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project
azul ashengrotto. アズール・アーシェングロット
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"ALL I KNOW is one of us is right, the other is you."
Azul turns to look at you, test tube still in his hands, offended by your words. You raise your eyebrows at him, as you leaf through the book in your hands. "What did you just say?" His tone incredulous as he turns his full attention to you.
You huff, rolling your eyes and approaching the brewing potion. "You got it, sweetcakes." A disgusted expression appears on his face caused by the pet name by which you referred to him. He moves slightly to the side to allow you to pass but not far enough that he is unable to control your every move regarding the project.
"I can't believe I was paired with you of all people." Says the silver-haired, pushing his pair of glasses into place with his middle finger. You click your tongue, adding the next ingredient to the concoction as you continue to review the book. "Don't you worry, I can assure you the feeling is mutual."
Silence falls for a few minutes, which you spend stirring the mixture carefully as he goes over your notes, but everything changes as soon as you grab a certain jar. "What are you doing?" Azul asks you, your notebook now closed and placed on the table. "Putting the next ingredient, as you can clearly see." You respond, waving the jar in front of his eyes.
"Yes, the wrong one, that is." He snatches it from your hands before you can pour it into the cauldron, placing it in its place on the shelf and then grabbing another one. Once close enough you can read the writing on the label, your eyes immediately widen. "Are you out of your mind!? Do you want to blow us up?" He completely ignores you, walking over to the potion and loosening the lid.
You push him, almost knocking him over, standing then directly in front of the cauldron, shielding it. It takes Azul a while to compose himself before giving you a murderous look. "What is wrong with you?"
"I don't know, you tell me." You answer exasperated, bringing a hand to your chest for the fright you just got. The silver-haired approaches again, determined to pour his ingredient; this time it's you who takes it from his hand, getting on the table so he can't reach it.
Azul runs a hand through his hair, annoyed by your behavior, considering doing the project himself and then having yours mysteriously disappear. "What are you, a child?"
"Better to be a child than dead." You stick your tongue out at him, hugging the jar to your chest. "(y/n) come down and give me that jar, we need to finish the project." He basically commands you, reaching out to help you down. You ignore him completely, clutching the container even more. "Sure, we'll finish it, but with the right ingredient." Azul sighs in annoyance, rubbing his temples. "(y/n), for the last time, get off that table before you get hurt." He pauses for a moment to sigh again before continuing "Or before you screw up all my work."
You gasp in shock, almost dropping the object in your hands "Did you just say: my work!?" "Yes, I did!" At this point you are practically yelling at each other as you walk across the surface of the table and he tries to stop you to take the ingredient back.
Suddenly the sound of the door slamming against the wall attracts the your attention.
"What is going on here?"
Stern, Professor Crewel stands at the door - hands firmly placed on his hips - he looks at you both, clearly disappointed. "Care to explain why you're standing on the table, (l/n)?"
You get down immediately, again ignoring Azul, to bow down and apologize. A lecture on your behavior and on the risks you could have run by immediately follows.
Then you and Azul are forced to have to explain your project in detail, the only way to end your quarrel is to have an external - and expert - opinion. Not to your surprise, you were right, the ingredient chosen by Azul would have caused serious problems.
The conversation ends with the announcement of detention for both of you.
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Sitting in the empty classroom, next to each other, the pout on Azul's face threatens to make you burst out laughing numerous times.
You nudge him, getting his attention before sticking tongue out at him, clearly satisfied that you were, at least, right.
"I hate you." He whispers to you through gritted teeth, his hands gripping the edge of the desk tightly.
"Yeah, I know you love me."
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