For Research Purposes | ✔

CHAPTER ONE

     Sam is running late.

    It's nothing new. He's always running late. Not because he wastes time, not because he snoozes his alarm clock, not even because he doesn't value other people's time. He runs late because he has an over-inflated sense of self and takes on more than he can handle and isn't very good at saying no. So he schedules his life down to the minute and, more often than not, he gets the math wrong.

     Sage, considering he's an economics major.

     Sage, considering he's going to be late for his eleven a.m. class thanks to fucking Sage who's standing in the elevator, staring Sam down as he very clearly doesn't hold the doors for him. No, he's leaning over and repeatedly tapping the close door option. Even though Sam is running towards him, yelling for him to hold it. He never holds it. Sam has no idea why he's wasting his breath. Probably because it's the first day of classes and he was hoping their little rivalry would at least wait till the end of the first day before it reared its head.

     "You're such a fucking ugh."

     The doors shut, and Sam slaps a hand on it before he turns for the stairwell. They live on the ninth floor. He's going to fucking kill Sage. But he's gotten good at running down the stairs. This isn't the first time Sage has closed a door in his face. It won't be the last, either.

     Sam takes a breath before he makes his way downstairs, thinking the whole way that it doesn't matter that Sage is a dick because Olekev sent him an email asking him to stay after class today and he's definitely beat Sage for the research position they both were vying for. Sage can slam elevator doors in his face all year if he wants cause Sam's won this one. Checkmate.

❧

     Sometimes Sage feels bad about it. Sometimes. But then he remembers the way Sam threw an ankle out as he walked to the front of the classroom in their public speaking class second semester and Sage fell, his notecards scattering along the floor, getting all mixed up. He was a nervous public speaker as it was. His voice trembled the whole time and his speech made no sense because he read his conclusion second. It was embarrassing and Sam sat at the front of the class with his arms crossed staring smugly at Sage like he'd really done something.

     So no, he doesn't feel all that bad about it. Even though he's not heading to class, but to get some coffee. His first class of the day isn't until one. Olekev's. He finds out today if he got a research position with her and Sage isn't dramatic, but the past three years have all been leading to this moment. Everything he's done, it's been to study under her. The way his brother should have.

     Everything he's done has been to live up to his brother's legacy, to be able to say, look, I'm just like Hudson. I did it, I made it. It's almost like he's still here. Sage can't bring him back, he knows that. But he can do this one thing.

     Bluestone Lane is a brisk walk down sixth, on a small street lined with some of his favorite restaurants. Not that he's partial at all, but Greenwich Village is his favorite part of New York. His appreciation for food maybe steers his choice, just a little. He's been getting coffee from Bluestone since his freshman year. He might have chosen his apartment his second year based more on proximity to the shop than his campus. He wonders why Sam had chosen it. He knows Sam's a Starbucks person. Has seen him on occasion double-fisting iced coffees as he runs to class. A waste, Sage thinks. Considering how much better literally any other coffee shop is.

     When Sage is up at the counter, he orders two iced long blacks with oat milk and then grabs a table up front so Ruthie will find him. He hasn't seen her since June. She spent most of her summer with her family in Guam. When she bursts into Bluestone, she pauses in the doorway. He thinks she's looking for him so he starts to raise his hand to get her attention but he stops, realizing that's not it. Ruthie's not looking for anyone, she's just looking.