These are supposed to go during and just after Part 2 in the previous chapter but I couldn't include them there without really breaking up the flow, so here they are instead, lol.

INTERLUDE - running

The track field was empty at this time of day, which was just how he wanted it. He wanted to run. Run and not worry about dodging joggers or people getting their steps in or whatever. He was done with class for the day and had nothing to do til he met Smellerbee at the dining hall for dinner. And he had to get his equilibrium back before then. Coming out of the shower and finding her and her friend in the living room had been shocking enough for him, but it was beyond obvious how uncomfortable it had made her, and that was humiliating. He'd barely been able to focus in class, hoping that she wouldn't think he'd done it on purpose or anything.

He climbed up the bank to the raised track and dropped his bike and bag in the grass, leaving his sweatshirt as well. The day was warm and bright, the wind fresh and light, and he was already loose from biking over. Still, better warm up slowly.

The slap of his sneakers on the track was an old comfort, one worn deep and reassuring over the years of running, but his mind wouldn't settle into its usual steady state. He was normally able to sort through problems as he ran, pull them apart and put them back together in ways he could actually manage. But not this time. Part of it was that he wasn't sure there even was a solution to this problem: he liked Smellerbee. A lot. And Smellerbee didn't like him. Not in the same way, at least. She liked him as a friend, he was confident of that much, but nothing else. If she did like him as more, she wouldn't have looked away like a scandalized debutante when he came out of the bathroom.

He started to push himself faster, chasing the peace and stillness he could sometimes find when he ran fast enough. There had to be a solution to this.

The advice most often given to people suffering crushes was to tell the subject. He understood the theory behind this: catharsis of some sort would be gained either way, and there was sometimes the hope of reciprocity. But in this case there was no hope. Longshot had no illusions about himself. He was taciturn almost past parody, as Sneers had once told him. His decision not to drink made him stand out awkwardly at parties and other social events. He was altogether weird. Smellerbee, confident, sociable Smellerbee who made friends like breathing, had no end of options.

Faster, faster. His feet pounded the track now, trying to leave all his turmoil behind. His legs were starting to burn, but that's what he wanted. After the burning came the flying feeling, where maybe he'd be able to see this with fresh eyes.

He wasn't the only one who saw her appeal, he knew. Lots of people were drawn to her. She wasn't pretty in the sense that people meant when they said that word: she was wiry and skinny and her hair was a perpetual mess. She dressed like something that crawled out of the campus Free Bin when she wasn't in her waitressing blacks or boxing gear. No, her beauty was her fierceness and her smarts, her compassion and her wit. The energy and power she exuded made her a joy to watch, made him love looking at her as she talked or laughed or even just thought or listened.

He wasn't proud that he'd once punched a guy over her. But he'd heard him say "Smellerbee or something" and "stuck up bitch" and "fuck her anyway, hahaha" and this incredible anger had risen up in him and he's decided that just once, he would do it. Just that once. He was grateful that Jet never told her.

Almost there. He felt like he was racing the air itself, like if he went just a bit faster he'd become part of the wind. When the air rushed just right and his breathing hit a perfect rhythm he sometimes felt hollow, empty, free.

So yeah, he wanted a lot more than he would ever get. He wanted her to look at him and grin when he came into a room with no shirt on for whatever reason. He wanted her to show him all the places on campus where she'd ever kissed anyone, and let him kiss her so thoroughly she forgot those other people. He wanted her to want him back.

He knew none of that would ever happen, of course. And it wasn't that he was unhappy as her friend—he was thrilled to be her friend, honored that she liked him even that much. Meeting her had been like suddenly understanding an intensely complicated poem or math problem, or maybe like being the poem or problem that was suddenly understood. It felt trite to say she 'got him', but she did. And he treasured that. Her friendship was more than enough. Him wanting more was his own problem. The solution was to just deal with it.

Satisfied with this conclusion, he was somehow not surprised to round the corner of the track and find her sprawled out beside his bike, reading a book which she held aloft between her face and the sun. He slowed from his headlong sprint, and had brought himself down to a walk by the time he came abreast of her. She put her book down.

"You looked like you were trying to leave your own feet behind out there," she joked.

On top of pounding from exertion, his heart flipped. She'd been watching him? For how long? It couldn't have been more than one lap. But even that long…

She was looking at him quizzically. "You good?" He nodded, putting a hand to his chest to indicate he was just out of breath. She nodded and waved her book out along the track. "Walk it off, yeah. I'll be here."

I'll be here. The words sent a frisson of gladness through him, even though he knew they didn't mean what he wanted them to.

He set off on his walking lap, fingers laced into a basket on top of his head so that his elbows stuck out like goofy wings. His pulse steadied and slowed as he went, his muscles relaxed, and he reiterated again and again that friendship with Smellerbee was already an incredible gift. Even if she didn't want to see him shirtless, or kiss him or anything, she was there. She was there.

And that's what he put in his smile when he got back around the track to her: all his gratitude and gladness and simple pleasure at being with her. They went off to dinner together while she explained about the latest impenetrable book she was reading for Comparative Lit, and Longshot was happy. Happy enough that wanting more didn't matter.

INTERLUDE - boxing

The building was locked for the night—it was almost eleven, after all—but Smellerbee was a certified Student Coach and had a key. The old gym was silent and dark, but she didn't need a light to find her way to the boxing rooms. The new gym across campus was fancier and had more equipment and nicer showers, but she liked the old gym better. It smelled like the gym back home, and fewer people came here even during hours it was actually open.

She kicked off her shoes at the edge of the mat, dropped her bag, and stripped off her shirt so she was in her sports bra and pants. She'd been full of nervous energy all afternoon—since talking to Toph, why lie—and an unusually busy night at the restaurant hadn't helped matters. She forced herself to stretch slowly, carefully, then wrapped her hands and started on one of the small bags hung above the far wall.

Pah—pah—pah—

The rhythm of the strikes was soothing, and her irritation with stupid customers, her stupid manager, and the rest of the stupid waitstaff all sloughed away. Work was just work. Everyone had to survive capitalism somehow, and she didn't want to waste any more time thinking about it than she had to while she was actually there.

Pah—pah—pah—pah—

But without work to be annoyed at, there was nothing to stop her conversation with Toph from barrelling back into her brain, the things Toph had said, the things she had admitted…! She didn't even know Toph that well! What had gotten into her!? She'd never told anyone that she liked Longshot before, and Toph got it out of her just by asking once? To be fair, no one ever actually had asked before, but she liked to think her self-control would be better than that.

Pah-pah-pah-pah-pah

And what Toph had said about him… yeah, 'god-tier abs' wasn't wrong. Being on the track team meant he had to keep in shape, and there was no use denying she liked watching him run. And she'd seen him without his shirt on before—it just happened sometimes as a result of living with guys—but it was different when he was just getting out of the shower. The implication that he'd been fully naked mere moments before had momentarily overwhelmed her and she'd immediately cursed herself for being obvious enough that Toph caught on. Had he noticed? Oh god…

Pah-pah-pah-pah-pah-pah-pah

But Toph had also said he wasn't out of her league. That was just… well, it wasn't about leagues! It was about him being Longshot and her being Smellerbee! He was cool, and smart, and older than her, and yeah, super hot. And yeah, being on the track team meant he was more popular than her. She'd seen lots of girls talk to him, lots of popular, pretty, smart girls, the sorts of girls Jet liked to date. The fact that he didn't really talk back to them was just him, it had nothing to do with whether he was interested or not. She didn't know what it would look like if he was interested.

Pahpahpahpahpahpahpahpahpahpahpah

And what was she supposed to do now anyway? Toph didn't seem like the type to spread anything around, but Smellerbee had never felt this way for anyone before, not even guys she'd dated. She'd never caught feelings for a friend. She didn't know the rules or whatever. Did admitting it to one person mean she had to admit it to other people now? To him?

Pahpahpah-swoof-SMACK "Ow! Fuck…" She'd lost her rhythm and the bag swung funny and really nailed her forearm. She rubbed the spot, breathing hard and still agitated. Normally working out helped her calm down, but it wasn't happening tonight. She swept her hands up over her sweaty hair and stared up at the ceiling. Thinking about admitting her feelings to Longshot made her stomach heave and twist, which probably meant it was a bad idea.

Yeah, in fact, thinking about any of this was a bad idea. She grabbed her stuff and showered quickly, filling her thoughts with mundane homework crap like her Comparative Lit paper, or her Econ reading, or her Civics project with Toph—Toph knew she liked Longshot—Longshot coming out of the shower in just a towel with water dripping down his chest and—no!

The brisk night air was welcome, and the ten minute walk home did help her get her head on straight. The apartment was silent when she got there, to her endless relief. She successfully ignored the bathroom, but when she turned the corner to the row of bedrooms—Jet was snoring in his, then came hers, then Longshot's—the door of Longshot's room was open and a dim light spilled out. That was weird. He was normally asleep before she got home. But even as she stood there wondering what to do, the light clicked off. Had he been… waiting for her to get home?

No. No, definitely not. He must have been up late doing homework, and just happened to finish it as soon as she got to her bedroom door. That was all. That was all…

A/N

Longshot is too good of a bean to ever girlfriend-zone Smellerbee.

Next, back to Toph for the post-party epilogue!

E.I. signing out