Archive of Our Own ^beta

On the tenth of every month, mail from the outside comes to Mt. Huaze. 

At first it had fallen on Cloudy, as reserve, to check at the single post office and deliver the few letters and packages allowed up onto the mountain to the team members one-by-one. But when Hazy had left and Murky had taken her place, she had refused to give the job up. And so each month spent on Mt. Huaze Misty woke up early on that day, made tea for two, and waited for the trademark double-knock that announced Cloudy’s arrival. 

Since becoming captain the bulk of her mail was official league business; letters and occasionally parcels that betrayed their contents with their identical stationary and clean white envelopes. She was careful to read those thoroughly, pinning them above her desk on the second floor so it wouldn’t slip her mind to reply within the week’s wait before the sole monthly outgoing mail service departed from the mountain. The occasional exceptions were mostly chatter from Mallard and Razzy, or postcards from Hazy’s travels; so rarely was there anything else that a letter in unfamiliar handwriting was more nerve wracking than exciting. 

“You can’t not open it,” Cloudy says, tapping her fingernails on the table in anticipation like she has been since she’d first noticed the odd-letter-out herself. “It could be important.” 

Misty turns the letter over again in her hands. Its envelope reads in unfamiliar handwriting her name and Mt. Huaze- all the information it needs to reach her- but it bears no other distinguishing features, no matter how closely she studies it. 

“What if it’s a threat?” Misty whines. Against her better instinct she hovers a tentative finger over the licked-tight seam. “Or someone kidnapped Hazy?” 

The tap-tap breaks as Cloudy rolls her eyes. “Those would still be important. Anyway, if you won’t open it, I will.” 

In the heat of Cloudy’s pressure Misty pushes her finger forward stubbornly, an instinct too quick to be corrected. The envelope’s lid tears backwards and its contents fall outwards onto the table. Misty catches Cloudy’s smug expression out of the corner of her eye and finds herself picking up the letter and beginning to read to avoid having to dignify it with a reaction. 

To Misty,

I’ve contemplated writing you this letter many times, but I never have. Expressing how I feel doesn’t come easily for me, and these feelings aren’t easy ones to have. But now I’m going to spend another Valentine’s Day alone I think I need to start moving on, and to do that I need to tell you how I feel.

The truth is that I’m in love with you. I have been since I joined the Marble League and met you for the first time. You’re probably the most beautiful person in the world. You’re so talented and brave and powerful and even when you’ve gone through so much you’ve been so strong and determined. And every time we’ve interacted, even if it hasn’t been much, you’ve been really kind and wonderful to me. Sometimes when we’re near each other I just can’t stop thinking about you, and I want to get closer to you and tell you all of this, and kiss and hold you if you’re feeling sad and alone… You know. Typical in love stuff. Sorry for being such a sap. But I can’t help it when I’m around you. And I hope you know how wonderful you truly are. 

Anyway, I know it’s impossible. You could do a lot better than me, whoever I am. Another captain or someone with lots of money or medals. Outside of League stuff you probably don’t even remember who I am. And if I told you this to your face, and you hated me for it, I’d never live it down. So I’m being a coward and writing this to you anonymously instead of doing that. Feel free to burn it or throw it down the mountainside and never look at it again. I get it. 

from,

your secret admirer

“So, what is it?” Cloudy asks long before Misty can let it set in. Because it’s a lot. Too much, even. It seems more like a prank than anything. And if it’s not a prank- 

“Love letter,” Misty stammers. 

“What? From who?” Cloudy exclaims, eyes widening. 

“A secret admirer. From the League.” Misty slides the letter across the table and under Cloudy’s fingers, and Cloudy wastes no time in reading it through for herself. 

“Wow. Whoever they are, they really like you.” 

A pale blush creeps across Misty’s face as she bites back the urge to take the letter back for herself. For only really being a stranger’s love note, something many other athletes received in droves, it was almost unbearably intimate for someone else to look so closely at it. 

“We should go to the outside and find out who it is,” Cloudy continues, a grin curling the corners of her mouth. “Then surprise them on Valentine’s day.” 

The strange feeling in Misty’s stomach worsens. Another sip of tea doesn’t abate it. “Cloudy. You know I can’t file a leave request just because someone sent me a love letter.” 

Cloudy looks up from the letter with her lips upturned. “Why not? We’re already leaving soon for the new tournament. I got a letter telling me they want to show up early, so I have to leave. Easy as that.” Her impression of Misty’s voice is almost uncanny. 

“So your plan is for me to lie to the council?” 

“It’s a white lie. And they stopped asking us for evidence ages ago. You’re not even curious?” 

The shake of Misty’s head leaves Cloudy frowning. “Lying is not on the table. And you’ll recall I never said I wanted to know who sent it, anyway.” 

Cloudy slumps back in her chair, exaggeratedly despaired. “Guess you’ll never know, then.” 

“And that’s alright,” Misty replies, faux-resolute. In lieu of further retort she pushes the cookie dish closer to Cloudy, who returns the letter in exchange. 

“If you say so.” 

-

For the rest of the day Misty manages to keep it just far enough out of her mind that it doesn’t utterly debilitate her thought processing. Even with training wound down there’s still plenty to work on before the planned departure. Plenty to keep her distracted. Enough that she doesn’t even touch the letter again until she’s winding down for the night, undressing to put her bedclothes on when the folded edge of the letter scrapes her leg from her pocket and she’s pulled sharply back to the morning’s events. 

Without Cloudy’s presence to set her off-balance Misty re-reads it in full. Alone, it’s easier to linger on the writer’s feelings, to feel the budding curiousity of who rise in her belly. Even when it’s set on her bedside table and she’s dressed for bed the temptation to go back to it is frighteningly persuasive.  

When she wakes up the next morning Misty showers, eats breakfast, and pays a formal visit to the council to request early leave from Mt. Huaze for her and Cloudy. And perhaps Cloudy is right, because she doesn’t even have to lie. It’s approved with no real inquiry. There’ll be a coach down the the bottom of the trail waiting for them in an hour. 

“I didn’t have to lie,” she says to Cloudy at her doorstep. Even though she’s won on every other count. “You have an hour to be ready.” 

“I’ll pack,” Cloudy replies giddily, rocking on her feet. 

-

It’s not discussed in the coach for the sake of privacy, but once they’re dropped at the mountain’s foot and hiking the hour-long trail down to where they can get a car to the tiny local airport, there’s nothing Cloudy wants to discuss more or other than the letter. 

“You’d think the letter could be from basically anyone, but you can actually narrow the field a lot,” Cloudy begins. “For one, it probably is from another League member. It’s not just anyone who can send a letter to Mt. Huaze.”

“Right. So, guessing randomly, we’ve got a one-in-one hundred and sixty chance.” 

Cloudy raises a finger in objection. “Not quite. The author is anonymous, sure, but they do talk about themselves. For one, they’re not a captain.”

“Right,” Misty replies, kicking rocks out of their path. 

 “And they couldn’t have been in the League before 2018, because they had a crush on you when they joined.” 

“Oh,” Misty hums, legitimately surprised at Cloudy’s insight. “Still. That’s plenty of options.” 

“We’ll narrow it down more when we get to the outside world.” 

She’s weirdly confident, Misty thinks to herself. 

Their earnings don’t go anywhere on Mt. Huaze that their prestige doesn’t, but they’re plenty suited to paying both the car and for an immediate charter plane departure. Off-balance and heavy with adrenaline, Misty falls fast asleep for most of the five-hour journey to the airport just outside Hunluen, time Cloudy spends poring over every detail of the letter again. The wound-tight expression of frustration stuck on her face when they disembark tells Misty she’s quickly found herself at a dead end. 

When they’re through the gate Misty pulls out her usually-useless phone and plugs in a call to Anarchy. They’d gotten closer during the Showdown as part of the unofficial MVM club and as a result of the Sand Rally podium. And with the recent exhibition race, she’s almost certainly in town. 

“Misty!” Anarchy squeals down the receiver before she can get a word out herself. “They let you off that rock already?” 

“I have something to do before that, actually. Are you still in Hunluen?” 

“Sure am. Need me to get you from the airport?” 

Misty lets out a sigh of relief. “If it’s no trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not. But you should know Rosa’s here for the week, too.” 

Ah, Misty thinks, a faint memory returning. They’re together. 

“That’s no problem. I’ve got Cloudy with me, also.” 

“Shit, and I’ve got a car with four seats. See ya in half an hour, alright?” 

-

Keeping a car around in Hunluen is a nightmare, Anarchy had told her once over snacks and a movie, but mine’s souped up, so I do it anyway. The four of them stuck in the middle of gridlocked school-rush traffic, Misty gets her first experience of both the Hunluese motorist’s nightmare and Anarchy’s swanky black-and-red vintage car. 

It ends up with them dropped at a cafe slightly out of the way of the worst of it all, waiting for it to blow over. It’s unsubtly frilly, and Misty quickly gets the impression it’s somewhere Rosa likes a lot more than Anarchy does. 

“What’re the two of you here for, then?” Rosa asks, stirring her Valentines-themed glass teacup with practised gentleness. 

“Hunluen has the most easily accessible airport from Mt. Huaze,” Misty explains. 

“In general,” Rosa corrects. 

“Some sort of business, right?” Anarchy asks before Misty can get a word in. She’s ordered a single black coffee and the largest and most indulgent slice of chocolate cake Misty’s seen in her life. “That’s whatcha said, anyway.” 

Misty sighs as she pulls the letter from her jacket pocket. Wary of them snatching it from her- how strangely protective of it I’ve become, she vaguely realises- she holds it comfortably out of their range. “Not quite. I… I actually got a letter, from someone who didn’t give their name.” 

Anarchy and Rosa exchange brief glances. 

“Not from me,” Anarchy quips. 

“Nor from me,” Rosa adds unhelpfully. 

Misty grits her teeth. She’d hoped to avoid stating its exact nature. “It’s a love letter from someone in the League. A… confession, I suppose.” 

Anarchy’s expression sharpens into something conniving. She doesn’t gun for the letter yet, but it seems more likely by the second. “You looking for them?” she asks expectantly. 

“It was Cloudy’s idea,” Misty states. If not for being in the middle of sipping her ice cream float, she knows Cloudy would be smiling at at her mention, lacking any shame whatsoever. 

Rosa casts a more even-tempered gaze at the letter. “Well, do you have an idea of who might have sent it? If not, you’ll be looking for a while.” 

“I’ve narrowed it down,” Cloudy interjects, half-breathless from drinking. “They can’t be a captain and they have to have joined the League during or after 2018.” 

“Got to be literate, too,” Anarchy adds through a mouth of food. 

Her pointless interjection is followed by a tut from Rosa; which for a moment Misty chances is a protest against her suggesting something useless before she glances up from her own choux bun to see Rosa fussing over Anarchy’s face with a napkin. A daub of chocolate ganache dotted with crumbs is left sitting on it when she finally pulls away. 

“You’re so cute,” Anarchy laughs, a low rumble in her chest. Then she draws Rosa in for an uncharacteristically tame kiss; still, Misty has to remind herself not to avert her gaze. Not even when a hot flash of jealousy replaces her baseline mild anxiety. 

“Don’t be so messy,” Rosa teasingly chides. “Anyway, as for the letter,” she continues, turning back to Misty, “you should talk to Panther about it.” 

Misty furrows her brows. None of her few interactions with Panther had ever given her the impression he struggled to talk to people. That, and- 

“Isn’t he gay?” 

“Yes. I mean, speak to him about the origin of the letter. He used to work in forensics.”

Oh. Now Rosa mentions it, she recalls it. “Is he still in Hunluen now?” 

“I’m afraid he’s gone back to Rosaka. He should be free if you head there now, though.” 

Before Misty can object to the prospect of two plane rides in the same day Cloudy perks up, her expression seemingly piqued. “Let’s go to Ros- to see Pinky Panther,” she insists, barely short of tugging on Misty’s jacket sleeve and begging. 

Misty turns to her with her best captain-face on. “I need to sleep before we get on another plane. In a proper bed.” 

The news only dejects her slightly. “But we can go?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

“I’ll let Panther know, then,” Rosa adds quietly, a knowing grin that doesn’t sit well with Misty on her face. “I don’t think he has a free room, but you can definitely talk to him.” 

“On the topic of a free room- you two need a place to stay tonight?” Anarchy adds. She had always made it clear to Misty that if she was ever in Hunluen for pleasure rather than business her doors were open. Even with money for a hotel room it was probably polite to accept.

“If you’ll have us,” Misty replies gently, head curved slightly downwards in deference.

“‘Course I will! Though I might extort ya for a reading of that letter,” Anarchy exclaims cheerfully. She meets quickly with a tug on her sleeve from Rosa, who smiles apologetically. 

“Don’t share anything you don’t want to,” she says. “Though I can’t deny that I’m curious.” 

-

Anarchy only has a single spare room, but it’s got two futons and Misty is no stranger to cohabitation. More important is her slick personal hotpot machine (which according to Rosa she’s constantly looking for an excuse to pull out) and extensive record collection. And in return for dinner and a show Misty indulges them in a reading of the letter, though she keeps it close to her chest the night long. 

“Damn. That’s some serious stuff. Rosa?” It doesn’t surprise Misty that Anarchy wants her input. Between them, it’s clear who the more romantic is. 

“It’s worth pursuing. Not everyone finds someone who’s madly in love with them. People like us are lucky.” 

Anarchy nods like an eager puppy. “I’m rooting for you!” she laughs, the several beers in her stomach suddenly apparent in the slur of her speech. 

Misty takes the sentiment to bed with her later that night, curled up and exhausted and facing the prospect of an early flight the next morning. The letter sits in her trouser pocket, folded under a ray of moonlight creeping through the curtain as she drifts off to a sleep empty of dreams. 

-

Both Anarchy and Rosa bid them farewell at the airport, arms raised high enough to be seen right until the two Hazers members had made their way through security. Hunluen to Rosaka is a brief but popular flight with a packed and noisy lounge, and the relief of good decision-making washes over Misty as she watches a hungover Cloudy join a five-minute queue for the vending machine to buy water and painkillers. 

Another flight passes with no progress on the letter, though this time it’s Cloudy’s turn to fall asleep in her seat. Panther doesn’t own a car (turns out Rosaka is no better than Hunluen), but there’s a fast rail connection from the airport to just a few blocks away from where he lives. And just like Hunluen, it’s so busy and panicked that even the people who cast Misty vague glances of recognition don’t dare to approach and bother her. 

Panther’s flat is up near the top of the building; an imposing steel-and-glass skyscraper that thankfully lacks a guard at the entrance. After a lift ride that seems to last an eternity the two find themselves knocking at Panther’s door, waiting only briefly before Panther greets them in an oversized outfit awkwardly and obviously layered over his pyjamas. 

“Hey, welcome!” he greets them, either oblivious or uncaring to Cloudy’s quiet smirking grin. “Make yourself at home.” 

Truthfully there’s little to make a home out of. An exhilarating view of Rosaka comes with a trade-off; minimal floor space compromised further by Panther’s apparent love for accumulating a glittering collection of gizmos and pop-culture merchandise. His own collectible Marble League figurine sits pride of place on the table he invites them to sit around. 

“So, you want me to look at a letter you got?” Panther asks as he passes cans of peach soda around for them to drink. Misty passes him the letter before touching the can, cautious not to leave any residue on it. 

“Be careful with it, please.”

Despite his seeming lack of meticulousness everywhere else, Panther handles the letter like it’s infinitely precious. Misty breathes an internal sigh of relief and tries to relax herself as Cloudy goes over everything she’s already gleaned- and already told her- with Panther. 

“Well, there’s a few things I can do, but don’t get your hopes up,” Panther announces eventually, snapping Misty out of her in-out breathing. “I could do fingerprint analysis, but there’s no guarantee I’ll find anything. And I don’t have the League’s fingerprints on file, so unless you can get that information too it might not help. Or I can give some forensic linguistics a shot.”

Misty frowns. “Some what?” 

Panther waves his hand around in the air nonchalantly. “I look at how the person writes and try and pick out some traits, or compare it to different samples. For example, their grammar is good and they don’t make any spelling mistakes, so they’re a careful person with a decent education. Alternatively, I could pull their handwriting and try and compare it, but I’d need handwriting samples from the League for that too-” 

“Anything you can do helps,” Misty interjects. “Don’t trouble yourself too much.” 

“It’s my pleasure, honestly.” Panther’s grinning enthusiastically in a way that’s almost offputting. “Gotta stretch those forensics muscles a bit somehow.” 

“Well, if there’s anything I can do for you in the future, let me know,” adds Misty sheepishly. 

“We could buy you dinner,” Cloudy offers. As Rosa had guessed he doesn’t have a free room- he likely couldn’t even fit a futon on the floor- but dinner out sounds reasonable enough that Misty finds herself agreeing. But Panther shakes his head anyway. 

“I’ve got arrangements. But thank you.” His photocopier bleeps and blinks in the tight corner it’s tucked into before spitting out a reference copy of the letter. Misty finishes her can of soda. “If you want it destroyed, just let me know.” 

“Of course.” 

“And I’ll hit you up if I think I’m onto something.” 

Guiding them graciously through his accumulated miscellany and back to the door, Panther is just on the verge of waving them out when the bedroom door opens in the background. Misty’s eyes are drawn to the sound on instinct before the intellectual part of her brain can decide that it’s none of her business who Panther shares his single bedroom with. 

A bleary-eyed and tousled Red Eye is the last person she expects to step out. But there he is, still in his pyjamas and apparently as alarmed to see her and Cloudy as Misty is surprised to see him in such a compromising position.

“...Um,” Panther stammers, struggling to find a follow-up. “He’s not here.” 

“Yeah,” Red Eye adds. His morning voice has the creaking edge of wooden furniture being moved slowly across a linoleum floor. “I… am not here.” 

A little relieved to finally have the upper-hand on someone in terms of embarrassment, Misty smiles politely and tugs gently on Cloudy’s sleeve. 

“Of course you aren’t,” she says. 

-

As Misty has suspected ever since their meeting in Hunluen, Cloudy has ulterior motives for the Rosaka trip. Halfway through the metro ride to their hotel she turns to Misty with giant pleading eyes and, practically begging already, returns the tug on her sleeve. 

“Would you be okay checking into the hotel yourself? See, I wanna get off around here and do some shopping, just some stuff that you can only get in Rosaka…” She trails off near the end as Misty glances up to the line map on the wall behind them. Next stop is Rosaka’s biggest entertainment district, where Winky had dragged her after Sakura Garden for all of five minutes before she decided it was much too bright and loud for her liking. 

“Don’t buy anything you can’t bring back to the mountain.” To protect the Huazhen culture, there were of course restrictions on what could be brought home. Even if the restrictions didn’t always seem to apply to their team, it was best to abide by them nonetheless. 

“...They’re gifts for someone,” Cloudy quietly admits. Misty takes the hint and doesn’t pry. 

“Fine. Have fun, and get to the hotel for six.” 

-

The next part of Cloudy’s own mysterious plot unfolds later in their hotel room in their pyjamas over a pile of takeout food, a welcome break from having to look presentable in front of others for so long. Misty had used her time alone in the hotel to download as many PDFs and music tracks as she could find, preparing for a potentially extended departure back to internet-less Mt. Huaze. 

“I want to fly to Rubow next,” Cloudy says nonchalantly. And for a moment her tone works the magic it’s intended to work and Misty comes dangerously close to accepting her suggestion without thinking. 

“Why? We’re close enough to the Razzies that if any of them liked me they could probably confess in person, right?” And she wasn’t going to say it front of Cloudy, but she had enough information to believe that of the other four it was only Ruzzy who was single. 

Cloudy hastily swallows a mouthful of sauce-softened breaded pork. “Razzy would put us up until we figure this out.” 

That’s probably true, Misty mentally concedes. But Razzy’s not alone in that, and they’re not exactly broke. “Any other reason?” 

Cloudy goes silent for a while, her face distant like she’s thinking up a second argument while Misty eats. “...There are a lot of teams close by,” she proffers eventually; a hurried argument. 

“It’s a long flight,” Misty counters. 

“What if whoever it is lives even further away? It would be nice to have a home base.” 

Misty clicks her teeth and sets her utensils down, a heavy meal finally catching up with her. “You’re assuming Razzy will go along with this.”

“The worst she can say is no,” Cloudy hums quietly. And now all of the onus is on Misty- because Cloudy’s implicit message is right and she knows it. Razzy will probably be much more open to the idea if it’s her who asks. 

If she texts now it’ll be midday in Rubow, and even if Razzy is busy she’ll probably be taking a break. And what Cloudy is missing in the form of a good argument is apparently a better thing to lack than what Misty’s lacking; any argument for their next step whatsoever. 

The more she thinks about Rubow the more sense it makes. “Okay. But you know we can’t impose on her too long, even if she lets us.” 

-

Misty: Hello, Razzy. 

Misty: I’m sorry this is on such short notice, but me and Cloudy have come down from Mt. Huaze early. We’re currently looking for an athlete who sent me an anonymous love note

Under her blanket in the hotel room, Misty deletes and retypes that part. 

Misty: Hello, Razzy. 

Misty: I’m sorry this is on such short notice, but me and Cloudy have come down from Mt. Huaze early. We’re currently looking for an athlete who sent me an anonymous letter and need somewhere to stay. Could we stay in your home for a while? We can cook and clean if you need. 

The reply comes quickly; she must have caught Razzy on her phone. 

Razzy: yeah sure stay as long as you like don’t worry

Razzy: but mallard is here and i’m redecorating one of the other rooms so youll have to share one also im typing this wihle eating sandwich

Razzy: egg salad

It’s a relief. 

Misty: Okay. We’re flying from Rosaka, so it’ll be a bit. See you then. 

-

A non-stop flight from Rosaka to Rubow is both technically possible and miserable for everyone involved. Even without being in the mood for more lazing about uselessly, a flight with a stopover is Misty’s logical pick. The one they take ends up stopping in Herbotamia just long enough for them to get fresh air in the central park district another quick metro ride away. 

For the first time in a while Cloudy’s made some progress on the list on her own. She presents her research proudly; about two dozen names freshly crossed off the list. 

“Whoever’s attracted to you, they have to like women, right? So I went and crossed off everyone I’m like ninety-percent sure doesn’t.” 

Misty re-reads it briefly. This time Cloudy’s made annotations. Billy’s name is stricken off right at the top with the note GAY scrawled next to it. Nearer the bottom Sulfur is given the same treatment, except the note reads STRAIGHT. 

“In-flight internet is great,” Cloudy adds, clarifying nothing. But narrowing down is narrowing down. 

“Can I take it from you? I want to have a closer look.” 

“Sure,” Cloudy says, punctuated with a yawn, and goes back to texting someone while sprawled out on their thermal-turned-picnic basket. 

Misty reads through it once, building a mosaic of potential candidates in her head. Cloudy’s work is meticulous; there’s only one crossed-out name that shouldn’t be, and even that makes sense in the context of their conversation the night before. When she’s through with it her gaze gravitates to the blue sky, befitting the year-round temperate Herbotamia weather. 

A nearby building- that of a local TV station, Misty guesses- has a giant billboard mounted on the side facing the park. It’s the sort of eyesore that is mercifully absent from Mt. Huaze, and which makes it awfully hard to gaze aimlessly and fantasise about a mysterious lover. It cycles irregularly through a batch of advertisements. All irrelevant to her until one makes her breath hitch in her throat. 

The Herbotamian Fresh taught her is just good enough to make out what’s written. Kitchen Pairs: Nightmare Chef and Professional Chef. Some sort of television program (a given). But it’s actually Fresh herself on the billboard, stooped over a burnt pile of food next to a worried-looking Bonbon. 

They must be appearing on the show together, Misty deduces. Are they just open about being a couple now? She can’t read the subtext in Kitchen Pairs well enough to tell. But Fresh had outright told her about their relationship, and anyone with a working pair of eyes who spent enough time around the two quickly realised how tightly Bonbon had Fresh wrapped around her little finger. Just like with Rosa and Anarchy, their seemingly opposite natures- a withdrawn exterior with a cruel interior and an extroverted exterior with a tender interior- made them frighteningly compatible. For Bonbon to become captain like Fresh was only natural, like vines growing into the grooves of the wall they cling to. 

It strikes Misty then and there exactly what she wants from this. Curiousity, the kind of burning curiousity that would drive someone to abandon everything else on a wild chase to find the person who’d confessed anonymously to them, is not a Misty trait. Not that she knows of. A Hazy trait, maybe. A Cloudy trait, clearly. Potentially even a Smoggy trait. But not her, not usually. And sure, Cloudy had pleaded with her to depart and attempted to substitute her lack of curiousity with her own. But convincibility wasn’t a trait of hers either, at least while she was thinking straight. So it couldn’t be attributed to that. 

No, Misty realises with a sort of sickening lurch, she’s this far away from home because she wants to like whoever sent the letter back.  She cares because this person is in love with her and she wants to be in love with them too. And maybe if she finds them she can be. They’ll kiss and embrace each other and she won’t feel like the odd one out anymore, finally knowing that someone truly burns for her in return. Finally there’ll be someone who loves her unconditionally. Someone who loves her for who she is. 

But whoever it is might come face to face with reality and decide that they don’t want her after all. And what then? If she finds them after all this and she’s still left wanting then it will all have been for nothing. It would not be the first time she’d thought something was going in her favour right up until it collapsed. And like then she would be able to deal with it, even if only eventually and partially. But (again, like then) it would make her feel like shit in the meantime. 

Having at some point shut her eyes and furrowed her face into her palm, Misty doesn’t realise that Cloudy’s returned to the bench where she’s sat until a hand on her shoulder jolts her out of her malignant daydream. 

“Gotta make out flight,” Cloudy chirps obliviously. 

A scrunch of her face and a stretch of her legs reanimates Misty just enough to get up. “Alright,” she replies. “‘m ready.”

It’s too late to back out now. 

-

On the flight to Rubow Cloudy buys more in-flight internet for them both. Her next plan to narrow down the list is finding everyone who can be reliably confirmed to be in a relationship and crossing them off too. 

“I guess they could be cheating, but I doubt it,” Cloudy mumbles as an aside. Misty, on duty scrolling through Rollstagram looking for anything resembling a couples’ photo, resolves to not ruin her mood by thinking about that idea too much. 

Most of what she’s checked so far have been duds. For understandable reasons of privacy and the Marblee’s existence, few in-League couples are public about their status. Even those dating outside the circle are conservative about that information. Blue Eye’s dating Shelly and Blaze has a girlfriend back home in Meteorine, and that’s all she has so far. 

At some point she ends up on Indie’s instagram page. It’s rarely updated and mostly consists of pictures of nature or the sky above Bright Hyu. But the most recent entry is her and Starry together, dressed up in glittering outfits and with very little personal space left between them. It’s… handsy, Misty thinks, but Mt. Huaze is much more conservative with touch than most of the outside world. 

“Do you think this means something?” she asks, nudging the phone towards Cloudy. She’s still texting, having seemingly abandoned her own research for it. 

Cloudy leans over the armrest and inspects the photo closely. “They look like a couple,” Cloudy affirms, “but Indie’s captain, so I don’t know if it matters.” 

“Oh. Right,” Misty sighs, her chest deflating as she slinks back into her seat. 

One of Indie’s other posts has Bingo in it, his account tagged in the description. It’s the logical next place to check. Bingo isn’t captain, he’s single, he’s been seen with girls before, he qualified for the League the year he joined it, he- 

He has a picture of him with Rojo Tres, Rojo Dos and Cerulean, captioned “double date tomorrow??” as his pinned post. So that’s a dead end. 

Dejected and on the cusp of giving up for a while, Misty’s about to put her phone away again and nap for the rest of the flight when it buzzes in her hand with an incoming message. It’s from Panther; the first they’ve heard from him since Rosaka. 

Panther: heyyyyy Misty 

Panther: i think i have something

Her heart begins to race. 

Misty: What is it? 

After a second Panther sends her a picture of his copy of the letter, annotated with small red circles added on his phone. 

Panther: the writing and handwriting is still a WIP but i noticed something! based on the smudges they’ve left whoever wrote this is almost certainly left-handed

Panther: i marked all the smears they’ve left here. they’re pretty good at avoiding it but not perfect. you can even see the lines on the side of their hand in some places. 

“They’re left handed,” Misty squeaks hurriedly, voice high. “They’re left handed, Cloudy.” 

Cloudy turns to her confused. “Huh? How do you know?” 

“Panther said. They’ve been smudging the writing as they go along.” 

“Oh, shit,” Cloudy replies, grabbing at Misty’s phone to take a look for herself. “That’s rare, right?” 

“I think so.” 

“So all we have to do is find out who on our list is left-handed.” 

Cloudy blinks and the two stare at each other for a moment. 

“How are we going to get that information?” Misty asks. 

“...I’ll figure it out somehow,” Cloudy answers her, still smiling. 

Misty: Thank you so, so much. 

-

The flight gets in before Cloudy makes much progress. Based on an old blog entry and a few Youtube videos (turns out the Wolfpack spent a lot of their pre-League time wandering out into the forest and throwing stuff at each other) she writes off all of the remaining Wolfpack members, then Ace, whose tailoring tutorials show her using a very right-handed pair of scissors. Then they’re being hurried through security and out into the early afternoon light- and to Razzy’s car outside; a beater she stubbornly refuses to upgrade. 

“It’s good to see you two again. Misty, you want the front?” Razzy says through the window, pulled down in anticipation of her arrival. 

Taking it as a request, Misty slips into the seat next to her.

“Guess you do,” Razzy continues. “Mallard is back at my home, working on the redecoration.” 

Like Bonbon and Fresh, even without having been personally informed that they were an item, anyone with eyes could tell that Razzy and Mallard’s relationship was something other than the friendship they presented to the world. But it was simply easier to keep confirmation of that fact between themselves and those they could trust. 

The drive to Rubow is calmer than the one into Hunluen; the traffic more of a nuisance rather than an actual disruption. But it strikes Misty as odd that they’re heading into central Rubow at all. When she’d visited during M1S4 Razzy was living in a house on a rural road between Rubow and Tumbletown, rather than the city proper, and when they’d talked since then Razzy had never mentioned anything about moving. Even with her own minimal driving experience it seems wildly inconvenient. 

She’s just about built up the courage to ask when Razzy, stopped at a stock-still roundabout, turns back in her seat towards Cloudy. 

“I’ll drop you off at Ruzzy’s flat first, like you asked. Text me when you need to be picked up.” 

Misty turns around and glares fire at Cloudy, who nervously diverts her gaze to Razzy. 

“That’s- that’s, uh,” Cloudy begins, just for traffic to start moving again and Razzy to stop listening to whatever she’s saying and focus on the road instead, still driving towards Ruzzy’s flat overlooking the bustling city centre. 

Rather than dragging a probably-clueless Razzy into an argument right on the cusp of her doing them a massive favour, Misty goes back to her phone.

Misty: You didn’t tell me you were doing this. And it wasn’t in the plan. Why did you insist on coming to Rubow just to leave me alone? 

A notification pings behind Misty and is followed by furious typing. 

Cloudy: sure i asked to visit ruzzy but i didnt think razzy would take me there first thing or tell you
Cloudy: i mean
Cloudy: ill be back later
Cloudy: and youll be fine with them 

Wary of the fact that Cloudy can still hear her, Misty suppresses a groan. 

Misty: If you want to do this so bad we should be working together. Is there a reason you need to see her so badly? 

This time there’s a longer pause before Cloudy starts replying. They’re drawing dangerously close to the town centre. It might be a lost cause. 

Cloudy: well we barely get to leave the mountain most of the time thanks to you so excuse me for wanting to see my friends when i can

The car draws to a halt as close as it can get to the central square. Misty’s startled objection rises in her throat just to die when another car parked on the road honks in recognition at Razzy and Razzy honks back, drowning out any chance of her being heard. Cloudy wastes no time in popping her door open and skipping out into onto the cobblestone street, waving only in Razzy’s direction as she vanishes into the crowd. 

Slowly, then all at once, Misty deletes her own incendiary remark from the message box before flopping back against the car seat. 

“She didn’t even tell me she was going to visit Ruzzy,” Misty complains. Focused on extricating the car from its delicate parking situation, Razzy doesn’t reply until they’re back out on the road. 

“Perhaps she was embarrassed,” she offers eventually. 

“I… guess?” 

“Some people are very sensitive to these things,” Razzy adds. 

The traffic around them dies off almost entirely as Razzy cuts through a residential area and towards Tumbletown. Now they’re not stopping and starting so often that any drinking carries the risk of coughing it up seconds later Misty pulls out her overpriced airport water and takes a long gulp. 

“I guess,” Misty repeats between swallows. 

“But they are an adorable couple, aren’t they?” 

Based on a rough volume-to-cost ratio, approximately two-and-a-half Herbotamian dollars worth of bottled water ends up sprayed across Razzy’s dash and windshield as Misty does a picture-perfect spit-take. 

-

“Sure, she should have told you earlier she had different plans. And maybe she should have told you that she and Ruzzy are dating... But is it really the end of the world that she’s gone for a little while?” 

Over the course of the remainder of their drive, Misty had been saddled with the knowledge of three unpleasant facts. First, that Cloudy and Ruzzy were dating, and had been since the end of M1S4. Second, that while her and the rest of the Hazers had been kept deliberately oblivious from that, all of the Razzies and Mallard had known from the start. And third, that as far as both Razzy and Mallard were concerned there was really nothing to complain about and she should just relax and go out for dinner with them later. It was thanks to that knowledge that by the time she had arrived at Razzy’s home she was dour and sulky, unresponsive to Mallard’s attempts to talk her out of her funk. 

“She will be safe with Ruzzy, so you have nothing to worry about,” Razzy adds. 

Misty bites her bottom lip angrily. “I’m not worried. I’m… unhappy,” she says, tiptoeing around saying pissed.  

“I’ll be honest with you, if you don’t need her around, I don’t see why,” Mallard says, shrugging. 

She does sort of need Cloudy around, Misty thinks. But she hasn’t told them about the letter and it’s not something she can explain now. “A lot of reasons. She went behind my back. And she’s lying to me.” 

Mallard and Razzy exchange a look that doesn’t bode well for her side of the argument. 

“Maybe there are reasons for that,” Mallard suggests gently. “But she’d probably apologise if you tell her you feel that way.” 

Misty dismisses that idea with a snort. 

“Let’s watch a film and go out for dinner like I said, then. It will take your mind off of things.” It must be the third time Razzy’s suggested that, now. But it’s starting to sound like a better idea than sitting around in a house that smells of paint and sawdust and complaining to deaf ears. 

“Fine, then. But I want to have Cloudy back by tonight.” 

Razzy waves her protests away with a loose gesture. “Don’t worry. Ruzzy finds me very persuasive.” 

-

First on Razzy and Mallard’s take-your-mind-off-of-it schedule is a trip to the half-renovated room in Razzy’s house. It’s half-painted a pale pink and there’s some sort of ambiguous wooden furniture in the middle that Mallard is very proud to have cut and assembled herself. 

“What is it?” Misty asks, coughing on the fumes. Razzy, wisely, remains stood outside. 

“It’s a work in progress. You’ll see,” Mallard says, self-satisfied. 

“What will the room be for?” Misty asks. 

“You’ll see,” Razzy repeats from outside. 

Misty does not see. The whole conversation is vexing. “I see,” she lies. 

Second is a film. Mallard’s picked out something romantic, which is also really the last thing Misty needs now but nothing she can protest against without explaining what’s been going on. Razzy also doesn’t seem particularly into it, falling asleep twenty minutes in and not waking up until near the end. That means she’s basically alone with Mallard while the main characters suck face cartoonishly and get themselves into various predicaments (though who am I to judge, now? Misty thinks). 

“This is supposed to be Draklin, but they actually filmed it in Bermenghank,” Mallard says at one point, gesturing at the screen. “I’ve been in that pub back there.” 

Razzy stirs a little between them but doesn’t wake. She’s leaning on Mallard’s shoulder, so every movement Mallard makes is slow and deliberate in order not to disturb her. 

“Is it good?” Misty asks. 

“It’s shit,” Mallard cackles. 

Third is the promised dinner, held at a nice-but-not-fancy restaurant in Rubow city centre that overlooks the river. It’s walking distance from Ruzzy’s flat, and only actually being very hungry after only eating popcorn since departing from the flight six hours ago stops Misty leaving and confronting Cloudy immediately. 

The meal passes pleasantly, so pleasantly that Misty nearly forgets about Cloudy and the letter by the time the first course is finished. So much has gone on in the League circle in just two months and Razzy seems to delight in the socially-acceptable gossiping that comes with updating her on it. Mallard has gotten really into woodworking recently and delights equally in finding someone else she can talk to about her apparently endless list of projects. When Razzy excuses herself, she and Mallard kiss before she leaves and when she gets back. Their in-jokes and affectionate seem to have multiplied exponentially. 

It seems nice, Misty thinks, and she’s reminded of the letter. Not a moment too soon, because in the lull between cocktails and desserts Mallard starts probing. 

“You usually don’t come down from the mountain until right before the event. Is something up?” 

Misty sighs and pulls the letter from her pocket. “I’m…  actually not here for the Survival Tournament. Not yet, anyway.” 

Mallard taps her fingers on her chin, intrigued. “Go on.” 

“I received a love letter from another athlete, but it’s anonymous. I- Cloudy convinced me to go and look for them.” 

“No way,” exclaims Mallard, ineffectually tugging the sleeve of Razzy’s oversized sweater. “Do you have a lead?” 

“We’ve narrowed it down a little.” Misty pulls out the other paper she’s been carrying about, the gradually-reduced list of names. “Joined the League after 2018. Not a captain. Probably single. Attracted to women. Left-handed. But we don’t know who’s left handed or not.” 

Mallard surveys the list attentively, head down for at least five minutes of silence as Razzy (equally silently) drinks down the rest of her tonic water. Then their desserts arrive and Razzy starts ravenously devouring her slice of raspberry pie in the background. It’s awfully distracting. 

Eventually, Mallard passes the list back. “You should cross out Quacky,” she pronounces. “He’s left-handed, but not the love letter sort.” 

“And Ruzzy, I guess,” Misty quips, trying to be amused. 

Without looking at the list, Razzy chimes in. “Who is still on there?” 

“Well, we still don’t know-”

“Do you have the Gliding Glaciers?” 

Misty glances back down to the list. They’ve crossed out Alpine and Sheet, but the rest of them are still there.

“Does that matter?” 

“Well, I don’t know if it matters, but Alpine said to me one of her teammates was ‘in love with you’. But that was in… twenty-two, I think.” Then Razzy swallows another mouthful of pie. “In that sentence ‘you’ means Misty.” 

Misty goes white. “Which one?” 

“..If she said, I don’t remember.” 

“Still, that’s three options. Wonder if any of them are left-handed?” 

Misty sighs. “It’s no good. Cloudy was the one with the plan to figure that out.” 

“You’re talking like she’s gone and died on you,” Mallard laughs. “Call her and tell her you have another lead. She obviously cares about it too.” 

-

At Razzy’s command, Ruzzy drops Cloudy in front of the restaurant for her grand reunion with Misty, though she’s long vanished before Misty can get a word in with her. For the sake of their privacy, Razzy drives all four of them back to her home before the confrontation begins, Mallard in the back with Misty so she doesn’t have to sit next to Cloudy just yet. But it makes little difference when she’s herded into the spare room to talk things out with her right after they arrive back at the house. 

It’s Cloudy who breaks the awkward silence first.  “Are you still mad?” she asks, and all of a sudden it’s like it’s six years ago all over again and Cloudy is eighteen again; barely an adult and having never left Mt. Huaze before. Misty’s heart is helpless against it. 

“No. I’m not.” Not anymore, at least. “But you could have told me about wanting to see Ruzzy,” Misty protests. 

“Then I’d have to make you pick between protecting me and telling the Council. Even if I don’t agree, I know it’s important to you to keep following their rules.” 

“You know I’d pick you, right?” 

“I don’t want to make you. That’s all. And what I said about leaving the mountain… I was just frustrated.” 

“Without Hazy I don’t know where we stand with the Council anymore. If we make them mad…” Misty trails off. 

Cloudy leans back with a sigh. “Yeah. It’s just… hard, listening to Ruzzy talk about how fun her life is. But this is how it is, I guess.” 

“Maybe not forever,” Misty muses shyly. “Maybe they’ll be ready to accept a change now we’re out of relegation.” 

“Don’t worry about it now, at least.” Cloudy wiggles her eyebrows. “Razzy said you have a new lead.” 

“Right. I nearly forgot, but- apparently one of the Glaciers likes me. So we should try them first.” 

Razzy’s un-renovated spare room is fittingly, well, spare. Two single beds, two small dressers, two nightstands and a single television mounted on the northern wall. But it’s clean and warm, and unlike the rest of the house it doesn’t smell of Lace Candy or Sunset Eggshell. 

A cramped perch on the foot of the westernmost bed gives the best view of the television, so Misty finds herself right back next to Cloudy again. A strange mood still lingers, but the anger is gone. It’s good enough. 

On Ruzzy’s recommendation Cloudy pulls up the Glaciers’ edition of an off-season promotional challenge that all three of the 2021 podium teams were invited to do pre-2022. It’s all fluff meant to get their faces in front of the camera a bit more. But what’s important to them is the third “challenge” they’re roped into (Cloudy skips the first two) where each of the athletes has to catch a ball dropped from a height in midair. In full view of the camera, it would be completely obvious what their dominant hands were. 

As captain it’s Alpine who goes first. The challenge is billed as “impossible”, which Misty doubts right until the ball is dropped out of the machine at an utterly unfair speed. Alpine makes her best swipe at it with her right hand only for the ball to bounce off her knuckles and onto the floor. 

“That’s some gnarly stuff,” she laughs. “We’re all screwed.” Then she vanishes into the background to be replaced with Iceberg; the first prospective candidate. 

“Cannae be that hard,” she says, eyeing up the machine. But her reflexes fail her- her right hand just isn’t quick enough. The ball falls to the ground uninterrupted and Alpine laughs in the background. “Rigged,” Iceberg spits, sour-grapesing, as she storms off of the screen. 

Polar barely makes an effort. The machine deploys the ball and she extends her right arm lazily, so meagre an effort that there’s no chance she could have ever touched it. “Whoops,” she giggles, and then walks off-stage. 

Frost appears, nervous-looking. She flexes a little in preparation. “I’ve got no shot,” she says, apparently unamused. 

She angles out her left shoulder, and as the ball descends Frost launches at it with her left hand. Just barely, she snaps it up. 

“Cheater,” Iceberg barks from backstage. “You used a different stance.” 

Frost rolls her eyes. “Not my fault you’re all right-handed.” 

-

It’s another good qualifier for Cloudy. And because it’s a good qualifier for Billy and Rizzy too, the three teams are naturally gravitating towards each other like the old days, laughing and cheering at the hotel’s rooftop bar. It’s too early to let hopes get high, but wanting isn’t a sin. 

The bar counter itself is mostly deserted when Misty goes to pick up refills; it seems that most of the celebrations have gone elsewhere. It’s just Frost sitting there on a stool, nursing a tumbler of strong Glidavik alcohol with a glum expression. Which strikes Misty as odd, really. Her poor qualification gives her reason to be in a poor mood, but she’s still racing the next day, and as the host team’s racer she’s not even staying at the hotel. 

“Hello,” Misty says, because it feels rude to order and not greet her. “Are you well?” 

Frost startles upon being spoken to. Her eyes go wide and bright before she snaps back into it and forces a smile. Still, she trails off on whatever she means to say, tripping over her words before she groans and gives up and stares at the floor instead. 

“I’m sorry about how your qualifiers went.” It was always difficult to see a member of the home team perform poorly at their own race, and the few times they’d interacted Frost had been sweet to her. “I’m sure you did your best.” 

“That means a lot,” Frost replies, and it strikes Misty how quickly she’s perked up. It’s cute, the sudden cheerfulness. Maybe she was just lonely. “Do you like Glidavik?” she continues, changing the topic. 

“It’s almost as grey as Mt. Huaze,” Misty laughs. “I hear you have good hot springs. I didn’t get to try them over in Rosaka.” 

“Oh, ours are a thousand times better than in Rosaka. I can get you a discount if you want to go.” 

Misty sighs. “Smokey isn’t fond of doing tourist things while we’re travelling. You must always be a shining example of Huazhen society, that’s what he says,” she says, imitating Smokey’s stern tone. 

“He should let you cut loose sometimes,” Frost protests. “It’s not fair that you have to spend so long away from all of us, and when you’re around you can’t even have any fun.” 

Misty smiles. “I’m used to it.” 

Frost swigs more of her drink. “Well, I miss you when you’re gone.” She swirls the few remaining drops around in the glass. “Want something to drink? It’s on me.” 

“What have you been having?” 

“Local liquor. I can’t recommend it. It’s basically laboratory ethanol.” 

“That, then.” If Frost wasn’t going to snitch to Smokey then it was fine to let go a little. Glancing back, everyone was still laughing, nobody missing her yet. 

Frost hails the bartender. “Final warning,” she says, smiling devilishly. 

“You make it sound like a challenge.” And whether it is or not, Misty’s not about to back down. When the bartender obliges and slides a small glass of clear liquid in front of her she tells herself it’s just water. Nothing to be afraid of.

“A toast?” Frost asks. “To Cloudy.” 

“I’ve already toasted to her. To you.” 

Frost flicks her hair back shyly. “I might be a lost cause. But if you really want to.” 

Their glasses clink together in midair. 

“To Frost,” Misty says with a wink. 

“To Cloudy,” Frost says. Misty imagines, briefly, the two of them on the podium together. Then, in unison with Frost, Misty necks down the drink. And with no reference point to the actual thing she can’t say it really is just a slight improvement over pure ethanol.  But for something so unassuming it is profoundly unpleasant to drink. Her tongue curls and pushes out an involuntary and undignified bleugh sound as she forces it all down her throat. 

Frost is barely affected, or at least hiding it very very well. Because her glass is empty, but when Misty finally gets to open her eyes fully again she’s so composed as to be gazing fondly at her recoiling face. 

“Fine, giggle at the foreigner who can’t handle it. I deserve it.” She says it in good humour, but Frost looks scandalised by the notion. 

“Not at all!” she exclaims. “I was just… Looking at you. Maybe it’s stupid, but… even then, you looked really pretty.” 

“Oh?” Misty squeaks, a faint blush dusting her cheeks. Something she can dismiss as being down to the cold, maybe; even in summer, going sleeveless in Glidavik invites a chill. 

“Ah, forget it. Promise I’m not a weirdo.” 

“Not at all. You’re sweet, actually.” 

-

The first flight to Glidavik from Rubow is at eight AM and takes four hours to arrive. Factoring in the time to get out of the airport and to the Glaciers’ home, it’ll be dark by the time she arrives, and the light pouring in through Razzy’s car window is some of the last she’ll see all day. 

“I am happy for you, but it’s a shame it worked out so quickly,” Razzy muses in the carpark, helping Misty get her heavy travel backpack back on. “You are always welcome at my home.” 

“I’ll come back another time,” she says, though it’s not something she can promise. “Please take care of Cloudy for me, alright?” 

“Ruzzy will be on her best behaviour.” 

“See you soon, then,” and Misty waves goodbye. 

Even relative to the half-full Herbotamia-to-Rubow plane, the flight from Rubow to Glidavik is basically a ghost town. A rough headcount in the pre-boarding lounge suggests there’s maybe fifteen other people on it. 

One of whom is Snowy. 

In her defence, Misty tries her hardest to not make eye contact. To just ignore her and hope that in the following five hours she at no point decides to do exactly what she did first and look around at who’ll be trapped in a flying cylinder with her for several hours. But it’s pointless. Snowy catches her eyeline not much longer after she catches hers, and even Snowy also pretending not to have seen her doesn’t stop Misty from noticing. So they end up trapped in mutual acknowledgement. 

“I didn’t know you were in Rubow,” Misty begins, in lieu of a greeting. 

“I didn’t know you were in Rubow either,” Snowy replies. Her gaze doesn’t quite meet Misty’s, leaving her slightly on edge. “I’ve been here on business. Some team funding from a winterwear brand.” 

“Are you transferring through Glidavik?” 

“...I’m visiting the Glaciers.” She says it curtly, like it’s something she doesn’t want to admit. 

“Me too,” Misty confesses, because if Snowy’s going to the exact same place as her there’s no point in hiding it. “I got a letter.” 

The mention of the letter deals a heavy blow to Snowy’s faux-easy facade. Her neutrality dies with a nervous glance to the side and the tensing of her body. Maybe she knows something, Misty thinks, though she doesn’t say anything. 

“I suppose I’ll see you there, then.” 

“I suppose you will.”

-

The next they talk is after the baggage collection queue.  Neither of them having anything to pick up, it’s difficult to avoid walking in time without deliberately stalling. 

“I have a car booked to take me there,” Snowy says in the exit queue, still not looking her in the eye. “You can get in it if you want.” 

If she’s entirely honest with herself she’s not sure where it is or exactly how to get there, and putting up with more of the polite awkwardness is probably better than wandering aimlessly about in an unfamiliar country. 

“Thank you. It means a lot to me.” 

The sky isn’t entirely dark as they leave the main hall together, but it’s getting there. Her phone reading just 2pm feels like some sort of strange joke. Snowy, more used to it, just bundles them both into the back of the car, which drives out of the parking lot and bypasses the city entirely for the surrounding empty tundra. 

“Glide and Glace aren’t home. Just so you know.” 

With not asking too many questions of Snowy being her guiding principle so far, Misty doesn’t ask how she knows that, either. 

The Glaciers’ house is surprisingly remote, an atypically oversized wooden cabin a not-insignificant distance away from the distant city lights. Absent of light pollution, a perfect milky galaxy stretches out above them as the car pulls into the driveway and takes payment for the drive from Snowy. 

It’s Iceberg who greets them at the door. Snowy’s the one who knocks, and when Iceberg opens up to her she’s pulled into an embrace that’s quickly aborted when Snowy hurriedly gestures behind to where Misty’s standing, looking utterly nonplussed. And if being interrupted makes Iceberg moody, seeing Misty stand there renders her utterly speechless. 

Snowy leans up- almost standing on her toes- and whispers something in Iceberg’s ear. Her eyes blow wide and, slightly too loud to be a whisper, she mutters under her breath a curt “No fuckin’ way.” 

“Is Frost in?” Misty asks. Yeah, Snowy definitely knows something, Iceberg too. But at this point it’s just more confirmation that she’s in the right place. 

Iceberg stands and gawps at her a little longer, seemingly rendered oblivious to the biting cold outside through sheer force of surprise. 

“Just tell her,” Snowy grumbles. 

“I- ah, fuck it. Go to the lake a mile north of here. If she hasn’t wandered off she’ll still be there.” 

Misty nods politely. A one mile trek in this weather is not a fun idea, but it’s nothing she can’t handle. She’s about to make her leave down the driveway when Iceberg calls out for her again. 

“You got the letter?” she asks. 

“Yes,” Misty replies, “I got her letter.” 

-

By now the night is black as pitch and the freezing wind has picked up, chilling Misty to the bone as she follows the road down to the lakes’ edge. The reception on her phone’s network is faint enough to be functionally worthless. All that tells her she’s in the right place is the sight of the earth giving way to a star-filled pool of inky blackness that stretches into the far horizon. 

A half-extinguished fire struggles on the shoreline a short distance inland, battered by the intensifying winds. Its light casts the shadow of a figure kept invisible by the darkness. Misty tugs her jacket around her chest and follows in their direction. 

Stone after stone from the pebbled bankings hit the ice as she walks, scattering shattered spider-web patterns across the outstretch pane of ice. Frost- and it is Frost, stout-framed and bob-haired- is throwing them, left-handed volley after left-handed volley. Just the pattern of throwing them over and over again seems to consume her so deeply that Misty’s approach goes unnoticed by her until the fire casts her shadow too. 

Frost stares at her like she’s a ghost, eyes blank and wide. Careful not to lose it to the wind, Misty pulls the letter from her jacket pocket. 

“I didn’t throw it down the mountainside after all,” she mumbles as it hits her all at once that she has no actual plan on how to talk to Frost. That this is someone who likes her and wants her and all she can do is stand and look clueless. 

“I…” Frost stammers wordlessly. The rock in her hand falls back to the earth. Then, out of nowhere, she smiles serenely. “I get it now. I’m dreaming of you again.” 

“Not this time.” 

Frost shakes her head. “It’s just a dream.” She pinches the skin beneath her jacket sleeve. “That’s all it is.” 

Misty sighs, drawing closer. To be dismissed as a figment of Frost’s own imagination- she can’t settle for it. 

“I am not a dream,” Misty says, voice heavy. “I’ll prove it to you.”

Clumsy and inelegant, utterly inexperienced, she brings Frost into embrace that soon melts into a kiss, cold-bitten lips pressing chastely to each other. Frost’s stillness doesn’t last- she’s quick to return the gesture, pulling Misty so tight to her that she’s almost knocked off balance. 

Frost is soft and warm and the messy, amateurish kissing is heavenly. “Glassblower,” Frost sighs, “glassblower.” 

–

They trek the mile back to the cabin together and slip through the back door, evading all attention from inside the house. That’s how Misty ends up in Frost’s room, warming up on her bed under her heated blanket. 

“I would have cleaned if I knew you’d… well, do any of this,” Frost sighs, still ruddy-faced from the cold. “I thought that letter was completely anonymous.” 

“I got curious,” Misty purrs. “And I got a lot of help.” 

“What gave it away?” Frost asks. 

“You gave away quite a few details about yourself. And it’s clear you’re left-handed… Oh, and Razzy said that Alpine knew one of her teammates liked me, but that was later,” Misty hums. 

“That snitch,” Frost sneers jokingly. “But I hope you aren’t disappointed that it’s me,” she adds meekly.

“I… I know we haven’t talked much, but I liked your letter a lot. You’re very sweet. And what you wanted to do-” 

“Don’t remind me,” Frost whines. “You might like that letter, but it’s embarrassing. I wrote it thinking you’d never know, so-” 

“You don’t want to kiss me anymore?” Misty teases, reawakening the berry-red blush on Frost’s cheeks. This is fun, she thinks.

“That’s not what I mean at all!” Frost replies indignantly. “But when I remember that you actually read it it’s like you’re crawling inside my brain. Sort of, anyway.”

“Huh.” What a way of putting it. “So you’ll still hold me?” 

Frost removes her jacket and leaves it to hang on the back of the door. Misty watches her as she moves; the arching of her shoulders, the little hop she does to get high enough to loop it around the peg, the pleasing shape of her body. When she’s down to her thermals she flicks the light off and sneaks under the blanket herself, embracing Misty from behind. 

She’s never been held like this. It’s overwhelming. It’s good, like drinking hot tea a little too fast and being able to feel the warmth pool in her stomach. Smokey would probably collapse if he knew about it. But that’s his problem. 

Frost nuzzles the space between her shoulder and her neck, and it makes a little more sense each second why Cloudy had lied to her just to protect her own version of this. It’s blissful, the way Frost looks at her, and for the first time in a long time she feels like she’s exactly where she wants to be. 

“If you’ll let me,” she says. 

“Of course,” Misty replies.