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>>It was a cold, winter night at Crossroads, with every slight breeze of wind hitting hard as if it were an icy glare. Every inphernal living in the area busied themselves by huddling together or warming up in their respective homes— all but one. The loner was hanging out on a bridge, overseeing a river with a thick sheet of ice on it, shimmering and slightly blinding the Phighter under the moonlight. His gear, a sword, rested on its hilt, its metal the same temperature as an ice cube in the freezer. The young inphernal sighed, happy with the tranquil, yet freezing, and harsh condition outside, a stark contrast to his home, full of utter chaos and warmth from the visitors. He hadn’t had a shadow of a doubt that Skate and Sling were making out under the mistletoe hanging under the kitchen doorway. If it wasn’t them who was doing it, he placed a bet that it would be Scythe and Vinestaff, or Boombox and Shuri, or whatever gay shit the others had going on. Sword closed his eyes, enjoying the peace and dreading the thought of having to go back to the loud noises, whether if it was a crash from Banhammer losing one too many times at Connect Four, or the sounds of whatever the fuck Skate and Sling were doing on the guest room bed. He cringed at the thought of those two lovebirds, just before he heard a deep voice from behind him.
= “Hey kid, what’re you doing out here?” It was Zuka, Rocket’s adoptive father.
= “Goodness Zuka, you scared me half to death.” To which Zuka only raised an eyebrow, his singular arm struggling to hold both the gifts and the lantern he was holding, (wow Zuka, a lantern? What type of 1800 movie is this??) clearly, he was another addition to the guests at Sword’s house. “Well, I was simply just waiting here, passing the time before the people at my house finally stop making out under the kitchen doorway and start to file out.”
= “I can’t blame you much kid. Even I can’t stand loud noises anymore. Well, I’m off to my truck. If you need me, just give Rocket a call, i can never work out how a crellphone or whatever you call it works.” With that, he bade a goodbye to Sword, and he was back in the empty cold once more. He thought about what Zuka said earlier, his boredom beginning to consume him.
= “Give Rocket a call? He knows I’m too gay for Rocket for me to be able to do that.”, he mumbled to himself.
>> It was close to 2 AM when he made his way back home, he figured out most of the visitors either left or just by passed out from exhaustion. If they didn’t, well, the bridge wasn’t going anywhere anyway. The cold was starting to bother him too, (is this an Elsa reference) and he grew dizzier and drowsier the more he walked until his body gave one last step, before his world faded to black.
>> It was hours before he woke up. And when he did, he was somewhere that was definitely not the curb he passed out on. It was a comfortable temperature with the warm, orange glow of the twinkling fairy lights hanging on the walls around him casting a soft, golden glow on the whole room, and made Swords pale skin glow like it was ablaze. He wasn’t aware of where he was, what happened, or whether this was a dream or the afterlife. What he was aware of though, was that his head hurt. A whole heck of a lot. The last time he felt this was when Medkit shot him in the head last week. It was a quite a lot more than just a few moments before he realized where he was. Pictures of Rocket hanging in portraits on the walls. Zuka’s glasses left dangerously close to falling on the table. He was in Rocket’s house. He was fucking in Rocket’s house. (You’re sure to do that later Sword, dw) His face flushed a deep, crimson red, which made the red hue of his clothes look pale in comparison.
= “I’m in Rocket’s house.” Sword thought, his thoughts overwhelmingly loud, “As in the Rocket?? The man I’m super gay for??? Maybe if I leave quietly, maybe he won’t notice I’m gone. What the fuck am I thinking? Of course he would notice I’m gone! I’m a 5’8 Phighter in the middle of his fucking living room, of-course he’d notice.” His mind lingered on the thought of leaving, but it was all too late.
= “Morning, sleepyhead. Had a good sleep?” Rocket said, just behind Sword’s back. Sword let out a small yelp, his surprise from how the normally clumsy phighter had managed to sneak up on him evident in his voice. “You’ve been out for 2 days.” Rocket said with a heavy sigh. “WHAT?!” Sword exclaimed. “Just messing with you. It’s only been an hour. Gods, you’re so gullible.” Sword rolled his eyes, the red starting to fade from his face. “How’d I even get here anyway?” Sword inquired, to which Rocket replied, “You passed out from the cold right on the street, a block away from the fast food place I ordered from. I saw you on the way there while I was in Zuka’s van, looking all pathetic, sprawled up on the street. You had an extremely thick layer of snow around you,” Rocket began to inch closer to Sword to sit down, “I even thought you were wearing white! So like, I told Zuka to pull over, and take you to our place, and just a few minutes ago, Medkit came over from your party and shot you in the head.” Rocket was now sitting beside Sword on the suddenly, and weirdly much smaller sofa. “It figures. I mean, my head hurts like hell.” Whatever few bits of red blush that left Sword’s face was now coming back, with triple the amount of brightness it had before. “So uhm.. uh.. Nevermind.” Sword cringed at his failed attempt to try small talk, and instead just lay down a bit more sideways on the sofa.
>>After a few moments of awkwardness, with Sword not even daring to look at Rocket, he suddenly felt Rocket’s head lay softly on his shoulder. Rocket was already asleep. Sword couldn’t help but giggle a bit at how cute he was. Wait, what the fuck was he thinking? Flustered, he tried his best to stay still. The growing urge to caress Rocket’s soft, messy hair had grown unbearable to Sword. Giving in to his desires, he slowly put his hand on his hair, feeling as if he had just done a most awful deed. His hair was softer than the sofa’s cushions, (it actually wasn’t, but you get the point.) and Sword smiled, which quickly turned into a frown. Since when did they become awkward? The two were the best of friends! They should be doing whatever best friends do, or whatever they did before Sword started liking Rocket. I mean, what were the two even doing now, with— “I love you, Sword.” Rocket said softly, his head turning towards Sword, his eyes shimmering softly under the golden lights. For a moment, the world stopped for the pair, as if it were holding its breath, as the two (gaybos) got lost in each-others eyes, stuck in a moment that feels like magic from a Disney movie or from a Lauphey (yes, this is a Laufey reference) song flowed out into the real world. Sword couldn’t believe what was even happening, even wondering if this was truly the afterlife and he was in Paradise. “Are you even fully awake, Rocket?” he asked, his smile insuppressible, “Mmhmm, and I’m awake enough to know that you feel the same way too.” Rocket replied. Sword flushed a deep scarlet red, a shade not even humanly possible. “I’ve always wanted to say this, from the moment we talked to each other, up until this very moment. You were always so sweet, so kind, and selfless. Someone I could never even try to be.” Rocket was about to continue, but Sword interrupted, “But you are. Rocket, you are the sweetest person I’ve ever known, and maybe you just don’t know it. You’re kind enough to even talk to someone the likes of me, a loser.” “You know you never were, and never will be a loser.” said Rocket, touched by the others compassionate words. The pair smiled, and intertwined in a kiss, a compassionate one at that. If the world froze from the winter, at least this moment would last forever, the magic of it forever inside the hearts of the two.