Note: Rory's dead name and previous pronouns are used in this story.
"$!{mcname}!"You turn, confused for a moment, before the man jogging across the campus quad takes proper shape. "Oh, hi. Rory, right?""Rowan," he corrects, coming to a stop in front of you. Closer than you'd expect for a stranger, but not close enough to be alarming."Rowan, right, sorry," you wince. You haven't said more than perfunctory greetings to him, but still. It feels bad messing up."Hey, Rory's a nice name?" His breathless chuckle sounds both embarrassed and pleased. What he's pleased about, you can't be sure. "I like it better than Rowan, anyway.""Right," you say, adjusting your satchel. "Um, did you need something?""Oh, yeah, I-" he breaks off, fumbling for his messenger bag's flap, producing a binder with a handful of loose pages. "Anita Xian is my hallmate - she's sick, so she wanted me to pass along your edits?"He says it as if he doesn't know what any of it means - which makes sense. You and Xian share a journalism class. As far as you can tell, Rowan is undeclared and sort of... coasting. No reason for him to know what your career path is working on."Oh, thanks," you say, taking the papers and glancing over them. There are a handful of notes in the margins and a slew of corrections. Gotta love Xian for her thoroughness. "She was helping me with a submission."You don't know why you say it, but it makes Rowan perk up, smiling. "Oh! Your next issue for the Emerald?" He rushes through without your acknowledgement. "Your column last month was incredible. The inaccessibility on campus. Did anything come of it?""Oh, um," you begin, surprised at his excitement. "Yeah, we're going to get an extra bank for scooter rentals. Ten next semester, and then the city is donating two dozen in Spring.""Damn," Rowan says, seeming pleased. "That's amazing. That you can just... write something and make a change."Your feathers get ruffled. You know it's stupid - you know he didn't mean anything by it. But you can't stop yourself. "It wasn't just me writing something. There was research, outreach, a petition - a lot of work had to go into it, and tons of people got involved. It's all about the collective action - me writing stuff isn't enough."Rowan looks flustered - you think he might blush if his complexion allowed it. "Oh, God, no. I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ignore the work, I just-" he swallows. "I'm just not... I'm not the type of person who can just... do a thing. Find a cause. Be a champion. You just... inspire me, I guess." He trails off.You feel bad now. Offering them an apologetic half-smile, you concede, "Sorry, got too intense there. No worries, really." You put your future article into your satchel and say, "I have to get to my next class, so-""Right! Right, sorry-""I'll see you in Ethics?" "Yeah, tomorrow."You give him a quick wave and head toward the psychology department. You have the uncomfortable sense that you've just met a fan. A fan of yours - and not because you're good-looking or something else trivial. It's because of your work. Your raw talent. You don't know whether it's okay to be proud... but you are.