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For what it’s worth, they meet before they know.
Before viruses and video game monsters and the end of the world and death and war and—
They’re shopping at the same tech store, and bump into each other. Nico says she games for a living, and Misora, who looks like she’s 12, says Nico looks like she’s 10.
And Nico, in her own awareness, knows she is insecure. One loss, when she was in fact very young. One mistake, which makes her feel…
They end up arguing. They end up at the arcade, then getting drinks, and Nico trounces her in everything but dancing.
“Hey,” Nico says. “So who the hell are you, anyways?”
“I could ask you that myself,” Misora says, pouting. “Also, you still look ten.”
“You wanna go again?”
“Yes, actually,” Misora says, and she bounces over, and she slips Nico’s phone out of her pocket. “Here’s my number.”
It’s by chance that Nico finds her online. Nico doesn’t stream much, but it makes some side money. And then there’s some annoying girl in her chat.
…and then the speech patterns hit her.
They go out. It’s not a full thing. Misora is bright and snappy and free. Nico is crude and driven.
Nico comes by the cafe Misora’s dad runs, sometimes. They’re so close, and so comfortable. Comfortable, she supposes, is the core of their dynamic. Their joy. Nico has a need. For ambition, first, then…
Well, then it becomes more… medical pursuits.
“It still sounds stupid,” Misora says, her soda a layered thing in blue and red. She stirs it, and it darkens purple and crude.
“Oh it absolutely does,” Nico says. “It’s less stupid when you see people dying, though.”
“I bet it does,” Misora says, she looks into the milky lavender depths. “I don’t really want all that. But you do make all that money from being a gamer.”
“Not anymore,” Nico says.
“Rude,” Misora says. “If this means you want me to pay.”
“Could you, dearest?”
Misora shows up at the door with a look in her eyes like Taiga and a blank face Nico has never seen before.
“We need to talk,” she says. “Did the two world thing still happen here?”
“…What,” Nico says.
Misora runs into her arms, and Nico holds her.
“Seriously, Misora,” Nico says. “The fuck is going on?”
“Something bad,” Misora says. “Maybe. I don’t know. We lost. We won. We can handle it. I need to tell you.”
…two world thing…
“You know Build?”
Misora scoffs, grips tighter, looks up at her.
“I made Build,” she says. “And it hurt.”
It’s the most baffling explanation of her life. Misora - not her Misora, the one from this world, the one she fell for, is overwritten by a girl who saw the end of the world but not her elementary school graduation - explains a whole other life, a whole other world. Civil War. Manipulation.
“So, like, if you don’t want me, I get it,” Misora says.
“Do you still remember me?” Nico asks.
“Of course I do,” Misora says. “I remember both. I have my dad back. I have my friends back. It’s not as bad as it could be.”
“But it is different,” Nico says. “Yeah, things got weird… after it all ended. Must be harder for you.”
“I understand why you spent all your money on video games, now,” Misora points out.
“Stocks,” Nico counters. “Video game stocks.”
“Yeah, that,” Misora says. “Are we still dating?”
“I don’t see why not,” Nico says. “Just don’t get busy on me the same way.”
“I can do that,” Misora responds. “…well, hopefully.”
Nico rolls her eyes.