FIGHT IN THE WEEKEND WARS,, harley

Relief flooded into Samson when he got Harley’s text. A part of him wondered if she’d turn him down because there was a war still going on and it could be dangerous. No, that wasn’t really why. He was more worried that she was pissed at him for what he’d said to her and that she didn’t even want to talk to him anymore, even if it was outside of school. This is just fucking ridiculous, he thought. And he meant the war, his situation, his avoidance of Harley. Everything was just all out of wack, and more than ever he wanted it to end. But there was seemingly no end in sight, nothing he could do. Samson was just being a good little soldier, following orders and not really thinking about things too much. Because then the war would really get to him, and he wouldn’t be able to hold up his tough guy façade anymore.

Kicking a pebble over as he swung a bit in the seat, he felt anxiety settling over him as he waited. What would he say? What would he do? Would it be awkward after all this time? She’d agreed to meet with you, don’t be such a dumbass, his mind berated him. But Samson couldn’t help it—not like he had the best history with girls. And there was his mind again, scolding him for being such an idiot: She’s not even your girlfriend, and probably doesn’t even want you. Samson did have confidence in himself, he didn’t walk around thinking of what a pathetic loser he was. But he did have a tendency to beat himself up when it came to the ladies, but his history could attest to that. Those girls certainly hadn’t wanted him. He figured he should just stop thinknig on it and reminding himself again and again of that cliché phrase—Harley wasn’t like other girls.

It was the kind of feeling you get when you’re waiting for someone in a crowded room and your eyes kept darting toward the door, just waiting for their arrival with a prickling feeling in your stomach. Samson’s face broadened into a smile when he saw that Harley was actually wearing the pendant that most girls would have found just a tad creepy. But this was Harley, and as he once again reminded himself of the trite addage, she wasn’t like other girls. And she was looking good, as far as first appearances go. Of course, he couldn’t tell whether or not she was completely okay just by looking at her face, but at least there wasn’t any visible injuries. That was a good start. The war had probably gotten everyone paranoid, him just one of the many people worried about his friends. Friends, he thought wryly. We’re just friends.

She sat and asked after his wellbeing when all he could think of was that he was alive and standing and that was all he could ask for. Honestly, he was more worried about Harley. ”Peachy keen,” he typed into his phone’s message box, turning it to her. And even though it was hard to carry dry humor over text, it was there. He was doing all right, sure, but there was a war going on that was really starting to get on his nerves. Because of her. He’d become quite skilled with typing, and thankfully his newest phone had a qwerty keyboard, so the next message came in rapid succession: ”I’m more worried about you.” After all, she had defected and now would be a target of her own kind. Then, before showing the girl his message, he wrote underneath it, ”Sorry I’ve been avoiding you. It would just be dangerous to talk in school.” Then he showed it, and prayed that Harley understood that he hadn’t been avoiding her for any other reason but their own protection. But he was pretty sure she’d been doing the same thing. It’s also why he wanted to meet up with her at neutral ground like the park.

Samson rolled his eyes at her sarcasm comment. It was at least nice joking like this, like there wasn’t any problems. They could pretend while they were away from the Academy that so much wasn’t screwed up with them. And well everything was screwed up now. Even with the alliances, everything was going topsy-turvey. And even though Samson tried his best, he really had to wonder if it was worth it. Well one thing was for damn sure, the Nell chick was hard to get to. He had thought they’d be able to pick her off in a week or so, she being an Earth student and them being so soft and squishy. But no, it seemed impossible to get to her.

So Harley’s a big girl? Samson exhaled lightly, his version of a laugh, and his next message read, ”Doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you.” No doubt she was capable and could handle herself but he was always concerned. Since now he couldn’t be around her that often, thanks to the goddamn war. He hoped at least that fucking Dale was looing out for her. After all, she did ditch the alliance for him, and Samson still couldn’t understand why Harley did that. It was definitely the jealousy speaking, but could a guy help it? Instead of focusing his mind so much on the betrayal that stung whether he liked it or not, he kept up a small smile for her sake. Harley didn’t need to know just how bitter he was—it wasn’t a very attractive quality, after all.

Again, there was the urge to tell her to come back to their side. Even though her pride wouldn’t allow her that, and if he said anything she probably wouldn’t like it, Samson felt like he needed to tell her that it was okay to return now. But then a thought occurred to him. "They probably wouldn’t allow you back during the war. Think you were a spy," was the next thing he showed her. It was true. When in the midst of a war, paranoia grew strong and he doubted that Blackthorn would give her much time anyway. He didn’t actually know the guy personally, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be to keen on letting back a traitor with the war still going on. Afterward? Who knew what would happen. There would still be tensions. He wrote on the message, ”But after the war, you can come back. I want you to come back.” Then, thinking of the guy who she chose instead of him, he wrote with some bitter vitriol not apparent in his features: ”So how’s Dale doing?”

Realizing how awkward that might have sounded, he stood and took hold of her swing, typing out his next question with one hand. Then, as he pushed her lightly, he hung the phone in front of her eyes. ”How’s life been?” And he meant outside of the war, her family life, things like that. He just didn’t really want to talk about the Academy or the war anymore. It was drainingt everyone, and it was difficult dealing with Harley’s betrayal of the alliance.

Samson was glad for the silence that momentarily lapsed between them as Harley ate her ice cream. Silence was good, and between the two of them it never felt awkward. It was comfortable and easy that they didn’t have to spend so much time talking. Especially since it wasn’t his favorite thing to do. Even though he never complained about being mute and didn’t consider it a handicap, it was difficult to communicate. Which was all right with him, since he wasn’t a very friendly guy. More…antisocial. Introverted. But this silence left him wondering about many things, and he mulled them over in his head, trying to figure this girl out. What did she want from him, he wondered. Did she actually want him to worry about her? A lot of girls were complicated, but Harley was…different. Not complicated in the sort of way that ‘oh my god, are you PMSing again’, complicated in that he knew there was a lot going on in her head that she didn’t let on.

Of course there was the prickling of satisfaction when Harley told him that him and the Dale guy got into a fight. Well good. ”He was a prick anyway,” the phone read, and he hid the smirk that had settled onto his features, always the one to hold up his whole ‘I have a straight face at all times, thankyouverymuch’. ”The Earth kids are still okay with you, right?” Even if Dale didn’t want her around—and if he ever tried to so much as look at Harley with bad intent, Samson wouldn’t give a damn that he was an older Fire graduate—he was sure the nice little Earth kids would be accepting enough to at least have her around. He didn’t really know for sure, though. The Water kids were fine by him, but he kept away from Earth as much as possible, especially since in a fight with matched age, they could still whoop him. As long as Harley wasn’t in any danger, that was okay. But then there was the fact she was Fire, and therefore they wouldn’t prove as much trouble for her if they tried to fight.

Even though harley couldn’t see, Samson wore an amused smile when she finished off her ice cream. ”Not making friends easily?” If he had spoken it in his voice, there would have been slight conern there. He wanted her to be all right at all times, and any sign of Harley having trouble caused him to worry. As for him? ”Beatrice is being strangely nice and cooking horrible food.” Since the girl met his wackjob of a ‘mother’, he thought it okay to talk about the woman. She meant well, but wasn’t too good on the whole culinary front. Getting an idea, he took a moment to pause in swinging her and type the next words to show her: ”How about you come over and cook for me tonight?” And again, his expression of now plain amusement was lost on her, facing the other way.

”Maybe I did,” his cellphone read, the smug satisfaction practically rolling off from the screen. Samson didn’t care so much about the war or the truth and lies in it, as he did the fact that he liked Harley a lot and that he also liked his alliance. He wasn’t about to go Sherlock Holmes and hunt down the truth about the murder, whether the Earth girl did it or not, all he wanted was his (few) friends in Thunder to be safe, and also the ones in Fire. Like Harley. And that was hard to do when she wasn’t around. Therefore, he could pin the blame on Dale. And even though he felt for Harley because this guy had been her friend, there was a reason nature chose Thunder for him—he was a vindictive personality, wouldn’t you know. Samson’s smile grew broad when Harley talked about heating up the Earth dorms. Yeah, he knew there was a reason he liked her so much. Not only was the fact she was the prettiest girl he’d seen, she was also funny and had a wit he would envy if he didn’t enjoy it so much. ”I could sneak you back into the dungeons. That way the Earthies won’t be so overheated.” If she asked, of course he would help, but that didn’t make such a thing any less dangerous.

When Harley turned in the swing, he gave her an appraising eyebrow lift. He typed out on the phone, ”No, I guess not.” Sometimes (sometimes) he wished he could speak so he could communicate like others did, so he could convey sarcasm and wit like others. But all he had was the wwritten word, and after so many years of living with it, he figured that it was enough for him. Harley liked ‘talking’ to him after all, he guessed it wasn’t too terrible. She agreed to make dinner for him and before she could say anything about it, she pulled herself up, and felt her body move against his. Samson wasn’t one to blush, but the pink in his cheeks was definitely not from the non-existent cold.

Harley’s kiss was unexpected—even though the fact that she’d drawn in so close to him should have given it away, dumbass—but he returned it right away, thiking of how great it was…and then she was on the ground, looking so flustered and apologizing and it was the cutest thing he believed he ever saw. With a smile and a shake of his head, Samson pulled her up and kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her waist making this one last more than just a few seconds becausen now he was sure about Harley. And he had to say, it was the greatest thing in the world to know the girl you were silently pining after was probably doing the same thing back. So she likes me too? This information would have been great long ago, but there was no way to reclaim lost time and so he just kept kissing her until he felt breathless and had to pull away. Hopefully from this she figured out that Samson kind of really liked her too.

Samson didn’t even know how Harley could expect anything other than what he did. I mean, did he do so well at covering his feelings? He’d had a lot of practice—it was his stoic mask that managed to make him seem impervious to almost anything. Was the fact that he liked Harley, that he always got the nervous feeling in his stomach whenever he looked at her, that well hidden behind the mask? He didn’t know, and he didn’t even care anymore because it was out in the open now. It was kind of hard to miss that someone likes you after they kiss you. At least, that’s what he was hoping.

It was sad how difficult it was for Samson to communicate. He couldn’t lean over and whisper into Harley’s ear how much he loved her or anything like that. So he mainly relied on physical shows of affection that conveyed the same thing. Like taking her by the hand, walking through the streets to his home, the tiny shop of charms, sitting there in all its occult glory. On the way, he took out his phone and typed in a message with one hand so he wouldn’t have to let go of her. With a smirk, he showed what it read: ”First date?” They were going to his house for dinner, and even though she met Beatrice before, this kind of felt like a first date. It wasn’t spoken, but Samson would like to believe that they were dating now. Just because Harley didn’t take anything back, or apologize for kissing him… That must mean that she wanted whathe wanted too, right? Why are you asking these questions, not like you’ve never had a girlfriend before. But this was different. This was Harley, and he didn’t want to fuck anything up with her like he usually seemed to do.

Pulling open the door, he found Beatrice sitting behind the counter, flat iron in one hand and phone balancing between her ear and her shoulder. Noticing the entrance, she hung up and instantly her eyes were on Harley. ”My, my, if it isn’t Harley. What brings you and Sammy here?” He smirked at how the girl was the first one being addressed, looking over to her with lifted eyebrows so she could explain. He was sure Beatrice would take the whole cooking thing well—he knew that she secretly despised it. And Samson knew that behind that smile of hers there was a deviousness, like she could tell what had just happened minutes ago, just like she could somehow tell how much he’d liked Harley the first time he brought her by. Maybe there was something to all her occult bull. Maybe she was actually psychic. Yeah right.

Samson had a feeling Beatrice’s reaction to Harley as a girlfriend would be good. Even though his past experiences were not so great, she really took a shining to the Fire girl. So it made him wonder about her own family, and he remembered to ask her later when he could meet them. He really knew nothing about the girl’s personal life when it came to her family, and that was all right. She was allowed to have that, because it wasn’t like he could really pry without being able to talk. He guessed that was a good thing.

As Samson shrugged to show that Harley had free reign in dinner choice, Beatrice instantly perked and jumped up from her seat. ”You are a saint, Harls, you really are,” Beatrice said enthusiastically, ushering the girl over into the kitchen behind a door next to the staircase, Samson following behind, hands in his pockets. The kitchen was like any normal one, fridge and pantry and cabinets all around. Shooting the Thunder student a mock irritated look, Beatrice griped, ”He honestly cannot take care of himself.” A devious smile crossed her features then and she leaned in to wink at Harley. ”Guess it’s good that he has you then.”

He pulled Beatrice by her frizzy—but straight—hair and she took that as her cue to exit the kitchen with a smile and another wink at Harley. Rolling his eyes, he came up from behind Harley, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin atop her head. Yes, he did plan on hovering around her while she cooked. This was Samson, after all, and he liked to be a troll.