i like me better | {mallory/abel}

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

Reid Whittaker wasn't, like, a super fun person to be around. He had a poor temper and a lot to prove, and he was constantly getting into trouble with the teachers. But he was popular, so he was around. And he threw really good parties. Always had. For his tenth birthday, his parents had rented a bouncy house and a water slide, and it was all anyone could talk about for the rest of the summer and pretty much everyone decided from that moment on that he would be hosting all the future meetups.

But the night after her lunch with Abel Saltzman at Octoburger, the not-seafood restaurant, Mallory couldn't remember a single time she had seen him at one of these parties. Which might have been for a reason, but regardless, she'd decided he would be in attendance at the next one. Maybe they didn't like each other, but so what? No one liked the Whittakers, they just liked how they put a bit too much effort into trying to be the best. The M.O. of a career, yaknow?

She plopped down in the seat next to Abel in the cafeteria, putting on her brightest smile as she rested her chin on her fist.

"You can't say no because I'll be completely devastated," she started, just in case, "But I was wondering if you would pretty, pretty, pretty please go to Reid Whittaker's party tonight?" She plucked a potato wedge up from her tray and nibbled at it absent-mindedly.

"Everyone-" she carried on between bites- "Well, everyone 'cept me cuz I don't drink gets really hammered so it's fun to watch. Plus it would be really fun to have someone cool there."

He was always a quiet one, that Abel Saltzman, surrounded on all sides by a hard shell and only rarely willing to poke his head out over the top. But when he did, he had the cutest smile and he was actually really interesting. All it took for her to realize it was a second glance, and now she couldn't really explain why but she had this unbelievable urge to show him who he was- or who he could be- through her eyes.

"Reminder that you can't say no, by the way."

[✨ zozo.]

There's a reason he doesn't go to Reid Whittakers parties, or hang around Reid Whittaker, or even talk to Reid Whittaker in the first place. It's because Reid Whittaker is everything Abel Saltzman pretends to be. Pretty. Popular. Rich. He knows that if he gets too close to Reid, the boy will take one look at him and see right through his bright green eyes and find the truth.

That Abel Saltzman will never be Reid Whittaker. Not even close.

So when Mallory Du Pont bounds over to his table and asks for him to join her, his heart sinks a little. Mallory would want to go to Reid Whittaker's party. She's probably been every year since his tenth birthday - the one everyone talked about, the one that existed in his classmate's memories and Abel's imagination. Invitations in backpacks and Abel's was empty on the walk home, perhaps it was for the best. Turning up in raggedy clothes with pockets full of other people's jewellery - Mallory Du Pont wouldn't have paid him a second glance.

It's a miracle she does now, seven years later, beaming at Abel like she had over burgers and not-seafood and begging him to join her. Her prospect does intrigue him, smirking at the idea of watching their classmates stumble over themselves like fools. It's a sick part of him that he wants to keep hidden from Mallory, the reason he's tried to keep a comfortable distance. She's too lovely for him. Too kind, too warm.

But that doesn't mean he wants to stay away from her.

So Abel grins back, twinkling eyes and irresistibly cheeky. "Well if I really can't say no, then I guess we're going drunk-watching."

He feels terrible, allowing her to keep coming back again and again. He feels worse still, hearing her tell him he cannot push her away. What disgusts him the most is that he doesn't want to let her go. Even if he ruins her, he cannot help himself.

Terrible boy, he reaches into  his backpack to pull out a pen and paper and pats the seat next to him. "Let's make it a game. Bingo sheets. Winner pays for the next not-seafood seafood?"

Secretly he'd let her win. Not for the free lunch, but for the satisfaction of seeing her smile. The thought eased his conscience as he put pen to paper, glancing up at her for half a second and smiling.

"Someone kisses someone they're not supposed to," he suggests, swallowing down desire as he scribbles the thought down on his sheet and hands her the pen.