At first, when they were young MIT undergrads, they gave each other space. Opposite ends of the hologram displays. Opposite sides of the lab table. Separate stacks of books in the library. Lunch trays a polite distance apart. Distance.
It was embarrassing, that first meeting in the hallway outside of their advisor's office. Apparently someone in Admissions thought it would be easier, more appropriate, if they shoved the two sixteen-year-old wunderkinds together in the same classes. All of the same classes. General Studies, Molecular Biology, British Literature, Analytical Chemistry. Eighteen credits, two audits. Same advisor. Different dorm rooms, thankfully. Leo Fitz was absolutely certain that no one could ever force him to share close quarters with a girl. Especially a girl like Jemma Simmons.
He had been waiting to meet about class schedules and credit hours, and so was the girl sitting next to him. College furniture was stiff and uncomfortable and brought him into too close of proximity with her. At first he thought that the best option was to avoid eye contact, but his backpack had fallen against her leg three times in the past three minutes, and she kept righting it for him. He thought it was only polite to commence an introduction.
Later, years later, he would tell her that she seemed so put-together, so at ease with herself. At the moment, though, he couldn't even bring himself to look her in the eye. He just stuck out his hand and said,
"Fitz. Leo Fitz. Most call me Fitz. Engineering."
He couldn't even put complete sentences together, but she didn't notice. Or at least she pretended not to. Her hand slid effortlessly into his, though he did notice that she was twirling a strand of hair clockwise with her left hand. Maybe she wasn't as at ease as he assumed.
"I'm Jemma Simmons, and I'm still trying to decide on a program." Her accent caught him, forcing him to look up to see a smiling face and brown eyes. "You're from Scotland?"
"And you're from London." It was a statement of fact, not a question. "You're also in all of my classes." He tried to temper his voice, not letting the irritation show, but failed miserably. Her smile faded a bit, but she tried to slide past his tone.
"I think you're in all of my classes. I was rather hoping to escape notice, but being-"
"-sixteen and a freshmen doesn't quite make you invisible." He broke in, causing her to blush.
"I-" she stammered, her eyes almost chastising him. "I thought you-"
Now he was blushing. Being told off by a girl in the first week at uni. Wouldn't his mother be proud. He was about to apologize and try to explain something about how the combination of culture shock and jet lag, in addition to horrendous cafeteria food and a less-than-adequate civil engineering section in the library, could lead to uncharacteristically emotional and short-tempered outbursts when the door to the office opened and someone called his name.
He stood, grabbed his bag, and didn't say goodbye.
They didn't make eye contact for months.