When the resident assistants of Pearcher House realize that the call isn't going to come for a while, they decide to hunker down. Callie returns with a proper set of pencils to draw people, Jerry brings down the gaming console and Benedict helps him plug it in, and Tempest offers to raid the student event supply closet to get snacks for them all. Darlington goes with Tempest, just in case the super decides to complain about them eating food that has been budgeted for students.

Marcellus says he has to use the bathroom and sneaks off. Elodie trails after him.

"You're skipping out on video games?" Elodie asks, calling after him.

She doesn't know Marcellus. Really, she doesn't know him at all. There are three unavoidable truths about Marcellus that come up periodically; he likes nerdy guy shit, partying, and weed. If he is stepping out on video games, then he's got to have something better planned.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Marcellus keys into the staff office.

"This isn't the bathroom," Elodie smiles.

Marcellus moves over to the safe which contains the master key. There are two copies, one for whoever is on call that evening, and another in case of emergencies. Marcellus has been in the job for a while, but the safe is still a struggle. Elodie rolls her eyes and opens it for him.

"Thanks," he says.

"Roof?" she asks, dangling the keys from her fingers.

He nods his head.

"I'll meet you up there. Bring enough for me," Elodie says.

The two depart, with Marcellus taking the stairs up to his floor and Elodie waiting for their elevator. They both grab coats, and Marcellus grabs a blunt, and then they meet on the roof.

The pair of them are the first to go outside in the raging snowstorm. Elodie pulls up her hood tightly, trying to protect her face from the violent throws of cold air and snow hitting her. Her boots go up to her midthigh, but the snow is so deep that she gets some inside her boots. The blunt better be worth it.

Marcellus arrives. The pair of them huddle up in between two of the walls on top of the roof and begin to smoke.

"Could we just smoke inside?" Elodie asks after taking a hit. "I mean, they are already understaffed. Are they going to fire us?"

Marcellus kicks his foot. His pants are soaked since he hadn't thought to change out of his sneakers. It's getting deep, and it's still coming down pretty hard. No one in his family has texted him yet, but he knows that they aren't coming today. They'll be lucky if they can come up tomorrow, or even the day after.

"I'd rather not test the Unit's wrath today," Marcellus says.

Elodie shrugs, not sure if getting high is worth the blasted cold. If Benedict is correct though, this might be the last time she feels fresh air on her face, no matter how cold, for the foreseeable future.

"Someone else will fuck up worse on campus, I'm sure," Elodie remarks. "Besides, I don't think the fire department will be able to make it here if you set off an alarm anyway."

Marcellus exhales. The smoke is only slightly darker than his breath. Living here is such bullshit. He wishes housing weren't so expensive, and tuition didn't drain all his finances. They are already breaking the rules by going on the roof. He doesn't know which is worse, but at least this has less of a risk of being caught.

"It's fucking cold," Elodie says.

Her body shifts slightly beside him, and he can feel her pressed up against him, even through his coat. She must know what she is doing. At the parties that they both attend, she's always been good at getting his attention, and they both pretend like she isn't doing it and he isn't falling for it. Sometimes, he wonders if she knows.

"Yeah," he murmurs.

She realizes she has him hook, line, and sinker. He always falls for it. When they are together, things are so not complicated. Marcellus has never texted her afterwards, and so she's never forgotten to reply. Their lack of concern with bullshit keeps them fairly aligned.

"I can crack my window," she offers. "Back in my room."

While he thinks, she takes another drag of the blunt and then passes it back to him.

"What if the super calls?" he asks. While fraternizing with coworkers isn't expressly against policy, it isn't exactly welcomed.

Elodie shrugs, "you're quick anyway."

"Shut up," Marcellus says. He would shove her playfully, but then she would move away from him, and he cannot get the right head to do the thinking for him.

"Is that a no?" Elodie asks.

Marcellus grabs her face and kisses her, blunt still between his fingers. Their bodies collide with the brick walls, and Elodie wonders if it weren't so fucking cold, and if he knew she had a condom in her pocket, would they risk taking off their clothes up here?

~~~

Darlington and Tempest are putting together snacks. During exams, the staff team prefers to run events involving food. They have gingerbread houses and hot chocolate from their religiously-neutral-winter-holiday event, and they have tea bags and granola bars from their study sessions.

"This is... underwhelming," Tempest says when Darlington pulls out the food from storage.

"Well, we also have pancake mix," Darlington pulls out a box. "The griddle has to be back here somewhere."

"Isn't that from homecoming?" Tempest says. On that early September morning, they encourage first years to come by and eat pancakes so they aren't drinking on empty stomachs.

"Yeah, but it's not expired," Darlington shrugs. "Check the date."

Tempest nods, reading it. Darlington finally finds the griddle and a few more boxes of pancake mix. He puts back the other snacks.

"Should... should we bring out the gingerbread houses?" Tempest asks. "It could be good to raise morale."

"I feel like it would be best to raise morale tomorrow," Darlington says.

The pair head into the kitchen and begin to make the pancakes. Tempest's hands are shaky as she makes the batter. Over the past few weeks, Darlington had noticed how stressed Tempest was about exams. He was there, right alongside her.

"We're going to be fine," Darlington explains. He puts his hand on her shoulder.

Tempest feels her stomach lurch. She begins to control her breathing, carefully, mathematically, because if she doesn't, she is going to have a panic attack.

"Do you want to keep working, or do you want to sit down," Darlington keeps his voice steady. Anyone else, he would force into that chair, but Tempest is like him. Getting pulled out of work prevents ruminating. They both love a good distraction. "You're going to hyperventilate."

Hyperventilating doesn't sound good to Tempest. Is it going to hurt her baby? Her hands are going numb. She drops the spoon. Darlington doesn't think they have time to get to the table, so he sits them both down on the ground. Maybe it's best she panics because it gives Darlington a distraction. How can he worry about what is to come when he is instead worrying about Tempest?

"Breathe with me," he tells her.

"I'm trying," she says. Her hands are curled into fists, shaking. She's going to hurt the baby. She cannot stop it.

Darlington takes his hands in hers, forcing them still. He mimes breathing, going on and on until she manages to slow down.

"I can't do this," she says, shaking her head. "I can't."

"It'll only be a few days," Darlington tries to reassure her. It might be wrong to make promises he cannot keep, but he'd rather staple her to the ground with lies than let her shoot into the atmosphere, burning up along the way.

"No," she shakes her head. He tries to correct her, but she shakes her head again. "It's not a few days. It's not even a few months. It's forever. It's forever."

That is when Darlington realizes that Tempest is not worried about the snowstorm. From what she said of her exam last night, it's not academics. He tries to think through every interaction they've had in the last month, and very little has been out of the ordinary. Although, he hasn't seen her boyfriend Malachi lately.

"If you want to tell me, you can," he says.

She nods her head. There are tears on her cheeks. She hadn't realized she had been crying. She tips her head forward, resting her temple on Darlington's hands, which are still holding hers.

"I didn't throw up from my hangover," she admits.

Darlington wonders if she wants him to probe, but he decides that he'd rather listen.

"It wasn't even a hangover. I didn't drink at all," she admits. "I'm... I'm pregnant."

Darlington feels his face grow cold. It shouldn't, really it shouldn't affect him this much. He's listened to students say so many different things over the years. It's easier to compartmentalize with them. He can handle it. Tempest is not a person he can put in a drawer and walk away from. He pulls her in for a hug, trying to think of what to do. All he can think of is telling Malachi that he's a piece of shit.

~~~

It is hard for Moonie to keep still, but she does just to help out Callie. She insisted on going first. Maverick and Galilee are sitting on a couch across the room, waiting their turn to be drawn. If it were just her and Callie, Moonie might move more, but she doesn't think it's fair to hop around and slow down Callie's process. Everyone deserves to see her art.

Callie doesn't actually need Moonie to pose, but she doesn't have the heart to tell Moonie. After all, Moonie seems so excited to have a proper portrait done, as if she is a character in a Jane Austen novel and not a young woman trapped in a basement during a snowstorm. Actually, Callie is taking her time not to do a rushed sketch because she bets Moonie is going to have this framed. That's just the kind of romantic she is.

"How are you in criminology and soc justice?" Callie asks, beginning to shade the contours of Moonie's face.

Moonie scrunches her nose but then stiffens to hold her posture, "I want to help people."

"I'm sure your poetic waxings could help lots of people," Callie feels herself smile. "Which other person with the initials M.S. is it this week?"

Moonie blushes. Her eyes dart around while she keeps her head still, trying to see if anyone heard her.

"I told you that in confidence," Moonie manages.

"Which is it this week?" Callie repeats the question.

Moonie finally turns her head to look at Maverick. He is laughing about something Galilee just said. His joy is just contagious. Anyone would be lucky to have Maverick, and Moonie is certainly someone.

"I thought so," Callie offers, smiling to herself.

She likes Maverick and Marcellus, but she certainly thinks Maverick is better suited for Moonie. The pair both love all sorts of cheesy ridiculous things, and both of them only think half of the time. All of their bodies' energies are devoted to their hearts, massive and strong. Callie believes in the power of art, but no sketch in this basement could ever show Moonie for all that she is.

Marcellus is great enough, sure, but he doesn't feel that deeply. At least, not in Callie's experience.

It is unfortunate too, because Callie cannot help but accept that Maverick and Moonie are perfect for each other, and she is certainly not perfect for him. She is certainly not perfect enough for anyone.

~~~

Over on the couch, Maverick and Galilee are trying to contain their laughter about the struggle Maverick was having with his scribe during exams. Without his accommodation for dyslexia, he would flunk out. Besides that, he would not be able to laugh as much.

"You should bring your ID card to your exam next time instead of your driver's licence," Galilee shakes her head, smiling. "How do you always forget it?"

"My student ID number or the card?" Maverick says, and Galilee laughs again. "I just, I don't even have dyscalculia! It shouldn't be that hard to remember nine numbers."

Galilee knows Maverick well. He'd find it funny if she joked that he knows the numbers, just not in the right order. However, she feels a bubble of anxiety in her belly all the same so she doesn't answer.

"Okay, so if you had to call your sister to let her know you probably wouldn't be getting up until her birthday, and that you were planning on getting her a gift but now you're snowed in, how would you do that?" Maverick asks.

Galilee sighs. She's been asking herself a similar question about apologizing to Jossilyn for all the things Galilee has failed to do.

"You should try to spend time with her," Galilee offers. "Like... tell her you want to take her to the movies, or that you want to get your nails done, or whatever it is she likes."

Maverick smiles. Twyla loves to laugh, and she would certainly think it's funny if they got mani-pedis together, "you know, I get why they named you that. You are definitely smart enough to have invented gravity."

Galilee cannot contain her laughter. She nearly slips out of the chair. Her stomach hurts from her laugh. Maverick, unsure of exactly what he said, laughs along all the same.

~~~

"Stupid fucking mushroom head," Benedict mumbles under his breath.

Though Benedict thinks he is good at essentially everything, he is decidedly bad at video games. At least, he has lost the last three fighting matches against Jerry, and when they switched to a racing game, Benedict is no better.

He thinks it's rather unfair that Jerry gets to be some Godzilla-style monster on a tractor while he is relegated to a dinky little thing driving a literal baby stroller.

"Don't hate the player, hate the game," Ro muses, leaning in over Benedict's head.

Both Benedict and Jerry are playing while sitting on the floor. Ro has pulled up a comfy chair behind them, mostly to breathe down their necks and tease Benedict. She likes how angry he gets.

Benedict refrains from responding. Most expressions are stupid, he thinks, but that one is stupid in particular. Benedict hates sports and jocks equally. Everyone on the varsity teams or who associates with those people are awful. Although Maverick is only kind to him. He also isn't as stupid as everyone thinks, since the one class they share Maverick always has something unique to add. It's a class on diversity in education, and it is admittedly one of Benedict's few weak spots.

Benedict comes in last. This is another.

"You're doing better," Jerry notes. "You've figured out how to drift."

Benedict would rather Jerry gloat. He also hasn't figured out how to drift. It's always unintentional.

Jerry doesn't realize that Benedict is frustrated. Actually, he is enjoying himself quite a bit, and so he assumes the same of Benedict.

"Yeah, real improvement," Ro snorts. "Last to last."

"You can be pissed off that things aren't going away, but it's a dick move to drag us all down with you," Benedict shrugs his shoulders. It's mean and cruel, and he already knows he's a bad person so saying it doesn't feel that significant. "Don't hate the player, hate the game."

Ro nearly combusts on the spot. Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest. Talking is something she often avoids due to her tendency to piss everyone else off. She does hate the game. She's an international student, a trans woman, at a school where nobody else looks like her or thinks like her. Twice now if her family helped harbour Nazis, or if one of her grandfathers is German and arrived in Argentina in the late 1940s. She's sick of all of this. If anyone has a reason to be mad, it's her, and not a white boy named fucking Benedict Altwell of all things.

To keep them out of the area of impact should she explodes, she heads to the bathroom. Not to do drugs like she assumes Marcellus did when he left and never came back, but to actually take a damn piss in peace.

Jerry shuffles, loading up the next game, "you aren't bad, you know."

"I am pretty shit at video games," Benedict says.

"Well yeah," Jerry nods. "That's not what I meant."

All things considered, Jerry likes Benedict. He is willing to play video games even though he hates them. Not many people associate with Jerry. Although Marcellus seems to enjoy his company, he didn't even stay for one round, and Marcellus loves video games. Jerry had even bought a copy of some popular soccer game last week because Marcellus has been dying to play it.

Making friends is impossible for Jerry. Truly, doing anything right is less than feasible.

Then, Benedict's phone rings.

~~~~~

These take longer than I expect because I always go way over the word count. My goal is usually 1700, but this chapter was over 2800 words. An unfortunate choice on my behalf. However, I am very much getting into the winter spirit, so I hope to see more of these folks soon. Let me know once again your favourite moment (for me, I'm definitely partial to Ro being angry. I think she's earned it).