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The Journalist wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the fact that Unemployed and Legally Dead wasn't really the worst position they'd been in during their lifetime. Compared to enabling their new friends' tendency of popping parasites like candy and the horrific transformations that occurred as a result, not to mention nearly losing all of them before they fled, Clumbernut and the mountain of paperwork they had to deal with were — well, not really a walk in the park, but manageable. A healthy heaping of semi-normal problems. And it did help that they weren't hunting just about every day and living solely off sauce anymore.
There was a little more embarrassing problem pressing on the out-of-luck journalist's mind, though, related to the light blue grumpus packing his few belongings from his stay into a little frog-shaped bag.
"Oh!" Filbo said when he noticed his friend in the doorway. "Hey there, buddy. Almost done packing up, so I'll be out of your hair soon! Haha…" He paused. "Hey. I know it was a lot to ask to stay here in the first place, so. Thank you, really, you — you helped a lot."
And now their head is spinning with you don't know how much you helped me, too, and honestly I would die for you and why did you make it sound like you're leaving me forever? All these stupid dialogue options the way they've always interacted with others, writing the right words, collecting the right information, but — they bite their tongue and opt instead to just barrel into Filbo, grabbing him in a grump-hug.
"Whuah—" He stops to catch his breath and steady them both— "Whoa, he-eyy there, buddy. I'm gonna miss you too."
They just keep squeezing him like a stuffed animal.
"Oh, grump." Filbo says. "You're making it impossible to leave."
A pause.
"Do you not… want me to leave?"
"...Yeah." They nod a bit into his chest.
"Oh thank GRUMP!" Filbo yells and pushes them away to look at his friend. "Bud, I don't want to go at all! I just don't want to bother you!"
"What?? You don't bother me at all!"
"I– I'm freeloading in your apartment—"
"After a kind of unprecedented situation, like—"
"Everyone else went back and adjusted alright—"
"Everyone else didn't have to hide out from their old roommates, what—"
"And I just didn't want to annoy you or remind you of– of bad things too much or—"
"You don't!" The journalist raises their voice a little bit louder, and the two stare at each other. Then, they break into big grins, laughing at the miscommunication.
"Well, one thing's for sure," Filbo beams, "We are throwing one grump-tacular housewarming party."
And so it was.
Triffany and Wambus came overprepared with five different casseroles and a peanut butter and cheese cake; Cromdo handed the new roommates a flyer and a gift card for his karaoke bar opening next month; Wiggle and Gramble gave, respectively, two signed prints from her promotional shoot for her next album, Wiggle Unleashed, and hand-knitted matching winter pom-pom hats; Shelda smiled and put down a well-loved book on banishing household toxins, as well as three scarily large bottles of top-shelf vodka; Snorpy and Chandlo collaborated to make an "untraceable, unhackable, unignorable" alarm clock with the encouraging tone of Chandlo shouting "GET UP, BRO! YOU'RE GONNA CRUSH TODAY, DAWG!"; from Floofty, a self-sustaining potted plant that changed from blue to yellow based on air quality; and, finally, Beffica gifted a new research journal, patterned with puffy white clouds on the cover.
It was… sweet, and easy, the way they all exchanged gifts and laughed like old friends. And they were; it had only been a few months, but it felt like they'd all known each other for years, each grumpus living curled up in the hearts of every other.
"Alright, alright," Wambus knocked on the table and stood up, holding his glass high. "I'mma make a toast. To gettin' out of hell alright. And to Filbo and—" He paused. "Filbo. and— uh…."
" Wamby ," Triffany stage-whispered. "You forgot their name? It's… well, gosh, it's—"
"Bro," Chandlo said, "I know my bro's name, it's...uh…." He looked lost. "Nah, brah…."
Beffica rolled her eyes. "Ugh! Am I seriously the only one who's ever read my bestie's work? It's printed right on the grumping page, it's—"
"W-wait!" The journalist shouted, putting their arms out. "Um. I– I just never told you guys. I don't like going by it, so I just… dropped it, when I met grumps who didn't know me."
"Oh!" Triffany laughed nervously. "Oh, dear, you had me worried for a bit there we were so caught up in our own silly problems we didn't even remember somethin' as simple as your name!"
"There is value in, albeit symbolically, creating your own being, as it were. Tell me, have you picked a new title yet?" Floofty asked.
"I like…" They clasped their paws together, "I kind of like Buddy."
Next to them, Filbo choked on his water.
"Say no more, Buddy!" Snorpy said. "It is a pleasure to have you as a trusted confidant and friend."
The rest of the night passed quickly; Shelda crushed at Grumpnopoly, Wiggle and a tone-deaf but happy Gramble dueted quite a few songs together, and Wambus led an increasingly messy attempt at group square dancing. Soon everyone was partied out and trickling out the door waving bye Filbo, bye Buddy, bye dudes, adios and don't be strangers now, bye dears, seeya bestie, goodbye Buddy, one who is me...has missed you, see you soon. It was heartwarming to hear their new name said with so much love from so many.
The place turns quiet and empty when Filbo finally switches the music off and closed the door. But not lonely, never lonely.
"So… Buddy, huh?"
"It's what you first called me when I came to the island. I thought it was…nice. You were nice."
Filbo puts an arm behind his head. "Psh…."
"I'd never really gotten to know too many people. It was more, well, interviewing and research and. I mean I guess you could say you all were my first real friends." They moved to pick up a few dishes off the table. "And I like what that means, just that I'm a friend. It's like, I don't need to be anything else, you know?"
He looks stunned. "Yeah…yeah." Filbo shakes himself out of his trance and helped with the dishes. "And, you know, you're a great friend."
Buddy places the dishes in the sink so they could use a paw to ruffle Filbo's hair. "Thanks, Filbo. You are too."
Being Filbo's campaign manager was both more and less work than Buddy expected; it mostly included a ridiculous amount of calls, emails, and deferring to Beffica when they got lost. Thankfully, she was invested enough to ensure things ran smoothly when the other two were stuck. The real blessing was that the residents of the town historically had a habit of liking candidates that proved to be pretty much honest and kindhearted grumpuses — and if anyone could claim that label, it was Filbo Fiddlepie.
As a result, Beffica advised that the two try to get out more. Buy some coffee, tip well, compliment someone's glasses. Volunteer, clean up the city together, serve at a soup kitchen. Stop by local museums and shops, listen to everyone and casually make sure they know who you are, get a little silly at Cromdo's karaoke bar. It was simple, low-key, but after a while and some public attention, seemed to make more of an impact than even any of his speeches (which were, admittedly, a bit rough and full of stutters). He was a regular grump-about-town.
What was a little confusing was why every newspaper and tabloid had to call Buddy his "partner," but they figured it wasn't that big of a deal, as it wouldn't negatively affect anything. Hey, maybe the idea of him being in a committed relationship would even help create an image of stability for the voters.
So it was going decently, even though they were living off the last measly paycheck from Buddy's Snaktooth article after they got fired. They were trying to apply elsewhere, picking up a few low-paying online articles to skirt by, and it was alright. Again: still nicer than some other problems they'd had to worry about.
Which… which neither Buddy nor Filbo really talked extensively about, through the campaign, during movie nights, group get-togethers, dinners — months passed, and Filbo was voted in, Buddy spun him around in excitement, and they tried not to remember that the paw they were holding was once a strawberry. They held their whole, real, fully-grumpus best friend in their arms instead, and that's what mattered.
You can't avoid some things forever, though.
And it was, really, just a normal Tuesday night; Filbo got home from a meeting, Buddy was chewing on their necklace and working on an opinion article about a new TV show for Bugsfeed .
"Well, hello there, Mr. Mayor. " They say easily; it had become a standard greeting for them, and they liked it because for some reason it never failed to make Filbo embarrassed.
"Ah– the– hmphg!" He says on cue, and proceeds to choke out some more flustered noises before shaking his head and steadying himself. "Buddy, you know I'm st– I'm still getting used to that!"
"And more exposure will help, Mayor Fiddlepie!" They smile and put their laptop on the coffee table. "Come on, sit down. Got nuggets in the oven."
"What, you want to interview me about my day again?"
"You know it."
He laughs, but sits next to them on the couch anyway. Close. Maybe too close? Like, two-grumpuses-could-squeeze-in-on-the-other-side-of-him close. "Um, actually, Buddy… I was wondering if I could. 'Interview' you, a little, actually?" He lets out a nervous little "haha?" to ease the tension.
"Um, sure?" Who cares about the closeness, anyway. They're friends. They're friends.
"Do you… are you… I just." He sighs. "Are you okay? Are– Are you happy?"
"...What?"
"You know, all the stuff that happened, and we never really talk about it. I mean, I don't expect to talk about it every day, but– but it just gets me worried, the way you avoid it, you haven't said anything about the island since writing that article. And I get it if you don't want to say anything, but I just. Well, I can't get inside your head, you know. You're the one who's good at that. I. I don't know, Buddy. I just want you to be alright."
They stare at him.
"Um." He says. "But we can save this for later or– what does that intern say? Put a pin—"
"Thank you."
"U-um. What?"
They pull their legs up to sit criss-cross on the couch and stare at the wall. "I didn't think it mattered how I am, you know? You've got a lot to worry about." They wave their paw. "Everyone's got something to work through. But it's sweet to ask."
"Buddy…you know even if I'm busy sometimes, I'm still here for you."
"You've got Important Business, though, Mr. Mayor."
"Important Mayoral Business is the stuff that happens in between being there for you." He grins. "And organizing parties. I'm a really good multitasker!"
Buddy laughs and relaxes against the back of the couch. "I guess you are."
They're quiet. After a minute, Buddy clears their throat.
"It's my fault." When Filbo doesn't know how to reply, they continue. "I kept feeding you all Bugsnax, like some little errand grump and I– none of you are mad at me, and it doesn't make any sense. Of course there would be something off about the Snax, I don't know why I didn't get it immediately. So much for journalistic instinct…."
"What? Buddy," Filbo gets closer, somehow, "of course none of us are mad! Because it's really not your fault! E-everyone fell for it! And it's not Lizbert's fault, or mine, even though it'd be easier to blame someone. It just happened! And it was scary but, you know, we made it through! And we wouldn't have if it weren't for you. Buddy, you didn't hurt us, you saved us. You brought us all together."
They look to their other side, away from Filbo. "Well. You kept everyone together."
"And you gave me the strength to do that!"
"Filbo." They turn back to him. "You're plenty strong on your own."
"Okay, but I'm stronger because of you."
It's not that it's an invasion of personal space; Buddy likes hugs, affection, all that, and they cuddle during movie nights. It's just that right now there's something different in the room that's also warm and familiar, and as they look at their friend the name of it is on the tip of their tongue, but they can't find the word.
The oven beeps.
"Let's just eat, okay?"
And they do, but it's fresh, comfortable; Buddy doesn't feel stupid when they ask Filbo if they can check his limbs after he eats, to make sure they're still just blue and fuzzy. He nods and says of course, Buddy.
He doesn't even complain when it becomes routine.
If there was anyone nearly as insistent as Beffica (who called at least twice a day) to be in Buddy's life after all the grumpuses had returned to civilization, it was Triffany Lottablog.
Despite how much she traveled around for her job and how long of a drive it was from Buddy and Filbo's apartment to her and Wambus' farm, she was still adamant about the necessity of "catch-up time." Not that Buddy was complaining; they loved Triffany, and all her optimistic pessimism and semi-maternal qualities, and as a bonus they got to see Wambus sometimes too, when he could make it. Since the couple had a car and Buddy didn't, it was easier for her to come to them, but sometimes Buddy would feel like making the trip just to get out of the city for a bit.
Today, she stopped by on the way home for a quick hello that turned into sitting on the couch with two cups of tea, Buddy trying hard to listen as she flipped through her current research book and spouted facts they could barely follow.
"...And the ulna fragment has been broken before, but healed, meaning the creature had to be cared for to survive the process! Isn't that just nifty? A whole weight-bearing limb useless for a time — really goes to show how we better adjust to the environment we're in when we work together!" She sighed happily, and closed her book. "Sorry dear, I'm sure I've been talking your ear off. What have you been up to lately, hon?"
"Uh…" Buddy had been perfectly content to be the listener, and was always still trying to adjust to the conversational roles sometimes being switched. "I got hired at The Grumpbee ?"
"Oh, wow!"
They blushed and picked up their teacup, though it was empty. "It's a minor newspaper, not the source of any major stories, so not really a big deal, mostly an old reader-base — "
" I read it. You calling me old?"
"N-no! I mean — "
She laughed and brought a paw to her chest. "Don't you worry dear, I'm just pulling your leg. But it is good to have something steady, isn't it? I'm proud of you."
"Thanks, Triff." They smiled into their cup. "It's embarrassing, but I think I need to hear that sometimes."
"Oh, I getcha. Living is hard, you know." She pauses. "Especially after what we went through. What you saw."
At the allusion to Snaktooth, Buddy goes rigid. Grump. They thought they were getting better at this.
"We don't have to talk about it, of course!" Triffany backtracks, using her most soothing voice. "You just never want to bring it up, you know, and gosh, I am allowed to worry 'bout ya."
"No, no, I know." They can't seem to put the cup down.
"Oh, dear." Triffany says, and gets up. She takes the cup from their paws. "How about you lay down?"
Wordlessly, Buddy turns to lay on the couch they're on, staring at the ceiling. Triffany guides them through a couple breathing exercises, and they hazily wonder why she knows what to do.
"Sorry." They say once they snap out of it enough. "I don't know what happened…"
"Happens to the best of us, even just once in a while. It's nothing to be ashamed of." She says. "Now I get talkin about the past is difficult and all, so we don't have to. Sometimes though, it's nice to think about how different the present is from then. Nothing lasts forever, you know? Not even bad feelings."
They're both quiet. She decides to keep going.
"When we left and I didn't know what happened to my grandma, I was upset. But some things just gotta stay in the past, yeah? And it's the now that's really something special — like Wamby's new farm and all the fine stuff my team and I are finding. And being friends with you — why, it's great that I didn't know what was even gonna be going on now one, two years ago!"
Buddy closed their eyes and smiled. "I guess you're right."
"Well, why don't we try to think of some more things like that? What is it that you're glad you have right now?"
Buddy thinks. "Well, I really am happy I got that job. And I'm glad you're here."
"Aw, you flatter me! What else?"
"I'm glad… that my pizza doesn't have wings. And that those of us that did made it back safely. I'm glad that Floofty is excited about their students, and that Wiggle's writing for herself, and that Gramble has all of us for family…um. I like my apartment, and I'm glad Clumbernut isn't my editor anymore. I like...that...Filbo's still around, and that he wants to be around, and that he cares about me. I'm glad he won his campaign, and that I got to see him win, and that I helped make that happen, and I'm glad I can make him smile so much. I'm really glad we can just sit and watch movies and go out and party and that he's starting to get how great he is. I guess I'm just... proud of everyone."
"Okay, you can open your eyes now." Triffany smiles. "See now, dear, wasn't that a lot?"
"Yeah. Yeah, actually, it really was."
Their hands are still shaky, but Buddy pours them both more tea anyway, and to ease some of the tension asks a few logistical questions about Triffany's current dig. When in doubt, circle back to archaeology.
Soon, she takes one last sip and checks her watch. "Oh, love, I gotta dash! Wambus needs the car at 6, you know how he gets." She grabbed her bag, looking like a seasoned adventurer off to her next mission. "Do keep in touch, now."
Buddy nods. "Mhm. Thanks, Triff."
"Oh, don't mention it! And, Buddy, not that it's all my business, but it might be worth it to tell Filbo how you feel. Oh, it's scary, sure, but it was worth it with my Wamby. And I'm sure he'd understand, you know the guy's got a good heart." She waves. "Better to have things out in the open, yeah? Nothing can stay the same forever. Seeya later now, hun."
With that, she closes the door, leaving a perplexed, but otherwise comforted, Buddy behind.
It's a somewhat confusing day when they get a letter in the mail — from Beffica , of all the grumps in the world — containing a colorful card that just says "Happy Anniversary! xx ~Beff ;o]"
Filbo is uncharacteristically quiet after reading it, but Buddy folds it up, puts it neatly back in the envelope, and says: "Well, I think it has been about a year since you moved in, hasn't it?"
"Huh? Y-yeah!" The gears in his head oil back up again. "You're right, it has! We should celebrate. I'll make an ice cream cake!"
Things can get easier, they learn. With their first paycheck from The Grumpbee Buddy buys a bright yellow boombox and places it right on the coffee table. They play music while cooking, and Filbo is overjoyed by it, and if it leads to far too many spontaneous dance sessions in the kitchen, he would argue there is no such thing. Somehow, they get denied backstage access at one of Wiggle's shows, only to sneak through anyway, much to her delight. Sometimes, Filbo cancels a meeting, slouches too far, and fails to make his voice sound genuine, and Buddy gets a little more comfortable talking it out each time. It's a lot. They can do it.
It happens during one of their usual checkups; after dinner, Filbo's plate is cleared. He stands up, pushes his chair in and waits, knowing the drill. Buddy goes to inspect him. Both legs good, right arm fine, but the left has some odd spot, and their heart speeds up — they grab his arm by the paw to look closer.
It's just tomato sauce, and it comes off with a napkin. They sigh, feeling stupid for overreacting. They give a short nod, and wonder why Filbo doesn't leave.
Oh. Buddy hadn't let go of his paw.
It's a nonsensical thing to make them short circuit, but they don't really know what to do here. The options: make an excuse, drop it and pretend it never happened, run away and never come back, acknowledge that this isn't actually a big deal and they don't know why they're overreacting to it….
"Could you stay home tomorrow?" They ask, instead of taking any course of action that makes sense.
Filbo smiles. "Why?"
"Um. I guess I just miss seeing you all the time? I mean, we still spend a lot of time together, but." They finally took their paw away to make a halfhearted gesture. "Well, it's still really boring in here. Maybe we could redecorate? I never had much of a reason to, before."
At the mention of a decorating project, he lights up. "I'll see what I can do!"
In Filbo-talk, "I'll see what I can do" turns out to mean "I am going to drop everything to run around Ikeetle with you."
(Actually, it's Buddy doing the running, because Filbo decides he needs to ride in the cart. "You're faster!" He tells them, like speed matters in a furniture store.)
Aside from the bare essentials, Buddy's apartment has always been missing the things that tend to actually make a place feel like home. "I was out a lot, and moved around, you know?" They'd say. "Doesn't make much sense to spend more money than I have to on a place I'm only sometimes sleeping in."
But now that the apartment held two grumpuses and Buddy was home more than ever, they really had no excuse, so of all spur-of-the-moment project decisions, this was a good choice, they figured. Even if they couldn't reasonably get every stuffed animal Filbo looked at — they did end up with a rabbit, giant shark, and a kind-looking frog.
Throw blankets, heart-shaped pillows, a patterned rug, ball-shaped lights for the living room, a new bright pink dish set, a forest-themed table lamp, a whiteboard (since neither of them could remember chores), storage boxes, hanging paper decorations ("so it could always look like a celebration!") and (very important) rubber ducks. It was definitely a start at personalizing their space. Buddy also pulled a bit too much from the stationery section; but hey, if they were to keep a steady journal again, it would be worth it.
They chat while putting everything out; silly words that don't really mean anything. Buddy puts the new light in their room and hopes it will help them feel safer when trying to fall asleep. Filbo has a billion ideas for dinner. The boombox plays some slowish evening radio and Buddy just wants to hide under the new purple throw blanket and write in their journal — and they realize this is all they really need.
Maybe there's not a big story to chase right now, but life still happens in the margins of excitement, and comfort isn't a shameful thing to chase. They are allowed to ask for things they want directly. They are allowed to have fun. Filbo turns to them with a tired, contended look and they think, yeah, forever like this would be just fine, actually.
And then it hits, quick and crushing like a thousand bricks to the chest — forever like this. Forever like this and the anniversary card and Triffany's comment and the papers' assumptions and the dinners and basically-dates and living together in the first place. Their gay little speech to Triffany and how he just makes them feel good and everything down to Buddy's name and. And, and, and —
"You alright?" Filbo asks.
"Yeah!" They squeak out, as if their whole disjointed brain didn't just click into place and electrocute them where they stand. "U-um let's. Let's do spaghetti for dinner. It's quick and I'm kinda tired."
He nods with that ever-present smile and they're in love with him. They're in love with him and how did they not realize this already! How slow at processing evidence do they have to be! They asked him to skip work, asked him to move in, asked for so much and didn't even realize why . And now they don't even know what to do about it.
"Sure thing, Buddy!" He says, and they feel like they're going to explode.
"I don't get what the big deal is," They can practically hear Beffica's eyeroll over the phone, "you two have practically been married for a year already."
"That's not — " Buddy stops pacing their room and gasps. "YOU!"
"What ever could I have done, bestie?"
"You and your stupid anniversary card, you've been making fun of me this whole time! Oh — oh grump, you basically sent us on dates — "
Beffica bursts into crackled laughter over the line. It lasts far longer than necessary. Finally, she steadies herself enough to say: "Look, you were practically asking for it by falling for a squeeb like Filbo. But, now that you've finally come around to your own dirt, Beffica is here to help."
"Do I w — "
"Of course you want my help. So here's what you do. You go up to him. And you kiss that grumpus on the mouth."
"There has got to be something more subtle than that."
"Give a heartfelt speech?"
"Absolutely not."
"Propose?"
"No!" They squeak.
She sighs heavily. "You're no fun…. Alright. New idea — "
"Beff, I'm not going to do anything."
"What?!" She is outraged. "Of course you are!"
"Are you kidding me? It's such a bad idea, we live together and we're best friends and — no! I just called to scream at someone. And you deserved to be lectured for meddling."
"Oh, bestie. You know I never learn <3." They hear some shuffling on the other end, and her voice turns deeper and serious. "But fine, I won't say anything else. I bet you'll think of something. You know exactly what you gotta do."
"What — "
"I know you think it'll be the end of the grumping world or whatever, but it won't, okay? Trust me, bestie. Oh, and don't call me back until you've got a boyfriend okay byeeeeee~!"
With that, she hangs up.
So, they think they have a plan; whether it's a decent or horrible plan is up in the air, but it is, nonetheless, a plan, and probably the only sort of plan they are capable of comfortably executing.
"Hey, Filbo?" They ask one night; there's no rush for either of them to do anything, it's dark, comfortable, and the perfect environment to cry alone in one's room should one so desire. "Got, uh. Got time for an interview?"
"Huh?" He laughs a little bit at the idea. "Sure, but about what?"
"Always mysteries to uncover, you know?" They've forgone the recorder for the old-school, pencil-and-paper method. Besides, they're not really writing this down, per se. They just need their journal out for prompts.
"Okay, first question, Mr. Mayor. When you were campaigning and we were seen out together, a lot of publications referred to me as your partner. Did you mind that?"
Filbo fidgets a little. "I g-guess I thought it was fine as long as you weren't uncomfortable? I wouldn't exactly know how to address it, so — wait, did it make you uncomfortable?"
"Next question." Buddy makes a quick mark in their journal. "Do you like living here?"
"Of course!"
"Would you say I'm a good roommate?" They're in full reporter mode now.
"Obviously! The best."
"Would you say I would hypothetically make a good romantic partner?"
He lets out a little squeak. "W-well I wouldn't know anything about that! Hypothetically y-yes! I mean. Probably? Uhh…"
"Okay…let's see. Do you like being around me?"
"Yes, of course, what — "
"Am I attractive?"
"I mean, u-um yeah — "
"Do you like me?"
"Buddy, what's going on?"
They don't look up from their journal. "The question. Do you like me?"
"Of course, Buddy are you making fun of m—"
"Do you love me?"
A beat. Filbo sighs.
"Yes! Yeah! Okay! I love you, and you're my best friend and I want you to be happy and I want to see you be happy! A-and I want to be a reason you're happy, and I'm so — I-I'm glad we met and I love you. And." He seems to lose his steam, and slumps over, defeated. "Yeah. Sorry."
Still not looking up at him, they close their journal and shamefully set it aside. "U-um. I couldn't think of a… final question…."
"You," He sounds shaky, "you wrote all that down?"
"I didn't know what to…." Buddy puts their head in their hands. "I love you too."
He sits up. " Oh. "
They sit there for a while, listening to street noises and their stupidly rapid heartbeats.
"This is…embarrassing." Filbo says finally.
"Yeah." They agree. "But. Um. Well, I thought of a last question."
"What is it?"
They take a deep, steadying breath. "Could you… smooch me?"
Filbo smiles. "Sure thing, Buddy."
And so he does.