Don't fumble this now, Phoebs.
With all love stories, it starts at the heart… or well, here it starts at a severed torso than anything inside. Of course, this torso isn't yours by any means.
There are the usual symptoms: Frigidness tainting the foundations you're standing on, a tingling sensation gripping your hands, and a cascade of thoughts flooding your head. All of them are signs pointing toward a doomed conclusion, making your chest ache from the tension. Either that, or your current predicament; you were never one to hit the field, especially with a sport as exotic as this.
You stand in the middle of conflict, of your heart and your soon-to-be opponents across the arena. Under any other circumstances, your physical abilities would put you on the bench. If this was your typical kind of sport, you wouldn't even be considered. Your superiors consider otherwise, though, with your skills in thaumaturgy far surpassing anyone else in your site. It made you right for the picking, despite your protests. Sure, you might not have to throw yourself into battle, but you'd certainly be involved.
Real problem is at your nine o' clock, resting and wrapping bandages around her hands. Her name is Andrea, an agent at the same facility. In fact, she's one of the toughest, maybe abnormally so. Her height and her strength and her absolute build, all sayings of how trained a soldier she is. You can't help but catch glances of her while you wave your hands in an effort to pretend you're practicing your spells. It's just difficult.
You don't know how it started. One minute you notice her muscular outline, the next you imagine her carrying you in her arms like some fairytale princess, a damsel in distress. Times your brain wanders off as you think of her, you end up losing focus on your day-to-day and getting scolded by your seniors.
"A-N-D-R-E-A." Each letter dances on your tongue as your cheeks flush red from her name alone. You wonder if she likes girls too, you wonder if she can make an exception. Just imagine a wedding where she piggybacks you to a cottage home by the beach with your two cats, spending the rest of your life together. It almost hurts, you know. Whatever the case may be, you can't let her plague yourself. Remember, this is a mission, not some fantasy with a coworker you pass by every weekday. Once all this flies by, maybe you can invite her for a cup of coffee at her favorite café. Even now, you still can't believe you know the kinds of things you do.
In the back of your mind, you question why you're experiencing these emotions time and time again. Going for the kill just to hold your voice back, it's a headache to sit through. You recall all those online forums you complain to, that same term that's been poking at you since. You wonder why such names stick to you even now, before the moments leading up to a ferocity you're alien to.
What do they call you again? "Girlfailure"? It admittedly fits.
Thinking too forward into the future, you haven't even made that first step. These feelings can't be kept under wraps, but somehow you can't muster the courage to confess. Despite the key to your dilemma being just within reach, you still struggle to pull through. What'll happen after this? After everything? Will you retreat to the same faraway sights, the same distanced greetings? Such professional tones leave a metallic taste in your mouth, if only your lips could meet hers right here and now. This might be your only chance at redemption, this might be the only time you can confide in someone, this might be your one and true love. But what if you mess it up? What if you screw your clumsy self over again? What if—
"Yo, Phoebs!"
Reality returns, and you realize just how long you've been staring at her. Her eyebrow's raised and her head's tilted trying to take a better look at you. You might be fucked.
ANDREA: Hello? Earth to Phoebe.
[She's waving at you, dork. Get a grip.]
PHOEBE: H- huh? Oh!
[You click your tongue, trying to gather yourself.]
ANDREA: You've been looking at me for a bit now. Something on my face or… ?
[Fuck, she did notice. You might as well take a polaroid of her back home if you're going to be doing that for your nine-to-fives. Now she's returning to sender, and you can feel your ears burning from the embarrassment. It's high time for an excuse.]
[Think of something, and quick.]
PHOEBE: Sorry, sorry. Just staring off, is all. I didn't discomfort you, did I?
ANDREA: 'Course not.
[She's tightening the bandages, proceeding to tie her hair in a ponytail. She's ready to throw hands, and you're ready to get thrown off a cliff. Everything she does sends you for a ride. It's a pest, this sense of tenderness.]
ANDREA: Must be pretty stressful though, eh? Not every day you get taken off desk duty and put on court. I hear you had your fair share of complaints too.
[You pause. If it's between this and another day back at your office, you're glad you made the choice to be with her. Not that you could say that out loud.]
PHOEBE: (Sighs) Well, I can't say I had a choice in the matter. Especially with my abilities, it's hard to detract from any responsibilities that come with.
ANDREA: I hear that.
[She leans back, hands behind her head.]
ANDREA: Still, we're happy to have you on board. I'm happy, at least. I'm sure we'll do great with you backing us as support, Ms. Oh-So-Powerful-Mage.
[She's saying this, accompanied by an entertaining pair of jazz hands. You don't know why, but it somehow makes her even cuter. That 'gentle giant' persona she gives off, it's only one of a million reasons why you're here.]
ANDREA: Hm, I think it's about time to start. Hope you're ready and raring to go?
PHOEBE: Uh, yeah! Yup, you know me. All good for a thrashing!
[You crack open a toothy grin, nervousness on your shoulder. She doesn't seem to mind, though, simply chuckling it off like always.]
ANDREA: Best of luck to us, then. (Winks) See you on the field, soldier.
[…]
[And there she goes, giving you a little wave as she makes her way to the forefront. You catch a glimpse of her nape and her back and the back of her knees. God, you have it bad. Real bad. You unsuccessfully try to look away before she takes another hint.]
[You rub your eyes in embarrassment.]
PHOEBE: Ugh…
"How do we relationship?" You rack your head at the thought of her and you and what you could be together. You want her lipstick for supper, every shade of it on a necklace. You want to know her workout routine on a more personal level, as shameful as it sounds. Between you and her, nothing else seems to matter, not even the opposing team or the other teammate you can't bother to remember the name of. At the very least, though, you should at least try to see who you're up against.
The other three across the field seem like the lively bunch. Well, at a first glance. There's a mysterious and hooded figure forming balls of rock out of thin air, with a pair of eyes reminiscent of a dead trout. Standing beside them is a shark-teethed, dirt-ridden maniac, ready for bloodshed. Where their hands used to be are now candy-colored bombs. As for the third one… for the third one…
Actually wait, where is the third one?
BANG! BANG!
Oh, there's the signal. It's about time you arm yourself for war, and not just the war taking place on the concrete stage. It forms before you as the sound of metal scraping fills whatever silence you have left in that Andrea-shaped hole in your head. You can feel the tensions rising, like Noah's ark is crashing in tune with your heartbeat. You tag behind your two teammates as you all eventually lock eyes on the target. There, at the center, arms and legs and a head to boot. Whoever gets the majority of parts gets their part in the next round.
You gulp, trying to balance the number of thoughts at bay. You look at Andrea, then the parts, then Andrea, then your other teammate, then Andrea, then the other team, then Andrea and Andrea and Andrea again. You grip your chest for what feels like the fifteenth time this hour. "Just chuck it up to the heat of the moment. Just treat it as any other (physically-straining) project." Maybe if you stumble over your words enough, you'll get to convince yourself. It doesn't help what with her next to you the entire time.
She's cracking her joints and you're almost losing the feeling in your legs.
Get it together, Phoebe. You're going to die of thirst if you keep up this act. Make your stance on the battle grounds, show Andrea what you're made of. Hold grip of your magic, throw some pizzazz from the supporting line, and maybe flick your hair if she ever returns a glimpse. It's all going to be just fine.
It's breakdown number twenty-seven and you finally see the glass dome closing above you, an audience making their appearance in your one-sided love life. The seconds leading up to the main event are the longest, as everything that's led to this flash before your eyes. This excitement is old yet unfamiliar in a way, like territory yet to be explored. Standing here with her, it's the closest you've ever been to an actual attempt at getting closer to her. Fuck, it just doesn't matter anymore. If anything, you're happy to be with her. Every cheeky compliment she ever gave you, every "nerd tease" she ever gave you, every casual conversation you had with her, maybe that's why you came falling at her feet. You're just a mess, through and through.
Whatever it is, it's not the time. It's game time. It's time to focus.
[Andrea makes the first move, dashing straight into the crime scene. She throws her hands behind her, a wide smile and a look of determination on her face. You almost freeze in position as you lay eyes on the moving sensation. Reminder to pay attention to everyone else on the field.]
[But then, the floor quakes and gives way to a mountainous wall growing from the trenches. Pure earth coming between your team and those limbs, presumably the work of that hooded guy. Its shadow briefly steals the spotlight, but not for long. You make out the faint figure of her as she continues her pursuit. With victory in her sights, she gathers her momentum and prepares for an Olympic leap. With victory in her sights, she bursts through to the other side with nothing but her wrestling arm. Thus, on the third second, she brought back the sun. A trail of dust follows her while she lands.]
[With this puncture comes the crumbling of its foundation. Close your eyes and focus, then move your hand to the side. From the top of the dome, another darkness swirls with anger as a storm breaches in. Violet bolts of lightning streak across the barrier's width, causing heat to fester and culminate into an explosive entrance back into action. Bits and pieces rain from the sky, just narrowly avoiding you as you quickly form your own shield.]
[There, from beyond the weather, a familiar someone is hastily picking up the trophy pieces. 'Safe…' you sigh relief, with no regards for anyone else. Your way of narration fails to recall your other teammate.]
[However, before you can get too comfortable, Hoodie Guy swoops in with another snake from the can. A flick of his hand, and a fleet of boulders shoot for the stars. They charge toward your dream girl, but she dodges in time, with limbs under her shoulder and another marathon in her feet. She makes her getaway, swiftly avoiding the obstacles trailing her. One almost graces her, but you manage to strike it down.]
[Just then, a projectile is thrown into the mix, hitting and causing another boulder to combust in a hue of green. Enemy number two has made their debut, throwing sweet flavors of ash for the crowd. Showing off their toothy grin, they cackle in a raspy tone as they continuously fire from their cannon arms. Whatever screws they had left have long since loosened.]
[Debris showers the field, with colorful touches bursting all around you. You try to squint, keeping track of Andrea and how willing you'll be to lend your shoulder to rest on. That serious expression on her face as she focuses on her surroundings, the occasional wiping of her forehead as she bolts through. There, she catches you in her view, and smiles.]
["God, she's so hot."]
[Nope, nope. Not now. Keep it to yourself.]
[Just as you continue to fall for her, Andrea suddenly trips and falls to the ground herself. The limbs would roll away, but they instead rise to eye-level, as if lifted by some invisible force. You pause for a moment before realizing: Their third partner in crime is right in front of you. Intangible to the naked eye, they let out a devious chuckle. You wonder just how many times they've pulled that same trick.]
[Without a thought to spare, you jump for the chase. You run past Andrea while she's picking herself up, preparing to slap this bitch for ruining her streak. Before they can get any farther, you gather your power and form an electric wall blocking their way out.]
[Mx. Invisible immediately comes to a halt, inches away from a fatal shock. They turn to you, a heavy breath under them and imaginary sweat falling down their face. Each step you take causes them to retreat, cutting the distance between them and the electric chair. If Andrea saw that vengeful look in your eyes, even she might be terrified.]
[A "tsk" and you know, they know they have nowhere else to run. Before they can let you win, they take out one last trick up their sleeve. They invisibly widen their stance, crouching down and ready to charge through you with all their might. They let out a battle cry, feasting their (non-visible) eyes on you. They jump and try to tackle you, dropping the limbs to their side. Before you can let them win, you let out all of your energy and shoot like a billion lightnings at them as they promptly fall to the ground.]
[It's safe to say they're dead. But just to be sure, you give them a few thousand more volts on the house.]
[No time to waste, then. You go in and clumsily retrieve the extremities. You don't even realize how much you're letting your guard down. As you wrap up your gathering, you fail to notice a stray bomb falling from up high. Even when you do see it in the corner of your eye, it's too late. It's heading straight for you, as your life suddenly flashes before your eyes. You brace for impact, ready for the other side, before you suddenly see her swooping in and-]
BOOM!!!
She's holding you, pulling you into a safe embrace as she blocks off the blow. Steam flows from her body as you're left with the sounds of your and her breath intertwining. Tomato-stained cheeks of yours expose you to the elements, expose you to how mind-melting the circumstances are. "Holy shit, she's hugging me. She's hugging me." The echo chamber in your skull is rattling from the rhythmic harmony between both of your hearts. Just how long can you stay in this position, you wonder.
Maybe it's because you're not much of an athlete, but you can feel yourself sweating. Your eyes glisten from the light bouncing off her skin, and they can't get enough of her face, her persevering smile. Hell, for someone who literally got bombed, she's looking better than most. That probably goes without saying, though.
It's selfish wanting her all for yourself, but also, you just want her all for yourself. You're moments before a cardiac arrest, you're- fuck, she's so close, it's actually hard to words. Is it too bold to kiss her right now? Is this the only time you'll get? The engine that is your mind, spewing smoke from your ears and blurring your vision, runs laps around the court. It's doing all it can to keep itself intact.
All there is now are the two of you, in this very instant. You shout internally a thousand times a second for a way to keep time still, as such circumstances have never played out so conveniently before. The only good these sports do for you, a red string of fate so to speak. Some lonely assassin you are, turning to stone when she looks your way, no matter how close you are for the kill.
Your mental state takes a backseat through scorching matters. Only so much time can pass without someone else to intervene. Cue the third party in the (non-)issue, the one suffering through months of palpitations. Red as the shade of your one-way lipstick, it declares an ultimatum. "Enough with the season threes, enough with the tens of episodes." A growing irritation has found its moment to strike, whether with or without you. It takes control of your senses and pulls the strings on your vocal cords. "Enough! Enough, I say!"
And before you know it, you blurt out a most daring series of words.
"God, you're so hot."
"Wh- What?"
"What?"
You lock eyes in an awkward silence.
"Huh?"
"H- Huh?"
…Whoops.
ANDREA: I'm sorry. Phoebs, was that-
PHOEBE: Fuck, uh- forget… forget what I said. I didn't say anything just now.
[Hah! Yeah, right.]
[She tips herself toward you, a curiosity lifting an eyebrow.]
ANDREA: But-
PHOEBE: I didn't say ANYTHING!
[Oh, yes. The perfect maneuver: the ignorance card. As if the grave you're digging isn't deep enough, someone went and chipped in as the excavator. You're trying to hide your face from consequence, your eyes scrambling from one corner to the other. She leans to her side, searching for a melting ice cap, but you reinforce your defenses.]
[It proves fruitless, however, as Andrea takes hold of your arms and pulls them away, exposing the state you're in. She takes a minute to eye out your details.]
ANDREA: Did you-
[She turns away for a brief moment, collecting her words. A sigh of content follows.]
ANDREA: Did you mean to say that?
[You burn up, a spark to dynamite.]
PHOEBE: No! Well, I mean- I think- I just… what I mean to say is… you're cool. I like you- as in, I like how cool you are! And awesome, and nice, and mesmerizing, and other stuff.
[No, no, stop.]
PHOEBE: (Turns away) …And cool, and… yeah.
[A dying pause.]
[You are being such a mess right now.]
[Showing off your perfect impression of a turtle, you try to shield off what little dirt you're kicking in your direction. Andrea takes a moment to process your so-called cover-up, and eventually lets out a chuckle. You nervously try to laugh along, but it comes out so fucking weird and you just wanna die.]
[Thus, you're back to pacing in your mind palace. Yes, this will be imprinted into your memories. No, there is no way out of it. In a desperate prayer, you hope that it's all a bad dream or that there is some way you can somehow salvage this. The one time you decided to step forward and your foot's now stuck in the train tracks. Oh no, oh no.]
PHOEBE: (Quietly) I'm sorry…
ANDREA: What? No, don't be. I… I'm happy to hear that. To hear you say that, I mean.
[And thus, your inner voice starts to give out.]
[You begin to cycle through all the possible outcomes, a majority fitting your natural expectations for rejection. A pessimistic assumption but an easy one to humble yourself with, a way to push out any aftermaths of heartbreak. Though, dancing around this limbo state had to drain you eventually, but what an appropriate time to do so. Well, at least you've managed to do some spring cleaning.]
[It was only a matter of time until Andrea gave her thoughts, and as expected… she-]
ANDREA: Besides, I… (Mutters) I also think you're kinda cute.
[What?]
PHOEBE: What?
ANDREA: Huh?
[Huh?]
PHOEBE: Huh?
ANDREA: What?
[Wha- Uh… ???]
ANDREA: (Chuckles) Surprised?
[You almost forgot to breathe, holding back an untimely choke.]
ANDREA: It's true, though. You look… (exhales) you look better than you think.
[Maybe you need a better prescription, but you can't help but notice a hint of redness in her complexion. Are the forces that be playing tricks on your eyes? Then there's the wavering in her tone, her sudden need to lower her voice in the midst of all this chaos. It's a tactic you're all too familiar with, and it's leaving you stun-locked on the receiving end.]
[There's a light in your eyes as the cogs begin to turn, her words sparking an obvious conclusion in your misconstrued logic. There's a feeling, a sort of turning point in the bond between you two. Is this it? Is this where "us" finally begins?]
[…]
[Holy shit, I think this is where "us" finally begins.]
[But before you go too far, a conveniently-timed explosion interrupts your moment from the sidelines. You're both returned to reality, a cacophony of hazards singing their warning shots in your ears. I think it's best to end the round than the game, yes?]
ANDREA: Better not get distracted then, hm?
PHOEBE: Ah. Right, heh. I guess I'll see you later?
[She does one last smirk.]
ANDREA: Later… Phoebs.
[She makes sure to roll off that last syllable before aiming for the front lines again, but not before turning back and giving you another wink. There, the grip on your staff goes numb and the air grows ever silent. Processing the last few minutes, you realize that-]
[You- you realize… you realize thajbwe]
[hrhwvevheiruecwvwbw luihcugurinigxti ho 7]
Ahem… you fall to your fucking knees.
This is officially the most embarrassing moment of your life. All your braincells scramble in circles whilst your face becomes akin to a wax candle. All the steps you've climbed just for you to fall back down, the blood rushing to your ears and cheeks. The kind of injuries you're not willing to show, but this matter's an exception with that gesture just now. The way she… oh my god- the way she simply jumped back into action? That look she gave you? Even the largest of boulders couldn't shoulder you from the implications. That fuck-up was a sheep in wolf's clothing, a blessing in disguise. Is this the benefit of speaking your mind?
If you couldn't tell before, you definitely could now. That smirk, that smidge of interest in her eyes, it means something. Not only everything, but more. "Does it mean what I think it means?" you overthink to yourself.
Bitch, yes. Stop tiptoeing, stop beating around the bush, just stop.
What then, after the battle is done and over with? Are you gonna… are you just gonna…? Are your light novels good examples of what happens next? Is it weird when you think about handholding and you start blushing from the thought? Per the words of an elastic dog, how smoothly up the tiers will you climb with her? Just how are you two going to play out the rest of these matches, knowing damn well you won't be frequenting your list of date spots any time soon.
This is only the first round, the first of many heartaches to come. You're climbing the ranks, sure. Your online advisors are probably cheering from the audience. But now's not the time to celebrate, you won't be getting used to this if that's all you're doing. Pinks and purples paint the road ahead. It's never been more vivid.
Historians will see you two as the "best of friends." You giggle at the thought, as you think of every time you've locked eyes with her. Andrea is looking prettier than before… again. Especially now with the newfound movement. Giggling becomes chuckling, chuckling becomes laughing. Confidence was never your strong suit, but it always brings out the most surprises. With all the mishaps in the world, you'd do it all for another glance at her. Fuck, you might as well kiss her at this point. Save yourself the monologues.
This is love, no doubt about it. A constant tug, a back-and-forth, a push and a pull. A continuous and relentless fight with yourself, a streaming line of challenges and setbacks to your liking. Conflicts of your design, the treacherous battles, all for a winning prize. Even as you win, you'll still have more to do. Kisses make up no training sessions, but they're heart-wrenching nonetheless.
Some call it war, but in your eyes, it's different. Far from a war, love is a… love is a…
tournament.