Chapter Text
This was the shortest White had ever cut their hair.
Usually, they kept it long because, although they never outright said it, customers preferred seeing a pretty girl with long hair, flushed cheeks, and a winning smile.
With their sallow pale feathers and the noticeable gap between their front two teeth, White had long since decided they might as well fulfill the one requirement they could actually manage.
Still, every so often they’d see someone in a magazine with short, slicked-back hair, all spikes and sharp edges and impossible confidence, and something inside them would ache.
Those people looked incredible. Effortless. Cool in a way White had never managed to be.
They’d stare at those pictures of Lightners for far too long and imagine themselves looking like that too, wondering if maybe that was the missing piece. Maybe if they looked more like that, something inside them would finally click into place.
They wouldn’t know unless they tried.
So first they saved up for the magazine itself, terrified the convenience store would rotate it out before they could afford it.
Every day during their break they checked the discount rack to make sure it was still there. When they finally bought it, they carried it home, carefully smoothing out the wrinkled pages.
The actual haircut took longer. Months longer. Every spare dark dollar got tucked away until eventually they had just enough to try the salon Pink kept insisting was totally worth the price.
White still remembered walking inside for the first time and feeling horribly underdressed. The salon gleamed. Marble floors were polished so brightly they reflected the fluorescent lights overhead, mirrors without a single smudge, shelves lined with expensive products in glass bottles that looked more like perfume than hair care.
The entire place smelled sharp and floral and clean in a way White always associated with rich people.
The stylist had been nice at first. Complimenting how long and luscious their hair was while gently running her fingers through it.
White sat there trying not to squirm under the attention, clutching the magazine tightly in sweaty hands before finally gathering enough courage to show her the picture.
“Make me look like that!” they’d said, excitement bubbling out before they could stop it.
And they still remembered the exact moment their stomach dropped.
White still wished they hadn’t noticed it. If they hadn’t turned around and seen her face, maybe they could’ve convinced themselves afterward that what happened had been an honest mistake.
The stylist’s expression had changed. Her bright, practiced smile faltered into something awkward and apprehensive, almost as if she was embarrassed on White’s behalf.
White swallowed hard and quickly turned back toward the mirror, trying to ignore the feeling starting to churn in their stomach. Surely, they were just overthinking it.
Then, the stylist started cutting, and White quickly forgot their worries.
It felt perfect.
She started cutting at the nape of their neck, and White shivered at the sudden rush of cold when the first heavy locks slid away. They’d never had their hair this short before. The weight disappearing felt incredible, almost dizzying.
Their hands clenched tightly together in their lap as they fought the urge to reach up and touch the back of their shoulders, just to confirm this was actually happening.
Even though it still wasn’t nearly as short as they wanted, they already felt lighter somehow. Like they could finally breathe properly.
They avoided looking in the mirror after that. They wanted the reveal to be a surprise. Wanted to look up and finally see the person they had imagined for months staring back at them.
Funnily enough, they did get a surprise.
After nearly two hours of obediently sitting still in the chair, the stylist finally spun them around with a cheerful little flourish.
And White’s soul dropped so hard it physically hurt.
It was a bob.
A short, loosely curled bob that stopped neatly at the nape of their neck, soft white curls framing their face alongside long wispy bangs parted down the middle and tucked delicately behind their ears. Pretty and safe.
Not even remotely what they had asked for.
Their hands tightened around the magazine page as they looked down at the photo again just to make sure they hadn’t somehow imagined the entire thing. No. The man in the picture still had the same messy haircut, sharp and layered and confident.
White had even looked up the style beforehand because they’d been scared they’d use the wrong word. They knew what it was called. They had practiced asking for it during fifteen-minute work breaks, quietly mouthing the words to their reflection in the bathroom mirror until they could say them without stammering.
“A mullet. Just like this one.”
They knew they had said it correctly.
The stylist only sighed and shrugged when White stared silently at the mirror. She explained, in the same tone someone might use with a child, that clients with long hair always regretted chopping it all off.
This was a safer middle option. White could “see how she liked it” first, and if she still wanted to go shorter in a few weeks, maybe the stylist could borrow clippers from a barber friend.
White wanted to scream.
Wanted to demand she shave the whole [@$!*] thing off right then and there.
Wanted to tell her they hated it, hated how soft and pretty it looked, hated how carefully she had ignored everything White actually wanted.
Their code buzzed hot and loud in their ears until it almost drowned out the salon music. For one awful second their glow flared bright, sharp enough that the stylist physically paused.
But then White looked back down at the picture in their hands. At the confident man smiling effortlessly from glossy paper.
Something inside them folded in on itself.
They nodded quietly.
The stylist handed over a business card for future appointments with a pleased smile and moved on to her next booking.
White walked to the register, pulled a pack of crumpled dark dollars from their pocket and started counting each one carefully before quietly handing them over.
Then the receptionist reminded them about the tip.
Of course there was a tip.
Panic hit instantly.
White could feel people behind them in line, could feel the receptionist waiting expectantly, could feel heat crawling under their feathers as they hurriedly handed over half of their remaining money just to make the interaction end faster.
Which left them with a grand total of five dollars.
Five dark dollars and a stupid [@!$+]ing bob.
The second the transaction was finished, White grabbed the magazine and rushed out of the salon as fast as they could.
Cold air hit their face the moment the door slammed shut behind them, but it did nothing to cool the humiliation burning through their body. Their fists clenched so tightly the magazine page crumpled in their grip as they hurried down the sidewalk trying not to cry, trying not to think about the curls brushing against their cheeks with every step, trying not to think about how excited they had been walking in there.
By the time they finally stopped beneath the flickering lights of a bus stop, all they could do was stare at their warped reflection in the darkened glass beside them.
Until even their own reflection became too much to bear and they quickly turned away, shame clinging to every step like something wet and heavy draped across their shoulders. Their face burned every time they caught sight of themselves in a passing window, those soft curled bangs framing their features in a way that made their stomach twist.
Every glimpse felt wrong.
Not ugly exactly, which somehow made it worse. Pretty in the exact way they had spent months saving up to escape.
For a moment they considered taking the bus home, but the thought vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. Payday was still two days away and wasting a whole dark dollar on transportation suddenly felt impossible to justify.
The roller-rail was technically free, but they had just missed the latest train and the idea of standing still for twenty-five minutes surrounded by strangers while this bob sat on their head made them feel vaguely sick.
There was the payphone, too. They could spend a dark half-dollar and ask Blue for a ride home. The temptation lingered for a moment before another thought immediately killed it.
If Blue came, there was a good chance Pink or Orange would be in the car too, and White genuinely thought they would rather step directly into traffic than endure even one well-meaning compliment about their haircut right now.
So instead, they walked.
The glittering high-rises of upper Cyber City slowly faded behind them with every block. Towering glass buildings reflected neon advertisements in shifting pinks and blues while giant holographic billboards laughed overhead, all smiling faces and flashing slogans promising happiness, success, beauty, fulfillment.
White kept their head down as they moved through it all, hands shoved deep into the pockets of their windbreaker, the magazine crumpled tighter and tighter beneath their fingers.
They had never actually walked home from this direction before. Usually they managed to keep enough money for the bus, even if it meant skipping meals or pretending not to be hungry at work. They’d seen these streets countless times through scratched windows, but moving through them on foot felt entirely different.
There was no blur of speed to soften things. No glass barrier separating them from the city itself.
So they noticed things they never really had before.
The entertainment district sprawled around them in layers of overwhelming noise and color. Music poured out from open arcade doors in distorted electronic bursts while giant screens played advertisements.
Crowds clustered around game parlors, karaoke bars, dance clubs, and glowing storefronts packed full of prizes and distractions. Everywhere White looked, something demanded attention.
Cyber City was a treasure trove of information and products, but underneath all of it there was always one larger purpose: joy.
Or at least the promise of it. Every flashing sign, every blinking screen, every brightly lit window existed to offer instant gratification right at your fingertips. Whatever a Lightner wanted could be found somewhere here.
Food. Games. Companionship. Escapism. Excitement.
And sometimes, Lightners were simply bored.
So that was what this part of the city existed for.
White slowed as they walked past a massive skating rink glowing beneath layers of pink and blue neon. Music pulsed faintly through the walls, bass heavy enough that they could feel it vibrating through the sidewalk, while muffled laughter spilled out every time the doors opened.
They were forced to stop entirely when a group of Plugboys stumbled out onto the pavement directly in front of them, nearly colliding with White in the process. One of them was laughing so hard he almost tripped over his own feet while another clung to his shoulder, wheezing loudly.
White’s nose twitched slightly.
They were absolutely sloshed.
And clearly having a better time than they were.
For a moment, White simply stood there watching them with a strange ache settling low in their chest.
The Plugboys shoved at each other playfully before disappearing down the street still cackling, completely unconcerned with how loud they were or who might be watching them.
White looked away before they could think too much about the strange feeling that had just twisted inside them.
Instead, their attention drifted toward the rink itself. Through the glass doors they could see flashes of movement beneath spinning neon lights. Wheels gliding across polished wood, bodies weaving effortlessly around one another, bright colors streaking together in the dark until individual Darkners almost stopped looking like people entirely.
They became motion instead. One giant shifting current flowing in circles beneath flashing pink and blue lights while the constant squeal of skates against wood blended together into something almost musical.
And when someone fell?
They just got back up again.
Nobody stopped. Nobody judged them. The music kept playing, the crowd kept moving, and whoever had hit the floor simply laughed, pulled themselves upright, and threw themselves back into the rhythm of it all.
White couldn’t stop staring.
They’d already been trapped inside a maus race their entire existence. Constantly chasing after stability, after opportunity, after some elusive version of themselves that always seemed just slightly out of reach. They were always trying to find their footing, always trying to keep pace, and somehow they still never measured up.
Every customer’s glance lingered too long. Every smile felt judged. Every mistake clung to them like static.
But the people inside didn’t seem burdened by any of that.
They were just moving.
Falling and recovering and moving again.
And suddenly the Addison felt that same sharp feeling twist in their chest, something painfully familiar.
Want.
They wanted to go inside. Wanted to throw themselves into that crowd and disappear into it completely. Wanted to become just another blur of motion beneath the neon lights, another body moving too fast to think, too fast to care.
But -and this was exactly why they hated the entertainment district- things like this cost money. Money that White almost never had.
Their shoulders sagged slightly and they let out a tired sigh, already turning away before they could dwell on it too long. But as they did, their eyes caught on a brightly colored flyer taped beside the entrance.
“ADULT DISCOUNT NIGHT: BRING A VALID ID AND SKATE NON-STOP FOR FIVE DARK DOLLARS!”
The Addison paused.
Slowly, they stepped closer.
Their eyes immediately darted downward toward the fine print. Pink had taught them long ago to always read the fine print. Nothing in Cyber City was ever as generous as it first sounded. Somewhere there was always a hidden fee, some catch waiting to sink its teeth into you the second you relaxed.
But for once, the fine print brought good news.
“Skates included.”
White stared at the words for several long seconds.
There was an Addison printed on the flyer. He was crouched low to the ground in the middle of a sharp turn, one hand nearly brushing the floor as sparks of light reflected off polished wheels. His hair matched the color of his body, cropped short around his face, dark brows furrowed in concentration.
He looked cool and effortless. Certain of himself in a way White couldn’t even begin to imagine.
Without really thinking about it, White reached up and touched the curled ends of their new haircut.
Five dollars.
That was everything they had left. Spending it on something frivolous made their stomach twist with guilt almost immediately. Payday was still two days away. They’d have to carefully ration whatever food was left in the apartment. Maybe skip a meal or two if things got tight.
But the music inside kept pulsing through the walls.
And for the first time all evening, the horrible crushing embarrassment sitting inside their chest loosened just slightly beneath the strange warmth of possibility.
Before they could lose their nerve, White pulled open the door and stepped inside, silently hoping they had enough food left at home to survive the next two days.
-
This was pointless.
No, actually, this was worse than pointless. This was just plain stupid.
What had they honestly expected? That they’d walk into the rink and suddenly everything would click into place? That they’d glide perfectly on their first try like the Addison on the flyer? That somehow spending five dark dollars and getting on a pair of skates would magically fix the awful hollow feeling sitting inside their chest?
White felt the wheels slip out from under them yet again and immediately lurched backwards, grabbing onto the musty carpeted wall hard enough their claws caught in the fabric. Their soul jumped painfully as they barely managed to stop themselves from crashing to the floor.
They let out a long, miserable sigh.
Yes.
That was exactly what they’d thought.
That had always been their problem.
They could practically hear Pink’s voice ringing in their ears, dry and exasperated.
You see the finish line and hyperfocus, Gif. You never think about the steps it takes to get there.
White grimaced.
God, they hated when Pink was right.
They took a shaky breath and tried again, carefully pushing one skate forward. For one glorious second they actually moved. A tiny burst of momentum carried them forward before the wheels immediately wobbled beneath them again, sending panic shooting up their spine. They grabbed the wall once more with a strangled noise of frustration.
This sucked.
They hated clinging to the wall like this, hated how obvious it probably looked that they had no idea what they were doing, but they hated the thought of busting their [@!$] in front of everyone and needing to call an ambyu-lance even more.
The music didn’t help either. It was loud enough to rattle through their ribcage, layers of pounding electronic beats blending together with squealing wheels and overlapping conversations until the entire rink became one giant wall of noise.
And they were sweating.
They had barely moved more than a few feet and still they were sweating. Their work uniform clung to their body uncomfortably beneath the cheap thrift-store windbreaker. Every time another skater rushed past them the displaced air caught the hem of their skirt and brushed it against their ankles.
White’s jaw tightened.
They hated this stupid skirt. They hated that they’d come here directly after work without changing. They hated how exposed they felt, hated how every awkward wobble suddenly felt ten times more humiliating.
This had been reckless. Impulsive. Embarrassingly stupid.
With another sigh, they forced themselves to look away from the wall and actually take in the rest of the rink.
Earlier everyone had looked like one giant blur of movement beneath the neon lights, but now White could make out individuals amongst the crowd. Darkners spinning effortlessly through the flashing colors, skaters weaving around one another in practiced arcs.
There was a group of Addisons holding hands while clumsily trying to skate side-by-side, laughing every time one of them nearly wiped out. A Poppup swayed perfectly in time with the music, wheels gliding so smoothly it barely even looked real. A delicate blue creature, skating around on inline skates. Other strange Darkners White had never even seen before moved in synchronized groups, dipping and spinning together like they’d practiced for years.
Everyone else looked so natural.
Even here, somehow, White still felt left behind.
Their grip tightened against the wall.
They needed to leave. Right now. Before this somehow became even more humiliating.
Slowly, carefully, they started dragging themselves toward the nearest opening in the rink wall. Another skater sped past, a gust of air catching their skirt and hair, and White’s face twisted in irritation.
If only they hadn’t had to wear this stupid [@!$+]ing thing to work today then-
“Yello’! Need some help?”
White’s head snapped sharply to the side, irritation flaring immediately. Their first instinct was to spit out a quick no and tell whoever it was to [@!$+] off. They were already mortified enough without some stranger feeling bad for them.
But the response died somewhere in their throat the second they actually looked up.
First came the exercise shorts. Bright red to the point of being almost offensively vibrant beneath the rink lights. Then a pair of long lavender legs planted steadily on polished skates.
And then their gaze kept traveling upward.
Up.
And up.
Until White found themselves staring at the tallest Darkner they had ever seen.
Or maybe not staring, exactly. Looking at his screen? They weren’t entirely sure.
Screen-based Darkners weren’t unheard of in Cyber City, but they were uncommon enough that White always did a double take when they saw one. Still, something about this Darkner caught them completely off guard.
He looked heavier than most Cyber City residents, built from hardware instead of software. Solid. Mechanical. Lavender casing stretched across broad shoulders, bundles of wires barely visible beneath. Dark purple claws rested politely in front of him while a pair of matching antennae bobbed gently along to the music overhead, a plug tail swaying lazily alongside them.
He wore the aforementioned bright red exercise shorts alongside a loose white t-shirt and matching tube socks pulled almost all the way to his knees, bright yellow wrist guards strapped securely around his claws and matching elbow pads hugging his arms beneath the short sleeves.
And his skates-
White glanced downward.
Bright red leather skates polished to a shine, complete with yellow wheels and matching laces. There was a little star charm tucked near the top. They were sleek and expensive-looking.
Their own gaze drifted lower toward the bulky rental skates strapped awkwardly to their feet. Scuffed orange plastic, dirty laces, wheels that squeaked every time they moved.
“You okay?” the stranger asked again.
His voice was soft for someone so tall, a warm tenor barely audible over the pounding music and overlapping conversations around them.
White looked back up -properly this time.
The stranger didn’t have eyes, but for some reason he was still wearing glasses. Large blocky red frames perched neatly across a long pointed nose while a small polite smile flickered across his screen.
White knew that expression immediately.
Pity.
Their stomach twisted.
They quickly cleared their throat and tried to straighten slightly, even though one hand was still death-gripping the wall for balance.
“No,” they blurted automatically before immediately correcting themself. “I mean -I’m fine. Thank you.”
Their voice came out shakier than they intended.
Determined to end the interaction before this became even more humiliating, White loosened their grip on the wall and carefully attempted another push toward the exit.
This time, they didn’t move at all.
The skates stayed stubbornly planted beneath them while their balance immediately threatened to tip backwards again. White swallowed down a growl of frustration and tried very hard to ignore the gigantic Darkner who was, for some reason, still standing there.
Speaking of him, White caught sight of the stranger effortlessly rolling forward out of the corner of their eye and nearly screamed on the spot.
How the [@#!*] did he make it look so easy?
White squeezed their eyes shut and took a slow breath, trying to block out the pounding music, the flashing lights, the squeal of wheels, and the overwhelming awareness of this absurdly tall stranger hovering nearby probably because he felt bad for the pathetic disaster clinging to the wall.
“Are you sure?” the Darkner asked gently. “I can help you to the exit if-”
“CAN YOU JUST [@!$+] OFF? PLEASE?”
The words exploded out of White before they could stop them.
Silence hit immediately afterward.
The Addison slapped a hand over their mouth in horror as embarrassment crashed over them in hot, nauseating waves. Angel above. This poor guy had done literally nothing wrong. He’d just had the unfortunate luck of talking to White at the worst possible moment imaginable.
And then White realized, with dawning panic, that the hand now covering their mouth had previously been the one keeping them upright.
The floor tilted violently beneath them.
They slipped. Again.
But before they could fully fall, a large hand gently caught near their shoulder and nudged them forward just enough to stabilize their balance. White stumbled awkwardly but managed to stay upright.
They turned sharply toward the stranger and found him bent slightly at the waist in a poor attempt to match their height, one clawed hand hovering uncertainly near White’s shoulders. His screen flashed through a nervous rainbow of colors while his voice tumbled out in a frantic stammer.
“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to grab you without permission, I just -your stance was off and I didn’t want you to fall, so I-”
White immediately grabbed onto the wall again with both hands and lifted one shakily in a vague gesture for him to stop talking.
The stranger instantly went silent.
White took a breath. Then another.
“Can you…”
Their voice cracked embarrassingly halfway through the sentence. Wonderful. Perfect. As if they didn’t already sound pitiful enough. They cleared their throat hard before trying again.
“Can you help me to the exit?”
The large Darkner visibly swallowed before nodding quietly.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “Of course.”
He carefully offered out a clawed hand. White hesitated before taking it, their hold cautious and tense. Part of them worried he’d suddenly take this as some kind of invitation to flirt, but thankfully he only softly squeezed their hand before guiding them forward.
Then, with barely any effort at all, he performed some strange little hop with his skates and suddenly he was facing White while skating backwards.
White blinked.
What?
The stranger glanced over his shoulder casually while continuing to pull White toward the exit as if skating backwards was the most natural thing in the world.
The question escaped White before they could stop it.
“How did you do that?”
Now that the Darkner was directly in front of them, White found themself getting distracted by the glow of his screen. It shifted softly beneath the rink lights, colors moving subtly beneath the reflection of neon blues and pinks.
The stranger looked surprised by the question.
“Oh! Um…” His antennae bobbed awkwardly. “It’s just a quick one-eighty jump into some backwards marches. I just, uh…wanted to get a better look at your stance.”
White raised an eyebrow immediately.
“And?”
The Darkner’s screen blinked off for half a second before flickering back on.
“...You need to keep your knees bent and distribute your weight properly?” he admitted nervously.
White scoffed automatically, but they bent their knees slightly anyway.
And immediately startled themself with how much easier it felt to stay upright.
“Oh.”
The Darkner brightened instantly.
“See? Isn’t that better?”
White hated admitting it, but yes. Yes, it actually was.
“Then you shift your weight back and forth,” the stranger continued excitedly, demonstrating as he skated. “From skate to skate!”
He smoothly switched from skating backwards to forwards beside them again, exaggerating the motion of his hips and legs enough for White to finally notice the rhythm behind it. Every shift of weight pushed him naturally into the next movement.
White stared at him in disbelief.
Seriously?
Was it actually that simple?
Then what the hell had they been doing clinging to the wall this entire time?
Tentatively, White shifted their weight onto one skate. The wheel rolled forward smoothly beneath them without immediately trying to send them crashing into the floor.
They nearly gasped.
The stranger perked up immediately.
“Now the other foot!”
White obeyed before they could think too hard about it. One skate rolled, then the other, awkward but functional. They managed a few shaky feet forward before wobbling violently again and instinctively grabbing onto the stranger’s hand harder to steady themself.
Once they processed what they had done, they immediately wanted to die from embarrassment.
But thankfully, the stranger didn’t comment on it.
Instead, his voice stayed soft and patient.
“I know it’s scary, but don’t look at the floor. It messes up your stance.”
White sighed quietly. They always looked at the floor. On skates, off skates, during conversations, at work -it was easier than looking people in the eye.
Still…they reluctantly lifted their head.
And somehow, the stranger had ended up skating backwards in front of them again, still gently holding onto White’s hand.
“Try watching me instead!” he offered brightly.
Surprisingly, White found themselves able to do so.
They focused on the rhythm of the stranger’s movements while trying to mirror the shifting pattern beneath their own feet. Back and forth. Back and forth.
The Darkner’s screen glowed brightly beneath the neon lights. His ridiculous red glasses somehow stayed balanced on his face despite the fact he didn’t even have ears, and his t-shirt was tucked neatly into those bright red shorts like some kind of bizarre vintage gym teacher.
Honestly, he looked like a complete dork.
But the hand holding White’s remained steady and gentle, his claws careful not to grip too tightly, like he was afraid of startling them. Every so often he’d glance over his shoulder while skating backwards and White would catch brief flashes of sharp fangs whenever he smiled.
He was strange.
Not strange in a bad way. Just…unlike anyone the Addison had ever met before.
There was something oddly disarming about him. It was something about the contrast between his massive mechanical frame and the way he moved so lightly across the rink floor. Maybe it was the care he seemed to take with every word and gesture despite looking like he could probably crush someone’s hand by accident.
Even his soft lavender colors felt strange in a world where most Darkners were designed to steal attention whenever possible. He was old-fashioned and earnest.
And White couldn’t stop watching.
They opened their mouth to ask something -they weren’t even sure what- when suddenly the stranger stopped moving entirely. The Addison yelped and immediately crashed into his chest.
“HEY, what the [!@**]-”
The Darkner ignored their irritation completely and instead threw his free hand out in a proud little flourish.
“Here you go! The exit!”
White blinked.
And there it was.
Just like he’d said.
The exit.
But not the one White had originally been trying to drag themself toward.
This exit was on the complete opposite side of the rink.
Their stomach dropped slightly as realization hit.
The two of them had skated halfway across the rink together.
And they hadn’t even realized it.
Slowly, White looked back out toward the glowing crowd of skaters weaving beneath the neon lights. For a brief moment, they had actually been part of it all. Slower and clumsier than everyone else, sure, but still moving alongside them instead of watching from the sidelines.
Some small selfish part of them wanted to keep going. Wanted to keep pushing forward, back and forth, with that large steel hand acting as a safety net beside them.
But the more practical part of them remembered they had an opening shift the next morning.
So instead, White quietly stepped off the wooden floor and onto the safety of solid carpet once more.
“Great job!”
White turned so fast they nearly lost their balance again, staring at the taller Darkner in complete disbelief.
Great job?
Not even good job. Great job.
They’d heard those words plenty of times before, tossed toward customers, coworkers, strangers in advertisements, people who actually deserved praise. But never toward them. Never with that kind of easy sincerity, like the speaker genuinely meant it.
The taller Darkner stood awkwardly in front of them with his clawed hands folded together once more, skates angled outward slightly beneath him. His screen glowed warmly, antennae bobbing faintly with the music still thundering around them.
“I come here every Wednesday so…” He hesitated for half a second before continuing, voice soft and hopeful. “Maybe I’ll see you next week?”
White stared at him.
Shock curled low and heavy in their stomach.
Whoever this guy was…he actually wanted to see them again.
That realization hit harder than it probably should have.
White G. Addison was rude. Abrasive. Bitter on a good day and outright unpleasant on a bad one. Their own family barely tolerated them half the time and White couldn’t blame them for it. They snapped too quickly, got overwhelmed too easily, ruined conversations before they even properly started. They were difficult. Exhausting.
A disappointment more often than not.
That was the one thing they were consistently good at.
Disappointing people.
So logically, they should have said no. They should have thanked him awkwardly for the help, stepped off the rink, and clarified that this had been a one-time impulsive mistake.
They couldn’t afford to keep doing this, anyway. Five dark dollars was cheap, but it was still five dark dollars. They had work tomorrow. Responsibilities. Better things to spend money on than humiliating themself at a skating rink.
But instead, White found themself nodding before their brain could catch up with their mouth.
The effect was immediate.
The Darkner’s screen lit up, colors brightening so suddenly White almost startled. He clasped his hands excitedly beside his face, antennae bouncing.
“Great! Fabulous! Amazing!”
Then, as if suddenly realizing how excited he’d gotten, the stranger folded back into that same oddly meek posture from before, shoulders drawing inward slightly while his claws clasped together again. But the bright smile glowing across his screen remained impossible to hide.
“That’s wonderful to hear,” he said warmly.
And before White could even process the interaction properly, the Darkner was suddenly moving again. He performed another one of those strange little hopping turns and smoothly spun back around.
“Goodbye! See you next week!” he called over his shoulder, waving enthusiastically as he rolled away.
White was so stunned they couldn’t even manage a proper response. Their hand lifted automatically in a weak little wave before they could stop themself.
The Darkner’s smile widened before he turned away completely, disappearing back into the flowing pack of skaters.
And somehow, even amongst the crowd, he still stood out.
The tallest one on the rink. Bright screen glowing beneath the lights while he swayed easily with the rhythm of the music, red skates flashing across the wood.
A shining beacon in the dark.
White stared at him a little too long before finally shaking their head sharply.
Angel above, they were tired.
They took one step toward the benches near the exit and immediately lurched backwards again, grabbing onto the nearest seat before they could eat [@!$+] for what had to be at least the eighth time that night.
Right.
They were still wearing the skates.
White let out a long sigh and carefully lowered themself onto the bench, the adrenaline starting to drain from their body all at once.
Their legs ached. Their face still burned with leftover embarrassment. Their haircut still looked stupid. Payday was still two days away.
But they still found themself glancing back toward the rink one last time before reaching down to unlace the ugly orange rental skates.
For now, they were going home.
And somewhere beneath the exhaustion and embarrassment was a quiet, sinking realization. Despite every ounce of common sense telling them this had been a humiliating waste of five dollars, they were probably going to come back next Wednesday anyway.