Chapter Text
(Scene: Skateboard’s Past — An Empty Park at Dusk)
The sun was slipping below the edge of the trees, painting the cracked skatepark with a soft golden hue. It should’ve been full of life—kids laughing, boards scraping concrete—but tonight, like most nights, he was alone.
Skateboard—still a kid back then, no piercings yet, shorter hair, wild eyes—launched off a makeshift ramp with a reckless spin. He landed hard and fell, palms scraped open, but he just laughed. A hollow, echoing sound that bounced off the empty walls.
“I nailed it,” he muttered, though no one was watching. “See that?!”
No answer.
He laid back on the concrete, his skateboard beside him, chest rising and falling. “They all think I’m crazy, huh?”
His voice cracked. There were no real friends. No parents waiting. No applause. Just the hum of streetlights and the sting of the blood on his hands. He stared at the stars peeking through the dusk and whispered, “I just want someone to see me. Just one person. Just one...”
Later That Night — Back Alley
He crouched under a flickering lamp, tugging at the edges of his oversized hoodie. He watched couples pass by. A family laughing. A dog barking while its owner smiled. All of it felt like something from a movie.
He gripped his board tightly like it was all he had left in the world. It was all he had.
That night, as the city grew quiet, he skated aimlessly through the dark streets—searching. Not for a place, not for a home.
For someone.
Someone who’d look at him like he wasn’t just noise.
Someone who’d see the fragile kid underneath all the wildness.
Someone who’d love him like the universe revolved around him.
He didn’t know it then, but that someone…
was working in a little café down the street.
And one day, Skateboard would fall head over heels for him—
for the first person who ever looked at him like he mattered.
(Late Night — Their Bedroom, Present Day)
The room was bathed in the warm, muted glow of the bedside lamp. The sheets were slightly tangled. The air was heavy with quiet breathing, soft skin brushing soft skin.
Slingshot was beneath him—his back pressing gently into the mattress, breath caught in his throat. His hands were pinned down, fingers laced tightly with Skateboard’s. Their legs tangled together beneath the covers, warm and close.
Skateboard hovered over him, eyes darker than usual, but calm. Steady. His messy hair fell slightly in his face, shadowing the sharpness of his expression—but his voice?
Soft. Almost reverent.
“You don’t even know what you do to me…” he whispered, lips close to Slingshot’s jaw, his breath ghosting along the skin. “You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted like this. The only one who makes me feel like I’m not a mistake.”
Slingshot blinked up at him, breathless, pink spreading over his cheeks. His legs squeezed lightly around Skateboard’s waist, and he gave a quiet gasp as their bodies pressed just a little closer.
“You’re so—perfect,” Skateboard murmured, forehead now resting against Slingshot’s. His voice was shaking slightly. Not with nerves—
With emotion. With need.
“With all your moods. The way you snap at me. The way you act so sweet and innocent—” he grinned, eyes softening, “—but I know better. I know what you’re really like under all that.”
Slingshot bit his lip, flushed deeper, eyes wet without even realizing.
Skateboard kissed him then.
Slow. Deep. Lingering.
And when he pulled back, he didn’t let go of his hands. He pressed their intertwined fingers beside Slingshot’s head, leaned in again, and whispered, “You’re everything I ever wanted. You’re everything to me, my love of my life. And I’m never letting you forget that.”
Slingshot stared up at him—his chest rising and falling quickly, lips trembling slightly.
He didn’t say anything at first.
Then his voice came, soft and quiet.
“…I know. And I love when you say that.”
Skateboard gave a low, shaky exhale, and kissed his knuckles.
“Say it again,” he breathed, as if he needed to hear it like oxygen.
“I love you,” Slingshot whispered, his voice barely a sound. “You’re not a mistake. You never were. You’re mine.”
Skateboard closed his eyes, chest trembling.
“Good,” he said. “Because I’m never going to stop showing you how much that means.”
And he leaned in again.
Hands still locked tight. Hearts even tighter.
The next morning. Skateboard woke up to the smell of breakfast again. But this time… stronger. Richer. Toasty. Something sinful.
He groaned, half-asleep. “Nnngh… Sling?”
No answer.
He dragged himself out of bed. Hair a mess. Shirtless. Stumbling toward the kitchen with tired eyes.
And then he stopped dead in the doorway.
Slingshot was standing there.
Wearing an apron.
Only an apron.
Back turned, humming softly as he flipped something in the pan. Hair slightly messy from bed. Steam rising around him in the golden morning light like something out of a dream.
Then he looked over his shoulder.
And smiled.
“Good morning, Skate.” Sweet voice and dangerous eyes.
Skateboard stared. “I—I—”
Slingshot tilted his head, as if thinking. “You want breakfast, Skate?”
Skateboard opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“…Yes?”
Slingshot turned back around with a little shrug. “Alright. Do you want breakfast with the apron…”
He looked over his shoulder again, and his smile turned devilish.
“…or with just me?”
BOOM.
Skateboard walked straight into the door frame.
Slingshot giggled.
Skateboard was holding onto the wall now, face burning red. “Y-you can’t just say things like that!”
“But I did,” Slingshot replied, sliding a fresh pancake onto a plate with a flourish. “And I meant it.”
He set the plate down. Then walked over.
Wrapped his arms around Skateboard’s neck. Pulled him close.
“I’m spoiling you today, Skate.”
He whispered it against his lips.
“Mind, body… and appetite.”
Skateboard made a choked sound.
Later.
They were on the couch. Skateboard still dazed, holding a fork with trembling hands as Slingshot gently fed him slices of fruit again.
“Say ahh.”
Skateboard obeyed instantly.
Slingshot kissed the corner of his mouth after every bite.
And when Skateboard finally tried to fight back—
“L-let me feed you too—!”
Slingshot straddled his lap again.
“No. Today’s not about me.”
In the hallway, peeking from the corner;
Coil walked by, saw them, paused.
Slingshot on Skateboard's lap. Again.
Skateboard fully melted into the couch.
Coil turned away, unfazed. “Boombox? You think what I'm thinking?”
Boombox, testing his new boombox: “Let them. It’s healthy.”
Coil hummed. “Kinda hot too.”
Boombox blinked. “Dude?”
Coil smirked. “Yes?”
Back in the kitchen:
Skateboard, face still red, buried in Slingshot’s neck.
“…I’m going to explode.”
Slingshot chuckled, stroking his hair. “Not yet. I haven’t made dessert.”