Chapter Text
.
This is how they first meet:
Fareeha has just arrived at Overwatch University, and is making her way through campus towards Adawe House, her home for the next four years. It’s one of many on-campus halls of accommodation – smaller and older than most, certainly – and it's exclusively for international students, as well as being reasonably affordable. Fareeha's heard good things about the House itself and the students who live there. She carries a large duffle bag on her back, and pulls a suitcase along the ground.
She consults her map and judges that she’s just around the corner from her destination. She turns left onto an avenue lined by tall silver birches: further on and to the left is a large park, where a handful of students are playing ultimate frisbee. To the right are three brick accommodation buildings: closest is Aldridge House, which is exclusively post-graduate accommodation; and farthest on is Olympus House, which is accommodation provided for certain scholarship students. The three residences are all three stories tall, ivy spreading across the red bricks, and roses blooming brightly out the front.
I’m here. She’s made it. There’s a dizzying rush of excitement and nerves, and she takes a deep breath. This is it. Fareeha exhales and continues on, till she stands before the path that leads to the double doors of Adawe House. Barely able to restrain the grin on her lips, she adjusts her duffle bag and then steps forward.
Forward. To start her new life at Overwatch University. To meet her housemates and make friends. To –
Above, someone throws open a window, and shouts, “Watch out below!” Fareeha, typically quite alert and blessed with fast reflexes, dodges to one side as a large object falls from above.
It’s a bundle of blankets and sheets, all knotted up together. Fareeha blinks at it and looks up.
“I’m Genji!” A young man with a devilish smile and vivid green hair grins down at her from a second story window. “Don’t tell my brother I did that!”
And then he’s gone. Fareeha’s gaze travels back down to the pile of blankets and sheets. Something that looks suspiciously like an arrow is poking out from one side. She readjusts the straps of her duffle bag and thinks, that sure was a welcome.
The doors of Adawe House slam open. Out comes a man with a weary countenance and a cup of coffee clutched in his left hand: he surveys the wreckage before him, and then looks at Fareeha.
“Guy with green hair?”
“Yeah. Said his name was Genji.”
The man sighs. “He’s been here three hours, and he’s like some kind of accursed whirlwind.” He looks at Fareeha, then, and seems to recognise her. “You’re Fareeha Amari, aren’t you?”
“That’s me.”
He nods and looks a little less weary as he descends the steps, skirting round the blankets and sheets before extending his right hand. “I’m Jack Morrison. The RA for Adawe House. I wish your welcome had been somewhat nicer.”
She shakes his hand and laughs a little. “I thought it was kind of great, actually.”
He cracks a weary grin. “Then you’ll fit right in. Come inside, I’ll show you the ropes.”
.
Jack shows her to her room, which is on the second floor of Adawe House. “Your roommate is called Aleksandra Zaryanova. She hasn’t arrived yet, but some of her belongings have.” He gestures to the impressive dumbbell set gleaming on a polished steel rack at the foot of Zaryanova’s bed.
“Nice,” Fareeha says appreciatively. She thinks she might get along quite well with this Aleksandra Zaryanova.
“Anyway, I’ll leave you to get settled in. Come downstairs, take the first left, and you’ll find yourself in our common room. Some of the others will be there. I’ll introduce you, then give you a tour of the place.”
Fareeha nods. “Thanks, Jack.”
When he’s gone, she looks around the shared bedroom. It’s quite large: there’s a bed either side of the wide window that looks down onto the garden between Adawe House and Aldridge house, and beneath the window is a long and low bookcase. Each bed has a bedside table, and there’s a solitary desk and chair shoved against the left wall, on the other side of Fareeha’s built-in closet. That’s alright, she thinks, Jack said there’s a study room downstairs. The bathroom has a shower and toilet – no bath, but that’s alright, as she’s never really liked baths – and all in all, it’s better than what she had expected.
Fareeha shoves her suitcase and duffle bag at the foot of her bed, then sends her mother a text that says, Arrived at Adawe House, talk tonight? Then she turns to head back out into the corridor.
She steps out of her bedroom without looking and collides with a force of nature. Down to the floor they fall, Fareeha landing on her back and her assailant yelping in surprise, somehow managing to straddle Fareeha’s hips upon landing.
There’s silence. Fareeha blinks and wonders if she’s dreaming. She must be. This cannot really be happening to her. Perhaps Genji with the green hair did hit her on the head with that bundle of sheets, blankets and arrows, and thus she is seeing things that are not actually happening. But…no. No. This is real.
And this is how they first meet:
“Well, hello,” says the young blonde woman on top of her. The incredibly beautiful blonde woman on top of her. With a grin, she adds, “I was planning on waiting a few days before getting a woman under me.” Her blue eyes have a wicked gleam, and her lips part to reveal white teeth and the tip of a pink tongue.
Fareeha stares up at her, feeling a little breathless. So this is how I die, she thinks, straddled by a beautiful woman who is flirting with me. And what a way to die! She thinks that her heart might burst through her ribs and leap out of her chest, so fierce and loud it is hammering away.
Eventually she musters her thoughts together and replies with, “Why wait?”
The blonde laughs. “Good one. I’m Angela Ziegler.” And then – sadly – she’s getting to her feet, offering Fareeha a hand. She’s quite strong, as Fareeha realises when that hand pulls her to her feet. “Freshman.”
“Same. Fareeha Amari.”
“Sorry about, ah, jumping you?” Angela fixes her red plaid shirt, worn over worn blue jeans and some scuffed old vans, then glances up. The smile on her lips is transfixing. Fareeha cannot look away. “I suppose that is a good word for it. Are you alright?”
“Fine. You didn’t even wind me.” You could have broken my ribs and I’d probably thank you, comes a silly thought from the lewder corner of Fareeha’s brain. She clears her throat and hopes that she’s not blushing. “You’d make a good rugby player, I imagine,” Fareeha notes. Then she imagines Angela Ziegler, muddy and wearing a rugby uniform, charging towards her with a ball clutched under one arm. Don’t think about that don’t think about that don’t think about that. What a wonderful picture! Don’t think about that don’t think about that don’t think about that.
“Ah,” Angela says, with mock sadness, “but soccer is my chosen sport, alas.”
And that’s pleasing news. Suddenly her mental image of Angela shifts, and she sees her streaking after a soccer ball with fierce determination, face settled into a warlike, triumphant expression. Don’t think about that either, you idiot! Fareeha almost shakes her head to rid herself of that lovely image. “You play soccer?” she manages to ask.
“Oh, yes. I’m hoping to get on the team here.” Angela gives her a long, considering look – no doubt taking in the sight of Fareeha in her gym shorts and t-shirt. Fareeha’s never been so glad for the fact that she’s wearing gym clothes: not with the way Angela’s eyes travel from her calves to her thighs, and linger at her biceps. She’s proud of the effort she puts into her workouts, and suddenly feels the ridiculous urge to flex – she doesn’t, though. That would be terribly awkward.
Angela Ziegler, she realises, has made me a fool. And they’ve only just met. This spells dire things for the rest of their interactions here at Adawe House. She hopes that over time – no, that very soon, she will be able to look at Angela and think, ah, my housemate, and not, here is the goddess that straddled me and then told me that she plays soccer.
It’s unfair, really. Fareeha’s comfortable with her sexuality – she likes women and women who like women like her, and she’s been out for a long time now, and this university is an exceedingly progressive campus – and she’s generally not the sort to daydream about other women running around in soccer uniforms while flashing bright, promising grins in her direction. Then Angela Ziegler, with her plaid shirt and her suggestive words, came along and tackled her to the ground and straddled her.
And now Fareeha’s mind cannot stop working in overdrive, conjuring a dozen daydreams and scenarios. It’s unfair. It’s very unfair. The way Angela Ziegler looks at her – appreciative, charming, and certainly pleasant – is unfair. The way she looks in that damn red plaid shirt is unfair. I’m so gay, she realises, which isn’t really news. In this moment, Fareeha feels like the victim of a great cosmic joke.
Do you think, she can imagine a celestial entity saying in a pondering sort of tone, that it would be funny if we made Angela Ziegler and cool and composed Fareeha Amari meet in the most unexpected of ways? Oh, yes, I think it would be. Watch as Fareeha’s mind goes to pieces. Haha! Isn’t that funny? Look at her, the great gay fool!
“Do you?” Angela asks after several seconds.
Fareeha swears she sees a hint of red to Angela’s cheeks. Do I what? That was right, they’d been talking about soccer. If Fareeha played. Why is she blushing? Did I say something? No, I didn’t. So why, then, does she blush? “I do indeed,” she says eventually. “What position do you play?”
“I play centre forward. Striker, preferably. You?”
“Midfielder.”
“Ah, yes, I can see it.” Angela’s smile widens. “I hope that we both make it onto the team, then.”
And that would be…lovely, really. Another image of she and Angela running up-field together, achieving great victory and crushing their enemies the other team.
“So do I.” Fareeha manages to wrestle back control of her foolish, daydreaming mind, and gestures to the end of the corridor, where the stairwell is. “Were you heading downstairs before you leapt onto me and pinned me to the floor?”
Angela flushes, though she’s still smiling. “I was, in fact. I am sorry about that.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Fareeha assures. Why is she blushing again? Is it me? No. Embarrassment, probably. “Shall we?”
And so they make their way downstairs together, talking all the while. And it’s quite nice, really, talking to Angela.
Angela has already met her roommate – “She’s downstairs,” Angela says, “replacing all the wi-fi routers with her own. Jack told her that she didn’t have to do such a thing, but she insisted.”
“That’s…she sounds dedicated to good internet.” Fareeha wonders how much money must go into that sort of thing.
“She is something of a passionate gamer, from what I have gathered. Have you met your roommate?”
“No. I have met her dumbbell set, however.”
“Oh – sounds promising.” There’s a moment where she thinks that Angela glances at her biceps. “I hope she’s nice.”
“So do I.”
Downstairs, Jack is walking across the hallway, no longer clutching a coffee cup, instead staring at a guidebook he holds open in one hand. Glancing up, Jack notices the two of them and smiles. Angela makes a face at him. He reaches over and ruffles her hair. She shies away, laughing, and fixes her ponytail.
“Hey, kid. All your clothes fit in your wardrobe?”
Angela lowers her hands. “I don’t have that many,” she mutters, in the sort of way that really means, I have a lot of clothes. I have so many clothes and a lot of people tease me about it.
“Ange,” he replies, raising an eyebrow, “I’ve never seen someone own so many plaid shirts.”
That’s a nice thought too. Fareeha finds herself pondering how many plaid shirts Angel owns. Red looks very nice on her, indeed, but blue and grey – to bring out her eyes – now that would be a sight. Why am I thinking like this? I’ve only just met her!
That’s what happens when a very beautiful young woman straddles you and flirts with you, apparently.
Angela rolls her eyes. To Fareeha, she says, “Jack and I are cousins, I should tell you. That is why he teases me so.”
The resemblance is easy enough to see: they both have same shade of blonde hair, the same ice-blue eyes, the same direct and knowing gaze.
“Sadly,” says Jack wryly. Fareeha snorts. Angela just laughs. “Fareeha, ready for that tour?”
“I sure am.”
Jack closes the guidebook. The cover is worn and stained, declaring, THE RESIDENCE ADVISOR’S GUIDE TO STUDENT ACCOMMODATION in huge letters. “Alright. To your left just here is the common room….”
Within the common room, the green-haired young man is sulking in an armchair. He brightens upon seeing Fareeha enter the room. “Hey! You’re the person who saw me throw Hanzo’s stuff out the window, right?”
“Yeah. You nearly hit me.”
“Sorry! Gabriel chewed me out for it.” He grins. “I’m Genji, by the way. Freshman.”
“The whirlwind of destruction,” mutters Jack. He points at Genji. “Did you return your brother’s belongings to their rightful place?”
“Even made his bed.” Genji smiles an angelic smile. “And I didn’t short-sheet it.”
That’s a hell of a sibling relationship, Fareeha thinks. She steps over and shakes his hand. “I’m Fareeha Amari.”
“Genji Shimada. I’ll try not to throw any more things at you.”
“Thanks,” she says wryly. “That would be great.”
Genji shrugs. Then he says, “I heard a really loud thump a few minutes ago. Like someone hitting the floor. Did one of you trip over?”
Jack mutters something about the hazards of old carpet. Angela says, “I may have accidentally run into Fareeha upstairs and I may have made the two of us fall to the ground, but no one was injured or straddled.”
Genji gives her an amazed glance and grins.
“Straddled?” asks Jack, raising an eyebrow.
“What?” Angela’s red again, and not looking at her cousin or Fareeha.
“You said straddled.”
Genji starts to laugh.
“No I didn’t,” Angela says quickly. “I didn’t say that.”
“You did.” Jack looks at Fareeha. “Did she really do that?”
“It was an accident,” Fareeha shrugs, smiling a touch awkwardly. “No harm done.” You loved it, says the snide voice at the back of her brain.
Angela looks at Fareeha, finally. “I am very sorry about it,” she apologises, cheeks very red. Then she looks at her cousin. “Now, can we stop talking about how awkward I am?”
Jack ruffles her hair again. “It’s alright, Ange,” he assures, “you’ll find another way to embarrass yourself soon enough, I bet.”
Angela groans. Genji laughs. Fareeha wonders what’s in store for her.
She wonders what’s in store for all of them.
.
Jack takes her on a tour of the rest of the residence. There’s a large communal kitchen with a long dining table in it, big enough to seat all of the residents at meal times. At the front of the house are two rooms, one on either side of the hallway: the first is a sitting room, and across the hallway from that is a library which doubles as a study space. The third floor houses a handful of bedrooms, a storage area, and another study room. The second floor is all bedrooms and bathrooms.
It’s a nice place. A bit dated, sure, but Fareeha had never come here expecting to live in the lap of luxury. The paint is peeling in places and the carpet is worn. The windows are rattly, and Jack warns her that in winter, the residence is as draughty as anything. Some of the lights flicker. “There are rumours that the place is…haunted.” Jack shrugs. “I’ve never seen any ghost – if you want to know more, ask Mei.”
On her tour of the residence, she meets some older students who have been living at Adawe House for a while now. Gabriel Reyes, their sole law student, who kisses Jack on the cheek and shakes Fareeha’s hand. He has a quick sense of humour and a rich laugh, and is a fourth year like Jack. They’ve been dating since their first year at university, and really are quite adorable together. Reinhardt, the oldest student at twenty-six years of age, who declares that he will be baking a great many desserts and that Fareeha will have to try some. Mei Ling Zhou carries her heavy suitcase on one shoulder, and nearly crushes Fareeha’s hand when shaking it. Winston, who possibly doesn’t have a last name, and smiles the kindest smile Fareeha has ever seen.
Kimiko, Mirembe, and Singh are all gossiping up on the third floor. They’re third years, and pretty much inseparable, according to Jack. Bayless declares himself a walking wreck – muttering something about long layovers and delayed flights. Al-Farouk and Gerard are redecorating their room, and ask Fareeha whether she thinks fairy lights will look gaudy on the walls. “It’s all about the atmosphere,” Gerard says, while Al-Farouk plugs an iPod into an iPod dock and begins to dance.
“The two of them,” sighs Jack, “always dance. Always. Even when we try to take formal photos for the university yearbook, they’re dancing. You should see them when they get good marks.”
And she meets some other first years too. Hana Song, muttering about bandwidth and megabytes per second. She seems vaguely familiar, though Fareeha can’t think of why. Lena Oxton, with her head of messy hair and a cheerfully boisterous personality. Aleksandra Zaryanova, who engulfs her in a crushing hug when she hears that Fareeha is her roommate.
At about 6pm they gather in the common room for official introductions. Everyone drags the chairs and sofas into a circle, and they say who they are and what year they’re in. There are a few people Fareeha hasn’t met yet: Amelie-without-a-last-name, Jesse McCree, Torbjorn Lindholm, Satya Vaswani, Hanzo Shimada – who alternates between coolly ignoring his younger brother and flicking his ear.
Hana beams confidently when it comes to her turn to speak. “I’m Hana Song. I’m going to be eighteen in two months-”
“A child, Jack?” laments Amelie. “How could this happen?” She’s a tall and elegant second year, and has draped herself over an armchair. She seems to like wearing dark clothes. With great betrayal in her tones, Amelie bemoans, “We will have to feed it in the mornings and walk it to class; we will have to make sure it gets enough exercise and does not get lost on campus. The alcohol will have to be hidden. So will the knives. Oh, we must keep it away from flames and large bodies of water – can it even swim? Who will take it to get its hair cut?”
Hana stares at her for a long moment and then laughs in delight. “Are you a fucking goth?”
Fareeha almost snorts. Gabriel cackles and laughs and claps his hands together. Satya seems pleased. Angela’s shoulders are shaking.
Amelie looks affronted. “Jack, it curses. Merde!”
“You filthy hypocrite,” laughs Jesse McCree, his dusty boots resting on top of a coffee table. He’s a first year as well – he and Angela have been bonding over their shared major, English Literature.
“I am not filthy. Your boots, on the other hand, are.” Amelie gives Jesse’s boots a disgusted look.
Meanwhile, Lena gives Amelie a very interested look.
The introductions continue. When they’re finished, Jack and the other older students tell them about the clubs on campus. Satya Vaswani, an engineering student in her second year, is also the goalkeeper for the women’s soccer team, and is quite pleased when Fareeha, Angela, and Lena all voice their interest. Jesse wants to know where the nearest shooting range is. Genji declares that he has already joined a kendo club off-campus – there isn’t a club at the university – and Hanzo mutters something about injuries and foolish younger brothers.
Then there’s dinner, which is pizza. “Order from two places only,” Reinhardt instructs them, passing out cardboard boxes filled with heavenly, aromatic goodness. “From this little place called Crust on the edge of campus, or from the Pizza Palace storefront a few blocks into town. This pizza is from Crust. Good, yes?”
“And don’t order coffee from Coffee Grounds,” Amelie says in disgust. “It is awful, and in truth bears more likeness to mud.”
“Buy from Bastion’s! I work there,” Mei confides. “And it is good coffee.”
Amelie nods grudgingly. “It is.”
“The best bar on campus is Valhalla,” Gabriel tells them. “Angela, Jack’s given me strict orders not to get you drunk, which means we are definitely getting drunk together.”
Angela grins. She has known Gabriel for a few years, apparently: they first met just after he started dating Jack. “I can’t wait.”
Jack just sighs. “Speaking of drinking, you might hear a bit of noise tonight: that’s just the Lodgers celebrating one of their stupid traditions and getting all the first years wasted.” Reinhardt shivers. Satya purses her lips. Mei mutters, oh, boy.
“And on tradition,” says Gabriel, “we only have one tradition regarding first years on their first night here: you drink together, while the old and weary returning students go and catch up. So do that, if you want, but please don’t go and run around campus with the Lodgers.” He winks. “If anyone starts howling in pain, I’ll come and see who’s been stabbed.”
“Stabbed?” asks Jesse eagerly. Angela looks excited too, leaning forward with wide, attentive eyes.
Mysteriously, Satya says, “It only happened three times last year. Now go and drink, and don’t hang out of windows and shout insults at the postgraduates. That is Gabriel’s job. Begone!”
.
She calls her mother later. The conversation is quite lovely, and Ana warmly wishes her all the best, and asks for weekly emails. Quietly, Fareeha resolves that she will send emails at least four times a week, with photos included. Then she sits on her bed and talks to Aleks, who is so tall that her feet hang off the edge of her own bed. Outside, in the corridor, Genji sprints past and shouts for Hanzo to leave him alone. Hanzo, in pursuit with a nerf gun, shoots him mercilessly.
Angela, Lena and Jesse come to Fareeha and Aleks’ room bearing a bottle of some kind of golden liquor. “We went to the liquor shop just at the edge of campus,” Lena says when they invite the others in, “and it was a fucking nightmare. People everywhere, shouting and drinking. If that’s the Lodgers, then I’d rather be here with you lot.” With that, she has a swallow of the liquor, and passes the bottle to Angela, who is sitting on the ground next to Jesse, both leaning against the bookcase.
“The noise is unbelievable.” Aleks scowls at the window. “They sound like a pack of zombies.”
“Don’t they!” Lena shakes her head and laughs. “There’s a thousand students staying at the Student Lodge, and most of them are running around campus in togas and shouting mottos. I asked Jack about it, and he said that the Lodgers have some awful tradition of getting absolutely wasted on their first night here. Not just the freshmen, but all the older students coming back.”
“Gabriel says,” Angela begins, taking the bottle from Jesse, “that if we wake up early enough tomorrow morning and go outside, we will have a good chance of seeing some Lodgers passed out in bushes all around campus.” She drinks a mouthful of the liquor and passes the bottle to Fareeha, who considers it curiously. “It’s vanilla Galliano,” she tells Fareeha. “Nice stuff.”
Fareeha has a sip and grins. It’s like…the gentle heat of summer, and the sweet scent of spring. Warm and pleasant. Vanilla flavoured, yes, but not overpowering. “Wow. Wow.”
“Jesse’s the one who suggested buying that,” Lena says, nodding at the bottle. “Ange wanted the most alcoholic thing—”
“I did not.”
“Then why were you reading the percentages aloud to us?”
“Out of curiosity!”
Genji chooses that moment to leap into the room, a nerf bullet in his hair. “I lost him, I think – he’s really mad about me messing with his stuff,” he pants. “Oh, you have alcohol? I think I have a bottle of rum somewhere-”
And then Hanzo’s standing in the doorway. “Brother,” he says, soft and dangerous. He raises the nerf gun. “Run no longer.”
“Please don’t shoot our stuff,” Aleks requests.
Genji grimaces. “Please don’t shoot me.”
“Shoot him,” urges Lena, who Fareeha thinks is something of an agent of chaos.
“Ryū ga waga teki wo kurau!” The single nerf bullet hits Genji right between the eyes. Fareeha swallows a mouthful of vanilla Galliano and grins. Genji swears, and Hanzo disappears. The green-haired young man sinks to his knees and groans.
“He shot me.”
“He sure did!” cheers Lena, laughing and clapping her hands together in delight.
“There there.” Fareeha offers him the Galliano. “Have some alcohol and drown your sorrows.”
Hana comes to join them after livestreaming something. They drink together, the seven first years of Adawe House, and they learn about each other – yes, Jesse is wearing the belt buckle with BAMF engraved into it unironically; yes, Hana is something of a celebrity – Lena googles her and the first result that appears is a Youtube video titled ‘Sujeonggwa + Chapsal Yakgwa Challenge,’ a video with five million hits; no, Genji and Hanzo do not really hate each other, but are polar opposites and Genji is, he himself admits, a little shit. Yes, Angela really does have that many plaid shirts – “I counted twenty-three,” Hana says, “and she hasn’t even finished unpacking.”
And none of them are straight. “This is the best squad,” Hana declares, after the declarations of I’m gay! and I’m bi! and I’m pan! have stopped.
Fareeha glances at Angela and feels – well, hopeful, and a bit pleased – and Angela meets her eyes and quirks her lips into a smile. There’s a fluttery feeling to Fareeha’s stomach. She knows it isn’t just the Galliano.
Later, everyone goes off to their rooms – Angela and Jesse carry Genji, who had brought his bottle of rum to the party and then drunk most of it. Hana skips along behind them, telling Angela and Jesse about something called bungeoppang and how they will have to try it. Lena’s whistling cheerfully. Her roommate hasn’t arrived yet – Jack had mentioned something about a travel delay. Fareeha and Aleks get ready for bed, talk a little while longer, and eventually Aleks drifts off to sleep at 12:30.
Fareeha lays awake for a little while longer. Down the hall, Gabriel and Mei are laughing raucously. Then Al-Farouk and Lacroix begin to dance several rooms over, their feet tapping out a steady rhythm. Outside, the Lodgers are still partying strong, shouting and carousing and chanting. She smiles, tired but happy.
It’s nice here, at Overwatch University. At Adawe House. Everyone is kind and funny and a bit odd, yes, but nice. The campus is great. She can hardly wait for classes to start.
She thinks she’s really going to love it here.