A/N: a twist to The College Try

"So Sadie decided not to come, huh?" Marissa startles him with the question. They had been having a nice time tonight. Away at Berkeley, meeting new people, joking around as though they were truly just friends. They had ended up outside with a group of incoming freshmen. People had slowly siphoned off and before they realised it, it was just the two of them talking about their impending hopes and fears for college.

"What, um, we broke up, yeah," he replies.

Marissa gives him a wry smirk, a silent acknowledgement of his sidestepping of the question.

He's quiet for a moment, mind racing with a hundred different thoughts.

"How did you know?" he asks.

"Sum and I do talk, you know," she supplements.

"Right." Of course, he thinks.

"What did she tell you?" His voice is quiet, unfamiliarly anxious. He feels uncomfortable and is disconcerted at the fact that he does. They are over, he has to remind himself.

"That you were planning to go to Berkeley with her." Her voice is quiet too, fragile in a way which has always been painful for him. "Or am I missing anything?"

Ryan shakes his head, afraid to face Marissa.

"It wasn't serious," he tells her. It didn't mean anything. I wasn't thinking. There are so many platitudes that he could say. He thinks he hears her scoff. She's silent for longer than he would like.

"Anyway, it doesn't really matter," she replies. He dares a proper look at her, observes the way in which her arms are staunchly crossed across her body.

"It feels like it might," he says.

"We broke up, you moved on. There's nothing more to it."

"Are you really comparing Sadie to what you and I had?" he asks, almost offended.

"I don't really know what to think," she says, sounding so despairingly honest that it eats at him.

"I know I didn't handle things all that well, but it wasn't like I didn't care. You have to know that?"

"I know you care. You always have. I just," Marissa shrugs, "I wanted you to miss me, even half as much I missed you."

Ryan swallows thickly. He can't remember the last time she was so honest with him. She says it as a matter of fact, without much malice or anger. Before he has the chance to correct her, he spots Wes walking over, equipped with a red solo cup.

"Hey," Wes greets them, smiling broadly. "Lost you guys for a while there. How's the party treating you?"

"Good, thanks," Marissa replies politely, flashing him a smile. She demures so quickly, all traces of their conversation forgotten.

He's still staring at her, thinking about what she said and everything it meant.

"I want you to meet some friends of mine. One of them is an English major, the other History," he hears Wes say to Marissa. He deduces they must have spoken earlier.

He watches as Marissa doesn't protest. Lets Wes guide her with an arm on her back towards his friends. He follows because Marissa throws him a glance, an impenetrable expression on her face, asking him if he was coming.

. . .

She lets him walk her to her dorm room. He's surprised to find himself offering, even more at her accepting.

"Wes likes you," he comments, as they walk the tree lined pathway. It's mostly deserted, save for an occasional drunken group of students.

She doesn't react much to his statement, merely gives a shrug of a shoulder.

"I'm not interested," she tells him.

"You still with Volchok?" he asks

"No, that's over now," she answers, surprising him again.

"Really?"

"It was never going to last," she says, as though he's silly to be surprised at this new revelation.

He buries his hands deeper into his pockets, thinking, where does he even begin with explaining himself?

"I do miss you," he tells her quietly. He has his head down, watching his feet fall into step. From the corner of his eye he spies her, notices the momentary, tiny smile which forms across her face.

She tilts her head towards him, her eyes connecting with his, even if only for a second. She says nothing but the look in her eyes conveys her gratitude.

When they finally get to her place, they stop and they linger. He can't bring himself to leave.

"It was mutual, wasn't it? You said it wasn't working," he finds himself saying, voicing a doubt he has been too afraid to confront for the past few weeks.

"It wasn't working, yeah," she admits.

"But what?" he asks.

"You wanted out. I was too tired to want anything. They're not exactly the same thing," she tells him quietly.

"I don't know what that means. You're in or you're out, there's no grey area."

"There's always a grey area." She thinks maybe this is their cataclysmic difference. She's never favoured binary choices when he always has.

"I loved you but I didn't want to deal with us. And God knows we needed to. But that doesn't mean I wanted out."

There's a helpless look on her face as she tells him this, almost embarrassed at the confession. But it feels good, she realises. To tell him how she feels, to be honest even as it hurts them.

"Why didn't you say this before?"

Marissa shrugs. "Pride, wanting to keep a shred of dignity. To do the right thing."

"The right thing?"

"You were miserable. I couldn't watch you like that."

"Did you consider that maybe the reason I was unhappy was because I wanted you?"

"You had me."

"No, I didn't Marissa, not really." He speaks slowly, sounding at once hesitant and emboldened. "I wanted you to want me as much as I wanted you."

He watches as the inklings of tears form in her eyes. The way she takes a deep breath and looks away from him. Out of sadness or regret or shame, he isn't sure. Maybe it's everything. He thinks they should have done this sooner. If they had actually broken up properly, in person and talked it through. It's also abundantly clear why they didn't do it like that.

It's acutely painful.

"I'm sorry, I fucked up," she tells him.

He shakes his head, "So did I."

She nods in response, thankful for his acknowledgement.

"I should go," she says, tilting her head towards the door ahead of her. He's quiet again, uncertain still about what he wants to come out of tonight.

"Can I come in?" he asks.

There's bemused surprise on Marissa's face, an obvious doubt yet also a smile. Clearly, she's not the only one with a self-destructive streak.

"Are you sure?" she checks.

He shrugs, because regardless of whether he uses his heart or his head, it all seems to end the same way. So he might as well just live in the moment.

Without waiting she turns and walks inside. She hears him follow after her as she unlocks her room door, and she watches as he deliberates again for a moment, until he flashes her a smile. Taking a confident stride in, he shuts the door behind them.