Work Text:
"It's such a happiness when good people get together." - Jane Austen
"You're kidding me," Minho groaned, flopping down to his bed.
"Stop bloody complaining, Minho," I muttered from next to him. "He'll get the hint eventually." I was really starting to regret agreeing to help Minho with this. I mean, sure, when I agreed, I was trying to stop his obnoxious pining of the poor boy, but I didn't expect it would be this hard! To be honest, I didn't expect Minho to be this whiny, either, but I was foolish not to suspect. However, I have dedicated myself to doing it and I will.
Being me is utterly exhausting.
Thomas wasn't going to know what's hit him when Minho finally asks him out.
I could see the longing in both of their eyes – pity they themselves couldn't see it. Thomas was oblivious to default, according to his sister Teresa, but Minho was being unbelievably dumb about it. I think he was too caught up in his own pining to notice the other's crush on him.
I was going to have to do something about it, I guess. After all, when do shuck-faces learn how to solve their own problems?
Yeah, that's what I thought. When pigs fly. Now I wish there were flying pigs...
"Okay, I'm going to seduce the klunk out of Bambi," Minho declared, his head set in a grim nod. He rolled up his sleeves (my tip, of course – show off the muscles) and licked his lips. "Thomas wouldn't know what hit him," he added. Yeah, hopefully.
I have to admit, I could see why Minho was attracted to him. Tommy was a mess, that's for sure, but he was a cute mess, a type of clumsy that made you want to wrap him in blankets instead of scolding him. Thomas has plump, pouty lips and bright amber eyes that look exactly like Bambi's. He had adorable messy, ruffled chocolate hair and pale, mole-dotted skin. I'm saying this in a friendly way, of course; I have a boyfriend and besides, Minho would kill me if I stole his boy.
Pity Thomas was the most insecure person I've ever met.
I've had to tell him countless times he was pretty and it was getting slightly frustrating how he couldn't see himself as amazing. Again, I say this as a best friend, but I hope Minho could get his wits together and swoon him. Maybe Minho could knock some sense into him and give him a boost of self-confidence – Alby certainly gave me a lot.
Anyway, back to Minho.
"Hey, Tomboy," Minho drawled, slapping on his signature smirk.
"Hi?" The fellow Gryffindor student mumbled, putting on a shy smile. "What are you doing here, Minho?"
"I want to tell you how ravishing you look today!" Minho beamed. I mentally facepalmed. Why couldn't Minho just stick to the script and ask him out to Hogsmeade? Why, just why did Minho have to make my job more difficult than it is?
Thomas went scarlet at that, his milky skin flushing red. "T-Thank you," Thomas said brightly, beaming back. If anything, I appreciate Thomas' optimism and happiness. He was a glowing beacon every day, shining in the moonlight as a guide for us. The Gladers (my friends, duh) call me "the Glade Mother", but if anything, I'm in charge of the fussing but Thomas does the counselling and tutoring. We all saw him as innocent and naive (don't tell him we said that) but he was the best at advice, somehow. Maybe because he seemed to understand everything – that boy was too kind for his own good.
"Well, just take that from me," Minho winked, jogging back to me, leaving behind a blushing Thomas.
******
"You're bloody kidding me, right?" I demanded, pushing him into a wall (I swear that isn't what it sounds like!) as soon as he jogged away. "You couldn't just ask him to Hogsmeade?" I thought my frustration bar was going to explode.
"He's just so...perfect!" Minho babbled as if he hadn't heard a single word I said. "Amazing, smart, kind and caring, pretty, selfless all in one! How was I supposed to ask him out?"
I groaned. "Minho, do me a favour and shut up, okay?" I think I've had enough of matchmaker drama for today.
So. News reporter Newton Isaacs here. Today I'm going to tell the story of how Minho's jealousy caused him to make another move. He hasn't asked him out (yet) and he says he plans to, but I don't know.
Dammit, Minho, you're supposed to give me something to talk about here!
Anyway...Our rather interesting day started like this.
It was your classic sunny day with birds chirping and blue skies. This was unusual as it was October and anyone who's grown up in the UK knows October = rain. Obviously.
Minho and I got up to go to class, as usual, and it was all the same until midday.
******
"Isaacs, Lee," Snape sneered, drawing the attention of all the students. "You're late."
"With all due respect, sir," Minho smirked, his tone not implying the same as his words. "We're 30 seconds late." Great, that's at least 10 points from Gryffindor.
"20 points from Gryffindor," Snape retorted predictably.
This class, we were learning how to boil the draught of living death. All was well until a small shriek cut off the class. We turned to the source of the shriek and to Minho's horror, Thomas' hand was covered with potion and it was starting to peel, the red flesh beneath it sprouting sores. It made my stomach churn, and it certainly looked painful.
"Edison, get that checked by Madam Pomfrey," Snape muttered, turning his head off. He means the medjack. I've always found it funny that Snape didn't treat Thomas, Teresa, Aris, or Rachel (Aris and Rachel were Tommy and Teresa's best friends) like he did the other non-Slytherins. Maybe it was because they were so...academically perfect that Snape couldn't find an adequate reason to be rude, I don't know. "Jones, you go with him."
"Adequate", "academically perfect". I think Tommy's rubbing off me with his nerdiness.
"Yes, Professor," Thomas whispered breathlessly, his voice cutting through the pin-drop silence.
"C'mon, dude," Aris Jones, the ever-loyal friend of Tommy beckoned, giving him a hand up. I could tell that it was purely platonic (anyone with eyes could, in fact), but Minho was the verge of rage from his (misplaced) jealousy. After watching Minho, I can definitely tell where the expression "if looks could kill..." comes from; Minho's dark, stormy eyes were a sight to behold.
"Mate," I chastised. "Stop being so...jealous! It's a friendly touch!"
"No, it wasn't!" Minho seethed, gritting his teeth so hard I heard them cracking.
I sighed. Minho should just ask Thomas out already.
"Hey, Thomas!" Minho called across the courtyard again, drawing the stare of a couple of dozen students in, mostly Hufflepuffs who were playing catch-the-ball on the lawn. I mentally prayed that he'd take the chance and ask the boy out already.
"Hi, Minho," Thomas said, albeit softer than Minho. "How are you doing?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Minho asked, shifting to where Thomas was sitting. It was still close enough that I could hear, though it was considerably more discrete now that the Hufflepuffs had gone back to playing their game. "You're the one who was injured in Potions, after all."
"It's okay," Thomas murmured. I didn't miss how Minho's eyes danced over the streak of rebellious hair that fell to his forehead, or the occasional glances to the cupid brow lips. It was frankly amazing that Thomas hadn't noticed. "Madam Pomfrey sorted it out."
"Thank goodness," Minho muttered, glancing to Thomas' hand.
They both sat in silence for a few moments and I was tempted to go and smack them both around the head, but I figured it'd go better if I didn't interfere.
"W-Would you like to go to H-Hogsmeade with me n-next weekend?" Minho stuttered out, and to his benefit, he didn't blush.
Thomas definitely did, though. "O-Of course!"
I think my work here is finished. Matchmaking was pretty entertaining, after all. Maybe I should get Aris and Teresa together as well...