A refreshed Oliver came out of his bathroom, feeling way cleaner than he had done just over half an hour ago. Wearing baggy joggers (boxers underneath, of course) and a plain tee, he felt… well, normal. Not as if he was the son of a French aristocrat… but if Oliver's father saw him wearing these clothes- no, owning these clothes, it would be lecture city for the poor French boy.
He sighed, throwing his dirty clothes down the laundry chute before flopping on the bed, staring up at the four-poster bed canopy. Flicking over ideas of what to do for the remainder of the night, he heaved another sigh and got off his comfy bed, walking over and opening the double doors to the balcony. A cool, soft breeze played over his exposed skin and fluttered through his freshly-washed hair, and he smiled. Walking out, he leant on the far side of the smallish balcony and stared out at the city of Paris, its millions of lights from houses looking like a sea of stars. The Eiffel Tower stood proud, the lights up the sides glowing in the pitch darkness giving away its position as if it were day. This is what he lived for; the beauty of the Parisian life.
But he was pulled away from his thinking, when he heard his door slam and angry, Italian curses. Letting a 'Huh?' escape his lips, he stood fully and walked over to the doors, looking in; he smiled.
"Your room is down the hall, Enrique."
"I know that Oli, but the damn Scot has locked us in here." Enrique huffed, giving up on the door handle. "Oh well." He smirked. "Nice outfit. You'd certainly catch the ladies' eyes with that number."
Oliver lazily threw a pillow at the Italian before walking back out to the balcony. He heard Enrique follow.
"You know I'm not planning to catch girls' eyes, Enri." Oliver replied, looking out on the city; Enrique stood next to him, mimicking his leaning on the stone banister. "And I'd never go outside like this, anyway."
"But you are outside, Oli."
"Listen, if you want to sleep out here for the night, you're heading the right way." Oliver warned.
"What? You want me to catch pneumonia and die? Me?"
Oliver laughed. "Stop being such a drama king, Enri."
"Can't help it. I'm Italian, remember?"
Oliver smiled and shook his head sadly. The only sound that was heard from then on was the wind rustling through the tree below them.
"So… Sharing a bed, eh?"
"Don't get any ideas, Enrique."
"You know, when you make bets, you can't make those things happen." Robert said to the Scottish boy as Johnny entered the living room, looking smug. "It's a simple thing called cheating."
"Me? Cheat? I have not! I'm just… helping things along."
"Somehow I find that hard to believe… but do tell me something."
"Huh? What?"
"How did you know about 'Enrique's tickling mood'?"
"Oh…"
FlashbackA younger Robert and Johnny stood in a slightly busy town square; Johnny was twelve and Robert fourteen. They had known each other for just over a year now (but that didn't mean they got on like best buddies…). They were here, in France, to meet the French and Italian Champion. Reason: there was none.
Both boys had heard about the other two European champions through the media, one way or another, and had thought them good opponents (as you do when watching TV…).
"Hey, excuse me? Are you Robert and Johnny?" A voice asked behind them.
They both turned round to see a kid with green hair.
"Oh, yeah. Can we help you, miss?" Johnny asked.
The kid glared with purple eyes. "Who you calling 'miss'!"
"Wow, you're a guy?"
"I found that offensive."
"Sorry, it's just you do look like-"
"Johnny, shut up." Robert interrupted. He turned to the green haired boy. "Yes, that's us. And you are…"
"Oliver Polanski. French Champion." He frowned. "So you are Robert." He turned to Johnny, still glaring at the Scot. "And you are… Johnny."
"I said sorry for the 'miss' comment…" Johnny muttered under his breath.
"So now we have to wait for the Italian." Robert said to Oliver.
Oliver frowned once again and looked around him. "He was with me a second ago…" He caught sight of a group of almost-screaming girls. "Oh great…" He mumbled. He turned to Robert and Johnny. "One moment, please."
"Strange boy…" Johnny said as the two watched Oliver walk over to the group of girls and disappear within.
"Well, at least you know he's a boy now. You offended him with the 'miss' comment."
"I said sorry! But you have to admit, he does look a little girly…"
"That I will admit now, but you didn't have to go on about it."
"You're just covering up for yourself." Johnny shot back. "I bet if you had spoken first, you would've said the same thing."
"Quiet, he's coming back…" He paused, taking in the sight of Oliver dragging a blonde boy away from the girls by the ear. "With someone else."
"Do you think it's the Italian guy?"
"Most probably." Robert murmured as Oliver stopped in front of them, letting go of the blonde's ear.
"This is…" Oliver began, nudging the blonde in the ribs, who was rubbing his ear.
"That really hurt, Oli." He muttered; he obviously hadn't heard Oliver.
"I don't care. We were supposed to meet Robert and Johnny over ten minutes ago and we were late because of you and your infatuation over girls."
"Fine, I get your point." The blonde muttered. He turned to the two other boys. "Enrique Giancarlo. Italy." He said, still rubbing his ear.
"My name's Robert and this is Johnny." Robert said, with a small smile.
"Bastard boy…" Oliver muttered when Robert said Johnny's name.
"I said sorry!" Johnny literally yelled. "How many times do I have to say it? But seriously, you look a little girly…"
"May be you should get some glasses." Oliver retorted. "Because everyone else seems to realise I'm a boy, not a girl. Oh and get a hearing aid, because I do not sound like a girl. And while you're at it; go learn which names are boys' and which are girls' because 'Oliver' is certainly not a girls' name. Maybe from where you come from, but not in France."
"Alright, don't get your knickers in a twist!"
"Watch it, Salaud-garçon."
"Wait, hold up. Will you stop it with the 'bastard-boy'? Even in French it's annoying." Johnny said; Robert and Enrique just stood on the sidelines.
"Yeah, well, so are you, but I don't go around saying it."
"Okay then! Let's wrap this thing up!" Enrique intervened, stepping in between the French and Scot.
"I agree." Robert added. "Now, shall we…?"
"Fine." Oliver replied, following Robert.
"Why're you so anxious to get this over and done with?" Johnny asked Enrique.
"Well, I have a date with Bianca and Rosetta in an hour and I can't miss them!"
"Finally, you're back…" Johnny muttered as Enrique walked into the foyer of the hotel.
"What? That was only a nine hour date!" Enrique exclaimed, walking over.
"'Only'? Where'd you go anyway?" Johnny asked as they walked towards a hallway and down it.
"Nearly everywhere, I think. So where are Oli and Rob?"
"Don't call Robert that in front of him; he hates it."
"Oh, okay."
"But they're… wait… why should I tell you?"
"Because." Enrique replied.
"Because what?"
"Because Oliver's my friend and I always tell him about my dates and this won't be an exception, just because you're here."
"Not telling." Johnny smirked, but it faltered when Enrique smirked too. "What's with the smirk- ah! N-No! St-Stop! Ah, no t-that tick-ah st-stop! No!"
"Now tell me where Rob and Oli are!" Enrique said, still tickling the Scottish boy.
"T-Training Room! Ah-stop –ticklin me!" He sighed. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, shall we go meet Robert and Oli?"
End Flashback"No reason…" Johnny said, jolting back to the present. "I… just heard about it, that's all. From Oliver, I think."
"Oh, okay. But still, I'm not handing over that thousand Euro."
"What? Why?"
"Because you intervened."
"Oh fine. What about if you give me five hundred and we'll be square."
"Tomorrow, Johnny. They haven't actually slept yet."
"Yet…"
A/N- Gods, that flashback was fun to write… it inspires me to rite a one-shot about how the Majestics met fully (like Robert and Johnny and Oli and Enri)… any agreements?
Anywho, review! (and say if you think I should rite that one-shot!)