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He’d once read a book that Cheese had left in his room. He would never admit to it, because it was the sort of book that only girls liked and talked about. But he’d read it anyway, got to a point of the story that confused him and never continued it after. But the story stuck with him, about a woman learning to love a proud and most seemingly inconsiderate man. Pizza had nearly forgotten it for months after, until this situation when the story surfaced in a moment of quiet.
The sun was setting behind them, casting their shadows long. They walked a familiar goat path home between the trees and shrubs, clothes in disarray and nicked in places. His body ached from taking one too many beatings from a band of Fallen Angels even with Spaghetti having his back.
He didn’t feel too bad about it, the picnic he had convinced Spaghetti to go on had spiraled into panicked disarray when he had forgotten the food basket and the picnic spot had become muddy from last night’s rain. The Fallen Angels that were attracted to them had been a welcome distraction.
They hadn’t spoken to each other after starting their trek back. Pizza tried and was met with a silent grunt. Still, Spaghetti didn’t look too upset since he kept in step, keeping the blonde in his periphery.
Pizza thought it would be easy, this ideal of falling in love. It wasn’t like that at all. It wasn’t anything like the romantic overtures he’s read about. Nothing like the waxing and gushing poetics he overheard time and again. He’s tried several things outside the normal fare, but the reactions he gets were confused at best, muted disinterest at worst. Spaghetti himself had tried, but it had mostly been about being showered with gifts and flattery that became too much at times it sounded forced.
Something small, sinister and desperate whispered in the back of his head. This is wrong. It repeated. Like there was something far bigger than he could understand that he was changing by this decision alone. Wrong, everything is wrong. He ignored it, chalking it up to his insecurities about the minute setbacks their relationship was producing.
But there was no denying that there is something there. This mutual attraction between them? It’s never been seen before. Even the Master Attendant looked lost on what to advise him, just like everyone else he asked.
Being with Spaghetti was… awkward. Like neither of them understood how this dance was supposed to go without the overhead music guiding their steps. The redhead liked to show that he was above it, that he knew what he was doing and— gods yes, Spaghetti was quick-thinking in comparison, but in this they were both stranded out at sea.
At the least Pizza could say, both of them unmoored themselves from the docks. No questions there.
“S-Sorry… Today really didn’t go well.” He blurted out all of a sudden. Spaghetti stopped and he did too.
“The basket is your fault.” Spaghetti started, no obvious fire in his words, “But that would be mine as well since I hadn’t noticed all that time you didn’t have it.”
“No, no. I was too excited and really, it was mine! I should have picked a better spot too—”
“Must you make this a game of blame?” Spaghetti interrupted. He cocked an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because if you are, I can do what you wish for.” Pizza winced. Well, not to that extent. He’s seen how cruel and biting Spaghetti’s words could get.
Seeing that reaction, Spaghetti let out a noncommittal hum. He glanced around, seemingly searching for something. When he didn’t find it, he gestured for Pizza to keep walking. They walked further down the path. Curiosity replaced the confusion the longer Pizza observed Spaghetti’s searching gaze. “What are we looking for? I can help.” He said.
Spaghetti only replied with another hum until he stopped and began to approach… a tree? It was a large oak tree with no obvious importance as far as Pizza could remember. He followed the redhead anyway, squinting at the size of it. It is a very big tree. Spaghetti turned to him with a neutral expression and asked, “Can you make your way up?”
Up? Up— “Wait, what are we going to do?”
“We,” Spaghetti pointed upwards. “are going to climb it.” He finished matter-of-factly, a smirk on his lips as if that was the grand plan all along. Pizza blinked. Shouldn’t… shouldn’t this be something he himself would propose? Probably get stuck up there too unless Cassata helps him get down. It’s happened at least once already.
On second thought, that does sound fun. And it wasn’t his idea this time!
“I guess the view would be nice!” Pizza laughed as he began to climb. As Food Souls, the feat was easier. Though it was less climbing and more leaping upwards.
“Whoa, we’re pretty high up.” Pizza mumbled. He looked down, swinging his legs in the air and considered how far off the ground they were.
“Scared you would fall?” Spaghetti chuckled. “Don’t be. I’m not cruel enough to let you.”
“But I have, you know.”
“You have?”
“Yeah, I already fell for you!”
That pulled a genuine laugh out of the redhead. The man sat in an easy manner, uncharacteristic with the way he dressed. But that’s the charm of him, isn’t it? He could walk amongst the nobility and perfectly act the part, yet there were mannerisms -words- that hinted something less polished and less aloof, if one looked hard enough.
The oak grew on the slope of a hill, allowing Pizza to see slightly above the thin line of trees and out to the field that separated the rest of the wilderness from the outskirts of Gloriville. The sun had disappeared below the horizon, and night rolled in like a blanket of stars heralding the moon’s ascent. The lights of the distant capital flickered on in near unison, turning the city into a shining beacon.
This sight was Spaghetti’s offer as recompense for the picnic that they couldn’t have. His chest warmed at the thought, and suddenly the aches from the earlier fight didn’t feel so bad.
“That’s very pretty…” Pizza trailed off. He turned to see Spaghetti studying him instead with an unreadable gaze. He felt his face flushing at the scrutiny, breaking eye contact almost as soon as it was made.
“However strange it is, yes. This is acceptable.” Spaghetti said, the meaning of his words lost on the blonde. He reached out and brushed hair from Pizza’s face, his other hand coming to rest on Pizza’s nape. They leaned closer, pressing their foreheads together, their noses almost touching.
In a mental book Pizza crafted about every single one of Spaghetti’s quirks, this substituted kissing when the redhead was not in the mood for such. He does something similar to Borscht, who Pizza knew well enough was special to the redhead in a slightly different manner. Pizza didn’t envy her. Neither did he envy Oyster and the familial dynamic he had between Borscht and Spaghetti. That was theirs to have, just as Pizza has with Cassata and Cheese.
What they have between them here and now was something they carved out of their own will.
They relished the contact further before pulling away. Giddy, the blonde scooted closer and brushed shoulders with the redhead, who allowed it without complaint.
“So remember what I said earlier about Turkey’s idea for a king of the hill game? He said…” They sat there in the midst of the growing night, with Pizza talking about nothing and everything. And Spaghetti in his way, listened and replied.