Work Text:
Desmond liked his seven thirty morning Art History class unlike about ninety percent of the freshmen he called classmates.
It met only twice a week—Tuesday and Thursday— and they were usually out of there by eight thirty. The time of day was perfect because he essentially was a night owl, getting to the club at nine and leaving at three in the morning. It was taught by a short, plump woman of ambiguous ethnicity who was as funny as she was informative, and her class literally consisted of about three exams and a final—the final being optional. He’d only taken one of the exams so far and it had been stressful to say the least. Her test was literally a slideshow and you only got thirty seconds for each question. By some miracle he managed to get a high B.
That being said there was this guy. Desmond only noticed him about week three of the semester. It was a big lecture hall so it was easy to not notice people. This guy though, sat in the row behind him against the wall. He always came to class with dark circles under his eyes but looking ready to take notes, then he’d be out like a light by the time the projector warmed up. Sometimes the guy would mumble in his sleep the most adorable, incoherent babbling that Desmond had ever witnessed.
It was clearly a major source of stress for the guy if the loud curse he let out when the exams were handed back was any indication. Desmond felt bad for him, because he wasn’t a morning person either until he completely switched to the sleep-all-day-up-all-night life.
The class period after they got their exams back, the professor dismissed them and the guy didn"t move. Desmond figure he couldn’t just leave him there so he walked over and very carefully nudge him. “Hey, man, class is over.”
The guy bolted upright looking around like he was lost. When he saw Desmond, his cheeks turned a bright pink and he began to collect his things. “Thank you. Guess I nodded off.”
“Yeah, you tend to do that.” The guy didn"t seem to notice Desmond had said anything else. Desmond stuck out his hand. “I’m Desmond.”
Hurriedly shoving things into his bag, the guy didn"t offer his own hand. “Shaun, and I’m late so pardon me if I just—” and then the guy hoofed it for the door. That had been a really British accent.
Desmond smiled. “Shaun.”
Thursday rolled around and Desmond came early, double fisting two lattes. He finished his own and, set the second, a tall mocha latte with Shaun’s name on, on the little desk part of his classmate’s usual seat before sitting in his own. Desmond didn’t look to see Shaun’s reaction to the beverage but later, when he turned to give a stack of handouts that were being passed around, the other student was asleep but clutching the coffee.
It was kind of cute.
The next class Desmond printed out two copies of the notes he’d typed up instead of one, and left it with the latte. He wasn’t entirely sure what he thought he was doing, being the class note fairy. It was just that the lectures were really important to this Art History class. Paying attention meant not having to memorize the entire history of Western Art from the Prehistoric Era to the Renaissance because only certain things from the textbook would be on the exams. Attending lecture could be the difference between passing and failing, unlike other classes he’d taken. So he printed out the notes, got the guy a coffee and hoped it helped. The guy looked really worn out.
The exchange went on like that for about four class periods; Desmond got there early, placed the notes and coffee, and then sat in his seat. He made sure to always finish his own coffee on the way encase Shaun saw the cup from the same little cafe. It took all his will power not to turn around every time Shaun came in and to watch his reaction. It would give the game away. But about half way through class he’d find an excuse to either get up or look behind him to see Shaun. He was surprised after the third time he left the coffee when he looked back at Shaun half way through the class and his classmate was still awake. Barely, but his eyes were open and he was watching their teacher like he still had some of his cognitive functions. Desmond beamed. His help might actually be working.
The fifth time, Desmond arrived with the spare coffee and the notes and was startled when Shaun was already there, very much awake and waiting with eyes on the door.
Desmond had two options at that point. Play it off like the latte was his own, or man up and go for it. There were infinite possibilities in the how it could go wrong but he was caught now. If things went well…
Taking a deep breath he turned down Shaun’s row like he always did and lightly set the cup and notes down without a word. Shaun stared at him, eyes vacant. When Desmond turned to continue down to his own seat Shaun grabbed his arm. “Hey—“
Desmond stopped and turned to Shaun, who seemed to be frozen in whatever sentence he had been trying to say before. “Yeah?”
Shaun shook his head a bit, and sighed. “Sit here or back at your seat, it’s all the same to me.”
Desmond folded his arms. “Are you inviting me to sit with you?”
Shaun made an indignant noise, letting Desmond go. “It was more that I observing that you are already here, near an empty seat and moving at this point would be a wasted effort.”
Desmond pretended to think it over. “Eh, it is a bit of a walk.” He sat down and pulled out his notebook. “So when did you start regretting signing up for a morning class?”
“Not all of us can be morning people,” Shaun said, rolling his eyes dramatically.
“Actually I"ve been up since eight o’clock yesterday. I’m nocturnal.”
Shaun laughed bitterly. “Of course you are. Oh Lord, I’m going to regret this aren"t I?”
Desmond smirked. “More then you could possible imagine.
By the end of the class period they were sharing an arm rest and their knees were nearly touching and Desmond couldn"t have been more thrilled.