communicado.

huffmikhail:

—

“you honestly have no preference? we have a few days together – might as well make the best of it.”

everything seems quite surreal to her. his suggestions, unreasonable, seem to lose any kind of consequential value to her. the freedom of money feels like a daze above all else.

“you’ll fly me to south america for a cup of coffee?” she teases, a sharp exhale and a pointed look his way. “ambitious. i’ve never been there.” not out of inability or disinterest; her parents had traveled on their own whilst she was away. a clear disconnect.

she pauses, shifts her gaze back to the traffic. standstill taillights, stores filled during times of clearances, and the ever-present threat of rain looms in the air. she likes london.

“you know, i wouldn’t have minded staying. i think we could have.. a nice time anywhere? but since you’re offering,” the tone is dry, unapologetically tongue-in-cheek lamenting. such harsh circumstances. “let’s go with your first suggestion, okay?”

mikhail is intense, she’ll give him that. from despising her to technically dragging her out. what a man.

“somewhere warm.”

that she has to confirm it with a question makes him raise an eyebrow. is she doubting it? of course he isn’t going to spare any expense if it’s for a good cup of coffee. granted, going to south america might be pushing the limits of the already-overpriced five-dollar small espressos he’s tasted in his time, but if anything, it should be worth it, and if it isn’t, then his pride will prevent him from admitting it.

“wrong,” he tells her as they turn off the road to a less traffic-congested road, “that’s a boring concept, suzy. we’re going somewhere new because it’s fun. exciting. not just nice.”

he lets the, have a little bit of adventurous class, will you? go unsaid. it should be clear enough. this is privilege at its finest ( or worst, depending on the perspective ), and his phone grabs his attention again, this time already making arrangements.

she follows the figure of the librarian out of the corner of her eye, watches the woman disappear in and out of the stacks, doing god knows what - looking out for trouble like this? olivia only barely restrains the snort. the woman must be expecting this kind of thing from everyone except her. ass kissing is an art that olivia has all but mastered, and it’s good for moments like this when she’d rather not have someone watching.

she’s brought sharply back to the boy in front of her when she feels a touch to her knee, nearly jumping in her seat at the suddenness of it.

olivia glances at him, eyes narrowed and shoulders tense. she shifts in her seat, edging forward just slightly. odd, how she’s always so willing to tease but so impatient when it happens to herself. entitlement, if you will, but olivia calls it efficiency because, of course, it benefits her.

clearing her throat, she grips her pen tighter, bending over her book to give the illusion of a student hard at work.

olivia, he figured, works on the same, desire-centred mechanism. the impatient movement towards him, impeded by the table, confirms it. there’s some explanation for the behaviour, maybe, and if mikhail’s more well-read then perhaps he’ll be able to put a name to it.

but desire is a powerful thing, for whatever it may be for, and even if it’s for something to fill in the time -- to curb the boredom presented by open books. so his foot moves along one thigh, unwilling to be generous now; some things are better when denied, at first. then, when he reaches an even more indecent point between them, he lowers his foot, and puts his shoe back on.

in the liminal space of mikhail’s car ( father’s car, more likely ) suzy finds herself in quite a daze, just absentmindedly looking out the window at the traffic, crossing and uncrossing her legs, blinking slowly, and taking in the casual wonder of everyday chaos. there’s a different kind of tension inside the vehicle, one less about timeliness and moreso related to general dissonance. he is eerily quiet for a while before he finally speaks up.

“you’re unbelievable.” a mumble, just something she needs to say, and not something he needs to hear. suzy turns to look at him, neutral expression, and leans back into the seat, a languid pose, if you will. “i haven’t exactly asked him.”

she hasn’t exactly talked to him in a while, to be truthful. there’s no particular reason, and maybe it’s the lack of reasoning that bothers her. they just fall out of contact like that sometimes. nothing new.

“we can go wherever you want.” she replies, and it’s as much a general statement as it is an admission of indifference— it is mikhail’s plane, after all. she doesn’t take well to illusions of agency. “i’d assume you’ve told them a destination ahead of time, or are we going to wait at the airport while they fill up fuel? whichever’s the shorter trip, i guess. you choose.”

boring -- he should’ve taken someone more exciting. but he doesn’t expect much from suzy, and thinks she might take after her father. ( mikhail has never spoken more than a sentence to the man on any good day. ) but they’ve known each other a while, and though time does not guarantee mikhail’s patience, an attempt to work towards a greater amount of it must be acted on. the burden seems to fall on him to do so, since suzy isn’t making it any easier.

“colombia,” he says out of nowhere. “i want the coffee from there. it tastes better.”

this, of course, is a lie. it’s all a matter of preference, and mikhail’s changes every few weeks. but with money comes the pride of pretence, and mikhail has never known how to act as anything but someone who deserves only the best. suzy might never know how that’s like. still, now that they’re stuck in traffic,

(/ something about her doesn’t want to let go, everything about her has no intention to stay. he leads her out to the floor and she follows, neck-deep in thought, pulling herself out just soon enough so she doesn’t drown, just soon enough so she can take her place in the little waltz. he’s handsome tonight, charming. and she can barely hear herself thinking, let alone speaking, ) do… you have someone else waiting?

(/ quite taken aback by his reply, quite saddened by it–obvious by the way her smile completely drains and reconfigures itself into her usual hopeful, unsure eyes. she takes the glass and sips obediently, and reminds herself that she is the most happy ) yummy. i can’t really tell what it is either but… it’s pretty good.  (/ a pause. she puts her glass down, something about the auras and the stars and the mood changes ) hey (/ she touches his arm in that way that she does, hopeful little smile, poison in her voice ) c’mon. dance with me.

“no!” she says a little too quickly, a little too loud. someone turns their head and seolhyun shyly tucks an invisible strand of hair behind her ear. this happens a lot it does, this happens too much for her to ever notice–her body moving on its own, when she blinks she sees her hands on his arm and she doesn’t ever remember moving.

seolhyun stares at her hands for a moment, confusion scrawled over her expression. “i didn’t– i mean…” always so speechless, always so breathless, she waits for the voice in her head and thankfully it doesn’t come.

she breathes a sigh of relief. “i didn’t mean it that way you know i don’t,” she says, grip tightening slightly. “i mean…

i”–love you–”you know… just– not… now…” grip tightening ever so slightly

he remembers their story from what she’s told him. it’s as viable an explanation as any, and if magic is real, why can’t they? -- an impossibility, ghosts, remembering, always, that they must be together, and knowing, inevitably, that they won’t be. mikhail chooses not to focus on the ending. now they are at the climax; soon, denouement.

yet he narrows his eyes at her, keeps the small flame of anger lit out of sheer cruelty. she’s always asked for him never to leave, but, oh, how villainous that she left him first. he doesn’t move an inch. 

@huffmikhail

she toes off her shoe, glancing up at mikhail from beneath her lashes. he’s reading something, for once, though she can’t tell what class it’s for, or if it’s not for a class at all. but from how quick he is to meet her gaze, it’s easy to tell he’s not focused on it at all. olivia offers him only the tiniest of smiles, deceptively pure before she looks back to her book, waiting for mikhail to do the same. a few minutes pass in silence and goosebumps rise on her arm, thin shirt doing nothing to protect her from the cold air.

reaching up, olivia touches the inside of his knee with a socked foot, barely grazing the inseam of his trousers, inching forward. she waits for the sharp inhale, but she keeps the smugness to herself, expression school into one of neutrality.

anyway, it would be much easier to read about charms on, say, an iPad screen, and not on outdated, literal pages. the words are starting to swim together, mikhail can’t even find another copy of it in existence, and it’s not like he can use a highlighter on a library book. 

so it’s annoying, and he’s more focused on his own annoyance until he looks up and sees a familiar distraction. his gaze returns to the book; his attention span, already lost to the girl before him. he doesn’t move an inch when her foot begins to inch along his thigh; inhales a little to remind himself that this is the library; doesn’t dare exhale in disappointment when she pulls away. instead, he toes off his own shoe, the white sock covering his own foot more pristine and clean than his intentions will ever be. 

are those butterflies in her stomach or a dragon? with him, she can never be sure. a kiss, he asks. he says. he orders. she feels like crying a little, or melting to the floor and slinking away. but she has never been rude nor strong, or with so much control over herself when he’s watching her.

the way she sees it, there are an infinite number of ways that coincidences and happenstance can coalesce to create a moment. one single moment–each and every one defining the next. the way she sees it, there are no mistakes or good decisions–only moments. only coincidences. only happenstance.

by happenstance, she doesn’t move from her place, or take her wrist back from where he has her. she doesn’t kiss him, doesn’t breathe. “we aren’t back together, mikhail…” she reminds him in turn, voice soft, eyes fluttering to his shoulder. “seems inappropriate to go around kissing strangers.” she looks at him and finds herself wishing too quickly that he won’t hate her, or get tired of her, or impatient with her.

“no matter how perfect the stranger.”

she doesn’t move, but she doesn’t oblige him, either. mikhail cannot hope to understand it. nor does he try to. he only meets her refusal with a small pout, and only at her reminder of fact does he let go. “a temporary thing,” he tells her instead, as a matter-of-fact. a promise.

or a threat.

mikhail doesn’t rightly know what he means by it other than what it is. yet he doesn’t know how to take rejection, either; only that it isn’t failure. mikhail always gets what he wants in the end, and oh, does he desire her. there must be no other than her. everyone else is a distraction. everyone else is a hurdle to overcome. his father has always taught him to think about the bigger picture.

Amelia Kim was exhausted. She had a comparatively ….active week, quite unexpected after her recent breakup with William – and last night was her first night of truly uninterrupted sleep. So sitting there, in her usual end of the Hufflepuff table, Mia flipped her long mane of brunette locks away from her eyes as she grabbed an extra breakfast roll to absentmindedly dip in her hot tea. It was then did she jump nearly clear off the bench and almost knocked off her cup of tea completely – yelping a little louder than intended. 

“Mikhail!” She breathed out, holding a hand to her heart. “Shut up! Omg- you scared the bloody bloomers outta me!”  Dark eyes glaring playfully at the (extremely) tall boy, she shoved a bread roll to his face. “ ‘M starving.” She mumbled, shoving a spoonful of scrambled eggs into her mouth. “I know I’m supposed to starve myself like the rest of the girls here… y’know- for the ball, but I can’t help it! I just got the dress yesterday and I’m stuffin’ my face like this.” She laughed lightheartedly, shooting her friend a sweet little grin. 

he laughed ( what the hell are bloody bloomers? ), and caught the bread roll between his teeth when she shoved it at him. messing with people was fun when everyone was comfortable, tiredness aside. he had to give amelia credit for looking this good so early in the morning. his hair, on the other hand, was a mess of dark waves -- he’d fix it later. now he focused on shovelling bacon and eggs onto his plate.