Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1.Table Of Contents

2. Nap Time (Puffer / Pezzy)

3. Let Down PT 1 (Pezzy + Droid)

4. Let Down PT 2 (Pezzy + Droid)

5. SpideyPool (SodaBot) (Pezzy / Droid)

6. Mouse Pezzy

7. Unconventional Powers (Smii7y / Pezzy)

8. A Dragon and His Knight (Pezzy / Droid)

9. Clingy Blarg (Blarg / Frouse)

10. Backpack Yumi (Yumi + Clooless)

11. Tiger Cuddles (Puffer / Grizzy)

12. Frozen Over (John + Pezzy)

13. Agoraphobia (Pezzy)

14. Strangers In The Night (Genderbent Pezzy / Yumi)

15. Jelousy (Transmasc John / Genderbent Pezzy)

16. Sugar Mama Puffer (Genderbent Puffer / Pezzy)

17. Worship Like No Other (Transmasc John / Transfemme Pezzy)

18. Vanilla Sandwich NSFW (Matt / Yumi / Dooo)

19. Goodnight Bug Nation! (Tanner + Isaac + Yumi)

20. 2p! Puffer crashout (2p! Puffer + 2p! Frouse)

21. Little Space Yumi PT 1 (Yumi + Frouse)

22. Little Space Yumi PT 2

23. Gsupps Moms (Clooless Gsupps Waifus)

24. Brokeback Mountain (Pezzy / Puffer)

25. By the Shore ( Coming Soon - requested by Throosy )

Coming Soon

Mer Au requested by Throosy

Puffer Date

Short people struggles (High school AU)

Hybrid stuff

SpideyPool SodaBot

5 times Matt kissed his friends, 1 time it was on the lips.

Yumi's day out with the Goons

Swan Mama John

Makeup Sex (NSFW)

2p! Frouse stuff

John x Pezzy but Pezzy is oblivious to John's flirting

Re-do by modern baseball: The Group Chat, Yumi Centric

Ghost Matt / Human Pezzy - Ghosting by Mother Mother

Chapter Text

It was quiet, save for the faint ticking of wall clock and the occasional rustle of wind against the windows. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting warm golden patterns across the couch where Pezzy laid sprawled on his stomach - limbs loose and breath slow.

His arms were tucked underneath his head, face buried into the crook of his elbow. He shifted occasionally. Mumbling something unintelligible, lips barely parting - then going still again, long lashes resting softly against his cheek.

Puffer stepped into the room with a glass of water in his hand, pausing when he noticed Pezzy.

It wasn't surprising Pezzy was taking a nap. During the process of filming, Pezzy's allergies had been acting up again, causing him to feel lethargic. Grizzy and Droid were still in the room filming an ad for their next video. So it was safe to assume that Pezzy was taking a quick power nap in the meantime while waiting to film the bonus Patreon episode.

Puffer moved toward the couch slowly, sinking down on the cushion closest to Pezzy's head. The couch dipped beneath his weight, but Pezzy didn't stir.

Pezzy look so... small like this. Not just in size - though he was obviously smaller than Puffer and the others - but the way he curled in on himself, soft and trusting. It made something in Puffer's chest go warm and strange.

Pezzy let out faint, gravely hum. A flicker of awareness crossed his face, though his eyes stayed closed. His eyebrows lifted just slightly in recognition, like his body could tell exactly who had joined him without needing to look.

Puffer stayed quiet.

Then, as if he were running purely on instinct, he reached out and gently threaded his crooked fingers through Pezzy's hair. It was soft and messy from sleep, warm from the sun-drenched fabric of the couch.

Pezzy leaned into the touch immediately. Slow and lazy, similar to Puffer's cat, Calcifer. He made a sound, low and content, somewhere between a sigh and a purr.

Puffer felt something twist in his gut.

He kept his fingers moving through the thick, tousled hair, dragging his dull nails gently across Pezzy's scalp. Slow, Careful, over and over.

“Mmnh…” Pezzy mumbled, still not opening his eyes. He shifted, untangling his arms from beneath him and wrapping them loosely around Puffer’s waist. Puffer froze, just for a second, when Pezzy pulled himself up. Half climbing into his lap, draping over him. His cheek pressed against Puffer’s stomach, nose buried into the soft cotton of his shirt. Puffer’s cologne had faded by now, but there was still a lingering musk - earthy, clean, a little sharp at the edges - that Pezzy seemed to melt into.

"You're comfy." Pezzy slurred, barely audible.

Puffer’s hand hovered awkwardly for a second before settling back into Pezzy’s hair, resuming the gentle strokes. His other hand rested awkwardly on the armrest, stiff and unsure. He looked down at the soft tangle of brown hair, the way Pezzy’s shoulders rose and fell in a lazy rhythm again, already drifting back toward sleep. His fingers curled gently around a lock of Pezzy’s hair, giving it the faintest tug before smoothing it down again. The other nuzzling into his hand everytime.

'Like a cat' Puffer thought with a dry flicker of amusement.

-

The door creaked open quietly, letting in the murmur of hallway noise and the shuffle of sneakers against hardwood.

Droid was the first one through, holding two drinks and already talking. “Okay, but if we do the ‘mystery soda’ challenge again, we have to make sure Puffer doesn’t cheat like last time. dude took like four sips and still got it wrong.’”

Grizzy followed behind, hands full of cables and a backup mic. “I'm pretty sure that was you, man."

"Was it? Whatever, I still think that one was just cola.”

They turned the corner into the living room and stopped short.

Pezzy was sprawled across the couch, half on top of Puffer. His arms were slung around the other’s waist, cheek pressed snug into Puffer’s stomach. Puffer had slumped back slightly, one arm draped loosely over the back of the couch, the other still nestled in Pezzy’s hair. Both of them were completely still, chests rising and falling in a slow, matched rhythm.

The quiet, aside from Puffer's light snoring, in the room felt sacred.

Droid blinked. “Oh.”

Grizzy froze beside him, trying not to trip over his own grin.

“They fell asleep,” he whispered like they’d stumbled into a nest of deer. “Dude. Look at them.”

“I am looking.” Droid’s phone was already in his hand, the shutter noise silenced from habit. He crouched down slowly, like a nature photographer on the prowl, and began taking pictures. “This is content. This is art. Use this for the thumbnail, but don't tell them Grizzy.”

“careful,” Grizzy hissed, though he didn’t sound upset. His eyes were warm, glued to the scene. “Don’t wake them up. They look so peaceful."

Puffer’s fingers had stilled in Pezzy’s curls, but they were still tangled there, his hand limp and relaxed. Pezzy’s face was entirely hidden, but the shape of his body said everything. Trusting, comfortable, as if drawn there by instinct.

“Shit. Should we wake them up?” Droid asked, even as he sat on the floor and kept flipping through the pictures he’d just taken.

Grizzy shook his head. “Nah. Bonus episode can wait.”

He eased himself into the armchair nearby, dropping the mic bag quietly onto the floor. His voice stayed hushed. “Let ‘em have this.”

Droid stayed on the floor, cross-legged now, gazing over at them with something oddly fond behind his usual smirk. “They’re gonna be pissed, you know.”

“Of course they are.”

“And then we’re gonna play this back during a livestream.”

“Absolutely.”

The two of them grinned, then lapsed into quiet again.

Outside, the sun dipped lower. Inside, the air was warm and still. The soft sound of Pezzy’s breathing, muffled against Puffer’s hoodie, mingled with the almost imperceptible shift of fabric as they dozed. Droid easily broke the silence.

"Wanna get something to eat?"

Grizzy snorted, "Have I ever said no to food?"

Droid smiled wide. "Should we get them something?"

"Hell nah, you snooze you loose."

Chapter Text

He remembers getting on the train. The hum of the tracks, the dull yellow glow of the overhead lights, the static-filled announcement crackling through the speakers.

But he doesn't remember getting off.

Now, he's here. In an unfamiliar city that somehow moves without doing so at all. They skyline stretches on forever, there are neon signs that buzz but never change, billboards advertising things he's never heard of. Then there's the train station, the schedules never making sense - trains arriving and leaving at random, and no one ever seems to board.

The streets are full of people. He sees them, walking the streets, sitting in diners, waiting at the bus stops. But they don't do anything. They're all frozen in place, their eyes vacant and expressions empty. When he tries to talk to them - to get their attention - their jaw's move stiffly, almost mechanical. Their words come in loops, meaningless phrases that fade before they can be understood.

Droid prayed this was all a dream. That his mind was just playing some fucked up game as a penalty for lack of sleep or too much weed.

That illusion was shattered quickly as he walked into the closest diner to him - the need to explore taking control. Inside is where Droid saw him, sitting in a red tattered booth, eyes wide with disbelief and straw dangling from his mouth.

The first stranger Droid had seen with even the slightest spark of emotion in this strange place.

-

Droid came to know the stranger as Pezzy.

Pezzy doesn't remember how long he's been here. He doesn't remember much of anything anymore. Just his name and that he's tired. He drifts through the city like he's part of it, always in motion but never really going anywhere. Like he was trying more so keep himself sane rather than actually find a way out. Pezzy tells Droid it's useless to try an leave, that this place isn't real - or maybe they aren't real, but Droid refuses to believe it.

“You’re still trying?” Pezzy asks one night, watching Droid stare at the train schedule like it might suddenly make sense. His voice is quiet, unreadable.

“Yeah,” Droid says, squinting at the paper taped to the wall. “Aren’t you?”

Pezzy doesn’t respond. He just watches as another train arrives, doors sliding open to reveal empty seats. It lingers for too long, as if waiting for them to board. It’s the same train as before. It’s always the same train. And it never leads anywhere

Droid keeps fighting against the city. He tries to call someone - anyone - but the pay phones just hum in his ear and swallow his coins mercilessly. He tries to map the streets, only to find himself walking in circles, the city seemingly changing with every step he took. He tries to wake up by pinching himself, but he's no longer sure if he was ever asleep.

It was impossible.

Pezzy watches it all with a quiet, knowing sort of sadness. He’s seen it before. He’s felt it before. He used to be like Droid, clinging to the hope that something here made sense. That he could make it out. But hope doesn’t belong in this city.

“You’re just gonna let it happen?” Droid asks one night, voice sharp, exhausted. He’s standing under a flickering streetlamp, hands clenched into fists. "How can you accept living like this?"

Pezzy shrugs limply, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “Fighting won’t change it.”

“How do you know?”

Pezzy looks at him, really looks at him, and for the first time, Droid notices how empty his eyes are. Just how much of him is truly gone.

Pezzy was right.

The more Droid fought, the more the city wore him down. He began to forget things - small things at first. The name of his hometown. His mother’s face. The sound of his own laugh. Some nights, he swears the streetlights hum with something familiar, like they’re whispering a lullaby he almost remembers.

The city was trying to lure him back every time he strayed away from its path. The more he fights, the more the city takes.

The only thing keeping Droid grounded was Pezzy.

He tries to cling to Pezzy. Because Pezzy is real - he speaks in full sentences, not in broken loops like the others. He reacts, he moves, he breathes. But then, Droid starts to wonder. He's never seen Pezzy express any human emotion other than exhaustion. He never rages against the city the way Droid does - did. He didn't talk about his past, like it’s already slipped through his fingers.

Most importantly, he never tries to leave.

Droid began to worry if Pezzy was even real.

It had meant to be a question, but is came out more as a statement.

“You’ve been here for years,” Droid says, staring at him across the empty diner booth. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering every few seconds. The same waitress Droid has seen a hundred times stands behind the counter, unmoving but somehow a steaming pot of hot coffee sits idly next to her. Her nametag says ‘Evelyn,’ but he’s not even sure if that's true.

Pezzy stirs his soda, the ice clinking against the glass, but he doesn’t drink it. He never does. “Probably.”

Droid leans forward. “How do you not know?”

Pezzy exhales through his nose, tilting his head, like he’s thinking of how to explain something that doesn’t have words. “At some point, the years stopped mattering and I gave up trying to remember.”

Droid refuses to accept that. The same feeling he had when he first woke up in this strange city reignited. He has to get out. He has to get Pezzy out too, even if he wasn't real.

So despite it all, he doesn't give up. He memorizes the train schedules, trying to find a pattern in the nonsense. He forces himself to talk to the hollow-eyed people, searching for anything behind their vacant stares. He tries to leave the city limits, but every road still curves back into itself, always leading him to the same street, the same flickering streetlamp, and the same fucking diner.

There was one issue - the city was fighting back. But the worst part isn't that the city won't let him leave, it's that he's starting to forget why he wanted to.

“What if we’re dreaming?” he asks, pacing in front of Pezzy, the fire escape rattling beneath his weight. He’s lost track of time again. The clocks in the city keep shifting, hands spinning too fast or freezing completely. He doesn’t know if it’s been days or weeks since he last slept.

He doesn't know much of anything anymore.

Pezzy watches him with tired eyes. “Then we’re never waking up.”

Droid wants to argue, but he can’t.

Because Pezzy knows.

Droid hadn't been the only person Pezzy has seen moving with life. There had been others before him. None Pezzy had gotten terribly close with, but he knows nonetheless.

Pezzy has seen what happens when people stop fighting.

One day, Droid will forget his own name. He’ll start looping, like the rest of them - frozen in place, repeating the same lines, eyes glazed over. Pezzy has seen it happen before. It’s why he never tries gets too close. It’s why he never lets himself hope.

But something about Droid hurts. Maybe it's because Droid is still trying.

Pezzy remembers when he used to try, too.

“Promise me something,” Pezzy's voice barely above a whisper. The city hums around them, neon signs casting broken reflections in the puddles on the pavement.

Droid glances at him with surprise, shoulders tense. “What?”

Pezzy hesitates. Then, “Don’t forget me.”

Droid swears up and down he won't.

That he won't leave Pezzy - his only friend at the moment - in a world like this by himself.

But the city is impatient. It wears Droid down piece by piece, memory by memory. He stops talking about the world outside because he can’t remember what it looked like. He stops analyzing the train schedules because they don’t make sense anyway. He stops trying to leave because where would he even go?

He can barely even focus on whatever Pezzy is saying.

One night, he sits in the diner across from Pezzy, stirring his beverage but never drinking it. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Evelyn stands behind the counter, staring at nothing. The same hazy fog clouding Evelyn now glazed over Droid's eyes.

And Pezzy watches him, quiet.

The train arrives outside, rattling the diner from outside, doors sliding open to reveal empty seats. It lingers too long, like it’s waiting for something. Like it always does.

When the doors shut, something about it seems... final.

Pezzy glances towards Droid, but he doesn’t look back. He’s staring at nothing, stirring his drink slowly, over and over. Lost in a loop.

And Pezzy exhales. His chest aches, a familiar kind of ache.

This is how it always ends.

It never gets easier.

The train leaves. The city hums with content.

And Droid has become nothing but another prop in this grand scenery. Breaking his single promise and leaving Pezzy alone once more.

Chapter Text

The train leaves. The city hums.

Droid is gone.

Or... at least, he should be.

Pezzy has seen this happen before. He’s seen the way people fade into the rhythm of the city, swallowed whole by the loops. They stop questioning, stop resisting. They become part of the hollow streets, just another nameless face in the crowd.

And for a while, Droid looks just like them.

He sits in the same diner booth every night where he met Pezzy, slowly stirring a cold coffee he never drinks. His head permanently tilted towards the large window as he watches the same streetlamp flicker outside, eyes unfocused. He begins repeating sentences, words spilling out like he is on auto-pilot.

Pezzy tries not to care. This was inevitable. He told himself not to get attached.

But something about it feels wrong.

Because even though Droid is looping, he still reacts. Not much, not enough for anyone else to notice - not that there was anyone else there to notice - but Pezzy sees it. The way his brows furrow when Pezzy speaks. The way his fingers twitch like they want to reach for something just out of grasp. The way, sometimes, when the neon lights flicker just right, there’s a spark behind his eyes - like he’s almost waking up.

Pezzy doesn’t know why that matters.

He doesn’t know why, one night, when he sits across from Droid in the diner and sees him staring blankly at that damn streetlamp, he reaches across and flicks the side of his head.

“Ow,” Droid mumbles, blinking like he’s coming out of a daze.

Pezzy leans back in his seat, watching carefully him. “You felt that?”

Droid rubs his temple, frowning. “Uh. Yeah?”

And Pezzy’s stomach twists.

Because that shouldn’t be possible. Once the city takes you, it doesn’t give you back.

Pezzy pushes his luck. He starts talking to Droid more, breaking the silence, poking at the parts of him that should be gone. He tells Droid things he’s never told anyone - about how he used to fight like hell to leave, how he once memorized every train schedule, every street, every possible exit.

How none of it mattered.

Droid listens. He doesn’t say much, but the slight raise in his brow lets Pezzy knows he’s listening.

And then, one night, it happens.

“I think I had a dream,” Droid says suddenly, sitting beneath the flickering diner lights.

Pezzy stiffens. “That’s not possible.”

Droid looks at him, eyes clearer than they’ve been in days, maybe even weeks. “It was about a house.” He swallows, like he’s struggling to remember. “I think it was mine.”

That shouldn’t be possible. The city doesn’t let you dream. It doesn’t let you remember.

But Droid is remembering.

And for the first time in years, Pezzy feels something he thought was long dead.

Hope.

-

It’s slow. The city doesn’t like to lose its hold.

Droid fights against the haze, but it drags at him, pulling him back into the loops whenever he loses focus. But Pezzy keeps talking to him, keeps reminding him of who he is, of what’s real. He tells Droid about the little details he can still recall from before - rain against a window, the feeling of cold air on his face, the sound of his own laughter.

Droid starts adding his own memories. A mother’s voice. The smell of fresh-cut grass. The weight of a baseball in his hands.

The more they remember, the more the city begins to glitch.

Street signs change when they’re not looking. The train station flickers between decay and pristine condition. The people - background figures that once ignored them - begin to notice. Their heads turn too slowly, their movements just slightly delayed, but their expressions were focused on them. Like the city itself is watching through the citizens.

“We need to leave,” Pezzy says, gripping Droid’s wrist. His pulse is racing. “Now.”

Droid stares at him, then at their surroundings. The streetlights flicker erratically, casting warped shadows. The city is shifting, like it’s trying to correct itself.

“How?”

Pezzy doesn’t know.

But the city wants them to stay, which means there must be a way out.

Pezzy wasn't going to let this opportunity go to waste.

-

They don’t take the trains. That’s what the city wants - looping, endless, inescapable. Instead, they walk. This time further than they’ve ever dared. Despite the streets curving and looping, they keep walking. Past the streets they know, past the places that feel real. The further they go, the less stable everything becomes.

Buildings flicker between modern and ruined, their architecture warping. The sky shifts colors unnaturally, as if struggling to decide whether it’s day or night. The people - the ones who were once background noise - start following them.

They don’t stop.

They walk until the streets end, until the city can no longer keep up and struggles to create more road. Until there’s nothing but empty sky and the roaring sound of something cracking.

The city doesn’t like that.

The world lurches. The sky shatters.

And then-

They fall.

-

Droid wakes up to the sound of birds.

Real birds.

Sunlight is warm and real on his face. He’s lying on the ground, grass soft beneath his hands. His heart is racing, like he’s been running for hours.

And to be fair, he had.

He sits up too fast, breath hitching. He’s not in the city anymore. He’s-

He turns. Pezzy is beside him, blinking blearily at the sky.

“What…” Droid breathes. “Did we—?”

Pezzy lets out a disbelieving laugh, rubbing his face. “Oh, shit.”

They made it.

But the world had moved on without them.

Droid doesn't understand it at first. The air feels realer here, the wind crisp against his skin. The sun is too bright, almost blinding after years of neon lights and flickering bulbs. He breathes in, and it actually fills his lungs, not like the stale, recycled air of the city.

And then he sees the road.

Cracked pavement. Rusted street signs. A gas station that looks like it’s been abandoned for decades.

His stomach twists.

Pezzy is still lying on his back, staring at the sky like it’s the first time he’s seen it. Maybe it is.

“Pez,” Droid says, voice hoarse. “How long do you think we were gone?”

Pezzy doesn’t answer. Just lets out a breath, almost like a laugh, but it’s hollow.

Because they both know the answer.

Too long.

Chapter Text

The alleyway below smelled like wet garbage, the kind that had been baking in a sunless corner of New York for three days too long. The city hummed around them - sirens, honking taxis, shouting vendors - and none of it quite reached the shadows between the tall brick walls and chain-link fences behind a grimy bodega.

It was here, in the most cliché, noir-lit backstreet imaginable, that Pezzy found himself hunched behind a dumpster, holding two katanas, one chimichanga, and a bleeding arm that he was eighty-five percent sure would grow back.

“God, I love Tuesdays,” he muttered under his breath, then took a massive bite of the chimichanga like it was his last meal. “Spicy, greasy, tastes like guilt and teenage bad decisions. Just like Mom never used to make.”

He shifted slightly to peer around the rusted edge of the dumpster, his mask slightly crooked, one eyehole wrinkled from an earlier scuffle. “Okay, okay, quick recap: I made a joke about Kingpin’s haircut or lack of, broke into his safe, stole a USB drive shaped like Garfield, and flashed the middle finger at five henchmen before running like hell.”

A pause.

He sighed.

“…I regret nothing.”

Just as he adjusted his belt and shoved the rest of his snack into his mouth, something above him clicked - a soft, smooth thwip sound - and then there was a shadow casting over the alley floor, long and lanky, upside-down.

“Oh hell yeah,” Pezzy whispered, staring at the red and blue silhouette suspended midair by a single strand of webbing. “Please be my conscience. Please tell me I’m dreaming. Please tell me you’re here to kiss me upside down like in the movies-”

The figure dropped silently, landing in a crouch with fluid grace, and Pezzy practically purred. His head tilted with theatrical flair, both hands dropping to his hips as he stepped fully into the open.

“You’re real,” he said breathlessly, almost reverently, his mask lifting just enough for a lascivious grin to show. “Spider-Man. The Spandex Prince of Parkour. I have dreamed of this moment ever since I saw your ass in the Bugle.”

Spider-Man - better known as Droid under the mask - stood up slowly, gloved hands folding across his chest. “And you’re the loud-mouthed mercenary the X-Men can't seem to keep under control.”

“Deadpool,” Pezzy said, throwing his arms out like he was presenting a game show prize. “At your service, baby boy. You want a chimichanga? I’ve got half of one left, and some blood on it for seasoning.”

“I’m good.” Droid’s voice was low but clear, calm but clipped. “I’ve been tracking that flash drive. You stole it from Kingpin?”

“Borrowed it. I’m gonna return it. Eventually. Maybe. Possibly in pieces.” Pezzy held up the thumb drive like it was some divine artifact, flipping it between his fingers with impressive dexterity despite the sticky blood on his gloves. “You want it?”

“Yes.”

Pezzy leaned forward, voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You’re gonna have to come get it, webs.”

There was a pause - a thick, weighted silence between them, charged with something dangerous. Droid didn’t move, not at first. His lenses narrowed slightly, subtle tech shifting behind them, and Pezzy swore he saw a twitch in those fingers.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“I flirt with danger, baby. And right now, you’re a walking red flag, literally red! My type, if we’re being honest.”

“Shut up before I web your mouth shut.”

“Oh please do,” Pezzy gasped dramatically, fanning himself. “ But foreplay usually starts with dinner first. Or at least a drink. I’m not that easy."

Droid finally moved, closing the distance between them with two quiet steps. Pezzy didn’t flinch. He leaned in, eyes bright behind his mask, hands twitching near his blades like he was ready for a fight - or maybe something filthier.

“You’re insane,” Droid said, voice neutral, but his gaze was fixed. “You know that?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Pezzy’s head tilted again. “Don’t you ever get bored of being nice? Saving cats, catching robbers, living in a Queens apartment with a rice cooker and only mild trust issues?”

Droid tensed. He hated how spot-on that was.

Pezzy leaned even closer, and his breath was warm where it ghosted over Droid’s chin through his mask. “You've never even thought about letting loose once in a while? Letting your webs strangle someone until the life leaves their eyes?”

There was a beat.

And then Droid reached up lightning-fast and grabbed Pezzy by the collar, pulling him forward in one swift, jarring motion. Their masks brushed, lips separated by thin fabric and tension that was about three seconds from snapping.

“You’re lucky I don’t just web you to the wall and leave you here,” Droid said lowly.

“Why not?” Pezzy breathed. “You like the view?”

Silence. Then a hand at Pezzy’s hip, another at his wrist, firm but not hurting. He was being held in place. Not restrained - just…handled. Pezzy liked that more than he probably should’ve.

“You’re a headache,” Droid muttered.

“You’re hot,” Pezzy replied, voice syrupy with mischief. “Hey. C’mon. What’s your name under there, webs?”

“You don’t get to know that.”

“Oh, you are fun.”

Pezzy laughed then - light, mad, a little breathless from the rush of being this close to someone who could flatten him with a single punch or pin him against the wall and—

“Oh my goodness, are we about to kiss?”

“No.”

“I think your pants are on fire.”

Another beat. Another inch. Pezzy wasn’t even pretending to hide it now - he wanted this. Whatever this was. He wanted the challenge, the press of their bodies in the alleyway while the city raged around them.

“You’re ridiculous,” Droid muttered.

“Yeah,” Pezzy said, head dipping so his voice landed hot at Droid’s ear. “But I’m yours for the night, if you want me.”

He could feel it - the shift. The tightening of Droid’s grip, the war between restraint and temptation behind that red-and-black mask. The part of him that wanted to follow rules… and the part that wanted to shove Pezzy against the nearest wall and shut him up with his mouth.

Droid made a noise then - low in his throat, frustrated, maybe even turned on, though he’d never admit it. He pushed Pezzy back gently, but not without heat.

“Go home,” he said.

Pezzy stepped away, spinning the flash drive around his finger again, eyes gleaming. “Awe, c'mon Spidey, you can't get me all hot and bothered then blue ball me. Not fair.”

“I’m keeping my eye on you.”

“I hope you are.” Pezzy said with a wink.

And then He was gone - flipping over the dumpster with one hand, landing in a crouch, and vanishing into the shadows like a ghost.

Droid stood in the alley for a long time after that, staring into the dark where Pezzy had disappeared, heart pounding harder than it should’ve been.

He touched the web-shooter at his wrist.

“…Ridiculous,” he repeated quietly. But even as he turned away, even as he scaled the wall and vanished into the night, he knew he'd be seeing him again.

Maybe even tomorrow.

...

He didn't retrieve the flash drive.

-

“Well. That’s going in the spank bank.”

Pezzy dusted himself off, whistling a little tune as he limped toward the streetlight at the end of the alley, katana swinging from his hip.

He had a feeling he'd be seeing Spider-Man again real soon.

And hopefully he'll be able to hit a home-run.

Chapter Text

Upon arrival, the event looked promising: colorful tents, glowing paper lanterns, scent of popcorn in the air. It had all the trappings of a festival - until the volunteers in brightly colored vests started dividing everyone up.

“Prey to the left, predators to the right,” barked a cheerful aardvark with a clipboard.

“What the fuck is this, Noah’s Ark?” Blarg muttered, already being dragged by a group of lemurs in staff shirts.

The mixer was supposed to be a chance for students of different backgrounds to “bridge the gap,” or so the bright-eyed announcers had promised in their cheery voices. But by the time Pezzy sat stiffly at one of the prey-designated tables with Smitty and Puffer, he already felt his patience wearing thin.

They were seated at a table labeled 'Prey Cohort 3' surrounded by other visibly uncomfortable prey animals. On the other side of the field, Droid waved at them from the 'Predator Cohort 5' section, sheepish in the neon glow of a tent labeled 'Power & Responsibility Workshop.'

“Why are we being segregated like this?” Smitty hissed, ears twitching.

“Feels a little… fascist,” Pezzy muttered, tired.

A chipper meerkat named Summer, who was introduced as the event “Mediator of Mammalian Mindfulness,” took the stage with a mic.

“We’re so excited to bridge interspecies gaps through enrichment, vulnerability, and educational bonding!” Summer beamed. “But first, we’ll be going over the Ten Touch Zones and the Predator-Prey Dialogue Do’s and Don’ts!”

“Oh hell no,” Puffer groaned, face buried in his Hooves.

“Please kill me,” Pezzy muttered, while Smitty had already disassociated and was braiding string cheese.

The rules the leaders recited were nothing new - platitudes about mutual respect, “no intimidation,” “no dominance displays,” “no prey-baiting,” “no predator-bashing.” It was all things they had heard a hundred times before, and yet the tension in the room suggested that no amount of lectures could keep old instincts from simmering just beneath the surface.

After the painful slideshow that felt like a school presentation from hell - complete with stock photos of lions giving flowers to terrified hares - the announcement came:

“And now! It’s time for the Trust Trail Treasure Hunt! Every predator will be paired with a prey partner for a fun, adventurous walk through the festival grounds! Let your instincts be your guide - while remembering the Color-Coded Consent Zones!”

Pezzy slouched in his chair, tail flicking with irritation, his whiskers twitching at every over-explained clause. Smitty leaned sideways against him, whispering dramatically out of the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to kill myself,” Smitty said flatly.

Pezzy’s partner turned out to be a lion.

The feline’s mane was unkempt, his smirk lazy, his words sharp with arrogance. “Name’s Cassian,” the lion had said, giving Pezzy a slow once-over that made his fur prickle. “Guess I drew the short straw.”

“Funny,” Pezzy muttered, arms crossed. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Cassian chuckled, not getting it. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna eat ya. Unless you get annoying.”

Pezzy's eye twitched, "Right..."

Cassian chuckled low, as if amused rather than offended, and proceeded to spend the entire hunt making it clear he wasn’t here for “team-building.” He pushed past Pezzy whenever they came across a clue, never waited for him to catch up, and made offhand comments about how ridiculous it was that prey and predator were expected to get along.

They spent the next fourty-five minutes walking from station to station collecting stupid puzzle pieces. Pezzy had to hoist himself onto ledges, dodge tail swings from larger predators, and listen to Cassian boast about how many “wimpy little antelope” he’d made cry so far.

“I don’t get this,” Cassian said at one point, grabbing a marshmallow from a scavenger station. He tossed a clue card Pezzy had actually managed to find into the air like it was nothing. “Not like you’re really gonna hold your own if it came down to it.”

“What?”

“I’m just here to make the little ones squirm,”

Pezzy’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

By the time they found the final treasure marker - a dumb plush rabbit buried in straw - Pezzy’s social battery was blinking red. His tail had been stepped on twice. He had grass in his ears. His nose itched from the hay.

And Cassian - fucking Cassian - kept snapping photos with his tongue out like it was a victory lap.

“Let’s take a selfie,” the lion said, wrapping a paw tightly around Pezzy’s shoulder.

Pezzy wiggled loose. “Let’s not.”

With that, Pezzy scrambled off.

The group rejoined at the festival-like grounds, where various 'activity stations' had been set up - games, food booths, crafts, little competitions meant to encourage 'bonding'. The moment Pezzy spotted the familiar faces of his housemates, he darted toward them, ears flattening in relief.

They all met under a tall tree with dangling string lights, sitting on an array of hay bales.

“Well,” Blarg said, already eating a suspiciously shaped pretzel, “that was educational.”

“Educational how?” Yumi demanded. “Educational in how fucking dumb this school is?”

Grizzy looked almost amused, chuckling as he described being paired with a bunny girl who had kept him laughing the whole hunt. “She’s got more jokes than Droid,” he said, clapping the smaller man on the shoulder.

Droid snorted. “Impossible. But I did get paired with a Cat, super awkward at first. You’d think she’d never seen a wolf before. But by the end, she was laughing at my dumb impressions.” He grinned sheepishly. “Guess I still got it.”

Smitty flopped beside Pezzy. “My partner was a fox. She kept calling me cute”

“You’re adorable,” Blarg offered, dropping his head dramatically onto Smitty’s lap. Blarg’s recount was less cheery. “My partner was an absolute nightmare. Talked down to me the whole time - like, I’m only a predator. But I’m just me. And apparently, that was offensive in itself.”

Puffer grunted. “I got paired with an otter who didn’t say a single word the whole time. Just hummed and blinked at things like he was on shrooms.”

“My partner wasn't so bad I guess, definitely had the energy squirrels live up to and she was kinda cute,” Yumi shrugged. “What about you, Pretty Boy?” The skunk teased.

John closed his eyes as his ears flattened, like he was processing trauma. “She was a gazelle. Only said four words: ‘Oh my God, John.’ Repeatedly. I couldn't escape.”

The group laughed, some at John’s expense, some in solidarity. For a little while, Pezzy felt the weight lift off his shoulders.

Pezzy didn't mention the disturbing things his partner said - choosing to stay quiet and allowing his battery to charge back up

The festival portion was more fun. They played tug-of-war. Pezzy and Smitty destroyed everyone in a prey-only scavenger round. Yumi performed an impromptu beatboxing battle against a rat DJ. Grizzy won a pie-eating contest and almost cried from joy. Droid and Blarg tried all five types of slushies and got matching brain freezes.

By the time night fell and the glowing lanterns cast golden halos over the dancefloor, things were looking up.

The ‘dance’ was more of a casual gathering than a formal affair, but the room was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with students. Music thumped through the floorboards, lights flashed across fur, scales, and feathers alike. Pezzy, surrounded by his housemates, finally let go and thought the night was salvaged.

But then everyone began to wander. John ducked out for a smoke. Yumi ran off chasing the squirrel he’d been partnered with, demanding a rematch of whatever game they had played. Blarg went to check out the fortune-telling tent. Droid and Puffer disappeared to go get more drinks. Grizzy crowded the food table like a moth to a flame.

And Smitty excused himself to find the fox and said: “I’ll show her how not cute I can be.”

Which left Pezzy, small and alone, nursing a cup of watered-down punch near the edge of the floor.

Which is exactly when it all went to hell.

“You!” a sleek leopard girl chirped, snapping her claws in his face. “You’re cute. Let’s dance.”

Pezzy blinked. “I’m - uh, no thank you - really, I don’t-”

“You should dance,” she said, her smile charming and her tail flicking lazily.

“I’m good,” Pezzy replied quickly, shaking his head.

But she didn’t take no for an answer. Her paw closed gently but firmly around his wrist, tugging him toward the mass of bodies. “C’mon, just one dance. You’ll have fun.”

He tried to protest, but the music drowned him out. And before he knew it, he was swallowed by the crowd.

-

The moment Pezzy was pulled into the center of the floor, his gut dropped like a stone. The music pounded through him, bass rattling his small frame, lights streaking across the swirling bodies of prey and predator alike. The leopard girl’s spotted tail disappeared into the sea of fur and movement, and before he could blink, she was gone.

Gone - leaving him stranded in the thick of it.

A wall of taller bodies closed around him. Shoulders jostled, claws tapped against the floor, laughter and shouts blended into a cacophony that pressed in from all sides. Pezzy’s ears flicked desperately, trying to orient himself, but the noise was too much. He couldn’t see the exit, couldn’t spot a single familiar face.

His tail was stepped on once - hard - and he squeaked in pain, curling it protectively against his chest. Another shove from behind sent him stumbling forward into the back of someone else, who didn’t even bother to turn and check on him. His paws were small, his stature fragile; he was a pebble being kicked around in a river current.

Pezzy’s breath grew shallow, each inhale sharp and quick. Too many. Too close. Too big. He tried to squeeze through a gap in the crowd, but bodies shifted, closing the space before he could slip past.

In the blur of lights and movement, he swore he saw him - Cassian, the smug lion from the treasure hunt. The flash of golden mane, the glint of fangs in a sneer. And beside him, other big cats, their eyes glinting like predators in the brush.

Watching and waiting.

The mouse’s chest tightened. Panic crawled up his throat like vines, choking and pressing. He could hear his own heartbeat pounding louder than the music. His whiskers twitched wildly as he spun, tail lashing, his claws digging into his palms. He knew it wasn’t real - that the lion wasn’t really surrounding him - but instinct didn’t care about logic. His body screamed danger.

Then - suddenly - his collar jerked upward.

Pezzy yelped as his paws left the ground, flailing instinctively, heart thudding like a drum. He thought, for one horrific instant, that he’d been snatched by one of the larger cats. His voice cracked as he shouted, “Let me go! Put me down!”

But then a familiar voice cut through the loud bass of the music, sharp as a whip.

“Do we have a fucking issue here?”

Puffer?

Pezzy blinked rapidly, trying to focus, ears ringing. The elk held him aloft with surprising strength, eyes blazing as he glared at the nearest cluster of big cats standing in front of them. Puffer's tone was iron, his voice carrying even over the thudding music.

“I asked if we have a fucking problem here.”

The authority in his voice was undeniable. Some of the cats shifted uneasily, a few muttering under their breath.

Before they could test him, another figure forced his way through the crowd.

Grizzy.

The bear’s massive frame cut through the press of bodies like a ship through water. He bared his teeth, a low, rumbling snarl vibrating from deep in his chest. The shift was immediate - students backed off, eyes wide, giving him a wide space.

Puffer set Pezzy down just enough to hold him properly, arm curled protectively around his shoulders like a shield. His eyes burned hot in the colorful lights, his posture tall and unyielding. Like a dam refusing to break.

“Jesus, Pezzy. Are you okay?” he asked lowly, voice pitched so only Pezzy could hear.

Pezzy didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His throat locked up. All he could do was cling. All he could feel was small.

And then came Droid, smaller in size compared to Grizzy or Puffer but bristling with the same sharp anger. His hackles stood on end, ears pinned, his glare hot enough to scorch. He planted himself at Grizzy’s side like a second wave of warning.

The crowd hesitated. The music still blared, but the atmosphere had shifted. Where before Pezzy felt swallowed, now there was a pocket of space, a protective ring formed by his friends.

wriggling in Puffer’s grip, Pezzy managed to croak out, “I can - defend myself! Just - let me go!” His pride flared even through the panic, tail thrashing against Puffer’s leg.

But Puffer’s grip only tightened, steady and grounding. “dude,” he muttered, though his eyes never left the crowd. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

Cassian - the lion from earlier - and a few of his pals. The leopard girl was among them, smirking like a kid who’d found the perfect anthill to stomp. Cassian licked his teeth.

“Aw, come on,” he said, voice oily with amusement. “We were just showing your little friend a good time.”

“He didn’t want a good time,” Grizzy snapped. “He wanted to be left alone.”

The cats chuckled like that was the punchline to a joke. Cassian stepped forward.

“Funny. Mouse-boy here didn’t seem so shy earlier. Got a real mouth on him for someone bite-sized.”

Pezzy flinched. Puffer’s jaw tensed.

Before Pezzy could snap back, another figure swept in - John. His usually cool demeanor was gone, replaced with a sharp hiss as he pushed into the ring. His tail lashed, eyes narrowed, his voice cold enough to cut glass.

“Step back.”

“You know,” Cassian continued, louder now, “I tried to play nice. But rude little prey like him? They forget their place. Like yapping chihuahuas. You gotta remind ‘em where they fall on the food chain.”

Puffer’s entire body rippled with tension, the same way a wave gathers itself before crashing. His voice dropped low, guttural. “Say another fucking word.”

Pezzy yanked on Puffer’s shirt - tugged, hard. Still breathless. “Let’s just go.”

“Pezzy-”

“Please.” His voice cracked.

Puffer looked at him and saw the cracks splintering through Pezzy’s carefully balanced facade. Saw the panic crawling just under his skin like ants. Saw the way Pezzy refused to cry, refused to tremble, even as his shoulders shook and his breath hitched. Puffer sighed, clenching his jaw.

“Fine.”

He turned and led them out, wrapping an arm around Pezzy’s back, keeping him tucked close. Behind them, voices rose. Arguing. Posturing. Then the low, unmistakable growl of Grizzy cutting through the noise.

John’s voice. Droid’s. The crowd spectating

Pezzy refused to look back. Even though the guilt of letting his housemates deal with his business burned deep in hit gut.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp. The grass was wet with dew. String lights hung above like stars too close to touch. A distant bassline still thumped, muffled by the tent walls.

Pezzy finally inhaled. Deep. Shaky.

He turned, pressed his face into Puffer’s chest, and exhaled everything he had left. It came out in pieces. Tremors. Quiet gasps. Small fists curled against cotton. Puffer didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just held him.

Pezzy spoke into his chest, voice raw.

“I fucking hated that.”

Puffer gently rested his chin on Pezzy’s head.

“All of it,” Pezzy muttered. “I hated being looked at like I was breakable. I hated that you all had to save me. I hated that I needed it.”

“You didn’t need it,” Puffer said softly. “But if we hadn’t stepped in, you’d have been trampled.”

“I know.” Pezzy’s voice cracked again. “That’s why I hated it.”

Silence. Long and still. Puffer’s hands resting on Pezzy’s back like he was keeping something fragile from falling apart.

“I get it,” he said finally. “Not all the way. I’m still prey. But I’m not…” He gestured vaguely at Pezzy’s entire tiny frame. “I’m not you. I don’t live like this every day.”

Pezzy sniffed. “Everyone thinks it’s cute. Being small. Until you’re scared. Then they treat you like a child.”

“You’re not a child,” Puffer said. “You’re Pezzy. You’re loud. You’re funny. You’re smart. You’re-”

“Small,” Pezzy muttered.

Puffer didn’t argue that. Just pressed Pezzy’s head further into his chest.

-

Twelve minutes passed like that. No words. Just the hush of the wind and the fading heat from the party.

Then the door burst open.

John came first, dusting off his sleeves. His usual cool exterior slightly ruffled.

Grizzy followed, looking somewhat pleased. His claws had retracted, but his grin hadn’t.

Droid was last of the trio, fur ruffled, breathing hard.

“Fucking cats,” he muttered, flopping down beside them.

“Is it over?” Puffer asked.

“Yeah,” John said calmly. “Blarg showed up.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Cassian said something about Pezzy being a glorified chew toy,” Droid added. “Before anyone of us could even speak, Blarg clawed him across the snout before Smii7y could hold him back.”

“What about security?”

“They were distracted by Yumi making out with that squirrel. Weirdest diversion tactic I’ve ever seen, but effective.”

Pezzy groaned softly. “Is anyone dead?”

“No,” John said, sitting beside him. “But Smii7y threatened to call that weird goat RA you hate if they didn’t shut it down. That helped.”

Puffer frowned, “Where's Smii7y right now?”

“He's with Blarg right now talking with security, they might have to go to the station.”

Grizzy leaned down slightly to face Pezzy, his growl subsiding into a stern rumble. “You alright, dude?”

Pezzy forced his ears upright, whiskers twitching stubbornly. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

But his trembling paws told another story.

Pezzy leaned back on the steps, shoulders looser now, eyes glassy but not breaking.

“You guys seriously didn't have to do that,” Pezzy said honestly. “You don't have to patronize me.”

Puffer reached over and squeezed his paw once.

“Dude, I would tear off someone's tail for even looking at you wrong! Not because you tiny, but because you're my friend, Pezzy.” Droid crossed his arms, still glaring at the door. “It was a stupid idea in the first place, making us all dance in a sardine can like this. They should’ve seen this coming.”

Pezzy kept his eyes glued to the stone path beneath them, “If I wasn't so weak you wouldn't have to do any of that.”

John finally moved closer, his presence strangely grounding. He flicked his tail once more, eyes softening when they landed on Pezzy. “No one here thinks you're weak Pezzy. We defended you because we knew you'd do the same. We are friends and nothing will stop us from defending you.”

Grizzy and Droid agreed hastily, nodding their heads up and down.

A small grin curled at the corner of his lips. “Thanks,” Pezzy muttered, too quiet but still enough for his housemates to hear.

Chapter Text

It starts the way it always does: a tightness behind Pezzy’s eyes, a quiet pull beneath the skin, and a strange taste at the back of his tongue - something sharp, something hot.

Anxiety.

The air around Pezzy hums with it.

He shudders, arms wrapped tight around himself as he slinks down the narrow hallway. His breath comes in short, ragged bursts, even though nothing’s happened to him. The fear’s not his. He knows that. It’s someone else’s tension, crawling through him like a parasite. Uninvited. Unrelenting.

“Pezzy?”

He stops dead in his tracks at the sound of Smii7y’s voice. Pezzy turns slowly, finding him lingering in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a half-sliced apple and a paring knife. Sweater sleeves pulled over his hands. The usual. But his eyes squint the way they do when he’s listening.

Pezzy’s heart races.

“Are you okay?” Smii7y asks.

The panic stabs a little harder. Whatever fear Pezzy’s absorbing is shivering, shaking, pressed into the walls of his skull like it’s trying to claw out. It’s hard to breathe. He folds forward slightly as a small wave a nausea rolls in his gut, hand pressed on the kitchen counter.

“No,” he admits. His voice is shaking.

Smii7y sets the knife down immediately, brows furrowing as he approaches. “What kind of fear is it?” he asks, softly now. There’s a familiarity in his tone, like he’s used to this - maybe because he is.

Pezzy licks his lips. “Anxiety I think? It feels like I'm about to throw up.”

Smii7y’s face flickers.

He doesn’t say anything.

That’s what gives it away.

The wave of dread swells sharper, like lava in Pezzy’s stomach. He recoils as the realization crashes in. His eyes narrow, jaw clenching.

“It’s you.”

Smii7y freezes.

There’s no point denying it. Pezzy knows the feel of his fear now - it’s faintly acidic, touched by shame, sticky and unwilling. A fear he doesn’t want acknowledged. Doesn’t want shared.

“I didn’t-” Smii7y starts, but stops himself.

That’s the second tell. Not a lie, no. Smii7y can’t lie without being caught. Pezzy watches his hesitation like it’s a glitch in a machine.

“Something is making you anxious,” Pezzy says, voice low. “But you didn’t want me to know.”

Smii7y looks down at the apple. “It’s nothing.”

“Clearly not.” Pezzy snaps. He’s trembling now, not out of rage, but empathy - a sickness caused by proximity. “You say that it's 'nothing', but I can still feel it. You know I will.”

Silence.

“I'm just... a little nervous,” Smii7y murmurs.

Pezzy’s breath catches.

His fingers dig into the counter, bracing. He wants to turn it off - God, he wants to turn it off.

“What happened?”

Smii7y doesn’t answer right away. His lips twist, his knuckles white around the apple.

“Grizzy forgot about me and Matt,” he says finally. “I... He switched bodies with Droid for a little bit but when he switched back he couldn't say either of our names..”

The fear erupts as Smii7y recalls what had happened that morning - mind racing and body trembling.

Pezzy chokes on it.

He turns away, both hands gripping his own shoulders like he can physically shake the feeling loose. “Fuck. Shit. Okay, okay.”

“I didn’t want to tell you,” Smii7y mutters behind him. “Because I knew this would happen. I'm sorry.”

“Don't be sorry.”

“How can I not? Now you have that bad gross feeling too. I don't want you to feel like that because I can't grow up and act like Grizzy losing his memories isn't that big of a deal .”

Pezzy finally looks over his shoulder. “Your fear is justified” he says. “You’re terrified for every right reason. Grizzy losing his memory is only temporary, we all know this, but it... it scares me shitless too.”

Smii7y looks guilty. And something about that guilt is more grounded than the fear.

“That’s not fair to you. You shouldn't have to carry my bullshit along with yours.” Smii7y says.

Pezzy blinks slowly. “I didn’t ask for this either. It’s not a game of fair. It’s a game of ‘who gets dragged under the slowest, but at least I get to connect with you guys. Even if it sucks.’”

A beat of silence.

Smii7y walks over, placing the apple on the counter and leaning against it next to Pezzy.

Pezzy stares at him, eyes narrowed slightly.

“I wish I could lie, being honest sucks ass. I could tell you I was fine without letting out all my baggage onto you.”

Pezzy watches the subtle twitch in Smii7y’s brow, the involuntary hesitation.

“I'm sure you would abuse the hell out of honesty if you couldn't lie.” Pezzy says.

“Yeah,” Smii7y smiles softly. “Even if I could, I don't think I could ever lie to your face like that.”

It’s a strange moment to confess affection - half drowned in fear and guilt and strange dread - but Pezzy doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even smile. Just leans into the counter and exhales.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“I want to help you. Even if it feels like I'm going to projectile vomit everywhere.”

Smii7y lets out a small puff of laughter. “I know.”

Smii7y grabs the knife again, finishing the apple.

He hands Pezzy a slice.

Pezzy accepts it.

"Can I give you a hug?" Smii7y asks as he watched Pezzy chew the wedge.

Pezzy nods, already wrapping his arms across Smii7y's back.

Smii7y quick to return the favor.

“You know,” Pezzy mumbles quietly, his voice brushing gently across Smii7y's shoulder, “If you ever do manage to lie to me... I’ll still believe you.”

Smii7y shifts slightly, skeptical. "Really?"

"Hell no, I'd call your ass out right away," Pezzy snickers, finally feeling the coil in his chest unravel as Smii7y's own anxiety shrinks.

Smii7y's laughter carries throughout the kitchen space, the vibrations traveling to Pezzy's chest.

As they peeled apart, there was another flutter of silence. This one... not so suffocating. The worst of the fear has passed. At least, for now. The storm still swirls at the edge of Pezzy’s consciousness, but it’s quieter with someone else beside him.

Chapter Text

The castle was quiet, as always.

Moss clung to crumbling brick. Ivy crawled hungrily along the jagged edges of its towers like green veins pulsing with stubborn life. Birds avoided the place altogether - save for the occasional crow, which perched on the blackened remains of shattered windows, cawing into the fog with no response. The sky was heavy and gray, as if mourning the ruins it blanketed. What had once been a glorious fortress now stood as little more than a husk - an echo of grandeur buried beneath dust and despair.

Within it, curled atop a broken dais in what used to be the castle’s great hall, lay a dragon.

His body stretched easily from wall to wall, long and lithe like a serpent carved from amethyst. Pink ridges shimmered beneath the filtered light through the holes in the ceiling, softening the edge of his sharp spine. Smoke leaked constantly from his nostrils - thin, lazy, as if even that took too much effort. His claws were curled into the old marble beneath him, half out of boredom, half out of instinct.

The dragon shifted on some of the broken flagstones, claws scraping gently across the floor as he let out another sigh that billowed into a cloud of ashy smoke. The haze curled toward the rafters, darkening the webbed beams where owls sometimes perched. He watched it dissipate with dull green eyes, their brightness dimmed over the weeks.

And he was bored. Crushingly bored.

There were only so many times one could circle the ruins before the weight of it pressed down like chains. His tail lashed against the cold stone floor, sending a loud crack echoing through the hall. The sound startled a few nesting birds that had taken refuge in the high windows. They scattered into the gray sky, free in a way he could no longer be.

His name was Pezzy. Or at least it used to be.

He still was Pezzy, he supposed. A prince once. Crowned and adored. Flanked by banners of his house crest. The pride of his kingdom.

He thought of his home - though every time he tried, the memory sharpened like a knife.

The king’s voice bellowing from the marble throne. His mother’s horrified face when the first scales erupted across her son’s arms. The crowd’s screams, the flash of steel drawn against him. The way they drove him out, their once-beloved prince now something monstrous, unnatural.

Pezzy closed his eyes, throat burning faintly with the threat of blue fire. He swallowed hard, refusing to breathe it out. It always hurt - each spark like tearing his throat apart from the inside. Better to endure the ache and exhale nothing but smoke.

But he still hated this.

The silence. The solitude. The fact that no matter how many hours passed, there were no footsteps echoing down the hallways. No kitchen staff to complain about his picky tastes. No lectures from his tutor about diplomacy and posture. No smell of baked goods from the royal kitchens. No-

...No family.

He had not tried to return. He could not bear the thought of seeing their faces again, twisted in fear.

“...He’s late,” he mumbled, the words slow and low like a rumbling storm.

The scrape of metal reached his ears, faint but familiar. A steady rhythm: boot against stone, armor brushing against old walls. He opened one eye, watching as a figure emerged through the arched doorway. The knight moved with quiet purpose, helm glinting dully in the afternoon light, every inch covered in iron.

Pezzy growled, eyeing the knight.

“Still sulking, my prince?” Droid’s voice, muffled by the helmet, echoed across the vast, broken hall.

Smoke poured from Pezzy's snout again in a long, frustrated sigh. “You’re late.”

Droid gave a small smile and approached the edge of the massive stone platform where Pezzy lay. “The river near the bridge flooded. Took me a while to find a new crossing. What have you been up to in the meantime?”

"Alas, I've merely been recalling who I once was" Another sigh seeped from his jaws.

Droid set the helmet down on a fallen pillar and leaned his sword carefully against it, as if even in a ruin such as this, weapons and armor deserved respect. Then he lowered himself onto the step of what had once been the dais for a throne.

“Memory is a cruel pastime,” Droid said simply. He pulled a small satchel from his hip, untying it to reveal two parcels wrapped in cloth. “But perhaps, my prince, the day might pass more easily with a distraction.”

The green in Pezzy’s eyes brightened faintly, though his wings twitched in faint embarrassment. “Is that-?”

“Vanilla pastries, Your favorite.” Droid’s mouth twitched in the barest hint of a smile as he unwrapped one of the bundles in his lap. “From the bakery across from the scroll shop. Smii7y insists they’re his best batch yet.”

"I shall be the judge of that." Without a second thought, Pezzy presses his snout against Droid's thighs and devoured every crumb.

Droid pushed him away gently, scowling at the patches of drool staining his trousers. "Have you seriously no manners? You could have waited to eat them."

Pezzy shifted, the enormous bulk of his body making the stone groan beneath him, and lowered his head with embarrassment. His talons scraped the floor. “And how am I supposed to eat them?”

Droid raised a brow. “With dignity, as always. I'd prefer if you didn't slobber all over my armor.”

A puff of indignant smoke burst from Pezzy’s nostrils, but his chest rumbled in something dangerously close to a laugh. The sound filled the hall, soft and broken though it was, and Droid’s expression eased with quiet relief.

The two fell into their usual silence. Droid sat cross-legged among his scrolls, helmet tilted down as he studied their contents. Pezzy watched him idly, claws flexing against the stone. There was a comfort in the knight’s quiet presence - a reminder that though the kingdom had cast him out, though the world saw only a monster, one man still looked at him and saw a prince worth serving.

Pezzy shifted, wings brushing the crumbling wall behind him. “Tell me something of the village,” he asked at last, his voice low, hesitant. “Anything. The color of the market stalls, the smell of bread. I want to remember.”

And Droid, without missing a beat, began to speak.

Droid only smiled under his helmet. “Well today, I had to wait for Puffer to open his shop. He’s started locking the door until I knock now.”

Pezzy huffed again, this time in a short, amused snort. “I would too, if a mysterious armored knight kept showing up asking about weird scrolls every week.”

“I’m nothing if not persistent,” Droid replied easily.

The parchment under his feet crinkled as he stepped closer, boots tapping over shattered tiles and soot. He didn’t flinch when Pezzy’s tail twitched, slicing through the air a hair’s breadth from his face. He never flinched.

"You really are. You have yet to relent with those scrolls."

"Hear me on this one, Puffer says one might be promising.” Droid finally removed his gauntlets with careful precision, as though the ritual mattered as much as the scrolls themselves. He laid them on the table, then turned to look at his prince with the steady resolve of a man who had taken an oath.

Something Pezzy still didn’t understand.

“You know it won’t work,” Pezzy murmured, smoke curling from his nostrils. “None of them do. I’ll die a dragon, Droid. You should… stop wasting your time.”

“And break my vow?” Droid said simply. He crossed the hall, not even flinching as the dragon’s massive tail shifted across the floor in a restless coil. He stopped just short of Pezzy’s head and placed one hand against a scale the size of a shield. “I swore to protect you till the day I die. That means protecting you from this curse, too.”

The contact was almost laughable - one hand against an ocean of scales. And yet, Pezzy felt it. A warmth, small but steady, that no magic could curse away.

He lowered his head until it rested on the floor beside Droid. “You’re a fool.”

Droid burst out in a loud cackle, his head knocking against Pezzy's temple. "I've been told that before."

Pezzy let out a sound that was almost a laugh, though it came out like a rumbling quake through his chest. "Could you perhaps tell me more about the village, aside from Puffer - I fear I've heard quite enough of that gentleman."

“Gentle isn't quite the word I would use to describe Puffer. Nevertheless the village is small,” Droid began, voice steady behind his helmet, the echo filling the great ruined hall. His gauntleted hands smoothed the scroll in his lap, though his eyes - unseen - were turned inward, pulling up memories.

“There’s a square at its heart, paved with cobblestones worn smooth from centuries of feet. In the mornings, the merchants set up their stalls. Bright cloths draped over crooked tables, baskets brimming with apples and onions. The air smells of yeast and woodsmoke - Smii7y bakes his loaves before dawn, and you can smell the bread clear across the square, all the way over at the pub. Sometimes the smell of cinnamon joins it when he has sugar to spare.”

Pezzy closed his eyes, a low rumble vibrating in his throat. His tail gave a small twitch against the stone floor, claws scraping. He could almost see it - the cheerful mess of a marketplace, baskets piled high, voices haggling, the sound of horses stamping.

“Children run through the streets,” Droid continued, shifting slightly and pressed further into Pezzy. “They play games with hoops and sticks, or chase each other between the wells and the baker’s ovens. The blacksmith works near the edge of town - you can hear his hammer ringing all the way to the church steps. He works with the door open, so the heat doesn’t drive him mad. Sometimes I stand near it in the evenings.”

The dragon’s eyes opened again, slow and gleaming green. “And no one fears you?”

“Quite the opposite unfortunately.”

Pezzy exhaled through his nostrils, releasing a puff of ash that drifted up to dance in the sunbeam cutting through the cracked ceiling. “You walk among them as though you are a stranger. As though you were not sworn to me.”

“I am sworn to you,” Droid corrected gently, turning the scroll aside. “That does not change. But I cannot serve you if I draw suspicion. So I attempt to go quietly. But a stranger in iron-clad armor isn't necessarily stealthy.”

Pezzy studied him for a long moment, jaw shifting slightly though his lips never formed words. The strange magic that carried his voice gave it a solemn weight. “Do you eat among them?”

Droid hesitated, then gave a short nod. “Smii7y insists. He will not let a man leave his bakery with an empty stomach. I tell him I have little coin, but he presses bread into my hands anyway.”

The dragon’s expression shifted - not quite a smile, but the green of his eyes softened.

“That man loves his craft, I'm not surprised he is willing to share it freely,” he murmured. “His desserts... They remind me of the fantastic delights the castle's chef would make. I can nearly taste them right now.”

Droid’s head tilted. “really?”

A low, wistful rumble filled the hall. “My mother would bring them to me after lessons, when I was still-” He broke off, the words trailing into smoke. His wings twitched against the stone wall, restless. “I did not savor them enough. They were always gone too quickly. But... I much enjoy Smii7y's sweets more, they are truly made with passion.”

The knight was quiet for a moment, his armored fingers idly tracing the edges of parchment. Then he said, almost offhandedly, “Would you like me to bring you more next time? Perhaps Smii7y's entire stash would suit your appetite?”

Pezzy’s head lifted sharply, horns catching a shaft of light. “You would do that for a miserable dragon like myself?”

“Must I repeat myself, my Prince? I've taken an oath that I will never betray.” Droid said simply, the same way he had a hundred times before. And then, softer, as though the words were meant only for the prince: “I would risk more than that.”

The dragon’s throat worked, a sound rising that might have been a laugh if not for its heaviness. “You are stubborn.”

“So are you. Always refusing to believe my loyalty when you should know I would die for you.”

Another pause fell, comfortable this time. The ruined castle was no longer silent; it was full of the knight’s low voice, weaving threads of life from the world beyond.

“Tell me more about that pub,” Pezzy rumbled at last, settling his head down on his folded arms like a child at a hearth. “You mention it quite often, more than Smii7y's bakery or Puffer's shop, I have yet to hear more about it.”

"Well, It's quite lively. The bartender is certainly a character." Droid smiles wide. Further rambling about the chaotic nonsense that he had witness. His voice soon becomes faint as Pezzy falls into a deep slumber, his dreams creating a perfect illusion where it was him that experienced those things - not Droid.

Or preferably with Droid.

Chapter Text

Puffer

The couch in Grizzy’s living room was full. Someone had brought pizza, someone else had brought soda, and the group chat was a riot of inside jokes in real life. Puffer had claimed his usual end seat, legs stretched out, a plate balanced on his stomach. He wasn’t paying attention to Blarg until he felt sudden weight press against his knees.

He looked down. Blarg was… sprawled across his lap like a cat who had decided this was now his seat.

"You good?" Puffer asked, eyebrow twitching.

"Yeah," Blarg hummed, not even looking up from his phone.

"Your whole body is in my personal space," Puffer muttered, shifting a little.

"Correction-" Blarg’s voice was lazy, "-your lap is in my personal space, where I prefer it."

Puffer snorted, shaking his head, but didn’t push him off. He figured it was better than Blarg draping himself over someone less patient… and judging by the side-eyes from the others, everyone knew they weren’t getting their laps spared.

-

Pezzy

Pezzy was in the middle of trying to reach a high shelf at Blarg’s place, standing on tiptoe, when he felt two strong, warm arms snake around his waist.

"Hey-" Pezzy almost jumped, but the hold was already tightening, a chin settling on top of his head.

"Perfect height," Blarg murmured, his voice smug and soft at the same time.

"You’re heavy," Pezzy grumbled, half-smiling despite himself. "I was also trying to get something."

"You can still get it. I’m helping with moral support!"

"Moral support is not the same as dead weight."

"Debatable," Blarg said, swaying him slightly side to side, refusing to let go until Pezzy finally sighed and patted his arm - which only made Blarg hug tighter.

-

Droid

The night had gone from 'just one drink' to 'how did we end up on this sidewalk' in record time. Droid had his arm around Blarg’s shoulders, both of them giggling at something neither could remember five seconds later.

"You’re my best buddy," Blarg slurred into Droid’s shoulder.

"You’re my tall best friend," Droid declared proudly, though they were nearly the same height.

Blarg tilted his head to look at him, eyes glazed but affectionate. "We’re the dream team."

"Yeah!" Droid yelled, which startled a passing cat, causing both of them to collapse into laughter - half because of the cat, half because their balance was shot.

They stayed like that, leaning on each other until Puffer appeared out of nowhere with a disappointed scowl on his face. And of course Droid and Blarg laughed at his furrowed brows.

-

Smii7y

Smii7y hadn’t thought much of it when Blarg crashed at his place - it happened now and then. What he hadn’t accounted for was the fact that at some point in the night, Blarg turned into a human octopus.

Smii7y woke up with an arm across his waist, a leg hooked over his thigh, and Blarg’s face buried against his shoulder.

"Bro," Smii7y mumbled, voice still groggy. "You’re… warm. But also… suffocating me."

"Mmm," Blarg replied, clearly half-asleep, tightening his hold instead of loosening it.

Smii7y sighed, resigned. "Fine. But if I overheat and die, I'll haunt you forever."

Blarg let out a pleased sound before pressing closer to Smii7y.

-

John

John had been complaining about his feet for ten straight minutes when Blarg finally stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Alright pal, that’s it," Blarg said, and before John could question it, he was swept off the ground into a firm bridal carry.

"Wait- no-" John flailed, but Blarg just smirked and kept walking.

"You said your feet hurt. This is a logical solution."

"Matt-"

"Shhh, I’m doing a nice thing," Blarg cut in, ignoring the stares from strangers.

John mumbling something about never asking for sympathy again… but didn’t actually demand to be put down.

-

Grizzy

It had started as a joke.

"Hey, give me a kiss," Blarg teased, leaning toward Grizzy with exaggerated puckered lips.

"No," Grizzy said without missing a beat, focused on his game controller.

Blarg froze in mock horror, stepping back like he’d been rejected by the love of his life. "Why no kisses from Gribby? I'm Heartbroken. Devastated. "

Grizzy side-eyed him. "You’re not actually heartbroken."

"Guess I’ll die alone then." Blarg flopped against him dramatically, hanging off his shoulder.

Grizzy tried to shrug him off, but Blarg just slouched more heavily against him, muttering about 'cold-hearted bastards' until Grizzy finally laughed.

Chapter Text

Yumi had not properly thought this through.

At the Clooless office earlier that afternoon, he’d been perfectly fine lounging on the couch, making sarcastic side comments while Puffer and Grizzy bickered into the podcast mics. Puffer had tossed out the idea of going to a card shop after recording, and Yumi - because he wasn’t about to spend another night rotting on his couch - had agreed. Then came the matter of transportation.

His options were:

1. Puffer’s truck, which would inevitably mean third-wheeling Puffer and Grizzy’s flirty nonsense in the front seat.

2. Droid’s bike… which Yumi immediately vetoed after a single look at the size of Droid’s motorcycle and a mental image of both of them ending up in a ditch.

3. Pezzy’s bike. Driven by a much more experienced driver.

And Pezzy, to Yumi’s surprise, didn’t even blink when he’d asked.

“Sure,” Pezzy said with a shrug, pulling his helmet on. “You’ve ridden before, right?”

“…Sure I have,” Yumi lied. Or well.. sort of, he guesses. He did ride around on his friend's dirt bike years ago - surely that counts?

Except… the second Pezzy revved the engine and they pulled away from the curb, Yumi decided he had made the single worst decision of his life.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal. People did it all the time. He’d seen enough movies - how hard could it be? You just sit there, look cool, and don’t die.

Easy.

It wasn't easy.

At all.

The world blurred past them - vehicles smearing into streaks of silver and black, wind hitting him in the chest so hard it felt like it was trying to rip him off the seat entirely. His hands, clamped around Pezzy’s midsection, were shaking with a death grip.

“DUDE- YOU’RE GOING TOO FAST!” Yumi’s voice cracked over the roar of the engine.

“I’m barely out of second gear,” Pezzy called back, casual as ever, his voice muffled under his helmet. “This is like, walking speed for a motorcycle.”

“THEN - I DON'T KNOW - CRIP WALK!” Yumi barked, his face pressed into Pezzy’s back like a terrified kid clinging to their parent in a haunted house.

Pezzy snorted, the sound carrying over the wind, and in that instant Yumi realized the he was enjoying this way too much. “You know you’re supposed to lean with me, right?” Pezzy teased, taking a turn a little sharper than necessary just to feel Yumi lurch.

“DON’T- OH MY GOD- DON’T DO THAT.”

“I think I felt you levitate for a second.”

“I SWEAR TO GOD, PEZZY, IF I DIE, I’M KILLING YOU.”

Behind them, Droid’s motorcycle purred along smoothly, the man watching the whole thing with his visor tilted up just enough for his smug grin to be visible. “Hey Yumi!” he called over the noise. “You look like a kid on his first roller coaster!”

“This isn’t funny!” Yumi shouted, though the tremble in his voice kind of ruined the bite.

Pezzy, completely unbothered, cut down a side street and slowed to a stop in front of a small strip mall. “Alright, alright, we're here, princess,” he said, kicking down the stand.

Yumi scrambled off like the bike was on fire, pulling off his helmet with hair sticking up in every direction. “Never again,” he panted, glaring. “That’s it. You’re lucky I didn’t barf all over you.”

“You were fine,” Pezzy said with a shrug, peeling off his own helmet and running a hand through his messy hair. “Besides, I had everything under control. I only did, like, one fake swerve.”

“One WHAT?” Yumi’s voice jumped an octave.

Before the argument could escalate, a familiar rumble pulled up beside them - Puffer’s dented truck, Grizzy in the passenger seat grinning like he’d been watching a sitcom the whole way. Puffer leaned out the driver’s side window.

“Aw, did little Yumi survive the big scary ride?” Grizzy called, dragging out the words with a wicked grin.

“He was fused to Pezzy like a god damn sloth,” Puffer added, chuckling.

Yumi rolled his eyes, muttering something about all of them being assholes, and stomped toward the shop. “Don’t talk to me.”

Inside, the bell above the door jingled, and Yumi disappeared into the aisles like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh… oh, I just… maybe I’ll look real quick.” Surrounded by the neat and surprisingly full rows of booster packs and collector’s tins, Yumi’s tension melted a little. He grabbed one pack. Then another. Then… six more. Pezzy eyed the growing pile in Yumi’s arms.

Droid made a pointed noise. “Mmhm. Just looking.”

“Shaddup!” Yumi said immediately, marching toward the door like that proved something. “I can stop whenever I want, unlike you freaks.”

Pezzy smirked at Droid as they trailed behind him. “You heard him. Totally in control.”

Droid grinned. “Whatever you say, man.”

A few minutes later, Yumi emerged with a bag full of booster packs, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and - most importantly - his fear from earlier already forgotten.

“See? Totally worth the ride,” Pezzy said, passing him his helmet again. “Puffer and Grizzy already left, we're meeting them at Whataburger. Ready?”

Yumi froze, then narrowed his eyes. “…Fuck you guys. If you pull one sharp turn, I’ll kill you forever.”

Pezzy just grinned. “Noted.”

Chapter Text

Tonight had been one of those nights.

Rectrixx wouldn’t stop whistling. Matt had practically tackled everyone with boundless enthusiasm, his presence overwhelming as he took up everyone's personal space. Droid had yipped and yapped until Yumi snapped at him, then they’d both found themselves arguing with no real reason. John had been quacking complaints, especially with all the barking. Smii7y was stubbornly locking antlers with Pezzy in some petty argument about leftovers and 'territory'.

And Grizzy… Grizzy was just done.

His broad frame carried him slowly down the hallway, heavy paws dragging on the floorboards until he found himself outside Puffer’s door. The tiger hybrid’s room was quiet - always quiet. He didn’t have to announce himself, didn’t have to ask. He just… went in.

Puffer was sprawled across his bed, back propped against the wall, phone in hand. His striped tail flicked lazily from side to side, black eyes glancing up as the door creaked.
“Oh. It’s you,” Puffer muttered, voice flat but not unkind.

Grizzy didn’t answer. He never did. He just lumbered over, kicked off his shoes, and dropped onto the mattress with the sort of exhaustion only a bear could carry. His weight shifted the bed, dipping the mattress toward him. He lay there silently, chest rising and falling like slow thunder.

Puffer sighed. It was his default sound, that exhale of feigned annoyance. But he set his phone aside all the same, because Grizzy hadn’t come for some banter.

Grizzy had come for this.

With a stretch that arched his spine, Puffer slid down beside him. His striped arms curled around the bear’s broad torso, claws carefully tucked in so they wouldn’t scratch. His chin rested on Grizzy’s shoulder, the warmth of his breath brushing fur.

And for all the talk of tigers being solitary, independent creatures, the truth sat in the stillness between them: Puffer loved this. He loved the weight of Grizzy’s body beneath his own, the way the bear never questioned it, never teased him about being soft. He loved that Grizzy let him reveal his secret - that beneath the sharp teeth and aloof exterior, Puffer’s instincts begged for closeness.

Grizzy shifted only once, a low rumble in his chest like distant thunder as he settled in deeper. His paw came up lazily, not quite hugging back but resting heavy against Puffer’s side, grounding him. His breathing slowed.

Puffer’s ears twitched as he realized it was already happening - Grizzy was falling asleep. He always did. Always faster when Puffer was there, wrapped around him like some oversized striped blanket.

The tiger’s tail flicked once, softer this time, and then he let himself melt into the warmth. Phone forgotten, eyes half-lidded, he pressed his face into Grizzy’s neck and let put a light sigh.

Soon the two would be sleeping soundly wrapped within each other's arms.

Along with a few nosy hybrids poking their heads into the room.

Chapter Text

The trip had been perfect so far - chaotic, loud, exhausting in all the ways it was supposed to be. The boys hadn’t seen each other in person for months, and now they were crammed together into hotels, wandering foreign streets, clubbing until sunrise, and laughing so hard their throats hurt. The kind of trip that would leave their camera rolls crammed with blurry videos and private jokes, proof of nights they’d never live down.

For John, though, there’d been something off.

He’d been feeling cold for weeks now, colder than usual. At first, he thought it was just the weather, maybe a drafty apartment before the trip, maybe his body deciding to rebel on vacation. But it wasn’t the kind of cold a hoodie could fix. It was bone-deep, like there was a freezer humming inside his chest. Everyone else was sweating from running around; meanwhile, he found himself shivering.

That night, when the group had finally scattered to their rooms, he ducked into his and Smii7y’s shared hotel space and rubbed his arms. His fingers were stiff, his knuckles aching. He struggled to uncapped the complimentary water bottle and grimaced at the lukewarm taste.

Despite feeling frigid, he couldn't help but yearn for the drink to be a little chilly.

Then a crackle spread across the plastic in his hand, frost spiderwebbing up the bottle. Ice bloomed against his palm. His heart slammed into his throat as he dropped it with a thud. The water inside had frozen solid.

John staggered back, chair legs scraping against tile. “The fuck-”

The door opened then, and Smii7y stuck his head in. “Hey, you good? You left the bar kinda early-” His eyes flicked to the frost coating the bottle. He stopped mid-sentence. “…John?”

John scrambled for words, but none of them made sense. His body felt warm for the first time in weeks, like some of the chill had bled into that bottle. He couldn’t explain it if he tried.

Smii7y closed the door, quietly, and walked over. His face wasn’t judgmental - more concerned, but sharp. He crouched, inspecting the water bottle without touching it. “…So, uh. Did you do this?”

John nodded his head reluctantly. “I- I mean, I think so?”

Smii7y looked up at John with an arched eyebrow. "You aren't sure? This is your first time doing... this?" Smii7y asks while pointing at the frozen over water bottle. '

John nods again.

“Mm.” Smii7y sat back on his heels, giving John another look. “Guess we’re freaking out together then.”

-

By the next morning, the cold was worse. His fingers were stiff again, this time he had to warm them under hot water before breakfast just to hold his phone properly.

The opportunity to fix the situation came when Grizzy started loudly complaining in the hallway about Pezzy keeping their shared room “like a damn oven.”

“As a bigger guy, I suffer in there!” Grizzy groaned, fanning himself with a folded brochure. “Man’s over here tryna slow roast me in my sleep!”

John leaned against the wall, feigning casual. “You could always swap rooms. Smii7y doesn’t mind it cold.”

Grizzy eyes him suspiciously. "Don't you also like it cold? Pezzy keeps that damn room a sauna."

"I'm just a little tired of the cold lately, want somethin' warm." John shrugs, adding just a smidge of energy to his voice to seem a bit more convincing. "Plus, I personally don't want you to sweat to death."

It works.

Fifteen minutes later, John had swapped keys and was now sharing with Pezzy.

-

The club was loud enough to feel like the bass was rattling his ribs. They’d gotten separated somewhere between the second and third round of drinks, and John had been about to text the group chat when Grizzy reappeared - one arm wrapped protectively around Pezzy, who looked flushed and unsteady.

“Some drunk creep was all over him,” Grizzy said flatly when they reached the hotel. “Getting him back to his room.”

"I can take him. I was gonna head out anyways."

Grizzy gives John his trademarked worried look, clearly thrown off by John's behavior. "You sure?"

John nodded, taking over as Grizzy hesitantly let go. “Yeah. I got him.”

Back inside their hotel room, Pezzy kicked off his shoes and flopped onto the bed, groaning. “It’s so hot in here. I think I’m sick.”

“You’re probably just dehydrated,” John muttered, moving closer to check. He reached out and put a hand on Pezzy’s forehead-

-A jolt of icy energy blasted out of his palm, subconsciously trying to cool down Pezzy.

Pezzy’s breath hitched, his eyes unfocused, and then - nothing. His body went limp.

“Pezzy?!” John’s voice cracked. He shook his shoulder, panic setting in fast. “Hey - come on, wake up!”

No response.

He fumbled his phone, dialing Grizzy with shaky fingers. “Get up here. Now. It’s- it’s Pezzy, I don’t- just get here!”

-

He’d been dreamy all week - literally. Spacey, airy, like his body couldn’t quite keep him anchored. Clubbing only made it worse. The dizzy spell hit him out of nowhere: music vibrating through the floor, neon lights swimming in his eyes, some random dude leaning too close, trying to talk over the bass.

Then Grizzy was there, putting himself between Pezzy and the guy, one hand firm on Pezzy’s shoulder. “You good, bro?”

“’M hot,” Pezzy mumbled, swaying. “Like - I think I’m dying.”

“Not on my watch.” Grizzy guided him, arm steady around his back. “C’mon, back to the hotel. You need water, man. Not shots.”

That is all Pezzy remembers - along with a chill spreading across his forehead - as he is now staring down at his own body.

The room looked washed out in shades of blue and violet, hazy like watercolors bleeding together. He stared at himself lying unconscious, John - on the verge of tears and frantically speaking into his phone - kneeling beside him. John's voice was distant, as if he were speaking from across a street rather than right in front of Pezzy.

“What the fuck…” Pezzy whispered.

He spun, disoriented, but his voice didn’t carry. He felt - weightless. Untethered. Like if he walked too far he might unravel. But panic would only make it worse, so he forced himself to breathe - or mimic breathing.

“I- I can see you. I can see me. This isn’t- this isn’t real.”

Through the wall, he drifted, sticking his head into the hallway - just in time to see Grizzy and Smii7y sprinting toward the room, faces tense. A second later, he heard their real-world footsteps pounding, then the slam of fists on the door.

John let them in, and Pezzy flinched when they swarmed his body.

“No, no, no, I’m right here!” He stumbled back over, reaching out desperately. His hand brushed against his body.

-

Smii7y already had his phone out. “Ambulance. We’re not risking it.”

“No, wait-” John’s voice cracked. “It was- I didn’t-”

“What the hell happened?” Grizzy barked, kneeling by Pezzy, one hand steady on his chest.

“I don’t know!” John lied, or maybe told the truth, because how was he supposed to explain this?

-

And his spirit snapped back in.

He jolted awake with a loud gasp, nearly throwing himself upright. Grizzy grabbed his shoulders, holding him steady. “Jesus Christ, you scared the hell outta us-”

Smii7y stopped mid-dial, staring. John looked pale as death.

Pezzy panted, wide-eyed, then whispered: “I don't know what the fuck just happened. I - I saw you. I saw all of you b-but I wasn't there - in my body, I mean! I'm trying not to freak the hell out-”

A heavy silence fell.

John let out a sigh of relief, wiping away tears of distress. "Thank fucking god. I thought I-." He presses his hand to his chest, his other hand finding Pezzy's shoulder.

“Kill me?” Pezzy sat up, clearly more calm - John's dread taking more importance than Pezzy's. “No. You just… uh. Knocked me out of my body, I think.”

The room went dead silent again.

Grizzy blinked at John. “You what?”

Smii7y’s gaze slid from Pezzy to John, sharp and knowing. Finally, Smii7y sighed, rubbing his temples. “Of course you two would end up with powers. Out of all of us. The odds are, what, one percent? Two?”

"Powers?" Grizzy frowned, still hovering near Pezzy like a guard dog. “Are we seriously just glossing over the fact Pezzy died for a second?”

“I didn’t die,” Pezzy argued. "If I were to make sense of anything, I think my body was trying to... Protect itself? From whatever John did."

"What the hell did John do?" Grizzy glared at John, who only lowers his head weakly because even he barely knows what happened.

John’s voice cracked again. “…I thought I killed you.” He met Pezzy’s eyes, vulnerable in a way the others rarely saw. “I was so sure.”

Smii7y put a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “Let's look on the Brightside, John didn't kill Pezzy, everybody is fine and well, two of our friends are late bloomers and have awesome powers. A Mr. Freeze and whatever the hell Pezzy can do! ”

John frowns.

"It's not that cool, it's fucking terrifying." Pezzy corrects.

Grizzy leaned back, surprisingly calm but still eyeing them like they might combust and lose control. “…So what now? You keep this secret? Do you tell the others?”

The room was heavy with the unspoken truth: things weren’t going back to normal.

John exhaled a shaky breath, the frost finally revealing itself and crawling across his fingers. Pezzy, still pale, leaned back against the pillows, his expression strained but steadier now that Grizzy was at his side.

Late bloomers. Freak accidents. Whatever it was and no matter the odds - they were part of the 2% now.

And what they decided to do with that information, nothing about this trip would ever be the same again.

Neither would their lives.

Chapter Text

Pezzy’s phone had been buzzing on and off for days, little notifications he never had the courage to open. His group chat was full of laughing emojis, video clips from streams, half-planned meetups that he kept ghosting on with the same recycled excuses: tired, feeling sick, maybe next time. He told himself it was harmless - everyone flaked sometimes. But lately, it had been every time.

He hated it. Hated the way his stomach would turn molten whenever the idea of leaving his home cropped up. It was like his body short-circuited at the thought of stepping outside. His heart would pound, palms damp, skin prickling hot and cold at once, his head screaming to get ready, put on shoes, just go, while his body locked up against the doorframe. He could manage the grocery store, sure - barely. Quick in and out, a rushed shuffle through aisles with his head down, earbuds jammed in like armor. Sometimes he even made it to Puffer’s place, but only because it felt familiar, safe.

Everywhere else? Forget it. The pit of dread swallowed him whole.

Instead, he was here: curled up in bed, comforter dragged over his head like a shield, rerunning the same old show for what had to be the fiftieth time. The characters’ voices had become a dull hum in the background, something steady to fill the silence between his own anxious thoughts.

The worst part?

He knew he was missing out. Knew the boys were still getting together, cracking jokes, recording stupid bits, grabbing food. He could practically hear their laughter through his phone screen. He told himself they were fine without him, but that didn’t stop the sharp sting in his chest every time he thought about it.

Which is why, when there was a loud knock at his door, Pezzy nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Bro, open up,” a voice called - cheerful, unmistakably Grizzy.

Another knock followed, lighter this time. “C’mon, Pez. We know you’re in there. We brought stuff.” That was Puffer, his voice carrying that half-playful, half-genuine concern that made Pezzy’s gut twist.

And then, of course, Droid chimed in, loud and unbothered: “If you don’t open the door, I’m breaking in. And you know I’ll do it, Pezzy. Don’t test me.”

Pezzy groaned, dragging a pillow over his head. The thought of facing them - of explaining himself, or worse, lying again - made his throat tighten. But he knew them well enough to know they weren’t going away.

Reluctantly, he shuffled out of bed, dragging his blanket around his shoulders like a cape. His legs felt stiff, heavy, like every step toward the door was an effort. When he cracked it open, the hallway light nearly blinded him.

There they were: Grizzy with a takeout bag in one hand, Puffer holding up a stack of sodas, and Droid grinning like he’d just won something.

“Surprise,” Droid said, shouldering his way in before Pezzy could even react.

Grizzy and Puffer followed without hesitation, already kicking off shoes and setting stuff down. It was overwhelming - voices filling his small space, bags rustling, laughter spilling out like it always did with them. Pezzy stood frozen in the doorway, clutching his blanket.

“You didn’t think we’d forget about you, did you?” Grizzy asked, shooting him that warm smile that made it impossible to be mad at him.

“We figured since you won’t come out,” Puffer added, popping a soda open, “we’ll just bring the hangout here.”

Droid flopped onto his couch, patting the spot beside him. “See? No excuses now.”

Pezzy’s chest ached. He wanted to tell them everything - that he wasn’t avoiding them because he didn’t care, but because his brain had turned the outside world into a minefield. He wanted to explain the way dread curled around his ribs and squeezed every time he thought about going somewhere unfamiliar.

But the words stuck in his throat, heavy and unformed.

Instead, he shuffled over, dropping onto the couch with his blanket cocoon still intact. Droid immediately leaned against him, head pressing into his shoulder obnoxiously. Puffer sat cross-legged on the floor, cracking jokes, and Grizzy was already pulling food out like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Pezzy can tell they're worried though - the way they sneak glances towards him, fuss a little more, frown when they take in the state of him or his house. He hadn't been the best at taking care of it despite being holed up in it for weeks.

But the warmth of Droid's body pressed against his, the sound of Puffer's snarky voice teasing Droid, the act of Grizzy handing his regular order of In-N-Out to him - It was surreal and comforting. All his worries about the outside world melted away as he began to engage in Puffer and Droid's quarrel, instigating while Grizzy turned on the T.V.

Pezzy was sure his dread would come back - his anxiety never relieving the weight on his chest. But perhaps, a little more of his confidence could be reclaimed with the help of his friends. As dumb as they might be.

There is a little hope for him, afterall.

Chapter Text

The chandeliers glimmered like stars overhead, their golden glow bathing the ballroom in a dreamlike haze. The air carried the fragrance of roses and champagne, undercut by the faint rustle of silk gowns and the polished shine of boots against marble floors. It was supposed to be a night of triumph - the coronation of her elder brother, Crown Prince Nick. Her siblings were radiant with pride, drinking and jesting in corners, keeping the nobles entertained with their boyish banter. But Princess Yumi found herself perched upon her throne at the dais, arms folded, jaw resting on her fist, bored beyond belief.

Her brother's voices carrying the easy warmth of siblings who had never once had to endure courtly composure for longer than was absolutely necessary. Tanner, her fraternal twin, was leading some nonsense argument with Isaac in which he was losing, while Larry and Grunk bickered over who had stolen the last sugared pastry. Nick, newly crowned, tried not to laugh aloud at their childish antics - though even his regal poise couldn’t fully hide the grin threatening his lips.

Any other day, Yumi would have been in the middle of it all, her sharp tongue delivering quick retorts, her laughter echoing over theirs. But tonight, her heart simply wasn’t in it. The music was lilting, violins weaving sweetly through the air, yet she felt only the weight of expectation pressing on her shoulders. She was the only princess, after all - the one who was supposed to sit still, or smile demurely, or feign interest in whichever noble happened to bow the lowest. But no matter how much her parents despised it - she was always more prince than princess.

She sighed, staring listlessly out at the swirling pairs on the dance floor. Satin, velvet, polished shoes, powdered wigs. Too many people, too little to truly see.

And then she saw her.

A duchess, though clearly unlike the rest. Short and spry, she moved through the sea of dancers not with the stiff grace of formality but with a lithe ease, weaving in and out as though the crowd were nothing more than a game board laid out before her. Her gown - silk in the most delicate shade of pink - caught the light with each turn, but what truly held Yumi’s attention was the spark in her eyes. Mischief, freedom, something untamed.

Yumi’s spine straightened, her body moving before her mind caught up. Her brothers noticed immediately. Tanner arched a brow, Isaac smirked knowingly, Larry nudged Grunk with a whisper, and even Nick’s smile tilted wryly as Yumi pushed herself from the throne and strode toward the staircase.

Her strawberry-red tailcoat flared behind her like a banner, the polished heels of her boots striking the marble with intent. Heads turned. Conversations faltered. Yet the duchess - this stranger who seemed to sense Yumi’s every step - whirled gracefully, meeting Yumi’s gaze head on.

For a suspended moment, the noise of the ballroom melted away.

They stopped before one another, and though they had never met, the air between them hummed with the familiarity of a long lost reunion. Yumi extended her hand, bowing slightly, her voice smooth yet edged with something daring.

“May I have this dance?”

The duchess tilted her head, her lips curving into a crooked smile that revealed far too much charm to be harmless. She placed her gloved hand in Yumi’s, her grip warm, her voice husky with playful tease.

“For what do I owe her Majesty the pleasure?”

The rasp of her words sent a tremor through Yumi’s chest. She barely heard the violins swell as the two stepped into the rhythm.

“Call it selfishness,” she replied. “I don’t feel like watching the world from a throne tonight. Especially when a trouble-maker as beautiful as you stands out in this crowd of the mundane.”

The lady’s laugh was loud and sweet - nearly sweeping Yumi off her feet. “Then I suppose I mustn’t keep a princess waiting.”

The orchestra swelled. Neither needed to speak, for the music filled the silence between their stolen glances and subtle touches. The world blurred at the edges; there was only her partner, smiling up at her with eyes that dared her to forget herself.

They moved as though born for it - Yumi leading with sure, bold steps, the duchess following with a fluid grace that defied every courtly lesson Yumi had ever suffered through. The world blurred at the edges. Neither needed to speak, for the music filled the silence between their stolen glances and subtle touches. Eyes watched, whispers spread, the crowd in awe as Yumi had never been one to interact with her subjects let alone an unusual one. But neither cared. Their laughter intertwined with the music, soft and genuine, as though they had been partners for years rather than moments.

By the end of the dance, Yumi finally asked her name:

“Pezzy,” Yumi whispered, tasting the syllables like a secret. "Fitting for such a beautiful lady."

And Pezzy only smiled that crooked smile again, as though she’d been waiting all her life to hear her name on Yumi’s lips.

That night, the gardens outside the palace bore witness to Yumi’s first kiss - the dusky air scented with roses, the distant sound of fountains cloaking their laughter. The moment was clumsy, hurried with excitement, yet entirely perfect.

And a week later, the castle itself bore witness to the trouble the pair could cause together. Mischief bloomed like wildflowers. Pezzy daring Yumi to slip away from lessons of diplomacy; Yumi sneaking her into the kitchens at midnight; both of them barely stifling laughter as they raced down forbidden corridors with candlelight chasing them.

Her brothers complained - loudly, at times - but their smiles betrayed them. For all their grumbles about Yumi’s antics, they were relieved. Relieved to see the spark back in her eyes. Relieved that the once-restless 'Princess' had found someone who could keep pace with her, who could coax her laughter and sharpen her boldness into joy instead of defiance.

They never said it aloud. But in their own ways - Nick with approving silence, Tanner with teasing jabs, Isaac with dry smirks, Larry with playful nudges, and Grunk with wide-eyed awe - they showed it.

Whether the world liked it or not, Pezzy had become part of them.

And whether the crown approved or not, Yumi knew she had found her forever in the duchess with the crooked smile.

It turned out so right for strangers in the night.

Chapter Text

John had never thought of himself as shallow, but jealousy had a way of making him feel like the worst kind of hypocrite.

It wasn’t even about attraction, or wanting something Pezzy had because it would make him better. It was simpler than that - stupider than that, honestly. It was just the way Pezzy’s T-shirt fell on her body, loose and straight, the cotton draping like it had been sewn for her alone. The way there was no curve for it to catch on, no rise for the fabric to stretch over.

No reminders.

Pezzy leaned over the kitchen counter, absentmindedly stirring a cup of instant coffee, and the hem of her shirt shifted just enough to show how flat she really was. John looked away before his expression could betray anything, fingers curling into his palms like they could hold the feeling in.

It wasn’t fair. Not that life owed him fairness, but still - he bound, he layered, he did everything he could, and yet shirts still found ways to betray him. Still caught and folded in ways that made him feel like his own body was mocking him.

And Pezzy… She was just Pezzy.

The image of perfection in John's eyes.

Not that she saw it that way. He knew from too many late night conversations, muttered in the dark when neither of them could sleep, that she hated her chest too. John had caught her in the bathroom once, staring down at herself with a grimace before yanking her shirt back into place. It had been such a brief, fleeting moment, but it had stuck in his head. She said she thought it made her look “boyish” in the wrong ways, like she wasn’t feminine enough. Which, in John’s mind, was ridiculous, because she could walk into a room with eyeliner smudged and hair half-wild and still look like she belonged on the cover of some underground fashion mag.

But envy, more often than not, didn’t care about logic.

It wasn’t like he had the right to complain. He kept his hair longer than most guys he knew, the caramel strands brushing just past his neck in a style that looked more indie fashion blogger than anything ‘traditionally masculine.’ He dressed weird, wearing women's jeans with intricate embroidery, pairing beaten-up Converse with vintage jackets. And yeah, he wore makeup - a thin line of eyeliner when he felt like it, a smudge of glitter if he was in the mood. It made him feel good.

Feminine things, little pieces of softness that he didn’t want to give up, even if they confused people’s perception of him.

He was happy with those parts of himself - mostly.

All of it still didn’t erase the fact that when he looked in the mirror, the curve of his chest still stared back. When Pezzy moved around, loose and comfortable in her body, John’s eyes followed and a knot formed in his throat. Every time Pezzy threw on a shirt and looked like she could pass for the kind of boy John wished he could be, it cracked something inside him.

It was stupid. It was so, so stupid. They couldn’t control any of it - neither of them had asked for the bodies they were given - but the sight of Pezzy leaning over the kitchen counter, her shirt hanging perfectly against her frame like some damn thrift store ad, made John want to rip his own skin off.

Pezzy caught his gaze lingering and tilted her head, squinting like she was trying to figure out a puzzle. “What?”

John forced a shrug, feeling heat crawl up his neck. “Nothing.”

Her brow lifted in that way that meant she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t push. She just sipped her coffee and went back to scrolling her phone, blissfully unaware of the storm in his head.

Maybe not saying anything was for the best.

Because as much as he wanted to tell her, to admit that he envied her for something she hated about herself, he didn’t think either of them would know what to do with the truth.

Chapter Text

Pezzy had the kind of beauty that came with work.

Not the kind of beauty that luck handed to you at birth - no, hers was sharpened and polished into existence. From the perfect sweep of smudged eyeliner to the effortlessly draped thrifted necklace that somehow looked like it belonged in a runway collection, she was a walking portfolio of curated chaos. Choppy brown hair fell into her lashes, half of it tucked carelessly behind one ear, and her sharp little smirk could level a man in Prada.

She didn’t dress for anyone but herself, yet the world noticed anyway.

The oversized vintage plaid jacket that hung off her shoulder effortlessly. The black platform boots were a designer resale, scored for a third of the price because she had the patience of a hawk and the taste of a critic. The silver rings stacked on her fingers - the ones Puffer liked to fidget with whenever they were close - were mismatched in the way only someone with impeccable style could get away with.

Puffer noticed all of it.

And because she noticed, she also made it her personal mission to keep Pezzy in that gold-trimmed, ever-changing wardrobe she so clearly thrived in.

“Babe, this is-” Pezzy froze mid-step, hands still pressed to her cheeks as they entered the boutique. “Puffer. This is Chateau. The one with the six-month waitlist just to get an appointment.”

Puffer just hummed, radiating calm as she slid her black card across to the receptionist without breaking stride.

“Mm-hm. We have the whole upstairs to ourselves today. Try not to scream.”

“You-” Pezzy turned on her heel, gawking at her like she’d just casually announced she’d bought her the moon. “Do you have any idea what this place is?”

“I assume it sells clothes,” Puffer said with the faintest smirk, knowing full well Pezzy was a second away from combusting. “And you like clothes.”

That was the thing with Puffer. Her money didn’t shout. It didn’t glitter obnoxiously or try to make itself the center of attention. In fact she was rather responsible with most of her spending, or as others would call it: stingy. And yet, when it came to Pezzy, she spent like the world might end tomorrow.

An hour in, Pezzy was lounging barefoot on the showroom sofa, sipping a glass of champagne while Puffer sat with her long legs crossed, scrolling on her phone like she wasn’t funding what was slowly turning into a private fashion show.

Each time Pezzy came out in something new, she’d do a little spin - half teasing, half fishing for that reaction.

“That’s the one,” Puffer said the third time Pezzy stepped out, wearing an ankle-length silk slip dress that clung in the kind of way mirrors were made for.

“It’s six thousand dollars.”

Puffer tilted her head. “And?”

Pezy’s mouth opened, then shut again. She fiddled with the thin chain around her neck. “…You can’t just buy me a dress like that.”

“I can and I will.” Puffer’s voice was flat but fond, the way you might talk about buying someone lunch instead of a small fortune in fabric. “You look like a painting in it. You’re taking it home.”

And just like that, it was final.

By the time they left, Pezzy’s arms were full of garment bags and Puffer was carrying the heaviest ones without being asked. They walked back to the car - a glossy black luxury SUV Puffer drove like it was any other daily errand vehicle - and Pezzy, cheeks flushed and lips twitching between a smile and disbelief, kept glancing over at her.

“You know this is insane, right?” she said, sliding into the passenger seat.

“I know you look happy,” Puffer replied, shutting the door for her before walking around to her own side.

That was the thing - it wasn’t about the money. It was about the way Pezzy’s eyes lit up when she held something she truly loved, the little sway in her step when she was dressed in something that made her feel powerful. Puffer didn’t care if it cost fifty dollars or five thousand. She just wanted to give her the world, one silk dress at a time.

-

They were parked in Puffer’s driveway, the engine still humming, shopping bags stacked in the backseat like trophies from a long, victorious hunt.

Pezzy had gone quiet - not sulky, not upset, just quiet in that way she got when she was trying not to let her emotions show too plainly.

Puffer rested one hand on the steering wheel, the other draped casually on her thigh, watching the way Pezzy toyed with the button of her flannel.

“You’ve been staring at your lap for the last five minutes,” Puffer murmured.

Pezzy glanced up, caught in the act. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

“How you-” she exhaled, sharp and almost frustrated with herself. “How you make me feel like I’m the only girl in the world who matters. Like-” her voice wavered - “like I deserve it.”

Puffer didn’t say anything. She just turned in her seat, leaning slightly closer, her dark eyes locked on Pezzy’s. The air between them shifted, heavy with that tension that always built when Pezzy started lowering her walls.

“I’ve always deserved it, not to sound so self-centered” Pezzy went on softly, “but no one ever… gave it to me like you do.”

Puffer’s thumb brushed the edge of her jaw - a barely-there touch that sent a shiver straight down Pezzy’s spine. “You do deserve it,” she said, low and certain. “Every bit of it.”

The pause that followed was electric. Pezzy’s gaze flicked to Puffer’s mouth, back to her eyes, then to her mouth again - subtle but so, so obvious.

Puffer didn’t ask. She just leaned in, slow enough to give Pezzy the choice, close enough that Pezzy could smell the faint hint of her perfume, expensive and understated. Pezzy’s lips parted a fraction, her breath catching in her throat - and then Puffer kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy. It was the kind of kiss that felt like it had been waiting in the wings for ages - steady, warm, with just enough pressure to make Pezzy tilt forward into it. Puffer’s hand slid up, cupping the side of her neck, thumb stroking once, gently, like she was memorizing the moment.

Pezzy sighed into her, her hands curling in Puffer’s jacket, nails pressing lightly against the fabric as if to anchor herself. The world outside the SUV could have vanished and she wouldn’t have noticed.

When they finally broke apart, Puffer kept her forehead pressed to hers, her breath fanning against Pezzy’s lips. “See?” she murmured. “Only girl that matters.”

And Pezzy, still catching her breath, still dizzy in the aftermath, could only manage a half-smile and a quiet, “Yeah… I’m starting to believe you.”

Chapter Text

The cottage stood at the edge of the woods like a secret, shrouded in twisted trees and candlelit shadows. John’s hand-painted sigils clung to the walls like ivy, protection charms humming faintly beneath the floorboards, while jars of herbs and bone fragments crowded every shelf. The air smelled faintly of lavender smoke and iron. He stood at the window in his black silk robe, curls falling over one sharp cheekbone, and smiled when the knock came.

Pezzy always knocked. Always. Even though she could slip in through any crack, step over thresholds without sound, or simply manifest in the corner of the room like a shadow turning solid. She did it for John’s sake - out of a politeness that didn’t fit the scythe strapped to her back or the ink-black smoke that trailed her dress hem.

John opened the door and there she was. Death with grin sharp enough to cut.

“My love,” she purred, bowing low enough that the raven feathers tangled in her hair brushed John’s knuckles. “Did you miss me?”

John laughed, dry and quiet, the sound like pages turning. He tilted Pezzy’s chin up with a long finger, his rings catching candlelight. “Every second. And you know how I hate wasting time.”

Pezzy leaned into his touch with theatrical devotion, lips pressing to the palm of his hand, eyes closed as though the gesture were sacrament. There was nothing performative in the way her other hand snaked around his waist, pulling him flush to her, robes and reaper’s garb tangling like roots. She kissed him then, a kiss that tasted of grave earth and smoke, hungry and deep, John sighing into it as though breathing life into death itself.

When they parted, John’s smirk was as wicked as the candle flames guttering in the draft. “I should scold you. You leave a trail of ghosts when you come to me. My wards are tired of pushing them out.”

“I bring you gifts,” Pezzy said, tugging from her sleeve a small vial of something that shimmered like liquid shadow. “From the other side.”

John took it with a reverence he rarely showed anyone, black-painted nails cradling the glass as though it were priceless. “You spoil me.”

“I worship you,” Pezzy corrected without hesitation, and her voice had that raw, fervent edge that made John’s chest ache. Her devotion was never subtle - she loved with a violence that John had never thought himself capable of attracting.

The room darkened as a storm broke outside, thunder rattling the glass. John only smiled wider. His lips brushed the shell of her ear as he whispered, “Then kneel for me.”

Pezzy’s grin sharpened into something wolfish, but she obeyed at once, sinking to her knees among spilled candlewax and chalked sigils. Looking up at him from the floor, shadow smoke curling around her like a cloak, she was reverent and terrifying all at once.

John looked down at her like a monarch, the hem of his robe brushing her cheek, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist - there was only his witchcraft and her devotion, only their darkness twined together.

Chapter Text

Matt didn’t know how the hell he ended up in this position.

Literally - this position.

Pinned between Dooo and Yumi on the couch, their thighs pressing against him from both sides, their fake wigs and dollar-store dresses brushing up against his shoulders. Dooo had gone all in with a padded bra that barely fit under his black body-con dress, while Yumi’s skimpy skirt was riding up enough to show the pillow of his thigh that wasn't constricted by the red stockings. Both of them had smeared lipstick on in colors that didn’t remotely match their skin tones, and yet somehow - against every ounce of his dignity - Matt was sweating bullets.

“Aw, Mattyyy~” Dooo crooned, voice pitched painfully high like some cartoon character mocking femininity. His hand landed on Matt’s knee with a theatrical little squeeze. “You look so tense… You don’t like sitting with us, huh?”

“I- no, I- shut the fuck up,” Matt stammered, his whole face on fire. His hands were gripping the couch cushions like he was holding on for dear life, but his body betrayed him, pressing back into the warmth between them.

Yumi leaned in on his other side, breath hot against Matt’s ear. “C’mon, baby… don’t be shy.” His attempt - very much forced as he wasn't as into the bit as Dooo was - at a sultry whisper cracked halfway through, landing somewhere between 'porn star' and 'chain-smoker aunt.' He let his arm drape heavy over Matt’s shoulders, pulling him in until Matt was wedged so tight he could feel both of their hips grinding against him with every small movement.

Matt swallowed so hard it hurt. “You guys- this is weird. This is-”

“This is what?” Dooo teased, batting his obviously fake eyelashes, clumpy mascara threatening to fall into his eyes. “What do you mean, Matty? You don’t like being spoiled by two pretty girls?”

“Girls, my ass,” Matt hissed, but his voice cracked at the end when Yumi’s fingers brushed his thigh, nails painted in chipped red polish that looked like it had been done in the dark.

Yumi rolled his eyes. “Feels like you do like it, though.”

That was the humiliating part. Matt did like it. His body was hot all over, his cock already hard and trapped against his jeans like it was trying to claw its way out. Being smothered between them, hearing their terrible falsettos and feeling their bodies squish him from both sides - it was wrong. It was dumb. It was so fucking hot.

“God- fuck-” Matt squirmed, trying to adjust, but that just made Dooo’s hand 'accidentally' brush over his bulge.

“Oops,” Dooo said in the fakest girly voice he could manage, lips pulling into a smirk. “Did I touch something I wasn’t supposed to?”

Matt jolted, biting back a moan, embarrassment burning him alive. “You guys are fucking idiots.”

“Idiots who got you hard,” Yumi pointed out, not bothering to keep his voice high anymore. His big palm landed firmly on Matt’s thigh, inching up slowly, possessively, until Matt’s legs were trembling with anticipation.

Dooo leaned in closer, lips ghosting over the shell of Matt’s ear. “You like being our little… cracker sandwich, huh?”

Matt groaned, shoving his face into his hands as he tried to hide his laugh. “Don’t- don’t say shit like that!"

“What the hell did you just say Dooo?” Yumi laughed, squeezing his leg. “Cracker sandwhich? You couldn't say anything more sexy?”

"What? You don't think a Cracker sandwich is sexy?" Dooo fake-pouted as Yumi gave him an incredulous look. "We're both White, and Matt is like our caramel filling? You don't see the vision?"

"You could've said something like 'vanilla sandwich,' that's much sweeter than a cracker sandwich."

Dooo quirked an eyebrow, "But then that implies Matt is vanilla filling!"

“Oh my fucking God,” Matt muttered into his palms, immediately drawing the two idiots attention back, and Dooo pressed a kiss to his jaw - lipstick smearing sloppy and waxy against his skin - he didn’t push him away.

"Awe, Matty, I'm sorry, dumbass Yumi took all my attention away from you," Dooo placed another messy kiss to Matt's temple. "Is it okay if we touch you? Looks like you really need it."

He whimpered.

That was all the confirmation they needed.

Dooo’s hand slipped brazenly to Matt’s zipper while Yumi tilted Matt’s chin, forcing him to meet his playful grin. Their awful wigs tickled his cheeks as both of them crowded in, two fake 'girlfriends' devouring him whole, and all Matt could do was choke on his laughter and arousal as he melted in their grip.

Matt had never been more turned on in his entire life.

Matt’s jeans barely made it halfway down his thighs before Dooo’s hand wrapped around his cock.

“Holyyy shit-” Matt gasped, head falling back against the couch as Dooo lazily stroked him. The pressure was rough, messy, like Dooo didn’t know if he was trying to jerk him off or tease him to death, but fuck, it worked. Matt’s hips bucked helplessly, forcing himself deeper into Dooo’s grip.

Yumi laughed, low and mean, his weight pinning Matt from the other side. “Look at him squirm. Can’t even keep his legs still.”

Matt wanted to argue - wanted to call them assholes, freaks, something - but all that came out was a moan when Yumi shoved his tongue down Matt’s throat, sloppy and wet. Lipstick smeared across both their mouths as Matt melted, whining into the kiss.

“Mm, yeah, you taste like a little slut already,” Yumi muttered when he finally pulled back, panting against Matt’s lips.

Matt groaned, trying to hide his face, but Dooo tugged him back by the jaw. “Don’t be shy now, sweetheart.” His voice cracked on sweetheart, but his smirk stayed sharp as he pushed Matt flat against the couch.

Then Yumi’s hand was sliding down, fumbling with a bottle of lube they’d clearly planned ahead with - like this whole stupid 'dress up as girls and ruin Matt' thing was set in stone ages ago.

Matt’s eyes went wide. “Wait, wait- you’re not- fuck-” His protest broke into a hiss as cold slick fingers teased his rim, circling lazily.

“Oh, we are,” Yumi said with a grin, pushing the first finger inside. “You’re too tight not to.”

Matt’s breath hitched, body clenching hard, back arching between them. “Goddamn it - fuck-”

“Relax,” Dooo teased, leaning down to kiss his neck. “You’ll like it. You already do.”

The second finger made him cry out, the stretch sharp and embarrassing, but his cock twitched in Dooo’s hand at the same time. Matt buried his face in Yumi’s shoulder, groaning as the thick digits scissored him open.

“Good boy,” Yumi muttered, twisting just right until Matt yelped, thighs trembling. “There it is. You feel that?”

Matt’s answer was a high-pitched whine he couldn’t swallow down.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” Dooo said, grinning as he let go of Matt’s cock to pull up the edge of his dress. His own dick slapped up against his stomach, already flushed and leaking. “You’re begging for it, Matty.”

Matt tried to protest again, voice breaking, but Yumi shut him up with another kiss as Dooo lined up between his legs.

The first push had Matt’s nails clawing the couch. “Ohhh fuck- Eric- fuck-”

His body fought the intrusion at first, squeezing tight around him, but Yumi held him steady, stroking his chest and murmuring nonsense praise in that half-sarcastic, half-sincere tone.

“Look at you,” Yumi breathed, watching Matt’s face twist in pleasure and desperation. “Taking cock so well already.”

“Don’t- say that-” Matt whined, but his legs locked around Dooo’s waist, dragging him deeper until he was bottoming out.

Dooo groaned, dropping his forehead to Matt’s shoulder. “Holy shit, he’s tight- fuck, Matt, you’re-”

The rhythm started messy, hips stuttering, but it quickly turned into hard thrusts that had Matt’s head spinning. Every time Dooo slammed forward, Yumi’s thick fingers circled Matt’s cock, stroking him just enough to make him buck helplessly between them.

The couch creaked, lube and sweat mixing, wigs sliding crooked down Dooo and Yumi’s foreheads. It was absurd. It was filthy. And Matt was so close he thought he’d break apart.

“Please please, I’m-” he babbled, words dissolving into cries.

Yumi pinched his cheek, grinning down at him. “Aww, listen to him beg. Fuckin’ adorable.”

Matt came hard, spilling across his stomach and Yumi’s hand, crying out shamelessly. His whole body trembled, clenching around Dooo so tightly that Dooo cursed and spilled inside him seconds later.

When it was over, Matt was wrecked, sprawled between them, chest heaving. Yumi was still laughing, pulling off his crooked wig to reveal sweat-plastered hair.

“Goddamn, dude,” Yumi said, licking his palm like he was mocking Matt’s taste. “You really liked being our little slut sandwich.”

Matt groaned, dragging a pillow over his face. “If either of you ever mentions this again, I’m killing you.”

“Sure, sure,” Dooo said with a lazy grin, tugging his wig off too. “But you’ll let us do it again, right?”

Matt didn’t answer- just whimpered into the pillow as his cock twitched, betraying him all over again.

Chapter Text

Isaac should’ve known this whole '24 hours in the wilderness with nothing but tents, firewood, and our own primal instincts' thing would backfire the second Tanner’s dumb little grin lit up at the idea. The grin that always promised trouble - trouble that Isaac was too stubborn to walk away from.

Now he was regretting it. Even though it was literally his idea...

The first half of the trip had been filled with nothing but complaints - mosquitoes, mud, no signal, no fast food - and he’d been the loudest voice in that chorus, of course. Splitting into two groups hadn’t been a smart idea either. Nick and Larry got along fine, quiet, functional, the kind of pair who probably built their shelter like a cozy Pinterest cabin. Something akin to an old and happy married couple, like the sappy fucks they are.

Meanwhile, Isaac was stuck with Tanner and Yumi.

Isaac wasn't even aware there were even any teams, but was quite upset - not that he blames Yumi or Tanner - that he was on the same team as the other two taller members. As much as Isaac loved them, a giant such as himself couldn't imagine sleeping comfortably with them. Especially with Tanner and the reputation he garnered as the Group's designated cuddle bug.

Nighttime approached fast, and as much as he hated to admit it, Isaac had a pretty great afternoon dicking around with his friends out in the wild.

The tent smelled like plastic, damp socks, and a hint of whatever Isaac had packed for Tanner in that suspiciously greasy paper bag he’d insisted was “trail mix.” Isaac was also positive he could hear a raccoon rummaging just outside their thin nylon walls, probably trying to drag away the last bag of chips Yumi swore he’d ration out but had eaten in one sitting.

When they all climbed into the tent that night, Isaac was firm about his positioning. Far left. Edge spot. Nobody touches him. Simple rules. He shoved his sleeping bag down, grumbled about the ground being rock-hard, and tried to cocoon himself in a layer of annoyed muttering while listening to the childish chatter of Yumi and Tanner until sleep came.

"Goodnight Bug Nation. Bug off and Bug out!"

Except - when Isaac's eyes cracked open sometime past midnight, things were very, very different.

Isaac was no longer on the edge. He wasn’t even near the edge. He was in the middle. Sandwiched between Yumi and Tanner.

How the hell did that happen? He wasn't sure.

Tanner was wrapped around his right side like ivy, head pillowed against Isaac’s shoulder, one leg kicked over him possessively like Isaac was some sort of body pillow. His breathing was soft, almost purring, and it tickled Isaac’s collarbone every few seconds.

On the left, Yumi - Yumi, of all people - was curved close, cheek mashed against Isaac’s bicep, hair sticking in odd directions from his forehead. His arm had draped itself across Isaac’s stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Both of them were so warm. Too warm. A stifling, heatwave-like warmth that made Isaac’s hair damp with sweat and his shirt cling uncomfortably. He wanted to complain. He wanted to shove them off and reclaim his rightful edge spot. But honestly, he was too fucking exhausted from the swimming marathon and all that walking earlier that day.

He shifted slightly, and Tanner’s weight adjusted against him, heavy and reassuring. Yumi’s nose scrunched at the movement, his grip tightening, refusing to let Isaac slip away.

That little squeeze did him in.

Isaac lay there, staring at the sloping ceiling of the tent, trying to convince himself he hated it. He should feel like he hates it. The heat, the heavy weight, the lack of air. But against the hard, uneven ground, their soft chub pressing in around him was… actually kind of perfect. Like a living pillow fort. A weird, cozy shield against the wilderness.

He swallowed, pressing his lips together to hide the tiny smile forming despite himself. Tanner being clingy was expected - hell, Isaac half-counted on it at this point.

Yumi? Yumi curled up like a cat at his side. That was rare. Odd. Something Isaac wasn’t going to call attention to in the morning, but something he’d definitely cherish while it lasted. He really liked the way Yumi would deny up and down that he was affectionate, but now he can't hide his true self from Isaac. Well... it probably also didn't help that Yumi was still experiencing slight irritation in his eyes due to the campfire smoke. Isaac often sought the comfort of others, especially his mother, after getting hurt or sick.

Isaac let out a slow breath, melted back into the press of their bodies, and let his eyelids droop.

He wiggled his arms free, earning some sleepy whines from the pair, but the sounds immediately quelled as Isaac wrapped his arms tightly around Yumi and Tanner's shoulders, bringing them closer so their heads rested comfortably on his chest. Now he knows his chest isn't the most comfortable, but it was marginally more cozy compared to the bone of his shoulder.

Isaac tilted his head slightly, catching the faintest glimpse of Yumi’s expression in the pale light. His brows were relaxed, his mouth parted just a little, his usual features softened into something vulnerable. Isaac let himself cherish the way Yumi’s face pressed into his chest, the quiet rumble of Tanner’s snores, the absurd comfort of being sandwiched between his two friends before finally allowing sleep to sweep him away.

And god, when was the last time sleep ever felt this good?

Isaac could proudly say he never slept better.

Actually...

He shouldn't lie. He definitely had better.

Chapter Text

The night started like it always did - Smii7y perched smugly on the arm of the couch, firing insults at Droid like bullets, while Droid paced in front of him with clenched fists, his voice a low growl that kept getting sharper and sharper. The two were verbally tearing into each other like stray dogs fighting over the last scrap of meat. Grizzy sat in the corner, grinning at every outburst like he was watching prime-time TV and egging them on with sinister pleasure. Blarg lounged on the couch in his sleeping bag, occasionally chiming in with something cruel just to keep the pot stirred.

“Say that again, you smug little cokehead,” Droid growled, voice cracking with fury.

“Oh please,” Smii7y shot back, smirk curling into something meaner. “Everyone here knows you’re just a narcissistic man-baby who gets off on throwing tantrums. Punch another wall, see if it helps.”

“Shut your fucking mouth-” Droid raised his hand to strike Smii7y, but still managed to hold back from hitting the other. He’s been working on his self-control recently.

Grizzy laughed. “Do it, do it, do it. Break his nose, I dare you.”

Pezzy tried, as always, to raise his voice above them all. “Do you two ever stop? Please, if we could just lower the volume- why do I even bother?”

“Because you’re controlling as shit,” Blarg muttered from under his sleeping bag, earning a sharp glare from Pezzy. “Nobody asked you to play house, Pez.”

John whimpered softly. “I-I just think we should all take a breath, maybe-”

Of course, everyone ignored John. He never had anything important to say anyway.

Puffer was standing in the middle of it all, smile twitching, hands clapping together over and over like he could force some rhythm into the chaos.

“Guys- guys - c’mon, this is-this is silly!” His voice was pitched high, trying to cut through. “We’re friends, right? Can we just - can we just focus on the good vibes? Please?”

He didn't know why he still tried.

Smii7y barked a laugh. “Oh, shove your fucking vibes, Puffer. The only good vibe in this room is me being smarter than him-” he jabbed a thumb at Droid, “and everyone knowing it.”

“Smarter?” Droid snarled, chest puffed, fists clenched even tighter, ready to throw a punch at Smii7y's smug face. “You’re a fucking addict. Can’t get through a single day without downing something. That’s not smart, that’s pathetic.”

Smii7y’s smirk wavered, but only for a second. “Shut the fuck up, Droid. You can’t take it when you’re not the center of attention, but it’s because we both know you’re nothing without an audience. A fucking nobody.”

“Oh, look who’s projecting,” Droid hissed back.

The room buzzed with tension, but Puffer was shaking. Puffer slammed his hands on the coffee table so hard the mugs and cups jumped, and the room froze. His smile was still there, stretched wide - but it was sharp, feverish, his eyes gleaming too bright.

“SHUT UP!” he barked, voice cracking. The sound startled everyone in the room into momentary silence. Droid’s fists dropped, Smii7y blinked, and Grizzy straightened up. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, fins flaring, eyes wild with fury. “All of you - every single one of you - are fucking miserable! And I am DONE pretending it doesn’t drive me insane!”

“Droid!” Puffer whirled, eyes blazing. “You’re not some tough guy - you’re a bitch made cunt who throws punches because it’s easier than facing the fact no one actually likes you! And god, I could go on forever as to why everyone here dreads every fucking interaction they have with you!”

Droid froze mid-step, teeth bared, but his fists dropped at his sides.

Smii7y snorted, but Puffer’s glare pinned him instantly.

“Don’t you dare,” Puffer hissed, stepping forward. “Droid's right. We ALL know you’re an addict, Smii7y. You can’t go five minutes without a drink, a pill, or a smoke. And you think you’re better than everyone? Please. You’re a fucking joke.”

Smii7y’s smirk fell instantly.

Puffer’s glare whipped on Blarg suddenly, voice rising. “And you- God, don’t even get me started! You are possibly one of the most apathetic mother fuckers I’ve ever met. Lazy, worthless, and can't contribute anything but a snarky comment. You are a miserable, bitter shell of a human.”

Blarg blinked, eyebrows twitching. His smile didn’t fade like the other two, it seemed to curve tighter. If Puffer didn’t know any better, he would think it was from enjoyment, but Puffer knew he got under Blarg’s skin. Even just by a little bit.

Of course, Puffer wasn’t done. He still had so much more to say.

“Grizzy… Oh Grizzy,” Puffer’s laugh cracked sharp, bordering on hysterical. “Oh, you’re the worst. You’ve never felt empathy in your life. Watching Droid unravel is your entertainment. What is wrong with you?!”

Grizzy sat up, caught between defensive anger and stunned laughter. Disbelief still tugging at his core, not once has he ever been on the receiving end of Puffer’s more negative emotions, usually enjoying seeing the pufferfish’s petty mania go after the others. However, this is still the first time anyone has seen Puffer rage.

John whimpered, “Puffer, you’re scaring me-”

“Oh, shut UP, John!” Puffer snapped, laughter evolving into manic giggles. “You’re not the victim here, you’re just manipulative and sad! Do you even hear yourself? Crying so everyone feels sorry for you? It’s pathetic. It doesn’t even work on any of us here!”

“Puffer-” Pezzy started with a glare. He knew Puffer had shit to say about him, but it's all stuff he already knows. Pezzy wasn’t as ignorant as everyone else might think, but if Puffer needed to vent, who was he to stop him?

Pezzy!” Puffer’s voice cracked with hysteria, “You’re not caring, you’re controlling! Wrapping everything in sugar and acting like it’s love. God forbid someone has a little fun before you’re there to destroy it!”

Puffer spun back toward the group at large, body trembling from adrenaline. “But at least Pezzy tries. At least he cares enough to keep us from killing each other, even if he’s a manipulative bitch about it.” He whipped his head toward the corner, where John had gone pale and small. “-John’s… pitiful, but at least he likes me. Which is more than I can say for the rest of you bastards.”

Puffer’s voice softened suddenly, but the manic gleam in his eyes only grew brighter. “I try. I really do. I give you all the sunshine, all the rainbows, all the joy, and you throw it back in my face every damn time. You drown me in your negativity, and I just-” His laugh snapped again. “I just can’t take it anymore.”

Silence. Then, as if a switch was flipped, Puffer’s smile lost its aggressive edge and slid back to its normal, uncanny glee.

“Whew!” he said, clapping his hands together like nothing happened. “That felt amazing. Don't you all feel lighter now? I sure do! Like a big ol’ weight’s been lifted!”

The others just stared, the wounds from his words raw and bleeding, though none of them would ever admit it.

Puffer sat back down, still grinning ear to ear, humming cheerfully as if the explosion had never happened. He was glowing, delighted. He’d gotten rid of all the negativity, just like he always wanted. ”Well? C’mon, guys, don’t leave me hanging!”

“Yeah, much better.” Pezzy finally said, knowing the others would be too much in their heads to say anything.

Pezzy knew better than anyone that the same thing would happen tomorrow; maybe Puffer’s meltdown would be a new addition to this routine. Pezzy hopes not.

Chapter Text

Yumi never liked being perceived as a child.

It meant he was vulnerable, stupid, pathetic, and everything he hated.

He wasn't a kid anymore... but some things still stuck.

He had learned to live with it, sure, especially with the way he spoke - years of practice made his chopped words and slurred syllables passable, even charming at times when people wanted to read him as quirky rather than broken. But the truth was, every time he opened his mouth, every time he forced words out into a room full of people who were louder, faster, more confident than him, it felt like tearing paper - jagged, strained, uneven.

It was a strange thing, to wrestle with language as though it were an enemy, to feel each thought disintegrate before it had the chance to be given life.

His friends never seemed to mind. They were used to it, accustomed to Yumi fumbling mid-sentence or trailing off halfway, as though his brain had disconnected from his tongue. They’d fill the gaps with jokes or finish his thoughts for him, smoothing over the sharp edges like it was second nature. And maybe that was the problem. Maybe they thought it was normal for him, that this was just how he was built - faulty wiring, broken speakers.

He felt childish.

In a way, he sort of was - in his own unfortunate way: a subconscious tick that leads him back to when he was a kid. His therapist told him it was a 'coping mechanism.'

It wasn’t new, not to him. Yumi always knew exactly what it was - had known for years. He had fallen into it enough times that it was as familiar as the rhythm of his heartbeat, unwelcome but expected, a part of him he could never cut away. He had learned to live with it. He had learned to hide it.

But knowing didn’t make it easier.

It just… happened. Like a reflex he couldn’t fight, a wave that crashed and left him gasping. Sometimes it was a sound, other times a look, and at worst, it was silence itself - the hollow emptiness between moments that yawned too wide, threatening to swallow him whole. He would drop without warning, his mind sliding backward until he wasn’t quite himself anymore. Not the version of Yumi his friends knew, not the version he tried to protect.

God, he wishes he could at least choose to be such a pansy.

Truth was, he had been slipping like this since he was a child. Ten years old, maybe even younger. He couldn’t remember the exact beginning, only the feeling of it: small, vulnerable, desperate for comfort that never came.

Maybe it had roots in the thunder of his father’s voice. That voice could rattle walls, shake dishes on the counter, and tear through him like a storm he couldn’t escape. Yumi remembered sitting on the edge of his bed, fists pressed against his ears, counting heartbeats until the noise would stop. The times he would lock himself away from his father's reach in his closet, wrapped in his favorite blanket and holding a flashlight, because he was scared of the dark.

Or maybe it was his older siblings. Their cruel laughter still echoed in memory, the way they forced his eyes open to grotesque things he wasn’t ready to see - horror movies far too violent, images that seared into his mind - and then the sharp shove into a bathroom, the click of a lock, the dark swallowing him whole while his tiny fists slammed against the wooden door.

Or perhaps it traced back to his mother. The ashtray always too full, the coughing fits that rattled her chest, the days she was gone, and the nights she spent in a hospital bed because her lungs couldn’t take it anymore. Her words rasped as she told Yumi he was pathetic or worthless and that he needed her son to man up to be the man his father never was. Yumi was small then, too small to understand, only old enough to know something was wrong.

But he couldn’t ever truly pin it down. Trauma doesn’t keep neat records, doesn’t line itself up in order. All he knew was that fear had rewired something deep inside him, and when the world pressed too hard against his ribs, he folded in on himself and became someone from his past.

Usually, he covered it up well. He was good at that.

During recordings, when his voice slipped and his words tangled, he would just fall silent, letting others fill the gap until he found his way back. In hangouts, when the regression pulled too close, he would laugh it off, shrugging as though he had only “zoned out” again. In arguments - those were harder. His throat tightened, his body screamed to cry, to curl up, to hide, but instead, he would storm off, footsteps heavy with feigned anger. Better they think he was pissed than see him unravel.

And when it was bad - truly bad, when the fear reached inside and tore something loose—he blacked out entirely. He wouldn’t even remember. He’d come back hours later, trembling under his sheets or crammed into his closet with the weak glow of a flashlight painting his knees, heart hammering as though he had run a mile.

Those times, at least, always happened when he was alone.

But now? Now he wasn’t alone. Now he was here, his friends watching, his voice gone, his body too small for the space it filled.

And there was no way to cover it up.

-

The house was alive in the way only Puffer’s could be. Noise drifted through every corner: laughter, overlapping conversations, the occasional thud of a drink being set down too hard on the coffee table. The air smelled faintly of beer, a pine-scented candle, one cat’s soft fur scent mixing with the faint sting of alcohol. It should have been comfortable - ordinary, even.

For everyone else, it was.

Droid, Pezzy, and John had migrated to the couch, drinks in hand, their chosen horror flick abandoned somewhere around the midpoint. What started as shrieks and jump scares had long since shifted to the bright, cartoonish chaos of Mario Kart, the glow of Rainbow Road reflecting in their eyes. They were leaning into it hard, slurring insults at each other through laughter, each swipe of their controllers more aggressive than the last.

In the kitchen, Puffer’s voice carried through as he wrestled with a pizza order, his half-laugh, half-groan cutting off every few seconds when the delivery guy clearly failed to understand him. Across the room, Grizzy lounged back, legs sprawled in one of the armchairs, chuckling at something Matt had said. Matt, unusually quiet thanks to the alcohol, barely moved except to scratch the chin of the orange tabby curled up purring in his lap.

Smii7y was closest to Yumi, slouched on the floor by the wall, face red with drink, happily absorbed in Puffer’s other cat. His hand moved clumsily over soft fur, voice pitched low and sweet, like the words belonged more to the cat than to anyone else.

Yumi had taken just one sip from Grizzy’s cup earlier - barely anything, not even enough to properly taste. But it sat in him wrong, a buzzing that spread from his tongue to his skull. His thoughts felt loose, sloshing around in a way that made it harder to hold them in place. The chatter around him sounded distant, like voices underwater.

He felt trapped in his own mind.

Suddenly, the volume increased tenfold.

Yumi flinched.

Pezzy’s voice came first, sharp and biting: “You blue shelled me? Are you kidding me? At the finish line?!”

John barked back immediately, volume rising to meet his: “You won anyway, so what the fuck does it matter?”

The tone was playful - sort of. The words were steeped in the sloppy exaggeration of drunk competition, not real venom, not real hate. Yumi knew that. He knew it like he knew the taste of his own tongue, like he knew these guys never stayed mad for longer than a breath. He had seen them snap before, a thousand times, always ending in laughter or an awkward apology.

But knowing didn’t matter.

His chest tightened, heart crawling up into his throat. The room blurred at the edges, the colors of the TV too bright, too sharp. Every shout from the couch reverberated inside his skull until it wasn’t Pezzy or John anymore - it was them. His parents' voices colliding like thunderclouds, one always trying to be louder, to cut sharper, to win.

Yumi was five again, knees pulled to his chest in a hallway too dark, the air trembling with the sound of adults fighting in a way that never felt survivable.

He hated it. Hated how fast it happened, how the air shifted and betrayed him. His skin prickled, crawling, a sour taste creeping up the back of his throat.

His breath hitched. Small, shallow gasps that he couldn’t disguise fast enough.

Smii7y’s hand froze mid-pet, fingers tangled in fur as he glanced sideways. He caught the way Yumi’s chest hitched too suddenly, the shallow gasps that followed, the sheen of panic flooding his eyes.

“Yumi?” Smii7y slurred softly, concern breaking through his drunken haze.

Yumi couldn’t answer. His mouth opened, but the sound that came out was mangled, half a word that slipped into a whimper. He swallowed hard, tried again, but the noise strangled in his throat. His hands trembled against the hem of his hoodie, tugging harder, curling in until his knuckles whitened.

Grizzy was already moving, pulling Pezzy back with one arm while holding John steady with the other, his booming laugh cutting through their argument like a crack in the tension. “Alright, alright - chill! It’s just a game, y’all are too loud.”

The fight dissolved almost instantly, both Pezzy and John mumbling something under their breath, drinks raised in reluctant truce.

But the damage had been done.

Yumi’s hands shook so badly that he could barely pull his phone from his pocket, thumb fumbling over the screen until the flashlight cut through the dim like a single, small sun. It felt ridiculous and necessary all at once: a thin column of light he could hold between his palms, an anchor in a room that had suddenly become too big and too loud.

He ran. Or- more like stumble. Not loud, not fast - there wasn’t energy for theatrics - just a small, urgent animal pace that carried him past the coffee table, away from all the noise. He could hear someone call his name, muffled by distance and the way sound curled strangely when his chest tightened. For a second, he worried Smii7y would follow - would try and fail to catch up like he always did when drunk - but then the distance swallowed the footsteps and Yumi pushed at the closet door he remembered, the wood cool under his palms as he shoved it closed.

The lock clicked and the sound somehow sealed the world away. He slid down the inside of the door until his back met the crooked hangers and his knees were pressed to his chest. The flashlight beam rested on his thighs, a narrow eye that only saw him. Outside, the voices softened - the same barbed edges of the argument still there, but reined back, slurred apologies beginning like a promise they both knew they’d break playfully later. Through the door he could still hear the steady thump of the house, the muffled hum of the TV, the faint clink of glass.

It was not silent. It was better than the open room.

His body betrayed him: tremors rolled through his limbs, small, uncontrollable shivers that made the beam of light jitter across his jeans. Cotton seemed to fill his skull; thoughts that used to sit in tidy lines were now smudged and unreadable. He breathed shallow, fast, the kind of breath that barely touched the bottom of the lungs and left the top hollow and empty. Speaking would have been impossible - his mouth felt like sandpaper, lips sticky and useless. Even if he had wanted someone to come in and reassure him, the words wouldn’t have formed. He could only curl tighter around himself, an instinct older than memory.

And then the flashbacks came, uninvited and relentless, like footage playing in a loop the instant he gave the present an inch of room. His father’s voice - no longer a distant, abstract sound but a physical thing - broke through: thunder that shook plates, syllables that hit like fists. His mother’s rasping scream threaded through it, raw and close, the kind of sound he had learned to flinch at. His siblings’ faces, younger and crueler in his mind, pushing him toward small, enclosed horrors.

Images flickered between those sounds - hands gripping at him, doors slamming, the dull ache of small bones curled into a ball on a cold floor. He could feel the dampness of old fear in his palms, taste the stale air of rooms where comfort refused to enter. Therapy had given names to the things he’d felt, steps to climb back from them, little tools he’d used in safe hours to rebuild. Those tools felt like fragile paper in his fingers now, useless against a tide that had already reached his chest.

God, he really is pathetic, huh?

He let himself remember in the only way he knew how, when he was that small: by shrinking. Everything in him contracted until he was a child crouched inside himself - legs folded tight, shoulders rounding, the flashlight warm and ridiculous between his fingers. It was a private retreat, one he’d always engineered when he needed to ride out a storm. But this time was different because it had happened with people who would see him - people who were supposed to be his safe places, people who were never meant to see this embarrassing side of him - watching, laughing, bickering in the room beyond the door. He thought of Smii7y’s blurry, worried face for a flash and the way his friend’s attempt to follow had stalled. Some part of him hoped that it was just his imagination and that nobody even noticed his little fit. The thought made his chest twist with a weird, guilty relief: at least he had gotten away.

Time, in the closet, folded strangely. Minutes could have been hours; hours could have been heartbeats. The phone's flashlight cone breathed with him - flicker, steady, flicker - matching the ebb and sigh of some small, stubborn part of him trying to reclaim control. He focused on that, on the rhythm, on the feel of the phone’s case in his palm, the scraping of zipper teeth against fabric, the scent of Puffer’s laundry and old cardboard and his own skin. It was a small litany of facts he could cling to, things that were true and immediate and could not be rewritten by memory.

The only thing that could keep him grounded and drown all the bad thoughts.

Chapter Text

The coat closet door was thin, not nearly thick enough to muffle the sound of Yumi’s breathing. It was ragged, uneven - like the breaths caught on barbed wire before they left his chest. Every now and then, a wet sniffle cut through, the kind of sound that made the room go still in a way none of them were used to.

Nobody really knew what had happened. One minute Yumi was sitting on the floor, pressed against the wall near Smii7y, uncharacteristically quiet but present enough, and the next, he had bolted - flashlight beam bobbing down the hallway until the click of the closet lock swallowed him whole.

They all stood there, blinking.

“Uh,” Puffer was the first to break the silence, phone still dangling in his hand. He had just entered the living room right as Yumi scrambled. “What the fuck just happened?”

No one had an answer.

Grizzy shifted awkwardly near the couch, glancing between the hallway and the two idiots he had just separated. John was still holding his controller like it was evidence in a trial, and Pezzy’s face was flushed a deep red that didn’t all come from alcohol. Matt scratched absently at the cat in his lap, brow furrowed and itching to say something. Even Droid, usually quick with something funny or sarcastic, only tilted his head slightly, eyes drooping at the sound of Yumi’s breath leaking out from behind the door.

Smii7y pushed himself off the wall with more effort than it should have taken. His body was heavy with drink, each step toward the closet feeling like his shoes were full of wet sand. Still, he crouched in front of the door, palm flat against the wood as though it might steady him.

“Yoo, Yumi?” His voice came out slurred, soft in a clumsy way. “Hey, buddy, it’s just us. Nothin’ scary out here, alright?”

No response. Just another shuddering inhale, the sound tight and close, and then the faint click of Yumi’s flashlight shifting against something in the closet.

Smii7y licked his lips, brain scrambling for what he thought might be the right words. He’d been here before - sort of. Panic attacks weren’t strangers to him, not completely. He knew the way they tore through you like a wildfire, leaving nothing but the sound of your own lungs trying to convince you you were dying. But knowing it himself and trying to pull someone else out of it? That was different.

And harder.

Especially drunk.

“Listen, man,” he tried again, his forehead leaning against the wood now, eyes closed as though that would help him hear Yumi better. “You don’t gotta… like, hide in there, man. It’s just us. We’re not—” He paused, because he didn’t know what they weren’t. They weren’t safe? They weren’t dangerous? They weren’t loud? His words tripped and collapsed before they could steady. “We’re just hangin’ out. Pizza’s comin’ soon. We got cats, we got - fuckin’ Mario Kart.” He chuckled, the sound shaky, not really sure if he was joking or begging. “You don’t gotta hide, dude. No one’s mad at you.”

From inside, Yumi’s breath stuttered, but he stayed silent.

Smii7y sighed. His hand dragged down the door, nails tapping against the paint. “Alright. That’s cool too. You wanna stay in there, you stay in there. I’ll just… sit right here, yeah? Keep the monsters away.”

He plopped down on the floor outside the closet, back against the opposite wall, legs stretched in front of him. It wasn’t much of a guard post, but it was something.

The others, watching, exchanged looks that hovered somewhere between concern and helplessness. None of them was good at this sort of thing. Their group wasn’t built on softness; they knew how to yell, how to joke, how to drink, how to play. Comfort was something they offered in sideways ways: a beer shoved into your hand, a meme spammed at three in the morning, a distracted laugh that said, We’re good again, right?

Not this.

The rest of the night carried on in an awkward silence.

Inside the closet, Yumi trembled in his small pool of light, caught somewhere between past and present.

-

Morning sunlight poured in through the slanted blinds, catching the dust motes and giving the living room a soft haze. Empty bottles and half-eaten pizza crusts sat like artifacts of a night none of them quite wanted to revisit. The house carried that sour-sweet mix of leftover alcohol, grease, and breath, thick in the air.

Everyone woke up hungover and uncomfortable.

It was Pezzy who stirred first, groaning as he sat up on the couch, rubbing at his face like he could erase the hangover lodged in his skull. John was snoring loudly against the armrest, Droid’s frame bent awkwardly over a beanbag. At some point in the night, Smii7y had migrated to the couch where he fell asleep. Puffer shuffled into the room barefoot, a phone in one hand and a mug of water in the other.

And then the quiet scrape of a door opening broke through it all.

Every head turned.

Yumi stepped out of the closet slowly, blinking like he’d been underground for days. His hair was messy, face pale, and his phone dangled weakly in his grip, the battery long since dead. The room stiffened - not out of judgment, but because none of them really knew what to say.

He didn’t look at anyone, just walked past them, stiff-backed, heading toward the kitchen sink. He filled a glass with water and drank it too fast, coughing once before setting it down. When he finally turned back, his eyes flicked over them quickly, unreadable.

Pezzy was the first to break. His voice was quiet, raw in a way that didn’t quite fit him.
“Hey… whatever I did last night… I’m sorry.”

Yumi shook his head fast, too fast. “Don’t. It’s… It’s fine. I was just-” He fumbled for words, his tone clipped, short, but steady enough to sound believable. “F-freaking out. About something. Doesn’t matter.”

It was the most believable excuse he had, and it slid from his mouth so easily it almost sounded true. Well, he supposes it is somewhat true, but he just wouldn’t elaborate. He couldn’t.

He held himself like a wall, a stance that dared anyone to question him. And none of them did. They nodded, accepted it. Because maybe they were too hungover to push, or maybe they knew better than to pry into something so raw when the wounds were still open.

The next three days at Puffer’s house stretched long. They filled the hours with games and food and half-hearted attempts at productivity. But something had changed in the background, something quieter and harder to ignore. John and Pezzy, who had been at the center of the shouting match, seemed to carry a weight in their pockets.

They never outright said we’re sorry again, but it lived under everything they did, a low hum of guilt vibrating the floorboards.

Yumi pretended not to notice.

He smiled when they smiled, laughed when the room laughed, and moved with the group like he always did. On the surface, he was fine - normal. But inside, the weight of their pity pressed against him like stone. It scraped against something raw and private in his chest. Every look of concern, every softened tone, every subtle attempt to make up for what they didn’t even understand - each one drove the embarrassment deeper.

Because they didn’t know. They thought it was panic, or a freak-out, or maybe just the alcohol. They didn’t know what he carried in his chest, the memories that clawed their way out when everything became too overwhelming. And Yumi, who had always learned to hold those pieces close, felt them rattle louder and louder against his ribs.

The embarrassment ate at him. It tore at the seams of his composure, chewing away until his chest felt raw. Every time Pezzy handed him a controller first, he wanted to vanish. Every time John softened his voice, he wanted to scream. They pitied him. That was the worst of it. He couldn’t stand being the fragile one, the broken one, the one who couldn’t handle a raised voice without crying like a little bitch.

By the third night, it was unbearable.

It didn’t happen in some dramatic explosion. It came in quiet, like a tide rising until he couldn’t breathe anymore. They were sitting in the living room, the group half-distracted by another round of games, when Yumi’s voice slipped in - quiet, unsteady, almost swallowed by the TV noise.

“It wasn’t… about you.”

Pezzy and John turned, confusion on their faces. Yumi swallowed hard, his throat dry, his hands gripping his knees tight. “That night. The closet. It wasn’t you.” His voice wavered, a nervous laugh spilling out like he could smother the weight of his own words. “I mean… n-not really.”

Nobody interrupted. The room felt still, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty but waiting.

Yumi’s chest rose and fell too fast. His eyes darted anywhere but their faces, like the truth burned too much if he saw their reactions. And then, because keeping it locked in any longer felt worse than the shame of opening his mouth, he let it out.

He told them.

“It’s… always been like that. Since I was a kid. I get… I don’t know - afraid. Loud voices, fights, it- it does something to me. I- I can’t stop it. I… am a child.” The last word felt like glass in his mouth, fragile and humiliating. “Not literally, obviously… Just feel younger. Little. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s my dad, maybe it’s my siblings, maybe it’s everything. It’s stupid. But it happens. And the closet - it’s just what I do. It feels safe.”

His voice cracked. The blanket slipped from his shoulders as his hands twisted in his lap. “I didn’t want you to see. I didn’t want anyone to see. But now you have, and-” He choked, biting back the tears threatening to return. “Now you pity me, and I hate it. Stop treating me differently.”

The room was silent, the weight of his confession settling over them like dust.

The air was awkward, heavy, when Yumi finally got it all out. His voice cracked halfway through, then steadied again, and by the end, he just stared at his knees, waiting for silence to crush him.

But it didn’t.

Instead, the others shifted, fidgeted, looked at each other like they’d been caught naked themselves. Pezzy was the first to break it, blurting out: “Yumi, I’m sorry. For treating you like you’re fragile. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Smii7y nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “None of us did. We don’t see you as a kid. We just… didn’t know what the hell to do. And honestly? If I were in your shoes, I’d have lost my shit way worse.”

Yumi shook his head, swallowing. “It was humiliating. Sitting in a closet like a damn toddler. Y-you guys had to listen to me sobbing.”

“Well,” Puffer interrupted firmly. “If it makes you feel better, none of us stuck around for long, except Smii7y. We all gave you your space. And the crying? That’s not humiliating, man. That’s human.”

Droid nods, "Yeah, dude! We all have our own moments; nothing is embarrassing about it, I think it just makes you more manly."

Matt leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah… I mean, you know me, I’m not great with this kind of thing. But… me and Smii7y used to get jumped in high school just for being who we were. Got tired of swinging fists every other week. You never forget the fear, but… you learn you’re not alone in it, y’know?”

Smii7y shakes his head in agreement.

Pezzy hesitated before adding, quieter this time, “You know I didn’t have friends. At all. My sister made home unbearable. So when I finally did make friends with you guys, I felt like I was already broken. Like I missed the chance to grow up right. Half the time I still feel like I’m faking it, like I’m just… behind.”

Yumi understands that feeling all too well.

Puffer’s jaw tensed as he spoke next, eyes flickering toward the floor. “I'm not trying to make it about myself, but I just wanna put in my two sense. My stepdad used to lay his hands on my mom. On me too. I can’t tell you how many nights I thought I’d have to kill him just to keep her safe.” He shook his head. “Shit like that never leaves you.”

Grizzy gave a hollow chuckle, though his expression was heavy. “Same here. Different faces, same fear. Loved ‘em, but damn… love shouldn’t hurt like that.”

Droid nodded slowly beside him. “I promised myself a long time ago - no one else around me was gonna feel that pain if I could help it. I’ll take the hit before I let anyone I care about go through that.”

Then there was John, who let out a long, heavy sigh. “I spent years tearing myself apart. Hating everything I couldn’t change. It nearly ate me alive until I realized… You can’t hate yourself into healing. All you can do is take those pieces, even the ugly ones, and make something with them.”

Yumi sat there, stunned into silence. The people he trusted most - the ones he laughed with, fought with, drank with - they had all been carrying their own scars. Different battles, same wounds. His chest loosened, just a little, when he realized they didn’t see him as weak. They saw him as one of them.

“I always thought…” Yumi’s voice cracked, but he forced it out anyway. “I always thought I was weird for how I deal with it. When I… I regress. It makes me feel safe. Secure. But I hate myself for it. Like it’s pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic. It’s survival. And if that makes you feel secure, then it’s not a weakness - it’s a tool. One you’ve already got.” Droid says, catching Yumi off guard due to how uncharacteristic it was for him to drop something so wise.

“Guess we’re all just… fucked up in our own ways, huh?” Yumi said.

“Guess so,” Puffer said softly, smiling.

“Doesn’t make it bad, though,” Smii7y added. “It just makes us… us.”

Puffer nodded. “We all have our ways of coping. Some good, some bad. But none of ‘em mean you’re broken. It just means you’re trying.”

Yumi wiped at his eyes, a weak laugh slipping out. “Fuck me. I hate you guys so much.”

“Nuh uh,” Matt grinned, finally breaking the heaviness. “You love us sooo much. But seriously, we might not know exactly what you are going through, but we are always here as your shoulder to lean on.”

For the first time since that night, Yumi let himself smile. Small, shaky - but real. His friends weren’t pitying him. They were standing beside him.

It still sucked but at least he had friends that weren't dicks about it.

Chapter Text

Pezzy & Fizzy

At the first table, a nervous Math teacher smiled up at Fizzy.

“Mrs.-uh, Miss Fizzy? Pezzy is a bright student, but he tends to overthink and stress himself into-”

“Oh, he’s always been like that,” Fizzy interrupted with a laugh, leaning an elbow on the desk like she was chatting with an old friend. “When he was five, he cried because he couldn’t decide which juice box to drink first. Eyes full of tears, it was so cute.”

“Mom!” Pezzy hissed, tugging on her sleeve. “Please don’t-”

“And he had this habit of humming to himself on the toilet. Still does sometimes.”

Pezzy’s soul left his body. The teacher looked torn between sympathy and amusement. Fizzy just grinned, unbothered.

“Anyway,” Fizzy continued, “he’s doing fine, right? Grades are good? Cool, cool. Can I get one of those gold star stickers for being a great mom?”

-

Droid & DJ

Down the hall, DJ walked in with Droid, who looked like he’d rather melt into the linoleum. DJ had a clipboard in hand and her glasses on, looking like she was ready for a debate tournament.

“So,” she began, flipping through Droid’s grade report, “we’re going to talk about why my brother went from a B+ to a C in history. Because I know he did the project, I helped him. He may suck, but he did not suck at that PowerPoint.”

The teacher tried to interject politely. “Well, his effort level has been inconsistent-”

“Inconsistent?” DJ cut in, eyes narrowing. “Sir, I’ve watched him sit there for four hours grinding this thing out while I kept him from alt-tabbing to YouTube. If that’s inconsistent, I don’t know what consistent is. Don’t blame him for your grading curve.”

Droid groaned, face in his hands. “DJ, stop…”

“No, you stop, dude. This is your education. And you’re grounded from gaming until you bring this up. No more CSGO for you.”

"What?!"

-

Grizzy & Orsa

At the science table, Orsa was already red in the face. “What do you mean he hasn’t turned in half his labs?! He was grounded for a week to finish them!”

Grizzy groaned. “Mom, I did them. I just… forgot to turn them in.”

“You forgot?!” Orsa turned back to the teacher, slamming her hand on the desk. “How is he passing your class if he can ‘forget’ half his work?”

The teacher, pale and sweating, stammered, “W-Well, he does very well on tests-”

“That’s not the point!” Orsa barked. “You’re enabling him! Don’t just pat him on the head because he’s a ‘sweet kid.’ He needs discipline!”

Grizzy slouched lower, muttering, “I’m right here, y’know…”

-

Puffer & Joel

Joel sat perfectly straight at the English table, folding her hands. “I understand my son can be… difficult.” Her voice was calm, deep, and deliberate. “But I expect him to be treated with the same respect as any other student.”

The teacher cleared his throat nervously. “Of course. But his last essay was-”

Joel’s icy blue gaze cut through him. “Unacceptable. Yes. He knows it, and he’ll be rewriting it this weekend.” She turned slightly, fixing Puffer with a look sharp enough to kill. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Puffer groaned. “Yeah, yeah…”

Her attention slid back to the teacher, smooth as glass. “But I don’t want him written off as lazy. He is intelligent. Challenge him properly, and he’ll deliver.”

The teacher nodded quickly, jotting something down, clearly relieved.

Chapter Text

The mountain stretched behind them, silent and endless, the sharp wind biting at their jackets as though to remind them how small they were out here.

Pezzy’s voice cracked the silence first, sharp but shaking.

“Tell you what, we could’ve had a good life together, a fucking real good life. Had us a place of our own. But you didn’t want it, Puffer! So what we got now is Brokeback Mountain!”

Puffer flinched his name, like it was a knife. His jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as if he could chew down the fear clawing at his chest. He’d replayed the sight of Smii7y’s broken body for decades - the lesson carved into his bones. Men like them didn’t get happy endings; they got beaten bloody in a ditch. And yet, here was Pezzy, standing in front of him, all fire and want, begging for a life that Puffer knew the world would never allow.

Pezzy’s voice broke, raw and desperate.

“Everything’s built on that, that’s all we got, boy, fucking all, so I hope you know that, if you don’t never know the rest. You count the damn few times that we have been together in nearly twenty years and you measure the short fucking leash you keep me on, then you ask me about Mexico, and you tell me you’ll kill me for needing something I don’t hardly never get. You have no idea how bad it gets!”

Puffer’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to grab him, shake him, make him understand - it wasn’t that he didn’t want him, Christ, he wanted him so bad it scared him. It was that the wanting itself was a death sentence.

But Pezzy’s eyes were wet, glimmering with grief and fury both.

“I’m not you. I can’t make it on a coupla high-altitude fucks once or twice a year! You are too much for me, Puffer, you son of a whore son-bitch! I wish I knew how to quit you.”

The words ripped out of him, and Puffer felt like they cracked something open in his chest. His whole body ached with the truth of it - that he was dragging Pezzy down into the same prison he lived in. That his silence, his fear, might be the very thing killing the only man he ever loved.

“I wish I knew how to quit you…” Pezzy’s voice collapsed into a whisper.

Puffer’s heart thundered against his ribs. He could already see the future laid out - Pezzy, too bold, too reckless, too bright for this world that hated them. He could see him lying in a ditch just like Smii7y, and the thought of it hollowed him out, left him gasping. His fear tangled with his love until he couldn’t tell them apart.

He reached out, grabbed Pezzy by the shoulders, shaking with rage and terror.

“Then why don’t you? Why don’t you just let me be, huh? It’s because of you, you’re the only thing I’m ever gonna want. But I can’t have you, don’t you understand? The world don’t work like that!”

His voice cracked, rough with the sound of something breaking inside him. And all Pezzy could do was stare, grieving the love that was right there in his hands but locked behind Puffer’s fear.

The wind howled between them, carrying the silence of every year they had wasted, every night they would never get back.

All they had left was Brokeback Mountain.