This had me in a chokehold all night so I wrote this:
The backroom hummed its familiar lullaby around the Drifter as they reclined in the common area, nursing a cup of something that might charitably be called coffee. A book lay forgotten on their lap—something Quincy had gotten them on his last supply run.
The void doors obols jingled.
The Drifter didn't bother looking up. Amir was always coming and going, his energy always needing him to go, do, act. They'd gotten used to it. Gotten used to the way he moved through their shared space like he was always in a hurry, always with a smile for them between the crackles of electricity.
"Holy shit babe! I don't have time to explain, just come with me!"
The Drifter's head snapped up.
It was Amir, but... wasn't. Same sharp jawline, same stocky stature—but silver threaded through his dark hair now, and there were new lines around his eyes that spoke of years lived between heartbeats. His clothes had changed too; more worn, but familiar enough that it could have just been something he hadn't worn in a while.
"What the—" the Drifter started, but Future Amir was already moving, extending a weathered hand.
"No time. Trust me," he said, and there was something in his voice—something raw and urgent and certain—that made the Drifter's chest constrict. "I know this is weird. I know. But we don't have the luxury of explanations right now."
The Drifter stood slowly, their eyes tracing the silver at his temples, the way experience had carved itself into his features. How long? they wanted to ask. How long—
"Come on," Future Amir said, softer now, and when he smiled it was that same lopsided grin, older and somehow more devastating for it. "I promise I'll explain. Eventually."
The Drifter took his hand.
turnnoffyourmind
izzy806
andulkaphoto
gamechangershow
vaporwave
amandla
tangentwithtanner
ellievsbear
gummygunk
kianamaiart
