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Thirty seconds.
Scott stares absently at the chests, tail swishing behind him, gills flexing and breathing. The scales are certainly a change, he thinks, glancing at his reflection in the ocean near him. It’s not like he’s complaining. These fish adaptations of his are going to come in handy with underwater combat and just regular foraging. It’s weird to balance with a tail, kind of like a third leg, but he manages. And the coral growing on his face is odd as well, but at least it fits his Coral Isles aesthetic.
Twenty seconds.
He’s a yellow life now. Scott eyes the ticking timer that rests on his forearm. Not sure how the Watchers were able to genetically integrate that into his flesh, but he supposes there’s a lot about those Gamemakers that he doesn’t know about. Doesn’t make it any less creepy.
The sensation of going from green to yellow isn’t new to him. He’s been in the Games for a while, if not the longest. He knows how it feels to have the Watchers’ gaze on you. To win. Scott sighs as he starts rearranging the items in the chest, more muscle memory than actual conscious thought. When you’re in the Games for so long, some things just feel like instinct rather than choice. He stops rummaging through his stuff to check the player list, a holographic screen that pops up whenever he double-taps the timer. A whole sea of yellow names. The yellow time of peace, as Scott calls it. Having the entire server hunt him down was exhilarating, sure, but also tiring, so this small portion of quiet is good for him.
Ten seconds.
Scott thinks back to when the whole chase started. The chill that ran up his spine when the explosion ran through the arena, the beep of his intercom signalling that Impulse, one of the last three greens, had fallen. The shadow that fell over Jimmy’s face when they made eye contact. Thirty seconds to run. To leave. Because apparently Jimmy would rather have Scott’s blood on his hands than Tango.
Jimmy. Oh, Jimmy.
“Scott?”
Time’s up.
Scott turns around slowly, limbs stiffening and gills flicking. Because unfortunately for Scott, he knows that voice all too well.
Before him stands Jimmy Solidarity, his… his what? Friend? Crush? Boyfriend? Ex? No single label seems to define their relationship just right. Jimmy shifts around awkwardly, wings ruffled, sporting his stupid leather jacket and dumb sunglasses even though it’s the middle of the night. Right, he’s a bad boy now, whatever that’s supposed to mean.
“Scott,” Jimmy breathes out, and damn it his name shouldn’t sound so good on the canary’s lips, but it does. “Uhm. Hi.” Before Scott gets the chance to respond, Jimmy gestures vaguely to the coral living on Scott’s face. “Uh, you got something right there.”
Well, he’d be endeared if he wasn't so pissed right now.
“I know,” Scott responds dryly, but a part of him wants to reach out. To embrace Jimmy into a violent hug and never let go. To let those same hands caress Scott’s face like they did back then. But he doesn’t, because he has some dignity left. Not enough dignity to resist checking Jimmy’s build through the canary’s tight shirt and jeans, but a good amount of dignity. Whatever.
“I brought you some bread,” Jimmy says, because of course he’s offering bread while Scott is actively fighting the urge to either kill Jimmy right now or start making out with him or both at the same time. Void, this man is impossible.
The canary pushes the bread into Scott’s hands, and the fish hybrid stares at the pastry as if it personally offended him. Which, at this point, it has. But, nevertheless, he takes it. Food is food, and he’ll need every scrap if he wants to survive this stupid Game. Even if it’s from your weird situationship.
“Thanks,” Scott replies quietly, holding the bread in his right hand. The silence that follows after is almost suffocating. What happened to gentle touches, hushed giggles, flowers brushing in his hair as he kissed his husband?
But, with that tenderness came pain. The harder you fall, the harder it’ll hurt. And he felt that hurt as he watched Jimmy choose Tango over him over and over again. Scott shouldn’t even be upset. The husband thing was just a bit to Jimmy. What was he expecting, for Jimmy to fall madly in love with someone as broken as he is? They weren’t even dating. They aren’t dating. Those past kisses they shared meant nothing — not to Scott, not to Jimmy, nothing.
(Scott’s lying. He knows that.)
It’s Scott who snaps first. “Give it up, Jimmy,” he says, more harsh than he intended, and he feels a stab of guilt as he sees a flash of surprise and pain wash over Jimmy’s face. Scott shakes it off. “Just… just tell me what you’re here for. What, to kill me again?” His tone is more bitter than a chorus fruit. Good.
“Scott,” Jimmy starts, wearing an offended expression. “Why would — come on. You know that’s not what I meant.”
“What you meant?” Scott echoes, genuinely dumbfounded, disbelief lacing his voice. He lets out a dry laugh. “Jimmy, you were literally trying to hunt me down. It doesn’t matter what you meant.”
“Oh, for — it’s a death game, Scott!” Jimmy snaps, his voice rising, wings expanding furiously. Scott flinches, tail standing up in defense. “Half of the server was trying to hunt you down anyways! I did what I had to do, alright?” A more desperate look takes over Jimmy’s face. “I didn’t — I mean — if I killed you, I’d get more time. More time to live. Please, Scott.”
Oh, and Tango couldn’t give you that time? Scott bites his tongue, taken aback by the canary’s outburst. A more sensible Scott would’ve calmed down, found understanding in Jimmy’s words, de-escalated the situation. But that same sensible Scott is the same person who got himself stuck in this situation in the first place, the person who kept confrontation at bay and kept empathizing with everyone but himself. He’s done with making excuses for a man who wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if it meant he got to live just thirty minutes longer.
“Leave,” is what Scott states when he finally finds his voice.
Jimmy freezes, eyes widening in hurt (do not fall for those brown eyes, Scott tells himself in his head). “Scott, I’m sorry—”
“You—” Scott groans, tail swishing in agitation. “You come here after trying to kill me and think some bread and an apology will fix everything? It’s more than the hunting-down thing, Jimmy! You just—”
And then Jimmy kisses him.
(Oh, void.)
Scott’s voice dies in his throat, eyes widening in shock. Because he’s kissing Jimmy. Or rather Jimmy’s kissing him. Willingly. For the first time in… he doesn’t even know how long. Those same lips, pink and soft, back on Scott’s again. And suddenly it feels like he’s back in Third Life again. In the same meadow of flowers. He can practically smell the poppies. It feels surreal. It feels great. It feels terrible. It’s making everything better and worse at the same damn time.
Jimmy pulls away. The kiss must’ve lasted only a few seconds, but it feels like Scott’s just spent a whole lifetime in that kiss. Getting lost in those lips, letting everything around them float away for just long enough. The canary stumbles back, his own eyes widened, as if he’s surprised himself that he just did that. His cheeks are red, wings ruffled, and he probably shouldn’t look so attractive to Scott right now, but the fish hybrid supposes he hasn’t had a great taste in men. “Scott…” Jimmy tries to speak, but ultimately gives up to catch his breath.
Scott just stands there silently, as if frozen in time, a million thoughts racing through his head. Did that just happen? Or was that all in his head? Is one of his stupid fantasies of Jimmy crawling back to him so strong that he managed to manifest it into a very strong illusion? And then, Scott suddenly becomes aware of Jimmy’s gloved hand cupping the back of his head, which does absolutely nothing to help the situation.
Jimmy tries again. “Scott, I’m sorry,” he exhales, and Scott can feel the canary’s breath tickle his nose. “I wasn’t… it’s just — I mean, you were right there, y’know? And I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want the Watchers to laugh at me again, you know, for dying first, and I — you —” Jimmy leaves it there at that.
Scott continues to stare at Jimmy idly, letting himself get lost in the canary’s hazel eyes. All he can even think of right now is the familiar press of Jimmy’s lips against his, of the ghost of warmth that rests over Scott’s lips. “Oh,” is all he can get out at the moment. “Uhm.”
Jimmy lets go of his grip on Scott’s head (he misses the warmth already), and stands back sheepishly. “Sorry, I wasn’t — I didn’t mean to kiss — I mean, yeah, I did, but.” An awkward chuckle. “Scott… just — after this Game ends, we’ll talk, okay? I promise.”
Those familiar words snap Scott out of his daze. After this Game ends, we’ll talk. The exact words Jimmy uttered to him in Double Life. The exact words that gave Scott hope, just to disappoint him yet again. Jimmy’s a coward, everyone knows, but that was on a whole other level. He made Scott feel like a fool, waiting for a conversation that would never come. Waiting for an actual relationship that will never exist.
Scott takes a hesitant step back, too many conflicting thoughts whirring up a storm in his head. He should push Jimmy away, put his foot down, cut off all communication with him. He won’t. But he probably should. Instead, he lets out a strangled, “Okay.”
Relief washes over Jimmy’s face like a tidal wave. “Okay, okay — yeah. Good.” They stare at each other's faces for just a few seconds longer before Jimmy stretches out his canary wings awkwardly. “I should — I should probably get back now. You know. The Bread Bridge won’t grow itself,” he says lamely, scratching the back of his neck, tacking on a cheap laugh.
Scott stares at him blankly.
Jimmy sighs, and he slowly starts to retreat off of the island. “Alright, uhm, bye, Scott.”
“Goodbye, Jimmy,” Scott answers, though he can barely recognize his own voice, all croaky and distant.
And just as Jimmy reaches the shore, he turns around, yells out “Love you!” and dives into the water.
He loves me.
Scott watches Jimmy’s awkward swimming until he reaches the forest, ruffling his feathers to get rid of the water. He keeps watching even as Jimmy trudges deeper and deeper into the woods, until even the canary’s shadow is out of Scott’s gaze.
He loves me.
Did that just happen? Did that really just happen? Did Scott fall for that stupid, charming smile and bright brown eyes again? Did he allow himself to get even more caught up in this than he should have?
He loves me.
He lifts his arm up slowly, the bread still there resting in his palm. The pastry stares back at him almost tauntingly, his timer ticking ominously in the background.
Scott throws the bread into the ocean. It makes a dull splash.
Fuck.