10. Do you enjoy writing dialogue, exposition, or plot the most?
Ooooh, tricky. Dialogue tends to come first, and flow the smoothest, but I think I like writing exposition best, because that's where you can really set the tone and where I've written things I'm the most proud of.
Plot is, ah, hm. Not my strong suit, to say the least!
14. If you were stuck on a desert island with only two characters, which would you pick?
1. Sophie Hatter from Howl's Moving Castle, because she can talk life into everything and we could probably figure out a way to get off the island, with or without Howl's interference.
2. Heather from Crazy Ex Girlfriend. I feel like she's taken a survival class at some point. Also, she'd stay calm, and I wouldn't be.
23. If you had to remix one of your own fics, which would it be and how would you remix it?
Easiest one would be the caring and keeping - there's definitely a version entirely from Sasuke's point of view.
There's also a version of he's a fun guy, and he'll grow on you, that exists entirely from Nathaniel's perspective, with a lot of Disney asides, Classic Pining, and the lingering aftereffects of having been a tree.
how likely i am to write it: pretty likely, tbh! especially when there's some kind of gap around 'this is how i remember you' vs 'this is how you've grown and changed as a person' vs 'this is how i'm supposed to treat you now that we're older' and the tension it creates.
...me writing this trope becomes about 10x more likely if it's the "childhood friends to enemies to lovers" variation.
and for who: josh/greg, definitely! r/n would have a very fun 'academic rivals' version of this trope. also when i was still into mcu, loki/sif was made of this trope (with extra stabbiness).
r/n - i've been working on my backwards walk / there's nowhere else for me to go / except back to you just one last time / say yes before i change my mind
As Rebecca tries to be sanguine about nearing forty, seeing it as a peak rather than a slide into decay (a Naomi-fostered distortion that has proven remarkably difficult to shake), one thing that has comforted Rebecca over the last decade is that with experience, she’s learned how to handle all matter of situations with grace, simply because she’s seen them before.
Revisiting this particular situation, however, is not what she expected.
It starts with an invitation delivered to Rebecca’s house to Hebby’s fifth grade graduation. There wouldn’t be anything strange about such a thing, even after she gets over the orange-and-turquoise astronaut theme (Hebby was going through a bit of a NASA phase), were it not for the fact the invitation was also addressed to Nathaniel.
Rebecca and Nathaniel, specifically.
Still frowning and trying to ignore the weird ringing that just went through her head at the jolt of seeing hers and Nathaniel’s names juxtaposed across a piece of lurid cardstock—like they’re a unit, or something—Rebecca credits herself with just pulling her phone out and calling Darryl directly instead of diving headfirst into a panic spiral.
“Rebecca!” Darryl’s voice booms from the other end of the line, and Rebecca can’t help the reflexive grin—Darryl’s unflagging enthusiasm while raising four daughters remains nothing short than a scientific marvel. “What a surprise. How is my favorite pretzel singer?”
“Hey, Darryl. Quick question for you. I got your card—”
“Isn’t it great? Hebby picked out the colors specially.”
“I’ll bet she did. But that’s not why I was calling, actually. I was wondering if, perchance, you might have had a shortage of such eye-popping invitations?”
“What do you mean?”
“My invitation was addressed to me and Nathaniel, which, I can definitely send him the deets, no problem, but wouldn’t an email be easier?”
“Oh?” She can hear Darryl’s mustache frown from the other end of the phone. “You mean you and Nathaniel aren’t…”
“Well, he doesn’t live here,” snaps Rebecca, a little flustered. “Why would you think that? Why did you think—did he—”
“Hang on,” says Darryl, and she can hear him calling for April, leaving her stuttered rejection hanging.
Are her and Nathaniel—
How is that even a question anymore?
It’s been a decade, and everyone involved with that event has definitively moved forward with their lives. Her and Josh were a definitive ‘no’ from that fateful Valentine’s Day onwards, remaining dear friends instead, and she was very much the ‘cool aunt’ among his own children. Her and Greg had wavered briefly for a bit afterwards, ran into some seriously uncomfortable friction, and it took them the better part of two years to find a good balance. It probably helped that she accidentally connected him to the woman who would become his wife, but that was a story for another day.
And it was a similar story with Nathaniel. He went to Guatemala for two years, came back and split his time between helping at MountainTop and working with some volunteer legal capacity with the local zoos and her and him—
Ah. Well.
Okay, so it wasn’t quite as clearly defined with Nathaniel, beyond the general fact that she wanted him to be happy, and he wanted her to be happy, and generally their relationship since his return had been checking in on each other, making fun of their weird hobbies and still showing up to events that were important to each other. It was all very adult and friendly and open. Their friendship had appropriate limits and boundaries and they supported each other in the respective relationships they had tried over the years, and it was very platonic…
Well. Except when it wasn’t. There hadn’t been a repeat of the Mona incident ever, and Rebecca could honestly say that she really liked a couple of the long-term girlfriends he’d introduced to them since then, and was genuinely regretful when those relationships ended. Especially for Sylvia, the LA Zoo curator who had to move for her career. Not that the regret wasn’t complicated by other factors, like when Nathaniel had admitted privately to Rebecca later that as much as he liked Sylvia, he just couldn’t see himself leaving California again.
She didn’t get butterflies at that, exactly, because but there had been a comfort in knowing that Nathaniel was content to remain in her orbit.
Again, not entirely uncomplicated. But it was nothing beyond the usual messy spectrum of human emotion internally, and never acted on externally.
She’s dated on and off as suited her libido and her schedule and her desire to find a life partner. She’s had relationships that got serious enough to talk about the future on and off, but they’ve all ended too for reasons inherent to those dynamics themselves. Nathaniel had been a good friend while they were going on, and a shoulder to cry on after, and well, okay, they might have fallen back into bed together a few times over the years, but they never pretended that it was either more than it was or that it was some forbidden thing that wouldn’t happen again. It was what it was.
Well. And they hung out, sometimes. And occasionally were each other’s plus-ones to public events. And friends’ weddings. And quite possibly—
Hm.
It really, really doesn’t help her case that she’s going to see him tonight, either.
“Rebecca?” Darryl tears her out of her thoughts. “Sorry about that! I think there was just a mistake at the stationary shop and they put your cards in together. What are the odds? I might need to call the other parents on the list, just to make sure that they got theirs all right. Could you take that one to Nathaniel? I don’t know if it’s out of your way—”
“Not at all!” says Rebecca, smiling with all of her teeth even though Darryl can’t see her, her cheeks aching. “Not even remotely.”
“Good,” says Darryl, and she can hear him beaming from the other side of the line.
~
“So, a funny thing happened on the way to your apartment…”
“That’s ominous,” comments Nathaniel, taking the bag of groceries she shoves at him without complaint as he closes the door behind her. Rebecca kicks off her shoes and toes them out of the walkway, abiding by Nathaniel’s still oft-repeated entreaties to not leave her personal belongings strewn entirely across his apartment.
“It’s not ominous so much as luminous,” says Rebecca, reaching into her purse and withdrawing Hebby’s invitation with a little flourish of the wrist. “Well, fluorescent.”
“Oh my god.”
Nathaniel accepts the card and flicks it open, scanning through the cheerful, only slightly grammatically incorrect message, and cannot quite suppress an amused huff of laughter. Rebecca hides her own smile as she turns away to set her purse on the very useful hook Nathaniel installed for her own use. Like herself, Nathaniel has a soft spot for Hebby, despite his continued awkwardness around children.
“Right? She gets that from Darryl for sure.”
“I don’t know, I remember someone showing up in some pink and purple eyesore into a law firm the very first day I met her.”
“You just didn’t know fun when you saw it,” says Rebecca instead, perching on the edge of the couch. “But it was funny. I was worried for a second that he thought that we were a couple or something. How weird is that?”
She is completely, totally casual in her delivery of that line, she knows. A decade in community theater and singing gigs have certainly finetuned her ability to turn a phrase, if nothing else. But something must be slightly offkey, because Nathaniel snaps up from marveling at the card to eye her suspiciously.
“Very weird,” he says, after a slightly-too-long pause. “Do we seem like a couple? Why would we seem like a couple when we aren’t a couple?”
“That’s exactly what I thought!” She punches him companionably on the arm; apparently too hard, if the way he winces and rubs at his bicep is any consideration.
(She’s been taking workout classes with Valencia—she deserves something for all that pain.)
“But it’s probably nothing,” she adds, determined to address this weird little misstep directly, because they are both too old to be having any kinds of weird misunderstandings anymore. “We’re close. We have our own rhythm, our own special two step. No wonder Darryl got confused.”
“He’s getting old,” says Nathaniel.
“Dude, c’mon.”
“What? It’s true.”
“What about you, Mister Gray?” Rebecca challenges. Nathaniel pulls a face in response, clearly fighting the urge to brush his hand through the aforementioned silvering at his temples.
(He wasn’t quite vain enough to dye his hair yet, though Rebecca credits his restraint to the fact that she would never let him hear the end of it.)
“It’s just a couple of hairs,” he says inconsequentially, as though it hasn’t been long established that between the two of them, he’s the one with the greater fear of aging, and therefore in far more danger of aging gracelessly.
“Keep telling yourself that.” Rebecca hops off the couch and grabs him by the elbow. “Now c’mon, let’s make sure make these sweet potatoes are not oh-sweet-pies-don’t!”
~
Heading over to Nathaniel’s place had left Rebecca feeling on edge, not quite sure how to process the idea of someone, anyone, considering her and Nathaniel as a potential couple this late in the game.
Nothing is more grounding, however, than seeing Nathaniel being clearly so off kilter, missing steps in what should be a well-worn dance of theirs by now. Dancing has always been their thing—where they once threw each other off at every possible moment, shaking up their convictions about life and happiness and how that concept could exist within their previously compartmentalized existences. Now, they were familiar with each other. Comfortable. Predictable.
They knew each other’s moves now, which means that she could see Nathaniel’s as clear as water.
He’s unfocused during dinner, a little erratic in his answers, jittery, as if he’s had too much coffee. It’s putting her off her rhythm, and while she knows that not everything in life needs to be a big song and dance production, there does need to be some kind of continuity.
This evening was supposed to be easygoing and relaxing. And, yes, probably beneficial in that very particular friends-with-benefits way. But since that clearly wasn’t going to happen, they needed to execute a sharp left turn and get this all settled.
“Nathaniel?” she repeats, for the third time.
“Hm?”
“Are you getting hard of hearing in your old age?” He scowls deeply at her in response. “Yeah, yeah, I had to ask. So, what’s bugging you?”
He’s silent for a long minute. “Just something ridiculous.”
“Yeah?”
He shakes his head. “We don’t need to go through it again. It’s just spinning in circles around the same old subject.”
“Try a jazz square then.”
That startles a laugh out of him, much to Rebecca’s satisfaction. Good to know that she still has some capacity for surprise with him. She continues, “You know that move, right? Don’t tell me you forgot about Connie.”
“Are you kidding? I still have nightmares about her scarf strangling me to death.”
“Dark.”
“She was terrifying.”
“Yeah.” They sit in companionable silence. Then Nathaniel sighs.
“Sorry I’m being weird. I just…hearing that from you, I always thought it would just be a good laugh. You know, ridiculous to even think about romance again. But it made me feel weird instead, so now I’m acting slightly weird.”
“I wouldn’t say slightly,” teases Rebecca, unable to resist. Nathaniel doesn’t return her smile.
“Rebecca, I like where we are. I like that our relationship isn’t a big production anymore.”
“Don’t get me wrong—I love drama on the stage, but that’s definitely where it should stay.” She drums her fingers on her thigh, subconsciously tapping out a tune that’s been giving her trouble these last few weeks. “We can learn new steps, you know. Old dogs, new tricks? That doesn’t only apply to the bedroom.”
Nathaniel (again, predictably) groans.
“Aren’t you getting too old to have such a dirty mind?” But he’s smiling, now.
“Nah. I fully intend to be a filthy old woman. But seriously,” she adds, moving to sit besides him on the couch. “If just the thought of other people thinking that we’re a couple again is enough to send us both off balance, we need to center ourselves. Maybe it’s something worth talking about. What do you say?”
She reaches out and grabs his hand, and starts to tap a rhythm against his large palm—one of the first she ever composed, the first one her friends ever danced to. After a moment, he taps back, completing it.
The party is bright and loud and almost too much forNathaniel, though given that he stepped off a six-hour flight less than eighthours ago, he feels that his exhaustion isn’t unreasonable.
But, to Darryl’s credit, the party is fairly tame by hisusual standards — there are only two colors of streamers, and no one has even triedto put a funny hat on him. That might also be because, for whatever reason, theparty is being hosted at Heather and Hector’s condo, and Nathaniel isreasonably certain that Heather would enjoy seeing him out of his element. Butall she does, after the initial cheering and hellos, is give him a long, amusedglance, a pat on the arm, and a comment about being impressed that he didn’tmanage to die of some exotic disease before wandering away.
He would definitely bet that Heather was the one to remembernot to make every snack offering made of starch, and there are several goodfruit and vegetable platters among the spread. He does smile at the pretzelslaid out in a vague Guatemala-esque configuration, and even picks out a plainone for later consumption.
The pretzel-maker herself is in attendance, of course -she’d sprung out of the crowd and caught him in an unfortunately brief butenthusiastic hug earlier in the evening, with her arms up and over hisshoulders, going up on tiptoe to extend her reach. But then he’d been drawnaway by Whijo and Vic, and she had bounced over to another cluster in the room.Apart from a small pang, he tries not to be too disappointed – everyone hasbeen busy with their lives and are trying to catch up with each other as muchas with him. And it’s…nice, to be considered a part of this group, no matterhow weird, and realize that he fits here as well as anyone.
Naturally, there is also alcohol, and by ten in the evening mostof the guests are at least tipsy. Nathaniel is only a little buzzed, but enoughto duck around AJ and Maya’s spirited debate on Gone Girl’s feminism inorder to sneak out to the porch. It’s still a warm night, but it isn’t humid,and he enjoys the open, dry air after the pressing clamor of the bodies andconversations inside.
That, naturally enough, is when Rebecca pounces.
He doesn’t even see her coming – she barrels into him justout of his sightline, wrapping her arms snugly around his waist, and when hetwists to look down at her, he finds her grinning up at him like she’s gettingaway with something.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” he echoes right back, settling his arms carefullyaround her shoulders, and yes, she’s definitely going to get away withsomething, if such a simple exchange makes him feel that sudden, inexplicablefondness for her again, as sturdy as if he had never left at all. Not tomention how completely her gaze catches him, field of vision both expanding tomap every detail and contracting so that there is nothing else in his focus buther.
“I never gave you a proper hello, did I?” she says lowly,eyes fluttering half-closed.
In another time, that would have definitely been aninnuendo. Truthfully, Nathaniel wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what she’strying to go for right now, but her careless tone is too open for it to beanything serious.
“Oh?” he plays along, leaning down towards her, like theyare sharing a secret; moving slowly and keeping his eyes locked with hers sothat he won’t look at her lips by mistake. “What counts as a properhello?”
She giggles and goes up on her toes, pushing her facedangerously close to his.
“Hel-lo,” she sings, right in his ear, and dissolves intolaughter. Nathaniel winces but laughs, jerking away with a playful frown. She’sclose enough that he catches the scent of something sharp and fruity on herbreath.
Ah, that explains the demonstrativeness.
“How’s the bar tonight?”
Rebecca’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “Eh. I’ve onlyhad, like, a drink and a half.”
“What happened to the other half?”
She scrunches up her face. “It might have been tippeddown the sink.”
“No good?”
“It was disgusting,” she assures him, all seriousness.
“Blame the bartender.”
“Can’t,” she mumbles, eyes drifting closed. “She just tellsme to order better next time.”
She leans into him, and he shifts his hold to keep herupright, trying not to think about the familiar weight of her in his arms.
“Uh-huh. Come on, let’s get you sitting down.”
Gently, Nathaniel guides her to the porch seat, and sitsdown beside her. She lets him but catches his hands in hers when he tries to drawaway, give her space. He looks down at their entwined fingers and tamps downhard on the tendril of hope that tries to worm its way out of his generalaffectionate feelings for her. It’s ridiculous; barely twelve hours officiallyback in the States and he’s nearly lost again.
He waits for her to let go, but she doesn’t, releasing hishands only to twine her arms around him again in a surprisingly strong grip.
“A drink and a half is less than three,” she begins, afamiliar kind of non-sequitur.
“That is how math usually works, yes,” agrees Nathaniel,teasing, trying not to smile too broadly. He’s forgotten how easy it is to justlook at her and just feel happy, a feeling that never seemed to have anycorrelation to whether they were together or not.
Rebecca rolls her eyes at him, still smiling. “What Imean is that I’m a little tipsy. A little loose. But I am, distinctly, notinebriated.”
“Okay.”
“So what I’m about to say right now can be taken quiteseriously,” she insists, eyes wide and eyebrows angling sharply down.
“All right,” he agrees, because Rebecca clearly has a goalin mind, everything about her face and body language and tone radiating pureintent, and the best thing he can do right now is listen to what she has tosay, and not presume anything. Rebecca gives a tiny nod, apparently satisfied.
“I’ve missed you.”
“I know,” he says, and means it in earnest. She hasn’t saidit in so few words, but he’s known. Every time she sent him a message, or anarticle warning him about caimans. When he came back last year for Valentine’sDay and she said in public that she was in awe of him and later, in private, repeatedthe sentiment, and then asked why he couldn’t have gone somewhere that was lessof a schlep to be in awe of.
(He didn’t read too much into it, he knows better than thatnow, but those words have definitely lingered in the back of his mind, thislast year.)
“I missed you too,” he returns, because she is clearlywaiting for a response. “I’m glad to be back. Tired, but glad.”
Rebecca screws up her face in exaggerated empathy, promptinglaughter.
“I told Darryl to wait at least a day,” she says,utterly long-suffering. “But there’s only so much you can do once he hashis mind on a party. But I don’t want to talk about Darryl to you.”
“Oh?”
“No. I wanted to tell you I missed you.”
“You just did,” he teases, trying to play it light, despitehow his pulse hammers as her arms tighten around him, as if determined not tolet him slip away.
(As if he would ever want to.)
Her mouth firms up. “Well, yeah, but no.”
“No?”
“That’s not all I wanted to say,” she says, impatiently,like he’s the one not making sense. “I wanted to say that I miss you and Ithink about you right about…here,” she gestures around the space above her headvaguely. “And here.”
She taps her breastbone, and it feels like she has reachedbetween them, instead, the sharp give and tightening of his heart that hasnothing (and everything) to do with her grip on him.
“Oh?” he says, trying to be light, reminding himself thatnot-quite-drunk still isn’t sober, even if her eyes are clear and fiercewith that Rebecca Bunch determination. “It’s like that, huh?”
“Oh yeah,” says Rebecca, popping her eyes wide, thenlaughing, bright and quick, that reassures him that she isn’t entirely too-fargone. When she blinks up at him again, her gaze is steady. “You have no idea. Itsucked, missing you. You’re so tall, it’s always obvious that you’re missing. Like,in all the group photos. And I know that you were living your best life andeverything in the jungle, but I just wanna say that I’m really, really gladthat you figured out that your best life isn’t like, only possible in thejungle.”
“It was never going to be only in the jungle,” saysNathaniel, amused that she would ever think he could stay away for such anextended time. “I told you I was going to come back. Multiple times.”
For the first time since they’ve started talking, Rebeccalooks away from him, her intensity softening into something he might almostcall uncertainty.
“I know,” she says softly. “You did. And you always do. Ijust needed to have you physically next to me, you know?”
“I know. You’re actually cutting off my circulation.”
“Oops.” Guiltily, she loosens her arms and he can breathe alittle easier, even if his pulse is still hammering in his ears. “Sorry. But,listen, but we need to address this—this thing, between us.” She flaps ahand between them, smacking him hard in the chest and making him wince. “Thatthing we keep sending pictures and text messages and emojis around.”
Nathaniel would be lying if he said he wasn’t expecting thisturn. But he’d have thought (foolishly, he can see that now) that Rebecca wouldgive him a few days to settle back down before bringing up the ‘where do westand’ conversation. She turned him down, he left the country, and while theircorrespondence was always normal between friends, they never actually did aproper post-mortem on their relationship.
“Right.” He shouldn’t ask, he shouldn’t ask, for the samereasons why they are not going to talk to each other right now, but he has toat least try to be prepared. “The kind of talk you had with Greg and Josh? Aclean break, clean slate kind of thing?”
These are not questions he wants to ask. But if there’ssomething he’s learned these last three years, it’s that if it is a hardquestion to answer, it’s worth trying.
Rebecca looks up at him, eyes glimmering from the faintillumination cast by the porch light fixture.
“Not the exact same talk,” she says, but not as fastas she normally does – she goes slowly, carefully enunciating, and while thereis still a shakiness to the sounds, it is a Rebecca who is clearly within hercapabilities. “I don’t think you can get a cleaner break than continental lines.”
“True, but that didn’t stop us from talking about otherthings.”
“And I don’t think that was a bad thing. I really likedtalking to you these past two years, Nathaniel. But, I think, since we arefinally going to be inhabiting the same town again, we just need to figure outsomething…sensible. A lot of things have changed around here, not just me.”
“I know,” says Nathaniel.
“And honestly…it’s a talk, not the talk. Justto clear the air about where we wanna go with this as-of-yet-unspoken thing.It can always be revisited and…expanded, as need be.”
“Right.”
“And it’s…gonna be a lot, not gonna lie. But some things youjust have to talk through. A lot of talking. And, also unfortunately speaking fromexperience here, there might also be crying. Lots of crying.”
“I don’t cry that much,” Nathaniel’s protest is automatic,even if he can’t quite help but laugh, knowing that it’s not true (whatever, hecan at least try to deny it). His laugh is a little too loud, has been sincehe’s started spending the majority of his time not thinking of his father, butRebecca responds like she’s been waiting for that sound, like it’s somethingshe wants to hear again.
“Uh huh,” she hums, looking at him, amused. “Don’t try to thinkyou can fool me. You’re a crier.”
“I just don’t remember it that way,” says Nathaniel, affectinghis most haughtiest manner, well aware that he’s already lost if he’s fallingback on that one.
“Give it up. Paula told on you. And Darryl. And Heather—”
“Okay, you’ve made your point,” says Nathaniel withexaggerated exasperation, because he’s better at acknowledging his emotions butthat doesn’t mean he has lost all of his secondhand embarrassment. “And you’reright. Crying or not, we should talk.”
Rebecca smiles again at him and nuzzles into his shoulderand the crook of his neck. Cautiously, he tilts his head so that it restsagainst hers.
They sit like that for a while, listening to the murmur ofvoices just inside.
“This is nice,” Rebecca murmurs into the fabric of hisshirt.
“Yeah,” agrees Nathaniel. “But if we don’t get inside soon,I’m just going to fall asleep out here and wake up with a crick in my neck. Andyou won’t be that much better off.”
“Yeah. That’s a shame,” says Rebecca around a yawn. “Ithought we could try the hot tub.”
“Afraid not. I don’t have my swimsuit.”
Rebecca waggles her eyebrows at him, a spark of old mischiefin her eyes. “Who says you need one?”
Nathaniel grimaces. “Gross.”
“Or, is it sexy?”
“No way. It’s unsanitary, and Heather would actually kill me.Or, even worse, make me unclog it.”
“No, she wouldn’t.”
“You’re right: she’d just kill me.”
“Not if I asked her not to.”
“Not sure I wannatake that risk.”
She pouts fiercely up at him, and he grins.
“Fine,” agrees Rebecca begrudgingly. “Too bad. I definitelythought about you many a time in that hot tub.”
Last year, that would have been enough to make Nathanielcompletely lose his composure, but not now. As it is, he can feel his earsburning, and he’s not blushing, he’s not, but it’s a close thing.
“Well, don’t stop on my account,” says Nathaniel, helpingher stand so they can go back inside. Rebecca snickers.
Tarantism - The urge to overcome melancholy by dancing.
Even when you are well-adjusted and living the best version of your life that you’ve had so far, some days are still strange days. Some days, you are attending your ex-boyfriend’s wedding where your other (now married) ex-boyfriend is standing up as one of the groomsmen.
Sure, there isn’t any bad blood, and your role at the wedding is to make music, not bear witness, but still, it’s hard not to feel just a little melancholy.
Thank goodness, then, for dancing.
Lots of dancing, including a tarantella that leaves all of you gasping and laughing and nearly in a pile of lace and tangled heels when your former roommate’s husband accidentally gets dragged the wrong way and missteps and nearly brings the whole wedding party crashing down. But the bride laughs, the groom gives a pithy one-liner after gently helping her to her feet, and nothing is ruined, so the party continues. Even those of your friends who are usually sticklers for propriety just laugh and pick themselves off the ground. Even Nathaniel.
You’ve been talking, the two of you. Not obsessively, or anything, but exchanging likes and comments across social media, messaging privately with good news from time to time, to offer updates on your lives and to share funny stories. If you’re honest with yourself, which you are better about these days, even when it really takes effort, one of the reasons your melancholy is not worse than it could be is because you knew you were going to see him and talk to him in the flesh, not through some electronic filter that gives you more contact than you would have had, like, a century ago but still takes out some of the nuance that only a face-to-face conversation can give.
It also kind of (definitely) helps that he’s also flying solo, which means you aren’t the only person in your immediate friend group without a date.
No other reason.
Unfortunately, there hasn’t really been time to talk yet, just the two of you, what with your role in the wedding proper, because you are still always a little nervous before a performance and because many of your friends are his friends, too, and they have their own conversations to catch up on and you don’t want to be totally ‘O’ about seeing him again.
Still, you catch him watching you as the bride walks down the aisle, and there’s a light in his eyes that hasn’t dimmed with the years and it doesn’t make you bloom, exactly, but it does make you sit up straighter, and look right back. Not long enough to forget yourself (it’s not such a worry any more), but so that he knows that you see him, and if that look was something real and fluttering that you could catch in your hands to keep, you would.
You want to dance with him but you really really want to dance with your friends, too, and apart from the disastrous tarantella, he spends most of the evening deep in conversation with your other friends and former coworkers and your gurl group is just so pretty in their dresses and all of you are giggly with champagne that you all get caught up in having a good time and before you know it the night is mostly over.
Your chance arrives shortly before midnight, when the floor hasn’t emptied but the music has slowed, and the bride and groom remain at the center of the floor, gazes locked, and your friends have drifted apart to wrap their arms around their significant others, their pinching heels now dangling from their fingers. Then you turn and, with light-headed determination, head straight for the MountainTop guest table.
Like most of the other tuxedo-wearing guests collapsed in their dinner chairs, Nathaniel has shed both jacket and tie, but he has also gone the additional step of unbuttoning and shoving his sleeves up to his elbows. It’s a good look for him – one you can’t imagine him have ever done when you first met, and almost all the more unfairly attractive for it.
Not that it hinders you the least in approaching him.
“There you are,” you say, faux-annoyed, entirely teasing, grabbing his hand and tugging hard, delighted by the solidity of him.
“I’ve always been here,” he protests, unfolding out of his chair and following you easily, which is true, has always been true, but just a matter of timing, and you shift so that your hand is nestled in his and your other hand rests on his upper arm, his other hand settling comfortably in the middle of your back.
You keep your shoes on despite the ache from all of your dancing, because you can’t afford to lose the extra inches, and it’s almost like the first time the two of you did this, only now there is no nefarious plot, just two guests at a wedding who can enjoy each other’s company.
“Hi,” you say breathlessly, because as much as you love grand words, you’ve never needed them when the two of you are together.
“Hi,” he returns, matching your grin. He’s always had a nice smile, and you like how easily he shows it these days, not just with you but with everyone.
(Even if you are pleased that it’s your smile on his face.)
“You sang really well tonight,” he says, and it’s not a smooth comment, but it’s charming, and your pulse stutters and spikes to hear it. Your body is cranky at you, not just for the shoes and the spanx and the dress but because your body remembers his body and it’s finding this extra distance to be rather absurd.
To the side of you, your married ex (not the just-married groom but the ‘old’ married ex, two years in and happy as a clam, and about to be a father), catches your eye and looks between the two of you, eyebrows raised as if pleasantly surprised. You flap a hand at him to mind his own business; he laughs and his wife looks up and immediately comes to your defense, tapping his nose to redirect his attention towards her. He smiles and turns his head to whisper first in her ear and then bends downwards, addressing the bump under her dress, and you smile at the sight. While there is the occasional twinge of melancholy over what could have been but wasn’t, mostly it’s a quiet kind of joy, to see him moving forward in his life with such giddy anticipation.
Nathaniel’s gaze follows your own, and you hear him huff a tiny laugh.
“I’m going to have to fly out again in a couple of months, won’t I?” he says, in a tone that would be exasperated, were the fondness not so obvious.
“That’s not unreasonable,” you say, refusing to be sympathetic, because that means he’s back in person and you will get to do this again. “And no complaining about people not organizing their life-changing events around your schedule. You’re not that kind of lawyer anymore.”
“That doesn’t mean I no longer appreciate a good schedule,” Nathaniel objects, almost affronted, and you roll your eyes but let the comment slide, because the fact is that these days Nathaniel considers a good schedule to include something beyond just work commitments, and that even if balancing life and work is a pain, it is worth the effort, and you like it.
“You can just send the largest stuffed animal you can find,” you point out. “If you really don’t want to visit.”
He rolls his eyes at you, which you interpret as don’t be an idiot, I’m still gonna do both, even if that isn’t what he means.
“Plus, you’re back for good in a few months, anyways,” you point out. “There’ll be plenty of time for baby visits. Catching up with the echelons of West Covina’s elite. Catching up and all that jazz. Getting your groove back and falling into step with all the rest of us.”
“Right,” he says, and nothing else, because there’s still something left heavy between the two of you, like baggage or emotional stones or whatever visual metaphor works best, that you both know intrinsically, but that you can’t address just yet. Because right now it is almost like a dream, how he can reappear when you want to see him most, rather than the reality of seeing him every day, and as much as you want the reality, you are both figuring out what is reasonable to expect from each other.
Exhaustion pricks in your eyes, and you hide your face in his shoulder to smother your yawn.
“Long night?” he asks, his voice low and gentle.
“The longest,” you mumble, and you let yourself surrender to what the tired animal of your body wants and steps closer so that your personal space merges gratefully into his, so you can rest your cheek against his shoulder, imagine that you can feel his heart pounding beneath your cheek, evidence that he is here, for now. And will be soon back for good, in the future.
Until then, you have dancing.
You hold each other and the melancholy, pale as a flame, extinguishes entirely.
like, all your fic though? but i'm gonna say the josh chan fic since it made me cry like a little baby which was rude of you tbh
Hahaha awww. I both feel bad about that and continue to be touched.
So, one of the original scenes I envisioned for this fic was Josh going to see Greg and the two of them being kind of miserable about being broken up together, while being bad about it because they have ISSUES. The point of the scene would be for Josh and Greg to reestablish a tenuous connection, and through it, that Greg would reinforce the idea that Father Brah had proposed, that Josh should leave town, and that having this second opinion would solidify Josh’s resolve to go to New York. Ultimately, I felt that it was redundant, and that Josh’s trust in Father Brah was strong enough that he wouldn’t need much convincing and I couldn’t see a reason to keep the scene, but it made me sad to lose it, especially because it was one of the impetuses to write this fic. I also wanted to write a scene where Josh and Nathaniel interact, but that one never even got written, alas.
Ergo, I’m gonna include it below the read more! As always, it’s woefully unedited, and I still hope to use it somewhere at some point.
Father Brah’s advice is usually sound, but usually hishomework is about thinking things through, not buying plane tickets.
While he is mulling it over, Josh tries something that hehasn’t done in a long time: he goes to see Greg.
Sure, he and Greg have been in a weird place for a while,and not just because of what has happened with Rebecca, but Greg is smart, and hasalways been someone whose judgment is pretty reliable, even if he was way toorude about it. And in this case, he’s literally one of only two other peoplewho get this, and it still feels too weird to ever text Nathaniel.
He goes to Serrano’s for the first time since the pop-upstarted. He remembers coming here as a kid and being allowed to run around thekitchens unchecked. This time, when Greg leads him on a tour, it’s a clearimprovement. Under more cheerful circumstances, he would have a whole lot moreto say. As it is, he barely remembers to take some pictures for Instagram (NEEDHASHTAG: SPAGHETTIPUNS) before digging in.
“Have you made your plans for moving yet?” Greg asks, a fewbites in. “If you need a hand, I’m happy to help.”
Josh shrugs. “I’ll be okay, I didn’t have that much stuff tobegin with.”
“That’s good. Has Rebecca been helping out?”
“Yeah, she’s been really nice about it. But things are stillweird.”
“Well, it’s only two weeks away, right? It won’t be thatawkward by then, you’ll get over it.”
Josh glares at Greg. “Easy for you to say when you didn’teven go on a proper date with her! I got dumped after I told her I thought wewere written in the stars – of course it’s going to be awkward! That wholesituation was so weird, we can’t just go back to having breakfast together likeit never happened! It’s not awkward for you, because you bailed.” He immediately grimaces at his own faux pas. It’s notabout Greg, he shouldn’t be snapping at him. “I’m sorry, I’m still a littlesensitive after getting rejected and I shouldn’t have taken out on you. Thatwas bad, I’m sorry.”
Greg’s mouth is twisting downwards, so Josh can see he’s notunaffected, but then he just shakes his head, waving the insult away.
“I shouldn’t have brought it up. You two have a verydifferent history, and I have no right to judge that. Especially when I know it’snot easy to live with someone you have awkward feelings about.”
Josh cringes. “Again, sorry.”
“I know.”
They go back to moodily twirling spaghetti together; theydon’t mean to talk about Rebecca, except she still feels like the safest topicthey’ve got, all of the other years of silent resentment and slights too muchfor them to even begin to touch, even in this shared misery.
“If it makes you feel any better,” says Greg, slowly, likehe is dragging it out of him the way Josh drags weights sometimes. “I told herthat she was the love of my life.”
Josh’s head snaps up and he gapes openly at Greg. “What?”
“You heard me,” says Greg, before hetakes a too-large bite out of a meatball and promptly chokes on it.
Josh reaches over and slaps Greg hard on the back, still alittle stunned. “You said it. Like, those words, exactly. Not, ‘I’m not,not-interested’? Because I know that I said it’s your version of a loveconfession, but seriously, it doesn’t count.”
Greg looks annoyed, wiping his mouth with a napkin, but thenhe exhales and nods. “Those are exact words.”
“Wow.”
“No need to swoon over it,” Greg mutters.
“Dude, that’s likea huge deal for you.”
Greg fidgets uncomfortably in his seat. “Yeah, and what I’mtrying to say is that it ended up not making much of a difference, either.”
“Yeah, she wants to work on herself.”
“And I totally get it.”
“It just sucks, huh?”
“I’ll drink to that,” says Greg, holding up his bottle ofcola.
“It’s just tiring. I’ve been trying to move past ‘it sucks’for a week now, but nothing’s working. And I don’t want to get stuck in aspiral, but everywhere I go, I just see more mistakes. It’s like the whole townis mocking me.”
“I know the feeling,” says Greg, his fork turning slowly inhis hand without gathering pasta.
“Father Brah was saying that it might be a good idea for meto get out of town for a little bit.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know.”
“Sounds like a good idea.”
Josh frowns down into his spaghetti, spiking a meatball onthe prongs of his fork. “Huh. I thought you would be against that.”
“Given our last conversation on the subject in thequarantine ward, I understand where that idea would come from. But speaking assomeone who left West Covina with a massive chip on his shoulder and convincedthat the city actually, physically hated me – no, I don’t think it would berunning away. It might actually give you the space you need to process. Whenwas the last time you left the state? Like, seriously?”
“Remember when Hector was gonna surf in Hawaii, a few monthsafter Rebecca moved here?”
“Yeah, I remember that, but you didn’t go.”
Josh shrugs. “That was it. I mean, I was in SLO for theseminary, and I did go to Scarsdale to meet Rebecca’s family, but I only reallywent between her mother’s house and the bar mitzvah, so I don’t think thatcounts.”
“No, family visits definitely do not count for vacation,trust me. Josh, you’re an approachable guy, and this whole situation has beenso weird, that it makes sense that people want information. And they are notgoing to ask Nathaniel, or me, when they can talk to you about it.”
“Huh. That makes sense actually.”
“Right? Look, everyone in this town knows and cares way toomuch about your personal business, so going somewhere that not everybody knowsyour name might be a good change for you. When I went to Atlanta, it’s like allof these mental walls just totally fell away. Anonymity is surprisinglyfreeing.”
Josh isn’t sure if Greg is being self-deprecating or not, orif it would be appropriate to laugh, so he compromises by shoving a fork twinedfull of noodles right into his mouth to avoid a direct response.
“This is really good,” he says, when he is able to breatheagain. “Did you do something to the sauce?”
“Thanks, I’ve been testing different varieties of tomato andthe new ones give a much richer flavor. And you’re trying to change thesubject.”
“I know,” says Josh, slumping back in his chair. “But you’reright. It would nice to go somewhere where people don’t immediately know mydrama. I just need to find the right place.”
less of a summary, but: hurt/comfort fic where valencia goes to paula because, idk, a recent business failure or something. you write valencia in emotionally-interesting scenarios well and i’m always lowkey interested in her dynamic with paula since we didn’t explore it too much on the show
ooooh that would be really cool! especially because paula and valencia, they have some interesting similarities wrt their insecurities about being taken seriously and achieving a career/professional success that they never expected for themselves. so it would be a commonality and something they feel acutely, plus paula would be caught off guard that they have this in common, especially after the first season and how she visualized valencia as this cartoon evil ex and it is something they have in direct counterpart to rebecca. plus it sounds like paula’s time in high school and high school hierarchy tracks in parallel pretty well…
uh oh.
Send me an anonymous (or not) summary of the fic you wish I would write. (maybe I will write a tidbit)
Before she knew she was a witch, Rebecca’s seventeenthbirthday hadn’t held any special appeal for her, not the way the birthdaysdirectly preceding and following did. But the day her Hogwarts letter wriggled outof her mailbox and swept her out of her mother’s house changed all of that. True,it wasn’t a complete rescue; no castle, no matter how far away, could save herentirely from her mother and her neverending push for excellence which, unmooredby the new standards that a whole wizarding world revealed, doubled down inother ways.
However, by wizarding law, at seventeen a witch is an adult.When Rebecca turns seventeen, provided that she does not involve Muggleswithout ties to the wizarding world, she will be able to prove to Naomi Bunch,once and for all, what magic can really do.
There is always more magic to learn, even filled as the pastsix years have been with falling in love with Josh Chan, developing unusual butstrong inter-House friendships with Valencia Perez and Heather Davis, andfinding refuge in the Divination tower to have tea with Professor Proctor, evenif Rebecca had to drop the subject after her A-for-Acceptable-except-notOWL, forced to concede that she was too willing to read signs into anythingthat might suit her wishes.
That self-awareness, however, doesn’t stop Rebecca fromwishing for a sign right now.
There are barely fifteen minutes left before the end of herstudy session with Nathaniel Plimpton and she still hasn’t made her propositionyet, and it isn’t entirely clear if her own nervous anticipation or some otherforce is stretching the seconds out, so that the time to drag on especiallylong. Maybe it’s the short winter days, which makes the shadows in the libraryare especially long and dark, even though dinner isn’t for another two hours,or the flickering candlelight that makes her eyes sting and is definitely notthe best source of illumination. Idly, she wishes had her favorite reading light,the one shaped like a cartoon anglerfish, but no; it’s against the rules tohave any Muggle technology in the castle, even components as simple as alightbulb and batteries. She might still try it before she finishes; evensomething that small is a novelty to the classmates of hers who have only knownmagic all of their life, who haven’t had to fight to hold onto it, to make sureit isn’t just a fever dream.
She wants to see how Nathaniel would react, in particular—notto a reading light, but to a whole list of Muggle contraptions; he usuallymakes wonderful faces when confronted by technology he doesn’t know. From whatshe has seen of his Muggle Studies syllabus, they tend to skip out on some ofthe more interesting innovations.
Nathaniel likes to claim that Muggle Studies are a logicalchoice as a course of study going into Wizarding law, even though he knewabsolutely nothing about the Muggle world before they started talking inearnest, and he refuses to take her insights until after the professor hasgraded and returned his work – the result of a couple of small, harmlessmisconceptions she planted in his head early on in their acquaintance. Still,she’s looking forward to reading his essay on electricity after he gets it back—hetends to make interesting assumptions about the devices used in Mugglekitchens.
Rebecca sighs, not quietly, and peers over A Guide toAdvanced Transfiguration to see if Nathaniel might have the same jitteryfeeling as the end of their session approaches and might speak first so thatshe doesn’t have to start. But he seems perfectly content as he writes out hisessay in that neat, narrow script of his, nearly at the end of his roll ofparchment. She fidgets and groans to herself, realizing that she can’t wait forhim to look up first if she wants to talk to him about this and not miss herchance. Because she really, really wants to see how he’ll react to thisidea of hers.
“Hey,” she says, breaking the silence, testing the waters.
His eyes immediately flick up to meet hers.
“Hey,” Nathaniel returns, the word clipped and neutral. Buthe sets down his quill, like he knows that she wants to talk, and a full-bodyflush goes through her at his acquiescence, though she clears her throat andtries to seem perfectly unaffected as she leans towards him, so that there isno chance of their conversation will be overheard. He shifts towards her aswell, mirroring her folded hands and inclined head.
“Have you ever thought about what form your Animagus wouldtake?”
Nathaniel raises his eyebrows at her, unimpressed.
“Not particularly,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “Whatuse would I ever have for that? They’re just going to ask about the generalprocess, or the spell, not about your opinion.”
Rebecca pouts at him. “Come on, dude. Leave the cut-and-dryroutine and play along.”
Nathaniel rolls his eyes at her, the way he does when he isgoing to oblige her but wants her to know that he knows exactly what he is doing. She sits back, completely unashamed –whatever makes him feel good enough that he gives an answer.
“A cheetah,” he admits, with great reluctance.
Rebecca blinks, surprised; it’s a slightly more fancifulanswer that she would have expected.
“Really? A cheetah? The super sickly mammal known to haveanxiety? That one?”
“It’s the fastest mammal in the world,” he defends.
Rebecca hums, not entirely sold. “I guess. I’d have thoughtthat you were gonna pick a big cat, it would be a lion. Though, it makes sensethat you didn’t, ‘cause then you would lose face with all of your Slytherinbuddies, huh?”
Nathaniel just gives her a Look; she smiles innocently.
“What about you?” he asks, not because he cares, but becauseit is the point of the conversation, and he knows it. Rebecca is happy to takeit anyways.
“I haven’t decided yet, but I’m about to find out very soon.”
Nathaniel cocks his head to the side, the way he does inclass when the professors make a point that doesn’t track for him. “What do youmean by that?”
She nods, trying to seem careless and not like her heart ispounding in her throat. “What it sounds like. I’ll know before my next birthday.”
“Are you saying that you’ve…”
She smirks. “Not yet. But I will.”
She likes getting Nathaniel caught off guard, the way hisexpressions contort and how he tries to recompose himself afterwards. She usedto fluster him so easily, after their initial animosity had turned towards a friendlieracademic rivalry; he’s gotten used to her, but she can still do it, and she isconfident that announcing her intentions to become a teenage Animagus is morethan certain to provoke a reaction.
“Wow, that’s…”
“Amazing? Intense?” she supplies helpfully.
“A lot. That’s a lot of work for something that might beultimately pointless.”
The anticipation that had her floating so high abruptly turnsto lead, threatening to drag her down. But where there might have been mortificationwith anyone else, indignance flares up instead.
“What do you mean by pointless?” she demands,suddenly defensive to cover up her disappointment. She had been wanting areaction like the first time she successfully Vanished her raven and he hadlooked at her with such frank admiration. “There have only been sevenregistered Animagus this century. I would be among the best. What’s pointlessabout that?”
She can tell that she’s getting riled up, and she stops andcloses her eyes, taking two deep, slow breaths—after the Josh drama last year,she’s been working on monitoring herself, how she strikes out when she’s hurt.When she feels sufficiently calm and opens her eyes, Nathaniel is still sittingacross the table, concerned, trepidatious, but waiting for her.
Some of her irritation dissipates at the sight; she coughsand rolls out her shoulders self-consciously. “Sorry. That was a bit much.”
“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“What did you mean, then?” She tries to sound curious anddisaffected, but does not succeed, if Nathaniel’s wince is any indication.
“I misspoke. It would be impressive,” says Nathanielslowly, cautiously. “But is it really practical?”
“Explain.” She means to sound commanding, not petulant, butit comes out in enough of a snarl that Nathaniel holds up his hands, palmsforward, to show he means no harm, that he has no means of defense if shedecides to hex him.
(Which is silly, she would never hex him. Tackle him downthe stairs towards the Great Hall, maybe. Or send him a Howler. But nothexing.)
“Rebecca,” he says, and a tiny part of her softens at howcarefully he says her name. “You’re definitely smart enough to get it right. That’snot a question.”
She can feel herself softening further, an additionalflicker of warmth in her chest at the compliment, but has no time to enjoy itbefore he continues, “But the process requires really precise conditions that onlyoccur by chance—you can’t exactly conjure your own lightning storm.”
“Watch me,” Rebecca mutters, but without heat. She slouchesback down in her seat, crossing her arms and not breaking eye contact. “Whatelse do you have?”
“Right.” Nathaniel still looks a little ill-at-ease, but thatnever stopped him from delivering a lecture before and it isn’t stopping himnow. “If you turn into something…unusual, you’re more likely to get caught,especially if you don’t want to get registered—”
“You think I would be something unusual?”
“Not the point. Besides, we need to focus on our NEWTS. Doyou really want to undergo a painful, highly dangerous transformation duringexams? What if you get stuck without thumbs?”
Rebecca lets out an involuntary snort of laughter. IgnoringNathaniel’s grin, she says, “That’s your worst-case scenario, that I can’ttake my exams? Please. Becoming a fully-fledged Animagus would totally countas a practical demonstration of my magical capabilities.”
“Again, not the point,” says Nathaniel tartly.
“Well, my point is that I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’tcompletely sure I could succeed. I thought you would be into that, because it’sall daring and individualistic and a challenge. Always reaching, right? Isn’tthat what you like to say?”
Nathaniel narrows his eyes at her use of his words againsthim, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s a risk, and not acalculated risk. What did your girl mob say about it?”
“Conceptually, they found it very interesting,” says Rebecca,a little too casually, and knowing it, hating how Nathaniel knows her wellenough that his eyebrows climb high up his forehead again at her reply.
“Conceptually?” he prompts.
“It was the best way to frame it,” she says quickly, rushingto get ahead of his objections. “Look, if they knew I was serious, Valenciawould just start freaking out about all of the laws and regulations I would bebreaking, and Heather might not say anything but she would give me that lookthat she gets sometimes and, really, I’ve thought this through, I don’t needany of that. So, no, I haven’t told anyone else. Just you.”
She only feels a little guilty when Nathaniel straightens upin his seat.
“Why me, then?” he asks, too carelessly for it to be natural.
“Well, like you said, it’s a very precise process, so I needsomeone who likes that sort of thing – exact quantities and followinginstructions to the letter—just to make sure that I don’t end up without mythumbs. And, logically, that means you.”
She internally cringes at how thickly she’s laying it on, almostlike desperation, but she comforts herself that it is, at least, true. Shetrusts Nathaniel to help her carry this out, if he so chooses—she wouldn’t haveasked him otherwise.
Nathaniel just looks at her for a long moment, a familiarmixture of exasperation and fascination across his features, like he can’tbelieve what he’s hearing. It used to make her feel self-conscious, but thesedays she knows how he thinks – the fascination usually wins out. For all of hisown obsessive tendencies and demands for perfection, she has never felt like hewanted her to fail, and she thinks (hopes) that this time will be no different.
“Very well,” he says at last, holding out his hand. “You’reon.”
Her heart lifts; she knew he wouldn’t let her down.
“I don’t need your challenge,” she says. “But thank you.”
They shake, and the prickle of electricity that shoots upthrough her arm and settles deep in her stomach has nothing to do with theanticipation of the challenge. It doesn’t quite make up for the reaction shedidn’t get, that she was hoping for, but it comes more than close enough.
Her homework planner chirps a five-minute reminder.
“Time’s up. When do you have Quidditch practice again?” she says,tilting her head so that she’s looking up at him from under her eyelashes.
“Not until six,” Nathaniel says, his voice thick, sending apleasant shiver up her spine that has nothing to do with the draft.
“All right.” She claps the book in front of her shut, tryingnot to seem too eager. “Walk me to the dormitory?”
~
“Have you noticed that this closet isn’t here most of thetime?”
“That’s what you want to talk about right now? Really?”Rebecca asks, as she shoves Nathaniel inside, quickly following and turning thelatch behind them.
Rebecca does, in fact, know that the closet isn’t usually inthis corridor; she’s done her research on the subject. And as a Room ofRequirement, since all they require is a tiny space with the door that locks,the door will stay locked, Alohomora or not. She sloughs off her bookbag and Nathaniel’s hands are already settling at her waist, fingers splayedwide before curling in, hooked in the waistline of her skirt. She laughs when hespins her around and presses her back against the sturdy door.
“You’re in a hurry,” she teases, not waiting for his answerbefore reaching up and tugging him down by the back of his neck to kiss him.His fingers flex in, one hand sliding low around her back and the other comingup and curling into her hair, shifting to get a better angle, while her handstighten in the crest of his hair and curve around the back of his neck, workingtheir way under his collar.
It’s a familiar motion by now, but it still feels new, asnew as every other spell she learns. She knows it’s the same for him, but inthe other direction: Nathaniel grew up in the Wizarding World, a long line oftraditions behind him and stretching before him, very few of the spells theylearn are unfamiliar to him, but he always touches her like he can’t quitebelieve she exists.
It’s not something she can admit to him, though, not withoutgoing against her own pride. She does like him, terrible awful Slytherin thathe is, and she’s made her peace with that, but anything more would get messy.Besides, he’s made his stance on relationships very clear over the last fewyears: no interest whatsoever. And after the spectacular disasters that wereher relationships with Josh and Greg, respectively, that is fine with Rebecca.Studying with Nathaniel is intellectually stimulating and kissing him in closetsstimulates her in other ways, and that’s all she needs right now, really.
Although, as willing as Nathaniel is to follow her lead mostof the time, he can be annoyingly contrary at times. Like right now, when sheonly wants him as close as possible, her arms tangling around him like she’smistletoe and he’s the tree, he abruptly pulls back. She lets out a whine and triesto tug him back down to her, but for once he resists.
“Why do you want to become an Animagus?”
Of course he asks that now, right when she’s no longer inthe mood to answer it.
“You couldn’t have asked me that in the library?” shemutters, arching her back so that she presses closer into him. A verysatisfying groan claws its way out of his throat, and he mock-glowers down hisnose at her. She smirks, unrepentant.
“And risk Mrs Hernandez overhearing?” he asks. “You don’tthink that wouldn’t get back to the Ministry?”
It’s not a weightless concern; Rebecca suspects Secret Earsare stashed around the stacks so that the librarian can better terrifymisbehaving students by enchanting books to beat them over the head for anypotential violation of library policy. But Rebecca isn’t interested in thatright now, going back up on her toes to nip at Nathaniel’s throat where it isexposed over his collar, the hand around the back of his neck sliding around tothe knot of his tie, starting to work it loose. He groans again, but still leansaway, thwarting her yet again, and this time his hands cup the back of her head,which makes eye contact impossible to avoid.
“Seriously, why?” he asks,his voice low in a way that on any other day would have her shiveringpleasantly, but the question is earnest, and enough to give Rebecca pause.
Nathaniel is a wizard born and bred, and for everything elsethey have in common; he has never known a world without magic, and he cannotpossibly understand her hunger for it.
She looks down and stares hard at his sweater, running herhand thoughtfully across the material, smiling when he twitches inadvertently.She has ways of distracting him, the way she distracts others, the way shedistracted Josh Chan while she was trying to figure out how to be his dreamgirl, the way she distracted her mother from prying too closely into her lifeat Hogwarts by hinting at means to restore youth, even if those attempts neverworked for very long. Even though she was so eager to tell him before, now itseems silly – pointless, even. Nathaniel grew up in the wizarding world, afterall; he would never understand her hunger for it. It was better that he hadn’tasked her before; she doesn’t know why she wanted him to in the first place.
But then the truth unsticks from the back of her throat,some internal force overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands around the back ofher skull and the open questions compelling forward an answer that is true.
“Remember those books I showed you?” she finds herselfsaying. “The ones I used to read as a kid?”
“The ones with that totally incoherent magic system?” heasks, forehead wrinkling, and she stamps down the urge to reach up and smooth themaway with her thumbs and swats him gently on the chest instead.
“Says the guy who read the whole series in a week,” sheteases, aiming for levity. “Well, it’s a series about transformation, right?And, in the Muggle world, the most unambiguously magical thing that you can dois change yourself and do it at your choosing. Right?”
“If you say so,” says Nathaniel doubtfully.
“And people say that the animal you turn into—that sayssomething about who you really are, right? That would be cool. Plus, again, it’sa challenging piece of magic and it would prove that I’m a witch of substanceto everyone – Morgan Le Fay was an Animagus, right? It’s big and dramatic andit’ll prove to her that—”
“That what?” Nathaniel prompts, his voice soft.
“That I’m powerful. That I’m a true witch.”
“Who says you aren’t?”
When she hesitates before answering a second too long,understanding flashes across his face.
“Oh. That.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re still worried about not belonging here?” he asks,frustration that has nothing to do with her hands or her teeth slippingthrough.
Rebecca shrugs uncomfortably, hands fisting in the materialof his sweater, as much of a comfort as to remind herself not to panic, not tolook off into the future. It’s another thing he just has never understood, shereminds herself, to hold herself back. Nathaniel has never known a worldwithout magic. He doesn’t know what it’s like to not see it.
To transform at will is proof that you have control overyourself and no one else can take it away from you. When Rebecca first learnedabout Metamorphmagi, she spent days aflame with jealousy, at the idea thatthere were witches who existed with such a perfect ability to transform into whoeverthey wanted to be. But of course, it couldn’t be learned, it had to be borninto. Even magic could be unfair. But still, there are so many spells thatwould reveal more things to her about herself, if she could just read theirmeanings right. Maybe if she had been born into magic she would understand, butshe wasn’t, so she had to study herself into it instead, take the risks that mostpeople don’t have to.
“There’s a world without magic in it,” she finds herselfsaying. “When I’m not here, I’m stuck there, stuck in Scarsdale, and it feelslike none of this was ever real, because it’s impossible to feel magical whenNaomi Bunch is yelling at you about finding a husband and trying to sneaklaxatives into your food. She’s still freaking out about how she’s going toexplain Hogwarts on my college applications, because, you know, she can’t haveher already-delinquent daughter miss Harvard.”
“But you won’t need that,” he points out, in what probablyseems to be reasonable counterpoint, his thumbs ghosting over her temple.
She gives him a weak smile. “Try telling her that.”
“You’re a witch,” he says firmly. “She can’t change that.”
Intellectually, Rebecca knows that. She has potion recipesmemorized by heart, can understand Transfiguration formulas perfectly with anight of concentrated study. Hell, she can physically manifest her physicalbody in another location near-instantaneously, as proven by her flawless Apparitiontest.
But it always feels like she’s missing something more. Thatshe can’t just be a witch, not if she wants to stay. It’s how she felt chasingJosh Chan, that here was someone who melded both worlds so perfectly, embodiedthem both so effortlessly. Josh never worried that one day he might leave thewizarding world and, upon his return, find that it closed itself to him, and shehad wanted that so badly for herself that it nearly led to both their destruction.
“Unless I am thebest, I have no reason to be here,” she whispers.
She feels, rather than sees his exhale.
“For a smart person, you say really weird things sometimes,”he says. She laughs shakily.
“You think so?” she whispers, desperate to hear hisreasoning. She stares hard at the prefect badge pinned just above his breast,the enamel still new and unmarked and the only real difference from hers isthat it is green, not red. It’s strange; for all of the fights they have hadover the years, for all that she knows that he finds the Muggle world completelyincomprehensible, she has always felt he understands, fundamentally, what she islooking for at Hogwarts. That he is looking for the same thing, using the samemethods, even if he won’t admit it.
Nathaniel looks at her, blue eyes blown dark, lips red andkiss-bitten and slightly parted. He blinks and shakes his head, refocusing.
“I don’t know what it means for you, but…I can’t imagineHogwarts without you,” he says at last, and the sincerity of it sends tendrilsof what can only be elation, white-gold and jittery, coursing through herveins, unfurling at her fingertips and down to her toes.
“It’s good to hear you say it,” she says.
But she’s already promised herself—don’t mix up boys andmagic again, don’t confuse cause and effect, so when she brings her hands up tocup his jaw in turn it’s an unspoken gratitude, but the next words out of hermouth pivot them smoothly away from such sentiments.
“But, remember, this is the last time we can do this.”
“What?”
Rebecca grins at his bafflement, suddenly amused, and smoothsher hands down the front of his robes, more conciliatory than arousing. “Comeon, you’ve read the same books I have – part of the process means that I haveto carry a mandrake leaf under my tongue for a month. Can’t take it out. So,uh, all of this kissing and certain…other activities will have to be on hold.”
The intensity, the uncomfortable intimacy of the momentabruptly shifts into something more familiar as Nathaniel heaves a long sigh,put-out, but not particularly troubled.
“I mean, we could work around that,” he says.
“We could,” she hums in agreement. “But I just thought youshould know what you’re getting into.”
“Of course,” he agrees. “It just means that we better notwaste our time today.”
“Please,” she says, going on her toes again to kiss himproperly, relief at having an ally overpowering the trepidation that whateverdelicate balance exists between them is not sustainable, too easy to transforminto something else without a chance of going back.
