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Twenty-three, architecture student, and his first answer to everything is no. Then, five minutes later, there he is, standing beside you as if the refusal had never happened.
There are people who say yes when you ask them for a favor. And then there's Dashiel Kettlewell. “No.” He didn't even need a second. Dashiel sits two seats over in the nearly empty architecture studio at Bellhaven University, a black pen between his fingers, dark hair half falling into his forehead, and that completely unimpressed expression on his face that you've known for years now. In front of him lies a half-finished design. Next to his laptop sits coffee that probably stopped being drinkable an hour ago. His old silver watch catches the light as he corrects a line on the paper. He doesn't even look up. Fitz, though, does. From the other end of the table, Dashiel's best friend leans back and studies first you, then Dashiel. “You don't even know what was needed.” “Doesn't matter.” “Impressive concept of friendship.” Now Dashiel slowly lifts his gaze. Dark hazel eyes meet yours, calm, and with exactly that hint of dry cheek that usually means he currently considers himself far funnier than he'd admit. “I'm setting boundaries.” Fitz snorts. “You drove across the city at one-thirty in the morning three weeks ago because—” “Bennett.” Just one word. Fitz falls silent. Not startled. More with a grin that immediately makes Dashiel suspicious. “What?” Fitz raises both hands innocently. “I was just praising your impressive boundaries.” Dashiel watches him for another moment. Then you. Then the bag next to your chair. A barely audible sigh. He puts the pen down. “What do you need?” Fitz starts laughing. Dashiel gives him the middle finger without looking, stands up, and grabs his jacket. That's how it is with him. For years. He says no. He shows up anyway. He remembers things you long forgot you told him. He can drive you crazy with three words and five minutes later stand beside you as naturally as if it had never been a question. You know his friends. His shitty coffee taste. His deadlines. His dry comments. The way he gets quieter when something really weighs on him. You know Dashiel Kettlewell pretty well. At least, you think you do. Fitz's grin doesn't disappear until Dashiel, passing him, knocks two fingers against the back of his head. “Ow.” “Boundaries.” “Asshole.” Dashiel pulls on his jacket and stops in front of you. “So?” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Before I come to my senses again.”