Chapter Text
Ganyu can feel her eyebrows creeping further and further up into her bangs by the minute and she can tell she’s not the only one. Just who does this girl think she is? It’s only a week into the fall semester. Most students are still trying to shake off the summer daze and get back into the groove of lectures, labs, and learning, but not this chick apparently.
For starters, it’s an 8 AM class. No one wants to be in class at 8 AM, and that is generally reflected by the subdued, almost sleepy atmosphere of the lectures. Ganyu suspects the prof kind of enjoys it. She’s heard him say some pretty outlandish things before that no one was quite awake enough to pick up on.
But this girl, this transfer student, is painfully sharp for such an ungodly hour. And she’s not letting the professor catch a single break. Question after question, she’s single-handedly carrying the entire class discussion. The small part of Ganyu’s brain that is fully awake and paying attention is somewhat impressed. At least the girl seems to know more or less what she’s talking about, not like that fedora-wearing dude in one of her labs last year. And the timbre and cadence of her voice is as nice to listen to as the girl herself is nice to look at—
Woah. Maybe Ganyu’s not as awake as she thought. She gives her head a shake and tries to refocus on the discussion, tries to follow the points being brought up as they do seem kind of interesting even if they are only tangentially related to the topic of the lecture.
By the time the end of class rolls around, any generous thoughts toward Miss Know-it-all have evaporated. Her discussion (argument?) with the prof ended up eating so much time that the prof was forced to assign a way heavier workload than usual. Normally Ganyu wouldn’t have a problem with that, except she’d already agreed to pick up extra shifts at her part-time job this week. So that’s great.
“Yo, Ganyu!”
At the sound of her name, she pauses in the crowded corridor and glances behind her. Dark hair, a broad grin, and an arm raised in greeting meet her as her longtime friend, Beidou, falls in step beside her.
“How was class?” she says, elbowing her in the ribs.
“Ugh,” says Ganyu, “You may need to restrain me from murdering the new transfer student.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Awful. She talked the entire class.”
“Isn’t that kind of the point of class discussions, though?”
“Well, yes, but she’s just too much, you know?”
“You mean, her actually participating in class made it harder for you to nap like you usually do.”
“Whose side are you on?”
Beidou laughs. “Yours. But maybe you’d find her less obnoxious if your class wasn’t so early. I did warn you about that, if you recall.”
Ganyu sighs as they push through the double doors and start across the quad towards the Student Centre. “Yes, you did. And yes, I ignored you,” she says. “But with any luck, I’ll never have to see her except in class. I really might hit her otherwise.”
Beidou shakes her head, smiling, “You wouldn’t hurt a fly, even if you wanted to.”
“That’s why I have you, right?” says Ganyu, with a sly look out of the corner of her eye. “You’ll beat up anyone who needs it on my behalf.”
“That was one time, I was drunk, and the circumstances were far more warranted than just some keener speaking up in class.”
“Stop being reasonable and let me have this, please?”
Beidou snorts. “Fine, if it makes you feel better. I will absolutely destroy this girl for you if she annoys you anymore.”
“Thank you. That’s all I needed to hear,” says Ganyu, laughing. “Anyway, I picked up a shift at the cafe. See you at the gym later?”
“Count on it,” she says, waving again as she veers away toward the Kinesiology building.
Ganyu watches her friend go and rolls her shoulders trying to work out the tension before she steps into the Student Centre, fully regretting taking these extra shifts despite how much she could use the money.
The cafe in the Student Centre is pretty nice by any standard. It’s exceptionally nice by university eatery standards. It’s tucked away in the east wing of the building, rippled glass walls keeping the bustle and noise of the hall at bay and giving the place a cosy, secluded feeling.
Part of the reason Ganyu likes working here is because of how dead it usually is; every item on the menu is overpriced to the point that the only regulars are some of the snootier professors. She often has time to catch up on readings in between rotating cookies through the ovens or labelling the sandwiches the early shift prepped.
Ganyu has just opened the oven to pull out a tray of blueberry muffins when the bell over the door announces the arrival of a customer.
“Be with you in a second,” Ganyu calls from the kitchen. She tips the muffins onto a cooling rack before quickly washing her hands and rounding the corner to the front counter.
“Sorry about that, what can I get for—” she stops short. It’s the transfer student. “You” she finishes flatly.
The girl raises an imperious eyebrow. “You look very familiar.”
“Uh, yeah. I’m Ganyu,” she says. “You're in my 8 AM film theory class with Dr Zhongli.”
“Right. You're the girl who was dozing off in the back.”
“W-what? I was not––”
“I don’t know why you’d take a class if you don’t even bother showing up awake enough to pay attention.”
Beidou is right, Ganyu has never been one to resort to violence. But at this moment she feels an overwhelming urge to punch someone. Maybe even the someone staring at her from across the counter. If she wasn’t working, she definitely would be tempted to verbalise some of the choice words currently pressing against the back of her throat. But with great effort she swallows them, saying instead, “Yeah, well. It’s been a rough morning.”
The girl fixes her with a piercing gaze. “Hmm.” Then, flicking her eyes to the menu behind Ganyu’s head, she places her order.
Ganyu rings her up and moves to make the speciality coffee, seething. She can feel eyes watching her the whole time. She fetches a ham sandwich, bags up some cookies, and, placing everything onto a tray, hands the whole lot over without a word.
She takes it with the barest hint of a smile. “Thank you,” she says. “I’m Keqing, by the way.”
“Hmm,” says Ganyu. She knows she’s being rude, but Keqing started it.
“I’ll see you around then, Ganyu,” says Keqing and, lunch in hand, she turns to leave without a backwards glance.
Ganyu stares after her. Keqing, huh. Well, she’s obnoxious in class and rude outside it. So it doesn’t really matter that her eyes are the exact shade of the pink sea glass she found at the beach two summers ago; or that her hair, even in those silly cat ear buns, reminds her of the lilacs that bloom outside her apartment every spring; or that she has the presence of royalty, confidence radiating off her in waves. Nope, none of that matters because she’s also kind of a bitch.
Ganyu wipes down the counter more aggressively than required, promising to herself to never speak to Keqing again.
Ganyu should know better than to make promises that have the potential to be out of her power to keep. For a while, she manages to avoid Keqing, even though she notices those sharp eyes trained on her as she would slip into her seat in the back of the room with seconds to spare. Every class reinforces Ganyu’s opinion of Keqing as she continues to commandeer the discussions, question points in the lecture, and a few times, even call out the professor when his ideas or opinions come across as too absolute for her liking.
Then, of course, Dr Zhongli has to go and do what every professor who doesn’t give a damn about their ranking on ratemyprofessors.com does: assign a group project. And then, of all the people in class, who does Ganyu get paired with?
When their names are called by the TA, Keqing spins around in her seat, locking eyes with Ganyu, who sinks down in her chair and would really rather just melt into a puddle on the floor. But no sooner has the TA dismissed them to meet and start planning their project, Keqing is on her feet, marching to the back of the room and plopping down in the seat in front of Ganyu’s desk, straddling the chair, her arms folded over its back.
She doesn’t say anything and Ganyu doesn’t even know where to start. From everything she’s observed, they’re polar opposites. Learning styles, note-taking, test prep, all different. How the hell are they supposed to make a cohesive project? Especially one that has multiple parts, a highly subjective topic, and will be ongoing for the rest of the semester? Ganyu’s nightmares have just become reality. She wonders vaguely if being in her final year means it’s too late to drop out or switch majors or study abroad or something.
Finally, Keqing speaks. “I’m not sure how well this is going to work.”
Ganyu straightens up, hopeful. If they both have a problem with the partner assignment, maybe they can argue to switch. God knows Keqing is good at arguing.
“We seem to have very different schedules,” Keqing goes on, and Ganyu’s hope plummets. She tunes Keqing out, only half aware of agreeing to meet up this Saturday at the Library Tower to start planning in earnest.
When class ends, Keqing lingers, as if waiting for Ganyu, but Ganyu is quick with an excuse of needing to speak with Dr Zhongli. Although, it’s not really an excuse. As soon as Keqing is out of sight, Ganyu does her level best to not outright sprint to the front of the room.
“Ah, Ganyu,” says Zhongli, glancing up as he packs away his books and notes. “My favourite student.”
Ganyu purses her lips. “You can’t say stuff like that,” she complains.
“Oh, sorry,” he says. “Ganyu, my favourite niece. What can I do for you.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s not better,” she says, “but can I talk to you about the partner assignments for this project?”
Zhongli pauses, his hand hovering over a textbook. “Hmm. Yes, I’m not surprised.” He resumes packing as he continues, “I do have another lecture to get to, but if you come by during my office hours this afternoon, I’ll gladly hear what you have to say.”
Ganyu chews her lower lip, far from being reassured by his lukewarm response. “Okay. I’ll come by then,” she says. “Thank you.”
“Certainly,” he replies. “And of course, you always have an open invitation to come over for dinner. Your mother would kill me if she thought I was neglecting you.”
Ganyu laughs as she turns to leave. “I know, I know. Thanks.”
At 2 PM on the dot, Ganyu is waiting outside Zhongli’s office in the Humanities building, her foot tapping a restless staccato. When he rounds the corner and spots her, he smiles.
“Anxious about this discussion, are we?” he says, unlocking his door.
“I wouldn’t say anxious,” says Ganyu, standing and following him into the small, cluttered space.
“What would you say, then?” Zhongli takes his seat behind the desk, motioning for Ganyu to take the squashy armchair directly across from him.
Ganyu hums. “Maybe some combination of nervous and eager?”
“I believe that amounts to the same thing. So,” he says, steepling his fingers on the desk. “I take it you are unhappy with your partner assignment.”
“I wouldn’t say unhappy—”
Zhongli breathes a laugh, his golden eyes dancing. “No need to be coy.”
“Okay, fine. It’s not going to work, Keqing and I. We are not compatible. There’s no way I can work for the rest of the semester with her. Can you please, please, please adjust the assignments?”
Zhongli takes a deep breath and sits back in his chair, one finger absently tracing a pattern on the armrest. “What makes you say you’re incompatible?”
“Are you kidding? You’ve seen how she is in class. And you’ve known me most of my life. We are completely different.”
“Just because two people appear to be different doesn’t mean they can’t form a mutually beneficial, perhaps even highly successful partnership.”
“Maybe, but it’s not just about the work. Our personalities, our characters, are at odds. I want to punch her as often as not. And I don't generally want to punch anyone, ever.”
“A startling revelation, indeed. Perhaps you’re spending too much time around Beidou? She’s a bit rough around the edges.”
“Zhongli,” Ganyu says, her eyes pleading.
“In all seriousness, I do understand. But my point remains. You and Beidou are also very different, but still good friends. You may also become good friends with Keqing, if you give her a chance.”
Ganyu does not say that she doesn’t want to give Keqing even half a chance. It sounds childish, even in her own mind. “That’s different,” she says.
“I disagree,” says Zhongli, and Ganyu can hear the finality in his voice. As wise and intelligent as her uncle is, he’s never been particularly flexible. Once he’s made up his mind, you’d have better luck trying to knead a boulder.
“I will tell you this in confidence,” he continues. “Keqing was headhunted to attend this university. She is incredibly smart and unbelievably dedicated to her studies. In these ways, you two are the same. I believe you would make good foils for each other.”
“How can you say that when she questions you on everything? When she tries to undermine every lecture?”
“Just because I know a lot doesn’t mean I know everything. Perhaps the film industry is due for a disruption, and perhaps Keqing will be the person to do it. She is the fire to your ice. I think you’ll find you can accomplish quite a lot together.”
“You think I’m ice?” Ganyu asks in a small voice, knowing her fight is lost.
Zhongli’s eyes crinkle. “In some ways. But apply a little heat, and ice can change, unlike stone. Which I know is what you think of me at times.”
“Fine. I’ll try. But if it doesn’t work and I fail this class and don’t graduate and can’t get a job and end up selling my body on the streets for a can of beans, I’m fully blaming you.”
“If you really do try, I can guarantee you will not fail. And no,” he adds, catching the quirk of her brows, “that is not nepotism. You’re a hard worker and very smart, Ganyu. Trust yourself, and trust Keqing. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
“If you say so,” she says, sighing. Standing up to leave, she plays her last card. “What if I come over for dinner. Would you change your mind then?”
Zhongli laughs in earnest as he waves her out of his office.
If Ganyu had been a little less focused on her plan to get her partner changed, she might have paid closer attention to what time she agreed to meet Keqing on Saturday. Just because they have class at 8 AM during the week does not mean she wants to get up for 8 AM on the weekend too. Campus is a ghost town this early on a Saturday. And Ganyu has never felt more uncharitable towards the person responsible for forcing her out of her warm bed and across the dew sodden lawns to the library at this godforsaken hour.
By the time she drags open the front doors, it’s past eight, but Ganyu is past caring. She spots Keqing waiting at the circulation desk, chatting with one of the library staff, a stack of books already in her arms. Just how early did she get here?
When Keqing sees her, she nods towards the elevators. When Ganyu joins her inside, Keqing hits the button for the seventh floor with her elbow. She watches Ganyu out of the corner of her eye as the elevator rumbles upward.
“You look tired,” she says, a tentative note in her voice.
Everyone knows that ‘you look tired’ usually means ‘you look like shit.’ Ganyu isn’t in the mood or position to deny either meaning.
“I feel tired,” she says, her voice still a little gravelly from sleep.
Keqing purses her lips but says nothing. They pass the remainder of the ride in silence. Once on the seventh floor, Keqing leads Ganyu to a study area in the back. Several tables equipped with outlets and lamps line the wall next to the windows. The view is… nice. Ganyu rarely spends much time in the library except to pick up the books she requests or to visit the third floor where the majority of the film materials are. This high up, she can see clear across campus towards downtown, the glass skyscrapers catching and reflecting the morning sun.
Ganyu shucks her backpack onto an empty chair and throws herself into another, still admiring the view and suppressing a sudden feeling that early mornings maybe aren’t so bad with a view like this. Then Keqing drops her books down on the table with a bang, making Ganyu jump. Never mind, early mornings are the worst, she thinks, levelling a glare at an oblivious Keqing.
“I picked these out for reference, we can use them as a starting point,” Keqing says, spreading the books out across the table.
Ganyu tears her eyes away from Keqing’s flawlessly winged eyeliner and focuses on the books instead. A few of the titles she’s heard of, a few more she’s read. The rest she’s unfamiliar with.
“I figured we would start with the textbook,” she says, reaching for her bag and pulling out the book assigned for class.
Keqing makes the kind of face someone makes when they step in dog doo. “We could,” she says, “but I think it’s pretty shallow as a reference book.”
Ganyu only just manages to keep her jaw from dropping to the table. “How can you say that? It’s universally used as a reference, cited regularly by most film theorists, and it was written by our prof,” she says, pointing to the cover where Zhongli’s name and numerous credentials are emblazoned.
“Yes, and of course he chose to use his own book as the assigned text for his class. Talk about an echo chamber.”
Ganyu blinks at her. “Dr Zhongli is at the top of the field. He could teach anywhere he wants, work on any projects he wants. I don’t think it’s our place to question his expertise or experience.”
Keqing shrugs. “He may be at the top now, but what goes up must come down,” she says, then points to one of the books on the table. “This one just came out last year. It’s got some new theories in it that would probably curl Zhongli’s hair.” She gives Ganyu a shrewd look. “I’d say yours too if it wasn’t already so wavy.”
Ganyu runs a hand through her hair, suddenly self-conscious of the decision to not brush it this morning, speechless at the utter disrespect and disregard Keqing has for Zhongli’s work. Keqing for her part is either unaware or just ignoring the impact of her comments as she digs through her bag, pulling out a laptop and a few more books.
Ganyu takes a deep breath. “I just think I would feel more comfortable if we maybe started with less experimental materials. There’s no need to reinvent the wheel for this assignment.”
Keqing considers this for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “You know, Dr Zhongli doesn’t know everything,” she says.
Ganyu scoffs, wondering briefly at how close this statement is to what Zhongli himself said to her. “Of course I know that. But that doesn’t make him obsolete.”
“But his promotion of pretentious and outdated theories does,” she counters. “There are better and newer sources out there.”
Ganyu frowns, but she doesn’t have the energy or the disposition to argue further. Instead, she pushes her feelings down, allowing the anger and frustration to roil just below the surface. She pulls out her own laptop in stony silence to start taking notes for their outline.
As the morning progresses she realises that Zhongli was wrong about Keqing being the fire to her ice. Ganyu may be ice, but Keqing is less like fire and more like electricity. Like a bolt of lightning, she jumps from topic to topic, her intensity undiminished. Ganyu can feel the enthusiasm crackling around her, charging the stale air of the library. It’s kind of an interesting phenomenon to observe, if she’s being perfectly honest, and if it wasn’t for the frequent and sudden shifts as Keqing’s train of thought would jump track, jolting Ganyu out of her steady working rhythm every time without fail, she might find the whole experience mildly amusing. As it is, she finds she can barely keep up.
The sun tracks across their table, marking the slow yet inevitable passage of time. Ganyu knows she’s not working at her most efficient, but when Keqing snaps her laptop shut, announcing that’s probably a good enough start, she’s surprised she managed to get down twelve pages of annotated notes and the start of a decent bibliography. Not terrible considering the circumstances.
She’s just zipped her backpack shut when a phone is shoved into her face.
“Here,” says Keqing. “Add your number. It’ll be more reliable to text to set up the next time we can meet rather than trying to catch each other after class.”
Ganyu pauses, her hand halfway to taking the offered phone. But as much as she hates the idea of Keqing having her number, she’s not wrong. Unless Ganyu insists they email back and forth like boomers, this is a necessary evil. She sighs and takes the phone, one of the latest models, and taps in her name and number. “There,” she says, handing the phone back.
Keqing takes it and taps the screen a few more times and Ganyu can feel her own phone vibrate from her bag.
“Perfect,” says Keqing. “Now we can get a hold of each other.” She slings her bag over one shoulder. “I’ll see you in class, Ganyu.”
And with that, she’s gone, making for the elevators as if she has someplace pressing to be on a Saturday. Which maybe she does, Ganyu doesn’t know. And she doesn’t want to know, she reminds herself. She takes her leave at a much more subdued pace.
Three hours in the library with Keqing is two hours and fifty-five minutes too many. When Ganyu finally steps back out into the late morning sunshine she feels like she’s just spent a week doing one of those sleep deprivation studies. She didn’t realise she could feel this drained this early in the day.
“It’s kinda early for you to be out and about on a Saturday, isn’t it?”
Ganyu spins around. “Oh, hey Beidou. Tell me about it,” she says.
Beidou glances at the Library Tower. “Early morning study session?”
“Worse. Group project.”
“Gross.”
“Yeah. Once again, tell me about it.”
Beidou jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m heading to the gym, you could join me if you want.”
Ganyu hesitates. She can hear her bed calling her name, the thoughts of a midday nap weaving deliciously through her mind. But working out some frustration also sounds pretty good.
“You know,” she says, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll run home and get my stuff. Meet you there?”
“I’ll come with you, you can tell me about your project,” says Beidou, and they set off together across campus towards the student housing.
“I don’t think you want to hear about it,” says Ganyu. “It’s a nightmare. I’ll give you three guesses who my partner is, but you’ll only need one.”
Beidou hums, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “It’s that transfer chick, isn’t it.”
“Yup. She spent half our time today bashing Zhongli and refusing to use any of his writing as reference material.”
“Harsh,” says Beidou. “You’re not just upset because he’s your uncle, are you?”
“Of course not,” says Ganyu, shaking her head. “She completely disregards his decades of study and experience in the film industry. It’s disrespectful.”
“Or maybe you’re overly respectful.”
“Not likely,” Ganyu says. When they arrive at her apartment, she quickly ditches her backpack and picks up her gym bag. “I’m not saying Zhongli is infallible, but we’re just undergrads. She acts like she knows so much more than everyone. Sometimes I’d like to just shoot that high horse right out from under her.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing we’re heading to the gym,” says Beidou, laughing.
They call it the gym, but it’s more of a sports multiplex, co-operated by the city and the university. It’s a massive building complete with dozens of courts, an Olympic-sized pool, an indoor running track, and, Ganyu’s favourite place, an archery range. There’s nothing quite like losing herself in the pull of the bowstring, the rush of the release, and the thrill of a bullseye. She’s aware that it’s probably not healthy to be picturing Keqing’s stupidly pretty face every time she takes aim, but that’s something she’ll work through later. Today, she’s just here to de-stress.
It only takes an hour and she feels much more like herself. Why she lets herself get so worked up is a point of confusion. She’s run into plenty of know-it-all types throughout her university career. Why is Keqing so much more unbearable? How is she able to push all of Ganyu’s buttons just so? Why does it even matter? It’s one project, worth only a portion of her overall grade. Knowing what she does of Keqing, it’s unlikely they’ll do poorly, so what’s the big deal? The fact that she has no ready answers, at least none she is willing to admit, even to herself, is somewhat disconcerting.
She looses a final arrow, watching with satisfaction as it sinks deep into the centre of her target. As she waits for the other archers to finish, Beidou slips onto the range, her hair matted with sweat and a towel over her shoulders.
“Feel better?” she asks.
“Much,” says Ganyu with a sigh. “I don’t know why I let her get under my skin.”
“Yeah. Might be something else going on there, hey?”
Ganyu feels her face flush and looks resolutely towards the targets in a feeble attempt to hide it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her blush deepens when she notices the clear smirk on Beidou’s face from the corner of her eye.
“Don’t you, though?” says Beidou.
“No. I don’t.”
Thankfully Beidou just laughs and doesn’t push it. But the implication is unsettling. Ganyu thinks about it as she walks back to her apartment. She’s already aware that she finds Keqing aesthetically pleasing. Anyone with eyes would agree. And Ganyu has certainly had crushes on far less appealing people. But that can’t be what this is. She won’t let it be what this is. Keqing is insufferable. End of story.