#atpt

Fast forward three hundred years (or ten, it all doesn’t make sense. only, it does and he doesn’t want it to), and he’s still just as terrible. Or maybe everyone else is terrible. The only person he had managed to half-understand and get along has been Echo. Sure, she wanted him to do things in return for her help, but it was mutual. Everyone else had only asked asked asked because the world had gone to hell while he was stuck in the Library, but she actually helped him back.

There were countless night spent in her shop, with the light of candles and rare crystals hovering about while they scribbled onto parchments and assembled components and created potions of questionable quality. Alchemy might not have been his forte or his favorite, but with her, it was manageable. As stupid as it is to admit, he probably wouldn’t have come up with half his designs if not for her helpful comments and feedback.

He would chalk her up to be his first friend.

Then, reluctantly, the El gang. As much as he’d only cared about Eve’s codes, he’d come to know and like the others as well. They tolerated and even understood his inability to do the ‘correct’ thing in some situations. He’d started learning, on their stupid, long journey.

And then came Esper, the damned time traveler, and he turned the world on its head, chucking timelines together all willy-nilly.

And he met himself.

Well, not that Esper wasn’t him — which is still unbelievable — but seeing himself, not from the future but from present, albeit different present… was—is very uncanny.

He’d never thought he could befriend himself, but lo and behold, Psych’s eccentricity was familiar and he was easy to understand and get along with. Almost like looking in a mirror, but not really. Arc would never ever be caught jogging at five in the morning, but similarly, Psych wouldn’t be caught dead using drones to do his work for him.

Long nights at Echo’s place slowly turned into long nights at their shared lab in Velder, —Vanessa’s courtesy— working in silence alongside each other. (Well, usually.) That’s not to say there weren’t nights (and days) at Echo’s place, helping her measure the perfect brews or hauling materials for her, though Arc usually left that to the bots or Psych.

He’s not entirely sure when the line started blurring between him and Psych, but his presence at Arc’s side became a constant. A warm, comfortable constant that he could fall back on.

Somewhere along the line, Psych stopped being his friend. You don’t look at your friends shirtless, or sleep next to them, or calm them down when they wake up from a night terror. You definitely don’t want to kiss your friends.

Maybe you do. Friendship is foreign to him even still; if it’s friendship when Aisha and Elsword argue and it’s also friendship when Rena hugs Raven when he feels bad, then what really is friendship?

He wants to talk to Psych about it, ask him if it’s just as confusing to him, but his pride holds him back. It’s been so long, he should’ve learned and understood already, right? What if Psych laughs at him for it? Or worse yet, what if Psych finds it weird, repulsive?

He can’t imagine no longer having Psych by his side, or losing the banter between them. It’s something that has grown on him, and that he doesn’t want to lose.

On the other hand, he really wants to get it off his chest, it’d been stifling him for some time and it feels like he’s betraying Psych somehow with each glance and thought. Plus, Psych is him, he should understand, right?

Arc takes a deep breath and steels himself. He pushes the lab door open, not bothering with knocking. Plus his hands are full, so tough luck anyhow.

Psych perks up and turns to look at him, beaming up when he notices the coffees in Arc’s hands. He leaves his half-finished bracelet be and takes one of the mugs, taking a sip. It’s just how he likes it best, with half a spoon less sugar but a little more milk.

Arc sits down in his chair, twisting it back and forth with the tip of his foot. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Psych makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat and then puts his mug down. “What is it?”

“I just wanted to tell you that I like you, Psych.” Surprisingly, it comes out almost naturally. Arc’s heart beats hard and fast, loud in his own ears, but his voice didn’t waver and he didn’t stutter or anything.

Psych’s confused look melts into a smile again, a wide and mirthful smile full of his sharp teeth. “I like you too, Arc!”

It’s only now that Arc’s throat goes dry and voice refuses to come out. “No, I… I mean in a ‘I want to kiss you’ way.”

“Me too!” Psych replies readily, all too happy. “Well, I mean… I want to kiss you, too. I don’t want to kiss myself.”

Psych stares at Arc in silence. Arc stares back.

And just like that, they both erupt in laughter. Arc holds onto his stomach, lungs burning from how hard he laughs. Psych’s in tears, uncontrollably wheezing after a moment.

“I am you, you idiot!” Arc forces out between breaths.

“I know!”

“What the fuck!”

“I panicked! I wanna kiss you, not me, but like, you’re me, but not me, and I wanna kiss you.”

Without thinking, Arc stands up and leans forward, cradling Psych’s marked cheek with one hand. He presses his lips against Psych’s; they’re soft and pliable against his. Psych tenses at the unexpected touch, but it doesn’t take him long to relax and press back, reaching out to grab Arc by the jacket to pull him just a little further without toppling him over.

It doesn’t last long, but Arc’s lips are tingling faintly even after he pulls away.

“That was… nice,” Psych says, reluctantly letting go of the other.

Arc nods. His cheeks feel hot, no doubt as red as a tomato. Psych isn’t much better off, with a blush reaching all the way up to his ears. It’s quite noticeable in the sea of his pale hair.

“Maybe we could do that again sometime.”

“Yeah.”

They lapse into silence and drink their respective coffees, but it doesn’t feel strained. Arc’s heart's still pounding, but he feels lighter now. He hadn’t even contemplated Psych feeling the same, but he feels happy.