It was on a Friday in late February that one Stone Gossard sat down at the same library table as one Mavi Barrinuevo.

Mavi had gauged his movements from the moment he had entered the library—she had, after all, chosen her seat for the precise reason that it allowed her an excellent view of all the exits and entrances—and had tutted disapprovingly at the way he had left the door open for the chill to follow him inside. Of course, he'd bring winter with him, she thought uncharitably, as she eyed his progress past the metal detectors.

Mavi observed—with distaste—as the brunette haired receptionist at the front desk fluttered her eyelashes coyly in Stone's direction, and experienced an unwelcome feeling of relief when he remained all but oblivious to her apparent "attractions".

He did, however, make it past the lovelorn miss with an open cup of coffee in hand (!)

Mavi found herself setting her pen down for the third time since Stone Gossard had walked in. She was, in fact, righteously appalled.

"He thinks he's so much better than everyone," she whispered lowly, remembering the way the receptionist had loudly insisted that Mavi throw out her own thermos full of green tea before entering the stacks. "Like he's not subject to the same rules as the rest of us mere mortals," she groused to herself. "That's exactly why he—"

At that, she cut herself off before she could make any Telling Comments. What was in the past, she had long decided, was there for a reason, and really, it did not matter that he was so much better than—

Anyway:

That decided, Mavi rearranged her scarf so it hung more comfortably around her neck—it was, suddenly, feeling more like a noose than anything else. It would be best to simply ignore it—and him—and continue her work.

Alone.

This had, of course, been the plan anyway.

Until one Stone Gossard had sat down.

Right. In. Front. Of. Her.

His eyes were fixed on the novel in his right hand—Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet—and after regular intervals, he would lift his hand to his mouth, lick his pointer finger with a quick swipe of his tongue, and then turn the page. He hm'd every so often—as if he were actually absorbing the nuances of the work, which was, in Mavi's estimation, absolutely absurd; clearly, he was just looking for the pictures—and, in short, looked the very image of a serious reader.

When it appeared that he was not inclined to move—there were, after all, a veritable sea of tables around them, all perfectly empty, Mavi thought, and all perfectly not occupied by me—Mavi huffed irritably, and bit back the urge to tell him how unhygienic it was for him to be transferring his nasty, nasty germs onto the library book (and, consequently, to all the innocent people who were going to borrow it after him—again, Mavi noted, so thoughtless!) and decided, instead, to open with a more conventional greeting.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He slanted a look at her—one that was exasperated and amused all at once.

Mavi wanted to throw a dictionary at his perfectly-symmetrical face.

"Clearly," he said—and so patiently, damn him—"Clearly, I am reading." He gestured to the book in his hand, and then waved it a little, in case Mavi had missed it the first time.

"I can see that," she ground out. She slammed the pen in her hand down next to her spiral-bound three-subject notebook, and focused all of her attention on glaring at him. Perhaps, she thought hopefully, he'll be intimidated and then Go the Fuck Away. "Why are you doing it here?"

He raised a perfectly arched brow, and smirked. (Mavi refused to find it or him adorable.)

"This is a library," he said, enunciating his words as though they might help her understand. "Origin, Latin librarium, which means—"

"Shut. Up," Mavi said, seething now. "I know what a library is, Stone. And since when did business-slash-political-science majors start caring about etymology?"

In response, Stone did nothing more than gesture to his book (again), as though to remind her that he was reading, and that it was Very Important that he not be disturbed by such trivial questions.

"Also," he said, "you've conjugated 'mock' incorrectly."

"Your face is conjugated incorrectly," she spat out, before hastily checking her notes. Stone was, after all, rarely (if ever) wrong. She kind of hated him for that.

"That's not what you said last night."

"If you don't shut up," Mavi said, squeezing her pen so hard that it was a wonder it hadn't exploded yet, "I swear on that tomato vine trellis you built in our backyard that I will end you and your future children before you even have them."

"Fine," he said, snapping the book closed, and gazing at her with his stupid olive eyes. (Mavi was so not attracted to them. At all.)

"That's right, Stone—"

"You'd only be hurting yourself though," Stone continued.

Mavi chose to ignore that comment (though she could not help her blush). After a while, he began to read again, and she continued to work, their silences punctuated by the brief slurping sounds of Stone enjoying his black coffee. Mavi's patience—already tested—snapped.

"You know freaking well that I am angry with you and have been for the past two weeks, and that when I am angry at you, I don't want to see you. You know that, don't you Stone? No, don't answer, I know you do."

"I do do," he said seriously, though Mavi swore there was more than a hint of amusement in his eyes as he answered her.

"Shut up! You," she said, whispering as loud as she dared—they were, after all, still in a library—"are trying to piss me off, aren't you?"

A pause. And then:

"Yes."

Mavi's jaw dropped at that; she had not expected him to answer her so candidly. She slumped in her seat, and then, utterly defeated, rested her head in her hands. All the while, Stone watched, fascinated.

"You're so stupid," she said, the words muffled by her cardigan.

"My GRE scores beg to differ," came the blithe answer.

At the reminder, Mavi's head shot up, and she threw him a look that could have melted bedrock.

"I hate you," she said simply, as she began to pack her belongings.

"Of course you do," Stone acknowledged gracefully. "That's why we're dating."

"We are not dating," Mavi said. "I broke up with you, remember? Or have you blocked that out because the thought of living without me is too bleak a future to contemplate? Because if you say that, I'll consider forgiving you."

Stone brushed the nonexistent dust off of his novel, and sighed.

"No, I remember that. I just think you're stupid—"

"What! Excuse me?"

He scowled at her, and gestured pointedly at the few straggling students who were eyeing Mavi malevolently for her outburst. She colored at the attention, but bristled again, when Stone gave her a reproving look.

"You didn't let me finish, and you're making a scene, Mavi—stop it. And we both know that you didn't really break up with me," he continued as he led her outside.

"I did too break up with you," Mavi said angrily, as she zipped up her coat. "Sort of. Or something. And, anyway I did so with good reason, too!" Despite herself, she allowed him to direct her to his car. It was just as well. He ought to bring her back to her apartment—it was the least he could do to make amends.

"You 'broke up' with me," Stone said, employing air quotes as he disengaged the car alarm, "because I did better than you on the GREs. Which neither of us even needed to take, by the way—we already know which schools we're going to next year."

Mavi turned away at that reminder—she and Stone had indeed suffered through their respective Hells (her ELATs, and his GMATs).

"You were the one that made me take them with you for fun."

"Yes, well, I didn't think you'd score higher than me!" Even as she said it, Mavi realized how childish it sounded.

"Mavi," Stone said impatiently, as he stopped at a red light. "You outscored me in the mathematics portion."

"And you killed me in the verbal section, Stone—I mean, what the hell?"

He threw her a look that appeared vaguely offended.

"It doesn't matter, Mavi," he said, as he pulled onto the highway. "Get over it—you're too competitive when it comes to things like this, and it's really annoying, and sometimes illegal. Remember what you did to that guy who beat you for valedictorian?"

"Hm," Mavi said dreamily, as though she were reliving her triumph, "Our teacher had the hardest time getting that gym whistle out of his throat."

"You're just lucky that cousin of his managed to convince him not to sue. So you'll stop," Stone said, as he pulled into his off-campus house.

"No," Mavi answered quickly. "No, I have a better idea."

At the unmitigated glee in her voice, Stone suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"What now," he said blankly.

Mavi smiled.

"Free up your schedule, Stone—we're taking the LSATs."