Chapter Text
Fall semester, August 2016
Osha is about to keel over dead and she's only two minutes into the academic year.
"Osha?" Yord says from behind her, nudging her with his zipper binder. She's stopped right in the middle of the fire exit, blocking a line of students from entering. Osha's body has stopped working. Osha.exe is no longer functional, she thinks darkly.
All her attention is on the tall and lanky man greeting students near the board, smiling affably. He’s dressed in faded brown corduroy trousers, a sweater vest and a button up. A sweater vest.
"Oh fuck," Osha whimpers, locking eyes with the handsome GSI. It's the stranger. He's wearing glasses now. He wasn't wearing glasses before, but they accentuate his carved jawline. His tan has darkened to an even deeper shade of gold.
She has a sense-memory of his hot skin under her fingers, the lack of any tan lines, the faint line of hair disappearing into his briefs, the play of muscles on his firm back in the mirror-
Rewind it back. How did she get here? Well, it all started a few months ago in June...
Summer holidays, June 2016
Osha stays with Jecki over the summer in her parents' ridiculously lavish college residence.
Well, it's lavish to Osha who basically grew up in a commune nestled in the mountains. To Yord, yuppie that he is ("we're middle-class," he stresses, to Jecki's eye rolling delight) it's barely anything to blink at.
The point being, after two-years of cramped on-campus accommodation and summers of sharing a bathroom with like, twenty other people, Osha has space to unwind. Her guest suite, because it is indeed a suite with a couch in the corner and a fancy roll top desk, is quiet and calm. Osha had practically begged her moms to stay on campus this summer, blabbering something about a part time job and getting ahead on her summer readings, but really she knows the true reason.
She needs a break from Mae. She feels guilty even thinking it. It’s pure coincidence that they both applied for and been accepted at the same college (or so Mae says , but Osha has her suspicions). They were placed in different dorms, Mae being closer to the engineering side of campus at Stern and Osha closer to the Arts in Unit 1. That hadn’t stopped Mae from popping up in her big sister way, making friends everywhere with her abrasive charm and killer fashion sense.
See, people like Mae. She's not always the most charming, sometimes even brash and commanding, but she's magnetic. People follow her, recognise her across campus or from her robotics championships. Osha firmly believes that Mae could have gotten into MIT. But she chose here, the same college Osha had applied for a BA degree.
Now she's three years in and she's barely chosen her major. In a last-ditch effort, she'd thrown a dart on a wall rigged with paper notes (thanks Jecki) and it had landed on political science. She'd taken one class last year and the year before, the latest taught by Professor Hogan ('like Hulk Hogan, call me Stewie') and it was a bit of a bore, but the readings piqued her interest. It could have been worse.
'It could have been Mechanical Engineering,' she thinks guiltily. While Osha and Mae had similar interests as children, Osha had forced herself to diversify in order to establish some independence from Mae. It took a summer of Mother Koril ferrying her from violin lessons, ballet, dancing and ice skating until one stuck: art classes. She had a talent for capturing colours, Miss Kandinsky said, and a keen eye for details. Osha had preened under her attention and worked at mastering different mediums: oil, acrylic, clay, charcoal, lino.
It had been freeing to have a sense of expressing her innermost feelings without using words. The summer previous to turning nine, Osha had kept a diary hidden in her room, journaling down her thoughts until Mae had found it and read through all of it in one sitting when Osha was at camp.
Mae had confronted her a few days later, diary in hand, and Osha had become so incensed she'd tackled her on the spot. Their moms found the two of them wailing like wildcats until they were forcibly separated.
Art had been Osha's way of expressing herself, up until she encountered a block halfway through her first semester. The pressure of being judged for her art at an academic level had gotten to her, and her hands could not, would not paint, nor draw, nor sculpt. It was like all the talent had left her body, and she had to shamefully drop out of her Art Practice classes and change her major. She’d drifted around from subject to subject until it landed her here. Her first summer as a decided woman.
"Osha, open up!" Jecki knocks on Osha's door, softly because it’s antique wood. This knocks her out of her reverie and firmly back into her body. She jumps when she sees that she's been staring at the wallpaper for the past hour.
"Door’s open!" Osha says, straightening the crick in her neck from where she's been hunched over in contemplation. Her sketchbook is blank, as it always seems to be these days. The paper is smooth and high quality, binding a creamy tan leather. It's a college gift from Mamma Aniseya, one that's stayed empty the past two years. Osha shuts it and puts it on the bedside table. Hand caressing the cover as Jecki bounces on top of the bed.
"Come on," Jecki says intensely. "I want you to see the town. You barely get time in the semester!"
"Yeah," Osha says, rolling her eyes as she scooches closer. "That's because I’m focused on not failing out."
Jecki is a child prodigy and an aspiring astrophysicist, a whiz with numbers. She doesn’t quite understand what it’s like to work so hard for a mediocre mark, but she comprehends Osha’s situation well enough, even as she's coming from an Advanced Mathematics perspective.
"Okay, okay. But you don’t have an excuse now! I know you don’t like clubs," an understatement, Osha thinks grudgingly, "but there’s a great bar tucked away off Shattuck Avenue. I think you'll like it."
Jecki shoots a meaningful look at Osha's half-open suitcase, rummaged through in an effort to locate her toiletries case earlier.
Osha's style is half tomboy, half indie grunge. Whatever she's comfortable in and can find for a good price at second-hand shops. Or passed down in the commune. Jecki says she could make a killing on tumblr with likes and reposts, but Osha is also entirely too self-conscious and also tumblr illiterate. She's more of a Pinterest girlie with her curated moodboards. She does have a following there, around a thousand or thereabouts. She used to post art on there, as well as Deviantart, until inspiration dried up.
"Start getting dressed! We're going out to eat with Yord before heading to the bar."
Osha grins at Jecki. "No dinner with the rents?"
Jecki sighs. "No, thank god."
Osha giggles; it's cute seeing Jecki all teenagery like this instead of a baby math prodigy. Don’t get her wrong, Osha adores Jecki’s parents, tenured professors at Berkeley, but they're kind of bores. Tanya and Mikael, ( "please call us by our first names, we'll get confused with all the Professor Lon-ing!" ), are pleasant and accommodating, but not the best conversationalists. Their idea of riveting discussion is faculty politics in the Physics Department and the merits of footnoting.
"Right," Osha says, shooing Jecki off the bed. "I need you out so I can start. Unless...?" She trails off, raising a brow at Jecki. She colours bright red, and Osha can’t help her laughter. Jecki’s had a crush the size of Jupiter on Mae since last year, but Mae is oblivious.
"I’m going!" Jecki vaults off the bed and almost runs to the door. "Meet you in 20."
Tonight, Osha chooses a brand new pair of fishnet tights, a vintage black leather mini that somehow found its way into her suitcase, a sleeveless striped rib tank and an oversized blue denim jacket. She retrieves her cherry red Doc Martens with a reverence, assured that they'll seal the outfit. She sighs with happiness and stomps down slightly, reassured by their weight. They're vintage, which makes them gorgeous. She pulls her microbraids in a half-up style, finishing with an eclipse choker and matching earrings that she handmade from resin.
"Wicked," she whispers when she steps back from the gilt-framed full-length mirror. The girl, no, woman staring back at her is confident. She's fashionable, and… She twirls, seeing the way her skirt hugs her ass, she's hot. Osha winks at herself then nearly dies from shame.
She grabs her make-up bag and makes her way to Jecki's room. The first thing she notices, as always, is the four poster bed with sheer curtains hanging down, situated in the middle of the room. It's like a princess bed, and apparently it’s an antique that belonged to the daughter of some professor about a century ago. Osha thinks it’s neat that Jecki has such history just sitting in her room. Jecki emerges from her attached bathroom with killer red eyeshadow and her mullet spiked with gel. "Nice," she says appreciatively, looking osha up and down.
"Right back at you," Osha shoots, eyeing Jecki’s silky black lace camisole, black cargo pants and a pair of high, high platform boots. She's also got a choker on, a blue velvet one that osha made for her decorated with little gold stars. it adds a sense of whimsy to her otherwise all-black outfit. Osha skips over to her and links arms, whistling appreciatively.
"Let’s get this show on the road," Osha singsongs, placing her makeup case on the vanity. If there's one thing Osha splurges on, it’s makeup, an artform in and of itself. She hardly puts it on in public but loves experimenting in private. She draws out the ABH highlight palette, the Tarte eyeshadow and the Too Faced foundation. Mascara, eyebrow pomade, contour, eyeliner, setting spray, primer, lip liner, liquid lipstick. Osha had an entire arsenal, with sample foundations in every shade.
Osha does her own make up as Jecki finishes off her look. Her winged eyeliner is sharp and her lips are a dark red, almost black. An homage to Mama Aniseya. Osha holds back on her more artistic impulses, as they're just going to a bar, but she can't help the small crescents she glues at the corners of her eyes. There , she steps back. Good enough. She nods and turns to Jecki.
"Pretty," she says, and hands the liner over to Osha. "I can never get it quite right."
With that last bit done, they're ready for the night. Osha tucks her phone in her bra and makes a mental note to grab her fake ID. Surprisingly, it'd been Mother Koril who'd handed it over earlier that summer. "Be responsible," she'd said sharply.
For all that Jecki is a math savant, she's also a teenager. Jecki flashes her own fake ID. And Osha smiles. Now, to get Yord on board.
"Absolutely not," Yord stresses. Osha throws an arm over his shoulder, feeling him tense. He’s always so tightly-wound. "Come on," she wheedles. Jecki copies her on the other side of Yord, tone more dry and mocking.
"This could get us into so much trouble!" Yord hisses.
"Calm down, Mr. Pre-Law." Jecki dismisses.
Osha flaps a hand at her. "Yord, be cool. Everyone does it. Look, Jecki even got one made for you." She shoves it into his hands and his hands close over it, helplessly. He studies it with a scrutinising eye as Jecki guides them, turning it this way and that.
"It’s pretty good," Yord says begrudgingly.
"I know, right!" Osha beams. She has a good feeling about tonight, regardless of Yord's misgivings. Something about the full moon, the balmy summer breeze, the taste of gyros on her lips...
Or maybe it's because she hasn’t been with anyone in almost a year. Ever since she ghosted Yord's friend Fillik after three unsatisfactory encounters. Fillik was arrogant and at first, Osha had found that strangely enticing. Then she’d just found him annoying and his prowess in the bedroom overstated. Osha likes to avoid conflict as much as possible, so she just... faded out of his life. He kept sending her texts asking to meet up, then after a while inviting her for lunch or coffee. Eventually, he got the message (or Yord had impressed on him) and he cut off contact.
Osha had breathed a sigh of relief at that, then felt abruptly sick to her stomach with guilt. What is wrong with me? She’d wondered, thinking maybe it was that Fillik was a guy. But nope, the same thing had gone for women as well. She just can't get in the right headspace, like something is broken in her.
Tonight, she intends to fix that. She's on a mission to find someone she actually connects with, rather than trying to force something that isn’t there. Maybe, someone who can even appreciate her for who she is...
She shakes her head, startling Yord. Stop getting ahead of yourself, Osha. This is the problem with you.
She keeps her eyes straight ahead as Jecki directs them in twists and turns. They enter an alleyway that Osha would have missed had she been walking along the street herself. It’s cramped and lined with little plot plants, a haze of fairy lights strung up above. Osha finds herself oddly charmed, but that feeling dies a swift death when she ducks inside the bar and finds it utterly packed.
"You said there'd be hardly anyone here!" She nudges close to Jecki to be heard over the hubbub, Yord caught between them.
"As if you would ever meet someone like that." Jecki retorts.
Osha bites the bullet and wades through the crowd, Doc Martens squeaking faintly on the floor. Inside, the flow of conversation is loud, punctuated by the occasional shriek of laughter and the perfumed air is stifling. Yord and Jecki follow her like ducklings until they make their way to the countertop, quickly grabbing two stools. Jecki perches delicately on Osha's lap, because there’s no way any of them are doubling up with Yord, who already towers over the crowd in his button-up shirt and jeans (low-key, even for him).
Jecki hops forward on the stool when she spots the bartender, waving a perfunctory hand as if she expects to be obeyed. The bartender dutifully complies, raising a pierced eyebrow at her. "Two vodka cranberries, please."
"I’m gonna need to see some id," they drawl, pouring another drink and sending it shooting down the countertop with barely the flick of an eye. Jecki hands it over and they wait a tense moment, but the bartender slides it back and they breathe a sigh of relief. Osha swears she can hear Yord mutter the lord’s prayer.
In no time, Osha is sipping her drink, raising her eyebrows at the tart berry that barely masks the strong flavour of the vodka. It's vaguely reminiscent of cough medicine and burns on the way down. Osha's only had wine coolers before, so this is something new. She sees Jecki savouring her drink as well, and turns to Yord. "And you?"
Yord isn’t paying attention, staring across the room with a stricken expression. Osha follows his gaze to see Rose, his ex, chatting vibrantly with a very good looking upperclassman.
"Sorrows, prayers," she pats Yord on the back. He hunches over, trying to fit himself under the countertop. "Oh no," Jecki says stridently. "None of that, come on."
Jecki hops off Osha, mouthing an apology, and drags Yord over to one of the booths. He's going to need a stern talking-to to avoid spiraling, and Jecki is best placed to do it with her assertive demeanor. Osha would probably end up breaking down with him.
She takes another sip of her vodka cranberry when a stranger sits down next to her. Osha cuts a look at him, just to judge whether he might annoy her but he doesn’t so much as glance at her. He orders a whiskey on the rocks in a low tone, and when the bartender flicks a look over at her she raises her glass for another.
The stranger, from what she can see of him, is dressed head-to-toe in black. Black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and showing toned forearms, black jeans belted snugly on his trim hips, artfully disarrayed dark hair. She finds out why when he scruffs a hand through it, further messing it up while sighing. He has a heavy silver watch on his wrist, square-faced with leather straps. It looks expensive. He's fiddling with his phone, typing furiously every few minutes then lapsing into stillness.
Osha takes a sip of her second drink, curious despite herself. A loud ping! alerts her to an email notification on his phone and he swears profusely under his breath.
She doesn’t know what compels her to say it, but it comes out anyway. "Rough night?" she asks, voice husky from the alcohol.
The stranger jerks his head to face her and blinks once, perplexed. He's beautiful. He appraises her and clearly must find her interesting, because his eyes darken and his mouth kicks up.
"How could you tell?" he says wryly.
He has dimples, Osha notes dumbly. Then she realises he's asked her something. "Well, it was a little bit of," she waves her hands at him.
“Yeah,“ he huffs out, laughing drily. “Did I disturb you?”
“Not at all." She downs the rest of her drink, feeling a little brave. "A penny for your thoughts?"
"Just..." Here he hesitates, looking at her closely to see if he recognises her from somewhere. He clearly judges her safe to talk to, because he says, "faculty politics."
"Ah," Osha nods sagely. "I've heard a bit about it." Professors Lon have kept her very well-appraised of the happenings around the university.
"Tell me about it," the stranger shakes his head, and Osha takes it as an invitation to continue. If she's going into poli sci, she might as well go all out on her analysis.
"Well, I heard," she leans closer and drops her voice salaciously, "that the college is trying to bring more outside lecturers in to teach and create courses to save money on staffing."
His eyes close in pain. "No way."
"Yes way!" Osha says, suddenly very interesting in explaining the ins and outs of the topic. If she can get him to groan again like that again, then her night is made. “It’s a kick in the teeth for adjuncts and GSIs who do such hard work. I heard the humanities departments are fighting it first, because of course it’s them who are always in the line of fire.”
“Tell me about it,” the stranger mutters, tossing his whiskey back in one shot,
“I think it’s more reflective of the increasing casualisation of the workforce and devaluing of education.” Osha says gravely. “We live in unprecedented times, and it’s more necessary than ever to value education and academia.”
He turns the entire focus of his attention on her, leaning his head on to his fist. “Tell me more,” he murmurs.
And she does. While she speaks, she watches his face move through different emotions. It’s electric to have his eyes on her, watching her, truly seeing her. They weave through conversation, discussing politics, art, books, shows they’ve watched. He’s astonishingly well-read and Osha struggles to keep up, but she doesn’t feel overwhelmed or small under the weight of his knowledge. He treats her like an equal of similar intellect. It’s heady, this craving for attention from him, and it goes straight to her head and shoots right through her body.
As they talk, they move closer and closer until their stools are touching. Their legs are almost intertwined and she’s in his space, a hand on his forearm and giggling into his neck. He smells good; clove and vanilla and something sharp, like sandalwood. His Adam's apple is prominent on his throat and she wants to inhale him, devour him.
His eyes have been on her lips for at least half an hour, darting back up to her eyes then down to her collarbones, and lower. She doesn’t feel objectified by it because she’s been checking him out as well. His chest exposed by the top two buttons of his shirt, the musculature of his thighs outlined by denim.
“Hey,” he says, laying his hand on top of her own. His fingers are calloused and strong. “How about we get out of here?”
Osha nods so fast she almost breaks her neck. “Okay," she breathes. “Yes, please.”
They leave hand in hand, Osha texting Jecki and Yord that she’s leaving with someone and yes , she’ll stay safe. Then she realises she hasn’t even told the stranger her name. “I’m Osha,” she blurts out inelegantly.
“Hello, Osha,” he says, practically caressing her name. He doesn’t give her his own, she notes critically, but that observation is swept away when he takes her by the face and kisses the corner of her mouth, slowly, lingering.
“Come on,” he says, opening the door of the Uber. He tugs Osha close and directs them to an apartment complex nearby, in the nicer part of Berkeley. Osha texts the address to Jecki, just in case.
His hand slides down her left thigh, leaving tingles in its wake over the fishnet. Osha’s breath catches in her throat and her heart speeds up. He sends her a mischievous grin, testing the limits of her patience. She stops his hand and squeezes, high on her legs and dangerously close to slipping under her skirt.
“I dare you,” she whispers, but before they can progress further the car has stopped. They’re here.