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~Chapter Seven~
Losing Myself
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I don't think that either of us were able to sleep.
The absence of Lucas's breathy sighs tell me that he's still awake. It doesn't take a genius to see that Lucas is uncomfortable. Heck, I don't blame him. I may as well have asked for another rejection. Lucas isn't sending me mixed signals. He's made his point clear. He isn't interested in me more than a friend, and I'm not going anywhere with trying.
About a minute of lying down, I can't handle the tension. I get up. Lucas doesn't stop me. His silence, in some ways, hurts the most. Twisting the bathroom door shut behind me, I grip the sink and try not to think about our crumbling friendship.
Ever since my dad's divorce, I've constantly felt like a ticking time bomb. I exploded at the tiniest things. I've noticed the cautious looks thrown my way, the hushed whispers cast in my direction.
My dad left me in the blink of an eye. No words, no letters. What guarantee do I have that Lucas won't do the same?
I'm losing everything in my life. I lost my dad. I lost my temper.
I can't lose Lucas too.
In the end, my hunger forces me to leave. Lucas obviously isn't in the mood to talk, so I walk down alone. I know that I have to make everything up for him somehow, so I swipe a deli sandwich that looks reasonably warm from the oven, and deciding against a sit-in meal, retrace my steps to the suite. Even after my short detour to the cafeteria, Lucas is still lying in the same position that I left him. Unwrapping the warm sandwich in my hands, I stop and shoot a hesitant glance in his direction. "Hey, you awake? It's dinnertime."
Lucas stirs. "Did you eat."
He's trying to divert the topic. I don't take the bait. "I did. You should too," I say stubbornly.
"I'll grab something soon."
A fat lie, if I ever saw one. I poke the limp sandwich in his direction. "I brought back food."
"Keep it. You'll grow hungry later-"
"It's for you."
Have I said that falling in love sucks? Because it does. It changes you into someone you aren't. Last year, I would've slapped Lucas in the face with the sandwich, all in the name of playful fun. Now, standing before him with my feelings bared, I feel myself shrinking under the force of his bright blue eyes. Lucas has a way of making me feel small without trying; his maturity, which has always been a welcome aspect of his character, now serves to intimidate me.
Lucas slowly sits on the edge of his bed. Every tense muscle in his body bespeaks caution. "Thanks, but you don't have to worry about me."
I wince at the way he says those words. "It's not... like that." My feet shift in place. "Although I wouldn't mind us, you know. Becoming more."
Wrong response. Lucas doesn't look happy. Visibly upset, his eyes meet mine. "You know that I can't reciprocate your feelings. Why do you keep on trying?"
"Then give me a chance. Maybe things will change."
"Ness."
I ignore his warning. "We can try going out on a date. You can call the shots-"
"It won't work out-"
"You never know!" I beg, dropping onto my knees. "I can't help how I feel about you, but does it have to stay like this? I don't want anything between us to change. We can still be like friends. Me liking you isn't going to change any of that." Lucas doesn't respond. Anguished, I press the warm sandwich against his stiff hands. The salami sadly flops out of the buns. "Why won't you give me a chance? It's me, isn't it? What did I do wrong?"
"You didn't do anything wrong."
"Give me one chance, Lucas. It's all I'm asking for-"
"It's all a part of growing up," Lucas says softly, watching the floor. "It's not easy, but I know that you can overcome it."
In that split second, his words crash down on my ears. Lucas has never - not once - taken my feelings seriously. "No. You don't understand. I like you." Uncomfortable, Lucas turns away, and my panic rises. I probably sound desperate, but I have to convince him. With every word, I'm losing him. I'm losing my best friend. No longer thinking, I grab his skinny shoulders and force him to meet my eyes. "Look at me!"
His blue eyes swallow me up.
Then a ripple of fear flickers across his features. I barely catch it before Lucas closes up entirely, his expression turning hard. He roughly shoves me aside and marches into the bathroom. The lock clicks shut.
Lucas stayed locked in the bathroom for the rest of the night. No matter how much I pleaded, no matter how much I apologized, he wouldn't open the door. Through our brief eye contact, Lucas had read my mind. He saw how deeply I'd fallen for him.
I've pushed him away for good.
Staring at the back of my hands, I try hard not to cry.
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~oO0Oo~
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"Hey." Someone pokes my head. "Yo, dude. Wakey, wakey."
I groan and crack my eyes open. Popo's face swims in my vision.
"Never would've pegged you for someone who'd camp out in the library," Popo says sympathetically. "Poor rejected sap."
Blindly brushing off Organic Chemistry 7th ed. from my face, I jolt into sitting position. Yesterday night, I ended up crashing in the library. Staying in the apartment wasn't a sound option, and returning to Popo's place was even worse. It would've led to some unwelcome questions, and I was sick of receiving pity. Thankfully, the library had bathrooms. I didn't have to worry about looking like I'd cried myself to sleep.
God, I'm so pathetic.
"How-" I start.
Popo rolls his eyes. "The library? It's the unofficial breakup-slash-makeout room. No one ever comes in here to read unless you're Lucas, Marth, Robin, or Zelda, and seeing as you're none of the above, I figured you'd be in here for other reasons." Popo prods his hammer into my shoulder. "So I ask thee, Romeo. What the fuck happened to you?"
"Like I'm telling you."
"Bro, really?" Popo complains.
"You left me wasted at a bar," I say bitterly. "I'm not telling you anything."
Popo considers this. "Fair enough, man," he says evenly. "I wouldn't have brought you along if I knew you couldn't handle it. Didn't mean to get you outed from the closet, but at least you finally got that off your chest. How do you feel?"
"Like crap."
He winces. "I really am sorry about that."
"S'okay," I mutter.
Settling down beside me, Popo warmly claps a hand on my shoulder. "Come on, now. Spill."
I can't describe the calamity of yesterday into words. Last night was a spectacular disaster. If that wasn't a clusterfuck, I'm not sure what is. I think of the terrified look on Lucas's face when I grabbed his shoulders.
I don't ever want Lucas to wear that expression again.
Something about Popo's encouragement draws the words right out of my mouth. "I made another pass on Lucas," I blurt out. Horrified, I bury my face into my hands.
Popo cracks up.
My face burns up like a toaster. "What's so funny?" I snap from between my fingers.
"I'm just trying to imagine h-his face!" Popo gasps. "I bet he was terrified."
I miserably sink into a pile of books. "He locked himself in the bathroom."
"Of course he would. He's the densest guy I've met, and that's saying a lot. I bet Lucas wouldn't have recognized his own feelings even if it danced the tango naked in front of him." Popo shakes his head. "Ah, Nessie. Bro. You screwed up big time, but hey, that's a part of the learning curve. You divebomb your first guy so you can charm the second." Popo hoists up his hammer and offers me a hand. "C'mon, Romeo. Stop moping and hit the pancakes."
I feel a bit better. Slightly.
"Popo." He turns around, raising his eyebrows. I hesitate. "Uh, thanks. I needed that."
He cheerfully claps me on the back. "Don't mention it. That's what bros are for."
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~oO0Oo~
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It doesn't end there.
We meet Nana in the lobby. She clips her brother in the ear, berating him for showing up late, and Popo bemoans that he was out helping "Romeo get over his unrequited crush." This leads to Nana pestering me with questions, and I end up telling her the entire story.
We've almost arrived at the cafeteria when Nana conveniently drops out that she saw Lucas this morning. Apparently, he was looking for me.
This leads to a ten-minute freakout session where I try to scramble away from the cafeteria, because I'm scared as shit, but the Ice Climber twins drag me to my doom because they are evil incarnations of Satan and want to see me suffer.
"Ness," Nana grunts, hauling me forward by the arms. "You can't hide from him forever-"
"Fuck no!" I say, but my voice cracks into a high squeak. "Lucas is gonna kill me!"
Popo rubs his hands in ill-suppressed glee. "Oh man, this is going to be good-"
"And you," Nana pinches him over by the ear. "Shut up and help me-"
"Ow okay, I'm on it." Uncertain over how to "help" his sister, since Nana's doing a pretty good job of dragging me over on her own, Popo pats me on the head. "Uh... it was nice knowing you, bro."
"Thanks," I say gloomily.
Now I'm listening to them trying to talk me out of chickening out.
"Really, Ness." Popo frowns. "Get over it, man. Lucas rejecting you isn't the end of the world. There's like a ton of hot blondes out there-"
Morose, I hang my head. "I don't care about other guys."
"You're setting yourself up for trouble. If Lucas is as straight as you say, then there's nothing you can do to change his mind-" When Fox and Falco pass by, Nana moves in closer, lowering her voice in worry. "Ness, if you keep harassing him, then you're only going to drive him away. At this rate, you'd be lucky to have Lucas as a friend."
"If I haven't scared him off already," I mutter under my breath. No shit. I practically forced myself onto him last night. I remember the cornered look in Lucas's eyes, and my stomach plummets like a stone. What was I thinking? That Lucas would agree to go on a pity date with me? I didn't think that I could sink so low.
Popo gives me a push. "Maybe it's for the best. Lucas has a good point-"
"When doesn't he?"
"He's trying to protect you," Nana says quietly. "Think about it, Ness. If things didn't work out, what do you think would've happened to your friendship? Lucas isn't rejecting you because he's trying to make you suffer. He wants you to be happy. That's why he's not leading you on, and you've got to accept that."
"It's too late for that now. I'd be lucky if he even talks to me anymore," I mumble miserably.
"Well, it was your fault. If I were him, I would've slapped you in the face," she says bluntly, and I wince. "Apologize. You don't have anything to lose, do you? If he doesn't hold it against you, then all you need to do is realize that he doesn't like you in that way and move o-" Nana cuts herself off in startled surprise. "L-Lucas!"
Startled, I lift my head.
As silent as a ghost, Lucas stands in front of the cafeteria with his shoulders slumped. He's staring fixedly at the floor.
Popo steps forward, opening his mouth to speak when Nana makes a quick save, nabbing him away by the ear. As she drags themselves past us in a hasty exit, my stomach twists. I almost wish that they stayed. The entire lobby is empty save for the two of us.
Lucas stays silent, so I take that as the cue to make the first move. I clear my throat. "Did you sleep last night?"
Lucas gives me a jerky nod.
"That's..." I swallow down the lump in my throat. "That's good."
"Our match is moved to tomorrow," he says.
"Cool," I say hoarsely.
More silence.
Lucas stuffs his hands into his pockets. If possible, his shoulders sag even more. "Do you... want to grab breakfast," he asks, his eyes trailing up the ceiling. His voice sounds infuriatingly neutral.
Not for the first time, I wish that he isn't so difficult to read.
But a part of me registers his words. Lucas hasn't mentioned the incident at all. By some miraculous stroke of luck, has he forgiven me?
I start, "Lucas, about yesterday-"
He coughs. "Don't mention it."
Grateful, I feel my own face perk up into a smile. "Okay."
Lucas hesitates. Embarrassed, he drops his eyes to the floor. "Sorry... for locking you out of the bathroom."
"Dude, no. I'm sorry," I insist. I want to reach for his hands and squeeze them to reassure him that it's all fine, that I'm at fault here, that he's done nothing wrong, that I scared him, but touching him now doesn't seem like a good idea. I swallow down my nerves and keep my hands fixed at my side.
His eyes uncertainly meet mine. "Do you..."
"We're not mentioning it," I say quickly, repeating his words from earlier, and Lucas breaks into a hint of a smile. It's barely noticeable, but I notice because of how the corners of his eyes soften slightly.
My heart soars.
Despite the awkward start, by noon, we're talking like nothing happened. Determined not screw up, I take extra precautions. I keep my hands in my pockets so our hands won't brush against each other. I don't sling my arm over his shoulder. We keep telepathy to a minimum. It feels too intimate, almost as if I'm breaching his privacy. What Lucas is thinking is none of my business, and I respond in kind only when he does. More than once, I find him carefully watching me throughout our conversation, and I'd avert my gaze away from the mercy of his eyes.
Two strikes. Three, and I'd be out. I can't strike out, not when our friendship's the cost.
With an explosive bang of a wooden door on wall, Master Hand bursts out of his office. He screeches to a halt behind us, then taps Lucas on the shoulder with his giant index finger.
Lucas starts at the touch.
Master Hand declines an explanation. "You have an urgent call."
Perplexed, Lucas has barely opened his own mouth in the hint of a question when our gloved manager grabs him by the arm and drags him back into his office. As Lucas clumsily waves me goodbye, almost stumbling into the wall, I stifle a small grin. He really can't catch a break, can he? Shaking my head, I hurry off to the training rooms, and try to block out how adorable Lucas's sheepish smile is.
Okay. I guess if you squint really really hard, pickier people (with questionable judgement- just saying) might not have found Lucas attractive. A few stubborn freckles linger on his nose like dark acne scars, marring his otherwise unblemished face. In terms of build, Lucas is tall and gangly; he isn't buff or ripped like Ike, and despite sharing the same delicate frame, isn't as developed as Marth. In short, Lucas is still stuck in the teenage hell called growth spurts, and on top of that, radiates this terrifying awkwardness in his eyes that screams, "I hate people STAY AWAY FROM ME."
But over the years, he's lost a lot of baby fat from his angular face. I like that he's lean and skinny for his height, even though he's slightly self-conscious over it. I like the way he speaks in halting, hesitant pauses whenever he struggles to keep train of thought, or the way he makes every question sound like a flat statement. I like how he speaks in a dull monotone like he doesn't care, because it's just the way his voice sounds, level and even, and I like hearing it, because it keeps me grounded. I like his cool composure, and I like every time he'd break it to goof off. I like that he didn't lose all of his freckles - it reminds me that he hasn't completely changed from the scruffy neighborhood kid down the block - and I think that they're cute, especially when he smiles.
Yet, despite his slim build, Lucas couldn't be mistaken for a girl. His hips are too narrow, his shoulders too broad, his chest too flat. If that miraculously doesn't convince anyone, his voice is a blatant giveaway. Lucas is no Batman, but his voice has grown deep enough to sound masculine. Attractively masculine.
Stuffing my keys into my locker, I enter a training room and adjust its settings to no items. For the longest time, I thought I was as straight as a ruler. I'd plastered posters of the All Star Singer Venus all over my room. I'd had my own share of embarrassing crushes in grade school. Not proud, but I even had a stash of sexy links bookmarked for my incognito tab. That ought to have spoken for itself.
But my feelings don't lie. I appreciate Lucas in the same way that I can appreciate a good-looking girl... except that Lucas isn't a girl. My face burns. It didn't make sense. Lucas is a guy. I am a guy. I don't know how it happened, but somewhere down the line, my brain went oopsie-daisy and screwed up my feelings for my best friend.
So I distract myself.
Brawling. Think brawling.
When Sandbag blinks up at me in the training rooms, I crack my knuckles. Finally, something in my life that makes sense.
Before I can vent off some steam, Toon Link pokes his head into my training room. He's dressed in his usual Windwaker uniform, but the thick mascara and eyeliner on his eyes speak enough about where he's been. Magical make-up. "Ness, you're airing tonight at seven."
"I thought my brawl was moved to tomorrow-"
"Yeah, but the TV program wants to finish all interviews today."
"Thanks. I'll head over then," I say, not keeping my eyes off of Sandbag.
Taking a pause, Toon sheathes his sword and sinks into a crouch. "That bad, huh?" he says quietly.
I lower my hands. I can't deny the tight feeling in my chest. Of course, Toon would know. For heaven's sake, what Popo knew, all of us eventually found out. "More than you think," I croak.
"You have to let it go."
I give a hollow laugh. "It's easier said than done. I'm trying. It's not working."
"You'll get over him."
Struck by his conviction, I study Toon up close, because outside the battlefield, I underestimate him for his age. He's not that much younger than me, not by long shot, but he's always seemed so childish trailing behind his surrogate brother.
Great. Now I'm stewing in the misery called heartbreak and speaking my heart out to a fourteen-year-old kid. The feels are threatening to engulf me, so I deal with them the best way I know how.
I grab my bat. "You, me. One vee one. Let's spar."
Toon Link blinks. "Your interview-"
"Fuck that, we've got time."
Forget a good idea. This is the best idea I've had in ages. I had a feeling that Toon had been planning on going easy on me after hearing about my crushing failure of a love life, but after attacking him with a flurry of strikes, he presses back in a furious counter of his own. Good ol' Toon. I can count on his competitive nature to keep me up to date.
I don't know how long I've spent in the training arena, but by the time I'm trudging out in noticeably higher spirits, the sun is already down.
My body feels like shit. I'm aching and sore all over.
In three words: it's fucking awesome.
I unlock the deadbolt and trudge inside the apartment. Lucas lifts his head up from the couch when he hears me. He looks relieved. "I was just about to look for you. Our interview's at seven."
I dig into my closet for a fresh change of shirt and pants. Just a simple change will do. The prep team's going to redress me anyway. "Heard you loud and clear. About to take a shower. You mind if I use the bathroom?"
Lucas shook his head, and I hurry past. Stopping in front of the mirror, I roll my shoulders with a laugh. "Holy shit, I feel sore."
"Where."
"Everywhere."
Lucas eyes my shoulders in concern. "Turn around," he says suddenly.
"What?" I spin on my heel. "Um... like this? Why? What are you-oooooh..." I can't help it. His hands are like magic, kneading my shoulders exactly the right way. I roll back my head back and sigh, shivering as his cool fingers press into my back. "Mmmm..."
I hear him laugh quietly under his breath. "My dad does physical labor for a living," he admits, pushing against another sweet spot. "His shoulders get hard, so I do this to make sure that he can work the next day."
His hands go lower, dipping underneath my shoulder blades. I close my eyes, basking in the soothing sensation, because fuck, it feels amazing. That's Lucas for you. He has all sorts of hidden talents I never would've expected, because they sound so impossibly random and out-of-the-blue. Like climbing trees. Or skipping stones. But each one somehow clicks perfectly with his character.
I don't think I'll ever understand him completely. Lucas is an enigma.
The incredible feeling trails down my sore muscles to the small of my back. Before I know it, his hands have landed on the hem of my shorts.
I tense. Sensing my sudden discomfort, Lucas stops.
Embarrassed, I push his hands away. "Thanks, but you know, unless if you're trying to make a move on me, going any lower might be a little..."
Catching my drift, Lucas's face burns a brilliant red. "Oh."
"Don't get me wrong. I liked it! The massage, I mean!" I say quickly before he can apologize. "It's just, I'm trying to get over my feelings for you, so-"
"I get it," Lucas says softly.
I hate moments like this. Before, stuff like slapping each other on the back and borrowing clothes was normal. We liked doing stupid shit together. We were the unstoppable partners-in-crime, no questions asked.
But ever since I confessed my feelings to Lucas, it was as if I had tapped some unseen door. I felt hypersensitive to his every reaction, freaked out over every twitch of his eye. Everything we do now is awkward. Talking? Oh man, talking is worse. I feel like I have to clarify my intentions so they aren't taken the wrong way. And if intimate actions like hugging and holding hands were hard to begin with, they're practically impossible to do with Lucas now.
I clear my throat. "So, what do you want to do after the interview? We can fool around."
Lucas's face turns a brighter red.
"Not like that!" I say hastily, feeling another hot surge of blood rush into my cheeks. Stupid double-meanings. "I was thinking that we could play MarioKart tonight! Or League. I mean, we haven't played either in a while-"
"Maybe another time," Lucas says carefully.
His cheeks are still a faint pink. I bite down on my lip. A part of my ego should have been crushed, because Lucas is right, but he's so cute when he's right. Fuck it, it takes all of my self control not to drag him over by his stupid shirt and kiss him on the spot.
"Right," I croak, and the words glue themselves to my mouth. "W-Well... maybe tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow sounds good." His eyes flicker to mine. "As friends."
Pain shoots into my chest. "As friends," I say heavily, feeling like each word is killing me on the inside.
Lucas's eyes soften with sympathy.
There's another uncomfortable moment as I think of something else to say, and Lucas studies his shoes. It sucks to be friend-zoned, and I begin to feel for Paula.
Without meeting my eyes, Lucas steps out of the bathroom. "I have to go. Catch you later."
The door clicks shut behind him.
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~oO0Oo~
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As wicked awesome as it sounds, Smash City represents our feats in video games.
As a video game celebrity, I've only seen my game cartridge once. Earthbound is a rarity. It went out of production before it became a late hit, but instead of mass-producing my game when it hiked up in popularity, Earthbound turned into a collector's item. To get a copy of my game on Ebay is almost impossible without good dough.
That's nothing compared to Lucas's game. If Earthbound is a collector's item, Mother 3 is vintage. I've never seen a copy of it lying around, and neither has Lucas himself. Besides, Mother 3 is all in Japanese. It's not like we'd understand what the NPCs are saying anyway.
From behind the stage, I check my watch. One more minute.
Tonight's the group interviews. The interviews work in a talk show format. A reporter engages us, and we give our best to respond in kind. Kinda like a casual conversation. Occasionally we have individual one-on-ones, but as representatives of our respective franchises, it's much more convenient to interview us all at the same time.
So yeah, you can guess whom I'm stuck with.
The canned applause signals the end of Mr. Game and Watch's solo interview. As the 2-D man strolls past us, I lock eyes with Lucas behind the stage curtains. His makeup is flawless. The pale foundation hides all the freckles on his nose. His locks have been gelled up to swirl into a neat point. With so many hot blondes on set, I guess the stylists don't want to lose the adorable "cutesy" angle Lucas had as a kid. Dressed in a simple t-shirt and shorts, Lucas is the perfect picture of pure innocence.
Of course, I know better. "Nice hair, stupid," I say.
The corners of Lucas's lips twitch up as if suppressing a smirk. "Your fly's down."
I panic, looking down, and Lucas brushes past me.
"Just kidding."
Cocky bastard.
The LIVE Interview starts off smoothly. Or really, as smooth as it can get, because I do most of the talking.
Lucas doesn't like interviews. If we're lucky, he gives a one-liner, otherwise, he'll blink in my direction as if I'm being addressed for every fucking question. It should've been annoying, but I love talking with people, and I'm just worried that I'm hogging all the attention.
The questions start to blur together. How is smash mansion, what do you think of the current tier rankings, do you think Mother 3 will be localized. Fuming at the last one, I open my mouth, probably to say some unflattering remark about Reggie, but Lucas steps on my foot.
"Nope. Don't see it happening anytime soon," Lucas says, blinking innocently like he hasn't crushed my toes.
Of course. Lucas doesn't give two shits about publicizing himself.
Cocky, SELFLESS bastard.
Lucas, I know you don't like talking about yourself, but we're smashers, I say, patiently rubbing my sore foot against the floor. You have to flaunt yourself unless you want our series to go into obscurity.
Lucas doesn't respond to my telepathy, but I know he's heard me, because afterwards, he makes more of an effort to answer the questions. But I still catch the nervous flutter of his feet, the pale color of his face, the stage fright in his eyes every time the reporter addresses him. Lucas stumbles over his words. Each one feels stiff and forced. Improv isn't his forte, but while Lucas is no Caesar, the audience eats up his modest charm.
Finally, it's the ultimatum.
Which is a relief, because I'm having a hard time clicking with this particular reporter. She must either be confident in her own fan base, or that of her publishing streak, because the interview feels more like an unpleasant grilling session without the medium rare steak.
"Ness, now where to begin," the reporter says, lightly lacing her fingers together. Believe it or not, she's starting to give me the evil anime villainess vibes - what? How would I know? I- Don't ask me, she just does, okay? "You've had our viewers in for a ride this week. Do I spy an epic romance in the works?"
"I wouldn't say epic..."
"Oh, it's definitely an exciting affair! As a matter of fact, Jigglypuff's kindly posted some interesting spoilers about your lovelife. Let me pull up one of her tweets on my phone - aha! Ness isn't as straight as he seems. Crushing on another smasher? Lol. Someone's in lurve, hashtag winky face."
I cringe, growing dumber with each passing word. I'm no Grammar Nazi, but I have standards. Jigglypuff butchers the Hamilton out of proper English. Lol? For texting, I can get, but on a public feed? Who even speaks like that?
Apparently, the audience doesn't seem to think that way. From the virtual HD screens on either side of the stage, I can see the crowd in Smash Square, awaiting my response with bated breath. The reporter leans over with undisguised excitement brimming in her eyes. "What do you say to this?"
I've come to terms with the apocalypse this week. There's no point in hiding in the closet.
I confirm the statement.
And the crowd in Smash Square erupts into noise.
Blood roars through my ears. Everything has gone all slow mo like we're taking the interview underwater in molasses, because the surrealism of the past week has yet to catch up with my brain.
But one thing is clear: I don't want to put a label on myself. The important thing's that I like someone. It's still love regardless of whom I like, and I'm not any different because of it.
In response to the crowd, the reporter watches me with false sympathy dripping off her tongue. "Oh my, this week must have been a confusing rollercoaster of feelings for you."
"Just a little."
"Tell me about it," the reporter simpers, curling her black nails around her felt-tip pen as if eager to write down the next juicy morsel of gossip. "As the first nonstraight athlete in the competition, how does this make you feel? Do you think that Master Hand is doing a stellar job of promoting equality? Or are you upset? Nervous? Perhaps... a little distracted in the locker room?"
Excuse me, but what the fuck?
"Uh-"
"Since you seem a little tongue-tied, let's start off with a tamer question! Do you have something meaningful you might want to share with all the teens across the city?" The reporter taps on her mike. "We were all under the false impression that you were straight... so what caused this change of heart?"
W...What caused this change of heart?! What kind of bullshit question is that? It's not like I CHOSE to be gay. Or bi. To heck if I know.
So I BS it on the spot. "Sometimes... things happen. You realize stuff about yourself that you've never realized before. And over time, you learn to accept it as a part of who you are." The cheese is killing me, but there. Sincere enough. Now I'm changing the damn subject to something relevant. "The Winter championships are coming up-"
"Oh yes, they are. But touching upon the nature of your crush-"
I flash a careless smile towards the camera. "Does it really matter who it is as long as I stomp out the competition?"
"Of course it doesn't," the reporter reassures me. "But everyone is asking around, and no one has a solid answer. Indulge us, my dear. Who's the boy of your dreams?"
I become very aware of Lucas breathing beside me. I think of the crowd, think of how many people are watching us live on stage this very instant, and I waver. My hands begin to sweat. Lucas has spent so long trying to stay undercover from the media, and because of me, because of my feelings, he's been dragged out as the number one suspect. I can't expose him. I formulate a quick response, but before I have the chance to recover, the reporter takes over. "Any hints, Lucas?"
To his credit, if Lucas is startled, he doesn't show it. "No."
"You're his best friend," the reporter presses, amusement lacing her tone. "Surely you've got an idea of his love interest."
Surely? As if. From the knowing look on her face, she's already got it pegged down.
As if sensing this, Lucas's voice turns shaky. "I... I can't say. Ness never told me."
Oh, come on, Luke. You can talk better than that.
"I see. What a shame." Catching onto his subtle stutter, the reporter pressures him harder. Her grin looks positively wicked under the stage lights. Suddenly she reminds me of a Black Widow that's finally trapped her juicy morsel in her web of questions. I can imagine her squeezing her victim dry with her spindly arms. "Why so shy, darling? Are you hiding something from us?"
Lucas's pupils dilate. "I-I'm... I'm not much of a talker..."
What. Lucas, no. Don't stop there. You didn't even answer the question-
Without looking, I know that the reporter's gone in for the kill. She lowers her voice into a whisper. "Does Ness have feelings for you?"
Dead silence. No one utters a single sound.
The prolonged disquiet is impossible to miss. Against my own will, I sneak a look to the side.
My breath hitches in my throat. Under the spotlight, Lucas's eyes look beautifully bright amidst his flushing cheeks, which are now blossoming into gentler shades of red. At our close proximity, I can count every single freckle on his face.
"No," he whispers.
Thankfully, the reporter doesn't seem to have noticed his blatant give-away. The thick foundation on his cheeks has hidden Lucas's blush from the cameras.
Furiously praying to every goddamn deity at our lucky save, I quickly jump in before Lucas can wreck his own reputation. "Lucas is my straight buddy. Couldn't have asked him out even if I wanted to," I grin, socking Lucas in the shoulder. "Sorry ladies, but it's not going to happen. Besides..." I quirk an eyebrow. "I have someone else in mind."
The crowd goes wild. Trying to raise her voice over the sudden clamor, the reporter redirects her attention to me. Lucas's shoulders relax. I can tell that he's relieved, but don't dare check on him now. If I chance another look, I'm not entirely sure that I can stop myself from blushing like crazy too. Suddenly, I'm very glad that we've been sitting, because my knees have grown incredibly weak.
Sure enough, the LIVE interview ends on a thrilling cliffhanger on the mysterious identity of my undying love. As we leave, a reckless urge seizes me, and I turn around to blow the reporter a kiss.
The crowd screams louder.
Lucas leaves the stage. Grinning, I follow suit.
It's only when we're out of earshot that I dare to glance back at his face. Lucas's blush is gone. He looks shell-shocked, almost as if he's frozen into a rigid statue. His face has gone impossibly pale from stage fright.
I gently nudge him in the side. "Hey. It's over."
Lucas makes a strangled noise. "Did you have to do that."
"Do what?"
"Kiss the reporter."
"Oh, sorry. I can't help that I'm so good looking."
That quip breaks him out of his shell. "I can't believe that you flirted with the reporter," Lucas groans as Villager passes us, suited up for his interview. We walk into the bathroom, and Lucas leans over one of the sinks to wash the caked makeup from his face. "You could teach Captain Falcon a thing or two-"
"Don't give me the attitude. You screwed up too," I snort, turning the taps on. "People almost thought you were gay-"
"I don't like interviews," Lucas suddenly says. He sounds afraid, and instantly, whatever annoyance I have towards him vanishes.
Curse him and his stupid way of crawling into my heart.
"It wasn't that bad," I mutter, turning the taps off. "Lucas, forget about it. It's an interview. I bet loads of people don't pay attention to ours. Do you know how many people have even heard of Earthbound? Nada. It could've been worse. At least we didn't brawl it out like Mario and Bowser last year."
Lucas shifts in place.
I recognize the signs and beat him to it. "Lucas," I groan. "If you start apologizing for speaking your mind, I'm going to lose it. Please, stop and save your dignity while you can."
Lucas's cheeks prickle with warmth. Ha, got him. "Thanks for covering me," he mumbles.
"'Course I covered for you. You're my straight buddy. Now give me those make-up wipes. I don't want to look like Madonna for the rest of the week."
.
.
.
~oO0Oo~
.
.
.
That night, I wake up in cold sweat.
In an unspoken consensus, I'm back to rooming with Lucas. I think Lucas still feels guilty about me spending last night in the library like a hobo, because when I offered to sleep elsewhere, he shot me down instantly. At this point, I'm too tired to be surprised by his persistence, and too proud to ask anyone else for help. For a good reason too. We can get over this. I can get over him.
I rub my eyes. They're happening more frequently. The weird nightmares. I want to pace around the room to walk off my anxiety, but that will only trigger another problem.
Lucas is awake. Parts of my dream must have bled into his.
I sit up.
Whoever came up with the phrase dumb blond is a dumbass, because Lucas can read me like a book. He turns over. "What's wrong."
"Nothing."
Lucas cracks open his glowing blue eyes. I can sense him staring at me from the other side of the room. "What did you dream about."
I shiver. "I don't remember."
"Ah."
Silence.
Unsurprisingly, I break it. "Lucas, can you-" Suddenly, I cut myself off, embarrassed for even thinking about it. "Nevermind."
"I can sleep over," Lucas whispers, and I wince. He knows me too well to be fooled.
"It's only a stupid nightmare," I say, but it's a weak excuse and we know it. Frustrated, but not knowing why, I rub a sweaty fringe from my brow. "Ugh. Look, just forget about it."
A rustle. Lucas shifts in place, but says nothing. He isn't convinced.
I scrunch my eyes shut. All of a sudden, I feel so alone, and it hurts, having Lucas so close, yet so far. I curl myself into a tighter ball, trying to ignore the waves of depression I'm radiating into the room.
"Ness." Lucas sounds worried.
I breathe in, curling my knees up to my chest. I'm supposed to be the strong one. I can't keep letting him see me like this.
There's another rustle of sheets, and a pair of socks shuffles across the carpet before Lucas's glowing eyes blink, hovering over my pillow. For a second, my breath hitches in my throat, expecting his left eye to change into a bloody crimson (what in the everloving fuck), but Lucas blinks again, washing my worries away with a wave of cool blue light. Something about his concern makes me feel safe. Secure.
"I..." Lucas hesitates. "I can't sleep."
"Nightmares too?"
"Mm."
I can tell that he's lying, but I appreciate that he's trying to salvage whatever is left of my shredded pride.
"We can sleep over." I swallow down the lump in my throat. "Only if you're okay with it."
"I don't mind."
"My bed or yours?"
"Doesn't matter."
Rolling over to give space, I awkwardly pat the side of my bed. "Well, then... come over."
The mattress dips under his weight. I catch flashes of his blue eyes before he closes them and sinks beside me. His breath is warm, hitting my cheeks. "Is it Giygas."
My stomach sinks at that nightmare. A good guess, but not the one haunting me tonight. "No." Breathing ragged, I shiver, feeling cold sweat dot my shirt. "I'm okay."
Am I? Am I really okay?
Lucas opens his eyes. He's staring at me. "Do you... want to talk."
"No."
"Okay," Lucas murmurs, but it's almost resigned, like whatever happens will happen. He knows that I can't hold myself back.
And he's right.
The dam finally bursts. "I knew that he was going to leave," I admit, feeling like I'm painfully forcing glass shards out of my throat. "Mom kept telling me that it was okay, and I thought... it'd work out. I thought that my dad really cared." I squeeze my eyes shut. "He liked his job too much... more than he ever liked me."
"That's not true," Lucas whispers.
"He hated me," I say bitterly.
"He loved you."
"Not enough to stay."
Lucas gives my wrist a small squeeze. "He loved you," he repeats firmly, then curls up by my side like a cat. I catch the barest hint of his silhouette in the moonlight. "He loved you more than anything."
I grip his hand like a lifeline. For once, I'm just glad to have him at my side.
His hair tickles my nose. I inhale deeply. Lucas smells like chocolate and sunshine and flowers. An odd combination, but strangely fitting for his character. I close my eyes, trying to ingrain the soothing scent into memory. It reminds me of the baseball park near home, the one filled with roses and dandelions.
I wonder how my mom's coping with the divorce. I wonder how my sister's doing in school.
I miss home.
Then Lucas's soft breathing trickles into my ears. It reminds me that I'm not alone. Not when there's someone else from home with me.
"Lucas," I whisper.
His breathtaking blue eyes open.
But this time, the words won't come out. It hurts too much to say them.
I shut my eyes. "...thanks."
Something shifts in my mind. Lucas presses a happy memory against me, and I involuntarily relax, sinking into dreams of clouds and flying kites.
Author's Note:
Happy reading. :)