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“It’s been two hours,” Tubbo says, peeking through the kitchen door windows at a patron, alone at a table for two.
Behind him, the other waiters whisper amongst themselves, shaking their heads with sympathy. “He’s just running a little late,” the patron insisted, although he had looked more unsure, tail swooshing nervously, every time a waiter checked on him.
“Steve,” the head chef says, emerging from his office in civilian clothes. “Cover for me?”
“Sure thing, boss,” the sous chef replies, giving him a little salute.
“Where are you heading off to, Cup?” Tubbo asks as he holds open the back door, letting in cool evening air and the scent of fallen leaves.
The head chef smiles as he wraps his scarf snugly around his neck. “Just rescuing a princess.”
Fundy checks his phone for seventh time that minute. No new notifications. As expected. At this point, he had the menu memorized, but he lost his appetite an hour and a half ago. The gossipy patrons around him didn’t help either. Maybe it was better to go home and minimize his losses. And swear off of blind dating forever.
In his peripheral vision, he sees a blur of pink rush past him.
“Sorry I’m so late, babe! Traffic was a nightmare!”
Confused, Fundy looks up to see a red-scarfed stranger slipping into the seat across from him. “Uh…I’m sorry I think you have the wrong--”
“And before that,” the stranger cuts in, “The meeting went on for ages. You know how Sheryl is,” they say with a smile. Just play along, it begs.
Fundy pauses. “Oh, yeah, Sheryl, she’s…really something,” he replies. From the corner of his eye, he could see the other patrons finally turn their gazes and mind their own goddamn business. The stranger’s smile shifts from desperate to pleased, noticing it too, before opening a menu.
They sit in silence as Fundy pretends to look at the menu, stealing glances at his newfound companion. Lush green leaves sprout from their turnip shaped-head– a leafling? A red striped scarf compliments their form-fitting blush pink sweater (designer?) and almond shaped eyes in a color he can’t quite place. They’re actually kind of cute and—
Staring back at him.
“Like what you see?”
Fundy nearly throws his menu across the room.
“Yes! I mean no! I mean—Sorry, I didn’t mean to – I wasn’t checking you out or anything! You were—your sweater is cool!” he sputters before deciding to hide behind his menu and wish the universe would swallow him out of existence.
The leafling pushes down the menu until they can see the fox’s likely – most definitely – beet red face. They give Fundy a gentle smile. “I was actually talking about the menu, but thanks. It’s Prada.”
“Prada. That’s a bit bougie for this place.”
The leafling sets down the menu, eyes narrowing. “Well I think you’re a little underdressed for my restaurant.” Fundy is about to apologize profusely until the leafling lets out a gentle laugh. “Sorry, that was needlessly aggressive. I don’t care about how you dress, I just care about your thoughts on the food.”
“Ah, well, I haven’t been here before so I can’t say.” And I probably won’t be coming back. “Wait—your restaurant?”
“Yup, my restaurant,” they say as a waiter arrives with two cups of complimentary tea. “Technically Hafu owns it, but she’s more on the administrative side. The kitchen is mine.” Fundy can’t help but admire the way the leafling’s eyes sparkle when they talk. “But sometimes I step out of it to make sure the customer has a pleasant experience.”
Right. He’s just a customer to them.
“Well does my knight in pink armor have a name?”
“Everyone just calls me 5up. He/him/his.”
“Well, hi 5up, everyone calls me Fundy. Also he/him/his.”
The leafling smiles contently, sipping his tea. “Well, Fundy, you know a little bit about me, tell me more about yourself.”
“Well, I – hm, it’s complicated. My dad, he— my mom was a salmon. She was an accountant and they— my dad birthed me. And. He cared more about politics more than his son and died but then came back and—” Fundy feels his mouth go dry and reflexively chugs his tea.
For a moment, as the bitter, slightly sweet taste sets on his tongue, he can only think that the tea is not too hot, not too cold, not lukewarm, just warm and—perfect. All of it, this man, this tea, all perfect, unlike him and the words gushing out of his mouth. “Sorry, I’m rambling. This is too much information.”
5up’s looking at him like he’s actually listening, like he actually cares. “That’s okay, we can talk about something else if you’d prefer. Like how a cute guy like you ended up alone here.”
Cute, he called me ‘cute.’ “Yeah, well, you know blind dating. Honestly I dodged a bullet – Dream would’ve definitely been the kind of guy to leave me at the aisle.”
“Well that’s his loss.” 5up turns toward the waiter who speaks to him in hushed tones. “That’s okay, Tubbo. You guys can go home for the night. I can close up shop.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that, 5up,” Fundy interjects. “I honestly don’t have much of an appetite anyway. I don’t mind cutting our date short.”
“’Date?’”
Realization dawns on Fundy, and he feels the panic rise in his throat like bile. “Sorry, it was a joke! I was—not making assumptions! Obviously it was just so spontaneous and you kind of just wanted to prevent me from getting humiliated and—” The I don’t think I deserve a date goes unsaid.
“I meant that it’d be unprofessional of me to hit on my customers in my own restaurant,” 5up stops him with an airy chuckle. “…but if you want a proper date…” 5up leans forward and reaches towards Fundy’s hand, slow but deliberate, giving Fundy plenty of time to pull away.
He doesn’t.
“…why don’t we get out of here and I show you a good time?”
Fundy know exactly what that means. He wasn’t usually an “on the first date” kind of guy, but he did just get stood up on an already otherwise crappy evening. He deserves some fun and 5up’s fingers feel warm on Fundy’s hand. “I’m down.”
“Oh Jesus fucking christ,” Fundy curses as 5up tugs him out of the cafeteria and into medical as the lights dim. He beelines it to the cabinet, rummages through the medical supplies, and briskly dabs at the blood before it clots on his fur. Needless to say, it turned out Fundy did not know what 5up meant by “a good time.”
Once clean, he turns to 5up, who has the audacity to look serene despite the haunting green glow from the computer and red splattered across his torso.
“You. You need to explain what the fuck is going on.” 5up says something about crewmates, imposters and getting ejected, but it’s too much information at once.
“And you? What—”
“Morphling.”
Well, that would explain why 5up fucking split in half and pierced a crewmate with a razor sharp…tongue? And 5up had the gall to respond “You could say I know how to use my tongue,” with a little half smirk as he reverted back to his astronaut form. The bastard.
“So you’re not actually a leafling.”
“Correct. But I’ve always liked how they look, so yeah.”
Curiosity got the best of Fundy.
“So what do you actually look like?”
“Good question,” 5up ponders as he pops open a vent and shimmies inside. Fundy follows. “All these faces but which one is mine? Are any of them mine?”
Maybe that was too deep of a question.
“Alright, so why did you just murder that guy?”
5up perks up.
“His movement—he seemed like he was about to sheriff us.” 5up took pride in reading his others’ actions. Noted. “Unfortunate that he sniffed us out so early but hey, that makes the game a little more interesting.
“Game? Is this a game to you?”
5up smiles innocently as he steps out of the vent into electrical, but Fundy knows better. “Yup. They respawn after a while,” he offers a hand to Fundy. “We’ll be long gone by then.”
Fundy notices 5up panting slightly. “You okay? Did you skip leg day?"
5up punches him in the arm. “No, morphing just takes a lot out of me. Venting doesn’t help. Which is bad because this crewmate form is kinda,” 5up takes a deep breath and leans against the wall, “Helpless.” Fundy doesn’t miss the way he stiffens as the lights turn back on. “Shit. I thought we’d have more time.”
“Well, well, well,” a voice says behind them. A gray-suited crewmate emerges from behind the electrical panel and saunters towards them. “It looks like I caught two venters!” Gray says, “Or perhaps we have ourselves a loving imposter and his lover boy?”
Fundy glares at him, too concerned about 5up to be embarrassed. “So what if we are?”
“Well I need to determine which one of you to kill. Wouldn’t want to kill a poor, manipulated crewmate,” he pats Fundy’s cheek and Fundy slaps his hand away. “You know, from round one, I had my bets on you two and the guy you killed in cafeteria. I was gonna sheriff him but then—“ Behind his helmet, Fundy can see Gray grinning manically. “But then you made it so easy.”
Gray makes a move to whip out a weapon—only to grab at an empty holster. Slowly, he looks up to find himself staring into the barrel of his own gun.
“Getting this close to a fox was your first mistake, buddy. You know how we are with swiping,” Fundy shrugs, pulling the trigger. Gray’s body crumples.
“Reciting a stupid monologue was your second,” Fundy ends, blowing the smoke from the barrel and tucking the gun into his tool belt. For later. He turns to 5up, who looks like he just told him Christmas was early. “What?”
“Nothing, that was just – You saved me! That was hot. Note to self: Fundy’s so hot.”
Fundy feels the corners of his mouth tug into a smile. “No you’re hot,” he quips and 5up’s smiling too. Even if they’re joking around, it’s still nice to have that kind of kinship with someone. Warm and comfortable and safe.
Safe with a murderer, the back of his mind chimes in. He looks at Gray’s body laying on the ground.
But I guess I’m a murderer too.
5up tugs his hand toward the vent. “Why don’t we get out of here?”
“Good plan.”
“Fundy, look.”
Fundy looks out the cockpit windows and sees nothing but a black expanse and a few blips of dim stars. He wonders if he’s not seeing it because of the sunglasses 5up told him to wear. “Uh, it’s very cool. Thanks for—”
“Wait for it.”
Right on cue, the sky bursts with light, an amethyst cloud puffs, swirls, and expands with glowing reds, oranges and greens of cosmic dust among billions of glittering stars. For once, Fundy does not feel the need to fill the silence.
“Thoughts?”5up says finally.
“It’s—wow,” Fundy replies. “What was that?”
“An exploding star. I’ve known about it for weeks but wasn’t sure if I’d be able to witness it.”
Fundy stiffens. “That’s kind of morbid.”
“Maybe, but there weren’t any nearby lifeforms. Plus, we can appreciate the beauty that remains from its destruction.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Then after a beat: “This isn’t the part where you kill me, right? Like this isn’t some poetic death—“
“Oh, God, no. But you can’t tell me it isn’t a little worth it,” 5up smirks and Fundy relaxes again, bumping their shoulders together.
“I think I’m morally obligated not to answer that, Mr. Imposter.”
“Fair enough. This wasn’t as romantic as I envisioned. Maybe next time we could just do fondue?”
Next time? He wanted a next time? He tries to calm the butterflies in his stomach.
Instead he replies, “Don’t you mean Fundue?”
The pun takes a moment to click in 5up’s head. “Oh my god, don't make me regret bringing you here.”
After a moment, 5up takes his hand, sheepishly. "So is that a yes?"
"Duh!" Fundy replies, and 5up smiles at him, the galaxy reflected in his eyes.