A/N: For those of you who haven't seen an update notification in years (does anyone still use FFN anymore?), I'm re-writing this story after 4 years of hiatus because it was too cringey to re-read. This chapter contains pieces of the second half of the old chapter 5, but with major details changed and mostly new content. I've also changed a lot of the events in past chapters, so you might want to re-read from the beginning to avoid confusion.
~Chapter 6~
October arrives before anyone can realize that September is over, bringing with it autumn colors, sweater weather, and the scent of pumpkin-spice everything.
At least, it arrived before Rapunzel noticed.
Seriously, is this a social media thing where stuff becomes common knowledge and she's just not privy to it because she has no idea where to look? Is there some kind of platform where people everywhere can broadcast and know when to coordinate their outfits? Because it seems as if just yesterday, everyone was wearing short and summer-appropriate dresses and flats, and now all the other girls have ditched that look for oversized sweaters with leggings and boots.
A breeze picks up. Her hands are starting to sting from the cold, and her sweater (the one that she brings to lectures in case there's excessive air conditioning) is already too thin for the weather. People are all over the quad—running to class, studying under the trees, playing Frisbee between classes. There's a pair of students chatting nearby, and Rapunzel overhears one of them (probably American) complaining about "forty-five degree weather" while a random passerby yells, "Use Celsius, you uncultured swine!"
Up ahead, there's a group of students approaching from the direction of the library. There must be some kind of new special on the menu at the library Starbucks because the scent from their coffee cups wafts over with the breeze and reminds Rapunzel of…pumpkins and cinnamon? At least their hands are warm. Whatever it is they're drinking, the smell is probably going to permeate the air for the next month.
She tries to pull her sweater more tightly around her shoulders and tug the hem of her (homemade) dress a little lower, feeling a bit like a little kid trying to play dress up with the adults.
Oh well. There's not much she can do about that. She brought mostly dresses with her to college, not expecting it to get so cold so early here in Epcot. She does have one pair of leggings and an oversized WDU hoodie, and she brought her yarn and knitting needles if she ever needs to make a thicker sweater, but she doesn't have boots to go with them. Even if Mother finds her a pair of boots at the thrift store (unlikely, since they'll be in high demand this time of year), she still won't be able to get them until she goes back to Corona for winter break.
Of course, she could always get the girls together for a shopping excursion and buy some more fall-appropriate clothing. But the idea of spending money—Mother's money—on something frivolous like new clothes, when she has a perfectly functional sewing machine back home, gives her hives. The guilt she felt after spending eight krouns on a pair of flats so that she wouldn't have to risk breaking her ankles in wedge sandals was enough to dissuade her from returning to the mall at all for a while. So all she can really do for now is dress to stay warm, no matter how kiddie and unfashionable, so that means she'll be living in jeans and sneakers for the foreseeable future. At least she had the sense to bring her thick winter coat, even though she could barely stand the sight of it when she was packing for college in August…
Someone falls in step beside her. "Hi, Rapunzel!"
It's Jasmine. Her friend has the sweater-and-leggings look down pat. She even has a coffee cup to accessorize (and keep her hands warm), and her hair is swept back into a messy bun. Rapunzel, meanwhile, has to make do with tucking her own hands under her armpits, only to sputter when the wind blows her hair into her mouth.
Jasmine clucks sympathetically. "Right? I changed outfits at the last minute this morning because I checked the weather and saw it was going to be stupidly cold."
"At least you actually checked. I saw it was sunny out, so I went with this."
"It's actually going to get colder throughout the week. It might be time for coats soon." Jasmine pauses suddenly. "Hey, isn't that Flynn Rider?"
"Huh?" Rapunzel follows her gaze across the quad.
Sure enough, there's a familiar figure passing by on the far end near the engineering buildings. It sounds weird and insane to say (or think) out loud, but he has a distinct way of carrying himself when he walks—something like a casual saunter, almost a swagger, really—that she recognizes as Flynn instantly.
Aaaand he's waving at her. Vigorously. In a very conspicuous way that is sure to start catching the attention of all the other people on the quad soon.
Should she wave back? That would be polite. But then that would signal to everyone on this quad that she knows the madman who is currently windmilling his arms like he's being attacked by a nest of hornets. Maybe she should ignore it, play it off like she didn't notice him…
Of course, that's when Flynn shouts, "BLONDIE!"
Ugh, why? She grimaces and manages to placate him with a tiny awkward wave, the kind that drivers do when someone lets them go first at an intersection…but not before about half the people on the quad turn around and see her and realize exactly who "Blondie" refers to.
"So," Jasmine smirks once they're shielded from public view and safely inside the nearest building Rapunzel dragged her into. "You and Flynn, huh?"
Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she grumbles. "He likes messing with people. We're just friends."
"I never said you weren't."
Whatever.
So what if she can recognize Flynn from across the quad? There are friends. People notice things about their friends, especially if their friends are charismatic people like Flynn. And Jasmine was the one who spotted him first, so it's not like Rapunzel's the one who's actively looking around for him.
And it's not like Flynn even likes her that way, either. So what if he can pick her out of a crowd? It's not hard. She's probably the only girl at this school with blonde hair down to her ankles. One of his nicknames for her is Blondie, for crying out loud.
At any rate, she does have ammunition on Jasmine, too. Ever since the girl from Saudi started hanging out with their gang at Valley Tower 6-West in the evenings, Flynn's roommate Aladdin has started joining in, too. Rapunzel distinctly remembers being there when those two met, how he couldn't take his eyes off her and kept volunteering to do little things for her—like pulling out her chair for her, or saving her the best controller when they were playing video games, or offering her his jacket when he thought she was shivering (the air conditioning in the lounge can get a bit excessive).
And she has dirt on her other friends, too, in case they ever tease her about Flynn like Jasmine just did. She knows all the sordid details about Ariel's quest to get Eric to like her, since Ariel has never been shy about sharing. And Mulan always seems pretty eager to go to her weekly Chinese Cultural Club meetings, even though Yao, Ling, and Chien-Po don't even go to all the meetings—and the Three Musketeers come to visit Valley Tower most weeknights anyway. Rapunzel supposes there could be other reasons Mulan would look forward to club meetings, but she's noticed the Three Musketeers ribbing Mulan on more than one occasion, and Ling dropped the name "Shang" a few times. Snow, thankfully, is too sweet to give her a hard time, and she seems more interested in imaginary or fictional romantic interests than real-life boys, so she's safe at least.
It seems as if just about everyone is pairing off. But where did Jasmine get the idea that Rapunzel and Flynn would be right for each other?
Dear Professor Robinson:
No, the colon is too formal.
Dear Professor Robinson,
Sorry to bother you, but—
No, she should be more assertive. Professors like students who are proactive.
Dear Professor Robinson,
I am writing to inquire about—
No, that's too straight to the point. She should introduce herself first. Prof. Francesca Robinson teaches upper level classes, so she has no idea who Rapunzel is.
Dear Professor Robinson,
I am a bioengineering student at WDU, and I am writing to inquire about possible research opportunities in your lab this semester.
Should she mention that she's a freshman? Probably not. That would make the professor send her email straight to the trash, without even a "Sorry, my lab is full" in reply. Especially since her résumé is already pretty lacking in terms of relevant experience.
Rapunzel has only ever worked in a lab once, when she was fifteen. Mother had pulled some strings at the Corona University Medical Center (where she works as a physician's assistant) to get her a 2-month volunteer position with a Dr. Hamm Porkchop, whose lab was in the research corner of the same hospital campus. And so Rapunzel stuck it out, riding to work every day and enduring Mother's incessant chatter about how "you need to meet people in the field and broaden your network, you can't rely on me and my connections to get you everywhere in life, Rapunzel."
Dr. Porkchop's lab was…mind-numbing. Apparently, he was some big shot scientist who worked in hepatobiliary and pancreatic oncology, but Rapunzel spent two months in his lab and never saw anything remotely suggesting that what was going on in that lab had anything to do with finding a cure for cancer. Mostly, she just followed the postdocs around and watched them pour various pink liquids into petri dishes (serum for their cell cultures, they explained), and helped them run gels and PCRs (for what, they didn't specify), and listened to them cuss while pouring bleach on their cultures because their cells failed to grow (not that she could offer any advice, because no one would tell her what the cell cultures were even for). One of the postdocs tried to teach her how to use a micropipette, but apparently she kept contaminating the PCRs, so they stopped letting her do that. And then she got bored and helped them alphabetize the reagents cabinets. And once the reagents were properly organized, she helped load and unload the autoclave cart. And once that was done and she had nothing else to do, she read the lab's stash of old issues of the Journal of Clinical Oncology from front to back, just so she could at least look like she was being productive.
Needless to say, by the time the two months were up, she was actually glad to go back to spending her days studying alone at home. She couldn't fault Dr. Porkchop or his postdocs for the unrewarding experience she had; clearly they had more important things to stress about (like applying for grant money and publishing papers) than babysitting the high schooler who had no idea what was going on and was only there because her mommy was friends with the PI. But in all honesty, all she got out of it was the sense that people who get PhDs are miserable with their lives.
Dear Professor Robinson,
I am a bioengineering student at WDU, and I am writing to inquire about possible research opportunities in your lab this semester. I saw on your faculty profile that your work is in xenografting human vocal cords into frogs to help them realize their full musical potential.
Should she put that last part in quotes, since she copied it directly from Prof. Robinson's webpage? Wouldn't want a charge of plagiarism, after all.
Dear Professor Robinson,
I am a bioengineering student at WDU, and I am writing to inquire about possible research opportunities in your lab this semester. I saw on your faculty profile that your work is in "xenografting human vocal cords into frogs to help them realize their full musical potential."
There. Moving on…
I am interested in learning more about your work because the fact that frogs have more musical abilities than people is news to me—
No, wait. That just sounds ignorant. She should at least make it look like she read some of the papers Prof. Robinson has published on the subject before emailing her. Otherwise, her message will go straight to the trash because it'll look like she didn't even bother to read up on this topic that she's supposedly so "interested" in.
I am interested in learning more about your work because I used to work in a lab that did research on pancreatic cancer and didn't get as many opportunities as I wanted to work with animals—
No. That's stupid. Porkchop's research has next to nothing to do with Robinson's.
I am interested in learning more about your work because I am a lowly premed student who needs research experience, please take me on.
She scoffs and deletes the line. If only she were allowed to be this honest…
I am interested in learning more about your work because it is a unique and interesting field of study—
I am interested in learning more about your work because I am studying bioengineering and thinking about specializing in tissue engineering—
I am interested in learning more about your work because—adsfjals;dkfjadls;f
This unfinished email is going to be the death of her.
She swears it.
She's never going to finish this stupid email. She's going to die of old age as she struggles to come up with the right words for a message that conveys the proper tone of interested but not pushy, determined but not entitled, polite but not standoffish, apologetic about intruding but not sycophantic. The text cursor is going to blink mockingly at her forever as her corpse crumbles to dust.
Unfortunately, Mother insists on it. Rapunzel's a month and a half into college now, which means she's had enough time to "adjust" to college and now needs to start padding out her résumé with extracurricular activities that are relevant to premed. And Mother always gets what she wants, so now Rapunzel has to draft emails to about a half dozen WDU faculty members and ask them about research opportunities in their labs. And she's expected to send Mother those drafts by 10 p.m. tonight to get approval before she can actually send them out.
Because that's exactly what Disney's esteemed professors need, right? A kid whose only lab experience has been helping to alphabetize the reagent cabinet. She can't even write one email, and she's expected to churn out a half dozen of them? How is she going to be competent working in a lab if she's struggling with just asking to be let into one?
Her phone buzzes where she's left it face-down on her desk, and she dives for it, grateful for the distraction.
heyyy blondie what u up to?
Flynn, I told you not to text me. My mother will kill me for racking up the phone bill with texts.
There's a pause on his end, and she wonders for a moment if she should have been nicer in her reply.
She likes when her friends message her. She does. She just prefers that they do it over Facebook Messenger instead. Her cell phone plan charges a ridiculous rate for text messages compared to calls. And she's pretty sure Mother wouldn't appreciate skyrocketing phone bills, especially if the bills are from Rapunzel texting for social purposes, instead of for schoolwork-related emergencies. Plus, she has a sneaking suspicion that Mother will want to go through her phone when she gets home for winter break, and she'd rather not have to explain the dozens of hey what u doing blondie? that get pulled up. Facebook Messenger may be sketchy and unsecure, depending on one's privacy settings, but she can just log out and delete the app before winter break, and Mother would be none the wiser. Plus, even if Mother doesn't go through her phone, she'll probably still be able to retrieve all of Rapunzel's texts from the phone company, whereas Messenger doesn't use any data.
Fortunately, there's another bzzt, signaling that Flynn has messaged her back, this time from the appropriate platform.
sry about that
i just heard u sighing a lot and wanted to check in
Wait, how did you hear me sighing?
i live next door
u know, thin walls?
u sounded Friday
*frosted
*frustrated
*tongue out emoji*
(Oh. Right. Duh, Rapunzel.)
(Well… It's nice of him to check in.)
I'm okay. I just have to write a bunch of emails to professors asking for research positions.
research? as a freshman?
u don't waste time
More like my mother doesn't.
the same mother that doesn't let u text?
Yes, and I don't want to talk about her.
oh
ok
Sorry. It's nothing personal. I just don't like talking about it.
u want help with that email tho?
Well, sure, if you're offering.
Three dots appear on the screen, indicating that he's typing a reply. But then they stop, and she hears a rustling sound from next door.
Sorry, I hopped onto my laptop to type this out because my phone was taking forever. Here's how you write Adult Emails:
Dear [person you're writing to],
[optional sentence introducing who you are/where you go to school.] [sentence stating the purpose of this email.]
[sentence describing in more detail what you want.] [sentence describing what information they might want.]
[restate initial request, in case the addressee ignored your opening paragraph.] [platitude thanking them for their time.]
[closing salutation],
[signature]
e.g. Dear Prof. _,
I'm a freshman at WDU studying _. I'm emailing to asking about student research opportunities in your lab.
I'm particularly interested in _, _, and _. I found your information from _. I think your lab will be a good match for my interests because _. I have attached my CV and will be glad to answer any questions you may have.
I look forward to hearing from you and hopefully discussing any openings you might have. Thanks in advance!
Best,
Me
OMG thank you, you are a lifesaver!
Glad to be of service, Your Highness *kissy face emoji*
He's just sending the kiss emoji as a joke, like how it's proper etiquette to kiss royalty on the hand, not flirting with her for real…right?
She pauses, before replying with the tongue-out emoji. That's a neutral enough response, right? Not too cold that he gets offended by the lack of response, but also not overtly flirty, in case he isn't flirting either.
It earns her another kissy face emoji.
Well, if she can master sending "Adult Emails" today, that's good enough. She'll work out the nuances of emoji usage some other time.
Remember that time she woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of her next-door neighbor fooling around with some girl? And how it had been a while since she last heard any disturbing noises, so she thought she was in the clear?
Well, it happened again.
She was actually awake when it started. It was a Friday night, and she'd stayed up late with Quasimodo, the Three Musketeers, and the girls, just hanging out in the common area and watching a few episodes of How I Met Your Mother.
Flynn wasn't there. She only noticed because she went out to the common area hoping he would show up—and, no, Jasmine, the only reason she was waiting for him to show up was because he borrowed her calculus book the other day and never returned it.
When she finally climbed into bed around 2 a.m., she was contemplating asking Quasimodo to teach her how to whittle when, all of a sudden, there was the muffled sound of a door slamming next door, followed by unintelligible voices, and then moans. And then the mattress on the other side of the wall started squeaking again.
So she put on headphones and turned up the volume of the white noise app on her phone to drown the sounds out. It worked for a while, and she was just starting to drift off…
…But then the squeaking got louder, accompanied by a groan from the guy, whose voice was both fortunately and unfortunately too muffled by the wall and by Rapunzel's headphones for her to recognize. (Fortunate because Aladdin and Flynn live next door, so they're the only two possibilities, and she'd rather not think about her friends' sex lives. And unfortunate because she would very much like to know his identity so she can personally tear his throat out.)
Then came the loud thumping noises that sounded like someone was getting repeatedly shoved against the wall, and she could practically feel it moving—could practically feel it shaking her own mattress across the wall.
Who on earth has sex in a wobbly bed six feet up in the air anyway?
She should have gone to sleep somewhere else, like the couches in the common lounge, but all of her friends were still out there watching some horror movie. Besides, what kind of person gets "sexiled" by her neighbors? This is her room! She has a right to sleep here, especially since it was quiet hours, when there's a reasonable expectation that everyone keep the noise level down in the dorm!
The thumping had been the last straw, and like she did the other times, she banged her fist against the wall. Only, this time they didn't stop—probably because they were almost done—and the thumping actually got louder and faster. Because that was just what she needed at 2 in the morning!
Absolutely livid at this point, Rapunzel was about ready to storm down the hall and kick down the RA's door to file a noise complaint. Fortunately, it sounded like Romeo and Juliet were finally done, as no more disturbing noises were emanating from the other side of the wall, so she drifted off to sleep while plotting the demise of her ever-so-considerate neighbor.
Saturday afternoon, she's in the common area reading a review article about CRISPR on her laptop when she hears a door open and close from down the hall.
Moments later, Flynn wanders into the lounge, shirtless and ruffling his already messy hair.
"Morning, Blondie," he yawns, plopping down next to her on the sofa.
"Actually, it's one in the afternoon."
He's raising his arms in a stretch, but she's pretty sure he's just trying to show off his abs, so she keeps her eyes on her laptop screen and fights off a blush. Polka dotted boxers aren't exactly a turn-on. At least, they shouldn't be. In her periphery, she can see that he lingers a little longer in his stretch but finally deflates when it's apparent that she's not going to check him out.
"Damn, is it afternoon already? Yeesh, I feel like I came back from the dead. Rough night."
"I'll say," she mutters. As if she needed that reminder of what happened last night. As if she needed any mental images of Flynn (or Aladdin, or whoever lives next door) doing the horizontal naked dance literal inches away from her. "Well, Flynn, I'd like to finish reading this article. You can either sit here and not bother me, or go find some people who are actually socially savvy."
And put on a shirt, if you don't mind. But that would imply that she's been looking. And she'd rather not inflate his ego.
"What's the matter, Your Highness? Why so grumpy?"
She makes a noncommittal noise which silences him long enough for her to get through one more paragraph. He stretches again before sprawling out across the rest of their sofa. It's a curious thing, him waking up and leaving his room, only to go right back to sleep on the sofa outside, but she doesn't particularly care enough to ask him about it.
Just as she's starting to think Flynn's asleep and she can finally read in peace, he shifts and turns to face her, clearly determined to start a conversation.
"Did you not get enough sleep either, Blondie? How late were you up last night?"
She sighs and closes her laptop. Sometimes she just has to pick her battles. "Do you mean when I went to bed or when I fell asleep?"
"Is there a difference?"
What to do, what to do… If she answers his question, the topic of conversation will inevitably turn to what happened last night, and then everything will be awkward. If Aladdin is the culprit, she doesn't want to be responsible for causing a rift between him and Flynn by informing Flynn that his roommate has been Doing The Do when he's out of their room. And if Flynn's the culprit, then she'll have to yell at him for last night. And then he might get mad at her for yelling and decide not to return her calculus book.
She decides to go for the subtler approach. "So…has Aladdin been around lately?"
Flynn looks a little confused by the sudden change of topic but replies, "No, he decided to spend the weekend at the library. I don't think he's been around for about…thirty-six hours?"
Ah-hah! So it wasn't Aladdin.
"So where were you last night?" she presses. "We were watching How I Met Your Mother."
"Oh, I think we hit up Beta Chi…or maybe it was SigRho. No, definitely Beta Chi. The SigRho people kicked us out because they checked for IDs. Why? You miss me?" He smirks and folds his hands behind his head, probably to flex his biceps. Or show off his abs again.
Unbidden, Mother's voice drifts into her head.
Pig.
"Yes," she responds acidly, fixing her gaze resolutely on his face and far, far away from his arms. Or his chest. Or his abs—no, no, no, focus, Rapunzel. "Yes, Flynn, I missed you so much I cried and didn't get any sleep last night." So what if Mother always tells her that sarcasm is rude? She has a right to be ticked off!
"Wait, wait, wait, Grumpelstiltskin. What's up with you this morning?"
"Afternoon."
He runs a hand through his hair again—and that's when she notices the purplish mark just below his collarbone.
"Flynn? What's this?"
He cranes his neck down, eyes widening in alarm. "Dammit! I told her not to leave any hickeys…"
That's all the evidence she needs. The hickey. The messy (sex?) hair. The boxers. The fact that his roommate wasn't there last night.
"So you were the one keeping me awake last night!"
…Wait, no, that came out sounding wrong. (How did she even pick up on that innuendo? He must be rubbing off on her—no, that sounds wrong, too!)
But it's too late. Flynn is already smirking his smarmy, self-important smirk. "So you do think about me at night! I knew it! You're mad because you're jealous!"
"Excuse me?"
"Did you touch yourself while thinking about me?"
"What?! I was just trying to sleep, but you were—"
"Did you dream about me afterwards? Did you wish it was you instead? It's okay, Blondie, you can admit it. They all do."
"Shut up, Flynn!"
Both their eyes widen at that.
Rapunzel has never, ever told anyone to shut up before. Not even when Mother was hovering all over her college applications and telling her she was too stupid to get into a decent school without her help.
"Oh no! I'm so, so sorry—that was rude—I swear I never do this! I didn't mean…" She trails off when she realizes that Flynn's smiling.
"Nah, I was just messing with you. And sorry about the noise. We'll try to keep it down or go somewhere else next time."
We'll? Who's the girl? His girlfriend? If Flynn had a girlfriend, then why didn't he ever mention her whenever he hung out with their friends? And why did he flirt with all of the girls in their friend group, including Rapunzel? Is he the kind of sleazebag Mother warned her about, the kind of guy who wants to have his cake and eat it too by exploiting his girlfriend for…benefits, while his eyes also wander to other girls?
Whoever this mystery girl is, Rapunzel's of a mind to track her down and chew her out, too, and maybe also question her taste in men.
"…Flynn, I don't think your girlfriend will appreciate you trying to hit on me."
"Aww, Your Highness, you know you're the only girl for me."
He's teasing—she knows he's teasing. She'd have to be an idiot to think he actually likes her that way when he was actively and enthusiastically skoodilypooping with some other girl not even twelve hours ago. But for a split second, her breath still catches and her traitorous heart skips a beat.
"You jerk!" She smacks his arm, but that only causes him to laugh harder. "Don't scare me like that!"
"You should have seen your face, Blondie! That was priceless!"
Yeah, sure, have a laugh at her expense. Good ol' gullible Rapunzel. It's not like Mother doesn't pull this bait and switch with her all the time, right?
"Look in that mirror, dear. You know what I see? I see a strong, confident, beautiful young lady… Oh, look, you're here too!"
"Oh relax, I'm just teasing."
"Stop taking everything so seriously."
"It was just a joke, but nooooo, you just had to go and ruin the fun. It's not my fault you're so sensitive."
"Rapunzel, that's enough pouting already. Apologize and give me a hug—"
She huffs and waits for Flynn to calm down. Nope, no need for her mind to go wandering down that road.
"In all seriousness, though, I don't have a girlfriend. I don't do relationships."
"Oh…okay. Why not?"
"Whoa, whoa! Sorry, Blondie. I don't do backstory either."
Is this guy for real, or is he just messing with her again? She holds his gaze for a moment longer, but there's no "psych!" or punchline to come.
Well, fine. If he wants to be that way.
"All right, then don't tell me. Let me guess, you're like this misunderstood bad boy who had his heart broken and doesn't believe in commitment anymore, and now, like every cliché in the book, you're waiting to meet the beauty to your beast who will sweep you off your feet and teach you the True Meaning of Love?"
He whistles. "Dang, Blondie, you're really sassy today."
"Who, me? Nooo, I'm serious all the time. You should take everything I say seriously."
Flynn laughs at that, and she breathes a sigh of relief. So maybe channeling Mother's sarcasm isn't always bad, as long as the hypothetical scenario she paints is overdramatic enough that it's obviously a joke. He seems to be a good sport about being teased, too, so at least she's coming off as funny and not mean.
This is how this flirting and holding a conversation thing works, right? Just say something funny every now and then to make the other person laugh? It seems to be Flynn's M.O., anyway. It's actually pretty fun. She might actually be getting the hang of this, as long as she doesn't take anything too seriously—
And then, because good things never last, the moment is ruined.
"…You know what, Blondie? I think I had you pegged all wrong."
"Huh?"
"I mean—for someone who comes off as nerdy and awkward, you're actually pretty cool."
Oh.
Ouch.
She did not expect this conversation to go there that fast.
Wow. Okay. How is she supposed to respond to that, if not close and open her mouth wordlessly like a gutted fish?
Did he intend for it to be an insult, like she's actually not cool at all? Is that what he thinks of her? She knows she's awkward—she doesn't need him to remind her of all the various mishaps she gets herself into on a daily basis. But implying that being studious and taking her grades seriously—something that she actually prides herself on, at least when Mother isn't telling her she's too stupid to get into a decent college—is "nerdy" and implying that it's a negative thing? That was just uncalled for!
And to think, she actually believed he was her friend. Has he just been messing with her this entire time—letting her think they were friends, only to spring a "HA! And you thought you were good enough for me!" on her?
"…That wasn't a very nice thing to say," she manages finally, already feeling the tears pricking in her eyes.
She feels so stupid. And the worst part is, she's not even sure what's worse—the part where she's so socially crippled that she can't tell when someone is taking advantage of her naiveté and pretending to be nice to her, or the part where she actually let herself believe she was finally getting the hand of making friends. She'd found someone she liked—not in a romantic sense, but just as someone she liked to spend time with because she liked them as a person—and she thought the feeling was mutual—only to find herself the butt of a cruel joke.
How many of her other friends secretly hate her, too? Were they like Regina, Gretchen, and Karen from Mean Girls, pretending to welcome Cady into their girl gang, only to constantly make disparage how naïve and innocent she is? Do they all get together late at night after she's gone to sleep to laugh about how they totally had her fooled?
Would they have kept this charade going if not for Flynn accidentally spilling the beans?
And how did she not see this coming? The other teen girls who volunteered at the Corona Woods Nursing Home backstabbed each other all the time. Was Rapunzel so desperate to fit in here that she didn't even consider that that's just how people are everywhere?
Flynn, bless his stupid dumb heart, has the audacity to turn his clueless puppy eyes on her. "What? The part where I said you're cool, or the part where you're even better than I thought?"
"I'm serious. That wasn't funny."
"I don't understand. What's wrong? Are you okay?"
"You said that I'm cool for a nerdy awkward person. That's—"
"No, no, no! I said I thought you came off as nerdy and awkward at first—not that there's anything wrong with that—but you're…" His eyes widen as it dawns on him. "Oh shit. Yeah, that definitely came out wrong. I'm really sorry, Blondie. That wasn't meant to be a backhanded compliment, I swear."
She swipes furiously at her wet cheeks. Because this is just what she needed! Someone actually says something nice to her, and she has to go and ruin it by being overly sensitive. That, or Flynn's lying and he thinks she's stupid enough to believe his ridiculous backpedal. Probably not. But it's not like she can tell when people are being sincere or not. Either way, she definitely removed all doubt that she's an absolute idiot.
And now she's sniveling like a baby, on top of it all!
She really should be used to this by now.
"Blondie?" (Flynn is still talking to her. Why is he still talking to her? Why is he not running in the other direction?) "Are you okay? I really am sorry."
…He seems sincere enough, she decides. This is the most serious she's ever seen him. There's not even a trace of teasing in his voice now.
Absolutely hating how thick her voice sounds, she shakes her head and forces a teary smile. "No, no, it's not your fault. I'm sorry for being a bad sport. I just have…issues."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
And risk showing him what an even worse mess she is? No thanks. She's done enough embarrassing herself for one day.
It really shouldn't have gotten to her this much. After all, it was just an innocuous comment…right? It's almost like she's more surprised by her own reaction than Flynn was. What kind of person assumes the worst from a compliment?
"Rapunzel, sweetheart, you really shouldn't take everything so seriously—"
"Come on, Blondie, you need a hug."
And the worst part is, she's managed to drag Flynn down with her. She's managed to make him feel bad for something that was her fault—
"Rapunzel, that's quite enough. Apologize and give your dear old mother a hug."
He's probably right, though. Something weird has settled in her chest, and she can't quite figure out what it is. It's the kind of feeling that makes her want to cross her arms around herself—like she has to protect herself, like maybe hiding away in the fetal position will make her feel better.
So she does just that.
Grabbing her things, she chokes out an "I have to go" before escaping back to her room.
Over the next forty-eight hours, Rapunzel mulls over The Incident way more than is warranted for a simple misunderstanding.
It really shouldn't be a big deal. He misspoke, she took it in the worst way possible, he cleared the air and apologized, and she apologized for overreacting. It was simple. They handled it like rational adults. (Well, at least Flynn did. She could use a little more work.) But the point is, she should be over it. She's gotten over worse from Mother.
And yet… She can't shake the feeling that something's missing here, that something's still not quite right.
Is because his compliment came off as really hurtful, even though it wasn't meant to be? No, they cleared that up almost immediately. She's not hurt. Not really. Especially since he wasn't intending to be mean.
Is it the fact that he was literally inches away from her and having sex while she was trying to sleep? No, he apologized for that and promised to be more discreet.
Maybe it's the fact that their conversation has changed her perception of Flynn.
He may not be a two-faced jerk who puts people down with backhanded compliments, but it does bother her to learn that he's the guy who continued to have noisy, disruptive sex in the middle of the night that he knew bothered his neighbor on the other side of the wall. And banging her fist on the wall multiple times to remind him that hey, people are trying to sleep here didn't cut it—it took a face-to-face confrontation to get him to acknowledge that he needed to be more considerate.
Plus, she learned that he "doesn't do relationships." He has a different partner each time. And Mother has warned her about guys like that: the kind that "don't do relationships" because they are only after physical enjoyments and can't be trusted to stay committed. She's been cautioned time and time again to stay away from them at all costs, since Mother found herself drawn to one in her college days, and look where that landed her.
Of course, she's not expecting Flynn to turn out to be an abusive jerk like her father. It's just…she can't help but wonder if there are more red flags that she missed. Has Flynn given off other warning signs that scream "Do not trust me" that she's overlooked because she was so desperate to make friends? Have her other friends? Even if they aren't secretly plotting against her behind her back, Flynn has to have told them what happened by now, and they're sure to have opinions about her behavior…
"Ahem."
Rapunzel screeches and bolts upright, nearly smacking her forehead on the ceiling.
"Mulan! How long have you been standing there?"
Her roommate is leaning on the doorjamb, arms crossed and thoroughly unimpressed. "Is there any particular reason why you're spending the weekend alone? In bed?"
Part of Rapunzel is tempted to tell her everything. Really. It would help to have a friend to bounce her thoughts off of, maybe help her understand why she's feeling so conflicted and confused.
…But then again, she's already burdened Mulan enough with her issues, from the time she thought all guys were child pornographers waiting to happen to the time she got beer splashed down the front of her dress at a frat party she had no business being anywhere near and ended up running away from the guy she bumped into… Come to think of it, she blunders a lot around Flynn, and Mulan has been around to witness most of said blunders. Her roommate is nothing like Mother, but there can only be a certain number of times Rapunzel can screw up before Mulan's patience wears thin, right?
Plus, she's still more than a little embarrassed by her overreaction. And the fact that she's still stuck on it days later just further proves that she is overreacting.
Mulan takes her silence for the answer it is. "…Uh-huh. And the fact that you've been avoiding the lounge wouldn't have anything to do with why Flynn Rider's been moping all weekend in the lounge and watching our door like a lost puppy, either, would it?"
Wait, Flynn's been waiting out in the lounge? For her?
Well, yeah, she knows he's been out there. Duh. The lounge isn't that far away, and she can periodically hear his voice through the suite door. Hence why she's been avoiding the lounge and instead taking the back stairwell when she absolutely needs to leave (to go on camps for class, or to the cafeteria for meals, which she then brings back to her room in a to-go box). She couldn't face Flynn again after her latest gaffe, and she figured he wouldn't want anything more to do with her anyway. So why is he waiting in the lounge for her?
Mulan sighs. "Look, I don't know what happened between you two, and it's not really my business. I just hate it when my friends fight. For what it's worth, I think you should at least hear him out and put him out of his misery. Here—" she thrusts something into Rapunzel's hand (a folded piece of paper?) "—he wanted me to pass this on to you."
She turns to go, but Rapunzel waits until she hears the suite door shut before curling back up in bed, the weird feeling in her gut intensifying tenfold.
Okay, she'll admit it. There was a split second, after learning that Flynn's been waiting to see her, when her reaction wasn't just dumbfounded confusion. It was an unfamiliar warmth that washed over her, almost like she was flushed from embarrassment…but also not like that.
It was nice.
…And that's the other thing that's still bugging her.
She's used to passive-aggressive remarks and insincere praise from Mother, so why did Flynn's poor wording make her feel like a rug was yanked out from under her? Is this why she was so blindsided by what he said? Because she was so flattered by the attention he paid her that she assumed he could do no wrong?
Was it the halo effect? Was she so distracted by his charm and good looks that she just assumed he would also be sweet and funny, too? Even though he wasn't actually being malicious, it doesn't change the part where she completely disregarded all of Mother's warnings. She didn't even stop to consider the possibility that Flynn could just as easily have been one of the bad eggs. Because at the end of the day, even though he's funny and charismatic and nice to her, Flynn is still a philandering womanizer who violates quiet hours and "doesn't do relationships."
Still. He's waiting in the common area for her to show up. Probably only because he thinks she's mad at him or because he feels guilty about hurting her feelings—but he wants to see her. He even sent Mulan into the room to give her…whatever this folded piece of paper is. A note? That means something, right?
No, not like that.
She doesn't like Flynn that way, no matter what Jasmine or the other girls might think.
And he definitely doesn't see her that way. The fact that he goes to parties and brings back random hookups, with nothing more than maybe a sheet of drywall separating their beds, is proof enough.
But when he calls her "Your Highness," or recognizes her in a crowd, or flirts with her—in his friendly flirting way…it's nice.
Maybe she's just starved for attention. Maybe she's just overcompensating and reading too much into the attention she gets from Flynn because Mother was a strict parent who withheld affection to motivate her to be better.
Argh, and now she can't stop thinking about either Mother or Flynn! She came to college to get away from one, and now she's hiding in her room to avoid the other, yet they both still manage to haunt her.
It's Mother's fault.
Yeah, that's it. If Mother had raised her differently, maybe Rapunzel could have turned out to be a competent adult who doesn't…do Rapunzel things. She wouldn't have had that breakdown for Flynn to witness, and she wouldn't be microanalyzing the way he makes her feel and freaking out over the possibility that she might—
No.
She groans and buries her face in the pillow.
She does not like him that way.
She doesn't.
End note: Rapunzel writing emails by repeatedly typing and deleting words is pretty much my entire writing process in a nutshell. Reviews are cool, even if you just want to yell at me for not updating for years.