Day 2: Priya (Strategic Planning)

Your toothbrush is in Rebekah’s bathroom now.

You haven’t said anything about it, and neither has she. But it’s there—tucked beside hers in the ceramic cup, bristles brushing like they’re sharing secrets. Your spare hoodie’s draped over the back of her desk chair. Your socks have claimed the bottom drawer. You didn’t go back to your dorm at all after the show this time and waking up here felt normal.

Rebekah’s standing at the stove, half asleep as she prepares breakfast. You said you’d do it, but she insisted. She flips a pancake, yawn-muted by the hem of your T-shirt—stolen and oversized on her, of course.

“You want syrup or jam?” she asks, not looking up.

“Syrup,” you say, watching her. “I’ve got the coffee going. If we’re both pretending we’re morning people, we can both add to the illusion.”

She grunts in agreement as you reach for the pot.

“You’re not going back today, are you?” she asks, pouring without waiting for your answer.

You don’t answer right away. Just slide into the chair that’s quietly become yours, the one that always ends up closest to her. “Nah,” you say eventually. “I’ve got everything I need here.”

She drops the plates of pancakes on the table and you set two mugs down next to them. She stares into the blackness for a moment before taking a sip.

“I know,” she says softly.

That’s it. There are no claims, no declarations. Just a quiet understanding that whatever line separated yours and mine has been quietly, entirely erased. As you work sleepily through breakfast there’s a ping from your phone. You reach for it, and open the campus social media app. It’s from Priya.

Hey. I’m down. I liked being in the game last year—glad to be back in rotation. But I can’t do anything right now. Labs are eating me alive and finals start Monday. If you're patient, I’m game.

You smile and show Rebekah the message. She takes a sip of coffee and raises one brow. “Told you she was in before.”

You nod, typing a reply.

Would it help if I came to one of your labs? Maybe if there’s a moment you’re alone?

Her reply comes back fast. She’s clearly got the phone in hand.

Alone in a lab? In the last two weeks of the semester? Yeah, not happening. I’ve got plans straight after exams, but I can push them back a day if you’re serious.

You frown, then type.

Sorry. I really want this, but I’m heading to the Fluorescence Nationals with Rebekah the second exams are done. Can’t push that.

There’s a pause. Then three little bubbles. Then…

Wait—the Nationals? I’m going too. I’m with their bottom, Luca Strauss. I’m his girlfriend. We could do something there. Hell, maybe they’d want to join in?!

Your eyebrows rise so fast they threaten to scalp you. You hold the phone up and show Rebekah. She blinks at it. Then again.

“Luca?” she says. “No way.”

You tilt your head. “You didn’t know he had a girlfriend?”

She snorts. “I didn’t even know he was bi. He’s brought that pre-law boyfriend—what’s his name—Tariq?—to a couple of our tournaments. I assumed that was it. He’s never said anything about a girl.”

You grin and look back down at your screen.

Rebekah’s surprised. She thought Luca was taken already. Guess he is. Just… twice.

Priya doesn’t miss a beat.

Yeah. We’re a three-body problem. Solved it with open communication and a lot of wrist endurance.

You nearly spit your coffee. Rebekah eyes you.

“She say something funny?” she asks.

You hand her the phone. She reads and smirks. “Oh, she’s going to be delightful.”

You nod, still smiling. Delightful, yes, but an easy win too. Given how busy you are, that might be just what you need. You type a confirmation to her, agreeing to meet up at the hotel where the team is staying for the week, all paid by the tournament organizers. It’s a shame, you reflect, that group sex isn’t a challenge in the deck.

You’re halfway through your second pancake when you glance over and say, “Well, at least now we can focus on finals.”

Rebekah snorts without looking up from her phone. “You can focus on finals. I’m doubling down on practice.”

You blink. “You’re not going to study?”

She shrugs, swallowing the hot coffee in her mouth quickly and wincing. “I’ll pass. Probably.”

“That’s… not a strategy.”

She finally looks up, one brow raised. “It is if you’ve already worked out the ROI.”

You frown. “ROI?”

“Return on investment,” she says, like you’re the one being slow. “I could scrape a B and graduate in a year or two. Get a decent starter job, maybe something in marketing or logistics if I’m lucky. Forty-five grand a year, give or take. Or…” She gestures with her mug. “I go pro. Stream Fluorescence, compete. After we won regionals, we already had a couple of sponsors approach us. We’re getting 10 grand from EZChair to wear their hats in the Nationals. Add in merch offers. And that’s without a national championship on my record. If we finish in the top two, we get an invite to the Worlds Tour.”

You lean back, trying to read her. “You’re really betting it all on the game.”

She nods. It’s the same certain, unyielding nod that she uses when she’s put everything on a challenge and refuses to lose. “It’s not a bet. It’s the only thing that makes sense. College was just the platform. Fluorescence is the career.”

You open your mouth, then shut it. You can think of a dozen objections without trying. What if they don’t make past nationals? What if they can’t duplicate their Regionals success? What if the streaming she’s planning fails? What if one of the team does something sponsors object to? What if the game loses its popularity? All of them and more cry out to be heard, to be answered, but you know Rebekah when she’s like this. There is no arguing. The fact she’s willing to put all her eggs into this one basket is terrifying and awe inspiring.

She sees it in your face. “You don’t have to approve,” she says softly. “You just have to be in my corner.”

You nod. Slowly. “Always.”

Even if the ground under that corner keeps shifting.