Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

July 20th means birthdays, and birthdays mean pancakes.

The ingredients engulf my meager studio apartment kitchen countertop. Flour, baking soda, baking powder, buttermilk, oil, sugar, milk, even that good syrup that comes in those glass containers shaped like a maple leaf. Enough assorted toppings to feed a small village, ranging from fruits to candy pieces to mini marshmallows all situated in Tupperware containers. It’s all so perfectly arranged. Tonight, we dine like kings, if those kings dined on the worst pancakes you’ve ever seen in your life.

I’m not too sure when the tradition got started exactly. It must have been in freshman year of high school, or technically the summer after it. We were doing icebreakers in one of the classes on the first day- typical ‘say a fun fact about yourself’ kinda stuff, and these two other kids- Jake and Tulip- mentioned that they shared the same birthday: July 20th. As soon as I heard that, I was like- hey, July 20th is my birthday too, and that was all it took. Before the end of the day, we were bound at the hip. The Birthday Bois. With an ‘I’. Don’t ask why the ‘I’, or why the name at all, given two of the three of us are girls. It was Jake’s idea, and it seemed funny at the time. I’m not gonna get into it.

Tulip and Jake, they’ve been friends since elementary school, so they already had dual birthday celebrations down to a science by the time they met me. But once I joined the gang, and there were three birthdays to celebrate at the same time, we knew had to do something bigger. At some point during our brainstorming process, I mentioned I liked cooking and baking, so we threw out suggestions of some foods to see if we had anything we all enjoyed that I could try my hand at making. Finally, we decided on breakfast for dinner- however many pancakes we could eat, and however many ridiculous toppings we wanted. Pamcakes, we call them, because I’m the one in charge of making them. Tulip tried to make them one time, and she’s gotten mad every time we’ve brought it up since. I swear, that girl could burn water if she tried. But hey, I can’t dance nearly as well as she can, so we’ve both got our strengths, right? She’s the one dancing professionally, while I’m stuck waiting tables at the Hard Rock. I say we’re even.

It isn’t long before I get a knock at the door. Let the fun begin, I think, the corners of my lips tugging into a grinch-like grin.

“Is this the residence of the third Birthday Boi?” Jake’s familiar teasing voice calls from behind the door.

Snorting, I place my hands on my hips and approach the entrance to my apartment. “And just who’s asking?”

“Birthday Boi one and two!” Tulip’s voice chirps.

Enough pleasantries out of the way, I go to pull open the door. “Well, if that’s the case, come on i- oh my god!”

I spot Jake first, probably because he’s wearing the loudest shirt I’ve ever seen, a violently hot pink tee with BIRTHDAY BOIS written across the front in blocky yellow letters. His smile spreads wide at my reaction, and he reaches up to tilt the highlighter yellow shutter shades he’s wearing so I can see him wiggling his bushy brows.

“I think she likes it,” Jake stage whispers to Tulip.

Tulip, in comparison, is wearing something far less ridiculous- a strapless, peachy orange sundress whose skirt ghosts past her knees. I can all too easily imagine her twirling around in it. It’s hard to imagine her off the stage once you see her dance. She looks ridiculously pretty in it, but she looks ridiculously pretty in everything, so that’s not like, shocking.

“Make yourselves at home, idiots,” I say, recovering from my hot pink nightmare surprise long enough to step aside and let them through.

Jake carries his bags with him, collapsing onto my sofa with a contented sigh. “So, what’re we doing?” he asks. “Presents first, pancakes first…?”

“Up to you guys,” I reply. “I’ve already got the stuff out, so it’s ready to go whenever.”

“I’m gonna be honest,” Tulip chimes. “I haven’t eaten… anything today. I need to murder some pancakes.”

I clap my hands, rubbing them together like a mad scientist. “Well, I think that settles it! Alright, pancake murder accomplices, to the kitchen! We’ve got a crime scene to create!”

“Off the couch, dummy,” Tulip calls.

“Pamcakes, pamcakes, pamcakes!” Jake chants, launching off the sofa like a rocket.

For all my talk of them being accomplices, they don’t really do much other than stand there and watch, at least for the pancake-making portion of the activity. Not that I mind, of course. I’ve got a Process. I’ve got an Intricate Pamcake Ritual.

Tulip stands a safe distance away, like she’s worried stepping too close to the stove is going to start another oil fire. Jake, on the other hand, practically rests his chin on my shoulder, watching with fervent, hungry adoration as I pour globs of my mixture into the greased pan.

The pancakes bloom over the metal surface, cream-colored batter slowly stiffening into thick, risen disks and filling the air with the scent of butter and vanilla. My mouth waters- god damn, I always seem to forget how good they smell when I’m not in the moment. I slide each finished pancake onto a plate, shooting Jake the stink eye whenever he tries to nab one. Tulip’s got me covered, though- every time he reaches out for the ever-growing Tower of Pamcakes, she slaps his hand away.

Once the mixture’s depleted and the pancakes are done, I set out the plate on the kitchen counter next to the containers of pre-prepared toppings. “Alright, Bois. Commit as many crimes as you want,” I say.

Jake cheers, immediately snatching up at least five pancakes from the pile before moving to the toppings. A chuckling Tulip follows, taking a far more modest two.

While they’re preoccupied with their own creations, I grab a few for myself. I dump spoonful after spoonful of mini marshmallows, white chocolate chips, and toffee pieces onto the pancakes, then bury it all in a mountain of whipped cream and generous syrup. I’ll commit a food crime, sure, but only in terms of proportions. I still have to eat it, after all. Who’d want to eat something that tastes bad on their birthday? That’d be a waste of perfectly good pancakes!

I catch Jake staring at his pancake crime, studying it like it’s a modern art piece he’s trying to make sense of. His plate is a mess of chopped-up strawberries, cinnamon sugar, chocolate chips, blueberries, caramel- and that’s just what I can make out in the multicolored madness.

“What’s up, Jake?” I ask.

He’s silent for a long time, rubbing his chin contemplatively. “So like. This is a pancake crime. But right now it just kinda looks like a pancake misdemeanor. Maybe even just a pancake tort.”

“When you want, what, a pancake felony?” Tulip asks, in the middle of showering her pancakes with sliced bananas.

“I want a pancake violation of the Geneva Conventions.”

With his intentions uttered, Jake takes to my fridge, practically ripping the door off its hinges to see what’s inside. He moves faster than I’ve ever seen him move, grabbing whatever his hands touch, and soon enough he’s gotten an armful of shit that should never go on pancakes. Then, because he’s not yet satisfied, he raids my pantry as well.

God help us, it all goes on the pancakes. He pours tabasco. He sprinkles broken pieces of pretzels. He plucks grapes off the bunch I had in the fridge, dropping them onto the plate without even bothering to cut them up. When the grapes expectedly roll off the pancakes, he gets creative, spraying a layer of whipped cream atop it all to act as a weird grape trap. He powders the cream with some of the thyme I keep in the pantry closet. I feel like I’m watching the pancake Hindenburg explode.

Somehow, he’s finally satisfied. Thank fuck. I’m not sure I could have handled watching and more of that. He pulls a fork and knife out of my drawer, then sits down on my couch next to Tulip.

“Well, I think you’ve done it, Jake,” Tulip says, not bothering to hide her horror. “That’s not just a pancake crime, that’s a downright pancake calamity.”

“And you love it.”

“And I love it. But… you’re not actually eating that, right?”

“I have to at least have a bite,” Jake counters.

Tulip’s face scrunches like a perturbed muppet. “Do you? That thing looks poisonous.”

“Are you doubting me?” Jake asks.

Tulip shakes her head. “No! I’m just worried that I’ll have to return my birthday present after you inevitably die from eating your war crime.”

“Then I hope you’ve kept your receipt!” exclaims Jake as he carves himself a forkful.

“Don’t start yet, I haven’t even sat down!” I interrupt, rushing as fast as I can to get to the recliner beside the coffee table. Luckily Hard Rock has me well-versed in carrying trays of food around, so I manage not to spill anything on the way there. I put my plate of toffee-marshmallow-chip pancakes aside, pulling out my phone and turning on the camera. This needs to be recorded. This is the kind of shit you show at weddings- or funerals, if Tulip’s hypothesis is correct.

“Tell me when you’re recording,” Jake says, the fork full of nightmares hovering inches away from his mouth.

“Floor’s all yours, bud,” I say.

Tulip angles her body so that she’s shielding Jake. “For legal purposes, neither of us forced him to do this.” Her disclaimer over, she sits back, letting Jake have the stage again.

“Gimme a countdown,” he says.

I hold up my fingers on my free hand for maximum effect. “One… two… three!”

Jake plunges the forkful of his atrocity into his mouth before pulling the utensil out. He chews several times, his cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk.

All is silent for a moment. I can feel my held breath sitting in the back of my throat.

Then, slowly, Jake’s face twists in a mixture of disgust and regret. I stifle my giggling.

“It’s not good,” he weakly manages through his mouthful. His eyes crinkle in despair, semi-visible behind his highlighter yellow shades.

The dam holding back my giggles bursts. I nearly drop my phone in my laughing fit, barely able keep the camera trained on the suffering Jake.

Tulip cuffs him on the shoulder. “No shit, idiot!” she playfully chastises.

To his credit, Jake finishes his mouthful, forcing it down his throat before sticking his tongue out and making a show of trying to wipe the flavor off of it. “Never again,” he mutters darkly, eyes wide and haunted.

Tulip snorts, returning her attention to her own, considerably less cursed pancakes. “Yeah. Next time, leave the food stuff to Pammy.”

“Deal,” he wheezes.

The rest of the pancake consumption passes without issue, unless you count them being too damn delicious an issue. With our food demolished and the plates in the sink, it’s time to move to the gift-giving portion of the evening. Since I’m the one who made the pancakes to begin with, I get my presents first.

“Dibs!” Jake calls, already reaching into his bag. He rips out a small gift- a lumpy, sad wad of a thing that’s more tape than wrapping paper. I take it from him, pulling apart the sticky bits until a very familiar, very vibrant hot pink fabric greets me. I pull the article out, holding it up to confirm. It’s the same BIRTHDAY BOIS tee shirt Jake is wearing.

“Oh my god, Jake,” I breathe.

“You like it?” he asks.

“Of course I like it!” I squeal, hugging it to my chest. “Birthday Bois for life!”

“Birthday Bois for life!” Jake cheers, pumping his fist.

“Okay, okay, my turn,” Tulip urges. She hands me a small, wrapped rectangle, and I tear through the paper shell with reckless abandon. A book cover stares back at me, depicting a gorgeous young woman in the tight embrace of an amorous, even gorgeous-er mermaid, the latter’s tail curled protectively around the human’s legs as they float under the waves. ‘Mermaids and Mischief’, the title reads, ‘by BN Donner’.

“Oh my god, Tutu,” I whisper, heat rushing to my cheeks. My eyes break away from the cover long enough to glance to Tulip, who’s grinning like a loon.

“What is it?” Jake asks, craning his neck as he leans forward on the couch.

Squeaking, I cover the book with the Birthday Bois shirt and put it aside. “A-ah, it’s just a uh- a thing! Girl stuff- you wouldn’t get it! Uh- you want your presents next, Jake?”

“Duh!” he answers, immediately distracted. I nearly empty my lungs. Pammy’s Monsterfucker Secret = 1, Jake = 0.

From Tulip, Jake gets a new notebook for his standup, and from me, he gets an equally dumb shirt- one with a bunch of giraffes standing in a crosswalk next to a stoplight labeled “giraffic jam”. He laughs at the latter for a solid three minutes. Now it’s my turn to smile like an idiot. Hell yeah. Look out, ladies! Pammy Packard wins at cooking and gift-giving.

Tulip, on the other hand, gets a new dance bag from me, along with the same Birthday Bois shirt from Jake.

“We should take a picture with them!” he suggests. “Y’know, to mark the occasion! I mean- we’ve been around a whole quarter of a century.”

“Say no more!” I declare, snatching up the shirt and hurrying into the bathroom.

Shutting the door behind me, I remove my tee, pulling the shirt over my head. I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment, shooting finger guns at my reflection. Honestly, for such a dumb shirt, I’m kind of pulling it off. Have I always looked this good in bright pink, or am I just bored to tears by my black work uniform? Both? Probably both.

Satisfied with my Birthday Boi attire, I come back into the living room. Jake and Tulip are standing by the night-darkened window, downtown Pittsburgh twinkling shittily behind them. In lieu of changing out of her current outfit, Tulip’s simply put the shirt on over it.

“… probably should have done that, huh?” I ask, chuckling.

“Nah, I only did it because I’m wearing a dress,” Tulip points out. “Now get over here.”

I rush over, getting in between them as I pull out my phone and switch the camera to selfie mode. The three of us stand there as I angle it this way and that, trying my damnedest to find a position to hold my arm that allows all of us to show up in the shot. Finally, I line it up successfully, grinning toothily.

“Saaaay twenty-five!” I call, voice cheery.

“Twenty-five!” Tulip and Jake chime.

I press the button a couple of times, making sure I’ve captured a decent image of us. And then I take a couple more, just in case. Once that’s done, I head to the gallery, flicking through the photos to find the best one while the other two loom over my shoulder.

“Ooh, that one’s good- send me that one,” Tulip comments. I stop on the image she’s chosen. To the right of my toothy expression, Jake is sticking his tongue out, and on the left, Tulip is flashing a warm, crooked smile.

My smile grows warm at the sight of it. Damn. I’ve really known these two doofuses for over a little over a decade now. Hell, sometimes it feels like we’ve been friends even longer. I’m not too sure where our lives will have taken us in a decade beyond this moment, but I sure hope that, if we do end up going our separate ways, we keep the Birthday Boi spirit alive from a distance. Maybe one day Jake’ll be a famous comedian, and Tulip will be dancing on Broadway. Maybe I’ll get a better job than the Pittsburgh Hard Rock Café, at a place that serves food more high-brow than Lionel Messi-themed burgers.

Wow, my dreams seem a lot lamer in comparison, huh?

I send Tulip the image, and things wind down after that. I turn on Netflix and we pick a movie to watch, and we spend the rest of the evening in relative silence- save Jake’s occasional goofy commentary on whatever’s playing.

Eventually, Tulip has to leave- her shift starts first thing tomorrow morning, and she needs her beauty sleep. Jake follows her out, and the two depart with their assorted gifts, wishing me plenty of happy birthdays as they stroll into the hallway.

I shut the door behind them, sighing. Alone again. I pull out my phone to check the time. 11:34. Jeesh. Maybe I should get some sleep too.

I pull the plates out of the sink and load the dishwasher, putting away any pancake ingredients I’ve left on the counter while I’m at it. There’s still plenty of toppings left in the containers I set out. I could always make myself some more pamcakes tomorrow morning. I’ve got nothing else going on, after all. Yeah! Who says the birthday girl has to stop treating herself as soon as it hits midnight?

With the scene of the pancake party crimes cleaned up, I brush my teeth and toss my pjs on. I flop onto the bed, letting the mattress engulf me. Oh, fuck yeah. Bed time, baby.

I spend maybe five minutes trying to sleep before I give up and start scrolling through Tumblr. So, the usual routine, really. I pass by the typical text posts and stolen TikTok clips, reblogging a few that make me chuckle. Then, I reach a piece of fanart, and I stop my scrolling.

It’s an image of Horse and Wammawink from the Netflix show Centaurworld. It’s been ages since I’ve seen the show, but one of my Tumblr mutuals I started following during my Centaurworld phase still reblogs fanart of it daily, so images like these aren’t a rare occurrence. Damn, what a throwback. It’s been what, two years since that show ended? Two and a half? Maybe I’ll rewatch some of it tomorrow. I know Jake liked it too; it was exactly his kind of show. Tulip, not so much- Jake tried to get her to watch it since she’s into musicals, but she couldn’t stand the humor and stopped a couple episodes in.

In the image, the magenta-and-pink alpacataur holds the tubby blue-gray equine’s snout in one hand, the latter nuzzling against her face in a display of gentle, reassuring affection. It feels warm- the colors were soft, the linework softer, everything fluffy and curvy. I can almost imagine the sensation of Horse’s muzzle in Wammawink’s hand- the way the warhorse’s white snout nestled into the centaur’s fingers, the way the fur rubbed against the digits...

Reblogging it, I continue on with my nightly doomscrolling until I’m too tired to see the words on the screen. Putting the phone on my nightstand, I curl up under the covers, trying to get some sleep. No work tomorrow. Fuck yeah. That means I can sleep in and do a whole lot of nothing. One of my favorite activities!

* * *

I dream, and I dream I’m on a battlefield where no one’s fighting. The combatants have lowered their bows, their fists, their gazes- and mine- cast skyward. They’re all looking at the same thing, and once I see what that thing is, I can’t bring myself to look away either.

A monstrous ribbon of black, smoking tar swirls in the sky, an airborne oil slick given sentience. It coils in on itself, swallowing and regurgitating its own oily smog, a horrendous roaring howl bellowing from its bony, bestial skull. Then, just as quickly as its torturous display began, the hovering monster dives downward, a black, disgusting tar dripping from the sockets of its skeletal face and the gaps between its teeth as it vanishes into a nearby ravine.

It all falls silent again, and something strikes the still-awake part of my dream-brain. I’ve seen this moment before. I remember seeing this moment before. It’s from the Centaurworld finale- the scene right before The Last Lullaby.

As soon as I realize that, however, something new happens- like my brain’s punishing me for the recognition. A massive geyser of multicolored light erupts from the ravine, a kaleidoscope of vibrancy. It’s so powerful that I can hear it, the air itself humming. The ground trembles as the laser surges skyward, filling the air with the rainbow light.

Then, a bright white shockwave bursts from the massive beam, spreading outward in a large, expanding ring. It knocks over everything it touches, human soldiers, multicolored centaurs, armored minotaurs,

Me.

It’s like a cannonball’s slammed into my chest. I feel my legs go over my head, my body suddenly airborne, tumbling. Everything inside me hums and rattles, like my bones and organs are trying to escape without me. I try and grab something, anything, but the more I move the less I feel like I have fingers to grasp with, or arms to flail, or a mouth to scream or ears to hear the ringing or eyes to see when

Everything goes white.

* * *

I grumble, sitting up and scrubbing my hands over my face. Ugh. That was a weird-ass dream. Note to self: no more reblogging Centaurworld art before bedtime. I rub away the crust trying its damnedest to glue my eyelids together. Pittsburgh is loud today, even this early in the morning. Louder than usual, even, if that can be believed. Someone’s honking their horn on the streets outside, earning a smattering of muffled curses and other snide remarks from nearby pedestrians. Blegh. Never a dull moment downtown, that’s for damn sure.

Rising to my feet, I shuffle into the bathroom, my gait sluggish and not yet awake. I know I’ve got some ibuprofen in here somewhere…

With only one foot in the doorway, I freeze in the threshold between the bathroom and the rest of my apartment. My eyes widen at my reflection, my shocked expression projected back at me from the mirror above my sink.

Two soft, circular magenta ears poke through the blond hair atop my scalp.

Chapter Text

I stare at my mirrored image, jaw lowering and lowering until I’m certain it’ll fall right off my face. Slowly, I reach up, shaking fingers drawing closer until I’m near enough to pinch one of the little pink-purple things between my index finger and thumb.

Well, here goes nothing.

I give it a tug.

Ow!

My fingers release it. Goosebumps prickle along my arm at the sharp pain, the blood in my veins turning to ice water. What the fuck? They’re like, connected to my head! The ears twitch and flatten in pained agitation, and I can only watch, the color draining from my face. Oh my god, what the hell is this? Is this real? I give the other ear a poke, rubbing my finger over its surface. Not only do they feel real, they feel fuzzy.

I move my hands further down my head, fingers pushing past my messy hair as I search for my actual ears. The only problem is, once I reach the spot they’re meant to be, they simply aren’t there. My digits poke and prod at the flat, earless surface on either side of my head, searching and searching but coming up empty. They aren’t there, they simply aren’t there.

My eyes flick back to the ears atop my head, and I give them another interrogation with my fingers. The short, pinkish-purple fuzz covers every millimeter of space in a carpet of what I can only describe as short fur. But people don’t have fur, and people don’t have little pink ears, especially ones that make your regular ears drop off the face of the earth! Whatever the fuck is going on, it shouldn’t be happening!

I try to scream, but nothing comes out of my already open mouth. Try harder, with the same results. My legs wobble like jelly, my knees threatening to knock together and send me to the floor. I can feel myself spiraling. Oh my god I’m going to throw up-

No no no no. Okay. Okay, Pammy, deep breaths. Stay calm. Whatever’s going on has an explanation, it’s just a matter of figuring out what that explanation is. I draw in a lungful of air and shut my eyes. Hold, hold, hold, exhale. Okay. Feeling a little better. That’s something.

I stumble out of the bathroom and into my ‘bedroom’, carding my fingers through my snarled blond hair. Think, Pammy, think. What the hell do I do? Call the police? That seems like an overreaction, but is it? I have furry ears! Okay, well, maybe not cops. I’m not sure what I expect cops to do, and I’m not a fan of them being in my business anyway. Maybe a doctor? What will they even say? It’s not like you can just take a pill and make ears go away!

I grab my phone off my nightstand, cursing under my breath as I unlock it. Great! Great! It’s my day off, and I have to deal with pink ears! Why can’t I get a cold like a normal person!? Oh god, who the hell do I turn to? I can’t just tell no one. I open my text messages out of habit, realizing Tulip is the last person I texted- probably to send that picture of us from last night. Tulip. I can talk to Tulip. But what the hell do I say to her? ‘Hey, Tutu, had a lot of fun at the party last night, and oh, by the way, I have fuzzy pink ears now!’ God, no, that’s an awful opener! She’ll think I’m insane or something! I can’t just open with the problem. I need to work up to it.

I open our messages, chewing my bottom lip. I type, backspace, and retype a dozen different openers. Finally, I settle on something and hit the send button.

[heyyyy tutu!]

Ok. That sounds normal. Casual, but not too casual. Surely she won’t suspect that I’ve sprouted pink ears overnight.

So I wait for a response. And wait… and wait.

Minutes tick by. Nothing. Ten minutes. Fifteen. I start pacing a circle into the rug, eyes glued to the phone screen. Come on, what’s taking her so long? Usually she would have replied with a ‘hey’ back, or an emoji by now. Something, anything!

Realization hits, and I slap my forehead. Shit, fuck, she’s at her job! In the commotion of my ears changing overnight, I totally forgot. I groan, hands squeezing tighter over my phone. Damn it, this is an emergency! I can’t just wait for her to get off work to talk to her about this!

I gasp, stopping in my tracks. Who says I have to wait? Her workplace is downtown, I could just walk there! Yes, perfect!

I run a brush through my hair a few times, trying- and failing- not to drag the bristles over my ears. Ow. Then, hurrying to my closet, I snatch the first outfit I can throw together: Baggy IdleWild tee shirt, jean shorts, and a pair of beat-up sneakers.

To cover my ears, I grab an old, worn Pirates cap. A low warmth kindles in my chest at the sight of it. Shit, how long has it been since I’ve worn this thing? A decade, at least. My dad bought me this years ago, back when we went to games together. Damn, we haven’t gone to see a game in ages now that he’s retired and moved down south.

Well, regardless of nostalgia, it’ll do the trick for now. I pull it on, trying to ignore the strange, congested feeling radiating through my skull. It’s weird- like I’m wearing earmuffs or something. My ears twitch helplessly in their confinement, rubbing awkwardly up against the black fabric. Ugh. I’ll just have to grin and bear it until I figure out whatever the hell is going on here.

I exit the apartment building, immediately struck by the sight of a massive crowd. Hundreds of people wander the streets, most of them wearing punny shirts with pickles emblazoned across the front. Others munch on giant dills, or sip from plastic or styrofoam cups full of slightly green liquid.

Oh Jesus, I totally forgot about Picklesburgh. Heinz and a bunch of random sponsors have been holding this annual pickle-themed festival for the last, what, seven or eight summers now? Well, skipping 2020, of course. Being the foodie I am, I went once- 2019, maybe? It was fun, but nothing repeat-worthy. There’s only so much you can say about pickles. Apparently last year they attracted way more people than expected and caused a lot of crowding problems, so this year they’ve relocated the three-day thing to right outside my damn apartment.

Well, I reassure myself, at least I’m not the only weirdo out this morning. I’m keeping the hat on, though. A single spot of pink would definitely stick out amidst a sea of green outfits.

I speedwalk through the mass of people, trying to escape the pickle-obsessed crowd. Jesus, even though they moved the location for this thing, it’s still ridiculously crowded. I narrowly avoid someone who’s stopped in the middle of the road to pull out their phone, finally staggering onto Wood Street.

Luckily for me, Tulip’s workplace is only a five minute walk away. I break into a slight jog, holding my hat in place with a free hand on the off-chance that a strong breeze wants to rip it off my head and expose these weird-ass ears to the world.

As it turns out, five minutes give or take to wait for a couple crosswalks gives me plenty of time to panic. What am I even going to tell her? Do I just show her? What’s she supposed to do about this? What if she sees my ears and freaks out and gets herself fired for being so unprofessional? I was so busy thinking about letting someone else know that I forgot to think about the reaction part! Ugh, stupid, Pammy, stupid!

Finally, I reach The Milkshake Factory. The automatic doors slide open, but when I look across the store to the counter and open my mouth to call her name, Tulip’s not there.

I just stand there in the doorway like an idiot, eyes scanning every inch of the place. Did I get the day wrong? Is she not actually working today? No, I clearly remember her mentioning it before she left last night.

“… welcome to The Milkshake Factory,” the tired-looking woman behind the counter says. If I wasn’t so worried about hiding my ears, I might have pulled my hat down to cover my embarrassed blush.

I sheepishly walk up to the counter, pretending to browse the available mix of chocolate treats and ice cream flavors. My ears perk, my mouth watering. Damn, some of these look really good, actually. No, no, focus, Pammy. You can have some My Ears Are Weird therapy chocolate after you talk to Tulip!

“See anything you like?” the woman- Janine, according to her nametag- asks.

“Other than ‘all of it’?” I reply, punctuating my joke with a nervous laugh.

She doesn’t join me. She only looks more tired. My already shaky noise trails off into silence before I clear my throat.

“I was um- wondering if Tulip was in today,” I say. “We’re friends and she uh- left something important at my apartment last night.”

“Oh. Yeah, she came in earlier but had to leave. Said there was some emergenc-” she stops speaking suddenly, her tired expression shifting. Her eyes widen, her lips parted mid-syllable in confusion, then disbelief.

“What? What is it?” I ask. I barely restrain myself from reaching up to check my hat.

Janine’s response is barely audible. “Wh… where did your nose go?”

Now it’s my turn to look confused. “My what? Like… my nose nose?” Had I heard her right? No, there’s no way. I reach up with a curious hand, pressing my fingers against my face where my nose is and-

My blood freezes. It’s flat- just a solid wall of skin where my nose is supposed to be.

“E-excuse me for a moment,” I squeak out. I hold both hands over my not-nose and rush into the store’s bathroom, practically throwing the door off its hinges. I’m greeted by my own panicked reflection, dark eyes looking ready to pop out of my head.

It takes me an eternity to pull my hands away from my face, but when I do, it confirms what Janine and my own fingers have already told me. There’s no nose there anymore. No nostrils, either. It’s just. Flat. Totally flat. Like someone did the ‘got your nose’ game on me but it actually worked.

I just stare. I don’t know what else to do. I don’t know what else I can do. The sheer confusion filling my brain at the sight is probably the only thing stopping me from breaking down.

Not breaking eye contact with my reflection, I reach out and push onto the soap dispenser, filling my open palm with a small puddle of foam. Slowly, I bring the foam to where my nose once was. The scent of lavender and chemicals fills my… my mind? I don’t know how I’m smelling it, but I can. It’s like my nose is still there, despite what everything else is telling me.

I wash the foam off my hands, my mind racing. Ok. Weird ears is one thing, but now my nose is gone too? Oh, Christ, how is this happening? Why is this happening? Why me? I pull out my phone, face falling further- Tulip still hasn’t responded.

Wait- didn’t Janine say Tulip left because of some emergency? My heart races as fast as my mind. Tulip doesn’t like her minimum wage job, but not enough to run out without a reason.

What if-

No-

Unless-?

I open up our text conversation, typing with one hand and covering my lack of nose with the other. The words practically fly out of my fingers.

[do u have a minute?]

[i went to visit u at work]

[i know i know make ur helicopter parent joke]

[but u weren’t there]

[coworker mentioned an emergency]

[everything ok????]

I shuffle out of The Milkshake Factory, thoughts of therapy chocolate taking a backseat to thoughts of Tulip and what can possibly be going on on her end. Her apartment’s a trek, but I’m willing to hoof it if it means getting to the bottom of this crazy shit. No way am I letting an Uber or bus driver see my weird not-nose.

Finally, I get a response from her. Not a text, but a call.

I answer it immediately.

“Tutu?”

“Hey, uh.” She pauses. Even with the minimal greeting, I can tell her voice is strained, quiet. I hold the cell a little closer to my hat to better hear her. “Sorry I didn’t answer earlier. I was kind of in the middle of things.”

“Yeah,” I mumble. I stop walking, leaning against a wall. “Is everything okay?”

It takes a few moments for her to respond. “I don’t know. Shit’s come up and… I don’t fucking know.”

I chew on the inside of my cheek. “Can I pry? You know if there’s a problem I’m always-”

“No, no, I can’t. You won’t believe me.”

I pull the trigger. “Tutu,” I ask, “are your ears okay?’

She falls silent again. For a moment, I think she’s hung up on me, like she thought I was insulting her.

“… you too?” she finally asks.

“Yeah, just this morning,” I answer. “I woke up and-” I pause, glancing around. I really don’t want to be talking about this in public. “Can you swing by my place? This is like- sensitive information.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.”

I shut the door to my apartment and finally remove my hand from its spot covering my not-nose. Ugh, thank god I don’t have to keep doing that anymore. My hand’s gotten all sweaty and gross from holding it there so long. Damn you, July heat. Damn you, Picklesburgh. I was only out for an hour, and my hair feels all frizzy and puffy.

My ears are all too happy once I remove my Pirates cap. They twitch and swivel a few times, relishing in their restored freedom. I sigh. At least some part of me is having a good time today. A miserable early afternoon, and I don’t even have chocolates to show for it.

Ten minutes later, I get a knock on my door.

“Coming!” I call, hoping it’s actually Tulip and not some neighbor coming to talk about something unrelated. There’s only so many social blunders I can take in one day.

I hurry to the door, lifting slightly to look into the peephole. Sure enough, it’s her- and she looks terrible. I’ve never seen Tulip as anything lower than an 8/10, but right now, she looks about as unmade as my bed. She’s got a sun hat on, pulled so far down over her head to hide her ears that it practically covers her eyes. She’s somehow managed to stuff her long brown hair into the hat, and the brim casts a shadow over her face, making her typically blue eyes look almost black. To hide what I can only assume is her own lack of nose, she’s put on a cloth face mask. Shit, that’s actually a good idea, now that I think about it.

“Hey, Tutu,” I greet with as much warmth as I can muster.

Tulip’s tired eyes lock onto my ears. “Jesus, Pammy.” Tulip whispers, voice slightly muffled by her mask, “what happened to your hair?”

“Oh, you know, July, humidity. Makes it all like- frizzy.” I clench a fist then unclench it, as if to demonstrate my fluffing locks.

“And pink?”

“And pink?” I echo. My hand shoots up to my hair, and I pull a fistful of the locks into view. Holy shit. It’s pink. My hair’s pink. Not the same color as my ears, but a softer, but still vivid hue. There’s still some hints of blond further down the strands, but the pink is overtaking it. When did that happen? On my way back to the apartment? Did someone see my hair change color? Oh god. “C-come in, will you?” I manage to squeak, quickly shutting the door behind her.

Tulip walks to my couch, plopping down wordlessly. I stand by the recliner, wanting to give her some space.

A moment passes. Then another. Neither of us says anything. It’s quiet, too quiet. I can’t just stand here letting her stew in her feelings.

“… can I see them?” I ask, and I immediately want to shove the words back into my mouth. What kind of fucking deranged question is that?! I sound like a drunk frat bro wanting to look at her chest!

Tulip, to my surprise, doesn’t seem to take any offense to the question. Then again, with how tired she looks, it’s possible she’s just too exhausted to snap at me. She reaches up to the sun hat, pulling it off and letting her hair flow from underneath it. Shit, did she get a haircut this morning before work or something? It’s a lot shorter than it was last night, now only at her shoulders. Not only that, the dark brown locks have started turning orange. But I don’t see any ears- the top of her head is completely free of any weird additions.

“… where are they?” I ask, a little confused. I’d been expecting strange, animal-looking things like mine, not, well, whatever’s going on here.

“I don’t have any,” she answers. “They’re just. Holes.”

“Holes?” I echo, flabbergasted.

“Yeah. Like a reptile or a bird or… something.”

“Jesus.”

“I’ll fuckin’ say. At first I thought I was just seeing shit, like you put something in the pancake batter-”

My face turns red. “You know I’d never put drugs in my food!”

She throws her hands in the air. “I know, which is why I’m confused! I thought I’d go to urgent care or something, but then my nose disappeared too, and now I’m just- fuck!” She leans back on the couch, covering her face. “What the hell am I gonna do? I can’t perform like this! I can’t do anything like this!”

“W-well,” I start, quickly realizing I have no good answer, “maybe it’ll stop eventually?”

“Maybe?” she looks like I just punched her. “Jesus, Pammy, I don’t want a ‘maybe’!”

“I’m sorry, I just- like- I’m just as confused as you are!” I sputter out.

Tulip sighs, dropping her arms. “Yeah. Sorry. I shouldn’t be yelling. It’s not like you did this.”

I don’t reply- a part of me is still stuck on her earlier comment. I fall back into the recliner, thinking. What if something was in the pancake batter, like something had gone bad, and now it’s giving us vivid, similar hallucinations? Ugh, but wait, we can’t be hallucinating, because the lady at The Milkshake Factory saw my nose disappear! Unless I hallucinated her saying that? How deep does this go? Damn it, if it’s not a hallucination, what can it be? Magic? As much as I’d love magic to be real, I seriously doubt it. The only magic I know is the card tricks Jake keeps trying to inject into his standup acts.

“I’m gonna have to call off tomorrow,” Tulip laments. “Maybe the day after that too, if this shit doesn’t stop.”

Oh, crap, she’s right. I can’t just clock in at Hard Rock tomorrow with pink hair, weird ears, and no nose! I groan. Well, thank god they give me a week of vacation days. I’m gonna need them if this keeps up.

“Forget work, you can’t go outside if you keep losing body parts!” I say. My mind grabs the thought and runs with it like a dog with stolen food. It’s only the nose right now, and I guess technically the ears, but what if something bigger or more important is next? A leg? An arm? My spleen? I don’t even know what my spleen does, but I know I don’t want it to disappear! “Maybe we can like, call a doctor?” I weakly suggest.

“What the hell can a doctor even do about this?” Tulip retorts, balking.

“I don’t know!” I reply unhelpfully. “You wanted something other than a ‘maybe’, and even if they can’t fix it, they might know what could be caus-”

A sudden buzzing in my pocket pulls my attention away from my response. I reach inside, pulling out the source. The color drains from my face.

Tulip’s turned to look at me. She cocks a brow. “What? What is it?”

“It’s Jake,” I say. “He’s trying to FaceTime me.”

“Don’t answer that!”

“But what if it’s important?” I ask.

“Pammy, the last three times he’s FaceTimed you it’s because he wanted to show off another card trick he learned. It’s not important.”

I chew my lip. The phone continues to vibrate in my hand. “But what if it is?”

Tulip groans. “If you’re going to answer it, at least make sure your camera’s off!”

I nod, pressing the button. “Hey, Jake! Sorry I’m not on camera, I- NOSE?!”

Tulip sits up, pulling herself over to the arm of the couch to lean over and see what’s caused the distress. When she does, she cries out in equal alarm. Jake’s noseless face takes up the majority of the video feed. At our horrified noises of recognition, his lips pull back into a wild smile. “Right?! Isn’t that cool? It happened like an hour ago.”

“Cool?!” I repeat, voice shaking. “Jake, your nose is gone, what do you mean cool?!”

“It’s like a magic trick, right?” he asks. He holds up a free hand, tucking the point of his thumb between his index and middle finger and lifting it closer to the screen as he speaks in a goofy voice. “Got your nose!”

“Jake, this is serious!” I say.

“Seriously awesome, more like!” he replies. “I mean, come on, every comedian has to have a gimmick! Carrot Top’s the guy with all the props. Some guys do impressions. Maybe I’m the guy with no nose and the cool ears! Think of all the new jokes I can make!” His puts on his goofy voice again. “Don’t you hate it when your nose runs? Who nose where it went?”

Tulip cuts him off. “Jake, show us your ears right now.”

Jake does as he’s told. With a tilt of his phone, the camera reveals his ears. Just like mine and Tulip, they’ve changed, though at least unlike Tulip, he still has some. They’re fuzzy and floppy and covered in a layer of yellow fur. His hair’s started changing color too, the usual scruffy dark hairs now an increasingly vivid auburn. But that’s not the most concerning thing on top of his head. That award goes to the honest-to-god… um. I think they’re called ossicones? The pointy things on top of a giraffe’s head. He has those. On his head.

Face white, I turn to look at Tulip, then back at the phone. “Jake, you should get over here.”

So, less than twenty-four hours after our celebration, the Birthday Bois have all returned to the scene of the pancake crimes. Tulip opens the door for Jake, and I’m not sure if his posture is better or his weird giraffe bump things on his head are tricking my eyes, but I swear he looks a few inches taller.

Jake wiggles his ears as he stands in the entryway. “Hey guys, I’m ‘ear!” he greets.

“Get inside, idiot,” Tulip mutters, tugging our giggling friend into the apartment.

We all sit down in the ‘living room’. For a long moment, no one says anything. It’s quiet. Too quiet. I drum my fingers on my lap, trying to ignore the sound of my heart hammering in my new ears.

Eventually, Tulip’s sighing breaks the silence. She goes to pinch the bridge of her nose, but that obviously doesn’t go very well.

“Okay. So,” she begins, “we all woke up with weird or no ears, yes?”

Jake and I both nod. My ears twitch in acknowledgement, and I can’t help but wonder where I put my Pirates cap. Even in private, I don’t like thinking about everyone staring at them.

“And you guys haven’t heard from anyone else with this… problem, yes?” she continues.

I shake my head. Tulip and Jake are my only real friends. My dad would call if there was a problem down in South Carolina, but I haven’t heard from him. I guess there’s my coworkers at the Hard Rock, but we don’t really hang out or anything. They’re nice, but once you clock out they basically stop existing. If any of them were having this problem, I doubt they’d come to me about it.

Tulip leans forward from her spot on the couch. “So, we have to assume we’re the only ones dealing with this right now, and if it started happening this morning, then something last night must have caused it, since that was when we were all together last.”

Another nod. The logic checks out, but I still can’t think of anything it could be. We’ve already ruled out drugs, but what else

“Maybe a mad scientist gave us all experimental surgery in the night!” Jake suggests.

Tulip rolls her eyes. “Jake, come on, that’s ridiculous.”

“Well, you guys didn’t like magic when I mentioned it, so science is the next option, right?”

“My nose vanished mid-conversation,” I point out. I poke at the space it used to be, just in case. Nope. Still gone. “Unless the mad scientist is invisible, I think that rules him out.”

Jake’s ears droop for a moment before perking back up. “Ooh, maybe it’s nanomachines!”

Tulip squints. “Nanomachines?”

Jake nods vigorously. “Yeah! Like little robots they put in your body! Maybe the mad scientist injected them into us in the middle of the night, and has been using them to slowly warp our bodies from within over time!”

“Enough with the mad science!” Tulip snaps.

Jake crosses his arms. “Well, I don’t see you guys coming up with anything!”

I sink deeper into the recliner, my frown only getting frownier. He’s right- but how do you come up with an answer to any of this? Even if we assumed a wizard cast a magic spell or a mad scientist used nanomachines, that doesn’t change the fact that it’s still happening! “Maybe we’re looking at it from the wrong angle,” I say. “Instead of the ‘how’, maybe we can focus on the ‘why’? Like, why would someone do this to us? What would they have to gain?”

Tulip rubs her chin. “Maybe, yeah.”

I run through a list of people in my life, but I can’t think of a single one of them who would want to give me weird ears and change my hair color. Unless it was a mad scientist testing out some crazy new experiment. Or a wizard testing out a new spell! We were all together last night, he could have cast it through the window! Ugh, that can’t be it! The answer is not wizardry! But what the hell else can it be?

Huffing, I pull myself out of my chair and march to the ‘kitchen’. I open up my cabinets, searching for a snack. When was the last time I ate? Last night? Jesus, no wonder I’m so worked up! I’m not about to make a whole meal, though. I need something easy. Junk food. Please. I’ll never turn down junk food.

“The hell are you doing?” Tulip calls.

I open another cabinet. Oh, shit, I bought Doritos for the party last night and never brought them out! Score! I grab the giant bag and shut the door.

Ripping open the bag, I’m blasted with the smell of nacho artificial nacho cheese. “Snacking!”

“Right now?” Tulip asks. “We’re kind of in the middle of something here!”

I dig my hand into the bag, hurrying back into the room. “Sorry, Ched! You know I can’t think on an empty stomach!” I sit back down on the recliner, munching away. It takes me a few moments to notice Tulip’s baffled expression- and her silence. “What?” I ask. “Did you want some?”

“What’d you call me?” she asks.

“Um, I called you Tulip?” I answer around my mouthful of Doritos.

She shakes her head. “No, you called me Ched. Who the fuck is Ched?”

Ched? I squint, munching faster. I don’t know anyone named Ched. I don’t think that’s a name parents actually give their children. The only Ched I know is from-

I almost choke on my chips. Oh my god. The furry magenta ears. Tulip’s increasingly orange hair. Jake’s giraffe… things.

“Centaurworld,” I breathe.