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As midterms loomed closer and closer, after-school study groups became increasingly common.
The library? Too crowded. The Mostro Lounge? Demanded an overpriced drink per hour you stayed. And there were barely anymore free empty rooms to reserve on campus. So wherever the Ramshackle duo were invited, there they would shamelessly make use of the hospitality offered to them.
Correction—Grim was shameless.
Lou was so full of shame and intent on studying on her own that in a roundabout way, she would be pushed into spending the night instead of breaking curfew to walk back to Ramshackle.
Combine that mix of personalities with Scarabia’s trademark hospitality—which slowly pushed the dorm up Grim’s personal top seven list—and that should mean the Ramshackle duo were set for midterms right?
“Where's…” Lou’s paused her second round of note-taking, idly flexing her wrist as she searched for Grim. “…oh.”
Jamil, who was sitting across from her, glances up from his own work to follow her gaze. Seeing that the direbeast was curled up under a pile of the lounge’s throw pillows, pitchforked tail lolling over the edge of the seat. “Well, that was to be expected.”
“I should wake him up, shouldn’t I?” Lou goes to stand up.
“Leave him be.” He sighs, returning to his own studying. “Don’t you still have three more chapters to reread?”
“Ugh, you’re right.” Her shoulders slump. Of course she saved the longest and most info-filled chapters for last. “I’d punch them out if my hand wasn’t killing me.”
Despite her lighthearted words, she picks up her pen and goes back to silently reading the mess of doctors’ writing that was her lecture notes. Or was it her first round of notes? The handwriting was indistinguishable from each other.
And the current set of notes she was writing looked like a marked improvement.
“For starters, don’t grip your pen that hard.”
“Easier said than done, this is what it’ll look like if I ease up on the pressure.” The end of her pen taps against the chicken scratch.
He presses, “cursive writing also lessens wrist strain.”
“Yeah, but it also makes my writing harder to read. Grim needs to be able to understand my handwriting.” Lou waves off the rest of his concern. “I’m fine.”
Truth be told—he’s been sneaking looks at her, out of habit from keeping a watchful eye on Kalim’s guests. Watched as the furrow in her brow creased the more she dragged herself to finish each chapter. That the resulting soreness and brusque tone was at the forefront of her mind instead of alchemical equations.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Jamil wants to say. Instead he sighs, more annoyed at himself for expecting that he would have to tutor some more freshmen. “All right.”
The resulting silence is terse. Textbook pages flipping, old quizzes crinkling, and her pen scratching increasing in tempo. With aggression, with frantic and scattered thoughts that were stubbornly bottled up. As much as she was good at spinning a lot of empty words into a semblance of something, the same can be said vice versa—with her demeanor speaking volumes in spite of her determined silence. And just when she seems to reach her breaking point…!
“Ah, I guess that’s it.” Her pen clatters atop the surface of the low table. “One and a half chapters left, I was kinda hoping I’d be able to leave just one more chapter for cramming.” And she has the audacity to give him a strained smile.
(At least Jamil knew how to vanish into the background—had that instinct trained into him from a young age. Watching Lou try to fold herself into taking up less space was irritating.)
Jamil closes his textbook, pages and hardbound cover making an audible Thump. She flinches in surprise.
But she says nothing as he moves to sit beside her, eyes him blankly as he asks to see her hand.
“The other one.” Annoyance creeps into his voice as she stretches out her right hand, makes each word come out clipped and harsh.
Lou’s voice wavers with nervous laughter. “I don’t think it would be good to bring out the little flames for my left hand.”
“I’m not going to.” Jamil pauses. “Will you just let me take a look?”
Her left hand has a noticeable writer’s callus on the side of her ring finger, another one on her pinky, and a third bump on the inner side of her thumb. The skin on each of those points of contact red and warm from her earlier exertion, and a stark contrast to the smoothness of her palm. Like all calluses, these weren’t a result of today’s intensive studying. Rather, they had been accumulated through years of habit.
“Tell me if this starts hurting.” Jamil’s touch goes to massage her wrist and part of her forearm.
“Oh, it’s hurting,” she says without missing a beat.
He presses down hard as a warning—once is enough—making her arm spasm and yank back. “Don’t joke around.”
To some relief, Lou doesn’t attempt any more backtalk. Just watches him work.
Having her gaze trained on him was a strange sensation, making the back of his neck warm with embarrassment. “Review what you’ve written, this will take a while,” Jamil says.
To a greater sense of relief, Lou remains quiet.
Right until he finishes, letting go of her left hand.
“I didn’t know massages didn’t have to hurt.” Lou’s gaze is pointed to one of the other sofas in the Scarabia common area, looking back on an experience that carried both wistful nostalgia and long-buried pain. It was pointless to get her to make eye contact with him. “Um, thanks.”
“Just don’t overexert yourself for the rest of the week.” Jamil stands up, gathers his things. “Let Grim do your note-taking instead.”
“I can’t ask that of the Great Grim.” The laugh that spills from her is the most genuine sound she’s made. “Would it be too much to ask you to teach me those pressure points? Just in case I’ll have to do it for Grim when his paws get sore?”
“After midterms.” How strange that his heart felt lighter, that this conversation was easy.
As if remembering where they were and who she was talking to, as if on cue, red blooms across Lou’s cheeks. “Yeah..! A-After midterms, definitely.”
And that reaction pulls an amused smile from Jamil.