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If someone asked him to qualify his relationship with Stretch, Edge would tell them to mind their own business, to begin with.
But even if he refused to answer, he would be left with the question and he would have to admit, if only to himself, that he didn’t know.
Their former antagonism wasn’t completely vanished, but these days it would more likely fall under teasing, with less aggression than even his own brother’s. Edge found that he wasn’t merely tolerating Stretch’s company, he was often somewhat enjoying it. The glimpses of lively interest he could show, hands moving excitedly as he talked. The brilliant mind he kept so carefully hidden beneath a concealing layer of sarcasm and apathy was slowly revealing itself, like a shy ray of sunshine coming out from a behind a cloud.
He supposed he could admit that he liked it. Sometimes.
But he couldn’t name it.
For example, how could he properly explain Stretch’s newest ploy? It consisted of Edge getting a text on a random day of an address and a single word beneath it.
lunch?
It was usually followed by a ridiculous emoji of a sandwich, perhaps or a croissant.
The first time it came, Edge nearly declined. He was particular about his food and wasn’t interested in any greasy slop that Stretch might offer.
He’d already typed a refusal, his finger hovering over the send button…and remembered the coffee shop. His newfound daily pleasure in the Beanery was enough for him to delete the message and send a wary agreement, along with a time.
The thumbs up emoji that followed made him roll his eye lights, but his curiosity was piqued. Besides, if it turned out to be someplace like Grillby’s, he hardly needed to stay.
Instead, it turned out to be a small restaurant with no more than four tables, covered in checked tablecloths and dripping candles despite the hour of the day. There were braids of garlic hanging from the ceiling along with yellow globes of cheese. The overhead fixtures were plain and rustic. His doubts grew at first sight and vanished when he took the first bite from a plate brought to him by a large, enthusiastic Human whose booming voice nearly demanded enjoyment of the food.
Until then, Edge’s experience in pasta was limited to dinners with Papyrus and a few dishes he’d made on his own.
But this…one twirled fork filled with noodles and Edge could reassure their anxious waiter that the food was delicious. Lunchtime conversation was mostly Stretch rattling on about the history of Italian food, with the Human, Mario, occasionally interjecting.
It was…acceptable. And if sometimes the bright gleam of excitement in Stretch’s eye lights sent a twinge to his soul, well, a quick rub over his sternum usually chased it away. Usually.
Since that first text, Edge had eaten in many different places that were as unlikely as they were unusual. Stretch knew of plenty hole-in-the-walls where he chatted with the owners in their own language, Spanish, Italian, ones Edge didn’t recognize, from food trucks and storefronts with handwritten signs. They would sit at small tables with clean table cloths and eat food that was brought steaming on platters, or Stretch would secure them paper plates of food that was delicious and sometimes so spicy even Edge needed a drink.
Today, they were sitting together at a rickety picnic table, three dishes between them laid out on a scattering of clean napkins. If Edge was out of place in his business suit with Stretch who was in a sweatshirt and sneakers, the owner hadn’t given them a second glance.
“this is a kimchee roasted veggie bowl,” Stretch announced, pointing his fork at one dish. “caprese skewers, fried rice balls, and korean barbecue.”
Edge took a bite of the aforementioned veggie bowl, humming in appreciation at the heavy spice as he forked up another. The young woman in the food truck gave him a grin and a thumbs up. Edge waved somewhat stiffly back to her. “You certainly know a lot of people.”
“i told you, i like people,” Stretch mumbled around his own mouthful. It was a struggle not to grimace at the way he slurped up his food, but Edge couldn’t argue that it wasn’t delicious.
“I would have thought you wouldn’t care for Humans, to be honest,” Edge said, carefully. Perhaps not the best choice of luncheon conversations, but it was a question that had bothered him in the past. “Blue said that your Human in Underswap was much different than Frisk.”
Once, before a trip to a planetarium and a scattering of lunches, Edge likely wouldn’t have noticed the way Stretch tensed, his smile becoming less easy and more fixed, “yeah, pretty different.” He shrugged, plucking up one of the skewers and nibbling at it. “most humans are okay, you know? most of them aren’t much different than us. they love their families and they have fun and they like to laugh. most of them are fine.”
“Some aren’t.” Edge thought of his children at the Y, the stories he knew they hid.
He was taken off guard by Stretch’s flat reply, “asgore killed six kids and people think he’s okay.”
Edge frowned. “That’s different, he was doing what was necessary for his people as a King.” But thinking of it made him uncomfortable in a way it hadn’t in the past. Before they’d come to the surface, Edge had never met a Human, and now—
“yeah? maybe humans who do bad things are doing what they think is necessary. why does asgore get a pass?”
“You don’t like him.” That much was obvious, Stretch never made any pretense in the few occasions Edge saw him around Asgore, much the same as he’d never made any pretense around Edge not that long ago.
Stretch stabbed at a rice ball with his fork, and muttered, “i don’t want to fight.”
“We aren’t.”
“okay, then no, i don’t,” Stretch snapped. “and i’ve never been shy about saying it. he can have all the excuses he wants but the truth is, he killed those kids. i’ve seen their souls, you know i have, we all saw. they were kids and she just—“
“She?” Edge interrupted softly and Stretch clicked his teeth shut and looked away.
“he. whatever. look, the point is, he killed them. that doesn’t make me want to look at him like some fuzzy-ass savior.”
“I’ve killed.” There was no denying it and he’d never tried, not when a simple Check would reveal the truth. He wasn’t ashamed of it; he’d done what was necessary and no more, enough for him and his brother to survive.
“yeah, i know, kinda hard not to when i saw your lv the first time we met,” Stretch blew out a sharp breath and his sudden smile held no humor, “you ever killed a helpless kid?”
“No.” That much at least he could claim.
“i have. so i’m a hypocrite, too.”
That…was impossible. Stretch had no LV at all. Edge grabbed his wrist as Stretch tried to stand, “What do you mean?”
“let me go.” There was a tremble to those words, but it wasn’t fear Edge heard.
He let go.
He watched as Stretch walked a distance away, downwind, and pulled out his cigarettes. Flicked his lighter and lit one, exhaling a pale cloud. He smoked as he watched cars driving past, Humans pulling up to order their own food and giving them curious glances or the occasional look of outright disgust. No one approached them, no one said a word, and Edge worked his way through the bowl of kimchee, watching Stretch as he watched the world.
He dropped the butt on the ground, grinding it out beneath one untied sneaker, then picked it up gingerly between two fingers to toss on the trash bin.
Stretch walked back to the picnic table, hands in his pockets. He breathed out slowly, then asked, “can we talk about something else?”
“Yes.” His curiosity suddenly didn’t seem worth seeing that anguish again on Stretch’s face, not right now. He pointed his fork at the plates laid out in front of them. “Kimchee with roasted vegetables. Last week it was curried goat roti. How do you find these places?”
Stretch grinned and the sudden flood of warmth in Edge’s soul must have been from the heat of the kimchee. “twitter. i have a weekly thing i do where i take restaurant suggestions and then i sort of review it.” He gave Edge a wink. “i did ‘seoul food’ a few weeks back and thought maybe you’d like it, spicy as you are.”
“My temper isn’t that bad,” Edge said with exasperation. He couldn’t say why, but for some reason, Stretch’s grin turned closer to wry.
“nah, your temper is fine, edgelord. hey, listen, i’m gonna go to a new chinese place next week for a review, wanna come with? i promise i won’t mention you by name.”
Edge paused, his fork hovering over the barbecue. This was the first time Stretch had invited him out for lunch in advance rather than springing it on him, and to a restaurant he hadn’t yet visited. That, too, was something new.
But he couldn’t say he hadn’t enjoyed their lunches…
“No pictures,” Edge said sternly, and Stretch’s expression lit up with delight.
“nothing but selfies and the plates, cross my soul!” Stretch made an ‘x’ over his sternum with a long finger, then snatched up his fork again. “okay, now quit hogging the goods.”
As Stretch reached for the bowl, at the last moment Edge used his own fork to pull it out of reach, sending Stretch’s to clang uselessly against the picnic table. His disbelief morphed into a peal of laughter and Edge had to resist the urge to smile, rubbing again at his sternum.
Honestly, he might have to have his soul Checked if it kept throbbing like that. For now, he scooped up the bowl, working on keeping it away from Stretch who had actually crawled onto the table trying to reach and would probably have more success at getting a forkful if he could stop laughing.
Something like friends, Edge decided at last, giving over the bowl before it ended up a mess in one of their laps. That’s how he would describe their relationship if he were asked. Similar to what he had with Antwan, someone he could share a meal or a conversation with.
And if they were friends, then he could admit he was looking forward to more than the food next week.
Especially if Stretch laughed like this again.
-finis-