Hey! So it's getting to be essay/exam season for me so this might be the last thing I get up before Christmas? Just a heads up-Sorry! Also if you have prompt ideas you'd like to see me do, do let me know! :)

That One Time

She Tried Something New (and Regretted it)

"Ah, c'mon, come with me. As mah best friend, I'ahm askin yah to come with."

"Rogue. I don't do exercise. Not all super intense like that—I'm lucky if I walk to class instead of take the bus."

"It'll be—"

"Don't you dare say it'll be fun—" Kitty said, cutting off her roommate, lifting a brow as she looked up from her magazine to see Rogue - of all people - decked out in work out gear. She had definitely lost it. "—'cuz you and I both know it won't be." Returning her attention back to the 'Who wore it best?' photos before her, she added, "Besides, you're only going 'cuz Scott's gonna be there. And while I respect your right to crush on him, I don't wanna be there while you make heart eyes at him for two hours."

Rolling her eyes, her roommate snapped, "Ah won't. Ah have some self-respect."

"Why don't I believe that?" she asked with a cursory glance up, missing the fierce glare her roommate directed her way.

"C'mon Kit. Ah can't go alone to this thing. Plus, ita'll look good ahn your resumé—Ah thought you said yah needed to fahnd something now that you won't be getting ahny senior positions in the Wahldlife Club." Kitty paused—it was true she'd completely blown the prospects for vice prez last week with her undignified blow up and her resumé could use something like this, something to prove she was well-rounded and worked well on a team.

"Yah know ah'll make it up to you."

Kitty perked up in spite of herself—and it was then that they both knew she'd lost. "You know this is gonna cost you, like, at least three cups of coffee. Four if I vom everywhere."

Waving a hand—dismissive—she said, "Ah'll rahght. Now get dressed—practice stahrts in twenty minutes."

( She should've known three coffees—even the ones from Roughhouse—was going easy on her roommate. )

He nearly choked on the breath he'd just taken when he heard the strangled—horrified—"No," from behind him.

Now this reaction wasn't entirely new to him—when you got around like he did, there was always bound to be some collateral damage. No, what threw him was the fact that it was that hippie chick from last week—the one who'd nearly assaulted him into taking a flyer before chewing him out for throwing it away and helping her. She was bat-shit insane...and now she was here in his domain.

Part of him wished she was there just to sit in the stands and look pretty cheering on someone else...but her—pink—sportswear—which he couldn't even enjoy given the pit of dread that'd settled in his stomach, like lead—said otherwise. After a moment, her features resumed into a scowl and she asked, "What're you doing here?"

Cue the bored eye roll he'd all but perfected. "Don't tell me you can't put it together?"

"You're such a jerk. I can't believe you're trying out."

At that he couldn't help but scoff. "I don't have to try out. I'm a shoe-in. I only dropped by 'cuz coach made it mandatory."

She clenched her jaw, hands balling into fists and, in spite of himself—and how fucking off the wall she was, jesus christ—he found himself smirking, a languid, smile that stretched slowly along his features. (What made it even better was the fact that he could practically see the smoke coming from her ears. ) "I can't wait until practice starts. I hope you make a total ass outta yourself."

His self-assured smirk only grew, like he knew some secret that she wasn't privy to—and wasn't that the truth?

"What's that look for?" But before he could come up with a snippy comeback, the coach was calling them all over, outlining the expectations and the try out process. He zoned out for most of it—he did this all last year, and four years before that in high school—waiting until the moment they were called to the track. That was where he came alive and he found his rhythm, leaving behind all of his problems in a cloud of freaking dust, free...

He might've felt free...but she couldn't feel more out of place.

Running was already not her thing and, so—of course—it wasn't him that made an ass out of himself, but her. She'd totally—obviously—slipped on the track, her brand new pink shorts splattered in mud, knees torn and bleeding while she choked on dirt and sand. Honestly, she was lucky not to sprain an ankle. Rogue, thankfully, was there to help her up—mostly because she wasn't much of a runner either. Not like the Jerk Extraordinaire and Mr. Decathlon heading the pack. Guys.

But the worst part wasn't the humiliating fall or coming in behind half of the others or even the way her lungs burned and she completed the run gasping for air while he was still—infuriatingly—together. Beads of sweat had gathered along his brow, sure, but he wasn't desperately heaving for air and, instead, had settled into a comfortable post-run stretching routine looking like a professional.

No, that she could handle.

The worst thing was finding out he'd come in first. That he was the best runner in the state—by far.

Was there ever going to be a day where she wasn't forced to eat her own words?

Stupid jerk.

Not really sure what this is? But in evo, Kitty was shown trying out for the JV track team (in Growing Pains) and I thought track and field could be an interesting nod to bring Pietro's power? So that's what happened here...

Sorry it took me so long-leave a review if you have the time and/or are so inclined!

~prettypryde