life in plastic [nell]

Gene, fortunately, had a rock solid excuse to avoid any suspicion that he was hitting on an underclassman or something, but unfortunately it was a rock solid excuse that had to stay under wraps, so he’d settled for the shoddy compromise of meeting her at the restaurant rather than walking out to Hogsmeade together, and splitting the check. (She’d offered to pay, but that made him look even worse.)

There didn’t seem to be a reason to be going out— Gene was a seventh year and Hogsmeade had started losing its novelty after about three months, and they were not dating. He’d said as much to Henry before realising that (a.) he was a liar who (b.) was denying things a little too vehemently, after which he switched tack and acted like it was absolutely not a big deal, which was hopefully true.

He got to the restaurant late, so as not to seem overeager, and slid into the booth across from her with a hasty apology and an obligatory untruth— “Tripped on the way here.” She could make of that what he wanted. Doubtless she would.

“You ordered yet? Or…” the waitress turned up just as Gene was saying it; he gestured magnanimously to let her go first before he gave his order, which was fussier. Life was short— too short to put up with olives in his side salad. Not that he expected to eat his side salad.

“So…” he said. She’d asked him, so she should have been responsible for interesting conversation, but he had to get in his two Knuts first: “You gonna tell me why you went…” he gestured at his own, very non-blond hair and finished, “Y’know.” Gene was no stranger to unprompted impulses to drastically screw with his hair, but he’d never acted on one, which made him either level-headed, or chicken. Possibly they were the same thing.

@Nell Jones

Nell was well aware that she and Gene were not going on a date (he was gay, after all, so she lacked the required equipment to be his type), but that didn’t mean they couldn’t hang out. Especially if it meant she didn’t have to so obviously not be asked by anyone else to do something on Valentine’s weekend.

Of course this all relied on Gene actually showing up. It had occurred to her he might bail, which would look even worse than not having a real date -- being ditched by her not-date, while she was already at The Three Broomsticks. As she sat waiting it felt like an increasingly likely outcome -- would serve her right, really, for manipulating the situation. Not that Gene knew that was her intent. She wasn’t even entirely sure if that was her motive, or if she did just want to not be alone. The main benefit of not being alone with Gene was that he wouldn’t misinterpret it. She couldn’t ask Lionel, or Sam, or Henry, or any of the other boys she knew without risk of them taking it (as intended) as a date, and furthermore without risk of them saying ‘no’ and her having to live it down.

Gene finally turned up and made his excuse. Nell raised a sceptical eyebrow at him. “Mmhm,” she hummed, dragging it out to make her suspicion obvious. “Not yet.” She smiled up at the waitress, who had promptly arrived the moment after Gene took his seat. Nell ordered a lemonade and lasagne, requesting to swap the chips for extra salad and feeling a little silly for it -- but less so once Gene one-upped her with his own fussiness.

She glanced around the pub, unable to not notice the couples -- real couples -- around them. Her eyes flicked back to Gene. She stared at him for a quick moment -- should have expected him to ask at some point, but she couldn’t be honest because he’d think she was being stupid and would then proceed to tell her as much, probably. “What?” She offered him a confused expression, pretending not to catch on, just long enough to try and make him uncomfortable -- wasn’t sure if it worked or not.

She shrugged. “Felt like a change.” The blonde looked down and fiddled with the cutlery on the table, then looked back up at him with a slightly more confident smirk. “Don’t you like it?”

Of course Nell didn’t believe him; he grinned and refrained, for now, from making any dumb jokes. It’d been a bit of a struggle, since she’d gone Madonna, not to stare at her hair, like some sort of pea-brained bird entranced by a shiny bit of foil. Maybe that was what she was going for— he hoped not.

He did his best to look at her and not her hair— easier when she was looking away— and then to grin again, a little sheepishly, when she caught him. At first she played dumb; just as he was opening his mouth to clarify, she answered. (Good thing, since he’d had nothing to clarify with; for a few seconds the only word he could think of to describe her hair was Madonna, which he wasn’t sure she’d take well.)

Of course, he should have expected her to ask if he liked it, but he’d rather expected a better explanation first. He hesitated a moment before he said noncommittally, “Well, it’s sure a change. Gutsy.” At least he meant that— even though he didn’t think he liked it much, he did admire the gall it must have taken to switch her entire look. And she had, sort of, switched her look around— at least he thought she had. (It wasn’t like he’d ever paid attention to what Nell Jones wore, but he didn’t think she’d used to dress quite like this.)

He was staring at her hair again— it was just so shiny— he glanced sideways, as though to look for the waitress, even though it’d be ridiculous if they got their food already. “So, er,” he said, “Why’d you want to meet?” He supposed she could have just wanted to catch up and be friendly, as people sometimes did, but they’d never really done that before. In a few months he was going to graduate. It didn’t seem like there was much point starting now.

On Valentine’s Day, too— Nell hadn’t ever seemed like someone who cared about that. Gene sure wasn’t. Maybe it was ironic or something; he kind of hoped it was. He’d already made a fuss about their non-dating status, and didn’t need to repeat himself, so he left it at “No big news or anything?”