A/N: I'm ashamed of how excited I am to write this but hey there it is. Before you proceed, here's a list of all the AU names of everyone:

Ethan = Abel

Sacha = Cain (from social-construct's 'Appearances')

Aleks = Deimos (from elisetales' 'Prom Night')

James = Encke (from social-construct's 'After')

Simon = Keeler

Ivan = Praxis

OK I think that's all. Yaaaayyy college AU, here we go.

-EM

Trouble

Chapter One

Ethan blinked at the sound of a palm slapping against the hardwood of the desk right beside him. He tore his gaze away from the computer monitor where he had been cutting down an article—"1,000 words!" his editor had said. "What part of 1,000 words do you not understand?"—to look up at the man in question.

"Simon, relax," Ethan said, turning back to the computer. "I'm at 1,002; I'll have it done before it goes to press."

Simon squinted at the monitor, long fall of his braid resting against his chest. He raised two delicate fingers and adjusted his glasses by the outer corner of one lens, and shook his head. "It's not about that," he said. "I just got an email."

Ethan said, "Oh?" and that was all it took for Simon to launch into a long-winded explanation about the state of his inbox. Ethan caught something about funding and The Office of Minority Affairs before he began to focus his attention back in on his article. He had just found an 'it is' that he could easily change into 'it's' when Simon's hand hit the desk again.

"Ethan!"

Again, Ethan jumped and looked up. "Sorry, sorry, what?"

Sighing, Simon sank into the desk chair beside Ethan. The computer lab was almost completely empty, just a few other people working to get their articles finished on time. In the far corner, Ethan could just barely see the top of Georgia's head bent over the computer. She was always a seat-of-her-pants type of writer; Ethan doubted she had even started her article about the opening football game of the season before she came in today.

"I said," Simon emphasized, and Ethan focused in on him once more, "that I got an email from the office of the Dean. They say that the school is losing funding; donors don't think we're diverse enough." He paused to brush a minute speck of lint off the sleeve of his sweater before continuing. "Anyway, since we're such a well-known collegiate newspaper" —Simon drew himself up a bit at that— "the administration thinks that if we write an article about a promising minority student, donors might change their minds."

"All right," said Ethan, "so which student are you going to write about?"

Simon raised his eyebrows and blinked. Then he started to laugh, blond trail of his braid quivering as his shoulders shook. "Ethan; I'm not going to write the article, you are."

"W—what? Me?" he said. "But you're the editor-in-chief, and this article sounds really important, you should do it, I shouldn't—"

"Ethan," Simon soothed, laying a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "We both know you're an excellent writer who has written some very interesting articles in the past."

Ethan's eyes flicked to the computer screen where his article about the importance of composting was still waiting to be finished. Simon cleared his throat and drew Ethan's attention again.

"Besides, I'm far too busy, and you have all those connections through the financial aid office…and your father."

Ethan made to respond but Simon kept talking, fingers digging into Ethan's shoulder now.

"Think about what a good impression it would make," he was saying. "The Dean's son writing about the diversity of the student body?"

Ethan bit his lip. "Wouldn't that be a conflict of interest?"

"No," said Simon without missing a beat, eyes wide.

"Well," Ethan said, floundering, "I wouldn't even know who—who I would talk to." A face immediately appeared in his mind's eye, dark and brooding, someone who Ethan had signed into the financial aid office months ago, and Ethan had looked at the sign-in sheet just afterward, just so he could know his name.

"Oh, well no problem!" Simon said, taking a folded piece of paper out of his breast pocket and passing it to Ethan. "I took the liberty of compiling a list of eligible students from the colonies. Take your pick!"

Ethan unfolded the paper and scanned the list before he could help himself. There, just there—that was him. "Wait, but Simon—" When he looked up again, Simon was gone, out of the lab.

Ethan slumped back in his seat and caught the eye of Georgia, who had raised her head to peek up over the edge of her monitor. She winked, and then dropped her gaze back down, and a second later Ethan heard the clacking of the keyboard as she started typing again. Ethan hurriedly finished his composting article and sent it to Simon, then he was back to staring at the slip of paper in front of him.

He focused on that fourth name, scrawled in Simon's tiny handwriting, along with a brief description: Left the colonies two years ago, full-ride, neurobio major.

Ethan licked his lips and turned back to the computer, typing in the email address Simon had copied down for him. After that he paused, unsure how to proceed. He had to remind himself half a dozen times that it was only an email asking for an interview—he wasn't asking the guy out or anything—to get his fingers working properly.

Ethan took a breath and set his fingers to the keyboard, typing out the name that he had been thinking about for months now: Sacha.

#

"He hates me," Ethan groaned, slumping into the booth and taking the beer Simon pushed toward him.

Simon laughed, but when Ethan shot him a sharp look, he abruptly broke off, picking up his own drink.

"Who hates you?" James asked, arm slung around Simon's shoulders, fingers brushing against his collarbone.

"No one," said Simon, giving his boyfriend a wry look. Then to Ethan, he said, "Why don't you just email someone else off the list?"

Ethan just shook his head, waved a hand, and drank more beer.

"I'm lost," said James, frowning at Simon.

"It's nothing," said Ethan before Simon could respond. "I just—I have to interview this…guy from the colonies to show the diversity of the school. I've been trying to set up a meeting with him for two weeks but he keeps ignoring me."

"So talk to someone else," Simon stressed. "You need to finish this article as soon as possible."

"I know," Ethan sighed. "I just…." He trailed off, glancing around the bar. It was James' favorite spot, full of people from the colonies, hidden away on a side street at the edge of campus.

Ethan always felt so out of place here; too clean and put-together, too wealthy and contented. But James liked it and Simon and James were a package deal, and Ethan would be kidding himself if he said he had many other options in friends.

"You into him?" James asked, ice clinking as he took a sip of his scotch.

"What?" Ethan said, almost overturning his beer glass. "No, of course not, I don't even know him."

"Oh my God," said Simon, peering owlishly at Ethan.

"What?" Ethan said again, looking between the two of them. "What?"

"Who is it?" said James, thick lips turning up at the corners. "If he's from the colonies, maybe I know him."

"Yeah, what's his name?" said Simon, leaning forward, glasses glinting in the dull light.

Ethan drank more beer, felt it dribble down the front of his shirt but couldn't find the will to dab it away. "I—I'll just find someone else," he said.

Simon and James both laughed, but Ethan ignored them, drinking more beer and trying not to sulk.

"Why don't you meet him in person if he's ignoring your emails?" said Simon eventually, rolling his eyes.

"I…I don't know where to find him," Ethan mumbled.

"If you give me his name…." James said, but Ethan pretended he hadn't heard him, already thinking.

He sipped at his beer and thought about the little he knew about Sacha. He hadn't been into the financial aid office since the last time Ethan had seen him in there, and that was months ago. It was possible he'd be in again soon, but Ethan didn't want to take the chance. He knew that the office would also have Sacha's address on file, but Ethan wasn't allowed to look at those files without permission from his supervisor, and if he were caught, it would jeopardize his job.

"Ethan?"

Both Simon and James were looking at him expectantly. They were both folded into the corner of the booth, Simon leaning heavily against James, both of Simon's hands hidden beneath the table.

"I'm going to go," Ethan said, downing the rest of the beer and standing up.

"You just got here," Simon said with a noticeable lack of indignation.

Ethan sighed and slid out of the booth, quickly putting on his coat. "I'll see you later."

James nodded in his direction, but Simon appeared not to have heard him, too busy turning to skim his lips along the column of James' throat. Ethan wove his way through the crowd, ignoring the probing looks and raised eyebrows, and exited onto the dark street. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned toward his apartment.

The night was cool and cloudy. It was still early on a Friday night and most people were just now heading out to the bars. Ethan walked against the foot traffic up to his complex, letting himself in and checking his mailbox. He flipped through the papers as he shouldered open the door to his apartment, tossing a handful of ads into the trash and tossing his electric bill onto the kitchen table.

In the end, all that was left was a letter from the school. Ethan deposited his coat onto the armchair in the living room and began to unwind his scarf as he ripped open the letter.

He didn't get a chance to look at the note before he felt something rub up against his leg. He looked down at the striped, gray cat winding its way around his ankles, the long tail flicking back and forth.

"Hey, Wolfe," Ethan said, sinking down into the chair and letting the cat jump into his lap.

Wolfe meowed, bright eyes watching Ethan intently until he reached down and scratched him behind the ears. Ethan picked up the letter from the school again, which was announcing the opening of the new library next to the biology lab. Ethan frowned and turned the envelope over, saw that it was post-marked a few weeks ago.

"The bio lab," Ethan muttered, hand pausing on Wolfe's head. The cat had barely looked up before Ethan got to his feet and dislodged him. Wolfe hit the ground with a hiss and bolted to hide under the kitchen table, watching Ethan with yellow eyes.

Ethan walked to his bedroom and grabbed his computer. He looked up the new library on the school website, looked at pictures of the coffee shop, the individual study carols, and took note of the hours. He licked his lips, felt his heart pick up a little. When he climbed into bed, he was still thinking about it. At some point during the night he felt, rather than heard, Wolfe slink into the room and jump up onto the bed beside him.

#

Ethan made his way to the library the next day, swinging past the biology lab and walking slowly past it, glancing into the windows as he went. When a girl inside the building looked up and caught his eye, he blushed and hurried toward the library, keeping his eyes faced forward.

When Ethan entered the new library, he carefully scanned the small tables by the coffee shop, looking for a face he recognized. There was a smattering of people in here, sipping coffee and chatting or sitting alone with open books. Ethan singled out the dark-haired people, made sure none of them were Sacha, and then headed up a floor.

He found himself in a room full of small round tables and dead silence. He did a quick circle of the room, and then exited out the opposite side into a large, arcing chamber. A dozen long tables stood in rows almost as if they were in a chapel. Books lined the walls on each side and large windows flooded the whole room with light.

There were only a handful of people in here, and almost at once Ethan saw who he was looking for. Sacha had taken over almost half of one entire table, pens and papers strewn everywhere, a battered old laptop that looked to be held together almost completely by duct tape perched precariously on a couple of open books.

Ethan sucked in a breath and headed toward him, startling and hurrying to the other side of the room when Sacha slammed a book closed and pulled a pile of papers toward him, scribbling down a few notes. Ethan edged toward him, keeping one eye on the bookshelf and another on Sacha, who didn't seem to notice anything except the papers in front of him.

Just when Ethan had decided he needed to stop lurking and go talk to him, Sacha sighed and grabbed his computer, hauling it toward him. His fingers moved across the keys loudly, drawing a few looks from the other people in the room. Ethan glanced back at him just in time to watch him stop typing to flip off a guy who had turned to give him a dirty look. The other guy curled his lip and turned away again.

Ethan waited until Sacha went back to typing. Then he licked his lips, adjusted his shoulder bag, and walked up to him. For a few long seconds, Sacha didn't even notice his presence. Ethan glanced around and then cleared his throat.

Sacha still didn't look up. He continued to focus on his computer, tapping out what seemed to be a poorly-written term paper.

"Um," Ethan said, glancing around again. "It's—it's actually effects, not affects."

The typing stopped. Sacha looked up as though he had only just noticed Ethan was there. "What?"

"It's—it's effects. With an 'e.'" said Ethan, gesturing toward the computer screen.

"What?"

Ethan sat down in the chair next to Sacha, ignoring his scowl, and leaned closer to the computer. "You're talking about the effects of synaptic connections on behavioral output—effects in this case is a noun, so it's spelled with an—"

"Who the fuck are you?" Sacha said, voice frighteningly loud in the silent room.

"Oh, um, I'm Ethan," he said, holding out his hand. "I write articles for the paper."

Sacha looked down at the proffered hand and very pointedly did not shake it, just turned back to his computer. "Well, Ethan, you can fuck off. I'm busy."

Ethan wasn't sure how Sacha had managed to turn his name into something that sounded like a curse, but he didn't dwell on it for long. "I'm here to talk to you," he said.

Sacha didn't appear to hear him. Ethan watched over his shoulder as he continued pounding away at the paper. Ethan tamped down the urge to point out a few more grammatical errors, but instead just plowed forward. "For the school paper," he clarified. "I was wondering if I could interview you."

When Sacha continued to ignore him, Ethan took a breath and cast around for another topic. "So, um, you have a paper due soon?"

He watched Sacha square his jaw, gaze still averted. "For a friend," he said.

"Oh. That's—that's nice of you."

Sacha snorted, one side of his mouth twitching up. He barely glanced in Ethan's direction as he said, "It's a transaction. He gets a paper, I get a month's rent."

Ethan's stomach dropped. He could only assume that Simon hadn't known about this particular side to Sacha when he had deemed him 'eligible.' "Right," he said, gripping the strap of his bag tightly with both hands. "So, um, about the interview—"

"Not gonna happen," Sacha said. He stopped typing to flip through a book to his left, then continued again. "So why don't you get lost, I don't have time for this shit."

"Right," Ethan said again. He could see now that Sacha definitely wasn't the type of candidate Simon had in mind. "Well…thanks anyway." He stood. Sacha had gone back to pretending he didn't exist.

Ethan made it as far as the door before he glanced back. Sacha was still typing, dark hair messy and tangled. His leg was bouncing up and down beneath the table, lips just barely moving as he read through what he had written.

Ethan knew before he had backtracked to return to Sacha's side that he would regret it, yet he couldn't stop himself.

"I'll go to the Dean."

Sacha immediately stopped what he was doing to look up at Ethan, dark eyes wide. Ethan felt a small surge of triumph that he had finally gotten his attention.

"Like fuck you will," Sacha said.

"You're helping someone plagiarize, and I'm a journalist. I take that very seriously."

He wasn't expecting it when Sacha suddenly stood, chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. Ethan could feel everyone in the room watching them.

"You won't go to the Dean," Sacha said.

"Not if you let me interview you."

For a protracted moment, Ethan was almost certain Sacha was going to hit him. He could feel himself tensing, ready to duck or take it, whichever he had time for. So when Sacha's hand suddenly flew up, Ethan cringed, badly, but Sacha didn't hit him.

Ethan looked down at large, rough hand that Sacha had extended toward him, and tentatively shook it.

"Deal," Sacha muttered, squeezing Ethan's hand as though he were trying to break his fingers.

Ethan kept a straight face, allowed Sacha to hang on for a few more seconds before Ethan tugged his hand out of his grip. Sacha smirked and sank back down into his seat.

"Can I have your number?" Ethan asked.

Sacha looked up at him as though Ethan had lost his mind. "No."

"For the interview," said Ethan. "Since you won't return my emails."

Sacha clenched his teeth again in a way that told Ethan that he had definitely gotten his emails. He tore the corner off a nearby piece of paper and scrawled a number for Ethan to inspect.

"Thanks," Ethan said, suddenly feeling shy again. "I'll—um, I'll call you."

"Fuck off," Sacha said again, and Ethan left.

He headed toward the exit again, pausing just inside the entrance to quickly get out his cell and call the number the number Sacha had given him. He held the phone up to his ear and listened to it ring. He glanced over his shoulder and watched as Sacha suddenly paused what he was doing and dug around in his pants, pulling out a scruffy cell phone. Ethan quickly disconnected the call and left the library, feeling equal parts giddy and terrified.