So, I really enjoyed writing that one-shot. I know I have unfinished stories, but I feel like I tried to drag them out unnaturally. On top of the show going down in quality, I stopped writing for the important reasons. I wanted reviews and to be popular and recognized.

I am leaving that behind, and I am writing stories for myself to have fun with a couple I used to really love. If people like my stuff and want to read it, cool. If not, that's okay, too.

Without further ado, this is a semi-short AU story dedicated to everything I used to love about EClare, the Misfits, and all my old writer friends that came back without any hesitation. I missed you guys.

I plunked the last box down on the hard, blue mattress as my dad dropped the bag of shoes he had just carried up from the van in the bottom of my dresser. "Well, Clare-bear, I think that's the last of it. I have to say, at least you packed lighter than Darcy."

"Dad, I go to university now. Any way I can bribe you to drop the bear from the end of my name?" I joked as I started to rummage around in the boxes for my bedding. I was anxious to get everything set up so I could get out of the room; I wanted to give my roommate enough time to settle in, too.

"You'll always be our little girl, no matter where you go to school." He protested, draping his arm around my mother's shoulder as she tried to hang up my nice, church dresses before they wrinkled. It was almost imperceptible, the way she stiffened under his touch. Almost.

Removing herself easily from under his arm, my mom finished hanging up the last dress. "Do you want help unpacking, Clare? Because we could stay; we both took off work."

"I know, but I think I can manage from here."

It was almost noon, and we had set out on course for Smithdale U about four hours ago. I was ready for my parents to leave. I didn't think I'd be able to take another passive aggressively snide remark from either one of them.

Setting down my shower caddy, Mom seemed to deflate a little. "You'll call if you need anything, right? Anything at all. Just because you are a university girl now doesn't mean you can't ask your mom for help or advice, anything like that."

I felt a twinge of guilt in the pit of my stomach, but I pushed it aside. Everything was fine with them. I didn't have to feel so crummy for living in the dorms, they were adults. But I still felt protective of them and like I had somehow done something wrong.

"I'm not Darcy. I promise I won't fall off the face of the Earth and never call. I bet you guys will barely realize I moved out." My smile was forced, but my mom seemed to relax.

"I'll call you tonight, sweetie. Good luck." She rushed forward to pull me into an awkward hug, and I let myself melt into the comfort of her embrace for a moment. "I love you, Clare."

"I love you, too, Mom." I squeezed extra tight for a moment before stepping out of the circle of her arms. "And I love you, Dad."

"I know you'll make us proud, Clare-bear."

I nodded and blew them kisses as—with an unnaturally large distance between them—they headed down the hall to the elevator. When they were out of sight, I let the door fall shut behind me and flopped onto the half-made bed.

For a moment I just sat there, waiting to feel different…older. Instead, I felt exhausted, confused, and a little lost. Holding back tears of panic, I quickly moved around the room unpacking.

When I was satisfied that everything was in an appropriate place, I grabbed my ID, meal card, a novel, and my jean jacket.

Smithdale's campus was buzzing with students trapped in various states of moving back. It was a warm end-of-summer day, and the breeze carried around the smell of laundry detergent and mown grass. As I walked along, I started to feel more and more comfortable. Free, in a weird kind of way. There was something refreshing about being in a new place where you are the only person you know and nobody knows who you are. I flexed my fingers around the spine of my book and stood up taller.

And then a body slammed into me from the side, knocking me over.

"Fore!" A group of burly guys called out to me, laughing.

"Idiots," the body grumbled as I got to my feet. I offered him my hand, tugging him up. "Real mature, guys," the kid called to the group. "Use me to beat up a girl. Neanderthals."

The guys just laughed and made a rude gesture while they walked away. One of them glared menacingly at the kid for a moment too long before jogging to catch up with his friends.

"Um, are you okay? Your nose is bleeding." I studied my tackler's face. He was wearing a beanie on his head, light brown hair falling over his forehead in a shaggy swoop. His features seemed oddly delicate for a male's, but he had a really friendly smile that made me instantly like him.

"I think I'll live. Has anyone ever died of a nosebleed? It's probably unlikely."

"We should probably still sit you down, clean you up." I fell into step easily beside the stranger, brushing off my dress. "I'm Clare, by the way."

"Adam," he replied, offering his hand after wiping the blood off on his shirt.

"Nice to meet you," I smiled at him, politely avoiding his hand. "Did you know those guys?"

Adam held the door to the student center open for me, and I led him over to an empty bench.

"Nope. I guess they didn't like my face, and decided to beat me up free of a vendetta. Lucky me."

I snorted. "I'm going to go grab some paper towels. You should just, uh, tilt your head back. Be back in a sec." I rushed into the nearest girl's bathroom and grabbed a bunch of paper towels, wetting half of them, before running back to where Adam was bleeding. "Hold these to your nose," I ordered, offering him the dry towels. I used the damp ones to wipe at the drying blood on his cheeks, but when I reached to dab at the blood staining his shirt, Adam practically jumped out of his skin.

"Wow, would you look at that." He shouted in my face, making me flinch back. "I feel better already. Thanks a bunch, Clare. You're really cool for a stranger. If I had to knock anyone over, I'd pick you again in a heartbeat."

"Um, thank you?" I managed to slip in as Adam continued to frantically ramble. He stood up and started to back away from me.

"Who knows? Maybe we'll have a class together, this school isn't that big. Definitely say hi if you see me around."

With that, Adam turned around and practically sprinted away from me.

I stood, shocked, with a handful of bloody paper towels in my hand. "University is weird," I muttered to myself, picking up my book off the bench.

###

I walked back to the room around three thirty after spending some time at one of the dining halls with my novel.

"Clare Edwards!" a girl with a crazy, complicated hairdo and thick-framed glasses squealed when I opened the door. "I was about to hire dogs with crazy-good sense of smell to track you down. Welcome, roomie!"

"You must be Imogen." I set my book on my desk and sat down on the edge of my bed.

"The one and only," she declared proudly. "Actually, I'm probably not the only one, huh? I'm very un-Tigger-like in that way."

I nodded dumbly, unsure of what to make of this person. Imogen plopped down across from me on the edge of her own bed. "I'm really excited for this year," Imogen continued to bubble, unaffected by my own lack of enthusiasm. "Last year, my roommate smoked all the time and liked to talk about me like I didn't actually exist. But you, Clare Edwards, I can sense that you are much nicer.

It seemed like the conversation contained a lot of potential landmines, so I went with what seemed like the safest remark. "So this isn't your first year?"

Imogen shook her head. "Second, actually. I get to audition for leading roles this year. I've already been working on my song for the spring musical." She clapped enthusiastically and sprang up from the bed. She went to working hanging a poster for the musical Spring Awakening above her bed.

"I take it you're a theater major," I guessed.

"Yuppers!"

I didn't know what else to say, so I flopped backward and settled in bed. I sent my mom a quick text, letting her know that I was settling in just fine, and then closed my eyes and tried to tell myself that things would be better when classes started.

###

Monday morning, Imogen's alarm went off at ten minute intervals for an hour before she got up to go to her 9:15 jazz class. After she rushed out of the room in a hurry, the door falling closed heavily behind her, I sat up in bed. I didn't have class till 11:30—Intro to Women's Literature—but I didn't think I'd be able to fall back asleep.

I had spent Sunday getting together my books and supplies for all my classes, and my backpack was already loaded and ready for the day. With a lot of time to kill, I took a shower and went to work looking nice for my first day. I dried and curled my hair, picked out one of my modest, flowery dresses and a light cardigan, and even added an uncharacteristic dash of mascara.

Still considerably early, I left my room and grabbed a quick coffee and bagel. I settled on the floor outside the classroom and pulled out my book so I could read while I ate.

I had only been sitting there for a few minutes before a slim guy in dark, tight jeans, a worn Bad Religion t-shirt, and a black military jacket plopped down across the hall. He immediately pulled out a worn notebook and a pen. His fingernails looked like they had been colored in with sharpie, and his hair put Adam's to shame in terms of shagginess. It was like a black mop that fell over his eyes—it was just on the side of too long.

I hadn't even noticed that I was staring until he cleared his throat. "I realize that the whole college experience can be overwhelming, but helpful tip: gawking is not a great way to endear yourself to strangers."

He didn't even glance up from his notebook to tell me off, but I felt my cheeks burst into flames anyway. "H-how did you know I was a freshman?" I squeaked.

"Lucky guess," The guy snorted. "You reek of hope and naivety."

"Hey," I bristled. "You don't—"

"Look, I'm sure you're a lovely person." His tone suggested that he was not at all sure of that. "But all I wanted was for you to stop staring. I'm not looking to have some kind of heart to heart." Only then did he glance up at me, and I noticed that his eyes were green. Like deep, clover green. They were also impossibly hard—liquid steel.

"Sorry for cramping your style." I was going for biting sarcasm, but my words came out sounding too wounded. Frustrated and flustered, I turned back to my book, trying to pretend Mr. Cranky Pants didn't exist.

The uncomfortable tension stretched on until more people arrived to dilute it. Finally, a woman who looked to be in her late forties wearing a flowing skirt and a long, brown sweater swooped down the hall, books under her arm. She unlocked the door, and all the students filed into the room.

I chose a seat up front and off to the side. Not that I was looking, but Mr. Cranky Pants settled toward the back, his fingers twirling his pen at an impossibly fast pace.

"Hello, class." The woman had settled her stuff on the front table. "I am Dr. Dawes, and this is Introduction to Women's Literature. If you suspect you are in the wrong place, please leave as quickly and quietly as possible." She started to count out papers for every row, passing out the syllabus. "This is a survey course, so there will be a lot of reading to keep up with. If I suspect much of the class is slacking, I will start each class with a quiz. There will be two major papers, a midterm and final, and a partner project in which you and another person in this room of my choosing will present on a woman or work of literature that has advanced the theory in some way. I will assign partners after we go over the syllabus, and you will be expected to do some research and pick a topic within one week for my approval."

I felt like I was hitting the ground running, but everyone else was so much faster than me. Dr. Dawes talked very quickly, and I was overwhelmed by the onslaught of information. As she went on, detailing which editions of each book we should get, I hurried to jot down everything she said.

As the time was winding down, she stopped talking and pulled a sheet out her pile of things. "I will now read off the partners, and you can use the remaining five minutes to meet them quickly. Remember, I want a topic for every pair turned in a week from today. Now, Albertson and Addams will be paired together, Benson and Cunningham, Cooley and Craig, Dunn and Erikson, Edwards and Goldsworthy, Jenny and Fisher…"

Dr. Dawes continued to list off names. It seemed as though a lot of the students were second year English majors and were familiar with each other's names. I looked around helplessly lost until Cranky Pants himself dropped down unceremoniously into the empty chair beside me. "The universe has a really shitty sense of humor, don't you think?"

I glanced around the room, almost expecting someone to be standing over my shoulder because it seemed that impossible that Cranky Pants would voluntarily talk to me. Instead of someone breathing down my neck, though, I noticed that nearly everyone else in the room had paired themselves off….

"Okay, I'll bite." I narrowed my eyes skeptically at my rude companion. "What has the universe done that's so darkly comical?"

Cranky Pants smirked, and I tried not to notice the way it made his eyes shimmer with amusement. "Look around, Edwards," he emphasized my last name as if he thought I was really slow picking up on something.

My eyes widened a little as things clicked into place. And then I started to giggle, quietly at first, until it escalated into a full-on fit. "Your last name is Goldsworthy, isn't it?"

He nodded, studying me carefully. Finally, his critical expression melted into one of exhaustion. "Look, I'm sorry about snapping at you earlier."

"Thank you." I smiled shyly at him.

"Alright everyone," Dr. Dawes's voice sliced through the chatter of other pairings in the room. "We're out of time for today, so I'll see you on Wednesday. Make sure you read to page 73 in Jane Eyre!"

I stood and started to gather my things, swinging my backpack over my shoulder. Goldsworthy fell into step beside me as we left the classroom.

He started talking again, like Dawes hadn't even interrupted. "But that doesn't mean that I suddenly want to be friends or get to know you or whatever. We're partners for a project. We'll do it, get a good grade, and then go our separate ways, okay?" He held the door outside open for me and then stopped walking.

I was about to protest, wonder aloud what I had done to irk him, when I realized that 1.) I really shouldn't care—in fact, it should have pleased me—that this guy wanted to focus on the assignment, and 2.) his attitude probably had nothing to do with me. It didn't have to concern me. "Fine by me," I decided. "Do I at least get a first name to work with, though?"

He shrugged. "Eli."

I nodded and held out my hand to shake. "Clare," I introduced myself. Eli eyed my hand suspiciously for a moment before grabbing on and giving it one firm shake. Then he turned quickly on his heel and stalked off.

I couldn't help but notice, though, the way his jacket had ridden up when he had grabbed my hand. And on his wrist was the beginning of thick, reddish-brown scar that seemed to travel along his vein.

Yeah, his attitude definitely had nothing to do with me, but maybe it should concern me.