Actions

Work Header

(most of) the world's a stage

Summary:

Something peculiar happens at the Rupaul Charles Academy of London during a certain time of year.

(It all starts with Shakespeare, as some things do.)

Notes:

expect cliques, clichés and everything about being in secondary school with added shakespearean melodrama! apologies for the inaccurate british/uk info, but i hope you enjoy hens xxx

come talk to me @diamondchaneys on tumblr if ya want!

Chapter 1: i'd switch it up but i don't like change (only content if things stay the same)

Chapter Text

It was a quiet November afternoon for the students at the RuPaul Charles Academy of London, to say the least.

 

Well—quiet to some.

 

“Just ask them!”

 

“I am going to jam this godforsaken highlighter up your arse if you don’t shut up, Rory. Piss off!”

 

“You don’t even know if they’ll turn you down, Pip! Just ask them to go to a wax museum with you and get the fuck on already!”

 

“And I already told you—piss off! I’m not having this conversation with you in the middle of fucking study hall.” Pip whispered harshly, trying to focus on the stack of papers she was reading moments ago, before Aurora rudely interrupted her.

 

“You’re impossible.” Aurora groaned, choosing to pester her friend instead of doing what needs to be done in study hall—which was to study. “They’re the only other cunt who tolerates your ass besides me and the girls and you decide to not act on your feelings, ridiculous really.”

 

Pip fights off the urge to retort with a “Pot meet fucking kettle, babe.”  because the childishness, really, and just highlights some words on her draft, flippantly replying a “If you’re going to be a bitch to me the whole period, the least you could do is help me proofread.”

 

The words in front of her begin to blur a bit, and so Pip loses her grip on the papers and rubs at her tired eyes. “Knew I shouldn’t have blabbed to you about Gin—” She muttered. “—Why are we even talking about this, Rory? The plays not gonna be done until the end of the year yet here we are like we’re in Much Ado About fucking Nothing.

 

“Because I don’t get it!” Aurora grabs the script from Pip’s hands and briefly flips through it, and ignores Pip’s attempts to get it back. “Gin’s harmless, Pip. Yeah, they’re like siding with the enemy by being around Tayce’s gang of bitches, but why’re you acting like you’re about to face Viv in the parking lot? Thought ’ya wanted to get rid of ‘this Sex Education bullshit’ anyways.”

 

“Do not joke about that—Viv’s got a mean right hook, I wouldn’t dare—and it’s not just about Ginny being buddy-buddy with Tayce’s group, you bloody hound.” Pip snatches the script back. “It’s more than that, alright?”

 

(Ah yes, Ginny Lemon: The other best speaker in their Debate Club. Who, after knowing that their nickname was ‘fresh meat’ when they recently transferred last year, demanded to be called ‘fresh squeeze’ instead, because “It’s all about branding, babs!” as they never failed to incorporate something yellow in their outfit. Who keeps calling her ‘Pippa’ during mock debates just to piss her off. 

 

Who Pip has been agonizingly crushing on for about a half a year, give or take. It’s honestly downright shameful on just how far gone she is on the Worcester native, as they constantly quarrel during club hours. Though even Pip herself can’t deny that when they work together, they work together, already having a few wins under their belt.

 

Maybe this is God punishing her, in exchange for being the best of the best, you have to fall in love with the person you barely tolerate.)

 

Aurora slumped further in her seat. “Well it ain’t enough for you to clam up like Loz did when we had to do a musical last year—like look, c’mon Pip.” She glanced at her. “Even though I hate your arse most of the time, I know you. You’re the first one to call out the bullshit when you see it, what’s keeping you from pussying it up with Gin?” 

 

Sometimes Pip marvels at how familiar with each other she and Aurora are now, despite the few and far between times they’ve butted heads in the past. Aurora was all about keeping things in line; a Textiles genius who practically ran their year with an iron (manicured) fist. Who simply sends a frosty glare to anyone who dares challenge her position as the head bitch in charge (save one). And dear Pippa; debate club prodigy that sometimes wishes the cliché of the social food chain was stomped to the ground like a cigarette, but knows she can’t do anything besides speak her mind up. Who can count the number of people she likes with only two hands. 

 

But birds of the same posh, popular feather flock together, she supposes. She still remembers the time the both of them screamed bloody murder when they both wore the same dress in their Year 11 formal and how Tia’s dress was this horrendous shade of green, remembers Bimini being dared by Asttina to handstand to a split on a chair at one point, vaguely recalls Lawrence and Ellie racing to see who can spike the punch first with Joe and Cherry exasperatedly keeping guard. 

 

She also remembers the supposed after party at a house of some bastard from the Lacrosse team, too, and how both she and the rest of the girls didn’t go in favor of crashing a karaoke bar, and how surprised they were when Tayce and her clique asked to come with. That was the first time they decided to go off script, and while the two groups were relatively getting acquainted with each other from then, the stares and whispers whenever they so much as smile to one another never really went away. And so the mutual-indifference-borderline-cattiness came back, and they’re back at square one.

 

Or so Pip thought.

 

“—And plus,” Aurora continued. “It's Shakespeare Season, the writing’s on the wall for fucks sake!”

 

“Oh come on Rory—please don’t tell me you believe that sack of crow shit.”

 

“But it happened! Look at Blu and Cheryl—in’t that evidence enough?”

 

“It’s a statistically probable fact that two people who are often in close proximity to one another are bound to have some sort of romantic attraction.” Pip rolls her eyes for emphasis. “And we’re in a bloody school full of hormonal teenagers—someone’s going to get fucked off into the sunset eventually!”

 

Aurora rolls her eyes in retaliation. “Alright smartass, no need to bring out the thesaurus on me. Could've just said they liked each other in the first place.”

 

“So you get me! It’s not some stupid Shakespeare’s love fog rolling around campus that’s making the entire Sixth Form act like rabid bunnies, people just hook up.” Pip begins to jot down some notes on the margins of the script. “It just so happens that they do it in November because Winter Break is coming ‘round.”

 

(See, there’s this certain superstition at the RuPaul Charles Academy of London : Shakespeare of course, being the dramatic git that he is, has an entire month dedicated to him in the school both literally and figuratively: November is when they start to get into his writing and begin what Bimini slyly refers to as Shakesqueer, a mini theatre production the Year 12’s put out at the end of the month. It was also during this time where the students suddenly confessed their love to someone while preparing for the play. Struck by Cupid’s arrow, some might say. But instead of Cupid it’s a balding bastard who wrote poems about two miserable sods getting it on for a living.

 

In a surprising (or unsurprising, depending on who you ask) turn of events, last year's victims were Cheryl and Blu, the co-leads for their year's The Taming of the Shrew, who were apparently caught by Divina making out in the prop closet during dress rehearsal. They made it official not long after, but whether that was because of Shakespeare Season or because they played Lucentio and Bianca respectively, nobody knows. Pip chooses to wholeheartedly believe the latter.)

 

If Pip were about 7 years younger, with her tiny blue handbag and a scrawled letter pinned in their fridge addressed to Psychic Sally, her heart would’ve burst at the fact that she’ll be studying in a school that’s as mysterious and supernatural as the early morning shows she watched. But sadly here she is, sitting in a chair that’s about as old as her nan, the most mysterious thing in the school being the mold that grows in the cafeteria wall.

 

Which is why she doesn’t, under any circumstances, want to ask Ginny out at this time of year. Because a.) it would mean letting Shakespeare win, and she refuses to be beaten by some asinine superstition and dead playwright, and b.) being that the two groups are rivals in every sense of the word to the rest of the student population, Ginny might take it the wrong way, and think that she’s doing some sick practical joke on them.

 

“So no, Aurora.” Pip adamantly says. “And nothing will change my mind on that. Now can we just finish this so I can at least get a nap in?”

 

And just when her friend seemed to let it go, Aurora delivers the kicker. “If you ask Gin out during Crystal’s party—jesus christ, I can’t believe I’m doing this—I’ll—” She groans quietly, careful about the people around them. “—I’ll finally ask Tayce out at Crystal’s too.”

 

To which causes Pip to unceremoniously drop the highlighter in her hand, the loud clack making the Year 10’s in the table in front of them giggle. Pip hastily picks up the offending item and immediately shuts them up with a glare.

 

She whips her head to Aurora in bewilderment. “You’re serious.”

 

“As serious as I’ll ever be, babe.”

 

Oh this was it , isn't it. Rory’s more stubborn than a dog on a leash, and her feelings for Tayce was just part of the long list of things she constantly denies when prodded by Ellie or Tia. It's already bad that Pip’s being driven mad by a newbie that’s a whole foot shorter than her, but if word gets out about the most popular girl in Year 12 having a crush on the other most popular girl in Year 12? Two people who were supposed to be at each other's throats?

 

She wants to shudder as she thinks of the fallout, but instead Pip looks at Aurora, sees her face set with determination like she’s thought of this for a good while now, and promptly makes up her mind.

 

Shit. Psychic Sally, if you’re still out there…let’s hope this doesn't fuck both of us up.

 

A single, reluctant sigh is enough to give Aurora confirmation, and doesn’t care about the fact that she’s squealing when she hears Pip grumble a “—Cannot believe I’m agreeing to this—but fine, you’ve got a deal.”

 

Pip, for her part, mulls over just how exactly is she going to confess her feelings for one Ginny Lemon.

 

(The next day, during Drama, Pip does what she does best when her stomach feels like it’s in the catacombs; argue with Ginny over the most inane thing. Right now it’s what parts in the draft they should rewrite.

 

“Pippa, just give the pen over and I’ll gladly help you bab!”

 

Pip positively hates the fact that even Ginny saying her name is making her palms sweat, and silently curses Aurora and the conversation they had yesterday. “Absolutely not, because I know you’ll just cross out my parts in the script and call it a day.”

 

“Oh please, I would never—just give it over and we can be done in no time!”

 

“For the last time, no—!”

 

Ginny makes a move to grab her wrist, and the action causes Pip to drop her pen. She can barely hear the loud clack over her own pounding heart, and as they both move to pick it up, their fingers accidentally brush, and oh for the love of god—

 

But before Pip can finish her thought, a ring from her pocket kills the tension, so she scans the room to see if anyone is looking in their direction. She gingerly opens her phone and is greeted with a message from Ellie to their group chat.

 

camp cows xxx

(Aurora, Ellie, Tia, Pip, Bimini and Cherry)

dirty d: EMERGENCY MEETING LATER @ CRAFTS RM

dirty d: PLS I THINK IM LOSIGN MY MIND


And though Pip doesn’t see it, Ginny is also greeted with a message from Lawrence to a group chat called absolute houndss, expressing a similar type of distress.)

Chapter 2: i’ll take your advice (i’ll try to be more nice)

Summary:

As production starts, an incident in the costume room forces Ellie and Lawrence to confront the feelings that they thought they had, and Shakespeare Season continues to plague the students of Year 12.

Notes:

oh christ, it's finally here! this was a doozy for me to write bec i kept adding and deleting stuff, but i hope you all like it still :') i tried a new style of switching pov's in this chapter, so let me know it if worked (or if it didnt!)

come talk to me over on tumblr @diamondchaneys! (title taken from sincerely me by dear evan hansen)

Chapter Text

“Yes offense, El’s—just why the fuck are we here?”

 

Ellie either seems to not hear Aurora’s inquiry or chooses to ignore it as she paces back and forth in the Crafts room, a frantic energy clouding her person. They’re all situated quite well on the different tables, though it doesn’t ease the confusion the girls (sans Ellie) are feeling.

 

“Ellie, hun, I can feel you vibrating from here.” Cherry piped up from behind her, concern on her face. “Did you even eat anything this morning?”

 

“Nah, m’good—had a Red Bull.” Ellie answered, plaits swinging as she continued her pacing. “Because I feel like I’m gonnae throw up, good fucking god.”

 

“Well if you can stop pacing back and forth like you’re chasing your own tail, that might help.” Asttina raised her brow. “C’mon girl, what’s the hold up? Why’d you call us to the music room of all places?”

 

“Hiding from the enemy, are we?” Ginny grinned.

 

“No!” Lawrence scoffed. “It’s just that—”

 

“—Absolutely no one can hear about this except all of you’s.” Ellie puffed. “If word goes out about this, consider me a fucking goner.”

 

“A-are you pregnant?” Tia said, incredulous. “Is there about to be an Ellie Junior on the way? Are we about to be aunties? El’s, I’ll gladly do babysitting duty for you—”

 

“We can hold the baby shower at my house, babe.” Bimini offered. “I’m sure my mum won’t mind.”

 

“—Oh my god—”

 

“—So if you’re not pregnant Lawrence, what is it then?” Veronica asked, impatiently tapping her foot in the process. “It’s lunch and all of us are gone, people might start to notice.”

 

“Vee’s right, Lawrie.” Tayce said. “Wouldn’t want another skivvy incident, do we?”

 

Joe shuddered at the thought. “Cherry wouldn't stop hounding me for a week straight, let’s not do that again, please.”

 

At this, Lawrence stopped her pacing and turned to all of them. “Alright, promise me you won’t go fucking apeshit when I tell you, okay?”

 

Pip stared at Ellie strangely, but nodded. “Surely it can’t be that bad if you ruled out the pregnancy thing, right? What could be worse than that?”

 

Ellie heaved a deep sigh. Okay, fuck. Here we go. “See, me and Chaney—”

 

“—When me and Ellie were looking for some shit in the Costume closet—”

 

“—Shit happened, and we—”

 

“—We made out.”

 

(It starts out like this; in a playground, several years back.

 

“Ellie! Give it back!” A 9 year old Lawrence calls after a girl her same age as she runs after her, curly hair whipping against her face as she struggles to keep up with the blondes stride, distance growing farther and farther on the field.

 

“Finders keepers, Lawrie!” Ellie turns back to blow a raspberry at Lawrence, waving the doll in her hand as if to taunt her.

 

9 year old Lawrence, with all the anger of a child having her toy stolen from her, takes the bait, and tackles Ellie as soon as she catches up with her.

 

“Give it!”

 

“No! It’s mine now Lawrie!”

 

They tumble around the grass for a minute or two, pushing on faces and pinching on sides until they’re pulled away by their parents.

 

“Now what is going on here?” Lawrence’s mum asks the both of them. “The minute we turn our backs on you, you’re suddenly rough housing like you’re in Wembley about t’take it home.”

 

“Mum! L-look at what she did to Loreen!” Lawrence gestures to the doll in her hand, arm popped off and it’s dress torn on the sides.

 

“She was the one who started it! Look at my dress now too—it’s all ruined!” Ellie, with tears threatening to spill over, tugged on the skirt of her mother and gestured to her dirt-and-grass stained dress in distress.

 

“We’ll just buy a new one in Primark, Ellie, no need to worry about that.” Ellie’s mum takes her daughter's hand and turns to Mrs. Chaney, apologetic. “I’m so sorry Diane, looks like there won’t be any playtime for the two of them for a while, huh?”

 

Mrs. Chaney—or Diane, rather—snorts. “I’ll go and make sure Lawza knows that this won’t happen again.” and turns to stare pointedly at her daughter, who now knows better to not talk back.

 

“I’ll make sure El’s gets an earful from me as well.”

 

The conservation ends at that, and as both families leave in opposite directions, both Lawrence and Ellie turn around and stick their tongue out at each other. When Lawrence’s mother lectures her about how ‘this always happens every time we set up a playdate between you too, for goodness sake Lawrence’ as they’re in the car, there’s only one thing on Lawrence’s mind:

 

She absolutely loathes Ellie Diamond.

 

Years, years into the future, it also starts out like this:

 

They’re the only people in the school’s Costume room and it's….weird, Lawrence isn’t sure what to make of the atmosphere in the room. On one hand, they’re as casual as can be, with Lawrence checking for yards of lace on one side of the room and Ellie searching for clothes that they can re-use on the opposite, as they’re the ones assigned for the costumes in the play. On the other hand, Lawrence is about as wound-in as a Nutcracker on the inside, cautious about anything and everything that could happen between them. She’s sure Ellie feels the same, despite the air of nonchalance they’re both projecting. It’s hard to trust someone when you don’t even know what you’ll do when you’re in the same space as them.

 

Lawrence is tempted to set Ellie off just for something, anything, to fill the tension in the room. This time, though, Ellie chooses to make light conversation.

 

“Wonder who’ll be the next victim of Shakespeare Season this time.” Ellie mused, still rifling the tower of clothes littered in the room.

 

Lawrence turns to her, surprised. “Aye, you believe that shit?”

 

“I mean—why not, right? Happened last year and the year before that, so I won’t be surprised if it happened again this year.” The blonde answered, moving closer and closer to Lawrence’s side, though she’s unaware of it. “My bet’s on Pip and Ginny. Poor Pip looks like she’s sucked on a fucking lemon every time Gin talks to her,” Ellie giggled. “It’s hilarious.”

 

Lawrence barks out a laugh. “I’m sure dear Pippa wouldn’t mind sucking on Gin’s lemon too, if you get what I’m sayin’.”

 

“Oh my god, that‘s disgusting.”

 

“What of it, then! You were the one that started it.”

 

“Did not!”

 

“Did too!”

 

At this, they were just mere inches in front of each other, and though Ellie completely towers over her, right now it feels like they’re in a stand-off. 

 

Lawrence tries her damndest not to stare at the column of Ellie’s throat, as she’s suddenly reminded of pink gingham and a doll with its arm ripped off. “Can’t even handle a jab about the carpets and drapes, Dirty Diamond? We might be puttin’ on Shakespeare, Ellie, but we’re not fucking Puritans —I think you can handle a joke about eatin’ pussy.”

 

Ellie let’s out a noise of frustration. “You are insufferable.” She gripes. “One more fucking quip from you and I’ll—”

 

“—You’ll what, Ellie Bellie?”

 

But Ellie doesn’t finish her threat, as her heel gets caught in one of the piles of clothes and she careens down the floor, taking Lawrence with her. Thankfully, they both land on a pile instead of the unforgiving hardwood, but Ellie has her pinned, and she tries to not care about the weight on top of her too much. All that Lawrence can do right now is stare back, mesmerized at the blush on Ellie’s cheeks and the faint light of the room causing a halo to form above her head.

 

“Chaney.” Ellie whispers, afraid that she’ll disturb the moment they’re in. “Lawrence. Please shut the fuck up.”

 

“Make me, then.”

 

As time seems to suspend in the dingy Costume room there’s only one thing on Lawrence’s mind:

 

She absolutely wants to kiss Ellie Diamond.)

 


 

Everything turns to utter chaos as soon as the words leave their mouths.

 

Pip and Aurora both look at Ellie and then at each other with wide eyes, communicating something only they can understand. Cherry almost trips over nothing and suddenly grabs Tia’s hand as the other girl lets out a squawk of bewilderment. Bimini, bless them, just raises their brows in mild surprise, their mouth forming a little ‘O’.

 

The other side of the hall, however, is much more vocal with their reactions. Both Ginny and Asttina shriek, completely baffled. Joe, seemingly the only one who can form words, screeches a “You what?!” with Veronica paling beside him. Tayce, for her part, just looks at Lawrence intently, and the Scot buckles under her gaze.

 

“Lawrence, dear—what the hell would possess you to do that?” Joe asks.

 

“I don’t fucking know!” Ellie exclaims to Tia. “This whole Shakespeare play has been messing with my hear—I-I mean head. Canny fuckin’ think straight, I’m telling you.”

 

Ginny snorts at Lawrence’s slip. “Oh, this is gonna be good—maybe you’ve got the love bug from Shakespeare Season, babe. Thought you hated Dirty Diamond, anyways?”

 

“Oh, I—ah, I dunno about that, babes.” Lawrence mutters, soft enough for Ginny not to hear.

 

Hate. Hate’s such a strong word for what Ellie and Lawrence are supposed to feel for each other; mutual annoyance seems a more proper term. Years of tugging on ponytails and tripping over feet from playdates to primary school have led to the relationship that they have right now, only intensified with the added teenage hormones and highschool gossip.

 

So what if she likes riling her up? Is only fair that she gets to make a bit of payback after three or so years of childhood torment. 

 

But that’s not really the reason why a flare of irritation always builds up when she’s near Ellie. Maybe it was, before, two or three years ago when she’s suddenly reminded of playground scuffles and petty name-calling, but now she knows the other reason why. Sometimes Lawrence thinks that disliking Ellie is easier, despite what she feels for the other girl is anything but . Lawrence wants to try being nice to the blonde, friendly even. Hell, she even has tried to be friendly with her, but whenever she so much sees a glimpse of babydoll pink earrings in the hallway, there’s a barb ready on her tongue, shoulders tightened up like a bowstring in case the blonde ‘accidentally’ checks her on the shoulder. If they’re supposed to be enemies in whatever Romeo and Juliet foreplay Tayce and A’whora got going on, then they’re sure as hell playing the part. Lawrence’s supposed to hate Ellie, s hould hate her, even.

 

But she truly, honestly doesn’t.

 

Lawrence glances at the clock on top of the blackboard and notices that they’ve wasted too much time inside here, so she sighs. “What’s done is done, okay? It happened, what’s more important now is that it doesn’t leave this room. Can’t have people whispering about the two of us again.

 

“—And I’m looking at you, Rory.” Ellie continued, her attention on her friend. “We all know you’d trade our secrets for a Dior pump.”

 

Asttina pipes up from where she’s standing. “Way to throw me under the bus, Loz!”

 

“You know it’s true, hen!” Lawrence shot back. “Now—can we please get outta here, I don’t like to stew in my mistakes with you lot.”

 

Lunch goes as expected; with the girls poking and prodding and Lawrence and Ellie refusing to pay them attention.

 

(If they keep glancing at each other’s lunch tables when they think the other isn’t looking, well—that’s their business.)

 

The next few days are about as awkward as it can get between the two Scots. True to their word, no one mentions it after their respective classroom-lunchtime rendezvous, much to Ellie’s elation and disappointment. Thank Christ even Aurora has managed to zip her moof closed, though her and Pip’s seemingly telepathic communicating during Drama and lunch are doing nothing to ease her paranoia. Still, it doesn’t erase the fact that she’s going crazy by the minute whenever Lawrence so much as breathes near her, and not the type of crazy that makes her want to wring the brunette because of her antics. As soon as she knows the brunette is within near distance, her movements become stiff and robotic, like she doesn’t know how to function like a proper human being when they’re next to each other.

 

It all boils over again on a Friday afternoon, when they’re back at the Costume room to measure the outfits that they’ve picked.

 

Lawrence is the one to break the ice this time, clearly being fed up with all of this tension between the two of them. “Listen—so uh, about last week—”

 

“I-it was nothing—right, Loz?” Ellie sputtered, heart jackhammering in her chest she’s so sure Lawrence can hear it too. She forgets the tape measure and dress in her hands entirely. “ Shakespeare Season really got us acting like idiots, yeah?”

 

For a moment, Ellie’s sure she’s imagining the flash of disappointment in Lawrence’s eyes, and almost jumps out of her skin when she feels her stomach bottom out.

 

But Lawrence doesn’t notice as she schools her features into one of apprehension and replies with a “Y-yeah, for sure—it was nothing. Just oor ol’ pal Willie stirring some shit, right hen?”

 

Ellie can’t bring it to reply back verbally because what the actual fuck and just nods at Lawrence, who goes back to making notes on the measurements that they’ve done. She forces her lungs to feel like it’s easier to breathe when she knows the invisible hold tightens its grip on her ribcage.

 

This is—this is bad.

 


 

The first Monday of the week, then, is a complete disaster.

 

As soon as Aurora, Pip and Tia see Lawrence close her locker, they immediately grab her by the arms and haul her to the nearest bathroom, with Tia locking the door behind her.

 

Lawrence wrenches her arms free as soon as they’re inside. “Now what tae fuck was that for!?”

 

“Cut the act, Chaney.” Tia warns her. “Where the hell is Ellie’s PE kit? She had to use the only spare one and now she looks and smells like a bloody Oompa Loompa.”

 

“Aye, what makes you think I did it?” The Glaswegian asks, offended, and Aurora rolls her eyes so hard she feels like it's going to pop out of her head.

 

“Chaney, just two weeks ago you slipped a fake rat inside her locker.” Aurora replied. “You’re the only other cunt who messes with her, so excuse-fucking-me for jumping to conclusions already.”

 

“Hell, as if my fat arse can sprint from the changing rooms to the cafeteria bins. I’m a menace, not a dickhead.” Lawrence glares back, but then averts her gaze. “But….if you must know, a’ heard Davies and Munroe yapping about chucking a certain someone’s PE kit down the trash.” The brunette stands up a bit straighter. “Think you might want’a look into that one.”

 

Pip snorts in disgust. “Those miserable hags? Why’d they wanna do that to Ellie anyways?”

 

“I don’t know and I couldn’t care less.” Lawrence answers. “All I know is that they were braggin’ about it t’me and Gin during Physics. As if me and Gin would even care.

 

Tia quirks her brow in suspicion. “How do we know you’re not pulling this out of your arse?”

 

“Are you kidding me? Davies hid my swimsuit for a week straight and Munroe keeps calling me a bitch when I don’t give her my Physics notes, what makes you think I’d want a target on my back?”

 

The three girls all turn to each other as if to contemplate and Lawrence fights the urge to roll her eyes. A beat passes and Aurora turns back to Lawrence, her gaze steely. “Alright, we’re taking your word for this, but as soon as we hear that it was actually you—”

 

“—You’ll ruin my life, I’ll be on the bottom of the social ladder, blah blah blah— please tell me something I don’t know.” This time Lawrence does roll her eyes. “You know that Tayce’ll have yer heads on a stick if she knew you three manhandled me in here, right?”

 

Aurora scoffs, though Lawrence catches Pip glancing at Aurora in worry. “As if I care what Tayce has to say.”

 

“Then alright, I guess my job here is done.” Lawrence raises her hands to placate her. “Now—can I please leave?”

 

The next day, news gets spread like wildfire about how Davies and Munroe had to play soccer with their PE uniforms completely soaked, shoes included, and Lawrence tries to catch herself from grinning like a maniac when Aurora and Pip saunter in the cafeteria, looking smug.

 

Calm down, Chaney. Lawrence thinks to herself. So you snitched, big fucking whoop.

 

She tries to go back to her lunch and orders her heart not to lurch when she hears Ellie’s delighted laughter from tables away.

 

But later in the day, Ellie truly can’t deny it anymore.

 

No, not the ‘being bent’ part. It’s the fact that it’s Lawrence Chaney of all people that she’s got her eye on. Which is considerably unfortunate, given that she wants to shove her and her Dr. Who backpack into a locker on a good day.

 

She’s in the library with Cherry when the crazy, listless feeling comes back again. It’s been a few times since last week, this sudden, unescapable tightness from her heart to the base of her throat. It comes back one time during lunch, another time during her Biology class, and another one during the weekend that was so severe she almost called Lawrence before realizing that that was stupid, promptly throwing her phone on her bed in the process. She knows that she was the one who asked them to not bring it up, yet Ellie’s the one who can’t stop thinking about it.

 

The kiss.

 

The feelings.

 

The everything-from-primary-school-up-to-now.

 

Funny how that works.

 

Ellie’s suddenly reminded (for some inane reason) that it’s been a week and a half since Chane—no, Lawrence—has pulled a prank on her. Which is odd, considering ‘pranking Ellie’ or ‘annoying Ellie as much as possible’ is Lawrence’s favorite pastime.

 

To this, she decides to hell with it and turns to her friend. “Cherry.”

 

“What’s up?”

 

“H-how do you—” Ellie stammers, leg bouncing from the nerves. “—Say, for example—”

 

The words jumble up in her head and she silently curses how jittery she feels again, but she’s got Cherry’s attention so there’s no turning back now, so she heaves a deep sigh and collects herself. “How do you deal with your feelings to someone you have history with?”

 

Ellie watches as Cherry’s eyes go from surprised, to fearful, to resigned, and gives her a moment to gather her thoughts.

 

“Well, looks like you’ve come to the right girl, love.” Cherry jokes, though her voice betrays the humor in it. “I’d know all about someone’s and history’s.”

 

(On the other side of the room, a certain brown-haired Glaswegian asks the same thing, and Joe psyches himself up for yet another trip down memory lane.)

Chapter 3: it feels like we're pulling teeth (so bittersweet)

Summary:

Joe Black would like to forget the existence of Cherry Valentine for the third year in a row, thank you very much. But of course Shakespeare Season has other plans.

Notes:

,,,,,so it's been a while, yeah?

apologies for 1.) taking this long 2.) the amount of em dashes i've been using on my fics and 3.) any grammar mistakes or cultural inaccuracies you may see, but here it is! after months of writers block and being too busy to finish this, i've finally finished chapter three :)

let me know what you all think in the comments! i'd love to hear it, you can shoot me an ask/message over on tumblr as well @comedychallenge

thank you so so much to pleg for always showing enthusiasm whenever i send something motwas related, without her i probably wouldnt finish this chapter at this time lol

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Joe wakes up on the first day of school feeling slightly….off.

He goes about his usual morning routine with an unfamiliar tug in his chest, goes through the motions of eating breakfast, debating to whether or not bring the accordion that’s gathering dust the corner of his room to school, putting on his uniform and signature black cape (which does not violate dress code, thank you very much), kisses his mum on the cheek, gives Klaus a scratch on the ear and goes to his car to drive to school.

Once he arrives in the driver's seat, only then does Joe dare look at his phone, and he’s greeted with a slightly alarming ‘GET UR ASS IN HERE NOW!!!!’ text from Lawrence, which does not ease the feeling in his chest at all.

He tries to fight off the feeling as much as he can, thinking to himself that it's probably just the first day anxiety that's making him feel like this, even though he’s become used to the first days of school since transferring here in Year 7. The rest of the drive is a blur as he suddenly pulls up to the school’s parking lot, enters its dreary stone-gray doors, quickly grabs his class schedule from his locker and tries to find the room for his Drama class.

Joe’s done this for god knows how long, has already memorized the drab beige walls and concrete flooring of the school. So why does he feel like somethings off?

He finally finds the classroom with at least 5 minutes to spare before the bell rings, and the first thing he is greeted with is the rather unfortunately familiar raven hair of Cherry Valentine. He does his best to not show his surprise, but fails, blinking several times as if convinced that this is all his head. Cherry doesn’t pay attention to him (he thinks) which—thank God, and as he struggles to find a seat, he makes eye contact with Lawrence, who immediately jerks her head to the empty seat next to her.

He strides in quickly, moving past as to where Cherry’s sitting in order to sit next to his friend.

“Did you get my text?” Lawrence asks him as soon as he sits down.

“Only opened it when I was in the car, sorry Loz.”

“Well then open yer’ phone as soon you wake up next time, you’re worse than my nan.” She drops her voice into a whisper. “The class list is fucked—we’ll be spending the rest of the year with the Golden Girls.”

“Hey, good news is it’s not just us versus them, ‘least we got Ginny and the others for this class, too.”

“Not too sure that’s a good thing, babes. Pip can’t stand Gin even on a good day, and you know how Ronnie gets when it comes to grades.” Lawrence sends Ellie a glare when she sees the blonde roll her eyes at her, and Ellie blows a raspberry in return.

“How mature.” Lawrence mutters.

The ringing of a bell stops Joe from saying anything back, and he fishes out a notebook and a pen from his bag as soon as their teacher enters.

The strange feeling on his chest doesn’t fade away until class ends.

About two months later, he wakes up again with that strange feeling in his chest, and this time Joe decides to not ignore it. He grabs his phone from the nightstand beside his bed, and quickly sends their group chat a message.

 

absolute hounds xx

(Joe, Tayce, Asttina, Lawrence, Veronica & Ginny)

batty old woman: looks like shakespeares season is upon us x

batty old woman: how are we feeling x

get fucked: like absolute shit <3

get fucked: if i get paired up with lanky legs i’m gonna commit a crime perhaps

rude: dont speak it 2 existence babe it might just come true lol

lady green: I’m going to fight tooth and nail for a lead role so

lady green: Sorry in advance :(

 

Chuckling at his friends' antics, he shuts off his phone and goes through his morning routine, silently sending a prayer that the feeling in his chest isn’t another omen of something bad happening. 

Regrettably, he spoke too soon.

“My decision is final, so please keep the complaints and whining to yourselves.” Their teacher continued. “But if you have any….problems with your partner or group that you feel may affect the play, only then will I entertain any complaints. Am I understood?” A chorus of yes ma’am-s rang out in the classroom. “Right then, I’ll be calling out the group leaders first, so please take note of who will be your partner on this for the rest of the semester.”

“Pip?” The brunette sits up a bit straighter at the mention of her name. “You and Ginny will be in charge of the script, get three others to work with you on it.”

He spots Pip’s hand wrap tight around her pen, and the strange feeling in his chest grows stronger though Joe’s still not sure why, even though it's an acquainted feeling. It’s only when the next pairings are called that that strange feeling gets mixed in with apprehension.

“Lawrence? Ellie?” The two Scots pale as their names are called, already knowing the inevitable. “You two will head the costumes. Again, get at least two others to help you on it.”

Both of them nod weakly, and Lawrence turns to him to mouth kill me as soon as the teacher’s done talking to them. Joe would find it funny, if it wasn’t for the next set of sentences that left their teachers' lips.

“Joe?” Their teacher calls out, and he gives her his full attention. “You’ll be working with Cherry on the set. Your class will be doing the play in the Carr Hall, so both of you will have to check out the theater in the next few days to see what you’re working with.”

“I’m not expecting National Theatre-levels of production, people.” She states. “But what I am expecting is for all of you to take this seriously, as it counts for thirty-five percent of your grade.”

Now,” Their teacher continued, though Joe zoned-out as soon as he heard the words ‘working with’ and ‘Cherry’. “For the directors….”

It’s only when class ends that he thinks he knows what that strange feeling was: dread.


He meets Cherry during his free period on the same day. Well—’meet’ is really overstating it, because the girl woke him up from his nap in the library.

“Ronnie, I told you—” Joe lets out a yawn, waking up when he felt a hand shake his shoulder. “Wake me up when it’s 10 minutes ‘till class sta—oh.”

He looks up to meet the eyes of his set design partner, and it’s both a familiar and unfamiliar sight.

“Sorry if I wasn’t the one you were expecting.” Cherry tells him. “But we do need to talk about the set.”

“Drama just ended three periods ago, Valentine.” He yawns through his words, stretching like a cat. “I think Ms. Visage won’t be mad if we talk about the set tomorrow.”

“Look, I just—I just want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Eager to get rid of me already?” He smirked. “Is that why you want to finish this as soon as possible?”

“What? No!”

“Then I see no reason to rush things.” Joe flippantly replies back, already closing his eyes. “It’s only been three hours, love, give it some time to marinate.”

He opens one eye to see her reaction, and he expects a moment of delight at seeing her get ruffled, though what happens instead is a shock in the ribcage as it dawns on him just how….truly different this Cherry is to the one he knew.

The Cherry that was his best friend used to be timid, hiding behind too-large jumpers and too-heavy books. He still—no, used to—cherished that version of her; knowing he was the only one who could draw her out of her shell, the only one who could make her laugh high and radiant. He was the loud, extroverted one, she was the quiet, introverted one: it just made sense for things to click between them, a friendship that was a secret-but-not-quite.

And then in Year 9, the raven-haired girl started to present herself with an air of quiet self-assurance; a confidence that suddenly sprung up on her as if she were struck by lightning. It’s not like the cocky, genius-and-she-knows-it attitude that Ronnie or Pip can sometimes possess, nor is it the head-bitch-in-charge demeanor Tayce or Aurora give out. It was something more subtle, a little bit more alluring that had all the folks lining up by her locker just to get to know her a little bit better; all sly smiles and cocked brows. Joe tried not to fall into jealousy, after all, he was the one who knows—no, knew—her the earliest. In all of the years Joe had known her (and the three years Joe tried to know less of her) he can definitely say Cherry changed; from being his best friend who lets out a squeal whenever she gets scared watching Halloween, to one of the most popular girls in their year.

Sure, he can shit on terrible horror movies with Lawrence or play some tunes with Ginny, but there's a part of him—the part that was never really over the three years of friendship and maybe-something-more—that misses lying on a couch next to a girl who covers her mouth when she laughs, high and radiant. He supposes it's not really a bad thing; missing her. Sure, she’s close friends with the bane of Tayce and Lawrence’s existence, but it’s not as if Cherry all of a sudden became mean or a bully like in those cliché teen movies Lawrence loves to shit on—so he admits (albeit to himself and to himself only) that he sometimes misses the girl. And besides, growing apart is a two way street, it’s not like he wasn’t guilty of being distant or changing either. 

(Plus, he can’t be jealous; Joe’s not allowed to—given the fact that he never made any move to reconcile what they once had either.

Still doesn't erase the fact that seeing Cherry talk to a new admirer every week back in Year 10 felt like a punch in the gut, though.)

He attempts to shake off those thoughts because not here, not now, and opens both of his eyes, feigning aloofness. “Can’t we talk about this some other time?”

“Fine. You still have my number, right?”

She did not just ask—Oh that had struck a nerve, though Joe doesn't know if she'd meant to or not. He tries not to overanalyze that particular sentence, the hesitant lilt at the end, the undercurrents of passive-aggression. Lord knows Joe tries to keep his emotions at bay, but he falls back on old habits.

“I see no reason why I’d delete it, dearie.” Joe tells her, frost creeping on the last part. Cherry scoffs, irritated at the pet name, and if this was a game Joe would like to think that he’s currently in the lead.

Because yes, of course he still has it saved. Tucked away in his phone under the name C. The last message sent (a curt ‘sure.’ from Cherry) still mocks him sometimes, when he allows himself to feel guilty enough. When he has the time.

He doesn't have the time to unpack all of that straightaway, and it looks like Cherry feels less awkward and more annoyed at the whole situation anyways, so he decides to pick up a thing or two from Lawrence and Ginny’s book and annoy her into leaving.

“Now,” He tilts his head to the side a bit and gives her a placid smile. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“You—ugh!”

When she more or less storms out, he tries not to grin in triumph, and goes back to his nap.

His brain, naturally, betrays him, as he dreams of a moment some years ago.

(It’s hard not to make it a big deal—because—

“You—dyed your hair?”

“I mean.” Cherry gripped her bag a little bit tighter, the slight flush to her cheeks almost the same color as her hair. “Is it bad? Bim helped with bleaching it, and Pip told me it suits me. But then I’m not sure if it was sarcastic or not—”

“No!” Joe replies, and Cherry’s eyes widen. “I mean—no, it suits you great! Of course red suits you, it’s just—” He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, and quickly drops his hand as if he got burned.

“It’s different.” He finishes lamely. “But it’s great! You should keep that color for a while.”

“I’m not too different, am I?” She asked, fiddling with a strand of her hair in nervousness.

“Well, no. But even if you were, what’s bad about that?”

“Dunno—I mean—it's fun trying new things. I just want to….still be me, I guess.”

“I’ll still be your best friend.” Joe bumped her on the shoulder playfully, causing her to snort. “Even if you were all topsy-turvy.”

“You promise?”

He pretends to think about it for a moment. “Actually, let me get back to you on that.” He jokes, and swiftly runs away as Cherry chases after him.

“Joe!”)

He’s never been more grateful when he gets woken up by Veronica, half an hour later.


His moment of peace gets interrupted again, though luckily it’s not at the hands of Cherry this time.

“Alright.” Someone drops their books in front of him and Joe looks up from his reading in alarm. “What’s got you hot and bothered all of a sudden? C’mon, let Mama Chaney hear it.”

“It’s nothing, Lawrence.” Joe rolls his eyes when he realizes it’s her, and goes back to reading.

“Bullshit!” Lawrence nudges his leg with her shoe. “You haven’t been this miserable since you didn’t get tickets to Rocky Horror last year. C’mon, hen!”

“It’s nothing, honest! Now leave me alone, Poe doesn’t wait for anyone else.”

“Are you sure it doesn’t have something to do with the way you and Valentine—”

Joe kicks her in the shin as soon as the words leave her mouth. “How do you know this?”

“Ha, I knew it!” Lawrence winces slightly as she rubs the tender spot on her leg. “And I have eyes, Joe—it’s not hard t’see you argue with her as much as Ronnie argues with Kofi.”

“Fine, then. It’s—” Joe stutters. “—it is about Ch—Valentine, okay? I just don’t feel particularly ecstatic in working with her for the play.”

“And it’s not obvious at all, babes.” Lawrence then looks at him, curious. “But—it couldn’t be that bad than having t’work with Ellie, right? Least she doesn’t look like she’s gonny start running for the hills every time you try to talk to her.”

Joe narrows his eyes at that—does Lawrence sound wistful?—but files that particular moment for later. He lets out a sigh, preparing for the onslaught of questions to come. “She’s my ex best friend, Lawrence. It’s the reason why we don’t quite get along well.”

And so the (sensible) shoe drops. If Lawrence’s eyes were any wider, he’d be able to stack a roast on it. “Valentine?!”

“Mhm.”

“Like ‘one-of-A’Whora’s-minions’ Cherry Valentine?”

“Yes, Loz.”

“Like, top 3 on the ’Year-12’s-Hot-or-Not’ list that Krystal made—‘

“—Why is it so hard to believe?!” Joe whispered to her.

“Because!” Lawrence whispered back. “She’s the third most popular girl in our year and I thought you both didn’t like each other because of the goth thing.”

“Oh that’s real rich coming from you—”

“I thought it was Charity again that got you moping around, not your sodding ex-best friend!” Lawrence replied hotly. “I didn’t even know she was your ex-best friend.”

“It’s not something I just go around shouting on the rooftops, Lawza. Nobody needs to hear that.” Joe ran a hand through his hair. “Besides—it doesn't matter, I’m well over us drifting apart. If she wants to be besties with Aurora then who am I to judge, yeah?”

Lawrence gives him a disbelieving look, but chooses not to push it further.

(Best friends. That’s what everyone thought they were ever since Joe moved from Brighton, and they would be right; him and Cherry were inseparable since Year 7, always finding excuses to walk each other to their classes or stay by each other’s lockers when they got let out early. 

But.

There's another thing Joe didn’t mention to Lawrence—or to anyone—and he’d like to keep it that way. If only for a while.)

See, here’s a way that Joe talks that has people entranced, a deep and slow cadence to his speech as if every sentence he says is a story need sharing. Cherry talks fast and bright; like she can’t keep all of her words to herself—an eager lean in to know more as if she’s saying a secret every time she speaks.

When they argue with each other, however, the tables seem to have turned. Joe whispers quick, gesturing hands and indignation as he tries to say everything all in one breath. Cherry’s slow and surprised, always an incredulous tilt at the end of her sentences, piecing words together like a furrowed brow.

“But why do we need to stone the fabric for the table, though?” Joe questioned, peering at the prop sheet. “It’s just a blasted table—”

“—For accuracy, Black, and Pip wrote it on the script—”

“—Tell Pip to remove it, because no way in hell am I going to—”

“Will you just—please stop being so stubborn?” Cherry lets out a noise of frustration, and Joe clenches his jaw, another argument ready on his tongue, until—

“I know you don’t like stoning velvet, so just—let me do it—!”

His annoyance turns into bewilderment, then. “How do you—”

And suddenly Joe remembers a Halloween, some years ago, with him complaining about not wanting to stone a velvet suit for his costume, and Cherry volunteering to do it for him.

The feeling in his chest blooms again, uncomfortable and prickly like drinking a can of soda all in one go, and he pushes it down as hard as he can. He turns his attention back to the prop sheet, suddenly losing all the energy he had prior to the argument. “Nevermind I said anything, just—make sure you do it, alright?”

Confusion quickly replaces annoyance, but Cherry nods her head nonetheless.

“Alright, now for the backdrop—”

(She remembers, is all he thinks about on the way home. She remembers.)


It gets worse.

Either he zoned-out while unconsciously staring at Aurora’s table, or he severely underestimated Lawrence’s observation skill, because the first thing that greets him during lunch is a shit-eating grin from Lawrence.

“Aye, is it Christmas already?” She slides in the chair next to him. “ ‘Cause all I’m seein’ is fucking pining .”

“Shut up, Loz. Jesus Christ.” Joe bemoaned, lunch momentarily forgotten. “Can’t you just go bother Diamond or something? I’m actually starting to miss you doing that.”

“No you didn’t.” The Glaswegian rolled her eyes. “Everytime I annoyed her you were on my ass for ‘painting a target on my back.’ “

“Because you were! Everytime you did your silly little pranks it looked like Aurora was going to pop a blood vessel.”

“I could give less of a rat's arse on what A’Whora thinks.” She scoffed. “Now—you’re changing the topic! Don’t think I didn’y catch you bringing Ellie up on purpose.”

“What's even there to talk about?” He looked at her, bored. “Fine, I’m not over her since we’re working together now—big surprise there!” Joe waved his hands for emphasis. “We were best friends for three years, Loz, you don't get over shit like that easily.”

“Aye, and here we go again with the ‘best friends’ thing—”

Amidst their arguing, they don’t see Ginny sit in front of them.

“So what’s with the arguing?” They turn to look at them both, lunch in hand. “Oh, don’t tell me it’s because of another Doctor Who debacle—still not over the last time Ronnie brought up which season was the best, babe.”

“No it’s not about Doctor Who, Gin.” Lawrence fixes Joe a pointed stare. “It’s about how this one can’t fess up that he’s still hung up over Ms. Morticia Adams.” Ginny turns to her, befuddled, and the brunette clarifies. “Valentine.”

“Oh just state my business in front of the whole canteen then, Loz. I’m sure that’ll make things better!”

“Oooh, having relationship drama, are we?” Ginny grins. “So it’s not just Lawza that got struck by cupid’s arrow—”

“D’you think it has somethin’ to do with Shakespeare Season? ” Lawrence asked. “Weren’t Cheryl and Blu last year’s victims?”

“Crystal joked about something happening with Divina and Viv too, which—” Ginny shuddered. “Rather not think about that, to be honest. Rabid dogs those two are—they’re worse than Ronnie and Tia.”

“I don’t know, Lawrence.” Joe sighed. “Do you think what happened between you and Ellie was because of Shakespeare Season?

“Whey—that was an accident!” Lawrence countered, pointing her knife at him. “She just caught me off-guard, is all. Shakespeare Season’ s been messing with my head, babes.”

“Then it’s been messing with my head, too.” He stares at his food, moving it around with his fork. “Maybe the curse is true, you know I’m always fond of the legends and all that—but Christ is this too much.”

Ginny lets out a snort. “Trust the brilliant William Shakespeare to lay a curse on a bunch of teenagers.”

Lawrence and Ginny spend the rest of their lunch talking absolute nonsense, and as the rest of their friends join them, Joe continues to eat his lunch, ignoring the roiling in his gut.


See, the more time he spends with Cherry for the play, the more difficult it is to ignore the feeling of something building-up .

They’re alone in Carr Hall this time, using the rest of their Drama period to figure out where to place specific set pieces and props.

Joe stops taking down notes when he feels someone stare. “Take a picture dear, it’ll last longer.” He drawls out, finally peering at Cherry.

She snaps her head back to the stage in front of her, flushing as she gets caught. “You still—nevermind, forget I said anything.”

“Spit it out, Valentine. We haven’t got all day.”

“I said nevermind, Black. You can go back to measuring the stage.”

“Well then what’s with the pointed tone? I just asked you what's on your mind!”

“Oh like I’m going to fall for that—”

They argue once more, and throughout the hissed whispers, it dawns on Joe that arguing with Cherry has become less fun and more….tiring, guilt weighing his shoulders down as he catches the hurt in Cherry’s eyes, masked behind layers of irritation.

(Because it is tiring, trading barbs and sickly-sweet nicknames with Cherry; a game of cat and mouse. To see who’d be the first one to bring up the past, the could've-beens, the growing distance. To see who’d be the first to admit that they're hurt (still hurting) and lose.

It was fun at first, watching each other get riled up and pretend everything that had happened didn’t bother them, but now Joe prefers deliberate ignorance rather than passive-aggression.)

“You know what?” Joe puts his hands up, clearly frustrated. “We can’t bloody do anything when we’re like this. So can we just—call it off for now?”

Cherry’s eyes narrow. “Call ‘what’ off, exactly? The play?”

“No! This thing—the arguing!” He gestures to the space between them. “If we don’t stop being at each other’s throats every 10 minutes about god-knows-what, we’ll never be able to finish the set on time.”

“What do you want, then?” Cherry asks, on the verge of exasperation. “Tell Ms. Visage to find a new partner for the both of us? We’re halfway done with the play, Black.”

“No, what I’m suggesting is a—a truce.”

“A truce.” Comes a flat response.

“You heard me.” Joe replied, stepping closer to her. “We promise to be as civil as we can throughout the whole play, then we can go back to ignoring each other once it’s done.” His voice cracks a little bit at the end, and he pushes the sleeve of his coat. “Look this is me trying, alright? So what do you say—”

“Truce?” Joe extends his hand, and he tries to dismiss the sudden warmth he feels from wrist to shoulder as Cherry shakes it.

“Truce.”

They then spend the rest of the hour in awkward, but admittedly less hostile silence. It’s a start.

It’s only after Joe goes back to his car after school that he remembers the coat he’s wearing—the same black coat that Cherry got for him as a Christmas gift years ago.

Funny—he hasn’t worn this one for over a year now.

He breathes out slowly through his nose and begins to drive home, shutting down any thoughts of almost running through red lights and windswept hair as he grips the steering wheel tighter. The irony isn’t lost on Joe when he actually does almost run through a red light on the way to his house. As soon as he goes to his room, he deftly takes off the coat and shoves it in the back of his closet.

Joe runs a hand through his already unkempt hair as he lies down on his bed. There’s a sound of faint bells twinkling by his feet and he braces as Klaus jumps up on the bed, choosing to curl up on his chest. Suddenly tired, he closes his eyes, and tries not to dwell on things that happened years ago.

(The summer before Year 10, they don’t talk to each other at all, and he’s not afraid to admit that he rightfully deserves the silent treatment he’s been getting from Cherry.

What he is afraid of though is what this means to their rela—their friendship, and he spends all summer agonizing about it until he gets the answer in the form of seeing Cherry sitting next to Aurora’s group during lunch, on the first day of school. He gets another answer to one of his questions in the form of Anubis Finch holding Cherry’s hand a week later.

Joe asks Charity Kase out on a date not long after, and he convinces himself hard enough that it’s not a coincidence.)

He doesn’t wear the coat again the next day, and the day after that. Cherry doesn’t comment on it.


A week after the moment in the Carr Hall (or The Truce as he likes to call it in his head) Joe decides to do the responsible thing and buy materials for the last few items in the prop sheet. Blessedly, there’s a fabric shop near the school, so he wastes no time in driving to the store to pick up a roll or two of fabric.

He scans the sections of the store, not really knowing what kind of fabric he’s looking for, and as he turns the corner, he comes face to face with Cherry Valentine once more.

Well, speak of the devil and she appears, Joe thought bemusedly, anxiety playing his spine like a xylophone.

“Valentine.”

“Black.”

They both stare at each other for a few minutes, seemingly not knowing what to do now that they’re outside the school, until Joe clears his throat.

“Fancy meeting you here, dear.” He tells her. “Buying fabric for your Halloween costume, are we?”

“No, I-I wanted to buy some materials for the set so I can work on it on the weekend. You?”

“I wanted to look for fabric as well, funny that.” He laughs, but it comes out as a chuckle rather than his signature cackle. The silence almost becomes too unbearable for him, and he’s about to make his leave until—

“Do you want to just—buy it together?”

“I’m sorry?”

“We can look for the materials together.” Cherry reiterated. “Since the both of us are here anyways.”

“And it’ll be easier, right?” Joe adds, surprising himself. “I don’t see why not.”

Joe walks with his hands on the pockets of his coat, glancing at the aisles of the store. Cherry, next to him, puts her weight on the pushcart in front of her, pushing it with short, albeit hurried steps. Though they both fall into step, the two of them look anywhere but each other. 

This is getting ridiculous.

It feels like he’s had too many awkward moments with Cherry within the span of two months for it to be realistic, now. Like he could list all of the awkward moments and put it on a Greatest Hits! compilation, straight to DVD. There’s a part within Joe, the part that’s all about dramatics and theatricality and grandeur, that wholeheartedly believes this is the dreaded work of Shakespeare Season. He’s inclined to believe it—because really, the number of times where he’d just so happen to bump into or meet her while they’re working on the play seems a bit too much to just brush it off as a coincidence.

Cherry looks like she’s ready to bolt out of the store, pushcart and all, and Joe would be offended if it weren’t for the fact that he feels the same way. Though they’ve both agreed on a temporary truce, actually holding a conversation with her that isn’t about their Drama class is harder than it looks. It’s a different kind of tension altogether, one that the both of them haven’t felt since Year 9—with the way Cherry’s fingers continuously tap on her forearm as she pushes the cart. How his palms are sweating from inside of his coat pockets doesn’t escape his notice, either.

Oh, if only Lawza could see me now. He idly thinks. She’d tell me to just get the fuck on with it and ‘talk’, and then purposefully ignore her own advice and refuse to talk to Ellie.

He itches to say something, to make do with his promise of a truce and break new ground. He opens his mouth to ask about what’s been going on in her life, but it comes out wrong.

“Why’d it—not work out with Anubis anyways?” Joe asks her without thinking, trying to appear casual as he scans the rows and rows of fabric behind him. “Last time I heard you two were hitting it off great.”

Cherry glances at him as they stop at a section of the store, immediately suspicious. “And where did you hear that?”

“Oh you know, a friend of a friend.”

“Mm, well.” Cherry hums, picking one of the rolls behind him and giving it a once-over. “It’s—uh—sometimes things just….fizzle out, you know?” She darts her eyes to him, before putting the roll back on the shelf. “Anubis is a sweetheart, don’t get me wrong—but I guess it just—”

“—Wasn’t the right time?” Joe answers for her, throat becoming tight.

“S-something like that.”

He bites his tongue after that, refraining from saying anything that could disrupt the momentary peace they currently have.

Is that what we were, then?  He muses. Did it not work out between the two of us, Cherry? Is that why you dated Anubis and I dated Charity last year?

“Why’re you curious, anyways?”

“Oh, maybe that’s a question for another time.” Joe deflects, putting on an easy grin, but Cherry doesn’t take the bait.

“I’ll take you up on that ‘another time’.” She points at him, before grabbing a roll of fabric and putting it on the cart. “Don’t think I’ll forget that.”

His grin falters, and he follows her to the register.

The walk outside the store feels so much more achingly familiar than what Joe is prepared for.

He’s reminded of strolls out of a movie theatre, with the light drizzle and raven hair at his side. Joe still keeps his hands inside his coat pockets, afraid of what he might as the feeling of deja vu rushes in. Is it normal for your hands to itch like you want to hold the hand of the person beside you?

Personally, he’d rather not know the answer.

“Where’re you headed now?” He turns to Cherry, a frown on his face as he watches her shoot a message to someone on her phone. 

“Well, since we only bought about five yards of velvet and not much else, I guess I’m taking the bus to go to Tia’s.” Cherry replies, pocketing the phone back and holding the roll of fabric with her free hand.

For the third time this month (and for the second time this day) he says something without thinking. “I can just drive you there, you know.”

The raven-haired girl turns to him, now. “I’m sorry?”

“I said.” Joe repeats himself, slowly this time. “I’ll drive you there.”

Cherry’s steps falter as the words sink in. “Y-you’re sure? I can take the bus, Black, it’s no problem—”

“Nonsense, darling.” He walks faster to his car as Cherry hurriedly follows him. “I can just drop you off there, I pass by Kofi’s house when I go home anyways.”

Joe doesn’t know what possesses him to offer to drive the other girl (sort-of) home, as he tries not to wince at the familiarity of Cherry opening the car door to slide onto the passenger seat, as if it’s muscle memory. He hopes that she doesn’t catch the lie.

The drive is somewhat short, which Joe is thankful for, but really, trust their luck for the drizzle to grow stronger as soon as they reach Tia’s house.

“Well, here we are—Kofi’s house.” Joe drums his fingers on the steering wheel, and turns to her. “You’re sure I can drop you off here?”

Cherry gives him a small, tentative smile. “I have to do something at Tia’s anyways, I’ll just walk back home.”

“In this rain?”

“Of course I’ll wait for the rain to stop, Black.” This time her smile turns into a smirk. “I’m not that much of an airhead.”

“Thank you for the ride, by the way.” She adds, after a beat passes. “You didn’t have to offer.”

“Well, that’s what friends do, I suppose.”

“Is that what we are?” Cherry tilts her head. “Friends?”

“Acquaintances, more like—but we can be.” Joe offers. “If you want.”

(It’s not much of an olive branch as it is the entire fucking tree, but then again stranger things have happened during Shakespeare Season, or so the legend goes.

A truce didn't hurt them; what’s an attempt at reconciliation?)

Cherry adjusts her grip on the velvet. “Let me get back to you on that.” She jokes.

But, as she turns to open the car door, Joe suddenly grabs her elbow. “Hold on!”

Startled, Cherry watches as Joe shrugs off his coat, and raises a brow in question. “What are you—?”

“It’s raining like piss outside, darling.” Joe offers as an explanation. “Wouldn’t want to get your precious hair and the fabric to get wet now, can we?”

She swallows a lump in her throat as Joe hands her the article. “No, we wouldn't.” And grabs the offered coat, hands almost touching. “Alright—I-I’ll give this to you on Monday, yeah? Just—” Despite carrying the roll, Cherry holds his coat closer to her chest, almost without meaning to. “Let me know if you’ve changed your mind about where to place the last of the props on the stage.”

“I expect that coat to be smelling like roses when you give it back, Valentine.”

“I’ll make sure to deliver on that promise.”

He almost, almost tells her to text him when she gets home safe, but what would be too much and too intimate, so he just nods.

Cherry finally closes the car door, and Joe watches her use his coat as a makeshift umbrella, chuckles at the way it completely dwarfs her frame—and thinks, resting his hands on the wheel and leaning his head back on the headrest. He thinks about A-Levels, if they’re going to have pasta for dinner again, what episode of Buffy he should watch after, if he needs to buy another tin of cat food for Klaus on the weekend. Joe thinks for a solid 10 minutes until he can’t take it anymore, and grabs his phone to ring up Veronica.

(The thing is, Joe’s always been in tune with his feelings; if there’s one thing that he learned throughout this whole experience with the play, is that he knows every single feeling of bitterness or annoyance is complete and utter bullshit. He doesn't just miss her—he misses loving her, even if he wasn’t sure what would happen to their friendship after that.

And it terrifies him, what that means. What it says about him leaving her in that movie theater just before Year 9 ended, what it says about the way they acted towards each other since Year 10.)

“Ronnie?”

“Joe?” A voice on the other end shifts slightly. “Is something the matter?”

“I have a problem.” He scratches his neck. “A Cherry Valentine-shaped problem.”

 

(When Cherry’s finally inside Tia’s house, she grabs her friend's hand and runs to her room, closing it when she backs up and leans on the door.

“Should I be worried?” Tia asks her when she lets out a ragged sigh. “Please don’t tell me this is another pregnancy scare—”

“—I think.” Cherry starts, recalling an earlier time when a certain Scot made her realize something she’d been keeping in denial since Year 10, velvet forgotten and hands clutching the coat despite its damp texture. “I think I’m still in love with Joe.”)

Notes:

(happy 1 year anniversary since the uk2 finale was filmed!)