Sam is running late.

    It's nothing new. He's always running late. Not because he wastes time, not because he snoozes his alarm clock, not even because he doesn't value other people's time. He runs late because he has an over-inflated sense of self and takes on more than he can handle and isn't very good at saying no. So he schedules his life down to the minute and, more often than not, he gets the math wrong.

     Sage, considering he's an economics major.

     Sage, considering he's going to be late for his eleven a.m. class thanks to fucking Sage who's standing in the elevator, staring Sam down as he very clearly doesn't hold the doors for him. No, he's leaning over and repeatedly tapping the close door option. Even though Sam is running towards him, yelling for him to hold it. He never holds it. Sam has no idea why he's wasting his breath. Probably because it's the first day of classes and he was hoping their little rivalry would at least wait till the end of the first day before it reared its head.

     "You're such a fucking ugh."

     The doors shut, and Sam slaps a hand on it before he turns for the stairwell. They live on the ninth floor. He's going to fucking kill Sage. But he's gotten good at running down the stairs. This isn't the first time Sage has closed a door in his face. It won't be the last, either.

     Sam takes a breath before he makes his way downstairs, thinking the whole way that it doesn't matter that Sage is a dick because Olekev sent him an email asking him to stay after class today and he's definitely beat Sage for the research position they both were vying for. Sage can slam elevator doors in his face all year if he wants cause Sam's won this one. Checkmate.

❧

     Sometimes Sage feels bad about it. Sometimes. But then he remembers the way Sam threw an ankle out as he walked to the front of the classroom in their public speaking class second semester and Sage fell, his notecards scattering along the floor, getting all mixed up. He was a nervous public speaker as it was. His voice trembled the whole time and his speech made no sense because he read his conclusion second. It was embarrassing and Sam sat at the front of the class with his arms crossed staring smugly at Sage like he'd really done something.

     So no, he doesn't feel all that bad about it. Even though he's not heading to class, but to get some coffee. His first class of the day isn't until one. Olekev's. He finds out today if he got a research position with her and Sage isn't dramatic, but the past three years have all been leading to this moment. Everything he's done, it's been to study under her. The way his brother should have.

     Everything he's done has been to live up to his brother's legacy, to be able to say, look, I'm just like Hudson. I did it, I made it. It's almost like he's still here. Sage can't bring him back, he knows that. But he can do this one thing.

     Bluestone Lane is a brisk walk down sixth, on a small street lined with some of his favorite restaurants. Not that he's partial at all, but Greenwich Village is his favorite part of New York. His appreciation for food maybe steers his choice, just a little. He's been getting coffee from Bluestone since his freshman year. He might have chosen his apartment his second year based more on proximity to the shop than his campus. He wonders why Sam had chosen it. He knows Sam's a Starbucks person. Has seen him on occasion double-fisting iced coffees as he runs to class. A waste, Sage thinks. Considering how much better literally any other coffee shop is.

     When Sage is up at the counter, he orders two iced long blacks with oat milk and then grabs a table up front so Ruthie will find him. He hasn't seen her since June. She spent most of her summer with her family in Guam. When she bursts into Bluestone, she pauses in the doorway. He thinks she's looking for him so he starts to raise his hand to get her attention but he stops, realizing that's not it. Ruthie's not looking for anyone, she's just looking.

     Bluestone is as much Sage's place as it is her's. It's where he met her freshman year and its where they've crammed for midterms and finals, where they've nursed hangovers, where he told her about his brother, where she introduced him to her girlfriend, where they had their first fight (about his art, which he'd shown her here.) Bluestone was the beacon they built their friendship around.

     Sage smiles as he watches her. She's the sun and he feeds off of her like a solar panel. She's his favorite person.

     Her brown skin is darker than usual. It looks like she captured the sun and swallowed it whole. The light picks up the reds in her corkscrew curls, setting them aflame. Sage remembers trying to bleach her hair sophomore year. They'd tested one strand and the curl snapped off like a branch. Sage didn't tell Ruthie but he was happy it did. He likes her like this, raw and undone, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders. Ruthie was made with a soft hand, not a hard angle in sight. She can't even really glare at you without smiling.

     She's done taking it in, finally settling her gaze on Sage. Her grin broadens and she darts towards him. He gets up, ready for his hug, wanting it more than anything. It was a long summer at home. It was a long summer without her.

     "My person," she says, her voice just as he remembers it. They spent the summer video chatting through discord. Everything about her is just as he remembers, only better because it's real. She wraps her arms around him. She's tall but still shorter than him, her chin resting below his collar bone.

     "Missed you," he says quietly, his voice choking up in him.

     She pulls away and heaves a loud breath. "You look rested. You look good."

     "Well I came back a few weeks ago," Sage answers taking his seat. She sits across from him, reaching for her drink and lifting it up with an appreciative gesture.

     "I thought your parents weren't coming back from Montauk until labor day?"

     "They aren't," he answers. "But I couldn't be there any longer."

     "Well you gave them June and July, which is better than last summer," she says.

     Sage thinks that with each passing year, it should get easier — easier to be around his family, easier to be at home, because healing to him is a linear progression. The first year you lose someone is the hardest and then it progressively gets easier, and the wound starts to scab, and then you can say their name without getting a chill up the back of your neck, without the syllables getting stuck in your throat.

     It hasn't been like that. The first year was probably the easiest, because it hadn't felt real. It hadn't felt real until the first holiday, and then every holiday that followed only seemed to emphasis the loss. The constantly going to set another table setting before realizing you don't need it.

     "So," Sage says with a clap of his hands, looking to get away from his thoughts. "Olekev emailed me. She wants me to stay after class today."

     Ruthie reaches across the table and punches his arm as she digs her front teeth into her bottom lip excitedly, trying to contain her smile. "Oh my god, yes, this is great news. You're definitely getting that research position," she exclaims. "Starting senior year off with a bang. Look at you."

     "Yeah, well, somethings gotta give," Sage says coolly, shrugging his shoulders.

      "Stop. This is well deserved," she says. "You earned this. The universe pays attention."

     Sage nods solemnly, hoping to stave off a lecture. He worked his ass off the last three years. He knows he earned it but he also sort of feels like he deserves it, too. Like the universe has to tip the scale. Some good has to come of it.

     He smirks. "Glad to know the universe favors me over Sam."

     Ruthie shakes her head towards the ceiling. "Does that mean you can finally lay the rivalry to rest?"

     "Never," Sage responds with mock-shock as he places a hand to his chest.

     "Imagine what you two could've accomplished if you weren't trying to beat each other all the time? Like if you supported each other, instead."

     Sage scrunches his face. "Yeah, no. That would never work. Our rivalry keeps me motivated. I'll be graduating with honors thanks to Sam."

      "You should thank him, then," Ruthie says with an insinuative gesture. "With dinner."

      "Stop," Sage responds with a groan.

     "I'm just saying..."

      "Don't."

     "He's very cute—."

     "I'm very cute," Sage interrupts.

     "I'm not arguing with you there. You guys could be cute," she holds her hand up in front of Sage and twists her middle finger around her pointer, "together."

     "Or," Sage says. "I can find out what his top firm is, apply and beat him there, too."

     "Do you hear yourself?" Ruthie asks. "You're a boy obsessed."

❧

     Sam swears once he's graduated, he'll commit to giving himself more time to breathe. In the meantime, he's going to use the fact all of his classes sit on top of each other as his cardio for the semester. Admittedly, he has about ten minutes to get to Olekev's class. The problem is Sage.

     The problem is always Sage.

     But the thing is Sage — Sage does everything in his power to get under Sam's skin. He's convinced. Like the second week of classes his freshman year when Sage sat in his spot for Intro to Econ. Sam was running late for the class. He had the opening shift at Starbucks and when he got there, the desks were full and Sage was in his seat. First row. Dead center. Batting his long lashes at their Professor.

     Sage doesn't win because he's smarter than Sam. He wins because he's better at that, at getting people to like him. Objectively speaking, Sam knows that Sage is hot. Sage is actually beautiful. And Sage knows it, too. Wields it like a water bender, wrapping you up in a wave of dimpled grins and sea glass eyes.

     There was a moment where Sam wondered why Sage didn't use that charm on him. He watched him (was always watching him) make friends with everyone. He made people feel seen and special. Sam often felt seen by Sage but in a I'm finding all your weak spots sort of way. In a I know the things that make you tick and I intend to set you off.

     If Sam wasn't so busy with life preservation around Sage he'd actually be impressed with the way he gets strangers to open up to him. How easy he makes some of the most painful conversations look. Sam can't appreciate these things about Sage, though, because they're enemies. Have been since the first day they met. That's the only thing that they can agree on.

     And Sam likes it this way. He looks forward to it. Competing with Sage is the only constant in his life. Everything else is up in the air. Even his future in this country — unstable. But he can count on Sage being a prick. And that, that warms his heart a little bit.

      He'd never admit this aloud but Sage makes him a better student, maybe even a better person. Sam isn't gifted with charm. If his first impressions are memorable, it's usually not a good thing. But he tries. He tries so freaking hard. He tries to smile like Sage, and do the blinky-winky thing he does to the TA's when he's handing in assignments. He tamps down on all the weird twisty emotions he gets when he's around new people and pretends he's Sage. The pretty boy. The boy you can root for.

     Sam is certain if anyone knew about his rivalry with Sage they'd be rooting for him.

      Which fucking blows because yeah, Sage is pretty and all but he's a total asshole. When he's not closing doors in Sam's face, he's stealing his seat and sabotaging his notes, and generally being a pain in the ass.

     Sam likes to sit in the center so he can see the white board like it's a movie screen. He sits in the same spot for all of his classes. Sage has been in enough of his classes to know this. But Sam's not surprised when he bursts into Olekev's classroom (three minutes to spare) and finds that Sage has taken the seat that's front and center.

     Sam pauses in the doorway long enough to roll his eyes. He debates with himself if it's better to take the seat directly behind Sage or beside him. He'd rather be off-center than let Olekev think he's lost interest in her class. First row students are the kiss asses, they're the ones who want their faces remembered, and Sam's spent three years trying to be memorable. He's not about to be forgotten now.

     Sage doesn't flinch when he takes the seat beside him, even though they're in a lecture hall and the class probably has about twenty students so there's ample seating available. Sam aggressively drops his backpack at his feet, purposely infringing upon Sage's space. His elbow hits Sage's arm and sends a pen flying to the floor. He's looking for a reaction but he doesn't get one. Sage leans over to pick it back up and the button up he's wearing falls away from his chest. Sam makes a face of disdain. Sage always wears shirts with deep necklines, revealing his chest and the thin gold chain that hangs below his collar bone.

     "That shirt makes you look like a tool bag," Sam mutters when Sage has righted himself. He feels Sage's stare but he doesn't move his gaze from the front of the room where Olekev is shuffling notes at her desk.

     "Are you thinking about my tool bag?" Sage asks his voice low and close to his ear that Sam breaks his stare to look at him. He knows his mouth is hanging open and he should close it but fucking Sage lifts his eyebrows at him as he smirks and Sam has to actively fight the urge not to punch him in the face.

     "Oh, fuck off," Sam snaps shoving Sage so his arm slides off the desk. Sage laughs, the sound coming deep from his throat, and its the last thing Sam hears before Olekev calls the class to attention.

     Sam took Intro to Econometrics his sophomore year with Olekev so he's well versed in her teaching style, which is admittedly a bit eccentric. Olekev is not a teacher first. She's a businesswoman, an economic theorist, with a passion for observable data. She doesn't really care if you like what you're learning or if you're even learning it at all. She could be talking to an empty room and it wouldn't deter her because she's that invested in what she's saying. Which is why she's the best thing to happen to NYU's business program and Sam's golden ticket to Blackrock.

     After a summer of analyzing, comparing, contrasting, pro's and conning it, Sam has decided that Blackrock is his ideal firm to work for post-grad. He has a small window to get a work visa and Blackrock has a good track record of sponsoring immigrants and is, ultimately, the deciding factor. While it'd be great to work for a firm like Goldman that provides on-site dry cleaning and a comp'd Equinox membership and catered lunch, Sam doesn't really need luxury. He needs a reason to stay.

     He told Sage this once when he was drunk so on accident. He would never hand over a personal grenade sober. Not to his archenemy, anyway. But he and Sage got into the elevator late one night and Sam was drunk and having a hard time standing up, let alone keeping his thoughts in his head. So he said some dumb shit, some regrettable shit, and he and Sage never talked about it again.

     It wasn't dumb luck that they got apartments across from each other. More like the universe conspiring to make his life a living hell. They were the cheapest apartments available at the time and Sam preferred to take as little loans out in his name as he could. He didn't really understand why Sage was living there, though. He knew he came from money. He's a Decort legacy. Of course he comes from money. His mother is the first woman to a build a lucrative investment management corporation in only ten years. From nothing.

     From like actually nothing. Sam fact-checked it. Sage's mom isn't a daughter of a son of a son of a son. There isn't a line of wealthy Decort's who helped fund her endeavors. Sam watched a Vogue interview from a few years ago where they followed Mrs. Decort through her home and asked her thoughtful questions about who she is and how she did it. None of that what's your favorite lipgloss crap. She worked her ass off, that's how she did it. Sam didn't like Sage, sure, but he certainly respected his mom. He'd apply to work for her if he thought he had any chance of getting the job (he most definitely does not.)

     Sage does, though. Which is why it makes no sense that he's even competing with Sam. He could do the bare minimum and still have a cushy job waiting for him after graduation.

     Maybe that makes Sam hate him even more. Sam knows work, has always known work from the time his father died to this moment now, where he's hanging on every word that comes out of Olekev's mouth like she's going to reveal the secret key to success. Sam is chasing success but he's also chasing money. He's chasing not having to work an overnight job doing prepwork for the Bread Company and not having to sell essays online to help his mom back home and not having to Doordash when he needs a new suit for one of the various schmoozing events he has to attend.

      Sam is chasing money so he can walk for a little bit, so he can have a break and catch his breath.

     Ugh. That's what he'd said to Sage that night in the elevator. Sage was standing in the corner glaring at his back and Sam was leaning up against the wall with the buttons, which is how he ended up punching 3, 5, 6 and 7.

     Sage had sneered and asked, "What is wrong with you?"

     Sam, with his head hanging so he was staring at his sneakers (they were drenched in vomit but not his), rolled his eyes and said, "What isn't wrong with me, Sage?"

      Sage hadn't said anything. Sam will never know if he was going to or if he was just going to ignore him for the rest of the ride up. But then Sam muttered, "I'm fucking exhausted, that's what's wrong."

      Sage huffed. "Well, maybe instead of going out partying you should go to sleep."

      "I don't need to catch up on sleep," Sam had snapped finally lifting his head to shoot Sage a glare. "I need," he stopped, pausing as he pressed two fingers to the center of his neck, unsure if it was a burp or vomit tickling at his throat, "I need to catch my breath."

      "So then take a break," Sage said with a shrug. "No one's forcing you to be the way you are."

     Sam had burped. It was just a burp. "And what way is that?"

     They were at their floor and the doors opened up. Sage had pushed away from the back wall, stepping up so he was standing beside Sam. "Insufferable," he'd said before he walked out, leaving Sam there. Sage had slammed them back into their dynamic. The one they knew, the one that worked for them.

      "At least I'm not a prick," Sam had snapped back finding the energy to move, to start walking towards his door. The insult was half hearted but it was the best he could muster. He'd opened himself up to Sage of all people, and for why? It's not like he expected Sage to sit down and listen, commiserate a little bit about the rat race that has been their entire college experience. It's not like he and Sage were anything alike. Sage had proved as much.

❧

     Sam is loitering after class and Sage is hungry, wants to go home, eat, and maybe take a nap before his four-forty class. So he needs Olekev to give him the research position so he can get out of there, which she isn't going to do if Sam doesn't freaking leave.

     He's being weirdly twitchy, too. Sage casts a long glance at him but doesn't say anything. If he's thinking about it, Sam's always kind of twitchy but he also double fists coffee like that's the norm. It's the first day of classes and he doesn't even look rested. The dark circles under his eyes tell Sage he's still working overnight shifts at the Bread Company, which Sage knows only because they ran into each other the morning Sage was leaving for the summer. It was six a.m. and Sam was in uniform, just getting off the elevator as Sage got in, rolling his suitcase behind him.

     They had paused, Sam with one foot out and Sage with one foot in, looking at each other. Sage remembers this a little too distinctly. Remembers Sam's hair sticking up in every direction, remembers the wan look in his hazel eyes, so they were closer to brown than green. He was wearing a black tee shirt that was tight like he'd sized down. Sam was never really small but he'd put on weight and muscle in the last year. His biceps stretched the fabric in a way that wasn't at all displeasing. The logo in the corner of his shirt was a slice of bread and underneath it read company. Sam had cleared his throat and Sage returned his gaze to his face, aiming for bored, aiming for uninterested.

     "So you're leaving?" Sam had asked. Sage nodded unsurely. "How long are you gone for?"

     "The whole summer," Sage responded, wondering why it mattered to Sam.

     Sam grinned then, the same snarky turn of his lips Sage was used to. "Ah, finally, a reprieve," he said.

     Sage rolled his eyes, and said in his usual tone that was both flirty and vicious, "You can say you're going to miss me, Sam. The first step is admitting it."

     Sam shoved past him with a sound of disgust. "Oh fuck off," he snapped as he started walking away.

    "You can always see me in your dreams," Sage had called to his back.

     Olekev looks up from her desk and says, "Oh. Oh! I forgot about this." She smiles at Sage. Or maybe she's smiling at Sam, since he's standing right next to him.

     Olekev's a wild card. Sage picked that up his very first class with her. She's eccentric in a way you don't see often in economics. She looks like she should be teaching sociology. Today she's also frazzled, her orange plastic-frame glasses tilted on her nose.

     "You two." She points between Sage and Sam. "You're the top of the policy program, did you know that? I'm sure you knew that."

     Sam grimaces. "I imagine top of theory, too."

     Olekev winks at him. "Yes, but you know we don't rank across the concentrations."

     Sage glances at Sam with something lethal in his eyes so he'll shut up. Sam's very vocally elitist when it comes to policy versus theory. He knows what he's thinking, that the theory concentration shouldn't rank at all. Because that's what Sage is sort of thinking, too. Theory is just different than policy, and not nearly as demanding.

     "Regardless," Olekev says next. "You're the top of the program. So this shouldn't come as a surprise and you should feel very accomplished with yourselves."

     Sage is confused. It's not a surprise that he's the top of his program, right alongside Sam. That kind of information is public knowledge. Just last year they'd been inducted into the honors society. Olekev has to know that it's not news to them. And if she knows that, then...

     "You're referring to the research position?" he asks.

     "Wait, what?" Sam mutters.

     Olekev frowns, confused. "Of course that's what I'm referring to. Should you both want it, the position is yours. I can't imagine why you wouldn't. I'm assuming that's what you both have been working towards."

     Sam makes a quiet sound. "Both want it?"

     Sage rubs at his eyebrow and takes a steady breath so he doesn't catch a tone with Olekev. "Historically, you have only accepted one research assistant. I assumed that would be the case for this year."

    Olekev nods. "Historically, yes. And under other circumstances, I wouldn't even consider this. As it stands, the research I'm conducting this year will be far more labor intensive than any other year. I'm sure you both are aware of the crisis in Kabul? If you choose to accept, you both will be assisting in the research and compilation of data regarding the stabilization of the Afghan economy and how a failure to do so led to the Taliban insurgence we're now seeing."

     "So," Olekev says eyes darting back and forth from Sage to Sam. "Are you in or are you out?"

     "Obviously I'm in," Sam says before Sage.

     This is distinctly not apart of the plan. Hudson would have been offered the position on his own. Sage isn't just failing himself, he's failing his brother and his brother's legacy.

     Sam leans forward so he can get Sage's attention. His eyes are very green now, lit by the idea of a challenge.

     "Yeah, Sage," he says with the softest smile. A taunt by the turn of his lips. "You in or out?"