A sigh rippled out of Holly Martin's mouth, though it was muted by her hand as a yawn followed. The screen was filled with yet another slide of a famous art piece, this time done by Florentine artists. "The Story of Esther" displayed repeated figures of a procession, the march of the characters to the banqueting hall at the right end drawing the eye. However, it was the fifth piece dedicated to the day's subject matter, analyzing narrative elements in paintings and other artwork. She tapped the end of her pen lightly against the notebook in front of her, the chant of how it was just an elective to help her graduate echoing in her head.

It was what kept her sane after the class had started six weeks ago. Senioritis was catching up to her terribly, and she was determined to beat it back as best she could. Her fourth and final year at St. Joseph's in New York City (a choice that had her parents terrified for her, given that she had to move from Minnesota just to attend the school, period) was going well, thus far, and was comparatively smoother than the previous ones. And therein lay the problem: it was easier, and less of challenge led her mind to wander more often than not. Just had to make it through the Art History elective, and a couple of English and writing courses, and then she was done with college. The prospect of being finished with school was a little scary, but at that point, she would have gladly taken it. Art was not her strong suit, but the emphasis was placed on the movements behind the pieces and not the techniques, so she could live with it. On top of that, the professor teaching it often tried to incorporate other creative elements to the subject matter. Such was the case at that moment, and while the idea of narratives in art should have been fascinating to her, she was ready to get out for the day.

Professor Hill clicked through to the last slide, bullet points listed for the next project for the class. A nearly silent wave of groans followed, with papers being shuffled around as well. The project was to find examples of narrative art through history, making connections between the subjects and the ideas portrayed by them. After the comparison was made, the next step was to create a narrative artwork themselves. Running down the points, she turned towards the classroom again, steely blue eyes leveled at her students even as she walked around the counter at the front, heels clicking against the tile.

"As stated in the syllabus, this project will require a partner," she said, gesturing to the students and arching a brow pointedly. Smoothing back a stray piece of hair into her utilitarian bun, she also remarked, "And since I haven't failed to notice trends among my students in my classes, I will request you partner up with somebody new this time around."

A more audible wave of groans and mutterings echoed around the class. Projects for the course weren't new by that point, but being forced to pair up with a stranger was. Holly glanced to her left, the petite blonde woman beside her letting out a huff of breath. Of course, the one class she'd gotten with her best friend over the last couple of years in college, and she couldn't work with her more than once, apparently. It was a shame, too; Sarah Collins was the far more creative of the two, and would have been valuable help to Holly.

At the front of the room, Professor Hill held up a hand, shaking her head at the lot of them before she raised her voice to speak again.

"I mean it, guys. I have the last couple of projects as my evidence," she told them firmly, flicking her fingers towards the massive binder she'd carried in with her at the start of class, as she had done since the beginning of the semester. Resting a hip against the counter, she folded her arms and let the corner of her mouth curve. "You have three weeks before we start presentations. You'll have the next twenty minutes before class ends to choose and get cracking."

Off her cue, the classroom of students began to slowly look around and move seats, the murmur of voices raising as the others began to ask around about partnering up.

"Crap," Holly groaned, sitting back in her seat and tilting her head up at the ceiling. Her loose hair fell back with her, brown waves stuck between her body and the top lip of the chair as she let out another breath. Beside her, Sarah shrugged, taking a look around the room.

"Sorry, Holl. Guess we gotta do this," she said, the apologetic tone in her voice causing her friend to look at her. Holly's dark eyes creased at the corners, and she waved off Sarah's muted concern.

"Yeah, I guess," she said, looking to her right and finding her nearest seat partner already engaged with another person. Therefore, she failed to notice Sarah giving her a sidelong glance, an eyebrow rising as she lit upon an idea.

"And I know just who you can go for," she teased, green eyes growing bright as they cut across the room. Seeing exactly who she was looking at, Holly nearly flushed scarlet and set her jaw. Her gaze focused on the young man on the opposite side of the room, blond hair flopping over his forehead as he examined his own notebook briefly. She had noticed him on the first day of class; it was hard not to, considering he was quite tall and built well. His posture, however, spoke of quietness, of trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. He'd showed up just before the professor had shut the door, barely making the cut-off and smiling crookedly in apology before finding a seat near the wall.

It was his place, and had been since then. And since then, she would glance to him, occasionally connecting with his bright blue gaze, nods passed whenever one arrived or the other left.

Still, she had never spoken to him, much less gone up and asked if he was willing to work on a project with her. Something Sarah knew all too well, given how her friend had whispered to her about him on and off over the last several weeks. Holly leveled her gaze back at her friend, pinching the bridge of her nose and shaking her head.

"No," she murmured out the corner of her mouth, pen fiddled between her fingers before she started to close up her notebook. "Besides, he probably has someone lined up already. Just, let me think for a minute."

Sarah rolled her eyes, her bag grabbed up from the floor. "That's the problem. You think, therefore you never do."

Holly snorted audibly. "Not even how the quote goes, you dork."

"Still, you gotta try sometimes, Holl," the petite blonde pointed out, the levity giving way to the honesty. The brunette beside her chewed her lip, knowing that she was not inaccurate. She had a tendency to play it safe when it came to socializing and meeting new people. Meeting guys was something she definitely didn't often venture to do on her own. Sarah rose from her chair, tugging on her sleeve and gesturing for her to grab her things. "C'mon."

"Sare, please," Holly grumbled under her breath, shooting her a fast look. However, the younger woman was not even looking at her anymore. Instead, she was bodily turned to face the side of the room where the guy was sitting. Waving at him, she flapped her hand to come over when he met her gaze. A bemused smile graced his lips as he stood, his backpack and notebook in hand as he began to tread across the hall. Holly felt the sick plummet in her gut and her face paling as she realized what her friend was doing. Grabbing at the hem of her jacket, she tugged and crowed softly, "Sarah, don't—"

She clamped her lips shut when the blond fellow had gotten within earshot, the pair of women looking up at him. Sarah recovered first, hands going to her hips.

"Hey, guy. You have a partner yet?" she asked him, and when he shook his head no, she grinned broadly. Her thumb hooked at Holly, and she muttered, "Good, neither does she."

In a whirl of movement, the small blonde woman pivoted on her heel. A pointed look was flashed at her friend before she flounced away, leaving a bewildered young man and a mortified Holly in her wake.

The fellow's blue gaze widened significantly as he watched her go, turning it back onto Holly after a few moments.

"Oh, uh…" he trailed off, a bashful look creasing his features. The young woman before him felt more heat flood her face, and she closed her eyes in frustration.

"I, I'm so sorry. She, she just..." she apologized, unable to think of an excuse for her friend's brashness. She'd been like that since they'd met two years ago, the petite blonde a forceful whirlwind in her life on occasion. Often, it helped her to get out of her comfort zone, opened her up to new things, but in that instant, it seemed to have been more of a hindrance. Opening her eyes, she held up a palm, brushing away the awkwardness hovering between them. "Look, you don't have to be my partner or anything. I can just as easily…"

"No!" he crowed, cutting her off abruptly. When she blinked at him, he scratched at the back of his neck, sinking down into Sarah's vacated seat. "No, I'm okay with being your partner, if you're okay with being mine."

Holly blinked again, that time in pleasant surprise. Focusing on him a bit more intently, she took in the cut of his jaw, the sky blue of his eyes and the half-smile now curving his lips. She felt the little squick in her stomach flutter, the one that had been surfacing on and off more frequently over the last couple of weeks whenever she saw him in class. Minutely, she dipped her chin, knocking herself out of her examinations and letting her own smile grow.

"Uh, sure. Yeah, that would be great." Sitting up straighter in her seat, she proffered a hand to him. "So, um, I'm Holly."

His grin grew warmer, and he took her hand in his, softening callouses pressing into her skin as he shook her hand.

"Steve. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too," she intoned, dropping his hand after a few more seconds. Clearing her throat, she glanced up at the overhead screen, eyeing the bullet points for the project again. "So, project ideas. Got any off the top of your head? Because I don't."

"I might have one or two," he confessed, removing a binder from his bag and opening up to the syllabus. That, combined with the requirements on the slide still projected on the screen, allowed the pair of them to have an open dialogue about the project. Between them, they would attempt to create a narrative through art as well, through the medium of photography, and compare it to a couple of other works they would be emulating. It would take a little while, but it seemed a solid plan. It was easy, then, to exchange emails and phone numbers to keep in touch over the next few weeks. Not only that, but they planned to commandeer one of the practice rooms in the basement of the fine arts building (Holly thanked her good luck that she had the one year with the choir granting her the chance to know room reserving protocol).

That decided, Steve shot her another pleased grin as the clock's hand moved, the end of the hour marking the end of class as well. They both rose from their chairs, the rest of the class filtering out around them as they collected their own books and coats. At the back of the room, Holly caught Sarah shooting her an exaggerated wink before she left with her partner (a bigger guy with long, blond hair and a t-shirt sporting a collage of superhero images). Scooping up her backpack and coat, the brunette paused as Steve loitered next to her, walking with her out the door and down the hall to the stairs.

"Guess we part ways here," he noted quietly, flapping a hand up the staircase as she took the step down. Her next course was on the first floor, his on the fourth. Waving to her, he murmured, "See you in a couple days, Princess."

Holly jerked to a stop, taken aback by the blatant nickname. "Excuse me?"

Twin spots of pink erupted along his cheekbones, and he gestured at her. "Your shirt."

Glancing down, Holly felt another flush invade her skin. She'd forgotten that she had been wearing an old Princess Leia tee that morning. Shrugging a shoulder, she tucked a couple of loose strands of her hair behind her ear.

"Oh, right," she muttered, the offense and confusion she'd felt in the moment dissipating. Looking back at him once more, she couldn't help herself in shooting him a cheeky smirk. "Sure, see you then, Nerfherder."

She'd barely gotten three steps down before she heard the bark of his laughter.

"But I'm not scruffy-looking!" he retorted as she turned the corner, and she giggled to herself as she kept going. Maybe working with Steve wouldn't be so bad…she still planned on giving Sarah a piece of her mind for the set-up, though. Just a little.

xXxXxXx

As promised, two days later Holly found herself flying down the far stairwell in the fine arts building, her Creative Writing class having ended just minutes before. The professor had, once again, gotten caught up in describing the novel he was working on submitting to a publisher, attempting to link it in any way to the material of the subject he taught. After his long-winded droning ended, she knew she was going to be a little late in meeting Steve. As she was out the door, she pulled out her phone, quickly firing off a text to let him know she was on the way.

Hitting the last step, she swiftly pushed the heavy door open, stopping short when she saw her project partner waiting for her. He was leaning near the office nearest to the practice rooms, a loaded duffel bag in one hand and his backpack in the other. His coat had been opened, cooling him off as he waited for her to arrive. Spying her, a small grin pulled at his lips, her apologies brushed off as she hastily scribbled down their names for Practice Room C. Since it was midday, the rooms were open, and the music professors in charge of their upkeep were far more flexible about their occupants at that time.

The room itself was small, with a single chair and a music stand in the corner, but they were quick to work around it. Pulling the chair to the center of the room, Steve dropped the duffel next to the doorway, digging through it as he asked Holly to move the stand in front of the chair and to tilt into a flat, table-like position. The age of the stand allowed her to manipulate it easily. Thick, heavy cloth came into his hand, along with an old textbook. Laying down the book first, it met the height of the lip of the stand perfectly, lending it a wider surface. The cloth was laid over it next, transforming it into a sort of pedestal or end table. Reaching on and off into the bag, he continued to scatter a few items atop it: a set of books cut halfway down the middle (blasphemy, in her mind), strings of beads hanging off the end, a pendant with an oval and clearly fake crystal in the center.

It was when Steve told her she could have a seat that she balked a little. It had been discussed and agreed upon, her being part of the picture, but she had not quite adjusted to the idea. After a couple of minutes, she let her backpack drop next to his on the ground, her coat and scarf landing on top of it. Fingers curled up in the ends of her sleeves of her green sweater as she sat, swallowing a bit.

"Are you sure you want to use me as a model?" she asked, a dubious expression on her face. The blond man stooped by his bag, withdrawing a beautiful digital camera. Turning it on and checking the settings, he glanced over at her, the corner of his mouth curving.

"Yeah, I'm sure. We split up the duties evenly, right? You write with my input, I take the pictures with your help," he repeated their plan aloud, and she sat back in the chair, conceding to it. Straightening, he caught the flicker of diffidence in her eyes, and he attempted to soothe her further. "Besides, it just a few progressions of photos. Nothing crazy, I promise."

Nodding at that, she met his gaze again.

"So no clothes off, right?" she tried to joke, arms crossing briefly over her middle. Steve's face rapidly changed color, his head ducking as he shuffled his feet.

"N-no, uh, no. You can keep your clothes on, not that I would assume otherwise or anything." His flustered air had her biting her lip against a giggle, a little guilt filling her at the discomfort she'd wrought. Clearing his throat a couple of times, he caught the playful set of her features, and he let himself chuckle then. Scratching the back of his neck, he muttered, "Just…yeah, no, fully-clothed modeling."

Taking a little pity on him, she softened her expression, sitting in the chair.

"Alright, I can do that," she said, hands in her lap and sitting primly. Looking up at him, she could practically see the mask he was donning. Intense concentration and scrutiny was in his gaze, assessing eyes flicking over her and making a different sort of nerves turn her stomach. Suddenly unsure of what to do with herself, she moved her palms to rest on the disguised stand, fingers brushing against the props. "Like this?"

Steve nodded, slinging the strap of the camera around his neck as he approached her.

"Yeah. Here…" He fished among the props, selected the amulet. The idea of what it would look like once he pieced everything together was coming alive in his head, and he took in the sight of her again. Her dark brown eyes flicked up at him again, the slight dip of her chin causing her loose, brown waves to shift over her shoulders, and he discreetly swallowed. Handing the amulet to her, her brow screwed up. It was far lighter than either of them had surmised, the clever use of paint and detail work making the foam-and-cardboard concoction actually appear like metalwork. "Okay, hold this. Look at it like you're looking at a prized artifact."

"Or the weirdest tribute ever," she muttered, and Steve couldn't help another chuckle at that. Peering at it closer, and then looking at the rest of the stuff spread before her, she wondered, "Where did this all even come from?"

"I have a friend who makes props for the theater department," Steve explained, rearranging a couple of the sawed books to fill in the space left behind. "She loaned me a few for the project. I may have had to promise my soul in case anything happens to them, but eh."

The slight pull at the corners of his mouth told her he was teasing, and she felt her own respond. An unwelcome twist registered in her gut, but she pushed past it. Squinting up at him, she tried to hang onto the genuine curiosity, rather than the sick feeling daring to push up in her.

"Who is she?"

Steve shrugged a shoulder.

"Her name's Natasha. You've probably seen her around the fine arts building: red hair, dressed in black, and armed to the teeth with tools." Holly's brow furrowed, her mouth opening in denial until the mental image clicked with a memory a few weeks old. She had seen a young woman matching that description passing between the main stage theater space and what was called the black box, fiery hair practically flying behind her as she ran, the clink of heavy chains clattering in her wake. As the mental match-up occurred in Holly's mind, Steve continued talking. "She and Clint are forever skulking around, trying to find those hidden vaults and passages that are supposed to be under the buildings on campus."

Holly's eyes lit up, and her free hand cupped the air. "I've heard about those. Someone told me they all lead to the exact center of campus and that ritual sacrifices were held there in the mid-1800's."

Steve halted in his steps, having started to move backward to begin taking pictures. The baffled look on his features was liberally laced with amusement at her pronouncement.

"That's a new one," he murmured, raising an eyebrow. "Who told you that?"

"Some senior after I got done with freshman orientation. I have yet to find it." She shrugged it off, the glitter in her gaze making him narrow his gaze thoughtfully upon her. Before he could inquire further into her own ventures, she cut him off with another question. "Who is Clint?"

"Nat's boyfriend, works as a techie for the theater, too. Likes the catwalk a bit too much, if you ask me," he stated, eyes creasing at the corners a little. With that said, he held up the camera once more, peering at the viewfinder. "Okay, so pose, and hold still."

Doing as he asked, she held up the prop amulet and stared at it like it was a priceless heirloom. She attempted to temper her breathing, her ears picking every click of the shutter button and shuffle of Steve's feet as he stepped back and around. She was to be the subject on the far right of the photographic portrait they would make, his own section to be edited and added digitally later. She began to squirm a little in her seat, but she dutifully kept her gaze focused on the prop in hand. It took her a few moments to realize he had stopped, but when she did, she immediately lowered her hand and looked at him. He stepped closer to her again.

"Let me just…" He reached out then, fingers brushing gently at the long bangs framing her face. Carefully, the pads swept down to her chin, gently persuading her to tilt her head to the left and up a bit. From that angle, she was looking him directly in the eye, the sky blue of his irises seeming to cloud over as the callouses skimmed over her skin. Barely repressing a shiver, she inhaled deeply.

"Better?" she asked, the tone of her voice a little breathier than before. A hard swallow bobbed his Adam's apple, and he dipped his chin in a nod.

"…Yeah," he confirmed, his hand dropping and tucking into his pocket as he backed away. Going back to the safety on the other side of the room and hoisting up his camera, he bade her to pick up the prop again, and to not move. Holly readily complied, butterflies fluttering with every click and shift of the shutter button. The final one resounded, and he lowered the camera, smiling at her. "All done. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Guess not." Grinning at him, she dropped the prop back onto the stand, pulling her phone out of her pocket to check the time. It was after one o'clock, and her stomach was starting to twist in hunger since she hadn't eaten yet. Biting her lip, she turned her attention onto Steve, the bigger fellow carefully packing away his camera and opening the duffel to stow the props and cloth in it again. Taking a deep breath, she found her courage to speak her mind. "So...I haven't eaten lunch yet. Do you want to head over to the student union, hit the caf?"

Steve looked up at her then, and he tilted his head to the side.

"Well, I gotta drop this stuff off with Nat first, but...sure. My next class doesn't start until three today."

The unbidden smile on her lips was wrestled down as she assisted him in the clean-up, the pair disembarking for a quick bite shortly after delivering the goods back to their proper place.

xXxXxXx

Over their shared lunch, the two project partners were given the chance to get to know one another. In between bites of his burrito, Steve asked after her, the accent she had striking him since they'd first spoken. Confessing that she was a transplant from the Midwest, Minnesota specifically, her lips quirked into a grin when she stated that were the situations reversed, he'd be the one with an accent. Conceding that, the self-proclaimed New York native asked next about her family. Learning about her brother and sister, both of whom lived within a few hours of their hometown (home suburb, really, but a lot calmer than the city, that was for sure), along with her parents, had him wondering about her relocation out East and to the Big Apple itself. Adventure, she'd claimed, or just the wish to try and be somewhere the rest of her family hadn't been.

Steve himself was a Brooklyn boy, born and raised in the borough. His mother lived about ten blocks away from the campus, in fact, in the same apartment he'd grown up in (though he didn't live with her, he hastened to note, and she chuckled at his insistence). He vaguely mentioned traveling, but details seemed to be sparse, and she thought better than to push. Instead, she asked after his mother, and any siblings he might have. Explaining that he was the only child of only children, he didn't have much for family but his mother, and that truly wasn't a problem for him.

Plenty of opportunity to make friends, and make a family that way, he'd proclaimed, and she privately admired him for his tenacity. Conversation began to wander to other topics, to Holly's continued devotion to Star Wars—with Steve pointing to her R2-D2 themed phone case—as well as to Steve's well-worn novel (Moby-Dick, as it turned out. Steve was finding it very engaging, while Holly snorted and muttered about still rooting for the whale, even though she hadn't read it since freshman year). The shared joy of literature sparked a debate upon films adapted from certain books, though they were cut short by the alarm on her phone going off. She would have to be off-campus soon for work at a coffee shop several streets away, and had to get moving.

(As she was bending to get her bag, Steve muttered about needing to get to class, the flash of disappointment on his face unseen. Hers, too, was hidden.)

Before either left, a plan for the next day they would collaborate on their Art History project was forged. Between their schedules (both of them had part-time jobs on top of school, which limited their free time), they were able to decipher that the upcoming Sunday would work out well for them. Noting that it would be likely that the library's meeting rooms and computer labs would be filled over the weekend, Holly suggested meeting up at her place, given the proximity of it to campus in case they needed any extra materials. Her shy grin grew when Steve nodded in agreement, asking almost eagerly for her address and the time to meet up. They parted ways after their trays and dishes were turned in, little waves and promises to get in touch before meeting up again passed before they separated.

The young brunette woman was a bundle of nerves when Sunday rolled around, with her scampering about the student housing space allotted to her and her roommates. Sarah was one, and another girl called Lillian (sweet girl, for all her electric blue hair and her multiple piercings attributing to the hardcore look she attempted to pull off) made up the third for their suite, the building having been purchased and refurbished for upperclassmen housing a couple years prior. The small kitchen was well enough, with their own table brought in from trolling secondhand stores in the neighborhood. But the living room bore the evidence of three young women sharing a small, public space: several books littered the floor and the couch, DVD cases were sprawled along with a few magazines, and she had found one of her own bras that had escaped the laundry basket when she folded things up Friday night. Scolding herself for not being tidier earlier, she'd barely managed to pitch the garment away and get things into neat piles when her phone vibrated in her pocket. It was a common enough occurrence those days, as in between classes she and Steve had gotten into the habit of sending random pictures back and forth, or even just asking after each other's days. An unbidden grin grew as she read that he'd arrived and would be on his way up, but it fell away as she darted to each of her roommates' rooms. Lillian was out, gone to visit her family on Long Island for the weekend, but Sarah was still there. The petite blonde gave her a knowing look and a grand smirk when she announced that Steve was on his way up, but she easily conceded to her request to not push or tease. Pointedly, Sarah plugged her ear-buds into her laptop and then placed the ends in her ears, pulling up Netflix and mumbling about not wishing to overhear too much.

It turned out that she didn't have to worry as much as she had; Steve had given her apartment a good once-over after being welcomed in, and declared it a cool place. Nicer than his, but then again, he wasn't living on the college's property and having to pay extra in tuition for it. Holly relaxed at his pronouncement, merely sticking her tongue out at him and gesturing for him to have a seat at the table. A couple cans of soda were liberated from her own stash in the fridge, and a bag of tortilla chips were split between them as they set up their laptops, both cracking down on their individual duties. The click and whir of Steve's mouse as he worked upon the photographs and pulled up the portraits they were using for comparison were met with Holly's outward musings and the rapid tap of her fingers as she cranked away at the paper that was to accompany it. The last step would be note cards for the presentation they would have to make, but that could be put off until the paper was totally finished. An hour had passed in that fashion, the pair sharing ideas—along with a couple of cracks and jokes in between—the afternoon winding down pleasantly enough.

Holly briefly lifted a hand, cupping the air as she thought aloud. "..So the comparison between the stories links up through the body language of subjects themselves, and how they react to what is going on around them, like in the painting. And also in the pictures."

"Right," Steve responded, his tongue poking out between his lips as he manipulated the mouse. The confirmation had her mind churning onward, and she resumed typing, the flow they had developed over the afternoon continuing as before. She wrote, he worked on the photo files, and every so often they would touch base with each other. Sometimes touching base involved a mild tease or joke, and the atmosphere around them was one of pleasant collaboration.

Saving the project file several minutes later, Steve risked a glance over at Holly. What he was starting to think of as her 'hard thinking' line appeared on her forehead as her fingers clew over the keyboard of her laptop. Getting up, he read what she'd written over her shoulder, hands braced on his knees and his blue gaze widening.

"Wow, you really cleaned that up well."

Holly's mouth curved up, but her gaze remained on the screen as she typed. "Thanks. I dabble a bit in writing."

He let out an impressed whistle, smirking when she glanced over her shoulder at him. "I'd say. The English major classes seem to really be paying off."

"I suppose."

Leaning his arms on the back of her chair, he wondered, "After this, are you gonna start the next great American novel?"

She halted in her typing, biting her lip and debating telling him the truth. Glancing up at him, at the open sweetness in his expression, she couldn't help herself.

"I do have an idea for a book, but...well, it sort has been done before." She lifted a shoulder, tapping her thumb against the grain of the table. "I just hope I can make the story good enough that people will be able to gloss over that."

Steve's smile became all the warmer, and he dipped his chin at the document upon the screen.

"If your book is anything like your papers, I think they will have no problem with that whatsoever," he told her, earning a shy and delighted grin for his efforts. Pure pleasure pooled in him, and he asked her, "Have you written any of it yet?"

Holly nodded eagerly, glad to share a little bit more with him. "Working on it."

Steve leaned a tad closer, and she stiffened in her seat, heat flaming up inside her as he did so.

"Think I could get a sneak peek?" he implored, blue eyes widening and the timber of his voice affecting her deeply. Taking a moment, she swallowed discreetly and tried to collect herself. She looked at him then, brown eyes assessing as she smirked.

"Sure, when you let me look in that notebook you try to keep hidden," she retorted, pointing at the notebook in question. It was thick, a black leather cover encompassing it, and he had guarded that thing like it was his most prized possession. She had caught him scratching in it a few times, but he ether guarded it with his elbow whenever she dared to peek or just shut it entirely.

"Hmm," he grunted, clicking his tongue and taking his seat again. Purposefully, he moved the aforementioned notebook a little out of reach, but not entirely out of sight. The message was clear: not that day, but perhaps someday, he would let her see the contents.

The hopeful spark in her chest was difficult to ignore, but she valiantly turned her attention back onto the document on the screen.

Another half hour passed, but Holly's concentration was waning. Instead, she found herself examining the young man in her presence. The intensity of his expression had solidified, the photo editing program exercised under his command. Something about it, though, spoke to her. She may not have been gifted in the visual arts, but she could still see, could still detect and infer upon a person's nuances. The blond fellow held himself upright in his seat, no slouching allowed, his concentration complete. Down to his very bearing, he seemed...older, beyond his years even. A random question that had been nagging at the back of her mind surfaced then, one that she hadn't felt comfortable asking over texts. Biting her lip, she gently pushed away her laptop, propping up her chin in her hand.

"Steve, can I ask you a question?"

He flicked his gaze over to her, barely inclining his head. "Sure."

"How old are you?" she wondered, the bluntness of her tone making even her cringe. Coughing, she dropped her hand and let her fingers flick through the air, trying to brush it away. "I know you said you're non-trad, but, I mean, I don't want to offend you—"

Steve held up a hand, a soft chuckle pouring out. "It's okay, really. I'm twenty-six."

Holly blinked at that, the answer not quite what she was expecting. "Oh, wow. I mean, you're not as old as Candice in my program, but I was wondering."

"Yeah." Steve's gaze focused on a point above the kitchen cabinets, the smile on his lips fading. "I started on track, but…I got deployed midway through."

Holly's eyebrows nearly hit her hairline.

"You were in the army?" In their time sending short, pleasant messages to each other, it hadn't come up. Suddenly, a few things about him made much more sense: the locked-in posture, the fastidious nature of his notes when he shared them with her...

"Mm-hmm," he affirmed aloud, disrupting her thoughts and shrugging minutely. "Did a tour, came home."

Pulled from her musings, she leaned forward a little in her seat, truly curious. "How long?"

Fingers moved to collect his pen, and he began to fiddle with it as his gaze dropped back onto his notes sitting beside his computer. Chewing the inside of his lip for a few seconds, Steve took in another breath.

"Two years. And after that…I had…stuff to deal with. It was hard to adjust to civilian life again, and…"

"And?" Holly breathed, wondering what he would say next. When she noticed the set of his jaw, the darkening of his irises before his gaze fell to his hands, she muttered a curse at herself. She knew better than to pry; it was just that Steve had truly surprised her with what he had shared. But that underlying hurt, just beneath it all, hit her then, and she ducked her head in shame. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's…" His eyes squeezed shut again, and he took a ragged breath, the loss still paining him as he thought about it. "I lost my best friend. We were friends from kindergarten up. We were in the same unit overseas even, but…one day, out on maneuvers…I came back. Buck didn't."

The sick, tight feeling in her gut pulled at her even harder. To lose a friend was one thing, but to lose one's best friend from childhood? The clear sorrow he still felt rippled through him, and she couldn't begin to imagine what it would have been like to experience such a thing. She didn't even think about her. Her hand moved on its own accord, curling around his in an effort to comfort. The sorrow she felt on his behalf surfaced in her when he merely kept his eyes closed, and she squeezed his fingers gently.

"I'm so sorry, Steve."

He nodded once, taking a few deep breaths before he opened his eyes again and looked at her.

"Once I was out, I didn't know how to deal with…everything. Took a couple odd jobs, felt like I was losing my mind." He tried to give her a grin, but it was strained at best. He didn't like the look of sorrow on her face, didn't want her to think that she had to pity him. Squeezing her fingers in return, he tipped his head to the right, letting out a small sigh. "Another good friend of mine helped me get back on track. Started going to group sessions at the V.A. with him, learned to deal with things a little bit at a time. Got me back on my feet, made me want to finish my degree."

At that, Holly's chin raised, and her other hand joined with theirs, her palms smoothing over the knuckles and wrist.

"And next year, you'll get it," she declared, total confidence in her tone. After all, if he was able to still pick himself up and find a way to cope, to move on with his life after living through the horror of war and loss, how could he not? The bit of assurance instilled in her voice had him sitting up straighter, and Steve's grin turned slightly crooked as it became more genuine.

"Next winter, I'm hoping. I've been doing summer courses and I did a few over J-Term this year to make up for it." Lifting a shoulder, he muttered, "It'll be tight, but it can be done."

"You can do it," she told him, not backing down from her stance. "I know you can."

"Thank you," he breathed, the storm of his sorrows back under control for the time being. She returned his hopeful expression, her deep brown eyes drawing him in. Feeling suddenly bashful, he dropped his gaze onto their joined hands, a little surprised to see that she was holding on so intently to him. Once he noticed, though, she did, too, and she removed her hands from his. Disappointed at the loss, Steve masked it by scratching his neck and clearing his throat. "So, back to age: how old did you think I was?"

Holly shrugged a shoulder, taking her turn to toy with one of her pens as she focused on her screen again. "Twenty-three, twenty-four? I figured you weren't much older than me."

"And how old are you?" he asked, feeling a sudden tremor of panic and guilt in his gut. With all that was roiling through him, he couldn't help but wonder if he were speaking with someone who was still technically a teenager. Later on, when his logic kicked back in, he would recall that the college suites were designated for upperclassmen, and the Art History course they were taking was for, at minimum, juniors, but in the moment he couldn't help it. Attempting to smooth over his own worries, he joked, "Don't give me that crap about how a lady never reveals their age."

Giving a mocking laugh, she canted her head and confessed, "Fine, fine. I'm twenty-two. Just turned twenty-two in January."

Something akin to relief bloomed in his chest; she was younger than him, but not by a huge margin.

"Happy belated birthday, then," he offered, and she smirked at him.

"Thanks." For a few minutes, they resumed their poses at their computers, though it became clear that Holly's was purely a pose. When she let out a deep sigh, Steve looked over at her, casting her a curious look. Pushing her laptop away, she crooned, "Alright, that's enough."

Steve blinked at her. "What?"

Gesturing to the small clock hanging on the far wall, she pointed out, "We've been plugging away at this project for a good chunk of the afternoon. We gotta let our brains breathe."

Steve glanced up at it, and then back at her, amusement shining in his eyes even as he fixed her with a stony expression.

"Holl, we do have objectives to reach."

"And we will," she promised him, pointedly closing her laptop and rising from the table. "But a couple episodes of The Office won't really hinder us from reaching them, will they?"

She held out her hand to him, cupping at the air to convince him to stand and come with her into the living room.

"C'mon, a break will be good."

Steely blue irises glinted back, and then he sighed deeply.

"Alright, fine," he conceded, closing his computer. However, he pointed the end of his pen at her, eyebrows inclining as he continued, "But you pick anything beyond Season Six, I'm out."

Her answering grin was so bright, the pleasure impossible to ignore as she turned to get things set up.

"Fair enough," she replied, kneeling down at the stand. After gathering up their soda cans and the chips, he joined her in the small living space, casting an admiring glance over the string of lights along the wide window and the leftover snowflake cut-outs on the glass. Just because Christmas was over did not mean they were out of the woods yet, and that February had proven snowy and icy, after all, she remarked with false primness when he inquired after the choice, and he couldn't help but smirk at the reasons. Setting the goods on a cushioned stool that served as the coffee table of sorts, he took up one end of the couch. His larger frame emphasized the cramped nature of the sofa (which he noticed was one of those that could click the back and arm down to become a bed, his eyes straying to the pretty brunette before him before he forced them to look away), and when she spotted it, she only giggled a little. Selecting the first disk of the box set of Season Two, she took a seat beside him, remote balancing on her knee as she sat cross-legged.

As it turned out, she was correct; the break was just what they needed after putting in so much work and then delving into the heaviness of Steve's past. Holly found herself glancing at him out the corner of her eye, marveling at his perseverance to go on, even laugh and be happy, after the things he lived through. Part of her wondered how he could, and if he might actually be putting on a front to disguise any possible boredom he had with what they were doing. But then he met her glance, his smile almost growing brighter when he looked at her, and she faced forward again, a fuzzy feeling growing in her chest.

As the two romantic leads stood on the screen sharing ear-buds as a song played on an iPod, Holly couldn't help the wistful sigh that poured out of her, her body relaxing back into the couch.

"What?" Steve asked, catching the sigh and turning to look at her. Caught out, she felt a blush course up her neck when she met his gaze, the light blue of his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Nothing," she mumbled, hands curling into the ends of her sleeves. A yawn pour out of her then, and she started to lean toward the opposite arm of the couch. She was feeling the length of the day, and the load of their work, and thought that reclining might be in her best interest. Propped up by an elbow, she couldn't help but mutter, "Just hope I can find the Jim to my Pam."

Steve kept his gaze on her as she started to lay down, the corner of his mouth quirking.

"Not the Dwight to your Angela?" he teased, earning a giggle for his efforts.

"I might be weird, but I'm not that weird," she retorted, hunkering down on the couch then. About to curl up her legs, she felt Steve's hands curling around her ankles, gently guiding them to rest along his lap. The grin on her lips barely surfaced before a yawn ripped out of her then, and she rubbed at her eyes as she rested her head on her crooked arm. He witnessed all of it, along with the tiny strip of her waist and stomach being exposed as her shirt rode up, and he inhaled sharply.

"You're not weird," he told her, gaze focusing on the screen again. Her chuckle resounded, though it sounded more self-deprecating than anything else.

"Whatever," she mumbled, nestling her head against her arm and sighing.

Eyelids flicked shut, the hum of the characters' voices as they gathered in the conference room lulling her further. Steve's hand on her ankle shifted lightly, his thumb rubbing slow circles against the fabric of her jeans. Absently, she noted how pleasant it was, otherwise letting him be.

After a few moments, just as she was about to surrender to sleep, she heard her partner's soft mutter.

"So no Jim, then, in your life?"

With her eyes still closed, she shook her head, relaxing fully and letting out a soft sigh.

"Not yet," she said, her voice slurring with exhaustion. She would nap, just for a bit, and then they would get back on course. Possibly after Steve finished his ministrations on her ankles, the warmth of his lap soothing them further. She could only hope that whoever her future Jim was, he would be willing to do the same. "Maybe one day."

Steve glanced over at her then, studiously examining her as she finally fell asleep. Sinking back into the cushions, he let out a soft breath, his thumbs still sweeping tenderly over her ankles.

"Maybe," he whispered, leaning his head back against the cushion and shutting his eyes as well.

As both man and woman dozed, they failed to hear the farther bedroom door open, Sarah trotting out to get something to drink from the kitchen. Humming to herself, she'd grabbed a can of soda and turned to see the top of Steve's head, blond hair mussed from the cushion as he shifted slightly. Tiptoeing closer, her eyebrows inclined at the sight before her. As Holly's legs shifted in his lap and her head burrowed against her crooked arm, he sank lower in his seat, one hand shifting from her ankle up her calf. The peaceful looks on their faces as the next episode started to play had her grinning, though she also shook her head at the same time.

"Cute, turtle-y dorks," she murmured, carefully wandering back into her room and cracking the can open as she let them be.

xXxXxXx

After the disk finished playing and the pair woke, Steve and Holly came to the mutual decision that they would not accomplish more than they had that day. Instead, along with Sarah, they chipped in on a dinner of pizza and wings—which were entirely for Steve's bottomless pit of a stomach, though Holly had nabbed a couple for herself—eating and letting another few episodes play through before he had to go. Over the next week, they continued texting one another in between class sessions, and by the following Friday, Steve had moved from his seat by the wall to the one on Holly's right. Holly couldn't help but be pleased by the turn of events, the butterflies in her gut having hatched new swarms now that he had gotten closer, in many senses of the word.

That weekend was to be the last the paired partners had to tighten up their projects before the first wave of presentations on that Monday, and though Holly and Steve were supposed to go sometime on Wednesday, they deemed it better to get things ready well in advance. Scrawling out his address on a piece of paper (from his leather notebook, no less), he implored her to stop by Saturday evening, after they were both finished at work. Holly agreed, the grin on her lips causing his stomach to tighten and something in his chest to swell happily, and Steve parted from her amicably.

Saturday passed in a sort of a blur, with the young blond man assisting in the auto parts store he worked at part-time (catching the sight of a motorcycle at one of the bays in back and sincerely wishing it was his; one day, he promised himself) before hastily rushing out the door to grab the bus that stopped down the block. It led almost directly to his building, a squat brick number that was fifteen blocks from the college and certainly did not reside in a student neighborhood. No, he'd left that world behind when he had to put his life on hold and go to war. Once he'd returned, he had initially stayed with his mother, only until he was steady enough to find his own place. After hopping between two month-to-month hellholes, he lucked out with the newest place. Besides having made a good friend who could understand where he was coming from, meeting Sam Wilson at the V.A. had led them both to the discovery that the sturdy, dependable fellow was looking for someone to sublet the second room of his apartment. His partner Riley had finally gotten out of the hospital, nearly suffering from a fatal attack on their Raptor, and was going to move in with his long-time girlfriend. Steve eagerly took him up on the offer, and the sublet had morphed into a full lease, a place for him to put down a couple of roots for the time being.

(His mother was just pleased he was no longer in a hovel, and he concurred. Particularly when he was certain that a drug lord likely lived on the first floor of his old place, and he was nervous about either getting propositioned or shot were he to leave at the wrong time.)

As it was, he hopped off the bus, jogging to the front door and deftly avoiding a few clusters of people taking up the sidewalk, a skill he'd acquired over his years of living in the city. It only took a few minutes until he was at the door of his third-story walk-up, and he dodged in just as Sam was exiting his bedroom.

"Jesus, dude, where's the fire?" he grumbled, hands running over his close-cropped hair and dark eyes staring after his roommate incredulously. Steve gave a grunt in reply, ducking into his room to start pawing through his drawers.

"Holly's gonna be here in a half hour, and I would like to not smell like plastic and oil, if I can help it," he told him, extracting a set of clean jeans and a t-shirt to change into after a shower. Sam let his eyebrow incline, settling back against the hall wall and crossing his arms.

"Holly...that cute girl from your class, right?" he asked, though his smirk told his friend that he knew full well whom he was speaking of. Steve rolled his eyes, but dipped his chin.

"My project partner, yes."

"Uh-huh. Well, I'll make sure to hide your stashes of porn and drugs from her," he mockingly promised. "Those don't tend to impress girls too much. Excuse me, 'project partners.'"

Steve gave him a halfhearted glare as he marched to the bathroom, grumbling under his breath. Sam grinned cheekily as he shook his head, moving out into the open space of the combined kitchen and living room. Teasing the guy was too much fun sometimes, particularly when he was keen about something. Or someone, which was admittedly rare—the guy was almost entirely focused on getting his life back on track, and graduating in the time-frame he imposed upon himself. But, he knew better than to push then, instead choosing to help his friend out and lessen the mess of the bachelor pad at least slightly. Dirty dishes were stashed in the dishwasher, the load chugging and Steve yelling out when the cold water hit him. Snickering under his breath, Sam stashed the remains of his laundry in his room, grabbing his coat and keys up when the blond man stalked out of the bathroom, cleaned up and shivering a little as he went. Sam heard the curses under his breath as he passed, and he withheld more laughter, grabbing up his phone and tapping out a fast message.

When he had the temerity to leave his room once again, needing to retrieve his boots, he found that Steve had finished with his grumbling, a blue-and-red flannel pulled over his tee, his finger carding through his wet locks in an attempt to make it all sit right. The other man said nothing about it, only announcing that he would be heading out to meet the girl who worked the front desk at the V.A. For happy hour. Pulling on his boots, he was about to give his friend a joking admonishment to behave like the gentleman his momma raised him to be when three knocks resounded on the door. He caught the flash of Steve's true, pleased smile before he shoved it down. Wilson smirked to himself as he moved to answer the door; the boy had it bad, something he knew since he first mentioned the girl a few weeks back. Maybe he would finally do something about.

The door swung open under his grasp, revealing Holly in her black wool coat and thick winter boots. She stomped in, looking past Sam to Steve with a fast grin, but she swiftly thanked the fellow who truly let her in and asked after him. Introducing himself, Sam let his grin curve higher.

"You must be Holly," he stated obviously, and as she nodded confirmation, he slid his gaze over to Steve. Shooting him a fast, discreet wink, he tapped Holly gently on the arm and deftly switched places with her. "Sorry to say hi and bye, but I've got my own project partner to meet with. I'll see y'all later."

With a final wave, he stepped out of the apartment, the thick wooden door clanking and clicking into place behind him. Holly blinked, looking over to Steve with a curious grin.

"Is he a student, too?" she asked, not able to recall if he'd ever mentioned such a thing. The blond fellow's face had a smattering of pink along the cheekbones, and he clicked his tongue.

"No," he replied, glancing away and lowering his voice to a whisper, "Just a little shit sometimes."

Unsure if she'd heard him correctly, Holly squinted up at him. Steve blandly smiled at her, not elaborating further, and she let out a sigh. Shaking her head, she moved towards the couch, the faded blue piece taking her coat and backpack easily. Pulling her laptop from the main pocket along with a spare flash drive, she turned to him again.

"Got the note cards?" she asked, opening up the computer and setting it upon the tiny kitchen table. Steve nodded, quickly going into his bedroom and returning with the thick wad of pre-lined and pre-cut papers.

"Yep," he replied, going to the counter near the refrigerator and pulling out pens from it. Over his shoulder, he smirked at her. "Let's get to it."

Fetching his own laptop as well, the pair worked side-by-side as they took in both the bullet points of their compiled slideshow and the paper, marking down the key topics they would mention on the cards. Double-checking the parameters of the project, they began to put together the presentation, each slide allotted to one another, on and off until the end. Over and over, they practiced giving their short speeches, Steve sharing a couple of public speaking tips with Holly as they went (Nat had graced him with a few when he'd asked, and a couple girls from the theater department who had been with her had gushed at him as well). Taking her phone out, they went over the material one last time, the timer upon the screen churning away as they took their turns.

After giving the last pronouncement, Steve dipped his chin at Holly, and she quickly tapped the screen to stop the timer.

"And...that's it. That's the presentation down, just under the limit," she said, holding up the phone and grinning triumphantly. Showing off that they were twenty seconds away from the limit, she inwardly cheered as Steve raised his hand for a high five.

"Excellent!" he crowed, and she happily slapped her hand to his. Tossing his note cards onto the table top, he went on, "Professor Hill is going to love it."

Holly tipped her head to the side, balancing a hand atop the stack of books and papers left upon the surface.

"Maybe your portrait," she told him, gesturing to the piece upon the last slide of the digital presentation. His time manipulating the series of photographs had yielded a lovely result. On the far left stood Steve, handfuls of prop jewelry in his hands, the background retouched into something like a dark and shady office building. Holly was on the far right, seated at a covered stand and closely examining another prop piece, the light around her softened as she stared on. She had no idea how he did it all, but she thought it was genius. Softly, she praised, "You're so good with all the art stuff."

Catching the glint in her eye, Steve shook his head, laying his hand on her shoulder. "Nah, she'll love it all, including your words."

"I hope so." The brunette shot him a wistful smile, her hand coming up to cup his elbow. The warmth of the flannel met her fingertips, and after a few moments, she hastily drew back. Unfortunately, her other hand had still been planted on the stack of books and such left behind by Sam, and she sent them careening to the floor. Flushing in embarrassment, she dropped down immediately to pick them up. "Oh, sorry..."

Lowering himself to the floor as well, Steve was about to excuse her apology when he spotted which book had come to her hand first. She stared at the black leather notebook, the one he kept private. It had landed on its spine, opened upon a pencil-shaded sketch of the clock tower at the far end of campus. Not a notebook at all, she mused, but a sketchbook.

"So this is what's in here," she said, holding it up gently. "I was wondering."

Steve scratched at the back of his neck, lifting a shoulder.

"Well, I am an art major, as you know," he reminded her, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"I wasn't wondering what it was, dork, just the contents. You do keep it locked down."

More pink crawled up his neck to his face, and he muttered, "It's my private sketchbook, that's why."

It was easier to keep his school assignment separated from his personal work, though it did add to the load in his bag every time he went to and from anywhere. But still, it was important to him to have that privacy, to sketch what he wished without drawing scrutiny or having a grade attached to it. Understanding the truth of it in that moment, Holly closed the sketchbook, proffering it back to him.

"Do you want it back...or can I?" she asked him quietly, seriousness in her voice. Knowing she would not willingly violate his privacy, that she would truly relinquish the book back to him if he said no, emboldened him to nod his approval. Her eyes lit up, and she grinned as she got to her feet again. She went to sit down, and instead of taking a seat on the couch, she sat on the floor in front of it. Her back was firmly against the edge of the sofa, her knees coming up and acting as a table so she could turn the pages. Her gaze studied his sketches intently as she went, lingering over the pot of lilies that was at his mother's home and the corner perspective of what she assumed was one of the actual art rooms. Steve hesitantly sat beside her, hands clenching in his lap as she looked them over. Several minutes passed, and then she looked at him again, truly impressed.

"This is really good, Steve," she told him, and he canted his head.

"Thanks. It was something I sort of picked up when I was younger, and kept it up."

"I'll say. This is all so great," she complimented him again, and a pleased smile graced his lips. Letting out a short breath, she closed the sketchbook, her finger drawing down the spine of the leather cover. "I wish I could sketch like this."

Steve tilted his head to the side, eyeing her. "Can't you? You're in Art History."

Holly shot him a deadpan look. "To fulfill a requirement for graduation and you know that."

He shrugged; that was true, as she had said as much weeks ago. "But still…you don't draw, at all?"

"Well, I can draw some nice stick figures in the margins of my notebooks," she riposted, earning a light chuckle from him. Glancing down at the book again, she muttered, "I couldn't get the hang of it outside of elementary school classes."

Taking that in, Steve stared at her for several long seconds, his bright eyes falling onto the sketchbook and trailing back up to her face. About to ask him what he was thinking, she was halted when he cleared his throat.

"I could, I could help you with that," he told her, nodding to the sketchbook. At once, Holly shook her head in denial, ready to pass the book back to him.

"Nah, I think it's too late for me."

He tutted under his breath, taking the book and opening it to a fresh page. "Never too late. Let me show you."

Accepting the sketchbook again, Holly bit her lip, swallowing hard once. "Okay."

Her consent given, Steve got up from his spot, going to his bedroom and returning with two artist-grade pencils and an eraser. Urging her to scoot forward a little, Holly made the space as he stepped behind her, sinking down to sit with her in front. His legs framed hers, and he quietly bade her to draw her knees up into their table format again. Her chest filled with shaky breaths as she did as he asked. One pencil remained in his hand, the second one and the eraser planted on the carpet beside his leg.

"It's all about patience, and control. Technique will come, but first…" Now situated behind her, the heat of his chest was bleeding onto her back as he reached around her. Her right hand slotted into his, the pencil passed into it. The pitch of his voice lowered a little, and he guided her hand to bring the point of the utensil to the paper. "Hold the pencil, and trust yourself."

Slowly, slowly, she began to move the pencil, the light scratch of it along the sketchpad veritably echoing in the space as she did so. Under Steve's guidance, she began to form the edges of a bookshelf across the room, the small potted cactus nestling as a bookend of the top shelf being shaped. Little by little, it was becoming a picture, but she could barely attend to it. Not when he was so close, had her hand in his and his breathing moving in time with hers.

This guy, this handsome man she'd been actively crushing on for weeks, had her in his arms, and she was unsure whether it was real or a daydream for a few moments.

"Steve…" she started, the feel of him pressed along her almost too much. Her inner resolve was crumbling with every stroke of the pencil, not knowing he was reaching the end of his tether as well.

"You got this, Holly," he murmured, his breath tickling her ear as he bent closer. Her eyes shut briefly as his other arm began to curl around her waist, and the pencil in her hand was dropped. Immediately, his fingers threaded with hers, the pair of them breathing hard. The edge had been reached, and they both knew it. Opening her eyes, she half turned to face him, watching as his blue eyes grew stormy with all that was left unsaid.

"Do I?" she crooned, eyes half-lidded and leaning toward him slightly. He mimicked her, head tilting a bit as his gaze focused on her mouth. Barely a hairsbreadth stood between them then, the hand on her waist sliding up to cup at the back of her neck.

"Yeah, you do," he nearly whispered, lips ghosting over hers. A fraction of a second held them there, the precipice looming before them. As Holly's mouth parted, a shivery breath taken, Steve let out a soft sigh and closed the distance.

The kiss was gentle, light brushes of his slightly-chapped lips meeting hers. However, that changed when he dared to run his tongue lightly at the seam of her lips. Sighing into it, Holly rose a little, opening her mouth as she moved to face him. The sketchbook and pencil tumbled away, planting on the carpet beside them, but neither noticed. Her knees rested on either side of his legs, her bottom in his lap as her hands cupped at his cheeks. With the kiss deepening, Steve let out a soft moan when her tongue gently touched his, fingers splaying along her back and going into her hair. Unable to help herself, her hips swiveled slowly, the grind onto him causing them both to gasp. Breaking apart, Holly's dark gaze met his, his hands resting on her waist and gripping in an effort to make her pause. Her own palms slid to his chest, a grin curving her mouth as she shrugged a shoulder.

Chuckling softly, Steve braced his forehead against Holly's. "At the risk of sounding like I'm from a cheesy rom-com, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do that."

Holly giggled, her fingers toying with the collar of his shirt. "At least a few days, right?"

He snorted inelegantly. "Try the beginning of the semester."

"What?"

"I remember catching you watching me come in on the second or third day. You were just so...pretty, big brown eyes and your smile when I came in, it was just...I looked for you, too, after that. I was working up the nerve to talk to you. Sarah sort of beat me to it."

At that, Holly pulled back, a flash of incredulity decorating her face as she looked down at him.

"Really?" she asked, and he nodded. Letting out a scoffing breath, she wondered, "Why didn't you?"

Affixing her with a pointed look, he inclined his eyebrow. "Well, why didn't you talk to me? It's pretty clear that you feel the same way about me, so why didn't you do anything about it, either?"

Holly's mouth opened, Steve looking at her expectantly. For several moments, she could not find her tongue, all her thoughts crowding her head as she considered it. Yes, he hadn't tried to talk to her before circumstance intervened, but then again, neither had she. It wasn't wrong for him to wonder why. The first truth, the one that had fought its way through her brain, finally found its way out, and her head drooped a little as she spoke.

"Because...you're you, and I'm just me," she said, deflating a bit as she admitted to it. It was her perception of herself that had ultimately made her pause in any attempt to approach him. He was quite handsome, and to approach someone she just knew was out of her league would be an effort in futility. To be proven wrong in that regard was at once heartening and uncomfortable.

For his part, Steve inclined his chin, melancholia invading his features.

"Exactly. At the core, I'm just some dorky, out-of-touch army grunt trying to fix his life," he reminded her, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sardonic grin. However, it was clear how much he believed that assessment of himself just from his tone, and the shrug of his shoulders. "That's not something a lot of girls look for."

Not girls like her, not the smart, pretty ones who knew what they wanted out of life, even if it was an abstract idea at the moment. A finger slid under his chin, coaxing him to tip his head back up. Complying, he met her dark brown gaze, something in them shining as she looked down at him.

"Their loss, I think. Some of that might be true, but there's more than that," she pronounced, total sincerity in her voice. Perhaps he was dorky, which she liked, but he wasn't a broken grunt. Not to her. Shrugging a shoulder, she tucked back a piece of hair that had fallen from her loose bun. Her lips curved, and she murmured, "Not sure what you get out of the soft, goofy Star Wars nerd-writer chick."

Big hands framed her face, and she leaned into his touch as bright eyes searched her for a minute or two.

"So much more than that," he repeated back to her, the sentiment just as strong for him. Wen she smiled, he felt the flip-flop in his chest return, and he grinned ruefully at her. "And I might be doing this a little backwards, but…do you want to go out sometime? Not for class, but on a real date."

Holly's hands came up, tenderly removing his from her face and interlacing their fingers. She tipped her head to the left, her brow screwing up in faux concentration as she considered her answer. Off his hopeful stare, one she knew that she reciprocated inside, she inclined her head.

"…Yes. Yes, I do." As he grinned brightly, she released his left hand to holdup a single finger, pointing it at him. "But, you gotta do one thing first."

Steve sat up a little straighter, ready to do whatever she wished if it meant getting what they both wanted.

"What's that?"

Slowly, she leaned forward, a saucy lilt coming to her voice and gaze. "Kiss me again."

Steve's own smile matched it, his eyes going half-lidded as he leaned up towards her.

"Will do," he whispered, meeting her request and demonstrating how willing he was to do so. The project could wait, the sketch could wait. Families and friends, graduation and classes, all faded to the background in those moments, future and present tied up together as they took the first shaky steps towards something new.

And, when they presented their project on that following Wednesday, they had found a new source of courage in each other when they spoke, hands being held discreetly as they went to and from their seats, further promises hovering as Sarah watched them with a smug look and Professor Hill marked them off on her sheet.

A/N: Inspired by a idea from kyuppi. Bear in mind, I don't do requests on demand; I write suggested ideas when they strike my fancy and inspire me. But hey, this one did; thanks for the inspiration!

This is how I would imagine Steve/Holly interacting in a modern AU, college setting. I rather like how it turned out; I love these two cutesy turtles! Although, this is the fastest I have ever gotten them together in fic, so...

And the college they attend, St. Joseph's College, is a real college in Brooklyn, but the mental layout of the campus and certain buildings were heavily inspired by the college I attended. Also, I will be continuing with the next chapters of Down the Hall and Growing Pains shortly. I just had to work this one out of my system first!

Just as a reminder: this story is UNBETA'ED. This is mostly due to my personal schedule being a little different from others'. As such, I do proofread, edit, and restructure my own writing. I try my best, but I am not perfect.

I own nothing from the MCU, nor do I own any of the pop culture references made in the text (Marvel comics, Netflix, Moby-Dick, The Office, "The Story of Esther," etc.).

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all in the next story!