This particular Sunday, the roof was not a roof of emo. At least not so far. It was, if you had to assign it an emotion, a roof of tired smugness
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Hamlet headed up to the roof for a change. It was a nice night, and he wanted to enjoy the warm spring air away from his stuffiness of his room. Also, he felt a strange sudden urge to build a gazebo, for some reason.
And then almost turned around and headed back downstairs when he saw Jack.
Maybe if he didn't mention it, they could both pretend that Friday afternoon never happened.
"I would love some pizza," said Hamlet, very much relieved with the generic small talk. He sat down on the roof and stretched out his legs. "What kind do you have?"
Someday, Fandom High will need to have convenient hiding gazebo built on its roof.
"One's half-hawaiian, half mexican, extra chillies, the others got a bit of everything. Plus anchovies. Help yourself." Jack waved at the boxes and smiled, relieved himself that cakenschmooschers had so far not been mentioned.
"Thank you for this, he said, grabbing a slice of the everything pizza. So far no mentions of fake mustaches, so good. "Thank you for offering to share this."
"And this is mostly delicious. I'm glad that there's always pizza to be shared." He took another bite of the slice in his hand. So very tasty.
He sighed, and looked out at the pink and orange clouds around the sunset. "Although sometimes, eating food from a public place isn't always a great idea," he said quietly, half to himself.
"Hmm, you could be right." Jack's brain was trying to convince him that yes, there had been a connection between that cupcake and his transformation into Robert Goulet, but he was steadfastly ignoring it. Or trying to. "I can promise the pizza is safe, if it makes you feel better."
Hamlet finished off his pizza, and smiled back at Jack. "So long as this pizza in no way causes people to start belting out Billy Joel numbers at a pitch loud enough to be heard in town, I'm all for it."
He wiped some of the grease on his hands off, and then grabbed a slice of the Mexican pizza this time.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, the mun in no way shares the character's irrational hatred of Billy Joel, nor of any other 80s pop star.
"Oh, only about a day," Hamlet said, smiling faintly at the memories. "These things never seem to last too long. It was only my second month here at the school, and I was deeply annoyed at breaking out in song every time I tried to speak in class or the common rooms."
He took another bite of his pizza. "Things never do truly change around here, do they?"
"So far I've been a beast, a fox, a mouse, and Robert Goulet. So I'm goimg to go with nope, they don't." Jack sighed and finished the bit of pizza he was eating, then leaned on his knees, looking out over the island. "I'm gonna miss it."
"Me too," agreed Hamlet, staring out at the school grounds. "Aside from the occasional bout of compulsively singing Billy Joel, or turning into a precocious lion cub, or believing that I'm a demented chef with a cakenschmooscher, this has been a good place. I wish that it was possible to stretch out the time between now and graduation. There's things I need to do back home in Denmark that I'm not keen on doing."
"Same here. I mean, I like where I'm going, but I wish I didn't have to leave all this behind," he sighed, then blinked as part of what Hamlet had said registered. "You were the lion cub? Damn, you were cute. And you gave me a name."
And then almost turned around and headed back downstairs when he saw Jack.
Maybe if he didn't mention it, they could both pretend that Friday afternoon never happened.
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But that would be rude. Pretending Friday never happened sounded like a much better solution. "Hey," he said, nodding at him. "Pizza?"
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Someday, Fandom High will need to have convenient hiding gazebo built on its roof.
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Yes, for every roof needs a Hiding Gazebo!
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Truly, the school is naked without one!
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He sighed, and looked out at the pink and orange clouds around the sunset. "Although sometimes, eating food from a public place isn't always a great idea," he said quietly, half to himself.
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He wiped some of the grease on his hands off, and then grabbed a slice of the Mexican pizza this time.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, the mun in no way shares the character's irrational hatred of Billy Joel, nor of any other 80s pop star.
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"I think it was pasta. It was definitely something Italian that did it."
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He took another bite of his pizza. "Things never do truly change around here, do they?"
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