Chapter Text
The architecture studio was a battlefield disguised as a classroom.
Drafting tables in rows. Half-finished models everywhere. The faint smell of glue and burnout in the air.
Grian sat at his desk, hunched over a precise sketch of his newest design — a community center built around symmetry, order, and balance. Everything was measured, clean, exact.
And then, from across the room:
“No, Jimmy, listen—if you believe in the structural integrity, the structural integrity will believe in you!”
Grian’s pencil snapped clean in half.
Of course it was Scar Goodtimes. Who else could turn an architectural theory discussion into a motivational speech?
Scar was across the room surrounded by his usual entourage — Jimmy, Lizzie, and sometimes Joel, depending on whether he’d been kicked out of sculpture class again. He was leaning back in his chair, grinning like he’d just solved world peace, even as a precarious stack of foam models leaned dangerously close to collapse.
Skizz, sitting beside Grian, muttered under his breath. “Your arch-nemesis is at it again.”
“He’s everyone’s nemesis,” Grian grumbled, grabbing a fresh pencil. “He’s a walking disaster.”
Mumbo looked up from his laptop, deadpan. “You just hate that he somehow gets top marks even when his models look like modern art accidents.”
“I don’t hate that,” Grian said through gritted teeth, “I hate that he thinks charisma counts as craftsmanship.”
Across the room, Scar’s laughter echoed again — warm, confident, and thoroughly irritating.
And the worst part? Everyone else laughed with him.
Meanwhile, on Scar’s side of the room, Jimmy was watching him with an amused grin. “You know, Grian’s glaring at you again.”
Scar didn’t even look up from his sketchpad. “He always is.”
Lizzie snorted. “You started it.”
“I didn’t start anything,” Scar said defensively. “He’s just got that… ‘I think I’m better than you’ face. All smug and judgmental.”
“You did call his last project ‘a box with trust issues,’” Lizzie reminded him.
“Well, it was!”
Scar leaned back, twirling his pencil between his fingers.
He didn’t hate Grian because of his grades, or his perfect lines, or even his stupidly steady hands.
He hated him because every time Scar thought he’d done something brilliant, Grian did it better — and acted like it was no big deal.
It wasn’t competition. It was war.
When Professor Ren burst into the room with his usual manic enthusiasm, everyone straightened up in alarm.
“Alright, my creative geniuses! It’s that magical time of year — final project season!”
A groan rippled through the studio.
Ren grinned wider. “Oh, don’t give me that! You’ll thank me when you’re famous architects.”
Joel muttered, “Or in therapy.”
Ren began reading off pairings. “Impulse and Etho… Cleo and B… Pearl and Gem… Scar and—”
He paused dramatically. “—Grian.”
The silence was instant.
Then came the collective gasp.
Then, Jimmy whispering, “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
Scar’s chair screeched as he stood. “No. Absolutely not.”
Across the room, Grian rose too. “Agreed. Try again.”
Ren blinked at both of them. “Now, now, conflict builds collaboration! You two will design a community space — symbolic, isn’t it?”
“There’s nothing symbolic about this,” Grian said tightly. “This is punishment.”
Scar threw up his hands. “I can’t work with someone who thinks personality is a structural flaw!”
“You once glued a ramp to the ceiling and called it ‘inverted accessibility,’” Grian shot back.
“That was conceptual!”
“It was stupid!”
Ren clapped his hands once. “And this is exactly the energy I want in your project. Dynamic tension! Passion!”
Both of them glared.
Ren smiled. “Perfect. I’ll be expecting your first concept draft by next week.”
After class, the studio buzzed with gossip.
Joel was laughing so hard he nearly fell off his stool.
Lizzie whispered something to Jimmy that made him choke on his coffee.
Even Mumbo looked mildly entertained.
Skizz patted Grian’s shoulder. “Hey, look on the bright side — maybe you’ll finally kill each other and we won’t have to hear the arguing anymore.”
“I’m considering it,” Grian muttered.
Scar walked past, grabbing his bag. “Don’t bother emailing me. I’m not reading your 40-page PDFs of pain.”
Grian shot back, “Then maybe try learning what a floor plan is.”
Scar smirked, eyes cold. “Careful, Shortstack. Wouldn’t want to trip over your ego on the way out.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Grian said sweetly. “I’ll make sure to design the stairs properly — unlike you.”
Scar’s grin didn’t reach his eyes. “See you in the studio, partner.”
Grian’s jaw tightened. “Don’t call me that.”
As Scar left with Jimmy and Lizzie, his laughter echoed through the hallway — loud, confident, hollow.
And as Grian packed up in silence, pretending not to care, Skizz and Mumbo exchanged looks.
They’d both seen it — the way Scar’s hands trembled slightly when he thought no one was watching.
The way Grian’s smile faltered just a little too long after the door closed.
Hate, maybe. But not the kind that stayed simple for long.