Archive of Our Own

“Just coworkers.”

Just Coworkers.

Just coworkers. Just coworkers. Just. Coworkers.

You knew this. You already knew this. You know Odile is tired, and weary, and prefers it when everyone is doing their job, and she doesn’t have to put any more work on herself than she already does because she’s not even supposed to be here in a place like this where everything is moving at lightspeed and slower than time itself all the time and she.

You were distracting her.

Friends. Hah. Nobody has time to do anything here, let alone talk to you long enough to actually hear whatever stupid pun comes out of your mouth, trailing off into a whisper as their attention turns away.

In this stupid “family-owned” chainy establishment where employees are called “family members.” Of course you couldn’t be anything even like friends.

You were distracting her, and you thought she was teasing you – as she likes to do, as she gets a little mean with and its okay, it’s all for fun and it’s not at all serious, except for when it is and it was this time and maybe it was all the previous times too? Some uncountable number of them that all blur together in your mind, just like the days do, and you can’t even analyze them to figure out if you did something wrong that day, or maybe that day too, and how long have you been letting your relationship degrade?

She was annoyed with you, you know it. You’ve gotten good at reading her tone of voice, the little expressions on her face. It’s really helpful for when you need to jump in to save a customer from her wrath, giving her a much-needed break.

You just weren’t paying attention today.

You called yourselves friends. She didn’t agree. “Just coworkers.” She was annoyed.

It hit harder than it should have. Because you should have known. You should have known that even the person you like the most working with here in this black hole of a job wouldn’t feel similarly at all.

It’s fine, you tell yourself, shaking hands dropping your second cup today. They usually shake, it’s fine.

It’s fine, you tell yourself, completely forgetting the order you were just told while you were multitasking, having to make that person restart entirely so you could write it down. You do that sometimes, it’s fine.

It’s fine, you tell yourself, when Odile just sighs and doesn’t even comment on your work performance today, like she can’t stand to deal with you.

It’s fine. It’s fine. Just Smile.

Remind yourself, why haven’t you found another job, yet? Don’t you usually move on quicker than this?

Why are you still here. Why are you still here. why are you still here why are you still here why why why

“Um, hey there. You aren’t looking so great..?”

You Smile. You don’t look the person in front of you in the eye. “I’m great! What can I get for you?”

“Oh! Uhm…..” The stranger trails off. You close your eyes hidden under the brim of your hat, and resign yourself to waiting.

“Uh.. Busy day today, Si- um?”

You really don’t want to deal with small talk today. “No, not really! We’ll have your food out quickly.”

“Okay…?”

More silence. Breath in. Breath out. Quietly, quietly, so they don’t think you’re sighing impatiently.

“…Sorry. It’s not like! Any of my business, or anything, but are you okay?”

You look up, and it’s that one particular regular standing in front of the counter. Isabeau.

Oh. OH.

YOU USUALLY OPEN WITH A PUN, OR SOMETHING?

“Ahah!!” You clench your fists behind the register. “Yeah!! I’m-“ something something think of something “over the moon today, really. There haven’t been any lune-y people tonight, crazy or numerous. Which is weird for a full moon!” Or wait- does he even believe in that stuff? That crazy people come out under the lunar guidance? Not even you believed that before working at the window.

Isabeau laughs that boisterous, life-filled laugh of his, and you relax, slipping back on your mask. You Smile at him when his eyes meet yours again. “Hah! Yeah, you get that feeling too? I could swear everything likes to happen all at once when the moon’s out. Thank Change everyone’s actually asleep in the middle of the night today.” Oh, you lied about that actually. Today was incredibly stressful. “But uh, with that in mind, anything happen?”

“What?”

Isabeau scratches his neck, eyes wandering away from you. “Y’know… Full moon and all, I wouldn’t be surprised if today was a bad day anyway. Which, you don’t have to tell me, I’m just like, some guy, so especially if it’s personal. I get it! But uh,” he breathes in.

“I’m fine,” you say, before he can get another word out.

He looks to you again, a challenging glint in his eye. “Oh, yeah. And you didn’t just accidentally use, like, the phrase most known for being a contronym?”

You don’t know that word. “A what?”

Isabeau seems to backpedal, physically backing up from the counter. He looks smaller for it. “I mean!! My bad, like I said, you don’t have to. And you don’t have to like, force yourself, or anything, to seem okay either – I can go a day without a pun. We could just talk?”

“But I said a pun.”

“Um. Yeah? But you don’t HAVE to.”

Oh. Oh, you get it. You’re annoying him too, aren’t you.

It was just something silly you did, for some reason. You made one joke to an oddly sociable customer, the man right in front of you, and thought that just because he laughed then and kept laughing, that you were doing the right thing.

Just like you thought bringing those jokes behind the counter would make your coworkers laugh instead of groan at you. That it wouldn’t be too distracting, as long as you timed them right, during all the calm hours.

But. Isabeau was looking for a pun, right? That’s why he kept asking you if you were alright? Was he just.. humoring you, because he thought it made you happy? Not because he actually thought you were funny. Worth talking to.

“I’m sorry,” you say with your best contrite mask, because what else do you say to a customer when you’ve done something they don’t like. “I didn’t mean to take up your time. I’ll try not to do it again.”

Isabeau – should you be thinking of him by his first name? Maybe that’s overfamiliar – he just. Stares at you, open-mouthed.

He seems to reboot. “Whhaaaaaattt?” He drawls, smiling at you with that too-friendly smile again. Is it even real? “But I love hearing your puns!”

Um. What?

Isabeau raises his hands placatingly. “I was just saying we could talk more! If you wanted! Because I l- I really like talking to you. It’s fun!”

…It’s fun?

Isabeau’s cheeks darken, and he looks somewhere not at you. “And it’s like, way better actually talking to you and interacting than just, what. Pretending I’m talking to a robot in a kiosk or something? That understands human speech? It’s uplifting, honestly, especially with how people tend to like, treat each other today? Nowadays.” Isabeau grabs his elbows, rocking on his feet. “People at the gym will be exercising like a few feet away from each other and, I mean I wish I COULD afford some privacy while getting all gross and sweaty, but it’s a little stifling sometimes being around so many people and not acknowledging them at all?? It’s just the entire gym, filled with the sounds of exercise equipment and silence. It’s spooky.”

He stares at you with the Universe in his eyes, and it’s a little bit much. “Is that oversharing?? I never really told you what I’m doing coming here every night – but. I guess? It’s obvious, considering what I’m wearing. Anyways. Um! And I’m rambling, I don’t want to waste your time either! Which is to say you’re not wasting my time at all?? That’s what’s so great about getting to come here so late at night, there’s not even a line for me to stick to the back of out of everyone’s- I MEAN. I mean, Change I thought of everyone in line but not you, am I taking too much time?? When I talk to you? Are you busy?”

You, for lack of anything else to reply to in that giant of a. Paragraph. You reply to the very last thing. “No, I’m not busy.”

Isabeau clears his throat. “Oh! Um, good. Great.”

You and Isabeau stand there for a moment while you process everything he said.

“…And, um,” you start. “I.. like when you talk to me. It’s.. it’s nice,” you say. Just so he knows you like the distraction. Just so he knows you really, really like having someone to talk to as a person. As someone who’s real. And someone who is apparently a welcome distraction to have, for once.

“Aw!!” Isabeau’s face warms again. “I think it’s nice, too! Or, well. I said that, whoops.” You feel the edges of your mouth twitch up, and you let it rest as a smile. Isabeau seems relieved.

Your smile drops, though. “I probably shouldn’t spend so much time talking though.”

Isabeau’s eyebrows draw together. “Why not? They have you working that hard?”

You slide on your mask. “Oh! No, I’ve just been. Doing it a bit too much? I think it’s a bad habit, haha.”

Isabeau hums, matter-of-fact. “Is talking a lot really a bad habit? I think it depends on the people you do it with.”

“You could call me a social butterfly, but we’re not really supposed to have bugs in the kitchen.”

Isabeau laughs, a little more sober. “You mean they don’t like you socializing during work.”

You wonder what job he has, to understand you so well. “Yeah. And- I guess, talking to customers isn’t exactly- well maybe it is? I could be. Helping. Instead of trying to talk to everyone. Back there. I really don’t want to lose my job.”

“For talking? Scratch that actually, some managers are just Like That. But for making your customers happy?”

“I can do that by getting their food out quickly.” And not forcing them to wait for so long you end up having to pick up the pieces of your mask by the sheer force of their screaming and scathing biting complaints. The guilt of making Odile send you into the office to cry yourself out makes it take so many minutes longer you could be using to help everyone.

The faster they’re out of here, the faster you can leave, can rest, can do it all over again.

You’re not even sure why you’re gripping onto this job so tightly. It’s a really miserable one, of all the odd or low skill jobs you’ve worked. You don’t… really, have anyone here who’d miss you, right? Even if you’d miss them. Even if you’d miss Isabeau, which is weird. That’s weird.

Getting attached to random customers you know nothing about, Siffrin? That’s weird.

Isabeau seems to peer behind you, into the kitchen mostly empty this early in the morning. Then he twists his entire body to peer behind him to the miraculously empty lobby. Then out the glass doors and windows. He looks back at you, and you don’t really know what just happened. “Okay. Um, if it’s alright, can I talk to your manager?”

You stare. Ever-so distraught.

Isabeau raises his hands again. “Don’t worry!! I’m not complaining to them, it’s not like you’ve done anything wrong!”

You’ve definitely done something wrong, you think.

You breathe. “we don’t. really have a manager on staff, right now. but we have. a team leader.”

“That’s cool, that works, they’re the one usually here at night?”

“y eah.”

Isabeau raises his hands in a pleading gesture and says “Please please please get them for me.”

Instead of whining out a pathetic “please don’t make me” like you can feel your throat closing to do, you turn and walk to the office without another word.

You’re so lost on why Isabeau is suddenly upset with you that you can’t think of an explanation by the time you’ve walked to the locked door.

You don’t really have a manager on duty this late at night. But. You do. Have Odile.

You peer on tiptoes into the window of the office, spotting her busy filling out paperwork.

Yeah. You’re about to interrupt her, alright.

You knock on the door as softly as you can, but this late at night, after a moment of silence, she seems to end up hearing it anyway. You feel really, really bad about the “oomph” she makes when she lifts herself out of her chair – is it theatrical? You’d always assumed it was only partially genuine, but maybe it’s all real. Maybe you did something wrong and you’re forcing her to deal with it for you – before she opens the door.

She arches an eyebrow at you, her signature expression. “You’re going to have to knock harder than that, Siffrin. I almost thought that was a sound from the kitchen.”

“Sorry,” You reply, unable to look her directly in the eye. So. You just look at her from your peripheral vision. “Um. Someone up front asked for a manager.”

“A manager, huh. Too bad we don’t have one of those right now,” she smirks. It’s a funny joke, the idea of just telling someone to come sometime other than the utterly lightless hours of the night to complain. But this is Isabeau.

“Yeah,” you mutter and duck your head, leaving it up to her. You don’t really want to try for a joke with her.

Odile seems to peer through the brim of your hat. “…And what would someone need a manager for?”

You shrug, smiling apologetically. “I don’t know, ma’am. Sorry…”

Odile seems to pause.

..Before tapping your hat’s brim, like she does sometimes when you try to hide. You only raise your head just high enough to see her eyes, but you can’t look at them. You keep smiling.

She peers at you from your peripheral, before turning towards the front, where Isabeau is. “Alright. Stay here, Siffrin.”

You do that. She heads to the front.

You do that, in fact, even when part of you really really wanted to follow her, just to know exactly what Isabeau thinks you’ve done wrong. When part of you wishes the office door didn’t lock behind Odile, so you could slip in there and sit on the only chair present for any employee ever that isn’t in the lobby, where those two are.

When part of you is filled with so much anxious energy that you wouldn’t be able to sit for long without crying anyway, because today was blinding awful and not even in the usual way, and you don’t even know what you’ve done wrong because your memory breaks off in fragments everywhere you go and did you just?? Forget about what you and Isabeau were just talking about?? What did you SAY.

You pace. Did Odile literally want you to stay in place, or- or should you find something around the kitchen that needs to be done to make yourself useful, or. Or something other than being useless, until Odile returns.

Stars. If there’s one thing about this job you’re complacent with, it’s that more or less you have a script to follow. The same line, over and over, said hundreds of times a day. The same tasks. The same pattern every day, of wake up and work and maybe see Isabeau and rest and sleep that both drains you of all your energy and leaves you with the comfort of knowing what to expect as opposed to facing the unknown of a different town with a different job and nobody who knows you. Your most favorite part of any job is the people you get to know, however slightly, however quickly you forget them even before you’ve left.

It's the closest thing to familiar you can remember having. Why does familiar have to be just as stressful as the new?

Odile returns.

“So,” she starts, leaning somewhat gently against the door to the office, though you know it’s probably bearing more weight than she makes it look. “This Isabeau person.”

You flinch, but at the same time, you notice the slightest quirk to her lips, hiding a smile. Which is. A good thing? “I didn’t do any-? Did I do something?” Wrong, you leave unsaid, feeling like a child faced with punishment for being ignorant about something. You don’t want to sound like that.

Odile huffs. “Gems, no, Siffrin. That man only ever seems to love visiting you.” You note the weird phrasing, but you’re not sure what to do with it. Isabeau is visiting food, not you.

Regardless, you sag with relief, and Odile’s eye arches with the drop of your shoulders. You didn’t realize you were looking her in the eye again.

“He asked for me so he could inform me of what a wonderful employee you are,” Odile says, voice just the least bit gentler.

Huh.

You don’t. Usually talk to managers just to do that, right?

“Were you standing back here the entire time?” Odile asks. You nod… slowly. Was that. the wrong thing to do? Odile sighs. “Worrying yourself into a mess, probably.” Siffrin flinches, again. “He was telling me about your stellar customer service skills. About how half the entire reason he’s a regular here is because of the welcoming staff – though, I’m sure he means you in particular.”

Odile stares pointedly at you, steadily grinning the more your shoulders hunch and the more heated you can feel your face becoming. He?? Said all that?? What???

“Oh yes,” Odile continues evilly, and you scrunch your face ruefully up at her. “’Siffrin is a great, wonderful person to talk to, who probably definitely deserves a raise,’ or so he said.” She chuckles. “I told him to go leave a review online and I might just be able to convince management to do that.”

You’re. Surprised, by the genuinity of that statement. By the warmth of her words. “I thought… I thought I was..”

“I’m sorry, Siffrin, you’re going to need to speak up for me. There’s nothing embarrassing about deserved recognition,” she says teasingly.

Her smile falls when Siffrin. Can’t.

What did you think? That Isabeau was going to talk to her about what you (think you remember you) said? About being distracting behind the counter, where he can’t see you? That Odile wouldn’t be so supportive of you, when you’ve been so disruptive?

Can you tell her she’s wrong when she seems like she’s forgotten all of that – and you thought you were the forgetful one – when she seems so pleased with you?

You smile your work Smile. “Haha! That’s good. I’m glad I can do alright at something, at least!”

Odile doesn’t smile back. She’s too good at seeing through you. Like when you’re about to cry.

“…Siffrin.” She sighs. You try not to let your mask shatter. “..There’s a reason I didn’t take that manager position. Figures I’d have been given all the work for it, anyway,” she says, out loud, as if that weren’t even meant to be an under-her-breath statement. As if she didn’t just imply that you’re a piece of work. Like the papers you interrupted her from in the office, just to peacock your own worth through Isabeau. Like talking to you right now, indulging in your distraction from her job.

“You are quite possibly one of the hardest working people here,” she says, and your wandering eyes slide to meet hers. She looks at you dead-on, locking you in. “In a place primarily filled with careless minors and tired adults with second jobs – and all my respects to those of the latter – you are one of the few who are the keystone to a day filled with the least possible amount of things left unfinished, and the fastest speed of service that no undeserving, understaffed fast food restaurant should even reasonably have so consistently. You are, as our coworkers have so affectionately dubbed you, ‘The Goat.’”

You stare up at Odile, mask having slipped entirely from your face and shattered upon the floor. If it were anyone else saying this, you’d have a hard time believing a word they’ve just said. Smile and laugh and thank them.

But this, coming from Odile, is said with the sureness of a law of the Universe set into the very fabric of everything. “The Goat,” written into stone and stardust. The ridiculous thought makes you want to laugh in a bout of hysteria. It’s been a long day.

Instead, the hysteria makes you blurt out, “But I thought you. were annoyed with me.”

Odile stares at you more wide-eyed than you’ve ever seen her, so much that it’s comical. “Now when have I said that.”

“I mean-“ you flounder. “You didn’t. sorry. You said- you. I mean. We’re not… friends.”

Odile, for some reason, smiles at that. “Yeeeeeessss, but that doesn’t mean I can’t want for you to prosper in life, Siffrin.” She shakes her head, almost a. fond? Look on her face? Before it shifts to a thoughtful gleam in her eye. “…If you wanted to try being friends, however. You could visit me for a drink one day. I know a good bar. Don’t tell anyone I invited you during work.”

Wh.

What?

What what what?? Odile, inviting you out?? To talk over drinks??? What???

Odile barks one big laugh, startling you from your shock. “Yes, I know how to socialize, believe it or not. It’s just a lot easier over drinks, and when there’s a lot less running around happening. You see any drunks around, they certainly won’t be on their feet for long. I much prefer making friends outside of work.” Odile smirks at you mirthfully.

And. You.

You honestly, for the tiny life of you in the infinite Universe, you never saw this coming. But it’s. Good?? A little overwhelming – while you know how to talk to strangers you struggle when it comes to people you actually plan on knowing, and a hangout like that is going to be all talk, but.

You can’t help but smile at Odile. “Um! Yeah!! Sounds good. Sometime.”

Odile does that little nose-huff-laugh she does sometimes. “I’ll write down my number for you, and we can plan sometime outside of work. Try to call, please. And don’t share it.”

You nod your head fervently, violently, then slow down considerably when she raises a brow at you.

You can’t believe this is happening. It feels like you’ve been stuck in this particular hole of a town for ages, and haven’t made a single friend in all of that time. Much longer, even, before living here. Should you call her your friend yet? Probably not. Maybe after you hang out? Or. Or maybe after a couple of hangouts, if you even get that far. You-

“…He’s still waiting up front, you know. He wanted you to take his order.” OH. OH, RIGHT. YOU FORGOT ABOUT THAT.

You scuttle back towards Isabeau, lighter. You still can’t really look him in the eye, after what he said, but it’s not like you feel his gaze burning into you, either.

You’re sitting at the park, later that morning, guzzling down an energy drink and considering the risks of taking a nap right then and there.

You don’t get many opportunities to sleep under the sky, in a city as large and compact as this one. It’s dangerous to fall asleep in the open, amongst people. It’s strange and worthy of calling law enforcement to secure yourself to a tree branch.

Cozy and warm in your favorite grass-stained cape-shawl, you’re not sure you’d get any sleep anyway, hopped up on caffeine as you are.

And, well. Bonnie’s gotten to the point where they’ve stumbled upon a sleepy Siffrin so many times that they’re no longer shy about jumping and stomping directly on your stomach. Something about your food getting cold, and how your stomach should be mostly empty before you get there anyway.

You’re meeting with Bonnie, today.

And Mirabelle. She called you before daylight, out of the void as usual, for a sudden visit either in the afternoon or a little later that morning. You happily agreed to this morning.

The headache you’ll get from yet another interrupted sleep schedule is worth it. Even if today has been more exhausting than usual.

Mirabelle, working with Dormont Boarding School and Dormont’s local foster care agency, acts as one of Bonnie’s caretakers, or so you’ve assumed from everything Bonnie’s told you about her. She’s always the one willing to drive Bonnie all the way out to the town over, taking the time out of her day to watch Bonnie interact with you, practically a stranger.

This would be.. the second time, this month, Bonnie has insisted on visiting you with food they’ve made? They like to do that. Feed you more than you bother to feed yourself.

They can’t visit often because it’s such a drive, but whenever you can’t make it yourself – or. You just don’t go for a while, feeling bothersome and out of place, because what functional adult makes a kid cook food for them? – Bonnie ends up pitching a fit until someone, always soft-hearted Mirabelle, generously drives them over.

“YOU BETTER NOT BE SLEEPING AGAIN, FRIN!!” You hear a very distant Bonnie yell at you.

ah, yes. Like a meteor straight to the forehead. Their timing is perfect.

“nooooooo, I’m noootttt,” you groan at them, flopping over lazily to watch them approach with armfuls of containers filled with yummy goodness.

Guilt twinges in your gut at the sheer magnitude, and you make note to try not to forget to give them the freshly washed, empty containers you owe them from last time, and the time before that.

Mira comes in beside them, carrying a few less containers – no doubt under Bonnie’s insistence to carry as many as possible – smiling at you awkwardly. You quickly lift yourself up to help them place the containers down on the picnic blanket you’d bought just for these visits.

“Um,” you say gracefully. “This is, a lot-“

“Mhmph!!” Bonnie huffs, an intensely proud look on their face. “Since you’re so busy you can’t come over and Belle can’t always take me, I made extra!! So you don’t col-apps or something.”

You smile at them, feeling it wobble on your face awkwardly. Right yes. You’ve been ‘busy.’ And totally not avoiding them. Because you love Bonnie’s company, and would only ever avoid them for guilt reasons.

Bonnie plops down, initiating the usual ritual you two have. Mirabelle plomfs down elegantly in her poofy dress, and Bonnie hands a warm container and appropriate utensil to both of you.

You, in turn, slip a hand under your cape, slipping back out with an offering for Bonnie – your latest whittle project based off a character you saw in a videogame that oddly knows how to keep the bad thoughts at bay – they grab it, and as they always do, set it down immediately in favor of staring you down until you take a nervous bite of your food.

They started doing that when you made a “bad habit” of distracting them with your little gifts, failing to eat your food before it went cold.

You take a single bite, and you. Honestly have no idea what you’re eating. Mainly a rice dish, with stringy sweet meat and mixed greens on the side, and you assume you’re given the option to either mix it together or take separate bites of everything.

Regardless, your deprived tastebuds convince you that if stardust tasted as wonderful as it looks, this would be it. It’s not a burger and fries, thank the stars.

“This is so good, Bonbon!!” You say, remembering to compliment the chef.

Bonnie looks pleased, immediately zeroing in on Mirabelle for her response. Hers is as chipper as ever. “It’s really good, Bonnie!! Thank you so much!!”

“Thank you, Bonbon,” you say, heartfully. You try not to think about all the times they’ve brought you something warm and delicious and different, every time, otherwise you’re pretty sure you’d tear up.

Bonnie grins and does a little gremlin giggle, before digging into their own portion.

You eat quietly. In your caffeinated, exhausted, post-stress haze still haunting you from early this morning, this moment of peace is something really, really. Good, you think.

It’s like this, ever since you met Bonnie, ever since they made it clear that they don’t want a single word from you until you’ve eaten everything – and you can’t take it personally or anything, especially when it offers you a good long moment of just sitting among… people.

Can you call Bonbon your friend? That’s definitely not right. They’re like, eleven, you think. Preteen. You don’t really have much in common, even if you love hearing about their day, even if you have nothing but the same thing to say about your own.

And you can’t really call Mirabelle your friend, can you?

…no. You don’t think you can.

You chew that thought over slowly. Hah. Pun just for you.

“Why do you wear that thing,” Bonnie interrupts you. Apparently, today, you’re taking too long to eat. You set your food down slowly, but keep the utensil in your hand. Don’t want them catching onto you.

Bonnie is looking at you with an oddly scrunched expression. In the eyes. And not at whatever they’re talking about?

You glance at your well-worn and dirtied cape-shawl, your large floppy hat you’ve been accused of cosplaying with, your possibly over-practical (for someone who doesn’t travel anymore) and boring black clothes. “Um. What thing?”

“That- those things,” Bonnie pokes you hard between your collar bones, making you cough and flinch at the same time. They back off immediately. “Sorry.”

You look down where they poked you.

…Oh. The silver safety pins?

You’re not really sure what those are about. You don’t really need them to keep the shawl together – it’s always fit you perfectly, a little stretchy, so you can fit your head through the neck, not that the wide collar gave you any issue. But they’ve always felt like an important part of it, that came with it. You’re… pretty sure that factory made clothes don’t really come with safety pins?

But you did read something somewhere… “They’re safety pins. I heard they mean I’m a safe person..?” Or. That people can feel they have a safe space with you? Feels a little presumptuous of you to make a statement like that. But you’d like to think you’re someone who’d support someone in trouble, if the chance arose. That you have an open mind.

Some part of you thinks it’s just safety pins a clothing designer would use. Maybe whoever made it for you.

Or.. wait, was this handmade?

Bonnie nods, like this makes complete sense to them. They turn their attention to the carving you gave them, seeming to just remember it exists. “What is this.”

Something you saw in a game somewhere. “A fish with arms and legs.”

“That’s weird!!” They reel away from it, grinning, equal parts disturbed and intrigued. You grin. They wave it at Mirabelle. “Belle, look at this!”

Mirabelle takes the carving curiously, dragging a finger along the scales. “This is really good! You made this?” She looks at you, eyes sparkling, as if you haven’t made at least one of these every time you’ve met up with Bonnie.

But, you guess you haven’t been so ambitious as to try detailing textures before. You nod.

Mirabelle stares closely at the fish face. “It’s a little monster creature… with stumpy lil arms and legs…” She squeaks under her breath, and ah. You get it.

“..I could carve you something next time too, if you wanted,” you offer quietly. You’ve been wanting to offer her something for going through all this trouble for you, but never knew what else you could give her, other than gas money.

Mirabelle straightens. She waves her hands around, flailing the poor little figure. “Oh! Um… N-no, I’m alright! You don’t have to!!” You sag, a little disappointed. Her eyes widen, and she smiles nervously, clapping her hands together. “I mean..! If you wanted to..?”

If you wanted to? Is she offering just to make you happy..?

You get a sinking feeling in your stomach, a feeling similar to earlier today.

Mirabelle looks at you worriedly. “…um. What inspired you to make this one?”

You smirk something dastardly, and Mirabelle’s kind eyes immediately narrow at you. “It’s like a comfort character. The opposite of carcinization. Mammalification.”

Mirabelle’s eyes widen, her mouth forming a cute little ‘o’. “Changing from a fish to a mammal…” she whispers, reverently.

“Ma’am-all-fishion?” Bonnie tries.

“Mammalification. And. I don’t think that’s a real word?” Mirabelle questions, scrunching her nose the slightest bit. Cute.

You lean back on your hands. “Think of it as having a leg-up on evolution,” you say casually.

Bonnie catches on immediately, groaning up at space. “STOOOOOOOPPPP”

Mirabelle, instead of laughing at your very funny joke, hums deep in thought. “I don’t think a fish sprouting legs takes them any further evolutionarily from..” Mirabelle shivers. “That.”

You’ll admit. You were very, very close to carving out a crab, after last visit’s conversation about them. It felt just a tad bit disrespectful with Mirabelle around, though.

What would you even make her? What would she like? Would she like anything? Generally, Mirabelle is very quiet whenever you and Bonnie visit; you ask about their day, about school, about Nille whenever Bonnie is excited to talk about her instead of sad. Mirabelle talks sometimes, but... mostly she stays to watch.

You come to realize that, a lot of what you know about Mirabelle is what you’ve learned from Bonnie.

You peer at Mirabelle. And then glance away, only looking at her in your peripheral. What are you… how do you start a friendship with someone? Outside of just.. happening to have done something right?

Have you ever done something right by Mirabelle?

“Once, I found a crab without any legs, and Nille said it was gonna die so I gave it to one of the people at the docks that sold hermit crabs! And one day I came back and they still had the crab, but all of its legs grew back!! Nille said it was a different crab but I KNOW it was the same one.”

“That’s!!! …kind of cool, actually.” Mirabelle looks upset to admit this.

“He told me it molded. So I guess crabs need mold to grow legs back. Do you think people could do that too? If they ate mold? Is there a recipe.”

“I don’t think any mold is safe to eat? Please don’t try to cook mold, Bonnie.”

“Frin.”

Mirabelle looks at you, for some reason. You’re not really listening, so you’re not sure why.

“Friiiin. Hey!” Bonnie pokes you.

You jump, hard, and Bonnie startles. They visibly scoot away from you, and you feel a pang of regret. “S’rry,” they mumble.

“What?” Your voice shakes.  “I mean, sorry, you’re fine, what were we talking about?”

“Were you not listening?” Bonnie looks at you weird again. “…Belle says we can’t eat mold. But if we can eat crabs, and crabs eat mold, then shouldn’t mold be eatable if we cook it?”

“We do NOT eat crabs!!!” Mirabelle squeaks. “Do not cook crabs in the dorms!!! Or mold!!! We will DEFINITELY get in trouble, Bonnie!”

You’re pretty sure crabs don’t eat mold, because you’ve never heard of sea mold. “That’s definitely a bad idea.”

Bonnie huffs and crosses their arms in disappointment. “Yeah. Okay. I guess only crabs can eat mold. But for some reason we can eat crabs. Or is that why everyone doesn’t like them?”

Mirabelle looks at you accusingly, and you raise your hands in mock surrender. You’re not sure what everyone’s problem with crabs is! Or, well, the internet has given you a pretty good clue, hence the carving, but still. You think crab tastes good. Anything that isn’t burger and fry.

It’s a bit more of that, of talking about whatever Bonnie has thoughts on – which, inevitably, since you don’t have anything to bring up and Bonnie is kind of holding up the conversation one-sided unless Mirabelle jumps in, you end up talking about crabs a bit too long for Mirabelle’s comfort. Which of course leads to her jumping in, changing the topic to something in the dorms, and you can’t really remember all of what was said because you.

You zoned out today. A lot more than usual.

You try not to feel bad about it, because if you feel bad about it Bonnie will notice, and you don’t want Bonnie to think you’re not excited for them to be here. But you must come off pretty badly one way or another, because Bonnie steadily gets quieter as the time goes by, and you end up finishing your food by pure virtue of finding something to do in the awkward silences between.

…It makes a building anxiety grow in your chest. You can’t remember how any of the previous meet-ups went, but did you.. always.. fail to pitch in?

…Eventually, Mirabelle tells you and Bonnie that she has college classes to get to today, and you sag in equal parts relief, disappointment, and exhaustion.

You all pack up. Bonnie and Mirabelle help you take the many leftover containers to your car. You follow them to theirs.

 You wave goodbye to Bonnie.

Bonnie fiddles with their phone behind the tinted windows of the back seat, and you go with Mirabelle to the driver’s side of the car.

When she turns to you, you’re already holding out what you owe for all of the food Bonnie used for you, and the gas to get there, discreetly out of sight of the window. “Here you go.”

“…This is still too much, Siffrin,” she takes it gently, just barely glancing at it. How would she know for certain, anyway, how much is there? It’s just enough, you think.

You give her your best Smile, knowing perhaps too well what it’s like to receive a tip from someone who is scarily adamant.

“It’d make me happy!” You chirp. It’s not like you’re hurting for it.

Mirabelle, tensing into herself before releasing it all in a sigh, delicately folds the cash and slips it into her dress pocket. Oh, that’s cool. A dress with pockets? You didn’t think those existed and now you kind of want one.

Mirabelle stares at you for a moment, and speaks before you can say your goodbye. “Are you.. okay, Siffrin?”

You laugh it off. “Yeah! Sorry, I had an energy drink earlier, but I guess I might be getting used to those?” What’s it called again, when you take the same thing over and over, and it works less? You know this word. You searched it up not that long ago, with a raging headache.

“…Right.” Mirabelle sighs. Then sighs again, almost, angrily? “Okay. Is it okay if we talk about something?”

You’re a little intimidated by the heated display of emotion coming from her in particular, but far be it from you to deny Mirabelle a conversation that seems to be important to her. “Uh! Yeah, of course!”

“Okay.” Mirabelle looks back at the car, noting the closed windows. She looks you dead in the eye. “I don’t really feel… comfortable having Bonnie around you.”

The statement, so simply put, strikes a stake right through your heart.

Ah.

“I just..” Mirabelle’s eyes drift away from you, before snapping right back, not giving you even a moment to crumple down into the black hole settled in your gut. “I never liked the idea of taking a child to visit some.. stranger,” another stake, but she’s not wrong, “who didn’t call the police as soon as they found Bonnie wandering the streets alone. That this child is making food for an adult who can perfectly feed himself.”

She looks at you, fire in her eyes, and it’s such scathing words. Such piercing words coming from Mirabelle, the sweet-tempered woman who Bonnie only ever said such nice things about and is kind enough to let you interact with Bonnie at all, under her supervision and taking up her time when she could be-

You know she goes to college, you’ve talked a little about it because why wouldn’t you talk to the responsible guardian who watches over Bonnie, even if you haven’t talked as friends, and it was pleasant but so so awkward and you know why now and.

It strikes something terrible through you, how right she is, how right you’ve always known her to be about this.

Your mask must have dropped again, because Mirabelle’s eyes widen at you with an emotion you don’t want or deserve, and. You look away.

You can’t find the words to say. You can’t find a reasonable explanation for why you didn’t just call the police. You… know why you didn’t.

Bonnie threatened to run as fast as they could into the trees surrounding the town the moment they thought you would tell on them. They wouldn’t tell you where they came from, where they belonged. Sitting in an air-conditioned building, having bought food for a ravenous Bonnie who looked twenty miles of walking way past ready to collapse yet still stubbornly holding on, they would only tell you their destination, and their reckless willingness to walk the entire way there.

Their older sister, Nille, at the Juvenile Detention Prison.

You didn’t know what else to do. You drove them there.

They were only allowed entry as soon as Head Housemaiden Euphrasie – one of the biggest overseers of a lot of Dormont’s more charitable organizations, including the foster care system – had arrived to take Bonnie back home.

You had to stay for questioning. It was probably one of the more stressful things you’ve ever gone through in your life, that you can remember.

Euphrasie had looked at you kindly, after the very long several hours you had been kept under watch, waiting patiently both for Bonnie’s sake and because Bonnie had wanted to wait for you, too. She looked at you without an iota of the disgust the officers had saw you with, and. She thanked you.

Bonnie, covered in dried tears and snot, did too.

After that, Bonnie insisted – absolutely insisted – that you HAD to come by sometimes, so they could make you some actual food, having remembered one of your few conversations you’d had on the way over to the prison. About how you. only ever really ate from your job, where the food was discounted.

You made them promise they’d never run away again, and you’d visit. You forget that, sometimes.

You know you didn’t do the right thing. Somehow, you could have done something different. Better. Stars, the last thing you want is to teach Bonnie to trust strangers like they did you.

And you are a stranger. That is what you are.

Mirabelle takes a shaking breath in, and out. She does that repeatedly – so much that you almost think to do it yourself, but that would be weird, right? Breathing together with a stranger? That’s weird.

You clench your shaking hands together behind your back, instead.

“I’m sorry,” she says, voice shaking.

You’re. Shocked. What is she apologizing for?

Before you can kick your mind into gear again and tell her no, she’s right, she continues.

Mirabelle quirks her lips up at you, fiddling with her hands. “Bonnie taught me a really useful ‘breathing thing’ that, um, helps me calm down sometimes.” She can’t quite look at you. “They told me that their friend Siffrin taught them that.”

You just. stare at her.

“I’m sorry,” Mirabelle apologizes again, ducking her head. She lifts her gaze, wobbling guiltily at you. “I got a little angry there, I know it was- it gets complicated with Bonnie. Um. I was just, a little worried? Because it seems like you’re… not yourself, today? I’m pretty sure both me and Bonnie can tell you’re not really in it. And it’s- it’s fine?” She huffs, directing an upset gaze somewhere not directly at you. “But I mean- it’s NOT fine.”

You’re. more confused? Than sad and guilty, now. Because you’re not. sure what she means.

Mirabelle’s arms wave around wildly, as if dispelling her previous words, and you try not to jump. “It’s like!! Sometimes new foster parents will decide to take in kids and then just arbitrarily decide they’re sick of it, but the kids they’re taking care of already formed a connection with them and now they have to move around again and cut those ties and it just makes it harder for them to connect with trusted adults in the future and it’s just-“ Mirabelle releases all the little air she has left, sucking in a new breath, “If!! You’re having a bad day!! I get it sometimes that happens, I’m just a little worried?? And.” Mirabelle squeaks from the back of her throat, pressing her lips together.

“You think. I want to foster Bonnie?” You say.

Mirabelle freezes. “…You don’t?”

Your immediate thought is Yes You Do.

Your next immediate thought is No, That Is A Horrible, Terrible Idea, and in no way do you know how to take care of a kid nor is your little apartment going to be foster agency approved. You can’t just! FOSTER a KID to cure your crippling loneliness – especially not with minimum wage?? Why was your immediate thought YES??

While you stand there quietly screaming at yourself, Mirabelle is waving her arms around again. “I didn’t mean to assume, it’s just!! You seem so invested in Bonnie, and the Head Housemaiden trusts you, and Bonnie doesn’t connect well with other kids or adults at the boarding school but they seem to do so well with you and I just thought!!”

She just thought??

Mirabelle hides her face. “Well!! Nevermind!! Sorry im so sorry im so sorry”

You, unwilling to put yourself through the ordeal of entertaining the thought of fostering Bonnie any longer, spots Bonnie from behind Mirabelle, dozing in the back seat of her little bug car, and points. Mirabelle, though the hands on her face, looks behind her.

“I should. Probably go! Soon.”

You smile at her, feeling oddly pretty alright about the entire.. upsetting.. conversation. Mirabelle cares deeply for Bonnie, alright. You’re glad Bonnie has Mirabelle, at least.

Mirabelle stares wide-eyed at you for a moment.

Then, she smiles something very gentle, and very Mirabelle at you. You’re struck by it.

You both wave goodbye, and you listen to Mirabelle’s little buggy roll off as you walk to your car. It’s time to go home.

Why you just went through the worst best day of your life, you have absolutely no idea. The Universe leads, you guess, and it loves a show.

You are. not at all ready for tomorrow.

OH, you. You forgot the containers. Stars. You’re definitely going to have to visit, soon.