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Summer was coming to a close, and although you were happier than you'd ever been in your life, you couldn't help but feel a wave of anxiety coming on. It had been months of pure romantic bliss, but as the world slowed down into the lull of Autumn, you remembered what you and Steven had been planning to do from the beginning...
Leave.
Steven remembered, too. He had been quietly planning for the day he would leave, afraid to bring it up. At the time, it seemed like forever away. September first. But as it crept closer by the second, he knew he would have to say something to you. And you, him.
You hadn't set a date yet- you had to stay in Beach City long enough to at least finish working off the damages at the arcade. But you knew that time was coming soon. You'd been working full time, 8-6, every weekday, for almost two months. And something Mr. Smiley neglected to mention when he "hired" you... You got to keep the tips.
With interest from the bank, the money you had saved before the talent show, and the cash you had scraped together working, you had about $3.5k saved up to get you across the country. your plan wasn't nearly as thorough as Steven's- you didn't need to visit every state. But, you wanted to see the west coast, or the Grand Canyon. You wanted to go to a Six Flags or a Rainforest Café. You wanted to get out there enough to live it up before (eugh) adulthood.
Your mind wandered as you stared blankly at the browned 80's carpet; absentmindedly vacuuming the arcade in clean stripes. You stopped when you felt a tap on your shoulder. you switched off the vacuum, the sound still ringing in your ears.
"Alright," Mr. Smiley shrugged. "You just made me your last dollar."
"I... what?"
"You're free to go."
You stared at him blankly, in quiet shock. Maybe denial.
"You've worked enough. Damages are paid off. You're free."
You shook your head. There it was.
"Right," you looked down. "I'll go clear out my locker."
Changing out of your uniform, your mind still felt clouded. It felt like you'd been living in this routine for... forever. It was time to get moving again, but were you ready?
The sound of a text notification on your phone paused your train of thought.
Pearl: Hello, (Y/N)! I'm just texting to let you know that Steven's birthday is in one week. We'll be hosting a small gathering for him, and you are invited! I hope to see you there.
Love, Pearl.
You swore you felt your eyes bug out of your head.
(Y/N): his birthday is in a week?? i had no idea
Pearl: Dear (Y/N), yes I figured he might not have told you. I suppose Steven's never been the type to make things about himself. Do you think you can make it?
Love, Pearl.
(Y/N): yes, of course i'll be there! i just have to figure out what to get him.
Pearl: (Y/N), great! I will see you then. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call me. I'm what you might call a gift-giving expert.
Love, Pearl.
Based on what Steven had told you about his dictionary, and all the toilet paper she'd given out, you seriously doubted that Pearl would be the gem to go to for gift-giving advice. In any case, you pushed all thoughts of the future aside as the gears in your head began to turn, churning out ideas for birthday presents. You probably knew Steven better than anyone at this point, but the second you had to get him something, you completely forgot everything he likes.
He likes video games? That could work. Or... maybe art? He has a few paintings around the house. Of course, he's in them, but still. Maybe some new clothes? A t-shirt without a star on it? No, no. That's his signature look. You could never interfere.
Bag full of stuff, and mind full of thoughts, you marched down the boardwalk back to your house. You found your eyes wandering, desperate for some inspiration, maybe a sign?
Fry bits? No. Onion? No. Sour Cream? No.
You did a double take.
Sour Cream walked alongside Onion, holding his hand like the good big brother he was. Clipped to his orange parachute pants, his matching walkman played music up through his headphones.
Music. Fucking... duh.
Before you realized what you were doing, you had already caught up to them both at a running pace.
"Sour Cream!" you panted. "I need your help."
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