The killer returns, still blurry from your squinting eyes, but you can tell immediately he’s weak. He’s slight but not in the nimble way, just in the way that probably made him angry as a teenager. He’s almost definitely shorter than you, but you’d be able to tell irrefutably if you hadn’t been recently hit in the head.

Your eyes fall on the saw in his hands. Oh, that’s really not good. Usually, you’d have already come up with a plan by now, but that typically involves having at least a limb available, and this tiny, weak man seems to at least have had the sense to bind all of them to some pole or another. You’re not going anywhere.

Apparently, you’re not immune to other involuntary responses to stress and fear; a fat tear rolls down your cheek. In the moments as the killer descends, you come upon the realisation that you don’t want to die. Not that you ever wanted to die, per se, but you’ve been in hundreds of dangerous situations before on digs and excavations without so much as a concern, but this is the first time in a very long time that you’ve been faced with imminent torture and death. You find, as the killer begins a psychotic rationalisation of why you have to go, that you want to live. For Mary, the grad student who admires your work so sincerely. For Sirius, the artist who you’ve worked with for so many years, and Remus, your best friend and beloved coworker. Even for James, you realise, the sort-of-partner you’ve become rather fond of despite your differences.

James. James is still in the building and probably looking for you. In a split second, the plan is hatched. You cry, sob, heave, begging for your life, like any young girl would do.

“Please!” You scream, voice cracking with exertion, “Please let me live, I’ll do anything. Just please, please don’t let me die.”

Somewhere along the way, it becomes more truth than performance, the tears actually staining your face. Please, James, don’t let me die here. The anguish becomes more real the longer he takes, and the threat of being hacked limb from limb is accompanied by the smell of metal under your nose as the killer caresses your face with the facilitator of your demise.

He doesn’t make it any further, James emerging from the shadows, slamming the man against the wall or beam behind you; you can’t quite see it. You can hear the venom in his voice as he cuffs the killer, roughing it up just because he can, and he knows you, of all people, won’t tell on him. Not beyond the constraints of the law, obviously, just because he’s mad.

Tears of panic turn to those of relief, your breathing hiccuping back to somewhat of a steadier pace, though not what you would call calm. Backups you didn’t realise were here drag the killer away, and James is at your side in an instant, slicing the constraints binding you.

The instant you’re free your arms are around James, holding him tightly as you sob into his chest. It’s completely unlike you both and your relationship, not to mention totally unprofessional, but James holds you anyway, softly petting your hair, even though it’s matted with blood.

“It’s okay,” He coos into your ear so none of the SWAT team can hear, “I’ve got you. I’m never going to let anything happen to you.”

By the time you’re in the ambulance, you think you’ve imagined it, how tender James’ voice was. How soft he held you, like you were porcelain. James has managed to worm his way into sitting in the ambulance with you, though he hasn’t even looked at you. Instead, he’s talking in hushed tones with the paramedic, and you can only assume it’s about you.

You hardly register the doctors and examinations you go through, though it’s all familiar in some part of your brain. It’s only when they leave you to your tiny room that feeling starts to return to you, both physically and emotionally.

You jump when the door creaks open, but it’s only James. He offers you a half smile and you try to return it.

“The good doctor finally letting someone look after her? Never thought I’d see the day,” He laughs, sitting casually on the visitor’s chair next to your bed. “Hey, pudding!”

“That’s — that’s mine.” You sigh in resignation as James’ spoon is already in the tub. “And it’s a head injury, Potter, I’d be an idiot if I didn’t let a medical doctor look after it.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re a doctor three times over and smarter than the rest of us.” James’ tone is sarcastic and biting, but his eyes are soft, so you let him off with a pointed look.

“Not smart enough to avoid getting bashed in the head,” You mutter, studying the rope burn lining your wrists.

“You can’t blame yourself for that, okay?” James all but interrupts you with a hand on your forearm, apologising when you wince. “You got lost in a dark building; it’s my fault just as much as yours that we got separated. Besides, you were smart enough to start screaming, otherwise, I never would’ve found you in time. Don’t think so much that your brain folds in on itself and convinces you that you’re not the smartest person we both know.”

You smile softly, staring at James for a moment too long. When he notices with the scrunch of his nose and brows, you don’t have much to offer.

“You’re being so nice.” James laughs at you.

“Turns out, you’re a pretty great partner. I’d hate to see you chopped up.” When you laugh, he presses again, “Seriously, I was worried today. The thought that I’d lost you, well…”

You don’t make him finish, figuring you’ve both been through enough torture for one day.

“Unfortunately, you’re still stuck with the squint, agent Potter.”

James smiles so fondly it makes your heart ache. The silence stretches so long that the thought creeps to the back of your mind that one of you is going to confess something. Tell a secret. Then his phone rings.

You can only watch as he listens to the other side of the line, face back to the professional FBI agent extraordinaire, not whatever other version of him had been revealed amongst scratchy hospital bedsheets and chocolate pudding.

“Yeah, of course, I’m sorry, I just got caught up at work. I’ll meet you there.” Ah, his girlfriend. You refuse to acknowledge how being referred to as work slashes at your already fragile heart. James turns his attention back to you. “Sorry, I’ve, uh, really gotta go…”

“No worries, agent.” You give him a light-hearted way out, waving him off.

Just as he opens the door, your breath catches in your throat.

“James,” You say suddenly, even unsure yourself of why you said it. James is back at your side in an instant anyway, concern etched into his defined features. “Thank you,” You say eventually, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. “You saved my life today. I really do appreciate it.”

James stares at where your hands are interlocked for a moment, face unusually unreadable.

“I told you, I’m never going to let anything happen to you. I promise.” He says it so casually, so unbothered that it’s a declaration of care after so many cases of bickering and disagreement, that it leaves you speechless. You have no choice but to let him go with a weak wave, voice unable to coax any sound. Not that your brain could create any meaningful words even if you could say them.

James is always electric on the pitch, but today he is just magnificent, scoring for the second time in only two minutes and probably the seventh or eighth time in total this match. He stops briefly after scoring, basking in the cheers from his house and anybody else who’s in attendance in support for Gryffindor, which is honestly most of the school. But then he’s off again, nothing but a red flash in the sky as the match resumes. 

The commentator continues.

“And Slytherin has the quaffle, passing to—oof, rough bludger hit there by McKinnon. She sure looks fit on her broom up—”

The microphone screeches when Professor McGonagall rips it out of the commentator's hand, but James barely registers her scolding and the rumble of laughter that passes through the crowd. The opposing team now passes the quaffle back and forth as they slowly near the Gryffindor keeper.

James speeds up on his broom, winding his way through the other players in order to get over to the Gryffindor hoops as quickly as possible. Their keeper is good, of course he is; James had picked him out himself, but so was the Slytherin team. His hands tightly grip the handle of his broom, and he leans forward even further, his chest now almost touching the sleek wood, in order to go even faster. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him approach, confident and natural as always and looking like his broom is just an extension of his body. The microphone screeches again uncomfortably as the commentator snatches it back from McGonagall, but not because of James this time. 

At the edge of the Quidditch pitch, out of James’ line of sight, both the Gryffindor and the Slytherin seeker had assumed a steep dive, and a tiny golden flash of the snitch could be seen whizzing between the wooden planks of the stands in front of them. 

“It looks like Fortescue and Black have caught sight of the snitch!”

The Slytherin chaser holding the quaffle and the Gryffindor keeper were successfully distracted by this information, but James didn’t take his eyes off his target for even a split second. While the crowd’s eyes were glued to the two seekers, he kicks the quaffle right out from under the Slytherin chaser’s arm and drops into a steep dive to catch it before it hits the ground. 

“And Potter wins the quaffle back! Merlin’s fucking—“

You won’t dare take your eyes off the pitch, even as McGonagall scolds the commentator about inappropriate language again. James continues, quickly winding his way through the players again while the seekers fight for the win. At this point, nobody has any idea where they should rather look.

”Sorry, Professor—Potter has the quaffle! That bludger was a narrow miss, but Potter is a beast on that broom, he’s the Gryffindor captain after all—“

James roughly tugs at the handle of his broom to barely escape the bludger that had been sent barrelling in his way. The Slytherin keeper is positioned right in front of the middle hoop, so an attempted goal from this angle would surely be saved. He feigns an attempt to hit the left hoop to get the keeper out of the way before hauling the quaffle into the right one just as Alice’s hand closes around the golden snitch. 

“AND FORTESCUE CATCHES THE SNITCH JUST AS POTTER SCORES! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”

The red half of the stands erupt into cheers of joy, and you’re right there with them, screaming your lungs out for the house win against Slytherin. James pumps his fist into the air victoriously, but he doesn’t join the other Gryffindor players gathering around Alice to celebrate just yet. Instead, his eyes dart away to search the stands for you, and that signature grin lights up his face as soon as he sees you there with your little Gryffindor flag and wearing his old jersey. Before anyone can stop him, he’s speeding over to you on his broom. Naturally, cheers start erupting around you when the Gryffindor captain approaches your section, but James only has eyes for you.

He stops in the air in front of you, briefly lifting the collar of his quidditch jersey and exposing a sliver of toned stomach to wipe the sweat on his face. And then he’s kissing you before you can say a single thing, still hovering dangerously on his broom, but it's all worth it just to get a taste of your lips. His arms wrap around you so tightly that your feet lift off the stands, pulling you as close as the railing between the two of you could possibly allow—literally sweeping you off your feet. If this weren't James, you’d be worried about him falling off his broom, but this isn’t even close to the stupidest thing he’s ever done and succeeded at. He’ll always find you first after a win, and if he’s being honest, you’re the only one he really wants to celebrate with.

The commentator barely manages to get out a comment about “Potter snogging his girlfriend” before the microphone is ripped out of their hands for good. James manages a smug chuckle against your lips, his confidence obviously fuelled by the attention. 

"James—" you coo against his lips, but he just shushes you with another long kiss.

It almost feels like the two of you are the only two people left in the world right now, despite more than half of the entire school roaring, mostly in support but also mild repulsion (from the Slytherins). 

”You should—mm, get back—to the others—“ you mumble against his lips, starting to turn a little shy from this very public display of affection. 

“But this is how I celebrate our victory, love. Are you really going to send me away?” he replies after finally pulling away from your lips. He’s not had enough of you yet—not even close—but he also doesn’t want to make things uncomfortable for you. 

He winks at you cheekily and gently squishes your flushed cheeks with his thumb and forefinger before he lets go and thankfully holds on to his broom again. He looks way too pretty right now for the cocky smirk that’s still plastered on his lips. He’s won the match, he’s kissed his girl—there’s basically nothing that could possibly make this situation even better. 

“Oi, get down here, Prongs. Enough snogging,” Sirius calls out, huddled together with the rest of the team. The Gryffindor captain should probably get down again to join them and give a motivational speech or something, but James has always been one to do whatever the hell he wants. 

the end-of-year assembly was universally hated by staff and students alike.

for the students, it meant sitting in a dark auditorium for nearly two hours while teachers . for the teachers, it meant “surveillance duty”, which was a polished way of saying stand in the shadows and make sure nobody acts a fool.

and because the universe apparently found your suffering funny, your principal had decided the two “new teachers with the most energy” should cover the back center aisle together. you found this out approximately seven minutes ago.

you were still angry about it. not because of malcolm.

well. mostly because of malcolm.

the almost kiss from three weeks ago had been haunting you in increasingly inconvenient ways. at first everything was normal, as normal as it could be between to friends who almost risked said friendship.

but you could feel it. you could feel it in the way you would second guess every interaction with "am i over stepping? am i over staying my time in his life?". he could feel it in the way you wouldn't allow yourself to keep eye contact with him.

then came avoidance. malcolm really didn't want to push any of your boundaries. he didn't want to be somewhere he wasnt wanted. for the sake of your comfort. no more lunch visits. no more “accidentally” stopping by the music room to borrow tape you definitely already had. no more coffee runs where one of you always forgot your wallet and the other paid with a grin.

and god, it was ridiculous.

you had gone from spending nearly every free moment with him to speaking in awkward, painfully professional snippets.

“morning, malcolm” “good morning.” “nice lesson?” “yes.” “good.”

you wanted to scream every time

and now you were standing beside him in the back of a dark auditorium while the principal went on his never-ending tangent about how proud he was of the students. you folded your arms, building a shield up without realizing. malcolm shifted beside you uncomfortably. the silence between you two felt louder than the students.

malcolm cleared his throat.

"you switched perfumes." you turn your head sharply while his stayed stayed on the crowd. like he didn't realize he had said it out loud.

"what?" "your perfume. it's...different."

your stomach flipped before you could even comprehend, and he finally turned to look at you. his face was calm, while your eyebrows furrowed so badly it felt like they might be stuck that way.

"why do you know that?" he shrugged, to casual about this. "i notice things."

you scoffed, "creep."

he only kept looking at you. "i prefer attentive."

you rolled your eyes in annoyance, but your lips betrayed you as they lifted with a smile. "i think that's the first time you smiled at me in weeks."

your smile vanished as quick as it had appeared, "that's not true."

"it is."

you slowly turned your gaze back to the crowd as you swallowed down the lump in your throat.

the lights in the auditorium washed the stagein soft blues and purples. the students in the front rows were lit enough to be seen, but the back where you stood was dim. just enough darkness to make everything feel more intimate than it should.

you hated that. you also hated how your pulse had sped up. you hated that he smelled like home and the cologne he only wears on mondays and special occasions. except it's a friday, and this isn't a special occasion.

"your door was locked during lunch yesterday.", malcolm said. "i was busy."

he shakes his head softly, almost in disbelief.

"it's never locked."

your arms wrap around yourself tighter, trying to convince yourself this convince yourself this conversation wasnt really happening.

"malcolm, i-"

he turned his body to look at you completely. the dim light caught the edges of his face; his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, the tired circles under his eyes from too many writing sessions after grading. theres a desperation lingering in his eyes.

why did he have to look at you like that?

you stammered, but continued on, "you don't get to act confused."

"i'm not acting confused." he whispered back. "we almost kissed, and then you just left."

the volume of your whispers were raising at a concerning speed. "i said i would come back, and i did."

you scoffed, almost offended, "two fucking days later."

"i was trying to respect your space." "malcolm, you vanished."

he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "you were the one who stopped me."

that comment landed. because he was right. it was your hand on his chest, your panicked voice asking 'what are we doing, malcolm?'. at the time it felt necessary. but now? it felt cowardly.

"i know." you closed your eyes at your admission. his shoulders softened slightly.

meanwhile, a group of kids shuffled past the both of you, whispering too loudly, "look, its their first argument as a couple."

their giggling was interrupted as you sternly told them to find their seats, they scattered.

malcolm laughed seeing the authority you definitely don't have. "well now they think we're dating."

you look back to malcolm, "they think we're dating because you always call me honey in public.

"it's okay. you like it."

you opened your mouth. you closed your mouth. he smirked, too pleased with himself.

"i didn't leave for those two days because i didn't want to see you.", his voice was low enough so that only you could hear, "i left because i knew if i saw you any time sooner, i wouldn't have been able to stop myself from kissing you,"

your breath caught, he kept going. "and that fucking terrified me."

you could still hear it, the principal announcing “thank you for being in attendance,” the clapping, the squeak of shoes on stage, but it all faded behind the sound of your own heartbeat.

"i thought maybe i'd misread this."

he looked at you confused, "misread what?"

"us. the tension, whatever signals we had been sending each other." "baby, i promise you, if you want me as badly as i want you, the you didn't misread anything."

it's like everything clicked back into place for you. because here he was, malcolm, your malcolm. the awkward, cocky, weirdly earnest man memorized your coffee order the first time you met just because you said that you liked it. the man who had helped you hang student artwork until seven-thirty on a thursday. the man who once spent twenty minutes pretending to understand abstract pottery just because it made you laugh.

you missed him, so so so much.

and he missed you too.

the main lights of the auditorium turned on, immediately illuminating the entire room. the private moment over, but its effects clearly lasting.

you made the first move.

"i have so many projects to grade after school. maybe...you could keep me company while i do so?"

his smile only grew, and he knew he couldn't miss his opportunity to just exist alongside you again. "yeah, i'll be there."

"i'll make sure to keep the door unlocked then." you rock back and forth from your heels to your tiptoes almost nervously.

"thank you, honey."

the sea of kids ready for dismissal immediately swept you two up, and you could no longer see him anywhere, but it's okay. your cheeks still burned and your arms were relaxed at your sides, the imaginary wall had been broken down.

and this time, you're ready for more.

EXTRA

faye and mareli walk side by side as they make their journey to leave school

"look at mr. mac." faye says, while elbowing her friend.

faye turns to see an entirely too enthusiastic malcolm hurriedly leading kids to the gate, his smile wider than it has ever been.

faye could only laugh at the man, "yeah, they totally made up."

holy chetos guys it's finally DONE yo no shade this took me a week to write I HOPE IT'S GOOD

im so sos soosososososo sorry for the wait life genuinely got too busy and i also graduate in a MF WEEK LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOO get me out of here

anyways did you guys see the tracklist im deadass gonna go crazy i need the album by YESTERDAY im so excited can he drop tour dates next

lmk if this is straight ass ill delete my account

also, after this, ILL BE FULFILLING REQUESTS so if you sent me one fret not it will be getting it's flowers!!

you guys are crazy thank you guys so much for the love on this au i lava u with all my heart te quiero muchos mis amores yall rock my world

lovelies: @camouflagedinglitter @landosnosescars @underurmoonlight @unicorngrl111 @maisieb23 @sweet06tart @hficoabb @joeylikesspn @bag-a-baddie