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twodongs2017-07-23 05:21 pm
necessarian) wrote in twodongs2017-07-23 05:21 pm
Entry tags:
round five: prompts (july 23-29)
TOP LEVEL COMMENTS ONLY
| DAY | PROMPT | PUNISHMENT |
|---|---|---|
| Sunday (July 23) | Something very odd was happening to Zacharias Smith. | not allowed to dm (one/both) |
| Monday (July 24) | Character A wants to buy something that Character B says no to | write 300w of kurotsukki |
| Tuesday (July 25) | Secret Dating | not allowed to dm (one/both) |
| Wednesday (July 26) | Kissing lessons: character A has never been kissed so character B teaches them how | write badfic (with epithets) |
| Thursday (July 27) | Takes place entirely in the space of an hour | not allowed to dm (one/both) |
| Friday (July 28) | High School AU Pining | not allowed to tweet in general (includes replies, does not include dms) |
| Saturday (July 29) | Fake dating with a twist | not allowed to dm (one/both) |
* feel free to edit/add new comments if more is written on the day; comments are meant to encapsulate everything that is written, not just the part that fulfills the prompt
** clarification - "not allowed to dm" is a punishment for the day after, not a preexisting condition
SUNDAY, JULY 23
MONDAY, JULY 24
TUESDAY, JULY 25
WEDNESDAY, JULY 26
THURSDAY, JULY 27
FRIDAY, JULY 28
SATURDAY, JULY 29
aro's a/z (1/?)
It was truly the only reason, because Anthony had never Owled him before, which meant that it must be serious which meant that Anthony was coming back, too. Zacharias had met Anthony Goldstein in his fifth year during Potter's first Dumbledore's Army meeting, when Anthony had apparently decided on whim to partner up with him, and then while they had been practising Expelliarmus, had struck up a conversation about Quidditch that, by the end of the meeting, had Zacharias declaring, "Hufflepuff will beat Ravenclaw into the ground, if that's what it takes!"
Of course, that year bloody Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup. Zacharias had seen Anthony after that match, and they'd agreed on a temporary truce in favour of bitching about Gryffindors. They'd done the same in their sixth year; it was like some deity had favoured Gryffindors so much that they'd won the Cup two fucking years in a row, leaving Zacharias and Anthony with nothing.
Zacharias didn't believe in such things, but he'd rather chew his own foot off before admitting anything about Harry Potter's or Ginny Weasley's talent had anything to do with two consecutive Gryffindor victories.
Anyway, it was the eighth year that really mattered, because even though Zacharias wouldn't mind Potter being back for the sake of Quidditch, and Zacharias defeating him once and for all, he was glad that Potter wasn't coming back overall, prancing around with his self-righteous Gryffindorishness with every bloody student and teacher in the school fawning over him, the Boy Who Lived and all that bullshit. In fact, Anthony had written Zacharias that the only of the Insufferable Gryffindors who was coming back was Hermione Granger, which was a relief--though Zacharias wouldn't have favoured any of them over the other, Granger was far more tolerable on her own than she was with Potter and Weasley.
Anthony had seemed rather fond of her too, in his letter. Zacharias frowned as he read it again, smoothing down the parchment. In talking about Granger, Anthony had written, Hermione Granger will be back too, I'm looking forward to seeing her in Arithmancy again.
Zacharias folded the letter up again and scowled. What was there to look forward to about Arithmancy? Zacharias didn't take the stupid class - it was no surprise that Anthony did, but with Granger it sounded even worse.
Huffing, Zacharias grabbed a quill and began penning a letter back. He decided to leave out any mention of Granger, or returning Gryffindors - he and Anthony only talked about Quidditch, and nothing more. It was playing a different game in talking about anything else, and Zacharias wasn't rising to the bait. Their game was Quidditch.
He began the letter with, Of course I've been practising. If I haven't I wouldn't bother showing my face next year...
isy's a/z (1/?)
“I know I’m charming,” he joked, “but I never knew I could do this.”
“It’s not you,” Zacharias said very quickly. “I mean—I’m sure you’re very charming, that’s not what I meant—I think someone else is doing it.”
Anthony had to laugh. “Of course someone else is doing it. I was kidding.”
“Oh,” Zacharias said. He pursed his lips in a straight line, and did not say anything else.
The culprits were easy enough to spot—their training space was like a cathedral’s crypt, low vaulted ceilings held up by great stone pillars, and hiding behind one of them were the Weasley twins, practicing not on each other but on Zacharias, from a distance.
Anthony did not find it funny.
“You two seem good at this already,” he said. “Maybe you can quit it.”
He wondered if he ought to be more intimidated, by their reputation if nothing else. But then again, the twins were just troublemakers, and Anthony was a Prefect. If anything, they ought to be intimidated by him.
“Just having a bit of fun,” one of them said. Anthony couldn’t tell which was which.
“That’s right,” the other said. “No harm meant.”
In fact, it took Harry Potter telling them off to convince them to stop, but Anthony fancied his authority had something to do with it too. Satisfied, he returned to Zacharias, who for his part had gone oddly quiet.
This was someone else with a reputation—Zacharias was the bad boy of Hufflepuff, insofar as Hufflepuffs could ever be considered bad, because he had a sharp tongue and wasn’t afraid to hurt feelings. Case in point, the first Hog’s Head meeting. The twins had picked on him then, too.
But Anthony didn’t know Zacharias very well at all. They had worked together in potions a couple of times, where Zacharias was quiet and proficient and never said more than he needed to. Anthony had always found this passingly strange, because whenever Michael and Terry had been stuck working with Zacharias in some class or other, they said he took every opportunity to say something rude to them. This, Anthony supposed, was why he was a Prefect, and Michael and Terry were not.
“Thanks for that,” Zacharias said.
“Not a problem,” Anthony said. “I can’t stand it when—”
Well, it wasn’t bullying as insidious as he’d had the misfortune to experience at the Muggle schools he went to before Hogwarts, but it nevertheless rubbed him the wrong way.
“—when people do stuff like that,” he finished lamely.
Zacharias, if he picked up on Anthony’s hesitation, did not comment. “Go on, then. Disarm me.”
It seemed like Zacharias Smith was a veritable magnet for odd things, little inexplicable curiosities that followed him around and altered his behaviour in near-imperceptible ways.
Luckily, Anthony had always been a very observant person.
In the second meeting of Dumbledore’s Army—“Stupid name,” Zacharias had said, catching up to Anthony and the others as they walked to the Room of Requirement, “so bloody sycophantic,”—the two of them ended up working together again, practising Impedimenta. Anthony wasn’t overly fond of the idea of being forced to slow down, like walking through the middling end of a swimming pool but filled with honey instead of water, so he volunteered to go first this time.
The problem was, Zacharias didn’t seem to be able to perform the spell at all. He opened his mouth and stuttered out the jinx and haphazardly waved his wand. It was amateurish, sloppy. There was no way Zacharias would’ve made it to fifth year without being able to cast a simple jinx.
“Is everything alright?” Anthony asked. He often prided himself on his delicacy, but when Zacharias didn’t answer, he decided to push it a bit, talk to Zacharias in the way he was supposed to talk to other people. “You’re casting like a fucking first year.”
At least Zacharias cracked a smile at that. It faded fast, though. “Leave off. I’ll get there.”
“Are you—oh, someone isn’t performing it on you, are they? Not again. I bet it’s the bloody Weasley twins.”
“No, I’m—”
In hindsight, it’s so obvious. “I’ll find them,” Anthony says. “This behaviour is so distracting, and quite frankly a—”
“Impedimenta!”
Everything stalled at once; Anthony’s limbs slowed to a crawl, and he tried to move forward but something sticky and excruciating was holding him back. It was every bit as unpleasant as he’d imagined it being.
“Actually,” Zacharias mumbled, “I’m bloody good at jinxes.”
When the effects wore off, Anthony finally managed to turn back to face Zacharias—who was, surprisingly, blushing. Trust someone with a reputation to be full of surprises. Anthony would be blushing too if he were that good at the Impediment Jinx.
“You are,” he agreed. “So how about we never do that again? Bloody hell, but it’s uncomfortable. I suppose you already know what it feels like, but do you mind if I try it on you? Just once?”
“I wasn’t, er—I wasn’t under the effects of the jinx,” Zacharias stammered.
“Oh,” Anthony said.
“So try it on me.”
Anthony did—he raised his wand and, although his wandwork had always been substandard, he managed it on only his second try, and he and Zacharias both agreed they’d had quite enough of this jinx and didn’t need to work on it again, thank you very much.
Anthony assumed that would be it. Maybe Zacharias got nervous under pressure. Maybe he needed a push to get his blood running. Maybe it was just in the DA, because there were so many people there who were so hostile towards him.
The next time they were in each other’s company, though, was in the Arithmancy class they shared. Arithmancy only had eight students enrolled—it was officially the most unpopular subject for their cohort—so everyone in the class knew each other and chatted easily, with the general exception of Zacharias, who sat up the back and never said a word. Anthony had always assumed that this was because he was, generally speaking, a friendless dickhead. But after that second DA meeting, in Thursday afternoon Arithmancy, Zacharias came and sat in the front row, right next to Anthony, and said nothing at all.
“Um,” Anthony tried. There were still a few minutes before Professor Vector would arrive. “Hi… ?”
“Whatever,” Zacharias said. “I’m not here to socialise.” Even he must have found that weird, though, because after a brief pause he added, “Unless you particularly want to.”
“I don’t mind,” Anthony said, amused. “Personally, I also come to class with a mind to pay attention and take notes and generally, you know, not spend the whole hour chatting.”
Apropos of nothing, Zacharias said, “I think I need glasses.”
“You what?”
“Need glasses,” Zacharias said. “For my eyes. Not sure I can see so well from the back row; that’s why I’m sitting in the front.”
“Right.” Anthony took his own glasses off and fiddled with the arms. “Shortsighted, right? Do you want to try mine?”
“Try your—”
“Glasses, yes.”
This conversation was going absolutely nowhere. Was Zacharias always this painful a conversationalist? Where were all the witty comebacks Anthony had been promised? Impatient, he grabbed Zacharias by the chin and turned his face so they were eye to eye, fixing his glasses onto the bridge of Zacharias’ nose.
Zacharias went very red and screwed his eyes shut; Anthony let his hand drop. It was just as well he did, because when Zacharias opened his eyes again he flinched back almost straight away.
“Jesus fucking christ, you’re blind,” Zacharias said, scrambling to get the glasses off his face.
“No, I’m not,” Anthony said. “And you’re probably not that bad either, if that’s your reaction to my prescription.”
Also, although he wouldn’t note it out loud, he found the fact that Zacharias sweared like a Muggle weirdly attractive.
“So I guess there’s no real reason for you to sit in the front row, after all,” Anthony added.
He was half teasing, half seeing just how far he could go before Zacharias cracked and said something seriously rude to him. After hearing Zacharias swear, Anthony really badly wanted that to happen. He wanted the worst of the worst, he wanted crude and offensive and the kind of thing that gives someone a really rotten reputation.
But all Zacharias said was, “I guess not,” and stayed exactly where he was.
To be honest, it was starting to get on Anthony’s nerves.
“I can’t deal with him,” Michael said after one particularly long and torturous Potions lesson. “If I ever have to so much as work at the same bench as Zacharias fucking Smith again, I’m going to poison him myself.”
Anthony and Padma had got into class late from Prefect duty—which had nevertheless lost them each five points from Snape—so they ended up working at a bench with Sally-Anne and Megan, whereas Michael and Terry had somehow ended up stuck with Wayne and Zacharias.
“You’d get a pretty long Azkaban sentence for that,” Anthony said.
“I don’t know how you put up with him in the DA,” Terry said. “Every time I went to put something in our cauldron he’d say something like, ‘Watch your fingers, Boot.’ You’d think it’d get old to him, but no! And then when I told him to shut up, he said it wasn’t his fault I confused my hands with toast at breakfast every morning.”
Anthony snorted, refraining from laughing properly only because of the look his friends gave him. He’s definitely been missing out on Zacharias’ greatest hits. “Is that really what he said?”
“There was a lot more swearing,” Terry said.
“And then he said that maybe the reason my stirring was so tense was because I couldn’t get a girlfriend,” Michael said. “Can you imagine the nerve of it? He knows I have a girlfriend. And Ginny hates him too!”
“Seriously, Ant,” Terry said, “how do you do it? How do you work with him and not come out of it wanting to kill him?”
“Or are you just better at hiding it?” Michael added.
“I—” Anthony paused. He wasn’t sure how to phrase this; Zacharias had clearly been horrid to Michael and Terry, and in Section 4, Subsection 7c of the Boot-Corner-Goldstein Friendship Charter was a clause on supporting the other signatories through friendship and other social troubles (relationship troubles were in Section 5), even if you happened to be friends with the person causing said troubles.
Michael sighed. “Spit it out.”
“Section 1, Subsection 2a,” Terry said. “No secrets between friends.”
“I do hate it when the rules conflict each other,” Anthony said. “To be honest, he’s perfectly cordial to me. I mean, he’s kind of obtuse sometimes, but he’s never been downright awful to me like he is to you two. And, um, everyone else, apparently… ?”
For once, Terry and Michael looked to be at a complete loss for words.
“I’ve wondered if it’s because I’m a Prefect,” Anthony mused.
“He probably hates you so much he doesn’t even bother,” Michael said eventually, although he didn’t sound so sure of it himself.
“I don’t think so,” Terry said—he was very good at missing nuance and taking people at face value. “I wonder if maybe he actually likes Ant.”
“As if a curmudgeon like Smith is capable of feeling a genuinely positive emotion towards anyone,” Michael said, rolling his eyes. “I doubt he’s ever liked anyone. Does he even have friends in his own house?”
But all this was giving Anthony ideas—he’d been waiting for Zacharias to make some sort of move, to get as horrible as people thought he was, when maybe all along Zacharias had been waiting on Anthony, too. Maybe he didn’t know how to make friends, and Anthony was the only person who’d really given him a chance. All it would take was a little more effort on Anthony’s part to get Zacharias to really open up to him.
“Actually,” Terry said, “I meant like like.”
It was impossible. Surely it was! No-one would have a crush on Anthony Goldstein. He was a Prefect, but with Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad swanning around like they owned the place he’d never have enough authority to be truly imposing in the role. He was intelligent, but he was far better at writing essays than wand-waving, and although he had stubbornly worked at it, Hermione Granger was still top of the grade. He was tall, but nowhere near as tall as Zacharias, and he was okay looking, if you liked boys with glasses and long, pointy noses.
Zacharias didn’t need glasses and he had a small and perfectly formed nose, not that Anthony was thinking about his nose, because he didn’t have a crush, and also, that would be weird.
Still, after his discussion with Michael and Terry, Anthony was more aware of his every action around Zacharias, and as a result, they were both acting weird and there was nothing Anthony could do to snap himself out of it.
aro's a/z (2/?)
Zacharias was cornered in the train compartment, and he had no place to go.
Well, he could rightly get up and leave, but then he'd have to find another compartment, which would likely be full of lower years, which would be far less terrible company than his current. Besides, he had Corner next to him and Justin across, so company could be worse despite that it was Justin. He could be sitting on the other side of the compartment, next to Granger and Ernie.
Recalling how he got into this situation, Zacharias kicked a foot under him and huffed as Corner and Justin continued talking, something about the Muggle queen or something or other. Zacharias had only been here because Susan was here, and Zacharias got quite along with her - but of course, where Susan was, others like Ernie and Justin swarmed, so they'd come into their compartment too. Since Zacharias had shared a dormitory with them for over seven years, he could manage it - and then that was when Corner and Boot came, and then Granger had come because she'd thought it was some sort of D.A. compartment, when it bloody wasn't. Zacharias was here first, he should kick them all out, or at least Granger.
The Weasley girl and her strange Ravenclaw hadn't joined them though, thank Merlin. Weasley had scowled at Zacharias when they'd made eye contact, and Zacharias had scowled back. It was good to know that some things in order.
Zacharias was about to open his mouth and tell Granger to go somewhere else, join girl Weasley or something, when the compartment door opened. Anthony Goldstein stood there, eyes flitting around the room, nodding - and possibly brightening up? - when he saw Zacharias.
"Hermione, Ernie," Anthony said. "We're looking for you up in the prefects' carriage."
"Oh! Right," Granger said, looking embarrassed. "Nearly forgot - sorry - " She made her way through the compartment, and Zacharias had never been more grateful.
Anthony turned to Zacharias, and said, "Did you have a good summer, Smith?"
"Better than yours," Zacharias replied. "The Wanderers crushed the Falcons - "
"Oh, be quiet," Anthony said, rolling his eyes but smiling. "We'll get you next season."
"We'll see about that," Zacharias said. "The Wanderers are on a winning streak, and the Falcons already lost to the Tornados, didn't they? I'd pay to see them lose against the Canons - "
"They'd do no such thing." Anthony was laughing, and Zacharias couldn't help it when his mouth twitched upward. "The Falcons will beat the Cannons, you'll see - "
"Because that's such a feat," Zacharias said sarcastically.
Anthony continued grinning, and waved a hand, beginning to move out of the compartment. "I've got to - " he said, and jerked his head. "Prefects' compartment."
"Alright, go then," Zacharias said, leaning back in his seat. His mouth wanted to slant into a sideways smile again, so it did. Anthony's grin seemed to grow brighter as he made his way out.
The rest of Zacharias's compartment-mates had barely paid attention to them; Boot was talking to Corner now, while Susan and Justin had gotten into an argument about their classes this year. Zacharias joined Susan and Justin's conversation, complaining about Potions - though it wasn't a terrible class, since they had it with the Ravenclaws.
aro's a/z (3/?) why is this part so long
Ravenclaw had the pitch for their practice first of the semester. Zacharias had heard from Wayne, who was friends with Mandy Brocklehurst, who was Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team. Zacharias wouldn't consider it unfair, as they would all have their turn eventually - but his curiosity was piqued. Anthony claimed to have practised over the summer, and Zacharias wanted to see for himself.
It was technically against the rules to go to another team's Quidditch practise, but Zacharias cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and snuck down to the pitch. He had gotten quite good at the spell after some of Potter's Dumbledore club meetings, loathe as it was for Zacharias to admit so, but at least it came in handy with Quidditch, or at least spying on Anthony's Quidditch practise.
He wasn't even spying for strategies; he'd seen some of the Ravenclaw signals during games, elaborate hand gestures and sometimes a lot of face tapping. Zacharias had never bothered trying to comprehend them, and wasn't going to start now. As he lurked in the Gryffindor stands (because if he got caught, he'd rather someone think that he was an idiot Gryffindor), he watched as Brocklehurst and Anthony did some sort of forehead-nose-shoulder tapping thing, laughing when they finished. Anthony extended his neck when he laughed; they were both in the air, and Zacharias could see them both quite clearly from here. A sheen line of sweat was on Anthony's forehead as he pushed his glasses up his nose. Something odd happened in Zacharias's stomach.
It was no matter. Zacharias watched as Anthony flew - he was a Chaser as well, diving down and catching an impressive pass from another Chaser who Zacharias thought might be a fifth year and didn't know the name of. Zacharias had always known that Anthony was a decent Chaser - the last game they played, nearly two years ago during their sixth year, Anthony had impressively intercepted a pass from Wayne to Zacharias. Zacharias had bellowed at him in offense, but remembered the weird flip in his stomach at getting bypassed by Anthony so closely.
Now, Anthony was diving up and down, big swoops, along with Michael Corner. Zacharias glowered from under his Disillusionment Charm. Corner always had a girl on his arm; Zacharias didn't know why Anthony was friends with him, let alone laughing along with him.
They were flying towards the Gryffindor stands, but Zacharias was undeterred as Anthony nearly bumped into the edge several metres away and Corner called, "Nice going, Goldstein!" Anthony laughed again - he used his full throat, chin coming up - and said, "I'm a better flier than you, Corner," to which Corner scoffed lightly at.
Anthony started flying back around - but then his gaze ran over the space where Zacharias was crouching by the edge, and Zacharias watched as he paused. There was no way that Anthony could see him; Zacharias knew how good his Disillusionment Charm was. Still, Anthony's lips pressed together and for a moment Zacharias thought Anthony could see him.
Then Anthony was flying away, and Zacharias exhaled through his nose. There was nothing to bother with Anthony. He flew toward Brocklehurst, wind whipping in his short brown hair, and he was leaning over and saying something to her. Zacharias couldn't see her face, though her head shifted slightly. All he could see was Anthony's back, a stretch of his blue Quidditch robes over his narrow shoulders; and then Anthony was flying to the Gryffindor stands again.
Zacharias crouched further down and frowned. Maybe Anthony thought there was something defunct with the Gryffindor stands. It was like him to try to fix it. He waited as Anthony parked his broom right above the stands, before his feet rested on the ground. He looked left and right, and then called:
"I know someone's here. Show yourself."
Zacharias froze and did nothing. There was nothing he could do - what would he say to Anthony? That he was spying on the Ravenclaw team? The truth? That he had come here on a dare? Actually, that would be rather believable, as Justin would certainly dare him to do such a thing. Though Zacharias wasn't stupid enough to actually take any of Justin's dares.
Anthony walked around, waving his hands about. HIs wand slipped out from the sleeve of his robes, and he said, "Homenum Revelio. Look, I'm a prefect, so you really ought to listen to me. I won't get you in trouble, but you really shouldn't be here."
Zacharias sighed. Anthony was pulling his prefect card - he'd tried that once, when Zacharias was sneaking into the prefect's bathroom in fifth year because Ernie had let the password slip. Zacharias had just splashed a bubble at Anthony and asked if Anthony wanted to see him naked. Anthony had turned bright red and disappeared and didn't partner up with Zacharias at the next D.A. meeting, which was all well and good if not a little bit disappointing. It had only lasted that week, though, until the Falcons beat the Wanderers and Anthony had come to Zacharias to gloat and they never spoke of the prefect's bathroom incident again.
Still, Anthony taking his prefect's duties seriously - Zacharias snorted and said, "Can't believe you're actually trying that again." Anthony jumped and spun around to the source of Zacharias's voice, squinting in his direction.
"Zacharias?" he said with surprise. "What are you doing in the Gryffindor stands?"
"Seeing how you - " Well, no, that wouldn't do. "Spying," Zacharias lied.
Anthony's eyebrows flew up, though he was still squinting. "Spying on our practise?"
"Clearly," Zacharias said. He rolled his eyes even though Anthony wouldn't be able to see. "You've got insane signals, by the way. I've only been able to decode one of them." That, too, was an obvious lie.
Anthony asked, "Which one? And take off that Charm, I don't know where to talk to."
"I do hope that means you miss my pretty face." Zacharias stood up, since it would make no difference, as he remained invisible. "And I'm not telling. Then you'd know which one to change."
"Well - " Anthony huffed and folded his arms. "I'll have to report you, you know - "
"If you want the truth, I'm not spying for my team," Zacharias told him. He felt bad, since now Anthony thought he was a sneak - and admittedly for good reason, but really, he had gotten better over the summer and Zacharias was going to have to up his game at their next practise. "Wayne doesn't know, I'm only spying for myself."
"You don't suppose I think that's any better, do you?"
"Isn't it?" Zacharias said. "Wayne would have my arse if I told him, 'yeah, ear ear forehead shoulder shoulder is an underhand pass in a z-pattern for the Ravenclaws.' He bloody hates cheaters."
"We haven't got a - " Anthony frowned, and then his expression cleared up. "Wayne's a good bloke," he said to Zacharias, but there was amusement in his eyes. "Unlike some people."
"There's no pride in goodness," Zacharias pointed out.
Anthony shrugged, and he glanced out into the field, where his teammates were. "There's a pride in friendship," he said, turning back to Zacharias. "Which, speaking of, I'll let you off with a warning - "
"I suppose I should thank you," Zacharias said dryly.
" - if you leave now." Anthony cast a stern look in the direction of Zacharias's shoulder. "You're clearly a terrible spy; I'll just tell my teammates you were a Gryffindor first year who accidentally wandered out here."
"That offends me," Zacharias said, but without any heat and Anthony just smiled in response. "You'll compare me to no such Gryffindor, and then I'll leave."
"How about a second year, then?" Anthony said, and Zacharias un-Disillusioned himself to throw a two-finger gesture at Anthony before leaving. His stomach was doing that odd thing again as he trekked from the field, still thinking of Anthony and Quidditch.
aro's a/z (4/?)
The only people in the Potions classroom so far were Anthony, Lovegood who was the weird Ravenclaw girl who was always with girl Weasley, Granger, and Justin. Classes for seventh- and eighth-years had been combined so it wasn't a surprise to see Lovegood, but as Zacharias remembered she was weird, he did try to avoid her on a regular basis.
Zacharias usually partnered up with Susan, who was also taking N.E.W.T. level Potions, while Anthony (and Zacharias knew this because sometimes their tables were parallel to each other so Zacharias could tell Anthony about the last match where he missed a Quaffle pass or Anthony would make Zacharias relive throwing it right at a Keeper instead of through a hoop) was often partners with Boot, or Corner, if Corner hadn't found himself a girl to latch onto.
So it was strange to see Anthony by himself, nose buried in a book. Zacharias capitalised on it immediately, heaving his bag down next to Anthony and watching with some amusement as Anthony startled.
"Oh," Anthony said, putting his book down. "Zacharias. Are we partners today?"
Zacharias shuffled down next to him and pulled out Advanced Potion Making, trying to look nonchalant. He shrugged and glanced around the room, pretending to just notice Justin. "Oh, Justin's here. Well, I'm sitting here already."
"You can move, if you want," Anthony offered.
Zacharias narrowed his eyes at Anthony. "Is that a suggestion?"
"Semantically," Anthony said. "You do seem rather good at Potions, though, so I would prefer if you stayed here."
Zacharias had never thought himself one way or another. But the compliment did feel good, so he puffed his chest a little and said, "Well, I do hope to get an O on my N.E.W.T.s - "
"Not that good," Anthony said, and laughed at the deflated expression on Zacharias's face. "I'm joking, I - I hope to get an O, too."
"And I was joking too," Zacharias said. "I'm not some swot like you - an E will do for me."
"I do hope you get that E," Anthony said, as more students began to file in.
Zacharias watched as Boot and Corner came in, looked at Anthony and Zacharias funnily, and then sat with each other. Anthony glanced at them, but seemed unbothered to see them sitting together and not minding Anthony. Then he asked Zacharias, "What do you hope to do after Hogwarts, anyway?"
"Oh," Zacharias blurted. His mind immediately went, so we're having this conversation. Zacharias had had it numerous times before, with his father, who wanted him to work in the Ministry - bloody everyone did - but Zacharias was only going to do that if he was going to be an Unspeakable or something, which he didn't quite fancy.
So he told Anthony honestly, "Curse-Breaker or something. I've been thinking about working for Gringotts." That was the truth. "Or I can head off and do more Quidditch."
"I can see you doing that," Anthony said. His brown eyes were bright despite the low yellow light. Zacharias blinked. "If you go professional - well, if you join the Falcons, I'll definitely support you."
"No way in hell," Zacharias said, laughing. "I'd go for the Wanderers - but Curse-Breaking would be much more realistic, don't you think? Or perhaps the Daily Prophet."
"I'm sure you need an E Potions N.E.W.T. to get on the Daily Prophet," Anthony said, blinking seriously behind his glasses, and Zacharias coughed so he wouldn't laugh again.
"I'd publish terrible things about the Falcons," he told Anthony, "all sorts of magical cheating they use, how Walfoot is actually an awful Seeker - "
"She is not!" Anthony said indignantly. "And if it's anything like your Hogwarts commentary now, I highly discourage you from pursuing this career - "
"My commentary is excellent."
Anthony scoffed, though there was definitely a smile hidden in the corner of his mouth. "We'll see at the match next week," he said, and then class was starting and Zacharias's eyes kept being drawn to that corner of Anthony's mouth and he didn't think to wonder why.
aro's a/z (5/?)
As usual, it was the Gryffindor-Slytherin match that was the first of the season, the one that Zacharias looked forward to the most (or, second to the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff match) because neither would he be playing, and he was certain that the Slytherins played loads better when he was insulting the Gryffindors.
He took his place up in the stands, overlooking the pitch next to the staff. Though McGonagall was eyeing him warily, Zacharias did earn this spot. Through Professor Sprout and doing his best announcing voice, really, and there had never been a commentator who wasn't biased, so Zacharias knew he wouldn't be sacked just for being himself. Plus, Lovegood, who did the commentary when Zacharias was playing, was loads more incompetent - Zacharias got himself comfortable with the scoreboard, unbothered.
This year, as Harry Potter was off the Gryffindor team - whether this was fortunate or unfortunate for Zacharias's commentary, he couldn't quite decide - so Ginny Weasley was the Seeker, tossing scowls over her shoulder at everything Zacharias said. She had also been made Captain, which -
"Dunno how someone who can't keep their eyes on the Snitch became the Captain," Zacharias was saying into the speaker. "She keeps glaring at me, you'd think she'd be actually playing Seeker instead..."
"Smith!" Professor McGonagall snapped, because Professor Sprout was far too many people away that Zacharias couldn't hear her if she tried.
Zacharias shrugged and looked at Professor McGonagall. "What? It's true," he said, before into the speaker, "Or perhaps it's because she's Harry Potter's girlfriend, there's ought to be some favouring there."
"Smith." Professor McGonagall looked furious.
Zacharias would admit on occasion being terrified of Professor McGonagall - even though he was ace at Transfigurations, the fact that she could turn into a cat had him mixed up with her and Mrs. Norris on more than one occasion - so he cleared his throat and turned back to the speaker.
"Onto the game, where Vaisey has the Quaffle. Robins tries to intercept - that was a very poor attempt, really, who recruits for the Gryffindor team? - oh right, Weasley - anyway, Zabini has the Quaffle now, they're going for the goal, manned by Hubwurst, who's a far better Keeper than their old one, Ron Weasley - shooting - ah, yes, Slytherin scores, so Hubwurst is not that much better - "
When they were done, Ginny Weasley flew over to where Zacharias was sitting in the stands, gathering his things up. Slytherin had won, to the tune of Zacharias going, "And Weasley's trying to get the - of course, Harper's gotten the Snitch, because he hasn't got a whole load of hair in his face." Weasley was glowering, and Zacharias may have flinched a little - he did recall a couple of years ago, when she had flown into him in the stands and had nearly made him break his legs.
"You better not make comments like that at our next match, Smith," she warned, hovering in midair.
Zacharias brushed himself off and pretended that he wasn't getting vivid recollections of the time she'd Bat-Bogey Hexed him on the train. "Or else what?" he said innocently, up at her.
The teachers were still milling about around him. Weasley glanced at them; Zacharias supposed she wanted to say, "Or else I'll hex you," but couldn't with so much of their teachers around.
"Or else," Weasley said, sticking her nose up in the air. "You'll regret it."
Zacharias rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm so terrified," he said. There wasn't much either of them could do, and Weasley had received a penalty for the time she'd nearly broken Zacharias's leg - Zacharias will just have to make sure not to be caught unawares when wandering the castle alone or something, which was unlikely as Zacharias wasn't stupid enough to do such a thing.
He made his way down, joining his House in walking off the pitch. They were marching back to the castle when Zacharias felt a tap at his shoulder, and turned around to see Vaisey, one of the Slytherin Chasers.
"Hey," Vaisey said. "Smith, right? Hilarious commentary, really, loved it."
"Thanks," Zacharias said dryly. "I get that often."
"I'll bet," Vasey said, laughing. "So, we've got a celebration party at the Slytherin Common Room tonight. No Gryffindors allowed, but everyone else can come. We're monitoring everyone who comes, of course," he added. "It's not like we trust you Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws or anything."
"I wouldn't expect you to," Zacharias said honestly. He thought for a moment. "Who else is coming?"
"Well, we're going around and asking mostly seventh- and eighth-years. You know, people can hold their tongue," Vaisey said. "Ravenclaws too, even though I can hardly say that I trust them." He scowled.
Zacharias bit his lip, thinking. It occurred to him that Anthony might go, and there was something like hope in Zacharias's chest - not looking forward, precisely, but at least having someone to talk to, especially if Susan went or not. Zacharias didn't like the Slytherins per se, though Tracey Davis had always been a fun Herbology partner, but there was no use going to a party if he didn't have someone to talk to.
He wouldn't be able to see until dinner, and Vaisey was waiting for a response from him now, presumably for all his Slytherin reasons. Zacharias would have to take his chances.
"Sure, I'll come," he said to Vaisey.
Vaisey clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Brilliant! I'll put you on the roster." He ran back to the Slytherins, and Zacharias hoped that some part of partying with them was going to be interesting, especially if Anthony came or not.
hurgles this is technically continuing something i wrote earlier so in media res it is
-
For Padma’s first buy, Pansy suggested she start small. They were sat down by Camden Lock—the best deals are always made in plain sight—poring over the latest listings with twin steaming hot mugs of chai. Pansy kept her copy of the listings in an unassuming ledger, tatty and falling apart, with RECIPES written on the front cover in a very affected scrawl.
“It’s a slow month,” Pansy noted. The only items low-grade enough for a beginner like Padma were a small horde of Roman gold—commonplace—and a quill whose owner boldly claimed it had been used by Albus Dumbledore himself to sign the 1976 addendum to the International Statute of Secrecy. Unfortunately for the enthusiastic seller, this did not hold much sway with the British antiques market, most of whom came from good Slytherin stock and couldn’t give a flying fuck on a broomstick about Albus Dumbledore.
“Is this really all there is?” Padma asked.
“Well, no,” Pansy admitted, “but as you’re on a budget, you should pick between these two.”
Padma had been in Ravenclaw. They were nuts for Dumbledore, weren’t they?
But Padma said, “You don’t know that I’m on a budget.”
“I’m telling you you’re on a budget, IKB,” Pansy said. “That business with the geode was enough of a fiasco to your name, especially for a rookie. This time you’re barely going to make so much of a splash as—”
She picked up a bottlecap from the ground, pinching it between her long fingernails so she didn’t have to touch it, and chucking it over the railing into the river.
“You get the picture?”
“Where would be the fun in this if I kept doing everything you told me to,” Padma murmured, thumbing the corner of a page in the ledger.
“Let’s see…”
“Padma—”
Pansy wasn’t fast enough. The page had been well and truly turned. The next two items on show were much more expensive, an excessively jewelled hairpin that changed colours in different lights, and a book of spells hand-written by a reclusive Russian Arithmancy genius. This didn’t interest Padma either. She took the ledger itself from Pansy and balanced it on her knees, using one hand to turn pages and scan lines of text with her finger, mug of tea in the other.
At last, Padma seemed to have found what she was looking for. She jabbed a finger into the page. “This one.”
“No,” Pansy said immediately. “No, absolutely not.”
“How come? I like it. I like the idea of owning it. And I have the money.”
“You do not,” Pansy said.
Padma smirked. “Don’t sound so incredulous. Of course I do. You know your lot don’t have the monopoly on coming from money, right?”
“Then—” Pansy paused to collect herself. “There’s still the matter of starting small. A purchase like this, especially from a newcomer, is like a declaration of war.”
“So let it be war,” Padma said.
aro's a/z (6/?)
Being in the Slytherin common room was strange. It was awash in green light, save for the fireplace that didn't radiate much heat, and the specks of yellow light emitting from two lamps by the stiff armchairs. Zacharias didn't bother sitting; for one, both chairs were already occupied by Zabini and Bulstrode, who were carrying Harper, their Seeker, on their shoulders. For another, Zacharias had already tried them at the first opportunity he'd noticed they'd been empty, and they'd been stiff and awful on his arse. The cushions in the Hufflepuff common room were much better.
The room was in full swing, bottles of firewhiskey littering the small end tables and the floors, so you couldn't tell if one you picked up would be empty, already drunken out of, or unopened. Zacharias had luckily gotten his hands on two unopened bottles early on, and was making his way through his first, saving the other.
Tracey Davis came up to him and bumped her hip against his. "Smith," she said. "Didn't realise I'd be seeing you here."
"Vaisey invited me," Zacharias replied, "and any opportunity where Gryffindors aren't around, I'll take it."
"A shared sentiment," Davis said, and took a sip of her drink. "Do you think they're holding a losing party?"
"Only Gryffindors would do such a thing," Zacharias said, and Davis laughed before going to chat with Su Li from Ravenclaw, which meant that Zacharias was alone again.
He looked around, because the party had already been going for an hour or so and it wasn't like Anthony was terribly boring, but did he really have anything better to do on a Saturday night? Zacharias wondered if there was a way to spell the D.A. Galleon - he still kept the thing in his pocket, despite everything, just in case - but just for Anthony, and just for it to say please come to this arsed Slytherin party so I'm not talking to strangers like a loser. A few Slytherins had already given Zacharias kudos on his commentary, but Zacharias had heard it all already, and was starting to get bored.
Bored at a bloody party. Zacharias was right on thinking about leaving when the wall that the Slytherins were using to monitor who was coming in and out - they didn't give anyone else the password of course, they were just letting other people in the common room and had barred the dormitories - slid open, and Anthony stepped in, looking curious.
Immediately Zacharias made his way across the common room and said, "Oh, thank god you're here, I was about to leave."
"About to leave a Slytherin party?" Anthony smiled from behind his ridiculously thick glasses. Zacharias had always thought about asking exactly how thick they were, but never really wanted to bother. "I heard they were supposed to be good."
"You heard wrong," Zacharias said. "All they're doing is gossiping and drinking."
"That could be fun," Anthony said. He made a grab for a firewhiskey bottle on a nearby table, but frowned when he realised that the bottle cap was off, and after peering inside, Anthony said, "It's empty."
"That happens," Zacharias said. He held his one opened bottle, adjusted his one unopened bottle in his other hand, and ducked down under the table where a few more bottles of firewhiskey were hiding. Two were already opened, but one seemed to be sealed. "Here's one," he said, handing it to Anthony.
"Thanks." Anthony opened the bottle and took a sip. He scrunched his nose as he twisted the cap back on. "I always forget how much it burns."
"It's not that bad," Zacharias said, and took a swig of his own drink to prove it.
Anthony rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. He looked around the common room and said, "I can't believe I'm here. I've always wanted to see the inside of the Slytherin dungeons."
"It's not much to look at," Zacharias said pointedly, glancing at the walls with the moving green shimmers from the lake light glowing through the main window. "You ought to see the Hufflepuff common room, it's much more impressive."
"You should show me," Anthony said. "I've read all about the different common rooms in Hogwarts, A History. It's a shame they don't let us see all of them, even if we're not allowed to go in. I'm pretty sure we're breaking about three school rules by doing this, actually."
Zacharias rolled his eyes. "These are Slytherins, do you think they care?"
"No," Anthony said, and smiled at him. Then he said, "I suppose I feel rather guilty for being here. Not for breaking the rules - Hermione probably wouldn't like that I'm joining in celebrating her House's loss - "
Zacharias grimaced. "Why are you talking about Granger? I doubt she knows anything about Quidditch, anyway."
Anthony shrugged. "She's my friend. And no, I suppose not - funny thing, that, considering her friends - "
"Yeah, her friends." Zacharias scoffed and pulled down the rest of his first firewhiskey bottle, wiping his mouth when he was done. Anthony's eyes followed the motion. "Whatever," Zacharias said. "I'll have to be really drunk if I've got to listen to you talk about being friends with Granger and company."
"We don't have to talk about them," Anthony said, frowning. He eyed the second drink in Zacharias's hand, and then downed the rest of his firewhiskey in one impressive swig. "But I'd like to get drunk with you, if you don't mind. I don't think I have before."
"Really?" Zacharias said, surprised. He popped open his second bottle and handed it to Anthony, who at least this time took it slower while drinking. "If you get me hammered enough, I can show you the Hufflepuff common room."
Anthony raised Zacharias's bottle, before handing it back. "Cheers," he said, and Zacharias took the bottle from him.
aro's a/z (7/?)
Zacharias woke up with a fuzzy mouth and a pounding headache. He was also half-naked, in his dressing gown with no underpants on, which was a mild surprise, until he looked to his side and then all of the previous night's fumbling rushed back to him.
Anthony was near-naked except for his underwear, though as Zacharias thought about it the pair might be his. He wasn't sure. The night before had consisted of a very drunk Zacharias and Anthony, stumbling out of the Slytherin common room and Zacharias leading them through the basement until they got to the Hufflepuff barrels, Zacharias making Anthony turn around and cover his ears so he wouldn't know the beat, crawling through the small space until they got to the common room. Anthony had looked around in wonder, then at Zacharias, and the next thing he knew they were in his dormitory, one of Zacharias's hands up Anthony's robes.
The thought shocked Zacharias as he looked at Anthony's sleeping body. He had never... Well, he didn't consider... And it was just...
But last night had happened. Somehow. Zacharias blamed the alcohol, even though a part of him felt like it wasn't right. He remembered what Anthony had looked like last night, bleary-eyed and grinning and in the orange light of the common room. He remembered that there was some feeling that wanted to kiss Anthony desperately -
- and looking at Anthony's body now, Zacharias wasn't sure if he - Anthony was lithe and pale and sound asleep, glasses on Zacharias's bedside. It was all too confusing to think about, and Zacharias certainly couldn't clear his head if Anthony was going to be in his bed like that, so he shook Anthony's body, rousing him from his sleep.
"Wake up," Zacharias demanded. "Anthony, get your arse out of my bed."
"Huh?" Anthony jerked awake, blinking. Zacharias scowled at him, because there was something - weirdly appealing about Anthony just waking up, and Zacharias didn't want to think about it.
"I need you to get out of here," Zacharias said. He found Anthony's robe on the ground and threw it at him, trying not to let his gaze linger on Anthony's body.
Anthony paused from Zacharias's bed, then began dressing. "Because we didn't talk to your housemates before I'd come over?" he asked.
"No, because I don't know what the hell I did last night," Zacharias grumbled, throwing Anthony's socks at him as well. "Bloody firewhiskey - "
"I don't think it was that bad." Anthony had his head in his robes and was trying to wriggle them on. Zacharias stared and thought how stupidly - stupidly - stupid Anthony was, and didn't let himself think any other words further.
Zacharias gave Anthony his shoes as Anthony got the rest of his clothes on. "It's not about bad," he said. "I don't know what it is, but you oughtn't be here anyway."
Anthony paused and looked up at Zacharias. Zacharias couldn't read his expression, and didn't want to bother to - this wasn't a mistake, it was just something he never - Well, it was no matter to think about, because there were other important things like Quidditch and N.E.W.T.s. Zacharias didn't mind shagging, but as this was Anthony -
Anthony, who was shuffling out of Zacharias's bed and not looking him in the eye and saying, "You're right, I shouldn't." He cast another look at Zacharias, who was standing by his bed, and smiled. "I'll see you at breakfast then?" he asked Zacharias, who shrugged and began getting into bed, suddenly aware that Anthony could see all of him.
"Dunno if I'll be at breakfast, I feel like shite," he said, crawling under his covers.
"Lunch, then."
Still smiling, Anthony padded out of the dormitory. It was early enough that Zacharias doubted that he would run into any of his housemates on his way out, and he tried to fall back asleep, still with that taste of alcohol in his mouth. Senses and images of last night flashed through his mind as Zacharias lay on his back, and he wound a hand under his nightgown, because wanking was hardly the same as the night before. He was allowed to wank, he told himself.
aro's a/z (8/?)
The next Hufflepuff practise was Tuesday afternoon, right after Transfigurations. They'd managed to secure regular practices on Tuesdays and Thursdays, though Zacharias knew that Wayne was working on Professor Sprout to get the pitch for Friday evenings and Sundays as well.
Mounting his broom, Zacharias flew up in the air as Malone went, "Zach!" He flung the Quaffle at Zacharias, who easily caught it, whizzing past Branstone and Madley who'd begun tossing about the Bludgers, and over to the hoops. Leanne wasn't fast enough, and Zacharias shot the Quaffle through the middle hoop, flinging his arms up as it soared through.
"Winner!" he said, as Leanne flew down to get the Quaffle.
She called over, "You had a head start!" and Zacharias ignored her, flying a large loop above the pitch as the others got into position to practise.
Zacharias knew he didn't play well with others, but when it came to Quidditch, he was dead set on winning - so he had to sacrifice his hatred for teamwork in favour of beating the other team's arse to the ground. It was easier anyway, since they were all on brooms and Zacharias could pretend that he was on his own, the other Chasers just pawns on the field as he made sure Hufflepuff made all the points possible. They would only have so much time before the Snitch was caught, and Zacharias always intended to score as many points as possible before then.
They were doing loops through the hoops as part of practise, passing the ball to one another, near the Gryffindor stands. Zacharias was struck remembering when he had snuck up on Anthony's Quidditch practise, and shook his head. He had Quidditch to focus on, not - not Anthony.
Anthony hadn't seemed the type to go for Quidditch. Zacharias remembered when he'd met Anthony for the first time in third year Arithmancy (which Zacharias later ditched after his O.W.L.s), this needly, knobby boy with glasses. Zacharias had thought him uninteresting until Anthony had noticed the Wanderer's pin on his bag and asked about it, and then gloated about the Falcons beating the Wanderers in their last game, and how he was going to try out for Quidditch that year. Zacharias had told him that the Wanderers were objectively better and good luck because Zacharias was going to try out for his own Quidditch team, too, and that, well.
He never considered what he had with Anthony as a friendship, just a thing where two people who know each other and like to talk to each other but don't particularly like each other. Well, Zacharias didn't dislike Anthony, he thought as Wayne roped them in a Bludger dodging practise while passing the Quaffle around. There was nothing about Anthony to dislike, aside from his shite taste in Quidditch teams...
Zacharias thought to what Anthony looked like when he was flying, free, grinning behind his glasses, which were stuck to his face by some kind of spell Anthony had found on his own. Zacharias's stomach did a knotty thing, and maybe it was the anxiety of thinking of playing Anthony again. But Zacharias wasn't particularly afraid of playing against Anthony - that was actually quite fun, since they targeted each other, which meant they stopped at nothing to have the ball from their other teammates, flying between passes, pretending to knock each other off their brooms. Anthony wasn't terribly competitive, but he always flew just that close to Zacharias, and Zacharias did the same.
There was that feeling in his stomach again, dipping. Zacharias hated that he was having a physical reaction to something, and tried to shake his mind out of it. It wouldn't do to think about Anthony, the widening of his eyes when he smiled, how he ducked down to smile when they argued, how he felt above Zacharias's body last night... And why had they wanked off together last night? Zacharias didn't think himself a particularly randy boy, but he remembered his gaze had been fixated on Anthony's jaw, on Anthony's lips...
Zacharias swerved down so fast that a Bludger hit the side of his broom. "Zach!" Wayne called, as Zacharias inspected the back of his broom, adjusting the bristles. "You alright?"
"Yeah," Zacharias stammered, pretending his heart wasn't pounding his chest. "I'm fine!"
Merlin, did he like Anthony? Had he always wanted to kiss Anthony? Zacharias wasn't sure if he'd thought about it before, but he knew it wasn't the first time Anthony's mouth had looked so fascinating to him - he'd just thought it was something about Anthony, that his lips were particularly big or small or something. Anthony's mouth was quite nice-sized, he recalled, and fuck, thinking that was even worse. He was in the middle of practise; he had a sport to play.
But there were some years of that not-friendship, and last night which Zacharias was so sure meant nothing, and now Zacharias hovering on his broom, barely catching the Quaffle and wondering what the fuck it meant when his palms felt clammy at the thought of merely touching Anthony again.
aro's a/z (9/?)
It was like realising that he fancied Anthony had ruined his fucking life. Well, it didn't ruin his life, but it made Zacharias jump when the next time he was at Potions, Anthony sat down next to him, smiling a little.
"Partners again?" Anthony asked.
Zacharias wanted to tell him to sod off, but that was what he would do if Anthony was Ernie, or anyone else. Instead Zacharias said, "Sure," and gripped the table with his knuckles, willing himself not to get up and leave right away.
Anthony took his things out. Zacharias busied himself with staring at his own copy of Advanced Potion Making so he wouldn't watch Anthony like some sort of freak.
Now that they were sitting together again, Zacharias tried to reason with himself - there was nothing objective attractive about Anthony, just a whole bunch that were interesting. His glasses, for one, which made his eyes marginally bigger, though Zacharias liked him with or without them. Anthony had spindly fingers, which - well, Zacharias shook his mind out of more adult territory and tried to assess Anthony's body from the corner of his eye. Anthony was shorter than Zacharias, and a bit wiry, which was what made him such a flexible Quidditch player.
Anthony glanced at him. Zacharias quickly turned his focus to his Potions book, because he had ended up staring at Anthony like some sort of freak.
Anthony hadn't seemed to notice, though, asking Zacharias, "Something interesting in there?"
"What?" Zacharias said, looking up.
Anthony nodded at Zacharias's book. "Got a potion you want to try?" he asked, with some amusement.
"Oh, I - I was thinking," Zacharias said.
Anthony nodded again, and bit his lip. He looked like he wanted to say something, but when Zacharias turned back to his book, he didn't say anything.
Today they were working on the Vessel of Veracity, a lite version of Veritaserum, and Slughorn said that the first group to finish it could try it on him. Zacharias suspected that Slughorn had built his tolerance to the thing, and would probably wax poetic about Harry Potter again, which Zacharias wasn't particularly keen to listen to. Still, he and Anthony worked diligently, passing about Jobberknoll feathers and slicing up the Adder's Fork in silence.
Zacharias was passing a cut sliver of the adder's tongue to Anthony the same time Anthony lifted up their Vial of Ptolmey above the cauldron. Zacharias startled as their hands bumped, and Anthony dropped the vial. It shattered to the floor, and Zacharias had lost his grip on the tongue and accidentally dumped it into the cauldron.
"Oh, shit! Sorry," Anthony said, looking down and rushing to Reparo the vial back up. He looked down at the spilled contents and bit his lip. Zacharias focused his gaze on Anthony's cheek. "Do you think Professor Slughorn will give us another vial?"
"I don't think it'll do, I've already fucked up our potion." Zacharias pointed to it, where it was bubbling dangerously as a result of the tongue. It had turned a bright orange colour, which it wasn't supposed to do at all - by the time they were supposed to put the tongue in, it was supposed to be dark.
Anthony peered in and went, "Oh, shit," again. The back of his neck was red, and why was Zacharias staring? Well, he knew why, but - doing such a thing such as fancying someone was so much unnecessary work, as Anthony shoved his glasses up and flipped through the book, muttering to himself.
"So I think we've accidentally made a - " He looked into the cauldron again, and compared it to something in his book. "Yes, that looks - do you think you can ask Slughorn for another Vial of Ptolmey, and eight more Jobberknoll feathers?"
"Eight?" Zacharias said incredulously.
Anthony nodded. "I think we can fix this, we've accidentally made a Dealing Draught." He pointed at small print in his book which Zacharias couldn't bother reading. "Potions can be fixed - we just have to reset, I'll add more water - "
"What'll that do?" Zacharias asked.
"Help clear up the tongue. Which we should also slice more of." Anthony was in full potions master mode. There was a bead of sweat at his temple, and Merlin, why could Zacharias not stop staring?
He rushed to ask Slughorn for another Vial of Ptolmey, who asked what'd happened. "There was," Zacharias said, thinking about how he'd so stupidly reacted at merely touching Anthony, "an accident."
"Really? Well I can't say that you'll be getting an O for today," Slughorn said, and Zacharias scowled - he shouldn't tell him that until after they'd finished the potion, which they should be really graded on instead of their mistakes. "But here's another vial, go on."
Zacharias got the Jobberknoll feathers too, and dumped them onto the table. Anthony's glasses were fogged up when Zacharias arrived, and he squinted up at Zacharias before rubbing the mist off, a bright smile on his face.
"It's almost cleared," he told Zacharias. "I had to cast a faster spell to reset it more, since we've only got thirty minutes left of class, but - "
"That's great," Zacharias interrupted, grabbing his small knife and picking up the Adder's Fork. Anthony was happy over something as trivial as a saved potion, and that very irrational part of Zacharias was thinking words like cute while the rest of Zacharias wanted things to go back to the way they were, when he would be obnoxious about the Wanderers while constantly not distracted by the fact that he was distracted by Anthony.
aro's a/z (10/10)
Zacharias didn't know what to do about the Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw Quidditch match. He and Anthony would be going against each other, as they had in the past - but it was different this time. All these twisting, strange feelings - and Zacharias wasn't even thinking about the night of the Slytherin party when he looked at Anthony anymore, just what Anthony might look like when he opened his eyes after he kissed him, what his jaw might feel like under Zacharias's palm.
Clutching his broom, Zacharias scowled at himself until Wayne said, "Alright there, Zach?" and Zacharias merely grunted in response.
At least it was a cool day out, a light breeze which Zacharias played the best in. Flying was more fun with a little bit of resistance, where he could push his body more, and Zacharias stood tall as Madame Hooch made Wayne and Brocklehurst shake hands. The moment they were called to mount their brooms, Zacharias soared in the air, careful not to make too much eye contact with Anthony - he couldn't have Anthony even suspecting what Zacharias was thinking about him.
Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and the game started. "We're gonna beat you, Smith," Anthony called over to him from the Ravenclaw side, and Zacharias allowed himself to glance over, just this once.
"Not if we beat you first," he said, as Malone tossed him the Quaffle.
Anthony scoffed and dove at him, but Zacharias ducked him easily, trying not to make too much physical contact, and passed the Quaffle down to Wayne. "Pathetic," Zacharias called to Anthony, who laughed and circled around to keep up.
Zacharias avoided getting too close to him, as the Potions debacle was too humiliating to think about. He veered in the air and ducked as Anthony valiantly tried to block him, like he usually did - "Might want to rethink your strategy, Goldstein," Zacharias said, as he caught the ball from Megan. He flew around Anthony's body, feeling the intent of Anthony suddenly chasing after him, barely a metre away.
Zacharias made his way to the Ravenclaw goalposts, and tried to chuck the ball through. But before he could - and before the Ravenclaw Keeper could react - Anthony was there, catching the Quaffle in mid-air and grinning at Zacharias.
"What was that about re-thinking my strategy?" he said, before diving to the other end of the pitch.
Hufflepuff was up 80-50, but then Wayne narrowly dodged a Bludger and dropped the Quaffle at the same time, landing in one of the Ravenclaw Chaser's open arms. Ravenclaw scored, half of the stands going up in blue, and Lovegood's voice going, "Oh, and MacDougal's scored... she's quite good at Divination I've heard, even though Professor Trelawney doesn't seem to like her very much..."
Zacharias cursed and looked for the Quaffle. There was no doubt that the Seekers were going to get the Snitch any time soon - Zacharias never bet on anything, mind in the narrow space of being a Chaser and getting as many points as possible, no matter what. He spotted the Quaffle still in Ravenclaw hands, one of the Chasers passing it to Anthony.
Zooming across the pitch, Zacharias tried to think of the best way to get the Quaffle from Anthony. Leanne could hold her own as a Keeper, but that would be on the far side of the pitch, and there was no telling what could happen in between - if a Seeker could catch in between. Zacharias flew towards Anthony, but didn't make for the Quaffle - that would be a foul Zacharias didn't want to risk.
Instead, Zacharias said, "Come here often?"
Anthony burst into laughter that he seemed surprised about himself. "Zach, we're playing a game," he said.
"I know." Zacharias found himself floating closer - fancying Anthony always wanted him to be closer, or acutely aware and away, and Zacharias didn't bother trying to figure out how long he'd felt this way, other than he certainly had before. "Want to give the Quaffle to me?"
"Not on your life." Anthony looked amused, as Zacharias flew in front of him, blocking his path. "I'm not going to hand it to you."
"Come on, Goldstein," Zacharias said.
He reached out for the Quaffle; Anthony jerked his hands away, so Zacharias got in closer. Their faces were so close together, and -
It was only for a second, but Zacharias nearly bridged that gap, could see every millimetre of Anthony's glasses, as Zacharias wrapped his hands around the ball and Anthony hovered, frozen for some reason, not even bothering to pull away. Zacharias didn't know if he knew how to swallow in that second -
- but he felt Anthony's grip slacken, and tore the ball from his hands, immediately flying away to the other end of the pitch. He heard Brocklehurst bellow, "What was that, Anthony?" and Anthony saying something about a collision, and Zacharias chucked the Quaffle at Wayne when the Ravenclaw Keeper flew at him, partly because he was blocked, but partly because he felt like he could still feel the heat of Anthony's hands on the ball after he pried it from his hands.
*
Zacharias was grudgingly congratulating Lisa Turpin when he saw Anthony dismounting his broom, from the corner of his eye. Turpin had a smug grin on her face that didn't deserve to be there, because Ravenclaw had won, but it quickly disappeared when Anthony shoved her aside and then shoved at Zacharias, which was such a surprise that he fell on the ground.
"You prat," Anthony said, cheeks red. "You stole the bloody ball from me - "
"It's Quidditch," Zacharias said indignantly, struggling to get up. "What did you expect - ?"
"You were staring and I thought you were - " Anthony was getting nearer to Zacharias, and was, frankly, frightening as Zacharias backed away. "We were so close - I thought you might've - "
"Might've what?" Zacharias demanded.
"You just - " Anthony grabbed at Zacharias again, and Zacharias thought he might push him again. Instead, Anthony grappled at Zacharias's robes, and drew him close. His mouth was dangerously close to Zacharias's, and Zacharias could feel Anthony exhaling against his lips. Anthony lingered so close, and it was like that moment again. Zacharias didn't know what to think, where to put his eyes.
Anthony shoved him away again, and said, "That." He looked furious, and it took a minute for Zacharias to realise - that Anthony was thinking that Zacharias was going to - that Anthony might've wanted to kiss him.
But Anthony had never insinuated such a thing before. Zacharias furrowed his eyebrows and asked bluntly, "You want to shag again?" and Wayne and Lisa Turpin, who were still standing nearby, both let out yelps of surprise.
Anthony turned bright red and said, "I don't just want to shag you, Zach, I want to," and then he was drawing himself near again, except this time the space between them was getting narrower and narrower, and then Anthony's mouth was on his, nothing sexual about it - just Anthony's lips.
A kiss, a sweet kiss that Zacharias felt himself keening into immediately, tilting his head and trying to get the angle right. That strange sensation in his stomach was burning and fluttery and Zacharias gripped at Anthony's elbows, deepened it.
Anthony pulled away and so much was happening around them, cheers and congratulations and maybe someone saying something about them, Zacharias didn't know. Anthony was saying in between them, cheeks even redder than before, "Merlin, I've been wanting - for bloody forever - "
"Forever?" Zacharias said, raising his eyebrows. And before Anthony could respond, Zacharias kissed him again, and then his jaw, until he heard one wolf whistle, and then several others. He turned around to see his entire Quidditch team hooting at them, and the Ravenclaws looking quite amused as well, despite having lost and that Zacharias was accosting one of their Chasers with his mouth.
Not that Zacharias cared - he turned around again to see Anthony grinning from ear-to-ear, glasses fogged, and probably the best thing he'd seen since the Wanderers beat the Falcons in their fifth year. Everyone else in the stands was cheering, and likely had seen the whole thing, and Zacharias didn't give a single fuck.
Their arms were around each other, and Zacharias forced himself to break apart, because it wouldn't do to show such ridiculous things in front of everyone else. He found himself unable to stop smiling, though, at Anthony who looked dazed but happy.
"I hope you don't mind," he panted, against Zacharias, "that I did that, in front of the whole school - "
Oh, fuck it. "Do shut up," Zacharias said, dragging Anthony back in. He kissed him again, amidst the cheers and catcalls and Anthony's laughing mouth.
ok we're doing this (1/2)
Mostly what they do is make light conversation, or at least Joe tries to and Jesse responds with short answers and then feels terrible afterward. It's not Jesse's fault that he's not the most extroverted guy around, okay? Well, maybe it is a little bit, and Jesse would like to work on it if he knew how, but all hs really has is Xanax and thirty books on Russian literature on his bookshelf, so his ineptitude should warrant forgiveness.
At least it's easier when Andrew's around. Andrew begins swinging by after the first week of classes, bright-eyed. The first time he does he asks, "Is Joe in?" when Jesse's opened the door, and when Jesse shakes his head, Andrew goes, "Oh well. Can I come in?"
"I'm not sure if I'm allowed to let strange guys into our apartment," Jesse says. "Joe might not approve."
Andrew laughs. "Oh, Joe would definitely approve," he says. "The question is, would you approve?"
Jesse puts on a worried look, which makes Andrew laugh further. "I don't know how to feel knowing that you know that Joe would want strange guys around," he says, but lets Andrew in anyway.
Andrew heaves himself onto the red couch into the common room and grins up at Jesse. "And I'll have you know that I'm not strange," he says. When Jesse raises his eyebrows, Andrew adds, "Well, not that strange. Not strange enough to warrant the label of strange."
"Please stop saying that word," Jesse says, and Andrew cracks a grin and turns on the TV remote like he lives here. He immediately flips to a channel that he likes, too, which makes Jesse think that Joe's probably invited him over while Jesse's at class, which Jesse supposes they should talk about. Jesse doesn't mind Andrew, really, but he's still not comfortable at the idea of people he barely knows entering his living space when he's not around.
And it's the first time Jesse and Andrew are alone together, when Jesse is studying and Andrew is watching TV in a dorm that isn't his. Jesse thinks it's kind of weird, since they're not saying anything to each other and it's - well, Andrew doesn't live here.
But he calls over to Jesse once, "Do you watch Shark Week?" and Jesse looks up from his books, furrowing his eyebrows and shaking his head.
"No? Do I seem like the type of person who does?" he asks. He's heard Patrick talk about it before, but it's never piqued his interest.
Andrew shakes his head quickly, smiling again. "No - it's just on right now, so I thought you might be interested in watching it."
"Thank you for the invitation," Jesse mutters, because he's gotten distracted by something in his homework and he's pretty sure he'd gotten question 15 wrong, and rushes to erase it out.
Jesse doesn't know how long it takes to break the ice with roommates or roommates' friends - he had friends in high school, of course, and earlier, but that was usually through shared interests and he didn't hang out with anyone outside of school. And you don't really see your friends on a daily basis, and being roommates with someone is so much different, because sometimes Jesse hears Joe fart in his sleep, or Jesse's brushing his teeth when he hears a knock on the bathroom door and he has to rush to spit out and say, "I'm in here!" because he likes his privacy when he's brushing his teeth that he'd locked the door.
When Jesse comes out, wondering how comfortable he's supposed to feel about Joe seeing him in his pajamas, Joe looks up from his phone and says, "Morning Jesse."
"Morning." Jesse prowls through his dresser, looking for a clean t-shirt. He doesn't like changing in front of other people, but he's afraid of Joe giving him weird looks. Luckily, there's a piece of wall between both his room and the common room that Jesse can hide behind it so Joe can't see him at that angle.
Joe's voice floats over as Jesse wrangles his shirt on. "So, Andrew thinks you don't like him very much."
"What? Jesse blurts, shoving his shirt down and peering out from behind the angle. "Why did he - "
"Because you declined his invitation to watch Shark Week." Joe's snickering at his phone.
Jesse frowns, feels terrible, and also wonders how someone could possibly make that assumption about him. "I was busy with homework," he says, remembering. "There's nothing - I don't care about - well, not that I don't care about, but why would I dislike - "
"It's alright, I've got it covered," Joe says. When Jesse continues frowning in confusion, Joe looks up and says, "You're too awkward to hate anyone."
"I'm not awkward," Jesse says immediately. Joe doesn't even bother looking up at his phone from this, and Jesse revises. "I mean - I guess I am awkward - and I don't hate Andrew - "
Joe gets up and claps Jesse on the shoulder. "It's fine," he says, grinning. "I told Andrew that it was all a big mistake and he was just being paranoid."
"I feel that," Jesse mutters, as they patter around the dorm, getting ready for class.
But it's still kind of weird, that now Andrew kind of looks at Jesse hesitantly when he comes around, and that Jesse feels like he now needs to say more to Andrew so Andrew doesn't think that he secretly hates him. And with Joe - well, Joe doesn't seem to care about anything, all cheerful and carefree, but that just makes Jesse even more anxious about talking too little or, once, too much, when Joe had just kind of blinked at him in confusion after Jesse had ranted about one of his distressingly incompetent TAs over breakfast.
Jesse often gets breakfast with Joe since they live together, but more than often eats alone, or treks to Adams for breakfast. Once Emma messages Jesse, when am I going to see you again!!! :((( but Jesse knows she lives over in the Quad and will probably want to introduce him to all her roommates who she probably gets along splendidly with. Emma's like that, and Jesse doesn't even pretend he's not envious of her.
It's still kind of weird getting breakfast with Joe, though, since conversation is sometimes stilted or weirdly quiet and Jesse doesn't know what to say, even though Joe seems to be okay. Dinner's no better, which they'd gotten since one of Jesse's classes had let out early and they'd run into each other in the Kirkland dining hall and Joe had basically insinuated that they should sit together and Jesse had said yes because it would've been really fucking awkward if he said no and then they walked back to their dorm together, anyway.
They're on their way back, in a weird possibly uncomfortable silence as they pass the garbage bins. Jesse's thinking about how much time he'll let himself devote to homework tonight when an unsolicited sound breaks through the night air.
Jesse turns to Joe, who's looking at Jesse with some surprise. "Did you hear that?" Joe asks.
Jesse nods. They both stop in the middle of the walkway, listening.
A faint mewl comes from underneath a garbage bin.
"Is that - " Joe says, and Jesse walks over, because he's heard that sound numerous times before. He ducks his head down and shines the light of his flip phone into the dark crevice.
The head of a tiny kitten stares back at him, blinking and then scurrying away from the light. "It's a cat," Jesse says, looking up at Joe whose eyes are wide. "Or a kitten, if you prefer semantics."
"Oh, man, I love cats," Joe says, as Jesse tries to find the kitten again, shining his light underneath the bin again. "I've got one at home - "
"I do too," Jesse says, looking up at Joe again. He hadn't really struck Jesse as a cat person; Jesse had thought all cat people were antisocial and awkward like him. Misery loves its company and all that.
"Really? Finally we have something in common." Joe beams at him. "I've been trying to find something for weeks, you don't even know - "
"And you didn't think to ask me if I had any pets?" Jesse asks, finding the kitten again in the dim light. Before it can scurry away, Jesse thrusts his arm in and finds the back of the kitten's body, prying it out with a single hand.
Joe throws his hand up. "I didn't know that was the magic question!" He coos at the kitten when Jesse pulls it out successfully, wriggling in Jesse's hand. "Oh my god, she's so cute."
"Is it a she?" Jesse asks, trying to check under the waning moonlight.
"Who cares? She's a she now." Joe takes the kitten from Jesse's dirty hand - properly, so Jesse's consoled with the fact that Joe hadn't been lying about being a cat owner - and holds her up, inspecting her. "She's so dirty though."
"I don't know if we can give her a bath," Jesse says, wringing his dirty arm and suddenly afraid of getting something infectious from under the trash bin. "She looks like a baby, and we're not allowed to have pets in the dorms - "
"You think that'll stop us?" Joe says, and Jesse thinks, no, because he kind of wants to take care of her too. "We're taking you home, baby, don't you worry about it."
The kitten bats at Joe's nose. Joe goes, "Look, she likes me!" and Jesse tells himself that adopting a kitten in college is not the same as compulsively wanting to adopt every cat he sees in his local animal shelter.
They make their way back to Kirkland. The kitten is tiny, maybe no more than one month old - old enough to not be squealing, as Jesse's seen in a lot of newborns, but still wriggling in Joe's grasp as Joe tries to hold her properly. "You might want to put her in your hoodie pocket," he says to Jesse, handing her off to him. "So we can sneak her in."
"And to keep her warm," Jesse says.
Joe finger guns at him. "That too."
No one gives them a second look as they walk into Kirkland house, and over to H, where Jesse and Joe's dorm is. Jesse's careful to keep his hand over his hoodie pocket, both so no one can see the kitten and so that she doesn't end up tumbling out.
Joe opens the door and Jesse's ready to set her down and let her run loose, at least in the common room - but then someone turns from the common room couch, and Andrew's saying, "Finally, you're back."
"Andrew!" Joe says, a guilty edge to his tone, as Jesse turns to him.
"Did you leave the door unlocked?" he asks.
Joe shifts. "Maybe," he says, because Jesse had already mentioned that he prefers it if they leave the door locked under most circumstances, even when they're in. "I won't do it again, I promise. Hey Andrew, guess what?"
"What?" Andrew says, as Jesse makes his way to the bathroom to take care of the kitten.
Joe exclaims, "We found a kitten! Jesse has her - she's the cutest thing ever, except for Stella, my cat back at home."
"That's adorable." Andrew's gotten up from the couch, and going over to Jesse in the bathroom where the door's open, looking over Jesse's shoulder where Jesse has dumped the kitten in the sink, trying to figure out what to do with her. "Oh my god, she's adorable."
Jesse glances over at Andrew and says, "She is, isn't she?" Andrew smiles at him, and Jesse smiles back.
Then he realizes how fucking weird that is and shakes his head, turning back to the kitten. "She's filthy, but I don't want to upset her with a bath - "
"It's okay," Joe says, coming in. The bathroom's small enough so he practically squeezes in, rolling up his sleeves and looking determined. "I am a pro kitten washer. I can wash the shit off of her."
"Please don't do that," Andrew laughs, while Jesse just gives Joe a look for a poor choice of words. "I thought cats don't like water," he says to Joe.
"They don't," Jesse says darkly. He doesn't feel bad as he exits the bathroom, leaving Joe alone with the kitten and the sink - if Joe claims to be good at it, Jesse will let him. Joe signed up for it.
Andrew chuckles, shooting Jesse a curious look as they walk around to sit on the common room couch. The TV's on, though it looks more like Andrew had hijacked Joe's game console, whatever it is, and was playing it before they'd come in. "So are you a cat person?" Andrew asks Jesse, picking up the controller again. "I know Joe is."
"Don't I look like one?" Jesse says dryly.
Andrew gives him a once-over, and then shrugs. "I don't know how to answer that question," he says. "Would it be more offensive if I said yes or no?"
"No," Jesse answers, watching Andrew on the TV screen and trying to follow whatever the hell he's doing. It looks like some sort of racing game, but Jesse doesn't really play video games so he could be wrong about this stuff. "I have three cats at home, and it's not like I hope that I look like I do, but - I do."
"Wow," Andrew says. "Three?"
Jesse nods. "I adopt," he says. "Or, my mom lets me adopt. But they're low commitment as long as you don't piss them off."
"Sounds like a description on a dating website."
Jesse laughs, surprised. Andrew shoots him a grin, and Jesse tries to reel the laughter back, coughing a little as he does. "I suppose that - yeah," he says to Andrew, who's still watching him. "That does sound like something on a dating website."
Joe comes out from the bathroom then, and Andrew asks, "How goes the cat washing?"
"Amazing. She doesn't care at all," Joe says brightly. "And hey, I was wondering, we should get cat stuff for her tonight. The T runs until eleven."
"It's nine o'clock right now," Jesse says, checking the time on his wristwatch. "You really think we'll find a place that sells cat stuff, make it there on the T, and come back in two hours?"
"There's the Walmart up in Saugus," Andrew suggests. "I had to go there to get some of my storage bins for last year. We can always take a cab."
"We're college kids," Joe says. "What makes you think we can afford a cab up to Saugus? I say we take the T, the Target in Boston - "
" - doesn't sell cat stuff," Jesse says. "I've been there before, they don't." He shifts. It's not something that he likes sharing with people he barely knows - and okay, so they're a little bit more than strangers, but - "And I have the money, if you really want to go."
"You do?" Joe asks, as Andrew turns to Jesse in surprise.
Jesse shrugs and nods. "I'm - yeah," he says, deciding not to explain. "But we can go up, especially since we'll need a litter box and food."
"And we can't get that shit from the c-store," Joe says, and Jesse nods. "Okay, sweet. I'm in."
"I am, too," Andrew says, pausing his game and getting up from the couch.
Jesse asks, "Are you sure? Because you're not - I mean, not that you're not invited, but it might take a long time, and I don't want you to - "
"What else am I going to do on a Friday evening?" Andrew says cheerfully. "Do homework? It'll be fun coming up to Walmart with you. Socializing."
"I'm probably not the best company if you want to socialize," Jesse says.
Andrew laughs like Jesse had told a particular funny joke.
ok we're doing this (2/2)
"You could've gotten a fish," Jesse tells him.
Andrew pouts. "Yeah, but fish are no fun," he says. "I would've liked a dog or a cat, you know."
"Cats aren't a lot of fun either," Jesse points out. "And dogs aren't, too, but for a different reason and probably because I'm biased."
"You are definitely biased," Andrew tells him, chuckling.
When they arrive at the Walmart, Joe bursts through the sliding doors and announces to the store at large, "The cat daddies are in!" Jesse, from pushing the cart, makes a face as Andrew buckles over in laughter.
"Cat daddies?" Jesse says.
Andrew says, heaving his breath and standing back up, "I sure hope you're not including me in that. I don't know how I feel about fatherhood yet."
"You're exempt, Andrew," Joe says, before slinging an arm around Jesse's shoulder. "And yes, Jesse, it's you and me. We are the cat dads."
"Like, dads who are cats or cats who are dads?" Andrew's still laughing.
Jesse frowns at Joe again. "I'm not sure how I feel about fatherhood yet either."
"Too late," Joe says cheerfully.
They make their way to the pet aisle, Joe talking about how they should get a car with the license plate CATDADS, or at least matching hoodies, both of which Jesse declines. Knowing Joe, he'll probably try to go for the hoodies idea anyway.
"I'll be Daddy One," Joe's saying, as they pass the kitchen aisle, "and Jesse will be Daddy Two."
Jesse groans and puts a hand to his forehead. "Joe, please - "
"Yes, Joe, please continue," Andrew says, grinning from ear-to-ear. "I love the idea of you two domesticated, all with your cat child - "
"Our cat daughter," Joe says eagerly. "Look, catnip! Which one should we get?"
Andrew suggests one, and Joe suggests another, and then neither of them can agree so Joe goes, "All of them!" And not only does he put the two that he and Andrew had been debating over, but the rest of the fucking catnip options, while Jesse cries, "Guys, just pick one."
"We want the best for our daughter," Joe says to him. "Which means every option possible."
Andrew, damn him, is still laughing to himself, and says to Jesse, "Yeah, Jess."
"We don't need every catnip in the aisle," Jesse says. He begins to put some back. "Just pick like - okay, how about two."
"How about three?" Andrew says, probably to purposefully make Jesse despair.
Jesse sighs and shoves his glasses up. "Okay, fine, whatever, three," he says.
"Three it is!" Joe says, and plucks one that Jesse had put away and puts it into their shopping cart.
Then they make it to the food, where at least Joe and Jesse can agree that their kitten does need a variety of dry and wet foods, since there's no telling what she'd like at this point. However, Joe wants them to get five of each, which -
"Five's too much," Jesse says. "We'll come back. How about two?"
"How about four?" Andrew says, cracking a grin.
Jesse purposefully steps on his foot, and refuses to feel bad when Andrew whines. "Two," he says firmly to Joe, who relents and puts two of the dry tuna and two of the chicken into the cart.
"You drive hard bargains, Eisenberg," Joe says. "Is this because you're paying? Because if you need, I can - "
"It's - no, that has nothing to do with it," Jesse says, stomach twisting. "I just think we should budget and actually think about this."
"Andrew and I have never heard of thinking," Joe says to him, to which Andrew nods valiantly.
"We've never heard of a budget before, either," Andrew adds.
Jesse rolls his eyes and tries not to be charmed by them, even though Joe is looking him unblinkingly innocent and Andrew's hiding a smile behind a hand. "You guys are hopeless," Jesse says, moving the cart along.
Joe joins him by his side. "That's exactly what we're going for."
He continues to dive at every fucking thing in the aisle, including cat beds (which Jesse can't bring himself to say no to), leashes, collars, scratchers, carriers, toys, and clothing. Jesse's already getting tired, trying not to fall asleep on the shopping cart as he pushes it along. He does nix the little Harvard hoodie that is apparently for cats, but doesn't blink twice when Joe heaves a whole bag of cat litter and picks one of the biggest litter boxes and shoves it into the cart.
Andrew walks along with Jesse, looking amused at Joe's antics. He sees Jesse yawn and defog his glasses, and asks, "Tired?"
"I'm a very boring person," Jesse tells him. "I go to sleep at ten o'clock."
"It must be your bedtime already," Andrew chuckles.
Jesse nods, and watches as Joe tries to debate between two collars. Jesse doesn't like putting collars on his cats, though so he says, "No to the collars," to which Joe frowns at him, but puts them back.
Andrew says, "I hope you don't terribly mind me asking, but - are you rich?"
Jesse feels his face heat up. This was the conversation he was trying to avoid - he always feels guilty and self-conscious when it's put in such terms. "If I had to," he starts to Andrew, then realizes how faux that sounds, and tries again. "Honestly - I mean, essentially - I mean - "
"I'm assuming you're trying to say yes," Andrew says, amused. "It's okay, I was just wondering, since you're willing to spend your money on all of this." He gestures to the cart.
Jesse mumbles, "It's not my money, it's my parents'."
"Right," Andrew says, and Jesse turns his face away, feeling even worse. He feels a hand at his shoulder, and turns back around to see Andrew watching him with concern. "Hey, it's okay, Jess. I asked you a question and you answered it. I don't think any less of you because you happen to be wealthy."
"I know," Jesse says, his stomach dropping even further. Andrew's hand feels hot against him, but probably because Jesse feels enflamed with guilt. "You don't have any obligation to feel any way about me, though, whether I'm - especially since I do have money."
"Well, it means nothing to me," Andrew says. "Actually, that's a lie, I suppose that means I expect a grand present for my birthday." He grins at Jesse. "But I'm joking of course."
Jesse smiles at him, trying to feel at ease. He believes Andrew, and he wants to. "I know," he says, as Joe places a pink sparkly cat carrier into the shopping cart.
Joe says, "Men, we are spoiling our daughter! And by men, I mean you, Jesse," he says to Jesse. "And by 'spoiling', I mean 'giving her everything that she deserves, because she's our daughter.'"
"I really hope you make those cat dad hoodies," Andrew says, as they reach the end of the aisle.
"Oh, I plan on it," Joe says. "Now let's check out the food section, I've really been craving Snickers lately."
Andrew joins him as they look for the food aisle. "Oh, I've really been feeling Twizzlers," he says, and Joe berates him for his taste in candy because licorice is disgusting. Jesse privately agrees, though he doesn't say anything.
And there's not much to expect from a Walmart outing that ends up with them arriving back on Harvard campus at one in the morning, except for a copious amount of cat supplies, several bags of Snickers and jelly beans for Jesse, and a bouncy ball that Joe had insisted was a valuable investment (and that he'd paid with his own money, he'd assured Jesse, even though Jesse didn't care.) They get the cat supplies in the bathroom and feed their kitten some of the tuna, which she gobbles up eagerly, apparently not minding dry food. "Next time," Joe says, rubbing his eyes, "we get ten cans."
And Jesse doesn't know a whole lot about making proper friends with roommates, but when they wake up the next morning to the kitten meowing and scrabbling at the door in the bathroom, they exchange tired looks and Jesse says without thinking, "I'll get her." And after that there are more Walmart runs and talking suddenly becomes easier over breakfast. Because, Jesse supposes, you don't just rescue a kitten and spend three hours in a Walmart and not become friends after that.
save up all the days (1/?)
This shouldn’t be unusual—Viktor has done tastefully unclothed photoshoots since before Yuuri was in the senior circuit, and Yuuri has clippings of each one in a scrapbook under his bed. Also, there was that time after the banquet. None of this makes it any easier to accept that Viktor Nikiforov is there in the flesh, naked in Yuuri’s living room.
“Yuuri!” Viktor says, extending a hand. “Starting today, I’m your boyfriend!”
There’s a terrifyingly long silence. Viktor’s smile wavers at the corners. Yuuri is pretty sure if he was any more shocked his jaw would’ve unhinged entirely and hit the carpet. The carpet which Viktor is currently dripping water all over. Naked.
Yuuri yells, “What?”
“Oh, no, no, Yuuri, what’s wrong?” Suddenly solicitous, Viktor comes right up to him and takes his hand. The last time Yuuri had been this close to someone’s dick—actually, that had been Viktor too.
“You can’t just turn up out of nowhere and decide you’re going to be my boyfriend!” Yuuri says. “How much did you waste on a flight? On a visa? We barely know each other, Viktor.”
Viktor furrows his brows into a frown. “We had sex.”
“First of all, it wasn’t sex sex,” Yuuri says, “it was just—you know—and second, you don’t know anything about me! Maybe I have a boyfriend!”
“Do you?” Viktor asks, face falling. “Have a boyfriend, I mean… ?”
“No,” Yuuri says. “That’s not the point.”
Viktor pulls Yuuri’s hands—oh, god, they’re still holding hands—close to his wet, naked chest. “Then can I be your boyfriend?”
Tongue-tied, Yuuri doesn’t manage to verbalise the denial on his lips, because he wouldn’t really mean it. Yes, more than anything, he would love to be Viktor’s boyfriend, but this is too sudden and his brain is turning into mush faster than he can say I need to think about it.
Viktor backs onto the couch; he drags Yuuri with him, and it takes some careful maneuvering for Yuuri not to fall directly on top of Viktor’s dick, which, it wouldn’t be the first time that had happened, but—he really needs to stop thinking about that time he hooked up with Viktor. It’s been haunting him like a plague since Sochi, but the plan was to brush it off, pretend it never happened, because that was surely how Viktor would view a one-night-stand with a loser like Yuuri.
Apparently not.
“Didn’t you think we had a connection?” Viktor says. “When I first laid eyes on you, from across the room at the banquet, and you were drinking champagne and you smiled at me, Yuuri, and I’d been watching you skate for years but in that moment I knew we were meant to be.”
Yuuri wants desperately to voice his disagreement, but it’s very hard to think of much else when Viktor is running tracing circles across the soft bits between Yuuri’s thumbs and forefingers, let alone form a coherent sentence.
Viktor continues, “I know there are only two weeks until our Nationals, and I know Yakov will yell at me once he finds out where I’ve gone, but I want you more than I’ve ever wanted any gold medal.”
Now Yuuri knows Viktor is bullshitting him. There’s no way—
But then Viktor moves one hand up and runs a thumb across Yuuri’s lower lip. “Is this okay?”
This is nothing new. “Yeah,” Yuuri says.
Viktor drops his hands entirely, leaning in to close the distance. His lips are a little dry and he smells like Yuuri’s shower gel, and they kiss more slowly now than they had done in Sochi—then, it was all feverish and rushed, lips and fingertips sticky with champagne and crowded in the corner of the elevator up to Yuuri’s room.
Pulling back for breath, Yuuri says, “I’m putting you on a probationary period. Two weeks. If you can prove that you’re serious about this, then I’ll consider your offer.”
“I won’t let you down,” Viktor says, so seriously that it has Yuuri laughing, and then they’re kissing again, and it doesn’t feel like Viktor is here to play with Yuuri’s heart.
“One more condition,” Yuuri says—mumbles, really, as Viktor moves away from his mouth and kisses along the line of his jaw. “If this doesn’t work out, for whatever reason… I don’t want to tell anyone we’re, um, dating. And I don’t want you to tell anyone either.”
Viktor’s nose brushes against Yuuri’s cheek. “Of course.”
“Good.” Yuuri is satisfied with that. He still isn’t convinced this is really happening, but he’s satisfied. “Now we have other practicalities to think about. “Have you spoken to Celestino about this? Will you be able to train at my rink? And who’s going to coach you? Where are you staying? You’re so—”
“I don’t want to think about any of this,” Viktor says. “I just want to kiss you.”
“—reckless,” Yuuri finishes, in between being kissed senseless. “Flying all the way out here right before Nationals—”
He supposes this is what Viktor meant in his note. The morning after, Yuuri had woken up feeling like it had all been a dream. Viktor was gone, but there was his tie around Yuuri’s wrist in a beautiful bow that he must’ve done while Yuuri was still asleep, and a letter on the hotel’s branded notepaper sitting on the desk: My love, I must leave you all too prematurely. I am only sorry that this is how we part, but I couldn’t bear to wake you from your beautiful slumber. Not to worry; I’ll be seeing you soon! And then, of all things, Viktor Nikiforov’s autograph at the bottom.
Yuuri still has Viktor’s tie at the bottom of his suitcase. He hasn’t unpacked yet. Phichit is always telling him off for living in such squalor, but—
Phichit.
“My housemate will be home soon,” Yuuri says, “so you should, um, put some clothes on.”
Viktor laughs, getting to his feet. “I know; how do you think I got into your flat?”
Yuuri, who is an idiot, had not considered that.
“He said he’d be back in a while from the shops,” Viktor says, “so I’ll just go and—”
The key turns in the front door. Phichit is the second person that day to be treated to an eyeful of Viktor. There’s a wet patch on the couch next to Yuuri and Yuuri feels like a second wet patch. A puddle. A melted mass of nerves. If Phichit let Viktor into their apartment, then he must know that Viktor is planning to be Yuuri’s boyfriend, and what if he’s one of those people who can’t keep their mouth shut? Yuuri’s never had a secret worth keeping before.
“Hey, Yuuri,” Phichit says. “I see you, uh, found our house guest.”
“Um,” Yuuri says.
“What’s he even doing here?” Phichit asks. Then, “Sorry, Viktor; what are you in Detroit for? You never mentioned.”
Oh, thank god, Yuuri’s been saved. He opens his mouth to tell Yuuri that Viktor is here on holiday, but a quick glance at Viktor shows that he’s doing the same in rapid motion, clearly flustered. Serves him right for not planning ahead. Let’s see where he’s going with this, Yuuri thinks.
This, too, he comes to regret.
“You see,” Viktor says, “I’m Yuuri’s new coach!”
some ziall thing (1/1)
It's Niall's show. Zayn watches from the side, having been invited backstage - he shouldn't have, but then Linda had seen him and greeted him brightly, probably assumed that Niall knew that he was coming. Zayn doesn't know if he wants it to be a surprise - it had been a last minute decision, because between their texts of I miss you once a week, sometimes Zayn can't put feelings into words and just needs to see him.
Niall's playing "This Town," and Zayn smiles. Niall had coughed rather pointedly on the phone when Zayn had told him he was going to be collaborating with Taylor Swift, had Gigi Hadid in his music video - Niall's not one to get jealous, but Zayn knows that by the lyrics in his own song that being so far away from each other is taking a toll on him as well. Zayn knows the song's not about him; Niall tends to mesh a lot of his experiences together, he'd told him once when they were talking about songwriting, into one song that's not about anyone else but about himself.
Zayn almost writes the same, except less in part with the experiences - he just knows, and sometimes it's just as easy as saying it. Though considering the nature of everything, Zayn does slip Niall into his songs, between spaces and till you come back home and I love to hold you close, tonight and always. Niall's there in his music, and as Zayn crosses his arms and watches Niall from the back, the way Niall strums his guitar and closes his eyes, he has a feeling that he's in the way that Niall's voice carries, too.
Niall moves onto "Slow Hands," which the club cheers at. He's performing at a sizable club in L.A. he had texted Zayn about, and Zayn had told him he was in town, too, but that was hours later when Niall's show had already started. Zayn hasn't seen him since Niall had released his singles in the first place, months ago because when Niall was in Europe, Zayn was in the U.S.; when Zayn was in the Europe, Niall was on tour with the other boys, which - Zayn doesn't want to think too much about them, though his stomach sinks a little that he's still with Niall after all this time, perfectly fine while everything else is rough with Louis. Zayn can't fault himself because Niall's the one he's been snogging for upwards of three years, and not anyone else, and Niall had been pretty despondent when Zayn had left. Well, he'd ignored Zayn for an entire week, didn't answer any of Zayn's apology texts until later.
It's always been me, not you when it comes to Niall. Zayn doesn't know if there's anything he could let himself fault Niall for - Niall, who's swimming in the blue club light, sweat beading on his forehead and grinning out at the audience. Wanna be with you all alone, take me home, take me home, Niall's singing, and Zayn's heart thumps loudly under his folded arms. He wishes he could get up on stage and kiss Niall then, but - no one knows, not even the boys, it's been their best kept secret for years and Zayn can barely think of the chaos it would cause if he did such a thing. He waits for Niall to stop performing, to step off the stage.
The crowd cheers again when Niall's done. Niall waves, wiping sweat from his head and his brown hair and going, "Thank you, I love you so much." Zayn smiles to himself as Niall walks away, comes over.
Niall stops in his tracks when he sees Zayn pulling himself away from the wall. Zayn uncrosses his arms and says, "Surprise?"
"Zayn!" Niall runs and throws his arms around him - there's a moment where they're blinking into each other's eyes, and Zayn knows what he's thinking, the amount of space that's between their lips. The moment disappears quickly when Niall retracts himself, because there are still people around backstage.
"What're you doing here?" Niall says, leading Zayn off-stage. "I didn't even notice you - "
"I've been in town, I texted you," Zayn says.
Niall pulls his phone out of his pocket and he says, "Oh, you did." He types something with his fingers. Zayn's phone buzzes in his pocket.
Zayn rolls his eyes and says, "Did you just text me when I'm standing right next to you?"
"Maybe," Niall says cheekily.
The months without Niall suddenly feels like no time at all, like they're back where they've always been, waking up tremendously early in one another's bunk, sneaking in and out of their hotel rooms, pressing their mouths together when the rest of the world is asleep. They're surrounded by swarms of eyes now, but when Zayn looks at Niall and his new brown hair and stubble and the years that they've grown together, his heart feels so full that he doesn't know what to do with himself.
"So," Niall says, as they make their way down to a table. It seems like a VIP section, by the way that it's closed off and the rest of the restaurant doesn't bother them. None of the club staff seem deterred at Zayn being there with Niall. "What's new with you! What're you doing in L.A.? Are we even allowed to be seen together?"
"Good question," Zayn says. "I think the press will have a fit if they see us, but it's pretty dark in here." He glances around. "And I'm doing some producing, you know."
Niall nods understandingly. "Yeah, I've done most of my recording here," he says. "What's - How long've you been in town, then? We could've seen each other earlier - "
"Yeah, we could've," Zayn says, regretting sending the text so late. In fairness, he'd been taking a nap at the time Niall had texted him, and had just woken up when he'd replied. But he's been here for a few weeks now already, and decides that he doesn't want to know how long Niall has been, so he doesn't think of all of the time they could've spend together.
"Oh, well," Niall says, and picks up the menu from the table. "Shit, I'm starved. Have you eaten yet?"
"No." Zayn shakes his head, and looks down at the menu.
"The shakes are good," Niall says. He peers over Zayn's shoulder.
Zayn meets his eyes for a moment, and Niall blinks back at him, eyes bluer in the dark. Zayn wants to kiss him terribly, despite where they are - and he sees Niall's gaze drop to his mouth for a moment, giving himself away as well.
Zayn raises the menu in his hands, blocking them from the world. Behind the plastic, there's a meeting of lips, that says, I miss you and you're home all at once, and Zayn doesn't think either of them can ever write a song about what it feels like to come back together.
first base (1/?)
-
Their kiss after Yuuri’s free skate at the Cup of China is unequivocally the worst kiss of Yuuri’s life. And that’s including all those people he’d kissed in college, his first kiss, back in high school, and his last kiss, the end to a disastrous date with a boy Yuuri had never spoken to again. It’s the worst because it’s Yuuri’s childhood crush kissing him, someone he’d idolised before he’d even thought about kissing real people, not just posters, and it doesn’t happen over a candlelit dinner with a vase of red roses between them and Viktor’s hand closing over Yuuri’s, their fingers twining together, as he leans across the roses to tenderly press their lips together.
No, it happens while Yuuri is sweaty and disoriented, and Viktor runs at him from the side of the rink and practically throws the two of them together, jumping on Yuuri and propelling him backwards onto the ice. At least Viktor has the good grace to put a hand behind Yuuri’s head and cushion his fall, but it doesn’t make up for the fact that, in those brief airborne moments, Viktor’s teeth knock into Yuuri’s and their noses are smushed together and Yuuri genuinely thinks he’s going to crack his head open and die.
As kisses go, it is not only substandard. It’s downright awful.
“That was the only thing I could think of to surprise you more than you surprised me,” Viktor says.
I’ll say, Yuuri thinks. He holds back a roll of the eyes, and says, “Really?”
Back in the hotel that night, Yuuri comes out of the shower to Viktor lounging seductively on his bed, bathrobe hanging a bit open at the chest. This is it, he thinks. This is the moment that they have their proper first kiss, slow and passionate and a little bit sexy.
Yuuri isn’t good with words. He clambers onto the bed and lets his towel dip by his hip. He’s nervous—of course he’s nervous—but he pushes through; no matter how terrified he first was of Viktor’s overt affections, he’s had some time to accustom himself to the idea of something between them, and he’s had Eros to remind him that sex doesn’t need to be about getting out of his head for a while. That it can be about love.
The soft smile on Viktor’s face reassures Yuuri that this is what both of them want. He prowls across the bed on all fours, feeling like a bit of a tool, but also feeling like a bit of a god as Viktor’s eyebrows rise up to meet his hairline and the corners of his mouth turn up in surprise.
This is the first indication Yuuri has that Viktor might be as nervous as he is.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Yuuri says. He doesn’t know if it counts as dirty talk, but the flush across Viktor’s cheeks is definitely doing something for him, so he keeps going. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away when you first arrived—should have let you sleep with me—”
“Yuuri!” Viktor gasps. “This is so sudden, I don’t know what to say.”
“I wasn’t the one who’s been flirting all this time,” Yuuri says. His legs are either side of Viktor’s. “It’s not sudden at all.”
“Yes, but—” Viktor flounders, seemingly at a loss for words. His mouth opens and closes a few times. By now Yuuri is almost on top of him. “—but this is different!”
Yuuri hovers with the tip of his nose just touching Viktor’s, but not moving any closer. “You kissed me,” Yuuri reminds him. “It didn’t last long enough. I demand a do-over.”
This, it seems, is something Viktor can manage. “With pleasure,” he says. Then, he sucks in a breath and puffs out his cheeks, puckering his lips as he deflates them. It’s the most unattractive thing Yuuri has ever seen. Luckily for him, he loves Viktor anyway.
He cups one side of Viktor’s face in the palm of his hand, and leans in.
“Ah, before we go any further,” Viktor says, “I should… get my lip balm. I don’t want to kiss you with dry lips.”
“I really don’t care,” Yuuri says. He’s starting to get impatient now. “Your lips will get all wet when we kiss, anyway.”
“Of course,” Viktor says, in a way that implies he actually had no idea that kissing makes your lips wet, which wouldn’t make sense unless it’d been a long time since he’d last kissed someone, or he’d never kissed anyone at all.
No, surely not. Someone as suave as Viktor “let me tell you about my past lovers” Nikiforov, international connoisseur of winking on camera, never been kissed? The very idea is laughable. It must have been a while, though. Viktor is definitely worried about something. He’s blinking a lot more than usual. Up close, Yuuri marvels that he can pick up on this level of detail.
“Relax,” he says. “I’m nervous too.”
Yuuri moves in closer, loosening his towel and letting it slip even lower down, and trailing the hand that’d been on Viktor’s face down his neck, to his chest, pushing his bathrobe off one shoulder.
Viktor visibly swallows. “What about protection?”
“For kissing?” Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“No, I meant for, uh—the other—” Viktor shuts his eyes tight, “—but if you just want to kiss, we can kiss. I can do that.”
Surely not.
“Viktor,” Yuuri says, “have you ever kissed anyone before?”
In the intervening silence, Yuuri’s towel slips down entirely and unbidden, which means that he is buck naked when Viktor opens his eyes again and says the most horrifying string of words Yuuri has ever heard: “I, um, no. No, I haven’t.”
“Have you ever,” Yuuri says, trying very desperately to pretend that Viktor isn’t staring at his dick, “hooked up?”
Viktor shakes his head. “You have?”
“Of course I have,” Yuuri says. He’s annoyed, and not just because Viktor is focusing more on the first flesh-and-blood penis he’s ever seen than on Yuuri’s face. “Did you have me pegged for some kind of blushing virgin?”
“I asked you, and you said ‘no comment!’” Viktor says frantically, looking Yuuri in the eyes at last. “I thought that meant you’d never been with anyone!”
“No, it meant I didn’t want to relive the horror of my college years, and—no, you know what, I’m not going there. I’m not talking about it.”
“Wow, Yuuri, you really are a seducer,” Viktor says. There’s no shortage of glee in his tone as he adds, “I’m so lucky to be in the hands of someone so experienced.”
“No, I—”
Viktor puts a finger to Yuuri’s lips. “So, are you going to kiss me or not?”
Well, Yuuri can’t exactly do anything about it with a finger on his lips. He shakes his head, and watches the way Viktor’s face falls.
“How come?”
Yuuri sighs and moves Viktor’s hand away from his face. “If we’re going to kiss, and—keep kissing, it’s got to be good.”
Now, Viktor’s eyes light up. “Yuuri! Are you going to be my coach?”
Yuuri nods. “Yeah.”
“Then teach me now,” Viktor says, all enthusiasm. He doesn’t need a coach for his puppy-dog eyes, that’s for certain.
“I’m kind of tired,” Yuuri admits. “Can we sleep first?”
“That’s good too,” Viktor says, taking Yuuri’s hand and kissing his palm.
He crawls under the covers, bathrobe and all, and pats the space next to him. Yuuri doesn’t go immediately; he gets off the bed, dries off properly, and puts on his pyjamas. Then, the moment he’s by Viktor’s side, Viktor is wrapped around him like a sloth.
“It’s so nice to be able to do this with you,” Viktor says. “I know we’ve slept—in the same bed before, but it’s different to know that I’m by your side, as your boyfriend.”
Boyfriend. First Viktor surprises Yuuri with a kiss, and now he’s decided they’re a proper couple without so much as mentioning it beforehand. Not that Yuuri minds, but what’s next? Viktor announces their engagement before Yuuri has a chance to live out his childhood fantasy and get down on one knee? Not if Yuuri can help it. Not that he should be thinking about that; they’ve only just started going out, after all.
“Next time, ask first,” Yuuri grumbles, but Viktor is already asleep, snoring softly into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, and it hits Yuuri like a shockwave that he is so embarrassingly in love with this man. If he had thought his long-term crush on Viktor was all-consuming, being with Viktor in person is an absolute revelation. And Yuuri couldn’t care less if the Viktor who acts a playboy for the media is not the Viktor who doesn’t know how to kiss and is content to sleep in a hotel bathrobe, and snores. As Yuuri drifts to sleep, the last thing he remembers thinking is that the first thing he’ll do when he when he wakes up is kiss Viktor all over his soft-looking lips, skill and experience be damned.
So naturally, the next morning, Yuuri decides that he isn’t going to kiss Viktor at all until Viktor knows the basics.
so close yet so far (this is not the real title. for now) (1/?)
James rolled his eyes. The firewhiskey bottle, pointed at him across from Remus, shone orange in the common room, little flecks of yellow from the firelight dancing along the sides. Peter had his knees curled up to his chest, and Sirius's chin was perched on his hand, elbow propped up on his knee.
"Dare," James said, the same time he saw Sirius mouth it to himself. "And hey, Padfoot, I can't help it if I'm predictable."
"It's okay, Moony's dares are tame." Sirius grinned. "He'll probably dare you to do your homework or something."
"And I ought to," said Remus, but he seemed to be deep in thought. "Okay... James. I dare you to kiss Wormtail's bare foot."
"What!" James squawked, as Peter and Sirius fell over in laughter.
The common room was deserted; they didn't know what time it was, only that exams started tomorrow afternoon and they were using that as an excuse to stay up late, get drunk, and play some Muggle game that Lily had taught James once, reluctantly. James watched Sirius yawn and then grin, black eyes shining. James blinked, and the his head had turned to Peter, who was taking off his sock and looking at James expectantly.
James whined to Remus, "You were supposed to dare me to do my homework."
"I still can," Remus said. He pointed at Peter's foot anyway. "Kiss Peter's foot, James."
"Don't worry," Peter assured him. "It's clean."
"I don't trust any of you," James declared, as he scooted over on his knees to Peter. Peter snickered again as James looked at his foot distastefully. "Why've I got to kiss it?"
"What, you'd rather dare you to lick it?" Remus asked.
"No!" both James and Peter exclaimed immediately, as Sirius doubled over in more laughter.
"Fine, fine," James said. He crinkled his nose and bent down, getting his face near Peter's foot. "Don't kick me, Wormtail."
"Can't make any promises," Peter said cheerfully.
James darted his face in, closed his eyes tightly, and kissed the top of Peter's foot. Then he pulled away and wiped his mouth, going, "Ugh. Why is that something you even thought about, Moony?"
"Sometimes I have strokes of brilliance," Remus said. He took a swig from the firewhiskey bottle that Peter had passed over to him a while ago - they had nicked two bottles, finished the first which they were spinning with, and passing around this second one. "Oh, I hate firewhiskey."
"Well, we're not getting butterbeer for your weak arse," Sirius said, as Remus handed the bottle to him. "We drink firewhiskey like real men."
"Real men!" James said.
"Real men," Peter echoed, before giggling again.
"We're fifteen," Remus said pointedly. "Peter, it's your turn to spin."
Peter reached into the middle and spun the firewhiskey bottle, leaning back and taking pause as it swirled around on the Gryffindor rug. They all watched it - "I swear to Merlin, if it lands on me again," James said, which made Sirius snort.
It landed on Sirius.
so close yet so far (this was meant to be describing me but it makes a p good title) (2/?)
James knew that Sirius would pick dare. Sirius had chosen it the last five times it had gone around to him, three from James wherein he tried to go up the girls' dormitory and failed, was forced to practise his fire-repelling charm when stuck his arm in the fire (it had been half successful; the tips of Sirius's fingers were still burnt, and James ignored how he wants to apologise and maybe--), and went an entire round in dog form, not allowed to verbally react when Remus confessed to fancying someone in their house, and howling so much at one point that they woke up a few angry seventh year girls and had to hide him in the shadows.
Sirius looked at the bottle and Peter thoughtfully and James leaned back on his elbows. This should be good. Maybe Peter will dare Sirius to kiss James's foot.
"Truth," Sirius said.
James fell down on his elbows and squawked, "What?" that he nearly missed it when Peter said, "What was your first kiss like?" James picked himself up from the ground as Sirius looked between the both of them, a furrow in his eyebrows.
"Sorry, Peter, but James was being loud," Sirius said.
"Himself," Remus chimed in.
James scowled at the both of them.
Peter cleared his throat. He was sitting on his knees, hands in his lap, and James suddenly didn't want to know the answer to his question - didn't want to know all the girls Sirius has been snogging, even though Sirius always spent their time with him. James knew that a lot of girls fancied Sirius, and surely he'd kissed one or two of them, because what kind of bloke wouldn't?
Peter said, "What was your first kiss like?"
James didn't know if he wanted to avoid looking at Sirius or do so. Sirius made a brilliant contrast against the firelight, grinning and dark and making James's heart pound if he looked at Sirius for too long. He opted for the latter, as avoiding looking at him would look strange to Remus and Peter, who were waiting patiently for Sirius's answer.
Sirius was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Well, when I was five, my cousins were visiting, and Andy gave me a slobbery one on the cheek - "
"Not that kind of kiss," Peter said. "A right snog."
"Yeah," James said, because there was no other way to get this over with than to push it. "C'mon, Padfoot, I'm sure it wasn't that terrible."
"You're the one who snogged Evans at that Christmas party," Sirius said darkly.
James spluttered. "It was because of the mistletoe! And we're not talking about that now."
"Sirius, you're clearly stalling," Remus said, examining his nails. "Why don't you tell us how you kissed Madeline Noble last spring or something so we can move on?"
"Well," Sirius said, sitting upright. He looked around at the three of them. "You're all my best mates, right?"
Peter and Remus rolled their eyes. James said, "'Course, who else would be?"
Sirius squinted around at all of them. "And nothing that's said here will be spoken of after tonight?"
"Oh, don't be dramatic," Remus said, as James took a swig of the firewhiskey bottle and passed it over to Peter.
"Yeah," said Peter. "I'm sure your first kiss wasn't that bad, Sirius."
"Well," said Sirius. He glanced at the fireplace. "I haven't had it yet," he said to the fire.
James and Remus and Peter all looked at each other.
James was the one to say: "What?"
Sirius turned back to them. "I haven't had my first snog yet," he spat, looking mutinous. Remus held his hands out and Peter, frankly, looked frightened; but James didn't know if he was relieved, or - well, he was definitely relieved, but then he felt guilty immediately afterward. "There's no - I just haven't." He exhaled through his nose.
"We're not judging you," Remus said immediately, even though James and Peter looked at each other in a way where they both knew that they were definitely judging Sirius. Mostly, James was wondering how someone who had girls falling at his feet - for all the proper reasons - hadn't kissed someone yet. But at the same time, James realised, he wasn't even sure if Sirius even noticed all the girls who gawked at him.
Remus continued, "It's just a bit of a - well - "
"Have you snogged anyone?" Sirius said.
"Well, it's not my turn in the game yet," Remus said, "but yes, I have."
"And you?" Sirius said to Peter.
James said, "Padfoot, come on, it's not like it matters," even though he knew Peter had, as Peter had told him all about last summer. "It doesn't matter you haven't snogged anyone - "
"Easy for you lot to say," Sirius said. "Everyone knows you snogged Evans - "
"It was the mistletoe!" James said indignantly. "And - anyway, let's just move on - "
"I don't think any less of you," Peter said to Sirius, trying to be reassuring. "It was just a question."
"And it's just kissing," Remus added. "It's not even that interesting."
"Well," James said.
Remus gave him a look, as Peter said, "You've really got to do it right - it can be really awful if you don't know what you're doing and you haven't got a lot of experience - "
"James, spin the bottle," Sirius interrupted, and James forced himself to stop looking at the side of Sirius's face, the angle of his cheekbones, so he could reach out to the middle and spin the bottle. They stopped talking about snogging, and it was soon enough before James was daring Peter to eat one of Sirius's year-old blood-flavoured lollipops.
But James couldn't stop, kept thinking about what it would be like to kiss Sirius now - Sirius and his full, laughing lips when he threw his head back, the arch of his throat and the crinkle at the edges of his eyes when he laughed at Peter's expression. When the rest of them spun, as the firewhiskey went around all of them, and James grew more hazy and stupid, he felt like he couldn't remove his gaze from Sirius's lips, imagining them pressed against his own.
*
my pathetic offering
Well. It’s a fantasy.
yet so far (this became the title) (3/3)
Remus and Peter knocked out immediately; after sharing a dormitory with someone for five years, you tend to figure out how they sound when they're asleep. James could tell that Sirius was still awake, though, for some reason. James's head felt light as he thought about Sirius again, safe in his head as he replayed all the moments of tonight, Sirius laughing, grinning at him, talking about kissing - James's whole body relaxed, about ready to go to sleep, his breathing evened out.
A voice broke through the dorm.
"What's it like?"
James opened his eyes and turned his head. Sirius had the four-poster next to him, and James drew back his curtains to see Sirius's still drawn, though James was certain he hadn't hallucinated his voice.
He cleared his sleep-fogged throat. "What?"
Sirius pulled back the curtains on his own four-poster bed, and looked at James. The bags under his eyes were more visible, especially with the sun beginning to emerge through the windows, making his dark eyes even darker. James could see Sirius gnawing at his lips, which had turned red, and forced himself to look somewhere near Sirius's shoulder.
Sirius's voice was quiet when he spoke. "What's it like, snogging? I mean, it's not like I haven't thought about it before - "
James's brain went a little haywire at Sirius talking about this again, the hesitation in Sirius's voice. Immediately James just wanted to climb into Sirius's bed and show him what it was like. But he couldn't do that, because Sirius was his best mate and asking him a question.
James said, "Well it's, um. It depends on who you're snogging, and how - " He huffed, because this probably wasn't what Sirius was asking.
He didn't know what to say, beyond, "Wet."
"Wet?" Sirius turned his head and gave James a look. "Seriously, Prongs? I ask you what it's like to kiss someone, and all you can tell me is wet?"
"I don't know what else to say!" James said defensively. "You've got - it's lips against each other, it's really - " He heaved a breath. "If you're doing it right, it can make you - I don't know what I'm saying."
"I don't think you do," Sirius said. "Have you still got that firewhiskey in you?"
"It's likely." James sighed and stared at the top of his bed. Every nerve in his body ached to sleep, and yet all this talk about kissing was getting James in the mood to kiss someone. Particularly someone barely a metre away from him and was talking about kissing with him, and James squirmed because if his imagination went any further -
Sirius said, "Would it be weird if I asked you to show me?"
"Show you?" James's head swiveled around. "Show you what it's like to snog someone?"
Sirius was quiet for a moment. Then: "Yes."
James was bewildered. "What, you want me to bring Evans in here and snog her in front of you?" he asked. "Or I suppose we could wake Remus or Peter, and I could - "
"No," Sirius huffed, and met James's eyes. They were both still tucked in their beds, but it was like the short distance between felt oceans away, yet something like electricity crackled when their eyes met. "I meant if you - if you snogged me."
James's brain froze. He wasn't sure if he had heard right - if this was all some sort of elaborate dream. "That's - you want me to - "
"Never mind." Sirius was already turning over in his bed, his back facing James. "It is weird, let's just pretend - "
"Sirius - " James was already climbing out of bed, suddenly awake, making his way over to Sirius. He didn't even feel in control of his body, but just that he wanted - needed so badly. "We can, I - yes, we can, I'm just not sure if you - um, since this'll be your first kiss - "
"And it'll be bad?" Sirius asked, not looking up from where he'd turned at his side.
James sat at the edge of Sirius's bed. He wanted to run his fingers through Sirius's long dark hair, tuck it behind his ears. "No, since it's your first kiss mate," James said. "I'm not sure if you want it to be with me."
Sirius continued not looking at James when he said, "Who else? You're my - " He exhaled out his nose. James felt a ringing in his ears when Sirius said, "It makes sense if it's with you."
James wanted to ask Sirius what that meant - because they were best mates? because Sirius trusted him the most? - but then Sirius might get impatient and they wouldn't go anywhere and James would berate himself for the rest of his life not snogging the person he'd wanted to snog since he was twelve when the opportunity had landed in his lap. He had to remind himself he couldn't up and kiss Sirius right now, either - that would definitely be weird, and James would look too eager.
He twisted the edge of Sirius's blankets in his fingers. "I suppose that's - okay," he said, and took a deep breath. "If you really want to kiss me."
Sirius sat up and rolled his eyes. "Prongs, I asked you to," he said, and James cracked a smile because things felt normal again. Aside from that they were about to kiss. "Which is insane, by the way, I think I'm still drunk."
James doubted it, but it was a safe mention - blaming it on the alcohol suddenly made James feel more confident. Sirius was sitting against his headboard, James on his knees, and James said, "Alright. Come out from your bed if you - if we're going to do this."
Sirius did so, crawling on all fours until he was sitting across from James on top of his bedspread, mirroring his position. "I can't believe I'm having my first kiss now," Sirius said, as James tried to figure out the best way to do this. "Take that, Peter."
"Take that Peter," James agreed. He placed both of his hands on Sirius's shoulders.
Sirius looked down at them funny. "What are you doing?"
"Preparing to kiss you," James said.
"You're going to kiss me like I'm some sort of stiff old board?"
"Hey," James said, breaking away and laughing. "Would you rather me hold your face?"
"It would make a girl feel taken care of," Sirius said dryly. "I don't know what you do when you're supposed to snog, my parents - " He crinkled his nose and made a face.
James laughed even harder. "Oh, please don't mention them when we're about to do this," he said, and Sirius snickered as well. "Okay, I'll hold your face. Prat."
"I don't know if you're allowed to say stuff like that when you're about to kiss me," Sirius said, as James leaned over, cupped Sirius's cheek.
A hush fell over the both of them at the point of contact. James was stricken with how endless Sirius's eyes were, dark against the light rising through the window, a touch of his messy hair grazing against James's fingertips. Sirius felt like he was barely breathing, with James's hand on his cheek, like he was waiting. James forgot about the rest of the body, except for his mouth and his hand, where he was touching Sirius as the moments passed.
James leaned in. He saw Sirius close his eyes before he did, watched every millimetre until their lips were pressed together before James allowed himself to shut his own eyes. It was just a touch, and should've felt unimpressive, except James's whole body was buzzing, alight at the single touch of their lips. He rested against Sirius for a moment, unsure if he was allowed to go any further - and pulled back before he did.
Sirius's eyes were still closed, opened when James pulled back from him. His eyes met James's; James cleared his throat.
"So," James said. "That's a, um - " His throat was still raspy, and he cleared it again. "A kiss."
"Potter," Sirius said. "You're not telling me that you promised to give me a right snog and aren't going to do it, are you?"
James's eyes went wide, but - it was like his body was moving on its own, when he pushed into Sirius's again, mouths aligning together, Sirius more receptive. James's whole body was waking up as Sirius's hands found James's own face, the back of his neck, thumb stroking at the skin there as James tucked Sirius's bottom lip between his own, moving, tasting more of Sirius. He rose up on his knees as Sirius reached up to meet him - fell forward, pushed Sirius backward into his pillow and kissing him deeper.
He expected Sirius to say something about how it was enough, how yeah, they'd snogged properly now - but Sirius's hands were going to James's back, fingertips digging into his spine and James's knee ended up slotted between Sirius's legs, somehow. James tugged Sirius's bottom lip down with his teeth, breaking apart for a moment so Sirius could part his lips, then touched his tongue against Sirius's teeth. Sirius let out a small sound against James's mouth, which made James smile.
He was hovering over Sirius's body when their mouths broke apart again, Sirius blinking up at him and hazy-eyed. His hands had somehow made their way down to James's arse, which James was seriously not minding.
Sirius said, breathless, "Um, well - that was a snog."
"It was," James said, and grinned nervously from above him. He felt sleepy and giddy all at once with their kissing, and Sirius's mouth was starting to get dark and bruised and James felt guilty, but only a little.
Sirius stared up at him, but didn't tell James to get off. He asked, "Is this better than your snog with Evans?"
"By far," James said. "Mostly because everyone had been watching us then."
"Yeah." Sirius let out a small laugh, then glanced to the side, towards James's bed. Then back at James. "And better than kissing Peter's foot?"
James looked up in thought, earning himself a shout of laughter and a whack from Sirius. "Maybe," James said, laughing when Sirius hit him again.
"I suppose I'll take that," Sirius said. "I'm a better snog than a foot. How comforting."
"We can always try again," James suggested, heart pounding, hoping Sirius would say yes. "Practise your kissing skills until you can out-kiss a foot."
"My competitor," Sirius said, but he took James by the elbows, brought him forward until their lips met again, and they didn't say anything more before they fell asleep, in a blur of where their kisses had taken them.
*
They woke up the next afternoon and didn't talk about it, though James nearly failed his Potions O.W.L. from watching Sirius poke his tongue against his bruised lips for hours. Remus and Peter didn't ask any questions, either, and Sirius didn't ask for James to kiss him again, even though James wanted him to.
He supposed it meant nothing, was just practising, even though Sirius never quite got a girlfriend or a boyfriend, either. Maybe Sirius was waiting for something. But James didn't know for what.
p/o (currently untitled) (1/?)
-
Here are the facts, as they stand: it has been over a year since the Battle of Hogwarts and Percy has been home only a few times since then. He has not so much made amends as made himself a home in the corner of the room and even though he has well and truly apologised for acting like a twat for a good four years, he still isn’t quite accepted by his family.
So for his twenty-third birthday, two weeks away but impending by Weasley definitions, he’s got to pick up his game. Quite literally—because there is a letter from his mother sitting on his desk which reads along the lines of, Dear Percy, We are throwing you a birthday party, come home for it or else. It’s not the only contact he’s had from his mother. She seems to have given up on Charlie—home for now and still disappointingly single, by Molly Weasley’s standards—and turned her sights on Percy.
“Bill is married, Ron is settling down with Hermione and Ginny is still going steady with Harry—even George is spending more time with Angelina lately, so it’s only a matter of—oh, Percy, don’t look at me like that!”
“I’m sorry, mother,” he says, “I came here to have tea with you, not to be lectured on my lack of significant other.”
Molly clicks her tongue. “You can clear the teacups, then. What about Penelope? She was such a nice girl.”
Therein lies the problem: Percy, having had several significant awakenings and life experiences in the four years he was acting like a twat, is no longer interested in nice girls. Lazily waving his wand and sending the teacups to the sink, he props his head up with his free hand and sighs.
“Penny and I are still friends,” Percy says, “but we’re not romantically involved anymore.”
“Such a pity,” Molly says. “She was so nice. Your birthday, Percy—you should bring someone.”
“And I told you, I’m not seeing anyone.”
That’s met with an artfully raised eyebrow. “Are you not seeing anyone, or are you just telling me you’re not seeing anyone? A good-looking twenty-something such as yourself ought to be spoiled for choice.”
Everyone’s pretty according to their mother. Percy decides not to tell her that he was teased at Hogwarts for being scrawny and once his growth spurt hit he was teased for being weedy. His social life wasn’t much better once he graduated—there was literally no way to be attractive while working in lower-level administration. Now that he’s Senior Assistant to the Minister, he’s too busy keeping everyone in line to notice if they’re attracted to him or not. He highly doubts that anyone is.
All he tells Molly is, “I think you have rather the wrong end of the stick in this matter.”
Molly rolls her eyes. “If you say so. But Percy, maybe this is a sign you should start looking. Seeing people.”
She pauses, and Percy wrings his fingers under the table. He knows that expression.
“And for Merlin’s sake, dear, bring someone to your birthday party.”
Most people stop having birthday parties when they break twenty-one. As far as Percy’s concerned, twenty-three is twenty-three years too old for such indulgences. He has better uses for his time, like staying late at work and clearing his out tray. Unfortunately, his birthday falls on a Sunday, and so there are no excuses. It’s to be a full day of partying, Weasley-style. Never mind that Percy is the most egregious case of black-sheep-itis to have ever graced the family and took to partying even worse than he took to Quidditch, which is already quite minimally.
And now he has this problem of needing to bring a date.
“You don’t need to,” Penny says. She’s stopped by for lunch in the pub they all call the Ministry cafeteria, taking a break on a slow news day at the Prophet. “You’re nearly twenty-three, Percy. You need to stop doing whatever your mum tells you to.”
“You don’t understand,” he says. “My mother’s word is law. Oh, certainly, I can show up alone. But to her it’s just another nail in the coffin of my acceptance back into the fold. I’m still on thin ice. I need to—”
“Slow down,” Penny interrupts. “You’re talking in cliches. Go slowly. What’s the real problem?”
Percy debates whether to say what he really ought to say. He hasn’t had a meaningful conversation about himself since he reconciled with Penny, and he hasn’t had a meaningful relationship since they were snogging back at Hogwarts. If anyone deserves to know the finer details of his personal life, it’s her.
“Well, I worry that they’d all be expecting a girlfriend, and I’m—not that way inclined anymore.”
“You don’t need to make a song and dance of it,” Penny says.
Percy is so lucky that he has her; it’s still a meaningful relationship. “No, I suppose not, but I’m not sure the right way to tell them is to barge into my own birthday party with someone inevitably much more handsome than me on my arm and shout, Surprise!”
Penny shrugs. “I don’t know. I think that would work quite nicely. And if you’re with someone they like more than you, you’ll have a buffer zone. It might make things more peaceful, if anything.”
“You may have an argument there,” Percy says, “but I’d need to find someone handsome in the first place, and I barely have five friends to choose from.”
“I like that you’ve assumed this is going to be a case of playing pretend,” Penny says.
“Well, I’m hardly going to get myself a boyfriend in two weeks, am I?”
“Worth a shot,” she says. “Alright, so, of your five friends, who do you think is most likely to be up for a bit of kind-hearted deception? Who do you think your family will take to?”
Which is how Percy ends up on Oliver’s doorstep with a bottle of preemptive apology wine and a few glasses already in him, for courage.
Oliver is living in a sharehouse with some of his Puddlemere Reserve teammates. It’s the kind of country cottage that the Ministry used as safehouses during the war, and which are now going empty and getting sold off to the upper-middle-elderly looking for a quiet post-retirement lifestyle close to an establishment greengrocer and a bowling green. This one isn’t looking too good. It’s shared by four lads in their twenties, and what might have been a rose garden out front looks more like a Triwizard Tournament task. Percy winds his way through the overgrown shrubbery and, once he’s made it to the other side in one piece, knocks on the door.
“Oh, splendid, you brought wine!” It’s one of Oliver’s housemate-teammates, a man Percy knows only by his surname, Carruthers. “I’ll let the lads know it’s a party tonight.”
“Do let them know,” Percy says, “and tell them they aren’t invited.”
Carruthers gives Percy the most disdainful look he can manage, which is not very. He turns over his shoulder and calls out, “Wood!”
There’s the distinctive sound of footsteps thundering down wooden stairs. A moment later, Oliver appears at the door and shoves Carruthers out of the way.
“Perce. Hey.”
Percy momentarily forgets how to form words with his mouth—there is a reason he’d come to the conclusion that Oliver is his most handsome friend.
“You brought wine… ?”
“I’ll explain once we’re inside,” Percy says. He blinks and the world returns to normal.
“Can I join?” Carruthers asks.
“Fuck off, Carruthers,” Oliver says. He shoves his housemate aside to make way for Percy. “Sorry it’s such a mess.”
“That’s fine, I’m used to it,” Percy says, even though his own flat is always impeccable. It’s the Burrow that gets messy—and Oliver will hopefully be experiencing that firsthand, soon.
They head up to the back of the house, where the wooden staircase leads to the second floor with all the bedrooms. Oliver’s room is back towards the front of the house, smaller than some of the others Percy sees as they pass, but with a picture window that more than makes up for it.
“This is nice,” Percy says, sitting by the window seat.
Oliver hovers by him. “I forgot you’d never been in here.”
“No, only for parties,” Percy said. “The only time I’ve been in your room, it was dark and I was drunk.”
“Right.” Oliver keeps hovering. “So any special reason for this house call?”
Percy sighs and forces himself to make eye contact. “I’m in a bit of a pickle, Oliver.”
Oliver sits down, at last. “What can I do to help?”
“I haven’t even told you what it is yet,” Percy says. He sucks in a breath, then says it all at once: “My birthday’s coming up and my mother insists on throwing me a frankly excessive birthday party but she also insists that I bring a date and I was hoping you might—”
“Go with you?” Oliver’s eyes go wide. “Perce, this is—I didn’t think you—”
“It’s just one afternoon,” Percy says. “Maybe an evening. You get along with my brothers—I trust you to be the right kind of house guest.”
Oliver visibly relaxes. “Okay, yeah. I can do that.”
“Sorry,” Percy says. “I know it’s sudden. I brought you wine.”
“I can’t drink this all by myself,” Oliver says, taking the bottle from Percy.
“Carruthers will be pleased,” Percy says.
“What? Oh, no.” He holds the wine bottle in between their faces, at just the right angle to catch and scatter the afternoon light. “I meant, you should stay the night.”
“So how did it go?” Penny asks.
It had been… weird. Percy and Oliver weren’t exactly close friends at Hogwarts, despite sleeping directly adjacent to each other almost every night for seven years. They moved in different circles. After Hogwarts, they’d kept in touch, but the war had changed things. Now, Oliver’s just one of the many people Percy has tried to reconnect with—the difference being that, in this case, it worked.
“Well, he said yes,” Percy says, “so that’s a start.”
Penny nods, confidently, like she knew it would happen, which Percy thinks is quite unfair because he was practically losing his mind over how many ways it could possibly go wrong. “I’m glad you got that sorted out,” she says. “Now you can rest easy.”
“Easy,” Percy echoes. “That’s a funny one.”
“Oh, no.” Penny puts down her drink. “Did something else happen?”
“It didn’t so much happen as I seem to have—” Percy paused, clearing his throat. “It appears that Oliver is rather too handsome for his own good. What I mean is—I find him attractive.”
Penny cocks an eyebrow. “And that’s a problem because… ?”
Percy rolls his eyes—isn’t it obvious? “It’s a problem because we’re only pretending to be in a relationship. And only for a couple of hours, at that.”
“If you want to convince your family you’re serious, it’ll have to last a little longer than that,” Penny says.
“What I get up to in my own time is my business,” Percy says. “We’re only doing this for the birthday party, because that’s the only time I’m expected to be the perfect son.”
“I’m sure they don’t expect that of you,” Penny says.
She doesn’t get it. Even after a year, he hasn’t fully reconciled with his family. These things take time—he knows that, rationally, but it still smarts that his family has this image of him as someone he just isn’t anymore. Their Percy was a pompous prat who had no friends and put his career ahead of the rest of his life. The real Percy risked his neck in the war to relay messages from Aberforth Dumbledore, fought in the Battle like the rest of them, watched his brother die right in front of him, and after all that, yes, he went back to his job. Because there was nowhere else he could go.
So much time apart has warped their perceptions of him—and, if Percy’s being honest, probably warped his perceptions of them too—and it takes more than one afternoon to bridge a gap that wide.
But Percy’s damned if he’s going to give up without a fight.
“Maybe they don’t,” he says, “but they expect something.”
“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” Penny says.
“This was your idea,” Percy reminds her.
Penny slaps her hands over her ears. “Suddenly I can’t hear a thing! Who said that?”
She laughs at herself until Percy starts laughing with her, and he figures he can bring himself to forgive her for suggesting he put himself in this position. From here on in, if there’s any damage done, then on his head be it.
Being twenty-three is a lot like being twenty-two, as it turns out. Percy wakes up with his sheets tossed aside in the heat of the night, his heels hanging off the end of the too-short bed. It’s early. He’s not an idiot, proficient enough in charms to keep the light out of his bedroom, but he can tell by the way his bones ache when he drags himself upright and his eyes refuse to fully open that he hasn’t slept enough.
His flat is small, easy to navigate. In a nice neighbourhood, too. It’s on a quiet road in Pimlico, walking distance from the Tate Britain, if the artistic mood takes him—which it often does. He can see the distinctive red brick of the neighbourhood out his bathroom window while he’s taking a piss.
Showered, shaved, a suitably healthy breakfast eaten, Percy slumps onto his couch and stares at the ceiling, just about ready to fall asleep again.
Some days he thinks about moving out. But other days… he loves this flat. He’s never lived anywhere else in London. Having the flat to come home to after a long day at work, he had a place where he could forget about the changing political climate, and then the war. It was always somewhere nobody else knew about.
In retrospect, giving his address to Oliver might’ve been a mistake on that front.
There’s a sturdy knocking at the door. A pause. Then another spurt of knocking. “Perce, you up?”
“I’m up,” Percy groans, rolling sideways off the couch and onto his feet. This is harder than it looks, because although he’s twenty-three and unambiguously an adult, Percy’s body has yet to get the message and is still convinced he’s an awkward, gangling teenager.
He opens the door to find Oliver with his face partially obscured by an overlarge bouquet of roses.
“Oliver,” Percy chides, “you shouldn’t have.”
“Happy birthday,” Oliver says. “Can I come in?”
Percy shrugs, stepping aside. He heads to the kitchen and transfigures a glass into a vase, filling it with water at the tap. “Do you want a drink while I’m here?”
“I’ll pass,” Oliver says. He holds the flowers over the vase. “I didn’t know what to get you.”
“The roses are lovely,” Percy says. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as one to give flowers, though.”
Oliver honest to Merlin winks at him. “I’m a man of many surprises. Hey—I like this place. It’s quiet.”
“Didn’t think you were the type to like quiet, either,” Percy says.
With a shrug, Oliver installs himself on the couch, the only comfortable seat in the house, and puts his legs up. Percy either has to get one of the stiff wooden chairs he keeps around the table, or stand. He elects to stand.
“Are you nervous?” Oliver asks.
“Why should I be?” No, standing is awkward. Percy perches on the arm of the couch. “I’m used to my family operating at peak Weasley. Are you nervous?”
“Not really,” Oliver says. “I think given that I’ve played Quidditch with the twins, I can—oh, er, sorry, Perce. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s fine,” Percy says, too quickly.
It’s not fine. Oliver does not necessarily need to know that.
“Anyway, they’re not so bad,” Oliver says. He winces. “It’ll be fun.”
Percy’s not entirely keen on the way Oliver seems to be intent on treading carefully around him. It was over a year ago. He’s doing well. He wouldn’t bring it up on his own steam. And today needn’t be any different, even with the conspicuous absence.
“In that case,” Percy says, “let’s head off.”
zukaang (1/?)
"What makes you say that?" Aang says immediately, jerking his head out from behind his locker door.
Katara narrowly avoids being hit in the head by a passing student carrying what looks like a model sculpture of Ba Sing Se, and readjusts herself. "I don't know, you just seemed kind of lost in thought lately," she says, tilting her head.
Aang grabs his books and notebooks, tucking them under his chin. He closes his locker door. A piece of flyaway notebook paper sticks out. "I'm not lost in thought," he says, unconvincingly. "I'm always found in thought! Wait, no, I mean - "
Katara laughs. Aang pokes his tongue out and tries to adjusts the books in his arms. "You could always invest in a bigger bag," Katara says with amusement, as they make their way through the high school hallway.
"I'm fine like this," Aang says, shifting everything until they're a neat enough pile in his arms. "See? All - oof!"
The books in his hands cascade into the air before tumbling down gracefully at his feet, along with Aang himself, landing on the floor. "Oh, shoot," Aang says, at the same time a voice above him says, "I didn't see where I was - sorry - "
Aang's met face to face with Zuko, hair ruffled back, himself looking rumpled as he peers down at Aang on the floor.
Aang quickly picks himself up to avoid looking like an idiot. The back of his neck already feels warm; he bends down and begins picking up his books. "Hi Zuko," he says hurriedly, glancing up and then back down, not wanting to be caught staring. "I didn't see you there - "
"Yeah, I didn't see you either." Zuko lets out a little laugh. He bends down and helps Aang pick up his things, piling Aang's history textbook and math notebook into Aang's arms.
There's little brushes of contact from Zuko's fingers to Aang's tunic. Aang is consciously aware of them, and says, "You don't have to - "
"I do, I knocked you over." But Zuko sends him a smile, beneath his cloak of dark bangs, the eye in his scar crinkling in the corners. Aang reminds himself to breathe. "Sorry about that, by the way."
"It's fine." Aang gets to his feet again as soon as all his books are back in his arms. He tries to send Zuko a smile so he's not some expressionless freak who just stares at Zuko too much, but it might come off as too much since Zuko's expression turns bemused afterward. "Uh - thank you!" Aang calls over his shoulder, while walking away as quickly as possible.
Katara, who had watched the whole thing, comes up to catch up with him. "Who was that?" she asks curiously.
Aang doesn't meet her eyes when he answers, "That's Zuko. He's my physics partner."
"Oh." Katara hums thoughtfully. "He's that really rich prince, right?"
"He's not a prince." Aang had heard Zuko complain about this at length in physics - and okay, so maybe he eavesdropped a bit, too. "His sister just calls him that."
Katara rolls her eyes. "Whatever. He's still a spoiled rich kid," she says.
"He's not that bad," Aang tells her.
Katara raises an eyebrow at him, but merely adjusts one of the books in Aang's arms and sighs. "You really need a backpack," she says, hitching her own over her shoulder and clucking in disapproval at Aang's leather knapsack dangling at his waist.
zukaang (2/?)
Aang's a morning person by nature, and not just because he has physics second period. The next day, he slides into his seat next to Zuko, says hi like a normal person, and tries to pay attention in class while occasionally stealing glances to admire the curve of Zuko's jaw.
Zuko doesn't say much in class. Aang knows that he has his own posse, with his sister and a girl from the dance team; they're all rich and strut around school like they own the place. Or at least Zuko's sister does. Zuko just puts on his goggles when they're in physics together, passes Aang the bunsen burner, and they do their experiments with Aang trying desperately trying to make conversation and probably looking like an idiot, with the way that Zuko looks at him with confusion a lot and doesn't talk half as much as Aang does.
As goes another day in physics. Aang slumps through third and fourth period, until he's at lunch with Katara and Sokka, who are prodding their mashed potatoes. Aang brought his own lunch, as usual, and opens it despondently.
Katara looks at him with concern. "What's up with you?"
"Nothing," Aang says, before plopping his head on the table.
He feels a spoon poke his head. "I think he might be dead," Sokka says. "Will you help me bury the body?"
"Stop it." There's a whack that's probably Katara hitting her brother, and then Katara lifting Aang up by his shoulders. "What is it, Aang?"
"I need you guys to answer a question for me," Aang says.
Sokka says, "Is it about helping me bury a body?"
"Do I talk too much?" Aang says. "I mean, am I annoying?"
Katara immediately says, "Of course not, Aang! You're not annoying - "
"Though the talking too much part," Sokka says, munching on his potatoes. "I mean, you're not bad, but sometimes when you get nervous - remember public speaking last year?"
"I remember," Aang says darkly. He'd taken a public speaking class with Sokka; he'd mastered it, in the end, but the beginning of the semester was a lot of rambling that would make Sokka sink into his seat the more Aang spoke. Aang had seen it happen as he would give his speeches, Sokka disappearing under his desk, but Aang had been so anxious that he couldn't seem to stop himself from not rambling.
"Yeah, you talk a lot when you're nervous," Sokka says. "Why?"
"Are you thinking about asking someone to Homecoming?" Katara says eagerly.
Aang doesn't know how she can make intuitive leaps like that. "No," he says. Lies, maybe. "I just - I had an episode today."
"Who were you talking to?" Katara asks curiously.
"Does it matter?" Aang asks.
Katara perches a chin on her elbow and observes him. "I'm just wondering who can make you nervous these days, so we can help. Is it a teacher? I can always - "
"It's fine," Aang says, because he doesn't need Katara fighting his battles for him again. He'd once mentioned an offhand comment about Bumi playing favorites, and came into earth science a few periods later to see Katara with the principal trying to vet Bumi out. Aang probably should've mentioned that he was one of Bumi's favorites.
Sokka flicks a pea into Aang's rice, and Aang tosses it back into his potatoes. "Yeah, you'll be fine," Sokka says to him. "And hey, there's a chess club meeting today! We can crash that."
Aang brightens up. "I'm sure Toph will love that," he says sincerely.
zukaang (3/?)
"I can hear you breathing," Toph says, annoyed.
Aang pulls back from where he's hovering over the chessboard. "Sorry," he whispers, even though that probably doesn't do anything to help.
Toph's not staring at the chessboard, though it looks like she is. Aang wonders what goes through her mind, how she has such a good memory to know where the chess pieces are without being able to actually see them. Aang thinks that if he had half as good a memory as she does, he'd use it to memorize the planes of Zuko's face, the tight strain of his tunic around his shoulders, the way he gives Aang a vague smile of confusion when Aang laughs too loudly at his own joke.
Toph says, "I can hear you thinking from over there, you know."
Aang blushes darkly and is glad that at least she can't see that. "Oh," he says, thinking for a moment that she knows that he's thinking about Zuko. He says, "This game still confuses me."
"That much is obvious," says Toph's chess partner, Mai. They're really the only two people in the chess club, but both of their families are too powerful for the high school to actually try to shut a two-person club down. Aang doesn't quite get the politics of it all, since they're really just in high school.
Toph moves a piece. Aang doesn't know what, or what it does. He watches Mai's expression as her eyes rake over the board pauses, and then moves another piece.
The door to the classroom opens.
"Mai, when are you done?" Zuko asks. He startles to see Aang there - their eyes meet, and Aang's gaze quickly drops so he doesn't blush too hard again.
"Give me a bit, Zu-Zu," Mai says, waving him off.
Aang's fascinated at the way that a flush overtakes Zuko's face, from the neck up. "Don't call me that," he snaps, before glancing at Aang. "I didn't know you were in the chess club, Aang."
"I'm not!" Aang jumps off from where he had been perched on a nearby desk, and tries not to look too eager. "I'm just friends with Toph."
"It's a small world," Mai mutters, as Toph moves one of her pieces.
Zuko nods, looking between them all, before jerking his head back out of the classroom door. "I - We're Mai's ride," he explains to Aang. "Azula - My sister's done with judo, we're just waiting - "
"I said, give me a bit," Mai says harshly from where she and Toph are playing.
Toph adds over to them, "Yeah, give her a bit!"
"We're giving her a bit!" Zuko says, a little bit hysterically. He pushes a hand into his hair and mutters, "Idiot," though Aang's not quite sure who he's talking to.
Aang slides his way past the door that Zuko's holding open and into the hallway, their bodies bumping slightly. He tries not to be too acutely aware of it. "So you are Mai are good friends?" he fishes, hoping he's not too obvious.
Zuko closes the door behind them. He shrugs. "Yeah, you know, family friends," he says. "Did you come out for something?"
"Oh, I - no," Aang says. He realizes how weird this is - he and Zuko really don't talk outside of physics. "I thought I'd leave them alone, you know," he says. "To concentrate. Since chess is such a serious sport and all. I mean, not a sport, a game. Which a sport can be. So I guess there are people who consider chess a sport too."
He exhales and glances away, feeling like an idiot. Zuko must think he's one, too; Aang wishes that his head was on right every time he opened his mouth in front of Zuko.
There's an awkward silence, before Zuko says, "I guess - uh, yeah, there are people who consider chess a sport."
"Do you do any sports?" Aang rushes to ask, even though he already knows the answer.
Zuko nods. "Kung fu - my dad wanted me to join the team." He shrugs. "I like it though. I think."
"Cool," Aang says. "At my temple we do baguazhang - I think you'd like it. Except it's less fight-y, and more like a dance." He ducks his head down, feeling his cheeks redden again.
Zuko glances at him. He apparently seems to know what's on Aang's mind, because he says, "That should be useful for Homecoming."
"Yeah," Aang says. His mind is reeling with so much - do you want to go with me? do you want to learn how? are you going with Mai? - that he decides, screw it, and lets himself blurt, "Are you going?"
"What?" Zuko says. "To Homecoming? I don't - " He shrugs, looking thoughtful. "I don't know yet. Knowing my sister, though, she'll probably drag me."
"It might be fun," Aang says hopefully.
And he's about to add, And I'm going, except that's when they round a corner and Zuko's scary sister is there, standing in front of the girls' locker room, arms folded and looking impatient. "Where's Mai?" she says immediately, when she spots them. She narrows her eyes at Aang. "And who's this?"
"This is Aang," Zuko says, gesturing to him. They look at each other - there's something comforting about it, and Aang swears he sees Zuko smile a him reassuringly before turning back away. "He's my physics partner."
"Well tell your physics partner to scurry off, because we need to get home," Zuko's sister snaps. "I need to shower, and then Ty Lee's coming over, and I need to make a phone call - "
"Okay, okay," Zuko says placatingly. His sister huffs again. "Let's go get her."
"I'll come with," Aang says, even though Zuko's sister narrows her eyes at him again.
They go back to the classroom that's the after school chess club room, and Zuko pesters Mai while Mai ignores him and Toph complains at length about how loud they're all being. Then Zuko's sister loses her patience and overturns the chessboard, and Aang's holding Toph back from lashing out at her as Zuko says over his shoulder as they escape, "See you in physics tomorrow!"
zukaang (4/?)
The next day at physics is kind of weird. Zuko gives Aang a half-smile when Aang walks in and sits next to him. Aang remembers that half-smile that he'd seen in the beginning of freshman year, when he'd glanced across the cafeteria and saw the boy with the scar smiling to himself, like there was a secret that he knew and that no one else did. Aang had been ecstatic when they'd been assigned physics partners this semester - a whole five months indulgently sitting next to Zuko.
Still, Aang tries to return it except doesn't feel like he can control his face so he probably uses too much teeth. Zuko blinks at him, but doesn't say anything.
They don't often say much to each other in the beginning of physics, only when the bunsen burner is going and Aang's making wild theories to fill the silence. But today, Zuko says, "So - you're going to Homecoming?"
"Uh," Aang says, thrown off.
Zuko shakes his head at himself. "Sorry, I meant - since we were talking about it yesterday - "
"Yeah, I remember," Aang says. His neck heats up, and he scratches the back of his head. "I'm going, yeah," he says. "With my friends, I - " He can't say that he doesn't have a date, because then that'll be too obvious - but he doesn't have a date, and maybe he wants Zuko to know. A little.
Zuko sighs. "Yeah, I'm going too. I asked my sister if she was going and she gave me a look like I was stupid."
"You're not stupid," Aang says immediately.
Zuko looks grateful, even though he shakes his head again. "No, she just does that a lot. And then she said, 'You're going too, aren't you?' and I was like, 'I hadn't been thinking about it,' and she gave me the look again."
"Sounds like having siblings is fun," Aang says.
Zuko lets out a surprised laugh. "It's Azula, it's fine," he says. "I don't mind going - should be fun, right, like you said?" He immediately shuts his mouth and looks embarrassed for some reason. Maybe it's his first dance.
Aang doesn't get a chance to ask, because that's when the bell rings and Jeong Jeong parades to the front of the room, telling them to shut up. Aang tells himself to ask Zuko if he's going with a date, or someone, but chickens out and then it's the end of class.
zukaang (5/8?)
"So did you ask out who you wanted to ask out to Homecoming?" Katara asks, over lunch.
Aang splutters and puts down his veggie sandwich. A few flax seeds fall off the crust. "I never said I wanted to ask out - anyone - "
"I know you have a crush on someone," Katara says pointedly.
Aang decides not even to deny it. He doesn't know how, but somehow Katara just knows these things even though she's barely seen him and Zuko together. He supposes that's what happens when your best friend's known you since you were both five years old.
"Well, I'm not going to ask them out to Homecoming," he says, returning to his sandwich. "They're going, anyway - "
"Ooh, you know already?" Katara says with interest.
Sokka, who's poking at the mystery meat with the gusto of an experienced spelunker, says, "Oh, leave him to pine, Katara, Aang's clearly not getting anywhere with this."
"Like you and the leader of the karate club?" Katara says.
Sokka raises himself up indignantly. "Hey, Suki and I had a five minute conversation today. That is asking-out material right there - "
"Homecoming's this weekend," Katara reminds the both of them. "If either of you boys want to secure dates - "
"I don't need to secure a date," Aang interrupts. He spies Zuko at the other end of the cafeteria, then back to Katara, who's watching him intently. "Seriously. If I wanted to ask out anybody, I would've done it by now - "
"Would you?" Katara challenges.
Aang waves what's left of his sandwich at her before stuffing it into his mouth. "Yes," he says, as Sokka looks at him enviously. "Sokka's right, it's not going to get me anywhere - "
"Ah, the words I love to hear the most," Sokka says. "Sokka's right."
Katara elbows her brother, before regarding Aang seriously. "Aang, whoever you have a crush on - I'm sure it's not that hopeless, right?"
"More hopeless than me and Suki," Sokka says. "Which isn't saying much, since that's definitely happening in the future."
Katara elbows him again. Aang says, "It's not hopeless, I just - " Zuko's sitting with his sister and that girl from the dance team, and they've got a circle table to themselves unlike the end of the rectangular table that Aang, Katara, and Sokka are sitting at. Aang doubts Zuko's the type to welcome unexpected advances, and if things go wrong, it's certain to make physics hell for the rest of the semester.
Aang likes to be an optimist, but he doesn't want to ruin what they already have together - physics, bunsen burners, and Aang talking too much whenever Zuko smiles at him. He says to Katara, "I'll just see them there at Homecoming."
"You better introduce me," Katara says seriously.
zukaang (6/8)
Aang's in the library Friday morning when he feels someone look at the books on the shelf next to him. From the corner of his eye, he can see that it's Zuko's scary sister, Azula. Aang tenses immediately.
Azula looks at the books, fingers hovering. But then she says, without turning to Aang, "Tattoo boy, right?"
"That's what you know me as?" Aang says incredulously. "Didn't Zuko tell you my name last week? I was there, you know - "
Azula waves him off. "Can't be bothered to remember," she says airily, which Aang doubts. "But I'm glad you remember my brother's name."
"Of course," Aang says, offended. "We're partners in physics - "
"So I've heard." Azula takes a book down from the shelf and flips through it. "You should know," she says, without looking up from the book, "that my brother speaks highly of you."
Aang's heart skips. He immediately drops the few books he'd been holding - Bumi had had him out on an errand in the morning, since he was Aang's homeroom teacher - and turns to Azula. "Really?" he asks. "What did he say? Not that - I mean - " He scratches the back of his head. "We don't really talk much, I don't know what he'd say about me - "
"Oh, about how you're funny and talkative and confident and whatever." Azula makes a faint sound of disgust as she puts her book back. "Zu-Zu's kind of a coward."
"He isn't," Aang says. "He's just - quieter - and I'm, um, louder?"
Azula snorts. "You could say that."
Then she turns to Aang. They're not anywhere near each other, but it feels like her gaze is piercing him.
"If you hurt my brother," Azula says, "I will hurt you. And everyone you love."
Aang blinks at her. "We're in high school," he says.
Azula makes a sound of disgust. "I knew he had bad taste," she mutters to herself. "Why am I even wasting my time - "
The girl Aang recognizes as the captain of the dance team comes up then, and wraps her arm around Azula's shoulders. "Azula! Are we done intimidating Zuko's boyfriend yet?" Then, noticing Aang, she giggles. "Oh, hi! I'm Ty Lee."
"I'm Aang," Aang says, bewildered. "What - huh - ?"
"We're going," Azula grumbles to Ty Lee, taking her hand.
Ty Lee says, "Okay!" and lets Azula begin to drag her away, as Wan Shi Tong flocks over to berate them for being loud. "Bye, Aang!" she calls, as they leave the library.
Aang stares after them. "Bye," he says to the empty air.
zukaang (7/8)
His head is swimming when he makes his way into chemistry that day. He's there before Zuko, and drums his fingers anxiously against his textbook. When Zuko arrives, Aang finds himself unable to look at him, cheeks immediately getting hot as he buries himself in his book, pretending to read.
Ty Lee's words echo in his mind. Zuko's boyfriend...
"Hey," Zuko says, some time later. Aang realizes that he'd missed the entirety of Jeong Jeong's explanation for today's experiment; Zuko's looking at him expectantly.
"Do you want me to get the test tubes?" Zuko asks.
"Uh, sure," Aang says, without thinking.
Zuko gets up from their table to get the test tubes from the front of the room, where their classmates are also grabbing the material that they need. Aang watches stupidly as Zuko carries the glass tubes delicately in his long, bony fingers back to their desk. Zuko's goggles are already on, and Aang hastily gets his own on as he starts up the bunsen burner.
He lets Zuko lead the experiment today, still lost in thought. Zuko glances at him once, and then twice, as they work on their experiment.
"You're being quiet today," Zuko says to him.
Aang's mind is still reeling. He says, "Your sister talked to me in the library this morning."
Zuko immediately freezes from where he's pouring one of their test tubes into their beaker. "Oh no," he says. "What did she say? I'm sorry in advance - "
"It's nothing, she just threatened to kill my family if I did something to you," Aang says.
Zuko impressively manages to put his head in his arms while still holding secure onto the test tubes. "Wow, I am so sorry - "
"It's fine," Aang assures him. "I've heard worse."
Zuko raises his head back up at him. His hair is mussed, and Aang kind of wants to tuck it back. "Have you really?" he says doubtfully.
"Okay, I haven't," Aang admits. "But then Ty Lee, her - friend - ?"
"Girlfriend."
" - said something about, um." Aang hesitates. He doesn't know if he wants to say it - if it's just an in-joke between Azula and Ty Lee, or even the three of them, that means nothing, that's teasing, that's -
"Called me your boyfriend," Aang says, in a rush. "She said, 'let's stop bothering Zuko's boyfriend,' or something like that, to me, and - "
"It was just a joke," Zuko says quickly. "I mean, I'm sure it was - "
"Is it?" Aang finds himself asking, looking up at Zuko. "I don't - I really don't mind if it wasn't."
Zuko stares at him.
And he doesn't say anything, so Aang does what he does best: he barrels on. "I mean, if it was a joke it wasn't a really good one, was it? and she said it in front of me, but I don't think she actually knew I was there, or meant for me to hear, and like, you know, I don't think it'd be a joke, being your boyfriend, because you're probably, um, a great one, and so if it was a joke - but if it wasn't, then it's pretty funny, like funny ha-ha, this doesn't have to be weird - "
"Do you want to go to Homecoming with me?" Zuko blurts.
Aang stops in his tracks. Zuko's visibly pink under his scar and hair, but there's a determined look on his face as he meets Aang's gaze.
Warmth creeps up Aang's ears and he - doesn't know what he wants to do, wants to launch himself at Zuko, or fastforward to tomorrow where they're already at Homecoming, or maybe come Monday when they'll shyly smile at each other across the bunsen burner and Zuko will offer to walk him to his next class and maybe hold his hand.
Time either moves too fast or too slow, because Aang's still talking and he's saying, "Yeah, of course, I would - I really want to go, my friend Katara's been bugging me about it - to go with you, I mean - "
"Aang," Zuko says, and Aang stops again. "You don't have to do that."
"Do what?" Aang's breathless. He hadn't even realized.
"Talk like you think I might take it back," Zuko says. He sets the test tube in the tube holder in front of them and reaches for Aang's hand now, palm firm and warm against Aang's. The rest of their classmates are busy with their classwork, but Aang feels sweaty and giddy underneath his goggles.
"Because I won't," Zuko says, and Aang can't wait for tomorrow.
zukaang (8/8)
"Heterosexuals," Azula says with disgust, from leaning against the wall with Ty Lee.
Aang looks on, as Sokka seems to be doing an interpretive dance of some sort, next to Suki, who's just smiling at him across the way.
Zuko says, "Yeah, he's kind of a bad dancer, isn't he?"
"Hey, don't say that about my brother," Katara says.
"Katara, you have to admit he could be doing better," Aang says pointedly, over the music.
"It's just how he dances," Katara says, and then sighs. "No, it's not very good."
"I'll just use my imagination, since you guys are all so descriptive," Toph says. "I don't even know why I'm here. The music's too loud for me."
"We can go play chess," Mai suggests to her.
"Did you really bring a chess set to a school dance?" Katara asks them.
Toph and Mai give her a look, before exiting the gym. Katara sighs, but she says, "Why are we here if none of us are dancing?"
"I was dancing earlier!" Aang says, because he was.
"But not now," Katara says pointedly. She glances at Zuko. "With your date."
"You've rubbed it in my face enough," Aang says; Katara had, since Zuko had asked him on Friday, and vetted Zuko out at lunch in a way that had much reminded Aang of how Azula had spoken to him. Zuko seemed scared of her, as he does now, inching closer to Aang at the look on Katara's face.
Or maybe it's because he just wants to be close to Aang.
"I know," Katara says smugly. She tosses her braids over her shoulder. "Anyway, time to dance at a school dance."
"We're coming!" Aang says indignantly, as she leaves.
Zuko says to him, once Katara's gone, "I'm not really much of a dancer."
"Oh, come on," Aang says, winding their hands together and tugging him away. Zuko goes, albeit reluctantly. "Everyone's a bit of a dancer."
"Really, I'm not," Zuko says.
Aang lets go of him once they're among the masses and says, "Aren't you supposed to be a prince?" He laughs when Zuko rolls his eyes at him, and begins moving. "Come on, Zuko, it's easy!"
And it is, even though Zuko's obviously not as good as Aang. Aang tells him this, which makes Zuko laugh; Aang takes takes Zuko in by the hands anyway and makes Zuko twirl with him. Aang's practiced dances at his temple, even though they're not as conventional as high school dances - but they still make Zuko go, "You are really good at this," when the music slows.
Zuko tugs him in so their bodies are closer together. They move to the music, and it's kind of weird but makes Aang's heart thump in his chest, pressed against Zuko.
He says, "I feel like we're a real couple now." Both of their hands are twined at their sides, tilting them into each other.
Zuko bumps his forehead against Aang's. "You don't know how weird this is for me," he says to Aang.
"Why?" Aang looks up.
"Because," Zuko says, "I've thought about this a lot. I thought about - you." He looks embarrassed. "For a long time. Since probably last year."
Aang beams up at him. He decides to be brave and close that gap between their lips - briefly, for a moment. "Me too," he says, when he pulls back.
The light in Zuko's eyes is so bright, so happy, that Aang doesn't know what to do with himself, so he just squeezes Zuko's hands, pushes himself against him. They rock back and forth together, a slow movement that they both know the rhythm to.