A/N 1: This fic is dedicated to sincerely-TheBreakfastClub. Happy birthday, Raegan! I can't believe we've known each other for so long and you're finally an adult! Congratulations!
A/N 2: I made the Samwell econ department less of a shitshow than the econ department where I went to college, but only slightly. I'm sure the Samwell econ department would actually be much more functional than this, but I have no idea what a functional econ department looks like, so here you go.
Baz has been dreading the group project ever since he got the syllabus on the first day of his Economic History class, and that dread has only mounted as the semester has worn on. The project is worth 30% of his grade, and there's absolutely no one in this class he trusts to be a good partner.
Baz is the youngest student in the class by two years; the only prereqs are Intro to Macro and Intro to Micro, so technically sophomore econ majors could register for it, but the class is meant to be a trial run for the senior thesis, what with it culminating in a big project rather than a test, so it's exclusively populated by juniors other than Baz, whose advisor has . . . unconventional ideas about—well, pretty much everything. Baz's advisor figured that, since Baz already took the equivalents of Intro to Macro and Intro to Micro in high school, he should take some junior-level classes now and then take the sophomore-level classes, like Intermediate Micro and Macro, as an actual sophomore. Which doesn't make any sense, now that Baz is actually in this class—he could have just joined the cohort a year above him and graduated early, but now he won't have a cohort at all.
Regardless, Baz is the youngest student in Economic History by two years, and he's also the best student in the class by miles. No, light-years. Somehow, despite the fact that these are all junior econ majors, his classmates are mixing up basic concepts like demand and quantity demanded left and right, and most days it seems like no one but Baz has done the reading. That might just be because Professor Woodson is super boring (and Baz has heard whispers about him giving easy As, so maybe no one feels the need to put in the work), but Baz's family has instilled in him a deep need to always do his best and be the best, and he's going to put in the work whether his GPA requires it or not. (The reading is actually pretty interesting, too. Who would have thought there was so much drama in the history of the shipping container?)
So Baz sighs and rolls his eyes as his classmates mess up, and he tries not to think about the fact that he's going to be stuck working with one of them for the end-of-semester group project. And then the time comes to start the group project, and Baz is assigned to work with Adam Birkholtz, a blond guy who also happens to be the only student in the class who's multiple inches taller than Baz. People get up and start moving around the room to talk to their assigned partners, and Baz and Adam both pat the spots next to them. They have a bit of a staring contest as neither of them moves, but finally Adam gives up, stands, and walks over to Baz's desk. Dropping into the seat next to Baz, he says, "So. You're the frog, right?"
"Yes," says Baz coolly. "And before you make jokes about my age, bear in mind that doing so would say more about your intelligence than it would about me, given that we're in the same class."
"Okay. Let's get this over with. I wasn't going to make jokes about your age, but while we're on the topic, I've got some shit to say. You constantly act like you're better than everyone in this class just because you've got every answer on the tip of your tongue and the rest of us don't. And it's cool that you're smart and shit. I'm not trying to say you shouldn't try or that it's bad to know stuff. But it doesn't make you worth more than the rest of us, and you don't get to pull that shit when we're working together. I'm better with the math side of this major than with the, like, conceptual side, which means this class doesn't play to my strengths at all. That doesn't mean I'm dumb, and I'm not going to stand by and let you insult me. I'm going to do a fine job on this project and I'm going to pull my weight, and I expect you to do the same, and we're going to treat each other decently in the process. You feel?"
Baz crosses his arms. "Was that supposed to be something other than insulting?"
Adam crosses his arms, too. "You implied I was less intelligent than you after I asked an innocent get-to-know-you question. That wasn't cool, and you pull that shit constantly, with all your dramatic sighs and eye rolls and keeping your hand raised while other people are talking when you think they're wrong. I'm not going to take that from you while we work on this project."
Baz rolls his eyes. "Since when is 'You're the frog, right?' an 'innocent get-to-know-you question'? People only ever want to establish that I'm younger than they are so they can feel superior."
Adam frowns. "Not everything is about jockeying to get to a higher rung on the ladder. And if that's how everyone in your life makes you feel, you need to hang out with better people." He shakes his head. "Look, none of this is actually the point. We've been assigned to research reasons behind changes in trade patterns in the Middle East from the rise of Islam to the year 1000 at the latest. I don't know jack about that era anywhere in the world. Do you?"
Baz shakes his head reluctantly.
Adam just shrugs. "I'd be surprised if anyone in this class did, honestly. We're not history majors. I say we hit the library ASAP and aim to have books checked out within the next three days, and then by the Monday after next we should try to have some idea of what happened in that region during those dates so we know what to focus on, and then by the Monday after that we should try to have a rough thesis, and then an outline for the paper and presentation by the Thursday of that week so that we can have a rough draft the next Thursday and take it to the Writing Center and the Presentation Lab in time to present it five weeks from today. Sound good?" Adam's got his planner open and has been penciling things in as he's talked.
Baz is staring at him. "I would've pegged you as a do-it-all-the-night-before kind of guy."
Adam sighs. "That's the kind of shit I literally just told you not to say. Also, no, my roommate has hella anxiety, so I help him plan all of his projects with intermediate deadlines like this, and it works so well that I decided to start doing it for myself too. So does this schedule work for you or do you want to change something?"
"It works," says Baz.
"Cool," says Adam. "That's literally all you had to say the first time. So, now that we've established a schedule, can I get your email address so we can keep each other updated on what we've learned and figure out times to meet and hash things out? I think the initial research will be pretty easy to do on our own, and so will writing the paper once we have the outline, but coming up with a thesis will probably require an actual conversation, and I'd like to make the outline together, and we should probably have a conversation about how the presentation should go, as well. I'm on the men's hockey team and I'm active in Hillel, so those keep me pretty busy, but obviously I need to keep my GPA up to keep my athletic eligibility, so I'm not planning on slacking on this."
Baz writes down his email address in the margin of Adam's planner and says, "Okay. I'm on the men's soccer team and in the orchestra, so I'm pretty busy as well, but we should be able to figure something out."
Adam nods and then looks down at Baz's email address. "Dude, your handwriting is whack. That B totally looks like a T."
"It is a T," Baz admits. "My first initial is T. Basilton is my middle name."
"But Professor Woodson has always just called you Basil," says Adam.
"Samwell has a preferred name and pronoun policy, but I didn't find out about that until I got here," Baz explains. "I prefer to go by Basil, but they'd already made me an email address with my first initial in it by the time I realized I had options, and I figured changing my email address would be too much hassle. I might go through with it, though. You're not the first person to ask."
"Gotcha," says Adam. "Okay, I'm going to head to the library today after class and see if I can find some relevant books. I'll email you the titles for accountability, and then you can get to the library sometime in the next couple days and check out some other books and email me back with the titles of what you're reading. Cool?"
"Sure," says Baz.
Baz spends the next couple weeks reading a bunch about the Middle East in the latter part of the first millennium CE. It becomes quickly apparent that he should focus on the Umayyad and Abbasid caliphates. The library doesn't have a lot of books on economic history, though, so research means a lot of wading through history books that briefly mention trade in the middle of going on and on about who was ruler of where during what time period. It's really frustrating. Baz has also never really done intense library-based research before—taking lots of AP classes in high school meant privileging testing well over researching well—and it's a bit overwhelming. He's done a ton of reading by the time he and Adam have their first meeting in the library, but he still doesn't have that many ideas about what their thesis should be.
"Should we get a group study?" Adam asks, dropping into the armchair across from the sofa Baz is sitting on, just inside the library entrance.
"A what?" Baz says.
"A group study room," Adam clarifies. "You know, a private room where we can spread our stuff out without bugging everyone around us? You can check them out for two hours."
"They have those?" Baz asks.
"Have you even been in Founders' before?" Adam returns.
"Yeah," says Baz. "I normally go straight to the quiet floor. I like the carrell by the biographies of Robert Frost."
"I don't know where that carrell is, but the quiet floor doesn't have group studies, so I guess it makes sense that you don't know about them. Sort of. Have you not done group projects, though?"
"I have," says Baz. "But my other classes are mostly freshmen, so I don't think anyone else knows about group studies either. We mostly have just met in the common rooms of our dorm buildings."
"And the big freshman year research project that you all do in your first year seminars isn't until second semester, right. I forgot about that. You'll get an introduction to the library then. I suppose they expect that most freshmen won't have to do a ton of library research until that project. Sorry, should I have helped you figure out how to find books and articles a couple weeks ago?"
Baz rolls his eyes. "I'm familiar with how libraries work, Adam."
"Fine, fine," says Adam. "Okay, you get a group study by walking up to the circulation desk and asking them if you can have one. They'll take your student ID in exchange for the key. It's really simple. Do you want to try it? I feel like you should try it."
Baz glances over at the circulation desk. There's a student worker sitting behind it, writing in a notebook with a textbook open in front of him. Even though his head is down and Baz can't really see the guy's eyes, it's still clear that he's one of the most attractive people Baz has ever seen. Copper curls. A golden glow to his skin. Broad shoulders.
Baz swallows, his mouth suddenly dry, and says, "Sure."
He stands and walks over to the circulation desk. When he's almost there, the guy behind the desk looks up, revealing eyes that are a bright, cornflower blue. The guy—Simon, according to the nametag Baz is now close enough to read—waits until Baz has stopped in front of the desk to ask, "What can I help you with?"
"I'd like a group study?" Baz doesn't mean for it to sound like a question, but it does.
"Sure," says Simon. "It hasn't been a particularly busy afternoon, so I think we have several free. Lemme check."
Baz realizes he's staring—Simon's Adam's apple moves when he talks, and it's a whole production—so he gets his student ID out of his wallet just to have something else to look at.
After a few moments of clicking around on the big desktop next to him, Simon says, "We've got rooms open on this floor or in the basement. Which would you prefer?"
"Uh, this floor?" says Baz.
"Cool, you can have room 211," says Simon. "It's over there by the water fountains. Can I have your ID?"
Baz hands it over wordlessly, deliberately gripping it in such a way that Simon's fingers will be likely to brush his in the process of taking it. Their fingers do indeed brush, and it's even more electrifying than Baz anticipated; he can't help his sharp intake of breath. Simon doesn't look at him again while handing over the key, and Baz wonders if Simon misinterpreted his gasp, or if Simon now knows Baz finds him attractive and doesn't like that, or if it's something else. Baz isn't too worried about the possibility that Simon might be a homophobe—after all, everyone knows Samwell's reputation of "one in four, maybe more;" why would a homophobe choose to attend? But not everyone enjoys being found attractive by random strangers, even so.
Baz gets himself out of his head long enough to say, "Thanks," and then he walks back to where Adam is still sitting, and they both head to room 211. It's a smallish room, with a table that seats four taking up most of the space, but there's a chalkboard on the wall that the table and chairs aren't shoved up against, and there's a large desktop computer at one of the seats. Adam and Baz sit across from each other at non-computer spaces and get out their laptops, notebooks, and the books they've been using for research.
Just as Baz is opening his mouth to say something about the group project, Adam says, "You've been blushing ever since you looked over at the circulation desk. Was that guy your type?"
It takes Baz a second to recover from the surprise of the question enough to roll his eyes and say, "Please. You know nothing about me."
"I know you're an arrogant freshman who's wicked smart but still has a lot to learn. And I know that you've been blushing for the past five minutes."
"You were watching me check out the group study?"
"Sure. I wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing, make sure I didn't need to come to your rescue."
"I have never needed rescuing in my life."
"Yeah, yeah," says Adam. "And you've been living away from your parents for how long?"
"Two and a half months," Baz mutters.
"Right," says Adam. "So. Forgive me for thinking you might need help. Now, was the guy at the circulation desk your type?"
"Maybe. What's it to you?"
Adam shrugs. "Maybe if you were getting some, you'd lighten up in class."
Baz frowns. "Really? You're still going on about that? And you think sex would solve the problem?"
"Yes, I'm still going on about that, and yeah. I think it's worth a shot, at least."
"Can we just work on the project?"
Adam sighs. "Yeah, we can work on the project."
It takes over an hour, but Baz and Adam share their notes with each other and talk through how their research connects with what they've learned in class, and in the end they wind up with a thesis about the transaction costs model of trade and the movement of the capital of the caliphate from Damascus under the Umayyads to Baghdad under the Abbasids. Baz isn't sure if it's a good thesis, but that's because coming up with an argument about trade that happened over a thousand years ago in places he's barely heard of turns out to be hard; Adam is definitely pulling his weight, and that helps, but academic work is still work in a very real sense.
Finally, both of them gather up their things and leave the group study room. As they walk back toward the circulation desk, Adam whispers (badly, loudly) to Baz, "You should slip him your number. Like, don't ask him out; he's working. But you can discreetly give him your number."
"Fuck off," Baz whispers back. Simon is still at the circulation desk, and he's still gorgeous, but Baz isn't going to give him his number just because he's hot. Baz has never dated, but he knows what he wants and he has standards. Yes, it would be good to find his future boyfriend attractive, but that's hardly the entire list.
On Thursday of that week, Baz arrives at the library ten minutes before he and Adam decided they were going to meet up. Baz tries to tell himself, on his walk there, that he's just going early because he likes to be punctual, but as soon as he enters the library and sees Simon at the circulation desk, the lies he's been telling himself crumble into pieces. He's early because he wants to talk to Simon without Adam watching.
"Hey," says Baz, walking up to the circulation desk. "Can I get a group study?"
Simon startles a bit at Baz's greeting but recovers quickly and clicks around on his computer. "Sure. It's been a busier day today, so we just have two rooms left and they're both in the basement, but room 113 is yours if you give me your ID."
Baz hands over his ID and takes the key Simon offers him. Then something over Simon's shoulder catches Baz's eye. There's a smallish whiteboard, maybe two feet by a foot and a half, leaning on a shelf behind Simon. It has a whiteboard marker and an eraser both taped to pieces of plastic string that are also taped to the whiteboard, and on the whiteboard is a surprisingly detailed drawing of a dragon. It has a speech bubble coming out of its mouth (above the flames that are also coming out of its mouth), and in the speech bubble are the words, Check me out!
Baz points to the whiteboard. "Can you actually check that out?"
"Yeah, do you want it?" Simon replies. "Wait, never mind, you're going to a group study, so you'll have a chalkboard already. Unless—are you allergic to chalk dust or something? Because you can totally check out the whiteboard if you need it."
"Nah, I'm not allergic to chalk dust," Baz says. "As cool as that dragon is, I don't think I need to check it out."
"Oh, you like the dragon?" Simon asks. "I thought I'd been getting better at drawing them, but it's nice to get affirmation from someone other than my best friend."
"You drew that? That's awesome!" Baz enthuses.
"Yeah, I like to draw. I mean, just as a hobby. I'm not an art major or anything. I'm studying environmental science."
"You could totally be an art major if you wanted to be."
Simon shrugs. "Maybe. What about you? What are you studying?"
"Econ," Baz says. "It's my second-favorite thing, after Latin, and there was no way I was going to major in classics. Way too impractical."
Simon nods. "That makes sense. What year are you?"
"It's my first year here, but I took a ton of AP classes in high school and got fives on all the tests, so by how close I am to graduation I'm a sophomore."
"Oh, cool. Good for you. I'm just a freshman." Simon lowers his eyes, and for the first time Baz wonders if talking about his accomplishments makes other people feel inadequate. For the first time, that seems like a bad thing. He thinks he might understand Adam's point from a few weeks ago a bit better now.
"Hey, there's nothing wrong with just being a freshman," says Baz.
Simon shrugs. "Academics have never really been my strong suit. My best friend is super smart, but I'm just not wired that way."
"You're good at other things, though," says Baz. "I mean, I don't know you very well, but you're good at drawing at least, and I bet you're good at a bunch of other things as well."
"I'm a starter on the rugby team. Don't know if that counts for anything, but, you know."
"That totally counts! I'm on the soccer team, but, uh, second string. Like, I definitely made the team, but playing for a D1 college is just a whole different deal than captaining a high school team, you know?"
"Oh, for sure," says Simon. "I thought the coaches had lost their minds when they made me a starter. But I think I've been playing really well, now that I've gotten into the swing of things."
"That's awesome. I think I've got my feet under me, too, from an athletic perspective, but it definitely took a few weeks. I was really glad we moved in before classes started."
"Definitely. I really—"
"Baz! You got us a group study?" comes Adam's voice from behind Baz.
Baz turns reluctantly to face him. "Yeah, room 113."
"Cool. I've got practice in an hour and a half, so let's do this."
"Okay," says Baz, before turning again to nod awkwardly at Simon and then following Adam down the stairs.
"Sorry to break that up," Adam apologizes as he and Baz approach the bottom of the stairs. "I really do have practice soon, or I'd have let you keep flirting for a while."
"I was not flirting!" Baz insists.
Adam rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You should totally slip him your number when you return the key."
Adam and Baz spend the next 45 minutes hashing out an outline for their paper and presentation, and by the time they're packing up their stuff Baz is hoping that Adam has forgotten about Simon. (Baz certainly hasn't forgotten about Simon, but that's different.) But no such luck. As Adam's putting his notebook away, he tears a corner of one of the pages off and hands it to Baz.
"Write down your number on this and give it to him," Adam orders.
Baz wants to, is the thing. He just doesn't want to do it because it was Adam's idea. "No."
Adam finishes packing his bag and crosses his arms. "You're seriously going to sabotage your chances at getting some—or at least making a friend—just because you don't want me to be right?"
That's such an accurate read of the situation that Baz is genuinely a bit freaked out. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Yeah, yeah," says Adam. "You weren't flirting, you don't want to give him your number, I know, I know. It's whatever."
"Good," says Baz.
He waits until Adam leaves the library, and then he writes his number on the slip of paper, along with his name, and gives it to Simon along with the key to group study room 113.
Half an hour later, he gets a text: Hey, this is Simon from the library. What does Baz mean? I looked it up in my dictionary app but didn't find anything.
Baz just about falls over laughing. It's my name.