Work Text:
Golf Ball picks up her phone, seeing one new message.
pencil: hi golfball can yu come up to the roof rq
Golf Ball sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and wrinkling her forehead. Goodness, this girl's grammar.
me: Ignoring your horrendous grammar, I could. Depends on why.
pencil: OML js get yr ass over here >:(
me: It’s really not safe unless I know the reason, you could be kidnapping me.
pencil: . do you wanna fight
me: Firstly, the period goes at the end. Secondly, no, I wouldn’t, because as much as we mutually dislike each other, I wouldn’t like to hurt you.
pencil: aww you wouldn’t like to hurt me?
pencil: WAIT. i could EASILY beat you up
me: Please. I could easily murder you.
pencil: while that’s cute n all cud you PLS come up herE
me: FINE.
me: I’ll be up there in twenty minutes.
pencil: why not now :(
me: You want me to come up looking like I just had a bird poop on my head?
pencil: weird way to describe it but ok take ur time
Golf Ball frustratedly puts her phone down, rubbing her fingers along the bridge of her nose. Goodness, why did Pencil always have to be a pain in her ass? It was like she tried.
Reaching over to her vanity, Golf Ball finds herself reaching for some lip gloss. Makeup has never been one of her biggest worries, her not even owning any until recently. She’s never cared about her looks, and she sure as hell never will. However, there was just something about Pencil that made her feel the need to.
She wasn’t sure if it was the other girl rubbing off on her or just some deep, desperate desire to impress her, but there was some part of her that needed to. So much so that she would always put on a little makeup before she saw Pencil. Very little, but enough that Golf Ball felt confident in her skin.
Not that she didn’t already feel confident in her skin - quite the opposite. She always knew she was perfect, on the inside and out. But people like Pencil didn’t look past the outer layer, and not only the outer layer, but how it checks the boxes.
Golf Ball wasn’t stereotypically hot. Of course, that wasn’t a bad thing to her. Golf Ball was awesome as she was. No one could rival her intelligence, even if they tried.
She runs a hairbrush through her scraggly gray hair, not so much to make it neater - it was naturally neat with just a headband - but as a sort of therapy. The way the bristles pressed against her scalp helped her think. It was nice.
Think about what, you may ask. There were many things a mind like Golf Ball’s could think about. The main thing on her mind, though, was what exactly Pencil wants.
Pencil isn’t the most straightforward person - or, even straight in general. She’s the type of person to yell at you for a compliment, or compliment you or a particularly harsh insult. So, with this logic, Golf Ball presumes there’s no way this meeting is going to be straight, or forward.
No matter for right now today. Golf Ball pushes her hair back into a headband and gets up, walking out of her room and towards the stairs that lead to the roof. She’s perfectly punctual, 19 minutes on the dot, which gives her a minute to climb up the stairs. Appropriate.
However, before she can even get close to the base of the stairs, she’s stopped by a red-faced Tennis Ball, clearly exhausted from running.
“Golfie!” He gasps, causing Golf Ball to stop in her tracks.
“Yes, Tennis Ball?” She responds, raising a thin, gray eyebrow.
“Don’t go up yet!” He cries, concerning her.
“Oh? And why is this?”
“Just, wait!”
“But Pencil expected me up there in twenty minutes nineteen minutes ago. I don’t want to disappoint her.”
Tennis Ball pants, running his palms over his pants. “I promise, you won’t disappoint her. Just… trust me.”
“I don’t get why everyone today expects me to just listen to them blindly. I will need a reason.”
Smiling weakly, he sighs. “That’s the Golfie I know. It’ll all make sense. Trust me.”
“You keep saying trust me, but I don’t know why,” she states bluntly, clearly making him a little frustrated.
“Golfie, have I ever lead you wrong? From all of our time together, one would think you’d have at least a little trust in me, especially in a low stakes situation such as this.”
Golf Ball’s eyes harden, and she raises an eyebrow. “Okay.”
Tennis Ball’s mouth opens, shuts, then opens again. “Wait… did you say okay?”
“You have a convincing point. I’ll listen. But, if Pencil gets mad, you’ll understand why I revoke trust privileges. Trust must be earned.”
Smiling a little wider and panting less, Tennis Ball stands up straighter. “She won’t. Anyway, how’s your day been?”
Golf Ball rolls her eyes. “The usual. Did my work, tried to avoid all of the annoying valentine’s day decorations. I wasn’t expecting to get called up to the roof at 7 P.M., but one of my most recurrent observations is that life isn’t usually what I expect. Sometimes I just have to go with it. How about you, Tennis Ball?”
Tennis Ball nods. “It’s going well! I’ve been helping a friend with a… Valentine’s Day plan. I built some toys for Marker, and Tree paid extra.”
“Mmph. Taking extra money you didn’t earn?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t see it like that. It’s… a tip!”
“A tip. Yeah, I see the appeal.”
“Yeah. Oh also, I saw Puffball and Fri- OH GOLF BALL YOU CAN GO TO THE ROOF NOW!”
The mentioned girl raises an eyebrow. “That’s a rather sudden switch up.”
Smirking sheepishly, Tennis Ball paws a little at his ear that’s being covered up by his yellow hair. “Yes, I know. That’s no matter. I’m sorry for distracting you. I hope you… have fun!”
Have fun? What was going to happen for Golf Ball to ‘have fun’?
She tries not to think about that ominous message as she shoulders past him and goes up the stairwell, her practical boots (February is cold) colliding with the metal of the stairs.
The harsh wind of outside hits Golf Ball as she fully enters the roof, shouldering her jacket onto herself a little more, hissing under her breath and watching as the air she exhales freezes in the wind.
Glancing around, Golf Ball finds Pencil, sitting on a bench with a box in front of her. She looks tired, a little withdrawn, but her eyes light up when she sees Golf Ball. It’s a reaction she commonly notices with Pencil, but it clearly meant nothing.
“Golf Ball!” She calls, waving her over. Golf Ball walks towards her, noting the table and strewn decorations next to her.
“What is… this?” Golf Ball asks, gesturing around.
“Oh. Just um. Some of our mutual friends being very bad at helping. I think Tennis Ball was the only real help.”
“Helping with what? I mean he did say he was helping with a Valentine’s Day plan.” Of course, that probably how no correlation to what was currently happening.
Pencil glances down at the box in her hands, picking at the ribbon. “Yeah. My Valentine’s Day plan.”
Golf Ball raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you asking someone to be your valentine? Who’s the unlucky gal?”
“…unlucky…?” Pencil whispers, glancing up. Golf Ball frowns.
Obviously, this was a joke. Pencil was probably going to ask Golf Ball to aid in this plan. And Golf Ball was going to feel very bad that she wasn’t the subject of the valentine, but would nonetheless help.
“Why yes, unlucky. But you two will probably be happy. So? Who is it?”
Pencil’s eyes turn harsh, yet somehow glassy. “You really believe someone’s unlucky to be with me? Like… I’d be bad to be with?”
Tensing her jaw, Golf Ball continues the joke. “Of course! Based off past history, you don’t have the best history with relationships, if Freesmart wasn’t obvious enough.”
“Don’t. Bring up Freesmart.”
“It’s true, though,” this doesn’t feel like a joke anymore, but Puffball once told her to always follow through with jokes so they really deliver. “They all hate you. If that wasn’t an unsuccessful relationship, I don’t know how else to define it. So, of course anyone would be reluctant to join a relationship with you.” Well, Golf Ball wouldn’t even hesitate, but Pencil didn’t need to know that.
Pencil rubs her fingers over her eyes. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Golf Ball.”
“…huh?” Was this another part of the joke?
“This was for you. I wanted you to be my valentine. But it’s clear you think joining any sort of relationship with me is something to be reluctant of.”
Golf Ball’s shocked. There’s no way. That was for her? But she was just making a joke!
“I was just making a joke!” She whispers, but Pencil looks even angrier.
“That’s your idea of a joke?” Pencil gets to her feet, box crumpling in her hand. “I don’t know what I was even thinking. Happy fucking Valentine’s Day, Golf Ball.”
With that, Pencil turns and storms away. Golf Ball stands there for a few seconds, stunned. She didn’t want it to end like this.
“Pencil!” She yells, running after the girl, but she’s already going through the stairwell bringing her downstairs.
The wind feels cold on Golf Ball’s neck. Very cold. Even colder as she picks up the box and slowly opens it. A double fudge brownie - or, Golf Ball’s comfort food that very few people knew about - with the words BE MY VALENTINE inscribed on them.
Golf Ball’s breath catches as she observes the rest of the contents. Photos of the both of them, ranging from BFDI to TPOT, with CloudYAY.
Then off she goes.
Her shoes squeak against the stairwell as she runs down them, box clutched in one hand as she yells into the dark hallways of the hotel,
“PENCIL!”