#*sophie

Fitz confidently leaned forward, wobbling the table the slightest bit. “I think this is the part where you resign, now.”

“No.” Sophie wished the clock would tick besides her. She missed any sort of noise instead of the empty library, but they agreed to play without the timeclock; thought it’d be less stressful that way. “I can still get out of this.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” He leaned back into the chair. “You have as much time as you need to prove me wrong, though.”

“No.” It was all Sophie could think. 

The world of 64 squares left Sophie deep in their thoughts, across from the stupid boy she never could quite escape. 

64 black and white squares, usually colorful with world-building and convoluted puzzles, silent.

She mindlessly touched the rook, trying to come up with anything. 

They had to retreat now.

Legally, there was no other move.

“No, what?” Fitz purposefully lingered his fingers above the knight, not quite touching it. “No, you can’t beat me? Because,” his knight took her last-resort pawn, “I think I’d agree.”

Sophie watched in awe as Fitz never took a second blink when he moved: he attacked again and again. Methodically.

As if a game written about centuries prior and memorized by every newbie.

His moves were perfect. Precise. 

She would have to retreat. Hapazeradlously and clumsy. 

They could escape, but only for a turn. Maybe two depending, on Fitz’s play.

But she had to try. 

She couldn’t be bested by this prodigy.

Sophie poured themselves a glass of water and fully pulled up her hair. She studied every angle of the board. 

Sitting back down, they huffed at Fitz. “I can get out of this.”

“I don’t think you can, love. But try. I have nothing but time.”

Sophie moved the rook, the stupid rook from earlier, trying to attack.

Fitz saw right through the play.

Four moves until mate.

And she couldn’t get out of it.

Fitz must have seen her demeanor change because they grinned, almost in a mock.

“Do you see it now? Or should we keep playing? Maybe you can- how did you phrase it- get out of it?” He winked.

Sophie got up. “Fuck you, Vacker.”

“We’re back to last names?”  There was hurt in his Sophie couldn’t place as ironic, fully. 

 They finally found the footing to be a bit sarcastic. “Thought we were past that?”

“Considering you asked me to this match using Fitz, ” He pulled the cat that always loomed in the lounge into his lap. “Yea?”

“Technically,” Sophie skimmed through her stuff, “I said Fitzroy, which is an objectively worse name.” 

She found a treat for Marty and managed to get him on her chair. She pet him and smiled innocently at Fitz. 

Putting away the final piece from the board, Fitz barely met her gaze. 

“Ok, Foster. You win. I’m not in the mood for a debate tonight, too.”

“Wait, Fitz-” Sophie reached across the table and tried to grab his hand. 

Their fingers brushed for a second and Fitz pulled away before Sophie fully noticed. 

“I’ll play you tomorrow at practice tomorrow, Foster.” 

“Fitz,” He looked pissed when they snapped around. 

Sophie retreated. “Ok. Tomorrow.”