High School AU Galen Drabble
Word Count: 1197
mc: hey i got detention so you can walk home without me today lol
galen: What? Why?
mc: something dumb
mc: see you tomorrow!!
“Good to see you,” the teacher greets you dryly from their desk.
“Hi.” You slink over to your spot, resisting the urge to sigh. Or cry. Or scream. Or all of the above.
Other than the teacher at the front of the room, you’re the only one here. Great! You’re the only one foolish enough to get caught and sent to detention. Awesome!
You sigh through your nose, and fish your homework out of your bag. You have nothing else to do.
And then the door opens, and they’re impossible to miss because they’re over six foot—Galen walks through the door. Their gaze barely passes over the teacher before they’re marching right over to the desk next to you and squeezing themself in a chair.
“Wha—” You lean over and hiss, “Galen?”
They clear their throat, drumming their fingers along the top of their thigh. They’re facing the front, but they give you a curt nod in acknowledgement. “I got detention,” they whisper.
What.
“No you did not.”
They let out a short huff. “No I did not.”
“Then you’re not supposed to be here? What are you—” You glance up at the teacher, who’s staring at Galen with a perplexed look on their face.
“You’re not in any of my classes,” the teacher states.
“I’m not,” Galen agrees, face as stoic as ever.
The teacher hardly mulls this over before they simply shrug and return to their paperwork. “Alright. Just don’t be disruptive or I’ll kick you out.”
“Okay.”
And then that’s the end of that.
The room dips into relative silence as you grab the rest of your supplies from your back and dump what you need on your desk. All Galen takes out is a new pencil and single math worksheet that looks like it’s already been completed. Not that you mind the company—but why the hell are they here?
As if they can sense that you’re thinking about them, Galen quietly side eyes you for a few moments before asking, “You, uh. You okay?”
You blink. “Huh? I’m fine. You didn’t come all this way just to check on me, did you?”
They cross their thick arms over their chest, prodding a bump in their cheek with their tongue. You can’t tell if it’s just the poor lighting or if their cheeks are getting darker. Finally, they mutter, “You weren’t answering my texts.”
A smile crawls onto your face. That is adorable. “Sorry. I had to put it away or the teacher would have taken it.”
“I even used an emoji to try to get your attention.”
You perk up at that. “As in… not the thumbs up or OK emoji?” you ask.
“The sad face, with the really deep frown.”
“No way,” you gasp. You’re not going to lie, you’re kind of flattered that they would do that for you. You love Galen and all, but they’re such a dry texter they could start a wildfire with a single spark of heat. You press your hand to your chest. “You would do that for me?”
They clear their throat and pointedly look away from you. Yeah, they’re definitely blushing.
“Send me the laughing crying emoji next,” you say, taking pity on them.
They roll their eyes. Their lower lashes are so dark. “Over my dead body.”
You hear some shuffling from the corner and you look over to see the teacher leave their desk and slip out the door, closing it behind them.
You could totally just leave right now, you think. But you don’t, you keep your ass rooted to your chair.
“So…” Galen drawls, now that they have the opportunity. “What did you even do?”
You squint at them. “I don’t want a lecture,” you warn.
They raise a brow. “I’m not going to yell at you for getting detention. I’m your friend, not your parent.”
“Sometimes you act like my parent.”
They just shrug. You don’t know how you’re supposed to interpret that reaction.
“Saw my teacher while I was skipping class, then I wiped out while I was trying to make my getaway. Teacher caught up to me and said if I didn’t come to detention they’d give me a zero,” you explain mournfully, showing them the scratches on your palm. “Now my hand’s all messed up.”
They stare at you with what could only be described as disbelief in their eyes. “You tripped?” And then they begin to do a very poor job of stifling their laughter into the back of their hand. “You got caught—because you tripped?”
“Don’t laugh at me!” you complain. “It hurts!”
They bury their entire face into their hands to contain themself, broad shoulders trembling with the effort.
“Okay,” they croak out after many moments. “Okay. I’m sorry.” They drop their hands from their face, lips pressed firmly together, and hold one out to you instead. “Give me your hand.”
You don’t even think about it—just automatically place your hand on theirs, and they flip your hand face up. Their skin is very warm.
Galen gives you a slightly puzzled look. “... No, the other one.”
Oh. Oops. You give them your other hand, still feeling a little raw from the pavement.
You can’t help but feel your cheeks start to warm at the proximity. They peer down at the injury, probably assessing the damage.
… And they’re clearly fighting off a smile.
“Oh my god,” you say, battling a grin of your own, “You’re such a dick. Everyone trips at some point in their life, Galen.”
They tilt their head to face the heavens, and take a deep, shuddering breath.
You can’t believe them. All this because of that stupid crack in the ground?
“Are you good now?” you say wryly.
It takes a second, but they bob their head in a nod, clearing their expression of any lingering amusement. They stick their hand in one of the side pockets of their backpack. “Does it hurt?” they ask.
“Almost cried,” you answer solemnly.
The corner of their mouth twitches, and then they’re fishing out the cutest bandaid you’ve ever seen.
“... Is that Squirtle?” you ask.
They ignore you in favour of smoothing the blue bandaid out over the curve of your hand, but it is definitely Squirtle. You wonder if they’ll give you some of those.
They’re about to pull away when you tease, “Hold on. Aren’t you going to give it a kiss?”
Their eyes dart up to meet yours, grip on your hand going slack. “You—do you want me to?”
Your heart catches in your throat. You didn’t expect them to take it seriously, oh god, what are you even supposed to say—
“I was just—I mean, I didn’t… you can, if you want to—”
The sound of the doorknob turning has the both of you jumping out of your skin.
They drop your hand like a pile of burning coals and you both jerk forward to face the front of the room.
The teacher does not spare either of you a single glance as they sit back down at their desk, and your heartrate does not completely calm down until long after detention is over.
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