The Quintessential High School AU

by ShamelessOCcentricity

Michael is living in a motel while attending his senior year; Fisk is not going to be friends with the rich boy in his classes; Kathrine struggles to come to terms with her sexual orientation; Judith gets into trouble for fighting the social system; and Rosamund is just so pretty it's like a disability. Oh, and then there's the school play.

2. Not A Chapter I'm So Sorry

Everything is on (possibly permanent) hiatus except my original work and my huge undertaking of a SPN fic on AO3, so here's my "sorry for not updating" post, with random fluff from this verse's future.

Michael was sprawled out across the bed on his stomach, feet in the air, while he read his battered copy of The Sword in the Stone. Fisk was certain he'd read that book until he memorized it and then keep reading until it pulverized into ash and dust. And then he'd buy a new copy.

Fisk, meanwhile, pretended to reread The Hound of the Baskervilles and listened to his music while secretly stealing glances at Michael – the shirt on his back had slipped up a bit, revealing a strip of skin on his lower back – and watching the way his entire face lit up as he read.

One of his looks lingered too long, because Michael's eyes flicked up and met his, and then he grinned slowly. Before Fisk could jump away, Michael had rolled off the bed and snatched Fisk's MP3 player. He set it on the speaker and then beamed, wide and brilliant, as the sound of Marina and the Diamonds filled the bedroom.

"Give it back," Fisk grumbled, but Michael was taller than him and Fisk spent maybe a little too much time reading books and not quite enough time doing fencing and gymnastics. Fisk groaned. "Miiiike."

"Nonnyyyyyy," Michael replied, in the same whiny tone.

"What are you—" Fisk broke off and dove for the music player again as Michael started looking through his music library.

Michael snorted. "Taylor Swift? Marina, I get, but Taylor Swift? You're such a softie!"

"Shut up! I like her, okay?"

"Do I have competition?" Michael asked, fighting his grin now and failing.

"I have as much of a chance with her as you have with T H White, and he's dead, and old, and crusty, and dead."

Michael grinned and leaned down to kiss Fisk. "I happen to like your taste in music. I mean, it sucks, but it's cute."

"Oh, because rock ballads are absolutely superior to actually decent singers like Florence Welch or Hayley Williams," Fisk grumbled.

"Precisely," Michael kissed him again.

"Jerk," Fisk breathed. "Bed?"

"Definitely."