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Flame wasn’t the brightest academically, he could admit that. No matter how hard he tried, he’d end up getting just average scores. Not bad, but not the best either. He didn’t really mind, though. He’d gotten used to it early on. Academics was a suit made best for someone else, just not him. Instead, he excelled in everything sports.
It just made sense. Getting straight A’s wasn’t in his body’s chemistry, but totally kicking the other team’s asses in soccer was– And it wasn’t just exclusive to soccer; He branched out, tried basketball, volleyball, anything of the sort.
‘Flame– Try-hard at any sport he can get his hands on –Frags’, was what Parrot and Theo had coined him as. A couple other batches of students used the same nickname, as being good at every sport possible gains you a pretty big reputation. Again, he didn’t mind. The popularity only urged him on, drove him to be better. To be the best. Being less than wouldn’t do, not even a little.
The traction also may have or may have not given him a slight rush and boosted his ego. Nope. Definitely not.
There was one thing he was good at that did actually require thinking, and he had only recently discovered it during a Thursday game night by absolutely destroying Wemmbu in it. (Although, looking back, maybe that wasn’t as big of an accomplishment as he'd thought it was.)
Chess. Yes, chess. If you had asked him a couple of months ago, ‘Flame, do you see yourself playing chess and actually enjoying it?’, he would’ve laughed his ass off at the mere thought of it.
But now, he’s currently sitting at yet another Thursday game night with a chess board in front of him, handing people’s asses to them left and right without breaking a sweat. Flame thinks it’s the familiar competitive spirit it carries that brings him such joy.
He’s just completely annihilated some dude before seeing a human sized flash of bright fucking yellow sit down across from him in the corner of his eye.
Glancing up from the board, he locks eyes with a guy who could only be described as an extreme yellow connoisseur– Considering how the man’s donned a yellow sweater matching his eyes and the golden laurel wreath sitting nicely upon his brunette hair– with probably the sweetest smile he’s seen on anyone. He can’t help but smile back.
Said yellow connoisseur reaches over the board, presumably for a handshake. Unfortunately he doesn’t lift his arm high enough and knocks over the pieces Flame had just rearranged nicely. He mutters a quick apology, before attempting to fix them. More pieces end up knocked over.
“Oh my god.” He curses. Flame snorts.
Poor dude, Flame thinks, he doesn’t know he’s about to get trounced on.
–
What. The. Fuck.
Flame expected to beat this guy in one match, maybe two, before he left and went to play with someone else. He did not expect for him to be the one getting beaten in under ten moves, and he did not expect for their time playing against each other to span over five matches.
Worst of all, he was the one asking for a rematch over and over again. He felt like a clingy ex begging to get back together with whoever.
Flame takes a careful, deep breath when his king is taken once more. He is not a sore loser. Yet.
“Again.” Assuming from the worried look on the dude’s face, he must look like a madman getting ready to devour the chess pieces. When Flame begins rearranging the board, he does contemplate eating the other side’s pieces. At least that’ll give him an advantage.
Once again, he is bereaved of another win after an incredibly embarrassing play that might’ve included not realizing that his king was in very clear view of a bishop.
It doesn’t take very long for Flame to figure out that his opponent has started going easy on him. He notices this when he rubs his chin in exaggerated musing, making horrible moves on purpose.
Even so, Flame loses. How in the hell. The culprit opens his mouth. Another match starts.
“Maybe we should call it wra-” Another king of Flame’s is taken.
“FUCKIN’ DAMNIT.” In the process of his mini spasm, Flame slams his knee on the lip of the table. Wincing and murmuring more curses under his breath as he rubs his knee.
“Oh.” The guy blinks, then blinks again, biting back a laugh. Grabbing his backpack off the ground, he slings one of the straps over a shoulder and prepares to leave. “Uh, see you next Thursday?”
Flame squints. A grumble comes out. “Fine.”
–
Lomedy, he had learned, was the guy’s name. According to what Parrot said in response to Flame’s tangent about the yellow loving guy.
“He’s like, the nicest dude on campus.” Theo had added in, unhelpfully. Tapping away at his keyboard in suspicious patterns that’d only occur if you were playing a shooter game and not studying.
“Dude, how are you opps with the sweetest guy ever?” A monotone voice chimes in, this one belonging to Egg, who was actually working and holding a pencil in an oddly elegant way solely Egg could pull off.
Apparently Flame has one-sided beef with the personal sweetheart of this college. Fun. “Lmao, how do you have beef with someone who's in the gardening club?” Wemmbu asks, and Flame resists his– what seems to be daily– urge to punch the man.
Minute speaks up after practically what seemed like decades, pausing his diligent work. “Did you just say ‘lmao’ out loud?” Wemmbu ignores him and, annoyingly, like everything Wemmbu related, continues pressing further on the matter. “Seriously, what is this all about?”
Parrot hums. “Yeah, you kinda just described him and did not tell us anything about what he did, dude.”
Furrowing his eyebrows, Flame scowls. “Bro, he beat my ass in chess last night.” The library goes silent, besides the sound of Egg’s pencil scratching against paper, and then erupts in laughter. Flame wants to shoot someone, maybe himself.
Onwards from that point, Flame blocks out the rest of the conversation. He looks around the library, going from face to face. What was meant to be a study group ended up becoming some sort of– Huh, what could he even describe this as.
In the back of Flame’s head, he had neatly separated the group into two categories. One, the actual studiers. Two, the bums.
The first group consisted of Minute, Egg, and Parrot. An embarrassingly small list compared to the latter, which consisted of Wemmbu, Theo, Mane, Mapicc and Spoke. Both groups purposefully did not include him as he did not wanna think about which category he landed in.
Frankly, he does not know why Spoke and Mapicc decided to join. The two barely show up anyway, instead settling on finding victims for whatever schemes they conjured up in their sick, twisted minds. A grimace forms itself across Flame’s face just thinking about them.
Parrot perks up. “Oh, are you going to the next game night then?”
–
Undoubtedly, Lomedy is the nicest person ever. Flame concludes when he says he donates to charities and volunteers at animal shelters over a game surprisingly lasting longer than what Flame expected. The latter is the part that interests him though.
Animals were one of Flame’s very few weaknesses. He has a dog himself. A boy named Ashen who most of his savings go to, and meals always go to him first. Lomedy is immediately infatuated with this fact once it stumbles past his lips.
“Bro, you have to let me see him.” He declares. Well, not before putting Flame in the most gruesome checkmate. A tired sigh leaves his lips as he moves to put the pieces back in their original positions. He couldn’t tell if he was tired from getting dogged on, or the alarming amounts of caffeine he took last night to cram in an essay four hours before it was due. “Alright, dude.”
`
Eyes the colour of dandelions glisten and Lomedy is practically beaming with joy. “Really? Can we go now?” His tone is similar to that of a kid’s when they see a candy shop and start tugging at their parent’s pants. Flame looks down at the board, and decides he doesn’t wanna take another loss tonight.
So they wrap up, tucking the board and pieces back into the box. Afterwards, they head to Flame’s car.
–
When they arrive at his house, Flame immediately makes a beeline for his couch; Flopping onto the warm comfort of the fabric and throwing his bag somewhere on the ground. Lomedy, on the other hand, goes straight for a barking Ashen despite the canine not recognizing his scent even in the slightest bit. He lets out a sigh that gets swallowed by the couch.
Sitting up, Flame expects to see Lomedy getting mauled to death. Instead, he sees Lomedy channeling his inner animal whisperer– Because for some reason, rather than attacking Lomedy, Ashen is on his back happily receiving bellyrubs from him. Flame rubs his eyes, expecting for the sight to morph into something different. Never once in his life has he ever seen his dog acting so joyful with a stranger.
Last time when he introduced Wemmbu to Ashen, Flame had to rip him off before he nearly mutilated him permanently.
He’s about to open his mouth to say something, until he sees someone emerge from the kitchen. “So you're just inviting random people into our home?” Mane says, which comes off not like a question, more like a scolding.
His eyes meet a not-very-happy Mane. Then slowly go back to Lomedy who's also looking at the not-very-happy Mane, fingers still unconsciously brushing through Ashen’s fur. “He’s a friend from college.” Mane does not seem pleased with this reply, eyes narrowing.
“How long have you known him?” He asks, acting as if Lomedy currently wasn’t in the living room with them.
“..Two days?” Flame answers, getting the memo quickly.
Silence begins, then drags on.
He’s the first to break it, “Okay, bro, you’re acting like I brought him here to make out.” a squeak leaves Lomedy as soon as he hears that. “Well, are you?” Mane responds, flatly. Another squeak comes from Lomedy.
“Bro– What? No?” Flame hears his voice go up in far too many octaves, and he feels heat briefly rise to his cheeks. Both must be evident. “Huh.” Is all that Mane says, taking one last look at him and Lomedy, before slowly turning around to return to his bedroom.
Flame groans, hands running down his face. “Sorry, bro,” The apology is muffled by his palms. “That was my brother.” Lomedy laughs with a light shake of the head. “Nah, it’s fine.” Flame can almost make out the slightest pink painting the tips of his ears.
They sit in comfortable quiet accompanied with the sound of Ashen’s pants and the coos of adoration from Lomedy.
“Wanna play online chess?” Lomedy abruptly says, already slipping his laptop out of his bag.
“You’re on.”