He was at the foot of the staircase when he heard a thump, followed by a heartfelt, "Shit!" and glanced up to see someone falling down the stairs, arms windmilling wildly, pens and paper flying through the air as the contents of a dropped binder spilled out. The binder slid and bounced and landed at Seth's feet at about the same time as its owner, and the people around him burst out into laughter.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Seth demanded, glaring around at them. At six-three, with a deep voice and muscles to spare, he didn't have to do more than glare. The laughter died away as he squatted down and put his hand on a shoulder encased in a battered leather jacket, in a shade of brown that matched the long curly hair hanging down over the face. Pretty hair, but it was a man who'd fallen; the body was sturdy and the jean-clad ass was most definitely male. "You okay, buddy?"

The head turned, the hair got clawed out of the way, and he stared into furious green eyes and a snarl. There was a moment when the eyes warmed, a flash of something like recognition passing over the man's face, then it disappeared. "Get your fucking hands off me, you jerk."

"Hey!" Seth protested. "I didn't push you down the stairs, you know."

"He knows," a voice said. "He just doesn't care."

Seth twisted his head and peered up at a girl he vaguely remembered from his time volunteering at the Drama Club as a scenery painter the year before. "Hi, Molly."

She fluttered her hand at him, her mouth set in a sardonic smile, and stepped over the prone body and walked away.

Seth sat back on his heels and watched the man roll to his back, his face tight with pain. He didn't offer to help, but when the man leaned back against the base of the newel post and closed his eyes, he stood and walked up the stairs to where the man had begun his descent. There was a smear of something on the step; fruit, maybe. He took out a tissue and wiped it up. Yeah; peach. Overripe, juicy, and lethal. He walked back down, gathering pens and paper as he went.

"That was evidence," the man snapped. He was standing now and letting the post take his weight. About five-eleven, Seth estimated, and skinny as a bean pole, all sharp features and elbows, his hair the only soft part about him. "I could sue."

"Good luck with that." Seth picked up the binder and dropped what he was carrying into it, trying not to let it all slip from his grasp and hit the floor again. He zipped it closed and held it out.

"You want a fucking thank you?"

Seth gave it some consideration, more because he was enjoying the impatience radiating off the man than any desire for gratitude from him. "I'll pass. You wouldn't do a good job of making me think you meant it, anyway." He tapped his watch. "Got to go. See you."

Really green eyes, he thought as he walked away, the tissue tossed into the first trash can he passed. Had to be a new student; he was the kind of guy who stood out, for all the wrong reasons, and Seth was sure he'd never seen him before.