puckandpie | (no subject)

It's not a date. It's not. I know it's not. I don't even know if Simon likes guys at all so there's no reason to believe this could possibly be a date.

Unfortunately, my nerves are having a difficult time remembering this and by the time we reach DIA, I'm fidgeting and babbling more than I ever thought possible. My skates are slung over my shoulder and I keep switching my helmet from one hand to the other and I'm deep into the story of how I'd scored that goal against Yale back at Samwell and meeting Bad Bob Zimmermann and how well Jack and I had played on the ice together even if it'd been clear he wasn't too happy with having to skate with me. Remembering Jack's bad attitude is somehow a good memory these days even if it makes me ache in a way I have a feeling will never really go away. He'd gotten better once we'd played a few games together and, if nothing else, he's my teammate, a fellow Wellie, and I have no doubt, even now, that somewhere back home he's still fast on his way to graduating and, hopefully, making it back into the NHL. I know he's good enough, we all know he's good enough.

Hopefully he doesn't let his past demons overrule him ever again.

"Anyway, we were on the same line in the game I was playing just before I got here," I tell Simon as we climb the few steps up to DIA. I really can't seem to stop rambling. "We had a play all planned out and then I got checked into the boards, hit my head pretty hard. When I woke up, I was on the train platform here."

I hold the door open for Simon and wave at Wendy, one of the few women who works the front desk for the pool before heading toward the rental counter. "I had a concussion, too. I'm a lot better now, though. What size shoe do you wear?"

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Bitty laughs at me, and it instantly makes everything better. It can't be so terrible if he's laughing, and I lean into him and tug my other foot free, drifting towards the edge of the rink. "Too many things," I admit, adding, "Not people. I've never hurt anyone on accident. Even when I'm not in control, my magic shields people."

I stop against the wall of the rink. "That's how the Mage found me at the care home. I was eleven and I had a nightmare. When everyone woke up, the care home was a smoldering hole, and everyone in it besides me was streets away."

I grimace, remembering. "I did melt my bedroom wall the other day."

Keeping close, I follow Simon to the edge of the rink, a little disappointed to have to let go though I know it has to happen sometime. It's easy not to dwell on that at all though as he answers my question, my eyes growing wider and wider with every word.

"Oh my gosh," I breathe. "That's... honestly, that sounds terrifying. I can't imagine destroying a whole building with a nightmare or, or... melting a wall. You really are powerful, aren't you?"

Thing is, if I'd met Simon back home, back at Samwell, I'd probably just think he's crazy with all this stuff. But after being in Darrow for months now and meeting ghosts and werewolves and Harry Potter, not to mention actually seeing a little bit of what he can do, I know he's telling the truth. And it's... goodness, it's impressive. All I can do is bake a few pies and land a really nice double Salchow.

"I'm glad there's a shield! I can't imagine just accidentally incinerating people. Oh! I wonder if this means you could heat up a pie just by touching it!"

"I am," I admit, because the longer we know one another, the more obvious it will be. There'd be no point in hiding it even if I wanted to. "I'm just crap at controlling it. I could heat a pie though," I say, smiling again for his enthusiasm. "Any mage could with some like it hot." I say the words carefully without magic.

"We could try it sometime. But on a pie you're not sure about first, just in case I catch it on fire. I'd feel bad if I wrecked one you worked hard on."

As young as he is, I imagine there has to be some way for him to learn to control it eventually. It probably just takes years and years of practice and maybe the sort of dedication like Jack with his hockey or Derek with his cooking. He's also probably already considered that himself so I keep it to myself for now, laughing a little as I shake my head.

"The good news is, it'd just be a pie. Not a building. But if you're really worried, we could try it first with just a cookie -- I can make those in my sleep."

Glancing down at his skates briefly, I cock my head as I look up at him. "Do you wanna call it a day on the skating or go around a few more times? I know, uh. Last time you said something about going to catch dinner. We still can if you want, if that's not too weird after everything."