Ink & Ivory

7 - elliott

I perch on the edge of my seat in literature class, smoothing the pleats of my pastel pink skirt, feeling the light fabric brushing against my legs like silk. My ballet flats tap quietly against the polished floor, an unconscious rhythm to calm my nerves. Everything is in place—my notebook lays open, a pen poised, and my schedule perfectly aligned to get ahead on the upcoming reading. Today's class is on romanticism in literature, a subject I just adore. I've got my points prepared, and my thoughts organized. I can practically hear myself earning top marks, every moment under control.

Then, as if the universe has other plans, the door swings open with a casual, creaking groan.

Elliott strolls in, unapologetically late.

He's all tousled dirty blond hair—pulled into a messy man bun—and a mix of oversized, ripped sweaters and ink-stained jeans. Silver rings adorn his fingers etched with sigils that I vaguely recognize from Aether-infused charms, glinting against his skin. He walks with deliberate laziness, a coffee cup in one hand, notebook carelessly tucked under his arm, and a smirk hovering just on the edge of his lips.

Professor Aldridge's sharp gaze follows him, but Elliott doesn't seem to notice or care. He saunters past the desks, eyes lazily sweeping over the room, and. If by cosmic mischief, those eyes meet mine.

My stomach does a ridiculous flip.

Of course, I've noticed him before. He is the kind of guy who never goes unnoticed—the brooding type who lingers on the fringes, unreadable yet magnetic. But I don't have much time for distractions like him. Not when I have so much to balance—dance practice, Aether classes that I'm supposed to avoid, calls with my sister, and of course, my meticulously crafted study schedule.

I quickly drop my gaze, focusing on the perfectly written notes before me. The last thing I need is another complication, especially one with silver rings and a devil-may-care attitude.

Elliott, however, seems to have other plans. He slides into the seat directly next to me, the scent of cigarettes and a faint trace of something woodsy—maybe cedar?—mixing with the coffee on my breath. I stiffen, keeping my eyes trained on my notes.

"Mind if I borrow a pen?" Elliott's voice is low and lazy but with a teasing light.

I blink, caught off guard. I glance up, meeting his gaze again. His eyes are an unreadable shade of hazel, glinting with some internal amusement that I can't quite place.

"Oh, um...sure." I fumble in my pencil case, pulling out a pen—pink, of course—and hand it over.

"Thanks." His fingers brush mine as he takes the pen, sending an unanticipated jolt of awareness through me. The moment passes quickly, and he leans back in his chair, scribbling something aimlessly in his notebook.

Professor Aldridge begins her lecture on the themes of love and idealism in romanticism, diving into passages from Pride & Prejudice and Wuthering Heights. I usually love this—dissecting themes of longing and forbidden love. But today, my thoughts are so scattered. Every time Elliott shifts in his seat, I feel it. Every time he taps his foot or stretches lazily my focus fractures.

To make matters worse, after barely five minutes, he leans over and whispers "Don't you think Pride and Prejudice is overrated?"

My eyes widen and I turn to him, incredulous. "What?"

He raises an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed by her shock. "I mean, sure, Mr. Darcy's a brooding icon or whatever, but it's so predictable. Classic literature like that...it's all the same. Pretentious, slow burn, over-romanticized."

I feel my cheeks flush, equal parts irritation and disbelief. "Predictable? Pride and Prejudice is a masterpiece of character study! It's all about social dynamics, emotional growth, and—"

"Repressed feelings," Elliott cuts in, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips. "Great if you like the slow build, but isn't it just a glorified soap opera?"

My mouth drops open. Soap opera? My brain scrambles for a rebuttal. "It's...more than that. It's timeless! The tension, the way it mirrors real relationships and societal pressures—"

"It's still romance though," he shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee, eyes gleaming with amusement as he watches me flounder. "Same tropes you'd find in a cheesy rom-com."

I inhale sharply. "It's not the same as...as Mystic Hearts or something."

The name slips out before I even have the chance to stop myself. The shame of my guilty pleasure, that utterly, over-the-top supernatural romance show I watch religiously, suddenly burns hot in my mind.

Elliott leans in closer, his voice low, teasing. "Mystic Hearts? You're a fan?"

I turn an even brighter shade of pink, horrified at the idea that my little secret had been exposed. "I—no, I didn't mean...look, Pride and Prejudice is nothing like Mystic Hearts!"

He chuckles, clearly enjoying my flustered state. "Okay, I'll give you that, But still...classic literature? Overrated."

"You prefer...what? Poetry and existentialism?" I shoot back, folding my arms defensively.

"Actually, yeah." His grin widens like he'd just won some invisible game. "Something with depth. Grit. Something that does sugarcoat reality."

I huff, trying to hold on to my dignity. "Romance doesn't sugarcoat reality."

"Doesn't it?" Elliott leans back, his gaze far too knowing for someone who just rolled in late. "All that longing, those misunderstandings...it's a fantasy. People want love to be easy, or at least fixable by the end of the book. Real life's messier than that."

I open my mouth to argue, but Professor Aldridge's voice cuts in, pulling our attention.

"Miss Alcott, Mr. Thornton," the professor calls out from the front, her eyes narrowing on me. "Since you both seem so enthusiastically engaged in a discussion, I'm assigning you two to work together on the upcoming literature project. You can debate your literary preferences while completing the assignment."

My stomach sinks, while Elliott simply smirks, looking completely unfazed. Of course. Of course, this was happening. The Aether clearly has it out for me today.

"Perfect," Elliott drawls, sending me a sidelong glance. "Guess we'll have plenty of time to argue about Jane Austen now."

I force a tight smile, feeling like my entire perfectly crafted schedule has just crumbled at my feet. Partnered with him of all people? The rebel poet who doesn't believe in love stories?

Great. Just great.

As the class wraps up, Elliott turns to me again, his eyes still twinkling with that insufferable amusement. "Meet me after class tomorrow to brainstorm?"

I nod, still reeling from this turn of events. "Sure. Tomorrow it is."

He winks, handing back my pink pen, before sauntering out of the room without a second glance. I stare at him, flustered and slightly annoyed, but more than anything, wondering how on earth I'm going to survive this partnership without completely losing my mind.