Chapter Text
On Coco’s eighth birthday, Uncle Qifrey had given her a small wrapped box with tiny holes poked into the top. She still remembered the sheer, bubbling joy she felt when she tore open the present, especially when a small, doe-eyed, furry creature blinked back at her from the inside.
It was a baby brushbuddy.
That day was easily ranked as one of the most precious days of Coco’s life.
As far as she could remember, Puffpuff—her pet brushbuddy—had always been there by her side. For instance, when she nearly got lost at a festival because she was too busy chasing a strange-looking butterfly (which, in her defense, looked absolutely magical), or when she was utterly devastated after discovering the fact that she couldn’t cast magic, even while holding a wand that looked exactly like the one from her favourite Barbie movie.
Puffpuff was always there.
She would brush her impossibly soft fur around Coco’s ankles like a cat before elegantly slinking her way up into her arm. Coco liked to think that Puffpuff always did that on purpose, because it made her laugh every single time.
Also because Puffpuff knew she was absolutely adorable. There was no other explanation.
At the moment, Coco was twelve years old.
And recently, Puffpuff had been acting very, very strange.
She refused to be carried around on Coco’s arm. She also refused to go on their usual short walk around the neighbourhood (the audacity!). At one point, she even turned around, as if disinterested, while Coco was busy ranting about her day to her.
It made Coco extremely sad. After all, in the four years they‘ve been together, not once—not even once— had Puffpuff treated her like this. She wouldn’t ever admit it, but she did cry the first time Puffpuff refused to acknowledge her, even when she hovered her face over the entrance of her little nest.
Coco had even tried everything she could think of to grab her little friend’s attention. Starting from gentle calling, offering snacks, and dramatic pleading, it was all proven ineffective.
At one point, she even whispered, “Puffpuff, if this is about the time I accidentally used you as a paintbrush, I said I was sorry,” but Puffpuff remained unmoved by the apology.
But it wasn’t as if Puffpuff had stopped moving altogether. It was more about the lack of enthusiasm, the absence of those familiar little noises that used to wake Coco from her slumber, that was slowly starting to chip away at her sanity.
There were no more excited scurrying sounds at dawn, no soft cries demanding attention, no dramatic little flops onto her arm as if she had been working full-day at a factory. Now, everything felt… quiet, but the kind of quiet that made Coco stare at the ceiling at night and wonder if she had somehow ruined things between them.
She finally realized that something was definitely wrong when Puffpuff, the little minx, ignored the comforting scent of ink, which Coco had bought a bottle of using her entire savings.
“This,” Coco muttered, holding the bottle like it was supposed to be her only salvation, “was supposed to fix everything.”
Oh, stars above. Was Puffpuff dying?
Coco was not unfamiliar with the concept of death. Her mother had once sat her down and gently walked her through a story about the cycle of life, about the way everything begins with small steps, grows, and then eventually comes to an end. She had also been told that the silver stars scattered across the night sky had taken her father with them, and that, someday, when the time was right, they would meet again.
Coco understood that. Or at least, she told herself she did.
But it was normal to feel sad, right?
For the longest time, Coco had blamed herself for the absence of the sadness she was supposed to feel whenever she thought about her father’s passing. It had made her wonder if she had simply not cared for him enough than she was supposed to. But he was her family. He was supposed to matter to her.
Losing someone was always a sad thing to experience. That would mean the sorrow she felt about letting go of Puffpuff was the right thing to feel.
But, no way! She needed to stop Puffpuff from leaving her.
With that in mind, Coco prepared herself to embark on a very important mission regarding Puffpuff’s well-being. She called the operation: Operation Puffpuff Rescue Mission. The task would be as follows:
1) She would ask her mother for an early pocket-money, under the excuse of “needing new stationery.” (Which, to be fair, was not entirely a lie. Puffpuff did serve as a very capable paintbrush that one time, Coco reasoned with herself);
2) She would bring Puffpuff to a vet—preferably one that specialises in brushbuddies;
3) Wait for the result.
Coco nodded to herself, as if sealing an unspoken contract in her own head. Her hands curled into small, determined fists. “For Puffpuff,” she whispered.
From across the room, perched on top of a fluffy pillow, Puffpuff did not even twitch.
Coco was left utterly speechless after hearing the doctor’s explanation. All this time, rather than dying, Puffpuff had quietly nurtured a new life inside of her instead. Apparently, that explained the dismissive attitude and moody behaviour she kept exhibiting towards Coco over the past few days. According to the doctor, it was all perfectly normal.
Coco wouldn’t know. This was her first time having a pregnant pet. There hadn’t exactly been a handbook for this. Or if there was, she clearly hadn’t owned it.
Still, none of that mattered. The only explanation she needed was that Puffpuff was alright.
The realization hit her all at once, warm and strangely overwhelming, swelling up quickly in her chest until it felt too big for her to contain in her little body. Coco swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as her vision blurred.
She was actually supposed to wait while the doctors carried out whatever check-up treatment her (pregnant!) brushbuddy needed.
But instead, she quietly slipped out of the clinic, the bell above the door giving a soft chime as she stepped outside. The air felt more humid than the cool sensation inside, but it gave her more room to finally breathe.
She was so, so glad. Puffpuff wasn’t leaving her. Not anytime soon.
That thought alone was enough to undo her.
Little tears slipped free before she could stop them, trailing down from the corners of her eyes as she hurriedly wiped at her face. Coco pressed her lips together while curling her body in on itself, doing her best to hold back the small hiccups and sobs threatening to escape.
She was so focused on steadying her breathing, on blinking the tears away, and keeping her composure that she failed to notice the presence who had joined her without a word.
“Here,” the stranger said. It was a soft, melodic, and so unexpectedly lovely that for a fleeting second, Coco thought it couldn’t possibly belong to a real person. It was, most likely, the prettiest voice Coco had ever heard in her entire life.
Startled, Coco looked up toward the source of the sound and was immediately rendered speechless by the sight that greeted her.
For one dizzying moment, Coco was convinced that perhaps the emotional breakdown she just experienced had finally overwhelmed her to the point of hallucination, because surely no one was allowed to look that beautiful by human standards.
The girl looked to be around her age, with short, dark curls framing her face perfectly. Each soft strand fell as though it had been drawn by some godly hands with careful precision. Her features were striking in a way Coco couldn’t quite put into words.
But it was her eyes that struck her the deepest.
Dark irises, steady and observant, regarded her with a calmness that felt almost safe. There was no awkwardness, nor a flicker of judgment at the embarrassing scene Coco was currently making outside a brushbuddy clinic.
Oh, stars above. This was so embarrassing. Instead of simply crying in public, Coco was now crying in public and in front of the prettiest girl she had ever seen.
Great.
But, for reasons she couldn’t begin to explain, the stranger’s gaze made warmth creep up Coco’s face all over again, not from the tears, nor from the relief still lodged in her chest. It was a strange, fluttering sort of embarrassment that made her suddenly hyperaware of everything—her damp lashes, her blotchy cheeks, the fact that she was probably sniffling in an ugly way.
Blinking quickly to erase the evidence, Coco then finally realised that by “here,” the girl had actually been offering her a neatly folded handkerchief. To wipe her tears with.
A fresh wave of embarrassment crashed over her at the thought.
Stupid, dummy Coco! she scolded herself internally.
Still, not wanting to seem rude, she accepted the handkerchief with a hesitation one might reserve for handling an especially expensive vase.
“T-thank you,” she chirped with a wet, uneven voice. Coco really hated crying.
“Don’t mention it,” the stranger replied, with a tone so flat it almost sounded like she was reciting something out of obligation. And just like that, the beautiful girl stepped past Coco and into the clinic with the chime of a bell trailing after her entrance.
Coco stood there for a moment longer, clutching the handkerchief to her tummy. The piece of fabric was still holding the warmth of the owner, it seemed. Coco smiled at the thought.
Wait.
Puffpuff.
Right. Now was probably the right time to go back inside and check up on her.
Shaking her head once, twice, Coco hurried back into the clinic. The bell chimed again, this time announcing her return, and the familiar scent of disinfectant quickly greeted her as she stepped inside.
“Excuse me!” she called out instinctively, already moving toward the examination area.
Coco peeked past the partially open door and was welcomed by a very adorable sight. Puffpuff was, in fact, not alone. Her brushbuddy was nestled comfortably on a padded surface, and tucked against Puffpuff, as if it had always belonged there, was another brushbuddy.
This one was black.
Soft, inky fur contrasted against Puffpuff’s familiar white; the two of them pressed together in a way that looked cozy. Almost like how one would cuddle against their partner on a Christmas Eve (probably, it certainly looked like that on the Soap Opera Coco liked watching on TV). The black brushbuddy’s tail was loosely draped over Puffpuff’s back, and Puffpuff instantly nuzzled into it.
“Oh my.. Who?” she whispered faintly.
In search of an answer, Coco raked her gaze to the other side of the room, and unexpectedly, standing not too far from the counter was the girl from earlier. With the same soft curls, the same calm, and unreadable expression.
Coco’s brain, very helpfully, connected the dots.
“Oh! There you are, little girl,” the doctor suddenly said, announcing her arrival with far more energy than Coco currently has. “There’s some good news for you, I think we‘ve found the partner of your little furry girl here.”
“...Partner?” she repeated, her voice going oddly high.
The doctor nodded, beaming. “Yes! They seem to get along wonderfully right when this lady entered the clinic and brought the little guy with her.”
“So.. she’s okay?” Coco asked softly, uncertain about the current development.
“Perfectly healthy,” the doctor reassured.
Coco gasped.
“PUFFPUFF!”
She rushed forward, stopping just short of the counter as if afraid she might accidentally ruin the moment. Her hands hovered uselessly in the air, torn between scooping Puffpuff up and respecting the cuddle session currently going on.
In the end, Coco settled for resting both of her arms on the edge of the table, silently watching the adorable sight in front of her. Puffpuff looked so content, so at ease, that it felt like Coco was finally able to breathe more easily.
But then,
“So…,” a voice spoke from behind her.
Coco gasped, again, and slowly turned her head until her eyes landed on the girl standing nearby.
Right. She had almost forgotten about her.
“I think we have some introductions to do,” the girl calmly stated. She crossed her arms, her gaze steady as it rested on Coco. “My name is Agott, and I think our brushbuddies are closer than I expected.”
Strangely, little Coco felt like this moment would change her life for good.