Fortunately I have no words left
Sun Jul 15, 2018 22:19

Emmett wasnít often in a good mood. Specifically, not often in a good mood around him. In fact Russell was pretty sure that the only instance in which they had spent time together and the other boy hadnít worn an expression saying he was silently grumping throughout its entire duration was the spring weekend Marissa had invited him to join the upper-years on Pearl Street. That had been during his first year at RMI, i.e. three years ago, and his relationship (well, lack of relationship) with Emmett had not improved in the slightest.

Apparently, Emmett was in an even worse mood tonight, because his attempt to make something resembling amends was being received with way more anger than he thought was justified.

ďI donít want your pity, Russell, or should I say Mr. Head Boy?Ē

The Californian flinched. He was just trying to give a peace offering, since they were the only boys in seventh-year and both missing certain recent graduates. Both alone, as evident by the Lyraís presence at the Cetus fire. Emmett didnít need to keep holding whatever grudge heíd had against him from the start and likewise he himself would prefer to finish his final year without conflict. He hadnít meant to appear like he pitied the other boy - although now that Emmett had pointed it out, he could see how it had been interpreted that way, and was inclined to apologize for the misunderstanding.

ďAnything else youíd like to steal from me while youíre at it, transfer?Ē

ďIím not-- I didnít--Ē Direct confrontation was literally the worst thing he could imagine in terms of social interaction. How was he supposed to respond to that? Quite against his wishes, Russell could feel a prickling at his eyes. No no no that wasnít supposed to happen. There were firsties at his fire, and he didnít deserve Head Boy status but heíd been given it anyways, and there was an unspoken assumption that he would try to set good examples and be a reliable mentor figure etcetera, and he couldnít do that and also spontaneously cry when another student snapped at him.

The tears had welled up now possibly to the extent that they were noticeable despite his sunglasses. Lost at what else to do, he stammered a few other garbled syllables, tossed a piece of fried chicken at him (which in his head made sense at that moment since Emmett hadnít accepted a skewer), felt worse and handed off his entire plate to him (or just put it on the floor if Emmett hadnít uncrossed his arms in time), and turned away. So much for good intentions. He should probably just give up on the whole year right now.

  • Not quiet enough, actually - Emmett, Sun Jul 15 10:30
    In avoiding the bonfires of his friendsí former Houses, Emmett had a 50-50 chance. And, as fate would of course have it, he had chosen wrong. Draco would have probably been better. There was nobody... more
    • Fortunately I have no words left - Russell, Sun Jul 15 22:19
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