Rory
Jarvis showed up at my door holding a stack of textbooks he definitely didn't need help with and a bag of takeout that smelled like an apology for something he hadn't done yet.
"I need help with econ," he announced, before I'd even finished opening the door, pushing past me into the studio with the easy confidence of someone who'd never once in his life doubted he was welcome somewhere. "Also I brought dumplings. Also I might have exaggerated the econ thing."
"You have a 3.4 GPA, Jarvis. You told me that yourself. Unprompted. At practice."
"A man's academic record is complicated." He dropped the takeout bag on my tiny kitchen counter, already rifling through my cabinets for plates like he'd done it a hundred times before, which, I realized with a small jolt, he basically had. "Als
