A/N: So, I have this marked Romance/Hurt/Comfort, and I know none of the chapters have been very H/C, but this fic could actually fit into a BUNCH of different categories. I hate it how FFn makes you choose only two. ;; The next chapter will be more closely related to H/C, I promise!
As for this chapter... it's super romantic. /sarcasm

To love him
is something,
I hold highly
suspicious.

A dinner date with his old rival was not how Kyle would have spent his ideal Friday night. To make matters worse, Sigmund could have afforded to book the whole restaurant but didn't, so now they had to be seen together in public. But when the sorcerer said that it was his treat, Kyle thought that it might be okay to give this meeting a shot. He'd never been to this nice, expensive restaurant before, and if he could eat here for free, he might as well. He just hoped poison wasn't on the menu.

But looking around at the other well-dressed patrons and recalling that three of them had approached Sigmund and asked for his autograph before the boys even had a chance to pick up their menus, he began to question the other's motives. Every one of Sigmund's actions was shady in its own right, but... He brought me here just to humiliate me and brag about how much better he is, didn't he? "What's the trick, Sigmund?" he asked as casually as possible, glancing over the chicken section of the menu for the eighth time because it was more favorable than making eye contact.

"Trick? What trick? Kyle, there's no trick!" But as he said it, the corners of his mouth slowly turned upward in that suspicious way they always did when there was, in fact, a trick. "Your not-trust of people will be the death of you."

"Mistrust," Kyle corrected. "The word you're looking for is mistrust, not not-trust."

Sigmund waved dismissively. "Whatever. Learn to speak the most dazzling German, and I'll do it with English, too." This comment was ignored.

"You're sure there's no trick?"

The sorcerer's face fell, all traces of mischief seemingly gone, and Kyle almost thought he was being honest when he said, "No. Absolutely none at all."

Like having something,
so very delicious—
then being told,
to do the dishes.

Over the course of the meal, Sigmund was surprisingly... pleasant. He didn't insult Kyle once or make a single comment about his inferior table manners, and the two of them were able to have a decent conversation for the first time in years. It was nice—so nice, in fact, that when the sorcerer suggested they should stay for dessert, there was no way Kyle could resist saying "yes."

At the moment, he was picking off the last of his savory piece of pie—Sigmund having finished his own slice several minutes ago—when the waitress placed the check on the table and said, "You can pay whenever you're ready. There's no rush."

As the waitress walked away, though he knew it was wrong and somewhat selfish, he looked expectantly up at Sigmund or... rather, where Sigmund used to be. All that remained of his rival was a fading puff of smoke. Horrified, Kyle let his fork clatter against his plate while his heart dived down into his stomach. He guessed it couldn't be helped at this point and reached for the check slowly, slowly, so slowly. He opened the black booklet even more slowly, if that was possible, and when he saw the damage, the number written next to "TOTAL," his heart soared into his throat. And thank goodness! Because if it hadn't been for that helpful organ, he would have screamed at the top of his lungs.

He was shaking so badly that the receipt fluttered out of its booklet and into his lap, facedown, and now he could see the message that had been composed on the back of it in a certain someone's extravagant handwriting: Dazzle you later!