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He paused as he came around the corner and saw the old building. It, and the neighborhood around it, was built in a post-war style but the old building was obviously post-war where the others were modern buildings mimicking the style. It looked warm and inviting, and the music coming from the open door wasn’t something he would normally have listened to, and he didn't know the tune, but…
Something about it felt familiar.
Before he was truly aware he was doing, he was walking closer to the door and the somehow familiar music. As he approached, he could smell the aroma of the same stimulant energon he kept in his own cabinet at home and some kind of baked goods that made his mouth water.
“Hi!” A young mech, black and red with mixed ancestry that he couldn’t immediately identify, looked up from an electro bass and smiled brightly. “Welcome to Rhythm and Brews!”
“Thank you,” he replied, looking around. The mech with the bass was sitting on a small stage, and the majority of the room was taken up with tables arranged around it. A payment terminal sat by the door and a display case of treats was situated nearby. Currently, he and the bass player were the only mechs inside.
“Go ahead and have a seat anywhere,” the black and red mech told him. “Harmony will be by to take your order in a klik.”
“Thank you,” he repeated. Then he moved to a table on the left hand side of the room, and took a seat that would let him keep his wings to the wall and reduce vibration if the cafe got too loud. The seat felt as familiar as the music, and he was struck by how odd that was even as he reached to activate the table-top menu screen.
Then the mech on stage started playing again, and he let the feeling go as he sank into the familiar comfort of the music. He could wonder about all of that later.
-_-_-_-
He’d read about this place in the tour brochures, a post-war cafe and performance venue that had been kept running by six generations of the same family, but that hadn’t prepared him for the feeling of the place. He stood outside on the street, blocking traffic and taking it in for… a while. Til someone honked irritability at him, anyway. It felt old and comfortable, familiar and loved like the recliner his carrier refused to get rid of, and safe in a way he didn’t know how to describe. He didn’t know if that was because of the sturdy architecture or the enticing smells coming from the open door, but he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.
He stepped out of the street and through the door quickly, humming along with the melody being played on someone’s electro bass, intent on trying the most well-reviewed treats in all of New Praxus. He stopped dead in his tracks once he was through, though, as he caught sight of the mech sitting by the table to the left of the small stage.
He was gorgeous, black and white with doorwings and red chevron, and he felt sure that he recognized the mech. But he’d never been to New Praxus before and he’d never met a Praxian so that just didn’t track.
But he knew if the Praxian looked up and smiled, his optics would crinkle twice at the corners and his cheek plates would dimple just slightly as the protoform shifted over his jaw hinge. He knew.
“Hi!” the bass player interrupted his train of thought. “Welcome to Rhythm and Brews! Take a seat anywhere, and Harmony will be by to take your order in a klik.”
“Thanks,” he replied. And like iron being pulled to a magnet, he made his way to the table where the Praxian was sitting.
The Praxian looked up and gave him a confused look. “Can I help you?”
“Sorry, I just…” He laughed at himself for a klik. “I feel like I know you, which is crazy, I know. Have we met?”
-_-_-_-
“I do not believe so.” He looked at the mech, likely from the Tri-Hex region based on the obvious sensor modifications via visor and external helm attachments, and was struck with another of those strange feelings of familiarity. He was also very sure he knew this mech, though they had never met that he was aware of.
He knew that this stranger would have guitar wear across his right thumb if he looked and that the optics behind the visor would be such a pale shade of blue that they registered as white to most visual suites. He knew that the black of his helm and legs was not truly black but the deepest purple to better blend into the shadows of …somewhere he couldn’t quite remember, and then the color was never updated. He knew that given half a chance, the mech would be up all night writing a song and then up all day rehearsing until it was fit to perform–smiling the entire time.
He knew this mech, even though there was no possible way he did.
“But you are welcome to join me if you like. Perhaps we will discover why I seem so familiar to you.” It wasn’t the sort of thing he would say to most strangers, but he wasn’t entirely sure this mech was a stranger.
“Thanks.” The other mech smiled, and the way his mouth folded at the corners felt so familiar it hurt, somehow. “I’m Saxo, my friends call me Sax.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Saxo.” The name didn’t fit, but he wasn’t sure why. Yet. “I am Dragon, and my friends have too many familiar names for me to list them.”
The other mech beamed, and he didn’t know why. “That's great! With any luck, I’ll be one of those friends and hear them all eventually.”
He didn’t want to commit to that, but his spark warmed at the idea. “Perhaps.”
“So.” Saxo looked down at the menu, glowing at them from the tabletop. “What’s good here? All the reviews say to try the copper rolls, but–”
“The magnesium crunchies will be more to your taste.” He didn’t know why he said that, and the other mech was equally surprised judging by his expression, but Dragon knew he was right. “And pastel press, to drink.”
“Now how did you even know to suggest that?” Saxo glanced at the menu and then back to him in confusion.
“Because, I think that I know you, too,” Dragon replied.
-_-_-_-
They talked for joors at the little table to the left of the stage. They sat through two shift changes, the bass player switching out with a femme who played digital flute and then she yielded the stage to a small band who was obviously more heart than talent. They traded back and forth for who would pay for the drinks they kept ordering, and ordered for each other occasionally, and while Saxo bought his own food when he arrived, Dragon paid for the evening meal they ended up needing.
And he’d done it with a smile that crinkled his optics twice in the corners and dimpled his cheeks exactly the way Saxo had known it would. And he’d thought his spark might implode from how much he loved seeing the expression on the other mech’s face. Whatever was going on was either going to get him into so much trouble, or be the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Their third server, a minibot painted an optic-searing shade of pink, stepped up to their table not long after the band left the stage. “Forgive me, sirs, but we closed ten groons ago. Can I get you anything for the road?”
Saxo checked his chrono and swore. “Sorry about that, mech. We really lost track of the time. Can I get a pastel press to go and whatever Dragon wants?”
The minibot turned to the Praxian mech expectantly.
“Copper coolant, thank you.” Dragon stood up and handed the server his credit stick before Saxo could pay. “Can I walk you home, Saxo?”
“I’m not local, remember?” He gave the other mech a grin. “But I’m staying at the Trilho Tower, if that’s not too far out of your way.”
Dragon nodded. “My apartment is not far from there. But perhaps I meant my home, rather than yours?”
“I might say that was moving a little fast, but I’m not sure it would be.” His grin turned a little rueful. “But I gotta be up in the morning, anyway. The choir director would kill me if we were disqualified because I was late.”
“Perhaps after your performance, then?”
“Sounds great, sign me up.”
The minibot returned with their drinks, interrupting again before they could start planning anything else. “Here you are, gentlemechs. Have a wonderful night.”
“Thanks, mech.” Saxo took his drink and gave the minibot a small salute with it. “We will.”
-_-_-_-
Saxo was animated as they walked, beyond what he had been in the cafe. He had been very aware of the space they were sharing at the table, but on the sidewalk or in the street, he made large gestures, walked like he was dancing, and burst into the occasional bit of song. He had been charmed by the mech in the cafe, but this new side of him was just as endearing.
At least until he found an uneven patch of sidewalk and almost took a tumble. Dragon was reaching for him with reflexes he didn’t even know he had to catch the mech before he could fall into the street and oncoming traffic.
“Thanks for the save, mech.” Saxo looked a little haunted, though he was smiling still.
“Anytime,” Dragon replied.
-_-_-_-
“Well, thanks for the walk up.” Saxo smiled at Dragon. “I’ll call you after we’ve gotten the scores and I know if we’re celebrating or drowning my sorrows?”
“You are welcome, and that will be fine. I am free all day tomorrow.” Dragon smiled back, dimples and crinkled optics still making his spark throb.
“Great.” Impulsively, he lifted up on his toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of Dragon’s mouth. Then, without any conscious input from his processor he added, “G’nite, Prowler.”
He had no idea where he’d even gotten the name from, but it felt as right as knowing exactly how the mech smiled.
Dragon lifted a hand to his cheek and cupped it, before lowering his head and nuzzling his chevron against Saxo’s helm. “Good night, Jazz.”
And he didn’t know where Dragon had gotten that name from either but it was right. It fit, and his spark sang and that was who he was.
“Tomorrow, we can discuss how you knew to call me that.” Dragon drew back with a soft smile. “But it felt right.”
“Yeah it did.” Saxo smiled back, and knew he was probably about to be in over his head. He couldn't wait.