notes— the "bitch the fuck you mean 'nevermind' i paused my music for you" au i never should have written. bc let's not lie to ourselves; ugly!meet is so much better than cute!meet, especially when it comes to university, especially when it comes to these two dorks. (also, i re-read the hunger games, and it was a mistake, oh my god.)

dedication— katniss everdeen owns my heart and fuck you president snow fuck you

Finnick Deserved Better

;;

If there's a friendly way to say 'get the sweet fuck away from me before I roundhouse kick you up the fucking ass', Lucy Heartfilia is struggling to find it.

All in all, she's not been having the best of days to put it lightly. So having to physically keep herself from tearing off her headphones and—uh, addressing, shall we say—the obnoxious candyfloss-haired chatterbox who, for whatever reason on God's green earth will not leave her alone, is absolutely one hundred percent justified. Screw the disapproving looks getting thrown her way from the gaggle of old ladies across the bus. Lucy's not sorry.

Her headphones are on for a reason. Like, the smudged mascara isn't some freaking fashion statement; what's he thinking, that every sodden soul he stumbles across on late-evening public transport wants to be his new best friend? Who the hell does he think he is? And on that point, what is he wearing? Dear sweet Jesus, have mercy. If the backwards cap and the orange camouflage shorts weren't enough to turn her off, the shirt with a googly-eyed cartoon dragon graphic on it certainly would be. And Mr. Ball-of-Sunshine Your-Overly-Friendly-Neighbourhood-Asshole really thinks she's in the mood to get hit on? Haha. Cute.

No, Lucy's not sorry in the slightest. No matter how attractive he is—and despite the appealing ensemble and neon-pink hair he's sporting, it's true that the broad shoulders, beautifully-accentuated arms muscles, defined jawline, boyish grin, and flecked grey eyes really do speak for themselves—you just don't go talking to strangers who have their headphones in on full blast. You don't do it. You don't fucking do it.

You could say the bad day began last night when Lucy ignored the alarm on her phone reminding her she had a class at eight the next morning. Or maybe you could blame the book that kept her up, which ended in the most heart-wrenching, cruel, all-consumingly soul destroying way that she ended up stumbling into the lecture twenty minutes late with pink, puffy eyes. It could be put down to the coffee some idiot stranger poured down the entirety of Lucy's left sleeve before her second class, or the homework she had actually done but conveniently left at home due in third. It could be because of the correct fare she didn't have for the bus home and the new bus driver who refused to believe she'd been getting this same bus for the past two years — or maybe it was the hour's wait in the rain for the next one. Or the soaked textbooks she fished out of her backpack when she finally got a seat. Or the wet patch said backpack has formed on her thighs as a result of having to hold it because some pink-haired moron has decided that out of all the empty seats on the huge stupid bus, the one beside her is the most appealing.

When he ever so kindly decides to squish her against the freezing condensation-coated window, it's not an understatement to say that being pressed between a pink-haired fratboy and a hard place is the cherry on top of a truly atrocious living experience. Regardless of how good-looking he is. Good looks don't count in books that are drenched from the rain.

But what can she do? She's not exactly up to her ears in options, and her stop's only another ten minutes or so away. So, in her sleep-deprived state of mourning—she still hasn't quite recovered from that insane ending—Lucy just lets out a quiet huff under her breath, turns up the music on her phone—a soundtrack from the movie adaptation of the book that ruined her life last night, obviously—and continues hunting through her waterlogged bag for more savable material.

It's only when he starts wriggling in his seat that she realises just how horrifically long ten minutes can feel. But it's okay, it's cool, Lucy's still got this, she's still calm and collected and in control — that is, until she gets to the bottom of her soaked rucksack. And discovers the horror within.

She muffles a little sob with the palm of her hand. The guy beside her jumps in his seat, giving her a weird look, but who cares about him, she's a little freaking preoccupied. With all the seriousness of a tribute in their first Hunger Games, she slowly pulls out her hand from the bag. Pinched between her her thumb and forefinger is the soggy piece of paper that once resembled the cover of the book. The book. The book.

She sniffles. Turns up The Hanging Tree so that all she can hear is Jennifer Lawrence and sombre violin music. Watches as the rest of the destroyed paperback reveals itself in running ink and heartbreaking drip-drops. All of her post-it notes are peeling, the blue ink from her frantic annotations dancing with the smudgy print. The corners curl. Her heart clenches and she sniffs again violently.

The chorus has joined the song, singing of oppression and sacrifice and dark realities, and all Lucy can do is stare at her decimated copy of Mockingjay in shock.

Truly, this is the worst day of her life.

Something warm on the freezing skin of her forearm jolts her from her misery. She looks up, orchestral build-up echoing in her eardrums. Beautiful Bastard is looking at her with wide worried eyes, his mouth moving in words she can't hear over the music. She glances down at his hand on her before staring back at his mouth blankly, subconsciously trying to lip-read his words. He stops for a second, frowning at her with a raised eyebrow, before starting again, presumably in a louder voice.

That's not what does it, though. Overly-friendly overly-feely kind well-meaning strangers, she can deal with. Even in her all-consuming bitterness and mourning for the world of Panem, she can deal with that. But you know what's stepping over the line? What's really just too much for Lucy to bear? It's the amused quirk of his lips as his face sinks into a bewildered smirk.

He's laughing at her.

Wrenching off the headphones, she whips her head around (splashing him with her soaked ponytail in the process) to glare at him square in the eye. "Yes?" she hisses dangerously. He's already slack-jawed and wide-eyed, back-pedalling furiously when he sees her glowering at at him with all the deadliness of a homicidal basilisk. Her words come out in a hiss more than anything, furthering her killer-snake status pleasingly. "Can I help you?"

"A-Ah..." He clears his throat, a hand rising to no doubt rub at the back of his neck in what Lucy's sure he thinks is adorable and endearing and— achem. He gives her a tight smile. "Nevermind.

"Nevermind? Nevermind?" Lucy presses the pause button on her music player so that the tinny orchestra—still beautifully dramatic but, alas, downsized to earphone capacity—stops. She can almost feel mockingjay wings stretching across her shoulders. She needs a bow. She needs wind in her hair. "Are you sure nevermind, because, aha—" she pauses dramatically to give the threatening silence its flair "—I'm think you were trying to talk to me."

"No, really—"

"No, really."

"It, uh, doesn't matter—"

"Bitch, I paused my music for you." She lashes out to grip the pole in front of his seat, not missing his flinch, and leans forward with a wide grimace. "It matters."

.

.

.

"Hey! Hey, wait up!"

Lucy can hear him stumble off the bus behind her, but she's already marching down the pavement and wiping stubbornly at her tears. She tries to settle her backpack onto her shoulder but before she can, it's yanked from her arm entirely. Before she can help herself she lets out a yelp of surprise, turning with narrowed eyes and ruddy cheeks to glare at who she knows is right behind her.

"Give that back!" Lucy lunges forward for her bag and he gives it back to her willingly, looking a little sheepish as she clutches it to her chest. "What do you want? Why are you following me?"

In the light of the evening sun, his pink hair doesn't look nearly as neon or garish against his olive skin. She watches him suspiciously as he slips off his ridiculous backwards cap and ruffles his hair. He clears his throat. Shuffles around on his feet awkwardly. Lucy cocks an eyebrow because frankly, she doesn't have time for this. What the hell does he want? But it doesn't actually take him that long to pull his shoulders back and look her straight in the eye — or rather, down in the eye. It's not hard to be taller than her, but now that she's standing beside him looking up, Lucy wonders where exactly that brazen anger from ten minutes ago has disappeared to.

...Or where it came from in the first place.

"Listen, uh," he murmurs quietly, gaze not leaving her own. "Look, I'm sorry I made you cry back there. I know you probably didn't want someone up in your business or anything, but, uh—" he clears his throat again, his hand automatically rising to do the cute back-of-the-neck rub again. "I mean, I just wanted to make sure you were okay." He finishes with a sheepish chuckle, shifting his weight to the other foot. "I didn't know you'd get so upset. I'm sorry."

Lucy blinks, taken aback. "N-No, it's not— Um— I guess... Thank you," she eventually ends up mumbling, fidgeting with the strap of the bag in her arms. "You didn't really do anything wrong, though. I was thinking about other things. You were just, um... Your timing sucked."

He laughs, and she jumps at how loud he is. She almost wants to glance around, make sure there's nobody around to disturb. "Man, I was scared I'd gotten you to hate me."

"I don't even know you." Her eyebrows pull together. "Wait, do I? I'm so sorry, I've got the worst memory." She's mentally scanning all of her classes, her lecture halls, random strangers at parties she was too tipsy to remember properly — this guy could be from anywhere. Although she's sure she'd probably remember someone like this; pink hair and a trainwreck wardrobe contrasted with looks that could kill and a laugh like hot chocolate; she'd struggle to forget him, truth be told.

"We share English Lit. lectures with Makarov."

"Oh, you! Yeah, I think I might have seen you around!" She's sure she's never seen him in her life, but it would be rude to confess that, wouldn't it? Especially after how she yelled at him on the bus for five minutes. Lucy can at least try to salvage what she can. "You, uh, you asked that question. Yeah. Right. I remember you."

He snorts, smirking at her. It does strange things to the knot in her stomach, makes her fingers clench around the fabric of her backpack, leaves her cheeks tingling in that way she hates. "I doubt it. There's hardly been a lecture in that class I've stayed awake through."

"Oh," she says lamely. She loves that class. "Right."

He nods with his head at the path in front of them, lit my streetlamps and the setting sun. "Can I walk you home?"

Lucy blinks at him, first flattered, and then appalled. "Wait, this isn't your stop?!"

"I made you cry," he brushes off, falling into step beside her as they start walking. "My fault. Besides, I would have followed you anyway."

"No, no!" Lucy insists, suddenly mortified. "No, I wasn't crying because of you, I wasn't even— I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." She trails off as the implication of what he's said sets in. Slowing to a stop, she stares at him accusingly as he glances back at her in question. "What do you mean, you would have followed me anyway?"

"Well, I—"

"Have you followed me before?"

"No, I just—"

"Are you stalking me?"

"No!"

"Then what do you want!?" She takes a step towards him intimidatingly, eyes narrowed in what she's sure is a terrifying fashion. If only there was fire in the background, or dramatic music to really give the full effect. But it's not like Katniss had special effects all the time either, and Lucy can be just as fierce. She's sure she can be fierce. Hell yeah she can. "Listen here, buddy—" she punctuates this with a poke to his chest "—don't think I didn't notice how you made a point to sit beside me despite all the other empty chairs. And I've never seen you in Makarov's class; actually, I'm not even sure you're in it." Another step forward, right up into his space. He blinks down at her blankly, mouth slightly ajar. "I know what you're trying to do."

"U-Uh." Lucy can't believe it — he's smiling that damn smirk again! He's fucking laughing at her! Albeit admittedly confused, Beautiful Bastard's clearly trying to hide a grin. "You do?"

"Yeah," she hisses. "You're trying to mug me."

He's clearly taken off guard, that much she can guess from the way he reacts. Or maybe that's exactly what he wants her to think. Lull her into a false sense of security so that he can overpower her when she's not expecting it.

But even that becomes unbelievable when he just starts chuckling to himself, gently brushing her finger away from his muscular chest. "I'm not trying to mug you."

"Then what do you want?" Lucy rolls her eyes, resuming her walk back to her dormroom. It's another fifteen minutes away and, as genuinely intriguing as this guy is, the toll of the exhausting day is really starting to get to her. Now that she's had her little cry, and even managed to blow off some steam, Lucy's just desperate for a hot shower and a quick dinner. "You don't give off some weird creepy rape-y vibe, but then again, I guess rapists wouldn't really want to give those hints anyway—"

"Jesus Christ, I'm not gonna attack you!" he says seriously, amusement finally leaving his eyes. He stuffs his hands in his pocket and grumbles, "They said you weren't gonna be easy to convince."

"What?"

He just shakes his head and glances at her quickly from under his eyelashes before fixing his gaze on the pavement in front of him as he walks.

"Who said?" Lucy insists.

He sighs. "Erza. We've been friends for years."

"What did she say?" Knowing that he's at least familiar with her roommate comforts her. Erza wouldn't let anyone hurt Lucy without putting whoever was responsible for it in a hospital cast or a coffin.

"That you were as dense as a brick."

Unless Erza says it herself. "Ouch. Right. Thanks."

"Oh, shit!" the guy suddenly yelps, rounding on he with wide eyes. "Sorry! That was rude, wasn't it? You're not gonna cry again, are you?"

Lucy's starting to get the impression that he's probably not that sharp himself. "For the last time, I wasn't— Ugh, whatever, no, I'm not going to cry again. I just wanted to know why you followed me off the bus! It's just, you're... kind of... really freaking weird. Sorry. But, I mean—"

"Nah, it's cool," he grins. "That's what everyone says! 'Sides, I just wanted to get your number, that's all. Saw the perfect opportunity and I grabbed it."

Out of all the things she's heard today, all the indignities and insults she's suffered, this is what leaves her speechless.

"I thought you totally knew." He laughs again. "When we were sitting on the bus and you blanked me, I thought you were trying to let me off easy. But then you started shouting at me out of the blue and I figured, any girl who'd scream at a stranger like that would be up for it!"

"F-For what?" she says in a quiet voice, still trying to make sense of all this without letting her cheeks go up in flames.

"Going on a date with me, obviously!" He smiles at her, wide and welcoming. "Even if you hated me, you seemed like the type to be up for it."

"I-I don't even know you," she repeats.

"Natsu Dragneel." He cocks his head to the side and winks at her — winks, sweet Petunia save her now, but he should not be allowed to do that. He's turning out to be an expert at catching Lucy off guard, that's for sure.

"Natsu Dragneel," she echoes, reeling.

"That's me!" He chuckles, taking his hands out of his pockets only to poke his thumbs through his belt loops and balance on the balls of his feet — as he walks. "Natsu Dragneel."

Oh, dear Lord. Now she understands why he's been so dense, why he's so weird — entertaining, definitely, and interesting, and cute, but weird. It's because he's an absolute, hopeless, utter dork. A giant fucking nerd. Sweet Jesus.

Surprising even herself, Lucy starts laughing. "Natsu Dragneel, who sits behind me in lectures and beside me on the bus. Nice to meet you. I'm Lucy."

"I gotta admit, Lucy, you kind of took me by surprise," he confesses. "I knew you were passionate from the way you talk in class—" didn't he say he always slept in class? Lucy wants to beam at the compliment "—but I figured you were always, kinda, you know." Natsu shrugs and opens his mouth to continue, but just as he does, a motorbike revs past them on the otherwise quiet main road. They let it pass, let the quiet hum of the slow steady traffic resume before he continues, "You seemed kind of quiet when you weren't talking about Shakespeare, I guess. But boy, oh, boy, was I wrong."

It's her turn to cock her head in bafflement. She's been told she's quiet outside her friend group more times than she can count, so he's not wrong; she's never comfortable with strangers, hardly ever talks to them unless she has to. He was just an exception — a random blip in her normal routine. But now that she thinks about it, Lucy's left wondering what on earth drove her to let her walls down around him so suddenly.

"Well, I mean," he starts, noticing her confusion, "you started shouting at me first time we spoke for trying to talk to you."

"Oh! Oh, that!" Lucy waves her hand in the hair dismissively. "Like I've been telling you, I was upset about other things! Jeez. And it's not that crazy, anyway. You don't talk to people with their headphones on, everybody knows that."

Natsu's brow knits together in a frown and he leans towards her, concerned. "Did something happen? Why were you sad?"

She chokes up suddenly, remembering the feel of the sodden book cover between her fingers. Lucy shrugs. "Really shitty day."

"Sorry about your book."

Before she knows it, she's sniffling again. Just remembering the book and all it stood for has her feeling like she could break down into tears again at any minute. "It's okay. I've finished it already. Last night."

"Oh, shit," he laughs. "I love the series but that third book just killed me."

"I know!" she bursts out, hardly bothering to spend more than a second contemplating the fact that he reads Young Adult Dystopia. "I can't believe— I can't believe—" Another violent gulp against the budding emotion. "I stayed up all night to finish it, and the ending was just so— Ugh!"

"I think I actually cried," Natsu nods enthusiastically, coming to life before her eyes. "I never cry at books but when I got to what happened with Prim—"

"Stop!" Lucy cries shakily. "Stop, it's too fresh! I can't talk about that now!"

"And Finnick—"

Whatever, she thinks, veritably bursting into tears. I can be embarrassed about this tomorrow. "God, fucking Finnick! He deserved so much better! To go through all of that for so long and the end just—" She starts hiccuping. "To just end like that, I can't even— it's so— oh my God."

"I wish they spoke more about Haymitch, though," Natsu groans, voice risen and eyes animated. "He was my favourite character, I wanted more from him!"

Lucy barks out a laugh. "You're lucky your favourite character was Haymitch."

"Oh..." He looks horrified. "Don't tell me..."

Lucy starts crying harder, nodding vigorously. "Yep!"

"No," he breathes.

"Yep!"

"I'm so sorry."

She shakes her head, at a loss for words.

"I was more of a Gale fan, until Prim—" He cuts off guiltily. "Sorry. But, oh, God," Natsu groans. "Peeta was the worst by far, my heart really bled for the guy. I'm so sorry for you."

"I-It's okay," Lucy manages to get out, voice higher than she thinks she's ever heard it. "At least h-he managed to... get better, I guess. He only ever loved Katniss, so getting her back w-was probably okay for him, even after the... the torture—" her voice squeaks on the word "—but Katniss, but Katniss— And the flowers, and the grave, a-and the..."

"Oh, God!" The groan this time is guttural, as if he's in physical pain himself. "Stop, stop, wow. Talking about this is bringing back all the pain, okay, shit." He rubs over his face, staring blankly ahead. "Wow."

"And the singing—"

"Jesus, not the singing! Stop, you're killing me—"

"A-And Boggs," Lucy whimpers, wiping at her face as a fresh wave of tears hits her. "And Finnick fucking Odair—"

"I swear, Lucy, I really thought—" Natsu turns to her, turmoil written all over his face. "With the poison broadcast, and— and the wedding, I really thought he'd..."

"Me too!" She scrunches her face up, not minding that probably only bats can hear her now. "Me too! We all thought—"

"But we were wrong!"

"We were so wrong, damn it!"

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.

.

When Erza opens the door to find her two best friends sobbing into their hands, her kick reaction is to slam it shut in their faces.

Natsu's the ugliest crier on the planet and Lucy's making a noise like a dying animal. Part of her doesn't want to know. Most of her can probably guess what it is. "Another fictional character die?" she throws over her shoulder, propping the door open and making her way back to her room.

Natsu howls agonisedly, "Finnick Odair deserved better!"

"Mmhmm," she hums. "Pen's on the table, dinner's in the fridge. Night, you too."

"Goodnight, Erza!" Lucy wails. "Thank you-ou-ou~"

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.

.

The true reality of the situation only dawns on her once she's woken up, yawned, stretched, brushed her teeth, put her hair up in some semblance of a messy bun, and sluggishly left her way out of her room to make for the kitchen. A blonde head and a pink head peak out from under a makeshift fort in the sitting area, a quilt blanket propped over them by two pillows and a cushion. From underneath, she can hear the two of them murmuring to each other in fast, sleep-deprived tones. Words like district, tribute and fucking deserved better float towards her from underneath, muffled but discernible.

"Didn't sleep?" Erza calls out, grabbing a mug and pouring herself some coffee Lucy brewed presumably last night.

"Couldn't," Lucy calls matter-of-factly.

"Morning, Natsu."

"Morning, Erza."

Neither of them sound sheepish in the slightest. And that's when Erza realises what a mistake she's made. She knew setting the two of them up was a match made in heaven — she has yet to find another two idiots who get so happy about such stupid things, who cry over fiction and make forts with strangers, and knew they'd click in a heartbeat. Weird loves as weird does, and those two dorks are definitely made for each other — except now she wonders if she'll ever have a moment of peace around either of them again, knowing deep down it'll be impossible. From the sounds of their conversation underneath—Lucy laughing, Natsu's volume rising and falling with his crappy joke—they've already crossed into best-friend territory.

Well, that was fast.

Erza clicks her tongue, smiles fondly at the wiggling pile of linen in her living room, and takes her coffee back into her room.