Scene One

The coffee hit the floor first.

The content spilling on the papers, drenching the notebook in the liquid. A voice in an equally bitter tone blurts out, "Seriously? Are your eyes just for decoration?"

Davis Wren, a final year literature and creative writing major, also the poor boy whose notebook is now a victim of a cup of coffee.

Davis crouches down slowly, to assess the damage to his notebook. Battered, spiral bound survivor of three semesters worth of literary anguish, was now streaked out with oat milk and the chaos of none other than Leo Hallings.

Leo Hallings, a final year theatre and performing arts major, the epitome of drama.

"Oh god," Leo said, "Was that important?"

Davis looks up, slowly and with a menacing stare. "No, numbskull! I just carry this around to cosplay as a writer."

Leo winces, hand on the back of his neck, says in a nonchalant manner, "Right, well whatever, I am a bit late for something very important."

"And blind, apparently."

They locked their eyes for a moment too long. Long enough for the air to shift into something sharp and sour, like the smell of burnt espresso. The tension of their gazes on each other creates another atmosphere between them.

Leo broke the tension first, stepping back with a grin that landed somewhere between charming and rehearsed. "Well, I guess we're even now. You spilled ink on my script last semester, remember?"

"That was an accident."

"Sure, and this was fate."

Davis didn't bother defending further, he gathered his pages. Some soaked, some smudged, all ruined. Leo crouches down and helps in gathering the papers.

Their fingers brush.

They both pulled their hands back, as if the touch burned.

✦ ✦ ✦

"You're kidding," Davis mutters, sinking even lower in his chair

"You've got to be kidding me," Leo's voice echoed

from the opposite side of the auditorium.

The announcement had barely landed when half the creative arts class turned to stare at Leo.

The final year project was a collaborative short film.

Teams had been fixed by the professor and the students were paired. And by the universe's blessing, in its infinite capacity for cruelty, had decided to put Leo and Davis as one team.

Professor Alder didn't even flinch. "Hallings. Wren. I expect great work from both of you, together."

Someone in the back whispers, "God help us."

Leo raises his hand, "Is there a, um, a re-casting option, or you know any way we can change teams?"

Davis spoke flatly. "Seconded."

For once these two might have agreed on one thing, and it was all to be on separate teams.

Professor Alder smirked, "Consider it an acting challenge. Chemistry is half the work."

Leo caught Davis's eye across the room. Something passed between them. Annoyance, dread, and history.

✦ ✦ ✦

After the announcement, Davis exits the auditorium, Leo jogging behind to catch up to Davis, who was speed-walking like someone who had a train to catch.

"Hey Davis! Wait up."

"What?"

Leo shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Look, this doesn't have to be a disaster. We can just be.... civil. Professional. We both know Professor Alder is strict with grading." Desperation in his voice as without the final year project grading, he wouldn't be able to graduate.

Davis didn't stop walking. "I don't do civil."

"Then what do you do?"

Davis glances at him sideways. "Foreshadowing."

Leo blinked, "What- Is that a writer thing?"

"You're in my story now, Hallings. Tread carefully."

✦ ✦ ✦

Later that night, Davis sat at is desk, a notebook open, pen hovering.

He stared at the blank page for a long time. He picks up the pen and writes.

Scene one :

He enters like a storm: loud, golden, and far too much.

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