I usually try not to grasp at assumptions or worry over small things, but today was a brilliant example of how to accurately overachieve both. It was also really hard to concentrate on homework when all I could imagine is sharing a bedroom with Agent K from Men in Black. Would we have to... talk to each other? I didn't expect to have any shared interests. I mean, it had to be the most awkward arrangement in the history of shared living. Would he be here all the time? Would he want to share tea and biscuits with us and hang out while I did my schooling? The thought of a gruff old American with dark shades and salt-and-pepper hair hanging out with me, a gangly teenager, was amusing to say the least. I knew he would be coming on missions with us, but where was the line drawn? It was a very important line, one that I admittedly cared about far too much, and thus shall continue to worrying about.

     My phone buzzed from its perch atop my wooden side table, scaring me out of my concerned trance. It was just a social media notification, which I angrily cleared away, leaving my lock screen image. I had forgotten what I set it as, and now I was left with a feeling of... guilt. It was a picture of me from a few years ago on my fourteenth birthday, I was standing on a bench to be as tall as the boy next to me. He had darker skin and a large mop of curly red hair, like me, and I had just smashed his face into the birthday cake as Mum snapped this candid photograph. I shut off my phone and scowled.

     "You're not even here, stop making fun of me." I told it sternly.

    Whatever. I didn't care. I didn't care about most things. I was a cold, distant, edgy teenager and I wasn't about to be bothered by someone who wasn't here, or an old agent who probably didn't want to talk to me either. Then I heard the sound of a taxi pull up on the driveway and immediately regretted everything, I'm about to die, I wasn't ready for this. Why had I let myself agree to this. I very much cared; I was very much bothered. How could I possibly get myself out of this one? I was ready to do anything, honestly.

    "Asher, they're here!" I heard my Mum call from across the house. "Come outside."

    Brilliant.

    Parked upon our rundown driveway was a small black car with the familiar little yellow glowing taxi sign on top. Mum and Dad were already walking down to greet them. I sprinted to catch up even though every cell in my body was telling me to just run the other direction. I saw a woman get out of the passenger seat on the left. She fit the description of my expectations perfectly, her blonde hair was pulled up in a tight bun and she was dressed a slick black suit, dark sunglasses, bright red lipstick and a scowl to match. As if mere presences could kill. I'm pretty sure she was a few of my nightmares personified. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked up to greet us.

    "Sheryl." She stretched out her hand towards my parents.

    I caught sight of her red nails, sharpened to a point, and was honestly blown away by how coordinated this woman's style was to be absolutely terrifying. Then again, I could just be blowing things massively out of proportion, per usual, but I still think it would be wiser to give Sheryl a wide berth. My parents introduced themselves as Luella and Alastair Northcott, and I thought Sheryl would want to meet me as well, but instead left me thoroughly confused by opting to just... not. Then a second person clicked open the car door on the right side and suddenly I thought I must be hallucinating.

    It was... a young person. Not just any younger person, a young man, maybe close to my age. He had a raunchy t-shirt of the american flag on and semi-nice shorts (which I thought was absolutely ridiculous because it was always eight to eleven degrees Celsius at any given time of the year) and even though his attire induced feelings of nausea, I could tell underneath was a very attractive teenage boy. He was pale, with messy blonde hair that desperately needed a brush through, and two blue eyes that, in that moment, were the first blue sky I had seen all year in this damp and cloudy town. I was effectively taken aback, who was this boy and why was he both a major offense to fashion and absolute eye candy at the same time. 

    "Cheerio! I'm Gus!" He greeted in a horribly sloppy British accent, followed by a sharp pair of finger guns aimed in our direction. "Gus Washington."

    He took one step in our direction and I didn't think it could get any worse but it did. Gus Washington closed the distance between us by rolling over on his light-up heelies, which I now recognized, and held out his hand to me first in greeting. I take it back. I take it all back. There are roughly 171, 476 words in the Oxford English Dictionary and none of them could convey the level of turn-off bloody heelies were. This was a whole new emotion entirely. The emotion of feeling my eyes melt out of my skull. I was half convinced this exchange wasn't real.

    "Asher... Northcott." I said slowly, staring at the number of bracelets he had on each wrist as we shook hands, rainbow loom, yarn, leather, cross knot, paracord, beaded, you name it, he had it.

     "That's a rad name." He observed with a firm, thoughtful nod, finally dropping the accent, thank God.

     "Thank you." I glanced up at my parents, looking for some sign that I wasn't the only one experiencing this bizarre american acid trip.

     My dad simply raised one amused eyebrow at me, he thought this was hilarious. Mum's face was absolutely serious and unreadable but I would bet my inheritance that she was laughing on the inside. Who was this boy and how did I manage to become the butt of this joke, how do these things happen to me.

     "Asher, help our guest with his luggage." Mum coaxed, snapping me out of my thoughts.

     "Right." I straightened (appropriate) my posture and looked to the two of them.

     "They're in the trunk. Gus, help him." Sheryl said.

     "The trunk...?" I blinked.

     "The boot darling, we've been over this." Mum sighed, even though we haven't, I don't why she felt the need to downplay my intelligence in front of strangers, it wasn't like that was an insecurity of mine or anything.

     "Right." I replied anyway.

     Another thing I noticed about Gus Washington as we pulled suitcases out together was that he was freakishly tall, probably just under two meters. Then again, I was abnormally short as well. My thoughts flashed briefly back to the boy from my lock screen, he might have said something like... an African pygmy mouse standing next to a Masai giraffe. Then he would laugh about it and I would pretend it didn't hurt as much at it did. Whatever, I'm not supposed to be thinking about that right now. Not while the agents are here. I'm supposed to be pretending we follow strict protocol when it comes to fae and that we haven't done anything wrong. We haven't technically done anything wrong, it didn't stop me from feeling guilty though.

    Gus Washington's suitcase had the American flag on it, because why not, and I couldn't help but stare at him in amazement, like I was studying a zoo specimen, as he unpacked it. I can't believe that this was the special government agent I had acquired early grey hairs from. I couldn't bring myself to do anything but sit on my bed and just stare as he pulled out clothes and hummed a vague theme song of sorts, nothing I had ever heard of.

     "So uh, where do I put everything?" he asked, leaning onto the handle of his suitcase with that same insufferable grin.

     "There's a wardrobe right there. Everything else I guess... just wherever you want ." I shrugged.

     He continued to stare at me as if I had done something terribly amusing.

     "What?" I asked.

     "Sorry, little man, I've just never listened to a real British person outside of YouTube and BBC Sherlock." 

    "What's that supposed to mean?" I  asked, frowning at 'little man'.

    He wolf whistled. "It doesn't measure up to the real deal. Do you really call trunks boots? How confusing is that?"

    My frown only deepened. "Not as confusing as calling it a trunk, it's a car not an elephant."

    Gus Washington grinned to himself again with that stupid head shake and I kept trying to size him up. What was really so great about this guy? He certainly didn't look like the gatekeeping prodigy that had been promised. He just looked like a boy with no fashion sense. These theories were only confirmed as I stared at the clothes he was putting up next to mine.

    "Do you only wear sweaters?" Gus asked, rifling through my wardrobe.. "This is college professor tier attire, here."

    "I don't know if you noticed, but it's England and it's cold and as a human I generally like not freezing, and they're jumpers."

    He grinned again.

    "Shut up." I frowned.

    "I didn't even say anything!"

    "You were about to."

    "You caught me, lock me up officer." He feigned being handcuffed but stopped and frowned when it earned no reaction.

    "Is that a flag?" I pointed to the last thing lying in his suitcase.

    His eyes lit up. "Ah yes! Old Faithful, she's a beaut isn't she?"

    I watched as he picked it up, there was already one of the no-mess sticky adhesives applied to the corner. I realized with a sense of dread he wanted to hang that ghastly thing up in here. That tattered old thing that had obviously traveled high and low. Gus Washington took his American flag and hung it up in front of a Muse poster I cherished and it took all of my willpower not to screech at him right then and there. Calm down, he's your guest, you're not allowed to drive him out... yet. Besides... what would my parents say? That's right, they'd be disappointed, and I hate it when I do that.

     Gus Washington turned around, look far too proud of himself. "See, now it feels like home." He gazed around at the rest of my room. I felt like I was being scrutinized and that really set me off.

    "One Direction, really?" He raised an eyebrow, gesturing to a few magazine cut-outs lying on a bookshelf.

     "Not mine, I had a friend over." That was a blatant lie, Harry Styles was one of the most attractive men alive.

     "Does that friend sleep over often enough to require a bunk bed?"  He pointed to the top bunk.

    I grit my teeth. "No."

    He laughed. "So you just... have a second bed in your room?"

    "Yep."

    If I could say one thing for certain about Gus Washington, he had no sense of when to shut up. "Come on, who sleeps there? Did you prop up a bed for a poltergeist or something? You gotta tell me, man."

     I took a deep breath, and stood up. "How about no? I'm going to put the kettle on, you want something?"

     His eyes widened. "Tea? Uh... sure? Wait, so you guys really drink tea here?"

"I think it's safe to say they drink it everywhere, but yes, here in the town of Dinshire it's either beer or tea, take your pick." I raised an eyebrow as he seemed to stop and contemplate the idea. "I'll stop you there, we don't have any alcohol in this house."

    "Oh, well I guess I won't be having any fun while I'm here then." That stupid lopsided grin appeared on his face again, I was really beginning to hate it.

    Gus's smile fell when I didn't say anything. "Uh... just tea then please, and thank you."

    I didn't reply to that I just walked out of the room, eager to be away from the atmosphere he brought with him. Good God, this was going to be a proper nightmare. If it wasn't fuel to push myself to be better than nothing was, I can't wait until he leaves.

     He will leave, I'll make sure of it.