A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!
A couple of years ago I wrote a series of Max/Mariam kisses for Valentine's, and I wanted to do something like that again. I decided on several separate oneshots, centered on different ships, for Valentine's Day and the days after. There will be six in total, each based off of a different kiss cliché or trope.
Up first is, predictably, Max and Mariam. :) We're visiting my Saint Shields in G-Rev AU again. (I wrote about it first in A Chance Encounter, but I wouldn't say it's required reading to follow what's going on here.)
A Kiss For Luck
Max could hear the crowd's excitement the whole way from the locker room. All around him there was a buzz of conversation, the sound of thousands of people moving, watching, and waiting. The noise only added to the anxiety coursing through his veins. He jiggled his knee up and down nervously.
"This is it, Draciel," he muttered, squeezing his beyblade so hard the attack ring threatened to cut into his palm.
Draciel's answer was a reassuring glow.
Max released a shaky breath. They were down two battles already – losing wasn't an option. If he lost, the entire sport of beyblading would be BEGA's to control, the Saint Shields would be forced to make a move for the Bladebreakers' bitbeasts again, and life as they knew it would never be the same.
He and his teammates and all of their friends had come too far to allow any of that to happen. He knew some of them doubted his style would hold up against Mystel's three hundred sixty degree barrage. He also knew that if he let that doubt take hold of him, there was no hope at all.
Max took a deep breath and ignored the way his stomach danced with nerves. He looked down at his beyblade. At the center of Kenny and Emily's power-packed brainchild, Draciel looked ready for a fight.
"There's a lot riding on this battle," Max said to him.
"You're telling me."
Max about jumped out of his skin. He disguised it by leaping to his feet. His sneakers squealed on the linoleum as he spun around, Draciel in hand and heart thundering, to face the last person he expected – and the first person he should have.
"Mariam!" He felt his cheeks heat up and shuffled his feet. "How did you—"
"Did you know these are drop ceilings?" Mariam interrupted, casually leaning against a row of lockers. "All that glitz and Boris won't even spring for some drywall." She rolled her eyes and Max stared.
"What are you doing here?"
"Isn't that obvious?" she asked, raising one eyebrow. She pushed off the lockers and took the long way around the bench, watching him with a calculating look. When she stopped in front of him, Max held his breath. "I'm here to make sure you don't choke and ruin this for all of us."
Something about that made Max's heart fall.
"You don't think I can win either." It was a struggle to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He could only assume the freshness of that wound being opened again was what made it sting more coming from her than anybody else.
Mariam snorted.
"If that's what I thought, I'd take Draciel from you right now to keep him from falling into the wrong hands."
"So…what then?" Max prompted when she didn't seem inclined to elaborate.
"Look, Max," Mariam said flippantly, "it was either me or Dunga, and Bricks-for-Brains is over the weight limit for sneaking through the ceiling. So you're stuck with me."
Max could think of worse people to be stuck with, even if her presence meant the Saint Shields were nearby and ready to act if things went south. He wished he'd spent more time grilling Mariam on her team's plans if that happened. He'd been too busy enjoying playing on the same side to think about what might happen if they weren't.
He wondered now. He wondered what their play would be if he lost. He wondered if Mariam was really as unconcerned as she let on and concluded that she wouldn't be here if she was. He wondered what advice the Saint Shields would give him about his style, he wondered if he'd take it, and he wondered how he'd ever face his teammates again if he disappointed them in the arena.
Snap!
Max flinched. The world came back into focus. Mariam's fingers were poised to snap in front of his face again if he needed it and she was eyeing him suspiciously.
"You always do this to me, Max," Mariam sighed, lowering her arm back to her side.
"Do what?"
"Space out," she answered bluntly. "I thought that pep-talk man-brunch with Rick got you out of your head."
"How did you know about that?"
"What did you decide about your battle?" she asked instead of answering.
"I think if you were really in the restaurant, you'd know," he shot back. He was sick of that question and everybody's opinion on the answer. He'd stayed back to center himself before the match, and he didn't want to waste that time questioning his decision all over again.
Mariam raised her eyebrows, surprised at his outburst. Max immediately felt guilty.
"Look, I'm sorry," he said and sank boneless onto the bench. "Rick's talk really did help. I know what I have to do." He'd been set to do it, too, until Kenny cautiously asked what his plan was and Hilary hurried everyone out into the sitting room to give Max a moment to himself before he could even answer. He was grateful at the time, but now he was doing too much thinking. "I just hope it's enough."
Mariam waved off his apology and crossed her arms over her chest. She studied him for a moment, drumming her fingers like she was debating how to reply.
"What does Draciel think?"
Max was taken aback by that question. He was sure the look on his face got his confusion across, because Mariam shrugged and continued.
"You tau—told me that your bitbeast is your friend."
Max smiled at her Freudian slip and the memory: Mariam's ponytail in the wind, Sharkrash a daunting sight behind her, and lots of splintered wood.
"I remember."
"Well from where I'm standing, it looks like he's the only friend who's going to be battling Mystel with you. You shouldn't worry about anyone's opinion but his." Mariam sat beside him on the bench, a challenge in her eyes. "Battle with him and prove your bond is as strong as you said back then. Show Boris and his cronies that there are some things a pro league can't put a price tag on."
"Mariam…"
Max stared at her, trying to read past the fierceness in her expression. He could hear voices from the sitting room now – probably his teammates arguing about whether or not to disturb him – and knew they were short on time. Mariam seemed to be on the same page, because she got up to leave just as Max made a grab for her hand.
He managed to snatch her around the wrist, her golden bracelets cool to the touch.
"Max," she warned and gave a gentle tug.
He didn't let go, heart thudding strangely loud in his ears.
"What do you think I should do?" Suddenly it was very important that he have her opinion. "So much hinges on this battle. I want to think Draciel and I are a match for Mystel, but…" He chewed his bottom lip and dropped his eyes to the bench. He followed the ridged metal in a straight line until it hit the fabric of Mariam's cloak, then trailed his gaze back up to meet hers. "I don't know what to do."
Mariam snorted.
"You know what to do," she retorted. "You're just afraid of what happens if it doesn't work."
Max nodded, ashamed to admit it.
He didn't realize he was looking at the ground again until Mariam tipped his chin up. The fluorescent lights didn't flatter her as much as the warm sunrise had when she'd revealed herself to him in Egypt, but they cast similar shadows.
If Max had been able to do more with her cryptic warnings back then, would he be the person the future of beyblading depended on now? Would Draciel's fate be tangled up in the outcome of his next battle?
"Do you trust him?"
Max knew who she was talking about. Draciel pulsed in his fist, ready for a fight.
"Yes." He nodded resolutely.
Mariam's response was to pull him to his feet. Max could hear the distant roar of the crowd again, a white noise backdrop as the rest of the locker room fell away in favor of Mariam's piercing gaze.
"Then trust yourself," she said. And before he realized what was happening, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were soft and her bangs carried the scent of a saltwater breeze as they brushed his face. Wide-eyed, Max could spy her earrings glittering through her hair as she muttered, close enough to give him goosebumps, "And stop overthinking."
As quickly as she was there, she was on the other side of the room again. Max hadn't even felt her pull away, too busy standing slack-jawed and confused.
"Mariam?"
"Good luck," she said, and disappeared behind the row of lockers.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Max could hear her climbing up and shuffling a ceiling tile back into place. When he lifted his hand to touch his cheek, he realized he still had one of her bracelets in his grasp. A few minutes later, when Tyson apologetically reappeared to tell him it was time to go, he had it safely stowed in his pocket, right next to Draciel.
A/N: Not pictured: the scene before this where the Saint Shields are wondering if Max can get out of his head long enough to win. Ozuma probably makes a serious speech about his mental state posing a threat during battle. Joseph cackles and says to "just have Mariam kiss him" to distract him. Mariam will not tell them she actually employed that strategy. Not her fault Max is full of Big Emotions she isn't qualified to deal with lol
Anyway, I enjoyed writing this. I get all the feels watching this episode of G-Rev. Ever since this AU came to my mind, I knew I'd need Mariam to throw the advice Max gave her in V-Force back in his face before his battle with Mystel. It only seems fitting.
As always, thanks for reading! :)