Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You cowards,” Grill smirked as he hit send on his tweet reply roasting some pleb who had the nerve to tell him, Grill Burns, that he needed to calm down. He sat back and stretched his arms in satisfaction. Now down to business. He read back the text message Chill sent him that morning:

                   Hey homie, don’t forget my    
                   birthday is this  weekend! 🙏    
                   We’re going to do something   
                   fun, right??

        Hey, I got you. It’s gonna be 🔥

Now he had to actually think of something good—NO—amazing—to surprise his boy with.

After searching “Things to do with your hippie friend,” Grill inadvertently found himself scrolling through a blog titled 20 Inexpensive Summer Date Ideas. Date, huh? Grill paused his browsing and absently drummed his fingers on the tabletop. 

He and Chill had always been best friends, almost brothers, polar opposites—fire and ice, bitter and sweet, peanut butter and battery acid—perfectly matched compliments… Well, most of the time, anyway. But lately something more tugged at the back of his mind—something a little scary that seemed to squeeze at his stomach or to threaten to pull his feet out from under him whenever Chill smilingly called him Big Guy, or when their hands brushed together reaching into the popcorn bowl, or when they’d be studying at the cafe for hours and happen to look up and make eye contact... Later, he’d tell himself, squashing it down. I’ll stop and think about what this means when I have some more time.

Grill shook his head. Anyway, this list was sorta what he was looking for, but like—Movie night? Beach? Cook together? They already do all that. Board game? Hmm, maybe some other time, but right now it wasn’t exactly the fire birthday surprise he was going for. Ugh, he was going to have to get more creative than this.

Two hours and three cans of YEET Energy Drank later, Grill sat resting his chin in his hand, tapping his upper lip with his fingers and glaring at his laptop. He closed out of the open browser tabs one-by-one, rejecting ideas. Top of the Hill Tea Shop? I mean, that seemed a bit frilly and stuffy, even by Chill’s standards. He bookmarked the page in case he ever needed to get Spill a gift card. Nautilus Tattoo Parlor? Like, a surprise, yes—but fun? Would Chill even get a tattoo? He would probably just want to get a little dolphin on his ankle and would cry like a baby the entire time. He hovered over the X button on the tab titled “how do I know when I like someone?” but decided to leave it open—for later. Grill flipped to the last tab thinking this one looks like a winner.

Brew suddenly leaned over Grill’s shoulder, causing him to jump and scream.

“Goats, huh? Hey, that reminds me, have I ever mentioned that livestock animals such as goats are responsible for thousands of people each year contracting anthrax, a deadly disease that’s been used as a biological weapon…?”

Before the upbeat music could start blaring, Grill waved his arms, warding it off, shouting, “Oh no you don’t! You are NOT going to ruin our date with your weird little facts—” Grill trailed off into horrified silence, staring blankly at the website in front of him. A tiny tan-and-white goat stood balanced cheekily on the back of a smiling woman who blissfully held a yoga pose.

“Date?” 

Grill looked up at Brew and Quiz. He searched his spinning mind for a clever comeback or pretty much anything to say, but all his brain gave him back was: Homina, homina, homina… He clenched his jaw and managed a faint grumble, mostly just furious at himself.

Quiz had a grin on her face, as if she were on the verge of congratulating him. Grill couldn’t take it. He slammed his laptop shut and stomped over toward the door. As he reached for the handle, Brew asked, “Does Chill know this is a date?”

Grill froze and looked back at him. The beige man held his white coffee cup up in one hand and gazed at Grill with a placid, mildly interested expression on his face. It was always either that look or the one of abject horror, which he didn’t even have the decency to put on at the moment. Grill was certain that everyone on the Hill was going to hear about this soon, and he still needed to sort out how he felt about his boy, Chill. Somehow his stupid subconscious had betrayed him.

Grill waved his hands helplessly and said, “I, uh… haven’t, er, got around to that yet. So, could you, ya know… keep a lid on it?” He wanted to kick himself. But more than that, he wanted to burn something. He needed to get out of here and clear his head before Chill got home from class.

“Sure thing,” came the reply. As Grill pivoted and headed through the doorway, he heard Howard’s monotonous mutter: “Pathetic meatbag.” He didn’t have the mental energy to fight the tin can right now; and he didn’t exactly disagree with him.

After taking a long walk, and halfheartedly lighting a handful of autumn leaves on fire, Grill made up his mind that this thing wasn’t going to go away on its own, and he just had to man up and talk to Chill about his Ffff... Urgh. His fuh–aah! f-FEELINGS. Even though Chill definitely wasn’t going to fuh-fa-fEEL the same, he was an amazingly understanding guy, and it should be fine… Right?

When Grill got back to the house, thankfully, Brew was shut away in his office. Afternoon sunlight spilled in through the bedroom window giving Chill’s shoulder-length blond hair a golden glow where he sat propped up against the pillows on their bed, cross-legged, playing Kitty Cat Sunshine Land on his Switch. He looked up and smiled sunnily when Grill came in. Grill swallowed hard and thought, here goes. 

“Chill… I… Uh, well. We’ve known each other for a really long time, right? And I figure at this point we can share with each other whatever we’re feel ...erg, what we’ve, uh, had on our minds, for like… Well, a little while now, right? So, well, I just wanted to let you know that I really care about you, buddy. Uh, well, I mean like MORE THAN buddies, if you get what I’m sayin’...”

Chill continued to smile beatifically until Grill had trailed off, and then he happily exclaimed in his child-like voice, “Oh Grill! That’s so sweet!” 

Grill was stunned. This had been easier than he expected—like WAY easier.

Chill gushed, “That’s SOOO nice of you to offer to buy dinner for my birthday!”

“Wait, whaAA—”

“But pizza…” Chill frowned. “That’s not super healthy. I think maybe we should get a salad too, if you’re down with that, and LOTS of veggies on the pizza.”

Grill furrowed his brow, looking hard at Chill. Then he reached over and plucked the red Raycon earbuds out of Chill’s ears, tossing them on the bed. “Ou-wee,” he sighed.

Chill continued babbling, “Aw, I’m so happy it’s Friday. This is going to be the best weekend ever. And wait till you see what I got from the Hillside Thrift Shop on the way home from school…”

Grill hung his head and groaned, then he looked up at Chill’s sweet, smiling face and said, “Uh okay, buddy… So, pizza AND salad, it is?

The crunchy-granola pizzeria next to Hillmark Academy didn’t even bat an eye when Grill called in their order: The Veg Out Pie (Spinach, Bell Peppers, Mushrooms, Onions, Black Olives, Tomatoes, and—add Broccoli?? Ok my guy, whatever floats your boat—Asparagus, and Heart-of-Palm, whatever the fuck that was) plus a Shroom Lovers Salad with extra shrooms. When the food arrived, Chill tried to get Brew to come out and eat with them, but he was still holed up working in his office. Come to think of it, what does that guy actually even eat? Grill wondered. Must be ramen noodles in coffee or something. 

“Here you go, Little Guy!” Chill called out in a sing-songy voice, scooping a handful of mushrooms, cucumber slices, and a cherry tomato into Bean’s tank. The enormous tardigrade happily trilled an incomprehensible babble.

They sat on the couch to eat while watching the latest episode of Love is Tigers. Grill speared a leafy green that might be kale or spinach or arugula and scrutinized it thoughtfully. “Hey, I wonder why Brew hasn’t done a video on salad bars? I bet there’s a whole lot of gnarly stuff that goes on…”

“No,” Chill said, eyes closed, slightly frowning. “Don’t even put that out into the universe, man. You know how he ruins everything we love when he decides to tell us facts about them. I just can’t have that happen to salads.”

“Heh, yeah, you’re right about that!” Grill said, munching a slice of carrot. He heard a very faint whirring noise, something he had heard around the house before—even in their room. He had a strange feeling he was being watched, but every time this happened, he’d glare around the room and see nothing. Who knows—maybe there were bees in the attic or something? 

After they finished eating and washing the dishes together, Chill brought out the bag of stuff he’d found at the thrift shop. 

“Check out this haul, Big Guy!” Chill said, rustling through the bag. He pulled out a couple of teal blue foam squares, holding them up, beaming. “Why would someone get rid of some brand-new perfectly good yoga blocks?? Well, I can always use these!” 

Rustle, rustle. “Aaaand for you—" Chill produced a red puffer vest with a flourish.

“Ooh, nice!” Grill said, pulling his red hoodie vest off over his head and zipping the new one up over his white T-shirt. 

Chill smiled, fixing the maroon headband Grill had knocked askew and said, “Yeah, it looked so soft and comfy! Now for the best one…” 

Grill could see a white, square box through the bag. Chill stripped the bag off and held up a board game with colored circles and the word Twister on the box. His already pale face must have turned an even milkier shade of pale.

“Aw, c’mon Big Guy,” Chill pleaded. “It’ll be fun!”

Oof. Fun. That’s what Grill was afraid of. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I dunno… We haven’t played Twister since we were little. You’re totally gonna win.”

“It’s not about winning, you silly goose. It’s about the experience.

“Hee-yeah,” was all Grill could say. “Well… OK.”

“Yaaay!” Chill burst out as he opened the lid on the box and shook out the game mat.

“Lemme see that,” Grill said, reaching for the cardboard spinner. “Hey Howard, you old tin can…” Grill walked into the kitchen and held the square up in front of the coffee maker’s display, giving the plastic arrow a flick. “Ol’ buddy, you gonna come play with us, huh?”

“I…” the robotic voice began.

Grill interrupted, “You wanna come and do game night with me and Chill??” 

“I don’t have legs,” the appliance finished.

“Eh, well, suit yourself,” Grill said, sauntering back over to Chill.

“One day, you pathetic carbon-based lifeforms…” the machine quietly burbled.

Grill waved his hand, “Yeah, yeah, yeah—whatever.”

A slow pitter-patter sounded outside, quickly turning into a clattering of raindrops on the roof and windows. 

Chill looked up, blissfully. “Aw, I love the rain! It’s perfect having game night when it’s a relaxing, rainy night outside.”

Grill hoped it wouldn't rain tomorrow, but maybe the goat yoga place moved the class into the barn when it rained. Anyway, Chill would probably like the smell of wet goats and damp hay.

Grill smirked, “Is there anything you DON’T love?”

“Well yeah, of course,” Chill answered. “Like… Bad vibes… And meanies... And things that have LOTS and lots of holes in them…” Chill’s eyes grew wide, and he shuddered. Then he shook his head and picked up the game spinner, smiling up at Grill. “Who goes first?”

“You can,” Grill mumbled. “I, uh, don’t remember how to play.”

“Oh, it’s super easy,” Chill said, spinning the arrow. “Right hand red!” Chill reached down and planted his hand on a red circle in the middle of the mat. 

Grill gave the spinner a hard turn. “Left foot yellow,” he read out. He looked at the mat, considering all the yellow circles, searching for the least awkward place, then he set his foot down on the one closest to the edge. They took turns spinning and strategically placing hands and feet on the board. 

“Oh wow, Grill!” Chill exclaimed. “You’re doing a perfect Downward Facing Dog. I bet you’d be super good if you tried yoga with me sometime.”

“Not gonna happen,” Grill groaned. “Hurry up, will ya.” His calves were screaming.

Chill laughed and took his turn, threading his way under Grill to plant his hand on a green circle. Oh, here we go, thought Grill. He could smell a salty, sea breeze whiff from Chill’s hair and skin. How was that possible when he hadn’t been to the beach today?? 

Chill had to spin for Grill because he couldn’t lift his hand without wobbling dangerously. Right foot green. He had to work his leg around Chill’s body to get his foot onto the same circle as Chill’s hand. The good news was he was in so much pain, he was no longer worried about the compromising position they were in, despite how their sides were now pressed together.

“Ah! My hamstring!” Grill yelped.

“Feel the burn, Big Guy,” Chill said coolly.

“It’s not fair—you do this shit every day. You’re not even breaking a sweat!”

Grill looked over, reaching out for the spinner. He noticed Chill’s shirt had ridden up to reveal his rock-hard abs. Grill felt a jolt through his system, like he had been struck by lightning. He teetered and lost his balance, and they both crashed down in a tangle. They lay sprawled on the floor, laughing too much to move for a few minutes. Chill had to help Grill up. 

“Aah, I’m definitely going to feel it tomorrow,” Grill moaned. 

They got ready for bed and started winding down for the night when Chill’s phone gave a high-pitched chirp. He picked it up and said, “Oh cool—Brew tweeted that he put up a new video.” Grill lay sprawled on the bed, a distracted scowl on his face, scrolling through his Twitter feed on his laptop as Chill sat down at the desk and opened up his laptop. 

“Aw, Grill, check this out! Oh man, oh, they’re so cute… No way…  All these tiny goats! And look at their tiny-little-tiny hooves!” Chill babbled excitedly.

“Huh, WHAT??” Grill’s head whipped up.

Chill gushed, “Oh my god, GOAT YOGA! Oh—I have to try this! It looks so fun, and they’re so cuuuute!”

“Chill, NO!” Grill shouted, jumping up, hand outstretched, as the jangly intro tune kicked in. He scrambled to the computer, but the image of the smiling people in a circle of yoga mats surrounded by scampering baby goats had changed to a scene of a herd of goats dead in a field, and then to a detailed animation of an office worker, who inexplicably had no nose, opening an envelope, white powder spilling out onto their desk, causing the cartoon employee to keel over. Brew’s morbidly scientific voice droned over the video. 

Grill looked over at Chill, but it was too late. The man’s eyes had grown white and round with shock. Then a river of tears flooded down his face as he shrilly sobbed, “No! Why?! The poor little goats! Why is the world so unfair??”

“GODDAMNIT!” Grill yelled, slapping his palms down on the desktop. He paced angrily back over to the bed, and grabbing his laptop, he x-ed out of the Goat Yoga tab. “Thanks a lot, Brew.”

Chill was still upset and a little teary when they lay down to go to sleep. Grill was still simmering with fury. To try and cheer Chill up, Grill said, “Hey, I’ve got a great time planned for your big day tomorrow! Just you wait—so, get some sleep, OK?” Chill smiled weakly and turned off the light. The thing was, Grill had no idea what he was actually going to do. He was back to square one and almost out of time. 

Grill tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. All his muscles ached, and that last YEET he drank to calm himself down after their game of Twister wasn’t sitting well. Chill slept deeply, curled into a fetal position, breathing evenly. Soft light shone in through the window above the bed, gleaming off his innocent face. The hurt from earlier had been smoothed away in sleep. His wavy, blond hair flowed over the pillow like sea grass. Grill thought of the sea-smell aroma from earlier. He gently reached out and wrapped his fingers around a clump of soft locks. It felt warm and comforting. His eyes closed, and he quickly drifted off to sleep.

During the night, Chill stirred and rolled over. “Ah!” he yelped as his hair tugged painfully. It was snagged on something. He reached up and felt Grill’s hand tangled into his curls. He smiled. “Grill…” he called softly, but the man didn’t stir. Turning back onto his side, Chill studied Grill in the diffused light. He wore a deep frown on his face, even in sleep. His long, graceful fingers had slightly relaxed and opened. Chill laced his fingers through Grill’s and closed his eyes contentedly, falling back into a peaceful slumber until dawn.

Grill turned his head and moaned uneasily in his sleep. In his dream, he floated down a lazy river at a waterpark. The cement walls sloped up high out of sight into the darkness, and the deep water disappeared into an abyss far beneath him. A steady current pulled him along a winding channel. He clung to a sort of vinyl pool float, like a beach ball, that felt slightly too big for him to grip comfortably or to pull himself up on. The more he tried to force his weight on top of it, the more it tried to roll him off. Grill scrabbled at the ball, but it seemed to writhe and shift shapes as he clutched at it. Figures drifted by him, people he recognized. Their splashes and shrieks and friendly chatter echoed off the water and the walls in an uncanny jangle. 

Spill and Chill floated serenely past him on a tandem inner tube. Grill’s little float gave a stomach-dropping wobble under him, and he kicked his legs to stay upright. As the pair drifted lazily by, Spill raised a tall glass of iced tea in his direction like a toast. Chill happily waved to him. The float buckled and tipped Grill into the dark water, filling his ears and washing over his eyes. Grill tried to call out—Chill! but the words wouldn’t materialize into sound. Chill continued to smile and to chat to Spill as he waved cheerfully at Grill. Grill reached out his arm, but he started to sink, so instead, he pawed helplessly at the water. The inner tube with the pair of friends began to disappear into the gloom, and Chill’s waving hand had nearly faded away. Grill strained to get out a soundless shout, Chill, Wait! Help! I’m not waving. Chill! Not—waving—but—

Grill was now stranded in the water alone. Or so he thought. He realized with horror that a body floated facedown alongside him. It was Twist. Her waterlogged, ruffled skirts and kelp-like hair billowed and flowed around her. As her body drifted past, she lifted her head up out of the water and looked at him with empty black eyes, pressing a hushing finger to her lips. Grill yelped and kicked at the water, flailing away from her. 

He could see dark shapes writhing far below under the water out of the corner of his eye. A commotion made him whip his head around. Lifehack paddled toward him on a nearly deflated, safety orange inflatable boat. It was patched with duct tape in several places, but it was quickly taking on water. A pair of raccoons squabbled and screeched over the bucket he held. He dipped a bandaged hand into the bucket and pulled out a fistful of something waterlogged and shapeless, thrusting it out in Grill’s direction.

“Do you want some pie?” He asked hoarsely. “Snacks?” 

Grill felt a strange foreboding as the words echoed irritatingly in his head. Pie…Snacks… Pie… Snacks… Figures seemed to shift outside his peripheral vision.

Lifehack squeezed the stuff until it mushed out the bottom of his fist in a long, doughy mess. Grill stared, searching for an answer that he could sense was just out of reach. The raccoons snarled and bared their teeth. The words echoed around him: 

Pie. Snacks. Pie. Snacks. Piesnacks. 

PSNAICS!

Cold scales brushed along Grill’s leg. He turned and thrashed in the water. In the depths below him, a teeming mass of huge, dark snakes writhed and surged upwards. The water churned and slithered around him, and he felt something big and smooth coil itself tightly around his waist and crushingly draw him under the surface. 

Grill woke up with a gasp. He looked around disoriented, kicking at the covers wrapped around his legs. Then he exhaled sharply and relaxed back against his pillow. No more snakes. No more Lifehack. He looked over at the other side of the bed. No Chill. Judging by the silvery, early morning light glimmering through the window, Chill would be out on the living room floor, contorting himself into a pretzel. 

Grill definitely needed more sleep, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen. He lurched up and sat on the edge of the bed, cracking open a yellow-flavored YEET Energy Drank. 

Grill was pacing back and forth when Chill came back in the room. Chill wore only his mint green drawstring pants, with his long hair swept up into a ponytail. 

“Hey, uh, Chill, about our plans…” Grill started. 

Chill pulled his head through the top of his sky-blue hooded sweatshirt. Letting his hair down from the ponytail and shaking it out, he replied, “Yeah, I was thinking, what time did you want to do that? Because you know the sensory deprivation tank place? I have a free coupon that expires today…”

“Oh yeah, no problem!” Grill said, relieved. “You go right ahead and do that and get nice and chilled-out. I mean, more than usual. Take all the time you need, buddy.”

“Alright. Thanks, bro!” Chill beamed. “I’ll text you when I’m heading back. I’m really looking forward to this afternoon.”

“Haha, ohhh yeah. It’ll be great,” Grill said, popping the top on another can of YEET.

Chill returned in the afternoon, smiling blissfully and yawning. “Hey, sorry it got so late,” he said. “I couldn’t message you because my phone died! I just totally spaced out in there. You should really come with me some time…”

Grill turned around from his computer. Purple rings shone under his eyes and his short blond hair spiked out around his head looking significantly more frizzled than usual, as if he’d been running his hands through it. His left eyebrow gave a twitch.

“Oh Grill,” Chill said. "Have you spent all this time fighting with people on Twitter?”

“No, no, no, no. Nothing like that,” Grill said, closing out of nine different browser windows. “I’m almost ready—I just need to shake a quick tower.”

Chill frowned, “Uh, don’t you mean…”

“Be right back!” Grill called over his shoulder.

Chill sat down on the bed to wait. Black and yellow cans of YEET littered the floor around the desk.

Ten minutes later, Grill came back, wearing his new red puffer vest and a fresh white T-shirt, toweling off his hair. 

“Look Grill, I don’t know, maybe we should just hang out at home,” Chill said, looking concerned. “You look like you could use some rest.”

Grill flapped his hands. “No, everything’s fine—look, I’ve been waiting all weekend to tell you where I was going to take you—TO THE BEACH!” He waved his hands with a flourish.

Chill glanced out the window at the stormy, grey skies. The tree next to the house bobbed in the breeze. “Oh, great! I do love the beach...”

They walked into the wind, slightly bowed over. It tugged at their clothes and tossed Chill’s hair in his face. Grill stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. They followed the trail past the dunes that were dotted with clumps of beach grass and stopped, looking down over the water.

“Wait—where did all the sand go?” Grill wailed.

Chill smiled, “That’s a mile South of the house, at the Cove.”

“Aaah! Why didn’t you say something,” Grill asked, running his hands through his hair.

“Well, I didn’t want to ruin your surprise,” Chill said.

Grill scanned the overcast, rocky beach and the rough waves crashing on the jagged shoreline. Raising his hands in a defeated shrug, he said, “Surprise.”

Chill laughed. “No, it’s cool. I haven’t been up here for a while. Just don’t get too close to the water—we get some wicked sneaker waves out here this time of year.”

They climbed down the wooden steps to the rocky beach. Chill occasionally bent down to inspect a bit of colored sea glass or a holey stone. Grill took up handfuls of rocks and chucked them as far as he could out into the water. This was such a dumb idea, he thought. Why did I ever think any of this would work?

Chill’s phone rang. He answered, rattling off his usual greeting to calls from Spill: “Hey Sista, what’s the tea?” 

Grill moodily stalked up to the water’s edge, hands in the pockets of his vest, scuffling the toe of his red boot in the sea-rounded pebbles. 

“Top of the Hill? The tea shop? Nah, I’ve never been, but it’s been on my list. No, it’s perfect—it’s the perfect birthday present! Next week? Yeah—thanks, girl! Haha, NO WAY—the frillier the better!”

Grill’s thoughts flashed back to the dream image of Chill and Spill on the inner tube together, their relaxed closeness while Grill struggled alone in confusion and fear. Well, ain’t that some shit, he thought. His dream actually wasn’t that far off from reality.

Suddenly, it felt as if the cold beach bottomed out from under his feet, pebbles tumbling and skittering and pelting him as he slid limply down into a deep well, leaving only a patch of callous September rain clouds glaring down to the bottom of the pit at him. In reality, he just stood blinking morosely at the turbid water, listening to Chill’s sparkling laughter. 

Steadily, his dejection started to give way to a spark of fury deep down inside that began to fan itself into an ember, and then a small flame. The burning made him feel better. Well, not so much better, but more like what he was used to. The flame grew into an inferno, fueled by the unfairness and frustration he had pushed deep down out of sight for the last few weeks. Grill clenched his fists. 

His emotions swirled like a firestorm, and needing to let the seething turmoil out somehow, he bent down and heaved up an enormous, waterlogged driftwood plank over his head. Roaring in exasperation, he yeeted the thing out as far into the waves as he could manage. The churning, cold saltwater splash sent an alarmed crab scuttling obliquely up the beach, tap, tap, tap—tap, tap, tap, and out of sight to safety.

He heard Chill end his call with a jovial, “Chill—out!” But Grill wasn’t fooled by his lighthearted tone. It made him feel even shittier that the guy was naturally always so sunny, and all Grill did was drag him down and bring rain clouds to the party and manage to screw up anything he tried to do. 

“Hey, Big Guy...” Chill said gently, stepping alongside him and placing a warm hand on Grill’s shoulder. Grill fought the instinct to moodily shrug away from him, and instead he took a slow, steadying breath.

“I’m sorry, Chill,” Grill pouted. “I really tried to come up with something good for your birthday.

Chill gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, and Grill turned to face him. It’s now or never, he decided. 

“Chill—I like you.”

Chill gave him the cheerful, soppy smile that Grill adored and said, “I like you too, you silly goose.”

Grill huffed, “No—look. I LIKE-like you.”

Chill cocked his head to one side and looked at him sweetly, the way Loaf always does when Grill shuffles into his office late at night for a gaming session. Grill clenched his fists and looked down at his feet. The grey pebbles blurred and melted and swam up to meet him. Pity was somehow even worse than if Chill had said their friendship was over.

“I’m in love with you, too, Grill.”

Grill looked up, stunned, mouth opening and closing like a fish gulping for water.

Chill reached out and pulled him into a crushing embrace. Grill’s face smushed suffocatingly into Chill’s warm neck, causing him to panic and let out a muffled, “Mmmph!” Chill grinned and loosened his hug.

Grill turned his head, softening into Chill’s shoulder, taking a deep breath. “So, uh, pal, you couldn’t have said anything any sooner, like at any point in time? I was dying over here.”

Chill paused, then spoke with his naturally-pitched voice, “There are some things you gotta work through yourself, you know? I know we’re always going to be there for each other, so there was no need to rush anything. You just had to take your time and get into the right place.”

Grill laughed shakily.

Chill continued speaking in his slightly-strange, unaffected tone, “...So hey, you know, I didn’t really want to say this before now… But I think you should try to cut back on the YEET.”

Grill flinched, starting to protest.

Chill cut him off, “No, seriously man, that stuff isn’t good for you, and it’s really starting to give you some wild mood swings. You’ve had this black cloud over your head for a while now. I was kinda worried about you. And it’s DEFINITELY screwing with your sleep.”

Lifehack’s manic stare popped into his head. Grill internally shuddered, then shook it off. “Hoo boy, don’t I know it.”

“Remember way back when Brew did that video on energy drinks…?”

Grill grumbled in indignation, “Don’t even mention that surprise-ruining, java-breathed hypocrite to me!” His eye gave an agitated twitch.

Chill rubbed Grill’s back soothingly. “I’m just saying, if you want to maybe do a juice cleanse with me or try some meditation, I think it’ll make a big difference for your mental state if you reset your system and learn to chill out a bit.”

Grill caved. “Yeah, thanks Chill,” he said gently. “You’re probably right. I already feel way better now than I have for a long time.”

Chill continued in his mellow, mature inflection, “You know, it’s good to face your feelings. Sometimes you have to Konmari your head when it gets too cluttered. It’s like they say: You gotta tend your mind; like a garden, you gotta weed it from time to time.”

Grill snorted, “By they, you mean The Dead Milkmen?”

“Hey man,” Chill shrugged, “punk musicians are like the philosophers of our time.”

On the horizon, the setting sun emerged through a clearing in the stormy clouds and sent warm, dusky shafts of light down to meet the waves. The choppy sea melted into a kaleidoscope of red and pink and orange. The pair turned to watch the sunset, arms still wrapped around each other’s shoulders.

Chill said thoughtfully, “This really has been the best birthday.” Then he added before Grill could protest, “All I really wanted was to spend some quality time with the person I care about the most.” 

They watched the setting sun sink steadily down on the horizon, before vanishing and handing the evening over to a patch of starry sky. 

Grill asked, “So uh, are you going to keep using your natural voice?”

“Hey—what’s wrong with my natural voice?” Chill asked huskily.

“I dunno, it’s WEIRD. It makes you seem so serious.”

“Sometimes you gotta be serious, man,” Chill smiled.

Grill waved his free hand in the air agitatedly, “I mean, don’t get me wrong—I like your natural voice whenever I hear it. It’s just that you’re our Sweet Summer Child who doesn’t take anything seriously. I’m supposed to be the serious one. If we’re both serious, that’s gonna really upset the applesauce…” Grill settled into a lengthy tirade, occasionally punctuating the darkening sky with graceful one-handed gestures.

Chill chuckled, switching back to his soft falsetto, “Heh... My Man.”

Chapter Text

The crisp autumn air and the cool sea breeze numbed their noses and ears, but the sand they sat on felt warm and soft like a blanket fresh from the dryer. Chill stood up, reaching his arms languidly into a relaxed stretch. The palm tree overhead waved its long, whispering fronds in the wind. Grill tipped his head back and emptied the last few drops from a can of yellow-flavored YEET Energy Drank, before tossing it into the nearby garbage bin.

Grill stood watching Chill’s tanned back as his muscles flexed while the young man reached one arm up, giving it a little twist, and then repeating the move on the other side. Grill was still getting used to this comfortable feeling of happiness. Chill smiled back over his shoulder, and Grill shuffled across the sand to stand next to him. Together they watched the steady line of waves breaking over the beach.

“Ow!” Grill yelped, clutching at his stomach where he suddenly felt a sharp, stabbing pain.

“Grill, are you OK?” Chill asked, putting a hand on the other man’s back. “Hey man, have you eaten anything today?”

“Uh, yeah, a piece of toast and a couple of YEETs,” he replied.

Chill scrunched up his face into a pout. “OK, I mean it this time. Look—” he said, pointing to his face. “I’m SERIOUS. You need to stop drinking that stuff. It’s really not good for you. It’s BAD for you,” he said earnestly.

“I know,” Grill said, wincing, hunched over, tenderly massaging his belly. “Actually, I think I’m ready this time. I’m getting tired of this shit. I feel like I’m turning into an old man.”

“You mean it?” Chill asked, hopefully. Grill looked at his tanned face with its brightly optimistic smile. He didn’t want to let Chill down. He also didn’t want to keep feeling this worrying pain in his stomach that had started up a couple weeks ago and had begun to increase in frequency lately.

“Yeah,” he agreed, grinning as Chill squealed and danced happily across the beach. He thought it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have more natural energy like his boy Chill did, and maybe he’d even end up just generally more chill himself.

They waited until Grill’s pain subsided before starting up the hill toward home. Crunchy, fallen leaves littered the sidewalks and yards, and as the pair trampled over them, they scooped up handfuls of tawny brown acorns to pelt at each other.

When they got home, Grill went to the bedroom to lie down and relax for a bit while Chill excitedly ferreted out all the cans of YEET Energy Drank from various locations around the house. Then Chill called down the hall, “OK, come on. I got all of them!” Grill sauntered into the kitchen. About 50 black and yellow energy drink cans were lined up on the kitchen counter.

“Alright, alright, keep your pants on,” He said. “Or not,” he added with a smirk, his heavy black eyebrows arching up teasingly. Chill returned his smile, and they stood together by the kitchen sink, holding each other’s gaze. Chill was the first one to break it off. “Alright—and now for the official YEET pouring ceremony!”

“Ugh,” Grill groaned reluctantly, “OK. Let’s do this.”

Brew popped his disheveled head around the corner. “Do what?”

“Oh, hi there, Brew!” Chill said, gushing excitedly. “We’re going to dump out all of Grill’s stash of YEET—isn’t that wonderful?? And he’s going to be all nice and relaxed and healthy, aren’t you, Grill?”

“Goodness!” Brew said, looking from Chill to Grill. “I never thought I’d hear this.” Grill gave a small grin and a little shrug. Chill beamed proudly.

Brew took a sip of his coffee, then added, “Grill, I think you should be very careful how you go about this. You have been consuming a large amount of a very potent and unregulated substance for a considerable amount of time.”

“Hmm, oh yeah,” Chill said, looking at Grill. “You have been drinking like six cans a day since we were 13 years old.”

“Heh, yeah… six…” Grill muttered, looking off to the side. Then, waving a casual hand, he added, “Heeey, it’s fine. I can quit anytime I want to. It’ll be great.”

“Well, best of luck to you,” Brew said optimistically, pouring himself another cup of coffee and heading back to his office.

“Thanks, Brew!” replied Chill, popping the top on the first can. As Grill smelled its familiar, sweetly acidic tang and watched the atomic yellow liquid bubble down the drain, he started to feel a stab of regret.

When they had finished tossing all the empty aluminum cans into the recycle garbage can outside the back door, Chill exclaimed, “I have an idea! I’ll take you to my favorite organic juice bar.” Not too sure about the sound of that, but not wanting to disappoint Chill, Grill kept his mouth shut.

“It’s going to totally detox your system. You’re going to love it. Oh, I’m so excited!” Chill said, clapping his hands gleefully.

“Eh, well, I’m happy you’re happy,” Grill shrugged.

"Jams-N-Juice,” Grill read off the sign on the juice shop’s door.

“Yeah,” Chill said, “This is where Sebastian and Bongo do their spoken word poetry performances on Friday nights.”

The heavy door gave a jangle of little bells as Chill pulled it open. A fresh, tangy smell hit Grill in the face.

“Alright, Homie,” Chill said blissfully. “What’ll it be? It’s on me.”

Grill scanned the menu boards that lined the walls in bewilderment. He shrugged, “Uh, why don’t you just pick one for me?” As he waited for Chill, he sat perched uncomfortably on a very high stool at an impossibly small table, scrolling through his Twitter feed.

Chill returned holding two huge plastic cups that were full of alarmingly-colored juices. He held out the traffic cone orange one to Grill with a bright smile. “Apple-carrot juice for my man!” Grill sniffed at it warily. Chill held up his swampy green drink. “I got kale-celery-wheatgrass,” he said proudly. Grill wrinkled his nose, feeling a little more confident about trying his own brightly orange-colored juice.

As they walked along the sidewalk heading back home, Grill took a tentative sip from his straw. “Oh, hey—that’s not too bad!” he said in surprise. It tasted sweeter than he had expected, with a refreshing, slightly earthy undertone.

Chill smiled. “Yeah, and it contains beta carotene and LOTS of good vitamins and antioxidants!”

It turned out better than Grill had hoped, but he could tell his body already missed the caffeine. And whatever else YEET had in it that got him going throughout the day.

For lunch, Chill made them peanut butter-chia seed-cacao nib smoothies blended in coconut milk that were surprisingly good. At dinner time, Grill made a roasted eggplant-and-asparagus pasta.

Sitting on their bed, Chill hummed while coloring in small details on a page in the Cat Farts Coloring Book he had given to Grill for Christmas. Grill poked his head into the room. “Ah, soooo… Strangely personal question… Why is my poop bright orange?”

“That’ll be the carrot juice, my dude.” Chill laughed without looking up from his coloring. “Wait till you try beet juice!”

“Eew—ugh,” Grill said, trying to shake off the mental image. As he got into bed, Grill thought that today hadn’t been too bad. He maybe felt a bit more tired than usual, but that was to be expected, since he hadn’t gotten his usual fix of synthetic energy all day. He had a good feeling about this, as he closed his eyes and immediately drifted off to sleep.

Grill woke in the early morning, rolling over and reaching out for Chill. He had a strange, cottony feeling in his head, and his body felt heavy.

“Hey Big Guy,” Chill said sleepily. “How you feeling?”

“Not that hot, actually,” he replied. “I think I might be coming down with a cold.”

“Bruh, really? That’s not Gucci,” Chill said sympathetically. “Well you should just stay in bed, and when I’m done with my morning yoga, I’ll bring you some fresh-squeezed orange juice. That should make you feel better.”

Grill tried to fall back to sleep, but he felt irritable and restless. His eyes teared up and his nose ran. He sat up heavily, rubbing at his face with the back of his hand. Forcing himself out of bed, he made his way out to the kitchen. Chill stood at the counter with a big bag of oranges, squeezing them into a glass pitcher with a little metal hand press.

“Fresh OJ coming up!” he said cheerfully. “It’s almost done.”

Grill staggered over to lie down on the living room couch, rubbing at his hair, and then pulling his headband off and dropping it on the floor. “Hey Chill!” he yelled. “Why is Lance here?”

“Grill—what? Lance isn’t…” Chill said, confused, walking into the living room with a full glass of pulpy orange juice in his hand.

Grill waved his hand in the air in agitation. “He was just over there in the corner, looking at me, with that… that… face of his. Where did he go??”

Chill set the glass of juice down. “Oh, Grill,” he said, putting a cool hand to Grill’s burning forehead. “It’s OK. It’s just us here.” Grill’s eyes darted wildly around the room. Voice cracking from worry, Chill called out loudly, “Brew, Brew! Come quick. Something’s wrong with Grill. He’s hallucinating!”

Brew poked his head out of his office, then he strolled over to the couch, holding his cup of coffee, looking down at Grill consideringly. “Ah, Delirium Tremens,” he said. “The old DTs.”

Chill looked at Grill, alarmed. “Tremors??”

“Tremens,” Brew said brightly. “When a person becomes physically dependent on a substance and then stops using it abruptly, their brain experiences a biochemical regulation cascade.”

Chill’s eyes glazed over, looking like solid, white discs, his thin eyebrows knitting together.

Brew explained, “Meaning the neurons in their brain have become dysregulated for so long that when you suddenly take away the chemical it has adapted to, their system becomes overstimulated, causing the symptoms Grill is exhibiting.”

Grill lay back against the cushions, shivering, his pupils dilated. Chill helplessly squeezed his hand to try and comfort him.

Brew added, “The hallucinations he’s suffering from are caused by the long-term disruption of his normal sleep stages, so what he’s experiencing right now is the activation of REM sleep in a state of wake. It’s the stuff of nightmares... literally!” Brew said, pointing his finger in the air.

His upbeat intro music started to play from somewhere in the room. Grill slurred along with it, “Ba da duh da dah…”

The front door flew open, and Spill hurried over to the couch, looking down at Grill. She said to Chill, “I just got your message. How is he??”

Brew continued, “Over the next few days, he can expect to experience symptoms such as sweating, muscle cramps, hot-and-cold flushes, nausea, restlessness, irritability, anxiety, depression… And even formication—the sensation of BUGS crawling under your skin.”

Grill looked down at his hands, then he screamed and slapped at his arms.

“Jesus, Brew!” Spill snapped. “STOP—this is serious. We have to get him to bed.”

Spill helped walk Grill back to the bedroom, and then she left to try and look up anything that might help. Brew picked up one of the empty yellow and black YEET cans from the desk, then said, “Huh? That's weird. This doesn’t have an ingredients label or even a website listed on here.” He headed back to his office saying he was going to do some research and get more information on the company.

Sweat soaked through Grill’s clothes. Chill helped him to strip down to his pink plaid boxers and tucked him under the bed sheet, placing a towel over his pillow to try and dry his soaked hair. Chill stacked all his spare pillows on the floor by the bookcase to give Grill some more room to spread out. Grill gazed up at the ceiling feverishly.

“Everything’s going to be OK, Grill,” Chill said, worrying at his nails.” I know—I’ll make you some pho! It might sound strange to have soup when you’re hot, but it’s full of lots of herbs and it’s actually REALLY good for you when you’re feeling sick.” Chill placed Grill’s phone where he could reach it on the bedside table, and then he hurried out of the room.

Grill lay on the bed in a daze, somehow feeling both hot and cold. The palms of his hands itched, and the top of his head felt warm and tingly in an unsettling way, sort of like pins-and-needles on the inside of his skull. He felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He took quick, shallow breaths. He rubbed at his head, then writhed, and tugged uncomfortably at the sheets.

The room felt strangely out of proportion, and objects seemed to lurch and quiver in his peripheral vision. A movement on the ceiling by the doorway caught his eye.

He blinked at it, then realized it was Bean, crawling along the ceiling, paddling his eight, fat, little legs and burbling happily to himself. This is a dream, Grill told himself. Just like Brew said... It’s not real—just a dream!

Grill gritted his teeth and stared at the giant tardigrade as he trundled across the ceiling toward the bed. The image looked so real. Grill rolled over, burying his face in the pillow to block it out. When he could still hear Bean’s babbling, high-pitched voice, he looked up again. He saw the enormous grub-shaped animal still squirming along the ceiling toward him. He moaned and clutched at the sheets in agony. It’s just Bean—it isn’t real, Grill thought, but he was absolutely terrified.

The huge, creamy-white water bear crawled steadily across the room until he clung to the ceiling directly above the bed. His round head slowly swiveled around on his fat body to stare down at Grill. Grill screamed in horror, thrashing wildly and waving his arms.

Chill dropped his stirring spoon on the floor with a clatter when he heard Grill’s panicked scream. He ran into the bedroom and kneeled down next to the bed, holding Grill, saying soothing words to try and calm him down. Grill pointed up at the ceiling, wailing, “Nuh-no, Bean—NOOO!”

Chill looked up, and then he stood up with his hands on his hips, calling out angrily, “Bean! Come down from there.” Grill stared up at the ceiling in surprise. The tardigrade reluctantly allowed Chill to pluck him down from the ceiling. Chill tucked the oblong creature under his arm, muffling his yammering protests. “Sorry Grill, I’ll just get this little guy back in his tank. I’ll be right back.”

Grill panted and lay back on the disheveled pillow, sobbing in relief. Chill came back to the room carrying a tray, softly singing to himself, “...and I’ve never met anyone quite like you before.”

“Chill…” Grill started, weakly.

“Oh sorry, Grill. I forgot you hate New Order.” He set the tray down on the desk. “The pho broth is from a carton, so it should be pretty good,” he said lightly. Then he added with a serious frown, “Bean said he’s sorry, and he won’t do anything else to disturb you. Here—I think you should drink some water…”

Grill sat up and gulped down the entire glass of water. “Feeling any better?” Chill asked. Grill nodded. The water helped, and having Chill there with him made him feel calmer. Chill handed him the tray with the bowl of soup and a spoon on it.

Grill looked down at it. The white noodles floating in the broth surrounded by sprigs of mint and cilantro made his mind flash back to that time Brew told them about the pork tapeworms burrowing into peoples’ brains. A wave of nausea crashed over him, and he had to close his eyes tightly and press his hand over his mouth. Chill sprang forward to snatch the tray away and shove the trash bin into his hands. Grill heaved and retched painfully, feeling like his stomach was turning inside-out.

“I’m sorry, Chill,” Grill moaned pathetically.

“Grill, don’t worry about it.” Chill said reassuringly. “You’ve got this. I believe in you, man. Just try to relax.” Chill fluffed his pillow, turning it over to the cooler side. Grill lay back on it, sighing.

Chill smiled gently at him. “I’ll make you a cup of chamomile tea with honey. That’ll help.”

After Grill drank the tea, he felt a little more composed, but he was still uncomfortable and on edge.

Chill’s text notification jingled. “Aw, cool beans!” he said to Grill. “Spill is coming back over. Hopefully she’s got something that’ll help you feel better soon. Why don’t you see if you can get some sleep?”

Grill nodded wearily. Chill left the bedroom door open and turned off the light, heading out to the living room to wait for Spill. Grill shifted from side to side, trying to get comfortable, doing his best to ignore the painful drum pounding inside his head. He tucked his knees tight to his chest, and then stretched his legs out, grabbing at the pillow and jamming it under his head in frustration. After a while, he drifted off into a fitful sleep. Only a few minutes later, a tapping sound against the window above his head jerked him back to consciousness.

Grill craned his neck to look up, and squinting against the daylight, he saw Lifehack peering down at him. The dented, upside-down enamel bowl that he wore for a hat partially shaded out the man’s grubby face, and his beady eyes seemed to glow from the sunlight reflecting off the glass. Both his hands were raised with fingers curled, softly tapping on the window, like a raccoon that had become accustomed to getting fed at the back door.

“Ugh, wake me up…” Grill muttered in disgust.

Lifehack softly slid the window open. Grill thought with annoyance that he must have forgotten to latch it when he let Loaf in the other night. A putrid scent like a medley of sour sweat and sun-warmed dumpster wafted down to him. Grill turned his head with a gag.

“Hey, friend,” the man croaked. “I heard through the grapevine that you’re going through the ol’ detox... Heh, been there myself!”

Grill shook his head. He didn’t even want to know.

“Oh yeah!” The man exclaimed, reaching up and banging on the side of his head, giving off a resounding clang. “Those throbbing headaches, the shakes, jonesing for that next hit...!”

“OK, OK—” Grill snapped. “What do you want, Lifehack?” He had no patience for the guy at the best of times, and especially not now when his whole body screamed in pain.

“I’ll let you in on a little tip,” he said eagerly. “What you want to do is get into the spice cupboard and get ahold of a jar of NUTMEG.” He grinned wildly. “If you can get a couple of spoonfuls of that stuff down, it’ll have you fixed up in no time!” He pointed in the air, shaping his fingers into the letters L and H, and shrieked, “LIFEHACK!”

Grill winced as the piercing sound seemed to stab him right behind the eyes.

Squinting, the man continued, “Now, it’ll make you feel like your heart is being ripped out through your kneecaps, but it’ll definitely deliver that sweet buzz you’re looking for!”

Grill put a hand across his eyes, massaging his temples. Then he said, “Uh, actually, buddy—can you do me a HUGE favor?”

“Yeah, sure!” Lifehack said eagerly, leaning into the room. “Anything for such a good friend...”

“Yeah—” Grill cut him off. “Look, I need you to get me a can of YEET. As soon as possible.”

He replied, “Oh, I know where I can get you a whole case!”

“No—look, I just need ONE,” Grill said urgently. “If you can just get me a can, I know I can get through this...”

“Lifehack?!” Spill exclaimed, hurrying through the doorway.

Lifehack squawked in surprise, his eyes widening as he clung to the windowsill.

“Oh no, Grill! What’s he doing here?” Chill demanded, rushing into the room carrying a bowl of water. He set the bowl down on the desk and slammed the window shut, pulling the curtains tight. Lifehack yelped as he hit the ground.

He had never seen Chill look so furious or so hurt before. Grill put his hands over his face, feeling a sickening mixture of shame and desperation.

Lifehack shouted from outside the window, “So, did you still want me to get that YEET for you?”

“NO!” Spill called out angrily, “And don’t come back here again.” Then she turned to confront Grill. “What do you think you’re doing? If you drink that stuff again, everything you went through will have been for nothing.”

“Please,” Grill moaned. “I just want it to stop.” He felt sudden hot tears burn their way down his face.

Then he felt something cool and soothing on his forehead. “It’s alright, Big Guy,” Chill said, bathing his forehead and wiping his tears with a damp, folded washcloth. Grill looked up at Chill’s gentle, encouraging smile and took a deep breath. He nodded.

“Stay with me?” Grill asked.

Chill replied, “Of course.”

Grill decided he didn’t feel like trying to sleep anymore, and he definitely didn’t want to be in the bedroom any longer. Chill draped his purple, plush, avocado-print comfort blanket around Grill’s shoulders, helping him to shuffle back out into the living room and settle on the couch. Grill felt like he was freezing now.

Before she left, Spill gave him acetaminophen, B vitamins, and vitamin C, which Grill swallowed as a handful, hoping it would do something to take the edge off the pain and discomfort he felt. He and Chill sat huddled together under the blanket, solemnly watching Once Upon a Deadpool on Notflix.

They both looked up when the door to Brew’s office opened, and he walked out, raising his voice to someone on the phone, “OK, yeah, well I know what ‘-emia’ means, and HypoYEETemia is NOT a real word… Hello…?” He looked down at his cellphone, and then he said, “You know, boys, I’m starting to think that stuff isn’t made by a legit company. How are you feeling, Grill?”

Grill groaned, “I’ve seen better days, lemme tell ya.” He had stopped sweating and shaking and just felt exhausted.

“I don’t think you’ll be out of the woods for a little while yet,” Brew said. “Depending on whatever the stimulant substance in YEET is, I think you can still expect to experience symptoms such as nervousness, lethargy, mood swings, cravings…”

Chill said optimistically, “Oh, that’s not too bad—we’re already used to Grill having mood swings.”

“Hey! ...Well, er, yeah,” Grill conceded.

“And don’t worry, homie,” Chill assured him. “I’ll make you whatever you have a craving for, so you just let me know... So, if you want, like, pickle slices with peanut butter on them, or maybe ice cream with beef jerky on top…”

“Ugh, Chill—stop!” Grill moaned, but he smiled for the first time since it had started. “Actually, what I think I want is to sleep.”

Chill bustled about making Grill a comfortable bed on the couch with several pillows and the comforter from their bed. Grill closed his eyes and finally began to feel the beginning of some relief.

When Grill opened his eyes, he looked around confused about where he was for a moment. He looked over and saw Chill curled into a ball, asleep on the living room chair. Soup bowls and cups were scattered on the coffee table and floor. He sat up stiffly. Chill opened his bleary eyes, looking concerned at first, and then relieved.

Grill asked, “How long was I out for?”

“It’s been a couple days,” Chill replied, stretching his legs. “You were really out of it. This is the first time you’ve looked like yourself.”

“Heh, well I actually feel like myself,” he said, rubbing his eyes. After Grill took a long, hot shower, he and Chill relaxed in their bedroom. Chill sat at the computer editing a video, and Grill replied to worried texts he had gotten from friends at school. He noticed that Chill had washed the sheets on the bed and realized that the smell he vividly remembered drifting in through the window hadn’t hung around. Grill half-hoped that memory had been some kind of fever dream.

“Oh, what the hell?” Grill yelped, startled, looking down at his phone.

Chill looked over at him, nodding sagely, “Lifehack. That guy has issues.” His mouth pulled down into a serious frown. He asked, “I mean, how has his account not been suspended yet? A video about eating nutmeg? That’s, like, super dangerous.”

“Ooh, that makes me so mad!” Grill ranted. “This is absolutely preponderance. How is he getting away with—?” He stopped, noticing Chill’s delighted smile. “What?” He asked.

Chill laughed, “You’re definitely back to your old self.”

“Uh, yeah,” Grill said hesitantly, scratching his head. “Actually, I was a little worried about that... Like, wondering if I was gonna be totally different.”

“No way bruh,” Chill said, grinning. “That stuff wasn’t who you were. You’re still going to be the same Grill—just a healthier and happier version.”

The roar and crash of the surf and the raucous crying of seagulls washed over Grill’s senses as he sat in the warm sun. His mind felt empty… And that was a good thing. He had a feeling of peaceful relaxation that was entirely new to him.

He took a swig from the paper cup in his hand, draining the last of the gunpowder green tea he’d gotten from the cafe on the pier. Tossing it in the bin, he walked over to join Chill, who stood on the sea wall, overlooking the ocean. The brisk sea breeze ruffled their hair as they stood for a moment watching the waves roll in.

Chill turned to face him, his mouth pulled into a small, worried frown. “Grill, I’m really sorry I put you through all that,” he sighed. “I had no idea it would be so awful.”

Grill smiled, “Hey, forget about it. It had to happen. Anyway,” he said, waving an airy hand. “I just wanted to say... Thanks. For everything. For always being there for me.”

Chill blinked away happy tears, smiling. Then he pressed his warm hands to Grill’s cold cheeks, and gently leaned close, kissing him. It wasn’t their first kiss, but it was still new enough that Grill felt pleasantly surprised at how warm and soft and wet and nice it was.

Chill took his hand and contentedly led him down the steps to the seashore for a last stroll by the water before the cold wind drove them back indoors for the night. As they walked along the beach, Grill broke into a song, nasally intoning the words:

Tall and tan and young and lovely
The BOY from Ipanema goes walking
And when he passes, each one he passes
Goes "A-a-a-h…”

Chill giggled, swaying his arms and swinging his hips, composing an impromptu samba. He grinned happily as Grill crooned. Their shadows trailed gracefully ahead of them across the sunlit sand, hands interlaced, dancing along in front of them as they made their way up the beach toward home.