The Last Architects

Chapter Eight.

 As much as I hated Ema, his music taste was respectable. At least. And the jazz or blues that played in the morning was actually very nice, the only time neither of us had the energy to pass petty comments under our breaths at each other.

It was almost too movie-like how differently we got ready; Ema groaned and whined as he got out of bed. I let myself rest for a minute exactly after my alarm and got up without issue. He wrapped a colorful robe around himself while taming his spunky bed head. I had my simple silk robe, while washing my face. And what was really making me uncomfortable was the fact how we worked around each other after getting our rhythm in place. I put on the kettle that he always added a cup of water to after I left it to wash my face, and when I was done, he was done choosing his outfit, and we'd switch areas and so forth. No talking needed, just petty glances.

And once we left, we only had the mandatory classes for architecture together, which we made sure to ignore each other in. until...

"It's a project that will be done in pairs. I have made the pairs already, and you must finish this design in a week. Presentations will be done by the deadline and whatnot." I tilted my head as he began to write the names of the duos on the board, waiting for mine patiently.

Out of everyone here, I liked James the most, he had similar opinions as me and seemed easy to work with-

Skyler and Emma.

Ema or Emma- I needed to know. But when no girl looked around for me, my heart dropped. No. No. I refused to even think of the possibility. So I waited till he had finished, no other Emma's appearing on the board. Fuck no.

I stood abruptly when class finished, staring at Ema who had done the same, and for once, we agreed on what had to be done, silently approaching Mr. Whites' desk.

"Sir?" I cleared my throat to which he looked up, raising a brow at us. "We'd like to change partners... See, Ema and I just- simply cannot work together."

"Well, what's done is done. You both are the best students in your passions, I think mixing such separate views would render an amazing result-"

"Sir. I implore you, I cannot work with him." I shuddered at the mere thought of it.

"I agree with him! I understand how you think it's purely out of creative perspective, but he has no creativity!" Ema clutched his bag to his chest tightly.

"Says the one who can't make anything functional, not even your routines." I muttered, Mr. Whites shaking his head.

"Both of you, you are in your 20s. You can work through this." He sat in his desk chair.

"You don't understand, he can't- I would rather kill myself then work with him." I ran a stressed hand through my hair, "he can't ever see how a design will just crumble because it 'looks pretty'." I mimicked his whiney voice.

"He wants to design a prison! Professor, you can't put us together! I'd rather do the project alone." Ema whined, dragging his hands down his face.

"Do you both want to fail this?" Mr. Whites looked between us and we snapped our mouths shut. "Thought so. Deal with the pairing. A grade is better than no grade. Now scram." He dismissed us, and we left the classroom with a tense defeat.

"Fuck you for existing." I whispered at him sharply once we had passed the door, trying to fix my hair.

"Fuck your grandparents, oh my god." He slammed his foot into mine as he stormed past me and I pulled his hair out of the bun he had spent most of his time on this morning, to which he froze, lifting a hand to his hair.