AN: Hi. It's my first XME story. I got inspired from reading all the
wonderful stories on this board. Please review if you feel so inclined.
Constructive criticism is always welcome. There is some cursing in here,
but I tried not to go overboard. I'll write more in this vein if there's
interest.
This is SLASH (m/m, Evan/Pietro pairing). If you don't like, don't read. Thanks.
Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. Don't sue.
~Admirer~
Evan,
You looked incredibly good today. Not that you don't every day, but today . . . wow. I think it was the sweater. Yeah. It was definitely the sweater. I love the way it shows off your shoulders. I think blue is my new favorite color.
Yours,
XXXX
"So . . . totally bogus, right?" Evan Daniels ran a hand over his bleached- blond locks, sighing in annoyance as Kitty Pryde scanned the yellow slip of paper that he'd found among the books and papers in his locker. "I think it's Kurt. He's still pissed at me for putting that spider in his bed. I swear, he's so obvious. I mean, come on . . . XXXX? What the hell is ~that~? He might as well have just signed his own name. I mean -"
"Evan, like, calm down." The girl looked up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't think he did this. I mean, the handwriting's waaaay too neat. ~You've~ seen his writing - it's, like, chicken scratch."
"So he got someone else to write it. Probably Bobby." Evan took the note again, glancing at the slightly slanted scrawl. ~I love the way the sweater shows off your shoulders.~ He looked thoughtful a moment. Danger Room sessions had been giving him more of a workout lately, and he was finally getting some real upper-body definition, but he hadn't realized anyone had noticed. "And what kills me is that he thought I'd fall for something like this!"
"How are you so sure that this isn't, like, for real?" The slender girl looked puzzled. "There's tons of girls in this school - any one of them could really be into you."
~Yeah, right. They're so "into" me that most of 'em won't give me the time of day.~ "It's just too out of the blue," he leaned against his locker. "One minute I'm Evan Daniels, anonymous sophomore, and the next, I'm getting love letters?"
"Maybe she's just shy," Kitty said with a shrug. "It's hard making the first move. At least she's, like, trying to get your attention. I mean you've got to give her props for that -"
"Kitty, I'm telling you . . . there is no 'she,'" Evan grunted. "It's a joke. I don't know how Kurt did it, but he did it. And I'm gonna get him back." The young mutant's eyes narrowed. "Don't know ~how~ yet, but I will."
"I think you're wrong. I have, like, a sixth sense about this stuff. I think it's for real." She jumped in alarm as the bell sounded, signaling the start of the next period sounded. "Gotta run. I've got, like, a huge test in my next class." She started away. "See you. And congratulations," she said over her shoulder. "Having a secret admirer is, like, totally romantic."
"It's not-" Evan sighed as he watched the brown ponytail disappear in a sea of bodies. He stood with his back flush against his locker, looking thoughtful as crowds of chattering students passed him by, all on their way to their various classes. Several attractive females walked past him without giving him a second glance. He caught the eye of one petite brunette, who held his gaze for a moment - a long one. He tensed as he gave her as winning a grin as he could muster, but received only a wan smile in return.
The dark-skinned youth wilted a little against his locker, feeling the coldness of the metal seep through his sweater and into his skin. It was another typical day in typical Bayville High where the "ruling class" consisted of muscle-bound and muscle-headed jerks like Russ Lane and Duncan Matthews.
Evan grit his teeth as a contingent of upperclassmen led by the blond and popular Duncan passed by. The "golden boy" was surrounded by a cortege of grinning, posturing fellow jocks and fawning cheerleaders, all of whom had perfect hair, teeth and bodies, and the air of vapidity and shallowness that seemed to be a prerequisite to popularity.
~Plenty of girls in this school, huh?~ he thought in disgust as he opened his locker, shunting books and papers aside in a search for his gym clothes. ~Right. Plenty. But none of them for me.~ He found his shorts and shirt and shoved them into his backpack. ~Never for me.~
Zipping up his backpack, he glared again at the innocuous-looking yellow paper. The words jumped out at him almost mockingly. ~You looked incredibly good today . . . Sweater. It was definitely the sweater . . . Blue's my new favorite color . . .~
His eyes widened. Blue? Blue! ~Fuck.~
"Kurt," he growled, thinking of the cobalt-furred German. The fun-loving boy. The perpetual jokester. "It ~is~ Kurt! Shit!" Evan slammed a fist into his locker, wincing slightly as a sharp pain jolted through his wrist. "Why didn't I get it before? ~Idiot~! You . . . are such an ~idiot~!"
"Ah . . . so you're coming around to my view of things?" a teasing voice sounded behind him. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Daniels. At least you're being honest about your lack of brains."
Evan groaned slightly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The smarmy tone was unmistakable. Just the person he ~didn't~ want to see. He turned and was met with the ghostly pale face and superior smirk of Pietro Maximoff. "Hitting your locker and muttering to yourself in the middle of the hallway? His Royal Baldness must really be putting you through the wringer."
"Maximoff, I'm not in the mood." Evan gripped the strap of his backpack and started past him. Grinning, Pietro blocked his path. "Oh, what's your hurry, Daniels? The late bell won't ring for another four minutes. Plenty of time for you to make it, hmmm? Or are your motor skills going, too?"
"Get lost, Pietro." Evan grimaced, pushing past him. The last thing he needed was to engage in a battle of insults with his longtime enemy. He had other things with which to occupy his time . . . namely how to get revenge on Kurt. ~Hmmm . . . putting spiders in his bed ~again~ would be too easy . . . maybe I'll have some flowers delivered to him . . . and say they're from ~Kitty~ . . . nah . . . he'll see through that. Maybe I can get hold of that "special" shampoo he uses to detangle his fur, and --~
He broke off, annoyed and a little surprised to see Pietro again standing in front of him, arms crossed defiantly. "'Get lost, Pietro?' That's ~it~? ~That's~ your witty comeback? You're getting more Summers-like every day, Daniels. It's not healthy."
"What is your ~problem~?" Evan's eyes glinted dangerously, and he could feel the sharp tip of one of his bone spikes pressing against his skin, threatening to pop out. He calmed himself down by degrees . . . no way was he going to let Maximoff get under his skin. Not today. "Don't you have class or something?" he asked in a milder voice.
"Or something." Pietro shrugged nonchalantly. "But I always have time to talk to an . . . old friend."
"Good. I hope you find one." Evan tried to maneuver around the lithe boy, but the lightning-fast youth thwarted his every turn. "Dammit, Maximoff. I don't have ~time~ for your stupidity. Now ~move~ or ~I'll~ move you." He raised a fist to eye-level, a spike protruding dangerously from it. "You've got three seconds."
"Daniels, come off it. Put the pins away before you embarrass yourself." Pietro's expression was one of amusement tempered with impatience. "You know you can't . . . hmmm . . . what's that? Hall pass?" the sky-colored eyes honed in on the yellow paper clenched in Evan's fist.
"What's ~what~?" He followed Pietro's gaze and he hastily thrust both hands behind his back when he realized what had caught the other boy's eye. "Huh? That? Uh . . . nothing. Just, um, trash."
"~Trash~, eh? Well, then, you won't mind letting me take a peek?" A gray blur whipped around Evan, stunning him into inaction. "I could toss it for you, since you're in ~such~ a rush."
"No! Hey!" Evan reeled as a sharp wind brushed his hand and the silver- haired mutant stood some feet away, the yellow note in his hand. "Maximoff, I swear to God, I'm going to -"
". . . my new favorite color." Pietro's grin widened as he read the missive aloud. "Awwww . . . how sweeeeet. Someone has a ~thing~ for the Spyke-boy. Guess there's no accounting for tastes." The blue eyes sparkled mischievously.
"Shut ~up~." Evan clenched his fists at his side. "Can you ~not~ be a total jerk for a change? Give it back!"
"Awful touchy," Pietro said, waggling a finger, "over something you called 'trash.'"
"Well, I know trash when I see it," Evan returned with a cold stare. "And I'm looking at it right now." He shook his head angrily and, deciding mixing it up with the speedy mutant would not be in his best interest, attempted once again to pass him. A hand darted out and caught the hem of his sweater.
"Why so hostile, Daniels? You should be celebrating." Pietro waved the note in front of his eyes. "I mean, here you have actual proof that someone finds you something other than immature, silly . . . inferior . . . not often something like that comes along."
"Fuck off, Maximoff." Evan sighed as he heard the strident ring of the late bell. Great. In addition to Kurt's shenanigans and the aggravation that was Pietro Maximoff, dealing with Coach Tarrif's wrath could be added to his list of "reasons why today sucks."
"You're late." Pietro made a tsk-ing sound. "But then, so am I. Feel like cutting with me? There's a cool place near - hey --" he frowned mightily as Evan turned on his heel and resumed his walk down the hall. "Hey! Justwheredoyouthinkyou'regoing?"
"Away from you," Evan muttered, quickening his steps. ~One day, that jerk is going to push just a little too hard, and when he does, I'll--~
A slight whooshing sound was heard, and once again the snow-haired teen was standing before him.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Pietro said brightly, flourished the letter with a mock concerned expression. "You wouldn't want to leave this declaration of looooove, your sweetheart's note behind, would you? It'sjusttooadorableisn'tit? Maybeyou'llgetanotheronetomorrow. Excitinghuh?" He beamed expectantly at Evan, confident that his longtime rival could decipher his hyper-speak. "Isn't it? Rightrightright?
~He knows. He knows it's all a scam. And maybe . . . maybe ~he's~ the one who did it. ~ Evan's jaw set hard as the thought took hold in his head. ~Maybe it wasn't Kurt after all . . . just Maximoff and his Brotherhood idiots being assholes. Why else would he be so interested in someone liking ~me?~ Evan leveled a steely gaze at his rival, wondering briefly how long Pietro would be able to maintain his smile with a spike rammed right down his throat. With great effort, he shook the thought away.
"I said it was trash," he said in a steady, firm tone. "So you can do with it what you want with it."
Pietro's smile faded. "I thought you said you wanted it back."
"I changed my mind." Evan held Pietro's gaze for a beat, watching in slight confusion as the smile on his enemy's face disappeared completely, and the ever-present swagger deflated a bit. "Toss it. Or not. Whatever . . . I don't care. Just get ~it~ and ~yourself~ out of my face."
Pietro started to speak, stopped, frowned, and gave the blond a hard glare. "You're a real piece of work, Daniels," he said at last, through clenched teeth. "You and the rest of the X-Jerks think you just own the fucking world don't you? Whoever wrote this," he said, brandishing the note again, "besides being totally blind, is also pretty stupid, too . . . wasting time on someone who's too stupid to even realize that -" here he stopped, frowning even more fiercely.
"Realize . . . what?" Evan frowned, too, baffled by the change in attitude. There was something odd about Pietro's expression. Something flickering in the cold, blue eyes that gave him pause.
"Realize that . . . that . . ." Pietro bit his lower lip hard, and hesitated a moment. "That youyouyou . . ." he halted again, running his hand wildly over his hair. "That you . . . I mean . . ."
Evan's eyebrows rose. Maximoff was acting bizarre . . . more so than usual, and his eyes had turned glassy and wild. "That I ~what~? What the hell is ~wrong~ with you?"
Pietro glared at him a moment longer. "The letter." He stopped again, seeming to take time to consider his words. ~Very un-Pietro-like,~ Evan decided, growing more intrigued. He took a deep breath. "This letter . . . it's . . . I mean, I know you're dense, Daniels, but don't you think this letter could be special? A harbinger of things to come? A shot across the bow, if you will? An indication that someone out there is interested in . . . being with you?" Pietro, most improbably, stood relatively still while delivering this speech, staring hard at the boy opposite him. "Reading this letter, none of those thoughts crossed your mind?"
Evan's short, harsh laugh echoed through the deserted hallway, and visibly astonished his companion. ~Maximoff's being so obvious, trying to get a rise out of me over this. He's pissed that I'm not running around like "Ooooh somebody likes me!" so that he and his friends can get off laughing about how they "pulled one over on Spyke." How dumb does he think I am?~
"The only thought that crossed my mind is that you're full of it, Maximoff," Evan said with a nonchalant shrug. "And whoever wrote that note is even ~more~ full of it." He took in Pietro's dark look with a degree of satisfaction. "Now, I don't know about you, but I've got class."
He brushed by Pietro, who seemed to be rooted the floor, unmoving, for some seconds, but the serious-faced youth recovered in time to grab Evan's arm as he passed.
"What the hell?" Evan squirmed in his grip, feeling his spikes getting dangerously close to the surface. "Let go of me, Maximoff, or more than your ear's gonna be pierced."
Pietro scowled at his nemesis, looking deep into the dark eyes. He pulled him close - so much so that Evan could see a tiny, dark mole above the boy's left eyelid. ~Looks like an apostrophe,~ he thought somewhat irrelevantly. ~Geez . . . his skin is so ~white.~ Despite his annoyance, he gazed in fascination at the contrast of the brownish-black mole against Pietro's alabaster skin. ~I didn't know a person could have that complexion and still be alive . . .~
"You idiot," Pietro growled, tightening his hold, his lower lip trembling slightly. "You ~idiot.~" There was a pause. Then, "Never mind. Just . . . never mind. And the . . . gym . . . is . . . ~that~ way, ~genius.~" His voice held a note of resignation as he spun Evan around savagely in the direction opposite the one in which the boy had been traveling.
Disoriented, and more than a little dizzy, Evan reeled a moment, flatfooted. ~Sonofabitch. He's right. Where the hell was I going?~
"Whatever," Evan shook off the other teen's grip and he strode swiftly away. He knew, however, that he'd still be in for it with the coach. Even if he did have Pietro's speed, he wouldn't be able to get changed and ready in time for Coach Tarrif ~not~ to notice his absence.
~Moron,~ he sped up his movements, half-expecting Pietro's silver-toped head to pop out in front of him at any time. ~I probably should've taken the note back . . . it'd be funny to show the others how "clever'' the Brotherhood's being these days. But I am so dead . Coach T. is gonna kill me for being ~late~ again . . . Four extra laps around the gym. Fuck. And I'm so freaking tired as it is . . . and . . . if someone ~really~ liked me, they'd ~say~ something to me . . . not leave silly notes. Well, not that the note was silly . . . it was sweet, I guess . . . I'll give Pietro, or whichever of them wrote it, that much credit. They made it kinda sweet . . . woulda fooled almost anyone else.~ Evan turned a corner, droplets of sweat collecting on his upper lip. ~But if someone ~really~ liked me, I'd know it . . I'd ~feel~ it. And I don't. I don't. It's all a joke. A stupid prank. And - I'd know if it weren't, that's all. I'd know. I'd--~
"Wait a minute." Evan stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes darted around, brows knitting in concentration. He cast a glance over his shoulder, his heart suddenly throbbing hard. The hallway was empty.
"How the hell did Maximoff know I had gym this period?" he murmured with a slight frown.
~*~
Pietro, head downward, shuffled slowly - or what passed for slow with him - along the desolate hallway to his next class. He was super-late, he knew, but it didn't matter. Dr. Woosums, the decrepit chemistry teacher, came to expect no less from him. Besides, he was sick to death of watching her dentures slip out of place as she went over the elements of the periodic table. He was sick to death, really, of just about everything - Dr. Woosums, school, being broke all the time. . .
~It's trash. I don't care.~
Evan. If only he could be sick of Evan. Then, life would be good. Then he could rest easy. Then he wouldn't have that incredible, acute pain that went so deep inside him -- not just to his heart, but into his very bones, too. If only he could be sick of Evan, maybe he'd be free of the emptiness and the nagging ache he felt every time locked eyes with the dark boy and saw distrust and hate shining back at him. If only he could be sick of Evan, he wouldn't care that the chocolate-skinned boy had totally blown off the note he'd spent the whole morning composing . . . making sure every word, every nuance was perfect . . . making sure he could zip through the hall and deposit the note unseen into Evan's locker.
If only he could be ~sick~ of Evan. If only he could learn to ~hate~ Evan. If only he could convince himself that he didn't ~need~ Evan Daniels . . . that he didn't ~want~ Evan Daniels . . .
~I don't care . . . I don't care . . . I don't care . . . It's trash . . . I don't care . . .~
The blond boy's words ran derisively through his head, and Pietro's forehead creased slightly.
"Well, fine." Pietro looked down at the little note, contemplating the gracefully written letters, the stark contrast of the black ink against the sun-colored paper. "Then I don't care, either."
He sighed softly. It was a lie; he knew it. He cared. He'd always care. He cared before he could put a name to the feeling that had been growing inside him virtually since the moment he and Evan met. He couldn't help ~but~ care. But it felt slightly good to pretend otherwise . . . even for a little while.
"Hey, yo. Don't you have class?"
Pietro, startled, looked up to see Todd Tolensky meandering down the hallway toward him. "I thought your optional period was fourth."
"It was." Pietro sighed as his fellow Brotherhood member drew nearer. "I've got Chem now. Thinking about skipping it."
"I wouldn't do that, yo. Lance'll be pissed if he finds out," the shaggy- haired youth cautioned. Pietro rolled his eyes. That was true . . . Lance Alvers, their new "fearless" leader now that Magneto and Mystique had taken their leave, was more of a stickler and taskmaster about such boring things as being on time for classes, taking tests and actually doing the homework.
"Lance is pissed at everything these days," Pietro grumbled. "One more thing won't make much of a difference. Why aren't ~you~ in class, Toddie?"
"I am, yo, but I'm on my way to the nurse--"
"What?" The taller youth leaned close, studying the younger mutant's face. Todd seemed a little paler than usual, and he was looking a little green around the mouth. "What's wrong?" Concern colored his words.
"Something I ate, I think." Todd made a face. "The tuna. Next time, I'ma tell Fred not to put so much mayo in it. That always screws my stomach up." Todd examined Pietro's serious expression. "You don't look so good yourself, yo. What's wrong?"
Pietro was quiet a moment. "I just had a run-in with one of the X-Geeks." His lips flattened into a thin, hard line.
"That ~is~ sick," Todd said with a grimace. "Who? Shades? Blue Boy? Miss Perfect?"
Another pause. "Daniels." The words came in a low hiss.
Todd's eyes widened a bit. "Oh." He fell silent, as well. "So . . . uh . . . um . . . Daniels, huh?"
"Yup." Pietro turned his gaze to the floor, idly tracing a circle with the toe of his shoe. "Daniels," he repeated it softly, musingly.
"So . . . did you, uh . . . do it?"
Pietro's smile was fleeting. "Yup. I did it." ~Boy did I ever.~
"Umm . . ." Todd looked considerably paler as he took in the slumped posture of his partner in arms . . . his friend. His brother. "So . . . did he, uh, get the message?" The loose-limbed boy fervently hoped he was reading Pietro's body language wrong, but those hopes fled when the speedster looked up, his mouth quirked into a sardonic, mirthless half- grin.
"Oh yeah." Pietro opened his hand and revealed the rumpled note within. Todd stared silently, ignoring the ominous rumble in his stomach, as the note disappeared in Pietro's clenched fist. "He got the message all right."
Pivoting, he caught sight of a trashcan several feet away from where they both stood. Setting his feet, Pietro tossed the crumpled paper through the air, watching in detached amusement as the object sailed in a graceful arc and began its descent. ~Up, then woefully down, down, down. Discarded.~ he thought, eyes narrowing as a flash of yellow disappeared into the waste receptacle. ~The perfect metaphor for someone who's just had his heart stomped on.~
"That . . . was his answer." Pietro continued to stare at the trash can, only half-feeling Todd's gentle hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, yo." The younger boy's voice was soft. "Did he . . . did he know it was -"
"Doesn't matter," Pietro said, squaring his shoulders, "~what~ he thinks or what he knows or what he ~thinks~ he knows. 'Cause, see, he ~got~ the message." Pietro's stony, sorrowful gaze flitted down the hall, toward the direction of the gymnasium. "And so did I."
This is SLASH (m/m, Evan/Pietro pairing). If you don't like, don't read. Thanks.
Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. Don't sue.
~Admirer~
Evan,
You looked incredibly good today. Not that you don't every day, but today . . . wow. I think it was the sweater. Yeah. It was definitely the sweater. I love the way it shows off your shoulders. I think blue is my new favorite color.
Yours,
XXXX
"So . . . totally bogus, right?" Evan Daniels ran a hand over his bleached- blond locks, sighing in annoyance as Kitty Pryde scanned the yellow slip of paper that he'd found among the books and papers in his locker. "I think it's Kurt. He's still pissed at me for putting that spider in his bed. I swear, he's so obvious. I mean, come on . . . XXXX? What the hell is ~that~? He might as well have just signed his own name. I mean -"
"Evan, like, calm down." The girl looked up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't think he did this. I mean, the handwriting's waaaay too neat. ~You've~ seen his writing - it's, like, chicken scratch."
"So he got someone else to write it. Probably Bobby." Evan took the note again, glancing at the slightly slanted scrawl. ~I love the way the sweater shows off your shoulders.~ He looked thoughtful a moment. Danger Room sessions had been giving him more of a workout lately, and he was finally getting some real upper-body definition, but he hadn't realized anyone had noticed. "And what kills me is that he thought I'd fall for something like this!"
"How are you so sure that this isn't, like, for real?" The slender girl looked puzzled. "There's tons of girls in this school - any one of them could really be into you."
~Yeah, right. They're so "into" me that most of 'em won't give me the time of day.~ "It's just too out of the blue," he leaned against his locker. "One minute I'm Evan Daniels, anonymous sophomore, and the next, I'm getting love letters?"
"Maybe she's just shy," Kitty said with a shrug. "It's hard making the first move. At least she's, like, trying to get your attention. I mean you've got to give her props for that -"
"Kitty, I'm telling you . . . there is no 'she,'" Evan grunted. "It's a joke. I don't know how Kurt did it, but he did it. And I'm gonna get him back." The young mutant's eyes narrowed. "Don't know ~how~ yet, but I will."
"I think you're wrong. I have, like, a sixth sense about this stuff. I think it's for real." She jumped in alarm as the bell sounded, signaling the start of the next period sounded. "Gotta run. I've got, like, a huge test in my next class." She started away. "See you. And congratulations," she said over her shoulder. "Having a secret admirer is, like, totally romantic."
"It's not-" Evan sighed as he watched the brown ponytail disappear in a sea of bodies. He stood with his back flush against his locker, looking thoughtful as crowds of chattering students passed him by, all on their way to their various classes. Several attractive females walked past him without giving him a second glance. He caught the eye of one petite brunette, who held his gaze for a moment - a long one. He tensed as he gave her as winning a grin as he could muster, but received only a wan smile in return.
The dark-skinned youth wilted a little against his locker, feeling the coldness of the metal seep through his sweater and into his skin. It was another typical day in typical Bayville High where the "ruling class" consisted of muscle-bound and muscle-headed jerks like Russ Lane and Duncan Matthews.
Evan grit his teeth as a contingent of upperclassmen led by the blond and popular Duncan passed by. The "golden boy" was surrounded by a cortege of grinning, posturing fellow jocks and fawning cheerleaders, all of whom had perfect hair, teeth and bodies, and the air of vapidity and shallowness that seemed to be a prerequisite to popularity.
~Plenty of girls in this school, huh?~ he thought in disgust as he opened his locker, shunting books and papers aside in a search for his gym clothes. ~Right. Plenty. But none of them for me.~ He found his shorts and shirt and shoved them into his backpack. ~Never for me.~
Zipping up his backpack, he glared again at the innocuous-looking yellow paper. The words jumped out at him almost mockingly. ~You looked incredibly good today . . . Sweater. It was definitely the sweater . . . Blue's my new favorite color . . .~
His eyes widened. Blue? Blue! ~Fuck.~
"Kurt," he growled, thinking of the cobalt-furred German. The fun-loving boy. The perpetual jokester. "It ~is~ Kurt! Shit!" Evan slammed a fist into his locker, wincing slightly as a sharp pain jolted through his wrist. "Why didn't I get it before? ~Idiot~! You . . . are such an ~idiot~!"
"Ah . . . so you're coming around to my view of things?" a teasing voice sounded behind him. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Daniels. At least you're being honest about your lack of brains."
Evan groaned slightly, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. The smarmy tone was unmistakable. Just the person he ~didn't~ want to see. He turned and was met with the ghostly pale face and superior smirk of Pietro Maximoff. "Hitting your locker and muttering to yourself in the middle of the hallway? His Royal Baldness must really be putting you through the wringer."
"Maximoff, I'm not in the mood." Evan gripped the strap of his backpack and started past him. Grinning, Pietro blocked his path. "Oh, what's your hurry, Daniels? The late bell won't ring for another four minutes. Plenty of time for you to make it, hmmm? Or are your motor skills going, too?"
"Get lost, Pietro." Evan grimaced, pushing past him. The last thing he needed was to engage in a battle of insults with his longtime enemy. He had other things with which to occupy his time . . . namely how to get revenge on Kurt. ~Hmmm . . . putting spiders in his bed ~again~ would be too easy . . . maybe I'll have some flowers delivered to him . . . and say they're from ~Kitty~ . . . nah . . . he'll see through that. Maybe I can get hold of that "special" shampoo he uses to detangle his fur, and --~
He broke off, annoyed and a little surprised to see Pietro again standing in front of him, arms crossed defiantly. "'Get lost, Pietro?' That's ~it~? ~That's~ your witty comeback? You're getting more Summers-like every day, Daniels. It's not healthy."
"What is your ~problem~?" Evan's eyes glinted dangerously, and he could feel the sharp tip of one of his bone spikes pressing against his skin, threatening to pop out. He calmed himself down by degrees . . . no way was he going to let Maximoff get under his skin. Not today. "Don't you have class or something?" he asked in a milder voice.
"Or something." Pietro shrugged nonchalantly. "But I always have time to talk to an . . . old friend."
"Good. I hope you find one." Evan tried to maneuver around the lithe boy, but the lightning-fast youth thwarted his every turn. "Dammit, Maximoff. I don't have ~time~ for your stupidity. Now ~move~ or ~I'll~ move you." He raised a fist to eye-level, a spike protruding dangerously from it. "You've got three seconds."
"Daniels, come off it. Put the pins away before you embarrass yourself." Pietro's expression was one of amusement tempered with impatience. "You know you can't . . . hmmm . . . what's that? Hall pass?" the sky-colored eyes honed in on the yellow paper clenched in Evan's fist.
"What's ~what~?" He followed Pietro's gaze and he hastily thrust both hands behind his back when he realized what had caught the other boy's eye. "Huh? That? Uh . . . nothing. Just, um, trash."
"~Trash~, eh? Well, then, you won't mind letting me take a peek?" A gray blur whipped around Evan, stunning him into inaction. "I could toss it for you, since you're in ~such~ a rush."
"No! Hey!" Evan reeled as a sharp wind brushed his hand and the silver- haired mutant stood some feet away, the yellow note in his hand. "Maximoff, I swear to God, I'm going to -"
". . . my new favorite color." Pietro's grin widened as he read the missive aloud. "Awwww . . . how sweeeeet. Someone has a ~thing~ for the Spyke-boy. Guess there's no accounting for tastes." The blue eyes sparkled mischievously.
"Shut ~up~." Evan clenched his fists at his side. "Can you ~not~ be a total jerk for a change? Give it back!"
"Awful touchy," Pietro said, waggling a finger, "over something you called 'trash.'"
"Well, I know trash when I see it," Evan returned with a cold stare. "And I'm looking at it right now." He shook his head angrily and, deciding mixing it up with the speedy mutant would not be in his best interest, attempted once again to pass him. A hand darted out and caught the hem of his sweater.
"Why so hostile, Daniels? You should be celebrating." Pietro waved the note in front of his eyes. "I mean, here you have actual proof that someone finds you something other than immature, silly . . . inferior . . . not often something like that comes along."
"Fuck off, Maximoff." Evan sighed as he heard the strident ring of the late bell. Great. In addition to Kurt's shenanigans and the aggravation that was Pietro Maximoff, dealing with Coach Tarrif's wrath could be added to his list of "reasons why today sucks."
"You're late." Pietro made a tsk-ing sound. "But then, so am I. Feel like cutting with me? There's a cool place near - hey --" he frowned mightily as Evan turned on his heel and resumed his walk down the hall. "Hey! Justwheredoyouthinkyou'regoing?"
"Away from you," Evan muttered, quickening his steps. ~One day, that jerk is going to push just a little too hard, and when he does, I'll--~
A slight whooshing sound was heard, and once again the snow-haired teen was standing before him.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Pietro said brightly, flourished the letter with a mock concerned expression. "You wouldn't want to leave this declaration of looooove, your sweetheart's note behind, would you? It'sjusttooadorableisn'tit? Maybeyou'llgetanotheronetomorrow. Excitinghuh?" He beamed expectantly at Evan, confident that his longtime rival could decipher his hyper-speak. "Isn't it? Rightrightright?
~He knows. He knows it's all a scam. And maybe . . . maybe ~he's~ the one who did it. ~ Evan's jaw set hard as the thought took hold in his head. ~Maybe it wasn't Kurt after all . . . just Maximoff and his Brotherhood idiots being assholes. Why else would he be so interested in someone liking ~me?~ Evan leveled a steely gaze at his rival, wondering briefly how long Pietro would be able to maintain his smile with a spike rammed right down his throat. With great effort, he shook the thought away.
"I said it was trash," he said in a steady, firm tone. "So you can do with it what you want with it."
Pietro's smile faded. "I thought you said you wanted it back."
"I changed my mind." Evan held Pietro's gaze for a beat, watching in slight confusion as the smile on his enemy's face disappeared completely, and the ever-present swagger deflated a bit. "Toss it. Or not. Whatever . . . I don't care. Just get ~it~ and ~yourself~ out of my face."
Pietro started to speak, stopped, frowned, and gave the blond a hard glare. "You're a real piece of work, Daniels," he said at last, through clenched teeth. "You and the rest of the X-Jerks think you just own the fucking world don't you? Whoever wrote this," he said, brandishing the note again, "besides being totally blind, is also pretty stupid, too . . . wasting time on someone who's too stupid to even realize that -" here he stopped, frowning even more fiercely.
"Realize . . . what?" Evan frowned, too, baffled by the change in attitude. There was something odd about Pietro's expression. Something flickering in the cold, blue eyes that gave him pause.
"Realize that . . . that . . ." Pietro bit his lower lip hard, and hesitated a moment. "That youyouyou . . ." he halted again, running his hand wildly over his hair. "That you . . . I mean . . ."
Evan's eyebrows rose. Maximoff was acting bizarre . . . more so than usual, and his eyes had turned glassy and wild. "That I ~what~? What the hell is ~wrong~ with you?"
Pietro glared at him a moment longer. "The letter." He stopped again, seeming to take time to consider his words. ~Very un-Pietro-like,~ Evan decided, growing more intrigued. He took a deep breath. "This letter . . . it's . . . I mean, I know you're dense, Daniels, but don't you think this letter could be special? A harbinger of things to come? A shot across the bow, if you will? An indication that someone out there is interested in . . . being with you?" Pietro, most improbably, stood relatively still while delivering this speech, staring hard at the boy opposite him. "Reading this letter, none of those thoughts crossed your mind?"
Evan's short, harsh laugh echoed through the deserted hallway, and visibly astonished his companion. ~Maximoff's being so obvious, trying to get a rise out of me over this. He's pissed that I'm not running around like "Ooooh somebody likes me!" so that he and his friends can get off laughing about how they "pulled one over on Spyke." How dumb does he think I am?~
"The only thought that crossed my mind is that you're full of it, Maximoff," Evan said with a nonchalant shrug. "And whoever wrote that note is even ~more~ full of it." He took in Pietro's dark look with a degree of satisfaction. "Now, I don't know about you, but I've got class."
He brushed by Pietro, who seemed to be rooted the floor, unmoving, for some seconds, but the serious-faced youth recovered in time to grab Evan's arm as he passed.
"What the hell?" Evan squirmed in his grip, feeling his spikes getting dangerously close to the surface. "Let go of me, Maximoff, or more than your ear's gonna be pierced."
Pietro scowled at his nemesis, looking deep into the dark eyes. He pulled him close - so much so that Evan could see a tiny, dark mole above the boy's left eyelid. ~Looks like an apostrophe,~ he thought somewhat irrelevantly. ~Geez . . . his skin is so ~white.~ Despite his annoyance, he gazed in fascination at the contrast of the brownish-black mole against Pietro's alabaster skin. ~I didn't know a person could have that complexion and still be alive . . .~
"You idiot," Pietro growled, tightening his hold, his lower lip trembling slightly. "You ~idiot.~" There was a pause. Then, "Never mind. Just . . . never mind. And the . . . gym . . . is . . . ~that~ way, ~genius.~" His voice held a note of resignation as he spun Evan around savagely in the direction opposite the one in which the boy had been traveling.
Disoriented, and more than a little dizzy, Evan reeled a moment, flatfooted. ~Sonofabitch. He's right. Where the hell was I going?~
"Whatever," Evan shook off the other teen's grip and he strode swiftly away. He knew, however, that he'd still be in for it with the coach. Even if he did have Pietro's speed, he wouldn't be able to get changed and ready in time for Coach Tarrif ~not~ to notice his absence.
~Moron,~ he sped up his movements, half-expecting Pietro's silver-toped head to pop out in front of him at any time. ~I probably should've taken the note back . . . it'd be funny to show the others how "clever'' the Brotherhood's being these days. But I am so dead . Coach T. is gonna kill me for being ~late~ again . . . Four extra laps around the gym. Fuck. And I'm so freaking tired as it is . . . and . . . if someone ~really~ liked me, they'd ~say~ something to me . . . not leave silly notes. Well, not that the note was silly . . . it was sweet, I guess . . . I'll give Pietro, or whichever of them wrote it, that much credit. They made it kinda sweet . . . woulda fooled almost anyone else.~ Evan turned a corner, droplets of sweat collecting on his upper lip. ~But if someone ~really~ liked me, I'd know it . . I'd ~feel~ it. And I don't. I don't. It's all a joke. A stupid prank. And - I'd know if it weren't, that's all. I'd know. I'd--~
"Wait a minute." Evan stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes darted around, brows knitting in concentration. He cast a glance over his shoulder, his heart suddenly throbbing hard. The hallway was empty.
"How the hell did Maximoff know I had gym this period?" he murmured with a slight frown.
~*~
Pietro, head downward, shuffled slowly - or what passed for slow with him - along the desolate hallway to his next class. He was super-late, he knew, but it didn't matter. Dr. Woosums, the decrepit chemistry teacher, came to expect no less from him. Besides, he was sick to death of watching her dentures slip out of place as she went over the elements of the periodic table. He was sick to death, really, of just about everything - Dr. Woosums, school, being broke all the time. . .
~It's trash. I don't care.~
Evan. If only he could be sick of Evan. Then, life would be good. Then he could rest easy. Then he wouldn't have that incredible, acute pain that went so deep inside him -- not just to his heart, but into his very bones, too. If only he could be sick of Evan, maybe he'd be free of the emptiness and the nagging ache he felt every time locked eyes with the dark boy and saw distrust and hate shining back at him. If only he could be sick of Evan, he wouldn't care that the chocolate-skinned boy had totally blown off the note he'd spent the whole morning composing . . . making sure every word, every nuance was perfect . . . making sure he could zip through the hall and deposit the note unseen into Evan's locker.
If only he could be ~sick~ of Evan. If only he could learn to ~hate~ Evan. If only he could convince himself that he didn't ~need~ Evan Daniels . . . that he didn't ~want~ Evan Daniels . . .
~I don't care . . . I don't care . . . I don't care . . . It's trash . . . I don't care . . .~
The blond boy's words ran derisively through his head, and Pietro's forehead creased slightly.
"Well, fine." Pietro looked down at the little note, contemplating the gracefully written letters, the stark contrast of the black ink against the sun-colored paper. "Then I don't care, either."
He sighed softly. It was a lie; he knew it. He cared. He'd always care. He cared before he could put a name to the feeling that had been growing inside him virtually since the moment he and Evan met. He couldn't help ~but~ care. But it felt slightly good to pretend otherwise . . . even for a little while.
"Hey, yo. Don't you have class?"
Pietro, startled, looked up to see Todd Tolensky meandering down the hallway toward him. "I thought your optional period was fourth."
"It was." Pietro sighed as his fellow Brotherhood member drew nearer. "I've got Chem now. Thinking about skipping it."
"I wouldn't do that, yo. Lance'll be pissed if he finds out," the shaggy- haired youth cautioned. Pietro rolled his eyes. That was true . . . Lance Alvers, their new "fearless" leader now that Magneto and Mystique had taken their leave, was more of a stickler and taskmaster about such boring things as being on time for classes, taking tests and actually doing the homework.
"Lance is pissed at everything these days," Pietro grumbled. "One more thing won't make much of a difference. Why aren't ~you~ in class, Toddie?"
"I am, yo, but I'm on my way to the nurse--"
"What?" The taller youth leaned close, studying the younger mutant's face. Todd seemed a little paler than usual, and he was looking a little green around the mouth. "What's wrong?" Concern colored his words.
"Something I ate, I think." Todd made a face. "The tuna. Next time, I'ma tell Fred not to put so much mayo in it. That always screws my stomach up." Todd examined Pietro's serious expression. "You don't look so good yourself, yo. What's wrong?"
Pietro was quiet a moment. "I just had a run-in with one of the X-Geeks." His lips flattened into a thin, hard line.
"That ~is~ sick," Todd said with a grimace. "Who? Shades? Blue Boy? Miss Perfect?"
Another pause. "Daniels." The words came in a low hiss.
Todd's eyes widened a bit. "Oh." He fell silent, as well. "So . . . uh . . . um . . . Daniels, huh?"
"Yup." Pietro turned his gaze to the floor, idly tracing a circle with the toe of his shoe. "Daniels," he repeated it softly, musingly.
"So . . . did you, uh . . . do it?"
Pietro's smile was fleeting. "Yup. I did it." ~Boy did I ever.~
"Umm . . ." Todd looked considerably paler as he took in the slumped posture of his partner in arms . . . his friend. His brother. "So . . . did he, uh, get the message?" The loose-limbed boy fervently hoped he was reading Pietro's body language wrong, but those hopes fled when the speedster looked up, his mouth quirked into a sardonic, mirthless half- grin.
"Oh yeah." Pietro opened his hand and revealed the rumpled note within. Todd stared silently, ignoring the ominous rumble in his stomach, as the note disappeared in Pietro's clenched fist. "He got the message all right."
Pivoting, he caught sight of a trashcan several feet away from where they both stood. Setting his feet, Pietro tossed the crumpled paper through the air, watching in detached amusement as the object sailed in a graceful arc and began its descent. ~Up, then woefully down, down, down. Discarded.~ he thought, eyes narrowing as a flash of yellow disappeared into the waste receptacle. ~The perfect metaphor for someone who's just had his heart stomped on.~
"That . . . was his answer." Pietro continued to stare at the trash can, only half-feeling Todd's gentle hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, yo." The younger boy's voice was soft. "Did he . . . did he know it was -"
"Doesn't matter," Pietro said, squaring his shoulders, "~what~ he thinks or what he knows or what he ~thinks~ he knows. 'Cause, see, he ~got~ the message." Pietro's stony, sorrowful gaze flitted down the hall, toward the direction of the gymnasium. "And so did I."