Disclaimer: Everything belongs to their rightful owner(s)
Pairing: (hopefully) slow burn Hans/Elsa.
Genre: Friendships, Drama, Romance.
World/Story Setting: AU, modern times.
Rating: PG-13/T.
Warning(s): Social anxiety, abandonment issues, neurotic-traits.
Characters: Characters mentioned are in Frozen-verse and Tangled-verse so far.
Summary: Elsa needed to learn how to communicate with other people, especially around the social circle of the riches ― and then, she met Hans. Handsome, arrogant, haughty Hans. Despite disagreeing with some of his methods, she agreed to let him help her learn the ropes of socialising with the elites. And as time wore on, they might discover a simple arrangement were never as easy as they made it to be.

Author's Note: If you haven't checked out on the Introduction (posted on Tumblr) for this story, it will be posted on my fanfic profile.

Musical Inspiration: "Take Me Home" by Cash Cash feat Bebe Rexha.

To Mrs Tan Cho Hong
your patience is gold.

I

It was June 29, within the first week of Summer 2013, and the sun was warm.

He tasted like the bitter tea they had approximately an hour ago, during brunch, with their respective guardians.

(Well, him being his mother, while she had Aunt Primrose.)

Elsa didn't know what was happening, couldn't even made sense of it, perhaps her brain was short-circuited and there was no one to blame really, except for him ― the him who was pushing her now, his tongue dipping in deeper, sucking on her lips like it was a piece of his favourite candy and her head was spinning because, she couldn't register what happened ― she thought they made it very clear they didn't enjoy one another's company as much as the adults wanted them to ― but God, was she aware of it.

His hands on her hips, and his fingers digging harder against her sundress, and through the thin cotton material of her clothing, the warmth from his fingertips sent goosebumps up her spine. Elsa shivered. I hate that stupid tea, something in her mind barked when her mouth ― don't ask her ― opened itself for him, practically welcoming his (godly) talented tongue. She remembered sitting there, cringing at the taste of the tea ― it desperately needed more (much, much more) sugar ― and wondered how was she going to spend the rest of the brunch without drinking, at all. Surely, it could be done.

But then his hand swept over, and she remembered snapping her attention at the sudden action, before she met with his calm face, his eyes gave an impression he was listening in (rather interestingly) to whatever his mother had to chatter, while he dumped a teaspoonful of sugar into her tea. When he pushed her tea back to her, their eyes had met, and she saw kindness in it, respect, a complete gentleman.

He was not the kind of saint she'd learnt about as a young girl.

Because a saint wouldn't have his lips pressed against hers, as they began to move ― he's pushing, no, conducting her ― to the wall, where he had her back against it, and their bodies pressing closer together, and his mouth pressing on harder. Oh, God. Something in her head blared. This needed to stop, Elsa decided, having her hands on his chest, her fingertips pressing on his collarbones, and she was about to push him away (she really was) when he pulled away on his own, abruptly, his lips warm and there were lipsticks smudged across it (messily, she may add), and his eyes were half-opened, as if he was in a state of trance, his cheeks slightly flushed, and then, because Elsa was an idiot and should've seen it coming ― he smirked.

"Not bad," he commented, breathlessly, dipping in to drop her a sloppy, firm kiss on her lips before he parted himself from her, taking a big, wide step away, and straightened his all-expensive vest.

"What―" Elsa gaped, shocked wouldn't even begin to cover it and blinked awkwardly, as he wiped his lips, cringing slightly when he realised how thick exactly her lipstick was. Her mind reeled, badly, twistingly, before she felt her own legs moved with an unearthly force, and then, because he was insane, she shoved him — "What in the hell?!"

He yelped, grunted, and caught her arms. "What the fuck?! What's your fucking problem?"

"My problem? My problem?!" She intoned, hysterically, because this man must have not been real, and raised her voice, "Are you kidding me? You kissed me, you maniac! You. Kissed. Me." And then she had her fingers on her lips, gasping softly because God, he kissed her, and it's not like she hadn't been kissed before ― it was just that she didn't expect to be kissed by him. Him, of all people!

Hans of the Southern Isles.

"So?" He responded, sounding nonchalant.

"So?" She wanted to laugh, she really did, but she couldn't find the humour to the situation. "You can't just go around, insulting someone because of their personal issue―"

"Woah, I didn't insult you," he scoffed, raising his arms in act of defence. "I was pointing out the truth."

"You are impossible!"

"What—" He frowned, "What the fuck?"

"You are rude, and impossible. You— you are—" unbelievable. She stopped, angry and dissatisfied and insecure, and darted her eyes away, though they still held fury. Who did he think he was. And then, the nerve of him. Regaining the cool attitude she built up so hard the past years, she said again, collectively, "You can't just kiss a stranger. You— you took advantage of me."

"Strangers? Oh darling, you must have not heard my dear old mother clearly before ― we're family now." He mocked. "Apparently."

Family? She snorted inwardly. Family would have been Anna, and her fighting spirit and her stubborn thoughts. Family would have been Rapunzel, sweet and brilliant and caring and thoughtfully insightful. Family would have been Aunt Primrose and Uncle Thomas, talking to her about colleges and prom nights and treated her as if she's been living in their house their whole lives. This man right in front of him? He was absolutely not her family. Not by a long shot.

Still. "I've just met you an hour ago." Give or take. "You took advantage of me."

"Advantage?" He laughed, cocking his head back, his eyes shut in complete, sheer amusement. "Any other girl would have been―"

"I'm not any other girl," she pressed forward, her brows furrowing together in utter embarrassment, fury, and everything in between, because she could feel her courage slipping away, and God knew how much she needed that to face this pompous prick. "I'm not. I'll never be them, I don't want to and- and―" No. No. Her voice wasn't cracking now. Not now. She closed her eyes, inhaling. Dammit. "You can't just kiss me."

He stared at her for a long time, as if he was thinking this through, and for the first time in a long time, she braved herself to match his stare ― though hers must be a weak gaze to compare with his strong, confident emerald almost-vacant look ― before his brows dropped together, a low hum emitted from the back of his throat, and he looked away ― for one second, she let herself believed that there was guilt in his move ― as he nodded, "You're right."

She didn't respond to that.

"You're... not like any other girl," he drawled, glancing sideways to view her wholly, from head to toe, in one swift move. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head, and crossed her arms in a defensive way — her psychiatrist used to call it 'hugging herself' — and started to back up on her steps, creating more space between them. "Sorry- sorry—" isn't enough. It wasn't, at least, not in this situation, she thought. And he didn't even sound sincere. More like forced than anything. Maybe he was. It wasn't hard to tell from the looks he gave out that he'd be more than willing to just get this — her — over with.

Stop. Stop, Elsa. You worry yourself too much.

You're okay. So what if he's judging you?

No. No.

He's—

"What? Sorry what?" Hans voice yanked her back from her whirling mind, and she snapped her eyes at him, his own stare fuelled with annoyance. "You know, you should learn to increase the volume of your speech, or just speaking in general because not a lot of people are willing to tolerate this. Me, mainly."

"I—" Shut up. She screwed her eyes shut and counted back from ten.

"You what?"

"Can you just—"

"Yes?" He came closer, his brows furrowed together, irritated probably — of course he's irritated — and fixed his gaze, on her. God.

Elsa felt her heart rate sped up — it drummed in her ears like the sound of the clock outside the psychiatrist's office whenever she awaited for her appointment — and her throat tightened up. But what her mind didn't interpret was her arms — her hand in particular — swung heavily and her palm meeting with his cheek. Hard.

SLAP!

"What the—" He bit his lips.

She stared at her hands, grasped it — it stung — and held her breath.

"You're a freaking psychopath," he gritted his teeth, growled under his breath and rubbed his left cheek — anger lighting up in his eyes — and bit out, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"N-nothing!" She screamed back, irked beyond reason. "Nothing is wrong with me!"

"Well, I'm sorry to say this, China Doll― but normal people don't slap the other person's face after he fucking apologised! Jesus."

"I am not a China Doll," she retorted, feeling the anger spreading throughout her body like wildfire.

"Not on the fucking outside you're not."

"What is that supposed to mean?" She frowned, confused.

"It means―" he jabbed, rolled his eyes, and there's a whistle of annoyance while he pressured on his words. "You're a wreck. In here." He pressed his forefinger against her forehead forcefully, and his lips curled in small victory as she flinched and took a step away. "Your brain. Mentally. Emotionally. Whatever it is you prefer on calling it. You're just a complete wreck alright ― damaged, if you please ― because you're broken. Inside."

"I― I am not!"

"Oh yeah?" He spat, scoffing. "You're fragile, like China Doll― one wrong move, and you'll break."

"No. No, I'm not. No." Her shoulder began to shake, her mind suddenly flooded with other voices, whispering out all the wrong things, and her head started to blare in alarm, and it never ends. Never ends. Judgement. Fear. Insecurity. "Just stop. Stop talking. Stop. No. No!"

"Hey― HEY!" He grabbed onto his shoulders, his palm twisting against her shoulder blades, as he whirled her around and had her near the wall, where she stumbled on a root, and fell on the perfectly-trimmed bushes. Ow. He tried to force her to her feet, but she can't shake those voices away ― why were there voices?! ― and kept hitting him, and ― "ELSA."

She gasped against his shoulder once she realised where she was, and who she was with. Oh God.

"I'm sorry, alright. I'm sorry." He muttered instead, his sitting posture wasn't proper, an evidence her small episode had shook him more than he'd anticipated. If she were in a better circumstances, she might even consider to smirk. She didn't. She held him instead, one arm went under his armpits up to his back, grabbing on the fabric of his vest. His jaw was by her left ear, just hovering over it, and he had a hand on the wall, the other went behind her back, keeping her from blending it completely with the grass. And he was so close.

"I shouldn't have kissed you ― I got it ― goddamn. Just," he breathed harshly, his thumb absent-mindedly kneaded against her back. "Don't freak out like that again, okay? I won't― I'm sorry. For the things I said, too. I'm a dick ― it's supposed to be a well-known fact ― and you were supposed to just, I don't know... don't mind it as much, I guess. I didn't know it'll bother you as it did. I- I apologise."

She hiccupped, and let his words sunk in ― his hot breath may or may not have been hitting a little of the side to her neck.

She didn't blush.

"I... I apologise as well."

He finally took the initiative to create some space between them, pulling them out of the bushes, but still sitting down on the ground. She let him guided her, his hands now at the back of her arms, gently prodding her to follow his lead. "I shouldn't have slapped you."

"Yeah, well." He brushed off some dirt from his pants once he sat down. "We're not all angels today. Whatever. It'll pass."

"But it wasn't okay."

"It wasn't, I agree. But why do you care?" He scoffed, narrowing his eyes.

"Because, well―" she licked her lips, her mind's reeling all of a sudden. "That's not proper, how we treated each other. Even if ― um, you and I aren't in the... best term."

He stared at her for a while, just stared at her, his eyes squinting up like he's seeing something that wasn't there before and she tried to avoid his gaze. A molester and a creep. Great. And then, he brought a hand up, pointing: "Just how inexperience are you with socialising? Honestly?"

She's about to open her mouth, before she covered it ― quickly ― with her left hand. "You're not going to kiss me the second time, are you?"

Hans snorted and rolled his eyes, "Don't flatter yourself." He put his hands behind his back, and leaned onto it. "The answer, please."

She lets out a huff, and lowered her hands ― only then brushing away any fallen hair. Gosh, Auntie would have certainly not like it if she ruined the hairdo. It wasn't anything special with braided hair and a bun, sure, but still. She twirled a strand of hair. "Whatever you're thinking of, it probably might even be worse."

"No," he told her, shaking his head defiantly. She frowned. "You're holding up a conversation with me. Right now."

After I had two panic episodes? Yeah, okay. "It's not the same," she shook her head.

"How come?"

"It's―" she bit her lips, and rubbed her neck. "You're talking about a big crowd here. Events. Parties. I can't― I can't do that."

"What is there to do? You chat up with people and you eat. You're supposed to enjoy yourself."

"Yeah, that's true but, how about ― you know ― what they thought of you? After? You just― don't you― I don't know, just thought of it? They're going to― I could tell, you know, whenever they just, look at me. It's― I can't―"

"You worry about what other people thought of you?" His question made her realise how silly she was. Of course she was. She's a complete fool. God, God. "Hey, hey ― breathe, will you?" His voice cut through again, and she snapped her attention at him. His eyes didn't hold humour, but there was no threat it in either. She relaxed, slightly. "So, okay, you got a problem. That's okay. I mean, if you could put up with me, right now, I think there's nothing you can't do. I mean, by the way you reacted to my kiss, I think you could hold yourself up pretty well."

She frowned ― and thought about it. And then: "Wait ― is that why you kissed me? You were testing me?"

"You make yourself sound like a lab rat. I'm not that cruel. Been there, done that." He waved the issue away, shrugged his shoulders. "I just wanted to see what you would do. You're a good kisser, by the way. Could use a little work, but hey ― nobody's perfect."

I'm― I'm a good kisser? She touched her lips gingerly.

"Say what, I'll offer you a deal." He picked on a grass blade by his side, plucking it and tore it pieces by pieces.

Her brows furrowed deeply. "A deal?"

"A proposal, if you may." He kind of smirked, a glint of amusement sparkled in his eyes and brightened up the emerald iris, but she wasn't so sure. Perhaps it was just the afternoon soon reflecting back against his eyes. Perhaps. "I'll help you."

"H-help?"

"Yes. With your socialising problem. I know everybody who is anybody. I can get you into the crowd. We can go to parties, events. You can mingle, get comfortable. Actually have fun. It's all in everyday's routine, really." He drawled, brushing his flaming red hair from his face. "It'll be good for you to start establish your presence in the society. Thomas and Primrose Corona aren't just any name. And if you're their niece, I could only imagine where you stand..."

"M-my... My father was Agðar Arendelle." She swallowed, and avoided his gaze ― reaction ― by looking at her side, where she walked, a few minutes ago, from Hans' older brother's workshop. She never told anyone this; ― never really had any reason, chance or place ― her parents, or their deaths, were never a subject of conversation. If it were, she wouldn't be the one who brought it up.

"Wait ― the Agðar Arendelle?" Hans sounded amazed, completely.

She found the courage to study his face ― lips parted, eyes wide, he must be in a complete shock ― and chewed her lips. "You knew my father?"

"Knew? Yeah, I knew him. My father couldn't stop talking about him. He practically worshipped that man. I was always confused by his comments, I mean, I never really understood whether he praised Agðar Arendelle or was jealous by him. I guess it was both." There's an easiness there as he explained, and even though it hardly mattered, an enormous weight which seemed to drag her whole body down disappeared, but only in the littlest amount. "I remember meeting your father ― I was just a boy, barely seven years old. He came to our house, I think we were celebrating one of my brothers' ― the twins ― birthday. I remembered him carrying a baby ― redhead, quite chubby―"

"That would be Anna." Elsa interrupted. "She's my younger sister... My only sister."

"Hmm. Must be a paradise," he hummed, tilting his head to one side as he dragged his feet across the grass. "Your father was an incredible professor. And aside from that, a successful businessman. Your mother too, correct?"

Elsa nodded. "She was the business-oriented one in our family. She joined Aunt Primrose on the business, and later dragged Papa into it... So..."

"Right. That must be nice." Hans nodded, "Arendelle. Wow." He whistled.

"It's not that fancy," she admitted, brushing another fallen hair behind.

"Not fancy? You must be joking." Hans laughed ― a short, deep chuckle ― and shook his head. "Now that I know who you are, you absolutely do need my help."

She looked at him carefully, and licked her lips. "I don't think so..."

Hans didn't look offended, "Are you not even going to consider it?"

I don't know. She shrugged helplessly. "I think we should go." The sun really was starting to burn her skin. She rather didn't like summer so much. Winter, however...

"Wait―" He called, but Elsa was already on her feet and began to move, hugging her whole body. His words drummed into her head, again and again and again ― parties, events. Socialising. Mingle. Isn't another name. But ― what would they think of her? She'd ruin it all. Everything. Reckless. Messy. Out of place.

His long strides caught up with her rapid ones, and he walked besides her, oddly in silence. She let him be.

It wasn't until they were near the entrance to the Main House that Hans stopped her, his long fingers encircling around her elbow, spinning her around. She flinched as a protest, and chewed her lips when she looked up. Hans stared down at her, his hands still grasping on her arm, and she was shocked to find that there was no sneer in his look. "Look," he said. "It's a great deal I'm offering you right now. And obviously you need help. And I do know people, I'm not lying about that." He finally pulled his hand back, but his face remained serious as ever. "And I know I may look reckless, but when I commit to something, I'll do it. Whatever it takes. And I'm willing to commit ― to you."

She drew a breath in, and didn't dare to speak.

"So, if you change your mind ― you know where to find me." He ended it, left it hanging there for three milliseconds, before he breathed out, seemingly satisfied and turned away.

"Wait," she finally managed out, her mind's in a complete jumble. God, this is too much to take. "W-where are you going?"

"I have to go. Send my apologies to my mother and Mrs Corona." He yelled over his shoulder, appearing nonchalant. "Tell them it was truly a lovely arrangement, but I just have to go."

"You―" Her eyes glanced around, silently seeking for help. "You can't do that!"

She thought she saw him smirked ― but he didn't turn around, and she honestly didn't expect him to stay.

"So, how was he?"

Elsa skidded her third step up the stairs, as she spotted the all-too-familiar strawberry-blonde hair at the bottom of it, a teasing smile lighting up her eyes. Elsa, despite the anxiety and the tiredness still haven't completely been washed away from all of her limbs, smiled. That was, before her sister's question was finally registered to her tired mind, and she furrowed her brows in confusion. "How was who?"

"Hans of the Southern Isles."

Wait. "What?"

"What?" Anna echoed, confused. "I'm not wrong, am I?"

"How do you know that?" Elsa came down the stairs hurriedly, rushing to her sister, concern driving her steps― because this can't be happening. "Do you know him?"

No. Anna can't know him. Oh God, have they met? Elsa couldn't fathom it. She was going to murder that bastard. Her sister was off-limits. Off-limits. At least, she was, to him. Elsa knew what Hans was capable of ― well, enough, from what she saw that morning, during the brunch; what, with all the girls around his arms, and the rude remarks he threw her way when they were alone. If there was one thing Elsa could chalk Hans up to ― he was not the guy Elsa would ever, ever, allowed Anna to meet.

"Whoa, whoa― what?" Anna took Elsa's arms that were reaching out to her, clasping it and drawing it away. "No, I don't know the hunky bachelor that is Hans of the Southern Isles― although I'd like to. Very much."

No. No, you don't. Elsa withdrew her arms, frowning. "Then, how?"

"Elsa, there are things called Google, you know." Anna joked, crossing her arms over her chest. "I checked him out after Auntie told me where you two were heading. She didn't tell me who you were meeting with, of course, but you know. Google." Anna pulled out her phone from her denim jeans and began trace her thumb down the screen, scrolling it down. "You know, for someone who spent the majority of her time in front of a computer Elsa, you sure look like you're from an era where people have never invented it―"

Elsa sighed, "Anna, I don't think it's wise for you to check on―

"Hey, did you know that he have twelve older brothers? I mean, like― twelve. That's a lot, right?" She whistled, her thumb continued to scroll down the screen of her phone. "Like, speaking of full house, huh?"

"Anna―"

"See, I figured you were meeting the youngest of Andersens, although it seems unbelievably impossible because those brothers are practically untouchable according to this one website because the brothers were exclusive and all and seriously, thirteen hot Andersens - you don't see that everyday― aaaand, I'm clearly getting out of topic." Anna offered a mischievous grin, to which Elsa could only stared at, harbouring a faint smile and suppressing a tired sigh. Sometimes Anna's enthusiastic energy could came off a little too strong than Elsa could honestly handle. Anna was peppy and exciting and was always running around ― and sometimes, Elsa guessed, all she needed was some peace and quiet.

But, she guessed, at the same time, she liked that about her sister. Unlike Elsa of course, the strawberry-blond wasn't a boring character you'd come across. And she won't clam up and shut herself out and sweat herself down if she's meeting someone new. No. Anna won't.

Elsa, on the other hand...

"Anyway," Anna's demanding voice snatched Elsa's focus, and she was glad when Anna missed the slight shook her body had as her attention was ripped from her. "I knew you weren't meeting the twelfth brother, because he's in Australia, for a week now. The eleventh brother is currently out of town. That one tweets a lot ― like, seriously, all of the time. Oh! There you go, another tweet. I follow him, by the way. Ooooh, that's a very interesting lunch. You know, sometimes I don't understand how he can make everything he tweets sound so interesting like it can be about normal, everyday―"

"Anna." Elsa pressed on, impatience getting the best of her nerve.

"Right. Sorry. Well, continue on, shall we? Let's see..." Anna bit her lips, screwing her eyes up at the screen of the phone, "I know Auntie couldn't possible be arranging your meeting with the tenth brother, because right now he's actively dating this tennis player that's going through some anger management issue to which she confessed on after she beat down a paparazzi but let's not get into that. So. Really, that just leaves me with the last option.. Hans." And then, as an afterthought, she added, "Oh, and I didn't mention the rest of the brothers because they're way too old for you."

"Right." Elsa hummed, shifting her head just slightly to the side. "Your point?"

"Are you seriously not going to give me some details? I mean ― Hans of the Southern Isles. He's voted The Sexiest Man Alive as of the last issue of Disney MAGs, placing the first ― and this was the third magazine he's in just last month." Anna put her phone away ― finally ― and blinked up at her sister. "So ― how was he?"

"How..." Frankly, Elsa was still confused. And not just by all of the information Anna just supplied to her ― but the mere incident just earlier. Now that her dear sister was constantly repeating the other man's name, she couldn't help the memories from filling through ― the panics, the kiss, the offer. She gulped. "Honestly, Anna, you can't trust everything you read."

Anna's excitement flickered in doubt for a second. "Why is why I'm asking you how was he in real life― did he do something wrong?"

Wrong? Yes. In six different ways. But― Elsa sighed. "No, no he didn't―"

"Then, what's with the long face? He did something to you, didn't he?"

"He―" Elsa paused, and felt her breath caught up in her throat when Anna was looking at her that way ― like she was accusing her of lying, even though she's probably right, and knew Elsa wouldn't admit to it. So, Elsa dropped her gaze to the wide hall behind Anna's head and chose her words, carefully, "He... he offered me..."

"What? A one night stand?"

"No!" Elsa gave Anna a sharp, warning look ― to which the strawberry blond replied with a sly grin. "It was nothing like that. At all."

"So, like, what ― he offered you friendship? Is that it?"

Elsa thought of it, and decided on: "Yes. Something similar to the concept."

"Well, what did you say?"

"I- I said―" Elsa scrunched up her nose, and her mind went back to when he was standing just a few inches away from her, his posture big and wide, could've enveloped her easily, but he stood there, and his deep voice went on, pressing on the deal. On what he wanted to offer. On what she could have had, if she wanted it. The platinum-blonde beauty looked back at her sister, her anxiety rushing through her nerves, "Well, I didn't give him a definite answer."

"Why not?" Anna asked ― like the situation was as plain and easy as ABC. Sometimes Elsa wished it was.

"He― he appeared sketchy to me." Elsa bit her lips, her shoulders sagging. "I don't really like him."

"Elsa, I know it's old-fashioned, but you can't judge a book by it's cover."

"I know―"

"Give that guy a chance. Who knows― maybe he could just surprise you. People tend to do that, you know. I mean, if you find out that guy's just screwing you over ― you can always just put your foot down and walk away. It's not going to be the end of the world. But, until then, and I seriously hope it won't come down to it, why don't you... you know, just give it a try. Nobody's just ever what they appeared to be... Like I said, give him a chance." Anna smiled, her rosy cheeks lifting up, and for that one moment, Elsa complimented how Anna shared so much of their mother's smiles. "Plus, wouldn't it be just cool to say 'my sister is totally friends with Hans of the Southern Isles'?"

Elsa rolled her eyes, chuckling― but accepted her sister's statement; her own statement was pushed far down that she almost (almost) forgot about it.

Surprise me?

Anna, you have no idea.

It was a windy night for Summer.

She was drowning in reports and paperworks ― literally ― and was staring at her ceiling when she decided it. The realisation ― or, as she decided it would be, the decision ― came to her like the feeling after she was done with a book. It wasn't an immediate response, but her mind had been dwelling over the matter since yesterday, since he extended that offer to her, and now she was finally piecing it all together. Like a book - the way the ending gradually settled itself in your knowledge, the way it spread throughout your body until you finally decided that yeah, that's it. So she moved like the force of the hurricane report she read over all of the others that was scattered across her bed; her steps were definite, and solid, and there.

She shrugged a cardigan over her dress, grabbed a key on her table, counted her steps down the stairs, and noted the sound her car made when she pressed the right key.

It was when she was behind the steering wheel and the engine was roaring that doubt began to seep in ― she drove faster.

She saw him almost immediately.

Cars were parked everywhere throughout the drive-through that it almost covered most of the main ground to the Main House, but it was unmistakably the Southern Isles and Elsa dared herself not to turn around, to consider the easier way out. She managed to park her car somewhere in between all of the mess, and marched up to the Main House, as most of the noise and the lights came from there ― when she finally spotted it.

Him.

He was wearing his infamous smirk, his eyes half-focused and glassy, but there were emerald and glinting ― just as how she remembered him to. He was leaning against a car's side ― Elsa doubted it was his ― and there was a girl pressed up against him. The girl was tall and skinny, her shoulder bare and her legs might have been stretching out forever. She must be a model, Elsa thought ― the girl looked so much like one. But then again, what did Elsa knew?

Biology. Geography. Science. That she knew. She studied. How appropriate was a height for a model? That was another piece of information she hadn't considered knowing.

Suddenly Elsa was gripped with a terrible sense of uneasiness, eating on her legs and arms and neck and face. She reflected back on her simple peach-colored dress, her worn cardigan, her messy bun that she tied in a hurry and her shoulders began to shake. No. No. She's not having this now. Not right here.

Elsa dragged her legs across the clean-cut grass, and shakily stalked up next to Hans ― who seemed too entranced by the Maybe Model to even notice the reality they were walking on — while he tilted his chin a degree up, giving access to the Maybe Model to dip her lips right at his pulse. Speaking of gross.

Elsa cleared her throat. "E-excuse me?"

"The bathroom's right down the hall to the right." Shooed Hans with a clip, husky and breathless voice while the Maybe Model seemed to be enjoying her time, taking his rudeness as an entertainment and smirked.

Elsa rolled her eyes, for the first time her frightfulness leaving her skin replaced with a dreaded awareness towards annoyance. "I wasn't searching for the bathroom," she snapped, trying her best to not regret her words. "I need to talk to you, right now, Hans."

But clearly he wasn't listening because a second later, Elsa watched the way Hans' hands gripped the Maybe Model's waist harder, their hips grinding together, while the Maybe Model giggled, changing their angles and Hans groaned. Okay. Speaking of double gross. Elsa scrunched up her nose in disgust, pursed her lips and steadied her breathing — she can do this. Of course she can. She's her father's daughter. The heir to his throne. She can do this, surely.

Elsa didn't know what happened — she was pretty certain she saw black dots over her eyesight when it all went down — but her hand found his arm even though the Maybe Model shielded him from her, and she tugged on it. Hard.

Oh, she pondered for a second. This seems familiar.

He yelped, and growled — in the horrible way that sent an alarming signal of you probably shouldn't have done that ― but Elsa stood her ground. The Maybe Model faced her now, obviously not enjoying the fact her 'alone' time with The Sexiest Man Alive in the last issue of whatever magazine it was, was interrupted, and she glared. Elsa held her stare for two millisecond longer before she turned to him, pulling on her own frown even further, "It's me. Elsa. Of Arendelle."

Hans, who was spitting curses to the Maybe Model's neck, looked up, his eyes suddenly wide and filled with pure surprise. "Arendelle?"

"Yeah, remember me?" She swallowed, her strong intonation began to slowly crumble. She could hear it.

Hans looked like he was considering her, his eyes trailed over her whole appearance for one short second. And then, he blurted out: "You came back."

She let a beat passed. "I did."

The Maybe Model grew impatient and pushed her palms over Hans' chest, her glossy lips pouting. "Baby," she cooed, "I thought we were in the middle of something..."

"Maribella, please—"

"It's Maria!" The Maybe Model snapped.

"Close enough, darling." Hans landed a kiss over her cheekbones, straightening his posture and separating his body from Maria. Elsa was looking away at that point — because if she didn't, she's certain she'll faint (Maria's harsh glare seemed like a spotlight was shining on her and God, she didn't need that) — her nails sinking to the base of her own, sweaty palms. I must look horrendous.

"Elsa?" His voice brought her attention, and Elsa found herself staring at his emerald gaze. She swallowed.

"I..." She began, paused and cleared her throat. C'mon, just say it. "I came here to accept your offer."

"You did?"

"Y-yes."

"Hans!" Maria squeaked, stomping her foot — her hands reaching out to the man. "Who is this girl? Is this the new girlfriend I've been hearing about? You told me there were no other girls!"

Elsa lifted one eyebrow up daringly, but Hans must have not noticed when he was busy trying to pry Maria's skinny fingers off of his body. "Maria, honestly, I'm trying to have a conversation here."

"I don't like her," sneered Maria hatefully, dragging her sharp eyes all over Elsa — and Elsa felt the way her stomach churned drastically, practically pulling on all of her organs. She'll puke if this goes on, she swears. "Must have been one of your mistakes, huh, baby? Need me to tell her off for you?"

"Maria." Growled Hans again, his eyes furrowed dangerously in silent fury. "Please." It was a good thing Maria was intelligent enough to not go against what Hans said, even if she seemed to pout even more and cursed something very, very inappropriately under her breath, because there was something almost dangerous flicking in his emerald eyes that sent shivers down Elsa's spine. And not in a good way. The man in question huffed, tugged on his shirt firmly before fully facing her, his eyes scanned over Elsa's face, as if it was the first time he's taking her presence in, which was odd because they have met before, the element of danger gone from his eyes, just mild interest. She wondered what was going through his mind. Her stomach twisted achingly. And then, he smirked, proud and beaming. "I'm so glad you're here."

"I—" I'm not. Elsa kept it in. "I'm here just to tell you that. That's all."

"And I'm pleased that you did. You look absolutely stunning."

Elsa frowned up at him — you must be joking. His eyes sure glinted, but she wasn't sure if it was in mockery or merely pleased, as he said. Elsa decided it's not wise to look straight in his eyes any longer than necessary. "I should retire now."

"Wait— you can't go now." Hans' fingers were on her elbow again, just like it was yesterday, and he gave a gentle squeeze. If she wasn't aware of it, she might have not even notice it. "Elsa."

"I need to—"

"I'm having a party at the backyard. Nothing too big. Just friends hanging out. You should stay." He hiked one eyebrow up, grinning mischievously. "It could be our first lesson together of sort."

"You're drunk," noted Elsa dully.

"Not enough apparently, because I can still see every lashes on your eyes."

"Hans, I don't think—"

"C'mon. Stay. You'll enjoy yourself," he wrapped one arm across her shoulder, flushing her closer to the side of his body as he drifted them towards where the party must be held. Elsa felt her stomach dropped and her throat tightened up.

"Hans— where are you goi— baby!" Maria yelped, and Hans waved his hand simply.

"Maybe later," he told, and directed them back to where he was going, before he leaned in and bumped his jaw softly against the top of her head. "Relax, okay?" He dropped his arm from her shoulders, but let his fingers hovered behind her arm, just to assure to her that he was there, probably, as they stirred from the Main House to what he claimed to be a 'short cut' to the backyard. As they climbed the grass and the slight hills of the Southern Isles, the music and the noises of the party were getting louder.

Elsa swallowed.

She turned around just in time to see the corner of Hans' lips was lifted slightly upwards, towards her, like a token of confidence he's landing to her before it was ripped away when a random sandy blond girl came, shouting first, grabbed him by the collar and pushed her lips against his. Elsa watched in disgust and tore her gaze away — sighing inwardly.

No.

He was not the kind of saint she'd learnt about as a young girl — but in this case, he'll do.

First End Note: I know. It sucks. I've tried my best though. There you go, my first attempt at writing an AU!Frozen fic. I'm not very confident with this — haven't been confident with myself lately, to be honest — but, I don't know. If you find yourself at lost of the plot, somehow, check the Author's Note on the top^. Thank you.

Second End Note: I'm limiting my words to every chapters, if I decide on continuing it, to 3,000 words (the least) and 4,000 (the most) — but if I go overboard, then I apologise. The words to this chapter is 6, 735 (for future references). And as for naming the characters — for Primrose and Thomas Corona (which were Rapunzel's parents) and Agðar and Iðunn Arendelle (which were Anna and Elsa's parents), I checked the Disney Wiki. Hans' mother, however [introduced in the Intro] is a made-up name. For Elsa's dress preferences, I just really looked up to whatever Quinn Fabray [a character] from Glee wore, because I think her choice of wardrobe would be the most suitable to Elsa's choice of clothing.

Last End Note: Edited on 2/14/2014, 7:48 PM.