Future Looks Good {Aiden}

[Mordred Le Fey]

It really wasn’t that unusual to find Mordred in the library, and the surprised looks and glances other students kept throwing his way were quite irritating. Or, they would be if Mordred gave a crap. What was more surprising was that the librarian had actually let him back in after his and Costin’s library adventure. Mordred grinned to himself as he thought about it. Costin was such a weirdo, Mordred really did love guiding him into various mischiefs. It reminded him of leading Tristian into various adult-upsetting shenanigans when they were kids. But with added alcohol, which obviously made it a lot more fun and entertaining in.

But, although Mordred’s trusty hip flask was safe in his pocket, where it belonged, he wasn’t patronising the library for the entertainment of disruption and revelry. Today was about study. Not study for any of his classes or many, many overdue assignments. Nope, today was his favourite kind of study - the history of Camelot, also known as Mordred’s apparent future. Entertaining and educational. The only thing these ‘historians’ seemed to have gotten right was that his mother was a psycho bi- erm, witch. The rest was, as usual, pretty far fetched.

Surrounded by a stack of books, Mordred was buried in Tennyson’s world today, so far the worst and most sickening version he’d read yet. And yet, still no mention of his dear cousin, something that Mordred couldn’t help but smirk at. He might not be the biggest fan of the universal portrayal of him as the bad guy, but at least it was nice to be seen as the only child in the legends, instead of being just another of the many Camelot brats.

[Aiden Mumble]

Aiden, contrary to the popular belief of most of the student body, liked to read. She did well in her studies when she wasn’t too hungover to think. She had always been an excellent student when she bothered to come to class. This year had been...rough, thus far. Where she usually forced herself to get straight As to please her parents, some classes she was just simply passing. Of course, her parents only minded that she was happy, yet she toiled on to make her already vehemently proud parents, prouder. However, her bad habits had been getting the better of her lately. She wasn’t going to fail anything, but coming to class had been harder. Focusing had been harder. Doing anything had been harder. Escaping into alcohol and drugs could only do so much before you started to grow exhausted of that too. So, she tried escaping into books like she used to often in her childhood. That and the fact that she’d been not so subtly avoiding Mordred since their...encounter. So. Library. The chances of running into him there where slim. And yet…

There he was. She was sitting in one of the many chairs surrounding an empty table, which she had chosen to use as a foot rest (much to the librarian’s distaste.) She peered over the edge of her embarrassingly soft fantasy novel to narrow her eyes at him. She was far enough away from Mordred’s chosen perch that she figured he might not notice if she kept to herself. She thought about leaving, but the idea of Mordred in a library studying was so odd and fascinating, that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She glanced back down at the pages of her story, but only pretended to read between glances in his direction as books piled up around him. What on earth was he doing? It was driving her insane. She wasn’t close enough to read the titles on the books. Her curiosity burned her. She considered how weird it would be to get a closer look.

They’d been civil in the past two weeks, friendly even, when she wasn’t avoiding him. They still chatted and laughed at home, but she’d put careful walls back up again. She didn’t talk about the night, ignored the marks on her skin as much as she ignored looking at his. And, most noticeably, she was much more careful to wear pants around the house. He noticed, of course he had, but he had to understand. They weren’t allowed to want each other like that, not if either of them wanted to keep what they had.

Mordred opened another book. She had to know what he was reading. She had to know. Maybe his girlfriend had been instilling good habits in him. Why did that bother her so much? Seething for no reason other than the fact that she couldn’t read the book titles, obviously, she closed her book with a heavy sigh and slithered her way to sit herself on the desk next to Mordred’s pile of books. She forced herself to sit there, a little too close, because it was supposed to be normal for them. It should be normal, closeness, shared space, it’s used to be normal. She was trying so very hard to act like it was still normal. That their proximity was not now dangerous given the things they had done, the things...she still wanted to do.

Her eyes scanned the book titles greedily and a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. They were books on Arthurian legends. They were books about him.

”Conceited, bitch” she teased quietly, her voice confident, but her eyes careful to focus on the pages and not his face.

[Mordred Le Fey]

Mordred hadn't noticed Aiden nearby - he'd been too absorbed in researching all the different versions of how he usurped his uncle's throne, destroyed his uncle's marriage, and how they finally killed each other. At least they all agreed that is was a good, bloody battle, even if they did all end in Mordred's death and spend most of the time blabbering on about how evil and awful and psychotic he was. It was no surprise really that his mother had treated him the way she had, pushed him the ways she had. Shaking his head slightly, he pushed the thoughts of his mother out of his mind. She was not a topic he wanted to spend much time on at the moment; a lot had happened in the last few weeks, and his talks with Gwen and Tristian had gone some way towards helping him realise that dwelling on her and the choices she made in raising him were a big factor in the various issues he was dealing with now.

And that was it, one small thought about his mother and he needed a drink. With a covert glance around the room, he pulled out his flask and took a quick swig, before quickly shoving it back in his pocket. If the thing was in his hand for too long it would come with a healthy dose of guilt and he didn't need that right now. He'd been feeling pretty good recently, apart from one or two little problems that had been niggling at him. His housemate and the weird awkwardness that now existed between them being one of them.

Yes, he had tried to quit drinking. Yes, he had promised Tris that he was making a real effort. And he hadn't exactly been drunk since his chat with Tris, but he enjoyed a nice, expensive scotch. And he was a sort-of prince - he was extremely rich anyway - and he'd seen enough Mad Men and various other tv shows to know that rich, attractive men drank expensive, smooth scotch. So really, he was just fitting into the mould, and he knew he looked damn good with a scotch in hand. It'd be counter-intuitive to change that.

Just as the flask disappeared back into his pocket, a shadow fell over the page of his book. He looked up with a trademark smirk as he saw a particularly attractive body seat itself on the table close to him. No - he wasn't supposed to be thinking like that... that kind of thinking wasn't going to help overcome the awkwardness between them. He pretended not to see the marks on her skin, ignoring the tingle that suddenly appeared across the scratches on his own skin, glad they were hidden under his shirt. He forced his eyes upwards, raising one eyebrow as he watched her looked over the collection of books that filled his table. He felt the effort it was taking to push away certain thoughts across the whole of his body; memories of their shared encounter, and a longing to reach out and touch her again.

He couldn't help but let out a loud bark of laughter as she spoke, throwing his head back and ignoring the 'shhhs' from a couple of nearby tables. "Hey, I'm just learning my future history here, nothing conceited about that." He said with a grin, a grin that only faltered for a moment as he noticed her careful effort not to look directly at him. He dropped the book he was holding on the table and leaned forward over it, accidentally bringing himself closer to her as he pointed at the open page. "Look at this, 'the heathen back among us, yonder stands, Modred, unharmed, the traitor of thine house.'" He turned the page and pointed at another passage. "And this bit, look - 'then Modred smote his liege hard on that helm... blah blah blah... Arthur at one blow striking the last stroke with Excalibur slew him, and all but slain himself, he fell.' I mean, what is that? This guy really didn't like me. He couldn't even spell my name right." He grinned again, turning to another page. "And this, he says 'Modred's narrow foxy face' - what kind of description is that? For starters, this dude can't even spell my name right, and there is absolutely nothing foxy about this face."

He closed the book with a snap and leaned back in the chair with a dramatic sigh. "I don't know, these people all just had me so wrong. They just don't know me like you do, I guess." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny, ginger ball of fluff, which purred loudly as Mordred held it up against his cheek. "I mean, would a heathen traitor have a little fluffball fur baby that went everywhere with them?" Mordred grinned as Satan rubbed his head against his cheek.

[Aiden Mumble]

Aiden’s blue eyes darted toward the people shushing him as he laughed. A smirk tugged the edge of her lips on one side, but still she kept her eyes off his. She couldn’t risk reading him too closely, she was frightened of what she might find there. Did he regret? Did he resent? Did any desire he had for her die after that one encounter? Would she look into his eyes and find longing still there? Anyone of those thoughts could crush her alone, not to mention if any of them combined.

She kept quiet at his first remark, tending defensively when he leaned in to point out passages from the book. She did not move away. Moving away would admit to something off between them. She desperately wanted Mordred to think everything was fine, that no further action needed to be taken to repair their relationship. Given their odd and specific dynamic, sleeping together had been sort of inevitable. They had grown too comfortable with each other. It should have been like breathing, just another aspect of their friendship. Several facts had poisoned this utopian ideal. Mordred had a girlfriend whom he loved very much. Aiden had Hinrik whom, despite her best efforts, she loved very much. Also, quite possibly, they loved each other very much. She nearly flinched at the very thought, but if it wasn’t a possibility, she wouldn’t be feeling this way right now.

She pretended to be vaguely interested in what he was saying, her eyes watching his hand on the page and drifting to where else that hand had been. She blinked away the thoughts. She bit back a comment about him most definitely being a fox. Flirting probably wasn’t a good idea, considering. She blinked again when he mentioned the writers not knowing him well. Who knew him better? Her? Or was he talking to Satan who, of course, he’d snuck in. Her eyes narrowed at him slightly. He’d snuck into her room last week and tore up one of her old penguin plushies she kept hidden under the bed. She was too embarrassed to tell Mordred why she was mad so she was trying her best, and failing rather dramatically, to seem unbothered.

“Well they got the heathen part right,” she quipped easily. Unfortunately her tone wasn’t as practiced as she hoped and it was less friendly or flirty and dangerously close to bitter.

[Mordred Le Fey]

He hated that she couldn't seem to look directly at him; every avoidance manouvere she made to avoid his eye felt like another scratch across his skin, and not a good one this time. He tried to ignore the feeling as he she looked over the book while he pointed, tried to breath in the scent of her hair as it briefly created a curtain between them. Tried to ignore the curve of her neck as she sat back up and turned her head, resisted reaching up and placing the tips of his fingers on her soft, pale skin.

He caught himself as she spoke, noticing that his breathing had gotten slightly heavier, his rate beating a little faster, and quickly leaned back in his chair, back away from her heady scent and out of reach of the temptation of touching her. This was not good. He was supposed to be showing Meredith he was working to get better, that he was committed to winning her back, that he was ready to change. But it didn't seem to matter what he did, she was still out of reach, distant and cold - she might have begun to forgive him for the awful things he'd done recently, but she clearly wasn't ready to take him back and risk a relationship with him.

And was he really willing to wait forever? Sure, he'd done wrong, but he'd apologised, he'd tried to make up for it. Surely she had to compromise too, if she really wanted him? So maybe she didn't after all? Maybe he was wasting his time, his effort, his heart?

He stretched out and cracked his neck, trying to shake these thoughts away. These were the thoughts that had lead him down a very dark path not too long ago, and he couldn't afford to start that route again. He wanted to get back to his old self, to feel like Mordred Le Fey again.

Forcing his attention back to Aiden, he laughed loudly again at her comment, allowing himself to look at her properly this time, forcing thoughts of Meredith out of his mind. She wasn't his girlfriend, he wasn't sure she wanted to be, and Aiden was his friend, a truly special friend, and he wasn't going to let anything ruin that, not while it was in his control not to. He picked up on the slight strain to her tone as she spoke, and he almost cringed - what could he dot to put her back at ease with him?

"Heathen I may be, my dear, but I can guarantee it would take Arthur more than one strike to take me down." He grinned as he gently placed the cat on the table, where he immediately started grooming himself between his legs. Pulling up a sleeve, he showed off his bicep and winked. "I'd like to see Arthur get the better of these guns."

[Aiden Mumble]

She could feel the weight of his eyes on her like fingers pressing into her skin in all the places he had marked her. Why did it feel like all the air in the room had gotten heavier and the lights darker? She had half a mind to wonder if Mordred was using his magic, but she knew better. It was just her brain reacting to her desires despite her valiant efforts to forbid it. Did he feel it too? Why was he looking at her at all? Did he like what he saw? Did it matter?

No.

She made an effort to keep her breathing casual despite the racing of her heart. She reached out to scratch Satan between the ears once he was set on the table. It was worth forgiving him over the torn up stuffed animal to feel the comfort of his soft fur in this moment. She wondered if they’d get kicked out if he was seen, it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been thrown out of a library.

She smiled when he laughed, even let out a little breathy chuckle when he mentioned Arthur having to strike him down with more than one blow. Still she kept her focus on the kitten.

“So would I,” she said. It sort of slipped out, tone passive, but not without bite. She cleared her throat gently, but didn’t take it back as she pulled Satan fully into her lap and let his warmth comfort her. So she was...a little mad. It had been just as much her fault, she had no right to be angry with him. Yet, she was. She was angry that she couldn’t have him, angry that either of them let it get so far, angry that they couldn’t take it back, angry that she so desperately wanted to do it again as soon as possible.