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“So essentially,” Nightbeat said, “the world is ending.”
Rung sighed and removed his glasses to clean them -- pointless considering their cracked lenses, but Rung found the motion comforting nonetheless.
He and Nightbeat had been walking underground for what felt like hours now. Nightbeat babbled when he was nervous, distracting himself from his own inconvenient emotions by focusing on logic puzzles. That was what all of this was about, really -- ostensibly they were trying to solve the mystery of this planet in hopes that it would help them all survive, but really it was just a big distraction to help Nightbeat avoid facing his feelings.
Nightbeat had finally run out of things to say. For the past few minutes, they’d been walking silently through the dark. Rung had been enjoying the peace and quiet. He already missed it.
“The world isn’t ending, Nightbeat,” Rung said. “You’re catastrophizing. Even if we all die, the rest of the world will continue on regardless.” He tried to keep the exasperation from his voice. It wasn’t easy. For once, Rung wanted the luxury of focusing only on his own feelings.
“Trust me, Rung.” Nightbeat glanced back over his shoulder. His smile had a slightly manic edge. “I’ve been dead before. I know what it’s like. Technically speaking? Sure, the world goes on. But for us? It may as well be over.”
Rung made a small, noncommittal noise. He put his glasses back on. They were slightly cleaner but still difficult to see through, the lenses a hopeless spiderweb of fractures.
“I thought it might be easier the second time,” Nightbeat said. “Dying, I mean. The first time, I didn’t see it coming. Bang, right to the head. Didn’t know what hit me, and then everything was gone.”
Rung remembered that experience himself, not so long ago, and shuddered.
Nightbeat still faced ahead, forging his way into the dark. He kept talking, oblivious.
“This time’s different. I’m getting to think about it first. That should be good, right? It should be interesting . An intellectual exercise. What’s the point in dying if you don’t get to plumb the depths of the experience for all it’s worth?
“But I’m not doing that, Rung. I should be, but I’m not. When I got this second chance, I told myself I’d do everything I'd regretted not doing after the first time. I made a list. I solved the mystery of the Necrobot. One big check off the list. And, I--” He glanced back again over his shoulder. His smile was too broad, his optics a little too bright. “I have an amica now. I never thought that’d happen. And you’ve got one too. You've never had one either. Right?”
Nightbeat was wrong, much to the misfortune of Rung’s medical license. “Nightbeat…”
Nightbeat laughed, almost giddy. “Yeah, I figured. We’ve got a lot in common, you know.” His voice cracked as he spoke. Rung felt a sudden painful pang of empathy; Nightbeat was desperately scared. “Is there anything you’ll regret, Rung? Since the world is ending and all that?”
“Nightbeat…” Rung said again. He could hear the weariness in his own voice. He slowed and then stopped. Nightbeat noticed. He paused and turned, waiting for Rung to speak, the smile on his face faltering.
Rung sighed. “Look,” he said. “You’re not good at dancing around sensitive subjects, and as much as I appreciate the effort, you should probably do us both a favor and just come out with it.”
Rung felt guilty for speaking so bluntly, but Nightbeat didn’t seem to mind; he exhaled, shoulders going lax, and the smile on his face shifted to something less brittle. He wouldn’t meet Rung’s eyes.
“Have you ever kissed anyone?” Nightbeat asked.
Rung bit back the urge to laugh. He was on edge -- the whole war had been one long slow anxious threat, but Rung wasn’t used to being on the front lines and had no tolerance for it. He was brittle too, right now, just better at managing it than Nightbeat. No. Better at hiding it.
“I have,” Rung said, keeping his face and voice carefully neutral. “Is that what this is about, Nightbeat? You want to kiss someone before the world ends?”
It hurt. Rung kept the hurt out of his voice, and he hoped he was keeping it out of his expression. But Nightbeat only wanted this -- only wanted him -- out of desperation. Rung was here, and he was convenient. That was all. It dug into all his most sensitive insecurities and doubts, centuries of old wounds.
Nightbeat stayed silent. When Rung looked up, Nightbeat was inspecting him, sharp observant optics analyzing the details of his expression.
“You aren’t interested,” Nightbeat said. His voice had gone back to its earlier flippant, flat tone; his detective voice from back before the war. Dealing with his emotions by not dealing with them. Again.
“It’s just not terribly flattering,” Rung snapped. “To be wanted simply because I’m the only one here. I--”
Rung caught himself and went abruptly silent. Like Nightbeat had said, it was the end of the world, or close enough to it that the details didn’t matter. Rung should have been gentler.
But when Rung glanced up, Nightbeat was smiling at him.
“You have this all backwards,” Nightbeat said. “Your conclusion is completely wrong. It’s not because you’re the only one here. I’m not…” He grimaced, gestured for something in the air like he was reaching for the right words. “I’m rarely interested in other mechs. That way, I mean.” He glanced away, fidgeting. “You’re my type. A mech who’s also a mystery. And you’re...” Nightbeat made a strangled noise. “ Kind. ”
Rung stared blankly at him for a long moment, processor still catching up to Nightbeat’s words. Nightbeat turned his body to face the wall, an overt and awkward attempt to temporarily disengage.
“A mystery. You mean my alt?”
“Yeah,” Nightbeat said, still turned to one side. “Look, I know it’s weird. I’m weird.” His expression, barely visible in the dark with his face turned half-away, was a pained wince. “Don’t think I don’t know it. There’s a reason why I’ve never… yeah.”
Rung didn’t speak, still quietly trying to make sense of things. It almost sounded like… Rung had trouble even imagining it, but he had to ask. “Nightbeat, is this why you brought me with you down here? Me , specifically? Because you like me?”
Nightbeat muttered something -- a vague, ashamed affirmative.
Rung exhaled. It had been a long time -- a very long time -- since anyone had shown interest in him this way. Or in much of any way. He’d forgotten how good it felt to be wanted, to be the focus of someone else’s desire. He took a moment to take stock. Did he really want this? Was it a good idea?
Why not? It was the end of the world.
Rung took a step forward. Nightbeat froze. Rung reached a hand up to touch the side of his face. If anything, Nightbeat went even more still.
“Do you still want to do this?” Rung gently asked.
Nightbeat managed a nearly-imperceptible nod. His optics were wide and bright, incredibly intense.
Rung took his glasses off. Nightbeat’s optics traced the movement of his hand, but otherwise he stayed perfectly still. Something about his response was incredibly endearing. His awkwardness, maybe, or his sincerity. Either way, it warmed Rung’s spark.
“You’ll have to bend down, then,” Rung said. “Otherwise I can't reach.”
Nightbeat’s brows shot up, and his electromagnetic field went jagged against Rung’s. He bent lower. Not quite far enough for Rung to reach him. Rung rested his forearm on Nightbeat’s chest and stood on his toes to bridge the gap.
Rung kissed him, once, simple and patiently. Nighbeat froze as soon as they touched, then jerked away, standing abruptly out of reach.
Rung stood still and watched him. Nightbeat looked startled, optics wide and mouth half-open. He met Rung’s optics. After a long moment he leaned slowly in again.
Rung guided him down with one hand against his cheek, trying not to smile. He kissed him again. Nightbeat didn’t close his eyes, and didn’t kiss back. He left his hands at either sides, fumbling, unsure where to put them. Rung didn’t pay that much mind -- he was focused on the kiss.
Nightbeat was inexperienced but charmingly unselfconscious. Eager to learn. Rung kissed him, tender, lips parted. Nightbeat clumsily followed his lead. At first, Rung kept things chaste. Even that was enough to get Nightbeat’s temperature up and his engine humming. His focus was intense, drawn so taut that Rung could feel the hum of it when they touched, could sense it in the roughness of his electromagnetic interference.
It felt good; all that laser focus pointed directly at him. It felt good to be seen, to be desired . Rung tried to keep things slow, for Nightbeat’s sake, but he didn’t want to. His kisses grew increasingly urgent. His lips parted.
Nightbeat continued to follow his lead. Awkwardly -- like Rung, Nightbeat had always been better at thought than action -- but with an eager sincerity that was incredibly appealing. Rung moaned encouragement. Nightbeat made a choking noise and faltered, then pulled away again, clearly overwhelmed.
Nightbeat’s optics gleamed in the dark. He touched his own lips with his fingertips. Then he laughed, giddy and relieved.
“I-- Wow. That was…” Nightbeat’s smile was broad and lopsided. “That was a lot. I’ll need some time. To think. About that.”
“Take all the time you need,” Rung said, smiling back at him. Not that they had much time left, either of them. This was the end of the world, and death waited on the surface, impatient and inevitable.
Nightbeat smiled even broader, seeming grateful for Rung’s patience. He turned away, glancing backwards one more time before heading steadfastly onward into the dark.