Chapter Text
Don walked down the streets of the city, headed to the store to buy ingredients to cook. It was to be Christmas soon, and so big meals were to be cooked in the WVBA home, like every year. The responsibility of ingredients shopping was put on Don. He looked down at his phone, reviewing the shopping list that Piston had sent him the previous day as he walked. He wanted to get the shopping done with as quickly as possible, as he hated shopping around the holidays. The stores were always packed with people in a hurry to get prepared for the holidays, and it sucked. Every single time. He anticipated it to be a horrible time again, even though they didn’t need much this time.
He got distracted looking over the list for the thousandth time, accidentally bumping into someone. Don stumbled back, trying to stable his balance.
“Oi, would ye mind watchin’ where yer fuckin’ walkin’?” The man yelled in a thick Irish accent.
“Sorry, sorry, are you okay-?” Don asked, trailing off as he looked at the man he had bumped into. He knew this man. “Aran?”
This man was Aran Ryan, another boxer in the WVBA. Aran’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Don.
“Don. Watch where yer fuckin’ goin’ next time, ye bastard.” Aran said plainly, walking off. Don faltered for a moment at Aran’s bluntness, but Aran didn’t seem to care.
“Sorry!” Don shouted, watching Aran walk off for a moment before continuing his own walk down to the store. Well, that was a.. strange encounter, to say the least. In all fairness, he and Aran didn’t really talk much. Don was kind of afraid of Aran and his ticking time bomb of a temper, and so he averted Aran when possible. But that exactly got Don thinking.
What would actually happen if he tried to talk to Aran more? Would his fears of being hurt by Aran’s explosive anger prove true? Or would it prove the opposite? He pondered these thoughts to himself as he made it to the parking lot of the store. Maybe he could make that a personal goal for the holidays. Talk to Aran, and find out what he’s really all about. What really goes on in Aran’s mind, when he’s all loud and in your face?
Maybe soon he’d find out.
———
Don returned to the house hours later, letting out a loud, exasperated sigh as he entered. He nearly dropped the grocery bags right there, but he had the decency to place them in the kitchen, where they’d be used. Piston sat in the kitchen, preparing the cooking set up.
“What took you so long?” Piston questioned, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.
“Piston, trust me, I went through hell and back to get you this stuff.” Don responded.
“Oh, I’m sure you did.” Piston added. “I’ve seen those stores. Scary shit.” Both went quiet for a moment before Don spoke.
“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where Aran is, do you?” He asked.
“Ah, I do, actually. I heard you had a little run-in with him earlier?” Piston replied.
“He told you about that?” Don asked, somewhat surprised.
“Oh yeah, he ranted for a solid 10 minutes about how ‘dumb you were for not looking where you’re walking’ and stuff.” Piston explained. Don scoffed. Aran was going around telling them all how ‘dumb he was’?
“I’m not dumb!” Don exclaimed.
“I don’t think you are, but he seems to.” Piston continued, eyes focused on preparation. “Maybe you should talk to him about it.”
“Actually, I was planning on doing just that.” Don said confidently, walking towards the stairs.
“You do that, I’ll be here.” Piston called out to Don. Don was already halfway up the stairs, determined to talk to Aran and get somewhere with it. What was Aran really all about?
He walked over to the door of Aran’s bedroom, knocking. He heard a loud groan come from the other side, waiting for a moment before the door opened.
“What could ye possibly fuckin’ want?” Aran scowled. Don tried his best to put on a smile in front of Aran despite his nerves and slight irritation.
“Hey, I just wanted to apologize for being an idiot and not looking where I was walking.” Don said calmly. “That’s my fault.”
“Yeah, it is. Glad ye can recognize that much.” Aran responded flatly. Don took a deep breath. The question he was going to ask next made him slightly nervous.
“Do you really think I’m dumb..?” He asked, his tone expressing his nerves. Aran looked stumped for a second, as if he was drawing a blank, or didn’t know the answer.
“Sometimes.” He replied, seemingly wanting this conversation to be over. Don sighed, feeling slightly defeated.
“I see.” Don said. “Good night then, Aran.” Aran simply grunted, closing the door and likely returning to what he was doing before. Don was almost embarrassed. He had to wonder, yet again, why Aran was the way he was. And why did his words sting more than anyone else’s ever had?
These questions remained in Don’s mind as he began to walk downstairs. Maybe he’d help Piston, and that’d get his mind off of Aran and that conversation. He walked into the kitchen, seeing that Piston had already begun cooking. Piston noticed him in the room, giving a smile like a father does his kid.
“So? How’d it go? Didn’t seem to take very long.” Piston asked.
“Not great,” Don muttered. “He basically just ignored my apology and called me dumb again.” Piston sighed and seemed to think for a moment as he continued cooking.
“Y’know, Don, he calls everyone dumb. But I wouldn’t venture as far as to say he hates anyone here, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Piston said, almost as if reading his mind. “If anything I’d say he hates Sandman more than anyone else.” He added. Don laughed at that, feeling some of his lingering negative feelings fade.
“I don’t know, I just wish he wasn’t so angry all the time.” Don expressed, still somewhat upset.
“I think you need to learn to accept his anger before you can hope to get anywhere with him.” Piston explained.
“What do you mean ‘get anywhere with him’?” Don questioned.
“Well you so clearly have a desire to speak to him.” Piston gave him a knowing look. “Which I wonder why, but I digress.” Don huffed at Piston’s comment. What did he mean by that?
“Whatever. Maybe you’re right. But how do I accept his anger when his words hurt so much?” Don asked again.
“You have to realize that he doesn’t mean it. He hides behind a mask of anger caused by his childhood.” Piston continued on. Don gave him a look of suspicion, which Piston caught. “I’m being serious! I’m trying to help ‘ya man.”
“Yeah, I know, but it’s just hard to believe, y’know?” Don sighed. “I’ll try again. It’s worth trying.” He added, more confident now. Piston smiled at him.
“There ‘ya go!” He paused. “..Now can you help me cook this? I can’t do this all by myself.”
Don laughed.
“Yeah, I’ll help.” He said. So, tomorrow he would try to speak to Aran again. Hopefully, maybe Aran would be nice enough for once to actually engage. Don hoped he was, as he had a now ever growing desire to talk to him.
Tomorrow.