Once seated, he goes through the automatic motions of pulling out his textbook and notebook, flipping through the pages to the right chapter, pulling out a pen, but his mind is already elsewhere.
During the test run last night, what went wrong— the graphics on the grass were fine. The dirt splatter was delayed— need to fix that. The trees have a fifty percent chance of glitching when a player is knocked into them— wait, no, that’s environment. Focus on one thing at a time. This week I’m working on combat problems. Damage. The health bar wasn’t always accurate, and critical hits aren’t calculating right. There’s a delay between characters taking damage and their health bars showing zero, causing players to be in combat longer than they should and seemingly dying randomly—
He sets a second notebook overtop the one for his class, already flipping through it to the first blank page. Then his pen is pressed to it, and he’s scribbling down his thoughts, furiously and fervently. His hand desperately tries to keep up with his mind as he mentally rattles off the current algorithms for damage calculation and output. By the time he’s done and looks at it, the page is a mess. His handwriting is terrible, but at least he can read it. It’s chaos, but it’s his organized chaos.
His brother used to joke that Kyle’s handwriting was a code in and of itself, and it was one that only the two of them could decipher.
The memory is only half formed before his heart squeezes, stomach clenching and rolling. He shakes his head, pursing his lips as he shoves the memory aside. He’s gotta figure out how to eliminate the calculation delay when characters take damage—
The door to the classroom slams open, and Kyle’s head shoots up out of reflex. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the rest of the class do the same. All eyes fall on the guy paused just inside the room, smiling sheepishly at their disgruntled professor and closing the door behind him. Kyle watches him, lips pursed into a small frown, as the guy makes his way to his seat.
See? This is why Kyle hates getting to class late. Everyone stares.
Still, he’s smart enough to realize that he’s staring long after others have lost interest.
He knows this guy— well, he doesn’t know him. He knows of him. Sort of. He knows the guy’s name is Jake, and he knows from overheard conversation that he’s not only on the school’s baseball team, but one of the star players. Kyle’s never seen a game in his life, and doesn’t really plan to, but he hears Jake is good. Not that he’s listening for specifics on Jake or anything. He’s just... curious.
Even though he has no real logical reason to be curious about Jake.
By all rights, Jake blends into the crowd. He looks like any other jock in their class. He’s decently tall, lean, with broad shoulders and arms that make Kyle’s insides all twisted up. His hair looks brown at first glance, but Kyle’s stared enough to notice how it shines copper and red where the light hits it. It’s cut shorter on the sides and longer on top, looking almost wispy and wind-swept. His face is classically handsome: strong jaw line, strong nose, strong brows, squared chin, with lips that look like they’re always two seconds away from pulling into an easy smile and eyes that were meant for laughter. His chin and jaw are covered in a layer of stubble, and Kyle finds himself idly wondering if that’s just from one night or several days.
Then Jake is sitting, the professor is starting, and Kyle realizes he’s still staring. He blinks rapidly, shaking his head and ducking down to stare at his notes as heat rises up the back of his neck.
Jake is just another jock, and just another classic straight guy in his major. Objectively, yeah, he’s hot, but he’s just like everyone else. There’s no reason for Kyle to stare, especially when something like that would be a waste of time. He has more important things to work on.
Like Cry Thunder, the video game he’s been developing for years, and figuring out this stupid damage algorithm.
He barely pays attention during class. The professor’s voice drones on like white noise in the background. He glances up every five minutes out of a carefully formed habit. He barely realizes he’s doing it anymore. He just glances up out of reflex, scans the PowerPoint slide the professor is currently talking about, determines if anything is relevant, and then goes back to work. Occasionally, he’ll jot down a note or two, just so he knows where the class is in terms of the chapter.
Thankfully, he doesn’t really need to pay attention. Economics is easy, and it’s mostly just math. He takes time every weekend to read ahead in the textbook, covering everything the syllabus says they’re supposed to go over in the next week, and then all he has to do is show up for class and turn in assignments. Simple and easy. And while he’s in class, he can use that time to work on Cry Thunder.
He pauses in his writing, reaching up to push up his glasses and scratch his cheek as he stares at the page. He’s changed a few numbers around in his original algorithm, and that should fix the problem of calculating critical hits. This should predict it once the player uses an attack, but before the visual motion is followed through, so the damage calculation is there the moment the visual is. There’s no telling if it’ll work until he inputs the code and tests it, though. And there are a lot of things that could go wrong. Critical strike calculations have to be pulled from a variety of databases, such as character race, class, items, stat boosts, external influences, rune stones—
Out of reflex, he glances up at the front of the room once more, but as his gaze sweeps across the room, his attention is snagged before it can even reach the PowerPoint.
In a sea of classmates, a sea of the back of people’s heads, there’s one person turned, their face in full view, and staring right at him. His internal monologue is cut off abruptly, gaze doing a double take as it sweeps past the person and then snaps back.
And that’s how he finds himself locking eyes with Jake for the first time.
The first thing Kyle realizes is that his eyes are blue. That knowledge is quickly followed by a very startled and very profound question of what the fuck?
His eyes snap away instantly, returning to the notebook in front of him as he ducks his head. He can feel heat rising up the back of his neck again, and his hand taps his pen on the paper, mind far too scattered to actually focus on the numbers in front of him.
After a few tense seconds, he’s able to get his heartbeat under control. It was probably just a coincidence. Jake must’ve been scanning the room at the same time Kyle was, and movement naturally catches people’s attention. They just accidentally looked at each other at the same time. No big deal. None at all.
Keeping his head bowed, he risks another glance across the room, only to find Jake is still staring at him, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips.
Kyle looks down again, mentally thanking his bronze complexion for hiding blushes. He can feel the heat settled on his cheeks, and he shifts his weight in his chair. Now that he knows it’s there, he can feel Jake’s gaze on him. Hot and heavy and strange. He’s not used to people staring at him. He’s used to their eyes passing right over him, or regarding him with mild indifference before looking away. This is weird. Very weird.
If he’s being completely honest, he’s been staring at Jake since the start of the semester. It’s not something he’s proud of, nor is it something he likes to admit. Especially since there’s no logical reason for Jake to stand out in a crowd. But that doesn’t stop Kyle’s eyes from wandering and locking onto the guy for far longer than any of their other classmates.
But he never thought in a million years that Jake would stare at him.
What the fuck?
Does he have something on his face? Oh god, he probably has something on his face. Or he’s wearing his shirt inside out. Was he making a weird expression while he was working? He’s not used to thinking about what kind of faces he’s making. No one usually notices him anyway. Oh god, what kind of face is he making now?
He puts an elbow on the table, resting his cheek on his sleeve-covered hand and using that to hide h
is face. He focuses on his coding, and when he glances up on the PowerPoint, he very stubbornly refuses to look anywhere else.
He doesn’t get much else done during class, and while he knows it’s all Jake’s fault, he can’t be made at anyone other than himself. He hates that just making eye contact with the guy caused him to get all flustered and his brain to get jumbled. It’s not like he’s delusional enough to think he stands a chance, and it’s not like he ever plans on even trying. Even if Jake was in his league—which he’s definitely not—Kyle doesn’t have time for guys right now. Even ones with cute smiles and arms that could probably bench press him.
The professor isn’t even done explaining their homework before Kyle is in the process of packing up, and they’ve barely been dismissed before he has his backpack strap thrown over his shoulder and he’s hurrying down the steps. He just wants to get out of there, away from that gaze he can still feel prickling against his skin, back to his own solitude where he feels more comfortable.
But of course, he’s not that lucky.
“Hey!”
He’s pulled to a stop as someone grabs his sleeve, and he freezes at the contact, his entire body going tense and a shiver running through him. He turns slowly, lips pursed, and brows pinched. He’s prepared this time, but that doesn’t stop the rush of air from his lungs as he once again finds himself staring into pretty blue eyes. Jake is close to him now, and wow, he’s tall. Like nearly a full head taller than Kyle. And he’s pretty sure that spicy smell is coming from him, and it smells really good, which is weird, he normally doesn’t notice people’s deodorants, oh god he’s being creepy—
“What?” He snaps, mentally cringing at the abrasiveness of it.
Jake blinks, but it only takes a moment before he’s smiling again. “Name’s Jake.” He holds out his hand, and Kyle stares at it. He has big hands. Nice hands. Hands with fingers that look long and calloused, and those are hands Kyle definitely shouldn’t touch.
He looks from the hand to Jake’s face, his own hands tightening into fists in his hoodie pockets. “Kyle.” And, feeling anxious and uncomfortable and desperate to get out of this situation, he turns on his heel and walks away. His brother always said he was bad at social situations and had declared that he’d help Kyle overcome his anxieties.
But he wasn’t around anymore, and Kyle has no desire to talk to people. Especially people who make him feel heat flush beneath his skin and butterflies in his stomach.
“Hey, wait!” He hears Jake’s voice follow him out into the hall, but he keeps walking, heart hammering as footsteps hurry after him. He pointedly ignores Jake as he falls into step with him. “I saw you taking a lot of notes in there.”
Kyle huffs a short laugh, bordering on a scoff. He doesn’t feel like explaining that what he was writing had nothing to do with class.
Jake seems nonplused by his silence. “So, you understand economics, right? Like this class? You look like a guy who understands this stuff.”
A nerd. He’s calling him a nerd. At least he’s trying to be nice about it. Kyle bristles anyway, shoulders rising as they tense. “Yes.”
“So, uh, I know this is a little out of nowhere, but do you think you could like... tutor me?”
Kyle stops abruptly, turning to find Jake looking at him. His smile is small and sheepish, a look in his eyes that Kyle dares to call embarrassment. His entire body is hunched, slouched in a way that’s almost defensive, almost making him look small. A far cry from the boisterous, confident guy that Kyle had pegged him for. It’s surreal, and far from what he had been expecting or bracing himself for. Copy some homework? Cheat on a test? Do a paper for him? Make fun of him? Sure. But tutoring? Actually helping him learn?
Kyle blinks, confusion and surprise and a strange sort of indignant heat rolling around inside him.
He doesn’t have time for this. He doesn’t have time for jocks who think they can use him for an easy A. Doesn’t have time to tutor someone who doesn’t see him as any more than a walking textbook with glasses.
His eyes harden, brows furrowing as he frowns. “No,” he says, before turning on his heel and slipping away into the crowd, easily blending into the background and losing Jake in the chaos.
He doesn’t have time for pretty boys that are far out of his league. He has work to do.
Chapter Three
Jake can be a pretty chill guy. He rolls with the punches, you know? You swing, you miss, and move on. No use dwelling on your strikes. Focus on your hits. But Jake has his own stubborn streak. Once he gets something in his head, it’s hard to shake it. And right now, he’s a hundred percent convinced that he needs Kyle to tutor him.
Just like he thought, Kyle gets good grades. He admitted as much after some hassling, and he admitted it with a lazy pride that told Jake he barely had to work for those grades. While a little jealous, it cemented Jake’s determination. He can’t say why he’s so fixated on Kyle specifically, but he just knows he is. Rolling with his gut instincts has rarely failed him before, so he figures he’ll go with it.
If he can get Kyle to say yes.
* * *
“What’s that?”
It’s Friday, marking the fourth day in a row that Jake has stubbornly put himself in Kyle’s path. They don’t even have a class together today, but Jake’s learned that if he hangs around in front of the Business Building long enough, Kyle is bound to show up. The guy looks young, but he’s in the Business Building a lot, and it makes Jake wonder if he even has any gen-ed classes.
He was waiting outside the building, two coffee cups in hand, when Kyle showed up. He initially thought Kyle would be hard to spot in a crowd. A wallflower type. But as it turns out, he’s pretty easy to find as long as you know what you’re looking for. He’s small, usually tense, usually frowning, eyes locked on the ground and moving fast. Kyle barely has enough time to leap up and cut him off before he enters the building.
Now Kyle stands there, blinking up at Jake owlishly. It looks like it takes him a moment to catch up to the moment, like he was too deep in thought to recognize Jake immediately. There are heavy bags under his eyes and lines around his mouth. He looks... tired.
Jake goes for his winning smirk: two parts playful and one part genuine. “It’s coffee.” He’d already been holding out a coffee cup toward him, but Kyle has just been staring at it like he’d never seen one in his life. Which... maybe he hadn’t. Jake’s taking a gamble here. He moves the cup a little more towards him. “It’s for you.”
Kyle’s eyes slide from the cup up to him, narrowing slightly as his lips purse. “Why?”
Jake shrugs, head tilting to the side. “’Cause that’s what friends do.”
Kyle seems to tense at that, lips pressing into a thin line. It might be a trick of the light, but Jake can almost swear his cheeks look a little pink. “We’re not friends.”
“Okay, no, maybe not. But we could be.” This doesn’t seem to be the right thing to say because Kyle’s frown deepens, hand on his backpack strap, tightening it.
“You don’t want to be my friend. You want me to tutor you.”
“Can’t I want both?”
“No.”
Jake feels his smile fading. If he’s being honest, Kyle kind of reminds him of a Chihuahua, or some other kind of small dog. Adorable and small, causing his instincts to protect and coddle to rise to the surface, but at the same time skittish, snappy, and wary. Yet despite how abrasive Kyle’s been with him, he can’t bring himself to resent it. It’s... kinda cute, actually. Mostly because Jake can tell Kyle’s not actually an asshole. Jake knows dudes who are assholes. Kyle’s seems more... defensive and wary. Jake’s just gotta get past those walls.
Jake sighs, letting his smile slip as his shoulders slump. “Okay, look. I’ll admit, I didn’t approach you to be your friend.” Kyle just stares, unblinkingly, slowly raising one eyebrow. Jake raises his hands, and thus the coffee cups, in a placating gesture. “But that doesn’t mean that we can’t be friendly. And t
hat doesn’t mean we can’t become friends. I’m really serious about tutoring. I don’t need answers, I need like... to learn. So I can do this on my own. I don’t need to just pass economics. I need to pass everything. This year and next year.”
He can hear the frustration leaking into his voice, and he can feel his brows furrowing. He doesn’t know why he’s sharing all this. Kyle never asked for his baggage, but... he has a feeling honesty is the only thing that’s gonna get past those walls.
He looks back at Kyle, eyes pleading. “Look, if I don’t get my GPA up by two points, or close to it, by the end of the semester, I’m gonna lose my scholarship. I can’t afford to be here without it. Please, dude. I can pay you to. I’m not expecting this for free, and I’m not above begging right now. I’m desperate. I’ll get on my knees right fucking here if I have to.”
Kyle’s face is closed off and unreadable. His brows are furrowed, and his lips pursed as he scowls. His eyes are hard and narrowed as they search Jake’s face. They’re a striking shade of hazel. A greenish brown that looks beautiful framed by long, dark lashes and bronze skin— focus, Jake.
Kyle looks down, toe of his shoe idly scuffing against the concrete. Then he looks to the side, up and around to the building. And that’s where Jake starts to see his mask crack. He bites at his lip, brow pinching in a way that’s no longer wary, but more... no, it’s still pretty damn wary, but there’s an indecision there that Jake counts as a win.
When he looks back at Jake, his eyes are still narrowed, and his gaze is still hard, but there’s a defeat there. He nods toward the cup in Jake’s hand. “What kind of coffee is that?”
He blinks, then stares at the cup, his mind taking a moment to catch up to the unexpected question. “Oh, uh... a mocha?” Kyle raises a brow, and Jake shifts his weight. “I figured you might like something sweet? Something chocolatey?”
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