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the last game of the bloodrush season is upon them and fabian doesn’t think he’s ready for the mad, loud, dash of the day ahead. he can feel his heart, awful and heavy, against his ribcage. he’s doing better, at least that’s what he tells himself. he’s doing better but he still needs to win, an urge that’s both stupid and the most important thing in the world. it would have been so important to the late bill seacaster. it isn’t important at all to the bad kids or cathilda or even really to his mother. but the weight of his fathers legacy still clings to him, unhealing and stubborn as a bruise.
that morning as he cleans his teeth the hands of his reflection shake in the mirror, so nervous that he’s almost sick with it. but he knows he can do it and he will do it. his father may never be proud of him but his friends always will be. it’s the thought of their cheers and the smiles to come that propel him forward. if he thinks of one specific smile in particular then that’s between him, cassandra, and the gods of leviathan.
because it isn’t just the thought of the bad kids as a whole moving him forwards, not gorgug’s pregame grin or fig’s cheers, sharp as any weapon. all that holds him together is the wind on the breeze and the stars in the sky and the way that he knows that after the final whistle riz will be there. even once the rest of them have left for home.
he breathes in for a count in for four, out for eight just like adaine has taught him, tries to think of the expanse of the sea not the stars or the shimmering night. spring break, he thinks, i believe in me . by the time he reaches second period his heart is almost in its normal rhythm and he chooses to believe he took the long route for the extra steps and not to avoid the corridor he thinks the rogue classes are in.
he’s still figuring some things out, that’s normal. that one of those things might be that he’s in love/ infatuated/ hopelessly into his best friend is something he can deal with. something he can learn to deal with. really, is there any other option?
the day passes in a haze, catching glimpses of his friends in the corridors as he dances through from class to class. it slips past in almost comfort. he is always almost comfortable - in his skin, in himself, with the bad kids - still not used to the feeling of not feeling perfectly welcome in every room.
they meet at lunch and the noise of the cafeteria is a welcome embrace. fig is throwing little paper stars as fast as adaine can make them. gorgug is eating a lunch packed by digby that smells slightly of pickled acorns. riz is eating the wrappings and peels of gorgug’s lunch. he sits at the table and takes a second to stretch out the tension in his shoulders after a morning of bard training, still not quite used to the balance of his new elven blade.
cathilda packed his lunch, a note placed on top in her familiar scrawl. good luck with the game, my boy. kill them all.
he smiles and tucks it into the protective pocket of his bag that contains his battle sheet, to keep it crisp and neat. she’s packed him two sandwiches, some kippers, and fruit chopped into even pieces. without thinking he takes the top most sandwich, still in its wax paper wrapping, and passes it to his side. riz takes it like clockwork and grins at him, deeply familiar and a little too sharp, before biting into it paper and all. fabian tries somewhat unsuccessfully not to blush, knowing if there is one thing he can do for them all it lays somewhere in finance and what he can give.
then it’s back to fighter classes, his attention split in so many directions the girl he’s sparring with almost knocks his teeth out with one well timed hit. he hates unarmed fighting, it lacks grace and he always ends up covered in bruises. getting hit in the face is just fucking undignified, no matter how many times corsica explains that it’s for his personal development. at least it seems to knock him back into his head, back into his body, for a while. nothing like the lightness of a forgotten existence or the heaviness of a corpse, all thoughts of the past forgotten and the open road to the bloodrush game stretching out in front of him.
from there it’s like he blinks and he’s on the field, the lights in his eyes and the roar of the crowd around him. if he didn’t know better he would think he hears fig’s voice through all the rest. even if it isn’t possible he feels inspiration settle on his skin like a glittering mist. fabian doesn’t look to the crowd to see the bad kids, not when he knows they’ll be there.
he looks to his side and gorgug is there as always, waiting to talk about their opening play. it feels weird to be the captain, he’d thought that would have been something that slipped away from this newly constructed version of himself. but it didn’t so he swallows and remakes his voice like he does before every game, thinking through play after play with his right hand man.
as they walk out onto the field, he looks over at his friend. he isn’t sure when gorgug became handsome, shedding the image of the backpack kid like an ill fitting skin. even through that recognition, his stomach is still and empty of butterflies and he doesn’t love the confirmation it brings him. he isn’t gay , there’s just something about riz . something in their friendship that sends him into a spiral of shaking hands and blushing, with none of the performance or expectation he felt pursuing aelwyn.
his hands feel empty as they start the game, so he passes one more look over to gorgug. “ spring break . ” he mumbles under his breath and from across the field he sees him whisper it back, a prayer to bloody knuckles and cassandra and the bad kids to carry them both through.
then the game starts and he is lost in the rush of his blood under his skin. he hadn’t understood what rage was like before leviathan and the forest but he thinks he does now. it’s something like transformation, burning away at his insides. each new fight being made something soft and new. liking to fight was no longer the scary thing, the obligation he inherited and could never live up to. now it’s just another opportunity to look after his friends, comforting and easy as daylight.
the first play he goes rushing through bastion city’s defence. he’s fucking untouchable , a roaring flame. in for four, out for eight, just like adaine taught him and he’s there at the line getting the first point of the night, raised to godliness by the shouting of the crowd.
they win. how could they not? they’ve saved the damn world, they’re not going to be taken down by bloodrush. at the final whistle he launches himself at gorgug, laughing and lifting him up to the best of his abilities. it’s something he and fig had sort of practised, when she taught him some of her cheer stuff in the summer. so now he knows how to lift him, spinning and laughing as the half orc blushes and yells.
he loves his friends and they believe in him and his heart is so full of love. the rest of them are there on the field now, with him and with gorgug and the rest of the bloodrush team who don’t really matter to him once the final whistle is blown. their cheers are loud in his ears and he stops spinning gorgug to spin adaine instead, which he knows she hates and enjoys in equal measure, blushing pink to the tips of her ears. it takes a second before she wriggles free of his grasp, giggling and rolling her eyes.
fabian turns and somehow in the time it took to put her down, fig is now on top of gorgug’s shoulders. her cheer training put into practice as she moves to stand and yell from above the crowd. because he’s grown up a little, even if he’d never admit it, he doesn’t point out his deep green blush as he puts a steadying hand on her ankle.
he looks for the ball in the mess of them and ignores his own blush, as he feels it steadily rising. each of them are hopeless for each other, so he isn’t surprised when he meets riz’s eyes and his face transforms from a pointed look to a smile with all his teeth. he almost wishes that the ball had joined them, that summer in the gardens of the manor. it would be all too easy right now for him to be thrown up into the steady tower of fig’s training and gorgug’s strength. he wishes riz would join him almost all of the time but he keeps that inside his chest, tucked between himself and the ocean.
it doesn’t matter because he and his friends are here and they’re alive and they’re freaking celebrating and he joins fig in shouting as much to the sky.
he’s never told them but he can’t stand the quiet anymore. but, he thinks one hundred days of quiet would be worth it to get here with the bad kids and the shining silver trophy that he sees being passed around the field. it’s like somewhere along the way it all fell sparkling into place. his life is a brilliant blue, the sea reflecting back at the sky.
when he stops cheering and watching the trophy as it’s passed back into the dugout the ball is still looking at him and he knows that today is the day he’s going to tell him. for the first time maybe he’s secure that it doesn’t matter what he is, not really. what matters is he likes riz, in all his manic and coffee scented glory. and that means something, or it should , even if he still isn’t quite sure of what.
the rest of the crowd drains away like water, with the bad kids leaving last. one by one, their eyes on him the whole time. he hugs gorgug as he goes, lets him know that he and the ball will join them at the manor, they just need a minute. there isn’t even a strangeness to that, just one more bad kid ritual. riz grounding him post game until the buzzing in his body is gone and he’s back in his head. until he feels something like normal again and he isn’t going to question why it’s riz that makes him feel that way.
they’re the last two on the field and they make their way to the bleachers, as smoothly and as practised as any dance he’s learnt. it’s almost night now, the sky pink and purple and electric orange. the golden hour light makes riz look like the angel that they all thought he was, in one of the many moments of sophomore year he only feels like he half remembers. riz looks at him once more and his eyes are just as bright as the setting sun. he almost falters in the move to sit beside him, the rush of the field replaced with a gentle, bubbling nervousness.
“what’s going on?” of course riz cuts right to the heart of it, he can probably hear the way fabian’s heart picks up everytime they’re alone.
“small talk, the ball!” this is something they’ve been working on, sort of, the different types of tact. he’s helped riz to ease into a topic, riz has helped him to sound like less of a brat.
riz lets out a little chuckle of a laugh. “of course, are you performing at fig’s open mic night this weekend?”
“she has me signed up at least. i keep telling her i’m not that kind of bard.” he rubs his hand across the back of his neck, like that will rub away the nerves he’s feeling. he never used to be the type of person to get nervous, but now the feeling always seems to be itching at the edges of his limbs. at least riz is still smiling, the thought of his upcoming embarrassment enough to distract him from his interrogation momentarily.
it’s starting to get properly dark, and fabian watches as the lights of the bleachers click off one by one. he’s determined not to lose his nerve, but the thought of saying something makes his heart feel like it’s going to crack his ribs.
he looks at riz again, this time when he does he gets something like a glare levelled at him in return. “small talk over. what’s going on?”
his mouth is suddenly completely dry.
“look if it’s something about spring break i can call gorgug, or kri-”
“no.” fabian doesn’t mean for his response to sound as strangled as it does but by the way she looks at him, he thinks kristen has figured him out. the last thing he needs is her to be here and telling him it's okay to be whatever it is he is, or that he should just feel the feelings he has when he thinks no one else is paying attention.
“i mean, i’m just coming down from the game.” riz makes a noise that lets him know that he doesn’t believe him. “i’m fine, the ba- riz.”
he’s very aware that they’re alone on a bench, not that far apart and under a beautiful sky. somehow despite the light pollution of the elmville city limits, he can still see all the stars and he makes note of the few he can remember, counting them one by one to slow his breathing. when he turns back riz is still looking at him, the expression on his face the one he only gets when he’s trying to solve a mystery.
so he gives riz an answer, leans forward into the space between them and kisses him, aiming for brief and sweet and questioning. he kisses him and there are no sparks or fireworks of any kind, no feeling of the earth shifting or something falling perfectly into place. he kisses him and it’s simply fine .
he pulls back and for the first time in years he can’t read the expression on riz’s face. the quiet between them must only last a few seconds but it feels like he ages years before riz speaks.
he thinks he’s going to be sick.
“fuck you,” the worst part is riz doesn’t even sound angry with him, just sad and a little betrayed.
“i’m sorry i -”
“what, thought you’d -”
“you’re my best friend and -”
“i don’t -”
“i misunderstood -”
it’s not funny, he knows that from the pit in his stomach and the way the elemental in his chest is burning all the way up from it’s embers but somewhere in the tangle of their voices he starts to laugh. he can’t help it. suddenly he’s shaking with the laughter of months of anxiety and avoided feelings, laughing so hard that his head falls into riz’s shoulder and its so unexpected that riz doesn’t even think to move.
it takes him a minute to catch his breath, laughter almost falling into tears, then into something that could be a sob but isn’t quite. at the point riz pats him sharply on the back, in a gesture he thinks is meant to be comforting but feels more like a baby being burped, that he manages to straighten himself again.
“you shouldn’t be comforting me, i’m such an ass .”
“correct.” riz breathes out a sigh and he has to resist the urge to follow riz’s lead of awkward back patting. “just to make it one hundred percent clear, i don’t want that. with anyone, not just you.”
he knows riz well enough to pick up on the slight change in his voice as he says it, knows that they’ve probably been feeling something like the same way in the past months.
“the ball, i’m sorry for kissing you.” in for four, out for eight. “and, i think, i’m bi.”
riz nods and a weight lifts off his chest. the night feels cooler now that he’s said it, in a pleasant way, a breeze picking up and carrying away some feverish anxiety.
“if you try that again i’m shooting off one of your fingers.” he laughs and this time riz does too. regardless, there is no doubt in his mind that he means it.
he twists the friendship bracelet kristen made for him round his wrist a few times and thinks of the rest of the bad kids, waiting for them at mordred but he doesn’t move yet. the night is beautiful and the sky glitters above them and for a minute he just breathes. letting the cool air of the night fill his lungs and he feels riz do the same beside him. he feels a little closer to himself, like something in the makeup of his body has changed. by the time they get up off of the bench he doesn’t feel nervous at all. he’s doing better, he tells himself, and this time it feels like the truth.