Archive of Our Own ^beta

After the elimination, Pound and Fireball were walking back to their shared hotel room as usual. They'd been chatting, of course, hands slightly interlinking as they made their way back, but for the most part they enjoyed the time they had together in silence, basking in the other's company. It would be rarer for them to be close, now that Fireball was on Caramel Apple's team. They needed all the time they could get. 

The other contestants in the hallway didn't bother them too much. Mirror was busy chatting with a distraught Yearbook outside of their room, who both avoided looking at Fireball as he and Pound walked by. Caramel Apple waved at them, and Fireball nodded back in acknowledgement. He did catch a glimpse of Glitchy staring them down from their doorway at one point, but he just sent them a nasty glare before Pound could notice. He didn't need any more stress today.

The sun was nearly set behind the city skyline when they finally made it back to their room. Pound muttered about the daylight hours as he set their keys on the table next to the door. Fireball laughed, hardly listening but still enjoying the fact that he got to spend every night with Pound like this.

Of course, he had a lot on his mind as he sat on the edge of his bed. Pound glanced back at him, began to open his mouth to speak, but decided against it as he headed for the room's kitchenette, likely to brew himself some tea. That was a coping mechanism Fireball had caught onto; whenever Pound was stressed, he'd make himself some sweet tea, the way that Banana Slice had shown him back on the island. 

Fireball's thoughts raced through his head as he settled down. Why didn't you vote Beer Keg? He wanted to ask Pound. Why would you let Corky get eliminated? What haven't you been telling me? What was that earlier? Can you kiss me again? What--

“Are we… What are we?" Fireball finally asked, flame burning ever-so-slightly brighter than before as he stood up. Pound glanced back, grip slipping from the bag of sugar he'd been holding.

"Well, uhm... I don't know." Pound said, setting down the teabags he'd been holding. He didn't face Fireball, but he could still tell from his posture that he was flustered. "I just... I mean... It–"

"Pound, hey," Fireball approached Pound, and he finally turned to him as Fireball tentatively reached for his hand. Pound took it. The evening light reflected off of his metallic surface, the pinks and purples and oranges shading his body, and Fireball found himself suddenly at a loss for words. He tried to speak, but all of the words he had carefully crafted in his mind evaporated once he saw that familiar smile spread across Pound's face and felt the warm heat of his hands, far greater than anything Fireball could produce himself. 

"You're beautiful," is all Fireball managed to stammer out. Pound laughed, and the light caught all the imperfections and scuffs and scrapes on his perfectly imperfect form and Fireball couldn't have loved him more. 

"Yeah, I get like that too. Thinking about you, seeing you," Pound averted his gaze, but his warm smile remained all the same. 

“I– how long?” Fireball still couldn't manage to speak correctly, but Pound didn't seem to mind. 

“It was the, ah, tightrope. When you told me you worried for me, back during the fifth day. I think it was then, with you being so sincere with me. You told me you didn't think you'd see me at the merge, and I think I realized then that I– I wanted you there, too. More than anything. I wanted you with me. You're my light. My warmth, I– God, listen to me ramble–”

“Hey, hey, you're fine! I've, uhm. I think I've always loved you, personally.” Fireball couldn't bring himself to make eye contact. It was too much right then. “I've… I've liked you since– the island?”

“--Good lord, it's been a while.”

“I know! I just… I'm glad you're here with me now. And, hey, you didn't answer my question.” Fireball looked back at him, willing him to be as sincere as he could. He didn't mean to stress Pound. He just needed to know, to have a point of reference. To know he wasn't lying to himself about everything.

“About us?” Pound asked, and he looked worried again. Fireball hated that look on him. 

“Hey, no, it's chill! We don't need a label yet. We can just be… Us. For now, at least."

“Huh.” Pound thought for a moment, then finally leaned up and pecked Fireball on the lips. “I think I'm alright with that. For now."

He hurriedly let go of Fireball and scampered back to making his tea, leaving Fireball to hover his hand over his lips in astonishment. 

Fireball had finally managed to settle into bed. Pound was sipping his tea while watching something on the room's television, but Fireball couldn't manage to make it out over the sound of his racing thoughts. 

“So what if I like sweet tea? Sue me. I'm not just a British stereotype, you know." Pound had said when Fireball asked about it, setting down a warm cup in front of him.

“Since we all know you're all about breaking stereotypes,” Fireball had smiled, which he'd known even then was rare for him. He held the teacup, feeling its warmth but not daring to ingest the water-based liquid inside. 

It was their fourth night on the island after their host had abandoned them. They'd all been trying to cope in any way they could, and Fireball had finally decided to start trying to get closer to Pound. The isolation he'd been putting himself through wasn't helping with the stress of being left out here. He already felt closest to Pound out of everyone. He just hoped that Pound would someday feel the same. 

“Hey, I am! If we ever get off this island, I'm hoping that we end up being friendly with another Brit. That way, you'll be able to pivot all your stereotyping to them.” Pound gestured to Fireball in a motion of mock-annoyance as he sat down next to Fireball at the table. Fireball snorted. 

“I don't know, Pound. You're still the number one in our eyes. Even if there was another British person, you'd still be my favorite.”

Oh. He'd let that slip. 

Pound had immediately grinned. Fireball wanted to kick himself for admitting that, and he felt his embers grow hotter by the minute. Pound just laughed, though. Fireball swore he saw him blush.

“D'awww. I'm glad to know where I stand for you, then.”

“Shut it!” Fireball grumbled, face still hot. Pound laughed again, and took Fireball's tea from him when he held it out. 

It was a nice moment that Fireball thought about every-so-often. The first time he really let Pound know how he felt. It wasn't the whole truth, but it was more than he'd ever told anyone. And yet, today, he told him he loved him in more words than that. And Pound loved him back.

He looked over at the coin sitting up in his bed, seemingly invested in whatever show he was watching. Fireball battled his conscious back-and-forth as to whether he should ask to sit next to him, but Pound ended up catching him staring and patted the bed next to him as an invitation. 

“You sure?” Fireball asked, suddenly self-aware as he slid in next to Pound under the covers. 

“Of course I'm sure. I never get to sit with you like this,” Pound grinned, pausing the TV and setting his mug down on the bedside table. 

“Except for every day, of course.” 

“Well, besides that.”

“And whenever you have nightmares.”

“Okay, that's enough. Take the excuse, will you?” Pound laughed, arm settling behind Fireball. Fireball felt himself burn, but he managed to keep it under control so he didn't accidentally hurt Pound. 

“Alright, alright. What are you watching, anyways?” Fireball nodded towards the TV. Pound reached for the remote, and Fireball took the chance to scoot in closer to him. 

“Season one of Clash to be Champion. I'm on the, ah, second episode.” Fireball felt his reaction in his gut as he remembered Cheese Wheel's elimination, and Pound must have seen it in his face. “I can change it for you, though. Wanna watch a show Vasey was in three years ago?”

The pain in Fireball's chest subsided as he leaned against the metallic object, a sigh escaping his lips. “Oh, for sure. I'd love to see how bad they did her polishing. They always do it so weird on TV shows. They make ceramics look wet somehow. Hollywood, or whatever.”

“Right? All those paint jobs, too.. Okay, on it goes.” 

“Good.”

Fireball felt himself relax for the first time since Beer Keg had punched him. For once, he felt safe. It was a plus that it was with Pound. He didn't even react when Pound found his hand under the covers and threaded their fingers together as he pointed out how perfect they made Vasey look on camera. 

Fireball loved Pound. That was that. He knew it on the island, he knew it every challenge, and he knew it especially now as they held hands and talked about their host. He wouldn't trade this for the world, he concluded as he felt Pound lean into him, his worries now more distant than ever.