Chapter Text
This day had started... not quite normally. It had been raining since early morning, in the hours when the city was still in darkness. It was hard to call it a downpour, but the icy drops drummed pleasantly on the metal pipes that drained the eaves of the house and the nearby street light posts. Mixed with the summer heat, these weather conditions provided a pleasant and unusual contrast that was both invigorating and soothing.
You woke up almost fully awake in your underwear, and only your thighs and part of your legs were covered by a heavy blanket. It seemed like night. You felt a little hot, and in a sleepy delusion you tore off your clothes, throwing them away, and continued to sleep. You awkwardly rolled over from your stomach to your back, rubbed your left eye tiredly and turned your head on its side and continued to doze off. You were no longer asleep, but you weren't going to get up so quickly either. Yes, you had a shift waiting for you, but it wasn't until closer to lunchtime, and you would have continued to sleep if it hadn't been for the sleep that wouldn't come. You frowned, and squeezed the edge of your pillow as if that would do much to relieve the discomfort in your parched throat and the wave of freshness that numbed your toes. So you stood up, mumbling something unintelligible under your breath.
Lazily you put one foot down on the tufted carpet, which had been pinned in some places by the bed legs without the right to recover, and tucked the other in, and sat up. You yawned widely, put your hand under your T-shirt, scratched yourself, and without interrupting your yawning you got up from the bed, raising both arms up and taking your right leg aside you heard a pleasant crunch of your back. And when with a heavy but relieved sigh you put your arms down, your gaze fell involuntarily on the window.
Just as involuntarily, out of habit, you continued to close it at night. You had nothing to be afraid of, you trusted Peter more than completely, you could even say you trusted him more than anyone else. But you just couldn't bring yourself to sleep with the window open without straining, and it pissed you off. So, freaking out, you took a quick, determined step toward the window and threw it open.
It happened so suddenly that you literally fell with your chest on the window sill, sticking one arm out, almost falling through it. It was as if you were trying to show yourself that there was nothing more to be afraid of and that you were revolting against your old beliefs. Your body was instantly covered in a wave of icy goosebumps. The dripping drops poured weightlessly against your window, as if hiding the real world in a ghostly and invisible haze, meant to show that they had something to hide. They flowed into a single rivulet, along which, past you, a small leaf drifted, sailing away on its great and important business. The remnants of the race from the fog, which had already managed to dissipate, were natural crystals lying on the lush grass, as if in an advertisement of some yogurt or something like that. And like a background for any picture, the final odor was the smell of damp earth, wet trees, and cheap men's cologne.
All these odors were intensified especially at your window because of the log lying opposite, lying near a broken stump covered with dark and old moss. You had never noticed it before, I guess you should look out the window more often, but you knew one thing for sure, it had been there for a long time. Most likely when it fell, Don didn't even bother to deal with it, his concern was what was going on inside the walls of the house, not outside.
The fresh air and all these thoughts have awakened a terrible appetite. Did you eat at all yesterday? The whole day yesterday was a blur, memories were confused, and you remembered only that vinaigrette of emotions that you had experienced. Well, you had to take something for tomorrow, maybe you couldn't remember much, but the fact that your refrigerator was empty, you remembered it perfectly. So you leaned away from the window and went to the closet, opened the doors, without looking, took what you could find and pulled on the clothes you were wearing.
When you left the room, you didn't see anyone; Lucy still seemed to be asleep, so you decided not to disturb her, even though you were still angry. But you closed the door quietly. Walking to the hallway, you pulled on your sneakers, tying the laces quickly and deftly. As you put your hand on the door handle, you stopped, and with your side vision you caught a cap hanging on the coat rack. You didn't know your neighbor wore one, though what do you know about her besides the facts of the game? And anyway, she owes you for yesterday and it's still chilly outside and dripping from the roofs, she has no right to be mad at you. And grabbing the thing you quickly pulled it over your head and ran out of the apartment, slamming the door loudly after all.
*****
It didn't take long to get there, but you were already getting your bearings, and you reached the store quickly. You opened the door and slammed it shut with your foot, struggling to hold all your purchases in your hands. And after a couple steps you were able to dump all food onto the bedside table standing in your hallway with a relieved exhale. Putting your hands on your back, you stretched out, feeling a little tired because of the uncomfortable position you had to drag yourself home to. But as you lowered your arms, you took a habitual glance in the mirror and froze. You didn't even notice that the thing you'd grabbed was the player's sweatshirt, and the black cap you'd stolen perfectly completed the look. Except you didn't put your hair up in a short ponytail. Good thing you didn't have Y and N instead of eyes, thanks for that.
But it still made you tense, so you quickly put the cap back on and pulled off your hoodie with a little anger, exposing the upper part of your body, moving parallel to the hall.
"Wow, what a sight," -you froze in perhaps the most awkward position you could. Your hands were tangled in the fabric and up, and the sweater was pulled up over your forehead, making your eyes look even more surprised- “I wanted breakfast, but I didn't think it would be this hot~” - Lucy leaned her shoulder against the doorjamb, looking at you.
You didn't say anything back, too much pride, just took the hoodie to the end, walked into your room, pulled on yesterday's t-shirt and headed back to the groceries.
"You still holding a grudge?" Now her smug expression was less cocky, and Lucy lowered her arms to follow you. - “Oh, come on, if you were in my shoes you'd be trying to protect me from... whoever."
"Who took me to bed?" You just asked, not even turning to face her as you set the food on the table and started cooking breakfast.
"Oh, yeah, it was Peter” -she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting her lips like it was her fault, not his.
"I see" -just more proof that you can trust him more than anyone else so far.
"Look, I admit I did go a little overboard last night" -she sat down at the table and raised her hands in surrender- "but I don't trust him as much as you do, so obviously I was just trying to protect you."
"Who says I need protecting?" - You snapped at her, glaring angrily over your shoulder.
“Think what you want, that I know I did the right thing” -with that one phrase, the young woman was able to bring the growing conflict to a halt. But obviously not to win back your favor.
She propped her chin up with her hand resting on the table, glaring at the back of your head. Tapping her long fingernail against the smooth surface of the table, she hummed thoughtfully. What could interest you and make you talk? Nothing came to mind as it suddenly hit her.
"Maybe you want to talk about the game?" You straightened up, it was hard to hide your curiosity about the structure of this world, there were still too many questions.
"Hmm..." You looked away again, the offer was too tempting, but the resentment was still there. And leaning your back on the edge of the tabletop you looked around your neighbor as if studying her and finally decided to touch on a topic that, in your opinion, was not the most pleasant for her. - "Okay, where's your share of the rent?"
"Are you two in cahoots?" Her mood darkened noticeably, and I think you hit the bull's-eye. Her gaze got heavier and she frowned a little. - "We always split the rent in half."
"Then why was Don yelling at you yesterday?" You leaned over to pull a frying pan out of one of the kitchen drawers and put it on the stove to heat up so you could fry the sandwiches you'd just sliced for the two of you.
"Okay, maybe we don't always split it in half" -she scratched the back of her head and looked away like the characters in old cartoons do when they feel awkward and start whistling.
"Wait, I don't understand how this works at all" -there was a sound of aluminum clanking and something cold was laid out, which immediately began to heat up under the high temperature of the fire. You took a spatula and gently pressed it over your breakfast so that the bread pressed tighter against the bottom of the curd and toasted a little faster. "How does a...player even pay? Yes, I found where “My Money” is stored, but I don't remember the game having a feature like paying for a room. And why is it that sometimes only the main character pays for rent?"
“Look,” -she put her hands on the table with her palms facing each other as if trying to steady the flow of her thoughts- “Y/N, that is, the player, has his own card, which receives the bill from the employer and from which the monthly rent is debited,” -you had already raised your index finger up to ask another question, but you were interrupted- “and, yeah... a couple times I didn't have the money to pay it and I asked Don to charge you double, but the next month I paid for both of us honestly.” She put her hand on her chest as if that would help her sound more honest and convincing.
“But, wait, where's the paycheck coming from if I barely work?” You went back to cooking. This time taking a couple eggs and cracking them on the edge so they don't touch the toast.
“In the story itself, there are a couple of work days, and they count,” -Lucy flexed one finger, starting, counting- “when the player isn't in the Y/N body, as cheesy as it sounds..., then, so the body doesn't just idle pose, basic functions kick in and you become like an NPCs”
“Sounds creepy…” You shrug your shoulders and feel a chill down your spine.
“It doesn't look good either, you're able to have basic conversations and perform simple functions, but you can't do anything conscious,” -Lulu theatrically patted her eyes- “so you're almost like a zombie, but you don't eat brains and you look a little less fucked up.” -and then she waved her hand carelessly as if that would make you feel better.
“There are moments when the player's body is without the player?” Lucy had already opened her mouth to answer, but you waved your hand, “No, wait, too much information for the morning…”
“Of course, like when there's an update and the game is temporarily unavailable, for you it's on pause, but for us life moves on.” She breathed a sigh of relief as if she had given a difficult, but so thoroughly memorized lecture in front of the teacher, but then looked at her hand with two bent fingers, “oh, and yes, sometimes TK covers your ass. Poor person is working double duty, but says you were on shift too, I don't envy them.”
"So that's why they get so angry when we're late and charge us for covering our asses too often," -you rubbed your chin thoughtfully, "I guess Fuboo hadn't thought this through very well." You picked up a couple of plates as you started laying out breakfast.
“If she had thought anything through in this world at all” -the voice behind you snorted a little unhappily- “So, is the interrogation over?”
"Not quite," -you walked over to the table and placed the hot and fresh breakfast in the middle of the table. Hot, melted cheese flowed out over the edges of the golden and crusty crust of the bread and bubbled so exuberantly on the flavorful slice of ham. The brown edges of the scrambled eggs were still scrambling after the skillet and the yolk reflected so appetizingly in the kitchen lamps (The author is starving). My hand was already reaching for one of the portions. When it was slapped gently- "one more question."
“Okay, but quickly” -woman clutched her hands to the edges of the chair to hold herself up.
“How do you find a job every time?” - You met with a blank stare and a tilted head, so you explained almost immediately. - “At the beginning of each story you don't seem to have a permanent job, but eventually you find one, and it's the same one. The employer's not surprised that you quit and come back every week?”
“Ah, pfft, it's easy” -now your neighbor is completely relaxed, already anticipating breakfast after such an easy answer- “I don't quit, I work there all the time, it's just that you see me there only once,” -now you lean your head on the side- “almost every time I'm not at home or out of your sight, I leave for a shift. It's just that you bring me to one of those shifts and I have to say the same text for the hundredth time about how I've finally found a livelihood.”
“Oh, yeah, that sounds logical” -for a minute you thought that it's actually a lot simpler than you sometimes think, “okay, now we can have breakfast.”
“Yay!” Lulu shrieked and picked up her plate and began to eat it all with a special appetite, even mooing with pleasure, you seemed to have done a good job as a cook this morning.
“Enjoy it,” -you grinned, eating your breakfast at a more relaxed pace- “you owe me one.”
“Why wHould tWhat bhe?!?” -cheese and the leftover scrambled eggs from your mouth dripped onto your plate, not on the table or on you
"Because I made us breakfast." You explained.
“And I answered your questions." You got a counterargument. But you pointed at the door, implying that you'd also gone to the store, so you didn't have to explain it with your mouth full- "Okay, I'll make us some coffee and we'll call it even."
"You asshole" -you squinted your eyes slyly and playfully.
"I love you, too” -she winked, standing up from the table with an empty plate.
*****
Guy stood under one of the many streetlight poles and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. He had arrived at the appointed place about twenty minutes ago and had been frantically checking his phone almost every minute in fear. That he'd missed a message canceling the meeting or that his contact would be uncomfortable approaching and suggested he go somewhere else. But, no, nothing of the sort occurred.
There were crowds of students who had gone to the bar right after uni and were already drunk and on their way to the dormitory, struggling to walk, cursing tomorrow's classes and misunderstanding teachers, as if they were not young themselves. There were a couple of high schoolers who were having similar conversations about teachers, but in particular, they were talking about comic books, Pokémon, and some new anime. A few moms with their kids walked by as well, the weather was perfect towards evening, no sign of rain, so they could afford to walk around. One girl, clearly in a hurry, even approached him and asked him how she could get to the city museum. Peter was confused at first, but quickly realized that he had explained the way to her gently and clearly. You thanked him and, grabbing your purse over your shoulder, disappeared around the corner, while he continued to wait.
“Pete-eer!” Guy perked up and looked over his shoulder, name still working as a strong trigger “Sorry, we got held up” -TKs immediately palmed their hands to their knees tightening their grip, trying to get a breath
“Oh, no, no, it's fine. Don't worry about it,” Peter waved his hand, dropping his tense shoulders. He tried to show that he was giving them time to catch their breath and recover- “so... delayed?” -he decided to clarify, not finding how else to start the dialog.
“Yes, at the end of the shift we got a very arrogant and mean type. He didn't want to leave and claimed that we were working until the last customer, the damn sign” -they explained, smoothing their wrinkled clothes and shaking off the road dust. They were not in their play clothes, but in a different image, but still in the same colors, apparently this in them can not be changed
“What about…” He had already raised his index finger to ask a question while his companion was adjusting his glasses and wiping sweat from his forehead. But he was interrupted.
“Oh, she's fine, except for tiredness,” -they smiled sweetly, still grateful that you're still helping them with their shifts, even though it's not your real job, and neither is this life- “she went home, I gave her a look.”
“Good,” -he exhaled with relief, looking away- “this whole fainting thing is really bothering me.”
“Wait, wasn't that just one time?” They wondered, tilting their head slightly to the side. Peter shook his head negatively. “Okay, let's go, you can tell me more at the bar.”
*****
This place smelled of alcohol, sweat, and cheap padding for the "expensive" leather sofas at the round tables. There were not many visitors here on weekdays, and it was not the most popular place. Lack of lights and neon illumination with a smooth floor gave this bar an entourage more like a nightclub than a place to drink and relax. But the loud bass of the local music didn't hit their eardrums so hard, and the girls, who under the influence of expensive cocktails decided to dance a little, didn't loom so much in front of their eyes, so it was quite possible to talk here.
They walked confidently, there was nothing to be shy about, no one knew them here, and neither did they know anyone. TK pulled off their plaid shirt and decided to leave it in the common closet, Peter preferred to stay in his jacket. It was decided to sit at the bar, it was the farthest from the speakers, and there were fewer people there. So after a few steps they were comfortably seated on high, not the most stable seats, on thin legs, something like a martini glass.
“Two whiskeys” -TK ordered almost instantly without even asking his buddy about his preferences- “so, tell me about it.” They rested their elbows on the counter
“Wow, I didn't think you are into that kind of stuff” -guy was a little surprised, watching the bartender handling the bottles- “well, she had a similar attack before. I figured it was just fatigue or something and took her home, but twice in a row....”
“Too much shit went down this week, so let's just chill out” - They smiled when their order was brought to them. TK pushed one of the glasses toward Peter and pulled the other one closer - “Then we need to keep an eye on her and look after her, we don't know what exactly caused it.”
“Ha, I definitely know how to keep an eye on players.” He smiled and washed down his bitter thoughts with bitter booze. Like a coward...
“That's for sure, teach me sometime.” They both laughed quietly at this topic, which was local to them. “Have there been any other oddities these past few days?” TK took a small sip and grimaced, feeling how pleasantly it burned his throat.
“There's something else…” - Peter hesitated. He ran his fingertips over the sides of the glass, sliding along its corners, not quite sure how to begin. But they needed to share any observations with each other to find at least one clue as to what was happening and why. - “I started... Moonwalking.”
“And before... it wasn't like that, right?” They raised their eyebrows a little skeptically, not quite understanding what he was getting at. They were acquaintances, but that didn't mean they remembered all the facts and details of each other's biographies. “Can you repeat that, please?” They handed their glasses to the bartender.
“Exactly, my sleep used to be jagged, hetic, and I didn't get much sleep, which is why I always had bags under my eyes. Just as Fuboo had willed”- Just at that moment a new whiskey was brought to them. Peter almost snatched another glass and splashed its contents into his mouth and pointed to the ceiling, referring to the limits of the game and the real world beyond. - “And stop changing my last name, you stupid cunt.”
“When it first happened, I thought you had a cold” - They laughed quietly, covering their mouths with their hands - “So what's the problem? Well, you walked through your house only in underwear a couple times, but like you don't do that without sleep” - TK sipped the drink a little slower, savoring the sharp bitterness.
“The first time, yeah, I woke up standing in the kitchen. I figured I reflexively went to get a glass of water and was so tired I didn't even wake up. Next time I opened my eyes with my hand on the front door handle. Then outside the house. And the last few times outside - He squinted his eyes, it was hard not to realize he was seriously worried.”
“Bartender, more whiskey” - He asked, pointing to his empty, and almost empty, glass of TK.
“Wow, this is really serious” - They finished their drinks and returned the glass to the bartender. Taking off their glasses and rubbing the bridge of their nose tiredly, they thought for a second - “Wait, could this be an add-on? Some kind of update?”
“Do you think they're acting on us now?” - Now Peter raised an eyebrow incredulously, the reboot of the fifth day didn't even work on them, what kind of updates could we talk about?
“It makes sense” - They locked their hands and put their chins on them, going through their thoughts - “Have you tried anything?”
"I took sleeping pills, I stayed awake on purpose so that my muscles would ache at the end of the day, I set alarm clocks for the approximate time I wanted to get up, I even tied myself to the bed and locked the door to my room with a key" - he bent his fingers, listing all his attempts to still finish. "And nothing, every time I still managed to get out."
“How long ago did it start, you say?” TK narrowed their eyes, took a rather large sip, and grimaced slightly.
“On the fourth day, I think. Something like that,“ he spread his fingers and rotated his palm, roughly estimating the time frame. It was clear that it hadn't been going on for long, but it had definitely been happening for some time. ”And I have no idea why it's happening. It's so strange..." He even seemed a little downcast.
“Well, we'll have to think about it...” Putting their glasses aside, they thought again, going over all the options and analyzing everything that had happened over the past few days. It's difficult to come up with something in a situation you've never been in before. Picking up the glass, they brought it to their faces, and the bitter, sharp aroma hit their nostrils, simultaneously invigorating and soothing them. With a slight movement of their hands, they watched as the reddish liquid flowed beautifully in the dim light, gliding almost perfectly along the transparent rim. And with a sigh, they finished the contents, and at that very moment, a thought occurred to them. “Wait, you broke the script from the very first day of the game, didn't you?”
"Yeah, sort of." Peter, who had been absentmindedly tracing the rim of his glass with his fingertips, finally looked up at his companion. "Where are you going with this?"
"You’ve literally been going against the code, and yet… you’re starting to get somewhere, aren’t you?" They straightened up, waving a hand with sudden energy-someone was clearly getting worked up.
"Can you explain that again?" The guy asked awkwardly, gripping the edge of the bar. Then his eyes flicked to the bartender who had just approached.
"One more," he said to the bartender before turning back. "Look, the code-it’s something buried deep inside us. It doesn’t surface until something triggers it. You could say it’s like a virus."
"Funny, considering it’s supposed to protect us from viruses," he smirked, amused by his own wordplay. The thick glass clunked back onto the polished counter as the guy grabbed one of the drinks. "But yeah, deviating from the canon is the trigger. That’s why the reset happens on the fifth day-it ‘fixes’ everything."
"Exactly. When you’re sick, symptoms show up-including fever, which is just your body fighting the virus. Same thing." They took a swig and set the glass down, still half-full. "So what if your body now sees the code as a virus? It’s been holding you back this whole time, but you never resisted. Now that you’re rebelling, your system’s freaking out-all these ‘symptoms’ are just your body trying to break free."
"Whoa, I think you’ve had enough, buddy." He raised a hand to ask for the check, but the other guy cut him off, grabbing his wrist and lazily signaling the bartender for another round.
"No, listen-I’m explaining. Think of the code like your boss. It forces you to do things you don’t want to do. Just like how I’m forced to cook." They finished off the last drink.
"You don’t like to cook?"
"I do… but that’s not the point! Obviously, your boss drags you to work, and you resist. And now, since even your body’s rejecting the canon, you’re dealing with all that pent-up crap-years of it." Their words were slurring, but their voice grew more animated. "You’ve complained about sleep deprivation, exhaustion. Combine that with everything the plot’s made you do? Yeah, no wonder you’re burnt out, sleepwalking, all of it. But before, it never showed-because the code didn’t allow it. Meaning, it wasn’t supposed to happen to you!"
At the end of their rapid, half-coherent rant, they threw their hands up in a triumphant "Ta-da!"
"You know what… that actually makes a scary amount of sense," Peter admitted, surprised that alcohol seemed to sharpen TK’s thinking rather than dull it. Or maybe they were both just drunk enough for nonsense to sound logical. "But then why didn’t the reset happen on the fifth day?" The question hung in the air, heavy.
"What if… the reset was part of the canon too?" TK ventured hesitantly, arms half-raised in a shrug, like they weren’t sure whether to commit to the idea.
"God, I hope this still makes sense tomorrow," Peter muttered, downing another glass-only then realizing it was probably his last for the night. They’d both had enough.
"Um, excuse me?" A soft, high-pitched voice cut in behind them. They turned to see a girl with vividly dyed hair, her friend lingering a few steps back. "We noticed you guys when we came in. Mind if we join you?"
"Oh, shit." The curse slipped out before Peter could stop it. He’d have turned her down regardless-not just because they weren’t supposed to get close to regular civilians, but because he was in no state to navigate this soberly, let alone now. He shot TK a glance, hoping they were on the same page.
But TK just looked tense. Maybe even scared. Whether it was the alcohol hitting hard or sheer inexperience with this kind of attention, Peter couldn’t tell. Either way, TK wasn’t forming coherent sentences anytime soon. So Peter took charge-quite literally-and did the first thing that came to mind: he played the boyfriend card.
"Sorry, girls. We’re kinda taken." He grabbed TK’s hand, fished a crumpled wad of bills from his pocket, and slapped them on the counter-way more than their tab, but he didn’t care. Tipping generously beat sticking around. Then they were out the door.
*****
Outside, the night had its own pulse. Cool but not cold, just enough to feel alive in a T-shirt. The noise of rowdy crowds bled into the silence of dark, sketchy alleyways and back again. Same with the smells-expensive liquor and perfume tangled with damp mold and dumpster stench. The contrasts were sharp, familiar, almost comforting in their own way. There was something raw and real about nights like these, where extremes collided and somehow made sense.
Unless, of course, you were hunched over a trash bin behind the bar, half-blinded by passing headlights, listening to the gurgling, splattering soundtrack of someone’s stomach betraying them.
"There you go, man. Just let it out." Peter patted TK’s back as they white-knuckled the dumpster’s edge, fighting gravity. "Better out than in." He kept one hand steady between their shoulder blades, the other gripping the shirt they’d grabbed from the coat check-just in case.
"Ohhh, fuck-" That was all they managed before another wave hit, sending them retching over the bin again.
"Don’t worry, it’ll pass," Peter said, trying to sound encouraging as TK finally straightened up, wiping their mouth with the back of their hand and gasping for air.
"Wait-did you fucking tell those girls we were ‘taken’? By each other?" TK swayed, jabbing a finger at him like they’d caught him in a lie. "I mean, creative way to ditch them, but why that?"
"Well, y’know." He grinned, flashing a wink. "I am your boyfriend."
They both burst into laughter-that stupid quote from Day One was suddenly the funniest thing in the world. "Come on, I’ve seen the fanart! We even have fuckin’-"
He didn’t get to finish. TK lunged, shoving his face back toward the dumpster just in time. "Ugh, god-"
"Oh, relax," Peter chuckled, patting their back. "Those artists worked hard, you know."
"Mmmmaybe we overdid it a little," TK slurred, which was the understatement of the century. They took a shaky breath, relief flooding them as the nausea eased. "But y’know whaaaaat? Totally. Worth it. This is hilarious." They slumped against Peter’s shoulder, nearly toppling him.
"Oh yeah? Like what?" He bit back another laugh, curiosity winning out.
TK just held up a finger. A beat of silence-then they absolutely lost it, howling like it was the first time they’d ever heard a joke. They doubled over, clutching their stomachs. TK sank to their knees, wheezing, while Peter staggered back, hit the wall, and slid down onto the grimy pavement in a heap.
"I-hah-I don’t think-pfft-we’re making it home alone," TK gasped, trying and failing to stand. They reached for Peter’s hand, missed, and face-planted beside him. Now they were both on their knees, dying all over again.
"Holy shit-" Peter’s cheeks hurt, his abs were on fire, and tears blurred his vision. But as the laughter finally sputtered out, he managed, "Hah-okay, fuck-I’ll… I’ll call Don. Maybe he’ll pick us up."
Pulling out his phone, he stared at the screen like it was a final boss. New objective: Find Don’s number. Explain this.
*****
You were curled up in the warm, soft embrace of your bed, savoring the quiet comfort of the morning. The crisp white sheets smelled faintly of laundry detergent, cool and fresh against your skin. The weight of the blanket was perfect-heavy enough to make you feel safely tucked in, like you could hide from any monsters under the bed, just like you used to as a kid. You weren’t fully asleep, but you weren’t quite awake either, floating in that hazy in-between where moving seemed like an impossible task. At least, until the alarm clock shattered the peace.
But it wasn’t your alarm.
A series of sharp, thunderous bangs erupted from the front door, jolting you upright like a gunshot. It sounded like someone was taking a sledgehammer to your sleep, your dreams, your entire sense of calm. After a few stunned seconds, your brain caught up-someone was at the door.
You scrambled out of bed, still in whatever you’d slept in, and stumbled into the hallway. Lucy wasn’t in the living room-she couldn’t have slept through that, but then again, she’d mentioned working late. Maybe she had another night shift, like on Day Four? Whatever. Not important right now.
You bolted for the door before the neighbors could start complaining to Don about the noise. You’d just patched things up with Lulu-you didn’t need more drama. Without bothering to check the peephole, you yanked the door open, ready to glare at whoever had ruined your morning.
"Peter?"
He looked… off. Agitated, but not in his usual way. A dark cap was pulled low over his forehead, the hood of his sweatshirt tugged up over it like he was trying to disappear into the fabric.
"We need to talk," he said bluntly, stepping inside before you could even react. He leaned in slightly, voice urgent. "It’s important."
"Oh… uh, sure." You took a step back to give him space, watching as he shut the door behind him. He straightened, hesitating like he didn’t know where to start. "So… what did you want to tell me?"
"Not ‘tell.’ Show." He fidgeted, fingers twisting together like he was bracing himself. Then, with a sharp exhale, he grabbed the hem of his hood and yanked it down-along with the cap.
For a long moment, you just stared. Then you lost it.
You doubled over, laughter tearing out of you like a runaway train. Tears pricked at your eyes as you clutched your stomach, wheezing. Peter stood there, frozen, his hair cropped into a ridiculously short buzz cut, like he’d just been sheared bald and it was growing back in patches. He looked like a delinquent fresh out of juvie.
"Oh my god-" You gasped for air, waving a hand helplessly. "Did you just get out of prison? Welcome back, soldier!" You threw your arms open like you expected a hug.
"It’s not funny!"
Peter, it seemed, did not appreciate the humor.