[ Apollo likes the mess hall. He likes making a coffee he has no intention of drinking, just for the feeling of being productive and social. It’s a silly pretence but Apollo enjoys it, just for the fun of being gregarious. He hasn’t tried to drink the coffee again since his conversation with Venus, not now that he remembers that bad coffee really is bad. He likes the casual, friendly chats he can find there too – chatting amiably to people while they eat, agreeing sympathetically while they complain about the food, politely listening to memories of food that they miss.
It’s while he’s there, sat at a table with Kaldur and Alex, talking about what makes a truly great lasagne, that he feels something that he hasn’t felt in four long, lonely weeks. A voice, so painfully loved that every word hits home like a hammer in his chest. A voice that isn't heard in his ears so much as felt in his heart, speaking right to the centre of him through the familiar radiotelepathy that he’d given up on being any more than white noise and empty static.
Ignoring both his coffee and his conversation, Apollo looks towards the mess hall door, eyes wide. ]
Midnighter?
[ The word on his lips is murmured, made quiet with hope and confusion. After weeks of mental silence it almost doesn’t seem real, to feel that familiar voice in his head.
Is this another trick? Apollo will tear the station a new airlock if it is.
The coffee in his hands is dashed to the floor as he bolts from his seat, scorching across the mess hall towards the door in a golden blaze of light. ]
obs deck | ZOOMS IN HERE literally
It’s while he’s there, sat at a table with Kaldur and Alex, talking about what makes a truly great lasagne, that he feels something that he hasn’t felt in four long, lonely weeks. A voice, so painfully loved that every word hits home like a hammer in his chest. A voice that isn't heard in his ears so much as felt in his heart, speaking right to the centre of him through the familiar radiotelepathy that he’d given up on being any more than white noise and empty static.
Ignoring both his coffee and his conversation, Apollo looks towards the mess hall door, eyes wide. ]
Midnighter?
[ The word on his lips is murmured, made quiet with hope and confusion. After weeks of mental silence it almost doesn’t seem real, to feel that familiar voice in his head.
Is this another trick? Apollo will tear the station a new airlock if it is.
The coffee in his hands is dashed to the floor as he bolts from his seat, scorching across the mess hall towards the door in a golden blaze of light. ]
I hear you. I’m coming.
[ A heartbeat later: ]
Please be real. God, please be real...