𝕏𝕆𝕏𝕆, 𝔽𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕩.
Felix Catton + fem!reader. Warnings : Cussing. Drugs. Long.
My other Felix fics, if you have the time.
happy v-day💌
You do NOT have permission to repost and/or translate any of my fics.
Desc. : You don't want to fix him, but you do, anyway.
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Okay, okay, so he beat someone up on campus, so fucking what?
It's called being a good fucking person. Look, you do not let some utter chav get away with cat-calling a girl in the middle of the dining hall, and then a frat party, where she might have been roofied if she'd have been dumber (thank god she wasn't), and in a fucking library, just because she couldn't cause a scene. Three strikes and he was out.
But apparently, so was Felix.
"No, Sir, I'm telling you, he was--'
"Professor Walker."
Professor. Asshole. "Professor. I apologise. Professor, I'm telling you, he was being absolutely dodgy!"
"Mr. Catton, I'd advise you to stay calm--"
His fist slammed on the table, the pens on this useless waste of a PhD's desk bouncing, seemingly in tune with Felix's blood pressure. "YOU are a philosophy professor, yeah? Don't bloody talk about practical shite to me, and don't tell me what to do about what happens in the real world, when your whole career is telling people to overthink everything and keep their heads in the clouds!"
Uh, whoops.
His adrenaline shot down as fast as it had shot up and all of a sudden, he was acutely aware of his ranking in this shithole.
Student.
He's lucky he wasn't expelled.
Because the philosophy 'professor' said "young minds often reject new ideas".
Figures.
He got let off with a warning, an extremely disappointed voicemail from his mother (Felix, dear, you know philosophy was my major, that was a horrid joke to make), to sit in on one month's worth of philosophy lectures - surprisingly, without charge - and a mandatory weekly anger management session for the rest of the academic year.
That last bit was what he was most chagrined about.
He did not need a bloody shrink. GOD. He was fine. He just couldn't handle the philosophy 'professor' telling him to 'stay calm' when he was perfectly calm. Maybe he knew that would set him off. Any class with Felix in it is sure to get more listeners. So maybe it was this Professor Walker mooching off his campus-wide popularity.
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Having to miss classes wasn't exactly on your bucket list, but your body was far less used to Oxford winters than you'd expected, and so the flu decided to scrape a week off your lectures. You made up for it, though, being a swot on your first free week of Uni, and not needing to catch up on much.
However, there was definitely no chance your professor took too kindly to your absence, seeing as psychology was your major, and she expected you to be there, rain, hail or shine. Star student, you were not, but the only one taking it seriously, you were.
So here you were, sitting in front of her as she regarded you. "You need extra credit."
"Yes, Professor."
"Your career path?"
"Uh... undecided."
"Career focus?"
"Psychology.' That, you knew.
She hummed, shaking a packet of sugar before ripping the corner. You watched the tiny, crystalline cubes get engulfed by the brown of her coffee.
"You should try going into therapy."
For a moment, you almost chewed her head off.
"As a career.", she clarified, almost snorting as she saw your expression. "You interact well with people, and you have a good grasp on the subject." Ah. Say that properly, bitch.
"Here's what I'll do.", she declared, taking a large sip of her coffee - you were almost 90% sure she'd made it Irish earlier - before sliding a small, stapled pile of papers over to you. "I'll give you all the tools you'll need. See if you can get them memorized and come back for a solo quiz later this week. Then, you can begin conducting."
Conducting?
You skimmed your eyes over the stack of paper. Weekly mandatory anger management sessions. Split second, and you thought it was for you, because maybe she had heard you mentally call her a bitch.
"An extremely hardworking and well-scoring student recently got into an altercation on campus, on grounds.", she explained, and you nodded, your eyes not leaving the stack of paper.
'Conducted by' : blank. You supposed that's where you were supposed to sign.
"Although we have a strict policy against harrasment and conflict, none of the three parties involved has openly stated discrimination. The only solid thing the university has got is a confession from the initiator and witnesses from the side of the victim. But given his clean record so far, we have resorted to only this. Sessions to contain any such future outbursts."
Who even was this kid, and why was he your form of extra credit? "But I'd be using him as a lab rat, basically."
"Come again?"
"I'm not qualified or licensed to conduct these sessions, so I don't think--"
She waved you off, the bint. "It's a mere formality, no need to put stock into it. That's not to say you can slack off, half-arse it, either, but he's had no history of violence and is known to be a relatively good-tempered student."
Then why the fuck?
"We figure he can be let off easy - we'd never take sides, so this is off the record, but he was justified - and you can get extra credit, and the victim can be appeased. Quiet and a win-win-win."
The coffee now completely drained, she watched you think it over while staring blankly at the space in which you needed to sign your name. Inhaling deeply, she leaned over, gently prying it from you and flipping the page. "This bit, very important. Sort of like an NDA. No, maybe... an ANS. Agreement Not to Sue. But less official."
"This looks more like summat he should be signing. Basically, since I'm not a licensed therapist, if he doesn't get better, or gets more fucked, the Uni isn't to blame?"
"You need to sign it, too. You'll have to record the sessions, as well."
"So you know I'm not 'half-arsing' it?"
"So we know he's coming to them. But yeah. That too.", she smiled, tilting her head. "You in?"
Well, yeah, you kind of had to be, seeing as she cut marks for your absences out of sheer fucking spite.
You nodded and so did she. "Brilliant! Sign here."
Scrawling your sign - that you came up with in the eighth grade instead of fucking having fun like a kid - on the blank spots her manicured nail hovered over, you bit the inside of your cheek. Was it weird that they weren't telling you who it was?
Was it weird that the sheet had been blank when it was brought to you, meaning whoever this bloke was, he had no clue what was coming?
Uh huh. Yeah.
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"A student?! A first year fucking student? I'm getting a kid-shrink?"
"It's a mere formality. Given your record, we're sure you don't even require these sessions--"
"Professor! Come on! Can't we just say I took them?"
It's quite interesting how chill a philosophy professor can actually be once you get to know them personally. And Walker was cool, as Felix had come to find out in the past couple days of knowing him.
"Afraid not. But I'm sure she's been adequately trained by the psychology in-charge to handle these sessions."
"Why can't the in-charge do it? Would actually do summat!"
"She's busy."
He scoffed as he was handed a stapled stack of papers. "What's this, then?"
"Read it."
He did, for a while, before looking up at him with raised eyebrows. "What is this, a Liability Waiver for if she bollockses my mental health by accident?"
"More or less."
Sweet lord. "Oh, fantastic, so I'm a scapegoat, a trial for this first year, am I? See if counselling is her 'thing'?"
"You know, a more positive attitude towards this, and you might not have to go the whole year.'
"What, sayin' she'll give up?"
Walker looked almost amused, snorting. "No. I'm saying you might actually get a solution for your rage issues."
"I don't have--'
"You could learn a thing or two, Felix. Learn to calm your temper - no matter how non-existent you claim it to be - and learn how to be happier."
"Brilliant. A first year is going to teach me about the joys of non-reactivity, then? Brilliant. We'll see her keep her temper when a girl's being near groped in front of her, hm?"
"We'll need to have you sign there and there and twice on the last page, please."
"She got this before me?", he muttered, glaring at the signatures already present on the pages. "So she got to decide whether she wants to deal with me, not the other way around!? Unbelievable."
"Sign, please, Felix."
He grumbled under his breath, attempting to recall whether he'd ever even heard your name before, as he messily signed something that was probably not his signature, on each page. He has no clue what his signature is. He figured he'd sort it out when he takes over the family estate (or business), or whatever.
"None of these look the same."
"Well, this is hardly official is it? 'S long as my name's there, it's not a problem, yeah?"
"You're gonna give me a migraine before my first week as your student advisor.", he muttered, accepting the sheets back anyway. "Okay, good. Sessions start Saturday."
Fucking spectacular, now this girl was taking his weekends away.
WEEK 1
Your pen twirled between your fingers and the inside of your cheek practically split open with how frequently you'd been resorting to chewing on it lately.
You'd passed the solo quiz that your professor had set up for you, and she'd declared you 'adequately trained' to take these sessions.
Okay? And? What, were you supposed to jump in joy?
Late. This arsehole, 'Felix Catton' was his name. You just... try as you might, you couldn't place a face to the familiar name. And that face was almost ten minutes late.
But one thing you would not do is get up and leave until the hour was up. Work ethic. Wait till the last moment. With any luck, he wouldn't show up at all, and you could complain, and get extra credit some other way--
The door exploded open, and shuffling, throwing-off of a coat and grumbled-settling-down was heard, as you looked up from your notes.
"You're the first year, then?"
Oh, THIS GUY?! Whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah, you remembered him!
You nodded. "Yes. Uh, just a second, Mr. Catton.", you muttered, angling the video camera right, ignoring the scoff it elicited from the junior.
"I'm two years older than you."
"What would you like me to call you?" That plug from the Christmas party who tried to overcharge me?
He watched you fiddling with the device for a bit before sitting up, one leg crossed over another as he huffed, playing with his rings. "Felix is fine."
"Felix it is, then.", you mumbled, finally getting the thing to work, before clearing your throat and sitting up. Here we go. "So, Felix.", you began, trying to smile off the awkwardness. "We're here to just go through these Uni-mandated sessions, so that you may have an insight into conflict resolution and--"
"Do you wanna know why I'm here in this bloody session?"
You glanced over to the camera for a second, feeling like you were in a fucking Office episode, before nodding, gesturing at him to continue. Fuck, if this shite went on the record and he said summat so unbelievably stupid you were at a loss for words, you could kiss your extra credit goodbye.
"I punched a lad. Hard, till his nose bled and he couldn't stand up without support."
You nodded, flicking through the file of information you'd received from some advisor of his, Professor Walker. Nice chap. "Yes, I see that. How does that make you feel? Did it make you feel powerful?"
"Mhm.", he hummed, nodding as he glared at you, a sort of smirk on his face, like he thought this would have you freaking out about his sadistic tendencies. It's funny he thought you cared.
"Happy?'
"Very."
"I see. But one thing that's conveniently missing from your file.", you replied, eyes flicking accusatorily to the camera before reaching his eyes once more. "Is why you did it.", you stated, your fingers intertwining as you looked at him with rapt attention.
This seemed to throw him for a loop, the self-satisfied grin fading for a moment.
"Why'd you want to know, sweetheart? So that you can record me confessing to the crime on tape?", he mused, gesturing at the camera before reclining back in his seat, his arms crossed. "Because I'm sorry to disappoint your wide-eyed, freshman dreams, but I've already said it, on the record."
You frowned, tilting your head softly for a moment. "No, I'm asking, because I truly don't know. They wouldn't give me your identity, let alone your case."
"Well, I hit a lad. For cat-calling a girl."
He observed your face almost twitch for a moment, and he figured you were about to throw the camera at him, but instead, you switched it off. "And they're punishing you for it?", you asked, leaning your forearms in front of him, basically whispering although the camera was off.
Huh. Whoa, maybe you were on his side.
"Yeah, isn't it mental?", he scoffed, leaning in, too. "I figured I should get some sort of medal, y'know? Maybe a commendation from the dean."
"I wouldn't go that far, but it's good, what you did.", you laughed, softly.
"Exactly!", he huffed, a genuine smile now on his face as he leaned back, rubbing his hands over his jaw. "Wow. I- sorry, love, but I didn't expect us to, like, agree."
"No, no, yeah, totally! I thought you were a hotheaded twat. I didn't expect...", you exclaimed, gesturing at him. "Reason."
"Right. Well, okay, great! Uh, phew, yeah?"
You nodded.
"So, yeah, this is cool. We'll just... you'll take care of it, won't ya? Thanks, you're a peach.", he grinned, standing up and not believing his bloody luck!
"Hey, hey, where are you going?"
Turning, he frowned. "Well, we agree. So you'll talk to your in-charge, and say I don't need it, yeah? Oh, oh, you want me to stay the hour so you can, like, log it in. Yeah, yeah, got it.", he mumbled, nodding eagerly.
"What? No." He was, uh... clearly not on the same page as you.
His smile faded slowly. "What?"
"We've got weeks left of this."
"Yeah, but. Wait, I thought you agreed with me."
"I do. It's bonkers to punish you, but, it's mandatory, so."
"'So'? So, go do summat about it, then!", he cried, gesturing at nothing in particular. "Tell 'em there's nothing to work on!"
"I'm not just going to--"
"WHY?!"
You almost flinched. God. Maybe he did have anger issues.
"WHAT'S IN IT FOR YOU?!"
Oh, oh-- uh oh. He didn't even know why you were doing it, and you were sure he'd blow five gaskets if he did.
"Just finish it, stop causing unecessary problems!"
"No, seriously! What's in it for you?"
"SIT DOWN!"
For some reason, that, he listened to.
He slumped down.
"Shut up and do what you were instructed to do." Lord knows where you'd got the balls to talk to a junior like that.
Reaching over to turn the camera back on, you began again. "What would you like me to call you?", you repeated.
"How about I call you something and we can workshop sm'n out for me later?", he grumbled under his breath.
"Sorry? You weren't audible. What was that?"
"Nothing. Felix."
"Felix.", you echoed, nodding. "We're here to just go through these Uni-mandated sessions, so that you may have an insight into conflict resolution and live an overall, controlled and more fulfilling life and have a more fruitful experience here at Oxford.", you read off the script, jaw clenched, mirroring his dirty look.
"Yes, I'm aware, thank you, freshie."
"I'd like it if you adressed me by my name. You already know it from the sign-up form for the sessions, but I am happy to repeat it if you wish.'
"Sign-up form?", he scoffed, looking directly at the camera. "Is that what they're calling it on the record?"
"That is what it is."
"Sweet Lord, it's a Liabil-- hey.", he grimaced, narrowing his eyes at you as you kneed him from under the table.
"Right. Y/N. Am I supposed to call you 'Doctor', too, freshie?"
"Just my name is fine."
He rolled his eyes, his hands fiddling with his rings. "Let's begin with your recount of the incident."
How many bloody times?! He was about to explode.
~~
You ended the session at exactly one hour, because you couldn't take this moron anymore, for fuck's sake.
He didn't object.
Shutting off the camera, you wordlessly packed up your things, stuffing them into your bag.
"Are they payin' ya?"
You snorted, zipping up your bag before slinging it over your shoulder. "No."
"Fuckin' snake."
"How am I a snake, Felix?", you sighed, tapping an impatient foot on the floor.
"Pretending you're on my side and that. Was that just to get information for the therapy part of it? Because that was a bitch move."
"What? No, I genuinely think it's odd that they're punishing you for something like this."
"Then why?! What could they possibly offer a fresher? They wouldn't increase your scholarship for shite this petty, so-- wait. EXTRA CREDIT?!", he gasped, standing up startlingly quick. "You're doin' this for a couple points of extra credit ?! WHAT?!"
"So what if I am?", you asked, schooling your face and your voice to be the picture of calm. "Either way, these sessions are mandated if you don't want this to escalate. It'll be over before you know it."
"EXTRA CREDIT?!", he practically shrieked, as he followed you out the door. "How bloody pathetic! You're going against what you know is right for extra bloody credit?! Just fucking study!"
"It'll be over before you know it, Felix."
"For the rest of the academic year, I have to come to you every Saturday and listen to you blabbering on about how to 'take deep breaths and count to ten'.", he scoffed, incredulously, easily overtaking you and obstructing your path in more ways than one.
"Doesn't always have to be a Saturday."
Oh, he was about to actually get anger issues.
"This pisses you off, too! Come on, admit it, fresher! You don't like this any more than I do!", he declared, crossing his arms defiantly.
You sort of liked pissing him off. Gave you much more to work with, sadistically. Reaching into your bag, you handed him the tiny blue journal you'd bought. "Here."
"What is this?"
"It's for noting down your feelings. You will have to fill at least one page every day and bring it back to me during our sessions."
He gaped incredulously at you as you shouldered past him. You're giving him homework?!
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WEEK 5
"You're not taking off your helmet?"
"No. Bothers you?"
You glanced at the camera for a second, before shaking your head, the corners of your lips turned down in feigned and exaggerated indifference. "No."
"Because I'll keep it on, mud and all. I fell on the way here."
"You fell?"
"Yeah. Helmet's now my coping mechanism. Calms me, y'know?" That made no bloody sense!
"So you're keeping it on."
'You wouldn't deny me my coping mechanism, would you, Y/N?"
You sucked on your teeth, shaking your head once more. Dirt on the desk, dirt on your laptop, dirt-- FUCK!
"No, it's alright."
He grinned slyly, nodding, before sliding the journal over to you. "I filled it."
"Entirely?" It's only Week 5, what the hell?
"Yes, actually. I'm an overachiever."
You raised a brow, taking it from him and placing it next to his file.
"So. How are we doing today?", you asked, once again intertwining your fingers and placing them on the desk as you leaned closer to the imbecile.
"You're not readin' it?"
Oh, please, like you had no clue what was in there. "No, actually, I've got to directly submit this to both your advisor and my in-charge."
"What?"
"Yeah, protocol. That's why I said to take it one week at a time so we can monitor progress, but it seems you're an 'overachiever' - your words, not mine."
"Can I have it back?" His tone was almost nervous, and you were now even more certain what he'd actually bloody written in there.
You almost smirked before you remembered the presence of the camera. "You want it back, Felix?"
"Yeah, I think I, uh, used a couple of profanities."
"That's alright, I'm sure they'll understand."
"Can I please have it back?"
You shrugged, holding it out for him to take, letting him tug on it for a moment before you released it from your grasp. "Would you like another one? Since you've filled this one?"
"I'll buy my own."
"Very well. I ask again, how are you doing today?"
He huffed, momentarily looking like he was actually prepared to answer honestly. "Great."
"Great.", you echoed, your pen twirling between your fingers. "And define 'great' to you."
"Not shite.", he said through gritted teeth.
"In more elaborate, less crude terms, please, Mr. Felix.'
"I am doing well today. Not bad.", he mumbled, playing with the buckle of the helmet he'd so adamantly kept on that was now seeming a bit too bloody tight. But he couldn't take it off. Not when it was clearly bothering you. "Nothing particularly terrible or triggering has occurred."
"And is that always the standard you measure your experiences on? 'Not bad'? If nothing 'terrible or triggering' has happened, it's a 'great' day?", you asked offhandedly, noting it down. 'Not shite'.
His eyes darted up to you. "What?"
"I said, is that always the stand--"
"No, I heard you. Just... isn't that what everyone does?"
"Do you think it is? Do you think it's what everyone does? Have any of your friends told you it is what they do?"
"What do you do?"
"Me?" Were you allowed to answer this? Is that against some therapist rule? You weren't sure, and you couldn't really ask your textbook right now, could you?
He nodded, mildly intrigued.
"Personally, for me to count a day as 'great', there should be an equal balance of absence of bad things and presence of good things."
"Well, then, I fell off my bike, but I did well on a test. Is that, in your books, a 'great' day?"
"Depends. Which do you weigh more? Is falling off a bike worse than getting a bad grade, or is getting a good grade better than staying upright on a bike?"
"Getting a good grade."
"Well, then, I suppose, there's your answer."
Huh. This was an odd perspective he's never exactly... heard before. Wait, no! This shite is not working, fuck off, fresher!
"Whatever."
"Whatever indeed.", you nodded. "You seem to have a better attitude this week, to the session." He did not. But it would piss him off if he thought that you thought this was working.
"I do not."
"Oh, well, then, pardon me, my mistake. So, tell me. Why do you think it is, that you're not particularly interested in these sessions?"
"Because I don't have anger issues. If a bloke catcalls a girl once, it's whatever - still bad - but whatever. Happens. But if he keeps doin' it, almost roofies her at a party and constantly tailing her, and then tryin' to score in a fucking library, just because she can't yell out at him, that's, like... creep behaviour!"
You nodded. "Yes, you mentioned this, in the first session, and also to your student advisor, it seems.", you replied, tapping the tip of your pen at the bit of the file that mirrored what he was saying.
"And you think that that's a therapy-worthy answer."
"Why do you not think you're going to get anything out of these sessions, Felix? Even without anger issues, per se, everyone could use some guidance in controlling their emotions and resolving conflict peacefully, wouldn't you agree?"
"No, I would not agree. I think that if you're being an absolute prick , then no amount of peaceful talking is going to do anything. You need to get physical. Teach a lesson."
"I see. And you know this works because...?"
"Because he's shut up, hasn't he?"
"Right, but maybe he's still doing it. Perhaps not to that particular girl, but how do you know for sure you've 'taught him a lesson'?"
"Because- well.", he muttered. Shut up, fresher! "He's not that daft! He wouldn't risk another beating!"
"If he's daft enough to do it three times even after she expressed disinterest, Felix, I'm sure he might be 'daft' enough to 'risk another beating'."
He tsked, taking off the bloody tight fucking helmet, and running his hands through his hair. You watched the brown spill through the gaps of his fingers, before your eyes came back to his face. "You're frustrated?"
"Yes, I'm frustrated."
"What do you usually do, when you're frustrated?"
"Certainly not sit in a room with a fresher and 'talk about it'!"
"Right, I suppose you don't.", you replied, smiling. "So what is it you do?"
"I dunno, smoke?"
"Smoke?", you asked, tilting your head, noting it down. "You smoke?"
"Yeah, I smoke. What, you going to turn this into a cancer-awareness session?"
"I'm simply trying to understand you, Felix."
"What is this, like a first date, you learn shite about me, and see if I'm worth anything in your eyes?", he scoffed.
"Would that make it easier to open up?"
"No! God! What high school did you go to? Idiot."
"Oh, so we are going with the first date thing?"
"No- I- you're so stupid! I don't actually care what high school you went to! It was rhetoric!"
His outburst, oddly, was not followed by a calm and infuriating retort, in fact, you just looked back at him, disappointed, it looked like. But that was impossible, because that would mean you gave a crap, which, you couldn't. You did this for extra credit like a fuckin' try-hard, right?
The silence almost devours him whole as he looks into your eyes - why were they so... he didn't even know, that look you were giving him just... freaked him out.
"Time's up. You can leave."
What?! No, no, no, he just got here.
"Already?"
He heard the video camera shut off. "Time flies when you're actually working with me, Felix, y'know?"
"Don't get used to it, I had a shit day.'
You chuckled softly, nodding. "I won't. Have a nice rest o' your weekend, Catton."
WEEK 10
"Hello again, Felix."
"Hi."
"You seem cheery today."
"Yes, actually. I went out last night. Downed a couple pints with the lads. It was fun."
"I'm glad you had fun."
He nodded, pursing his lips as he rocked back and forth, awkwardly.
"Yes, so. If you don't mind, I'd just like to go back to some things that were left unfinished in some of the previous sessions. Let's circle back to your mention of what you do when you're frustrated. Smoke. Anything else?"
He sighed, rubbing his temple as he looked up at you. 'No. Well, if you're talking about last night, uh, drink, yeah, sometimes, but never to change my mood or whatever."
"I see. So that's all you do, when frustrated?"
"Yeah. Smoke."
"How about this. Next time you feel frustrated, instead of picking up a pack of cigarettes, pick up a pen."
"What, write down my feelings like a thirteen year old girl?"
"No, draw. On paper, on a desk, on your hand, who cares? Draw."
"Draw?"
"Yeah. It's worked for me, and you seem to be responding slightly better when I give you real life examples of what's worked and not worked for me, so."
"What, the bike thing from Session 5?! Because I-- Oh, please, you're not that bloody smart! Anyone could've said that, doesn't mean I'm 'responding better' just because you said it worked for you, you're a fuckin' fresher, everything you read in your stupid little psych textbooks would work for you!", he snapped. He didn't even know what half of that meant. He just wanted to say something.
"See, it seems that this is more what you do when you're frustrated, Felix, per my observation. You're free to correct me if I'm wrong, but since our previous sessions, this sort of insulting defensiveness is what I feel you resort to."
"'M not defensive. I just think this is pointless."
"Yes, you've made that quite apparent."
"Well, then how about you just declare me fixed?"
"It's not about declaring you, alright, it's about finishing the minimum duration provided to us by the University."
"Fine."
Silence. "So. I ask again. Why not draw?"
"Fine, I'll draw."
"Alright. Thank you, Felix. Time's up."
"What?!"
"Just kidding. You've only been here five minutes. How about... and humour me here...", you muttered, reaching under the desk and groping around until you pull out two sketchbooks. "We draw right now?"
"What, and then you analyse how fucked I am in the head?"
"Or we just draw. We don't even have to talk.", you replied, handing him the sketchbook. God, this better work. You'd had to draw info from child psych books for this guy.
~~
It took barely five minutes for him to begin talking again.
"What are these pencils?"
"Don't ask me, they're all Oxford-provided."
"What a joke. You know, when I was a fresher, I didn't even let myself think of borrowing anything from Uni, I got all my own shite, and even if I lost it, I'd ask it to be sent over from home."
"Really?" Fucking rich boy cunt.
"Mhm.", he hummed, the scratches of his incessant scribbling almost grating in the silent room, but also comfortable, somehow, blending in with the smooth swish sounds of your own, lazy strokes. "Only the best. Can't afford mistakes, can I?"
Can't afford? You'd researched him enough to know that little existed of the sort for him.
"I suppose you can't."
"Y'know, I fucking lost my shite third week of freshman year. How about you?"
"I'm handling it okay, thanks for asking." You were, in fact, not. Your assignments were all overdue by now, and you were having to pull all-nighters that bled steadily into mornings because of this new extra-credit task you'd taken on, and to top it all off, none of the other Professors seemed to care that the Uni was milking the two of you. Abusing your need to improve your grade - although you shouldn't fucking need it -and subjecting him to these sessions with none of his own volition.
"That's good to hear. How close are you to offing yourself, then?", he mused, raising a brow and licking the back of his molars as his eyes slowly reached yours. Fuck. He was onto you.
You tsked, reaching over and shutting off the camera. "You know I have better things to do than edit this to cut out your little quips, right? I really can't have you talking about offin' yourself."
"Oh, so you're also a drown-in-alcohol kind of person, I see."
What in the everloving fuck-- "God, get a fuckin' life, mate.", you muttered, reaching back up to switch the camera on after silently glaring and counting down from three.
"I'm handling it okay, thanks for asking.", you repeated.
"Huh. Really?"
"Yes. Why, is your school year not going okay?"
"No, it's going spectacular. My parents pay for an afternoon to go off once a week for a useless fresher to tell their son to meditate."
You chose not to respond to that, instead pursing your lips and continuing to draw. A flower, it seemed, your hands wished to create.
"Why do you even need extra credit?"
"I was sick, and I missed a couple classes."
"Oh, and you flunked the tests?", he asked, reaching over to grab your pencil out of your hands and use the eraser on the back of it, before tossing it back to you. Prick, and if that smirk was any indication, smug prick.
"No, actually, I'd already finished a good chunk of the syllabus content my first couple weeks so I did fine in my tests."
"So why?"
He looked genuinely curious. So genuinely curious, that you actually felt like this was a first date and he was an annoyingly inquisitive romantic candidate.
"She just didn't like the absences." Plus, everyone else just took Psych to slack off.
"That's not fair."
"Yeah, well, you beat up a creep for a girl and they're punishing you, so."
His eyes flicked over to the camera momentarily. "That's on the record."
"It should be."
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Normalcy is hard to achieve because it's never truly been attained.
Now, this kind of knowledge is only acquired when you take a philosophy class - like you - but since Felix was a PolSci-stuck-up-arsehole, it really didn't strike him that the life he'd lived before you had neither been normal nor happy.
Which is why when he found you and a couple of your friends hanging out by the lawn of a frat party, passing around a spliff, he just couldn't resist.
"Is this your coping mechanism, then?"
He reveled in the groan you replied with.
"Ladies, if you could excuse us?"
You rolled your eyes as all your mates nodded slyly before scrambling up. With hungry and suggestive looks at him and then you, they waved subtly. Spectacular. They already thought you were hooking up and now... fuck.
"Ah. I think we're gonna need that, if you will.", he called, winking as he grabbed the spliff from one of them, before settling down next to you. "See? I'm a celebrity. You should bring that up next time, see if you can't do anything with it."
"What?"
"Like, ask me about that. Incorporate it. 'How's it feel, Felix, being the life of the party, and the apple of everyone's eye?'"
"Incorp-- do you think this is a game? Like this is a play?!"
"Well, yeah. It's basicall--"
"GOD, you absolute prick! I'm here freakin' out about the syllabus, tests, and stayin' up to analyse and collate your bullshit and I have to submit it and study resources for it and--", you paused, catching your breath and glaring at him before taking a hit to calm your nerves. "And you think it's a story, like an improv session, where we add off each other.", you mumbled the last bit out.
"What are you, burnt-out from this shite?"
You didn't respond and he watched the smoke flow above the two of you. "God. You are. What sort of a freshman's burnt out by second term?"
"The kind that has to be a shrink to some anger-issued arsehole."
"Hey, c'mon, you-", he huffed, tilting his head at you. "You don't have to put too much effort into this, it's a formality."
"To you!", you yelled, sitting up in frustration, your elbow on your knee and your blunt in your fingers.
He sat up, too, sighing. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth."
"Worth nothing."
"Yeah, I can tell.", he muttered, hiding a scoff. "Gimme."
You rolled your eyes, but handed him the spliff nevertheless, which he grumbled as he took a drag of. Knees elevated to his chest, he exhaled the smoke. "This is good. Is it American?'
"How should I know?"
"You don't care what sort of weed you smoke? This actually is one of your coping methods?"
"For the love of-- lay off, man!"
"Whoa, whoa, it's a joke!"
"You're a joke!"
He almost laughed at that. Almost, because he'd had quite fucking enough of you. He didn't forget who he was just because you might have changed his perspective a little. He was still Felix motherfucking Catton, a motherfucking Upperclassman. And when he was a fresher, he had to treat his Upperclassmen with utmost respect- no, reverence - so he'll be damned if he's gonna let you sit here and call him a joke.
"Stand up."
"What?"
"Stand up."
"Why?"
"NOW, FRESHER, NOW!" Okay, the startle in your body language made him feel the tiniest bit bad, but still, it was exactly what had been done to him, and he wasn't all whiny about it.
"Okay, okay, I'm up, I'm up!", you mumbled, straightening out your shirt. "What?"
He had no clue what he wanted you to stand up for.
"So. The reason I had you shoot up..."
Think, Felix! Think!
"...Is actually quite simple, really. I'm sure you've already guessed."
"You want to get my mind off it or summat."
Sure. "Good. You're smart. And how will I be doing that?"
You shrugged. "Take me on a joyride on your stupid bicycle or summat.", you grumbled.
Sure. Let's go with that. Better than Felix's idea of making you do jumping jacks, like his seniors had done to him.
"Wow, maybe shrinks really can read minds. And at least you have one of your own.", he replied, flicking your forehead as he shepherded you over to the exit of the party. Yeah, he didn't think through how far you'd have to walk before you actually reached his bike. Oh, well. Better for him.
"So.", he began, arms swinging exaggeratedly at his side. "Have you heard anything from your in-charge yet? Walker won't tell me anything."
You shook your head. "It's all the same. 'Received tapes. Good work. Keep going.' Like I'm bloody angling for a gold star."
"Well, you're angling for the college equivalent of a gold star, which is a smidge of extra credit."
Shrugging, you seemed to agree. It was a pleasant sort of... stoned sort of quiet for the rest of the walk until his bike came into view. "There it is."
"That's the bike you fell off of after you aced your test?"
"Yeah."
"How?", you scoffed, buckling up the little helmet he offered you "Thing looks brand new."
"What, you were expecting some post-war, ancient bike?", he snorted, clambering onto the seat.
"Yeah, I thought it'd be some rusty, squeaky, rickety thing. How's this supposed to work? Where do I sit?"
"On your own bike's seat.", he replied, gesturing to the rest of the bicycle lot.
"I don't have a bloody bicycle! I'm normal! I walk to classes!"
"How close is your dorm?!"
"Quite."
"Well...", he huffed, taking off his helmet. 'Well, okay, so, just... take one."
"Take one?"
"Like... a random one. Borrow an unlocked one."
"Steal, you mean."
"Semantics."
"I'm not stealing."
He groaned. He had way too much of a heart to punish you like his seniors did.
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"Could you slow down?!"
He watched you grumble before you slowed down, allowing him to jog up next to you. "I'm going to hold onto the handlebar because I wouldn't put it past you to steal my bike and then ask me 'how did that make you feel?' in the next session."
You actually had to stop the bike to laugh for that one.
"Oh, she acts human.", he remarked, crossing his arms across his chest as he regarded you. "Alright, it's not... that funny."
But you just didn't stop laughing.
Well, until you started crying.
Maybe that weed was laced. Yeah, he was feelin' a bit off, himself. Shit.
"I mean, fuck, Felix, mate, you- you know I don't think you should be antagonized like this, yeah? You're... you, you're good, you- you helped a girl, and your anger issues are good!"
Okay, clearly the laced weed was hitting you both at the same time, somehow. Either it was causing him to mishear some sympathy from your end or causing you to express sympathy. Either way, somehow, you were both oddly on the same page.
"I don't have anger-bloody-issues.", he gritted out, tapping his fingers impatiently on the handlebar.
"No, mate, you do, but, like, they're good, you don't have to get all touchy about it. I like it, personally. Think it's good. You're stickin' it to the man and all that."
He scoffed as he shifted closer, flicking your - well, his - helmet back a bit. "You're on thin ice, 'mate'! I told you, I don't have anger iss--"
"You're yellin' at me right now!"
"I'm NOT--", he cut himself off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You're pissin' me off."
"Everything pisses you off! That's why they're called anger issues!', you retorted, and he swore he was close to pushing you off the bike and seeing how many minutes of meditation you'd employ not to uppercut him.
"I don't need your shrink bullshit, and you can't do it anyway! I don't get how you're burnt out, y'know? You half-arse everything!"
He barely knew you outside of these sessions. He was straight up lying, but he wanted to prove that it wasn't that easy to keep your calm when provoked. Especially not by some smart aleck swot-freshman who thinks her psych major means she can read his mind and give him lip.
Ow ow, ow. Fuck. He needed to sit. down. The 'weed' was definitely about to make him pop a blood vessel, because did he just see three stars in the sky run down in front of him? No. Can't be, yeah?
"D'you think...?", you groaned, hastily removing the helmet. "D'you think there was summat in the punch?"
"Think it was the weed."
"Weed doesn't-- oh."
He nodded, gently steering the bicycle to the nearest bench, which was barely a hundred paces away, observing your feet elevated and the pedals rotating on their own as he tugged it along.
Grunting lowly as he sat, he held out a hand for you after you leant the bicycle against a nearby streetlamp. You slumped down next to him. "This is why I don't take Donna's weed, but she swore it was clean."
"Some friend she is."
"Hey."
"Oh, please, come on. She lies to you, gives you laced weed because, what, she thought she knew best on what would calm you down? That's not what a friend does."
"What does a friend do? Take you on bicycle rides across campus?"
"I mean, sure. Why not?", he asked, gesturing around. "It's fresh air, yeah? We had some talkin' happening, as well, sorted out our differences and that, yeah?"
You chuckled, softly, shaking (and lightly clutching) your head. "And what did we sort out?"
"That you're a bit of a cunt. And I'm a twat."
"Second one is accurate."
"That statement just proved the first one.", he retorted, before scoffing and breaking into a fit of breathy giggles. "Fuck."
You watched the world spin for a while, a dizzying amalgamation of shapes and stars and colours and suddenly you were aware of the clothes on your body, the wind in your hair, the saliva on your tongue, the beat of your heart.
And that's when you did it. You weren't sure what you expected or why you did it, but you just ended up kissing him like it was summat you were meant to do next, like a script. Like clockwork.
He, to say the least, was surpised it was you who initiated it. Honestly. He'd always been a very daft person when it came to... well, boundaries, for one. Sane actions, for the other. However, there was something less daft and more... crazed about this drug-induced haze you were clouded in that rendered his self-awareness moot.
And so he kissed back.
Ravenously.
This, it seemed, according to the faux marijuana, was all he ever fucking needed. Poof, no anger issues. And for you? Poof, no stress.
It was wrong, to say the least. Not due to anything besides the fact that there was no logical person who'd put you two together. He groaned softly, almost reverently, as he gripped a couple locks of your hair, a wordless direction for you to get your idiotic arse over here. And you did. The kiss didn't break. You guys should get an award for that impressive feat.
But the real award should be for your desperate, bruising grip to sobriety, the one that eventually led to you pulling yourself away from his lips, breathlessly.
"I know what you're doing."
He wasn't one for biting his lip, so he bit down on yours, instead. "Yeah? What's that, babe?", he asked, fiddling with the button of your jeans.
"You're tryin' to get off the hook of these sessions by claiming conflict of interest 'cause of this."
Oh, fuck, he hadn't even thought of that. Would've been so fuckin' smart, and plus, he'd have got a lay out of it. But he didn't exactly feel like giving a premature end to these sessions that he'd - never fucking admit - grown sort of fond of.
"Or maybe, I'm trying to get off, period.", he whispered, kissing at your cheek.
"Yeah, right."
"Trust issues much?", he murmured, his hand gently sliding into the front of your jeans. "Maybe next session, we should work on that, sweetheart."
Fuck.
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No one ever tells you this - lest you experience some form of joy in life - but waking up to good smells rather than any form of sound is heaps better, calmer, lovelier.
And you woke up, not to the sound of your alarm, but to the smell of goddamn butter and toast. Like, fuck, okay. Damn. This is what life should feel like, then?
You groaned, almost ready to scream at how at peace you were, before getting out of bed, rubbing your face. You shot right back in, though. Right. You were starkers.
"Felix?!"
God, you hoped it was actually him and you hadn't had some sort of adventure after him last night.
He practically left skid marks, the way he rushed to the bedroom doorway. "Uh huh?"
"Where the fuck are my clothes?"
"Oh, I put them in the wash."
"Felix--"
"Just kidding. They're in that drawer, there." Across the room.
"Could you get them for me?"
He smirked. 'Yeah."
"'Yeah' as in you will, or 'yeah' as in you could, but you won't?"
His smirk dissolved into an almost fond simper. "You know me so well."
"I'm not walkin' out naked."
"See, what is it with you girls, gosh! As if I didn't see everything last night, now you're suddenly all coy?", he teased, yanking the drawer open and tossing you your clothes, rolling his eyes before turning around so you could change. "Last night count as a breach of, uh, what is it...?"
"Not breach. But Conflict of Interest. Yeah. So, I'm guessing you're free, now. No more sessions."
"Mm. Shame, that. I had some really interesting things written in there.", he replied, pointing to a blue notebook on the bedside table.
"Like what?"
"Like... me realising I'm falling in love with you.", he whispered, softly, hand on his heart. He paused long enough for you to begin to question whether this was dedication to his joke or an actual, sincere fuckin' confession.
"Fuck! Wow! Gullible much? I'm joking, obviously! What, you think I'd have some, like, ten lines written every day, like 'Oh, my love, oh, my love, XOXO, Felix!', or summat?"
"Well, I don't bloody know! Your'e scarily good at the poker face, y'know?"
"Why, thank you, thank you very much.", he preened, tipping an invisible hat in your direction.
"Makin' French Toast. You vegetarian? Or vegan? Nah, I don't care, you're eatin' this."
Groaning, you got up, took his offer of an unused toothbrush, and let him escort you to the bathroom. "These rich-kid-dorm-suites, I swear--"
"Jealous much?"
"I swear to fucking god, you better stop saying 'much' after everything and thinkin' it's funny!"
"Anger issues much?"
"Arsehole much?!"
He giggled, waving at you before scrambling over to the kitchen to make sure his French toast was stil intact. Not before he grabbed your imaginary 'flipping-off' from the air and brought it to his heart, as if you'd blown him a kiss, instead.
Fucking hell. You had to now spend a. money, on Ibuprofen, b. time on coming up with an explanation as to how this happened and why you still deserve that extra credit, and c. energy on having to deal with this Felix Catton guy who you'd apparently come to be relatively fond of.
Spitting out your paste and gargling the remnants out, you walked out of the bedroom to the kitchen, where Felix had laid out the toast on crappy paper plates. "Left over from a party, figured I'd use 'em."
"Thanks.", you nodded, sitting down and biting a bit off one. "It's good."
"Thanks.", he parroted, dropping the last onto his plate before turning off the stove and sitting opposite you. "So, it just violates it all? Just 'cause we shagged, you can't 'fix me' anymore?", he asked, gulping down a sip of orange juice.
"Yeah, summat like that. I might, like, be more inclined to let you off the hook or whatever."
"Mm. What about your extra credit, then? Why don't you just act like this never happened?"
"Couldn't. In good conscience."
"But then you'll be extremely stressed. Might go back to Donna and her laced weed.", he pointed out, taking a bite. "Over the summer, you'll have to catch up on your missing assignments, yeah?"
"Yeah. Fuck. Oh, yeah, I do.", you whined, your forehead on the heel of your palm.
"Come to Saltburn, then."
"What?" What was he talking about?
"My family estate. Come to Saltburn. It's a change of scenery, and it works wonders, I swear. You'll finish everything by first week of summer vacation, and the next month or so, it's all just you-time."
"Why would I come to Saltburn?"
"I just told you."
You sighed. Logically, yes, it did make sense for a change of view. But. You didn't exactly want to get dragged into whatever a normal day for Felix Catton (and Farleigh Start - his cousin, apparently!) looked like.
"It's full of old shite, though, like, ancient stuff. Cobwebs, dusty, grimy, stuffy-- hey! Stuffy and boring. You'll fit right in.", he grinned cheekily, winking as he continued to chew.
Well, fuck.
"Suspicious much?"
'Much'. You were going to strangle this guy in his own mansion, you're sure.
"Seriously, think about it, just us, ice-cream, the sea, summer. Who knows, you could go in a loser and come out with a boyfriend. Moi."
"Oh, please.", you snickered, and he followed suit.
"I just might tell you what's in that diary. XOXO, Felix, yeah, but what'd I write before it? A confession of my love? A death threat? A riddle? Poetry? Secrets?", he mused, waggling his fingers as if to spook you. "Ooh."
You scoffed, shaking your head in amusement as you took a sip of the orange juice.
"Come on. Come to Saltburn. Worth your while, I promise."
Well, fuck.
officially upgrading this piece to one of my fav fics ever. you cannot even imagine how my fangirling ass devoured this work at 4am, which was two hours before my alarm for work. but this, this was so worth my sleeplessly dead state the following day.
please. more.
love love love this; love love love u
