Chapter Text
This week has been a hard week, and that’s putting it lightly. Because professors want to see students crash and burn under the weight of their expectations, all of your exams took place this week, one after the other, with no reprieve whatsoever. On top of that, you haven’t been able to consume much, except for coffee for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. You did try to eat actual food, but your appetite has been in the toilet for the last month. You notice your clothes hang a little looser on your frame, your eyes bearing dark circles from many a late night studying. You would sleep more, if you had a choice. However, your scholarship is always at stake. You feel like you’re always hanging over a precipice, like you’re hanging by that one last thread.
Sometimes you wonder if any of this is worth it.
But then you pull yourself up by your bootstraps with your very limited strength, and try to ignore your problems. It works (mostly). Besides, you really do like the grind of your classes, the satisfaction you feel when you finally solve a hard engineering problem, that weird camaraderie that you share with your fellow students. Call it friendship, call it trauma bonding, whatever. It’s just that some days are harder than others. You feel like you’re in a love-hate relationship with your major.
Now, your hard week from hell is over. (You don’t think about finals week. You think you might actually go insane if you did.) You can relax a little bit, go to that one coffee shop you’ve been eyeing for a while, but haven’t gone to because you hate change but also crave adventure?
The place is called Niki’s, and it’s a cute little place that’s really close to the university. You’ve heard good things about it. You usually don’t stray too far from your apartment or from where you usually have classes and work. Routines make you feel safe, just like the predictability of equations. Admittedly, the thought of going somewhere new is a bit more terrifying than it is exciting, but a friend of yours suggested it. Especially since you really have no new friends, even as a sophomore.
You take the train, which is pretty packed at this hour of the day. You’re but one of many commuters going home from work or school. You wonder what they’re off to do, if they have families waiting for them, if they choose to cook dinner or just eat out. You get lost in your people-watching, and in the music coming through your earbuds. You almost want to turn to a friend and ask her whether she’s heard “this song from this video game I found”, but then you remember that she’s four hours away, doing pre-med things, so you stay quiet, text her a link to it instead.
Finally, your stop comes and you filter out with the crowd, feeling strangely blue. You chalk it up to just tiredness, but really, you know it’s because Kat isn’t here with you. Still, you’re going to try something new, and then she’ll be proud of you when you tell her all about it later. The thought spurs you on until you approach the coffee shop, which seems to exude enough warmth to fight off the chilly autumn day.
The bell jingles as you step through the threshold. You think you hear someone call, “Welcome,” but the room is actually pretty full of people who definitely seem like they’re cooler than you. At least, the dress like it. You self-consciously cross the room to the front counter. The first thing you notice about the woman at the cash register is that she’s really pretty, with blonde hair, flawless makeup, and slender.
“What can I get started for you?” She asks.
To be frank, you haven’t thought this far. You freeze for a split second before settling on a dirty chai.
“That’ll be $4.25. What’s your name? So I can call you when your drink is ready,” she says with a kind smile.
“Chanel,” you reply, fumbling for your wallet. “Oh- but you can just put Chan on there if it’s easier.”
Niki’s—you read on her name tag—face lights up with interest.
“That’s a unique name! You’re the first Chanel I think I’ve ever met, and I’ve owned this place for about five years.”
This woman owns this place? She doesn’t look much older than you, unless she just has really nice skin.
You feel your face burn up at the compliment she gives your name—attention does that to you—and you’re glad that your skin is dark enough to hide what would probably be a bright red flush. Call it one of your strengths.
“Thanks.” You give her a small, shy smile.
“Yeah! I’ll just call you up when it’s ready.”
You go to find a table or empty spot that isn’t too close to anyone else. There’s a spot in the back corner, near the window, and you honestly don’t believe your luck. It’s sufficiently moody for a fall evening and secluded enough. You sit down, taking out your notes for Physics, going over what you learned that wasn’t on your last exam. Only, you feel foggy. Your brain is running on fumes at this point, so you pull out your phone and work on the build you started in Minecraft.
After a while though, you look up, observing the room. Some more people have come in and you notice the instruments set up at the back of the cafe. You didn’t realize they had live music on Fridays, but the sizable crowd makes sense. You almost want to get up and leave, before remembering that you also bought a drink. Maybe you could get it to go instead? It would be extra work but if it means you could leave sooner—
“Chanel,” Niki’s voice calls. You scurry up, though it’s harder this time because of the influx of newcomers. You’re nearly there, but somehow you bump into someone. You don’t know how you missed him, given that he’s like at least six feet tall. That, and he’s loud.
“Oi, watch where you’re fuckin’ going!”
You stammer out an apology, trembling hands taking your drink. You hear Niki scolding the guy, saying something about “scaring away first time customers”. But, there’s static in your head, the kind you get when you feel anxious or a bit freaked out. Fortunately, you make it back to your seat, in time for tonight’s singer to come up onto the makeshift stage. Your brain misses what he says, but you take in his appearance. He’s tall, even taller than the guy you bumped into. Curly brown hair, and glasses, and wire-frame glasses. If you passed him on the street, you might not give him a second glance, but you suppose there’s a charisma about him, a presence that takes hold of the room.
He starts playing. He’s good, and he has a deep, melodic voice that kind of sucks you in. You’re usually picky about the music you listen to. Honestly, if he’d shown up randomly on your Spotify, you would have skipped his music in favor of what you already like. But listening to him in person, you feel like you could kinda get behind his stuff. Like any good musician, somehow he takes you on a whole journey but then his music ends too soon, and he’s thanking everyone and walking to the side to fill up a cup of water.
“Tall, Blonde, and Brash”, the guy you bumped into earlier is talking to him now. And you stare, kinda amazed at how there are two really tall people just together in the wild. The thought intrusively comes: “What’s the weather like up there?” Obviously, you wouldn’t actually ask them in person, but the thought’s still there. You look away, laughing to yourself. After all, you’re hilarious in your own head. Because Kat isn’t here, you really have no one else to tell all of your funny jokes to, and that’s okay.
You finish your chai, which has gone lukewarm, and place it in the bin by the door. You decide that you like the vibe of this place, minus the feral blond guy. However, what’s the likelihood that you’d actually see him again? Probably none.
Your weekend is uneventful, and you wish that your week would be the same. But, you were never really the luckiest person.
The blow is dealt on Tuesday when your professor hands back your exams. In every class, you have at least an 85%. Well, almost every class. You see, differential equations is kicking your butt. It’s kicking a lot of people’s butts, and logically you’re not even doing the worst. The class average is a 62%, and your grade is a 65%. Yes, this is only the first midterm, but it single-handedly knocked your grade from an 82 to a 72.
You clutch your paper. You repeat to yourself inside, “There’s time to fix it, there’s time to fix it, there’s time to fix it-“
Your hands itch to do… something. You’re not sure. But the rest of that time is spent trying not to have a mental breakdown. The thoughts come anyway. Those thoughts of, “If you were smarter you wouldn’t have gotten such a bad grade,” or, “If you were just better your dad wouldn’t have left you and your family for some other woman”. Pretty normal. Class doesn’t end quick enough, and you’re just glad that the rest of the day is free.
Kat tells you, “Hey, it’s alright. Take a walk, get some fresh air, don’t forget to breathe. And eat something.”
But she can’t stay on the phone for too long, she’s meeting her study group in a few minutes. But you take her advice, feeling sorta bad for bothering her with your insecurities.
Staying on campus, the site of your greatest failure in life so far, is out of the question. You don’t have work until later, so you have a bit a freedom. Niki’s comes to mind. Before all of the people showed up, it was a nice place to sit. You decide to go there for your comfort chai and your comfort pastry, and maybe even the moody armchair by the window. Then you could blast music through your headphones to your heart’s content.
Your plan is going well, too, up until you actually walk through the door. Because, the first sight that greets you inside is “Tall, Blonde, and Brash” speaking to Niki. You feel yourself die inside. Or, more than you already have. This is the last death knell to the death blow you got from that exam. But, it’s either this, or going back to your apartment and ruminating. You know Kat wouldn’t want you to resort to the latter, so you stand in line, as out of the way as possible. Usually being invisible is what you thrive at, but it’s evident to you now that you’re just off your game.
As soon as you come up to the counter, “Tall, Blonde, and Brash” takes one look at you, says, “You look like shit.”
You feel your eyes widen, and if you were a braver person you might stood up for yourself, might have responded, “Does your mom not love you or something? What’s your problem?”
But instead of a witty comeback, the only sound that escapes is a sniffle, and then a hiccup, and then you’re just crying in public (for the second time today).
“Tommy, what the hell? You can’t make my customers cry! Jesus.”
“Look, I’m sorry! I meant- she just- she looked like she was having a bad time!”
Through your tears, you can kinda tell that Tommy looks a bit sheepish. Automatically, you feel bad for causing a scene, but you could picture no other outcome to this whole thing.
“Then you ask if she’s alright! You don’t insult her appearance!”
Niki is at your side with a napkin to dry your face. You’re able to reign in your breathing enough to thank her.
“Here, let me know what you want and I can make it for you, on the house.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay,” you begin.
“As much as Tommy is a gremlin sometimes—“
“Hey-“
“You do look like you could use a warm drink and a snack.”
You hesitate, not quite used to people just being nice, but eventually you nod.
“Um, I’ll have a chai, and a blueberry scone.”
You almost cringe with how small you sound, but Niki doesn’t seem to acknowledge it. She smiles and gets to making your order, leaving you and Tommy to stand there awkwardly. You’re about to pick a spot to sit when Tommy clears his throat. Now that you’re getting a better look at him, he seems really young despite his height, maybe 16, 17. You don’t really feel as upset anymore, seeing that he’s kinda a baby. Still, you don’t tell him this.
“So uhh, what happened? If you don’t mind me asking, of course!”
You tell him the truth, just without all of the emotion attached. He’s seen enough of that today.
“I’m just taking a really hard class right now, and it’s just kinda getting to me. But, it’s going to be fine, I just- I have to just study harder next time.”
“You go to LMU? My brothers go there. The both of ‘em are wrong’uns though. So you should stay away from them.”
You honestly wouldn’t be able to pick either of them out, with the number of students that go there.
“Oh, what’s wrong with them?” You ask.
“Wilbur is a pretentious arse, and Techno is an English major.”
The first thing is enough to make you feel a little caution, the second thing? You’re not quite sure what’s wrong with being an English major, especially considering that you think that the Mechanical engineering students are probably the more self important types. And this is coming from an prospective engineer.
You tell Tommy this much. His eyes widen and he whistles, impressed.
“So you’re some kind of genius then?”
“I don’t know if I’d say that…”
“Don’t be modest. After all, I’m the biggest man, and I can recognize big man energy when I see it.”
You’re strangely… honored that he’d say that after seeing you break down into tears. Maybe it was his way of showing pity?
Niki comes out with your chai and your scone. Somehow the chai is even better this time, pleasantly spiced, and the scone is probably one of the best you’ve ever had. You go to sit down, Tommy joining you. He’s an interesting character but he’s actually really easy to talk to. He asks you questions about your major (“So you’re going to be an astronaut?” “No, but I hope I could help design rockets one day!” “Can you do math in your head?” “Haha, nah. I need a calculator. And, a lot of the math I do is less numbers, more weird symbols.”) and you learn about him. He goes to private school and his dad is the head of a big tech company in town, and you realize on your own, that he’s definitely a rich kid.
Still, you let him walk with you to the bookstore you work. You realize, below his rough exterior, he really is just a sweet, earnest kid. He waves goodbye to you, before he has to leave. He’s picked up in a nondescript, but still nice, black car. You watch in awe as it disappears into the rush hour traffic. You think you may have made a friend, with a kid, yes, but a friend nonetheless.
Tommy becomes more and more a part of your life, along with Niki to a smaller extent. Part of you enjoys their company, but the other part of you still wonders if they’ve offered their friendship because they see you as a poor, poofy-haired kitten.
Speaking of your poofy hair: “How long does it take to do your hair, anyway?”
“Hmm, if I’m washing and detangling it, like two hours, maybe three. If I were to style it, probably longer.”
“All that time? Techno can’t complain about his hair anymore…”
“I’m sure his hair gives him a whole bunch of other issues though, if it’s dyed. Usually it’s a bit more fragile than even mine, especially if he always bleaches it.”
“Yes, but he actively chooses to soak his hair in chemicals. You have no choice, unless you were to shave your head.”
You chuckle, going back to restocking the shelves. You’re willing to give Techno the benefit of the doubt because, after all, you only wash your hair once a week (#naturalhairlife).
“Besides,” Tommy continues. “You should never, ever cut your hair. I wouldn’t let you.”
He’s oddly serious about it, like he’s more attached to your hair than you are. It doesn’t seem like he’s joking and the air is a bit tense. You don’t understand why. It’s just hair after all.
“Well, that means you can’t complain if I take a long time doing my hair now.”
You ignore the strange interaction, and it gets lost in the back of your mind as fall turns to winter.
You become entrenched in all of the homework. Physics 2 is killing you. Whoever decided that mechanical engineers needed to know about atoms needs to be found and tarred and feathered. You know that it’s kind of an overreaction, but so is your hatred of Physics 2. However, Physics is the least if your problems right now, compared to differential equations, which may as well be black magic to you. And even worse, mechanical engineers do need it for their jobs. You’ve heard people go off about the wonders of math, but right now you consider it your enemy, your nemesis, if you will.
Coffee and energy drinks have become your best friends, Niki’s coffee shop your favorite place in the whole wide world. By the time you get there everyday, you’ve already had at least two energy drinks, as you haven’t slept in over forty-eight hours, spurred on by the possibility of losing your scholarship.
One afternoon, Niki cuts you off. What is this, a bar? No, you don’t have a problem. Yes, this is necessary for you to keep your GPA.
“You can have a London Fog, so you don’t completely go into withdrawals,” she says. Her expression is stern.
“But my gradesss,” you cry.
“What do you think will happen if you get a bad grade?”
“I’ll fail my classes, drop out of college, become homeless, and then have to pick up work as a clown.”
“A clown-“
She sets down a cup in front of you. Where did she even get that? You look at it with interest.
“No, it’s not coffee, don’t ask. And, it’s easier said than done, but I think you should trust yourself. I see you study everyday, and your grades are crazy good, considering your major. Your health is worth more than school, you know?”
You don’t really know what to say to that. After all, what are you without school? Just some kid with no parents, or friends? But Niki is your friend, you think. Definitely more than aquantainces at this point. And there was Tommy, who reminded you more and more of a feral cat by the day, who texted you every hour to make sure you weren’t dead. It makes you feel warm, the thought of having friends.
The door chimes, and speak of the devil, it’s Tommy. And with him is the brown-haired boy that you saw there weeks ago, playing his guitar. Said boy has a scowling Tommy in a headlock.
“Niki, please tell Wilbur to stop being a bitch and let me go.”
“Niki, please tell my wittle bitty baby brother to stop being so grumpy.”
“It’s your fault I’m like this! Seventeen years of you being a bitch has taken its toll- And you!”
He points an accusing finger at you. You quirk an eyebrow at him.
“You haven’t answered your phone in the last thirty minutes. I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“I’ve been here pretty much all day,” you shrug.
“Don’t worry Tommy, I’ve been monitoring her caffeine intake.”
“But I need to be there to make sure she’s okay.”
Wilbur pushes Tommy to the side, the younger sputtering in indignation.
“Are you Tommy’s new friend? He talks about you all the time, but never invites me along when he comes to out with you. It’s because he hates me.”
“Stop trying to steal my friends-“
“What’s your name? I’m Wilbur.”
“Chanel.”
You shake his hand. He seems nice enough, but you worry he’s the type of person who says he likes you to your face but then basically talks behind your back. He just seems sneaky even as he grins at you.
“Like the perfume?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
Briefly you wonder if you’ll be able to get back to your project, which glares accusingly at you from your computer screen. However it becomes clear that none of the trio intends to let you work anytime soon. The curse of the introvert is being adopted by extroverts, and somehow you’ve happened upon three.
Much like his brother, Wilbur is also curious about your life, your hobbies, your major.
“Tell me, what’s your opinion on sand?”
“Oh my God ,” Tommy whines.
“Uh, it’s rough, and course, and it gets everywhere?”
“Yes, but what about to eat?”
You look at Tommy. He looks at you. You’re pretty sure Wilbur is smoking something.
Tommy basically reads your mind.
“No, he’s not on anything. Not right now, anyway. Fucker actually eats sand.”
You begin to laugh hysterically. This is it. All the caffeine you’ve consumed today is finally getting to you.
“You can’t knock it until you try it,” Wilbur says. He’s completely serious. Somehow, that’s even funnier.
Niki comes by with a steaming mug of something and places it in front of you.
“It’s mint hibiscus. There’s no caffeine,” she says.
“RIP, I guess. Thanks Niki!”
The warmth of the tea briefly makes you forget about all of your assignments and everything that’s at stake. You hold it in front of your face, letting the steam roll over your nose. You remember those times you were sick, when your mom would make you tea with lemon and honey and then run her fingers through your hair. The last time that happened, you were twelve. Has it been eight years already?
“Where’s ours?”
Tommy pouts.
“You gotta pay first,” Niki says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“But she didn’t pay for that! I’m sensing discrimination here!”
“You’re rich, you can just buy a drink and it wouldn’t hurt your wallet.”
Niki slings a hand over your shoulder.
“Us commoners have to stick together.”
“Chan,” Tommy exclaims. “Are you going to just let her get away with this?”
You answer by taking a sip of the third free drink you’ve gotten that day, wincing when it burns your tongue.
“Serves you right,” Tommy says.
He and Wilbur end up buying drinks anyway. Or, Tommy takes Wilbur’s wallet and then buys himself a drink. (“You couldn’t even get me a coffee when you stole my wallet?” “Cry me a river.”)
After that, Wilbur often tags along with Tommy when you two meet up at your work or at Niki’s. In addition to Tommy now, Wilbur also has your number. You don’t recall ever giving it to him.
“Tommy sent it to me.”
You feel like the real answer should be, “I took Tommy’s phone and found your number.”
But you’re not really sure why he’d go through all the trouble in the first place? He seems like he’d be in a whole other social sphere than you, the quintessential cool kid. Still, it’s fun sending him all of the strange, obscure memes you have.
You still haven’t met the third brother, Technoblade (who names their kid that? Wilbur and Tommy’s parents, you guess.), who also happens to be Wilbur’s identical twin. Supposedly, the resemblance ends at the face, because in an effort to be his own person, Techno has dyed his hair pink and has picked up a rigorous workout routine. You try to picture a super buff guy with long pink hair, but the image eludes you.
Fortunately, you meet the mysterious Technoblade the week before finals. He comes into the bookstore you work at. You’re at the front desk, a book about cults open in front of you. It’s your current hyperfixation, you’d say. A few months ago it was nuclear accidents, and before that—
Well, let’s just say that you have many interests. You’re engrossed in the Cult of the Blood God when you hear someone come in.
“Hi! Make yourself at home.”
Make yourself at home? Was that a good thing to say, or should you have stuck with just, Welcome in ? Because this isn’t really a home. There aren’t any chairs, or other places to sit. You try not to cringe.
The newcomer, a big guy with pink hair, comes to the counter and just—says absolutely nothing, just stares at you. You don’t know if you should be worried. You’re a small, malnourished girl (according to Niki), and this guy is a giant.
“Uh…,” you say, the picture of eloquence. Though, this seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was in.
“Tommy was right, your hair is really poofy.”
You blink, hand reaching for your hair, which is straining for freedom against your scrunchie. This is certainly one of the weirdest interactions you’ve had in a while, and you know both Wilbur and Tommy. And, they did have a third brother too, who matches the description of the guy in front of you.
“Does your name happen to be Technoblade?”
“It is. And you’re Chan, right? If you pronounced it a bit different, it’d sound really close to ‘Chat’.”
That’s… a connection you’ve never heard before, and it’s honestly a bit of a reach. But you nod along.
“That… makes sense.”
Techno seems satisfied by your answer, so he starts to rummage through his fancy leather messenger bag, finally pulling out a container of cookies.
“Here. Everyone says you don’t eat enough, so I brought you these to cement my place as the best sibling. ‘Sides you, of course.”
You freeze, because what ? But, you force on a smile.
“Thanks, Techno! I honestly think I’m gonna need them, with finals week coming up.”
He smiles for the first time in about ten minutes.
“No prob. See ya around.”
And with that, he leaves.
“First of all, I’m the best sibling. And Techno, you can’t just tip her off like that. She’ll figure out something’s off before we get the chance to bring her home. She’s so smart. We—we can’t lose our little sister.”
“Bruh, I couldn’t help it. Chat likes her already.”
“That’s kinda weird.”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve only known them since, what, October? And they’re already like, ‘You’re a part of the family now.’ Which is usually sweet, but—“
“They all text me like 300 times a day. But, I can’t respond all the time. Finals are just kicking my butt, you know?”
“Have you established boundaries?”
“…”
“Chan, you have to stand up for yourself. I’m not always going to be around to do it for you.”
“I know, I know. I’ll-I’ll do it.”
“Hey, I love you and believe in you.”
“I love you too, friendo. Now, what’s your hardest final this year?”