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"Biscuit, the Aces’ mascot, was drawn from his home in an abandoned gold mine, to the bright lights of Vegas, where he stumbled upon a hockey practice. Despite his normally shy nature, Biscuit was welcomed onto the ice where the team eagerly taught him to skate. Though clumsy at first, he quickly fell in love with the sport, and the welcoming attitude of the Aces organization, who strive to foster inclusivity, teamwork, fitness and sportsmanship."
Press Release announcing Biscuit, the Ring Tailed Cat, as the Aces new mascot -TheLasVegasAces.com/Biscuit.html
The Aces were in the locker room, suiting up for morning practice.
“Hey Swoops,” Kent says, leaning over to tighten his skate laces. “You know that guy we keep seeing around the arena.”
“I’m gonna need a little more than that, Kenny.” Swoops replies, muffled as he pulls his jersey over his head. “You do know we regularly get 18,000 people in this building.”
“Yeah, no, I mean that guy. Tall, broad shoulders, sandy blond hair. Unfairly good looking.” Kent finishes with a wistful air.
“Well, based off that description you could mean both Scrappy and Nacho,” Swoops says, using his stick to point to their third and fourth line defenseman across the room.
“What? No! Ew, just no Swoops.” Kent says, looking horrified. “No offense guys,” he adds with a wince.
The two men look at each other and shrug. “It’s all good Cap!” Nachos says with a grin.
“Swoops.” Kent tries again, turning back to his liney.
“Yes, Kent.” Swoops replies, with equal seriousness. He might be mocking Kent, but Kent’s never been the best at reading people.
“I can’t be the only one who keeps seeing the new guy. He showed up sometime around preseason practices, and I see him everywhere. But he’s either incredibly shy, or he hates me, because every time I try to talk to him basically runs away.”
“What the heck are you saying to him that makes him run away?” Swoops says, looking confused.
“You know, just “Your arms look nice in that shirt,” kind of thing. Stop laughing! It’s a good compliment!” He swats at Swoops' padded shoulder. “Help me. He must work for the Aces - hell he was in our yoga class last Tuesday.” Kent says beseechingly. The Aces organization offers open yoga classes twice a week to all employees, and while not mandatory for the players they do consider it a great cross training option. Swoops thinks for a minute, idly rolling stick tape back and forth between his hands.
“Hey,” Scraps calls from across the room, nudging Nacho in the side. “Do you think he means-”
“Tall, sandy hair, really bendy?” Nacho calls out.
“Yes!” Kent cries. “He is really, really bendy...” Nacho grins, turning to Scraps. “Oh my god, he’s talking about...”
“Kent, are you talking about Biscuit?” Swoops interrupts with a snort.
“What?!” Kent asks, scandalized. “What the fuck Swoops, no I’m not talking about the mascot-”
“Listen up!” their assistant coach yells into the locker room, thankfully ending that insane conversation, “Five minutes 'til ice time gentlemen, you can finish gossiping on your own time.”
“Biscuit, seriously,” Kent mumbles to himself as he grabs his helmet, heading out of the locker room, ignoring his teammate's laughter behind him.
The thing is, the reason Matt never says anything back to Kent, is that Kent is his goddamn soulmate.
And when they met, Matt was in costume. For most people in theatre or performance, speaking is a key part of the job, but Matt’s in the unique position of being the new professional mascot for the Las Vegas Aces.
And, the basic commandments of mascotry are
- Never take off your mask
- Never break character
- Never get in a fight
- And, most importantly to this particular insane situation, never speak out loud.
So, when during the first pre-season practice Kent sees him in the new costume, and says, “What are you supposed to be, a raccoon?” Matt says nothing.
And to be fair, with the tawny fur and the bushy, striped tail, Kent isn’t a that far off the mark, and he’s not the only one who's looked at the Biscuit costume and thought “raccoon.” In a normal situation Matt might have gestured to the very pointy cat ears, and sauntered off - but in this particular situation, with this particular man, he stands stunned, because Kent Parson has just said the bizarre phrase that imprinted on Matt's arm when he was 14. The one that made him notorious in high school and college where everyone else’s marks were prosaic pick up lines or the blunt but ever popular “Hi, my name is Boring McBoringson.” When he was younger Matt had taken a certain amount of pride in his unique imprint, and tried to roll with the mostly good natured teasing he got in school. He watched his friends and classmates start to pair off with their matches, and tried to console himself that his own soulmate was out there somewhere, eventually they would meet, and they would adopt a dog, have 2.5 kids and have a house with a white picket fence. Or a rock garden and some cacti, this being Vegas.
Matt has been a mascot for years, ever since the athletics department at Las Vegas State (go Tumbleweeds!) offered him a scholarship if he combined being on the gymnastics team with being the school’s mascot. He also had a brief stint filling in for a minor league baseball team while the real Flaming Red went on maternity leave. At some point he’d assumed that he’d have to get a “real” job, being a bona fide professional mascot seems about as realistic as being a magician or running away to join the circus. But then then again, this is Vegas, so those two options are probably more likely than landing a dream full time job mascoting for a professional sports team.
But then he’d received an invitation to audition for the Las Vegas Aces, who were gearing up for their upcoming season. And when he’d walked into the interview and seen what exactly they were planning for their new mascot debut, he knew he was fated to get the job.
Matt had come to the arena with Angela, one of his handlers, to go through the layout of the building. Biscuit comes with a whole mascot team, whose jobs range from arranging travel and events, putting together complex stunts and routines, and managing his equipment, but also to personally follow him around while he’s in costume just in case he needs a buffer, or someone with the ability to speak. It’s a whole different world from his life as a college mascot. It’s his first trial run in the full suit, and he and Angela have been mapping out the best spaces to cheer from, which ones have enough clearance for more intense gymnastics, plus the easiest routes to get between levels in the stadium. They’re in the 100 level, standing close to the players bench, and Matt can see the team as they work through drills on the ice.
And of course he recognizes Kent Parson, sitting on the bench speaking to one of the athletic trainers, his trademark cowlick on full display as he fiddles with the helmet in his lap. He’s gorgeous, and Matt finds himself wandering closer before he realizes what he’s doing. Kent’s probably the most famous player on the team, not only for leading to the Aces to their first Stanley cup, but also for his hilarious social media posts and random cameos on reality TV, and also for donating a significant portion of his salary to local animal shelters. Kent Parson is talented, and kind, and well, rich, and just completely out of Matt’s league. He sighs, and starts to turns to head back towards were Angela is waiting.
Kent glances up from where he’s standing disheveled in his practice jersey, helmet in one hand and ready to step onto the ice, and says, “What are you supposed to be, a raccoon?” And Matt freezes. In the moment he responds to his soulmate not as Matt Scott, gymnast with an unhealthy obsession with 80's hair bands and Fortnite, but as Biscuit, the 6 and a half foot tall furry anthropomorphic ring tailed cat, a mascot who speaks with body language. He exaggeratedly puts his paws to cover his face, feigning shy surprise, then he strides down the last few steps, leans over the rink wall, and puts both giant paws on Kent’s shoulders, and pulls the man forward until he's flush against costume's padded chest, hugging him tight. Matt can make out Kent’s quiet “What the fuck,” as the man flails a bit in surprise, then Matt let's him go, and turns tail, literally, and skips back up the steps towards Angela, who is looking at him like he's completely lost his mind.
Kent stands bemusedly as his team hoots and hollers from the ice, and next him is a grinning cameraman, who’s assignment to get some footage of the team’s practice just got a lot more fun.
The video goes viral, trending on Twitter and and featured on ESPN the next morning. Even people who aren’t into hockey love the video. And the Aces PR team love Matt. This is Vegas after all, they love to put on a show.
The thing is, from that point on the Aces embark on one of the best season starts the franchise has ever seen. They sweep their pre-season schedule, and stay at the top of the Western Conference standings all fall. Hockey players, like most athletes, are superstitious, some eat the same meal before every game, some wear the same pair of socks all season. The fusion of the Aces’ new mascot, their win streak, and popularity of their viral video means than Biscuit and Kent’s hug quickly becomes a mandatory pregame event.
Usually Biscuit manages to grab Kent during warmups, leaning over the bench to hug him from behind, or he’ll envelope Kent as the players are coming down the tunnel. The crowd cheers as the event is broadcast on the jumbotron, the other Aces players goofing off in the background. The players usually see his big furry mask and high five him as they walk by, stepping aside to give him room to get an arm around Kent. He especially loves to catch him when he’s just arriving to the arena, because then he gets to see Kent all dolled up in one of his fancy suits. And Matt, ever the showman when he’s in costume, finds ways to make each hug special. Sometimes he wears Kent’s jersey over the costume, or he hands him flowers, white roses wrapped in black ribbon to match the team colors, or if there's room he'll try to work in a backflip. He’s considering asking the arena management if he can rappel from the rafters so he can hug Kent from the air. Matt honestly can’t think of a weirder way to court someone, especially considering Kent’s obvious confusion, but so far the man hasn't protested, so Matt's going to keep going with it.
Tonight he waits longer than usual, letting the team actually get on the ice for their warm-ups before he decides to make use of the single figure skating class he took in college. He actually practiced this with Angela, just to make sure he could navigate the costume and the ice without wiping out.
The crowd cheers when he steps on the ice, and he can see Kent look up in confusion. Biscuit gains a little speed, then manages to skate up and pick Kent off his feet, extending his legs outwards to complete a brief twirl, striped tail bobbing with the motion. Kent clings tight to Biscuits shoulders, letting out a single strangled “fuck,” before Biscuit sets the man back on the ice. Kent freezes, staring in confusion, before Biscuit blows the man a jaunty kiss and skates backwards towards the exit. The crowd cheers and Aces catcall, and Kent stares at him with one eyebrow raised in bemusement.
“Why is this happening,” Kent grumbles, re-joining the team in their warm ups, the crowd is cheering at almost goal scoring volume as Biscuit skates away. Kent is starting to wonder whether they are here for the Aces, or their new mascot.
“Come on Parser! Biscuit is just your biggest fan, enjoy it!” shouts Nacho, grinning madly as he zips by.
“Why can’t he be Swoops’ biggest fan?” grouses Kent.
“Because I’m not as cute as you!” yells Swoops, who is mid stretch down on the ice.
“He’s not wrong,” Scraps says with a grin, “You didn’t see ESPN calling any of the rest of these schmucks to be in the body issue.”
Kent feels his cheeks heat and hopes it doesn’t show beneath his helmet. “Hey!” he protests, “Those photos are about being athletic-“
“Well then, maybe Biscuit is just a fan of your athleticism!” teases Swoops, causing all the nearby players to burst out laughing.
“Yeah yeah, we’ll see who’s laughing when I tell coach to make all of you do suicides next practice!”
There are a lot of reasons that Matt loves his job as a mascot, but in his mind one of the best advantages is the costume. When he puts it on he feels free and safe to be outgoing and fun, sometimes to exuberant levels. In most normal situation Matt is in fact, well, shy. He’s discovered he can be incredibly gregarious when he doesn’t actually have to talk. It’s pretty amazing what he can get across using his body and his costume, with wide expressive movements, dancing and a bit of gymnastics. But trying to be himself around objectively gorgeous Kent Parson, who for some insane reason the universe has decided is his perfect match, Matt turns into an incompetent disaster.
Matt thinks he’s ok looking, he’s tall, and gymnastics has done wonders for muscle tone, but he’s always felt too gangly and skinny, a pasty kid with too many curls who went from an awkward adolescent chubbiness to a stretched out 6’3” in what felt like rapid speed. And now when he’s comparing himself to Kent, who is just, unfairly hot, he finds himself at a loss for words.
Matt is both fiercely proud and pleased to have such a match. But even so he’s not sure if Kent will feel the same exhilaration when he finally gets up the nerve to talk to the man. After all, he may love his job, and feels incredibly lucky to have it, but Matt is the first to admit it is pretty damn goofy. It’s sounds like the plot to a bizarre rom-com “NHL star discovers his soulmate is the guy who dresses up in an animal costume and shoots t-shirts into the stands with a cannon!” He and Kent are hardly in the same league.
And it’s not like he never sees Kent, they work in the same building, share the same gym and practice facilities, he’s even managed to make friends and joke with other players and staff around the building. And on a few occasions, Kent has actually gone out of his way to talk to him, with the unfortunate result of Matt making a high pitched noise and running in the opposite direction. He’s never been good at flirting, and the whole thing is compounded by this pressure to make sure Kent’s mark is perfect.
He almost wishes he could see the man’s mark just so he’d know what to say. He wavers between “Jesus, Matt, just say anything,” to being frustrated at himself for having not yet come up with the perfect phrase the Kent deserves. Maybe he should start listing synonyms for beautiful, he muses idly, that would be a nice soul mark. He wonder how much of Kent’s skin he could cover with an imprint like that. "You are beautiful, gorgeous, stunning, lovely, handsome... " And so far all Matt has managed has been “errr...”, a lot of blushing and awkwardly running away anytime he sees his match.
To be fair, Kent is a bit intimidating. One of the youngest NHL players to make captain, taking a new franchise all the way to the Stanley cup, collecting a slew of trophies along the way, including a spread in ESPN body issue and People’s sexiest man alive issue, it goes without saying that the man is more than attractive. Maybe he should just start keeping a list of romantic things to say, and then he can try to narrow it down to the best ones.
So far he’s turned all of the stress into a slightly more manic mascot act than he had in college-which frankly, actual works out well for Biscuit. He high fives kids and kisses babies and leads cheers and throws t-shirts to the screaming crowd and he loves every minute of it. And every home game he gives Kent increasingly elaborate hugs before the man goes on the ice, to the cheers of the home crowd. Kent obviously find the whole thing baffling, but until Matt grows a spine and actually says something, he’s going to work with that he’s got.
Being a mascot is not just about cheering for the team, it's also quite a bit of community outreach. Which is why Biscuit is with the Aces when they hold their annual pet adoption drive on the roof of the arena parking deck. Biscuit draws almost as much attention as the animals.
Two weeks before the adoption event, the Aces take turns posing with the animals for posts on the shelter's Instagram, each with a personable if scruffy looking dog, cat, rabbit, or in Nacho's case, lizard. Matt makes Kent’s photo the background on his phone, where Kent has a rough around the edges looking cat draped across his shoulders, and two kittens battling it out for the prime real estate of Kent’s lap. Kent’s grinning wildly at the camera like he can’t believe he’d ever be lucky enough to hold three cats at the same time. With the Aces drumming up excitement the event is crowded. Thankfully it's December in Nevada, which doesn’t get nearly as hot as the summer months, but management has still set up tents and fans to keep everyone cool. Temporary pens have been set up for the dogs, but a few have been assigned to the players, who walk around leash in hand to introduce them to the fans. Scraps is guarding a Basset Hound named Sprocket, who seems content to sit on his sneakers and not move. Scraps is either planning to adopt the dog himself, or he didn’t understand any of the event training, because so far he’s practically snarled at anyone who has tried to come by and pet the dog, excluding very tiny children. For such a big man he is something of a baby magnet, who coo and giggle at him, while older toddlers treat him like an elaborate jungle gym. Nacho is holding his now infamous iguana, and is having an in depth discussion with a preteen boy about the rigors of lizard ownership. The mom is filming the whole thing, so hopefully that means the green guy has just found his forever home.
Matt is right there with the team, suited up with Angela running interference. He doles out high fives and Aces t-shirts to those adopting pets, and hands out pet treats to the shyer kids so they can make friends with the dogs. Kids love Biscuit, and he sees more than one who have shown up in Aces branded cat ear headbands. He let’s a little toddler tug on the bushy striped tail of his costume, and pretends to fall down when he pulls, to the little guys uproarious laughter.
Kent is over by the adoption bus, alternating with taking photos with fans, and cooing at the kittens penned in one of the window units. It’s shutters are drawn up, allowing the fans to view cats like fish in an aquarium, or they can go inside for a closer look and to play. Kent seems to have bypassed that step completely, because he has a gorgeously fluffy cat in his arms. It stands leaning against his chest, regal, as though it is simply using Kent’s arms as a convenient spot to stand and survey its minions. Kent is enraptured. As Matt gets closer he can see that the creature is missing part of an ear, and one scraggly tooth hangs over its lip, giving it the appearance of a tiny lopsided vampire.
So far Biscuit has been such a hit with families and dogs, that he doesn’t think twice when he heads over to greet Kent. He attempts to saunter over, but the cat is having none of it, arching its back in Kent’s startled arms, before leaping violently backwards and dashing away from the event and into the parking garage. Kent barely spares a second to glare at him furiously before he sprints after the cat. Matt follows in close pursuit, following Kent as he runs between cars, trying to keep an eye on the surprisingly fast cat.
“Hey! It went that way, oh shit I’m not supposed to say anything.” Matt yells, and Kent freezes. “Or curse, fuck me.” He can’t believe what a fuck up he is right now. Deciding he can’t really make this worse, he looks around to make sure no one else is watching, then lifts the mask off and sets it on the ground.
Kent turns, staring at him, dumbfounded.
“Er, hi.” Matt says. “I’m Matt.” He holds out his hand ignoring how ridiculous he must look holding out a giant furry mitt. Kent doesn’t move.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Kent mutters quietly.
“Yeah, uh, Matt Scott, more specifically? And, Biscuit, obviously.” He lowers his hand. “Er, I know this is, not ideal, but -” Kent grabs the front of his jersey and yanks him forward, kissing him hard. “Whoa,” Matt gasps against is lips, before leaning in to kiss him back.
“Save it,” Kent says when they break apart a moment later. “Help me find this cat and then you can tell me all about why you’ve been spent months hiding in that ridiculous costume.”
“Right.” Matt says with a wince. “Cat first, soulmates later, can do.” Matt is unsure if Kent’s genuinely mad or just stressed about the cat. Maybe it’s a combination of the two? “I think he ducked under that Hyundai over there. Maybe if you get on the other side I can sort of shoo him to you?”
“Let’s do it.” Kent nods.
“Hey, on the bright side, he’s bright white, so that should make him easier to spot?” Matt adds, crouching next to the sedan. The suit’s made for gymnastics, so it’s not hard to get down low so he can peer under the chassis. He can make out a tiny set of ears and swishing tail. “You ready?” He asks Kent, slowly reaching a paw under that car - “Ow! Why are your tiny claws so sharp.” It manages to swipe the skin of his exposed wrist before sprinting away.
“And there he goes! Damnit. ” Kent cries, leaping up in time to see a fluffy streak run between cars.
“How is he so fast!” Matt cries, taking off in a run after Kent and the cat.
After a few tries, they get it down to a comical level of precision. The cat, still clearly freaked out by the man in the big furry suit, is now so fluffy he’s basically a marshmallow, adrenaline puffing him up in the world's cutest fight or flight reaction. Matt and Kent each kneel on opposite sides of the car he’s using as a barricade, and when Kent tells him to Matt tries to slowly extend a fur covered hand, at which point the cat takes off running, Kent scrambling to grab him without hurting the little thing. Finally, he runs in right direction to be scooped into Kent’s arms, who immediately proceeds to coo the cat into submission.
“It’s ok fluffball, the big bad mascot is going to stay way over there, nothing scary here, it’s just your adorable little face, and my adorable everything,” Kent murmurs nonsensically, rocking back and forth like he’s holding a baby.
Now that the immediate problem has been solved, the cat safe and sorted with Kent, Matt is trying to remember exactly what he’d just said to Kent. It seems like a horrible jumble, and he knows he cursed at least once. Hardly the epic romance he was hoping to deliver. This is what he gets for waiting so long and now all he can do is try to salvage this disaster.
So now he’s standing in a deserted parking lot watching Kent snuggle a cat that hates Matt, and his brain has basically shut down. So blurts out “So, do you prefer dogs or cats?” Matt winces, it’s such a stupid question with such an obvious answer. It would be only slightly less inane to ask, “What’s your favorite color?” Like this is some sort of crazy first date.
“Seriously?” Kent whisper yells, clearly trying not to further agitate the cat in his arms.“That’s your most pressing question right now? I can’t believe you! It’s been you! This whole time!”
“Well - “ Matt starts.
“Every game- since pre-season, even!” Kent continues in aggravation.
“I-”
“You must have know, right? I don’t even remember when we matched. What did I say to you?”
“It was - “
“I can’t believe this. My soulmate, this whole time!”
“No way!” Nacho cries behind them, Kent turns so fast that the cat lets out a startled mew. Matt turns more slowly to see Nacho, plus Swoops and Scraps weaving their way through the cars in the packed lot. Honestly it’s amazing no one’s come out this way until now. He suddenly feels naked without the mask on.
“Biscuit is your soulmate?” Scrappy asks.
Kent turns back to Matt only to see him quickly re-donning his head gear in record time. “Oh COME ON, I’m giving you one free pass with that trick, ONE!” Matt just waves merrily, leaving explanations up to Kent.
“That explains so much...” Swoops says, head in his hands.
“For the love of, first of all Biscuit is not my soulmate. His name is Matt, my soul mate is not a giant ring tailed cat- wait! You guys knew all this time?”
“What?” Nachos asks. “You mean you didn’t know? The two of you flirt constantly.”
“What, no,” Kent sputters, still trying to reconcile both that the Ace’s mascot is the same guy he’d been drooling over, and that this is shaping up to be the most ridiculous soulmate meet-cute he’s ever heard of. “I mean, you knew who hot yoga guy was all this time!” Kent gestures wildly at Biscuit, who somehow manages to convey interest in phrase “hot yoga guy,” even in the costume.
“And we don’t flirt, this is the first time he’s even managed to talk to me!”
“Kenny, honey, you don’t see Biscuit doing a pre-game waltz with any of the other players, do you?” Nacho asks sweetly.
“And we did tell you,” Scraps replies, looking confused. “I mean, I guess I didn’t know his real name was Matt but-“
“Oh, no.” Kent moans, “You did! You said the guy I was failing at flirting with was Biscuit. I just thought you were fucking with me.”
“Parser, when have you ever know us to fuck with you.” Nacho says with remarkable dignity for a man holding a two foot long iguana.
“You,” Kent says, pointing at Biscuit, who raises both hands, er, paws, in mock alarm. Kent looks at his watch, “this event goes for another hour, then I will see you in the locker room. Ok?” Kent manages to sound both commanding and plaintive at the same time. Biscuit nods vigorously, then goes in for another hug only to be stopped by Kent recoiling, cradling his body over a now hissing white cat. “Hey! I only just found him again, let’s not do a repeat, ok?” Biscuit hangs his head in apology, and Kent reaches over to awkwardly ruffle the furry patch between his ears. Biscuit turns with a wave and heads back toward the main event space.
Swoops walks over and wraps an arm around Kent’s waist, letting the smaller man lean against him. He can feel the cat purring through Kent’s body.
“Holy shit Swoops, I just met my soulmate.” Kent says, stunned.
“Well, technically you met him months ago.” Scraps says with a beaming smile.
“Yeah, what the hell did you say to him anyway? Was he in the costume at the time?” Nacho asks.
“I honestly have no idea.” Kent says, sounding dazed. “Also, I think I’m going to adopt this cat.” Swoops laughs.
“Ok Kenny, let’s go get you your man and your cat.” Swoops says, leading him back towards the crowd. Kent follows, still in a bit of a daze. He stops suddenly, then points up at Swoops.
“Just so we’re clear,” Kent turns to point at Nacho and Scraps. “The first person to make a furry joke is carrying my gear for the rest of the season.”
Matt makes it to the locker room nearly twenty minutes before Kent, having taken just enough time to properly store his gear. God only knows what Angela would say if she saw the suit in a disassembled mess in his dressing room. Normally he’d shower the second he’s out of uniform, but this time he gives his sweaty hair up for a lost cause and just crams an Aces cap on his head. He’s been to the teams locker many times before, both as himself, and as Biscuit, but this will mark the first occasion he’ll actually be able to talk to the man he’s been crushing on for months. He has just enough time to start spiraling into anxiety, so when Kent finally appears he nearly leaps out of his skin. Which is unfortunate, because when he jerks the cat toy he’s been cradling jingles with a jaunty cheeriness that is far from his current state of mind.
“Where did you get that?” Kent asks, walking into the locker room and setting down a cat carrier. He’s gesturing to the stuffed mouse in Matt’s hands. It jingles a little as Matt holds it up, and he can see through grate that the white cats ear's perk up.
“They were handing them out upstairs, I kind of figured odds were good that the little guy was going to go home with you.”
“Girl.” Kent replies.
“What?”
“She’s a she, and her name is Francheska, for some reason,” Kent makes a face, “but so far she hasn’t responded to it so I am going to change it to something else.” Kent shuffles his feet awkwardly. “Listen-”
“I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words how wonderful life is while you’re in the world.” Matt cuts him off.
Kent wrinkles his nose “What are you doing,” he asks, “karaoke?”
“Hear my soul speak:The very instant that I saw you, did, my heart fly to your service.”
“Is that Shakespeare?”
“A guy like you should wear a warning.”
“Britney, really?” Kent says with a laugh.
“I wanted to cover my bases,” Matt says with a grin. “ I’m sorry I didn’t come to you right away. The second I was out of the costume I should have found you. And the longer I waited, the more it felt like I needed to make it worth the wait." Matt takes a step closer to Kent. “For the record," he continues, "it turns out that googling “romantic first words,” is a recipe for an anxiety disorder. Everything I found was a thousand times better than what I came up with on my own, and I wanted you to have the best.”
Kent’s blushing now. “Keep going,” he says.
“Honey your soul could never grow old, it’s evergreen.”
“Matt-“
“I also considered just walking up to you and listing all of the things I like about you.”
“Wait, really?” Kent asks, looking intrigued.
“Kent Parson, you are amazing, extraordinary, gorgeous, talented, generous, beautiful” he takes another step closer to Kent, “and I love the way that one lock of hair on the back always sticks up when you take your helmet off.” Kent laughs, putting a hand on his hat self consciously.
“Can I see it?” Matt asks, staring intently. Kent’s smile slowly fades, for a moment Kent entertains the idea of jokingly taking his hat off, but then he rolls up his sleeve and pulls off his arm guard.
Matt takes Kent’s arm in his, slowly rubbing his thumbs over the words. “Yup, Its official, I am a disaster.” Kent’s puts his hand on top of Matt’s.
“Come on, mine can hardly be any better than that.”
“Well,” Matt says with a wince. He pulls his sleeve up and holds his arm out. Kent pulls his forearm towards him, then makes a horrified face.
“Oh my god,” Kent moans. “Mine is so much worse!”
“Hey! I like it. It’s part of the reason I knew the Aces were where I was supposed to be. The point is, I had months to come up with something! I had a million and one ideas for what I could say to you, and I blew it.”
He turns his hand over so he can hold Kent’s in his own. “Though maybe I could just spend the rest of my life telling them to you?” Matt asks, and Kent smiles radiantly.
“How about we start with dinner,” he says.
“Deal.”