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Honor

I think I’m going to throw up.

I could barely stand to watch my best friend getting absolutely pummeled into the ground. I don’t understand the people cheering this maniac on. I almost jumped into the fight to throw myself over Wes’s body.

Wes detaches himself from the referee– umpire? What do they call these people who are supposed to maintain the rules? Whatever they call him, he obviously wasn’t doing a great job –and hurries over to me.

“Are you alright?” he asks me.

I run my eyes over him, checking for any broken bones or a limp. “I should be asking you that. Are you hurt? I thought that guy was going to kill you.” I shudder, remembering how the other guy had hit Wes repeatedly.

Wes laughs. “No, not at all. We were just having a good time.”

I blink. “A good time? You just got your butt handed to you.”

Wes winces. “Gee, thanks, Honor. You always know just what to say to make a guy feel good about himself.”

“Sorry. I was just so worried about you.”

His expression softens. “Sorry about that. I didn’t think you’d be so upset.”

I open my mouth to respond, then close it. He’s right. Why was I so upset? “I don’t want to see my best friend get hurt,” I finally say. It’s a true statement, and yet something about it just feels off in my chest.

“Right,” he says. If I didn’t know better, I would almost say he looks disappointed, but that can’t be right.

A moment of awkward silence falls between us. Which in itself is weird because we’re Wes and Honor–we talk about everything. We definitely don’t do awkward silences. Everything about this is strange.

“What do you think about my armor?” Wes asks.

“You look…really good,” I say, realizing as the words come out of my mouth that it’s true.

The man standing in front of me looks nothing like the scrawny, geeky Wes I’ve always known.

My best friend is a nerd, spending more time sitting in front of a computer or reading a book than working out.

In high school I had always been jealous of how he could eat and eat and never put on a pound, whereas I could run for days and never budge a pant size.

In college, we dressed for a Halloween party as Dorothy and the scarecrow.

The stranger in front of me with Wes’ face and voice is a man with breadth of shoulders and chest. Wes had told me he was working out a lot with his Buhurt team to be better in the fights, but with his usual baggy hoodies and jeans, I hadn’t clocked the change.

The armor adds further bulk and definition, and a certain… presence that feels intimidating.

Wait, what? Wes…intimidating? And why am I breathing so rapidly? What is this fluttery feeling in my belly? Are these nerves that I’m feeling? Around Wes ?

“Honor,” Wes says, with an urgency that makes me think it’s not the first time he’s said my name.

I blink. “What?”

“Are you okay? You’re looking at me like you’ve never seen me before.” He looks around, before grabbing my snack bag. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need snacks? A drink?”

I shake my head, trying to mentally gather myself, but I can’t tear my eyes from him. Holy smoke, I’m attracted to Wes. The thought clangs through my head like a discordant bell.

Oh, no. No, no, no. I cannot be attracted to Wes. Wes is my best friend. He is not boyfriend material.

“I’ve got to go to the next event for my team, but why don’t you sit down?” Wes asks me, his brow wrinkled in concern. “Forget about the fighting. Read your book.”

I look down on the book, another in my favorite fantasy series. Aha! The book is clearly the problem. I’ve been reading too much romantasy and now any man in armor is looking like a main character snack.

“I came to support you,” I say, the tension in my belly easing now that I’ve identified the problem. Well, Grandma did always tell me that reading too much fantasy was going to give me strange ideas. Turns out she was right.

“Okay,” Wes says. “But sit down if you feel faint.”

I smile. The voice, the tone, the caring words–that’s all the Wes I know. Whatever flutter I’m feeling is obviously a passing issue. I’m good. We’re good. All is fine.

Ten minutes later, though, I’m no longer so sure.

Wes had looked positively heroic in the melee, charging into the group fight with a raised ax and leveling a path of destruction.

He tossed grown men to the ground in a way that no IT programmer ever should.

He’s commanding in a way that stirs something in my belly.

Wes has always been cute, but he’s a whole other animal now.

In the end, Wes stands victorious with his teammates, tearing off his helmet to lead a victory whoop that sends a thrill down me. Wes winks at me and my heart does the equivalent of a triple twist Olympic dive. Oh no. I cannot be forming a crush on Wes.

My mind spirals as I think about all of the implications–the horrible implications.

“Hey there,” I hear to my side.

I tear my eyes away from Wes to see another man standing next to me. He’s wearing the same colors as Wes, so I assume he’s on his team. “Hi,” I say, forcing myself to overcome my natural shyness. Don’t be weird, Honor.

“You’re Wes’s friend, right?”

“Best friend,” I say automatically. The words clang discordantly in my head and send a guilty flush up my cheeks. I’m not feeling so best-friend-y right now.

“Right,” the guy chuckles. He holds out a hand. “I’m Mike.”

I shake his hand. “I’m Honor.”

“Honor,” he says, rolling my name around his tongue like he’s tasting a fine wine. “I like it. Just like I like your outfit.”

I eye him, feeling a strong flirtatious vibe coming off him. And there’s a lot to eye. He’s a conventionally attractive guy–thick dark hair, carefully trimmed stubble, strong jaw. Not to mention he’s wearing a suit of armor, which is apparently my new, ahem, interest . “I like yours, too.”

Mike grins, running a hand through his hair. “Cool. Are you from Olympia?”

I nod, not really sure how much information to give a random stranger. But if he’s on Wes’s team, he’s probably okay. Wes wouldn’t hang out with guys he thought were awful.

“Have you ever been to Cup of Swords?”

“Is that the medieval-themed bar downtown? Wes has mentioned it a couple times.”

“Yeah, some of the guys get together to stage some fights in front of it once a month. It drums up business for the bar and also gets attention for our team.”

“Makes sense.” I glance back at Wes, only to find him glaring at me. Or is he glaring at the guy next to me? I frown at him and make the universal “what gives?” shoulder shrug.

“So, what do you think?” Mike asks.

I struggle to pull my attention from Wes, who has started walking in our direction. “What do I think about what?”

Mike laughs like I’ve made a great joke, his mouth open wide and flashing teeth white enough to be used as street signs. “Grabbing a drink with me at Cup of Swords.”

I blink. “Are you asking me out on a date?” The words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Mike laughs again. “I mean, if that’s what you want to call it. I just call it getting a drink.”

Something about this guy feels off. He’s too groomed.

I don’t go for guys who are pretty boys.

I go for guys who are, well, like Wes. Nerds like me.

Mike seems like the type of guy who would have girls asking him out, not the other way around.

And definitely not a plus-sized girl wearing a Renaissance maiden costume with elf ears.

Don’t let your insecurities get in the way of opportunities , I can practically hear my mother saying.

“What’s going on?” Wes asks, approaching.

“I was just asking this fair maiden to get a drink with me next time we’re at Cup of Swords,” Mike says confidently.

I can already tell from Wes’s expression that he doesn’t like the idea.

But before he can say anything, I speak up.

“Sure, why not? Sounds like fun.” And if part of my rationale is seeing Wes again in his medieval element rather than Mike, well, what of it?

Can’t a girl hang out with her best friend?

“Great!” Mike says, grinning. “It’s a date. I’ll get your number from Wes and set up a time.”

“Great,” I echo.

Mike strolls away. Wes stands, arms crossed, staring at me with a displeased expression. The whole thing feels awkward, and I feel vaguely guilty, like Wes caught me doing something I shouldn’t have.

“Great job on the fight!” I say brightly. This at least is the truth. “You were amazing!”

Wes’s shoulders drop slightly. “Really? Yeah, I guess I did get some solid hits in there.”

I roll my eyes. “No need for false modesty. You were like a Viking in there, throwing punches, swinging your ax.” I put up my fists like a boxer and feint a left-right hook.

Wes laughs. “I think Viking is the wrong time period but thank you. I’m glad you liked it. After the first fight, I wasn’t so sure.”

“Me neither,” I say. “I guess I only like to watch when you’re winning.”

“I’ll try to win more for you then,” Wes says.

He smiles at me and the tenderness in his eyes sparks warmth in my chest that blossoms to a slow flush that covers my whole body. My heart rate picks up pace, rapidly thrumming in my ears.

It’s not Wes, it's just the suit of armor , I repeat to myself. And soon enough, maybe I’ll believe it.

“Solid plan,” I say, deflecting. I glance at my watch. “Are there any more fights?”

“Just one more melee, and then we can pack up. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely!” I don’t have to fake enthusiasm. Might as well immerse myself and fully explore this interest in men in armor. Because it can’t just be an attraction to Wes. It can’t be.

Liking Wes romantically would mean an end to our friendship.

I can still feel the emotional slap of rejection he gave me in first grade.

That was before I even knew him; it would be so much worse now.

Not because he’d be rude to me. No, if anything, Wes would be just as awkward and embarrassed by my attraction.

Rather than rejecting me, he would be nice about it. I shudder with humiliation.

He might even go so far as to pretend interest back, just to not make me feel bad. Because that’s the kind of friend that Wes is. He would never do anything to hurt me. I trust him implicitly, but that also means I can’t ever even hint to him that I have the slightest attraction to him.

I watch Wes walk back to his team, shaking myself when I realize I’ve been staring. Whatever has come over me is going to pass. I just have to wait it out.

And find someone else to fixate on. Luckily, thanks to Wes’s friend Mike, I already have a plan to do just that.