#well i did this all in ms paint and had fun colour blocking and then doing lines after :3

[mesmir-ized]

been playing through p2 and enjoying it ! have a tatsuyito :3

[sprnklersplashes]

songwriter!janis fic (unrequited crush, no-very-happy-ending) 

also on ao3

It all started because she loved Taylor Swift when she was in middle school. Who is she kidding, she still loves Taylor Swift, but that’s where all this began. A middle school girl’s obsession with Taylor Swift. A confused, sad girl with a broken heart and smudged black eyeliner, finding refuge in lyrics about loneliness and anger and revenge. They became anthems for her, mantras to mutter when the warzone of middle school became too much for her.

“Someday, I’ll be living in a big old city, and all you’re ever gonna be is mean.”

“Cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in.”

“I can still see you, this ain’t the best view.”

It amazes her. It’s honestly as if Taylor Swift has managed to look into her life and given her a bundle of songs for whatever she needs. For when Regina has thrown her one too many snide looks, for when she’s standing at the door of North Shore High on her first day, for when she eats lunch alone, for when her mom is the best mom she could have asked for, for when she and Damian are lying on the grass in her backyard, staring up at the sky, laughing at absolutely nothing. The songs become the soundtrack to her life, the chords and those raw, honest lyrics an emotional outlet she so desperately craves. Taylor, and her songs, become a confidant, almost a close friend who always knows what to say.

With all that in mind, perhaps it was only a matter of time before she asks for a guitar for Christmas. She’s fourteen, braces and a slight lisp, and jumps up and down like a mad woman when she sees it under the tree.

She practices for three days straight, until her fingers bleed, but Should’ve Said No is the first song she learns off by heart. She yells the lyrics with maybe a little too much passion, but her parents applaud her nonetheless.

Like she said, that’s how it all started.

Because that same Christmas, she realises that screaming her feelings while playing guitar actually feels pretty cathartic. And that if it worked for Taylor Swift, it could work for her. So she writes stuff down, plays around with chords and strumming until the beat on the guitar matches the one in her head. She grabs a page and a pencil and writes and re-writes her innermost thoughts and feelings on the page until they sound the way she wants them to. She plays around with rhyme schemes and structure and everything she’s been taught about in English class, and a thrill runs through her as she does so. It’s the same breathless high she feels when she paints or draws, the rush that comes from creating something.

Her parents sit on the other side of her bedroom door, no doubt exchanging worried glances as she repeats the same verse, same chorus, with only a word changed. She watches them when they think she can’t see, peering through the crack in her door. The conclusion they seem to come to is ‘well, as coping mechanisms go, it’s pretty good, and she’s happy, so who are we to stop it?’.

It takes her four days to finish her first song. And it sucks. But she keeps it, writes down the lyrics and chords in one of the few empty notebooks she has, and there’s no going back from it now. She writes, and she writes, and she writes, near enough every day. She likes to think she gets better with each one. She learns more chords, buys a cheap ukulele the summer after freshman year, tries her hand at piano during a particularly difficult few weeks. She doesn’t plan on doing anything with them. They’re just her little pieces to hold on to. Her therapy sessions outside the carpeted office.

No-one knows about it. She has a reputation to keep up, after all. The loner-by-choice, too-cool-for-school, aloof art freak. Everyone has their roles to play in the ecosystem that is high school and, much as she hates the entire system, that is hers to play. And she plays it well, if she may say so. The fact that hardly anyone knows her past that facade suits her just fine. After all, if people think she doesn’t care, she can’t get hurt. No-one needs to know that Janis Sarkisian actually has feelings.

Even less need to know that she writes songs about said feelings.

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By the time she reaches her junior year, she’s onto her third notebook. She keeps them tucked away in her sock drawer, expertly hidden so only she can find them. Damian teases her about it, calling her “the protagonist of a Disney Channel Original Movie”. She just rolls her eyes and reminds him that “if either of us is gonna be Disney’s first openly gay character, it’ll be you”. He can’t argue with that.

It should be noted that when Janis said that no-one knows about her songwriting, Damian was the obvious exception. He found out just weeks after she started. There’s no keeping secrets from him.

Between all her notebooks, she’s written around forty songs.

Then she meets Cady Heron one day. The human embodiment of a labrador puppy, complete with wide, lost eyes. She likes her instantly, decides to take her under her wing because Lord knows the girl needs it. Cady’s smile is infectious, her laugh like a summer breeze. She has dimples and caramel-coloured hair and really likes maths.

She meets Cady on a Monday.

By that Saturday, song number 41-titled “Dimples and Curls” is more or less complete.

She plays it for Damian, hands only slightly shaking as she changes chords, the strumming short and upbeat, the melody strangely happy for such a bittersweet song.

He applauds her, but the subject of the song hangs in the air even after she’s played the last chord and the music fades. Unsaid, but not unknown. Just like her songwriting, Janis couldn’t keep a crush from Damian if she tried.

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“Hey, check it out.”

Cady drops onto the seat across from Janis, the whole table shaking as she does so. Like a small meteor just hit Earth. Janis looks up from her lunch, pretending like she had been doing her own thing and not watching the door until Cady came in. Pretending like her stomach doesn’t do little flips at the sight of her crossing the cafeteria. She pulls the flyer towards her and hums in amusement.

“The winter talent show,” she reads before chomping off a carrot stick. “Oh, is it that time of year already?”

“Seems like only yesterday we was welcoming the young’uns into this brave new world during the harvest season,” Damian sighs, putting on a delightfully over the top Southern Belle accent, no doubt influenced by their reading of Streetcar Named Desire in English class. Janis cackles, and nearly chokes on her lunch as she does.

“And now the cold winds of winter are descending upon us,” she replies, her accent equally heavy. She bats her eyes for good measure, because she can and because it makes Cady laugh. “Oh but I pray the children will survive this season, it is often rough for them.”

“I am never showing you two anything winter related ever again,” Cady says.

Janis just shrugs and runs her hand through her hair before her eyes go back to the flyer. Clearly, whatever sophomore they got to design it this year did their best; found the prettiest looking snowflakes on Google Images to put on the cartoon stage, decided to write in some swirling, slanted font rather than the start-studded block lettering they usually went for. It’s still the same as it is every year, meaning just as mockable, but she’ll give them points for tying.

“Well, anyone here going for it?” she asks. She looks from Damian to Cady and back again, a teasing smirk on her lips. “Last year and all that.”

“Not sure I can,” Damian sighs. “I mean, I’m booked up with Spelling Bee rehearsals and spring cabaret auditions happening next semester.” He drums his fingers against his throat. “Gotta give the little vocal chords some rest, you know?”

Janis’ response is to sing the lowest note she possibly can before turning to Cady and giving her a pointed look, the corner of her mouth quirked up.

“Who? Me?” Cady’s cheeks turned crimson and she shakes her head so much that the caramel curls bounced around her shoulders. “No way. Damian can take the stage, I’m fine with my calculators and textbooks.”

“You could always solve equations in front of everyone,” Janis says. “I could call out college-level questions from the audience and you solve them in under 30 seconds.”

“I think I’ll pass,” she giggles. She leans forward slightly, eyes glittering, and Janis does her best not to squirm. The effect Cady Heron’s eyes have on her should be studied by scientists. “What about you, Janis?”

“I don’t know.” She thinks back to when she helped on stage crew last year, as well as helping out (or taking over) with the set design. It had been fun, the kind of challenge she needed to keep her mind off the slowly-going-off-the-rails plan. And she was told it looked good on her college applications, because all people can think about apparently is college, college, college. “Maybe. They might need another genius stage manager.”

“And you’ll step in if they can’t find one?” She digs Damian in the ribs for that comment.

“But not performing?” Cady asks, and Janis freezes. Performing had never even crossed her mind before. She’s used to backstage, hell, she likes backstage. It’s not that she has stage fright or anything, and if she had, her stunt at Ms Norbury’s little healing session would have squished it. She had just never thought about it.

But Cady had, apparently.

“I-No, I-I don’t think so,” she stammers out. “Um, I might do backstage again, but not actually doing something, you know, talent related.” She bites her tongue and clamps her lips shut before anything else can come out.

“Okay then,” Cady replies slowly. She gets up from the table, her little empty water bottle in her hands. “I’m going to go for a refill, save my seat.”

“No problem,” Janis says, but Cady’s already jogging away.

She doesn’t know if it’s good or bad that Cady’s known her too long to think of her as cool, and so this kind of awkward babbling isn’t really surprising to her. Instead of thinking about it, she just sets her head on the table and lets Damian rub her back.

“You were nowhere near as bad as you think you were,” he assures her.

“Title of your sex tape,” comes her murmured reply. Damian chuckles and runs his fingers through her hair, like she’s his pet cat. It helps.

“So you’re definitely not going for the talent show then?” he asks.

Her first instinct is to say no, because of course she isn’t, because she never has before and she sees no point in breaking a three-year streak, but the answer catches in her throat. At the same time, something begins forming in her brain, pieces of a melody she’s already known, words filling in blank spots in her brain, and her fingers twitch involuntarily, playing the chords on an invisible guitar. Without a word, she grabs a notepad and pen from her bag and scribbles the words down before she forgets them, quickly becoming breathless just by sitting there. She forgets, for a moment, everything else, the talent show, Cady, even Damian next to her, and just revels in the task and the quick buzz she gets just from writing. Just like that she has one eye on the clock, itching to get home and put her notes into the rest of the song.

But with those notes came an idea, an idea so completely out of left field she almost laughs at it.

“Janis?” Damian asks, just slightly unnerved by her. If anyone else were at this table, even Cady (especially Cady), she would have had to excuse herself and run to the bathroom, or just hope the words stayed in her head long enough for her to get a quiet moment. “Did the Goddess of Music just possess you again?”

“Maybe,” is her response. He doesn’t know it, but she answered both the questions he asked in the past minute.

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She sits on her bed that night, her homework half-done and strewn across the desk, abandoned in favour of the guitar sitting in her lap and notebook open on her bed. She’s been working on his song for the better part of a week, inspiration and motivation seemingly striking and then fading whenever she gets a free moment. Abandoning it has crossed her mind-she’s no stranger to abandoning things that aren’t working-but for some reason she hasn’t quite been able to shake this particular song off.

Maybe it is Euterpe, the Goddess of Music, descending upon her because this song has to be finished, it has to be, Olympus willing it so.

Or maybe it’s because this song is one of the most personal things she’s ever written, a love letter she’ll never send, and the idea of it sitting unfinished drives her crazy.

She plays another chord and sings the line again, changing the ending slightly, and makes the adjustment in her notes.

She’s crazy. This is already crazy, her secret double life as a wannabe T-Swift, but now she’s gone beyond that. Thinking of actually playing it. On a stage. In front of people. She doesn’t care what people think of her, she stopped caring about that a long, long time ago, but holy shit what will people think of her after she does this? Life isn’t like the movies, she knows that much. It won’t be some pretty, softly-lit moment where the crowd sits with teary eyes, Cady runs onstage and kisses her and she’s offered a deal by some big shot producer, and they all live happily ever after the end. What could happen is people think she’s even more of a weirdo than they do now.

Or she gets tomatoes thrown at her head and she’s booed off the stage. That’s a possibility.

She calls Damian, because that’s the only way she sees out of her little thought cul-de-sac. She puts the phone on speaker and props it up against a pillow, keeping her hands free for her guitar and her pen. He picks up on the third ring, just as she’s strumming out a G chord.

“Oh, is someone prepping for her Grammy?” he asks. “You’re still taking me as your date, right?”

“Only if my dog can’t go,” she replies. She taps her nails against the wood, the rhythm too fast and frantic to just be a habit. Yes, she can tell Damian anything, and being nervous in front of him is laughable, but sometimes her body forgets that. “So, I was thinking about the talent show.”

“Oh? You’re going for stage crew again? Cool.”

“No-not exactly.” She knows he can’t see the smile creeping across her face, but she’d wager he can hear it through the phone. A small swarm of butterflies flutters in her chest, leaving her just slightly out of breath. “I… I. think I’m going to try performing in it.”

A burst of laughter comes through the phone, slightly tinged with static, and Janis wishes he were here so she could slap him. Even if it’s not malicious in intent at all, and she’s laughing right along with him. Slapping is kind of a love language for them.

“Okay, okay cool. What’re you going to do?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” she says, and then she plays the opening chords to her latest experiment. She doesn’t add in the lyrics, not yet. Still, she sits back and basks in his applause when she finishes, cackling into her hand. He might be one person, but he’s got enough enthusiasm to match a packed auditorium. “What do you think?”

“I’m into it,” he tells her. “So… that’s the one you’re doing?”

“Think so.” She tosses the pick between her fingers. Like he could feel her smile, she can feel his raised eyebrow through the phone, the elephant in the room poking her with its trunk. “Yes, I know.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought it,” she tells him, and he doesn’t deny it. She looks back over the lyrics she’s written and re-written. Despite some adjustments, it’s still in essence the same. Still about a girl with pretty hair who smells like vanilla and cinnamon, who has a boyfriend and is unknowingly breaking the heart of a girl with black eyeliner and paint stained fingers. Because her boyfriend is pretty and clean and smells like soap and can do math, and how is the poor art girl even meant to compare to that?

“Yes,” she says after a while. “It is about Cady.”

“Aw, my poor lovestruck songstress,” he sighs. He shifts then, and the air shifts with him. “You sure that’s the one you want to sing? I mean you have dozens of other non-Cady related songs. I’m sure Mr Duvall would love to hear Angry Teenage Lesbian Anthem.”

“First off, I gave that one a title, it’s called Shattered,” she reminds him. “And-” She freezes, the rest of her sentence catching in her throat. He’s right. She could perform one of her other songs, that are already finished and therefore removing the pressure to have this one finished, polished and stage-ready. And of course, it would mean she wouldn’t be standing in front of her entire grade and telling them all how badly she’s in love with her best friend. Showing her deepest secret to the people who have already driven her out of school once. It’s a far safer, potentially less traumatic option for her.

But…

“No,” she says. “I know it sounds crazy but I feel like… I feel like I need to do this.” She swallows thickly and picks softly at the guitar strings. “It’s like… like this way at least I’m telling her, you know? Even if she doesn’t know it.”

Of course, Damian gets it.

“That’s beautiful, babe,” he tells her. “So you’re actually doing this?”

“I’m actually doing this,” she replies firmly. “And tomorrow, I need you to make sure I don’t chicken out before I sign up.”

“Got it. I’ll just order you to do it as Senior Co-Chair of the Student Activities Committee.”

“That’s an abuse of power.”

“Then consider yourself abused baby.” He laughs and she laughs with him, and then she hears something on Damian’s end. “I have to go. A certain little sister of mine has a princess costume that needs attending to. See you later.”

“See you later,” she replies before he clicks off the call. She looks down at her paper, then at her guitar, and thinks about what she just committed to. “I’ve got some work to do.”

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The song goes through four rewrites in the weeks leading up to the talent show. The whole first verse is changed, the chorus scrapped and replaced with a new one, then that one is scrapped and she goes back to the old one. She sits hunched on her floor with a pencil in her mouth, wondering if what she’s written is too personal or not personal enough. If it’s too obvious that Cady, smart cookie that she is, will work it out and that’ll lead them down a new, scary path. She cuts some lyrics that give the game away, opting to replace one about love for numbers with love for learning, because that opens up the pool to half their grade. She writes about Cady’s blue eyes rather than specifically those double dimples that make her melt. Maybe she’s compromising her artistic vision, but it might be worth it if it’ll keep her crush a secret. She keeps the old lyrics tucked in the back of her notebook, just to have them.

Meanwhile, she’s also dealing with the fact that people know she has signed up for the talent show. That Miss Too Cool For School Loner Art Freak Janis is actually performing at a school event. And she doesn’t even get extra credit for it. They’re surprised, and curious, and none more so than Cady. The other girl appears at her side almost instantly after first period, skinny little arms wrapped around her bicep and blue eyes alight.

Oh, the things those eyes do to her.

“Janis!” she squeaks. “I saw-on the sign up sheet-your name! Oh my God, is this a joke? Did Damian put you up to it?”

“No, no, I signed up of my own accord,” Janis tells her. That only makes Cady bounce more, ponytail bobbing up and down.

“Oh wow, that’s amazing!” she says. She stops then, her mouth freezing in its place and her cheeks turning pink. Slowly, she comes down to Earth, like a balloon that had the air let out of it. Janis can almost hear the wheeze. “I mean um, it’s pretty cool, I guess.”

“It’s pretty grool,” Janis replies, and just like that Cady bounces back up again.

“Oh my gosh, what are you going to do?” she asks. “Or do you want it to be a surprise?”

“You think I have some secret knife-throwing talent?” she grins. She hesitates for a moment, looking down at Cady’s excited face, because even if this isn’t telling her… it’s telling her. “I’m… I’m going to sing.” She pulls on the strap of her backpack and avoids Cady’s eyes. “Something I wrote.”

“Okay,” Cady says. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Hey!” she laughs. “I can write stuff. I can be deep.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about it,” Cady says, bumping her arm against Janis’. “But for real, Janis, I can’t wait to see it. I know you’ll be amazing.”

Warmth spreads across her pale cheeks, a pink blush no doubt colouring her face, and she somehow manages to choke out a “thanks” as her brain turns to static. Her only thought is ‘Cady thinks I’m going to be good’, and it’s written in glitter pen across her brain.

“This is going to be great,” she goes on. “Oh, wait until I tell Aaron. He’s got a break in his schedule that week so he’s coming up to see the talent show! Isn’t that great?”

And just like that, Janis’ good mood falls. Her face stays the same, because she’s trained to do it, but everything behind it crumbles.

“Yeah, that’s great,” she replies. Cady squeezes her hand, oblivious, and drags her along the hallway, chatting away about some lion documentary she had watched last night.

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She finishes the song that night. She arrives home with a heavy chest, so full of complicated, messy feelings, and her conversation with Cady still so fresh in her mind, her ears still ringing from the emotional whiplash. Her parents barely get a ‘hello’ as she enters and bolts up to her room, her hands shaking, the thoughts swirling around her brain desperate to be let out.

And let them out she does. She writes so quickly they look more like smudges than words, her fingers flying over rapidly changing chords, her voice broken and panting as she sings. The words almost write themselves, like the song has taken on a life of its own and she’s just along for the ride. She barely remembers to pause, to breathe, so wrapped up in the storm she’s created with just her guitar and pen.

It’s only when she finishes and falls back on her bed that she notices the tears in her eyes. She blinks them away and pulls herself up, her notebook in her hand. It’s done. The perfect blend of her own honest feelings and just enough smokescreen to keep people from knowing who it’s really about.

There’s no backing out now, she thinks. Her stomach drops, like she’s on the top of a roller coaster about to go down. A laugh bubbles up in her throat and leaves her breathless, her head spinning while she’s still laying there.

If holy shit were am adjective, she'd use it to describe how she feels. Because holy shit.

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Being backstage when she’s not on crew is a strange experience. She stands with her guitar slung around her body, in the middle of a current of students moving around her, half with the clunky microphones and walkie-talkies she’s used so many times before. She asks five of them if she can do anything to help-because they’re her people and she needs to do something to occupy her time-until she finally takes the hint and leaves them to it. Stagehands are the most efficient parts of any production, as she told Damian once. They’re a well-oiled machine at this point.

“Yo!” For a second, Janis thinks she imagined the whisper, just one in a jumble of backstage noises, until Damian appears at her side. A tiny ‘shit’ escapes her mouth, her body jerking. Barely anyone bats an eye at her, except him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“Don’t worry. I think at this point a small breeze could knock into me and I’d crumble.”

“The great Janis Sarkisian gets nervous?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Only when she’s doing something incredibly personal and scary in front of her entire grade,” she whispers back. She swallows past the lump in her throat. “Aside from that I’m a beacon of confidence and unshakable will.”

“Hey.” He taps his knuckles against hers. “Remember how scared you were at Norbury’s assembly?”

“You mean after I had my picture all over the school with the d-slur written underneath it?” she mutters. “Yeah, I was shitting myself.”

“And yet, look what you did there,” he reminds her. “You were amazing. And you’re going to be amazing here too. Once you get on that stage, all those butterflies are going to make you fly, kid.”

She smiles, her heart warm, and pressed her face into the crook of Damian’s neck.

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky to have him, but she knows better than to tempt fate.

“Janis Sarkisian?” She lifts her head to find a freshman girl with a headset around her neck looking at her. “You’re up next.”

“Okay.” It’s only now she becomes aware that the last minute of Fairytale Of New York is playing, the notes will soon fade out, and that’s her cue. She turns to Damian and lets him straighten her black cardigan and fiddle with the collar of her shirt. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it.” He drops a whisper of a kiss to her nose. “But good luck.”

She holds her half-heart necklace as he goes, the twin to the one around his neck. It’s as close as she can get to having him with her. Her chest tightens as she makes her way to the stage and she tries to breathe through it, because the next thign she knows, Mr Duvall is announcing her name, and she’s being greeted by a blinding spotlight that thankfully obscures most of her peers’ faces.

“Uh, hi,” she says into the microphone placed out for her. It’s just people , she reminds herself. Somewhere in that crowd, second row, seat 14, is Damian, and she breathes easier. And next to him is Cady, the girl this song is about, and for some reason that straightens her spine and irons out the shaking in her voice. She takes the pick out of its holder and tosses her hair back. “This is a song I wrote about being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back.” She blinks and hopes no-one sees the tears in her eyes. “So sing along if you get into it, because we all know it’s a shitty ass feeling.”

She plays the first chord, and then any and all doubts she had about this flee her. As cliche as it sounds, the song takes over her, and she blows through the nerves in the first verse. The experience becomes cathartic instead, like releasing a pressure valve on her soul. Even with the little diversions she threw in, she hasn’t felt this open and god damn free since last year, paraded on her peers’ shoulders with both middle fingers up. Except now she’s not flipping anyone off, or proving a point, she’s just finally telling someone how she feels, and holy shit, it’s amazing. Whatever the aftermath of this is, she won’t care, it’s worth it just for this feeling.

As she sings the last word, and that final note rings in the auditorium, her hands are shaking, her cheeks wet with tears and her hair sticky with sweat. She touches beneath her eye and her fingers come away stained black.  She hasn’t cried in front of people since middle school. She doesn’t care.

The cheers of her classmates ring in her ears, Damian’s whooping the loudest of all, and as she takes her bow, she hopes she’ll remember this moment for a long time.

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“Oh my God!” she’s barely into the auditorium when Cady launches herself at her, arms wrapped around her neck and legs circling her waist. Janis nearly topples over, digging her back leg into the ground just in time, and hugs Cady with the same ferocity. “You were amazing!” she yells into her shoulder, the sound muffled by Janis’ hair.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” She sets Cady down, but the other girl keeps a tight grip on both her arms. Janis wonders if it’s to keep herself from flying away, given the amount of bouncing up and down she’s doing. “I can’t believe you wrote that! It was so good! You need to record it, Jan. Do you have any other songs?”

“Just a few,” she says. “And I don’t know if I’m in the business of making an album any time soon.” She swings her guitar case a little. “This might have been a one-time thing.”

“Well, even if it was, it was awesome,” she says.

“Thank you, Caddy,” Janis replies. “That means a lot.”

Her mouth runs dry as Cady smiles, all baby pink lipgloss and sparkling eyes and full cheeks. If this were a movie, she thinks, this would be the part where they kiss. No need for talking, or an explanation. Because Cady would have just known. The music would turn soft and twinkly, and the lighting would match it and it would look like they’re in a dream and they’d just kiss, and it will fix all of Janis’ problems. Maybe a single tear will run down her cheek. And then they’ll run off into their new lives as the end credits roll.

How sweet that would be.

But her life isn’t a movie. If she wants anything, she has to go for it herself.

And that includes-

“Caddy.” Her name is delicate on her lips, handled with care. Cady looks at her, giving a simple ‘mm-hm’ in response, and Janis’ heart beats out of control. “That song I just sang, it-”

“Hey, guys.”

Also if this was a movie, Cady’s sweet, lovely, nice boyfriend would not be barging in right now. He’d either be a douchebag who she doesn’t feel bad about hurting, or he’d be nonexistent.

Unfortunately, this is not a movie, and Aaron Samuels exists and is the human equivalent of a squishmallow.

“Hey Aaron.” He slings his arm around Cady’s shoulders, and she leans into his touch almost instinctively. “Janis, you were great up there. I didn’t know you wrote songs.”

“It’s a bit of a new hobby,” she says, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat, and finds a bottle of water being handed to-thrown at-her.

“Hydrate those chords,” is Damian’s greeting.

“This is what I get for being friends with a theatre kid,” she sighs before she takes a drink. She hadn’t realised how dry her throat was until now.

“Okay, so we’re all going for pancakes,” Aaron says. “I take it you two are coming?”

“How can I say no to pancakes?” Janis asks. “Uh, you guys go ahead, I have to get my stuff from the green room.”

“Okay, we’ll wait for you,” Cady says. “Aaron brought his car so he can drive us.”

“Grool.” Cady and Aaron turn around together, Aaron spinning his eyes around his finger and Cady lacing her fingers through his, talking about something she can’t hear. It’s like watching them through a sheet of glass.

Not a movie. Not unless it’s one of those really, really sad movies. Sad homophobic movies.

“You okay?” Damian asks. She snorts at the question. Nothing has changed, so of course she’s okay. But then, nothing has changed, so she’s not really okay.

“I did it,” she sighs. “It’s out there. I told her, unofficially. Whether or not she works it out…” She runs her hand through her tangled hair. “That’s something else entirely.” Damian hums in agreement, a sympathetic look on his face that soon morphs into a grin.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks Mom.” They snort, Janis caught between a laugh and a sob, and squeezes Damian’s hand. She’s not optimistic about any romance in her future, at least where Cady is concerned. She and Aaron are still rock-solid and she’s happy for them, whenever she isn’t angsting about it. It’s a weird combination to have.

And at least she’s done this now. Despite a future for her and Cady not being in the cards for now, she’s glad she did it. The secret isn’t out, not entirely. Just written on the walls in invisible ink.

“Come on,” she tells Damian. “I actually do have to get my bag, and you can use this as an opportunity to double check the ghost light is on.”

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Cady and Aaron keep their promise and wait for them, waving off their apologies as they jog across the parking lot. Cady lets Damian take the front seat with Aaron and slides into the back with Janis instead. Janis frowns, confused as to why she isn’t taking her normal seat up front, and Cady rolls her eyes.

“There was a draw on the way here, and we lost,” she explains. “And now Damian has control of the aux chord,” She gestures with her head to the passenger seat, and Janis turns just in time to see him open his Spotify and scroll through his playlists. As the opening notes to Waving Through A Window fill the car, it’s met with three loud groans. Damian only turns it up louder, and adds in his own backing vocals.

“So, that song you sang,” Cady asks, leaning back in the seat. “Was it about anyone in particular?”

Janis looks down, her hands pressed together in her lap. If this is the moment the universe decided to give her, it’s a really terrible moment. Not only is Cady’s whole boyfriend sitting an arm’s length away from her, but she left her nerve back in the auditorium. Clearly, her and fate aren’t on each other’s wavelength.

“You wouldn’t know her,” she says. “She doesn't even go here.”

“Oh,” Cady replies. Her face falls, but she’s not too put out by it. Why would she be? She nudges Janis’ shoulder, a proud smile on her face, and squeezes Janis’ hand. “Well, if she has someone like you into her and she hasn’t taken the chance yet, then she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Janis only thanks her, and quickly changes the subject.

Someday she might tell her for real, but for now she'll stick to the songs.

[seokiloquy]

Bruised Ink - Kageyama Tobio

Soulmate AU: When you write on your skin it appears in the same spot on your soulmates body

Requested (though I changed it a bit to keep it as canon as possible)

Tags/Warnings: GN!Reader, Kageyama being a bit of an airhead, mild swearing

Word Count: 1.7K+

Art club, morning, lunch, and after school. Though admittedly your art club supervisor / English teacher didn’t enjoy seeing an eager face so early in the morning. She, over a matter of days, had gotten used to your silent presence in the corner of the art room as she worked on papers, occasionally asking for your opinion on a topic. 

“See you after school!” you called down the hall, before waving to your aforementioned supervisor who was talking to the art teacher in the corner.

You flicked your uniform jacket off, letting it hang off the top of a chair as you ran to your canvas. The clean paint brushes waited patiently next to the progressing piece of art and your pallet rested next to them, mummified and waiting to let it’s paints feel the air again. You delicately picked at the tape wrapped around the pallet, pulling it off to reveal the chemical smell of acrylics.

You gazed at your painting for a moment, admiring the contrasting muted colours that blended nicely into the slowly fading background. Taking a brush, no larger than the width of your pinky, you reached for a vibrant green and royal blue, ready to dollop small portions onto your pallet. You huffed through your nose as a clump of blue stuck to your fingers. With no paper towel in sight, you kept your mouth shut and rubbed the paint against the back of your opposite arm. 

“You’re going to stain your skin,” your teacher huffed behind you as she walked to her desk, brushing a free hand through her bob cut. “It looks almost like a bad bruise.”

You sighed, picking up your pallet and brush, gently working the bright teal colour you mixed into the layers of your canvas. “Maybe, but if I’m lucky it’ll be gone before any of the other teachers notice just like every other time.”

She gave you a quirked brow sliding into your spinning chair that was tucked into the corner of the room. She grabbed a pen with one hand and sipped on her coffee mug with the other. “What do you mean by that?”

You laughed. “Every time I doodle, draw, paint, or just anything on my skin whatsoever, it’s gone before I see it again.” 

“So your soulmate’s washing it off before class?” she hummed, turning her eyes away from your blocked-out painting and onto the sheets before her.

“I don’t have a tattoo or a red string, so most likely, ya. They probably don’t want to get in trouble. Or maybe they’re in a swim club and don’t even notice it?”

Chuckling she looked up but kept her head down, gifting you the sight of a mischievous look. “Or they could be sweating it all off.”

“How often does a person sweat to get rid of that much ink on a daily basis?”

“There are some dedicated athletes out there.” She shrugged, rubbing the golden tattoo on the back of her hand. “Then again, all soulmate connections are a bit different.

Humming, you turned back to your painting that leaned against the wall. “What are you working on this morning, Ms. Ono?”

Behind you, a page flipped followed by a groan. “First-year English.”

“First-year? I thought you taught second-year English?”

“I did for Sugawara’s class, but I usually teach the first-year.”

You pushed your brush into the canvas a little harder. “Damn, I thought I would get to be in your class.”

“Sorry, kiddo, but you wouldn’t be in my English class anyway. But your Japanese is improving!”

You huffed through your nose. “I’d hope so, the Sugawara’s really aren’t giving me a break.” You studied your canvas and took a step back, looking at how the light bounced off the surface and made the teal look with the less saturated colours.

“Good on them.”

“Don’t encourage it!”

“Kageyama, what happened to your arm?”

The boy’s grown out bowl cut swished as he flipped his arms around turning his head in search before eventually finding the offending colour that had spread into his skin. Twisting his arm, he gave the colour an indecisive look, before poking it his index finger. “Must be a bruise. Probably smacked it when we were setting up the net. Doesn’t hurt though. So hurry up, let’s get started.”

“Why does everyone have to get to school so early,” Sugawara mumbled to himself, pushing the door to the gym open as he ruffled his hair. He spoke louder, “Tanaka, can’t you stop these two?”

“Sorry, dude. But I’m having fun with this. Why are you here so early anyway?”

Sugawara sat down in the doorway, changing his shoes and rolling off his uniform pants to reveal his loose shorts for practice. “(Y/N) has been coming to school early to paint. And my parents said ‘they’ll get lost, you go too’ instead of ‘no, sleep a little longer.’” 

Tanaka huffed through his nose, “Has (L/N) been settling in well?”

“Oh ya. Eichi loves the new company. But now I have to keep up with essentially two siblings instead of one and these two idiots.” The silver-haired boy yawned as he gestured at the two first years that yelled at each other while throwing balls into the air.

Tanaka gets out a gruff chuckle before running into the centre of the gym to join the duo with endless energy.

“Gone again,” you mumbled as you slowly packed up the bento box that Koushi’s mom had prepared for you.

Your arm, which had been covered in paint stains and ink marks across the whole colour spectrum, had been wiped clean. No doubt the work of your soulmate and whatever activity they partook in during their free time. 

Grumbling, you took out your white ink pen and doodled a subtle frowning face on the inner crease of your wrist.

Ms. Ono rose from her seat, patting away invisible dirt that clung to her dark pencil skirt as the warning bell sounded through the speaker system. “Alright, (L/N). I have a class to teach, out you get.” She shuffled hat stacked papers in her hand, pausing for a moment as a look of realization was thrown onto her face. “Oh and, there won’t be art club this evening, so tell the other members too.”

“What? but that’s the best part of my day!”

“Sorry, (L/N) but I can’t be in here all the time.”

You whined, following the English teacher out of the room. Mr. Sato, the art head, walked into the paint-filled classroom as you left. You both gave him a friendly nod, before continuing with your conversation. “What can I do then? I’m not allowed to go home alone.”

Ms. Ono hummed, “Why don’t you sit in on Sugawara’s volleyball practice, you can use it as a figure study and sketch in your notebook.”

“I guess that’s not a bad idea.”

“Well, there you go. Alright, get, to class or you’ll be late.” She stepped into her sunlit classroom, walking straight for her desk with clicking heels.

You left the entryway of class 1-1’s homeroom and started making your way down the hall to your own room in class 1-4. As you weaved through the crowded hall of first years you kept your head up, looking for the nearest tunnel of space, only to get locked against the wall staring into the eyes of an intense schoolmate you were unaware of.

“Uh sorry,” you mumbled, looking away from his pinched brow and sharp eyes that only held your gaze for a moment.

He raised a brow, looking down the hall behind you to his classroom. Saying nothing, he huffed and schooled his expression. Placing the opposite hand on your shoulder, he spun your body to be behind him, switching locations, and continued down the hall. You watched his flat black hair bounce as he turned into class 1-3’s room.

“Well, isn’t he sweaty,” you mumbled to yourself as you made the last few steps into your classroom.

“Koushi, Koushi, Koushi. Are you sure it’s okay for me to sit in?”

“Just don’t encourage any foolishness and it should be fine. We still have to practice.”

You nodded, following your homestay as he led you to his club’s gym, rambling about his teammates.

“Ah, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi? They’re in my class. I didn’t know they played volleyball.”

“Do you talk to them?”

“No sir, I do not think Tsukishima's intimidating.”

Sugawara led you to the side where their manager stood, speaking with one of the teachers you had seen running around the school, you bowed silently as Sugawara quickly gave an introduction and ran off to change his shoes and clothes.

The group had an easy time ignoring your presence as you sat on the metal bench, flipping coloured pens between your fingers. Rough doodles filled the page as messily scribbled outlines took the form of the players you saw before you. Some were stretched out in the air while others dove to the ground in elegant swoops. 

Your pen skidded across the paper.

“Damn,” you muttered, lifting the tip and forcing it into the papers again. Nothing.

Twirling the ink-filled tool between your fingers you shifted the sketchbook off your lap and taking the pen to the surface of your skin.

The ink skidded, leaving uneven marks in an indecipherable pattern along the surface of your skin before running dry. You reached for another pen, only for the result to repeat. You grabbed another, and another. The pattern continued, pushing and pulling, dragging the fine tips as they slowly began to cover the entire surface of the back of your hand in every colour including your white ink, which luckily still worked fine and contrasted brilliantly with the muddied mess on your hand.

You huffed out a quiet cheer of success, finding that a majority of your pens worked fine, and placed the forgotten book back into your lap, coloured pages ready to be drawn over with your trusty series of pens.

“Yo, Kageyama. Is that another bruise?”

God this one is vague as hell but I didn’t have to brainpower to make it any more decipherable. 

It was originally requested that the reader be Sugawara’s little sibling but he only canonically has a little brother, not everyone physically looks like Sugawara, and the adoption trope is meh to me. So I went with a foreign exchange student that is being housed by his family. (if you couldn’t tell)

This au, in particular, is very hard because we try to keep our character (being Y/N) physically ambiguous for the purpose of allowing everybody to enjoy reading it. This au very much panders to those with lighter skin, so I apologize if I didn’t make it as open as I could’ve and please let me know if there are ways I can make this sort of au better. I want everyone to enjoy reading them and not feel excluded.

That’s all, and I hope everyone is healthy and safe. - Bacon

Posted: 06/12/2020

[nottellingu]

A/N: A teacher!lily / singledad!james au because my school reopened. Well it’s three weeks past so . . .

Read it on ff.net

“Just one more.”

“No Dad, we’ll be late,” Five year old Harry Potter whined. But nonetheless he posed for another photo.

James Potter clicked away on his phone. With his toothy grin and his too-big-Bob-the-Builder-backpack, Harry was the most adorable kid to ever walk the earth.

“Da-ad,” Harry whined again.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” James slipped his phone into his pocket and took his son’s hand. Together they began walking to the red school building.”

When they finally found the right classroom, there was a young teacher in a pretty floral dress standing outside the classroom.

“Hello. I’m your new teacher, Ms. Evans.”

Harry half hid himself behind James’ leg. “I’m Harry Potter,” he said shyly.

Ms. Evans knelt down. “Hi Harry, do you like fingerpainting?”

“I haven’t tried it.”

“Would you like to?”

Harry nodded and came out from behind James’ legs.

“Good. I like people who try new things. I think we’ll be great friends. Do you know why?” Ms. Evans leaned in closer to Harry and whispered so softly James had to strain his ears to hear. “We both have green eyes.”

And sure enough, they both did have the same green eyes. It was uncanny, really. James didn’t know where Harry got his eyes from. He had only met Harry’s mother twice in his life – once for a quick screw in the club bathroom and then the day she dumped Harry in his arms – and both those times he hadn’t really paid attention to the colour of her eyes.

Ms. Evans’ eyes were beautiful - the kind you could write poetry about, the kind you could get lost in, the kind that could cure any ailment, the kind that could -

“We do!” Harry exclaimed loudly. Ms. Evans laughed. James shook himself out of his reverie.

“Well then,” she started saying and took Harry’s hand to lead him inside the class. “Let’s go.”

Harry walked a few steps before stopping.

“What’s wrong?” Ms. Evans looked down and frowned slightly at him.

“Can my Dad come too?” He asked timidly. “He’s my bestest friend.”

“Oh, no bud. Remember we discussed this - ” James began but Mrs. Evans cut him off.

“It’s fine, Mr. Potter. Parents are allowed to sit with their children today for an hour. It’s sort of an orientation class.” She turned her head to smile at a new mother-daughter duo. “I’m sorry, I have to greet the others. You can help Harry find his place, his name is stuck on it.” With a parting smile, she left.

James walked over to Harry to help him find his seat. They sat down and James asked Harry how he liked his new class.

“I like Ms. Evans,” Harry said decisively and turned to talk to the red haired boy next to him.

“Me too,” James agreed silently while watching the attractive teacher interact with her students.

James pulled out his phone to text his best friend, Sirius.

James Potter to Sirius Black: ill b 1 hour late orientation class with harry

Sirius Black: i’ll cover 4 u. as usual.

Sirius Black: how’s d lil bugger?

James Potter: he likes his new teacher

Sirius Black: she fit??????

James Potter: the fittest

James Potter: green eyes

Sirius Black: haha u r so fucked

James Potter: i kno

Ms. Evans wished everyone a Good Morning and he put his phone away.

“Welcome to kindergarten! Since it’s your first class I thought we could start with something fun. I’m going to give you all a white paper and some paints. You can use your fingerprints to make a cool picture with your parents. Does that sound fun?”

There were a few mumbled ‘yes’es, some remained silent but most talked amongst themselves.

She distributed the paper and gave each table a set of paints. Harry and James dipped their fingers in the various paints to make a pot of flowers. James’ huge thumbprints became the brown flowerpot and Harry’s tiny fingerprints became the colourful flowers.

“What pretty flowers,” Ms. Evans commented from behind James.

“Thanks Ms. Evans,” Harry beamed and proceeded to press his finger on the paper with a renewed zeal.

“It’s a pot of flowers because we’re the Potters. Get it?” James was awarded with a light tinkling laugh for his joke. His stomach swooped.

“Very clever.” She grinned before moving over to the next desk.

.

When it was time for the parents to leave Ms. Evans made announcement.

“On your child’s desk, I’ve kept a file for the parents. One set of papers are forms for emergency contacts, allergies and other such details. I would appreciate it if that form could be filled and handed over to the office in three days. Another paper has all my contact details. Please don’t hesitate to call me if you have any trouble.”

James found the blue file she was talking of and immediately flipped to her contact details.

Lily Evans

Phone Number: 7639847906

Email: lilyevans60@gmail.com

If you wish to meet with me in person, you may do so during the lunch break, 12:00 – 1:00.

James saved the number into his phone at once. For Harry’s sake only and not for any other reason.

(Yeah, right.)

.

As the weeks passed, Harry grew steadily fonder of Ms. Evans. It was Ms. Evans this and Ms. Evans that. Not that James minded. Not in the least. In fact, James too grew steadily fond of Ms. Evans with each of Harry’s stories about her, not to mention the small smiles she would give him when he picked up Harry from school.

One afternoon, as James was collecting Harry from school, Ms. Evans stopped him.

“Mr. Potter, I would like to talk to you for a minute.”

“Er-sure.”

“Harry, why don’t you go draw me picture?” Ms. Evans suggested. She pulled out some crayons and a paper and settled Harry in a seat in the corner. She gestured for James to follow him to the teacher’s desk.

“Mr. Potter, I think your son needs glasses.”

“Glasses?”

“Yes, he has a hard time seeing the board. Perhaps this weekend you or your wife could take him to the ophthalmologist on Third Street.”

“I’m not married but will do. Thanks.”

Ms. Evans smiled at him and his brain turned to mush.

“Bye Harry,” Ms. Evans waved to them as they were leaving. “Goodbye Mr. Potter.”

.

James Potter to Lily Evans: i took Harry to d doc  

James Potter: u were right  

James Potter: he needs glasses

James Potter: btw this is james

James Potter: james potter

Lily Evans: if u were tryin to do bond james bond that was a MASSIVE FAILURE

Lily Evans: glad to help :)

James Potter: help show dat i’m a failure?

Lily Evans: NO. help harry.

Lily Evans: tho that was fun 2.

James Potter: i’m offended

.

James Potter to PETE HAS A DATE! The world ends at 8:30 tonight: she txts lyk me

James Potter: and congrats Pete

James Potter: what did u do

James Potter: blackmail her

Sirius Black: haha good one

Peter Pettigrew: i hate u both

Remus Lupin: Who texts like you?

Sirius Black: who else? harry’s teacher. the one he FANCIES

Peter Pettigrew: u r pathetic

Reums Lupin: I second that.

James Potter: she is a nice person with a cute cat

Remus Lupin: How do you know that?

James Potter: . . . . . . . . i found her ig

Sirius Black: fyi I’m facepalming

James Potter: she posts pics of her cat

James Potter: her bf

James Potter:  or her cat and bf

James Potter: her captions r puns and funny jokes

Peter Pettigrew: she has a boyfriend?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Remus Lupin: Again, you are pathetic.

Sirius Black: Say aye if u think Prongs is pathetic and needs a shag

Remus Lupin: aye

Peter Pettigrew: aye

Sirius Black: AYEEEEEE

James Potter: NAYYYYYYYY

James Potter: BF AS IN BEST FRIEND

James Potter: @marmarlovesbonbons

Sirius Black changed group name to James Potter is the new CEO of Stalker™

James Potter changed group name to NO I’M NOT

Remus Lupin: It’s not too late. You can still get help.

James Potter: blocked

James Potter: gtg harry spilled milk

Remus Lupin: Good riddance.

.

On Monday morning James dropped Harry bright and early unlike most days on which they managed to reach in the nick of time. In fact Harry was the third in class; the other two were a boy with blonde hair and a girl with bushy brown hair who James recognized as Hermione Granger and one of Harry’s best friends.

“You’re early,” Ms. Evans said. Then she noticed Harry’s new glasses.  “You got glasses!”

“They’re just like my Dad’s.” Harry said proudly. Harry had chosen the round, wire-rimmed spectacles despite the doctor telling him he looked adorable in the glasses with the green, rectangular frames.

“You look handsome, just like your Dad.”

“Thanks, Ms. Evans,” Harry beamed. “I’m going to show Hermione my new glasses. Bye Dad!” Harry quickly walked up to Hermione, leaving the two adults alone.

“You think I’m handsome?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I think Harry’s cute.”

“No, I don’t think that’s what you said. You said that Harry looks handsome, just like his dad.”

A slight flush coloured her cheeks, making her look very appealing. “I’ve got lessons to plan,” she said in a small voice and turned away from James, purposefully ducking her head.

James laughed.

.

James Potter to The Lads and the Dad: she thinks i’m handsome

Remus Lupin: Not this again.

Sirius Black: poor ms. evans

Sirius Black: I didn’t kno she was blind.

Peter Pettigrew: ahahahaHAHAHAHAHAH

James Potter removed Sirius Black

Remus Lupin added Sirius Black

Sirius Black removed James Potter

Sirius Black changed group name to The Lads

Remus Lupin added James Potter

James Potter changed group name to The Lads and the HANDSOME Dad

Remus Lupin removed James Potter

.

“I want chocolate fudge,” Harry told Sirius.

It was Sirius’ birthday and Harry, James and all his friends were out at the ice cream parlor in a mall. The mall was a shoddy building which had once been the office of a company that went bankrupt. Nobody cared for the mall much but it was home to the best ice cream parlor in the world, namely Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor.

Before Harry was born, all the lads would have gone to a pub and gotten completely sloshed. But the last time they did that, Harry was conceived. Now they stuck to ice cream parlors and arcades.

“For me too,” Remus added while Peter nodded in agreement.

“You’re buying your own ice cream. I’m only sponsoring the little twerp,” Sirius said and ruffled Harry’s hair goodnaturedly.

“Harry, what did Ms. Evans teach you yesterday?” Peter asked.

“That we must be kind and help those in need.”

“Don’t you think Uncle Sirius should be kind and help those in need?” Remus pursued.

“Yes.”

“And how can he help us?” asked Peter.

“By buying everyone ice cream.” Harry said. Peter and Remus smirked, James laughed, Sirius grumbled words which made James smack him over the head.

James, Harry and Peter found a table by the window while Sirius and Remus went to order the ice cream. James fiddled with his phone as Peter taught Harry how to make a swan out of the cheap paper napkins on the table. James didn’t pay much attention until Harry shouted, “Ms. Evans!”

James turned to look where Harry was looking. Ms. Evans stood by a nearby table, a shopping bag in one hand and the other hand balanced her vanilla ice cream. She wasn’t wearing the skirts or dresses that James was accustomed to seeing her in but was wearing ratty jeans and a t-shirt that advertised her love for The Beatles. James decided that Lily Evans was the type of person who looked good in anything she wore.

Ms. Evans saw them and smiled in recognition. She walked over to the table where they sat.

“Hello Harry, what are you doing here?”

“It’s Uncle Sirius’ birthday.”

“Well, tell him I say Happy Birthday.”

“Look! He’s over there.” Harry pointed to where Sirius and Remus were making their way back to the table.

They set down the ice cream.  Harry was happy to ignore the grown-ups around him and dug into his ice cream.

“Happy Birthday,” Ms. Evans warmly wished Sirius.

“Thanks,” Sirius replied chirpily. “You must be Ms. Evans.”

“How did you know?”

“Harry talks of you all the time.” Sirius pointedly looked at James as he said the last three words. James ignored him.

“He talks of you too.”

Peter, who had finished making his swan, tuned into the conversation. “Wait, you’re Ms. Evans?”

“Yes, Pete. Please keep up,” Sirius commented.

“The one and only,” she grinned.

“Cheers. You got us free ice cream.”

“Erm, thanks.” Ms. Evans seemed confused. “I think.”

“Don’t worry. It’s a compliment.” Remus said.

“I should hope so. You must be Uncle Remus.”

“I should hope so,” Remus echoed and Lily laughed.

James finally seemed to find his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Why Mr. Potter, are you one of those people who believe teachers live in school?”

“Uh, no?” James said almost as if he was doubtful.

“I ran out of Ribena,” she shrugged.

Sirius grinned at the mention of his favourite non-alcoholic drink. “I like her.”

Just then a tall, blonde woman joined Ms. Evans and James recognised her at once. “The paper towels in the loo are shi-” she began to say.

“Marlene,” Ms. Evans cut in. Her eyes pointed to Harry who was examining the new lady inquisitively. “This is my student, Harry, his father and various uncles.”

“Oh hello,” she mumbled sheepishly. The others just nodded. “The paper towels in the loo are shitake mushrooms.”

“Shitake mushrooms?” Harry asked curiously.

“Yeah, I hate shitake mushrooms. Bleh.” She screwed up her face to make an exaggerated, funny face.

Harry giggled. “I hate onions. They make your mouth smelly.” He then resumed eating his ice cream and tuned out of the conversation.

“Are you @marmarlovesbonbons?” Sirius asked.

“Yes.” Marlene narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him and even Ms. Evans regarded him questioningly.

It was mark of their friendship that Sirius didn’t even wince when James stomped on his foot; he had been anticipating it.

“I think you came on my suggested once,” Sirius explained.

“Right,” Marlene replied dubiously. She turned to Ms. Evans. “I think we’d better go, Lily.”

“Yeah. Nice meeting you,” Ms. Evans told the boys. “Goodbye Mr. Potter. I’ll see you for the parent-teacher meeting on Monday. Bye Harry!”

There were ‘Byes and ‘Goodbyes’ said in a variety of tones from all around the table. James watched her leave until the last strand of her auburn hair disappeared from sight.

“I like Ms. Evans’ friend,” Harry declared as he finished his cup of ice cream.

“Do you like Ms. Evans?” Sirius had a devious glint in his stormy eyes.

“I love Ms. Evans.”

“Your Dad likes Ms. Evans too.”

“Sirus,” James warned but Sirius ignored him.

“How would you feel if they got married?” Sirius persisted.

“You mean Ms. Evans would be my Mummy? That would be so cool.” Harry was thrilled. “Dad, are you going to marry Ms. Evans?”

“No, Harry. Your Uncle Sirius is just being stupid.”

“Harry! James said a bad word. Take five quid from him.”

“Stupid is not a bad word,” Harry said sagely

“What?” Sirius cried. “Last week I gave you two pounds for saying stupid.”

“Ms. Evans says stupid.”

“Really?”

“She says ‘stupid chalk’, ‘stupid shoes’, ‘stupid pencil’, ‘stupid stapler’ . . .” Harry went on.

Stupid became James’ new favourite word.

.

Come Monday afternoon, James felt jittery. He had never felt this anxious for a parent-teacher meeting, not even when his parents were called to the principal’s office after he flooded the school hallway.

As usual, he was one of the last parents to arrive. Ms. Evans was talking to a mother and father, while two children were playing with legos in the corner of the classroom, one of them being his own son. When James entered, Ms. Evans finished talking to the other parents. She gestured for James to sit in the seats the other couple had occupied moments before.

“Good Afternoon, Mr. Potter.”

On an impulse he said, “James.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You can call me James.”

“All right then,” Ms. Evans smiled and she stuck her hand out, “I’m Lily.”

James shook her hand and it was as soft as he had expected. “Nice to meet you ,Lily.”

“Harry is a good kid. He’s friendly with his classmates though at times he fights with Draco.”

“That kid deserves it,” James said darkly. He had heard all the stories of Draco cutting in line and Draco stealing Neville’s ball.

“Be that as it may,” Lily continued, amused. “Fighting with students is frowned upon. Harry is also very curious about the world but perhaps it would be best to teach him that living animals belong outside and not in his pocket.”

James laughed. And then shuddered. He remembered having to scrape out a dead lizard form Harry’s pockets when he was doing the laundry yesterday.

“Another thing I’d like to discuss is that lately Harry has taken to calling me Mum.”

James cringed.

“I know it must be difficult without a mother but no matter what I say he isn’t stopping.”

“That’s just a joke between him and Sirius.”

“Oh?”

Well. . . what to say? What to say, indeed.

“Sirius might have told Harry that I like you.”

“Oh?” Her expression remained unreadable.

“Yeah.” Now that that was out in the open, James might as well expose all his cards. “In fact, I really like you and would love it if you’d grab some lunch with me.”

James was hyper aware of everything as the seconds dragged on –the way Lily’s lips had parted ever so slightly, the way her eyes had widened fractionally, the way his palms were becoming disgustingly sweaty and how dry his throat was becoming.

“I’m sorry,” Lily finally said apologetically. “There’s a rule that teachers can’t date their students’ parents.” James’ face must have shown disappointment because she quickly amended, “And I’m not just making an excuse. I genuinely like you too.”

James brightened at that admission.

“But I’d like to stick to the rules,” she finished.

James leaned over the table separating them. “But would you be open to a date when Harry’s in grade one?”

Lily smiled coyly, “Maybe.”

“I’m going to take that as a yes.”

She laughed and Harry, who was now the only student in the classroom, came running to know what was so funny.

“Nothing, Harry. Ms. Evans and I just made a deal.” James and Lily shared a secret smile.

“That you’re going to get married?”

Lily sputtered a bit behind the desk but James didn’t take his eyes off her while answering Harry.

“Maybe.”