the boy in seat 12

The first thing i learned at university wasn't how to survive lectures or how to find the cheapest coffee on campus.

It was this.

If you found a good seat, you kept it.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

The first thing I learned at university wasn’t how to survive lectures.

It wasn’t how to make instant noodles taste like actual food, or which café sold coffee cheap enough to justify buying every morning without feeling like my bank account was personally judging me.

It was this.

If you found a good seat, you kept it.

Third row.

Left side.

Seat 12.

Perfect view of the lecturer. Close enough to hear everything, far enough away that I wouldn’t accidentally make eye contact and get volunteered to answer a question I definitely hadn’t prepared for.

It was mine.

Not officially, obviously. There wasn’t a tiny gold plaque screwed into the back of it with PROPERTY OF POR engraved across the middle. There should have been, but apparently the university had better things to spend money on.

Like repainting the same corridor twice in one month.

Or installing vending machines that took your money and then held your crisps hostage.

Still.

I’d sat there every Monday and Thursday since the semester started.

The routine never changed.

Leave my flat at eight.

Walk past the fountain.

Ignore the student society representatives who somehow had enough energy to recruit people before nine in the morning.

Buy an iced americano from the café outside the Humanities building.

Get to Lecture Hall B with exactly eight minutes to spare.

Seat 12.

Routine wasn’t exciting.

Routine wasn’t interesting.

Routine was reliable.

University was chaos. Assignment deadlines changed. Seminar rooms moved without warning. Someone in my accommodation set the microwave on fire before Freshers’ Week had even ended, then stood in the corridor insisting it wasn’t his fault because “foil shouldn’t be flammable.”

Seat 12 didn’t change.

That was enough for me.

“Morning.”

I glanced up as Tong dropped into Seat 13 beside me, balancing two coffees and a backpack that looked suspiciously heavier than he was.

“You’re late.”

He checked his phone.

“It’s eight fifty-three.”

“The lecture starts at nine.”

“So I’m early.”

“You’re seven minutes later than usual.”

Tong stared at me.

“Do you hear yourself?”

“I hear someone disrupting the routine.”

“You need a hobby.”

“I have one.”

“No. Colour-coding your notes does not count.”

“It absolutely counts.”

“It absolutely does not.”

He placed one of the coffees in front of me.

“I got you a refill.”

I looked down.

“This has milk.”

“I know.”

“I drink it black.”

“I know.”

“So why did you buy me this?”

“I picked up the wrong cup.”

I looked at him.

He looked back.

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I expect you to drink it anyway.”

“You’ve ruined my morning.”

“You say that every time something mildly inconvenient happens.”

“That isn’t true.”

“You said it yesterday because the library printer was out of paper.”

“There was three printers.”

“You said it on Tuesday because someone took the last blueberry muffin.”

“They saw me reaching for it.”

“You said it last week because your favourite washing machine was being used.”

“It spins better.”

Tong closed his eyes.

“You know they’re all the same, right?”

“They are not.”

He rubbed a hand over his face.

“I need better friends.”

“You need more punctual friends.”

“I’m seven minutes earlier than the lecture.”

“Still late.”

He opened his mouth, thought better of it, then pushed the coffee closer.

I drank it anyway.

It wasn’t terrible.

Not good.

But survivable.

Probably.

The lecturer arrived two minutes later and launched straight into an hour of economic theory that somehow managed to be interesting and sleep-inducing at the same time.

Tong took notes for about fifteen minutes before giving up and drawing a tiny gravestone beside one of the headings.

I leaned closer.

“What’s that?”

“My attention span.”

“You’re going to regret this when the assessment comes.”

“That’s what you’re for.”

“I’m not giving you my notes.”

“You say that every time.”

“And yet you never learn.”

“And yet you always give me the notes.”

I looked back at the front.

“That isn’t the point.”

“What is the point?”

“You should appreciate them more.”

“I do.”

“You spilled coffee on the last set.”

“That was one time.”

“You wrote ‘help’ in the margin.”

“I was struggling.”

“You were being dramatic.”

Tong turned slowly towards me.

“That coming from you is unbelievable.”

I ignored him.

The semester settled into itself after that.

Monday.

Thursday.

Seat 12.

Every week.

Every lecture.

Every time.

Until the third Monday.

The Monday everything went wrong.

I’d left my flat three minutes later than normal because my phone had decided it needed an update right as I was walking out.

The café queue was longer than usual.

Someone stopped dead in the middle of the pavement to answer a phone call.

Then one of the automatic doors at the Humanities building refused to open, which felt personal.

By the time I reached Lecture Hall B, my coffee was still warm.

That should have been the first warning.

I pushed open the doors.

Automatically looked towards the third row.

Left side.

Seat 12.

Occupied.

I stopped walking.

There was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Maybe someone had sat there while waiting for a friend.

Maybe they were in the wrong lecture.

Maybe they’d move when they realised I was approaching.

No.

He was unpacking.

Laptop.

Notebook.

Pen case.

Coffee.

He looked comfortable.

That was the problem.

Not just seated.

Settled.

Like he had been sitting there for years.

I checked the room number above the door.

Lecture Hall B.

Correct.

I checked the timetable on my phone.

Correct module.

Correct day.

Correct time.

Everything was right.

Except for the stranger sitting in my seat.

I stood there for a second longer than was socially acceptable.

He had dark hair that looked like he’d run a hand through it on the walk over.

Grey hoodie.

Headphones resting around his neck.

His attention stayed fixed on his laptop as he scrolled through the lecture slides with the kind of focus that suggested he hadn’t noticed the crisis currently unfolding three metres away.

I could still fix this.

I walked over.

Stopped beside him.

He didn’t look up.

“Excuse me.”

Nothing.

I tried again.

“Excuse me.”

A beat later, he pulled one earbud out.

“Yeah?”

“You’re in my seat.”

Finally, he looked at me.

There wasn’t any confusion.

Or panic.

Or immediate apology.

Just quiet curiosity.

“My seat,” I repeated.

He glanced down at the chair.

Then back up.

“Your seat?”

“I sit here.”

He looked around at the empty seats surrounding us.

“They all look the same.”

“I know.”

“So?”

“So you’re sitting in mine.”

The corner of his mouth moved.

Not quite a smile.

“They’re assigned now?”

“No.”

“Reserved?”

“No.”

He waited.

I hated that he waited.

“Then?”

“I’ve sat here every lecture.”

“Congratulations.”

I blinked.

“Congratulations?”

“That’s impressive commitment.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

He closed his laptop halfway and rested his arms on the desk.

“There are about two hundred seats in this room.”

“I know.”

“So you should be fine.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“What is the point?”

“I sit in this one.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

Someone coughed behind us.

I could feel people starting to notice.

Finally, the stranger nodded.

“I’ve got a solution.”

Relief arrived too quickly.

“Great.”

“You can sit in Seat 13.”

He gestured to the chair beside him.

I stared.

He smiled properly then.

Not smug.

Not exactly.

More amused than anything else.

Like I had accidentally become the best part of his morning.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“I always sit in Seat 12.”

“And today you’ll experience personal growth.”

Personal growth.

I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because I genuinely didn’t know what else to do.

“You’ve known me for about thirty seconds.”

“Long enough.”

“And you’ve already decided to be annoying.”

“I haven’t decided anything.”

He lifted his coffee.

“I just got here first.”

The lecturer walked in.

The room began settling immediately.

He turned back towards the front without another word.

Conversation over.

I stayed standing for half a second.

Then someone behind me whispered, “Can you move?”

Humiliating.

I dropped into Seat 13.

Wrong angle.

Wrong desk.

Wrong everything.

I hated it immediately.

As the lecture began, I tried to concentrate.

I really did.

But every few minutes, my eyes moved sideways.

His handwriting was neat.

Annoyingly neat.

He underlined headings with a ruler.

A ruler.

Who carried a ruler to lectures?

Psychopath.

He also had three pens lined up in a row.

Black.

Blue.

Red.

No green.

Poor planning.

About twenty minutes into the lecture, the lecturer paused near our row.

“Could Tee answer that for us?”

The stranger looked up.

“Oh.”

Tee.

So that was his name.

He answered confidently.

Not cocky.

Not showing off.

Just calm.

Effortless.

The lecturer nodded.

“Exactly right.”

Of course it was.

Of course the guy who stole my seat also knew the answer.

Fantastic.

I wrote his name in the margin of my notes.

Not for any particular reason.

Just so I wouldn’t forget it.

I immediately crossed it out.

Then underlined the next heading too hard.

Beside me, Tee’s pen stopped moving.

I didn’t look at him.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“You’re trying to stab the paper.”

“I’m taking notes.”

“Very aggressively.”

“Focus on the lecture.”

He made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh.

I decided, before the lecture had even finished, that I didn’t like him.

Not because of the seat.

Mostly.

There were other reasons.

He tapped his pen against the desk when he was thinking.

He wrote too quickly.

He answered questions without stumbling.

He had the kind of handwriting that made every page look organised even when it probably wasn’t.

And he had smiled at me like he already knew exactly how easy it would be to wind me up.

The lecturer dismissed us five minutes late.

Tee began packing away his things as though he hadn’t destroyed the entire structure of my morning.

I waited.

He slipped his laptop into his bag.

I kept waiting.

He put his pens away.

He zipped the bag closed.

Then he looked at me.

“Are you waiting for something?”

“My seat.”

He looked down at the chair.

“You want to take it home?”

“I want it back next lecture.”

“That sounds like a Thursday problem.”

“It’s a problem for you.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Was that a threat?”

“It was a warning.”

He stared at me for one long second.

Then he laughed.

Actually laughed.

Not a polite breath through the nose.

Not an awkward chuckle.

A real laugh that made his eyes crease at the corners.

I hated that too.

“Thursday,” he said, swinging his bag over one shoulder.

“Seat 12.”

“May the best man win.”

“It isn’t a competition.”

“Everything’s a competition if you’re petty enough.”

He walked away before I could answer.

Tong appeared beside me moments later, wearing the delighted expression of someone who had seen the entire thing.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“That was not nothing.”

“He stole my seat.”

“He sat in an empty chair.”

“My chair.”

“You don’t own it.”

I looked at him.

“I thought you were my friend.”

“I am.”

“Then act like it.”

Tong grinned.

“Do you know him?”

“No.”

“Do you want to?”

“No.”

“You talked to him more in ten minutes than you’ve talked to anyone else in this class all semester.”

“That’s because he’s insufferable.”

“You seem very emotionally invested.”

“I’m invested in justice.”

“Of course you are.”

I packed my things.

Tong followed me up the steps.

“So are you getting here earlier on Thursday?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“I always arrive early.”

“Earlier than today?”

“I had delays.”

“You’re definitely coming early.”

“I am not reorganising my life over a chair.”

Tong held the door open for me.

“Sure.”

I walked past him.

“Stop smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I just think it’s nice.”

“What’s nice?”

“You finally found someone as annoying as you.”

I shoved his arm.

Thursday arrived faster than it should have.

I left my flat fifteen minutes early.

Not because of Tee.

That would have been ridiculous.

I simply wanted extra time to review my notes.

The fact that I reached Lecture Hall B twenty minutes before the lecture began was coincidental.

The fact that I walked faster after passing the café was also coincidental.

I pushed through the doors.

Seat 12 was empty.

Victory.

I slid into it, unpacked my laptop and placed my coffee in the centre of the desk.

Then I waited.

Not for Tee.

For the lecture.

Students began trickling in.

Eight forty-five.

Eight forty-nine.

Eight fifty-two.

At eight fifty-four, Tee appeared at the top of the stairs.

His eyes moved immediately towards the third row.

Towards me.

I expected surprise.

Maybe disappointment.

Instead, he smiled.

That same irritating little smile.

He walked down the steps and dropped into Seat 13.

“Morning.”

I looked straight ahead.

“You’re in Tong’s seat.”

“Is he going to challenge me to a duel too?”

“He might.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Tee began unpacking his things.

I tried not to look pleased.

I failed.

“You came early,” he said.

“I always come early.”

“Earlier than Monday?”

“I had notes to review.”

“Right.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re implying something.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He turned towards me.

“Por.”

My head snapped around.

“How do you know my name?”

“The lecturer called on you Monday.”

“You remembered?”

“You remembered mine.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because I needed to know who I was dealing with.”

He paused.

Then nodded solemnly.

“Of course.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“You’re mocking me.”

“I would never.”

“You are right now.”

“I’m sitting quietly.”

“Your face is mocking me.”

That made him laugh again.

I didn’t like that he laughed easily.

It made it harder to stay annoyed.

Tong entered thirty seconds before the lecture started and stopped when he saw Tee in Seat 13.

He looked at Tee.

Then at me.

Then back at Tee.

“What happened here?”

“He lost,” I said.

Tee tilted his head.

“I didn’t realise we’d started.”

Tong sat in Seat 14.

“This is already exhausting.”

“You can move,” I told him.

“No, I want to see how this ends.”

The lecture began.

I had my notes prepared, my laptop charged and my full attention on the front.

At least, I did until the lecturer asked a question.

I raised my hand.

So did Tee.

She called my name first.

I answered.

Correctly.

“Good,” she said. “Does anyone want to expand on that?”

Tee’s hand stayed raised.

Of course it did.

His answer was also correct.

Worse, it built on mine.

Even worse, it was good.

When he finished, he glanced sideways.

I glared at him.

He mouthed, personal growth.

I spent the rest of the lecture taking notes with enough pressure to leave marks on the next page.

It should have ended there.

A stolen seat.

A petty disagreement.

Two people who happened to sit beside each other twice a week and had no reason to interact beyond that.

Instead, it became a pattern.

I arrived early.

He arrived earlier.

I answered a question.

He added to it.

I scored eighty-six on a quiz.

He scored eighty-eight.

I stayed behind to ask about an assignment.

He was already waiting at the lecturer’s desk.

It didn’t help that Tee was apparently good at everything.

Presentations.

Essays.

Class debates.

He could speak without notes and somehow sound like he’d spent weeks preparing. He remembered statistics from readings I’d barely finished. He asked questions that made the lecturer pause before answering.

And he never seemed stressed.

That was the worst part.

I spent hours planning.

Tee walked into seminars with damp hair, coffee in hand, and dismantled arguments like he’d been born doing it.

I started tracking our marks.

Not officially.

I wasn’t deranged.

I simply remembered them.

There was a difference.

“Por.”

I looked up from my laptop.

Tong was staring at me from across the library table.

“What?”

“Why do you have Tee’s assessment scores written in your planner?”

I closed it.

“I don’t.”

“I can read upside down.”

“No, you can’t.”

“You wrote, ‘Tee: eighty-eight. Por: eighty-six. Difference: unacceptable.’”

“That could mean anything.”

“What else could it possibly mean?”

I lowered my voice.

“He got two marks more than me.”

“So?”

“So his argument in the final section was weak.”

“Did you read his essay?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because the lecturer said the strongest essays used comparative analysis, and Tee said in the seminar that he focused on one case study.”

Tong blinked slowly.

“You listened closely enough to remember the methodology of a paper you haven’t read?”

“It came up in conversation.”

“He mentioned it once.”

“I have a good memory.”

“You’re obsessed with him.”

“I am not obsessed with him.”

A chair scraped behind me.

“Good to know.”

My entire body went rigid.

Tee appeared beside the table, carrying a stack of books.

Tong covered his mouth.

I wanted the floor to open.

Not dramatically.

Just enough to swallow me.

“How long have you been standing there?” I asked.

“Long enough.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“Long enough to know I’m apparently living in your planner.”

“You aren’t.”

He reached towards it.

I snatched it away.

Tee smiled.

“Difference: unacceptable?”

Tong made a strangled sound.

“I was reviewing my own performance,” I said.

“By comparing it to mine.”

“You were the nearest benchmark.”

“I’m honoured.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

He placed his books on the table.

“Can I sit here?”

“No.”

“Yes,” Tong said at the same time.

I looked at him.

Tong shrugged.

“There are no other free seats.”

The library was busy.

He wasn’t wrong.

Tee sat beside me.

Too close.

Not physically.

There was a perfectly normal distance between our chairs.

The table just felt smaller with him there.

I turned back to my screen.

Tee opened one of his books.

Tong watched both of us for several seconds.

“This is nice,” he said.

“What is?” I asked.

“Studying together.”

“We aren’t studying together.”

“We’re studying near each other,” Tee corrected.

“That still counts.”

“It doesn’t.”

Tong smiled.

“I’m getting coffee.”

“No, you aren’t,” I said immediately.

“I am.”

“You just got one.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“You don’t even like coffee.”

“I’m broadening my horizons.”

He stood, ignoring the warning in my eyes.

“I’ll be back.”

He left us alone.

I stared at my screen.

Tee turned a page.

The silence lasted almost a minute.

Then he spoke.

“Eighty-eight.”

I didn’t look at him.

“What?”

“My essay.”

“I know.”

“I gathered.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I got feedback today.”

That caught my attention despite my best efforts.

“And?”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as though he was sharing classified information.

“My final section was weak.”

I looked at him.

His expression stayed serious for all of two seconds.

Then he smiled.

I shoved his shoulder.

“Shut up.”

His laugh was quieter this time.

Still annoying.

“You were right.”

“I usually am.”

“You weren’t right about the chair.”

“I was completely right about the chair.”

“It’s a public chair.”

“It has emotional significance.”

“You’d known it for two weeks.”

“That was long enough.”

He shook his head and looked back down at his book.

I tried to return to my work.

Five minutes passed.

Then Tee slid a piece of paper towards me.

I glanced down.

His draft outline.

“What’s this?”

“The next assignment.”

“I can see that.”

“Read it.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re annoyingly good at spotting weak arguments.”

The compliment landed strangely.

Too softly.

I covered it with suspicion.

“You want my help?”

“I want your opinion.”

“That sounds like help.”

“Fine. I want your help.”

I should have said no.

I wanted to say no.

Instead, I pulled the outline closer.

His structure was good.

Obviously.

I read through it once.

Then again.

“The third section doesn’t connect properly.”

He leaned closer.

“Where?”

I pointed to the paragraph.

“You jump from theory to application without explaining why the example supports your main argument.”

“It’s implied.”

“Implied isn’t enough.”

“It’s obvious.”

“To you.”

He studied the page.

His shoulder brushed mine.

I went still.

It wasn’t anything.

A small point of contact through two layers of clothing.

He didn’t notice.

Or if he did, he didn’t react.

I moved my arm slightly.

“You need a transition,” I continued. “And probably another source.”

“Which one?”

I hesitated.

Then opened my laptop and pulled up an article.

“This.”

Tee read the title.

“I haven’t seen that.”

“I found it last week.”

“You’re giving me one of your sources?”

“You asked for help.”

He looked at me.

Not amused this time.

Not teasing.

Just looking.

“Thanks.”

“It doesn’t mean I like you.”

“Of course not.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

There was something about the way he said it that made my chest feel uncomfortable.

I turned back to my screen.

Tong returned twelve minutes later carrying one coffee and a muffin.

“You were gone a long time,” I said.

“There was a queue.”

“There wasn’t.”

“I took the scenic route.”

“Inside the library?”

“It’s a beautiful building.”

Tee coughed into his fist.

I ignored them both.

The next assignment was due two weeks later.

I got ninety-one.

Tee got ninety-one.

A tie should have been acceptable.

It wasn’t.

“It means we’re evenly matched,” he said after the seminar.

“It means the marking was inconsistent.”

“You think yours should’ve been higher?”

“I think yours should’ve been lower.”

He pressed a hand to his chest.

“That hurts.”

“You’ll survive.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with me.”

“I spend four hours a week near you.”

“You know my assessment scores.”

“You know my coffee order.”

The words came out before I could stop them.

Tee paused.

So did I.

He did know it.

He had started appearing at the café before lectures.

The first time, I assumed it was a coincidence.

The second time, he ordered behind me.

The third time, he was already waiting at the counter with two iced americanos.

One black.

No sugar.

He handed one to me without explaining anything.

I took it without asking why.

Now Tee looked down at the cup in my hand.

“I’ve seen you order it.”

“Once.”

“You order the same thing every day.”

“That doesn’t explain why you remembered.”

“You remembered I use a ruler.”

“That’s because it’s strange.”

“It’s called precision.”

“It’s called being eighty years old.”

“My grandmother doesn’t use a ruler.”

“That isn’t helping your case.”

A group of students pushed past behind us.

Tee stepped closer to avoid them.

For a moment, we stood shoulder to shoulder.

I could smell coffee.

Something clean from his laundry detergent.

The faint cold air clinging to his hoodie.

“You notice a lot about me,” he said.

I looked at him.

“So do you.”

“Maybe.”

The word settled between us.

Small.

Unhelpful.

I looked away first.

Tong was waiting at the end of the corridor.

The expression on his face told me he had seen enough to be unbearable.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“There’s nothing to be happy about.”

“You and your little academic boyfriend got matching marks.”

“He is not my boyfriend.”

“Academic boyfriend.”

“That isn’t a real thing.”

“It is now.”

“He’s my competition.”

“You share coffee.”

“He bought the wrong one.”

“Three times?”

“He’s careless.”

“He remembers your order.”

“That proves nothing.”

Tong started walking towards the stairs.

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

“He probably remembers everyone’s exact order.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“And waits specifically outside their lectures.”

I stopped.

“He doesn’t wait for me.”

Tong looked over his shoulder.

“He’s waiting now.”

I turned.

Tee stood near the classroom door, scrolling through his phone.

The corridor around him had almost emptied.

He looked up.

His eyes found me immediately.

“You coming?” he called.

My stomach did something annoying.

“Where?”

“The library.”

“We didn’t arrange that.”

“You said you wanted to compare feedback.”

“I did not.”

“You were about to.”

“I wasn’t.”

He smiled.

“Come on, Seat 12.”

Tong made a noise beside me.

I elbowed him without looking.

The rivalry became official during a seminar debate.

We were assigned opposing positions.

I should have been pleased.

By then, I knew Tee’s habits.

The slight narrowing of his eyes when he was thinking.

The way he tapped his pen twice before making a point.

How he leaned back when he was confident and forward when he wanted to challenge someone.

I knew how he built arguments.

I knew which theories he liked.

I knew he avoided absolute statements because he preferred leaving himself room to adapt.

Academically.

I knew him academically.

That was all.

It should have given me an advantage.

Instead, the debate became thirty minutes of verbal warfare.

Tee challenged every example I used.

I dismantled his interpretation of the evidence.

He smiled whenever I cornered him.

I smiled whenever he had to pause.

The rest of the seminar disappeared.

There was only him.

His voice.

My pulse.

The sharp little burst of satisfaction whenever his eyes flashed with surprise.

At one point, he leaned forward over the desk.

“That only works if you ignore the economic context.”

“I’m not ignoring it.”

“You mentioned it once.”

“Because some of us don’t need to repeat ourselves to sound convincing.”

A few people laughed.

Tee smiled wider.

“So you admit I sound convincing?”

“I admit you repeat yourself.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“You ask bad questions.”

“You avoid good ones.”

“I answer the ones worth answering.”

His eyebrows lifted.

There.

That look.

The one that made me feel as though the air had changed.

“You really hate losing, don’t you?” he asked.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Because you don’t lose?”

“Exactly.”

Tee leaned back.

“Cute.”

My entire train of thought vanished.

“What?”

“I said confident.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I might have.”

“You said cute.”

“Did I?”

The seminar room had gone suspiciously quiet.

I could feel Tong staring at me from two seats away.

Heat climbed up my neck.

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“Is it working?”

“No.”

It was.

Completely.

I hated him.

By the end of the debate, the lecturer looked exhausted.

The class looked entertained.

Tong looked like he had just watched the final of a championship.

“Well,” the lecturer said, setting her notes down. “I think both sides have made their position clear.”

“Very clear,” Tee said.

I folded my arms.

“Some more effectively than others.”

“Do you want to ask the class?”

“I don’t need external validation.”

“You track my grades.”

“That is data collection.”

More laughter.

I stared straight ahead.

The lecturer raised a hand.

“Before this continues, I have an announcement about the final project.”

The room quietened.

“This assessment will be completed in pairs.”

Groans broke out immediately.

I didn’t react.

I already knew who I wanted to work with.

Tong and I had done group assignments together before.

We understood each other.

He didn’t interfere with my planning.

I didn’t complain when he wrote half of his section the night before.

At least, not much.

It worked.

“I have assigned the pairs,” the lecturer continued.

The groans got louder.

I looked at Tong.

He grimaced.

“This project is worth forty per cent of your final grade. I’ve matched you based on your strengths, weaknesses and previous assessment performance.”

A cold feeling settled in my stomach.

No.

She began reading the list.

Names passed around me.

Tong was paired with someone called Nanon.

He mouthed sorry.

Then the lecturer said it.

“Por and Tee.”

The room made a sound.

Not everyone.

Enough people.

A murmur.

A few laughs.

Someone behind me whispered, “Obviously.”

I stared at the front.

Tee turned towards me.

“No,” I said.

The lecturer looked up.

“Is there a problem?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Tee said at the same time.

I looked at him.

He smiled.

Traitor.

The lecturer lowered the paper.

“You both have complementary skills, and your debate demonstrated that you are capable of challenging each other’s ideas.”

“That’s one way to describe it,” Tong muttered.

“The pairings are final,” she said. “You’ll submit a joint research paper and deliver a twenty-minute presentation during the last week of term.”

Forty per cent.

Joint grade.

With Tee.

I felt physically unwell.

After the seminar, I followed him into the corridor.

“This is your fault.”

Tee kept walking.

“How?”

“You enjoyed that debate too much.”

“I’m sorry. Next time, I’ll pretend your points are boring.”

“They weren’t boring.”

“I know.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

He stopped beside the stairwell and turned.

Students moved around us.

“We need to work together,” he said.

“I’m aware.”

“For the next eight weeks.”

“I’m aware.”

“So maybe we should try not to kill each other.”

“I wasn’t planning to kill you.”

“Good.”

“Not before the project is submitted.”

“There he is.”

I adjusted my bag.

“We need a schedule.”

“Of course we do.”

“And clear deadlines.”

“Fine.”

“And divided responsibilities.”

“Por.”

“What?”

“Breathe.”

I stared at him.

“I am breathing.”

“Barely.”

“This project is forty per cent of our grade.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t know if you’re reliable.”

Tee’s expression changed.

Not much.

Just enough for me to realise the words had landed harder than I intended.

“You’ve watched me work for six weeks,” he said.

“I’ve watched you argue.”

“I got ninety-one.”

“So did I.”

“Exactly.”

He stepped closer.

Not enough to crowd me.

Enough to make me listen.

“I care about this grade too.”

His voice had lost its teasing edge.

“I’m not going to mess around. I’m not going to leave you to do everything. And I’m not going to disappear the night before the deadline.”

I held his gaze.

“You promise?”

“Yes.”

The answer came without hesitation.

I believed him immediately.

Which was irritating.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“We can meet tomorrow.”

“At the library?”

“Six.”

“I have class until six.”

“Six fifteen.”

“I need to eat.”

“Bring food.”

Tee shook his head.

“You’re terrifying.”

“You’ll thank me when we get a first.”

“I’ll thank myself.”

The challenge flared between us again.

Familiar.

Easy.

I smiled before I could stop myself.

“So it begins.”

Tong caught up with me outside the building.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“You and Tee.”

“There is no me and Tee.”

“You have a joint project worth forty per cent.”

“That is not what you meant.”

“No.”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Tong grinned.

“You smiled.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“He thinks he’s going to carry the project.”

“He didn’t say that.”

“He implied it.”

“You really love implications when they’re about Tee.”

I glared at him.

Tong held up both hands.

“I’m just saying.”

“Don’t.”

“You’re going to spend eight weeks alone together.”

“In a library.”

“Romantic.”

“With academic journals.”

“Even more romantic.”

“I’m blocking you.”

“You say that every week.”

“One day I’ll do it.”

“And then you’ll have nobody to send pictures of Tee’s assessment scores to.”

I shoved him into the wall.

Not hard.

Unfortunately.

Our first project meeting lasted three hours.

The first forty minutes were spent arguing about the research question.

The next twenty were spent arguing about why we had spent forty minutes arguing.

Then Tee bought me a packet of crisps from the vending machine because, according to him, I became “more unreasonable when hungry.”

I ate them while glaring at him.

“You’re chewing aggressively,” he said.

“I’m thinking.”

“You think with your teeth?”

“Sometimes.”

He leaned back in his chair.

We had taken over a table on the second floor of the library.

Books.

Laptops.

Printed articles.

My planner.

Tee’s phone, which had been face down for so long that I was beginning to suspect he had forgotten it existed.

“You’re impossible,” he said.

“You chose the worst research question.”

“I chose the most interesting one.”

“It’s too broad.”

“We can narrow it.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“No. You wanted to abandon it.”

“Because it’s bad.”

“You liked it ten minutes ago.”

“I liked parts of it.”

“Which parts?”

“The parts I suggested.”

Tee looked at me for a moment.

Then he smiled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing that face again.”

“What face?”

“The one where you think I’m funny.”

“I don’t think you’re funny.”

“You laugh at me constantly.”

“I laugh because I’m uncomfortable.”

“That’s worse.”

I reached for my coffee.

It was empty.

Tee pushed his towards me.

I looked down at it.

Black.

No sugar.

“You haven’t touched it.”

“I had one earlier.”

“You bought it for me?”

“I bought the wrong one.”

I looked at him.

He didn’t even try to look innocent.

“That excuse stopped working three coffees ago.”

“Did it?”

“Yes.”

“Still drank them.”

I took the cup.

“That isn’t the point.”

“What is the point?”

I hated when he did that.

Mostly because I never had an answer.

By the end of the night, we had a topic.

By the end of the week, we had an outline.

By the end of the second week, we had somehow developed a routine.

Tuesday and Friday evenings.

Second floor of the library.

Table beside the window.

Tee brought coffee.

I brought snacks because his idea of dinner was apparently a protein bar and optimism.

We argued over sources.

We edited each other’s writing.

We sent messages at unreasonable hours.

At first, they were only about the project.

Tee:
did you read the article i sent?

Me:
It’s 1:14 in the morning.

Tee:
so yes?

Me:
The methodology is questionable.

Tee:
knew you’d love it

Me:
I hated it.

Tee:
you left sixteen comments

Me:
Because it was bad.

Tee:
sleep por

Me:
Fix the second paragraph first.

Tee:
goodnight por

Me:
Tee.

Tee:
💤

The next morning, he arrived at the café looking exhausted.

I took one look at him.

“You didn’t fix it.”

“I did.”

“You look terrible.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“What time did you go to sleep?”

“Late.”

“What does late mean?”

“Not early.”

“Tee.”

“Three.”

My mouth fell open.

“You had a nine o’clock lecture.”

“I’m here.”

“Barely.”

He held out my coffee.

I took it.

“You’re irresponsible.”

“You sound worried.”

“I’m worried about the project.”

“Of course.”

His mouth curved slightly.

I looked away.

The messages began drifting after that.

Tee:
library tomorrow?

Me:
It’s Friday. We always meet on Friday.

Tee:
just checking you haven’t abandoned me

Me:
I’ve considered it.

Tee:
but you’d miss me

Me:
I’d miss getting a good grade.

Tee:
same thing

Tee:
do you own anything that isn’t black?

Me:
Why?

Tee:
you wore black three days in a row

Me:
You noticed?

Tee:
answer the question

Me:
Yes.

Tee:
what?

Me:
Grey.

Tee:
adventurous

Me:
I’m blocking you.

Tee:
you say that a lot for someone who replies instantly

I stopped replying instantly after that.

For twelve minutes.

Then...

Me:
I was busy.

Tee:
sure

The project moved quickly.

Too quickly.

I told myself that was good.

We were ahead of schedule.

The paper was taking shape.

The presentation outline was already finished.

Everything was under control.

Except Tee.

Tee was never under control.

He lost his student card constantly.

The first time, we spent twenty minutes retracing his steps through the library.

The second, he found it in his phone case.

The third, I saw it fall from his pocket outside the café and picked it up before he noticed.

I kept it for two days.

Not deliberately.

Mostly.

On Friday evening, he stood beside our usual table, patting every pocket with increasing panic.

“What are you looking for?” I asked.

“My card.”

“Again?”

“I had it earlier.”

“You always say that.”

“I did.”

“You said that when it was in your phone case.”

“That was one time.”

“It was last week.”

He emptied his bag onto the table.

Pens.

Chargers.

A crushed cereal bar.

Two receipts.

A sock.

I stared.

“Why is there a sock in your bag?”

He looked down.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“It’s clean.”

“That isn’t the problem.”

He picked it up.

“I wondered where this went.”

I covered my face.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“My card.”

“You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached.”

“Have you seen it?”

I sighed.

Reached into the front pocket of my bag.

Placed it on the table.

Tee froze.

“You had it?”

“You dropped it on Wednesday.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

“You lose it so often that it stopped feeling urgent.”

He picked it up.

Then looked at me.

“You kept it safe.”

“I put it in my bag.”

“You kept it safe.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“You’re taking care of me.”

“I’m preventing delays.”

His smile widened.

“You’re very thoughtful.”

“I’m organised.”

“Same thing.”

“It isn’t.”

He slipped the card into his wallet.

“Thank you.”

I looked back at my laptop.

“You’re welcome.”

Too quietly.

He heard me anyway.

The next week, Tee arrived at the library without his charger.

“Of course,” I said.

“I thought it was in my bag.”

“Was it next to the sock?”

“That was one time.”

“It was three days ago.”

“My laptop has twenty per cent.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

“I was being optimistic.”

“You were lying.”

“Same difference.”

I pulled a spare charger from my bag.

He stared.

“You carry two?”

“I knew this would happen.”

“You brought one for me?”

“I brought one because you’re incompetent.”

“Again. Very thoughtful.”

“Again. Don’t make it weird.”

He plugged it in, still smiling.

I tried to focus.

It was difficult when he looked at me like that.

Not amused.

Not teasing.

Soft.

As though every complaint I made sounded different to him than it did in my head.

One Tuesday, we worked until the library lights flickered to warn us it was closing.

I looked at the time.

“Eleven?”

Tee stretched in his chair.

“We’re efficient.”

“We’ve been here five hours.”

“Exactly.”

“That is the opposite of efficient.”

“We took breaks.”

“You watched forty minutes of cooking videos.”

“Research.”

“For what?”

“Dinner.”

“You ate crisps.”

“I was inspired.”

We packed away slowly.

Outside, the air had turned cold.

Not winter yet.

Close enough.

My building was in the opposite direction to Tee’s.

We reached the path where we normally split.

“Night,” I said.

“Night.”

Neither of us moved.

Students passed around us.

Tee adjusted the strap of his bag.

“You going?”

“Yes.”

“You’re standing still.”

“So are you.”

“I asked first.”

“That’s not how walking works.”

He looked towards my building.

“I’ll walk with you.”

“You live the other way.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“It’s late.”

“Campus is safe.”

“You still nearly walked into a cyclist yesterday.”

“He came out of nowhere.”

“He rang his bell four times.”

“I had headphones in.”

“You’re proving my point.”

I folded my arms.

“You’ll have to walk back alone.”

“I’ll survive.”

“You’ll complain tomorrow.”

“I never complain.”

“You complained about the library chairs for an hour.”

“They have no lower back support.”

“You sound eighty.”

“You use a ruler.”

“That’s precision.”

Tee grinned.

We began walking towards my building.

It should have felt strange.

It didn’t.

We talked about nothing.

A lecturer who pronounced the same student’s name differently every week.

The weird smell in the stairwell.

A poster advertising a society neither of us understood.

At my building, I stopped.

“This is me.”

“I know.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“I have eyes.”

“It’s dark.”

“It says Block C in massive letters.”

I looked up.

It did.

“Right.”

Tee shoved his hands into his pockets.

“See you Thursday.”

“We have a lecture tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“Then why Thursday?”

“I wanted to see if you’d correct me.”

“You do things just to annoy me.”

“Most things.”

I smiled.

I didn’t mean to.

Tee noticed.

His expression changed slightly.

Not much.

Enough.

“Night, Por.”

“Night.”

I went inside.

Halfway up the stairs, my phone buzzed.

Tee:
you smiled

Me:
No, I didn’t.

Tee:
i saw it

Me:
You were confused by the lighting.

Tee:
sure seat 13

Me:
I’m changing your contact name.

Tee:
to what?

I stared at the screen.

Then typed:

Me:
Chair Thief.

His reply came immediately.

Tee:
cute

I locked my phone.

My face felt too warm.

The messages changed first.

Not dramatically.

There wasn’t a clear moment where they stopped being about the project.

They just started arriving at different times.

About different things.

Tee:
have you eaten?

Me:
Why?

Tee:
answer the question

Me:
I had coffee.

Tee:
that isn’t food

Me:
You had a protein bar for dinner yesterday.

Tee:
and you judged me for it

Me:
Correctly.

Tee:
meet me outside your building in ten

Me:
Why?

Tee:
food

Me:
We don’t have a meeting tonight.

The typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Tee:
i know

I stared at that message for too long.

Long enough for my screen to dim.

Then I put on my shoes.

Tee was waiting outside my accommodation with two takeaway containers balanced in one hand.

“You walked twenty minutes to bring me food?”

“I was nearby.”

“You live on the other side of campus.”

“I walk quickly.”

“You’re a liar.”

He held out one of the containers.

“You’re welcome.”

I took it.

“It better not have raisins.”

“Who puts raisins in noodles?”

“People make bad choices every day.”

“You really hate raisins.”

“They ruin things.”

“They’re dried grapes.”

“Exactly.”

“That explains nothing.”

We sat on the low wall outside my building.

The concrete was cold, but neither of us suggested going inside.

Steam curled from the noodles when I opened the lid.

Tee had remembered the order I liked.

Not that I had told him directly.

He had just watched me choose it once.

Probably coincidence.

Or observation.

Observation wasn’t romantic.

It was basic awareness.

That explanation felt solid enough.

For about thirty seconds.

“You got mine right,” I said.

Tee was already eating.

“I know.”

“How?”

“You ordered it last week.”

“Once.”

“You say that a lot.”

“Because you keep remembering things you’ve only seen once.”

He looked at me.

“So?”

“So it’s strange.”

“Good strange or bad strange?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“That sounds promising.”

“It shouldn’t.”

He smiled and looked back down at his food.

The evening air was cold enough to sting my fingers.

Students crossed the courtyard in small groups.

Somebody had music playing from an open window above us.

It was quieter than the library.

Less structured.

There were no open laptops.

No documents waiting for comments.

No reason for us to still be sitting there once the food was gone.

We stayed anyway.

Tee told me about his flatmates.

One of them sang in the shower every morning but only knew the chorus of three songs.

Another kept stealing his washing powder and replacing it with cheaper brands.

“How do you know it’s cheaper?” I asked.

“It smells like disappointment.”

“That isn’t a scent.”

“It is in my flat.”

“You could label yours.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“He peeled the label off.”

“You live with criminals.”

“You live with someone who put foil in a microwave.”

“That was one person.”

“And the socks in the oven?”

“That was also him.”

Tee lowered his fork.

“Wait.”

I already regretted speaking.

“What?”

“The same person?”

“Yes.”

“The microwave and the oven?”

“Yes.”

“Por.”

“I know.”

“Why is he allowed near appliances?”

“I don’t make those decisions.”

“You should.”

“I lock my cupboard.”

“You should lock your bedroom.”

“I do.”

“Good.”

The answer came so quickly that I looked at him.

His expression had gone serious.

Not dramatically.

Just enough to make me pause.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“I know.”

“Then why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you were worried.”

He looked back at his food.

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“I don’t imagine things.”

“You imagined legal ownership of Seat 12.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“It was emotionally mine.”

Tee laughed.

The seriousness passed.

Or maybe he just moved around it.

We ate in silence for a while.

Not awkward silence.

The kind that didn’t need fixing.

I wasn’t used to that.

Tong filled silence by talking.

Lecturers filled it with questions.

I usually filled it myself by finding something to do.

With Tee, I could sit there and listen to the faint scrape of his fork against the container without feeling responsible for the quiet.

That should have bothered me more than it did.

“Why did you transfer into the module late?” I asked.

Tee’s hand paused.

Only for a second.

“I changed courses.”

“What was the first one?”

“Engineering.”

I turned towards him.

“You were studying engineering?”

“For three weeks.”

“What happened?”

“I hated it.”

“Three weeks isn’t very long.”

“It was long enough.”

The answer sounded familiar.

I looked at him.

He noticed.

“Don’t.”

“That’s what I said about the chair.”

“I know. I regretted it as soon as it came out.”

“You should.”

“I won’t.”

I waited.

Tee leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I was good at maths,” he said. “Everyone kept telling me that meant engineering made sense.”

“So you chose it.”

“My dad chose it. I agreed.”

There was no bitterness in his voice.

That made it worse somehow.

“You didn’t want it?”

“I thought I could learn to.”

The words landed quietly.

I understood them more than I wanted to.

“What did you want?”

He looked towards the Humanities building across the courtyard.

“This.”

“Our course?”

“Yeah.”

“Your dad didn’t approve?”

“He thinks anything involving essays is a hobby.”

“That’s stupid.”

Tee laughed under his breath.

“You don’t need to sound so offended.”

“I am offended.”

“On behalf of essays?”

“On behalf of you.”

The words came out naturally.

Too naturally.

Tee turned towards me.

I looked down at my noodles.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m looking.”

“That is staring with better public relations.”

His mouth moved.

Almost a smile.

Then it faded.

“He was disappointed,” he said. “When I changed.”

“That’s his problem.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Tee looked at me again.

I hated how easy it was to notice when he wasn’t joking.

The rest of the world blurred around those moments.

“Yes,” he said eventually. “Most days.”

I wanted to ask about the other days.

I didn’t.

Instead, I nudged my shoulder against his.

Lightly.

Barely enough to count.

“You made the right choice.”

He looked down at where our shoulders touched.

Then back at me.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“What if I fail?”

“You won’t.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I’ve seen your grades.”

There it was.

The smile came back.

“Difference: unacceptable?”

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

He laughed.

I looked away.

My chest felt strange.

Not bad.

Just too full for something as ordinary as sitting on a wall eating noodles.

After that, the project meetings stopped feeling like meetings.

We still worked.

Usually.

But the boundaries loosened.

One evening, Tee arrived with three different bags of sweets because he couldn’t remember which ones I liked.

“I don’t even eat sweets that often,” I said.

“You complained when the vending machine ran out.”

“That was about principle.”

“You say that about everything.”

“Because principles matter.”

“Which ones do you want?”

I looked at the bags.

He had bought the right ones.

All three.

I took one.

“These.”

“I knew it.”

“You bought every possible option.”

“Still knew it.”

Another evening, he arrived forty minutes late.

I was already angry when he dropped into the chair opposite me.

“You said six fifteen.”

“I know.”

“It is six fifty-seven.”

“I know.”

“You didn’t message.”

“My phone was on silent.”

“Why?”

“I was in the library.”

“We are in the library.”

“The other part.”

“That sentence doesn’t make sense.”

“I lost track of time.”

“You always lose track of things.”

He pulled a coffee from his bag and set it in front of me.

I didn’t touch it.

“You can’t bribe me.”

“It’s not a bribe.”

“It’s exactly a bribe.”

“It has oat milk.”

“I don’t drink oat milk.”

Tee stared at the cup.

Then winced.

“That one’s mine.”

He swapped them.

I took the correct cup.

“Still angry?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Drinking the coffee, though.”

“That is unrelated.”

“Of course.”

He opened his laptop.

I watched him for a second.

“You really need to start checking the time.”

“I will.”

“You said that last week.”

“I meant it this time.”

“You also need to stop leaving your phone on silent for hours.”

“Why?”

“Because people might need you.”

The answer came out sharper than I intended.

Tee looked at me.

“Did you need me?”

“No.”

“Por.”

“We had work to do.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

I opened the shared document.

“You were late.”

His gaze stayed on me for another moment.

Then he said, quietly, “Sorry.”

I looked at him.

He meant it.

The anger drained before I had finished using it.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Don’t do it again.”

“I’ll try.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“It’s honest.”

I hated that I preferred that answer.

The next week, Tee started arriving early.

Not every time.

Enough that I noticed.

He would already be at the table when I got there, headphones on, one coffee waiting beside my chair.

He never mentioned the lateness again.

Neither did I.

The routine expanded.

Tuesday.

Friday.

Sometimes Sunday.

Sometimes a quick hour before lectures that turned into breakfast afterwards.

Sometimes messages saying I’m outside.

Sometimes no message at all.

We simply started expecting each other.

One Thursday morning, I reached Lecture Hall B and found Tee in Seat 12.

He looked up as I approached.

“Really?” I asked.

“What?”

“You know what.”

“I got here first.”

“You haven’t sat there in weeks.”

“Maybe I missed it.”

“You missed annoying me.”

“That too.”

I waited.

He made no move.

“Fine.”

I sat in Seat 13.

Tee looked at me.

“That’s it?”

“What?”

“No speech?”

“I’m conserving energy.”

“You’re letting me have it?”

“It’s a chair.”

His mouth fell open slightly.

I opened my laptop.

“Personal growth,” I said.

He stared at me.

Then he smiled.

Not triumphant.

Something warmer.

It made my stomach turn over.

“Proud of you,” he said.

“Don’t be.”

Halfway through the lecture, he slid his coffee towards me.

I looked down.

Black iced americano.

No sugar.

“You bought the wrong one?” I whispered.

“No.”

My fingers tightened around my pen.

He looked back at the front.

I drank the coffee.

Tong noticed.

Of course he did.

After the lecture, he caught my arm before I could leave.

“What was that?”

“What was what?”

“The coffee.”

“Tee didn’t want it.”

“He bought it for you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He doesn’t drink black coffee.”

I stopped.

“How do you know?”

“I asked him.”

“Why?”

“Because I have eyes.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you asked.”

Tong looked at me as though I had missed something obvious.

“You two are weird.”

“We are not.”

“You have a chair custody agreement.”

“There is no agreement.”

“You sit beside him now.”

“Because he takes Seat 12.”

“He sat in Seat 13 yesterday.”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing useful appeared.

Tong’s expression changed into something unbearable.

“You chose Seat 14.”

“That was where I sat.”

“Beside him.”

“It was the closest available chair.”

“There were six empty ones.”

“I like the angle.”

“You spent a month complaining about that angle.”

“I’ve adapted.”

“Personal growth?”

I glared.

“You’re spending too much time listening to him.”

“No,” Tong said. “You are.”

By November, the campus had changed.

The trees outside the library turned orange, then brown.

The mornings became darker.

I swapped iced coffee for hot, though Tee insisted abandoning it was a betrayal of my personality.

Our project had grown from a neat outline into an untidy collection of shared documents, printed articles and notes written in both our handwriting.

We spent more evenings together than apart.

Sometimes Tong joined us.

Usually he left early.

“You two work better alone,” he said.

Which was ridiculous.

Tee distracted me constantly.

He stole my highlighters.

He drew tiny faces beside my comments.

He leaned across the table to read my screen instead of opening the document on his own laptop.

He played songs quietly through one earbud and handed me the other without asking.

I took it every time.

One Friday evening, he pushed an earbud towards me.

“What is it?”

“A song.”

“I know what an earbud does.”

“Debatable.”

“What song?”

“Just listen.”

I put it in.

The music was soft.

No lyrics.

Piano at first, then strings.

I looked at him.

“You like this?”

“Why do you sound surprised?”

“You act like someone who only listens to songs with shouting.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“You contain lost student cards.”

“That too.”

We worked with the music between us.

One earbud each.

The wire crossed the space between our chairs.

Every time one of us moved too far, it tugged.

Eventually, Tee shifted closer.

Our shoulders touched.

Neither of us moved away.

The song changed.

Then changed again.

By the fourth one, I had stopped pretending I was reading.

I looked at his screen.

He was working.

Actually working.

His concentration made his face softer.

His eyelashes lowered.

His mouth pressed into a slight line when he reread a sentence.

I realised I was staring.

I turned back to my laptop.

Too late.

“You okay?” Tee asked.

“Yes.”

“You stopped typing.”

“I was thinking.”

“About?”

“The paragraph.”

“Mine?”

“No.”

He looked at my screen.

“You’ve been on the title page for six minutes.”

I clicked randomly.

“Formatting.”

“Very demanding.”

“Shut up.”

His shoulder pressed a little more firmly against mine.

I could feel his laugh through it.

That should have been strange.

It wasn’t.

The library announced it was closing before either of us realised how late it had become.

We packed slowly.

Outside, rain hammered against the pavement.

I stopped beneath the entrance awning.

“You have an umbrella, right?” Tee asked.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

“No.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“You always have an umbrella.”

“I left it in my flat.”

“Why?”

“It wasn’t raining earlier.”

“You check the weather every morning.”

“I was busy.”

“With?”

I didn’t answer.

I had been rereading his section of the paper.

Not because it needed editing.

Because I liked the way he wrote.

That wasn’t information he needed.

Tee opened his bag and pulled out a small black umbrella.

“Of course you have one,” I said.

“I checked the weather.”

“Don’t start.”

He opened it.

The umbrella was designed for one person.

Two if those people had no concept of personal space.

We stepped underneath.

Our shoulders pressed together immediately.

Rain splashed around our shoes.

“Your building first,” he said.

“Yours is closer.”

“And yours is on the way.”

“It isn’t.”

“It can be.”

I looked at him.

His face was close.

Closer than it had any reason to be.

A strand of damp hair had fallen across his forehead.

There were raindrops caught in his eyelashes.

When did he start looking like that?

The thought appeared without warning.

I looked forward so quickly my neck hurt.

We started walking.

Tee held the umbrella slightly towards my side, leaving his own shoulder exposed.

“You’re getting wet,” I said.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ll complain tomorrow.”

“I never complain.”

“You complained for two days when the café ran out of oat milk.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“It was personal.”

I reached up and pushed the umbrella towards the centre.

Our hands touched around the handle.

Neither of us moved.

The rain filled the silence.

Tee’s fingers were warm.

Mine weren’t.

His thumb shifted.

Barely.

The smallest movement against the side of my hand.

My heart stumbled.

Then a cyclist shot through a puddle beside us.

Tee pulled me towards him.

Water sprayed across the pavement where I had been standing.

I collided with his chest.

His free hand landed at my waist.

Everything stopped.

Not the rain.

Not the traffic.

Just me.

Tee looked down at me.

I looked up at him.

His hand stayed against my side.

Mine had caught the front of his jacket.

Neither of us spoke.

“Por,” he said quietly.

A car horn sounded somewhere behind us.

I stepped back.

Too quickly.

Tee’s hand fell away.

“Thanks,” I said.

“For?”

“The puddle.”

“Right.”

We continued walking.

The distance between us was the same as before.

It didn’t feel the same.

At my building, I ducked out from beneath the umbrella.

“Night.”

“Por.”

I turned.

Tee stood under the streetlight, rain silvering the air around him.

He looked like he wanted to say something.

For one terrifying second, I wanted him to.

Then he smiled.

“Don’t forget your umbrella tomorrow.”

I forced a laugh.

“Goodnight, Tee.”

I went inside.

I stood in the lobby until I could no longer see him through the glass.

That night, I lay awake replaying the moment beneath the umbrella.

His hand at my waist.

The way he had said my name.

The silence before he smiled.

I decided I was tired.

That was all.

Exhaustion could make ordinary things feel significant.

My body had confused surprise with something else.

There was a perfectly reasonable explanation.

There had to be.

The next morning, Tee texted at eight.

Tee:
you alive?

Me:
Unfortunately.

Tee:
library later?

Me:
We finished the section yesterday.

Tee:
i know

Me:
Then why?

The typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

Tee:
wanted to see you

I stared at the screen.

My heart began doing something unhelpful.

Then another message arrived.

Tee:
need to beat you on the practice quiz

There it was.

A joke.

Obviously.

I exhaled.

Me:
You won’t.

Tee:
six?

Me:
Six fifteen.

Tee:
bring your umbrella

I did.

The umbrella changed nothing.

That was what I told myself, anyway.

It hadn’t been a moment.

It had been weather.

Rain.

A puddle.

Tee stopping me from getting soaked.

His hand had landed at my waist because there had been nowhere else for it to go.

He had said my name because that was generally how people got someone’s attention.

All perfectly normal.

Which was why I spent the next three days thinking about it.

Constantly.

Not deliberately.

My brain just kept replaying the same few seconds whenever I wasn’t actively distracting it.

His fingers around mine on the umbrella handle.

His hand at my side.

The way his voice had sounded quieter in the rain.

It was annoying.

Worse, Tee acted completely normal afterwards.

He arrived at the café on Monday carrying two coffees and complaining that one of his flatmates had used his towel.

“Your towel?” I asked.

“My good towel.”

“You have towel rankings?”

“Obviously.”

“You mocked me for having a favourite washing machine.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“A towel touches your skin.”

“A washing machine touches my clothes.”

“That argument is weak.”

“Your argument is nonexistent.”

He handed me my coffee.

Our fingers brushed.

I nearly dropped it.

Tee didn’t notice.

Or pretended not to.

“Did you bring your umbrella?” he asked.

I stared at him.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“That’s all?”

“What else would there be?”

“Nothing.”

“Exactly.”

He started walking.

I followed, irritated for reasons I couldn’t explain.

The morning was dry.

Bright, even.

My umbrella stayed in my bag.

Tee’s stayed in his.

Still, I remained aware of it.

A small black shape sticking out from the side pocket of his backpack.

Evidence.

Of what, I didn’t know.

The lecture hall was already filling when we arrived.

Seat 12 was empty.

Seat 13 was empty.

Tee sat in Seat 13.

I stopped beside him.

He looked up.

“What?”

“You’re in the wrong seat.”

“Am I?”

“You always take Seat 12.”

“You complain when I take Seat 12.”

“I’m not complaining.”

“You look like you’re complaining.”

“I’m confused.”

“Personal growth,” he said.

“That’s my line.”

“It was mine first.”

“You used it against me.”

“Still mine.”

I sat in Seat 12.

For the first twenty minutes of the lecture, I couldn’t concentrate.

The angle was perfect.

The desk didn’t wobble.

The lecturer was easy to see.

Everything was exactly how I liked it.

Except Tee wasn’t where he was supposed to be.

Not that he had a place.

He could sit wherever he wanted.

I was the one who had spent weeks arguing that certain seats mattered.

Apparently, they only mattered when he was in the wrong one.

Halfway through the lecture, Tee leaned across.

“You’re frowning.”

“I’m listening.”

“You frown when you listen?”

“I’m concentrating.”

“You’ve written the date three times.”

I looked down.

He was right.

I crossed out two of them.

“You’re distracting me.”

“I haven’t said anything for twenty minutes.”

“That’s suspicious.”

Tee smiled and leaned back.

When the lecture ended, Tong caught up with us in the corridor.

“You two swapped.”

“What?” I asked.

“Seats.”

“It’s a chair.”

Tong stopped walking.

Tee stopped too.

They both stared at me.

“What?” I repeated.

“You just called it a chair,” Tong said.

“Yes.”

“Not emotionally significant furniture?”

“I’ve matured.”

Tee pressed a hand to his chest.

“I’m proud.”

“Stop saying that.”

Tong looked between us.

“Did something happen?”

“No,” I said immediately.

Tee glanced at me.

“Nothing happened.”

“Why did you say it like that?” Tong asked.

“Like what?”

“Like something definitely happened.”

“It rained,” I said.

Tong’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s weather.”

“Exactly.”

Tee coughed into his fist.

I looked at him.

He was smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing that face.”

“What face?”

“The one where you know something.”

“I know lots of things.”

“You lost your student card twice last week.”

“Unrelated.”

Tong walked backwards in front of us.

“What happened in the rain?”

“Nothing,” I said.

Tee said, “Puddle.”

Tong stopped.

“A puddle?”

“He nearly got splashed.”

“I did not nearly get splashed.”

“You did.”

“I had it under control.”

“You were looking at me.”

The words came out casually.

Too casually.

My stomach tightened.

Tong’s eyes widened.

Tee seemed to realise what he had said at the same time I did.

There was a brief, strange pause.

Then I laughed.

It sounded fake even to me.

“I was checking you were holding the umbrella properly.”

“I was.”

“It was tilted.”

“Towards you.”

“Exactly.”

“Because I didn’t want you getting wet.”

Tong made a small choking sound.

I turned towards him.

“Are you okay?”

“Perfect.”

He looked delighted.

“I’ve never been better.”

I walked away before he could say anything worse.

The strange thing was that once the umbrella moment had happened, physical contact became harder to ignore.

It had always been there.

Our shoulders brushed in lectures.

Our hands reached for the same pens.

Tee leaned too close whenever he read over my screen.

None of that was new.

But now I noticed all of it.

Every single time.

When he rested his elbow against mine at the library, I became aware of it immediately.

When he tugged my sleeve to stop me walking past a classroom, my skin seemed to remember the shape of his fingers.

When he took one of my earbuds and our knees touched beneath the table, I forgot an entire sentence I had been typing.

It was ridiculous.

People touched each other all the time.

Tong had once fallen asleep with his head on my shoulder during a train journey.

I had felt nothing except pins and needles.

Tee’s knee touched mine for half a second and suddenly I was questioning the structural integrity of my nervous system.

There had to be a scientific explanation.

I considered searching for one.

Then decided that would make it worse.

Friday’s library meeting began without any actual work.

Tee arrived with breakfast.

Not snacks.

Breakfast.

Two takeaway bags from the café near the business building.

“You’re late,” I said.

“It’s nine in the morning.”

“We agreed eight forty-five.”

“You agreed.”

“You said okay.”

“I was half asleep.”

“That doesn’t invalidate it.”

“It should.”

He placed a bag in front of me.

I looked inside.

Toast.

Eggs.

Hash browns.

No mushrooms.

I hated mushrooms.

“You bought breakfast.”

“I noticed.”

“For me.”

“I bought two.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“I’m hungry.”

“You could’ve eaten before coming.”

“So could you.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

My stomach betrayed me with an audible noise.

Tee looked down.

Then back at me.

I stared at the table.

He smiled.

“Not hungry?”

“That could have been anything.”

“What else growls?”

“The pipes.”

“We’re on the second floor.”

“Old building.”

“Eat, Por.”

I pulled out the container.

“You’re bossy.”

“You’re hungry.”

“You don’t know that.”

“The pipes told me.”

I tried not to laugh.

Failed.

Tee looked pleased with himself.

We ate with our laptops closed.

That was becoming more common.

At the beginning of the project, I would have considered any minute without work wasted.

Now I found myself deliberately delaying the moment we started.

Asking questions I already knew the answer to.

Letting conversations stretch.

Listening when Tee complained about his flatmates, even though I had heard the same stories several times.

That morning, he stole a hash brown from my container.

I slapped his hand.

“Get your own.”

“I finished mine.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

“You weren’t eating it.”

“I was saving it.”

“For when?”

“Later.”

“It would be cold.”

“I like them cold.”

“No, you don’t.”

“You don’t know me.”

Tee held the hash brown halfway to his mouth.

“I know you cried when that dog died in the film last week.”

“I did not cry.”

“You left the room.”

“I needed water.”

“You came back with red eyes.”

“The kitchen was smoky.”

“You ordered the same breakfast as me but removed the mushrooms.”

“They’re disgusting.”

“You hate fizzy water.”

“It tastes angry.”

“You call your mum every Wednesday after dinner.”

I looked at him.

His teasing softened.

“You always come back from the stairwell looking happier.”

Something inside me shifted.

I didn’t know he had noticed that.

“I know you,” Tee said.

Quietly.

Not as a challenge.

Just a fact.

I looked down at the remaining food.

“You know enough to realise I was saving that hash brown.”

Tee laughed and put it back.

There was a bite missing.

I stared at it.

“You bit it.”

“I changed my mind.”

“You cannot return bitten food.”

“You said you were saving it.”

“Not after your mouth has been on it.”

His eyebrows lifted.

Something about the expression made me realise how that sounded.

Heat rushed into my face.

Tee’s smile turned slow.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“You’re being weird.”

“You brought it up.”

“I was talking about the hash brown.”

“So was I.”

“You weren’t.”

He leaned closer.

“What did you think I meant?”

“I don’t know.”

“You seem flustered.”

“I’m angry.”

“Your ears are red.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“It’s freezing.”

I shoved the container towards him.

“Take it.”

“You don’t want it anymore?”

“No.”

“Because I bit it?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.”

“You’re disgusting.”

He ate the rest while smiling.

I opened my laptop with unnecessary force.

We completed less than half of what I had planned that morning.

I didn’t mind.

That was probably a warning sign.

We left the library at lunchtime.

Tee followed me towards the centre of campus.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Where are you going?”

“I asked first.”

“So did I.”

“No, you repeated my question.”

“That still counts.”

“I’m meeting Tong.”

“I know.”

I stopped.

“How?”

“He invited me.”

“He what?”

Tee pulled out his phone and showed me the message.

Tong:
lunch at one. por thinks it’s just us. come annoy him.

I closed my eyes.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“After lunch?”

“I’m considering before.”

“Seems harsh.”

“He’s setting me up.”

Tee went quiet.

I opened my eyes.

“With lunch,” I added quickly.

“Right.”

The air changed for a second.

I pretended not to notice.

Tong was waiting outside a small restaurant near the student union.

He looked far too pleased when he saw us arriving together.

“What a surprise.”

“You invited him,” I said.

“I invite lots of people.”

“There are three chairs.”

“I booked for three.”

“So this was planned.”

“Planning is good. You like planning.”

“I don’t like your planning.”

Tee sat opposite me.

Tong took the chair beside him.

That felt wrong.

Not wrong.

Just inconvenient.

I had become used to Tee sitting next to me.

Across the table was too far.

Which was ridiculous considering I could see him perfectly.

Still, I found myself looking up every time he moved.

Tong noticed.

He noticed everything.

At one point, Tee got up to collect our drinks.

Tong leaned towards me immediately.

“So?”

“So what?”

“You’re glowing.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

“That’s medically concerning.”

“You like him.”

“I like food.”

“You haven’t looked at your food in five minutes.”

“I’m listening to you.”

“No, you’re watching him argue with the person at the counter.”

Tee was gesturing towards the drinks.

The server looked confused.

“He’s getting mine wrong,” I said.

“You can see that from here?”

“He asked for lemonade.”

“You ordered lemonade.”

“With no ice.”

“You heard him from here?”

“I read his lips.”

Tong stared at me.

“You are beyond help.”

Tee returned with the drinks.

He placed mine in front of me.

No ice.

I looked at Tong.

Tong looked like he wanted to scream.

“What?” Tee asked.

“Nothing,” we said together.

Lunch lasted two hours.

The project wasn’t mentioned once.

Neither was the fact that none of us had planned to spend that long there.

Afterwards, Tong claimed he needed to go to the library.

“You hate the library on Saturdays,” I said.

“I’ve changed.”

“Since when?”

“Today.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Studying.”

“For?”

“University.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“So are you.”

He hugged me quickly before I could question him further.

Then he turned to Tee.

“Walk him home.”

“I can walk myself,” I said.

Neither of them acknowledged me.

Tong left.

I watched him go.

“He did that on purpose.”

“Probably.”

“You don’t have to walk me.”

“I know.”

“You always say that.”

“You always keep walking with me.”

I looked at him.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

“Unless you don’t want me to.”

The answer came before I could overthink it.

“I want you to.”

Tee’s expression changed.

I heard the words properly after saying them.

“I mean, I don’t mind.”

“Right.”

“It’s cold.”

“So you need company?”

“No.”

“You just want mine.”

I started walking.

“Are you coming or not?”

His footsteps followed.

I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Coming.”

We took the long route.

Neither of us mentioned it.

The quickest path to my accommodation cut through the central courtyard.

Instead, Tee turned towards the park beside the arts building.

I followed without asking why.

The trees were almost bare.

Orange leaves had gathered along the edge of the path.

A group of students were setting up Christmas lights around the café terrace, even though it was still November.

“That’s too early,” I said.

“For Christmas lights?”

“Yes.”

“You hate joy.”

“I hate premature joy.”

“That’s bleak.”

“It’s practical.”

“Do you schedule happiness?”

“Usually between six and seven.”

“What happens at seven?”

“I get tired.”

Tee laughed.

The sound mixed with the rustle of leaves under our shoes.

We walked close.

Not touching.

Nearly.

Every few steps, the backs of our hands brushed.

The first time, I assumed it was accidental.

The second time too.

By the fourth, I stopped believing that.

Neither of us moved further apart.

Neither of us reached out.

We stayed in that space between.

Close enough to feel the possibility.

Too scared to change it.

Tee stopped near the small bridge crossing the stream.

It barely qualified as a bridge.

Three metres of wood over water shallow enough to step through.

Still, the university had covered the railings in lights.

They weren’t switched on yet.

“You’re staring,” Tee said.

“At the lights.”

“They’re off.”

“I know.”

“You can’t even see them.”

“I can see the bulbs.”

“Thrilling.”

I leaned against the railing.

Tee stood beside me.

The water below moved slowly.

Brown leaves drifted across its surface.

“Are you going home for Christmas?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Three weeks.”

“That’s long.”

“It’s the break.”

“I know.”

I looked at him.

He was staring at the stream.

“What about you?”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

“My dad wants me home.”

“And you?”

Tee shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

I waited.

He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the railing.

“It’s still weird.”

“Since changing courses?”

“Since disappointing him.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did to him.”

“That doesn’t mean you did something wrong.”

“I know.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I do know.”

“But?”

He looked at me.

“But knowing something doesn’t always make it feel true.”

The sentence sat heavily between us.

I understood that too.

More than I wanted to admit.

“You should come back early,” I said.

His eyebrows lifted.

“Why?”

“The library opens before term.”

“That’s your argument?”

“We could work.”

“The project will be finished.”

“Exams.”

“We have different exams.”

“There are other things to study.”

Tee smiled slightly.

“You want me to come back early?”

“No.”

“Por.”

“It would be practical.”

“For who?”

“For both of us.”

“How?”

I looked at the dark bulbs wrapped around the railing.

The honest answer pressed against my throat.

I didn’t want three weeks without him.

I didn’t know how to say that without revealing something I still hadn’t named.

“It’ll be quieter,” I said.

Coward.

Tee looked away.

“Yeah.”

His voice softened.

“Maybe.”

I hated the disappointment I heard there.

I hated myself more for causing it.

We continued walking.

The almost-touching stopped.

At my building, Tee said goodnight before I reached the door.

No joke.

No message before I got upstairs.

I stood in my room for several minutes, coat still on.

Then I opened our messages.

Me:
The café by the library opens on 3 January.

I stared at the text.

Too obvious.

I added another.

Me:
They’ll probably have oat milk.

Worse.

I nearly deleted both.

Tee replied before I could.

Tee:
you checked?

Me:
I saw a sign.

Tee:
liar

Me:
Do you want to come back early or not?

The typing bubble appeared.

Tee:
yeah

Then...

Tee:
i do

My heart kicked.

Me:
Good.

Tee:
practical?

I hesitated.

Me:
No.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Stayed.

Disappeared.

Then:

Tee:
good

I read that message until the screen dimmed.

The next two weeks became a collection of things I would have denied mattered.

Tee waiting outside my morning lecture even though his class was in another building.

The two of us getting breakfast after he claimed he had “accidentally” bought too much food.

Sharing headphones in the library until neither of us remembered who had chosen the playlist.

His name appearing at the top of my phone more often than anyone else’s.

Tee:
look

A photograph followed.

His flatmate had placed a handwritten sign on the washing powder.

NOT TEE’S. APPARENTLY.

Me:
He’s making progress.

Tee:
i’m being bullied in my own home

Me:
You deserve it.

Tee:
come rescue me

Me:
No.

Tee:
you replied too fast

Me:
I was already using my phone.

Tee:
sure

Or:

Me:
Where are you?

Tee:
hello to you too

Me:
You said you were coming.

Tee:
miss me?

Me:
You have the book I need.

Tee:
same thing

Me:
It is not.

Tee:
outside

I would look up.

He would be there.

Always smiling.

One Sunday, we met at the library with every intention of finishing our presentation slides.

At least, that was what I had written in my planner.

Instead, Tee fell asleep.

He had arrived looking tired.

I noticed immediately.

“You look terrible,” I said.

“Nice to see you too.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Some.”

“That’s not a measurement.”

“It is emotionally.”

“Tee.”

“Four hours.”

“Why?”

“My flatmate had people over.”

“Did you ask them to be quiet?”

“I considered it.”

“You considered it?”

“Then I put headphones on.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m adaptable.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

He wasn’t.

Forty minutes later, his typing slowed.

Then stopped.

His head dipped once.

Twice.

The third time, he jerked awake.

“I’m working.”

“You were asleep.”

“I was thinking.”

“With your eyes closed?”

“Fewer distractions.”

“Go home.”

“No.”

“You need sleep.”

“We need to finish this.”

“We’re ahead.”

“You hate stopping early.”

“I hate watching you drool on your laptop more.”

His hand flew to his mouth.

“I wasn’t drooling.”

“You don’t know.”

He looked horrified.

I laughed.

Tee stared at me.

“What?”

“You laugh more now.”

The amusement slipped.

“Do I?”

“With me.”

There was no joke in his voice.

I looked down at my screen.

“You’re occasionally funny.”

“Occasionally?”

“Don’t push it.”

He leaned back.

A few minutes passed.

Then his head rested against my shoulder.

My entire body froze.

Tee didn’t move.

His breathing had already evened out.

He had fallen asleep.

On me.

I stared at the document on my laptop.

The words became meaningless.

His hair brushed my jaw.

His body was warm against my side.

I should have woken him.

My shoulder would hurt.

People might see.

Tong would never let me live it down if he walked in.

I did nothing.

Slowly, carefully, I shifted so Tee’s neck wasn’t bent at an uncomfortable angle.

His face turned slightly towards me.

One hand rested loosely on the table.

There was a faint crease between his eyebrows, even asleep.

Without thinking, I reached up.

My fingers hovered near his hair.

I stopped before touching him.

What was I doing?

I lowered my hand.

Tee moved in his sleep.

His head slipped further against me.

I stayed perfectly still for nearly an hour.

My shoulder went numb after twenty minutes.

I didn’t care.

Tong arrived after fifty-three.

Of course he did.

He stopped at the end of the table.

His eyes moved from Tee to me.

Then back.

I raised one finger to my lips.

Tong covered his mouth.

Not because he was being quiet.

Because he was trying not to laugh.

He pulled out his phone.

I glared.

He took a photograph.

I mouthed, delete it.

He shook his head.

Then he silently walked away.

Traitor.

Tee woke ten minutes later.

He lifted his head slowly.

Looked around.

Then at me.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“No.”

His eyes narrowed.

“How long?”

“Five minutes.”

“My neck hurts.”

“Ten.”

“Por.”

“An hour.”

He stared.

“You let me sleep on you for an hour?”

“You looked tired.”

“You could’ve moved.”

“You would’ve woken up.”

“That’s usually how that works.”

“You needed sleep.”

His expression softened.

“Your shoulder must hurt.”

“It’s fine.”

He reached towards it.

His fingers pressed gently near my neck.

The touch sent a strange shiver down my spine.

“Here?”

“No.”

“Here?”

I swallowed.

“A little.”

“You should’ve pushed me off.”

“I considered it.”

“But?”

“You looked comfortable.”

His hand stopped.

We looked at each other.

Too close.

His fingers still rested on my shoulder.

The library faded around us.

There it was again.

That pull.

The same one beneath the umbrella.

The same silence outside my building.

I knew something was happening.

I wasn’t ready to understand what.

Tee’s gaze dropped towards my mouth.

My breath caught.

Then Tong’s phone made an obnoxiously loud camera shutter sound from the bookshelf behind us.

We jumped apart.

Tong appeared holding his phone.

“Sorry.”

“No, you aren’t,” I said.

“Not even slightly.”

Tee looked between us.

“Did you take photos?”

“Only one.”

“Delete it,” I said.

“Never.”

I stood.

Tong ran.

I followed him through the library.

Tee’s laughter echoed behind us.

That evening, Tong sent the photograph to our group chat.

Tee asleep against me.

My head tilted slightly towards his.

My expression softer than I had ever seen it.

Tong:
for the wedding slideshow

Me:
Delete this.

Tee:
send me the original

Me:
Why?

Tee:
i look cute

Tong:
you both do

Me:
I hate both of you.

Tee:
saved it

I opened my private messages with him.

Me:
Did you actually save it?

Tee:
yeah

Me:
Why?

The typing bubble appeared.

It stayed longer than usual.

Tee:
i like it

I stared at the photograph again.

At the way we looked.

Not like rivals.

Not even like project partners.

Like something neither of us had said.

Me:
Me too.

My thumb hovered over send.

Then I erased it.

Me:
You were drooling.

Tee:
LIAR

I smiled at my phone.

Coward.

The closer we got to the presentation, the more people began assuming things.

It started with the café staff.

“Your boyfriend’s over there,” the barista said one morning, pointing towards Tee.

I nearly dropped my card.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

She blinked.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“He orders your drink.”

“He remembers it.”

“That’s sweet.”

“It’s practical.”

She gave me the same look Tong always did.

I collected my coffee and walked over.

Tee glanced up.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re red.”

“It’s warm.”

“It’s six degrees.”

“The café is warm.”

“We’re outside.”

I handed him his drink.

“Stop asking questions.”

Then it was someone from our seminar.

“Are you two presenting together because you’re dating, or did that happen after?”

Neither of us answered.

Tee laughed.

I stared at the floor.

“We’re not dating,” I said eventually.

Something in Tee’s expression shifted.

Only for a second.

“Right,” he said.

The student apologised and left.

I wanted to take the words back.

Not because they weren’t true.

They were.

We weren’t dating.

But the way I had said it sounded like the idea was ridiculous.

It wasn’t.

That was the problem.

That night, Tee didn’t message.

I checked my phone repeatedly.

At ten, I considered texting about the project.

There was nothing to ask.

At eleven, I found an article we didn’t need and nearly sent it.

At midnight, I gave up pretending.

Me:
Are you awake?

The reply took seven minutes.

Longer than usual.

Tee:
yeah

Me:
You went quiet.

Tee:
busy

Me:
With what?

Tee:
things

I frowned.

Me:
That’s vague.

Tee:
you don’t like vague?

Me:
No.

Tee:
i’m tired por

Me:
Okay.

I hated that word.

Okay.

Cold.

Final.

I put my phone down.

Picked it up again.

Me:
I didn’t mean it like that earlier.

Three dots appeared.

Tee:
mean what?

He knew.

Me:
When they asked if we were dating.

The bubble disappeared.

Returned.

Tee:
we aren’t

Me:
I know.

Tee:
so you were right

Me:
That isn’t what I mean.

Tee:
what do you mean?

I stared at the question.

The answer was there.

Somewhere.

I couldn’t make myself write it.

Me:
I don’t know.

Tee:
okay

There it was again.

I slept badly.

The next morning, Tee was waiting at the café.

Two coffees.

Normal smile.

Normal voice.

The tension had vanished.

Or been buried.

I accepted the drink.

We walked to class.

Our hands brushed twice.

Neither of us reacted.

Everything returned to normal.

Except normal had started feeling like a lie.

By the time the department social was announced, I had convinced myself attending would be a terrible idea.

Crowds.

Noise.

People asking questions I couldn’t answer.

Tee being there in clothes that weren’t a hoodie.

Absolutely not.

Tong sent me the details anyway.

Tong:
friday. 8pm. you’re coming.

Me:
No.

Tong:
tee is going

Me:
I don’t care.

Tong:
you replied in four seconds

Me:
I was on my phone.

Tong:
wear the black jumper

Me:
I hate you.

Tong:
see you friday x

I had no intention of going.

Then Friday arrived.

At seven thirty, I stood in front of my mirror wearing the black jumper.

Not because Tong told me to.

Because it was clean.

That was all.

Probably.

I changed twice before leaving.

Not because I cared what Tee thought.

The first jumper had a mark near the sleeve.

The second one made me look tired.

The black one was simply the least offensive option.

That was all.

Tong was waiting outside the student union when I arrived.

He looked at me.

Then at the jumper.

Then smiled.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to say you look nice.”

“You were going to say I listened to you.”

“You did.”

“I made an independent decision.”

“Wearing the exact jumper I told you to wear.”

“It was clean.”

“Of course.”

He held the door open.

“After you.”

The music hit me before I stepped fully inside.

Too loud.

Too much bass.

Too many people standing in places that made no sense.

I immediately wanted to leave.

Tong caught my sleeve before I could turn around.

“You’ve been here three seconds.”

“That was enough.”

“You said that about engineering.”

“That was Tee.”

“Same dramatic family.”

“We are not family.”

“No,” Tong said. “You’re something much more exhausting.”

I ignored him and scanned the room.

Not for Tee.

For somewhere quiet.

Unfortunately, I found Tee first.

He stood near the bar with Earth and two people I recognised from another seminar.

Black jeans.

Dark shirt.

Sleeves folded to his elbows.

No hoodie.

That detail felt unnecessarily aggressive.

I stopped walking.

Tong followed my gaze.

Then made a small sound.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You keep saying that.”

“You keep giving me material.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means close your mouth.”

My mouth was not open.

I checked.

It was slightly open.

I closed it.

Tee looked up.

His eyes moved across the room.

Found me.

The expression on his face changed immediately.

Not surprise.

Something warmer.

Something that made me forget the music for a second.

He smiled.

Not the small teasing one.

A real smile.

The kind he used when he saw me arrive at the library.

Only bigger.

He said something to Earth.

Then started walking towards us.

Tong stepped away.

“Where are you going?”

“Drink.”

“You already have one.”

“I’m very thirsty.”

“You hate that drink.”

“I’ve changed.”

“Since when?”

“Tonight.”

He disappeared before Tee reached us.

Traitor.

Tee stopped in front of me.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

He just looked.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“That isn’t nothing.”

“You wore it.”

I looked down at the jumper.

“It was clean.”

“Right.”

“You’re smiling.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe I’m happy to see you.”

The answer came so easily that I forgot how to respond.

Tee’s smile softened.

“You look good.”

Heat crept up my neck.

“You’ve seen me in black before.”

“Not like this.”

“Like what?”

He looked me over again.

Slowly enough that I noticed.

Quickly enough that I could pretend I hadn’t.

“Just different.”

“That’s vague.”

“You hate vague.”

“I do.”

“Fine.”

He stepped closer because someone pushed between us.

His hand touched my arm.

“You look really good.”

The music seemed to shift further away.

I looked at him.

He looked nervous.

Tee.

Nervous.

That unsettled me more than the compliment.

“You do too,” I said.

His eyebrows lifted.

“Was that painful?”

“Extremely.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“Stop saying that.”

He laughed.

The tension from earlier in the week was still there.

Buried beneath his smile.

I could feel it between us.

A question we had left unanswered.

Before either of us could touch it, Earth appeared.

“There you are.”

He threw an arm around Tee’s shoulders.

The familiar unpleasant feeling returned immediately.

Ridiculous.

Unfair.

Still there.

Earth looked at me.

“Por.”

“You remember me.”

“Tee talks about you enough.”

Tee closed his eyes.

“Earth.”

“What?”

“You said that last time.”

“And it’s still true.”

I looked at Tee.

He looked anywhere except at me.

“How much is enough?”

Earth grinned.

“I know about the chair.”

“Everyone knows about the chair.”

“I know about your coffee.”

“That isn’t unusual.”

“I know you hate mushrooms.”

I turned slowly towards Tee.

“You told him that?”

“It came up.”

“How?”

Earth answered for him.

“We were eating pizza.”

“That explains nothing.”

“Tee ordered one without mushrooms because you hate them.”

“I wasn’t there.”

“I know.”

I stared at Tee.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“They’re disgusting.”

“You like mushrooms.”

“I can live without them.”

Something in my chest tightened.

Not painfully.

Worse.

Softly.

Earth looked between us.

Then smiled in a way that made me suspicious.

“I’m getting another drink.”

“You have one,” Tee said.

“I’m very thirsty.”

He left.

Apparently everyone had developed the same disease.

Tee looked at me.

“What?”

“You changed your pizza order because I hate mushrooms.”

“They smell bad.”

“You ate them last month.”

“I’ve grown.”

“Personal growth?”

“Exactly.”

I tried not to smile.

Failed.

Tee noticed.

Of course he did.

“There you are,” he said.

“What?”

“You’ve been weird with me all week.”

“I have not.”

“You have.”

“You stopped messaging.”

“You told someone we weren’t dating like the idea was offensive.”

My smile disappeared.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

Tee looked towards the bar.

The crowd pressed around us.

“This isn’t the place.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t want to have this conversation while Earth is pretending not to watch us from behind a plant.”

I looked over.

Earth immediately turned away.

There was no plant.

Tee sighed.

“Outside?”

I nodded.

He led me through the room.

His hand settled against the middle of my back.

It had happened before.

At the library.

In crowds.

Walking through doors.

This time, it felt deliberate.

Or maybe I wanted it to.

The cold air outside hit my face.

I breathed easier immediately.

The smoking area was mostly empty.

Tee stood beside the wall.

I stayed a few steps away.

Not because I wanted distance.

Because I didn’t trust myself with less.

“You came because Tong said I’d be here?” I asked.

Tee glanced up.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He laughed quietly.

“You really need me to say it?”

“I need you to stop answering questions with questions.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“We saw each other yesterday.”

“I know.”

“And this morning.”

“I know.”

“So why?”

His expression softened.

“Because seeing you yesterday didn’t make me want to see you less today.”

My heart stopped.

Not literally.

Unfortunately.

I needed it functioning.

“Tee.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

“Because I don’t know what to do with them.”

“You don’t have to do anything.”

“That’s worse.”

He stepped closer.

Only one step.

“I’ve been trying not to push you.”

“You push me constantly.”

“About everything except this.”

This.

The word sat between us.

I looked down.

The pavement was dark from rain.

“You went quiet after that person asked if we were dating.”

“So did you.”

“I texted.”

“You said you didn’t know what you meant.”

“I still don’t.”

“That’s honest.”

“I hate that you sound disappointed.”

Tee looked away.

“I’m trying not to be.”

Something inside me twisted.

“Why?”

He looked back.

“Because I thought maybe we were heading somewhere.”

My throat went tight.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“You hate vague too.”

“I learned from you.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“I know.”

He rubbed his hands together against the cold.

“I like being with you.”

I couldn’t move.

“I like buying your coffee. I like arguing with you. I like that you pretend you don’t want me around and then text me when I’m ten minutes late.”

“You were forty minutes late.”

“Not the point.”

“It matters.”

Tee smiled faintly.

“There.”

“What?”

“That.”

“What about it?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Making everything easier by arguing.”

I stopped.

He was right.

I hated that.

“Tee.”

“I know you don’t have an answer.”

His voice softened.

“I’m not asking for one tonight.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“For you not to act like the idea of us is ridiculous.”

“It isn’t.”

The answer came fast.

Clear.

Tee went still.

I swallowed.

“It isn’t ridiculous.”

“Okay.”

“I hate that word.”

“I know.”

“You use it when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“You are.”

He smiled without humour.

“You really do know me.”

The words pulled something loose.

I stepped closer.

“I’m trying.”

“I know.”

“I’m bad at this.”

“At what?”

I gestured between us.

“This.”

His eyes followed the movement.

“Us?”

My heart beat harder.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s still an answer.”

“How?”

“It means you’ve thought about it.”

I had.

Constantly.

Under umbrellas.

At library tables.

Every time his name appeared on my phone.

Every time he sat beside me when Seat 12 was empty.

“I think about it too much,” I admitted.

Tee’s expression changed.

Hope.

Immediate and dangerous.

“Yeah?”

“That doesn’t mean I understand it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep acting like you need to solve it before you’re allowed to feel it.”

The words landed somewhere deep.

I looked at him.

The cold air stung my eyes.

Or that was what I told myself.

“I don’t like not knowing.”

“I know.”

“What if I get it wrong?”

“What if you don’t?”

“That isn’t helpful.”

“It’s all I’ve got.”

I laughed weakly.

Tee smiled.

The distance between us had almost disappeared.

I could see the faint crease beside his mouth.

The tiny mark near his eyebrow.

Details I had somehow collected without deciding to.

His gaze dropped.

Towards my mouth.

Definitely this time.

My breath caught.

He noticed.

Neither of us moved.

The door opened behind us.

Earth stumbled outside with two other people, laughing loudly.

The moment shattered.

Tee stepped back.

The loss of closeness felt immediate.

Sharp.

Earth threw his arm around Tee again.

“There you are.”

I stared at it.

The arm.

Again.

Earth leaned towards Tee to say something.

Tee laughed.

Something hot and childish rose inside me.

I hated it.

I hated Earth’s hand on Tee’s shoulder.

I hated that Tee looked relaxed with him.

I hated that I had almost kissed him.

Had I?

Maybe.

Possibly.

I didn’t know.

That was becoming a theme.

“I’m going home,” I said.

Tee’s attention snapped back to me.

“What?”

“I’m tired.”

“You were fine.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I’ll come.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Earth looked between us.

Recognition flashed across his face.

Then amusement.

I disliked him more.

“You can stay,” I said.

Tee frowned.

“Do you want me to?”

The question trapped me.

If I said yes, I sounded needy.

If I said no, he might actually stay.

“I don’t care.”

Coward.

Tee’s expression closed slightly.

“Right.”

He turned towards Earth.

“I’ll see you later.”

Earth removed his arm.

Finally.

Tee followed me out before I could object.

We walked in silence.

The streets were quiet.

My hands were cold.

I shoved them into my pockets.

Tee walked beside me.

Not as close as usual.

That made everything worse.

“You’re angry,” he said.

“No.”

“You left the second Earth came outside.”

“I said I was tired.”

“You weren’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“You think you know everything about me.”

“No.”

He stopped walking.

“But I know when you’re lying.”

I turned.

“I’m not lying.”

“You are.”

“About what?”

Tee looked at me for a long moment.

“Were you jealous?”

The word hit me like a door slamming.

“What?”

“Earth.”

“No.”

“You stared at his arm like it had personally offended you.”

“I was looking at the wall.”

“There wasn’t a wall.”

“The building.”

“Behind him?”

“Yes.”

“You hate the building?”

“I don’t like the architecture.”

Tee stared.

I knew how ridiculous I sounded.

That only made me more defensive.

“You asked.”

“I did.”

“And I answered.”

“No, you panicked.”

“I did not panic.”

“You’re talking about architecture.”

“It matters.”

Tee laughed once.

Not because it was funny.

Because he couldn’t believe me.

That stung.

“I just don’t like him.”

“You’ve known him for two hours.”

“That was enough.”

“Enough for what?”

“To know.”

“Know what?”

I searched for something.

Anything.

“He’s smug.”

“Earth?”

“Yes.”

“He’s friendly.”

“Excessively.”

Tee’s mouth twitched.

“Do you hear yourself?”

“I dislike his face.”

Tee stopped trying not to laugh.

He bent forward slightly, covering his mouth.

I stood there, offended and humiliated.

“It isn’t funny.”

“You don’t like his face?”

“No.”

“You’ve been staring at his arm all night and now you hate his face.”

“I didn’t stare at his arm.”

“You did.”

“I was assessing the situation.”

“What situation?”

“Nothing.”

Tee straightened.

The laughter faded.

“There it is again.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The cold air settled around us.

His expression changed.

More serious now.

“Why would it bother you if Earth touched me?”

“It didn’t.”

“Por.”

“It didn’t.”

“You left.”

“I was tired.”

“You keep hiding behind that.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Then tell me.”

“I don’t know.”

“Try.”

The word was gentle.

That made it harder.

I looked at him.

At the boy who waited outside my lectures.

Who saved photographs of us.

Who changed his pizza order because I hated mushrooms and pretended it meant nothing.

I knew the answer.

Some version of it.

I wanted Tee’s attention.

I wanted his hand on me instead.

The thought terrified me.

“I care about the project,” I said.

The second the words left my mouth, I knew I had ruined it.

Tee went completely still.

“The project.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“You just said it.”

“I know.”

“So that’s why you care where I am?”

“No.”

“Why you text me?”

“No.”

“Why you wanted me to leave?”

“I didn’t want you to leave.”

“You just didn’t want me near Earth.”

“I don’t know.”

Tee looked away.

The disappointment on his face was worse than anger.

“I thought you were going to say something else.”

My chest tightened.

“What?”

He shook his head.

“Forget it.”

“No.”

“Por.”

“You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Say things and then take them back.”

“I’m not taking anything back.”

“Then say it.”

Tee looked at me.

“I thought maybe you cared about me.”

“I do.”

“For the project.”

“No.”

“That’s what you said.”

“I said the wrong thing.”

“Then what’s the right thing?”

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

Tee waited.

I hated the silence.

Hated myself inside it.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

His face closed.

Not completely.

Enough.

“Right.”

“Tee.”

“It’s fine.”

“It isn’t.”

“I know.”

We had reached my building without me noticing.

He stepped back.

“I’ll see you Monday.”

“We’re meeting tomorrow.”

“The draft is finished.”

“We always meet Sunday.”

“For the project.”

My own words returned.

Sharp.

Tee nodded once.

“Goodnight, Por.”

He walked away.

I wanted to follow him.

I wanted to shout his name.

I wanted to say something that would fix it.

I stood there until he disappeared around the corner.

Then I went inside.

My phone stayed silent.

No joke.

No photograph.

No question asking if I had eaten.

At one in the morning, I opened our messages.

The last one was from Tee before the social.

Tee:
wear the black jumper

Me:
Why?

Tee:
looks good on you

Me:
You haven’t seen it.

Tee:
tong sent a photo

Me:
I’m killing him.

Tee:
after tonight

Me:
Why after?

Tee:
because i want to see you in it first

I read it until the words blurred.

Then I typed.

Me:
I didn’t mean that I only care about the project.

I deleted it.

Tried again.

Me:
Earth’s face is probably fine.

Deleted.

Me:
Are you awake?

I sent it.

One minute.

Five.

Ten.

The message remained unread.

At two, I put my phone down.

At two fifteen, I picked it up again.

Still unread.

The next morning, there was no reply.

There was no library meeting either.

For the first time in weeks, Sunday was empty.

I finished my work.

Reorganised my notes.

Did laundry.

Used my favourite machine.

Everything went exactly according to routine.

I hated every minute of it.

Monday arrived quietly.

Too quietly.

I reached the café five minutes earlier than usual.

Not because I expected Tee to be there.

Because I always arrived early.

Mostly.

The queue was short.

I ordered my coffee.

Black.

No sugar.

The barista handed it over with a small smile.

"Just one today?"

I frowned.

"Yes."

"I thought your friend usually gets here first."

"He... probably slept in."

She nodded sympathetically.

"Tell him I hope he's okay."

"I will."

I stepped outside.

Looked towards the Humanities building.

No Tee.

That was fine.

He wasn't obligated to meet me.

We had never actually agreed to.

It had just...

Started happening.

I stood there another minute.

Then another.

Students flowed past around me.

My coffee cooled slightly.

Eventually I sighed and headed towards the lecture hall.

Seat 13 was empty.

Seat 12 was too.

For the first time in weeks, I didn't know where to sit.

Ridiculous.

They were chairs.

I chose Seat 12.

Three minutes before the lecture started, Tee walked in.

My shoulders relaxed before I could stop them.

Then I noticed he was carrying one coffee.

He glanced towards me.

Our eyes met.

He smiled politely.

Not warmly.

Politely.

"Morning."

He sat in Seat 14.

Not beside me.

Seat 13 stayed empty.

My stomach dropped.

He unpacked quietly.

Laptop.

Notebook.

Pens.

No teasing.

No comments about personal growth.

Nothing.

The empty chair between us might as well have been another country.

Halfway through the lecture I looked sideways.

He was taking notes.

Focused.

Calm.

Like nothing had happened.

That somehow felt worse.

When the lecturer dismissed us, Tee packed his bag before I had even closed my laptop.

"Tee."

He looked over.

"Yeah?"

"I..."

The words disappeared.

"I forgot to send you the updated bibliography."

"You can upload it to the shared folder."

"Oh."

"Thanks."

He smiled again.

Small.

Polite.

Then left.

Tong sat down in Seat 13 after he was gone.

He looked at the empty doorway.

Then at me.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"You've said that every time something definitely happened."

"I don't know."

"Try."

I stared at my notebook.

"I think..."

Tong waited.

"I think I upset him."

"You did."

I looked up sharply.

"You know?"

"I've known since Friday."

"How?"

"Tee texted me."

Everything inside me stopped.

"He texted you?"

"He asked if you were always that difficult."

"What did you say?"

"The truth."

I almost didn't ask.

"What was the truth?"

Tong leaned back.

"I told him you're brilliant."

I blinked.

"...Really?"

"I told him you're loyal."

"..."

"I told him you're the kind of person who'd drive three hours to help someone move house without complaining."

"I would complain."

"Constantly."

"I know."

"But you'd still do it."

I looked back down.

"Tong..."

"I also told him you panic every time something matters."

Silence.

"..."

"...That one was important."

"I know."

My voice came out smaller than I intended.

"I don't know how to do this."

Tong's expression softened immediately.

"I know."

"I've never..."

He waited.

"I've never liked someone like this before."

There.

I said it.

Not to Tee.

Not yet.

But out loud.

The words didn't feel dramatic.

They felt frighteningly ordinary.

Like admitting I'd forgotten to hand in homework.

"I know," Tong repeated quietly.

"I kept thinking if I understood it first..."

"You'd be able to control it."

"...Yeah."

He smiled sadly.

"Feelings don't work like assignments, Por."

"I wish they did."

"I know."

"I would've colour-coded them."

That made Tong laugh.

Despite everything, I laughed too.

Then immediately stopped.

"What if I was too late?"

Tong looked towards the doorway Tee had disappeared through.

"I don't think you are."

"You don't know that."

"No."

He stood.

"But I know him."

"You barely know him."

"I know enough."

The words sounded strangely familiar.

"You know what he did after texting me?"

"What?"

"He asked if you'd eaten."

I frowned.

"What?"

"He literally asked me."

Tong pulled out his phone.

"I thought it was weird."

He scrolled.

Then turned the screen towards me.

Tee:

has por eaten today?

Tong:

probably

Tee:

probably?

Tong:

he lies about eating all the time

Tee:

thought so

The message ended there.

I stared at the screen.

"He asked about me."

Tong nodded.

"The day after your argument."

"...Why?"

Tong looked at me like I'd asked why the sky was blue.

"Because he's in love with you, you idiot."

The words hit me so hard I forgot how to breathe.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Por."

"He can't be."

"He buys your coffee."

"..."

"He waits outside your lectures."

"..."

"He changed his pizza order because you hate mushrooms."

"..."

"He keeps photographs of you sleeping."

"He was asleep."

"You know what I mean."

I covered my face with both hands.

"Oh no."

Tong laughed.

"Oh yes."

"I've ruined everything."

"You haven't."

"I told him I cared about the project."

"You did."

"I meant him."

"I know."

"I didn't know that at the time."

"I know."

"I'm an idiot."

"I've been saying that for months."

I groaned into my hands.

"You could've been more specific."

"I literally told you to kiss him."

"I thought you were joking."

"I stopped joking weeks ago."

Silence settled between us.

Then...

"What do I do?"

Tong smiled.

"For the first time since I've met you..."

"I don't want you to think."

"..."

"I want you to feel."

I hated how terrifying that sounded.

Because for the first time...

I realised that was exactly what I had been avoiding.

Not Tee.

Not the conversation.

My own feelings.

And somehow...

That was much scarier.

For the first time since the semester began, Tuesday arrived without a message.

No:

outside

No:

have you eaten?

No photograph of Tee's flatmate committing another crime against household appliances.

Nothing.

I stared at my phone while brushing my teeth.

Nothing.

I checked again while putting my shoes on.

Still nothing.

"This is pathetic," I muttered to myself.

My phone remained silent.

I hated that it had become part of my morning.

I hated it even more because I hadn't realised it had.

The café felt different.

Not because anything had changed.

Because everything had.

The barista smiled when I walked in.

"Morning."

"The usual?"

"Please."

She started making my coffee.

Then glanced towards the door.

"Your friend running late?"

I forced a smile.

"I think he's busy."

"Oh."

She sounded genuinely disappointed.

"I liked seeing you two."

"...Thanks."

That somehow made it worse.

By the time I reached the lecture theatre, Tee was already there.

Seat 14.

Alone.

He looked up as I walked in.

For half a second, I thought he might wave.

Instead he simply nodded.

"Morning."

I sat in Seat 12.

The empty chair between us looked deliberate.

Neither of us crossed it.

The lecturer spoke for fifty minutes.

I couldn't tell you a single word she said.

I kept noticing stupid things instead.

Tee had changed pens.

He wasn't wearing the bracelet he always forgot to take off.

He rubbed the back of his neck every time the lecturer asked a question.

Little details my brain insisted on collecting even though it wasn't my job anymore.

When class ended, he packed his bag immediately.

"So..." I said.

He paused.

"Yeah?"

"The presentation rehearsal."

"Tomorrow."

"Six?"

He nodded once.

"Six."

Then he left.

No teasing.

No smile.

Just...

Gone.

Rehearsal was worse.

We met in one of the empty seminar rooms.

Laptop.

Slides.

Notes.

Exactly like always.

Except...

It wasn't.

We stood further apart.

When he passed me the clicker, our fingers almost touched.

Both of us pulled back.

"You start," he said.

I nodded.

The presentation flowed perfectly.

Weeks of practice had made it automatic.

I knew exactly when he would pause.

He knew exactly when I needed a second to find the next statistic.

From the outside, we probably looked closer than ever.

Inside...

There was a wall between us.

When we finished, silence settled over the room.

I closed my laptop.

"That should do it."

"Yeah."

Another silence.

Neither of us moved.

Finally, Tee picked up his bag.

"I'll see you Friday."

"Yeah."

He reached the door.

"Tee."

He stopped.

Without turning around.

"I'm..."

The apology sat in my throat.

Heavy.

Impossible.

"I'm glad we got paired together."

He stayed still.

For a long moment.

Then he looked back over his shoulder.

"So am I."

His smile was kind.

Not happy.

That somehow hurt more.

Then he left.

Friday arrived.

Presentation day.

I barely slept.

Not because I was nervous about presenting.

Because I hadn't stopped thinking about Tuesday.

Or Wednesday.

Or every conversation I'd replayed since the department social.

Tong found me outside the lecture theatre.

"You look awful."

"Thanks."

"When did you last sleep?"

"I closed my eyes."

"That's not what I asked."

I leaned against the wall.

"Tong."

"Hm?"

"I keep thinking about what you said."

"Which part?"

"That he's..."

I couldn't finish the sentence.

Tong did it for me.

"In love with you?"

I covered my face.

"Can you stop saying it so casually?"

"It's not casual."

"It sounds casual."

"It's obvious."

"Not to me."

"I know."

He nudged my shoulder.

"You've got one job today."

"The presentation."

"No."

I frowned.

"What?"

"Tell him the truth."

"I can't."

"You can."

"I don't know how."

Tong smiled gently.

"Then stop trying to sound clever."

"..."

"...Just sound like you."

Before I could answer, the lecturer opened the door.

"Por. Tee."

My stomach twisted.

"You're first."

Tee was already standing at the front.

Laptop connected.

Slides ready.

He looked at me as I walked up beside him.

"You okay?"

"No."

He gave the smallest smile.

"Me neither."

For the first time in days...

It felt like us.

Just for a second.

Then the presentation began.

"Good morning, everyone..."

Twenty minutes disappeared.

Every transition was effortless.

Every answer felt instinctive.

When I lost my place halfway through a question, Tee picked it up without even looking at me.

When someone challenged his conclusion, I stepped in automatically.

We weren't thinking.

We were simply...

Together.

The room applauded when we finished.

Our lecturer smiled.

"Excellent work."

She looked between us.

"You two have an excellent academic partnership."

The word echoed in my head.

Partnership.

I looked sideways.

Tee was already looking at me.

For a heartbeat...

Neither of us smiled.

Because we both knew.

It had stopped being only that a long time ago.

Students began packing up.

People congratulated us as they left.

One by one, the room emptied.

Tong squeezed my shoulder as he passed.

"You know where to find me."

Then he was gone too.

Only Tee and I remained.

He unplugged the laptop quietly.

Coiled the cable.

Placed it inside his bag.

Every movement careful.

Unhurried.

Like he was delaying something.

"So..." he said eventually.

"So."

"I guess..."

He laughed softly.

"...this is it."

The words landed like a punch.

I looked around the empty room.

The projector had switched itself off.

Our slides had disappeared.

The shared folder was finished.

The project was over.

There was no reason left for Tuesday evenings.

No reason for Friday coffee.

No reason to wait outside lectures.

No reason...

To keep choosing each other.

Tee zipped his bag closed.

"It was fun."

Fun.

That wasn't the word.

It had been the best part of my semester.

The best part of my day.

Every day.

And suddenly...

I couldn't breathe properly.

He picked up his bag.

"I'll let you get going."

He walked towards the door.

One step.

Two.

Three.

If I let him leave...

That would be it.

No more coffee.

No more library.

No more:

outside

No more shared headphones.

No more stupid arguments over mushrooms.

No more walking the long way home.

No more Tee.

"Tee."

He stopped.

Turned.

"What?"

I stared at him.

Everything Tong had said.

Everything I'd been avoiding.

Everything I'd hidden behind planners and schedules and chairs.

It all caught up with me at once.

"I don't..."

My voice cracked.

I swallowed.

Tried again.

"I don't want this to be over."

Tee didn't move.

I took one step towards him.

"I keep pretending it's about the project."

Another step.

"It isn't."

His expression changed.

Hope.

Disbelief.

Fear.

All at once.

"I've been lying to both of us."

"Tee..."

I laughed once.

Mostly because if I didn't, I thought I might actually cry.

"I haven't cared about the project for weeks."

Silence.

The room felt impossibly still.

"I cared because it meant I got to see you."

Tee's bag slipped from his hand.

It hit the floor with a dull thud.

I barely heard it.

"I kept thinking..."

I shook my head.

"...that if I could organise it..."

I laughed weakly.

"...colour-code it..."

"...analyse it..."

"...it would make sense."

"It doesn't."

I looked directly at him.

"No."

"It just..."

I placed a hand over my chest.

"...hurts when you aren't there."

Tee took one slow step towards me.

"Por..."

"I think..."

The words finally stopped fighting me.

"I think somewhere between the chair..."

My voice softened.

"...and the coffee..."

"...and the library..."

"...you became my favourite part of university."

Tee closed his eyes.

Just for a second.

When he opened them again, they were shining.

He smiled.

The same smile from the first morning he'd stolen Seat 12.

Only softer.

Warmer.

Like he'd been waiting to see it again.

"I've been hoping you'd realise that."

He took another step.

Now there was barely any space left between us.

"I was starting to think you never would."

"I've been hoping you'd realise that."

He took another step.

Now there was barely any space left between us.

"I was starting to think you never would."

I laughed, though it came out shaky.

"I nearly didn't."

"I know."

"I thought I was losing my mind."

"You were."

"I colour-coded my feelings."

"I know."

"I made a spreadsheet."

His eyebrows lifted.

"You what?"

"I deleted it."

"There was actually a spreadsheet?"

"There were graphs."

Tee covered his face.

"Oh my God."

"They weren't very helpful."

"I can't believe you made graphs."

"I needed evidence."

"You were in love with me."

"I wasn't ready to call it that."

"So you called it... statistics?"

"It felt safer."

He laughed.

Really laughed.

The sound filled the empty seminar room, chasing away every awful conversation we'd had over the past week.

I smiled before I realised I was doing it.

"There you are," Tee whispered.

"What?"

"I've missed that."

My smile faded into something softer.

"I've missed you."

Those three words seemed to undo something inside him.

He let out a slow breath.

"You have no idea how hard this week has been."

"I do."

"No, you don't."

He shook his head.

"I kept telling myself to give you time."

"You did."

"I wanted to text you."

"I know."

"I typed about fifteen messages."

"I typed thirty-two."

His eyes widened.

"You counted?"

"I count everything."

"I know."

"I deleted every single one."

"So did I."

For a moment, we just stood there looking at each other.

It felt strange.

Not awkward.

Not uncertain.

Just... quiet.

Like we'd finally stopped running.

"You know what my favourite memory is?" Tee asked.

"The chair?"

He smiled.

"No."

"The library?"

"No."

"The umbrella?"

His smile grew.

"I liked the umbrella."

"I knew it."

"But no."

"What then?"

"You laughed."

I frowned.

"I laugh."

"Not at the beginning."

"I did."

"You smiled."

"I definitely laughed."

"You did eventually."

He stepped another half-step closer.

"The first proper laugh."

I searched my memory.

"When?"

"You hit my hand because I stole your hash brown."

I blinked.

"The hash brown?"

"You were trying so hard not to smile."

"Because you were annoying."

"I was."

"You bit it."

"I did."

"You gave it back."

"I thought you might still want it."

"You'd already bitten it."

"I know."

I couldn't stop smiling now.

"That was disgusting."

"It was worth it."

"Why?"

"Because you laughed."

Silence settled again.

Different this time.

Lighter.

"I think..." Tee said quietly, "...that was the first time I realised I wasn't just enjoying arguing with you."

"What did you realise?"

"I was looking for reasons to make you smile."

My heart squeezed painfully.

"I started buying your coffee because I wanted to see you first thing."

"I thought you kept getting the wrong one."

"I lied."

"I know."

"I never bought the wrong one."

"I know."

"I just liked handing it to you."

I shook my head, smiling helplessly.

"You are ridiculous."

"I learnt from the best."

We stood there smiling at each other for what felt like forever.

Eventually, I spoke.

"I've got a confession."

"You've already confessed."

"No."

"This one's worse."

His eyebrows lifted.

"I'm listening."

"I stopped caring about Seat 12 weeks ago."

"I know."

"I only kept arguing because..."

I looked down, suddenly embarrassed.

"...because it meant you'd argue back."

Tee stared at me.

Then his head tipped back as he laughed.

"You little menace."

"I know."

"You emotionally manipulated me with furniture."

"I didn't know I was doing it."

"You absolutely did."

"I genuinely didn't."

"I believed you."

"I know."

His laughter softened into a smile.

"I would've sat anywhere."

"What?"

"If you'd asked."

"You never would've stolen Seat 12?"

"I would've given it back on day one."

I stared.

"You what?"

"I wasn't interested in the chair."

"..."

"I was interested in the guy who got irrationally attached to it."

I covered my face.

"This is so embarrassing."

"For you."

"Entirely."

"I think it's adorable."

"You don't get to use that word."

"I absolutely do."

"You've earned it?"

"I've suffered enough."

I laughed again.

Without thinking, I reached out.

Our fingers brushed.

Neither of us pulled away.

He looked down.

Then slowly intertwined our fingers.

It felt...

Natural.

As though we'd skipped the awkwardness by accident.

His thumb traced a small circle against the back of my hand.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

He rolled his eyes.

"You know what I mean."

"Go on."

"Were you actually jealous of Earth?"

I groaned immediately.

"You are never letting that go."

"Never."

I sighed dramatically.

"...Yes."

His smile became almost impossibly soft.

"I knew it."

"I hated his face."

"You hated his arm."

"I hated both."

"He still laughs about that."

"He doesn't know."

"Oh, he knows."

"What?"

"I rang him after you went home."

My head snapped up.

"You what?"

"I said..."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"...'I think he might actually like me.'"

"And?"

"He said..."

Tee laughed.

"'Finally.'"

"What?"

"He'd figured it out before we had."

I buried my face in his shoulder.

"I never want to meet him again."

"You'll love him."

"I won't."

"You will."

"I absolutely won't."

"He'll remind you about his face every Christmas."

"I am leaving the country."

"I'll come with you."

The words slipped out so naturally neither of us questioned them.

Instead, we smiled.

Slowly.

Comfortably.

Like the future had quietly arrived without asking permission.

"Tee."

"Hm?"

"I've got one more thing."

"What?"

"I don't think I ever said it properly."

His expression softened.

"You don't have to."

"I want to."

I took a slow breath.

"I like you."

He smiled.

"I know."

"I wasn't finished."

"I know."

"I really..."

The words came easier now.

"I really, really like you."

"I really, really like you too."

"Only really?"

He laughed.

"You want the full version?"

"I like complete information."

"I love you."

Everything stopped.

The room.

The air.

My heartbeat.

Everything except him.

His eyes never left mine.

"I know it hasn't been that long," he said quietly.

"And maybe that's reckless."

"Maybe."

"But every morning I woke up hoping you'd text me."

He squeezed my hand.

"Every lecture was better because you were in it."

Another squeeze.

"I've never met anyone who makes arguing feel like flirting."

I laughed through the tears gathering in my eyes.

"And I have never met anyone who made a spreadsheet about having a crush."

"That was confidential."

"I'll frame it."

"I deleted it."

"I'll recover it."

"You don't know how."

"I'll ask Tong."

"Traitor."

He smiled.

"So..."

"So."

"Can I kiss you now?"

I looked at him.

The boy who had stolen my seat.

Bought my coffee.

Walked me home.

Made university feel smaller in the best possible way.

The boy who had quietly become every routine I hadn't realised I loved.

"You've waited long enough."

He closed the distance.

The kiss wasn't dramatic.

There wasn't applause.

No music.

No fireworks.

Just warmth.

Gentle.

Careful.

Like we were both terrified of getting it wrong.

We didn't.

When we finally pulled apart, neither of us moved very far.

"You know," I murmured.

"What?"

"I thought this would feel different."

"Worse?"

"Scarier."

"And?"

I smiled.

"It feels..."

I looked at our joined hands.

"...like getting home."

Tee rested his forehead against mine.

"I was hoping you'd say that too."

Three weeks later.

Exam season.

Lecture Hall B.

Tong walked in carrying enough stationery to survive a small apocalypse.

He stopped halfway down the aisle.

Looked at me.

Then at Tee.

Then sighed dramatically.

"You know what annoys me?"

"What?" Tee asked.

"I spent two months listening to you two argue about Seat 12."

I looked towards the empty chair.

Still there.

Still perfectly good.

Still completely unimportant.

"So?" I asked.

Tong pointed.

"You aren't even sitting there."

He was right.

We were in Seat 13 and 14.

My laptop rested between us.

One coffee sat on the desk.

Two straws.

One pair of shared headphones.

Our shoulders touched without either of us noticing.

Tee looked at me.

"I thought Seat 12 had emotional significance."

"It did."

Tong folded his arms.

"So what changed?"

I looked at the empty chair.

Then at Tee.

His fingers found mine beneath the desk without either of us looking.

I smiled.

"Turns out..."

I squeezed his hand once.

"...it was never really about the chair."

The lecturer walked in.

Everyone settled.

Tee leaned towards me just before class started.

"Por?"

"Hm?"

"I'll race you to Seat 12 tomorrow."

I looked at him.

Pretended to think about it.

Then smiled.

"You can have it."

He blinked.

"Really?"

"As long as..."

I nodded towards the chair beside him.

"...you save me Seat 13."

He smiled the same way he had on the very first day he stole my seat.

Only now...

When he reached for my hand beneath the desk...

I didn't have to pretend I didn't want him to.

End.

Notes:

Thank you for reading. 🤍 This story started with a chair and somehow turned into one of my favourite things I’ve ever written. I hope Por and Tee found a little place in your heart the same way they found one in mine.

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the boy in seat 12

elleblakex

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