Work Text:
Inigo liked to consider himself a generally lucky person. Maybe he wasn’t exactly lucky in love -- don’t ask how many times he was rejected last week -- but he’d managed to survive most situations in his life.
And then came Public Speaking.
It was like the school board just sat around thinking of ways to torture students. Why else would they make an elective that barely anyone took into a requirement for graduation? The only person Inigo knew who was willingly taking the class was Lucina, who had signed up for Public Speaking because it was supposed to be her “fun” class. Inigo would have taken one of the dance classes, except the only thing worse than speaking in front of his classmates would be dancing in front of his classmates. He couldn’t bear the ridicule.
So, maybe he would have taken art instead. No one would have paid any attention to him in an art class, but instead, he got stuck with Public Speaking. He was barely scraping a B in Phila’s class, and he was relatively certain that the only reason he even had a B was because Phila took pity on him. By the final marking period, Inigo had yet to make an improvement in his speaking. His hands would get sweaty, his voice would start shaking, and his legs would twitch nervously every time he got up to speak.
Inigo had managed to avoid any major disasters, mostly out of luck. First marking period was easy; it was just learning the techniques, no speaking required. Second marking period was manageable. He just needed to write a speech and present it; practice with Lucina had made that an accomplishable task. Third marking period wasn’t awful. He was paired with Owain for the debates, and Lucina had helped them by running a mock debate before they needed to present. Owain was quick on his feet and knew how to fill empty spaces, so Inigo just followed his lead.
But then came fourth marking period. Owain had been waiting for it all year, and Inigo had been dreading it all year. Inigo would have rather had a root canal than to perform in front of the class. His only saving grace was that they were allowed to practice their scenes for about a week before performing them. Other than Owain and Cynthia’s…unique scene, most of the performances went well.
“We’ve had plenty of practice preparing for a scene,” said Phila, “but it’s time to practice your skills without preparation. You’ll be performing a cold read today.” When Phila asked for a student to define a cold read, Lucina’s hand immediately shot into the air. Inigo had to stifle a smile at his sister’s enthusiasm and Severa’s embarrassment at how eager her girlfriend was.
“A cold read is when a person reads from a script or text with little to no preparation in advance,” Lucina answered confidently. She gave a soft smile when Phila told her that she was correct and asked the class to write down Lucina’s definition. Inigo, along with the rest of the class, stared in confusion as Phila pulled out two coffee mugs filled with popsicle sticks.
“In this cup,” Phila gestured with her right hand, “are the names of every student in this class. I will select two names at random for each scene. Your scene will be determined by the wooden stick drawn from the other cup.” Inigo’s expression quickly changed from confusion to horror. His eyes were glued to the cup as Phila pulled the first stick out. Dread felt like it had physically pooled itself into Inigo’s stomach, the same way he felt whenever he was waiting for the big drop on a roller coaster.
“Inigo,” Phila called out. That cold, sinking feeling had permeated through his chest and all the way down to his fingertips. His body felt numb as he walked over to the front of the room on unsteady legs. He wanted to grip the edge of Phila’s desk to keep himself from collapsing. Why couldn’t he be more like his mother? She was always so shy and reserved, but never on stage; she was the pinnacle of confidence when she was in front of a crowd.
His heart still pounding like a jackhammer, Inigo was too distracted to realize that Phila had called out the name of his partner. He had looked up from his shoes to see Gerome -- stupid, sexy Gerome with his dark hair and broad shoulders -- standing in front of him.
It was official; Inigo’s luck had run out.
“Othello, act three, scene three,” said Phila crisply. She rifled through a stack of folders to pull out two copies of the scene. “You’ll start after Desdemona and Emilia exit, and you’ll finish the scene with Iago’s exit. Inigo, you shall read for Iago, and Gerome shall read for Othello.” Inigo nearly dropped the papers as Phila passed them off to him. Of course it had to be Shakespeare; they couldn’t have gotten Our Town or An Enemy of the People where people spoke normal English.
Phila cleared her throat impatiently. Gerome was already on the right page and was waiting for Inigo to open his script. Inigo nearly dropped the papers again before flipping to the right page.
“Excellent wretch!” Gerome recited. His tone wasn’t as dry as it usually was, but he definitely lacked enthusiasm. “Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee. And when I love thee not, chaos is come again.” Even if Gerome was playing Othello and talking about Desdemona, Inigo couldn’t keep the blood from rising to his cheeks at his fantasy of hearing Gerome say that he loved him come to life.
“My…my noble lord,” Inigo stumbled over his words. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, and it felt like he was on fire. Was the heat on? Surely the heat must have come from the administration forgetting to turn the heat off, despite the fact that it was late spring.
“What dost thou say, Iago?” asked Gerome, turning to face Inigo. Inigo’s breath hitched as Gerome looked him in the eye. Gerome was always wearing those ridiculous sunglasses outside of school, so he rarely got to see Gerome’s eyes. They were dark, and mysterious, and Inigo was starting to sound like a heroine from a trashy harlequin novel.
“Did Michael Cassio,” Inigo paused, his eyes losing track of the words, “when you wooed my lady, know of love-- er, your love?” Inigo cursed internally at skipping a word. He hated this. He hated talking in front of people, and he hated getting it wrong in front of people. His face was getting hot, and he wanted to cry.
“He did, from first to last,” replied Gerome. “Why dost thou ask?” Inigo opened his mouth to say Iago’s reply, but nothing came out. He stood there, trying to say something, as he heard a few scattered giggles throughout the class. The roiling feeling in his stomach rose up into his throat.
That’s when he threw up.
On Gerome’s shoes.
In front of the entire class.
Inigo looked up in horror before bolting out of the room. He ran mindlessly, just trying to get away from the classroom. At the end of the hallway, he ducked into the boy’s bathroom and turned on one of the sinks. The water was freezing cold -- as usual -- but the temperature was a comfort as Inigo washed the taste of bile out of his mouth. He splashed the frigid water onto his face, hoping that it would calm him down.
Inigo didn’t even make it two minutes without crying. He didn’t know if anyone else was in the bathroom to hear him, and he was too distraught to check. He had a feeling that he was alone because he couldn’t hear anything but the echoes of his pathetic sobbing.
Just as Inigo’s sobs tapered off into whimpers, he heard a knock on the bathroom door -- which was odd, because it was technically a public bathroom.
“Inigo?” A female voice was calling out from the other side of the door. “Are you in here?” Lucina. That would explain the knock on the door instead of coming in. Inigo sniffled and pulled at the door half-heartedly. He opened it enough to let Lucina know that he was in there, and she took the opportunity to walk into the room. She pulled paper towels out of the dispenser and handed them to Inigo gently.
“I know going back to class is the last thing on your mind right now,” said Lucina. Inigo didn’t have the energy to glare at her for even bringing up going back to the classroom. “So, maybe I could walk you down to the nurse’s office. That way, you don’t have to go back to class today.” Inigo hiccupped and then nodded. He followed Lucina down to the ground floor and let her explain the situation while he sat on one of the cots. The nurse nodded and went to call their parents, and Lucina sat down on the bed with Inigo.
“They’re calling Mom to pick you up,” Lucina explained. She had left a few details out while talking to the nurse, and the nurse was calling home to tell Olivia that Inigo was sick. Inigo didn’t have to fake that; he still felt sick and horrified.
“Do you think Mom and Dad will let me transfer to another school?” asked Inigo. Anyone else but Lucina would have laughed at him, but Lucina just gave him a gentle smile. “I’ll even go to that military school Uncle Lon’qu went to. Getting my ass handed to me by Basilio sounds a lot better than coming back here.” Lucina was spared from answering as the nurse gave her a pass to return to class and advised Inigo to lie down on the cot.
After Lucina left, Inigo curled up on the cot and clutched the paper-covered pillow to his chest. He stayed like that until his mother entered the building to pick him up. He figured that Lucina must have texted her in-between classes because the first thing Olivia did was wrap her arms around Inigo and tell him that he was going to be okay. Inigo sniffled, crying not to cry again, as he hugged his mother back. All he wanted was to go home and pretend like the outside world didn’t exist.
Thankfully, Chrom and Olivia let Inigo stay home the next day. It was a Friday, so he would have the entire weekend to hide out and ignore everyone. His phone had been ringing and buzzing ever since he left school on Thursday, and it hadn’t let up since. Even Severa had texted him to ask if he was alright -- although that probably had more to do with Lucina than his own wellbeing. The only person who hadn’t tried to contact Inigo was Gerome, who probably hated Inigo and never wanted to see him again.
After his parents had both left the house for work, Inigo went into the kitchen to dig out a carton of ice cream before binge watching reality TV on Netflix. After watching nearly a season of the train wreck that was Dance Moms, Inigo was almost starting to feel better.
The door opened downstairs, and Inigo knew that Lucina had to be home from school. The stairs creaked with the sound of a person coming upstairs -- Lucina’s footsteps seemed oddly heavy for some reason -- and Lucina rapped her knuckles against the door for a quick knock.
“Come in!” Inigo called out to his sister.
Except it wasn’t Lucina.
It was Gerome.
Inigo stared at the doorway where Gerome was standing. The first thing he noticed was that Gerome was wearing a different pair of shoes. The second thing he noticed was that his own outfit was a pair of sweatpants and a worn t-shirt from dance camp three summers ago.
“What…what are you doing here?” Inigo choked out. Gerome stayed silent, looking awkward and out of place. Inigo’s hands trembled; he wanted to run away, but Gerome was blocking the exit. The only place Inigo could hide was in his closet, and he wasn’t that desperate.
“You weren’t in school today,” Gerome said blankly. Inigo gave the other boy an incredulous look. Of course he wasn’t in school today. If he could convince his parents of the idea, he’d never be back at Ylisstol High again.
“I threw up on your shoes,” said Inigo. “I threw up on your shoes, and you ask me why I wasn’t in school today?” Gerome nodded, and Inigo resisted the urge to shake his head in frustration.
Still sitting on his bed while Gerome stood in the doorway, Inigo felt the awkwardness of the situation. He didn’t want to get up, but he had a feeling that Gerome wasn’t going away too easily. Barely trusting his legs, Inigo stood up and dragged himself over to where Gerome was standing.
“I completely humiliated myself in front of the entire class,” Inigo began, “and word’s probably gotten around to the entire school about how I threw up on your shoes.” His mouth was running away from him; his brain had ceased functioning, and he had no control over his words. “And you should probably hate me or think that I’m the most pathetic person in the world because I threw up on your shoes, which are probably ruined, and I’m really sorry about that. I should have refused to perform and taken the detention or the F or whatever Ms. Phila would have given me, because whatever her punishment she’d have given me would be better than throwing up on the shoes of the guy I’ve liked since we hit puberty.” Inigo paused in horror at what he’d just admitted to. Three years of denying his crush on Gerome to himself and then another two years of pretending that he was okay with the fact that a relationship would never happen between them, and then he blew it in one fell swoop.
“You should go,” Inigo said quickly. His face was burning in mortification, and he shut the door hurriedly. Pressing the lock into place, Inigo waited until he heard Gerome’s footsteps growing fainter. Once he was certain that Gerome was gone, Inigo buried his face into his pillow. If Gerome didn’t already hate him, he had to hate Inigo now.
A few hours later, Inigo heard a soft knock at the door. That knock, he could recognize as belonging to Lucina. He stumbled over to the door to unlock it before collapsing back onto his bed. His sister came in and placed a plate of food on his nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed and stroking Inigo’s hair comfortingly.
“I’m sorry,” apologized Lucina. “Gerome had asked me if he could speak to you, and I thought it would help if you guys talked.” Inigo wasn’t mad at his sister. No, he was only mad at himself. He didn’t want to think about the damage that he’d done to his and Gerome’s friendship. Hell, the damage probably extended to their entire friend group. How was he supposed to hang out with everyone if Gerome was there too?
Inigo sighed. He thanked Lucina for the meal before turning to face the wall and asking to be left alone. With a tender squeeze to Inigo’s shoulder, Lucina left the room and shut the door behind her.
The plate of food remained untouched for the rest of the night, and Inigo barely moved from his spot. His parents had come to check on him a few times, but Inigo didn’t even have the motivation to ask them about letting him go to school in Regna Ferox.
Eventually, exhaustion won out and Inigo finally fell into a restless asleep. When the morning sun rose into the sky, the blue haired boy was awake and still exhausted. Sometime around noon, Inigo’s door was thrown open by none other than Lucina’s girlfriend. Severa raised an eyebrow at Inigo’s sorry state before yanking him out of his bed.
“You’re taking a shower because you look gross,” Severa commanded, “and then you’re going to Sticky Fingers with me. Lucina’s worried sick about you, so I’m taking you out for some sunshine and fresh air.” Inigo stayed silent, hoping that she’d leave if he didn’t respond. His plan didn’t work very well, since Severa threatened to drag him into the shower herself if she had to. Inigo scrambled to his feet and ran into the hallway to avoid Severa’s wrath.
“I still don’t know why we have to do this…” Inigo whined. “I don’t want to go outside. I want to lock myself in my room until I wither away and die from my misery.” Severa rolled her eyes.
“I already told you,” Severa retorted, “Lucina’s worried about you, and I can’t stand seeing her so upset all the time.” As prickly as Severa was as a friend, Inigo had to admit that she was a good girlfriend to his sister. He thought about telling her as much, but quickly decided that the inevitable shrieking from Severa wasn't worth it.
The bakery was busy as it always was on a Saturday afternoon. Cynthia smiled from behind the counter and waved the pair over. Severa immediately went to look at the display case of sweets while Inigo stood at the cash register with Cynthia.
“Inigo, can you do me a favor?” asked Cynthia. “I need some flour, but I can’t leave the cash register alone. Can you go to the back storeroom and grab me one of the small bags? You know where to go, right?” Inigo nodded his head, and Cynthia opened the counter to let Inigo in. The boy pulled open one of the double doors and froze as he saw another person in the room with him. Either Inigo was the unluckiest person in the world, or this was a setup.
Inigo whirled around to leave the room, but he couldn’t open either door. He pushed at one of the doors, but it felt like something was blocking it from being opened. He wasn't sure who came up with this plan -- on second thought, he was certain that it was probably Owain because no one else would actually believe such a tired trope would work in real life - but he was going to kill them when he got out of that room. With a groan, Inigo turned around to face Gerome.
Time passed in an awkward silence. Inigo had given up on trying to open the doors and had instead begun plotting what he would do once he was released from the back room. He was certain that Owain had locked them in, and his annoyance toward his cousin was a decent enough distraction from the fact that Inigo was locked in a too tiny room with Gerome.
“Locking you in here wasn’t my idea,” said Gerome. Inigo crossed his arms over his chest defensively and pressed his back up against the doors. He couldn’t go any further back, but he certainly tried his best to back away as Gerome strode across the room towards him.
“I’m not good at this,” murmured Gerome, “this romance thing. I don’t flirt like you or make grand romantic gestures like Owain. I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. Owain said to just kiss you and deal with the consequences later. Cynthia said to bake you something. Brady said to make you a CD mix. Noire said…I’m not going to repeat what Noire said.” Gerome was blushing up to his ears. A traitorous thought that he looked cute like that popped into Inigo's head.
“What about you?” asked Inigo nervously. “What about how you feel?” His voice was trembling. Gerome reached out and grasped the back of Inigo’s head to draw him into a kiss. All of the breath left Inigo’s body, and he leaned against Gerome for support.
“I’m not good with words,” Gerome whispered against Inigo’s hair, “but actions, I can do.” Inigo’s heart fluttered hopefully as he leaned up to meet Gerome’s lips for another kiss. The kiss was soft and hesitant on both parts. Inigo was relatively certain that Gerome had never kissed anyone before, and Inigo had never kissed someone he was genuinely head over heels for.
“You like me?” Inigo asked breathlessly. “You actually like me back, even though I never stop talking and threw up on your shoes?” He was still trying to get his head around that part.
“You really think I’d have spent all these years listening to you if I wasn’t fond of you?” Gerome replied drily. Inigo frowned -- it was not a pout, damn it -- and shook his head.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Inigo stared up at Gerome, waiting for an answer.
“Yes, I am attracted to you,” said Gerome with a blush high on his cheeks, "and I would like to pursue a relationship with you." Inigo broke into a smile and threw his arms around Gerome’s neck. He leaned up for another kiss, smiling against the other boy’s lips. He would tease Gerome later for being the most formal person in existence when asking someone to be their boyfriend, but at the moment, Inigo didn't care about anything more than the feeling of his lips pressed against Gerome's.
If Public Speaking was the reason that Inigo finally became Gerome's boyfriend, then maybe he could accept that it wasn't all bad.