notes: ok i love the smiths. this will become obvious.

hope you're happy and healthy and safe.

Levy McGarden: friend, student, pixie extraordinaire. Really, she was rarely considered outside of Lucy's context; they came as a set, the loony blonde and the wild-haired figure bouncing at her side. If one thing could be said of Levy McGarden, it's that she committed everything to her friendships—every ounce of energy, humor and patience. Lovingly, she marked the borders of her world with her friends: Lucy, obviously. Several books. A grudgingly widening opening, ready for Natsu to claim it.

But let us step outside the borders for a moment. Take a few steps back, rewinding a year. Examine a moment devoid of loony blondes, and focus only on a pretty freshman with headphones over her long hair, buried in a book in the school quad.

Sidekick stories and sidekicks are similar: bright and interesting and suffering from neglect.

Levy was never afraid to crack open books, and she did so the first day of high school, only slightly filled with teenage angst. "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" played from her iPod because—well, it was the first day of high school. What did you expect? She was ferociously colorful with her wild blue hair, sticking out against the dullness of the school like a splash of graffiti on a brick wall. People stared; oh, was she beautiful. Levy ignored them all.

They weren't Lucy, they weren't her problem, and she didn't care.

So she stared at her feet, in woven sandals. Picked at the grass, playing The Smiths on loop. Then boots appeared in her peripheral vision, thick and stained with mud. The voice of their owner was so gruff that the guitar jangling in her ears was quickly drowned out.

"Oi, shrimpy. You're in my spot."

Pointedly, Levy kept listening. She clamped her hands against her headphones.

"Pipsqueak."

No response.

"Hey."

Nothing.

Finally, the booted dude let out a huff of annoyance, and a huge brown hand swooped towards Levy's head, yanking her headphones off. She yelped in surprise and shot an accusatory glance upward and saw—

Saw nothing special, actually: Just a huge kid with little studs in his ears. And his hair, that was maybe worth remarking on. It was black and thick and spiked all the way to his shoulder blades. Seriously, spiked. You could dice a pineapple with it. Or amputate a foot.

But too pissed to admit she actually liked the look of his weaponous head, she seethed: "What the hell, man? I was in the middle of something! I have classes to avoid and a best friend to wait for and songs to listen to. So take your Hulk self and go elsewhere, okay?"

"You're in my spot," the giant repeated dumbly.

His eyes—okay, fine, they were pretty special. Sharply angled upwards and a dark red, like wine but deeper and softer somehow…

She scowled at him. "It's a big courtyard, dude. Find a different flipping spot."

Eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

"Are you like, okay in the head? I'm not moving." And she shoved her headphones down defiantly, shut her eyes and turned the music back on, willing this weirdo to go away.

Sixty seconds passed until she cracked open an eye; he was still standing there. He glared this time, and had produced snacks from somewhere in his black, baggy tunic-thing.

"I am Gajeel Redfox," the giant boomed.

"And I'm a ferret named Stan. Piss off, Emo Hulk."

And surprisingly he did. Piss off, that is. After a narrowing of his already sharp and scary eyes, he turned on his heel and sauntered away, muttering something about shrimps. Levy defiantly clamped her headphones back on, queued up "The Headmaster Ritual", and continued moping about the fading light of summer.

It's always the people you think you'll never see again, isn't it?

Gajeel Redfox, she soon discovered, was odder than she thought. If that was even possible, because the dude had some strange vibes coming off him. But not scary-strange. More like a puppy with a bristling mane of hair, trying and failing to look threatening.

Gajeel, the seven-foot-tall emo puppy boy.

Sounded about right.

Okay, Levy had something to admit: After he spoke to her that day, she kept noticing him in odd corners of the school. She'd be walking by the janitors closet and spot him sitting on a washbucket, nibbling on something that—no, that couldn't be a shard of metal, could it? And…she surely didn't see him swallow it.

Unnerved, she blinked, shook herself out of her daze and walked quickly away.

But then a couple days later, she'd glance up at the sky to see Gajeel perched on the school roof, booted feet swinging over the side. He carried a black and studded notebook in his (also black and studded) backpack, which he held open, a pencil between his teeth.

Upon the roof, Gajeel sketched.

Of course, Levy told herself, she was not at all curious about what he was sketching.

Then weeks passed, with no Gajeel sightings (not that she'd been looking for him, obviously). She'd just about managed to forget that the giant, spiky freak even existed. So comfortably nestled in her favorite spot, once again ignoring the numerous stares she attracted, Levy McGarden set to work editing her best friend's developing novel, as she'd been doing faithfully for years.

We know the drill here—enter Gajeel sprawled on the picnic table next to her. Not drawing or eating this time. Just sitting, staring at nothing, as if nothing were on his mind except the simple act of existing from one moment to the next. Levy couldn't help watching him be so still; it was something she'd never managed. Her brain was always rapid-fire and had to be constantly engaged: in banter with her best friend, in a story, in a strange fascination with a metal-eating emo…

Who had refocused his gaze and now really was looking at her. But unlike her best friend, Levy was not fazed. Boys posed no more mystery to her than girls—she liked both, and could handle either. No love rashes spread over her cheeks when she raised an eyebrow at Gajeel Redfox and asked him, cordially, what the hell he thought he was staring at.

He said, I thought I was staring at you.

Levy queried as to why, though she didn't need the answer: She knew she was beautiful, and knew the certain amount of attention beauty garnered. Not to mention the flirtation, because every boy and their second cousin had tried to flirt with Levy before.

"Because," Gajeel said with no expression, "ya got a booger the size of Texas danglin' from your nose, pipsqueak. It's blockin' my light." And he picked up his backpack and stomped away.

After that, she'd admit a grudging respect for her creepy giant boy.

Let it be made crystal clear: Levy was not her best friend, similar though their senses of humor may be. Levy knew tact; she could flirt, and she didn't need Lucy as a bodyguard to protect her from romantic awkwardness. So when she ambled up to Gajeel, she did it alone, shoulders relaxed, at ease in her own skin.

Gajeel liked that about her.

"You're always drawing in that book of yours," she said. "What do you draw?"

They were near the school sign; Gajeel perched directly on top of it, legs dangling over the M in Magnolia High.

He shrugged. "What's it to you?"

"I'm curious, okay? If you don't wanna show me, just say so."

"I didn't say nothin'. Look away." He shrugged off his backpack and produced his notebook, letting Levy flip through its pages. Don't get too excited: the pictures weren't all of Levy reposing in the school courtyard. In fact, there weren't any humans in his pictures at all.

Gajeel drew only dragons: smudged charcoal dragons with spikes cresting their heads, spurting flames and what looked like some kind of greyish gas. Some dragons had claws like spears digging into the sides of a mountain. One dragon lay asleep, tail curled around its body. It was raining in that picture; you could practically hear steam hissing as water hit the dragon's scales.

They were good, ridiculously so. And Levy told him that.

"Whatever," Gajeel said, taking back the notebook. "It passes the time."

"Why dragons, though?"

"'Cause they're vicious and smart and way better than people."

"Just like cats."

"Exactly," he hummed. Then, realizing he was exposing his secret adoration of cats, he hurriedly stuffed his notebook into his bag. "But I gotta run, Shrimp. Things to do."

"Hey! But we just started talk—"

"Busy day, shortstack." He swung his legs off the sign and was gone in three lopes. Yes, he loped instead of walked; Gajeel really gave a new literalness to the phrase lone wolf.

"Was it something I said?" she muttered.

Oh, Levy. Don't feel too bad. Pantherlily is a longer story for another time.

Without making any official plan, Levy and Gajeel began to bump into one another more frequently, occasionally outside of school. They got ice cream, took a walk by the pier, spent an afternoon perched in a maple tree, drawing dragons.

Levy's artwork was horrific. But Gajeel grunted a "good" when she offered it proudly, and kept it in his bag. Later, he thumbtacked it to his locker door, silently observing with the shining smile Levy gave in response.

After that, he hung up every sketch she gave him. Artistic quality be damned.

This carried on for nearly a month, these random gatherings. Gajeel spoke very little, but Levy compensated by never shutting up. Passersby noticed them, shook their heads and thought, Opposites truly do attract, I guess.

On a Thursday, buzzed on caffeine and feeling courageous, Levy walked up to Gajeel and kissed him, hard and full on the lips. He mostly just stood, thinking it felt quite nice. He brushed a hand through her feathery hair.

They broke apart and went to buy churros, talking of nothing but dragons and books.

Still, part of Gajeel recognized the shift: We are kissing now. That means we are "seeing each other", and I must begin doing couple-y things. He responded to this realization with mild discomfort—Gajeel wasn't in the habit of talking to other humans, much less dating them—but was still mostly unperturbed.

Levy was beautiful, he figured, and smart. She must know how these things worked. He would follow in the example of a master, and be just fine.

He asked her for the next step—and she delivered.

A homecoming proposal, she advised. She would take care of the details (ticket costs, tux rental, photo settings) as long as he made the sign: "I want big," she instructed. "I want dazzling. And I want it epic as hell. Okay?"

"Yup," Gajeel replied. "But I ain't a tux guy."

They negotiated. He agreed to a suit jacket, but a studded one.

October in the cafeteria found Gajeel Redfox (yes, Gajeel Redfox in public, of all things) holding the freaking Michelangelo of all homecoming proposal signs.

A dragon of course.

Three-dimensional. Rotating paper wings. Paper flames spewing from a mouth lined with jagged paper teeth, paper wings colored the most neon of blues, and showcasing the corniest of homecoming puns—

LEVY MCGARDEN, YOU BLUE MY MIND.

IT'S A CYANTIFIC FACT I'D BE BLUE IF YOU DON'T

DO HOCO WITH ME. SAY YES OR THIS PROPOSAL WILL…

DRAG-ON.

Okay, admittedly Levy wrote the puns. Gajeel Redfox was no punster. But the dragon was big and dazzling and epic as hell. No one could say no to that thing.

She said yes to a chorus of cafeteria cheers, even the lunch ladies banging trays together with joy.

Lucy sat to the side, head cocked, scrutinizing Gajeel Redfox and finding him inscrutable. Despite Levy's begging, Lucy declined her invitation to join as their dance buddy and awkward third wheel. She spent the night of Homecoming in the blissful company of her bed, Harry Potter and three bowls of instant ramen. Levy was tough, she rationalized when her conscience began to prickle. She could handle school dances and juggle weird boys.

Don't be too hard on Lucy; she, with her wild imagination, still could never have dreamed up something so awful as this dance. The dance is its own saga. It could inspire horror movies. Hell, it could inspire a global ban on dancing.

Here is a preview: there was fire, and leeches, and cake in a gymnasium, and later a gymnasium on fire.

And a full year later, Gajeel and Levy don't speak of it.

In fact, they don't speak at all.

notes: disastrous hoco to come. 'cause as a high school senior, i've lived the nightmare and the wounds are fresh *shudders*