Cheering For You
Cheering For You
Rating: G
Pairing: Taochen
Genre: angst/fluff???
Word Count: 1142
Summary: From this prompt. "Tao is an underdog in a martial arts tournament. Chen is a silent (doesn't speak Mandarin well or at all), smiling stranger and the only fan who holds up Tao fansigns during his competitions."
A/N: I'm really, really sorry if this isn't what you wanted at all. I have never filled any prompts before, but I tried. ;; <3
Zitao crouches to the floor after he's finished his set, shame setting his cheeks aflame and bringing stinging tears to his eyes because he'd practiced so hard and he still made a mistake. It's not a big one, and he doesn't think it'll get him eliminated from this competition, but the embarrassment of it burns through him hot enough to hurt anyway.
He peeks through his fingers at the other contestants coming back up on stage for a final goodbye, standing to join them and eyes searching the crowd for anything that might help him bite back the tears, because maybe slipping during that kick was more noticeable than he thought, and the other contestants were so good, and-
His watery eyes land on a sign in the front row, just a little to his left. The board is obnoxiously huge and orange, his name spelled out in puffy English letters, and his heart gives a painful clench. It's the only fansign he's ever found for him, and even if it's ugly, it brings a smile to his face-or more, the person behind the sign.
He is tiny, and Zitao smiles just a little wider, absently bowing with the other members of the competition because he's more focused on the fact that his...his fan barely comes up to the shoulders of the men next to him. He doesn't seem to care though, smiling widely and bouncing in place, holding his ugly sign up as far as his arms will reach, and Zitao feels warmth flooding through him.
The warmth fades when he's told he's been cut from the competition, and the only thing that keeps him from bursting into broken sobs in front of everyone is the smile behind the hideous orange sign, silently cheering him on.
Zitao has the passing thought, as he makes his way backstage, that perhaps the reason the man didn't tear his sign up and stomp out at Zitao's failure is because he might not understand what's going on. There were no cheers in Mandarin, after all, Zitao's name spelled out in English letters and not traditional characters.
His mood plummets and he cries later, when he's by himself.
It's four rounds into a different competition three cities away when he spots him again in the crowd. It's a bright green sign with hideous neon pink hearts, and Zitao spies his name spelled incorrectly in several spots, crossed out in green highlighter to try to blend in with the board. The English bubble letters are bigger this time, maybe to distract from the mistakes, and it makes Zitao smile as he takes up his starting pose.
It goes smoother this time, and he's only docked a point for the stupid smile on his face that he couldn't wipe off the entire time. It doesn't even bring him down, because his silent fan is holding the sign between his teeth, arms waving wildly, randomly clapping and sporting thumbs ups and making hearts. It almost detracts from the fact that it's the only sign in the crowd with his name on it, the names of his competitors having at least twenty apiece that he can count out of his peripheral vision.
Almost, but not quite.
When he's cut from the competition three rounds later for dropping his staff, not even the stupidly vivid purple sign in the front row as he steps offstage can keep the tears at bay.
He's surprised to see him in the crowd during the first round of the next competition Zitao can muster up the courage to enter. He's armed with a hideous heart-shaped sign, tacky drawings littering the pink, polka dot #1 contrasting painfully with everything else, and it makes Zitao smile so hard his cheeks hurt. He smiles back just as widely, jumping to make sure he's seen, and Zitao resolves to do well this time. There's only so many times he can fail before he's sure the other will stop coming, stop making ugly signs, stop smiling and cheering him on, and he doesn't want that time to come.
He doesn't know what he'd do if he did.
Third place is not first, but it's the highest he's scored yet, and he can't help the happy smiles he shares with the man in the first row, blinding blue sign looking like it's vibrating in place with his excitement. It's still the only sign in the audience with his name, but it doesn't bother him as much as he thought it would. As long as Zitao has one person cheering for him, he thinks it's enough.
Especially when his fan has such a pretty smile, and seems to put a ridiculous amount of effort into the signs that never fail to make Zitao's day. Even if they make his eyes hurt.
He sticks to his resolve to do better in the next competition as well, garish signs following him the whole time, and they spur him on enough to make it to the final round, propel him into the only first place he's ever gotten. It's so unexpected that he cries, overwhelmed with the fact that all his practice hadn't been for nothing after all.
His arm drops from his eyes when he hears a loud voice from the crowd, drowning out almost all the other background noise, and his mouth drops open just a little. It's the first time he's ever heard his fan's voice, and it's not what he expected at all, and he can't understand a word they're saying, but he's smiling, and shaking his head, miming wiping tears away, and Zitao gets the gist of it. Don't cry.
He can't help himself though, his wide smile warring with the tears that keep trickling over his cheeks, because he's so touched. A stranger whose name he doesn't even know is still here, cheering him on even after all of his failures, is the reason he could even pick himself up enough to try again. He's the reason Zitao won this time, and he's filled with a surge of affection for the man behind the sign, dazzling smile rivaling the cringe-worthy rhinestones glued to the yellow board.
He knows it's not proper decorum to jump off the stage, but he does so anyway, brushing past security to scoop the other up in his arms in a hug. He fits perfectly, and with him this close Zitao can hear the little bubbles of laughter escaping, sign dropping to the floor between their legs. He doesn't understand any of the words in his ear, but when he pulls back to see pretty eyes crinkled at the corners and nearly closed with the force of the other's laughs, he doesn't think it matters.
Smiles and gestures and emotions have gotten them this far, and they can figure out the language thing later.
Rating: G
Pairing: Taochen
Genre: angst/fluff???
Word Count: 1142
Summary: From this prompt. "Tao is an underdog in a martial arts tournament. Chen is a silent (doesn't speak Mandarin well or at all), smiling stranger and the only fan who holds up Tao fansigns during his competitions."
A/N: I'm really, really sorry if this isn't what you wanted at all. I have never filled any prompts before, but I tried. ;; <3
Zitao crouches to the floor after he's finished his set, shame setting his cheeks aflame and bringing stinging tears to his eyes because he'd practiced so hard and he still made a mistake. It's not a big one, and he doesn't think it'll get him eliminated from this competition, but the embarrassment of it burns through him hot enough to hurt anyway.
He peeks through his fingers at the other contestants coming back up on stage for a final goodbye, standing to join them and eyes searching the crowd for anything that might help him bite back the tears, because maybe slipping during that kick was more noticeable than he thought, and the other contestants were so good, and-
His watery eyes land on a sign in the front row, just a little to his left. The board is obnoxiously huge and orange, his name spelled out in puffy English letters, and his heart gives a painful clench. It's the only fansign he's ever found for him, and even if it's ugly, it brings a smile to his face-or more, the person behind the sign.
He is tiny, and Zitao smiles just a little wider, absently bowing with the other members of the competition because he's more focused on the fact that his...his fan barely comes up to the shoulders of the men next to him. He doesn't seem to care though, smiling widely and bouncing in place, holding his ugly sign up as far as his arms will reach, and Zitao feels warmth flooding through him.
The warmth fades when he's told he's been cut from the competition, and the only thing that keeps him from bursting into broken sobs in front of everyone is the smile behind the hideous orange sign, silently cheering him on.
Zitao has the passing thought, as he makes his way backstage, that perhaps the reason the man didn't tear his sign up and stomp out at Zitao's failure is because he might not understand what's going on. There were no cheers in Mandarin, after all, Zitao's name spelled out in English letters and not traditional characters.
His mood plummets and he cries later, when he's by himself.
It's four rounds into a different competition three cities away when he spots him again in the crowd. It's a bright green sign with hideous neon pink hearts, and Zitao spies his name spelled incorrectly in several spots, crossed out in green highlighter to try to blend in with the board. The English bubble letters are bigger this time, maybe to distract from the mistakes, and it makes Zitao smile as he takes up his starting pose.
It goes smoother this time, and he's only docked a point for the stupid smile on his face that he couldn't wipe off the entire time. It doesn't even bring him down, because his silent fan is holding the sign between his teeth, arms waving wildly, randomly clapping and sporting thumbs ups and making hearts. It almost detracts from the fact that it's the only sign in the crowd with his name on it, the names of his competitors having at least twenty apiece that he can count out of his peripheral vision.
Almost, but not quite.
When he's cut from the competition three rounds later for dropping his staff, not even the stupidly vivid purple sign in the front row as he steps offstage can keep the tears at bay.
He's surprised to see him in the crowd during the first round of the next competition Zitao can muster up the courage to enter. He's armed with a hideous heart-shaped sign, tacky drawings littering the pink, polka dot #1 contrasting painfully with everything else, and it makes Zitao smile so hard his cheeks hurt. He smiles back just as widely, jumping to make sure he's seen, and Zitao resolves to do well this time. There's only so many times he can fail before he's sure the other will stop coming, stop making ugly signs, stop smiling and cheering him on, and he doesn't want that time to come.
He doesn't know what he'd do if he did.
Third place is not first, but it's the highest he's scored yet, and he can't help the happy smiles he shares with the man in the first row, blinding blue sign looking like it's vibrating in place with his excitement. It's still the only sign in the audience with his name, but it doesn't bother him as much as he thought it would. As long as Zitao has one person cheering for him, he thinks it's enough.
Especially when his fan has such a pretty smile, and seems to put a ridiculous amount of effort into the signs that never fail to make Zitao's day. Even if they make his eyes hurt.
He sticks to his resolve to do better in the next competition as well, garish signs following him the whole time, and they spur him on enough to make it to the final round, propel him into the only first place he's ever gotten. It's so unexpected that he cries, overwhelmed with the fact that all his practice hadn't been for nothing after all.
His arm drops from his eyes when he hears a loud voice from the crowd, drowning out almost all the other background noise, and his mouth drops open just a little. It's the first time he's ever heard his fan's voice, and it's not what he expected at all, and he can't understand a word they're saying, but he's smiling, and shaking his head, miming wiping tears away, and Zitao gets the gist of it. Don't cry.
He can't help himself though, his wide smile warring with the tears that keep trickling over his cheeks, because he's so touched. A stranger whose name he doesn't even know is still here, cheering him on even after all of his failures, is the reason he could even pick himself up enough to try again. He's the reason Zitao won this time, and he's filled with a surge of affection for the man behind the sign, dazzling smile rivaling the cringe-worthy rhinestones glued to the yellow board.
He knows it's not proper decorum to jump off the stage, but he does so anyway, brushing past security to scoop the other up in his arms in a hug. He fits perfectly, and with him this close Zitao can hear the little bubbles of laughter escaping, sign dropping to the floor between their legs. He doesn't understand any of the words in his ear, but when he pulls back to see pretty eyes crinkled at the corners and nearly closed with the force of the other's laughs, he doesn't think it matters.
Smiles and gestures and emotions have gotten them this far, and they can figure out the language thing later.