Split Happens | B&S
@bicuriousbilinski
The glide of rolling balls was followed by the clatter of knocked over pins that sounded from multiple lanes and echoed in the building’s acoustics. Bonnie watched as the families and friend groups cheered and heckled one another on either side of her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually been to a bowling alley. It had to be in high school, freshman year. The last “normal” year of her life before things had started getting friggin spooky in Mystic Falls.
Taking in the sights, sounds, and smells, Bonnie was convinced that bowling alleys were one of those supernatural places, completely unaffected by the passage of time. The music, the shoes, the stained carpet, the smells of greasy food and something just a little musty, it was the same as any bowling alley she had ever and would ever step into. The only difference in this break in time-space was the company she kept.
Bonnie leaned back in her creaky, plastic seat and peered over the racks of bowling balls toward the concession stand. The corners of her mouth pulled taut at the sight of the lanky figure in front of the register. Stiles had scampered off to make good on his promise of warm beer and cheesy bacon bits fries. Bottom lip caught by the pinch of her incisors, she tucked her hair behind her ear and shifted her focus from him onto the scoreboard.
A sigh sagged her shoulders and she shook her head at herself. If the objective of this game was to get as few points as possible, hers was going to be a merciless victory. She should be embarassed by how horribly she was doing, but couldn’t muster the emotion. As per usual, Stiles had a way of making everything fun, even losing. At some point early on in their game --probably when he realized exactly how terrible she was at this-- they’d thrown the integrity of the sport out the window.
She didn’t know what to call the bastardization of bowling they were playing now, other than the most fun she’d had in a while. And that had everything to do with Stiles Stilinski. As she nibbled on her bottom lip, toying with her rose quartz bracelet, she had to wonder why they hadn’t done anything like this sooner. It wasn’t like either of them were oblivious to how well they got along.
Oh well, she thought when movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention and her gaze. Better late than never. Bonnie smiled broadly at Stiles’ return to their lane, beers in hand.
“There you are,” she said in greeting, chipper tone not able to mask the mischief in her voice. “I was starting to worry that my inevitable victory might have scared you off.”