#plus they seem to be shying away from nickel which i get but which also makes me sad

[botchallthethings]

Small-size circulars?

Knitting people, do you have favorite circular needles? I'm struggling to find pertinent info. I have two requirements:

Not sharp. I routinely touch the point of my needle and even if it's easier to do fancy stitches with sharp needles, they just hurt for me to use

Smaller than a US size 4/ 3.5mm (ideally I'm looking for a 2.75 size needle, which just happens to be the size I always find myself reaching for)

Other things that would be nice would be:

metal (especially slick metal!)

interchangeable! (but I fear small-size, durable, well-made interchangeables are a fantasy unicorn, so my hopes are not up)

[obxdrewseph]

Hard to Love - Rafe Cameron

Description: Pushing away people came easy to you. You pushed away your friends when they urged you to get out more and you pushed away your family when they urged you to eat more. You felt like a burden to everyone and you didn’t want that. You were hard to love with your harsh attitude and pickiness. Once Rafe Cameron, your new friend and classmate, tries to convince you to give him a chance, you wonder what it would mean to be a girlfriend-- someone who gives love and receives it... you wonder: are you even capable of being loved? 

so this is sort of a continuation of High Maintenance, but also can be read as a standalone? I thought it would be interesting to explore the romantic relationship that didn’t get to develop in that fic ... so here ya go! :D

--------

Being your friend was hard, but being your boyfriend was much harder (not that you had one yet, just for future reference). 

Being your friend was hard because you cancelled plans last minute because of chronic pain/aching or because you were going through a depressive episode that made you unable to socialize. 

No one talks about the mental side of physical pain. 

Trust me, you wouldn’t be nice either if you were hungry half of the day and in pain the other half. 

You didn’t want your diet to define you, yet it was like you revolved your entire life around your meal times. 

You pushed your friends away who wouldn’t do enough research on your condition. You obviously didn’t expect them to look up everything about it, but when they gave you food you couldn’t eat or asked you to go on hikes you couldn’t trek without feeling dizzy (or even fainting), you couldn’t help but distance yourself. 

You didn’t want to share all your negativity with them; they didn’t deserve that. 

You were used to being the rock of your group; not exactly the mom friend, but the happy, funny friend everyone went to for a laugh or to have fun. You weren’t the one with problems. You didn’t get to be that person. 

You didn’t want to be that person. 

“I’m a fucking idiot!” You shouted at no one in particular.

“We know!” 

You glared at the girl standing in the hallway who happened to be your best friend and your house mate. You and 3 other girls decided to stay in apartment together for your freshman year and you never regretted your decision. You could never live in the dorms with people making noise all day and night. 

You were already agitated all the time. 

“Go away, Ames.” 

The girl sighed. 

“I made some rice krispies. Do you want some?” 

Yes.

“No. I’m not hungry.” 

That was a lie. 

“Ok, well then why are you so upset today?” 

You paused, wondering if you should confide in her. Despite you guys being best friends, you never truly felt like you could confide in anyone. It was a fucking miracle that you spilled so much to Rafe Cameron, a boy you never thought would become one of your best friends. You honestly thought he would leave you the second you got off that wooden bench, yet you two hang out all the time.

You decided to give her a lighthearted version of what you were feeling.

“I’m not it’s just... random question: am I high maintenance?” You asked finally.

The girl snorted. 

“Yeah, everyone knows that.” 

Your heart sank. You were starting to hate that joke. You knew you had a lot of dietary restrictions and people had to work around what you ate, and before you didn’t mind that, but now you hated when people did that for you. 

You just wanted people to stop asking you out to eat or asking you to hang out. You just wanted people to leave you alone. 

“Fuck you.” You said laughing, it was fake. But she didn’t need to know that.

“Whatever, is that all you wanted to ask?” 

“Nope, I wanted to ask are you still having your bachorlette party next Saturday?”

“Yup, you better be there! No ditching me for whoever old lady author you wanted to see.”

You bristled at her harsh tone and flinched when she slammed your door shut so that you couldn’t argue with her. 

You heard her soft footsteps fade away which allowed you to slip back into your negative feelings. 

All you could think about is that if your best friend didn’t even want to deal with you or fully understand you, how could anyone else? 

---------

“Hello~ Earth to y/n?”

A black line skitted across your face, snapping you out of your trance. You swatted at the pencil floating in front of your face with an angry look.

You were currently in the library, working hard on your essay that seemed like it would never end.

“What do you want?” You snapped.

You were in the middle of focusing your attention on a small dot at the back of the room. You did this to try to take your attention off of the discomfort in your stomach. You wouldn’t exactly call it pain, but it didn’t feel great.

The poor boy’s eyes drooped at your anger.

“Um, sorry you just were spacing out.”

“Well, don’t interrupt my space outs.”

“Got it.”

Why were you being so mean? You never were like this before you got diagnosed. You were so irritable all the time and felt anger build up in you faster than expected.

It wasn’t fair to the boy sitting across from you.

Rafe Cameron.

The boy was dedicated, you could give him that.

You didn’t expect much from the obviously Southern boy who sat next to you in a Shakespeare class. You felt like you were sitting on pins and needles until Rafe started talking to you; you didn’t know why you took a male-dominant class. You weren’t used to talking to guys so often, but you wanted to push yourself. Get out of your comfort zone you embraced so much in high school.

After he apologized for being a dick about eating standards, you easily started to fall for him a bit more.

But that didn’t matter.

His feelings wouldn’t last.

They never did.

“Um, are you okay?” Rafe finally said. You wanted to snap at him once again, but when you saw his concerned blue eyes, you lost your bite. 

You forced a smile. “I’m fine, just a bit tired.” If you had a nickel for every time you gave that excuse, you’d be a billionaire.

“Oh, then we should finish here.”

“No!”

You said abruptly. He lifted a brow.

“No?”

When he saw your face turn a soft pink color, his eyes lit up and he softly bit his lip. He knew what he did to you.

“Um... no, it’s ok. I can still study. I’m ... I’m mostly just upset because I wanted to go to this book signing that’s like a week from now, but I have to go to my friend’s bachelorette party. I really love this author, but I won’t get to see her and she rarely goes on tour... But it’s fine, I’ll get over it and studying helps me keep my mind off things.” You shrugged. 

Yes, your friends were getting married that young. You simultaneously loved and hated your friends. You seemed to always be dropping things you loved for them, but you knew they wouldn’t do the same for you. 

Your friends were great to live with, harder to be friends with. Plus, two were avid bakers and another was an aspiring chef. You hated all of the temptations of their baked goods. 

He laughed at your nerdy confession which rubbed you the wrong way. He stopped laughing when he saw your dark expression.

“Sorry, I was only laughing because I totally get that. There are some authors that just leave an impact on you and you would die to meet them. And plus, those parties are lame. All they do is drink and drink and drink, which you can’t do because it’s not on the low fodmap diet.” 

Well, boy definitely did his research. 

“Exactly! Finally, someone who understands.” You turned your head away so he wouldn’t see you blush-- it wasn’t because you were shy, but it always happened when you got excited about something. 

He nodded and saw your head wobble. A sharp pain fluttered through your head. You probably needed to eat something. 

“Are you... hungry?” The boy said hesitantly.

This got you in the mood to be mean again.

“No, I’ll tell you when I get hungry, Rafe.”

The bite in his words made him move away from you. You hated this. You wanted someone to comfort you, but you pushed everyone away.

Self-sabotage was your middle name.

--------

You felt a warm hand softly tap your shoulder. 

“Library closes in less than 10 minutes.” Rafe whispered to you. 

Shit, I fell asleep. 

You lifted your head and saw the once full library empty out. 

“Shit. I fell asleep.” You said your thoughts. 

Rafe chuckled. God, you loved his laugh so much.

“Yeah, I know. You look cute when you sleep.” 

You smiled, but can’t believe you fell asleep in public. You weren’t the type to let your guard down so easily. When did you get this tired? When did you become this weak?

You felt your stomach rumble silently, signaling your hunger. 

“Um, do you wanna get out of here and get some food?” 

You began to say no, but he stopped you.

“Ok, let me ask that once again, do you want to get out of here and I can cook you food?” 

You felt anxiety build up in your chest. You never trusted other people to cook for you. You had this irrational fear that people would deliberately try to sabotage your meals, but truly people just didn’t know what you can and can’t eat. 

“Uh... you know.”

“Yes, I know, strict diet. I’ll look it all up to be safe.” 

You were going to say no, but you wanted this so badly. You just wanted to hang out with a really cute and nice guy without feeling abnormal. It was almost 11pm, but you weren’t going to pass up the chance to hang out with him.

“Ok, take me to your place.”

-------

His apartment was dark and organized. You tried not to laugh at the display of books on the ground... you definitely needed to get him a bookshelf. 

“Do the books feel better on the ground or something?” You teased. 

“Yup, they need their sleep too.” 

He nudged you on the shoulder to let you know he was joking. 

“Oh, and watch the hiking supplies. I went last weekend and haven’t had time to clean it up since I’m going on Sunday again.” 

Hiking... 

“You like to hike?” 

The boy nodded, his face brightening. “Yup, I’m an outdoorsy kind of guy. Love hiking, going to the beach, sports, all that jazz.” 

You nodded, not relating to any of that. 

You looked around, but realized there were only two doors, and one leading to the bathroom. 

“Oh, you live alone?” 

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt nervously.

“Yeah... is that ok?” He asked softly. 

Yes, yes, it’s more than ok.

“Of course! It’s just I don’t know many sophomores who live alone.” 

What you meant to say is you didn’t know many sophomores who could afford to live alone. JJ always joked about Rafe being rich, but you weren’t aware of the extent of his wallet. 

He chuckled. “Yeah well, it’s easier to focus on my studies this way. No distractions.” 

You nodded. You would live alone if you could afford it. 

“Got it. Perfect for the ladies too, right?” You winked. 

Rafe choke on air. You enjoyed flustering the usually confident Mr. Cameron. 

“God, um, I don’t know how to respond to that.” 

You shrugged. “Can’t deny the facts.” 

He gave you a gentle look. “Y/n, you’re the first girl I’ve had in here since my last girlfriend.” Your jaw dropped.

“Really? You haven’t had a single girl in here for... a month?” 

“Unless you count my little sister, then yup.” 

“How does a guy as hot as you not bring a single lady friend here for over a month?” He let out a strangled laugh.

“You think I’m hot?” 

“I know you’re hot. And you know you’re hot.” 

The pink blush that formed on his face made you want to run over and kiss his cheeks. 

But friends didn’t do that. 

“Well, I guess... I guess I’ve been waiting for the special girl to come along.” 

He gave you a look you couldn’t quite decipher. 

“Yes, I’m the most special girl in your life, right?” You teased, trying to be nonchalant about the tension in the room. 

He just smiled at you. 

“So! What are you cooking?” You said, changing the subject. 

This distracted him. “Well, I have leftovers from yesterday... I have rice noodles with chicken broth--”

“Um, I can’t eat pre-made chicken broth.” You interrupted before he could get too excited. Thankfully, you hadn’t gotten your hopes up about eating much at his place. People could rarely accommodate to your needs. 

“Oh don’t worry, I made the chicken stock last night with... a real chicken. So it’s not out of a box.” He opened his fridge and you saw a cooked chicken that was sitting there. “See?” 

You paused and evaluated the situation. 

“So... you made chicken pho?” You said blankly. 

He blushed. “Yeah, yeah I did.” 

You thought back to that night. That night when you confessed to him your deepest and insecurities. 

You yelled at him about how you basically only ate Asian food exclusively. 

“Did... Rafe... Ok, if I didn’t know any better, I would say that you expected me to come over today. Unless you just happened to have IBS friendly food.” 

You were joking, well half-joking. You guys always met on Thursday nights to study, so he knew you would be hanging out then. You hated the excitement and fondness filling in your chest; it would be only a matter of time before you pushed him away. Or until he left. Whichever came first.

His face was red now. “Um, I may have anticipated it.” 

Oh God, your heart was so full right now. You didn’t even want the food anymore, you just wanted him. 

But he had put great effort into this. You had to eat it.

“Thank you.” You whispered. 

He shrugged off your words. “It’s no biggie, I know I see you Thursdays and we always study pretty late.” 

You set the table while he dipped the noodles in water to cook them. He made two bowls, one being larger than the other. He remembered that you rarely ate big meals. 

As soon as he set your food down, you realized he had to watch you eat. And you had to make conversation while eating. You hated talking and eating. 

And you got a lot of gas while you ate. Shit. This was a bad idea. 

You pushed those thoughts aside and took a sip of the soup. 

It was amazing. 

“This is really good.” 

He smiled widely. “Thanks, I tried my best.” 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to talk much while you ate. The TV served as a good distraction to that. When you finished your bowl, you waited for the pain to hit you. You felt your stomach gurgle around and you clenched your fists to avoid the pain. 

You had good and bad stomach days. Some days you could go the whole day without feeling any pain, but then you had days where you ate any food and felt a mild discomfort and had to lay in bed. 

You felt a mild discomfort, but it faded quickly enough. Thank God, a good stomach day.

After you both finished eating, Drew put both the bowls in the sink. You tried to do the dishes, but he wouldn’t let you. 

“Thanks for the meal again.” You said, anxious to leave.

It wasn’t eating that was the worst part of IBS, it was the anxiety afterwards. You were always nervous that your stomach would flare up hours after you eating, which it sometimes did if you ate something not IBS friendly. 

“You’re always welcome here.” 

You checked your phone. “Um, it’s getting late. I should go.” You turned to leave, but he caught your wrist softly. 

“Wait, y/n.” 

You stopped and turned to face him. He looked nervous as he was still holding your hand gently. 

“Yeah?” You tried to say casually, but you were now extremely anxious for a reason besides food.

He let go of your wrist to brush his fingers through his hair. You loved his messy hair. 

“Um, ok, well... ok I’m just gonna say it.”

“Say it then.” You said out of habit. He glared at you, but you knew he didn’t mean it.

“Fine, well, you’re... you’re really fun to hang out with. Do you want to... go out with me sometime?” 

“We go out together all the time.” You said stupidly. 

He let out a strangled laugh. “Yeah but... like ... as a date.” 

Your heart stopped. 

“A date.” 

“Yes, a date, if you want.” 

A date? What could you both possible do on a date? You hated eating at restaurants, you can’t go hiking or backpacking because who knew when your symptoms would pop in and you were stuck on a mountain with no bathrooms and nowhere to sit. Not to mention, you didn’t eat much so you got lightheaded easily. You weren’t compatible. You would just be a burden to him. 

“y/n?” You almost forgot you were in the middle of a conversation.

You looked up at his pretty blue eyes that were full of hope. You couldn’t do this to him. You couldn’t hold him back like that.

“I... I’m sorry, Rafe... I can’t.” His face fell. “You’re an awesome guy, I swear to God you’re the best guy I’ve ever met. But... you just... we’re just... we’re just different.” 

That was a cop out answer and you knew it. 

“Different.” He echoed. 

You nodded. 

He paused, like he was wondering whether to keep talking to you or just kick you out. You wouldn’t blame him if he chose the latter. 

He then laughed bitterly. 

“That’s bullshit, y/n and you know it.” 

His harsh answer stunned you.

“What are you talking about?” You bristled. Now you were irritated.

“Oh, c’mon, you know I like you, and I know you like me. You can’t ignore what we have.” 

“We’re just friends, Rafe. Just friends.” 

“But I want more.” He said sadly. 

You were on the brink of tears too. 

“I do too.” You blurt. 

“Then why-”

“Because Rafe! You want to go out and do things. You want to treat your girlfriend like a princess-- you’ve said that to me before. And you just can’t do that for me because it’s not possible.

He scoffed. “What do you mean by that? You think you’re undeserving of love? Are you trying to say ‘it’s not you, it’s me’?” He was angry, and he had a right to be. You were running him in circles and you felt bad. 

“That’s not it! I just--” You felt your legs becoming weak, you could never stand for too long, especially in a heated conversation like this. 

“Y/n? Do you need to sit down?” 

You nodded as he was already guiding you to his couch. 

“Finish what you were saying earlier.” He said softly. God, you hated how kind he was to you even during an argument. You were trying to push him away!

“Right, well, I don’t think I’m undeserving of love, but it’s too hard to love me.” 

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, you don’t know how to love me! You can’t take me on dates-- I hate eating at restaurants which is a normal date, so you can cross that off your list of fancy dinners or whatever. I can’t go hiking because what if my stomach starts to hurt on the mountain? And you just fucking saw me getting woozy standing and talking for you too long while arguing. I’ll just be a burden to you.” 

He grabbed my hands and forced me to look at him. 

“Listen to me. You will never, ever, be a burden to me. Got that?” 

His voice was low and pained, like it hurt him for you to think about yourself like that. You didn’t need his pity so you pulled away from his hands.

“You don’t deserve someone who can’t do all the things you love.” 

“Relationships are all about compromise, y/n. I can do those things with my friends.” 

You shook your head.

“Rafe, you’re a great guy. Too good if I might add. And I’m so picky about everything. When I’m mad at you one day and you want to make it up to me, you can’t buy me chocolates or ice cream or whatever. For anniversaries, you can’t just take me out to a fancy restaurant. There might be a day where you run out of tricks and you’ll realize how hard it is to love me.” You laughed bitterly. 

“I can learn what makes you feel good. I can learn how to love you--”

“You can’t learn how to love me! I don’t even know how to love myself!” You shouted. 

A deafening silence washed over the room. 

I don’t even know how to love myself.

The honesty in your own answer made you cry.

How could anyone love you when didn’t even know how to love yourself? You didn’t even know how to make yourself happy. You didn’t know how to spoil yourself. You lived your life just to get by. 

How sad. 

“I’m sorry Rafe, I just can’t do this.”

This time, he just nodded. 

He’d already given up.

----------

Around two weeks had gone by since Rafe asked you out and you embarrassed yourself. You had never been the type to be so negative or so insecure. You hated what you had become. 

You hated how you felt some sort of relief when Rafe let you go. He grabbed you an uber and you went home. 

You both were ignoring the obvious conversation that needed to happen, but it was better this way. You were back to being the chatty girl in his English class and he was back to being the guy who laughed at all of your jokes. Normal. Everything was back to normal. 

“Sup, y/n, how’s it goin’?” 

You tried not to look surprised as JJ Maybank said hi to you. 

You two weren’t exactly friends, but you were friendly to one another. Yes, he could be a dick sometimes, but he was clueless about it.

“Oh hey, it’s going good so far. How about you?” 

“He and his ‘girlfriend’ got into a fight yesterday and needs advice.” Pope blurted. You tried not to laugh at the bluntness of his friend. 

JJ hit the boy. “Dude!”

“Hey, she was going to figure it out soon enough. You can’t shut up about it.” Their banter was always fun to watch. 

“What are you guys talking about?” Rafe asked when he sat down. 

“JJ got into a fight with his ‘girlfriend’”. You made sure to use the same air quotes like Pope. 

“Yes, thank you for embarrassing me further.” You shrugged. 

“It’s not like Rafe knows her.” 

JJ sighed and adjusted his hat to hide his tired face. 

You grew soft on the poor guy. “What kind of advice do you need, JJ?” 

JJ looked at you with sad eyes, but hopped right into his story. 

“Well, so this girl I’m into, she’s this big city girl. Grew up in Los Angeles, and you know me, I grew up in a small town in Alaska. We’re just so... different. She likes doing all this city girl stuff like going to the malls and just walking around a crowded town which is so different from me who didn’t even have a big mall where I was at and you could walk miles without running into another person. 

“I just don’t know how to keep up with her all the time... and she’s rich so she has to go to these fancy events. She told me I had to dress up if I wanted to meet her parents. 

“And she doesn’t like to be on the water ‘cause she gets seasick. And I practically lived on the water when I was in Alaska! What should I do?”

You paused, taking in his situation. 

You heard Rafe scoff. 

“Dude, it’s fucking obvious. Man the fuck up and buy better clothes and learn how to hold all of her shopping bags. Isn’t it obvious?” 

JJ nodded, like this made sense.

You nudged Rafe harshly. “What are you talking about? JJ, you guys sound really different, you have to ask yourself: do I like how I have to change myself to be with her? Am I ok with that? Am I ok with sacrificing things I love to be with this girl?” 

JJ nodded, soaking in your words. 

“Relationships are about compromise.” You rolled your eyes at these familiar words. “If you really like her, you are going to be willing to change.” 

“You shouldn’t have to change for someone else.” 

“Everyone should change, it’s good for the soul. Staying static is boring.” 

“Guys, guys,” JJ stopped you and Rafe. 

“Ok, I get both points. But, I do really like her. I’ve been pining after her for a while now and... and I don’t know, I just want to win her heart over. She’s already starting to push me away because she also doesn’t want me to change who I am. But I’m willing to put in the extra effort.”

“See? Putting in extra effort to impress the girl he likes, that’s what you should do.” Rafe commented. 

You grit your teeth. 

“I agree, JJ, you should always try to be better in a relationship. If she’s pushing you away because of her own fears, that only means you need to work harder.” Pope noted. 

“Or maybe she’s right, maybe you shouldn’t push people to make them feel like a burden to you. Maybe she just wants the best for you because she obviously knows you very well!”

“Maybe he wants to challenge himself because he wants her to feel safe and comfortable around him!” Rafe raised his voice. 

“Maybe he just wants to do that because of his ego.” You said with an equally angry tone. 

“Or maybe he wants to do that because he loves her!” Rafe slammed his hands on the desk and suddenly the room was silent. 

“Um... are you guys good?” JJ whispered, his problems now forgotten. 

--------

Because he loves her.

Loves her.

Love. 

Was Rafe still talking about the hypothetical JJ in this situation or was he talking about himself? 

Because you knew you were talking about yourself. 

Was he doing the same? 

You sprinted out of that classroom once your professor dismissed you. 

“Y/n, wait.” 

You paused outside the door. If you left, it would make you look mighty suspicious. If you stayed, then you could pretend everything was ok and that the “argument” you just had wasn’t about yourselves. 

You decided to make a run for it.

Unfortunately, Rafe jumped in front of you before you could leave. 

“Y/n, please. Talk to me.” 

“What? There’s nothing to talk about. JJ can make his own decisions. What a handful of a girl, right?” You tried to step around him, but Rafe kept blocking you. “Move-”

“We need to talk and I have a class soon. Meet me at my apartment when your classes end, ok?” 

You hesitated, but the desperation in his eyes made it hard for you to say no. 

“Ok.”

-------

Rafe’s apartment wasn’t too far of a walk from campus, plus you took the bus for part of the way. You secretly ate a bowl of rice with beef and broccoli before going just in case he didn’t have any more pho left at his apartment. 

You felt your heart beating out of control as you plucked up the courage to knock on his door.

“C’mon, you can do this.” You whispered to yourself. You raised your hand to knock, but the door flung open. 

Rafe had been back for a while since he was a morning person and finished his classes before noon. You on the other hand, finished classes at 5pm. No hate in the game, this was college. 

You took in his appearance and looked him up and down. 

He was wearing gray sweatpants with a white tank top and a red flannel over it. He looked too good right now for being casual. Fuck. 

You gulped. “Hey.” 

He gave you a tight smile. “Hey.”

You both stood there awkwardly. 

“Can I come in?”

“Oh shit, yeah, of course.” 

As you stepped into the well-lit apartment, you noticed he was sweaty; it seemed like he just got done with working out. All you wanted to do was to take off that flannel and see what he was hiding underneath. 

“Did you just come from the gym?” You asked nonchalantly. 

He raised a brow at your random question, but nodded. “Yup.”

You both stood in silence for a hot minute, the tension filling the air. You noticed his eyes trailing down your body; you knew you wore tighter clothes up top to try and impress the boy. You didn’t think it would work... but it did. 

“Oh fuck it.” You spat. His eyes grew confused at your sudden outburst, but when you took 3 large steps and grabbed his face, they widened.

“Can I kiss you?” You whispered.

“Please.”

And then you kissed him. 

His lips were soft, but his hands were rough on your body. He pulled you close enough so that your chests touched, making you groan at the contact. He deepened the kiss, teasing you with his tongue. 

“Rafe,” you chanted. You didn’t know what you were asking for, you just wanted him. 

He smiled, moving to kiss you all over your face and your neck. He smoothly pulled you into his bedroom. 

His bedroom was bare; only a bed sat in the middle and one desk to the side of it. You didn’t care, as long as there was a bed in there, that’s all that mattered.

Except you happened to miss a large box near the side of the bed that almost made you hit your head on the wooden floor. 

“Oops.” Rafe caught you before you fell.

“Sorry, I forgot to move those.”

Before he could move them out of sight, you noticed something familiar looking.

“Wait... are these--?”

“Wait-”

You picked up the box before he could stop you. You grew confused staring down at the object inside of it.

“Are these... what I think they are?” 

He ruffled his hair and nodded, trying to hide his red face. “Um, yeah. It’s... yeah.” He finished lamely.

You looked down and gently traced your fingers across the extravagant book covers. When you looked inside, they were all signed by your favorite author with a cute message. You felt tears well up in your eyes. 

“You went to the book signing.” You said numbly. 

He nodded hesitantly. He wasn’t sure how you would react. “I did...I wasn’t sure which book you liked from her so I got all 3.”

He played with the bottom of his flannel, anxiously waiting for your next move. 

You set the books down and pulled him in by his shirt. 

“Kiss me.” 

He paused, but only for a moment before he stripped off his flannel. 

Yes, finally.

He laughed. “You’ve been waiting for this to come off?” Shit, you said that out loud. 

He wasted no time pressing his lips to yours. You clung onto his neck, not being able to get close enough to him. Kissing was great, it was fantastic even. But you wanted more. You gently lifted your hips to meet his, rocking back and forth experimentally. 

He groaned at your movement. “Baby,” He whispered. 

You thought you would hate that pet name. 

You didn’t. 

“Yes?” You teased, planting little kisses on his neck, his collarbone, right under his ear. When he didn’t answer, you tugged him back down to you by his hair. 

You’re sure you had been making out for at least half an hour at this point when suddenly he lifted his head up. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” 

And you meant it. 

-------

You woke up in the morning with the best sleep you’ve had in years. You immediately turned to your side and saw Rafe still fast asleep. You saw his bare chest move up and down, up and down. It was hypnotic. 

You gently moved your fingers across his chest, soaking in the smoothness of it. The feeling of soft pleasure woke Rafe up. He smiled when he saw your mischievous look. 

“Good morning, gorgeous. How’re ya feelin’?” 

“Hmmm, alright.” 

He gently kissed your shoulder blade. What a tease.

“Only alright?” 

He tried to pull the blankets down to uncover your naked body, but it was the morning and you were still shy. 

You laughed at his attempts to turn you on. 

“Stop, Rafe, you horny ba-”

He then leaned in closely to you and whispered in your ear. 

“If I knew getting you books would get me laid, I would’ve done it years ago.” 

You laughed. 

“You didn’t know me years ago!” 

He gave you a crooked smile. 

“Plus, my love language is receiving gifts, so you got lucky.” 

He shrugged, but his eyes softened when he stared at you longer. 

He pulled you down for another soft kiss. You wanted more, but he pulled away before it could get too racy. 

“Told you I would learn how to love you.” 

[jadekitty777]

I Found My Heart in San Francisco

Another fun fact: Every day this week will have A. Three stories in Qrow’s perspective, B. Three in Tai’s and C. One they share, which was Day 2 of course. I really had the weirdest guidelines when I did this, but I honestly think it provided some of the best personal results.

Day 4 – Love Language/New Hobbies (thinking about it, they kind of both fit but the former was the more intentional choice) @taiqrowweek

Summary: It’s 1967. The Summer of Love has come and passed. Yet, Qrow discovers that even though the season has transitioned into the next, love is persistent. Maybe that was why they called it Falling. [Coffee Shop AU… with a twist!]

Rating: K+                  

Word Count: 13K – yeah this one’s a monster

Warnings: Take the timeline into consideration – definitely some discrimination in this one

Ao3 Link: I Found My Heart in San Francisco

Dedication: This one’s all for marvolo2526. I couldn’t think up another AU idea to complete the circuit and she had yelled ‘coffee shop!’ and then I went wild from there.

Notes: Title is a play off of the 1953 Tony Bennett single "I Left My Heart in San Francisco".

Okay. Oh wow. It’s time to give you all my absolute favorite of the week… and probably overall. This baby took two months of love and care and a BUTT-TON of research to compose. On that note, any historical inaccuracies, if anyone finds any, were either deliberate, accidental, or enough research was unable to be located. I’m very, very proud of this story though, my whole heart went into it, and I really just hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

~

San Francisco

September 18th, 1967

If anyone asked Qrow, he’d tell them patience was only for those who couldn’t figure out how to do things quickly.

Ca-chink!

Like using a cash register. Any twelve-year-old who had a dream of driving up to Harbinger Cliffs to maybe get lucky knew how to use one. He was certainly one of many who had lost countless weekends of his school years selling malts to snot-nosed kids or learning how to balance a tray full of burgers and fries while on rollerblades just to earn some nickels. It all paid off by junior year, when he finally got to roll up to school in his shiny Chevy Bel Air and got treated like a god by his peers. Opening himself up to the social map got him to also meet his high school sweetheart; and while he never took Winter Schnee up to the cliffs, he did get to take her to prom. They latest up until graduation day, where she went off to Atlas while he accepted a scholarship to Beacon. During the first year, he’d wrote letters; but a few months in, she stopped responding and he moved on.

In more ways than one.

“And that’s it!” Summer explained as she showed how to close the sale on the register, shutting the cashdrawer. “Think you got it?”

“Mmm? Yeah, I’m good.” Qrow replied, when in truth he had put more attention into trying to balance one of the red stirrers on his fingertips than listening to her.

His new manager swiped it off his finger and bopped him on the nose with it. “Qrow!”

“Whaaat?” He lent back against the counter. “Come on Sums, I’ve worked register before.”

Her expression only turned further sour, which was not very charming. “I pulled a lot of strings to convince my parents to let you work here, so if there’s even a penny out of place, I’m shoving this up your nose.”

Qrow eyed the stirrer warily, raising his hands in surrender. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Café Rosé was a charming little establishment on the corner of 3rd and Main, conveniently within walking distance of the academy and a college kid’s dream spot for exam cramming or after-party pick-me-ups. Though it had only opened a few years ago, it had done well for itself, having hit the scene just as coffee was becoming a larger fad among young adults. The quaint shop had a hole in the wall style feeling, with a bar running along the white counter and less than a half dozen tables and chairs set up across the limited floor space. The floor was chessboard checkered like a typical diner and the walls were black. The atmosphere would almost be depressing, if not for the additional design choice: red rose bouquets, hand painted at equally spaced intervals along the walls, making the room pop in an almost dazzling way without being too gaudy.

Honestly, he was ninety-eight percent sure the only reason he got hired was the fact he matched the shop’s chic color scheme to a T (though, he was certainly aesthetically pleasing all on his own, if he did say so himself). It definitely wasn’t because Summer’s parents liked him – they’re suspicious stares said all he needed to know of what they thought of him. Still, he couldn’t beat a job close to his dorm room that was also willing to work around his intensive school schedule; a fact only further daunted by the major-intensive coursework that came with starting his junior year. So, certainly he could put up with a bit of distaste for a few extra dollars in his pocket.

Plus, working with his best friend was an added bonus.

The bell above the door chimed, a small group of sophomores walking in, chattering amicably. Summer side-eyed him with a cheeky grin. “Alright Mr. Expert, time to put your skills to work.”

He winked in return. “I’ll try not to show you up, flowerbud.”

The next hour proceeded fairly commonly; he took orders, Summer made them, he delivered them. Simple. They had some snacks and fare to sell – the homemade pastries were a little stale, so he didn’t recommend those – but overall, the big selling point was the coffee. It was good brew and made with one of these new-fangled drip machines that had come out only a few years back. Most households couldn’t afford it and still made their coffee by boiling water on the stove, so merely the appeal alone of being able to buy coffee made the fancy, expensive way left people feeling like they were sophisticated and high-class.

Frankly, the little machine was just fascinating to operate, and more than once Qrow found himself just watching the russet liquid teardrop into the glass pot. It was during one of those mesmerized moments that he didn’t realize someone was standing behind him until he heard a thump-thump-thump of someone’s hand smacking the counter. He started and whirled around, a retort already curling on his tongue –

And immediately fizzling away as he was starstruck by the deepest blue eyes he’d ever seen.

The fellow was probably the same age as him, but the way he waved and smiled almost boyishly shy at him made him appear a bit younger and had Qrow’s heart skipping like it was playing for the Hopscotch National championship.

Mother of Mary, he was in love.

“Uh, sorry. How can I help you?” He said, stepping back up to the register on wobbly legs. The stranger hesitated, as if uncertain, and it gave Qrow the chance to give him a real look over.

His appearance was very Beatles-esque but the shade arrangement blended into a sort of downhome country allure: mop-top cut blond hair, orange silk necktie, lamb’s wool yellow sweater, russet flare slacks. What stood out the most though was the single piercing in his right ear, the stud in the shape of a sunflower. He must have been staring at it too long, because the blond suddenly pointed at it, raising an eyebrow in an unasked question. Qrow reached up, covering his own stud, a sideways cross that matched his necklace, nodding quietly.

The response was… bizarre. Those pretty blue eyes widened as he shook his head rapidly, before he pointed a bit more insistently at his own ear.

“Uhh… what?” Qrow asked.

The stranger slumped a bit, before gritting his teeth a little and hissing, “Sssu…” He paused, frowning, then held up a finger in the universal gesture of ‘wait a moment’ before digging around in his pocket.

The hell was this, some weird game of charades? He wasn’t that out of the scene was he? Whatever it was, it was kind of a buzzkill. “Buddy, maybe you just want to order?”

He didn’t even bother to acknowledge that with a response, still going about pulling out a small notepad, scratching something onto it hurriedly before holding it out his way.

Where’s Summer?

Qrow felt a spike of annoyance rise. Was this guy confused or just an idiot? Either way, he aimed the other with as sharp a stare as he could muster, snapping, “I’ll tell you right now, she ain’t interested. So if you’d like to order, I suggest doing so. Otherwise, leave.”

That earned him another frown, before the blond started to write again. What the ever-living hell was this?! And why was everyone at the shop giving him looks, like he was the one doing weird shit? “Hey, you need your ears cleaned? Either order or get out!”

That was when he heard the snap of the back door closing as Summer walked back in.

“Tai!” She yelped, before crossing the room in an instant, hip-checking Qrow out of the way with a hasty, “Sorry, I got this!” She reached out, tapping the freak’s arm. It caused him to stop writing and look up, before he grinned brightly. Summer smiled in return and then started to move her hands in odd patterns as she spoke, “Sorry, he’s new. The usual, right?”

The blond set down his pen and paper, silently gesturing back in equally unintelligible movements. Qrow watched the odd events wondering if he’d stepped into the Twilight Zone or something because though he wasn’t speaking, Summer seemed to understand whatever it was he was saying – was the conversation transmitting right into her brain?

Qrow watched the man warily as he handed over some money and walked away from the counter, unsure what to make of the sheepish smile and wave he offered him as he passed. He looked back at Summer, ducking over to grab her shoulder and murmur, “Do I need to call the FBI?”

“What?” She snorted down a laugh.

“I think your brain’s been probed.” He shot the man a suspicious glance. Was that why he was so attractive? To put unsuspecting guys like him off his guard?

“Really Qrow?” Summer was unamused. “I think I’m going to have to ban you from late night TV.”

He frowned, a touch indignant. It could happen! “Well, what was that then?”

“It was sign language, dummy.” She rolled her eyes. “Taiyang’s deaf.”

He blinked.

Oh.

So, he just yelled at a deaf guy.

Face turning peppermint red, he placed a hand on the counter, using it as leverage to slowly sink behind it so no one could see him anymore. “I think I’m just going to take my break here. Preferably forever.”

He was given a few sympathetic pats on the head and, ten minutes later, a peace offering in the form of a cup of coffee with enough cream and sugar to turn it light as caramel. So, he sucked it up and took his walk of shame all the way to the end of the counter, carefully placing the mug down in the other’s line of sight, but not too close to the textbook he was reading.

Taiyang glanced up and that boyish smile was back. He placed a hand against his chin and waved outwards, like he was blowing a kiss to him.

Somehow, Qrow turned even redder this time, ducking his head and hurrying away as his heart thundered in a confused cacophony.

~

October 3rd, 1967

“Alright bro, you’ve been wallowing for days now. Lay it on me already.”

Qrow sighed, pulling the pillow up from his face and glancing towards his twin. Rather than answer, his lips pursed in disgust at the sight of her. “What are those grungy things?”

Raven pulled down the overly large purple shades, red eyes peering over the rim tops at him. “You don’t like them? I thought they were pretty boss.” She readjusted the glasses, looking back at herself in the mirror. Each time she turned her head to see herself from another angle, the multitude of beads she had strung in her hair rattled nosily, the flower bandanna around her head doing nothing to contain the wild black locks.

“Remind me to tell Vernal to keep you off the grass for a while.” Qrow mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She was talking about getting inked, you know.” She pat her arm. “Right here. A raven.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, but his mind was on Taiyang and the little black heart he had on his own arm. Qrow had only seen it yesterday; it had been a warm day so he’d been in a polo rather than his arrangement of sweaters. “You get liver poisoning that way.” He replied distractedly.

“You really are being a drag.” Raven sat on her own bed, graciously sparing him from having to look at the gaudy shades by tossing them on the mattress. “What’s happening?”

He tossed the inkling around in his head, pondering over whether he really wanted to tell his sister about his woes. But, who else did he have besides Summer? “You know the job I took a few weeks back? We have a regular there who can’t hear.”

“Like, at all?” When he nodded, she lent forward, resting her hands under her chin. “Wild. So what do you do?”

“Summer talks to him with these weird hand flaps.”

“It’s called sign language, birdbrain.”

“I know! That’s not the point!”

She arched a brow. “So, what is the point?”

“I…” He looked away, unable to face her as he admitted, “He irritates me. I don’t get why we should cater to him just ‘cause he was unlucky.”

There was a creak of bedspring as Raven shifted positions, then said, “You sound like mom.”

“I know!” Qrow shouted, shooting up from the bed and running his hands through his hair. “It’s been three years Rae! Why can’t I get her damn screechy voice out of my head?!”

Raven lounged back on the heels of her hands, her red eyes following him while he paced the floor and mumbled out angry curses. She was patient as she waited for him to finish, but once he’d slumped back to his own bed, hanging his head in defeat, her voice was oddly soothing to his frayed nerves, “Ma had plenty to say about everyone. It’s hard conditioning to break. You and I know that better than anyone.”

He scoffed. “As if you ever had a problem.”

She shrugged, not answering that. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known Raven was kissing chicks behind the bleachers by the time she was thirteen. And when their parents finally found out and pointed to the door, she’d marched out of the house with her head held high as if it’d been her idea to leave the whole time.

But him? He didn’t even try crossing the bridge until his first college party, where a few shots blitzed him enough to realize that Tin Man Jimmy’s eyes were rather fetching and it was a terrible shame to make them close when he kissed him. They hadn’t lasted, but it had been enough to make him want to find the underground world hidden from society’s eye. So, after getting a few tips from Raven (and a lot of necessary encouragement over how he wasn’t a demon birthed from Hell’s fiery womb), he started to dress just a bit flashier, speak a little more in jargon and frequent more bars on the south side of town. Three years away from home left him more comfortable within himself than he’d ever thought possible, as if he truly was a bird that was finally given the right to fly for the first time. He thought he’d really broken free of the cage his parents had ignorantly built around him.

And then he had to meet Taiyang and, with each passing day leaving his attraction further soured with distaste, Qrow realized that no, he really wasn’t past everything and maybe he never would be.

“You’re brooding.” Raven quirked, always pleased in her awful taste of humor. “Look, you really want to stick it to mom? Make friends with him.” She rolled her shoulders in a half-hearted shrug. “And if you can’t do that, then just ignore him.”

“I, I guess.” He conceded, sighing towards the ceiling. “This is all so janked. Even worse, I feel like I’m betraying my people somehow.”

“What does that mean?”

He placed a hand over his piercing, recalling the expression on Tai’s face when he’d done the same thing during their first meeting. An expression he now understood had been panic as the man feared he’d just accidentally made a total stranger out himself in public. “He’s batting for my team, not yours.”

“Ooooo.” Her expression lit up with sudden understanding. A smirk began creeping its way onto her face. “So what’s he look like?”

Qrow gave her one glance before adamantly shaking his head. “Oh no. I know that gleam.”

She fluttered her eyelids; though, the day she could pull of innocent would be the same day God’s rapture happened. “Whatever do you mean, dear brother?”

“You’ve got that look that says you’re about to psychoanalyze me!”

“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Just because you’re majoring in psychology doesn’t suddenly make you an expert.”

“No. I suppose not.” She finally agreed. And as he stretched back out along his bed, he thought she was just going to let it go, until: “…So, blue eyes, huh?”

Qrow buried his face into his pillow and screamed.

~

October 11th, 1967

The rag made a wet plop as Qrow tossed it onto the tabletop, wiping away circular coffee cup marks and pastry crumbs. It was a slow day at the café, only three customers in the shop and only a handful of others having come in since the start of his shift. He looked towards the only one sitting at the bar. Taiyang was signing in quick, rapid movements, and though Qrow couldn’t make heads or tails of it, Summer had no trouble keeping up as she started to laugh at whatever he was telling her.

Feeling his jaw tighten, he ducked his head and slunk off to another table, scrubbing a little harder at the stains. It had only been a few days, and he found attempting to ignore Tai was only resulting in him being even more hyperaware of his presence.

The only other patrons were two classmates he faintly recognized from his American Studies course. They were talking in hushed tones and, normally, he’d tune it out; but searching for a much-needed distraction, Qrow lent down to wipe one of the chair seats off as he strained his ear.

“I don’t know about this Cardin.” He heard one of them grunt gruffly. The guy’s hair was cut in a way that it made him look like a ridiculous cockatiel.

The other hissed back, “Don’t be a flake.”

“I’m not!”

“Good.” Then, even lower, “It’s not like he’ll hear us coming anyways.”

What?!

Qrow narrowly missed smacking his head on the bottom of the table as he straightened up. Walking around their table to the next, he continued to try and listen in, but they’d moved to talking about the Yankees game. He side-eyed their backs, wondering if he’d maybe just misheard. Eventually, he gave up hovering, knowing there was only so much he could pretend to clean and returned to the counter to organize the mugs.

The minutes passed and he kept sneaking glances to the duo, but when they didn’t so much as give Tai a glance when he stood to leave, Qrow relaxed, even returned the wave the blond sent him as he passed by. The bell rang as the door opened and shut.

Seconds ticked by and nothing happened.

He sighed, turning away and tossing his rag in the basin. Of course he was overreacting.

Scraaap!

Qrow paused, looking back and watching with increasing trepidation as the two students got to their feet, pulling on their jackets. The snap of the door closing was unusually loud, leaving a disturbing silence behind.

“Ah! Alone at last.” Summer cheered, handing him Tai’s mug.

He swallowed down the sickness in his throat. “Yeah.”

His friend continued to chatter but he found it hard to listen as he stared down at the cup, his mind circling as much as the coffee rings he was staring at.

“God has a plan for everyone.” He could almost feel the bite of his mother’s fingernails digging into his shoulder as she whispered in his ear, “If someone’s born unnatural, He’s already forsaken them. Whatever comes next, it’s only what they deserve.”

His hand tightened around the mug, then he slammed it on the counter, the loud noise drowning out her voice.

No!

“Uh, Qrow?”

“I’m taking my break!” He called, jumping over the counter in one fluid motion as he sprinted out the door. He took off around the building and through the alleyway most of the students cut through to get to the outfields.

The night was brisk, autumn’s chill having settled in deep this year and leaving the trees already wilting, their spindly limbs like decrepit fingers reaching out for him as he passed by. His heart beat a hard rhythm in his chest as he spotted the duo quickly closing in. Qrow sprinted forward as fast as legs could carry him, his mouth opening in a useless cry Tai could never hear.

Except, by some miracle he did, stopping and turning just in time to accept Cardin’s punch to his face.

Even from this distance, Qrow winced at the sound of the impact, and had it been him accepting the blow, he would have been on the ground immediately. But Tai was more solidly built, only stumbling back, and still had the awareness to jerk away from the follow up strike. What happened next was probably the most unreal thing Qrow had ever witnessed when, just as quick, the blond’s hands reached out, clasping around his attacker’s wrist and elbow, smoothly kicking out his legs so he could flip him. Cardin gave an aborted yelp, all the breath probably whooshing out of his lungs from how hard he hit the ground.

His mohawked buddy tried to grapple Tai from behind, but the blond’s elbow snapped back, landing a rough hit into his chest to knock him back. That was when Qrow finally managed to clean the distance, throwing all his weight in as he shoulder-tackled into guy just as he was stumbling back, actually managing to toss him into the grass next to his friend.

Rubbing the ache from his arm, Qrow ignored the look of surprise Tai was sending him as he growled out to sprawled forms, “If you don’t want to get thrashed again, I suggest you split!”

Cardin scowled as he got to his knees, eyes darting between them as if he was looking for another cheap shot. He must have thought better of whatever ill plans he was concocting though, because he said, “Time to cut out Russ, this scene’s getting diseased.”

A flare of anger burned through Qrow. “What was that?!”

It only earned him a taunting, “Later fags!” As the two took off.

His hands shook as he curled them into fists, mind playing the thought of chasing after them and giving them both a quality shiner to wear for the rest of the week. Yet, movement at his left had him looking back at Tai in time to see the blond cringing some as he touched his face.

“Ah, jeez.” Qrow mumbled when the other’s hand came away scarlet red with blood.

Returning to the shop with Tai’s nose gushing like a fountain yielded about the response he expected as Summer took one look at them, then yelled in horror, “What happened?!”

Leading the blond to the nearest bar stool, Qrow replied, “The two that left here tried to get the jump on him. Can you get a rag, Sums?”

The dainty woman was quick to do so, ringing it out in the sink before handing it over to the blond. As he pressed it to his face, she gestured and said, “Are you alright?”

With his hands busy, all Tai could do was nod.

“He’s fine.” Qrow reassured, leaning his hip against the counter. “Took it like a champ and gave twice back. It was kind of impressive actually.” Really, there had been something fantastic about the finesse in which Tai had moved; it had been as if he was channeling Bruce Lee spirit into his own.

Being the girl she was, Summer only continued to frown, flapping her hands some more. “Stay as long as you need.”

Tai just nodded again, and as she walked away to finish stocking the coffee canisters, he glanced sideways towards him in a confused manner.

“Eh.” Qrow just shrugged in return. He turned away, about to round the bar, when a warm hand closed around his arm. He looked down at it, then the man it belonged to. “Yeah?” He asked, remembering two seconds later he couldn’t hear him. Just like when they first met, Taiyang asked him to wait, before he dug out his notepad and pen, flipping it to a clean page. Qrow rested against the counter again, looking down when the notepad was pushed towards him.

Thank you for coming after me. It read. The handwriting was so neat, it could have been book print and Qrow imagined he probably went to one of those schools that slapped students’ wrists until each line and dot was perfect.

He wondered if they were even harder on Tai about it.

The pen was placed down next to it, invitation clear, and after a short hesitance, Qrow picked it up, writing back: You don’t need to thank me. You did fine on your own. How’d you know they were there?

Tai shook his head when he read it, taking the pen again, returning with, I saw their shadows.

Okay, that’s pretty boss. He replied.

Thank you?

The question mark, combined with the baffled look, made Qrow wonder if he even knew what the term meant so he quickly amended with: Sorry. It means really cool.

Tai read it, rolling his eyes. His reply was quick, but rather than push it back he held the notepad up, one raised eyebrow enhancing the clearly miffed tone: I know. I’m deaf, not out of touch.

He laughed, the response catching him off-guard.

Tai set it back down and added underneath that, Noticing stuff like that is normal for me. Nothing to get freaked out over.

Just like the blond had, Qrow replied with an equal amount of cheekiness: Alright Mr. Sassypants. I still -think it’s boss.

It gifted him a smile and a compliment: You’re lucky you’re a dish, Qrow.

He felt heat on his face. Perfect for every meal of the day. He flirted back.

Tai laughed behind his hand. It was mostly soundless, little tiny huffs of air, but it made his eyes shimmer merrily.

Qrow was glad he had the counter for support as he felt his knees go weak all over again, positive the smile stretching along his face was goofy as could be, but not minding at all.

~

October 12th, 1967

As he took the ever-familiar trek from his history class to the shop, Qrow found himself whistling the chorus to “All You Need is Love”, a bop to his step and a sway to his hips. He pretended the brittle grass crunching underfoot was a suitable replacement for the backing percussion, heels hitting a little harder when he passed over the same spot where those punks had gotten their tails handed to them just last night, and made his way through the trees and alley next. He weaved his way around the bad luck cracks in the sidewalk, humming the last tones of the song as he pulled open the door, the half-formed plan on how to convince Summer to let him slack off a bit today so he could chat Tai up again falling away when he realized she wasn’t at the counter.

“Hey there, Mrs. Rose.” He said as politely as possible. “Sums running late?”

The woman, hair graying and tummy plumped with age shook her head. “‘Fraid she won’t be making it in for a bit. Poor child came down with a frightful fever. She looks just dreadful. So I’ve decided to work her shift until she feels well.”

“Oh.” He said, trying to mask his disappointment. “Give her my regards next time you see her.”

“Certainly will. Now, be a dear and handle the dishes.” As he passed by her, she caught his arm, grip almost too tight as she whispered harshly in his ear, “And get that thing out of your ear. People talk you know.”

“Yes ma’am.” Qrow replied. As he placed the stud in his pocket, he found himself extremely glad she hadn’t been there yesterday. She certainly would have spared no sympathy for Tai and his mangled nose.

He wasn’t surprised when he spent his next hour working like a dog, despite the moderate business. But even if Mrs. Rose had made him scrub the tiles with a toothbrush, nothing could tear his eyes away from the door. Therefore, he didn’t miss the exact moment Tai walked through. He practically dropped the trayful of mugs he was bussing in his hurry to set them down and hop on the register.

From the smile he wore, it seemed Tai was just as blissed to see him. And though his face was swollen and bruised, he was still the prettiest sight Qrow had gotten all day.

He slid the note he’d written on a scrap of receipt over. Summer’s sick and her mom’s a prowler. The usual?

The blond nodded, pulling out his pen. Good luck.

As he took the change, he stuffed the note next to his earring, hoping that having the wish in his pocket would act like a charm, because he was going to need all he could get.

No matter how much he wanted to, Qrow didn’t dare try to talk more with Tai. He did spare him a few glances here and there, and if they caught eyes, they’d share smiles; but even that yielded short supply as the blond spent most of his time bent over his notebook, scribbling away. He would have been more upset that those blue eyes weren’t following his every moment like a lovesick chick gazing upon her Casanova, had he had enough time to consider it.

Instead, he was too busy following the siren’s noxious songs of “Qrow can you do” and “Qrow can you get this” and “Qrow this just isn’t clean enough”. So, by the time he thought to look back, Tai’s stool was empty, nothing left but his mug. Trying not to let disappointment drag him down, he went to fetch it. His hand paused inches from picking up the mug when he realized a folded slip of paper was pinned underneath it.

Heart jamming a rhythm that would make even The Rolling Stones jealous, Qrow scanned the store, just to make sure no one’s attention was on him, before he picked up the note. A question was written on it:

What’s a crow’s favorite drink?

He arched an eyebrow, before unfolding the page. The answer was written in large lettering, arched like a rainbow over a surprisingly well-drawn ink picture of a cartoon crow with its wings folded around a mug.

CAWfee!

Qrow snorted, shoulders shaking with effort to contain his laughter, a flush of warmth spreading throughout him like a warm summer rain.

“Qrow! Don’t dawdle over there! I need you to scrub these pastry pans!” Mrs. Rose called shrilly.

Even that couldn’t ruin his euphoric mood. “Coming!” He placed the drawing next to his receipt and earring, feeling luckier than the richest man in Vegas.

~

October 13th, 1967

Day two went much the same, but with a heavier crowd often found as the week drew on as exhausted students tried to sludge through the day and make it to the weekend. Once the first hour had passed, Qrow’s feet and patience were already tired and he’d managed to mix up two orders. Summer’s mom was in a state over it, and she made sure he knew it as she yelled down at him enough that he felt like he was back in primary school and getting scolded for pushing Glynda off the witch’s hat on the playground all over again.

As he waited for the coffee to brew once again, vengefully contemplating the ramifications of his soul if he decided to set Mr. Rose’s hair on fire, he heard a telltale rap-a-tap-tap along the countertop that told him his favorite customer had arrived. And, sure enough, as he turned to face the register, there Tai was, smiling back at him in that way he couldn’t imagine he’d ever grow tired of.

Qrow did his best to return it, but Tai didn’t need hearing to tell him that his heart was misplaced from it. Already prepared, the blond scribbled on his little notepad, sliding it his way.

You alright?

He took the proffered pen. I’ll survive.

It felt a shame to see the smile get overtaken by a frown and he felt almost as cheated as if the weatherman promised a sunny day only for him to walk into the rain. Tai rolled the pen between his fingers, before writing quickly: Hang in there Pige.

Wait.

What?

Qrow’s eyebrows knotted. Of course he knew the reference. Any 50s kid did. But how did-? No. More importantly-

No way. You’re Lady. I’m the Tramp, through and through.

I’m interested in that yarn if you dare to spin it. Tai was laughing quietly again.

Feeling his face heat, he quickly changed topics. How do you even know that movie?

I really like dogs. So, every week I’d beg my parents to take me to the cinema to see it, even though I couldn’t hear it. My mom eventually wrote out the dialogue for me so I could follow along. Now it was the other’s turn to look embarrassed.

Feeling a bit amiss for words, Qrow only wrote back, Good mom. Secretly glad that bitterness couldn’t be telegraphed so easily.

The best. Speaking of, Mrs. Rose is giving you the stink eye.

Ah, shit.

He gratefully accepted the dime the blond slipped him, reluctantly getting back to work.

That night, a new drawing was placed beside his coffee drinking crow. This one was only pencil and more hastily sketched due to being busier than its predecessor.  The first thing that drew his eye was the slightly more masculine Lady, snooty nose up in the air and sunflower perched atop one floppy ear. There was a leash in ‘her’ teeth and a speech bubble above her head that said, ‘You belong in the dog house.’

Attached to its other end was Tramp, the pendant on his collar a sideways cross. His ears were raised hopefully as he inquired back, ‘Yours?’

Qrow lay in bed that night, unable to rest as he thought over the silent question for a long, long time.

~

October 14th, 1967

By day three, Summer was back and Qrow practically fell to her feet in his relief, hugging onto her knees and begging her to never leave him again. She promptly told him to stop overacting like he was living in a Broadway musical and, as an apology, gave him one of her Secret Ingredient Cookies that were known for their heavenly taste. It certainly made up for him still doing most of the work while his still recovering friend puttered about at the speed of molasses. Nor did she raise protest as he endlessly groused over his meager sufferings. It was only when he got to the single highlight of the past two days, did she speak up.

“Of course I knew he could draw.” Summer interjected what was meant to be a rhetorical question. “Who did you think painted the roses here?”

“Hold up. Didn’t your parents open this place up a few years back?”

“Yep.” She said, adding a little pop to the ‘p’.

He looked at her, mildly betrayed. “How long have you known Tai?”

She hummed. “Since 10th grade. I went to a special sign language event with my cousin Neo. To support her, you know?” He was certain from the way she rolled her eyes that he looked about as utterly clueless as he felt. “She’s mute, Qrow. Anyways, that’s where I met Tai. We stayed in touch ever since.”

He was starting to wonder what else he didn’t know about Summer. “So why haven’t I met him before?”

“Tai tends to get nervous meeting new people. And you’ve never exactly been Mr. Approachable, especially not back in high school.”

A weak, “Hey!” was about the extent of his argument. He couldn’t deny he used to be one of the biggest gas lighters in the whole school, always looking for a new victim to scoff at. It was a world wonder how Summer put up with him back then.

“But, you know,” She continued as she stacked a few of the clean mugs up on the rack, tone deceptively casual, “He sure has been hanging around here a lot more often ever since you started working here.”

Rap-a-tap-tap, went the counter. Summer smiled knowingly before she flitted over to the register. Qrow watched the two talk, meeting Tai’s eyes over her head every now and again, and found the question he’d been agonizing over all night was suddenly startlingly simple to answer.

As he went to make the order he’d long ago memorized, he turned to his friend and said, “Sums, I need a favor.”

Ten minutes later, the cup was placed down on the counter, and as always, Tai smiled at him, waving his hand in front of his chin like a kiss. ‘Thank you’ he said.

For the first time ever, instead of the simple nod that had been the entirety of their communication for weeks now, Qrow mimicked the movement. ‘You’re welcome.’

Tai’s eyes widened.

Hands shaking with both nerves and inexperience, he carefully followed up with, ‘Would you like to go out sometime?’

For a fraction of a minute, while the blond sat there, not replying, Qrow worried he’d gotten it wrong.

And then, just as slow and deliberate, Tai rose his hand, curling it into a fist and shaking it in clear answer.

‘Yes.’

And like the bird he was named after, Qrow soared.

~

November 28th, 1967

So that’s why you wear your crosses like that!

Yeah. With a mother like mine, you’d forsake all religion too. What about you? Why a flower?

Don’t laugh. I garden. Sunflowers are my favorite.

Wait. So you can draw, plant flowers and you’re a martial artist blackbelt? Is there anything you can’t do?

Well, I can’t sing.

Qrow laughed, reaching over the bar to give the other’s shoulder a playful shove. Tai grinned back, completely unabashed, but as he pulled his notebook back towards him to write something else, he seemed to hesitate. His expression gentled with contemplation before finally writing what was on his mind.

When Qrow read it, he felt his breath stick like glue in his throat.

I know you want to ask. It’s okay.

He looked from Tai’s inviting gaze down to the pen, the offer clearly on the table to finally break the light conversation they’d been having the past six weeks and truly get serious. Inhaling deeply, he gathered his courage as he took it and replied: You got me. So, were you always deaf?

Tai’s smile never faltered, even as he answered: No. But I don’t remember a time when I could hear either.

What happened?

When I was a baby, I got really sick. My blood-related father refused to let mom take me to the hospital, even when I wouldn’t wake up. That’s why she left him. The doctors brought down my fever but my hearing was gone after that.

Qrow’s scanned over the words again and again, unsure what to say, but knowing ‘I’m sorry’ wouldn’t be well received. That’s awful. He settled on instead.

Tai shrugged. Can’t miss what you never knew you had.

Qrow had a feeling he didn’t only mean his hearing. He could certainly relate.

He tried to think of something, anything to say – but, despite a distinct lack of a usable voice, Tai was easily better at breaking silences. Alright, your turn. Tell me something unique about yourself.

Unique, huh? He tapped the end of the pen on the counter as he thought over whether he wanted to give away his biggest trump card or if he wanted to hold it until he could introduce them before dropping the bomb. But, when nothing else good came to mind he finally wrote:

I’m a twin.

It was still worth it. Tai’s eyes practically bugged out of his head, looking between the page and him and when he wrote back, it was messy and excited, underlined multiple times for emphasis.

FAR OUT! I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS!!!

He laughed again, twirling his wrist in a gesture he’d only recently learned meant ‘go on’. He was picking Sign in bits and pieces from the other. He still couldn’t hold a conversation or even complete the last third of the alphabet, but it certainly didn’t deter him. It helped his teacher’s hands were warm and gentle, often lingering intentionally on his own (it was also half the reason he was having so much trouble remembering most of them).

The notepad was finally pushed back, and though he expected all of them, it was probably Tai’s genuine enthusiasm that left Qrow feeling endeared rather than annoyed as he read, trying to contain his grin.

Are you younger or older? Identical? Have you two been switching on me this whole time without telling me? Can you read each other’s minds? Most importantly: Who’s the evil twin?

I’m younger. Not identical, but Raven’s definitely the evil twin. She can read my mind, sometimes, but she can do that with everyone. I’m pretty sure she’s actually an alien.

Tai scribbled back, You think everyone’s an alien. Really though, what’s it like having a sibling?

Qrow twirled the pen between his fingers like a baton as he gave the question some honest consideration before writing, Like having a best friend and worst enemy rolled into one. Rae gets on my nerves constantly and she can be unbearable to live with, but she’ll always be the first person I tell all my secrets to.

Sounds profound.

He wondered if it would be too weird to ask if he could save this page for himself, even as he replied, You should come to my dorm sometime. I could introduce you.

It was rare he ever saw Tai blush. He was suddenly very committed to making it happen more often. The blond started to write before shaking his head, quickly slashing it out and saying instead, I’d like that.

Yet, no matter how well the words were blacked out, Qrow truly was at least quarter-part hellion, because he had been reading as it was being written and filed the idea away for future use.

To what, your tongue?

~

December 2nd, 1967

“How. About. This?” Qrow said as he moved his hands slowly, then lifted them up to his eyes, circling them like spectacles.

Tai was unamused, making a sharp motion. ‘No way.’

He laughed, waving him down. ‘Joking.’ 

‘Try again.’

“Aright.” Qrow acquisitioned, “This?” This time, he brought his fists together like a heart, before moving them apart, spreading out his fingers as he did so, mimicking a firework.

Still wary of another joke, Tai tilted his head some and asked, ‘Why?’

Qrow reached for the notepad that was never far, writing down, Because you’re like a burst of energy.

He knew he had struck gold, because Tai immediately brightened, signing enthusiastically, ‘Love it!’

Rather pleased, he settled back against his headboard, scanning over the page which was full of broken sentences and single words. They’d been at it for a good hour but deciding on their name signs had been wicked cool. It felt like a secret handshake almost. Thankfully, Tai was also determined to be a bit more creative than simply making a bird that any teenybopper with a flashlight could imitate. Instead, he had curved the index and middle fingers of his right hand sideways, while placing the index of his left at the base of them.

Like a scythe. Qrow reread, brushing his thumb over the text. Because you’re dangerously beautiful.

A hand patting along the bedsheets drew his eyes back to the blond, who either signed ‘What now?’ or ‘What next?’, Qrow wasn’t entirely positive. He lifted the notepad for Tai to read, Can I ask you to try something? When he got the affirmative, he added after it, Can you say my name with your voice?

The response was immediate, Tai making the same motion over and over, ‘No. Nononononon-’ Face turning red, he stopped and hid behind his hands.

“Whoa, whoa.” He sat up, running his hand over the tops of the golden locks until he could see those blue eyes again to sign, ‘Please?’

Tai sighed soundlessly. ‘You’ll laugh.’

‘Probably.’ He chuckled when the other shoved him, repeating, ‘Please?’

The other snuffed like a discontented bull. ‘I’ll try’ Tai straightened up, placing his hand against his throat. He hummed and hawed to get a feel for the sound for a minute, his expression shifting comically as he got used to it, before his lips parted, a confused hiss escaping, “Ccccccoo?”

Qrow tried his best, he really did, but even with his teeth leaving grooves into his bottom lip, nothing could really contain the sudden fit that overcame him.

Tai flushed, looking indignant as he signed harsh repeats. ‘Jerk. Jerk, jerk, jerk!’

“I’m sorry!” He said, signing it adamantly but the blond looked away from him, obviously peeved. Qrow waited until he wasn’t going to laugh in his face again, reaching out to cup his hand under Tai’s chin, gently pulling his gaze back his way. Not quailing under the glare, he said, ‘Thank you.’

His lips pursed some, almost a pout, and his shoulders relaxed. But, he didn’t let him completely off the hook as he snatched up the notepad, pointing at, Can I ask you to try something?

Well, that was probably fair. Qrow nodded, “Yeah, sure.”

The book made a soft thump as it was tossed back to the sheets. Tai began to move his hands in a slow manner whenever he was worried Qrow wouldn’t understand. He pointed to himself.

“Me.” Qrow sounded out. Two movements, one blending into the next as Tai closed his hand and pointed at him, “And you.”

Boyishly shy as if it were their first meeting all over again, Tai hesitated, before tapping his index and middle finger against his own lips.

Oh.

Suddenly, the fact that they had been alone in his dorm room for over an hour and hadn’t been making out the whole time seemed like a great misuse of a Saturday afternoon.

‘Yes,’ Qrow replied unsteadily, whole body feeling electrified as if he’d truly become a bird that had just landed on a live wire. Tai was eyeing his shaking hand uncertainly, so he repeated the acceptance more vigorously, nodding with it.

The blond chuckled with that breathy, huffing laugh of his, own smile trembly with nerves. The bedsprings creaked as he shifted closer, fingers drawing a warm pattern from Qrow’s forehead down to his chin but just scant inches away, he hesitated. It was hard to tell if it was inexperience or jitters making him freeze, but Qrow reached up, hand covering the one on his chin, fingers slipping into Tai’s as he tilted his head and closed the rest of the distance between them.

The first kiss was chaste, their lips slightly winter-chapped but warm, lasting only a few seconds before they were pulling back. Squeezing his hand, Tai pulled his away only to sign ‘again?’. His expression was delightfully starstruck. Qrow grinned, clutching Tai’s sweater and leading him back in.

By the fourth kiss, Tai stopped checking.

By the sixth, a swipe of Qrow’s tongue along his lips had Tai jerking back, eyes wide in surprise, only to eagerly dive in for a seventh.

By the time his sister walked in, he had lost count, too preoccupied by trying to make the blond moan again to keep track.

“Well, aren’t you two disgusting?” Raven said, shutting the door behind her.

He lurched out of Tai’s lap, glaring crossly at her. A moment later, the blond realized she was there too and yelped. The noise was so unexpected it made both of the twins jump.

“Whoa, hey,” Qrow placed a hand on his arm to get his attention. “It’s okay. It’s okay. This is Raven.” He said, carefully fingerspelling her name. He’d practiced it enough, preparing for when he’d introduce them – though, he certainly hadn’t meant for it to be like this.

The panic slowly melted away to understanding, quickly followed by absolute mortification. Still, Tai made the effort to offer her a greeting wave.

The way Raven eyed him, smirking with gleeful smugness, only seemed to increase his intimidation. “Ah, so he does have blue eyes.”

Making a mental note to explain things later, Qrow gave Tai a pitying pat, before turning back to his sister. “Thought you said you were gonna be out.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not sticking around.” Her nose wrinkled, not hard to guess what nasty scenarios she was envisioning. “I just need the keys to the Chevy, then I’m gonna split.” He snatched up the keyring on his nightstand and tossed them her way. She caught them easily, waving as she headed back for the exit, “Have fun!”

He almost just left it at that. Almost.

Instead he called after her, “Where are you going?”

“Draft card burning.”

“Another one?”

Her hand hovered above the doorknob, before slowly pulling away as she turned to him, demeanor predatory in the way she stared him down. “Got a problem with that?”

Raven’s scare tactics had never worked on him before. They certainly weren’t going to now. “Yeah I got a problem with it!” Qrow snapped back, air quoting ‘problem’ for emphasis as he got to his feet, facing her down. “You shouldn’t be going to them. People are getting killed.” When her only response was to roll her eyes, his anger flared. “Raven, I’m serious!”

Her voice rose with his. “And I’m not?! For every one of us shot, ten more of our brothers are being gunned down across the sea!”

“That’s not your problem to solve!”

“No, it’s all of ours, you’re just too oblivious to see it. If you won’t stand with me, then fine!” She stepped forward, snarling in his face, “But you damn well better not stand in my way.”

Even before he responded, he knew what he’d say would be childish; Raven was the only one who made him feel like he had to resort to the tactics of a twelve-year-old. “Oh, I’m oblivious?! You really think anyone’s gonna listen to some stupid girl that thinks handing out a bunch of flowers can stop a war?”

They were about as effective too, because she hardly faltered. “You’ll thank this ‘stupid girl’ when it saves your ass from being next.” A scoff. “Just like always.”

Somehow, that stung. “Don’t act so full of yourself.”

“You know I’m right.” Raven turned away, clearly done with him. “These protests can’t stop until the day our troops are sent home.” She yanked open the door, tossing back at him, “We’re fighting a useless war. And the sooner the rest of the world sees that, the better.”

Then she was gone, nothing left but the snap of the latch catching to echo her departure.

Qrow stood there, fists shaking where they curled tightly at his sides, blood running hot in his veins. So caught up in his turbulent emotions, he almost forgot he wasn’t alone until a warm hand caught his wrist. Looking over, he was met with Tai’s earnest concern. It took some effort, but he managed to relax his hands, enough to sign a quick, ‘Sorry.’

The apology was quickly dismissed, the blond guiding him back to his bed. Both of them sat on the edge. ‘The war?’ The blond guessed, fingerspelling the second word for him.

‘Yeah,’ He replied halfheartedly.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

As answer, Qrow mutely slipped his hand into Tai’s, tangling their fingers into a tight grip.

~

March 30th, 1968

The trunk was popped open, a duffle bag being set down inside. Qrow peeked at it around Tai’s arm, inching his hand towards it.

Smack!

He recoiled quickly, shaking out the imaginary pain.

‘Naughty.’ Tai signed.

He winked back. ‘You know it.’

The trunk was shut before he could make any more attempts, the blond swinging the keyring on his finger as he made his way to the driver’s side of the Chevy. Qrow hopped in on the other side, watching quietly as the other adjusted the mirror and got the car started. Before he put it in reverse though, Tai caught his eye. ‘Nervous?’ He asked.

‘Somewhat.’ Qrow admitted; because really, how would someone go about teaching a deaf guy how to drive anyhow?

His smile was reassuring. ‘Trust me.’

So, he did. Mostly. And if he clutched onto the car door for the first ten minutes of the drive, it was only because the Chevy was getting ricketier with age and certainly did not have anything to do with the violent imagery of death-by-car rolling through his head like a B-grade horror show.

It wasn’t until they hit the highway that Qrow allowed himself to truly relax. Boredom set in soon after and with little else to do, he pulled out his sociology textbook to take the notes he would need for his dissertation on how Darwinist societies were dystopias in disguise. Maybe, when he finished it, he’d mail it off to his mother just to tick her off. Though, he was sure her response would be less about the words on the page and more about the name on the return address.

His lips quirked in a slight smile, knowing if he told Raven she’d cheer him on. Maybe even provide the stamp.

Well, that is, if she would talk to him.

Qrow sighed, trying to focus on the words on the page and not the daunting tension that had leaked into his everyday life. Since the turn of the year, with nothing but the heat of the Battle of Khe Sanh on every channel and the growing violence against MLK’s protestors in every paper, it felt like the entire world was ready spin off its axis. Each daily report only seemed to further his sister’s resolve to act even crazier than the most insane person in an asylum, because now she was considering dropping out of school altogether to go onto some ‘peace-spreading road trip’ across the country. She refused to listen to reason, no matter how much he hollered at her about how she was throwing her future down the drain.

It had been a week since that fight and they hadn’t said a word to one another since. It seemed they’d both concluded that the first one who did was admitting they were wrong; and both of them were surely too stubborn to do that. He wasn’t expecting any apologies; Raven never said sorry to anyone. But the stifling silence between them was dismaying.

It felt like he was losing his best friend, and he didn’t know what to do.

A gentle nudge on his shoulder drew his attention, and he looked up, realizing they were stopped at a light. Tai gestured his way. ‘You alright?’

Qrow smiled. At least he had him. ‘Yes.’ He replied. ‘Just thinking.’

The blond wasn’t fooled for a moment, but let it go with a simple nod and turned his attention back on the road.

The rest of the drive went by without event, though Qrow had some distinct concerns when they turned off the main pathway and started weaving their way up into the network of mountains that bordered the eastern side of Santa Cruz. Once the paving ran out, Tai parked on a level patch of land, signing enthusiastically, ‘We’re here!’ before he jumped out of the car.

They were? When suggesting going on a getaway for the weekend, the man had been rather scarce about the details, wanting to surprise him. Now, as Qrow peered out the windshield at the thick groves of trees all around them, he realized that either they were going camping or Tai had been secretly planning his murder this whole time.

Snorting at his own imagination, he climbed out, heading to the back of the car where Tai was shouldering the bag with ease. ‘Ready for a walk? It’s not too far.’

‘Lead the way.’ He said. Yet, when the blond turned and started to hike into the forest, Qrow found he couldn’t help himself when faced with the other’s shapely backside, reaching out and delivering a teasing smack along the other’s ass.

Tai jumped, emitting a little yelp that had Qrow cracking up. He whirled back around, a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes the only warning before he was sweeping him right off his feet. Surprised, Qrow shrieked before dissolving into laughter, winding his arms across Tai’s shoulders. The blond was grinning brilliantly, leaning forward to capture his lips in a searing kiss that had him humming with pleasant appreciation.

When he was set back on his feet, they headed up the trail together this time, fingers intertwined between them.

Despite it being mid-afternoon, the forest floor was fairly dark, the early hints of spring causing dense overgrowth of the maple and redwood trees and blocking out most of the sunlight to where it could only dapple along the brush they waded through. He could hear the faintest rushing noise of a nearby stream that had likely only just broken through the remaining winter frost. The birds were awake as well, the faint warbles of loon birds and the trills of song sparrows being particularly loud. Just as they were passing over a patch of wildflowers, Tai nudged him excitedly as he pointed out an adolescent deer just before it leaped out of sight. They kept their eyes out for other creatures after that, but other than a few scurrying squirrels, didn’t see anything too outstanding.

It didn’t matter as shortly thereafter, Qrow knew they’d reached their destination when Tai waved him on and sprinted up a sloping ridge. He was a little slower, not entirely trusting himself to not trip, but as he came up over the crest, he was suddenly breathless, uttering nothing more than a soft, “Whoa.”

It was like walking out of realty and into a fantasyland. They were at the edge of a cliff on the mountainside, the land below them nothing but hills full of trees and thickening mist that clung to the valley like a gentle blanket. As he stepped as close as he dared, he looked down, seeing the jagged edges of rock and the sheer drop descending into the fog. Instead of inciting fear, it was freeing, as if he was standing on top of the entire world from here.

‘Beautiful, right?’ Tai signed.

‘Yeah.’ He replied.

‘Wait until sunset.’ He grinned, before walking away, leaving Qrow to take in the sight. A clapping eventually prompted him to turn away though, only to see Tai spreading his arms to showcase the yellow-patterned quilt he’d placed along the ground with its simple lunch of sandwiches, set right in the middle and waiting for them. This was almost like a fantasy too; having a picnic in the mountains. Even as he sat with the other and took his first bite, everything felt so unreal.

‘How did you find this place?’ He asked.

Tai seemed to think over how to answer, before pulling out the notebook and pen they always kept on hand when the signs got too complicated. Before my Volks tanked, I used to drive out as far as I could go. This is one of my favorite places.

There was a line break, and then he continued on a new paragraph. The summer before college started, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. So, I packed up a bunch of my stuff and just started driving. Found a bunch of small towns. Hit up LA, Vegas, the canyons. I think I even crossed the border at one point.

Though he was certain he already knew, Qrow asked, ‘Alone?’

He nodded. ‘I just felt so lost. I thought if I just kept going, eventually I’d find my way.’

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

‘No.’ Tai signed back, expression gentling, ‘I found it when I came back.’

For the second time today, Qrow felt breathless. Awash with sudden boldness, he said, ‘Next time, let’s go together.’

Smile widening, he replied, ‘I’d like that.’

The next few hours were spent exploring the surrounding forest. They hopped across flat stones sticking up above the rushing stream and dared one another to climb up one of the low-hanging oak trees. They kept looking for other animals, which was mostly a bust except for a half dozen different birds. Though, Qrow did happen upon one spectacular find hiding in the roots of a tree that he managed to scoop up into his hands. When he revealed the tarantula to Taiyang, he almost couldn’t stop laughing at the girly scream the other emitted as he jerked back and fell into the brush.

As dusk grew near, they headed back to their spot. They sat near the edge, bundled up together in the quilt to keep away the brisk chill that still came with nightfall. They watched as the sun fell below the horizon, the mist having turned into a dense, rolling fog that seemed soft enough to jump on and hued with the colors reflected in the sky. And as an arm came around his waist, holding him close, Qrow found that he’d never felt so content in his life.

‘Thank you,’ He told Tai later, when night had truly fallen and they were instead laying along the quilt to stargaze.

‘For?’ Qrow had to squint some to read the question, nothing but a battery powered lamp behind them and the moon above left for light.

‘I needed this.’ He turned onto his side to face him more fully as he added, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

As answer, Tai cupped his face in his hand and brought him into a tender kiss, thumb caressing his cheek. After a few moments, he pulled back, but Qrow didn’t let him go far, dragging him into another. Just like that fateful Saturday in his dorm room, and the many, more amazing sessions afterwards, they quickly became drunk on each other. Strong arms hefted him up off the ground, Tai allowing his body to rest atop his own.

Qrow nibbled at a strong jawline, dipping down to suck along his neck and hearing how the other’s breathing grew heavy. He also grew daring, because his hands wandered an unhurried path down his back to the curve of his ass, squeezing. Arousal jolted through him, Qrow burying his head into the other’s collar just to gather himself a moment. When he felt a bit more in control, he lifted his head to look at Tai.

And god, was he beautiful. His lips were swollen and thoroughly kissed, his face lightly flushed and blue eyes dark with passion as he stared up at him. And when they came together again, when Tai moaned softly into his mouth as their tongues tangled, when one hand twisted into his hair while the other still squeezed his ass, Qrow knew with absolutely certainty that he was moments away from ripping off all their clothes and claiming Tai as his own.

So, it took all his willpower to tap his hand along Tai’s arm twice, their personal signal to hold on. The other’s look of confusion was hard to face even as he obediently drew back.

‘Are you alright?’ Tai asked.

‘Yes.’ He sat up, his knees straddling the other’s waist to give them a little space. Qrow’s hands were as nervous as he was, starting and stopping his signs as he tried to find the right way to ask what he needed to. ‘I just – What do you – How… how far do you want to go?’

Again, the answer was given in action, Tai reaching out to capture his hands before slowly, deliberately guiding them down to rest on the buckle of his belt.

Qrow swallowed hard, heart picking up speed. When his hands were freed, he rose one of them. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’ Tai replied and the way he smiled at him, so tender, so fond, was almost too much. ‘I trust you, Qrow.’

An emotion tided through him, so strong and immense, it threatened to overspill from his heart and Qrow couldn’t wait another moment to say it. As his hands moved through the signs, he couldn’t help but speak it aloud as well, even if he’d be the only one to hear it: “Tai, I love you.”

At first, Tai was too overcome to respond, hands hovering in silence between them. Then he was sitting up, and it was only the way he suddenly caught him around his waist that kept Qrow from being pitched right out of his lap. Instead, he was pulled so close it felt like their bodies would meld together and swept up in a kiss so intense he swore he saw fireworks behind his eyes. It ignited his own soul so that even when they pulled back, the intensity was still there, their gazes smoldering as they looked upon one another.

‘Me too.’ Tai reciprocated fervidly. ‘Now, show me.’

And so Qrow did, capturing Tai’s lips once more as he laid him back along the quilt and made love to him under the stars.  

~

April 4th, 1968

Qrow would have done anything to have stayed in that fantasyland where society was so far removed it couldn’t touch them and he and Tai could dance along the top of the world forever.

But, they couldn’t.

Eventually, they packed everything up and drove home to the San Fran, going back about their daily lives as they always did.

And, six days later, Martin Luther King was assassinated.

The world fell off its axis and spun out of control.

~

April 6th, 1968

It happened just a half hour before closing.

Qrow, Summer and Tai were the only ones in the shop. After the news had hit, business had stalled, too many people either too afraid to leave their homes or too infuriated that they were rioting in the streets. It was both a blessing and a curse for what came next.

He remembered how it happened so clearly: He was just undoing the notch to the coffee machine to clean the filter for the night, when the thunderous noise of the storefront window shattering filled the air.

Summer screamed, dropping to the floor.

Qrow cursed, bruising his hip against the counter as he lurched back against it, whirling around to see that a third of café rosé was already ablaze. He fell to his knees when another window was broken out, the flames intensifying as a second Molotov cocktail exploded along the floor. He reached out, partially covering Summer’s body with his own, feeling her trembling in fear as she covered her head.

A second scream made his heart drop. “TAI!” He yelled uselessly, only to see the blond vault himself up over the counter before ducking behind it. His eyes were wide with fear, but otherwise appeared to be okay.

But they had to get out of there.

The heat from the fire was already searing, and his voice choked on it as he hauled Summer up off the ground and shoved her towards the exit first. “Come on, the back door!” He pointed as expressively as he could for Tai, who thankfully got the idea and chased after them.

They rushed out of the door, b-lining for the campus rather than the street where the strikes had come from and, when they were far enough away to be both safe from them and the fire, Qrow pushed Summer into Tai’s arms, signing, “Watch her! I’ll get help!” Though pale-faced and wide-eyed, Tai nodded, holding onto the terrified woman tightly. Qrow ran as fast as he could for the nearest telephone, almost pulling out the cord in his panic as he called for the fire department.

No matter how fast he was, there was no saving the shop.

The three of them sat in the grass just inside the police barrier, watching the firefighters fight a losing battle as the flames overtook the roof of the building. The sight had attracted the attention of the whole campus, the entirety of the student body standing in the field to get a look at the tragedy. The officers were doing their best to ward the bolder ones from inching too close.

“What am I going to tell my parents?” Summer sobbed as she twisted the folds of her skirt in her hands. “They poured everything into this place!”

From one side, Tai was just trying his best to comfort her as he rubbed her back.

“Hey now, it, it’ll be okay.” Qrow, on her other, tried as well.

“How?!” She burst out.

He didn’t know. He turned away from her, helplessness weighing him as she continued to cry.

He just didn’t know.

Wanting nothing more than to block out the horrendousness around him, he shut his eyes.

“Qrow!”

Only for them to snap open in surprise, head jerking around to pinpoint the location of that yell.

“Hey lady, you can’t-”

“Get out of my way!”

He spotted Raven just as she was jabbing her elbow into an officer’s ribs, breaking past his guard to rush across the grass. “Qrow!!”

He was on his feet and rushing to meet her instantly, almost being bowled over by the force in which she collided with him.

“You idiot! I thought, I thought!” Her fist slammed into his chest, fighting back tears, “Idiot!!”

“I know, I know. I’m okay though.” Qrow held her tightly, whispering soothingly into her hair. “I’m okay.”

She laughed, the notes strained. “Good. Because you’re not allowed to die until I say so.”

And as he laughed and cried with her, found that for all that was wrong in the world, one missing piece fell back into place and made it just a little more right again.

~

Palo Alto

October 14th, 1981

The first thing that greeted Qrow as he opened the front door to his home was Zwei, the three-year old Corgi yapping hello. “Hey stubby.” He lent down to give him a few affectionate pats, following him through the entryway and into the family room where he could hear the TV running.

Tai was looking much like a yellow roly-poly from the way he was bundled up on the couch in his old quilt. He was watching the screen with rapt attention but when he caught movement in the corner of his eye, he glanced over, brightening immediately. ‘Welcome home!’

‘How are you feeling?’ Qrow asked as he approached, running his fingers through sweat-soaked blond locks. Fever was still going strong then.

‘Furious!’ He signed back harshly. ‘Did you see what Greg just did?!’

He glanced at the TV, realizing a rerun of The Brady Bunch was playing. At the bottom of the screen, the closed captioning was giving the play-by-play of what the characters were saying. The dialogue encoder had been a bit of a strain on their Christmas budget last year (especially when they both still insisted on spoiling their niece and honorary niece rotten), but nothing was worth more than having Tai so overjoyed he was in tears as he swept Qrow up in his arms.

Of course, that also meant that the blond had taken a near permanent residence on the couch as he tried to make up for 35 years of television.

‘You really need to get off the sitcoms.’ He signed to him. ‘Watch sci-fi instead.’

‘Never!’ Tai huffed loudly, only to start coughing, curling up a bit more into his nest.

‘Medicine?’ Qrow asked him once the fit had passed.

‘Please.’

With a nod, he headed into the kitchen. As he poured the cough syrup into the little plastic cap, a jangle of tags told him a shadow had trailed after him. Sure enough, when he looked down, Zwei had his front paws perched on the cabinet door, looking up at him hopefully. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want this buddy.” He joked as he filled a glass with water next. He took pity on the dog all the same, opening the fridge and throwing him a slice of cheese before heading back into the other room.

Though it wasn’t anything even remotely as good as coffee, Tai thanked him all the same, a full-body shudder wracking him as he downed the revolting medicine and chased it with the water. Qrow sat down beside him, leaning back into the cushions. He draped his arm along the back of the couch so the blond could more easily nestle against his side, the two of them watching the rest of the episode together. It wasn’t a very good one, and Qrow found himself zoning out, carding his fingers through Tai’s hair absently as his mind wandered.

“Qrow?”

The croaky, too-soft whisper pulled him out of his trance, and he blinked at the television, realizing the end credits were rolling. He tilted his head to the one who had spoken, not entirely surprised to see his ever-observant partner had already caught onto his sour mood. ‘Sorry.’

‘What’s wrong?’

He shifted back, just enough to free his other arm. ‘Ciel came into class crying today.’

‘Henry?’ Tai guessed, straightening up as well.

He breathed out an irate sigh. ‘Yep. Broke up with her this morning.’

They had both seen it coming from the very first day the couple had joined their ASL class. A vehicular accident had left the petite Hindi woman partially deaf and her doctor had suggested learning sign to help adjust. Tai and he had done their best to give the two some special attention, knowing the transition was hard, but Henry’s participation in the lessons was lackluster at best and Qrow had to keep running interference when the entitled brat kept trying to push Ciel into Cochlear Implants, having to remind them both again and again that it was a high cost, body-blemishing and, most importantly, experimental surgery.

It especially wasn’t worth undergoing it all for a sleaze that wasn’t worth hearing in the first place.

‘What gets me most is his reasoning. Told her it was taking too long to learn.’ Qrow carried on, rolling his eyes. ‘What did he expect? To learn it overnight?! Jackass!’

Amusement gleamed in Tai’s eyes. ‘Not everyone has your patience Qrow.’

‘I’M NOT EVEN PATIENT!’ He replied explosively. Tai reached out, capturing and bringing down his hands, rubbing soothing motions along his knuckles. Every now and again, his finger would catch along the silver ring on Qrow’s right hand; it was one he’d worn for over a decade now, ever since it was given to him by the very same man sitting beside him. It was only a promise ring, but to him, it was as interchangeable as a wedding ring.

His partner’s thoughts must have been somewhere similar, pausing to drop a kiss along the metal band before letting him go to say, ‘You were for me. I’ve never had anyone in my life work so hard to talk to me like you have. That’s always meant the world to me.’

Tai had told him this at least a dozen times before, and Qrow responded in the same, flustered way he always did: ‘Yeah well, how else was I supposed to tell you I love you?’

Instead of teasing him more as he usually did, the blond paused, giving the question some honest thought. ‘Maybe… like this?’

And then, for the second time that day, Tai spoke.

“Love you, Qrow.”

Qrow felt his jaw unhinge, staring back at him in absolute shock as his brain subsequently short-circuited. What?! It had taken Tai years just to be able to say his name as well as he could. When-? How??

With a smile still as full of youth as the day they met, his partner signed, ‘Happy anniversary.’

Qrow sucked in a sharp breath, hardly able to breathe as love sang throughout every inch of him.

And then he found himself tackling Tai down onto the couch, suddenly quite determined to kiss all that love right into him.

The blond managed to fend him off long enough to say, ‘Wait! I’m still sick!’

‘Don’t care. It’s worth it.’ Qrow allowed himself a moment to enjoy the fond way the other looked upon him, before bringing their lips together once more.

Tai would always be worth it.

And if anyone asked Qrow, he’d still tell them patience was for those who couldn’t figure out how to do things quickly.

He’d also tell them it wasn’t patience that one needed when loving someone.

Because patience was a fickle, thin thing too easily broken.

No.

What was needed wasn’t patience; it was perseverance.

The drive to never give in or give up, no matter the strife or uncertainties faced, whether it be several years of vigilant study just to effectively communicate with his deaf partner without need of a pen and paper on hand.

Or, just dealing with a terrible case of the flu come morning.

[fitwaypointblog-blog]

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[flauntpage]

Good Face, High Ass: The Baseball Scouting Glossary

Few vocabularies are as rich as the vernacular used by baseball scouts. Scout speak is practical and descriptive, yet colorful and sometimes lurid.

Taken out of context, the lingo can be alternatively oddball, which comedian Rob Delaney used to great effect in his dramatic reading of scouting terms culled by Harper's Magazine back in September 2004; gems such as "country-boy build," "slight toilet-seat hitting approach," "feel for wood," "uses hands to hit," "raw-boned physique," "muscular thighs," "good trigger," and "knows he can catch & throw."

To be clear, scouts have and always serve a valuable purpose in the baseball landscape identifying, evaluating, and projecting talent, an important companion to analytics. This compilation is merely intended to provide an informative and entertaining look at the indigenous language that arises when spending 200 or more days on the road watching ballgame after ballgame after ballgame.

VICE Sports polled several scouts, executives, and writers for their favorite scouting terms, and we compiled this entertaining sampling of a glossary:

The Good Face The consummate quality sought in every good prospect is the facial appearance of stardom. Exposed widely in pop culture in the book Moneyball when it was relayed that Billy Beane had "The Good Face," the term signifies a vague discernment of maturity, confidence, and future aptitude in the sport.

Its debut in the public domain actually came in the scouting tome, Dollar Sign on the Muscle. Former Phillies scout Gary Nickel said of "The Good Face": "It was a way of saying that a kid had charisma. It meant that he looked athletic, like a high stage in evolution—that he struck you right away as strong, forceful, manly, open instead of withdrawn." Another Phillies scout, Brandy Davis, insisted "'good face' is objective: it means he impresses you as an athlete—not a pretty boy. He's not withdrawn. He projects strength, virility, maturity." A study of Japanese baseball players in 2013, believe it or not, showed a correlation between facial structure and baseball performance.

High ass No, really, stop laughing. This is a term. Alternately referred to as "high back pockets" or a prominent "lower half," having a big posterior is said to portend good power potential. But it's more than a little weird when you think about a grandfatherly scout using the term on a teenage prospect.

Makeup There's nothing cosmetic about a ballplayer's makeup, which is an attempted qualification of his confidence, psyche, leadership virtues, and emotional stability. Does someone who flips his bat after a homerun have bad makeup? Maybe! A player highly regarded in this manner is always said to have "off the charts makeup," leading one executive to bemoan why his scouts don't get bigger charts.

"He's a baseball player." Though it would seem to apply to anyone on the field—I mean, is everyone else playing a different sport?—this sentiment is intended to be a noble compliment conveying an evaluator's utmost respect for a prospect, often connoting intangible skill or countenance that exceeds his physical tools. In Dollar Sign on the Muscle, a Phillies' scouting report on Bip Roberts praised him because, among attributes, he "can run, play defense, play baseball." Yes, play baseball, indeed.

Horseshit Poor play in baseball is never bullshit or dogshit, but always horseshit, with scouts preferring the equine concoction to its bovine and canine variations. (This used to be a common coda from press box wags to the scorekeeper's recitation of a pitcher's final line; after notation of how many runs and hits a man allowed, writers would chime in, ". . . and he was horseshit," as if in an attempt to codify the sentiment into the box score.) Dollar Sign on the Muscle clarifies that bullshit does have a place as a verb or to describe one's intention, quoting a scout referring to a former co-worker by saying, "His written report was all bullshit, and that's when I knew he was a horseshit guy."

Center cut A butcher's center-cut offering is often thought to be the choicest meat, and a very hittable fastball often receives that tag for its apparent succulence to a hitter.

Red ass A fiery, argumentative, hard-nosed player is said to be a red ass, a term that apparently dates to at least the 1920s. (See: Lo Duca, Paul)

Soft eyes This was explicitly evoked in a basketball context—former college coach Dan Dakich once said in a radio interview that Kristaps Porzingis would be a bust because "he's got soft eyes, and eyes are a big deal to me. Look at great players and look at their eyes and you can tell a lot about them." Dakich was adamant that he wasn't talking about actual vision or so-called court vision but the very appearance of a man's eyes, adding, "You can look physically at somebody's eyes and tell whether they're a killer or not. You can look physically, um, almost inside them if you know what you're looking for." Um, ok. A baseball scout relayed this term.

Inverted 'W' It's supposed to be a death knell for pitchers: a throwing mechanic in which the elbows rise above the shoulders before release, a tendency some believe is a precursor to serious arm injury. Linguists would call it an 'M.'

Stephen Strasburg is said to have an inverted "W" delivery. Photo by Patrick McDermott-USA TODAY Sports

Hyphenated names Two incredulous scouts said they've heard peers speculate that conjoined appellations are indications of poor potential. One of the scouts summarized the ridiculous thinking as follows: neither parent is an Alpha, so they'll allegedly lack a killer instinct. Really. We don't get it, either.

Redheads Another insane marginalization of an entire subset of people: some scouts are said to shy away from red-headed ballplayers, apparently because of an inability to cope under the hot summer sun. (Speaking as a ginger, I do go through an awful lot of sunscreen . . .)

Bowling-ball sinker Two-seam fastballs with downward action are always and only compared to gravity's pull on a heavy, falling bowling ball. No other heavy objects are accepted.

Long levers Ballplayers are seen as objects and their limbs are but functional levers for hitting, throwing, and catching baseballs.

Changeup "feel" Pitchers who throw good changeups are always said to have a "feel" for the pitch rather than an ability or skill or talent. Similarly, changeups are tagged as "feel pitches."

Bugs Bunny changeup The old cartoon character once threw such a deceptively slow pitch that his animated opponent swung three times before the ball even reached the plate.

Frisbee slider Frisbees can have a lot of horizontal movement. So too sliders. Ergo, Frisbee sliders.

Tool shed A player possessing lots of tools, i.e. the individual attributes (arm strength, hitting power, etc.) that comprise a well-rounded player.

20-80 scale Scouts don't rate tools on a 1-to-10 or 1-to-100 scale because that would be too simple. An 80 is exceptional, Hall-of-Fame ability; 50 befits an average major leaguer; 20 is you or me. (FanGraphs has a good primer.)

Ceiling/floor Scouts often sound like HGTV contractors for how often they invoke ceilings and floors to suggest the maximum and minimum growth potential for prospects.

Comp Short for comparison, the term 'comp' is a scout's way of describing a prospect's game through a likeness to an established player. These are often hilarious to read in hindsight—or, similarly, unfair for the undue expectations. (A scout once told me that 2009's No. 2 overall pick, Dustin Ackley, projected somewhere between Chase Utley and Mark Kostay, a huge gulf between a borderline Hall of Famer and a sturdy regular. Ackley, however, has thus far fallen short of even the bottom of this wide range.)

Arm slot This is the arm's trajectory on a pitch, ranging from overhand down to sidearm to submarine.

Swing path This is the bat's trajectory through the strike zone and is particularly relevant now that the baseball world is abuzz with talk of loft, backspin, and exit velocity, not to mention a surge in batted-balls in the air.

Dice roller A pitcher with an arm slot so elevated that pitches appear almost appear to be thrown over their head like they are rolling dice. (Note: In a very different context, it could apply to a Strat-O-Matic player.)

"Has an idea." Having an idea suggests a player has know-how. Often this is used to discuss his hitting approach and strike-zone discipline. It also means his brain is working.

"For me" Scouting opinions are all personal projections so the ubiquitous qualifier attached to each is "for me," as in "He's a No. 3 starter for me" or "For me, he's got the range of a statue." One veteran scout shakes his head at this phrase because no one else is talking. Of course the opinion is for you.

"Can or can't" At the end of the day, it's a binary decision—can he be a big leaguer or not?

"Occasionally" This hedge is often inserted in strategic spots like, "His mechanics occasionally lapse, and he loses the strike zone." Quips one scout, "You can say that about every pitcher. The real question is, 'How occasionally?'"

Downhill plane Even though every pitcher is standing on a mound and throwing down to the strike zone, the extra length of a tall pitcher throwing overhand and delivering the ball with a few more degrees of decline apparently warrants the description of downhill plane.

The 6-foot-8 Dellin Betances has a good downhill plane on his fastball. Photo by Brad Penner-USA TODAY Sports

Arm action This term details the actual throwing motion in which a pitcher removes the ball from his glove, raises his arm, and throws the pitch.

Plus Any pitch or tool that grades above average gets tabbed plus (or plus-plus), even though sub-standard tools rarely, if ever, are called minus.

Dude As scout-turned-draft analyst Dave Perkin says, "A dude is a legitimate prospect as opposed to a phony one, in fact, the argument could be made that a scout's entire professional life is spent attempting to identify who is a "dude" and who is not!"

Milk drinkers A scout told Perkin that he prefers players who aren't too wholesome and have an edge.

Rangy Baseball people love adding a '-y' suffix onto nouns for adjectival use. (The same '-y' construct is also a lingual device to create boring nicknames for players. Yankees manager Joe Girardi calls Brett Gardner, Aaron Hicks, and Luis Severino by the names Gardy, Hicksy, and Sevvy; even Starlin Castro has, somehow, become Starsky.)

Fringy average Even a mathematically precise term like "average" has a gradient of understanding. Players can be just plain average or they can be fringy-average or solid-average and so on.

Bat misser As the name would suggest, this term is used for pitches that draw a lot of swing-and-miss strikes.

Worm killer Despite the preponderance of outdoorsmen in baseball, this is not a fishing reference but an allusion to pitchers who induce a lot of groundballs.

Good Face, High Ass: The Baseball Scouting Glossary published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[flauntpage]

Good Face, High Ass: The Baseball Scouting Glossary

Few vocabularies are as rich as the vernacular used by baseball scouts. Scout speak is practical and descriptive, yet colorful and sometimes lurid.

Taken out of context, the lingo can be alternatively oddball, which comedian Rob Delaney used to great effect in his dramatic reading of scouting terms culled by Harper's Magazine back in September 2004; gems such as "country-boy build," "slight toilet-seat hitting approach," "feel for wood," "uses hands to hit," "raw-boned physique," "muscular thighs," "good trigger," and "knows he can catch & throw."

To be clear, scouts have and always serve a valuable purpose in the baseball landscape identifying, evaluating, and projecting talent, an important companion to analytics. This compilation is merely intended to provide an informative and entertaining look at the indigenous language that arises when spending 200 or more days on the road watching ballgame after ballgame after ballgame.

VICE Sports polled several scouts, executives, and writers for their favorite scouting terms, and we compiled this entertaining sampling of a glossary:

The Good Face The consummate quality sought in every good prospect is the facial appearance of stardom. Exposed widely in pop culture in the book Moneyball when it was relayed that Billy Beane had "The Good Face," the term signifies a vague discernment of maturity, confidence, and future aptitude in the sport.

Its debut in the public domain actually came in the scouting tome, Dollar Sign on the Muscle. Former Phillies scout Gary Nickel said of "The Good Face": "It was a way of saying that a kid had charisma. It meant that he looked athletic, like a high stage in evolution—that he struck you right away as strong, forceful, manly, open instead of withdrawn." Another Phillies scout, Brandy Davis, insisted "'good face' is objective: it means he impresses you as an athlete—not a pretty boy. He's not withdrawn. He projects strength, virility, maturity." A study of Japanese baseball players in 2013, believe it or not, showed a correlation between facial structure and baseball performance.

High ass No, really, stop laughing. This is a term. Alternately referred to as "high back pockets" or a prominent "lower half," having a big posterior is said to portend good power potential. But it's more than a little weird when you think about a grandfatherly scout using the term on a teenage prospect.

Makeup There's nothing cosmetic about a ballplayer's makeup, which is an attempted qualification of his confidence, psyche, leadership virtues, and emotional stability. Does someone who flips his bat after a homerun have bad makeup? Maybe! A player highly regarded in this manner is always said to have "off the charts makeup," leading one executive to bemoan why his scouts don't get bigger charts.

"He's a baseball player." Though it would seem to apply to anyone on the field—I mean, is everyone else playing a different sport?—this sentiment is intended to be a noble compliment conveying an evaluator's utmost respect for a prospect, often connoting intangible skill or countenance that exceeds his physical tools. In Dollar Sign on the Muscle, a Phillies' scouting report on Bip Roberts praised him because, among attributes, he "can run, play defense, play baseball." Yes, play baseball, indeed.

Horseshit Poor play in baseball is never bullshit or dogshit, but always horseshit, with scouts preferring the equine concoction to its bovine and canine variations. (This used to be a common coda from press box wags to the scorekeeper's recitation of a pitcher's final line; after notation of how many runs and hits a man allowed, writers would chime in, ". . . and he was horseshit," as if in an attempt to codify the sentiment into the box score.) Dollar Sign on the Muscle clarifies that bullshit does have a place as a verb or to describe one's intention, quoting a scout referring to a former co-worker by saying, "His written report was all bullshit, and that's when I knew he was a horseshit guy."

Center cut A butcher's center-cut offering is often thought to be the choicest meat, and a very hittable fastball often receives that tag for its apparent succulence to a hitter.

Red ass A fiery, argumentative, hard-nosed player is said to be a red ass, a term that apparently dates to at least the 1920s. (See: Lo Duca, Paul)

Soft eyes This was explicitly evoked in a basketball context—former college coach Dan Dakich once said in a radio interview that Kristaps Porzingis would be a bust because "he's got soft eyes, and eyes are a big deal to me. Look at great players and look at their eyes and you can tell a lot about them." Dakich was adamant that he wasn't talking about actual vision or so-called court vision but the very appearance of a man's eyes, adding, "You can look physically at somebody's eyes and tell whether they're a killer or not. You can look physically, um, almost inside them if you know what you're looking for." Um, ok. A baseball scout relayed this term.

Inverted 'W' It's supposed to be a death knell for pitchers: a throwing mechanic in which the elbows rise above the shoulders before release, a tendency some believe is a precursor to serious arm injury. Linguists would call it an 'M.'

Stephen Strasburg is said to have an inverted "W" delivery. Photo by Patrick McDermott-USA TODAY Sports

Hyphenated names Two incredulous scouts said they've heard peers speculate that conjoined appellations are indications of poor potential. One of the scouts summarized the ridiculous thinking as follows: neither parent is an Alpha, so they'll allegedly lack a killer instinct. Really. We don't get it, either.

Redheads Another insane marginalization of an entire subset of people: some scouts are said to shy away from red-headed ballplayers, apparently because of an inability to cope under the hot summer sun. (Speaking as a ginger, I do go through an awful lot of sunscreen . . .)

Bowling-ball sinker Two-seam fastballs with downward action are always and only compared to gravity's pull on a heavy, falling bowling ball. No other heavy objects are accepted.

Long levers Ballplayers are seen as objects and their limbs are but functional levers for hitting, throwing, and catching baseballs.

Changeup "feel" Pitchers who throw good changeups are always said to have a "feel" for the pitch rather than an ability or skill or talent. Similarly, changeups are tagged as "feel pitches."

Bugs Bunny changeup The old cartoon character once threw such a deceptively slow pitch that his animated opponent swung three times before the ball even reached the plate.

Frisbee slider Frisbees can have a lot of horizontal movement. So too sliders. Ergo, Frisbee sliders.

Tool shed A player possessing lots of tools, i.e. the individual attributes (arm strength, hitting power, etc.) that comprise a well-rounded player.

20-80 scale Scouts don't rate tools on a 1-to-10 or 1-to-100 scale because that would be too simple. An 80 is exceptional, Hall-of-Fame ability; 50 befits an average major leaguer; 20 is you or me. (FanGraphs has a good primer.)

Ceiling/floor Scouts often sound like HGTV contractors for how often they invoke ceilings and floors to suggest the maximum and minimum growth potential for prospects.

Comp Short for comparison, the term 'comp' is a scout's way of describing a prospect's game through a likeness to an established player. These are often hilarious to read in hindsight—or, similarly, unfair for the undue expectations. (A scout once told me that 2009's No. 2 overall pick, Dustin Ackley, projected somewhere between Chase Utley and Mark Kostay, a huge gulf between a borderline Hall of Famer and a sturdy regular. Ackley, however, has thus far fallen short of even the bottom of this wide range.)

Arm slot This is the arm's trajectory on a pitch, ranging from overhand down to sidearm to submarine.

Swing path This is the bat's trajectory through the strike zone and is particularly relevant now that the baseball world is abuzz with talk of loft, backspin, and exit velocity, not to mention a surge in batted-balls in the air.

Dice roller A pitcher with an arm slot so elevated that pitches appear almost appear to be thrown over their head like they are rolling dice. (Note: In a very different context, it could apply to a Strat-O-Matic player.)

"Has an idea." Having an idea suggests a player has know-how. Often this is used to discuss his hitting approach and strike-zone discipline. It also means his brain is working.

"For me" Scouting opinions are all personal projections so the ubiquitous qualifier attached to each is "for me," as in "He's a No. 3 starter for me" or "For me, he's got the range of a statue." One veteran scout shakes his head at this phrase because no one else is talking. Of course the opinion is for you.

"Can or can't" At the end of the day, it's a binary decision—can he be a big leaguer or not?

"Occasionally" This hedge is often inserted in strategic spots like, "His mechanics occasionally lapse, and he loses the strike zone." Quips one scout, "You can say that about every pitcher. The real question is, 'How occasionally?'"

Downhill plane Even though every pitcher is standing on a mound and throwing down to the strike zone, the extra length of a tall pitcher throwing overhand and delivering the ball with a few more degrees of decline apparently warrants the description of downhill plane.

The 6-foot-8 Dellin Betances has a good downhill plane on his fastball. Photo by Brad Penner-USA TODAY Sports

Arm action This term details the actual throwing motion in which a pitcher removes the ball from his glove, raises his arm, and throws the pitch.

Plus Any pitch or tool that grades above average gets tabbed plus (or plus-plus), even though sub-standard tools rarely, if ever, are called minus.

Dude As scout-turned-draft analyst Dave Perkin says, "A dude is a legitimate prospect as opposed to a phony one, in fact, the argument could be made that a scout's entire professional life is spent attempting to identify who is a "dude" and who is not!"

Milk drinkers A scout told Perkin that he prefers players who aren't too wholesome and have an edge.

Rangy Baseball people love adding a '-y' suffix onto nouns for adjectival use. (The same '-y' construct is also a lingual device to create boring nicknames for players. Yankees manager Joe Girardi calls Brett Gardner, Aaron Hicks, and Luis Severino by the names Gardy, Hicksy, and Sevvy; even Starlin Castro has, somehow, become Starsky.)

Fringy average Even a mathematically precise term like "average" has a gradient of understanding. Players can be just plain average or they can be fringy-average or solid-average and so on.

Bat misser As the name would suggest, this term is used for pitches that draw a lot of swing-and-miss strikes.

Worm killer Despite the preponderance of outdoorsmen in baseball, this is not a fishing reference but an allusion to pitchers who induce a lot of groundballs.

Good Face, High Ass: The Baseball Scouting Glossary published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv