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Flayon does not deserve this. He really doesn’t.
He’s a good guy, and he’s lived a good solid 18,432 years. He’s seen the rise and fall of empires, witnessed differing states of corruption amidst their so-called utopia, and fought so many battles with the corruption beasts that he could probably fight them in his sleep.
He’s lived enough lives to be called a god. He’s felt the ancient power of Elysium before it became the world of Elysium that it is now, and he’s piloted more vehicles (or vaguely vehicular objects) than anyone could ever possibly count.
Yet here he is, sitting in the R-TRUS, playing Baby Counseling Simulator or something.
Okay, he doesn’t mean that in a bad way.
He likes to listen to his friends and guildmates, and he likes to be able to psychoanalyze them with his self-made genius brain. He loves to pick people apart and see what makes them who they are. That’s his jam. His bread and butter. The ‘silly little’ to his ‘meow meow’.
(Not that he’d call himself a silly little meow meow — or is it poor little meow meow, but doesn’t that only apply to sad wet soggy men? — and he’s more on the babyboy to babygirl spectrum, anyway, but it would be weird to call himself that.
Technically speaking though, he wouldn’t classify himself as malewife, because that’s more of a Hakka thing, and he can’t be that babygirl if Magni and Bettel are the babygirls of the guild so theoretically speaking, he could just be a girlboss but that’s also a weird category to be self-sorting into and yeah, maybe Flayon has put too much thought into this but at least he knows that above all else, he’s not a tumblr sexyman. That’d be too much pressure.
He wonders, briefly, if it’s even possible to sort himself into the elusive ‘pathetic old man’ category when he’s not that pathetic, and he doesn’t look like an old man. But can someone truly be a babyboy after they hit an age over 18,000 years? Does babyboy have an age limit? Is Machina X Flayon a poor little meow meow, after all?
He’ll have to investigate later.)
Even with all his years, though, Flay doesn’t think he’ll ever stop learning more about the people that surround him. He doesn’t think that he’ll ever stop wanting to learn more about them. Especially here and now, with the boys he calls home.
His life has just become so vibrant and fun and beautiful with Guild TEMPUS. He loves, loves, loves them as much as a war torn pilot can love any home he makes during his vastly long life.
He loves every single moment.
Except for moments like these.
Here’s the situation: he’s been sitting here for 45 minutes dealing with Banzoin “I’m going to make Machina X Flayon’s life a Machina X Nightmare” Hakka — also known as his mega super cool bestie, the cheeky little melodramatic bastard with zero thoughts in his brain, the one who decided that their friendship should be adequately titled “your mom” — and whatever the absolute heck he’s talking about.
They gossip all the time, so Hakka sitting here isn’t new.
For all Flay’s talking and talking and overthinking with his hamster wheel of a mind, he’s very very good at listening. That’s what he’s doing. He's asking deep questions and he's paying close attention to every word. Real life doesn’t have subtitles like visual novels do, so he has to make sure he’s focusing enough to understand.
Which would be easy, of course, if the conversation made any sense.
Quick disclaimer – to the little voice in his head that says Hakka needs to die if he doesn’t shut his mouth soon – Flayon loves Hakka.
He loves him in the sense that Hakka makes him want to be a better person, and he’s already had 18,411 years and many more lives on the exorcist to try doing that himself. He surprises Flay in many ways, usually good ones, so Flayon should really just excuse him for being a little dumb, but this goes beyond just being a little dumb so he’s not sure if he should excuse him at all.
Second disclaimer – to the little voice in his head that still wants to protest – he doesn’t think dumb people should be destroyed. Dumb people are great. If everyone was smart, then Flayon wouldn’t be called a genius. He likes that Hakka is dumb. It makes their bestie dynamic so effortless, because Flay just can’t predict what he’s about to say next.
It’s more the subject matter of this conversation that makes Flayon want to strangle him.
Some situation with their resident jester, naturally. Something’s always up with that guy. Gavis Bettel. Bettel-bear. Butthole. Whatever. It’s gotta be a joke.
There's no way what he's saying is a legit cause of concern. No freaking way.
“He just makes me feel weird and shit.” Hakka says, turning the huge bowl of strawberries in his lap. Flayon opens his mouth and Hakka tosses one in. He bites down on the sweet red fruit as Hakka gestures around. “I can’t really explain it. It’s just weird. I kinda feel sick, to be honest. Not that I don’t like him or anything, but I see him and my mind goes whirrr.” He makes a sound like a plane taking off. “You know what I mean?”
“Like,” Flayon swallows before speaking. “Good way or bad way? What do you want to do when you see him? Or do you see him and your mind goes whirrr and you blank out?”
“Pretty much blank out, bro,” Hakka tosses another strawberry into Flayon’s open mouth and then stuffs his own cheeks with two small ones. “It’s like I see him and my thoughts just stop and fly out the window. Never to be seen again.”
“Huh.” Flayon says. “That just sounds like you all the time.”
Hakka bursts out laughing, always good-humored. “Yeah, you’d think, huh? But it’s like, super blank out, man. Like I can talk to you normally. But Beetle will talk to me and my mind just flies into fucking orbit.”
“And then what do you do? After your mind flies into orbit from Beetle contact?”
“Run away, I guess. Or scream. Or get consumed by the darkness within me.” He’s clearly joking, but Flay gets the feeling that it’s what he feels like doing in those situations, so he rolls with it anyway. Stupid chuuni ass bird.
“Uh huh.” Flayon nods like he’s a therapist taking notes. “Very normal reactions. Surely, that has no social consequences whatsoever. What else?”
“Tummy feels funny. Heart goes badoop badoop as well. Doki doki hardcore edition. It’s like a rhythm game in there.” He makes a series of noises that sound like attempts to beatbox. Flayon wishes he wouldn’t. Hakka claps his hands in a dramatic finish. Then bows. Dramatic chuuni ass bird. He pops a berry into his mouth, then says, “Anyway, when I look it up on the internet, it says I might be dying.”
“Don’t look it up, you moron.” Flayon sighs. He steals another strawberry. “The internet’s not a doctor. You’re saying this only happens around Kettle-Bettel? Like, be honest with me. Only our pathetic clown somehow makes your heart go all rhythm game on you?”
“Well, technically Hatsune Miku also does that to me but she is my queen and I owe my life to her so it’s different.”
Flayon blinks slowly. He’s only partially distracted by the thoughts of twintails, now that Miku (the digital queen of all time) has entered the conversation. “So this happens with Hatsune Miku as well?”
“Only the heart thing. It’s not like I look at a picture of Miku and feel like I’m suddenly on the verge of death. No, that’s a clown-specific scenario.”
“You really hate Bettel that much?”
“I just told you I don’t hate him!” Hakka is quick to argue, jostling the bowl in his lap. He looks genuinely saddened by the idea. “I don’t hate him at all. Sure, we joke about it and he’s always getting angry at me for some reason, but we’re cool! We’re cool!”
“Are you, though?”
“Super cool. Cooler than cool. Ice cold, brother.” He insists. He forces more strawberries into Flayon’s mouth as if to keep him quiet. Then his eyes widen. Some berries drop onto the floor. “Maybe I’m sick? Maybe I’ve been infected.”
“What do you mean?” Flay’s voice is muffled.
“I’m so healthy, but it’s possible, right?” Hakka looks like he thinks he’s onto something. Flayon does not think he is onto anything. “You know I get all giggly and shit when he talks to me, it’s crazy, man. I act like a total loser. Do you think he has laughing gas? Is that the secret? That can’t be it. He’s funny enough without it.” He giggles. “But I even laugh at the stupid jokes that aren’t that funny. What's with that? Am I gonna die?”
He isn’t going to die, but Flayon is going to kill Hakka if he does not shut up within the next five minutes, so help him god — Miyabi, he pleads to the heavens above, if you’re listening, I swear he deserves it — because there is no way he’s being serious right now.
“I just think that Gavis Bortol might have cursed me.” Hakka continues casually, popping a strawberry into his mouth. “Cause he’s always making me feel like I got a fever or something, too. Kinda itchy. Can you be allergic to someone? Maybe I’m allergic to clowns.”
“Hakka.” Flayon says. “I’m gonna kill you.”
Hakka chokes on his strawberry, halfway through a startled laugh. “What? Why?! I didn’t do anything this time!”
“Allergic to clowns? Really?”
“I’m being serious!” Hakka responds indignantly, grabbing for his water bottle and downing it. He recovers quickly, because his hand dives right back into the fruit bowl afterwards. “Like, this is a real problem I’m having! What if I’m the first person to discover a clown allergy, huh? Maybe a rare gene infiltrated my body and now I’m the only person in the world that’s allergic to clowns.”
“Alright, pass me the bowl.” Flay demands, not even waiting before snatching it out of his hands. “I’m going to pour this on your head and then whack you with it. Maybe then you’ll actually start coming to your senses.”
“No, Flayon, don’t!” He protests, scrambling to escape the cockpit as Flay advances on him. “I’m too pretty to die!”
Flayon really, really does not deserve this.
Déjà vu is not uncommon for the pilot, considering he’s lived his whopping 18,432 years – things are, by essence, bound to repeat themselves one way or another – but this is just ridiculous. This is beyond ridiculous. This goes into realms of ridiculous that Machina X Flayon had not thought was even possible. It's as if someone out there is specifically targeting him and making him suffer for the fun of it all.
He'll take a page from Hakka's book when he has to say he is really, truly, too cute to be dealing with this shit.
It goes like this.
After explaining to Banzoin Hakka that he hasn’t contracted the first case of a rare clown allergy and that whatever emotional turmoil he’s experiencing is completely normal, lo and behold, look who shows up at the R-TRUS: the clown allergy inducer himself.
And the situation, Flayon laments, somehow gets worse.
“I swear to god, I’ve been possessed, and whatever the hell kind of evil shit has possessed me definitely knows that Hakka is a threat.” Bettel gestures frantically with his hands, gaze skittish, glancing behind himself as though something will appear there to whisk him away without warning. “It has it out for me. I know it does. I didn’t touch anything weird. I didn’t hold any cursed objects. But it’s still here and I’m scared.”
“Bettel-bear.” He sighs, shaking his head. He’s not feeling murderous about it yet, since his patience with Bettel is much longer than with Hakka — any man with Danganronpa Lucky Student levels of bad luck deserve some leeway, he reasons — but he might be getting there. Bit by bit. “You’re not making any sense. If you’re possessed, go talk to Hakka. I can’t do anything about that, silly.”
“That’s the thing! I can’t!” Bettel waves his arms dramatically, gloves extended in a flourish. He looks slightly queasy as he brings his hands back down to his chest, tugging nervously on the stupid-looking neck-napkin thing that he wears. “I get near him and my stomach goes all weird and I’m more lightheaded than usual. I get chest pains. Heart palpitations. It could be serious! Sometimes, I feel like I’m going to hurl.”
“Maybe you ate something bad,” Flayon offers idly. He wants to take this conversation seriously but Bettel always makes serious a difficult task. “Or it’s acid reflux. I wouldn’t be surprised, I mean look what you eat!”
“I’d just like one day,” Bettel huffs, tugging harder on his - what is that, anyway? Flayon wonders. A pretentious excuse for a scarf? - neck thing and then irritably breathing out of his nose. “One day. When someone doesn’t bring up my eating habits like I’m some kind of sicko for having particular tastes in food!”
“You’re way beyond just having particular tastes!”
“Oh, so just because you’re judging what I eat, you think I have… what the fuck did you call it?”
“Acid reflux?”
“Those words aren’t real.”
Flayon snorts. Funny man. “Did you know the full term is gastroesophageal reflux disease?”
“What did you just call me?”
His leg swings out to kick him. “Why do I even bother explaining when you’re just going to make a joke out of everything? Say it with me now: gastroesophageal reflux disease.”
“I’m not even gonna try to say that. As far as I know, you’re just making shit up.” Bettel narrows his eyes in a scrutinizing glare. It would be intimidating if Flay hadn't seen this guy do embarrassing things on a daily basis and then cry about it. Maybe it's good that Bettel is pathetic. He'd be too powerful otherwise. “You think I have some kind of disease? Will it kill me?”
“It won’t kill you.” Flayon reassures him, patting his shoulder. “Talk to Hakka about being possessed. Maybe he’ll help you fix it.”
Bettel's posture goes rigid. “I can’t.”
“Why? Are you afraid of him?”
“No! He just makes me feel sick!”
“Oh no.” Flayon’s voice is dryer than a desert, but he can’t help but tease. Déjà vu indeed. “So you hate him?”
“No! Agh,” he jabs his finger at his chest. “This thing is going off like an alarm whenever he gets too close. It’s driving me crazy. You know what? I saw Hakka this morning and I walked into a wall. The other day, he grabbed my arm and it felt like it was burning for the rest of the day. I can’t deal with this right now. I have enough shit on my plate, I don’t need more demons in my brain!”
“Did he have his hair down this morning?”
“Why does that matter?”
“No reason. Answer the question.”
He does, but his answer is snippy. “I don’t remember. I was too busy walking into a fucking wall.”
“Maybe you didn’t recognize him and you thought there was an intruder!” Flayon suggests, even though that’s not the reason why he had asked.
Bettel scoffs. “Me? Not recognize Hakka? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“You have his face memorized or something?”
“Well, if you put it that way, it sounds weird.”
Flayon shrugs, not about to continue arguing that point. There are more pressing matters. “How are you going to do guild work with him if he makes you feel sick?”
“I’m a good actor. I just have to pretend that everything’s fine.”
“You’re really going to try and give this alleged curse the silent treatment and just hope it goes away?”
“Yeah.” Bettel says. “Maybe it’ll get bored and leave.”
“The evil spirit in your head that’s telling you to stay away from Hakka is just going to get bored and leave.” Flayon summarizes, evidently unimpressed. “Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Well, gee, alright, you don’t have to give me that face.” Bettel scoffs again, shifting in place. “I’m sorry if you don’t like my brilliant ideas. Did you have any better suggestions, genius?”
Flayon doesn't even know where to begin with this one.
It's clearly spiralled out of control, and he doesn't know if anything can be said to bring it back into control. Trust Bettel to make up an entire narrative instead of realizing that he's come down with a serious case of the fancies, and trust him to spin it into the worst case scenario with almost zero evidence to support it.
“You're lucky you're stupid.” He settles with saying, instead of explaining to Bettel that there's no such thing as an evil spirit that lays dormant and solely comes to the surface when Hakka is around. Logically, it wouldn't even make sense. Hakka's not the only exorcist in the world, even if he is Flayon's favorite one. The fact of the matter is that Bettel's gone and catastrophized the situation, which means reality is a lot less scary than he thinks it is. Flayon tries to comfort him with that thought. “Like right now, I'd say you're very lucky you're stupid.”
His words clearly don't land as any comfort at all.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Now let it be known, here and now, that Flayon is perfectly good at keeping secrets.
He’s no therapist but he knows confidentiality is important. What's told to him in private will remain as such, unless there is a critical situation that requires him to act. He is a reasonable person, even if he doesn't always consider himself a nice one. He knows there are things that he should not be saying aloud.
But if Bettel and Hakka won’t stop making his life difficult, he’s going to grab a megaphone and yell, “You like each other!” at both of them (over and over) until they get the idea.
“So, as I was saying,” Bettel’s grandiose gesturing can be heard a mile away. Maybe because he’s being deliberately loud, but his voice is carrying and Flayon does not like the sound of that. “The key to living with a demon inside you is to pretend it’s not even there. They hate that shit. They get so mad.”
“Uh huh.” Hakka says, equally loudly. “I am taking notes. Go on.”
“What the heck? Why are you guys standing so far apart?” Flayon queries the moment they fall in his line of sight, eyebrows raised as he takes in the view of Bettel and Hakka on opposite sides of one of the pub tables. And by opposite sides, he means opposite ends. They’re practically shouting at each other to be heard.
“What?” Bettel asks, very evidently not seeing the issue Flayon’s trying to raise. “This is a normal distance to stand.”
“No, it's not.” Flayon's expression pinches in bewilderment. “Nobody stands like this. All the seats are empty. Why aren't you just sitting down to talk to each other?”
“I can’t set off my allergies.” Hakka tells him matter-of-factly.
“And my curse is fucking me up.” Bettel adds.
“You…” Flayon can’t believe what he’s hearing. He has to look both of them in the eye to make sure they're not playing a prank on him. “You told each other about that?”
“It’s kinda important,” Hakka says, carefree as ever, as if his reasoning makes perfect sense. “Cause I don’t want Bettelgoose biting me and I die.”
“Oh yeah, because I’m just going to randomly bite you,” Bettel rolls his eyes, fingers drumming on the tabletop. “But you know. We've come to an agreement. For the safety of everyone involved, we’re keeping our distance.”
“His demon is afraid of me.” Hakka notes cheerfully. “I’m scary.”
“Hakka, don’t be proud of that.”
“Waitwaitwait, no no, go back. I need to get this straight. I need you to tell me I’m not missing something here.” Flayon comes to stand in the middle of the table, right between the idiots on either end. “You told each other about your very very oddly specific curses that only affect you when you’re near one another and literally in no other situation,” his fingers point at them, left and right, before swapping sides. “And you still don’t get it?!”
Bettel and Hakka both blink at him, expressions blank.
“Get what?” Bettel asks, sounding baffled.
“Yeah, Flayon,” Hakka looks concerned. “Get what?”
“Shinri,” he taps at Shinri’s open door, whine escaping his throat as he bangs it against the wall. “Help. Help, help, help. They’re out to get me. Help. Please. For the love of god, help.”
Shinri barely reacts, already used to Flayon’s dramatics by now. He doesn't even turn around to face him.
“Who’s out to get you?” He asks.
“Bettel and Hakka.” Flayon groans, dragging his feet as he invites himself into Shinri’s room and collapses on top of his futon. “They think they’ve cursed each other and now they won’t talk unless they’re six feet apart and yelling across the room and it’s driving me insane.”
Shinri laughs at that, clearly finding more amusement in Flayon’s misery than actual legitimate concern.
“Why do they think they’ve cursed each other? Just a few weeks ago, they were fighting over who gets to keep me in the divorce.”
If Flayon wasn’t pretending to be miserable, he would have laughed with him. “I think they caught feelings.”
“I wish I had feelings.”
“Oh come on, Shinri.” Flayon scolds half-heartedly. He shakes a finger at him. “We need to talk about that later. Don’t think I’ll forget. I’m just out of psychoanalysis juice right now, because I’ve managed to solve idiot bird and idiot clown’s problems but I don’t know how to break it to them without just knocking their dumb little heads together. You got any ideas?”
“Wait, when you say they caught feelings,” Shinri backtracks for a moment, head finally lifting from where he’s been scribbling in his notebook. He looks incredibly, incredibly amused. Like he's just discovered a hidden fact of the universe that changes his perception of life itself, but also that fact is very funny and he's ready to laugh about it. Which might not be entirely incorrect. “You mean, for each other? You think Bettel likes Hakka, and—”
“—Hakka is so down bad for the clown that I’m about to start calling him one.” Flayon finishes for him. “Yes. I do think that. Actually, I know that, with 99% accuracy. The 1% is just me overthinking it, but I can lay the facts down for you, if you don’t believe me.”
“Okay.” Shinri says, nodding thoughtfully. He pushes his notebook aside, rubbing his hands together. “I’m listening. I'm all ears.”
“One. Hakka says he thinks he’s allergic to clowns.”
Shinri snorts. “Oh no. This is going great already.”
“Two. He says it’s Bettel-specific and looking at other clowns doesn’t honk his horn. Except Hatsune Miku apparently, but I don’t think she counts since she’s not a— Shinri, don’t explode! I haven’t even told you the whole situation yet! I’ve just started!”
“I'm good. Don't worry.” Clearly finding Flayon's reactions just as hilarious as the situation at hand, Shinri’s shoulder shake from silent laughter. “Go on. Sorry.”
Flay waves a dismissive hand in his direction, ready to continue to ramble his little heart out, raring to get this all off his chest so he doesn't have to suffer alone. “So I was like describe your symptoms. And he tells me about how he laughs too hard at Bettel’s lame jokes.”
“What— how is that a symptom?”
“He thinks he looks uncool. I don’t know. Hakka’s brain is on a level that I can’t describe.”
“Mood.” Shinri says. He would know best, after all.
“Mood.” Flayon repeats. “So basically he thinks he’s been cursed. Because he’s acting like a loser.”
Shinri strokes his chin. “Well, that’s no good. The curse part, not the loser part. The loser part is subjective.”
“Speaking of losers,” Flayon is quite happy with this segue that the ex-ronin has so graciously provided. “Now, onto Bettel-bear.”
“Oh god.” Shinri closes his eyes and puts his face on the table as if he needs to brace himself for what’s to come. “Alright. Continue.”
“He thinks he’s being possessed by an evil spirit.”
“Stop. He does not.”
“He does. And he’s very afraid. He walked into a wall when Hakka said ‘hi’ to him.”
“Bettel...” Shinri wheezes into the wood of his desk.
“And he’s like oh, Flayon! I get heart palpitations and I want to throw up!!” He exaggerates, putting on his best imitation of the clown he can muster. “Do you think it’s indigestion or a curse?! Obviously it’s a curse, right? I eat like a normal person, I could never be sick!”
Shinri - endearingly, coming from such a burly man - makes a sound similar to a tea kettle going off as he chuckles, somehow finding Flay's re-enactment as precious as gold.
Flayon smiles lopsidedly. Even amidst the struggle, he likes to make people laugh. It doesn't make the ordeal worth it, but it makes it a little more bearable.
“So there’s that.” He concludes. He curls up into a ball and swings back into a sitting position. The futon is comfy but he's not about to crash here when he's got issues to solve, and only so much time to try and solve them. “Then they told each other that they’re cursed or possessed and now they’re being weird and I hate it and I need it to stop.”
“Hmm.” Shinri looks thoughtful, considering his predicament. Flayon likes that he takes his time with these things, because Hakka and Bettel are the type of people that rush into everything (and admittedly, Machina X Flayon does a little speedrunning himself, teehee) so seeing Shinri genuinely think it through is an appreciated effort, if a misplaced one. “I think the direct approach is the only way. Have you tried just telling them how they feel?”
“Telling them how they feel.” Flayon says, picking at his sleeve. “You think I have to tell them. About their own feelings. That they should have figured out by now.”
“Yup.” Shinri replies simply, popping the ‘p’.
“And then what? Expect them to figure out that their feelings are mutual?” He takes a deep breath. “You really think this will work?”
“Nope.” Shinri replies, popping the ‘p’ again. He makes a sound like he’s blowing bubbles with his mouth. His smile is kind, at least, even if it doesn’t exactly give Flayon much hope. “But anything’s worth a shot, right?”
Flayon tackles the problem with the lesser of the two evils, by sitting Hakka down in the R-TRUS and giving him the sternest look he can muster. Hakka's the easier party because he's less likely to have a sudden crisis in the middle of a conversation, unless he's feeling particularly inclined to be consumed by darkness that day. Flay hopes that this is not one of those days.
“Okay, Hakka. Serious question.” His opening is solid. No nonsense. All on the table. He's got this.
“Okay, okay,” Hakka says, patting his knees. It is devoid of strawberries this time, but he has a bird instead – a plump, round purple one that has decided to fall asleep in his lap. “Preparing serious answer. Hit me with it, Flayon X Machina.”
“Remember this is a serious question.” Flayon leans forward, ready to receive some cold, hard facts. “Do you think clowns are hot?”
“Depends on the clown.” Hakka barely bats an eye when he responds. “Like with all people, there will be exceptions, right? If you’re not into clowns, that’s your business. But maybe a hot clown will come along and you will have to admit that you’re wrong. I like to keep an open mind. That way I can’t be wrong, and I don’t end up judging people on first impressions without knowing them, either.”
“Wow. That was a serious answer.” Flayon leans back, impressed. “I like the way you said that. Impressions make a lot of sense, but first impressions aren't always the best. You're right.”
“You asked. I deliver.” Hakka shrugs, smiling a little too knowingly. “Is this about my clown allergy?”
“A little bit.” He replies sheepishly. He tugs at one of the straps on his jacket. “I just… I think I know what this is all about. I think I figured out what's happening with you.”
“You did?” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Hakka's always expressive, showing his emotions plain and clear on his face. “You’re a genius, Flayon.”
“Stop it. I try.” He smiles. Now for the part he's dreading. The revelation. “It’s just… I don’t know if I should say this. It might make things weird.”
“I have an open mind.” Hakka says, blinking innocently. He's so casual and open about it that Flayon's nerves subside, just a little bit. Just enough. He smiles back, grinning with his teeth. “Hit me with it, Machina McFlayon. Hard, if you want.”
“You like Gavis Bettel.” Flayon tells him, ripping it off like a bandaid.
“I do like Gavis Bettel. He's my friend.”
The admission is easy, but Hakka does not seem to be understanding the sentence the way Flayon wants him to.
“Like, not just like that.” Flayon’s hands move in circles as if trying to draw him to the same conclusion. “You wanna go out with him. You wanna date him. That kind of like.”
Hakka doesn’t react for a moment, just stares at him like he’s stuck on a loading screen.
“Huh?” He says dumbly.
“Do you know what I’m saying? Like, you know what I mean?” Flay goads, hands moving in even faster circles, as though that might actually help. “Boyfriend like. Like, you'd pick him in a dating sim over someone else. Maybe anyone else. Unless you're a completionist, then my analogy goes down the drain. But you know what I'm saying? You know, don't you?”
Hakka’s eyes flick to the side, snapping away from his gaze. His mouth is open, but all he says, again, is, “Huh.”
Flayon tries to urge him along again. “You like him. You might even wanna kiss him, maybe.”
“HUH?”
“Oh my god—” Flayon quits with the circles to clamp his hands onto his bestie's shoulders. He starts to shake him. Anything to get it into his thick skull, dammit. “You like this man! You! Like! This! Man! How much clearer do I have to say it?! Hasn't it ever occurred to you that maybe you just have the stupidest crush known to mankind?”
“No?”
“Is that all you have to say? No?”
“Why do I like him?!” Hakka yells suddenly, grabbing his shoulders back and shaking him this time. His confusion would be funny if Flay was not also struck by his own confusion as to why this is the question that's being asked.
“Don’t ask me! Why do you like him?!” Flayon yells back, head bobbing like a toy.
“¡Ay, Dios mío!” Hakka puts his face in his hands, running them all the way through the spikes in his hair. “Why does this make so much sense?”
“I can’t believe you didn’t notice.”
“I can’t believe it, either!”
“You gotta do something about it.” Flayon tells him, because it seems like the obvious next step.
Hakka clearly does not agree. “Are you crazy? No way am I doing anything about this.”
“Why.” Flayon states flatly.
“I’m allergic to clowns.”
“No, you are not,” Flay reaches for his shoulders again but his bestie has learned from his past mistakes, and ducks, pushing his arms away.
“Okay, okay, just,” Hakka waves his feathery sleeves at him. “Don’t attack me. There’s a bird sleeping on my lap and I don’t want to disturb him.”
“If he slept through all that, he can sleep through anything.” Flayon says, but doesn't make another attempt to wring his neck. “Tell me why.”
“Ain’t nothin’ but a heartache,” Hakka starts singing instead of answering.
“I hate you. No Backstreet Boys in the R-TRUS.”
“But outside?”
“Outside’s whatever.” Flayon mutters. He rests his chin on his palm, giving Hakka his best imploring look. “But say. You really don’t wanna, like, do anything? Really? About the fact that you now know what’s making you all flippy-floppy and shit?”
“Nah.” Hakka flashes him a peace sign with the back of his hands. “I’m good.”
“Well.” Flayon sighs, relenting for now. There's no point in pushing it if Hakka doesn't want to talk about it. He gets it, in a way. These things take time. “At least it can’t get any worse.”
“The curse is getting stronger. I am living a life of constant fear. It is coming for me, Flayon, my days are numbered.”
It gets worse.
“Bettel-bear, please. The curse is not getting stronger. You don’t have a curse. More importantly, please explain something to me,” He gives him a weary look, eyeing the piece of paper that's stuck to the jester's face. “Why do you have a talisman on your forehead?”
“I asked Hakka to give me one.”
Flayon is a little surprised at the notion, considering how these two have been lately. But Hakka's confidence is an infallible thing.
If there's anything Hakka can do well under pressure, it's act like there's no pressure at all. Bettel, on the other hand, is like a crumpled piece of rubbish on the floor. Literally. He is now on the floor. Flayon didn't even see him get down there, and now he's splayed like a starfish on the ground.
The pilot squats down so they're sort of on the same level, at least. “Okay, and he just stuck it to you like that?”
“He did.” Bettel mumbles into the carpet.
“So how come you think the curse is getting stronger?”
“I couldn’t breathe, Flay.”
“When couldn’t you breathe?”
“When he stuck this on me.” He exhales, giving off an equally weary sigh. He rolls onto his side, then bends like a folding chair, coming up to a kneeling position so he's facing Flayon, and Flayon just stares at him as non-judgmentally as he possibly can. To his bizarre credit, his hat miraculously stays on the entire time. “I was expecting him to just hand it to me, right, like I had my hand out and everything. And you know what this guy does? He leans in, pushes my hair out of my eyes, and sticks this on my face. And my lungs just stopped working. I’m so fucking scared.”
“Bettel-bear.” Flayon says despairingly. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Flayon, am I going to die?”
Flayon grabs him by the arms and starts shaking him. Since that tactic sort of worked on Hakka, he only hopes that kicking the stuffing out of this clown will make him see sense for once. Not that it’s a particularly strong hope.
“No, no, you’re not gonna die.” Flay reassures him, voice gentle, like he's talking to a baby. “You’re fine. Everything’s fine. Tell me this, okay, tell me honestly. When you stopped breathing, did you hate it?”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“Like, think back to the moment.” Flayon gestures to his head, poking the talisman to make his point. “Did you feel bad that he stuck a paper on your forehead? Did you not like it?”
“Well,” Bettel pauses to recollect, eyes unfocused as they dart around the room. “I didn’t feel bad about it…”
“You didn’t, right?” Flayon perks up, glad to at least be given some hint that he's on the right track. “I bet it felt pretty nice. Minus the not breathing part.”
“It was okay. Actually, thinking about it, it was kinda sweet? Like, it’s a friendly gesture, right?” He shrugs, but looks a bit relieved to hear that he’s not dying. His mouth presses into a thin line as he mulls over what to say next. It comes out weirdly vague and hesitant. “Hakka’s… friendly.”
“Yeah, super friendly,” Flayon agrees, because it’s not like he’s said anything wrong. He's also always ready to talk up his best friend. “Needs to learn some lessons about personal space, but he can be really sweet and cute sometimes.”
“Exactly!” Bettel nods. He does not sound like he's processed what Flayon said at all. Instead, he claps his hands together as if that settles the entire matter. “Well, all I’ll say is that it’s a good thing I don’t like him or anything, or I would just be thinking about this all day.”
“Wha...?” Flayon shoots him a disbelieving look, as if Bettel has suddenly jumped three conversations ahead. “What do you mean?”
He’s flabbergasted by the sudden sense of self-awareness, he’s not gonna lie, but he has a feeling he’s asking too much of Bettel to see the dots he’s just failed to connect.
“Haha, it’s just, wouldn’t that be wild?” Bettel laughs brightly, ignorant to the violent urges he’s instilling in the pilot with every word. “If I liked him and this was all just a huge crush that I’m not seeing. Surely not. What a punchline, though, am I right? Me? Have a crush on Hakka? Pfft.”
“Bettel,” Flayon says. “I am going to kill you.”
“You don’t think that’s lucky?” Bettel doesn’t seem fazed, just perplexed, which means that Flay either needs to start being more intimidating or find other ways to threaten his guildmates that no longer fear his declarations of murder. “‘Cause if I liked him, that would make this straight up torture.”
“This is torture.” Flayon says helplessly, reaching up to flick him in the nose. Bettel flails for a moment before falling over. It’s so stupid that Flayon has to laugh at him, even if he has to mutter under his breath, “You’re just not the one being tortured.”
“Waaahhhh! Shinriiiiii!” Flayon wails, sobbing as he bursts through his door again, slamming it against the wall. Shinri doesn’t react so Flayon stomps back out the door, into the hallway, and then comes running in again to slam the door harder. “SHINRI! HEY! I’M CRYING OVER HERE!”
“Eh?” Shinri jumps, finally turning around. He does not acknowledge the tears, clearly able to tell that Flay is faking it. Damn it, his guildmates are getting too smart. “Why are you trying to break my door?”
“I’m not!” Flayon slaps the door again, and it squeaks on its hinges. “You were ignoring me!”
“What’s the matter? What’s wrong?” Shinri blinks back at him, still far too calm for Flayon's liking. “Stop attacking my door.”
“Bettel and Hakka,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Them? Again?” Shinri groans, pulling a palm over his face. Flay does not regret confiding in him, because that is exactly how he feels and the external validation is everything to him right now. “No need to explain. I already know.”
“Ooh, tell me, tell me.” Flayon ditches the fake tears immediately, perking up in curiosity. “What's up? What do you know?”
“I saw it with my own eyes.” Shinri states, all solemnity. His head is shaking in disappointment, but there's something teasing in his expression, like he also wants in on this big, dramatic show of what is essentially just a severe case of idiots not knowing they're pining for each other. Well, one idiot knowing. The other one, Flayon doesn't know what to do with, anymore. Shinri clearly doesn't either, because he says, “I don’t think we can save them.”
“What? What happened?”
“They bumped into each other, both screamed, and then ran in opposite directions. Hakka fell down the stairs. Bettel tripped on his own coat.”
Flayon also wants to scream, but holds it in.
“This guild is falling apart.” He deadpans. His expression breaks into something more worried, after a moment. “... are they okay though?”
“They’ll get over it. Probably. They seemed to walk it off just fine.” Shinri chuckles under his breath. “You’d think at least one of them would have more experience in these kinds of things… say, didn’t you have a talk with them? I seem to remember discussing this before.”
“I spoke to Hakka, and that went as well as you’d expect,” Flayon answers brazenly, waving a hand. “He knows he has feelings, but he doesn’t wanna do anything about it. Which is fine. That’s fair. That’s fair, right? It’s not cool if I only push it on one side and make Hakka do all the work. But I don’t think Bettel knows anything.”
“Like, in general?” Shinri asks, brows furrowing. “Or about, you know, the whole situation?”
“Just in general.” Flayon says. “I don’t think he knows anything.”
There's a heavy sigh. “What did Bettel do to you?”
"Oh, you know," Flayon puts on his best clown voice. Not an imitation of Bettel, but an actual honest-to-god clown voice, all goofy and squeaky as his stupidity deserves. “Wouldn’t it be funny if I had a crush on Hakka and didn’t know about it? ”
Closing his eyes, Shinri sucks in a breath through his nose. “Oh no.”
“Yeah.” Flayon grumbles. “Oh no.”
It takes Flayon approximately two weeks to try and think of a way to break it to Gavis Bettel that he’s experiencing very normal emotions, but it’s Bettel that actually finds him before he can break out the whiteboard and start lecturing.
That's the thing with Bettel. He reaches conclusions at the most random times, and then he's zooming to find the most relevant person to dump his revelations onto, and it just so happens that Flayon is currently that person.
Vanguard are out on guild patrol - the usual task force when there's rumors of corruption beast sightings but no actual confirmation of the damn things - and Hakka had latched onto Shinri the moment they had settled down for a break, citing the need to find his father a proper camping stove for the winter. Shinri hadn’t complained, but he had tossed Flayon a helpless look and a soft good luck as he had gotten stuck wrangling Bettel instead.
Flay doesn’t dislike hanging out with Bettel though, even if he gets a bit much sometimes. Their levels of anxiety tend to cancel each other out, it's just that sometimes Flay wants to be left alone, and Bettel seems to always find out when that is and come running in to annoy him.
“Flayon, quick, emergency meeting,” Bettel grabs his sleeve and drags him towards the outer edge of town, just before the gates. “Come with me.”
“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the big idea?!” Flay complains loudly, flailing the entire way. “I’m getting souvenirs for HQ! You’re interrupting my shopping trip! How am I gonna find a gift for Magni before sundown, you know he's so hard to find cool stuff for! And don't even get me started on Axel, that guy, seriously-”
One glance at Bettel’s expression has his whining dissipate immediately.
“Bettel-bear?” He asks, empathy kicking in like it's instinct. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do I need to punch someone out for you?”
“I think I like him and I don't know what to do.” Bettel blurts out, then slaps both hands over his mouth like he's said something he shouldn't have. “Shit, I was supposed to lead into that.”
“You think you like who?” Flay pushes him to answer in full. “You can tell me.”
“You’re gonna laugh at me.”
“I won’t laugh.” Flayon says, raising his hand. “Pinkie promise.”
“Fine. Pinkie promise.” Bettel takes it, sealing the deal. “And you won’t be weird about it?”
“I won’t be weird about it.” Flay hopes he looks as earnest as he feels. “Bettel, you’re my friend. You can be real with me. Who is it? I pinkie promised I wouldn’t tell. You can talk to me.”
“Hakka.” He says uncharacteristically quietly.
“Okay.” Flayon says, and true to his word, he does not laugh. “You like Hakka. So what?”
He ducks his head, the brim of his hat slipping down as he groans, “Shit, Flay, you gotta help me. What if I’m really obvious about it? Do you think he knows?”
“I can guarantee that Hakka does not know.” Flayon says, and can't help smiling a little smugly at the way his shoulders sag in relief because he’s about to put an end to that. “Buuut everyone else does! Everyone with a working pair of eyes, at least. And who isn't at least half an idiot.”
“What the fuck?” Bettel exclaims loudly, before his voice hushes again and he looks around, suddenly paranoid. “What— I literally just told you! How does everyone know?”
“Bettel, you may have only just figured it out, but you, my friend, have been obvious about it for weeks.”
“No, I haven’t! I’ve been acting normal! How do you know more than me? I’m me!”
“Bettel. Bettel, you precious little stupid petal. I always know more than you.” Flay pats him on the shoulder, aiming to be soothing and not quite succeeding. “Do you remember that curse you said you had?”
“What about it?” He whispers, eyes suddenly wide and frantic. “Am I sick? Can you tell?”
“You’re not cursed, and you’re not sick.” Flayon says plainly, because talking around the topic isn’t getting them anywhere and if Flayon is honest, he just wants to get straight to the point. “You like Hakka, right? You like him a lot. You have for a while. All of this, like, curse and everything,” He gestures to all of him. “It’s because you can’t contain it. It’s like getting really excited for something, or getting really scared about something, you know what I mean? Sometimes the emotions get a bit physical. You get it?”
“So I’m having a mental breakdown.” Bettel surmises, nodding as if that makes it all better. “Got it.”
“You’re not having a mental–” Flayon sighs. He might as well just let him believe what he wants to believe. “You know what? Maybe you are. Maybe this is just a huge, long mental breakdown.”
“Or I’m cursed!”
“You’re not cursed!” Flayon snaps, lifting his foot to step dramatically on Bettel’s boot, much to his chagrin. “You have a crush on my best friend! Get it in your head already! You like him!”
“I know I like him! That doesn’t mean I’m not cursed! Those are two separate things!” He yelps. “Down, Flayon! Stop stepping on me!”
“No! I’m mad at you!”
“Why are you mad at me?! Hey, stop! Get away from me!” Bettel shrieks as Flayon starts chasing him. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?”
“There’s no fucking curse!” Flayon shrieks back, clambering after him as he starts running back towards the village. “You have feelings! That’s literally it! You just have feelings! Why is that so hard for you to understand!? Bettel, get back here! I’m gonna get you!”
“The curse is spreading!” Bettel lets out a high-pitched scream. “Help! He’s possessed! Holy fuck, nobody is safe!”
“BETTEL!” Flayon tries to outscream him. “Get back here, you asshole! Listen to me!”
“HAKKA!” He shouts at the top of his lungs. “Hakka, help! Flayon’s been possessed!”
“I swear to— WAUGH!” Flayon screams again as Hakka suddenly appears, spear pointed directly at him. He starts running back towards the hills as Hakka follows him. “Don’t attack me! Hakka, he’s joking! He doesn’t know what he’s talking about! Hakka, put the spear down! HAKKA!”
“I’m really sorry, Flayon,” Hakka says sheepishly, looking apologetic as he patches him back up in the R-TRUS a while later. “I just had to make sure.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. It doesn’t hurt that much.” Flayon mutters, holding out his leg as Hakka wraps it up with a bandage. “I was the one that tripped, anyway.” He narrows his eyes at him. “But I really gotta hand it to you. You sure know how to pick ‘em. Can you please just tell Bettel how you feel so I don’t have to deal with this shit? I’m serious.”
“Ha. Nice try.” Hakka says, securing the bandage with a firm tug. “Bettel doesn’t like me.”
“Why do you say that?” Flay frowns. He’d be quicker to defend his bestie if he didn’t know the truth. That Bettel does like him. And he likes him a lot.
Hakka smiles, and pats him on the leg. “Just a feeling.”
“Hakka–”
“You wanna go get cookies? It’ll make you feel better. Cookies solve everything.”
“I mean, if you’re paying, I won’t say no,” Flayon murmurs, thumbing the bandage on his knee. “But Hakka, why don’t you think Bettel likes–”
“I will only pay if you race me to the top of the hill,” Hakka interrupts with a wave of his hand. His eyes twinkle mischievously. “And win. Bet you can't beat me. I'm lightning fast. Ka-chow.”
“Oh, you’re so on! Better get your wallet ready, ‘cause you’re about to eat my dust, bird boy!” Flayon exclaims, the fire of competition stealing his attention away as he blows on his fist, preparing to claim his victory. Truth be told, he sees the deflection for what it is, but Flayon's not that much of an asshole. He knows when to stop pushing. “I’ll show you!”
“Are you ever gonna tell him?” Flayon asks Bettel this time as he hands him a cookie he had paid for himself.
Hakka had covered most of the cookie fund even though Flayon lost their race, the huge dumb sweetheart that he is, but that doesn’t mean that Flay didn’t sneak in an extra note or two to grab extras.
“You know, Hakka’s nice.” Flayon continues, shoving the cookie closer to the jester when he doesn't immediately take it. “He won’t be that weird about it, if you tell him you like him.”
Bettel shrugs, plucking the cookie from his hands and chomping down on it. “Why bother? If liking him is already this hard, telling him will only make my life harder.”
“Please don’t tell me you still think you’re cursed.”
“Aren’t I?” Bettel laughs softly. Weakly. It's not sad, really, it's just the same usual resignation that settles in Bettel's expression when he laments the downward spiral he calls life. “If this was supposed to make me feel better, I just feel like an idiot. You’re telling me I just have to walk around feeling like this until, what, I get over it? No thanks. Forget about it. Forget I even told you anything. I’m fucking done. I’d prefer a curse, honestly. At least that shit makes sense.”
“Bettel.” Flayon’s gaze is sympathetic. “Liking someone isn’t a bad thing.”
“Oh yeah?” He scoffs. “Easy for you to say. It’s never worked out for me. Never. Not even once. I think part of me just started pretending it doesn’t exist.”
“That doesn’t mean it won’t work out every time. Sometimes, you just gotta believe in yourself.”
“Great talk.” Bettel says, swallowing the rest of his snack before clapping his hands together. “Thanks for the cookie. I’m gonna go,” he waves his arm. “Somewhere. Take a walk, maybe. I need to clear my head, anyway. It's been a real fucking day.” He pauses, then adds, “But for the record? I appreciate it, Flay, I really do. You’re a good guy.”
“Agh, yeah, yeah, whatever. Just be careful, okay?” Flayon’s call after him comes out more like a motherly concern, because he just can’t take a compliment and he does worry about Bettel, even if he's a grown man. Flayon, after all, has many lifetimes on him, and can't help but care about his guildmates even if he knows he has to give them space to breathe sometimes. “It’s getting dark out there! You gotta keep an eye out, alright? Stay safe.”
“Aye, aye, captain.” He salutes, and then he’s off.
“Shinri, I think we’re really close to something here,” Flayon says, handing the ex-ronin his last cookie as he slides into the seat beside him.
Shinri glances at the confection. “Hakka already gave me one of those.”
“Take another one. I won’t let him one-up me on this.”
“Okay.” He takes it easily. Flay wonders if he was just trying to be polite in his refusal, because the instant he's gotten it in his hands, he seems to be enjoying that cookie plenty. “What do you think we’re close to?”
“The realization.” Flayon says, resting his hand on his chin. “The italicized oh moment. Where everything clicks, right? It can’t be that hard. They both know their own feelings, they just have to find out that it’s mutual. Then it’ll be smooth sailing.”
“That’s nice.” Shinri smiles. He finishes chewing before he keeps talking. “And how long do you think it’ll take for them to figure that out?”
Flayon freezes.
“You know who has to deal with them while they figure it out?” Shinri’s tone is teasing. “You. And you know who has to deal with them while they inevitably don’t figure it out?”
“Me.” Flayon says.
“Yep.” Shinri finishes his cookie. “Just saying. I’m down to see how this goes, but according to my calculations…” He trails off, clearly opening for Flayon to finish the sentence.
“... they’re stupid.” Flayon takes the opening he's been given. “Oh, they are so stupid. They are never going to work it out, are they? This is, like, a legit problem.” He throws his hands in the air. “They’re going to go back and forth forever.”
“Sometimes, it’s not just because they’re stupid.” Shinri takes a long sip of his mug, like he always does when he’s trying to figure out how to say something wise. “I say this with all the love in my heart, but they’ve got other issues, too.”
“Which mostly makes them act stupid.” Flayon concludes with a sigh almost just as long. “Shinri, I’ve been through– well, you know, I’ve been around for a while. I don’t believe people should waste the chances that are right in front of them. You may think I’m being mean, but I don’t want to see them skirt around each other when I know the solution is right there.”
“In what world would that be mean?”
“I thought you’d tell me to let them take it at their own pace.” His fingers fidget. “That it’d be rude of me to try and meddle and stuff.”
“If they kept going at their own pace, they’d never get anywhere.” Shinri’s laughter is airy, rumbling from deep within his chest. “But you know more than me, I think. Since you’ve been around, you know, for a while.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever know everything,” Flayon admits, pressing both his thumbs against each other to try and stave off the energy that tells him he's being a little too honest right now. It's okay, Flay, he thinks, you can speak your mind if you want to. “But what I do know is that they are my friends and I want them to be happy.”
“And to stop torturing you.” Shinri points out.
“And to stop torturing me.” He agrees.
“So what do you think you should do?”
“I think,” He says, folding his hands together. “We need to intervene.”
“Well,” Shinri shrugs but his expression betrays his intrigue. “If you need my help, just say the word.”
“So.” Flayon begins.
“So.” Hakka replies, throwing him a quick panicked glance as he looks at Bettel who is shoulder-to-shoulder with him. He tries to cup his mouth and whisper at Flayon. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Shinri,” Flay calls, ignoring him. “Get the door, please.”
Shinri slides the door closed and stands against it, guarding it. There’s an amused smile on his face, as he’s clearly enjoying this turn of events.
“Bettel, my beloved.” The pilot nods at the jester, who looks like he’s going to pass out in his chair. “Hakka, my beloathed.” He then nods at his best friend, who just flips him the bird. “Welcome to couples counseling.”
“Wha— you- what-” Bettel stammers.
“Huh?” Hakka blinks, looking confused as he tilts his head to the side. “But we’re not a couple…?”
“Yeah, what the— haha, Flayon, buddy!” Bettel laughs nervously, sending Flay a pleading look. “Great joke, great joke. Tell me why we’re really here.”
“Couples counseling. I told you.”
“Oh, Flayon’s got his customer service voice on,” Hakka observes. He crosses his legs and leans casually back in his seat, as if already knowing he's not getting out of this. “This is some real shit.”
“Yeah, real shit I don’t want to be a part of,” Bettel says, sitting very tensely. “Seriously, what the fuck is going on? Why is Shinri blocking the door?”
“I’m not blocking the door.” Shinri replies innocently. “I just feel like standing here.”
“Leave Shinri alone,” Hakka nods in his direction, playing along. “He just feels like standing there.”
“Why are you siding with them?” Bettel hisses at him. He seems not to mind the contact much anymore, because he nudges his arm. Desperate times, desperate measures. “You don’t know why we’re here, either.”
“Couples counseling,” He replies without missing a beat. “That’s what Flayon said.”
“What? You’re just going to accept it?”
“Why not? I love hanging out with you guys.”
“Awwww,” both Flayon and Shinri say in unison. Hakka can be so effortlessly sweet, sometimes.
“Great. Thanks, Hakka. Now I look like the weird uncooperative one.” Bettel grunts in annoyance, clearly not having it as he folds his arms over his chest. “Okay, Flay, since you’re clearly the mastermind here, you care to explain what’s happening?”
“Yes. I’m taking matters into my own hands. I refuse to be a side character in a 50 chapter slow-burn, so we’re doing this my way.” Flayon says, huffing as he opens his laptop and starts pretending to type. “And since both of you morons seem to need things spelled out for you, just think of this as a speed date or something. If you want to tap out–”
“I want to tap out,” Bettel says immediately, not letting him finish.
“Damn,” Hakka whistles. “Can't even last one date, Bortol?”
Bettel blushes, pulling the brim of his hat over his eyes. “I just– I don’t know. It’s weird. If Flay-Flay and Shinri are, like, right here.”
“So you’re saying you’d agree to a date if they weren’t here?”
Bettel shoots Flayon an alarmed look, before he fumbles through an absolutely terrible response to that question. “Pfft, what? No. Why would I? It’s not like I like you or anything.”
“Hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey.” Flayon snaps his fingers in Bettel’s face. “This is why I’m here. I’ll say this again. You are absolutely hopeless, and we’re doing it my way. If you wanna tap out,” he angles a pointed look at the jester here. “You have to wait until you at least answer one of my questions. That’s not a big ask, is it?”
“Oh!” Bettel says. “That sounds easy. I can do that.” He wags a finger back at Flayon. “I get your game now, buddy. This is all a bit. A huge joke. Why didn’t you say so earlier? You know I’d help a brother out with any show you wanna get on the road. No need for all this counseling bullshit.”
“Sure, Bettel.” Flayon sighs.
It’s not the understanding he wanted, but it’s the understanding he’ll just have to deal with. He only hopes that Hakka will be smart enough to carry this conversation, or Flayon’s going to need Shinri to hold him back from strangling these two.
Shinri, unfortunately, seems to just be laughing at him from the door. He’s procured microwave popcorn, and is munching on it now, too. Thanks, Shinri. He thinks.
“Okay, we’ll just get started.” Flay sighs. “Question one. How long have you liked each other?”
“5 billion years!”
“Take this seriously.” Flayon glares at Hakka.
He regrets thinking Hakka would be any more helpful.
With this guy’s track record, they’ll be here until the sun goes down and he’ll have made 5 billion passes at Bettel, and none of them will actually hit. The issue with having a flirty friend has now become clear to Flayon: none of Hakka’s flirts are going to be acknowledged as anything more than a personality quirk.
He has truly dug his own hole here and Flayon wants to push him into it.
“Bettel, answer the question.” He prays the jester will at least try.
“Since the day we met.” He says smugly, like he’s beating Hakka at this game that’s not even really a game.
“That’s a lie.” Hakka shuts it down immediately. “When we met, you shot me with a dart, asshole.”
“Dart from my heart.”
“Sounds kinda gross when you say it like that.”
“Oh yeah, it kinda does.”
“Get your heart darts away from me.” Hakka flicks him in the shoulder. “Miss me with that shit.”
Bettel snorts, as if he's trying not to laugh. “Fuck off. Don't touch me. Watch your allergies.”
“Question two.” Flayon pretends to type again but he’s really just smashing his hands along the keyboard. “This should have probably been question one, but I’m winging it so whatever. Do you like each other? Remember, I want serious answers only.”
There’s a long pause.
“No,” Bettel says.
“What the fuck?” Hakka looks at him, then back at Flayon defiantly. “No, then. Me neither. This guy sucks.”
Bettel gasps, kicking his shin. “You suck. Who would like you?”
“No, you suck! Who would like you!?”
“Oh, I suck, do I? Tell me why I suck. Go on. Tell me. Give me one good reason why I suck.”
“You don’t like me, that's why!” Hakka sounds indignant, slapping himself on the chest. “Like come on, why?! I’m so likable! I never did anything to you!”
“You don’t like me, either! You just said I sucked!”
“You hate me!” Hakka pretends to sob, turning in his chair for maximum effect. He pulls his knee to his chest and rests his face on it.
“What– no, I don’t– when did I ever–?” Bettel flounders for a moment, stammering like a slot machine flicking through his possible dialogue options. He lands on the worst one. “If that’s what you wanna believe, then, sure! I guess I hate you!”
“I can’t believe you hate me!” Hakka wails dramatically. “You’re so mean to me! What did I ever do to you to deserve this!?”
Flayon closes his laptop.
Flayon gets up.
Flayon walks over to Shinri and puts his face in his jacket and screams.
Shinri had already been laughing, shoulders shaking quietly, but at Flay’s scream, he loses it, doubling over in a hearty wheeze.
“Stop,” Shinri is slapping his knee. “Stop. Please. I can’t take this anymore. The drama. The suspense. It’s too much.”
“Shinri!” Flayon batters his fists against the ex-ronin as he continues to wheeze with laughter. “Put me out of my misery! I don’t wanna help them! They’re so stupid!”
“Hakka, Hakka,” Bettel is trying to pat his shoulder. “I don’t hate you! It was a joke!”
“You want to set me on fire!”
“I did not fucking say that?! Now you're just making shit up to make me look bad!”
“I’m gonna set them both on fire,” Flayon tells Shinri.
“Please don’t.” Shinri says.
“Bettel hates me!” Hakka wails louder, hiding in his cloak. “This is the worst day of my life!”
“I literally just told you I don’t hate you!” Bettel seems to be at a loss for what to do. “Hakka, stop being dramatic for one fucking second and listen to me!”
“How do you feel about me then, huh?!”
“I LIKE YOU, IDIOT! I LIKE YOU SO MUCH I CAN'T STAND YOU!”
“WHAT?!” Hakka recoils, as if in shock, almost falling off his chair. “DO YOU LIKE ME OR DO YOU HATE ME!?”
“I LIKE YOU!”
“YOU SAID YOU HATED ME!”
“WELL, I LIED!” Bettel slams his foot on the ground, standing to his full height. “Happy? You happy? You heard it right from the horse’s mouth.” Bettel blinks, looking away for a moment, perplexed. “What the fuck does that even mean?” He looks back, shaking it off. “Anyway! Yes, I fucking like you, okay?! I like you! For some reason!”
“Well, guess what, fucker!” Hakka hits the table as he stands as well, but doesn’t quite have the same impact, as he’s shorter. “I fucking like you, too! For some reason! What the fuck, I love you, even! Take that!”
“Okay! Cool! I love you, too! Glad we got that settled!” Bettel exclaims, sounding partway between happy and angry and just flat-out confused, as if he’s only barely keeping up with where this conversation has headed. “Why are you being so aggressive about it?!”
“I’m just saying it the way you said it!”
“Oh, so you think I’m that aggressive, do you?”
“You literally yelled at me, so yes!”
“Okay, well,” Bettel says, nodding up and down. The ribbon on his hat bounces with the movement. He takes a deep breath, and seems to settle down again. “This is going great. I love this for us. Absolutely love it. I would also love to leave right now before I die of embarrassment, but Shinri’s blocking the door.”
“I like standing here,” Shinri says, just as innocently as he did the first time.
“It definitely could have gone better but you don’t have to leave. We should talk about this.” Hakka replies, tugging on his glove. “What do you say, maybe we try again some other time?” He lets go of the glove when Bettel stiffens, staring back at him like a deer in headlights. “Unless you’re still tapping out on that date.”
“I— I mean… it’s not that I don’t want to…”
“You don’t want to?”
“I do want to.”
“You do want to?”
“Just kiss already!” Flayon demands, all huffy, because he’s not about to listen to them talk in circles again.
They both flush red and their gazes snap away from each other. Hakka glares at Flayon and Flayon just sticks his tongue out at him.
“Hup.” Shinri lifts Flay by under the arms, hoisting him into the air like he weighs nothing. “Alright, Flayon. That’s our cue to leave.”
“What?” Flayon flails. “No, I wanna see where this goes, Shinri, put me down!”
“We’ve seen enough. Time to leave them alone,” Shinri tells him, kicking open the door and carrying him out into the hallway.
“Shinri! Come on! Put me down!” He exclaims, even though he knows he’s right. It’s fine, Flayon thinks. He can still get the last word in. He cups his mouth and yells back down the hall. “You guys better kiss! I wanna hear the details later!”
There’s a brief moment of silence.
“Just did, Flayon!” Hakka suddenly yells back. “It was awesome!”
Bettel immediately follows up with a frantic, “What the fuck– why are you actually telling him?!”
“Hell yeah! Get it, Hakka! WOOOO!!!” Flayon cheers loudly back down the hallway, one last time, then rests his head back against the fluffy hood of Shinri’s jacket, grinning in contentment. “See that, Shinri? Genius at work. That was so easy.”
“Easy.” Shinri repeats, sounding amused. “If you say so. It only took the genius three weeks of crying and screaming and breaking down my door several times, but if that’s your definition of easy.”
“Haha, what? No. That never happened.”
“Sure, it didn’t.” Shinri sighs and shakes his head, but he’s smiling, too. He sets Flayon down, and Flay bounces happily in step beside him, tail waving. “Come on, Flayon. I think we’ve earned a drink.”
“Or several.” Flayon agrees, hooking their arms together. “Now, don’t think I’ve forgotten about our little chat, Shinri. Wanna grab some drinks and talk about feelings?”