The Dangers of Summer
Chapter 2: Case of the Missing Magazine
Ultimate Muscle fanfiction by CidOtaku
A/N: Hello all! Glad to see people enjoyed my first chapter! Some wanted to have a visual description of Kevin without his mask, or at least a picture or sommat. Well, I haven't drawn it, so I'll just describe him in this chapter. I have drawn Kevin with his mask, and I learned one thing. That his mask is a pain in the ass to draw. Yay me? I learnded. I own nothing. Except a crumpled up foil chocolate wrapper…-__- Yep. I apologize at the lack of length this chapter has, I just wanted to put up as much of this story as I could, before my computer a.k.a. "$hit-box" dies again. _
The sun blazed down in the middle of the sky, indicating that it was around noon. A few more people were in the pool, but not enough to crowd the pool. Kevin opened his eyes. He didn't know he had dozed off in the first place, and rubbed his eyes. Lord Flash had been asleep also, and was still off in Dreamland. Kevin yawned, stretched, and much to his dismay heard many simultaneous squeals of what seemed like fangirls. He quickly looked around, ready to throw Flash over his shoulder and run down the street in swim trunks if needed, but was relieved to see the attention was directed elsewhere.
A young man was walking over to the diving board, still dripping from his last dive. Some of his long blonde hair was sticking up a bit still, even though the laws of gravity should have dampened his bangs to his head. He had a "K" tattooed on his forehead, and two stars on each shoulder. Kevin recognized the man as Terry Kenyon, wrestler son of Terryman, instantly. Terry seemed to be the current object of attention, as he continued to walk, trying to ignore the people around him. His swim trunks were sticking to his body, much to the delight of the women hanging around the edges of the pool, and as Kevin watched, he noticed a few guys were staring as well.
Kevin was instantly terrified. He cursed his flushing cheeks and tried to think of anything else than the half-dressed man walking nearer and nearer to him. Would Terry recognize him, even without his mask? Would he remember the golden-brown of his hair that strayed from his helmet to mid-chest? Would he notice that though his eyes weren't the yellow that they seemed to be while wearing the mask, that they were still a piercing golden-brown? Would Terry instantly notice the large amount of muscles that only a wrestler or obsessive bodybuilder could have? If he asked Kevin a question, would he identify the British accent? Would the Texan exclaim his true identity for all to know? If so, he knew he would never have a moment's peace. He already had way too many fans than was healthy for a Chojin, and he was instantly reminded of Jeager's stalker. He shuddered.
Kevin looked around for the magazine Flash had brought with him, in hopes of hiding his face, but was again congratulated with the sadistic humor of Fate. Lord Flash must have been reading it before he fell asleep, and dropped it on the concrete below him. Which normally wouldn't have been a problem, but the magazine was now a dripping heap of mush that might have once been a magazine if it hadn't been dropped in a large seeping puddle of pool water. Kevin highly doubted that his day could get any worse.
Kevin cursed under his breath, and looked up at the nearing Texan. And then quickly cursed again as they made eye contact. He was wrong. It was worse.
As Terry neared the diving board, he could have sworn he had heard a voice mutter, "Shit." He looked at two beach chairs nearest him, and saw a young man with longish dirty-blonde hair. He was red in the face, and as soon as he saw Terry looking at him muttered, "Crap."
Terry's eyes widened, and he slowly asked, "What…did ya jus' call me?"
The man quickly turned even more red, and exclaimed, "I didn't call you anything! I was…uh, noticing my magazine. Or what's left of it…" The man looked pointedly at a mound of pulp between his and another sleeping man's beach chair.
Terry blinked at the "magazine". He walked over and squatted down near the pulp. Poking at it, he asked skeptically, "Ya sure this was a…" He poked the pulp a little harder. "…magazine?" He grimaced as his finger left a soggy imprint.
"Well, it was." The man on the chair said, frowning. He was staring determinedly at what was left over from the magazine, as if he didn't want to look into Terry's face.
"Don't ya wanna go swimmin'? It's gotta be over 100 degrees." Terry asked, remembering that Kid Muscle had used the same remark to get him to go into the water. Terry wasn't sure why, but he was interested in the young man in front of him. The other man looked at Terry. Terry noticed that his eyes were a golden-brown, an unusual color for most eyes. His hair was long, and he had some bangs, which were pushed away from his eyes, save for several stubborn strands. He was well muscled, and wore some black swimming trunks.
Terry's face flushed a bit as he noticed that he was glancing at the other man's trunks, and looked back into his face. "What's yer name?" He asked.
"What's yer name?"
Kevin cursed mentally. He cursed his father or mother, whoever it was that had named him, and instantly wished that he had a more common name. If he were named Bob; for example, then if he told Terry his name, the young Texan wouldn't question it in an instant. But with the British accent, the long hair, the muscles…if he said his real name, Terry would put two and two together, and realize to whom he was speaking to. 'Bob Mask' was sounding excellent right now.
"So, what's yer name?" Terry asked again, a bit louder this time, bringing Kevin out of his thoughts.
"…" Kevin stared at his beach chair with such intensity it was a wonder it didn't burn a hole straight through.
"Hmmm?" Terry asked, frowning.
Just then, there was a loud yawn, and a drowsy voice asked, "Comrade--er, Kevin? Where is my magazine?" Flash looked at Kevin who was staring daggers at him, to the confused Texan, whom he recognized as the wrestler Terry Kenyon, to a pile of some unknown substance that he feared was his magazine. Suddenly, it made some sense.