2 #2
That last thought squared my shoulders and reaffirmed my decision.
I slyly looked up at her. She sat across from me, a small frown on her face as she focused on the work on her laptop.
Her braids were pulled up into a ponytail, the bouncy curls framing her head.
The bright white lights of the library should have washed away the warmth in her skin, but all it did was make her look ethereal.
Her soft, round face was free of makeup, and the deep purple of the Manchester University sweatshirt she had on perfectly complemented the shade of dark pink in her hair, doing wonders for her deep brown skin.
I wanted to smooth away that furrow in her brow with my thumb.
If I took a glance underneath the table, she’d probably be bouncing her knee.
If I’d been sitting beside her, I’d have given her my hand, let her fiddle with my fingers, or my rings and wristwatch, as she focused on whatever she was doing.
As I looked at her, chest swollen with affection, all I could think of was that she deserved everything. I wanted to give her everything. It was that desire that told me we were going to be fine regardless of what she said or how she reacted when I voiced my idea.
She huffed a sigh, leaning back in her seat, and I forced my gaze back to my laptop.
We had a tech submission due this Friday—three days from today—and I was only in the library for the routine since I was pretty much done with my work.
Olivia, Taemin, and Katerina, the other three members of our Atelier—yeah, our tutors really wanted our final year to feel like we were working in an actual firm, with semi-real partners and co-workers while they acted as our tough bosses—had all left earlier, having finished with their work as well.
Sometimes, it took Ofure some time to focus, probably a result of her undiagnosed ADHD, though I wasn’t going to say that out loud until I’d given my suspicions more than a cursory online search.
The air between us seemed expectant. I waited patiently.
“Uzi?”
I didn’t look up, knowing she didn’t like the attention at first when she was about to pose a serious question. “Yes, Fure?”
I could imagine her lips ticking up as they always did at the sing-song way I said her nickname—my nickname for her—which made my lips tick up, too.
“Have you ever thought you were just doing things because they were expected of you, and not because it’s actually something you want to do?”
I finally looked up, giving her my full attention as I considered the question. I shook my head, frowning. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” It was clearly not nothing, but I knew she’d bring it up again when she was ready.
She scrubbed a hand over her face. Her pretty acrylics—though when were they not pretty?—were a baby pink sheen that slowly morphed into purple at the almond-shaped tips, little diamond studs glittering at the centre. “This assignment is going to be the death of me.”
My lips quirked with amusement. “You say that about every assignment.”
“And I’ve always been right.”
I laughed. “I don’t agree, but all right.” I moved from where I’d been sitting across from her on the six-seater we’d snagged in the group study section of the library, pulling my laptop and work close. “Let’s put our minds together. After all, two heads ...?”
“... are better than one,” she finished, her lips spreading into a slow smile. “I think I’m practically done,” she said as I drew her laptop closer to me. “I just—you know how I am. Whenever I finish an assignment early, I always feel like I’m missing something.”
“And that’s why you’ve got me.”
I went through her work, making sure to take my time and be as meticulous as possible; she wouldn’t want anything less.
As I did, I couldn’t help but think about the future—our future.
Our tutors had it right with this Atelier thing, because it made it easier to imagine what it’d be like to have Ofure working by my side in our fathers’ joint firm, both of us sharing ideas and building, hopefully positively and permanently influencing Nigerian architecture for generations to come.
Every time I thought about it, it gave me a giddy little rush. I honestly couldn’t wait.
“Nice work,” I said when I was done. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”
She visibly brightened. “Yeah?” I pictured a tail behind her head wagging madly at the praise.
I grinned, not tempering my approval. “Yes. I mean it. This should at least be a 2:1.” She immediately frowned, and I laughed. “If you really want to get into that first-class territory, you’re going to have to redo those atrocious sketches.”
“Atrocious?”
I gave her a look, like, come on, now. She groaned dramatically, flopping back in her seat, which told me she knew I was right but just didn’t want to be arsed about it.
I laughed. “Come on. There are only six sketches here, and they don’t need to be masterpieces. You can bang it out in the next few minutes, easily. I’ll go get us a little something from the vending machine while you get started, all right?”
“Fine.” She grumpily yanked her laptop back, and I laughed again.
Despite her grumbling, she indeed finished her much-improved sketches in less than thirty minutes, beamed brightly at my dramatic nod of approval, scanned them, replaced them in her sheets, and we were officially done with our tech submission.
All of Ofure’s stress almost immediately evaporated after we pressed “submit” on the portal online, her aura bright once more as we packed up our things and began to leave the library.
The sight of her relaxed shoulders and small smile made my chest puff out slightly in accomplishment.
“And the Lord said …” She paused dramatically.
“It is finished,” I completed gravely.
We laughed.
“Should we order some Chinese?” I asked once we were outside.
She eyed me as she nudged our shoulders together. “Already rewarding me when the results aren’t even out yet?”
“We deserve a little treat for finishing this early,” I said with a playful grin and a shameless shrug. Most of the time, we worked until we had literal minutes to the deadline.
“You know what? I can’t argue with that,” she said, laughing.
As we walked to our favourite Chinese spot, my thoughts returned to the decision I’d made earlier. By the time we got to hers, I was practically vibrating.
We’d taken our jackets off, and had barely settled on her bed, ready to tear into our food when I blurted, “So.”
She looked up, bemused, her right hand holding her chopsticks poised over her noodles. We were sitting opposite each other, her laptop between us and resting against the wall to my right, playing a random episode of Regular Show.
“So ...” she drawled, one eyebrow lifting.
I probably should have waited until we’d finished eating, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I reached out to pause the episode, then leaned back. I was just going to say it. Rip off the Band-Aid.
“I think we should have sex.”
Ofure blinked. Her mouth opened. Then closed. A million expressions danced across her face, too many for me to parse. At least she didn’t immediately think I was cracking some kind of joke; she knew me too well for that. I, on the other hand, felt like I was about to expel my literal stomach.
“Look.” I set my plate of chicken chow mein aside.
When I reached across the bed for her hands, she didn’t hesitate to join them with mine.
My heart swelled about ten sizes. I’d known it, that no matter what unhinged idea I come up with, we would be okay, but it was still validating as fuck to be proven right.
“Since our talk last Thursday, I’ve been thinking.
We both want our first times to not just be good, but to be with someone we love and trust, right?
And we love and trust each other. In fact, there’s no one I love or trust more.
So, I thought, maybe, if you were willing, we could ...
give each other that. A “perfect” first time. ”
She smiled helplessly, probably hearing the air quotes. I could see her pulse thundering at the base of her throat. Her hands felt sweaty. Or was it mine?
“Uh, I mean ...” She licked the seam of her lips nervously. “Isn’t there a difference between someone you love and someone you’re in love with?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. But, in this instance, does the distinction really matter?”
“I mean ...” She wasn’t meeting my eyes, which could mean anything.
She could be nervous or overwhelmed, thinking about how to say yes, or how to ask for more time to think about it, or she just might be unsure how to turn me down.
Her left shoulder jerked in the approximation of a shrug. “I think it kind of does.”
Ah. Okay. All right. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be this disappointed at her saying no.
I didn’t think I’d be disappointed, period.
I guessed it was upsetting because it meant she was still going to lower her expectations in the name of fuckass “realism”, but if she wanted to do that, I couldn’t force or stop her.
I smiled and gave her hands a squeeze, stroking my thumbs over the backs of her palms to let her know we were okay. She finally met my gaze, silently seeking the reassurance I was already giving her.
“That’s all right.” I’d told myself I’d hit the breaks and pull back entirely at the slightest sign of hesitation. I gave her hands another squeeze and did as I promised, pulling back and picking up my food. “It was just an idea.”