actions speak louder than words {karlnap}

~you're a terrible teacher~

This oneshot is canon to the main storyline of both SSIV and ASLTW. but mostly ASLTW.

(Karl POV)

"Karl!" 

I sigh and close my laptop. "What?" I shout back, standing up and walking over to my door. At the bottom of the stairs, Nick is looking up at me with this stupid grin that never fails to make me smile. But he's also holding a basketball in one hand, and that can only mean one thing.

"C'mon," he says, nodding towards the door.

I chuckle humorlessly. "No," I say, leaning back into my room. 

He lets out a dramatic whine. "Karl," he says, dragging my name out too long for it to be very effective. "Please. I've been dying to teach you basketball all summer. The guys are busy, Mom's gone, it's the perfect chance. Pleaaaaaaaaaase."

I peek around the doorframe, narrowing my eyes at him. "We both know it won't end well," I tell him. And it's true. I have next to no sport abilities, since I've spent most of my life cowering behind books and canvases and my writing. 

And then he gives me that stupid smile again. "Yeah, but it'll be fun." He sing-songs the last part like it'll make me want to do it more. 

News flash: it sort of works.

I huff. "What do I get out of it?" I ask. 

"Quality time with your favourite boy," he says, setting the ball on the floor to hold the backs of his hands up to his jawline, the tips of his fingers touching. 

It gets me. I walk out of my room, slowly making my way down towards him. "And who says you're my favourite?" I ask, reaching the bottom step. 

He smirks and pulls me closer, gently grasping my waist. "Just a hunch," he says, shrugging coyly. 

I snicker, my hands instinctivley grabbing his biceps so I don't fall or something. "A hunch?" I ask. "You sound like an 1800s detective."

He grins. "You into that sort of thing?" he jokes.

I scoff loudly and push him away. "You're the worst," I say, but I'm smiling. 

He hums. "Yeah?" he asks. "Then why are you blushing?"

"Do you want to teach me how to play basketball?" I ask. 

"Yeah," he answers. "Duh."

"Then shut up," I retaliate, narrowing my eyes at him. 

He smiles and leans forward to kiss me -- just a quick peck -- before grabbing my hand and dragging me outside. I don't complain this time. Before I know it, we're in the scorching heat of Florida in the middle of July, and Nick is making me play a sport. For fun.

"Okay, basics," he says. "Do you know how to dribble?"

I give him a deadpan look. "No, I skipped eighth grade P.E. all year," I huff. 

He shrugs. "I wouldn't put it past you."

"Like I could skip a class."

He smiles and checks me the ball. I catch it and dribble it with ease -- I'm capable of handling the stuff like this, believe it or not. I decide to test my abilities and I make a shot for the hoop. Unfortunately it bounces off the rim and ricochets back towards me. 

Nick laughs. "Hey, that wasn't bad!" he says, smiling. 

"You sound like you expected worse," I grunt, tossing the ball back at him. 

He grins. "I could never expect poorly of you."

My face warms, but I'm blaming it on this blasted heat.