Spongebob Therapy (For snappleR)

"Nah."

Beat.

"Maybe a little."

Blaise's head turns, catching sight of her hair on his shoulder. She's not one to worry about personal space, that Amy. He suspected as much. But then, to be a professional wrestler, you'd have to not be so finicky about your personal bubble. There's a whole lot of touching to be had in the ring. Still, this wasn't in the ring. This was his apartment, with little more reason for the proximity than she just felt like it. Well, that and maybe she was worried about falling off. Either way, it's appreciated. His expression may not convey much right now, but human contact is nice.

Those listless blue eyes return to the screen, paying no heed to her rifling through her backpack. "It just struck me today while I was flipping through the channels, is all. What about you?"

In that moment, he realizes he has no idea how old Amy even is. She looks young - his age, easily. Maybe even a year younger. Her looks definitely don't match her occasional rough demeanor, anyway. He steals a sidelong glance to her, as if to verify this for himself, then back to the Japanese-spouting absorbent monster on screen.

"You think they imported it here because there's a guy with tentacles?"

"Not on my own, but I watched a lot while babysitting growing up." Amy pulled a small, neatly wrapped bag from her backpack. It was full of kiru manju, tiny Japanese buns filled with a sweet chestnut paste, a souvenir from the hot spring town that she'd visited.

The tentacle line made Amy bark a laugh before she quickly composed herself. "Oh yeah, definitely. I'm surprised they still bother to call the show "Spongebob Squarepants" when the market here's clearly all about the Squidward." Amy leaned her head on Blaise's shoulder and dropped the bag onto his stomach. "Maybe you don't want lunch, but I brought you a present, anyway. Do you have rules against eating in bed?"

When Amy laughs, Blaise looks at her again. This time, it's with a small smile; the sort of smile that would be better suited to someone shy and self-conscious. He quickly looks to the bag once it's plopped onto his midsection.

"Huh-uh," he replies with quiet wonder. He lets the remote rest on the space of mattress between their hips and opens up the bag to take a whiff. It definitely has a distinct smell - something sweet, maybe roasted? He can't put his finger on it.

But he doesn't just dig into it. He tilts his head towards Amy's, simply to rest there a moment. He draws in a slow, deep breath, and exhales it in a heavy, heavy sigh. That's his way of finally acknowledging the elephant. The contact? His show of appreciation. If she thinks seeing him like this is strange, actually feeling it is worse. He doesn't know how to talk about it, or what to even say. He let people down the night before, and he feels like he's letting Amy down now by not being himself. It's an unpleasant feeling, and one that doesn't let him chow on sweetbuns.

Amy was empathic back at the arcade, when it came to talk of his parents and their lack of support. Is she empathic still?

Amy smiled contentedly as Blaise reciprocated her head lean by resting his head on her own. Blaise and walls didn't fit, and she was glad that he was starting to take them down.

Blaise took a deep whiff of the bag's contents, but made no further progress toward consumption. After an impatient moment, Amy decided that maybe Blaise had forgotten how to eat. "Like this." She reached into the bag, pulled out a matchbook-sized bun between her thumb and forefinger, then, to complete her demonstration, placed the whole thing in her mouth.

Amy is calculating. She didn't know when she was buying souvenirs that she'd be present when the recipients opened their gifts, but there was always that possibility. That's why she bought the same thing for everybody- she really liked those buns. Army got a bag, Drake got a bag... if they opened them in front of her, she'd be stealing some from them as well.

Once she had chewed and swallowed, she spoke again. "They're called... well, they're sweet chestnut buns." She'd practiced the name so many times, too. Damnit. "They're a specialty of the hot springs place I was at a couple of nights ago." The night of your match. Amy reached over with the arm that wasn't already right up against Blaise and rubbed his shoulder with that hand. "I watched your fight. You got robbed, dude. I'm sorry I wasn't there."

When she steals one of the buns, Blaise lifts his head from hers to give her ample room. He's well aware of what she's doing, and no amount of girlishness is going to distract him. But he's convinced they're probably good, at least. He just can't work up the will to try one yet.

Her hand at his shoulder coaxes his head back down against hers. Hello, elephant. "Yeah," he breathes. After a pause, he continues, "I keep going over it in my head; things I could've done different, opportunities I should've taken, when I zigged instead of zagged... at the time - especially at the end there - it seemed like..." He breathes again. "...Like I was doing everything right." For the first time.

He sinks a little more into the bed. "Man. You'd think I'd be used to losing."

Amy took a moment to digest what Blaise was saying. Then she went over it again in her head. Wait, what?

Amy lifted herself up off of Blaise's shoulder so that her incredulous look would have an unhindered path directly to his eyes. "Blaise, you're not seriously blaming yourself for that loss, are you? The game was rigged; you could have been, I don't know..." Amy looked around the room before pointing at the poster of The Ultimate Warrior. "...that guy, and you still would've gotten wrecked."

Blaise's head ducks towards his shoulders, furtively avoiding Amy's eyes. "N-no... maybe... I don't know... maybe if I was a little more efficient, a little faster... or if I went with a different finish, I wouldn't have been tied up when they rushed in..." Even then, Blaise was practically gassed out and it would've been two-on-one. A part of him realizes this.

Amy stared for a second. Then she took a stiff hand and twisted it cruelly into his side- a playground bully's attack, surface pain, but no doubt worse if Blaise was telling the truth about his everything hurting.

"Stupid. It was three on one; even fresh there wasn't a whole lot you could've done. You're projecting the wrong mood, here; you should be royally fucking pissed off. In fact-" Amy stood up and padded over to the window and opened the blinds, letting in a blinding stream of sunlight. Then she turned around and made her way back.

"Listen, you not feeling right about accepting the win over Nathan? I get that. I would have felt the same way. But in this one, you and Stone smashed into each other with everything you guys had, and, in the end, you had her. Like for real, you could even see it on the TV, she was a second away from tapping. Heck, even the Valkyries could see that. That's probably why the rest of them came out in the first place- I don't think that was a coincidence. So, yeah, officially it's a loss, but everyone who saw the fight knows that that fight was yours. It's more of a win than your fight with Nathan, anyway." She arrived at the bed, climbed back in, and nuzzled the side of her face into Blaise's shoulder, but this time the arm nearest Blaise snaked around his back and squeezed affectionately. "And if your worry was the bad guys walking away with another win, you can rest easy because the audience thought it was pretty cool of the hero to not give in and keep fighting right to the end."

Blaise cries out in pain from the hand digging at his side. Oh yes. His everything hurts, and that was a fresh Hell. He twists to protectively cover his side, glowering at her. That irritated look tracks her as she moves through his dorm, and he has only a split second to react before she draws the blinds. He recoils and turns to turn away with a hiss! Blaise may have been bitten by a vampire after the match, on top of it all. Or maybe his eyes just weren't prepared for the light.

As she talks, he turns gently onto his back to watch her, his pupils tiny, tiny dots. Amy pulls a third surprise by getting into the bed and snuggling up to him, suddenly all sugar. Blaise is suspicious. His side is now aching. He's still got a bunch of blindspots in his adapting vision. But in the end, the teen tilts his head to nudge his nose against Amy's scalp.

"Yeah?," he asks quietly.

Oh. He really was still super sore. I mean, it'd only been two days, but, on the other hand, come on, it had been two whole days.

Amy didn't answer right away. She'd seen this episode before. Jellyfishing always sounded fun to her until she realized that the surfaceworld analog was just butterfly catching, and that seemed cruel. Why wasn't there a hardier above-water animal that you could hunt with nets? And you could squeeze food out of? Wait, gross, never mind.

"Yeah." She answered finally. Then she grumbled. "Can't believe you wouldn't let me buy you lunch because of that." She reached for a second bun.