Dear Lucas,
You remind me a lot of Samus. Remember Samus? She's got blonde hair. She's super tall and scary, but she's really smart like you. I like talking to her. A lot of the guys in the mansion like talking to her too, but I think it's because she's attractive. They try to show off and do stupid things to grab her attention.
Popo's a moron. He keeps flirting with Samus. I told him to stop, but he only laughed and asked me if I was gay. Nana got mad and hit him over the head for that remark.
He's wrong! I'm not gay! I do think Samus is pretty. I just don't want to bother her!
Sometimes I think that I'm the only sane man here.
I miss you. Samus is pretty, but she's not you. I can't believe that she reminded me of you. She's nothing like you e̶v̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶o̶u̶g̶h̶ ̶I̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶ ̶p̶r̶e̶t̶t̶y̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶.
Sincerely,
Ness
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.
.
You'd think that after going on a date, these things come EASIER.
Oh man, they don't. They really don't.
The relationship kinda sorta happened. Just a "hey i think you're awesome" and an "okey" then kabOOM! Before you know it, you've leveled up and Congratulations! Your CRUSH evolved into an eVEN BIGGER CRUSH.
So while Lucas heads to the 3rd floor store with my list of suggestions, I distract myself to another serving of fluffy Japanese nut bread. I don't know what secret recipe Lucas's grandfather keeps for baked goodies, but I kid you not, this nut bread's fucking FANTASTIC. Looks like bread, tastes like cake. I think Lucas said that the fluffyness of the bread comes from adding loads of eggs instead of butter, but I'm too busy texting and stuffing the embarrassment out of my face to remember.
PSI Paula 6:28PM
Watcha doing? ( ^-^)_旦""
Nuss 7:35PM
Eating bread!
debatn g if i wanna cook dinna
PSI Paula 7:36PM
Bread?! I wan some
Please share !
o(￣ ◇￣)○
FuckThePopo❤ 7:36PM
dude i f lucas gets me or nana a prez canu liek punch him4 me thnx
ffs i jus want teh fuckin kid to njoy hmself tmmrw
&Donuts 7:43PM
Sorry Ness, I can't make it to Popo's party
But I've found something of my father's that you should see. TO be frank, it's a little... disturbing.
When are you free next week?
Princess🍑 7:52PM
Hello Ness❤️,
Master Hand needs to know if you can bring Lucas to Winter Formal by tomorrow.
He's still not keen on you breaking tradition, but don't let that deter you from asking Lucas out to dance, dear❤️
Mario and Luigi send their greetings❤️❤️❤️
Like it always does whenever my feels betray me, my magic happily hops out of my hands as if on its own accord.
...I've never asked anyone out to a dance before.
My face flares up. Okay, so I might've asked Paula to chill with me for the past few Winter Formals. Maybe danced like a klutz with a couple of other friends. Stepped on more than a few toes by accident.
But a dance with friends isn't exactly the same thing as a dance with, you know... someone you like.
I watch the magic pop and fizzle off my hands in circles. If it counts, I guess Tracy's told me stuff about what normal teens do in high school - Outrageously flamboyant prom proposals. Boomboxes. Serenades. Flowers and chocolate. Obnoxiously large signs. Hopelessly romantic, but well-meaning gestures that I quickly shoot down. I know that Lucas wouldn't want to be dragged out into the spotlight, and as much as I love attention, I have no intention of inviting the press back into our lives to fuck shit up this early in the game. Don't Wah? me, I've seen the kind of scandalous headlines you guys love to post about Waluigi, and while the memes are beyond excellent, I want none of his rep in my life. Heh, Wahnt.
I've even gotten desperate enough to flip through Popo's prank gifts for ideas, but with all my romantic experience based off of Popo's stupid pick up lines, Nesscas Shounen-Ais, and Tracy's kdramas, I wanna flop onto my side like a fish outta water and rethink life.
When Lucas returns from the store with a classic 12 pack, I recognize the all too familiar Tripel Karmeliet seal. "Hey, that's a pretty sweet gift."
"Good. Marth had to flash his ID at the register for me," Lucas groans, now hauling the box onto the dining table to wrap it. "I feel like a cheapskate-"
"You are NOT a cheapskate. Cheapskate's like, going to the dollar store and buying a flimsy piece of shit for less than a buck," I say fiercely. "It's better to get Popo stuff he'll enjoy than stuff he'll toss away. Oh yeah, and I've covered you with a gift for Nana, so you're buying smart, not cheap. They'll enjoy the drinks together."
"I hope they won't be disappointed."
I think of the look on Popo's face last time we snuck out drinking, and laugh. "Oh buddy, they DEFINITELY won't be disappointed."
His empathy link prickles, and Lucas turns faint pink, humiliated over the issue of his own financial insecurity. Uncertainty laces his tone as he lowers his eyes to the table. "Listen, maybe I shouldn't go. I can barely afford to get them a good gift-"
"You don't HAVE to go. But from the looks of it, Nana and Popo just want everyone to have a good time... although Popo's idea of a good time's probably weed and booze," I scrunch my nose in afterthought. "I mean, don't go if you don't wanna, but they'll definitely miss you if you duck out."
Okay, you caught me. I'm hoping Lucas will attend. I'm definitely hoping. While Lucas avoids parties like the plague, after being cooped up inside the Mansion grieving over his brother and struggling to balance life stuff with work, I think he'll feel a little better after a night out.
"I'll think about it. Either way, I'm not going empty-handed." This time, Lucas glances at Alec's snaccs in my hands, and his eyes turn just a little lighter. "Those are for you, by the way. Eat them before they go bad."
I throw him a salute. "Eating I can do."
When Lucas lets out a hum of agreement before turning back to gift wrapping, I steal another glance his way. Lost in his own world, Lucas scrunches up his nose as he crosses out a line in his birthday card draft.
Did I ever mention that he's got a pretty cute frown?
'Cause he does.
I scramble into the bedroom before Lucas can catch my thoughts, the dumbest grin ever plastered on my face.
The big question's been teetering on the tip of my tongue for a while. I just never found the right time to say it, what with the unspoken tension around Lucas's dad, and my untimely subjection to ballroom dancing slavery under Peach. She's the sweetest overseer, but woe behold the fool who fucks up and shows up to the dance routine underprepared. If that fool's you, then you'd better pray to Lady Palutena that Peach won't jump from zero to Bowsette, because she will.
Anyways, despite all the fuckery trying to wreck over our lives, I've been getting ready for this moment for a long time.
I know what you're thinking. And you'd be right. I love to procrastinate. If I went to school, I'd be that one kid who submits their homework into TurnItIn-dot-com five seconds before it's due. Yeah, that kid.
So when I prep ahead for something, then you'd best bet it's a pretty big fucking deal.
At the very least, I've been trying to get over my nerves. Smothering occasional bursts of magic out of my hands. Double checking that the letter's finally here from the shoebox at home, where I last left it. Practicing to myself in the mirror. Asking Mista Chompy for advice. Except there's one downside to reflections and squeaky dino plushies - they can't exactly give you feedback... Especially feedback on what to do when it feels like my magic's on fire and my chest's about to explode into a bunch of happy fireworks.
Still I decide to consult Mista Chompy, because he's one hecc of a listener and easy to prop up against my bed. "...What d'you say, buddy?"
When I squish him between my hands, Mista Chompy the Chomposaur lets out a happy squeak before furiously nodding along with his silly googly eyes.
He's got me good.
Then tonight it is.
I peek outside. From the looks of it, Lucas shouldn't take much longer to wrap his gift.
The best method is to be direct. Just spit it out.
Sweating up a storm, I shuffle over, my old letter on hand. "Hey, so..."
I've got this.
I'm gonna fucking NAIL this.
"Do you wanna-" AcK nO, VOICE CRACK. "-to... with me?" I squeak.
Lucas looks up, the very definition of confusion. "Sorry, what?"
"I said there's a fly on your shoulder," I declare, punching him in the arm. When Lucas ducks away with a complaint, my grin grows, cause he knows what's coming. "Two for flinching!"
Then it's like my rehearsal was all for naught, because we end up trying to slug each other on the shoulder like the biggest pair of idiots before unceremoniously faceplanting into the floor.
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~Chapter Thirty-One~
Lucas has Sex on the Beach
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I'll save the suspense.
I've been spoiled by my impromptu visits back home.
Turns out, Master Hand's idea of "safety in numbers" also meant stuffing a tsunami of bodyguards around our party. For heaven's sake, they've clogged up the nearest tables in the guise of regular customers, though their FBI-esque uniforms certainly aren't fooling anyone. Behind their barricade screams a crowd of fans and paparazzi trying to break through, hoping for a closer glimpse.
"Oh no," I groan when five bodyguards ditch their dinner table to rush over to my side, because I've caught sight of the person in charge of this particular team, and he does NOT relent. "Guys, go enjoy your food. It's just a phone call-"
"Your concern is our safety," Knuckles the Echidna announces with a grin, toting on his sunglasses to strike a cool pose. When one of the bodyguards whispers to him on the side, Knuckles amends, "Oh... Ahem. I mean, YOUR SAFETY IS OUR CONCERN."
"Please? This is from my mom-"
Scowling, Knuckles prods me in the chest with one of his massive... knuckles. "Hey, no expectations!" As if to emphasize his point, he suspiciously narrows his eyes underneath his sunglasses. "ESPECIALLY moms."
"He means No exceptions, sir," the same bodyguard mumbles to me, as if dying slowly from second-hand embarrassment behind his shades.
"That's right! No one sneaks underneath my radar. Not when I'm in charge."
"You're in charge? Where's Isabelle?" I say, baffled, glancing around. "I thought she was Chrom's second-in-command-"
"Ha, that's cause she was recently demoted to Villager's personal agent-"
"You mean, promoted?"
I think I'm getting on his bad side. Knuckles squints at me. "Are you questioning my authoritah?"
"No, I'm just- argh, okay fine. I know Master Hand sent you guys to protect us, but phone calls with mom are a little uh, private. So don't follow me. Please."
"Don't you worry. We'll just walk right behind you!"
"That IS following."
"I prefer to call it STALKING IN ITALICS," he proudly air-quotes with his fingers.
"...right. Well, you can't do that either."
"Do what?"
I wanna tear my hair out. "Knuckles, you knucklehead, I just wanna call my mom! I swear I won't go far, so gimme five-"
Knuckles high-fives me.
Desperate times call for desperate measures.
So as soon as I skid out the guarded restaurant exit, I pull a fast one on them, teleporting onto the roof of Wealth of the Wild. I feel a little bad for duping him, since Knuckles sincerely means well, but I'm just glad that Isabelle wasn't in charge tonight. I repress the urge to shudder. She never would've let me out of her sight. I'm calling it: Isabelle's definitely going places.
Turns out, shaking off Knuckles and his team of bodyguards wasn't necessary.
"Hey doofus, are you busy?"
Pretending not to notice Knuckles and his bodyguards crowding into the streets, I frown as my 'mom' calls me on the phone. "Tracy? Why are you on mom's phone?"
"Cause you wouldn't have picked up if I called you."
"Uh-" Utter pandemonium breaks out into the streets. I duck under the rooftop as a couple of paparazzi barge after Knuckles and co., no doubt hoping to sneak in a few pictures of the escaped Smasher. Oops. There they go. "Hey, not true! I picked up loads of other times-"
"-except for that time you ditched me for your movie date?"
I groan. "I told you I was sorry a thousand times. What more do you want, an apology card signed by Master Hand and framed by the President of Eagleland?"
"Chill out, I'm just kidding." For some reason, Tracy sounds nervous. Her voice wavers on the phone. "But are... Are you really busy?"
"Not really. I'm out drinking."
Whatever I've said seems to have returned some of her spirit, because she snorts, "You're so busted. I'm gonna tell mom-"
"Not me specifically! And don't you dare tell her about that day-"
"-right, the day you fucked up big time. I think this finally beats the time you B-Boy-ed off the kitchen counter like an idiot and almost broke both your arms." I can almost hear the familiar sing-song, the growing grin in her voice. She won't tell mom. I'm 99.9% sure of it. Sibling's honor. "Anyways, I called to make sure you picked up that stupid letter you forgot at home-"
"You texted me yesterday-"
"-and you're lucky I still work at Escargo. I get to use priority mail. Free of charge. By the way, I wasn't trying to look, but your letter's super sappy. Like, did you write it when you were FIVE-"
"TRACY, WHY DID YOU READ THAT- Oh my god, you're so dead when I get back home," I hiss when she giggles, my face furiously exploding with heat. "That letter's not for you, dum-dum, it's for Lucas-"
"I bet ten bucks Lucas is gonna barf when he reads it-"
"SHH-" More paparazzi flood out of the restaurant, obviously eager to catch me red-handed for breaking free of Master Hand's tyranny. "Okay, fine. Whaddya want, ya loser?"
"Loser?" she says sweetly. "Why, I just care about you, big brother."
"Sure you do," I grumble. From the looks of it, the bodyguards must've found a lead, because Knuckles spins my way in hot pursuit. "Tracy, I hate to cut this short, but if you've got something to say, you'd better spit it out quick. I've got some angry people on my tail-"
Tracy breaks into a laugh. "Again? What did you do now?"
"Hey, what d'you mean, what did you do now," I say, offended, and Tracy pointedly pauses. "Okay, so I might've given them the slip," I confess, "-but give me a break, it's Popo's birthday. We're throwing him dinner at Wealth of the Wild, everyone's been invited-"
Tracy's exclamation explodes through the receiver. "Everyone?! No way! Then-" Tracy's voice hurries into a rush of letters. "Can you get me Samus Aran's autograph?"
"Whu- You want Samus's autograph? Now?" I ask, baffled.
"Please, Ness? I sent a poster of her to you by mail and everything, can you ask her to sign it? She's always focused on whatever she does and never does press shows, so I don't wanna bother her, but she's just so cool and awesome-" Tracy cuts her plea off with the sweetest voice she can muster. "Pretty please with sugar on top? For me?"
I pretend to sound hurt. "Why don't you ever ask me for MY autograph? I'm cool and awesome too."
Tracy snorts. "You? You're my brother, you don't count."
"Hey, watch it. Your older brother can be cool too!" Tracy giggles on the other line, so I roll my eyes. "Fine, I'll get you Samus's autograph. Anything else?"
An undercurrent of unease shifts in her empathy link.
What is she hiding?
"...Nothing else," she finally says.
Right, Trace. And I'm a Mega Charizard X.
I raise a brow. "You sure?"
"It's nothing."
"Well okay... if you say so." I scratch the back of my neck. "Just text me if you need anything else, okay? I promise I'll pick up."
"Pinky swear?"
I crack a grin. "Pinky swear. I'm never too busy for you. Tell mom I said hi."
"...I will. Goodnight, Ness."
"Nerd."
"Pleb."
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~oO0Oo~
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Understandably, I'm stuck in hot water when Knuckles drags me back into the restaurant from the red shingle roof. Under the camera flash of the paparazzi (who try to paint me in the light of a mischievous rule breaker), I endure his grilling and apologize to each of the bodyguards, since I WAS the one who caused mayhem in the first place. But shortly afterwards with a sigh, Knuckles escorts me back inside, grumbling with the gem of a phrase, "as they say, you can drag a horse to water, but noOo you can't make it drink cause it'll get drunk and I don't condone drunk driving."
Pretending to totally understand, I nod along with his wise words, which finally satisfies him enough to free him from his grouchy mood... though on the inside, I'm doing my best not to burst a lung from laughing.
Still as I swing back to the party, parts of Tracy's convo linger on my mind. She DEFINITELY sounded upset. Like she was trying not to cry. I guess calling me cheered her up, but I can't help but worry.
My little sister always texts me on her own phone.
She'd only call me if something big happened.
Goddammit. Did some jerk try to hurt her at school? Was it one of the paparazzi? Well, whoever it was, I'm gonna pulverize the lil fucker. They should've thought twice before bullying my sister.
Now that I think about it... Tracy never explained why she nicked mom's phone.
But all thoughts of Tracy flee when I slide open the door to the reserved room, because call the fucking fire department, it's gone all LORD OF THE FLIES in here. When the door clatters to a standstill in my hand, all eyes fly to the sound, and everyone freezes in place.
A voice breaks the stupor. "IT'S NESS!"
"Wha-" I manage, still taking in the scene of chaos.
The watermelons catch my attention first.
I kid you not, it'd be pretty fucking hard not to miss the pile of watermelons rolling around like bowling balls in a classy 5-star restaurant.
Then I spot the people sitting single-file on the polished wooden floor.
Sloshing himself around the sizzling scorch mark on the ground, MegaMan fizzles, irritably trying to shake out stray watermelon chunks out of his robotic arms. Next to him, Toon's face has turned red with effort, looking constipated from trying to (hug? give birth to?) a watermelon between his thighs. Red - of course - looks deadpan, a perfectly split watermelon lying in front of his snarky face, while in the air of someone resorting to desperate measures, Villager has reached for his own axe with a murderous gleam in his eye.
Most importantly, in the midst of all the Smashers hollering and hooting like monkeys, Lucas's eyes immediately fly to mine.
I don't need his telepathy to know that he's internally screaming for help.
Then time catches up with me, and the entire table ROARS my name, pushing me back inside.
"Ness!"
"Hey, he's under eighteen!"
"Toss him into the ring of fire!"
"Wh- Hey! What's going on," I manage to yell before I'm shoved to the end of the room, crowd-surfing over everyone's heads before I'm dumped unceremoniously onto the floor.
A watermelon rolls my way.
A foot planting the watermelon to a stop at my face, Popo grins, glancing at his timer. "Bro, you've got 45 seconds-"
"Forty-five seconds until what?" I say blankly.
"Ness, help us," poor Toon gasps, looking out of steam. He's so short that there's barely enough of him to curl around the watermelon. "Must... Crush..."
"Crush what?" I glance at Lucas, but he looks like he's done trying... whatever he's doing, if at all, and frozen in place from stage fright. He shrinks under the eyes of the crowd as if he could hide behind his own watermelon. "What are we crushing?"
"Thirty-five seconds," Popo says with glee.
"CrUsH tHe WaTErMELoN bEtWeEn yOUr tHiGHs," rasps MegaMan, now pounding watermelon juice out of his ears. He's clearly exploded his watermelon or something, because the guy looks like a mess straight out of Splatoon, and Link helpfully hands him a damp rag to dry himself off.
"Why? Looks like Red's done it-"
"Not between his thighs," Popo sings, tapping his watch. "No powers, Pokemon, or weapons, my dudes. Twenty-five!"
"How?"
Creasing into the frown of someone deprived of his rightful victory, Red prods the split watermelon with his index finger. "Pressure point."
"Still doesn't count, bro! Ike, roll him another one- Fifteen seconds!"
"Why isn't anyone telling me anything-?!"
In response, Villager furiously signs a few choice words to me that might've included nitwit and your head is a watermelon.
"Hey! It is not!"
"Ten-"
Deciding that my questions could be answered afterwards, grumbling under my breath, I grab my watermelon and squeeze. I have no idea if I can pull this stunt off, but I've fought shit debatably more terrifying than a watermelon.
I think I can manage.
"Five, four-"
This better work.
I'm gonna pretend that this watermelon is the most infuriating thing in existence. Easily, Lucas's smirk pops into mind.
...Imma pretend this watermelon is Lucas's stupid face.
"Three, two-"
CRACK.
Oh shit, it WORKED!
...aw shit, it worked.
Once the shell gives way between my knees, I wrinkle my nose. "Gross," I complain, trying to shake off the sticky juice dripping down into my socks in disgust. "Popo, I swear to god, you'd better have packed spare clothes-"
Then all the smashers go fucking WILD.
The Smash kids - save for Lucas and Red - throw themselves on me, yelling themselves hoarse and almost sobbing with joy when Nana decides to treat everyone underage to free dinner. On floor duty, Kirby sucks in a tornado, causing shattered pieces of watermelon to fly into his mouth and clearing up the mess.
"WE HAVE A WINNER," Popo crows, teary-eyed from our victory. "WINNER WINNER CHICKEN DINNER-"
Expecting to receive the greatest praise or magna cum laude of watermelon cracking or whatever, I hopefully turn to Lucas and-
Fucking wide-eyed, he's gaping at me as if he's never seen me before.
Oh, I forgot.
He totally heard that thought.
"Hey, your face was the most infuriating thing I could think of," I protest as a cheering Nana orders another round of beers for everybody.
Apparently, that wasn't the only thing that had caught his attention.
As if trying to swallow down something stuck in his throat, Lucas's eyes flit to my legs, lingering on my calves.
His face turns white.
"...You're not human," he says with a fervent conviction, and I slug him on the shoulder with a fucking pleased grin. It's not everyday yo boy can boast that he crushed a watermelon between his thighs after all.
"You okay, bro?" Popo asks, checking in to clap Lucas in the back, and when Lucas breaks into a relieved nod, Popo grins back like the shithead he is before checking on all the other contestants and handing out menus and disposable wet wipes.
Then as the orders rush in, so do the beers, full and caked with foam to the rim.
In festivity, all drinks clink together as one.
"For Glory!"
The birthday party rages on.
Dinner erupts into the sound of laughter and talk. We for sure keep the waitresses and waiters busy, as food disappears in seconds, thirds, and in Kirby's case, tenths. Despite the jacked-up prices, considering that half the people around this table are fucking millionaires, cash rains down on the staff for drink requests of all colors, which flurry over from the bar: Cheap IPAs, Long Island Ice Teas, Irish Car Bombs, Jellyfish shots, Angel's Tits, and other provocative names for highball drinks. In a vindictive show of one wanting to prove himself a worthy villain even under influence, Ganondorf downs an entire bottle of blood-red wine while Cloud, Roy, and Shulk chant and yell cHUG CHUG CHUG like a group of teenage barbarians. A raucous bet sparks up between Samus and Lil' Mac over a friendly match of arm wrestling, with bystanders gambling and placing bets with real money, and with Robin estimating the time it'll take for either party to tip the scales. Pikachu brags of the number of children he has sired in the wild, of the one and only egg he's ever entrusted to a human trainer, and through Pikachu's body language alone, Red nods as if understanding something crucial. Right under Samus's nose, Bayonetta sneaks me sex-on-the-beach under the table with a naughty wink, before engaging Palutena in conversation, who in turn looks appalled at the sight of a drunk Phosphora cursing like a sailor and slut-shaming anyone with a V-neck.
Careful not to spill the drink, I take the teensiest sip possible. Unlike hard liquor, which tastes like shit, sex-on-the-beach tastes fruity, like it's a golden delight topped with cranberries in a massive glass. My brain screams peach juice, but I know better than to indulge myself. Not after what happened last time. Not after my first-time-happy-drunk rep, thanks. If drinking out with Popo's taught me one thing, it's that mixed drinks are a risky gamble to play. And while I doubt one drink'll get me wasted, I've played around with enough fire tonight. I don't trust myself NOT to cave into peer pressure, and the paparazzi are outside, ready to take any scandalous photos of anyone underage intoxicated and blow news out of proportion.
So I give Bayonetta a grateful nod before setting the drink aside.
From time to time, Lucas tentatively brushes against my mind. As if making sure that things are good. As if reassuring himself that I'm there. He doesn't look at me whenever he does, but I can feel his empathy link soar like a sugar high every time he pokes me, and I have to bite back a grin before poking him back. Because I'm glad that he's enjoying himself. Because I'm glad that he's relaxing a little tonight, that he's genuinely having fun.
His eyes are smiling again.
I think it's the first time I've seen that look on his face since winter break- wait no, back up. He had the same look on his face while talking about his grandfather yesterday.
Despite the shitstorm that happened over winter break... I'm glad that he's slowly feeling better.
Under the table, I reach for his hand when Lucas isn't looking and give it a small squeeze. I catch the barest hitch of his shoulders before I quickly let go to defend my pride from the freshmen, who laugh at Villager's renactments of my doofusNess during the watermelon contest. Somewhere during this time, Zelda demands to buy the minors special "safe" drinks just so they won't feel left out, and Link agrees, passing around giant glasses of Apricot juice and sodas.
"RESPONSIBLE DRINKING? HYES!" Captain Falcon approves, pounding Toon in the back when he chokes on his nonalcoholic beverage.
It's probably about ten at night, right around when Lucas murmurs to me how bitter the last dregs of his drink tastes when Nana interrupts the talk with an announcement.
The girls are going bowling.
The guys, karaoke.
Afterwards, with Nana and Popo in tow, those of age decide to go bar-hopping to the famous gay club in the city. A few others - following Link and Zelda's lead - retire to the Mansion.
"Haven? Sure, they let straight people in. So long as you don't cause trouble. It's a chill place for anyone to hang - huh? Yeah, that's okay. If you're straight, they put a yellow glowstick bracelet around your wrist so people know. Gay people get red; bi, purple-" I hear Cloud, clarifying Ryu's confusion about the club as Zelda takes a headcount of the people leaving and Link calls the limo drivers home.
Once the tabs are paid, underneath the boisterous bustle of everyone crowding outside, I catch Nana taking advantage of the distraction to throw herself at her brother.
"See you later, Popo."
"Sure thing, sis. Let's go bowling together another time."
She hides the growing beam on her face into her arm. "...I'm so proud of you."
With the softest smile on his face, Popo hugs her even tighter, like he owes her the world. "Happy birthday, Nan. You're the best," he says into her hair, looking perfectly at peace.
.
.
.
~oO0Oo~
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Dark and flashing with disco lights, the Karaoke bar smells of cigarettes and sex.
The cigarettes, I can tell.
The sex? I'll take Popo's word for it.
"That'll be seven dollars per person so cough up, bros, I'm a poor fellow," Popo says cheerfully at us, before the man behind the desk interrupts him in broken English. "-oh, my bad. We pay when we leave. Cool! It's an additional 5 gold for the hour, so I guess we'll figure out the total later. Who wants refreshments-?"
"There are too many people to reserve one room," Marth says, eyeing the corridor leading to the bathroom with disinterest as the walls echo with other drunk people singing their hearts and tears out. Beside us, Ike cuts in to gruffly voice his opinion, offering to cover the entire Karaoke cost for everybody. "I say we split apart into separate rooms."
"Good idea- and IDs? Oh, uh-" Popo points us out. "Four, five... wait, the freshmen went home? I guess we only have two minors then-"
The man isn't impressed. "No minors."
"They won't drink. Right dudes?" Popo elbows me in the ribs, and I jolt.
"Huh?" When the man glares at me, shooting us a dirty look, I try to sound convincing. "Uh, yeah. Definitely not. No drinking."
It takes a while, but Popo haggles and wheedles the man, who eventually lets us reserve the nearest room after narrowing his eyes at me.
"It's a shame you can't party with the big boys until after a few months, Nessie," Popo sighs, shaking his head in sympathy as we leave the counter. "So sad. So very sad. Alexa, play despaci-"
"No." I've done plenty of stupid things in my life, but anyone who dabs in despacito is dead to me.
With the rooms having been designated, Popo and Roy make a beeline for the mikes into our room like the crazy drunk people they are, already flipping through the thick 3-ring binder of song content to search for their favorite artists. Laughing over everything, they stagger the cue with song after song onto the lit HD TV screen. At the front desk, Shulk orders another round of beers while settling beside Popo on the couch, Ike experimentally shakes the tambourine, testing out its noise and rattle. As we follow Cloud inside, Lucas accidentally stumbles over his shoes.
"You okay?" I laugh when Lucas bumps against the wall again in an attempt to stop himself from falling like a total ditz.
"Yeah thanks," he says, and I'm bewildered when he sounds... completely relaxed. His cheeks flush pink - probably from embarrassment - but for some reason, a voice in my head keeps nagging me that nothing was as it seemed.
Then the speakers turn on with the bright introductory notes of It's Raining Men, and Popo shoves the mike into my unsuspecting hands.
It's a little funny, singing along with drunk people, but it's like the hilarious kind of funny - the kind that makes me wanna laugh because god, everyone drunk in this room is so stupidly happy and so stupidly dumb and so stupidly friendly and drunk.
Grinning like an idiot, I do shit on Popo for his taste in trashy music - because who the fuck listens to Brittney Spears and Taylor Swift and PSY these days? - and Popo teases me back for logging in old sappy classics like Celine Dion and her My Heart Will Go On.
While Lucas refuses to take his turn with the mike, I know that he's singing quietly under his breath, eyes bright, because I can hear his voice in my mind. He's not shrinking back from the noise, or awkwardly shuffling around and feeling out of place as I expected, but having fun in his own Lucas way.
"Dude, who cares if you can't sing? The point of karaoke is to sing horribly TOGETHER," Popo says brightly, and Lucas still declines the mike when aND I, WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOUUUU flicks on next. But like a good sport, Popo ends up respecting Lucas's decision to enjoy himself in the sidelines.
And me?
Oh, I'm getting ready for the real fun to begin.
As predicted, the guys don't even last ten minutes in until the drunken cauterwauling begins. By the third song, Ike, Cloud, Shulk, and Popo are tearfully singing IS THIS THE REAL LIFEEEE, IS THIS JUST FANTASYYYYY- in a drunken daze, arms slung over each other's shoulders, and swaying back and forth on the couch while Roy hits the tambourine at odd intervals with absolutely fuckall sense of rhythm.
Muffling a laugh, I flash Lucas a look.
Then the answer to Lucas's relaxed shoulders makes sense when he responds by reaching for my hand in plain view. Surprised by the bold move, I let go, nervously glancing at the drunken chorus, but they're too drunk or too immersed in song to notice.
I'm pretty fucking sure Lucas said no PDA outside the Mansion.
No. I'm very fucking sure.
I can't help but frown. The alarm bell in my head clamors more insistently, much more loudly in my head that there's DEFINITELY something out of place when Lucas brushes against my mind again.
Fuzzy. His mind's slightly blurred on the edges.
Dropping out of the chorus, I grab him over by the shoulders. "Hey, look at me." As if sensing the serious tone in my voice, someone must've paused the music in the background, because I can't hear Bohemian Rhapsody bouncing off the walls anymore.
Confused by my insistence, Lucas does. He slowly blinks.
His eyes are glazed.
Then it hits me. The drinks at dinner.
He must've accidentally mistook the glass I set aside for Zelda's apricot juice.
Before I can voice this realization out loud, Popo beats me to it with a loud laugh.
"Holy shit, Lucas, you're totally buzzed!"
.
.
.
~oO0Oo~
.
.
.
"Don't worry. He's just buzzed, not drunk," Ike reassures me while Popo cackles like a madman in the background, tickled silly by the thought of LUCAS of all people getting tipsy tonight. "Lucas, how do you feel?"
"I feel fine."
"Yeah, he's just buzzed. He can talk and think pretty clearly. It'll wear off, so make sure he drinks water when he gets home-"
"I don't feel any different," Lucas insists, but now fresh out of giggles, Popo shakes him by the shoulder.
"Lucas, bro. If Ness said you had sex-on-the-beach, Wealth of the Wild puts a shit ton of vodka in it. It's WAY more boozier than the weaksauce stuff from a lotta other places. I know, it sure as fuck doesn't taste like it, but you probably couldn't tell because of all the sugar and tropical juice." When Lucas looks mortified, Popo's smile eases up into something gentler. "Hey, dude. I believe you. You're definitely not drunk. But I'm sure the Karaoke Bar peeps won't be happy seeing someone underage buzzed. And since we've told the man up front, I bet you don't wanna play along with my fake ID-"
"I'll take him home," I say firmly, and Lucas tries to lift my arm away.
"You can stay. I can call Chrom-"
"Nah, I was about to call it a day. We'll teleport home."
With promises to call Ike if anything went wrong and to text Cloud once we arrived home, Lucas and I hobble out of the Karoake Bar together, trying to pass as sober underneath the man's suspicious gaze.
Once we're outside, I'm telling the bodyguards where we're headed when Popo catches me, stumbling outside the bar.
"Ness... one moment, bro." Popo sluggishly pats me on the back as Lucas watches the neon signs of the city flash in dumb awe. "Before you go, I just wanna... wanna say- I really am sorry for that day. For outing you," he says, and despite his tipsy state, he sounds more than remorseful. "Genuinely. If I could take it back, I would in a heartbeat."
"Thanks," I say, touched. "That means a lot, coming from a fuckwad like you."
"Then I'm glad it did, you lil shit." Popo grins. "Hey, Nessie. Stop by my place this week. I need your help with moving out before I leave for rehab this Saturday."
"You're what?"
"Yeah. It's all thanks to this guy right here. Well, mostly my sister, but bro... let's say he's done his share." Popo clumsily ruffles Lucas's hair once, and oblivious to who's doing what, Lucas blinks at the towering skyscrapers in response. "He's a tough nut to crack, but he really does mean well."
"He does," I agree.
"I'm right here, you guys," Lucas says, and we laugh.
With a last wave, we leave Popo behind at the Karaoke Bar and teleport to the Mansion lobby. Peering into our faces as if to make sure we're not doppelgangers sneaking into the Mansion to steal valuables, a paranoid Tingle checks us in after a vigorous fingerprint and eye screen.
"You were supposed to be the fucking voice of reason," I complain when Lucas catches the tip of his shoe over the metal detector and stumbles to the stairs. All that liquor seems to have made him clumsier and more trip-prone, if possible.
Lucas lowers his eyes in guilt. "I didn't know it was vodka..."
"I know you didn't. That was my fault. Sorry." Worried, I brush a strand of hair from his face. "How do you feel now?"
"I feel fine. I think I feel more... loose, but I still feel the same. My face feels a little hot though."
"That's because you're buzzed. Thank god you didn't get wasted like me," I say fervently.
"You did get pretty wasted back then," Lucas agrees.
...okay, I'll bite. I'm curious. "How was I drunk?"
Lucas groans. Like he's said, if I hadn't picked up the subtle signs, like the way his shoulders aren't slumping or how he seems totally at ease, I wouldn't have known that he was buzzed. Lucas just looks more comfortable in his own skin. "You were really hyper."
"I was?"
"Yeah. You kept wriggling around and talking in double speed when I dragged you upstairs to the hospital ward. I swear you were trying to hug every fucking thing that moved-"
"Not true!"
"So true."
I puff up my cheeks in denial. "So is this the part where you confess your undying love to me, and I run the fuck away from you in mortal terror?"
"You forgot to add in the weeks of awkwardness and fakedating that followed afterwards," he suggests.
"Oh my god. Then the rumors from the fucking fandom and the press-"
"-where Popo says that I'm supposedly a wimpy little gold-digger-slash-trophy-wife, and you're a no-good two-timing jock who likes to flex his own muscles in the mirror-"
"Hey! I'll have you know that the muscles on my muscles are offended by your blasphemy," I say, feigning hurt, and Lucas has to turn his head away to stifle his grin. "What? What're you smirking at now, you goof?"
"With all the flexing you apparently do, it's a wonder why you haven't flexed the muscles in your brain."
Of course. The buzz doesn't stop him from roasting me with his fucking comebacks.
He ducks with a laugh when I get fired up, grabbing for his head with a playful scowl. "Oh, very funny. You wanna duke it out right here, right now? Let's go! One on one match, in the arena, no items-"
"...look nice."
Brainfreeze. Stopping dead in my tracks, I gawk at him in disbelief. "What does?"
"They are."
"What are?"
"..."
"Wait I mean it, tell me- Hey, stop speeding up, ya dork I wanna knowww-"
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Lucas refuses to meet my eyes and stubbornly continues walking away. Even from here, I spot the bright red blush spreading across the back of his neck to his arms.
Though I have no idea what the fuck he's said, his embarrassment makes me grin wide like a giddy idiot, because it reminds of how he'd fluster whenever I caught him accidentally tripping over his own shoes. Or of how he'd run for the closet or hide under his desk whenever he got upset or embarrassed and refused to come out until he was ready to face the world again. Or of how he'd punch a sore spot away from my shoulders whenever I complained, or did little acts of kindness without telling me like a good ninja Samaritan.
Then I try pretty fucking hard to imagine Lucas ballroom dancing on the stage under the eyes of a bajillion people, plus all the over-socializing and boring adult fuckery that goes on in those meets, and the laughter dies in my throat at the thought of Winter Formal.
Winter Formal.
The cheesiest dance ever. On air. In public view.
...He'd be so fucking miserable.
And while I won't force Lucas to tag along, I have to attend. Events like this have been mandatory for me since the beginning of time. No matter how hard I begged, Master Hand had leaped at my throat, saying it'd be unfair to excuse me from Winter Formal when all the single ladies like Samus and Fox were forced to attend. I was given two hard choices: Either I drag Lucas into the spotlight, or I find another ballroom dance partner before February - a girl for tradition's sake.
I don't wanna dance with anyone else.
I wanna dance with Lucas.
Unable to hold it in any longer, I stop in place, and grab him back by the arm. Sparks pop and fizz between my fingers. "Hey, do you..." Another spark explodes, sending a warm tingling into my palm. I swallow down my nerves with a grin. "D'you wanna see how I almost broke both my arms in Melee?"
"...What?"
I can't help but laugh at the delayed - but horrified - what crazy thing did you do now? expression on his face. "Kidding, but let's head back first. I wanna change," I say, slugging him in the shoulder.
We race each other to the dorms. On the way, I bump into another unexpected pair of people along the carpeted stairs. "Oops, sorry-"
Correcting Zelda's balance in his arms like a fucking hero, Link breaks into a sheepish grin at the sight of us, too dazed for words like he's basking in the halo of an afterglow.
"O-oh... Kids! Excuse us," Zelda flusters, her face pink for a clear reason other than the weather. We watch them hurry away with as much class and dignity as possible, their hair and clothes unusually messy and disheveled.
After a few seconds, I voice the obvious. "They totally boned."
"I'm guessing we shouldn't tell anyone."
"Gladly." I pause again, only to grin and poke him repeatedly in the side like a cheeky lil fucker. "Hey, Lucas. Did you see them just now? Ha, they totally BOWNED."
Lucas groans when I break out laughing like a dick at his expense. "You're so immature."
"You're immature."
"No, you."
"I am so, totally, obviously more mature cuz I'm older than you-"
We bicker the rest of the way to the dorms.
.
.
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~oO0Oo~
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.
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Two glasses of water and a change of watermelon-free clothes later, Lucas promises to drink more tea when I flail and fret over him. Teleporting straight to the Penthouse, we huddle against the railing, watching the whole metropolitan light up like the universe's biggest nightclub. I'm glad we dressed out. It's pretty fucking cold for sweater weather.
My fingers debate back and forth over the old worn letter in my jacket, over the Winter Formal proposal I've planned tonight.
You miss all the shots you don't take.
And yet, the words still stay stuck on my tongue.
The thought of asking Lucas out to the dance - just like THAT - really intimidates me. There's something about Lucas's eyes that intimidates me more than the cameras, more than even the fucking press, because whenever we cuddle and hold hands and steal stolen kisses behind everyone's backs, oh fuck it EVEN NOW, I forget all the words and my nerves shoot a hurricane of butterflies up my throat.
Lucas lays it out, simple and straightforward. "...Something's bothering you."
I jump from the boldness of his words. I'm not sure if it's the buzz speaking, I'm not sure if it's BECAUSE of the buzz he's gained the courage to say stuff on his mind without a microfilter, but buzzed(?) Lucas pulls back no punches. "How'd you know?" I sputter.
Lucas suddenly finds the skyline interesting. "I don't," he says quietly. "But I can sense your thoughts if they get noisy enough, and I figured you'd tell me when you felt ready."
"How much do you know?"
"Just that you've been bothered by something for a while."
"It's not like you aren't," I mumble. "You lost your fucking brother. I tore you apart from your dad-"
"No, you didn't. I chose to leave."
"If it weren't for me, you could've stayed."
"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have found another family."
Suddenly, my chest aches. It hurts to breathe, but I try to smile because I don't want to dump all my woes on him. Because on second glance, Winter Formal sounds like a really stupid thing to be worried about. "Lucas, no matter how you try to look at it... My problems are pretty small compared to yours. You can't deny that."
As if reading my mind, Lucas hesitates. His voice softens. "Your problems are valid too. Just as valid, if not, more."
"Ohhkay, I think you've had enough to drink there, buddy," I say, and we end up cracking up a little. Just a little, because this whole your problems are worse, nO YOURS ARE is just a really dumb and stupid thing to argue over.
"Really."
"Well, I'm glad that you care about my struggle over choosing between chocolate milk and two percent for lunch tomorrow," I bring up cheerfully, and Lucas groans.
"Maybe except that." After we spare a few seconds to enjoy the joke, Lucas lowers his head and shuffles over. "Do you... wanna share what's on your mind?"
"You first."
The city lights glimmer like fireflies. It's just the two of us here.
We're alone.
Flustering like an idiot, I reach for his hand. My stomach does triple somersaults when he meets me halfway as if realizing the same, loosely interlinking our fingers by the pinky. My other hand worries over the corner of the letter stuffed in my jacket.
"There's-" When his voice falters, Lucas tries again. "There's something I need to tell you."
"Yeah? About what?"
"My dad."
My hand freezes over the letter in my jacket. I can't possibly give this to him. Not when he's suffered so fucking much because of me.
I can't do this.
I can't do this to him.
"What about your dad?"
Face pink, Lucas refuses to meet my eyes. "He found out over winter break. Someone tipped him off when I brought you over to visit my mom. He had photos. I thought we were careful, but I guess the paparazzi slipped through-"
"It's okay, you don't have to explain. I get it," I say reasonably, because we've had this talk before, about the PDA, and I REALLY don't mind, but then Lucas furiously shakes his head like that wasn't the point.
"He- the fireplace, and I lost-" As if the shame's eating his voice up alive, Lucas barely finishes his sentence. "I lost all of your letters."
It takes a few more seconds for his words to sink in.
And then, a few more to make the move.
I swallow hard. "Not all of them."
When Lucas looks up, I slip the worn out letter out of my jacket. Unable to look Lucas in the eyes, I offer the sealed envelope to its rightful owner.
Fuck me, I'm scared. The ratty-tatty piece of paper in my hands is more than just a silly 13 year old's scribbles and drabbles. It's more than a just silly 13 year old's fears and confessions, of the time it all really began, of the time it just clicked, of the time I missed my chance to say the words earlier because I was too young and scared and confused to seize the moment.
This letter's my whole fucking heart.
My hands are almost trembling as badly as Lucas's.
Then slowly, I feel his fingers ease the envelope out of my hands. I hear the envelope head pop open, hear paper rustling as he tugs out the letter to read whatever piece of me my heart has bared.
He's holding my heart in his hands.
For the first time in my life, I'm shaking so badly like I've caught hypothermia. As stupid as it sounds, I can't help but second guess myself, even after how far we've gone.
What if he decides that he doesn't like that piece of me?
What if he decides that he doesn't like me?
"I- I know. We're trying this out, and things... well, things haven't always gone the way we've hoped-" I take a deep breath. "But I really do love you. I know I say it a lot. I know it can get really sappy and annoying, but I mean it every time. You don't usually say stuff like this out loud so I'm not sure if you still... if you still feel the same way-" My mouth turns dry. I'm rambling, and I wanna find the off switch to my mouth, but I'm so mortified that I'm stuffing my face into my cap like I can stop myself from spewing out the words. "You don't have to say it yet! Don't feel obligated to. I'll wait for you until you're ready. So uh, if you- with me-"
The words get jumbled up in my mouth. Like he doesn't mind that I've devolved into a stammering idiot unable to string two words together, Lucas tentatively touches my face.
That shuts me up pretty quick.
His eyes flit to mine in an unspoken question. Another stupid strand of hair falls over his forehead. Under the night sky, his eyes glow dimly like windows to his soul as he waits for my response.
He doesn't need it.
I let him read my mind.
With a stupidly blank expression on his face, Lucas searches my eyes as if he's never seen them before. As he brushes against my mind like an underwater current, I can tell that he's trying to understand where my worries are coming from, trying to read the words stuck in my throat.
Our thoughts intermingle. His magic sparks in my face like hot New Years sparklers.
Then he kisses me.
Awkwardly. Stupidly.
It's fleeting, barely a tickle against my cheek, but when I gape at him, heat shooting up my face, Lucas's face has gone horribly red like someone's lit a fire in his own cheeks. Not looking my way, he swallows, and his face turns redder, if possible. "Oh shit, I forgot... the tea downstairs-" he begins, flustering to his feet before I grab him over by the face and kiss him for real.
Ha.
I fucking knew it.
He tastes like peaches.
When his eyes glaze over, his face so fucking gorgeous and intoxicatingly desperate that I want to kiss him over and over to remind him how much he means to me, he simply fumbles for my arms and kisses me back, clumsily, awkwardly, passionately.
Then I pull him over me, and we topple backfirst into the snow.
Oh yeah. I'm definitely gonna have bruises in the morning.
Sure enough, as if sensing the dull pain seep into our empathy link, Lucas reaches for me on cue, hands hot and sparking with magic, and I decline with a grin. I'm no masochist, but I decide that I like the bruises Lucas left up my arms from being all nervous and gripping me too hard, because fuck it, that's fucking hot. Of course when I point this out to him, Lucas turns a tasteful shade of cherry-red. Now it's his turn to sputter before pulling me over by the arm, threatening to heal me as I laugh and whine and complain through his stern insistence for me to PK Magnet, nOW.
Watching him press his hands into mine, his magic blossoming and dissolving into my skin, I drink in his feelings with closed eyes and a content smile. It seems like he can cast his spells without much of a problem, so I'm guessing that the liquor's fading from his brain, but I don't push it. I'm okay with this. I'm okay with stopping at kisses and cuddles and whatever else makes us both comfortable.
He's not ready to say it. He's not ready to say I love you, but it's okay.
Because he's trying his best to show me.
He feels the same way.
While he lies on the ground like a fallen snow angel, his legs splayed over the icy pavement, I reach for his face, because Hooray, his face is mine, I've trapped him between my palms so he can't hide, and I can feel his embarrassment flood into my hands. God, he's so fucking shy. "So... Is that a yes?"
Lucas's eyes flicker away. "...not for the main event, sorry," he admits, and his guilt ripples in. "But we can do something else for Winter Formal."
"What?" I complain, pulling back to squint suspiciously into his face. "Are you ashamed to be seen around me?"
"No."
"Is it the dancing? It's not too bad. I swear, no one's gonna care if we fuck up except for Peach-"
"It's not the dancing. I just... I don't get why I have to show the press and everyone else that I like you," he says, eyes trailing the ground in a defeated sulk of his own. "I'm not dating them. I'm dating you."
I close my mouth. I know where Lucas is coming from. I know how much he hates publicity. But this is a pretty big hurdle we have to jump over, because if we're dating for real, he might be forced to attend events with me at some point against his will. We don't have the luxury of dating discreetly from the world like normal people, because I'm one of the Twelve.
Hell, I might as well be married to the fucking cameras.
Still, I try to swallow down my disappointment, childishly puffing up my cheeks instead. "Aw man, but I really really wanted to dance with you-"
"We... we can still dance."
Talk about the understatement of the century.
Totally blindsided by the unexpected words, I gawk at him. "Really?!"
"Outside the cameras. You'll still need to find an official dance partner for the night, but I'll wait for you after the show's over-" When I continue gawking at him - because you know, Lucas and dancing aren't words you'd expect to hear in the same fucking sentence - Lucas's face boils up. Suddenly self-aware, he stammers, "I-I know it's not the answer you were looking for, but if you're okay with it... I'm boring. A-and I don't dance. I can't dance. I'm really bad at it. I mean, I'm bad at a lot of things but- Sorry. I'll trip over you a ton-"
"hEY." Aghast, I sandwich his face between my hands. I can almost feel the heat radiate off his face. "Are you being mean to my friend?"
"I'm just shaying the troof-"
"NO, YOU TAKE THAT BACK." Scowling, I squish his cheeks tighter, doing my fucking best to squish the lack of self-esteem away from this very awesome person. "DON'T BE MEAN TO MY FRIEND."
"Sorry-"
"AND NO SORRIES!"
Then we're laughing into each other's mouths in the falling snow, because really, it's been so obvious from the start. It's always been us against the world.
We make each other happy.
We're happy together.
That's all that matters.
Author's Note:
Merry Early Christmas! Enjoy this wonderful clickbait chapter! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
As a refresher, the letter in this chapter is the same one Ness never sent Lucas in Chapter 17. Happy Holidays!
*Knuckles in this chapter is based on his goofy Sonic Boom persona.
*Chomposaur is an enemy in Earthbound.
*Sex-on-the-Beach by itself is a weak mixed drink (11% alcohol content versus the 20% in Long Island Iced Tea), but I amped up the vodka ratio in this fic.
*Almost all U.S. Competitive Ballroom Dancing tournaments require the lead and the follow to be a male/female or female/male pair (as tradition).
*In real life, there are gay clubs/bars that mark people on the hand with a stamp at the door if they're straight (or hand out glowsticks of different colors). However, most gay bars are considered safe places for LGBT+ people. This means that if someone is straight, they may risk crowding the place and overall be considered unwelcome. In this chapter, I like to imagine that Haven, the "gay" club mentioned by Cloud, has a large room capacity, and will let anyone in (as it tries to be a safe space for people of all orientations).
*The Smashers buy alcoholic beverages from a bar/restaurant in this chapter, but in reality, most people pregame beforehand with cheap alcohol, then go barhopping/partying. If someone plans on drinking out with friends, they usually have a designated driver (DD), or call on services like Uber/Lyft.
*Karaoke bars in Southeast Asia and Europe are different from Karaoke bars in America. The latter will ID you because they sell alcohol, while the former tends to be more flexible with drinking age. A fraction of minors in the U.S. like Popo (though not underage in this fic anymore) get away with this by illegally buying fake IDs at their own risk (often ranging ~$80-100).