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“Stanley Pines,” called the voice of the coach.
Stan rose from the bench he was sharing with his brother. But before he could walk away, a small hand grabbed his.
“Do you have to fight?” Ford asked, the worry already starting to sink in. This happened every time one their names were called. But this time, it was a little more frantic. “We can just go home you know.”
Stan flashed him a confident smile, trying to ease his fear. “Don’t worry Sixer, I got this in the bag.” The words didn’t seem to have any affect on his frantic brother. He rolled his eyes and placed a reassuring hand on Ford’s back. “I’ll be fine. I promise,” he soothed.
The caring action sent a shiver down Ford’s spine, and a blush across his face. But he gave a reluctant sigh and a nod. He returned his gaze to the ring, were two other kids were finishing their match. Looking at Stanley only made him worry more.
Stan was finally allowed to leave his brother and get ready. He double checked his taped hands like he had done so many times before. He then placed the sturdy head gear snuggly on his skull, and finished up with red boxing gloves. Now came the worst part; waiting. Waiting meant you could psych yourself out, to over think your match. You could think of everything that could go wrong. Or even think of everything that could right, gain over confidence, get cocky, and lose. So Stan began to breath deeply and let his mind wander. He thought about working on the Stan O’ War with Ford. And building Fort Stan with Ford in their room. And just lazing around the house, with Ford of course. Ford is what kept him grounded, kept him calm. And most of his happiest moments were with Ford, so why not think about them when you needed to remain in control. His thoughts continued to wander from moments with Ford, to Ford himself. Like the way his eyes light up when he is working on a project. Or his laugh that always makes Stan’s heart skip a beat. Or how warm he is on nights when they share a bunk after a nightmare. And he is allowed to run his fingers soothingly through Ford’s soft and silky hair. Or the way a blush spreads across his face after the smallest amount of contact. Stan can’t help but find it strangely cute.
His thoughts were cut off by the sound of the bell, signifying the other match was over. He took one more deep breath and entered the ring.
“You’re going down Pines,” Crampelter boasted in the corner opposite of him.
“We’ll see who’s going down,” Stan taunted from his corner.
Crampelter sneered and let out a low growl.
The bell sounded, and the match began.
Crampelter charged full force at Stan. Stan barely had time to dodge such a ferocious attack. Crampelter immediately turned back to Stan and followed with a punch. Stan was quick to dodge this one as well, but not the following punch. The punch caught Stan off guard and he fell to the floor. Crampelter took the opportunity and pinned Stan to the mat. He began pelting Stan with blow after blow. Stan was trying his best to block the onslaught, but he knew he wouldn’t last long. He spared a second to look over at his brother. He must have been worried sick, because his nose was shoved deep into a book. Of course he would be reading now, who would want to watch their brother get the snot beat out of them. He put his focus back on Crampelter, waiting for an opening that may never come. But then he heard a small voice from the bleachers.
“You can do it Stanley!” Ford shouted from his seat, his book long forgotten. “Don’t give up! I know you can beat him! I believe in you!” Ford continued yelling words of encouragement to Stan.
And with that, Stan knew he could win. He continued watching Crampelter’s moves until he noticed a pattern. It took only seconds to memorize and plan a counter attack. At just the right moment he shouted, “left hook!” And swung hard. The punch landed square in Crampelter’s face. It left an opening for Stan to follow with a few more punches. Before to long, the shoe was on the other foot and Stan had Crampelter pinned. Now it was his turn to land blow after blow. This went on far longer than Stan’s thrashing. Finally, the bell was rung. Stan removed himself from over Crampelter, and even offered him a hand up. Crampelter swatted it away and exited the ring furious. Stan then exited the ring himself and made his way over to an anxiously awaiting Ford.
“See, I told you I would be fine,” Stan said arrogantly with a grin. This landed him a hard punch to the arm. “Ow, what was that for?” He asked while jokingly rubbing the spot where Ford had hit him
“That was for making me worry.” Ford answered with false anger.
Stan was about to argue about how he seemed fine to him. But was cut off by a quick kiss on an already forming bruise on the cheek.
“And that was for winning,” Ford turned away shyly.
Stan stood dumbfounded for a moment. He let a hand wander to his cheek, feeling the small amount of heat left behind. A genuine smile spread across his face. He made Ford face him before wrapping his arms around his neck in a tight hug. “Thanks Sixer,” he whispered into Ford’s ear. “You won’t have to worry about me next time. I promise.”
Ford wrapped his own arms around Stan, returning the embrace. “Are you sure about that?” He whispered back into Stan’s ear. The sarcasm was not enough to fully hide the anxiety behind it.
“Of course,” Stan separated enough to look directly into Ford’s eyes. “Because I got you by my side.”