Chapter Text
+I
So, you aren’t sure who the hell came up with the idea, but you were regretting saying yes.
You see, it was Johanna who convinced you. Every year the school honored one of their ex-students in a semi-formal traditional celebration. Every year one of the many ex-students of the school was chosen by the community to be recognized as a good citizen or as a leader. This year, the students could nominate the ex-student.
This year, the school wanted to recognize one John Kevin Neill MacTavish for his bravery and service to his country. Not that he had died or something but somehow, he was chosen (you were sure that it was because the little kids in his street had nominated him and life had a terrible way of annoying you) and with it, your homeroom was chosen too to make an artistic number for the activity.
When you knew that the one getting the recognition was one John Kevin Neill MacTavish, you almost killed Johanna, but she convinced you that you needed to do this for the great of your students and you believed her because that’s your greatest weakness.
So you decided for your students to recite a poem for the activity and when they got it right after 239 rehearsals, you started thinking positively about it all.
Until one John Kevin Neill MacTavish crossed the auditorium’s door wearing a blue kilt, accompanied by his mother who was waving like she was the Queen of Scotland.
You thought you were going to die, not just because the last time you saw him you had shared a bed and probably said a lot of stupid things while you were sleepy, but also because you were convinced that you were in love with him.
Yes, Johanna gave you her blessing and whatever, but before that, you had tried to convince yourself that you weren’t in love with him, but then you saw him in a stupid silly Christmas jumper and he carried you to his bed, and slept with you all night without overstepping, and you couldn’t get him out of your head.
His grin was forever imprinted in your damn head and you were tired of the silly butterflies attacking you every time you saw a message or a call from him.
And now he parades around, wearing a blue kilt, like he is the damn King of Scotland.
Thank God your students nailed the poem in the activity but what you did not nail was the award giving since someone (you were sure it had been Johanna, even if Mrs. MacTavish was taking photos way too enthusiastically) decided that you had to be the one to give it to him.
There you were, giving him his plaque recognizing him as an excellent son of Glasgow, son of Scotland, and thanking him for his bravery and service and whatnot.
All you know is that his fingers brushed with yours (you swear it was on purpose) and that he gave you a little smile that definitely meant more than he was letting on. And then, when the photos were taken, you held the plaque from one side and he held it with the other while his other hand snicked to your lower back.
To say you were on fire was an understatement.
To say you ran away almost as soon as you were off stage was also an understanding.
You escaped to the car park and made yourself a ball close to a wall.
You were so going to kill Johanna. You loved her as a sister, yes, but you were sure that she was responsible for this. Her mother wanted you to be a MacTavish by name and it was obvious that those two were cut with the same scissors and the same cloth.
You knew well by now.
And John how did he dare to wear a blue kilt of all kilts to this event? You didn’t even know the MacTavish Clan had a blue dress kilt. That couldn’t be a damn coincidence. He must have done it on purpose after you told him he looked good in blue. He must have done it to tease you because he was a damn tease, he was the goddamn tease.
Oh, God, you were sounding like a man blaming a woman for wearing a nice dress.
God, you were better than this.
And yet you were absolute shite, you couldn’t believe a man in a fucking kilt could make you feel like this.
But then again it was no ordinary man wearing a kilt it was the one and only John Kevin Neill MacTavish and he will never be ordinary because it was the man you loved.
You gasp.
He was the man you loved.
You had finally accepted it, even if it was in your mind.
You loved John.
You were absolutely mental about him.
You would spend the rest of your life with him if he asked.
You would love to hear that accent getting agitated in another argument.
You would love to wake up in the morning and find him next to you.
You would love to look at him, at those stupidly beautiful blue eyes, and never look at another pair of eyes ever again.
You would like to kiss him senselessly and do things to him that you will never forgive yourself for.
God, you were in love with him.
You held your head in your hands like you couldn’t believe it and you don’t know how much time you spend like that, but it was probably a considerable amount since someone called you and when you looked there he was.
That stupid Scottish man in a blue kilt, giving you a worried look.
“Here ya are”, he started, approaching. “Ya alright? Have you been crying?”
You stand up to look at him in the eyes and he freezes.
He was frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
He is serious you can tell.
And you want to find something imperfect in him, something that makes you hate him, but you can’t.
There is nothing you hate about him anymore.
You are all his, body and soul.
“You are my favorite colour”, you suddenly say, and he blinks at you confused.
“I thought yar favorite colour was blue”.
“Only because it looks breathtaking on you”, you exclaim like it is obvious that you are angry at that fact.
He simply stares at you.
“Steamin’ Jesus, John you are perfect”.
He still stares at you.
“You look perfect when you wear blue. Why the hell do you look perfect when you wear blue? Why are you perfect?”
“I’m far from perfect, actually”.
“Don’t lie. You aren’t. You are goddamn perfect and I’m tired to act like you aren’t”.
You exhale annoyed.
“I hated you so much, I didn’t stand you even in pictures and I was so annoyed at you for breaking my nose and being so annoying, but then I saw you wear blue...fucking hell you became my favorite color, why the hell?”
He lets a breath go.
“It was the GFC jersey, then a damn scarf, then a fucking t-shirt, and then a jacket and then a jumper and it makes me sound like crazy but you looked so…they hadn’t invented the word for it yet, not in English neither in my native language there is no language in this earth that can be used to describe how you looked and how you made me feel. And is absolutely unfair that you can make me feel like this, that you are allowed to parade around looking that good. You are a fucking druid or something, you bewitched me, body and soul and I’m tired of pretending I’m okay with it”.
You look at him again, he is still looking at you with a neutral face.
“John Kevin Neill MacTavish, I’m in love with you”.
And you make a dramatic pause, and his eyes shift to something you hadn’t seen in them before.
“I tried to stop myself from doing such a stupid thing but is hard when you look at me like I’m special or something like I’m worth it like I actually have a chance. Why will I have a chance with you in the first place? You can do much better you –“
“Can I kiss ya already?”
You stop and frown at him.
“Don’t look at me like that. I fell in love with you too”.
“What?”
He rolls his eyes and grabs you by the shoulders.
“I liked you since the first time I actually got a look at you. I tried to get your attention, but it was difficult when you are such an incredible know-it-all. I have always wanted you; I was just an idiot about it until you finally gave me a chance to prove it differently. You are awesome, you are incredible, you are absolutely everything someone could wish for in a person. You are fire and I’ll gladly burn in you. So, stop saying nonsense, can we kiss already?”
You scoff, before you blink.
“Of course, you can kiss me, why are you still talking?”
“Because I’m a Scottish gentleman”.
“Your mother raised you well”.
And then he kissed you and it was like having heaven at your feet.
When you two separate for air, your stupidity isn’t over.
“A blue kilt, seriously? Do you have any idea how many brain cells I lost?”
He has the audacity to laugh before answering.
“The MacTavish Clan wears it blue”.
“It can’t be a coincidence”.
“Johanna said it was the right thing to wear”.
“Of course she did. I’m going to kill her”.
But then you hear a ruckus somewhere behind John and when the two of you turn, you find Johanna and Mrs. MacTavish doing a terrible job at hiding behind a corner.
When they notice that the two of you know they are there, they come out of their hidden place with innocent smiles.
"Oh, my, how a coincidence that ya ended up being a MacTavish by name after all, isn't it dear?", Mrs. MacTavish "casually" said.
John rolled his eyes.
"Jast to be sure, she bullied me into it", Johanna says and her mother gives her a glare before they start another argument.
John then looks at you and grins.
"Do ya wanna run away from here?"
"Absolutely".
He offers you his hand, you take it.
Then you become a blue blur in space and time.