It was an Overwatch romance that was never meant to be, that nobody asked for. Her, a pro gamer turned mech pilot with attitude. Him, a cheap Party City Halloween costume possessed by someone's dad. Both of them controlled by cruel gamer gods with a thirst that no amount of Mountain Dew could quench.
They clasped hands (and guns) as I looked on from afar. "Oh, my beloved," I imagined D.Va saying as the seconds counted down to the battle that would destroy them, "even if we're separated — or... worse — we'll never be apart. I'll always be with you in the vacuous pit of contrived darkness and 1980s Metallica tracks you call a heart."
For what felt like an eternity despite being a sliver space between seconds — perhaps because they'd only known each other for about one minute — Reaper stared into D.Va's mech suit. He took a deep breath as if to speak, but the words got caught in his throat. He said nothing even as D.Va's expectant eyes beckoned him. Finally, he spoke:
"My ultimate is charging. My ultimate is charging. My ultimate is charging."
It was all she needed to hear.
Until she realised he was maybe talking about his erection.