Can u write an enemies to lovers fic of Grayson X reader??? Plsss!!
thank you for your request and I apologise for the delay in writing it, my request list has been mountainous for a little while now and this particular fic actually also had lots of rewrites before the final piece. It began as an academic rivals sort of thing, then became family-feud but finally ended with whatever this is. Iâm praying you enjoy this đ¤đ¤
title: weâre just project partners
pairing: grayson hawthorne x (first person) reader
synopsis: youâre partnered with the one person you hate to complete a project you love⌠but what if heâs not as bad as you thought
warnings: swearing, gray-bae is being a nasty little b-word (BUT ITS FOR THE PLOT OKAY)
a/n: I am alive!! Itâs just taken me a week and a bit to post again, Iâm writing three fics at once so this one just happened to be done first
taglist: @lovethornes @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @fleuriosa @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31 @loveinalocket
âYouâve got to be kidding me,â I roll my eyes, eyeing the names on the board.
It just has to be him doesnât it.
âThere must be a mistake,â Grayson says. I turn my head to look at him, for once we can agree on something.
âNo there is no mistake,â the professor tusks, âclass dismissed.â
Everyone gets up and begins to pack their stuff, chatting about the project and their partners and various other things. It sucks when you have no classes with your friends, but it sucks even more when you get partnered with your rival for a project.
Iâm about to walk out of the classroom when I hear my name.
âY/n l/n, come back a moment!â
I stop myself from rolling my eyes, I just want to go home. I spin around and sluggishly walk back to the teacherâs desk where she stands and beside her is the infamous arrogant prat Grayson Hawthorne.
âYou have to change it,â Grayson snaps quickly, his voice so insistent, so sharp. I look up to see heâs gesturing to our names beside one anotherâs. Classic Hawthorne. Thinks he can command people to do whatever he pleases just because he feels entitled enough to do so.
âWhat you gonna do, bribe her if she says no?â I scoff, arms folded.
They both ignore me but my lip still quirk upwards, proud of the pathetic joke Iâd made, even if I was the only one who found it funny.
âThere will be no changes Mr Hawthorne,â our professor replies sincerely.
âYou donât understand,â he shakes his head so vigorously I have to bite back a laugh, âI canât work with her.â
âWell youâre going to have to,â she says, âthis is 30% of your grade for the year.â
His eyes widen and he almost looks panicked. Almost. Nevertheless it amuses me to see the stoic, ironclad blonde crack for mere seconds.
âProfessor please,â he says so desperately heâs practically begging, which Iâd always thought was too beneath him to do, âsheâs impossible.â
âIâm impossible?â I raise my eyebrows.
He rolls his eyes and turns back to our teacher, âanyone but her. Iâll do it by myself if I have to.â
âIâve told you once and I will only repeat myself one more time, there will be no changes made,â she says too calmly, âI donât see the problem, you are both excellent students with some of the highest marks Iâve seen in my time. You need to get past whatever this little tiff is and move on. Bounce off of each other, enlighten each other, create a show stopping presentation.â
Such a teacher answer to give. Played off to be inspirational, really just a nice way of saying get on with it or you fail.
âOn the contrary Miss, I think Hawthorne here is the only one kicking up a fuss, I havenât uttered a word,â I point out.
âThat may be true but donât you think I can see the vicious looks aimed at both him and me?â she asks, accusation in her tone.
So maybe the dirty looks werenât as sly as Iâd thought them to be. Still, it wasnât like he didnât deserve them.
âI donât know what youâre talking about,â I lie through my teeth, sweetened smile to sugarcoat it further.
âPerhaps it should be discussed in a detention then, Iâm free after school tomorrow,â she proposes, her smile even sweeter than mine.
âNo, no, that isnât necessary,â I say quickly, âIâm suddenly horribly aware of the looks Iâve been giving.â
Iâm not the kind of girl who gets detentions, actually Iâd never gotten one in my life and I didnât intend to change that. My record was perfect, it was going to stay perfect. My professor, annoyingly, knew that a bit too well.
âGood, I suppose no detention then,â she says, âand what about you Mr Hawthorne, would you like to discuss your stubborn means to switch partners in a detention with me?â
âNo thank you,â he grits through his teeth, his jaw nearly set in stone. I fight back a grin at his irritation.
âChallenges are good for the mind,â she smiles, âand I have a feeling you two will very much challenge one another. You once told me you liked a challenge, no?â
âI do,â Grayson nods slowly, then side glances at me, âbut not of this kind.â
I think it was meant to be an insult towards me but it was so poor it didnât even come close to mildly hurting me so I donât bother to respond.
âTry something new, branch out a little,â our professor shrugs, âand who knows, you may even enjoy each otherâs company.â
âThat is very optimistic,â I scoff at the same time as Grayson says, âthat will never happen.â
âOnly time will tell,â she replies with a whimsical look in her eyes, âgood luck.â
We exit the classroom in the coldest of silences. Any colder and we wouldâve had an ice palace with an interesting rendition of âlet it goâ. I vote Grayson plays Elsa.
He actually barely spares me a glance, with his jaw all clenched and tightened. I wonder at one point if heâs breathing. Heâs so tense, the feeling smothers the air around me, suffocating any sense of relaxation. I turn to leave the building.
âWhere are we going?â he questions, too assertive for my liking.
âIâm going home,â I tell him bluntly.
He furrows his brows, âwhy?â
âTo get changed,â I deadpan.
âWhy?â he repeats. I try to read his emotions but theyâre not clear enough to define. Heâs accustomed to hiding them.
I stare at him, âI donât need to explain myself to you.â
âFine, weâll meet here in 15 minutes,â he decides.
I donât reply as I turn on my heels and walk away.
***
After getting changed and piecing together all of the things I might need to study, all my notes and books and highlighters and pens, I walked back over to our âmeeting placeâ. As I approach Grayson is already stood there with a sour expression on his face. Of course heâs already there.
âYouâre late,â he tells me, his voice so bitter I wonder how many lemons it would take to rival it.
âNo Iâm exactly on time,â I sneer, flicking my phone in his face.
âItâs been 15 minutes and 43 seconds, so technically youâre 43 seconds late,â he smirks. I almost feel sorry for him because I can see how proud he feels after saying this, sense the smugness burning in his chest.
âDid you count?â I try extremely hard to suppress my laughter.
âOf course not, I wouldnât waste my breath on that,â he rolls his eyes, then pauses slightly, â⌠I set a timer.â
âOf course you did,â I purse my lips with a sigh.
His screws his face up, âwhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âItâs supposed to mean youâre a weird person who would time someone going home to get changed,â I shrug, attempting to walk past him.
Talk about being late, when he was the one stood here chattering on about meaningless subjects. He ignores the comment and briskly stands in front of me to block me from walking any further.
âWhat are you wearing anyway?â he asks, looking down on me with great distaste with all but his eyes.
âClothes,â I deadpan, staring down at my much loved and slightly over worn band tee-shirt.
âTheyâre awful,â he tells me bluntly.
âWas that meant to hurt me?â I raise an eyebrow. I mean sure, it hurt a little, but I didnât actually care what he thought. Or I shouldnât at least.
âYou couldâve picked something a little nicer to wear in public,â he continues, so cut-throat and cold.
I look directly into his mellowed silver eyes and wonder how someone with such soft, inviting eyes could be so sharp and jagged with the words he uses.
âWorried Iâll ruin your street credit,â I tease, âsully your good name with my sports leggings and band t-shirt?â
âIâm just surprised at your lack of care for your appearance,â he replies, a slight discomfort worming its way through his features. It makes me smile a little.
âI just think Iâm not as fixated on it as you, I mean whatâs with your outfit, James Bond? Do you own anything thatâs not a suit and tie,â I ask.
âMatter-o-factly I do,â he replies bluntly as if to end the conversation.
So of course I continue it, âso do you just stare at those clothes then, hanging in your walk in wardrobe.â
His eyes snap up and his stare is suddenly so piercing it hurts to hold eye contact, âhow do you know I have a walk in wardrobe,â he practically spits, in a defensive tongue.
I snort, âthat was a joke, but yeesh rich boy youâve got it all.â
âRich boy, how original,â Grayson comments.
âIâve got more,â I shoot back with that smile I know makes his blood boil and skin singe.
âSpare me them,â he responds, âsweetheart.â
A forbidden fluttering occurs in the pit of my stomach, itâs as if eight hundred butterflies have decided to dance a jive there. Some feeling between guilt and shame settles in my chest. The word sweetheart shouldnât make me feel anything, least of all from the mouth of Grayson Hawthorne.
But it was the way he said it, so softly, so smoothly, the word just rolled off of his tongue like heâd called me it for years. It almost sounded nice. The guilt weighs heavier on my chest and I snap out of it. I donât feel anything. For anyone. Least of all him.
âAwww youâve got a nickname for me too Goldilocks,â I reply with a laugh to bury the truth.
âDid you not hear the spare me part?â he tusks, beginning to walk.
I shake my head, walking a little faster than usual to keep up with his strides, âsorry I usually donât listen when someone irrelevant talks.â
He scowls at me and I wink back.
âDid your face get stuck in a permanent scowl as a child or were you just born unhappy?â I cock my head to the side and narrow my eyes.
âDo you ever shut up?â Grayson asks flatly.
âMy therapist told me not to hold back,â I shrug.
âDoesnât that explain a lot,â he says dryly, shooting me a look that makes me feel inferior. I go to bite my tongue, but ask myself when Iâm trying to hold back. I donât owe him anything.
I stare at him, âdonât look so disgusted blondie, just because youâre too up yourself to admit you need help doesnât mean all of us are.â
âI donât need help,â Grayson replies, each word candid and dull.
Something in me almost feels sorry for him. Did he really think he didnât need help? Did he really feel that alone and isolated? I wanted, in that moment, to reach out and be there for him. Then I remember who he is.
âWhatever you say,â I sigh.
âWeâre working at my house,â he responds abruptly, as we get to the end of the street.
I fold my arms and raise my eyebrows, âsays who?â
âMe,â he shrugs.
âAnd who are you to tell me where Iâm working?â I ask.
âIâm your partner and Iâm making a decision,â he presses on, stubbornly. Little does he know, Iâm twice as stubborn and Iâm not going to back down.
âI donât think you really understand how this whole project thing works,â I say.
âIâve done plenty of projects and I can very much assure you, I understand what Iâm doing,â he grumbles back, clearly annoyed that he isnât getting his way this time. Someone has to teach him I suppose.
âOh great,â I smile sickeningly sweetly, âthen weâre not working at yours.â
âWhy on earth not?â he screws up his face as if Iâve just told him I want to skin a cat alive.
âI donât want to,â I reply simply.
âWell I do,â he argues back.
âThatâs a shame,â I shrug softly, leaving him with no option.
He shakes his head and runs a hand through his perfect hair, âyou are insufferable.â
âThat the worst you got Hawthorne?â I giggle a little, turning left to walk down the pathway.
âAnd impossible,â he says, following me.
âOh you wound me,â I say hyperbolically, putting I hand in my head and feigning a dizzy spell.
Grayson rolls his eyes, heâs done it so many times now Iâm worried they might get stick here soon, âcan we just work?â
âWhere?â I shoot him a lopsided grin.
He sighs, most likely suppressing some very colourful language, âwhy donât you decide seen as my ideas oppose you.â
âMuch like your entire personality,â I let him know.
âMy personality is fine,â he replies, probably trying to soothe his rapidly declining pride under that suit of his.
âMhmmm,â I nod sarcastically, âand I have a unicorn that shits cupcakes called Craig.â
âReally?â he wrinkles his nose, âprofanities?â
âOh no is it too beneath the great Grayson Hawthorne to say fuck every now and then,â I laugh.
He tenses and mutters something under his breath. I donât quite hear the words but you can see heâs fuming. It ignites something in me, a spark. I like seeing him furious. I really like it.
âWhere do you want to work?â he asks me, grey eyes a little too distracting for my liking.
âThe library,â I tell him, my answer almost immediate.
He tries to mask his horror but fails miserably, âin public?â
âYouâre not going to get cholera,â I snort.
âCanât we just work somewhere nicer,â he complains.
âThe library is nice,â I tell him, âand they have a coffee stand outside and I want coffee so thatâs where weâre going.â
âAnd you call me demanding,â he mutters underneath us breath.
***
We walk to the library bickering about how fast he walks and how slow I apparently walk. In my personal opinion I think he was walking fast on purpose, he obviously disagreed.
âDo you even know where youâre going?â I ask him, it now only just dawning on me that he was leading the way yet he didnât know where the library was.
âIâm not an idiot,â Grayson spits back, nose in the air, posture upright and powerful.
He always carries himself like that as if heâs saviour of the world and we should all bow down to kiss his presumably pedicured feet.
âAre you sure?â I tease him.
âCertain,â he snaps regimentally.
âWeâre here,â I say halting conversation to walk up to the coffee stand.
âI knew that,â he mumbled.
He glances at the cart, looking it up and down like it needs to be judged and inspected to his high standards.
âWhat is this?â he interrogates me.
âItâs called a coffee cart in english but in rich boy it might be called something else, I havenât studied the language yet,â I respond coolly.
âIs this even safe to drink?â Grayson says, some variant of worry wavering in his tone.
âItâs coffee,â I deadpan, ânot raw chicken.â
He rolls his eyes in an exaggerated manner.
âI like it and Iâm getting some,â I tell him bluntly, âyou donât want to, you donât have to.â
âNo,â he checks his watch, âI need a coffee, thisâll have to do.â
I donât bother wasting my breath to respond but make a mental note that maybe the Hawthorne wasnât so different from me, addicted to coffee.
âHey Jack,â I wave, walking closer to the cart.
Iâd known Jack for a good eight years of my life, he was my rock. The smile in endless clouds of grey, the light at the end of the tunnel and of course, most importantly, the coffee provider to my caffeine deprived being.
âBonsoir sunshine what can I get you,â he grins his usual grin at me, the witty mischief-ridden grin is known since I was nine years old. His eyes slide over Grayson judgementally though when he realises Iâm watching him he immediately flicks back to his job.
âThe usual of course,â he makes sure.
âYou come here often?â Grayson raises an eyebrow, interrupting my answer.
âJust every day,â Jack says, before I can get a word out. I shoot him a look.
Grayson looks at me, âevery day?â
âI really like coffee,â I explain with an exaggerated hand gesture.
âCoffee is bad for your health,â he responds almost immediately.
I suppress the hundreds of colourful words exploding in my mind settling for a more well-mannered reply, âwell itâs good for my mental stability.â
âSheâs addicted now,â Jack adds, âsheâll get withdrawal symptoms without it.â
âShaking, sweating, you name it, I get it,â I continue.
âThat sounds like a serious health condition,â Grayson says, his eyebrows pinching together. It was so soft I couldâve mistakened the expression for concern. But of course, why would he be concerned for me. I mustâve been reading it wrong.
âHence me buying this coffee,â I tell him.
âBlueberry muffin, on the house,â Jack offers me, as if he didnât every Friday.
We had a deal, I was allowed to take a free blueberry muffin that came out of his earnings if he kept up to date with his school work. Jack had always had a problem with handing things in on time and concentrating and school wasnât his strong point. He hated going and was so close to dropping out too many times. That was until I made him stay. I talked him into it and he promises me he doesnât regret it. It seems this week, heâs turned in all assignments on time.
I smiled, âyou mean on the cart?â
âSure whatever,â he brushes it off, âanything else?â
His eyes dare to skim over Grayson again though he is quick to come back and meet my gaze, his cheeks flush like heâs a child whoâs done something wrong.
I turn to Grayson, âwhat do you want?â
âIâll pay for myself,â he says shortly, looking slightly offended at my question.
I screw up my nose at him, âI wasnât going to offer to pay for you asshole.â
âPlay nice, sunshine,â Jack teases.
I glare at him and his smile quickly fades.
âYou canât play nice with that,â I glower.
He shoots me a look, the turns to Grayson, âwhat can I get you sir?â
âItâs not the evening,â Grayson replies.
Jackâs eyes are lost in a blanket of confusion, âsorry?â
âItâs not the evening itâs the afternoon,â he clarifies, as if it made the meaning of his sentence any clearer.
âYouâve lost me sir,â he shakes his head with furrowed brows.
âYou said bonsoir but it isnât the evening,â he chastises, âitâs afternoon and therefore you shouldâve said bon après-midi.â
Jack turns to me, bewildered, âis he on drugs?â
âProbably,â I shrug. I wouldnât be surprised if the rich kid had private access to that sort of stuff, he probably had the lawyers to cover it up as well.
âAre youâŚâ Jack hesitates, ââŚyou know?â
He makes an odd gesture with two fingers as I confuse to stare at him blankly.
âNo I donât know,â I reply.
âAre you with him,â he asks, âromantically.â
I almost choke on my own spit as I bark out a laugh, âoh god no.â
For a fraction of a second a look of relief passes over Jackâs features. Something uninvited tugs at my insides but I quickly ignore it.
âYouâd be lucky,â Grayson scoffs.
âOh he fancies himself,â Jack grins, clearly amused.
âYeah itâs an ego thing, his is massive,â I explain.
âNo itâs not,â the blonde insists.
âIn denial as well,â Jack smirks, folding his arms.
âAlways,â I say, then turn to Grayson, ânow what do you want to drink because if you donât tell him now Iâm taking mine and ditching you.â
âBlack coffee, no cream, no sugar,â the answer was instant, rehearsed.
âOoo you made a hardcore friend,â Jack snickers, I want to slap him.
âWe are not friends,â I make clear.
âYeesh okay,â he raises his eyebrows, lifting his hands up as if heâd been convicted of a crime.
âAnd letâs be realistic here, rich boy probably has a massive sweet tooth and is too embarrassed to let people know,â I say with a sly smirk.
âOh one hundred percent!â Jack nods, handing me my cup and muffin.
âI do not,â Grayson mutters, but loudly enough for us both to hear.
âThatâs confirmed then,â Jack winks at me.
I giggle as he hands Grayson his drink. We exchange payment and then comes the dreaded point where I actually have to leave to get work done. Usually coming to the library for me was getting to see Jack and getting my coffee, not the actual going to library part.
âSee you tomorrow,â I smiled sadly.
âHopefully without thunder face here,â Jack says.
âI can hear you,â Grayson says curtly, before taking a sip of his coffee.
âI know,â Jack shrugs.
âI hope so too,â I reply to his previous comment, âbye!â
âBye,â he salutes me as I turn around and begin to walk.
Iâm aware that Grayson is by my side but neither of us speak. The only sounds come from our surroundings and the alternating elongated sips of coffee were taking to avoid talking. I practically inhale my muffin, after skipping lunch as school had booked my time table that way.
âI didnât like the way he looked at you,â Grayson says suddenly with a sour expression on his face.
âThe way he looked at me was none of your business,â I reply sharply, indicating for him to drop the subject unless me wanted a fight.
âWell I didnât like it,â he continued. Fine, he wants a fight.
âI donât really care,â I shrug, âheâs Jack, heâs been a friend since freaking kindergarten, heâs got no dishonourable intentions.â
A slight exaggerated lie on my part, but I wasnât ashamed. It feels like Iâve known Jack that long anyway, the technicalities donât matter.
âYou donât know that,â he states.
âI know that better than anyone now back off okay?â I snap, âor you and I will have a real problem.â
He laughs, âyouâre almost adorable when youâre angry.â
âAdorable?â I say, fantasising spitting in his face after that comment.
âAlmost,â he corrects me.
âI can throw a good hard punch and Iâm not afraid to,â I warn him.
âOh Iâm sure youâre not,â he says, a ghost of a smile twitching on his lips, âI can see as much in your eyes.â
âWhat the hell is that supposed to mean?â I ask, raising my voice a little.
He stays quiet and averts his eyes, deciding to ignore me a continue walking.
âOh ignore the question, real mature,â I roll my eyes, âso glad Iâm having a proper adult conversation.â
Silence hits again, like a sonic boom of nothingness. He doesnât even look at me. Itâs as if I donât exist, as if in the last three seconds Iâve become an irrelevant invisible being.
I stop Grayson in his tracks and force him to meet my eyes, âstay away from Jack,â I practically growl, âor Iâll fail this assignment on purpose.â
âWe both know you wouldnât damage your perfectionist reputation for petty revenge,â he murmurs, our faces only inches away from one anotherâs.
âI have a talent for getting myself out of things,â I cock my head to the side in an art of competition, my cheeks flushing at the realisation that I could feel his warm breath on my face.
âHow funny,â he counters, âme too.â
His eyes are narrowed to challenge me. Okay Hawthorne, game on.
***
Weâve been researching for an hour with no further conversation. Since our previous altercation neither one of us had so much as looked up from our laptops. The only reason I knew he was still sat opposite me was the sound of his keyboard typing. I get out my textbook and begin to highlight the lines I need to use
âWhy are you using six different highlighters?â
The first thing he says to me in an hour is that? I donât bother looking up.
âWhy do you care?â I ask, my eyes flicking over to my work, my hands continuing to highlight information.
âItâs annoying me,â he shrugs.
âOkay,â I reply slowly, âit sounds like more of a you problem to me.â
I look up. Grayson is staring right at me, his steel eyes cold looking on my face. He opens his mouth to reply but my surprise gets there first.
âYou wear glasses?â I gape.
âSeen as Iâve had them on for the last hour that would make sense,â he teases.
âI never see you wear them at school,â I explain.
âThatâs because I donât,â he pauses, âwhy were you looking at me in school?â
âIt was just generally, like Iâd waste my time looking at you,â I roll my eyes.
Then catch his for a moment. My head tilts to the side. Something feels off about him. He looks warmer, softer, calmer.
âWhat?â he asks, clearly annoyed.
âYou look weird,â I blurt out before my brain can filter it.
âHow lovely of you to say,â he replies dryly.
âYou donât look like you,â I say, âyou look moreâŚâ
Human. Thatâs what I want to say but I trail off instead.
âMore what?â he prompts.
âIt doesnât matter,â I shake my head, getting back to my book. I can feel his eyes on me.
He stares me down quizzically, like heâs trying to work me out, âI know what youâre trying to do.â
âHighlight my textbook in peace? Yeah,â I scoff, âbut thatâs not really happening anymore.â
âYouâre trying to get under my skin,â he seethes.
âBy highlighting my book?â I raise my eyebrows.
âIn six different colours,â he reminds me, as if I donât already know.
I sigh, âI dare say that coffee made you even more of a bitch.â
He rolls his eyes, âyou really feel the need to use those words?â
âNo but I feel the need to punch you,â I retort.
âWell Iâm right here, why donât you?â he challenges.
âBecause I have a level of self control,â I shrug gently.
âAre you quite sure?â he asks me.
He doesnât realise Iâm not the kind of girl to question myself just because a man did first. Iâm not that kind of girl at all.
âAre you quite finished?â I reply, just a smoothly to mirror him.
âNo.â
Our eyes linger on each others and it feels like we share a million unspoken conversation through the patterns of our irises. Iâm fixated on him like Iâve been fixated on no other before. Itâs not me but that doesnât make me pull away. His gaze becomes more concentrated, harder to ignore without unwelcome feelings arising so I look back down to my highlighters and pick up for where I left off, except now I had a thumping heart in my chest.
I slide a sweaty palm on my trousers keeping it hidden under the table. I finish up my highlighting and then begin type up the final few notes I have to get done. After that, itâs over. I get to leave, I get my freedom, I get to breathe.
âIâm finished,â he announces when Iâm mid sentence. Why is his tone always so articulated, so definitive?
âOkay Iâm nearly there,â I say, frantically typing the last of my notes.
âBit slow,â he comments.
I roll my eyes with no energy to reply. Heâs done me in today. Iâm exhausted at the thought of more bickering. With a few more clicks of my keyboard I complete all that I wanted to.
âIâm done,â I exhale, âjust send me your work so I can proofread and check the facts.â
âYou doubt my skill?â he raises an eyebrow.
I shrug, âI donât know you well enough to trust it.â
âThen send me yours,â he purses his lips, âand Iâll do the same.â
âOkay then,â I say, sending him over my copy slowly.
He opens it and begins to read as I open his. My eyes are just in the middle of the second paragraph when thereâs an untimely interrupted.
âItâs a waste of time,â he says suddenly, irritation thick in his tone.
âNot if I find mistakes,â I sing song, not taking my eyes off of his page, knowing full well Iâd have to reread this sentence and other four times.
âYou wonât,â he snaps.
âOh take it out!â I exclaim finally, growing too exasperated to keep my feelings at bay.
He grows suddenly extremely confused, providing a perfect answer, âwhat?â
âThe stick, wedged up your backside!â I whisper-yell, exasperated, âjust yank it out already.â
âExcuse me!â he widens his eyes, looking highly disgusted.
âYouâre rigid as a board, you never smile, your muscles are literally tensed, chill out a little,â I breathe, âI literally just want to check over the notes, why is it nearly world war three?â
âYour imagination is quite something,â he comments, practically ignoring all that Iâd just said.
âSo is your expressionless face,â I answer with a small shrug.
Graysonâs lips twist into a smile, âyou think my face is quite something?â
âDonât flatter yourself Hawthorne,â I scoff, rolling my eyes.
âIâll try not to,â he replies.
âIt must be hard for you,â I tease.
âNot as hard it is for you to admit you like my face,â he continues to smirk, annoying twinging through me with each curve of his mouth.
âIf liking it means I want to spit in it, then yeah I really like your face,â I reply.
He leans over the table, getting closer, âyouâre revolting.â
âGet the dictionary out for the next adjective,â I taunt him, âthereâs one behind you.â
He doesnât respond and I take that as my win. His eyes just become fixated on my notes all of a sudden. My stomach dances a little. I feel nervous, why do I feel nervous? Itâs just Grayson, reading my notes⌠but my leg is bouncing up and down and Iâm holding my breath without realising it. The clock has never ticked so loudly.
I focus on his notes and unfortunately realise heâs right. There are no mistakes. How annoying. I wanted to make him feel stupid for being so arrogant but he had a right to be. His work was practically perfect. Of course there are things I wouldâve written differently but it didnât taken away from the fact that his work was masterful.
âThereâs a mistake,â he says suddenly.
Damn it.
âWhat?â I ask.
âIn your work,â he smiles, almost proudly.
âOkay?â I say, âthatâs why we proof things, hence proving my earlier point of the important of proofreading.â
âYou got the date wrong,â he explains.
âWhich one?â I furrow my brows, dates were the first thing I checked usually. It wasnât like me to make mistakes on them unless I was distracted.
â1922 should be 1923,â he counters, showing me on his screen.
âMustâve been a typo,â I shrug.
âOr poor research,â he replied smugly.
âWell Iâve written down 1923,â I tap my pen on my paper notes, âso it must have been a typo,â
âWell you should proofread more carefully then?â he says.
âMaybe I shouldâve,â I nod.
Heâs got nothing left to say. He canât argue with me if Iâve agreed with him. Silence hit us like the dead. You could cut the tension with a knife.
âJust correct it,â I finally breathe.
âI will,â he says, tapping at the keys.
âDone?â I ask once heâs finished.
âDone,â he consolidates.
âGreat so now we can leave,â I say, standing up, a little too eager to get out.
âNot yet,â Grayson tells me, his words slow and staccato.
âWhat is this? Some sort of damnation? I want to go home,â I exclaim.
âWell we need to seal our work with our fingerprints,â he explains.
I stare at him blankly, it feels like heâs just said something to me in a strange foreign language, âwhat?â
âPut fingerprint recognition onto the data base so only we can open our work,â he clarifies, as if it makes it any easier for me to understand.
âWhy?â I ask cluelessly.
âSo no one can hack into it,â he replies.
âWhy do you say it likes itâs obvious?â I say.
âBecause it is obvious,â he shrugs.
âOnly you would have a fingerprint recognition for school assignments,â I roll my eyes.
âWell I want them secure,â he says.
âClearly,â I snort.
He opens his mouth to reply but I interrupt him before he can get there.
âLetâs just get this over with, I want to go home tonight,â I sigh.
âFine,â he says, âyou just have to tap here.â
I place my finger where he directed it but it didnât work. Huffing, I jab my finger at the screen a few times harshly. Iâm surprised I donât break the screen.
âI said tap, not murder,â Grayson says.
âIâm imagining itâs your face,â I growl back, still tapping relentlessly at the uncooperative piece of technology.
âItâs cute you think youâd even get close to touching my face,â he replies cooly.
I smack his forehead sharply. His reflexes arenât fast enough to register it until the act is done. He sits there, stunned and blinking.
âStill cute?â I ask, batting my eyelashes.
âAdorable,â he growls, a sarcastic venom dripping from every letter.
I groan, as the fingerprint fails me again, âitâs not working.â
âYouâre doing it wrong,â he tusks.
âCome on then genius,â I roll my eyes, âshow me how itâs done.â
Iâm surprised when he takes my hand gently and guides it to the screen. That familiar jolt in my stomach returns. Heâs so delicate with me, as if Iâm worthy of being treated fragile. He applies light pressure to the tip of my thumb so the fingerprint recognition goes through, his eyes fixated on the screen. Mine are on him.
âThere, thatâs how itâs done,â he says, snapping me out of my thoughts. The screen lit up green.
He let go of my hand and a wave of shame rolls over me because Iâm disappointed he let go.
âGood then,â I nod, mentally telling myself to stop thinking such nonsense, âI need to get home.â
âItâs 6pm,â he deadpans.
âAnd I need to get home,â I repeat, remembering what an aggravating human being he could be. It washed away any tentative hand touch in an instant.
âBut the assignment-â
âWe have three weeks,â I say, âdonât get your kickers in a twist Barbie 2.0.â
âThe names keep getting better,â he grits through his teeth.
âWell practice makes perfect,â I tease, enjoying myself a little too much
âDoesnât it just,â he smiles sarcastically.
I sigh shaking my head, âwhy did she have to pair me with you?â
âI donât know why youâre complaining, you got the better end of the bargain,â he says with a laboured laugh.
I pause and stare at him, âhow?â
âYou were partnered with me,â he states, âIâm coherent, cohesive, co-â
âToo many co words Mr,â I cut in.
âBut I got you,â he says.
âYou say it as if Iâm a piece of shit on your shoe,â I practically spit at him. I hate the way me makes me feel inferior.
âWell youâre not exactly pleasant to be around,â Grayson defends, leaning back in his chair.
âDitto.â
âYouâre annoying, irritating-â
âTheyâre literally synonyms of each other,â I yell over him, earning myself a stern look from the librarian.
âI mean youâre clearly very argumentative,â he says, gesturing his hands as if I were proving his point, âbut I wouldnât put it past you, after all Iâm presuming your background didnât give you lessons in etiquette.â
I clench my jaw to keep it from dropping. I knew he was nasty but I didnât know he could be cruel.
âMy background?â I question him. I know what he means, I just want to see if heâs brave enough this stick his neck out and explain it
âYouâre a scholarship student,â he shrugs.
âHow do you know that,â I ask quickly.
No one is meant to know that. The headmaster assured me no one could possibly find out and yet Grayson Hawthorne knew. How funny. He only shrugs in response, he wasnât going to let up that information. He could see it meant something to me.
âI know you think youâre king of the world and all that but it wouldnât kill you to take your head out of your ass every once in a while and breath some fresh air,â I raise my voice a little, wildly furious.
âMust you be so creative with your insults,âhe asks dryly
âMust you be so blatantly rude with yours,â I shoot back.
âSo itâs not true?â he replies.
âYou donât have the right to judge me on what you think you know about my life,â I snap fiercely.
He raises his eyebrows, âsorry, did I hit a nerve?â
âYou hit nothing,â I mutter.
He smiles to himself, he knows he hit something.
âIâll be leaving now then, see you later,â I say, the annoyance too thick in my tone for me to hide. I stand up and grab my bag.
âWait!â he calls.
I spin around, âwhat?â
âI need your number,â he says slowly.
âYou donât need to sound so desperate,â I smirk.
âI need it to text you the times to meet up and work on the assignment,â he clarifies with an infamous eye roll.
âYou donât need to use that as an excuse blondie,â I say.
âHow can someone some on so intelligent be so utterly exasperating,â Grayson groans.
My cheeks heat up. He thinks Iâm intelligent. He values my mind.
âItâs a talent,â I grinned back.
He rolls his eyes as I write down my number and hand it to him.
âThere.â
âThank you,â he nods at me.
âWow,â my eye widen in shock, âyou can be civil!â
âEvery once in a while,â he shrugs delicately.
I almost smile but suppress it. Quickly I stack all of the books Iâd borrowed to out them away on my way out. Though as I go to carry the pile his voice stops me.
âYouâre never going to able to carry all of those books,â he says.
âYou donât need to underestimate me Hawthorne, youâve done that too much today,â I tell him.
âWatch me defy your so called fact then,â I retort, lifting all eight volumes on top of one another into my arms.
âIâm not underestimating you,â Grayson replies, âIâm stating a fact.â
Itâs heavier than Iâd estimated which is the first shock. They sit unstably, wobbling and threatening to come cluttering to the floor. But he could not be right. I wouldnât buckle. I wouldnât drop anything. Iâm not a failure.
âNeed some help there?â he tilts his head to the side.
âNo,â I say, my strained voice giving me away.
âYou look like youâre struggling,â he comments.
âWell Iâm not,â I reply, feeling that my face is rosy from sheer effort.
He looks at me, âare you sure?â
âVery,â I grunt, my arms burning with the weight.
âIâll save you the stubborn act and the library damage fee and take some,â he rolls his eyes.
âI said Iâm fine-â
He takes a large sum of books from the top. My arms relax slightly as I glare at him.
âIf you drop them youâll like an idiot,â he explains.
âI wouldnât have dropped them,â I state.
âOkay, whatever you say,â he replies.
âDonât use my saying on me,â I say.
âItâs not yours,â he shrugs, âyou didnât create it.â
âI used it earlier, thatâs close enough,â I tell him.
âSure.â
We come to an abrupt halt in conversation and both turn back to back to put the books back to their respected areas. I see one in my pile that has a page marked. I flick to it and pause to skim over the contents.
âWhat are you reading?â
He almost makes me jump, I didnât hear him sneak up behind me.
âAn article,â I say, tying to keep my voice from trembling after the shock.
I can feel him now breathing down my neck, his chest almost touches my back. My pulse races, skyrocketing a little too far.
âWhoâs it by?â he asks.
My eyes flick to the bottom of the page where I read aloud my response, âam anonymous writer.â
He scrunches his nose up, âwhat good an article with an anonymous author?â
âItâs not about who wrote it, itâs about the impact it has,â I say.
âI disagree, if I wrote a life changing article Iâd want people to know Iâd written it,â he replies.
âOf course you want more,â I scoff, stacking the books a little too aggressively.
Classic Hawthorne. The second I think he might not be so bad he goes ahead and reminds me of exactly why I hate people like him.
âWant more?â he furrows his brows.
âYou want the glory of it, your name talked about, your legacy preserved,â I snap.
âSo I canât want anything?â he shoots back with venom on his tongue.
âYouâre a rich, stuck up prick, like all the rest of them at that school,â I laugh bitterly, âyour grandfather is a billionaire, what could you possibly want that isnât already at your fingertips?â
âYou donât have the right to judge me on what you think you know about my life,â he quotes me.
âBite me Hawthorne,â I snarl, spinning around.
He catches my wrist and the corners of his mouth lift to form a smirk. A twinge of hatred shifts in my stomach as I glare at him.
âAny other requests?â he raises an eyebrow.
âDonât play that game with me,â I say, my voice low and dangerous.
âAnd what game might that be?â he asks, our faces inching closer by the second. The butterflies madly gnawing on my internal organs.
âYou know what youâre doing,â I mutter, as my fingers clasp around his wrist too.
His smiles broadens and his silver eyes ignite, âand what is it that I am doing?â
âStop,â I snap at him. Weâre so close now that our foreheads could touch with the slightest of movements.
âStop what?â he questions me, his voice so hushed it send a shiver down my spine.
âIâm going to strangle you,â I growl, the sound coming from the back of my throat. An uninvited passion rippling through my tone.
âIâd like to see you try,â he murmurs, snaking a hand around my waist. A soft gasp escapes my lips at the warmth and tenderness of his touch. He holds me like Iâm breakable. It makes me vulnerable and I hate it yet I donât tell him to stop. I come to horrible realisation that maybe I donât want him to.
âI swear to god Hawthorne-â
âShhhhh,â he says, eyes pinned to mine.
âWhat are you doing?â I ask breathlessly. All the oxygen previously in my lungs had been sucked out mercilessly by his tentative being.
âJust shut up for one second,â he snaps.
Fury lights inside of me and the spark of rage burns brighter than ever, âdonât tell me to shut-â
âShhhhh,â he murmurs, placing a gentle finger to my lips.
My mouth obeys without my brainâs consent and my voice ceases. Itâs just him and I and the silence around us. My heart thumps in my chest, so loudly it rattles through my ears. Slowly, almost cautiously, my own hands slide up his back as if some other world force is tugging them that way. I know I donât want to do this but a familiar aching for deprived feeling was forcing me to.
âWhat are we doing Grayson?â I say, the words barely heard.
âI donât know,â he whispers, âall I know is, you drive me insane.â
âFunny,â I smile softly, âyou drive me insane too.â
His pupils dilate as we get closer. An entrancing monochrome kaleidoscope, only black and grey. Our foreheads meet, pressing into one another. It feels so natural, so right. His hands tighten slightly around the small of my back, as my eyelash graze his cheek, tickling him lightly. I can feel his breath on my face and his heart beating against my own. Our lips go to meet and-
âWeâre closing the library now.â
I jerk backwards to suddenly my back smacks into the shelves of books behind me. Pain surges through my spinal cord and I bite my lip to keep me from crying out. My eyes become glossy as previously stacked books thump to the floor. I look up to see the librarian standing there.
I cough, picking up the books, âthanks, we were just leaving.â
She raises a brow but doesnât say another word. I feel my cheeks burn a feverish red. I donât meet Graysonâs eyes as I spin on my heels and charge out.
thanks for reading my loves đ¤đ¤
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