ria

Your departure was bittersweet, full of tearful goodbyes and well wishes as you got on the road. You were going to miss your parents. After all, none of this would have been possible without their support. But nothing sounded better than freedom. It was a fresh start, a new beginning. Free from the confines of your parent’s overbearing nature. 

𝜗ৎ Hobie Brown, who never would’ve thought he would’ve ended up here. 

Contributing to institutional wealth was never one of his long-term goals. But he didn’t have many options. From the very beginning, he knew he wanted to be a musician. He’d spend hours practicing in his parent’s basement, honing his skill until he was able to perform for more receptive audiences. He also created art. Whether it be newspapers collages or spray-painting political graffiti, he found a way. 

It was a decent way of living. Well, up until he got caught spray-painting along the free-way. After that, his mom forced him to make a choice. Either he’d go to school, or get a job. A real one, she accentuated. Not some gig at a hole in the wall. 

So, after one of her famous lectures, here he was. A younger him would’ve laughed at the idea. Going to class like an ordinary bloke. But then again, he never thought sending in that portfolio would actually get him accepted. 

Naturally, he made the most of it. Learning new concepts, testing new sounds. It wasn’t all that bad, if he ignored the fact that he was racking up in debt. Even better, he found people who thought just like him and was able to have long, meaningful conversations with. 

Then there was you. Miss Priss. Pretty in pink. Those names, among others, would float around in his head whenever he saw you, mouth curling up in a sneer. Your heels clicked as you walked across the hall, your friends all chatting amongst you about whatever filled their pretty little heads at the moment. Clothes, cars, all things you were interested in - just not the extent they were. Still, you were pretty much all the same. Trust fund babies whose parents bought their way in. 

You catch his eye momentarily, a glimpse of his stare filling your frame of view. His eyes, a rich amber brown are striking, much like the snakebite pierced through his lip. Your face immediately hardens, nose scrunching in disgust. 

A light scoff leaves your throat as you look away, shifting the books in your grasp. Unfortunately your friends had caught the entire interaction. You know what’s coming once their hushed whispers find your ears, right before Olivia taps a manicured finger on your shoulder. Her eyes dancing between the two of you, bleached brows lifted curiously. Her honey brown locs particularly blend in with her skin, which had been dusted with a rich cranberry scent. 

“ Uhh, who was that? “ 

You roll your eyes in your head. “ Nothing. Just some guy.” 

Their gazes however, persist, and you shift uncomfortably. Talking about the guy you constantly went back and forth wasn’t ideal, but you knew they wouldn’t let up once they figured it out for themselves. Better for it to come out of your mouth than someone else’s. 

“ It’s whatever, he’s just some guy from my debate class. He’s a pest, okay? “ 

𝜗ৎ Prep! Reader who puts all her focus into staring forward, ignoring the playful stares she knows her friends are giving each other. 

They’re probably coming up with their own interpretations of your little interaction, much to your dismay. It wasn’t thrilling by any means. He had been doing stuff like that since you met him. 

“ He was probably just trying to get your attention.“ Grace suggests, full lips pulled back in a smile. Her pearly whites stand out against her deep complexion, as she tosses her dark waves over her shoulder. Of course, someone like her would be used to it, gaining admirers left and right. Fortunately you knew better. 

“ Don’t even joke like that. “ As if Hobie would ever find you compelling. Not like you cared or anything. But at most - you were a good laugh when he needed picking up. It was like you were his antithesis - a personification of everything his ideals stood for. He made that very clear throughout the short time you two have known each other. 

“ I don’t know…I think he’s kinda cute. “ Maddie, the much shyer of your foursome chimes in. Her giggles bubble through the air, the other girls softly ooo-ing at her. At that point, you choose to block out the rest of the banter, considering it a protection of your sanity. 

𝜗ৎ Hobie Brown who keeps his eyes trained on you, following the slight sway in your step. They trail after you until you stop at the end of the hall, exchanging hugs and blowing kisses goodbye, before disappearing around the corner. His thumb toys idly with the strap of his guitar, gliding over the smooth nylon. 

Your responses, as always, were satisfying. But he can't help but feel a little disappointed. He knew you were holding back. Typically something like that would earn him a snark remark. Maybe the middle finger. But you were with your friends, and that always meant you needed to save face. 

 You two had been like this since the very beginning. It all started in the only class in which you two shared, which was one of Hobie’s favorites. An elective to you, a requirement for him. It was towards the end of class and you had just gotten up from your seat, when he bumped into you from behind. 

“ Hey, watch it! “ 

To be fair, Hobie should’ve paid more attention where he was going, especially considering his guitar was on his back - but he couldn’t scrounge up enough sympathy when he catches sight of you. 

It was as if you had stepped out of a fashion magazine. Pink kitten heels adorn your feet, a strappy bow resting in the middle. The purse hanging on your forearm looked like it was worth thousands. Your hair, silk press curled firmly by rollers, framed your face, falling softly against your shoulders. A dot sits firmly on your cheekbone, like a sprinkle of stardust. 

You were beautiful, but he’d be lying if he said you were his type. Especially when the next word that came from your mouth demands more from him.

“ Well? “ Your foot taps against the floor, hand placed deftly on your hip. You weren’t gonna ask again. 

He was all too familiar with your kind. The kind that he had watched his parents work for all his life. The kind that would step all over others to get what they want. He figured you’d need the reality check sooner or later. And it only became easier once you shot him a glare with those pretty almond eyes. 

A snicker left his throat before he shrugged his shoulders, tucking his hands into his pin-addled vest. 

“ Sorry, about that babes. Migh’ wanna watch where you’re goin’ though, yeah? “

Was it petty? Yes. Couldn’t he just apologize? Absolutely. But then he wouldn’t have been able to feel the overwhelming satisfaction that swelled within his chest. He couldn’t pretend like your little tiffs didn’t excite him. How easily you bounced off him, always having a witty comeback just on the tip of your tongue in the face of his antagonism. He’d never admit it, but he was growing accustomed to your presence, a need that only grew the longer you were apart. 

Whatever. It’s not like you wouldn’t see each other in class. 

𝜗ৎ Prep! Reader who just so happens to run into Hobie again. This time near her favorite study spot. 

You tap your mechanical pencil against the table, trying to block out the sounds that seep into your brain. The band down the hall had been exceptionally noisy, having gone on for about an hour. Your partner from another class, Kyle, looks over the screen of his laptop, brows furrowed in concern. 

“ Y'sure it's not too loud? We can leave if you want. “ 

It takes a minute for his voice to register, your eyes still darting across the text on your screen. Only once you feel his eyes on you do you catch him staring. 

“ Oh, no, no, it’s okay. I like this spot anyways. “

You smile nervously, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. Kyle smiled and bobbed his head, before returning back to his screen. 

You couldn’t help but feel a little bad for subjecting him to this. After all, you were the one who had suggested the spot, considering it had been relatively peaceful. The crash of cymbals and bass reverberating throughout the halls were a shock to both of you, but you decided to just stick it out. Just a couple more notes and then you could pack up and head back to the dorms. 

Of course, it’s much easier said than done. You’re blanking as Kyle breezes through his work, unable to formulate a thought. You just couldn’t push the music out of your head. In spite of every fiber in your being shouting not to, your eyes shoot towards the end of the hall, where the music blasts. It’s as if the longer it goes, the more your patience is shredded, much like the harsh notes emanating from the guitar. 

“ Welp, that should cover it! “ Kyle rises from his chair, lifting his bag off the back. Whether in a packed cafe or in the comfort of his dorm, he always managed to get the job done. As for you, well… 

The sight of your unfinished notes fills your line of view, as you remain seated. You stare up at him with drooped eyebrows, and he flashes a sympathetic grin. 

“ Don’t worry, ♡. We’ve got till next week! “ 

You grumble under your breath, stuffing your laptop unceremoniously into your bag. If you could’ve just put your stubbornness aside, that wouldn’t even have been necessary. This weekend could’ve been spent driving up to the mall with your friends. Instead, you’d be stuck in your dorm room, forced to finish something that could've been done ages ago. And although it was completely unearned, you curse whoever was behind the music. 

Although, you already had an inclination of who it could be. 

𝜗ৎ Hobie Brown, who had just finished his first set on campus. The energy in the room was electric, as the four of them pushed their bodies to the limit. His fingers stung as they plucked at the strings, the cacophony of sound propelling him forward. He would’ve forgotten this was a place of learning, had a teacher not come by and closed the door for them. 

Typically they would be able to play as loud as they want - but seeing as how they were five miles away from his parent’s garage, this would have to suffice. Thankfully his mates were more than understanding. 

“ Man, this sucks arse. “ Issac leans back in his chair, tossing his arms over his head. His red spikes glow bright under the sun’s rays - almost as if flames sprout from his head. The drummer was always quite expressive, saying whatever came to mind first. “ One week till the gig, and we’re havin’ to scram. “

While Hobie hated to agree, it wasn’t far from the truth. The band’s usual two hour sessions would be cut down to just forty-five minutes - as per the limit for everyone else who would rent out rooms. Yet another drawback of being in school, along with lugging their equipment up flights of stairs.

“ Relax, bruv. “ The low baritone of Jude’s voice rings out, as he unhooks the microphone. He wraps the cord loosely around the wrist as he strides towards its case. “ We still ‘ave the weekend. “ He turns to Hobie for confirmation, butterfly locs swinging against his head. 

Hobie gives a slight nod of his head, before lifting his guitar over his shoulders. The tightly packed tension in them becomes increasingly more apparent, and he groans, rolling them back and forth. Thankfully a crewmate would be able to hole them up for the weekend, and he makes a mental note to check in before the time comes. Thankfully Luka, the bassist for the band whips out his phone, shooting over a text. Hobie flashes him a grin, the former nodding in response. 

“ Yeah, yeah, whatever. “ Issac’s voice returns, as he traverses around the room. He’s taken to drumming his sticks on any surface he can find, adrenaline still running through him. “ Long as I don’ ‘ave to carry those drums by myself. “ 

“ Maybe don’ mouth off next time. “

Luka’s comment leaves his mouth so casually, it takes a moment to set in. Surely enough, the trio burst out into laughter, replacing the fervent melody which once filled the room. Issac storms over, giving Luka a shove - one which he fails to dodge.

“ Piss off. “ 

𝜗ৎ Hobie Brown, who hangs back as the others step out for a break. There was still a decent amount of time, and the building wouldn’t close till late. He figured he might as well get some more practice in while the boys stocked up on snacks.  

He fixes his guitar in his lap, fingers plucking the strings, as he remembers the rhythm. His hands move faster now, leg bouncing along to the tune.

In the midst of it all, he had forgotten the boys left the door open. Since it was just him, it would be unlikely for someone would come by and chastise him on the volume, but he could care less.

It’s no surprise the soft echo of heels fail to register, just as they stop right outside the door. His brows furrow once that familiar voice cuts through, making his fingers still. 

“ I should’ve known it was you. “ 

𝜗ৎ Hobie Brown, who whips his head up to see you staring back at him, eyes narrowed and arms folded. Your heel taps against the floor as you size him up. His eyes widen with curiosity, fingers settling along the base of his guitar. He could only guess why you were here. 

“ Well ‘ello there, Ms. Priss. Came to watch me play? “  He says, enjoying the disgruntled scrunch of your nose. He knows you hate that nickname. 

As he kicks his feet up, his eyes drag subtly over your figure, taking in your outfit for today. A soft pink v-neck sweater paired with a mini gray pencil skirt. He chuckles internally. Stylish as always. Meanwhile Hobie’s wearing whatever he had lying around his dorm room: a black tank, skinny jeans and a second-hand pair of doc martens. He’d never thought to make an impression, especially since this was already such a waste of time. 

You let out a hum, tapping your finger along the side of your cheek, brows furrowing in mock thought.

“ Tell me, Hobie. Do you always practice here? Or is it just to piss me off? “ 

“ Woah, slow down.  “ He throws up his hands, chuckling lightly. “ I ‘ave no idea what you’re talkin’ about. “ 

He really didn’t. But he’s sure that’s not what you’d want to hear, as the tight glare on your face doesn’t dissipate. Instead you tilt your head, gesturing towards the door.

“ Really? You don’t know that there’s a library right down the hall? “ 

“ Beats me. “ he shrugs. “ Thought you had just come for the tunes. “ 

You huffed out a laugh. “ As if. I was trying to study but your racket kept distracting me. “ 

“ It's a shame you don’ know any’hing about good music. “ He claims, voice coming out in a lazy drawl. His arms hang over the back of the chair, using his foot to tilt it backwards.   

“ Is that what you call it? “ 

Hobie’s brows lift at your tone, in a brief moment of astonishment. What he'd normally consider an insult, perhaps even worthy of arguing about - he took as a challenge. He knew you were lying. If you were so annoyed by him as you claimed to be, you wouldn’t have come in here to tell him off. He fights back another chuckle, biting his bottom lip. You liked him, you just couldn’t admit it yet. That’s fine. He could play it your way. 

“ My bad. Guessin’ they didn’t teach ya that in prep school. “

Hobie watched with glee as the expression on your face morphed. The brief moment of satisfaction had swept away as soon as it appeared. You gave him that look. The same one when he’d undermine your opinion in class, or park in your favorite spot before you got the chance. The sharp scent of cinnamon would pass him by just as swiftly as your heel missed his foot. It made his head rush. 

“ You're really something y'know that? “ Your voice comes out shakily, fists balled against your sides. 

“ So I've been told. “ His smile is the icing on the cake, and the usual aggravation is paired with a stirring in your stomach. Feelings you’ve buried deep down subconsciously start rising to the surface. It’s what sends you straight out the door, ignoring his obnoxious laughter, pacing quickly down the halls. You ignore his calls after you. They’re merely background noise as your heart beats rapidly in your ears, making a break for your dorm room. 

An exhausted sigh leaves your lips, as you shut the door, pressing your forehead against it. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t like you at all to lose your cool like that. You’ve always prided yourself on your riposte, having a smart remark at the ready for anyone who needed it. One of the main reasons you chose debate in the first place. 

But if you had known that would’ve gotten you mixed up with Hobie Brown - the utter bane of your existence, you would’ve never signed up for the class. You toss yourself onto your bed in a huff, screams muffling into your pillow. It was unbelievable how easily he was able to get under your skin. How was it that someone so hopeless could have this much of an effect on you? These thoughts only remain as you sulk off into the bathroom, eager to scrub off the embarrassment from your latest interaction. 

As the bathroom fills with steam, you set up your playlist before stepping into the shower. The warmth immediately comforts you, providing some much needed relief. You wet your loofa with a few pumps of sweetpea scented bodywash, beginning to lather your body. The soothing notes playing through your phone help calm your nerves, but do little to quell the storm in your mind.

This was bound to come to light, due to the pressure of your shared tension. eternal fight to gain the upperhand. God, you just hope you didn’t make it too obvious. Your stomach twists into knots, already fearing the worst. You remember the way he called out to you, the franticness of his tone not fully registering due to your state of mind. He was probably just concerned, even if the idea feels unbefitting. 

Still, that didn’t help the thoughts swirling around in your head. You told yourself you hated him. Hated his smug face. The way his lips would curl into a smirk after you answered a question wrong. A dimple would pop up in his right cheek, and you’d ignore the burning heat in yours. 

That familiar stirring returns in your stomach, and you sink to the floor in despair. It was no secret Hobie was attractive. He could just be so annoying at times that it got in the way. 

You’d rather chew aluminum than admit you had feelings for Hobie Brown. It was either that, or face utter humiliation.