Chapter Text
“Welcome to–” he cut himself off, “Have I seen you before?”
Boreas regarded the NightWing before him with hints of suspicion. His scales were a deep abyssal blue, much like the eyes that were currently narrowed at him. Spines ran along the NightWing’s back up to his hefty tail, which Boreas noted looked quite a bit bulkier than an average dragon from his tribe. He, on the other talon, had cerulean scales much paler than a SeaWing, but not as bright as most of the IceWings he’d met. It’s one of his only features that betrayed his hybridity, along with the lack of a spiked tail end that other members of his tribe would use like a mace.
The most peculiar thing about the NightWing standing across the counter, though, was the simultaneous incredulous expression strewn across his face, as his teal-coloured eyes, too, gawked at him with a partial recognition. Boreas could just barely spot the nervous shuffling of talons happening from behind the counter. For moments too long, their mouths were still as the air that stood between them, and all Boreas could hear were the light conversations amongst the already present patrons.
“Sorry, I must’ve been mistaken,” Boreas said. “What do you want? You can look at our selection here.” He gestured a talon to the countertop which was occupied by a piece of parchment adorned with clawwriting bearing a scribely elegance.
The NightWing looked at the menu, his eyes darting end to end in quick successions. “I’d like the Dragon Horn Croissant and the cold brew,” he said with a slightly hastened tone, his claws pointing to the respective listings on the menu.
“Ooh…” Boreas beamed. “Our specialties! You’re sure to like it.” The NightWing smiled upon the enthusiastic reply. “May I have your name, please?”
“Umm… Storm.”
“Storm…” The name repeated in his head numerous times, and his face returned to the mask of suspicion before he managed to push it back. Must be a nickname of some sort. He dipped his claws in the nearby inkwell and wrote the odd name on a cup, proceeding to wash the ink off afterwards. “That’d be eleven scales.”
Storm reached into a pouch strapped around his lower neck and took out the required cash, handing it to Boreas with a reached out talon. “Thank you for the patronage!” Boreas said, gaining another wry smile and a curt nod from Storm. Boreas couldn’t help but be lightly flustered by the anxious demeanour of the reserved NightWing whom he’d apparently met before.
Storm turned back and proceeded to an empty table.
For the rest of the time he was there, Boreas would steal glances in his direction. He rummaged through his mind for any memories of being acquainted with a NightWing. He knew his dragonethood memories in the Kingdom of Ice were patchy at best, but any NightWing there would arrive with an icicle wrenched through their thorax. The last time he had an encounter with NightWings was at Jade Mountain, and Boreas decided against recalling all that just for a random customer.
He noticed pale pink streaks along his neck, promptly forcing them back to their original colour upon the startling realisation. When did that happen? His eyes darted around to the customers. Seeing that they were all engrossed with food and mundane chatter, he allowed himself to relax. And when he noticed Storm finished and went for the exit, they met eyes briefly before Storm stepped out the doorway.
Boreas didn’t know why he’d been so elated to see him return every time. This was his fifth visit to the café: five visits where Boreas had to remind himself that the NightWing lingering in his mind was so he could figure out the mysterious half-recognition, nothing else! This time, he arrived in the morning of a work day, his tail lashing unsteadily behind him as he approached.
“What do you fancy today?” asked Boreas. It was basically a mindless procedure of courtesy he’d do to every patron at this point, having worked at this establishment in Possibility for two months now.
Storm’s eyes skimmed the menu. “I’d like a latte,” he said, sounding more confident than he’d ever been previously.
“Is that it?” Boreas confirmed, to which Storm gave an approving nod, and his talon reached out for an empty cup. “Storm, I assume?”
“That’s me!” He tried to sound casual, but his voice wavered a little in the delivery.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Boreas started, “is that your actual name?”
“I-…” a short pause elapsed before he continued, “My name’s Stormcaller in full, you can call me Storm though.”
Ah, that’s a more usual NightWing name. It was still somewhat weird to Boreas, though he knew the names the tribe gave at the volcano were perhaps more… expressive than they should’ve been. “Quite the fine name,” he said, “mine’s Boreas, by the way.”
Storm gave the smile again: the one that set off weird emotions in his mind. He steeled himself to make sure his scales didn’t show through and remained a bright azure, then started writing Storm’s name onto the cup.
“Boreas…” the name seemed to toil in Storm’s muzzle for a bit. “Nice name as well. I haven’t seen many IceWings but… I think your scales look nice, they’re quite… brilliant.”
Three moons, nothing could possibly describe how much he must’ve been blushing, maybe he could even pass the colour shifting scales off as undesired blood flow. He almost did an instinctive duck down but resisted it at the last moment. Instead, he looked down and prodded at his neck scales: they fortunately still retained their hue.
“Oh! Sorry if that was inappropriate or–”
“No,” Boreas quickly interrupted, “that’s actually quite nice of you, thank you.”
Storm let out a pensive hum. “You’re… welcome?” he said shyly, Boreas chuckling in response. “I have a question too, I guess…” Boreas’ ears perked, he already had an inkling of what Storm was going to ask.
Talons shuffled underclaw as Storm adjusted his posture and leaned in, his wings twitching gently. “You felt it too, right?” he questioned hushedly, even the words themselves were timid, Boreas struggling to catch what he’d uttered. “When we first met, something felt familiar about you.”
Boreas mirrored his quiet tone. “Me too… might you know why?”
Storm’s mouth waned into a frown as scales on his snout creased, which made Boreas feel an immense guilt from even asking. “I still can’t put a claw on it.”
“Nevermind then.” Boreas bordered on sounding dismissive, betraying a disappointment he didn’t want to show Storm. “Your order’ll be six scales. I’ll go make it, should be a quick and simple one.”
It was a late evening in Possibility, the sun arcked down and shone its light through the windows, setting the interior alight with a pleasant, warm glow. And though Boreas’ scales, illuminated by the dusky sunlight, were kept at their usual tones, they still shimmered with a resplendent shine. Soon, the golden blaze in the sky would give way to twilight, and the almost two full moons would be clearly visible within the cosmos above. Tomorrow, twin moons would make themselves whole in the night sky, and Pyrrhia would erupt with celebrations in tandem.
The café was vacant of patrons at the moment: it was near its closing anyway, and it’ll remain closed for the whole of the next day. Boreas wondered what he should do then, maybe rest, maybe have fun, maybe…
His eyes lit up the moment he entered: the familiar form of a NightWing appeared at the doorway, and his tail started wagging involuntarily upon his entrance. Every time he’d visited, Boreas would chat him up about the banal goings-on in Possibility, such as brawls breaking out in taverns or work accidents killing three– Oh, maybe that probably doesn’t count as banal, but they’d enjoyed talking about it anyway.
“Hi Storm,” he started, “You decided to arrive quite late today.”
Storm’s legs quaked lightly as his eyes gleamed with fussed excitement; his wings were retracted and his tail lashed rhythmically with his paces. When he finally reached the counter, he strained his neck to lean in as though to tell a secret. “Hey Boreas, I wanted to…” The proceeding words seemed to perish on his tongue, a protracted ‘umm’ was muttered followed by stuttered mumbling: “to-… I…”
Boreas smiled and reached out a talon and rested it on the counter. “Take your time, no one’s here to bother.” To his surprise, he felt his gesture reciprocated as his talon was gripped tightly. He could feel Storm’s warmth contrasting with his frigidity, and it made his heart pound with vigour.
As lanternlight flickered throughout the café, Boreas noticed that under Storm’s retracted wing were constellations of stars scattered throughout: a feature characteristic of NightWings Boreas thought was most interesting about them. He’d never seen it on Storm before as he’d always pull them back tight to only show the anterior side, but this time he got a peek from him leaning in so closely. Storm, though, had certain spots under his wing devoid of stars: the empty abyss took the place instead.
“Are you seriously gawking at me?” asked Storm incredulously.
“Oh!” Boreas exclaimed. “Was it that obvious?”
A few chuckles left his mouth. “Should’ve seen how stupid you looked.” He smiled in a way that made Boreas’ heart flutter.
“Was there anything you needed?” Boreas asked wryly.
“I just wanted to ask–” he said slowly, and Boreas could’ve sworn he saw tears well in his eyes, “–if we could spend some time together later? Like at the nearby lake or something?”
Boreas stifled the undignified grunt building in his throat, squeaking a high pitched “YES” instead. His bashful face flicked to the side as he tried to smother an intense blush. “I would like to,” he blurted, turning back to the NightWing who now wore the most joyful expression he’d seen on him.
The response only seemed to elicit giggling from Storm. “Ha! I expected nothing less!” he quipped, his sarcastic tone punctuated with a genuinity Boreas had rarely ever seen. “I have a little extra something to do. See you there at twilight,” he said, allowing his legs to whisk himself away into the streets outside.