Chapter Text
There’s no way. There’s absolutely no way. She expected him to bail, in all honesty. That call, the soft rasp into her ear that promised things that shouldn’t be promised. He…wanted to visit. And that shouldn’t be something to be so dramatic about. This was just a guy. Some random, faceless guy that she met in some weird random chatroom. But it all felt…like a fever dream, almost.
Her mama always told her to not trust strangers from the internet. Hell, doing the things she did she knew damn well not to. It was pretty much hacker 101…or well, just common sense.
But—okay—he wasn’t just some stranger. Not really. There was something about him, something she couldn’t explain, even through glitchy calls and half-lit rooms. Some annoying little spark, like they had chemistry no sane person should have with someone they’d never met in person. Someone who could steal your whole life with a single click, no less.
He listened to her—actually listened. He remembered the tiny things no one else bothered to: her snakes birthday, (April second, by the way. April second--seriously, it's not hard), the deranged 2 a.m. rants about how stupidly ass Terminator Genisys was…the dream where she got chased by Arnold Schwarzenegger himself.
People like that—they weren’t found just anywhere.
Or maybe her standards were just remarkably low.
…He didn’t seem un-trustworthy, okay? And that’s what mattered, right? So maybe he wore a mask every time they called, and maybe sometimes she wondered if he used a voice modifier because there’s no way his voice was actually that deep…right? And he wasn’t really that open about his past…or his present…or his future—
Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe she should’ve had a friend tag along, just to make sure she wasn’t kidnapped and thrown into some underground pinky-finger-stealing hacker ring.
Or maybe. Maybe— he was ugly. But that couldn’t be the worst thing…
Maybe…
Yeah, it was fifteen minutes past, she was totally getting stood up.
Bottom lip between her teeth and fingers hovered over the keyboard—she wondered to herself if the sin of triple texting would be enough to send him straight back to wherever he came from.
Then, there’s a flutter of fingertips over her shoulder—warm, deliberate, slow— sending a lightening bolt of heat straight through her chest. Her phone slips from her hand before the rest of her brain can catch up, and with a gasp she watches it skate across the dirty airport floor.
“Shit!” She lunges after it without even looking up, stomach plummeting every time a shoe comes within an inch of shattering the screen for the third time this month. She weaves around the busy crowd and dodges trailing suitcases, blurting apologies and curses in equal measure.
It’s like some cruel airport version of soccer, and she’s the poor goalie trying to keep the ball—her entire digital life—from getting kicked straight into oblivion.
It skips once, twice, thrice—
“Gotcha!” she grinned, fingertips grazing sweet victory—
Only for the phone to vanish from right beneath her hand.
“...huh?”
The young woman looks up.
Green eyes stare down at her, strikingly light, soft in a way that feels unfair. Warm—warm enough that for half a second she swears she can feel June sunlight on her skin. Which is impossible, ‘cause the midwest was currently trying to kill her with a snowy winter.
“Holy shit,” she muttered, before she could shut herself up.
“You’re hot as fu— fuck! my phone!” she snaps, picking up her jaw fast enough to spot it pinched between his fingertips. It was cracked...some more, but that's not important. The smile on the strangers lips is much too smug for someone who just committed emotional theft. He waves the phone around like a prize, like he just won the FIFA world cup.
She gawks, completely caught off guard by the utter audacity. But at least he wasn't running off with it. And who would, really? You could hardly see past the splintered shards of glass.
“...Well, better broken than destroyed,” she sighed. “You really saved me there,” even though technically she almost had it. But that didn’t matter, and she wasn’t really one to be an ass for no reason. Dusting herself off and rising from the ground, she smiles, reaches out—
And watches her phone drift up, out of reach.
Her fingers close around air.
Her gaze slides slowly upward. First to the phone, then to his face.
...Was he deadass?
Unfortunately, the answer pointed to yes- given the way his face didn't betray much more than an easy smile, yet his eyes crinkled around the edges. Because yes, that screamed totally normal stranger with totally normal intentions. As if he wasn’t currently holding her thousand-dollar phone captive.
There’s a long, painful second where she tries to decide if this was a poorly executed and harmless joke... or if she needed to beat this guy's ass into yesterday. Her smile twitches. Badly.
She reaches for it again. It moves again.
Tries once more, because she’s a good sport, an amazingly patient woman—some may even call her a saint.
Nothing.
She swears she hears him snort.
Annnd that's it, patience gone, evaporated—dust. She’s already reaching back for her pepper spray to smoke his sorry ass, in a public server no less—
“Look, I dunno if this is your idea of a cute little pick-up, but I don’t have time for—”
“For what?” The blonde murmurs, calm as a frozen lake. As if he’s not inches from getting his shit rocked.
But…that voice.
It disarms her, stops her cold right where she stands. Her lips part. Her brows soften. Her breath evaporates, gone with the wind.
His accent.
That smooth, low rumble that had lulled her through countless sleepless nights. A voice she felt in her stomach first, then her fingertips, then her toes.
“...you waiting on someone, Thrim?”
No way.
The whole world goes silent and he’s all she can see…
Or some cheesy shit like that—that’s how she’d tell the story if she were to recall it back anyway. Something romantic. Something heart-warming.
In all actuality, airports aren’t the best place for mystery first encounters and cute novel-esque moments. It was loud as hell. Her ears were ringing for one, maybe enough to drown out the squeaky passing of suitcase wheels and boarding calls and the roaring scream of a single mother who was tryna corral her children into something almost single file before they missed their flight.
It’s all just details.
He’s right in front of her.
And he’s…fuck, he’s tall. Way taller than she expected. Taller than his camera let on, but he was always sitting in that busted computer chair so she supposed that didn’t say much of anything. And he was broader, too— like ‘I lift inconveniently large things for fun’ broad. So much for the sleeper build she imagined. He only wore a hoodie, and his lack of preparation would’ve got a snort out of her, but she was much too focused on the color of it. All black, a few green highlights like crackling electricity. So much like the mask he wore over call.
Except now there’s no mask. Only him.
He’s staring with this quiet amusement, head tilted slightly, blonde hair shifting and falling forward to frame those stupidly green eyes—as if every single strand were a paid actor. His lip twitches, like he’s holding back a laugh. Or a smirk. Or both. Definitely both.
“‘Scuse the dramatic entrance…” he says, accent curling around the words like honey, like he was wrapping them in velvet. “But you were chasin’ that thing like it’d grown legs and run off.”
She blinks. Once. Twice. Her brain blue screens.
“...you’re real,” she finally blurts.
He raises a brow, and she’s so used to the emotes from his fox mask that it almost sends her into another spiral. “Definitely not A.I., if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”
“No—I mean, what? How would you be—” she shakes her head when he flashes her a teasing grin. Asshole.
“Obviously you’re real, just—” she gestures vaguely at his face, his height, the hand still holding her phone hostage. She must look entirely insane. “You’re you. Like, you’re actually you.”
Gee, what a clear explanation. She deserved an award for her flawless eloquence.
The man only shrugs. “Disappointin’, isn’t it?” And he leans down slightly, as if to get a real gauge of her expression. She takes half a step back, only because her heart does this weird stutter-step.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t have to.”
She knows he's only teasing, but she hates the warmth creeping up her neck…Hates even more that he notices, ‘cause of course he does, he always does— and then his smile softens—just barely, but enough that the smug edges melt into something…gentler.
And then it’s like her brain is trying to rearrange the pieces. Time rewinds, back to when he wore that silly fox mask and their only communication was through that server, and she’s reimaging every moment with that look in his eyes, that face. When his voice got all sleep filled and raspy…were his eyes soft like this then, too?
“You’re taller than on camera,” she says, as if she caught him in some crazy catfishing scheme. “And less pixelated.”
“Cameras don’t tell the whole truth, now do they love?”
Her heart squeezes and it’s a miracle she doesn't let out a sound. She was strong. The strongest soldier in all the midwest. This man was definitely European—as if it weren’t clear enough, but it seemed to click right then the moment she heard that word slip past his lips.
She’d have to get used to it. (She wouldn’t)
“Do they lie about personalities too?” She has to hold her ground. The squint of her eyes really cements this fact.
But he only huffs a laugh— a small one, barely more than a breath— but it sends a warm ripple down her spine anyway.
Then he does something she’s not prepared for:
He steps closer.
Internally, she screams.
And he’s not close enough to crowd her. Just enough that she can smell him—something warm and cedar like…and fresh, like clean linen. There's a sharp scent too that she can’t describe— something expensive, but subtle. Something that definitely didn’t exist over chat.
“Figured it’d be rude not to say hello all proper-like.” he murmurs. When he looks down at her like that, it’s sorta hard to breathe. Her pulse runs for the hills, she doesn’t even try to catch it.
“So the phone hostage situation was your idea of proper?” she asks.
“Oh, absolutely not.”
He flips the phone in his hand, gaze drifting over her face with something unreadable. Her fingertips twitch at her sides, as if her fight or flight was choosing fight for whatever reason.
“This…” he offers it out, for real this time. “Was jus’ me makin’ sure you looked up.”
Her throat tightens. Not in fear, no. Something else entirely…Something stupid.
She takes the phone. Their fingers brush.
It’s the smallest touch, nothing, really— but she feels it. She feels him. He’s here.
He notices the shift in her expression…and his own flickers. And there’s something like surprise there…or maybe relief, before he hides it under a half smile.
“Right,” he says. “Reckon that’s introductions sorted.”
She stares at him. At the real him. No mask, no blur of pixels and questionable rooms, no maybe-modified-maybe-not voice—which she now realized wasn’t modified at all— and honestly? It’s jarring. In a good way.
This was the same guy she argued about esoteric languages with. The same guy who absolutely refused to accept that ‘hasta la vista, baby!’ translating into the rm command was hilarious.
This was the stranger who somehow never felt like a stranger.
“Introduction?” she scoffs, crossing her arms.
“Is that what you’re calling this? I don’t even know your name Odxny.”
He gives a low hum, tapping his thumb against his pocket with his eyes on the ceiling as if he were actually considering this.
“Well,” he starts, “You never asked—”
“Only ‘cause you’re always so wrapped up in privacy and internet safety.” She throws up the air quotes so aggressively she almost pokes herself. “‘You shouldn’t give random people your number, Thrim.’ ‘I could’ve been a real bad guy, Thrim.’”
He definitely didn’t seem like a bad guy. Which, if she were being honest, felt like a win for her.
Odxny sighs and drags a hand down his face, much to her amusement. “All Excellent points” he says, voice dipped in equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Real smart guy, whoever told you that.”
And despite her best effort to stay unimpressed, a laugh cracks out of her—sharp, startled, embarrassingly genuine. It slips past every wall she’s been trying to build since the moment she recognized him in the crowd.
…She was screwed, wasn’t she?