The morning after the Burns, Felicity woke to find herself alone in the dormitory. She sat up slowly, wincing as the bright sunlight stung her eyes. Someone had propped open one of the tall windows by her bed and a cool breeze drifted into the room, popping goosebumps along her bare arms and swaying the heavy curtains. The room smelled of honeysuckle and in the distance she could make out the hum of cicadas.

What time was it? Felicity grabbed the clock beside her bed and dragged it towards her.

12:30 PM.

She grimaced. No wonder she was the only one in the dormitory. Everyone else would be in the library or at sports practice by now. Her eyes fell to the teetering stack of books and papers at the foot of her bed. She had so much to do and half the day was gone already.

The weekend meant no uniform; a fact Felicity was eternally grateful for. She pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, piled as many textbooks into her bag as physically possible, and headed for the door. She'd go to the dining hall first, then head to the tutoring center. Over the past couple of weeks Felicity had discovered that it was pretty much abandoned on the weekends. It quickly became her hideaway for when she needed to get things done without being distracted by Sara drawing penises on her notebooks or Nyssa throwing tiny bits of paper at her, which is what usually happened when the three of them went to the library together.

She could have her geometry homework done by three then start her French paper— Felicity froze, halfway down the long hallway outside her dormitory. She had been so upset about sleeping in that she had momentarily forgotten— Oliver. Her hand drifted unconsciously to her lips. How could she have forgotten? It all came rushing back: the dark shadows and the flickering torchlight; the masked figures and endless cups of... whatever that had been. And Oliver Queen kissing her before a crowd of cheering one-percenters as the cold stars winked down at them through a tangled canopy of branches. That had happened, too.

A shaft of sunlight slid over her shoes and away across the richly carpeted floor, like a wave rolling towards the shore. A dusty suit of armor stared at her morosely from a recess between two of the tall windows that lined that hall.

"Oh don't you go judging me," she said crossly. "You're just a suit of armor. You don't have to worry about these things. All you do is stand around all day like a useless lump. It must be 400 years since anyone's even put you on."

"Now that's not very nice."

Felicity started and turned toward the voice.

Of course it was Oliver. He stood behind her, his bookbag slung over his shoulder, his sandy hair sticking up at all angles, watching her with that knowing smirk, as if he knew exactly what she'd just been thinking about.

"Are you sure you're not half leopard," she said crossly. "How does someone as big as you get around without making any noise?"

"Sorry," Oliver said, though he didn't look sorry at all. In fact he was smiling. "Maybe if you hadn't been chastising the armor you would've heard me coming."

"I wasn't chastising it! I was… okay fine, maybe I was chastising it a little." She crossed her arms. "In my defense it's very judgmental hunk of metal."

Oliver stepped toward the suit, tilting his head slightly as though he were sizing it up. "You know what, you're right. This one looks like a right snarky bastard." Oliver glanced back at her. The puddle of sunlight he'd stepped into gilded his outline gold and illuminated a deep purple bruise on his left cheekbone. Had that been there last night? Felicity didn't remember seeing it. But then again it had been dark among the trees.

Oliver moved back to her side her. "Where are you off to? I'll walk you… unless you wanted to finish your conversation with the armor?"

"Haha," Felicity said. "No, I think Mr. Armor and I have finished our exchange. But I'm just going to the dining hall; you don't have to walk me."

"That's alright." They were walking already, his hand on her elbow, guiding her. It was the lightest of touches, yet it sent a wave of pleasant shivers down her spine.

"Besides," he continued, "To be honest, I've been looking for you. I need your help with something. So really you're doing me the favor."

"Oh? What do you need help with?"

As they walked her eyes drifted down to his hand on her arm. His nails were perfect flat ovals. That surprised her for some reason.

"It's a tech thing," he said.

Felicity lifted her eyes to his, raising an eyebrow. "Ah. A tech thing. Of course." She was quickly realizing that specificity was one of Oliver Queen's least favorite things.

They came to a stop at the bottom of the grand staircase. The sounds of clattering dishware and chattering students rang out of the dining hall across the entryway. The smell of bacon tickled Felicity's nose. Her stomach grumbled.

"Tell you what," Oliver said, glancing around. His hand was still at her elbow, as if to anchor her within his orbit. "What are you doing after this?"

"Going to the tutoring center," Felicity said. "But I have a ton of homework, Oliver. I don't have time—"

"Great," he interrupted. "I'll meet you there in thirty?"

Before she could reply, he turned and strode into the dining hall. She scowled at his retreating form, silently adding disregard for other people's personal time to his list of character traits. That, and he's a good kisser, the derelict side of her brain offered. A really good kisser. Something fluttered deep in the pit of her stomach and she didn't think it was the hunger.

Goddamn it.

Felicity considered not going to the tutoring center after all. It would serve Oliver right to show up and find her not there, she thought, as she stuffed herself with waffles doused in maple syrup (the real kind; none of that fake Aunt Jemima stuff for Pembroke's silver spoons). Arrogant ass, assuming she would just drop everything to help him.

In the end, she went anyway. She told herself it was because at least she would be guaranteed a quiet place to study after Oliver left her in peace. In reality, she was curious. And yeah, maybe she even liked that he needed her.

He showed up later than he said he would. Felicity was immersed into her geometry homework, her head bent close to the book, nodding along to the music pounding from her headphones.

He tapped her on the shoulder.

Felicity yelped, her chair tipping backwards as she bolted upright. Oliver's hand shot out and righted the chair before it could dump her on the floor.

Jerking the earbuds from her ears, Felicity glared up at him. "Don't you knock?" she asked breathlessly, her heart thudding enthusiastically against her ribcage.

"Felicity, this is the tutoring center. Not the ladies' room." Oliver settled himself on the edge of her desk, looking unperturbed by her reaction to his appearance. He grinned down at her. "Not that you seem overly concerned about the gendered division of restrooms anyway."

Of course he would bring up their initial encounter. Felicity had emerged from a shower stall to be informed by a half-naked Oliver that she'd accidentally showered in the men's bathroom. The memory was firmly entrenched in her brain. Oliver had been slightly damp from all steam in the room, the outline of each muscle in his cut torso exposed to her wide eyed gaze… Stop thinking about it!

Felicity jerked her head to the side, as though she could shake the thoughts from her brain like a wet dog shaking itself dry.

"Right." She closed her book. "So what is it you need help with, Oliver?"

She had prepared herself for something strange. She really had. That didn't mean she was prepared for him to draw a long, metal arrow out of his bag.

"Right," she said faintly, "an arrow. Of course."

He ignored her. "My friend Tommy's gotten really into archery lately but Pembroke doesn't have an archery range. I'm donating the money to start one and I'd like them to stock it with these arrows. Only, I have no idea where to get them. I was hoping you could figure it out."

She moved to take it from him but he held it just out of reach.

"Careful," he said.

Felicity rolled her eyes and took it from him. The arrow was surprisingly light in her hands, the metal cool against her skin. Her gaze caught on a row of small numbers etched into the base of the shaft. "This compound is patented. I should be able to trace it. Give me a second."

With her free hand she drew her laptop towards herself. The information he wanted shouldn't be too difficult to find. Patent numbers were a matter of public record, available through the US Patent and Trademark Office. Felicity was actually a little surprised Oliver needed her help with this at all. She glanced at him. He was watching her with an almost reverential expression, as though she were performing magic rather than conducting a simple internet search. Okay, so maybe it wasn't that surprising. The boy had been stuck on an island for the last three years. And when he'd disappeared he'd only been fifteen, not exactly the age most people develop an interest in patents and trademarks.

The computer pinged as it settled on a positive match. "The patent is registered to a company called Sagittarius," Felicity said, holding out the arrow for Oliver to take back. "That's Latin. For the archer."

He nodded to himself, staring down at the weapon in his hands. She could practically see the cogs turning in his brain. Felicity considered the possibility that he was telling the truth. She quickly dismissed it. Even if he did intend to found Pembroke's first archery range, why did he need to stock it with these particular arrows? There was something else going on here, something deeper.

"Felicity," Oliver said, tearing her out of her thoughts.

"Hm?"

"I wanted to apologize."

Her brow wrinkled. Okay, not what I was expecting. "For what?"

"For letting them make you kiss me last night." His eyes flicked up to her face. They probed her face, dark and searching. "I know it was for tradition's sake and all that crap. But I should have told them all to go screw themselves."

"Oliver…" Felicity didn't know what to say. On one hand, he was right. She had kind of been ambushed into kissing him. On the other hand, she didn't regret it at all. In fact, she'd spent a good part of the morning trying to think of ways to get him to do it again. A dispiriting thought occurred to her. What if he's the one who regrets it?

"You didn't make me do anything," she said slowly. "And anyway, I could say the same thing to you." She focused on her hands, picking at the hangnail on her thumb, unable to look him in the face, not wanting to see what truth might lay there. "I mean, they made you kiss me too."

"Felicity."

She forced herself to look up.

The ghost of a smirk played around the corner of his mouth, the sharpness that had characterized him last night returned. There was dangerousness to the way he looked at her. It made her want to things she would normally never do; it made her momentarily forget to breath. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I rarely do anything I don't want to do. I'm selfish that way."

"Oh," was all she could think to say.

They sat there for a minute, just staring at each other.

Then Oliver sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "That's not the only thing I wanted to apologize for."

She cocked her head to the side.

"That night you brought me the laptop. You offered to be friends and I never really took you up on it. I've been wanting to tell you— it wasn't because I didn't want to. I've just been… busy lately."

Felicity raised an eyebrow. "Does your busyness have anything to do with how you got that bruise on your face?" Her fingers ghosted across the ridge of his cheek bone where the skin was purpled and slightly swollen. The heat of his skin penetrated her fingers and Oliver shifted, just an infinitesimal amount, so that for a second she thought he might lean into her hand. But then he seemed to think better of it.

"It might," he said, straightening up, smugness reinhabiting his features. "Then again it might not." He grinned, and then grimaced as the motion pulled at the tender flesh around his bruise.

Felicity leaned toward him. "You're not in a fight club, are you?" She glanced around, lowering her voice despite the fact that they were alone in the room. "I have been thinking this ever since I got here but this school totally seems like place that would have a fight club. You don't have to say yes or no just wink or something if I'm right."

He just smiled. "Couldn't tell you if I were, now could I? So what do you think, Smoak? Friends?"

For a single second, less than that even, Felicity hesitated. She had only known Oliver a few weeks but she could already tell that he was unlike anyone she had ever known before. Then again how many other billionaire castaways did she know? But it wasn't just that. There was something… off about the boy, the man, really, sitting in front of her. She couldn't help feeling as though all his smirks and smiles were to some extent a facade, and beneath that lay a deep reservoir of... what? Anger? Grief? Whatever it was, she'd caught a glimpse of it that stormy night in his dormitory as he'd stared off into the darkness, his fists clenched by his sides as though he would fight the rain itself if it looked at him wrong. In the end it came down to a gut feeling. Despite her misgivings, Felicity trusted Oliver.

So she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and she nodded.

"Yeah," she said. "Friends."

.