Location: Fox Tower Roof
Date: November 5th
(closed @leodxarte)
Monday rolls around, and that means Grayson should be in class. Instead, he’s on the roof, laying flat on his back against the dirty concrete with a cigarette in his hand. The clouds are dark above him, and it’s all suitably dramatic for a Fox, even if he’s never considered himself to be one of those players. If he’s being honest though, Grayson’s avoiding Jen. Their worlds are inexorably blurred together these days, but somehow the roof feels like a Fox space alone—although Jen was a Fox before they were a Vixen, so it’s not the most inspired hiding place.
The door clangs open and shut behind him, and Grayson spares the newcomer a disinterested glance—or what he’d intended to be disinterested, before it morphs into something else, and Grayson sits up.
He’d been so busy avoiding Jen, he hadn’t thought to avoid Leo. Grayson knows the other Fox comes up here to smoke. He knows, because Leo’s made it a habit to steal cigarettes from Grayson’s packs all year. It’s fine; Grayson likes Leo. He likes that Leo is fun, and absurd, and purely superficial. He knows what he’s getting from Leo, and it’s usually good.
He also knows that Leo kissed Jen at the Halloween party last week. Hell, even if Foxwatch hadn’t decided it was newsworthy, he saw them. The Den isn’t that big.
Grayson has no right to be upset, and he knows that—he’s certainly got no romantic claim on Jen, and he’d had the same damn opportunity anyway. Anyone would want to kiss Jen; he can’t blame Leo for being bolder than he is. There’s still something insidious and uncomfortable building up inside of him when he thinks of it, and for one spiteful and inexplicable moment, Grayson wants to horde his stupid cigarettes. Those are something he can rightfully be jealous about.
But he also doesn’t want any of that to be obvious. He doesn’t want to be hideously, transparently vulnerable right now. So he can be the same with Leo, can’t he? Grayson breathes in smoke, holds it for as long as he can in order to avoid conversation, and then reluctantly breathes out. The nicotine doesn’t go to his head nearly as much as he’d like. “You looking for one of these?” he finally says, holding the pack out towards Leo. “Gotta get our smoke breaks in now, because I’m pretty sure Grant’s locking the Court doors tonight and holding everyone hostage until we learn to play,” he says, as if he cares about the game, or practice, or any of that, because Grayson’s fine, and normal—obviously.
