#zodiacfeels

// When Scorpio swings the bat, all Pisces can hear is the loud crack of a baseball against wood, and his eyes have to adjust to the bright blinding light of the sun before he sees the ball flying midair. The cheering of the others - Aquarius, Aries, Taurus, Leo - is loud in the warm Spring breeze. But before Scorpio can run, he turns over his shoulder to look at Pisces. A wide grin, unlike his wolfish smirk, plasters his face, and in that moment Pisces knows one thing: He’s in love.

// Chap. 01 |

// scorpio x pisces

// word count: 2130

Pisces is nothing short of the ordinary. He’s just a simple boy with too many freckles and too big glasses toppling over the bridge of his nose. He’s never tried anything outside of the perpetual box he can’t help but curl into, always too afraid - too stricken with the terrifying reality of life - to go outside of his imaginary safe space. So when he’s asked what’s the most exciting thing he’s ever witnessed, the only event he can feel on the tip of his tongue is watching a fight between a greaser and a soc two blocks away from him, tiny silhouettes in the shadow of the setting sun and their soon arrest.

But then Pisces meets him, and suddenly, everything he sees is exciting. Everything is suddenly drenched in a bright blue-based red color, shining through every crevice of his dull black and white box. He feels himself slowly energized by the color, and Pisces can’t help the temptation of slowly dipping his feet outside of the box, like testing the waters of a cold pool on a hot summer day. And it’s all him. It’s all because of him.

Because the first time he meets him, it’s in the middle of US History class, when Mr. Wellington is talking about the very first president of the United States of America. Pisces hardly knows the names of any students in that class, but after a wisecrack that comes from the back of the room in the middle of their ninety-minute lecture, Pisces is sure he’ll never forget that name.

Because while Mr. Wellington is talking about President George Washington, a deep voice that comes from a seat at the back of the classroom disrupts Pisces. And when he looks back, he sees it belongs to a boy dressed in a black leather jacket and worn jeans, his hair heavily greased, because that’s what he is - the boy is a greaser, and the tattoos peeking out from his sleeves and above the collar of his white t-shirt confirms it.

“Would you like to repeat that, young man?” Mr. Wellington challenges and Pisces completely forgets the boy at the back of the room said anything at all - he’s been staring at him too intently. The boy scoffs, rolling his eyes, and a smirk that makes Pisces’ chest tighten dares to take his lips.

“I said,” The boy repeats. His voice sends shivers up Pisces’ spine. “If a nut like George Washington can become president, then it can’t be so hard for Aquarius to do it.” The class erupts into laughter, and Aquarius, another greaser Pisces has only talked to a couple times, cracks a smile and quiet chuckling as well.  

“What’s your name?” Mr. Wellington asks sternly, but the leadership and power behind his voice doesn’t seem to affect the boy at all. In fact, he seems to find it funny, because the tattooed boy quietly chuckles as he leans forward in his seat, hands clasped together while he makes eye contact with the history teacher.

“Scorpio,” He begins. “But most girls call me an asshole.” Another round of laughter comes from the class. “Take it as you will, sir.” Pisces takes a long time to register the event before Mr. Wellington assigns him detention and goes back to teaching his lesson. He takes even longer to realize he’s still staring at Scorpio a few minutes after the ordeal, and when he catches the bad boy’s dark eyes, Pisces feels himself blushing furiously before turning back to learn. In that moment, he definitely learns one thing: He hates Scorpio with everything in his heart.

Because the second time he meets him, it’s at the malt shop he works at. Pisces is cleaning the counter with a damp rag and enjoying the silence that’s come with the Sunday afternoon. There are a few college students quietly studying for an upcoming exam along with some couples enjoying each other’s presence and some sundaes. But Pisces doesn’t mind - these are his type of people: quiet and mellow. Nothing short of muted beauty.

But then the sound of rowdy laughter and footsteps gets louder with every passing second, and a handful of greasers walk in through the door of the malt shop, playfully pushing each other around and shouting things that are too vulgar for public. The group gathers together at a booth near the front, their loud conversations, and laughter still lively as ever, and Pisces takes a moment to bottle up the stress he already feels in his fingertips as he quietly makes his way to the booth.

He recognizes a few faces when he arrives at the booth - Aquarius, the greaser he’s managed to make acquaintances with, and Aries, the short tempered boy who will challenge anyone to a fight (he’s a lot shorter than what people make him out to be). But of course, Pisces catches the eyes of Scorpio, the bad boy he’s sworn to hate but makes his heart flutter with every stupid smirk of his. There are a couple other boys with them too, but Pisces tries not to pay attention to any of them for that matter.

“How’re you doin’, cutie?” Scorpio charms with a small smirk and Pisces feels his ears flush red. He hears Aquarius scoff.

“Shut it, Scorpio.” Aquarius scolds. “We come out for some fun tryin’ to look tough, and you gotta hit on some poor guy?” Scorpio only laughs in return.

“Isn’t pickin’ up some broads part of the fun, Aqua?” Scorpio runs his eyes up and down Pisces, and he bites his lower lip before meeting his blue eyes. “Besides, if I had to pick myself one, I think I’d choose this one right here.” Pisces feels his heart race faster in his chest, and he hopes to God nobody else can hear Scorpio saying this. The last thing he needs is to be accused of being a fag again. But his group holler and laugh and Pisces notices the rest of the customers get uneasy and bothered - it’s hard as it is being in a room full of greasers.

“If you want to stay,” Pisces begins, and the group calms down to hear his clear voice. “Then you’ll need to quiet down. I really wouldn’t want to call the cops because a group of greasers couldn’t keep it together… but I will if I have to.”

Pisces spends the rest of the day serving the somewhat calmed boys with obvious annoyance and stress.

Because the third time he meets him, it’s at the public library when Pisces is doing research for his physiology essay.

Pisces is searching up and down the aisles and shelves for the right books to include in his essay, and when he finds the perfect one that will guarantee him a perfect A at the back of the library, Pisces is upset that it’s on the highest shelf and he can’t reach it. He spends a few moments trying to desperately reach for the book, but a voice he’s heard too many times now startles him.

“And what’s a nice looking boy like you doing around here?” It’s Scorpio, and he’s leaning against the books with little to no care as he smirks at Pisces. For a second, Pisces takes the time to wonder why Scorpio’s the one at a library in the first place. He decides not to ask, and respectfully answers his question.

“I have a physiology essay due Monday.” Pisces curtly replies. He stares at the floor, and really notices Scorpio’s shoes for the first time. They’re black and scuffed around the edges, but they were brand new and nice once upon a time, maybe even expensive, too. Scorpio hums, tilting his head from side to side. He looks bored, and Pisces wonders again why Scorpio’s in a library of all places. As far as he can tell, this place is as good as a gravesite to him - maybe even more boring.

“I don’t know too many things about physiology,” Scorpio begins. “But I’m sure I can help you study.” A smirk follows after that, and Pisces isn’t too sure whether Scorpio means actually studying, or if he means ‘studying’.

“I’m okay, thank you.” Pisces retorts and his eyes involuntarily flick up to the book he was trying to reach earlier. It seems Scorpio’s noticed, and he moves over and grabs the book with ease. He holds the heavy novel out.

“This the thing you were looking for?” Pisces presses his lips tightly together. Of course, that’s the book he needs, but he doesn’t want to give Scorpio the satisfaction of knowing he’s helped Pisces and made him happy. But then again… he does need that book.

Pisces takes the book from Scorpio, murmurs a curt thank you, and walks away. He spends the rest of his study session shushing the bad boy who always seems to be a few feet behind him with too loud remarks and sighs.

Because the fourth time he meets him, it’s at the back of the school. Like previous times, Scorpio isn’t alone. In fact, this time, he’s with a pretty greaser broad - a short freshman girl with bleach blonde hair and bright red lipstick. She’s got heels higher than Pisces’ grades, and, by her heavy breathing and vulgar moans, she’s having a good time making out with Scorpio against the wall of their school.

Pisces coughs, and Scorpio pulls away to look for the culprit of the act. He smiles when he sees Pisces, and he’s got red lipstick smeared all over his lips. Scorpio runs a hand through his hair.

“For Christ’s sake, kid,” Scorpio begins, and Pisces isn’t sure whether it’s appropriate to use Christ’s name in the situation of making out with a young girl against a school. “Learn to take a hint and roll along when it looks like it, alright?” Pisces rolls his eyes.

“Learn to wear off her lipstick in more private places. You’ll get caught if you stay out here.” With that, he walks away, and he can hear Scorpio chuckle behind him before the heavy breathing and moaning of the girl continues.

Oddly enough, Pisces feels his heart almost break at what he’s witnessed. He feels his heart speed up, but not in the way that makes his chest tighten and tongue dry. It’s in the way that makes his throat tighten and his eyes watery. Pisces clutches his books tightly against his chest as he continues to walk, but he feels empty somehow. Almost like the box he’s lived in for so long has enveloped him - swallowed him whole.

Pisces begins to overthink the idea that maybe Scorpio only said all those things as a joke. As a way to humiliate him. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time. But as he walks away, he tries to make himself feel stronger with each step. But it doesn’t work - Pisces is still hurting inside. It’s not until the fifth time he meets Scorpio that he begins to feel better.

Because the fifth time he meets him, it’s at the ballpark on Pisces’ way home from school. He’s walking and counting the number of steps he takes as he watches his feet in front of him, and when he passes the baseball field he’s seen but ignored so many times before, Pisces is surprised when he hears someone call his name from that direction.

He turns, and Scorpio is standing there, leaning against the fence that separates the ballpark from the rest of the grass. This time, Scorpio doesn’t look like the bad boy he hates so much as just… a boy.

He’s wearing these blue denim jeans paired with old sneakers and a plain t-shirt. There isn’t a jacket to cover up his tattoos now, and Pisces is impressed at the permanent drawings crawling up his biceps and triceps and any other muscles in his arms. They snake around his skin and peek out so it’s barely visible against his neck. His hair isn’t greased as usual, and he’s got a smile on his face instead of that stupid smirk that makes Pisces think of Hollywood actors. But it’s the words that come out of his mouth that change Pisces’ life forever, and to this day, he’s sure he’d pick the same answer over and over again.

“Hey, Pisces!” Scorpio calls, and he’s not sure how he knows his name. “Wanna play ball with us?”

Now, if anybody asks Pisces what’s the most exciting thing he’s ever witnessed, he’s got more answers than a fight between a greaser and a soc two blocks away.

Now, he’s got more answers and stories that could fill up the entire box Scorpio’s managed to get him out of.