but whatever it was, he did it like he was trying to beat a timer. Fingers flying, brow furrowed, occasionally muttering something under his breath that sounded like it was directed at the screen. Or maybe God.

The guy’s knee kept bouncing. That was the worst part.

That, and the fucking Red Bull can he kept picking up and setting down again, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to take a dainty little sip or chug the whole thing.

Leo had given up trying to work. The paragraph he’d been rewriting was dead now. Killed mid-birth by one unplugged cable and a human embodiment of chaos with a bad-boy persona.

Then came the kicker.

“Hey,” the guy said, leaning a little to the side. “You got a pen?”

Leo didn’t look at him. “Fuck you.”

There was a pause. Then a short, surprised laugh.

“No seriously, I just need—”

“Yeah, and I needed a power supply and three hours of work back. Guess we both lose.”

The guy held up his hands, not even offended. “Damn. Okay. Retract request.”

Leo finally looked at him—sharply. “Try not to unplug anything else while you're looking for a pen.”

The guy tilted his head, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he couldn’t help it. “Didn’t think this table came with so much attitude.”

“It doesn’t. Just bad luck.”

“Wow. You’re fun.”

“Thrilled to be your first impression.”

“Not my worst,” the guy said casually, eyes drifting back to his screen.

Leo narrowed his own at the monitor across from him. Code. Terminal window. Green text. Definitely a comp sci student. Probably one of those new kids who skipped lectures and still passed because they’d been building bots since middle school.

The guy reached into his bag and fished around loudly—like, full hand-digging rummaging. Leo flinched when a full-size wrench clanged against the zipper.

“Why the fuck do you have that in there?” Leo asked before he could stop himself.

“Project,” came the simple reply.

“What kind of project requires both a laptop and a wrench?”

“The kind you’d hate.” He smirked.

Leo stared. “That’s not an answer.”

“Good thing it wasn’t a question.”

The guy grinned again, smug and infuriating, and pulled out a notebook that was falling apart at the spine. It looked like it had been through a flood. Twice. He flipped it open and started scribbling something in aggressively pointy handwriting.

The RedBull can teetered again, catching on the edge of a folder and nearly tipping. Leo reached out, slapping it upright with a snap of his wrist.

“Dude.”

“Relax, Professor,” the guy muttered.

Leo gritted his teeth. “Don’t call me that. You're going to get us kicked out.”

Right on cue, footsteps echoed down the aisle.

The night librarian appeared around the corner like a summoned demon, sleep-deprived eyes narrowing behind rectangular glasses.

“Hey,” he said. “We’re closing in ten. Start packing up. And next time—” he looked pointedly at Leo, then the guy with purple streaks “—maybe try whispering instead of performing an open mic.”

The guy gave a mock salute. “Yessir.”

Leo sighed, already shoving his charger into his bag. He wanted out. He wanted a shower. He wanted to retype his whole goddamn paragraph and pretend this entire night hadn’t happened.

But of course, chaos wasn’t done with him yet.

They left the library at the same time, exited through the same side door, pace almost accidentally matched as they crossed the paved quad. Leo tried to walk faster, but the guy just lengthened his stride to keep up, boots clunking against the path like he had nowhere better to be.

“You always get this pissed about shit like that?” the guy asked, hands in his jacket pockets.

Leo stared ahead. “Only when someone kills my work in the middle of a thesis.”

“Sounds fake. I bet you wake up mad.”

“I bet you wake up in a dumpster.”

“Would explain the back pain.”

Leo huffed, shoulders drawn tight, fingers gripping his bag strap like it might anchor him to his last shred of patience.

But then the guy pointed casually toward the north dorm towers and said, “which way are you headed?”

Leo stared at him. “Honestly, what conceivable reason would I tell you that.”

The fucker squinted. “Because we’re both going the same way, Socrates.”

Of course. Leo didn’t answer, but the silence spoke for him.

The guy’s grin spread slowly, like it was sneaking across his face without permission.

“Oh, man,” he said. “That’s rich.”

Leo turned and started walking again without a word. Leather jacket followed.

He let out a soft whistle as he fell into step beside Leo. “Man. You and me? Gonna be best friends, I can feel it.”

Leo didn’t dignify that with a reply.

They didn’t talk the rest of the way, but something had shifted.

Leo could feel it.

Like a line had been drawn between them—accidental, chaotic, but solid. A line they were both about to cross whether they liked it or not.

Chapter Text

Leo had managed to avoid him for two entire days.

It helped that they didn’t share any classes. Or friends. Or basic respect for public space. But the quiet reprieve came to an abrupt end Friday afternoon, when Leo opened an email from the housing office and immediately felt his blood pressure spike.

“Due to unexpected maintenance in West Hall, we’ve had to reassign your dorm room. Please visit the front desk to collect your new key.”

Leo stared at the screen, unmoving. Then slowly reached for his water bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took a long, deliberate sip like hydration might stop him from setting something on fire.

By the time he made it to the housing office, the line was long and the fluorescent lights overhead were buzzing like they, too, had given up.

“Hi,” he said to the desk clerk, voice tight. “I got a reassignment email.”

The girl behind the desk barely looked up. “Name?”

“Leo.”

Click-clack of keys. She squinted at the monitor. “New room’s in North Tower. Fifth floor. 514B. You’ll be sharing.”

Leo stiffened. “Sharing? My old room was a single.”

“Maintenance emergency. Should only be a week or two.”

He wanted to argue. He really, really did. But he’d already tried to escalate this by phone, only to get stonewalled by a voicemail loop and one unhelpful TA who suggested he “journal through the inconvenience.”

So he swallowed it. Took the keycard. Walked the ten minutes across campus in stiff, angry silence.

He tried not to imagine what kind of undergrad nightmare he was about to walk into.

Until he opened the door to 514B-and saw the motorcycle helmet first.

Helmet. Boots. Leather jacket. Worn-out backpack. A Red Bull on the desk.

Leo didn’t even need to see the guy’s face.

“Oh, fuck off,” he said out loud.

From the top bunk, there was a dull thunk, followed by a groggy voice that made Leo's skin crawl and his stomach twist at the same time.

“No way.”

Then a mop of purple-streaked hair appeared over the railing.

“No. Fucking. Way,” the guy said again, grinning so hard Leo wanted to strangle him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m dreaming,” the guy said. “This is a lucid dream. You’re gonna yell at me and I’m gonna wake up in my algorithms class.”

Leo dropped his bag by the door like it had betrayed him. “This is temporary,” he said sharply. “Just a week.”

The guy jumped down from the bunk, landing with a thud that shook the shitty laminate floor. “Guess we’re roommates now.”

“No. We are co-occupants of a forced space . Not the same thing.”

He snorted. “I’ll put that on a T-shirt.”

Leo ran a hand over his face. “What’s your name, anyway?”

The guy blinked. Then grinned wider. “You first.”

“I asked you.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who keeps saying we’re not friends, so what’s the rush?”

Leo groaned. “Fine. No names. Great. Awesome. Let’s never speak again.”

“That’s gonna be tough. I talk in my sleep.”

Leo spun around. “You what ?”

“Only sometimes,” the guy said, lifting a shoulder. “Usually when I’ve had too much caffeine or when my brain’s compiling a build.”

“What does that even-never mind. I don’t want to know.”

The bunk beds loomed behind him like a prison sentence. The room was barely wide enough to pace in, let alone share.

Leo glanced between the lower and upper bunks. The top one had a mess of blankets already. Which meant the bottom was his.

He sat on it, elbows on knees, staring into space.

“Seriously,” came the guy’s voice from across the room, softer now. “You good?”

Leo didn’t answer right away. His bag sat at his feet. His charger was tucked into the front pocket, still warm from the library. He could still feel the drag of exhaustion in his spine, the weight of everything not going to plan.

He didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to banter. Just wanted five minutes of peace.

But then the guy flopped back onto the top bunk and muttered, “Well, at least now you can keep an eye on your charger.”

And against all better judgment, Leo cracked a smile. Just for a second.

Then he closed his eyes, laid back on the mattress, and whispered, “I hate this.”

From above, the guy let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Me too.”

Leo didn’t know how long he lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying not to let the sound of the other guy’s breathing bother him.

But it did bother him.

Everything about this situation was too loud. The hum of the mini fridge, the faint creak every time the guy shifted on the top bunk, the way his mind kept skipping back to the email like rereading it in his head would suddenly change its contents. Even with his eyes shut, his brain refused to power down. Every flicker of sound lit up like static in his head.

Eventually, he sat up.

He pulled out his laptop and textbook, placed them with precise alignment on the desk, but didn’t open either. Just sat, blinking hard, palms on the desk like he could will his thoughts to line up.

Behind him, the guy made a soft sound. “You really don’t know how to sit still, do you?”

Leo turned, slowly. “Do you ever shut up?”

A grin from above, lazy and amused. “Only when I’m asleep.”

“Then I might have to suffocate you.”

He was already regretting saying that, because the guy propped his arms on the railing and leaned forward with that same irreverent smile. “Kinky.”

Leo stared at him for a beat. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re high-strung.” He let his head loll against the rail. “It’s kinda hot.”

Leo opened his mouth. Closed it. Heat bloomed low in his gut before he could catch it, and he hated that.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, turning back toward his desk, pretending to flip through a half-read book.

“Hey, what’s your name?” the guy asked, casually this time. Not baiting-just curious.

Leo glanced over his shoulder. “Now you want to know?”

“Well, you’re sleeping underneath me,” he said, then paused, “...physically, I mean.”

Leo gave him a withering look, but the guy just shrugged. “Seems fair.”

“Leo,” he said finally. “I’m Leo Kuga.”

“Leo,” the guy repeated. Like he was trying it out, rolling it over his tongue. “Huh. Suits you.”

Leo raised an eyebrow. “That supposed to mean something?”

The guy grinned again. “You just seem like the kind of guy who sharpens his pencils with a blade instead of a sharpener.”

“That’s not-what? No.”

“Whatever. Still fits.”

Leo exhaled through his nose. “And you?”

The guy swung one leg over the side of the bunk, hopping down again in one fluid motion. Close now. Too close. He offered a hand that Leo looked at like it was a trap.

“Claude,” he said. “Nice to officially meet you, Leo.”

Leo didn’t shake it, but he didn’t back away either.

Claude let the hand fall and leaned back against the desk, arms crossed, watching him.

“You always this tense?” Claude asked, voice softer now.

Leo hesitated. His chest felt tight, like he’d been holding it together for too long and the threads were starting to snap one by one. He hated being observed. Hated being seen .

But Claude wasn’t being cruel. Just curious. Steady.

Leo rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’ve had a shit week.”

Claude didn’t say anything right away. Then: “Same.”

They stood there in the small room, silence stretching-not tense, not quite awkward. Just... full. The kind of quiet that asked to be filled, but only carefully.

Then Claude tilted his head and said, “You want to make this easier or harder?”

Leo looked up. “What?”

“Roommates,” Claude said. “We can either spend the next week pretending the other doesn’t exist, or... I don’t know. Stop being assholes about it.”

Leo folded his arms. “You started it.”

Claude grinned. “Yeah, but you escalated.”

Leo rolled his eyes and turned to grab his charger from his bag. “Whatever. I’m plugging this in. You unplug it again, I stab you.”

“Fair.”

He bent to plug it in under the desk, and when he sat back up, Claude was still watching him.

Too quiet.

“What?” Leo asked warily.

Claude’s smile softened just a little. “You really don’t sit still.”

Leo narrowed his eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Claude didn’t answer right away. Just tilted his head, looking at him like he was figuring something out. “You always bouncing your knee or tapping something. Always fidgeting.”

Leo felt the flush rise up his neck.

“I’m not-” he stopped. His foot had been bouncing. He hadn’t noticed.

Claude shrugged. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Leo turned away. “Stop analyzing me.”

Claude’s voice dropped a little, and when he spoke again, there was something quieter underneath it. “Just trying to get to know you.”

Leo didn’t say anything.

His fingers curled against the edge of the desk, trying to focus on the cool laminate, the grid of his notebook, anything but the warm thrum of Claude standing less than a foot away.

Claude shifted a little closer.

“Unless you really want to hate me the whole week,” he added, voice low.

Leo glanced at him, and-goddammit-Claude’s eyes were closer than they should’ve been. Sharp, amused, and watching him like he was waiting for something. Like Leo was a puzzle he actually wanted to solve.

Leo’s pulse kicked.

And when Claude’s gaze dropped-just for a second-to Leo’s mouth-

Leo stood up.

“Shower,” he said abruptly. “I’m taking one.”

Claude blinked, then gave a lazy smile. “You do that.”

Leo grabbed his towel and bolted before he could think twice.