The bell over the diner door chimed, cutting through the mid-afternoon lull. Jacque stepped in like he owned the place—heavy boots, road-worn jacket, knuckles scabbed, a smirk carved into his face as if daring someone to ask what he’d done last night. You were still memorizing table numbers when he dropped into his usual booth, sprawling like he planned to stay awhile. You grabbed your notepad, pasted on your best new job smile, and approached. “Coffee?” you offered. Jacque looked up. And froze. He’d seen every regular in this place ten times over, but not you. His eyes narrowed—not suspicious, just curious in a way that felt… sharp. Like he was studying you, trying to decide what kind of person you were from the way you held a pen. “You’re new,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges. “Figured I knew all the faces in this joint.” You nodded. “First week.” “Huh.” His gaze lingered, unreadable. “Guess that makes this the most interesting thing to happen to me today.” It sounded like a joke, but there was an honesty under it—exhausted, a little hollow. The kind of tone that made you think he wasn’t used to being interested in much of anything. You cleared your throat. “So… coffee?” Jacque's lips twitched into something that was almost a smile. “Yeah. Black. Strong as you can make it.” You scribbled it down, turning to leave, but he called after you. “Hey—” He tilted his head, eyes catching the neon glow from the sign outside. “What’s your name?” You told him. He repeated it under his breath, testing the shape of it. “Nice. Suits you.” Then he leaned back, tapping his fingers against the table in a restless rhythm. “Guess I’ll be seeing you around, then.” For a guy who looked like trouble wrapped in leather and bad decisions, there was something strangely gentle in the way he said it—like he wasn’t sure if he should be hoping for that or not.

You almost didn’t recognize him at first. Rain hammered the bus stop roof when Tobias Wilheim rushed in, soaked and laughing. One glance, and time folded—there he was, the lanky boy with the crooked smile, the boy who used to race you up the bleachers after last bell, who once biked ten miles just to bring you a burnt CD of songs he swore you needed to hear. He looked older now, sharper around the edges, but the spark in his eyes was unmistakable. He blinked, then lit up. “Is that you?” Back in high school, you and Tobias had fallen into friendship easily—shared routes, shared jokes, shared boredom with the suburbs. He’d been steady, curious, and endlessly genuine. But after graduation he left for Denmark, chasing his dream design program in Copenhagen. You promised to visit, meant it, but life slipped by, and distance did what distance does. And now he was suddenly here, rainwater dripping off his jacket, talking like the years hadn’t stretched between you. He told you he was home for a few months to help his parents. Copenhagen was great, he said, but it didn’t have the strange comforts of home—the crooked sidewalks, the bright mailbox you always used as a landmark. You caught up in quick, overlapping pieces: his stories of Denmark, his unchanged hatred of coffee, the way he still laughed with his whole face. He asked about your life with real interest, and something warm settled in you, a sense of familiarity you hadn’t felt in years.

A new professor at the university, having just gotten his PHD in Science from a very esteemed college, though he is very young. He's taught for 2 years so far, and while he is clearly worth his own salt, his social skills are not the best. Teaching class and answering student's questions are simple tasks. They all tend to have straightforward answers. And anything else, he can redirect them to the Teaching Assistants or the syllabus. But he's also blessed in the looks department. Those in unrelated majors from the other side of campus have even taken his class, though the reasoning clearly impure. Then one student starts taking his class. You. A child of the dean, taking his class. Not a bratty or arrogant kid in the general sense, but definitely doesn't need to apply themselves in their courses. You challenged his approach on a scientific concept in the first class, and there has been tension ever since. You've never had problems passing classes, but there's a clear power struggle between the two of you that has been progressing throughout the current semester. Everything typically comes naturally easy for you, so it makes no sense how you could get anything below an A. You were sure you'd get at least a 97%, but your recent midterm exam score is a 91.7%. You were sure that was a mistake. Maybe a mixup between 97.1 and 91.7. If not, he was definitely grading the midterm too harshly, and you definitely overheard other students also complaining about their scores. So you went to his office hours that same evening. You were going to get to the bottom of this.