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Chapter Text

Bojack had to admit that Mr.Peanutbutter's companionship was almost tolerable with several shots of vodka in his system.

They would argue over who pays for the drinks and gossip about outfits. Bojack would cuss out and spit venom at the dog, and Mr.Peanutbutter would take it with a smile, keeping his hold on Bojack when he was too drunk to stand. Bojack would rest his head on the other's shoulder as he attempted to walk. And as the horse would find his footing, the dog would subconsciously trail his hand from Bojack’s shoulder, down his spine, to the small of his back. It would linger, only for a second, but it still made Bojack shiver.

Mr.Peanutbutter's company was almost enjoyable.

That is until he met Jessica Biel. Now Bojack found his side more empty and cold more often than not at parties. Of course, there would be other people who would throw their arms around his shoulders, who would rub elbows with him. But the warmth never lasted. And Mr.Peanutbutter…

Bojack looked over to see him smiling at Jessica. A hand rubbed gentle circles on the small of her back.

Bojack was cold. So to the next pretty lady that fluttered her lashes at him, Bojack would try chasing some warmth for himself. And if not with a good lay, he would chase it with more alcohol.

This process would repeat itself at almost every party, every convention that the horse would attend with Mr.Peanutbutter- and the behavior was not atypical for Bojack, per se- but the alcohol he downed had never tasted so bitter.

And the fact that it was Mr.Peanutbutter, the stupid, darling golden boy of Hollywood, that was the center of his focus had Bojack feeling even worse. It was infuriatingly easy to be jealous of Mr.Peanutbutter. Mr.Peanutbutter finds love so easily, after all. From everyone.

"Ugh," Bojack groaned, pinching in between his eyes. He needed to stop thinking about that stupid mutt. Because right now, if someone were to look a little closer, it almost looked like Bojack…

Bojack drew his hand away from his face and peered into his empty glass. He gnawed at his lower lip. It almost looked like something dangerous. A danger that got Herb fired.

Bojack spun his seat around to run his eyes over the crowd, resting his back on the bar counter. One young girl caught his eye and winked at him. 

Bojack smirked and got ready to rise from his seat when a flash of gold caught his eye and stopped him. Automatically, his eyes flicked over and rested on the labrador, who was already looking at him. The dog wasn't wearing his signature smile- he was slightly frowning, and Bojack felt his own mouth twitch down in response. If the dog disapproved of his behavior- then he could fuck off.

A feather-light touch on his arm drew his attention. He turned to come face to face with the young girl who had earlier caught his eye. She looked him up and down. Bojack grinned, the topic of Mr.Peanutbutter all but forgotten.

The girl tugged on his sleeve, and Bojack stumbled up before being stopped by a rather harsh tug on his other sleeve.

Mr.Peanutbutter was on his other side, and Bojack opened his mouth to snap at him before the world suddenly tipped dangerously. He fell ungracefully back onto the bar stool. Bojack groaned and brought a hand up to rub at his pounding head. 

Jesus, how much did I drink? It wasn't that much, right?

Bojack let his head flop down on the table. Several tall glasses and a number of empty shot glasses sat before him.

Oh, Bojack thought and then chuckled drunkenly at his forgetfulness. Behind him, he could hear Mr.Peanutbutter and the girl talking.

"Stop it. Both of you are clearly drunk."

"Soooo? We're just trying to have some- hic - fun."

Abruptly, Bojack's struck with a vicious wave of nausea, and he tuned them out to focus on not spilling his guts onto the table. His vision was going all splotchy and black, like one of those ink paintings they use to test on insane people, and Bojack found it was a lot of fun making out the shapes.

He could almost make something out, but it was turning yellowish. A tiger?

"Bojack?"

The question took a few seconds or minutes, or hours to register. "Mmmmwhat.”

"Bojack." 

"What. Whaddya want?" Bojack slurred.

"I think it's time for you to go home, buddy."

There was a warm hand on his back, and Bojack shakily stood up, remembering this old song and dance.

Bojack gets drunk at a party. Mr.Peanutbutter eventually makes his way over and shoos him off. Rinse and repeat.

Bojack turns and spots Jessica trailing behind them, giving Bojack a sympathetic look. To the dog's back, she gives a withering stare. Irritated with her boyfriend running off again, no doubt. Bojack ignores her.

In her spot a few months ago was a different girl. And before her was another. And before her? Katrina.

The warmth leaves his back.

Mr.Peanutbutter waves. Jessica tries pulling her boyfriend back to the party. Bojack watches her try.

For a second, they are just three people, bereft of something meaningful.

___ ___ ___

Bojack Horseman was a petty bastard.

So the same year of the disastrous start and end of the Bojack Horseman Show, Bojack saw Mr.Peanutbutter enter the annual Halloween party without anyone on his arm and felt unapologetically malignant about it.

He pulled the dog aside as everyone else piled into his house.

"Jeez, no date? How long did the last one last?" Bojack taunted the dog, hoping he could rile him enough that Mr.Peanutbutter would throw a punch or something and subsequently stain his golden name.

"Three months." He answered honestly, with a stupid, sheepish grin, annoyingly not taking the bait. "Our goals in life were too drastic." He finished with air quotes and a casual shrug.

Bojack could tell, though, that he was poking at fresh bruises and felt nastily rewarded by it. A familiar voice told him he was acting like a piece of shit. He, in turn, told it to shut the fuck up. Mr.Peanutbutter has it too good, anyways. Anguish keeps one humble, after all, and Mr.Peanutbutter is overdue for a large dose.

If that were the case, one would think you could show some humility yourself, asshole.

Shut up. Bojack told himself. And besides, Mr.Peanutbutter is more bearable to deal with when single.

"But anyways, enough about me,” Mr.Peanutbutter diverted with a strained chuckle, “Nice party, Bojack! So generous of you to hold it every year!" Mr.Peanutbutter clapped a hand on Bojack's shoulder, who quickly shrugged him off.

"I'm beginning to think everyone willingly ignores me when I express how much I hate this Halloween party," Bojack grumbled.

"Yeah, sorry, what was that, buddy?" Mr.Peanutbutter asked, cocking his head and sticking his tongue out.

Before Bojack could respond, the dog barrelled on. "Hey! Where's your costume?"

Already tired of the other's presence without booze in his system, the horse rolled his eyes and turned toward the kitchen. "I don't have one," he deadpanned over his shoulder.

The dog followed him into the kitchen, because of course he did, and looked at Bojack expectantly, because of course he did, that self-centered prick. Bojack huffed.

"And where's your costume, Mr.Peanutbutter?" He asked, faux enthusiasm dripping from his voice.

Obliviously, Mr.Peanutbutter ignored the tone and sighed dramatically. "I don't really know, actually..." he trailed off. 

Bojack noticed the tone and sudden change in mood and knew the dog was in desperate need of letting something off his chest (that something being his flavorful love life, no doubt). He sighed and rolled his eyes, knowing he was the soon-to-be unwilling confidant. Lucky!

"I think you do, actually. Is it about- what's-her-face?" Bojack asked gracelessly, deciding to hurry things up. There was liquor to drink and chicks to look at. Although Mr.Peanutbutter wasn't the worst thing to look at, Bojack supposed.

"Kind of…" Mr.Peanutbutter said, ears drooping all mopily. "I'm just so used to couple's costumes, I guess."

"You and Jessica didn't wear matching costumes," Bojack pointed out, and since when did he remember that?

"No. I guess not. Jessica wanted us to dress up as some of the Notebook characters, but I dressed up as an actual notebook." 

Bojack snorted at that.

"Maybe I just miss getting ready with someone I love," Mr.Peanutbutter continued morosely, and Bojack scoffed, which went ignored. "Someone to make smile with my costume, I guess. Someone to tell, 'this is going to be the best Halloween ever!'"

"Wow," Bojack said flatly. He had about five gripes and several questions about what he just heard. He decided to stick with one.

"Love? Seriously? You dated her for like three months," Bojack stated incredulously.

Mr.Peanutbutter only shrugged. "I can't help what I feel."

"How about the lady? Did she love you?"

At that, Mr.Peanutbutter looked down at his feet. "I thought she did," he admitted quietly.

It painted a sorry sight, but Bojack suddenly didn't feel like basking in the dog's pitiful state like he normally gleefully would.

"Then why are you still hung up about her? She didn't love you, big deal. Lots of people don't love me, but you don't see me crying about that."

Mr.Peanutbutter remained quiet, examining a spot on the floor, so Bojack spun towards the punch bowl. "Y'know, maybe she was confused, is all," he continued.

Mr.Peanutbutter glanced at Bojack. "What do you mean?"

"Well, y'know," Bojack started with a dismissive wave. "Most of us keep our one-night stands to just that." He started pouring himself a cup of punch and crossed his fingers that he'd find the drink spiked.

"Vanessa was not a one-night stand," Mr.Peanutbutter said, hardening his tone and furrowing his brows.

"Uh-huh. Maybe to you," Bojack said absentmindedly, taking a sip of the very much regular fruit punch and pursing his lips. "Ugh, what are we, babies?" He pulled a flask out of his pocket and poured half of its contents into his cup. Then he drained the rest of the flask.

Mr.Peanutbutter didn't respond, and when he glanced up, he found him staring intensely into the crowd. Following his gaze, Bojack couldn't find anything particularly eye-catching among the writhing mass of drunken bodies. Then again, this was Mr.Peanutbutter they were talking about here- he could find anything interesting.

"What are you looking at? Found your next Vanessa?" Bojack asked, a callous smile on his face. That was a good one , he congratulated himself.

However, he wasn't ready for the sudden hand on his shoulder and the harsh shove the dog gave him, making him stumble back into the counter. He yelped as he felt his spine mash up against the side and his solo cup slipped from his hand. A good portion of the fruity concoction soaked into his clothes during the cup's tumble to the floor.

"OW! Jesus-" Bojack cut himself off as the labrador got all up in his face.

"I don't get what your deal is," Mr.Peanutbutter growled, his voice more serious than Bojack's ever heard. His ears twitched instinctively.

"You're always the most critical about my love life-" he stopped as Bojack scoffed again. "See? This is what I mean! What's so funny about me trying to find love, huh?"

Bojack stood up to his full height, despite his spine complaining against it, jutted his chin out, and crossed his arms. "Well, to start, as I said before- love? Seriously? You fly through girlfriends and wives faster than directors can cast Robert Downey Jr. in their films following his comeback- this year in 2008. You're a notorious playboy, Mr.Peanutbutter, and everyone knows it. At the same time, absolutely no one believes for a second that any girl you date is a keeper- as likely a sentiment the girls you date to share." He glared at the labrador, who looked livid.

"First, I appreciate the oddly-time-specific comparison, and secondly- like you're one to talk, Bojack. You'll fuck anyone who looks at you a second too long!"

"Yeah- no doy, you dumb dog. One-night stands? Everyone does 'em! This is Hollywood we're talking about here, no saints and angels in this dump," Bojack shot back, curling his lip.

"So what? I'm in the wrong here for wanting something real. Is that what you're saying?"

"I don't know, maybe! All I know is what everyone else knows about you. You love talking about love and marriage, but you're just so quick to move on to the next only one for me after a week- maybe even less. There's only so much one-true-loves a guy can have before people start calling bullshit, PB."

Mr.Peanutbutter locked his jaw and turned his head away, grilling holes into the crowd. Bojack let out a controlled breath. He couldn't even feel smug about this hollow victory because he could see the other's rigid stance and curled fists, his shallow breaths. He's sorta regretting shooting for a reaction now- because I mean, have you seen Mr.Peanutbutter? Man is ripped. Now that he's gotten what he wanted, Bojack's not sure he can beat the dog in a fight.

Be careful what you wish for, dickhead.

Bojack slowly uncrossed his arms and forced his fingers to uncurl from the defensive fists they had made. He was too prideful to say sorry- not that he was sorry anyways- but decided to defuse the situation somehow and get himself into that party. God, he needed a bump.

There you go again, running away from problems you created. For a fat piece of shit, you sure do run a lot. 

Bojack raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck warily. He began trepidatiously inching his way around the dog. "But uh. I suppose good for you for remaining so...chivalrous in our modern era of romantic genocide or whatever- yadda yadda yadda. Why don't we just forget about this and get our asses into-" Bojack’s sentence and awkward escape was cut off by the literal snarl the dog let out.

Bojack's eyes widened, and he raised his hands placatingly. "Woah. Jesus- okay," he said, suddenly viscerally aware of exactly how sharp the dog's teeth are and quite how trapped Bojack is between the dog and the counter. 

The party was in full swing, with no one paying attention to what was happening in the kitchen. Plus, Bojack refused to stoop low enough to begin calling for help if the dog chose to maul him.

"I know what the articles say about me, Bojack. I know what those early-morning gossip shows have to say. I asked what your problem is."

"My problem?" 

"Yes!" Mr.Peanutbutter spat furiously. "I've never been anything but amiable to you- and what do I get in return? Oh, nothing but your constant degradation and holier-than-thou, priggish self-jerk-off sessions."

"Oh, I'm the one-"

"No. What did I do to deserve this? Tell me, Bojack. Because if I knew better, I think I'd say you're just jealous."

Jealous? 

"Jealous ? That's a good one, Mr.Peanutbutter. You're a real funny guy."

"I'd take that as a compliment if I wasn't being serious. Get real, Bojack. Why do you hate me? Are you still caught up on the fact I starred in the beloved sitcom and Horsin' Around parody, Mr.Peanutbutter's House ? Because that was ages ago!"

"So you do know it was a ripoff," Bojack grumbled. 

“Don’t stall.”

“What the fuck do you want me to say, Mr.Peanutbutter? Because I am still peeved about how your stupid show copied my stupid show! And maybe I am jealous, that you can be so happy with yourself and your career and your girlfriends and wives and that you somehow didn’t turn into a fat, self-hating, washed up piece of shit. I’m miserable and I hate that you’re not miserable because I’m a cynical, bitter asshole. And if you seriously haven’t figured that out for yourself by now then that’s hardly my problem.”

“So only miserable people get to be your friends?” 

“Sure.”

“Ugh- You’re-” Mr.Peanutbutter fumed, Bojack’s frank spitefulness throwing him for a loop. “Fine. Whatever. You don’t think we’re friends-”

“Because we aren’t,” Bojack muttered.

“-But is it really so hard to show a little decency? When I see you- mucking around in your drunken, pathetic escapisms, I try helping you! I try, which is more than what you can say."

"Ah, so it's a transaction, you say?" Bojack said sarcastically and slapped a grin on. "Great! Just give me the tab." He rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. "Cash? Or card."

The dog rolled his eyes. "I'm not so much a self-centered ass to think like that." He paused to watch Bojack take in the jab, the horse dropping the smile and resuming a glare. "But I think I'd be emotionally intelligent enough to be at least a bit decent to a friend." He took an aggressive step in Bojack's direction, shooting daggers from underneath the hoods of his eyes. "And not kick a puppy when it's down."

"Now, if you're incapable of manning up and getting real, then we're done here."

Finally, the dog stepped back and swiveled around, stalking away.

Before he even got five steps away, he turned to face Bojack again.

"Pun, not intended, by the way."

After a tense second, he whipped back around and made a beeline for someone in the crowd.

“Erica! Is this heaven? Because why the hell are you here- bring it in!”

Chapter Text

The two eventually found each other again, deep into the night. They leaned over the railings of Bojack's balcony together, staring off into nothing. Or at least, Bojack was. Mr.Peanutbutter was staring off to his right, where the Hollywood sign lay in the distance. But how did he know that? He was supposed to be staring off into nothing.

He went back to staring off into nothing.

No tension simmered in the space between them. It was like their petty scuffle in the kitchen never happened.

But Bojack had the right amount of alcohol and drugs blended into his bloodstream to bypass their argument of...however many hours ago. So it was safe to assume it was the same for the dog, right?

He risked a glance at Mr.Peanutbutter, who was making history with how long he'd been silent and still. Best not to question it. Besides, Bojack was too out of it to make any compelling arguments or witty jabs.

Bojack fished a cigarette out of his pocket and sparked a lighter. In his peripheral vision, he saw how the sound snapped Mr.Peanutbutter out of wherever his thoughts had led him. Bojack lit the cigarette and brought it to his mouth.

In between drags, Bojack basked in the serenity of the moment. Despite the yellow-furred bane of his existence standing right next to him, Bojack felt oddly at peace. The party was in full swing behind him, but the blast of the raving crowd and music sounded muffled and far away. The sky was void of stars and clouds. And Mr.Peanutbutter wasn't half bad to have around when the dog didn't have to force that fake-ass Hollywood cheer around someone who didn't appreciate it. 

Bojack wondered if he was the only person alive who didn't appreciate Mr.Peanutbutter's spirit.

Yeah. Well. No one likes to be around a downer all the time, you sad sack of shit.

Nobody but Mr.Peanutbutter, apparently. 

Mr.Peanutbutter, who was currently looking at him. And belatedly, Bojack realized he'd been looking back. Or was it the other way around?

"Do you mind?" The dog asked, and Bojack felt himself bristling at that. But before he could snap, he noticed the dog was staring at Bojack's cigarette.

"Fine," Bojack grumbled, pulling the cigarette from his lips and reaching into his pocket with his free hand, "but you owe-"

Bojack cut himself off as Mr.Peanutbutter plucked the half-finished cigarette from his fingers and brought it to his mouth. 

Protests and waspish words filled his mouth but never left, so he ended up just…staring. He just stared until the cigarette burnt away into an ashy nub. 

The dog flicked away the remains of the cigarette, and Bojack turned to watch the ashes sink into the inky black below. He tore his gaze away before his thoughts could take a familiar dark plunge.

Staring at it for too long always had a hypnotic hold on Bojack, putting him in a trance-like state until he could peel his eyes away. That was on most days. On rarer, but not exactly uncommon, days, the abyss would feel more like a siren's call.

It became almost like a game for Bojack. To come out and stare like a morbid form of self-discipline- to see how long he could resist its promise of a pain-free escape. But what if he survived and was doomed to be crippled and in pain for eternity? What if he landed in Felicity Huffman's pool and was coerced to host a mediocre show as repayment for trying to litter her property with his limp corpse? 

Simply put, he's too much of a coward for the coward's way out. Go figure.

"Hey-" Bojack's voice cracked, so he cleared his throat. "Mr.Peanutbutter."

"Yeah?"

Jesus, he had to stop talking. God knows how many times Bojack has drunkenly managed to spill some secret, horrible thing to whoever would listen.

It was any day now he'd shake this brain-dead dog's shoulders and ask him if he knew what it was like to grind Molly in a blender, throw the powder back with rum, and hate yourself so wholly when it made you feel better. Ask him how to feel good about himself. Ask him what it was like to love so unabashedly and if Bojack could know what it was like- just for a night.

"Yeah?" Mr.Peanutbutter asked again, a bit louder. Their proximity made Bojack take note of his cologne and soap. And the dog didn't exactly smell like he'd been partying, so to speak.

"You're sober?" Bojack blurted out.

"I'm driving home," Mr.Peanutbutter said with a lazy chuckle. 

"Then you're high. Weed? Or maybe- There was a Harley Quinn in there selling dirt cheap heroin."

"That's nice of her," Mr.Peanutbutter said soberly, like a sober person.

"Why?" Mr.Peanutbutter asked before Bojack could say anything else.

"Nothing," Bojack said. Because that's right, other people can function without needing a couple liters of alcohol to take the reigns. He'd forgotten about that.

Haha. Reigns. Bojack snickered at the pun, and Mr.Peanutbutter raised a brow.

"God, I sound like a loon, don't I," Bojack said, the words slurring together.

"More like a horse, actually," the dog replied with a small mimicry of his usual grin. Bojack rolled his eyes.

"It was too quiet." He hadn't meant to say that. Mr.Peanutbutter looked as surprised as he felt. Head fuzzy and tongue loose, Bojack barrelled on. "You're not usually like...this," he swayed a bit on his feet as he waved a hand over Mr.Peanutbutter. "All uh…" Bojack struggled to think of a word, ".. sad." 

The dog's brows drew a little closer together. 

"...What would you know, Bojack?" Mr.Peanutbutter asked a bit bitterly. "And I thought you would've enjoyed seeing me like this." 

So the events in the kitchen weren't entirely forgotten, it seems.

Bojack stood there dumbly, sluggishly thinking of something to say. He wants to laugh and poke fun at Mr.Peanutbutter's misfortune- to instigate another fight and demand to know what the dog has any right to be sad about.

God, his emotional intelligence was already shit on a good day. Add booze to the mix, and Bojack might actually end up saying-

"Sorry."

Mr.Peanutbutter spared a second to look taken aback before he turned away and resumed a troubled expression. "Oh really? For what exactly. For acting like a dick?"

"Yeah." 

They were silent for a moment.

"Have any more smokes?" The dog finally asked.

Bojack passed him the whole box.

"You know, Bojack, it's funny."

Bojack hummed, already itching to snatch the cancer box back. He heard the click of a lighter. An inhale and exhale.

"You're a lot more pleasant to be around when drunk."

Bojack let out a surprised chuckle. "Well...yeah," he agreed. 

"But I don't prefer you like this."

"Why?" Bojack scoffed, pushing his body away from the patio. He almost toppled over, but Mr.Peanutbutter shot an arm out and righted him. "Did you not just hear me say 'sorry?' You would've- You would've never gotten that if I was sober. Don't we both get to be happier this way?"

"Are you?" Mr.Peanutbutter asked, pulling his arm away and turning from the rail to look at Bojack properly.

Bojack needed a moment to understand what the dog was asking.

"Jesus. What does it-"

"Because when you're drunk, you become the same type of 'fake pleasant' as when you're around one of my girlfriends or wives."

Everything suddenly felt oddly off-kilter.

"What?" 

They stood apart, facing each other. Bojack was gripping the bar with one trembling hand to keep his balance. Mr.Peanutbutter scrutinized him, and Bojack could feel the alcohol-induced haze evaporating from his head with each second that ground by.

"I know you don't think I notice, Bojack. But you're my pal. Of course, I notice...things." Mr.Peanutbutter's voice was softer now.

Bojack resisted the urge to flee.

"You act odd sometimes. And I've always just attested it to jealousy," the dog continued. "But call it Maroon 5's latest billboard hit 'cause not only is it stuck in my head, but it also 'Makes Me Wonder'..."

Bojack opened and closed his mouth. Mr.Peanutbutter was looking at him knowingly. But what and how much did he know? Maybe Bojack's got it all wrong. Maybe Mr.Peanutbutter just found out it was Bojack, who sheared off some of Lady BaaBaa's wool and framed the dog by stuffing the evidence into the retriever's couch pillows. 

"Bojack. Are you jealous of my partners?"

The world beyond the two of them went still.

"How long have you..thought that?" Bojack asked, the waver in his voice nearly inaudible. 

"A-"

"You know what, scratch that. I don't care because, wow,  Mr.Peanutbutter. I think we already had this conversation a few hours ago. Do you get some sick high from knowing your hero envies you?" Bojack accused, curling his lip for good measure. 

Mr.Peanutbutter blinked. "I-"

"Is that what this is? Trapping me in my own kitchen, guilting me for not reciprocating your friendship- which, by the way, is in my right to do so and should not make me the villain- and making me confess things I'm uncomfortable with- all to feed your- your  superiority complex ?"

"Bojack -"

"I think you like that I'm pathetic. You like that you can throw your arm around my shoulder and know everyone's thinking, 'Bojack's such a screwup has-been! How can Mr.Peanutbutter stand him when he's so put together and perfect!'"

Fury flashed across Mr.Peanutbutter's face, but Bojack couldn't possibly stop now.

"Well, you win! You're better than me. No one thinks otherwise, and you really want to know what I think? About your girlfriends? I am jealous of them! Jealous that they can deal with how needy and dependent you are without being compelled to blow their heads off, drink through it, or say, leave you?"

The punch was to be expected and more than a little deserved, but it still caught Bojack off guard. One moment he was staring at Mr.Peanutbutter's taut expression, and the next at the ink-drenched sky.

Bojack pushed himself off the ground with shaking arms and legs, static flooding his vision as he did. Blood dripped from his nose into his mouth, and Bojack swallowed it in an acrid cocktail with his bile and guilt. 

"I hate that I'm not even lying when I say you're better than me- but that's all. Don't make it gay."

At that, Mr.Peanutbutter deflated. "I'm not."

Without another word, the retriever turned back to face the railings. And Bojack should've taken his leave and damn near sprinted away from the patio, but he didn't. A desire to tempt fate must be a common side effect of alcohol poisoning.

So Bojack took up his spot against the railings, drawing his arms closer to his body. It was cold in the space between them.

You're such a piece of shit.

"I shouldn't have assumed anything," Mr.Peanutbutter admitted with obvious effort, "I think I've just gone a little stir-crazy without anyone around."

Bojack couldn't help the crude laugh he let out. "Mr.Peanutbutter, you've been single for only a couple days." Still defensive and shaken, he'd meant for that to offend, but Mr.Peanutbutter just let it glide off. 

Dick. That wasn't the right thing to say. Quit lashing out at the good people in your life and try for once in your goddamned life.

"I know. But you're right about people leaving me because I'm too much," Mr.Peanutbutter let out a pitiful laugh that, despite never hearing it from the dog himself, was familiar all the same. "It's just difficult to accept that. I'm sorry for punching you."

Bojack winced. "Mr.Peanutbutter…"

"It is me, isn't it. Why else is it so hard for people to stick around?"

"I've stuck around," Bojack said lamely. 

"Yeah, and how much of that is because I won't leave you alone?" Mr.Peanutbutter replied wryly. 

"I- no, it's-" Bojack bit his tongue, about to reveal something he shouldn't. Couldn't.

Mr.Peanutbutter didn't pry, but his glance was weighted, and they fell back into silence.

Bojack cursed his alcohol-loose tongue. He didn't try to finish his sentence or try comforting Mr.Peanutbutter. Nor did he offer his own apology.

He left Mr.Peanutbutter as the solo captor of the moral high ground. But this wasn't new. And Bojack didn't need to look to know how Mr.Peanutbutter felt about that. Because what did it matter? 

It looked different tonight, but this was their old song and dance.

Bojack let his gaze drop down the sides of the railing and to the colorless pit below.

And as he wondered, not for the first time, if this fall would kill him, he shifted his eyes to look back at Mr.Peanutbutter.

Chapter Text

'One Month Later...'

Was the latest release by rising anonymous author, pen name 'Not J.D Salinger,' and it was quickly amassing loads of praise for its unconventional bore. Princess Carolyn has been looking forward to reading it herself.

However, as soon as Princess Carolyn sat on her sofa, novel in hand, several loud honks sounded outside.

Oh, fish.

Skidding, a loud crash, and a car alarm started blaring. Then: "Princess Carolyynnnn!"

Princess Carolyn sighed. She really ought to get an ancestry test done. Luck like this can only be hereditary.

"Princess Carolyyyynnnn!"

The cat threw her balcony window open. "WHAT," she snarled.

Down below, Bojack's car was parked on top of what used to be the fence. Bojack himself had an arm slung around the shoulders of a beat-up-looking fellow.

"Princess Carolyn, look, I think I ran into Vince Vaughn on my way here!" He gestured at his car. "With my car."

"That is not Vince Vaughn! That's Vince Prawn, my neighbor- let him go, dummy!"

Bojack did with a sheepish "whoops." The prawn scuttled away, shooting Bojack the stink eye.

"Tell Kyla I said hi, Vince!" Princess Carolyn called out after him with a forced cheer. And then she dropped the smile and glared at Bojack. "And what can I do for my favorite client?"

"I have to talk to you."

"Of course," Princess Carolyn snarked with a roll of her eyes. "Come in then."

___ ___ ___

Bojack flopped onto the ground with a dramatic sigh and shuffled backward until he hit the backside of her sofa.

The cat couldn't tell if this was a typical too-lazy-to-walk-to-sit-on-the-couch day for Bojack or if she needed to get ready to pull some strings and make some phone calls.

"Well, don't just leave me hangin' you doof! You can mope after you've given me the scoop- you know what they say about cats and curiosity," Princess Carolyn harped.

"Last night I.." Bojack started, folding his fingers together. He looked like he was preparing to rip the bandaid off, and it was rare to see him so hesitant- at least with her. "I sle..mmtwmmmrbmmmer."

"..What." Princess Carolyn deadpanned. 

"I slept with Mr.Peanutbutter," Bojack snapped, seemingly annoyed that he had to clarify. Then he seemed to remember he was supposed to be mortified and slumped onto the floor like a pathetic carpet.

Princess Carolyn gave herself a generous one-second to preview the feelings of shock, bewilderment, and pity before she landed back on her feet. Any longer would give Bojack ample time to spiral (if he hadn't already) and that wouldn't do. He could do that after she planned their (her) next steps- PR work, clean up, et cetera, et cetera.

"Okay, big shot, on your feet!" She shooed Bojack off the floor and ushered him towards the couch as she spoke. "I need locations, dates, names, the deets!" she folded an arm across her waist and let the other hold up her head. "The where, who, what, why, and when, if you will."

___ ___ ___

Bojack licked an invisible drop off the last can of cheap beer they managed to salvage from the car. He tossed it toward their small pile and missed by a large margin. He heard it plop into the water.

The dog beside him giggled.

Prick.

"Wha' now?" Mr.Peanutbutter asked between giggles, lying flat on the dock.

Bojack took fifteen brilliant seconds to answer. "Youuu coullld gimme my cigarettes back."

Mr.Peanutbutter didn't respond.

"Mr.Peanutbutter..."

The dog's ears twitched.

"Mr.Peanutbutter, drop it!"

The dog started chuckling uncontrollably, and Bojack huffed. "Aren't yerrich? Can't you..uhh, buy? Your own?"

Mr.Peanutbutter smiled his stupid dopey smile. "Can say th' same to youu." He jabbed a finger at what he probably thought was Bojack's chest but was really open air.

"Don't be stupid. I did! That's my hard-earned royalty dollars you're keeping from me, stupid. Did I already say that?"

They watched the vehicle sink a little further into the water.

"Give it," Bojack complained. He was seeing double, so he waved an expectant hand at both dogs.

"No."

"Fine." 

Then, because Bojack was only a little one-hundred percent drunk, he staggered onto his feet and glared at Mr.Peanutbutter. "Let's fight then."

Mr.Peanutbutter immediately burst into another round of slow giggles, which Bojack thought was very offensive. But it lasted long enough for Bojack to get tired of swaying offendedly in one place, and he sat back down heavily. He closed his eyes.

By the time he finally clocked in the fact the laughter had stopped, the surprisingly buoyant car had disappeared from view, and his head felt less pleasantly fuzzy and more gratingly heavy.

"You know, those cigars are deefinitely ruined 'nyways," Mr.Peanutbutter drawled, hints of higher brain function creeping back into his voice.

"Just shut up," Bojack muttered, frowning at the beginnings of an oncoming headache. 

"Sure thing, buddy!"

"God, has anyone ever told you it wouldn't kill you to be a little less enthusiastic?" 

Mr.Peanutbutter placed his hand on Bojack's shoulder. "Oh, Bojack. Pal. Amigo. Compadre. It's on the contrary. I've actually been told it's my best trait," Mr.Peanutbutter smiled cheekily at Bojack.

Bojack shot him an exasperated look. 

"Let's just ditch this bitch before anyone comes looking."

They made to get up simultaneously, but their ungainly movement had his vision careen abruptly, and he heard the uncoordinated stagger of their feet on the wooden boards.

Bojack was gripping the other's lapels in tight fists. Mr.Peanutbutter had a warm hand around his right wrist and another on his left bicep. It was a relief against his chilled, soggy clothes, and Bojack leaned further into the touch.

Oh.

"We should head..back," Mr.Peanutbutter said slowly. 

Oh no.

"Uh-huh," Bojack replied, distracted.

He tugged at the lapel, and the hands on him tightened in return.

___ ___ ___

"And- well, y'know," Bojack finished awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So, and correct me if I'm wrong, you both got sauced at Jon Bon Jovi's jovial plus annual junior jam party. Lost in a bog, a car robbed from Wall. M. Shawn," Princess Carolyn paused to take a breath. "Then you brawled that dog for your cigar box?"

"Yes."

"Then on the dock you took off your tops and whipped out-"

"I was there, thanks," Bojack cut in, his face aflame.

Princess Carolyn looked at him, bewildered. "But- that's it?" 

Bojack nodded, fiddling with his fingers.

"Then what's the problem? You do this kind of thing all the time!" Princess Carolyn exclaimed. "Albeit to women," she added pointedly, and Bojack rubbed the back of his neck, "but I'm not judging!"

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Bojack griped. "If I wanted to have a woman shame my lifestyle I'd just book a physical with my doctor."

"I just don't get it! It's not a big deal-" Princess Carolyn paused. "Is..this a big deal, Bojack?" She asked slowly.

Bojack's eyes flit to the ground. When he looked back up, his brows were furrowed. "No?"

"Then stop worrying!" Princess Carolyn said with a disarming grin. "C'mon BJ, it's not the 90s anymore- no careers are ending. Gay rights are America's new skinny black tights, as long as you're in Massachusetts and Connecticut and you mostly keep it to yourself. And that old dog- ha! He's probably already forgotten about it. It's Hollywood!"

"No saints and angels in this dump, right," Bojack said, still looking troubled.

"Ha! That's the spirit." Princess Carolyn clapped her hands together. "Now up! Go have your crisis somewhere else."

She clasped onto Bojack's arms and hauled him onto his feet. Then in the middle of ushering him out the door, she paused.

"Or at least wait until I'm being paid to fix your imaginary problems."

Princess Carolyn finished shoving Bojack into the hallway.

"Smooches!"

And the door slammed shut.