Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“He hates me.” Dash groaned over a cafeteria lunch tray laden with the vegetable protein mush that coach said would be best for the athletes in school. Kwan took in a deep breath as the daily meltdown started, star took a sip of her mocha-caramel-latte and prepared her best analytics to beat down the self-doubt, and Paulina didn’t look up from her makeup poof as she finished touching up her makeup – she would be battle ready for this.

“He doesn’t hate you – he just… doesn’t … like you?” said Kwan hesitantly as his best friend melted into a puddle of mopey jock next to Paulina face pressed sideways into the table. He couldn’t very well say that Dash’s crush actually liked him back or not because he didn’t know – frankly he didn’t think anyone knew including said crush since this has been happening for nearly six years and has yet to be decided either way and there’s zero chance of anyone missing Dash flirting. Dash is many things but subtle he is not.

Then again Kwan had been flirting for nearly six months after he brought it up to Star for approval and had made similarly little progress. Star had apparently been trying for two years and gotten tentative friendship but nothing more. The boy was as oblivious as a brick wall… possibly more.

“He hates me.” Dash whispered to a whorl in the wooden table, maybe it would be nicer to him than his ‘friends’, he’d never had an argument with wood grain. Maybe it would be the secret to wooing the object of his affection, he’d certainly never asked the table before. Should he ask the ghosts? They were certainly odd enough to give useful advice but they’d probably like – skin him or something. He’d ask Sam or Tucker (the freaking weirdos) but they’d definitely skin him.

“He can’t hate you, you’re Dash Baxter, you are the star of the football team, a wonderful friend, and a good fucking person. If he can’t see that you’re a catch, then that’s his fault not yours.” Said Paulina snapping her compact mirror shut with a click that sounded more like a gunshot.

"Maybe I’ll just write him a heartfelt note?" Dash suggested to the table, glancing at Star for reassurance. She was the kind of person who could write a text and somehow make it sound like it was pulled straight from the pages of a romance novel.

Star raised an eyebrow, leaning back on the bench. "And how will you start? ‘Dear person who doesn’t hate me but kind of does?’" she teased, a smirk playing on her lips.

Ashley, sitting at the far end of the table, snorted. "Honestly, what is your opening line going to be? Are you going to apologize for, like, everything?" She shook her head, clearly skeptical. "You’ve got a lot of catching up to do."

Dash groaned, trying to write a heartfelt love letter to his crush while knowing his English grades were a disaster felt like a recipe for disaster. He could already imagine it—what was meant to be a tender, sincere note would likely come out sounding more like a ransom letter, full of awkward phrasing, misspelled words, and clumsy attempts at sentiment. The last time he’d tried to write a love letter had been a disaster, and he still had no idea why Kwan went with it after getting doused in sour cream and half a can of sardines in a truly baffling miscommunication—something about a picnic, a surprise, and his attempt at 'creative presentation' that had clearly backfired in the most bizarre way possible.

“Maybe I’ll just avoid him forever.” Dash slumped down in the cafeteria booth, staring at his half-eaten lunch like it was his greatest enemy. He jabbed a fork aimlessly into his mashed potatoes, not even bothering to look up.

“You stuffed him in your locker this morning, and as far as I know, he’s still there. So good luck with that,” said Star, sitting across from him, arms folded and a raised eyebrow. Her tone was as dry as the cafeteria pizza.

Dash’s face turned a shade of crimson, and he dropped his fork with a clatter. “Yeah, but I didn’t think he’d actually stay in there! I thought he’d... I don’t know, wiggle out or something like he always does.”

“Well, he didn’t Romeo!” Exclaimed Star pointing at Dash with a perfectly manicured finger.

 “Then WHAT am I supposed to do???” Dash nearly shouted, frustration bubbling over as he glanced around nervously, as if expecting the entire cafeteria to be watching him.

Paulina, sitting next to Dash, leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand with a smirk. “Dash, you’re a badass, so let’s start simple.” Paulina grinned, completely unfazed by his meltdown. “What do you do before a big game?”

Dash blinked, still in a slight panic, his voice shaky. “I... I pump myself up? I get in the zone?”

“Exactly!” Paulina nodded enthusiastically. “Step one: Stop spiraling. No one wins a game if they’re freaking out before they even start. You’ve got this.”

Star, who had been casually sipping her drink, glanced at Dash with a knowing look. “Step two: Be your charming self.” Star remembering the last time they gave a pep talk to Dash, admittedly there’d been more kissing involved but the A-listers didn’t do that on school grounds after that one time they all got rashes from the bleachers after the homecoming game.

Kwan, who had been shoveling fries into his mouth across the table, paused mid-bite and looked up, blinking slowly. Star elbowed him in the gut, sending him into a brief coughing fit as he wiped his mouth. “You’re still with us, right?” she teased.

“Step three: Profit?” Kwan added hesitantly, looking around for validation. His mouth was full, and he clearly wasn’t sure how he got roped into the conversation, but he was trying.

“Exactly!” Paulina laughed, giving him a high-five. “Look, Dash, we’re just saying: you can’t let this one weird thing spiral into something bigger. Just handle it like you handle anything else—confidence, calm, and a whole lot of swagger.”

Dash stared at his mashed potatoes for a moment, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “Okay, but if this backfires, I’m totally shoving him in your locker, Star.”

“I’ll take that risk,” she shot back, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. “Now, get it together, man. It’s high school. You’ll survive this—heck, you’ll probably even laugh about it in a few weeks.”

Dash looked around at his closest friends and took a deep breath. They were the best things in his life, the ones who had stuck by him through thick and thin. He’d be damned if he let his own self-doubt get in the way of that. They’d been with him through his first game, ghost attacks, the moment he realized he maybe wasn’t as straight as he thought he was, the rough nights with his dad, and stood by him even now—especially this year. They’d been there when things got complicated, when friendships turned into something deeper, something that friends didn’t really describe anymore.

Paulina had been the first to notice, probably because she saw everything—she had an uncanny ability to read people, especially when it came to Dash. Star had been the second, sharp as ever, her usually cynical attitude softened by something real between them that neither of them had expected. Even Kwan, always too laid-back to care about anyone’s drama, had quietly supported them from the start, offering a kind of steady, unspoken understanding that grounded them all. It hadn’t happened overnight, but over time, through long conversations, shared moments of vulnerability, and unexpected sparks, they all found their way to each other in ways they never saw coming. They could count on one another now, not just as friends, but as something more—something deeper that had grown naturally between them, through everything they’d been through together.

Alright then. Dash thought, shaking himself out of the spiraling thoughts. Step one, stop spiraling.

He exhaled slowly, closed his eyes for a moment, and took in a deep, calming breath. His thoughts, as always, felt like they were running away from him. But maybe—just maybe—if he could slow down, the chaos wouldn’t seem so overwhelming.

Breathe in, breathe out, take a bite of food. Repeat until food is gone.

The routine was simple. He focused on it like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. The mashed potatoes, the dry turkey, the rubbery green beans—none of it was the greatest, but it was food. And it kept his mind from unraveling. One bite. Then another. It was working, he told himself. A little bit.

After the third repetition of this routine, Paulina and Star started talking about the new makeup brand Manson had bought something about full coverage and contour profiles. Dash could tune them out. He had enough on his plate right now. He glanced over at Kwan, who was talking animatedly to Dale about the Fairfield Falcons game. That was another distraction.

Step two, be your usual charming self.

It wasn’t like Dash had done anything particularly egregious today. Stuffing Fenton into a locker so Lancer wouldn’t see that he hadn’t changed clothes for the third day in a row wasn’t exactly a crime. It was a bit of a jerk move, but Fenton had asked for it. Dash had asked if he’d packed lunch today (which, honestly, was a good question—if he hadn’t, maybe Dash could buy him something from Nasty Burger later?). But then Fenton got all skittish and ran off, avoiding the conversation entirely. The guy was impossible to get a read on sometimes.

Dash sighed. But maybe that was part of the problem. He was always in “fix-it” mode, trying to solve everyone’s problems before they even asked. Maybe Fenton didn’t need his help today. Maybe... maybe he just needed to be treated like a normal person. Like someone Dash could joke with, not someone he had to rescue from via locker.

He leaned back in his seat, chewing thoughtfully.

Dash’s mind shifted back to Fenton. There was an idea there. Instead of just stuffing Fenton into a locker to cover up for him, what if he did something different? What if he left a change of clothes in there for him? And maybe a lunch, too. Fenton didn’t always eat—probably because he forgot to bring anything—but if Dash left something in there for him, that might be different. And it wasn’t just about food; Dash could throw in something small, maybe a note, though that felt a little too forward. He could leave a drawing instead. Something cute. Something that would make Fenton smile, if he ever noticed it. Dash smiled a little to himself at the thought. Maybe he could add a little doodle of Fenton, simple and goofy, like he was always pretending to be.

His mind drifted, thinking about what he could make. Something to help Fenton bulk up a bit (he was way too skinny), but still taste good. Dash liked food that made him feel good, and he figured Fenton might appreciate something a little healthier. Maybe a chicken wrap with his mom’s homemade secret sauce and quinoa with some vegetables in it? That would work, right? It wasn’t a whole meal, but he could talk to coach about it later – he had an unhealthy obsession with nutrition (apparently his ex-wife had been a lunch lady that exclusively made unhealthy though scrumptious meals before she died) It was something. Something thoughtful.

Maybe that would be a good start.

Dash’s heart softened at the thought. He didn’t know if Fenton would appreciate it, but it felt like the right thing to do. He snapped out of his thoughts as Paulina’s voice broke through the background chatter. “So, Dash, what’s the plan?”

Dash looked up, meeting her eyes. She was smiling, waiting for him to answer.

He smiled back, suddenly feeling lighter. “I think I’ve got it figured out.”

Step three, profit.

Chapter Text

“So,” Star said, breaking the comfortable silence as they walked down the tree-lined street. The golden glow of the mid-afternoon sun dappled through the leaves, casting playful patterns on the cracked sidewalks. The faint hum of an old, gear-driven ghost shield generator buzzed from a nearby lamppost, a soothing background rhythm in a town where the supernatural was as normal as math homework.

A corner store came into view, its retro neon sign flickering erratically: "Milkshakes & Malachite." The quirky little shop was a local gem, beloved for its ghost-themed treats and an ambiance that seemed stuck in the 1950s. Kwan glanced at the sign, momentarily distracted by a fond memory of splitting a Phantom Float with Dash after a big game win.

“I’m thinking silver or ectoplasmic green for the fabric. What do you think?” Star’s voice brought him back, and he turned to see her grinning, her blonde hair practically glowing under the vibrant neon light. Her enthusiasm for her latest project—probably some elaborate costume or art piece—radiated off her like sunlight itself.

Kwan tilted his head, considering the options as they stepped around a crack in the pavement. Star had a knack for turning the mundane into something dazzling. He admired that about her; even a simple decision about fabric seemed like an adventure in her world.

Kwan glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “For your bags?”

“Duh. Limited edition, ghost-chic handbags,” Star replied, her eyes bright with excitement. “Amity Park is the place for ghostly inspiration right now. Imagine: shimmer like ectoplasm, but classy. Not like… gooey.”

“Silver’s classy,” he said, his tone measured, “but ectoplasmic green sounds like it’s got more personality. And let’s face it, you’re all about personality.”

Star laughed, a musical sound that echoed off the nearby storefronts. “True! But do you think it’s too on the nose? Like, ‘Hey, everyone, look, I’m really leaning into the whole Casper High ghost aesthetic?’”

Kwan shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe. But you could make it work. You always do.”

She nudged him playfully with her shoulder. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Kwan. Maybe I’ll add silver accents—like, stitching or little charms. What do you think?”

“Sounds like a winner,” Kwan said with a grin. “It certainly works for Fenton.”

The crunch of autumn leaves underfoot mixed with the distant wail of sirens as they wandered through Amity Park’s quiet neighborhoods. Kwan’s gaze flickered toward the horizon, where faint green streaks of ghostly activity shimmered against the sky. For most towns, it would’ve been the stuff of nightmares, but here, it was just part of the backdrop.

As they continued walking, the warmth of their easy camaraderie filled the spaces between the buzzing generator, the flickering sign, and the chatter of distant voices. For Star, moments like this were fuel for her endless creativity. For Kwan, they were a rare but welcome chance to just enjoy the now, free of the expectations that usually shadowed his steps.

Star chattered on about fabric suppliers and design ideas, but Kwan’s mind wandered to his own creative outlet—film editing and podcasting. He’d spent hours piecing together footage and soundtracks, turning raw clips into polished stories. It was his escape, a way to capture the world around him and shape it into something uniquely his.

“Hey,” he said, cutting into her monologue. “Why don’t we do a mock commercial for your bags?”

Star stopped mid-step, her eyes widening. “Wait—what?”

“A commercial,” Kwan repeated, gesturing as if framing a shot. “We can storyboard some ideas, shoot a promo with your designs, maybe throw in some ghostly effects to make it pop. I’ve got editing software at home, and we can even record some voiceovers. It’ll make your brand look legit.”

Star blinked, her surprise quickly giving way to excitement. “Oh my gosh, Kwan! That’s genius! You could help me bring the whole ghost-chic vibe to life. We could do, like, dramatic shots with glowing effects and eerie music—ugh, I love it!”

Kwan laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, something like that. Plus, if you ever actually launch the bags, you’ll already have some promo material ready.”

Star clapped her hands together, practically bouncing with energy. “This is so happening. We’ll make it look like a high-end fashion brand but with a spooky twist. Like if ghosts had their own runway!”

“Exactly,” Kwan said, grinning at her enthusiasm. Moments like this made him glad he’d picked up film editing as a hobby—it wasn’t just about creating cool projects but also about helping people see their ideas come to life.

“Kwan I could kiss you right now you lovable lovable man! You’re always so supportive. I don’t think I’d be half as confident without you.”

Kwan chuckled, brushing off her praise with a wave of his hand. The two of them continued walking, their steps in sync. For Kwan, moments like this were a rare reprieve from the pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations—the calm friend, the reliable teammate, the guy who always had it together. Star’s energy was contagious, and her unfiltered creativity reminded him that there was more to life than just meeting others’ standards. No matter who they might be or how much they cared.

“Dash has been… weird lately,” Kwan said, steering the conversation in a new direction as they turned a corner.

Star tilted her head, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Weird how? Like, sulky weird or angry weird?”

Kwan shrugged, adjusting his backpack strap. “More… quiet weird. Like he’s thinking too much about something, but he won’t talk about it. You noticed?”

Star frowned, her playful demeanor shifting. “Maybe he’s just stressed about football playoffs? Or…” She hesitated, her voice dropping. “Y’know, his dad? That whole thing.”

“He hasn’t said anything to me,” Kwan admitted, his tone careful. He didn’t want to pry or confirm too much, but the tension was hard to ignore.

Star’s expression darkened, her fingers tightening around the strap of her purse. “Ugh, his dad. Why can’t people like that just… disappear? If we were 18 already, we could—” She stopped herself, exhaling sharply and shaking her head. “Sorry, just… makes me so mad. He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Yeah,” Kwan murmured, his voice low.

Star gave him a small, apologetic smile before forcing herself to brighten up. “Anyway! Paulina and I have a date planned for Friday afternoon, but after the game, we should all hang out. Dash can crash at your place, right? Maybe some pizza and video games or something just the two of you?”

“Yeah, that works,” Kwan said, nodding already planning some much-needed time for Dash and him. Maybe they could try the newest Doomed DLC and bet kisses like they did in the summer when Dash wasn’t spending so much time on the football field training. “And Saturday morning…” He hesitated for just a second, but his tone turned more casual. “What about brunch? Just you and me?”

The A-listers always made an effort to spend time with each other when they could, but when Kwan arranged something just for him and Star, he couldn't help but feel as nervous as the first time he'd asked her out. There was something about her that made him second-guess himself, a pressure he didn't feel with the others. Perhaps it was the sheer force of nature that was Paulina, who always seemed to demand more with her bold personality, or the years of familiarity he had with Dash, a friendship built on countless honest conversations. But Star? She was different. He felt the overwhelming urge to impress her, to be the fairytale prince he imagined she deserved in a way he never had to with the others.

With Dash, Kwan knew his role: a rock, a shield in times of trouble. With Paulina, he had to be the one to call her out on her bullshit, the one who let her obsess and be just a smidge neurotic with. But Star—Star needed something different. She needed support, love, and someone who could offer her all the dreams in the world, without hesitation or reservation. It wasn't about just being there; it was about showing her she could trust him with her heart, the way he already trusted her with his own. His job with Star was always to be her “Yes, and…”.

Star’s eyes lit up, and her smile turned teasing. “Ooooh, brunch? Just the two of us? Sounds like a date.”

“Maybe it is,” Kwan replied with a grin.

“Brunch sounds perfect,” she said, nudging him lightly with her elbow. “You’d better be ready for pancakes, waffles, and me grilling you about life. Oh, and bring some juicy podcast stories—I’ll need entertainment.”

“You’ll get the best,” Kwan promised with a mock salute.

As they reached the corner where their paths split, Star shot him a wink. “Don’t let me down, K-Dawg. Saturday brunch is serious business.”

“Never,” Kwan said, watching her bounce off down the street, her ponytail swishing behind her.

Turning toward home, he let his mind wander to the upcoming celestial events he’d been researching for the newest episode of The Infinite Sky. Star always liked hearing more about her namesake though she was more into the stories than the science. He couldn’t blame her—most people just wanted to know the myths, the magic. But Kwan had grown to appreciate the science, too—thanks to Danny Fenton. Freshman year, when Danny declared that NASA was the new Prada, Kwan found himself asking questions he never thought to ask before (like what was in Fenton food, what did his lips taste like, and how much could he read on astronomy before it was painfully obvious. Though Dash had been trying even back then, so it was probably a lot).

Astronomy wasn’t exactly something Kwan had been passionate about. But with Danny, even the most obscure facts became fascinating. Kwan would casually drop a star fact or a piece of astronomy trivia, and Danny would light up with that smile of his. It made Kwan’s chest feel tight, though Danny didn’t seem to realize it was more than just an attempt at bonding. Unlike Dash, Kwan had learned how to be patient, how to just… let things unfold, no pressure.

So maybe The Infinite Sky had started out of a mix of late-night pining with Star and a few too many shots of his mother’s stolen Baijiu. They were sitting in his room, and Kwan had been halfway between telling Star the story of Orion and its various cultural interpretations and gushing over how pretty she was, and how cool it was that her name was Star because, in a way, she was his universe. He almost kissed her, but then she said it would be even better if Dash were there, since he liked traveling and would love the navigational part of the Orion myth. Kwan, trying to mask his disappointment, teased that it would be even better if Danny was there too, since his freckles literally formed constellations, and he was so pretty in a nerdy, endearing way.

Star had laughed red faced and said, “You should, like, totally make this a podcast to show off your stuff and use that audio software. And maybe seduce the nerd, because if you can do it, you should. Someone should. He’s too precious... too pure and handsome—”

The rest had been drowned out by a kiss, and Kwan had laughed, embarrassed, but the idea stuck.

So, the first episode had been a drunken, half-edited dive into stars and their cultural roots, all recorded under a pen name—Tiangong, with a cover image of a black hole horizon absorbing a gong, the sound of a supernova explosion reverberating through the silence for an intro.

And now? He was stuck with it.

Not that it was ever a hardship.

----------

Kwan stepped into the familiar warmth of his house, greeted by the comforting scents of jasmine, soy sauce, and sesame oil. Neat rows of shoes lined a rack by the door, and above them, a family shrine glowed softly on the wall. At the end of the entry hall, a small room—once a sunroom—had been converted into an indoor garden. A miniature fountain bubbled gently among potted plants, including bamboo and delicate chrysanthemums.

To the right, stairs led up to the second floor. Kwan was sorely tempted to climb them without looking to the left; but it was Wednesday, and it was the one day of the week it wouldn’t be empty.

In the dining room through the door to the left, the table was covered in papers. His mother, Principal Ishiyama, sat at the table, glasses perched on the tip of her nose as she sifted through a stack of student essays. These were submissions for the Principal’s Award, a small prize encouraging writing skills for local high schoolers preparing for college. The air in the room was filled with the delicate scent of incense, and a small offering bowl rested beneath a Buddha statue on the far wall.

"Hey, Mom," Kwan called out as he kicked off his shoes and made his way toward the dining room. He knew the only reason his mother was home before dark—and before him—was that it was Wednesday. Mr. Lancer, the assistant principal, was wrapping up the school day’s paperwork, allowing his mother to get home early. On Mondays, she covered his last class so he could attend a book-and-wine club in return.

She looked up and smiled warmly. "Hi, Kwan. How was school?"

"The usual," he replied, dropping his bag near the stairs and making his way toward the table. "What’s got you buried in papers this time?"

"Grading essays and planning the school dance," she said with a dramatic sigh, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "You and your friends going, or have you all outgrown that now?"

Kwan grinned, shaking his head. "We’re never too cool for free snacks and bad DJ remixes."

His mom chuckled, the sound rich with affection. "Good to hear. It’ll be nice to see you all there, even if it’s just for the terrible music and the punch."

The conversation seemed to grow silent too quickly – like neither knew what to say to keep the conversation going after their basic duties of asking how the other’s day had been and what they were actively doing to connect. Kwan opened his mouth to say something then closed it. His mother took a breath then let it fizzle out as she looked around the immaculately clean room for something to discuss.

As Kwan glanced around the room, his gaze settled on a framed photo on the wall near the entryway—his grandparents and his late father, all standing proudly in front of a vast, starry night sky. The image was timeless, capturing a rare moment of unity and joy, and for a moment, Kwan was transported back in time. He paused, his heart stirring as a memory surfaced from the depths of his mind.

He had been only eight years old when his father had taken him camping in the woods near their old home. The memory of that night was vivid—sitting by the crackling campfire, the scent of pine trees mingling with the cool night air. His father had patiently pointed out the constellations, his voice steady and warm as he guided Kwan through the vastness of the sky. He had shown him Orion, the Big Dipper, and explained how sailors and explorers had once used the stars for navigation. Kwan could still hear his father’s voice, calm and steady, as they searched for the North Star together, the quiet connection between them as palpable as the flickering firelight.

It felt like a lifetime ago now, and yet, in the stillness of the moment, Kwan could almost hear his father’s voice again, as though the memory was just waiting to be rediscovered. He blinked, his eyes refocusing on the photo, but the warmth of that memory lingered, both a comfort and a pang.

Turning away from the photo, Kwan’s eyes drifted to where his mother was sitting. She had noticed his moment of introspection, and her expression softened, no longer the stern Principal Ishiyama but Fei, his mother.

“I miss him too,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “He was a good man, Kwan. And it seems like you grow to be more like him every day.” Her gaze drifted away for a moment, lost in her own thoughts. Kwan saw the flicker of nostalgia in her eyes, the unspoken weight of a love that had never truly faded. “He’d be so proud of you, Tian Tian,” she added, her tone tender but bittersweet.

Kwan felt the lump in his throat, his mother’s words both comforting and heavy. His father had been the anchor in their family, and now that he was gone, Kwan sometimes wondered how much of him still remained in the world. In his mother. In him.

After a pause, his mother cleared her throat, as if to push the emotions aside, and shifted back into the role he knew so well. “Dinner’s at six,” she said, her voice now practical and businesslike as she shuffled through a new set of papers on the desk.

"Got it," Kwan responded, offering her a small nod. He turned and started heading upstairs to his room, the soft sound of her humming floating behind him, like a familiar lullaby. It was strange—though she was physically present, it often felt as though he couldn’t hold her attention for long. She loved him, of course, but sometimes, it didn’t feel like enough. Like he was just another part of the ever-growing list of responsibilities that filled her life.

At least dinner would guarantee some time together—time when he could ask her about things he’d been pondering for weeks. Like how she might feel about his partners. He knew she wouldn’t care about him dating a man but dating those three? That, he thought with a wry chuckle, would definitely be a conversation if he could actually muster the courage to bring it up.

----------

Kwan stepped into his room, a familiar blend of organized chaos, his personal sanctuary where passion and creativity met in every corner. To his right, one corner of the room was dedicated to his podcast setup. A sleek black desk sat beneath soundproof panels, the high-end microphone gleaming in the soft light. The equipment was neatly arranged, from the headphones resting in their holder to the laptop waiting for input. The setup had an almost professional quality to it, perfect for deep dives into space topics or impromptu interviews. Everything was in its place, as if this corner existed solely for the purpose of bringing Kwan's voice to life, to share his knowledge with anyone who would listen.

Turning his gaze across the room, Kwan’s eyes landed on the far wall, which was covered with posters and reminders of his many interests. In the center, a large celestial map stretched from floor to ceiling, glowing softly under a string of fairy lights. The constellations and star clusters were intricately drawn, the lines tracing out patterns Kwan had memorized long ago, but they still held a sense of wonder. Surrounding it were movie posters—some from classic sci-fi films, others from space epics that had sparked his imagination. A few posters featured his favorite directors, their faces frozen in iconic moments. The collection had a slightly chaotic feel to it, as though the posters were more than just decoration, each piece telling a story, pulling Kwan’s attention in different directions.

On the opposite side of the room, a sleek bookshelf stood, packed with astronomy books and filmmaking texts. Next to it, Kwan’s vintage video equipment sat—an old, well-maintained set of cameras, a tripod ready for use, and several film reels stacked neatly in a bin. Their metallic surfaces glinted in the dim light, a quiet testament to his dedication to the art of filmmaking. A few film clapperboards leaned casually against the bookshelf, one of them marked with a handwritten note, “Future Project,” a reminder of the ideas that still lived in his mind, waiting for the right moment to come to life.

Nearby, a section of the wall was lined with notebooks and storyboards, the area dedicated to his current passion project. The wall above was cluttered with pinned-up pages—sketches, photos, and notes that mapped out the world of his short film. It was a story about an explorer, lost at sea, trapped on a ship where he would slowly realize he was dead, unable to return to shore. His family, meanwhile, would grow and change across generations. Kwan’s notebooks were filled with ideas—character arcs, plot points, and pages of character backstories. Some notes were scattered with questions about how to capture the passage of time. Could it be shown through subtle visual cues or should he make the changes more pronounced? One page had the words, “Ending: Unclear. Maybe death is not an escape, but an eternal cycle,” a thought Kwan had yet to resolve.

A nearby stack of astronomy books sat on his nightstand, their worn spines indicating they had been opened countless times. Beside them lay another notebook, filled with Kwan’s podcast ideas—scripts for future episodes on topics like distant galaxies and black holes. The pages were a jumble of thoughts, some neatly written, others scribbled in the middle of a creative burst.

Kwan moved to his desk, the weight of the room’s creative energy settling over him. He adjusted his podcast gear, his fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the microphone. He pulled out his notes for the evening’s episode—a rare planetary alignment happening next week. As he double-checked the facts on his laptop, scrolling through articles and diagrams, he made a few quick edits. Satisfied, he cleared his throat, ready to hit record. In this room, surrounded by his passions—film  and storytelling—Kwan felt at home, preparing to share his thoughts with the world.

Sitting at his desk, Kwan adjusted his podcast gear, running his fingers over the smooth surface of the microphone as he pulled out his notes for the night’s episode. The topic was a rare planetary alignment that would take place next week—a perfect subject for his audience of space enthusiasts. He double-checked his facts on his laptop, scrolling through articles and diagrams about the event, making a few edits to his notes to ensure he had all the details. Satisfied, he cleared his throat and hit record, ready to share his thoughts with his listeners.

“Welcome to The Infinite Sky the podcast where we dive deep into the myths, science, and wonder of the night sky. I'm your host, Tiangong and today, we're setting our sights on one of the zodiac constellations that brings both mysticism and a bit of science to our stargazing—Aquarius, the Water Bearer.

Whether you're a seasoned stargazer or a casual sky watcher, this constellation is one you’ve probably seen, especially during the fall and winter months. But there’s much more to Aquarius than meets the eye. Today, we’ll talk about the myth behind this starry figure, how it’s viewed in other cultures, some alternate names, a navigational marker within the constellation, and a weird science fact that’ll make you see Aquarius in a whole new light.”

----------

Finishing the podcast episode Kwan posted the episode then went live for his Q&A. He didn’t do it every week but he’d been putting it off for a while.

"Alright, let’s hear from you guys. Who’s got questions about the cosmos?"

A moment later, a voice crackled through, full of energy and excitement. "Oh my god, is this really you? Hi! First-time caller!"

Kwan’s heart skipped a beat. He grinned, trying to keep his voice steady. "Welcome! What’s your name?"

"Uh, you can call me… Starstruck! Yeah, Starstruck!" The caller’s voice was practically buzzing with enthusiasm, and Kwan felt a flutter in his chest.

"Alright, Starstruck. What’s your question?" Kwan asked, trying to sound casual, though his hands were suddenly clammy.

"Okay, okay, so listen to this. I’ve been thinking—what if, like, planetary alignments or cosmic events could mess with things? Like, maybe they affect ectoplasmic energy or—" The voice on the other end became more animated, filled with giddy excitement. "I mean, could the stars open up portals or amplify paranormal stuff? Like, could ghosts get more active or something when the planets line up? It’s so cool to think about!"

Kwan’s mind raced. The question was intriguing, but all he could think was, Why does this person sound so familiar? His chest tightened as the excitement in the voice became more intense. Wait—no, it couldn’t be.

"Uh, interesting angle," Kwan said, his voice slightly shaking as he tried to hold it together. "I’ve read theories about celestial phenomena impacting magnetic fields and, yeah, even electrical systems. But ectoplasmic energy? That’s… definitely a new one." Kwan mentally prepared to make a Science and Mythos section on planetary alignments soon – he’d have to talk to Sam about some of the mythos section and the Fentons about the ghost angle but it would make a super cool episode that Amity park was in a unique position to provide. “Why do you ask?"

There was a brief pause on the line, and then the caller’s voice came back, a little more breathless. "Well, I’ve been reading a ton of stuff about astral planes and ghostly dimensions, and—" They rushed on, clearly thrilled with the topic. "I’m just wondering if planetary alignments could somehow be linked to, like, ghostly rifts or something? Or maybe cosmic gateways? Imagine the possibilities for space travel and black body anomalies!"

Kwan’s stomach did a flip. This was getting too close. That energy—the excitement, the enthusiasm—it was all too familiar. His mind started racing. No. This can’t be happening. He wiped his palms on his pants, trying to focus. His voice faltered just a little. "Yeah, uh… that’s outside the usual scope of space studies, but it’s definitely… unique. I’ll give it some thought."

There was another pause on the other end, a slight shift in the caller’s tone. "I’m sure you will," they said, their voice practically glowing with excitement. "You’re, like, the space expert! I just had to know your thoughts on it, you know?"

Kwan swallowed hard, the panic slowly creeping up his neck. Oh my god. This is it. This is Danny, isn’t it?

The realization hit him like a freight train, and his heart pounded in his ears. He had no idea how to respond. He’d heard that voice so many times before, seen the spark in those eyes when they spoke about space, but now it was coming through his podcast, like some kind of dream he wasn’t prepared for.

"Uh… yeah, for sure," Kwan managed, his voice shaking a little. "I, uh… I’ll get back to you on that one, Starstruck." He mentally cursed himself for being so awkward. He couldn’t even think straight anymore.

The caller, oblivious to his panic, laughed lightly. "Thanks, Tiangong! You’re amazing. Can’t wait to hear more about it!" The voice trailed off, full of warmth and enthusiasm.

Kwan sat back in his chair, his pulse still racing. "Yeah, thanks for calling in," he mumbled, before the line disconnected.

His heart was still thumping, his thoughts spinning. He took a deep breath, glancing at the microphone in front of him as if it might somehow have all the answers. He couldn’t believe it. He’d just had a full conversation with his crush, and all he’d managed to do was sound like a mess. He let out a shaky laugh, wondering how on earth he was going to keep his cool for the rest of the episode.

Chapter Text

Ember slipped through the portal at midday, invisible as always. Testing the Fenton’s newest inventions didn’t interest her. She preferred playing and flirting with Phantom, though his guardians had no manners—they weren’t looking for introductions, only endings.

When Danny pleaded with her and the other ghosts not to get caught, they listened. It always seemed to surprise him, as if he didn’t understand the weight he carried in their world. Ember wondered if he knew how much he meant to them—or to her. He was so many things: fright, fraid, brethren, king, advisor, mentor, mentee, guardian… and maybe, one day, mate to some lucky ghost. Phantom was beloved. Danny could be too. But still, she wondered if he’d ever truly see it.

Ember drifted to the street outside FentonWorks, her usual starting point. This was when she’d typically seek out the nearest music venue, cause a little mischief, and rise again as a star. The part of her that craved validation pulled her in that direction, urging her to find some poor schmuck to fuel her resurgence. She could already imagine the stage lights and the applause. Stardom called her name like an old friend.

But she hesitated.

No matter how many times she answered that call, it was always the same. Ember McLain, the one-hit wonder, would soar to fame only to be struck down when Phantom showed up to end her encore. She’d be forgotten again, fading into obscurity until the next cycle.

Her obsession was a fickle thing, a flame that burned as often as it consumed. It drove her to the mortal world to seek adoration, only to remind her of how fleeting it all was. In the Infinite Realms, things were no better. Everyone carried their own tragedies, and while talking about your death wasn’t forbidden, it wasn’t something shared lightly. There, everyone had their own Obsessions to pursue. Her one hit, Remember, resonated with the eldest ghosts trying to recall their pasts and the youngest still angry at the world. But nothing else she created ever seemed to stick.

She thought back to a conversation with Kitty during one of their long days in the outer reaches of their little corner of the Infinite Realms. Kitty, cigarette in hand, had stared into the green haze and said, “Why not find something to inspire you? Do something new. Go somewhere you’ve never been. The mortal world held heartbreak and tragedy and all that maudlin crap for us but there’s got to be something else there too. I think a lot of ghosts would want to hear about it.”

Ember hadn’t responded at the time, but the words stayed with her. She hadn’t been able to shake them, especially on days when her form and being seemed not to resonate with the music she craved but with the jello like consistency of smooth peanut butter in the wave of a sonic boom half melted to the pavement and discordant notes strung through her as new music escaped her fingers and doubt crept in

So here she was, lingering in the mortal world, wondering if there was more to find. Something good. Something worth singing about.

She found Wes Weston leading a group of elementary school students’ home after their after-school program. It was their first time walking without their parents, and they were nervous about going alone. Of course, Wes made sure they didn’t have to. He did this every day, guiding different groups and ensuring every kid felt safe.

She found Paulina Sanchez outside the bathroom, crouched beside Ashley, who was wiping her mouth and eyes with trembling hands. Paulina’s voice was soft but steady, a lifeline in the storm. “It’s okay,” she said, “recovery isn’t perfect. You don’t have to be perfect. Do you want to go talk to Dr. Gioven? Or would a sleepover help? You aren’t alone.” Her voice was gentle, filled with warmth and understanding, offering the kind of comfort that only true friendship could. Paulina didn’t know what bulimia felt like, but that didn’t matter—what mattered was that she cared, and she was there for Ashley, no questions asked.

She found Connie Davis in a heated battle of wits with Genius Magazine, using her professional expertise to dismantle the Fentons’ latest paper on Blood Blossoms and their supposed ties between alchemy and modern science. The holes she blew in their research were precise and unrelenting. Her assistant, Jade Rivers, worked tirelessly beside her, logging extra hours for what Connie called “a righteous cause,” compensated not only with overtime pay but also a romantic evening that left both of them glowing.

She found Samantha Manson at the Senior Center, surrounded by residents carefully trimming and shaping miniature shrubs. Bonsai trees, Ember thought they were called. Sam’s patience and attentiveness shone as she listened to their stories, smiling at tales of youth, loss, and resilience. There was a hint of magic in the plants—Ember could tell. Sam must have borrowed some of Undergrowth’s power, ensuring every tree thrived, the leaves vibrant and green.

She found Damon Grey at Milkshakes & Malachite, paying for the next customer’s drink without hesitation. He had just enough to cover his own rent but still chose to brighten someone else’s day. His quiet generosity was met with a grateful smile from the cashier, who scribbled his name on the café’s “Kindness Board.”

She found Ernesto Montez hunched over a table at the public library, surrounded by stacks of law books. He was drafting letter after letter to Congress about the GIW’s overreach, his frustration evident in the angry scrawl of his pen. Across from him, librarian Hally Johnson sifted through references, offering suggestions and encouragement. Hally’s passion burned just as brightly, her concern extending beyond Amity’s people to the ghosts who called the town home. Ember recognized the name in one of Hally’s discarded drafts: “Amber McClain,” written with deliberate care. “A returned soul of our constituents. Past or present, in power or replaced by the changes of life, we protect them.”

Hally remembered her.

Ember froze, staring at her name written in Hally’s neat handwriting. Amber McClain. It wasn’t just a passing thought or a vague memory—it was deliberate, careful, and respectful. Someone remembered her. Not the rebellious rocker or the ghostly troublemaker, but her. The girl she had been, the life she had lost. Hally’s words resonated in a way Ember wasn’t prepared for: “Past or present, in power or replaced by the changes of life, we protect them.” It wasn’t just acknowledgment—it was acceptance. Her existence mattered, even beyond the flash and fury of her ghostly persona. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Ember felt something shift within her, a flicker of warmth in the hollow ache she carried.

Ember wandered through Amity Park, observing the people she’d once judged from the sidelines. Some were just as awful as she remembered—selfish, indifferent, wrapped up in their own worlds with no care for the struggles of others. They were quick to ignore, quick to dismiss, and quick to turn a blind eye when something didn't directly affect them. But then there were those who surprised her—people who, despite their flaws, were surprisingly kind. They stopped to help strangers, listened without judgment, and offered a kind word when needed most.

But none of them were quite like Daniel Fenton.

Ember knew Danny was friendly—by ghost standards, anyway. He was protective of his haunt, loyal to his fright and fraid, and quick to greet visitors with a punch and a quip (excellent hosting skills, by ghostly measures; there was a reason he had the most visitors of anyone except regional leaders). He’d defend anyone he deemed worthy, often surprising those around him with his loyalty—she was still stunned to be included in that circle. He’d even listen to someone’s Obsession and help them when they were lost or struggling. But what truly set him apart wasn’t just his loyalty or strength—it was that he was unapologetically good.

In the Infinite Realms, goodness was relative. Ghosts were shades of chaos, vengeance, and whimsy, and what was considered “good” often depended on aligning with the local community’s quirks or values. Those who didn’t fit simply moved to a different region to find their place. But Danny wasn’t good in some abstract, relative sense. He just was.

She saw it again when he knelt beside a boy who had fallen off his bike just outside of FentonWorks. The boy was staring at the looming structure with wide, terrified eyes, his jeans torn and his knee bleeding. Danny crouched beside him, pulling out a clean tissue from his backpack. "It’s okay, buddy," he said softly, his voice warm and reassuring. "You’re not gonna turn into a zombie or anything. Just a scrape—easy fix. You’re way tougher than this, I can tell." He smiled, light and easy, and the boy sniffled, nodding hesitantly.

From her perch across the street, Ember watched, arms crossed, her form hidden in the shadows. He doesn’t even know this kid, she thought, frowning. Most people would walk by, maybe give him a quick "you okay?" and move on. But not him. He’s here, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Danny rummaged through his bag and pulled out a small first-aid kit, holding up two brightly colored bandages with a grin. "Dinosaurs or stars—your pick. Personally, I think stars make you look cooler."

The boy hesitated, then shyly pointed to the stars. Danny chuckled as he carefully cleaned the scrape, his hands steady and sure. "This might sting a little," he said, then started to hum a tune—a soft, silly melody Ember hadn’t heard before.

"You know," Danny said as he worked, his voice light and conversational, "my sister taught me this. She said if we were gonna keep getting into trouble while our parents were in the lab, we’d better know how to patch ourselves up." He grinned, his tone turning conspiratorial. "She even made up a song so I wouldn’t forget."

He sang softly as he applied the bandage, his voice low and rhythmic:
"Clean the cut, stop the bleed, bandage tight, and you’re freed."

The boy giggled despite himself, his tears forgotten. "That’s a weird song."

"Yeah, but it works," Danny replied, zipping up the kit and ruffling the boy’s hair. "Think of it as your new superhero theme song. Now go on—you’ve got this."

The boy nodded, his small chest puffing out with newfound confidence as he hopped on his bike and pedaled away.

Ember rolled her eyes, though there was no real heat behind it. A song? Seriously? What a nerd. But her gaze lingered, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. He’s such a dork. But... he makes it work.

Danny stood, dusting off his jeans and glancing around as if sensing her presence. Ember melted further into the shadows, her non-existent heart beating faster than it should for someone technically dead. I don’t get him, she thought, an unfamiliar knot of frustration and fascination tightening in her chest. He makes things that should be complicated feel so simple. Maybe he’s not meant to be figured out.

She kept watching as Danny went about his day, quietly helping people in ways no one seemed to notice. Whether it was fixing a classmate’s homework problem or tinkering late into the night to repair someone’s broken device, Danny’s kindness felt effortless. He didn’t do it for recognition or praise—he just did it. His heart wasn’t loud or showy like the great powers Ember had often been drawn to —like Skulker’s raw ambition, the sheer freedom of Johnny’s motorcycle, the smell of Kitty’s perfume on the wind, or the chaos of the Infinite Realms. It was quiet, unassuming, and real.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Ember felt something she didn’t quite understand: an aching, yearning desire to feel the kind of warmth he radiated, to be part of it. People like him didn’t have the power or presence of ghosts, but they had something else—something Ember couldn’t name but desperately wanted to touch.

For the first time in a long time, Ember wanted to feel it, to be part of it. So, she took on a human guise, letting her usual teal skin fade to pale and her flaming blue hair dim to an ordinary black. She adjusted her outfit, blending in with the mortal world, and stepped into the streets of Amity Park.

The bustling town was vibrant with after-school energy—kids laughing, parents wrangling toddlers, and the hum of conversation floating in the air. It was fascinating, though she’d never admit it aloud. Mortals were predictable but strangely charming in their chaotic routines.

Her wandering brought her to Nasty Burger, the warm, greasy aroma drawing her like a moth to a flame. She joined the line, eyeing the menu with interest. It had been ages since she’d thought about food—not since she was alive, really—but something about a classic burger called to her.

When Ember reached the counter, reality hit her like a sour note. No money. Of course, she thought bitterly. As a ghost, she’d long since shed the trappings of the mortal world—no need for food, no pockets for cash. But now, with the tantalizing smell of sizzling grease and salty fries surrounding her, it felt like a glaring oversight.

Her fingers twitched toward the guitar strapped to her back. Hypnotizing the cashier would be easy. Just a little nudge, she reasoned, her temper bubbling. It’s not like anyone would notice—

“Holy crap! Are you gonna play?” a voice behind her interrupted, cutting through her spiraling thoughts.

Ember turned, her scowl melting into curiosity. A teenager stood there, wide-eyed and practically vibrating with excitement. His friends crowded behind him, murmuring in agreement.

“Can you play ‘Through the Fire and Flames’? I’ll buy you a burger if you do!” the boy blurted out, his voice cracking slightly in his enthusiasm.

The tension in Ember’s shoulders eased, replaced by a spark of amusement. Well, that’s one way to get what I want. Smirking, she slung her guitar forward, letting her fingers glide across the strings. “You’ve got yourself a deal, kid.”

She struck the opening chords, and the boy’s face lit up like a fireworks display.

What started as one request quickly snowballed into an impromptu concert. Word spread fast, and soon, a crowd of after-school teens surrounded her. They shouted requests—everything from fiery rock anthems to nostalgic ballads. Ember, swept up in the energy, obliged them all, shredding her guitar with a passion she hadn’t felt in ages. The applause, the laughter, the sheer joy in their faces—it reminded her why she loved music in the first place.

By the time she left Nasty Burger, a burger wrapper in hand and a soda tucked under her arm, Ember couldn’t stop smiling. She’d made their day, and they’d made hers. No hypnotism required—just music.

-----

As she stepped out of Nasty Burger, still basking in the afterglow of her performance, she nearly collided with a familiar figure.

“Uh, sorry—” Danny Fenton began, his words trailing off as their eyes met. Recognition dawned, his brow furrowing, then lifting in realization. “Wait a second…”

Ember froze for a fraction of a second before slipping on her trademark smirk.

Danny’s expression shifted from confusion to suspicion, and then to something sharper. His whole face lit up with a near-feral grin. “You!”

“Me,” she replied smoothly, her smirk widening.

Danny’s stance shifted, his feet planting firmly as he readied himself for a fight. His hand twitched at his side, already glowing faintly with ecto-energy.

The sight made Ember’s heart race, but not from fear. No, this was excitement—this was the kind of greeting she understood.

She cracked her knuckles, letting her guitar materialize in a blaze of blue flames. “What do you say, dipstick? Round two?”

“Bring it,” Danny shot back, his grin matching hers.

-----

The battle erupted into the sky, turning the fading light of evening into a spectacular display of energy blasts and musical fire. Ember’s fingers flew across her guitar strings, launching flaming riffs that streaked through the air like lightning bolts. The flames swirled around her, dancing with the beats of the ethereal music she conjured. She laughed wickedly as Danny twisted and dodged mid-air, weaving between the fiery chords with an effortless grace.

“You’re always on edge, Fenton,” Ember called, her voice full of teasing. She ducked under a blast of green light, the air sizzling as it narrowly missed her. “Ever consider I’m just here for some fun?”

Danny smirked, zipping past her in a blur of ghostly speed. His ecto-blast shot out, a carefully aimed burst of power that grazed her shoulder. She winced but barely flinched. “Fun? You don’t exactly have the best track record, Ember. Where’s your band, anyway?”

“Who needs them when I’ve got you?” Ember shot back with a fiery grin, spinning in mid-air. As she completed her turn, she unleashed a devastating flaming chord, sending a cascade of flames toward him. Her guitar thrummed in rhythm with the pulse of the battle, each note a weapon, each chord a stroke of chaos.

The sky above them crackled with energy as they continued to exchange blows. The battle was as much banter as it was a fight, the air crackling with witty quips and calculated strikes. Ember found herself laughing more than she should, the thrill of the skirmish sending her pulse racing. The adrenaline coursed through her, her grin widening with each near-miss and counterattack. It was exhilarating, each dodge and parry like an art form, a dance of destruction and music.

But then something shifted. Ember noticed the hesitation in Danny’s movements. For all his speed, for all his power, there was something… restrained. He wasn’t unleashing his full strength, and it grated against her instincts. Her eyes narrowed, watching as he flew just close enough to the fire to be dangerous but never truly letting himself be consumed by it.

Her smile faltered, and for a moment, the thrill of the fight slipped away. She dodged another of his blasts, her heart—a thing that shouldn’t beat—sank.

He’s holding back, Ember realized, a flash of something unfamiliar in her chest. The gleam in his eyes said he enjoyed the sparring, but there was a hesitation there—an unspoken line he wouldn’t cross. He wasn’t letting go. Is this what he thinks being a “hero” means? The thought hit her like a cold wave.

She spun away from him, narrowly avoiding another blast, but her focus was no longer entirely on the battle. She saw him—truly saw him, as he hovered in the air, still unsure whether he should engage fully in this battle. And suddenly, all the banter, all the flames, didn’t feel quite as lighthearted as they used to.

Does he not know this is how ghosts behave? Ember’s undead heart sank. Does he not know that chaos, destruction, freedom that this—this is what we are made for?

She had to fight the sudden rush of doubt, the sickening feeling that maybe—just maybe—he didn’t truly understand what it meant to be like them.

And in that instant, she realized: this wasn’t just about her. This was about him.

-----

Eventually, the fight slowed, the two landing on a quiet rooftop to catch their breath.

“So,” Danny asked between breaths, wiping sweat from his brow, “why are you here? Really.”

Ember shrugged, leaning casually against her guitar. “People watching. Getting inspiration for my music.”

Danny raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “And you didn’t think to ask me? I live here, you know.”

She blinked, caught off guard, before letting out a laugh. “Why would I?”

“Because I could’ve shown you around!” Danny threw up his hands in exasperation. “Look, how about this—we call a truce. Once a week after school, you come to me. I’ll help you check out the human world, and you teach me about ghost stuff. Deal?”

Ember tilted her head, intrigued but wary. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I think we could both learn something,” Danny said, a sly grin spreading across his face. “And maybe it’ll stop you from torching the town.”

Ember rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Fair enough, dipstick. Deal.”

As the tension eased, Ember’s expression softened into something closer to curiosity. She tapped a finger against the neck of her guitar, watching Danny carefully. “You know,” she said slowly, “you’re weird for a ghost hunter or even just a ghost.”

Danny frowned, crossing his arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you’re holding back.” She gestured between them. “This? The fight? That was supposed to be fun. It’s how ghosts connect—it’s practically a greeting. But you…” She trailed off, narrowing her eyes. “You’re treating it like it’s a chore or something. Why?”

Danny’s frown deepened, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess… fighting’s always been something I’ve had to do to protect people. It doesn’t feel right to just enjoy it.”

Ember blinked, stunned into silence for a moment. Then she groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh, for the love of—are you serious?”

“What?” Danny asked, defensive.

“This isn’t a human thing, is it? Like, you’re not holding back because of some moral code or whatever?” Ember leaned forward, her voice rising. “Because if it is, I’ll tell everyone to fuck off, okay? This is supposed to be fun! We’re ghosts! Fighting is how we talk, how we bond—it’s part of who we are!”

Danny looked up at her, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Wait, you’re saying… ghosts fight for fun? Like, that’s normal?”

“Yes!” Ember threw her hands up, exasperated. “We fight, we throw insults, we test each other’s strength—it’s not about hurting anyone. It’s about… I don’t know, being alive in a way. Or un-alive. Whatever. It’s us.”

Danny mulled over her words, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “So, it’s like… ghost culture?”

“Exactly.” Ember’s tone softened, and she tilted her head, watching him carefully. “But you? You’re treating it like it’s just another job. Like you’re scared to let yourself enjoy it. Why?”

Danny hesitated, his fingers twitching at his sides. “I guess… I’m not used to thinking of ghosts that way. They’re always, you know… attacking people or causing trouble. It’s hard to see it as anything but a threat.”

Ember sighed, her shoulders slumping. “You’ve got it all backwards, dipstick. Yeah, some ghosts are jerks, but most of us just want to stretch our legs—or, uh, ectoplasm—and have a good time. You’re missing the point if you’re not enjoying yourself.”

Danny gave her a small, sheepish smile. “I’ll… keep that in mind.”

“You better.” Ember jabbed a finger at him, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. “Next time we spar, you’d better give me your all, or I’m telling every ghost in the Zone you’re a total buzzkill.”

Danny laughed, the sound light and genuine. “Alright, alright. I’ll try to loosen up.”

“Good.” Ember slung her guitar onto her back, a satisfied smirk tugging at her lips. “Because honestly? You’re not half-bad when you’re not being a total stick-in-the-mud.”

For a moment, an easy silence settled between them, the tension of their earlier sparring completely gone. Danny glanced at her, his expression softening. “Hey… since you’re people-watching, you wanna see some of my favorite spots? They might give you some inspiration.”

Ember raised an eyebrow, but curiosity glinted in her eyes. “You offering to be my tour guide now, dipstick?”

“Maybe,” Danny shot back, a lopsided grin on his face. “Unless you’ve got somewhere better to be.”

She snorted. “Alright, Fenton. Show me what you’ve got.”

As Danny led her around town, showing her his favorite spots—a hill with a perfect view of the stars, an outdoor stage where actors were rehearsing Romeo and Juliet, and even an abandoned warehouse known for seances and underground raves—Ember couldn’t shake a nagging thought.

He’s such a nerd, she mused as he rambled about signal ranges and ghost seances. But a nerd with like… good taste?

When they stopped at the hill, Danny pulled out his phone and played a podcast, sharing an episode he loved while they snacked on leftovers from Nasty Burger. He helped explain some of the more technical bits to her and she started jotting down notes about a song for Aquarius, maybe she could visit the Greek Sector to learn more about the cup bearer thing? There was a Q&A that Danny called in for but she was too engrossed in the minutiae of a key change to really focus on it.

The park was quiet, save for the rustling of the trees and the occasional laughter of children nearby. Ember sat beside Danny on a bench, both in their human disguises, enjoying the cool evening breeze. People passed by, some glancing their way with subtle curiosity. Ember’s eyes flicked to them, noticing the way they looked—some smiling, others looking annoyed or even jealous.

“Is it just me, or do we have a bit of a crowd?” she muttered, casting a glance at the people around them.

Danny, who had been staring off into the distance, shrugged without looking her way. "Huh? I don't know, seems like any normal evening to me."

Ember rolled her eyes but couldn't help a sly smile. “You’re seriously that oblivious?”

Just then, a girl walked up to Danny, tossing her hair over her shoulder and batting her lashes in an exaggerated, flirtatious way. "Hey," she said, voice soft and sweet. "I couldn’t help but notice you from over there. You have, like, the most intense eyes. Are you a model or something?"

Danny blinked in confusion, still half-turned to Ember as he answered politely, “Uh, no, not a model. Thanks, though.”

The girl giggled, clearly undeterred, leaning in a little closer. "You sure? You look like you could be one. What’s your name?"

Ember’s eyes widened slightly, watching the interaction unfold. Of course she’d go for him. That hair, those eyes, his whole brooding thing...

Danny, still completely unaware, just gave a little smile. "Danny. Thanks, but I'm not really interested in being a model."

The girl pouted, her gaze flickering to Ember briefly, then back to Danny. "You sure? I could make it worth your while..." she trailed off, clearly fishing for some kind of reaction.

Danny shook his head politely, shifting his focus back to Ember. "Sorry, I’m kinda busy right now. But uh, thanks anyway."

The girl hesitated for a moment, looking disappointed but then shrugged, walking away with a dismissive flip of her hair. Danny didn’t even notice, his attention entirely on Ember, who was watching him with an incredulous expression.

“So you were writing about Aquarius right? Do you think you could do something with the rhythm so the scale sounds like trickling water? Something like bada boop wa?” He was completely serious.

“Uh sure? I could-“ Ember had no idea how’d missed all of that but if he wanted to talk music she was more than happy to talk music.

By the time Danny left , Ember was halfway back to the Ghost Zone humming her melody about Aquarius when it hit her like a rogue bass note.

Holy shit, I’m totally crushing on him.

Chapter Text

Johnny had never swallowed his pride for anything except Kitty – and even that was rare. But there he was, standing on the edge of the school parking lot, pacing and trying to figure out how to get Danny Phantom’s attention without looking desperate. He had no choice. Kitty was in Walker’s prison again, and Johnny had to get her out. It didn’t matter that the last time she’d ended up behind bars, it was because of one of her dramatic breakups with him and subsequent rampage. This time, though, she didn’t deserve it. And Johnny wasn’t about to let her rot in there.

As he finally spotted Danny across the lot, Johnny revved the engine of his bike, a bit of bravado to grab his attention and leaned back into the seat towards shadows comforting embrace. “Hey, Danny! Got a minute?”

Danny stopped looked around and cautiously came over when it was clear no one was paying attention. He scowled at Johnny clearly not thrilled to see him. “What now, Johnny?” he said crossing his arms. “What trouble have you gotten into this time?”

Johnny resisted the urge to roll his eyes or rile the kid up – Kitty was more important. “Kitty’s locked up again. I need your help breaking her out.”

Danny didn’t even hesitate before responding. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on, Danny,” Johnny scoffed, leaning against his bike, casual as ever. “Did the great hero Danny Phantom forget how to have fun?”

“This isn’t about fun,” Danny snapped. “It’s about doing what’s right. Maybe if you thought about consequences once in a while—”

“Don’t give me that holier-than-thou speech,” Johnny cut him off with a grin. “Last time I checked, Mister ‘Do What’s Right’ had busted into that prison, what—three times? Saving some lunch lady, that werewolf kid, and let’s not forget the Box Ghost just for fun.”

Danny’s mouth opened, then shut, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “That... that was different.”

Johnny snorted. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that. You break the rules just as much as I do, hero. The only difference is you act like you’re some noble crusader.”

Danny clenched his jaw, irritation flashing in his eyes. “I do it to help people.”

His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep it together. “So help me. Help me get Kitty out of there. She… she doesn’t deserve this.”

Danny hesitated, seeing the sincerity behind Johnny’s usual cocky exterior. Johnny and Kitty might be a mess, but Johnny’s loyalty was real. After a long pause, he let out a breath. “Fine. But I’m doing this because I don’t think Kitty should be stuck in there with freaking Walker forever, not because you’re begging.”

Johnny grinned, the relief palpable. “You’re a sap.”

Without missing a beat, Danny hopped onto the back of Johnny’s motorcycle, throwing his leg over with ease. Shadow, who had been keeping pace beside them, seemed to sense the change and curled up around Danny’s shoulders like a protective cloud. Danny absentmindedly patted the creature’s head, giving Johnny a teasing smirk.

Johnny froze, momentarily thrown off by the unspoken closeness of it all. “What the hell, man? You didn’t ask—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Danny interrupted, his voice already impatient as he swatted him lightly. “Now, shut up and drive.”

As they cruised through the busy streets of Amity Park, the wind rushing past them, Johnny couldn’t help but notice how focused Danny was. It wasn’t just the usual determined look; this time, Danny was fully in “hero mode,” running through every detail of some plan in his head. He barely spared a second to relax, his gaze fixed ahead, ignoring the honks of impatient drivers and the curious stares from pedestrians as they zipped by.

Johnny slowed the bike slightly, maneuvering around a car that had cut too close, and stole a glance at Danny. The realization hit him, and the words slipped out before he could stop them. “Man… you really do care, don’t you?” His voice was softer now, less teasing and more thoughtful.

Danny glanced over, meeting his eyes for a moment. His expression softened, just for a second, before he nodded, almost imperceptibly, as they swerved around another turning car. “Of course I do. One of the great parts about humanity.” He shifted slightly, tightening his grip on Johnny's waist as they weaved through the traffic. “Maybe if you cared about something other than yourself, you’d get it.”

There was a beat of silence as Johnny’s smirk faltered, his gaze dropping. He slowed the bike again as they neared a red light, the sound of nearby traffic growing louder. “I care about Kitty.”

Danny winced slightly, realizing he’d spoken too quickly, letting his frustrations slip. There was still a lot of unlearning to do. He softened his voice, leaning in closer, his arms tightening around Johnny’s waist in an unspoken apology. “I know. That's why I'm helping you.”

===

The plan was simple—well, Danny’s version of it was. They would break in during the guard shift change. Danny would phase through walls and use his ghostly powers to stay out of sight, while Johnny would create distractions on his bike, keeping the guards busy. It sounded fine on paper, but Johnny wasn’t sure he was the ‘plan’ type.

Johnny’s bike roared as they neared the prison—a towering, fortress-like structure that loomed out of the fog like a living thing, its jagged edges cutting into the mist like the teeth of a monstrous beast. The prison’s walls pulsed with a energy, flickering as if alive with a dark, invisible current. Guard drones floated overhead, their bright red lights sweeping in wide arcs across the prison’s perimeter, searching for any sign of intruders.

“Remember, stay quiet,” Danny’s voice crackled over the communicator, his tone calm but serious. His words were followed by the soft sound of his boots hitting the Ghost Zone’s hard, unyielding ground as he phased through a nearby wall, disappearing into the prison’s shadows.

Johnny revved the engine, his grip tightening on the handles of the bike. He could feel the adrenaline rush through his veins as he prepared for the chaos that would ensue. He had a pack of tech strapped to his back—a couple of EMP grenades, some smoke bombs for cover, and a few other gadgets they’d quickly cobbled together to distract the guards. He also had a small, custom-built jammer that would disrupt any communications within a short radius—just in case they needed to buy more time.

He adjusted the controls and pulled the bike into a dark alley, making sure to stay out of the line of sight of the guards as they flew past. He crouched low, staying close to the ground to avoid being detected by any of the drones or cameras. The wind whipped through his hair, making his heart race, but he remained calm, trying not to think too much about what could go wrong.

Ahead, Danny was already moving, blending seamlessly with the shadows as he phased through the walls of the prison. Johnny could barely make out his figure in the darkness—Danny had always been a pro at making himself invisible. His movements were effortless, as he slipped past security checkpoints and guard posts.

Johnny grinned, knowing Danny would be doing the heavy lifting in terms of infiltration. His job was to make sure the guards were too distracted to notice the halfa sneaking through the walls. He revved the engine again, letting the noise echo off the walls to draw attention to himself.

Johnny shot out from his hiding spot, speeding toward the nearest guard tower, his bad luck working to his advantage. He made a sharp turn and tossed a smoke bomb. Thick black smoke filled the air, confusing the guards as they tried to figure out what was happening. Chaos erupted around him, and Johnny thrived in it—his mess of luck caused things to break down, keeping the guards off balance. A small explosion sent a drone crashing into a guard tower, lights flashing wildly. Johnny grinned as the guards’ radios crackled with static.

Stick to the plan, Johnny,” Danny’s voice came through the communicator, sharp and steady. In the background, Johnny could hear the faint hum of shifting walls and soft footsteps as Danny moved through the prison. Despite the chaos, it was clear Danny was focused.

Johnny couldn’t help but laugh softly under his breath, the adrenaline pushing his reckless streak to the surface. “The plan’s boring, Danny. I’m improvising a little. Don’t worry about it, you’ll have plenty of time. Just get Kitty.” He took another sharp corner, narrowly missing a drone that whizzed overhead. His bad luck struck again - the drone’s collision with a low-hanging wire sent sparks flying into another security camera, shorting it out and causing a chain reaction of electrical failures. Johnny barely missed the explosion of lights as he swerved through the wreckage, taking a tight curve that sent another guard stumbling in confusion.

As Johnny swerved around a corner, a guard aimed at him, but before the shot could fire, Shadow shot out from his feet, tripping the guard and sending him crashing to the ground. His gun flew from his hands, his radio crackling as he scrambled to get up. Johnny smirked, feeling the rush of chaos as Shadow moved again, pulling another guard off his feet and sending him into a stack of crates with a thundering crash. The other guards scrambled, looking everywhere but at the phantom wreaking havoc. Johnny glanced back, seeing them distracted and giving chase as he took another sharp turn, narrowly dodging a security drone. Shadow seemed to feed off the mayhem, tendrils wrapping around guards’ legs, knocking over crates, and sending security equipment into disarray, ensuring the chaos only escalated.

==

Johnny crouched low behind a stack of debris just outside the prison walls, keeping an eye on the area while the chaos inside unfolded. He could still hear the commotion—guard chatter over static, the distant rumble of alarms, the shouts of confused officers—but he knew the distraction wouldn’t last forever. His role in this was far from over.

“Stay put for a second,” Danny’s voice crackled over the comms, low and tense. Johnny didn’t hesitate, knowing his partner was gearing up for something big.

“Just don’t get caught, Danny,” Johnny muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the area for any movement.

Before Johnny could say anything more, an explosion rocked the air behind them, and the ground beneath them trembled. The power grid inside the prison flickered, and then everything went dark.

The minutes dragged on. His senses were on high alert. But then, about twenty minutes later, a familiar silhouette appeared at the edge of the prison yard. Danny was there, with Kitty limping slightly behind him. Her arm was slung over her chest in a makeshift bandage, her face pale from whatever trouble she’d faced inside.

Johnny’s heart picked up at the sight of her. “Kitty, you look like you’ve been through hell,” he called out, his tone lighter than he actually felt. Despite the blood and bruises on her arms and legs, she gave him a half-smile, but there was an edge to it.

“Been in worse,” Kitty muttered with a half-shrug, though Johnny could tell she was in pain. She winced as she adjusted her position. “We need to go. Now.”

Danny scanned their surroundings, his face serious. "We’re good for now. Let’s move."

Johnny stepped out of his hiding place and quickly closed the distance, stopping just a few feet away from Kitty. His eyes lingered on her, noting the way she was trying to hide the strain in her movements.

“You sure you’re alright?” Johnny asked, voice soft but insistent.

Kitty met his gaze, her lips curving up slightly. “I’m fine, Johnny. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Johnny smiled, though his concern didn’t fully fade. There was something about the way Kitty said it that made him doubt the truth of her words. He caught himself, pushing those thoughts aside for now. “You always say that.”

“We’ve got bigger problems,” Danny interrupted, his voice sharp. “We need to move, now.”

Johnny stayed close to Kitty, his mind still on the guards inside the prison—how long would the chaos last before they regrouped?

Just as they neared the edge of the prison yard, the sound of distant footsteps—heavy, deliberate—caught Johnny’s attention. He slowed for a moment, glancing back. It wasn’t the normal scramble of guards; this was something else, something calculated. His instincts flared.

Then, from the shadows ahead, a figure emerged, tall and imposing. The air seemed to grow colder as the familiar form of Walker stepped into view. His presence was like a wall, unwavering and ominous. A flicker of surprise crossed Johnny’s mind before he masked it with a grin.

“Well, well. I thought we’d made it,” Johnny muttered under his breath.

Walker’s voice cut through the air, calm but deadly. “You think you’re free? Not yet.”

Danny tensed, stepping forward instinctively, his body language defensive. “This is our last warning, Walker. Back off.”

Kitty, still limping but keeping herself steady, didn’t flinch. “If you want us, you’re going to have to fight for it.”

Walker’s eyes flicked between the three of them, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ve never been one to let things slip away, especially when they’re this much fun.”

The moment Walker moved forward, the air seemed to thicken with tension. The cavernous, sterile walls of the prison were unyielding—cold concrete, reinforced steel, and flickering lights cast harsh shadows that twisted like they had a mind of their own. The low hum of machinery vibrated through the floors, adding an unsettling undertone to the already tense atmosphere. This wasn’t just a fight. This was his domain, and Walker made the rules.

The moment Walker moved forward, the air seemed to thicken with tension. Johnny didn’t hesitate—he lunged first, shadow tendrils swirling around him as he propelled himself forward. With a grin, he sent the dark tendrils snaking out to trip Walker, before using them to whip around the villain’s legs and send him sprawling to the ground. Johnny’s laugh echoed through the chaos, his feet still grounded as the shadows shifted and danced, ready to strike again.

Walker’s voice, low and controlled, cut through the air like a blade. "Disorder breeds weakness," he spat, pushing himself up from the floor with unsettling precision, as if each movement was guided by an unseen hand, dictated by law. "You will learn the consequences of ignoring structure."

Kitty, still wincing but never one to back down, followed Johnny’s lead, using the chaos to close in on Walker. With a devilish grin, she swiped her clawlike nails through the air, sending a sharp strike toward his face. As she did, her lips parted in a teasing smile, and she applied just the right amount of pressure to her hypnotic lipstick. The air around her seemed to shimmer as she made eye contact with Walker, her voice laced with venom.

“You should’ve just let us go,” she purred, her fingers flicking the lipstick in his direction, the hypnotic power drawing his attention just as her claws raked across his chest, leaving deep scratches. “Now, you’re going to regret that decision.”

Johnny couldn’t help but watch, his pulse quickening. He’d seen Kitty use that move before, in lighter moments, but seeing it now, aimed at Walker, made his heart race. “Damn, that’s hot,” he muttered, a grin tugging at his lips as he admired her deadly grace.

Walker didn’t respond, but his eyes flashed with fury. With a single, swift motion, the ground beneath them trembled as Walker’s hands slammed into the floor. The shockwave radiated outward, knocking Kitty and Johnny off balance. A groaning pleading rattling scream echoed through the hall, the sound of metal on metal, pleas for mercy from a corrupt warden long since dead.

Danny, who had been waiting for the right moment, moved in close and launched a barrage of ice blasts toward Walker. The freezing shots collided with the reinforced walls around them, creating cracks in the stone and forcing Walker back with each impact.

“I was hoping we could get this over with without making it personal,” Danny called out, his voice steady despite the chaos.

But Walker wasn’t one to let a challenge go unanswered. He lunged forward with blinding speed, his arm swinging like a pendulum, cutting through the air with precision, knocking Danny off balance with a single hit. "Personal?" Walker’s voice was cold, methodical. "This is about structure. You are trespassing in my domain. Everything in this place obeys my rules."

Johnny snarled, spinning a smoke bomb in the air and releasing it. A thick cloud enveloped Walker for a moment, disorienting him. As Johnny dodged Walker’s wild swing, he saw Kitty’s expression and simply couldn’t resist. “You know, I don’t mind the fan club, but maybe you should help a little, Kitty,” he called out, ducking just in time as Walker’s fist whistled past him.

Kitty, who was mostly using the opportunity to enjoy the view, grinned widely. “Honestly, you guys are a real turn-on when you fight like that,” she purred, her gaze fixed on Johnny as she winked at him.

Kitty didn’t miss a beat, throwing a sharp jab to Walker’s side before gliding out of reach with a grin, her eyes dancing between Johnny and Danny. “What about you, Danny-boy? You want me to help with this?”

Danny rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the half-smile that tugged at his lips. “Nah we got this, you just take it easy – pretty ladies who are injured shouldn’t have to work to hard.” He then startled like he was smacked by a memory “Unless of course you want your own revenge? Because I’ll totally bring him to you on his knees if you’d rather do it yourself.”

Kitty blinked, the weight of his words hitting her like a punch to the gut. Holy shit, that was sexy as hell—and sweet. She couldn't help the heat rising to her cheeks, or the sudden rush of affection that made her feel like she might just want to take him up on that offer. She flashed him a look, voice a little breathier than usual. “You are so sweet... but no,” she purred. “Just kick his ass already.”

Just then, Walker lunged at Johnny, catching him off guard. The impact of Walker’s attack was like being hit by a wrecking ball. Johnny barely had time to react before Walker tackled him to the ground and chains slithered towards him shackling him to the ground. The floors groaned under the him and his very spirit was immobilized by the weight of futility.

Walker loomed over him, his gaze cold and calculating. He raised his fist, ready to strike—but before he could, Danny appeared in a blur, launching an ectoblast straight at Walker’s chest.

“Get off him,” Danny growled, his fists glowing with the power of ectoplasmic energy as he followed up with three more shots. The blasts sent Walker stumbling back, cracking the floor beneath him.

“You okay?” Danny asked, still throwing shots of ice, ecto, and random debris to keep Walker on the defensive.

Johnny blinked, shaking off the daze, his grin returning. “Never better. Thanks, Danny.”

Johnny’s gaze darted around, his mind racing. He needed to end this. With a quick glance at Kitty and Danny, he sprinted toward his bike, yanking the handlebar with swift determination as the engine roared to life. “Alright, let’s finish this,” he muttered.

Kitty and Danny quickly hopped on, and Johnny revved the engine as they raced toward Walker, who was still trying to get his bearings. The wheels spun, gaining speed as they raced toward Walker, who was still trying to regain his footing in the center of the prison’s cavernous space.

Just as Walker charged, the floors warping beneath him, Johnny slammed a red-handled switch. Sparks exploded as wires, hidden throughout the room, came alive, surging with raw energy. Sparks flew as the wires flared to life, wrapping around Walker and sending a wave of electricity coursing through his body. Walker screamed, his body jerking in spasms before he collapsed to the ground, twitching and defeated.

Danny, Kitty, and Johnny stood over him, panting from the battle. Kitty wiped her brow with the back of her hand, smirking at Walker’s defeated form. “Well, that was fun,” she said, her tone laced with amusement.

==

When Johnny went to drop Kitty off at Ember’s theater, he felt the familiar tightness in her grip as she hugged him. After a night like this, when the adrenaline faded, Kitty sometimes needed space—especially from men. The past lingered, making her cautious, even with him. He could feel her hesitance, the way she pulled back slightly, like his touch reminded her of old hurts. It was something they both had learned to live with.

Johnny loved her, and he’d never push her. But it still stung that he couldn’t fix it for her.

Kitty pulled away from the embrace quickly, the tension clear in her shoulders. Johnny’s mind wandered to Danny—his quiet determination, the way he masked his discomfort and struggles with dry humor, always pushing forward no matter what. It reminded him of Kitty, how she used her teasing and sharp wit to keep people at arm’s length, hiding her true feelings behind a grin. He shook it off. He had Kitty back now, didn’t he?

But when she caught him staring off, a flicker of something sharp flashed in her eyes. A smirk tugged at her lips, and she teased, “You’ve got it bad.”

Johnny blinked, flustered. “For you? Obviously.”

Kitty’s grin widened. “Sure… for me.” But she didn’t press it. Not now. Not yet.