"Brideshead!?"

"Yes, Brideshead. That's what he recommended I read." Halle switches from the tab holding their review of Wang's to Leon's Tumblr, then back to the review. "And he specifically pointed out Charles' massive bi energy."

Ella grins. "I knew it. The moment I saw him I knew he was one of us." She shoves them playfully, gloating, "I told you my gaydar never fails. He's queer, I called it."

They glare at the review, still stuck on the introductory paragraphs commenting on the drab ambience. "What if he's just a really enthusiastic ally who was trying to tell me he accepts me being non-binary? He could've just been going kinda overboard."

"Bold of you to assume allies can read."

"Ella!"

"I'm right!"

"You're mean is what you are, how dare — " Halle quiets down at a cautionary "shh!" from a passing fourth-year (insolent child, they scold internally). "It's not like I can ask Leon about it," they continue, voice softer. "Am I supposed to walk up to him, like, 'hey, man, are you bi? I'm not gonna ask you out or anything, but you talked about a bi character once and now I think you are too.' Who does that?"

She looks up from her chemistry homework. "Didn't he also tell you to read The Picture of Dorian Grey?"

"Not only queer people read Dorian Grey, Ella."

"Yes, but that paired with the fact that he mentioned Brideshead and its raging bisexual vibes has some sort of significance." She peers at her worksheet again, frowning. Halle's not sure whether it's at the incomprehensible equations or Leon's hypothetical queerness. "You better get it straight the next time you two get some alone time. Speaking of which, when's that?"

They barely manage to restrain themself from making a stupid joke at the expense of the word "straight", like they're wont to do most of the time. "This Sunday," they say. "I saw him a couple of days ago after tennis practice, but he didn't bring up the books."

"Waiting to see how you'd react, I suspect. Also, what type of bond does carbon usually form?"

"...a platonic one?"

"What?"

They huff, "listen, I haven't taken chemistry since third year. Why are you asking me?"

"I thought you'd remember!"

"That was two years ago. Now, back to Leon."

Ella raises her eyebrows, but doesn't comment.

"I'm gonna teach him how to play tennis, then we're going to the library." Just the thought makes them excited, then they remember the math test they have the day immediately after. Less exciting.

Most unsurprisingly, the review is not writing itself. Typing down their remarks on the dishes from their writing notebook isn't much of a hassle, but the part on the restaurant's service is stubbornly refusing to be written. Gritting their teeth, Halle tries once more to compose a paragraph on the casual, yet dedicated one-man wait staff. Somehow, describing Leon as "unprofessional" now seems a little… mean. His laughter echoes in their head.

Their friend manages to finish off her chemistry work in the time it takes for them to delete the opening paragraph four times. "Damn, I love Google."

A particularly loud and frustrated backspace makes a few heads turn towards their table again, and Halle flushes in embarrassment. They delete the rest of the paragraph less violently. "Are you gonna go home first?" They ask. "I think I need a bit more time before this review is done."

"Nah, I'll stay." She slips the worksheets into a folder, then into her backpack. Something in her bag makes her start. "Are you hungry?"

"Why do you ask?"

Ella pulls a plastic box out of her bag. "Isn't good food one of the best ways to combat writer's block?"

They look around at the many other students working around them, then at the librarian at his desk, and lower their voice. "You do know we're not allowed to eat in here, right?"

She gestures towards a nearby corridor, where a few closed-off project rooms are located. "Let's go in there, then."

"Don't you have to book those — "

"They won't find out if we don't get caught!"

And with that, Ella wheels away from the table, holding the box, and down the corridor. Silently closing their laptop, Halle grabs their bag and follows her.

Thankfully, nobody comes chasing after them. Ella sets the box on the table and yanks the lid off. Inside, nestled on a folded piece of paper towel, sits a few stacks of deep-fried lumpia, golden-brown and glistening faintly.

"I made them just this morning, but they probably won't be crispy any more." She takes a packet of tissues out of her pocket and pulls one out to make a makeshift tablecloth. "At least they didn't explode this time."

This time? Halle tries not to think about it and takes one of the rolls. It hasn't lost its crunch completely, and still cracks rather satisfyingly as they chew — though, thankfully, not loud enough to blow their cover. The minced pork filling is interjected occasionally by sweet shredded cabbage and carrots, the entire thing enveloped by the still-crispy exterior.

"Don't eat all of them," Ella warns, while taking one for herself. "I promised to leave some for Mariam once she finishes rehearsal." She shakes her glove off and bites into the roll with relish. "Gosh, I miss her."

"You last saw her an hour ago."

"I miss her," she repeats. "How do you think she'd react if I rolled into the music room in the middle of her rehearsal to say hello?"

"I think the conductor would chase you out with her baton."

She picks up a piece of wrapping that fell on her lap and pops it into her mouth. "Or maybe she'll recognise that I came here with the power of love and let me lead Mariam out of the room in all our glory."

With no way to respond to that, Halle goes back to eating.

Fifteen minutes later, Ella closes the half-full plastic box and maneuvers her wheelchair towards the door. "I'm going to go wait for Mariam. You keep writing, okay?"

They wave her goodbye, dust their hands clean and attempt once more to write. Easygoing and charismatic, the sole server at the restaurant shoulders the burden of waiting tables alone with not a single complaint. He trades jokes, talks about books and even shares kitchen secrets with regular visitors, and newcomers might find themself wanting to return solely for another chat.

Good enough. While trying to think of how to continue, Halle goes to check on Leon's Tumblr page. He posted a new work last night — a gut-wrenching retelling of Apollo witnessing the death of his lover Hyakinthos — that left them trying to think up a normal reason why they were crying at their phone when their parents asked. Imagining Leon's voice animatedly reading out the story numbs the pain slightly, though. Don't leave me, my dear, my sweet, the story goes, Leon narrates, for how could I bear to wake up every morning if your smile is not the first thing I see? I love you, I adore you, my wretched eternal heart beats for you and only you, how can it beat if you are gone?

A teacher knocks on the room's door before their imagination can get more vivid, and they nearly fall out of their chair in shock. For some reason, their cheeks feel warm.

Enough distractions. Shaking their head to banish Leon's voice, Halle continues writing.