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Clawed hands grasp the sign dangling from the outside of the door, switching it over to 'closed'. They shut the door, retreating back into the Cafe, and Swatch can't help but pop their neck and stretch a little.
Today was busier than they and any of the Swatchlings had expected. Twice the usual amount of customers had made their way through the restaurant in a single evening – whatever event was happening to warrant such a crowd, if any, Swatch didn't get the memo. They were thankful for the recent renovations to the Cafe, as without them they wouldn't have a clue on how they would've accommodated the influx in patrons. Or maybe that was one of the reasons for the increase? The menu had been updated just recently, as well. But was that really all? And why now?
Perhaps the small prince had promoted the Cafe recently. He was always making sure that the inhabitants of Castle Town and their lives were going about as well as they could. They sigh. Well, no point wondering about it now, they suppose. The Swatchlings had gone home (Swatch had convinced them they could handle this themselves like they always did, despite the extra fuss the Swatchlings put up today), and they had more cleaning up to do than usual.
Swatch grabs their cleaning supplies and meanders about, making their way across the tables and floors. It's only a few minutes in, not nearly done, that a knock sounds at the door. They straighten. Remembering pointedly that they had indeed flipped the sign, they realize the only person it could really be. They stroll over to unlock it.
Cold air drafts into the room, and a familiar face greets them as they stick their head out.
Spamton waves up at them. "HEYA, SWATCHY!!!"
"I believe the sign said closed. We're not open to any customers."
"OH [$!&$] OFF," Spamton scoffs, already trying to move past them. Swatch drops their facade with a smile. They open the door wider, allowing him to brush past.
He had taken the day off to celebrate one of the Addison's birthdays, and while they didn't hold anything against them (not as much anymore, anyways), a part of them wished the birthday had been any other day. Today was hectic, and Spamton's presence would've been quite helpful back at the Cafe, even if all he could provide was emotional support rather than his usual tasks.
They softly shut the door behind them. “How’d it go?”
“GOOD, TH@NKS.” His response is oddly short, a far cry from the talkative chatter they were expecting. He clambers onto the soft seat of the table that Swatch had set their cleaning supplies onto. "A [LittleBirdie] TOLD ME TODAY WAS [Get Rid of Stress Now]??"
That’s why, then. They casually pick up the broom they were using earlier again. "Yes, it was." So the Swatchlings had told him? Probably. Definitely. Their brain seems to be lagging, because they have a question on their mind that they just can't make out. It falls into place a few seconds after.
“Wait, hold on. Why are you here?"
Spamton looks up at them quizzically from where he's grabbed a cloth and a bottle of cleaner. "...I"M HELP1NG??"
Yes, and not that they didn't appreciate that, but… "You're off work today, though?"
"[And]?? THAT DOESN;T MATTER." He stalks off, not taking no for an answer. "I'M NOT [Leave]ING YOU TO PICK UP AFTER THIS [[All Alone On A?]]. YOU LOOK TIRED.”
Swatch would’ve pointed out that he hadn’t a clue what they looked like until a few moments ago. They would’ve argued. However, they find themselves too spent and appreciative to do so, and either way they’d have no chance of winning it. Spamton would be too stubborn to let them. They relax their shoulders and reaffirm their hold on the broom, grabbing the sweeper they've set on the counter. "Well, thank you. I really could use the help."
Spamton waves them off like it's nothing, hopping on a stool to start going over a window. From then on, the air is punctuated with the sound of bottles being sprayed and the occasional remarks. Conversation is succinct yet enough, with Spamton taking great interest in any gossip of the day that he'd missed out on, and Swatch getting snippets of his time with his family. This time, the air of the Cafe isn’t laden with the pressure to get things done. It's a much needed breather from the earlier duration of the day. They’re glad for it.
The hour seems to pass much faster than Swatch had expected, as eventually they're both reduced to dusting surfaces that, truly, did not require the extra shine. More often than not this excessive task happened between them, if only for a few minutes. They didn't needto keep cleaning, but it was nice to remain in each other's company like this for a bit longer. Especially when you weren't actually focused on getting a stain out of the floor.
Swatch finally perks up from where they've been sat down at a table, wiping at a glass with unfocused ministrations. It’s about time they closed up shop. They open their mouth to ask–
A small purple figure dashes in the corner of their vision, disappearing underneath the table of a booth. Swatch freezes. They know what that is. Slowly exhaling a breath, they set the glass down and get to their feet.
They weren't one to get scared by Maice, per se. That's not to say they enjoyed them – they were freaked out by them as any other Swatchling, but they were the one who sucked it up and coolly dealt with them whenever they were around. Of course, they washed their hands way too many times afterwards, but the Swatchlings didn't need to know that.
Spamton, noticing their sudden movement, looks up from where he's been wiping down a table. “READY TO GO?”
Swatch winces. They couldn’t just leave the Cafe when a Maus was residing in it. Besides, they didn’t need to act cool in front of Spamton. They feel the weariness of the day increasingly settle down on their shoulders, and they nearly stifle a groan. Just another thing to take care of today. “Unfortunately, no. Not yet. There’s something we have to take care of, first.”
Spamton looks at them expectantly. Swatch points to underneath a table, where it had just scurried moments prior.
“There's... a Maus. Under there." Spamton's head follows, then looks at them with interest for a moment, before he hops off the cushioned seat of the booth and peers underneath the adjacent table.
"TH3RE SURE IS!" Spamton confirms. The Maus, spooked by the loud sound, whisks away to one of the booths nearest the entrance door. His head follows the movement. He turns to look at Swatch once again. "WHAT’S Up? I THOUGHT MAICE WERE [No Problemo] FOR YOU?"
In response, Swatch just tightens their mouth into a thin line and focuses their gaze to the side, hands clasping behind their back. Spamton lets out a snrk sound.
"YOU WANT ME TO [[Take it or Leave It!]] AWAY??"
That was a tempting offer, actually. Despite that, they really should take care of it. They steel themselves with an inward sigh, already resigned to their fate. “No thank you, I can do it.”
However, apparently something about their mannerisms, or voice, or whatever tell they had gave their discomfort away, because Spamton is all of a sudden deadset on dealing with the Maus himself. “[[Trans4ction Denied]]. MY TURN.”
He turns on his heel, making his way over to the table the Maus had run off to. Their eyebrows furrow, already moving to take a few steps forward. “What? No, I can–”
“I’M [Take care] OF IT!! THAT”S YOUR [Customer Service Voice(™)].”
Swatch blinks. Of all things, they thought their voice was the thing they controlled the most there. But, they suppose, that was the point. That was the “Customer service voice”.
They huff. “If you could stop reading me so well, it’d be much appreciated.” Swatch can’t decide on whether they should be amused, relieved, or concerned that they could be read like a book. Maybe all three. Either way, the tension in their body unwinds, thankful for the loss of responsibility. They suppose they could accept help for this. “...Thank you.”
Spamton raises his head from where he’s been looking under the table and gives them a thumbs up. Belatedly, they realize he really shouldn’t be getting the Maus with his bare hands. Swatch begins to make their way to grab some gloves for him, yet stops short when they see him already on his knees, beckoning the Maus from under the table like it were a scared Tasque. So... no preparation? Just like that? Swatch is about to ask him if he wants any gloves before he turns vaguely in their direction.
"CHEESE."
What? "What?"
Spamton makes a grabby motion with an outstretched arm. "FOR THE MAUS! CHEESE, [Please]."
Oh. Obviously. "Of course. One moment."
Swatch turns on their heel in a practiced motion, beelining for the kitchen. The professional movements ingrained in their muscle memory were seeping back in, an unconscious attempt to mask the tenseness in their body. By the time they arrived in the kitchen, their unease had waned considerably. They heave a sigh, half-relieved yet partly at themselves. They open the fridge and reach inside.
Swatch pads back into the room with a piece of cheese between their fingers. They breach the danger zone, from where Swatch has happily been content in staying away from in the corner of the Cafe, and bends down to put the small block of cheese into Spamton's palms. "Here you go."
"THANK YOUUUU!”
Swatch dips their head in response and immediately rushes back to safety. Spamton seems to notice their hurry, and they observe with a slight hint of bitterness how Spamton seems to grin wider at this for a moment before turning away. They huff, leaning their back against the wall.
Spamton reaches the cheese in his palm underneath the table. "HERE, MAUSY MAUSY MAUSY!" Swatch hides a snort behind their hand. He immediately turns. "WHAT!? DO YOU WANNA [Take A Spin]?!”
“No, I’m good, thank you.” They felt their feathers raise slightly at the thought, if anything. The teasing smile on their face doesn't recede though, and Spamton grumbles before turning his attention back to the task at hand. He lifts himself and changes into a criss-cross position, scooting closer to the table.
"C’MON, I KNOW YOUR THERE. I HAVE AN [Irr3sistible Pr0ducts] [[On SALE]] For You." He bounces the cheese in his palm up and down. It felt like he was bartering with the Maus. Which, they suppose, he pretty much was. Spamton doesn't seem to try and coax it any further. A beat passes. Then two. Swatch is about to say something before...
Their breath hitches.
The Maus is clearly visible now, having just poked its head out from the darkness. They feel their skin crawl slightly. Behind the lenses of their glasses, their eyes turn a slight green in disgust. Spamton remains unbothered however, continuing in his effort to lure it out. He tosses the cheese in his palm again. At this, the Maus tentatively slithers out further, reaching its small snout towards the food. Swatch can almost see a glimmer in its eye before it suddenly crawls into his hand and happily nibbles at the offering.
Swatch immediately squawks. "You– Okay, you can get it out now, right?" A slight eagerness in their tone slips in despite their best attempts to level their voice. Maybe they should've just sucked it up and dealt with it themselves. Being so openly bothered by a little Maus was getting increasingly embarrassing, not to mention utterly ridiculous.
Spamton, somehow unhurried, just laughs. "COOL YOUR [Feathers] [Big Bird], IT’S FINE!!! JUST GIMME A SEC.”
Why he wasn't just putting it outside right now was beyond them. Spamton looks down at the Maus in his hands, and he takes a piece of cheddar from his other hand Swatch hadn't realized he'd separated from the main piece. He dangles it in front of the small thing, making sure it notices before placing it on his shoulder. The Maus hesitates, beady eyes glued onto the cheese. It seems to try to sense any danger, and apparently it finds none, because it scurries up his shoulder and chomps it whole in one bite. The shoulders underneath it shake with a light giggle, and Spamton reaches up to pet the little guy in between the ears.
Swatch is nearly sickened. They stare in disbelief, blurting incredulously,
"You're insane." They had no venom in the statement, of course. A past Swatch would've never said that even as a joke, but they've been friends for long enough that they know Spamton won't be offended, and that he knows they aren't genuinely saying that. Still, sometimes they tried to be careful with their words. He'd... been called stuff like that seriously before.
For all their overthinking, Spamton looks back at their face of amused bewilderment with delight. He was always pleasantly surprised whenever he’d make an uncharacteristic statement slip out of his friend. They were usually refined in their vocabulary; not to say that’s all that Swatch was, they could be playful or teasing when they wanted to be. But some things were certainly more rare to hear.
"OH, AS 1F YOU AREN’T THE ONE [[Cowering]] FROM A MAUS," Spamton quips, continuing to pet the small Darkner on his shoulder. He pats the empty space next to him. "COME ON, JUST COME HERRE AND– WOAH WOaH [[!@$#]]!! "
Out of nowhere, the Maus zips along his body like an excited dog, bolting from end to end and somehow managing to knock his glasses off. Swatch immediately tenses, as if his friend were in danger, but instead he's laughing and tripping over himself, toppling onto the ground and desperately trying to grab the damn thing.
"GET– [[Hey!!!]] [Hands OFF THE–” Spamton cackles breathlessly. Swatch just stares, frozen. It's only until his voice starts to glitch profusely that Swatch gets worried enough to snap out of it, swiftly grabbing the broom sitting up against the wall. Three steps into the danger zone, however, and Spamton's hand clutches around the Maus.
Spamton sits up and catches his breath, the Maus successfully detained in his palms. "[$#&%], PAL! Y-YOU C AN;;t< JUST D0 TH@T! ALMOST GAVE ME A [[HeartAttack]]!!!!" His breaths come out short and shallow, though there's no actual annoyance in his voice despite his words. He turns back to Swatch, then to the Maus. "I THINK IT’S [About time] YOU [Return to Sender]."
To Swatch's relief, Spamton makes his way to the door and walks outside with the little thing clutched a little bit tighter in his hands. It's a deafening silence, the twenty seconds it takes for him to get back. But he finally opens the door, the bell chiming above him, and turns to the bird in the corner of his vision.
"So.” Swatch looks at him. “Have any trouble?" They see his eyes take notice of the broom remaining in their grip, and they nonchalantly place it back against the wall as if they weren't still holding onto it for the entire time he was gone. He ignores the question.
"YOU STILL [ScAr3d]?" Spamton asks. He wears his regular grin, but they felt that energy where he was absolutely ready to have something to poke fun at them with. Swatch rolls their eyes. They answer honestly, anyway.
"It's gone, so I'm fine. Thank you."
"SO YOU WERE, THOUGH!! BUT Don’T WORRY [[Your Pr3tty L1ttle Head]]." He strolls over to where his glasses lay on the floor, wiping them off with the hem of his blazer before putting them back on his face. "IF ANY ONE OF THOSE [Nasty Vermin] TRY TO , I’LL [thrash] AND [Kick] THEM INTO NEXT [Weak]!!” He turns around, making a big show of the statement, and Swatch has to stifle a chuckle that comes with the thought of the much shorter Darkner protecting him.
“Why, thank you. Glad to know I’m in capable hands.” As if he would do any of that; they just saw him cradle the Maus as if it were a beloved pet.
They remember the Maus, then, and how it had crawled all over the man before them. They grimace.
“Spamton.”
“YEAH?”
"...You need a shower."
Said Darkner’s voice immediately crackles in protest. "REALLY!??! I JUST [Save as] YOU, AND THIS IS THE [[Top-notch Service]] I [RECEIVEr]!?"
They walk over to him, unphased yet nevertheless entertained at his antics. "Mhm. Now come on. It's about time we clock out, anyway." They wait for permission, and Spamton glares before resigning with a nod, but not without a cross of his arms in disapproval. Swatch is content with that. They bend down fully and pick him up, cradling him in the crook of their arm. For all his feigned anger, Spamton relaxes at the physical contact. That familiar feeling of warmth buzzes through their system.
Swatch makes a note to change their clothes as soon as possible once they get home.
~~~
Swatch shuts the bathroom door for Spamton and makes their way to the kitchen, turning on the faucet and running their hands through soap and warm water. They hadn’t even bothered turning on the light. They hadn't touched the Maus, just Spamton, but Spamton had the Maus all over him, and well.
They only wash their hands once, this time. It wasn't that big of a deal. Wrapping their hands around a soft kitchen towel, black with multicolored stripes, they dry themselves off and set the towel down on the counter.
Their mind slowly draws a blank. It was odd, for it to be so noisy with his presence and then quiet the next. Right. They needed to get out of their work uniform. They make a quick excursion to their bedroom, tugging on clothes much more clean and comfortable. As they make their way back to the kitchen, talons combing through feathers from where they’d been flattened by pulling a light turtleneck sweater over them, Swatch flips on the lightswitch. A soft glow illuminates the room, reflecting off the black marble countertops. Mellow and bright splashes of color come into proper view.
Swatch then belatedly registers the glasses still on their face. They slide them off, placing them on the kitchen surface.
A part of them would rather just go to bed, if they were being honest. They shake their head in an attempt to jolt themselves awake. It’s to no avail. Sure, they technically didn’t have to, but they really should make dinner. If they didn’t now, they were worried they might not later. Spamton usually helped them in doing so, but they figured it’d be fine if they went ahead and did it by themselves for tonight. It was always nice to get out of the shower to be greeted with a warm meal.
He’d done that for them before. He had made them something simple recently that Swatch had specifically shown him how to do once, even adding some things to it himself. Today seemed like a good day to return the favor. Some kind of pasta, this time? That sounded nice and easy.
Picking out ingredients from neatly organized cabinets, Swatch gets to work on making something for the night. Nothing complicated, but something simple that was still just as good. Their mind seems to wander and stay focused at the same time, falling into a routine with practiced motions.
After a few minutes a clanking sound, likely something falling onto the ground, comes from the bathroom. Swatch pauses.
"Are you okay?" They call out. A beat of silence before Spamton faintly yells back that it's all fine, and Swatch hums before turning back to the saucepan on the stove. The low, distant sound of the shower water rears back into their brain from where it had previously been white noise, and the events of the past few hours replay in their mind.
Swatch remembers how calmly he had taken care of that whole situation. They make a small mental note of trying to deal with Maice better, like how he did.
...Okay, maybe not exactly like how he did.
It went all over him, for crying out loud! They shake their head at the memory, fiddling with a dial on the stove to get the temperature just right. But then the memory replays again, and then twice, and Swatch finds themselves smiling fondly. Now, without the fear of a Maus in the vicinity, Swatch could appreciate the image. The image of Spamton on the floor of the Cafe, howling glitchy laughter that bounced off the walls with desperate hands trying to grasp the Maus that was damn near tickling him. The image of uncontained joy written across his features, unobscured by the lack of glasses. The image of...
Swatch's brain ticks at the word that supplies in their head. Cute.
Cute? Would... would that be the word? That felt...
Swatch seems to have zoned out, as they suddenly become acutely aware of how their hand on the dial under the boiling pot has slowly inched its way towards the right, because without warning it slips and spawns a fire way bigger than necessary. Flinching away, their eyes turn a nearly white yellow in surprise, and they immediately turn the burner down. Suddenly they were very much awake. They draw their attention to their grip on the dial, staring it down in confusion. What was that?
Noticing the timer about to beep, they gladly turn the fire off completely in response before cutting the timer short itself. They grab a strainer from a lower cupboard and continue with the motions, putting their odd slip-up aside for the time being. Cute, Swatch thinks. Thinking that of a friend wasn't necessarily meant in that way, though. You could mean that platonically.
Of course, what had Swatch thinking it over was just how much any image of Spamton started to infiltrate their thoughts at the thought of the word. Cute. If anything, any other word with the same meaning that felt more platonic to think of him didn't feel quite right. The moment their brain decided to drift into words like adorable, even enchanting, was when Swatch decided to shut their brain down. They... needed to finish dinner. These thoughts were probably just from their exhausted state of mind – because they were obviously still tired, right?
Temporarily sweeping any prior thoughts under the rug, they continue on, finalizing the dish by mixing the sauce and noodles together before grabbing two differently sized plates from the upper cabinet.
A click sound. The bathroom door promptly opens, and Swatch hears Spamton walk out after a second or two. He glances a look into the kitchen draped in an oversized white towel, before he scampers off into the bedroom.
Acknowledging his presence, they ultimately decide to focus on getting everything done before turning to him. They start plating the food, Spamton emerging from the bedroom shortly thereafter. They absentmindedly fill two cups of water.
"Sorry for starting dinner without you," Swatch speaks into the open. "I know you like helping, but I assumed it would be nice to not have to do anything after getting out of the shower."
"OH, NO [Why Worry?]" They hear the sound of Spamton shuffling onto the couch. A beat passes before he adds, "IS IT BECA USE MY COOKING IS [$!X!]?" They can practically hear the grin on his face. They huff through their nose in amusement.
"It is not," Swatch fails at biting back a smile, putting the water pitcher back in the fridge. "And you're very helpful."
"[What] ABOUT THAT ONE TIME WITH THE BROWNIES–"
"We don't talk about the brownies," they deadpan. And it works, because now it's Spamton's turn to laugh. Swatch puts the plates and glass cups onto a tray and strides over to the couch with a triumphant feeling in their chest.
The food and drink settle down on the blue coffee table in front of them, and Spamton happily bends over to pick up his plate and fork. "OH! THANK YO U."
“Of course,” they reply, taking their seat next to him on the sofa. Swatch always used to eat at the kitchen table – it was the proper thing to do – but they would be lying if they said they didn’t stray from that more and more nowadays. For all the sophistication they tried to give off, both at work and at home, it was wonderful to not feel like they still had to be refined even when no one else was around, anymore. Spamton had made being easygoing… easier.
They used to be much more uptight, much more confined to rules and standards. When Spamton had first moved in, he had taken note of unnecessarily refined ways Swatch went about their house that they’d never even noticed others would consider overkill. Lots of them were unneeded sources of worry, in fact. One such example was the night they were going out of their way to find the misplaced fish forks for that night’s seafood. They refused to eat with anything else, the possibility that they could not even an option in Swatch’s head, and Spamton had looked at them strangely before using the salad fork to take a bite. Apparently, the expression they directed at him was one of such utter disbelief, because they remember he had laughed so hard at it he nearly fell out of his chair.
After he made them realize that no, you do not need to do this, they didn’t really know what to do with the rest of their specified silverware. They still used some, of course, but a vast majority they deemed they could get rid of. For a while afterwards, Spamton actually resisted some of these utensils being thrown out, because he had decided to make it a point to use the wrong silverware for the next month. He thought it was funny to do so. Not to mention how it got on the slightest of their nerves. (It was only when Swatch decided to give him a fork to use with something that obviously warranted a spoon, and Spamton’s subsequent reaction, that they thought, yes, it was actually pretty funny.)
Out of the corner of their eye, they look down at his plate. In his hands is a leftover salad fork they had grabbed from the silverware drawer with no question. Their face softens, and they turn back to their food.
…Or, rather, they would’ve. Instead, they’ve turned fully now, getting their first actual look at him since he’d left the bathroom. The sight immediately has their earlier thoughts snaking their way into their head again. They mentally curse at themselves. It’s not like they haven’t seen him before.
But he looks nice. His hair is finely brushed despite a few strands, a few faint streaks coming through from where the dye has slowly begun to fade. His dual colored glasses glisten from the nearby lamp even with the light of the living room. All the while, he wears a hand-knit sweater of odd familiarity; a gray turtleneck. One that directly matches their own.
It wasn’t that long ago, when the Swatchlings had offered to make him some more clothes, that he brought up the idea of having some clothing that matched with theirs (His specific wording, “Matchies”, had stuck in their head). As if stealing their look all that time ago wasn’t enough.
It felt silly at the beginning. Swatch honestly didn’t have a clue why sometimes he’d go out of his way to match with them whenever they wore something he had a double for. From the way Spamton seemed to delight whenever they used to roll their eyes at their matching outfits, they assumed it was just another way to tease them. But that wasn’t the case at all. There was no teasing or even malicious intent with it – it was clear that, whatever reasons he had for doing so, were ones long since repurposed from the reasons explaining why he had stolen their look in the first place, all those years back. It was just something sweet he did from time to time now. Something endearing. Something...
And suddenly the word cute being attributed to their friend cemented with a deafening amount of finality. The word fit. Really, really well.
Just like that, they're a nervous ball of energy. Part of them wants to lock themselves in their room and stew over these newfound feelings for a few hours. That wasn't an option, unfortunately. Sitting right next to him, emotions and thoughts on overdrive, they aren't quite sure how they keep their composure.
The longer they continued to think about it, the more the pieces clicked into place. Like a puzzle being put together. This was clearly more than just Swatch finding him cute. This was about him being... him. And Swatch liked him. A lot, they realize. They fiddle with the fork they’ve been holding, winding noodles around it with no intention of actually eating them. Just to give their hands something to do. To keep some semblance of normalcy.
It was so strange. They felt like the butterflies in their stomach would choke them, at first, but the longer he kept casually talking the more they nearly forgot the butterflies had been there in the first place. Before long, their nerves had settled into a feeling of muted warmth. Spamton turns to him in full attention at some point, still talking. That feeling of warmth buzzes in delight.
Like it always has, Swatch realizes. They’d felt this feeling around him way too many times to count. They’d felt it earlier. Their mouth forms into a small 'o'.
"RIGHT!?" Spamton exclaims. Swatch nearly jumps out of their skin. They suddenly fully register that he's been talking to them this entire time because they have no idea what he's been saying. Apparently this is evident, as his enthusiasm soon falters a few seconds after looking at them. “...4RE YOU GOOD?? HEY. [Earth] TO [[Easels]]!!!”
Whatever trance they were in has fully dissipated, snapping them back to reality to reveal Spamton pulling his hands away from where he was waving them in front of their face. He’s looking up at them with just the slightest bit of concern in his expression. It’s very counterproductive how Swatch’s brain has already started moving again, a flood of feelings lapping at the back of their mind at the sight of him.
Swatch resists the urge to cough. “Yes, sorry, I was just… lost in thought.”
Spamton hums noncommittally. After a pause, he seems to deem whatever is on Swatch’s mind more interesting than his topic of conversation. He takes a bite of his food, gaze locked onto them as he kicks his feet. “ABOUT WHAT?”
That certainly wasn’t the best question for them to be asked right now, honestly. Opening their mouth to respond, any possible words they could've had refrain from falling off their tongue.
Maybe it was some of the lingering exhaustion of the day finally catching up to them, or their jumbled state from their revelation. But something about just, well. Everything. Something about everything.
Because he’s here. He’s here, looking at them expectantly, and it's like their time together over the years has flashed by briefly, leaving Swatch to recollect that all in a single breath. As if those weren't the most precious moments of their life. No doubt there were painful ones, of course. Not to say it’s good that lots of things that happened happened, but… even so, those memories were precious too, in a way. They were here now because of them, weren’t they?
It's taken so much for both of them to get to this point. For them to be friends again. For them to be okay again. It wasn’t what they were thinking about back there, but a simple truth settles on Swatch's tongue. And they couldn’t think of a more fitting one to tell.
"I've missed you."
Spamton, who’s been patiently waiting for them to collect their thoughts, nearly jumps. "HUH????”
It felt weird to say after this long, as if they don't see each other nearly every second of the day now. But it's true.
"I've missed you," Swatch reinstates, a smile dancing on their lips at his puzzled expression. They briefly wonder if the mirth on their face might be a bit too telling. They can't bring themselves to care.
Spamton wrings his hands together, his eyes momentarily darting to the side. "LIKE, FROM WHEN I WAS TAKING A [Shower]? BECAUSE I WASN'T IN THEre FOR TH AT LONG–"
A harsh bark of laughter instantly erupts from Swatch, ripped from their soft feelings like a slap to the face. "I– No, I meant–” Their hand falls to lightly clasp around his small shoulder, muffling their mouth with their other after realizing just how loud they got there.
Spamton's gaze flits to his shoulder and then focuses back on Swatch, staring.
"I mean, just–” Swatch's laughter starts to die down, "–just in general, Spamton." They turn back to him. He senses more on the tip of their tongue, letting them continue.
Or maybe he just doesn't know what to say. Either way. “I know it's been forever since then, since we reunited, but..." They lean back against the couch. "I just remembered we were so caught up in everything that I never properly told you that. Not… correctly enough.”
Spamton is silent. His mouth starts to hover open before it decidedly clicks shut. Swatch is suddenly hyper-aware of the contact of their talons still curled around his shoulder, and how it feels different, now, but Spamton finally finds his voice before they can withdraw.
"...I, UH." Somehow, despite the faint flush of red scattered across his face, his expression is pulled into something unreadable. His glasses are fully opaque. "TH@NK [You]."
Once more Swatch finds themselves lost for words, so they nod instead, pulling their hand away with an unwarranted speed. The contact felt new somehow, warm with that unmistakable undercurrent of something more. They just hope he doesn’t interpret how fast they moved away in the wrong manner.
It seems they didn’t need to worry about that however, instead a new worry popping up in its stead. Of how Spamton’s attention is fixated entirely on their face. Swatch can’t help but take note of how he leans his shoulder against the back of the couch, seemingly making up for the lost contact.
They aren’t given any time to mull over that. Because he’s staring at them, searching for something in their expression that Swatch can’t pinpoint. Analyzing. Before this can make their nerves bunch up any more, he lifts himself up.
“SO SINCE WHEN COULD YOUR EYES GET THAT [[RGB color model]]??”
Swatch’s head tilts. “What color?”
"P1NK. THAT’S [Brand New Items].”
They blink, the response slowly registering in their mind. Instantly, a wave of relief settles over them. Their eyes had just changed pink. They thought it would've been something different, like their feelings had been too obvious, not just the color of–
...
Pink?
Gears turn in their head and it clicks, their eyes widening, and suddenly the speed in which they turn their head away is so fast that Swatch wouldn't be surprised if a feather fell out from the motion. "I see," is all they say. Mostly to themselves. Because what were they even supposed to say? They know they've caught feelings, but now their eyes were downright betraying that? Now that Swatch thinks about it, though, there is something they'd like to ask.
Swatch turns to face him, astounded. "For how long?"
"UH, SEVRIL MINUTES?" He shrugs. Shit. They would've liked to known that sooner.
Spamton lifts himself up, leaning ever closer in interest at their reaction. "WHAT"S IT [Mean]?? I'VE NEVER SEEN TH4T [Shade of Hue] ON YOU. LIKE, EVER??" It was certainly a surprise. They've known each other for what felt like forever, yet here was a color in their eyes that was brand new to him.
And Swatch can't tell the truth, can't confess to Spamton that they're in love with him within the same day they even found that truth out. That would be ludicrous. But they didn’t want to lie to him, either. They click their tongue in thought, trying to think of a suitable emotion through the whirlwinds of ones they were feeling. Something in the middle. Something that says 'I enjoy your presence'. That would be good.
"...You'll just have to find out," is what tumbles out instead. Yeah, okay sure, because that'll do.
Spamton perks up in surprise. Swatch truly isn't quite sure where the confidence came from, but they quickly find it suitable. A smirk forms on their lips at Spamton's mock-offended expression, and he stands up on the couch, plate to the side.
"WHAT!? C’MON, [Tell] ME!!"
"What?" Swatch asks, finally deciding to take a bite of their food. "Can I not have a little mystery about me?"
"NOPE, [CardNotSupported]!! YOU HAVE ENOUGH MYSTERY TO EVERY ALREA dy!!!" Spamton argues.
"But it could be fun," they counter. "It just goes to show we have more to learn about each other, even after all this time. So why not have some fun with it?" At their reasoning, Swatch wonders what they've yet to learn about him. They already knew so much, so just what else was there? They feel a little giddy at the prospect. This could be fun.
Spamton seems to debate this, and sits back down on the couch with a fwump. He sets his plate on the table. It seems they were both too distracted by each other's company to focus on eating tonight. “WHAT’S THE [Big] IDEA?? JUST TELL ME. I KNOW YOU’RE TRYING TO [[Swindle my Life Savings]] WITH [sw33t d3als].”
They take a split second to decipher his sentence. “To distract you? Oh, and whoever said I was trying to do that?" Swatch trills. A pause. “So is it working?”
“YES.” Swatch snorts. “SO I SUPPOSE I CAN [let you off][Scot-Free]. BUT I’LL FIND OUT EVENTUALLY, MY [4steemCustomer].”
They feel both nerves and that slight twinge of challenge at his statement. “Do your best, then. Don’t forget the same goes for you. I'll find out more about you, and you’ll find out more about me.”
It wasn’t all there was, there naturally would be things they never knew about each other in general, but there was that unspoken fact in the air. Of that several year gap of their lives apart. How much of him had they missed out on? Of course, he’s been here for a while, so Swatch eventually got told the story. But this was different. This wasn’t about trauma, or any tidbits of his past happenings that made Swatch’s heart twist horribly. This was just normal. Casual. Soft. Like maybe his taste for something has changed, or he has a funny story from that time that he’s just never brought up. Small things like that to add to the new things they've already learned about him since he’s returned.
The notion of actively learning new things about each other, it felt nice. Wonderful. As if adding new pages to the already long scrapbook that was Swatch’s favorite person. And if a result was Spamton eventually finding out their feelings?
Well. They could worry about that later, they suppose.
Their rampant brain simmering down, they realize neither of them actually talked about how they’d learn more about each other. A quick glance down at Spamton makes it seem he’s debating this as well, face scrunched up in a combination of confusion and thought. He looks lost. It seems the odd note their conversation left off on wasn’t something only Swatch caught. They’re proved right before they can say anything about the matter.
Spamton looks back up at them. “SO, WHAT? ARE WE PLAYING [[21 Questions to ask Your Financial Partner]] OR SOMETHING???”
Oh, twenty-one questions was actually a delightful idea. They find themselves nodding in agreement. “That sounds wonderful. Shall we?” Swatch hadn’t exactly planned on doing it right now, but the last thing they were was opposed to it. Why not?
Spamton smiles. “I’LL GO [First Come First Serve], THEN.”
That’s what he says, before realizing he doesn’t know what to ask. He pauses to think. Swatch waits patiently before they see a figurative light bulb appear over his head. “REMEMBER The BROWNIES?”
They nod, jokingly solemn. Spamton futilely swats at them. "THEY WEREN’T EVEN BROWNIES, I ACIDENTLY [Buy now!] CHOCOLATE CAKE MIX!! IT TURNED OUT SO BADLY ANYWAY THAT YOU COULDN;T [Spot The Difference].”
Huh. Okay, so that was certainly one reason why they turned out the way they did. “Wait, really?”
“YEAH, THAT’S WHY WE DIDN’T EVEN HAVE THE [Instruction$ on the Box]. I [Threw] IT IN THE [[G4rB4g3]] BEFORE YOU COULD FIND OUT.”
“As if I’d be mad at you for it?” Swatch laughs. “Spamton, this isn’t even a question. It’s just a straight up confession.”
He grins wider. “OK, WELL, MAYBE [Read The Manual] TO ME NEXT TIME–” Swatch tries to tell him how it’s extremely self explanatory, “WHEN ELSE WAS I GOING TO TELL YOU?? THE GAME SEEMS LIKE IT’S WORKING TO ME, YOU [Learn]t SOMETHING NEW! DON”T ARGUE!”
He was right, unfortunately, but they still felt the desire to mess with him. They reach out and ruffle his hair, ignoring his yelp of indignance with a certain smugness in their eyes. “I suppose.”
“H3Y!!! D-DON’T MESs WITH THE [#!$!]ING–” Spamton splutters, patting their hands away. Swatch retracts their talons, and he immediately reaches up to fix his hair.
“My apologies,” Swatch murmurs, half genuine and half teasing. Spamton makes a disgruntled noise that roughly translates to ‘it’s okay’ before finally fixing his hair into something presentable.
“ANYWAYS!!! [Cont.] ON.” He pauses, before turning his full attention onto them. They wonder if they imagined the blush on his face when his head was dipped down, because it’s suddenly nowhere to be found. It takes Swatch a second for them to understand.
“...Ah. So, it’s my turn now?”
“YEP, [[Keep Those Questions Coming!]]”
They hum. “Alright, let me see…”
For a while they sit there, going back and forth asking each other whatever questions they can think of. Just like Swatch suspected, it’s surprisingly fun. Spamton seemed to thrive with the randomness and spontaneity, and they found themselves laughing harder than they have in a while as the talk devolved. Despite the name of the game, they weren’t quite sure how many questions were asked. Neither of them were keeping count.
They finish dinner like that, conversation slowing to a halt as Swatch stacks their finished plate with his on the coffee table. They didn’t feel like getting up just yet. They let themselves leave the dishes there for the time being, almost feeling a past self rolling in their grave at the action.
Swatch grabs their phone from their pocket, and from then on, the two of them sink into a companionable silence, the television softly playing in the distance of the living room. They figured they could use this time to check up on some things. They had the feeling they’d have more text messages from the Swatchlings to respond to than usual after the busy day, so they should probably check up on those.
Spamton's eyes trace their motions. After a moment, his expression alights, and he leans over to grab his phone from the coffee table. The short-lived silence is then broken as he starts loudly announcing what he types as he taps the screen.
"HEY, SW4TCHLINGS, WHAT Do PINK EYES–"
Like a truck, it hits Swatch what he's doing. Their heart spikes as they immediately lunge for his phone. "Do not–"
Spamton pulls away, cackling and holding the phone closer to him. "I;;M KIDdING, I’M [Kidding]!!!"
"Nope, I don't trust you with it anymore, give it to me." Swatch makes repeated motions to try and swipe it from him. Spamton only continues laughing, moving farther and farther until eventually falling back against the armrest. He holds the phone above his head in another effort to keep it out of their grasp. He seems to realize his mistake, however, of how Swatch can easily snatch it away now. Yet he's still laughing. And Swatch can't bring themselves to take it away.
Because there's that wonderful sight again, of Spamton laughing madly from where they lean over him. Their heart leaps in their throat. It takes them much more than a second before they finally grab his phone, just to diffuse the situation and go back to their side of the couch. Before they did anything stupid, like stare any longer.
Spamton finally settles down from his fit of laughter, repositioning himself on the couch to be upright again. "You're a menace," they mutter. It comes out too dazed for their liking. They feel heat on their face, still.
"IT WAS [Funny Values] AND YOU KNOW IT!! [Plussed] I WASN’T ACTUALLY GOING TO ASK.” Spamton gestures to his phone, and sure enough, all that's there is a random string of letters on a notes app. It almost looks suspiciously like a link to malware. Swatch huffs and hands it back to him. He happily takes it, shuffling against the back of the couch with it clutched in his hands.
Swatch would've quipped something back if Spamton didn't seem so intent on his phone. They're a little thankful for that, actually. They'd probably make a fool of themselves if they kept talking. Once again, Swatch thinks that's the end of the conversation, and they pick up their phone as well for the second time.
Out of their line of sight, however, circular lenses trail their gaze back upwards.
Spamton still wasn't quite sure about Swatch's eyes. He wasn’t that stupid – it was clear that Swatch was hiding something, even if them dodging the question resulted in something unexpectedly nice. If they truly didn’t want to tell, then he wouldn’t force them. Everyone had a secret or two. Swatch was no exception.
…Despite this line of thought, his curiosity didn’t quit nagging at him. He couldn’t help it. He was nosy.
Were they self-conscious or something? Asides from being simply a fashion choice, Spamton knew their glasses worked as a buffer to prevent others from reading their true feelings. Being able to read them in public so easily would no doubt impact their aura of professionalism, after all. Maybe he was reading too much into it though. Swatch was just being teasing and it spiraled from there. No big deal.
But he's also never seen this color before, Spamton rationalizes.
He doesn't know if he's seeing things when the concentration of the color in their eyes seems to increase whenever they look at him. That, along with everything else that's happened in the past ten minutes, sends his heart thrumming through his body and rendering his palms too damn sweaty to hold his damn phone correctly. More so than usual whenever Swatch was around, anyway.
Incapable of ever being quiet, he couldn't help but want to say something. Just in case.
"WHATEVER IT [Strange Meanings], I [[like]] IT. PINK LOOKS NICE IN YOUR EYES," Spamton pipes up.
Swatch looks back from where they've been partly fixated on their screen. And the pink does look good, Spamton thinks. They always do. But he likes it also because he gets that odd feeling that it's directed at him, somehow. It's all the more reason he can't seem to shut up about it.
And Swatch is glad he thinks so, because from now on it might just be the only color Spamton will see when looking at them. A smile, all too fond, forms on their face.
They're positive of that.