When they open the door to the empty, dull dorm room that's to be his home for the next academic year, the first thing Farkle notices is the way his mother's nose crinkles. It's the same expression she makes when wait staff apologizes for a delay in their food, or when his father authorizes a purchase for their family that is anything less than the best.

For what it's worth, he feels as though he's too familiar with that nose crinkle.

"Well," she says with an exhale, forcing a smile and tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. "It's certainly… quaint."

She's not technically incorrect. Farkle is intrigued as to how they managed to fit two beds, desks, and wardrobes into the admittedly cramped space. The walls are painted crisp white concealing the brick underneath, making it look more like a psychiatric ward than the bedroom of a couple of adolescents. He's always appreciated minimalist design, preferred it really, but this is taking it a stretch too far.

"Just needs some modifications," he says observantly, braving the first steps into the room and dropping his suitcases by the bed on the left side of the room. It's away from the window and closer to the door, guaranteeing a better chance of survival over his unlucky roommate if a fire consumes their room and only one of them can make it to the exit.

Once he's broken the barrier by crossing the threshold, his mother feels comfortable enough to follow suit and recomposes her usual confident persona. It's a trait he adopted from both his parents, the notion that regardless of what you're feeling on the inside it's how sure you appear on the outside that makes the sale. He doesn't even think much about it anymore—his exterior impression feels more like autopilot than an actual decision at this point in his life.

Farkle drops his backpack on the bare mattress and opens the front pocket, delicately pulling out a small bundle of bubble wrap. Unsealing it, he pulls the small model of the solar system from the packaging and places it on the desk. He takes a couple of moments to carefully adjust it, allowing the mobile to spin slightly and send the miniature planets into sluggish orbit.

While he left his planetarium ceiling behind at home, he promised himself that this would be the first object that got settled in whatever new place he ended up. No matter where he goes, the solar system stays with him and keeps him grounded. As long as it's there, he decides he'll always be at home.

"Farkle, come help with this suitcase," his mother nags, pulling him out of his thoughts. He straightens up and wanders over to help her begin unloading his haul from back home, jam-packed into four suitcases and hauled across the country with them.

"Where the hell is—?"

"Your father?" Jennifer huffs as she removes the bedding from its packaging, beginning to spread it out on the mattress. "He got a call just as we were checking in. He assured me he'd join us as soon as he could excuse himself."

Farkle tries not to let bitterness cloud his mind. Not on the last day he's going to see his parents for at least a few months. "Of course."

Minutes tick by as they take inventory of what feels like all his belongings, displaced from one coast to the other. His mother begins suggesting where things should go in her normal assertive nature—that is to say, less suggestions and more commands—and Farkle cooperates obediently. He doesn't have much of an eye for interior design, and he has more important things to stress about other than the best way for him to organize his pullovers.

"Oh, this is going to need scissors. I didn't even think—," Jennifer starts, swirling around to scan the room before raising her eyebrows at him. "You'll need school supplies. Don't let me forget to add that to the to-do list."

"Noted."

"Could you go explore down the hall and see if anyone else happens to have a pair? Amount of students and parents here for the same purpose, you'd think at least one person would have scissors."

Farkle feels hesitation freeze his muscles, keeping him from doing as instructed. As far as social interaction, he was hoping to avoid that bit for as long as conceivably possible. "Couldn't you?"

"Well, who else is going to make the bed in the mean time? Certainly not you." The statement is a tease, nothing malicious, but he catches the slight edge of frustration in her tone. He isn't sure whether its stemming from her assumption that he doesn't know how to make his own bed—he does, thank you very much—or his typical discomfort with social situations.

Farkle sighs, rolling his eyes and heading towards the door.

"The eye roll is not necessary, dear."

"Yes, it is," Farkle argues, stepping out into the hall and leaving her behind.

Emerging from his room, he stuffs his hands in pockets and tries to remain inconspicuous as he peers into the open doors along their wing of the building. For every door that's closed, two door decorations indicate the names of the boys that'll be arriving with their families soon enough throughout the day. As he passes Charlie and Jeffrey, he wonders to himself just how many college-aged males actually exist on the face of the Earth every day.

Glancing into the room across the hall where the door is open, he spots another family settling into unpacking an entire life into the tiny living space. This one is at least complete, both a mother and a father helping a rather short, dark-haired boy arrange his clothes into folded piles. A younger sister distracts herself with a gaming device, crouched on the bare mattress. A quick look to the door informs him that this new hall mate is either Wyatt or Nick, and when he returns his gaze to them he's spooked to see them looking back at him.

Making awkward eye contact, the other student offers him a friendly smile and a wave. Farkle forgets to ask about the scissors, making a beeline for the other end of the hall without so much as a nod in return.

He's reached the elevators and is beginning to speculate how he's going to explain to his expectant mother that he couldn't find one living soul to offer him a cutting utensil when it's evidently not true with the slightest bit of investigation. As he's debating getting into the elevator and hitting all the buttons just to buy him some time a voice pipes up behind him, terrifying cheerful.

"Hey there! You looking for something?"

Farkle whips around to find another student approaching him, a tall African-American boy with round brown eyes and an easy smile on his face. The nametag gleaming on his chest helps Farkle put the pieces together rather quickly.

"Oh, you're the RA."

"Sure am. Name's Andrew." He offers him a hand, which Farkle shakes pleasantly. Knowing the guy is a required ally and not a threat, it's easy to put on the usual Minkus confidence. "We'll chat more tonight at the floor meeting but it's always cool to see you guys when you first move in. You are?"

"Farkle," he starts, catching the slight twitch in Andrew's features as he states his undeniably unique name. It used to irk the hell out of him when he was younger to see people react to it, usually out of amusement or confusion, but repeated offenses is an effective form of desensitization. "Farkle Minkus."

"Ah, yes. I remember your name from the roster. Something I can help you with, Farkle?"

"Actually, yes." He follows as Andrew begins leading the way back down the hall. "My mother is looking for scissors. We haven't been able to make a supplies run yet."

Andrew nods, gesturing towards his room. He has more door decorations than the rest of them, all indicating his name and likely made by the other resident assistants on the building team. "I've got some right in here. Gotta be prepared as the job demands and all that."

Returning back to his room at the end of the hall with his scissors, Farkle pays more attention to the names adorning the doors along the way. There's not one name that jumps out at him, not one name that seems particularly strange or causes his features to wrinkle in amusement of confusion. Across the hall from him bears Dave and Nigel, hardly questionable.

Spinning to face his room again, he glances at the name tacked up next to his on the wood. Lucas.

Just the way randomness would have it, he thinks. Lucas, the most basic, unassuming, ordinary name in the world stuck up right next to Farkle. As if its sole purpose is to draw more unnecessary attention to his weirdness, to highlight how odd he is in comparison to the sane, old-fashioned charm of Lucas.

Although he loves his parents, he can't help resent how they really screwed him over. If his mother wanted him to be a social butterfly, she could've done him the favor of giving him a name that doesn't produce the same nose crinkle she gets when she steps into a musty old dorm room.

Scowling, he reenters the space and hands his mother the scissors, musing to himself that whoever Lucas is, whoever is about to be stuck with him for the next eight months may as well be the most average human being in existence compared to him and all his damnable eccentricities.

Whoever Lucas is, he has no idea what he's in for.

Lucas didn't expect the campus to feel so huge.

In his head, he knew it had to be sizeable. Most college campuses are, and anything was going to feel massive compared the farmlands outside of Turlock. In some ways, he feels as though the first half of his childhood he spent in Texas is failing him—everything is bigger in Texas, and that should've prepared him for anything.

Yet, here he is, sitting in the passenger seat of his truck and staring out the window at the Quincy campus waiting for him. The school he broke his back to get admitted to is laid out before him like the holy grail, and all he has to do is step out and take it. Instead he's slouched against the worn leather and chewing on his thumbnail, looking at it from the other side of the glass.

In the driver's seat, Pappy Joe hums along to the Beach Boys song on the radio and taps his fingers patiently against the steering wheel. Not pushing him, but evidently thinking they're wasting precious daylight.

Finally, he clears his throat. Lucas ignores him, Pappy Joe smirking in amusement and tossing him an intrigued glance.

"Nervous?"

"What?" Lucas says, shaking his head and crossing his arms. If he's not careful, he's going to chew his thumbnail down to the bud. "No, no, I'm not nervous."

"Oh, no, course not." Pappy Joe looks away from him and out the dashboard window, nodding along and attempting to maintain a straight face. It doesn't last long. "That's why we're still piddling in the parking lot."

Lucas narrows his eyes, sending a glare in his grandfather's direction. When Pappy Joe doesn't offer anything else, he sighs and unbuckles his seatbelt.

"There you go. Slow as molasses, but at least you're moving."

He pitches himself out of the vehicle before Pappy Joe can continue laughing at his expense, stepping into the California sunshine and slamming the truck door behind him.

Now with his feet planted firmly on the concrete, taking in the campus feels a little less intimidating. He's a part of this place now—he fought for it, he earned it. If all these other freshman lugging their belongings up to the dorms can walk around like they own it, so can he.

Besides, it's hard not to feel comfortable surrounded by the university. He felt it went he came to tour it, but the feeling of appreciation for the beauty of the campus is amplified ten-fold by how satisfied he feels to be there.

Regardless of what's to come, for a moment, he basks in that feeling of unbridled gratitude. Then he joins his grandfather at the back of the truck, unlatching his belongings from the bed and grouping them together on the gravel at their feet.

"We'll have to get the parking pass after we check-in," Lucas reminds him. He pats his pocket for his wallet, already doing the mental math for how much it's going to cost. "I think I have enough from summer to cover it, but—,"

"No, no, now," Pappy Joe interrupts him, shaking his head. He pokes his shoulder as they finish unloading the truck, making him meet his eyes. "The pass is on me. All that work you did to get yourself here free of charge, I reckon covering that small fee is the least I could do for my favorite grandson."

Lucas feels affection flood his veins. He tries hard not to smile. "I'm your only grandson."

"And a mighty fine job you're doing of it!" He slaps his back heartily, giving him a slight jostle before glancing over his shoulder at the campus waiting for them. "Ready?"

Lucas turns around to take in the view again, willing himself to be. Fighting for his excitement and gratitude to be stronger than his hesitation. No matter how low he feels about his own self-worth from time to time, clearly Quincy saw something in him worth investing in. The only thing standing in his own way is himself.

He feels his grandfather's hand on his shoulder again, this gesture warmer than before. "Friar men aren't afraid of anything," he reminds him softly.

Lucas absorbs the sentiment, swallowing his fear and nodding. Grabbing his bags off the pavement, he marches into the unknown and leads the way towards the freshman dorms.

Upon arrival at Adams Honors Residential College, Lucas is thankful that the check-in process is quick and doesn't give his grandfather many opportunities to embarrass him. As much as he appreciates his pappy and all he's done for him, he's got an impressive knack for finding exactly the most embarrassing thing to say to any given person at any given time. In most situations, Lucas simply tries to get him in and out without saying anything at all.

By the time they're lugging his stuff all the way down the hall to the room at the very end, he considers the mission a success.

When he enters the room, he's a bit surprised to immediately find two critical pairs of eyes staring back at him.

He blinks, shaking off the initial shock of running into a stranger and starting to put the pieces together. From the way the side of the room closest to him is already mostly decorated and from the command strips in the woman's hands, he figures this has to be his new roommate and his family. Considering the similar sharp features and matching cool blue eyes, he assumes the blonde woman with him is his mother.

It's hard to reconcile the guy standing in front of him with the picture of him he had concocted in his head. Having read the name Farkle Minkus on his housing portal informing him of his rooming assignment, it was impossible not to try and imagine what the person bearing that strange a name would look like. His visions had ranged from ironic punk rock singer with multi-colored hair to albino Russian foreign exchange student getting a degree in hacking, but none of them match the actual student standing in front of him at all.

No, for all intents and purposes, Farkle Minkus seems pretty dang normal. He's wearing a surprising amount of greyscale—he was expecting colorful, for some reason—and his brown hair is sticking up off his forehead like he ran a static balloon through it on purpose. He's lanky and angular and surprisingly tall, maybe less than an inch shorter than him as they stand face-to-face. He's so used to being the tallest in his group of friends by multiple inches, it's strange to be looking someone directly in the eye.

Especially with such an intense gaze. He considers turning around and walking back out of the room before his roommate can make any misconceived judgments of him with that inspective glare.

Unfortunately, he speaks before he has the chance to run. "Are you Lucas?"

"Yeah. Howdy—I mean, hi," he says stupidly, offering a hand. He doesn't know why he felt the need to correct himself.

Farkle accepts the handshake, returning a surprisingly strong grip. His hands are bony and cold.

"Hello. I'm Farkle. It's a pleasure to meet you."

In the midst of their exchange, Farkle's mother has drifted around them and approached his grandfather. She offers him a tight smile and interested eyebrow raise, extending a hand as well. "You must be family of some relation. Jennifer Minkus."

"Howdy there," Pappy Joe says pointedly, a twinkle in his eye as he reiterates the obvious country upbringing his grandson had so deftly attempted to downplay. "You must be Farkle there's sister, then?"

Jennifer laughs bashfully, waving him off and flipping some of her silky hair over her shoulder. "Well, aren't you… charming."

Lucas notices the way she hesitates before finding the right word to describe him. Looking at the two of them standing next to one another, how polished and trendy Jennifer Minkus seems in contrast to the scruffy, plain quality of his grandfather is hard to ignore.

"Looks like y'all got a real head start. Looks mighty nice."

Farkle nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His mother continues to speak for him, glancing over her shoulder to admire their handiwork. "Our flight got in relatively early so we've had quite some time. I suppose you've just arrived? Do you live very far?"

"Oh, no, just a few hours out in the agricultural direction," Pappy Joe explains, obviously choosing his words carefully in an effort to mirror his conversation partner's eloquence. It's more mocking than anything else, and Lucas chews his lip to hold back his smile. "We've been in the parking lot for quite a spell. Lucas here was nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

Lucas's smile is gone in a flash. He feels a blush crawl up his cheeks, widening his eyes and shaking his head slightly. Hoping his grandfather gets the message to stop talking immediately before he bursts into flames.

He shrugs at him as he feigns confusion, not allowing the tacit exchange to be subtle. Jennifer looks between them, having a more effective tacit exchange with her son. "Well, we're heading to dinner. Flight to catch back to the east coast, you know. So we'll leave you to it. Farkle?"

Farkle steps forward, leaving Lucas in the middle of the room alone. Right before he disappears out the door he stops suddenly, whipping around as if he forgot something.

"See you tonight?" he asks, locking eyes with Lucas. It feels more like a general wondering than a direct question to him, as if Farkle has no idea whether they're supposed to say something to one another before parting ways until their inevitable reunion tonight.

Lucas nods, smiling politely. "Yeah, for sure."

Farkle flicks his head in a subtle nod, not saying anything else as he strides off after his mother. Pappy Joe waits a moment before turning to lock eyes with him again, giving him a wildly tickled expression.

"Oh, what?" Lucas says grumpily, yanking the suitcases from the floor and flopping them onto the bed to unpack.

"Nothing, nothing," he replies. His entertained smirk says otherwise. "Just think you're in for a very, very interesting freshman year."

Farkle wishes cell service were never invented.

Aside from the brief reprieve he gets during their dinner at the nicest restaurant in the campus center, Stuart Minkus is plagued by calls for what feels like the entire move-in day. After eating they make their way to the bookstore, where he waits outside and negotiates a major business deal while Jennifer takes their son inside to stock up on school supplies.

On the third floor surrounded by apparel, she flips through knit sweaters with the Quincy emblem emblazoned on the chest. She lifts a deep purple one off the rack, showing it off. "What do you think? Your father's style?"

Farkle lifts his head from the quarter-zip he was examining, pretending to be interested. Pretending to believe his father would wear anything as tacky as a university sweater, even if his pride and joy son is attending it.

"Perhaps."

Jennifer gives it a thoughtful look, ultimately crinkling her nose and placing it back on the rack.

The evening concludes with a self-guided tour around campus, Jennifer keeping pace with him and listening eagerly as he points out all of the facilities available to him. He shows them the library, and the engineering sector. His mother's eyes sparkle with approval as he points out the state of the art research lab he has at his fingertips, one of the things he's most excited about exploring in the coming years.

When he prods his father to pay attention, he covers the microphone of his phone and takes a couple of moments to take the structure in. When a smile spreads across his face, he gives a quick thumbs up before returning his attention to the call.

Although the smile was genuine enough, Farkle feels like knocking the building down with a wrecking ball. All the excitement he felt towards it, so easily bought into the hype, and it's not even worth more than five seconds from his father.

He decides to wrap up the tour pretty quickly after that. Not much else feels worth the effort.

They regroup outside his dorm, his mother obsessively listing all the objectives they had for the day. Farkle confirms each one as she lists it, but his eyes are on his father behind her, still on the phone and pacing. He watches his brow furrow and feels his own mirror the stress in response, wishing his father had a moment to breathe. Wishing that moment could be spent taking the time to give him a proper goodbye.

All out of things to nitpick, Jennifer sighs. She pushes some hair behind her ear, breaking into a slight pout and stepping forward to hug him. "My wonderful, brilliant boy."

Farkle smiles in spite of himself, accepting the hug. He pats her back lightly, trying not to cough when she squeezes him tightly.

"I'll be fine, mother. It's only college. What could happen?"

She laughs at that, ruffling his hair lightly before adjusting it on his forehead. "I know you're right. You always are. You'll be back before we know it for Thanksgiving, and it'll be as though you never even left. We'll be surprised how quickly you're back."

Considering how busy they both are being successful and giving him the means to attend college without stress, he suspects she's correct.

"I know, I know, but I really have to go," Stuart says urgently, glancing in their direction before hurriedly ending the call. It's a pleasant surprise as his father jogs towards them, coming to stand at his mother's side and giving him a proud look. "Well, son, here we are."

"Here we are."

"Remember the name you're carrying with you," he says wisely. Farkle assumes he's referring to their prestigious surname and not the wackadoodle first name they gave him to spite his existence. "It's your legacy to uphold now. What you do with it is up to you."

"I'm going to make you proud," he promises. Holding his attention for as long as he can have it, absorbing as much of it as he can to hold him over. He has no idea when his father will get another second to spare in his direction.

Stuart's smile widens. He steps forward to give him a light hug—not tight enough, he can't help but think—and pats his shoulder. "That, I have no doubts about. I can't wait to see what you accomplish."

After one more fussy hug from his mother, Farkle waits outside the building as his parents head away from him back towards the admission center. Before they even cross the street, he watches as his father receives another phone call and gets back to work.

Back to work. With a deep breath, Farkle spins around and heads into the dorm.

Pappy Joe steps back from breaking down the last box, gathering the cardboard together and observing their work. "Well, I sure hope your gangly roommate doesn't mind blue."

Lucas rolls his eyes, examining his effort for himself. He steps back, taking in his side of the room and trying to convince himself that it's good enough. He's happy Farkle decided to take the bed by the door, leaving the window and natural light for himself.

"Guess we'll toss these on the way out. Better get moving if I want to catch the right bus to back and get the cows fed before too late."

Lucas nods, walking the trash to the chute before doubling back to the room. He and Pappy Joe stop outside the door, uncertain what exactly to do next.

"It's gonna be good," he says, more to himself than as a conversation starter. "It's gonna be a good year."

"Lord willing and the creek don't rise," Pappy Joe agrees, glancing towards his room to avoid having to make eye contact. Lucas knows his family has never been good with goodbyes, or emotion of any kind, really. He figures that's the reason they mostly avoid each other when they can help it.

But Pappy Joe has always been the exception to that rule. Sure, they're far from perfect, but Lucas has gone his whole life with his grandfather having his back. He doesn't know what he's going to do without him, and his friends, and the familiarity of home.

"Give my mama a hug for me," he says when he can't think of anything else.

Pappy Joe nods, crossing his arms. After a moment, he meets his eyes. "You know she wanted to be here for ya. She wanted to come. But the cost—,"

"Yeah." It's nothing he's never heard before. Lucas has heard the gamut of excuses from his parents, or in his father's case doesn't even get that, so it's hardly moving at this point. "Yeah, I know."

Another beat of silence passes between them. Usually he doesn't mind the quiet, but this time he knows it'll never be enough.

Lucas steps forward to wrap his grandfather in a hug, relieved when he returns the embrace. He feels pain form in the back of his throat as his eyes grow warm, tears brimming. He swallows hard, trying to keep them at bay.

"You ain't crying, are you, boy?" Pappy Joe teases. They break apart from the hug, his grandfather continuing to hold his shoulders. "You know we Friar men don't cry."

Lucas laughs and nods, inhaling sharply and willing the tears away. Knowing he's stronger without them.

He's glad his grandfather reminded him when he did. In the next moment, Farkle returns from dinner with his parents, striding with his hands in his pockets in their direction. He's already embarrassed himself once with Pappy Joe telling the entire dorm about his pre-move-in jitters. Crying would be something he couldn't come back from.

Farkle passes them by without a word, keeping them silent until he disappears past the door. Pappy Joe makes another subtle facial expression, eliciting a grin from Lucas.

"I'm sure I'll hear from you soon. I'll leave you to it," he tells him. With one more pat on the shoulder he's gone, traipsing down the hall and humming the Beach Boys song from the car only hours earlier.

Lucas sighs, tapping his fingers against his thighs. Then he heads back into the room, reminding himself to put his best foot forward.

Farkle is already situated at his desk, popping open a sleek, thin laptop. Lucas wanders over to his side of the room, chewing the inside of his cheek anxiously before leaning back against the edge of his bed. "So."

It takes an admittedly long time for Farkle to realize he's addressing him. He lifts his head, raising an eyebrow.

"So?"

Lucas already gets the feeling this is going to be a painfully awkward conversation. First introductions often are, but he seems like a tough guy to charm and that critical gaze is far more intimidating than most of the people he meets in Turlock.

"You flew here, right? Where are you from?"

To his relief, Farkle doesn't seem to find this question objectionable. "New York. Born and raised."

"That's cool," Lucas says, meaning the words but also attempting to mirror the aloofness of his roommate. He nervously wonders if everyone here in California is going to be equally unimpressed and detached about everything. He doesn't know if he can pretend to be cool for that long. "I don't know a ton about it, aside from like, the movies. But I've always wanted to go."

"You should, it's great. Museums aren't as well-curated as say, Washington D.C., but the city itself is an experience all its own and the entertainment cannot be beat."

Lucas relaxes a bit, grateful to have found something Farkle seems to have a scrap of interest in. His next tactic was going to be space considering the amount of astronomy-related materials on his walls and decorating his side of the room, and he knows absolutely nothing about it so he was bound to dig himself a pretty big hole in that scenario.

"I usually see two shows a week, maybe three if the tickets are good. There's always shows, of course, but not all of them are worth seeing."

Lucas blinks. "Broadway shows?"

"Well, yes." Farkle smirks, but it's not exactly an encouraging expression. "Broadway is located in New York."

"I know that," Lucas says quickly, trying not to sound defensive. "But aren't those like, really expensive?"

Farkle shrugs indifferently. "My dad owns a company and usually helps pay for the tickets. I don't think about it all that much."

Considering the brand new laptop and brand-name clothes filling his wardrobe he noticed when they first stopped by, Lucas had figured that part out pretty quickly.

"That's cool."

"What are you majoring in?" Farkle questions, shifting the subject before Lucas can think of what to say next. Thankfully, it's an answer he actually knows.

"Biology." He feels proud just saying the words, smiling lightly. "Veterinary track."

For some reason, Farkle's surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah." He doesn't know how to react to the fact that Farkle seems so shocked by that fact, and has no idea how to respond accordingly so he opts to change the subject. "How about you?"

"Engineering with an emphasis and mechanical and aerospace," he rattles off effortlessly. "I haven't yet decided if I want to add a minor, but I'm considering physics or chemistry. I'll have to take classes for both anyway, so I'm sure I'll decide when the time comes."

Just hearing that combination gives Lucas secondhand anxiety. Although he sounds like a broken record, he can't help the words that come out of his mouth at a lack of another response.

"That's cool."

It doesn't sound as convincing this time around. Clearing his throat, he turns around and starts taking inventory of the school supplies on his bed, mentally preparing for his first day. Knowing how difficult that conversation was but ultimately glad it didn't go much worse.

"Do you want to get dinner this week?" Farkle asks suddenly, capturing his attention again. He locks eyes with him. "I just figure, you know, as roommates we should take the time to get to know one another. A dining hall feels a bit more conducive to easy conversation than the room we'll have to be sharing regardless of whether we can properly interface or not."

He finds a little amusement in the weird use of the word interfacing to describe communication. "Sure. What day?"

"How about Tuesday?" Farkle hesitates before elaborating. "I have a meeting with my advisor Monday."

Lucas frowns. "I have an interest meeting Tuesday."

"What for?"

"Baseball," he says. At the flat expression on Farkle's face, he feels the need to explain himself. "Not like, varsity or anything. Just a club sport. I played in high school, so."

"You don't say. Well, Wednesday?"

"Advisor meeting. Thursday?"

"Astronomy class," Farkle says slowly, realizing this might be harder than he anticipated. He raises an eyebrow critically. "You going to tell me you have something unavoidable on Friday?"

Part of him wishes he did. He feels like he's always going to be second-guessing himself with Farkle Minkus, constantly feeling as though he's saying or doing the wrong thing. He wonders absentmindedly if he knows he has that effect, if it's purposeful, or if his confidence level is so naturally high it just radiates off him like nuclear waste.

"Actually, I don't," he says, forcing another smile.

Farkle nods. "Friday it is, then."

A knock at their open door grabs their attention. Another resident is standing in the doorway, even taller than Lucas and with a layer of baby fat still on his cheeks. He offers them a friendly smile, running a hand through his wavy hair.

"Hey, guys. I'm Dave. I live across the hall."

Farkle offers a wave. Lucas nods. "Hi."

Behind Dave, a shorter Asian guy hovers with his hands in his pockets. He seems just as unimpressed as Farkle, but it comes from a place of general exhaustion rather than pretention. "This is Nigel."

"Dude, I can talk for myself."

"Well, then do it, man. I don't want to have to your wingman the entire year."

"We're heading to the floor meeting now," Nigel explains, leaning against the door frame. "You guys coming?"

Lucas makes eye contact with Farkle. He nods, getting to his feet. "Guess so."

"I met our RA earlier when he came by as I was unpacking," Dave explains cheerfully, waiting for Lucas to shut the door behind them. "He seems pretty chill. He better be, because we're gonna get lit in 3414 and I don't want him writing us up!"

"We are not," Nigel says flatly.

Dave nods along and raises his hands in surrender, before shooting Lucas a wink. For what his opinion is worth, he gets the feeling Nigel isn't going to win that battle.

Despite the banter between the two of them, Lucas can't help but notice they seem to have a pretty easy dynamic going between them. They met less than a few hours ago just like him and Farkle, and yet they seem to have it together and starting off in the right foot. The tone between them is playful, whereas if Lucas had to name the tone he and Farkle share, it would be a tie between pathetically strained and laughably cringe-worthy.

At least, he has to think, it can only go up from here.

By the time he's halfway through his first week, Farkle decides there's no way he's going to make it out of the semester alive.

Part of it is the sheer amount of human interaction it takes to get through one day of university. He doesn't remember how he survived high school without having to do much socializing outside of his best friends, but that strategy isn't doing so hot in college so far and he's constantly drained even if the school day itself is arguably shorter.

Perhaps it's because most of the people he's interacted with thus far are undeniably dumb. Not everyone, obviously, but he's been unpleasantly surprised by how many people in his introductory science classes are honestly way in over their heads. Science had always been the safe haven for him in New York, a subject guaranteed to offer him intellectual equals to challenge him.

So far at Quincy, it feels like the challenge is going to be getting through the semester without imploding from secondhand idiocy alone.

Still, despite it being against his nature he tries his best to remain optimistic. While the classmates are questionable the classes themselves have started off promising, and he's already looking forward to his astronomy class the following evening. He has his lunch with Lucas on Friday, and while his simple farm boy roommate may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, he at least seems decent enough.

For what weak competition he has at this university so far, Lucas doesn't seem like the worst he could've been shoved together with.

Farkle finds himself spending more time thinking about his new roommate than he originally anticipated. He doesn't know what it is—maybe that silly country charm—but something about him is more intriguing than usual and he finds himself excited to try and figure him out. Considering how conventionally attractive he is, it feels like a rare exception that there seems to be more inside his pretty little blonde head aside from sports calls and Florida Georgia Line lyrics.

Although, he does play baseball. So maybe Farkle is giving him too much credit.

At the moment, he's just trying to find a place to eat his lunch in peace.

As a reward to himself for making it through the first half of the week, he decided to treat himself to a lunch from the campus center dining options rather than suffering through the dining hall another meal. But now that he's there, trying to find a place to sit feels like a game of minesweeper. All the chairs clustered under small taupe umbrellas are dotted with other students, either working independently while they eat or sharing a meal together as if they're already best friends. It's been three days, and it seems as though the entire campus has become friends without him.

Not that he's not used to the feeling. But it's still a bit of a frustration.

"Slim pickings, isn't it?"

Farkle jumps, unprepared to be addressed. He spins around to find the source of the voice, spotting her a few feet above him on the wall in front of the admission center.

She's another blonde, but from the piercing quality of her bright blue eyes and the way her hair is chopped short in a bob, he gets the feeling there's something worth paying attention to in this girl. She's got one earbud in her ears and a sketchbook on her lap, but her eyes are on him. He realizes she's looking him over the same way he is her, probably trying to reach the same conclusions he is.

"For one just attempting to enjoy their lunch, it's quite the exhausting endeavor," he says sharply. When he earns a smirk from her in response, he gets the feeling his assumptions about her are true and finds his interest peaked. He marches towards her, taking the stairs on the side of the building to reach her perch on the wall. "May I?"

"If you're brave enough," she says ominously, narrowing her eyes before her expression melts into an effortless smile. "Although you're already downing the campus center food, so your constitution must be tough."

"Dining hall is worse."

"Ain't that the truth." She holds out a hand. "Maya Hart."

He returns the gesture, shaking her hand cordially. "Farkle Minkus."

"Farkle Minkus," she repeats, sounding more impressed than the traditional puzzled. He decides he likes her even more. "Gotta have a pretty loud personality to match that namesake. Are your parents masochists?"

"CEOs and real estate tycoons, actually."

"Same thing."

He spends more time than he expected at the campus center that afternoon, hanging out with Maya on the wall and watching the world pass by below them. She explains that she's a Los Angeles native and an art major, allowing him to flip through some of her sketches. She's clearly talented, and it's somewhat of a relief to find another artistic soul even if he's not driven by his creative interests as much as she is.

When the time comes for her to float off to her last class of the day, she takes a moment to use a charcoal pencil from her backpack and write her number on his hand. She informs him that if he doesn't text within the next twenty-four hours, she's going to make him regret it.

She finishes the last number with a flourish, putting her pen away and slinging her bag over her shoulder as she hops from the wall. Farkle blinks at it, feeling surprised and a little bit warmer than before. "You could've just put your number in my phone."

"Yeah, but this is more cliché and dramatic," she says delightedly. She salutes him. "Nice having lunch with you and judging the world below, Farkle Minkus. Hope to do it again sometime soon."

"Likewise. But I don't think you need a partner to ridicule the masses."

"Maybe not," she admits. She begins to walk backwards away from him, continuing to captivate his attention with those stunning blue eyes. "But everything's more fun with a friend."

Considering all the nightmare scenarios he had run through over the months since he got accepted, it's a huge weight off his shoulders when Lucas makes it through the week without a major disaster.

On the contrary, he's had a pretty great week. His classes don't seem as killer as he anticipated they would be, and when he puts all the important dates from his syllabi into his agenda Thursday night he feels infinitely more in control of how things pan out. It was hard work that got him here in the first place, and he knows it'll be hard work that gets him out with a degree and the great wide world in front of him.

He's met many friendly and interesting people throughout the week, and he likes to think he's got a few new friends to consider it an overall success. He hasn't gotten to talk much to his next door neighbors yet, but he spends an afternoon with Jeff and Charlie on the great lawn between classes, and he's had a couple of meals already with Nigel and Dave.

All of them are vastly different but enjoyable enough company, and it's a comfort knowing they're just as unfamiliar with the terrain as he is and looking to make new friends as well. Mostly, it's a relief knowing there are people out there willing to socialize without making him feel like an idiot in the process.

Still, he can't help but miss his friends back home. They're only a few hours away, but it feels like thousands of miles, and Zay is literally thousands of miles away in Chicago for theater school. Vanessa arranges a Skype date for them all later in the weekend, but Lucas doesn't know how he's going to get through the school year constantly feeling like a part of him is missing.

By the time he collapses into a seat in the crowded lecture hall for his introductory biology class Friday afternoon, he's convinced himself that for all the amazing people he'll meet in college he's never going to fill the hole in his heart that a best friend like Zay leaves empty. There's no way he'll ever meet someone who clicks with him so easily, who engages with him in a way that feels so comfortable and natural it has to be fate.

A couple seats down from him, a round-faced brunette slides into the seat and gets out her materials for class. She checks her phone, smiling to herself at a message lighting up her screen. Despite not knowing a thing about her, Lucas can't help but admit her smile is one of the cutest things he's ever seen.

Down below, the professor clears his throat into his microphone to cue the start of lecture. The lights dim slightly and slides light up the projector.

"Welcome to introduction to biology," the professor greets them. Then he shakes his head, feigning sympathy. "What poor, poor souls you all must be to willingly put yourself through this class."

The class snickers in response. Lucas smiles and glances in the direction of the girl to see if she is as well, only to find her with a panic-stricken look on her face. She's rifling through her bag as subtly as possible, obviously looking for something she may have forgotten. Glancing at her materials, he notices the lack of a writing utensil.

Lucas reaches into his backpack, pulling out one of his extra pencils. He was beloved in high school for being the kid with extra pencils, and he supposes maybe that reputation is going to continue into college.

He leans over, lightly tapping her on the shoulder. "Need a pencil?"

The girl looks down at his offering before raising her eyes to meet his, curiosity lighting up her big brown eyes. Then in an instant she melts into a grateful smile, taking it from his fingers and sighing.

"You are my prince," she says emphatically. At the bemused expression on his face, she laughs quietly and waves the air offhandedly as if to push the comment away. "Sorry, I don't know what comes out of my mouth half the time. I'm Riley."

"Nice to meet you, Riley. I'm Lucas."

"I love it," she says cheerfully, and although they just met Lucas is pretty sure she means the words. She gestures to the open seat next to him. "Is that taken?"

He shakes his head, mirroring her excited smile as she discretely hops the few seats to plop down next to him. Although lecture has started and he should be paying attention to the discussion of the syllabus, he's having a lot more fun talking with her.

"Gum?"

"I'm good, thanks."

"You know, they say chewing gum actually helps you retain material," she says matter-of-factly, unwrapping the stick of gum and popping it into her mouth. "I don't see how that makes any sense, though, because when I chew gum all I can think about is the fact that I'm chewing it and my mouth muscles are doing all this work. It's like—,"

She stops suddenly, as if she's realized something. She gives him a sheepish look, pushing some hair that escaped her ponytail behind her ear.

"Sorry, I'm totally rambling. I told myself when I got to college I wasn't going to do that anymore."

"It's okay," he assures her. If anything, he finds it endearing. "I don't mind if you keep going."

The smile that lights up her face is one of the purest ones Lucas has seen since he stepped on campus.

They spend the rest of lecture alternating between writing notes and exchanging small commentary under their breath, keeping the class engaging right up until their professor dismisses them for the day. Lucas waits for Riley to gather her things and they exit the hall together, heading down the steps into the fading sunlight.

"So, why are you taking biology?"

"Requirement for the veterinary track. One of many to come, actually."

She gives him an impressed eyebrow raise, humming in approval. "A veterinarian, huh? You must be pretty darn smart to be pulling that off."

"I don't know about that." He waits as she grabs her bike, thinking the conversation will be over pretty soon. But instead of riding off into the distance without a second glance she opts to continue walking with him instead, wheeling the violet bike along next to her. "How about you?"

"Requirement, too. Psychology major, so I'm just hoping I make it out alive."

They continue chatting all the way to the middle of campus, and Lucas is amazed how easily the conversation comes between the two of them. Something about the dynamic between them feels magnetic, and for a fleeting second he senses that empty feeling he's had since leaving home start to mend itself. For whatever force is out there—fate, the universe, God above or the devil down below—it feels as though maybe it is looking out for him.

He feels like he was meant to meet Riley Matthews.

"Do you have plans tonight?"

He shrugs, nothing immediately popping into his head. "I don't think so."

"Well, you do now," she says, her eyes lighting up. "Me and my roommate are going with some people from my building to explore downtown. You are absolutely coming with."

"Oh, I don't know—,"

"Come on! It's going to be so fun, I think we're going bowling. It won't all be girls, my roommate Jade has a friend from the Adams building. Dave, I think?"

Lucas is starting to enjoy the recognition he feels when he gets to explain he knows someone else on campus. He's feeling less like an outsider each day and tying himself more firmly into the community, proving he belongs here just as much as anyone else. If they want to throw him out, they'll have to cut off his roots to do it, and he's planning on burying them pretty deep.

"Yeah, I know him. I live in Adams, he lives across the hall from me."

"So, see!" She nudges him lightly, eliciting a grin from him. Considering he's been smiling since he met her, it isn't hard. "You have to come now. It'll be fun. Promise."

After one last moment of hesitation, something itching in the back of his mind, he raises his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright."

"Yay!"

She whips around to face him, stopping momentarily and examining him intensely. Despite the faux critical gleam in her eyes, she's similarly unable to wipe the smile off her face.

"You know, Lucas," she says, joy laced through every inch of her voice. "I think you and I are going to be really good friends."

If Farkle thought trying to find a seat amidst the sea of other students at campus center was distressing, sitting alone at the dining hall while actually expecting someone else to show up is pure humiliation.

He arrived at the dining hall at six just like they agreed upon, securing a table and waiting patiently for Lucas to show up. By the time thirty minutes had passed, he allowed himself to get some food even though none of it looked particularly appetizing. He finishes it before Lucas comes around.

By seven, he considers texting him to either remind him or tell him off, only to realize they never exchanged phone numbers. Considering how often they were guaranteed to see one another, it hadn't even crossed his mind.

For the sake of doing something, he forces himself to do some homework. It doesn't take him long, and when he's sitting there at eight still alone he wonders what he's even doing waiting around when it's painfully obvious at that point that Lucas isn't coming.

He glares resentfully at the other college students peacefully eating their meals, either enjoying the company of their new friends or eating in solitary without the disgusting expectation that someone is going to join them.

When his hands start shaking from nerves, he gives up. He grabs his backpack and storms out of the dining hall, ducking around behind the building and exhaling harshly.

Digging through his bag, he fumbles to remove his lighter and quickly rolls a joint on the top of the trashcan stuck out behind the emergency exit to the dining hall. Just the methodical process of prepping it helps calm him down a bit, and it isn't until he's able to exhale the smoke from his lungs that it feels like some of the anxiety leaves with it. He rests his head back against the wall, taking another hit and sighing.

He doesn't know what anybody expects of him. He doesn't know what his mother wants from him when she wishes he'd be more of a ladies man, more of a star student, more popular than he knows he could actually be. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do when even when he puts a shred of effort into building a relationship with someone—someone with whom it should be somewhat guaranteed—he still ends up sitting alone.

All he can properly think through the haze is that he was wrong about Lucas Friar. He's exactly what he looks like, a shallow, two-faced pretty boy with a freakishly perfect face and absolutely no respect for anybody but himself. Nothing in that pretty blonde head but baseball plays, a list of equally pretty and popular girls he'd like to hook up with, and some gratingly obnoxious Florida Georgia Line lyric.

Well, he's learned his lesson, one he thought he already knew but supposes maybe he needed to learn again. People aren't worth the energy, and with high expectations comes greater disappointment.

Still, considering he didn't have many expectations to begin with, he's not sure why he feels so disillusioned.

When Lucas returns back to campus just before midnight, he can't believe how quickly a new group of friends can elevate his week from great to downright epic.

What he has learned is that Riley Matthews is a force of nature, endlessly creative and enthusiastic, and she can find endless ways to keep a fun night going long past its expiration date. While they originally anticipated getting back by eight they far exceed this expectation, spending the evening after bowling heading down to the boardwalk, getting ice cream and staring out into the infinite inky blackness of the Pacific glaring back at them.

Standing there, it's difficult to comprehend the strange vastness and uncertainty of the world around him. A week ago, he was laying in the back of his truck bed staring at the endless stars in the sky above him and never having laid eyes on the ocean. Now, he's waiting just out of reach of its depths, and in the darkness it seems to meld with the night sky and stretch on into infinity.

The group moves on before he can really contemplate it, but he knows if he had it his way, he could've sat there by the water for hours. Just absorbing the quiet, thinking about all the things in the universe he doesn't know.

As he and Dave head back to their floor together, the latter carrying on about all the awesome things they did that evening, Lucas can't help but think about how impressive the view was and how the stars seemed even closer to him here than ever before.

He remembers how much Farkle seemed to like space and decides to tell him all about it. He's always liked the stars, so maybe there is something in common there for them to use to start building a bridge. If he puts his best foot forward, nothing can go wrong.

Dave waves him a goodbye before they disappear into their rooms, Lucas surprised to find Farkle still awake. On the weekdays he's in bed before midnight, but maybe he gives himself a break on weekends. Lucas usually has trouble falling asleep, mind buzzing with all the things he has to keep track of and accomplish, so it's a miracle if he's asleep before the early morning.

"Hey," he greets his roommate, heading to his side of the room.

Farkle doesn't bother to respond, keeping his focus on his work in front of him and dimly lit by the small lamp on his desk. Lucas glances at him to see if he's wearing headphones, only faintly more slighted when he notices he isn't.

"Hey," he repeats, lightly tapping his back. "You okay?"

Farkle raises his head, doing an impressive job of appearing unmoved. He raises an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, were you talking to me?"

The tone seems a bit cold for the current status of their roommate relationship. Lucas blinks, trying to figure out what to say next without setting off an unexpected landmine he suspects may be buried somewhere in this conversation.

"Yes?"

"That's rich," is all he offers in response, dipping his head back down to his work.

Lucas taps his fingers nervously against his hip, sensing there's a piece of the puzzle at play here that he's not seeing. Although part of him wants to avoid confrontation entirely and just go to bed, hoping it'll go away on his own, he knows the mature thing is to cover it before it has the chance to get any worse. Whatever Farkle thinks he's done to upset him, he's sure it's a misunderstanding and they can work it out.

Well, maybe. Farkle is hard to read, and he doubts he operates by the normal rules of communication. But he wants to remain optimistic.

"Did I do something to upset you?"

"Oh, no, I'm not upset," Farkle says flatly, keeping up his removed tone. "I hope you had a great Friday evening. I'm sure you had lots of important things to attend to."

"Well, me and some people from biology class went down to the boardwalk. We also went bowling, but the boardwalk was the best part. You know the ocean seems to go on forever when it's so dark out? Like, it's just blackness forever—,"

"I know what the ocean looks like," Farkle snaps, cutting him off.

There's an awkward pause. Lucas licks his lips, not sure what he's supposed to do next. He's growing increasingly aware that every step he takes in this conversation is likely to have a landmine waiting to explode underneath him.

"For someone who says they're not upset, you sure sound pretty fit to be tied."

Farkle blinks at him, scrutinizing his accidental country slip before Lucas has the chance to cover for it. If anything, it just seems to piss him off even more. He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms.

"I don't know, maybe I'm just a traditionalist. You'd expect the boy from the country to have more respect for the traditional idea of manners, but maybe New York has greater civility than I give it credit for."

Now he's completely lost. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm only saying, in my humble opinion, when you make dinner plans with someone, it's pretty common courtesy to actually show up. But maybe you all do it differently out in farm country."

The blissful ignorance only lasts a moment longer, then the floor seems to drop out from under him as Lucas remembers the agreement they made on their first night here. He feels his cheeks grow hot from shame, a chill running through his spine.

"Oh my God."

Farkle rolls his eyes again, his expression shifting into a scowl. He turns away, focusing on putting his laptop away.

"Oh my God, Farkle, I'm so sorry," Lucas stammers. He's already running through all of the ways he could've prevented this misunderstanding, kicking himself for not taking more time to check his schedule or perfect his mistakes. "I'm sorry, I completely forgot."

"It's okay, Lucas. You don't have to lie."

Lucas frowns. "Huh?"

"You don't have to fake it." Farkle whips around, giving him a condescending smile and an aloof shrug. "You don't have to put on the fake Southern charms and gee willikers innocence and act as though you even cared in the first place. I get it, you've got better things to do. The least you could do is be transparent about it."

He's trying really hard not to get heated. Farkle already is, and it was his fault that all of this fell apart.

And he's never, ever been good with controlling his anger.

"I'm not doing that."

"Why would a guy with a face like yours and such obvious popularity want to waste even a second on his lame, scrappy roommate? Trust me, I see how this plays out. You don't have to play nice with me."

"What is that supposed to mean?" It's harder not to get mad when Farkle is making such an effort to offend him. "What are you saying?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, was that too complicated for you? Let me explain it ways you'll probably understand." He makes a show of thinking hard about it, clasping his hands together. "You're the star pitcher, and I'm just the water boy sitting on the bench for you to turn to if you get really socially desperate. Right? Well, save yourself the energy. I'm quitting the team."

Lucas can't decide what to focus his attention on—the insinuation that he's too stupid to understand basic English unless it's in a sports metaphor, the obviously uninformed use of said baseball metaphor, or the fact that Farkle actually believes he's the kind of person to purposefully blow off an agreement because of his own self-image.

Regardless, he can't help but think he's doing a bang-up job of ruining their potential friendship on his own. He doesn't need to contribute to it. "I play shortstop."

"Like that makes an iota of a difference."

He's so pretentious. He's so pretentious, frustratingly aloof and self-righteous. He's been looking down on him since he walked through the door without knowing a thing about him, just because he's a supposed genius and has more money in his pinky finger than Lucas probably has in his entire family savings.

Mostly though, he's just a jerk. And Lucas doesn't want anything to do with it.

He grabs his backpack and the pillow off his bed, marching towards the door. Farkle watches him go, stretching his arms out in exasperation. "What are you doing?"

"Going to the lounge," Lucas snaps, trying to keep his voice even. He tosses another look at him, amazed at how quickly he's gone from neutral to full-on dislike. Loathing always seemed like such a strong word, but all the sudden Lucas feels as though he understands it perfectly. "Rather sleep there than continue to be judged in the comfort of my own room."

"Don't be stupid," Farkle starts.

"Oh, well, it's too late for that, isn't it?" Lucas challenges, referring to his preconceived notions about him. "And for the record, you don't know me. You know nothing about me."

Farkle clenches his jaw, turning up his nose. "You made sure of that, didn't you?"

He doesn't validate the accusation with a response, merely storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

Still present underneath all the anger, his guilt flares up again. The knowledge that all of this could've been avoided, that he could've tried harder, that once again he's made a terrible mistake and there's no way for him to fix it so everything else has to fall apart instead.

What he does know, regardless of how stupid he is, is that he hates his roommate. He hates Farkle Minkus, and he has no idea how he's going to survive the rest of year.