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“GODDAMMIT,” SPITFIRE GROWLED, cheeks in pain from trying to hold her smile up.
They lost. Again.
A thick sigh sat heavy in her lungs, ready to make her stomach churn the moment anyone came up to her about her thoughts on this game.
Horrible. A disgrace. Foul every single one of them.
She held her hands behind her back as the other team cheered, lifting their final scorer up on their shoulders. Their smiles were entirely proud of their plans. Spitfire hoped to death that the coach of the other school didn’t wander up to her, offering their hand up, grin overflowing with cockiness. They probably would despite her wish to dry heave in their presence. They might even cast a pitying look over at the boy who sat on the bench next to her as if they weren’t the reason he couldn’t play for the remaining minutes of the game.
Speaking of whom, Spitfire dared to glance down at Flash Sentry, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together in the middle, head low enough that she couldn’t tell where he was looking at. She couldn’t help but follow the faint sight of blood forming from the cuts all over his shin, seeping through the broken skin and forming as much of itself to start dripping down the wounds. At least from what Flash let her see.
He flat out refused to get it checked out. Said it was barely anything even though the both of them were aware that it hurt like a bitch because he rarely ever got injuries. Guessing from the looks of Spruce and Sparkle’s faces from the bleachers as well as the pure red rage in Dash’s eyes, it was a lot worse than just a few semi-deep scratches. Flash tried to hide it as best he could when he limped to the benches but the way his nerves quivered on his arms and the utter unstableness of the injured leg aided him in no manner.
Someone on her team had said, “yo, he’s fine, coach, let him play!” and Spitfire wanted to yell, “do you not have eyes?!”
She didn’t. Though, she was grateful for Spruce’s undeniable remarks when he shouted back, “are you mad?!”
Arguments exploded for around two minutes from the crowd – between the crowd, actually, if she took a closer look – which wasted away their game time. Hadn’t Spitfire yelled for the entire court to quieten down, would they have done so, probably not. Yelling was a good tactic if people knew how to hold the possession well.
Spitfire raised an eyebrow back at the other school’s students in the bleachers screaming like they were thankful their money on afterparty drinks didn’t go to waste.
Smart playing from the other team, no denying it. It was much better to win without getting any fouls but it didn’t cost them anything on the scoreboard. Thus, of course, that convinced the other team to make such an asshole move like purposefully knocking Flash out of the court. Sure, Flash was actually performing horribly for the first time in nearly a year from her eyes but he basically had that basket down until his opponent body-launched him into the bench of the other team’s side.
If Flash had broken a bone, Spitfire would’ve threatened to sue. Her uncle would be glad to pay for that even if she didn’t mention it was because the other team had full intention of injuring his son.
Whatever the other team had planned fucking paid off because one of Spitfire’s best couldn’t participate then and whatever had Canterlot High tense in their seats thickened so much it pressed right up against Spitfire’s cheek. (Teens and their drama, honestly.)
She had eaten her words then and there when Rainbow Dash had missed the free shot. What was going on? Spitfire had followed the captain of their team when she stormed off to the other teammates, body language praying for the team to simply carry on. Normally she would be banging a fist on the hard maple ground and even then, Rainbow Dash missing a shot was abnormal.
The only other clue she had from that mishap was that Dash’s eyes burned. Livid. But Spitfire thought she would use that to fuel this shot. Karma, right? Or putting all her anger into that inanimate big bouncy ball and getting something good out of it. That was what she’d always catch Rainbow doing whenever she practised her anger out on the field with any sport. So…?
Spitfire’s eyes found her cousin in the corner of her sight.
From what Spitfire could tell when he wasn’t glaring at the grass as if it killed his Dad, Flash wore an expression too expressionless to figure out. She could misinterpret it as frustration because the reason he couldn’t play wasn’t at the extent of his own wrongdoings and he would have actually gotten Canterlot High in the lead for the game, heightening their likeliness of winning. But with everything else clearly rising under her nose, Spitfire suspected otherwise.
And what the fuck was this thing rising under her nose?
Flash lifted his head, eyes and brows knotted with school’s exhaustion.
Her caring side was too energised from being asleep most of the time that she spoke too quickly. “Need me to help ya go to the nurse’s?”
The boy shook his head. He stood, flicking his injured leg, pretending it didn’t hurt at all and shouldered his way past his teammates into the changing rooms without so much as a goodbye to her.
At least the other students waited for some encouragement. The look on their faces also implied they knew they were in for some yelling too.
Spitfire wiped out the aftermath of that game from her mind after she, indeed, yelled at the students for their absolute careless playing. They acted like the attitude they were giving her when she forced Flash to sit out wasn’t the absolute rudest she had to blink through and yeah, maybe she showed a little too much bias towards her best players but she had more empathy for those two than she did for any of the other nunchucks.
She made sure to show that to Rainbow as she handed her an apologetic glance, rid of any anger she saw previously, and she smiled when her student cheered up a bit. Catching that young emotion drop once Dash turned to the changing rooms didn’t hurt her more than it confused her. What the hell was going on when her students weren’t on the court?
That was all she could remember. Did someone say I hope player 10 feels better soon? She had no clue. There must’ve been a firm handshake, one she wished she could utilise in a way that led to her flinging the other coach across the hall.
Reporting what had happened to Celestia proved to be of no help. The woman brushed her off, too consumed in something else entirely to focus on Spitfire’s rants about the other team’s foul play. Celestia’s dismissal still didn’t persuade her to show her exasperation with the whole situation so she left civilly, but not without getting a glimpse at what had Celestia so busy.
Flash Sentry’s record. Yet it had been there before Spitfire arrived and she never saw her screen change throughout her talk so unless someone from the crowd claimed themself as a witness, there wasn’t a reason why Celestia was looking over his record.
There was something missing. A large gap in her corkboard.
On her way to warn the boys their changing room time was nearly up before she would start knocking on the door every five minutes, she spotted Flash storm down the corridor, PE bag over his shoulder and everything, preparing to leave.
A split second was enough for her to see the bruises forming where cuts hadn’t. There was an area where both types of injuries met but all of that confirmed the other team’s stunt left Flash in a much worse state than she’d thought.
But what the hell could she do about it?
Spitfire had nothing in the consolation department. While, yeah, she could pick up body language fine enough but that was from analysing sports her entire life. She was no therapist and she didn’t sign up to be one for a reason. She would hand over whatever advice she was willing to give and that didn’t include emotional support. Her head would freeze at the sight of someone crying and her nerves wouldn’t know what decision to make so they’d automatically go for the safest option, which was not to do anything at all.
Spitfire built her career out of all her opponent’s weaknesses and strengths, no matter who the fuck they were, found the way they would move and used that to her advantage. Sports wasn’t just about the overall playing technique; to her, it was how each player played specifically. There wasn’t only one way to play sports and there wasn’t only one way to play each type of sport. Everyone did it differently and all of that together determined how a game would progress. That was how she would help her team win.
She taught that to whomever she wished to; in this case, it was Rainbow Dash. Over time, Flash Sentry too; he climbed his way up with developed skills and a new casually strong interest in the sport.
All that plummeted this season. For fucking what?
Regardless, even if they did win, Flash’s performance, and by association, everyone else’s sucked ass. That meant the thing bothering Flash was a lot bigger than a simple rough mood.
Her caring side awoke once again.
For all her life she’d known Flash, he was a lot more complicated and difficult than he seemed. She wasn’t around him often, even while being cousins, to know what he was like in an emotionally wrecked state, but she wasn’t blind. Flash on the verge of lashing out was scary just by word of mouth because Flash wasn’t the lashing out type and Flash on the brink of tears was something she only saw from a distance before fear kicked her in the ass. If both of those together were the reason he was so… closed off then…
And if this had been going on for an entire season? Spitfire couldn’t get away with a little jog in the opposite direction without guilt stumbling her thereon out.
If no one had attempted to even make him feel a bit better up until now then who would?
Hurried footsteps shoved Spitfire out of her head and she looked up, blinking dumbly at the fact she was glued in the same position in the corridor of dimming lights.
She barely captured curly wisps of green passing by the corner, too late when she reached the part where the three corridors met and no one was there.
Spitfire huffed a sigh through her nose and rolled her shoulders. The pop in her back muscles didn’t relax her any further.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Spitfire didn’t drink alcohol regularly. Coffee was more her thing.
However, she didn’t suspect coffee would be enough to help her out here. Well, not help per se, but settle her head from its run. That was probably better wording. So she asked the staff at Sweet Snacks Café who were of age or older here and then asked the oldest specifically to add a hit in her coffee.
Obviously, the staff member threw her a bewildered expression because clearly, she wasn’t a dumb teenager who thought drinking alcohol was fun and alcohol probably didn’t taste that amazing with coffee either. It was worth a try, though. Her nerves were off the roof and something needed to fizz them out for a bit.
It wasn’t much but she could still smell it when she took a sip. That or her nose was sensitive. Eh.
The only booth available at the time was the one right in the centre of booths lined up against the window. Spitfire sat near the end, body aching like it had been dragged from her house to CHS and back, to CHS again and then here. She couldn’t be asked to sit in the corner. Once she concluded what time she was gonna leave, she wanted the swiftest exit possible.
The café filled with more adults when the time neared seven o’clock in the evening, cheap pastel yellow lights flickering on during the melting of the sun on the horizon. Her refill returned faster than she could run a mile and she assumed that had been due to the expression she carried on the way to the counter. Not that she was complaining.
Her eyes gave in to the throbbing her brain warned her with. She rested the back of her head against the curve of the booth cushion and exhaled. Occasionally her brows would furrow when light followed the shadows crowding next to her for a good while.
It wasn’t until a high-pitched ah! screeched her mental silence that she jerked, eyes darting to the source.
Her coffee cup wasn’t on the table anymore. In fact, it had vanished completely and a suspiciously similar cup lay defeated on the floor with its mess pooling everywhere.
Spitfire’s eyes widened as she took in everything else that occurred: a large brown stain coating the red fabric of a skirt and then her eyes couldn’t stop glancing up ‘till she met a face, startled, distressed and endearingly apologetic.
“Oh, shit, ” was all Spitfire could say before her sight was all over the place again. From the spilt coffee cup to the already drying stain. Spitfire’s hands trembled in the air with no sense of direction. She stood. “I’m so sorry, I—”
She snatched the tissues from the centre of her table and offered them to the person.
They took a few, shaking their head, their demeanour similar to her own. “No, no! It’s okay, I’m sorry, it’s my fault! I shouldn’t have walked so closely to your table—”
Spitfire shook her head this time, gingerly picking up the half-drenched cup. “No, I shouldn’t have put my cup so close to the end of the table!” She looked over at their other hand to see a plastic cup in a similar state as her own. “I’ll pay for a new order—”
That must’ve sent their soul out of their body by the look on their face. They stilled their drying. “Oh no, please, it’s honestly okay, you don’t have to—”
“It’s the least I can do. The drinks ruined ya skirt too, Goddammit—”
Spitfire paused. She’d be lying if she said she tried to look less surprised when she did a double-take on the person.
Every feature from the cute nose to the way her cyan hair curled at her jaw matched something she saw somewhere, somewhere she couldn’t recall but she had definitely seen this person at one point in the past. She was strikingly recognisable and perhaps Spitfire had her own bias to that, (pretty women…), regardless, she couldn’t stop the words slipping out of her mouth.
“Aren’t ya Coco Pommel?”
Only preceding did she realise how the words sounded so she softened her expression.
This was indeed Coco Pommel judging by the way she appeared way too surprised about someone recognising her.
“Uh.” She blinked quickly for a second, too stunned to get her thoughts together. “Uh, yes, that’s… me?”
Spitfire had to chuckle at that. “You sure about that?”
Coco shuddered out of her shock, nodding with haste in a rather adorable manner. “Yes, yes, I—that’s me.”
“The fashion designer?” Again, the question slipped right through her brain filter. This time, though, she was thankful because as the word designer left her voice, a memory appeared through raindrop-wet clearance.
Flash was telling her about this one fashion show… thing he attended for Rarity and showed her a picture of Rarity with one of the judges – Coco Pommel. It had been an admittedly sweet photo but Spitfire zeroed in on the woman with the shy smile, forming into a purely empath-happy expression when she held the trophy with Rarity.
“F-fashion designer?” Coco looked confused.
Spitfire mirrored the face. “Ain’t that what you are?”
Coco pressed her lips together. “Well—I mean, yes, it’s just… Actually, never mind.” She smiled awkwardly, though it came off as a grimace.
“But still,” – Spitfire gestured to her skirt – “it’s ruined, for fuck’s sake…” Spitfire pouted and groaned from the back of her throat.
Coco waved her palms before Spitfire could say anything else. “It’s fine, I can just make a new one—”
“A self-made skirt, too! God, just, please, just let me—”
“I—”
Realisation smacked Spitfire in the cheek like a basketball foul. “I mean, unless you need to be somewhere right now, I can give ya the money for it—”
“Wh—please, I—you don’t have to—” Coco stilled in a way that looked like her focus shifted. Like she was listening, eyes comically wide. Spitfire processed the quiet energy of the café, not too quiet that it felt like they were being watched by everyone in the room but quiet enough that some people might be taking a few glances at them. Coco seemed to be doing the same. In a voice even smaller than her usual, she said, “I… don’t have to be anywhere right now,” with a shy smile.
“Oh. Okay, then. Please sit!” She lowered her voice to not make a ruckus.
“Are—are you sure? You—”
As cute as Coco was, if she was gonna hear you don’t have to one more time…
Her tone bordered the line of firm and gentle. “I want you to, please.” She added a smile.
“O-okay.”
Coco shimmied into the booth opposite her, baring her teeth and cringing at what Spitfire presumed was the stain against her skin.
“I’m so sorry about that,” Spitfire said, her lip curling in regret.
Coco sighed out a laugh. “You’re fine, don’t worry.”
“What was the drink?”
It took a second for Coco to understand. Her realisation face almost had Spitfire cooing. “Oh! Just a frap.” She hesitated before continuing, “really, I’m completely fine with paying for it again, this happened because I was being clumsy.”
“And this happened ‘cause who the hell puts their drink right at the edge of the table? I was gonna go get one anyway so I might as well pay for yours.”
Coco pouted, shoulders sulking. “All right.”
Spitfire turned to step out, only to yelp quietly and freeze at the sight of one of the staff clearing up the mess. They looked up at Spitfire before grinning and nodding, disappearing in the back for their remade drinks.
She laughed awkwardly at the invisible trail of the staff member before facing Coco. A crooked, sheepish smile replaced whatever Spitfire had on.
Coco looked endeared. Was there anything to be endeared of in here?
Spitfire watched her eyes fall before rising to meet hers.
“Sooo. Where’ve you heard me from?”
Spitfire’s mouth formed an o shape. “Right, um, my, uh, cousin went to this fashion week…? That you were one of the judges for. He attended for a friend of his.”
Coco furrowed her brows and tilted her head. “A friend of his? How old is your cousin if you don’t mind me asking?”
“He just turned eighteen.”
Pieces must’ve fit together. “Is his friend Rarity by any chance?”
Bingo. “Yes! That—uh, yes.” Where the hell did this stammer come from?
Coco’s just more vibrant than the sky eyes turned curiously into the corner. “A friend of Rarity? Interesting.” More recollections seemed to clock into place and her lips formed a broad smile. “Oh! I think I remember him? Does he have blue hair that’s off to one side and an undercut?”
Spitfire beamed at the description. “Yeah, that’s him!”
“Ah, I see!” She spoke like a sentence with multiple exclamation marks. “Yes, I remember him then! He took a picture of me and Rarity. He was really nice when I met him so I hope good things were said about me.” She raised her shoulders in a bashful manner, fueling this desire in Spitfire to wrap her in a blanket and hear her giggle out of joy.
“Yeah, no, he only said good things about you. My cousin rarely says anything bad about anyone.”
That wasn’t entirely true. She said so to prove her point because he really hadn’t said anything bad about Coco. Plus, why would he? Coco smiled and sounded like an angel and Spitfire wanted nothing more than to spend more time than she should with her.
And Flash only spoke shit about someone to people he was close with, displaying he was comfortable to do so. A shimmer of pride settled in her system knowing she was one of those people.
“He… is really sweet.”
Coco’s face scrunched a little, her smile wilting. “Is that… is that an implication that he isn’t?”
Spitfire wanted to say no. That didn’t sound like Flash Sentry at all. Yet, neither did anything regarding Flash these days. She went with, “… Not exactly. It’s…” Her thoughts were a crowd, swamping her, so she shrugged instead.
Coco hummed, thankfully taking that as a sign to change the topic. Though what came out of her mouth coincidentally wasn’t so. “You okay, though? When I first saw you, entering the café, you kind of looked like you wanted to set something on fire if anyone bothered you, no offence.”
True to her name, then. Spitfire jerked her head as the question – did she scare Coco? – surfaced. “Did I? Shit, sorry!”
She couldn’t think quickly about why she was sorry about something she would normally be proud of as Coco replied, “it’s fine! No worries!”
Spitfire brought her lips into a lined smile. What Flash called a squared-bracket smile, or whatever. Kids.
“I’m just saying, the alcohol in your coffee gives me more of an indication that something is bothering you.”
Alco—
What. “How’d you know?”
Coco simpered. “I can smell it on my skirt. What’d you put in there, tequila?”
“Vodka,” she corrected under her breath. Her eyes were tossed to the side, staring angrily at a piece of the café’s interior like it pulled a ur mom joke. Her cheeks burned.
“How much?” She was smirking, bitch.
“Like two shots worth, okay.” Spitfire pouted.
She was starting to understand the lyrics to Flash’s songs now she heard Coco’s laugh. “Does it taste nice?”
Spitfire sensed an even between the words. Coco was lucky Spitfire was all for throwing this combination of beverages under the bus. “It’s a’ight? There’s a strange kick in it that’s helping me relax. Well, relax-ish.”
Coco straightened her posture, visibly more attentive now. “Can… I do anything to help? I don’t want to overstep! But… yeah.”
Spitfire considered it. Her chest had yet to lose its weight even after a total of four vodka shots mixed in coffee so what else did she have left? There was no way she was solving this issue otherwise, or at least in time. She was booked and busy for the rest of the week too so there wasn’t long until the next game was to come by. Letting a repeat of this afternoon’s game occur again wasn’t in her best interest at all, as a coach and as a friend.
Spitfire sighed. “Well, I don’t really wanna overstep either. We don’t really know each other.”
Coco glanced at the table between them for half a second. She looked up.
“I’d like to.”
There was a specific tone there. Nothing she could pick on and place for certain but there was something there. “Is that so?” she replied, trying to mimic it.
“You won’t be overstepping if I’m allowing it.”
Spitfire’s eyes took interest in the new coffee cups being placed between them to distract her. From what, she had an idea but it would most likely take her a while to admit it. “I guess. How do I know this is a free judgement zone, though?”
That had Coco pause. Her mouth dropped open to answer and nothing came out. Spitfire almost regretted having such a bravado; she could’ve just dumped everything out like she was drunk and crying.
She just needed that reassurance that not only her panicked and unsolved words would be in the right hands, but so was her heart.
Despite looking at her, she still internally jumped when Coco’s voice reached her.
“If this wasn’t a free judgement zone, I wouldn’t have offered to help in the first place.”
Her smile was a little wonkier this time, one side stronger than the other. Imperfect and there was a stronger beauty in it than anything else she was used to. Coco’s eyes – which now that Spitfire focused on the wholeness of them and not the pretty colour only, they were gently curved – displayed something she hadn’t seen often enough to know exactly what it was. But she hoped she was making the right decision.
“Again, only if you’re comfortable.” Coco always gestured with her hands.
She exhaled and leaned her back firm against the booth. She wanted to avoid looking at Coco throughout this bit.
“Okay… so you know the cousin I mentioned?”
Spitfire caught onto a vague movement, familiar to a nod. “I’m guessing something’s up with him, isn’t it?”
Spitfire pulled the corner of her mouth into her cheek. “Yeah. He’s not really… doing well.” She shifted in her seat. “‘Kay, see, I’m also his basketball coach at his school, Canterlot High. I noticed something was up based on how he was performing. We had a match this afternoon and it ended on a bad note just like the rest of this season for us. Except… he got pretty badly injured by an opponent.”
She wet her bottom lip, clicking her knuckles as a distraction from the silence between them. Even though it was nice that she was listening, if Spitfire took a few glances at Coco, she couldn’t handle the quiet.
“A chain reaction from that led us to lose. I know something’s up because he wouldn’t let whatever he’s going through get in the way of his school shit and that only means what he’s going through is… not good. I just… I don’t know where to begin.”
Spitfire’s torso suffocated in what she could assume was nervousness. Nothing had been cleared yet, so everything had yet to feel any lighter, which meant Spitfire hadn’t gotten to the core issue. She wanted to groan but she didn’t.
“So,” Coco started as soon as she was certain Spitfire had finished. “I’m guessing you’re not used to doing these sorts of things.” Before she could puzzledly look at Coco, she added, “like, consoling students emotionally.”
“Not really, no. If it hasn’t got anything to do with their self-esteem then I’m not the gal for it.”
“Have you been coaching CHS for the entire time he’s been there or…?”
Spitfire remembered Freshman Year Flash Sentry all too well to say she couldn’t. “Yeah. Just the year before he started, actually.”
“Then…” Coco made a clicking sound with her tongue as she sought for her words. “Has he ever been in a similar situation before that you’ve noticed?”
“As far as I’m aware, nothing has happened before…”
Memory stopped her in her tracks with a single hand. From when CHS’ sophomore-going-on-junior IT couple crumbled, it shook the entire student body apart as well as the teachers too. After that it was did you know Sentry rejoined the Dance Team again and no can do I’m afraid, Sentry asked me if we could continue his singing lessons and I’m still determined to get him to grade eight before he leaves. He was so close, you know?
“No, wait. Something similar did.”
Flash Sentry broke up with Sunset Shimmer.
“I won’t ask for details if it’s too personal” – thank God, Spitfire didn’t have them anyway and preferred it to stay that way – “but was that behaviour similar to how it had been today?”
All Spitfire knew was that it was bad. Not how bad compared to today’s bad.
“I can’t remember, honestly.”
“How’d he deal with it, then? He must’ve bounced back, right?”
Oh, he did.
Pre-Sunset-Shimmer Flash wasn’t horrible at basketball. He just wasn’t what he was now. He was on the team because he knew how to play and Spitfire needed more players.
Spitfire made no exceptions. Rainbow had been one for clear reasons she needed no excuses for.
Flash? Barely anyone knew they were related but they hadn’t been close. Flash gave her an awkward smile here and there the day after they had to meet up the previous evening for a gathering but anyone could brush that off as Flash being Flash. Spitfire made no exception for him.
That entire season for him had been a heart-monitor graph. PQRST or whatever they called it. It started with E certainly.
Stable to bad to okay—not so bad to holy shit.
Something had to have sparked a passion there because one cloudy afternoon Spitfire had snuck looks out into the court from her office and spotted Sentry with the other players (when they used to get along…), position-less, scoring every single time. Either her players had gotten worse or, more plausible, Flash Sentry had gotten better.
She tried him out in the shooting guard position at the time, just to see how he would play, and she be damned, their scores shot up. The positions had never changed since then.
Certain to the route of hell, Sunset had something to do with it. Or maybe not Sunset, but the breakup must’ve fucked Flash up. It could’ve been post-breakup courage or channelling his emotions out in a healthy way but it got him high and it got him far.
He didn’t need Spitfire’s help with it at all.
“Yeah, he did. Exceptionally well and became one of my best players.” Spitfire’s shoulders dropped. “He did it all by himself.”
“I see.” Coco pursed her lips. Not that Spitfire was looking or anything. “So, you’re struggling to help him now?”
“Mhm. I have no idea what’s going on and. Well. It doesn’t help that he’s not telling me anything. I don’t even know where to start because if I bring up basketball, I know he’s gonna tell me he’ll work on it and nothing else.”
Because whatever Flash had been through with Sunset pushed his heart so far up his sleeve and into his chest, it left him with cold hands and a guarded heart. Because she had seen Flash on the verge of tears and he still refused to let them out, cracked voice and broken smile.
Because Flash was… delicate. Delicate to the point she saw why he was so closed off whenever he wasn’t smiley or cheeky or snarky. His Adam’s apple would move like it was shoving words or tears down his throat. His jaw tightened to control the way he breathed and as a result, he would shut off verbally.
It was only until Flash got back on his own feet that she started getting to know him better, that she properly heard him laugh and experienced what it would be like having Flash as a sibling.
She didn’t know him enough to handle him with the care he probably needed but she still wanted to be there.
“So… I just don’t know how to start?”
Coco chewed her bottom lip in thought, eyes on the hood of her frap cup in thought. Utterly focused. Was this what she was like when she was making her clothes?
“Hmm, okay.” She leaned forward, gently shimmying her shoulders. The movement was cute and thawed out the stiffness in Spitfire’s back. “Well, obviously, as you pointed out – I wouldn’t mention basketball to him. I think…” Eyes wandering the café’s ceiling, she chose her words. “From the tone of your voice, you’re scared of not being able to help him. You want to but you’re scared it won’t work.”
“Or it may drive him to an even worse state.”
Spitfire had no clue what that would be like. She could only imagine.
“That shows you care about him, which is a good sign! This may seem pointless but it does matter that you care. Whether you succeed in helping him out or not, your effort will show and that does mean a lot to many people.” Coco grinned with encouragement. Spitfire could’ve sworn she momentarily gave her two thumbs ups.
It was logical. And, Coco didn’t lie: Flash was sweet. Sweet and understanding. He would know Spitfire meant well.
“In regards to actually helping him…”
“If it helps,” Spitfire interrupted lightly. Coco’s expression perked in full interest and it was. So cute. God save me. “He seems to contain twice as much tension as the rest of his peers. And it appears to be directed at them. Is that something?” She gazed at her, hopeful. “I don’t know much about his high school life other than what he’s comfortable telling me.”
Coco nodded. She leaned back in her seat and scratched her head. “Tell me how he’s been acting recently.”
Spitfire blinked. “Uh. Performance-wise?” That was all she could say confidently, honestly.
“Anything, really.”
“Well, performance-wise: he’s growing more careless with the ball, seems distracted. Zones out for a bit when tensions are low like he’s tense about something else. He’s still able to pass well and I know if it wasn’t for that stupid little brat on the opposing team, he would’ve scored for us. His agility is lacking, focus is too strained as if he couldn’t naturally focus on the game.”
Spitfire didn’t mind if Coco didn’t understand a thing she was saying but it aided her a lot in getting her thoughts together.
“He just looks like he wants to get out of there as soon as possible.”
Coco nodded slowly. Definitely attempting to process everything.
Spitfire continued, “Behavioural wise… he grumbles under his breath, he wouldn’t let me or the nurse take care of his injury, shoved his way into the changing rooms and didn’t stay for the group talk at the end.” She didn’t blame him for that last bit, to be honest. “Just… nothing like him at all.”
Coco raised an eyebrow. “A closed-off one, hm? Those are the best to deal with.” She said in a jokey manner. It didn’t fully come off as a joke, though.
“You… deal with teenagers?” Spitfire put no effort into hiding her curious smile.
“Sometimes! I offer apprenticeship schemes and often their social life can get in the way of their creativity so I try to aid them through it.” She brought her hands together with a teeth-bared smile.
“Oh, wow!” Spitfire’s eyebrows soared. So, she was dealing with an expert. “That’s so cool.” It really was! Anyone who managed to handle teenagers, not just the ones they were close with, were to be saluted to.
Spitfire backtracked the conversation and then said, “And you say you’re not a fashion designer,” with a teasing voice.
She couldn’t see the blush against Coco’s dark complexion but every other action she performed implied so. Grrr. So cute and for what.
“Hey, I never said that. ” Coco’s voice was so tiny.
She cocked her head. “You implied it.” A smirk escaped her. The reaction she received was a defeated growl – she looked as intimidating as a damn kitten.
Coco then rolled her eyes cutely.
“Okay, so,” she said. “One, don’t mention basketball.”
“He may figure out that you knew something was up from basketball but so long as you don’t mention it, you should be fine.”
Spitfire nodded even with the apprehension buzzing in her body. She couldn’t ignore that Flash was smart.
“There are just some things you shouldn’t mention in favour of not making them misunderstand your intentions.” Coco paused as a way to silently ask if Spitfire understood.
She did. But… it would be better if she got some examples so she wouldn’t mess up and so she got an idea of what she shouldn’t say.
“Which… are?”
Coco hummed. “I told you one already,” – she counted on her index finger – “um… I think that’s the only thing I can think of. For now.”
“Ahh, okay. So, then what should I do?”
“You shouldn’t force him to say anything. And I know, especially with fixtures and tournaments or… uh, whatever you guys call them—”
Spitfire grinned. “—You’re correct, by the way.”
Coco’s eyes sparkled under the café lights. “Oh, really?! Gosh, I never thought I’d actually get sporty stuff right.”
Cute. Hopefully, Spitfire’s smile didn’t come off as too endeared.
Coco continued, “But yeah, with those coming up you’d want him to explain his situation ASAP. Judging by how aloof he is at the moment, forcing it isn’t the best idea.”
“I…” Spitfire held her tongue.
It was… stupid to ask something like this. She should know it, right? It was polite to not force people into something they didn’t wanna do. A why? still stood in her throat and discomfort swindled up her back. Not discomfort. Shame. She was a coach, she was an adult, she should understand why.
Perhaps Spitfire was so used to getting her way through a drill sergeant manner that she didn’t recognise how it was actually impacting those around her. It still got the work done so she never had to question it.
Spitfire licked her lips. Her thoughts ran with her breathing, getting absolutely nowhere despite the sheer speed. She gazed up at Coco who sat with a patient smile, wordlessly encouraging Spitfire to take her time while the sky outside had gotten darker than the shade of Coco’s hair.
If this wasn’t a free judgement zone, I wouldn’t have offered to help in the first place.
“May… may I ask why not?”
“Reverse psychology, I guess. If you try to force him into telling you what’s wrong, that may just do the complete opposite of what you want.” Coco placed her elbows on the table. “Some people don’t like being told what to do and it’s a breach of personal boundaries. Everyone has different ones and it’s good to tread them lightly until or unless they say otherwise.”
Spitfire ohhh ’d. “That makes sense.” Was it just her or. Was this never taught in schools or by her own parents? Because it clearly was a vital social skill that was really risky to learn the hard way. “Sorry, you must think I’m strange for not understanding any of this before you—”
Coco’s eyes widened. “Wh—no! I don’t, oh my gosh! I get why you might think that; people are really judgy, especially those who like to act they’re not. Like, they’re out here making fun of those who genuinely struggle to comfort people yet they aren’t doing a good job at it themselves.” She pulled the corner of her mouth into her cheek before looking sideways. First-hand experience?
“Homeless man calling another man homeless,” Spitfire said. Purely out of humour purposes.
And Coco giggled. So bright and warm, enough for her to forget the cold seeping through the café windows.
“But yeah, it’s not a bad thing that you struggle with it. You just need to learn. That’s completely fine!” She smiled and Spitfire couldn’t help but smile too.
“Thanks.” Spitfire played with her fingers in her lap.
“Of course!” Coco rejoiced. “So. Yeah. Don’t force him to say anything. How close are you guys, if I may ask?”
Oh. That’s how you ask? Spitfire, while not to the extent of Coco, had been doing so casually without realising it. Huh.
“Uh… well, I’m very close with his family. They’ve helped me a lot through tough times and I guess I’ve developed the little overprotective soft spot they have for my cousin. We do stupid shit together sometimes but… we’re not that close. Just how you’d see typical siblings, to be honest.”
Coco exhaled and Spitfire stiffened with anxiety. “All right.” She was probably just thinking. “With that in mind then, just let him know how you’ll handle it if he does tell you what’s going on. For example, offer both routes of advice and an ear. Not everyone wants advice so don’t be ready to give it, even if you are very certain it can solve their issue. You can ask but if they say no, then, you know, take it. Sometimes, they know what they need to do, they just need to clear their mind or get everything out.”
Like what Spitfire was doing with Coco.
She tried to imagine what it’d be like if she wasn’t looking for advice and Coco just sprung it onto her without a warning. Not that Coco would do that, just a thought.
Her chest recoiled at the stage, faux guilt and shame flooding through her arteries. She jerked her shoulders as casually as she could to get rid of it. Oh.
“That makes sense,” she said.
“Can I ask, is he touchy or does he draw back from physical displays of affection?”
Spitfire shakes her head. “Nah, he’s pretty touchy once you’re close with him and are comfortable with him being like that. It’s part of our Korean culture, skinship.”
Coco’s eyebrows rose in understanding. “Ahh, right, right. Then don’t be afraid to give him a lil’ hug. Or ruffle his hair, I don’t know. Provide him with some physical comfort too.”
“Mhm, ‘kay. I can do that.” She wouldn’t admit it to someone that wasn’t part of the Sentry household but babying Flash was a nice pass time. The boy played the part enough that she couldn’t be the only one blamed. He was on the dongsaeng side of the Sentry family.
“Don’t be judgy, either. It’s really common for adults to downplay teens’ issues because we act like they have nothing to worry about compared to us. Sure, we may have not gone through as much as this generation of teens had, but we were teens once. Have some sympathy for him. Know he’s growing and he may not understand all of his emotions properly. Treat him like a person, that’s probably all he wants.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
A flutter of guilt settled at the bottom of her lungs when she thought about how she treated the other students. It wasn’t a clear this or that situation but even if she wasn’t close with them, she might treat them nicer from now on.
Unless they were the reason Flash was feeling the way he did. Then they would really hear it from her.
Also. Coco did this on a regular basis too? Dang. “I’m sure you produce plenty of pretty decently functioning adults from your apprentices with the way you seem to understand them.”
Coco smiled, shyness showering over her. “Ahh, please. You just need to understand that they aren’t seven-year-olds needing your hand through everything and that they aren’t going to be mature enough to fully grasp themselves without a little guidance.”
“So, like.” Spitfire’s head ran for words. “Let them make their own choices with how they wanna approach… me, I guess, with whatever they’re going through but also nudge them in specific directions if asked?”
The reassuring grin on Coco’s face said enough. “Exactly! It takes a bit of problem-solving and whatnot, but with how good you are at analysing the behaviours of students using sports, you shouldn’t have a massive issue with them. Or, I guess, with your cousin specifically.”
“Yeah. Yeah, wow, gosh.” Spitfire blew out a breath. “I’m kinda jealous of those who can easily do this. Still feel a little stupid for not knowing myself.”
Coco waved a hand. “Again, you’re completely fine! Not everyone is naturally good at everything and that involves consoling people they love.”
“Thank you so much.” Spitfire slumped in her seat. Closing her eyes met a sting she could only internally roll her eyes at but her head was clear, her body ultimately weightless. The lightheadedness had faded sometime during the conversation that when she opened her eyes, nothing was blurry. Particularly the pretty woman in front of her, but—yeah. Anyway. “I think I’ve sobered up a bit.”
Coco raised an eyebrow. “Two shots, huh? Sure you didn’t drink more than that?”
Spitfire snorted with a proper roll of her eyes. “Coffee’s definitely more my thing. The alcohol was to lessen the stress this situation forced me into but it didn’t exactly. Work.” She looked right at Coco. Spitfire may find subtle social cues annoying but sometimes they were pretty handy.
“Hmm. What other sports do you coach for?”
Spitfire’s heart pumped like she had done her morning jog. It mirrored the feeling of spotting bubbles in a park, the sunlight reflecting over the edges. She bit her lip, internally yelling at her mind to catch up with the organ in her chest.
“Multiple. Around…” Basketball, netball, swimming, baseball, soccer, football, hockey, “six? Aside from basketball.”
Coco looked intrigued. “Six?! Whoa, talented one, aren’t you?”
Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush.
Spitfire pouted as if that was gonna stop her cheeks from steaming. Coco seemed to take note of that as she grinned.
“When’s your next match, by the way? Any sport, not just basketball?”
Her ears perked, heart jumping ropes. “Why’dya ask?” She tilted her head.
“I want to go to one.”
“Wait, what.”
So this was what Flash meant by how a keyboard smash felt in real life. Every part of her body twitched in utter confusion and overwhelming warmth; she didn’t know where to go from there.
“Mhm!” Coco nodded. She tucked a loosened strand of hair behind her ear. “If that’s okay with you?”
Start functioning again, dumbass. “Oh! Yeah! A hundred percent, yeah, that’s great, uh, yeah I’d really like—I mean, it’d be nice to see you there! Not because you helped me with this, well, I mean sort of but—”
It took Spitfire a few more words to realise Coco was giggling behind her hand.
Spitfire coughed. Smacked a fist at her chest. A little too hard. Ouch. “I mean. That’d be great.”
Good job! Now when’s your next fucking match!
“Is tomorrow too soon? It’s a netball match.”
“Oh no, that’s perfect! Here…” Coco tapped away at her phone and then placed it in front of Spitfire with a gentle thud, the caret blinking in the spot where her number would go. “Text me the time and address. I’ll be there.”
No one needed to know that her flight, fight or freeze system for a second once her eyes caught the contact name Coco typed in for her. cute coach from ssc. Her fingers were nimble and soon enough, her number sat neatly in Coco’s contact list. Coco gave her a ring and Spitfire quickly added her to her contacts too. She refrained from sticking a heart next to her name.
“I’ll text you,” was the only thing she could bring herself to say without sounding like a stupid gay.
“Great! I’ll be sure to wear this skirt to the game too,” she giggled, a smug expression forming on her soft features. “Stain and everything…” she added in a singsong voice.
Spitfire blinked harshly and shook her head, praying this time that her smile didn’t look as panicked as her heart was. “You will not. ”
Coco shrugged a shoulder with a giggle. Spitfire watched her stand and pull off her cardigan, tying it over the curve of her waist. A knowing smile pulled at her lips and she looked Spitfire in the eye while grabbing her frap. Insane.
At least Spitfire had it in her to vaguely wave back when Coco saw herself out, pretty fingers doing a little dance. Spitfire’s wave was probably dazed like cupid shot one of his fucking arrows right into her spine.
Spitfire glanced down at the table. When she saw the sole coffee cup in front of her, her face dropped.
It was cold to the touch. Dammit.
Coco: 1. Spitfire: 0.
Her keys jingled as she drove. Spitfire had one to the Sentry Mansion. Because of course, she did.
Feeling fuzzy from a match was not regular. It took her a while to push it down elsewhere. Spotting the gates of the Sentrys’ house helped in calming it down, the wind rushing through the open window of her car finally had some effect when she drove her way to it. While she still tasted the milkshake in her mouth from the visit to Sugar Cube after the match, as well as the tingles on her lips from something else, she took a deep breath and suppressed it for now.
She had turned off from Work Spitfire after the netball match – which thankfully went better than yesterday’s – but now she had to turn off from Date Spitfire too.
Now it was Family Spitfire time.
She didn’t need to knock. Her uncle gave her that free pass years ago. She wasn’t surprised at the place’s slightly haunting atmosphere yet she tried not to make the comparison that it was because of one clouded teenager. Spitfire couldn’t assume so for the youngest Sentry too who was probably in his room but she wouldn’t put it past him.
She kicked off her trainers at the door and shoved her keys in her pocket after locking the door.
Should she miss a step when she wandered up the stairs? Hmm, perhaps that wouldn’t give her enough time to prepare.
While her legs itched to miss a fucking step, she kept her speed slow. The faint sound of video game shooting filtered through Pop Fly’s room and Spitfire chuckled silently. She walked around the void of the second floor looking into the living room and reached Flash Sentry’s room.
The door was closed when she got there. A mellow come in? filtered through when she knocked.
He jolted in his spinning chair, relaxing once he saw her.
“Oh, hey.”
“Hey, kid.”
Flash didn’t look the best, neither did he look absolutely terrible. If she hadn’t noticed something was up, he appeared as if he had a maths test coming up. His white hoodie was a snugger fit than the others he owned and wandered his house in – sort of convincing her that those weren’t his hoodies – and so were the sweatpants. Actually, his sweatpants were a much tighter fit, hiking up and revealing his shin.
Plasters scattered everywhere possible on the skin to look full but not overcrowded; Spitfire was surprised none of them had rubbed off last night. Flash didn’t seem like the type to bother sticking new ones on again.
The bruises definitely looked better. The aid couldn’t have been Flash’s doing if the wounds were looking better than yesterday. Hm.
“So,” Spitfire started, sitting at the edge of his bed closer to his desk. Flash was sort of slumped in his chair, turned to her for the sake of being polite. Here goes. “Everything okay?”
“Mm.” Flash shrugged.
The expression on his face. He looked so. She didn’t know how to place it but he was so. Lost. Lost like he’d given up. Lost between two pathways that were both dark and intimidating.
Say something. “Hey.” Spitfire pressed her lips together, forming the words into a sentence. “I don’t wanna sound like those people but—”
“But you’re gonna sound like those people,” Flash said with one of his boyish grins. Brat.
Spitfire rolled her eyes. The playful tension in her features collapsed as the words climbed to her voice. If she hadn’t noticed, she wouldn’t have thought much of it. It was a distraction. She would treat like she didn’t detect it until he didn’t either.
“You can talk to me about whatever, okay? You know I’ll beat up anyone for you.”
Flash’s smile wilted a little. His eyes fell. There we go.
“And… I’ll try to help as best I can. Or not! If you just want an ear, I can do that. I don’t wanna give you pity or coddle you or act like you’re not old enough to know what you’re dealing with. But I don’t wanna be a closed-door to you or be someone you’re too scared to ask help from. Mhm?”
He didn’t look her in the eyes. The bedside table next to his bed seemed more interesting but she didn’t look. Though from the vague tilt of his eyes, a storm flurried through, something so dark Spitfire sensed whatever pain he was going through like lightning to her chest. Poor kid.
“Okay,” he said.
She patted his knee. There wasn’t anything she could say after that, or do aside from hope he knew what he was doing, so she nodded and stood.
Flash must’ve noticed her delay in leaving from how long she stood but she brushed it off to ruffle his hair. Spitfire’s chest warmed at the small smile she received from that.
Once she nearly reached his door, however, his call for her, despite its literal quiet impact, thundered the silence of his bedroom. It was hard for her heart not to shatter at the unruined hope in his voice, surrounded by quivers of hurt.
“Noona?”