Archive of Our Own ^beta

[1]

Trophy never really got out much.

It was a lazy tuesday afternoon. One that would be considered uneventful, boring and out-right monotone by many. Nothing interesting had happened in particular, the sky was up and the ground was still down. Though the time seemed to drag on forever, and every second seemed longer than the last, things could've been worse. 
Days like these were Trophy's favourite, for no real reason. Maybe it was because it gave him time to be by himself.

He hadn't realised how many headaches he normally had before. Of course, they were always there, but it wasn't until Tissues pointed out late one night that it wasn't normal for the average person to be plagued with migraines at least a few times every single week, sometimes twice a day, that Trophy reflected on it. The ache had just always been there for Trophy, his own insecurities often looming over his head and sinking him into a dark and sour state of mind. Anyone would be in a bad mood because of that, Trophy was no exception.

But these quiet, grey days were enjoyable, as much as Trophy ever really enjoyed anything. He had to admit himself, he wasn't a ray of sunshine all the time. He was definitely no angel. But he had his moments, even despite the persona he played. The guard he had built up, continued to build. Every now and then, he'd crack a smile or help Soap out when things got a little too stressful. Though a rare occasion, it was always nice when it did happen.

Trophy walked through the corridor of Hotel OJ, dressed in his usual sporty attire though now he had pulled on a comfortable hoodie that hid his slender frame. The golden yellow hoodie was washed out into a light milky hue due to months upon months of usage, many nights of existential crises, dysphoria and self-doubt deeply rooted in the soft wool, going much deeper than any seams ever could. It was, as Fan had put it once, his 'comfort hoodie', he supposed.

Though Trophy himself was spaced out, his mind somewhere else completely, his face still radiated the same bitterness it always did. It didn't seem to be the intention, it wasn't even clear if Trophy was aware of it or not, but he always had an angry expression plastered on his face. Trophy had long, slender and soft features. Intense hazel eyes, naturally long dark eyelashes. Like one of those pretty boys you'd see in magazines, so to see such a sour expression on someone like him was like nails on a chalkboard, it just didn't make sense. 
But then again, not a lot of things do, and that was just what Trophy was like.

As the jock scurried down the stairs, soundlessly thanks to the little sound socks make on a wall-to-wall carpet, he'd expected to run into at least two or three people on the way. But he didn't, much to his own happiness. His normal day consisted of this, hanging in his room until the atmosphere had turned too unbearable to handle, in which he'd choose between two options. Either going for a run, or working out in some other way. Or hanging by the TV, hoping no one else was sitting in the sofa by that time.
And today Trophy had chosen the latter option, simply because he could and felt like it.

He scanned the room, as he always did. It had become a habit, not necessarily a bad one, but still a paranoid one. The feeling of being watched, having someone expect something from you even when you were alone. It crept up on Trophy, making him shudder as he tried to shake the feeling off. It was just something that came with being on a reality show, Trophy had to narrow it down to. 
Truth is, Trophy had always been like that, but his insecurities had been multiplied and enlarged due to the nature of TV shows like this one. It was part of the reason he ever joined in the first place, to prove himself. To who, he wasn't really sure. The hotel had slowly become a safe space for him, he was slowly letting himself open up to people around him. If anyone pointed it out to Trophy, he'd deny it, but it didn't make it any less true. He's quick to lash out, to pretend not to hear. 

There hadn't been any particular expectation to what Trophy's day would look like when he woke up, there rarely ever was. Routines were good, but almost impossible to keep track off at Hotel OJ. But what he hadn't expected was his ears to be greeted with the 8-bitty sounds from a TV. Fingers clicking on buttons at random, the music from a video game Trophy can barely recall Soap telling him about at some point. Someone was trying to beat a level, his suspicions told him, and by the sounds of it they weren't doing a very good job at it.

Trophy didn't know why, barely knew how, but for some reason he felt like seeing who this mysterious person was. Trophy didn't have much academically to brag about, often prioritising brawns over brains. Muscle over mind. He wasn't stupid, maybe scoring an average on the scale of intelligence. But he couldn't figure out for the life of him why he wanted to talk to whoever was here. He didn't feel like scoffing and turning away, minding his own business or making a sarcastic remark. Maybe it was his subconscious trying to tell him something, pushing him a little bit. A voice in the back of his head telling him that maybe this time he should try not to shut others out, and, luckily, Trophy is a surprisingly good listener. 

He inhaled sharply, and walked to the sofa.

Leaning his arms on the back of the sofa with no warning, Trophy gave a side-glance towards the other end of it. He heard the game pause, or at least he assumed it did as the sounds suddenly stopped. 

On the other end sat a boy, seemingly young. But Trophy knew who this was, he just couldn't quite recall the name of him. He knew this guy was probably his age, his babyface just gave people a different idea. 

Trophy’s brain scrambled for the name of the boy with strawberry blonde curls next to him, as Trophy quietly inspected his face on a safe distance. The boy had turned to him now, both of them facing each other in silence. A surprised expression on one, an unreadable on the other. Trophy found himself getting lost trying to count the hundreds of freckles on the other boy’s face for a second. 

It was quiet, tense. Not in a bad way, but it still tugged on Trophy relentlessly. Why couldn’t he recall who this was? 

Then, the other boy blinked and a beaming familiar smile appeared on his soft features. And in that exact moment, Trophy remembered just exactly who this was. After all, who could ever forget that ever so persistent grin? 

Trophy should’ve and probably would’ve been more concerned over the way Cheesy was practically unrecognisable without a plastered smile on his face if given the time to reflect on it, but he didn’t have the time to overthink.

In what seemed like a fraction of a second, Cheesy chuckled. 

“Oh, hey Trophy.” 

Trophy blinked. 

Of all people, why him? Trophy’s first initial thought went. But he quickly halted himself. 

Trophy would always find ways to disappoint himself, in a strange way. He would be aggressive towards everyone, lash out and tear down. Then beat himself up for it, in private, always. 

Cheesy was different, from the little they’d ever talked. He wasn’t like so many others around him. Everyone was always out for the other’s throat’s, in Trophy’s eyes. Maybe that was just his own paranoia getting the best of him, but some truth laid in there. Cheesy was uncovered, he was genuine. Most importantly, he was honest. Cheesy was always this diamond in the rough, happy and cheerful and everything good in the world along with bad puns and dry humour that Trophy could see within seconds was just a facade. It got on his nerves.

Trophy wasn’t nice, that was no lie and it was no exaggeration. He was rude, a jerk through and through, a textbook example of a jock. He’s the prime example of someone who peaked in highschool, and then plummeted head first into the ground the second he realised he couldn’t always rely on threats to get his way. Even when this fact was proven to him, he continued to do it. Out of habit, out of spite. He was a menace, he knew this fact very well and he didn’t care enough to change it. 
Cheesy was just… Cheesy. There was no easy way to describe it, there was no easy way to say it. He was there, he tried to lighten the mood and he failed every time. Unlike Trophy, Cheesy never seemed to dim. His smile never faltered and his attitude never changed, he simply shrugged and hoped next time his joke’ll land. Trophy hated it, he hated him and he hated his ability to be the one thing Trophy wasn’t. Cheesy was happy. 

And yes, maybe this hatred came from something deeper than just this. Maybe it was more of an envy than despise, but Trophy would never be jealous of someone. At least, he’d never admit to it. He was too prideful, too scared of humiliation. But to spare himself from another spiral of self-doubt, he decided against his gut and swallowed whatever rude words had been about to spill. 

“Hey, Cheesy.”

Trophy huffed. He stood his ground, not backing up now. If he were to walk away now that means Cheesy would win. Not that Trophy was even sure what he was playing, but something in him told him to stay. 
Cheesy stared, big brown eyes sparkling towards him. They seemed uncertain, his gaze flickering a bit. Cheesy had never been one for confrontation, his horrible inability to get and much less understand social cues dragging him down. He'd aim and shoot, but his humour didn't always seem to hit the right target.

Cheesy blinked and turned on his game again, the stinging sensation of awkwardness looming around him. But he was curious, like he always was. Why had Trophy come over all of a sudden? What could Cheesy do about it? 
It was all rather funny, in his eyes. He didn't know whether to attempt at a conversation or let Trophy take the lead, so he stayed quiet. Stayed put, amusement making it all a rather silly display.

The two boys didn't get along all to well at all times, but they couldn't seem to ever understand why. Trophy simply put it as hate in his head, having no other explanation. Cheesy shrugged and supposed that not everyone could be best of friends, and all's well that ends well. 
Somewhere they were the same, a small portion of them both longing to be seen and heard. To be recognised, though that desire manifested in different ways for them. And who’s to say either of them were wrong? 

The sounds of the game started up, Cheesy now multitasking between focusing on Trophy and on this pointless video game he’d been trying to beat for a while now. Trophy caught onto it, and clung to it as he desperately tried to keep his cool. 

“What’re you playing?” 

A low hum, Cheesy continued to mash the buttons intensely. If the hits were at random or if they were calculated, he couldn't tell.

"Some game Soap showed me."

The lack of a pun or punchline was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Trophy nodded at the mention of their mutual friend, and wondered how come they'd never really interacted even though they were both close to the pink-haired girl. Then again, Soap was friends with lots of people. More than either of them. 

Maybe they'll find a new friend in each other, who knew. Though Trophy doubted it, Cheesy had a hopeful glimmer in the back of his head. It was funny, how their roles had become reversed at some point. Upon their first meeting, Cheesy had been so incredibly amazed by Trophy, attempting to get close in hopes of an ally stronger than himself. Now, Cheesy barely hid an amused look as Trophy was the one who struggled to find the right words to say. There weren't any particular wrong words he could really say, but Trophy was just like that. Anything below perfect was not good enough, he picked his words carefully.
Trophy almost looked shy, but, luckily, Cheesy is not the kind to comment. But he is, however, not the kind to stay quiet for long. That was part of why not many liked him, his endless rambling. He didn't like the long silences that seemed so loud yet so quiet at the same time, like the atmosphere judging him. So Cheesy did what he always did, he talked.

"You wanna try it? It's kinda fun." 

Trophy glanced towards the controller, staring as if it was about to grow legs and walk away if he didn't stop looking. Cheesy snickered, realising a little too late how Trophy could take his laughter the wrong way and quickly stopped himself apologetically, though the smile was still there.

"Alright."

Cheesy instantly beamed, hopping down from the couch and scurried to plug in the second controller. Trophy sat down, letting himself relax just a bit. The cushions were always just as soft and comfortable, but the couch was a little too high for some. Trophy fit just fine, but Cheesy's feet barely reached the ground once he jumped back onto the sofa with a soft thud. Trophy almost smiled at his antics, almost.

The game started up again, Trophy didn't know how to play. But he was competitive, a winner through and through. And soon after Cheesy taught him the basic controls of the game, Trophy found himself winning more than losing. Cheesy didn't take it as seriously, using the opportunity to crack a joke or to blame everything and everyone else than himself of his loss. But it was all superficial, all in teasing manner, and it was clear they were both enjoying it. 
Trophy almost forgot that he disliked Cheesy, and he couldn't help himself but to laugh in sync at something one of them said. 

Moments passed, time going quicker than before, in contrast to just how slow it had felt like barely an hour ago. By now, their attention had moved from the game to each other. The music was white noise, just a background sound. Currently Cheesy was telling a story, if it was real or not was unclear, so Trophy chose to believe it. Not because it was a very believable story, but rather for the sake of it. To humour Cheesy, to throw the dog a bone for once. A tiny bit of his guard had been lowered, a little of this brick wall he had built had sizzled away for the first time in a very long while.

It was all pleasant, it was all fun. Trophy would be lying if he said this wasn't one of the nicest interactions he'd had with anyone in the hotel so far.

Then, a voice behind the both of them made itself heard.

"Oh, hey. I didn't know you two were friends."

They both whipped their heads around, Soap waving at them kindly. 

Trophy blinked.

Quickly, he rose from the coach and let his controller fall to his feet. Cheesy looked panicked for a second, as if scared that this would be the last he'd ever see of the jock. But he bit his tongue, because no sound came out when he opened his mouth just to close it again in a matter of seconds. 

A harsh slap of reality, or at least Trophy's mind's reality, came with no warning. Trophy was flustered, not sure why. He also seemed to be the only one of the two of them to be, which made his reaction stand out even more. Soap just watched, something between perplexity and concern in her face. Cheesy stayed quiet, suspecting why this was the outcome.

"...we're not." Trophy decided.

Cheesy frowned.

Then, Trophy promptly turned on his heel and left, presumably to his room.
Soap gave Cheesy a look, questioning something Cheesy couldn't quite catch onto. The blonde just sighed and slumped together on the sofa. Should he be happy with the little time they talked? Or upset that Trophy still saw him as an annoyance, someone to be embarrassed over hanging out with? He decided he could think about it some other day, the sun was shining a golden hue through the window and it was no time for such complex thoughts to echo in his skull. Not today.
Soap, who Cheesy had honestly forgot about within the little time he had to think, sat down next to him and picked up the controller.

They started the game with no words, the silence only being broken by a question.

"Did I uh... interrupt something?"

Cheesy paused for a moment. Did she?

"Nah, don't worry about it."

And Soap didn't, the topic quickly changing.

Cheesy was sure he could catch up to Trophy some other day. Maybe another afternoon.

[2]

"...What are you doing?"

Cheesy would've screamed, if he had the energy to. And if the rest of the hotel wasn't sleeping. It was in the middle of the night, he guessed. The darkness covered almost every corner and every surface in the kitchen, the only thing emitting any source of light was the blue tinted shine of the moon that barely made it through the small holes of the curtains in the windows. 
Somewhere outside, another luminous glow was to be seen from an oval shaped ship in the sky. But the kitchen was facing away from that direction, so Cheesy wasn’t around to see it. 

And neither was Trophy, who had appeared in the doorway with no sound. Sure, Cheesy wasn’t the most attentive person. Not by a long shot. He was always occupied with something, anything, trying to perform multiple things and work on all kinds of projects at once. His hyperactivity was impressive, but was the one thing that truly faulted him most times. If and when he eventually would burn out, no energy left to give, he knew that it would be no one but his own fault. Cheesy tried to hide all this behind a happy front, but sometimes, when caught off-guard, this tired, honest and true version of himself would peek out. And right now, he felt tired enough to pass out, but his body wouldn’t let him. 

Instead of screaming in terror upon the surprise of suddenly seeing a human figure in the dark doorway, Cheesy resulted to a muffled yelp and dropped his mug. Trophy eyed him, confounded. 

Expecting the cup to explode into too many porcelain shards to count upon impact, the two boys braced themselves. Both for the noise, and for the trouble it would bring. OJ wouldn’t be happy. 

But instead, it hit the floor with a clink sound, and there was no shatter. Relieved, both of them breathed out. But their shortlived calmness didn't change the atmosphere in the room. Cheesy picked up the cup from the floor with two hands, dusting it off and checking for any scratches. Luckily, he hadn't put anything in the cup yet, so he spared himself from that mess.

Cheesy had already forgotten what Trophy's question was.

"Dude, it's like two in the morning." 

Trophy rubbed his face and groaned through his hands, still seemingly sleepy. If something had woken him up, if he had woken up by himself or if he never even went to sleep to begin with was a mystery. And Cheesy wasn't interested enough to find out.
He drummed his fingers to an odd rhythm against the porcelain cup, tapping them lightly without even realising it. 
Trophy stepped into the kitchen, and now Cheesy was able to see his face. He was pretty, Cheesy mused. Then again, Cheesy was quick to envy others, never seeing himself as something worth that kind of praise. He'd often give, but didn't always know how to take, how to care for himself every once in a while.

He shrugged. "Hm, yeah, well, I couldn't sleep." 

Trophy didn’t budge, simply eyeing his cup with an accusatory look, but he remained silent. Cheesy didn’t say anything, not sure what Trophy wanted from him.

“I was gonna make some tea. That’s why I’m up, if you’re wondering.” 

He explained, climbing up on the kitchen counter to reach the highest cabinet. Trophy crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall, inspecting what in the world was going on at such a late hour. He scoffed and mumbled something about how weird it was, and quietly wondered why Cheesy had to be the person he’d stumble into in the dead of night. Where there was no one else to see, no one else to hear, only them and the stillness of the night.

Cheesy pulled down a teabag, reaching for Trophy to take it in order to be able to get down. Maybe it was fatigue, but Trophy extended his arm and held it safely with no complaint. A synchronised motion, as if they’d done it all their lives. Which they hadn’t, Trophy would never. But something seemed to connect right now, they didn’t have the energy to attempt to shield their feelings away. It was too late, or early, depending on how you looked at it, for them to start doing that already. 

A veil of some kind had been lifted, the tense nervousness had been reduced to next to nothing. They were both rather silent, but there were no words they could really think of either. There was no need for conversing. Trophy just appreciated the moment for what it was. 

“Get one for me too, while you’re at it.” 
Cheesy looked a bit dumbfounded for a second, but chuckled and did as requested. 

Besides the shuffling of their movement, and the occasional few words that were exchanged, nothing really disrupted them here. Left alone with their thoughts, yet still in each others company. Weird, Trophy thought. 

Trophy liked to take pride in anything and everything he did, this included, apparently. Cheesy smiled at his persistence, watching in awe like a kid in a candy store as Trophy nonchalantly prepared the drinks just like he’s done hundreds of times before. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention, and Cheesy would be too if he said it wasn’t partially to humour Trophy’s ego that he did it. 

Compliments and praise came easy to him, Cheesy didn't hesitate to shower someone with affection the second they talked to him. He was a people pleaser, it was as simple as that. He would've liked to get some kind of recognition every once in a while, but you couldn't always get what you wanted. That didn't keep Cheesy from trying, though. Such is life.

Trophy handed his friend a cup, and nursed his own close to himself. As Cheesy received it, he felt the warmth radiating off of it warm his cold fingers, the steam from the scorching hot tea warming his face as he tasted the beverage. It burnt his tongue harshly, but Cheesy could recognise the taste of chamomile somewhere under the scalding pain. Only now he realised how close Trophy was standing to him, and he fidgeted in place, shifting his weight from one of his feet to the other, not wanting Trophy to move just yet. 
Cheesy saw things differently than Trophy, that was nothing new. Their viewpoint on things around them were differently formed, shaped after their own personal standpoint and reflecting the world through their own visual lenses. While Trophy may see them, may see Cheesy, as an annoyance to him, an obstacle, a hinder in his way, Cheesy didn't. He truthfully didn't know just what exactly he felt about Trophy, but he didn't dislike him, and that was the important part. 
In reality, he found their situation amusing. Funny, even. Trophy seemed so against friendship, for reasons Cheesy would never understand, and that made Cheesy want to know even more about him. It was like a challenge made for him specifically, and Cheesy did not falter easily.

He took another sip of the tea, carefully this time. It tasted nice.

"You're pretty tea-riffic at this, aren't you?"

Cheesy vaguely gestured towards the cup, a teasing smile spreading across his face. Trophy looked up from the ground, a warning glint in his eye.

"Don't even start."

Cheesy couldn't help himself but to chuckle, Trophy soon joining in. 

With his hands up in a mock surrender; "Alright, alright. I won't."

The laughing came to an end, their smiles still visible even in the dark. Trophy looked out the window, Cheesy following his gaze in suit. They remained for a while, occasionally sipping their drinks as the constellations in the sky shone a little brighter just for them. Trophy didn’t say much, Cheesy was getting restless and tired simultaneously at the same time. 

“How come you’re so good at making this anyway?” 

Cheesy questioned, voice barely above a whisper. Trophy cocked an eyebrow up. 

“What, tea?” 

“Yeah. Tea.” 

Trophy hummed, and wrapped his hoodie just a little tighter around himself. He tried to think of a reasonable answer that wouldn’t make him come off as anything but the cool jock he wanted to be. 

His mind drew a blank. 

So he shrugged and settled for honesty. 

“I dunno, it’s just something I like.” 
He mumbled into his cup, face heating up from both steam and embarrassment.

Cheesy nodded, albeit a bit stiffly. Maybe it was nerves. 

He exhaled sharply, a soft laugh slipping out as he reminisced over a memory of his own. 

“I used to really like uh… cooking. Y’know, making food.” 

“I am aware.” 

“Alright, alright, great. So…” 

Cheesy put his mug down, needing both his hands to gesture as he began talking. He wouldn’t want to risk spilling something someone else had taken the time to make him. 

The story was long and nonsensical, mostly due to both of their sleep deprivation at this point. But it was comfortable, and the time ran away quicker than they thought. 

Trophy yawned, and put his empty mug on the counter. He’ll deal with it in the morning, or just let someone else do it for him. Most likely Soap or OJ. 

Cheesy carefully put his cup in the sink, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

They walked up the stairs, Trophy walking two steps a time while Cheesy had to hurry to keep up. He really should do more cardio. 

As Trophy got to his room, it being the first room in the hallway, Cheesy’s place somewhere further down, the air turned stale and the jock swallowed. 

He grabbed the handle to the door, fidgeting around with it as if it was a toy. Cheesy waited patiently until Trophy felt ready to look him in the eye. And when he did, he was greeted by Cheesy’s familiar and yet oh so understanding smile. 

“…G’night, Cheesy.” 

The click of the handle as it was turned resonated in the hallway, filling the silence and echoing in both of their ears. There’s a moment of pause, a short second where they’re not sure if they really want to go just yet. A second of consideration, even though it is late and there’s also an urgent need for the next day to come. They had a good conversation, they didn’t want to ruin the moment by dragging it out and overstaying its welcome. 

They’re still strangers.

So Cheesy shoved his hands in the pockets of his pyjama pants. 

“See ya, Trophy.” 

And with a curt nod, Trophy closed the door and disappeared into the darkness of the room. 

It was as stuffed and messy as usual, but there was a strange lack of snoring this time. Trophy felt odd, Tissues would usually be asleep by this time. Unless he managed to sneeze himself awake, again. It has happened before. 

As he spoke of the devil, a mop of white hair and a flushed face peaked out of a heap of blankets and pillows on Tissues’ bed. A sniffle, and Trophy turned to him with an annoyed face. 

“Who was that?” 

Tissues dragged out on the words, more than usual, and punctuated his sentence with a cough he muffled with his arm. Trophy didn’t even try to hide his disgust, but he didn’t comment. 

“Cheesy. Why do you care?” 
The snarky reply came, and Trophy had already gotten in bed and turned his back towards his roommate before he could utter a simple;

“…Hm. No reason.”

The rest of the night was quiet in their room, Tissues falling asleep shortly after. Trophy didn’t know what to make of their conversation, but he was too tired to argue with himself about it. He just closed his eyes and hoped his thoughts wouldn’t be so confusing when he woke up. 

At the other end of the door, Cheesy had already begun dragging himself to his room. There was a small skip in his steps, an upbeat addition to it. He felt lighter, like walking on clouds. 

Trophy wasn’t all bad, he had realised. There was a heart of gold somewhere in there, pun intended, of course. Cheesy wanted to bring that out, because he wanted to be friends. He doubted his sporty friend would ever admit or agree to anything of the sort, though, so Cheesy decided he’d simply have to get to know him better. Not now, it was way too late for it right now. An early morning waiting for them right around a corner. No, in the afternoon sounded better. Maybe not tomorrow, but another afternoon.

Cheesy threw himself onto his bed, and only now did he realise just how tired he was. As he slept, his dreams had a tint of chamomile.

[3]

Trophy knelt, one knee on the grass, dirtying his pants, the other supporting his arm as he tried to find the perfect angle for his photo. 

The camera focused on a lone flower sprouting from the ground, going from blurry to sharp as Trophy stood as still as possible. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, and normally he would be taking pictures of cooler things. Things that actually interested him. 
But Soap had recently gotten into scrapbooking, and he was the only one with a professional camera. His options were either to let Soap use the camera to gather pictures for her scrapbook, or he'd take the pictures himself and give them to her. And since Trophy is very reminiscent of who can and cannot touch his stuff, and Soap didn't like her clothes to get dirty outside, the latter option was deemed best for the both of them.
He didn't really feel like doing it, but OJ had threatened to kick him out if he didn't act nicer for a change, so Trophy reluctantly went along with it.

Trophy snapped two or three pictures, before a movement behind the flower caused his camera to go out of focus again. Trophy groaned, and lowered the camera to glare at Cheesy who'd been successfully dragging Trophy's mission out longer than needed. Cheesy didn't know how to even use a camera, he just found it fun to watch. But so far, he managed to ruin at least a dozen photos.

"I don't see why you had to come with me if you're just gonna mess up the photos." Trophy lamely called out, Cheesy just looked at him happily.

Trophy hadn't even expected Cheesy to come with him at all, but the moment he walked by the living room the shorter blonde had caught sight of him and almost tackled him. Alright, tackling is a bit of an exaggeration. But to Trophy, who hadn’t experienced physical contact since the beginning of never, a simple hug felt strange. Personal. He didn’t mind, but it was a surprise. 

Ignoring all his brain said, and going with his feelings instead, Trophy agreed to let Cheesy tag along. And with the way Cheesy lit up, like the embodiment of the sun was standing in front of Trophy, he couldn’t help but smile. Just a little bit, just for a little while. 

The sun shone down on them, the sky seemingly bluer than it was the day before. Cheesy and Trophy trampled a path through the huge area of tall grass that grew around the hotel and eventually stretched into the perilous forest. 

Trophy had decided that today was as good as any to put any use to his sportswear, and Cheesy had a simple pair of jeans and a bright yellow t-shirt that was much too big for his small frame, a little more casual than his usual attire. He was a performer, after all. He liked to dress up a little, he found it fun to look his best. Trophy couldn’t say the same thing about himself, but he did also care about his appearance. In a different way.

Soap had requested pictures of outside stuff. For what, Trophy didn’t question. He didn’t like to pry, even if he had all the right to know. That was just simply not the way he worked. Cheesy, however, did. He asked questions, all the time, about anything and everything. Things Trophy had never even thought or reflected on himself. 

It was like he was trying to budge Trophy open, to crack his shell a little, piece by piece. 

And maybe, just maybe, it was working, just a little. And Trophy might even admit it, if you pressed down hard enough. 

“That’s a real fancy camera, Trophs. Where’d you get it?” Cheesy asked, ignoring Trophy’s previous question as he tried his best not to step on any wildlife in the tall bushy grass. 

Trophy smirked at the nickname, and looked down on his camera in his hands as they continued marching through the grass. 

Truth is, the camera wasn’t even that fancy. He couldn’t quite recall where he got it, but he’d had it for a rather long while. Years of usage made scratches and bumps known on the surface of it, but Trophy took as good care of it as he possibly could. He doubted Cheesy would know anything about photography. Trophy usually felt so off about showing things he actually liked, the endless nagging fear of humiliation always clouded his vision. Hence why everything he did came off as new or unexpected, he never shared anything with anyone. Trophy wished he could, but he was too scared of judgement. It was safe to say that Trophy had enough mental hurdles to cost him his happiness if it meant he’d come off as ‘cool’. 

But Cheesy never said a thing about it, he only nodded his head and smiled. Trophy did the same, a gentle, careful, smile, despite his regular persona.

“Honestly? I don’t even remember. I’ve had it for years.” 

Trophy muses, the words falling easy off his tongue. Cheesy just nodded and chuckled, saying something along the lines of ‘alright, cool, okay’. 

A cloud was rolling in over them, big and dangerously grey compared to the little white clouds they’d seen today. It’s dark and ugly, in the midst of the peaceful blue emptiness of the sky. And it brings the feeling of knives against plates, it stuck out and it brought bad news. Trophy suspected getting home and inside soon was a good idea, and he would’ve spoken out on it if he didn’t feel a soft but firm hand grab his wrist suddenly.

Trophy looked down to see Cheesy dragging him with him, not forcibly, by any means. Trophy doubted Cheesy had enough strength to do anything of the sorts. But he was pulling the jock with him, eyes fixated on a specific spot that Trophy couldn’t make out from afar. The taller of the two found himself following along quietly, mouth open but no sound of complaint came out. He had to bend down slightly due to their height differences, because Cheesy wasn’t letting go of his wrist.

“...Where are we- uh, where are we going?” Trophy floundered, all his imaginative scenarios and words he was planning to say disappearing in a matter of seconds.
At some point, Cheesy’s hand had slid down Trophy’s wrist and the two boys’ fingers had intertwined, the palm of their hands hugging each other loosely without even realising it. Cheesy’s hand was fumbling around for a moment, but he didn’t seem to register it. Trophy’s was uncertain, only daring to hold the other’s hand soft enough that it could barely be felt at all.

“Here!”

Cheesy pointed, hopping from one leg to the other in glee. And then Trophy saw it.

The island was quite the place, one would have noted, if anyone would’ve ever paid any mind to it. It’s strange, most contestants and ex-contestants should’ve noticed the scenery here at one point or another. Even Trophy had never reflected on it, or looked further outside than the window of his room. But all in all, the nature on the island was astonishing in the right lighting.
Cheesy had pulled them to the cliff of the island, Trophy couldn’t remember the name of it, but he couldn’t care less. The shine of the sun glimmered on the water, the horizon further away than one could grasp from just seeing it. It was just picture perfect.
The wind was always stronger the closer to the sea you got, but Trophy was still surprised when he felt a breeze tug on him. Almost falling over, he quickly shot a look to Cheesy.
When his friend laughed, he let himself snicker too.

There were no shadows here, the two of them could see each other in full vision now. The rays of sunlight beamed at them, painting their vision yellow and with the way the light reflected in their hair, it almost looked like they were both shining. They both shone golden, and if you squinted hard enough it seemed their colours mashed into one.

“This is the perfect place for a picture, right? I was just thinking, and then it popped up in my head!”

Cheesy let go of Trophy’s hand, a warmth leaving both of them as he did, to use his hands for gesturing when he spoke. 

“It’s my favourite spot on the island. What do you think?”

Cheesy looked at Trophy expectantly, the former waiting patiently for an answer.
Cheesy didn’t really care what Trophy would think. Well, of course he did care, but the primary reason he had even dragged his hesitant friend along with him was to share a moment with him. Undisturbed, with no interruptions.

Cheesy found he was always better at improvising than making a schedule, and sticking to it, especially in tense situations. Maybe that’s why he leant more towards comedy than any other type of performance, maybe that’s why he’d always secretly wished he’d ended up in another team during his time in the show. Nevertheless, he was never really sure where to go next, what to do with himself when he was actually standing in front of Trophy like this.
His solution was always to just talk, and eventually most people grew annoyed or bored. Cheesy didn’t falter. He didn’t always understand how, when or why people didn’t react to his jokes the same way he did and wanted them to, but he had at some point realised that he wasn’t very liked. At least not as much as Cheesy would want to be. Why exactly, he couldn’t place. He supposed it was just something one would have to accept.

Trophy was different. He was different now. Cheesy didn’t know if he could’ve said the same thing a while ago, he barely knew his teammate then. But Trophy had changed, anyone could see that. And somewhere, Cheesy hoped he had too.

“It’s…”
Trophy paused, a moment of hesitation.

“It’s perfect, Cheesy.” And he truly meant it.

Cheesy beamed, clapped his hands and jumped once for dramatic effect, his cheers muted and disappearing in the wind. Trophy rolled his eyes, all in fondness, and decided to finally  take the last pictures they needed.

“Oh, man! Soap’s gonna be over the moon when she sees these!” Cheesy’s bright voice, normally soft and gentle, now ecstatic, called out.

Trophy felt satisfied, there were few things that enlightened the jock as much as achieving a goal. He had to agree, they had gotten some great photos.

“Heh, yeah, she is.” 

Not that Trophy had ever questioned his own ability, he knew his limits very well, and taking a few puny photos was no match. But the need to perform, to exceed the expectations, oftentimes than not lurked around him. It was mentally exhausting.
He was honestly glad Cheesy had followed him, even if he liked to pretend differently. Otherwise, Trophy wasn’t sure if he’d be able to take his mind off of it. 

A few minutes, a couple jokes here and there, some snaps from the polaroid camera as it printed the fresh photos and they were done.
But there was still something lingering in the atmosphere between them, both of them needing the moment to continue. It was too soon to just go back and call it a day, to go on about the rest of their days. They both expected something, but there was an uncertainty as to what exactly that was. 

Trophy tried blindly, ushering a conversation.

“How did you even find this place?”

The two boys begin to walk back, without saying anything. For the first time in a while, Cheesy looks blank. Not deep in thought, he never really pondered too much of anything. Such heavy thoughts would weigh him down, Cheesy liked to live in the present.

Cheesy blinks, brows knitted as he scanned the ground and kicked a pebble in front of him. He’d wandered around the island a couple times, stumbling upon the cliff late one Thursday when he’d have nothing better to do and he knew no one would be concerned enough to go look for him just yet.
Cheesy didn’t know how vulnerable he really wanted to be in front of Trophy just yet, so he forced a grin. Even so, a hint of his worries could still be traced on his face. In the corner of his eye, on the edge of his mouth. And if he hadn’t cleared his throat before speaking, his voice would’ve probably had a wobble to it as well.

“Went exploring one day, and just found it here. No one else was around. Pretty neat, huh?” 

Trophy raised an eyebrow, something in him seemed sceptical. Suspecting there was more behind the story, something else hidden in the dark. But he didn’t test or pry, he didn’t bend the subject further than Cheesy was comfortable with, and that was something Cheesy could appreciate.

“Uh huh. Yeah, that’s …pretty cool.” Though his tone wasn’t very convincing at all.

Friends, aqquantances, teammates and rivals. It was all complicated, far more than anyone would like. Trophy never cared much for it, he knew what he wanted and he would get it. The only time he’d ever talk more than necessary with others was if he could find some sort of use out of it, which more often than not led him more hated than liked.
Cheesy also had never cared much about others, he did his thing and let others do as they pleased and all was well in the world. Trophy was a jerk, he’s always been convinced of this and never tried to deny it. Cheesy’s happy, though it was a self-titled establishment. But all that aside, what did they really contribute with? As members of a team? As friends?

Neither of them had really ever had any luck in sociability, which is maybe why they found this odd comfort in each other. Part of them were so very alike, yet everything else about them seemed so far off. Maybe opposites really do attract.

Cheesy rubbed the back of his head, and looked down, the feeling of being stared down a little too much for him to handle. Trophy seemed to get the hint, or at least realise what he was doing, as he turned his head to the other side in an almost shy manner.

As they walked back, the sky had turned darker. The air was no longer crisp, but rather had an element of uncertainty in it.
Another huge cloud of rain had rolled in over them. The blue sky was gone, but it had taken some of Trophy’s self-doubts away with it.
Normally, Trophy would have seen a sudden emotional scene, especially with someone he didn’t know too well, someone he didn’t know how they would respond, as a moment of weakness.

But now, he didn’t. 

“You, uh…” He began, words falling short on his tongue.

What could he really say? How could he be sure this wasn’t a trick of some kind?
Cheesy would never do something like that, Trophy knew that and clung onto it. But the possibility of it was still there, present as ever, messing with his head. 

Maybe he should’ve waited for a better moment, maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut. But he couldn’t swallow his words now. And, because things never seem to go the way he wants anyway, Trophy spoke. 

“Y’know, I’m… sorry. For being a jerk to you before. You don’t deserve to be treated like that. By anyone.” 

He dwelled a bit longer on the last part, hoping to get his sincerity across even through his gritted teeth. His tone was cold, almost harsh, not because Trophy was intending to sound like that, but rather because he simply didn’t know any other way to be truthful than to cover it up in any way, shape or form he could.

As the sky grew darker, duller, greyer, so did Cheesy. He seemed to curl up on himself a bit, a shielding motion. But the smile didn’t crack, it simply watered down, and Trophy wasn’t sure if he made things better or worse.

“… It’s fine, Trophy.”

And suddenly, the air was as thick as tar. The hotel was viewable from their position now, a lone sore thumb sticking out on a huge, seemingly empty asides from themselves, island. 

Trophy felt his ears and cheeks grow warm and red, embarrassment over vulnerability swelling inside him. Though attempted to keep behind locked doors, it seeped out through the crack where the door and the floor didn’t reach each other. 

“Yeah, but, it shouldn’t be.” He tried to reason, as if he had to justify himself. 

Cheesy didn’t want to do this right now, he didn’t want to end things on a bad note when it didn’t need to. He reached for Trophy’s camera, and held it safely and secure in his arms when Trophy reluctantly gave it to him, confusion in his eyes. 

“Competition does that to people, Trophs. You can’t dwell on the past. Imagine if I still cared about all that, that would be a catas trophy .”

He smirked, and they both knew that the pun, if it could even be called that, was a clear aversion of the subject. But with the signals they were both sending, it was clear that this was no time for it. Trophy had to let it go. He sighed and gave Cheesy a smile that didn’t really reach his eyes. 

Cheesy held the camera up, and if anyone was standing in the window of the kitchen now they would’ve seen the scene play out by how close it was. 

“Wanna take a last picture with me?” 

And Trophy agreed, not sure what exactly that entailed. 

Cheesy pulled Trophy closer to him and, indirectly, brought him closer to the ground too. He pointed the camera’s lens towards the both of them, in a selfie-esque way. Trophy didn’t have the heart to tell him that his picture was most likely not going to turn out that well with how they were positioned, and instead simply humoured him. 

“Say cheese!”

As soon as the picture was shot and the click had rung out, the door to the hotel was slammed open. Trophy hadn’t even realised that they were almost inside, his surroundings seemed so far away as everything in his head spun.

The mop of bright ginger hair and the tan skin alerted the two blonde boys of just who was peeking out the door. OJ quickly caught sight of them, and pointed demonstratively inside. He was becoming more and more father-like, Trophy couldn’t help but chuckle.

“There you are. Get in, it’s about to rain. And I hate being diluted, ugh.” OJ commented as they walked past him, and Trophy heard the door close.

The warmth of the interior was far more pleasant than anything outside, especially seeing as both the weather and their conversation had begun to grow colder. Trophy eyed Cheesy warily, and something in them connected when their eyes met. 

It felt special, a moment of their own. What they did wasn’t influenced by anything, they’d simply enjoyed the moment for what it was. The simplicity of it was what brought them together, Cheesy shot a quick smile of acknowledgement towards Trophy before disappearing up the stairs, most likely destined to his room. Trophy didn’t stop him. 

Soap and OJ conversed in the kitchen, tones hushed once Trophy walked in, camera clutched in hand. 

He lazily threw the handful of pictures onto the kitchen table, Soap immediately throwing herself towards them. Trophy didn’t say anything, though OJ glanced towards him in interest. 

“Oh, these are great, Trophy! Thank you!” Soap exclaimed, and Trophy felt a genuine blush spread across his face. He didn’t take a second longer to bask in the attention. 

“It’s cool. No problem, Soap.” Trophy responded, having done enough talking and thinking for the day. 

He mumbled a hasty goodbye, and wandered out of the kitchen. Not sure where to next, Trophy pulled out the photo that barely had a chance to be printed before shoved in his pocket. As expected, the photo was blurry and out of focus, but still sharp enough to make out the general picture. In it, Trophy smiled, a grin that bared his teeth. Cheesy smiled too, a big grimace along with one hand out of frame, holding the camera itself, while the other was stretching out two fingers in a typical peace-sign. Trophy’s own hand was resting on top of Cheesy’s soft locks.

Trophy realised, today was fun. He wanted to do it again sometime, sometime soon. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week. Another day, sure. Another afternoon. Trophy could settle for that.

[4]

If there was one thing that brought the patrons of the hotel together, it was always one of two things. Food, and parties. Preferably both, at the same time.
According to the season 1 contestants, OJ used to throw a whole bunch of parties in the hotel. Over the course of the show, however, he and Paper both had deemed it too big and chaotic to do now. Trophy couldn’t blame them, but he also didn’t really mind it. Adding some social get-together to the already lively enough hotel was just another obstacle to pull through.

He wasn’t exactly perfectly fine and content with how things were, he rarely ever was. Calling Trophy hard to please was an understatement. But it was okay, he could manage. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, and he’d be lying if he said that his whole new situation hadn’t grown on him a little. He almost didn’t want to leave anymore.

Emphasis on the almost , Trophy was still bewildered and admittedly annoyed when OJ had called to a meeting. An obligatory meeting, nonetheless. With no way to get out or avoid it, Trophy could do little but just groan at Paper’s attempts at humour when they walked down the stairs towards the living room. The two of them were both glad that most others were already there, Trophy growing more and more irritated with Paper and Paper himself feeling more and more nervous with the jock. 

Trophy shifted, a prickling sense of uncertainty in his arms and legs. Everyone was doing something, up to whatever. Trophy felt uneasy, and gazed above everyone. Not quite knowing what he was looking for, but he had a feeling, somewhere deep down, of what it could be.
Apparently, Paper did too.

Trophy felt a light nudge on his shoulder. Not even a nudge, just a tap. Careful and gentle. With a huff, Trophy turned to a frazzled-looking Paper. The albino boy swallowed thickly, silently wondering how everyone always made him feel smaller than he really was.
Perhaps it was a lingering effect of the show and its impact on him, maybe that was just Paper for you. Thin and fragile, but he was one of the few genuinely kind-hearted people Trophy knew.
And Paper was anything but stupid. With a gentle smile, he pointed across the room. To the open door frame that led into the kitchen. Trophy’s focus shifted, his eyes landing on a now familiar, now associated with a feeling of safety, mop of blonde hair and a beaming smile. Trophy smiled stiffly, mostly out of politeness, towards Paper, before walking towards Cheesy. 

He didn’t like the way Paper seemed to read him like an open book. But he comforted himself with the fact that Paper was a huge fan of anything and everything romance, he probably just liked to play cupid. Hopefully.

And Paper just chuckled. He should’ve told Trophy off for his unneeded rudeness, he could’ve left him to do whatever. But he wasn’t blind, and sometimes, he just couldn’t help himself. He’d seen the two of them, an unlikely but pleasant pair. 

And indirectly pulling some strings wasn’t going to do any harm, right? Trophy was the type to need a little push.
Paper mentally slapped himself awake, the sudden feeling of responsibility over everything in the hotel often came to him at the worst moments. He quickly scurried off, his mind already elsewhere, his brain moving at a million miles per hour. If only he’d known what he and OJ would’ve gotten themselves into when they built this place.

Trophy stepped into the kitchen, the sounds of water boiling and pots and pans filling his ears with no warning. Although he was a bit taken aback by it, his initial shock was quickly replaced by a softness as he saw that it was only him and Cheesy in there.
He didn’t really let it happen, he didn’t mean to. Trophy was very secure about this wall he’d built, this front he’d put up and continued to put up for so many years. If anyone could hurt him, how could he trust anyone at all?

It was an eternal time loop, a paradoxical question that always had managed to stick in his head. It wasn’t logical or reasonable by any means, which also went against everything Trophy had ever stood for.

But just this once, just for Cheesy, he decided to let it resonate and echo within the walls of his skull and eventually, fade into nothingness. And maybe he hoped this time, things will be different than it had been before.

So, Trophy smiled brightly when he ruffled Cheesy’s hair. Rough and lovingly, and Cheesy let out a sound between a laugh and a yelp as he grabbed at Trophy’s hand.

“Ow, hey, man!” 

Cheesy’s laughter was high and rung out, clear and crisp as day.

Trophy eventually quit his roughhousing, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He laughed, under his breath - masculine, in his own eyes. And Cheesy cocked an eyebrow up, not hiding any amusement to the friendly action, but also not commenting on it. Acknowledging it could make things awkward, and Cheesy didn’t want Trophy to shield away and leave him there.

Cheesy just found himself staring up at his friend, an unremovable grin on his lips. Everything was warm, and fuzzy in his head. The sounds of others talking on the other side of the room, the stove and fan buzzing and making noise in the kitchen they were in while they simply remained quiet for the moment was nice.
Trophy’s smile peaked, and Cheesy wished he’d smile more often.

“What’s going on? Everyone’s like… everywhere. Soap was all panicky earlier.” 

Trophy rested his hands in his pockets, a looser action than he’d normally ever do. It was nothing huge at all, but it was noticeable if you reflected on it. Cheesy did not.

Cheesy poked on something in a pan, the sound of frying and hissing from the food gained Trophy’s interest.

“Oh, yeah. OJ wants us all to do something together, so we’re kind of having a party. I guess. I didn’t really listen.” He shrugged, and his curly hair bobbed when he moved.

Trophy mouthed an ‘oh’, and looked around as Cheesy turned his back to him. Well, this wasn’t Trophy’s favourite predicament. Truth is, he would like to do almost anything besides this right now.

He’d never been good at being social, the presence of others simply irritating him most times. He’d prided himself in being a loner, a winner. A prize and a figure for others to admire. What did he know of being friends with others? He’d never even wanted friends. Trophy was not a leader, not at all. He just liked to be one of a kind and he liked to be special. Was that really such a crime?

The sudden feeling of friendliness, a sense of community, catches them both off-guard. Trophy was suspicious, Cheesy welcomed it. 

They tend to mimic each other, always waiting for the other’s sign whenever they talk. Both unsure of what to really do, they only knew that they wanted to be close. It’s an awkward stage, right between strangers and friends. 
Unlike Trophy, Cheesy could admit to feeling helpless at times. He didn’t say it aloud, but he wouldn’t lie if asked about it. Not that anyone ever did, but you can only do so much. But they were still similar in the sense that they both put up a front.
It was only just now that Trophy could recognise it, and he wasn’t sure if wanted to accept it just yet.

“So… what are you doing?” Came a question, almost accusatory. Trophy didn’t mean to come off like it, but old habits die hard. 

Cheesy didn’t face him at first, initially misunderstanding the question for a fraction of a second, until he chuckled lightheartedly. 

“What’s it look like?” Demonstratively whipping the spatula in his hand.

Trophy couldn’t help but smile, instead of feeling embarrassment pool over him. And it was a nice change of pace.
He leaned against the surface of the table, the hard wooden surface dug into his side for a second before he repositioned more comfortably. 

The air was unfamiliar, a kind of atmosphere Trophy isn’t used to. It’s carefree, as if what he’d say didn’t really matter. Not in the bad way Trophy oh so often feared, but in the kind of way where he felt like he could do just about anything. 
Their conversation fell into a tranquil state, no real need for it to continue. But neither of the boys were like that, they were never quiet for long. There was an itching sensation in Cheesy’s head, a product of his lack of impulse control over the years. He wanted something to happen.

“You wanna help me out?”

Cheesy looked at him expectantly, once again having to coerce and drag Trophy along with him. It was tiring, always being the one to suggest and arrange and very few times getting the action in return. 
He was pleasantly surprised when Trophy seemed happy to humour him, eager to do so, in fact.

Cheesy side-glanced his taller friend as they stood next to each other, Cheesy’s head barely reaching over Trophy’s chin. Even then, Trophy slouched a lot. Cheesy could never figure out why. He’d pull at his shirt, walk slightly tilted forwards and stand in positions that would make one’s back ache just from looking at. He didn’t seem like the type to do so, but then again, there were many things Cheesy didn’t know about Trophy and vice versa.

Trophy certainly didn’t know that Cheesy, of all people, could cook. Maybe he should’ve taken into account how unpredictable he could be, or how the universe kept giving him surprises at every corner. 
But Trophy never did a job half-heartedly, and copied his friends' movements. It was like looking in a mirror for the both of them, only that one side was experienced and one side was not.
They didn’t really notice the sounds of the festivities outside of the kitchen dying down to chatter and mumbles, the only thing really taking space in their heads was each other.

Cheesy accidentally bumped into Trophy once, when reaching for a utensil, and only then did they notice just how close they were standing and just how little space there was between an embrace. But they quickly retaliated again, faces red.

“I never knew you could cook.” Trophy mumbled, as he cut up a vegetable in slices he deemed perfectly big.

Cheesy just huffed, in a more teasing mood than usual today.

“I told you, remember? When we were both up, middle of the night, a while ago?” He called back, their past conversations coming back to haunt them.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.”

Trophy hummed as he recalled it, he hadn’t actually forgotten about it at all. But pretending that he had felt better, not to their friendship, but to Trophy’s own insecurity. Maybe pretending that it wasn’t as important to him as it may be to Cheesy would make him out to be the cooler one, the better one, of the two.

Cheesy’s smile faltered for a moment, a quick look of hurt flashed on his face. And if Trophy would’ve been more observant, he would’ve caught onto it and maybe he would have regretted his words.
But he didn’t, and that left a sour taste in Cheesy’s mouth.

“…Oh.” 

An unwanted bitterness fell over them, quickly steering them south.

Cheesy had never been good at masking emotions when they came to him quickly, and Trophy could tell from the silence alone. He didn’t need to peek at Cheesy’s face, but when he did, his suspicions were confirmed.
Evidently, he should’ve picked his words better. He usually did, and the time he was caught off-guard, he’d manage to ruin the mood. 
Trophy’s verbal misstep caused a ripple in their synergy, and he quietly wondered why he was made this way.

His unease continued to build by the second, but before he could really spiral into his own thoughts, he was interrupted.

“...So…” It was drawn out, awkwardly so.

Trophy looked at Cheesy, and could almost not register the lack of enthusiasm. Almost. 
He’d forgotten how good Cheesy was at acting, and how quick he was to forgive. Too quick, for Trophy’s liking. But maybe that was just life when you didn’t have anyone that close to you. You’re quick to forgive, quick to do anything for an ounce of validation and self-preservation. 

It was a vicious cycle of desperation, and a pathetic one at that. And for once in his life, Trophy felt bad, because he knew just how it felt.

“Uh…”

His voice was shaky, though he didn’t really know why. 

A sigh escaped his lips.

“Sorry, I… yeah. Sorry.” 

Cheesy blinked.

Out of context, it was unclear what he was exactly apologising for. Cheesy was no mind-reader, after all. How could he tell what Trophy’s true intentions were? It was a strange situation he now found himself in, one that was way out of his zone of comfort. He weighed his options, tried to think of each possible outcome.
On one hand, he was a tiny bit hurt. Not a lie at all, but also nothing surprising. He supposed the feeling would come around eventually. He'd thought they were closer by now, friends. But a brick wall was still a brick wall no matter how you looked at it, or how many times you tried to break through it. Maybe he'd been too rushed, Cheesy was always quick to jump to conclusions. Always first to speak, always last to leave. 
But Trophy had apologised, and had been relatively quick to do so. There wasn't a hint of ill-will when he spoke. Though there was something else, a hidden meaning behind his words. As they both shielded, Trophy stared at Cheesy with an intense look and his brows furrowed without even realising it. It was apparent that Trophy had more to say, but the words got lost somewhere on the way between his brain and his mouth.

But instead of questioning and commenting, he just chose to take the apology the way he wanted to. Even if it wasn’t what Trophy was intended for. Cheesy nodded, and smiled, though it seemed superficial. Trophy wasn’t satisfied, but it had to do for now. 

OJ’s voice rung out through the building, calling the two boys to the living room once again.
Everyone else was there already, at least those who wanted to be there. Cheesy and Trophy walked by the wall, and found a spot where they weren’t crammed between two people. 

Microphone stood next to them, waving ever so subtly. 

“What have you guys been up to?” She asked in a whisper-like tone, and Trophy was glad her volume wasn’t up. If it had been, and everyone would hear, he would be too embarrassed to respond.

Cheesy chose to take the lead, upbeat as usual. Trophy glanced at his face, but the gaze wasn't returned. Maybe he shouldn't push it more than it already had been. Cheesy didn't seem to be in the mood for it.

“We’ve been making the food!” He slung an arm around Trophy, once again forcing him to bend down and adjust to the change in height. 

Mic snickered, and Trophy was glad she wasn’t as judgemental as most others. 

“Well, it smells pretty good. I bet you did a good job.” She jeered, crossing her arms above her chest.

The praise immediately went to Trophy’s head. He loved to preen and show off, Cheesy loved to perform. It was an unspoken motion, the two of them exchanged a quick glance. It was a bit awkward due to their position, but they quickly looked back at Mic and Trophy smiled such a cocky smile only he could pull off. 

“Of course it’s good, we made it!” 

Trophy could’ve said that he made it himself and be done, but he didn’t. Cheesy latched onto the sentence, replaying it in his head a couple times. It just made his heart warm. 

Of course, that was just because it was praise. Any praise or compliment would make anyone happy. This time it just felt different. 

The duo, now trio with Mic’s company, made their way to the kitchen. And Cheesy was happy and Trophy was okay and all was well in the world again, at least for the time being. 

Paper peeked in the kitchen as he briefly walked past it, not making a sound. He wasn’t trying to be creepy, but he saw the way Trophy and Cheesy had been looking at each other and it was just so painfully obvious. Everything was. 

He didn’t like to meddle and complicate things, but Paper would be lying if he said he didn’t find it amusing. He’d always considered himself a hopeless romantic, all things considered anyway. But they didn’t need to know that. 

He would’ve greeted them, started up a conversation. But it seemed like they were doing just fine on their own, and Paper wouldn’t dare to ruin their moment. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen either of them that happy. Then again, Paper didn’t know them that well either.

Soon, he hurried off, already wasted enough time standing around. OJ may need him somewhere. 

They should do things like this more often, despite the ruckus it caused. It really seemed to bring people closer together, after all. Nothing big, but just a small get-together. Another afternoon, maybe, Paper thought as he walked up the stairs and into the long narrow hallways of Hotel OJ.

[5]

Despite Trophy's recent thinking, and emotional disarray, things never seemed to really change around him. He'd changed, he'd claim to be a better person each and every day, but his surroundings always reminded him of just what boat he was sitting and sinking in. A constant reminder of his past and present, how much he despised this absurd game show he'd been reeled into and how he'd forgotten what life was like before it. He didn't know if that was a good or a bad thing, and Trophy wasn't about to start questioning it now.

It wasn't like he didn't try, it wasn't like he didn't want to change for the better. He had always been a perfectionist, any little flaw in his facade and he'd be quick to rush and fix it. But Rome wasn't built in one day, you'd say, and the road to change is a bumpy one. 

But it's the little things that matters. 
A mantra he'd had to cling onto, lest he'd lose his sanity with all his thinking. 

That still didn’t help him figure out what in the world he was going to do tonight, when seemingly everyone else was busy. That was also something Trophy’d realized, he really hadn't paid enough attention to the people around him until recently. It just hadn’t struck his mind to do so.
This fact only became clearer by the days, and Trophy realised he didn’t actually know his fellow ex-contestants as well as he thought, and, deep down, wanted to.
Trophy laid in his bed, head to the ceiling and eyes staring at nothing in particular. Zoned out, for a lack of a better term. He often felt stuck, stuck in the room he was forcibly given, stuck with a pest of a roommate and stuck in with people that drove his self-consciousness through the roof and beyond. And, even though he could, potentially, walk out of the building at any point given, never to return again, he didn’t really have anywhere to go. 

If boredom really was a disease, Trophy was suffering. In his hand was a tennis ball, one he’d brought along with his other equipment that just hung on the wall with no use. Skillfully and calculated, he threw it. It was a lame throw, went up about a meter before falling flat in his hand again, and the movement repeated. Each thud from the fuzzy green ball in Trophy’s palm was like a knife against a plate with how quiet it was in the room. Up, down, up and down again. Over and over.

Trophy supposed some days were just better off boring. He liked it better that way, anyway. 

After yet another thud from the sports ball, a particularly loud sniffle ripped through the quietness and Trophy was reminded that he wasn’t alone in the room. With a look of boredom, yet one filled with disgust, he glanced to his side. Trophy knew Tissues couldn’t possibly help his illness, and he of all people probably shouldn’t judge, but some things were just too hard to ignore and gloss over. He wanted to say he tried, but the sheer willpower it took not to comment anything made it impossible to not glare.

Tissues had been looking a little more awake recently, been out of their room more. Trophy didn’t ask, their conversations often fell flat and short of comfortable. But he pushed himself upwards, in a sitting position when his roommate, friend?, moved and fumbled around his side of the room.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and Tissues’ shot up. It had been anticipated, you could tell. Tissues rarely ever had this much colour on his face.

“Who’s that?” Trophy huffed, Tissues looked half surprised, half amused, eyelids halfway.

After a beat, one that gave the both of them a feeling of reversed deja vu, where the roles were opposite, Tissues snorted.

“Uh…” His gaze traveled to the floor, trailing off from words he didn’t utter. The question was answered by itself as the door opened, and a black and white haired head peeked in.

Trophy stared at the intruder, they stared back. It was an awkward position, and Trophy had never really gotten used to how Yin-Yang’s eyes could pierce one’s soul like that. It was scary, and weird, just like everything else about them. And just like Trophy, Yang was competitive. If Trophy wanted to make it a staring contest, Yang wasn’t going to budge.

It took a touch from Tissues for Yin-Yang to turn the other way, he whispered something to the other, Yin-Yang pulled a face and Trophy was left alone when they walked out and closed the door behind them. And that was that. Anti-climatic, and somehow made Trophy’s mood worse.

But it did give him an idea, hesitantly. He’d been very out of control with his thinking recently, thoughts swarming his head and seeping out through his mouth in the form of words he never really intended to say. And Trophy didn’t like it, because Trophy didn’t like to feel out of control, but he also didn’t feel like doing anything about it. His lazy side often got the best of him.

Trophy blinked, picked himself up from his bed and cracked his knuckles in the process. After that, he dropped to his knees with a thump, the sound muffled due to the eye-stinging orange carpet and Trophy’s sweatpants. Even though Trophy’s head was briefly swimming for a second, the result of laying down and then getting up too fast, he manages to stick his hand under his bed and feel around the floor surface, not stopping until he touches something familiar, and pulls out his old laptop. He rarely used it, the primary purpose of it was once schoolwork, but now he was well out of school, and he didn’t even study very often when he was younger.

It wasn’t like Trophy to poke around in old memories, his motto of never looking back at his past self went strictly against that. But as he dusted the piece of technology off, blowing off bits of dust gently, Trophy was set on giving the computer a new purpose. And, for once, Trophy smiled to himself, and realised he’d also been doing that a lot more recently. How odd.

Cheesy often didn’t do much either. Not because he didn’t want to, or that he liked silence. In fact, he absolutely detested silence, the pressure of the quietness weighing down his head like a lead balloon. He didn’t like to be quiet, and he didn’t like to be alone. But the universe seems to be cruel, because Cheesy most often found himself just that. Alone.
And, who was he to complain? If he couldn’t do anything about it, no matter how hard he tried, he could either give up or try harder. And Cheesy kept trying, nonetheless. While he didn’t need others to make himself known, to establish his identity, he needed their approval desperately to feel worthy. Cheesy wasn’t genuine or true or even kind in some of his words, though his intentions were. He just wanted to be seen.

Sad or not, he didn’t seek out others pity or remorse. That was just not him. He’d just shrug it off and mumble something and do the same thing the next day. Over and over and over, because a comedian couldn’t just quit in the middle of an act. And Cheesy wasn’t sure where the line between an act and his true self really laid, it seems blurrier than he remembered.

He was planning on either going downstairs, seeing if he could hop in on any activities with the other patrons of the hotel, or just stay in his room and read. He hadn’t chosen yet, his indecisiveness strong but leaning towards the latter option. So he opted for staying in his room, one that he was supposed to share with Apple before she’d ran off. At first Cheesy hadn’t been too bummed out of the lack of a roommate, a whole room to oneself wasn’t an offer you’d often refuse. But after a week or two, Cheesy realised that having someone near him might’ve been better for his psyche than he really had thought. Now, all he heard when he slept were the sounds of others in the hotel and his own irregular breathing.

Maybe he was thinking too hard about it, Cheesy thought. So he stopped, and just pulled up his phone instead, a fluorescent blue light spreading across his face at the click of the home button.

Then, there was a firm knock on the door, and Cheesy suspected just who was there. 

“Come in!” excitedly, not even daring to contain the smile creeping up on his features.

And the knocker didn’t hesitate, Cheesy chuckled heartily as his brown eyes, reminiscent of the same shade as henna, met Trophy’s hazel ones. Trophy stepped in, smiling. Not saying a word, and Cheesy doesn’t expect him to. They’ve found their dynamic and rhythm now, they knew each other well and they would move in sync to their heartbeats without realising when they spoke. It was natural, it came to them as if it was just as normal as breathing or blinking. Cheesy didn’t realise how much he needed someone to connect with, someone to feel safe with.

But they were still horribly awkward, months of build-up and years of baggage on each of their parts. If they sat down, and talked about everything and anything, they would probably sit there until their hair turned grey. It was certain that they both had enough on their plate, without adding the tenseness of their unlabeled and unspoken relationship to the mix.

Cheesy finger gunned, then scratched the back of his head stiffly. Trophy swallowed thickly, and drummed his fingers against the laptop in his hands. 

“Hey,” a delayed and unsure greeting.

“Hey, what’s up? What’s going on?” The response came, shooting question after question at Trophy in hopes of filling up the silent space between them with something, anything.

Trophy wasn’t good at giving, but he received. And he was glad Cheesy was the type of person to give instead of beg or demand. A question, an answer, and their conversations went on like that, a mindless routine that seemed to fit them both.

When Trophy didn’t respond immediately, Cheesy went onto the next topic, and Trophy’s closely hugged laptop seemed to pique his interest.

“What’s that old thing?” Cheesy chuckled, not realising his accusatory tone may come off as offensive.
He often doesn’t, he’d never understood the importance of tones and sarcasm in the right moments, hence why his humour leaned towards puns. They were easy, simple to understand.

Luckily, Trophy took the comment with a pinch of salt and snickered just low enough to barely be noticable. If Cheesy did hear it, he at the very least pretended not to. But he shot a quick look to Trophy for a millisecond, with no other purpose than to simply study his face a little.

“It’s my laptop.”

“You have a laptop?”

An eyebrow raised, teasingly, “of course I do, why else would I be standing here with one?” And to that, Cheesy just oh-ed.

There was a playfulness in how they spoke, every word pulling the conversational tug-of-war further, dancing on the thin line between friends and foes. Frenemies might be a more well-known term, but they weren’t enemies. They never had been, they had just been strangers. Unknown, unnoticed and uncared for. But misery likes company, and humans were pack animals deep down. Friendship was reciprocated when given at the right timing and when effort was put in, and Cheesy and Trophy were both desperate for a sense of community.

Suddenly, Trophy realised why he was there at all, and nudged his laptop open, the old screen turning on within a few seconds.

“Well… I was kinda bored so…” He began, not sure how to start or end without coming off as uncharacteristic to the persona he’s built up. 

Cheesy smirks, prodding him to go on, and once again Trophy is the one of the two who feels the smallest, and he wonders why their roles end up reversing this often. Maybe he’s got a few things he needs to work out himself, but not right now.

“...so?”

“Oh,” Trophy didn’t even realize he’d grown quiet. “I was wondering if you wanna watch a movie with me?” He says, too quickly for Cheesy to immediately process. But as soon as he did, he wasn’t slow to eagerly nod.

And Trophy didn’t know where to go from there, his plan hadn’t gotten further, the mental map he’d made had been scribbly and wobbly around the edges, so here he stood. It seemed like Cheesy also found himself in his predicament, but he quickly hurried for a solution. 

The beds in the hotel weren’t big, enough for one and a little extra space. But there weren’t many other options in sight and in private, and Cheesy had a small body frame anyway. 

Cheesy strutted towards his bed, motioning for Trophy to follow, which he did. Cheesy hopped up, pressing himself close to the corner, back against the wall, taking up as little space as possible. Trophy followed in suit, comfortably setting himself down between pillows and blankets and the tension in the air. It’s not a bad tension, and they don’t say much else. Just a few words here, an out of place laugh there, all out of politeness and the fact that they’re not really sure what to do. The lack of wrong was calming and alarming, both at the same time, and Cheesy decided to let it be.

It took a while to get the computer started, Trophy should’ve probably realised sooner that it would. But Cheesy patiently waited, softly looking from the screen to Trophy, and back to the screen again. When the inevitable opening sound came, and Trophy typed in his password he’d nearly forgotten, the air became a little easier to breathe. Any distraction makes it easier when you don't have anything else to do than look at the other. 

“So,” frisky and lively was Cheesy’s voice once again, something only he could pull off at any time and in any situation. Suggestive in his tone, but he isn’t actually. He just found it fun to test the water. “what movie were you thinking?”

Trophy fumbled, and his eyebrows knit as he scrolled through his computer, thinking about it hard. He comes to the conclusion that he has no idea.

“I don’t know,” blankly, and Cheesy giggled. A contagious thing. Casually, “got any recommendations? Favourite genres?”

Cheesy hummed, the gears in his little head turning and twisting. He’s not a fast thinker, never pretended to be one, despite how he sometimes came off. And even though the answer was obvious, and predictable as always, Trophy gives him a moment. After a beat, Cheesy grins.

“Comedy?”

“...of course,” but it wasn’t with a hint of sarcasm, rather something amusing. Fondness, Trophy realized. He’d grown fond of Cheesy, and he didn’t know how to feel, but something in him told him it wasn’t bad. And any more convincing wasn’t needed.

They scrolled through lists of stuff, some movies they’d both seen, some things Trophy had watched at one point and a lot Cheesy already had seen and openly commented on. Despite being a rather positive person in Trophy’s eyes, he was surprisingly critical. And had a keen eye for details, which was both impressive in one way and startling in another.
Having to settle for something, lest they sit there all night, which neither of them really minded all that much, the boys both agreed on closing their eyes and picking at random from the comedy category. The movie ended up being pretty okay-ish.

About an hour went by, the small screen was now close to the only light in the room as the sky had grown darker and the hotel was calmer. 

At some point, Cheesy had leaned onto Trophy’s firm shoulder, which Trophy had noticed when a soft curl of blonde hair had tickled his face and he looked down in annoyance. Not wanting to disturb the peace, he had yawned himself and placed an arm around Cheesy’s own shoulders.

If the latter noticed the classic old trick, which he certainly did this time, he didn’t say anything. You could wonder if he really was that bad at hints, or if he played dumb most of the time. With him, you could just never really be 100% sure. He wasn’t unreliable, just unpredictable, which sometimes made things even more infuriating.

It also made it all a thrill, neither of them knew where to go or what to do, everything just being built on their improvisation and casualty. This wasn’t part of the show, where it all had a meaning and a purpose. Trophy wished it had a purpose, but his fascination with his shorter friend was completely nonsensical, and he was sure Cheesy felt the same. At least he hoped so, he was hard to read.

And even though they couldn’t communicate well through words, the real intentions of their sentences distorted and warped through the layers of self-consciousness and hidden depths within them, Cheesy being wrapped and embraced by Trophy’s arms made him giddy and fuzzy, and suddenly everything was exactly the way it should be and he cursed himself for not making a move before. Granted, he couldn’t have known anything would have ever led to this, but he didn’t complain for a second.

Maybe, if they just stayed like this, it wouldn’t be awkward to pull away and retract back to their shells. Maybe, just maybe, they didn’t need to go away this time. That thought was scary, but oh so tempting.

A particularly funny scene played out, Trophy saw how close the movie was to ending, the little red progress bar filled him with nervosity. Cheesy snickered, Trophy felt his muscles seize in the way that they did when a person either laughed or cried. The warmth of his skin warming Trophy’s own cold fingers.

There was a trance in how they laid, an unsaid rule of ‘if we pretend not to notice the other, it’s not something to comment on’. When the screen faded to black, and the credits rolled in, the trance was heaved and the magic broken. 
They didn’t get up immediately, but Trophy felt a heat rise to his cheeks and ears and was quick to break the embrace. Cheesy didn’t immediately back down, but he withdrew just enough to make a statement.

It had been nice and they both knew it, the words were on the tips of their tongues, the space between them seemed to be so little yet so big. So close yet miles away, and there was still a long way to go.

“Uh,” Cheesy began, voice scratchier and just about a note deeper due to the extended lack of use. He wasn’t normally this quiet for this long. “Well…”

It dawned upon Trophy that he wasn’t in his own room, and that maybe he should leave before he overstays his welcome. 

He closed down the computer, muttering something about something and made a move for the door, until he halted.

“Hey,” Trophy turned to the voice, looking sheepish. Cheesy sat, hadn’t even had the time to get up or even reflect on anything yet. But he smiled, he seemed happy, and that was enough of an achievement to Trophy. “You know, this was fun. We should, uh.. do it again sometime?”

The phrase came out uncertain, like a question, and Trophy nodded, the muscles between his shoulder and his neck relaxing for what felt like the first time in ages. They needed each other's reassurance, yet they weren’t sure of anything. How in the world could either of them know what was the right thing to say? 

Trophy supposed it didn’t really matter too much in the end, since two wrongs most often make a right anyway. 

“Yeah, we should. I’d like that.”

The silence hung in the air for a bit, Cheesy balled his hands into fists for a second before stretching his fingers out again. And Trophy’s social battery had almost run out. 

“Next week?” it’s thrown out, almost with a touch of neediness. Trophy blinks.

“Huh?” came the dazzling reply.

“How about we do this again next week?” Cheesy explained, now hopping off his bed and onto the floor with a clumsy bang. He moved precariously, picking the skin at his fingers in hope of lessening his inner worries he knew he didn’t need to listen to, but did anyway. “It can be our thing, you know?”

And although Trophy didn’t really know, he liked the sound of that. He liked the concept of them and them only, doing something together, because it was just what he’d wanted but hadn’t wanted to admit.

“Okay, let’s do that.”

“...Great! Alright.”

The two nodded again, their sign of acknowledgement. And Trophy waved cheekily before leaving the room and closing the door. He left, his destination was his room and he just prayed that Tissues and Yin-Yang hadn’t decided to have another one of their sleepovers this particular night.

Cheesy stood for a minute, still as a statue, before he fidgeted with his fingers once again. And he didn’t contemplate more on the subject than he needed to, he never saw the joy in just thinking with no reason. If the term overthinker was acceptable, Cheesy was the exact opposite. Now was no exception, even though nothing was very usual about how he felt in the moment.

He presumed things had gone well, maybe a little too stiff, but it seemed like things weren’t gonna go any faster than this. He liked to rush in, head first, heart on his sleeve. But maybe that wasn’t gonna work this time. 

Oh well, Trophy had agreed to another one of these little movie nights. Cheesy hoped it’d turn into a habit, just so that he had an excuse to be close to him again. Emotionally and physically. 
They hadn’t gotten as far as to pin down an actual day or date, but Cheesy was sure that Trophy was very free all week. Another afternoon, Cheesy hoped, and he couldn’t wait.

[+1]

Cheesy had a habit of getting skittish and uneasy before his improvised stand-up shows he usually pulled off at the hotel, every other friday. Always have had and always will have that tendency. It’s not common knowledge per se, not even to those he considers his closest friends to him, but you could easily see it if you took the time to look. 
Picking at his skin, pacing the floor, biting at his lip until the skin was red and raw. The actions weren’t conscious and were very obvious to those who noted it, but, fortunately for Cheesy, anyone rarely did. He didn’t like to be viewed when not in his best spirit.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to perform at all, he most definitely did. Could never shut his mouth about it, it was just that important. But it never seemed to meet his expectations, never seemed to be like what he imagined it would and should be. People never seemed to find him that funny, no one really clapped all that loud.

So Cheesy would wonder why, as anyone would do. It was an inescapable chain reaction, it left Cheesy shaky and uncomfortable in his own element far too many times, under the surveillance of too many eyes on him. What was he doing wrong? What could he do better? Like a compliment sandwich, except there never was any kudos to him.

This time was akin to every other, except somehow, worse. Maybe because Trophy had actually agreed to watch this time, and Cheesy hadn’t wanted to reflect over it until minutes before he was supposed to start.

He was happy, he really was, but so very afraid of any kind of fault or flaw in his plan.
And that sentiment leaves him feeling numb.

He straightened his posture, rubbed his face with his hands for a solid couple of seconds. About how long it takes to shake off your negative thoughts, then he breathed in for just how long it took for new ones to form. 

Cheesy murmured, no real words, just a sound of distress. He never really got over his stage fright, when it was in front of people he cared about. The lifeless stare of cameras and lenses didn’t bother him too much, but there was something judging about a real human being's eyes, and the way you could tell when they lost their interest in you.

He stood right by the doors to the make-do room he usually performed in, after the whole ordeal of MePhone crashing into OJ’s hotel, the building just never really looked like it recovered. Parts of it were modern and new, high-quality in material, though the interior design colours and choices were questionable. But if you went a little too far in the back, walking around in places no one ever mentioned or spoke of, it seemed unfinished. Forgotten, in a way. Buckets of sawdust and lone planks were lying around, and this room was just in the middle of it. But beggars can’t be choosers, one would assume.

And due to the blonde being the universe’s punching bag, over and over and over again, he had the extreme and ironic luck of almost getting whacked in the face when the door was suddenly swung open.
Just barely backing away in time, Cheesy let out an “Oof!” as his back hit the wall and knocked some of the air out of his lungs. If he wasn’t awake before, he certainly was now.

Peeking out from the other side of the door, a golden mop of hair showed itself. One that Cheesy recognised a little too good. Trophy’s eyes both alarmed him and sparked something in him.

“Hey,” spoken a little too fierce, more unpleasantly harsh than Trophy had wanted. But he wasn’t pleased, anyone could see from a mile away. Cheesy shrunk, embarrassment written all over him. “What’s going on?”

The question was punctuated with a huff, in a tone that didn’t make for any nonsense. Cheesy knew he had to answer, even though he didn’t really feel like it.
Normally, he would've started a while ago. But now he’d left Trophy sitting there. Surely some others too, but they didn’t matter nearly as much to him at the moment.

Trophy studied the other boy closely, face softening, yet the intense stare not letting up for a second. Trophy has changed. Though it wasn’t the most visible thing, the way he would smile instead of getting defensive, or help out a little more often. Though thoughts were always going to be unheard, witnessed by his own ears only, it’s evident that something has changed, is changing.
Quarrels are quietly exchanged, their body language speaking the loudest of volumes. For once, Cheesy doesn’t plunge into conversation. His hands are still trembling, he has a hard time looking into Trophy’s gaze.
This was out of his zone, way out of his territory. Trophy’s irritation fizzled away as if it was never there to begin with. And really, it wasn’t. It was just merely a concern covered up with a scowl. 

Time is pressuring them, as something always was. They needed a reason to stop and think, needed a distraction from each other whenever they talked. 

Cheesy fumbled, “Uh…” and he starts making sounds before he can come up with what to say. Trophy stays quiet, fidgeting with his fingers so that he won’t lose his mind of all the tension. “I, uh…”

But nothing ever really comes, and Cheesy just sighed, slumping together and hugging himself tightly, an embrace that was never really that comforting at all. 
He doesn’t fall to his knees, he mostly lowers himself slowly, until he’s at a sitting position on the floor, in which he puts his hands around his knees instead. It’s not as dramatic as one would have thought, it’s a slow and incredibly awkward process in the quiet of the hallway. Especially to Trophy, who just watched with interest.

Serenely, Trophy sits down, just far away enough to give personal space. There’s a feeling of recall, familiarity in this exact position, but Trophy can’t remember what it is he’s thinking of instantly, so he brushed it off as unimportant.

Cheesy stares, like a deer in headlights, he’s constantly had that kind of ability. To look as pleading as possible, when he really wanted to.

Finally, “Gosh…I-I’m sorry, Trophs. I just…” half-finished thoughts pouring out, genuine and true to his words. He’s apologetic, enough bashfulness to spare and then some. “I’m just on edge today…”

Trophy hummed, the mood all too familiar but all out of place coming from Cheesy’s mouth. He’s not supposed to bear the same type of issues Trophy always found himself alone in, it was just not a real possibility in the taller of the two’s mind. 
Trophy doesn’t want to see himself in others, partly out of his entitlement to his own identity. He needed some kind of recognition to clasp onto, something that let him know he was someone and he was unique and special. Who would he be if he didn’t have some kind of identifier? Completely different, or no one at all? He didn’t want to think about it, and he didn’t want to find out, the possibility of ruining the persona he’d built up for years was too big and too risky.
And, frankly and furthermost, he doesn’t want anyone else to go through what he has and is. Trophy doesn’t want to share his innermost damage with anyone, the experiences of simply trying to be someone he never was. He doesn’t want to change anymore, he doesn’t want to go through it all or to see someone else do.
Plain and simple; he doesn’t want to relate to anyone, and he doesn’t want anyone to relate to him.

But he couldn’t possibly stop it from happening, no matter what his wishes were. So Trophy tries to comfort and condone, though he doesn’t know how.

“...It’s fine, man. We all have bad days,” attempted, and hoping it gives the kind of reassurance that is needed. Trophy smiles urgingly, but quickly frowned anxiously when Cheesy groaned into the fabric of his own clothing.

“Well, yeah. But I really wanted to… I don’t know,” he trailed off, words too small to fit his frustrations and just grabbing at the closest synonyms he had in his vocabulary. “I was just glad you were here and I was nervous and…” the rest of the sentence falls flat, unsaid but implying more than enough.

Trophy’s flattered, almost flustered.

“...You were nervous because of me?”

Cheesy doesn’t look at Trophy, he just continues to buffer and sputter.

“Yeah! Of course I was! You’re…” he lags, now sensing the change in aura. Hot redness floods his face, but he doesn’t back down now. “...you’re special to me, Trophy.”

They’re friends, they realise, as they sit and stare and wonder what the other could possibly see in them. All of their meetings built on compromises and adjustments, going from unplanned to a need in their everyday life. 
They never understood what to make out of each other, they’ve never gotten the full story or context as to how things ended up the way they did. Bits and pieces were there, but that was it. Neither of them really craves solidarity, they’ve always been okay with doing their own thing, but this was nice. Company was nice, it turned out. 

It was a situation of give-and-take at first, now they were both silently waiting for the other to speak up first, equally distressed. 

Eventually; “…What do you think?” 

Trophy is confused by the statement, and Cheesy waits for a moment before continuing, the obliviousness in Trophy’s stare uncharacteristically agitating him.

“About me? About… us? What… What are we?” The confusion has been too much for too long, unclear signals and unreadable expressions overbearing for Cheesy. 

He wished Trophy was more straightforward, as bad as it sounds. A straight answer was what he was requesting over and over. And time and time again, he’d receive mixed messages and tenseness.

And that was how Trophy is, he knew that. But when reaching the limit, some things were just too hard to look past. They’re once again reminded of how different they are in nature, and Trophy doesn’t know what to say.

Because he doesn’t really know, but he knows he has to say something.

“…You’re my friend, Cheesy,” said with trepidation. Cheesy beamed, almost nervously, as if he looked hard enough he could tell whether or not Trophy was lying. “I like you.” 

Everything was stale, but slowly opening up. They couldn’t say anything for sure yet, but this was as close they were gonna get, and Cheesy could settle for it.

“Like me as in…?” The implication was appropriate, Trophy supposed, but it was still embarrassing to hear. 

“I don’t know. I just… like you.” He ended. It got quiet for a few seconds after his last word. “Okay?”

Cheesy nodded; “Okay.” 

Trophy cleared his throat from something that was intangible, and got up with ease. He held out a hand, slender and thin, to Cheesy, who grabbed it with his own soft one. He heaved the other up, now standing upright in front of each other. Trophy looked down, Cheesy had to look up, and their eyes met. 

The jock put his hands on the shoulders of his friend, the sudden movement catching Cheesy off-guard. But Trophy smirks, and Cheesy smiles, dumbfounded. 

They’re not really at their best here, in this place, at all. There is so much more, so much else, that they both want to do and experience. And if they’d gotten to choose sooner, they would’ve probably left and never spoken to each other more than the little they did while competing.

But being stuck in compromising situations lead to strange things, and bonds being formed were nothing new here, from their own and others experiences. 

Unknowingness does a whole lot of bad, but luckily, they are both open for another perspective. They’re willing to get to know each other, to lean onto each other for support.

“Alright, I know you’re nervous,” Trophy begins, voice loud and steady, Cheesy hums in agreement. “But I want you to go on that stage and do the best show you’ve ever done.”

He whispered the last part, leaning in close to Cheesy’s ear, mostly for dramatic effect. Grabbing his frame with ease, holding him tight in what seems like an iron grip to Cheesy. 

And despite the silliness, and the absurdity of it all, Cheesy just laughs, because what else can he do? 

He wanted to be good to Trophy, he wanted to be good for Trophy. If he wanted him to succeed today, Cheesy would do everything within his ability to do exactly as asked. 

He nodded, jokingly, but the genuine happiness was abundant. 

“Alright, just for you.”

With a firm nod, a smile that slipped on his face, Trophy let go of Cheesy and let him dust off his already perfectly clean clothes. 

Cheesy opens the door to what is a small ‘backstage’, looking at Trophy, shining as always. Trophy doesn’t follow him.

“I’ll be in the audience,” he mouths, and Cheesy just nods, and Trophy is gone again. 

Cheesy swallowed, though nervosity was still coating his vision, he felt enlightened. Boosted, his adrenaline pumping through his veins. The sensation is similar to that of waking up after a splash of cold water in your face. 

They were getting there, slowly but surely. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even another afternoon. But sometime in the future, they were going to get to the point where things would no longer be hard to say. Where Cheesy could look at Trophy, and not feel the need to impress and sway, trying to meet unknown expectations.

But that time was not now, and right now Cheesy was going to go on to give the best he could. And Trophy would be waiting for him afterwards, because he knew he would do that. 

Things weren’t so bad, after all. Not ideal, never ideal, but good enough. Cheesy could settle for halfway, as long as he got this chance he was now given. 

If Trophy wanted him to give them the best show he could, Cheesy would do his best. And everything would be okay and he would be fine and they would continue on with their journey to who knows where. Cheesy takes what he can get, Trophy has given all that he can in the moment.

More isn’t needed, nor requested. 

Cheesy promises that he’ll give it all he’s got.