juniperdove
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"Do the math, Rooster. You've got one hand, pain in your neck whenever you move a little wrong—don't argue, I'm not fucking blind—and three weeks of suffering left."
"Two and half," Bradshaw interjects. Jake ignores him.
"I, on the other, have two perfectly functional hands, no qualms, and a healthy regard for your sexual well being. Because we're friends."
or; it's just a favor. all bradshaw has to do is accept his help and not make it weird after.
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bradley, jake, the international space station, and all the distance between them.
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"We have not been flirting," Bradley manages to say, eventually. "I've been telling everybody that you're an idiot once a year in a globally ranked academic journal while you desperately try your best to prove me right."
"Like I said," Seresin smirks. "Flirting."
or; academic rivals to lovers by way of published papers
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Bradley and Jake like to make bets. Eventually, those bets escalate.