I was wondering if i could get a tooth-rooting romantic fluff of Susie x Adiris (my thought process was "i like to play as Legion and i like to play as Plague, so thats good enough reason to ship them")
Hi, I am so far! Hope you are too ^^ That's essentially how I come up with ships too lmao, if I even vaguely like two characters I will put them together no questions :P canon shmanon! Pretend Adiris has her own realm for this one :')
Untitled Adiris x Susie Fluff
581 words
More than any other killer, Susie likes to stand behind the tall brick barricades and watch trials from as close up as she can get. While the Legion's power may be limited, she's learned so much by watching the others turn the trial grounds into a bloodbath, the riveting nature of a successful ending always leaving her excited for her next round. Lately, she's had an eye for the High Priestess, Adiris, and her fixation grows more and more with every trial.
Adiris couldn't be less like Susie with her elegance in the way she walks with such poise and carries her censer so carefully through the air. She's a lady, unlike the Legion girl, who's quick and clumsy at times with little regard for manners. And despite how protective the Legion is of her, Susie doesn't think twice about sneaking off to the little piece of Babylon that the Entity kept for Adiris. No one visits her. Susie is glad that she'll be alone.
When she walks through the gates, the Temple of Purgation towers over Susie up close for the first time. She's only ever seen it from above; it's much more intimidating from where she stands now in its arid homeland. The sun shines down harshly on her until she steps inside, where Adiris is waiting for her. Word gets around when the Plague has visitors, especially ones who creep on her work.
But she doesn't mind Susie's presence in the slightest; she welcomes it with a smile and open arms for her to run into. Susie is lifted into Adiris' embrace, the censer surrounding them in fragrant smoke. The Legion girl can't help but giggle as she holds Adiris tightly and slides her mask off with her other hand.
Susie plants a kiss on the other killer's cheek before her feet touch the ground again, and she holds onto Adiris' arm with her whole body. She's led to the temple's big courtyard in the back where they sit on the edge of a fountain, and Adiris puts her censer down to push Susie's hair out of her face. "I'm glad you came to me," she says. "You're beautiful in the sunlight."
"Not like you," Susie tells her. "You're meant for the sun." She brings a hand up to Adiris' face, admiring the shadows of the dangling jewels of her headdress and the way the light dances through them over her skin. Susie's thumb slides over her lips before she presses a kiss onto them, a smile forming the moment they connect.
"It loves you just as much as I do." At this, Susie blushes and kisses her again, eager to return the sentiment even though she's too shy to speak. Adiris wraps her arms around Susie, combing through her long hair with her golden nails and admiring her in the light, wishing she still glowed the same way like she did before she fell ill. She's happy that Susie loves her anyway. It makes her feel like she does glow.
They spend as long a time together as they can before Adiris is reminded that she has a trial soon, and Susie leaves one of her pins for her that she clips onto the front of her dress. "I'll see you again, my love," the Plague tells her, and she skips off with a golden ring off of the Plague's finger. She wears it under the sleeve of her sweater, their secret safe under its thick fabric.
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Two weeks had passed since Max stepped foot in Arcadia Bay again, but every day, when Max wakes up to the gentle morning sounds of a small town as opposed to the constant low rumble of Seattle she'd grown used to, it still feels incredibly foreign.
It's strange -- she grew up here, spent most of her life here, but it feels like a that was a different lifetime.
There are places in this town that are etched forever in her memory, but she hasn't had the heart to visit them yet. Her memories are, of course, what drew her here in the first place (she can go ahead and tell herself a million times it was Blackwell's photography program, but she'll always know in her heart that that was little more than an excuse), but at the same time, she's... scared of them, in a way. She's scared of tarnishing a good thing, and most importantly, of having to face her biggest mistake: not having kept in contact with her best friend.
It's like a game of tug of war -- at the same time that she's terrified, she feels something like an otherworldly call to just do it.
She's been playing that game for two weeks, and today, the side of her that wants to be done with it wins.
She packs up her camera and tells herself another little lie: that she's headed up to the lighthouse to take some nice shots she can show off once classes start for real. She tries not to linger on the thought, on the hope that maybe Chloe will be there, waiting for her at the spot they said they could always find each other at in another life, but it remains in the back of her head no matter how hard she tries to push it away.
It's a stupid wish, anyway. It's been five years and she doesn't even know if Chloe still lives here, let alone that she remembers or cares enough to be there.
On the hike up, it's not too hard to focus on other stuff -- the view is as beautiful as her memories would have her believe and late Summer means the wildlife is out and about. She can hear rustling coming from a little deeper in the woods and is about to investigate, when something bright blue in her peripheral vision steals her attention away.
She turns her head to look and sees that it's a butterfly -- a blue butterfly, bluer than any other she's ever seen before.
Entranced, Max starts walking towards it, camera in hand. The little critter doesn't seem phased by her presence at all -- it just goes about its life as normal, making a graceful landing on a yellow flower that contrasts beautifully with the color of its wings.
One Sony World Photography Award, coming right up, she thinks to herself as she snaps a picture.
Alex rocked slowly back and forth. Somewhere in their mind, they knew it wasnât real, that it wasnât happening. But the screams kept coming back, and the phantom smell of blood was getting stronger.
âAlex?â Hayden pushed open the door to see them a bit more. âYou alright there?â
They couldnât manage more than a whimper and a shake of their head. Hayden bit aer lip, staring at them. After a momentâs hesitation, ae came closer, crouching next to Alex.
âStill there, darling?â Alex never paid any attention to aer use of nicknames before then, maybe just a passing thought, but they latched onto it, searching for some familiarity. They took a shuddering breath before nodding, still rocking. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
Hayden gently touched the part of their hoodie which they were chewing on. âWant to take this out?â
Alex fervently shook their head. âNo,â they said, muffled by the clothe, âplease.â
Hayden sighed before scooting closer. Ashton would be way better at this than aer. So would Kathie. Ae only knew Alex for a short time, and ae was uncomfortably aware of that fact right then.
Still, ae wrapped an arm around Alex firmly. Ae remembered that they didnât like light touches and hoped that aer arm was heavy enough. Hayden rocked with them, making quiet comforting sounds at times.
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A new oc,,, his name is Manuel de la Fuente and itâd be lovely if you asked him questions so I could develop him!
What I have so far
-Afro-Latinx from the Dominican Republic
-âShut up fives, a ten is speaking.â
-Femme clothing(??)
-Dorian Pavus-esque: Flamboyant, takes shit from no one, smart and willingly will call you out/one up you
-His apartment is like a pit stop for ghosts/spirits, they just happen to drift to that spot
-itâs convenient tho bc he gets his magic from the spirit world/spirits/ghosts/etc.
-Panromantic, but he feels brief sexual attraction but it just,, fades?? And then it comes back depending on who heâs in a relationship with
-Open to poly relationships ;^>
-Burns from magic shit (some on his arms, chest, etc.)
It was obvious from across the room, the bloody red drawing schematics across the page. What the critiques were didn't matter, the sheer quantity was enough to make the point. There was barely enough room left to scrawl the circled F that made it official.
Am I disappointed? Sure, but not surprised. A whole semester of tutoring and practice had already told me that this test wasn't going to go well for me no matter how many hours I spent in the lab, writing and rewriting, correcting and recorrecting the incorrect corrections. I had grafted my final draft with surgical precision, using only the allotted vocabulary terms and making sure never, ever to end my sentences on a preposition. Or run-on. Or get too choppy. Emotive, but not irrational. Logical, but not scientific. This was a creative project, after all, you were supposed to express yourself.
Maybe I could have written more drafts. Asked for more pre-emptive critique to offset the inadequacy of my themes. But I'd forgotten how many drafts I had already turned in, and I thought--nay, I really truly childishly hoped--that this would be the perfect one. The ultimate draft. All my darlings had been killed, all my clauses were complete, and my bibliography was triple-checked by the librarians. Some of them suggested some rewrites, but I told them they didn't understand the rubric for my class. Their sweet brows furrowed, but otherwise they kept their characteristic peace. They didn't know I had already tried submitting drafts with those sections, and they'd been struck through piece by piece until they were cut down to a few footnotes.
But whatever. I tried my hardest, but eventually I had to turn something in. I had as much time to write as I wanted, but eventually I had to decide which would be my final attempt.
Honestly I didn't even really like it. I mean, I wrote it, so I like it, but the pieces I used to be proud of felt weirdly scrunched in between whole sections that might have been able to be held up in court as forensically "no match" against my own writing voice. I thought that made it better, though, because that's supposed to be the point of a grade on a paper. To meet someone else's standards by changing your voice to fit them.
I thought failing the class would ruin my life, when I first noticed my grades failing. But now that I'm actually reading my critiques, free from the pressure of conforming to them, they're all so... Pointless. Circular. Redundant. Created, as far as I can tell, solely to see how much ink a piece of 8.5"x11" can absorb.
None of the other people in this classroom with me seem to have had their work subjected to the same challenge, so I asked around. They told me--get this--they aren't getting graded! They just like when the guy grading me reads their work. The only other person with red on their submission says it's because there's no one else telling them how to write, so it's the only way they learned how.
So clearly an F in this class, if I was even in a class to begin with and not a writing club where I accidentally only submitted to the person sitting in the front of the room, is obviously not that big of a deal. It definitely isn't going to ruin my job prospects or anything like that.
But I was going through old drafts, trying to figure out if there was ever a way to outwit the system I had unwittingly been subjected to and getting a passing grade, let alone an A, and I found some of the drafts that I had never submitted at all. Some were messy, almost illegible things, but others made me smile in a way my final draft had made my grimace. Instead of skimming through stricken paragraphs, I swam through pages of analysis and theory I had forgotten had ever been in the draft. Now, having reread them, I have new ideas! And old ideas, that I could make new.
So I'm going to write my next draft, and then maybe I'll shop around for a publisher. Or maybe I'll self-publish. But I've been sharing around my newer work, and my older work, with some other people. People whose criticisms and praise I had never registered before in my drive to meet the unknowable rubric of my... What even was it, then? Was I pranked? Had I signed something that told me I was the only person who had to pass and forgotten? Did my ruthless reviewer and simultaneous creative confidant just hate me that much? Who cares. It's not the point. The point is, these other voices, and my own voice, are finally coming through. For the first time, I
[Insert uplifting ending paragraph here when I have one to write]
James woke up in his bedroom. The clock read 9:06 am. It was a Wednesday, but his school had off for in service. He brought his attention to the CD mix Michael had made him. He had given it to him before he left his house yesterday and he had yet to listen to it.
He placed the CD in his player and plugged in his headphones. He sat on his bed, still in his pjâs. He couldnât stop thinking about Michael. This boy had made a permanent stay in Jamesâs mind. He was kind and caring. He listened when James spoke, instead of brushing him off like everyone else does. He had given James his hoodie, which he still wore. It smelled of him, cigarettes and weed and paint. He hadnât taken it off, finding he felt odd when he did. He was obsessed with this boy.Â
He took a breath before pressing play. âI Want to Know What Love Isâ by Foreigner began playing.Â
Oh, god. Why did Michael put a love song on his mix. James sat and listened, his mouth slightly agape.Â
âŚI wanna know what love is, I want you to show meâŚ
James couldnât do this. He fell backwards back onto his pillow, covering his beet red face with his hands.
âŚI wanna feel what love is, I know you can show meâŚ
Why did Michael put this on here. There had to be a reason, he made it the first song for a reason.Â
A thought entered Jamesâs mind and danced around his brain as the song continued to play.Â
He imagined Michael. He imagined hugging him, kissing him, holding his hand. Dancing with him, playing with his hair, cuddling him. He thought about how his bare skin would feel on his, about how his hands would feel holding his waist. He wondered what he felt like, what he tasted like. His face heated up.Â
James shut the CD player off, the song stopped. His heart was racing. He slowly sat up and curled his knees into his chest. Why was he thinking this way? He never had thought that way about anyone. He knew it was normal, his mother had given him that talk ages ago. He was more confused as to why he was feeling this way about Michael. He had just met him, was he that desperate for attention? That desperate for validation?Â
That was enough thinking for this morning. He hopped out of bed and shuffled downstairs. He opened his fridge but just stared at it. He still thought about Michael. About him hugging James from behind and how Michaelâs head would rest perfectly on his shoulder. About how he would hum a love song and sway James back and forth until they were both slow dancing in the kitchen.Â
James shut the fridge door. Okay, so no fridge.
He flopped himself down on the couch and flicked on the TV. It was another rerun of Full House. He watched, and just his luck, it was the episode where Jesse and Becky fall in love. He watched the screen as the characters hugged and kissed and you guessed it, he thought about Michael. He groaned and shut the TV off. Everything reminded him of this stupid, arrogant, cute boy. Frustrated, he shoved his Converse on and exited his house. He needed some fresh air.Â
He shoved his hands in Michaelâs hoodie pockets as he walked around his neighborhood. He breathed in the scent of the hoodie, the weed smell almost suffocating.
He brought his CD player out of his pocket. It still had his mix in it. James pressed play, hoping that the change of setting would ward off the thoughts he was having. âI Want to Know What Love Isâ resumed, and James skipped it. âTrue Colorsâ By Cyndi Lauper began playing. This one was okay.Â
He thought about how Michael had sung this song when he made him his sandwich yesterday. His voice wasnât perfect in any sense, but James swore he could listen to it on repeat.Â
He shook his head as if to shake the thoughts away. There was no denying he had a crush on this boy, but to be thinking about him this frequently was embarrassing. He continued his walk, trying to keep Michael off his mind. He arrived back at his house to see his mother making breakfast.
âHey James! Where were you?â She asked.
âJust on a walk.â James brought his headphones around his neck and sat down at the breakfast bar.
âWhereâd that hoodie come from?â She asked. So many questions.
âSomebody at school. A friend.â James said.
âOoooh, a friend?â She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.Â
âMooom,â James whined. His face went red as he put his head down on the table. How did momâs always know?Â
âIâm just kidding.â She ruffled his hair. âSo you made a friend?â
âWell donât sound surprised.â James said after picking his head up. âBut yes, I did. His name is Michael.â
âThatâs amazing!â She smiled.
âYeah, he pierced my ear.â James said. He tucked his hair behind his ears to show his mother.
âOh, right! I was supposed to take you to get that.â She snapped her fingers.Â
âItâs okay.â James said sympathetically.
âUgh. Well it looks amazing sweetheart.â She said, turning back to the stove.Â
âThanks mom.â James said.Â
He watched as his mother made breakfast. It was scrambled eggs and bacon. James was hardly thinking about breakfast though, as he found his mind wandering again. He thought about Michael's hair and how it bounced when he walked. He thought about how he would always use his arms when he spoke and how he was always smiling. He thought about how his cigarettes look in between his lips, and how James found it oddly attractive when he'd exhale puffs of smoke.
"Hello, Earth to James." His mother interrupted, waving her hand in front of his face.Â
"Sorry, zoned out there." James laughed softly.
"No kidding. Here's breakfast." She placed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. James thanked her and ate slowly. He glanced at the clock. 11:30am.
Maybe if he visited him. Maybe if he just hung out with him he'd lose this crush on him. Yeah, if he just goes over there and hangs out with him maybe he'd forget all this stupid crush stuff.Â
"I might go over to Michael's later." James said.Â
Jamesâs mother laughed. "Rad indeed." She said, pretending to mock her son.Â
James finished his meal and went upstairs to get changed. He figured it'd be weird to show up in Michael's hoodie, so he threw on an orange hoodie. He matched it with acid washed jeans and gray striped socks. He put his Converse on once he got downstairs and waved his mother goodbye.Â
James began walking to Michael's house. He wasn't even sure he was home. He hadn't even checked if it was okay to hang out with him. What if he had something planned? What if he was too busy hanging out with someone else?
James shook his head. No, Michael was his friend. He had made him a CD mix and given him his hoodie. They were friends, this is what friends do.Â
He arrived at his house and knocked on the door. Michael's mother answered. She looked surprised.Â
"Uh, hi. I'm James?" James said.Â
"Oh James! It's nice to meet you! My son told me about you." She smiled warmly. "Come on in."
James blushed. Michael had told his mom about him.Â
He stepped into the threshold and followed Michael's mother in the living room.Â
"How's your morning been? Would you like some coffee?" She asked.Â
"No thank you."James politely declined.Â
She poured herself a cup and sat down on the couch.Â
"Michael is in his room. He should be up by now, if not just shake him really hard." She said.Â
"Thank you, MsâŚ." James trailed off.
"Ms. Garcia." She smiled.
"Ms. Garcia. Thank you." James smiled.Â
He began his way up the stairs, grilling his brain to remember which room was Michael's. He'd only seen his bathroom yesterday. Luckily for him, he didn't need to look hard.
"Tonight the music seems so loud!" Michael belted from his room. âI wish that we could lo-ose this crowd,âÂ
James singled out his room as the first one on the left. He knocked on the door only for it to creak open in it's own.Â
"Baby, it's better this way. We'd hurt each other with the things we want to say!" Michael sang loudly and from his chest. He had his arms outstretched and was gesturing wildly. His knees were bent slightly, almost like he was begging to someone who wasn't there. He was facing the opposite direction of James, so he hadn't seen him open the door. His music was so loud in his headphones James could hear it from where he was standing.Â
"We could've been so good together! We could've danced this dance forever! But now, who's gonna dance with me? Please sta-ay!" Michael sang.Â
James blushed. He sounded good when he sang. His voice was strong and full of emotion.
"And I'm never gonna dance again," Michael spun around to face where James was standing. "Guilty feet have got noâŚ" He trailed off when he noticed James. He stopped singing and pulled his headphones around his neck. He was wearing a white tank top with a flannel tied around his waist. He wore gray sweatpants and plain white socks. His hair was up in a tiny bun.Â
"I'm so sorry, I really shouldn't've opened your door. I didn't mean to actually, it just opened when I knocked. I'm really sorry. You sounded really good though, from what I heard, even though I shouldn't've been listening. I'm sorry." James blushed and spoke quickly.Â
"Oh, lighten up." Michael teased. "I don't care if you saw me sing." He noticed James's still embarrassed demeanor. "It's okay." He reassured him genuinely.
James sighed. "Sorry." He breathed.
"Don't be." Michael chuckled. âAnyways, youâre at my house!âÂ
It sounded more like a question than a statement.Â
âYeah, Iâm sorry I just kinda showed up. I just thought itâd be cool to hang out?â James asked.
âOh, hell yeah man. I just got that new game, Street Fighter. Wanna play?â Michael said. He gestured for James to enter his room. He took a step forward.
âYeah, Iâm down.â James said, looking around at Michaelâs room.
Michaelâs room looked like every teenage boy's room. He had band and movie posters on every inch of wall space, ranging from Elton John to Guns n Roses to Bonnie Tyler. He had a CD player and what seemed to be a million CDs on his desk. His room was fairly clean, only a few pairs of socks lay spread across the floor. His room was cluttered, clothes and photos and CDs and vinyl records and headphones took up most of his desk and table space. His bed had no headboard and striped sheets. His pillows looked like theyâd been through hell, smushed and flat. His blanket was the same pattern as an arcade floor. He had a tan landline phone on his bedside table. It looked like itâd barely been used. He had a hardwood floor and a small black carpet that sat before his TV. His TV sat on a wide wooden shelf, dozens of video game cases shoved into the shelves. Michael had a fresh looking Atari console and two controllers. One of the controllers looked tattered, the other one was essentially collecting dust. A beanbag was placed close to the TV, a permanent seat molded into it, presumingly by Michael.Â
âNice room.â James said, attempting small talk.Â
Michael scoffed. âItâs a mess.âÂ
âNo, itâs nice! I like it.â James argued.Â
âWell, thank you.â Michael said, pulling the case for Street Fighter off of the shelf.Â
The two boys sat down on the floor of Michaelâs room. James held the less tattered controller and folded his legs criss-cross. Michael sat with one knee bent and the other extended.Â
The two played video games for about an hour, laughing and throwing fake insults at each other. James loosened up, relaxing his muscles. It wasnât awkward anymore, he had almost forgotten about his situation. Almost.Â
âHaha, eat shit Michael.â James said, knocking the other boy's character in the game.Â
âOh fuck you,â Michael laughed, shoving James playfully.
âGonna play that game?â James said, pushing him back.
Michael looked at James with wild eyes before slamming into him and knocking him into the ground.Â
James yelped before laughing, delivering soft blows to Michaelâs arms and kicking him. Michael grabbed Jamesâs wrists and pinned them above his head. James struggled helplessly.Â
âIs that all youâve got?â Michael chuckled, hovering over James.Â
James laughed. âYou wish.â Then he noticed their current position.
Michael had James pinned on the ground. He was straddled over him, his hands holding Jamesâs wrists. Michael was smiling, the strands of hair that hadnât made it into his ponytail framing his face. His breathing was labored slightly. James let out a breathless laugh. His heart was racing. Oh my god Michael was literally sitting on top of him oh my god. He was sure his face was every shade of red, he just hoped it could be blamed on the small amount of physical activity he had to endure and his acne.Â
The two just sat there like that for what felt like forever to James. The soundtrack from Street Fighter started up in the background causing Michael to let go of Jamesâs wrists and grab his controller. He removed himself from on top of James to sit next to him again. He glanced over to James, raising an eyebrow signifying the question for another round. James smiled and grabbed his controller.Â
Another two hours passed by, filled by shouting and tackling.Â
Michael threw his head back laughing. âHow are you so bad?â
James snorted. âOh shut up, I beat you like four times.â He said.
Michael chuckled. âDo you want some lunch?âÂ
James only just noticed how hungry he was. âSure.âÂ
He followed Michael down to the kitchen.Â
âSo, Iâve got some TV dinner if you like those.â He said.
âTV dinners?â James asked.Â
âYouâve never had a TV dinner?â Michael exclaimed.
James turned red. "No."
"You're missing out big time, man." Michael said, popping one in the microwave.Â
The two made small talk until the dinner finished heating.
"It's gonna be hot, so let it cool." He warned, before placing another one in the microwave.
James sat and waited, blowing air onto his food to cool it down. Once it cooled down, he took a bite. It was mashed potatoes, green beans, and chicken nuggets. It wasn't good, but Michael was looking at James so excitedly that he'd feel bad to say anything other than "It's really good!".
"See! I told you." Michael said, taking a bite of his own food.Â
The two sat and ate.
"Can't believe you beat me. Seven times." Michael laughed.Â
"Just get good." James retorted.Â
"Oh, shut up." Michael giggled.Â
"I'll shut up when you beat me." James said, taking a bite of his food.Â
"Oh really?" Michael asked.Â
"Yes really!"Â
"Well, it's gonna happen. One day, I'll beat you. One da-"Â
"One day in the far, far, far, far, far, far, future. Like super far. Like m-" James interrupted.
"Shut up! No, it'll be soon!" Michael laughed.Â
James giggled.Â
They talked and finished their food.Â
"What d'you wanna do now?" Michael asked.
"Can we skateboard again? Your neighborhood is beautiful." James said.Â
"Do you want me to teach you to skate?" The other boy asked.
"Sure. I'm a slow learner-" James started.
"Not when I'm the teacher." Michael flaunted.Â
James failed to hide in a laugh. He snorted.
"What?" Michael asked, throwing his arms up in fake defense.
"Nothing. Let's get learnin'.'' James said.Â
Michael chuckled and grabbed his skateboard. He stepped outside and put his skateboard on the ground. It was about 2:30pm. The sky was full of clouds, but the sun always seemed to be shining.
"Okay, so you wanna start with your right foot," Michael instructed.Â
James put his foot on the board, putting his arms out for balance.
"Perfect, then just push off with your left foot and then put it on the board. Then just go with it." Michael said, stepping closer to James.
"You'll catch me if I fall, right?" James asked nervously.
"Yeah, of course." Michael reassured him.Â
"Okay." James breathed out.Â
He pushed off nervously, yelping quietly when the board picked up speed.Â
"You're doing amazing!" Michael said, jogging beside him.Â
"I'm doing amazing!" James repeated, before losing his balance. He fell, sticking out his hands to brace his fall. He scraped the palms of his hands and his elbow. He shouted out in surprise.
"James!" Michael yelled, worried. "Shit, are you okay?" He bent down and helped James sit up.
James was laughing. "I'm fine." He said.Â
"You're shaking." Michael said. He was worried.Â
"I'm fine, I promise. Just a little surprised." James said, reassuring him.
"Let's go get you fixed up, you bigâŚ" He faltered at calling him a name. "Just come on," He helped James stand up.
James smiled at Michael as he walked next to him. He was so kind. He clearly cared about James very much. But it felt good to finally be cared about by someone who wasn't his family.Â
"I have cool band-aids if you want them." Michael said. He hadn't let James fix himself, he had insisted that he clean the wound and dress it.Â
They were sitting in Michael's living room, both on the couch. Michael had brought out his first aid kit and placed it on the coffee table.Â
"I could've done this, y'know." James said.
"No, I should've caught you and if I couldn't do that, then I can at least fix it." Michael said insistently.Â
"Don't stress out over it, Michael. I'm fine." James reassured him.
Michael furrowed his brow.Â
He bandaged the other boy's palms and elbow.Â
"There. Are you okay?" Michael asked.
James rolled his eyes affectionately. "I'm fine. You worry too much."Â
"I just wanna make sure you're okay." He said. Michael kept to himself the feeling bad part.Â
"And I'm perfectly fine." James said.
"Well, we're not going back to skating. There's no way." Michael said.
"Then can you skate? It was so fun yesterday." James pleaded. He batted his eyelashes mockingly.
Michael fidgeted nervously. "I guess, but you're going in front."Â
James smiled.Â
The two walked outside. James was the first to step on the skateboard, Michael grabbing his waist quickly.Â
"I'm fine!" James insisted.
Michael grumbled. He stepped on, grabbing tightly onto Jamesâs waist to keep him steady. James blushed.Â
Michael accelerated, holding tightly to James. "Where do you wanna go?"
"Anywhere." James said, leaning his head on Michael.
"Well, that's not helpful." Michael laughed.
"Well, where do you wanna go?" James asked.
"Uhm," Michael stuttered.
"See, it's hard when you're put on the spot." James said. He nudged Michael softly.
"Don't move, you'll fall." Michael said sternly.Â
James giggled.
The two just skated for a while. They traveled around Michael's neighborhood and into a more populated area with stores and restaurants.Â
"Ice cream!" James exclaimed, pointing to an ice cream shop to the left.Â
"Do you want some?" Michael asked.Â
James nodded eagerly.Â
Michael pulled to a stop in front of the shop. It was called John's Ice Cream Parlor. Straight and to the point.Â
"Have you ever been here before?" Michael asked.Â
"No. I just saw ice cream and got excited." James said simply.
Michael laughed and pushed him softly. James laughed in return.
James ordered a strawberry scoop and Michael ordered chocolate and vanilla swirl.
They got their orders and sat down. The sun beat down on them, melting their ice cream and making them lick faster.
Michael began giggling.
"What?" James asked, a smile on his face.Â
"Nothing you just," He began laughing again.
"Tell me!" James asked, laughing.Â
"C'mere," Michael smiled. He leaned forward and grabbed Jamesâs face. He blushed. Michael held his jaw and used his thumb to wipe ice cream off of the other boy's face.
Jamesâs face was beet red.Â
Your face is so red right now," Michael laughed gently.Â
"Itâs the sun," James lied, covering his face with his hand.Â
Michael laughed into a sigh before finishing his cone.
James finished his cone shortly after, and the two boys began walking around town. They passed shops and stores and restaurants, laughing and bumping into each other as they walked.Â
James wanted so badly to hold Michael's hand. Turns out, the whole 'hanging out with him to forget his crush on him' thing hadn't worked at all. If anything it'd made it worse. Michael looked so good. Well good was an understatement. James didn't think he could find a word to accurately describe Michael in a way that would do him justice.Â
"Do you think worms think?" Michael asked.
James turned to look at him. It had been silent for a few minutes, Michael had interrupted the silence with his question.
"What?" James said, erupting in laughter.
"Do worms think or do they just mindlessly wiggle around in dirt?" Michael asked through small laughter.
