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Vil Schoenheit looked at the club in his hands with trepidation. Having grown up with a famous father and becoming famous himself, Vil had somehow missed what seemed to be a fairly common childhood pastime.
And of course, his boyfriend, once he’d found this out, had decided to take him to rectify that. While Trey was fairly mild-mannered most of the time, Vil sometimes wondered if he was a bit of a troll. This felt... ridiculous.
“What color ball do you want?” The green-haired teen asked, holding out three colored balls toward him.
“Does it matter?” Vil asked as he looked around the facility.
“No. I’m keeping this one though. Maybe it’ll bring me luck.” Vil looked to see what Trey was talking about and smiled softly as he realized the ball was a light violet…the color of his own eyes.
“...Give me the yellow one then. It’s the closest.” He didn’t need to explain; the smile on Trey’s face said he understood.
Vil took the small ball and followed Trey through a door onto the course. It was filled with stylistic scenes that, if he understood the explanation, they had to hit the golf ball through in as few tries as possible. It was a children's game; how hard could it really be?
“You don’t want to hit it too hard,” Trey said to him as he set his own ball onto the metal tee of the first hole. “Otherwise it’ll fly and hit someone, or break something. Miniature golf is all about angles.” He looked ruefully down at his club. “I admit I haven’t played in a long time, so I may be bad at it.” He lined up the club and swung, tapping the ball and sending it spinning down the course. It hit an angled wall and pingponged back and forth to get stuck on a rough patch of astro turf.”
“Ugh… Those are sort of like sand traps on a real course. It’s gonna be a pain, especially since it’s recessed. Your turn.”
Vil placed the ball in the center of the path and moved to swing, only to be stopped by Trey.
“You don’t want to hold it like that; it’ll hurt your shoulder. Here…this at least I remember.” He wrapped his arms around Vil to position his hands. As Vil leaned back into his chest, he wondered if Mini golf was really that bad…
****
Miniature golf was a nightmare. He hit the ball too hard it either ricocheted back to the start, and he had to chase it…or he hit it too softly, and it barely moved. There was a windmill where you had to both time it to not hit the arms, but also get it through a tiny hole and all the way to the other side. There was a small mountain you had to hit it up just right to get it to the hole on top, or it rolled back down.
“Trey…” Vil said slowly, voice short and clipped.
“Yes?”
“You are never to bring me here again. And you owe me fruit smoothies. Several over the next week.”
“Vil…”
The ball which he had painstakingly zigzagged to the top of the small hill somehow looped back on itself at his next hit and rolled…back down the hill. It bounced over the feet of a statue next to it, over a mini bridge, and stopped…right at the start of the first hole.
Vil took a slow, deep breath and tried not to scream.
“...What flavor smoothies?”