Chapter Text
The library had become a battlefield.
Stacks of collage text books and color-coded flashcards lined the tables like improvised fortifications. Students moved in tight, frantic circuits between coffee and despair, their whispers blending into the low hum of fluorescent lights. Holly Short sat at the center of it all, shoulders hunched over her notes, surrounded by enough case law to qualify as structural insulation.
A shadow fell across her pages.
“Short,” came the familiar voice, smooth and mildly accusing, “it’s been nearly three hours since you’ve last blinked.”
She didn’t even look up. “That’s an exaggeration.”
“It’s a medical concern,” Artemis countered, setting down a paper cup beside her. The scent of espresso curled up like an offering. “If you continue at this rate, you’ll lose corneal moisture before you pass your contracts exam.”
Holly finally glanced up, a grin breaking through the exhaustion, and paused for just a heartbeat. He looked irritatingly composed, as always: shirt pressed, tie loose enough to suggest rebellion, dark hair that never seemed to decide between proper and disheveled. The soft gold of the desk lamp caught on his cheekbone, and she had the brief, traitorous thought that it was unfair for someone to look that put-together during finals week. Then she blinked hard and buried the thought . “You timing me again?”
“Observing,” he corrected. “It’s in good habit of a scholar.”
She leaned back, stretching until her spine popped. “Remind me, what are you studying for again? Quantum… something? Financial… whatever?”
Artemis sipped his own coffee with practiced indifference. “It’s not important.”
“Uh-huh. You’ve been saying that for three years. You know there’s a betting pool about it, right?”
He raised an eyebrow, faint amusement flickering in his eyes. “I should hope the options make me look like a secret hero.”
“They’re don’t,” she said. “Someone’s got you pegged for a secret government project. I think they’re closest.”
“And what is it that you have me pegged for?” he smiled, watching her drag that cup of espresso closer to herself.
She snorted and took a long sip of that coffee “Well… I figured it was something business related at first, since you look like that all the time.” She pointedly gestured to his immaculate suit. He was wearing a thick wool coat today, but it too was as pristine as everything else was.
“But you seemed to hate business majors, so I thought maybe something medical.” Holly earned a thoughtful nod and she decided to keep that guess pinned somewhere. “Then I heard you had classes with Minerva, and I know she’s doing neuroscience, so now my guess is psychology.”
“Incredible. You have been close at least once, but no cigar I fear. What kind of enforcer of the law will you become if you cant even investigate this matter appropriately?”
Holly feigned offense, propping her chin on her hand. “Oh, please. You’re the one keeping secrets like a Bond villain. I’m working with scraps here.”
He smoothed the collar of his long coat as if uninterested, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “Some mysteries exist to maintain the integrity of the universe.”
“Right,” she muttered. “Or to make sure your ego stays properly inflated.”
He ignored that, scanning her open textbook with mild disdain. “Tort reform? How thrilling. I can hardly contain my envy.”
“Envy implies you have emotions.”
“I’ve been told they’re a liability.”
“By yourself?”
“By reliable sources.”
Holly snorted again and shoved his arm lightly, the gesture more affectionate than mocking. He didn’t flinch, but his eyes darted toward her hand before he hid the reaction by clearing his throat.
For a moment, neither spoke. The library hummed around them, quiet chaos, paper rustles, someone’s pen clicking like a countdown. Holly studied the space between Artemis’s brows, the slight tension there that didn’t match his practiced calm.
“So,” she said, breaking the silence, “what’s got you haunting the library if not your top-secret super degree?”
He hesitated. That alone told her more than he probably wanted.
Finally, he exhaled, tone careful. “The semester’s end means… going home.’
Holly grinned, sensing an opening. “Ah. So it’s emotional peril, not academic.”
“Precisely,” he said flatly. “And you may recall that emotional peril tends to be my least favorite kind.”
“That’s because you don’t practice.” She stood up, watching him immediately step back. Artemis was always quicky to compensate for the fairies and their size difference. Actually, most of the humans in Artys immediate vicinity seemed to go out of their way. Even Juliet, who never really stopped moving, seemed to gravitate around them at a respectful distance.
“Lets go outside, I don’t want to bother others while they study.” She waved for him to follow and while he did follow, it was not without a pointed look at the table she was leaving all of her things at.
Outside the air was cold, the kind that bit deep and you could feel in your soul. The type that left the sky clear and the sun out to deceive you into not dressing appropriately. Suddenly Holly understood why he was wearing such a thick coat.
“What’s on your brain, genius?”
Artemis tucked his hands into his coat pockets, shoulders rising slightly against the cold. The wind caught the ends of his dark hair, the sun glancing sharp off the intense blue of his eyes. “Currently? Mild frostbite and the persistent inability to understand why anyone voluntarily leaves a heated building.”
“Oh, right, because sunlight’s a health hazard.” She rolled her eyes and took a long breath anyway, the air crisp enough to sting her lungs. “Admit it, it’s nice.”
“I admit nothing.”
“You followed me out here,” she pointed out. “That’s practically a confession.”
He gave a quiet hum, half amusement, half surrender. They fell into step beside one another, their boots crunching over the salted path. The campus had quieted, only a few students trudged between buildings, all swallowed up by anxiety and deadlines. For once, it was peaceful.
Holly shoved her hands into her own jacket pockets and glanced over. “You always look like you’re running lines of data in your head. What’s eating you this time? A failing grade? That would be rich…oh wait, those don’t exist for you.”
He made a low sound that might have been a laugh. “Your faith in my academic immortality is touching, but no. It’s... seasonal.”
“Seasonal,” she echoed. “Like the flu.”
“Approximately as enjoyable.” His voice softened a fraction, gaze dropping to the pavement. “It’s the annual return to the Fowl estate. The family gatherings. The... expectations.”
Holly grinned. “Ah, rich-people problems.”
“Yes, exactly right. This is one of the few times of the year that all Fowls and their… plus ones, gather in one place” He brushed invisible lint from his coat, a sure sign that he was practically dripping in stress. “Its also my mothers favorite Holiday. She spends months planning events and dances and…” he took a slow breath.
“And you are less of a people person than Foaly?” She guessed the ending of that for him.
He nodded softly “Yes…. Something like that.”
Holly rocked back on her heels, squinting up at him. “So what, you hide in the library all winter and hope they forget to notice you’re gone?”
“If only it were that simple,” Artemis murmured. “Unfortunately, the absence of the oldest Fowl son tends to become a discussion topic, particularly when one’s mother believes solitude is a symptom of moral decline.”
“Oh no,” she said, feigning horror. “You mean she wants you to-”
“-‘find a nice girl,’” he finished flatly. “Or an acceptable one, at least. Preferably with a title, a strong lineage, and no discernible opinions.”
Holly bit her lip to keep from laughing. “You? With a debutante? That’d last about three minutes before she calculated the tax benefits of running away.”
“That’s optimistic.” He adjusted his gloves, the movement almost self-conscious. “It’s become something of a tradition. My father implies I’m wasting potential, my mother arranges introductions, and various strangers attempt to guess whether I can dance.”
“Can you?”
“I choose not to dignify that question.”
The amusement faded a little when she caught the flicker of resignation in his eyes… the kind of tiredness that wasn’t about grades or sleep but about expectation.
She nudged him gently with an elbow. “You know,” she said, smile returning slow and sly, “I could always come with you. Pretend to be the mysterious elf girlfriend. Would really throw them for a loop.”
Holly truly wished she could frame the expression of shock on his face, keep it on her bedside table, just to remind herself that even the Great Artemis Fowl could be taken completely by surprise.
“It’d be great for me,” she went on, all easy innocence. “Free food, free lodging, and a front-row seat to all that rich-people seriousness. And! you get a whole year without anyone pestering you about finding a girlfriend.”
She made it sound so much simpler than it ever could be.
“Holly… deception of that scale invites chaos,” he managed finally, voice thin with disbelief. “Surely that can’t possibly be a comfortable idea for-”
“Juliet will be there, right?” Slam dunk. She watched his expression falter.
There’d been a time, back before she really knew Artemis, when he and Minerva had… dated, if you could even call it that. It hadn’t lasted long, and they’d parted ways cleanly enough. But in the past year, Juliet and Minerva had hit it off very well. It clearly didn’t bother him at all, as he repeatedly seemed very excited for the two of them, but if he went home and Juliet showed up with his ex on her arm… oh, the rich-people problems that would cause.
“I… yes,” he said quietly. “Juliet will be there, of course.”
Artemis opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again. “There are… logistical considerations,” he said at last, as though invoking bureaucracy could save him. “Travel arrangements, dietary differences, potential… cultural misunderstandings-”
Holly crossed her arms. “You’re telling me your billionaire family estate can’t accommodate one more guest? What, afraid I’ll lower the property value?”
“That is not-” He exhaled through his nose, visibly recalculating. “I simply mean that deception requires precision. We’d need backstories, coordination-”
“Artemis,” she interrupted, amused. “It’s Christmas, not covert ops. You say we’ve been dating for a few months, your mom cries, everyone’s happy. Easy.”
He stared at her, expression caught somewhere between horror and surrender. His brain was cataloguing reasons to refuse, but every argument tangled itself into the same knot: the image of Holly at his side. Holly laughing at his family’s pomp, standing under the Fowl chandelier light, pretending… pretending, to be his.
He was certain his higher reasoning was compromised. Objectively, this was reckless. Subjectively, he couldn’t recall the last time something reckless had sounded so appealing.
When he finally spoke, it was soft, almost defeated. “You realize this will end badly.”
Holly grinned, triumphant. “Oh, definitely. But at least it’ll end with pie.”
He blinked, lips twitching despite himself. “I can’t imagine a more persuasive argument.”
“Then it’s settled. You get a fake girlfriend, and I get a good laugh. Text me dates so I can start looking at plane tickets-”
He snorted, the sound sharp and amused. “As if I would be flying home on a public flight.”
Holly blinked, caught between disbelief and laughter. “Of course not. Silly me, how could I forget the Fowl private air fleet?”
“You exaggerate.”
“Do I?”
He didn’t answer. The corner of his mouth twitched, and that was all the answer she needed.
They stood there a moment longer, the winter air biting but oddly bright. Holly looked smug, already pulling out her phone to “research proper fake-dating techniques.” Artemis just watched her, trying not to think about how easily she’d dismantled every objection he had.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a piece of him whispered that this was a mistake.
But another, far quieter part, the part he rarely listened to, was already wondering what her laugh would sound like echoing through the halls of Fowl Manor.