Work Text:
“Get out of my study room! ” If I was any less pissed off, I would be backing off right about now. I mean, I already made a fool of myself by calling this guy hot to his face, so might as well walk away with what is left of my dignity. But, as things are standing, caffeine-deprivation seems to be the key to help me lose some of my inhibitions because I do not budge when the guy leans closer, keeping my foot in the door. I can see what he is doing, slowly pushing me out the food. But he's bound to stop pushing at some point if I stop moving back, right? Like, logically, what's he gonna do, smash our faces together?
And that is not an image I need in my head right now. It is too close to the ball gag train of thought from earlier.
Why am I thinking about ball gags again?
The study room thief’s face looks incredibly smug when he says, “Or what? You’ll enact your fancy wee death threat ?”
Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupidly attractive accent and his stupidly hot face. Fuck this guy.
He gets closer and closer, up until I can feel his breath on my face. I keep my eyes on his, partly because I feel like if I look away I will lose some sort of game and partly because I don't trust myself not to look down at his mouth if I let my eyes move. And I give him any more material to use against me after the whole calling him hot incident and the death threat that I somehow managed to phrase in a very suggestive way.
As expected, he eventually comes to a stop, and I mentally pat myself on the back for reading him correctly and for keeping my ground. Kris 1 - Beanie Guy 0.
“What's it gonna take for you to fuck off?” he asks after a long while, moving his face away just slightly, but still clearly attempting to push me out of the doorway. I
I shrug. “I'm not moving. So we might as well find another solution to this whole thing.”
He arches an eyebrow at me. “And what do you suggest the solution would be?”
“How about sharing?” I blurt out before my mind has any time to catch up to what my mouth is saying.
Instant regret.
“What?” the guy asks dumbly.
Well, in for a penny. “Look, I am not moving and you are not moving and neither of us is getting any work done. So how about we share the study room?”
I don’t want to share anything with this fucker. I want my study room back. But that is clearly not happening, so I might as well take half of it back, at least.
He blinks at me for a few seconds, as if expecting me to start laughing and say that it was all a joke. I could do that, dig myself out of this hole. But I refuse to give him that satisfaction. If I am digging myself into a hole, I am taking him down with me.
“Is your ego so big that it needs a whole study room for itself? I know for a fact the desk in there is big enough for us to stay out of each other's way if we sit down on opposite ends. I am assuming you're not only in this room to piss me off but have some actual assignment to do. So the quicker we both get our work done, the quicker we can leave and not see each other again.” I finish by giving him what I hope is a somewhat civil smile despite the annoyance I feel at the moment and despite the fact that I insulted him like twice during all that.
He eyes me again, appraisingly. And then he smiles, no, he smirks back. “Are you sure, boyo? You might get too distracted by how hot I am and not get any work done,” he says innocently.
That hole I dug myself into just keeps getting deeper and deeper. But I will be damned if I let him win whatever this is.
“Move.” It's my turn to take a step forward now, in an attempt to gain the upper hand and convince this douchebag that he is definitely not getting to me. Nope. Not today. I have spent so many days feeling like I am just floating around. But today, I have a goal, and my goal is to get into that study room.
To my surprise, he relents, opening the door a little wider and letting me walk in. I don't say anything as I stomp over to the desk, probably louder than necessary or adequate since we are still in a library, and set my messenger bag down on the empty chair, dragging it as far away as possible from the other one that has a backpack on it.
I see stuff scribbled on the whiteboard and I think, you know what? Let him have that. Let the whiteboard be my peace offering for today. I purposefully do not glance at whatever he is studying for. He gives off the vibes of someone who would major in something creative. Wait, no. I should not care what this guy studies. I am here to ignore him, so I pull out my laptop and my own textbooks, and get to work on Robespierre and guillotines.
I manage to write about a paragraph until an uneasy feeling creeps up my spine. I let out a sigh and look up to see that this guy is staring daggers at me.
A guillotine sounds like a pretty attractive concept right now. Though I don't know whether I would use it on him or on myself. At least either of those would get me out of this situation.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
He looks at me, down at my laptop, as if it offended him, and then back at me. “You're typing too loud.”
I blink. “I beg your pardon?”
A corner of his mouth tilts up. “You can beg all you want, boyo. You're still pressing down on those keys as if you want to break the fucking thing.”
I… don't even know how to start processing that. So I don't. I refuse to give in to whatever that ‘typing too loud’ thing is about, and I most definitely refuse to give in to…whatever that first part was.
When Beanie Guy realizes he will not get a reaction out of me, he shrugs and turns back to his backpack, taking out a thermos bottle. He opens it and the smell of coffee fills the room, and suddenly all my anger is forgotten as my eyes zero in on that bottle and I am reminded of the fact that I am wearing my coffee and never got to drink it.
I watch as the guy opens the bottle and takes a few gulps, watch the way his throat bobs as he drinks and suddenly my eyes zero in on that instead. I must stare at him for a while because when he calls out to me it sounds irritated, as if it isn't the first time.
“Coffee Shop!” He waits until I look up at him and places the cap of the bottle on the table. It's one of those fancy ones where you can use the cap as a makeshift cup. He pours some of the coffee into it and then pushes the cap over to me. “You look like you will murder me if you do na get caffeine in the next few minutes, so here,” he mutters, pushing it further towards me.
The gesture is so unexpected that I blurt out the first thing I can think of. “There are no hot beverages allowed in the library.” He frowns and his hand moves back a little, bringing the coffee more out of my reach and I move my own hand before I can think twice about it, taking hold of the offering, but our fingers brush briefly in the process and I swear it sends electricity down to every nerve in my body.
I freeze for a moment, before muttering a “Thanks,” and downing the whole thing in one go. Beanie Guy gives me a repulsed look and I get it, chugging coffee like that is not usually my style. For some reason, I keep acting like an idiot in front of him. Thankfully, the coffee is not scorching hot, otherwise I would have other problems right now.
He turns back to his books and I turn back to my laptop and continue typing, feeling the coffee kick in already. I also feel my knuckles cramp from how tense I am. Maybe he had a point about me being a little stressed. I manage to type out about two more sentences until he speaks up again.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters under his breath. “I should na have given you coffee. You are even louder now. Can’t you relax?”
I let out a dry laugh. I actually can’t remember the last time I have properly relaxed, but I am not about to say that to this asshole, so instead, I say, “Listen, dude, if you wanna go do your work somewhere where my typing doesn't bother you, be my guest.”
He gives me an unimpressed look, seeing right through my attempt at getting rid of him. It was worth a try.
I look back at the screen, but then my now-caffeinated brain catches on to something I entirely forgot about, and a new wave of fury crashes over me. My head snaps up.
“You have headphones,” I blurt out, pointing an accusatory finger at him.
He finally went back to his own work, so he looks up from it and gives me a bored glare. “Astute,” he sneers.
“I mean,” I get up on my feet. I don't know why I do that, but I feel like I need to be standing when I say this. “You have been complaining about my ‘loud typing’,” I make sure to emphasise those words and make them sound just as ridiculous as they do when he says them. “When you could have worn your fucking headphones and actually ignored me this entire time!”
The guy lets out a long suffering sigh and takes the headphones completely off from where they were hanging around his neck, dropping them on the table. He stands, too, and walks over to me, and I hate being reminded of how much taller he is than me. “Oh yeah, how the devil didn't I think about that?” he starts, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I would use them, if the battery hadn't died on me literally moments after you entered this room. Just my luck, eh?” There's an undertone of… something to that last part, but I am still way too annoyed and tired to care enough to psychoanalyze the guy.
“Ugh, whatever, just stop complaining about stupid shit. Need I remind you that you're the one who shouldn't be here and that I am doing you a favor by letting you use this room.” That's not fair. I know it isn't. The guy gave me coffee, for fuck’s sake, but unfortunately my annoyance is back once again.
He snorts. “Of course. You're being sooo generous by letting me stay in this room you have absolutely no authority over whatsoever.”
I clench my fingers. Unclench them. Close my laptop. The guy eyes me with a raised eyebrow and I am pretty sure that I see victory flash in his eyes. He probably thinks he's finally managed to annoy me enough to make me leave.
Well, fuck that.
I step up to the whiteboard, pick up the eraser and start to wipe away his notes.
“The fuck?” I hear his incredulous voice behind me get closer. “I need those, you wanker.”
“That's too fucking bad. Should have thought about it before starting this war, asshole,” I say with a smirk as I erase another one of the lines on it. “Since neither one of us has any authority here, there is nothing stopping me from taking over the whiteboard.”
I go for the next bullet point, but then one hand closes around my wrist and I feel the heat of the guy's body up in my personal space again and it is enough of a shock for me to let my guard down. He pulls me by my wrist and turns me to him.
My brain finally kicks in and I yank my hand right out of his grip. I can feel my face growing hotter and hotter with anger. “Will you just fuck off?” I groan.
He lets go of my wrist but stays right where he is, and I suddenly realize that I am trapped between his body and the whiteboard behind me. I can also smell his perfume again, expensive cologne and that smell of… paint. That's what it is. There was something about baroque art on the board. Of course he studies something like art history.
Aaaand I am smelling him again. Any higher ground I may have gained through the fact that I managed to make him accept sharing this study room with me is completely gone now and I have a feeling he knows that.
“Nah, boyo. See, you offered to share this room with me, so I am na going anywhere until I’m finished. If you want to leave, be my guest,” he echoes my words from earlier and takes a step back, quite literally giving me a way out from where he almost had me pinned against the board. He keeps his eyes trained on my face, as if looking for a reaction out of me.
And the logical thing for me to do now is to leave, I know that. I am way in over my head. This fight is stupid and this guy is offering me an out. But, instead of taking a step to the side and around him, I take a step forward, until I am inches away and I have to tilt my head up to hold his gaze. I see the corner of his mouth twitch.
“You want me to leave? Make me,” I say, and my voice comes out way more confident than I feel.
What the fuck am I doing?
His gaze on me is more intense now, still searching for something, I don’t know what. I can tell the exact moment he finds it, though, because he takes a step forward, making me take another step back until my back hits the whiteboard.
What the fuck is happening?
I mean, I am not an idiot. I know where this is going. And I mean, I literally dared him to do it. But I have never been in a situation quite like this before and I don't know… I don't know.
Thankfully, he leans in and then suddenly, I don’t feel the need to think about what I am feeling. His lips brush against mine, the faintest touch, testing the waters. His facial hair is rough against my face. That bit of contact is enough for the dam to break, for all the tension that has gathered in my body for the past few months to snap. I put all that tension into the way I kiss him back, smashing my lips against his. I remember thinking about smashing our faces together while we were standing in the doorway and I start to laugh, but the sound turns into a moan when his hands go to my hair and tangle in it.
I have kissed people before. But it's never been…this. I don't even know this guy's name. ( Holy fuck, I don't know his name .) But the way he can make my whole body light up with just a brush of his lips against mine, a flick of his tongue, a scratch of his fingers on my scalp. I needed this, I needed it so bad and an hour ago I didn't know this existed.
At some point, I remember that I have hands and that I should be doing something with them, so I place them on his hips and pull him closer. He groans and I use the chance to push my tongue into his mouth. He tastes like coffee and so do I. He's hot, temperature-wise, his body is like an open fire and I feel like I might turn into ash at any moment now but I don't care.
I start feeling light-headed from the kissing and he must feel the same because he pulls away to catch his breath. I take a look at him and make a sound I am not proud of. He looks like a mess, eyes dilated, lips red from kissing, panting.
Fucking hell, I have never been so turned on in my life.
“You look even more like a mess than you did when you came in, and yet you're still the most beautiful thing I have seen,” he says, and then his lips are on my neck, kissing, licking, not sucking hard enough to leave any bruises and I both love and hate how considerate he is about that.
I run my hands through his red hair, pushing his beanie to the floor in the process, and I stare at the ceiling through glossy eyes. I try to stay in this moment, to not let my thoughts get the best of me, but that voice in the back of my head starts talking again. Because of course my brain can never give me a break.
He only thinks you're beautiful because he doesn't know you, he doesn't know what a mess you really are.
Shut up. SHUT UP.
This won't make your problems go away. It won't make things with Iris less awkward. (Fuck, I shouldn't be thinking about Iris right now.) It won't fix all the other shit going on in your life. It won't make you hate school any less. It won't make you useful again.
And then, on that train of thought, another idea creeps into my brain and turns my blood to ice.
You're using him.
I am using him, aren't I? He said I look like a mess, but he doesn't know what a mess I really am. He can't know. He doesn't even know my name. If he knew who I was, he wouldn't think I am so beautiful. I am using him to release stress, and no matter how much of an asshole he is, he doesn’t deserve that.
I let go of his hair and let my arms hang at my sides, knowing that if I let them wander they will reach out for some other part of him.
“Wait. Stop,” I whisper, and the reaction is immediate. He moves away, taking a whole two steps away from me. Good , I tell myself, I can't think straight when you're standing so close.
I look down at his shoes as I talk, knowing that the dishevelled state he is in would make me lose all sense of coherence. “I’m sorry. I- I can't do this right now.”
He sounds hoarse when he answers, “I am the one who is sorry. I shouldna have assumed-”
I cut him off. “Don't be. You didn't do anything wrong.”
I walk around him back to the desk, gathering my books and laptop and shoving them into my messenger bag. He keeps quiet, doesn't move as he lets me pack my stuff.
This is selfish, I know, but I cannot have him apologizing. I am selfish. But I can't have him regret it. I can't.
I pick up my bag and risk one last look at him. He is still standing by the whiteboard, in the exact same spot he was in before. There is something dark and troubled in his eyes that was not there before, and I can see now that he's clearly got his own stuff to mull over. He doesn't need me to add anything on top of that.
Part of me remembers to give a curt nod before I rush out of the study room. I walk down the hallway, feeling the need to put as much distance as possible between that door and myself. Once I am standing in a dark hallway all by myself, I slump against the wall, take a deep breath, and let out a short, cold laugh.
I asked him to make me leave. Well, that certainly did the trick.
I laugh at my own stupidity as I wait for the regret and self-hatred to set in. Well, the self-hatred is already there, that's what pushed me out of that room in the first place.
And the regret… never comes.
I don't regret it?
I don't regret it.
Oh, I am even more fucked than I thought.
Three days later, when I am sitting in Coal’s office with him, Iris, Hex and Wren all gathered around the table as we are looking into the royal family of St. Patrick's Day because they are apparently stealing joy from us, I do finally have some regrets.
“Kris… Did you kiss someone from St. Patrick's Day?” Coal asks, looking down at the picture of Lochlann Patrick, heir of St. Patrick's Day and the same guy who had his tongue down my throat in a study room at Cambridge before I rejected him.
My silence and the blush I can feel on my face must be answer enough because Coal literally squeals, Iris gasps, and Hex and Wren, ever the more controlled ones, look at me with eyes as wide as saucers.
Yep, definitely more fucked than I thought.