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“Robbie, wait for me!”
Robbie stops, twisting his mouth into a sneer. It just couldn’t have been easy, could it? His masterful scheme had already been foiled, but instead of letting Robbie slink off in peace, Sportaflop insisted on running after him, stopping his escape and making him wallow in his own failure. Why wouldn’t he just let him be?
“I brought you a gift,” Sportacus says, and takes Robbie’s hand, pressing a small package into it and smiling. “I hope you like it.”
He flips away again before Robbie can respond. Robbie pokes the package with a cautious finger, but it doesn’t seem to be anything dangerous. The wrapping paper seems to honestly just be plain brown paper, and it’s tied together with a length of rough string. But why would Sportacus give him a gift?
He tugs the knot apart and unwraps a small stack of thin brown sheets, as though someone had cooked something in a pan and broken it into pieces. He sniffs at it warily, and the sweet scent of honey wafts up at him, accompanied by a hint of vanilla. Sportacus must have made it for him as a present. But why? Robbie knows the recipe; it’s simple, just honey, vinegar and a bit of vanilla. Exactly the kind of sweets the ridiculous elf would make if he ever had the inclination to make something sweet.
It’s also something one fae might give to another to indicate their interest in something more than friendship, but Sportacus doesn’t even know that Robbie is a fae. Most likely he was just bored and decided to do something nice for all of his friends. There’s no way he’d know what giving this to Robbie would mean.
He finds himself blushing anyway, and rearranges his face carefully into a scowl before carefully wrapping his present back up and stalking towards his lair. Sportacus has no idea that Robbie has a crush on him, and Robbie’s going to make sure it stays that way.
It’s been two days since Sportacus gave him the candy as a gift, and Robbie’s been on edge the whole time. Sportacus, on the other hand, is obliviously cheerful, running and flipping and shouting carelessly with the children. It solidifies Robbie’s suspicion that it had just been an unlucky coincidence, and that he had no idea how someone like Robbie might think he was flirting with him. Sportacus was too pure for that, surely. He’d probably never looked at someone with lust in his entire life.
“I’m not disappointed that Sportacus didn’t follow up his gift,” Robbie announces to his lair, as though saying it out loud will make it true. He wishes that was all it took. “Not at all. I’d much rather he spend him time with those awful children instead of annoying me.”
His voice echoes nicely around the lair, and Robbie realises abruptly that it’s awfully quiet. Too quiet for the middle of the afternoon, when Sportaflop should be leading the children in another mind-numbing round of some kind of sport. It’s suspicious, and Robbie doesn’t like suspicious things unless he’s the one doing them. He presses his eyes against his periscope, searching for anything out of the ordinary. It swivels around at his touch until his eyes alight on a scrap of blue and pink.
“Ah-ha. So there you are. But what are you all doing there, and why are you all so quiet?” Robbie says, watching the children and Sportacus sitting in some kind of meadow, seemingly doing nothing. “Maybe it’s something that a clever villain could sabotage. And I just to happen to be an incredibly clever villain.”
He climbs to the surface and sneaks towards the field, chuckling villainously. Sportaflop would never see it coming. He wasn’t quite sure what it was just yet, but Robbie was a genius. He’d think of something.
“Hello there, Robbie! Good timing!” Sportacus says cheerfully.
Robbie jumps in shock, unfortunately high enough that he can be seen from the other side of the wall he’d been creeping behind. He straightens up with a yawn, feigning disinterest.
“Oh, hello, Sportasit,” he says idly. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Look, Robbie, Sportacus is teaching us how to make daisy chains!” Zaggy says excitedly.
Robbie looks closer, and sure enough, the children are decorated in flowers from head to toe. Only Sportacus is unadorned, but in his hands is an intricate weaving of thin vines, studded here and there with glorious honeysuckle. Flowers are scattered around him, and he smiles at Robbie, a radiant angel.
“This one is for you,” he says, and rises up to place it on Robbie’s head. Robbie holds his breath as Sportacus strays too far into his personal space, trying his best not to do anything awful and embarrassing, like faint, or kiss him.
“Beautiful,” Sportacus says, stepping back, and Robbie has to take a second to remind himself that Sportacus means that his garland looks beautiful, not Robbie himself. It’s just another misunderstanding; just another example of Sportaflop being too kind for his own good. And sure, flowers might be traditional in fae courtship, especially honeysuckle, but they’re traditional for a lot of things. Robbie happened to be walking by at just the wrong time, that’s all.
“Of course it’s beautiful, it’s mine,” Stinky says, and almost climbs Robbie trying to get it off his head.
“Stingy, it’s Robbie’s,” Sportacus says reproachfully, picking him up off Robbie ad placing him back down with the other children and Robbie takes the opportunity to book it, diving into a secret entrance to his lair conveniently located in a nearby trash can. Sometimes people threw actual trash in it, but it was worth keeping it functional for situations like this.
He hangs the garland on the edge of his chair and glares at it reproachfully. Didn’t Sportacus know it was cruel to play with somebody’s feelings? But then, elven courting rituals are very different from fae ones. Not that Robbie checked. Why would he do something like that? It’s not like he’s interested in courting an elf or anything.
Right. Who’s he kidding?
He sinks back into his chair mournfully. He’s head-over-heels for Sportaflop, and he hates gymnastics.
Robbie wakes up slowly. He feels oddly refreshed, as though he’s actually managed to sleep enough to drive away his bone-deep weariness. He stretches his stiff legs out and rolls over, promptly falling flat on his face in the dirt. Groggily, he looks up to find that he’d been sleeping on a wall, of all places. How did he get there? The last thing he remembers is Sportacatch holding him after he fell out of the tree, and then… nothing. Did he put him here? Did he fall asleep in his arms?
How embarrassing.
Well, that was hardly something he could help. Fae were hardwired to only be able to sleep places they felt safe and protected, usually near other fae. It’s why he has such a difficult time sleeping normally and often has to venture to the surface and sleep on park benches just so he knows someone is around. Sportacus protects everyone in Lazytown. It’s only natural that Robbie feels safe around him.
That’s not all it is, and he knows it.
He has no idea what time it is, but the sun has long since set. He peers into the darkness and hopes desperately that he can make it home without tripping over any rogue sports equipment.
“Why do these things always happen to me?” he complains, keeping one hand on the wall so he can follow it home. “I’m a hard-working, handsome villain. I deserve good things.”
The clouds overhead part a little, and a ray of moonlight shines down to light Robbie’s way. He whispers his thanks to the moon, and decides to offer her a flower from his honeysuckle crown once he’s home. Perhaps a slice of cake. None of the stories say that the moon is partial to cake, but if Robbie were a god, he’d want his offerings to be in cake form. Sweets, in a pinch.
The town’s quiet tonight. Even the mayor, who usually snores quite loudly, is softly rumbling in his bed. The airship is drifting slowly overhead, and Robbie wonders if it’s just as quiet up there. Sportacus wouldn’t snore, surely. Would he ever toss and turn like Robbie does? How would he look, soft and vulnerable, cares of the day forgotten?
The apple tree is ahead, and Robbie watches the lone apple hanging from its branches sway in the breeze. It would be so easy to pluck it and give it to Sportacus. He’d say the words that he memorised by reading them one too many times. He could lay himself bare with that one simple action, because Sportacus would recognise the first step of an elven courtship. He’d understand the kind of gift Robbie was giving him.
But Robbie isn’t brave. He turns away from the tree, leaving the apple there.
Someone is knocking at the entrance to his lair.
It’s incredibly annoying, and he wishes they’d stop. It’s a respectable 4pm, a completely normal hour to still be asleep, and Robbie hopes that whoever it is will just give up and go away.
“Robbie,” Sportacus calls, because of course it’s him. “Can I come in?”
“Will you go away if I say no?”
“Please, Robbie, it’s important.”
Well, this is new. Sportacus has never claimed something was so important that he needs to barge into Robbie’s lair before. If nothing else, it will undoubtedly be good for a laugh.
“Fine,” he calls, and Sportacus tumbles down the chute, rolls out across the floor and ends up kneeling at Robbie’s feet. It’s not a bad look for him. Sportacus untucks himself from around the package in his arms and holds it out to Robbie.
“What’s this?” Robbie asks.
“It’s a present,” Sportacus says, as though that isn’t obvious. “I made it for you.”
Robbie takes it and rips the paper open hesitantly. Inside is a beautiful, shimmering purple scarf. The delicate lace pattern has to have been hand-knitted, and considering the beautiful cobweb-weight silk this is made from it must have taken Sportacus an alarming amount of time to knit this. If Robbie accepted it, it would easily be the most valuable piece of clothing he owned.
“Do you like it?” Sportacus asks, face innocent and hopeful.
Robbie does. Robbie likes it a lot. But Sportacus has no idea what he’s saying with this gift, and Robbie just can’t take it any more. He folds the scarf back up in the paper and hands it to Sportacus, whose smile drops immediately.
“Not everybody has traditions the same as yours,” Robbie says, trying to be gentle. “For you to give me something this beautiful that you’ve made yourself is practically a declaration of love. And my people, Sportacus, we play for keeps. An offer like this isn’t something you should take lightly.”
“So I should give it to you if I’m ever in love with you?” Sportacus asks.
Robbie nods, knowing that he’ll never get to see that wonderful scarf again. Maybe he could sneak into the airship and steal it.
“I understand,” Sportacus says, and hands the parcel immediately back to Robbie. Robbie’s heart leaps into his throat, and he chances a glance at Sportacus, who is looking at him with the most hopeful expression he’s ever seen.
“Really?” he whispers. “Me?”
“You,” Sportacus replies.
Robbie takes the scarf from the package and winds it around his neck. “Yours,” he corrects.
A tension Robbie hadn’t even been aware of breaks, and a second later the scarf isn’t the only thing wrapped around Robbie’s neck. Sportacus is burning hot against him, and he returns the embrace wholeheartedly, tucking his head down against Sportacus’ and gently kissing his hair.
“I love you, Robbie,” Sportacus murmurs, his soft breath tickling Robbie’s neck.
“I love you too,” Robbie says, and for the first time in his life, he means it.