Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Being a working adult has its fun moments—silly times.

Owning a safe space for yourself, uh… being able to buy whatever the hell you want, I guess.

Oh!

There's things you have access to that you used to dream of as a kid, when you watched the grown-ups in your life be allowed to do all these exciting things—then, then… there's your body trained to snap out of deep sleeps at the insistent tunes of a phone call that rings an awful lot like a morning alarm.

Yeah, there is not many good things about being an adult, but that may be pessimism talking right now.

Or I'm too sleepy to focus on the good things. Or a fun, delightful combination of both!

Anyway. I will be losing my shit if, after being forced out of bed to retrieve my phone, I find it's late at night.

My room is nearly pitch-black as my phone is likely facedown right now, and this dark does not bode well for my suspicions about what time it is.

…I'm also not hearing cars outside. Just the play of the call, which I should probably check. I guess.

The comforter gets whip-lash, I swing my legs off the mattress, and then silence.

Silence. The phone call already timed out? I must've zoned out for a moment in the middle of waking the rest of the way.

I lay back, "Happens, I guess." Curiously testing my voice while I'm at it.

…Maybe I better check the time, anyway. My eyes don't feel as tired, so it could be something as simple as 5am. I don't think I'd particularly mind staying awake if it's early morning.

There's some things I had planned for today, and I would not mind getting it all finished early so I can enjoy the rest of my day off.

Also, I could totally swing by some coffee place for breakfast and a yummy drink!

I put an experimental pep to my step, hopping out of bed to see how awake my body is—very, actually. Hm—and I swipe my phone from the other side of my room where my desk is.

A fun trick I've picked up is leaving your phone miles from your bed so you're forced to wake up and move.

…It's actually pretty depressing, but whatever. Just… Whatever, man.

11:58pm. Huh?

Now, who in blazes dares to call me at TWILIGHT—It rings yet again, the caller returning and sort of slightly startling me, but only because I wasn't expecting them to call again.

…It's Edge.

Edge.

What. Huh? What could Edge possibly want from me this late at night. I don't have the best friendship with this man, and also he's scary… Like, I am not besties enough with this dude to be rung by him at this hour.

Hmgh, how badly do I want to pick this up?

Wait. Could it be an emergency? Well, Edge strictly only calls if he ever needs to get in contact with someone, dodging texts like they're the black death—which he claims himself to be—but, this late?

Something could have happened.

I answer, just as it was on its last rings, and I'm blasted with such full volume that any drowsiness I had remaining long fled, "WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?"

…Mm. On second thoughts, which're far too late, I should've let Edge handle whatever he's got going on. He's big and scary. And tough. He would have been incredibly fine.

"S…Sorry?" Keep it safe, keep it friendly. Just… apologize. It's fine.

"AS YOU SHOULD BE! I NEED YOUR ASSISTANCE, POST-HASTE! THE FIRST RING OF MY INITIAL CALL WOULD HAVE BEEN PREFERRED, BUT ALAS, HUMANS." It sounds like he's pacing at some high speeds, the clicked thumps of his boots against hardwood tile can be heard over his…inside voice.

Also, yay! It's one of his racist moods.

…No, backtrack, what's making him pace? Edge doesn't pace, he stands high and tall and unmoving like a guard; probably because he is one, but whatever. Can't always seperate work from life, I guess.

I lost track of my backtrack—Edge straight up does not have nervous tics. Something MUST have happened, unless I'm overanalyzing?

"WELL?" He snips.

…'Well' what? Did I zone out and miss something else he said? "…Uh?—"

"I SAID I REQUIRE YOU, YET YOU'VE YET TO MOVE!" …How stressed out is he if he's used the same word twice like that? He always mixes up his vocabulary, the variation in his wording going crazy in an obsessive effort to sound put together.

Something's actually happened.

"YES, SOMETHING DID HAPPEN. HOW OBSERVANT OF YOU!" I can already see his eye roll in annoyance, "RED IS OUT DRINKING HIS MISERABLE LIFE AWAY, DISRESPECTING MY IMAGE AND MAKING A FOOL OF ME!"

…Ah.

He continues, "STARS FORBID I BE THE ONE TO RETRIEVE HIM, AS BEING NEAR HIS PATHETIC STATE COULD RUB OFF ON ME, OR EVEN HAVE THE PUBLIC FEEL… HGMH… THEY COULD FEEL SORRY FOR ME, AND I CAN NOT BE ENTERTAINING THAT AS CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL GUARD!"

Oh, hell.

"HE IS SULKING AT GRILLBY'S, SO I AM TOLD BY THE BARTENDER HIMSELF, WHICH IS ALREADY SHAMEFUL ENOUGH! TO THINK, BEING PHONED BY GRILLBY TO PLAY FETCH WITH MY HORRIBLY MISBEHAVED BROTHER… I NEARLY SHUDDERED IN SECOND-HAND DISGRACE!"

"GO!" He hangs up.

…

Okay, so. So. It… does not sound like I have much of a choice in this one.

Not that I recall this being my problem, but I also don't think I'm very interested in facing Edge's wrath if I don't do as asked. As… told? Edge doesn't really ask.

…This isn't about me or Edge, this is about Red. Right? He's gotten himself into a lot of trouble, so I should go get him. Isn't that what friends do?

I need to put my pride aside and help.

It's a good thing I very recently did my laundry! I get to leave the house in my favorite and comfy clothes, hehe.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨-୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Grillby's Bar is quite relatively close by, being only a ten or so minute drive. Not bad by any means, and a couple minutes better late at night when there's hardly anybody else on the road with me.

I'd say this commute could be shaved off by a solid four, even five minutes if there weren't so many red lights going against the grain.

Not that I am complaining by any means, as I really do not mind coming out here. Or… Well, I guess I kind of mind.

I'd really rather be in bed, not having to worry about Red's wellbeing, but he needs help and Edge doesn't want to. So, I guess it's up to me?

It's okay. Really, it's fine.

I can take care of this.

Ah, wow, Grillby's looks… busy. That is a number of cars parked in his not-that-big lot, all down the road, some on the side of the street illegally because of a horrible lack of space. Where do I even go, then?

Hm, maybe much further down the street? I wouldn't mind walking, and it could possibly do Red a little good for his alertness if he's as inebriated as Edge made him out to be.

Actually, I don't think Edge elaborated much aside from, 'He's drunk. Go.'

…I guess it's bad if Grillby had to call to get him removed. What could Red possibly be getting up to in there if the owner had to go as far as getting in contact with his family?

Oh, here's a spot! It's a good block away from the bar, and awful tight, but I can maneuver into it just fine with this parallel.

Hgh, double wow, I got way too comfortable in the heat of my car. It's frigid out here, probably no thanks to how late it is. What, thirty minutes past midnight now? It didn't take me long to get dressed and out here, so it can't be terribly later. And hopefully this walk to the bar won't be any lengthy either, 'cause geez I want into someplace warm again.

No need to wait for this crossing light to give me the go-ahead, given there's quite clearly no traffic to endanger me, so my walk to Grillby's is exceptionally fast.

I'm welcomed underneath the neon glow of his sign, and the beautiful heated air escapes the building when a leaving monster holds the door open for me.

With some curtful nods traded, I step in, out of the way to the side so I can stand in place and take it all in.

I… apparently failed to process the volume of the crowd and of the overhead music until now.

Grillby's place is grand, and borderline crammed with customers.

Unlike a standard, local community bar, he went above and beyond. His is lined with artfully arranged RBG lights that cycle between various hues and shade gradients of purple, his plush booths and tables of black marble and treated, dark wood.

The tables close but not too clustered in the open spaces of the room, and booths line the walls and windows.

The floors carpetted to bring a comfortable atmosphere and that mark the preferred walkways, with hardwood tile underneath the tables and whatnot to presumably make cleaning easier.

The music not too loud, but enough to be heard over the crowd, which creates a nice and stimulating atmosphere. Perhaps it's intentional to keep heavy drinkers alert? Or maybe I'm thinking too hard on that, and Grillby just wanted to hear the music.

And there's no host stand to wait for, so you're free to pick where you want to sit.

A masterpiece of work. I'd be ALL here if I were big on drinking, or eating out at sit-downs.

Red is… Mmm, not here. Or at least anywhere in sight, which is the whole of the bar. All one big, unseparated space.

If Grillby called, and assuming it wasn't long between their call and the one to me, then maybe Mr. Fire Guy would still know where Red is at? Or may have a clue on which direction he went, if Red did leave on his own.

I nearly bump into somebody on the way up to the bar counter itself, raising a hand in quiet apology, and there's a distinct crackle I can hear over everything as I pull out a bar stool for an approaching monster to take a seat at.

I turn my head in time to see Grillby approach from behind the counter, pressing his hip against the bar to lean closer to me.

Ah, I forget how charming his smile is.

He winks, his flames wisping a little higher the way a peacock would show off.

…A shame he's the way he is. I can't help but wonder how much he pulls.

The lightshow dissipates relatively quick, probably in response to my lack of receptiveness, "…I forget you're no joy to be in the company of." He quips, sassily waving me off as he tilts his head away in faux annoyance.

"Well, forgive me for not wanting to burn under your gaze, or whatever." I fire back.

He looks back, eyes squinting at me as he registers the play on words, "Egh."

I shrug. "Hey, I'm actually sort of doing something. and I bet you're busy too. As fun as it is to bar-nter with you like Red would, where is the skinny guy? I got called to get him."

He takes a moment to wave at a customer that shouted for him, implying he'll be there soon, before giving me his full attention again, "Ah… I must confess—my love to you, and his whereabouts—I have lost sight of him some dozen or so minutes ago. I would blindly wager outdoors smoking, or violently expelling his night of drinking in the bathroom."

…Well, I suppose that's as helpful of directions as I'll be getting. It's whatever, I don't mind looking around.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨-୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

With the help of a friendly stranger to check the mens' restroom for me, and then questioning a small group of outdoor loiterers nearby where Grillby mentioned Red may've been, it seems he's vanished.

The older one of the group pipes up, blowing his cigarette smoke away from me to clear his voice, "You may've passed him inside. I ain't seen him out here at all, and I like to look around at folk a lot so I wouldn't have missed. Hope you find him."

Another member of the group, "Nah, dude, it's Red. He can 'port and shit, remember? He could be 'nywhere."

Ah, yeah… I guess he really could be anywhere, but… "How likely is he to teleport right if he's very inebriated?" I ask them. Also assuming he's drunk enough to fail, going on what Edge made it sound like.

The four look at each other, expressions blank before the older looks back to me, "…Yeah, nah, he's inside. He can't cut for the life of him when he's drunk as hell."

I nod, calling my thanks out to them as I pick up the pace to head back into the building.

I don't think I could've possibly missed Red, but it is truly crowded in there, all monsters and humans as one big busy-body with their mingling and loud conversations overlapping each other.

But, how likely is it for me to be as poor-sighted as to—there he is, the back of his jacket as recognizable as ever, sat at the bar and angrily gesturing at Grillby.

Oh, for stars' sake… How did he slip by me?

Grillby waves me over with a tilt of his head and intentful shade shift of his flames, his hands busy wiping a glass clean and mouth busy responding to Red.

What a multitasker. Speaking of, I may as well… ah, my phone reads a little past 1am. No matter. Red's here, I'll be in the warmth of my bed soon enough.

I draw within earshot distance of their conversation.

"c'mon, lava boy. i need me some of that water girl, 'cept make that some alcohol, huh? wuh…hm…-water to tequila type work, like jesus or what'ver the fuck."

Grillby squints his eyes before stepping away, assumingly to fix him a drink.

"attabitch." He mumbles, resting his head back on his propped hand as his eyelights fuzz on the edges.

I wouldn't have caught any of that muttering or light shifts if I weren't right beside him, pulling up a seat that was coincidentally free.

And by 'coincidental', I mean nobody in their right mind wants to sit next to Red when he's acting out, and it certainly seems he is.

I gently elbow him, hardly a tap, but it was all I needed to get him to whip his head in angry offense.

His whole face contorted in agitation, mouth opened—probably to yell at me—up until we lock eyes and he freezeframes with a surprised expression.

I watch his eyes lower into a contemplative squint, his mouth slowly closing in afterthought, like he's trying to puzzle why I'm here.

"…Hey, Red."

He blinks once, twice, and… pretends to clear a throat he doesn't have, going as far as covering his mouth with the back of his hand in 'politeness', but he just ends up making some weird noise.

And then he says my name in a really slutty way. Okay, bro…

"ah… i knew there were some good lookin' folk here, with hotties that even rival grillb'z himself, but seeing you is a surprise for such, such sore eyes!" He raves, his smile upturning almost charming, but it more looks like half of his face is paralyzed.

He keeps going, reaching out to hover his hand beside my knee, "hey. hey, so i've been thinkin' a lot about stuff… like, a lot, a lotta. and i think you should get drunk as f-uck with me. and we hang. and eat. i pay."

I don't think my narrowed eyes were enough of a deterrent, because he only leans ever slightly closer, to which I carefully shoo all of him away from my space. I even get my knee's freedom back.

"That's, ah… Hm. I think I'm okay, actually. It's pretty late, and I kind of want to go home." Is… that enough of a hint?

Red nods along, propping his elbow on the counter to lounge against it. Is he… thinking about it?

Oh. No, he's not even listening, is he?

He sticks his tongue out to play with his golden tooth, making some humming noise as he eyes me.

…

And then his sight trails to my collarbone.

Okay, dude…

Grillby slams the previously ordered drink down, clear liquid splashing over, but Red doesn't pay it mind.

Red is busy in creepy laa-laa land or something… Or did he just zone out really hard, and doesn't realize what he's doing? Like, the ADHD stare?

Argh, I don't know.

I glance at Grillby, we share a look, then he pivots and leaves me, waving a farewell as I'm abandoned. He best hide the fire extinguishers, or he's in for some real trouble.

Red suddenly gets all up in my business, waving his hand an inch from my face to get my attention, "heyyy, i know he bright as all hell, but ain't i just as smoldering hot? c'mon, don't leave a guy hanging here!"

I clock him nearly about to fall off his stool with how far he's leaning toward me. He's hanging plenty by himself…

"helloo?" He snaps his fingers right next to my ear.

Okay, this needs to stop immediately.

I gently push his hand away from my ear, but he resists, pushing back and pouting, "no, c'mon! you've got cute ears. let me touch 'em."

"…No?" I put more strength into getting his hand away from my face, "Your fingers are sharp and you're uncoordinated, I'm not looking for a piercing!"

"you'd let me pierce you?" He pips up, seeming excited.

No!! "Not what I said! Paws off, Red."

He accidentally slips out of his seat, but he caught himself pretty well, except what he broke his fall on was me.

His hands grip my shoulders with a good half of his weight, using me to steady himself and stand, though he doesn't let go once he's reoriented.

If he leaned in closer, we'd probably be hugging.

He seems so content, looking me in the eyes with such fuzzy, crinkled lights.

…Maybe I should hang out with him for a while. He looks really happy, and he doesn't seem to be hurting anything.

I don't get why Grillby called to have him removed.

"…hey." He drawls out.

I raise both of my hands to pat at his forearms, "Hey, big guy. You're still gripping my shoulders like a lifeline, and I don't really want to be bruised. Could you let go of me?"

He blinks, eyes refocusing to look at what he's doing, and then lets go. His arms move to casually hang by his sides, but he doesn't take the steps to back away from my personal space.

This is… surprisingly easy. I don't see what the problem is, he's really manageable when drunk.

I gently swing a leg past him, kicking at his seat, "Sit back down before you drop, you're wobbly."

"i am?"

"Well, a little? You just fell out of your seat, so I don't think you should be standing right this very second."

He turns to look at his bar stool, seemingly blanking out for a second before he grabs the counter to hop back onto the seat—up until his hand slips on something, and he looks back to see the slightly spilled drink, and the shot glass of clear liquid itself.

He hums in… delighted surprise? Guess he forgot he ordered something. Sits his merry self down, snatches the glass, and downs it without making a face.

… He's either got some hell of a tolerance, or that was water.

He gets comfy on the cushioned stool, and looks back at me, sliding the empty glass away across the counter. I'm more shocked it didn't fall off. I guess he is somewhat coordinated?

He opens his mouth, probably intending to say something, but he pauses for a moment and… looks very deeply at me…?

I'm sure I'm not wording that right.

It looks like he's gazing through me. Like he's seeing something that's not there, but is there regardless.

Is he Checking me?

I don't get why he would. I don't think anything I could've said prompted it. Or I'm thinking too hard again, and this is just a last-second drunk decision.

I watch his eyes sharpen, "why's yer max health ticked down?"

…Huh?

"eyes are 'bout as sunken as mine, too. thought it was a new dumbass makeup trend or sumthin', but hell nah. what the hell'd ya get into? mega pot?"

"'M-Mega' what?"

"ya know what i mean!" He raises a hand and starts counting off, "kush, green, uhhh… i dunno, there's too many fuggin' names."

I don't want to know what type of face I'm making. If I were to wildly guess, it'd be disapproval of this degenerative conversation. It'd be funnier if it were satire.

Though, actually… Yeah, this is a little funny.

I shift to rest an elbow against the bartop, leaning the side of my head into my open hand, "…Probably because of a lack of sleep."

He's looking at me like I'm stupid.

Girl, what?

"the hell you not sleeping for?" He sounds kind of grumpy, his face scrunching, too. What's he getting so upset for? His eyelights are constricting some fractions, too.

"Well, I got woken up—"

He suddenly waves me off, "i know what'll knock ya ass down! trust." And then he shouts for Grillby, who was at the very other end of the bar.

…This interaction has been jumping through so many hoops. It's a little silly, how he can't seem to focus on one thing. Maybe they wanted him gone because he's excitable? But excitable in a good way. He's silly. I suppose it could be viewed as annoying to other people?

Maybe it's just not good for business to have him here and so loud, but he's still a paying customer, so I would assume it shouldn't be this big of a deal.

Grillby makes his way over after finishing up with the customer he was with, slamming a hand onto the bar and glaring at Red with a raised brow.

Red points at the glass he slid away a moment ago, "ai, get us more of whatever the hell that was."

Grillby tilts his head to catch my eye, and I shrug in response. I guess I'll take a drink…?

He huffs out a small cloud of smoke, nods, and walks off. Gathering the abandoned cup while he's on the way.

There's a small tug on my top, and I look to see Red is trying to get my attention.

"Yes?"

"nuthin', just wanted yer eyes on me and not him."

I playfully swat his hand off, and I cross a leg over, "I'd rather my eyes be closed whilst I'm under the covers of my bed."

He seems to perk up at that, "babe, i'd take you to my bed an'day. jus' say the word."

Hah, real funny. "Quiet yourself. What've you been up to, besides being dumb?"

"besides being handsome? ah, y'know… doing handsome things, like—…" He pauses? His stare turns blank for a moment, like he caught himself about to say something he shouldn't.

He waves himself off, casual dismissal, "secrets, secrets. handsome secrets, i assure you."

I hum in playful indifference.

Grillby returns with our drinks. Tall shot glasses? I'd have moreso thought he wanted us gone, not Red even wasted…-er. More wasted.

Speaking of Red losing more of himself, he swipes the drink and downs it in one go, dramatically slamming it back down with a loud 'clink!'.

"good shit, all the usual!" He praises.

Grillby just nods, looking to me in expectance. What's gotten him so excited? Does he not think I can take a shot?

Okay, sure. I don't mind playing his game, it won't be hurting me any, and maybe me having something in front of them will loosen Red up more. I do still have to take him back home, and I wouldn't want him thinking I'm some type of joy-killer. I'm killing the joy enough, being here for that reason.

I take the glass with a little less enthusiasm than Red, hold it to my mouth for a moment as a 'brace myself' move, and then I down it at a speed equal to him.

…It's water, yeah. That's funny.

I look up at Grillby and smile, raising the glass in a cheers.

Red whistles in approval, heavier praise to me than to the bartender himself, though all Grillby did was pour a shot so I don't quite know where Red's excitement to that came from, "damn, you took that!" He leans out of his seat, some inches closer to me, "ya never told me yer a big drinker, doll!" His smile so wide and happy. And proud.

The pride for me radiating from him would be much more obliged if this were real. He's drunk, he needs to go home, and what we just had was water.

I'd even bet he's been having water the last few drinks.

Props to Grillby for doing that for him. Because, as thought of before, this interaction and night itself has been nothing but degenerative. If this is him when he's ever so lightly sobering and beginning to gain alertness, I may not want to be around for prime-drunk Red.

…

Would now be a good time to tell Red he needs to be taken home, and that I'm here to give him the ride? That Edge is worried for him?

…Assuming that Edge is worried for him, and that the aggression over protecting his public image was emotional constipation, so he wouldn't have to admit deeper feelings aloud.

It's, what, so much closer to 2am now? May as well be 2am, I'm sure.

With Grillby still present, I lazily wave for his attention with my index and pointer, and then I turn to make sure I also had Red's attention, "Hey, how 'bout you pay your tab and we get going to your place? Edge is concerned some, it's really late—"

His lights go out, startling me into shutting up on the spot, and he drags himself back up into his chair.

He's silent for a long moment, staring with empty eyes.

"…what."

… Uh? "Y-Yeah, Edge… asked me to take you home. He said he was worried?"

His posture straightens, "so, you ain't here for me."

Red's tone is so flat, and he actually is starting to look scary, the way this switch was simultaneously so sudden and so subtle. What is happening right now? Is he mad he has to go home?

I mean, I get why he'd be upset for his night out being cut short, but… What does he mean I'm not here for him?

"I… am here for you, though. To get you." Did he misunderstand?

Red huffs out a breath of air, which is a strange reflex on its own because he doesn't need oxygen. Is he trying to make himself seem bigger by putting social cues into his display?

Or am I looking too deep into this, after one somewhat aggressive comment?

"yeah?" He drawls, "funny way of showin' it, bitch."

…Okay. I think I'm looking pretty surface level, actually. "That's, uh, really unfair?"

He leans forward. Not by any great distance, but enough for it to feel like he's looming over me. Making himself look bigger again.

His voice hasn't raised yet, but his tone cuts through the music I just realized was still playing.

"so he calls you. you. an' you come runnin' at his word, huh? bet you didn't think to say no."

I'm starting to become hyperaware of my surroundings. Of Grillby sizing up Red's aggression toward me, of a drinker two seats ahead poking their head forward to watch, of the overstimulating music. It wasn't this overstimulating before. Am I actually frightened? Nerves shot?

And as true as Red's assumption is, it's not. Or at least in that way, "I didn't think to—" I start, but he keeps going.

"—'cause he's worried, right?" He baits with dragged out syllables, "yeah, worried 'bout his dumbass image. wanting me on a leash, while he's at it!" He shouts his latter sentence, harshly grabbing at and tugging on the bulky collar around his neck.

…What did I miss? What changed? Why is he suddenly raging?

Is this as simple—yet not really so simple—as him being drunk?

The stranger listening in nudges to his friend, pointing at me and Red. We're causing a scene. Why is Grillby just standing here, watching?

How do I deescalate this? Is it even my responsibility to deescalate this? Is this why there were calls to have him removed?

Someone needs to tell me what to do.

Red slams a fist against the counter, so hard it knocks over a drink those two strangers had with them.

I've hesitated too long. He jerks in his seat, the motion he takes to cut through a teleport, but his magic must've been unfocused because he doesn't go anywhere.

He's trying to leave.

I look back at Grillby, hoping whatever face I have looks enough like a plea for help, but all he does is he winks at me. Uncaring, kind of like an 'I told you so'?

Literally what is happening, what inside-joke am I not part of?! Does he think this is funny? Was that wink some type of 'you got this' cue? Or is he trying to say he doesn't care?

What fresh, confusing hell is this? Why am I jumping through so many hoops—performing backflips just to try getting the slightest hint?

No, I must be misunderstanding Grillby. He's always been so cool with me, so sweet. Despite only knowing each other a few months, he's great.

Red gets up out of his stool, and shifts to shoulder-check me on the way past, but I twist and snatch the sleeve of his arm instead. It stops him enough for me to get words out.

"Red, what? You-I am not following what's happening right now! Why are you mad?"

"shut the fuck up. don't talk to me," He rips his arm from my grip, "and don't TOUCH me."

He goes to continue marching out, getting some paces away before jerking again, but he doesn't shortcut. All he does is stumble over his untied shoes, bumping into a vacant chair which apparently angered him enough to turn back with a finger pointed at me.

"ya wanna know why i'm so mad, huh?! i'm trynna have a NICE night out, away from my bitch-ass, overhead speaker volume-ass brother, and you come in his stead because he couldn't be bothered!" He takes one step closer, fixing the posture he lost at some point. Making himself look big again.

I've almost had enough with him trying to intimidate me with his body language.

"Red—"

His next jerk is more curt, precise, and he ports directly in my face, lowering his voice for only me to hear, "i's bad enough edge tried using you, but you came. you're not his bitch, but i bet you sure wish you were, huh…?"

…Does he even know what he's mad about? He literally is not making any sense.

"what is it, his sharp exterior?" He leans closer, our temples nearly grazing, "his booming, commanding voice? yeahh, bet you liked it when he rang you—"

"—I came because I care about you."

That's what made him pause, at a standstill loomed over me.

"…no you don't."

"Then—" He pushes off, nearly knocking me sideways out of my stool.

I watch the way he pivots to shortcut, the way the movement was precise, was practiced.

I lunge from out of my seat, losing my footing in the process and falling, but it was enough for me to grab onto the fluff of his hood to take me with him through his cut.

It's black. Cold, but not really? What an odd feeling I'll never be used to. I hate how itchy the void makes me.

And then as quickly as it all happened, I finish my fall, my front hitting the hard pavement. And apparently taking Red to the ground with me, as there's a pained grunt of his that somewhat echoes in my head as I fight to regain the rest of my senses from the impromptu shortcut.

We're directly outside the front of the bar. I know Red can go miles farther than this, so he must still be too inebriated to focus the whole of his magic. And apparently too drunk to think about more original places to teleport if he wanted to run from me, because right outside Grillby's is pretty cliche.

Thankfully that group of four aren't here—as well as anyone else—because I'd sure hate for any more of this to become a show.

A hand is placed on my waist. A… what?

I'm laying nearly flat atop Red, my chest to his and my head in the space above his shoulder.

I literally don't know how this could've happened, though my first guess was we got a little twisted in the void when I forced myself along.

I'd be flustered any other day, but I am about past my bullcrap tolerance limit right now.

"care," He decides to repeat. "yeah, funny how that looks exactly like babysittin'."

He sits up, taking me with him, except I finally make my own move and get all the way off him.

I stand while he remains seated for another moment, glaring up at me, "i didn't ask for this; fer ya to fuckin' bother me. i was fine."

I flick a hand in his general direction, "How are you perceiving this as 'fine' right now?"

He makes some aggravated noise, jumping up from the ground to jab a boney finger into my chest, "don't FUCKIN' sass me."

I make no effort to swat his hand off me, but I'm sure my expression does not look particularly pleased right now, "I'm as tired as you, dude. I'm literally just here to get you home."

"and whose idea was that?" He presses his finger into me harder, enough to leave a faint bruise later, "yers—or his?"

"…I'm about to make it your problem if you don't—"

He's fast, using the same jabbing-finger hand to grab a fistful of the collar of my top, pulling hard enough to audibly rip several stitches, and to momently knock me off balance.

Our foreheads are touching. "if i don't WHAT?" The light in his left socket flares to life, a pinprick that's struggling to stay lit.

I don't react.

…

He stares, maintaining angry eye contact with me.

And then his gaze draws down to my collar that he has bunched in his clenching grip.

…

His teeth grit, making a creaking noise that I'm sure chipped something, and then he shoves off to teleport away, tripping over his shoelace in the process.

There's a crash some paces to my left—his sloppy teleport running him into the bumper of a parked truck, his hands hooked onto the closed tailgate to steady himself.

I watch as he kicks off the truck, tumbles backwards a step, and then marches away from me down the sidewalk.

He didn't even so much as glance back at me. This guy is actually going to be the cause of my death…

I should have never picked up Edge's phone call.

He probably doesn't even know where he's at, and that he only cut some feet away from where we just were.

He wasn't going any fast, and I catch up in no time, placing a hand on his shoulder to get his attention—

He flinches hard enough to jostle me off his shoulder, and all I see is red; not him, but the color. The same shade as his magic. A sharp-ended bone whizzes past at a speed that whistles, missing my head by only a few inches.

"…"

"…"

"Get in my FUCKING CAR!"

Chapter Text

I did not think I was gone from my car that long when searching for Red, but it was apparently plenty enough for the cold of the outdoors to come back and haunt the leather seats, the steering wheel, the… everything, oh my stars.

It's freezing.

…And Red is trying to unbuckle.

I seriously put so, so much effort into getting him into my passenger seat—of which ended up with me accidentally making his head hit the car hard enough to recoil—and I even helped him into the safety belt! Clicked him in like he's a toddler. Which he may as well be right this moment!

And you mean to tell me he's..!—No, wait. No he's not.

Red's trying to adjust it? Ah. That's right, he's a skeleton. I wonder if the belt is digging into him somewhere, maybe.

The driver's seat is the only one I've bothered to buy a velcro seatbelt cushion for, but he can have it if it's bothering him.

It's not like I mind any at all, nor will I be without it soon. Red doesn't live unreasonably far.

…

Oh. Oh, fuck, where does Red live again?

I don't swing by his place enough to remember his address off the top of my head. Edge is unnaturally strict about visitors.

…"Red, what's your address?"

He's still fidgeting with the seatbelt. Oh yeah, I got distracted.

The noise of the velcro coming apart makes him tense up, stopping all fumbling and adjusting to look at me with resent in his eyes.

…Okay? What in the cat behavior?

I offer the cushion to him, "So the belt will stop hurting you. Can you tell me your address while you're fixing yourself?"

He's strangely hesitant, but he takes it from me, and gets to work making himself comfortable. "hmpgh… fuggin'—can't remember. that one apartment on beaver. sixty-four."

…

"Red. Red, that's my place. That's MY address."

"yah?"

He's struggling to get the cushion on. His clawed fingertips uncomfortably catching on the velcro.

My Soul basically rolls its eyes as I lean over the center console to do it all for him. "Your address, Red." I ask again, while fixing his safety belt, "Where do YOU live?"

"beaver. off of i-19."

I lightly snap the belt to let him know I'm done. But also in annoyance. "Beaver's not even near I-19. And you don't live on Beaver."

He spaces straight off, like he's deep in thought, but I can literally see the fuzz in his eyelights that suggests he's not here with me.

A car passing us catches his attention, and he absently watches it go. I feel he would've seen it off all the way past the horizon line if I didn't interrupt him, "Do you know where Edge lives?" Maybe he'll get it if I word it differently.

I mean… maybe he's only so confused about his address because he hangs at my place so often? Surely that's what's going on, right? I can do this with some word play.

"no."

Okay.

This is an impossible situation.

…I could always try calling Edge himself, right? I doubt he'll be awake, so I'll have to hope that whatever ringtone he has for me wakes him up.

Would Edge even be a light sleeper? Well. With how uptight he is, I don't think he even gets sleep.

…

Why am I slandering everyone now? Maybe this whole night and lack of sleep just has me pent up.

It's, what.. Holy moly, my phone is cold! Jesus—JESUS, IT'S PAST 3AM?

I crank the heat up more, "If you've got an issue with the AC, take your jacket off." I offhand.

Huh. Wow, what a caretaker reflex.

Anyway… Doesn't take any long to find Edge at the height of my 'Recents', and I call, holding it to my ear. Not that… not that keeping it off Speaker is going to do anything. His volume is going to blast through everything regardless.

All assuming he picks up—"WHAT?"

Oh, my stars, my head.

"IT IS THREE IN THE MORNING, YOU—YOU FIEND!" He doesn't even sound drowsy, what the hell is he made of? "HOW DARE YOU WAKE ME!"

"I'm not any happy about this either, but REd's—" My phone is swiped clean from my hand, my voice embarrassingly squeaking, and Red BREAKS MY PHONE?

Like, with his bare hand!

Like those videos of bodybuilder folk crushing apples in their hands. HE BROKE MY PHONE. It's not a pulp by any means, but it's… oh my STARS, what the fuck?!

I watch as more shards of glass crinkle away, falling into the grooves of the passenger seat and the hard-to-get-to space between the center console and chair, like where the seat buckle is.

…

How do I even react to this?

I feel like I should be angry. Like, PISSED OFF angry. But I don't really think I feel anything right this second, other than raw confusion? Is it even confusion?

How tired am I?

Nothing is making proper enough sense.

This… This whole night has not made a lick of sense. Why did Edge decide to leave me in charge of his brother? His BROTHER. He's not mine!!

Like, what the heck?!

And why was Grillby so… so unhelpful. Like, mockingly so. Sure, he was feeding Red water, but like… was he making fun of me?

Then Red losing himself and firing a sharp-ended bone at my head after I spooked him!

NOW my phone's broke?! Why!

Red just grumbles to himself, pouting while tossing the remains of my cellphone down at his feet. More specks of glass go places.

He wipes his hand on his jacket, spreading MORE glass throughout my car, and then crosses his arms in a huffy fit.

"dun' know why you're calling edge when i'm literally right here with ya…"

I… I can't help but stare. Not in disbelief, I don't think. No. No, there's not an extreme enough version of 'disbelief' for how utterly, inanely, asinine—

…

Literally what do I do? Do I even do anything? In retaliation? Do I question him?

Would he understand ANYTHING I'd say? He's not of sound mind right now, he's fucking stupid. I understand that being drunk impairs your critical thinking, but this is… I didn't realize it would be this bad?

I hope this isn't his normal when he's drunk. I'd hate to be Grillby, or even Edge.

…Is this why they called me? Dumped it on me?

…

I still need to get him home. I could always go back into the bar to ask Grillby if he knows where they live, but I don't want to leave Red unsupervised, and I can't just take Red BACK into the bar with me! I doubt it'll be any easier to get him to leave a second time.

Wait, Red may still have his phone with him!

I lean forward yet again, gaining Red's attention, "Dude, let me see your phone for a sec. So I can call your brother."

He blankly stares for a moment, before… recoiling? His side hits the passenger door while he looks at me in some type of offense, "wah for?! i ain' cheating or nothin'!!"

"…To call Edge. I need to find out where you live."

"beaver!! damn!"

"You DON'T live on Beaver! I DO! I live on Beaver, not you!"

"…yeah?!"

I slump back into my seat, letting the side of my head slam against the driver window.

…

I have to take him to my place, don't I?

I've gotten him to the lot of my low-rise apartment complex without issue.

But by 'without complaint' I mean suspiciously so. Not a peep from him since I brought the vehicle out of park to leave Grillby's.

If I were dumb, I'd label his silence as contentment, or obedience maybe. But no. He looks ready to jump at a moment's notice, like he's waiting for something. In an anxious way? Not fight or flight, I don't think.

I can't pinpoint what he might be thinking. But I can pinpoint where I'm about to take his ass. Up these outdoor stairs and to my apartment, where he's going to shower, eat something, drink something, and take the couch.

Don't care if he doesn't want to. I'm not asking. Not that I have a phone anymore, but my first guess is it's past 3:30am. I've been hunting and caring for his ass since 12am, and I… need a damn drink.

Poor taste in jokes, yes, but I think this humor is how I'll be coping tonight.

Red stops when I stop at the bottom of the stairs. I only paused to invite him to go ahead of me, but I don't think he got that social cue. But by 'invite' I mean I don't want my back turned to him. I want him in my line of sight.

I wave him to go forward, which he… just kind of oddly cocks his head at? God, I would hope going up a flight isn't what breaks him.

"why're we goin' up there…?" He… bless his Soul, he sounds so tired.

I pat his shoulder. As… well, I'd say a sweet gesture, but I think 'condescending' is the winner. "We're going to bed." And then I gently nudge him to the stairs, the toe of his sneaker knocking against a step where he halts to turn back to me again.

If he could just get a move on already… Why is he giving me such a bashful look? "but we're…! i mean. yeah, i'd love ta! but i wanted to take ya out somewhere nice first!"

…

"or, like… few baker's dozens of outings? —but, uh! if you wanna, then i ain't gunna say no!"

Literally what is he talking about? Aside from the obvious, I guess. Whatever, maybe he'll find something more tame to be confused about if I just.. ignore that one.

I silently usher him forward again, and he finally takes the bait, going up to the second floor.

We get about halfway up the fifteen steps before he vanishes.

…

Only to—I've found—reappear just two steps behind me.

He looks more confused than anything, which probably should've deterred me from the reaction I had, bending to grab a fistful of his turtleneck's collar. But alas, "Do NOT teleport away from me."

"It's something past 3am, I'm tired, and I refuse to keep worrying about what's going to happen to you if I turn away."

He blinks.

"wow, yer hot when you're snippy—"

"RED."

So, apparently loudly shouting his name is what makes him lightly flinch, reflexively dipping his head into the safety of his hood's fluff, looking at me with lightly constricted eyelights, like me being actually angry with him was startling.

I just… want to go to bed. So, so badly. But there's still more to do.

I let go of Red's top, and then I offer my opposite hand for him to take in his, "Let's go. We're going to get you a shower."

He hesitates, but he nods, and his clawed hand carefully grabs mine.

I can't help but search my closet for a sweater of his he left behind some weeks ago, the both of us always forgetting to have it returned to him. I can't help but go a second extra mile by finding a pair of my shorts that'll fit him. Can't help it when I go even further, placing those clothes into the dryer so they'll be comfortable and warm for him after he gets out of the shower.

The shower he stepped into without fuss. Free reign to whatever soaps I have in there, whatever rags, a towel of his independent pick from the folded stack underneath the bath sink—I gave up on all of that. So long as he gets clean, I don't care how it happens or what he uses.

I kick my step-stool out from the narrow space between the washer and dryer, hefting myself up to the rack above it all to get a blanket for him. My somewhat newly-purchased, red plaid one, that he mentioned is far more comfortable than my others.

I put his favored blanket in with his sweater and my shorts, and start the dryer. It gradually rocks to life.

I stop to listen to the way it gently beats against the floor, the vibrations reaching my feet are a comfort.

Should I also take out water bottles from my fridge? Red doesn't like ice-cold drinks. Ah, maybe I could also toast some bread? I'll have to double check some online sources about what best helps drunk people come out of it.

…

Oh. Yeah, I have a laptop I can use.

I lose the peace of the dryer's rhythm when I make my quick errand to set cold water out on the counter, but I gain the background sound of his shower as I step into my bedroom, where the restroom is connected to.

Taking just a second to stay put and listen, there's… the audible taps of his skeletal feet. He's still bathing. It's been about ten or so minutes already. I wonder if he'll be finished soon? I don't imagine inebriation gets in the way of a shower; I would think that cleaning yourself is muscle memory.

Well, all assuming that's how all of that works? Being drunk and whatnot.

Maybe I shouldn't be trying to bring science into this right now. One thing at a time—laptop. To look up what snacks are best for him, if snacks are even recommended.

I hardly make it across the space to my nightstand before there's the startlingly loud 'thud!' of a body hitting the hollowed tub.

…

There's no immediate chain of slurs, so I guess he's okay? Or actually knocked out cold—Ah, no, the shower curtain is rustling.

Aaand there's an impossibly louder clang. Like, curtain rod being ripped off type of clang.

But other than that, he is very quiet!

I sidle up to the bath door, pressing an ear to it. "Uh. Red?"

He very instantly responds, sounding like nothing at all happened, "yah, babe?"

It's somewhat concerning how nonchalant he sounds after such an audible crash. Well, given his pain tolerance… "I'm under the impression you're alright, but I wanted to make sure. You good?"

"dunno why i wouldn't be. i'll be out in, like, twen'y." There's the curtain rod's rings being shifted back and forth over and over again, like he's trying to fix it.

I wave it off—more an expression to myself, because there is obviously a door in the way. "All good. And hey, I'm going to leave your clothes here just outside whenever you're ready to get out. I'll be in the living room."

I don't wait to hear if he had anything to respond with. If he says he's fine, then alright. I'd rather not intrude on his privacy any more by listening in, so let's get my laptop and go.

I've got doubts he'll need anything. He's showered here twice before.

4:20am last I checked, though with the sound of my bedroom door being opened and followed by patter of skeletal feet on hardwood, I'm sure it's closer to 4:40am.

I think I at some point dozed off while reading drunk stuff on the couch. May've been the plaid blanket's fault, which I mistakenly got underneath when I first sat. There is a suspiciously-shaped gap in my memory, and… a suspiciously-shaped little spot of drool on the throw pillow I've been leaning on.

Red comes around the corner, looking proper clean and tidy, except for scowl lines indented in his brow bone. And a scowl to go with it.

"why ain' you in bed? i been waiting."

You what?

"been waiting a good half hour, babe. fuck's up with that? 'm not good enough, or somethin'?"

Wow. Okay, we're still acting crazy. I wonder if he'll improve any if I coax him into drinking coffee? As useless as my research was, what with AI being literally everywhere and annoyingly unavoidable, Reddit had some ideas.

Though I didn't get to delve into the science or the sources about coffee's helpfulness, so I could be wrong—but really, how could this get any worse?

I put a scrunched hand to my chest in exaggerated apology, "Sorry, I didn't know you were waiting for me. You want some coffee or anything, though? Saltines to snack on before bed? Could help your headache."

"dun' have a headache."

"You will."

…

He blinks, his permanent frown loosening as he takes some reluctant steps out of the hall he was stalking in, "..yah, okay. what you got?"

I sit up off the couch, taking the blanket with me and showing it to him, "Colombian, with that Reese's creamer you wanted to try. And a blanket, if you want it? You can sleep on the couch tonight."

Red pips up even more at all those suggestions, beginning to drift his way past me and into the open kitchen. He passes a thoughtful glance at the two water bottles laid out—surely room temp by now—but his attention is pretty set on the Keurig.

"ain' no coffee in here, though? you didn't make it."

I take some steps over, taking a seat at a bar stool to observe and be within range if he needs help, "Didn't want it getting cold. The grounds are in there, though. Just hit 'Start', then go pick out a mug. Or tumbler?"

He slowly nods in understanding, starting the machine. We're getting somewhere!

No, the fuck we ain't.

Why is he so bent out of shape about sleeping on the couch? I've never before—like, this isn't even the shit you see in movies. He is so messed up, I'll bet he's still going to be drunk come morning. All if he even makes it to morning at this rate.

It was going so well. He had his little Reese's flavored coffee, he had some little crackers, we turned on an episode of that… Chainsaw anime. One he picked out. And he cracked after something happened to the protagonist.

Like, fully flipped his lid.

I was hardly paying any attention to anything. I was zoning out every other second, fighting sleep. All I was vaguely able to register was the protagonist getting emotional over something, which prompted Red into getting emotional, and it became such a big deal.

Don't know what the 'big deal' is, though. Still haven't figured out what he was bitching on, none of it he was saying was a coherent train of thought.

Something-something 'me not caring for him', something-something he doesn't want to sleep on the couch.

So now he's locked himself in my room, with my laptop he snatched from the coffee table, and… is doing Angel knows what.

I don't… Not a single thing has made sense this entire night.

There will never be a drunk that tops Red in his drama and ridiculousness.

God, I wish I knew what time it was—

A whack of something hitting the bedroom door startles me, making me jump high enough to be embarrassing.

"hey…"

…'Hey'? What. What do you mean he just pitched the biggest nonsensical fit, and now he's pressed all up against the door and mumbling out a weak 'hey'?

'Weak' as in 'pathetic.' Like, what?

"do you still love me?"

…

…

Huh?

Well. Yeah? I've never not loved you. You're good people. Sweet, fun to be around, you remember what I like, looking out for me when we hang after dark—just wish you were a little more fun right this very second.

Wish the night wasn't like this.

I love him, but I wish he wouldn't have done this to himself. A drink here and there is nice and all, but…

I wish for a lot of things to have been different.

"Yeah."

…

"really?"

Why is this what he's going on about right now? Is this something that's actually been bothering him, or is this another drunk trip?

I can't… Stars, I wish I could tell.

"Should I not?" A question with a question, maybe? I don't know. I'm so, so tired. If I were smart, I would've had coffee as well.

My mistake for thinking this night was going to be ending soon.

"…i ain't good for no one. too rowdy."

Rowdy. 'Rowdy'? That's something Edge says. And I know that's something that Edge says, because I've heard him say it more than Jesus Christ says "you're forgiven."

"Who's saying you're too rowdy?" A dumbass question, but I've not gotten this far with him in the six hours I've been in this shitshow. Is getting him to talk what's going to help? To calm him down?

My head hurts.

"ur… fuggin' boyfriend."

Hah. Uh, my what?

Okay, so I suppose that this confirms what I thought was happening back at the bar, when I first told him that Edge called me to get him.

Red was livid over Edge calling me, making suggestive and rude comments about me and him. Oh! Then again in the car when I called Edge, when I was trying to get their address.

He was upset I went to Edge instead of him? He's jealous?

How much of this is alcoholic delusion and how much is genuine?

And, a little more importantly, how do I proceed with whatever the fuck is happening right now?

Tell him what he wants to hear, maybe? "I don't… I don't have a boyfriend, Red."

…

"ya don't have a datemate..?" He sounds farther away, like he backed away from the door a handful of steps.

I open my mouth to respond, but the words get caught on my tongue. Is this really what we're talking about right now? How pent up has he been over my relationship status?

He harshly presses himself against the door, startling me all over again, "how.. how DON'T ya have a datemate? yer, like—fuck, i'm so confused.

"yer genuinely drop-dead. like, holy shit-fuck drop-dead. and smart as all hell? you are every single good-fer-somethin'-brain guy's dream."

…'Good-for—' Oh, he's saying 'smart guy.'

Well… Wow, no yeah, that's flattering.

Huh.

…

Oh! Wait, he's waiting for a response, isn't he? Oh Lord, I got distracted for a second. "Well.. I just haven't put a lot of thought into it? Been busy, I guess. Getting a guy hasn't really… been something on my mind?"

It really hasn't been a thing I've put a lot of thought into. I mean… sure, I suppose I would like to find someone I can spend a life with, a person to put my trust into, trust put into me. Experiencing our days together. Learning to love someone.

That doesn't sound so bad. I guess I just defaulted to thinking this'd be something I find years later in life? Contentment with the present, perhaps. Life is pretty decent right now.

Red heavily implying he likes me in that way is kind of bizarre, even if this turns out to be a drunk delusion and not something deeper he's bottled and kept to himself… Is this something I would want to think on? Him liking me? Would I reject him if this were real? I guess he's not so bad? Dunno. Maybe I'll come back to this when I'm not so obnoxiously tired.

When he's not so inebriated.

…

I've been thinking to myself for a good minute here… why's Red been so quiet? Oh, except this scratch he just made against my poor door.

"so you ain't even lookin'... of course you ain't looking—i'm fuckin' dumb as all hell."

Okay, uh, we're back to insecure land. How—oh, I fucked up the wording of my explanation. I definitely could've done a little better with that if I wanted to keep him… placated? Encouraged? Would giving him 'hope' he has a 'chance' even be something I want, even if it's not real? Something to keep him happy while he's messed up?

I don't know.

If he even does remember any of this, surely he'll forgive me for 'leading him on' as a way to keep him here? Safe? Happy? Out of trouble for the rest of the night? There's not really much else I can do to force a guy here, I guess.

Like, of course saying 'Falling in love isn't on my mind' would make him upset, if crushing on me is what's happening.

Do I… be like 'Oh, but not you!' Or fuckin'… something?

Or would going down that rabbit hole lead to even more trouble? I really, really don't know… I could be overthinking all of this. Tired mind. Running on nothing.

…

And apparently 'nothing' invades the air. Like a fog I hadn't noticed was there is so abruptly lifted, making my next breath of air more alike gasp.

Similar to the way you wake up the next morning after coming off a sinus infection, or any type of illness that disturbs the breaths you take through your nose—it's all spontaneously clear, or as spontaneous as the 'time travel' that comes with sleep is.

The atmosphere is clear.

Which implies that there was something in the air before. Something that was a gradual introduction, something I never noticed until it suddenly vanished after permeating the whole space.

But what the heck…?

Does Red feel it too? Or, more like feel the sudden lack of? He hasn't said anything if he has, so maybe I'm crazy? Or it's not something he's worried about?

No, wait, I'm not crazy. That was literally too noticeable and obvious to be a hallucination. That uncertainty was just my tiredness talking.

…Tiredness. I've been lost in my tired rambles of thoughts for far too long, and I've not heard a peep or even a footstep from Red.

Surely I would've heard something, even despite how sleepy I am.

…

"Red?"

…

..

That dense 'something' in the air was his magic, wasn't it? Something 'familiar' that I wouldn't immediately notice was there, the way you can't immediately pick up on a smell after being around it so, so much.

…

He's gone, isn't he?

I knock. Obnoxiously—Ugh, why am I even knocking—I put my thumb's nail to the doorknob's slitted lock, twisting the wrong way at first before I overcorrect myself. Breaking my nail on the lock in the process, but it clicks open for me.

It didn't hurt any, so I absentmindedly tear it off the rest of the way, abandoned to the tiles, and I swing the door wide; Fast enough for some wind to carry my hair.

His magic's scent wasn't on that gust.

Red left.

…

He's not anywhere else in my home, either.

He's really, really gone. He teleported away while I was too distracted and in my head about what to do. About what to say. About what he would've wanted to hear.

Well… Fuck. Hope he's okay, wherever the heck he ended up at. Maybe he knows where he's at and can find his way home.

Just… Yeah, hope he's alright. I did all I could, right?

I should get to bed. And let this be another day's problem. Like… next week or something.

She slips her card around me, tapping it against the reader to pay for my smoothie. This fricking girl, dude… She acts like she makes good money with the way she won't stop treating me to things.

I know she's spoken about her credit card debt getting cleared fast, but surely it'd get paid off faster if she wasn't so busy spoiling me every time we went somewhere.

She shakes her head when the cashier asks if she wants the receipt for my order. Then with some polite waves goodbye, she nudges me out of the line and along with her, our drinks successfully secured.

I'm handed mine and a straw, then she takes like fifty consecutive gulps of her mango strawberry like she doesn't fear brain freeze or God, "K, so like, what the hell did you say happened with Reddie? Red-boy. Redgie."

Ah, where did I leave off at…?

—Mm. Young love, or whatever. Those two high schoolers nearly rammed into me in all their muted excitement, the both of them pretending to be too busy looking at the mall's various shop displays to point out the way they're awkwardly holding hands.

My own friend took considerable notice, making a show of obnoxiously slurping at her already half-emptied, frozen drink to get my attention again. "Wanna hold hands and be cute like they are?"

I don't think the glare I gave her was strong enough.

She keeps going, "I'd be a really great, doting girlfriend. Like… Uh—ain't I already the standard, coming with to get you that new phone?"

"…That tracks."

She hums.

…

But then she stops, gently tugging at my sleeve, "I know I was being lighthearted way earlier, but you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. As much as I would like to know what happened, that's still up to you."

I tug her right back, bringing us both to our walk again—the exit already in sight. "I promise it's alright. I think I'm over it?"

"But not 'over it' enough to get back in touch, right? After you set up your new phone later, I mean."

"…" That one kind of makes me pause.

The behavior Red exhibited was not his fault. The way I was treated, and the situation that occurred, was not something he would ever do in his right mind. He is better than that. But him getting to that stage was his fault. His drinking, which I still figure is a normal habit, given how dismissive and unhurried Edge and Grillby were.

Ah, then there were the folk I spoke to outside! They talked like that was the usual.

He's… Red, I mean, "He's sweet. Especially sweet with me, always looking out and doing little things to make sure I'm taken care of. I thought that… y'know, maybe that nice treatment was because we were close? And he doesn't really have a lot of folk he's close with, so there wasn't anything to compare it to.

"But, the more I think on it—which honestly haven't had that much time to think this past week—that he likes me in a more serious way. The things he said during his drunk episode…"

And not just what he said, but the entirety of his behavior. The more I recall, the more little behaviors I piece together; Everything traces back to the higher and higher possibility that it wasn't a delusion brought on by drinks.

"I don't think it was just him being drunk? I think he's, like… attracted to me."

She holds the glass door open for me, a winter wind coming on strong as we step out into the mall's parking lot.

I continue, "Like… nothing else makes as much sense as that does. And I don't really know what to feel about that yet."

"You only see him as a friend?"

"…I haven't decided."

I round my car to get into the driver's seat, but she interrupts, "Hey wait, did you want me to drive? So you can set up your phone. And I already know where the pet store I want to go to is, so you won't need to figure out how to fight traffic."

That actually works a lot in our favors, yeah. I want to get my new phone up and running as soon as possible. If I have to depend on my laptop one more time, I'm going to be sick to my stomach.

…

Aaand, she's immediately taken the AUX cable and pulled up YouTube. "Nah, trust."

She whips out the Iron Lung trailer on repeat. Ok dude, we get it. You like his writing…..

A rowdy, overexcited, unsupervised and unleashed dog rams into my side.

Ah. What a welcoming greet to the pet store she needed to visit. I sure hope this guy's owner is nearby, because he's one excitement away from running out the door if another poor soul opens it to come in. —Oh, never mind, he's run back off to the other end of the building.

I think she said somethin' about needing to look at different brands of cat foods? The one she had been using is something her kitty developed… not an allergy for, but the baby's not stomaching it quite right? Well. It could always be an allergy, which they'll be finding out at the vet in a few days. They just need something hypoallergenic as a temporary fix.

I don't want to be in her way—which, ah, she's already walked off. I suppose she may want to be alone to think and shop for a moment. I'd want my thoughts uninterrupted while doing something as important as this, too.

Guess I'll go… look at the hamsters. Love me some hammies. Oh, and the mice!

Small little critters are always such a delight to watch. I remember I used to love straying from my parents to go admire all the littles, while the adults did all the hard work.

Hm… Maybe that's how pet stores make so many sales. The kids get greedy and beg at just the sight of something cute.

This is… What the fuck are wrong with these hamster cages lately? Ain't no hamster want to be inside a plastic dinosaur or a princess castle. The little guys need gigantic enclosures, don't they? And certainly not all these 'treats' packed full of artificial vitamins and food dye.

I'm already bored looking at this. I'd go back, but I'm sure she's still comparing all the ingredients of a combined thirty different bags—or, never mind, she's texting me.

Well, how wonderful to hear that my phone is working as intended! Though, holy moly, I have got to turn this volume down.

[GIRL. EDGE IS HERE W/ ME. GO TO UR CAR LMAOOO GET OUTTA HERE]

…

Oh.

…

Yeah, my hesitance is probably a sign that I'm not ready to have any form of discussion with either brother.

I've got to go.

The cat food's all the way on the opposite end of the store. I'm sure Edge knows exactly what he's coming in here for, so I probably don't have a lot of time. He's an efficient son of a bitch, I'll always be giving him that.

Also, he walks fast.

I check over my shoulder—for him and that hyperactive dog from before—and step into the cold, immediately hitting the jets, rounding the corner away from the windows.

I needed to go to the side of the building regardless, 'cause this is where we parked.

…

And this is also where Edge has parked. His black, red striped convertible Mustang. Borderline illegally tinted windows, spiked wheels, the Mustang's signature silver horse replaced with a golden skull—

He parked next to me. To the left of me, his passenger to my driver. This isn't any type of coincidence, as much as I desperately wish it to be.

He knows exactly what I drive, down to the license plate number—That's showing, because we pulled in instead of backed into. Edge knows I'm here, and where else would I be but the pet store? The other shops aren't within enough walking distance for him to reasonably deduce anything otherwise.

I've never been more cooked in my entire life. I need to literally abandon my friend. This is not what Go, Diego, Go! would've wanted.

She parked kind of a little on top of the line closest to him, so it's a bit of a claustrophobic fit getting to my door. Not that I won't be able to get in perfectly fine with a slight squeeze, but it's just adding onto the anxiety factor.

Locked—of course it's fucking locked, obviously. Don't even know why I tried opening it without the key even in hand—

…

She has the keys.

Well. Aha. Now what?

I certainly do not mind a very long walk to one of those other stores farther into the lot! What's that nextdoor anyway, a Kohl's? Then after that is… don't remember the name of what I saw while we passed by, but I think it's some bakery? It's hard to see from the car.

I'm gonna treat myself to a pastry when this shit show is over. Let's go before Edge comes out—

Another text, stopping me dead in my tracks. Still between our cars.

[ayyyy lmao we're chilling. take ur time running away. big pimpin' is helping me find the right cat food :3 meow meow]

…Oh.

'Kay, guess I've got plenty of time to leisurely walk to that bakery, then! I was originally gonna hide in Kohl's and shop for, like, a fluffy jacket or something.

Wait, hold the phone, since when did Edge help people? —Actually, no, that makes sense. She is weirdly good at befriending everyone.

I also assume that he's not concerned with finding me if he's taking his time to converse, so I think I freaked out over nothing.

"hey."

…

I turn back, and in the space between Edge's passenger and my driver, is Red.

…He was in the car this whole time, wasn't he?

What do I do? Do I run? Casually walk away? Say 'hey' back?

"can we please talk?"

Talk.

Talk? Is that a plain as day implication that he remembers what happened that night, or does he not know why I've been avoiding him?

If he remembers what happened, then why not try getting in touch with me sooner? I know that he knows where I live. And surely he would have remembered that my phone bit his dust, right? Even without phones, he knows I have a FaceBook. So if he did remember, then he had ways of getting in touch with me, he just didn't.

Unless he made the decision to give me space? Would he intentionally make a mature choice like that?

…I think space is something I would have wanted. It's become clear that I still don't know if I'm even ready to talk to him, now that he's here and I'm pressured to have a response.

Or, if he doesn't know why I've been avoiding him, then the same questions remain.

Why. A lot of 'why's. The same 'why's as that night, too. I never got closure for a single thing, did I?

Is closure something I want right now, or do I still want to avoid him? He'd respect if I walked away, right? Or would he pick a fuss and pressure me to speak to him?

…

I think I'm freaking out a little. Er—I know I'm freaking out. A lot.

And he's still waiting for me to respond, isn't he? …And why is he giving me such a sad, empathetic look?

"i, ah… don't remember tha whole thing, but i do enough of it that i know i owe ya an apology. i real fuckin' big one."

That is one hell of an understatement, but… I guess it is a statement. And in the time I've known him, when has he ever apologized for anything? Anything at all. His voice isn't raised or strained any, either, like his tone typically is. It's… softer?

…

Maybe I do want to talk.

"there's a muffet's right there if you want to sit down? up to you, though." …He's so patiently insistent.

"…Alright."

If anything, I could always walk out. I know that he won't lay a hand on me, no matter what. That's not his type of style. He roughs up some folk here and there, sure—I've seen it for myself at Grillby's, when some clown started acting a fool. But Red has some type of 'justice' in him. He would not hurt me. Especially not for this.

He nods, teleporting ahead just enough to stand by the trunk of Edge's car. Hands in his parka's pockets and waiting for me to follow him.

Well. Alright, yeah. Lead the way.

I suppose that bakery I saw is a Muffet's? Must be a new location.

It is a new location, yeah. The vibes and theming is the same too, with the one difference being there's staff other than solely spiders. Also a lack of Muffet herself, which I suppose is an obvious. This is not her main location. Her's on Nash is a far cry busier than this one.

Similarly to Grillby's, the colorings are primarily a rich purple and even bolder black, with creamy beiges sprinkled here and there as very eye-catching and nice accents.

Floor-to-ceiling windows at the front, coupled with window displays of her top-sellers to entice passerby.

And it seems to certainly work, because even if this isn't her main, business is still steady.

The brown and black booths and tables are heftily filled, for what must be their busiest time of day.

…Ah, I wonder if I'll be trapped here for a moment, what with the wait times that come with busy establishments.

Actually, no, I could just slap a $50 on the table and walk the hell out. I'm not tied here by societal shit. Fuck societal shit.

Anyway.

This is also the type of restaurant where we seat ourselves, so we do. Or… I do. Red just follows, giving me the option to decide.

I pick one of the window booths. Maybe I'll feel less claustrophobic if there's the great outdoors to look out at.

He sits opposite of me, scooching in.

…

Is something wrong with me, the way I am so on edge? Surely I should be a little calmer than this, right? Have I not already established that there is no way on the Angel's Halo that my life is on the line, nor will I be any remotely injured by him.

"i'll pay—"

That makes me flinch hard enough for him to stop talking.

…

"…i'll pay, you get whateva ya want." He reiterates, a little quieter. Moving to rest and fold his arms atop the table, making himself look uncharacteristically small.

What, is a sweet treat part one of the apology? Sure, yeah, that's certainly a starter. …That was too aggressive. Passive aggressive. I am so stressed out. Do I… tell him how stressed out I am? I don't think I want to be here anymore.

This isn't worth it. The closure I want isn't worth it, not now.

"i've got a real fuggin' embarrassing drinking problem."

…

"bad one. and, ah… real didn't mean ta get you involved in that. seein' me like that, i mean. having to deal with my ass."

…Huh.

"in fact, yer like… the one person i didn't want havin' to see allat bullshit."

Wait. Wait, is this an explanation? A proper, clear, open and honest explanation of what happened? I—When has he been able to do this without pitching a scene? Where did his pride go?

What's going on? There's got to be something I'm not seeing here.

He fiddles with his thumbs some, before bringing them off the table and to his lap. "…" He blanks out, going quiet and staring off somewhere past me, and then back down to his lap. Like he's having just as much anxiety as I am.

…He doesn't actually know how to apologize, does he? Is he raw dogging this? Am I witnessing him, in real time, figure out how to sincerely apologize to somebody?

I watch the way his eyelights constrict in concentration, blinking, before looking back up at me. "'m sorry for breaking yer phone."

…

My phone.

My phone?

Not… not for almost killing me? What happened to him almost killing me? The bone that whizzed past my head.

"'nd i—i know i really can't be sorry enough for that, cuz that's a big fat ass expensive deal. like. holy fuck of a big deal. and that… wasn't supposed ta happen. and i know i can't be forgiven for that, because again, that's a holy shit balls big deal. not anything my vocab can come up with."

He doesn't remember. He already told me that he doesn't remember the whole entire thing. He forgot. Red forgot he almost killed me.

…

Do I want him to know?

Have I even properly registered the fact I nearly lost my life? I don't think I've even touched on it, like I reflexively pushed it away to the back of my mind in some defense.

Surely I should be more freaked out—impossibly freaked out, actually. So why aren't I? Why was I never as freaked as I should have been? Did I block it out as fast as it happened?

I was so quick to get him in my car that day, too. The both of us frozen for the briefest moment before I shouted at him to listen, and then we went on our merry, quiet way.

I never addressed it. It was a fact in my head, sure, but I didn't linger on it.

Do I want to linger on it?

Do I want him to remember?

Would this benefit the either of us if I brought it up, told him? Or would this only drive us further into whatever mess we're already in?

No. No, I should tell him. He almost killed me, he needs to know what he did. He obviously needs to be told, what am I even debating on? This is more serious than anything I've ever experienced, and I'm sitting here thinking I should keep it to myself? For what? What would keeping it to myself get me?

…

I don't…

"i'll do whatever it takes ta buy you a new one, swear."

…

I don't want to be here anymore. I don't know. I don't. I don't want closure.

But closure's healthy of me to get, right? In order to move on? I want to move on so desperately. What's the best method of moving on? How do I proceed? What do I do?

I am fucking spiraling. There's too many questions and not nearly enough answers, and the ratio is only getting wider the more I sit here and take it.

Take it? I'm not… he's not doing anything. He's just sitting there, apologizing for breaking my phone, being as sweet as he possibly could about it.

He's also waiting for my response, for me to say anything at this point.

I don't know what to say. What to tell him.

…I want to leave. He'll be okay with that, right?—Who am I even kidding. Am I okay with any of this? The answer is no. No, I'm not. I'm not ready to talk. I want to go.

"This was a mistake." I blurt before I could come up with something lighter-hearted to say, rising from my booth and maneuvering out of it.

I pass by the waitress that was just about to reach our table, lowering my head in a curt apology as I leave.

Is my girl still at the pet store? Surely she's left already and is wondering where I'm at, unless she is still somehow conversing with Edge about her cat's health?

The door chimes in goodbye. Twice. Red following after me. The weight and width of his footsteps a familiarity, I don't even need to turn to see who's lightly jogging after me as I'm already heading back to my friend.

"wuh—wait, hold on, what mistake…!?" Frantic. Confused.

Do I stop for him? I don't know.

I don't…

I just want space, I think.

And I must've said as much aloud, because he stops with a skid in his tracks while I keep going. And I hear him muffle an upset 'okay.'

Well. I'm one can of Cola in, with a modest shot of rum in the mix. And that's really about all I need to calm the fuck down from the day I just had.

If not for a quick fix of a relaxer, I'd have already clawed my skin apart to dig out the anxiety embedded underneath, biting at me like fire ants looking for sugar.

…

Okay, that was a little bit of a queasy image. I think I've had too much time with my thoughts, yet somehow still not enough. I've hardly put a dent in the dune of that 'aha, almost died' thing.

So far all I've managed to—I think—process is that Red did not mean to do what he did. If he was falling over himself to apologize for a broken phone, then I could only imagine the category five that would be his reaction to the murder attempt.

Me imagining that is enough to prompt another dose of alcohol, but I think just the one is plenty for the time being. The time being a while, because I'm going the heck to bed in just a moment here.

Or… maybe I'll watch some TV? Or dishes. Any and all would help to properly get my mind off what has happened with the Edge scare, and the Red meeting.

Well. Now that I'm thinking about what to do right now, the dishes may be my best option if I want to be alone and in silence to digest my thoughts. TV is far too distracting, and it'll only choke me.

The sink's not too terrible. I had already done some earlier this morning, before I was very kindly dragged off to get the 'buying a new phone' thing out of the way.

I used to hate washing the dishes.

There used to be a lot I hated, really. Red included, before I got to know him.

The slime of a dirty, ceramic plate. The brashness of his personality. But that's just how things are, aren't they? Things are. If everything were within what we perceive as comfortable to chew, then… Well, that would be sad. There's no living if it's all placed in the deep confines of a box of what you personally think it should be.

And I think that may be how all hate is formed, but I don't know. If I were a philosopher, I'd probably get more bitches.

…

I wonder what Red likes about me.

Now thinking about it, I'm quite positive there was some fancy he had for me when we met, but that was quite apparently lust. Given he, ah… was with one of my old roommates at the time, her on his arm. And it was obviously an open-relationship type of deal, evidences I don't want to recall. He was with multiple women as 'buddies'.

He was just in all of it for the game. But something changed—don't know what, I didn't ask. He broke up with that old friend, privated all his social media, never came back to screw around.

I figured he just had some epiphany, or maybe there was some consequence he was met with.

Either way, I never made a single thing easy for him. And I thought he hated me too. Regular chase-outs, mean comments, threw a chair one time—so imagine my surprise when, meeting at a gas station a year later, he was happy to see me. Recognized me. Paid for my fuel and said 'see ya' with a real smile. Didn't look at me inappropriately like he used to.

Couldn't get the fucker off my mind after that. And it all spiraled into friendship when we coincidentally became co-workers at a shit job we've long since left. We hung enough for me to meet his people, he met mine. Shared a lot of experiences. Two or three years together.

So how did I miss his second change?

…

There's just far too much speculation, and not enough answers or trails of thought I can piece together to make understanding of it all. It's too jumbled. None of that even answers my original question of what he may like about me, I was just nonsensically ranting fucking backstories. I'm so stressed.

Maybe this is enough thinking for one night. I am tremendously losing the plot a little bit, with how tired I am. I don't want to solve everything in one night, anyway. There's still too many 'why's, and I really do not wanna spiral into another fit like that one at Muffet's.

There's not enough dishes in the washer for me to reasonably waste detergent on a load. Maybe it's time for a movie or something, to give myself a break and to disconnect from my mind. A refresh, so my next train of thought can make more sense. I'd really appreciate some sense.

—And some answers, but I suppose that's going to have to wait a moment longer. Not right now.

My phone rings with a call, but my hands are too dirty to pick it up. Ah, shit… Hold on. It's probably an update on the kitty food, the update I asked her for after I dropped her back off home. But… a phone call? Guess she's feeling chatty right this second.

I finish in time for the very final ring, swiping to answer and holding it against my shoulder while simultaneously drying my hands on my shirt. Multitasking legend over here. Feels like I'm ready for motherhood. "Hey, how's the cat?"

A deep and booming voice clears their throat, "DOOMFANGER IS EXCELLENT, AS PER ALL THE USUAL AND OBVIOUSES! ALTHOUGH, THANK YOU FOR THE CONCERN! I'LL RELAY THE MESSAGE TO HER."

…

…

"HELLO?"

"Y-yeah…?"

"HOW ARE YOU DOING?"

Uh… H…—How am I doing? I'm doing more paranoid than a bitch at a haunted house, thanks for asking.

Why is he calling me? Has something happened again? Surely he must understand by now that I am no longer receptive, if that's a thing he cares for—…Caring. He asked how I'm doing. He asked how I'm feeling?

Why is he asking how I am?

Edge doesn't ask you how you are. He doesn't care about those 'insignificances,' as he's told me before when I tried being friendly this one time. That's not… What's going on?

And why has he not yelled at me for taking my time responding?

"I'm… alright, I think. How—uh, are you?" That's the correct response, right? The one he's looking for?

"THEN WHY'D YOU FLEE?"

…

"RED TOLD ME HE HAD LOCATED YOU, AND HAD ATTEMPTED AN APOLOGY, BUT YOU 'FREAKED' AND RAN OUT."

Ah. Yeah, 'freaked' is certainly a describer for what happened to me. "Y'know… just some casual, stress-induced meltdowns." Humor? Do I humor my way out of this? …'My way out'? Well. Yeah, I guess I really don't want to be talking to anyone right now. Especially his brother.

"IT'S WITHIN MY UNDERSTANDING HE BROKE YOUR PHONE. I CAN HAVE COMPENSATION PROVIDED, IF YOU WOULD LIKE."

Huh? "Oh—it's okay. Thanks?"

Let's… not question why he's being so thoughtful right now. That may just be what gives me an aneurysm. Let's not question anything at all, actually! I want to tap out.

Is that something I can do? Fucking… dissociate? Because I don't really think I can just hang up on this guy.

"ARE YOU POSITIVE? RED ALREADY HAS A SURPLUS OF FUNDS TO SPARE, AFTER SELLING ALL HIS PERSONAL LIQUOR TO COMRADES."

Orrr, that can be what gives me a stroke.

What? I—I need another shot of rum if we're going to do this, hang on.

"AND I UNDERSTAND HE HAD A NUMBER OF OTHER VARIOUS FAILURES AS OF LATE, NAMELY EARLIER TODAY WHEN HE TRIED THAT CONVERSATION WITH YOU—"

"Shut up, please. Just hang on a second…"

I don't… Back to all of my 'I don't's, really. You mean to tell me that I will not be getting to digest any of today's information without being thrown right into the fire yet again?

Can I not sleep this off? Sleep on it? What the fuck do you mean Edge rings my silly little telephone right now?

I want to cry. Like, frustration tears. I just want sleep. There's so many different pieces of sense that I've gathered, but I don't have the brain power to piece all of it together to find clarity. True sense. The fucking… True Ending of Sense.

It's all too much.

Can I hang up? Is that an option for me, without starting a whole new string of drama? There's genuinely no way I'm going to be able to do this right now. I'm almost getting nauseous, I think.

…He's being oddly quiet, just as I asked of him. Is he being chill and cooperative for some strategic play, or is he actually capable of being someone you can reason with?

Every one of our prior conversations was nothing but yelling and intimidation. So what's changed?

"…FORGIVE THE INTRUSION, BUT I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO SPEAK WITH YOU ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED. MORE ON RED'S BEHALF, MIND YOU. HE'S UNWELL—WORSE AFTER TODAY."

…

I want to hang up so badly.

I don't care what happens. This… this isn't fair. Why is he my problem?

The arguments that could possibly come from that action are not any I'm concerned for. He can suck an egg.

I'm taking a shot of NyQuil and going to bed. Fuck this, and fuck them. I'm not going to sit here and spiral anymore, that's not fair.

The alcoholism Red apparently ended cold turkey is the one I'm just about to damn pick up, just in some crave for stress relief.

They can figure this out. I'm getting that brain refresh I deserve.

"PLEASE?"

…

'Please'. Please? What in the actual heck is happening, and how many times will I be asking that exact question?

Edge doesn't say please, he doesn't ask how you are, and he isn't—is he just a hater? Well, no, that's an obvious and the wrong wording. What I mean is, like… is he actually capable of being sweet, he just hasn't been? For the love of the game?

This… there's something here I'm not in on. Pieces of information I need and have missed. And as badly as I want to understand, I need a break. Sleep. That same exact thing I was just talking about before he called at the worst timing literally ever—

I need to digest at least some of today.

Every one of my attempts to figure this puzzle out has led me to even more questions, more spirals, more grey hairs.

I need to hang up and sleep on this. I genuinely just don't have the capacity to problem solve right this second.

"Edge. I'll have to call you back another time, another day—far later into the week, or maybe even into the month…

"This has been, as simply as I can put it, too much. Whatever is happening with you and Red is not on my priority of concerns, you must understand that."

…

"I DO. AND I CONFESS, YOU DO NOT MEAN MUCH TO ME EITHER, AS YOU'RE SIMPLY SOMEBODY MY BROTHER IS SEEING. BUT HE IS STILL MY BROTHER, DESPITE THE ATROCITIES THAT HE IS."

Suh—What? Was that a slip of vocabulary, or did he just say I'm seeing his brother, like, in the dating way?

Okay—I'd never in a million years try clarifying this question, because this is literally the most embarrassing thing to ask, but I need this. "Did you say you think I'm dating Red? 'Seeing him' in that way?"

"…YOU AREN'T?"

Holy shit. Wait, stop, hang on. I'm not hanging up, "Is this why you sent me to get Red from the bar, and not yourself—his brother?! Because you think we're together?"

"YOU—SWINE, YOU'VE GIVEN HIM A KEY TO YOUR HOME! IS THAT NOT…" He makes an awkward pause, "THE BOOK STATES—"

"Stop." There's like fifty implications. What's Red been talking about for Edge to think that we're dating? "Did Red say something, or is this all your speculation?" …Also, what book?

…

"HE, AH…"

"Edge!" Comes out a little meaner and louder than intended, but by stars he can't stumble on his wording right now. He needs to tell me if Red has been doing anything!

He makes some… some little squeak in the back of his throat, like he wasn't prepared to be backed into any sort of corner, "RED HAS YOUR PHOTO AS A PHONE WALLPAPER. WITH HEARTS. AND HE GETS DOPEY TALKING ABOUT YOU DURING DINNER."

…Oh, you must be kidding me.

All of this happened because he got his first genuine crush?

Chapter Text

Speaking with Edge surprisingly cleared more than what I ever thought I could possibly hope for, especially in one night.

A three hour call was all it took to give me an additional three years on my life. I may have potentially gone immortal with a fourth hour, but it's just about to be midnight and he has work at the ass crack of dawn.

I… well, now I kinda wonder what would have happened if I hung up on him.

Probably would have gone a very, very long time without having any form of closure, and that definitely would've eaten away at my insides like a hungry l'il guy.

May have even spent the remainder of the year, or even the last of my days avoiding them in public.

Now that it's all over, and there's no more heat of the moment making me go crazy on the defense, I'm thankful he reached out.

I feel calm. More calm than what my second rum shot did for me, so surely this means that a weight is truly off my shoulders.

Swear I meant to stick to that one rum and coke way before, but a boost was required to get through all of that. Three hours. I'm infinitely grateful to him for being so reasonable and—dare I say attentive—but three hours of speaker phone with Edge needed a relaxer.

And… Stars, what I learned probably could've gone for black-out drunk, really.

So, as it turns out, I really am Red's very first genuine crush. And we've deduced that he literally didn't know what to do about any of that, so he bottled it all up in defensive reflex, stopped sleeping around, was nonchalant about it the whole time with befriending me and everything—but was too shy to say anything?

Or it could be as simple as an insecurity. And insecurities would make more sense, because why start drinking like that?

And yet another revolutionary discovery—Edge said Red never drank as much as he did until he became friends with me, which was why Edge was so upset with my presence every time I came around, or even when I tried being his friend! He assumed I was a bad influence and was coaxing Red into doing all that, which is also another reason why he left that 'pick him up' issue to me.

More evidence it's all insecurity is the things Red said and did during that night: all the jealousy, downer comments, saying variations of 'i'm not good enough' at several different occasions—

It all makes sense.

He's just emotionally constipated as all damn hell and flipped his lid down Bad Decision Ln.

And then… For some reason neither of us yet really know, he cold turkeyed after going batshit when I picked him up. Remembering enough key details to make him snap a second time, just in a different direction.

Probably just a complicated case of shame for what happened, except as far as I'm aware he doesn't remember shooting a bone at my head. So…

Guess he's just secretly a sensitive guy and got upset at his behavior toward me? How he acted and just his behavior at me in general?

Would make sense. If I were crushing hard on a girl, hard enough to yap about her to my brother during family dinners and have secret wallpapers of her, I would also lose my mind and make some immediate changes if my choices and mistakes hurt her and even destroyed her property.

Though… I guess I'll be finding even more out soon. Edge said he was going to 'talk some sense' into Red, whatever that means.

He was shocked to hear I don't have Red blocked anywhere at all, and that he just… hasn't tried contacting me. Nor has he even gone to my place. But he was also so eager to invite me to Muffet's, so we dunno what his deal is.

I… suppose I should be expecting a text from Red or something. Maybe in the next few days.

But for now I think I'm just… going to finally get that sleep I was wanting so badly. To rest my mind and SOUL after such a crazy fucking day.

Going out and about to get a phone was bad enough, but then finding Red when I wasn't ready? Losing my shit at Muffet's and needing to run away? Getting into a phone call with Edge just as I was trying to unwind?

Yeah. Yeah, this sleep is gonna hit so different, I've never been more excited for a snooze in my entire life. I hope I wake up at, like, 2pm. Get that GOOD unnecessary fourteen hours of sleep.

I snap awake to a phone call ringing and echoing almost inside of my head.

I don't… Girl, I don't even remember falling asleep. I know that was the plan, but last I recall was playing on my phone. I guess I passed the hell out, with… with it next to me?

That's probably why it's practically blaring inside of my skull. I'm also still tapping out to drowsy land, hang on… Stop screaming that ringtone for two seconds.

My eyes hurt trying to blink them open, widening them with stretches to get the sticky sleepy feeling out of my lids. Working doubletime to make it to wherever my phone is in my sheets—it's so dark, and I feel like such shit, I was probably only asleep for two hours or something.

There's no light so it must be facedown, and my brain's not awake enough to figure out where the noise could… oh, never mind, it was sort of wedged inside of my pillowcase? An impressive place to end up, and its no wonder my head was ringing.

Didn't realize it was just three inches from my face.

…

I couldn't answer the call in time, but seeing 'Missed Call' from Red pop up was plenty enough to shock me awake the rest of the way.

It's also only 12:58am. So I only got, like, less than an hour of sleep. What fucking deja vu is this…

Wait.

Red called me.

He—is he gonna call again…? He wants to talk to me, like, right now? Did he and Edge already have whatever talk it was?

—Scratch all of that, Red just tried calling me. Get that in my head for a minute without scrambling elsewhere!! Wake up!

…

He's not calling again. Does he think I'm asleep? I mean, sure, it's only been an hour since Edge left the phone with me, so interpretation could be up to anything. Could be asleep, probably couldn't be. He knows my schedule is a little bipolar.

Do I… do I call him back? What would I even say, like… an awkward 'Heyy, what's up?' What am I, a nervous twelve-year-old?

I'm a grown ass adult, thanks. This doesn't need to be awkward, and I know how to talk to people.

…

Okay, maybe I am a little nervous still. I'm hovering above his contact profile and not pressing on it.

A chime of a text makes me jump a little in my bed, the springs squeaking in my mattress only scaring me more. My God I'm pent up with more stress than I realized, holy shit.

[hey, u up?]

My heartrate sure as hell is, yeah! So are my hairs raised—maybe that's also my SOUL shooting up out of my chest and to Heaven. There's a lot of 'up' happening.

[Yeah. What's up?]

…'What's up'. I'm literally twelve, I'm going to shoot myself in the shin.

[i'm outside. can we talk plz?]

You're… you're fucking what? What in the nine rings of Hell do you mean you're outside? He must obviously mean my apartment, because why else would he say that? You mean to tell me he's outside my home right this second, and wants to come in to talk?

That one certainly makes me sit up so hella straight in my bed, legs swinging off in… In what, to get up to go get him? Why did I reflexively try getting out of bed so fast like that?

[You invited yourself to my apartment? In the middle of the night?]

…

…

[ok yah that sounds real fuggin bad. ill go srry. night]

I'm at the front door hopefully before he could think of teleporting off, undoing the deadbolt with such force that the noisy weight of its click echoes beyond into my complex's outdoor hall and its walled, concrete stairway.

The wind that stirs from how quick I swing the door open carries Red's magic scent. Not as heavy as I remember, but an indicator he's still here.

And he is. At the top of the steps like he was just leaving, looking at me with what I could only suppose is the same expression of shock and adrenaline and hidden relief as I am sporting.

He's here. I'm here.

…

And I think I'm ready to talk. Well—I'm not. I'm tired in all the senses, running on an hour of sleep, and probably still have two shots of rum in my blood.

But… I think this is just something that needs to happen, and that I can't have a say in. More like I shouldn't have an opinion on what happens, because this just… needs to be.

A talk needs to be had. If not now, then when will I ever find closure? How long will I be stressed to the pits over this?

This is for me.

I watch the guard of his strained posture drop in not-so-muted relief at seeing me, but then immediately raise stiff again like he's just remembered something. What he's obviously here for—to apologize.

His grip on the stair's handrail flexes with the most hefty uncertainty I've seen in a man, and I can't help but notice the way the joints and crevices of his bones are sparking up in dull shades of reds. Like he's losing his shit and doesn't know what to do, so much so that he's losing control over his magic.

…I don't know what to do, either. I'm just standing in my doorway and staring dead on at him, probably looking like his existence is personally offending me.

What do I even… I am ready, but what do I say? Something as fucking plain as, like… "Hey."

…

Oh, stars. I actually said that aloud.

He blinks his constricted lights away, his sockets nothing but an intimidating and endless void before they blip right back to something representing normalcy. "…hey."

Are we both socially inept teenagers? What is going on.

How do I transition to… like, actually talking about it? I don't know, I've never had to sit for an apology like this ever before, and it's not like our cafe talk fucking… Oh. That was just earlier today, huh? For some reason it felt like it was a few days ago, but no, this is all recent. Today.

"…How'd you get here—shortcut?"

He kind of… is quiet for the briefest of moments before shrugging, "knew a 'cut, yah. what, uh—…come here oft'n?"

Really can't help but snort at that, "I suppose."

He nods with his own little smile's upturn, moving away from the stairs and out far more into the open, just some steps away from me where I'm… apparently still clutching at the doorframe like I'm trying to break my fingers.

Do I… invite him inside, or something? Would that ease the atmosphere?

"D'you want to—"

"wanna go—"

…

Ah. Okay, yeah no, we're actually children. My face feels a little more heated than what I would prefer—hopefully it's not anything visible.

…Orrr, hopefully my cheeks aren't as visibly red as his. Did he get embarrassed…? I didn't know he felt shame like that, someone with an ego as large as his.

…What else would we both be here for, if not for the shame that's been wracking him all this time? He's here to apologize, and I'm here to find closure.

Or I suppose we're both seeking a type of closure, huh?

He relaxes his posture a little further, something intentional and just barely obviously forced, and he sticks his hands into his parka's pockets.

I can see the movements of his hands within his pockets. He's maddeningly fidgeting with them, trying to be nonchalant about it. "we could… y'know, walk down the road? or could 'port ya anywhere you want, i got the juice lefto'er."

…You do? "I thought that quitting an addictive substance cold turkey had aftereffects on monsters' magic?"

He blinks in… surprise? "huh. 'idn't know you knew allat shit."

"Yeah, uh… you taught me. Remember?"

"…"

He looks away in guilt, "yeh, s'rry… lot been slippin' my mind as o' late."

Heh, I could absolutely tell. A lot has been buzzing through my mind, too, but I think I've reached some… equilibrium. At least for right this moment, really—Maybe it's the relaxant of alcohol and the insanity of no rest—Who knows how long this calmness will last, with how pent up I'm positive the both of us are?

The shaking and fidgeting of his pocketed hands stop. "wanna get outta here? walk around the block or somethin', i mean."

Hm. Well, that might keep me awake. The longer I stand here with the warmth of my apartment's heater escaping with lulling grazes to my back, the sleepier I get. Although…

I look down at my get-up. Lounge shorts, ankle socks, and a loose t-shirt…

I'd need a wardrobe change to combat this wintery night and to prevent myself from getting sick, or even just waking up with a slightly sore throat. Any and all would suck ass.

"Let me change."

"yah, take yer time."

The swing's rusted and unkempt chains are digging into my skin—likely from how strong I'm gripping it, but let's just blame it instead of me for… y'know, simplicity's sake.

The pain's a little grounding, though. It's keeping me here and focused through the mind fog that keeps trying to return. Like some twisted defensive mechanism in my brain is trying to take the wheel—maybe what happened at Muffet's, but that's honestly becoming blurred.

Although... The squeak of every lazy pass we make is so fucking annoying. I can't seem to ignore it.

This park is so out of order, I'm shocked there's not more cases of tetanus in the local community with how fucked and uncared for this joint is. We must have some pretty tough kids running around here.

Or… maybe everyone just ignores this place. It's already out of the way and super small, with just a twin pair of swings and some… I'm sure that used to be a lot more vibrant rainbow of a plastic playland, but now it's dull. Even more so in this dark, the only sources of illumination being the moon and the flickering, yellow streetlight pole above the small restroom building by where you can park.

The large and generations-old oak trees all about the place are quite nice, though. It gives this rundown place some… I dunno. Cool rundown aesthetic? Feels like some variation of home, I think.

Maybe that's why we both gravitated to this place during our painfully silent walk here. It's comfortable.

And I think that silence was comfortable, too? Or at least it was for me, after I got used to it about ten minutes in.

It gave me some time to think.

…I think?

I dunno. Was I even doing a lot of thinking outside of the same topic over and over again? That he apparently has a really big thing for me?

Have I even actually thought about what I want to gain from a conversation with him? I already know he's sorry to the moon and back, given the reaction he had to breaking my phone alone.

Like… What am I here for? What do I want?

…

There's not been the time or rest for me to think about that, has there? So then what am I doing here? Did I come by some autopilot my body was moving on? How can I want all that closure I was wanting if I don't even know what I want closured?

What do I want?

His swing stops, and he clears his throat. Or… an imitation of it, because he doesn't have a throat in that sense. Like he's trying to act nonchalant or something.

And I guess I'm also reflexively trying to be nonchalant, because I push my swing a little harder before I could think about it, going as far as to stretch my legs out in front of me in between passes.

…

I finally look over at him—the best I can while swinging— and probably for the first time during this whole outing. I catch the way his eyelights look… somber. He's looking dead on at me, too. Watching me go back and forth.

I slow down some.

"i don't… lit'rlly dunno where to begin, deadass."

A small laugh leaves me before I could stop it, "Using slang like 'deadass' might be a poor place to start, not gonna lie."

He gets his own chuckle from that, but in a manner that sounds kind of ashamed, "if i could help maself, we wouldn' even be 'ere."

"…I kind of feel like you could have helped devolving into a blackout drinking habit."

His lights flicker out at the same time as the single, ominous streetlight. He turns his head to the side and away from my gaze, shrinking in on himself and into the cover of his parka's excessive fluff. "y-yah, uh… idn't mean it like that, s'rry."

…

I stop swinging, coming to a gradual and slow quit by letting my heels just barely dig and drag through the very old, greyed red mulch chips. It's a very calming… scratchy sound? I don't have a descriptor for this noise.

"…Did anything ever change?"

He looks back to me, his lights still gone but the gentle shifting furrow of his brow is enough indication that he doesn't know what I'm talking about. I probably could have been more specific, yeah.

"When we first met, when you looked at me with lust over anything else—I-I know that was an obvious attraction at the time, but then you fucked off from the entire dating scene. Dropped my roommate and all socials. And when we met again at that gas station a long while later, when you paid for my fuel and fucked off right again…"

He continues to listen.

"I don't know where I was going with this. Have… you always liked me? And it just at some point between our first meeting and the gas station re-meet turned genuine?"

His gaze drifts away from mine, and he tilts to look down at his shoes, fidgeting with the untied lace of one by kicking at it with his other shoe.

Red's lights return, and he cracks the smallest smile, "gettin' right into the heart of the convo, huh? awful badass of ya."

Yeah, I uh… Probably could have gone into it a little easier. If it weren't already apparent I'm losing my mind and can't think as straight as I'd prefer…

"always liked that. ya never gave a shit 'bout me, in the… uh—stood up ta me way, i mean. i was a piece a' shit. still am."

He goes a little quiet. Contemplative, and stopping his onslaught of fidgets with his shoes. "thought you were a piece a' shit, too. hated the way you were such a bitch 'bout me sleepin' with your roomie, and whatnot. also thought ya were a helluva prude."

"Thanks."

He very lightly flinches at my tone, but keeps going regardless, "then ya threw that damn chair at me, and i thought tha' was the funniest shit. but also, like… if there's a gal throwin' a whole ass chair at me in her home, then maybe i'm doin' somethin' a little wrong.

"that gas station fill-up was an appreciation over anythin' else. didn't really have any hots for ya."

Fair. And all adds up with what I've figured and learned. But then…?

He kicks to a slow swing and chances a glance at me before looking back down to himself, "was when ya bitched at our ol' manager when she was screamin' her balding head off at me. thought that was hella hot—a girl gettin' mad on my behalf and raisin' absolute batshit hell."

…Ah. That-that was about the time he started talking to me a lot more, huh? Went from just co-workers to something a little friendlier, and then more so when that manager finally got the guts to fire the both of us.

So yeah, Edge was pretty damn close with what he told me.

He stopped sleeping around when I chucked furniture at him, got me gas as a token of some kind of 'thanks' and not for any attraction reasons, but he did start liking me after I defended him. Two…

Two years ago… Ish. He's liked me for two-ish years?

"And… how long have you been drinking for? Edge said something about you not drinking as badly until you met me?"

…

He stopped swinging again, and his grip on the chains mimic the strength I used earlier. "ain't been keepin' any track, but… i'd say two years, yah."

Hm.

"was jus' an every third-fourth week thing, then… tumbled to hell, basically."

Yeah, that's uh… kind of how all alcoholism starts. "Why?"

…

He doesn't respond.

"Red—"

"i felt shitty, and—and drinking kind of stopped that shitty feeling, y'know? 'nd… just kept doing it, because i didn' like what i was feelin'. didn't know what ta do with any a' it."

… "Well. I feel like recognizing that you didn't know is a good start?"

He kicks hard enough at the mulch for it to scuff his shoe, "i've gotten plen'y 'nough fuggin' therapy tips, i don't need no damn more."

He has no room to raise his tone with me. "Clearly fucking not if we're here and doing all this, Red. You don't get to snap at me, or I'll just straight up leave."

A growl builds up in his throat and he huffs red smoke when he barks out, "ya'd leave regardless!!"

Does Mr. Cold Turkey Insecurity need a goddamn drink? We were literally doing so good and I was learning so much, and now he's putting up a pissy fit?

What insecurity did I even hit? 'I'd leave regardless'? Well, yeah. No duh. If he knows he's a piece of shit, then obviously.

…

I need a change in scenery, like... I dunno, that plastic playland. If my ass is grass, I at least want it to not already be sore from this outdated swing.

Or maybe I should actually just go home.

I got what I wanted to know, didn't I? That he likes me. And that he started drinking because of me. And…

…No, I'm getting ahead of myself. Why did he start drinking because of me? I must be getting worn out if I already forgot I just asked him that question.

He said he started to drown out a 'shitty feeling', and… Well, every bit of what's happened all just implies he hates himself.

And what did… Did I even have a clear goal in mind? What did I come here for? What closure was I wanting, again? I didn't even get the chance to figure that out a moment ago, did I? How did I… I'm forgetting everything so quickly, I don't know what's going on. Why is my mind so fucked up? I can hardly think logically and it's genuinely starting to piss me off.

I still don't think I've even properly processed that he shot a bone at my head.

Am I still on some fucked up autopilot?

I don't… I think I'm losing it again. Hell, it's probably 2am by now, and I still haven't gotten any rest from everything that happened today! And was there even any breathing room the past week when I was doing nothing but stressing every waking moment?

—No, pause—I don't have time to spiral again, I need to figure out what I want. I've just… been talking without a clear purpose. Rapid thoughts but not actually thinking anything.

Or did I have a clear goal, and I just can't recall it right now? What was I thinking about last week, when this all started?

What the brain fog, dude.

Maybe if I… what if I just need to get up and walk around some. That could help.

Red freaks a little when I stand up, whatever he wanted to say gets stuck on a cut-off breath. He jumps out of his swing fast enough to trip over his untied shoelace, falling mid-reach for me.

My sleeve gets snagged and I nearly tumble to the mulch with him, but with how light he is it's easy to steady myself enough for only just a piece of my top's fabric to go with his clawed hand.

…Well, at least I wasn't emotionally attached to this sweater.

I don't get much of a step and a half backwards before I get Blued, and I—as carefully as his panic allows—drop to my knees in front of him, who's also on his knees from his own fall.

My shoulders are gripped firm enough to keep me in place, but gentle enough to not hurt me, and he… Looks like he wants to cry…?

…

I want to know why he's drinking himself like that, and why it's 'because of me'. I'm not going to speculate anymore, I'm done piecing this together on my own. I need him to tell me.

"Red."

His grip loosens the smallest fraction.

"I don't—this isn't fair to me. I've been put through far too many loops, and I just…" What, am I about to start tearing up, too? I feel the slight sting in my eyes, but it's not quite there. "What the hell, man? I need to be told straight up."

His stare at me is blank for a moment before he drops his head some, looking at the ground between us. He lets his hands go lax, falling from my shoulder and back down to his sides.

"i… really fuggin' don't deserve ya. and that shit sucks so much absolute ass to think 'bout."

…Have I even fucking processed that Red likes me? It was just something I treated as a mindless fact, wasn't it? Just like when the bone was fired.

Am I… am I really only struggling to figure this all out so much because I'm not even thinking about it? I'm not usually like this. Is it because I'm fucking exhausted?

Stars. I could go for a third shot, but surely those two have already processed through me so it wouldn't even be a third. Bet that's why I lost whatever strain of calm I was mimicking—I'm raw dogging this conversation now.

…'Raw dogging'? God, I've really been mimicking Red's vocabulary and slang lately, huh?

…

…Have I ever cursed as much in my entire life than I have this week?

…

No more brain fog. No more losing my mind. No more back and forths, repeating myself over and over. I need to focus.

I'm safe, my brain doesn't need to be reacting this way.

I let myself drop a little more comfortable within his Blue, more properly resting on my knees. It was getting kind of very cramped, and I guess still is.

He sees my adjustments in some corner of his gaze and pretty immediately dissolves the Blue, but then his head only hangs the bittest further in some pitiful expression of shame. The worst part of the head drop is that I know it's the most genuine thing ever, but it's still kind of a ridiculous display to see.

"i never been more serious in my whole dumbass life. r'lly."

…I kind of already assumed as much, I think.

His lights wobble, but with his head so low the only indication was the reflection of the red glow against the previously grey mulch. "yer the dame f'me, but ain't no way in absolute bitch hell would i be right fer you. and that sucks."

I…

Well. A good start to the 'What do I want?' saga would probably be figuring out how the hell to approach this. Him liking me, I mean.

He's… Red is a really, real sweet guy.

But with all that's happened, all I've experienced and have had to endure—a-all because of, what, just his insecurities about himself?

I went through all of this because he doesn't feel good enough.

And if he doesn't now, then when will he? That's not going to be something that magically goes away if I were to say 'yes' to this whole thing, nor would I want to be the literal reason he even makes such a drastic and pre-mature change in whatever healing journey he needs.

If… if that even makes a lick of sense.

And that don't even guarantee he'd start figuring any of that out if we were to get together. He could—and of which is probably more realistic—very likely just stay the same. And I'd have to deal with all that, but tenfold since he'd be mine.

Like the way men say they'll change, and sure some of the better ones truly give it an honest try, but if that's not something he wants for himself then he's not going to achieve that.

I can't reasonably give Red a chance.

"…Not now."

He looks up at me, blinking.

I can feel the magic in the air—it's been here, I can tell, but I never really focused on it until just now.

He reminds me of remembrance, or… nostalgia? Like he's been a part of my life longer than he really has. The feeling that's praised as a sign that this person is the one for you, like… either platonically or romantically. But with more of a focus on romance.

And I think this one's gonna have to stay platonic.

…And he knows, doesn't he? That's what all of this is about, right? He's grieving over something that can't be, or what he thinks can't be, and his harmful hyperfixation on that has really made it so it can't happen.

He chased me away thinking I was already chased away.

I stand up, preemptively brushing the mulch and dirt from my pants as I go, but all that does is make me wobble with legs I didn't realize were asleep from being on my knees for so long.

Red helps steady me with hands on my hips from where he's still sat, and I further balance myself by reflexively placing my hands on the both of his shoulders. Somewhat of a parallel to how he was gripping my shoulders just earlier, funnily enough.

I finish standing up properly, letting my hands return to my sides, but his hands stay on my hips where he's now sat up a little higher on his knees.

…There's a really pleading look to his lights, but he knows.

Red lets go.

…

…

"Maybe another time, Red."

He sits back down onto his knees, looking up and somewhat past my head, like he wants to look into my eyes but is a little too ashamed to, "…i know. and i'm s'rry."

I back up some, but still close enough to him so I can offer a hand.

His gaze drops to it, and with hesitance he allows me to pull him up off the ground. He doesn't bother to kick the mulch from himself, though, and immediately opens his mouth to speak whilst still loosely holding my hand, "can i keep 'n touch?"

…As much as I still want to be friends with him, would that friendship ever help him? Would he ever let go of his crush on me, and ever improve his health?

If I'm the catalyst…

I shake my head.

…

He lets me take back my hand, and I replace his with mine, holding myself close to my abdomen with fingers that want to fidget but I keep myself still.

"Not if me being in your life is causing all these problems."

…He nods at that after taking a second to process.

I turn to my side on a small pivot, ready to go back home to get some rest I've been sorely looking for, "Bye, Red. I really enjoyed these two years with you, and I hope you figure this out for yourself."

The magic—his—thickens incredibly in the air, like a bomb of heavy tension released, the temperature skyrocketing from our midnight winter to an afternoon during summer, but then just as quickly shifts to a balanced autumn morning. His lights wobbling with each fluctuation, a drop of pale red leaking out from his right socket and traveling down his cheek.

But still, there's an upturn to his small smile, and his brows relax, "yah. need me to walk ya home, though? or—'port. it's dark."

"…Pfft—K, yeah, a shortcut sounds good. I'm not really in the mood to be trafficked."

He offers me his hand, and I take it.

And as the darkness takes us away, his magic protecting me one last time, there's his 'goodbye' muffled through the fog of the void.

Chapter Text

I very carefully ruffle and feel my hair, leaned—considerably of the hair stylist's property—over her dresser and look into the mirror, hardly even touching the furniture in all my paranoia of accidentally knocking something over.

She's behind and to my side still standing by the chair I was just in, waiting for my word.

I give her a cheery thumbs up from where we're eyeing each other through her hung mirror, and she mimics my gesture paired with a smile.

I was deathly afraid of needing to find a new stylist after moving to a different part of town, but by the stars am I glad I got so lucky with her. She's so sweet, too!

Downtown, in all its decorated glory, is a very wonderful vibe that perfectly screams the same 'autumn' that it is. Old lampposts strung with fake orange and red vines, white potted flower bushes dotting the red and grey bricked sidewalks, and young trees that are—for now—still pretty shades of green. And this is all topped off by the lightly clouded, blue sky.

I'm glad I moved. Being in that apartment was such a stunt of my growth, and being within walking distance to so many places is the best treat.

There's just one last stop to make before we can go home—wherever she went, and also under the impression she's ready to get out of here. My girl last texted she was in line to get a spontaneous eyebrow piercing at the place at the very far end of this final block, and there's been no other updates… So I assume she's still there. It's not been too terribly long, so hopefully I can make it in time to go in the back with her and watch her be stabbed.

A tattoo parlor called Poke-a-Dots. Which… Is the funniest thing, that's so charming. And what's more delightful is that, what she learned from a quick Google search, is a women-only staff! How cool is that?

Hopefully it still is that way—y'know, given that post of theirs is quite aged—but how fun would it be if it's still only females? I'm sure the vibes are so silly.

—…

Oh wow, their sign is ladybug patterned! The building's giving 'cafe', which… I think is very safe to assume that this used to be a coffee place before it was bought out and turned into what it is now.

With a chime to the door, a comfortable heater welcomes me in, and so does a small waiting room that's empty.

Ah, I guess it's a little too late to go in the back to watch her.

Someone to my right very politely clears their throat to catch my attention—ah, sorry, not sure how I missed anyone. Must've been a little too distracted by how charming this place is.

It's a woman in a ladybug apron behind a stand, giving me a very warm smile, "Hey there! How can I help you?"

"Uh. Sorry, I was hoping to catch my friend to watch her be pierced, but I must've got here a little too late—"

And as mentioned, there she is making her way back into the lobby from down the kind of dark hall, looking over her shoulder and speaking to somebody. Someone with a male voice.

Ah, I guess it's no longer a girls only staff? That would've been funny, but all good things come to an end hehe.

She comes out and fully into view, and so does the person behind her—Red.

…

Red.

Red, who is wearing the same red and black, ladybug apron as the woman behind the counter, paired with lightly ripped black jeans and a heathered, dark grey t-shirt, and all topped off with nice black sneakers that look taken care of. I—have I ever seen him out of his signature kicks? Looking clean and well groomed?

Red, who… has a good job? Is he a body piercer now? That—that takes professional education. He went to school?

Red, who's looking at me with what I'm sure is the same agape expression I'm wearing.

My friend also halts upon finally seeing me, her eyes a little wide but otherwise calm. Yeah, I bet she was as surprised to see Red here. Not that I think they've ever met, but she's seen several pictures of him that I showed her back when I was still friends with him.

God, it's been… I think three years since I last saw Red. After he… at the rundown park on Beaver! Yeah, that's it.

The woman behind the booth steps out of it and invites Red in with a gesture before disappearing into the back, leaving just us three.

Red, in all the awkward tension, makes his way behind the counter and to the register, getting it ready to—I assume—cash my friend out for the service.

My side is lightly elbowed by her, and she leans in some to whisper, "He's, like… so fuckin' chill. And the funniest bastard. Do you wanna stay to talk? Or we could leave. It's fully up to you, dude."

…

I hold my palm up to her, "Give me your money."

"You're hilarious."

She leaves me with her debit card, and the door's overhead bell chimes in goodbye. Red and I now the only two here, and the awkward tension only grows tenfold as we make eye contact over the counter that I start approaching.

So… "What's up, Red?"

He recoils a little at that, the pleasantly warm air only becoming a little more heated with what I'm sure is his magic, and I can't help but watch the way his hands fidget with themselves behind the computer and its register.

I just as awkwardly lean on the counter with 'casually' folded arms, sort of hoping that whatever swagger I'm forcing out looks calm and collected enough to fool us both.

And… it looks like my fake calm works, because the air eases and his shoulders loosen.

"ah… think m'lright, how 'bout you, huh? sure been a hot gah damn minute." He sounds the same, that's good. Familiar.

A rough around the edges voice that exudes a lot more nonchalance than who he really is, although I assume he must've changed a very great deal. Given… Stars, the fact he has a good job and looks put together.

He… also doesn't look as perpetually tired anymore. Like he gets sleep.

I really can't help but smile, "I'm good. Just came back from a haircut."

He takes a little peek at how I'm posed and decides to lean, too. His side resting against the counter as he puts a hand to his opposite hipbone, "yeah? was wonderin' why yer face looked so well-framed, and the wig shittin' out glitter all over m'floors."

"WIG? Excuse you. Also, your floors? I know dang well you don't own a ladybug themed joint. You and your cute li'l apron."

"yah? i think this thang," he snaps the strap of his apron best he can, "picks up hella chicks."

Stars, he's somehow even more insufferable. What clown school did he go to while getting certified in body mods? "Mmm… How many hot girls we talkin'?"

He kind of… pauses at that, eyelights blinking in a few rapid successions. Standing up a little straighter, he reaches into his… can't quite see from over this counter, but what I think to be his front pocket?

A phone is pulled out, one without cracks, and—with hesitation—is carefully pushed face up to the middle of the counter. The 'New Contact' page on display. His voice softens, and there's a shy dusting of crimson across his cheeks, "you, if yer… if ya wanna talk again, maybe?"

…I missed him.