((Vanellope von Schweetz, Swizzle 'The Swizz' Malarkey, and all characters mentioned belong to Disney.))
((This story and the idea for the Sunday Sweets Café belong to me.))
((Viva la Vanilla Swirl! uwu))
"Aaaand next, ladies and…gentleman, we've got town heartbreaker-"
"Hey, c'mon, man! Shut up!"
"Nahhh. Swizzle Malarkey!"
Gloyd flashes his usual impish grin, nodding at the cherry-themed racer running the Sunday-night café gig with him and sets a spotlight on everyone's favorite green-haired boy as he walks up on the stage. The crowd of about twelve or thirteen little kids claps, though one girl doesn't look amused.
The Sunday Sweets Café was usually where the Sugar Rush citizens gathered on, well, Sunday nights. The one day where they didn't have to work, and could just take it easy. Sunday was usually ended with a cup of hot cocoa or sweet tea and a performance from one of the other racers.
Swizzle smiles at the small crowd, waving a hand and sitting down on the stool up on the stage. The boy picks up his guitar, made out of various hard candies and a pretzel stick, and the smile drops as he begins his song.
Vanellope, sitting at one of the little café tables in the back, slightly rolls her eyes. These sappy songs were nothing new under the sun for Swizzle—they usually had some implications directed at her, anyway. Vanellope half-listens to Swizzle sing, half-grumbles a thought to herself.
Great, it's just gonna be one of those dumb breakup songs to guilt-trip me. Again.
The song goes on as Vanellope thinks to herself, somehow getting onto the topic of a freckled blonde sitting nearby. Now, that boy was a handful. Not that she doesn't want some company now and then, he seemed to hang around her more than Swizzle tried to. Vanellope fiddles with her hair, not really listening now, until one line snaps her out of her thoughts and draws her attention back to the show.
"And though it hurts, I'll be the first to say…I was wrong!"
No anger for being rejected, no sadness that he couldn't always get what he want, just three simple words. I was wrong. Not 'you were wrong', not 'we were wrong', I was wrong. For the usually self-centered and prideful little kid, those words usually meant a lot more than they came off to mean.
Vanellope listens now, doubt flickering in her mind. Is this guy for real? Is he honestly telling the truth?
"I know it's probably much too late to try and apologize for my mistake, but I just want you to know…"
Swizzle pauses for a moment, the guitar faltering as he forces a small smile. It was shaky, and forced, like he was trying not to pout and cry. His gaze flickers to the back of the room for just a moment, staring right at Vanellope and nodding slightly as the grim smile on his face dropped.
"I hope he buys you flowers, I hope he holds your hand, gives you all his hours, when he has the chance…"
When Swizzle wishes another guy luck with a girl he likes, you know he's either holding back a punch…or he's given up the fight for her. Rancis perks up a bit at those words, a look of confusion on his face before he nods in understanding.
"Take you to every party, because I remember how much you loved to dance…do all the things I should have done when I was your man."
Swizzle pauses for a few moments, holding back something he was about to say, and listens to the small crowd slowly applaud. Then he simply stands up and looks at the crowd.
"I'm done." He mutters into the microphone, and walks offstage with a tired expression. The crowd clearly assumes it just meant the performance was over for the night.
Vanellope knows better, though, even though she doesn't ever want to admit it.
Swizzle was done with the games. He was done with fighting for Vanellope, done with pining after her late at night, done with butting heads with Rancis over her, done getting stuck in the rain without an umbrella while Rancis would come to her rescue with an umbrella for two, done trying to prove that he was the one who really was devoted to her. He'd given up the fight, and wished them good luck, just like that. Vanellope had expressed a clear no to his advances many times, and he'd finally learned to respect that. He'd given up on her, just like she'd asked. He was tired of all of it, and just wanted to move on after all his efforts, since they clearly weren't working.
Vanellope can't regret doing anything more.
((I can't regret anything more than getting into this ship. It's making me an emotional wreck.))
((I'm an emotional wreck over two fictional kids, one of which has never spoken a word.))