Chapter Text
It’s not fair, you think. It’s really not fair that someone can be so unstoppably perfect, even when they’re yelling in your face. Jared’s brow is furrowed, his pretty face contorted into a look just short of rage, but even then it’s a damn pretty face.
“I thought I told you to stop and take those posters down!” he spits, turning away from you briefly to bother Nick and Josh, who only pause for a second before returning to what they were doing. That is, hanging up your campaign posters over Jared’s fashion show flyers.
Josh makes that face, the one you’re all too familiar with. The one that usually means, ‘Sit down and shut up because I’m not going to listen.’ But Jared doesn’t speak Josh, so you know that won’t do either of them any good. “No. What is wrong with you?” is all he says, pasting a poster so it very deliberately covers up half of Jared’s face on one of the flyers.
Internally, you swell with an odd mixture of pride and relief, because Jared’s face bothers you in a gut-twisting, heart-wrenching kind of way. You’re pretty sure it’s because you hate him, just a little bit, in a way that friends and fellow clubmates really shouldn’t.
“These walls are everybody’s space,” Nick adds, loud enough to carry across the hallway. “We don’t have to listen to you.” And maybe you’re putting up the posters on lockers, not walls, but that doesn’t matter at this point. You and Jared are already too far gone to care, and a tiny part of you is dying to get his attention back.
“And you should know that this campaign is way more important than your little fashion show,” Josh continues. True, yes, but Jared’s still—
“But mine were here first!” —completely focused on Nick and Josh, so you hardly even think before starting to yell again.
“Lay off them!” Something about Jared always does this to you: you snap a little too quick, you laugh a little too hard, you get upset too easily. Every little interaction with him puts you on edge and you feel like you have to tread carefully to avoid bursting with emotion. “This is between you and me, Jared,” you tell him, and you feel indescribably glad when he meets your eyes. “Leave them out of it. You’ve been taking up all the wall space with your show. The student elections are much more important. It’s our government.”
Jared rolls his eyes, but it feels like a slap to the face. “The student government doesn’t even do anything!”
Oh, now he’s got you worked up. “As current president,” you hiss, leaning in close enough to see the light reflecting off of his skin, “I can say with full knowledge and proper authority that the student government does a ton for this school.” Jared lets out a long, exasperated breath and you can feel it ghost across your cheeks. Your head spins. God, what a self-entitled brat . “You don’t even know, Jared. You don’t even know.”
Jared presses his lips into a thin line and then parts them, slowly—
And then there’s a heavy pressure on your stomach, forcing you away from Jared and back into the real world. Mai has pried herself in between the two of you away from each other with the strength of a fucking bodybuilder. Vaguely, you wonder if you should stop, if maybe you should take a step back and calm down before things go too far, but you’re currently locked in an intense staring contest with Jared and like fuck are you letting him win. Nothing’s going to distract you from those piercing, glittering eyes, even bluer in real life than on those nauseatingly neon posters—
Nothing except Hana, who shows up in just the right place at just the right time. The two of you are on her in seconds, asking her which she prefers: the fashion show or the election. Hana’s reasonable, she’s a good student, you’re sure she’ll side with you…
But she doesn’t. She tells Jared she’s more interested in the fashion show, and you feel all the tension in your body release in one long, drawn-out sigh.
To your right, Jared is smiling brightly, a sparkling ball of happy nerves and relief. He turns to you and says, “I want you to win presidency again, Paul, I really do,” and after that it’s all sort of a blur. You’re pretty sure you tell him that his fashion show sucks, or something to that degree, before deciding to hang your posters up in the fourth year hallway.
If his stupid face has to torment you all the time, you might as well try and return the favor.