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Courts and Forts

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Following that god damned awful shooting he started (and ended) in the alleyway.

His reasoning?
A girl was being harassed.

Which is... valid, right…?

 

Spring.

 

That time of year. Normally, no matches are held around this season.

‘Rest period’, they say.

So, now, Pico is a lonely man.

 

A lonely man in spring.

Until someone sits beside him on the bench, anyway.

It isn’t the familiar smell of lighter oil of Darnell, or flowers which were Nene’s.

 

It wasn’t the familiar smell of a severely tapped out rapper.

 

“You’re Pico, right?”

 

It isn’t the nasal tone of Keith’s voice.

It isn’t Nene’s, or Darnell’s.

It’s Girlfriend’s voice.

When he looks beside himself, he sees her attractive form.

 

She’s wearing a light, flowy dress.

 

“Good day, isn’t it?”

Her voice is something he’s slightly familiar with, it’s all kinds of soft and gentle and nothing like his.

 

“Mhm.”

 

“I’d like to thank you, Pico.”

She slides closer to him, much to his slight annoyance.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because your presence makes Keith open up. He’s constantly finding out more things about himself.”

“So, an awakening?”

 

When Lynn giggles, a chime rings in Pico’s head.

 

“Oh and, he made something for you.”



5 pm, the next day.

 

Pico decides to bring a few flowers he picked on the way to the courts.

(They’re crushed in Pico’s sweat and gunpowder and motor oil, so they remain in his pockets.)

 

He sees a slouched figure sitting on the wall wearing a red cap.

It’s the nerd from a few weeks…

Weeks?

Whatever.

 

The twink who asked his name in the coffee shop.

Keith.

 

“Yo, dude.”

His own voice –

Pico likes to think of it as a double-edged sword.

(Yes, it’s deep, but it places a slight strain on his throat.

Or maybe that’s from the cigarette pack he’s been flipping on his fingers.)

 

“Dude.”

He calls out, looking up at Keith, who hasn’t looked at him.

 

The bottle of soda in his hand is cold. 

It is a knife that pierces his hands that have felt blood, but there’s room for more feelings, right?

 

(To Pico, the rapper in the courts is Boyfriend. Outside courts, he’s Keith. That’s it and that’s that. In an alternate universe, Keith’s his, and he’s Keith’s.)

 

To Pico, Keith’s performance was good. Maybe outstanding, but definitely good.

Probably the perfect mixing material.

 

“Keith.”
Pico calls out again, as he climbs up the wall.

 

“P..Pico!”

 

Pico sighs softly, as he prays to god he doesn’t get a heart attack,

If the way his name spilled out of Keith’s lips wasn’t cute, then what was?

 

Pico’s sweaty, gunpowder-smelling hand twitches, as he holds back on carding it through his hair.

 

“Keith.”

 

His voice drops to an even lower octave, and god, Keith looks so damn cute as his cheeks are covered with red.

 

Pico notices the way Keith’s right hand folds a notebook.

He decides to hand the glass bottle of soda, placing his gun down and pulling out a bottle opener.

 

“Soda?”

 

When he opens the bottle for Keith, he decides to be the opening government.

“Girlfriend said you made a track for me.”

 

“H-Huh?”

 

“Girlfriend said you made a track for me. What’s the deal?”

 

He sees Keith smile to himself, and then an answer.

“... I made a track for you, that’s the deal.”

 

Pico’s nails tap against the top of the wall.

The idea of Keith slaving over music amuses Pico to a degree.

 

“A track?” 

He chuckles a genuine contribution.

 

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

The nickname comes out much more fluid and smoother than Pico had intended – like he’s said it in the past.

 

Pico swipes the mp3 player from Keith, swiftly pulling out the headphone plug.

 

He reads out the name on the screen, then he snorts.

Those snorts turn into giggles.

 

“H-Hey,”

Keith looks at him with eyes that are almost pleading.

“I didn’t know what to name it!”

 

“Very creative, Keith. Very.”

Pico feels his fort of toughness is cracking.

 

According to Nene, that’s… good?

 

Now, he doesn’t expect anything from this badly named mp3 file.

 

What he doesn’t expect is a good beat.

A good lead.

 

Something so good to come out with the name so stupid like “Pico”.

 

He feels a smile grow, and then-

His arms move.

 

“Dude-”

Keith’s beside him, almost placing his head on his shoulder.

“This shit slaps!”

When he gets home, he build a pillow fort, and dreams about Keith and Keith alone.

Keith being with him.

Keith loving him.

Just… Keith .

The next time Pico sees Keith in person is in the alias of Boyfriend, three months later after their rooftop moment, and 2 months after the wall.

Pico stands straight (woah.) as he faces Boyfriend.

Good to see him.

 

His fingers grip his gun.

 

(His tracklist goes like this – Pico.mp3, then Philly(Nice).mp3, and then the big package…. Blammed.mp3! Carefully curated by his best friends, Ms. Knife and Mr. Fire.)

He feels something up his back as he faces Nene and Darnell in the crowd (the latter of whom is flipping him off very… affectionately.).

Pico very nearly sputters on his first line of lyrics he worked on for Pico.mp3.

Namely, hyping himself up.
He almost sputters because he realizes why he felt something on his back – it was a set of eyes looking at him.

After Boyfriend beats Pico, he’s somewhat proud of the guy, so he walks over.

 

“Good job, Boyfriend.”

He smiles a genuine smile.

 

Boyfriend’s hand is clammy and sweaty, but it’s something Pico already expects.

 

(Pico wants to hold his hand, he wants to hold it so tight Keith would want to let go. He wants to hold it, forever and ever, because he wants Keith so bad that it’s almost numbing.)

 

September 16th. 

Their scheduled meetup rang in the back of Pico’s mind.

 

Darnell was in the kitchen, cooking up something, which is a neutral idea, considering his... thing with fire.

Nene’s probably somewhere, fawning over… whatever the hell pink thing she has.

 

He ‘reviews’ his dreams.

His dreams to hold Keith’s hands. Underneath long jacket sleeves, underneath snowy days, underneath the warmth of a blanket.

He dreams of holding Keith. Holding Keith in his arms.

Holding Keith in general.

 

He’d fit right in the cave left by his past.

 

Pico flushes, as he thinks of how Keith’s hands would bunch up the sheets when-

 

Faint screaming from downstairs, as Pico grabs his pistol to ward off the blush on his cheeks.

 

“Piiiiiico! Is this your boooyfriend?!”

 

“Huh?”

 

When Pico gets downstairs, his dreams flash on his eyelids as he blinks.

Dreams of wanting to protect Keith from all danger.

Dreams of wanting to live a somewhat normal life, a relationship, with Keith.

 

(Dreams of being Keith’s.)

 

“What? No. He’s the sound nerd I told you guys about.”

Pico spins his gun and clears his throat.



“She’s Nene. He’s Darnell. Don’t remember their names, you’ll get sick of it eventually.”

 

And then, they mock him as he sits by his set-up.

 

Next thing he knows, his fingers are flying over keys and all four of them are criticizing and building an efficient mix.

 

Pico loves seeing his friends happy.

 

He really does.

 

Somewhere in Blammed.mp3, a comment from Keith caused Darnell to grab a jug of water and hand it to Pico, as Nene laughed. 

 

“Drink some water, man.” 

 

Darnell quips as Pico raises an eyebrow. 

 

“It’s not that raspy yet.” 

 

“Yet.” Nene remarks as she continues playing with Darnell’s rings.




Saturday morning.

It’s one of those mornings where Pico tries his hardest to stop thinking of Keith when he spots stacks of blueberries and light blue cotton candy in the streets.

 

It’s one of those mornings where he tries his best to not think of him, and his stupidly cute blue hair, and that childish red snapback, and that stupid ‘prohibition’ shirt.

It’s so fucking… stupid how it’s so him.

 

So when Pico bumps into Keith at 9 in the morning, he steels his nerves when he notices the blush on the other’s cheeks.

 

Like the lovestruck asshole he is, Pico helps Keith carry the groceries back to his home.

 

“You okay there? You were kinda flushed by the grocery, so I helped ya.”



Pico’s mind supplies him with dreams.

Dreams of him kissing, and being kissed.

Dreams of him holding Keith so close to himself he wouldn’t even be sure if either him or the other were sick.

 

Dreams of ripping off that stupid snapback and running his fingers through Keith’s hair as he kisses down his neck and-

 

“T..Thanks..”

 

Pico picks up on Keith’s shaky exhale.

For a moment, he feared his dreams appeared through his eyes as he walked away.

 

Nene, and Darnell, like the model best friends they are, give him very shitty love advice under a pillow fort.

 

Like, man handle the guy.

Which is a bad idea.

 

Drive the guy to completion.

Which is… 

Yeah.

Don’t consider that.

 

Pico receives a text from Lynn later, at 2 in the morning.

“Thank you for hauling his sorry butt home! He gets caught up in his thoughts sometimes!”

 

He leaves her on seen.

 

Pico’s phone falls onto his face when her next text comes through.

 

 

“I’m unfortunately unable to hang out with Keithy on another Friday, so is it okay if I ask you to take my place? He just really wants to talk to someone, and I think you two are pretty close.”

 

Pico accepts, with a dull pain on his nose and cheeks.

 

Two Fridays pass, and Lynn’s out of town, out commission, as Pico likes to put it.

It’s fall, this time, as he watches Keith do his morning routine, and possibly figure out that he’s downstairs and by the park.

 

Smoke lines from a cigarette can only go so high.

 

Pico thinks about Keith.

What he does in the mornings (wake up, get hot chocolate, tidy the bed, and do miscellaneous stuff, easy peasy).

Pico thinks about how cute Keith is.

How pretty he looks in broad daylight, the rays of the sun brightening his blue hair in a way that almost seems angelic.

 

He dreams about how Keith’s lips would be on his, and how he’d react to different things.



“Hi, Pico.”

 

He looks up, his cigarette dangling from his lips.

 

“Yo, dude.”

 

 

 

“Smoking?”

 

Keith asks, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

 

 It isn’t cold, but at least Keith looks decent.



“Mhm. Gotta take a load off sometimes.”

 

 

Keith sits, and his hands are warm as he snatches the cigarette from Pico’s lips.

 

 

 

He watches for his reaction as he crushes the cigarette under his shoe.

 

 

 

Pico sighs.

 

“Damn.”

(“That was expected.” Pico wanted to say.)

 

 

 

Keith’s breath smells like mint with a hint of lemon, and if god doesn’t save him, then he’d rather drown in his selfish desires.

 

 

 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Pico starts, noticing Keith’s painted nails in the corner of his eyes.

 

 

“Mh?”

 

Keith stopped yawning midway, coughing softly into the space of his hand.




The orange-haired technician’s hand cards through his soft-looking hair, blending in with the fallen and falling leaves.

 

 

 

“Do you like someone yet?”

 

 

 

‘Yet’ was their inside joke.

 

Darnell hadn’t lost his neuron yet.

Nene hasn’t found a good whetstone yet.

Pico hadn’t confessed yet.

 

It’s something Pico has lived with.

 

 

“...Yeah. You?”




Pico nods, and then he faces the rapper, his legs crossing.



He decides to bite the bullet and follow what his hearts knows.

 

He just… knows .



“Waiting to confess t’me or somethin’?”

 

 

 

“Huh?”

 

 

 

“Don’t play dumb, Keith. I know you like me.”

 

 

 

 

He’s gone too far deep, so might as well do what his heart wants.

 

Before Keith could respond, Pico closes in on him, their legs touching.

 

Pico places his chin on Keith’s head, in a gentle way.

 

 His arm snakes over Keith’s shoulders, as clothes meet clothes.

 

 

“Tell me I ain’t wrong, Keith.”

 

 He mumbles into open air.

 

 

 

 

“Y..You aren’t.”

 

 

 

It isn’t cold, yet Keith shivers underneath Pico.

 

 

Even closer.

 

Pico’s certain now.

He always has been.

 

It’s just… him .

 



“I like you so much that-”

 

Keith’s breaths are shaky, unstable.



It isn’t like him, Pico mumbles to himself.

 

 

 

(“..that?” 

 

Pico whispers.)

 

 

 

“That.. I dream of you. I dream of us.”

 

Keith manages to choke out, biting his lip and cursing himself right after.

 

 

 

“You dream of us, huh, sweetheart?”

Pico’s voice is low, and raspy, and that alone makes Keith shiver.

 

 

“..Yes.”




Clothes rustle as Pico reaches for Keith’s cheeks, pinching and squeezing gently.

 

(“Look at me,” his mind prays. Keith looks at him with those stupidly pretty eyelashes.)

 

“I dream of you too, Keith.”

 

Winter.

 

Two weeks after they openly admitted they dreamt of one another, Pico’s hands weren’t filled with the ridges of his Mac-10 or the stiffness of a microphone.They weren’t filled with the smooth, dainty texture of Nene’s hands. They weren’t filled with the texture of Darnell’s.



They were filled with hands that are slightly smaller than his. 

Hands that reek of flowers and snow and sultry dreams.

Hands that are his to hold.

Keith’s hands, to hit the nail in the coffin.

 

And once more, Keith uses his boyfriend’s hands to shield his eyes from the sunlight bleeding into his room.



“...Keith.”

 

Pico finally turns to face Keith fully, in the full of the morning.

 

Keith feels Pico’s lips latching on to a part of his shoulder.

 

“M’hand, love.”

 

When Keith doesn’t “return” Pico’s hand, the rapper feels his boyfriend’s hand digging further on his skin.

 

“Mmh! Dude, stop!”

Keith’s laughs causes Pico to smile.

 

The rapper feels his lover mumbling into his skin.

 

Then that nasal impression.

“Dude, stooop.”

 

Keith smiles, and Pico is happy.

 

He’d like to think this wasn’t the work of those courts and forts.