Chapter Text
This morning, you were a single, happy person with absolutely no threat to your social life and only wanting to peruse the shop for items you were most likely not going to buy. Come this afternoon, however, you’re suddenly dating the master wizard of Ramazith’s Tower and mentally prepping for a night full of awkward conversation from strangers who’ll dig too deep into your personal life.
It happened too fast. One moment you were arguing with Rolan over the price of one of his items, and then the next his arm was around you and he was calling you his partner. You had absolutely no say in the matter and were too caught off guard to set the proclamation straight, and somehow were expertly roped into an evening of play pretend.
Now, having hid in a corner of the shop, you’re trying to wrap your head around what you mindlessly agreed to and why the hell it happened in the first place.
“Explain yourself,” you say with arms crossed. “Now.”
Rolan sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not too pleased about it either, but you were my only option.”
“For what exactly?”
He doesn’t appreciate your tone, apparently, when his lip twitches at the sound, and he’s crossing his arms as well as if this is a huge inconvenience to him of all people.
“Those people we spoke with, they’re from my past,” Rolan starts. “They had reached out about a week ago saying they were coming to see my accomplishments firsthand, and, well…I didn’t want them looking down on me.”
That’s an odd explanation seeing as Rolan’s inherited the tower. You furrow your brows, trying to understand his reasoning, and failing.
“I don’t get it. You have more than enough accomplishments to show for it—” you gesture a hand at the shop. “How come you’re so worried?”
“Because,” Rolan snarls, then takes a breath to calm himself, “it’s not my title that I’m embarrassed about.”
At the butt end of that sentence, you catch a shift in Rolan’s expression. He’s not angry, like you assumed from the snarl, but there’s an agitation that connects to a boyish expression you’ve not seen on Rolan’s face in years—insecurity.
The people who you had spoken to earlier were very clearly a couple, and it very clearly took Rolan by surprise when they said so. You had watched his body tense up before they asked if you and him were together, but before you had the chance to say no, Rolan boastfully said yes.
Even with a mountain of success under Rolan’s feet, the one thing he falls short on is having a romantic partner, and it seems to cut into him more deeply than he’d like to admit.
“Why does it matter so much about what they think of you?” you ask, more calmly this time.
The tension in Rolan’s shoulders ease, and he lets out a breath. “Call it foolish, but they…they were always better than me when we were younger. Oh, they acted as if they were my friends, but I could tell they were judging me. And now, seeing them together, happy…I didn’t want to—”
Rolan bites his tongue, looking away bitterly, as if this is too much opening up than what he’s ready for, but you won’t let him scurry away if you’re tangled in his web of lies along with him.
“You didn’t want to what?” you ask.
His gaze meets yours with renewed storm. “I didn’t want to be second-best again.”
For a moment, you don’t see the master of Ramazith’s Tower in front of you—not even Rolan, the man. You see the young tiefling boy you had come to know when you were young, the one who always hissed at others and yet sulked on his own.
Vaguely, you remember the people Rolan’s talking about. From your point of view, however, they always seemed nice, but apparently Rolan’s always held a grudge against them. You think they were childhood sweethearts at one point, but it was one of those relationships that were never fully confirmed.
The details are slowly slipping into place, and yet you can’t help but feel like this is a bad idea.
“You don’t need a partner to one-up them,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “Especially not with me since we hardly get along. They’ll see through us in an instant.”
“Please, I know you can be deceptive when you need to,” Rolan says. “One night of lying can’t possibly be too hard for you.”
“It’s not just lying, Rolan. It’s acting. We have to pretend to like each other.”
Rolan’s lips curl up in a smile and he leans down a fraction towards you. “I dare say you won’t be acting, looking into my—what was it again?—perfect golden orbs.”
A red-hot fire shoots up your spine when Rolan says those words, igniting a memory you had wanted to forget, and you’re clamping your hand over his grinning mouth and pushing him into the back room.
“Be quiet!” you hiss as if someone could’ve heard him.
He chuckles behind your palm, reaching up to curl his fingers around your wrist and pull your hand away.
“Don’t be so bashful. Those words have really stuck with me.” he says.
The tips of your ears grow hot. “That was years ago. I was a child then. It meant nothing.”
“Now, don’t hurt my feelings.”
Rolan chuckles again, more heartily this time, when you yank your wrist free from his hold and shove him back by his shoulders. You didn’t think Rolan even remembered that stupid love letter you gave him when you were kids, but it was anything but that! It was a note you wrote up on a whim, blinded by childish innocence. All Rolan’s ever done is prove to you what an ass he can be. It was a moment. A moment.
“You’re not making a good argument for yourself, you know?” you huff, wanting to hide behind your hands. “This is only making me want to leave you in the dirt even more.”
A twinge of panic flashes across Rolan’s face. “Wait, no. I apologize. You know I was only teasing.”
“Yeah, right.”
The air in your lungs feels ten times thicker than normal, and you wonder if you can pass out on an embarrassing memory alone. Yet the look that Rolan wears shows he’s in a state of stress himself, and that at least doesn’t make you feel like such an idiot.
With a deep breath, you attempt to regain your composure.
“If I do this—” you say before raising a strict finger—“If. You have to promise not to make fun of me or be a jerk.”
Even just the notion of you helping him out has Rolan swallowing, but he nods his head in agreement, most likely knowing he’s not going to get very far with your foot pressed down so firmly.
“Alright,” he says.
“And we aren’t kissing or hugging or mentioning anything about having kids, understood?”
“Fine,” Rolan grunts, though he looks a little taken back. “I wasn’t planning on doing any of that, anyway.”
“Good.” you cross your arms, your posture set in a more rigid pose. “Now, what am I supposed to wear tonight?”
Every sense in your body is screaming that you’re making the wrong decision right now. Having to pretend to be a couple is only going to further confuse the feelings buried deep inside of you—the ones you’ve spent years pushing back, fighting any and every spark of potential Rolan has shown you—but you won’t let some irrational emotions take flight. If anything, you’ll shoot them down the second they escape.
You are going to steer this entire facade with logic and logic alone. It’s an act—one night of false doting and faux smiles. By tomorrow morning, everything will be back in its rightful place. You and Rolan will be back to bickering and his visitors will have hit the road, and you can shove this deep into the ground with all your other buried complications.
After all, Rolan’s gaze is solely set on his reputation. He’s doing this for himself, to get back at a couple of faces from his past. It has nothing to do with you or hope or desire. There’s no ulterior motive here at all, and for that you are absolutely certain.
At least, that’s what you think. Rolan won’t ever tell you that he has that handwritten love letter in his desk drawer, having held onto it from the day you first gave it to him.