Chapter Text
Silas Karlisle did not stare.
He absolutely wasn’t staring at how the sunlight flickering through the trees, or the way the breeze lifted Free’s blond hair, or the half-broken stadium tucked into the clearing like something in a story.
He had simply taken a walk and stopped walking. That was all. He wanted to see Free’s training methods.
Free glanced over his shoulder, hands shoved lazily in his pockets. “You’re slow.”
“I’m looking around,” Silas scowled “It’s uneven. This can't be an efficient training ground.”
Free hummed, utterly unbothered. “Mm. Still my favorite.”
Favorite. That didn’t mean anything. Free probably let everyone here. He crossed his arms.
“It’s… acceptable,” Silas muttered.
Free smiled without turning around. “Really, .”
Silas tried to scowl but he couldn't."
The old forest stadium showed its age, it had cracks, and the edges worn smooth by time and countless launches. A deer curiously hid just beyond the trees. Silas pretended not to notice how quiet everything felt.
Free hopped into the clearing and casually tossed Fafnir into the air, catching it without looking. “Thought we’d at least battle a bit. Or talk. Or nap. Whichever.”
“I didn’t come here to nap,” Silas scoffed. “And I don’t ‘talk’.”
“Sure you do.” Free smirked head tilting just slightly to the left like usual. “You complain. That counts.”
Silas opened his mouth to snap back, then closed it. It was impossible to tell whether Free was teasing him, being sincere, or just speaking normally.
He walked to the stadium, boots crunching softly over the fallen leaves.
“This is where you train.” It came out low, a little rougher than he wanted.
Free glanced at him again, softer this time. “Yeah. Not many people come out here.”
Silas’s heart thumped once. Hard.
He straightened immediately. “Understandable. probably have better things to do.”
Free laughed quietly, like leaves rustling. “You stayed.”
Silas clicked his tongue. “Only because you’d get lost without me.”
As if Free would ever get lost. The lie tasted warm and embarrassing in Silas’s chest, and he hated how obvious it probably was.
Free picked up a launcher, then paused and set it back down. “No launcher today.”
“Of course not,” Silas said dryly. “Why would you ever use normal equipment like a normal person?”
Free spun Fafnir up with a flick of his hand. The motion was relaxed, almost lazy, but Silas knew how much strength and control threaded through it.
Silas launched Satomb with perfect form because perfection was the least he could do when his pulse was doing stupid things.
The beys clashed.
The sound echoed through the trees.
“Still overconfident?” Free asked, eyes following the collision.
“I don’t need confidence,” Silas shot back. “I have skill.”
The words came out faster than usual, sharp and defensive. Free didn’t flinch. He just watched him with that unreadable smile.
“You’re terrible at admitting feelings.”
Silas nearly choked. “I don’t –I have nothing to–”
Satomb slammed against Fafnir. The deer lifted its head, then settled again. Somehow the forest felt like it was listening in.
Free smirked. “You like it here, don't you?”
Silas’s cheeks flared with heat. “Say that again and I’m leaving.”
“You won’t.”
He wouldn’t. He knew it. Free knew it. The trees apparently knew it too.
Satomb finally slowed, spinning out into a wobbling halt while Fafnir kept going. The winner was obvious, but Free didn’t announce it.
Silas looked away, jaw tight. “You didn’t need to bring me here.”
“I did,” Free said simply.
Silas blinked. “Why?”
Free shrugged. “I don’t know, you get it.”
Silas’s first instinct was to argue. To snap that he didn’t “get” it. But the truth slipped out. He did get it, it was the feeling of being good enough without anyone watching.
Free tossed Fafnir into the air again, catching it. “Well that was fun.”
“You should… fix that railing,” Silas muttered. “It’s structurally unsound.”
Free beamed. “You’re worried about my stadium?”
“I’m worried about your terrible maintenance habits,” Silas snapped, too quickly. “And your complete disregard for. He caught himself, “Why did you even let me–”
Free bumped shoulders with him. It was light, casual, and somehow devastating.
Silas froze.
Free’s voice dropped, almost a whisper. “I wanted you here.”
The words slid through Silas like a blade.
He swallowed. His pride flailed around for a proper response. “Well. Obviously. I’m the only one strong enough to keep up with you.”
Free laughed again, softer than before. “Yeah. That, too.”
They sat on the bench. Or rather, Free sprawled and Silas sat carefully, like the world might accuse him of enjoying himself if he relaxed.
The wind brushed through the clearing. The deer watched them openly now, unafraid.
“…It’s not awful,” Silas said at last.
“What isn’t?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely at the clearing, the stadium, the quiet, Free’s shoulder warm where it brushed his. “Training here.”
“Mm.” Free tilted his head. “You mean being here with me.”
Silas stared straight ahead. “I mean the trees.”
Free grinned. “Sure.”
They observed the final rays of sun between the trees. It was a moment of peace. Silas did not feel the need to prove himself .
He still didn’t say it.
He didn’t say that his chest felt too full, that being chosen made something in him ache in the best and worst ways. He didn’t say he would remember this clearing forever.
Instead he muttered, “Next time, I’m bringing tools. That railing is a menace.”
Free leaned just a little closer. “Next time, huh?”
Silas froze, then huffed. “Don’t make it weird.”
Free’s smile turned brilliant and unguarded, the kind he usually reserved for animals or the quiet triumph after a strong launch. “Okay,” he said. “I won’t.”
The deer bounded away.
The forest relaxed.
And for once, Silas didn’t need to win anything to feel like he had.