~Prologue~
"Ness."
The first time he says my name, I do a double take. Don't lie, you would've done one too.
Because the quiet boy in the classroom had finally spoken to me.
"You can talk?!" I exclaim, half-joking, half-serious, and when Lucas returns to his book with detached interest, I puff up my cheeks. "Don't ignore me!"
Lucas regards me with a blink. Barely audible: "Your breath stinks."
I rear back in surprise.
What a jerk!
"That's not very nice," I say ruefully.
Flustering, Lucas ducks his head into his book. "That's not... what I meant to say."
I snap my head up in attention. "Really?"
"The words... came out wrong. Sorry."
His apology piques my curiosity. "A lotta people don't like to admit they're wrong. You're weird. Whatcha reading?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing, huh? That's cool. Oh yeah, Pokey says that you live in a dump! He says that you have fleas. I've never seen fleas before. I heard that they bite people and suck out their blood. That sounds really itchy. I'm glad I don't have fleas. Hey, you smell weird. Do you have fleas?"
Lucas colors up in a bright flush. "No."
"Good! My mom hates fleas." A pause. "Mom wants me to stay away from you. She says that you're dangerous." When Lucas continues looking like he has no idea what to say, I clumsily pat him on the shoulder. "But she's wrong. I think you're okay," I decide.
Lucas fidgets in his seat. "I... think you're okay too," he says awkwardly, the back of his neck slowly turning as red as his freckles.
I snap my mouth shut, trying to keep down my excitement. I've started noticing a lot of things about Lucas the longer I hung out with him. The way he flickers his eyes to his shoes whenever he gets uncomfortable. The way he carefully watches people like they're about to blow up in his face. The way he flusters over a nice compliment. Lucas doesn't know how to respond to compliments.
Maybe he didn't get many in his life. Everyone said that Lucas was a bad kid. Everyone said that he was smelly and weird and gross. Everyone liked to play "tag the Poocus" and screamed whenever they touched him.
But I don't think that Lucas is a bad kid. Lucas is just odd.
He had the oddest personality. And the oddest hair. And the oddest smell.
Not knowing how to continue our (one-sided) convo, I fumble for the next best thing that catches my eye. "I like your hair. It's poofy," I say, watching it bounce. "Like..." Frowning in concentration for the right words, I make an exploding gesture with my hands. "Pewf."
As if to prove my point, Lucas turns redder, refusing to look me in the eye. He seems determined not to look my way. He's ignoring me. I puff up my cheeks. I don't wanna be ignored.
I grab his attention again by tugging on his shirt. "Hey... hey, Poof." The defensive glance returns. "Yeah! Come closer."
Biting down on his lip, Lucas shakes his head into his book. He's acting like he's waiting for me to prank him. Not an "all in the name of harmless fun" prank, but more like a "haha let's humiliate you in front of class" prank. Suddenly I think back to him crying in the bathroom, and feel a hot surge of anger. Lucas was odd, but picking on Lucas wasn't funny. My mom said so.
Stupid bullies couldn't pick on someone else their own size.
"Aw, come on," I whine, now tugging on his sleeve. "We can't share funny secrets if you won't scoot over-"
Sinking into his chair like a shrinking violet, Lucas squeezes his fists into his lap, kneading them into his shirt. He's debating whether or not to trust me.
I don't expect anything. I know that Lucas doesn't find socializing as easy as I do. I'm just glad to see him trying.
To my surprise, Lucas leans in. His hair shyly tickles my cheek.
With a big fat grin, I blow an obnoxious puff of air into his ear.
Jumping back with a loud squeak, Lucas flares up into an uncontrollable blush. He turns around, stubbornly hiding his face into his book. I crack up, laughing until my stomach aches.
Lucas ignored me for the rest of that day.
But every time I recall his stupid squeak, I laugh.
Totally worth it.
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~Chapter Three~
Drunk Thoughts
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.
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Okay, I'll bite the bullet.
It's hard to pinpoint the exact moment I started crushing on Lucas. We're as different as apples and oranges. We get along as many times as we, well, don't. Over the years I've gotten to know him, my thoughts have shifted just as many times from damn, this kid is super shy to hey, this kid is pretty cool to oh my god, this kid is the Devil Incarnate.
Like all friendships, our trust took time to build.
I'd like to think that one of the turning points was the Subspace Emissary. During my third year in Brawl - and Lucas his first - Tabuu struck Smash City.
Back then, I'd say we were more like close classmates than best buddies. It's weird now, remembering a short Lucas, but I couldn't help but notice everything about him. How his blond hair clashed with the dark freckles splashed over his nose. How he used to flee at anyone's approach. Lucas was a timid wallflower, nervous and skittish about messing anything and everything up, and after thwarting his encounter with Wario, he became my shadow, trailing behind me wherever I went because he was too shy to say thanks.
Then puberty happened, and Lucas shot up like a beanstalk. His frame was suddenly too tall and lanky, and all of his freckles had paled away into his skin. Even more surprisingly, Lucas has grown more at ease around people. He's still shy, but now, it's a strong, calm kind of shy, like he's finally become one with whatever shit has happened in his past.
I sneak a glance in his direction. Oblivious to my thoughts, Lucas unpacks some of my old photographs from a box.
Lucas isn't really much of a talker, but it's never occurred to me how much I don't know about him. I don't know his favorite book. I don't know his favorite color. He never talks much about his family, but knows everything about mine. More or less because I blab my mouth off, and because my mom absolutely adores him, but that's beside the point.
I don't know jack about my best friend.
It's complicated. The one time I asked Lucas about his family didn't go too well. I had been pestering him after school, begging him please, Lucas, we never get to hang out at your place and your mom sounds super cool can I meet her just this once please?
Lucas had gotten that horrible, blank look in his eyes and said, "She's dead."
Instantly, I'd dropped the subject like a hot potato. I never asked him any more questions about his family, and Lucas pretended that the conversation never happened.
Still, Lucas couldn't have lived alone, because he would've had to stay at the foster home in Fourside. From the little I know, Lucas lives alone with his dad. I've never seen Lucas's dad before. I think about our old pen pal letters, and I decide that frankly, I'm lucky to have even heard of his dad. Lucas never liked bringing him up for whatever reason.
The thought leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I want to know more about his family... but I'm too afraid to ask.
"...Is this your sister."
I jerk out of my train of thought when Lucas holds up a photograph. Even from afar, I can tell which photo he's holding thanks to the old cheeto stain on the bottom left corner. "Yeah, that's Tracy. She dyed her hair blue three years ago."
Lucas makes a soft hum of agreement, then sets it aside.
He does that sometimes. The humming. It's not like a do-re-mi-fa-so-la-ti-do kind of humming, but a low, vibrating noise Lucas makes deep in his throat whenever he's happy or pleased. He shuffles over to slide the picture my way, and while his close proximity sets my nerves ablaze, his vibrato's nice and soothing to the ear.
I study his face. The soft sunlight catches his blue eyes, making him look so much younger... and fuck, now he has two strands of hair out of place instead of one. I bite the inside of my cheek. No, Ness, don't touch your best friend's face because that's gay.
And I'm not gay.
I'm just gay for my straight best friend.
I've been staring at him for far too long, because Lucas turns around with a light frown. "Is there something on my fa-"
"Your hair," I blurt out without thinking.
Lucas hesitantly pats his own head. "What... what about it."
I finally snap.
"Hold still, ya goof." I crawl over his squirming legs and pin him down, ruffling his hair in abandon. Ha, now all of his stupid hair's out of place!
Lucas makes a face and shoves me off. "What was that for."
"Everything."
Emitting an exasperated noise, Lucas rises to his feet. "If you're going to joke around, I'm leaving. Bye."
I latch onto his ankles. "Nooo, I'm not done unpacking yet-"
"I have to train, leggo," he says, struggling under my weight. I loudly whine and groan and complain as he ends up dragging me across the carpet.
Fucking hell, Lucas is already shaking under the weight of one of his quiet laughs.
I break into a triumphant grin. For as long as I can remember, Lucas's laughs have been light and breathy like he's afraid of being overheard by other people. Either that, or Lucas is secretly hyperventilating to death when I tickle him and can't get enough air into his lungs.
My nerves jitter. I love his laugh. I wanna hear it again.
I throw him a crooked grin. "Practice can wait. Where are you going?"
The corners of Lucas's lips quirk up. "Secret."
"Aw, Lucas-" I hug his knees together, preventing him from walking away. "You won't even tell me? Me, your bestest best buddy in the whole wide world?"
"No."
"Fucker," I say affectionately.
I can almost see the invisible eye-roll in his voice. "Finish unpacking, Ness," he says, and with a last burst of energy, Lucas pries his leg free out of my grip, fetches his keys from the bedside stand, and walks out of the room. I stare after him, somehow feeling both happy and disappointed at the same time.
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~oO0Oo~
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.
.
I don't end up unpacking.
It's not because I'm moping around. It's not because I'm busy stuffing my face into my pillow. And it's not because I'm pining away for my roommate to return!
A part of me sorely misses the old Lucas. The Lucas who was too shy for his shoes, the Lucas who spazzed out twenty-four seven, the Lucas who never felt comfortable with hanging around other people. It was so easy to encourage him back then, so much easier to treat him like a best pal. If there's one thing I've figured out, it's that Lucas has a shitty past. That being said, if it even makes him feel the tiniest bit happy, then I'll gladly die a thousand times just to be his friend. It's horribly cliche, yet horribly true.
Now, I have no idea how the fuck to act around this confident Lucas. He seems so much stronger than me in many more ways. Something about his quiet, kind nature draws people to him like a magnet, even though he doesn't like talking to people himself.
Capable. Independent.
He's out of my league.
I stuff my face deeper into my pillow. I love him. I love him so much. I love him so much that I can't breathe. Oh right, the pillow. Yanking the pillow away from my face, I draw in a big gulp of air, but cough because my spit goes down the wrong way.
It wasn't supposed to happen like this!
I get a good grip of my hair. This reminds me too painstakingly of a similar phase I'd gone through with Paula. Of all the days I'd spent hanging out with her. Every time I'd walk Paula home after a good game of laser tag. Every time Paula would find a way to make me laugh. Every time I'd seen the looks of adoration other boys had thrown her - you know, the sappy sighs and goo-goo ga-ga eyes - and protectively reach for my bat because I didn't want her dealing this shit, even though she had the guts to tell them off herself. But even I knew that Paula had grown into a catch, attractive with a pretty hourglass figure and a prettier personality to boot, and after fighting Giygas together, I thought I'd known her inside out.
I'd thought that this was love.
One day, we were folding paper cranes by the Twoson lake, and she made the first move. She'd asked me out, and as I stared into the stars reflected in her eyes, my mouth wouldn't let out a single word. I'd wanted to say it too, wanted so badly to say you're amazing and I love you too Paula I love you so so much, but the words wouldn't come out.
Maybe I'd always known. Deep down, Paula had been too late.
Someone else had already stolen my heart.
I swallow hard. Lucas can't figure out that I have feelings for him. It'd scare him away, and I value our friendship too much to make any drastic moves.
I press the pillow against my face. Okay, Ness. Shit happens. You have feelings for your roommate. Your cute and hella gorgeous roommate. So what? It'll pass. Just survive through the year, then quit Brawl or something. No, that wouldn't work. I don't want to quit Brawl and start school. Switch rooms with someone else next year? I'll still see Lucas from time to time. Avoid him again? No, he'll only get worried about me. Fuck, is there really no way out for me?
"Yo, whatup?"
I jerk my face away. Standing by the door, Popo greets me with his punkass smirk. No doubt he's witnessed my pathetic attempts to smother myself with my pillow.
Popo invites himself in. "Did I interrupt something?"
"No. Now geddout. I'm thinking."
"Thinking? Bruh, I'm just saying - you might wanna think a little harder and close the door next time you decide to make out with your pillow-"
The fucker's asking for it. I hurl my pillow in his direction. "Fuck off, you."
Sadly, Popo swats the projectile away with his hammer before bursting into mad giggles. "Sorry, bro, but I don't swing that way."
Out of an unfortunate slip of the tongue, Popo's the only person who knows that I'm currently batting for the other team. He's never let me forget it since. You'd think that with age came great maturity, but Popo - I swear - breaks that streak.
That's the real kicker. Popo only seems dense. He's your basic definition of typical bro and classic frat-boy in one harmless Eskimo pina colada... except when he's not. Then it's a very different story indeed.
You think that Nana's scary? Think again. Nana's all talk. Sure, she's got a hot temper, and when she gets mad, threats fly around, but she doesn't actually mean them. Now Popo... Popo's one sly mofo. He's a perv, but he's a perv with an uncanny knack for worming his way into your mind.
So I don't bother lying. Popo can smell a secret five miles away. Whatever he wants to find out, he will find out.
"Geez, why don't you shout it out to the entire world while you're at it," I mutter.
"Hey, loosen up. I haven't told anyone." A pause as if double-checking. "...Yet."
"Wow, that totally wasn't threatening."
Popo breaks into a grin that doesn't meet his eyes. "Course, that might change my mind if you're making up an excuse to hit on my sister-"
I roll my eyes. "I told you, I have zero interest in your sister."
"Good." Still, Popo hasn't dropped the serious expression from his face, the kind that sets all the alarm bells off in my head. Believe it or not, Popo can get pretty protective over his older sister. They bicker a lot, but Master Hand handpicked (haha handpicked) them for a reason.
As if amused, the pothead eyes my living room. "Dude, don't tell me you have-"
"Have what?"
"Pfft, forget about it." Thank god he's not gonna crack more dirty jokes. Popo heaves his hammer over his shoulder. "There's supposed to be a top secret party at midnight. It's gonna be totally ballin'. Wanna come?"
The thought brightens me up considerably. Smash Mansion rarely hosts any parties. Fancy dinner parties, sure, but oh man, not the loud, raucous ones with an epic DJ and spiked punch. A nice distraction from the jittery nerves fluttering in my heart.
"It's not in the Mansion, is it?" I blurt out.
A sneaky look makes its way onto Popo's face, and shit do I know what that look spells. It spells Trouble with a capital T. "Nope," Popo says. "Try the Snowflake."
"The Snowflake?!" I repeat incredulously. "Popo, that's a bar-"
"-run by my first cousin thrice removed. Trust me, I go there all the time. Mina won't check for IDs if you're with me."
"Popo, we might be seen."
Okay, I'm no wuss, but really, I'm scared of barhopping in the dead of night. For crying out loud, I've seen strong smashers like Marth and Lucina surrounded by fifty bodyguards apiece whenever they left Smash Mansion. And that was just to hold back all the fangirls. And fanboys. But mostly the fangirls.
Man, Fire Emblem characters have it rough.
I shudder. Judging from how fast my Amiibos sold out, I'm not willing to bet my safety on one drunk Eskimo and his hammer. Sorry, Popo, but it's no's before bros.
Popo shrugs in response. "Hey, not my problem. I'll be taking off my parka. No one's gonna recognize me." When I still hesitate, Popo rolls his eyes. "Look Ness, if you're gonna chicken out, then just say so-"
"I'm not chickening out!" I say defensively.
"Sure you are. Wuss."
This asshole. I puff my cheeks up. "Fine," I challenge. "What time?"
"What, are you for real?"
"Sign me the fuck up."
Popo's grin widens, and before I can wonder what shit I've gotten myself into, he twirls his hammer and prods it against my chest. "Cool. Then swing by my room in a mo. Let's figure out how to disguise you, because bro," Popo gives me a look. "I don't want to be mauled by all the crazies wanting your autograph."
He's got a point. I laugh.
Satisfied by my response, Popo saunters off, singing an eskimo drinking song at the top of his lungs.
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~oO0Oo~
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Several hours later, I'm sweltering in Popo's parka and seriously regretting my life choices.
We decided to sneak out at eleven-fifty. Popo would stop by my room before curfew, and I'd teleport us both outside the Mansion gates. Since I could only teleport to places that I'd seen before, Popo had shoved a black-and-white photo of the bar into my hands.
Dude, you'd better land right on the doorstep, 'cause I'm not ready to freeze my ass off walking, he'd said.
I study the photograph in my hands. This would be - dare I say it? - my first misdemeanor in Smash Mansion. Well, okay. My first misdemeanor was that time I broke midnight curfew to grab some Lucky Charms from the Cafeteria. Then there's that other time I MIGHT have swiped a banana from their fruit stand. Oh yeah, then there's that other OTHER time when I-
You get the point. It's all stupid stuff, and more importantly, stupid stuff I've never gotten caught for. Long story short, the midnight curfew's unreasonable beyond reason. Like, what if I wanted to take a shit at one A.M. but the internal plumbing in our room broke down? It hasn't ever happened before, but Master Hand's so hella strict on minors. I can't wait to turn eighteen.
Even so, I have to admit that there was a big difference between getting caught stuffing my face and getting caught drinking underage.
I furiously shake my head. Now's not the time to get cold feet! Not when my pride's on the line. Suddenly, my mind flashes to Lucas. He never would've agreed to do something so stupid in the first place.
Goddammit, this isn't the time to grow a conscience! My record's pretty clear. There's nothing wrong about wanting to gate-crash a party. Plenty of people drink underage!
The apartment door swings open.
"Popo? You re-" My voice dies in my throat.
Lucas dumbly stares at me from the doorway. His confused eyes roam over the fat parka swallowing up my face before they snap towards the photo in my clenched hand. I stuff the photo back into my pockets.
Neither of us say anything.
Then Lucas fucking laughs.
I flush deep to the roots of my dark hair. "I'm cold!" I snap.
"I can see that," Lucas manages to say, his stupid eyes clearly laughing at me. "Mister Cold."
Git. I want to fling the parka into his face, but unable to blow my cover, settle for glowering back at him. "Haha, very funny."
Lucas shifts towards the thermostat, and offers, "Hey, I can turn the heater on-"
"What's going on?" Oh boy. Talk about timing. Popo pops his head in, and upon seeing the abomination he has forced upon me, he chokes over his shoulder.
"It's your parka," I hiss, redirecting my death glare to him. Popo's parka is big enough to disguise me, all right. It's big enough to disguise Putin's whole army.
Popo still struggles to breathe. "No, no, no, it's not the parka. The parka looks great on you. It's g- your face! Haha!"
I furiously sit up. "Oh, just you wait. We'll see who's laughing when I shove a PK Fire up your-"
Lucas coughs and picks up a clean towel from his wardrobe. "Curfew's in five. Are you two going somewhere."
We answer at the same time.
"No," Popo says.
"Yes," I say.
Lucas gives us both a weird look.
Popo steps in. "We're having a date night out!" he announces, heartily slapping me in the back. "Very romantic. Just the two of us in my room... alone." He wiggles his eyebrows. "Isn't that right, dearest?"
"Of course, honey," I say sarcastically.
Lucas relaxes. Thankfully, Popo's joke alleviates whatever worries he's had. "You might want to teleport. Curfew's almost up-"
"Chill out, Lucas," Popo chortles. "I'll bring Ness back in one piece tomorrow. He won't be too traumatized... probably."
Shaking his head, Lucas walks into the washroom. A little later, I hear the tap running. Lucas is washing his face. I swallow, trying not to imagine how the glistening water would drip off the ends of his golden hair and pool up in the basin of the sink-
Popo snaps his fingers in front of my face. "Yo, Earth to Nessie. Curfew's in two minutes."
I tear my eyes away from the bathroom door. "Dhuh- oh. Where are we teleporting from?"
"Well, about that... I was going to say my room, but you know, I share a double with Nana. I didn't tell her what's up-"
The color drains out of my face. "You didn't tell Nana?!"
"It's fine, she's sleeping over at Jigglypuff's, dude. And there's no way we're making it to my room before curfew..." Popo lowers his voice. "It's a guy's night out, Ness. Chillax. Lucas is in the bathroom. This is the perfect chance. Let's teleport here."
"Here?"
"Well, yeah."
I take a deep breath, then pinch the bridge of my nose. "You owe me big time."
"Chillax, man. It's going to be cool." Popo's got on a blue T-shirt splashed with the logo, Keep Calm and Chill On. It's bizarre to see him without his classic parka and hammer on. Privately, I mourn over the temporary loss of my shorts and cap. Those were my jam, but I suppose we have to sacrifice comfort for cover.
Still, you never know when everything can go to hell, so I tuck my yo-yo into Popo's parka... Even though I don't foresee a use for it. I hope I won't have to use it.
Popo looks around. "So, uh. Dude, how do we teleport?"
"...Grab my hand."
"Ha. Gay-"
"Oh, shut up." When Popo's mitten closes around mine, I shut my eyes in concentration. Think. Think of the destination. I picture the bar in my head and will myself to be there. When sparks start flying from my feet, I sprint in a circle like a merry-go-round, running faster and faster and faster-
When the sky stops spinning in dizzying circles, Popo lurches forward and blindly gropes for my shoulder. "Yo, that's sick."
"Isn't it?"
"No, I mean, I feel sick," he groans, clutching his stomach.
"It takes time to get used to," I say, helping him up and surveying our surroundings. The bar looks more like an traditional Inn, warm and welcoming in the freezing cold.
The Snowflake.
It's a let down. I expected the bar to look a little more... modern. Definitely no crazy rave parties here.
Oh well. Beggars can't be choosers.
I poke Popo in the shoulder. "It's on you, big man. Lead the way."
Groaning and griping, Popo stumbles over to the creaking porch. He raps the door three times and says... something. An Eskimo language, maybe. I'm not too sure. Whatever it is, it does the trick, because a burly bouncer the size of a mountain yanks the door open. I eye the man, but not looking the least bit frazzled, Popo steps forward and starts hitting it off in his native language. The man returns his banter with a gruff, harsh syllable, and Popo turns back to me.
"No weapon policy. They want to pat us down for anything dangerous."
"But we're just kids," I protest.
Popo shrugs. "Rules are rules."
The bouncer pats us down. He fishes out the yo-yo in my pocket, but seeing that it's a child's toy, returns it back with another grunt. His search complete, the man steps off to the side.
Completely at ease, Popo waves me over. "Yo, you coming?"
Sparing the bouncer a last look, I follow.
It's hectic inside. People of all ages bustle around with drinks in hand. Boisterous laughter erupts from one corner of the Inn, and from unseen speakers, trashy pop music bounces off the walls. Judging from the high-pitched wail, some drunken idiot's either trying to kill my ears off or singing a poor rendition of Let it Go on stage. Exchanging a meaningful glance, Popo makes his way to the far side of the karaoke machine. We settle at the counter.
The wait doesn't take long. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, the bartender hurries over, her eyes brightening up in recognition. "Popo!"
Popo winks. "Mina."
She slaps him lightly upside the head. "Very bad, Popo! You a bad boy, coming to the bar after curfew. I tell your momma."
"She's not gonna care," Popo says easily.
Mina tuts, then glances over at me. "Who's...?"
Before I can say anything, Popo leans over and whispers something into her ear. A few seconds later, Mina gasps in shock. "You... Ness?"
I nod.
She lets out a louder gasp, then shakily pulls out a slip of blank receipt paper from her pocket. "C-Can you sign...?"
Catching her drift, I feel my cheeks flush. "Oh, okay."
I sign the piece of paper with my crappy scrawl, and Mina tucks my autograph almost reverently into her pocket. "Free drinks for you two," she says, looking happily dazed, then dives behind the bar.
My cheeks still feel warm. I can almost hear Popo laughing at me.
No wait, he is laughing at me. What an ass.
"My cousin's a big Smash fan. She wants to collect every Smasher's autograph one day," Popo says with a Cheshire grin. From the looks of it, the devious cheat has brought me along to save his wallet. Not that I'm complaining. I silently resolve not to underestimate his brains.
Mina arrives with two glasses and a hugeass pitcher creamed with frothy, golden beverage. She says, a little breathless, "On the house." When I thank her and take the pitcher, she visibly flusters before moving onto another table.
Popo suddenly sits up. "Tripel Karmeliet? Hell yeah."
"Triple Caramelwhat?"
"Ness, my man," Popo says, shaking his head. "If you've never tried Tripel Karmeliet, then you've never lived. Now, watch and learn."
I stare at the beer in idle fascination. My heart thumps in a strange kind of excitement, the same kind I get whenever I'm about to stick my hand into Peach's cookie jar, because I'm about to drink underage for the first time - damn the consequences! - and the forbidden edge lends a tempting allure to the entire situation.
Popo slides me an empty glass. "Dude, this is the good stuff."
I squint at the pitcher. "My dad likes Budlight-"
"Budlight?" Popo laughs.
Embarrassed, I squirm in my seat. "It's the only beer brand that I know."
"You're kidding me. That brand's shit. Cheap as fuck too."
"I wouldn't know-"
"Right, momma's boy and all."
I bristle. "Don't call me that."
"Chillax," Popo says, slapping me in the back. "That's why I'm here, bro. To corrupt you. You want first timer advice? Drink yourself stupid." When I shoot him a skeptical glance, Popo raises his arms in defense. "No, really. You gotta know your tolerance, man. Best way to do that is to go steady. Drink slowly. Keep taking shots until the drink hits you-" Popo slams his fist into his hand for emphasis. "-hard." Kicking back in his seat, Popo tosses me a light once-over. "Hoo baby. I'm gonna fuck you up hard tonight."
"Like hell you are," I counter. "What's your tolerance?"
"High, man. Real high." Popo flicks his fingers against his own glass. "I bet I can down more of these babies than you can."
"I bet you can't."
Popo laughs. "You can't touch this. It's as strong as fuck."
"We'll see about that, pretty-boy," I challenge, sliding my empty glass over. "Hit me."
Unfazed by the pretty-boy remark, Popo grins back ear-to-ear. "Cheers, man," he says, pouring us each a generous amount of beer. He clinks our glasses together before chugging his serving down in one shot.
I tip back the glass and swallow.
The beer smells deceptively sweet. So, so sweet that I think that Popo's lying. The aroma reminds me of a banana milkshake. This stuff can't possibly be that strong.
Then the alcohol hits my tongue, burning a hot stripe down my throat. The pleasant, mouth-watering aroma of banana and vanilla has masked the bitter-creamy tang and spicy aftertaste of the beer. I gasp, and my eyes water at the unpleasant sensation searing my mouth. Is this normal?
A round of loud giggles drags me back into awareness. Lazily fingering his empty glass, Popo watches me with the most self-amused I-told-you-so look on his face. He seems to be getting an immense kick out of my stupefied reaction.
"That... wasn't what I expected," I manage.
Popo laughs at me again. "Tipsy yet?"
I stubbornly wipe my mouth on my sleeve. "It's not half-bad. I can handle more of this stuff."
Popo pats my shoulder in approval. "Half-shot? Dude, you've got balls. I'll give you that." No shit, he's practically beaming like a proud soccer mom watching her son score a goal. When he sees me reaching for my glass, he shakes his head and says, "Bro, you are going to get so hammered."
When Popo downs his glass and goes for thirds, I finish what's left in my glass. This time, I expect the burn. It goes down easier. The taste is warmer and smoother on my tongue. The burn's almost pleasant, tickling my throat on its way down, and the carbonated drink bubbles happily in my stomach.
"I'm too sober," Popo adds as an afterthought, and I jump.
"Right," I echo.
Right, my ass.
I should've stopped after the first sip. Whatever's in that beer is strong enough to knock out a full-grown rhino.
Two hours later, Popo starts pointing out all the hot chicks in the bar.
"That girl... wow. Check out the size of her tits."
"Huh," I mumble into my empty glass. Popo's started to slur his words a little, but aside from that, he looks all right.
Me, on the other hand... KO. I'm nodding off. My eyes are feeling heavy and sluggish, my body just as tired and sore as if Little Mac one-punched me in the head.
Popo nods as if reaching a slow decision. "I'm gonna ask her for a dance."
I almost spit out my drink. "You're insane."
"Hey, if my sister can slow dance with Shulk, then I can pick up a chick in a bar. Ladies dig the confidence, man. That, and the respect. I'm really feeling it." Popo downs the rest of his drink. "If you wanna head home, don't wait for me, all right? Chill out."
With that said, Popo slides off his seat and saunters off. Despite his stupidity, a part of me's impressed by his daring. Popo has balls to ask a random chick for a dance. They've shared zero words total since we've arrived. Then again, Popo's only asking for a dance. He's not looking around for a serious commitment. Off to the side, I see Popo smooth-talking, and the hot chick at his side giggles, already won over by his words.
I'm confident about myself to admit Popo's attraction to the fairer sex. Boasting a ridiculous S tier, Popo's charming in a flirty play-boy kind of way. With his high-set cheekbones and mane of wavy bronze hair that he hides underneath his parka, Popo's got these dark, smoldering eyes that shine with perpetual amusement and crinkle at the edges in an insinuating like what you see? Then, on top of ALL of that, he's a master of a silver tongue. Popo can BS his way out of any situation and talk people into doing things that they wouldn't have dared to touch with a ten-foot pole. Seriously, he's even got a line of girls desperately wanting to bend over for him before he plays all of their hearts in a row like he's got none to spare. Popo's one sly motherfucker, and he knows it.
Suddenly, I wonder what Lucas is up to.
A bitter taste rises up my throat. Popo can hook up with a random chick he's known for five seconds, and already, she's head-over-heels for him. I've known Lucas for years... yet here I am, unable to tell my best friend three simple words.
Three simple words.
My stomach gives an uncomfortable twinge, and I down my glass to ignore the feeling.
Time blurs. I can't tell how many glasses I've taken, but after a while, all the colors start swirling together into one dizzy circle. Kind of like PK Teleport. Comforted by the thought, I giggle. Lucas would never fuck himself up like this. He's too reasonable to get drunk, too reasonable to... what am I thinking again?
I miss Lucas.
I slowly lift my fingers to my face, and smile at the hot sparks surrounding my feet. Something must have shattered against the floor, but I don't know, I don't care, and tuning out the sounds around me, I flee into the night.
Weird sounds swallow up my ears.
It's hot and then cold, then ow, faceplant. I stagger back onto my feet, but the floor sways and I stumble straight into another wall. Dazed, I stupidly sit on the floor. A wide grin spreads across my face. Home! I'm home! I think. You'll catch a cold, Mom said, and Lucas told me not to go outside, but singing and swinging my arms around, I'm so damn happy that nothing could spoil my mood. I'm invincible!
But it seems pretty selfish to be happy all by myself. What would my mom say... Sharing is caring. Or something of the sort. Okay! Then I'm gonna share my happiness with someone else... Lucas! Yeah, Lucas deserves to be happy too! Just... let me remember the stuff that makes him happy. Lucas likes Pokemon. Lucas likes reading. And Lucas... likes hanging out with Red.
Thinking about Lucas quietly laughing alongside Red suddenly makes me feel ill. I double over, tasting something sour on my tongue-
"Mama mia! Is that Ness?!"
"Who got him drunk?"
"Here, someone take him upstairs-"
People and voices start to surround me. I panic, feeling someone's arms around me. "N-No..."
Pink blocks my sight. A gloved hand, soft and delicate, rests on my shoulder. "Ness, sweetie, lie down. Help is on the way."
I try to brush the hand off. "Mina, where's... where's Lucas...?"
"Oh no, poor thing's confused. Sweetie, we'll send someone to get him, okay? Don't move-"
"It's okay, Peach. I'll take care of it from here."
.
.
.
~oO0Oo~
.
.
.
I wake up with a bad hangover.
Sunlight pokes into my eyes, and I grimace, shielding my face with an arm. The mattress feels wrong, too hard and firm and waaay too uncomfortable than I last remember.
"What... happened...?" I croak.
"That's what I'd like to know."
I jolt upright. This isn't my room.
I'm in the hospital ward.
Lucas watches me from the bedside. Judging from the dark bags under his tired eyes, he hasn't gotten a wink of sleep. Did he pull an all-nighter just to check on me?
I sluggishly wave my hand. "Lucas-"
"You were drunk," Lucas says flatly.
Right. That happened.
"Oh, fuck." I bury myself into the bedsheets, because I can feel Lucas's disapproval scorch a hole into my back.
"You're lucky that the press didn't find out-"
"You're not my mom," I snap.
Lucas's eyes shift away.
Smart, Ness. Real smart. My crush found me tipsy and wasted on my ass in the dead of night. Not one of my proudest moments.
"Sorry," I mutter, gripping the sheets in my fists. The amount of guilt I'm feeling is unreal. "I didn't mean to snap at you."
A strange emotion flickers across Lucas's features. When he speaks, his voice cracks. "What's going on, Ness."
I'm floored. Forget quiet. Lucas is barely audible. His unsteady tone is unnerving, leaking straight out of his voice. If I wasn't paying attention, then I might've missed it all together.
I swallow and avert my eyes. I almost wish that Lucas was yelling, or screaming, or chewing me out instead, but I know that Lucas won't do any of the above. Lucas is soft-spoken. He doesn't raise his voice. That, and he won't give me a fight. He's refusing to give me a fight.
I can't fight him.
The effects of the hangover still weigh fresh on my mind. I feel sluggish and slow. "I didn't plan... on getting wasted," I manage.
Lucas doesn't respond. Shit he's definitely upset.
I look up. "I'm sorry," I say meekly, shrinking back. "It won't happen again. Please, Lucas, don't tell my mom...?"
Lucas unfreezes. Resting his head against the back of his hand, he lets out a slow exhale. "I won't," he murmurs. "Just... don't do it again."
"I won't," I say honestly.
"Good."
"God, I feel like shit."
A smile plays on the corner of Lucas's lips. "Serves you right."
"I know." I say pitifully. "I regret everything."
From the corner of my eyes, I catch Lucas trying not to laugh under his breath.
I groan, "Fuck off." This finally triggers the quiet laugh from him. I throw him a dirty scowl, but I can't stay angry at Lucas for long, not when he's laughing, and to my chagrin, let loose a rueful chuckle myself. "I really fucked up this time."
"You did," Lucas agrees.
I swat at his head, and Lucas ducks underneath the swipe. Spoilsport. He overshoots the trajectory though, so when his arm flies right into reach, I grab his wrist with both hands and yank him over. With a surprised yelp, Lucas trips and catapults himself into my bed.
Worried that I've gone too far, I watch him for any sign of injury. To my relief, Lucas clumsily pushes himself upright, and pops his head up.
Our eyes meet.
Lucas starts shaking with laughter. He hides his face into the bed covers to smother the noise, but the damage has already been done. I grin back and relax into my pillows. He's such a moron.
But I can't help it. I love making him laugh. I love making him happy.
I love everything about him.
In a split second of daring, I reach for his hand and grasp it. Lucas tenses, but unable to stop myself, I lift up his fingers and press the back of his hand against my lips. I'm pleasantly surprised to find that his skin's amazingly soft and cool; holding his hand feels so right, so natural, that without meaning to, I let out a happy sigh.
The laughter abruptly ceases. Lucas has frozen in place.
Then my brain catches up to me, and I want to slap myself stupid. What the hell am I doing?! Just as quickly, I let go, regretting the sudden loss of warmth in my fingers and give a feeble excuse for a laugh. "I guess I'm still drunk."
"...right," Lucas croaks. All of a sudden, he won't meet my eyes.
Fuck.
Anxiously, I reach for his shoulder. "Lucas? Lucas, I'm just joshing-"
But Lucas recoils, and I know that he's putting the pieces together.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Trembling, I lower my hand. "I love you," I say quietly.
To my rising panic, Lucas doesn't say anything. Watching me, he opens his mouth, then closes it. When he speaks, his voice sounds alarmingly shaky. "N-Ness..."
"I love you," I insist louder, bolder. "I love you a lot."
The expression on his face shakes me to the core.
Scared. Lucas is scared.
"I..." Lucas suddenly closes his mouth. His eyes turn horribly blank. "I hope you get better soon."
Without another word, Lucas leaves the hospital ward.