Y/N

_

"LET'S GOOOOO," Louis whined from across the field, "could you be any slower, darling?"

Considering it was morning, the start of a new day, and I already had to start training again...I felt like pure death. Not to mention, Louis decided to wake me up with a bucket of freezing water. I was in the middle of a dream about food, and then the next thing I knew, I was drowning temporarily.

Which is why I was angry at him.

"Don't call me darling, you jerk," I hissed, trudging across the grass, "you're pure evil."

Louis laughed, brushing aside a stray curl, "are you really still upset over that?"

"I could have drowned!"

"Wow, you are the most dramatic person I've ever met."

"And?" I growled, swatting my hand at him as I fell onto one of the lawn chairs, "now let me go back to sleep."

Yes, yes, yes, I know that Louis is a dashingly, handsome, idiot that I've grown fond of, but that means nothing when it comes to my sleep—especially a dream about food. It's criminal. It's illegal. It's enough to make me more sarcastic and petty than usual.

"You really think you're going to beat the Jabberwocky by lazing around?" Louis' voice trickled across the field, snapping me out of my rant.

I narrowed my eyes into the chair. "Do you really think I care?"

Louis gasped at my response. I could practically feel the smirk creeping onto his lips, but I chose to ignore that buzzing feeling in the back of my neck out of pure spite. He always smirked. Always. Nothing to be worried about.

"Oh, so you have an attitude when you're tired," he said with a honeyed tone, "how fascinating."

I yawned. "I know you're fascinated with me, Louis, don't make it so obvious,"

"Apparently you're also very bold."

"I tend to be when I feel the need to."

There was a pause, followed by the sound of a silver chain swinging repeatedly against something else—I knew about the chain, but I wasn't facing him to know the specifics.

So when he didn't respond, I pushed myself out of the chair in annoyance, twisting around to see what he was planning. Much to my surprise, he was just watching me from across the field, his arms crossed against his chest as he tapped his combat boots against the ground. I took this opportunity to observe his fit:

Same leather jacket, but with a navy shirt this time, black jeans, leather combat boots, silver rings lining his right hand (which concluded my investigation of the noise), since he was twirling his necklace in between his fingers as he stared.

Note to self: Louis would look good in eyeliner.

Wait, now is not the time to be thinking about this.

I have murder on my mind at this present moment, so I should be throwing shade in his face instead. Noting his inability to mutter another word to me, I relaxed into my lawn chair, a smug grin on my face.

"Why so silent, Partridge?" I spat out, narrowing my eyes in amusement, "intimidated now?"

He scoffed, letting go of the chain. "By you?"

"Yes, by me and my lovely attitude."

I get that I'm being a handful, but still! It's like an uncontrollable thing once it starts, so I'm praying Louis understands that.

Orrrrrrrrrr....maybe he doesn't, because whatever I said is making Louis walk over to where I'm sitting. He uncrossed his arms, something flickering in his eyes, as he closed the space of field between us. Is he about to beat me up? Kick me into the sun? Give me an hour long lecture about how I should never disrespect him like that?

All of those options were thrown into the trash the moment I realized what was happening. Louis came to a stop in front of me, batting his eyelashes with unprovoked innocence. Bending down to his knees, he grabbed the arms of my chair, pulling me closer to him with a painful pace. And then he did something entirely unexpected. Lifting his hand, he gently placed his pointer finger under my chin, lifting my head back until I was looking him straight in the eyes—the glazed over, hazel ones.

I bit down on my tongue, unsure of what to do.

"Oh would you look at that," he whispered under his breath, "not so forward now, are you?"

(ง'̀-'́)ง

I was sitting in a chair, but I still felt like I was about to fall to the ground. It shouldn't be allowed! He shouldn't be allowed to make me feel emotions, especially ones where I get so flustered my own attitude melts away like butter in a microwave.

Oh, right, my attitude. Fear not, I haven't forgotten about the bucket of water.

"Get lost, Louis," I hissed, slapping away his hand, "you can't handle someone talking back to you, so you have to flirt with them to feel accomplished."

He laughed again, rising onto his feet. "Flirting with you isn't an accomplishment."

"Excuse me?"

"Making you squirm isn't a prize, I just do it because I feel like it. Winning an argument is simply a side-benefit."

"You didn't win."

"Darling, I always win."

"Would you like to test that theory?" I frowned, standing up, "one on one, let's duel."

Oh, darn it, [y/n], why do you do this to yourself?

While it was clear he was just tricking me into being productive, the adrenaline now coursing through my veins was too much for me to resist. I wanted to win against him. Even if I really only learned how to wield a sword yesterday, I was competitive like that, and I wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk off of his face.

To prove that he 'didn't always win'.

But alas, I'm thick in the head, so before I could even grab a sword from the weapons bag, Louis stuck out his boot, tripping me onto the ground. I went tumbling through the air for what felt like countless times. Hitting the dirt, I felt weighed down by my own embarrassment. Louis took this opportunity to hover over me, his hair falling over his eyes as he smirked in amusement.

"You've got to stop falling for me, darling," he pouted sarcastically, "you could hurt yourself."

Obviously.

Narrowing my eyes, I sent him a smirk in return, before grabbing the back of his leg and yanking it towards me. Unprepared, Louis toppled over, falling towards the ground with a yelp just like I did.

And while I considered my actions a power move, I may have miscalculated the angle I hit him back, because he promptly fell on top of me, his knee digging into the ground between my thighs, and his arm bracing for impact above my head. Our noses brushed against each other for a split second—leading him to pull back in surprise—but the collision was too evident to ignore.

And then we found ourselves in an increasingly awkward position.

Just staring at each other.

Utterly confused.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," I said, not moving my gaze, "but I think this time you fell for me."

And unlike before, my words didn't incite a snarky response from the boy. Instead, his eyes darkened, one of his curls grazing against my brow as I stared up at him.

His eyes flickered down to my lips, smirking. "You're not wrong."

And at first I thought I was reading the situation completely wrong. Was all this tension just tension? Not romantic in any way? He was literally on top of me, and while it wasn't in an inappropriate sense, it gave me a chance to make a move. A consensual move, that would require a response from him—simply a kiss.

And that's when I decided that if I was going to stop doubting my feelings, and stop wasting time, this would be the time to do it. Pushing myself onto my elbows slowly, I let out a steady breath, hesitantly closing the gap that separated us.

When Louis began to mirror my actions, I relaxed. He wanted this too. And while we'd only known each other for a few days, it somehow felt like this was exactly how it should play out. Not rushed, but perfectly balanced given our situations.

Until Louis turned his cheek, rolling off of me and onto the grass instead.

"But I'm wrong," he exhaled to himself, standing up and adjusting his jacket. He paused for a second, looking at me with an unreadable expression, and then glanced away. "I think we better end training for today."

I wanted to sink into the ground. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's not you."

"Then what is it?"

His expression faltered, and he shook his head. He was wearing the same mask that he had on that night at the cottage—shadows around his eyes, and his lips pressed into a thin line anxiously—which told me everything I needed to know. The thing that was bothering him then, was bothering him now.

I wished he'd tell me. Tell me how to help him, how to stop him from reserving himself like that. 

But instead, he just walked away.