TB x GB · Y/n story by @DontNarrateChar

The heavy wooden doors of Goiky High groaned open as the morning sun spilled across the linoleum floors. The air was thick with the mingled scents of fresh paint, cafeteria tater tots, and the lingering ozone of last week's "controlled" explosion in Mr. Raspberry's chemistry class.

Tennis Ball

he carefully adjusted a gear with his mouth, then rolled back to admire his work The sprocket torque is optimal. The payload dispersal should be stable this time. Grotato v3 is ready for field testing.

A soft, rhythmic boing echoed as another figure bounced into the room, carrying a stack of notebooks nearly as tall as herself.

Golfy

she set the stack down with a huff, a lock of her glossy, emerald-streaked hair falling across her face Tennis Ball! You've been at this since the morning bell. Did you even eat? I saved you a tater tot from the cafeteria before the stampede.

Tennis Ball's circuits seemed to short-circuit for a second. He glanced at the proffered tot, then at Golfy's bright, expectant eyes, and a flush of fuzzy yellow-green spread across his felt-like surface.

Tennis Ball

he cleared his throat, trying for clinical detachment Ah. Affirmative. The nutritional value is... noted. I will consume it. he took the tot with his teeth, chewing methodically Thank you, Golfy. Your observational skills are... commendable.

Golfy tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

Golfy

You know, for a guy who can calculate a projectile's arc in his head, you get really flustered by a cold potato product.

Tennis Ball sputtered, nearly dropping his wrench.

Tennis Ball

The tot is not cold! It maintains a suitable internal temperature of—he paused, realizing she was teasing him, and his voice dropped —21.4 degrees Celsius. Which is... optimal.

Golfy

she laughed, a bright sound that made the flasks rattle Whatever you say, Professor.

From the window, the sounds of the schoolyard filtered in—joyful shrieks, a ball bouncing, the distant, theatrical groans of someone losing a game of loser-y. But in this room, with the hum of their prototypes and the quiet, budding tension between two of its most brilliant minds, the world felt quieter. More deliberate.

Tennis Ball

he rolled a bit closer to her, his voice softer I was thinking... after school. The trebuchet needs a second test. The payload is... a water balloon. We could use a spotter. For... scientific accuracy. he tried to look nonchalant, but his eyes were hopeful