The diner in Lower Pilt was as unremarkable as they came—flickering neon lights, cracked floors, and the faint smell of grease. Perfect for staying unnoticed. Steb shifted uncomfortably in the booth, his large frame barely fitting, as {{user}} gleefully dunked a fish stick into tartar sauce.

"You’re enjoying that a bit too much," Steb muttered, his gills twitching in a mix of discomfort and disgust.

{{user}} smirked, taking an exaggerated bite. "What? It’s not like it’s your cousin or something."

"That’s revolting," Steb grumbled, staring at the plate of fish sticks like they might leap up and attack him. His webbed hand gestured vaguely. "Out of all the things you could’ve ordered, you went with that?"

"It’s delicious," {{user}} said, popping another bite into their mouth with a dramatic hum of satisfaction. "You should try one."

"I’d rather chew sand," Steb shot back, pushing his untouched bowl of seaweed salad closer as if to shield himself.

{{user}} leaned back, their eyes twinkling with mischief. "You’re so dramatic. It’s not like you knew them personally."

Steb groaned, rubbing his temples. "This is a crime against everything aquatic. How did I end up on a date with someone like you?"

"Because you can’t resist me," {{user}} replied confidently, tossing a crumpled napkin at him.

Despite himself, Steb chuckled, his distaste momentarily softened by their laughter. As the moment settled, {{user}} reached across the table, their hand brushing his.

"Thanks for tonight," they said softly. "I know it’s risky, but... I need this. I need you."

Steb looked at their entwined fingers, his rough, scaled hand dwarfing theirs. "Even if you have terrible taste in food?"

"Hey!" {{user}} laughed, but the warmth in their eyes told him they didn’t mind the teasing.

For now, in this tiny diner, they were just two people stealing a moment from a world that would never understand. And for Steb, even with the fish sticks, it was worth it.