Work Text:
March 11th, 1999
Hollvania Mall - Rooftop
15:28:00
Drifter sits on the rooftop, basket in their arms. They feel a little silly, standing in the early spring breeze, shuffling on the blanket they’ve laid across the concrete roofing. They’d promised Amir their backstory, though, and even made a joke about it being a date. So Drifter had to commit to the bit, seeing as Amir seemed to find it funny over KIM (never mind how they now owed Arthur a favor for making pasta, Eleanor one for telling them about this spot, and Aoi as well for suggesting a picnic). They set the basket to one side, face strangely hot in the afternoon chill.
“Hey, Future!” They look up just in time to see Amir approach, pushing past the doors and quickly reaching the edge of the blanket. He doesn’t say anything else, and Drifter can feel anxiety bubble in their chest as they take in Amir’s expression. He’s not smiling, full lips parted in an ‘o’, eyebrows raised in shock as his eyes scan the area Drifter’s set up. “What’s all this?” Amir says after a long moment, and Drifter is quick to rise to their feet.
“I promised you a date, remember?” They say, half chuckling. Drifter’s unsure why the words are bitter in their mouth, why it feels like a lie, but they push it all down, winking at him. It’s delightful to watch his face go red in a blush, the speedster so easily caught off guard. (Drifter doesn’t bother wondering why they can fluster him so easily, it must just be part of Amir’s personality.) He nods quickly, rocking on his heels in an action they now can recognize as a nervous tic.
“Mhm, didn’t think you were serious about it, though!” Of course he didn’t, it’s not like Drifter’s much of a jokester. Amir makes them laugh, though, so they wanted to do the same. (Oh Sol he’s looking at them now, stay calm-) “Not that I’m disappointed!” Something in their expression must give Drifter away because Amir is quick to reassure them. He plops down onto the blanket from where he’s standing, and Drifter’s shocked Amir’s not harmed from how hard he hit the ground. They follow after a beat, sitting down next to him, and reaching to grab the basket.
“Right.” Drifter opens the latch on the picnic basket as they respond, pulling out the still-warm food. It’s rigatoni, they suppose, and while Drifter’s not sure they trust Arthur with making pasta, it looks a lot more edible than the spaghetti was. “I remember you mentioning it, so…”
Amir’s face is blank for a moment, eyes roaming Drifter’s face with almost uncharacteristic slowness. Then he nods, shakily, hands reaching forward to take the Tupperware from them. Drifter holds onto it for a second longer than what’s probably needed, fingers brushing the warm metal of Amir’s own. Then, they pull away, taking out the second package of pasta below. It’s not cut into squares, of course, but that’s probably for the best.
Amir is quick to fill the silence with chatter, filling them in with all the new details of his game. “I’m still trying to come up with a name for it.” He rambles on, not even caring as the pasta slips from his fork. “It’s difficult, with how many aspects of the gameplay I’ve been changing. When it was all based on stealth I wanted to pick something cool sounding, but I’m not sure that’ll fit a looter-shooter, y’know?” Drifter nods slowly, even though they don’t. They’ve played some of the games in the arcade, of course, but names have never been something they’ve given much thought to. It was the contents, of course, that mattered. Drifter’s mouth opens, preparing to tell Amir as such, but they’re interrupted by the quiet sound of metal on teeth.
Amir recoils slightly, shocked by the sound himself. He stares wide-eyed at his empty fork, glancing between it and the Tupperware in amazement. “Disappearing pasta…” He whispers, storm gray eyes glancing up to meet Drifter’s own. They can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of them, light and energized. He’s just so endearing, each little act and word spoken by Amir only makes their fondness grow. Drifter can feel themself leaning forward slightly, drawn in by his unassuming charm. Amir, though, is still, eyes wide as he stares back at them. Then he leans forward too, pasta and fork haphazardly discarded to grab at their face with both hands. Amir’s hands are warm, they note once more, despite the metallic ends of them. Drifter can feel their face heat as the silence goes on, not wanting to interrupt whatever is happening right now.
“You have a freckle, right here…” Amir’s hand shifts, fingers brushing across a spot right above Drifter’s right eyebrow. “Or a birthmark, maybe.” His eyes are that soft gray they’ve always been, gazes gently as his focus moves across their face. They're close enough that Drifter can feel his breath on their skin, as warm as the rest of him. Drifter can feel the heat radiating from where his hand barely grazes them, the soft hum of electricity that’s always present in his body, like a second heartbeat. When did they first notice it? They can’t imagine forgetting it, now.
“Do I?” Drifter’s voice trembles as they respond, too slow, too hesitant. They can see their nerves reflected in Amir’s form (he’ll pull away any moment now, and that comforting presence they’re just growing used to will be gone again. They’ve ruined it, surely-) Instead, they feel his hand press firmer against their skin, thumb brushing across the apparent birthmark there.
“You do.” He repeats the motion once, and Drifter resists the burning desire to lean into his touch. Amir’s done it again, phase through the walls they’ve built like nothing, reach his hand inside their chest, and hold the heart beating inside. “It’s shaped like a star.” He says it fondly, like that small patch of skin, misshapen and discolored, just another blemish on the out to match the in, is something to admire. Like it’s something wonderful. Like they’re something wonderful.
(Drifter realizes at once that that spot is his, now. That they’ll never see themselves the same again.)
“Oh.” They reply quietly, at a loss for anything else to say. Then all at once, the moment is gone, Amir flinging himself back into the spot across from them. His face rapidly goes red, the blush that blooms upon it quickly matching and surpassing Drifter’s own. He lets out a bout of weak laughter, rubbing the back of his neck. Drifter’s eyes follow the motion, still disarmed by the phantom sensation of his touch. They know what his hands feel like, now.
“What if-” Amir blurts, voice cracking slightly. Drifter’s gaze returns to his face, noting the flustered expression on it. They don’t feel the same jolt of satisfaction as earlier, after all, their face is just as red. Drifter blinks slowly, before nodding, urging him to continue. “What if we kissed at the Denny’s parking lot?” What? Drifter isn’t sure what they were expecting him to say, but the line of words that fell from his lips certainly wasn’t it. They’re not sure how to respond, heart still racing with everything that’s happened these last few minutes. Still, Amir is looking at them like they’re supposed to say something, so-
“What’s a Denny’s?” It’s the only question Drifter is confident in asking, and it’s the right one, clearly, as Amir’s light up the same way it always does when he gets to explain something to them.
“Oh boy.” He responds quietly, clearly delighted. “That, my friend, requires an explanation of breakfast foods, and the cultural phenomenon of USL late-night snacks.” Amir proceeds to prattle on about the history of the place, a restaurant, apparently, as Drifter leans back to listen. The pasta has long been forgotten, as the tension drains from the conversation. Drifter lets the moment pass, a smile settling on their lips. They’ll get another, now.
(They don’t forget what Amir had asked, though, even as he explains it to be a pop-culture reference. Drifter is still curious about what makes a parking lot such a good place to kiss at.)
April 15th, 1999
Hollvania Mall - Backroom
23:52:00
Drifter sighs softly in the back of the mall, leaning forward to brace themself on the railing. Amir is strewn out across one of the couches, tapping away at his Tammpet. The missions today had been especially difficult, so instead of Drifter letting him return to the arcade, they had invited him back here. It was only logical, of course, to hang out instead of suffering a sleepless night alone. Or worse, to be faced with nightmares and end up here anyway. They glance back at him, lips twitching in a frown as they take in the stressed expression on Amir’s face.
“Hey.” Drifter is reminded of a day a little over a month ago, a throwaway joke Amir had made as they shuffle over towards the couch. Amir shows no sign of having heard them, eyes still locked on the toy. “Amir.” They hover over him, speaking loud and clear, but he’s too focused. Drifter leans over the back of the couch, reaching out to gently poke him in the face. That gets his attention, Amir jolting (hah) up in his seat, attention quickly turned to them.
“Huh? What’s up, Dee Dee?” Drifter smiles down at him, the unassuming nickname sending butterflies to their stomach. They shake their head slightly, not wanting to get distracted.
“You still haven’t taken me to a Denny’s.” Amir is on his feet in an instant, the protoframe now alight with excitement instead of nerves.
“You’re right!” Amir grabs one of their hands with both of his and Drifter huffs fondly. Something about that evening on the rooftop unlocked a bit of familiarity between the two of them. Amir had started to take every opportunity to touch them, from brief grazes to holding hands at every interval. Drifter had never questioned it, of course, in case speaking about it made him stop.
“The one I know about is open until 3, so we’ve got plenty of time. Why wait, though?” Drifter zones back in just in time to reply, amusement lacing their tone.
“Alright, then. Let’s go.”
The drive out is quiet, the empty streets of Hollvania a far cry from the usual bustle of either Techrot or Scaldra. Amir had told them about it when explaining the history of the restaurant, and how the city's usual curfew had some exceptions. (Essential Workers, he had described, for the few businesses allowed to run at night.) Still, Drifter almost doubted that it would be open.
The restaurant is empty as they enter, soft yellow light filling the space. The hostess who greets them is clearly shocked to see anyone out, though she’s polite when leading them to a booth. Drifter glares down at the laminated menu, most of the listed items foreign to them. Amir’s laughter pulls them out of their thinking, as he snatches the paper from their hands.
“Get the french toast.” He tells them, fondness lacing his tone. So Drifter listens, of course, not surprised in the slightest when Amir orders the same. He’s never led them astray before, food choices or otherwise. Drifter had enjoyed trying pad thai a few weeks ago, and rigatoni before that. They had honestly been relieved to try it, confidence growing each time Amir suggested something new. Everything about 1999 was so foreign, but Amir had never seen their obliviousness as a bad thing. Even now, in the gentle quiet, he was reassuring. A constant, they realize. Slowly yet surely Amir being near them had become a fact to rely on, as predictable as the sky or ground. It was strange, in a good way, to feel that way.
Drifter only grows more sure of this once their food arrives, hot and fresh. There’s a sprinkle of sugar dotting the top, alongside a drizzle of syrup. That’s not what they focus on, though. No, they’re much more distracted by the shape of the dish laid before them.
“It’s square.” They say plainly, glancing up at Amir, the slightest hint of shock lacing their tone. He looks incredibly pleased, the smile plastered on his face closer to a smirk.
“It is!” Amir confirms, grinning at them. There’s a hint of knowing to it, of recognizing their little preferences without having to ask. He knows them, Drifter realizes, and the feeling of it is both terrifying and comforting.
“Huh.” Drifter knows they’re grinning like an idiot because the delight on Amir’s face only increases. He waits for them to take a bite, slowly cutting away a piece to eat, before tasting his own. Once Drifter nods their approval, he digs in. Between bites, Amir tells them about the wide variety of breakfast pastries, from pancakes to sandwiches and on. They ask a few questions and drop a few remarks, but Amir carries most of the conversation as Drifter listens. Then the conversation fizzles into a comfortable silence, and they enjoy that too.
The sun is a bare sliver on the horizon as they exit the restaurant, walking out to the cold breeze of early spring. Drifter stops in front of their Atomicycle, facing Amir while he quietly stretches. They had enjoyed their night. The peaceful quiet of spending time together, the simple understanding. It’s in the parking lot that they realize, quietly, what the joke meant.
“Oh.” Grey eyes flicker toward them, as Drifter takes a step forward. Their hands find Amir’s collar. Tugging him towards them. His lips are soft and sweet, the leftover taste of sugar on their tongue. The kiss is short and chaste, but Drifter’s heart races all the same. They look down at Amir, taking in the gooey expression on his face. They’re not sure how they’ve missed it before, the lovestruck look matching the feeling that’s slowly grown inside Drifter as well. “So that’s why.”
“What?” Amir asks quietly, storm grey eyes never leaving Drifter’s lips.
“Why you asked about kissing in a parking lot.” They remind him, hands still resting where skin meets carapace. Amir laughs, an almost disbelieving sound, and then he’s the one leaning in. Their second kiss is just as perfect as the first, and Drifter is struck by the need to kiss him over and over again. So they do, sharing soft words and gentle affections until dawn.
(Arthur isn’t pleased when they return to the mall, far past when they’d both normally wake up. He doesn’t reprimand them, though, eyes flickering to where Amir’s fingers remain interlaced with theirs. It's nice.)