#and he gets taken in by a bunch of ragtag idiots just trying to survive and living in warehouses and shit

[tigirl-and-co]

being a writer is a fucking nothingburger. had an awesome idea for an au/fancontinuity but I'm not super interested in making a full Thing out of it. and like artists can do doodles and shit to get the point across but I can't even do THAT much

[jaskiersvalley]

CW major character injury (beartrap)

Splitting up for winter seemed like the most sensible idea. Geralt would head north with Ciri and, at his insistence at not leaving his muse, Jaskier. Meanwhile Regis would lead the others south, down to Touissant for a bit of downtime. Privately Geralt also hoped their infuriatingly stubborn Nilfgaardian shadow would opt to head for the warmer climates and leave them alone. It wasn't even that Geralt was worried about the man following them. Over the weeks it had become abundantly clear that he was trying to help in his own way, even fighting off a stray bandit or two to keep their tail clean. Rather, Geralt simply couldn't be bothered to exert the energy to get to know yet another person and it was another mouth to feed. Given his rather solitary nature, the fact he was travelling with a ragtag bunch was already quite exhausting.

As luck would have it, Geralt ended up with the Nilfgaardian trailing after them, heading steadily north. The weather got colder and sometimes Geralt caught the whiff of another camp fire, creeping a little closer as it that small lessening of distance would give their tail a smidgeon more warmth. It was pathetic and Geralt was more than a little pissed off. Still, at least the trip up to Kaer Morhen would lose him. Nobody was foolish enough to try and reach the old keep alone, even Witchers succumbed to the trail, a human by himself stood no chance. So either their foolhardy idiot would find shelter for the winter in the surrounding villages or he would perish.

They were at the bottom of the mountain, one last night to get some rest before they braved the slopes. Jaskier and Ciri definitely needed sleep and to give their bodies a break. Geralt was content to meditate, keeping them safe. In the distance he could hear their Nilfgaardian make camp, daring to stray as close as he ever had. Frustrated, Geralt found himself wishing that a bear would appear and deal with the annoyance for him. Alas, he couldn't hear or smell a bear in the region despite the villages mentioning that there had been some bears sighted earlier in the year. Thankfully the local hunters had taken care of them. Lost in thought, Geralt almost didn't register the sound of something snapping shut before a pained cry echoed in the forest. Immediately he was up, sword in hand while Jaskier was on his feet too, looking around in the darkness.

In the distance Geralt could hear pained hitches of breath plus a few agonised grunts. Whatever had happened, it wasn't the swift death he'd wished on the Nilfgaardian. There wasn't anyone or anything else in the vicinity so whatever had happened, the idiot did to himself. Probably stabbed himself with an arrow in the dark. Despite all his ill-wishes, Geralt couldn't bring himself to ignore someone in trouble.

"It's the Nilfgaardian. He's in trouble."

There wasn't any argument when he set off, Jaskier and Ciri behind him, treading carefully, a flaming torch lighting their way. Geralt almost wished they hadn't had the torch because then he wouldn't have had to see the scene in front of him in full colour. The Nilfgaardian was on the ground at the edge of a small clearing where he'd obviously planned on making camp. However, the stench of blood around him suggested that something hadn't gone according to plan. Walking up to him, Geralt watched as the man realised he wasn't alone and jerked upright. A beartrap kept him rooted though. His hands were bloody, even worse, his palms had been cut open from where he'd obviously tried to pry the metal from his leg. What struck Geralt though was just how young the man looked. Wide blue eyes stared up from shock paled skin, lips almost white enough to be missed. Only slightly older than Ciri, probably about twenty, Geralt couldn't fathom why someone so young was so desperate.

"You'll need to keep still while we get this off," Geralt said, crouching down. The young man tried to scramble away but aside from leaning back, he couldn't go anywhere. "Why don't we help with the pain a bit?" Hand raised, Geralt prepared to cast axii. Before he could, a rock connected with the man's temple and knocked him out cold as Jaskier stood behind him, hand wrapped around the lightly bloodied rock.

"That will keep him still and out of it," he declared. "It was the kindest thing."

"Or you could have let me use axii to keep him calm." Geralt tipped the man's head to the side to check how badly the rock had split his skin. It was going to give him quite the bruise, possibly a black eye and one hell of a headache. Still, it did made life easier and Geralt pried the trap off. It had snapped in bone deep, probably even broke his leg. Humans were fragile like that and the trap was meant for a bear. Sighing, Geralt looked around the miserable excuse of a half made camp. It screamed of skills learned on the fly, for the sole purpose of survival rather than something practiced in safety before being put into reality. "Grab his things. We'll head up to Kaer Morhen tomorrow and take him with us."

They had more in the way of bandages with them and, while the man was unconscious, Geralt did his best to clean the wounds, splint the leg and bandage it as well as the cuts on his hands. There wasn't much to be done for the headache of the future though.

In the morning Geralt roused from his meditation to find a pair of blue eyes staring at him.

"You going to make an example of me and kill me?" The accent was harsh despite the soft voice. It wasn't what Geralt had expected coming out of the man's mouth.

"Yeah, I wasted all the bandages on you just for that. Name's Geralt."

"Cahir Mawr Dyrryn aep Ceallach."

"Quite the mouthful. Cahir alright with you?" The nod was answer enough and Geralt set about getting breakfast ready. It was only thanks to the events of the previous night that he kept an eye out for more beartraps and avoided falling victim to one himself. He set it off with a stick and winced as it splintered under the metal jaws.

Despite their best efforts, by the time they'd loaded Cahir onto the cart strapped to Roach, his cheeks were flushed with fever and Geralt could smell the sickness on him. The valiant effort to get to know his new travelling companions better was foiled by the way Cahir kept drifting off, a combination of sickness and from the hit to the head. When he woke, it was only Jaskier's quick grab to the back of his shirt that kept Cahir on the cart as he threw up over the side.

It wasn't looking good. The first night they stopped, Geralt helped rebandage Cahir's injured leg. As the cloth fell away, it became amply evident that infection had thoroughly set in. The cuts were an angry red without defined edges to the inflammation while the wounds themselves were puckered with puss.

"It's fine," Cahir tried to reassure with a wobbly smile. "I've survived worse." Which may have been true but he'd probably also been in a place with better medical supplies. The gnarly scar below his collarbone and through to his back attested to his words but Geralt didn't think it was caused by an old, rusty beartrap. If they didn't make it to Kaer Morhen soon then no amount of surviving worse injuries was going to mean anything.

Come next morning Cahir was no longer quite so chirpy. He was still and silent on the cart, Ciri sat next to him and sometimes gesturing for Geralt to look, worried that Cahir had stopped breathing. He hadn't but his deathly pale complexion wasn't giving Geralt much hope. They were still at least a day and a half out from Kaer Morhen, maybe even two because of the additional weight on the cart.

A fever peaked and fell in cycles, each time Geralt hoped it would be the last but, before long, he reached to feel Cahir's skin and winced at how hot to the touch it felt once more.

By the time they made it up to Kaer Morhen, Geralt feared it would be just a corpse for a funeral pyre that they'd be dragging in. By some miracle it wasn't. With Eskel's help he pulled Cahir off the cart, floppy as unresponsive as he was, there was still air in his lungs and an erratic heartbeat in his chest.

"What did you bring us this time?" Lambert teased before getting a better look and his grin turned into a frown. "Well shit. I'll get Vesemir."

It took three days before Cahir was declared out of immediate danger. Geralt spent a lot of it down in the infirmary, sitting next to him. The others could start Ciri's training and Jaskier was no doubt pleased to get to spend time with Eskel again. It left Geralt in the quiet, watching over someone who he had convinced himself he hated. But this wasn't the person he'd conjured up in his mind. Barely older than Jaskier had been when they met, Cahir didn't look like he had any youthful optimism or naivety.

"I'm sorry." Geralt murmured, watching as Cahir slept, breath a little less thready. He should have been better. Shouldn't have judged, not when he was on the other end of so much of it himself.

By the time Cahir roused, everyone had settled into their winter routine. Ciri trained most days, reading tomes Vesemir left her when it got too cold for the outside obstacle course. It left Geralt free to sit with Cahir, watching as glazed eyes opened, unseeing. The worst thing was, not once did Cahir cry out for someone or reach for an invisible source of comfort. In all his years Geralt rarely found someone so lonely. Even Lambert, in his training days, had called out for his mother and, of late, for Aiden. It was a struggle to believe Cahir had nobody.

"Why?" The first word from cracked dry lips and Geralt jumped. He grabbed a wet rag and dabbed it against Cahir's lips, squeezing a little water into his mouth.

"Why what?" There were a lot of questions Cahir could have and Geralt wasn't a mind reader. He startled when a weak hand clasped around his wrist, keeping his hand close. It felt all too natural to take the rag in his other hand so he could cup Cahir's sunken cheek.

"You stayed."

Something told Geralt this wasn't something Cahir had encountered before and it broke his heart. Why nobody would stick around for him was baffling. Even a Witcher had more people looking out for him, he was certain. He cleared his throat, trying to think about why he stayed. It was true, he had no reason to. "I wanted to."

The soft 'oh' from Cahir pulled at something in his chest. He let Cahir tangle their fingers together shyly, looking up at him from the infirmary bed with so much awe and gratitude, Geralt didn't know what to do with it. So he sat back down into his chair and kept holding Cahir's hand. There was a lot of talking, of getting to know each other in their future. But, for now, Geralt was content to offer whatever comfort he could, vowing to be better than all those who had come before him.

[textsfromumbridge]

All the men and women merely players (4/5)

Yes, you’re seeing this right, this is the next chapter. 

Warning for Nathaniel having some serious issues (eating) in this chapter. Be warned. 

Chapter dedicated to my girls @catty-words and @rebeccaplimpton - #Sluts4Evah!

....

Chapter four: Nobody does mean like Senior (AO3)

The entire room seemed like it was frozen in amber. No one dared to move, in fear of what would happen if Father noticed that there were other people in this room.

Everyone was still except for Rebecca. She was still standing in front of him, still with her hand on his chest in the aftermath of their dance. Her skirts fanned out around them, with only them in this protective little bubble, the one his father had just shattered with his cold fury.

Her hand slowly slid down his chest, and he gulped. Why did she have to do this to him now?

“Deep breaths,” she whispered, taking his hand in hers.

Was this another panic attack? He felt like he was barely in his body anymore, and things were becoming hazy and muddled.

He then realized he was barely breathing, breath caught in his throat and starting to hyperventilate while at the same time trying to stay absolutely still so his father wouldn’t notice his weakness. Father did not take kindly to anything less than perfection.

“Nathaniel,” Rebecca was still right there, seeing all of him.

“Can’t breathe,” he wheezed, trying to explain, trying to make her let him go.

She kept cool, displaying no sign of her panic to his father - he wished he knew how to do that. Father could always tell when he wasn’t quite his best, and he always chose that very moment to put more pressure on him.

Plimptons were supposed to be able to handle this pressure. He was a fraud, a failure, and there was no way he could apologize for his existence enough - his father had made sure that he knew that.

“Nathaniel,” his father sensed that he was not getting all the attention he was due.

Was he even still breathing? He couldn’t tell, couldn’t hear anything but the pounding in his ears and couldn’t see anything past Rebecca. She’d taken up his entire field of vision somehow, which shouldn’t be possible because she was so short.

It was then that he’d realized he’d fallen to his knees, letting go of Rebecca’s hand on the way.

“Sorry,” her voice was scarily gentle. “I know this dress is cumbersome. It makes sense that you tripped on it.”

Lies, all lies. But lies with a purpose: drawing his father’s attention to her and that costume, giving him an excuse other than a panic attack for why his son was on his knees.

How did she know? How could she know exactly what to do, when he didn’t even know and he’d been like this so many times before? He’d snapped himself out of it on the bathroom floor, or his bed… So why not now?

“Hey,” Rebecca’s hand was warm on his cheek.

He held his breath, wondering about how she’d be punished for showing him such kindness - the gods never did approve of it.

After twenty seconds, when no other immediate danger was perceived, he let out a shuddering breath. He felt his breathing go back to normal, slowly but surely, as he looked up at Rebecca.

“Yes father,” he could finally speak again. “I will be right out. I assume they want the costume back.”

Well, that was the end of that dream, of the idea that he could do anything but be the imperfect copy of his father he’d always been. He’d at least wanted to hold up his end of the bargain with Mr. Whitefeather.

The man had been nothing but kind to him since the blackmail, and he owed him a little more than he was getting here. He’d just have to find a new lead, have to find someone to fill his shoes - the uncomfortable costume shoes he’d have to leave behind here. Well, at least he wasn’t sad about the stupid shoes.

Not that he was sad about leaving this ragtag band of idiots - because he didn’t actually care about any of them. They’d put on a subpar show without him, but it wasn’t his job to draw them up from the bare minimum hints of mediocrity.

Coldly he stood up and shrugged off the jacket, folding it neatly and leaving it on a nearby table. He kicked off the shoes, the buckles hitting the table leg.

The sound didn’t jar anyone except Rebecca - all of the others had done nothing, had only moved away from the carnage to let him handle it all by himself. Good, he didn’t want any interference from those losers anyway.

Rebecca wasn’t letting this happen, though. And it made him… unsure.

“Nathaniel,” she just said his name as he took himself into one of the makeshift dressing rooms.

“Bunch,” he tried to turn back the clock to when names didn’t mean anything.

She had no interest in preserving any kind of modesty, she just followed him into the room and did not take her eyes off him for even a second. Even when he took the ornate shirt off, leaving him shirtless and sweaty.

He knew that was a thing for her, and he was absolutely making that work for him. Maybe if she was distracted, she wouldn’t get all riled up about this in front of his father - that would not end well for her.

So he started unbuttoning the pants, smiling smugly at her all the while. It was so much easier to just be an asshole again.

“Don’t do that,” she crossed her arms over her chest - still distracting.

“Don’t get naked?” he slid right back into their old banter. “I’m getting mixed messages here.”

The stupid tight pants were low on his hips, and her eyes couldn’t stop going down - and then going back up every time she was caught in the act. Obviously she still wanted to hit that, and he couldn’t blame her.

But she had too many feelings for him to ever let that happen. God forbid he’d catch some.

“Don’t leave,” she told him, her chin raised to pretend like she wasn’t begging.

Case in point.

“I never wanted to be here, Bunch,” he grabbed his own shirt and buttoned it slowly. “Your dear Mr. Whitefeather forced me to do it. And now I have my way out.”

It was a good escape - he never had his father’s permission, and not even Mr. Whitefeather or anyone in this entire school could do something against his father. So they’d let him go, if only to keep their donations. Perhaps there’d be a Plimpton business wing soon, or some ornate library, just to keep his father happy.

Wouldn’t be the first time. It was why the local hospital had a Plimpton wing.

“Have you ever even told him no?” Rebecca pointedly looked away while he switched his pants.

“Look who’s talking,” his slacks were slightly creased, another slight on his father. “Your mother still believes that you’ll do pre-law in college.”

It was all well and easy to talk to him about just saying no to his father when she’d never even told her mother anything about her college plans, or anything really. Hypocrisy was always easier, he knew that much.

“I never told you that,” Rebecca was immediately suspicious of him.

Ah, he loved it when a plan came together.

“Our housekeeper is Jewish,” he fixed his tie. “Your mom likes to brag about her smart, future Ivy League lawyer, misguided daughter.”

There was no reason for him to stick around in this room. He looked like himself again, like the old Nathaniel Plimpton the Third. The man he was supposed to be. And there was no reason for him to look mournfully at the Prince Topher costume that he’d been wearing before, no reason to feel the slightest hint of regret that he’d never get to dance with Rebecca in front of a crowd, never get to sing his songs with people he’d grown not to hate too much.

It was time to move on from these losers.

“I have told my mom about my future,” Rebecca tried to stop him from leaving the room. “It is just that she refuses to hear it. But I’m eighteen and I’ll do it on my own if I have to.”

That was a naive kind of irrealism that he couldn’t stand by. There was no way that it was feasible - sure, she was talented, but to do this without any kind of support and with the terrible production of Cinderella she was going to headline? She was doomed - she had to see that. She was smart enough for it anyway.

Still she was going to try to do this foolish thing - something about dreams and happiness. A foreign concept for him, that much was sure.

“I’m happy for you,” he didn’t sound bitter at all. “I don’t have that option.”

He didn’t even want to get out from under his father’s thumb - that was what was going to make him the most successful version of himself. He needed to be that version of himself if he was ever going to survive this cruel world - he could not afford to be weak, like his mother. People would use that against him.

People couldn’t be trusted.

“Unacceptable,” she just whirled around in that giant princess dress and marched out of the room with remarkable grace.

It took him a second to follow Rebecca out, too distracted by trying to fix his own brain. He needed to be his true self again, no more thoughts of Rebecca and of how he’d felt when they’d danced together in these silly costumes.

No more. It was time to be his best self.

Of course, by the time he’d left the room, Rebecca had already confronted his father. She was tiny in comparison, but she’d never let that stop her.

“Mr. Plimpton,” she put on her best smile, even though it wouldn’t work. “How kind of you to come visit our rehearsals. Your son is extremely talented.”

Father did not react. He did not even look at her, having immediately dismissed her as someone unimportant.

That left a feeling of wrongness in his stomach, but he’d long since learned to ignore that by doing a couple extra crunches, or eating some more kale. Yeah, he’d start doing that the second his father got done with him.

Smart. Surely his father had seen how fat he’d gotten, because the costume had been so tight. Yeah, he’d need to work on that.

“Let’s go, Nathaniel,” his father had spotted him.

“Yes Father,” he bowed his head to his superior.

His next week had changed, and he was already mentally retooling his schedule so that his father might approve of it. Extra time in the gym instead of rehearsals, straight home after school so the housekeeper might keep an eye on him.

At this very moment, the lock would be taken off his door, because he was no longer allowed privacy after he’d screwed up so massively. His mother would be overseeing it, and her disappointment in him hurt worst of all - who knows how much he’d impeded her recovery this time?

Time to lock it down, time to be the son his mother deserved.

“Goodbye Rebecca.”

He tried not to look back at the look on her face, but he couldn’t help himself. She seemed so small, swallowed up by this gigantic gown. Still she kept her head up as she watched him walk out.

She’d done this before, and he would hate himself for doing it to her if he had any emotion left inside of him.

“You have disappointed me,” Father started as soon as the door closed behind them. “I should have known you were too much like your mother to live without guidance. I figured that since you were eighteen now, you might have figured out what was good for you. Clearly, I was wrong.”

He was not allowed to respond, so he bowed his head and followed his father to the car, trying to maintain his emotionless facade.

Damn, he’d really hurt her - he didn’t even think she cared.

Well, she didn’t anymore. He’d made sure of that.

The show must go on. It had to.

She didn’t have a choice - none of them did. Not after that tragic excuse for a parental figure took their male lead and he’d just let himself be taken away.

Sure, he’d claimed that he’d never wanted to be here, but he was wrong. Maybe he hadn’t started out enthusiastically, and maybe he still didn’t love this place quite as much as she did, but they’d gotten under his skin.

Or at least she thought they had - that she had gotten to him. For a hot second she’d been sure that he’d been halfway to falling in love with her.

Gross, sappy, and seriously stupid, but she’d seen it in his eyes when he said her name. When he kissed her, when he danced with her, and even in his final goodbye. Before he closed himself off to her, that was.

The entire group had been hiding from Plimpton Senior, so she’d been the only one in the room to see that look in his eyes when he turned back that final time.

Those damn soulful eyes of his that had ruined her more than once. He’d looked at her like he was tempted to turn around, but he’d left anyway. They always did.

She’d been expecting him to leave ever since she found out that he was going to be in the show, so she’d almost been prepared for it. Still, she hadn’t been prepared to feel like she cared whether he left or not.

And she really had not been prepared to work with Nathaniel’s understudy.

Freaking Graham.

“Once again,” Mr. Whitefeather regretfully called out. “From the top.”

Not only was the stupid boy terribly unprepared for the part, he had seriously big shoes to fill when it came to charisma, chemistry, and natural leadership. Grant was not prepared to lead anything, let alone a cast of seriously stressed out high school students.

Mr. Whitefeather was even worse equipped to handle this, so she’d had to step up and run this thing - hoping that she wouldn’t just run it into the ground.

Sure, formally speaking their teacher was still in charge, but his lackadaisical enthusiasm no longer hyped up anyone. She was the only one who still had even an inkling of faith in this group.

Well, in anyone except for Geoff.

“From the top means from the beginning of the ball,” she tried so hard to keep a smile on her face, but she was sure that the murder in her eyes still shone through.

“Thanks Becks,” the boy grinned and hopped back to his initial position.

“Don’t call me that,” she reminded him for the umpteenth time.

She hated it when Josh said it, and she hated it even more now. Really, when it came to this idiot, she’d rather he did not address her at all.

He didn’t sound right saying her name. Her character name mostly, but also her real name.

Why was she still focused on that indescribable way that Nathaniel had said her name? It was done, it was over, and she needed to move the hell on.

Not that there was even anything to move on from - it was nothing. A few stolen kisses and a parody of intimacy that had ended a little too quickly, before she’d done something she really regretted, like actually starting to give a damn about this soulless monster. Clearly she’d been confusing the prince and the prat a little too much.

“Stop,” Mr. Whitefeather called before she’d even come into the scene.

Her legs were starting to hurt from all the standing around she’d been doing, waiting for a stupid prince who was never going to come.

But she was not the only one waiting. The other girls were also waiting in the wings, hoping that at some point in the next hour, they’d actually get to the part of the scene they were featured in. It was looking like a long shot though.

Was this another moment where she was supposed to say something encouraging? Would that fix the ever increasing frustration in the atmosphere?

“Nathaniel was always encouraging,” Maya muttered, the small girl seeming even smaller as she curled up in a random chair. “Did you know that he got me the job as head marketer for this show? Hashtag actual prince. Hashtag high school theatre. Hashtag Rebecella slash Nathopher.”

So Maya shipped it. Great. She really needed that extra sting to make her feel even better about what a total failure of a show this was going to be.

No Rebecca, don’t let that show!

If she lost faith publicly, then they’d just have to give up before they even put on the first performance. She was the only one holding this thing together - if she just repeated that to herself enough times, maybe she’d be less quick to anger.

“Well that asshole Nathaniel isn’t here,” she was short with Maya.

And if he were here, she’d have a whole bunch of words to say to him. But that was not the point - he was never going to return. He’d abandoned her, abandoned them in their hour of need like the true piece of trash he was. He’d just let his father take him away without a word of protest.

Why didn’t he fight for her? For the show?

“Whoah, Rebecca, slow down,” Heather intervened before she could really get into it with the freshman girl. “How about we take a little break while Mr. Whitefeather helps Greg run through his first few lines again?”

The idea of a break was starting to sound really good, because with all of the anger and frustration in her, she was starting to boil over. She couldn’t keep sniping at the cast mates that she still had - they couldn’t have more people leave.

It was already bad enough.

“His name isn’t Greg,” she huffed.

“Then what is it?” Heather seemed genuinely puzzled. “Because I’ve been calling him Greg for the entire year and he’s never corrected me.”

Sadly, she would have remembered his name if it had been Greg. Because Greg was competent even when he was a complete mess - and when Nathaniel left she’d been tempted to drag Greg kicking and screaming from Emory to fill his shoes. Clearly Greg could have pulled it off - it was like he was actually made for the part.

Still Nathaniel was her favorite prince - which was a problem. A problem that she was conveniently going to forget about in five, four, three…

Nothing. No change.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged in Heather’s general direction. “I’ve been calling him everything from Geoff to Graham and he’s always responded.”

Really, did this idiots name even matter? As long as he didn’t have any problems with being referred to by any name in the book, they could just keep focusing on the show and she would have a distraction from all these stupid emotions.

This was all Nathaniel’s fault. All of it.

“Identity issues, interesting,” Heather nodded. “Look girlfriend, you clearly need a distraction now that there’s no tall guy around to get you all hot and bothered.”

She was half tempted to take offense to that assessment, but she couldn’t blame Heather for being right about her stupid lusty feelings for Nathaniel. There had been a time or two that she almost would have climbed him like a sequoia in front of the entire cast.

Luckily most of these moments occured when it had been just the two of them.

Pathetically enough, she missed their dances.

“I know it’s wrong,” she admitted it to Heather.

Maya had long since focused on something else, leaving them to talk about things that impressionable freshmen really did not need to overhear. Also, Maya was a little too liberal with sharing certain conversations on various social media - and this thing she might have developed for Nathaniel never needed to be shared anywhere.

“Wrong?” Heather repeated, as if tasting the word on her tongue. “It’s a trainwreck, but the kind that ends with both of you being happy.”

Sure, the trainwreck part of that sentence absolutely made sense to her. He was an asshole and she was seriously ill-equipped to handle any kind of connection with anyone at this moment. It was all doomed to crash and burn.

Except Heather seemed to disagree with that assessment. And Heather was smart, so she was usually right about stuff. So why was she so wrong about this?

“What?” she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“He’s an asshole,” Heather explained it, shrugging as usual. “And you can be a bitch some of the time. Remember when you were supposed to look after my starfish?”

Of course she remembered - it had been just a few weeks ago. She hadn’t actually been hanging out with Heather that long, so there was no way she would have forgotten about anything… Except for looking after that damn starfish.

She was a garbage friend.

“You’re lucky V came through for me,” Heather pointed out sharply, before she went right back to her usual mellow tone. “I guess you two just work together - which is probably why Mr. W pulled his whole blackmail scheme.”

Well, she knew that Nathaniel hadn’t actually joined their group voluntarily, but for Mr. Whitefeather to actually have blackmailed him? Sure, inappropriate actions were almost considered normal at this school, but Mr. Whitefeather had always been an exception to the more heinous stuff.

Announcing that he was bisexual at a pep rally (with a song and dance number) had been the worst of his offenses thus far.

“Blackmail?” she hissed, trying to make sure they weren’t overheard.

“It’s kind of cool,” Heather observed. “It’s like he knew the best people for these parts weren’t actually part of the drama club. He’s kinda smart.”

Sadly, this new information left her a little more impressed by Mr. Whitefeather.

Still, she doubted that he’d foreseen that Nathaniel wouldn’t get to be part of this group for long.

Ugh, she had to stop making everything about Nathaniel. The show had to go on without him, and so did she.

That one banana hadn’t been so big before, when he picked it from the basket of fruit the housekeeper had set on the counter.

He could have sworn it had been smaller then, small enough for him to eat in full. But he was just so full, and he’d barely finished half.

No, he wasn’t. He couldn’t lie to himself, because the rumblings in his stomach were getting more and more uncomfortable. He hadn’t been able to keep much of anything down these last few days.

His stupid fat body didn’t deserve all that food anyway.

He had to be his best - this wasn’t his best.

But was his best eating the damn thing, or was it no longer forcing himself to eat? He could feel himself getting bigger with every single bite he took. He knew that wasn’t actually possible, knew that eating that single banana would be the best thing he’d done for himself ever since he’d been confined to the house.

Bar school, of course. Father would never accept him missing even a single lesson.

And Father’s wishes were all that mattered right now - he’d lost the right to have his own hopes and dreams.

He deserved that, because look at what he’d done with his freedom? He’d tried to pursue a career in theater! What kind of foolish career was that? How frivolous, how stupid - no matter that he’d been almost happy for a little while there.

Happiness wasn’t actually important - wealth was, and success. And if he still couldn’t understand that, his father was never going to trust him with the company. He just had seven years of college and law school to go before he could start being useful to his father. That did not mean he could waste those seven years doing theater, though.

The banana seemed even bigger now.

“Nathaniel, dear?” his mother had entered the room while he had been lost in thought. “Are you still here? I thought you were supposed to rehearse today.”

Of course he was still here - he wasn’t actually allowed to leave the house on a Saturday. He could frequent the fitness room and go for a run around the grounds if he was accompanied by a trainer. But he was not to leave.

Wait, rehearse?

“Rehearse?” he echoed, unsure where his mother was going with this.

“Yes dear,” Mother just smiled at him absentmindedly as she rummaged through the drawers and cupboards. “Aren’t you doing that show at school?”

All the alarm bells in his head simultaneously went off - there was no way that his mother could know about the show. Father never would have told her a thing, because she might have actually encouraged him.

Mother just didn’t understand the Plimpton family priorities. It wasn’t her fault, he knew that.

“Why would you think that?” he made himself sound dismissive, like his father’s son.

He was always his father’s son first, and his own person second.

“I talked to your guidance counselor,” she was still absentmindedly looking through the cupboards, hoping to find one of her random things, he was sure. “I was worried about you, dear. You never bring any friends over.”

Now he was the worried one. His mother only cared about him when she was spiraling again, heading towards another breakdown. It was then that she started pretending that they were a normal family and the good son was supposed to bring over friends and have hobbies and maybe even have a girlfriend.

No one had ever told him the perfect way to deal with it. Father told him to pretend she hadn’t said anything at all, and to notify the doctors as soon as possible before this turned into a full-on episode. The doctors themselves had differing opinions, from just harmlessly playing along, or gently making her see that these were rose-colored glasses that she was wearing. This one guy had said he was supposed to call his mother out on her delusions, no matter how harsh he had to get with her. That one he could never do - wouldn’t that just lead to the very episodes they were avoiding?

He just never wanted to walk in on her like that ever again.

“You know what Father says about friends,” he tried to choose a way in between the options, hoping to talk his way out of this.

“Your father isn’t right about everything, dear,” his mother had actually managed to make herself a cup of coffee.

She liked it black - like her soul, she’d say in her loopiest moments, the ones where she refused to take her meds. The ones in which she scared him with off-color jokes and twisted observations.

“Mother,” he shook his head, unsure of what to say.

“Your guidance counselor told me a lot of things,” she continued as if he had said nothing at all. “You got the lead in the show, and you’re really good. She is going to call me when tickets go on sale, so I can get them before they sell out.”

Once Mrs. Proctor called his mother in a few weeks - if she ever did, seeing as he wasn’t actually in the show anymore - Mother undoubtedly wouldn’t even remember this conversation. She’d be forced back into a serious drug regimen, and all personality she’d displayed would vanish.

He knew the drill.

“And there was something about a girl,” his proper and demure mother actually sounded like she was teasing him.

“I do not want to talk about Rebecca,” the name slipped out too easily.

As soon as he said it, he had to look down at his food. A little more of it was gone now, eaten while his mother was distracting him with her odd behavior, but it still felt like finishing it was going to be a Herculean task.

“Rebecca,” Mother repeated the name, a soft smile on her features.

Of course that was when their housekeeper returned, frantically looking for his Mother. This was how it always started.

“Sorry Mister Nathaniel,” she immediately started apologizing. “She just got away from me. I’ll bring her back to her rooms immediately.”

Yes, her rooms, where all the comforts of a mental hospital awaited - just none of the stigma. It was just that much more convenient for his father, and for the business. Sometimes he just wondered if his mother was actually getting all the help she needed.

Even if she wasn’t, there was nothing that he could do. Father’s word was law.

“Thank you,” was all he could say.

Why was he so damn useless in every possible way?

Nothing. He did nothing. Not even for his mother, not even for the woman who’d given him life could he pull his own head out of his ass long enough to make a difference. He just continued to play the good little puppet, the good little son.

He would never go against his father’s wishes, even though every muscle in his body ached for him to just say no at least once. To just give his mother her space and let her think that he had friends and a life out there other than being a clone his father could mould and shape in the exact way he wanted.

What he wanted? Did he even know what he wanted?

Perhaps, to go back to the show, to the complete idiots who’d treated him like a friend and a leader, even when he’d been in full asshole Plimpton mode in every single rehearsal. To go back to school and be allowed to talk to Rebecca again, no matter how terrified she might be that he’d spout some inane words about feelings at her.

Even to eat a piece of fruit without feeling sick and disgusting and so damn fat. To be able to overcome those evil voices again, the ones his father had so firmly re-planted in his head with every reminder of how much of a failure he was.

Maybe if he just stopped eating he’d be a good son.

Maybe he just needed to stop being the good son.

Maybe both of these were wrong, but how was he to know?

He gave the remains of the banana the evil eye and threw the leftovers in the garbage.

Time to hit the gym again.

The conclusion had actually been rather easy to come to, when she actually took the time to think of it dispassionately.

She wanted to get scholarships to several good theater programs, and the way to get these scholarships was to perform an excellent show that was sure to get her noticed. She had all the basic circumstances right for it too: a prestigious public school performance of a musical theater classic, with her in the lead role. The costumes were perfect this year, and the supporting cast had actually managed to live up to their parts - with some more tough love from her, they might even live up to her exacting standards.

Gavin was the only problem - he just wasn’t getting it, coming in late with his lines and ruining the rhythm of the show, and still tripping over his own feet even with all of the extra rehearsal time they’d been putting off.

(She’d been pretending there was no kissing scene, and Mr. Whitefeather seemed perfectly willing to let Grant believe that.)

So she needed another male lead, someone who was truly able to make her shine.

And so far, the only boy (man?) who had been able to get near her level in this production had been Nathaniel Plimpton the Third. They’d danced together as if they’d been meant to do this show - as if it was some kind of destiny.

No, not logical enough. Take a step back, Rebecca.

They’d performed well together, and a show with her headlining alongside Nathaniel was sure to garner a ton of buzz, bringing all the right people into the room where it would happen.

Those people needed to be in that room for her to achieve her goal: the scholarships. Therefore she needed Nathaniel in that room as well. No one else measured up - it had to be him. Logic said so.

Since his father had dragged Nathaniel away, she had to find a way to get him back in the show. She was not going to convince Plimpton Senior - she knew her powers and skills, and they were not going to work against that tyrant - but she knew she held a certain sway over Nathaniel.

He’d wanted her before. Surely, that hadn’t gone away. Her wanting him hadn’t.

But that was not logical. The logical approach was to use this weakness against him by offering him what he wanted if he just did the show with her. Of course he would say yes if she offered him everything he’d wanted before and undoubtedly still wanted now.

No matter how pathetic it was of him.

Well, pathetic or not, it was what was going to set her on the road to her many future Tony Awards, to the career of her dreams. And it was what had driven her to seek him out at the Plimpton mansion.

She hadn’t needed to bribe anyone. She’d just brought the housekeeper some delicious noodle kugel - the gossip at temple was that the woman had a secret sweet tooth - and gossiped with her for a while. And then, when she was supposed to leave out the back door, she instead stuck upstairs.

It took her about three tries, but she managed to locate Nathaniel’s room. And he wasn’t in it, which was disappointing for about three seconds until she figured out that she could prep for her plan much more efficiently that way.

After all, her “good little Jewish girl” dress was not going to impress or seduce Nathaniel. No, she’d have to change, set the right mood for this transaction.

Because that was all it was, a mere transaction. One that would make sure she had the future she wanted.

And she was still kind of attracted to him, so she wouldn’t mind any of the things he wanted to do to her. Or with her.

So she slipped out of the dress and into the black slip that had reminded her so much of her Chicago-infused dream. She moves quickly and surely, not wanting to risk Nathaniel entering his room to see her halfway through the process.

Sure, the ensuite bathroom was an option, but it felt too much like hiding. Like if she were still in there when Nathaniel showed up, she’d just keep hiding and wait him out.

Not that she was scared. Maybe a little nervous now that her logical side was having trouble keeping a hold of her entire brain, but that was to be expected.

She had prepared, and she had prepared well. She was ready - well, she would be ready if she could finish the vixen makeup in time. It made her feel sultrier, and that was totally going to help with the seducing.

Her lips were painted deep, vixen red, and her wide eyes are rimmed with mascara. Her hands were no longer shaking as she finished applying the last layer of makeup.

Then, she heard footsteps in the hallway. Her heart pounded and she almost held her breath as she listened closely - were they approaching this room or was the person in question moving further away? It did seem like the footsteps were getting closer.

With a quick kick to make sure her bag was hidden under the gigantic bed, she looked around frantically to find the best place to strike an enticing pose.

Ugh, what would be a good enticing pose? She really sucked at this, even though she was great at talking a big game about it.

Maybe something that showed off her epic cleavage? She’d always managed to distract Nathaniel that way when she tried it before. Men really were simple creatures, and her boobs really were excellent. She almost didn’t blame him.

Yep, those footsteps were really heading towards this room, and she had to make a decision about her position right freaking now. Her frazzled mind decided for her, and so she leaned against the door to the bathroom and waited for the door to open.

This had better be Nathaniel himself - and he’d better be alone.

The door opened slowly and then all at once, and she was faced with a sweaty Nathaniel who’d clearly just been working out. He closed the door behind him immediately and had already pulled his tank off when he saw her.

“What the fuck?” he hissed, careful not to be too loud even in his surprise. “Bunch?”

She pretended like she wasn’t disheartened by his use of her last name. She’d grown to appreciate him using her first name - she could still hear him say it if she really focused on how his voice sounded before it all went to hell and he left his princess behind, glass slippers and all.

“Hello Nathaniel,” she drew out every syllable of his name.

Goosebumps appeared on his skin as she did so - she really did have a hold over him after all. And it was so easy to see when he was only wearing shorts. She really hoped they were the thin kind again, she’d enjoyed that.

Next he noticed just what she was wearing on her visit to his bedroom. His reaction was probably even better than the one he’d had to her costume. This time he started at the ground, going up her stockings until he lingered briefly at the sliver of bare skin between the stocking and the soft black slip that barely reached her thighs.

After he got a second to take a breath, his eyes moved further upwards, following the lines of that slip until he was faced with the parts of her that had always distracted him: her breasts, pushed up so good that it was almost impossible for him to look away.

He managed eventually, only to finally look her in the eyes. His own blue eyes were dark and stormy - she’d certainly managed to get his attention.

“Fuck, Rebecca,” he’d finally emerged from his stupor.

“That’s the idea,” she smiled teasingly.

Finally she stepped closer to him. By instinct, he took a step back. And then another, and another, until he practically fell back onto his big bed.

Yes, she could use that. She liked that.

“I have to be dreaming,” Nathaniel was babbling nonsensically.

She watched him pinch his strong forearm, and as he waited for the vision of his dreams to disappear (thanks for the compliment there), she looked down at him and waited as well.

“Not dreaming,” he confirmed.

“You’re wide awake,” she agreed, impatient to get to it already. “Now…”

They didn’t actually have that much time left before the premiere, and she needs them to get it on so they can just get on with the show. Nathaniel was a quick study, he’d pick up on the last small changes they’d made quickly and efficiently (the same ones that Graham had never been able to get).

Now he just had to get with the program already.

“What are you doing here?” he was weary, almost harsh.

“I need you,” she pouts a little, trying to make him look at her mouth. “I need your talent.”

Slowly she let herself drop down into his lap, straddling him - well that certainly got his attention in more ways than one.

She ran a finger down his chest, following one particularly fascinating bead of sweat all the way down to the edge of his shorts. He was warm and solid, and he still looked like he was going to rip that flimsy little teddy off her (quite possibly with his teeth). It was no wonder that she felt herself heating up as well.

“Rebecca,” he groaned.

He already sounded tempted to say just about anything if she’d just keep going, which was exactly what she wanted. For him to do what she wanted, not the continuing. Well, maybe it was both. She was a healthy teenage girl after all.

Couldn’t he just say yes already so they could make out?

“I know you want me,” she teased.

Her fingernails, painted bright red because bad girls wore red nail polish, gently scraped at the soft hairs at his nape. She felt the resulting shiver go down his body and tried to keep herself from grinding into his lap.

Logic was a little difficult to follow at this point, but she just had to hold out for a little while longer. When he said yes, she could stop overthinking everything and just go for it.

Holding off seemed so difficult when his face was right there, with those soft lips that had already shown her a good time once or twice.

Kissing him in the name of persuasion tactics was absolutely allowed.

Finally she’d found a position in which she did not need to look up so much to reach for him - her neck would thank her.

Slowly she pulled him closer, kissing him softly and lazily. They could forget about everything else for a little bit maybe, just as long as they kept kissing just like this.

A slow warmth started to fill her, then suddenly speeding up as his right hand found an anchor on her waist, almost burning hot through her thin clothes. What would it be like to have those big hands on her bare skin?

As she held back a second just to catch her breath, she was just about to let that thought sink in when Nathaniel kissed her jaw, and then her neck. It was wet and dirty and he used a hint of teeth as he tried to mark her fair skin.

And she tried to pretend that it wasn’t turning her on so hard.

But that thought was too much, so she pulled his mouth back to hers just so they could kiss some more, his left hand cheekily moving to grab her ass. She let it happen, let herself grind into him. She wanted this stupid, ridiculous boy.

“Nathaniel,” his name slipped out as more of a plea than a command to just keep going.

In response, a smirk started to play on his features, but before she had a chance to scold him for it, he’d kissed her again. He nipped at her bottom lip, making her gasp, before getting right back to kissing her as if he was starving for her.

She would have let him continue into eternity if that cheeky right hand of his hadn’t moved up from its place on her waist to try and grope her chest. That was enough of a distraction to snap her back into logic.

“Not just yet,” she gently slapped his hand away. “I have a proposition for you first.”

Of course he was immediately suspicious of her and her proposition - that was just in his nature, and in the nature of the game of push and pull they’d been playing for the past few months. She’d just have to seduce him back into the right mood.

A kiss on the corner of his mouth had him turn his head in her direction, immediately ready to forget her words and just keep kissing on his bed.

“If you return to the show,” she softly pulled at his earlobe with her teeth, “I will let you do anything you want to me. And I mean anything.”

She pulled back to see his response to that, watching one particular thought cross his mind on his very expressive face.

“Yes, that,” she promised. “Whatever just crossed your mind: we’ll do that.”

He was tempted, that much was sure. She could feel just how tempted he was, and if she just kept going like they’d been going before, she was sure that she could get the right answer out of him.

And find out what he’d been thinking about.

So she could prepare, of course. Not because she was actually curious - or intrigued or interested.

She kissed him again, knowing it would keep him just a little off-balance, and more likely to agree to her demands. If he could just get over his pride and agree, he could have everything he wanted - he liked being the lead in this show. She’d seen it time and time again, even when he referred to everyone in the cast as losers.

He liked playing a part - and he was damn good it. It made so much more sense now that she’d met his father. Of course Nathaniel had gotten good at slipping in and out of character. She wondered if he’d ever gotten the chance to really be himself before.

But that was too heavy a thought when he was kissing her back with such desperate enthusiasm, one hand making its way under her slip to caress the bare skin of her thighs. Her breath caught in her throat, her muscles tensed, waiting for that hand to move, to push the boundaries once again.

Gently, he made patterns on the skin of her thighs, trying to get her used to those warm hands on her skin.

Why was he so gentle about this? Wasn’t he supposed to attempt to tear off her clothes and just get to it? That was what she’d prepared for.

“Say yes,” she whispered in his ear, trying to distract him into complying.

“Rebecca,” her name tasted lovely on his lips.

Pulling him close again, she ignored how her lips were getting slightly swollen from all the kissing and how the thong she’d chosen had ridden right up her butt. Ugh, thongs were the absolute worst.

“What are you doing, Rebecca?” Nathaniel’s voice was hoarse but sincere.

“The show needs you,” she huffed, annoyed at the lack of his usual perceptiveness. “I figured out a way to make you want to come back.”

Nathaniel paled then, gently pushing her away from him and onto her own two feet. This was suddenly not going at all like she’d planned it.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Rebecca! Do you even want to have sex with me?”

Was this an ego thing? Men were so fragile.

“Of course I want to have intercourse,” she looked down at him.

She was kind of nervous about it, but she was sure she’d enjoy it. Maybe not so sure that she was actually ready.

“Your overly formal wording tells me otherwise,” Nathaniel looked almost soft, almost gentle as he slowly got back on his feet. “So you need to put your clothes back on, because I can’t think when you look like that.”

Well, at least that was flattering. The rest of it, she just couldn’t understand. Why was he making her put her clothes back on when he was about to get everything he wanted?

“Thanks?” she was just so confused.

“I can’t come back,” he tried to explain, but even that didn’t make sense. “I’m not allowed to leave the house because I make bad decisions. I have to respect that.”

Was he even hearing what he was saying? He was an eighteen year old adult and his father did not allow him out of the house because he’d made friends and pursued one interest that his father did not approve of.

Bad decisions? Letting himself get forced into being in Cinderella might have been one of the best things this idiot had ever done. But of course if Satan did not see it that way, Nathaniel was not allowed to disagree.

What a mess this family was. What a mess Nathaniel was - he didn’t even see how messed up this was, explaining this as if it were something completely logical.

“You’re an idiot,” she angrily yanked the stupid good girl dress back on. “You could have everything you want. You just don’t want it enough. You can’t let yourself be happy.”

She couldn’t listen to him saying anything else.

As she angrily exited the house, she marveled at the idiot she’d left behind. How could he accept his own unhappiness like that?

He’d really wanted to go to the aquarium - it was like a zoo for fishies - but he’d only just been allowed out of the house for things that weren’t school. The aquarium was probably too big of a risk. So the zoo it was.

At least the zoo was always there for him. They’d missed him these past few weeks, had said so when he showed his membership card at the entrance - not that they needed to see it anymore. They knew his face, knew to expect him whenever possible.

Here, it seemed like people actually liked him - something he was sorely lacking anywhere else.

After what happened in his room, not even Rebecca wanted to be around him anymore. Not that he wanted her to be around. Not at all.

He tried to shake off the denial, tried to shake off the memories, but it was no use.

Rebecca.

Her plan had been… something else. He was trying hard not to say or think something pejorative, but it had definitely been outside the normal bounds of expectation.

Why did she think that what she was doing was okay? Why would she do that to herself, to him? Why would she think so poorly of him? He was suspicious by nature - it had practically been bred into his genes - and there was no way he wasn’t going to question the sudden renewal of her interest in him.

And when he knew, there was no way that he could go through with it.

Not like this, he’d thought, and hated himself just a little more. Because when did he develop something resembling a conscience?

Okay, maybe he wasn’t actually the devil, but he’d been perfectly fine with using girls for sex before. And it wouldn’t have been his first time with a virgin either - he could see it in Rebecca, he wasn’t stupid - so why did it matter this time?

It couldn’t just be because it was Rebecca. She wasn’t special, she might have been a bigger mess than he was. She wasn’t the most beautiful girl in school, and while she was one of the smartest people in their school the only superlative she could call her own would be Most Dramatic.

So what was it that made her different? What was it that made him… care?

Just thinking the word was enough. He really hoped he hadn’t displayed any outward signs of caring for her, because not only would his father actually lock him inside the house until he saw sense, Rebecca herself would use that perceived weakness against him in a heartbeat. Because she just thought that he was convenient and talented and kind of hot.

She was right about that - and the hot part helped silence some of the voices that had caused him to hang over the toilet a few times last week. Nothing had happened, but he’d been so close to relapsing that he’d terrified himself a little.

But at least someone still thought that he was appealing.

Self pity was pathetic, he knew that, but that was why he was at the zoo. To get all of this out of his system so that he could back to his old life and be awesome again. Once he left this place for the day, he would be the best version of himself again.

He would be someone his father could be proud of, forgetting all about how he’d almost enjoyed playing prince charming in that stupid show. Yeah, he was just going to shove those thoughts and feelings back down in the mental box in which he kept all of the things he wasn’t supposed to feel.

It was not going to be easy, he knew that, but it was the right thing to do.

Before he got back to the real world, though, he was going to enjoy his day at the zoo, the sun beating down on him and the animals happily lazing about in their habitats. He could even grab a smoothie later.

His decision made, he headed in the direction of the monkey habitats - he could use a look in their almost human eyes.

A flash of warm brown curls in the corner of his eyes startled him. Wait, was that?

Of course it wasn’t. She would never be at the zoo - she wasn’t the animal type. She was probably too busy trying to teach that Greg guy all of his moves and lines. Yeah, there was no way that he’d actually seen Rebecca in the crowd.

Besides, she wasn’t the only person in the San Diego area who had hair like that. It was just his mind messing with him, because he hadn’t seen her around much. She’d been avoiding him since the incident at his house - not that he’d attempted to seek her out or anything.

It was not like he missed her, or anything. Because that would mean that he cared, and he’d already established that he didn’t care about anyone.

The crowd shifted again, and once again he saw the girl with the curls, closer now than she was before. She wasn’t all that tall, so he really had to work to see her.

He just wanted to be sure that it wasn’t Rebecca.

The girl’s (woman’s?) walk seemed familiar, and that fact alone made him worry. He hadn’t been paying that much attention to Bunch, right?

“Nathaniel,” her voice reached him even through the inane chats going on around him.

“Bunch,” he tried to be emotionless, to be cold.

This was how it would have to be in the future. A good Plimpton son could not be seen being so kind to a random dramatic classmate, could not say her name with actual emotion in his voice. His father never talked to his mother with any warmth in his voice, at least not that he’d ever heard. His son had to follow that example, and it wasn’t like Bunch mattered to him now that he was no longer in the show, so it was completely possible for him to move the hell on and treat her with cold civility.

Really, he shouldn’t even be thinking about her this much, but since his father had yet to find a device that would actually read his mind, he was mostly focused on curtailing the outward signs of any kind of affection.

“Oh, so we’re doing that again,” she was ever too perceptive.

“What do you want?” he got straight to the point. “Why are you here? I thought you only ever stalked Chan.”

Hitting the raw nerve right away - that meant that she’d end up getting angry with him very quickly, which meant that she was going to leave him the hell alone soon. They could re-establish the old normal where he was an asshole and she was a drama queen and they never really interacted, and then she would go.

“Have you ever heard of the word coincidence?” Bunch huffed.

“Not in reference to you,” he retorted.

The meaner he was, the sooner she would let go of this ridiculous idea that he could still come back to the show and fix everything. The sooner she would let go of him - or was that just wishful thinking, that she’d wanted to hold on to him at all?

All she cared about was her revenge on Chan and the damn show. He had to remember that, had to keep reminding himself.

Because he did not care about her. He was just going to find a nice girl here at the zoo and use her to get right back to his scheming and womanizing ways. It could not be called a rebound when there was nothing to rebound from, right?

“Nathaniel,” she just had to say his name again.

Even hissed through her teeth, it still had an effect on him. She still had an effect on him, but he could hide that with a smirk and a well-placed barb. There was no way that she could see through that.

He just had to keep believing that, even though she’d managed to see past most of his heavy walls so far. Maybe this one could be another blindspot. She’d hardly believed it was possible for him to have feelings at first - she could do that again.

“If you’re just here to repeat your offer from last time,” he let the words trail off.

A brief look of hurt on her face was quickly replaced with a scornful glare. He’d been overly dismissive on purpose, and it had worked. Good.

Or was it?

“Just the part about wanting you back,” she bit at him, her tone in sharp contrast to her kind words. “But I see that it’s offensive to you.”

Not offensive to him, but to his father. And that was the person whose happiness mattered most of all in this tangled up equation that was his life.

“God forbid you do something that makes you happy,” she muttered, not soft enough for him not to overhear her.

All the air went out of him, because she had a point and he hated that.

He wasn’t happy - didn’t really remember the feeling all that well, but that was just… the price he paid to live a privileged life with more than enough money to get him everything he ever wanted. The price he paid to keep his father happy and maybe one day even proud of him.

That was the dream.

“We could use you,” her face was softer now, warmer than before. “You were a good prince charming, for the son of the devil.”

Father wasn’t actually Satan, but it didn’t completely surprise him that some people made the comparison. Some of the things he’d heard about concerning the firm had scared him a little, and to contemplate his father being behind those things… it wasn’t that it was hard to reconcile those things with the man he called Father, it was that it was terrifying that one day he would be required to do the very same things.

But that was the darkest timeline he really did not want to consider at this moment.

“Rebecca,” he tried to chide, gently.

“Nathaniel,” she was almost smiling. “You should come back. Those losers are nothing without you, you know that.”

She was using the word losers almost as if it were a pet name now, and maybe in a way it was. The rest of the cast was not terrible, and though he’d hesitate to call anyone his friend, he had grown to like them just a little.

They’d grown on him like a fungus, Rebecca most of all.

He could not keep reminiscing and dreaming with her - he needed some time to compose himself before he was due back home. His curfew was a bit stricter than usual these days.

“You’ll keep them in line,” he released the breath that had been caught in his throat.

It was time to pull his walls back up - somehow she’d managed to knock them all down again in these past few minutes. He could not leave this place so weak, so vulnerable. He could not be at his house when his every emotion was written all over his face.

Time to turn back time into before this show. As if it had never happened.

“Time to go back to being an asshole?” she quirked an eyebrow.

Of course she’d seen right through him again. It wasn’t the first time she’d done it, but he was sure that it would have to be the last time.

“I never stopped,” he shrugged.

She laughed then, slyly agreeing with him. It was nice to see her happy one last time, before he went back to hardly seeing her at all. They’d come far, but it was time to go back to the start.

“Neither did I,” a smile on her face and her skin glowing.

He waited for her to turn around and leave, but it seemed like she wasn’t willing to step back quite yet. She held out her arms, wide open, a smile still on her face. How could he do anything but accept what she was so happily offering?

His arms easily wrapped around her waist, the higher arm landing over her shoulder blades - he forgot how small she could seem sometimes. She was soft and warm and pressed against him, unable to stop her hands from moving back and forth over his back and shoulder blades.

In response he started gently rubbing his upper hand up and down her back. His nose was tickled by a stray curl and he caught the scent of her hair. Filled with warmth from his toes to the top of his head, he burrowed his face into the crook of her neck. She smelled of vanilla and cherries and sunlight.

Ugh, that was ridiculous, why would he even think that? Sunlight was not a smell.

Still he wouldn’t let her go, and she wouldn’t let him move away. Her hands gently moving, he felt the stress and exhaustion drain from his tightly locked muscles.

Was this what happiness felt like? Because this moment, this was what Patronuses were made of.

But every moment of happiness had to end, and they’d already been clinging to each other for far too long in a very public zoo. People were staring and whispering, and if he kept on holding her he was going to find it impossible to let go.

Somehow her drama queen tendencies had rubbed off on him.

Reluctantly he finally untangled himself from Rebecca and took a step back. He tried to get him composure back, somehow, but it was slow-going and difficult.

At least she seemed equally reluctant to leave - she did give a damn, after all. She smiled at him, only this time it was slightly sadder.

“Goodbye Nathaniel,” her warmth was surrounding him still, somehow.

“Goodbye Rebecca,” he returned, watching her walk away with a sway in her step.

He barked out a laugh, because of course she knew that he’d be watching her leave and she was playing up on her charms like the drama queen she was.

Oh, Rebecca. He’d miss her.

Soon she had disappeared from his line of sight. He finally moved on to the monkey habitats and stared into their almost familiar eyes. He passed Panda Canyon and nodded a greeting at Ron, who was hard at work as usual.

Sadly, he had no time to chat if he wanted to see all of his favorites and still make it home in time for his new curfew.

When he arrived at his favorite place in the zoo to see the cheetahs, he allowed himself a few minutes to just sit down and look at the animals in peace. It would give him time to think, time to reminisce about how nice it had felt to be holding Rebecca and to be held by her in return.

Thinking about what he’d come home to would only bring the frustration back. He’d followed the rules, had tried to make his father proud of him. Would nothing ever be enough? Was nothing he did the right thing?

That hug had been the right thing. Aligning himself with the losers had felt like the wrong thing at the time, but had turned out to be something good. Maybe his father disagreed, but he was starting to feel like it hadn’t been a mistake.

He had to be his best, had to be the best version of himself.

Maybe being his best self did not mean being the perfect son after all. Maybe being his best self meant that he had to let himself be happy for a little while. Maybe being his best self meant defying his father and surrounding himself with the losers again.

It made sense that being his best self would involve Rebecca.

He just hoped that it wasn’t too late.

It was their first full run through of the show, with all the props and costumes finished, and damn Gavin still did not know his damn lines!

Mr. Whitefeather actually was actually waiting in the wings with all the necessary prompts just to make sure that everyone else could just keep going. She was just exhausted from all the extra rehearsals that didn’t even seem to have much of an effect - and watching her dreams for the future go down the drain was getting more painful by the day.

She still wished that Nathaniel would change his mind about coming back, but she knew that it was in vain. They were so close to the show’s premiere now, there was no more time for him to come to a decision.

Every time she had seen Nathaniel in the halls in the past week (a total of three times), he’d been back to his old, asshole self, roaming the halls alone with a superior, haughty look on his face. She hadn’t seen him flirting with other girls, but she’d heard stories from the rumor mill that the old Nathaniel Plimpton was back.

Not that she’d bothered to talk to him, or even to let him see her. No, she went for the avoidance route - it would sting to see him with other girls, to see him act like nothing had ever happened between the two of them. That was just an ego thing, because nothing that had happened with Nathaniel had actually meant something to her.

It did not matter that she could not stop thinking about that hug and how he’d buried his face in the curve of her neck, about how warm and solid he’d been and how safe and comforted that had made her feel. It did not matter that they’d both been equally reluctant to let go of each other, that she’d actually felt him relax while she held him. It did not matter because it couldn’t actually mean anything.

Had it just been mere weeks when she couldn’t stop thinking about Josh Chan and getting her revenge on him? It felt like it had been in another life when Josh Chan had been her soulmate - or at least, when she thought he was her ticket to a happily ever after.

What did it say about her that she’d so quickly moved on from Josh to sharing pieces of herself with Nathaniel? It said that she was fickle in her affections, that she could drop even a soulmate like that.

Unless it hadn’t actually been about Josh, and Josh hadn’t actually been a soulmate as much as an ideal. It was a thought that kept reappearing in her head these days, that she knew now that Josh Chan was never supposed to be the one for her. But it was when she examined what she’d liked about him in the first place that she found the worst of herself.

She had been obsessed with him, tracking him all over time and conveniently running into his mother at the supermarket on the other side of town just so they could establish a rapport - it was important to get along with your future mother-in-law. She’d been there when his sister chose a prom dress - all because Paula was an amazing spy who knew where every member of the Chan family was at all times. She’d made every member of the Chan family love her but Josh.

But when she examined why she’d loved Josh so deeply, all her reasons came off either as shallow or as something idealized that had nothing to do with Josh Chan. He was super cute and buff, and his smile was adorable - that was all shallow stuff that she tried really hard not to condemn herself for. He was popular without being a dick about it, and he was surrounded by friends and people who thought that he was awesome. He had a family that he was close with and who supported him in everything. She wanted those things, wanted them pathetically and desperately - and Josh Chan was her ticket to that happiness.

He’d been kind to her when she was in middle school and they’d taken a dance class together - and she drew it completely out of proportion by being obsessed with him for five whole years.

There was something seriously wrong with her, and that realization was chilling.

While her thoughts got progressively darker, she’d just been going through the motions of the show. She’d played her part and said all of the words that she was supposed to say, because she was a professional.

She’d sat in her own little corner while she hid in her own little corner of her mind, and now they were rapidly heading towards the ball. It used to be one of her favorite scenes to perform, but now it was the scene she dreaded most - it required every bit of her acting ability to sell this scene to the audience.

“No, Graham,” Mr. Whitefeather interrupted them again. “Just hold the script for now, until you start dancing. You keep missing your cue.”

Because of that.

Also, because he kept stepping on her toes in every rehearsal, and she’d started flinching in advance before they even started moving because he’d done it every single time. It didn’t exactly sell romance if she flinched away from her prince charming, right?

Her smile was still glued on despite Mr. Whitefeather’s intermittent shouts of frustration, because she was a good actress, damn it. They should give out Tony Awards for people who’d been stuck with incompetent partners and still managed to put on a good show. And she’d more than earned hers in the last few weeks.

Trying not to let her sheer exhaustion show was another added level of difficulty. They were running through the scenes leading up to the ball, and all she wanted was to get out of here and just curl up and have a nap somewhere.

She could really use a damn nap, seeing as how she’d been running on about four or five hours of sleep every night for the past two weeks. It was starting to catch up to her - the more tired she got, the easier it was for the bad thoughts to start creeping in.

They reached the ball scene, and all she wanted was for Nathaniel to show up, having magically changed his mind. Or time travel - for this to just fast forward until it was all done and she’d made her way to New York. That way she didn’t have to get through the epic fight with her mother either.

Because that was definitely still coming.

“Just drop the script,” Mr. Whitefeather yelled over the rising music. “You can’t dance with your mystery girl if you keep holding that script.”

It took him much too long to react, so instead of waiting around for her scene partner yet again, she threw the script off stage and waited for this idiot to ask her to dance.

And she continued to wait just a few seconds too long, so that they started their movements at the wrong count in the music, and immediately bumped into one of the other couples on the stage. Luckily for her, her dress took most of the impact, but Giles fell on his ass.

Good. It was all his fault anyway.

“Okay, once again from the start of the dance,” Coach Wilson rallied his team, as Mr. Whitefeather had dropped his head onto a table. “Everyone get in position.”

At least Coach Wilson could be counted on for some subtle encouragement - he probably knew the show better than the male lead at this point, and he kept them supplied with healthy snacks to keep them from crashing during the lengthy rehearsals. Especially after that one time earlier this week where she almost fainted. Something about no sleep and barely any food could do that to a person.

Plus, he was kind of a judgmental asshole when he thought that the students weren’t listening. That was everything she needed to make her feel better when the prince was more like a toad.

So she got back in position, hoping this would be the last time they’d have to restart. It was a full run through for a reason. She’d do the damn dance alone if she had to.

“Mind if I cut in?” a familiar, slightly hoarse voice coming from behind her.

She whirled around, unsure if one of Geoffrey’s many mistakes had caused her to hit her head somehow and she now had a concussion. This voice was certainly a very convincing auditory hallucination.

No one else seemed to have responded so frantically to the voice. Everyone else was just continuing with the scene, getting into position as if nothing had happened. So clearly this was all in her head - not that it meant that it couldn’t be real, but still. She’d probably made it happen with sheer force of will, because she couldn’t do it any longer.

Maybe she had to go make that appointment with Dr. Akopian after all.

“Rebecca,” he said, still speaking softly. “Watch where you’re throwing that dress.”

When whirling around, the force of her dress had almost knocked him off balance, but there he was. Nathaniel Plimpton the Third, in the flesh. He wasn’t wearing his costume, but he looked picture perfect apart from that.

Since his replacement was still on the floor, muttering to himself, it was easy to turn to Nathaniel and let him be her prince.

He still knew all of the steps by heart, she noticed as he bent over her head to kiss it. Once again, he didn’t fake the gesture, and she warmed.

“Nathaniel!” she whispered, trying not to disturb the scene.

How did no one else notice this? She’d swapped princes and everyone was still in their show must go on mindset, ignoring anything else that was happening. Or she was dreaming, but her dreams weren’t usually this accurate.

“Let’s dance, Rebecca,” his posture was still ridiculously good.

This was what it was supposed to be like, she remembered as she let him lead her around the floor without even once stepping on her toes. She could trust him to make sure that she was in the right spot at the right time, and she could trust that he’d hold her close in his arms even though it wasn’t strictly necessary.

As they twirled around the floor, she could see that some of the other cast members were starting to take notice of her much taller prince, whispering amongst themselves as they all kept dancing. No one wanted to break this spell.

Even when it came to the final moments of the dance, when she just had to release herself into his strong grip, she had no troubles whatsoever, even though she’d landed on the floor once or twice when his understudy attempted this feat. She just knew that Nathaniel would catch her, and she just really wanted to be in his arms again.

It was pathetic and weak, but it was the very sad truth.

At least he enjoyed it too, she noticed as she pressed herself as close to him as she possibly could, slowly letting him lift her up into a standing position, standing way too close to be proper at a real royal ball.

But this was theater, darling, and they could get away with it.

“Nathaniel Plimpton,” Mr. Whitefeather came running as the final notes of the song played. “I take this to mean that you have changed your mind about appearing in this production?”

Sure, that kind of burst the little bubble they had going on, but she didn’t care as long as he just said yes. If this was just a trick, she might actually murder him.

Maybe she could put on a production of Chicago behind bars?

“Apparently you losers need me,” Nathaniel spoke to her and to her only.

At least, he just did not stop looking at her, even though they were now surrounded by the rest of the cast and he was technically responding to Mr. Whitefeather’s question.

His eyes were so soft again, and she could feel herself starting to smile in return. He was acting like prince charming in real life as well now, saving her and the entire show from the dreaded understudy. He was kind and barely even looking at her boobs, which was another major sign that she was in serious trouble.

Okay, this was getting a little too intimate, and that was bad. Time to fix everything and get back to work. She could totally be professional about this.

“You’re fired, George,” she rushed to say it before Mr. Whitefeather could offer to make any other arrangement out of pity.

If Mr. Whitefeather did not agree with this, she was absolutely going to refuse to perform unless it was with Nathaniel. She’d worked herself to the bone in these past few weeks, and if she had to go on like this for much longer, she might actually crack.

“You got my name right,” the boy was bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Wait, fired?”

So wait, his name was George? Then why had he been responding to every other name she’d thrown at him like it was his own? Those kinds of identity issues were kind of bad.

“Look, George,” Mr. Whitefeather was finally using the right name too. “As the understudy, you play the part when the lead isn’t available. Nathaniel is available again, so you won’t be playing the prince. But I am sure we could use your help backstage. We still need someone to help me greet people. We need a good host.”

Wow, nice sweet talking there, mister Whitefeather.

It was a good enough distraction, and she watched the world’s most dreadful understudy walk away from the scene of all the worst of his crimes. She felt nothing but relief when she looked at him go, and then she looked back at Nathaniel.

They were still standing a bit too close, and she had to make an effort to break that connection. She couldn’t keep hogging him, after all.

Suddenly she had to share Nathaniel with the entire cast - everyone was so happy to see that he was back, and even though Valencia gave him some grief for leaving them all hanging until the Saturday before tech week, that was all quickly resolved.

“So, not your boyfriend is back,” Heather sidled up to her.

“He’s not my - oh,” she quit halfway through her quick reply.

Somehow the period dress didn’t look all that weird on Heather - she just managed to make everything work with an ease that was enviable. Yes, she was totally jealous of how Heather didn’t care about most things that made her riddled with anxiety.

“I wonder why he came back,” Valencia joined them as well. “It sure wasn’t just out of the kindness of his heart. He’s an asshole.”

Immediately Heather and Valencia were holding hands. It didn’t last very long, but she saw it happen, and it made her smile. Her friends had found happiness even in the high school jungle - and they’d gotten close because of this show. Mr. Whitefeather had done a pretty good job playing Cupid not only himself, but for his students as well.

“I’m an asshole,” she said, trying hard not to defend Nathaniel too much.

“And so is Valencia,” Heather shrugged, not even bothered.

“Heinous bitch is the term used most often,” Valencia corrected, shrugging off the insult.

She still felt the urge to defend Nathaniel a little, telling her friends that he came back because he liked it here - he even liked the people. But no one would be very happy about that, least of all Nathaniel. He probably wanted to continue to talk a big game about being better than the losers and not liking anyone ever.

He was not going to change - did she want him to? Did it matter what she wanted?

Ugh, why was she even still thinking about stupid Nathaniel?

“Rebecca,” there was the annoying boy man himself.

“Nathaniel,” she was unsure of where this was going.

Clearly there was something that he wanted to say to her out of earshot of these extremely nosy people - and she was not sure if she was ready to hear it. This seemed like a moment for either emotional declarations or him trying to talk about what she’d offered him if he were to come back.

And of course she still wanted to have sex with him. That totally wasn’t the issue with him possibly taking her up on her offer. It was just… Was she ready now? She didn’t know.

But she’d promised, so…

“Go talk,” Valencia didn’t use air quotes on principle, but these were audible.

“Don’t make out where we can see you,” Heather followed.

That made her laugh, because of course it did. Heather continued to be a gift.

Nathaniel had found a quiet corner backstage where they could talk without being overheard by the peanut gallery. She followed, the voluminous skirts of her dress making it less than easy to maneuver in any kind of subtle manner. But she did her best.

“So, you came back after all,” she couldn’t handle the silence.

“I did,” he acknowledged, seeming unsure somehow. “Just don’t tell these losers that I actually like doing this.”

The joke seemed off somehow, too easy or overdone. Was this what emotional intimacy felt like? Because she didn’t like it - it made her feel way too vulnerable and anxious.

There was nothing she could say to this really, just another tired bit of banter, but she was too exhausted to try and be funny. At this point, she was just about ready to fall over onto the nearest reasonably soft surface and sleep for days.

“I don’t expect anything,” he broke the silence. “I just thought you should know that. I didn’t come back for that.”

Was this rejection or him letting her off the hook? She just couldn’t tell anymore, trying to stifle a long yawn that felt like it had been coming for ages. Her legs were a little wobbly, and with the weight of the gown she almost felt like she was being pulled down.

“Are you okay?” Nathaniel reached for her.

“So tired,” she muttered, letting herself be caught. “Have been rehearsing so much. No sleep.”

She felt his chest rumbling with laughter and he just let her lean on him for a bit, here where no one could see.

“Glad it’s not that you find me boring,” he whispered teasingly.

Then, there was a loud crash, startling everyone, but her most of all. Half of their beautiful and detailed castle set pieces had broken apart and fallen on the ground. A lot of it was in pieces. Someone was going to need to fix that within a week.

“Why does this stuff keep happening?” Mr. Whitefeather was not amused.

Well, it looked like she was going to have some time for that nap.