Sword was a hopeful guy.
He left things up to chance, believing that whatever was meant for him, would come to him. Venomshank had doctored him with these teachings, that if he wanted something & it didn’t occur to him, it just wasn’t his to want or need. It wouldn’t ever happen, & he shouldn’t seek after it; point drawn.
Well, Sword had this friend. Rocket.
His best friend, really. Ever since he’d found Rocket on the side of the road, missing an arm & a leg, ever since he’d hauled the guy up to help him to Medkit’s clinic to get him a prosthesis for his missing limbs, the two had established a very deep bond. They were both each other’s first & truly best friend, & even Medkit seemed to look at them differently whenever Sword & Rocket got too close to one another where normal friends usually would’ve drawn the line.
But not Rocket & Sword.
They got too close for comfort intentionally, faces too close, noses just brushing. They didn’t speak about it, ever. They didn’t seem to find reason to, because they each enjoyed the proximity as much as the other.
Sword couldn’t help but wonder if all this meant something more. He’d had a sheltered upbringing thanks to his adoptive guardian, Venomshank, & he hadn’t had any friends at all growing up. He’d been a lonely boy, never even learnt the proper definition for the feeling of love.
He wondered if what he & Rocket had was this “love”.
He noticed how Rocket looked at Sword; like he mattered, like he truly was. With a little glint in his eye, a slight flush of colour in his cheeks every time Sword inched a little too close into Rocket’s space. They always laughed it off to no fail, but Sword couldn’t help but ponder on the thought at night.
“Dad, what is love?” Sword found himself asking Venomshank one late afternoon, after a full day of hanging out with Rocket again. He was curled up on the couch, pen waiting expectantly over the page of his diary as he awaited his caretaker’s response.
“Well, love is a little like what you & me have, son,” Venomshank had said to Sword, “but it can also be something more. Say, for example, you meet a really nice girl. She likes you a lot, & you like her too. That’s love.”
“But… what if the girl is a… boy? Does that change anything?”
“It doesn’t. Love is love, my child.”
& Sword took Venomshank’s word.
An afternoon passed, & another. Yet another. The whole time, all those afternoons, Sword’s mind was stuck on the concept of love. It was foreign to him, sure, but the way that he looked at Sword, & how Rocket looked at him back at the exact same time—it couldn’t just be friendship, right?
Another afternoon came. He found himself inviting Rocket over to his house for a sleepover, something which Sword usually did because Rocket was all alone in the Crossroads, having left his family back in Playground. He was helping Rocket with his prosthesis, kneeling at the floor of the bed as Rocket sat on the bedside as he took off his prosthesis for bed. They shared the same bed, too; Sword’s on. He didn’t quite mind that at all.
“Hey, um.. Rocket?” Sword suddenly piped up, his fingers clutching a little tighter to the fabric of his pyjama pants. He seemed nervous.
“I’ve got to ask you something.”