From the Ashes

“Roman!” I shout above the din of the crowd, finally spotting his dark mop of hair through the mass of kids after searching around for him for a few minutes. “Rome!” His head turns, hearing his name being shouted, but not knowing exactly where the source lies. I wave, making myself as tall as possible in the crowd as I call his name once more. His face turns in my direction, and his smoky eyes finally land on me. My face breaks into a smile at the eye contact, my heart picking up pace as his face lights up. I push my way toward him, keeping my eye on him as he does the same on his way to me.

“There you are, I’ve been getting kicked and prodded for a year in this crowd, looking for you!” I grin, taking his hand. It’s cold in mine as he pulls me gently against him in the mass of kids, bending his head down to almost touch foreheads with me.

“I tried to find you to watch Sage’s match together, but there are so many god damn people here tonight,” he laughs, kissing my forehead.

“I know! He did amazing, though, I’m so proud of Wally,” I croon comically, pressing my free hand against my chest before daintily wiping an imaginary tear from my eye. His lips stretch wider against my forehead as he laughs.

“Don’t you dare say anything to him, he’ll kill me,” he says, and I nuzzle my face into his chest.

“Not a peep,” I giggle, my voice muffled.

We plow our way through the impressive amount of kids clogging every available space under The Gazebo, my hand tightly held in Roman’s as he leads me in a winding, searching path. I bump into his back as he pauses, squeezes my hand tightly, and starts to lead me with more purpose towards the edge of the structure. Once we break out of the crowd and into the starlit night, Roman’s hand slides out of mine just as I spot Mazie, Bennen, and Sage. The Cannon is getting his face paint wiped off by Maze, who’s flanked by Bennen. Roman and I move to the group at the same time, him to congratulate Sage, and me to pounce on Mazie before ruffling the winner’s damp hair. Conversation flies between the group, congratulating the team for taking another win. I ask Bennen if he has a match scheduled tonight, hoping there is since his are so amazing to watch. He shakes his head no, to the rest of the group’s disappointment.

“Roman, when’s your match?” Ben asks him, and he glances at me once before answering.

“It’s scheduled about 7 or 8 after Sage, so it’s coming up.” Mazie pauses in wiping the last of Sage’s paint off to turn her head and beam at Roman.

“I can’t wait for yours. We’ll be right there cheering you guys on, so don’t you dare disappoint us, you showboat!” she says with a growling laugh, throwing me a wink. “And I like the simplicity of the paint, Allie-doodle,” she chimes, her voice suddenly sweet. Roman and I exchange a look, and I have to force myself not to laugh as I watch the corners of his mouth quiver.

“Well thanks, Maze...”

The crowd behind us seems to become loud with unbridled teenage excitement for whatever match is next, which draws the curious attention of our group. I stand up tall on my toes, trying to look over the crowd into the middle where the mat is, but there’s no way I’ll see a thing from my view.

“Who’s fighting now?” I ask Roman, who towers above me at his full height plus tip-toes.

“I’m not sure. Come here.” He uses my hand to tug me behind him, and he hunches down for me to climb onto his back. I smile as I do, enjoying any contact. I wrap my arms around his neck as he rises and uses his hands to slide me up further by my legs. I move my arms to grasp the top of each muscular shoulder, now rising a good few feet above even Roman’s eye level. I gaze out across the crowd into the fighting mat just as the voice of the skinny announcer floats across the sea of heads.

“...The Shadow!” I catch the last warrior’s title, peering from my vantage point at the two opponents. One is tall and wiry, skulking around his corner of the mat with long, swinging arms. The other stands strong and still over at his end, the corded muscles of his sculpted profile, his arms, stretching and flexing as he smoothes back his shaggy, attractive tousle of curly hair. My breath catches silently as the whistle blows, and the wiry guy instantly starts cavorting this way and that around the mat, enticing the other combatant to attack.

Wim watches the waif-like kid with the steady green gaze of a force to be reckoned with.

His chiseled jaw is set and strong, and the way his eyes burn with intensity sets them ablaze with a light that I can’t avoid looking at. He doesn’t even turn his body when the kid bounds behind him in his circling gait, he just shifts his head to the side, the dark curls shading his burning gaze and almost touching the bridge of his straight nose. With a look all around the mat, I notice Wim’s pillar never showed up...

“Anyone we know? Did you catch a name?” Roman shouts over the noise of the cheering crowd of teenagers, and I take a deep breath when his voice draws me from the match. I had been holding it the whole time.

“Not anyone we know,” I say, bending slightly to say it in his ear, “And I didn’t hear any names.” Wim mentioned Roman and Sage before I could, when I talked to him earlier. But... a strange pull in the pit of my stomach stopped me from mentioning him to Rome. Before Roman could say anything more, contact occurs on the mat, feeding the excitement of the bloodthirsty crowd. I lean back up on my arms, straining to get the best vantage point I can manage. I catch sight of Wim and the tall, skinny kid, rope-like muscles twisting in cords as he hauls the nameless fighter over one shoulder, and slams him out of sight onto the mat. The crowd gives a collective roar of approval. Wim rises, but the other kid doesn’t immediately. I notice he still has no paint on, as he slowly circles the mat with measured steps. My eyes move to his shirtless body when it’s facing my way, and I raise my eyebrows at the... definition. I blink as I purse my lips.

Well, that’s that.

I scoff slightly, brows still raised. I’m not gonna lie, he’s one fine specimen. Scientifically speaking, based on observation of the facts, of course. I adore my Roman faithfully, but I have to admit, Wim’s got some mad pecs. And abs. And arms. It’s pretty funny to think back a while earlier to when that guy approached me on his own free will.

“I need some commentary here, sunshine, I’m not that tall,” Roman’s voice shouts up from his turned and smirking head. I pat his hair, keeping my eyes on the mat as I watch the skinny kid get up.

Wim threw him down... but didn’t go for the pin.

“Well, the one skinny kid just ate some mat, but he’s up again,” I start with mild snark, ruffling Rome’s dark hair, “And the other guy... Muscles... is just watching the other kid as he regains his ground. Aaaaand now he’s prancing around again.” I can almost sense Roman roll his eyes at me. “Skinny’s going for a dive, Muscles dodges it... Repeat. Oo, Muscles just clothes-lined him, holy shit.”

“Why don’t I climb on your back now?” Roman grins with an arched brow, and I flutter my hand around his face before placing it on his lips, all the while watching the match.

“Shhshhshhshhhhhh...” I hiss comically, and I feel Rome chuckle beneath my hand. “Skinny’s getting beat. Thrown around like a ragdoll.”

“Lovely,” Roman’s muffled voice floats from between my fingers before he shifts his lips to kiss the palm of my hand with another scoff of amusement. In a sudden act of defeated rage, the skinny warrior throws himself on Wim’s back, wrapping his arms around The Shadow’s strong neck in a choke-hold. I straighten, waiting for Wim to throw him off. He struggles, his stoic face breaking into a grimace.

“Hrrm?” Rome’s covered words are masked by my clutching hand.

“Wim’s getting choked out, is that legal?” I ask. He grasps my arm to drag my hand off of his mouth.

“Wim?” he asks, his voice deep. I freeze. “You know his name?” He still holds my arm as he turns his head up in my direction.

“Yeah...”

“The Scot?”

“Is that what his accent is?”

“When did you ever hear about him?”

“He actually ran into me during Sage’s match, kinda random.”

Roman snorts, shaking his head with a half-smile.

“Did he pour buckets of pheromones over your head while seducing you with his accent?” he laughs. I roll my eyes.

“Something like that. You know, that must’ve been what happened... I tore my clothes off and let him take me right there.” Roman gives a jolt, scaring me to death as he fakes dropping me right off his back for one terrifying second. I hunker down to clutch my arms around his neck with spiked adrenaline, screeching panicked and scolding laughter in his ear as he grins devilishly at me and holds onto my legs.

“You’re so adorable,” he mutters as I suck in air to get the maximum amount of oxygen to my poor heart, working overdrive.

“Shut up. Something’s happening,” I growl, and I hold him securely as I lift myself up again to peer into the fighting mat.

“What’s the womanizer doing now?” he asks.

“He’s a nice guy! And beating the shit out of Skinny. It looks like he’s wrapping things up now...” My assumption is confirmed with the sharp blast of the ref’s whistle. Wim rises, his curls damp and hanging with sweat in a wild way. As his arm is lifted, and his title is called as the victor, his still-fiery gaze sweeps the crazed crowd. They stop on me, and his look becomes stronger, more pointed. His eyes soften with a small smile, and I can feel my cheeks threatening to turn rosy as I can’t pull my gaze away from his. He mouths something. To my own great surprise, I understand it.

For you.