"Hey, can I ask you a question?"

From his crouch beside the fire, Kenny— the recipient of this inquiry— turned slightly, mild curiosity etched upon his face. He blinked twice in succession (or at least he seemed to, it was hard to tell with bangs covering half his face), cocked his head, and lowered the screwdriver that he'd been holding.

"Shoot," he then encouraged, smiling slightly at the only female companion. It wasn't often that the two of them spent time alone together; Tyson was unquestionably the glue in their relationship. It was nice that she seemed interested in strengthening their bond through communication.

Hilary, who had been watching Chief work with a deadpan expression on her face—chin in one hand, other on her knees— leaned forward on the tree trunk she was using as a bench, eyes narrowed the smallest of margins. It was a contemplative, irate, and all-together soul-piercing sort of stare.

And in that instant, the previously optimistic Kenny knew he was in hot water.

…or maybe he just felt that way due to his proximity to the campfire. He hoped that was the case; he couldn't think of anything he'd done in recent history to offend the irascible brunette.

"Why is it," Hilary drawled, interrupting Kenny's mental musings with her flat voice and half-lidded eyes, "that you fawn over every woman alive except me?"

This time, Kenny really did blink.

"…excuse me?" he choked, only just managing to keep from whirling around and setting himself on fire. Good thing he didn't; the team manager seemed in no mood to save him from a flaming death.

"You heard me," Hilary grumbled, though her pale cheeks did turn just the slightest shade of pink this time. It was nice to know she had some shame. "All of the air hostesses, or waitresses, all of the random female Beybladers we've come across… I have seen you go gaga over them…but for all of that, you've never once… made a pass at me."

As her voice trailed off, she ducked her head to the left, glaring pointedly towards the ground.

Kenny was at a loss. How exactly was he supposed to dignify a response to this? I'm sorry? I was sure I had? Maybe turn it into some sort of compliment about how her beauty made him temporarily (if 4 years could be called 'temporarily') blind? He didn't really want to say any of those things—and he was relatively sure they weren't what she wanted to hear, either. After all, never once had Hilary shown even the slightest bit of romantic interest in him; it didn't make sense that she'd randomly bring it up now. Unless maybe she'd mistaken the cooking sherry for water again…? Subtly, he eyed the ingredients he'd stashed in her bag.

No, the bottle was still full.

"Uh…" Kenny hesitated, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head as he tried to stall for time—and strategize for whatever sort of battle this response would result in: "Did you… did you want me to?"

Instantaneously, the 18-year-old's face exploded with color. "No!" she snapped, and sounded as if she might be close to retching. Kenny wasn't sure whether to be insulted or relieved.

He decided on relieved.

"Then why are you asking?" he inquired, voice more casual as he returned to his work. It was both a ploy to keep his hands busy, and an excuse to turn his head away from her. He was still afraid he might blush. Or cry. Relieved he might be, but that response had still smacked his fragile male ego up a bit. Like I don't get rejected enough.

"Well, I…" If Kenny had been nervous before, it was nothing to the way Hilary sounded now. She floundered for a full minute, frustrated undertones evident in her voice. "It's just, you get flustered around all of the pretty girls, right…?"

"Yes."

"And you've never hit on me."

"Yes…?"

"So," Hilary muttered, sounding more irritated than embarrassed, "does that mean… I'm not… you know…

…pretty?"

In Kenny's head, it all clicked in an instant. And—as if to entice Hilary into flying into a self-conscious rage—he allowed himself a tiny little grin.

She jumped to her feet with a soft scream. "Are you laughing?! Of course, you're laughing. You better not be laughing, Kenny, or I swear I'll—!"

"This is about Tyson, isn't it?"

It was as if he'd pricked her with a needle. Within milliseconds, her already rosy cheeks were burning as brightly; she sank back into her seat like a deflated balloon. Tending to her work of polishing the blades, she released a deep, morose sigh.

"Is it that obvious…?" she whimpered, resisting the urge to message her temples.

This time, Kenny really did laugh, albeit gently. "Maybe just a little. But only because we've known each other for so long."

Okay, so that was lie. Any conscious being (and, perhaps, a few of the more 'aware' unconscious coma victims) could see how Hilary felt for Tyson. But he figured rubbing the truth in her face wouldn't help any; besides, what she was really worried about was Tyson finding out, and there was no chance of that. The boy had the tendency to be as oblivious as rocks when it came to any sort of human interaction.

Hilary exhaled noisily again, mood graying once more. "I dunno," she mumbled, more to herself than to Kenny. "I guess I just… after all of this time… I thought, you know… something should have happened. But nothing has. And since he's never shown interest in other girls before, I thought maybe it was just… me."

It was Kenny's turn to sigh, though it sounded strangely compassionate, rather than exasperated. "That's silly," he then verbalized, dismantling Max's beyblade. "How many male Beybladers have we run across who've hit on you?"

"What? Well, I don't know. But they weren't—"

"How many times have you seen Tyson fly into a jealous rage?"

"I wouldn't say rage…"

"Hilary, you know Tyson. When it comes to anything involving hormones, his mental processes are about as rapid as a sloth."

She couldn't help but crack a smile at that.

"Look," Kenny continued, pushing himself away from the fire only to immediately flop down next to Hilary, elbows resting on her log bench. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll let you in on a bit of a secret."

She'd never had much of a poker face. Interest glistened in the eyes that had moments ago been close to tears.

"As you well know after all of this time," Kenny said solemnly, toying still with his long screwdriver that Hilary was moving away from, "I am first and foremost a gentleman." (He pointedly ignored her snort of amusement.) "If a pretty girl is in need of any sort of service at all, I'm her man. I've never been one to hold in well-deserved compliments, either. Some may see me as bold, or pushy or—"

"Perverted?"

Kenny shot her a bland glare, but pressed on all the same. "Yet I feel a girl should know exactly what a man thinks about her. And yes, I may be a little… clingy, at times, but I do know when to stop. And I know when not to start."

Curious, Hilary tilted her head in Kenny's direction, face pinched in confusion.

"You know," Kenny said conversationally, pointedly ignoring her baffled expression, "I thought you were really cute."

"You— you did?" Her expression momentarily brightened, but the jubilant air quickly became one of suspicion. "You better not be lying to make me feel better."

"Hilary, I don't know if you've had a chance to look in a mirror lately, but you've got an incredible body that you've chosen to cover with a belly shirt and short-shorts. I'm surprised when other men don't think you're hot."

He paused when the girl flushed a delighted shade of magenta. "Actually, when they don't is when I start to worry about— uh, anyway. The point is, I was gonna hit on you—don't look at me like that, I really was!"

Hilary seemed less than impressed by this excuse. "…so?"

Kenny arched an eyebrow. "Well, we ever really had a girl in our squad, and in the beginning, most squads were a little co-genders, it just really made me envious. But having you with us made a huge load drop off us. And since you two didn't the air of a brother and sister, or even close friends, I figured… well, you can figure out what I figured, right?"

She didn't speak, but her face clearly told him that yes, she could figure out what he'd figured.

"And by the time I'd joined you two and discovered the truth, it was obvious to me that even though nothing was going on between you, you both wished that there was," Kenny concluded coolly, twirling his driver rather like a baton. "Like I said, a gentleman. And a gentleman would never dream of offending friends by flirting with a girl who's clearly not interested or by trying to stake a claim on what plainly belongs to another man."

He flinched, wary of the two thin fingers now gently pinching his earlobe. "Er," Kenny backpedalled, laughing nervously, "not that you belong to another man. You know what I mean."

The painful hold vanished. And, to Kenny's surprise, it was replaced by a swift peck on the cheek.

"Huh?" He faltered, face heating a bit as Hilary pulled away, beaming. "What was that for?"

"For being such a gentleman," the young woman answered with a smile, her ruby eyes warm. She patted his head affectionately, her expression more than enough to show Kenny how quickly the storm of her emotions had passed. Women. "I'm surprised you haven't had more girlfriends. You always seem to know just what to say."

Kenny only just managed to keep from a face-fault. "You, on the other hand, don't. Thanks for rubbing that in."

But Hilary only laughed, rumpling his hair with a shake of her hand. "Oh, don't worry. You'll find her someday, I know it. Good luck, though."

"You too," he grinned, offering a pair of flashed fingers in the traditional v-shape. "You'll need it to crack through that thick skull of his."

"Yeah… hey, Kenny?"

"Hm?"

"You think maybe the short-shorts are too much?"

"Definitely not." But strangely, the words he spoke seemed just the slightest bit gargled, as if spoken around a smidgen of drool.

"…on second thought, maybe I won't take your advice on that one."