#rhaugust

“Aw, come on! I totally had that!” Rhys yelled when August shot down the bottle on their makeshift shooting range.

It was a slow day, not much to do for either of them, so they decided to just hang out until Fiona would come to them with another crazy mission. August thought that target practice was the best way to kill time and Rhys couldn’t come up with a better idea, so he went along with it. He really didn’t think August would make a competition out of it though and simply gawked at the Pandoran when he shot down five targets in a row before reloading his pistol.

“Are you sure, Ten Mil?” August teased him, even using the forbidden nickname. It made Rhys’ blood boil and he glared at the other.

“At least give me a chance, man.” He sounded exasperated and August sneered.

“Shouldn’t be so slow, Rhys. What if those targets were bandits who wanted to attack you, huh? They can pull the trigger faster than you,” August mused and Rhys frowned before his lips twitched into a smirk.

“Not as long as you’re there to protect me,” Rhys offered in a vaguely flirty tone and August raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not the time,” he said and cleared his throat before walking over to set up more bottles and cans.

“Okay, your turn now,” he exclaimed before leaning against the wall to watch Rhys try and shoot some targets.

It went… poorly. Rhys didn’t calculate the recoil of his gun, the handle almost taking his eye out. He lost his balance from the impact and fell - right onto the crate they had set down as a marker, hitting his nose in the process. August couldn’t stop himself from laughing while walking over to where Rhys landed on the ground.

“You alright there, buddy?” He asked, still snorting. Rhys didn’t look too well and mumbled gibberish for a moment. August grew a little concerned, thinking that this might be it, this time he really got a concussion or even permanent brain damage.

“Don’t laugh at me.”

Ah, there it was. August sighed.