Chapter Text
"Y'know," Sadie said as she put Steven's change into the cash register and looking for all the world as if the conversation didn't matter to her even one little bit. "If you miss playing your game that much, you can always come and play it at my place."
"What? Sadie, that's—" Lars leapt to his feet, expression practically shining. "That's brilliant! I'll just use your account! Why didn't I think of that sooner! I mean, I'll have to start over again, but—"
"Not so fast there, mister!" Sadie interrupted with so much force that Lars actually stopped short. "First of all, I'm setting some ground rules. First, you're not allowed to do anything that gets me in trouble. If you screw up my account, you're paying me back."
"Fine, fine!" Lars agreed, clasping his hands together in a desperate plea. "I swear I won't mess it up. C'mon Sadie, pleeease!"
Steven, sipping his way through a can of the most refreshing apple soda, couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sadie looking so nefariously pleased with herself.
"Second rule, you provide snacks." Lars nodded again, looking like he was about to explode with excitement. Sadie folded her arms, looked him up and down, and... smiled. "And from now on, I get to be player one."
"What?!" Lars practically shrieked. "No, that's not fair! You've always been P2! That's just the way it works! You can't go changing things up now! C'mon Sadie, what do you think—"
"That's the way it's gonna be, Lars, take it or leave it. It's player two, or game over."
Steven could still hear Lars's desperate negotiations as he headed out the door and back down the boardwalk. Maybe everything couldn't go back to how it was before Homeworld ever happened, but maybe this new normal was something they could all get used to. Even Lars.
"So I thought about it a whole lot. I've got this old family recipe book—"
"The secret one that's under your mattress!"
Lars grinned for a second, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, right. I guess you did see it that time. Yeah, that's the one. I thought about giving you that, but then I wouldn't be able to use it. Everything else I own is just junk. I mean, it's my junk, but it's not really part of me , you know? So I thought about the stuff your mom put up on her tree. And, well..." At last Lars reached into his bag and pulled out a bundled up shirt. It wasn't folded—it didn't even look clean. Lars held it out in one clenched hand.
"Ohmigosh!" Steven yelped, grabbing the shirt and unrolling it. "One of Sadie's shirts, just like Mom has one of Dad's!"
"What, no!" Lars protested, voice rising in pitch. "I'm not gonna steal her clothes you weirdo! It's—"
But by then Steven was holding the shirt out in front of him, taking in all the familiar frays and tears. Lars went quiet, embarrassment taking on a more awkward, self-conscious edge. Steven gathered the fabric close, running his fingers along the skull motif in the centre and the jagged slash that cut through it.
"It seems weird to throw it away," Lars confessed in a quiet voice. "But I don't like keeping it around where Mom or Dad might see it. I think it'd upset them again. But I thought, maybe if I kept it with my tree— you don't think it's stupid, do you?"
Steven met Lars's gaze—Lars, looking at him for approval—and smiled a bright, honest smile. "Nope. I think it's perfect."