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Entr’acte | 🛁🦚!HS/College Au, a repost

My Ao3

[ While I wait to repost Entr’acte, along with a brand new epilogue, have a few snippets to remember what the story was even about: I conceived Entr’acte while I was reading Normal People by Sally Rooney.

It’s an Au about Ratio and Aventurine navigating their teenage years together, then splitting up, then getting together again for one final goodbye. It has everything dear to me, starting from class consciousness and the complexity of relationships against a society that discourages art over money, pretentiousness over survival. ]

In a back and forth between past and present, Aventurine and Ratio follow parallel stories, until they connect. Set in a modern retelling of HSR.

{ photos are mine ;) pls do not save or use }

TRIGGER WARNINGS:

- mild sexual content.

📑;

Five years earlier. They’re talking about university applications. Aventurine is sitting on the bed; Veritas is on the floor, his back against the mattress, the laptop balanced on his thighs. Whenever he reads anything—his notes, some dense tome of Beloboghian literature, or just his phone notifications—he wears these rectangular glasses with progressive, anti-reflective lenses. At school, he switches to contact lenses. He once explained how uncomfortable he feels in class, especially during ancient language or history lessons, when he’s called on to read aloud. He spends entire evenings memorising whole chapters, just to make sure he doesn’t mispronounce a single word the next day.

Inevitably, he studies the wrong section and makes a complete mess of it.

Now, he’s reading through admissions letters from the region’s most prestigious universities, studying the structure of the law entrance exam.

“I’m not exactly eager to load my parents with ridiculous fees,” he told Aventurine. “A decent state university nearby will do fine.”

“You should try for medicine in Penacony,” Aventurine suggests. “You’re good at science. When the chemistry teacher explains something, it might as well be in a foreign language. Then you explain it to me and, somehow, it all makes sense. And besides, you’re literally the only one in our class who could even attempt the entrance exam for the Intelligentsia Guild.”

“Yeah, but with the campus in Penacony, it’s just not realistic,” Veritas replies, curtly. “Can you imagine the cost of renting a flat? You’ve been going on about Penacony a bit too much, honestly. What is it? You want me to move there with you?”

Aventurine blushes. Disjointed and under his breath, he mumbles, “Nah. What do you take me for?”

“I bet even if we crossed paths in Penacony, in the middle of all that crowd, you’d pretend not to know me.”

Veritas doesn’t have many friends at school. That’s a fact. His individualistic nature gets him into trouble everywhere. Aventurine once caught him in a shouting match with a cashier at the mall—she didn’t trust him enough to sell him a jacket because of his “suspicious face.” It’s true that Veritas doesn’t show much expression, and he struggles to grasp a lot of social nuance. That’s just how his face is, so what? During basketball games, despite growing tall and staying in shape, his teammates refuse to pass him the ball. Many of them hate him. He spends the break reading and eating by himself instead of socializing. Veritas’ mother has once told him that, as a child, he’s seen numerous psychologists before being sent to a psychiatrist. He has been diagnosed with a mild form of autism and social anxiety.

“I’d never pretend not to know you, Ratio.”

Without paying attention to Veritas’ reaction, Aventurine goes back to looking at his emails. The latest one dates back to yesterday: the request from the Interastral Peace Corporation shines brightly on its own. Bachelor of Economics. He can almost picture himself in a suit and tie, sitting in a polished office with sleek porcelain floors, his nameplate gleaming on the desk, greeting his colleagues with a modest smile before diving into talks about checks and bank balances. He comes from humble beginnings. If he has to, he’ll climb the social ladder. Anything to break free from the suffocating pressure of constantly turning down the overpriced meetings at the Ten Stonehearts Club, scrambling to come up with last-minute excuses.

“You, on the other hand, are good with numbers,” Veritas bursts out. “But also have an artistic streak. I saw you sing at the club last time.”

“Yeah, sure,” Aventurine bursts out laughing. "It was karaoke. What were you doing there, by the way? You know if Obsidian and Sugilite catch you, they'll skin you alive."

“I'm not afraid of them,” Veritas replies. “What do you take me for?”

They look at each other. It's hard to believe that just a moment ago Veritas was standing in the lobby of Aventurine's building, waiting for him to come and pick him up. So much paranoia about being spotted by some nosy neighbor. Today, his mother is out with her new partner, and his sister is away working as a cashier at the supermarket downtown. She’s the only one who knows about the sexual relationship he has with Veritas, the one who puts an extra plate on the table early in the morning if he stays over and his mom isn’t there yet. And only she knows that Aventurine is gay, or that Veritas is. If it got out in their small town, everyone would know within seconds.

The neighbor, a huge nuisance, is an old lady who spends her days with her ear pressed to the wall, listening to what’s going on in other people's homes. She once caught them talking to his mother about ‘strange noises at one in the morning.’ She has questioned Aventurine briefly at dinner, in a light tone, but with probing eyes. Is it true that you and Veritas...? Pretending disgust, Aventurine had locked himself in his room, heart pounding.

Today, Veritas has shown up wearing rose-scented cologne, a tight shirt, and a pair of custom-tailored pants. At school, he might be considered a loser, but he comes from a somewhat wealthy family. Aventurine wonders how he manages to keep that obnoxious air about him, despite the money and stellar reputation he could afford. Developing, he also became very handsome.

In front of the teachers, he acts arrogantly. With some, he makes an effort to be calm and polite, but since the beginning of the senior year, he’s been rude to the teachers, telling them he hasn’t learned anything from their ‘ridiculous school jurisdictions.’

Veritas has very clear ideas about education. Regulating every little aspect of the students’ life, even the way they move their eyes during lessons, seems a grotesque, comical form of control. To him, it’s pure madness. Aventurine doesn’t bother to point out the fact that he comes from a wealthy family; one should expect this from a school where boys and girls are separated by class. Last week, he raised his voice at the history teacher and stormed out of the classroom, slamming the door behind him. His parents intervened, and there was no need to suspend him.

“Here we are,” Aventurine decides, closing the laptop on his knees. He sets it aside and leans over Veritas’ shoulder, pretending to read his email. “I’ve been accepted into the IPC.”

Instead of congratulating him, perhaps with a hug, Veritas says, “Honorable of you. You’ll get a permanent position in the Strategic Department if you get a doctoral degree.”

“May the economy begin again with me,” says Aventurine, proudly. But he was expecting something else, so he pouts and leans over to close Veritas’ laptop, leaving wet kisses along his neck. “Come to bed. Come on top of me.”

Or inside me, he would like to add—the future doctor already gets it. He turns his head and kisses his lips. Lately, their sex has become a kind of fight for domination, and Aventurine often ends up with his face against the pillows and his wrists behind his back, held firmly in Veritas’ grip. He doesn't know exactly when it started. Aventurine has already asked him to stop, rather abruptly. Not today, though. Today, he’s calm. He lets himself be kissed slowly, opening his mouth wide and inviting Aventurine to come inside with his tongue. They find themselves in the middle of a sigh, and Aventurine pulls him on top of him, whether he likes it or not. Theirs is a lasting agreement based on sex, and now that they are eighteen, they can engage in all kinds of depravity. This includes leaving used condoms on the floor, walking away to the window for a quick drag on a cigarette, and then returning to fuck on any flat surface — not necessarily the bed.

Veritas is the first to pull away. He’s on top of Aventurine, his fists clenched on the wool blankets. “Do your friends know I’m here?”

Aventurine snaps out of his fantasy as though he’s been slapped. “Excuse me?”

“This morning, at school, when we stepped out into the courtyard, you kept looking towards the classroom. I caught Sugilite’s gaze.”

“They don’t know you’re here,” he reassures him, though it’s more to reassure himself.

“They wouldn't like what we're doing, seeing each other all the time, fucking like rabbits.” Veritas warns him. It is rare for him to speak of his friends in this tone. Usually, he simply ignores their existence, as though it doesn’t affect him. “But the saddest part is that they’re incapable of looking around themselves. So even if they found out, they would be bewildered. As if they never expected it.”

“Because they don’t expect it. Did you develop some sort of inferiority complex, or what?” Aventurine makes his move and draws the other back to his lips. An unreadable frown crosses Veritas’ face. “Nothing to worry about. I only have eyes for you.”

“They say it as a joke. It’s not like they have something against me.”

Aventurine breaks free from Veritas' embrace and grabs a cigarette from the jacket hanging on the drying rack. His room is a jumble of trophies, Polaroids, and photographs, none of which have anything to do with Veritas. In fact, nothing about Aventurine has anything to do with Veritas, who remains dazed on the blankets with his legs crossed. But what he says does concern Aventurine.

“Okay. And what about all the things that don’t concern your ethnicity?”

“Ratio, for God’s sake, sometimes they’re unbearable—I won’t deny that. But it doesn’t change the fact that we care about each other beneath the masks... what do they call us? Evil. Sugilite only cares about kicking the ball around during football games. Besides, some of his relatives are immigrants, like mine.”

“Sure, he’s busy thinking about the ones he sleeps with.”

“You’re obsessed. Cut it out.”

“You talk about him all the time.”

“Come on, it was just an example! Are you jealous of him too? What should I say about all those women who look at you as if they want to fuck you with their eyes, or about Screwllum?”

“He's different. He doesn't go around spreading non-existent gossip or acting like a maniac. Above all, he doesn't make racist comments. Doesn't it irritate you that they might talk about you in those terms?”

“They’re definitely talking about me just to mock me like idiots,” Aventurine declares, exasperated. He waves his arms in the air, cigarette in hand, as he speaks. “To answer you, generally no. Sometimes they go too far, and I have to put them in their place before they understand it’s time to stop, but they’re still friends. For you, it’s different.”

“How am I different?” His hands are sweaty, his cheeks burning. He can barely contain his anger. Different. What does he mean, different?

“In that you’re not their friend, and you look at everyone with disgust. More than usual this year. What the hell is going on with you?”

There’s a long pause. Outside, with the window open, the sounds of traffic and police sirens drift in. Aventurine waits for a response, but he’s neither irritated nor angry. He looks outside, the sky already nearly dark, wintery, with a hint of pink, orange, and red sunset. The clouds have gathered around the sun, their edges glowing with white light. Meanwhile, he hears Veritas settle on the edge of the bed. He looks at his knees, the belt of his pants undone. Again, the sound of traffic outside. Aventurine flicks the cigarette butt when Veritas says: “I like you, you know?”

Aventurine flinches. “Are you mocking me?”

“I told you the other day, in the kitchen, do you remember? I like you. Seriously. And I can’t help it.” He was there, nodding to himself.

“You're joking. You like me? Me?”

Veritas doesn’t reply. He’s looking at the laces of his shoes, which he’s just tied, ready to flee. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

“You’re out of your mind.” And yet, he can’t move. “You tell me this, just like that? What am I supposed to do with a confession like that?”

“Do whatever you want. Or we can put an end to everything right now and I’ll leave.”

“No way,” Aventurine blurts out, standing in front of Veritas. “Do you think I'm going to throw away a year of fucking because you fell in love with me? Look at me, Ratio. Do you think I would do something like that? I don't give a shit.” His tone is indifferent and arrogant. “Get over it.”

Veritas looks up. His lips are pressed together in a defensive line and his eyes are burning. His usual aristocratic appearance has vanished. He nods reluctantly.

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