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Fic: Dating the Cleverest Boy in the World. Minisode/prologue to Chapter 13.
Hello there. Chapter 13 is very nearly done, but certain parts just grew, and then this little scene popped into my head. It's not at all necessary to read in order to understand Chapter 13, but I thought I'd post it even so. And in case you're wondering - the OC introduced here has never been mentioned before (didn't even really *exist* until very recently). He sort of took me a bit by surprise. So if you feel lost - that's deliberate.
Fic index here if anyone wants to catch up. And on AO3 here. Or just follow the tags.
Summary: The one thing he never saw coming.
Setting: Autumn 2026 (AU post-Sound of Drums)
Characters: OCs
Rating: Teen
Wordcount: 315 words approx.
Unexpected
Manchester. Late Summer/Early Autumn 2026
As far as Troy was concerned, England was nothing short of fantastic. So much less restrictive, and everyone seemed to love him. His accent above all (who knew that being Irish could be such an asset?), and on the whole he felt like he'd scored the jackpot. OK, so he was still sleeping on someone's floor, and his odd jobs only just managed to keep him fed, but getting other people to pay for his drinks was so easy that he should probably feel ashamed (if shame wasn't something he'd decided to rid himself of long ago), and half the time he got laid too. Some of them probably saw it as payment for the drinks, but hell, he wasn't bothered... (He was certainly living down to the expectations of everyone back home, and then some - good thing he didn't care.)
Tonight's pub was perfectly pleasant, and he was making eyes at a gorgeous guy (friend of a friend of a friend) with canary yellow hair and trousers that probably cut off most of his circulation below the waist, but damn, they showed off his arse beautifully. Troy told his most outrageous stories, and watched the guy's interest rise. Oh he was in there. Might be sleeping in a bed tonight!
Drink, unfortunately, necessitated a visit to the gents (mint green, dull) - where he was stopped mid-step by a guy about his own age... 20, maybe 21. The guy was dressed in a checkered shirt and jeans and fell into the category of 'Not ugly, but I'd need a few more drinks if I were to shag him'. Troy hadn't even so much as noticed him until the other put a hand on his arm.
"Sorry - but would you mind keeping the noise down a little? You're giving me a headache."
Troy had to stop from sneering. Just what he needed - a pub that was also populated by some kind of delicate nerd gang.
"Well, this level of fabulousness can't be kept down, Precious!" he replied glibly, but the guy's brow only darkened a little, before he repeated his former statement more slowly.
"I meant what I said. You are so loud you giving me a headache."
With growing unease Troy realised that maybe the other was some sort of Special Needs... (He didn't look it, but you could never tell, could you?) What was he supposed to do now?
Feeling embarrassed, he swiftly defaulted to indignation. What was someone doing in a pub if they couldn’t cope with others being a bit on the vocal side? He was who he was, and he wasn't about to make apologies for that. Stupid quiet straight boy - he’d make sure to scare him off for good.
Smiling his most suggestive smile (stepping into the other's personal space - close enough for discomfort and then some) he drawled: "Oh I am much quieter one-to-one..." - lifting an eyebrow that you'd have to be blind not to understand.
But the guy didn't get flustered. He just studied Troy silently for a long moment, then smiled an odd little smile.
"I think I should like that, yes."
Then he to Troy's immense bewilderment pulled out a small notepad, scribbled in it, before tearing out and handing over a snippet of paper.
"Call me? I make a great pasta bake."
And with a small nod he left the toilets, leaving Troy standing in the middle of the floor, staring in mute surprise. He didn't have a clue what had just happened - except it was something completely outside his experience. Eventually he looked at the paper, which, apart from a mobile number, bore only a name:
Toby Whitwell
(tbc)
Fic index here if anyone wants to catch up. And on AO3 here. Or just follow the tags.
Summary: The one thing he never saw coming.
Setting: Autumn 2026 (AU post-Sound of Drums)
Characters: OCs
Rating: Teen
Wordcount: 315 words approx.
Unexpected
Manchester. Late Summer/Early Autumn 2026
As far as Troy was concerned, England was nothing short of fantastic. So much less restrictive, and everyone seemed to love him. His accent above all (who knew that being Irish could be such an asset?), and on the whole he felt like he'd scored the jackpot. OK, so he was still sleeping on someone's floor, and his odd jobs only just managed to keep him fed, but getting other people to pay for his drinks was so easy that he should probably feel ashamed (if shame wasn't something he'd decided to rid himself of long ago), and half the time he got laid too. Some of them probably saw it as payment for the drinks, but hell, he wasn't bothered... (He was certainly living down to the expectations of everyone back home, and then some - good thing he didn't care.)
Tonight's pub was perfectly pleasant, and he was making eyes at a gorgeous guy (friend of a friend of a friend) with canary yellow hair and trousers that probably cut off most of his circulation below the waist, but damn, they showed off his arse beautifully. Troy told his most outrageous stories, and watched the guy's interest rise. Oh he was in there. Might be sleeping in a bed tonight!
Drink, unfortunately, necessitated a visit to the gents (mint green, dull) - where he was stopped mid-step by a guy about his own age... 20, maybe 21. The guy was dressed in a checkered shirt and jeans and fell into the category of 'Not ugly, but I'd need a few more drinks if I were to shag him'. Troy hadn't even so much as noticed him until the other put a hand on his arm.
"Sorry - but would you mind keeping the noise down a little? You're giving me a headache."
Troy had to stop from sneering. Just what he needed - a pub that was also populated by some kind of delicate nerd gang.
"Well, this level of fabulousness can't be kept down, Precious!" he replied glibly, but the guy's brow only darkened a little, before he repeated his former statement more slowly.
"I meant what I said. You are so loud you giving me a headache."
With growing unease Troy realised that maybe the other was some sort of Special Needs... (He didn't look it, but you could never tell, could you?) What was he supposed to do now?
Feeling embarrassed, he swiftly defaulted to indignation. What was someone doing in a pub if they couldn’t cope with others being a bit on the vocal side? He was who he was, and he wasn't about to make apologies for that. Stupid quiet straight boy - he’d make sure to scare him off for good.
Smiling his most suggestive smile (stepping into the other's personal space - close enough for discomfort and then some) he drawled: "Oh I am much quieter one-to-one..." - lifting an eyebrow that you'd have to be blind not to understand.
But the guy didn't get flustered. He just studied Troy silently for a long moment, then smiled an odd little smile.
"I think I should like that, yes."
Then he to Troy's immense bewilderment pulled out a small notepad, scribbled in it, before tearing out and handing over a snippet of paper.
"Call me? I make a great pasta bake."
And with a small nod he left the toilets, leaving Troy standing in the middle of the floor, staring in mute surprise. He didn't have a clue what had just happened - except it was something completely outside his experience. Eventually he looked at the paper, which, apart from a mobile number, bore only a name:
Toby Whitwell
(tbc)