In The Pursuit of Success

Finals & Fists

I'm so terrible, you guys, I'm sorry! I've been really stuck on what to write. D:

Much of this story is improv'd, so bear with me.

Also - my graduation is today! :D Woop! I should probably go to bed now.

Warning: a bit of violence is involved in this, not too much – but just thought I'd warn y'all.

I hope you like this chapter, all the same!

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Trish lifts her head from the drool-coated page of her textbook – the blanket that had been draped around her shoulders falling in the process. She awakens to the delectable aroma of fried eggs and toast dancing about her nose, beckoning her. One of my dorm-mates actually made breakfast?, she wonders. She opens her eyelids halfway, squinting at the light they had let in. Who drew the curtains?

It takes her a moment to realize that Dez is standing there, breakfast tray in hand, waiting patiently for her to awaken.

"Good morning, Curly." He smiles down at her, pushing her textbook aside with one hand and setting the tray down on her desk with the other. Trish sneers, catching sight of the silly "kiss the cook" apron that he's wearing.

"That's not an order, is it?" she laughs out, pointing at his smock. Dez rolls his eyes, ruffling her hair lightly, only to have her swat his hand away.

"More like suggestion." He unties the apron from the back, takes it off, and tosses it aside. "Now, eat up. Judging by that stack of pizza boxes by the trash can and the granola bar wrappers everywhere, it doesn't seem like you've had a decent meal in a while."

"It's not like we got a personal chef here, Dez. And you know I can't cook for crap." Trish pokes lightly at one of the eggs with her fork. Dez had presented the eggs and toast in smiley-face format, as expected – only, instead of a strip of bacon being the smile, he ripped up the toast in order to form it. We must've run out of bacon, she assumes.

"I beg to differ – your sand cookies are amazing," he remarks. Trish gives him a look of disgust, then turns her attention back onto her plate. She takes a hesitant bite out of one of the eggs, only to find herself scarfing down the rest just moments later. She had forgotten how great of a cook he is.

"You like them?" Dez smirks at her, taking a seat in a nearby chair and resting his chin in his hand as he watches her eat voraciously.

"They alrigh," she says with her mouth half-full. She swallows and shrugs, trying her best to prevent herself from stroking that ego of his with any compliments. "Could use some salt."

"Please, Trish. I know when people enjoy my cooking." He shakes his head, disappointed at the lack of gratitude.

"Thank you," she states, as if reading his mind – her eyes focused down on the tray. "You're right, I haven't had a real meal in a while…So, thanks. It's delicious." She caved. She had to give him this; the guy flew across the country for her sake, after all.

"Hm? O-oh…Y-yeah, no problem, Trish," Dez stutters out, quite startled by her sudden show of appreciation. "I'll…I'll go get you that salt." He starts to get up from his chair, only to have Trish tug him back down into his seat by the arm.

"It's okay. I changed my mind. Doesn't need salt, after all." She continues eating, as Dez watches her, his eyes occasionally shifting nervously from side to side. Trish being nice to him must mean she wants something from him, right?