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Falst knew he probably shouldn't blow his meal points on coffee, but dammit, he needed sugar and caffeine and he needed it now.
Falst slouched at the back of the line for the student rec center's coffee shop, his tattered backpack weighing heavy on his shoulders. A cacophony of chatter, footsteps, and the clangs and whirs of coffee equipment assaulted his ears, and they flattened reflexively. His tail flicked. A headache pounded at his temples. He contemplated turning right around and going on the hunt for painkillers, but a shot of caffeine fixed his headaches, usually. Like, seventy percent of the time. And it'd give him a boost for tackling his operating systems assignment, which was due tomorrow, and which he probably should have started a week ago but didn't, because his composition teacher was sadistic and his essays a pain to write. Falst was so ready to be done with composition. How many weeks were left in the semester, again? It had to be at least half done, right? Falst wanted to be done.
The coffee line inched forward, unusually and agonizingly slow.
Falst leaned around and squinted, his brow furrowing. Were they short-staffed or something? Yeah, short-staffed. One bored-looking gal at the register, one guy prepping the drinks. Usually they had at least three people. Falst thought so, anyway. He didn't come every day or anything, though, so maybe not?
Another person served. Another few inches.
Falst sensed someone stepping up behind him and reflexively drew his tail in, shooting a warning glare over his shoulder.
The person behind him, a preppy-looking guy with black hair and an embroidered vest and slacks, looked startled and took a step back. Falst would've pegged him for a teacher based on his fancy wardrobe alone, but he looked way too young. Probably just a student, then. Maybe a rich kid. Maybe just a dude who liked to dress up, which was unusual on this campus, but whatever. He had a nervous smile and his hands raised in the universal I-mean-no-harm signal, so he was probably harmless. Mostly. He wasn't looking at Falst like Falst was some chimeric roach, at least.
Falst let out a breath, massaged his temples, and took another step forward in line. Waited. Another step. And another.
Finally, it was his turn.
The person at the register, a lady with blonde hair and pale green eyes, gave Falst a once-over and a condescending smile, the sort that Falst had long ago learned not to trust. "What'll it be, kitty cat?" she asked.
The person at the machines, a towering gladiator of a dude with vibrant orange hair and flame patterns on his skin, paused in the middle of mixing a drink. He started to turn, like he was gonna say something. Make a scene, maybe.
Falst didn't want that. This was the same old shit he dealt with every day, nothing unusual. Tame, even, compared to the worse stuff—especially what he'd dealt with before reaching Asera University. "Mocha," Falst ordered flatly, before Coffee Guy could do anything. "Whipped cream, extra shot of espresso, regular size." It was a less wild version of what he really wanted—sweet enough to get him his caffeine hit and be, like, okay, but not so complicated or decadent that it'd eat up a zillion points or open him up to jibes. Which mattered, because the asshole at the counter clearly liked making jibes, and Falst's headache and the noise were both fraying his patience already.
Her condescending smile dropped to a blank neutral. "Sure. That'll be four-fifty."
Coffee Guy's shoulders dropped, and he got back to work.
Falst handed the counter gal his student card, and she swiped it. He snatched the receipt with the order number and stalked off to join the throng of students near the serving counter. More waiting... and waiting... until...
"Order seventy-five! Mocha, extra espresso!"
Falst hurried up to the counter. The coffee guy held out a sweet-smelling concoction in a cheap paper-and-plastic cup—and Falst finally got a good look at his face. He was... huh.
The coffee guy looked tired, but he smiled kindly as he proffered the drink. Falst could only see one eye—a single, beautiful, carnelian iris—because he wore a black eyepatch over the other. Hints of scar tissue spiderwebbed out from under that eyepatch, like maybe something had happened to him, something painful and terrible, something most college students would never have to deal with. As Falst took the drink, their hands brushed, just for a moment. The coffee guy's felt warm. Like, heated-blanket warm. Snuggling-haven warm.
Falst flushed, then mentally seized those traitorous, weird thoughts and throttled them dead. This was just some stranger working a shit job. Whatever his story was, it wasn't Falst's business. "Thanks," Falst muttered.
"Sure thing." The coffee guy leaned over and added softly, "Sorry about Shrike. She can be an ass."
Despite himself, Falst smirked. Something in him unwound, a little. "Eh. S'probably worse for you, having to work with her."
His smile turned wry. "I guess—"
"Hey, one-eye!" called Shrike sharply. "Keep those drinks moving!"
Falst saw a flare like fire in his eye, a tightness in his jaw, his shoulders hitching like he wanted to start a fight. Falst thought he was gonna. Thought it'd be justified, too. But the guy hissed out a breath, and the moment passed. The tension faded. Without another word, he turned back to the machines, leaving Falst standing there with his extra-espresso mocha and a strange, dazed kind of feeling.
A throb of pain in Falst's head reminded him why he was here, and he hastily edged away, gulping his piping-hot, sugary brew. It scalded his tongue. Falst winced.
He slunk through the crowds and found a small, empty table, tucked mostly out of sight and in a place where it'd be hard for people to sneak up on him. Falst dropped into a chair, pulled out his decrepit clunker of a laptop, and coaxed it awake. It sputtered, then glowed dimly. Falst's coding project displayed on the screen. Rows and rows of C code stood stark against a dark backdrop, mostly abbreviated variables and some math and a few haphazard comments. Stuff Falst would make more readable later, to avoid getting knocked down for style points.
He hated the styling rubric. Fucking loathed it. But his professor wasn't terrible and swore up and down that the conventions would make the code more legible to other developers, and someday Falst might actually land a dev job and have to work with people, so, fine. It was fine. Styling nitpicks aside, he liked this shit. Even better, it had a half decent chance of making him money so he wouldn't have to go back to—
Anyway.
For now, Falst zeroed in on a half-written function and picked up where he'd left off. He mentally blotted out the background noise. He finished the function. He swigged his mocha, which wasn't scalding anymore but still warm, and started on another. Code, swig, code, swig. Huh, his mocha was down to dregs. Whatever, it'd worked, his headache was gone. Oh, better plug in his laptop, it was gonna die if he didn't give it a lifeline...
Falst let himself get lost in his work, entering that flow state where his awareness narrowed and time snuck away from him. He forgot, for a while, things like hunger and thirst and body aches. Caffeine helped his neurons fire and his brain and fingers hum along. The assignment was going well. Surprisingly smoothly, though sometimes he did have to stop and think, or catch a typo that was causing a compile error, or what have you. He made steady progress, in increments. Maybe he'd even finish before midnight.
A crash-clang and sudden drop in chatter jolted him out of it.
"Watch it!" Shrike's shrill voice snapped out like a whip.
Tension thickened the air. Falst snapped his laptop shut and stood, craning to see.
Looked like an accident behind the counter: a toppled steel canister, dark liquid all over the floor. The coffee guy leaned against the wall. His fingers hooked in the front of his apron, over his heart, like he was having chest pains, or something. Shrike was still talking to him, her voice shrill, her words all about messes and cleaning up and delays, but the coffee guy didn't say anything, just gripped the front of his apron and stood there with shoulders hunched, straightening slowly.
Alarm spiked through Falst. Something was wrong.
Falst shoved his laptop in his bag and hauled ass to the counter. He didn't know why he was doing this, bothering to get involved. It wasn't any of his business. But the coffee guy had been nice, and he didn't look good, and—he just—Falst couldn't help himself.
"Pull yourself together, Dainix," said Shrike impatiently. (Falst made immediate note of the name.) "It was just a stupid noise because of your own stupid—"
Falst vaulted over the counter, planted himself between Shrike and Dainix, and snapped, "Hey. Lay off him."
Shrike blinked, surprised and obviously wrong-footed.
Falst glanced back. Dainix looked down at him, his eye round and his pupil far more dilated than it should've been. His hand shook. But he took a breath, and it stopped. Another, and Dainix was able to straighten fully, to unhook his fingers from the front of his apron. A third, and he was able to speak. "Thanks," he said softly, "really, I just—"
"Are you his pet, or something?" asked Shrike snidely.
Falst whipped around. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. His tail lashed. A growl rumbled in his throat. Kitty cat was one thing. But pet? That was over the fucking line.
But before Falst could do anything, Dainix stepped forward. He loomed over Shrike, his shoulders rigid, his hands curled into fists, and it really hit home to Falst how big the guy was, how hardened and strong he looked. Fear flitted across Shrike's face, too quick and instinctive for her to mask. "Apologize," Dainix ordered, his voice tight with fury. "Now."
Shrike's expression flattened again. "You can't threaten me with violence. That's assault. You'd be kicked out."
Falst could swear Dainix cracked at the seams, that his fist rose, that he was gonna deck her. But he didn't. In a tone of forced calm, Dainix retorted, "I'm not. I'm telling you to be a decent person and apologize to the customer you insulted with a slur. Which I'm going to report to human resources, by the way."
Shrike stared up at him. Then she turned to Falst and gave him a flat, "Sorry." She turned back to Dainix and asked sarcastically, "Happy?"
"Done, actually." Dainix unfastened his apron and tossed it onto the counter. "Calling in sick."
Shrike's eyes widened. "You can't just—"
"I can." Dainix grabbed a hoodie from beneath the register, a cozy-looking thing with geometric patterns on the sleeves. But instead of putting it on, he reached for Falst's hand. Falst startled, then stilled, as big, warm fingers curled around his own. Dainix shot him a crooked smile and tugged gently, inviting Falst to come along.
Falst did so. Together, they left Shrike sputtering at the counter, laden with the mess of coffee on the floor and the backlog of university students waiting impatiently for their caffeine fix. They walked past the many pairs of eyes and the first set of double doors, and down the stairs, and through the second set, out into the brisk autumn air and the dark cloak of nightfall. A river of stars flowed overhead. Lanterns lit the sidewalk—not that Falst needed the light, but most people probably did.
The chill seeped through Falst's thin, tattered shirt, and he shivered.
Dainix pushed the bundle of sweatshirt into Falst's arms. "Here. It's the least I can do."
"Um. Uh." Falst stuttered, wrong-footed, trying to find a way to say, I can't take this, or maybe, wait, don't you need it? Aren't you cold? But the softness of the fabric and a biting gust swayed him. He mumbled a thank-you and pulled it on.
The hoodie engulfed him utterly. It went down to mid-thigh and past his fingertips. The hoodie had a silky texture, smoother than most hoodies, almost slippery. Without thinking, Falst tucked his chin, subtly snuggling into it, and breathed in the hoodie's scent. He picked up spices, campfires, soap, sweat, and some other, heady kind of smell that he guessed must be particular to Dainix. It smelled good. It felt warm. Also ridiculously huge on him, but whatever. "Thanks," said Falst again, forgetting he'd already said it. "I'll, uh. I'll give it back to you as soon as we're done walking, uh. Wherever you're going."
"I was thinking of heading back to my dorm room, but I can walk you to yours first, if you like."
Falst thought of his threadbare, scavenged-up bed covers and his roommate who just barely tolerated his existence. It wasn't dangerous. Wasn't pleasant either. He eyed Dainix—his exposed forearms, the plain T-shirt stretched thin across his shoulders. He seemed more or less okay now, but... "Nah. I'll walk you to yours, make sure you get home safe."
Some less-than-happy emotion flitted across Dainix's face, too quick and difficult for Falst to read. It vanished in a heartbeat, replaced with a small smile. Not like Shrike's sneaky-snake smile. A gentle kind of smile that Falst didn't see all that often. He said, "Alright. Thanks for keeping me company." He tilted his head in a come on kind of gesture and strode north.
Falst hurriedly drew up beside him. He had to take three steps for every two of Dainix's to keep up with the guy.
"What's your name, by the way?" asked Dainix.
"...Falst."
"Falst." Dainix echoed it slowly, like he was savoring the syllables. "I'm Dainix." He said it like day-nix, like sunlight was part of his name. Shrike had said it like die-nix, either carelessly or maliciously.
Falst bristled internally. If he ever ran into her again—
Dainix's voice tugged him back. "It's nice to meet you, although I'm sorry about the circumstances. Thank you for standing up for me the way you did."
Falst felt his face flush. He rubbed the back of his neck. "No big deal."
Dainix said, "It was a big deal to me. It meant a lot. I promise I'm okay now, but sometimes if I'm already stressed and get startled by the wrong thing, I get... uh... unwanted adrenaline spikes. It can be uncomfortable to deal with until it passes."
"Oh." So, between the scar tissue and the stress reaction, Dainix had almost definitely seen some scary shit. Falst wanted to ask what shit, exactly, but he doubted Dainix would want to talk about it. Nobody wanted to talk about that stuff, right? So all Falst said was a quiet, "Glad you're okay now."
Dainix gave him another one of those smiles, and the conversation lulled.
They walked by a familiar row of buildings: the library, then the science halls and labs. Slabs of brick and concrete looming over them, interspersed with green space and trees. Falst knew this place well. He had his OS course in one of those lecture halls, and this was sort of on the way in his dorm. He could pick out all the details and edges, the numbers on the doors and the textures of the building materials. He knew it must look less distinct, more shadowy and blobby, to Dainix. Maybe even more so than average for humans. How did having one eye affect his vision? Probably fucked with his depth perception. He must've gotten used to it, though. Seemed to navigate his surroundings okay.
Dainix broke the silence with, "So, what year are you? What're you studying?"
"Computer science. Freshman, started late. Long story." They rounded a corner onto a familiar path, one that stretched past rows of ancient oaks, on and on. A suspicion prickled at Falst, and his heart leapt strangely. He pointed toward the end of the walkway, where a building made of giant concrete bricks rose in the distance. "That your dorm?" he asked.
"Yeah." Wryly, Dainix added, "It feels like a prison."
Falst snorted. "You're telling me. S'mine too. Second floor."
Dainix blinked, then beamed. "We're dorm mates! Well, building-wise, anyway! I'm on fourth. Room 401. The building's terrible, but my roommate's nice."
"Lucky. I like literally nothing about mine except that he hasn't stabbed me, but I'm in Room 213."
"Such a high bar they've met. I'm sorry."
Falst shrugged. "People suck. Especially toward ferin. That's life."
Dainix looked like he didn't know what to say. Didn't matter, because they were at the front doors anyway. Dainix waved his card across the sensor, then shouldered the door open.
Together, they stepped into a barren lobby with a few plastic chairs and scattered tables. The overhead lights shone stark and overly bright, and Falst squinted until his eyes adjusted. An elevator sat dead ahead of them—a mildly cursed metal box that rattled on its way up, and that Falst generally avoided in favor of the stairs. A side door led into a study and lounge area with more plastic chairs, tables, and threadbare sofas; Falst could see, through the window in the wall, a few students hanging around, sprawling on the couches or hunching over at tables.
Dainix ignored the elevator and took the stairs.
Falst trailed up after him. "So, uh. What about you?"
"Hmm?" They passed the first floor.
"What're you majoring in, and stuff?"
"Oh! History, with a focus on ancient history and arcana." That... had not been what Falst expected. He didn't know what he had expected. "I'm also a freshman but started a few years late. I was part of the Ravvan, a specialized military in the Rauan desert. We were responsible for protecting our home settlement from monsters that came too close, performing high-risk search and rescue missions, that sort of thing. And then... Well, it's a long story. But long story short, I'm here on veteran's and disability benefits from home and a small merit scholarship from Asera, and I'm sort of... Searching for information. About a particular monster, talked about in old legends and called a 'fire demon' by my people." They reached the second landing. Dainix paused, clearly thinking Falst would part ways here.
Falst did not do that. He kept climbing, his tail flicking as he passed. "I said I'd walk you home, remember?"
"It's a long way to Raua," said Dainix. His words were laced with irony, gently teasing, but Falst thought he heard an ache in his voice.
"...Yeah. Well, I'm gonna walk you to your dorm room, anyway, and give you back your hoodie."
"...Thanks. Really."
"Sure." Falst didn't know what else to say in the face of all that vulnerable sincerity, and Dainix went quiet, so silence fell between them again. They climbed another flight of stairs, and another. They reached the door to the fourth floor. Dainix shouldered his way through, like with the other one. Falst followed him down the hall.
Dainix stopped in front of Room 401. He turned. Hesitated. "Hey, uh. You're welcome to stick around and hang out for a while. Or, I'd love to meet up and hang out later, too, if you'd like to exchange cell phone numbers?"
Falst mentally bluescreened. What? Dainix wanted to hang out? People didn't want to hang out with Falst. They didn't invite him to do shit. Except now, for this strong, hot guy who was too damn nice. What???
Falst blurted, "I don't have a cell phone number."
Dainix's hopeful expression vanished. Surprise and incredulity replaced it. "Wait, you don't have a—"
"Not used to having anyone to call." Falst felt his face go hot. He wished he could stuff those words straight back in his mouth. He scrambled for something else to say, something to bring that hope back and that didn't sound horrifically weird and awkward. "But I've got e-mail for school and a shitty laptop, so. I could use that?"
Dainix visibly rallied. "We can definitely use that. And maybe a messaging app? Do you have ChatterBird?"
"Uhhh. No, but I could sign up for it."
"Great! Okay!" Dainix fished around in his pockets and withdrew a dull metal key. (He had cargo pants with like a gazillion pockets, Falst just now realized. He approved. Pockets were fucking awesome.) He slotted the metal key into the door and twisted, and it clicked. "Why don't you come in for a sec?"
"Uh! Okay!"
Dainix beamed, then opened the door wide.
His dorm room was... well, a cinderblock cell like the rest of them, but way more personalized than Falst's. One side, which Falst presumed was Dainix's, had a bunk bed with a thick comforter and pillow, patterned and colored like desert sand and sunsets. A string of pictures hung along the walls. There were a lot of them, with a lot of different people, but they all sort of looked like Dainix. Similar skin patterns, hair hued like flames. People he knew, Falst guessed. People from Raua.
Stuff cluttered the space beneath the bed. A duffle bag. A hot plate. (Technically not allowed, but Falst wouldn't fuckin' snitch. Dainix almost definitely knew how to use it without setting anything on fire, anyway.) An electric kettle. A small pot. A... wooden staff?
The other bed had a simple, bright blue spread and a plump cushion, and nothing else.
Except for the person on it.
Falst froze.
He'd missed this person. That was what'd spooked him. Normally Falst clocked all the people around him when he entered a room, tracked them with a sensitivity honed by years of hypervigilance—and augmented, of course, by his ferin senses. People, and other potential threats, were supposed to be the first thing he noticed. But this guy was so quiet, so motionless, that he'd slipped under Falst's radar. He didn't even smell like a normal person. All Falst got was a faint whiff of metal and, like, something clean.
Dainix's roommate (Falst presumed) sat cross-legged with a book in his hands. His hair was yellow as a dandelion, vivid and long and thick. Bright blue eyes peered curiously over at Falst. In the dim light of the dorm room, they glowed. Yeah, no, Falst wasn't imagining it. Literally glowed. This guy wasn't human. He was just a little too off in a few subtle ways. But what he was, exactly, Falst couldn't tell.
The stranger's gaze rested on Falst for a moment longer, then slid over to Dainix. "Hi, Dainix." Then, to Falst: "Hi. I'm Kendal." His voice was calm and deep as a still lake. It was eerie.
"Hi," said Falst awkwardly. "I'm, uh. I'm Falst."
"He saved me at work today," Dainix said. Which, in Falst's view, was a gross overexaggeration. All he'd done was snap at Shrike for being an asshole, what the fuck. "And then he walked me back here. And he's staying in the same building!"
"Oh?" Kendal closed the book and set it aside. "What happened?"
"A stressful rush of customers, then a noise, then a panic attack, then Shrike." Dainix strode over to his bed and plopped down on it. He patted the space next to him and looked meaningfully at Falst, a wordless invitation to sit down.
After a moment's hesitation, Falst crept into the room, dropped his bag near the foot of the bed, and cautiously sat down next to Dainix. Dainix beamed and shifted a little closer so their arms were just shy of brushing, then turned back to Kendal and described what exactly happened in that coffee shop. The short staff. The afternoon rush. Falst's mocha, Shrike's snide comment. (Falst was surprised that Dainix found that worth mentioning. Dainix kept surprising him.) Mounting stress, a machine malfunction, a sudden noise. Panic. A tightness in his chest. Noise and mess. Shrike, berating him.
Falst vaulting over the counter and planting himself between Dainix and Shrike.
Shrike calling Falst a slur.
Dainix sounded so damn furious about it. A low, level kind of furious, a seething heat kept carefully contained. Falst felt some kind of way about that. And Kendal... Falst thought he saw Kendal's eyes glow a little brighter, his jaw clench, his brows draw together in the beginnings of a frown.
"So now I need to write a letter to human resources, and—"
"Don't leave out the part where you stuck up for me and got Shrike to shut up," Falst ordered him.
"Ah. Yeah. I pulled together enough to tell her off."
Falst snorted. "You ordered her to apologize to me and looked like you were gonna fight her over it if she didn't. Then she gave the most half-hearted apology ever, and you took off your apron with a bomb-ass mic drop, got us both out of there, and left that asshole to deal with the mess and the evening rush." As Dainix's cheeks darkened, Falst added, resolute, "You can't just make me out to be some kind of hero—overexaggerated, by the way—then not tell your part properly."
"I—"
Kendal interrupted, his voice soft with sincerity. "I'm glad you're both okay and that you were able to help each other. And I'm sorry you had a bad shift, Dainix. Nothing about any of that was fair, for either of you."
Falst blinked.
Kendal leaned forward slightly, his hands folded in his lap. He turned all his sincerity on Falst. "Thanks for being there for my friend."
"I. Uh. You're welcome." Falst felt awkward. So awkward. What was he supposed to do with people being so nice to him?! What was this?!
Dainix stood up and stretched. His spine crackled audibly. "Okay, let's trade contact info for later, then I'm going to get started on that e-mail."
And that was that. Dainix grabbed his laptop from his desk—his was a smidge less clunky and ancient than Falst, but still the kind of basic, cheapo machine a lot of not-so-rich college students had—and settled next to Falst again, so close that he brushed up against him. Kendal lay back and returned to his book.
At Dainix's insistence, Falst pulled out his own machine and shot Dainix an e-mail, then Kendal because Kendal suggested it and shared his address, then installed the chat app known as ChatterBird. It was lightweight, simple, and open-source, and thankfully not too much for Falst's laptop to handle. He created what he thought was a kickass username (byte2bits) that made Dainix laugh helplessly for some reason. He totally fucking forgot to give Dainix back the hoodie until he caught himself hiding in it, pulling his head in like a turtle to hide his flushed face.
Falst hastily pulled the hoodie off and shoved it into a startled Dainix's arms. "S'yours. Before I forget."
"Oh! I mean, you're welcome to keep wearing it if you want, as long as you're hanging around."
"I—" Falst almost summoned the willpower to tell Dainix that he was gonna head out now, anyway. Like, they'd traded the contact info, and sure, Dainix had said he could hang out, but what about Kendal? And what if Dainix was just being polite? What if they were both being polite and wanted their room back, actually? Falst never hung around people like this. But Dainix's bed was comfy and the thought of leaving this weird, nice fantasy moment to go back to his own crappy room and normal life made Falst's stomach drop, so he settled on, "It's yours and you like it. You should wear it."
Dainix huffed out a laugh. "Alright. If you insist." He slipped it over his head, and yeah, it fit him so much better. Settled just right around his shoulders, stopped at his wrists and before his thighs. When Falst wore it, it felt nice, but he also felt like he was swimming in it. When Dainix wore it, he looked good, and comfortable, and like maybe it comforted him. He looked relaxed. Falst liked that he looked relaxed.
He sent Falst a friend invite on ChatterBird, then helped him friend Kendal, and Kendal sent him a fucking birb meme of all things. Forwarded from his friend Alinua. Who apparently Falst should meet at some point.
Then Dainix got to work on that fucking e-mail to human resources, and the relaxation went away, replaced with tension in his shoulders and a furrowed brow. Falst asked if the e-mail would actually do anything, if it was even worth it. Dainix admitted he wasn't certain, he was still getting accustomed to the world outside his homeland and didn't know exactly how things worked here, and Kendal didn't seem to know. Kendal believed it should do something, that his home city (a place called Vash) never would've let this sort of thing slide, but he didn't know Asera as well.
But Asera University had an equal-treatment policy and a handbook and a procedure for reporting this kind of thing, so Dainix was going to try. "It's at least worth trying," he said tiredly. "Even if they don't fire Shrike, it'll help explain why I bailed. Help me get a different part-time job, maybe."
"Maybe you should go to bed instead."
Dainix shook his head. "No, I should take care of this. And I need to work on a research paper afterward, anyway. Keep me company?"
"...Okay."
So he sent the e-mail, and Falst stayed right next to him and quietly worked on his operating systems project while Dainix worked on his paper. Something about the technologies used in warfare a crazy long time ago by the Ancients, in the lands of Raua. Something politically complicated and mind-bogglingly detailed.
Falst discovered a nasty memory leak in his code and tried to keep his swearing under his breath while he worked on pinning it down. Dainix asked, in slightly kinder terms, what in the fuck Falst was doing and why, and Falst explained, and Dainix looked impressed for some reason, and Falst tried not to dwell on that, tried to wrench his brain back to work and away from wanting to impress Dainix more.
Falst managed to enter a flow state, only dimly aware of Dainix's warmth at his side (guy was a living radiator) and the rustle of Kendal turning a page. He was getting comfortable. He didn't have to be so on-guard here, it seemed. Time slipped by, unnoticed, untracked. Falst's eyes ached and his stomach pined, but he ignored them both.
A large weight settled against him.
Falst straightened in surprise.
Dainix had deadass fallen asleep sitting up. His eye was shut, his mouth slightly open as he listed into Falst. His computer teetered precariously in his lap. His fingers rested on the keyboard. Falst peered at the screen. Dainix had nodded off mid-sentence.
Falst reached over, softly shut Dainix's laptop, and set it aside. "Tired, huh?" he whispered. "Me too."
No response.
Falst glanced at his computer's clock, then did a double take. One in the morning?! His ears flattened. He looked up and over at Kendal, afraid he'd be getting a dagger stare and a polite request to please leave already. Or else Kendal might be asleep, at peace and unaware. Please let Kendal be asleep.
Kendal was not.
Kendal looked up from his book, smiling slightly. A nightlight glowed by his pillow—a bulb full of twinkles like stars. A weird, curious thing, but weirdly calming. "I don't need to sleep much," he assured Falst. "But you and Dainix both probably should."
"Uh."
Kendal considered him, thoughtful. "If you're going to stay, you should probably both lie down. If you're going to go back to your own room, you should probably wake Dainix and say goodbye, and make plans to hang out again. We like to grab dinner in the northernmost dining hall together on Fridays," he added, "around six, so maybe you could join us then if you don't have a class."
"Uhhh. Sure?" Falst didn't have a class, did he? He was like ninety-five percent sure. Or maybe he could skip. No, that was stupid, he shouldn't skip.
"Great. See you there." Kendal went back to his book.
Falst blinked. Then, with utmost reluctance and his heart climbing in his throat, he shook Dainix awake.
Dainix rubbed his eyes blearily, then startled.
"It's one in the morning and you nodded off for a sec," said Falst. Upon seeing the alarm in Dainix's face, he hastily added, "It's fine, don't worry about it. Wasn't for long, and I didn't mind, or anything. But I should probably go to bed." Dainix still looked bewildered and disoriented, so Falst kept talking. "Also, Kendal says you guys eat dinner at the north dining hall on Fridays, so see you there maybe?"
Dainix blinked. Inexplicable relief washed over his face, and he smiled. "Definitely. Meet you at the door?"
"Sure."
"Okay." Dainix hesitated, then reached around and gave Falst a gentle, one-armed hug.
It was soft and cozy and filled Falst's nose with the nice smells of Dainix's sweatshirt, and Falst was torn between fleeing and burrowing into it, between scurrying away and clinging so tightly that he'd leave claw marks. His face heated. He froze up.
Dainix held carefully still. He gave him a few seconds' grace, a chance to respond however he wanted to.
Falst managed to pull it together enough to awkwardly reach around Dainix's waist and hug him back, gingerly, trying to be as gentle as Dainix was with him and not, like, dig his claws in. He refrained from pressing his face into Dainix's hoodie. He tried not to be too obvious about breathing him in.
Dainix relaxed against him and hugged him a little more snugly, then released him. "See you at dinner," he said, warm as a stoked hearth.
"Y-yeah. See you then."
"Good to meet you," added Kendal, from where he lay on his bed.
"Uh-huh."
Falst grabbed his stuff and fled the room, fled the warmth and niceness that had felt a little too good to be true, a little difficult to trust that it'd be there tomorrow. His heart hammered all the way down the hall. The warmth from Dainix's hug and hoodie lingered. His and Kendal's e-mails were in Falst's inbox, their ChatterBird handles friended, their plans for dinner and promises made.
And to think, all Falst had wanted was a mocha.