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Ranged Royale smelled like cinnamon and powdered sugar and just a hint of hot chocolate powder that had been spilled one too many times on the counter. It was cozy, warm, and very much their spot- Rocket and Sword had come here so often over the years that Slingshot just waved them in and asked, “The usual?”
But today was special.
Today was their six-month anniversary. Of dating.
Like, actual dating.
Not the weird platonic who-knows-whatever thing people kept insisting they were doing.
No, they were dating. For real. Six months, two weeks, and four days. Rocket had tracked it on his phone like it was a national holiday. Sword had made a little card with glitter glue that said “Happy 6.5 months, Rocket!” He handed it to Rocket with a smile that could break the moon in half.
They stood at the counter, hands linked like always, and Rocket nudged Sword, who practically lit up.
Slingshot, as always, asked: “The usual for you two?”
“Yep! But also, can we get a discount? We’re dating!” Sword said, chipper as could be, like he was giving good news to an old friend. “It’s been six months!”
Slingshot paused mid-mug-wipe, blinked once, then twice.
From the back, Vine Staff poked her head out of the kitchen with a raised brow.
Shuriken- who’d been wiping the same countertop for the past three years- looked up, eyebrows already raising with suspicion.
And then-
Laughter.
Slingshot laughed hard. Not just a giggle- he threw his head back and clutched his chest like Sword had just done a stand-up set.
“Oh man, ” he wheezed, leaning over the counter and throwing an arm around Vine Staff’s shoulder. “That was so earnest! You think they’re trying to pull the same thing they did for Medkit’s spawnday and get the couple’s discount?”
Vine Staff chuckled low under her breath. “Sword, you always had such a good sense of humor,” she said, fond but patronizing, like a schoolteacher complimenting a child’s attempt at sarcasm.
Sword blinked. “Oh. Uh. We weren’t joking, though.”
Shuriken was already there, cool as a cucumber, sliding in from the side like he’d smelled the ‘awkward’ from across the shop. He clapped a firm hand on Sword’s shoulder.
“Hey. You don’t need to lie to impress us, alright? We already love you guys. Come on. Booth by the window.”
He pushed them gently toward the back before Rocket could say a word . Sword just let himself be guided like a polite leaf on the wind. Rocket opened his mouth, one finger raised.
“Don’t,” Vine Staff said from behind the counter. “We’ve seen the hand-holding act before. You two are adorable. Just not, you know. Together .”
Rocket choked on indignation as they were seated.
Slingshot still brought them the couple’s discount, grinning like he was in on the funniest joke of the century.
Vine Staff came by with their pastries, gave them both a kind pat on the shoulder, and said, “You really shouldn’t lie like that. Confuses the customers.”
She walked off with the grace of someone who thought she was being helpful.
Rocket stared at her. Then at his plate. Then at Sword, who was already halfway through his strawberry pastry.
“This is insane, ” Rocket hissed, stabbing his fork into his own. “Do they think we’re doing this for clout ? What clout? This is a café. ”
Sword blinked, then smiled faintly. “They gave us a discount.”
“Out of pity. ” Rocket took a dramatic bite and nearly choked on a raspberry seed. “I hate it here.”
Sword leaned over gently, reaching with thumb and forefinger to brush a stray crumb from Rocket’s mouth.
Rocket froze. Mid-bite. Mid-grumble. Completely paralyzed.
“There,” Sword said, all soft eyes and genuine affection. “You always get stuff on your face when you eat too fast.”
Rocket blinked once. Twice.
Then he swallowed, looking completely dazed.
In the back of the shop, the Thieve’s Den trio- Stealth, Snare, and Trickshot- were gathered at a corner table, quietly cackling into their drinks like they were watching a particularly bad soap opera. One of them whispered “Oscar-worthy,” and the others snorted.
Rocket groaned and slumped into the booth, burying his face in his hands.
Sword tilted his head and took another bite of cake.
He really didn’t get what all the fuss was about. They were dating. Wasn’t it obvious?
___
They stood in front of the apartment door for a long moment.
“I’ll knock,” Sword said cheerily, raising a hand before Rocket could protest.
The knock was soft- more of a polite tap than anything- and after a few seconds, a muffled voice replied with all the enthusiasm of a distant fax machine:
“...It’s open.”
Sword opened the door. The lights inside were dim, blinds half-closed, casting long gray bars across the floor and desk. At the far end of the room, Medkit sat hunched over a pile of scattered tools and loose blueprints. There was a lamp on the table, illuminating one very tired-looking eye and a hand that didn’t stop working even as the door creaked open.
“Hey, Med,” Sword said with a grin, skipping inside.
Medkit didn’t turn.
He didn’t flinch until Sword tiptoed up behind him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders in a warm, swaying hug.
That made him jump
His whole body jerked like someone just connected his spine to a car battery. A small tool clattered to the floor.
“I- Sword- why.” His voice was perfectly flat, but there was a faint flicker of confusion in the way his blinking eye twitched.
“I just missed you,” Sword beamed. “Also! Rocket and I are dating.”
That got Medkit to blink again. Slowly. Once. Then again, slower.
Then came the sigh. A long, labored thing that sounded like it was dragged from somewhere deep in his ribs. He rolled his shoulders slightly until Sword let go, then turned just enough to face them.
“Okay,” Medkit said flatly. “You can stop the prank now.”
“Wait, huh?” Sword tilted his head.
Rocket folded his arms and gave the room a skeptical glance. “This again?” he muttered.
Medkit turned fully in his chair, slouching like someone who had already lived through this exact scenario five times in five lifetimes.
“You tried this last year on my spawnday,” he said. “For the dessert discount. You even kissed him on the cheek. It was dramatic. It was stupid.”
“We’re not lying,” Sword said, voice soft but insistent.
“You are.” Medkit leaned back and picked up a small, half-disassembled gadget. “And I’m working.”
Rocket held up a hand. “Okay, yes, that time was a lie- who pays twenty bucks for a mousse the size of a coin?!”
Medkit looked at him. “You’re proving my point.”
Rocket sputtered. Sword looked vaguely betrayed.
“I’m being serious ,” Sword tried again. “This time it’s real! Like, actually real! We’ve been together for six months!”
Medkit gave them a long, glassy stare. “That’s nice. Close the door on your way out.”
And then- without further discussion- he turned back to his desk.
It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t even annoyed. It was simply… the end of the conversation.
Sword and Rocket stood there for a few more seconds, blinking.
“Wait- Med. Medkit, wait,” Sword said, shuffling forward. “We’re actually-”
“Bye,” Medkit said.
And the door gently, soundlessly closed on them.
They stood outside in the hallway, staring at the cold, paint-chipped brick wall of the apartment complex. It looked vaguely judgmental.
Sword let out a long, slow sigh, puffing his cheeks out before deflating like a balloon.
“Maybe he thought we were messing around again,” he murmured.
“ Messing around ?!” Rocket hissed, throwing his hands up. “What part of ‘we’re literally dating’ sounds like a joke ?!”
“The part where we dated before as a joke?”
“That was one time. One. And we didn’t even date, we just told people we did for cheesecake. This is different!”
Sword gave a small, thoughtful hum. Then he reached over and gently took Rocket’s hand.
“It’s fine,” he said, swinging their hands a little. “It’s like a brick wall. Eventually it’ll fall. Or like, we can carve a heart into it. That’s romantic, right?”
Rocket was still fuming. “I’m going to write a fifty-page thesis titled Why We’re Actually Dating and send it to every idiot in this city.”
“Can it have footnotes?” Sword asked sweetly.
“ Especially footnotes.”
Sword leaned in and gave Rocket a kiss on the cheek.
It was short and sweet and made Rocket’s knees go a little wobbly. He paused, mouth slightly open, rage paused mid-rant.
From inside the apartment, they could hear the sound of something clanking against metal. And Medkit’s faint voice:
“Still not buying it.”
Rocket practically screamed.
___
The sun had barely started melting into the rooftops when Rocket stepped into Da Shop - or, as he liked to call it, The Emotional Gauntlet . He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his sleeve, hands full of small parts he’d just hauled from the back room. The dusty boxes clinked with metal and something probably very illegal.
Zuka, his dad, sat by the counter. He looked exactly the same as always- gray jacket, one arm tucked under the other, puffing lazily on a blunt like the universe owed him a favor and wasn’t paying up. The stub of his missing arm was loosely tied off with the fabric of his own jacket, as casual as a shoelace. His eyes flicked over to Rocket without turning his head.
“What’s up with the kid?” he asked, voice raspy like sandpaper soaked in gasoline.
Rocket swallowed hard and stacked the boxes down.
He wiped his palms. He did not look at his dad.
Today was the day. Sword had said so- Let’s tell our dads together! Like it was a movie montage and not a total social death sentence . Four people already doubted them. Four. Rocket could live with the café clowns and Medkit's brick-wall emotional range. But this ?
Rocket took a deep breath.
“I’m dating Sword.”
The blunt fell out of Zuka’s mouth.
There was a pause so deep you could’ve planted something in it and waited for crops to grow.
“...What.”
Rocket clenched his fists. “I said I’m dating Sword.”
Another pause. Longer this time. The sound of a fan humming somewhere in the shop filled the silence like white noise drowning a scream.
Zuka slowly turned his head to look him dead in the eye.
“Didn’t you already pull this joke at Medkit’s birthday?”
“Yeah- okay , we did. That was a joke. But this isn’t. I’m serious. It’s been six months.”
Zuka blinked. Laughed once. Short. Sharp. In disbelief.
“ Six months? Now that’s hilarious,” he said, folding what was left of his sleeves. “You would’ve crumbled after one. C’mon, kid. You’ve got a mouth like a leaky pipe- no way you didn’t spill the second Sword held your hand.”
Rocket’s eye twitched.
He did almost spill that day.
But that’s beside the point.
“Sword wanted to wait. Said we should tell our dads at the same time,” Rocket muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Zuka exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. “These little drama arcs you kids keep writing, I swear,” he muttered. “Next time, try not kissing your best friend in public if you don’t want people confused.”
“We’ve been dating , that’s the whole-!”
“Lying’s a lotta effort for a cheesecake,” Zuka added, picking up his blunt again.
Rocket gripped the counter. “It’s not about the cheesecake anymore!!”
But Zuka was already yammering- going on about how kids these days made everything weird, how back in his day people didn’t need announcements every time they caught feelings, and how Sword was too sweet and soft to be putting up with Rocket’s firecracker attitude, and honestly wasn’t that just the plot of a sitcom?
Rocket’s eyes glazed over.
He couldn’t even yell anymore.
He just… slumped. Slowly. Head thunked softly against the edge of the counter.
“…Blah blah blah,” Zuka continued in the background.
“…Blah blah kids these days.”
“…Blah blah innocent Sword-”
Rocket wasn’t even listening now. His brain had checked out and gone somewhere soft and stupid.
He thought about Sword.
How he always smiled with his whole face.
How his hugs lasted a few seconds too long.
How he called Rocket “my love” when he was half-asleep and didn’t realize he was saying it aloud.
He thought about how they kissed after sparring matches- how Sword always laughed right after, even if his lip was bleeding- and how Rocket would roll his eyes and call him an idiot .
He thought about the way Sword looked at him.
Like he was something he’d found and wanted to keep forever.
“…Idiot,” Rocket muttered into the counter. “Absolute fool. Total doofus.”
He grinned.
And then Zuka’s voice cut through again.
“-So anyway, if you’re done with your sitcom episode, we still need to restock the back shelves.”
Rocket groaned. “I told you, it’s not a sitcom.”
Zuka blew a puff of smoke. “You’re right. Sitcoms are funnier.”
Rocket flipped him off.
___
Dinner was…fine.
Sword pushed a few grains of rice around with his fork, pretending not to hear Venomshank muttering about tomorrow’s training regimen between bites of grilled meat. Something about “balance drills” and “posture correction under stress.” Sword tried not to grimace. His wings still hadn’t healed from the last spar.
Across from him, his father had actually taken off his mask for once, revealing a face that was strangely soft, far younger than Sword ever expected it to be- if not for the tired eyes, he could’ve been mistaken for someone much more gentle. The flickering light of the overhead lamp danced in Venomshank’s white feathers. Sisyphus chirped absently from his perch near the window.
Sword’s mouth was dry. His hands were sweaty. This was worse than confessionals, worse than sparring, worse than facing Windforce during a monsoon.
“...Dad?” he said suddenly, breath hitching.
Venomshank blinked once, then peered at him with the tilted head of a bird, half curious, half concerned. “Mm?”
“Can I…tell you something?”
Venomshank set his utensils down with a clink. “Of course,” he said. “You can tell me anything, fledgling.”
Sword swallowed. Looked down at his plate. Then back up.
“I’m dating Rocket.”
A pause.
Then: “Say that again?”
“I’m…dating Rocket,” Sword repeated, scratching the back of his neck.
Venomshank stared.
And stared.
And then, finally, raised an eyebrow.
“Didn’t you two say that during Medkit’s birthday last year?” he asked flatly.
Sword groaned. “ Yes , but that was a joke . This is real . It’s been six months. ”
Venomshank hummed, reaching for his tea. “There’s no need to lie about being in a relationship to impress others, Sword.”
“I’m not-”
“I’m sure you’ll both find someone eventually,” he added, sipping without a care. “There’s no rush. No need for this pretend business.”
Sword’s soul cracked into a thousand glittering shards and sank into the floorboards.
He let his head fall forward onto the table with a solid thunk .
Venomshank blinked at him.
“Why do you look like you’re about to cry?”
“No reason,” Sword mumbled into the table.
Venomshank, unbothered, resumed his dinner. He turned his attention to Sisyphus, offering the bird a little piece of fish. “You’d never lie about a relationship, right?” he said to him warmly.
Sisyphus tweeted once. Sword didn’t lift his head.
The conversation moved on, something about tomorrow’s currents and elbow alignment, but Sword wasn’t really listening. His mind drifted- floated, really- out of the kitchen, past the walls, into the night sky where Rocket probably was, fuming or laughing or both at once.
Rocket…
He was… Rocket was the kind of person who always said what he meant. Loudly. Without apology. Sometimes even when he shouldn’t. He was impatient, stubborn, had no sense of subtlety, and acted like the whole world was his to fight with.
But..
He was also the kind of person who’d wait outside Sword’s training room with water and towels. The kind who kissed the inside of Sword’s wrist when he thought no one was watching. The kind who called him a “dummy birdbrain” but laced his fingers with Sword’s like it was sacred.
“…He’s nice,” Sword muttered into the table. Then paused. “Well. No. He’s kind of awful. He snores.”
He squinted at his own thought.
“But… he listens to me,” Sword tried again. “Even when I talk too much. He never makes me feel stupid.”
Then another beat.
“…Okay, no, that’s a lie. He does make me feel stupid. But he also… makes me feel like I matter.”
Sword curled in on himself.
“Ugh.”
From across the table, Venomshank took another bite of rice and offered Sisyphus a nod of approval as the bird bounced along the rim of his bowl.
“I’m in love with a guy who pirates movies for a living,” Sword whispered to the wood grain. “I’m doomed.”
___
The match was over. Their bruises were starting to set in, their bodies still humming from the buzz of battle, but for now, they were victorious.
Sword slumped onto the bench beside Rocket, chest heaving, wings twitching tiredly. Rocket flopped down beside him with a grunt, sweat dripping down the curve of his neck. They sat in silence for a few seconds, breathing in sync. Close enough to touch, close enough to feel the warmth they both carried even in exhaustion.
Then Rocket nudged Sword’s knee with his.
Sword glanced over.
Rocket smirked.
“You did good,” he said.
“You did better,” Sword murmured back, pink rising up his cheeks.
“I know I did,” Rocket replied, puffing out his chest with mock bravado.
Sword rolled his eyes, laughing softly. “You’re so annoying.”
And then, as natural as breath, as easy as falling asleep under a warm sun- they leaned in and shared a quick kiss. Lips brushing, then pressing a little firmer. Nothing wild, nothing theatrical. Just theirs.
They broke apart with shy smiles and stupid giggles, like teenagers skipping class to kiss behind the gym. Sword was glowing. Rocket looked drunk on nothing but love.
They didn’t notice the other presence at first. The third voice came like a record scratch to a dream.
“…That’s a bit much for best friends,” Boombox said, blinking at them from the end of the bench.
Both boys froze.
Rocket’s smile twitched. Sword’s wings stiffened.
Boombox stared at them, concern and confusion brewing in his expression like a storm no one invited. “I mean. It’s cute, but- y’know. Friends don’t usually do that. ”
Rocket’s face went red. The kind of red that has danger written in its glow. You could practically see the cartoon steam curling out of his ears.
Sword groaned quietly. “Boombox…”
“We’re dating,” he said, weakly. “We’ve been dating. Six months.”
Boombox’s expression didn’t change.
“Ohhh,” he said, nodding slowly. “That’s a funny joke. Just like that one for Medkit’s birthday, right?”
“No,” Sword mumbled, already curling in on himself like a paper crane crumpled by wind. “Not like that.”
Boombox patted his arm gently, like he was comforting a confused child. “It’s okay. I hope you both find someone someday.”
He said it so sincerely it actually hurt.
And then he walked off, hands in his pockets, humming like he hadn’t just shattered the very air around them.
Rocket let out a sound between a scream and a groan, muttering something murderous under his breath. “I’m gonna kill someone.”
“Maybe don’t,” Sword said, rubbing his temples.
Rocket was vibrating in fury. “I’m gonna find whoever invented that birthday prank and punch them through time.”
But Sword just turned to him, lips twitching with faint amusement, and gave him a small peck on the cheek. It was nothing flashy- just a soft, warm little thing. But it worked like magic.
Rocket melted. Instantly.
His fists unclenched. His whole body softened like a roasted marshmallow left in the sun. He sighed, almost dreamily, and leaned his head against Sword’s shoulder.
They sat like that, quietly breathing together on the edge of the world. The sky was dimming into dusk. The battlefield was behind them. The bench creaked a little under their weight, but neither of them moved.
“…We are dating, right?” Rocket asked, barely above a whisper.
“…I think so,” Sword said, then nudged him. “Unless you’re just really friendly.”
Rocket snorted. “Oh, shut up.”
And the bench held them both, silent witness to the most unbelievable relationship in the universe.
___
They weren’t holding hands.
They weren’t sitting too close.
They weren’t even looking at each other like love-struck fools, which was rare on its own.
No, Sword and Rocket were just leaning against a wall by Ranged Royale, sipping on fruity drinks in awkward silence after yet another match. Sword was scowling at the sky for being too blue, and Rocket was poking his straw angrily like it had personally betrayed him.
The defeat had been brutal. Not just in the arena, but in the court of public opinion- again. Someone had called them “really close friends,” and Rocket nearly bit a hole in his cup.
They were used to it by now. Honestly, the constant rejection had become kind of a joke between them. Rocket would start the count whenever someone said “didn’t y’all do that for Medkit’s birthday?” and Sword would sigh theatrically while updating the mental scoreboard.
It didn’t hurt anymore. Not really.
So when Traffic strolled by, the sun catching in his sleepy eyes, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a slow smile on his lips, they didn’t think anything of it.
“Yo,” he said, stopping just a few feet away. “You guys dating now?”
Silence.
The world stopped turning.
Rocket blinked. “What.”
Sword’s mouth dropped open. “Huh?”
Traffic raised a brow lazily, chewing. “I said- are you dating? Y’know, like. For real.”
Rocket’s cup nearly slipped from his fingers.
“...Yes?” Sword said, hesitant. “Why?”
Traffic shrugged, eyes drifting off toward the sky like a man watching clouds tell fortunes. “I dunno. You’ve got the vibe. Rocket doesn’t make that ugly face around just anyone.”
“I don’t -” Rocket started to argue, then stopped. “Wait. What ugly face.”
“You know. The one where you look like you might smile but then you don’t ‘cause feelings are embarrassing or whatever.”
Sword snorted and quickly looked away. Rocket’s ears turned a slow, beautiful shade of red.
Traffic kept going, nonchalant. “Anyway, I think it’s cute. I’m happy for you guys.”
He gave them a thumbs up, his sandwich now miraculously gone. “You two deserve each other. In a nice way. Not the, like, mean way.”
And then he walked off. Just like that. Into the breeze. Vanishing like a blessed mirage of kindness.
Sword and Rocket didn’t say anything for a moment.
Just silence.
Pure, stunned, reverent silence.
“...Did that just happen?” Rocket asked finally.
“I think so,” Sword whispered. “I think someone actually believed us.”
Rocket stared down at his drink. Then up at the sky. Then at Sword.
“Maybe we’re dreaming,” he muttered. “Maybe we died in the match and this is a coma fantasy.”
Sword gently kicked him in the shin. “You’re not dead. You’re dramatic.”
Rocket rubbed his leg. “Still… that was…”
“…Kinda nice,” Sword admitted. “I feel weird. In a good way.”
Rocket reached out and brushed his knuckles against Sword’s, so subtle it could’ve been the wind.
“Do you think Traffic’s magic?” Rocket asked.
“He does have an aura,” Sword replied.
They sipped their drinks in silence again, but this time, it was golden. This time, there was something a little lighter in their chests. The kind of light you only get when someone sees you without needing proof.
And somewhere in the distance, Traffic probably walked into a wall while trying to open a juice box.