Chapter Text
The first time Merida goes to Pixie’s Hollow, it’s because of a headache the size of the universe.
It’s the beginning of October, and the end of an exhausting, harrowing week. Exams have started since four days ago, and so far Merida is handling it terribly. Not that Merida is a bad student by any means—she may hate studying, but she gets the job done and always puts in the work when the time calls for it. In fact, managing to catch up with her demanding program on top of her archery activities has been one of her proudest achievements through the years.
Despite that, classes have been getting admittedly harder for everyone in her year, confirming the freshman myth that third year is the stage where things start to get real tough. That, doubled with the amount of courses she took this term—a poorly-made decision fueled by the naive hope that she’ll get her senior year relatively free that way—leaves Merida with a mountain of assignments as well as isolated study hours that she needs to take to make sure she can keep up with the obsolete nonsense her philosophy-based professor made them read in the weekends. Having exams to follow closely right after it all is just pure insanity; at this point, the only thing that keeps Merida from crashing and burning is her sheer stubbornness.
Friday, however, has successfully driven her into a fragile state between fatigue and the brain equivalent of a nuclear meltdown. She has pulled all-nighters for four days straight to make sure her grades stay afloat, but the unfair universe still decided that she won't be catching a breather anytime soon. Tomorrow is the big big test, the Comparative Politics exam that roughly covers thirty percent of the course's final score. To make it worse, Maleficent, her advisor, has warned that a bad result will dropkick her GPA unless she at least got a B+ for it. Which leaves her even more screwed because the subject has always been her weakness.
“That can’t be right,” Rapunzel says as Merida lies face-down on the floor of the faculty’s library, her notes and textbooks cluttered beside her like a roadside memorial. “How does one bad class affect your GPA that much? I think Ms. Moors is just setting you to her high standards again.”
Only Rapunzel would refer to her demoness of an advisor so casually like that.
“It’s not just about my GPA, Punz,” Merida groans to the beige carpeting. “You know how she is. If she ever said a certain grade is ‘advisable’, that means I have to get it. Simple as that. She has these stupid archaic ideals about what proper manners between students and advisors are supposed to be like—so if I don’t make sure to look like I tried to meet her standards, or consider her advice at all, then I pretty much ruined my re—” Merida stops. “What are you doing.”
“Joining you so people won’t stare,” Rapunzel settles on her back, meeting Merida shoulder-to-shoulder, and grins. “Okay, now we just look like we’re hanging out. Continue.”
Taking her roommate’s antics in stride, Merida immediately rolls over and launches into her rant again, slipping into full brogue in her haste to vent.
“—so it’s not just about my GPA anymore. If I dinnae get that feckin’ B+, I might as well say goodbye tae me recommendation letter!”
“Couldn’t you just… I don’t know, try approaching someone else?”
“I might, but for now, I have this shit to wade through,” Merida complains some more before getting interrupted by her own yawn. Her head feels so heavy after days of cramming with almost no sleep, it’s a miracle she hasn’t dropped the moment she entered the lecture hall a few hours ago. This is also why the floor is the most comfortable place to her right now; lying on flat surfaces seems to drown out the dull ache at the back of her skull. Beside her, Rapunzel says something worriedly.
“Wha’?”
“Are you done for the day?” Rapunzel repeats. “Or do you still have that midterm essay you said Rafiki asked you?”
“...Hell’s bells. I completely forgot about that!” Merida shoots up to a sitting position and immediately falls back to her elbows, head spinning as colors flooded her vision. “Ugh.”
“You need to sleep,” Rapunzel says sternly as she sits up as well, one hand on Merida’s shoulder. “It’s submitted through email tonight, right? Have some rest first.”
“Punz, I haven’t even started it yet.”
“You’ll get it done, I know you can! You always do. I’ve seen how you work. But first, you need to rest.” Rapunzel grabs her hand to steady her when the world wobbles underneath Merida’s feet and checks her wristwatch. “Oops, it’s almost time already. I’ll meet you back at the apartment?”
“Yeah, sure,” she almost forgot Rapunzel has an afternoon exam today, at three thirty PM. After putting back her things into her backpack, Merida yawns and waves her away. “Go now. Be brilliant.”
Rapunzel finally leaves, but not before telling her, “Take a break, Merida! Sleep!”
Which, heartbreakingly, is something that Merida can’t do. The deadline for Rafiki’s essay is nine PM. What she needs to do right now, instead of sleeping, is set up a nice cramming corner in their apartment with a good coffee on her side. A potent one.
Turns out, finding an establishment that could fulfill her request is harder than it sounds.
After being (politely) denied in every mainstream coffee chain around Walt, Merida finds herself defeatedly stepping inside that blasted café down the main street, consciousness hanging by a thread. She’s heard about the place many times before, one of the newer student haunts in town that Rapunzel has mentioned as her cousins’ favorite. But the distance from campus and her initial skepticism with its flowery name has kept Merida away from the establishment—until now.
The boy at the counter is somewhat familiar, with his red hair and green beanie, but that’s as far as her eyes can get—Merida is way past delirious that she can’t even make out the letters on his nametag. She lays her hands down the countertop, putting her balance on it, and determinedly points at the uppermost drink on the chalkboard hung behind the counter, grunting, “With eight shots o’ espresso in it.”
“...For here or to go?”
He doesn’t even blink as he asks the question, and the black abyss that is substituting for Merida’s brain finally locates Hope. “Ya dinnae happen to have those wee energy boost things here as well do ye?”
The boy cocks an eyebrow, something like respect in his eyes. “No, we don’t.”
She deflates. “Fine. Ten shots, to go.”
“You wanna add something else to that—”
“I dinnae care about taste right now.”
“Alright,” he punches the order and tells her the price. As Merida hands out the cash, his eyes land on her backpack. He casually juts his chin at the nearest booth, “You might want to sit down, this is going to take a while.”
Merida glances at the advised spot, the wooden tables and comfy-looking seats. It’s inviting, but she already promised Rapunzel she’ll be there when the brunette returns to their apartment. There’s no guarantee she wouldn’t instantly pass out once she sat down.
“I’ll wait.”
Outside the cloying haze in her skull, Merida registers the ominous sound of an espresso machine choking out her order, and wills herself not to drop face-first onto the counter.
Her dutiful ally later comes back with the drink and an extra napkin—for what, exactly, she doesn’t know. Merida takes her coffee, but he doesn’t move away from the spot.
“I’ve seen you around campus before. History major?” he tries a guess, crossing his arms.
“Poli-sci,” Merida croaks.
His reaction—a very animated yikes face—is infinitely better than any bullshit encouragements she has received this entire week. Merida decides then and there that she likes the guy.
With that newfound appreciation in mind, Merida solemnly raises her cup to her barista, who looks on with a pinch between his brows, expectant. “Long may yer lum reek, good lad.”
She gulps half the cup down.
The first time Jack goes to Pixie Hollow, it’s because of Anna.
It’s the beginning of October, and the end of an exhausting, daunting week. The previous month has already been rough on him academically, with his professors giving early due dates for essays and merciless quizzes at the end of every class, but it's only during the week before midterms that shit finally starts to get real for Jack.
There is a lot to take in at once: regular assignments, early subject revisions for upcoming tests as well as progress reports that are supposed to be typed and handed in before this week ends. And the thing is, scheduling things has never been Jack’s forte—he always performs better when he’s working outside of rigid structures, going with his own groove and taking his time with the details that his professors most of the time would deem unnecessary. The fast-paced, almost machine-like way his courses expected him to perform in is slowly pushing him into the beginning of a burnout, which is how the problem starts because exams haven't even started yet. Before he knows it, he is knees deep in pre-midterms hell with only his subpar time management skills to lean into.
Hiccup, who takes even more course load than Jack, is also handling it about as well as him, resulting in the both of them losing hold on any semblance of order in their dorm. As both boys try to maintain their regular assignments and prepare themselves for tests, laundry piles, empty noodle cups and open textbooks are quietly taking up their space. Their room is shaping up to look like a tragic shipwreck now, and Jack is not looking forward to seeing how it would look like once midterms do begin.
His only consolation, though a little mean, is how DW University usually kicks off their exam season a week after Walt University did theirs. Rivalry culture aside, the timing does make it look like they had a much more humane schedule than what their neighbor imposed on its students.
Hiccup says he is grossly undermining their misery, but Jack has more Walt friends than him, and the suffering he’s seen so far is telling. Kristoff has texted Jack once at nine AM earlier this week, right before his Environmental Law exam, saying he’s gonna die soon and wants Jack to make sure his dog will be taken care of (No, the blond has not texted anything else since then. Jack is starting to consider adopting Sven more seriously). Elsa on the other hand has gone radio silent since weeks ago—though knowing the studious architecture student, she’s probably camping in some library right now, surrounded with notes and a dozen models for her design project.
This is also why when on Saturday, a tired, but definitely still up-and-not-drowning first year Anna begs him to accompany her to the café she and her sister have been visiting lately—desperate for a change of view and sweet caffeine—Jack has no choice but to grab his laptop with him and go. He’ll get his ass kicked by the former two otherwise.
Jack can’t help but be a little impressed when they walk in, the innocuous entrance not preparing him for the size of the place. The café’s interior follows its fantastical name, with rainforest greens and earthly browns, as well as arranged fake vines hanging from the ceiling—though, he notes the subtly clashing décor with an amused eye, there seems to be a silent war over the exact setting.
Anna straightens beside him, her arm accidentally bumping his in a tiny jolt, and Jack returns his attention just in time to see the flustered look on her face as she eyes the counter. Right.
“Hold your pants, missy, we’re here for studying.”
“Is it that obvious—?” Anna whispers, before understanding dawns on her face and she turns to him with an accusing pout. “Elsa told you, didn’t she.”
“A bit of both, actually,” Jack shrugs, tugging her to join the line. “Come on, order your stuff and we’ll grab a table with a plug somewhere.”
Anna is a sucker for handsome strangers, and Jack has heard enough exasperated accounts from her sister to know which one is the redhead’s latest object of fixation this month: the lean barista with the shitty beanie and sharp elfin features. Jack catches at least three phone numbers being exchanged over the counter as they move with the line, and—okay, he sort of gets why the sisters are dubbing him as the café’s lady magnet, but the cocksure air around the guy as he moves between coffee machines immediately places him on the obnoxious to complete asshole spectrum. Yeesh. No wonder Elsa and Kristoff (despite his feigned indifference) are losing their heads over this.
Jack hovers behind Anna as she gives their order—two of this fruity coffee blend she’s trying to convince him is the best thing ever—and tries not to roll his eyes when the barista throws her a wink as he hands the receipt.
“Nice to see you gracing our place again, Anna.”
The redhead smiles, cheeks pink and elbow deftly jabbed into Jack’s side; a warning not to make any commentary. “Thank you, Peter.”
“That’s uncalled for,” Jack complains once they get to their table, rubbing at the spot. Anna keeps a disproportionate amount of strength for someone so small.
“I knew what you’re going to say, it’s all over your face.” the redhead sticks out her tongue at him, “And here I thought you were on my side.”
“Okay, first of all, I am not on anyone’s side. Keep your sisterly squabbles to yourselves."
“Well that’s rich, coming from someone who’s about to tell Peter to back off. You’re just as bad as Elsa.” Anna frowns at him as she sits down. “It’s nothing serious, and I can take care of myself, you know.”
“Come on, you know I don’t care about your questionable taste in men. It’s just—”
“See! There you go again!”
“Hey. Look. This is an objective opinion,” Jack shrugs the strap of his backpack off his shoulder and takes a seat across from her, “I know Walt doesn’t have many options, but did you even look around? That hipster bad boy douche is a whole new low for you.”
Anna chokes on her own spit, and Jack congratulates himself for picking the corner booth, which faces away from the counter and hides them from most patrons’ sights. “That what.”
“I’ve met guys like him. All they do is deal drugs at parties and lie. Seriously, you can do way better. I know you’ve said that college is the first time you can let loose ever and be adventurous, but—"
“Oh shut up,” but Anna is rolling her eyes now, her shoulders no longer hiked in offense. “Stop sounding like my grandpa. You’re only two years older than me!”
Jack grins. “Doesn’t make me wrong, though.”
“Actually, now that you put it that way...” Anna bites her bottom lip and stares off to the ceiling, as if recalling a particularly dim memory. “I’m pretty sure Elsa and Kristoff once tried to tell me the same thing about you. Back when we first start hanging out.”
Oh he is going to have words the next time they meet. “They did?!”
“Not exactly with the same word choice, but yep,” Anna shrugs, a teasing glint in her eye, “And they turned out to be wrong, right? So maybe, Peter’s just another guy like you—"
“You take that back right now.”
“—except gifted with, y’know, better fashion sense and higher rate in the Dateable Scale.”
“Bold words from the girl who were completely awestruck the first time she met me.”
“You stopped being hot the day I beat you at the skatepark.”
“Hey,” Jack points a finger at her grinning face, “That’s a low blow. We do not speak of that day.”
Later on, after they stop bickering, Anna says, “It’s really nothing serious, though. I honestly just think he’s cute but Elsa blew it out of proportion.”
“Yeah?” Jack glances up from his laptop.
“Yeah,” she sighs. “Not that I really have a chance anyway, cause—have you seen the leather cuffs? How he never takes ‘em off, how he keeps adjusting it?”
“Anna, I’m not the one who’s been checking him out so often I can tell the permanent state of his wrists.”
Anna leans forward over her spread out notes, voice dropping to a whisper.
“It’s obviously to cover a soulmark! I’m not going to approach a boy when he’s clearly waiting for his soulmate. Not only is it futile, it’s just—I’ll just be in the way, y’know?”
Anna is always like this: a real old-school romantic. The topic of soulmates usually has lost its luster by the time you grew up; a natural transition after going through high school and learning that soulbonds in real life is vastly different from how they made it look like in the movies. Anna Arendelle, however, is part of the bunch who wholeheartedly believe that soulmates are innately a bond of true love and they always work.
Out of the tightly-knit trio that is Kristoff, Anna and Elsa, Jack gets along with the cheerful freshman the most, but this is one of the very few things he couldn’t fully agree on.
“Yeah, I kinda get where you’re going,” Jack carefully refrains from mentioning how this Peter seems to have no problem with girls shoving their phone numbers at him and getting in his soulmate’s way. As long as it repels Anna from going after the guy. “People can get weird about their soulmate.”
“And I wouldn’t blame them,” Anna sighs. “It’s their fated person, after all.”
Jack winces, a little unsure on how to proceed. And there it is, the thing he still couldn’t quite wrap his head around. He’s learnt over time that not everyone is going to share the same sentiments as him about soulmates; that they’re tricky and somewhat unfair in how it decides to box two (or more) people together just because they had each other’s words on their skin.
Sure, Jack hasn’t met his ‘fated person’ yet, and even though he’s admittedly curious about who the universe has in store for him, a part of him is already reluctant to let that person in. It’s not as though he completely rejects the notion of soulmates or whatever—though unlike Anna, Jack is confident he’ll lean more towards platonic friendship when the time comes—but it’ll be nice to actually get to know a person first and decide whether they’re someone he wants in his life instead of trying to make do with who the stars have decided for him. Shouldn’t he get a say in this matter too?
Before he's forced to make a response, however, their names are called, and Jack immediately walks to the end of the counter before Anna even thinks of getting up, a little relieved at the interjection.
Thankfully, the one who called them over is not Peter—instead, it’s a petite blonde who wears her hair in a bun and moves around her workspace at a speed that’s almost dizzying to look at. Jack then concludes that Peter has taken a break. Good.
The line is slower than when he and Anna first entered the place, and as the blonde gets Jack their drinks, something in him suddenly wants to strike a conversation.
“Hi. Can I ask you a question?” He nods at the tip jar decorated as a mini treasure chest sitting on the edge of the counter, “What exactly is this place supposed to be? The theme, I mean.”
“Sure,” the blonde—Tinkerbelle, her name tag says—blinks at him, looking surprised but somewhat pleased. “It’s fairy’s hideout.”
Not even a second later, another voice rings out.
“What, no,” a carrot-red head pokes out from the back. “It’s pirate’s cove. We’ve talked about this, Tink.”
“Shut up, Peter.” Tink turns back to Jack and says with a quieter voice, “Please don’t mind him. He thinks just because we got some nautical theme going on at the corner he gets to slap an entirely new name on the whole thing. It’s still a fairy’s hideout.”
“So what, I painted that corner.” Peter calls out, “And also the tip jar! I actually have a say in this situation.”
“Stop interrupting me in front of the customer!” Tink huffs and throws a dish towel in his direction. “Shoo! Go and take your break!”
Jack leans over the counter and stage whispers, purposefully making eye contact with Peter who is grouchily pulling the dish towel off his head, “Yeah, I get your point. It seems more like a fairy’s hideout to me.”
Jack adds a friendly smile for good measure.
“Well then, you’ve got a good eye,” Tink beams back at him, her eyes frozen on his face. “Um. Hang in there for a sec.”
Tink flitters to the pastry section and comes back with two chocolate chip cookies deftly wrapped in paper towels. She arranges the drinks and the cookies on a tray, whispering, “Something to go with those drinks, for you and your friend. Don’t worry, it’s on the house for the pro-fairies.”
Tink adds a conspiratorial wink at the end of her sentence, and Jack accepts the freebies with a winning smile. Behind her, Peter throws him a look of intense dislike, dish towel and all, and Jack mentally tallies his victory.
“What’s that? Please tell me you actually bought it.” Anna says when he gets back. Jack only gives her a smug grin as he sets the tray on the table, and Anna groans, “Oh my god. Not again.”
“What? The barista offered it herself.”
“There it is. I knew it’s a she.” Anna huffs, “You know, I’d actually take your words about Peter more seriously if only you didn’t throw around your pretty smiles to get your way. That counts as pretty boy behavior too, you hypocrite.”
Jack decides to look over Anna’s ridiculousness this time, still celebrating his luck of getting free cookies and pissing that Peter guy off in one go. “Uh-huh, whatever you say.”
Anna squints at him over her cup, a defeated half smile building under her cheeks. “You’re going to be a real pain to your soulmate when they find you, Mister Frost.”
Jack shrugs, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as he takes a sip.
“Yeah, but that’s their problem.”
The coffee, as it turns out, is delicious.
An eternity later—or what could have been five days, the part of her brain that’s supposed to perceive time might have also gotten fried from the caffeine intake—after her exams are finished, Merida stops by the café again; intent on having a light coffee and then leaving a huge tip behind because she forgot to do so the last time. There’s a different person manning the cashier now, a short blonde who gasps loudly when she spots Merida entering.
“Oh my god, she’s real!”
The cry attracts the attention of another staff to come out the back, a girl with long black hair and brown skin. Upon seeing Merida, she puts a relieved hand on her chest. “Oh, thank god, you’re alive.”
Her last visit, as it turns out, has grown into a dubious anecdote among the café’s staff. Merida comes in the late afternoon, when visitors are low and the café tables are mostly deserted, and so gets to hear the entire retelling of the debacle from Peter’s (her barista) point of view—who apparently is an exaggerating little shit that’s been telling everyone about a scottish woman who stumbled in near closing time, ordered an americano with ten shots of espresso, no cream, and then left with glowing eyes. No wonder his coworkers don’t believe him.
“Hey, I’m the only lucid one back then. I know what I saw.”
Merida’s annoyed because he’s sort of right. Now that she’s awake, she’s picking up on things that definitely would’ve grabbed her attention had she been alert the first time around—the café’s polished wooden floor, the fairy chalk art beside the pastry display, the tiny pirate ship doodles on the bottom of the menu board. There’s a bit of a dreamlike ambiance to the whole place, if not homely, and she can already tell Rapunzel will appreciate the painstaking detail on the magical forest mural near the entrance, or the realistic hand-painted wallpaper of a lagoon on the corner. She has to bring the brunette along next time, especially since she’s the one who wanted to try the café in the first place.
The girl who came out from the back, Lily, and who Merida suspects is something like the cafe's assistant manager, sighs as she hands Merida her iced coffee, “I’m just glad we won’t be sued for serving a heart attack to a student.”
“You’re joking, right? This is the only place that didn’t hesitate when I asked for bonus shots,” Merida says, gratefully taking a small sip. It’s delicious. “Yer a life saver.”
"Correction: Peter is the only guy that didn't hesitate when you asked for bonus shots." Tink, the blonde, pipes in. "There's a difference."
"Speaking of differences," Peter says, joining the duo behind the counter. "What do you think of the place? Does it remind you more of pirates or fairies?"
"Oh my god, stop asking every customer that question," Lily groans.
"Well?" Tink hedges at Merida, putting her on the spot. "What do you think?"
"Uhh," Merida looks at the expectant stares and does a deliberate look around the place. It's obvious that it's fantasy-themed, but the exact setting is hard to grasp with the mishmash of ornaments within the interior. Merida's eyes stop at the board behind the counter. "Pirates? I guess?"
Peter does a whoop while Tink groans into her hands. Lily, who stands between them with crossed arms, rolls her eyes and reminds them that they're still under work hours. Merida however decides to stay on her spot, a little amused at the apparent rivalry between the staff.
"Why the question?" she asks when Peter comes by the counter again to wipe the surface.
"Some jackass a few days ago sided with Tink about this place being a fairy’s hideout, which is absurd, so," Peter shrugs, "We've been keeping score ever since. Thanks to you, I’m currently leading."
Merida can't help but snort. A new batch of customers comes into the cafe then, a group of students carrying an armload of textbooks between them, reminding Merida she still has another thing left to do today.
Merida gives the staff a parting nod before moving away from the counter to give space for the line, dropping the tip she's been saving as she passes by the tip jar. Behind the counter, Lily flashes her a grateful smile.
"By the way," Peter calls out as Merida turns to leave, his lips pulling into a smirk that reminds her of her brothers at the start of mischief, “Talk to me anytime you want another extra espresso shots again. That shit’s hilarious to watch.”
Both Lily and Tink smack his back at the offer.
Merida grins over her shoulder, straw between her teeth. “Deal.”
Peter throws her a mock salute as she finally makes her exit.
Feeling energized after the interaction, Merida powers through the long trek to her faculty’s library with a new kick in her steps. Her good mood, however, sours the moment she arrives in front of the building, spotting Hans sitting alone on one of the white benches outside. The redhead waves her over once he catches sight of her, and Merida has no choice but to follow, turning away from the library’s entrance.
They're supposed to have a quick group meeting for a presentation project that's due in three weeks; an early task distribution of sorts. Merida had cursed her luck when she found out she's in the same team with the two most ambitious students in her year, but at least she doesn't have to worry about lousy groupmates dragging her down. In fact, she might be the only person in the group who has to play catch up for the following three weeks.
Her internal dread escalates the moment she realizes there's one person missing.
"Where's Tiana?" she asks without preamble, stopping in front of Hans.
"Couldn't come," Hans uncrosses his legs once she gets close and shrugs, picking invisible lint off his pants. "Soulmate emergency."
"What, really?" Merida gapes, all negative thoughts about having to spend the next twenty minutes alone with the ginger bastard flying out the window. Like Merida, Tiana hasn’t met her soulmate yet, unless—
"Today?"
"Just a few hours ago," he confirms. There's a silent stare-off between the two of them that is broken when Hans lifts an eyebrow, his surprised expression not fooling anyone who knows his true nature. "Oh, you gossipmonger. You're asking me who her soulmate is?"
"Kettle and pot, Westergaard." Merida scowls, annoyed that it’s coming from him. "You practically run the grapevine."
"You say that as if it's a bad thing," faux expression gone, Hans lazily leans back on the bench, resting his arms over the backrest. “It's very lucrative to be in the know.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Merida scoffs, crossing her arms. “‘M nae giving ye anything for a piece of information that's going to spread soon anyway, ye thieving little—”
"It's Naveen,” Hans impatiently cuts her. “That art history exchange student.”
“...Holy shit.”
That is big news. Merida knows the guy: Rapunzel shared classes with him, and thanks to him being buddy-buddy with the university’s top socialites the boy is famous enough to have his name known even outside of his own department. From what Merida’s seen and heard, he’s clubby and a terrible studying partner, always mingling with the partying bunch. Practically the antithesis of Tiana.
And then, because Hans’s presence always draws out the nastier part of her, Merida blurts out without thinking, “Isn’t he a bit of a lazy twat?”
“Harsh,” but Hans is smirking now. “And something of a party animal too. I’ve seen him with a guitar before, definitely got the talent for music and showmanship.”
Merida cringes, thinking of Tiana and what her reaction could be when she found out. “Poor lass.”
“Lucky lass,” Hans corrects her, pointing a finger that suggests he’s finally getting to the good part. “The good thing about this—and you didn’t hear this from me—is that Naveen’s got one hell of a connection throughout the campus, and half of the student body likes him. Not to mention his parents back in Maldonia are loaded. Tiana could have a good use off of a guy like him.”
“What the fuck, Westergaard,” Merida gapes again, this time disgusted he even went there. “Tiana would never use someone like that.”
“I’m just saying,” he shrugs. “Both of them have something that the other doesn’t. They could benefit off of each other. It’s a great match.”
“Sounds more like a mismatch to me.”
“Are you saying that the fates made a mistake?” Hans sneers, his tone slightly more bitter than it should be for a mere snide remark. “You, DunBroch? The believer?”
Oh, so that’s the reason why he’s being such an asshole.
Merida rolls her eyes. Hans Westergaard would’ve unnerved her more if only it wasn’t so obvious that the majority of his cynical attitude stems from him not having a soulmark.
Hans is realistic to a fault, viewing soulbonds as something like business transactions thanks to his experience of not having a soulmate—and what Merida suspects is a little bit of envy for those who do. Meanwhile, Merida tends to lean into what other people would’ve dubbed as superstitious, due to her respect towards the magical nature of soulbonds. This is also why she and Hans clash more often than not.
Sure, she has her own reservations about the social norms surrounding soulmates, but at least she’s not dumb enough to think her soulmark has no meaning or leads to nowhere. Soulmarks shouldn’t be treated as a strategy when it matches someone else’s like Hans thinks. The existence of the tattoo itself is proof that the bond is true.
Merida bites her cheek to prevent herself from rising to Hans’ bait, and instead chooses to sit down on the other edge of the bench, a pointed distance away from him.
After all—and this is the kind of thinking that used to get her into trouble when growing up, either for being perceived as disobedient or disrespectful—the conversation should never be about soulbonds being right or not; it should be about being allowed to choose despite the mark. Merida is a stout believer that, matching soulmarks or not, people should be allowed the freedom to choose their person when the time comes.
This talk about Tiana and Naveen is slowly getting under her skin. Merida needs to put a stop to this before she does something extreme, like punching Hans in public for being an insensitive asshole.
“...I just think Tiana should have a say on what kind of relationship they’re going to have before ye start yapping to everyone that they’re a couple that completes each other,” Merida says pointedly. “That’s not information anymore, that’s false news.”
“How diplomatic,” He drawls, the tilt of his head conceding. “Would you look at that. You actually said something that made sense today.”
“Shut up,” Merida is beginning to regret finishing her coffee before coming here; she has no coffee cups to throw at him. “So are you going to continue gossiping, or are we finally going to decide the parts for the presentation now?”
Hans’ attitude immediately shifts the moment she mentions the presentation.
“If that’s what you want.” He opens his bag and pulls out a stack of bound papers, “Since Tiana couldn’t come, we’ll just do the reading this week. Here’s the copy the prof handed out yesterday,” Hans tosses the reading material to her. Merida catches it with wide eyes, alarmed at the thickness. “Make sure to finish it by Monday. The group before us couldn’t be present because of a debate meet, so we’re presenting a week faster.”
“What?” Merida chokes. “And why am I only hearing about this?!”
“Well, you never gave me your number.”
Right. Hans is the group leader; all the latest class information would go to him before he spreads it to his group mates.
“That’s because I don’t trust you with it,” Merida instinctively snipes.
“Real mature,” Hans rolls his eyes, “But I’m serious about finishing it by Monday, DunBroch. That’s when we decide which person gets to speak which topic.”
“Aye, aye,” Merida stuffs the papers into her bag. “I’ll get it done, don’t worry.”
When she looks up, Hans is looking at her with one brow raised in expectation.
“Well?” he says. "Are you going to give me your number or not?”
Merida considers her options for a moment.
“I’ll just text Tiana if I need anything this weekend. Who knows what would happen when you get your hands on my number.”
Hans scowls, but to his credit, doesn’t try to falsely defend himself. They both know Merida is right for the second time today.
Come what may, she will not be part of Hans Westergaard’s evil networking.
“You’re missing out, DunBroch.” Smoothing down his expression, Hans hikes up the strap of his bag over one shoulder. “I’m a very helpful friend to have.”
“A helpful friend? You?” Merida scans at him from her side of the bench, incredulous. “This sleazy compost of a man?”
“How charming,” Hans says drily, looking at his watch before getting up from his seat. “And I’ve got to go now. See you around, DunBroch.”
Merida makes an offhanded waving gesture, already checking her phone. Not even five seconds later, there’s a sound of Hans turning on his heels and saying, “Oh, and by the way—”
Merida looks up from her screen.
“Let me know when your soulmate realizes the kind of walking disaster they’re stuck with and ditches you, yeah? That’s one of the news I predict will sell huge.”
It’s childishly petty even for Hans’ usual comebacks, but Merida can’t help but gesture rudely towards the back of his skull as he leaves anyway. The bastard doesn’t look back even once, making a beeline towards the library’s entrance as if to make sure he has the last say in the conversation.
Once Hans is out of sight, Merida pockets her phone and peeks at the crumpled papers inside her backpack, wincing as she imagines tomorrow’s archery practice and the workload ahead of her.
Alone on the bench, she groans out loud.
Yeah, she’s not going to get much sleep this weekend either.