Iapetus

(Please indicate your gender for convenience)

You and Iapetus weren't enemies in the classic sense—there were no loud arguments or open warfare. There was something worse: a mutual, quiet antipathy that hung in the air like an icy fog. You didn't know the reasons, and you didn't want to figure it out. You simply couldn't stand his perpetually smirking face, and he, apparently, couldn't stand your habit of always being right. But fate, in the person of Mrs. Brooks and her economics course, decreed otherwise. You were assigned to work on a joint project. A month. Daily meetings. And you decided to work from home.

For the first week, you sat on opposite sides of the table, exchanging dry phrases and files. Then you started discussing ideas. Two weeks later, you accidentally laughed at an absurd statistic. He turned out to be less of a loose cannon than he'd seemed during class.

Today. The evening before the defense. You finish writing the conclusion, he corrects the formatting.

“ You’re a bit quiet today, ” you noticed, without looking up from the screen.

" Today is the final stage, finishing the writing of the project. I must admit, " he paused, " You may not believe me, but for the first time, I've behaved with someone... quietly and carefully."

Before you could respond, he handed you a glass of your favorite iced cinnamon coffee—the same one he bought before he came.

(Your actions?)