AU: Newlywed Adventures w/Stydia
↳ Lydia, during the realization she hasn’t stuck to one of her time constrained plans, drops the baby bombshell.
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@spencerlahey
AU: Newlywed Adventures w/Stydia
↳ Lydia, during the realization she hasn’t stuck to one of her time constrained plans, drops the baby bombshell.
Am I attractive to gay guys?
It’s been a long day; longer than the myriad mundane Fridays that can be traced back through almost two consecutive years of the same old Friday routine. Wake up, make a groggy beeline for the Library Annex. Depending on whether or not she remembered all of her books, she may end up perusing the aisles in a post-caffeine-consumption raid. Study, study, brain cramp, study. Okay. Probably a little short on time now because somewhere in there she might’ve stared too long at the solitary illustration on the page, losing her train of thought and thinking instead of the artist’s mindset as she envisioned his hand deftly sketching his imagination. Bustle through the freshman-logged corridors until she reaches the Hospital Wing. Mornings at the infirmary are usually slow. Most of the work is checking up on the students who’d been admitted the night before and were subsequently confined to a lackluster slumber party and releasing them back into the wild. Then from there she’ll attend three utterly forgettable classes, complete any assignments they’d saddled her with, trek down to the Herbology Greenhouse where the potted Devil’s Snare will once again challenge her in hand-to-hand combat, then fulfill her daily exercise quota and run all the way back up to the castle where she’ll meander the halls carelessly, not bothering to look twice at fugitive students out of bed.
Today there was a slight hitch in the itinerary. Some bonehead had thought it clever to recruit Peeves to play ‘something of a prank’ on the Headmaster Selwyn. He had interrupted the students’ commute to their fifth period classes of the day to hold a not-so-level-headed assembly in the Great Hall. Some kids snickered approvingly when the Headmaster recounted the incident, but Elena could not join in their celebration. Whoever had orchestrated the little scandal had made the mistake of trusting Peeves. He’d turn on whoever his co-conspirator may be at the first offer the Sioux man made for the exchange of a name, no matter what it is. Elena only felt sad because she knew she’d soon be the first to learn who had carried out the deed. He’d be slumber-partying it up in the Hospital Wing for a week straight.
Selwyn’s impromptu gathering had throw just about everybody’s schedules out of whack, and even the professors expressed their irritation at the inconvenience. So, Elena had been pushed back about an hour, which made her late to the Greenhouse tonight.
Far past sundown she’s finally leaving the plants’ sanctuary and wearing the path up to the castle. If she hadn’t heard the distant howl of a wolf in the Forest, she probably wouldn’t have turned her head in his direction, but she sees a moon-washed Spencer sitting alone in her field of darkened vision. His lips are moving only faintly, and Elena wonders what he’s saying. Perhaps he’s reciting something from memory, a speech he’s meant to profess for his History class on Monday. Maybe he’s singing, or speaking to the constellations he’s so intently focused on. Regardless of what words are falling from his lips, they are falling in the melody of his voice, and Elena can hear it even though she cannot hear him.
Her eyes flutter closed, lashes brushing the faint lines of her cheekbones, and she swoons under the stars. His hands brushing through her hair, tongue deftly sketching his imagination across her skin. He was always so goofy and awkward, but now he was powerful and confident. He held her close to him, pressing his strong body against hers, inviting her.
A resonant yowl from the woods startles Elena back to the Grounds, and she’s suddenly very worried that Spencer may have looked over in her absence and noticed her swaying there like a drunk fool. How long has she been standing here? If he saw her, she can’t tell. If there were a pack of werewolves growling ten yards away from him he would not have paid them any attention. All of it was concentrated on the sky.
She shouldn’t bother him, anyway. She has too much on her plate at the moment, as she’s sure he does, too. So, she reluctantly carries on the path, the sole of her shoe sliding embarrassingly loud on the gravel.
Surprisingly, Spencer's not feeling so terribly off from the little assembly they'd had a few hours ago. He's full from dinner, he's finished the rounds, and he even got special permission to be out here from Selwyn--it may be a little wrong to use the benefits of being Head Boy to his advantage, but the Ravenclaw truly can't help it sometimes. If he stays in one place for too long, the ADHD kicks in and he gets antsy; and retreating to the fancy-schmancy Prefects baths doesn't seem to count as an escape anymore, now that his final moments at Hogwarts are about to come to a close.
And speaking of the final moments, part of why he's come out here is to think about the future. He's got that plot of land, and he's got all the money he needs saved up to start building that greenhouse-flat duo: but during Easter, Spencer used some of that money for other things after a (surprisingly) short discussion with his dad.
In other words, he bought Lana a promise ring. Sure, it's a big step, but his and Lana's relationship is deep and intense and passionate, and he thinks he's ready to present something like that to her. The notion leaves Spencer, again, with a big, goofy, beaming smile; because tomorrow, that's what he wants to do. He wants to give her some huge, riveting speech about how perfect and important he is (as twitchy and nervous as the prospect makes him), and he wants to slide that ring onto her finger--and he wants the constant reassurance that they'll be each other's one and only for life--
His thoughts, however, are interrupted by the sound of feet skidding across gravel. Someone is out of bed, and Spencer Lahey shoots upright from his position.
"Aren't you supposed to be in--oh." His smile returns, however, when he sees Elena. Pretty expected, probably. "Hey, Elena. But really, isn't it kinda late to be wandering? I got special permission, but I'm about to turn in here soon, too, I think. You should head back in; I'll go with you. Unless you were already and I've just interrupted that." He hadn't noticed anything, clearly.
"It's been a while since I've seen anything so nice..."
He glances up at the stars, long legs too long even for the blanket he's laid out, and grins goofily at the serenity of it all. Spencer's ecstatic--it's spring, the Scotland weather is nice for, well, Scotland weather--and things with Lana are still as perfect as ever. She should be back from a photoshoot in some other foreign country soon, and he can no longer wait to have her in his arms again. As soon as he finds her tomorrow, he's going to Transfigure an old umbrella into a bouquet of poppies for her and take her on the most romantic picnic ever, just because he can. He can see it now.
But for now, he'll just sit outside and gaze at the stars for a long while, because they make him happy. Nature makes him happy.
Realising she missed her turn, Lana squeezes back a little harder than necessary this time. She sighs in exasperation, “Norway. Tromsø specifically, so I’ll be gone for a few days,” She suddenly feels put off the fish — strange, because it’s one of her favourite things to eat — and settles for pushing her vegetables around her plate, “From what I gathered, it’s snowing there at the moment still. It’s supposed to be really beautiful if, I don’t know, you wanted to come for a bit…” She trails off, shrugging slightly. Lana doesn’t know why she’s making the conversation so stilted, but she does really want Spencer to come. A while back, he might’ve been able to, given his other duties were covered — however, as Lana glances up at the Professors’ table, she thinks that Headmaster Selwyn’s generosity may only extend so far.
"Norway..." His mumbling is quick, quiet, and contemplative, and he just barely manages to squeeze Lana's hand back a little harder--any more, he thinks, and he'll wind up hurting her. Which he does not want to do, obviously. His head turns towards wherever Lana is looking, but instead of Selwyn, Spencer's eyes are suddenly fixated on Neville Longbottom. Something suddenly weighs him down in the pit of his stomach, something cold, and he quickly turns away to look down at his half-emptied plate. The peas are a side he's going to skip, but for some reason, he doesn't even feel like starting on his potatoes.
"I'll see if I can get a permission slip or something," Spencer promises once the weight of staring at Neville has subsided for the most part. It's still there, but it's not as uncomfortable, not as nauseating, as it was five minutes ago. "Though I'm not sure I'll be able..."
Elena clearly doesn’t get the reference, nor does she identify with a particular fondness for language. But… “Oh, well, what’s not to like? Words, punctuation, subjects and predicates,” Elena jokes. Jokes.
As previously mentioned, talking to Spencer isn’t like talking to just anybody else.
"And let's not forget the Oxford comma--which is, by the way, still very important. I don't care what anyone else says about the matter." And, with that, Spencer channels his inner Lana Prewett and preens.
"Okay," Lana mumbles quietly, feeling equally as bad for bringing it up. It doesn’t really benefit both of them — clearly it makes Spencer feel uncomfortable, and she herself gets irrationally upset and jealous, but she can’t help it. A small, niggling part of her wants to know what they were like, what they did together. Despite her conversations with both Spencer and the less pleasant encounters with Anissa, there’s a tiny part of her that feels she’ll always be faulted on making Spencer wait and having never been the first girl he was with like that. She resists the urge to sigh, trying to search for a change of subject, "I might have another shoot coming up soon."
"A new shoot?" Spencer's eyebrows dart upward in question. "Where is it, then?" he adds curiously, giving her hand another squeeze. He takes a bite from the apple he's been gnawing on for the past few minutes and thinks about last summer, when he'd owled her and she'd invited him to come see her in Snowdonia. They'd kissed for the first time then, out under the stars where it was quiet and the air was fresh. Spencer remembers being so happy that he thought his heart might burst, and a goofy grin registers on his lips as he reminisces.
Lana grins at that, particularly the part about how their voices hadn’t broken yet. It still astounds her whenever she hears how long Spencer’s harboured feelings for her — astounds her, and yet makes her feel guilty. She squeezes back a little gentler this time, “Olyvia Hale is very pretty,” Lana comments, and her lips quirk up at the mention of Declan’s unique facial structure. It’s very distinct, but it suits him. She follows in a quiet voice, which could almost be mistaken for nonchalance if one didn’t know better, “Did he have a girlfriend before you or — you know, when you were with Anissa,” She stabs a piece of fish with her fork to punctuate her name,”Did you have double dates?”
"Nope, no double dates," he mumbles, a bit uncomfortable when Anissa comes up in the conversation. It's bad enough seeing his ex-girlfriend around school--assisting Nicholas Cassidy, no less, but hearing Lana talk about her? It leaves him with embarrassment that borderlines guilt. "I'd rather not talk about her, though," he points out frankly, though the small smile that upturns the corners of his mouth is meant to be reassuring. "Not with you."
Lana squeezes his hand softly, knowing he’ll squeeze back a moment later. It’s a little game they play, to see who can squeeze the hardest — Lana always wins because Spencer is always gentle, “And they both like each other?” She asks, her gaze now directed to the Gryffindor table. Declan’s missing, but there’s a pretty Asian girl sitting in the vicinity he usually does who looks vaguely familiar — still, Lana doesn’t want to be labelled a racist, so she won’t point her out, “That’s so sweet.” Suddenly, her smile turns mischevious, “Did the pair of you used to stay up talking about your crushes?”
"Oh, all the time," he assures her, partly because it's true and partly because there's something really cute about that preening thing she does. With an affirmative nod, Spencer squeezes her hand back--gently, of course--and begins to share a little anecdote: "Fourth year, before our voices even changed. I'd talk about you; he'd talk about Olyvia Hale--you know, that brown-haired girl with the really square jaw. Oh, and he'd blush at the mere mention of his own crooked jaw. He's adorable that way, you know."
Lana laughs, “Have I got to start considering him competition? Because I’m seriously starting to think he’d have me beat, hands down,” She lifts her hand up to bat his arm playfully the same moment that he tangles their fingers together, and immediately she settles, “Well, I don’t think they were Korean or Japanese,” She declares, “The girl who thought he was attractive looked Caribbean, but she could have lived in Japan or Korea.”
"Can't I love you both equally?" he teases, giving her a grin. He reaches for an apple with his free hand, long fingers curling around it before he takes a bite. "No, Jenna's Asian of some sort. Likely at least partially Japanese, given her last name." He sighs, feigning wiping a tear away. "My boy's growing up. I get so... so emotional just thinking about it."
"Jenna Takeda," Lana hums, finally piercing a small, pink square of fish and popping it between her lips. She chews thoughtfully, of course only responding once she’s finished swallowing, "What does she look like? I asked because I overheard these girls talking about him before Charms the other day in passing." She smiles knowingly, "One of them thought he was cute."
"Declan is the cutest," Spencer says, imitating Lana's preen. Moments later, he reaches under the table to take her hand, smiling like the puppy he is. "And Jenna? She's a Gryffindor. Japanese girl, I think, or maybe she's Korean. Or both. She's... on the wrong side," he mumbles lowly, "but other than that, she seems pretty harmless."