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Hermie couldn't say he was prepared to be comforting Normal in a bathroom. Again.
Normal was dangling over the sink, grabbing at his hair in angry fists. Strands slipped through his fingers and into the sink with each heavy breath, and Hermie suddenly felt impossibly out of his depth. Their chest only tightens with the discomfort as Normal turns to meet his gaze, eyes narrowed and wet.
"What do you want, Hermie," he spits when they fail to speak, balled fists lowered to his sides, "If you didn't notice, I kinda wanna be left alone right now."
His words are laced with a vitriol Hermie doesn't recognize. They stutter, and before the words can catch in their throat, the tap is turned on, and there's water being jetted into their face.
"Ow. Normal-"
"Go away."
Right. Okay. This game, then. Hermie crosses his arms, and extends a foot to tap. «I can do improv,» he tells himself. «We can work this out.»
But maybe not, as Normal turns on his heel and slams a stall door shut with so much more force than necessary, and Hermie feels the rattle of it in his chest, and that discomfort turns to fear. He wonders how strong Normal must be, having been on cheer for years. How scrawny he was in comparison. How closely did he dodge getting the shit beaten out of him? How close was he to being held in those arms before he fucked up, safe and- «Stop it.» Fear quickly clenches into burning embarrassment as he dismisses the thought. Hermie the character thought like this maybe, Herman Unworthy, the decidedly real person, did not.
Hermie is snapped out of their train of thought by quiet sobs. They realize they’ve been standing outside of this stall for a while now. Right. Method. Go.
They knock on the door.
"I know it's still you, Hermie. Go away."
Their face twists into what they hope is one of pity. "I just wanted… to see if you were okay. Are you?"
"I'm fine. You should leave now." He hears a quiet sniff from the other side of the door, wet and drivelly. Gross.
Hermie shifts awkwardly in place. "No, I don't think I will. Maybe you should leave. Your stall, that is."
The silence is filled with the sounds of the tap, still running. It's a while before he actually decides to do anything about it, dress shoes squeaking against the floor as he idly turns the handle, filling the room with an uncomfortable silence. A look in the mirror reminds him he still has his joker makeup on. He considers wiping it away, but instead shrugs at his reflection.
"...Can you get Scary? Or Link? Not Taylor. He's not the best at um… being comforting. In bathrooms."
Hermie hums. "I'm good at being comforting in bathrooms."
To his delight, the door swings open, and Hermie allows a moment of pause before spinning around, flashing a catty smirk. "We have got to stop meeting like this."
He's greeted with Normal's tear-tracked cheeks for only a second before the door is slammed in his face again. Hermie sighs dramatically, taking a seat on the row of wall mounted sinks. He notes his tail, of which has settled next to him, swishing back and forth gently at his side. «How long has that been there? Embarrassing.»
"Huh? What did you say?" Hermie's gaze shoots up at the stall, surprised to see Normal's figure standing in the doorway. It's only now that he really realizes how pitiful the boy looks. He's still clutching the edge of the door in a death grip, but the corners of his eyes are soft, his body language open. His shirt is covered in mud—they know from his attempt to follow them into the Goofs Realm—and his pants are similarly ruined, mud and ash staining his shoes. Their throat feels like it’s full of foam.
"Hermie?"
"What?" It takes a moment to consider they may have spoken some of that aloud. "Oh, I was just… rehearsing my lines." They hope the bluff doesn't sound too detached.
Normal narrows his eyes. It does. "Right. I forgot this is all an act to you?"
"I-"
"I'll ask again, Hermie Unworthy. What. do you. want."
He emphasizes each word with a step closer, until he’s right up against the sink. Hermie can see his freckles and acne scars and the shitty, awful moustache that grew before his eyes way back when they'd become what Hermie would consider friends. Against their will, their tail begins to pick up speed. They resist the urge to rip it off, but Normal doesn't seem to notice, pressing on without an answer.
"I'll tell you what, I'm not okay!" He snarls, tears welling in his eyes again, "I went up there, and I- I tried my best, and I did terribly! My comedy routine sucked, and I tried to fix it and I made it worse! And I made my friends upset, and I made you upset, and-" he breaks off in a strangled wail, burying his head in his hands. Hermie hops off of the sink, and after a moment of consideration, brings him into an embrace.
Normal slumps into their arms, and melts into quiet sobs.
It's a long time before Hermie can trust himself to speak again. He begins with reassurance, "Your performance wasn't that bad. You are an… adequate actor, as much as I hate to admit." He grimaces, "You have stage fright though. Like, bad. You might be better off remaining a mascot." Normal sighs, but doesn’t respond. He takes this as permission to continue. "And I wasn't… upset, per se. It was part of my act."
Normal jolts back from the embrace, hands tightening on their shoulders. Hermie ignores how cold they feel in his absence. “I’m… sorry.”
“What?” The inquiry is soft, weak. His hands fall from their shoulders, and Hermie's stomach twists.
“I just wanted…” they gesture vaguely around, staring up at the ceiling. Their claws dig into the palms of their hands. “I’ve always wanted to pull off some big… grand scam. Even before I knew about my dad. And I did it and it was… it felt good, and then got here, and it didn’t feel very good anymore,” they frown, “So I didn’t know what to do, and I don’t know why I kept trying to scam, even after it failed so miserably.”
Normal groans, “This isn’t making me feel much better.”
He rolls his eyes, against his better judgment. “I’m just telling you not to worry about me. I’ll… go get everyone else now.” They stride for the door. Scene.
“Ah- wait!”
At his words they go stock still, hand still grasping for the doorknob. They don't respond, instead slowly turning around, trying to school their expression into anything even remotely readable.
He wrings his hands, words tumbling out so quickly they’re hardly understandable, “I just- thank you? I know you weren’t, um, trying, but you did help. Being here, I mean. It’s more than anyone else can say. Thanks.”
Hermie simply nods, trying his best to ignore the way his tail is wagging.