Varil fidgeted, pulling at the tie, flattening his hair, shrugging the jacket around his shoulders. He was never nervous. Not even in the tournament had he felt nervous, and Pratty had been just about ready to kill him for the position her father once held. But he was nervous now.
Because he was going to ask out Sanary.
The girl was incredible. That long, crimson hair, that carelessness in her stance, that cool look in her eyes. Her confidence, her ambition. They were soul mates!
Waiting at the Underwater Observatory, he listened intently for footsteps. And there they were! The steady rhythm of feet, the soft whisperings of far-off conversation. Sanary was older than him by a year, but to Varil it didn't matter. He watched the corner carefully, taking a deep breath as he watched two figures come around the corner.
Damnit, Pratty! Why did she always have to be around Sanary?
With a frustrated sigh he hid the rose behind his back, taking on a bored expression. Sanary was looking as gorgeous as always. She was talking animatedly with Pratty, obviously excited about something. With a turn of her head, she finally noticed the blond standing in front of the glass window.
"What are you doing here? Pratty, you didn't invite him, did you?" Sanary asked, appraising the boy with a raised eyebrow. Varil gave an impatient snort.
"Aren't I allowed to appreciate marine life too?" He asked with a roll of his eyes, motioning to the pane behind his head with his hand. Sanary rested her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowed. Pratty gave a mighty heave.
"Every time you two get near each other, you argue! It's the clashing of those giant egos." She said, as if thinking aloud. Varil and Sanary both gave her a withering glare.
"Oh yes, and I'm sure you are a very modest person." Sanary rebuffed.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What?" Sanary asked with mock surprise, "You don't remember that law you attempted to create that said everyone had to worship you as the new God?"
"Oh, come on, you can't blame a girl for trying." Pratty answered grumpily, crossing her arms over her chest. She looked at Varil, quickly changing the subject.
"All right then, seriously. What are you doing here, Varil?"
He shifted nervously, gripping the rose. He may as well say it now, when the only witness was Pratty.
"Well, actually, I wanted to ask Sanary about something." He said, giving Pratty a dark look. She squinted at him.
"Ask away, Gold Guild snob." Sanary answered breezily. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Varil took out the rose from behind his back. Faintly he heard Pratty mutter a worried, "Uh oh."
"Sanary, I, uh, I like you. A lot." He confessed.
"Oh, how poetic." She grunted, not at all surprised by this left-field declaration.
"Varil, I should talk to you." Pratty said frantically.
"Hold it, Iron." Varil said sharply, and took a deep breath…
--x--
Slumped against the glass, Varil stared blankly ahead. Pratty stood worriedly beside him. She kneeled, reaching out anxiously for his arm.
"I don't understand. I mean, how could she say no after all those things I said? I danced for her!"
Pratty sighed, telling him, "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. Sanary told me as we were coming down here. Master Sakuro and Sanary had, uh, been dating for a while. He wants to make their relationship public."
Varil looked at her glumly.
"Why does this happen to me?" He asked in a soft whimper.
"Pucker up, Varil! You could have any girl you wanted. You're rich, a good fighter, relatively handsome!" Pratty said cheerful.
"Pratty?"
"Yes, Varil?"
"Shut up. No, really, just stop talking."
She leant against the glass, watching the far wall with him.
"For what it's worth," she began quietly, "I think you look nice in that suit."
Varil looked at her blankly, and then turned away again. After a moment he felt shy fingers creeping into his hand. Her palm slid against his, and she entwined his fingers through his. Her hand was warm and much softer than he would have expected. He let her grip his hand for a moment, before slowly gripping her hand back.
They sat together in silence, sharing only the contact of their hands. It wasn't exactly nice, nor was it particularly comforting. But at the same time, Varil didn't want to pull away. He felt Pratty shift timidly towards him, heard her whisper to him softly.
"Varil?"
He turned to her, looking into her earnest face. Her wide, dark blue eyes, her soft grey-white hair in wisps around her features, that tiny button nose and the slack jaw. Her clueless expression, her anxious eyes. And he felt like laughing at her, or crying at his rejection. Instead he did something that took both of them by surprise.
Leaning in, he pressed his lips against hers. The contact was clumsy, an unexpected action to both, but it was passionate and needy. That seemed to be enough for both of them.