It's a Sideblog

Isabell and the Lads

A borrower takes a big fall and two college roommates help her back on her feet. Antics ensue. Will a friendship form, or will she run from them the first chance she gets? (Slice of life, fluff and angst)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen

~Shorts and Standalones~

Zeke POV- Be Patient

Isabell and Zeke-Short 1: Closer

Isabell and Zeke- Fidget

Isabell and Zeke- Christmas Kisses

^ Art by the lovely and talented @mariposita24 ^

In a world where special powers are common, a size shifter goes off to college, and is befriended by the most stubborn girl you'll ever meet.

1. New Beginnings

2. First Impressions

3. Beauregard

4. Completely Mundane

5. Apologies

6. ??? (Soon)

7? Emergency Contact

8? The Aftermath

9? Hangover Cure

~An array of stray chapters that were just for fun and may or may not be canon~

Prompt: Felix Drunk

Prompt: Felix Shrinking AU

The Next Best Thing

Not Nothing

Borrowed Time

A size shifter (who doesn't know he's a size shifter) meets a borrower (she also doesn't know that he's a size shifter). I wonder what could happen next!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Miscellaneous

A small collection of one-off works and Sizey thoughts

Prompt: Why are you so big

Study Date

Accidents Happen

G/t Nightmares

Looking for something that isn't here?

That's because I don't like it anymore. This master post is me hanging work on the fridge, everything else is in the shoebox in the attic. You know?

Don't worry, nothing is gone, this is the internet. You can check out My Writing tag for things that aren't featured here anymore.

Fanfiction!

Mary & Clyde: First Meeting

…

She can’t focus. This is pointless.

She would much rather just be closer to the humans than sit worrying about if they’re staring at her from a distance. She can’t stand it any longer. She turns. They’re not even looking at her, of course they aren’t, it was an irrational thought. She waves, and Zeke’s eyes flick down to her. He leans in to see what she needs.

“Can I just sit with you?” She asks quickly, before she can talk herself out of it. This gets Marcus’ attention too.

“Of course,” Marcus says. Zeke nods, and begins looking down at the couch around him, trying to figure out the best way to set her up.

“How would you like to-” he begins, but Marcus just reaches forward. Zeke is all about plans, Marcus is all about action. Isabell tenses as his hands rush toward her, but he pulls back at the last moment. He rests his hand palm-up nearby instead of just scooping her up. She is almost certain that he remembered to do that at exactly the last second, but he remembered. It’s progress.

She steps into his hand, and once she’s settled, he lifts her gently off the coffee table. He shoots a quick glance between her and Zeke. There is a spark of mischief in his eyes.

“Here,” he says with a wink down to her. Before she can process what he’s up to, he thrusts her forward. She lets out a small sound as he tips her out of his hands into Zeke’s. He curses under his breath as she tumbles into his hand, but he quickly becomes steady beneath her.

She lays on her back, staring straight up at him with flushed cheeks. She only catches the underside of his jaw as he shoots a glare at Marcus. His roommate just reclines back on the couch with a self-satisfied grin.

Zeke finally turns his gaze down to look at her, sprawled out in his hand. The eye contact is enough to pin her there a moment longer. He quickly glances over her. She’s wearing black shorts and an oversized pink shirt that reads ‘BARBIE’ and hangs off one shoulder. Her hair is down and it’s long enough to spill around her in soft waves. He only looks at her for a moment, but it feels like he’s seeing her in enough detail to count all of her eyelashes.

She should be terrified, but she can feel the remaining whisps of her resolve slipping away. All this contact with the humans, she likes it. She isn't supposed to, but she does. Which is exactly why she has to leave. At least for a little while, if for no other reason than just to prove to herself that she can. But she refuses to let herself mourn a moment that isn't over yet. Eventually, she has to go home, but right now she will enjoy spending time with her lads.

“Okay,” Zeke says quietly. His fingers curl in slightly, and he pulls her closer to his chest as he looks away from her. He moves a pillow, making a small stack between him and Marcus. “Here, let’s try this.” He sets her down gently. She steps off his palm and immediately sinks into the plush surface.

Marcus chuckles, she looks up to find both him and Zeke looking down at her.

“Sorry, you’re really cute,” Marcus says, not even trying to hide his wide grin. Zeke also looks amused in his own way, but he looks away as soon as she caught him looking. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment, and she situates herself on the pillow, with some difficulty.

She isn’t convinced that this is better.

The two humans tower over her on either side. She’s closer, sure, but now she somehow feels smaller. Not to mention, every time she moves, she sinks deeper into this pillow.

She huffs quietly, looking up at the humans around her. Marcus is reclined easily, holding a bowl of popcorn. Zeke is stiffer than his roommate, shifting slightly as though he’s not quite comfortable but he’s too worried about disturbing her to do anything about it.

This is silly. There are better options available. She looks around for a moment before an idea springs into her mind. She fumbles her way to the back of the pillow; her movement instantly draws the attention of the lads around her. She grabs on to the thick woven fabric of the couch cushion. She hoists herself up and begins scaling the back of the couch.

“Woah, Isabell-”  Zeke leans forward, hovering a hand beneath her, like he’s torn between wanting to grab her, and wanting to let her climb on her own. But, she’s halfway up the couch before he even finishes saying her name.

“She’s fine, dude,” Marcus says around a mouthful of popcorn.

“I know,” his brow furrows, “just… I know.” Despite saying that, he doesn’t stop following beneath her, in case she were to fall.

She easily makes it to the top of the couch. Zeke slowly pulls away, looking at her with a sort of astonishment. The humans probably don’t realize just how proficient she is at climbing, considering they’ve only known her while she’s been basically immobile. Holding her arms out for balance, she walks along the back of the couch closer to Zeke. She grabs onto his sleeve and pulls herself up onto his shoulder. She perches there, dangling her legs off the front of him.

Once she's there she realizes that was the first time since her injury that she has been able to climb something without it being a total disaster. She smiles, feeling a much-needed sense of accomplishment. She missed the dull ache of activity in her limbs. It feels good.

Zeke has craned his neck to look down at her, he doesn’t say anything, he barely even breathes. He just blinks at her. She grins up at him, thrilled that she’s finally able to move on her own again, and relishing a little bit that she was able to do something that a human found impressive.

“Okay,” his voice is a low whisper. “I guess… is that where you want to be?”

“Is this fine?” she asks him, realizing suddenly that she is very close to him.

She didn’t really think about that. Maybe it’s because she’s so high up, or that he can’t really look at her from his shoulder. It just seems like less of a deal to her than being held in his hands. Apparently, from his reaction, he doesn’t share the same opinion.

“Yeah. It’s- yes, of course.”  

“I’ve got to get a picture of this,” Marcus says, pulling out his phone.

“Let me see!” She says, once he’s taken it. Marcus turns phone around to show her the screen.

In the picture, Zeke looks so cool. A small, amused smile pulling across his lips, a slight quirk of his brow, and there she is! Smiling from her perch on his shoulder. She’s never seen herself like this before, she’s only ever experienced it from her point of view.

 “Oh cool!" She looks at the phone, her eyes shining, "I wish I could keep this somehow," human technology is so interesting.

“We can print it out for you,” Marcus says. “If we’re doing that, I want to be in one too!” He turns the phone around, leans closer to Zeke and takes another picture.

After that, Marcus settles back into the couch. Zeke still sits stiffly, like he’s afraid any movement will topple her from his shoulder.  

“You can move you know,” she leans over giving his neck a playful shove. He flinches slightly at the contact.

"I- You sure?" He asks quietly.

"Yeah. You can be comfortable. I'll allow it." She smirks, she can hear Marcus chuckling behind her.

The rest of the day, he's looking over his shoulder, waiting for a phone call, or an email, or the Men in Black to come take him away. But nothing happens.

Tuesday is the same. Every email notification makes him jump. Every time a professor looks at him he holds his breath. He had his mandated weekly meeting with Dr. Emmens, his assigned therapist. The meetings are just part of the conditions for his transfer. They say that the purpose of meeting is to “improve his mental well being and help him cultivate strategies for success.” Whatever. They wanted to make sure to keep as many tabs on him as possible.

He felt nauseous every time she took a note and spent the whole session thinking, “don't talk about Charlie. Don't talk about what happened.”

He was presumably normal enough that the session scraped by without any alarms being set off. Ultimately, Tuesday shakes out to be a full day of spine tingling paranoia, culminating in… nothing.

He can't spend all day every day waiting for something to happen, this will kill him. He needs to talk to Charlie.

By Wednesday morning he’s so wound up, he isn't even late to class. Well, not really. But he’s less ‘late’ and more ‘barely on time.’ Charlie is, of course, already there. She probably watches the sunrise and gets to class 30 minutes early.

She doesn't look up when he enters, she just keeps her eyes trained on her notebook. He knows her enough now to know that half of her fancy notes are just doodles. Her backpack is on the chair next to her. She might as well have written a big sign that says ‘Do Not Sit Here!’

It is safe to say she doesn't want anything to do with him. Fair… but also, too bad.

He strides over, moves her backpack to the floor, where she normally keeps it, and slides himself into the chair.

She looks at him, openly bewildered by his audacity. She turns quickly to her notebook, scowling down at the page, her fist curled tight on the desk.

“Why didn't you tell your brothers about me?” he leans in, ignoring how her shoulders tense when he does.

“What makes you think I didn't?” She whispers back, refusing to look at him.

“Because nothing’s happened.”

“It's been one day.”

“One and a half," he corrects. "That's plenty of time. Which means you haven't said anything. Why not?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“You don't want to talk about it, or you don't want to talk to me?”

“Both of those things can be true.”

“Look-”

“Class is starting.” She turns her attention to the front of the room, shaking her head sharply when he looks like he's going to try to talk to her. He sits back in his chair crossing his arms.

They sit next to each other for the slowest class of their lives. He thinks Charlie feels the same way because she fidgets way more than she normally does.

He also notices that she is slowly packing away her things throughout the class, and she's trying to be nonchalant about it. Trying and failing. She's going to try to leave as soon as they're dismissed to avoid talking to him. Sure enough, once class ends she's standing up, ready to go.

He knows there is exactly one thing he can say to her that would maybe get her to hear him out.

“Charlie, I’m sorry,” the words feel awkward in his mouth.

Her hands pause on the zipper of her bag. She finally looks at him. She looks in for a long time before saying anything.

“Sorry for what?”

His brow furrows, he's taken aback by that. He apologized. Shouldn't that be enough? Now she wants, what, an itemized receipt? She scoffs, at his hesitation, finishes zipping her backpack, and slings the bag over her shoulder.

“Fine,” he says quickly. She keeps walking, so he follows after her, speaking in a low voice so he won't be easily overheard. “I'm sorry for the other day. I thought you were hiding an ability and… I was wrong. Either way, I shouldn't have handled that the way I did. Okay?”

She looks at him over her shoulder, then sighs.

“I’m not going to tell anyone. Especially not my brothers.” For the first time in two days his shoulders can finally relax. “Not for you. For me. Because, if I told them they would probably wrap me in bubble wrap and lock me in my room until...” she shakes her head, “until the end of time.”

“Overprotective, huh?”

“Understatement of the century,” she grumbles.

He walks beside her quietly for a while.

“Why didn't you tell me?” He asks eventually.

“Tell you what? That I'm a Beauregard, or that I don't have an ability?”

“... Yes.”

“Because it’s none of your business,” comes her simple reply.

He opens his mouth to argue, then closes it again. For a moment he thinks that's all she's going to give him, then she keeps going.

“I think I could be the valedictorian and the president of the student body. The university could name a building after me, and people would hear my name and still think of my brothers. I'm trying to just … be me. It was going well, until it wasn't.”

“Right,’ he says quietly.

Is it possible to retroactively mean an apology?

He was just saying that stuff before. He was going through the motions because he knew that's what she wanted to hear, and he needed answers. He has been too busy worrying about Rosehill coming after him that he didn't consider her very much at all. He might not have hurt her physically… but he definitely hurt her. The thing that's so bothersome about it is she doesn't really seem angry with him. Angry he is used to. He expects it. It's just that Charlie isn’t angry. Instead, she just seems so… sad. He doesn't know what to do with that. The feeling sits with him uncomfortably.

He realizes he might have apologized for the wrong thing altogether.

He's been freaking out about using his ability against a mundane, but Charlie hasn't mentioned that part. She just keeps talking about her family. It's just like she was saying, as soon as he heard “Beauregard” he stopped seeing her.

Damn. He hates being part of a pattern.

He thinks maybe that he should try that whole apology thing over again, but his mind won't connect any words together.

“Alright,” she stops walking. “Well, I've got some… stuff… to do today. So, I'm gonna… go.” She speaks haltingly, fidgets with her keys. She's lying.

Man, she is really bad at lying. That makes him feel extra dumb for misreading all of her signals out in the woods. She's not some strategic mastermind thinking she's better than him, she's just… Charlie.

Lying or not, she is done talking to him. She hesitates for a moment like she's unsure what direction she should go in, then she heads off to the student parking lot.

He exhales slowly.

There. He knows she's not going to report him and she got an apology. Problem solved.

“I’m not my brothers,” her voice comes out sharper than she wanted.

He scoffs.

“Seriously, whatever beef you have with them-”

“You’re just going to pretend that you don’t know?” He's glaring at her.

“Know what?” she asks, exasperated.

“I fought Marshall.”

“Alright? And?”

“I won,” he looks at her like that should mean something to her. It doesn't. Not really.

Mars is tough. He gets into those super fights all the time, it comes with the territory. He doesn't lose often, but it's bound to happen eventually. If anything Felix is telling her his power is very strong. But that isn't something that should concern her. 

“...Congratulations?” 

His jaw tightens, like somehow that was exactly the wrong thing to say. 

“Felix, I don’t know what you want from me. I just came out here because I thought my friend was upset.”

“Friend?” He questions viciously. 

“...yes,” she had thought they were friends. 

“Cute."

Ouch.

“Kay.” She hops up to her feet. Felix moves with her immediately. His shoulders squared, muscles braced like he's preparing for something. 

She shakes her head. “We aren't doing this. You’re being a dick. I'm leaving,” she says, turning away from him to collect her things.  

“What, because it would be beneath you?” he asks with a sneer.

She laughs. Not because it's funny, it's really not funny at all. It's just that he’s being ridiculous. Her laughter only makes him more upset. She shakes her head, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“Look, I’m not going to fight with you over something that doesn’t have anything to do with me,” she says simply.

“No?”

“No. I’m leaving,” she repeats.

She turns to walk away, and suddenly a wall slams down in front of her. She jumps back quickly, whirling around to face Felix again, only to discover that he’s, well, everywhere. That wall... is his hand. She follows his arm all the way up to his shoulder, then further to the scowling face blotting out the sky. The size of him is dizzying. It’s impossible. 

What is happening? She quickly replays this in her head trying to figure out what she missed and how this was a reasonable escalation. 

“Come on, Beauregard,” his voice is low but still resonates through her. She’s probably being dramatic but she swears the ground rumbles as he talks. “You’ve been holding out on me. What can you do?” 

The hand forming the wall behind her moves. Lifing over her. All she can do is stare gobsmacked until he plows her over. With a single finger he pins her on her back against the forest floor. The digit rests heavily against her chest, her hands fly up to meet it. 

Her stomach does a flip as she looks at her hands, both of them, braced against his fingertip. As if that would do anything to stop him if he decided to grind her to a pulp against the ground right now. She tries to breathe through the pressure. It's not impossible. She supposes this is him being gentle.

“Your heart’s beating so fast,” he notes, “A Beauregard? Scared?” He looks her over in disbelief, a teasing smirk spread across his face. 

He thinks they're playing a game, but she doesn't know any of the rules. 

“I- I yield!” She calls up to him. She’s seen fights before. That usually ends it. 

“What? That’s it?” 

He pulls back. She pushes herself up on her elbows, breathing deeply, now that she can. His hand comes down again, she lets out an involuntarily yelp when he pinches her between his two fingers. Her backpack is left behind as she’s whisked up off the ground, into his waiting palm. He holds her up to his face, studying her, his brow pinching together as he tries puzzling her out. All she can focus on is how high up she is. He’s sitting yet she is so stupidly high off the ground. 

“You’re not going to even show me your ability? That’s bullshit. You’re showing me what you can do first. Then, we can be done.” 

He doesn’t really give her any time to respond. He grabs her up again, pinching her by her ankles and dangling her over his head. 

“Felix!” she shouts.

“Aw. Afraid of heights?” He taunts her, letting her sway back and forth in his grip. She has always hated roller coasters, this is a million times worse. She flails, trying to grab onto something, anything, but coming up empty. “Careful squirming like that. You wouldn’t want me to… lose my grip.”

“You wouldn’t,” she gasps. “Felix, I know you wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know shit,” the playful tone drops from his voice. 

He lets her go, and she falls. 

It's only for a moment before he catches her. She lands face first against his other hand, hard. Past the panic and the blood roaring in her ears, she can hear him chuckling. She scrambles to right herself, pulling her knees to her chest, sitting in the center of his palm. She can’t catch her breath. Her heart hammers so fast it feels like it’s trying to break out of her ribcage and leave her behind to deal with this on her own. She sucks in uneven, shallow gulps of air, all too aware of the scrutinous eyes taking her in.

Being held like this doesn’t feel particularly secure, but it’s better than where she was. At least she can almost pretend the ground isn’t that far away. At least she isn't dangling upside down. But still, despite the relative safety, a dull awareness of the danger seeps into her. She could have broken an arm just then… or worse.

“You’re so stubborn. All you have to do is just-”  

“Wait!” She shouts. He's been moving too fast for her to explain. Her brain has finally caught up, and she's not going to get herself hurt because she's too proud to say this, “I don’t have an ability!” 

His body jolts, jumbling her awkwardly in his palm as he freezes sharply. Blinking down at her wordlessly, his brows pinch together, like he's not quite understanding what she's saying.

“I am completely mundane! Alright?”

The world lurches, the ground rushes up to meet them as he suddenly drops his height. He sets her down fast, like holding her was burning him.

“Are you serious?”  His hands are clamped down on her shoulders, his expression is nothing short of bewildered. He scans her up and down frantically assessing the damage. “Why wouldn’t you say that?” She pushes him away. 

“Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't realize you wanted me to introduce myself like: ‘Hi, I'm Charlotte Beauregard. Yes, as in those Beauregards. Don't worry though, I am mundane, no powers here.’ That probably would have been more normal than what I was doing. Should have led with that!”

She feels so jumbled up right now, even the little things feel impossible to process. 

He rakes a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath. He steps away from her, pacing across the clearing. She watches him. Oh sure, she gets tossed around like a ragdoll, but he's the one that gets to freak out.

“Calm down, Felix.” She says, with a sigh, crossing her arms to stop her hands from shaking.

“I swear, I didn't know. You're a Beauregard! You- I mean all of them- I didn't know.”

“That's not an apology,” her tone is dry and emotionless.

He clamps his jaw tight, stopping mid-step to look her up and down. 

“Sure," she says. "Fine. That was horrible, and you're a jerk. But don't say you’re sorry or anything!” She waves a hand his way dismissively and picks up her discarded backpack once more. 

“Beauregard, seriously-”

“Can you stop doing that?” She snaps, whirling to face him. “It's just Charlotte. Or Charlie, if you want, I don't care. But I don't- I'm not-” she shakes her head, she can't make the sentence fit right. She doesn't want to talk about how she's a failure held against the legacy of her family name. Not to him, especially not now. She forces her mouth into a tight smile. She knows it isn't convincing, probably mostly looks sad. “Charlie's fine. I'm going to leave now.” 

He raises his hands, a wordless surrender. Telling her he’ll let her go this time. 

He still hasn't apologized. Probably isn't going to. She leaves him alone in the clearing. She holds it together for long enough, but once she's solidly down the path, and sure she's not being followed, hot angry tears spill down her face. 

She thought she had made a friend.

They walk to the University Center together, and they both enjoy sitting outside in the quad. It's not as loud and Felix never enjoys being cooped up indoors. Charlie seems happier outside too, so it works.

She tends to ramble mostly about plants or wildlife, often about mushrooms, and he doesn't mind listening. She's entertaining, fun to talk to. Well, she's easy to get riled up. It almost makes him forget the situation he's in.

She's showing him pictures of various plants from a hike she took recently, explaining to him why these plants are very cool and of course needed to be documented with about 50 pictures.

A laugh carries over from another table. He catches a stray part of the neighboring conversation.

“...Rosehill.”

The word snags his attention briefly, but he lets it go. Mundane gossip. Not uncommon, but ultimately a waste of time like everything else at this college. It is occasionally amusing hearing the rumors and imagined stories that circulate. But, it becomes immediately obvious that almost no one here has ever actually seen an augmented individual before, so it quickly sours from amusing to just annoying.

“I guess they’re just dumping their rejects here now.”

“Yeah. This school used to have standards, now they're just letting anybody in.”

They're not even bothering to keep their gossip to conspiratorial whispers, almost like they want to be heard. Felix ignores it, not even bothering to glance in that direction. Charlie however, she stiffens.

“They're talking about you.” She says quietly, a scowl set solidly across her features.

“I know,” he says, taking another unbothered bite of his lunch.

“Doesn't that bother you?”

“It's hard to be so popular,” he lifts his head just enough to smirk at Charlie. She rolls her eyes and starts poking at her food again.

“I just don't get how people can be so-”

“Charlie. They just want a reaction, it's not worth it,” he shrugs.

She balls a fist on the table anyway, but she doesn't say more.

“I don't see why we should have to deal with them. Bayshear is sort of supposed to be for us.”

“Yeah,” the voice huffs a dry laugh, “well you know supers. Give an inch…”

“Tch. For real. They're all the same.”

He barely raises an eyebrow. Charlie does her best to ignore them too. Unfortunately, her best lasts about three seconds. She sets down her fork and turns on them.

"That's sort of an awful thing to say." She says loudly.

Felix sighs and rests his head in his hand. This better not turn into a whole thing.

The conversation at the other table stops.

“Excuse me?”

Charlie continues, "you can't just categorically lump a whole group of people together. You see how that's wildly problematic, right?"

"Oh. Of course you would have something to say, Beauregard."

Beauregard.

The name rings in his head like a shot. Their conversation carries on but it doesn't matter, none of their words register in his ears.

Beauregard.

In the space between seconds memories flood his mind. The diamond shaped scar on his right palm prickles. He balls his hand into a fist.

~*~

He is in the quad with the sleek modern buildings of Rosehill towering around him. Jeremy Beauregard sits next to him, rambling on about something that happened in class. Jeremy always has something to say. Felix doesn't mind listening.

“This school used to be elite, but I guess they're just letting mundanes in now.” Cruel laughter carries their conversation over. Felix straightens, knowing the comment was mentioned for him. He turns to scowl at them. Beckett is staring at him, a cruel smirk across his face. He has a strong enough ability that it apparently justifies him being a total dick about it.

“Leave it man, he just wants a reaction,” Jeremy says under his breath.

“I'm not mundane,” he ignores Jeremy’s warning. “My ability is good.” At least, it would be good if it wasn't so damn inconsistent.

“Oh, and in the last five minutes you learned how to use it? Congratulations.” Beckett laughs. “Face it, you don't belong here. You're just dragging the reputation of the school down.”

“I belong here.” Felix says firmly.

“Would you care to prove it?”

Beckett stands, Felix leaps to his feet, his chair scraping behind him. He ignores Jeremy's disappointed sigh.

Sparring is common among supers. It's encouraged actually- within reason of course. It establishes a hierarchy of ability and that's really important. Currently, Felix is basically at the bottom. Beckett is…

There is no need to do the mental math, Felix knows he's going to end up in the infirmary again. But it's the principle of it, damn it.

The air around them grows still and quiet as the others in the cafeteria can sense the growing tension. Felix moves first, lunging forward to throw a punch, Beckett side steps easily, countering him in one fluid motion. His fist connects solidly with Felix’s gut. He stands catching his breath Beckett looks bored.

“If you want to fight like a mundane you really should just go to a mundane school.”

The onlookers laugh. He knows it's just a couple chuckles, but it feels like everyone. All eyes on him, watching him make a complete fool of himself yet again.

“Come on. Do something about it,” Beckett growls, tired of playing around.

Felix takes a breath and pushes. His ability resists him, as always. He grows until he's about nine feet tall. It isn't nothing. But he knows there's more. He just can't access it.

“Oh wow,” he feigns astonishment, “have you thought about trying out for our basketball team?” More laughter. Beckett activates his ability. His arms become two pillars of fire from his fingertips to his shoulders. He lunges forward. The fire leaps from his fist, connecting with Felix's shoulder. Felix jumps back, slapping out the flame that was catching on his sleeve.

All eyes on him. Laughing. Jeering. He doesn't belong here. His thoughts are just as loud as the crowd around him.

“Shut up!” he shouts. Something inside of him breaks. His ability rushes forward in a way he's never felt before. He drops to a knee, slamming his hand down on top of Beckett. Pinning him to the ground.

“Well. Now you might be worth fighting,” he wheezes, looking up at Felix with a sharp predatory smile. He's still confident he can win.

Felix reels. He's never been this big before. Not even close. He blinks down at Beckett pinned under him. Held down by just his hand. A sense of power surges through him like he's never felt before. No one is laughing now.

Suddenly he's burning. He yanks his hand back. Beckett had reactivated his ability. Gritting his teeth, Felix bats at the human inferno, lifting him up into the air then slamming him down into the ground. He shakes his hand out, Beckett's flame flickers, he coughs. Felix rears back his blistering fist, slamming it down into him.

Well, almost.

His fist connects with a solid surface some distance above Beckett with a hollow ‘thunk.’ He blinks down, sitting back on his heels. He knows that ability. He whirls around to find Jeremy standing nearby, an arm outstretched.

He put up a shield. For Beckett?

“What the hell?” He narrows his eyes at his ‘friend.’

“He’s had enough, dude. Let's call it there.”

“Where was your fucking barrier when he was setting me on fucking fire? Who's side are you on?”

“Not on a side.”

“You used to be on mine,” Felix’s gaze sharpens into a glare. What, now he gets an actual ability and now J is just going to drop him? Felix wasn't a threat before but now…

Fucking hypocritical. That's what it is.

He slams his fist into the barrier. Jeremy stumbles trying to hold against the force. He pounds into it again and again until the pathetic shield shatters. Jeremy drops to a knee, coughing. He didn't touch him, but still a thin trickle of blood runs from his nose.

He turns his attention down to his quarry.

“Where were we,” he says.

“Hey. Is there a problem?” A new voice cuts in. Marshall Beauregard. Jeremy’s older brother. Top of the pack here at Rosehill.

The Beauregard’s have been coming to this school for generations. All of them are excellent. Marshall walks through the crowd, carrying his family name reverently. People actually step out of his way when he approaches.

Marshall helps his brother to his feet, looking him over, then looking at Beckett, who hasn't gotten up yet. Then finally his eyes drift up to Felix.

“Hey Westwell! Your ability finally clicked! Great job dude.” Felix hates how genuine he sounds. Most powerful guy in the school and he has to be the nicest too? Suddenly Felix has a realization. Marshall is undefeated. He might go through his entire time at Rosehill undefeated. That would be legendary for him.

Felix blinks. He can take him.

Marshall continues, “Let's just all power down and we can-”

“I challenge you,” he interrupts suddenly.

“Hm?”

If he can take down Beckett and then the unbeatable Marshall, all in one go… he would run this school.

“You heard me. Let's go.”

Marshall tilts his head, ushering his brother away, giving them some space. He's accepting. They're actually going to do this.

Felix reaches out to grab him up in a fist, but Marshall is faster. Vines burst from the floor. Wrapping over Felix’s hand, they thread between his fingers and tether him down to the ground. Before he can pull away, the vines layer thicker and thicker over his hand, and up over his wrist. The mass of plants constricts, growing tighter around his hand, solidifying with a thick bark over the top. Felix attempts to pull away, and thorns pierce into his skin. The poison barbs make his veins feel like they’re on fire.

No. The fight can't be over before it's even started!

Felix grits his teeth and focuses. He reaches out with his ability, hoping he can have a handle on it for once. He lets his size slip, just enough to give himself some room. He rips his hand free and then explodes back to his full massive size. He might even be larger than he was before. The vines burst under the strain, sending out a shower of bark. He mauls his hand in the process, but he’s free now.

He’s never been able to pull off any sort of dexterous size shifting before now, he huffs a breath of victory. He can see Marshall seems impressed too.

Despite his hands burning from both Beckett’s fire and the poisonous thorns, he slaps his palm down on Marshall’s standing form. Once again, Marshall moves with a surprising amount of speed. He encases himself in a sharp cocoon. As Felix slams his hand down, Marshall’s defense pierces fully through the palm of his hand. He cries out as the bud opens into a massive flower, and out steps Marshall, entirely unscathed.

Felix rips the bloom from his hand, removing the thick stalk from his palm. His hand oozes from its gaping wound. His stomach twists at the sight of the viscera. If he took the time to observe it, he would be able to see straight through his hand.

He notes that both Marshall and Beckett had really good close range defense. He needs to figure out how to fight while touching his target as little as possible. He can’t take many more injuries if Marshall is going to spear entirely through him like that.

“Do you yield?” Marshall asks simply.

The question and the pain ignites a rage within him.

He can still feel everyone's eyes on him. Their judgment. Their laughter.

They think he's a fool. They think he doesn't belong here. They're wrong. He's going to show them how wrong they are.

Marshall plays cool, but he just exerted a lot of energy there. He's conjuring plants and vines that are much larger than he normally would to combat Felix’s size. He has cooled his expression, but Felix bets he’s tired. More tired than he's acting.

It's a gamble.

Felix allows his shoulders to slump, as if resigning. As Marshall’s guard drops at his sign of submission, he lashes out again. It's a dirty trick, but he needs this.

Felix jukes in one direction, tossing a cafeteria table his way. Then, as he’s distracted, Felix reaches out with his other hand, this time he successfully snags Marshall by the leg. Before he has a chance to retaliate, Felix flips his opponent up into the air and flings him down to the ground. The arc of his descent is swift and entirely unforgiving as he crashes into the ground. Marshall's attempt to conjure more vines to break his fall was rendered mostly unsuccessful. He hit the ground hard.

Without allowing him any more time to get his bearings, Felix’s fist comes smashing down after him. Felix watches as he tries to shamble back onto his feet, his vines forming a thorny barricade around him. But his plants are growing much slower than they were at the start. He is running out of stamina. A wicked grin spreads across Felix’s face, his gamble paid off. This fight just turned in his favor.

Using his bloodied hand, he rips the vines from the ground, as simple as uprooting some weeds. Tossing them aside, he comes crashing down into Marshall again, grounding him into the floor and shattering the tile beneath him. He still tries growing a barrier, but the vines are slow moving now. He cocoons himself in tight vines between blows. Felix doesn't stop. Not until the rage coursing through him burns out. Not until- he feels a sharp prickle run across his skin. An unnatural wave of fatigue rushes over him.

Breathing heavily, he finally relaxes. He realizes how much his hands hurt. How much blood is everywhere. He looks down at the small crater he's formed in the floor. At the bottom lies a mess of vines obscuring Marshall entirely.

He realizes how silent the room is. He blinks. There is no crowd. The students have all left. No. They've been evacuated he realizes, as he sees only a wave of Rosehill security officers. They’re shutting him down. His vision blurs, growing dark. He feels his ability slipping away from him.

He wakes up alone in the infirmary. Locked in a high security room, actually. He flops back into the bed, his eyes closing with a satisfied smile. He won.

~*~

Felix stands abruptly. Heads turn and the conversation halts. He doesn't look at anyone, he just turns and walks away.

He needs to think.

Charlotte fucking Beauregard.

His stomach twists. A name like that doesn't show up in a place like this for no reason. Suspicion crowds his thoughts, tainting every memory of every interaction they've had.

Does she know who he is? Has she known this whole time?

She knew he went to Rosehill. She said it was because she saw the logo on his computer. Is that true? Or has she heard all about him from her brothers.

A new realization settles firmly in his gut. She’s a Beauregard. She has an ability.

What is your game, Beauregard?

He finally stops walking. He's in a clearing by the school. Secluded. Quiet. He sits on a rock and puts his head in his hands with a low groan.

He thought they'd just send him off to a mundane school and everything would be as it seemed.

Stupid.

Of course they'd want someone checking up on him.

He shrugs, and strides over, sliding into the seat. She tucks a blonde curl behind her ear and fidgets with the supplies out on her desk nervously, as if she didn’t actually expect him to take her up on her offer.

“I’m Charlotte,” she introduces herself quietly.

“Felix,” he returns. She doesn’t react to his name. He didn’t really expect her to know who he was or anything. It’s not like the school would have sent out an email to the student body warning everyone about him. He presumes that is part of his punishment. Take him from an environment where he is well known, and thrust him into an anonymous exile.

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and drumming his fingers against his bicep. It’s the first day of class, they’re likely going to spend the full time going over the syllabus. He doesn’t bother taking out a notebook or his computer, he barely bothers listening.

This Charlotte girl next to him does not share his philosophy. He eyes the five colorful glitter pens lined up on her desk in a neat row. Her notebook somehow already has half a page of notes that feel almost too organized for the handwriting that accompanies it. One would imagine someone going through the trouble of color-coding notes over the syllabus would be writing in calligraphy or something. Her handwriting is neat enough at the start of the page, but as it continues it falls into an imperfect slant. He swears she’s swapped between three different highlighter colors just since he's sat down. He doesn’t bother hiding the judgement on his face as he watches her take all of this way too seriously.

“This is the first assignment of the year, so it isn’t going to be anything crazy,” Dr. Lamont announces from behind her wooden podium, drawing Felix’s attention back to the front of the room.

It’s a partner project. He can feel the collective internal groan radiates from the students. Good to know that a general disdain for group projects seems to be a universal constant.

Charlotte straightens next to him quickly. Avoiding looking in his general direction she scans the room, obviously trying to find a partner meeting the criteria of ‘anyone but him.’ He huffs a quiet laugh. She finally brings herself to look in his direction. Her eyes scrape ruefully across his empty desk. He can see the resignation on her face for a moment before she fixes her expression back into that polite smile. He just blinks at her, his brows raised slightly. He’s said exactly one word to her, is him not having pens enough for her to decide she doesn’t like him? Are all mundanes this strange, or is this just a her thing?

“Partners?” She asks him, not without effort.

“Sure.”

She bobs a quick nod before shifting her focus to her computer, navigating to the assignment page. He leans his arms on the desk, watching the screen over her shoulder. She reads the parameters of the assignment outloud. It just keeps going. Twelve questions. Multiple parts each. Basically, it's a 12 page research paper. On day one

“Don’t worry,” Charlotte says, “the first assignment ‘isn’t crazy,’” she jokes, echoing his own thoughts. She throws an easy smile over her shoulder at him. He just hums a short agreement. “Alright,” she turns away a little too quickly, as if surprised by how close he is.

He isn't that close.

Still, she ducks her head over her planner, as if focusing on something can save her from feeling awkward. He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms again.

“What does your schedule look like?” She asks “I am free after this class on Monday, Wednesday, Friday. Or, I could do Tuesdays and-

“I’ll take the first six questions; you take the second six. We’ll throw it in a shared doc and turn it in. This doesn’t have to be a whole deal.”

She stops, blinking at him like he’s just come up with the most outrageous plan.

“Oh. I was thinking we could,” she hesitates, then starts again. “Are you sure you don’t want to work on it together?”

“It sounds like you want this to be a whole deal.” He’s not surprised, she probably doesn’t trust him to hold up his end of the bargain.

“It would make it more fun,” she says with a small defensive shrug.

“Fun,” he echoes. “You just want an excuse to write in your planner with your colorful pens.”

She doesn’t miss a beat, “that is most definitely part of it, yes.” She gives one sharp nod, a broad smile blooming across her face. It’s him that turns away this time. He shakes his head, though he can’t help being swayed a bit by her infectious grin, a smile of his own begins pulling at his lips.

As endearing as she might be, he’s not going to let her overcomplicate his whole life on the first day.

“I’ll take the first half. You try to have enough fun for the both of us,” he taps the desk, stands, and walks away.

He’s not even all the way down the stairs before he gets a notification from the class portal.

Charlotte B shared a document with you.

He sends a thumbs up and carries on with his day.

~*~

Wednesday means it’s time to do the whole song and dance again. Trudge up the stairs to class, arrive precisely when he can be bothered to arrive. It’s the gen-ed classes that really stick a thorn in his side. He can't see them as anything more than a huge waste of time.

Once again, a few heads turn when the door creaks open, but most people look away quickly, unbothered by his appearance in the room. Once again, Charlotte does not look away. But, unlike last time, he didn’t catch her accidentally staring. There is a pointed venom in her gaze. His shoulders square reflexively, his chin lifting a little higher. This is the sort of reaction to him that he’s grown accustomed to. He just didn't really expect to find it here.

Does she know something?

He strolls forward to take his seat. He can tell that his unhurried demeanor is particularly grating to Charlotte, so he walks a little slower.

He’s barely in his seat when she whirls on him.

“If you had no intention of actually doing the assignment, I wish you would have told me.”

What.

“Because now, I’m going to have to do everything in two days and I hardly see how that’s fair. You might not care about this class or whatever, but I read the syllabus, and the group projects are actually worth a sizable amount of our entire grade. I really can’t afford to be playing catch-up for the entire rest of the semester because you decided that you were too good for the coursework,” she says to him in a harsh whisper, barely breathing throughout her spiel.

He has to just blink at her for a second. That’s it? She’s mad about homework? In her eyes, that’s his big crime? He has to fight to keep from laughing. He manages to keep his reaction restrained to just an amused smirk.

“Good morning to you too.” By her reaction, this was the wrong thing to say. Good. This is the most entertaining thing that’s happened all week.

“I’m serious,” she practically hisses the word. “I don’t know your situation, but I’m here on scholarship, so my grades actually mean something. So just, please tell me if you’re going to participate in this project so I can figure out if I have the time to pick up your slack.”

“Charlie, relax.” He says, rolling his eyes. This has been fun and all, but she looks like she could blow a gasket here if he doesn’t do some damage control. He pulls his laptop from his bag. “I’m not here to sabotage your GPA.” He clicks out of an email from Rosehill, pulling up his assignment. “I was going to put them in the doc when I was done. I’ve got like two questions left. Alright? Look.” He gestures to the screen.

“Oh,” the word is hollow, all of her momentum pulled out from under her. “Okay.” She looks down at her desk, fidgeting with her pens. “Sorry.”

She’s pretty quiet after that. He doesn't know how to tell her it isn't a big deal, because she's obviously worrying about it. He hasn't interacted with her all that much, but he can already tell that she’s the type of person who, if she doesn't say what she's thinking with her words, she’ll say it with her face.

“Do you want to just finish this over lunch today?” He doesn’t know why he said that. Most of him doesn't know why he cares, but there's a part of him that sort of feels bad for her. Regardless, the words are out before he can stop them.

“You mean, like, together?” she asks, perking up visibly.

“No, Charlie. At two different tables in the UC,” he shakes his head. “Yes, of course I meant together.”

She smiles and nods quickly, “great!”

Last time, he was the first out of the room. Now, he’s standing there, arms crossed, waiting for Charlotte to pack up all of her pens and highlighters and notebooks. He lets her get mostly done, before telling her she can meet up with him outside. The building is old, and the ceilings are low. He wouldn't call it a phobia, but doesn’t like spending a ton of time in a small room when he could be out under an open sky.

He’s about to reach the front door when her rapid footsteps follow down the stairs after him. He turns in time to see Charlotte tripping over the last step. Automatically, he reaches forward, grabbing her before she can faceplant on the old tile.

“Thanks,” she says finding her footing, her face burning with embarrassment. “Uh, good catch.”

Once she’s steady, he pulls away and continues on.

“You really only have one setting, huh?”

“I guess,” she gives an embarrassed laugh, following him outside.

He takes a breath of the fresh air, relaxing a bit now that he doesn’t have that low ceiling caging him in. Charlotte falls into step beside him.

“I transferred here from Lee Summit,” she offers without prompting. The name of the college gives him pause.

Lee Summit is a good school. More importantly, It’s mostly an augmented school. A very odd choice for some random mundane. Is she trying to tell him something without saying it outloud? He scans her over quickly. Blonde, freckles, pink glitter pen tucked behind her ear. It’s impossible to discern if someone is augmented just by looking at them. It's not like they make you go around wearing a cape. If she has an ability… why would she come here of all places? Maybe she has a lame ability and she couldn't keep up at Lee Summit. But still, here? Bayshear is entirely mundane. One hundred percent. There isn’t even an augmented variation on any of the degree maps here.

“Sort of a downgrade, don’t you think?” he asks, casually gauging her reaction.

“No,” she answers a little too quickly. She grips the straps of her backpack a little tighter as she continues, “The science program here is one of the best in the country. The scholarship programs are elite, and besides, the campus is prettier.”

It sounds to him like she has made this argument before. He wonders if she was reasoning this out to convince someone else, or for herself.

“Think what you want. I know I’m not going to change your mind,” she shrugs, not giving him any more information. After a beat she asks, “did you transfer from Rosehill or are you trying to get in?”

He almost stops walking, the stutter in his step nearly causes her to collide into him. He faces her more fully now, his posture straightening. Why would she know that? Suspicion weighs heavy on his brow.

“Sorry,” she says, seeing his reaction, “I saw the logo on your computer in class.” She’s more observant than he gave her credit for. “If you think Bayshear is a downgrade from Lee Summit, this must be like rock bottom for you.”

“Yeah. It is.” His voice is sharp. He turns away, hoping she’ll take the hint and drop it.

“So, you’re trying to move on to bigger and better?” Maybe her observational skills are selective.

“No. Transferred from there to here.” His brow furrows.

She obviously doesn’t know him, doesn't recognize his name, doesn't connect him to his past. He doesn't know why he’s so on edge about that, he used to wear his reputation as a badge of honor but here… it doesn't feel relevant anymore. If anything it would just make things messy. Ultimately, It wouldn’t matter if she knew, it’s not like he’s under an oath to keep his ability a secret here. It's just that thinking about dealing with all that goes along with it makes him tired.

So, this maybe-mundane just knows the legacy of Rosehill and is obviously curious about why anyone would leave there for here. He can’t fault her for her curiosity. He can see she obviously wants to ask him about it.

“Bad behavior,” he says with a shrug before she can articulate the question.

She is quiet for a moment, finally picking up that he isn't interested in talking about it. They walk together several paces before she speaks up again.

“I’m majoring in wildlife biology, with an emphasis in conservation," she states. Once again, with zero prompting from him.

“Okay.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” He asks coldly, still on edge from their talk of Rosehill.

“What’s your major?”

“History,” he says. She looks at him, like she’s expecting more. “There’s an unofficial emphasis on literary history. I want to get my masters in Library Science and be an archivist.”

“Oh. That’s—” she flounders for the rest of that sentence.

“You can say you think it’s boring,” a wry smile pulls at his lips.

“No! no, that’s not what I’m thinking. I just- It seems. I don’t know. I guess I just imagine archivists as like, super old… or at least super nerdy. You seem too cool.”

He laughs audibly, caught off guard by that. She blushes, stumbling over herself trying to somehow take back what she said. Maybe-mundane or not, he can't ignore that she's pretty fun to talk to.

“I just imagine it would be lonely,” she eventually lands there.

She eyes her keys on the coffee table. Felix is probably still asleep. The idea flits across her mind. She could just… go. Then she wouldn’t have to face him. It’s tempting… But she would have to see him again eventually. Leaving now might make a bigger mess of things. Staying just feels like the wrong choice, but leaving definitely feels worse. She wishes that she knew the rules for something like this.

What would a normal person do? She wonders.

They probably wouldn’t get themselves in this situation in the first place.

Finally, after deciding that arguing with herself about hypotheticals is a futile venture, she pulls herself up and faces the empty living room. She gladly takes the medicine he set out for her, hoping it will quell the dull ache behind her eyes. Then, bracing herself, she checks her phone. One look at her notifications, she puts it right back down again. It’s too early for that.

She wasn’t surprised by this, but she had nothing from her friends. Not an apology, not even a ‘did you get back safe?’ Nothing. All of her messages are from Jeremey. He was probably blowing up her phone all night. Dumb, overprotective-

The consequences of her actions can wait.

She rises to her feet and trudges down the hall to the bathroom, putting some much-needed distance between her and the inevitable lecture she’s going to get from her brother.

Washing her face and brushing her teeth help her scrape together the crumbs of her dignity and leave her feeling almost human.

She faces the mirror, oh right. She’s wearing his clothes. He had given her the shirt and sweatpants to wear, but she’s remembering now; she pulled on his hoodie while it still had his warmth clinging to the fabric. It was a cozy feeling. It still is, or it would be if she wasn’t so embarrassed by her own shameless audacity. Especially considering immediately after putting on his hoodie she just went and- alright that’s enough, thinking privileges revoked.

On her way back to the couch, she notices the house properly. She’s almost surprised her footsteps don’t echo here. Open floor plan, high ceilings, concrete floors, she supposes it makes sense for Felix. Or, at least, it makes sense for what Felix can do. She can hardly imagine a room large enough to contain him, but maybe the lofty ceilings would give him a bit of wiggle room, should he need it.

Given the size of the house, he could host quite the party here. The space isn’t designed for that at all though. Despite furniture existing in the space, it’s all very utilitarian… maybe even lonely. There doesn’t appear to be art on the walls… or really, any decoration whatsoever. At least, not any that she’s found. It’s very different from her dorm, her walls are covered in pictures, and her shelves and desk are cluttered with trinkets. It’s a pseudo-organized chaos, and it makes her smile. This isn’t the sort of space that smiles back at you.

She flops back onto the couch with a sigh, happy for a chance to leave her wandering thoughts and revisiting sleep. As she drifts off, she wonders if she should paint him a picture or something.

---

The hour is much more agreeable when she wakes up again. Her headache has subsided, her mouth doesn’t taste so bad. She reaches her arms above her head in a lavish stretch when she hears his door open and his footsteps approaching from down the hall. In that instant, she wishes for an ability. Invisibility, teleportation, time travel. Hell, even something that would just make everyone forget last night. As always, she’s got nothing. She sits up, resigning herself to the fact that it’s time to pay the piper, so to speak.

“Well,” he says, leaning one shoulder against the wall at the entrance to the living room, “you survived.”

“Barely,” she grumbles. “Thank you, by the way for…” she hesitates, “do we need to talk about… all of that?”

“Oh, definitely,” a wicked grin spreads across his face. “What do you want to start with? We could talk about how you climbed me like a tree, or how about how  you were pissed I wouldn’t let your drunk ass snuggle me all night long?”

Of course, the one time he isn’t avoidant and standoffish. He had to pick now to be the most straight forward he’s ever been. She buries her face in the blanket, managing only a strangled noise. He laughs easily.

“Relax,” he crosses the room and plops down on the couch next to her. “Good deeds look great on my record. A few more of those and maybe they’ll let me go back to Rosehill,” he chuckles.

She jumps at the opportunity to change the subject, “I thought you said you just decided to transfer here.”

“I lied,” he shrugs. “The board sent me here; I didn’t have a choice.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I don’t think they’ve ever had to deal with someone like me before. They didn’t like that they couldn’t control me, so they sent me here. That’s what really happened,” he’s being surprisingly candid.

“Sorry, that’s the policy? Send volatile supers to this little mundane school and just, what, hope for the best?”

“Ooh. Volatile,” he says the word playfully, but his eyes flash dangerously. “Is that what I am?” He quirks a brow her way, slinging his arms casually over the back of the couch and consequently, behind her. His arm doesn’t drape over her shoulder, or even touch her, but he’s incredibly caviler about the distance between them. She doesn’t know what to make of that.

“No offense,” is all she can really say.

He shrugs, “It doesn’t matter.”

“It just… that seems really dangerous, you know?”

“Yeah. It is. For me.”

She looks at him strangely.

“I mean, really. Cause a scene here and I would probably never see the sun again,” he scoffs, but there is a tightness to his tone. It makes sense, they wouldn’t send him here and hope for the best. They would have a plan. It wasn’t just a simple transfer so they wouldn’t have to deal with him, it was an escalation. “They probably want me to mess up. I’m not stupid. I don’t fuck with mundanes. They can’t fight back,” then he adds, with his signature cocky grin, “where’s the fun in that?”

He sort of sounds like he’s joking… but she doesn’t think he is.

“And the first time we talked doesn’t count, I guess?” She raises a brow, matching his ‘probably joking but maybe not’ tone.

“Please,” he rolls his eyes, “you weren’t in any danger,” he says with a shake of his head.

“Really? None of what happened seemed dangerous to you? You dropped me.”

“I pretended to drop you. Besides, I thought you might have had an ability. I just wanted to prove a point and scare you off. It obviously didn’t work.”

He finally looks over at her. He is closer than he needs to be with his arm not quite around her. He pulls back, his arm retreating only far enough to catch a lock of her hair and twirl it gently between his fingers.

She goes still, not daring to even breathe.

“I’m glad it didn’t work,” he adds softly, tucking the strand of hair behind her ear. “So,” he moves on like nothing happened, “what are you doing today? You want breakfast or something?” He stands, and heads to the kitchen, leaving her alone on the couch, cheeks burning as she reels from what just happened. Again she thinks, drunk Charlie... WHAT did you do?

Then, just like that, the moment has evaporated. That was so casual, but it wasn’t.

That wasn’t proximity born out of necessity, it wasn’t him tolerating her as she invades his personal space. That was deliberate. She lifts a hand, touching near her ear where his fingers had been.

“Um, y-yeah. No plans. Breakfast sounds good,” she manages, hoping she wasn’t too obviously dazed for too long before answering him.

Even if she did have plans today, she would have cancelled them.

She gets up, following him to the kitchen and takes a seat on a barstool.

“How do you like your eggs?”

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“It’s just eggs, Charlie. Let’s manage expectations here. Honestly, I’m hoping you say ‘scrambled,’ because that’s really all I can do.

“Sounds good to me,” she smiles.

“And, hey, I don’t want to brag or anything, but I have a box mix, so pancakes can definitely happen too.”

“Woah. Where is your Michelin star?”