Hey guys!
So I haven't updated this story in a ages but I've been sitting on this one-shot for a while so here it is :)
It's a Riley/Stanley one today, and I don't know how you guys feel about that since she's not a real Lorien Legacies character, but I figured I'd give it a try. I think most of the people that read this read my other story anyway so at least I know most of you like the pairing.
Just a warning, this one-shot contains mature themes (sex). There is not anything detailed and definitely not anything close to being rated M, but I thought I'd give you a little heads up just in case :)
Anyway, read on!
It happened on a Tuesday night, which was weird because nothing important ever happened on a Tuesday.
But on this Tuesday, that was as boring and uneventful and dry and common as any other Tuesday, he went to party. He wasn't quite sure why someone would throw a party in the middle of the week, or why he would even go to a party in the middle of the week, but it was whatever, he was there.
It didn't happen like in the movies. Their eyes didn't meet across a crowded room, there wasn't an electrical charge in the air or butterflies in his stomach or any other stupid reaction to meeting someone that only ever occurred in movies and Nicholas Sparks novels. No.
He bumped into her (like literally almost knocked her over like an idiot) on his way in through the door. They looked at each other, said a few words, and then were both gone. Anticlimactic? Maybe. But it was a Tuesday, and nothing interesting ever happened on a Tuesday.
. . .
So maybe it didn't happen on a Tuesday. Maybe it happened on a Saturday. The Saturday that followed the Tuesday.
He was at another party at the same place, but this time it involved more alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol actually. So much alcohol that when he staggered over to a girl leaned on a wall at the some ungodly hour with a fuzzy brain, he failed to remember exactly how they had met before, on that boring Tuesday that seemed like forever ago.
It didn't matter, she didn't remember either, because the stuff in her cup had a way of making someone forget boring things that happened in the middle of the week. He tried a couple of lines, starting with getting her name.
Her name was Riley; a nice name, but like most, it didn't stand out. That didn't matter either, because it wasn't like he was looking for anything special. And she didn't seem like she was, not like it was a bad thing or anything. She was pretty with brown hair and a sloppy grin that was identical to every other intoxicated grin in the place. She didn't stand out, but he didn't either. Perhaps they made a good match.
They found out later just exactly how good a match they were when they left the party behind and stumbled down the hall, lips locked together, the unbalanced push and pull of a hurried drunken trek. His dorm room was only a few doors down from the party, but it took them an embarrassing amount of time to get there.
Neither of them cared about the speed though, because when they got there, and he pushed her up against the wooden door as he struggled to get his key out of his pocket, that was when he felt it. It was a crazy, lightheaded, longing feeling that when mixed with a lot of beer, made the perfect combination. He knew from experience.
He made a faster effort to get out his key as her hands ran through his hair. Then she had suddenly pulled back, and even though his lips gave chase the second they lost contact, her panting words stopped him.
"Your hair..." she gave a soft tug on the dark locks for emphasis as she caught her breath, "it's too long."
He had just looked at her then, the click of a lock barely heard over their breathing, heavy from the strenuous trip down the hall. "I think yours is too long."
"You didn't seem to mind a couple minutes ago."
They were so close still, lips almost touching, breaths mingling. Then he let out a low chuckle.
"Oh, I don't mind." With no warning but a wink, he hoisted her up quick enough for her to let out something between a squeal and a giggle before he muffled the sound with his lips. It wasn't a kiss as much as it was just pressing his own grin against hers, but just for a moment, he felt something other than lust and longing. It felt electric.
She hooked her legs around his hips and ran her fingers through his hair while he used one arm to keep her up, pushing the door open with his foot. The dorm was dark when they entered, but neither of them seemed to mind when the door shut again, blocking out the light of the hallway, the shadows in the room only interrupted by the faint glow of a streetlight through thin curtains. His grip loosened as he lowered her gently to the ground. Sliding his hands up her body, he put his forehead against hers, both of them breathing heavy.
His fingers tangled through her hair and he smirked. "Sweetheart, I really don't mind at all." Their lips met again, the buzz of energy between them melding into one.
They stumbled towards the bed.
And maybe, that might have been the beginning, but not when it happened.
. . .
Maybe it happened the morning after that, when he woke up, tangled blankets covering his midsection, to one of his many under-utilized textbooks careening into the wall at 8:48 AM. He quickly figured out it was her who did it, her who was awake far before noon on a Sunday and trying—morbidly unsuccessfully—to make a quiet exit from the room. He watched her for a few moments, already halfway dressed but missing a shirt, as she muttered something under breath. Her right foot hovered a few inches above the floor before she gingerly placed it down again. He realized the flying book phenomenon might have had something to do with a rushed exit. Before he could think about much of anything, she was moving on again, probably to look for whatever article of clothing that covered her upper body last night. He couldn't remember.
He also didn't plan to let her know he was awake. But she started walking slower after that, moving with unnaturally careful steps and keeping her eyes trained on the floor, and he couldn't help the chuckle that surfaced.
Then there was a moment, only a small one, and for a brief period of time, when her head swivelled around in surprise, an expression on her features that only ever adorned the faces of children when they were caught doing something they weren't supposed to be doing. Then she huffed out a laugh with an apology, and it probably shouldn't have made him feel so... well, he didn't know. But the feeling was there, even if just for a moment.
"What'd my religion book do to you, babe?" He asked with a smirk.
"Uh, nothing." She, Riley, glanced in the direction of what was probably wall damage from the book. "It was your math book, so..."
She went back to whatever search she was holding with a tight smile. But he was kind of an expert at this kind of stuff (not that he had hordes of women at his disposal at all times or anything), so he continued with a comment about the book was probably on the floor because it was useless.
Most people would agree with him. After all, they were all students who struggled with the same stuff. But this girl froze for a moment, hand outstretched to grab a piece of clothing in the corner of the room.
"Math 1001 isn't useless." Her stilled arm seemed to have found motion again after the statement, picking up a navy sweater that she had yet to find out wasn't hers. "It's the fundamentals of calculus. A building block." She wasn't paying attention to her actions as she held up the large hoodie, obviously too focused on her words.
"Is there a reason you're holding my sweater, Sweatheart?"
Her fingers sprung apart immediately, and she even took a step back like it burnt her or something. There was a sigh and fingers racking through messy hair. "I thought it was mine." She clicked her tongue, looking lost. "But I think I lost it."
His eyes followed her movements as she went around the room, getting consistently faster as the seconds passed until it was hard for him to watch.
"You know you could just take the sweater right?" Her neck swivelled from where she was crouching on the floor, eyebrows raised in the definition of the 'really?' expression. He winked. "Besides, I could just take it off you again later."
The comment didn't strike anything weird; a nerve, disgust, creepy feelings. No. She laughed and he watched from the bed, grinning as she held the article of clothing (which was about twenty three sizes too big) in front of her body, striking a pose and waggling her eyebrows suggestively.
And it was at that exact moment that he really should have known that this girl wasn't normal, that she wasn't just a face in the crowd or another drunk grin.
But because he was stupid (or maybe because he didn't want to acknowledge anything), he layed there in blissful ignorance as she went over whatever plan she had to get his sweater back to him as she shoved the clothing on without question. To justify her borrowing his sweater, she explained how she was in a rush to grade some papers, or do whatever TA's do.
After using the mouthwash, tying her hair in what he thought was supposed to be a bun and shoving on her sneakers, a quick wave was her last farewell before opening the door and stepping out.
Then he just looked up at the ceiling with a stupid grin spreading across his face, and he didn't know why.
He heard the twist of a doorknob and then the door cracked open again, Riley's face appearing in the opening.
"I didn't get your name." There was a laugh at the end of her sentence, and he loved the way it sounded.
"Stanley." He replied.
"Well," she nodded, tapped once on the door and smiled, "it was really really nice to meet you, Stanley."
When she left that time, it was for good. But he kind of hoped it wasn't.
. . .
She came back. Not for anything kissing related (which he thought was a bummer), but just to return his sweater.
"It's washed and everything." Were the first words that came out of her mouth when he opened the door, like she didn't want him to think for even a second that she would return it in any worse condition than she found it.
He smirked, not yet taking the sweater from her. "You don't waste any time, do you?"
"Not for this type of thing." She assured.
"Oh, I see." He nodded and watched after a second of silence as she looked at the sweater in her hand, and then back at him, her eyebrows furrowed in innocent confusion. He arched an eyebrow. The corner of her mouth slowly started to tug up in a smile.
"Um, hi?"
He grinned and took the sweater from her, obviously pleased. "Hello to you too." She rolled her eyes and he couldn't help but find it cute. Feeling bold, he stepped forward until he was standing in the doorway, and then casually (very casual), he leaned his shoulder into the doorframe, hands partially disappearing into jean pockets. "You know, Riley," he liked saying her name, "after you left, I got to thinking about things."
Her lips easily twitched into a half smile, which he thought might have been meant to be coy, but it just looked too innocent to be that. Although he knew that wasn't true. "Things huh?" The fact that she made a visible effort to keep back her giggle at the end of the comment, and then letting it escape anyway might have made it a bit more endearing. That's what he blamed the pull in his stomach on anyway. "What kind of things?"
"Things that have to do with what we did last night." His head tilted so it leaned casually (really, so casual) against the doorframe. "Maybe a repetition."
Her eyebrows shot up and he had a feeling she was holding back on reminding him that the event he was referring to was actually very early that morning, and she tilted her head as though copying him. But she was bad at hiding her smiles, and he was looking close enough to know she had one, a slight quirk at the corner of her mouth. "So, like... do you mean right now?"
Feigning surprise for a moment, he shrugged his shoulders. "Wow, I didn't expect you to move so fast, Riley. But I guess if you really want to..."
She was only able to school her features into a deadpan for less than a second before she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, obviously trying to tone down any amusement she felt. It didn't work. He watched her glance up and down the hall, as though checking for any spectators before she (not as casually as him) took a step forward.
He leaned down slowly and pressed his lips to hers. It wasn't like last night, all hurried and rough with only one thing on their minds. This started off hesitant, until it turned gentle and slow, the energy building as their mouths continued to move and hands coming to rest on waists and the back of necks. No, it wasn't like last night. This was a kiss.
Just as his feet started moving backwards, she suddenly pulled away, much like she did the night before, but this time she didn't look like she was going to comment on the length of his hair. "I have a class in the morning." She said instead.
His chuckle came as a quiet huff of air. The hand that was cupping the back of her neck slid down to grip on her hip, gently pulling her closer until their lips brushed as he spoke. "Okay."
Her eyes closed as she debated something in her head, fingers tapping an unknown rhythm against his chest. " And I really need to go to it." The sentence was flimsy, holding none of the certainty her words would imply.
He felt his smile getting wider. "Okay." The word was quieter this time, making her look up, pressing her lips together when she saw his stupid smile.
"You-" she shook her head, a grin suddenly spreading across her face that looked like laughter would follow. "Stop looking at me like... ugh, that. I'm trying to think..."
The sentence made him laugh, although he was pretty sure that's not what she meant when she told him to look at her differently. Her eyes darted around, looking down the hall, at the floor, above him, and then finally, reluctantly, met his gaze.
"I can't stay long."
He smirked at her, only because he knew he'd get a badly stifled grin in response. He wasn't disappointed. "Don't worry, it won't take long."
Lips twisted in an effort hold in a laugh, she gave his chest an encouraging push so he stumbled backwards into the room. She walked in after her him, standing on her toes to press her lips to his.
She closed the door with her heel.
. . .
So, maybe it didn't happen the first or second time they did it. Maybe it wasn't pinpointed to any particular time at all. Maybe it happened a little bit at a time, every time after that.
Because, as it worked out, they kind of had a friends with benefits thing going on.
It wasn't really a spoken thing. It didn't need to be. They both knew what a text from the other meant, and it wasn't feelings. Sometimes they got together to push away the thoughts of a stressful day, or sometimes it was a distraction from studying, or sometimes, (admittedly) most times, it was just for fun.
There wasn't any pressure in the relationship, it was just there, full and beautiful and unashamed. He had to admit, it almost seemed too good to be true. Most girls after this point seemed to be chasing down a relationship, but somehow they were both on the same page. They didn't even talk about the idea of a romantic thing, ever. And it wasn't fear, or lingering feelings or or any other reason two people might choose to ignore a growing passion. They were just happy, doing what they were doing. And it was great. It was... fun.
She was late sometimes, but he didn't mind. She did, after all, face a much busier school life with tougher classes and being a TA. But he also liked it on these particular nights, when there would be a knock on his door exactly one hour after she sent him a message that should be late (it was always by an hour). And then when he would open the door, there was no greeting, no smile, no 'how was your day?'. The moment the door swung open, she would put her hands on the sides of his face, stand on her toes, and pull his mouth to hers without a word.
He would always ask her what happened, but she would always say something like "I was working on some notes" or "a student wanted a tutor session and I couldn't say no". Then, always, she would mumble a 'sorry' against his mouth when she really didn't need to be, and although his concern wouldn't completely go away, she was good at making him forget.
But on this particular night, he hadn't noticed it was fifty-nine minutes since Riley's 'I'm going to be late :(' text, because—strangely—he had his own set of problems. Even so, when he heard the knock, he didn't hesitate to open the door, and this time his hands were gripping her waist before she could even touch him, his lips pressing against hers with more roughness than they have in a while. He didn't give her time to be react before he picked her up, his heart jumping at her surprised squeak.
When he set her down in the room, hands disappearing under the hem of her shirt, she pulled back and looked into his eyes, concern in her gaze. When he tried to lean in again she put a hand on his chest, pushing him back. It wasn't a hard push, but it still felt like rejection. He was suddenly struck by fear. Fear that she would say this whole 'fun' thing wasn't working out anymore.
"Um, not that I don't appreciate the gesture or anything, but..." she was smiling, although her eyebrows were tugged in, like she wanted to ask a question but couldn't find where to start.
"I'm fine, Sweetheart." He assured.
Her raised eyebrows told him that she didn't believe him and he suddenly pondered—with no small amount of nervousness—when she got so good at reading him, when they got so good at reading each other. Because if he was being honest with himself, he was 99% sure he knew the meaning and cause behind at least half of her expressions by now, and she had a lot of them. He wasn't sure what was more jarring, the fact that she could see through him or the other fact that she cared enough to want to know the reason behind what she saw.
"Are you sure? Because if there's something-"
"Hey, I'm fine." Warm skin met his fingers as he slipped his hands under her hoodie once more, and he grinned for reassurance. It didn't work, but he knew he could get her on board. He pulled her body flush to his, lips next to her ear when he spoke quietly. "Much better now that you're here."
He knew the giggle that the comment would elicit even before it came, but it still brought a grin to his face anyway, especially when he heard her mutter the expected "idiot" under her breath.
Slowly, but surely, they went back to kissing and the start of other things. He almost had her shirt off when he turned and started backing her toward the bed. Until she, once again, pulled away with furrowed eyebrows, and he groaned because if he saw that look one more time tonight he would... well, he didn't know how he'd deal with it, but something would have to be done.
She was looking over his shoulder this time though. "What's all that stuff on your table?"
A sigh met her question, because the word 'stuff' was really too general to be applied to the mass of papers that only succeeded in confusing him. "It's nothing."
But she was already walking toward the table, straightening her shirt before standing over the papers with a studious look. All of the drama in the world must have been mustered into his sigh as he flopped back onto his bed, waiting for the reaction he knew was coming. He counted one second... two...
"Oh my God." He could hear the grin in her voice and he cringed at the ceiling. "Oh my God!" When he looked at her, she was holding up one of the worksheets he had given up on long ago, and she was beaming. Positively beaming. "You were doing calculus."
"Yeah, But-"
"The most useless class, apparently." She interrupted, her grin lessening until all that was left was a knowing smirk.
It wasn't unlike the one that usually adorned his face, although hers was lopsided, whereas his had long been perfected from tireless work in the subject area during his high school and university experience. The expression on her looked too excited to be completely cocky. It looked too... her.
She began waving the sheet of paper around. "But alas, here it is, in your dorm room and-" she took a quick look at the front page, raising an eyebrow, "partially completed..."
The sound of flipping paper registered in his ear before he saw her turn the page, but he was already up, holding out his hand as he took a a step toward her, suddenly fearing she would judge him for his terrible work. "And that's enough of that." He tried to grab for it, but she moved it out of the way.
"I'm not done looking at it." She laughed, retreating from his attempts to take away the assignment with strangely graceful steps. Another page turned. Another failed grab. "And some of it is even right. Wow."
And then he thought that while she came here to have a different kind of fun, this was fun too. It was way more of an innocent kind of fun, like a game of tag or... something else kids play. But he couldn't help the smile on his face, even if he was afraid of her opinions on his work. For a minute, it was like they were good friends instead of two people that weren't supposed to get close to each other.
Continuing her analysis of the paper, and looking up at him with a stupidly giddy smile as he lunged again, she flipped the page back to the first one. "Well, I have to say, I'm impressed, Mr..." Squinting at the page, her footsteps faltered, smile lessening as he assumed she might have found the name. He used her distraction and snatched the paper from her grasp. She looked up at him. "Worthington?"
"That would be me." He muttered, tossing the assignment back to the table with an excess amount of force to really play up his feigned annoyance. He suddenly realized how weird it was that she didn't know his last name until now. He knew hers, except it was only by accident when he saw one of her students text her.
Only after spending a few seconds staring with malice at the crumpled paper of perpetual difficulty, he finally turned back to his visitor, who was still standing in the same spot, a look of growing amusement spreading across her face.
"Really? You're Stanley Worthington?"
The way she asked it made him want to say that he had no idea who that guy was, because while, sure, she looked like she wanted to laugh, she certainly wasn't impressed. But he nodded anyway, because it was right there on the paper and he couldn't really find a lie that would warrant putting the wrong last name on an assignment.
"You know, I was just complaining about you the other day." His eyebrows shot up, clearly offended, but she carried on anyway, pointing a finger at him. "You have not handed in a single assignment this term, not showed up for one test—actually, you've never even showed up to a class! Not one!"
His eyes were wide, shocked because, well, yeah it was true (he had only got his hands on this assignment because one of his friends gave it to him), but how would she even have this information? He blinked at her for a moment, trying to order his thoughts. Finally, he chose to settle on an indignant, "What?".
She laughed. "Stanley, I'm the TA for your math class."
Then he understood, actually stepping back in shock. He took a breath in because things were not supposed to become complicated, and while this may not have seemed like a huge bombshell, any interaction between them that wasn't the interaction behind his room door made things at least a little more complex.
"Why don't you come to class, Stanley?" She asked, approaching the table and picking up the paper again. She flipped it in her hand and pointed it at him. "Some of these answers are right, which is kind of miracle considering your attendance." A quiet laugh lead into her next sentence. "Or should I say lack thereof?"
"Well I looked at a few YouTube videos and got that done." He admitted, not wanting too much credit, even though she was more than ready to give it to him. "But I can't understand the rest. It's like a different language, it's just not... my thing, you know?"
Riley chuckled, tapping the paper a couple times and leaning her hip against the table. "Yeah, I do know. I also know that I'm your TA." Her eyebrows raised smugly. "I tutor people all the time. I can help you."
She was insistent, and she was talking in a way she hadn't before. It wasn't flirty or suggestive, it was genuine. And it might've scared him a bit to see the hopeful expression on her face, because they weren't supposed to say things that weren't stupid and hollow, and they weren't supposed to do things that didn't involve a bed.
But he was learning that it was hard to say no to her. Incredibly hard.
So he shrugged nonchalantly, effectively ignoring the distant voice in the back of his head that warned him of the complications that might come from such an agreement.
"Sure." He said. His heart might have skipped a tiny bit at her grin, but that was a worry for another day.
"Really?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Let's do this, Miss Pierce."
. . .
So things might've gotten complicated after that. It wasn't a big kind of complicated. It was actually a very small (almost inconceivable) complication that went by almost beautifully unnoticed by both of them.
Because now they spent time together outside of his room, learning math. And now he actually went to math class, and almost learned math. But that wasn't the complication. The complicated part came in when he found out that the time he spent looking at board in his math class was nothing compared to the time he spent staring into the distance. And that's why it went unnoticed for a long time. Blissfully unnoticed until one day, when he was staring blankly at the same spot he always stared at, the desk that was always buried in papers when prof whatever-his-name-is was teaching. And it was on that day, that fateful day, when his eyes met brown ones, the same brown eyes that were always absorbed in the grading of papers at that very desk. The eyes of the class's TA, who always sat in that very spot where his eyes wandered. Every class.
And that probably wouldn't have alarmed either of them, because it was no surprise that his gaze tended to gravitate toward her when they were together. What alarmed him was the way his heart jumped, the way his eyes darted away to the random numbers on the board because he felt like he had been caught. Caught. That's when he started to get concerned, because 'caught' implied that he had never intended for her to notice, and nowhere in the history of all time had Stanley Worthington never wanted a woman to notice him staring.
But he let it go. Because she didn't mention it, and neither did he. They just continued what they were doing; sex, with the addition of a little tutoring. That was it. Nothing was happening. Totally uncomplicated.
. . .
And that totally uncomplicated, beautifully great thing they were doing might have become a little more complicated after one specific incident involving one of them falling victim to the flu season. But like last time, it was just by a little. A little (slightly less inconceivable) complication that went a little more noticed by both of them.
Because they had an unspoken rule, a rule that stated they would not be together except only for sex and tutoring. The two would not cross, and nothing would be added to the list. The rule worked. It worked so perfectly actually that they went like this all the way into the next month.
And it was in this perfect month when Riley went outside with her hair wet without a hat on, in the night, in just a t-shirt and jeans to go to the library. And it was November. A seemingly small mistake, but it caused quite a glitch in their rule, the rule that stated they could not see each other outside of their late night and tutoring endeavours. It caused a falter in the rule because this seemingly small mistake caused Riley to catch a cold.
And it wasn't like he had paced his room bare for thirty minutes—more like an hour—while trying to decide how much a hand delivery of a pack of cough drops could single handedly send their casual relationship into ruins (because that would be stupid). And it's not like his mind was going into overload when he also picked up the brand of chocolate bar he knew was her favourite, to go along with the minty halls (because she hated the stupid fruit ones). But maybe, just maybe, when he knocked on her door that evening with the—totally not meticulously planned—delivery of the items and a laptop under his arm, his hand might've been shaking. Just the tiniest amount.
It was only apparent when the door swung open that he should have planned something. Because she was standing there in pyjama bottoms and a large t-shirt that had the periodic table of elements printed on it, and the only thing he was wearing was a coat, jeans and a scary amount of cough drops.
"Stanley?" Her eyes were watering and her nose was red, her voice scratchy. "What are you doing here?" She leaned forward and looked up and down the hall, as though checking for spectators
He thought her response was probably the most normal it could have been considering the circumstances, so he tried to make his response normal. So normal.
"I, um- I felt bad about you being sick, so I brought some..." he clicked his tongue, nearly lost for words, "stuff, for you." He wasn't one to ramble usually, but his words came before he had a chance to think. "It's not much, just some cough drops. The mint kind because I know you don't like the other ones. And I got you a bar, although I don't know if you'll really be able to taste it, but it's your favourite so-"
"Stanley," she was smiling, almost teasing, although somehow he knew she wasn't about to make fun of him, "thank you."
He shrugged and passed her the plastic bag of items, trying not to make a big deal out of it, like he usually just brings all of his casual fun partners a bag of carefully selected cold remedies (he never had until now).
"Well, yeah. It's nothing, so..." with a tight smile, he trailed off and backed up, turning away as fast as he could.
"Wait, what's that?" Her voice stopped him and it took him a minute to realize she was looking at his laptop. He was struck by embarrassment because he was stupid to think a girl who was feeling that crappy would want to even spend a little bit of time with a person she barely really knew, even if it was just for the length of a movie.
He cleared his throat and turned, avoiding her gaze. "My laptop." He swung the device once in a hurried gesture before letting his arm stop at his side again. "Um, I was going to- you know, I was thinking that we could... uh..." he shook his head, "nevermind. It's stupid. Have a nice night." And then he started walking again, as fast as he could because it was stupid. It was stupid to think she might've wanted to stray from the rule. Because she made sense and she was logical, and it had never been more apparent until now how opposite they were.
"Stanley, wait."
He wanted to keep walking, but it was her and God, he really needed to work on his inability to say no to her. So he turned again, only halfway, ready to continue his escape again at a moments notice.
Riley shifted on her feet for a second, her open mouth remaining sound-free for a few moments, and Stanley started to think that maybe he wasn't the only one who didn't know what to say. Eventually though, her creaking voice came, accompanied with a shy smile. It was a smile that told him she knew exactly why he brought the computer.
"Is there Netflix on that laptop?"
. . .
So maybe they added movie nights to their little agreement. It wasn't a bad thing, not at all. It just meant they spent more time together, which wasn't really that different from before except for the fact that now they had their clothes on for most of that time.
In fact, maybe he should have been concerned that the events of their original agreement had seriously been starting to dwindle, replaced by math books and episodes of Greys Anatomy (which he would totally never get into).
And that's when he started to think that maybe this 'happening a little at a time' theory was more than slightly incorrect. He started to think that maybe it only truly started happening in these times they spent together, the laptop on his lap and her head on his shoulder. Sometimes they'd get tired of being in the same positions and morph into a tangle of bodies that they somehow deemed comfortable, or sometimes they wouldn't even watch the movie or show, just letting it play in the background of flowing conversation that was never about anything important. Because they weren't supposed to talk about important stuff.
And those conversations were the type of ones they always had. Nothing heavy, just casual teasing and stupid topics. They were the type of conversations about nothing that made him feel like they were more than just a 'benefit' to one another.
But then, he was pretty sure they might be boarding on the edge of that 'benefit' territory anyway. Because benefits didn't make him get an above average mark in math, and benefits didn't turn down dates with other girls because it felt wrong, and benefits certainly did not cuddle on a single bed and binge watch episodes of a stupid medical drama. Frankly, benefits didn't spend as much time together with clothes on as they did.
But he didn't want to let it go, and he didn't want to make it complicated. So he let himself be persuaded into watching "just one more episode", and eating popcorn and making jokes and playing with her hair until she fell asleep on his shoulder.
Because screw it. They'd redefine 'benefits'.
. . .
This redefining process, he soon found, just meant gradually including some new things in the arrangement. They weren't a bad type of new, just a type of new that neither of them saw coming, but once it came, felt completely natural.
It started with meeting up after class. And it wasn't like this was new thing, because technically any time in the night was after class. They just started seeing each other right after class. In the day. In public.
And that was fine because usually it was just for coffee, or in Riley's case (unless she was exceptionally tired), hot chocolate. So he quickly decided that that wasn't a big deal, because he liked coffee and he liked her, and he really didn't see anything wrong with the two of them together.
But then that one activity (that one innocent activity) may have provided encouragement for a few other… things to arise. Things that caused the—ever distant—alarms in his head to ring slightly louder, but not loud enough to be incapable of ignoring. Because ignoring them was working. Ignoring them was a good thing because ignoring them meant he still had her.
He became good at ignoring the alarms. Like one night when she came over, and like many nights before, they ended up with lungs that were short for air and limbs tangled under a mess of sheets. But unlike many nights before, when Riley went to leave, he heard words come out of his mouth that were different than the usual, "See you tomorrow" or the teasing "leaving so soon?".
He had said four words this time, not knowing they were coming until they were out.
"Why don't you stay?"
She'd looked over her shoulder at him as she played with the hem of the t-shirt she had just slipped on. It was his. "As in the night?" Her question was hesitant, his request obviously surprising both of them.
And despite the nervousness inside him, he just shrugged, propping himself up on an elbow. "Yeah. I mean it's eleven thirty and you don't have a class tomorrow morning. You're already here anyway."
He hoped his reasoning was enough to avoid any questions, and his heart nearly stopped when she didn't say anything for the three seconds (yes, he counted) in the moments that followed. But then she let out a hum of thought that he just knew was a playful agreement and he grinned as he pulled her to him again.
So yeah. That became a thing.
And after a few sleepovers, it even became normal, comforting. Then after that came the mornings where she had to leave early to get to a class, and even though he should've been getting up with her, he just held onto her as long as he could. She would always put up a fight (if mumbling tiredly and halfhearted orders to let her up qualified as a fight). Eventually though, when he knew she'd be late if she stayed any longer, he would remind her of the time. The speed at which she would get up would astonish him every time, even though it shouldn't have, because he knew how much she hated being late.
Yet another thing that started happening was that they would kind of just show up to each others dorms... randomly... unannounced. And he didn't exactly know when that started, because coffee dates and sleepovers were still new, but somehow a few random knocks on the door at strange hours in the night flew by unnoticed. It was fine. After all, he did it to her too. Sometimes he showed up with a laptop and a bag of snacks, sometimes with a last minute math problem, or sometimes—after a particularly long day—with a weird feeling of longing that disappeared the moment her face lit up when she opened the door. She was good at that; making everything feel okay.
On one particular night, when he showed up unannounced, it was a last minute math question night because logarithmic derivatives were kicking his ass and YouTube wasn't doing a good enough explanation. All annoyance was replaced with concern when the door swung open and he saw the strain in her smile.
"What's wrong?"
She shook her head. "Nothing." Before he could say anything more, she gave his hand a tug and he followed her into the slightly messy room. He looked for anything amiss, but all he found was a stack of papers on her small desk and an open book next to it that she immediately gave her attention to after closing the door. "You can stay, but I have to study for an exam." She made a gesture towards the bed, which he noticed was also covered in stray papers. He didn't sit down.
"Riley, it's eleven in the night. Shouldn't you be gone to bed if you have an exam?"
"Yeah..." She strung out the word, looking over her shoulder with a guilty smile. It didn't reach her eyes.
"How long have you been studying?"
"Since this afternoon."
He inwardly sighed. She was like this sometimes. Stressing herself out over things that she already knew, convincing herself that there was more to learn even when there wasn't. And of course she already knew it. The girl was an education junkie with a memory that reminded him of a computer hard drive. She could probably recite that textbook word for word if he asked her to.
"Alright, this is ridiculous." She didn't react to his words, even when he placed his notes down and walked up behind her to where she had abandoned her chair in favour of standing and staring down at the book with blank eyes. Images and diagrams he couldn't comprehend decorated the pages. "What is this anyway?"
"Third year biochemistry."
He didn't even want to understand what was in the book. Instead, he voiced his opinion with a flat, "Why?"
It got a laugh out of her, or really more of a huff of air, but still. "Because." She answered simply.
"Well, you need to stop."
"I need to read over this chapter."
"C'mon, Riley..." He put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing the tense muscles. She relaxed slightly under his fingers and he pressed his lips to the back of her neck as he mumbled, "I know you already know it."
He couldn't help the grin on his face when she bunched up her shoulders with a soft squeak. Although when she turned her head to escape the contact, he saw her smile was gone nearly as quickly as it came.
"What if I don't?" She asked. He gave her shoulders another squeeze, but it didn't seem to help. His hands followed her as she braced her palms on the edge of her desk and leaned into them, head hanging down to continue reading the pages. "What if I go into the exam and half of it is based off the one thing I didn't read?"
"First of all, that's not going to happen." He said easily. He might have stifled his amusement at her worry if she didn't have her back turned. But she couldn't see him right now, so he let a smile inch across his face as he continued kneading her shoulders. "Second, you've read everything."
"How do you know?"
This time he let a a chuckle creep into his voice. "Because I know you, Riley." Her only response came as a stubborn sigh and the shake of her head. He leaned in again. "Come on. You need to sleep."
His hands took a new course, down over her back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the oversized NASA t-shirt (yes, she was that big of a nerd) she was wearing. He swore he could feel her relaxing more as he worked his way back up. "I can't." She said anyway.
"You can." He insisted. The seconds ticked by without a response. "Riley?" His hands stopped moving as though it would implore her to answer. It didn't. Instead, it just seemed to provide encouragement for her to shift so more weight was leaned on her hands, signifying that she wouldn't be moved.
"Okay then." He sighed, but he wasn't done trying. She was stressed, and she would take a break, whether she wanted to or not. His hands moved down again. Slow, just like before, except now he was kind of feeling like being a bit of an asshole.
When he wiggled his fingers into her ribs her yelp was instant, along with her arms clamping down to protect her sides. "Don't." She ordered, but there was the hint of a laugh in there, badly hidden under a stern tone.
"Hm?" He didn't stop. "Don't what?"
"Oh my God." There was a clear giggle threaded through her whine as she attempted to turn around to better defend herself. He quickly wrapped an arm around her to stop her progress and pulled her tight to his chest, grinning when she squealed as his hand moved down to tickle an unprotected area on her side. "No! Stan- stop!" She couldn't cease her chain of laughter long enough to get the words out so it all ended up being blended together. "This is so unfair!"
And he had known for a while now that her laugh was just as infectious as her grin, but even he was shocked to find how easy his own chuckles came, threading through his words. "What? I can't hear you."
She sunk a little in his arms, apparently laughing too hard to focus of standing. The last coherent words she could get out sounded something like "you asshole" before she gave up on trying to form sentences all together.
It didn't take long after that for him to pull her away from the course book with little resistance other than her struggle to escape his fingers. The back of his knees hit the bed and he let go of her as they both fell messily onto the mattress, their landing announced by the crinkling of papers he assumed had been thrown there after being deemed useless in her study routine.
He laughed when she immediately rolled away from him, red-faced and breathing heavy. She ended up near the corner of the bed, sitting with her feet tucked under her and clutching a pillow for protection. He was done now though, having achieved his goal of de-stressing her enough for her smile to come back. So he just looked at her, still lying on his back, with what could be described as his cheesiest grin. The expression was reserved only for moments like this. With her.
"Your laugh is cute." He said.
She blinked and shook her head, lips parted and eyes wide in an expression of shocked betrayal. "Thanks." Her voice was the flattest he'd ever heard it. He burst out laughing again at the contrast from just a moment ago and watched her drop her red face into her hand, covering her eyes as she let out a grin. "I hate you."
"No you don't." He rolled over and arched an eyebrow at her. She sat back so her knees were now in front her, back against the wall to put more space between them, although it still wasn't much. It was only a twin mattress after all.
"I do." She insisted.
He just shook his head with a grin, because he knew her, and he knew the way she looked at things she hated. It was a narrowed-eyed, pinched in eyebrows, pursed lips, ridiculously cute look that was only ever directed at english papers and celery. The way she looked at him now was most certainly not that look.
She was trying to be serious, but her lips were twisted to keep in a laugh. Her eyes were dancing.
"You love me." He said teasingly.
He didn't know what he expected. Probably for her to deny it, or wrinkle her nose or shake her head. She didn't.
So there's a good chance that maybe it happened then, when she let out a soft sigh and a gentle smile and a whispered "yeah", all right before his eyes. Alarm bells started ringing in his head. Loud ones. But he wrote off the moment as a mistake. It was his fault anyway. They weren't supposed to talk about the L-word.
"Anyway, you win." She said eventually. She started collecting the now crumpled sheets of paper casually, like she didn't just send his entire mind into a state of static. "I'll go to bed. I promise. You can leave." He let out a teasingly long hum of thought before shaking his head in refusal. Her eyebrows shot up, and she gave him a weird look as she put the paper at the foot of the bed. "What do you mean, no?"
"You see, Riley..." He pulled the rest of his body onto the bed and stretched out across the mattress, noting with a warm feeling in his chest that she was biting her lip to surpress a grin. He laid on his back, folded his hands behind his head and looked at her out of the corner of his eye, "...I don't trust you."
"So... you're just going to stay here?"
"That's the plan." She looked at him for a long moment. He looked back with raised eyebrows and patted the tiny amount of space left beside him. "Make yourself comfortable."
She rolled her eyes and cautiously passed him the pillow, which he put under his head without waiting for her permission. "Alright, I will." She said, although completely did the opposite of her statement when she slowly started scooting down to the foot of the bed. He arched an eyebrow at the suspicious movement. She avoided his eyes. "... I'm just gonna grab my book-" Her lunge to get off the bed probably would've been fast enough if he hadn't known she was up to something.
"Oh no you don't." In less than a second he had sat up, wrapped an arm around her middle and pulled the stubborn girl back with a grin. She was already giggling through her protests as he shook his head at her. "You really asked for it, Pierce."
Peals of laughter filled the small room again, and Stanley forgot why he even came over.
. . .
Looking at it from the outside, he thought the whole situation was a little strange. They weren't even together just for fun now. Sure, yes, he couldn't deny that they had fun. A lot of it. But somehow during the past few months, their focus had shifted far from just a good time. They were beginning to look like a couple. Two people who worked together and had habits together and looked to the other for support.
Still, even with all the glaring evidence, he hadn't noticed anything amiss until one morning when Riley was leaving in a rush. He watched her from the bed as she collected her things feverishly, muttering things to herself like she always did when the fear of being late kicked in. And then, when she had collected all of her stuff and was ready to go out the door, he sat expectantly on the edge of the bed and she gave him a quick kiss before she left.
But it wasn't really a kiss. It was a peck on the lips. The kind of quick, absentminded show of affection only displayed by married couples on busy mornings. And that's when he realized they did it every time she slept over, and every time she came back. In fact, they did it a lot.
So maybe that's when it happened. When he realized that he had actually developed habits and likes and dislikes that revolved around this one girl. Because that was something that had never happened before. It was something that he had never stuck around long enough to let happen before. But he kind of liked it.
And besides, what was the worst that could happen?
. . .
They continued, falling seamlessly into each others daily schedules like a puzzle piece you didn't expect to fit at first, but then made the whole image come together. Yet, he still had a feeling. It was a sinking, anxious, pins-and-needles feeling, because he had learned in life that nothing good can last forever. It was true, everything enjoyable had to meet an end sometime; movies, bikes that rust, food, parties, childhood. And the thing was, he found when these things came to their finish, the good times left a bittersweet hurt in its wake when it was gone. Like a hangover.
So maybe that's why he was anxious. Because Riley and him have been having fun for a very long time. It was only logical that it would come to an end soon. But if he knew one thing, it's that he really didn't want the hangover part.
And he didn't really understand it, because things were going so well. Unbelievably well that when an understanding finally came to him, he was shocked, even though he shouldn't have been. Because bikes rust and fires burn out and movies end and nothing good lasts forever. He knew that.
The understanding came after one of his math 1000 lectures. Riley usually had quite the line in front of the desk after class, due to the fact that all of the students felt more comfortable asking questions to her than they ever would asking Professor Resurrected-from-the-dead (a name that made Riley hold back a laugh as she chided Stanley for saying it). He never had any questions for her, but he would wait in line anyway and ask if their tutoring session for tonight was still on, even though sometimes their intentions would be far from calculus, like it was tonight. It was stupid, but he liked watching her try to talk to him like she talked to everyone else. Also, a more immature part of his brain had decided far before this that 'professional Riley' was hot.
But on this day, as he moved up in line so there was only one more person between him and a forced business-like act, he heard the guy in front of him ask a question that made his blood run cold.
"Do you want to go for a coffee later?"
And that particular moment was when the result of this 'redefining' business hit him like a brick. Because friends with benefits were not supposed to feel jealousy, but he felt it. Strong, boiling-up-in-the-pit-of-his-stomach, pure jealousy. All because of a coffee.
But he watched anyway as Riley, hilariously oblivious, smiled in that welcoming way she always did to her students. "Well, usually we study in the library, but if you'd rather we do it at the coffee place then it may be a nice change of scenery." She furrowed her eyebrows and flipped a page in a binder that he knew held her schedule. "Although, I can't remember booking a study session for you today, Cody. I could try and squeeze you in though. How does seven thirty-"
"I wasn't talking about studying." Stanley clenched his jaw. Please don't say it. "I was actually asking you out. If you're up for it."
It was like a million things came crashing down on him at once and his head felt clouded. He could hardly believe it. He could hardly keep himself from stomping from the lecture hall and slamming the door behind him like an angry preteen throwing a tantrum.
"Oh, I'm sorry but I can't."
That made everything pause again for a moment. He looked up just as her eyes caught his, but she looked away instantly.
Cody nodded, seeming to almost expect the rejection. "Yeah, I figured you would already be in a relationship." He shrugged. "But a guy's gotta try, right?"
His words seemed to jar Riley. "No, that's not it, I don't have a boyfriend. It's just-" she sighed, "I don't like to get involved with students. I'm sorry." Her smile was weak, and Stanley knew it was a lie (for obvious reasons).
"Don't worry, I get it. But in case you change your mind-" Cody shrugged, "you have my number." He walked out then, leaving Stanley to force his eyes forward instead of following him out with an angry glare.
He was almost too shocked by his own feelings to move forward, but his eyes met hers and he had to.
He cleared his throat as her eyes kept darting elsewhere. They both knew the reason behind what she did. "Are we still on for tonight?" He asked tightly.
She nodded, looking at her binder. "Yup, eight o'clock as usual."
"Right, great." He tapped the table with his knuckle, the silence implying he should go away. But he stayed, eyes on the floor.
"Stanley?" She inquired. "Do you have another question?"
"You don't have to, you know." The words were spoken suddenly, and he couldn't take them back. She tilted her head in question. "At eight. We don't have to... you know. If you have better things to do you can go do them. I don't need-"
"Maybe we should talk about this after."
Her tone was light and airy, like it was just a suggestion, but her tight smile said otherwise. He nodded and went outside, waiting by the door without question.
After what felt like hours, but must have only been a few minutes, the last of the students trickled out through the door. He heard paper being collected from the inside of the room and he went in, strolling casually (so, casual) up to the TA who didn't get involved with students. He wasn't calm though. His insides churned and his mind screamed at him not to do what he knew he had to.
Their eyes met, and he suddenly knew that things were about to get complicated.
"You can go on dates, you know. This thing isn't exclusive." He spoke quietly even though the door was closed.
Riley chuckled. "Glad I have your permission." She busied herself with separating a pile of assignments into two parts—graded and ungraded—as he came closer, the sound of his footfalls absorbed by the carpeted floor as he stopped a few feet away.
"Why'd you say no?"
"I don't feel like dating anyone right now."
"So it's not because of us?" It was a challenge. A harsh one and he knew it. "What we're doing?" She rolled her eyes at his accusation, but he continued. "Because we agreed that this-" he gestured between them, "wouldn't get in the way of an actual relationship. We agreed that we would stop if someone we're interested in came along."
"I know what we agreed, Stanley." She put one of the piles in her bag. "Look, Cody is nice, but-"
"So you should go out with him."
She sighed as she looked through the remaining graded papers, flicking down through them with the speed of someone who's done it many times before. "What are you talking about?"
"Go out with him." He repeated.
"I don't want to."
"Why not? He's nice, isn't he? You just said so."
"What's your point, Stanley?"
"My point is that what we have doesn't matter. It was never supposed to. So you should go on and have coffee with whoever you want."
The silence that followed rung in the air. Riley's fingers stopped flicking through the assignments as she slowly lifted her head, a new expression on her face that he hadn't had the unfortunate chance to learn yet.
"It doesn't matter?" She repeated, her voice quiet.
Even though he didn't know what the expression meant, it pained him to see it. But what he said was the truth. It wasn't supposed to matter. None of it. The sex, the tutoring, the movies, the conversations about nothing and deliveries of cold medicine on November nights. None of it was supposed to matter. But it did.
He wondered why he was having such trouble with this; the 'mattering' stuff. But then he felt really stupid, because the answer was obvious.
It mattered because it was never supposed to matter at all.
"No it doesn't." He forced the words out, his tone bitter with everything left unsaid. His eyes were schooled into an emotionless gaze. "You know that though."
She blinked a few times, before nodding and staring somewhere south of his eyes. "Right, yeah. I guess I do."
A tense silence followed as they both stood there, wondering where to go next. Eventually she started flicking through the papers again, casually, like nothing ever happened. He watched, confused as she tugged one of the assignments out of the pile before putting the rest in her bag.
Only as she pulled the strap over her shoulder did she look at him, dead in the eye. He waited for something. Yelling, insults, a hard look, maybe even a punch or two.
She smiled. It was tight and small. "You got a ninety on your assignment by the way." She nodded and after a brief moment, slid the lone paper to the edge of the desk, tapping it once. "Good job."
Then she brushed past him, leaving him looking in awe at the 90% on the front of his paper, circled in blue ink and decorated with a few stars.
He turned to see her nearly out the door, and even though she was far out of reach now, he took an impulsive step forward. "Riley, I-"
"Oh, and not that it matters or anything, but I'm going to have to reschedule our session tonight." She cut him off and walked backwards a couple steps so they could be face-to-face, even though he wished they weren't. Her lips twitched into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I just decided I'm gonna meet someone for coffee."
He thought about dying fires and rusty bikes and the end credits of a good movie.
She walked out the door.
. . .
So things got very uncomplicated after that. He still went to his classes (except for math), did what he came to university to do, and talked to his friends. The only thing that changed now is that coffee left a sour taste in his mouth and he learned most of his math in his dorm.
The days went on as normal, except it wasn't. Because it felt like he was trying to create a new normal. They had built habits together and patterns and... things, and now he had to find new ones. It was turning out to be harder than he thought. But it was okay, because he could certainly use something to keep him busy. Frankly, he needed a distraction.
Because the hangover from losing her was pretty bad.
He didn't cry about it, but he did sometimes sulk, only in the confines of his mind. Because it's not like he couldn't live without her or anything (even for him that was ridiculous), but his life did get noticeably duller, like a cloud drifting in front of the sun.
Sometimes he would find himself wondering what episode of a Greys Anatomy she was on now, or—with more bitterness—who now filled her eight o'clock study slot. But when those thoughts came he'd do something. Go to the gym, actually do some work from other classes, hang out with his friends. But there was always something in the back of his mind that made him feel like something was missing. And really, something was.
So yeah. It had been a long three days.
But on the fourth day, it happened to be a Monday. And if there was ever a time for someone to feel especially sorry for themselves it would be on a Monday. So he blamed it on the day of the week when he opened his room door and found that the mass of clutter laying around was suddenly an urgent problem. He cleaned. Actually cleaned his room.
He should have realized right then and there that he was having a serious life crisis, except he didn't. Well, he didn't until an hour later when he got around to looking under his bed and he found a strangely familiar looking article of clothing. So he grabbed his terribly under-utilized broom, and used the handle to fish it out. Once he had it, he un-balled it, straightened it out, and chuckled as he held it in front of him.
It was a navy blue university sweater that was about twenty three sizes too small for him, but the perfect size for the girl that has been occupying his bed for the past three months. Apparently it had been under his bed this entire time, and not at all that hard to find if one of them had had the motivation to hold a little less than an extensive search.
Then he kind of just looked at it for a moment, even though it really wasn't much to look at. It was a bit dusty, and he probably saw about fifty students everyday wearing the exact same sweater. But it was hers.
He realized he was an idiot, for two reasons. One; he was actually feeling intense emotion just by looking at an article of clothing. And two; in the twenty seconds he had been holding it, it had never crossed his mind until that moment that it needed to be returned. The idea actually made his heart jump, nervous anticipation running through him at even the thought of seeing her again. But he knew her, and Riley holding a grudge was like... well, he could exactly make a comparison since it was impossible.
Sighing, he rubbed the navy blue fabric between his fingers while he silently wondered exactly when his mind made such a certain conclusion about what to do. And he was certain. So certain that he felt his heart rate spike at the very thought of putting his plan in motion.
It was quite simple really. She needed her sweater back. And simply, he needed to give it back. That was it.
. . .
Knocking on her door at eleven o'clock the next night took much more effort than he would have liked to admit. He was ashamed when he found himself hoping she wasn't even in there, giving him an excuse to hang the sweater on her doorknob and walk away, avoiding the awkward encounter and going back to his moping until another reason to see her presented itself again. He wondered when he had become such a coward.
His sudden internal conflict didn't matter though, because he heard the lock turn on the inside of the door, and it was too late. The effort he put into looking casual in the moments that followed was actually laughable; an unsure shuffling of hands and feet going through various positions until he finally settled with his shoulder leaned into her doorframe just as the door swung open in front of him.
For some reason he was shocked to see her standing there, some part of his mind convinced she would somehow know it was him on the other side and refuse to answer the door. But of course she didn't, and he didn't know if he was thankful or not.
So yeah, there she was, standing with one hand still on the doorknob, dressed in pyjama shorts and a hoodie, eyebrows raised in surprise. And her hair was down so she was probably getting ready to go to bed. And then his heart kind of squeezed in a weird way he couldn't explain.
"Stanley?" She prompted.
He squeezed the folded sweater in his hand. "It's washed and everything." There was a moment of silence. A long moment. Long enough to make him clear his throat and look down at the clothes. "Uh, it's yours."
Her eyes darted between his face and the sweater, never staying in either place long enough for a proper look. "It is?"
"Yeah, you left it at my place." Before he could stall anymore, he held the piece of clothing out for her to take. "I was gonna keep it, but it was a little too small." He attempted a joke.
Curiously, she unfolded it partially to reveal the fraying white letters of their university sewed across the chest. She clicked her tongue as a flicker of a smile flitted across her lips. "Um... Stanley?" Her eyes turned up to him. "I lost this at your dorm three months ago."
"Yeah." He said again, the word too short and too polite.
She must have known he was struggling, because she actually chuckled, his mind easing slightly at the sound. Then the silence was back, and it sounded like the same silence that fell four days ago.
"So..." she broke it first, taking time to fold the sweater back up and tuck it under her arm. She tilted her head to the side, a strand of hair falling across that teasing expression he really liked (loved) to see on her. "You got a haircut."
He unconsciously touched a hand to the back of his head at the reminder, having almost forgotten he even did it. It's not like it was a well thought out decision. More like a random choice he decided on in the midst of a particularly boring day. He had thought back on their first real meeting, remembering a soft tug and the words "it's too long". So he got it cut.
"Yeah. More manageable I guess." He cursed himself for not telling her she was the reason for the haircut, some irrational part of his mind convinced she'd laugh. She wouldn't. He knew that.
"Right." She replied. It was only the second time since he'd known her that she didn't seem to have anything to say. The silence stung, and some part of him figured she meant it to. "Anyway, thanks for the sweater." She held it up and smiled in a way she always did before she said goodbye. Fear squeezed his gut at the thought of it. "I'll-"
"That wasn't true." He blurted. She blinked at him, but he noticed with a bit of hope that her hand was stilled on the doorknob. "About cutting my hair. I mean, it is more manageable but I cut it because you wanted me to."
Her chuckle was uneasy, mixed with confusion. "Thanks, but I never said I wanted you to cut your hair." She said.
"Yeah, but you did say it was too long."
Riley's lips parted in understanding. "Stanley, that was forever ago." He nodded because she was right. It felt like years since they first met. It felt like decades. He watched her fidget with her hands. "Um... not trying to be rude or anything, but why are you here? Well, besides the sweater,"
There were so many reasons, many of them revolving around the similar topic of 'just to see you'. But he thought that stupid explanation probably wouldn't fly. Their eyes met, hers curious, his unsure.
He just said it. "I'm sorry."
And even as the words left his lips they felt wrong. Small, empty, too short. Because he had a lot of things he wanted to say to her, none of which had to do with how her sweater was washed or the length of his hair. Some of it had to do with feelings. But they were the warm, sappy kind of feelings that when said out loud, immediately transported any moment to the last few minutes of a crappy rom-com. They certainly weren't the type of feelings he wanted just... out there. In the open. What would she even say? What would he do? He couldn't find an answer, so he didn't say them.
But she was probably expecting the apology, or at least that's what he figured when she chuckled and shook her head. The reaction meant she was buying herself time to think about what she wanted to say, so he patiently waited until she looked up with a gentle tug to her smile. "You shouldn't be. Neither of us knew Cody was going to do that, and you can't help the way you feel-" her eyes widened, "I mean, not that you feel like that about me, it's just... clearly something went on in there." She pointed at his head, "But it's fine. It's okay."
A weight really should have been lifted off his shoulders then, but somehow he felt the same. Sure, he came here for her to say those exact words to him, but now it didn't feel like enough. Things were going to stay the way they were. He should have been happy. Why wasn't he happy?
Noticing his contemplative silence, Riley continued. "But..." his heart sunk. 'But' was never good at times like this. She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling some strands out of her face. "Um... maybe we shouldn't go on. You know... like we were." The way her eyes looked into his was like she really wanted him to understand. The sad thing was that he did. She made a gesture at him. "Like you said, it was never supposed to mean anything. And it's starting not to seem like... that. So maybe we should just be friends?"
And just like that, he felt everything slip out from under him. The relationship, Riley, his math grades. It all just went rolling downhill and exploded at the bottom in a violent cloud of angry smoke. He felt all of it. A new stone solidifying in his stomach with each word.
But the sentence had ended in a question. Her mind could probably be changed. A few words and a smirk and a bed could probably make her forget she even suggested the idea, going back to what they were with a seamless transition. But did he want that? A relationship that was a relationship but wasn't going anywhere?
He smiled a little and he wondered if she could tell it was fake. Probably. "Alright, yeah. Friends sounds good."
"Good." She nodded but for once she was wrong. It wasn't good. Not at all. "Anyway, I should probably get back to correcting assignments, so..." Pointing behind her with a guilty smile, he suddenly felt an urgency, although he didn't know why. It just felt like this was his last chance for... something.
He nodded, dismissing whatever feeling just erupted inside him. "Oh, yeah. Enjoy that. I'll see you tomorrow?" And never in the history of anytime they were together had that sentence ended in a question. It felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.
"If you come to math, then yes, you will." The tone was playful, clearly chiding him for his lack of attendance the last few days.
He laughed. "Okay."
She was wearing her goodbye smile, small and tight and lifted only a little more on one side. He took a few steps backwards and waved before turning around. The door closed behind him, but it sounded like something else.
And as he was walking down the hall, watching the dully patterned carpet go by under his feet, he got to thinking about things. About her. They were boring thoughts; a memory of her pencil writing down a formula he couldn't remember, a particularly uneventful episode of Greys Anatomy, brown eyes gazing over a mug of hot chocolate as she listened to him talk. The recollections were dry, completely boring, meaningless instances that were hardly worth remembering, let alone smiling about. But he did, if only to counteract the pang of hurt that each one brought on.
He realized this was it; the bittersweet pain of remembering something that's passed. This was truly and utterly the hangover.
And maybe, he thought, if they had met at a different time with different circumstances it could have worked. Maybe if they had started out with coffee dates instead of a bed, things would be different. Maybe if they weren't so stuck on being benefits, they could have been more.
He reached the end of the hall, pushing open the squeaky doors to the steps. Each footfall was heavy, a hard thump of sneaker against tile, the sound of someone defeated for all to hear.
Of course he was defeated. He still had one question left unanswered.
And really, it was quite an amazing feat of inattention that he hadn't figured it out yet. Because even between the months they spent together, the four lonesome days they were apart, the walk down the hall with the stupid carpet patterns and the hard footfalls on the steps, he still didn't know when it happened. When he fell in love with her.
His step off the last stair was the hardest and he felt the jolt through his entire body. Then he just stared out the window of the main door to the building. It was clear outside, dark and overcast with still trees and nobody around to dodge the few piles of snow on the sidewalk. Despite his suddenly pounding heart, the scene was boring. Dry. Uneventful.
He blinked, took a breath, looked down at his shoes.
Then he grabbed the rail of the steps and started climbing.
Even as he got to the top he wasn't sure how many stairs he had been skipping at a time. It could have been two or twenty, but everything was blur; the doors on either side of him, the walls, the stupid patterned carpet. Everything flew by, left behind to be forgotten about because it wasn't important. The only thing that was important was the room door he had just left.
There was no hesitation in his knock this time, his fear that this sudden adrenaline would leave as quickly as it came making his movements quick and sure. Because maybe he was never sure about math or English or whatever the hell third year biochemistry was, but he was pretty freaking sure that he had to do this. He had to try.
So when the door swung open this time, and she stood there, and shock came upon her face, he wasted no more time.
"What are we doing?"
He watched her eyebrows furrow and mouth drift open, then closed, trying to make sense of the question. He couldn't blame her for being confused. Everything seemed pretty final just a minute ago, but here he was again, standing in front of her and making absolutely no sense. It would have been a familiar scene, except this time he wasn't going to say goodbye.
"I don't..." she looked up at him, searching for a clue, "What does that even mean?"
"It means, what are we doing pretending we're not dating?" He might have imagined it, but he thought he heard her breath catch. Then he laughed, and it might have sounded absolutely crazy, but maybe he was. "I mean, we sleep together, we go on dates, we watch that stupid soap opera-"
"Grey's Anatomy is not-"
"We know each other's schedules, we have habits and pet peeves and hearts in our text messages, and Jesus, we just had our first fucking fight."
His breaths came out heavy, and he blamed it on the flight of stairs he climbed, not on all the realizations that just spilled out of his mouth in an ungraceful heap. And maybe he was panicking a little now, because the adrenaline was wearing off and he had just gotten everything out in the open and she wasn't saying much and wow, she just looked so damn good when her hair was falling all around her face. And it was messy and a few strands drifted in front of her wide eyes, probably too shocked to brush it away.
And she stayed speechless for what felt like a long time, but could only be a few seconds. There was a nervous laugh threaded through her words when she finally spoke. "I thought you didn't want... that?"
"I thought so too." He shook his head and now he was the one with the nervous laugh. "But, I think I just realized that I kind of love you, Riley Pierce. And-"
Her lips met his with such force that his next words disappeared right from his mind. Hands gripped the back of his neck and his own instinctively grabbed her hips and pulled her closer. And even though they had kissed too many times to count before this, it was like it was completely knew. It was messy and rough and hard and nothing like the movies or Nicholas sparks novels. It was burning and intense and longing and anything but boring. It was perfect.
It ended suddenly, like they had to come up for air (because they quite literally did), and even though he never wanted it to end, he could help but take a full moment to look down at her. Because she was grinning, and it was the kind of grin that made his stomach knot, and he couldn't help but smile back.
"You know, I kind of love you too."
A breath left his lips and he smirked. "Well that's pretty convenient."
Her laugh made everything even better, and she tugged him in for another kiss.
And just like that, it was like everything was normal. It was a new normal, one with 'I love you's and dates and pecks on the lips. They were a normal couple with a normal relationship with normal kisses and normal dates. Boring maybe. Uneventful. Dry. Common.
Oh well.
It was a Tuesday, after all.
Okay, so that's officially the sappiest thing I've ever written, but it was fun. Anyway, thanks for reading and please let me know what you think in the reviews!
P.S. Most of chapter 25 for Lorien Legacies High School is finished. hopefully I'll have it up soon :)