Work Text:
“Pencil-”
“Leave me alone, GB, I’m done! I’m done with this!” Pencil shouts into the night, leaves crunching beneath her feet as she stomps off towards the elevator. She stops in her fast-paced departure and turns to shove a finger in Golfball’s face. “I told you not to follow me.”
“I’m just trying to make sure you’re sufficiently-” She’s cut off as Pencil turns her back to her, now sprinting to the door. Golfball nearly trips on a poorly-made tile. “Slow down, you imbecile!”
“Save it. I said leave me alone, why can’t you just-?”
“I can’t, not when I know you’re likely to do something stupid!” Golfball shouts back, because suddenly she’s in the middle of a heated argument and she can’t help but raise her voice. She tells herself to be calm, but it’s to no avail.
Pencil stops in her walk, pausing right before the door to the stairs. She turns, slowly, and when their eyes meet hers are wide with anger. “Don’t call me stupid,” she says in a dangerously low tone.
“I didn’t call you stupid,” Golfball defends. And no, she doesn’t shiver at Pencil’s anger. She’s not intimidated, it’s just… cold. Yeah. That’s it.
“You implied it,” Pencil seethes. She lets out an indignant huff. “I’m leaving. You’re not worth my anger.”
“Y-You can’t just hide yourself in your room forever! You have to take responsibility!” Golfball pushes past the cold and steps forward. “We could have died because of you, all of us! Do you think this is what Book wants? Do you think this is what Ice Cube wants? Do you think this is what Match would want?”
“It doesn’t matter what they want, they don’t know what they want!” Pencil snaps, walking closer and towering over the shorter girl. Shadows cover her face, makeup shaded in the darkness. “They don’t want anything to do with me, it doesn’t matter what I’m doing, they don’t care!” She yells out. “They don’t care about me! I was gone for so long - six whole years, and they don’t care! After everything, after everything I’ve been through, after everything I did for them!”
“That’s improbable,” Golfball sighs, shaking her head lightly. “You aren’t thinking clearly. Prioritize logic, I’m always telling you this-”
“I don’t care about logic!” The blonde pushes her just hard enough to make her back hit a wall. “I care about my friends, and you aren’t one of them!” Suddenly Golfball can see tears in her shiny brown eyes, but she doesn’t comment on it. She knows she’s fragile enough as is. She wouldn’t do that to her. “Leave me alone already."
Despite herself, Golfball adjusts her glasses and pushes herself off of the brick wall. Bitterness coats her tongue and venom is laced in her words. “You do nothing but think of yourself, do you?”
It surprises Pencil, and it surprises herself as well, the way her voice sounds so indignant. It’s nothing like she usually is - she doesn’t often let emotions control her. She’s always been logical and straightforward, and to see her now, overcome with a sense of irreversible anger, it’s… interesting, to say the least.
“Excuse me?” The taller girl laughs, surprised.
“You’re selfish,” is what Golfball says next, her words spilling out before she can think to stop them. Instead of clapping her hand over her mouth like she probably should be doing, she stands up a little straighter, hands balled into fists at her sides. She doubles down. “You always have been. You are a selfish person.”
Pencil’s finger is back in her face, prodding accusingly at her. “Don’t you dare,” she hisses. “Don’t you dare call me selfish when you aren’t even emotionally aware enough to know when I want to be alone. You are the selfish one here.”
“You’re deflecting,” Golfball stubbornly defends. She holds her ground, and Pencil’s face inches closer to her own. Their eyes are locked in a defiant staring contest, each searching desperately for the other’s weakness, for any sign of backing down. This goes on for a few seconds, and, surprisingly, Pencil is the one to back away and break eye contact.
“You’re supposed to be smart,” she huffs, crossing her slender arms over her chest. She pulls at her pink varsity jacket’s sleeves in a moment of uncharacteristic shyness. “You are smart,” she follows up, quieter now. “So why are you still here?”
Golfball finds herself hesitating, fists clenching and unclenching in an unsuccessful attempt to calm her sudden nerves. She swallows, hard, and decides to take a shot in the dark.
“Because I care about you,” she admits, staring at the concrete. The world falls silent for a moment, and then two, and on the third she finally meets Pencil’s watchful and curious eyes.
“...What?” Pencil finally breathes out, arms now limp at her sides.
Golfball’s chest feels light and it feels full and it feels heavy, but she persists. Ashamedly, though, as if she’s embarrassed to have ever thought such a thing. “I care about you,” she admits, fiddling with the buttons on her sleeves. “I always have. Even before we were forced together, even before you left, even before our relationship turned into whatever…” she faintly motions between the two of them, avoiding the taller’s eyes. “...whatever this is.”
Another breath from the other and she takes this as a sign to continue. “I care about you,” she repeats, “and I always have. I admit, I have… a difficult time showing it, and I know that that is on me. I’ve been working through it.” She doesn’t exactly know why she’s admitting this, now of all times, to her of all people, but she goes on. Because she knows she needs this conversation just as much as Pencil does. Even though she’d rather swallow glass than admit it.
“I cared about you even when you berated me, even when you hated me. I cared when you were gone and I care now.” She turns her face away in a sudden desire to reclaim whatever’s left of her dignity. “So, just- accept it! Accept the fact that you need help!” She crosses her small arms over her chest. “Receiving aid is efficient and boosts the recovery process by at leas-”
“I don’t need your help,” interrupts Pencil’s suddenly hollow voice. A glance over and Golfball sees she’s caved in on herself, arms crossed and head hung low.
“Yes you do,” Golfball says back, more carefully now. “I know you do. Donut knows you do, Book knows you do, everyone knows you do. It is up to you to accept it. This lies on you.”
Pencil slumps down over the edge of the rooftop, right before the fence. She pulls her knees to her chest, plaid skirt ruffling with her movements. “I said I don’t need your help,” she repeats, helpless and defensive and all-too quiet for Golfball’s liking. “Go away.”
“You need me more than you know,” Golfball murmurs, and the two fall silent again. Pencil turns her back to the other, focusing on the city lights below them. “No,” she whispers. “I don’t.”
Golfball walks closer, now standing beside her, head peeking just above the railing. She looks over and the blonde’s face is turned away, but she’s shaking. Her shoulders are trembling with the weight of everything and her recently-done nails are digging into her sleeves.
“Are you... crying?” Golfball cautiously asks. Pencil turns further away.
“No. Shut up. Go away,” she says in a quiet sniffle.
Golfball stares for a little while longer, not entirely sure of what to do. She’s not good with things like this. She specializes in scientific fields, not… this. Nevertheless, she brushes her labcoat-dress off and sits down. She keeps a few inches of distance between herself and the other girl - she doesn’t want to crowd her, and she’s not entirely well-educated in physical touch, so she stays away. Her freckled legs push between the bars of the railing and swing over the edge of the hotel’s roof. She rests her arms on the rails and her head on her arms and waits. Waits for whatever comes next. Waits for Pencil to speak up. Waits for her to be ready.
“What are you doing,” quietly demands Pencil after a few seconds. Her voice is stuffy and it’s clear she’s trying to conceal it.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Golfball smartly responds, less sharp than their usual back-and-forth banter. It’s soft now, softer than Pencil has ever heard her speak. It makes something flutter in her chest.
“Get away from me,” she chooses to say. Another gross sniffle erupts from her mouth. “Y-you… probably have grease on you. Or something.”
It makes Golfball’s lips turn up in a slight smile, the way she can see the other trying so hard to push her away. But all she responds with is “Okay,” because there’s nothing else to say. Her ears fill with the sound of the city bustling below them - car horns honk, someone yells, teenagers that are up way too late laugh. It’s nice, peaceful, calming - she could think of more synonyms, but words aren’t her concern right now.
“...Don’t tell anyone about this,” Pencil mumbles, words muffled by her sleeves.
“I won’t.”
“I mean it,” Pencil threatens, though her words are nothing compared to her empty tone. “If I find out there’s a rumor going around the hotel that I started crying in front of my rival, I’ll-”
“I won’t,” Golfball reiterates. This seems to satisfy Pencil, because she falls silent. “...Okay.”
And then it’s back to silence, because they know as well as anyone else that neither of them have ever been great at communicating. Especially to each other.
“I care about you, too,” Pencil says, and it shatters Golfball’s world. “Oh,” is all she can breathe out, because how is anyone meant to respond to that? Pencil, oh so admired, so sure of herself, so confident and complicated, appreciating someone like Golfball. Small, insecure, bossy and angry Golfball. And yet, she realizes now as she reels over the most insignificant five words, they go hand in hand. They’re much more similar than she’d ever considered. They’d both throw away themselves and the world for people they love, even if it’s misguided. And, in Pencil’s case, it was. And yet Golfball can’t find herself able to really blame her.
Their eyes meet, and Golfball finds herself lost at sea. Dried, runny mascara and puffy redness line Pencil’s eyes, and yet she doesn’t look any less beautiful. Vulnerable and quiet, unlike she’s ever seen her before, and there’s a newfound appreciation blooming in her chest. An appreciation that gives her heart a little flutter and makes her lungs feel a little lighter. Before she can dwell on this feeling, the other girl continues.
“Don’t tell anyone about that, either.” She says, and Golfball is helpless to the tides of repetition, so she just mutters another “okay”. Remembering that she must compose herself, the short-haired girl clears her throat and smooths her dress.
“For what it’s worth,” she starts, dark eyes on the city below, “I don’t believe you are a bad person.”
Pencil looks at her, and her head tilts ever so slightly.
“I don’t blame you,” Golfball says, watching the other from her peripheral. “I…” she sighs, quietly, as if she’s hesitant to say more. “...I admit, there is a world where I’d have done the same. If… I was to be in your position.”
“...But?” The taller slightly smiles in her direction, pushing the smallest amount of adrenaline through Golfball’s veins.
“But,” she continues, “I might have been smarter with my actions.”
Pencil lets out a laugh that sounds more like a choked breath than anything else. “Yeah,” she replies, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Yeah, I, um… deserve that.”
“You almost got us killed,” Golfball reprimands, turning to see her face in the dim light. “You almost got everyone killed, including yourself. You knew the risks. I warned you of the risks. Why did you go through with it?”
The blonde is rendered speechless, and she begins to stammer. “I… I-I don’t… know. I don’t know. I wasn't... thinking.”
“Yes. I know you weren’t,” Golfball snarks. “It was obvious.”
“If you’re gonna be like that, you can leave,” Pencil shoots back, offering a half-hearted glare. Golfball swallows and looks down.
“Erm… Apologies.”
Pencil rolls her eyes, and it’s almost like she’s back to her old self. Before being trapped. Before getting hurt. Before hurting others. The scientist shakes the thoughts away, because it’s no use reminiscing on the past when the future is seconds away. She fluffs her black, greying hair up with idle hands, tucking a strip of hair behind her ear. “I believe the next best step is for you to apologize to everyone,” she deduces aloud.
She can just barely see Pencil fiddling with her fingers. “I know,” the girl murmurs. Golfball shakes her head solemnly. “You do not have to, not until you’re ready. But-”
“I’m sorry,” she’s cut off again. They face each other, and Golfball’s lips are agape. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard her apologize before. It’s… it’s vitalizing. She hopes she remembers this tomorrow.
“I’m sorry for everything,” the blonde says again, meeting the other’s eyes. “Not just today. For our whole lives. For your whole life. I’m sorry for bullying you when we were kids. I’m sorry for calling you names. I’m sorry for insulting you and talking behind your back. I’m sorry that I was a jerk.” She pauses, worrying her pink-stained lips between her teeth. “And I- I mean that. I’ve, like… been a super huge jerk. So… yeah. Do with it what you will, I guess…”
Golfball’s breath hitches and she’s never wanted to listen to anyone talk more than she does now. It’s embarrassing, how interested she is in Pencil. And despite her interest and her apparent sudden entrancement in the girl…
“I don’t forgive you.”
Pencil sighs and a police car passes on the bumbling street below, its flashing lights framing the underside of her face. “Yeah,” she smiles, pitifully sad. “Yeah. That’s fair.”
“But I think I could learn to.”
The taller girl looks up at her, taking in a sharp breath. The two say nothing and both are left staring. “...I almost killed you today,” she says, voice trembling. “I-I almost-” Her jaw shakes, and Golfball wants so desperately to reach out and- and do what? Put a hand on her shoulder? Scoot closer and reassure her? Put her hand on hers, tell her everything will be okay? What is she thinking? She’s her rival. She’s someone she’s hated for the past fifteen years. What is she thinking?
“I almost killed you,” Pencil says again, saving Golfball from her downward spiral of thoughts. She pushes the thoughts away - they aren’t important, especially not now.
The shorter girl exhales through her nose. “Yes,” she starts, “Yes you did. And, though you’ve been… less than pleasant… for quite a while now, I…” She can feel Pencil staring, so she clears her throat. “I am a pursuer of science, and I believe in variables changing. I believe you are more than the atoms you inhabit - more than you come across as. And you show… great potential, Pencil.”
It’s as close to a profession of admiration as she’s willing to get, so she silently hopes the blonde takes it and runs.
“I…” Pencil is rendered speechless. “...Are… are you-”
“Yes,” Golfball interrupts, a content smile finding its way onto her lips. She doesn’t think she’s ever smiled as much as she has in the past ten minutes, but she chooses not to dwell on that. “I, admittedly, have found myself thinking of this for quite some time.”
“Oh,” the blonde says, and Golfball hums in response. The world keeps spinning. A few beats later and she swears she sees Pencil scooting a bit closer, but she’s never been known for her eyesight. The two observe the city a little longer, and maybe Golfball scoots closer too. Maybe. She’d never admit it.
Suddenly their shoulders brush but neither of them find themselves jumping back like they’ve caught the plague, so she logs that under the category of “progress”.
Five minutes later and Pencil is resting her head on Golfball’s shoulder. It’s awkward, to say the least, with the height difference between the two, but they find themselves comfortable. Well, comfortable enough. It’s stiff, between the shorter’s inexperience in physical touch and the taller’s hands still trembling, but it’s something, and that’s what matters.
Their breaths turn visible in the autumn’s midnight cold and stars loom overhead. Wind breathes a gentle breath in their direction and Pencil’s long bleached hair sways toward Golfball. It’s quiet and peaceful and Golfball is sure she’s never felt this with another person - aside from maybe Tennisball, of course, but he never made her feel the way Pencil does. Frustrated and interested, resentful and adoring, perturbed and untroubled.
The other girl lets out a yawn she tries to hide behind a sleeve and the corners of Golfball’s lips softly upturn. “You should get some rest,” she says, against her better judgement. In a perfect world, she’d stay here forever. Then again, in a perfect world, the events of today wouldn’t have happened at all.
Pencil hums into her shoulder, presumably too tired to care. “I know.”
“Actual rest, I mean. As in, in bed. Not shoving monsters down your throat or scrolling social media until 4 A.M., I mean sleep.”
“I get it, I get it,” Pencil groans, and then pauses. “Wait, how did you-…?”
“I set up security cameras in the kitchen,” the other explains like it’s the most normal thing in the world. A quizzical glance upward is all it takes for more exposition. “Two’s cheesecake went missing recently, so they requested I set some up. As for the social media thing, they gave me access to the internet router since I seem to be the only one competent and willing enough to figure it out.”
“Hm. That’s, uh…”
“Embarrassing and incriminating evidence against you, I know,” Golfball quips, inactively removing her glasses to wipe the lenses off with her sleeves. If she notices Pencil staring for a second longer than usual, she doesn’t comment on it.
“I was going to say it’s cool,” Pencil rolls her eyes, leaning further onto the scientist. Silence, for a moment, and then a hushed remark of “...or whatever.”
If the Earth were to halt its orbit then, Golfball would pay no heed. Humiliating as it is, she’d bask in this moment forever if she could. Pencil never compliments those that aren’t her friends, let alone her. It makes her wonder if there’s ulterior motives behind the honeyed words, but she gives her the benefit of the doubt. Shaking off the million things that happened in the past five hours, Golfball pushes herself to stand and then offers a hand for Pencil to take. Just to help her up.
“You should get some sleep,” she says, and their hands meet. Pulling the other up, she’s forced to look up to her once more. “Yeah,” Pencil says, seeming a little more frazzled than she was a second ago. “Yeah.”
Their palms touch and Golfball realizes she has to let go, so she does. Not without hesitation concealed in her stiff movements, though.
“I will see you in the morning, Pencil,” she greets, phrasing it more like a promise than a farewell.
“Yeah,” the other breathes out, tucking her long hair behind her shoulder. “Um… yeah. See ya.”
“Goodnight.” And just as she begins to walk towards the door to the stairs, Pencil’s hand once again finds her own, pulling her back. Their eyes meet again and the blonde comes closer.
“Thank you,” she whispers before Golfball can assume anything else. “I mean it. I think I really needed to talk to someone.”
“I never imagined it would be you,” is left unspoken. Both understand through the veil of quietude.
“Oh,” Golfball mutters. She bites the inside of her cheek, nodding. “Yes. Of- of course. Um…”
Their fingers are intertwined only a moment more, but Golfball knows all good things must end eventually, so she lets go.
“Goodnight,” she bids farewell with a polite bow of her head, turning towards the door once more. A faint repeat of the word is all she hears back, and she lets the door close behind her.