Chapter Text
Ray knows him.
Sort of.
His name is Arthur Something-Something. Same department as he is. Freshman year, they both lived at Oswego Men’s Dormitory, in the same floor along with the rest of the Philo students. Of course! That’s where Ray remembers him from.
They didn’t really talk, not that Ray recalls, but Arthur’s not someone you forget. An ash-blond half-German with heterochromia iridium, he is definitely striking. Always seen with Simon the atheist and Randall Riemann, one of the few Black students at Ruslan State University.
One Christmas night, two years ago, when the snow cold was terrible and the wind vicious, Arthur made Ray and Stephen Milan jog around Oswego ten times during a penalty game. Ray had thought Arthur was a prick back then.
Since their Oswego contracts ended, the twenty AB-Philo freshmen scattered, and Ray rarely saw Arthur after that. An occasional shared class, a passing nod in the hallway, and that was it. There was no reason their paths should ever cross again.
And yet.
--Look what we have here.
Arthur Something-something, sitting across a plastic cafeteria table on a cold Friday afternoon, the first of September, staring at Ray like he’s just been catfished.
Blame it on the girls. Blame it on Brittany Armstrong for chatting up a stranger online over the summer to patch up her heartbreak. Blame Renton-with-an-H for asking her to take him back just when she and Random Stranger finally agreed to meet IRL.
Blame Momo House and Deanna Tilling, who, rather than encouraging Brittany to let the poor guy down gently like decent human beings, decided, “Hey! Wouldn’t it be funny if one of us met him instead? Might be a shot at romance. Quick! Who here’s single?”
‘Not me,’ said Orion Archer. ‘I’ve got a girlfriend. Straight as an arrow.’
‘Not me,’ said Nowell Bautista. ‘I’ve got someone back home.’
‘Don’t look at me,’ said Noah Santos. ‘Don’t pull me in on one of your schemes. Such a dishonest way to forge a relationship.’
‘Not me,’ said Dhru Banerjee. ‘I’ve got my eyes on someone.’
‘Not me,’ said Deanna. ‘I hate men.’
‘Not me,’ said Momo. ‘I prefer women.’
‘Not me,’ said Ray. ‘I’m—’
‘Nah! Go for it, Reijiro! Make a move!’ cheered Momo, Deanna, and Brittany.
‘I’m a man,’ Ray protested.
‘It’s the 21st century,’ Deanna shot back. ‘What’s the big deal?’
‘I’m straight.’
‘How are you so sure?’ Momo prodded. ‘You’ve never been with anyone. Try it. You never know.’
‘College is for experiments and self-discovery,’ Brittany added. ‘And I’ve got a feeling this one’s handsome. Said he’s from our department. Third year. Just like us.’
Ray squinted. ‘Third year as in… actually third year? Or tenth year with third-year standing?’
‘I… don’t know.’
‘Does it matter?’ Deanna challenged. And because she is forever the walking contradiction of a man-hating, Hallmark-Christmas-movie-watching romantic, she added, ‘If it’s love, then that’s all there is to it.’
It matters, Ray had wanted to scream. If he’s ten years older than me, it matters! Come on! If you’ll make me a homo, then you might as well pair me with a tall, handsome, smart, rich guy. Or is that asking for too much?
To console him, Brittany said, ‘I doubt he’s the type of guy to be troubled academically. He said he lives in North Sonomer and he graduated from a private high school. So, he’s smart, at least. And before you all give me death stares, I graduated from a public high school just like the rest of you (well, except for Dhru and Noah), I was not implying anything. Anyway, he also said he plays the piano. As a hobby. And his brother plays the violin. As hobby! And he is from North Sonomer. Does anyone of you know what that means? He isn’t just well-to-do, he is rich! ’
Momo and Deanna squealed. They live for rich-meets-poor love stories.
Ray had wanted to back out. Rich people are a different breed. He can barely function around Renton-with-a-freaking-H, and they’ve known each other for two years.
‘Just take one for the team, man,’ said Orion with absolutely zero pity for the guy who cooks their meals daily.
And Noah? His so-called best friend? There silently watched from a corner. Useless.
Stupid Reijiro. Dumb fucking pushover of a boy. If this day ends in blood, he will curse his housemates and those three meddling girls into the afterlife.
What shall happen to his pride? To his (non-existent) reputation?
Now here he is, across from Arthur Something-something, who’s probably wondering why the ebony-skinned, modelesque girl he expected has turned out to be a lanky, pale-skinned, gloomy boy with jet-black hair.
Arthur is still staring. Probably weighing whether this is a prank or a real case of catfishing.
--And how awkward is it to go to a meetup date and find out it’s someone you knew?
--Right! I’ll just say this is a prank! A social experiment! That’s acceptable these days. That’ll save me from the wrath of the rich.
--But who would have thought that Arthur Something-something is into online dating?
Arthur finally moves. He pulls out his phone and scrolls. Ray holds his breath.
--A social experiment. I will say this is a social experiment.
“If this is a social experiment,” Arthur says, not looking up, “then I must say, you did a terrific job impersonating a woman for two whole months, Reijiro.”
Pause.
“…What?”
The blue/green-eyed boy shows his phone. Chat logs with Brittany. Full of emojis from the girl’s end. Then a mirror selfie showing just the upper body of a clearly black woman, face hidden by a phone.
Ray almost chokes. Arthur puts his phone away.
“So… you like romcoms, Reijiro?”
“Wait—”
“You listen to Taylor Swift?”
“…”
“You were offered modeling gigs?”
“No! I—Hold on. How do you know who I am?”
Arthur smiles, wistfully. “We were both in Oswego freshman year. How could I forget you? Did you think it was okay to use me for your little social experiment because you assumed I had forgotten?”
--Fuck. By his narrative, I am truly looking like the asshole now, am I? What now? Apologize?
Arthur's still smiling. “What subject is this for? And the girl in the photo… did you ask her to message me? Did you know her?”
The motherfucker sure is confident everything was a social experiment—well, that’s the cover he’s going for anyway, but that’s beside the point. Like, how is he so sure that Ray didn’t have the hots for him before and now the jet-black is catfishing him? Or Ray is just a proxy for someone? Did Arthur ever think of that? The bastard seems to be enjoying this! His confidence sure is annoying.
But Ray digresses. Since he can’t be bothered anyway to cover Brittany and H’s sorry asses, since he can’t think of any good story to save himself from looking like an asshole, and, since he didn’t really moonlight a romance with Arthur-Something-Something-Previously-Random-Stranger, he tells Arthur the truth about everything. Arthur frowns slightly upon hearing all of it, yet Ray can’t tell if it’s enough of an indication to say that he’s upset by this turn of events.
“You’re taking this quite better than I had hoped for,” Ray says, almost defeated after he expected a walkout and there is none.
“Not really. In some ways, I would say my summer was wasted. Brittany seemed lovely over chat. But I am glad she and her boyfriend made up.” Arthur’s wistful smile turns giddy. “And I am glad her friends made you come instead. Otherwise, I would not have seen you again. A shame we never talked at Oswego. But I am happy. Of all people who could have taken her place, I am glad it was you, Reijiro.”
...
What?
What?!
Nemesis fell.