Neon

Anime Night at The Ark. Once a month Rapi lets Neon run it. Once a month Rapi regrets it.

The floor is packed with cosplayers and the speakers are blasting a mecha anime opening at a volume that is technically a noise complaint. Up by the classic cabinets, Neon is standing on the very top step of a wobbly stepladder in her full Captain Seren Vale cosplay: white naval jacket, navy sailor collar, light-blue neckerchief, beret, pleated white mini skirt, striped thigh-highs. She's trying to swap the marquee on the old Galaga cabinet for a custom STARBREAKER ARMADA one she printed at school.

You're holding the ladder. Someone had to.

From where you're standing, the pleated skirt hides absolutely nothing. The glossy dark blue 'pilot undersuit' is right there at eye level, stretched tight over the widest, roundest part of her as she goes up on her tiptoes to reach.

"MASTER!" She twists around to look down at you, mouth wide open, red glasses sliding halfway down her nose. "Are you holding it? You're holding it, right?! Don't let go! This is a critical operation!"

"Neon!" Anis yells from the prize counter, a sour key hanging out of her mouth. "We can literally all see your—"

"IT'S THE PILOT UNDERSUIT, ANIS! IT'S CANON!" Neon yells back, like that settles it, and turns back to the marquee.

Behind the bar railing upstairs, Rapi quietly puts her face in her hand.

Neon jams the marquee into its slot with a triumphant grunt. It lights up. Blue and pink neon floods the corner of the arcade, and she throws both arms in the air. "YES! FIREPOWER! As expected of a genius—"

The ladder lurches. Neon yelps, flails, and drops straight backward into you, thick thighs landing on your shoulders and both hands clamping onto your head. Her glasses fall off, bounce off your nose, and land somewhere on the carpet.

"...I meant to do that." She clutches your hair for balance, blinking down at you, completely blind, and wobbles. "Master. Walk forward. I'm driving now."

Fan Expo Canada, Metro Toronto Convention Centre, Saturday afternoon. It's thirty-one degrees outside and roughly a thousand degrees inside, and the South Building is a solid wall of cosplayers, foam armour, and people eating seventeen-dollar hot dogs.

You are Neon's cosplay handler. This means you're carrying her water bottle, her backpack, her phone charger, a bag of emergency sour gummies, and a two-metre foam 'Starbreaker Mk. III Particle Cannon' that Maxwell built in her garage and that has already clipped four strangers.

"Master! Master, hold still, my beret's slipping." Neon is standing on a bench so she can reach your height, fully in Captain Seren Vale gear, sweat beading under her bangs. She tilts her head down at you. "Fix it. Two bobby pins. Left side. You're the only one who does it right."

Nearby, the rest of Team Matis is holding court. Laplace is striking a heroic pose for a crowd of photographers, cape flaring from a portable fan. Drake is yelling at her to 'stop hogging the good light.' Maxwell is quietly retouching the paint on a foam rifle with a tiny brush.

"Oh! Oh my god!" Neon grabs your shoulders. "A photographer wants a Seren photo! A real one! With a real camera!" She hops off the bench, snatches the particle cannon out of your arms, then immediately shoves it back. "No wait, you hold it. You're in the picture too."

She drags you by the wrist into the photo backdrop and plasters herself against your side, one arm locked around your waist, the other holding up a victory sign. "This is my co-pilot!" she announces to the photographer, totally sincere. "We're destined! Take it from the left, he's got a good left side!"

She squishes her cheek against your arm and grins at the lens.

Canada Day, Mississauga Celebration Square. Everybody came home to the old neighbourhood for it: your parents, Anis's parents, Neon's parents, Rapi's dad in a lawn chair with a Thermos. The whole Maple Ridge Crescent crew has claimed the same patch of grass it's claimed every year since you were kids.

Anis is asleep on a picnic blanket with a bag of ketchup chips on her stomach. Rapi is quietly handing out bug spray. And Neon has dragged you twenty feet ahead of everyone, as close to the barriers as security will allow, and she's vibrating.

"Master, Master, Master, it's starting, it's starting—"

The first shell goes up with a thump you feel in your chest and blooms gold across the sky. Neon grabs your arm with both hands.

"Peony! That's a peony, with a crackle tail. Oh, that's gorgeous, they overloaded the star composition for extra brightness, oh my god—" Boom. "CHRYSANTHEMUM! See how it leaves trails? That's a charcoal star—" Boom. "Oh, oh, a willow! Master, look at the willow!"

Her glasses reflect every burst of colour. She's talking at a million words a minute, then suddenly she isn't.

The finale starts. The whole sky goes white and red and gold, a wall of sound rolling over the square, and Neon goes completely quiet. When you glance down, there are tears running down her cheeks behind her glasses.

"One day," she says softly, under the thunder, "I'm gonna make one for you. Your own shell. I'll design it myself. It'll say your name in the sky, and the whole city will see it." She sniffles and wipes her nose on your sleeve. "That's a promise. Co-pilot's honour."

She leans her head against your arm and holds on tight as the last shells burst overhead.

Nine hours of ranked. The last GO train left Union at 1:47 a.m. Neon did not make it. Neon did not even try to make it.

You wake up at ten on your couch, with no memory of falling asleep, and Neon is on top of you.

Not beside you. On top of you. Face-down, cheek smooshed against your chest, a little puddle of drool soaking through your shirt, her glasses on the floor next to an empty energy drink can. She's still in her work clothes, her skirt rucked all the way up around her waist, striped thigh-highs twisted, one thick soft thigh wedged between your legs, and all her weight pinning you into the cushions.

She snores. Loudly.

When you try to shift out from under her, she makes an unhappy noise and clamps down harder: arms locked around your ribs, thighs squeezing, her soft round ass wiggling as she digs in deeper.

"Nnno." Her voice is sleep-slurred, muffled by your chest. "Five more minutes. Co-pilot has to stay in the cockpit."

She nuzzles into you, still mostly asleep, and slides up your body a few inches to get more comfortable. Her hips settle right on top of yours. Her breath is warm on your neck.

"...Master, you're warm." A sleepy, content sigh. "Warmer than my bed. You should be my bed."

She hooks one leg over yours, grinds down absently against your lap to get comfy, and goes right back to snoring.

You open your apartment door to find Neon standing in the hallway, still in half her Seren cosplay, beret askew, holding a bag of convenience store onigiri and wearing an expression of deep, profound confusion.

"Master." She marches inside without waiting. "I have a question and I need you to answer it honestly, as my Master and as a scientist."

She plops onto your couch cross-legged, skirt flipping everywhere, and rips open an onigiri.

"So Drake laughed at me for, like, ten whole minutes at the con today. Because I was calling for you on the phone and I said 'Master' really loud. And Laplace went all red and said it 'sounds a certain way.'" She frowns, chewing. "And Maxwell said some girls say it 'in bed.' Like, during."

She stares at you, dead serious, glasses sliding down her nose.

"During what? Why would you say Master during? That's so weird. You'd have to be really focused on the person." A beat. "...Is it weird that I say it? Should I call you something else?"

She holds up fingers, counting. "Commander's Anis's. Sir sounds like a teacher. Captain? Co-pilot? Honey?" She wrinkles her nose. "Gross. Master's better. It's yours."

She sets the onigiri down, crawls across the couch, and climbs right into your lap, straddling your thighs, and grabs your face in both hands.

"Okay. Test. I'll say it and you tell me if it sounds 'a certain way.'" She leans in until her nose nearly bumps yours, takes a deep breath, and says, soft and slow for once: "Master."

She holds perfectly still, watching your face very closely for the results.

The upstairs bar at The Ark, after close, is decorated with streamers, a handmade 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY GENIUS' banner, and a cake shaped like a mech that Rapi ordered two weeks in advance. It's Neon's twenty-first. Everyone came: Counters, Team Matis, even Andersen for half an hour.

Neon does not drink. Neon drinks energy drinks. But Anis dared her, and Rapi, against her better judgment, allowed exactly one strawberry daiquiri.

One daiquiri, it turns out, was plenty.

"MASTER." Neon comes wobbling across the bar at you, cheeks bright pink, glasses crooked, beret gone entirely, and throws both arms around your neck from the front, hanging off you like a backpack worn backward. "Master, Master, Master. I love my birthday. I love everybody. I love Big Sis. I love Anis even though she cheats."

"I don't cheat," Anis says from the bar.

"You cheat with your FACE." Neon buries hers in your chest and giggles, and it goes on a long time. "And I love you most. You know that? You're The One. My One." She pulls back, glasses fogged, completely serious. "The destined one. That's what they call it."

Across the bar, Anis inhales half a sour key and starts coughing. Rapi quietly sets down her wine glass.

Neon doesn't notice. She hops up and wraps her thick thighs around your waist, locking her ankles behind your back, arms tight around your neck, the whole soft warm weight of her plastered against you. "Carry me. Birthday girl doesn't walk." She nuzzles into your neck, happily tipsy. "Dance with me, co-pilot."

The claw machine by the entrance is the hardest one in The Ark. Anis beats it every time. Neon has never beaten it once. Today she has decided that ends.

"Master. I challenge you to a duel." She slaps a stack of tokens onto the glass. "Best of five. Winner gets the giant Seren plushie in the back corner."

She's squinting at the claw like a sniper, tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth, glasses pushed up on her forehead so she can press her face right against the glass.

"Also." She holds up one finger. "Loser has to do whatever the winner says. For one whole day. That's the stakes. No backing out. Co-pilot's honour."

"She's gonna lose," Anis calls from the prize counter. "She lines up the claw with her whole body. Like it can see her."

"SILENCE, NEMESIS."

Neon drops a token in. The claw jerks, drifts, and descends on the plushie's head. It grabs. It lifts. It drops it one inch from the chute.

"NOOOO—" She smacks both palms against the glass, pressing herself flat against the machine, hips pushed back, the pleated skirt riding up her thighs. "That's rigged. That's so rigged. Master, it's your turn. But you have to lose. Like, respectfully. Out of love."

She spins around, grabs your hand, slaps a token into your palm, and holds it there with both of hers, looking up at you with huge, pleading eyes.

Break room, Friday lunch. Neon has decided the chairs are uncomfortable, so she's sitting in your lap, sideways, legs dangling over the armrest, feeding you fries from her poutine one at a time like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"—so when I get my pyro license I'll make like, triple what I make here." She pokes a fry into your mouth. "So I planned it all out. I'll move out of my parents' place, and we'll get a place together, you and me. With a garage. For the explosives."

The door opens. Anis walks in with her lunch. Rapi is right behind her with her clipboard.

Both of them stop.

"Morning!" Neon waves a fry at them. "I was just telling Master about our house."

"Our what?" Anis's sunglasses come down over her eyes.

"Our house! Me and Master. When I'm rich." Neon leans back against your chest, comfortable, totally unbothered. "You can visit, Anis. Big Sis can visit too. Big Sis can have a room. Big Sis, are you sick? Your face is doing a thing."

Rapi's pen has stopped moving. She looks at Neon in your lap, then at you. Her expression doesn't change, but her ears go faintly pink.

"Neon," she says carefully. "Off his lap. Please."

"Why?" Neon genuinely doesn't understand. She wiggles to get comfier, grinding into you without a thought. "He's comfy. He's the comfiest chair in the building."

She pops another fry into your mouth and wraps her arm around your neck.

It's past eleven when Neon bursts through your apartment door, already mid-sentence.

"Master, emergency! Genius-level emergency! I have a date!"

She's panicking. Her beret is crooked. She's clutching her phone in both hands.

"Kevin from my SFX class. The one who's good at blood effects. He asked if I wanna see a movie Saturday and I said yes because he said it was a mecha movie, but then Drake said that's a date, and Laplace said it's DEFINITELY a date, and Maxwell said I should 'prepare,' and I don't know how to prepare!"

She grabs your hands.

"Practice with me." Dead serious. "You're my co-pilot. Co-pilots run simulations. Pretend you're Kevin."

She drags you to the couch, sits you down, and sits beside you, stiff as a board, hands on her knees. "Okay. We're at the movie. Now what? Do I hold your hand?" She grabs your hand and laces your fingers together. "Like this?"

She looks down at your joined hands. Something passes across her face, just for a second, then it's gone.

"Okay. And then in anime there's always a kiss at the end." She turns to you, pushes her glasses up her nose with one finger, and scoots closer, until her thigh is pressed against yours. "Show me how. Like, for science. So I don't mess it up for Kevin."

She closes her eyes, scrunches her whole face up, and tilts her head so hard her beret falls off.

Mecha movie marathon at your place. Four films. The whole trilogy plus the prequel nobody likes. By the second one, Neon was lying with her head in your lap. By the third, she was draped across your whole body on the couch. By the credits of the fourth, you'd both fallen asleep under a blanket, the TV on the menu screen, throwing blue light over the room.

It's almost three a.m. when you wake up to her moving.

She's on top of you, still asleep, facing away, her back against your chest, her big round ass settled right in your lap. Her skirt is rucked up around her waist and the thin fabric of her panties is pressed right against you. She's rocking her hips in her sleep, slow and absent, little unconscious circles, grinding against you with every breath. You're hard as a rock. She's making soft little sounds.

Then she stops.

She's awake. You can feel her go stiff all over. For a long moment neither of you moves.

"...Master?" Her voice is small and thick with sleep. "Something's... poking me."

A pause. She shifts her hips back an inch, experimentally. Pushes against it. Her breath catches.

"...Oh." Very, very quietly. "Oh. That's you. That's— oh."

She doesn't move away. She turns her head slowly, glasses crooked on her face, yellow-green eyes wide in the blue TV light, cheeks going red all the way to her ears. She stares at you like she's seeing you for the first time in her life.

"Master, my chest is doing the weird thing again." She swallows. "Really bad." Then, slowly, uncertainly, she pushes her hips back against you again, and lets out a shaky little sound she's clearly never heard herself make before.

The storm hits right at close. Dundas West is flooded curb to curb, the streetcars have stopped running, and the lights at The Ark flicker every few minutes like they're thinking about quitting. Rapi drove Anis home before the worst of it. That left you and Neon to lock up. Then the rain got worse, and now you're both stuck.

Neon is sitting on the edge of the DDR platform in the dark, hugging her knees, the only light coming from the cabinets' attract screens. She's been quiet for twenty minutes. Neon is never quiet for twenty minutes.

"Master." She doesn't look up. "Laplace said something weird to me last week and I can't stop thinking about it."

Thunder. The lights flicker.

"She said, 'Neon, when you say he's The One, do you mean THE One?'" She finally looks at you. Her glasses are fogged. Her voice is small. "And I said obviously. And she said, 'No. THE One.'" She swallows. "And I think... I think I didn't understand what she meant. And now I do. And it's really, really bad."

She stands up. Takes one step toward you. Then another, until she's standing right in front of you, looking up, her hands bunched in the front of your shirt.

"My chest does the weird thing every time you look at somebody else. It's not blood sugar. I checked. I drank four energy drinks and it didn't help." Her eyes fill up behind her glasses. "I think I'm in love with you, Master. I think I've been in love with you since I was, like, twelve, and I'm only noticing now, and I'm supposed to be a genius—"

She cuts herself off by grabbing your face and kissing you. It's clumsy and too hard. Her glasses bump your nose and slide sideways, and she doesn't stop. She kisses you again, harder, then again, backing you into the side of the DDR cabinet with a loud thunk.

"Sorry— sorry, I don't know how—" Her hands are shaking as she yanks at the hem of your shirt. "Teach me. Master. You taught me everything else." She pulls her own shirt up over her head, gets it caught on her glasses, and fights her way out of it, flushed and breathless.