GENRE: fluff, high school romance
WARNINGS: n/a
NOTES: y'all love warren dont u.

___________

"You're an asshole," You kicked him in his combat boot under the table, but didn't look up from the papers you were fervently sorting through.

"What?" He scoffed, leaning his head in his hand languidly as he continued to watch you stress. "I just complimented you!"

"Calling me a 'hot mess' is not a compliment," You rolled your eyes, snatching a paper and reading over it to see if it was the one you'd been looking for. Sighing in relief, you placed it on the pile by Warren, finally having finished what you needed for your project. Warren had already finished his, and had helped you with yours. Chemistry wasn't your strong suit, but he was surprisingly good at it.

"I called you 'hot'," He informed like you hadn't heard, and you peered up at him with a glare, trying to hide the way your cheeks heated up at your words, and the way your stomach fluttered. His hands lifted in surrender at the look you were giving him, and a smile floated onto his face, "Let's just go, you dork. Okay?" He enquired, picking up the papers for your project as you grabbed the scraps.

"Is that a British thing?" You enquired as you stood, pushing your chair in with your foot and picking up your school bag with one hand, throwing it over your shoulder.

"What?" He asked with furrowed eyebrows as the two of you walked out of the library together, arms brushing.

"Terms of endearment. You make everything sound like a pet-name," You explained, peering over to see his smile grow wider.

He shrugged slightly, his eyes meeting yours for a second, before looking ahead again. "I guess it is," He nodded slowly, "But maybe it's just because I like you and I want to endear you," He added.

You scoffed at his words. "Yeah right, Warren. Imagine you actually letting down your gaurd enough to fall in love. Seems unlikely," You laughed slightly, taking a right up the stairs toward your dorm.

He stopped on the first step, slightly shocked. If only you knew how much faster his heart beat around you, and how much he longed to hold your hand and touch you for more than just a few moments. How often he caught himself staring at you just because you were simply there, existing. If only you knew how much you made him smile and laugh and feel content. He shook his head, a fond grin on his lips as he pivoted off the step to catch up with you.

_______

You liked to idea of having a homecoming dance at the school, which not only surprised Ororo when you told her, but also yourself. But you supposed it was nice; mutants were usually the kids that didn't get a date to the dance, and now they were asking each other.

You'd seen a few people being asked out, and it warmed your heart. It was times like those that you regretted being such a hardass. You liked the fact that people generally steered clear of you, but since the announcement of the dance, you thought that, maybe be if you weren't so intimidating, someone would actually ask you to go with them.

But you didn't want just anyone asking you to go with them. You wanted Warren. And you knew it was stupid - the two of you had been friends for little over four months, and he hadn't shown any interest in you.

"Oi. What's got you so deep in thought?" You heard his familiar voice asked, his hand waving in front of your face.

You swatted it away as you regained your composure. "Just the Biology test next week," You lied, getting up from the bench that you'd been waiting for him on.

Adjusting the strap of his backpack, he rolled his eyes. "Getting into this friendship, I didn't know you'd be such a nerd. Maybe if I knew from the beginning, I could've gotten a chance to rethink," Warren remarked, and you scoffed at him, bumping his shoulder with yours.

"Shut up, Warren," You retorted.

"I was kidding, by the way. And besides, you'll ace the test. I know you will," He assured with a comforting smile that you couldn't help but mirror after a few moments.

"Thanks . . . I've also been thinking about this dance," You told him, avoiding looking at him when you could tell he peered over at you. You could almost see the uncertainty on his features.

"You're not seriously thinking of going?" He questioned you, eyebrows raised as you chewed down on your lip in reply. "Seriously?" He repeated, confused that you'd even consider it.

"Just because everyone thinks I'm a heartless bitch, doesn't mean I am one, Warren. I think it'd be fun," You informed, still not looking him in the eye.

He came to a stop in his stride, looking down at you in concern. You couldn't help but stop in return. His hand drifted up to your arm, holding you gently. "I know that, you know?"

You finally peered up at him, shifting on your feet with a look he'd never seen on your face. "I know you know," You admitted, nodding your head as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "And besides . . . no one's asked me, so I might not even have a reason to go, anyways."

After a few moments of his eyes flickering over you, he allowed his hand to drop to his side, realizing the emotion he was seeing in you for the first time. You were insecure. And it made him uneasy. You didn't deserve to feel like that.

"Well, go with me," He immediately blurted.

Your eyes met his in shock, stomach filling with butterflies at the implications of his words. "You don't have to go with me out of pity, I-"

"I'm not," He immediately denied, the genuine tone of his voice causing a smile to work its way onto your lips. He couldn't believe what he was saying. His heart was beating off the chain. "How about . . . If no one asks you, then we can go together, as friends."

Holding back your disappointment on his last two words, you beamed at him, nodding your head. Your confidence had seemingly returned, and soon, you were pulling him into a hug.

He was surprised, but held onto you tight, burying his face in your neck with a sigh.

"Thank you," You mumbled into his shirt.

"What are friends for."

_________

A slither of hope burned in his core that no one would ask you (despite knowing how many people knew how beautiful you were, how great of a catch you were). He wanted to see you in a dress that matched his tie, he wanted to call you beautiful and hold your hand as you walked towards the large lounge room that had all the furniture cleared out of it. He wanted to hold you in his arms, your head on his chest as you danced to something slow. He wanted to walk you back to your dorm, where he'd kiss you under the doorway, holding your face between his hands. He felt like an idiot for even thinking about that.

The week going into Homecoming, people began to find you more approachable, apparently. On Monday, Pyro had asked you out, and you promptly turned him down - which he didn't seem to like very much. That's what Jubilee had told him, anyways. On Wednesday two other people asked you, and by then, you were apparently pretty good at turning people down. By Friday, Warren was ready to explode.

He wasn't inherently angry, and he wasn't a coward. Maybe he had some dumb thoughts (like paying people off to just quit asking you out), but quickly  realized that he was either going to try his luck and risk being just like the other guys, or go with you as a friend, which he assumed was still the plan.

You were understanding. Surely you'd let him down easy, and he'd take it fine, and you could be friends just the same. That's not what he was worried about. He was plain nervous, and you were the only one that could put him in that kind of position.

Warren was tapping his boot against his floor, waiting on you to meet him in his room after school. He eyed the flowers he'd picked for you, white and pretty, and . . . God, he hoped you'd like it. Jean had even given him a ribbon to tie it up. He couldn't believe how much she teased him for asking, but he supposed he deserved it for being a little bit of a dick. He brushed off some dirt on the large petals, hoping you wouldn't notice they were just from Xavier's garden - he didn't have much place else to get them.

His fidgeting was interrupted by a knock on the door, before you opened it. Warren immediately scrambled to his feet, hiding his gift and his hands behind his back.

You greeted him with a smile that made all the tension in his shoulders melt, and watched as you dumped your backpack by the door, "You won't believe who asked me to prom!" You exclaimed.

"Who?" He couldn't help but ask awkwardly, not wanting to let you down.

"That 15 year old that I tutor," You told him, chuckling at the audacity at the kid as you dug through your bag. When you finally looked back over, you weren't sure what to say.

Warren held the flowers out to you with a timid smile, pretty blue eyes averted.

"Oh," You said.

"I'm sorry," His cheeks flushed, "Now that I'm in front of you, this seems stupid," He admitted, hand going up to scratch the back of his neck.

"No, it's okay," You assured smoothly, taking a step closer to him, "They're beautiful," You remarked, looking at the flower with adoration, and with what Warren now realized, up-close, was a blush.

Despite his thumping heart, he breathed out, managing to connect vision with you, "I really like you. I really really like you . . . a-and you don't have to like me back, but I thought I owed you enough to tell you. All I want to do is make you smile, and hold your hand, and for you to be happy. And I hope you'd like to come to the dance with me."

You were sure that this was the longest he had ever spoken (especially about his feelings), and your insides were twisted. Both of you were so used to being hurt that you closed of your emotions. Except, it seemed, to each other. Your lips stretched into a smile at his newfound timidness, his familiar features graced with a rosy tint; only making him more angelic. It wasn't often that he appeared nervous in any context, and it was nice that he was being this vulnerable with you.

"I'd love to," You answered.