Work Text:
Skeppy can't work out the cryptic messages Bad is sending him until he goes to his PO box and finds a parcel with familiar handwriting on it. He stands there and turns it over, exasperation and confusion combining into something vaguely fond.
"You know," he says when he gets back home, on another call with Bad, "you can just ask me for my address, you don't have to use my PO box like everyone else."
The typing noises on Bad's end stop abruptly. Skeppy doesn't know what he's doing - ban appeals, maybe.
Whatever it is, Bad abandons it pretty quickly to gasp, "It came?"
"Maybe." Skeppy flicks his camera on and holds the label up to it, peering around the edge to make sure it's centred. "This is your handwriting, right?"
Bad scoffs, teasing. "You don't even know the handwriting of your best friend?"
"Wha- oh, come on! It's not like I see it that much."
"Unbelievable," Bad huffs, ignoring him.
Skeppy huffs right back. This is where the difference between streaming and being on offline mode is: instead of spiralling into bickering, they just move on.
"You haven't opened it yet," Bad says, clearly spotting the unbroken parcel tape all over it.
He'll be honest - it genuinely hadn't occurred to him to open it before calling Bad. There: now he doesn't have to say it out loud.
"It's weirdly big," Skeppy says, turning it over. It is - like a long rectangle kind of shape, but obviously 3D. What are those called? A cubiod?
He turns it upside down and Bad makes a weird aborted noise on the other end.
Skeppy freezes. "You alright?"
"Don't - be careful, Skeppy."
"Oh, God," Skeppy says, using both hands to place it gently on the desk. "It's fragile?"
"It literally says fragile on the box!"
"No, it - oh."
"Skeppy," Bad whines.
"I didn't see it!" Skeppy says defensively.
He's got a pen somewhere: he fishes around for it and uses the nib to rip a hole along one of the seams. From there, the parcel separates into halves, two white polystyrene things that are almost perfect cubes. One of them has a black gouge in it now where he'd slipped with the pen, but it still pulls apart into two neat pieces, revealing a - mug.
Skeppy pulls it out, not realising he's frowning until he sees the design and feels his forehead ease into a laugh. "World's okayest best friend?" he reads, turning it and raising an eyebrow at Bad's Discord icon. "Wow, Bad. Thanks for that."
He can hear the grin in Bad's voice, wide enough that his plosives have slipped into it and disappeared. "You're welcome," he says. "Open the second one."
"Is it another mug?" Skeppy asks, already pulling the polystyrene off. This one is upside-down, but the colours are oddly familiar: Skeppy can't work out why until he wiggles it out of the packaging and reads -
Big Daddy.
He has no idea what his face does, but Bad is giggling, high-pitched and breathless. Skeppy wonders if that laugh is really worth having a friendship of shit like this.
"I hate you," he says, face in one hand and the other one still holding his very own Big Daddy mug. Bad only cackles at him. "How am I meant to explain this if it ever gets out?"
He's not telling people that he has a secret daughter just to explain some dumb mug. Not that he's going to post it immediately, but he knows himself - it's going to be in the background of a photo he takes, or he and Bad are going to be awake when they shouldn't be and they'll think it's funny to post it.
"Just tell them I bought it for you," Bad manages.
Skeppy's head rears up in offense. "That'll make it worse -!"