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Everything about Trevor fits into her life annoyingly well. School starts, and it’s like a puzzle piece she didn’t know was missing suddenly appeared. On the nights that she stays up too late studying, he gets up in a baggy tee and his boxers and offers her a home-cooked meal.
He wins as much of the hearts of their suitemates as he can through Dal Tadka and Egg Bhurji. He remembers the classes they hate, the professors they love, and he takes their constructive criticism on his choices in seasonings and the meals he cooks for himself in stride.
(She tries not to think about how they obviously think he’s her boyfriend. Every time they go to their room for the night, one of them shoots her a look when Trevor turns around. The other stifles a laugh in her hand. One night, when Trevor was just tipsy enough to not understand what was really being said if it wasn’t directly to him, one of them had yelled I have an 8 am tomorrow, don’t be too loud!)
“Hey!” He says, walking into their shared room. Arasha’s been sitting at her desk, trying to write the same essay for 45 minutes and failing miserably. He plops himself down on his bed, plugging his phone in and putting it on his nightstand. “What‘re you upto?”
“Working on an essay.” She replies. “It’s not going well.”
He makes a little hm sound, which is as annoyingly endearing as it always is, and tilts his head like he’s thinking. “Maybe you need to clear your head. It’s a beautiful day.”
Arasha scoffs. “You know me, Trev. I don’t leave until I finish my work.”
Trevor shoots her a look in response, and when she stands her ground, he sighs. “When’s it due?”
“Monday.” His jaw drops in overexaggerated shock, and he reaches for his phone as if he really doesn’t remember what day of the week it is. He looks between his phone screen and her face until she laughs and relents. “Ok, ok! I get it, dude!”
“Rash, it’s Tuesday.” He gets up as he says it, reaching into his closet and grabbing a white tee and a pair of basketball shorts. “I’m about to go to the park and play some basketball, if you wanna come with. There’s a little walking path, ‘cause you don’t strike me as a real basketball type.”
Arasha gasps in mock offense, closing her laptop. “Rude! I’m totally the basketball type.” She stands up, moving to go to her closet, but Trevor turns around at the same time. The limited space in their bedroom allows for limited proximity between them, and an almost comical contrast to Arasha’s previous sentence. Trevor towers over her, which is entirely unfair, and he throws her a teasing smile.
“Sure.” He moves to the door to go change in the bathroom. “Change into gym clothes! It’s hot!” He calls, from a distance, and Arasha takes a deep breath before picking an outfit.
Arasha is seriously regretting this.
As soon as they got to the park, Trevor had found a group of guys about to start a game and asked to join. Arasha brought a book she needs to finish for her American Literature course, so she’s sitting on the sidelines, pretending to read it and instead watching them play basketball.
(When she showed Trevor the book as they left the suite, he had stuck his tongue out at her mockingly and called her a nerd. He’d be honored to know she hasn’t retained a single word she’s read.
Though, he might be less honored to know that she stopped retaining any information when she watched him wipe some of the sweat off his face with his t-shirt.)
It is a beautiful day, she has to say. It’s warm, and the sun’s beating on her, but there’s enough of a fall breeze that it’s still enjoyable. Trevor’s dripping sweat, face bright red under pale complexion. Arasha’s summer tan is starting to fade, but the sun hits it at an angle that makes it look like it just got there. She’s wearing a pair of big, chunky sunglasses that she stole from Courtney, her hair’s being held up by one of Amanda’s old scrunchies, and she’s wearing one of Trevor’s Keith Haring shirts. It fits him a little tight, but it’s baggy on her, draping over her frame to the point that her gym shorts are almost hidden.
There’s been a fair amount of screaming during this game, more than Arasha ever expected from basketball. She doesn’t know much about the sport, despite listening to Trevor talk about it for hours on end. She mostly just pays attention to how big his smile gets when he talks about the things he loves, lips coming up enough that she can see the little fangs he has. She doesn’t even know if he notices them. But she does.
There’s more shoving and kicking and general roughhousing than Arasha thinks there is in actual basketball, as well, but it’s a group of 20 something year old men who are just trying to blow off steam. They, eventually, depart, and Trevor jogs over to where Arasha’s sitting, panting and wiping the sweat off his face.
“Hey, you.” She says, putting the bookmark exactly back where it was when she first opened it 30 minutes ago. “Game over?”
“Yeah. My team won. We’re gonna play another after this, if that’s okay with you?” He looks at her, then, in a way that’s unidentifiable to Arasha. It’s domestic and earnest and everything that Arasha thinks of when she thinks of Trevor.
“Uh, yeah. I mean, of course, man. Go kill it, okay?” He smiles at her, reaching down and grabbing his water to chug it in one straight go.
“For you.” He says, when he gets up, doing a little mock salute before he jogs back over to the group. Arasha watches him get pulled into a hushed conversation with one of the guys. He’s about Trevor’s height, but he’s got an olive tan to contrast deep brown hair. He’s got a little more meat on his bones than Trevor, and a stubble type beard that looks decently trimmed.
He mumbles something that Arasha can’t make out to Trevor, and Trevor shakes his head in response. The guy asks him something else, and he hesitates, then shakes his head no again. He murmurs something back to him and gives him a pat on the back. The guy makes direct eye contact with Arasha, then, and she moves to act like she’s reading her book again. Next thing she knows, he’s walking over to her.
“Uh, hey.” He says, voice deep and self assured in a way that is so opposite from Trevor. “I just wanted to ask if I could get your number?”
“Oh.” She says, putting her bookmark back in and looking at him. “Sure.”
She lets him put his number in her phone, and he smiles at her before making his way back to the group. They all pat his back and whoop him when he gets back, except Trevor.
(“So, Matt, huh?” Trevor says, on their way home.
“What?” She replies, before she remembers the guy. “Oh, yeah. Him.”
He hesitates like he’s not sure what to say. “You gonna go out with him?”
She just shrugs. “We’ll see.”)
They’re at Shayne and Courtney’s place, playing Don’t Win Mario Party and drinking enough alcohol to fill a keg. Tommy is explaining all the rules to Spencer while Trevor, Shayne, Angela, and Chanse all yell over each other. Chanse had suggested taking a shot for every minigame you get first in, and so far, Trevor is losing miserably. He’s drunker than Arasha’s ever seen him, face flushed a deep red and chest heaving with laughter. He keeps yelling about day at the races until it’s no longer legible, and it’s, unfortunately, making Arasha laugh every time.
“Guys, c’mon, let up.” She says, on the 11th round. There’s only 2 more turns, but Trevor’s taken, like, 14 shots. He has 4 stars and 142 coins, and Arasha’s not sure he still knows where he is. When she speaks, he turns to look at her so fast that he looks dizzy.
“Arasha!” He yells, like he forgot she was here. “My head hurts.” He says, a little quieter this time. She leans over from the chair she’s sitting on to rub his shoulder soothingly.
“You take the shots for him, then, Rash.” Chanse says, with the bitchiest smile on his face.
“Absolutely not.” She answers immediately.
“Then, drink up, Trev!”
The night ends with a walk home that has never felt so long. It’s chillier than it should be in mid to late October, and Arasha’s not dressed for it. Trevor’s still flushed red even though he can see his breath in the cool Autumn air. Arasha shivers, and he notices, because of course he does.
“Here.” He says, before she can refuse, throwing his jacket over her shoulders. She shoves her arms into the sleeves, looks at the way it falls over her palms and barely allows her fingers to peek out, and decides that this ends now.
She has to do something about this.
Her date with Matt is the following Friday.
Trevor’s nowhere to be seen the day of the date. She knows he has rehearsal and classes to manage, so it’s– fine. She doesn’t care, obviously. She’s going on a date with a guy who’s 6’3 and tan and actually likes her.
Her roommates help her get ready for it, despite their initial shock that Arasha’s even going on a date. But it’s fun, and they gossip, and they don’t seem to mind that Arasha doesn’t know much about this guy.
“So, is it, like, a hook up thing?” One of them questions as they rummage through Arasha’s closet. Matt had told her the place he was taking her was pretty fancy, just for her to realize she owns nothing that she’d classify as fancy.
“I assumed this was a kink thing between you and your actual boyfriend.” The other says, holding up a dress she found to her own body in the full length mirror.
“What?” Arasha practically shrieks as she questions it, against her will. “Ok, first of all, no, not a hook up thing. I just thought I’d give him a try. Secondly, not a kink thing.”
“Huh.” They say, practically in unison, and then one of them gasps, pulling away from the closet to look Arasha in the eyes in her mirror as she does her makeup.
“Wait, are you cheating on Trevor?” She questions, bewildered. The other gasps so loud that she drops the dress she’d been holding, and Arasha pouts as she stares at it.
“Please don’t. He’s pretty good in terms of white boys I’m forced to be around. He’s like, at least top 2.” She adds, and the other nods.
“What?” Arasha repeats, shocked when she knows she shouldn’t be. “No. Trev and I are just friends. Also, he’s gonna be offended that he’s not your favorite.”
“Hm.” They say, again, and that’s the end of it. They ignore the topic of Trevor as Arasha finishes her makeup and they work together to assemble her an outfit. Matt tells her he’ll pick her up at 7:00 pm, but shows up closer to 7:15.
He’s wearing a decent button up and a pair of less-than-decent dress pants. His hair’s a mess like he just woke up, and his shirt is wrinkly, but not noticeably so. He’s just fine.
“Hey.” She says as she steps out of her door. He smiles at her, jagged and fake and nothing like Trevor.
“Hi.” He replies, and then holds out his elbow so she can link onto it. “Shall we?”
She smiles, fake and ladylike, the way her mom taught her. “We shall.”
Dinner is bad.
The meal itself is fine, she supposes. The place is a mainstream Italian place, one she knows Angela would scream if she stepped inside of. She gets Chicken Parm, and it’s just okay.
The company is annoying. All Matt does is talk. It’s not as endearing as it is when Trevor does it, because at least Trevor is bashful about it. Trevor makes sure Arasha is engaged and cares. He checks in and asks for her thoughts and he sees her as a person.
Matt, however, just keeps going. He’s like if a bulldozer was a guy who only talked about his frat. She doesn’t even remember the name, that’s how bored she is. He talks about the parties and rush week and a bunch of bullshit she doesn’t care about at all. Her phone buzzes and lights up from where it sits on the table, and when she reads the name trev she almost rolls her eyes.
“I’m gonna go to the ladies room.” She says, simply and leaving no room for argument. She beelines it there, shutting herself in a stall and opening her messages.
trev
r u out w matt rn?
rash
oh so now u wanna talk to me?
trev
please just look
[Attachment: 2 images]
She reads through the messages as quickly as possible. It’s hard to decipher the way multiple 20 something year old men text each other, but she can pretty much get the idea.
Matt does this, all the time. And Matt only has one motive for tonight.
Arasha almost feels sick. Instead, she bites her lip and goes back out to the table. She sits down across from him and stares as he sits on his phone. Her phone buzzes, but she ignores it, shoving it in her purse and poking at her chicken parm.
Who the fuck does Trevor think he is? Didn’t he set them up? Is he really doing this because he’s that mad? And how does he know Arasha doesn’t want the same thing?
(Because he actually knows her, a voice says, deep in her head. He knows how you’ve never wanted to do that with a random guy, and he especially knows you’d never do it with a douchy frat boy who probably does this every weekend.)
The waiter comes with the check, and Matt pays it. She smiles politely at him as he does it, and ignores the almost constant buzzing from her purse. He gets up from his seat and holds out his elbow again, expectantly. She links her arm with his just so she can finally leave.
The last thing she expects to see when they leave the restaurant is Trevor, of all people.
“Arasha! Matt!” He says, all high-pitched and nervous like this was coincidental. “Funny seeing you here!”
“Uh,” Matt says, awkward and the least prepared he’s been all night. “Yo, dude. What’s up?” He leans his hand out to dap him up, slow and suspicious and weird as hell.
“Nothing. Just, uh,” He hesitates, looking at Arasha for a second like she’s gonna help him before looking back at Matt. “I remembered I needed Arasha for something. Like, now.”
“Dude, can’t it wait?” Matt asks, clearly impatient and annoyed with Trevor’s cockblocking. “We’re a little busy.”
“Nope!” He says, too fast and breathy and easy. “Nope. It’s super important.”
Matt turns to look at Arasha expectantly, like she’ll fight off Trevor. Meanwhile, Trevor looks her dead in the eyes, sad puppy eyes as Courtney’s dubbed them in full effect.
The difference between Matt and Trevor, she realizes, is expectation. Matt expects Arasha to fuck him. He expects her to tell Trevor to go home and that this can wait until tomorrow. He expects her to just be so grateful he took her out on a date that she’s just a little bitch, easy at his wishes.
Trevor, however, has never expected anything from Arasha. It was always weird, to always have such high expectations for herself and then come home to someone who just wanted to see her. He never expected her to be anything other than herself. All he’d ask was for her to be happy.
“Sorry, Matt. I totally forgot about this.” She unlinks her arm from Matt’s as she turns towards Trevor. When she looks him in the eyes, he’s clearly mad.
“Dude,” He says, to Trevor, like Arasha isn’t even there. “What the hell?”
“What?” Trevor replies, genuinely confused.
“That’s my date! You can’t just–” He cuts himself off, turning back to Arasha. “Can you pay me back? For the dinner, at least?”
She’s about to suck it up and say sure when Trevor answers. “Why would she do that?”
“Uh, ‘cause I paid for her meal and I’m not getting anything in return?” Matt replies, like it’s obvious.
Arasha’s never seen Trevor truly mad. She’s seen him fake angry, yelling at Spencer and Shayne during game nights. But never furious, not like he is right now.
Right now, though, he looks like he might punch something. His hands are balled in fists so tight, it’s showing his forearm muscles. Arasha decides that, unfortunately, she is going to suck it up and say “Sure.”
All the anger leaves Trevor’s body, suddenly, and he turns to gape at her. She hands Matt a 20 and tells him to keep the change and have a good night before grabbing Trevor’s hand and dragging him down the road and into a back alley.
“Why did you do that?” Trevor asks, bewildered and upset like this is his decision to make. “He doesn’t deserve shit!”
“No, Trevor, why did you do that?” She replies, almost yelling. Her anger is misdirected, she’s well aware, but she can’t help it. “Do you think I’m helpless? What, you think I can’t take care of myself? Do you think I didn’t know what kind of guy he was as soon as he started talking about his frat? Do you?”
After a beat of silence, Trevor answers. “No.” He says, meekly. “No, I don’t.”
Arasha sighs. “Then why did you do it?”
Trevor looks down, like his shoes are suddenly interesting. “I just–” He starts, then stops, like he’s saying something he shouldn’t. “I did it because you’re you.”
Arasha stares at the top of his head while he refuses to meet her eyes. “‘I’m me’? The hell does that mean, Trevor?” She doesn’t know why she’s still mad, but she is. He looks up from his feet to look her in the eyes.
“You’re you. You’re the same girl who let me live with you when I was scared and alone. You’re the girl who doesn’t care that I’m me, that I’m annoying and talkative and like that. You’re my best friend, and,” He’s breathing heavy, and this feels important, like the climax in those shitty romcoms Amanda and her watch on rainy days. “And I love you.”
The words leaving Trevor’s mouth feel like an answer and a question at the same time. It feels like coming home and running away, like being here and being there. It feels like, maybe, she’s known this whole time. She doesn’t say this. Instead, she does the opposite.
“Don’t say that.”
“Okay.” Trevor replies, easy and affirmative. “You’re my best friend, and I hate you.”
Arasha, despite herself, laughs. “You’re dumb.”
Trevor smiles back, and Arasha’s almost mad again. “Shut up. Stop smiling.” Trevor just smiles wider. Arasha wants to kiss him until he stops. Or slap him. She does neither. “Let’s go home.”
The last straw happens at another game night, because of course it does.
They’re playing their stupid Don’t Win Mario Party Drinking Game again, though Trevor isn’t losing as badly this time.
That is, until he starts being chivalrous and taking all of Amanda’s shots for her when Angela cuts her off. Then he’s fucked.
“Trevor.” She says, and he turns to look her in the eyes, a dopey smile taking up half his face. “I’m cutting you off.”
“Please.” He replies, all whiny and low, and Arasha just swallows and takes his beer from him.
“Hey!” Shayne says in protest. “We’re still playing!”
“I’ll take his place.” Spencer says, simply, moving into his seat. Chanse and Shayne protest his addition due to him not even drinking, but Arasha just mouths a thank you to him as she drags Trevor to the bathroom to cool off his flushed face.
She wets the first clean washcloth she finds in Spencer’s bathroom while Trevor sits on the closed toilet seat, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. “Open up, Trev. No falling asleep on me.” She says sarcastically as she rings out the washcloth and hands it over to him.
“Yes ma’am.” He grabs the washcloth as he says it, draping it across his forehead. “I’m tired.”
Arasha laughs so hard she snorts. “I’m sure you are.” She leans over to move the washcloth up a little bit, so it rests right on his hairline. On her way back to her regular position, Trevor grabs her hand. “Trev?”
“Just keep it there for a second. It feels nice.”
Arasha just stares. It’s not the right time to say anything she wants to say, so she decides on “Ok.” and stays where she is.
(Maybe this is what she’s meant to do. Stay where she is, while Trevor orbits her, and they never touch. Maybe this is their forever.)
“Trev.” She says, the next morning, while Trevor eats his Cinnamon Toast Crunch at the kitchen counter. He looks up, cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk. “We need to talk.”
Trevor nods in agreement, and swallows his cereal. “Good timing, I just finished my breakfast.” Arasha laughs, because she should, but it’s not real and Trevor knows it. “Is everything okay?”
“What did you mean when you told me you loved me?”
Trevor’s eyes widen, and he shakes a little like he’s trying to physically remove the expression from his face. “What do you mean?”
Arasha rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. The date, with Matt. What did you mean?”
Trevor moves to put his bowl in the sink, and Arasha walks over so she can still see his face, leaning against the counter next to him while he rinses his dish. “I meant what I said, Rash. I love you.”
“Obviously, dipshit. In what way?” She’s reaching the end of her rope, and the end of the semester. If she needs to, she has time to kick him out if this all goes horribly wrong.
“In every way. Isn’t that what love is?” He’s oblivious. She doesn’t think it’s an act, not anymore. She’s seen enough of him at this point to know there’s nothing else she can do.
“Let me rephrase this, then.” She steps closer, and he turns towards her. “Trevor Evarts, I’m in love with you. Romantically.”
Trevor smiles, bright and wide as the sun. “Arasha Lalani, I’m in love with you too. Romantically.”
“Cool.” She says, and, before she can continue, he’s kissing her.
(Trevor continues to fit annoyingly well. In all the ways as before, but in new ways, too. His bed fits perfectly against hers in their room when they finally bring them together instead of shoving themselves into Arasha’s every night. He fits perfectly into her side when he, inevitably, gets too drunk at another game night – and when he’s, unsurprisingly, a very clingy drunk.
Arasha doesn’t mind it as much anymore, though. Not when he buys her little gifts that ‘make him think of her’ and takes her on dates with no expectations from her and loves her the way she wasn’t sure she’d ever get.)