(the title is uninspired but shush)
[Original work], [one shot]
uhh ig children fighting??
marriage of convenience sorta (it doesn't happen right now but they talk about it)
lwk dysphoria if you look hard enough
underage drinking (only if you're american cus they're all 18)
the year this is set in is ambiguous (on purpose, everyone clap)
read this if you like me /j
Kids, never use really dark and intense eyeliner as a base, even if you don’t have access to anything else for your crazy ass make up runs. Because I just did, and I’m deeply regretting it, after having to wash my face twice in the shower and still having to clean the corners of my eyes right now. Fuck. I stare at my bright blue eyes through the mirror, narrowing them. I reach up, my (not perfectly) manicured nails pulling down my cheek so I can inspect my skin. “Should be clean,” I mumble, running a hand through my wet, silky, short-ish dyed-red hair. Man, I’ve gotta get that cut. And dye it again—maybe green?
Welp. That’s a problem for future Ryker.
Oh, yeah. Hi, I’m Ryker Lurker (shut up, I know they rhyme. I… wasn’t thinking of that when I chose my name) and I’m the trans guy living in the girls dorms of my stupid ass orphanage that doubles as a school that secretly teaches kids how to fight. Fun, I know, right? Best fate ever…
“Ry! You’ve spent, like, two hours in the damn bathroom! What the fuck?” Calls out my best friend, Tracy Howard. I groan, hopping off the sink and cracking my knuckles. “Shut up, I did some pre-shower makeup,” I call back. Tracy then pokes her head into the bathroom, raising an interested, and extremely blonde and thin, eyebrow. “Awh, no photos?” She cries. I roll my eyes, grabbing my clothes. “Stop staring at naked men, Trace.”
“But you’re so hot!”
“Get out.”
“Ugh.” Tracy groans, rolling her eyes and shutting the door again. I chuckle, throwing on my loose sleeping shirt and pants before opening the door.
“Your turn,” I muse. Tracy grins, undoing her hair and yawning as she steps into the bathroom. I, however, waltz into our bedroom and plop onto the bed, body laid out across the whole damn thing. Okay, before anyone gets confused—no, I do not like Tracy like that, but yes, we share a bed, we cuddle, we do whatever people seem to think couples do, but we’re not a damn couple. We’re best friends. Besides, Tracy’s a raging lesbian and I’m the gayest man you’ll ever meet… not like people care anyways. Now that that’s out of the way, and proven to not be the moral of the story, back to whatever I’m doing. Which is laying down on the bed, shivering in the cold, except I’m too lazy to grab a blanket, and I know Tracy’ll just get one on me anyways.
The shower turns on, I sigh and I shut my eyes. Tracy’ll just, like, do stuff for me. She knows my routine, it’s fine.
I wake up to Tracy throwing clothes at me. I grunt, opening my eyes. “You almost slept with your glasses on, idiot. Also, you forgot to brush your teeth, so… Go. Get dressed and brush your teeth,” Tracy greets. “Good morning to you too?” I mumble in response, staring at the clothes she’s given me. Then I look at her. I raise an eyebrow. Tracy grins, gesturing to the bathroom and making it clear she isn’t going to answer my question, albeit unasked. I sigh, creakily getting out of bed and hauling the clothes with me. My mouth feels incredibly dirty, so I guess Tracy was right. I hate the feeling of it.
I’m half way through brushing my teeth, my old clothes half off and the new one’s half on when Tracy walks in. “Change your tape,” She says suddenly. I look up, raising an eyebrow. “What?” I ask. “Change your tape,” Tracy says again, handing me freshly cut pieces of trans tape—four, 30 cm. I blink at her. Of course she knows my sizing. “Of course you know my cut,” I muse, taking the tape. “Help me?” I offer, half joking. Tracy grins, rolling her eyes. “Sure, let me just grab the oil.”
“Oh, you want me oiled up?” I tease. Tracy makes a retching noise. I cackle.
Tracy comes back with some baby oil, putting it on the sink as I pull off my newly acquired under shirt. “Why’d you pick out my fancy clothes?” I ask as I reach for the oil. Tracy shrugs, leaning on the door. “We’re going out,” She says simply, watching me carefully peel off my tape. We stand in silence for a bit as I do this, Tracy only moving to pass me nipple covers—I grin at her as she does, but she seems lost in thought and doesn’t return it. I don’t mention it, knowing she’ll talk to me at some point about it, so I move on to drying my chest, humming softly to fill the silence. When I’m done, I pull my shirt back on and turn to face Tracy. Tracy looks away from the spot on the floor she was staring at and smiles at me. “Lovely.”
“Why today?” I question. “Because you’ve gone nearly two weeks without changing,” Tracy comments. “And, well, I remember the one time you went… What was it, three weeks? Five?” She muses, grinning. I wince. “Ouch.” That was a shit week of painful clothing. “Well, finish getting dressed, and I’ll do the same thing. Hailey’s coming to pick us up,” says Tracy as she exits. I raise my eyebrows again, and I sigh again. “This girl, bro…” I mumble, pulling off my pyjama pants.
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True to her word, Hailey Tailor comes to pick us up. By that, I mean she walks to our dorm with money for a cab and bags for days. Currently, she’s sitting on our couch. “So…” I try, sitting next to them and leaning my head on her shoulder. “Why’re you here?” I question, narrowing my eyes at Hailey. She grins at me, shrugging. “We’re going out,” They hum. I groan, flattening myself onto the couch. “No one tells me anything anymore,” I complain, arm coming over my face. “Everyone tells you too much,” Tracy corrects as she walks into the room. I look up, eyes widening. “Whoa,” Me and Hailey say at the same time. “I mean, I’m a gay man, but whoa,” I repeat, grinning. Tracy rolls her eyes.
Tracy’s got her best dress on, the light purple making the pale of her hair stick out against the tan of her skin. Not only that, but the dress compliments her curves perfectly—not too tight, but not loose enough that you can’t see anything, which is perfect for Tracy, because she’s curvy, but not like… curvy, you get me? Plus, her blonde, wavy locks are tied back in this intricate braid, like the one she used to do on me before I came out. And then, her makeup is gorgeous; bright blues and purples mixing with her light brown eyes.
“Jesus, Trace, let a woman compose herself!” Cries Hailey, getting up to hug Tracy in greeting. Tracy laughs, hugging Hailey back and patting her shoulder. I get up, patting Tracy’s shoulder and kissing her cheek before going to grab shoes. I know exactly what’ll go wih this outfit, and I know exactly what’ll go with mine.
See, Tracy and I work in tandem. I have an eye for shoes, I don’t know why, but I just do (and makeup, but only on me, for some reason?) as well as any accessories ever and Tracy has an eye for everything else. Which means I grab our shoes and decorations (as I like to call them) and she picks our outfits. Pretty simple.
Anyways, I go into the laundry, where our shoes are (shut up, we don’t have space) and I grab sky-blue, knee-high boots that have heels for Tracy, and grabbing dark, but fancy, boots for me. I walk back out to see Tracy and Hailey chatting on the couch. I grin. “Anyone going to tell me where we’re going?” I try again, dropping the shoes I chose in front of Tracy as I sit down next to her and slip on my own shoes. Both of the girls shrug. I groan again, sighing. “Is this a dramatic ring situation or is this a pearl necklace situation?” I question. Tracy hums. “Dramatic ring,” Hailey provides, chuckling softly. “Thank you!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air as I get up, the heels of my boots clicking softly against the tiled floor as I head into the bedroom to search through our jewelry.
“I come bearing gifts,” I muse, walking back into the living room, greeted by the sight of Hailey helping Tracy with her shoes. Tracy looks up, grinning and holding her hand out. “Give, give,” She beckons. I hum, handing her the rings, bracelets and one necklace I picked out for her. Then, I sit down next to Tracy, helping her into the necklace. Hailey hums from next to us. “Y’know, Ry,” She muses, causing me to make a grunt-like sound in acknowledgement, “You look naked without your makeup on,” She finishes, giggling. I roll my eyes, but Tracy is laughing as well. “Shut up, I’ll put some on later,” I grumble, patting Tracy’s shoulder to alert her to the fact that I’m done. Then, I put on my own jewelry. “Ah, your under clothes,” Haliey continues teasing. I shoot her a glare, but I’m grinning. “You two have time to wait?” I ask. Tracy hums, nodding and leaning back on the couch. “Take your time, sweetheart,” Hailey muses. I huff out a laugh, walking down the hall to the bathroom, my heels clicking against the floor.
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“You got us into a fucking rich-boys ball?” I whisper harshly at Tracy as we stand in the middle of this grand mansion. Tracy smirks at me, her eyes full of mirth. “Go flirt with the host, Ry!”
“No way!” I exclaim, then I cover my mouth and growl. “No way,” I try again, quieter this time. “Who even—”
“Hello! Tracy Howard and Ryker Lurker?” A voice asks from behind us. I flinch, quickly turning to look behind me.
Johnathan ‘Johnny’ Baker. The richest guy in our school, mostly just because his parents run the damn place. He’s also the strongest, and most popular. And someone I absolutely despise the very idea of.
I hide my scowl, forcing my face to relax into something of nonchalance, letting Tracy speak for me. Baker glances at me from time to time, always seeming to scan me. I stand, tall and looming. He smiles, finishing up his conversation with Tracy and walking away, not before glancing at me, of course. I sigh, letting my shoulders relax. Tracy sighs, nudging my shoulder as we walk around. “You should talk to him,” She pushes. I roll my eyes, scoffing. “As if.”
“You’re the guy who broods all the time and glares at everyone,” Tracy continues, grabbing my bicep, grinning up at me. I look into the crowd instead. “And! Baker is so nice and sunshine-y,” She muses. “You two would look so cute together,” Tracy finishes.
We stop by a fancy staircase and I lean against it, shutting my eyes. “I doubt he likes men, let alone men like me,” I grumble, quickly snatching a champagne cup from a passing server. Tracy raises an eyebrow at me. “What? It makes me look interesting,” I muse. Tracy rolls her eyes. “You’re already interesting. Literally everyone has a crush on you, dude. Including Baker! And I know he’s your type, you’re into the golden-retriever kind,” She teases, hitting my shoulder. I sigh, shutting my eyes again. “Go flirt with some unsuspecting women,” I grumble. “Let me be all mysterious and interesting.” Tracy sighs, but I hear her heels clicking as she walks off.
I manage to brood by the staircase, or the general area, for most of the night. Which matches the reputation I’ve made for myself—silent and mysterious. Which really matches my strength… Did I mention I’m second strongest?
“Mr. Lurker?” An irritatingly familiar voice asks. I sigh, sipping my champagne. “Mr. Baker,” I greet, my voice as gravelly as I want it.
I swallow thickly, staring at Ryker Lurker, my… extremely long time crush. He’s been sitting in this corner all night, even after not saying anything to me earlier when I caught him and his… sister? Lover? Friend? Cousin? Literally no one knows.
“I noticed you were here alone,” I continue, staring at the way his throat works as he sips his champagne. His suit is gorgeous, and his rings accentuate the beauty of his fingers. Even after all these years, I still really like him... which is really hard when the guy barely talks to people and the only person anyone ever sees him happy with is this girl who’s been there since the beginning of time apparently? And I’m pretty sure people write things about them? And everyone loves Lurker, even if they don’t want to admit it—and every girl adores Howard. But, my point is, everyone wants a piece of this guy. Including me. Which sucks.
“I like being alone,” Lurker murmurs, voice gravelly and irritated, breaking me out of my spiral. I clear my throat behind my gloved hands, inhaling deeply. “Walk and talk?” I offer, holding out a hand. Lurker opens his piercingly green eyes, staring directly at me. He holds eye contact for a second, gaze flicking all over my face, before flicking to my hand. He’s silent for a moment, and I’m scared he’ll reject me, before he pushes off the staircase, putting his cup down and shoving his hands into his suit pockets. “Come then,” He says.
I quickly follow after him, clasping my hands behind my back and moving into the lead. “So. You always at school for holidays?” I ask, trying to make small talk. Lurker makes a small grunt noise in response. I nod. “Fun. I, uh, I do. My parents always have work,” I mutter. “They’re always at the school, so I always have the house to myself,” I add on, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t like stairs,” says Lurker suddenly once we reach the top of my staircase. I look back at him, raising an eyebrow. “No?”
“No,” Lurker murmurs, not looking at me. “Where are we going?” He asks, eyes scanning the paintings on the wall. I clear my throat, turning to grin at Lurker. “It’s a secret,” I muse. Lurker sighs, running a hand through his, probably really soft hair. He mumbles something about ‘Tracy being right’, or whatever, and continues to follow me.
I bite my lip, pausing at the door to the balcony. “I go here to study,” I mutter, opening the door, letting Lurker through first. He glances back at me, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?” He asks, practically gliding to the railing. I shut the door, following after him. “Yeah. It’s quiet, and nice. I guess,” I mumble. Lurker leans on the railing with both his forearms, crossing one foot over the other and letting his shoulders relax, I hope. “It is quiet,” He agrees, and is silent for a minute. I hesitate. “Why’d you bring me here?” Lurker asks before I can move next to him. “I, uh. I just wanted you here?” I offer, rubbing the back of my neck. Lurker chuckles—like actually chuckles—and his head falls forward, hair falling into his face, at least from what I can see from behind him. That sound is… heavenly.
“What’s funny?” I ask, managing to will myself to walk next to him. “Nothing,” Lurker whispers, propping his arm up on his elbow to hide his face. “Just… You, of all people, huh?” He adds on, musing. I lean my side against the railing and I raise an eyebrow. “Me what?” I push, trying to scan Lurker’s face, or, I guess, the part I can see. “You. And me,” says Lurker, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. It isn’t. He must pick up on my confusion and he sighs, letting his hand drop and hang off the side of the railing, his silver rings shimmering in the moonlight, and his black nails reflecting it. I swallow thickly, tearing my gaze away from Lurker’s hands and back to his face. Then, I take a deep breath. I have a speech that I memorised, and I’m not about to throw away the chance.
“Mr. Lurker,” I begin, swallowing thickly, again. He glances at me, eyes shining through his glasses. “Mr. Lurker,” I repeat, “I—”
“If you have a whole speech to confess your love, just don’t,” He interrupts, now fully staring into my eyes. My own widen. “I don’t give a fuck if you wrote a ten-page romantic poem, Baker. If you have shit to say, say it to my face, genuienly. Because I know, better than anyone, that words on a page, or rather, words on a page regurgitated out loud, don’t mean anything. You had time to prepare, had time to get your shit together, and frankly, that’s not a good love confession. So, go ahead, Mr. Baker. Recite a damn play at me, and see if that wins over my heart.” My mouth is agape, I’m sure. Lurker stares into my eyes, challenging me. His throat moves as he swallows and I know my face is as red as a tomato.
“Mr. Lurker,” I murmur. His eyes narrow in response. “I… do, well… I did have words prepared,” I continue, running my hand through my hair. “I find it hard to articulate my feelings for you,” I mumble. Lurker raises an eyebrow this time. “But, I guess… For, I would say, since school began,” I whisper, looking at my shoes, “I have liked you. Romantically,” I add the last part quickly. I don’t want to assume his—
“We’re both adults, are we not?” Lurker interjects. I look up. While it is true we’re both 18… “Why?” I ask. Lurker shrugs. “Don’t worry. Keep going, sorry,” He murmurs. I manage a slight smile, then straighten my back. If he’s making casual conversation, that must mean this is going well, right? “Well,” I continue on. “I have liked you for quite a long time, and… I am hoping you… Reciprocate it?” I smile a little, hopeful. Lurker sighs, scanning me.
“I can’t say I do,” He begins. “But,” He adds, staring at me. “Maybe I could benefit from something like this.”
“Benefit?” I ask, my voice small. “Yes. Apparently everyone wants a piece of me, and my parents have been nagging me to get a ‘suitable husband’ for quite some time now,” Lurker sighs, turning to lean his back on the railing. “Usually, I would ignore all of this and continue on my way, until I graduate and move to a faraway country, never to be seen by anyone from this school again,” He continues, waving his hand in the air like this means nothing to me. “However,” He muses, looking at me again. “Maybe you could be of use. If it is true, you liking me for this many years, of course, then I might be able to keep my reputation here and not have to flee,” Lurker explains. “And maybe I may even grow to like you.”
I take a moment to process this. It’s better than nothing… Right?
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“You agreed to marry him?!” Tracy exclaims as I finish recounting the party. I blink at her. “Well yes, that’s what I just said,” I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest. She squeals, pushing me back on the bed. My eyes widen. “Whoa, Trace, I’m getting married, calm down!” Tracy scoffs, shoving me. “Ugh, dude, let me be happy for you!” She complains. I sigh, smiling and propping myself up onto my elbows. “I don’t know if I even like him like that,” I mumble. “You will!” Tracy affirms, grinning at me. “Oh, this is perfect. Like… A perfect love story,” She muses dreamily, turning and falling onto my lap. I snort, resting my hand in her hair. “Well. He’ll be around tomorrow, and stay the night. Mother said I have to ‘acclimatise’ to him, or something?” I groan. Tracy snorts, sighing. “I’ll bunk with Hailey,” She murmurs, and I swear her voice sounds just a little sad. I scoff. “Nah, I’ll just make him sleep on the couch,” I muse. “I wouldn’t ruin our routine for the world, Trace.” I look down at Tracy and she smiles, shutting her eyes. “Same, Ry. Same.”
(also lmk if you guys like this kinda thing/want more of these characters/want more of this kinda stuff, cus i def have more)
