Work Text:
Movie Night One-Shot
Sometimes, David looks behind him.
Okay—more than sometimes.
He watches Lucy and the new guy—Naruto—fade into the distance. Their forms blur into the neon haze, and something inside him twists. Regret. Annoyance. Longing.
He should’ve gone after her.
But he didn’t.
And maybe that’s the point.
Instead, he’s heading toward the chaotic mess that is Rebecca and Pilar’s apartment.
Because for once, someone invited him just to be.
Pilar almost died earlier—if it weren’t for Naruto stepping in during that Cyberpsycho sitch, things would’ve ended bloody. The guy hasn’t even joined the crew and already saved lives, earned respect, and somehow... brought people together.
David’s grateful.
And pissed at himself for feeling so left behind.
He sighs, kicking at a phantom stone on the cracked pavement. Rebecca's already bouncing ahead, talking a mile a minute. She’s listing off BD flicks like she’s auditioning for a voice mod commercial—stuff with explosions, killer soundtracks, and, in her words, “a whole lotta tits and ass.”
He barely hears her.
But the sound of her voice, the way she circles him like an orbiting satellite—it grounds him.
He remembers when everything started falling apart.
Before Maine. Before Lucy. Before all of this.
And now... maybe this is what it means to move forward.
Rebecca, for all her chaos and cursing and shotgun diplomacy, offered him something real:
A place to crash. A reason to keep walking now.
And that weird, fluttering feeling in his chest when she invited him over?
Yeah.
That’s new.
Not chasing someone. Not proving himself.
Just being beside someone.
It feels... good.
A sudden jab to his ribs yanks him back to the present.
“Ow—what the hell?”
Rebecca glares at him, finger jabbing at his chest like an accusation.
“You’re ignoring me!” she shrieks.
David blinks.
“Huh?”
The blank tone only fires her up more.
“I asked you, chrome-for-brains—what movie are we watching?”
He scratches the back of his head, sheepish.
“Ah... right.”
She huffs, stomping a little.
Behind them, Pilar—still ghost-white but finally breathing easy again—lets out a soft snicker.
“This is gonna be better than any BD,” he mutters to himself, grinning.
David can’t help but laugh, just a little.
And as they near the siblings' beat-up apartment, surrounded by the constant hum of Night City’s chaos, he realizes—
This might be the most okay he’s felt in a long time.
The apartment’s lights are low, blinds half-drawn against the endless glow of Night City. A dusty projector beams pixelated chaos onto a cracked white wall—explosions, corny synth scores, and some half-baked edgerunner with a golden heart mowing down waves of fictive corpos. He’s sprinting toward full-blown cyberpsychosis, still getting the girl in slow-mo.
It’s terrible.
Pilar is loving it.
“Bro, did you see that?! He just headbutted a grenade launcher! Headbutted it!”
He’s halfway off the couch, a half-drunk EnduroDrink in one hand, flailing like he’s in the movie. His elbow narrowly misses David’s face more than once, prompting Rebecca to whack him with a throw pillow.
David’s slouched beside him, one leg propped up, barely holding back laughter through a mouthful of popcorn. “Pretty sure his brain turned to goo five scenes ago,” he mutters, amused despite himself.
Rebecca, now sprawled sideways on the opposite end of the couch, has her feet up on the table and a bag of SourDreams balanced on her stomach. “This movie’s so dumb,” she grins, that sharp, smug glint lighting her up. “I’d wipe the floor with this leadhead.”
David glances over. “You wish.”
Rebecca lifts an eyebrow. “You saying I couldn’t?”
“No,” he replies, deadpan. “I’m saying he’d trip over his ego and shoot himself in the foot. You’d win by default.”
That earns him a snort—and a light kick to the shin. More playful than painful, but her eye-contact lingers just long enough to be noticed. David doesn’t say anything, but he files it away in the back of his mind.
Pilar’s too busy yelling at the screen to notice the moment.
Rebecca tosses a piece of candy at David’s chest.
“Catch up, choom. We’re ten explosions behind.”
David catches it, tosses it in his mouth without thinking. He’s still watching her, just out the corner of his eye. She sees it, smirks. That subtle curl of her lip—quick, almost shy. But it’s there.
And suddenly, the air feels different. Not heavy—just charged. A flicker of something new simmering beneath the surface.
Maybe he’s been too focused on looking in one direction for too long.
Then—
“BRO! BRO! HE JUST USED A CORPSE AS A SHIELD AND A BATTERING RAM!”
Pilar’s renewed scream shatters the silence.
Rebecca throws her head back with a groan.
“This city’s doomed if this is what passes for storytelling! Twenty minutes! Set up for nothing!” she yells at the screen.
David chuckles, voice low. “Could be worse.”
She glances at him—this time, a beat too long.
“Yeah… guess it could.”
On screen: another explosion.
On the couch: stillness.
Not awkward. Not loud.
Just… something.
Not quite spoken, not quite understood.
But definitely there.
Simmering.
Waiting.
The movie's over.
Pilar’s passed out on the couch, snoring like a man trying to inhale the moon through his nostrils. Rebecca and David slip outside, the warm glow of the apartment fading behind them. The air is heavy with heat, trash, and just enough burnt wiring to remind you where you are.
They stand in front of the siblings’ apartment building, watching Night City do what it does best: burn the midnight oil and a few extra brain cells. Locals smoke, drink, tweak, puke. The city lives. The city breathes. The city bleeds.
“What kinda shitshow was that movie?” Rebecca blurts, arms flailing like she’s still fighting off the third act.
David lets out a soft chuckle but doesn’t answer. A beat of silence falls between them.
She glances sideways. He’s staring up at the sky, lost in whatever stars manage to survive the city's haze. Something about him feels distant.
“You good?” she asks, softer this time.
David turns his gaze to her, catching her off guard with the weight of it.
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” he replies, eyes narrowing with something more than just concern. Genuine care.
Rebecca tries to brush it off, looking away like the skyline just got interesting. “You almost lost your brother,” David finishes.
She looks back at him, smirking—but her eyes flicker. “Nah... it’s my job and his destiny to be killed by me,” she jokes, waving him off with a dramatic hand. “Nothing to worry about at all!”
She grins, wide and manic, like always. But David sees it. The crack. The momentary flicker behind her eyes that betrays something she won’t say out loud.
This city doesn’t make strong people. It makes survivors. Rebecca is both, crazy and vicious enough to make it work. But underneath all that chaos, all that fire, is someone just trying to hold it together for the people she gives a damn about.
She wouldn’t have invited him over if she didn’t care. Wouldn’t have looked out for him if she didn’t want someone looking out for her, too.
David steps closer and gently slings an arm around her shoulder. She stiffens—not much, just enough for him to notice. For a split second, he swears her cheeks go pink.
“You know we… I got your back, right?” he says, offering a quiet, reassuring smile.
Rebecca looks away, lips twitching at the corners. “Aren’t you a smooth talker?” she mutters, voice barely above a whisper. But then her tone shifts—back to that familiar teasing fire. “You’ve gotten real touchy, haven’t ya? Davey boy?”
David flushes, caught off guard. He fumbles a step back, scratching at the back of his neck. “I, uh—”
He looks up again—and freezes.
Rebecca’s giggling, eyes gleaming, a mischievous glint dancing in her gaze. But it’s not just that. There’s something softer there. Something real. And she looks… cute. Not loud. Not feral. Just her.
Was she always like this?
He shakes his head, trying to clear it. But it’s no use. The thought’s already there.
And it’s not leaving anytime soon.
Story end