PK2025: 11. Kiss on the Nose
Pridekisses - Prompt List 2025
Destiny - Enoch Bast/Marcus Ren - rated: G
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The problem with being suddenly put in the spotlight is all the attention one gets. Enoch isn’t quite used to it; there’s some narrative being spun by the media, making him out to be a scrappy underdog with only a hundred Glimmer to his name, pooling all his funds to be able to compete in his first SRL tournament, and that if he hadn’t placed on the podium he would’ve been shipped off to some place beyond Saturn to work off his supposed debt.
It’s only half true. Enoch doesn’t consider himself an underdog. He’s been making his name known in the more local tournaments. It’s not like he came out of nowhere. Also, he had five thousand Glimmer in his Vaut, thank you very much. Taking on a couple of extra Strikes for the Vanguard was more than enough to cover rent for at least three months.
So, to get to the point, Enoch is stumbling out of the ring of reporters and casters after his fifty-sixth interview for a quick break, a little annoyed, which does kind of feel ungrateful, but right now all he wants is to hop on his sparrow and race back onto the nearest track. Maybe not win so flashily next time.
Marcus steps out from behind the curtain, a grin flashing across his face when he sees how tired Enoch looks. “Darkness consumed you yet?”
It’s not completely private. Enoch can still hear the crowd’s murmurs, their prying questions and whirling cameras. He glances down at his clipped mic, double-checking to see that it’s off. He grabs the glass of water that Marcus hands over.
“Almost,” Enoch says, returning the grin as best as he can, half strength. He takes a sip, notes the fresh iciness, and downs the entire thing. For a runner up, Marcus does have some grace about it. “I don’t know how you do it. Did you know they’re saying I’m poor? That I came from the slums? What’s that even mean? No Guardian has ever came from the slums. We get free housing for at least five years after first resurrection.”
Marcus laughs. “Ah, you’ll get used to it.”
“Wish they would focus on something other than some half-baked story about me,” Enoch mutters, setting the glass aside. “Like, say, my actual sparrow build.”
There’s a smirk on Marcus’ face, one that makes Enoch want to stare and beat the guy in a race all over again. The fact that Marcus doesn’t offer up any further advice causes Enoch to reconsider Marcus’ ability to lose with grace.
“Not gonna give me any tips?” he eventually asks. “C’mon. They’re eating me alive out there.”
Marcus’ eyes go up, thinking, and when he glances back at Enoch, the smirk’s still there but somehow more sharp. “Well, honestly, I only got one idea.”
“Which is?” Enoch prompts, sensing that Marcus is playing coy, and one thing he knows for sure about Marcus Ren—that Hunter hasn’t gotten an ounce of bashfulness in him. Especially not with that dangerous grin.
Marcus takes a step closer, grabbing Enoch by the neck of his armor, and pulls him down for an innocent (thoroughly fucking conniving, camera-cutesy, kid-friendly) kiss on the nose.
With a wink, Marcus whispers, “Start a better rumor.”
From behind him, Enoch hears the crowd go insane.