Chapter Text
His last year. Fucking finally. He was so close to finishing his PhD, his life’s work, something that had taken his sweat, his tears, his heart. The graduate student housing office at Caltech smelled of stale floor wax, damp wool, and desperation. Grace clutched his housing assignment paper like a shield, his knuckles white against the cardstock. Molecular Biology PhD, year four. He had survived exams that pushed him to tears, disastrous labs that set him weeks behind on his assignments, and a rather unhealthy diet consisting primarily of instant ramen and Redbull. So, he could practically handle anything at this point. Even a random roommate.
The administrative assistant behind the desk had looked at him with the vacant, hollow eyes of someone who had processed three hundred housing appeals that morning alone, stamping his form with a dull thunk that echoed like a small gunshot in the cramped office. Grace hadn't cared about the tired indifference. He was just glad to have a roof over his head that wasn't currently leaking ceiling water onto his microscope slides and bed.
He was supposed to be rooming with his best friend Rocky, as he had during his other years. But Rocky had met his current partner, Adrian, last year in a class and had fallen head over heels for them. They invited Rocky to room with them this year, and considering that the majority of his classes were near Adrian's place, he said yes.
Grace wasn’t hurt. He understood that Adrian was closer, and that it would make way more sense for Rocky to move in there. He just felt a little lonely now, without his best friend. But, this year was going to be his year. The year he would finally prove them wrong. He was going to defend his dissertation and become an honest-to-god doctor. That thought pulled a smile out of him, a genuine, wide thing that crinkled the corners of his eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
He looked down at the number of his unit, written on the top of the housing assignment. Unit 408. Right beside it was his roommate's name: Simon Butcher. He was curious. After all, Grace was NOT good at making friends. He was shy and fumbled his words. Most people thought he was a little weird, and politely shook him off. The only reason he met Rocky was that he had gotten drunk enough during introduction week in his first year to sing karaoke to Katy Perry’s California Girls. Rocky, who had also been drunk, joined him up there and shared the mic with Grace, singing along with him as they both got shitfaced. The next morning, he woke up on the floor, and Rocky was on the bed. Their friendship was still going strong, 4 years later.
Man, good times. Those nights felt like a different lifetime, back when they still had illusions about getting eight hours of sleep and publishing in journals before graduation.
He picked up his suitcase and made his way up the stairs. Thank god he had kind of worked out this summer, otherwise, his arms would be cooked by the time he hit the third floor. Huffing, he finally made it up the last flight of stairs, reaching the landing. His wire-frame glasses hung haphazardly from one ear, catching the sun as he made his way down the hall. He didn’t have much, just a backpack and a suitcase. He had come a few weeks earlier from Rocky’s parents' place to set up his side of the room, but quickly left without seeing anybody, not even Simon. He just had his school stuff and his clothes with him, leaving him with little work to do today.
Reaching the door, he fumbled with his key before sliding it into the lock. It jammed for a second, as always with dorm rooms, before clicking open with a heavy, satisfying thud. Maybe he and Simon could be friends. He’d like that. It would be nice to have someone to share late-night pizza with while they both complained about their respective supervisors and research.
The living room hit him first: the sharp, aggressive smell of machine oil mixed with pine and musk filled his nose as he entered the room. Adjusting his glasses, he blinked at the light-filled room before turning his head to the kitchen. Ack! Holy shit!
He hadn’t even noticed him. Standing by the kitchenette, unpacking a sturdy-looking duffle bag with silent efficiency, was a guy who looked like he had been dragged through the woods and then cleaned up in a locker room shower, forced to live on black coffee and spite.
He was tall, with broad shoulders and dark, long hair tied up in a ponytail. He was wearing a dark green thermal, with the right sleeve cleanly pinned and tucked into the shoulder seam. Silky hair fell over sharp, vigilant eyes that snapped up when he heard Grace enter the kitchen, tracking his movement with the predatory precision of a hawk.
“You’re in the wrong room,” the guy said. His voice was gravelly, low and rumbling as he stared at Grace with zero warmth.
Grace blinked, caught off guard. He quickly grabbed his paper, double-checking. God, that would be so embarrassing! What if he walked into the wrong apartment entirely and was about to get arrested for home invasion? “Unit 408, Ryland Grace. Are you Simon?”
The man grunted his response, which was probably a yes. He offered no last name, zero elaboration, and zero welcome. Grace didn’t even know what he was studying—for all he knew, Simon was building a particle accelerator in the spare bedroom or just plotting how to murder the next person who breathed too loudly near him.
Deciding to make himself at home despite the obvious hostility radiating off the man like heat waves off pavement, Grace dropped his backpack by the lumpy sofa, wincing as the zipper caught on a loose thread. He really hoped that this would all be a phase and they would end up friends in the end. Actually, scratch that. They didn’t even have to be friends, just as long as they were friendly, he could live with that. Coexistence was the name of the game.
Before he could stop himself, his traitorous mouth opened and he pulled out his game show host voice. “Well. It looks like we’re either going to be friendly or mutually miserable. Place your bets.”
Simon just glared at him, face unmoving. He didn’t even twitch a muscle, his expression as impassive as a block of granite. He just picked up his empty duffel, walked past Grace without brushing a single millimetre of fabric against him, and locked himself in the bedroom on the left with a definitive, heavy click.
Dammit.
He had a very bad habit of making bad jokes whenever he got nervous. Most people found it charming, or at least mildly endearing, but Simon seemed to think less of him because of that. He sighed to himself before dragging his stuff through the bedroom on the right, his bedroom. At least they had been lucky enough to get one of the larger residences, featuring an actual window that looked out over the campus quad instead of a brick wall. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his familiar bedspread and science posters on the wall.
He started to unpack his suitcase, nerdy science pun shirts stuffed into the closet alongside a few pairs of jeans, cargo pants, cushy hoodies, and his favourite wool cardigan. His bright yellow raincoat was hung up on the back of his door, while he placed his few small personal items around the room. His books went above his dresser, along with a glass model of a cell that Rocky’s parents had gotten him for his birthday. The bedside table got a few notebooks, pens, and a first-aid kit that he would definitely be thankful for later when he inevitably sliced his finger open on a kitchen knife. Finally, he took out two framed pictures.
One was him, Rocky, and Rocky’s parents in front of their house. Grace smiled fondly at the memory. He had no one to stay with for Christmas, and Rocky, bless his soul, kindly invited him to join his family. Grace had been afraid that it was going to be awkward, but they simply welcomed him with open arms, treating him like one of their own from the second he stepped through the snow-dusted front door. He had helped cook, clean, and exchange presents. It was the first time in years he had felt welcomed like that, like family.
The second picture dimmed his spirit a little. It was Grace at the statewide science fair, proudly holding up a second-place ribbon. His parents beamed beside him, each with an arm on his shoulder. He thought he was sixteen in this, back when his hair actually behaved and he still believed the world made actual sense. He longingly stared at his parents, wishing they could see him now. He was almost a doctor. Sure, maybe not one regarding medicine, but a doctor nonetheless. They would have been proud. He could still remember what his mom used to say, her voice echoing gently in his memory: You’re going to do big things someday, Ryland. Remember that.
He let out a weary sigh, putting both pictures on his dresser. He hung his empty backpack on a hook and his suitcase in the closet. He was deciding whether to face Simon again or take a nap, when his phone buzzed with a message from Rocky.
Rocky: How’s the new roommate?
Grace: Not very friendly, I walked in, and he looked like he wanted to kill me
Rocky: Yikes.
Grace: Yeah, anyways. I hope you’re having fun with Adrian!
Rocky: Is it weird to want to put a ring on their finger already?
Grace: You are so in love with them.
Rocky: Hey! That’s a secret!
Grace: Nope, it's written all over your face. I can practically see you
smiling in that dopey ass way.
Rocky: Fine…maybe. Okay, I have to go, but I just wanted to check in! Have fun with Frosty over there and I’ll talk to you soon
Grace: k, love you bro
Rocky: love you too, Grace
Grace sighed before putting away his phone, tossing it onto the mattress. Should he ask Simon if he wanted to get food? No, that felt like a death sentence. He’d deal with him another time, preferably after buying a suit of medieval armor. Grace looked at his watch and his eyes widened. It was almost five. Well, he might as well grab something to eat, maybe even treat himself a little to celebrate surviving the move-in process.
Grabbing his cardigan and wallet, he carefully opened his door and turned into the kitchen, when
oof.
He collided with a warm, muscular object as he turned the corner, the sudden impact rattling his teeth. A hand shot out to steady him, an iron grip wrapping around his arm to make sure he didn’t lose his balance and crash into the kitchen counter. But just as soon as he touched him, Simon let go, snatching his hand back as if Grace's skin were burning hot. Grace felt his eyes widening as he took in the man in front of him from this new angle, noting the sheer size of him up close. He noticed the scars creeping up his neck and onto his jawline, stark against pale skin. His teeth were oddly sharp, like canines. His dark eyelashes fluttered as they stayed frozen like that for a minute, neither of them moving in the narrow corridor.
Simon was a conventionally good-looking man, and Grace really noticed that now, despite the perpetual thunderstorm clouding his features. No. He couldn’t have thoughts like that. Not when they still had to get through the entire school year sharing a bathroom.
Brushing himself off with trembling fingers, he looked up at Simon.
“Thanks, sorry for running into you.”
Simon let out a heavy sigh, a sound of profound annoyance, before saying, “Watch it next time, four eyes.”
Before Grace could even defend himself, Simon stepped out of the hallway and into his bedroom, shutting his door with a final, echoing click. Grace let out a frustrated sigh, glaring at the closed door. He was used to being called names, being the weird outcast who never quite fit the mold. He just hoped he could learn to stand up for himself before the year was out, otherwise, he was going to spend the next ten months getting walked all over by a guy who smelled like engine exhaust and looked like a gothic lumberjack.
He opened the door and stepped out into the building hall, staring at the gleaming brass numbers on the wall. 408. He rubbed the jagged, warped skin on his left arm through his sleeve— a nervous habit as old as the fire that caused them, a physical reminder of things burning down around him. This, he thought, is going to be a very, very long year.