Clusterfuck

xi

"Do you think we should add another graph in there? Like, on this slide?"

"I dunno. It's up to you."

"Would it really contribute anything to the overall presentation, though?"

"I mean, if there's no rule against it, I don't see the harm in it."

"Yeah, but then one of us would have to explain it, which would mean basically just repeating some of the stuff we already said on this slide."

"Oh, true."

"So no second graph?"

"No second graph."

"Okay. Cool."

Toby wishes, genuinely, he could explain how their interaction evolved from the swamp of tension and hostility they'd been soaking in just a few hours before to this neutral little meadow of academic collaboration. And maybe throw some daisies in there, because why not. But he can't explain it. He can't.

About three and a half hours have passed since they actually started working on this, and at some point during then, it's as if they mutually agreed, without words, just to shut the fuck up and focus on getting this stupid project over with.

Which is exactly what Leo's been suggesting since last night. So really, Toby was the only one who had to agree. But technicalities are a hassle. Plus, Toby rarely gets to be stubborn. So. Leave him alone.

Standard time has the sun threatening to disappear below the horizon at 4:30, and Toby glances out the window to take a peek at the fading sky, dressed in pinks and blues and oranges. He can't wait until daylight savings starts back up again. There is no reason darkness should completely swallow the sky by six o'clock. Too early.

"What are you looking at?"

Toby blinks, and quickly looks back at Leo. "Oh," he mutters, subconsciously rolling his right fist against the table to pop his knuckles in a swift, satisfying rhythm. "Nothing. Sorry."

But Leo turns his head to look out the window anyway, and when he turns back, the sun is a halo behind his head. Toby tries not to pay attention to how the lighter parts of his hair have seemingly become spun gold, or how his eyes look a little bit brighter, or the dimple a bit more hollow. He tries.

Whether he succeeds or not isn't important.

"Shit, I didn't even realize how much time has passed," Leo says, rubbing at his face.

"Yeah, me either," Toby replies, even though it's not exactly true. As they worked, he'd been constantly glancing at the clock on his computer, making mental ticks as to how many minutes were able to pass without them bickering with one another.

"I guess that's enough for today, then," Leo decides, leaning back against the booth, putting his hands behind his head and stretching. Toby looks away far too quickly as soon  as he notices the sliver of skin become exposed below Leo's crewneck. "I'm exhausted and my brain hurts."

Toby sighs, still averting his eyes. "Yeah. Me too. Math isn't my thing."

"What is your thing, then?"

"I mean, I—I don't really have one. But if I had to choose, I guess I'd say English. Writing. Things like that."

"Oh, so you were one of the kids that actually enjoyed reading To Kill A Mockingbird."

Toby raises an eyebrow. "You mean you didn't?"

There's a brief pause, and then they both giggle. Giggle. It's probably just because this assignment seems to have fried their brains. It has to be. Because they aren't friends. They don't like each other.