The Library Chair.

Stingue

Modern/High School AU

Someone was in Rogue's chair.

Usually, the raven-haired teen wouldn't really care if someone was in the chair that he used almost every day at the public library. Rogue wasn't the kind of person who was fond of confrontation, so he normally wouldn't have said anything. But this was different. The guy lounging in his chair was doing it purposely to elicit a reaction from Rogue. It was working.

Rogue couldn't deny that the guy was hella handsome. He also couldn't deny that he was annoying as fuck. The guy sitting in his chair was in most of Rogue's honours-level courses, which really hurt his pride (seriously, if the dipshit could get into honours courses, what did that say about people who were genuinely intelligent?).

As he pushed open the glass doors to the library, Rogue prayed that the guy wouldn't be there. He weaved through the shelves of sappy romance novels and nonfiction books, ending in the back corner of his favourite building. Skimming over the spines of the novels in the Sci-Fi section, he made his way to the corner where his chair sat.

The chair didn't really hold a ton of sentimental value to him, but it was just his favourite place to sit. It was old – at least ten years old, if he had to guess – and faded – the original dark brown colour had faded over time into a medium chestnut shade. The material was plush, and the cushions weren't too soft or too oh-my-god-this-chair-fucking-hurts-my-back-if-I-sit-here-too-long hard. It was a comfortable chair. But what Rogue liked most about it was where it was. It was comfortably nestled in this little nook in the corner. The nook had been formed by the excess space from the storage closet right next to it. The spot had one tall window on one side, and Rogue had even taken the effort to install a lamp. Even now, he spent a lot of late nights when he didn't feel like going home at the one place that he felt truly safe – among the books that couldn't judge him.

Before Rogue had even turned the corner, he knew that the guy was in his seat. "Get the fuck out of my seat, Sting."

The blond boy was smiling lazily when he came into Rogue's field of view. "Why? It's comfy."

Rogue's first instinct was to just say Yeah, you can have my chair… as he looked into the guy's dark blue eyes. They were downright gorgeous. He was downright gorgeous.

The muscular male was lounged comfortably across the chair, both legs hanging off of one armrest, his back resting on the other. He wore a loose white tank top with a pair of black basketball shorts. Rogue tried not to notice how nicely the outfit displayed his muscles that he had earned from years of playing sports. He tried not to notice that his shorts had fell just the slightest bit because of the position he was sitting in, which exposed his upper leg—

Holy god shit dammit FUCK! Can you possibly get any more gay? Calm your shit, Rogue.

Taking a deep breath to slow his rapid heartbeat and to try to lessen the colour on his usually-pale cheeks, Rogue struggled to regain his composure.

"C-can I j-just have my seat back… please?" he cursed himself for stuttering, and he felt another wave of blush dusting his whitish cheeks.

Sting chuckled, showing off his sharper-than-normal canines and perfectly straight teeth. His smile was nice. It fit his face.

Really, everything about Sting just made sense. Not socially, of course. But physically. He had messy blond hair, a slim yet muscular figure, a slightly-taller-than-average height, and blue eyes that made everyone melt. Everyone. And his face was just pleasing to look at in Rogue's opinion. He had a scar running diagonally over his right eyebrow, which added a bit of interest to his face. Something imperfect… that's still just as perfect.

Rogue! Stop right fucking now! No! He is the enemy for fuck's sake! He took your seat, dammit!

Right.

"But I like this chair," the relaxed human whined.

Rogue fought the thoughts in his head that urged him to do things that were most certainly not socially acceptable, bringing back his self-control. "Look, I've got homework to do. Can I have my chair?"

"What will you do for me, then?"

Rogue blinked. "Wha-what? What will I do for you?"

"Yup. I'll move, but only if I get something out of it." The light-haired athlete grinned.

Tugging anxiously at his black ponytail, the bookworm sighed. "Uhhhh, I don't know. What do you want from me?"

"Dinner."

"Huh?" Rogue must've heard the attractive boy lounging in front of him incorrectly.

"And a movie."

His heart raced, realising what Sting had requested. And with such a straight, calm face, too! How do you ask someone to go out with you so calmly?

Did Sting seriously just ask me out? What is… I'm dreaming. I'm going to wake up, and it's going to be cruel. That's the only explanation. I'm dreaming, and I'm about to wake up. Then things will go back to normal with our normal arguments about the chair. That's how today is supposed to go. We're supposed to argue a little bit, I eventually give in, we see each other tomorrow morning, pretend we don't know one another, and repeat. He's not supposed to mess with the works. This is just mean. This is a cruel joke. This isn't reality. No, Sting Eucliffe is a Class-A asshole jock. He isn't the kind of person who would ask out a loner bookworm who hides from his problems. He isn't the kind of person who would like guys. Sting Eucliffe is as straight as they come. Is this what he thinks of as a joke?

Sting seemed to notice Rogue's hesitation, so it was his turn to blush. "I mean… will you go out wi—"

"Stop."

Sting cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"If you're trying to mess with my head or something, stop." His voice cracked and wavered unevenly. The raven-haired teenager's knees locked as his hands shook. "Please… just stop. It's not funny. If you want to go back to your friends with stories about me, fine, but don't fucking mess with my head, okay? I… I can't take that. This isn't funny. We can pretend this never happened, and we can go back to how we were before. But this isn't something that you joke about, okay? If this is your friends' sick and twisted idea of a prank, they're more fucked up in the head than I am. You… you can't just fuck around with someone's head like this… It's… it's not fair." Before his word filter could activate itself, words came tumbling out of his face.

Sting was quiet for a few seconds for reasons that Rogue could not understand. Rogue just stood where he was, breathing uneven, staring at his feet. Rogue knew that his face had to be bright tomato red, and he knew that, by this point, he must have tears forming.

Dammit. I didn't want to let my guard down. I didn't want anyone to see this. I've worked so fucking hard to keep it together for years, and here he is, and now I can't keep myself together for shit. Fuck! This is it. By tomorrow, all of the junior class will know that Rogue Cheney is a gay cry-baby. Here I am, in the middle of a fucking breakdown in front of the guy I've liked since grade seven! Fuck, fuck, fu—

"Rogue?"

Rogue's breath hitched as he tried to comprehend the scene in front of him.

Sting, with a concerned look plastered on his face, was crouched in front of the emotionally-unstable teenager. "I'm not fuckin' with your brain," he said carefully. "I'm serious. I wanna go out with ya."

"You're lying," Rogue spat.

"What kind of asshole would I be if I lied about something like this?"

"The kind that I've always known you to be," Rogue spat without thinking.

Sting winced, as if that actually stung his ego. "Ouch. Look, I joke about a lot of things, and I'm the biggest asshole you'll ever meet. But I won't fuck with your head when it comes to liking someone. This isn't for my friends' entertainment. This is something that's purely for me. Will you go on a date with me?"

The stubborn part of Rogue wanted to just scream nope! And you lost the chair! Ha! But the logical – and emotional – part of his brain told him doing that would make him a bigger jackass than a person who screws with another person's head.

Instead of accepting, though, the suspicious part of Rogue's mind asked, "Why should I believe whatever you're saying? It's not true. It can't be! Why me? Why do you want to go out on a date with me?"

Sting stood, heaving out an exasperated breath. "Goddammit, Rogue! Am I not allowed to just ask someone out on a date because I like them?"

An angered shush from a few aisles over, briefly interrupted them. Before Rogue spoke next at a lower volume, he thought bitterly, I'm surprised we haven't gotten yelled at before now. Rogue's head snapped up as he eyed the angered athlete standing before him. "No! Not when it's some kind of twisted prank! Why me? Why did you choose me?"

"I don't know! All I know is that I like you, and I'm trying to ask you out on a date, so will you please just say yes?" Sting growled.

Rogue allowed himself to smile, and he dried his eyes as he looked up. Three times. He said that he likes me… three times. People usually don't lie three times in a row during some kind of sick prank. After all, in the prank business, there has to be some kind of line. "Alright, Sting, I'll go on a date with you. But I want my chair back." A glint of playfulness danced in the dark-haired teen's eyes.

"Fine," Sting said simply, gesturing to the chair. "You're paying."

"You're kidding, right?" Rogue deadpanned.

Sting grinned in a devilish manner. "Not one bit. I said you could have your chair back is you took me out to dinner and a movie. Now, come on!" He took Rogue's hand and started dragging him towards the library exit.

"Hey! Wait—" Rogue tried. He debated lying and saying that he didn't have his wallet with him or that he was broke, but he didn't want to mess with anything that could potentially be good.

"Nope!"

"I forgot my backpack! Sting! Let goooooo!"

At some point, Rogue just gave in an accepted the fact that he had just been asked on a date – and by Sting Eucliffe, captain of the Every Team Ever, no less. Well. I guess I could go along with this.

A/N: Goddammit! I meant for this to be a cute, fluffy thing! Why did I have to add in angst, no matter how minor it was? I'm just gonna blame my mega-angsty Gratsu fic, If Fire Could Freeze, We'd Be Okay. I feel like they're both out of character - Rogue especially - but I'm pleased with how this came out, I think? So there's a one-shot for your day. Leave a review! -Stephanie