[AU][C] More Jumps

It clicked. Sort of?

"Chrys is your brother?"

It was a question of disbelief. The man was old enough to be Fleck's farther. But Chrys was the only one in Fleck's sketchbook drawn landing on his ass.

"Yupp. Lucky me, right?"

He was joking, but clearly there was no bad blood between the siblings. Fleck loved Chrys, in the love-hate way all siblings did.

"Right," he said, perplexed.

It begged the question how old was Fleck's mum and dad to have both of them? It would have meant they would have had to have Chrys ridiculously young and Fleck a little on the old side - if he judged their ages right.

"Are you the youngest then?"

"Nope. There are two younger than me."

His family was large, and definitely had its age ranges. Most people called his parents his grandparents when they were out, and more than once he'd had his older brothers and sisters mistaken as his parents.

"I'm guessing your family isn't all that big?"

Dick's eyebrows shot up.

"Wow."

How old were Fleck's mom and dad?

... Actually, he didn't want to know.

"Fairly? There are nine of us altogether."

Not including Edward - but he wasn't going to dwell on that.

"Unfortunately I am also a middle child."

"Nine is only a fairly big family?"

Anything more than three was considered a big family to most people.

His own ginormous family nonewithstanding, he hadn't met anyone with a family so big before.

"Being a middle child is awesome.

With flushed cheeks, he smiled.

To him, his family wasn't as huge or big. It was average. It was normal. Yet most were either shocked when he told them how many siblings he had.

"It's it?" His smile turned into a wide grin. "You get to get away with so much stuff."

"So much."

He and his brother, just a few months apart, got into absolute hell together, and their middle child status kept them safe. Meaning, they had their older siblings protection and could easily blame it on the youngest.

"Although - I do admit - sometimes I wished I was the oldest."

Dick leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"You don't have to worry about reaching any standards. They have set them."

Fleck had no idea how to respond to that one, so he kept his mouth shut.

Standards?

What sort of family was Dick living in if he had to live his life by his siblings standards?

Fleck had lived his life being accepted and encouraged whole-heartedly by his parents and siblings alike. There had never been any standards set on him.

Dick tilted his head as he waited for Fleck's response. There was none.

He righted himself back up.

"Or maybe I am on my own on that one?"

"In this one."

His lips kicked up in a half smile. "My parents celebrate all our achievements equally. I sculpt something good, there's a feast. Joey takes a great picture, feast. Chrys wins a competition, feast. Adrian comes back form a tour safe, feast."

His broad shoulders raised in a shrug. "I'm pretty sure my old man just likes cooking and is using us as an excuse, though."

Dick's shoulders relaxed, glad about how easy Fleck turned the conversation. He was worried it had gone awkward, and Dick really didn't want to stop talking to the other man.

His smile returned.

"Sounds like a lot of fun. Can you cook, then?"

"Wash your mouth out," he chuckled.

He rested one elbow on a knee and rested his cheek on his propped up hand. A lazy grin curled his lips.

"I'm an Italian boy."

He laughed along with Fleck.

"Of course, of course."

It was hard to mistake Fleck as anything but Italian. Even with his bleach blonde hair.

Dick found himself leaning forward again.

"I will take it that your best dish is lasagna then?"

One brow arched upwards.

"Lasagna? Do you Englishmen think that all we make is lasagna and pizza?"

There was so much more to Italian cooking than lasagna.

Dick shrugged.

"Basically. And can you blame us? Lasagna and pizza are amazing. besides, there must be a reason they are the only dishes we can think of."

A grin tugged at his lips.

He could probably sit and eat pizza and lasagna all day - if he wasn't constantly watching what he was eating. One of the biggest pains of being a professional athlete.

"You've never actually had an Italian cook for you, clearly."

His lips kicked up. "I actually make really good Cassatelle alla Trapanese." He didn't bother trying to translate it into English. The direct translation wouldn't make any sense, and he didn't want to just tell him what was in it.

"Maybe I can make it for you some time?"

Heat rose to his cheeks.

Definitely Italian.

He pushed a stray strand behind his pink ear, taking a moment before answering.

"That would be lovely."

Fleck could totally mean all this in a friendly way - not a romantic way. Just because he was accepting Fleck to make him something doesn't mean he was charging into a relationship.

"What is Cass-Cassatelle alla Trapanese?" He asked, tripping over his pronunciation. He had to wince a little. Even if he didn't know what the words meant, he could still tell he butchered them.

Fleck winced. "I have no idea. Cassatelle alla Trapanese, however, is something that'll remain a secret until I make it for you."

He stuck his tongue out a little between his teeth teasingly as his lips pulled away from them in a little grin.

"Well, it better live up to lasagna and pizza then."

Dick's eyes dropped down to Fleck's grin. The teasing tongue stuck out between his teeth did nothing to cool down his blush. Instead, they burned more.

He rubbed at his cheek in the hope his cold hand's will calm them down.

"I would offer to make you something in return - but I am a useless cook."

Fleck didn't voice his dubious thoughts of what English cooks were actually capable of.

He just grinned. "Let me sit in on your lessons and draw you a few more times and I'll forgive you for not cooking for me."

His hand curled to cup the back of his neck.

"Deal."

This was totally friendly and totally not flirting. Even if the Italian man was rudely handsome and with Giacinto's little quip earlier.

"Might make me more determined not to fall on my ass so much. That would be a little boring to draw."

"I don't know. It could be good expression practise."

People who knew they were about to fall on their ass made the best expressions. He'd learned that well watching Chrys fuck up for so many years.

"If you want good expressions, check out Gia's Instagram."

The whole world probably saw his numerous terrible expressions now. He looked anything but a graceful professional skater. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if he woke up one morning and found out he was turned into a meme.