A/N: So, this is a new chapter partially based on The Prince and Me. I really wanted to start a new Olicity story and this idea kept bothering me. And I wrote this up! Let me know if you would like to see more!

Side note - I took some liberties with backstory, character interests, etc. This is an AU so it veers from the canon universe, so just remember that!

Chapter One

Oliver stepped out of the town car, reaching up and adjusting his Ray Ban sunglasses. The campus was bustling with activity: students lugging boxes to their dorms, parents anxiously sending their first-borns off to the harrowing unsupervised life, upperclassmen watching this all lazily from the quad. What was most invigorating to Oliver, however, was the complete lack of attention anyone was paying him.

He'd spent most of his life with people looking at him. It was part of the daily run of things when your family employed most of your town. Starling City was known for few things, but among that slight list was Queen Consolidated. They'd made a name for themselves, and with that a name for the family. Save, that name didn't hold much weight outside city limits, and Cambridge, Massachusetts was just far enough that no one batted a lash. Of course, he'd enrolled with his mother's maiden name to be safe.

He hadn't told his parents that, just like he hadn't actually told them he was going to MIT until a week before he was due to leave. Like most things that his parents wouldn't approve of, it was best to wait until the absolute last moment. Before MIT, the plan – at least according to Moira and Robert Queen – had been for him to attend Starling City University while simultaneously taking some responsibility at Queen Consolidated.

"You will be taking the company over when I retire," his father had reminded him any time the opportunity arose. For Robert Queen, that appeared to happen every other day.

Oliver had nodded along, all the while applying to MIT and a few other select schools, hoping that he'd get his ticket out of Starling City. He ended up with options – MIT along with two other schools offering him acceptance – but there was no real choice to make. MIT was perfect. It was far enough away that he'd get out from under his parent's thumb, and it had a decent architecture program, Oliver's true passion.

So, he'd sent a letter of intent to MIT and then broke the news to his parents. They hadn't taken it well, but he held his ground, spinning some tale of how he'd work at Queen Consolidated on breaks and would assume his rightful role in the family dynasty when he completed his four years. He had no intention of following through with this, but it was enough to silence his parents. They could sense his promise was not genuine, but if their son had taken anything from them it was his stubbornness. He had made up his mind, and they decided that a four year detour was something they could manage. It was four years, after all, to convince him to change his mind.

The town car had been their idea, although Oliver was wholly against it. The whole point of going to MIT was to blend in, and arriving in a town car didn't exactly do that.

"I can take it from here," Oliver told the driver, pulling his two massive suitcases behind him, laptop bag hanging precariously from his shoulder. It was going to be a bitch to get to Krannert Hall – the map he'd looked at on the way there said it was a good two blocks away – but he'd manage.

"Are you sure, sir? You have a lot to carry there."

"I'm fine," Oliver said. "Thank you for your help."

The man nodded and then rolled up the window, pulling away from the curb. The campus was like a maze at this point in the semester, all the people around serving to impede foot traffic as much as the standing buildings. He wove his way through the crowds, running over a few toes with his rolling luggage. Finally he arrived at Krannert Hall to promptly be told the elevators were out of service.

"It really sucks," one of the resident assistants said. "Especially with all you guys moving in. You can take the stairs, if you want. The guy should be here soon, though."

Not having much faith in 'the guy' making a speedy appearance, Oliver headed for the stairs and made the laborious five flight trip up to his floor. It would have been a cinch if it was just him, but the heavy luggage made it more difficult. He was sweating and panting by the time he made it up to the fifth floor, sweat dripping down his temples and the back of his shirt damp.

His room was 513, and he was relieved to find it was just to the north of the stairwell. The door was slightly ajar and he nudged it open with his foot, walking in. He noticed the framed comic books lining the wall first, and then the petite blonde stretched out on one of the beds. She was laying on her stomach, flipping through some magazine propped on the pillow. She glanced back at him and smiled.

"Hi."

"Hi," he said, wiping at his brow. "I think I have the wrong room. Or you do."

"Well, what room are you supposed to be in?"

"I thought it was 513," he said, putting his laptop bag down on the bed. He reached in and pulled out the welcome packet. "Yeah, it says 513."

"Then you're in the right room," she returned with a grin.

He glanced down at the paper again, and then back up at her. "I'm guessing you're not Roger Silverman?"

"Astute observations skills there, Watson," she quipped. "No, I'm not Roger. He's out tracking down your R.A. He had some wall art questions. Namely, if he's going to be charged for the nail he just drove into the wall."

Oliver laughed. "I think it said in the packet that you can't use nails."

"That's what I told him but he wouldn't listen. Typical male. Anyway, I'm Felicity."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Oliver."

"You look like an Oliver," she noted, tilting her head to the side.

"I do?" he asked with a slight grin, wondering exactly what that meant.

"Yes. I mean, not that it means anything. I don't know any Olivers. But I'd imagine they're good looking. Which makes sense because you're good looking." He smirked at that and her eyes widened slightly. "I'm not hitting on you. I swear. You're just…you're good looking. Empirically, so. Your face is all symmetrical and…wow…I just keep going on about it, don't I? I'm going to stop talking now."

Oliver let the silence between them stand for a moment and then said, "Well, thank you for that."

She swallowed hard and nodded. "You're welcome."

The door opened behind him and he could hear Felicity mumble, "Thank God."

"You must be Oliver Dearden," a boy who looked to be about his age, if not a bit younger, said. He had a stocky build and curly black hair. He was wearing loose jeans and graphic tshirt that said 'More Cowbell'. He recognized the phrase from an old Will Ferrel SNL skit.

"Nice shirt," Oliver said appreciatively.

"You get it?" he said with a grin. "I can't tell you how many people today haven't gotten it."

"That's a great skit."

"The greatest," Roger agreed. He held out his hand. "I'm Roger. Which you probably guessed."

Oliver laughed. "Yeah. It's nice to meet you."

"So, what's the verdict?" Felicity asked from Roger's bed.

"No nails," Roger said. "We'll have to get some of those sticky tab things from Target."

Felicity scrunched her nose. "I hate the sticky tab things."

"What about the holes you already put into the wall?" Oliver asked. He didn't know why he was interested, but this whole wall art debacle seemed to be a hot topic in the room.

"We'll get some white paint and just go over them," he said dismissively. "They'll never know the difference."

"Couldn't you just do that at the end of the year?" Oliver suggested. "You know, use nails now. Fix it later. It's not like they're going to be removing your comics and checking for nails."

Roger nodded slowly. "I like how you think, Oliver. You're a renegade."

Oliver shrugged. "I try."

"Crap, I'm late for my floor orientation," Felicity said, jumping off the bed. "Don't leave for dinner without me, okay?"

"I won't," Roger said. "Meet you on your floor at six?"

"I'll be there." She rushed out of the room, but then came back to the doorway and quickly said, "It was nice meeting you, Oliver."

"You too, Felicity."

Oliver watched her disappear from the doorway and said, "She's different."

Roger was looking at the wall beside his bed, a framed comic in each hand, and said, "Felicity? Yeah, she's pretty great."

He thought of her spread out on the bed before and asked, "Are you two dating?"

Roger laughed. "No. We did when we were about six, but things went south pretty quickly when I stole her ring pop."

"That is a pretty grave offense. So, you two grew up together?"

"Yeah. What do you think should go here: Batman and Robin or The Green Arrow? I can't choose."

Oliver watched Roger hold both up against the wall, then said, "I'd go with The Green Arrow."

Roger tried them both again and then nodded. "Yeah, I think you're right."

BBBBB

When Roger and Oliver arrived on Felicity's floor to go to dinner she was already waiting for them. Oliver noticed she'd changed out of the sweatpants and hoodie she'd been wearing earlier. In its place was a khaki skirt and cream cardigan with orange detailing at the collar. She had on chocolate brown leather boots that went up to just below her knees.

Roger noticed her change, too, and said, "Are you cruising the dining hall or something?"

She self-consciously tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't," Roger said with a grin, shaking his head.

"It's nice to see you again, Oliver," she said, flashing him a congenial smile as they stepped into the elevator. "Roger hasn't forced his comic books on you yet, has he?"

"No, not yet."

"I told him to wait at least a week. But he usually doesn't have that much restraint."

"You make me sound crazy," Roger said unhappily. "I just like sharing my passions with others."

Felicity snorted, walking out of the elevator after the doors slid open. The dining hall was just down the hallway, and already a line snaked around the room, co-eds anxiously waiting to swipe their card and eat. They got in line and Felicity and Roger continued their banter, Oliver listening and nodding when appropriate. He sort of liked hearing them argue. It reminded him of how he was with his sister Thea.

It was when they edged forward that he began to feel the looks. Disappointment spread in his chest. It had only been a few hours and already he'd been discovered. He glanced around furtively and caught the onlookers. It was a group of girls and they looked away quickly when they saw they were caught. A few of them giggled, and he heard one say, "Remind me to chat up zip-up boy later."

He glanced down at his zip-up sweater. Huh. Maybe he'd read that scene wrong.

The rest of the waiting was uneventful, and before Oliver knew it he was facing an absolute cornucopia of food. He'd grown up with basically anything he could have wanted, but it had never all been in one place. Here, there was every dinner item imaginable at his fingertips. He grabbed a bit of everything, crowding his plate to the point of disarray.

Felicity was already seated at a back table with a tray that showed much more restraint than his. It only held a plate of pasta and small brownie with rainbow sprinkles. Her eyes widened when she took in his tray.

"Wow. So, you took the all-you-can-eat pretty seriously."

"I might have gone a bit overboard."

"No such thing, man," Roger said, settling next to him with a tray just as loaded – if not more – than Oliver's. He also had a bowl filled high with ice cream.

"That's so going to melt by the time you eat it," Felicity pointed out.

Roger held up his spoon. "Not if I eat it first."

Felicity laughed, and then turned her attention to Oliver. "So, Oliver, tell me about yourself."

He was mid-chew, and grateful for it, as he hadn't exactly pinned down his backstory yet.

"I'm from Starling City," he said. "My family runs a small business there."

"What type of business?" she asked, taking a dainty bite of her pasta.

"Oh, you know, just the normal type."

"What's the name? Maybe I've heard of it."

Having no idea what to call his family's fake business – as opposed to their real one – he glanced around frantically and his eyes fell on someone's water bottle, a large sticker for the Riviera Boating Company wrapped around it.

"Riviera Investments," he said. Thinking that she might look into it, he quickly added, "It's a new startup. They're just in the beginning stages of it, actually, but they're really happy. What about you?"

"She has a good backstory," Roger chimed in. "It's the stuff Lifetime movies are made of."

Felicity rolled her eyes. "It's not that good. I'm from Las Vegas originally. My mom waitressed at casinos when I was growing up. I had a lot of neighbors watching over me, because her hours were pretty all over the place. They made sure I had dinner and did my homework. Anyway, my mom worked on getting her GED over the course of a few years – it was hard with her working so much – but she did eventually get it. She booked a standard 9-5 waitressing job at a local restaurant, and then worked her way up to manager."

"That's amazing," Oliver said.

"I owe everything to her," Felicity said, pushing the last few bites of pasta around her plate. "She worked her butt off so I could be here."

"What about your dad?"

"He's not in the picture," she said crisply, eyes trained on her tray. "He left when I was two. I haven't heard from him since."

Oliver felt that maybe he shouldn't have asked about her dad, but she seemed fine enough with it afterwards. She picked up her brownie and took a bite.

"How is that?" Roger asked her. "I was thinking of going and getting one."

"It's not too bad," she said after she swallowed.

He planted his hands down on the table and stood. "Alright, I'm getting one. You want one, Oliver?"

"I'm good, thanks."

Felicity watched Roger walk off toward the desserts and murmured, "He is going to be so sick tonight."

BBBBB

The night ended without much fanfare. Dinner turned into a long affair as Roger went back to try just about everything in the dining hall. Oliver couldn't finish half of his tray, and watched in wonder as Roger packed away an arguably impossible amount of food. It did prove to be too much, though, as Roger trailed after Felicity and Oliver to the elevators, hand resting on his stomach.

"Is death by dining hall a thing?" he said, catching up with them at the elevator bank. "Because I think I'm experiencing it."

"Drink some ginger ale when you get back to your room. I stocked some in the back of the mini fridge," she told him.

"It was an impressive showing," Oliver said, by way of condolence. "Many lesser men would have stopped at that second bowl of ice cream."

Roger winced. "Please don't say ice cream."

One of the elevators opened and they stepped in, Oliver pressing both his and Felicity's floor. His and Roger's stop was first, and the doors slid open after a few moments. Roger headed right out, going in the direction of their room. Oliver went to follow when Felicity grabbed his arm. He turned back toward her, his leg blocking the elevator door from closing.

"What I told you at dinner, can we just keep that between ourselves?" she asked.

"About your family?"

She nodded. "I told you because you're Roger's roommate. I just…I don't want be known as the charity case, you know? I want to be known for, well, me. Not where I came from."

He understood that more than she could even know.

"I won't tell anyone."

She smiled slightly, ducking her chin into her chest. "Thanks. Well, um, you better get back to Roger. He has a stash of Twizzlers behind the books on his desk. Don't let him get into them unless you want to smell vomit all night."

Oliver winced. "I better go check on that. Goodnight, Felicity."

He stepped back and as the doors closed she said, "Goodnight, Oliver."

A/N: So..thoughts? Should I continue?