COAL
dude i love you but you text like a boomer
That is quite possibly the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to me.
COAL
who else texts in full proper punctuation
Hex texts like an evolved human being too.
COAL
oh he does!
wait
oh ew is hex you
did i fall for someone who is basically my brother but goth
Better than someone who is Dad but goth.
In response, Coal sends about fifteen middle finger emojis.
One side of my mouth cocks. He’d be way too pleased with himself if he knew the only time I’ve smiled the past few weeks was at his bullshit.
Got a paper on the French Revolution to finish, but I have time if there’s anything you need me to do. I can work on more correspondence, or speeches? I sent a few things to Wren last week but haven’t heard if you need more.
COAL
i’m good on all written requests. i swear. besides, what have we agreed on?
You agreed. I ignored you.
COAL
we agreed that i need to learn to handle this stuff on my own. if there’s anything super important, i’ll loop you in. but for now, just worry about making louis xvi your bitch
Coal doesn’t need to learn to stand on his own as Christmas’s leader, though. He’s already crushing it.
Which means he doesn’t need me as much. He never really did.
I rub my chest as I mute my phone and push into the third floor.
Desks and tables sit in perfectly organized rows between shelves of reference books, but I weave through them all to reach the handful of private rooms. My third year at Cambridge, and just last term I found theperfectwork setup: a study room that gets ideal air circulation because the vent actually opens, is far enough from the main stairwell so noise is minimal, and has whiteboard markers that always work. I’m not too proud to admit that I can be bought with office supplies.
But as I come up to the study room, I stop. Dead in my tracks.
The door is shut. The chalkboard on the front has a word scrawled across it in handwriting I know too well:
Occupied
That overly stylized cursive is mocking me. Flat out pretentious for pretentious’s sake at this point. And the window to the right has the blinds drawn, but the light is clearly on inside.
I pull out my phone again—ignoring another stream of texts between Iris and Coal—and check the time. Five after my scheduled window started.
No fucking way.
