Chapter Text
By the fourth day of coming into this room, Rosalie Hale has decided two things.
First, this seminar she'd been persuaded into taking is a complete waste of time. It will never serve any purpose with any career path she's thinking about choosing.
Second, Bella Swan is the most frustrating person she's ever had the unfortunate opportunity to share a class with, and Rosalie is pretty sure this annoying woman is doing everything in her power to get under her skin.
Rosalie tries sitting in the back of the room, like she does for all of her classes. She doesn't have to converse with anyone. She doesn't have to worry about prying eyes or unwanted attention. It's safe. It's routine. She's gone three years getting through classes this way, and she's never had a problem before.
Until now.
Now she almost resents coming into this class. Feeling the same pair of eyes that always seem to be on her whenever Rosalie speaks, waiting for the arguments that are always sure to come whenever Rosalie speaks her mind.
Rosalie is sitting in the back row again, legs crossed, pen tapping against her notebook as the discussion inevitably spirals again. Somehow it always turns into personal interpretation instead of facts or anything actually useful. She contributes when she has to. She's good at it, which only makes it worse. The professor beams every time she talks, as if Rosalie's proving some point about engagement with the class.
As if Rosalie isn't just taking this class because she has to in order to finish off the semester and be one step closer to graduating.
And it for some reason always seems to get under Bella's skin.
Bella speaks, voice soft. A calm delivery, as always. Like she's not only actively dismantling Rosalie's argument piece by piece, but also Rosalie's own sanity.
As if she doesn't know exactly what she's doing.
The worst part is, is that it's not even that Bella disagrees with the things Rosalie says. It's how she does it - like she's not trying to win, just laying facts out neatly and trusting everyone else to keep up with her.
Today, it's something about unreliable narrators. Bella argues that the narrator's omissions are deliberate, a kind of quiet self-preservation. Rosalie counters that it's cowardice dressed up as artistry.
Bella doesn't even bristle, she just tilts her head slightly and says, "I don't think fear negates intention."
Rosalie can't help the scoff that comes out, short and sharp. "It does when you're pretending it's not a choice."
"Maybe the narrator thought they were making the right choice by leaving certain things out," Bella points out. "Maybe the full truth would have done more harm than good."
Rosalie parts her lips, a retort about it being unfair that the narrator made the choice to keep the whole truth from the audience on the tip of her tongue, but the professor raises her hand before she's able to form any words.
"I think we can pause there for today," the professor says to the class.
The discussion moves on, but Rosalie doesn't. She sits back in her chair, jaw tight, eyes flicking over to Bella's side of the room every once in a while in hopes that the other girl might look the least bit frustrated as Rosalie feels.
Bella doesn't.
She never does.
Bella just keeps taking notes, not even chancing another glance in Rosalie's direction. Completely unfazed.
It's when class ends that Rosalie decides she's tired of yelling across the room like an idiot.
***
The next time class rolls around, Bella is already in her usual seat by the time Rosalie arrives. Her bag is on the floor next to her, her notebook and laptop already pulled out and placed in front of her, with her pen lined up carefully next to her notes.
Bella doesn't seem to notice her sliding into the row until Rosalie drops into the seat beside her like it's been hers all along.
Only when Rosalie's bag hits the floor does she look up to see who else has decided to occupy the space, and the way Bella freezes in her seat causes Rosalie to stifle the laugh threatening to form.
"I'm tired of screaming at you from across the room," Rosalie admits, leaning back in her seat and stretching out her legs in front of her. "This seems more efficient."
Bella seems to consider her for a moment, looking at Rosalie in a way that's assessing and more personal than Rosalie would like. As if she'd never truly looked at Rosalie until now. And even though it takes Rosalie off guard, she tries not to let it show.
Her gaze never leaves Bella's.
But being this close also offers Rosalie the chance to make out every feature of Bella's face - the way her nose dips. The deep, warm shade of brown in her eyes. The freckles splattered across Bella's cheeks in an almost perfect pattern, bright against her pale skin.
It's actually a bit frustrating how much more beautiful Bella is this close.
"Okay," Bella finally says after a moment, then turns back to her laptop.
Rosalie can't help but scoff. "That's it? You have nothing else to say?"
She has the audacity to raise an eyebrow as she turns back and says, "Do you want me to argue about it?"
It comes out a little more cheeky than Rosalie expected. But, then again, she's not entirely sure what response she was expecting.
"I'm sure at some point you'll wish you would have." Rosalie smirks before turning to face the front of the room.
The professor starts class only a moment later. Bella writes. Rosalie taps her pen against her notebook like she always does when she's listening. If it bothers Bella, she doesn't say.
She glances over at Bella when she speaks, measuring the distance between thought and response now that they're only inches apart instead of Rosalie being rows behind.
At one point, Bella glances over to look at Rosalie's screen, obviously peeking at the notes she's taking. Not even a minute later, Rosalie watches as Bella writes the same notes almost word for word in her own document.
She doesn't even seem embarrassed about it.
As if she's doing it on purpose to see if Rosalie would notice, and get a reaction out of her.
Instead of saying anything, Rosalie tears off a piece of paper out of her own notebook and scribbles on it.
Take your own notes, Swan. Try to copy mine again and I'll spit in your coffee when you're not looking. ♥
Rosalie slides it over onto Bella's desk, right underneath where her free hand resides, and smiles when Bella meets her eyes.
When Bella opens it, she instantly freezes. And for a split second, Rosalie wonders if she's misjudged the tone. If she's crossed some invisible line she wasn't aware was there.
Then Bella presses her lips together, the faintest hint of a smile pulling up at the corners, and then folds the note carefully before tucking it into her notebook.
She doesn't discard it. Doesn't throw it into her bag to toss it in the trash later.
Bella keeps it.
Rosalie doesn't quite know what to do with that information.
***
They sit together again the next week.
It ends up working out in their favor, because they end up having a full discussion again — some might call it an argument — in front of the class about a new topic.
This time, Bella somehow ends up winning — the professor and some of the other students contribute to her side. Leading it to be nearly impossible for Rosalie to convince anyone of her argument.
Rosalie doesn't know whether or not she finds it extremely infuriating, or sort of intriguing. Maybe a part of her even finds it mildly attractive.
No.
There's absolutely no part of her that will ever entertain the idea that she finds anything Bella Swan does mildly attractive.
Because Bella Swan is frustrating, and tries too hard, and cares way too much about this stupid seminar. And it's making it nearly impossible for Rosalie to not care about it.
"You're wrong," Rosalie whispers to her after everyone else has moved on.
Bella glances over at her and smirks, and Rosalie wishes she could somehow make Bella wipe that stupid shit-eating grin off of her perfect face.
"Prove it," she challenges.
God.
How can someone so tiny be so incredibly infuriating.
Rosalie will find a way to prove it. She'll write an entire essay about it if she needs to.
But part of her has a feeling that no matter what she says, no matter how many words she types out, nothing is truly going to change Bella's mind. Because nothing Bella could say would change her own opinions, either.
"I would," Rosalie starts, her tone shifting a bit more flirty than she means it to as she meets Bella's eyes, "but I feel like you enjoy arguing with me. So nothing I say would actually change your mind, would it?"
Bella's smile falters as her lips purse, a blush painting its way across her cheeks. Rosalie thinks for a split second that Bella might actually fold. But less than a minute later the grin is back and her attention is back on the professor. "Don't flatter yourself, Hale. You just haven't had a compelling enough argument yet to change my mind."
If it weren't for the fact that she had actually made Bella Swan blush, she would be a lot more irritated by the statement. So she lets her win this time.
Lets Bella believe that she may have gotten under her skin.
Rosalie rips out another piece of paper from her notebook and writes:
Don't get too cocky. I know where you sit. ♥
It's not her best threat, but it leaves it mysterious enough to keep Bella guessing what she means by it.
Maybe Rosalie will steal her seat next time.
Or maybe tamper with it somehow.
Rosalie will figure it out later.
She slides the note over to her, and Bella takes it with another subtle smile tugging at her lips. Her eyebrows furrow as she reads it, then one perfectly plucked brow lifts up as she wordlessly shoves it into her notebook like she had the last one.
And just like the last time, Rosalie doesn't know what to do with it.
But this time, Bella rips out a piece of paper of her own, scribbles something on it, folds it, then hands it over to Rosalie.
There's only a single sentence written between the lines.
I know what car you drive. ♥
It takes Rosalie completely off guard, and the shock must show on her features because Bella laughs. A small, quiet laugh that no one else would be able to hear, but for some reason shakes Rosalie to her core.
Whether Bella actually knows what car she drives or not doesn't make the sentence any less scarier, because Rosalie would burn down the whole campus if someone so much as even scratched the paint on it.
But the thought of Bella leaned up against it, hands in her pockets as she smiles up at her, makes Rosalie question whether or not she’d actually get upset if Bella were to damage it somehow.
This girl is going to be the death of her.
***
Over the next couple of weeks the notes have become a bit of a routine.
Rosalie doesn’t question when her hand moves automatically to tear a piece of paper from her notebook, scribble a completely unnecessary but harmless threat on it, and slide it over to Bella’s desk. And Bella never reacts the way she expects. No eye rolls, or commentary or witty comebacks. Just that quiet little smile before the note disappears into her notebook like it belongs there.
Bella even starts writing her own.
The last one comes after Rosalie accidentally kicks Bella’s foot under the desk. Bella doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look up. She just tears a piece of paper from her notebook, writes something quickly, folds it once, and nudges it toward Rosalie.
Accidentally kick me again and I’ll make sure to delete your notes when you’re not looking.
For some reason, it makes Rosalie smile more than it should. She had tried to hide it by turning towards the window and covering her mouth with her sleeve, but something tells Rosalie that Bella undoubtedly saw it anyway.
And Rosalie swears she had seen Bella smile back out of the corner of her eye.
She would be lying if she said she hasn't been thinking about it all week.
She would also be lying if she said she hasn't been counting down the days until she saw Bella again.
So when she walks into the room to see Bella's chair empty, it's hard not to let the disappointment show. It's almost enough to make Rosalie turn around and skip the day as well, because Rosalie would much rather rebuild an entire engine than sit here without the only person who makes this seminar the least bit interesting.
Rosalie drops into the chair anyway, posture stiff, eyes flickering to the door every so often because she can't stop herself from hoping Bella will still walk in.
But the chair beside her stays empty.
No bag underneath Bella's desk. No notebook open with a pen sitting neatly beside it. No quiet little smile waiting for her.
The professor starts talking. The room settles into the familiar hum of discussion. Rosalie contributes when she has to, sharper than usual, her patience thinner. Every time the conversation pauses, she expects Bella's voice to slide in — calm, measured, irritatingly reasonable.
It doesn't.
Rosalie shouldn't care.
It absolutely shouldn't be affecting her this much.
If anything, she should be glad that Bella isn't here to argue with her over different interpretations or opinions about things. She should be happy to have a nice, relaxing, easy day where she doesn't have to worry about someone challenging the way she thinks.
But halfway through class, the professor announces a brief pair discussion. Students shift, turning toward the people next to them.
Rosalie turns automatically, and for a brief second she forgets there's no one there.
She exhales through her nose and stares at the front of the room instead, jaw clenched, crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn't bother trying to find someone else.
Everyone in this class is too predictable. Too easily swayed. She already knows the points they'll end up making about the subject. The opinions they would have.
It wouldn't be the same.
After a while of stewing in her own thoughts, Rosalie tears a piece of paper from the edge of her notebook. She writes quickly, irritation bleeding into the slant of her handwriting.
Miss class and make me sit here alone again like a weirdo and I'll never talk to you again.
She stares at the words on the note for a while.
There's nowhere to slide it to.
The realization hits harder than it should.
Rosalie folds the paper twice, then shoves it into the pocket of her jacket like it's nothing and turns her attention back to the front of the room.
She tries to tell herself she doesn't care. Because she shouldn't. There's no logical reasoning behind why she does.
It doesn't work.
***
Rosalie shows up later than usual for class the next week.
She absolutely does not do it on purpose, and it has nothing to do with her fear of Bella not showing up again and being stuck in this stupid seminar alone.
Her checking through the window to see if Bella's seat is empty or not plays no part in whether or not Rosalie would decide to walk through the door and attend class that day.
Because why would Bella's attendance have anything to do with her motivation to be there or not?
It wouldn't.
And whether Bella is there or not would definitely not determine what mood Rosalie is going to be in for the rest of the day.
So the smile that pulls at her lips and the warmth blooming in her chest has nothing to do with noticing Bella in her usual seat.
Absolutely nothing.
God, she is so screwed.
Bella doesn't glance up until Rosalie has set her bag on the floor and drops into the chair beside her, almost as if the sound itself is what tears Bella from her own thoughts. And when their gazes meet, Rosalie sees the dark circles around them. Notices the smile that doesn't quite reach Bella's eyes. The paleness to her cheeks that make her freckles just a shade too deep, like she hasn't slept enough yet to let the world soften around the edges.
Rosalie would usually make some kind of joke - about how Bella looks like shit. About how Bella should get more sleep. About how it looks like she's survived through an entire zombie apocalypse. But something in the way Bella's looking at her causes Rosalie to refrain from touching the subject.
"You disappeared on me." It comes out a lot more gently than Rosalie intends it to.
Bella blinks, as if the tone startles her as well, and only offers, "I was out of town."
The answer is simple. Too simple for the way the air feels in the space between them.
Rosalie waits patiently for more — maybe an explanation, or a joke, or a way for Bella to deflect. But Bella just turns her attention back to her laptop, and Rosalie is too reluctant to push. Even though everything inside of her screams at her to help somehow.
Because Rosalie knows that look.
She's seen it before. In herself. In her friends.
But she doesn't know Bella well enough to try to coax her to talk about it.
"You made me sit by myself like a weirdo," Rosalie says instead, half joking, trying to lighten the mood.
It at least gets Bella's lips to twitch up at the edges. "You survived."
"Barely," Rosalie admits. "I'm not really sure that sitting here debating my life choices for two hours qualifies."
Bella quietly laughs then, and Rosalie takes it as a small victory.
"Keep saying things like that and I'll start to think you actually enjoy my company."
Class begins before Rosalie can think of a reply back, which is probably for the best. Because there's truth to that small statement that Rosalie is still not ready to admit. Not to herself, and especially not to Bella.
The professor launches into the day's material, and the room fills with the familiar cadence of discussion. Bella listens more than she speaks today. When she does talk, her voice is steady, but there's a fraction of hesitation Rosalie hasn't heard before.
It bothers her.
By the time Rosalie realizes she's been staring, she's already torn a piece of paper from her notebook.
She tells herself it's just habit. That this is what she does now — what they both do now. Writing stupid harmless threats. Sliding them over to each other.
Rosalie pretending they don't mean anything.
She writes quickly, the pen lighter on the paper than the times before.
Next time you're not coming, you warn me. Make me worry about you again and I'll make sure you fail this class.
She pauses.
This is where she should stop. Slide it over. Watch as Bella reads it and shoves it into her notebook along with the others.
Instead, she drops her gaze to the bottom of the paper and writes her phone number beneath the words, smaller than the last two lines, like she doesn't want to draw too much attention to it.
She folds it like she always does and nudges it toward Bella's hand.
Bella opens it, and Rosalie watches her eyes move across the words, then obviously down to the number below. Her brows knit together, just slightly, and for half a second Rosalie thinks she might say something. Ask a question. Call her out somehow. Crumple it up and throw it aside.
Instead, Bella looks up at her. "You're serious," Bella says quietly, more of a statement than a question.
Rosalie smirks, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest. "It's a threat, Swan. Try to keep up."
Bella's lips curve into a soft smile — a warm and genuine one that Rosalie's never seen before. She tries desperately not to read into it and to keep her her heart from pounding in her chest.
"I'll warn you," Bella says gently.
If Rosalie didn't have butterflies before, she definitely does now.
"Good." Rosalie does her best to try to make it sound composed. "I don't like surprises."
***
There's no actual good excuse for why Rosalie misses class the next week.
Kate quite literally steals her away for the day - grabs her by the arm, shoves Rosalie in the passenger seat of her car, and starts driving. She doesn't even know where Kate is taking her until they're at the beach surrounded by all of their friends.
And she would have warned Bella of her absence, but she had never reached out after Rosalie had given Bella her number. Which had been mildly disappointing, to say the least. Rosalie had quickly started to feel like an idiot for constantly checking her phone and hoping Bella would actually text her.
So when Rosalie is walking back to her car after class one day and finds Bella leaning up against it — arms crossed, pale skin kissed by the sun, brown hair falling over one of her shoulders in waves — she can't help the way her steps falter as she blinks up at her.
There's a smirk on Bella's face as soon as she notices her.
"So it's okay if Rosalie Hale makes me sit by myself like a weirdo," she states as she pushes off of Rosalie's car. "A little unfair, don't you think?"
"Think of it as payback." Rosalie can't help but play along. "I think you deserved to know how it feels."
Bella's teeth take in her bottom lip for a moment, as if she's trying to come up with what to say before landing on, "I guess we're even then. Just don't do it again."
Rosalie quirks a brow. "Or what?"
She turns back to look at Rosalie's car and then shrugs. "I guess you'll have to find out."
It's hard to say whether or not Rosalie's heart is accelerating from the thought of Bella doing something to her car in retaliation, or from the thought of pushing Bella back against the black pearlescent paint and kissing her-
No.
She absolutely does not want to kiss her.
Because Rosalie Hale doesn't do crushes, or relationships, or whatever it is her brain is trying to imagine in this exact moment.
Especially with someone as infuriating as Bella Swan.
The last thing Rosalie needs to do is to fall for someone that could very well not be interested in women at all.
But with the way Bella looks at her sometimes... it's hard not to.
"We were assigned groups for a project," Bella's voice brings her back to the present, "And you're in mine. So I guess we'll be seeing more of each other."
"You picked me to be a part of your group?" Rosalie jokes, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What an honor, truly. Now we can argue with each other outside of class."
Bella scoffs. "The professor picked our groups, smart ass." She glides over, grabs Rosalie's hand and places a folded up piece of paper into her palm. "But I would've picked you anyway."
Bella winks and walks past her, leaving Rosalie in stunned silence as she glances down at the note in her hand.
Just in case you thought I was joking about knowing what car you drive. ♥
At the bottom, in smaller handwriting, is Bella's number. And beside it is another little note.
Next time you're not coming, you warn me.
***
They decide to do their first group session over a video call.
Trying to get everyone together in person turns out to be more trouble than it's worth. Scheduling alone is a nightmare, and Rosalie is apparently the only one who lives in an actual house. And she has no intention of inviting a handful of people she barely knows into her space, especially not when Kate and Victoria are around.
She loves them. She really does.
But they are chaos.
Sassy, sarcastic, unpredictable chaos, who treat every shared space like it's theirs to conquer. Rosalie can already picture the comments, the teasing, the lack of boundaries. It's easier for her not to have to worry about it.
So when the call starts, Rosalie sits at their dining room table with her laptop angled just enough to show her shoulders and face. The kitchen is visible behind her, but it's far enough away that she doesn't think much of it. It's better than worrying about everyone examining her bedroom. It's less personal. She plugs in her headphones and slips an earbud in, opens a document, and immediately starts taking notes.
Bella's face pops up on the screen a second later, and the other two follow shortly after.
Rosalie doesn't look at them.
Doesn't look at Bella.
She'd be lying if she said it wasn't intentional.
She focuses on the outline instead. The project requirements. The shared document. The sound of voices fade into something distant as she types, fingers moving quickly, efficiently. Every now and then she contributes something short and to the point, but mostly she listens.
At some point, movement catches in her peripheral vision, but Rosalie doesn't bother looking up right away.
She keeps typing until the room behind her fills with soft laughter, but it's too close. Too familiar. She knows the tones Kate and Victoria use for each other when they're being flirty. She hears it every day.
They drift into the kitchen, apparently unaware, pressed close together in a way that makes Rosalie's shoulders tense immediately. Victoria says something low that makes Kate laugh, and then they're kissing, like they've forgotten the rest of the world exists.
As if they can't visibly see Rosalie sitting at the table.
Her typing slows, then stops as she notices the silence that stretches on the call.
She looks up to the screen to see Kate and Victoria obviously in the background of her camera, and her stomach drops.
Rosalie reaches forward without thinking, snapping the laptop halfway closed so the camera tilts down toward the keyboard. "Seriously?" she calls over her shoulder. "Can't you two get a room? I'm on a call."
"Oh—shit," Kate says immediately. "Sorry."
"Didn't realize," Victoria adds, already backing out of the kitchen.
Rosalie makes the mistake of opening her laptop again, because Kate all but bounces over and presses a kiss to the side of Rosalie's head before joining Victoria in the other room.
"They probably enjoyed it," Kate shouts.
Heat crawls up the back of Rosalie's neck as she prays to whichever god is listening to open up a hole beneath her and let the earth swallow her whole.
It unfortunately doesn't happen.
No one on the call speaks the entire time. Not even when Rosalie is clearly alone again.
They're all just staring at their screens, undoubtedly looking at her.
Rosalie turns her microphone back on and clears her throat. "Anyway," she says flatly. "Where were we?"
She doesn't bother looking at Bella right away. But when she finally does, it's not Bella's face that stops her breath.
It's the wall behind her.
At first, Rosalie doesn't really know what she's looking at. It's just blurry color and shape — small pieces of paper, arranged neatly, as if they're in some type of order. Then her brain starts catching up.
Notebook paper. Similar to the ones she's torn out of her own notebook.
Ones that she's scribbled on and handed to Bella in the middle of class.
Little curves of handwriting that look vaguely like her own.
But it's hard to see it fully. Bella is hunched over the laptop on her bed in a way that barely gives Rosalie a view that allows any clear indication, and Rosalie is afraid of staring for too long.
Her brain is obviously making it up anyway. There's no reason for Bella to have the notes Rosalie has given her up on her wall. They're all threats. Nothing nice. Nothing worth actually keeping and remembering.
Rosalie silently scolds herself for even thinking it could be a possibility as she continues to write her notes down in the document.
Bella barely even tolerates her.
Why would she keep those stupid little notes?