you never told me to stop (acraffles)
A/N: scholarshipping is based on stereotypes and headcanons about schools. i don't quite know who started it but it's a pretty big thing now, and also something we've never meant to be offensive.
aside from being personifications of real-life institutions, of course, everything is ours, and none of this should be taken to reflect in any way on the schools themselves.
i don't like to warn just for same-sex pairings, but this is acsi/ri—1800+ words of silly fictional boys. with art by the lovely capitalhatter!
Both RI and RGS use their words like a whiplash. Their heads jerk up when he approaches—still in uniform, the two of them, green and white and black.
‘You’re interrupting,’ RGS tells him, speaking first. RI has crossed one leg over the other, and scowls into his cup; they’re arguing, as always, and as always RI is losing.
‘Sorry,’ says ACSI easily, not caring much. He drops into the seat opposite them. ‘Just saying hello, you know, don’t mind me.’
RI is softer than his sister, less forceful, but sharper around the edges. He and RGS exchange glances across the table. ‘Shouldn’t you be at the match?’
‘I don’t have to. You’ll lose.’
RGS laughs while her brother splutters. The cold light isn’t kind to him; he is an assortment of bony knees and elbows, one ankle propped on his thigh, radiating all over a kind of steely self-consciousness. ACSI’s tie is askew, and RI’s gaze lingers on his collarbone.
‘You’re on our school grounds,’ RI says, cool, clipped vowels and perfect accent. A little jerk of his head, all condescending: ‘Go away, why don’t you.’
‘You can stay,’ snaps RGS immediately. ‘He’s being pissy.’ RI gives her a filthy look.
ACSI pays for both their drinks. RI elbows him in the ribs for this when RGS isn’t looking, and stalks off with the remains of his dignity.
(ACSI doesn’t want RI’s number but RGS gives it to him anyway.)
ACSI [01:05]: ‘s handing your ass to you next week
RI [01:10]: How did you get my number?
ACSI [01:13]: whatre you doin up so late
RI [01:13]: How did you get my number?
ACSI [01:13]: wait i know
RI [01:15]: How did you get my number?
‘Stop being childish,’ RI hisses.
ACSI, peering out from behind the podium, barely looks at him. ‘Shut it.’
‘I—you are so—’ RI fumes, chokes on nothing, and is silent. After a moment ACSI retreats, ducking back under the heavy curtain, to find him spread-eagled there. Here everything smells like cobwebs and musty wood. RI has dirt stains on his uniform when he sits up.
‘How long before they find us?’
‘Never,’ says ACSI flippantly, and topples him again. They’re backstage, listening to the murmur of crowds outside. RI doesn’t often do this, or at least he picks his hideouts wisely. But they had a game earlier and ACSI beat him twice and lost once which is good enough for a truce. Now he watches ACSI stretch, a whisper of tanned limbs.
‘This place stinks,’ RI remarks to the curtains. Something stirs within them, scuttles and squeaks and he twists to look at ACSI. ‘What’s that?’
‘Insects. Sounds like your choir.’
RI’s foot slams into him. In the scuffle that follows, a glance sideways tells ACSI they are really very close. RI pulls himself up into a sitting position, arms over his knees. His breathing is loud and harsh in the quiet—he’s warm, so near it tingles, smelling of clean uniform and boy. Freshly washed. He looks bored.
ACSI presses his face into the curtain. Yeah, it stinks.
‘You can stay here,’ ACSI offers. RI blinks at him and ACSI doesn’t look long enough to notice RI is staring at his mouth. ‘Think I’m gonna go off and, you know, actually talk to people, have a life.’
RI bristles, like ACSI knew he would. ‘Suit yourself, I have better things to do.’
‘Maybe you don’t realise—’ RI’s head is up now and he’s glaring, ‘—I have a reputation and the brains to keep it.’ Then he does that thing again, narrows his eyes and speaks with sophisticated contempt: ‘It’s a little different from you and your less intelligent brother—’
‘You are a dick,’ ACSI snarls and they end up wrestling half behind the curtain and half out, they aren’t sure who hits who first. RI blames him for the scolding they get when his principal drags them both out, and ACSI doesn’t even pretend to care.
RGS [14:11]: You’re cool and everything
RGS [14:11]: I don’t mind you
RGS [14:12]: But as a sister I feel it’s my duty to warn you not to provoke my brother
ACSI [14:12]: whoa hold up
ACSI [14:13]: this is our thing
ACSI [14:13]: i insult him, he insults me
RGS [14:13]: Ugh you guys are so childish
ACSI [14:15]: i don’t provoke him! he provokes me!
ACSI [14:15]: i don’t even like him!
RGS [14:30]: What don’t you like about my brother
ACSI [14:35]: you know the part where he’s a douchebag? yeah that part
RGS [14:39]: Funny, that’s what he said about you.
There’s a moment when they’re in the same place at the wrong time. ACSI has his feet up on the table, homework in his lap, he never spreads out his worksheets so his handwriting’s worse than it already is; the others are with him and he’s making fun of how HCI curses in Chinese. Next to him, MGS is eating a cucumber sandwich, and their laughter carries everywhere. They wave RI over. RI drops his bag on a chair and sits, with the rigid poise ACSI would never master (it isn’t his style).
‘I can’t do this,’ ACSI declares to the rest of them, and gives up. ACSI is smart but doesn’t like to do as he’s told; RI likes to think he’s smarter when he isn’t. This is one of the reasons ACSI would like to kill him. It’s not why he can’t concentrate when RI is around. Trigonometry can go hang itself.
RI is laughing and coming over to help, so pretentious, and he nearly misses how ACSI jolts in his seat when RI traps his fingers. RI removes the pen with excruciating care, bends to guide him through the equations, and midway realises he’s leaning in a bit closer than he needs to. ACSI isn’t even trying to make out RI’s awful chicken-scratch. Familiarity breeds contempt. He squints at the paper for a few seconds but that’s it.
ACSI looks at him, eyebrows raised, and RI thinks oh.
If it were anyone else—anyone without their history—RI would write him off with icy logic, just another boy who caught his interest, another nighttime fantasy. But ACSI is rival and ally and friend. RI doesn’t like him but he could fall for him (is falling).
They meet at a debate. ACSI is somewhere in the audience, with the supporters, and halfway through he catches RI’s eye and smirks. Even from this distance it’s wide, careless, and infectious. It makes something stick in RI’s throat. RI loses his train of thought—stammers, and sees his opponent’s eyebrows go up and up. Opposite, ACSI is watching him with an odd expression.
ACSI’s team doesn’t make it to the finals and for once RI doesn’t gloat, just ducks out of reach when ACSI makes a halfhearted swipe at him.
RI avoids him for a month and then visits his campus on a whim, spends an hour learning the shape of it, mapping the long corridors. Just when he thinks he’s gotten away safe, ACSI catches him wandering somewhere near the squash courts. RI whirls around, expecting to be chased off, but ACSI only laughs and walks past—he’s filthy from playing, looks like he’s in a rush—slaps his bottom and throws a last grin over his shoulder. RI swears he sees the mad flush that burns RI’s cheeks and doesn’t even care.
ACSI [16:46]: WHAT WAS THAT
ACSI [16:47]: YOU SON OF A
ACSI [16:48]: THAT WAS NOT A GOAL
ACSI [16:49]: yOU CHEATING SCUM
RI [16:53]: I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of my sports teams beating yours.
It takes him a while to figure things out.
The rain forces them to seek shelter at the same bus stop. ACSI hasn’t got an umbrella, and laughs it off; RI has one and refuses to share. ACSI is texting someone, paying him no attention, and because RI is RI he steels himself and takes the first step.
‘I’ve never told you,’ he begins, ‘but I, I—er, I mean, you’re really quite attractive.’
He’s been trained to be confident, but so has ACSI and both of them hate to lose.
‘I know,’ replies ACSI without missing a beat, like he hears this every single day. RI wants to smash his head against a pillar. Instead he grits his teeth and forges on bravely.
‘Put your phone away and listen.’
‘Trying to tell me what to do?’ but he does it anyway. This should be the first hint—RI is too nervous to register it.
‘And, and I think you’re,’ he hopes ACSI will take his stumbling hesitation for sincerity, ‘you’re at least worth something—no don’t look at me that way I’m sorry—I, right, yeah, and if you don’t like me back I’ll just—piss off, to use your unrefined—’
‘What the hell,’ says ACSI right in his ear, and RI almost drops his bag. The bus stop is deserted. The roads are cloaked in sheets of rain. ACSI’s more athletic than he is and if ACSI kills him now no one will ever find his body.
‘I’m sorry,’ he bites out. ACSI gives him another incredulous stare because RI hardly apologises, not to him. ‘Did you understand all of that?’
‘I am not stupid,’ says ACSI furiously. ‘What do I have to do to tell you.’
RI blinks—stares fearlessly—takes a moment to collect himself. ‘Oh,’ he says at last, having found nothing else to say, and feels ACSI’s irritation like a burn. ‘I see.’
ACSI holds their stunned silence for an instant before he apparently makes up his mind. ‘That’s enough, okay, come here,’ dragging him closer by the wrist, eyes wide and sharp, ‘you think you’re so clever—’
‘Oh, but I am,’ RI says, just because he can. He smiles a little. It’s like this, see—ACSI’s fingers tight on his collar, up close in their shared space, swallowing each other’s air. ACSI is very good at this. There’s an old lady at the bus stop opposite who’ll click her tongue at their uniforms, but nobody knows their faces.
The bus comes both too soon and not soon enough.
RI [17:05]: What time do you finish today?
ACSI [17:11]: idk prob around 7+
ACSI [17:14]: why dyou ask
ACSI [17:15]: actually why are you using your phone at all don’t you have comps
ACSI [17:19]: what’s that supposed to mean
RI [17:23]: I’m on my way.
