Chapter Text
Ding-dong-ding-dong. The Bern University bell tower strikes midday. The previously deserted campus springs to life as students and faculty empty buildings, meandering leisurely to their next destinations. Bright in the blue sky, the sun shines down, filtered through the autumn leaves. Conversations wax and wane, groups of people meld and disperse.
One figure remains still, unmoving, before the statue of the institution’s founder, Eckesachs. Her bobbed hair is captured by the breeze, obscuring her face. Strands stick, plastered to her cheeks by tears.
“Melady,” a voice, cautious yet soothing, and so very familiar, sounds from behind her. She turns, coming face-to-face with her…
~~~~~~
*One Year, Three Months Earlier*
Melady strides across the campus, her crimson bob and pants to match cut a striking figure. Clumps of bustling students — some searching for their first classes, some locating friends, and yet others merely admiring the splendor of the campus — are forcefully bent away from her as she powers across the grounds.
Her phone buzzes: once, twice, thrice. Without breaking pace, she whips the device from her back pocket, casting a cursory glance toward the screen. Galle. Scoffing, she slides the phone back into its place, quickening her step to avoid thinking about the irritation rising within.
So lost is she in her memories that, blinking, she finds herself standing outside her first class: Media and You. Her breath is coming raggedly; she gulps down air, collecting herself. It’s okay, this is the first day. Focus on the present . Taking hold of the door handle, she pulls…
And stands, blinded, by the most brilliant light, shining from the classroom. No, not a light, a person — a girl. The harsh fluorescent light seems to reflect off her golden hair; her red dress blazes hotter than any fire, engulfing everything in its flames. Her eyes, yellow-gold as her hair, sweep toward the door — Melady is the first, besides the radiant girl, to arrive.
Composure . “Greetings…I am Melady.” Or not. Berating herself internally, Melady tears her gaze away, developing a keen interest in the ground. She walks in, stepping down to the second level of seats and selecting one at random. In stilted motions, she drops her backpack next to the seat, pulling out the chair.
“Guinivere.” Startled, Melady looks up, finding herself face-to-face with the girl — with Guinivere. “Melady’s a beautiful name.”
“Uh, thank you…” she hovers, partially lowered into the chair, eyes darting around to avoid the gleam of the other girl’s. “So, you, uh– Mass media?” This is going well.
Despite Melady’s embarrassment, she receives a giggle from Guinivere. “Are you worried you’re in the wrong class?” Something about Guinivere’s voice is so calming, so serene.
And so alluring.
Melady meets her eyes for a brief moment before turning her attention to the desk in front of her. “I am not. I just felt it necessary to confirm.” She feels a fire within her, burning her up, cheeks flushing the shade of her hair. Guinivere leans closer for a moment, as if she wants to see Melady’s eyes again. Stop, please, stop.
With a final grin, Guinivere straightens, walking back to the front of the classroom. Melady cannot stop herself, watching, rapt, as Guinivere reaches her chair and turns her head, ever so slightly. “See you later, Melady.”
Her name is lost as a crowd of students bursts through the doorway, but she can see it. It lingers, permeating the air around Guinivere’s lips. But her attention is pulled by the sound of a backpack hitting the table to her left.
Why would you sit on the end? There are plenty of other seats. For all her thoughts, though, she remains indifferent toward the student beside her. It was simply a distraction from her other thoughts. A welcome reprieve.
~~~~~~
Melady maneuvers around chairs, tables, and the throngs of hungry students. The Cafeteria is packed, lines stretching through the entire Union. Her height is the only advantage she has — enough to look over the heads of the ravenous horde to see the table she wants.
In the back corner of the cafeteria, by the window, she finds Gel and Raeth. One week earlier, during band camp, they had formed a bond as musician-athletes — all three competed in marching competitions, track and cross meets, and basketball tournaments throughout highschool. Meeting at university was merely the catalyst for their fast friendship.
Sliding in the booth, she drops her backpack to the ground, nodding to the other two. Gel, hunching over the table, returns a smile full of chicken tenders and ketchup. Raeth grunts, eyes glued to his laptop as he mindlessly flips through the chemistry textbook sitting beside it. “Busy first day?”
“Raeth’s had it worse than me,” Gel throws his eyes toward the other boy, “guess the chem majors have to do stuff the first week.” He dips several fries into an orangish sauce, lowering his mouth to inhale them before any drops to the table. “You?”
Melady shakes her head on instinct. Not exactly busy, no… “Nothing much so far. Syllabi and such.” And her , Guinivere. She clenches her jaw, thankful the other two hardly know her well enough to press. Galle knows me.
Galle. With a fluid motion, she pulls her phone up to read the messages from earlier.
8:34 — Mel, congratulations on your first day of college. I hope it is all you wished for.
8:34 — You can talk to me, you know. Don’t treat me as a stranger.
8:35 — I’m coming by the dorms tonight. Z, M, and I are leading Freshman Week. See you there!
Exasperatedly, she deletes the messages, placing her phone on the table and sitting up the highest she can. It takes all her willpower to force out the anger bubbling up within. Just days before band camp, her closest friend since childhood — the boy she had seen as an older brother — confessed his undying love to her. Had she not been clear enough their relationship was purely platonic?
Damnit, Galle. He still troubles her, even after she stripped him from her life. It is only natural when they both attend the same college. Stop thinking about it, just think of…
~~~~~~
Her hair cinches in a short, tight ponytail. She sinks into a lateral squat stretch, staring at the path ahead. For such a small institution, the campus is abnormally large — an amalgamated park, community center, and forest hiking trail, all absorbed into the boundaries of the university. The dorms are located on the other side of the lake, constructed above and around the formerly solitary community center, visible over the treeline as Melady prepares to run.
Days like this — arid, torpor-inducing — are her favorite for running. She can throw herself into the workout with alacrity, draining every fiber of her being and, Hartmut willing, slaking the void of desire within. Something about numbing her physical body through extreme temperature and vigorous exercise elicits satisfaction elsewhere elusive to her.
Today, especially, seems like a perfect day for a run. Melady’s daze, beginning because of the girl in that first class, exacerbated by that man’s gall, has yet to dissipate. Rather, it has only compounded. Her head pounds. She shuts her eyes, rubbing her temples to alleviate the pressure threatening to burst.
Blinking three times, she shakes off the lingering pain, starting her watch and taking off. The red-and-black running sandals smack the pavement as she hauls across the way; off the road, onto the sidewalk, then the gravel trail, into the forest. Each step feels more comfortable, every breath more manageable, until she feels weightless. Bounding along, she briefly registers a smile upon her face.
Her watch buzzes. She looks: 5:01. Eight Legends. Too late to join cross. It feels so natural, running. Melady can feel as the sweat evaporates from her body, the heat oppressive around her. And, like that, she looks aghast upon the dorms. Confirming the distance, she notes the 10k PR at 34:49. What a waste, not joining the team. Yet, she could not see herself living in the same dorm as the other athletes. As Galle.
~~~~~~
The shower works wonders on her sweat-stained skin and hair. Regardless of the heat outside, the scalding water manages to relax her as she has not been all day. The first day.
She disengages the shower, shutting off the water. Wrapping a towel around her body she switches the hairdryer on, briefly registering a click as the suite door opens. The enveloping warmth of the air reminds her how tired she actually is. Just one more step and she can retire for the evening.
Meeting the suitemate. So far, she has remained an elusive figure. Melady saw nothing of her during the weekend, and move-in day the previous week had been at the height of band camp; besides nighttime, the two had not had a chance to run into one another.
Which is why Melady stands now, outside her suitemate’s door, a gift of bagged sugar cookies in hand. She raps the door — once, twice, thrice. On the third, a mellifluous voice calls out, “It’s unlocked.”
Melady frowns. Not because of the trust shown by keeping the door unlocked, but because the voice sounds so familiar. Something about it reminds her of…
With a light push, Melady comes face to face with the owner of the sweet voice. And there she stands, rooted to the spot as Guinivere approaches the door frame.