and I had no classes together.

Our pathways diverged away from that one Biophysics course that had changed everything. Quen took four courses—mostly related to Applied Physics—to fill his graduation prerequisites.

To stand a chance of getting into Biotech graduate programmes, I needed to bulk up my coding and maths skills. In my spare time, since last November, I'd picked up C++ alongside Python for its applicability in robotics.

But we still found time to see each other.

Whenever we could, we studied together in the library or Science 1 building. Quen was dragged along to the WISA bar quizzes with alarming ferocity. Riley wanted his range of Physics and music-based general knowledge to help us win. Viv wanted to boost the headcounts at each WISA event. I merely wanted my boyfriend around as much as possible.

So I also made it a point to watch Quen's badminton games and support him. Interestingly enough, somehow he'd switched his doubles partner from Noah to another woman in the club. I couldn't help the flicker of satisfaction I felt each time, seeing Noah sitting on the sidelines with the rest of the team.

Now that marching band's busiest season—coinciding with the football season—had ended, now that I had quit Topaz, a lot of the time pressure of last semester had been released. It was the Friday afternoon directly preceding the spring semester that I lay on Quen's bed feeling like Mao Mao in a pool of golden sunlight.

Content.

Quen's bedroom in his bricked apartment building was quiet. We both studied—him at his desk, myself curled in his sweatshirt on the bed—in preparation for the start of classes. I needed to sit the GRE tests before applying to grad schools, and the GRE Biology test was in April. The results—not to mention the transcripts and letters of recommendation—would absolutely not come out in time for the fall semester application deadline, which meant I wouldn't be able to start grad school until about a year from this exact day.

Since I hoped to intern in the summer and the fall, I had abundant research and coding practice to do now. But unsurprisingly, reading through a journal article about mammalian cell engineering using Cas9 protein transfection made my eyes swim and temples throb.

"Ugh," I groaned quietly, pulling my glasses off my face. Pale floaters swam in the darkness as I rubbed my eyelids with my fingers.

"Problem?" Quen asked.

I didn't have to open my eyes to envision him at this moment; a polar fleece sweater on his trim frame, his long legs folded underneath his desk, face painted with amused concern.

The more we knew each other, the longer we spent together, the better our relationship became. When we were just friends, I felt like I had to amplify the best parts of myself—my confidence, my competence—though these qualities were by no means fabricated.

But now I could be as dramatic and petulant and irrational as I liked without worrying that Quen would no longer love me. I opened my eyes.

Yeah. He looked exactly as I knew he would.

With the exception of his phone clutched discreetly under the desk.

Ever since he'd gotten Instagram, he'd fallen into a deep hole of screen time and Explore pages. I might seriously consider couple's counselling for him and Instagram.

Quen had never tried the platform, so he'd never realised how educational social media could be—how his feed could be tailor made for both entertainment and impact. Now he was a big follower of science outreach pages, news channels, but also fake profiles for Star Wars characters, tiny baking and sand ASMR accounts.

A man of many tastes.

"I thought you were studying," I told him.

Quen's eyebrow quirked when he saw my irritated face. He rose from his chair and crossed the room in two smooth strides, landing on his stomach on the mattress with a big wobble.

"Study break," he announced explanatorily.

"Just one moment," I told him, switching from the Cas9 reading to another browser on my laptop. A text document, representing another new frontier in my life. "What do you think of this paragraph?"

Quen shuffled closer to me, his chin propped up on his forearms in a mirror of my own posture. "Sorry, Tiktokkers, but your face isn't meant to be symmetrical. How social media compounds body dysphoria," he read aloud. "Is this an article for Natural Affairs?"

"Not quite. I did write an article based on a longitudinal social media study, but this is just the promotional paragraph that I'll put on Instagram. I found some old picture from a photoshoot and I'll copy this over as a caption."

"Didn't you tell me once that captions longer than one sentence are harder to engage with?"

The VIP lounge of Topaz, dark and hazy and intimate, flashed in my mind. That night we clashed verbal swords about my use of my platform.

But I feigned ignorance. "Did I?"

"You did," Quen pressed slyly, leaning closer to sweep his lips against the shell of my ear. I tamped down the shiver that ran down my spine.

"Well, I changed my mind," I said smoothly, ignoring the increasingly persistent man at my side. My eyes ran through the paragraph uninterrupted, even as my heartbeat quickened. "I want to put this out there, regardless of whether people read it."

It was about time I used my platform for more good than selling hair vitamin gummy bears. That didn't mean I wasn't nervous to start broadcasting studies and articles to my followers. Would they call my efforts half-hearted? Would they say I was appropriating publicity from more qualified scientists? Would they call me a hypocrite?

Quen leaned in closer, but not to tempt me. He pressed a kiss to my cheek. "I love that."

My chest tightened. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

I'd only recently realised that we'd started saying that aloud to each other, but for the life of me I couldn't pick out the first time we did. It was so easy and so unadorned that we'd probably been tacitly shouting it across the void between us even before we got together—at least, I certainly had.

His lips returned to my ear—the lobe this time, slowly drawn between his teeth. Quen whispered, "Study break now?"

"Hold on."

I made sure the text document synced with the cloud before substituting my laptop for my phone. I copied the paragraph from the mobile app and pasting it into a drafted Instagram post. Then, pushing through the rush of uncertainty, embracing the uncertainty, rejoicing in it, I tapped the blue checkmark.

"Phew. That was stressfu— ah!"

Quen had gripped my waist and rolled me over on the bed.

My back hit the mattress and his heart-stopping face—hungry and amused and adoring—appeared in my line of sight in a disorienting blur of movement. I laughed, all anxieties, all commitments, forgotten.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I knew the words he would say.

"Okay, okay. Let's take a study break."

I slipped my hands around Quen's neck and pulled him down to me, cherishing his smile against my own.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

For Valentine's Day, Quen and I had a sleepover at his apartment.

By coincidence, we both donned identical Science Faculty hoodies over our worn t-shirts and sweatpants. Quen cracked a broad smile when I slid out of my car holding a box of pizza and a roll of garlic bread. He was in charge of providing the soda, chips and ice cream. Not the most nutritious dinner, but definitely the most appropriate for watching movies on a cold February evening.

Noah was conveniently absent from the flat when I walked through the living room and glimpsed his open bedroom door. I didn't ask about it lest speaking his name summoned him like the devil. Instead, I followed Quen into his bedroom and started setting up our dinner on the floor. Quickly, the aroma of melted cheese filled the air, and we huddled cross-legged around the food.

"Happy Valentine's." Quen held out a mug of soda to me, and we clinked the rims together.

"Cheers." I took a small starter sip, ripped the biggest slice of pizza for myself, and bit into the piping hot morsel of heaven.

We were silent as we attacked the food. Quen seemed utterly content, but something had been causing me distress since the semester started. I was getting into the thick of writing essays for my courses, studying for GRE Biology, shortlisting grad schools and selling my extensive wardrobe of brand-sponsored items to pay for the application fees.

And all this preparation for the future made me terrifying aware of how it could tear me away from Quen.

"What are you going to do after graduation?"

"Try to find work. Travel a bit," Quen answered casually, even while my palms grew clammy with fear. I knew our lives were separate entities, and our relationship was still so new—relative to how long I intended us to be together—but the thought of being wrenched away from him struck a bolt of fear into my heart.

I feigned nonchalance. "Anywhere you want to travel in particular?"

"I'd love to live in Chicago. It seems like a cool city." I haven't applied there.

"Oh," I breathed. "I've shortlisted grad schools all over the country. Not Chicago, though. Mostly East Coast. New York, Cambridge, a bunch in New Jersey. One in San Fran. One in Texas."

Quen paused his chewing. His eyes roamed my face before he swallowed and said, "I've also wanted to live in New York, Cambridge and New Jersey. San Fran and Texas, too."

I frowned. "Quen..."

Quen fervently shook his head at the doubt scrawled across my face. I couldn't help it. Much as I presented a confident, in-control image to the world, I would always have fears I couldn't soothe. What if the world interrupted us? What if we compromised for each other and ended up regretting it? What if we didn't, and regretted that more?

Quen was the image of surety. "I'll go where you go, baby." My throat tightened. He coughed. "That is, if you want me to."

I'll go where you go.

My heart promptly melted. Rising onto my knees, I crawled over the pile of junk food between us and dropped a soft kiss on his cheek. "I do want you to." A kiss on the other cheek. "I always want you with me." One on his forehead. "Thank you. So much."

That was my best attempt at voicing the warm gratitude that filled me, top to toe. Sure, Quen had flexible options in the STEM industry. He was qualified for software engineering, and his skill set was transferrable. But choosing to follow me wherever I ended up, whenever I did, whatever may come...

That was a commitment I didn't take lightly.

And, though Quen cleared his throat and dedicated concerted amounts of effort to examining the garlic bread in his hands, I knew he didn't take it lightly either. We ate in silence, disposed of the packaging, washed our hands and then claimed the bed.

"I'm so glad I met you," I sighed, curling into his side. His arm came around my shoulders, and his gentle murmur was answer enough. I knew he felt the same.

Being around Quen was so peaceful; even without speaking, he made all my worries fade away. I felt the most safe, the most confident and the most competent whenever I was with him.

Though, it was exactly for that reason that I was glad we'd only gotten together recently. If Quen and I had found each other earlier in our friendship, he would have whisked away my tiredness, motivated me through my slumps, encouraged me through my doubts and comforted me through any criticisms. I had wanted that dearly.

But I didn't need that. I had needed the tiredness, slumps, doubts and criticism. My life used to appear perfect, except it had never been perfect for me. I was trying to be something I was not, and making commitments that drained me—as opposed to now: when my life was clearly flawed and risky. I needed to be challenged, not comforted.

Now my whole future looked like a mess. I was surviving on a freelancer's income. I was changing my social media platform into a more science-communicative one. There were loose ends, diverging crossroads and hazy footpaths. Sentences that ended midway, and plenty of ellipses. I had thousands of questions and no answers.

Except for one answer: Quen.

He was my universal constant. Whenever I thought of how my life had changed, the points I had been courageous and the moments that made me whole, his smile illuminated every scene, his encouragement guiding me through.

"Now comes the most important decision," he said sternly, his laptop resting on his other side.

I lifted my head from his chest, where I'd been blissfully listening to his heartbeat, and straightened my glasses. "Hm?"

Quen lowered his chin and stared me down theatrically. "Prequel, original, or sequel trilogy?"

I replicated his expression with gusto. "Important decision, indeed."

"On the count of three?" Quen quipped. "One, two, three..."

"Sequel," I unabashedly announced.

At the same time, he said, "Original." Quen pulled a disgusted face, while I scoffed and prepared myself for a debate.

But at the last moment, he sighed, "You have terrible taste," even while he started searching the streaming site for Episode VII. It was a slower process, navigating the trackpad one-handedly, because he refused to remove his other arm from around me. I probably wouldn't have let him either.

I grinned triumphantly and laid my head back down, snuggling closer to Quen. "The worst taste," I echoed, not believing my words at all.

In fact, when it came to what truly mattered, I knew without a doubt: I'd always chosen right.

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I love the contented part of relationships. Just spending time and talking with each other. I think Krista and and Quen are so well-suited because they could go out and party and get drunk if they wanted to (or if Viv dragged them, lol) but they are most at peace in each other's company.

Your lover should be your safe space!

And it was hard making stubborn, combative Viv a safe space for anyone, lol, but I'm also so excited for how Blackout turned out. She and Jamie are *chef's kiss*

Hope you give it a chance if you liked this story!

Aimee x