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squishmallow36 · 1 year ago

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It's all I wish to hear tonight, and you're all I wish to be, and this is how we all fall - Chapter four

Summary: call me Shannon the way I'm being incredibly wordy and only revealing like. Three things. This scene wasn't supposed to be this long. Anyway Garvar bedtime story :) <- not a trustworthy smiley face btw

Word count: 2860

TW: swearing, violence mentions, sex references

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @faggot-friday @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-preposterously @poppinspop @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @remember-me-in-another-time @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125 @hi-imgrapes @callum-hunt-is-bisexual @xanadaus @callas-pancake-tree @hi-my-name-is-awesome @katniss-elizabeth-chase @arson-anarchy-death @dizzeners @thefoxysnake @olivedumdum

And bonus garvar people who haven't told me to stop yet: @tw-5 @camelspit

On Ao3 or below the cut!

Previous chapter in case you missed it

Garwin takes the evening shift to watch Alvar that night to let Ruy get himself a little rest. He’s been running around like a chicken with its head cut off for days between the things the Neverseen are demanding he do despite the fact they aren’t technically part of the order anymore and gathering food and worrying about Alvar into the late hours of the night.

And the search for something, anything, that might mitigate that last item. But no matter how many trollish--and elvin and ogreish and gnomish and goblin and dwarven--physicians he harasses, no one seems to have any clue as to how to fix Alvar’s body rotting out from under him.

The mostly case is that the Troll goop itself is doing something to fuck him up, but even Garwin, with his medical degree solely earned from watching copious amounts of House, could come to that conclusion.

Yes, ‘goop’ is the technical term.

No one has ever seen a case of an elf being exposed to troll hive goop, and even if they had, it was genetically modified goop, rendering science useless at best and infuriating at worst.

And science is already infuriating. AP Enviro Science’s exam, known for being a blowoff, did not go great. It doesn’t mean shit in elfland though.

Garwin’s job has mostly been relegated to spot-treating symptoms and keeping Alvar entertained and optimistic, a feat that is becoming exponentially more difficult with each passing hour.

Which means, once again, the dumb fucking human can't do shit.

Garwin could rant for hours about it, but now’s not the time for that. Now is the time for yawning. And reflecting on life choices because everything you regret is amplified a hundred times when it’s late. And gender crises. Those are always fun at night.

But the truth is, he wouldn’t trade Ruy and Alvar for the world. He’d trade the world for them in a fluttering heartbeat.

As Garwin begins to doze off, Alvar starts making little groaning noises, meaning either he’s dreaming or waking up. Whether that possible dream is of the good variety or a nightmare is up for debate. Even if that debate is never going to happen because Alvar’s very adept at pretending to forget his dreams.

Alvar shifts onto his side, huffing. That much movement means he’s most definitely awake and that level of attitude this quickly means he’s mad about something his brain has conjured up.

“Are you okay?” Garwin whispers, cringing because he knows the answer is obviously no. It’s been no for a long time. But, well, okayness is relative nowadays. And that’s the best that can be done.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Alvar dismisses him with a hand. “Go back to bed. Don’t worry about me.”

“Alvar, I can’t just turn off the worry machine. It’s literally my job to worry about you.”

“What about leeching off my registry fund?”

“That’s a side hustle. A hobby, if you will.”

Alvar sighs as Garwin climbs next to him in bed, burritoing him as much as possible. Between Ruy the blanket hog and Alvar laying on top of all of them and choosing to not be helpful, it doesn’t go very well.

Garwin wraps an arm around Alvar’s shoulders. “Do you want a bedtime story?”

“I don’t trust you. I’m going to be scared shitless for the rest of the night.”

“I promise to keep the gruesome details to a minimum. I won’t talk about severing an artery with a pen like last time.”

Alvar doesn’t argue even if he wants to, laying his head on Garwin’s collarbone, which Garwin takes as a win.

“Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, it was a dark and stormy night,” Garwin begins, already using incredibly overused clichés but to be fair, he’s pulling a story out of his ass because he can’t remember actual fairy tales in a coherent order to save his life. So bullshit is the next best option. At least when it inevitably goes off the rails, it’s funnier.

“This only happened once? Wow. Must have nice weather there.”

Garwin shakes his head. Stars, you’re such a loveable little ass. “Shut up. I also don’t know where we are right now, so that part’s iffy at best.”

“Honey, we’re at Candleshade. “

Once again with those elvin estate names that are pretentious nonsense. “Can you find it on Google Maps? I didn’t think so. Now where we? Ah, yes. Just to be even more predictable, there was a boy--a farm boy of an appropriate age for the setting but vaguely a young adult, conventionally attractive, or at least the type I want to step on me, no questions asked.”

Alvar coughs. “Isn’t that everyone?”

“Shut your face mouth. Imagine him as you please. He lived in a small agrarian village next to a big scary forest.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of ‘show, don’t tell?’”

“Bitch, I don’t have a feature length animated film to show you. What do you want from me? I’m doing the best I can here. There are tons of cryptids in the forest, copy pasted from other stories because I’m not creative enough to come up with anything better than Mothman.”

“You’d let Mothman rail you.”

“Of course I fucking would. Have you seen the ass on his statue? Fuck me please. Anyways you’ve also got some Bigfoots?--Bigfeet? Bigfeet.--in the forest. And, uh, what else? The vegetable lamb of Tartar, of course.”

“What?”

Garwin ignores his question, deciding it’s best left to a Wikipedia search in the morning so the blue light from the screen doesn’t completely fuck over any chance they have for sleep. “The chupacabra. Der Erlkönig. Death worms. The usual.”

Alvar laughs, a rattling sound that’s become so hollow over the past few days it’s almost painful. “You know half of those are real and half are horseshit, right?”

“Fuck you and you elves and all your fancy cryptids ruining the fun for everyone. I know the ones I’ve picked are geographically challenged but who cares? I didn’t have the chance to Google shit, okay? We accept that this falls under reasonable suspension of disbelief because I’m a shit storyteller and you get to deal with it. That being said, we return to our main character. He needs a name. He seems like a Timmy.”

“Timmy?”

“Yeah. Timothy. Tim. Timmy boy. Now, our boy Timmy boy has a death wish.”

“No Timmy, don’t,” Alvar purposely makes his voice crack on the last syllable. Or at least it was probably intentional. It would be even funnier if it wasn’t.

“Oh, yes he does. He has an immense desire to just fucking go into the woods and live there like Diogenes. He’s the Greek dude that got himself a plucked chicken and went ‘behold, a man’ to mock Plato’s definition of humans. Ah, taxonomy. A bitch then and a bitch now. Stars, I really hope Plato hasn’t lived that one down yet. Although, to be fair, Timmy boy is less interested in philosophy and more interested in getting high on mysterious mushrooms. Here’s hoping Death Cap mushrooms aren’t too plentiful there.”

Death cap mushrooms are, like the name suggests, just a little bit poisonous. It’d be badass if they were venomous, but, alas, not enough fungi have evolved to be carnivores, which is a damn fucking crime against nature.

“There’s no way that can end badly.” Alvar rolls his eyes.

“However, there is a legend or tradition or whatever in the village that isn’t simply a result of my poor planning: if one goes into the forest and manages to not die immediately, coming back might not be the best plan because you will get exorcised and if that doesn’t work--which it won’t because demons are one of the few things not in the forest--you get yourself hung.”

“But Timmy is already hung,” Alvar protests, and it’s canon now. Of course, his headcanon clearly followed logically from the previous source material, so everything is fine.

“I know,” Garwin replies even more quietly than the whisper he’s still forced to speak in. “But, unfortunately, Timmy is very bad at making life choices.”

“Is Timmy a self-insert?”

“Shut up. You’re supposed to be going to bed.”

Alvar widens his eyes like a cat with the internal monologue of a Victorian child. “But I’m worried for Timmy’s safety.”

“Well, Timmy isn’t worried about you. Timmy’s got his own gay little problems.”

Alvar mutters, “Rude.”

Garwin ignores him, continuing, “Timmy likes going into the forest because he’s both dumb and stupid. When asked, he always claims there’s something that draws him towards it for a reason he can’t describe. For you see, hidden deep in the forest is a place no mortal has ever found and radiates an energy that few can sense.”

“This is literally just Star Wars. Admit it.”

“No, it’s not. That wasn’t a place. It had something with midichlorians. I don’t know, I blocked most of the prequel trilogy. Also it’s scifi. This is in a fucking forest. Probably in central Europe because of the Brothers Grimm and we’re basic.”

Garwin glances at Alvar, who mouths, “It’s a Star Wars AU,” earning himself a glare.

“The more time one spends in the forest, the more likely they just decide to wander off one day never to be seen again. Or that they get poked in the eye with a branch and now we have a Phineas Gage situation on our hands. So, of course, the government has to ban anything even remotely related to existing within a hundred miles of the creepy forest. This does piss off the forest creatures because of the part of the food chain dependent on eating humans but nobody cares about my man Mothman.”

“I need some Timmy x Mothman fic now…mothtim? Timmoth?” Alvar’s eyes open wide with a realization, stage whispering, “Wait a fucking minute. Timothy is Mothman!”

…because they both have ‘moth’ in their name? Sure, why not? Garwin laughs apprehensively even if he does enjoy the idea. “Keep quiet. We don’t wanna wake Ruy up.”

“I beg to fucking differ.”

“I don’t want to have to put both of you two back to bed.”

Alvar raises a mischievous eyebrow. I want to slit your throat. But only a little. Goddammit, you’re too cute for murder. Why didn’t I think this through? By ‘this,’ he means their entire relationship all the way back to that first day in the museum.

“Because Timmy has a habit of being dumb and stupid, he wanders farther and farther into the forest with each passing trip because he has too much free time because we’re in a small village and apparently there aren’t any other cute guys willing to fuck him and he doesn’t have any hobbies. So, you know, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do and if that’s Bigfoot, well, good for him.”

“Not my personal cup of tea, but have fun, Timmy.”

“One day, as you might expect, Timmy wandered off into the forest, never to be seen again. It took like a week and a half for anyone in the village to actually realize he was gone. He could’ve died out there for various reasons, from natural causes to being ripped to shreds by a death worm or bled dry by a chupacabra.”

“There’s so many fun ways to die out in the middle of nowhere.”

“And, of course, the villagers didn’t even bother to go look for his body because he couldn’t have ever gone into the creepy forest. Even if he had, it’s not like they can venture in there, and besides, he was working on turning all their sons gay so this is all for the best. He’s probably living out there with his husband Bigfoot or Der Erlkönig--.”

“Or both. Polyam Timmy could be canon--nay, it should be canon. Make it canon.”

“This is my story, fuck yeah it’s canon. Der Erlkönig’s castle--he has a castle because he’s a king and kings have castles--anyway, it burned down with its previous inhabitants still inside, so it’s most definitely haunted. Castles are surprisingly very flammable creatures. It also has a really nice moat of five rivers naturally making a roundabout around it because it’s extra like that. Why is that important? I don’t know. Setting the scene. Der Erlkönig’s castle’s creepy factor is the correct level of crumbling, mossy staircases and spider webbing in every fucking corner.”

“Sounds like a recipe for a spider-man.”

“No radioactivity. Only--wait. The castle is centered on the power source you accused me of borrowing from Star Wars. Maybe that could work. I’m not a biologist.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t even get into Yale.”

“Will you please stop with that already? I get it, I’m a dumbass. You’re more of a dumbass for dating me. Go find something else stupid I’ve done and hyperfixate on that for a while. The power source also occasionally attracts people of mostly humanoid shapes when Der Erlkönig gets a little…let’s say bored. So yeah, it’s definitely just a fucking orgy in there at all times.”

Alvar laughs.

“And Timmy, with his army of boyfriends that definitely went and arsoned his home village at some point, lived happily ever after.”

After a small round of applause, Alvar turns to bury himself even more into the crook of Garwin’s neck, and he prepares to get drooled on when a realization snaps Alvar’s flickering eyelids open.

“Wait--I know why that sounds familiar! My dad had some shit about some fucked up place that eminated weird power at a conjunction of rivers. Bitch, have you been binge reading the Alden shit again? I thought we agreed that made you crabby.”

The ‘Alden shit,’ as it is aptly named being that it belonged to Alden and has the same cultural value as the blue Avatar, is just a collection of scrolls and other documents that live at Candleshade for reasons.

Most of it is just leftover from when Alden and Assius were fucking, although why they had work-related things laying around at the same time is not a thought he particularly enjoys having.

Also the clearance levels required to view literally anything is way above Garwin’s pay grade, a contributing factor to how addicting they are. And the added challenge of translating from the Enlightened language to brain-English is fun. Sometimes, he’s even almost competent.

“I have not, but now I will because you called me crabby.”

“Fuck.” Alvar sighs, fully aware there’s no stopping Garwin now that he’s been given the slightest reason to relapse. “I’m going to bed now. Have a nice time spiraling this fine evening.”

Garwin gently extricates himself from being Alvar’s pillow, leaving him to drool on a bigfoot stuffed animal of unknown origin that most certainly wasn’t already in the house when they took over. Definitely.

So, the only logical thing to do for the rest of the evening is be a little chaos gremlin and search through Alden’s old shit for any references to weird power and multiple rivers. Without keyboard shortcuts. This is going to be a fun time.

Sure enough, come sunrise a many hours later, he’s deeply distracted in absolutely useless but nevertheless entertaining garbage. Half of these scrolls read like a Wattpad eleven year old bitching about the council and that eleven year old needs to be sold to One Direction for their own safety. Or whatever the elvin equivalent of that is.

The council has committed some fun little atrocities. After the dwarven plague coverup, one might assume that’s an outlier, but no. That’s just how they do business. For thousands of years. And it’s all mind wiped from their brains like the pussies they are, so no one is capable of making informed decisions.

After a few more years of searching, during which Ruy comes over and kicks him a few times to make sure he hasn’t perished on the floor, accidentally waking up his very-asleep legs, he finally finds what Alvar was alluding to.

There aren’t many details, but there are certainly lots of scribbles in pink glitter gel pen meaning one thing--Oralie was involved. Or Alden was feeling extremely gay that day. It doesn’t really matter either way, it’s just funny.

Turns out, Garwin’s story was strangely accurate, at least as far as this little magic piece of paper knows, even down to the intersection of five rivers. It’s also probable that it’s outdated, given that the paper is crunchy as all hell, but that could just be coffee staining or the fact that elves are notoriously bad at making timely decisions, instead letting them fester for a good millenia.

Gotta make sure it’s really a problem before thinking about alleviating it.

And this may very well be the sleep deprivation talking, but the kind of power that the magic scroll is describing could be able to be harnessed in a thousand different ways, ways that no intelligent species has been able to dream of until now.

And maybe--just maybe, when he finds it, it’ll be enough to fix whatever is destroying Alvar from the inside out.

#kotlc #kotlc fanfic #kotlc alvar #alvar vacker #kotlc garwin #garwin chang #garvar #kotlc garvar #garvarioli #(no ruy content tho sorry)#(i'm in the middle of a buzzfeed unsolved binge don't judge me)

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squishmallow36 · 2 years ago

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It's all I wish to hear tonight, and you're all I wish to be, and this is how we all fall - Chapter one

Summary: It's the Garvar fic! Wdym you want a summary? It's a retelling of the first chapter of kotlc from Garwin's pov. That's--that's pretty much it. We do have them interact which is pretty nice. There will be more loosely connected chapters to come but I don't know how many or how they'll turn out. Word count: 2730

TW: swearing, drug mention, mentions of kidnappings and murder in relation to the Sophie/Fitz interaction

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @stellar-lune @gaslight-gaetkeep-gayboss @kamikothe1and0lny @nyxpixels @florida-preposterously @poppinspop @uni-seahorse-572 @solreefs @remember-me-in-another-time @rusted-phone-calls @when-wax-wings-melt @good-old-fashioned-lover-boy7 @dexter-dizzknees @abubble125 @hi-imgrapes @callum-hunt-is-bisexual @xanadaus @callas-pancake-tree @hi-my-name-is-awesome @katniss-elizabeth-chase @arson-anarchy-death. Also @frogs-and-flowers-and-faeries @camelspit you two seemed interested

On AO3 (only to registered users because y'know, AI) or below the cut

If there’s one thing universally agreed upon by high schoolers, it’s this: field trips are fun. Or at least they should be, in theory.

Instead of being locked in a classroom for eight hours a day, you get to go outside, cause some havoc, you know, the usual.

Your other teachers end up being nice because you cried to them that between all your classes and this field trip, you need an extra week on that paper that you’ve had assigned for three months and you haven’t started and is due tomorrow for a reason.

And, most of the time, as an extra bonus, you learn absolute jack shit.

The only problem arises when the teacher that is taking you on the trip seems to forget that part and forces you to actually pay attention with the threat of a quiz, and knowing him, he’s going to make it absolutely horrendous.

Yes, dinosaurs are badass but having to listen to your teacher read the plaques out loud makes gouging your eyes out seem like a good course of action.

Are we completely sure the teachers here have a 100 percent literacy rate? Garwin wonders, rolling his eyes as Sweeney struggles through another scientific name. I mean, knowing this school system, it would not surprise me.

There’s a couple of nerds taking notes but honestly there’s no chance. If there is a quiz, it’ll be the type of thing that’s “What year, exactly, did the cretaceous era end?” And the multiple choice options will all be around that 66 million years ago mark ingrained in everyone’s soul but you have to remember that science was able to determine the meteor fell on a Thursday and from that you have to extrapolate what the date would have been.

Can a meteor fall on us this today Thursday? That’d be great. No more AP exams.

And yeah, AP classes are supposed to have a curve, but with that little photographic memory of Dophie’s only half paying attention and half listening to MCR so loud it can be heard from three miles away, she’s gonna get a perfect score.

Case in point: Sweeney finally hears Gerard screaming and catches onto the fact that Sophie is completely ignoring his existence, per usual.

“Miss Foster!” He yanks her earbuds out by the cords. “Have you decided that you’re too smart to pay attention to this information?”

Well, she can probably legit get a zero on the final and still carry a 93 in the class. So I’d probably say the answer is yes. I think we all know that little smartass corrects Sweeney on a daily basis.

Between the typos and the shit he gets plain wrong, it was entertaining to see him flounder at the beginning of the year, but at this point she doesn’t seem to grasp the idea that everyone’s given up on the lost cause of a man.

This entire class has all had to suffer through more school than she’s been alive. Other than the dumbass sophomores in the class. But it wouldn’t be surprising to find out they were smoking weed in the back of class for a “science experiment.”

Ah, the things you can get away with in AP Enviro Science and a teacher that doesn’t care. Except about the toddler in his class who listens to music but hey. Maybe he’s insecure because he’s stupid and he has to maintain control over some aspect of his life.

Sophie mumbles something, denying it as she attempts to retract into her shell like a turtle. Unfortunately, humans don’t usually come with a shell, so she isn’t very successful.

“Then perhaps you can explain why you were listening to your iPod instead of following along?” Sweeney dangles the headphones in front of her as she rips out an eyelash.

Now, Garwin may have only gotten a 2 on the AP Psych exam last year because he only paid attention half the time because those daily quizzes were ass, but that doesn’t seem like the healthiest of coping mechanisms.

Sophie simply stares at the ground to pretend like Sweeney isn’t harassing her.

“Since you’ve decided you’re above this lecture, why don’t you give it?” Sweeney asks, gesturing to the definitely-accurate reconstruction of an orange hadrosaur. “Explain to the class how the Lambeosaurus differs from the other dinosaurs we’ve studied.”

You see, one of these was the Pteranodon family’s neighbor on Dinosaur Train. Larry Lambeosaurus was an endless pit that never seemed to fill with food, much like the average teenager. Unlike the average teenager, however, this may have something to do with his diet of tree and its caloric density, or lack thereof.

Instead of listening to Sophie rattle off dinosaur facts learned from a lifetime of being a fucking nerd, Garwin chooses to look at literally anything else for some scrap of entertainment.

Like, for example, the Albertosaurus. And imagining it coming to life and eating everybody à la Jurassic Park. That would be fun.

Sweeney gets increasingly pissed off as she keeps going. He really should’ve learned long ago to not challenge her ‘cause it ain’t gonna go well for him. He mutters something under his breath, and turns to go to the next increasingly stupid dinosaur.

Actually, Garwin takes that back. The dinosaurs themselves aren’t stupid. It’s the whole idea of having to get dragged to a place to forcefully learn about them instead of actually studying for the AP exam in less than two weeks. Not that he actually cares about that though.

“Nice job, superfreak,” he says to Sophie as she stands helplessly in the middle of the walkway. He pushes past her in an effort to appear engaged enough to not get another detention. “Maybe they'll write another article about you. 'Child Prodigy Teaches Class About the Lame-o-saurus.’”

Garwin’s gaze lands on someone reading the newspaper with Sophie’s face plastered across it. Yeah, the guy’s kinda cute with dark hair and teal eyes flicking up at Sophie ever so often…but, like, he’s probably freshman-ish years old and that’s kinda weird in the middle of the school day, not gonna lie.

And he isn’t in this class, that’s for sure. So he’s probably ditching. Kind of a dumb move to ditch and then go to a museum but hey. That’s his life choice and it’s not Garwin’s fault it’s stupid.

Garwin rolls his eyes as he moves into the next room. The desire to cause large amounts of property damage by climbing up the statues is immense, but, alas, one cannot succumb to temptation.

Their resident curvebuster doesn’t follow, and, honestly, that is a choice. Maybe if she gets eaten by a dinosaur or kidnapped with the guy pulling a Ferris Bueller, this class might know peace once again.

A not-small part of him could not give less of a shit if she disappears suddenly, and another not-small part of him can’t help but see the advantages. Maybe then we won’t all fail the class. It’s not like San Diego City College is going to miss her. Chances are, she’ll be the same to her unfortunate classmates there.

As the group shuffles around a reconstruction of a Triceratops, Sweeney begins droning on and on and on and on about the different types of ceratopsians, and it’s a damn fucking shame the one with three horns became famous instead of, like, the Kosmoceratops.

That fucker’s got fifteen horns and it’s common knowledge that an animal’s coolness is exponentially correlated with number of things that it has that can kill you.

In order to quell the rising tide of complete and total apathy, Garwin once again begins the search for something--anything--interesting to occupy his time.

And don’t you know it? There’s a hot guy hiding in a corner trying desperately not to be seen.

Between him and the kid reading the newspaper in the other room, something weird is definitely going down. So the obvious course of action is to walk up to the guy and see what’s up. Maybe even flirt a little. As soon as he can escape from Sweeney’s torture chamber, that is.

In the meantime, Garwin can still stare at him. He has dark hair gelled to perfection and light blue eyes. His eyelashes are visible from this massive distance away, so they must be super long and therefore super hot. Garwin’s fingers ache to trace his sharp square jaw and his skin is a light tan with a dusting of freckles for good measure.

In short, he’s absolutely fucking gorgeous.

He’s way too far to be certain, but he kind of does look like newspaper boy…for reasons that are as of right now indescribable other than sheer vibes.

And he’s wearing a black batman sweatshirt--a foolish decision on a partially sunny day such as today--that hangs in such a way to suggest he’s got some muscles hiding beneath it.

The world would be improved in many ways if that sweatshirt was a little less on.

Then, suddenly, by some miracle, some grace of god, Sweeney lets them explore for themselves. An argument could be made that he realized that no one was paying attention, but the more likely case is that he got tired of teaching and is now allowing them the slightest sliver of freedom to maximize his own laziness.

Garwin floats over to the guy in the corner as nonchalantly as possible as his traitorous heart is doing backflips in his chest. He was tall from a distance, but he’s even taller up close.

“Hey,” he says. Hey? Hey? That’s the most creative thing you could come up with? A cheesy pickup line would be better at this point.

“Hey yourself.” Guy-in-the-corner says with the slightest hint of a smirk. “I’m Alvar, what’s your name?”

Garwin is almost too distracted by Alvar’s thick accent--almost British, but somehow crisper--to remember his own name. “I’m Garwin. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Do you really think they looked like that?” Alvar asks. “The dinosaurs, I mean. It’s a little absurd, isn’t it?”

“Would you rather have the nerd answer or do you want the smartass answer?” Garwin replies.

“Who says I don’t want both?”

“Ah. Well then. The nerd answer is that at least some of them should have feathers. They are the ancestors to birds, after all. The fact that none of them do is a little yikes. And as for my other answer, I’m not a paleontologist, but,” Garwin points to a fossilized sauropod…or at least a skeleton of one that may or may not be real, “that one might be a tad bit skinny.”

Alvar laughs, a glorious sound. His eyes wander away from studying Garwin, focusing out of the room, landing on Sophie fucking Foster.

Ah, yes. First she gets into Yale without even trying and now she’s gained the attention of multiple people which depending on the intentions could be really fucking creepy. She’s literally twelve. This is complete and utter bullshit.

“Is that the kid on the front of the newspaper today?”

“Yeah,” Garwin replies bitterly.

Alvar makes a thoughtful sound and looks back at Garwin, who has begun leaning against the wall. Yes, there’s a plastic fern between them but you do what you can.

“Come on, Fitz. Don’t be a total dumbass,” Alvar whispers as newspaper boy--Fitz--begins to step away from Sophie.

A swarm of kindergarteners barreled into the exhibit, nearly knocking both Sophie and Fitz off their feet. They hold their heads in their hands like their brains are physically getting stabbed and when they make eye contact again, Sophie watches Fitz in fear.

Why that is, Garwin can’t tell, but there’s something in Alvar’s expression that seems like he suspects something, and Garwin would give anything--except a full ride scholarship to Yale--to know what he does.

In the time Garwin spends studying Alvar’s features for clues and getting lost in his eyes, Sophie has magically disappeared. Fitz swears, probably loud enough to be heard all the way at the zoo across the street, as he runs after her.

Alvar rolls his eyes. “Life choices. Do I run after my dumbass of a brother or do I leave him be? Decisions, decisions,” he asks himself.

What the fuck?

Garwin looks back at Alvar to find him already watching him. “Would you like me to go tell Sweeney or just…let her skip class?” And probably get murdered just a little bit.

It takes a good few seconds for him to process this request. “Eh, I’m sure he’ll notice sooner or later.”

Oh my fucking god this guy is fucked up. I don’t like Sophie, but I’d rather she not get kidnapped.

…Is it bad that he's still hot?

“Why the fuck are you two harassing Sophie?” The question comes out more forcefully than Garwin intends, but not enough to walk it back.

“That is one very long story and I don’t think you’d believe half of it. But let’s see--how simplified can I get this?” He pauses, formulating. “We’ve basically got a switched at birth situation going on here except we don’t exactly know who her actual parents are and well that’s a whole thing that I’d rather not get into right now. Also we don’t know if she’s actually the kid we’re looking for. And by we I mean mostly our dad but he isn’t here right now because he figured it would be less creepy for us to stare at children than he would be. And then Fitzy over there doesn’t know I’m here for extensive and even more complicated reasons. And he wasn’t supposed to interact with her. Problems all around.”

Garwin considers this explanation for a moment. On the one hand, it leaves him with more questions than answers, and on the other hand, he doesn’t really care enough to ask for further elaboration.

“Just don’t murder Sophie. I don’t need to see her on the front cover of the newspapers that should already be obsolete two days in a row,” he decides.

Alvar smiles. His teeth are brilliantly white, and it’s ever so slightly crooked in such a perfect way that makes it seem practiced. His cobalt eyes fix Garwin to the spot as they turn toward each other.

“And, um, before I go, I do immensely apologize if I’m reading this wrong, but would you like to go out with me sometime?”

“Why the hell else do you think I wandered over here? Absolutely.”

Instead of giving Garwin his phone number like a normal person by writing it on a sticky note or the back of his hand with a sharpie that doesn’t come off for a week or just directly typing it into their phone, Alvar comes equipped with a stack of business cards.

And honestly, it’s not even that surprising. Like, yes, he’s only known the guy for a grand total of fifteen minutes, but that tracks with what he knows so far…which isn’t much. But it still counts. Bitch.

Garwin smiles. “I’ll call you and set up details when I can look at my calendar and I’m not already busy with club meetings and shit.”

“Sounds good.”

After a short pause, Alvar opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s interrupted by Sweeney’s nasal whining before he gets the chance.

Garwin rolls his eyes. “I guess I should get back to the fucked up reality that is the American school system. See you later.”

“Bye,” Alvar replies, smiling.

Garwin makes his way back to the class reforming around Sweeney like a slime mold, taking his sweet time to not seem too eager to be going back to the hellhole that is occasionally referred to as a school but not dicking around so much he gets left, as making his way back there himself would be mildly inconvenient.

And we can’t have that, now, can we?

Garwin looks back into the corner to sneak one more glance at the indescribably attractive boy who has for some reason asked him out only to find that he’s nowhere to be found.

Was he just a figment of my imagination?

Garwin checks his back pocket, hissing as the sharp edges of a business card leave him with a paper cut.

Guess that solves that mess.

Now if only all the world’s problems could be solved so easily, we’d be onto something.

#kotlc #kotlc fanfic #garvar #garwin chang #kotlc garwin #kotlc alvar #alvar vacker

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