Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Great seeing you all again!” Grian heard Scar call out as he unlocked the car, undoubtedly giving a big animated wave. “It was real fun getting to rough it out with you!”

“Great seeing you too, dude!” Ren called back. “Get home safe, alright?”

“Call me when you get back.” Mumbo said from where he was getting into his own car, as Grian slipped into the driver's seat. Starting the car and waiting for Scar to get in too, he let himself slump back against the seat momentarily, the exhaustion of the past couple days winning out. 

Don’t get him wrong, he absolutely loved his friends, and this yearly ‘retreat’ they all did was one of his favorite things in the world, but he always felt like he went into a bit of a fugue state as soon as it ended. When they were still in uni and didn’t all have their own cars yet, himself included, it was easy to just get in the backseat of whoever’s carpool he was a part of and conk out for the three hour trip back into the city from the campsite they usually went to. Now, though, he had his own car, and while a lot of people still chose to carpool, Grian was also aware that his and Scar’s place was a bit out of the way. Asking his friends to drive that extra time just to drop them off felt unnecessary. And besides, it wasn’t like he was incapable of the drive, it was just a little exhausting. Especially since at this point—after all the activity-packed days and late-nights around the campfire—he was almost running on fumes. It was alright though, because he knew that the satisfaction of finally getting home to his warm, cozy bed would be worth the extra energy.

After a few more moments of Scar chatting with their friends, all piling into their own rides back home, he slipped into the passenger seat, seeming as alive as ever. Grian hummed in amusement as Scar started going on about how much he loved the “Hermit Retreat™,” and smiled to himself in the knowledge that putting on music or a podcast would be wasted effort. Scar would probably talk them all the way home without even noticing.

He reached up to rub at the space between his wings to relieve a bit of the tension there as he pulled out of the campsite’s parking lot, wiggling his toes in tandem—something he’d been doing ever since Scar taught him the trick. Apparently, it was something fighter pilots did when they were getting into formation that subconsciously released tension in the upper body. Maybe it was a placebo or some other weird mind-trick, but it definitely worked regardless, and Grian could not count how many times he was reminded of it when he was hunched over his desk or driving. That was something he loved about Scar, all of his seemingly useless tips and tricks that actually really worked. Call him a lovable idiot all you want—Grian certainly did—when the man knew what he was talking about, he really knew.

“What was your favorite part, G?” Scar asked. Grian hummed, sorting through the past two days of memories in his head.

“Was Skizz jumping the firepit this year or last year?” He asked.

“This year!” He said, like he himself was only just remembering that even happened. “Gosh, that was so unsafe!”

“Well, what was he going to do?” Grian asked rhetorically. In the entire time Grian had known Skizz, he’d never once backed down from a dare. Which, of course, meant that every time they played truth or dare, everyone threw their most insane stuff at him to try and get him to crack. No one had ever been successful, even after a series of admittedly ridiculously dangerous dares that he somehow survived. Jumping the firepit was just another one for the list.

“Fair enough.” Scar laughed. “But really? That’s your favorite?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with it?” Grian raised an eyebrow, before catching on and sighing. “If you want a sentimental one out of me you'll have to wait until I’m a lot more tired.”

“Darn!” Scar snapped his fingers dramatically. “You’re really not tired enough to be a sap yet?”

“Not yet.” Grian sing-songed. “Can’t catch me that easily, Mr. Goodtimes.”

“Please, Grian, Mr. Goodtimes was my father’s name.” Scar reminded with a fake snooty voice and Grian laughed.

“When we get married you have to take mine.” Grian said.

“But Scar Goodtimes has such a ring to it!” Scar argued.

“And? Grian Goodtimes decidedly doesn’t.” He said, matter-of-factly. “Can’t you ever think of me? How will my peers look upon me?”

“Grian, all of your peers are my peers, and they’re all mostly fine with it!” Scar said, waving off the fact that he does get teased for having the last name ‘goodtimes’ on a pretty regular basis. It was more often in uni, granted, since they’d use it incessantly every time he got even a little tipsy, but it wasn’t infrequent nowadays. “But if you’re really so bothered by it, we can hyphenate!”

“So I’ll be Grian Xelqua-Goodtimes?” He said, shuddering. “I think that might be worse.”

“You know, you sure are invested in this for someone who’s said to me, many-a-time, that you aren’t going to think about marriage until we’re at least five years down the road.” Scar teased.

“Oh, what, so now I’m not allowed to joke about a hypothetical future in which we get married?” Grian asked. “Hypocrite.”

“No, that’s in character for me!” Scar said. “For you this is highly suspect.”

Grian bit the inside of his cheek, rolling his eyes as nonchalantly as he could. “I was just saying.”

Scar hummed. “Sure thing.”

“Hey, Scar,” Grian said, switching the topic as fast as he could manage. “What’s going on with that model in your office?”

“The zoo?” Scar asked, eyes lit up in an instant.

“Is that what that is?” Grian asked.

“What else!” He grinned. “And you really only just noticed it? I’ve been working on it for, like, months now. I’m pretty sure I told you I was building it, too.”

“Well, no, I noticed, I just…” Grian shrugged. “I forgot a lot of the details.”

Scar gave Grian a look before something seemed to click, and he switched into an animated cheeriness in a second. “That’s okay! I’ll just tell you again!”

Grian smiled to himself as Scar set off on a rant, describing in detail the entire project so far, taking a lot of detours along the way to talk about vaguely-related things. And sure, maybe Grian had been bluffing about not remembering, and already knew most of what was talked about, but he’d be damned if pretending to forget wasn’t a good way to change the topic. And, if he was being honest, well…he liked hearing Scar talk, so it was a win-win scenario regardless.

It was as Scar had gotten to describing the in-depth layout of the entire zoo that he suddenly stopped.

“Okay, Grian, my turn!”

“Your turn to what?” Grian asked, yawning in the middle of his sentence. “Talk? Pretty sure it’s been your turn for the past hour.”

“To drive, silly.” Scar said, rolling his eyes fondly. “Now pull over so we can swap.”

“What? No way.” Grian protested. “I always drive us home, Scar. That’s the arrangement—you drive us there, I drive us back.”

“Whoever said we weren’t allowed to change things up?” Scar smiled, the picture of innocence.

Grian looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing! I just want to drive for a little, y’know? I’m getting restless.”

“If you’re getting restless the last thing I should do is put you behind the wheel of a moving vehicle.” Grian snarked and Scar huffed.

“Just pull over.” He said, and, for a reason even Grian himself couldn’t decipher, he actually did. They swapped places pretty quickly, though Grian had to help Scar with maneuvering around the car a bit since his cane was in the backseat and he felt it was too short a move to require it. But soon they ended up in each other’s places, and Grian couldn’t help the way he sank into the passenger’s seat as Scar pulled back onto the road. After a bit, Scar started talking again, though his voice was pretty notably quieter, and Grian found his responses getting shorter and shorter until eventually he was only barely humming acknowledgement at things.

He let his eyes slip closed, the tension dissipating from his body. He leant his head against the window, slumping down some as he got more comfortable and his mind dragged him towards sleep.

—

“Mornin’ sleepyhead.” Scar’s voice cooed at him as he woke up, squinting at the light.

“Are we home?” Grian hummed.

“Sure are.” Scar chirped. “I’ll have to call Mumbo and let him know we made it back safely.”

“Ugh, now we have to actually do Sunday.” He groaned, knowing that even though it felt like an entire day had passed, it had only been three hours since they left the campsite. It was probably comfortably noon by now.

“You could always just sleep it away.” Scar suggested, reaching over to brush some of the hair away from Grian’s eyes.

“No, I’ll be fine.” He said, grunting as he pushed himself up in his seat. “Otherwise Monday-Grian will wring my neck.”

“Not sure how he’ll do that across space and time.”

“He’ll definitely want to.” Grian said, opening the door and getting out of the car. He then went around to the trunk and got his and Scar’s bags out, hiking his onto his shoulder and holding Scar’s by the strap. He went ahead toward the house, but had to wait at the door anyway for Scar to come over and unlock it.

“Ah, home sweet home!” Scar smiled, taking a deep breath as if he was trying to taste the air. “Dontcha just love the feeling of coming home after a long trip? Feels like rediscovering your own living space.”

“We’ve been gone for two days, Scar.” Grian said, dropping their bags in the living room to be dealt with later.

“Long enough for me.” Scar said. “So, coffee?”

“Don’t you have to go get the cats from the sitter’s?” Grian asked.

Scar shrugged. “They’ll be fine a few extra minutes. I know they’re being spoiled rotten over there.”

“True.” Grian said, hopping up onto the kitchen counter to sit. “They probably like the sitter more than you at this point.”

Scar gasped dramatically. “They would never!”

Grian laughed, watching as Scar went on a tirade correcting him and bustled about the kitchen making coffee. It was only as Scar started getting out the half and half that something occurred to him. “Scar! You tricked me!”

“Oh no, what did I do?”

“You tricked me into sleeping through my half of the driving responsibilities.” Grian said, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Did not!” Scar defended, his free hand over his heart. “I just asked to swap for a little bit, you falling asleep was completely unplanned.”

“So if I’d stayed awake, we would have switched back at some point?” Grian asked, and watched Scar falter for just a second too long. “Aha! I knew it!”

“In my defense, you seemed really tired!” Scar said. “And apparently you were, since you passed out immediately.”

“I did not ‘pass out.’” Grian said, doing air quotes around the words.

“Oh, you most certainly did!” Scar said, finishing up Grian’s coffee and handing it to him. Grian didn’t miss the fact that Scar didn’t move again to make a cup for himself.

Grian smiled. “But only a little.”

Scar smiled back, nodding. “Yep, sure, only a little.”

“So…” Grian said, blowing on his coffee. “Cats?”

“Yes!” Scar said, jumping into action and grabbing his keys from where he’d set them on the counter. “Be right back!”

Grian didn’t even have time to say anything back before he heard the door slam. He laughed to himself, soaking up the warmth of the mug in his hands. He looked down at it, as if the liquid inside might tell him something. But he knew, smiling down at the coffee in his hands, that whatever it could tell him, he already knew. Grian pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened up his browser, watching as tons of tabs with different engagement rings and articles about proposals lit up on his screen.

Sure, maybe he wasn’t totally sold on marriage yet. And maybe all this was just a fanciful thought that wouldn’t even be acted on for years. But he knew, without a doubt, that if ever he were to get married, it couldn’t be to anyone but Scar.

Chapter Text

“Oh, boys!” Martyn sing-songed, practically bursting into the living room. Scott looked up at him from where he was sitting on the couch, currently in the process of preening Jimmy’s wings. The first things that registered were that Martyn was incredibly done-up—like, suit and tie done-up, which was abnormal for him to say the least—and carrying three small boxes, carefully cradled in his arms. He sauntered over, setting them on the table with a massive grin. “I don’t know if you three noticed, but today is the one year anniversary of us finally becoming a proper foursome. So, happy one year!”

Scott smiled, raising an eyebrow as Jimmy sat up, trying to shake off the strange state of mind that preening often inflicted on avians. He surveyed Martyn’s face, the unblinking joy of it, and while if it was anyone else he might’ve taken it a bit more at face value, he was nothing but suspicious. “What’s this, Martyn?”

“Your anniversary presents.” Martyn grinned. “I thought that was pretty clear.”

“No, I agree with Scott, something’s off.” Tango said, squinting at Martyn as if trying to decode him. Martyn didn’t even flinch. “I thought you said you didn’t want to do anything special today.”

“I changed my mind. What, am I not allowed to show my love for my wonderful boyfriends?” Martyn asked, practically batting his eyelashes. He then shoved a box towards each of them. “Now, open them!”

Scott shared a look with Tango and Jimmy, who both seemed just as confused and suspicious as he was. They all seemed to subconsciously agree to open their boxes at the same time, taking a collective nosedive into whatever chaos Martyn was up to. Scott lifted the lid off of his box carefully—just in case it was a glitter bomb or something—and peeked inside. He was immediately greeted with the cold, lifeless eyes of a dead fish. He screamed, slamming the box shut and practically hurling it away from him.

“Woah, are you okay?” Tango asked, looking up from where he himself was currently examining the lighter that seemingly came from his own gift. Scott sprang up off the couch, side-stepping Jimmy and lunging at Martyn.

“What in the world is wrong with you?” He shouted, grabbing a now cackling Martyn by the front of his shirt and shaking him.

“Hey! Not cool!” Jimmy yelled, and Scott watched as he took a Woody doll out of his box.

“You are evil!” Scott screamed, which only seemed to make Martyn laugh harder. “What is the meaning of this?”

“It reminded me of you!” He laughed, trying and failing to sound sincere. Scott could hardly form a sentence.

“A dead fish head reminded you of me?” He gaped.

“That’s why there’s a lighter in here?” Tango asked, cutting in. “Dude!”

“Martyn!” Jimmy said, affronted.

“Did you think you could get away with this?” Scott asked, still all up in Martyn’s face. “Because you are not going to get away with this!”

“And on our one year anniversary no less.” Jimmy pitched in.

Tango sighed. “I wish I were surprised.”

“Oh, you wanna be surprised?” Martyn asked, grinning ear-to-ear. Scott almost didn’t even want to know what that was supposed to mean.

“Martyn, what more is there?” He asked, trying to calm himself down. Sure, he wasn’t actually mad, really only a bit insulted, but he was getting a little annoyed. It was really just like Martyn to pull pranks on their anniversary.

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” Martyn said, gesturing towards the back garden. Scott heard Jimmy gasp in horror.

“You didn’t!” He said, taking off for the back of the house. Scott was quick to follow him, grabbing Martyn’s wrist and pulling him along so he couldn’t get away from the carnage. “Martyn, I swear, if you messed with my—”

Scott heard Jimmy cut himself off, and immediately felt his stomach drop. He let go of Martyn’s wrist and pushed past Jimmy lightly, expecting to see something truly horrible. But instead of seeing a bunch of dead fish heads on sticks or the entire garden dug up and moved around, he saw a picnic blanket spread out on the grass. The entire back garden was lit by candles and fairy lights, and on the blanket itself were a large picnic basket and a vase full of flowers—poppies, torchflowers, dandelions, and an array of other, smaller flowers to fill space and make the bouquet marginally less of an aesthetic nightmare.

Scott watched as Jimmy stepped carefully out into the garden, and followed, awestruck. He glanced around, noticing a printed photograph on the ground. He picked it up, looking at it, and seeing that it was from Scott and Martyn’s first real date. The two of them were smiling at the camera, dressed to the nines in matching siren and sailor halloween costumes, backlit by the neon glow of a street party. He looked up from the picture to see Martyn standing in the doorway, a much more sincere smile on his face.

“Martyn?” Tango asked, sounding a bit teary-eyed.

“Happy anniversary, guys.” He said. Scott watched as in what had to have been a matter of two seconds flat, Jimmy had raced back through the garden and tackled Martyn in a giant hug.

“You aren’t a heartless monster after all!” Jimmy cried, making all of them burst into stunned laughter.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I just thought it’d be funny to set expectations as low as possible.” Martyn told them, shrugging. “And Scott, if it’s any consolation, that fish head is completely fake.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Scott sighed, glad that there was not currently a rotting fish head in a box sitting on his sofa. “Does not make the fact you said I remind you of one any better.”

“It was the first thing I thought of that would actually be funny!”

“You’re digging a deeper hole there, bud.” Tango advised, and Martyn groaned.

“No, because all the things I thought of before that were nice.” He promised.

“Did you have the same problem with mine?” Jimmy asked, still clinging to him.

Martyn grinned. “No, Tim. That was actually the very first thing I thought of.”

“You’re gonna make me take back my compliment!” Jimmy warned.

“Compliment? Is saying I’m not a heartless monster a compliment?” Martyn asked.

Jimmy turned his nose up. “Better than any compliment you’ve ever given me.”

“Hey! That’s not fair!” Martyn protested.

“So is this picnic basket just for show, or…?” Tango asked suddenly. He always seemed to know the perfect time to cut in and interrupt for the sake of peace-keeping. Scott wasn’t sure what they’d do without him.

“No, sir! It’s got a veritable feast tucked inside, if I do say so myself.”

“A ‘veritable feast?’” Scott asked, cringing a bit. “I thought you were done trying to get on our nerves.”

“Oh, sit down.” Martyn said, rolling his eyes and pulling Scott over to the picnic blanket.

Tango sat down too, reaching out to grab a nearby photograph from the grass. He smiled at it, gesturing with it in such a way that Scott could see that it was one of all of them at the aquarium. “Did you cover the lawn in these?”

“Sure did.” Martyn smiled.

Scott pinched his cheek and Martyn jolted away quickly. “Aw Martyn! That’s so cute.”

“Did you have to do that?” He complained and Scott smirked.

“I felt the situation called for it.”

“I feel the situation calls for a lot of things.” Jimmy said, having found himself four champagne glasses and a bottle in the basket. “Including a toast!”

Scott helped him pour the champagne and pass a glass to each of them, the four of them sitting close together so they all fit on the blanket, which, now that Scott really looked at it, seemed like it had been stolen from their guest bedroom. Jimmy cleared his throat and smiled at all of them.

“To every relationship here tonight, those of six years and those of newly one, I raise a glass.” Jimmy said, giving Scott a wink. “I’d like to make a toast to all of my wonderful boyfriends and all of the love we’ve found in each other. To the good and the bad and the inbetween. Thank you for all making my life better than I ever could’ve hoped for. And especially to Martyn who, though he has really questionable methods, is the reason we’re out here enjoying this picnic tonight. Even if he called me a toy to do it, as long as it leads me back to stuff like this, I almost don’t mind.”

“I’ll hold you to it!” Martyn said, and Jimmy straightened up.

“Cheers!” He said quickly, hurrying to clink his glass with all the others. Scott laughed as he did the same, taking a sip from the glass once he was done. He looked around the little circle they’d formed, at all of his boyfriends smiling and enjoying each other’s company. He looked to the sky, which danced with the pinks and oranges and purples of the sunset, blending together in a painting of light. A promise of the stars, a promise of the moon, and a promise of the sun in the morning. A promise of another day after this one, where Scott would wake up surrounded by the people he loved most in the world. Where he would wake up to Jimmy and Martyn trying to argue quietly about one of them kicking in his sleep; Martyn gently carding through his hair; Tango mumbling incoherently to himself about some new redstone project he’d dreamt of and just had to write down in case it was possible; Jimmy’s wings brushing against his skin as he stretched, leaving a tingling sensation. Or, maybe, just the quiet peace of early morning. Of lying in bed, knowing that his boyfriends might not be up for hours, but being content in the knowledge that they were all there surrounding him. Of waiting those hours lying in bed so that when they woke he could pretend he was still asleep, because he knew that when they thought he was they’d try and wake him up softly with light touches and soothing words. Conversely, of getting up early and staying up to make them breakfast and coffee and to wake them up with his own small comforts. He looked to the sky, and saw in it all the swirling colors of both sunset and sunrise, and figured both were equally magical, because he equated both with these men that he loved.

Scott sipped his champagne, feeling the light, bubbly sourness of it down his throat, and leaned back on his free hand to watch them all laugh and drink and eat. And he figured that both sunsets and sunrises were equally magical, but neither could be quite as beautiful as this.

Chapter Text

One of the things Martyn found most interesting about starting new relationships was how people changed when viewed through the differing lenses of “friend” and “partner.” Not in a necessarily bad way, and not a necessarily good way either, more a neutral way. The kind of natural little changes people made in behavior depending on the relationship.

So when Martyn started officially dating Jimmy and Tango as well as Scott, following years of off-and-on dancing around each other, he was very attentive to the little changes. And Jimmy especially was someone he was thrilled to get to know as a boyfriend. They’d been friends for as long as Martyn could remember, dating all the way back to middle school, and the dynamic they’d had was comfortable. And, to be honest, it didn’t change all that much. Martyn still teased Jimmy a lot, and Jimmy still went out of his way to annoy Martyn or make bad jokes just to get a rise out of him, but there were little differences.

The main thing he noticed was that Jimmy, apparently, loved to spoil his partners. It was something he vaguely knew, seeing as every once in awhile Jimmy would mention buying Scott bouquets of flowers or bringing Tango breakfast in bed after he pulled late hours, but he didn’t quite grasp the extent of it. It seemed that, when it came to love languages, Jimmy spoke primarily in gift-giving. He remembered talking to him about it all the way back in high school, when Jimmy lamented not being as touchy or as affectionate with his words as the girl he’d been dating at the time. Martyn knew that, back then, Jimmy often fell back on small gifts and acts of service as a way of compensating for the “good-boyfriend categories” he felt he was “lacking” in. Now, though, it didn’t seem motivated quite like that. Jimmy just seemed to like doing things for his boyfriends, the appreciation he got in turn enough payment in itself.

For that reason, Martyn didn’t fight him any more than necessary when he offered to pay on dates or give too many “oh you shouldn’t have”’s when he bought him little gifts or surprised him with stuff. Instead, he knew to just thank him a lot and show all the appreciation he could. And he was content to do that, too, it was just, well…

To be frank, two could play at this game, and Martyn loved nothing more than the thrill of the game.

And so, sometimes, when he felt a little mischievous or just a little extra lovey-dovey, he’d turn Jimmy’s love back around on him. He left flowers—chosen, of course, with Scott’s help—in his office, and brought him coffee, and always made sure to pick up his favorite snacks when he went shopping and leave them in the cabinets with little love notes attached.

The best part was that it took no time at all for Jimmy to catch on to what he was doing, and to double-down immediately. Now, Martyn was waking up to his tea and lunch prepped and ready for him on the kitchen counter, finding love notes all over his belongings, and being generally bombarded with cutesy little presents at every turn. It eventually got to the point where both of them would show up with surprises for the other on such a regular basis that it would turn into this fun little dance of: “oh, you shouldn’t have!” “No, no, I insist!” “Well, if you insist, then I insist!” “Here let me get that for you!” “No need—after you.”

These back and forths were always ended or interrupted by a loud sigh from Tango or a “get a room!” from Scott. At which point, Martyn and Jimmy would give each other a little glare and continue conversation as usual, both trying to stifle laughter and smiles.

And Martyn was fully content to let things go on like that, until Scott approached him with a devilish grin and a phone in hand. Martyn gave him a wary look as Scott passed him the phone, and he looked down to see it open to the page of some obscure caramel brand based in Norway of all places. He stared, before turning his gaze on Scott and giving him an intrigued look. “Elaborate?”

“Jimmy and I went on a trip to Norway years back and while we were there, we tried some of this place’s caramel. It was the best either of us have ever had, and ever since, Jimmy can’t seem to eat caramel without mentioning it.” Scott exposited, his grin widening as he reached over and tapped the phone. “You wanna win this weird game thing you’ve got going? Nothing says ‘spoiled rotten’ than buying someone caramel from Norway that they don’t even know can be ordered.”

Martyn smiled to himself, giving Scott an approving nod. “Have I ever told you you’re a genius?”

“Not nearly enough.” Scott said, and Martyn leaned up to kiss him.

“Well, you’re a genius.” He said, quickly sending himself the link from Scott’s phone.

The next couple weeks went by without much going on, and Martyn could tell that Jimmy was growing more and more suspicious of him as the days went by. It seemed they’d reached a stand-still in their little competition, just waiting to see who would strike next. And Martyn was anxiously awaiting the caramel to arrive, keeping a careful watch for the mail so he could make sure Jimmy didn’t accidentally ruin his own surprise. 

Then, at long last, on a Saturday evening, Martyn put things in motion. He took the box of caramels and set them out on the coffee table while Jimmy was showering, knowing he’d have to go over there to pick his phone back up, and waited. However, as he was waiting, he noticed something on their kitchen counter, wrapped in a little paper package. Suspicious, he grabbed it, reading the cursive handwriting—which belonged to none of them—scrawled across the label reading: To Martyn, from Jimmy .

He stared at it for a couple seconds before carefully opening it. He paused when he saw the glint of silver and the careful ornate detailing of an obsidian hilt winking at him from inside. He turned at the sound of a gasp, locking eyes with Jimmy.

“Is this—?”

“Did you—?”

They both stared at each other for a long while, taking short steps closer to each other. Jimmy was the first to break the silence. Martyn felt like there ought to have been western music playing.

“How’d you even find out about these?” He asked.

“Trade secret.” Martyn said. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Trade secret.” Jimmy parroted.

“Hm.”

“Where did you…” Jimmy said, staring at the box in his hands. “I mean, these are from Norway .”

“And this is from a ren faire blacksmith who’s so niche they don’t have any social media.” Martyn said, narrowing his eyes. “And you’re not the internet sleuthing type.”

“No, and neither are you.” Jimmy said. “Which means…”

“Scott…”

“Set you both up so I could win?” Scott’s voice smiled from out of Martyn’s periphery, and he watched as Jimmy practically jumped three feet in the air in surprise. Martyn whipped around, finding Scott lounging easily in one of the barstools at their kitchen counter. Martyn half expected to see him sinisterly petting a cat, as well. “You bet.”

“Oh, you little—” Jimmy said, exasperated. “But why?”

Scott just gave the two of them a look, and Martyn rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, point taken. We’ll roll it back.”

“This doesn’t mean you won though.” Jimmy said. “You may have picked the gifts, but we still bought them for each other.”

“I guess you haven’t had a chance to check your wallets yet, then.” Scott said, setting his head on his hand and giving them a smug grin.

Jimmy stuttered for a minute before sighing. “He’s thought of everything.”

“So you bought gifts for us to give to each other?” Martyn asked. “And then tried to make us both think we were going to ‘win’ because of them, only to pull this at the last second?”

“Precisely.” Scott smiled.

“You know I have to pay you back, right?” Martyn said. “If not for Jimmy’s gift then for mine. I mean, this blade is easily a couple hundred pounds, not accounting for shipping.”

“No, no, Martyn, don’t be silly.” Scott said, sincerity hiding beneath his saccharine tone. “It’s my treat.”

Martyn laughed to himself, sidling up beside Scott and wrapping an arm around his waist. He set the dagger on the countertop as he did so. “What an evil genius you are.”

“Evil?” Scott said. “Sir, did I not just buy you a totally heartfelt gift?”

“No, I’m with Martyn, this is evil.” Jimmy said, joining them in the kitchen. “You did this to prove a point.”

“And? I proved my point by being excessively kind.” Scott smiled. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“It’s the way you go about it.” Martyn said, matter-of-factly.

“Seconded.” Jimmy said. “You’re just so snarky.”

Scott grinned. “You know you love my snark, Jimmy.”

“It is something I tolerate.” Jimmy amended, but caved as soon as Scott pouted, cooing. “I love it. I do.”

“Gotcha.” Scott smiled.

“What’s going on in here?” Martyn heard Tango ask, and he looked up to see the other entering the kitchen, actively wiping redstone-covered hands off on a little rag.

“Scott’s effectively put a stop to our fun.” Martyn told him, and Tango squinted for a second before his eyes lit up with recognition.

“Oh, is this about that annoying thing you guys were doing with one-upping each other’s little gifts and things?” Tango asked, and after a little offended huff from Jimmy, Martyn nodded. Tango sighed in relief, wiping his brow. “Thank god. I was getting tired of you two walking through the front door with like thirty bouquets.”

“Only thing you were getting tired of was knowing none of the bouquets were for you.” Scott teased and Tango rolled his eyes.

“Well, it would’ve been nice to get one .” Tango said, and Jimmy reached out a hand, beckoning him over to where they were. They slotted together in a little side-hug seconds later.

“Don’t worry, rancher, next time, I’ll buy flowers for everyone.” Jimmy declared.

“I’ll hold you to it.” Tango said. Martyn smiled at the both of them, and was about to say something about how much of a dent Jimmy was set to make in his wallet when he heard a short chime from nearby. He watched with a raised eyebrow as Scott wiggled out of his grip and pulled out his phone, turning off the alarm and swinging himself around the counter-top to get to the oven.

“Scott?” He asked as Scott leant down, opening the oven and pulling out a tray of cinnamon rolls out.

“Just cementing my victory.” He hummed, tossing the potholder he’d used to the side and smiling as he leant up against the countertop.

“We get it, you’re great.” Jimmy said, and Scott smirked back.

“Thank you for noticing.” He said. “And, before you even have the time to think about it, white roses and chocolates from that little french place near Magic Mountain.”

Martyn and Jimmy shared a look, fond and exasperated. They both nodded, turning back to him.

“Noted.”

Chapter Text

Skizz hummed contentedly, settling back on the couch and hearing his back pop as he rolled his shoulders. Two stacks of papers sat pleasantly on the table in front of him, one covered in his own little red notes and markings and the other with only black text—he always preferred to print his students' work, the light from screens hurt his eyes after too long—waiting to be graded. This was probably his favorite assignment to grade out of them all: a personal letter to anyone or anything in his students’ lives styled after a memoir they’d just finished reading. It was always fun to read what they had to say, or who they chose to write to. He was, of course, biased towards the one or two students each year who chose to write to him, but he found all of them a joy to read. The one he’d just finished grading was a letter to redstone, from a student who wanted to be a redstoner when they were older. Skizz, for one, didn’t understand a lick of the jargon, but he was more than excited to show Impulse when he got home.

He sighed, leaning forward to take a sip of his water before tackling the ungraded pile, smiling to himself when he read ‘a letter to my dog, Chewy.’ This was gonna be a treat.

He was pulled out of it only a couple sentences in, though, by the sound of the door opening. He heard Impulse shuffle in and smiled. “Hey, Dipple-Dop!”

He fully intended to go right back to it after receiving a short ‘hey’ from his roommate in return, and was pretty caught off-guard when that didn’t happen. Instead of a ‘hello’ or a ‘how was your day?’ or anything along those lines, Impulse just grunted. Skizz raised an eyebrow, turning around and leaning over the back of the couch slightly to see the door. There, Impulse was shrugging off his coat and kicking his shoes out of the way—quite aggressively, if he might add.

“What was that?” Skizz asked, watching Impulse continue to stare bitterly at the floor, huffing a non-response. “Come on, buddy, help me out here. I can’t speak horse, y’know.”

“Not now, Skizz.” Impulse said, gritting his teeth. Then he turned towards the hallway and left.

“Well, someone’s a bit grumpy.” Skizz said, trying to maintain a light tone as his concern grew. He heaved himself off the couch, following Impulse from a safe distance. “This isn’t like you at all.”

“I said not now.” Impulse said, stern. Skizz held his hands up in surrender, and Impulse gave him a sour look before reaching up to rub his temple. Skizz noticed he left a smudge of redstone behind, and he made a note-to-self to check Impulse’s coat for the dust and wash it out before it could stain. Well, stain any further. Skizz honestly wasn’t sure what it looked like when it was new, what with how many red spots and streaks decorated it now. “Just…leave me be, yeah? I’ve had a rough day.”

“Alright, bud. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to fix it.” Skizz offered, watching Impulse’s frown deepen. He didn’t say anything more, though, just turned and disappeared into his room. Skizz watched him, papers totally forgotten as he started scheming a way to make Impulse’s day a bit brighter. He ran to the kitchen pretty quickly, scowering the place.

Now, Skizz was no cook, but he could make a mean grilled cheese, and he knew that Impulse was particularly partial to those. Skizz used to pack one for him every day before Impulse started picking up lunch for himself during his break, since apparently his workplace was filled with sandwich-stealing hooligans. Skizz was just glad for the unspoken peace treaty between all the teachers in his department. Lord knew how little anyone wanted to deal with missing lunch drama on top of all the natural drama that came with teaching at a middle school. He was sure he’d overheard enough drama of the “boyfriend-stealing” variety to last him the rest of his life—and, undoubtedly, there was more on the way, if the way he noticed Eliza’s boyfriend Tyler looking at Kenzie was anything to go by. Not that that was any of his business.

Skizz was adding the final touches to the grilled cheese’s—meaning he was putting them on their plates and making sure the less-burnt side was face up—when Impulse reappeared. Skizz liked to think he’d been lured out by the smell.

Impulse gave him a look as he slid his plate across the countertop towards him. “Bone appetite!”

Skizz was discouraged when Impulse didn’t correct his dreadful mispronunciation, but he didn’t let up, rounding the island so he could sit at one of the stools, leaving the other open for Impulse. It was silent for a while after Impulse sat, Skizz content to give him time while they ate. And even after they were done eating they sat in a strange sort of quiet, and Skizz could practically hear the gears in Impulse’s head turning.

“Something on your mind?”

And thus, the floodgates were open.

“Why’d I ever decide to be a redstoner?” Impulse sighed. “I should’ve just become an accountant or something.”

“You would’ve hated that.” Skizz said, laughing a little, and he saw Impulse crack a tiny smile.

“Yeah. I would have.” He said, fiddling with his empty plate. “But it might not have been so…y’know?”

Skizz raised an eyebrow. “I don’t.”

Impulse sighed, sitting back. “I guess you don’t.”

“Did something happen?” Skizz asked.

“Just…there’s this client, right? I finished her little compact-dispenser thing, and it worked as intended and it was fine, really simple, but fine. But then I show it to her and she can’t seem to find one thing she doesn’t want me to change about it.” Impulse groaned. “And all her suggestions were crazy impractical! I hate it when people who don’t get redstone try and act like they know better. Like it’s magic or something, and I can just say ‘presto change-o’ and suddenly it’ll have three new functions.”

“Ah, that does sound…frustrating.” Skizz hummed, cringing a bit.

“It is, but it’s also not new. I’ve dealt with plenty of customers like that, but usually they either chill out when I explain the logistics to them or they just throw a hissy until I change things and I get to charge them gratuity and deny refunds when their stupid additions don’t work out.” Impulse explained. “Both are good enough solutions.”

“I take it she was not chill?”

“Well, she acted like it. And then, get this, called my boss thirty minutes after our meeting and complained.”

Skizz gasped. “She didn’t!”

“She did. Told him I wouldn’t take her seriously, and that I was rude and patronizing. Said I was exceedingly unprofessional.” Impulse said, clearly bothered. “And I told him that was ridiculous, because it is—I’m never anything but polite to my clients—but he didn’t care. He said he believed that I wouldn’t do that, but he ‘had to be careful’ because she could tell other people about it and if he didn’t do anything she definitely would.”

“So what’d he do? Tell her you were in big trouble and then leave it alone, right? Right?”

“I’m…suspended, essentially, from taking on any new clients or starting any projects.” Impulse sighed, rubbing his forehead. Skizz frowned. “I can still help out behind the scenes but I’m basically not allowed to do anything on my own for the next couple months.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Skizz said, in disbelief. “They can’t just do that, can they? I mean, you didn’t even do anything!”

“Unfortunately, they can.” Impulse sighed. “I’m just…honestly, I’m so over it. It feels like if it’s not something like this, it’s falling behind on a project or having to work overtime or having to collaborate with new people who don’t get how I do things and…I’m thinking I might just quit.”

“Quit?” Skizz asked, pulled back in shock. “Like, find a new company?”

“Like quit redstoning.” Impulse said, and Skizz felt his stomach sink. “Find something else to do with my time.”

“You don’t mean that.” Skizz said. “Dipple-dop, you love redstoning!”

“I thought I did.” Impulse grumbled. “But it feels like every step forward is five steps back.”

“Impulse, come on.” Skizz said, clapping his shoulder and shaking it a little bit. “What about making a name for yourself? What about all those huge projects you’re working on?”

“All that’s just…fantasy, Skizz.” He sighed, brushing Skizz off and leaning his head on his hand. “All I know is that I can work my butt off and no one will ever notice it. Redstone’s…it’s a dead end.”

“It is not a dead end!” Skizz said, adamantly. “How could you say that? You are crushing kids’ dreams, you know. There are so many people who would kill to do what you are.”

“I’m not crushing anyone’s dream, Skizz.”

“Yes—“ Skizz said, jumping out of his seat, running to the table, and snatching his student’s paper off it. He held it out to Impulse, looking him dead in the eye. “You are.”

Impulse looked at him for a second, confused, before he took the paper. Skizz watched as he read, furrowed brows slowly uncreasing.

“If you give up, you’re letting down this kid. His whole dream is to be like you, to do exactly what you are. He knows it won’t be easy, but he’s determined, and he wants it so badly.” Skizz said, watching Impulse’s shoulders drop, tension seeping out of him. “And that’s not the only kid you’ll be letting down either.”

Impulse looked up at him. “More of your students wrote about this?”

“Plenty more, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” Skizz said, before poking Impulse in the chest. “I’m talking about the kid in here. The one who’s spent everyday since I met him talking about redstone and creation. Who’s spent his whole life getting to this point. Who are you to crush his dreams? To tell him he can’t do it?”

Impulse stared at him, a small smile spreading across his face. “You’re such a cornball.”

“But I’m a correct cornball.” Skizz said, and Impulse laughed.

“Yeah, you are.” He said, a look of concentration on his face as he glanced down at the paper. “But…this doesn’t change what happened. I’m still not going to be able to do anything at work.”

“How’s about you just let me handle that?” Skizz said, and when Impulse gave him a questioning look, he smiled. “C’mon, man, you fix everything around here. Let me at least fix this.”

“Alright.” Impulse relented. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

And, oh, did Skizz know what he was doing. Within a couple hours, he had an entire army of people ready to call Impulse’s place of work with redstone requests, ready to specifically say they wanted him to do them. And when they were told he couldn’t, they were quick to refuse any alternatives, saying they were happy to wait. That they wouldn’t have anyone else.

Was it probably a little suspicious? Yes. But did it eventually mean Impulse was able to make his two month probation a one week probation? Also yes. And the resulting skip in Impulse’s step was all Skizz needed to see.

Chapter Text

Martyn wasn’t really the partying type—

Alright, scratch that, he totally was. Who was he fooling, really? He’d always felt he fit right in with the loud atmosphere and flashing lights and faces that blurred into neon and disappeared into corners because they thought they’d be invisible there. When he was still in uni, he’d been a bit of a “frat rat,” as Gem so lovingly called him when she found out about the clubbing he did. Though, of course, the two things weren’t really related. Sure, most of the clubs by his uni were populated by students, but they weren’t exclusive or anything. He’d told her as much, and she said she didn’t care. He’d always be a frat rat to her. 

What could he say? It was a good way to blow off steam and de-stress after all the long days. And, really, it was just fun. All the interesting things went down at clubs, after all. And the socialization was great. He didn’t often have the time to talk to people during school, given how busy he was, so he made most of his friends at clubs or society events.

One such friend was currently dramatically draped over Martyn, loudly complaining about how much his feet hurt.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have worn heels.” Martyn said, looking down at Scott. Rays of pink caught in his hair from the LEDs around the room, washing it a misty purple, and the glittery eyeshadow he was using was nearly blinding with how it reflected the lights. Martyn liked to imagine this was how he looked without his glamour up, with galaxy hair and stars dancing around his eyes and cheekbones. Not that Martyn would know. He didn’t think he’d seen Scott without his glamour in all the time he’d known him. Scott said teal suited him better, anyways.

“But they go so well!” Scott bemoaned, kicking one of his feet up as an example, showing off the shiny black stilettos there. “And I wouldn’t be caught dead in this nice of an outfit and sneakers.”

“You could’ve worn flats.” Martyn told him as Scott hung off his arm. Martyn guessed he was a few seconds away from demanding Martyn carry him around the rest of the night.

“I can’t believe I ever once trusted your opinion on fashion.” Scott said, snippy and with his chin up. Martyn rolled his eyes fondly.

“Scott!” A voice called out to them. Martyn watched as Cleo shoved her way through the crowd towards them, giving him a brief once over before she was back on what she’d come for. “You up for another round?”

“You buying?” Scott asked, sounding bored as he set his head on Martyn’s shoulder.

Cleo gave him an amused snort. Looking around at the scenery. “I think Lizzie and Joel are, technically.”

She was, of course, referring to the fact that they were in their house, for their engagement party, and drinking from their liquor supply. Martyn raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you plan on bankrupting the both of them before they even get married.” He said and Cleo rolled her eyes.

“If they didn’t want me to drink them out of house and home, they shouldn’t have let me in.” Cleo said, before turning her gaze back on Scott. “So?”

“Lead the way.” Scott said, finally pulling himself off of Martyn and blowing one final kiss before he was skipping off with Cleo. Martyn watched them go, and tried not to pay too much attention to how Scott’s outfit hugged his body, or how the look in his eyes when he blew that kiss made his heart flutter. He tried not to think about it, because, really, how terrible of a friend would he be if he did?

Subconsciously, Martyn’s gaze drifted to a family portrait on the wall he was standing by, and he found himself making eye contact with photo-Jimmy. Martyn sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

It wasn’t like it was his fault they were on a break, but it would be his fault if he caught feelings while they were. He knew they were probably going to get back together, even if it was, admittedly, taking a while. Maybe if Jimmy were just a little smarter this wouldn’t be happening in the first place.

Martyn tried to force out that thought. It wasn’t Jimmy’s fault. Not completely. Could he have been a bit more tactful about telling Scott his feelings for Tango? Yes. Could he have waited at least a week before starting to date the guy the “love of his life” had put their relationship on hold over? Yes. Was he a bit of an idiot? Yes. But Scott had said he was open to polyamory when Jimmy and him started dating, so maybe he could've been a bit less hasty putting them on ice. It was just a huge, huge mess. And, quite honestly, Martyn didn’t want even a sliver of responsibility for making it any worse.

Say what you will about Martyn, but he wasn’t the type of guy to fawn over someone one of his closest friends had called his “future husband.” So for the time being, he was content to just call his interest in Scott fully platonic and maybe some type of “aesthetic attraction.” Nothing more than that.

On a completely unrelated note, Martyn was starting to think Cleo was onto something when she set out to drink the Solidarity-Shadow’s—was it Solidarity-Shadow-Smallbean’s now? Martyn kind of hoped not, for the sake of any future children Joel and Lizzie might have—into bankruptcy. At the very least, it’d make a good distraction.

—

“Oh, Martyn!” He heard someone practically purr from behind him, before he felt hands skitter across his back and Scott’s head pop into view. “Have you seen my friend, Pearl? She’s about yeh-high and dressed like a medieval witch.”

Martyn gave him a look, to which Scott just smiled innocently. Martyn could smell alcohol on his breath, and could see a slight fuzziness in his eyes. “Do I want to know why?”

“I’m going to ask her to dance.” Scott said, conspiratorially. Martyn felt like a 13 year old at a school social, whose friend was hoping to be hyped up before he danced with the girl of his dreams. Though, to be frank, Martyn was pretty sure that Scott’s dreams didn’t really involve girls. Not in that context. Scott playfully pressed a finger to his lips, winking. “Don’t tell anyone!”

Martyn laughed a bit. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Oh, a cocktail or two.” Scott said, waving his hand flippantly.

“Really? Because you’re not usually so…” Martyn gestures to Scott’s demeanor. “I’ll be nice and call it bubbly.”

“Aw, you don’t like it?” Scott said, giving a little pout that transformed rather quickly into a wolf-toothed grin. “Not enough danger for you?”

Martyn tried to hide his flush with a facepalm. “Well, that settles it.”

“Settles what, handsome?” Scott smirked, toying with Martyn’s tie.

Martyn, by way of an answer, scooped Scott up into his arms. He was able to do it just casually enough that his giddiness at having Scott so close didn’t show through. “I’m taking you home. I think you’ve had your fun, yeah? And you’ve got things to do tomorrow, so I hear.”

“Nothing that important.” Scott said, before turning these faux-sad eyes on Martyn. “Do I have to go?”

“It’s nearly midnight.” Martyn said. “I think if I don’t walk you home now you’ll complain about no one trying to save you from yourself.”

“Touché.” Scott smiled, before pointing in the general direction of the door. “Lead the way.”

Martyn smiled fondly, adjusting his grip and carrying him out towards the door. Scott took every opportunity to draw attention to them as he did so, waving enthusiastically at everyone they passed and making snide, sometimes flirtatious, remarks about his “knight in shining armor.” Martyn just maintained the same exasperated expression, even when he caught Grian’s eyes and the other mouthed the word “sucker” at him. He just sent a pointed look between him and Scar, who Grian had been following around all night. “Sucker.”

It was…less easy to play things off when they passed Jimmy, whose smile immediately wavered, and whose eyes took on this terrible look of hurt. Martyn didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t like that , while simultaneously carrying the love of Jimmy’s life away in his arms. He’d have to explain it tomorrow. He’d…probably have to explain a lot of things tomorrow. This wasn’t the best look, was it? People didn’t usually leave parties with someone else in their arms unless they were planning on doing something after they left. Martyn just wanted to save himself from Scott’s complaints about his feet. That was it.

He began mentally drafting an apology text to Jimmy as they left and Scott quieted down. Apparently, once there was no one to embarrass Martyn in front of, his drunken ramblings were a lot more controlled. Funny how that worked.

Martyn just counted himself lucky that Scott lived pretty close by. He liked to think himself strong, but he knew he wasn’t carry-someone-30-minutes-across-town strong.

As they neared Scott’s apartment complex, he went to put Scott down only for Scott to just cling tighter. He sighed. “What?”

“You’re really going to make me walk up all those stairs by myself?” Scott said, fixing Martyn with a look that seemed a cross between threatening and pitiful. He wasn’t totally sure how that worked, but Scott pulled it off.

“Fine.” Martyn said through grit teeth, hiking Scott up and starting up the stairs. “I’m starting to think you did this to yourself on purpose.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean, I think you knew that wearing heels would hurt your feet, and eventually you’d have someone carrying you home because you couldn’t walk.” Martyn speculated, and Scott flashed him an innocent smile.

“Good guess.” Scott said. “But this is just a perk.”

“For you.” Martyn said, shifting him again. “For me this is torture.”

“You didn’t have to carry me.” Scott said, and Martyn scoffed.

“You would’ve made me eventually.” Martyn said. Scott didn’t defend himself, just leaning his head against Martyn’s shoulder. Martyn was kind of glad Scott couldn’t see his face, or the heat that rushed to it.

When they got to the door of Scott’s apartment, he finally got a chance to set him down, and thankfully Scott didn’t cling and force him to carry him to bed, too. Even for the situation, that seemed just a bit too domestic. Scott leant against his door as he unlocked it, and Martyn was going to say goodbye, figuring that would be the end of that, when Scott turned around and fixed him with a smile.

“Thanks for walking me home, Mean Gill.” Scott smirked, leaning up to kiss Martyn on the cheek. He winked one final time before disappearing behind the door. Martyn stilled, staring a hole through Scott’s closed door. The world seemed to halt, like it too was a bit stunned. Martyn felt a chill run through his body as he lifted a hand to touch his cheek, before harshly shaking his head and turning around. He descended down the stairs, trying to school his face into something nonchalant.

He didn’t mean anything by it. He was drunk, after all—he didn’t act that drunk, though, not after they left. But even then he was probably just…being Scott. “Flirt” was practically his middle name. Martyn could’ve been anyone, and Scott would’ve done the same thing. Besides, he knew Scott was still head over heels for Jimmy, underneath all the resentment he was currently clutching onto. 

When he wrote his apology text to Jimmy, he left out the kiss. He wasn’t going to ruin things between them for good over a little mistake.

That’s all it was, right? A mistake?

Martyn wouldn’t get his hopes up.

Chapter Text

When it came to fights in the household, there were usually two main ways they came about. One: Either Scott or Martyn got a little too comfortable in their teasing, and the subject of said teasing wasn’t having it. Or two: there was an actual issue that had been bubbling under the surface for a while, and no one caught it before all hell broke loose. There were, of course, variations on these, and number two was fortunately very uncommon, but that was the main structure.

When it came to diffusing fights, there was also a structure. If there was a fight between Martyn and Jimmy, Scott mediated and Tango sometimes ran moral support. A fight between Tango and Jimmy usually ended up not needing mediators, but also usually incited a lot of hugging and tears. Martyn and Scott usually fought the quietest, with subtle jabs and passive aggression, and eventually moved on just as quietly without much need for mediation either, though Jimmy still tried. Fights between Martyn and Tango didn’t usually happen unless one of the others were involved, in which case everyone just talked it out. Fights with Scott and Tango were perhaps the loudest and most frequent—in comparison, of course, they weren’t at each other's throats daily or anything—with the two having butt heads since they first met for fairly obvious reasons. Their fights now obviously weren’t so emotionally charged, and the resentment that burned behind them wasn’t there anymore. Rather, fights between the two of them were usually over petty things and misunderstandings—play fights and bickering more than anything else. If needed, Jimmy mediated these, and Martyn typically just ignored them.

This structure worked until something stopped it, say, Jimmy going out of town for the weekend on a “siblings only” trip with Lizzie. Martyn just hoped Scott and Tango were having a spat over something inconsequential and not some sort of reckoning, and that he would be fine to go about his business.

He still caught snippets of it though, standing in the kitchen as Scott and Tango bickered in the living room.

…

“You are insufferable.”

“And you’re no fun.”

…

“Maybe if you had a real job you wouldn’t have so much time to stand around heckling me!”

“A real job? Right, because playing with redstone is so much more real than modeling.”

“It’s not ‘playing’!”

…

“I know modeling is hard, I’m not talking about that.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

…

“Oh, please! Anyone can move around some colors on a screen.”

“And anyone could flick a light switch.”

“That is not what redstoning is!”

…

“So just ‘cause I don’t have a nine-to-five means I’m not really working?”

“I didn’t say that.”

…

“So which job do you have a problem with then?”

“I don’t have a problem with either of your jobs!”

“Because neither of them are real, right?”

“Oh, come on!”

…

And so on. Really, Martyn was not nearly invested enough to try and work out why in the world they were bickering over jobs that they both obviously respected. Martyn had heard Tango compliment Scott’s graphic design time and time again, and had just as frequently seen Scott lavish Tango’s redstone with praise. And the modeling thing was something Martyn had only ever seen Tango be supportive about, so it was hard to see that being a real issue either. Really, it just sounded like Tango made an offhand dig without thinking, and Scott was now grilling him on it. Which, yeah, that was probably it.

“I’m going to bed.” Scott said, now closer to where Martyn was working. “Got to wake up bright and early so I can get to my fake job.”

“I didn’t mean—” Martyn watched as Scott stormed into the kitchen, snatched an orange from their little fruit-display-thing and marched towards the bedroom, Tango following after him but stopping in the kitchen to lean against the counter and groan. He looked up after a second, catching Martyn’s gaze. “Did you hear any of that?”

“Almost all of it.” Martyn answered, sliding some diced onions into the broth he was making.

“Great.” Tango huffed. “He’s just so petty! It’s like I can’t say even one wrong thing.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean, he spends all of his time trying to rile me up, but the second I do it back he takes it this badly?” Tango complained.

“Well, you did insult his livelihood.” Martyn shrugged. “Livelihoods?”

“But I didn’t mean to!” Tango defended, looking down at his hands as he wrung them. “I was just frustrated. He’s been bothering me all day!”

“Oh, yeah?” Martyn asked, going back to cooking. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted Jimmy back home more in his entire life. This was not his responsibility.

“Yeah! He just can’t help himself or something. Like, since Jimmy’s not here he has to make someone else’s day hell on earth.” Tango said, and Martyn just raised an eyebrow. Tango frowned. “Well, not hell on earth. I don’t mean that he spends all his time trying to make Jimmy’s day worse. I know he’s just more comfortable showing his affection that way, or whatever. That it’s not heckling just…teasing. And, Jimmy’s fine with it anyway, so it’s not malicious…”

Martyn just continued to look at him in between chopping vegetables. 

“Dude, stop looking at me like that! Okay, I know that was a little harsh…maybe more than a little. I don’t know, I just wish he’d quit getting on my case over everything! And I know what you’re gonna say, I should ‘just tell him to stop if it’s bothering me so much.’” Tango said, and Martyn just let him keep therapizing himself. Clearly, he was just here to listen so that Tango had someone to say this all to. He was fine with that. As long as Martyn didn’t have to get any more involved than this. Scott and Tango were dating each other just as much as they were dating him, if their relationship was having issues, that was a them problem. Unless it affected him, their bickering was something they needed to work out on their own. Martyn tuned back in after a moment to find Tango still ranting. “It’s not like I want him to think I don’t like it when he talks to me, or like I wish he was busier so he couldn’t. Oh, man, do you think that’s what it sounded like? Maybe that’s why he was so upset.”

Martyn hummed. “Maybe.”

“Or maybe he’s just having trouble with work and me mentioning it ticked him off. Do you think that’s it? Maybe his agent’s being a jerk or something…or he’s not got as many clients as usual for the design thing.” Tango pondered, pacing a little bit now. “If that’s the case then I really screwed up. I’d probably be upset if someone said my job wasn’t real work right in the middle of me having issues with it. Man, I should really fix this—but he’s trying to sleep! I can’t do anything now.”

“Dinner in twenty.” Martyn told him, setting a lid on the pot.

“Thanks.” He said, setting himself down on one of the barstools they had for their kitchen island. Martyn busied himself with clean-up, and Tango had stopped ranting for the time being, instead mumbling furiously to himself every once in a while and typing on his phone. Martyn let him.

—

The next morning, Martyn woke up to find both of his boyfriends out of bed. He lifted his phone on the nightstand and glimpsed the time: 5:29 . He groaned. He’d have to go pick up Jimmy from the airport soon, which was probably why the other two were up and about. That, or Scott really wasn’t kidding when he said he had to be up bright and early for his shoot.

Martyn hauled himself out of bed, walking slowly out of the room and journeying down the hallway when he was stopped by the silhouettes of Tango and Scott at the end of it, backlit by the kitchen lights.

“Martyn made it last night.” Tango whispered, handing Scott a thermos. “I just heated it up.”

“Thanks.” Scott said, taking it and slipping it into the bag at his side. He took a step as if to leave when Tango stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’ve really got to go.”

“I know.” Tango said, tucking a strand of Scott’s hair behind his ear. “Have a good day at work.”

Martyn could just barely make out the way Scott’s lips quirked up in a small smile, and he leaned forward to give Tango a little kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, love.”

Martyn watched them linger just a second longer before Scott was making his way out of the kitchen and towards the front door. Tango’s shoulders dropped a bit in relief. Martyn nodded to himself.

He knew they could work it out on their own.

Chapter Text

Gem carefully balanced a teacup on her knee as she sat, watching the morning as it flitted by with the birds and butterflies. She’d always loved springtime. Something about it just felt different. Like everything was at peace, and things were really starting anew.

“There you are.” Pearl’s voice spoke from behind her. Gem could hear her footsteps against the rough pavement of the patio. She hadn’t noticed that Pearl had even entered her home, but she wasn’t about to admit that. “Should’ve looked here first.”

“Mhm.” Gem said, taking a sip from her tea. “Need something?”

“Just wondering where you were.” Pearl said, the chair opposite Gem’s creaking a bit as she sat down. Both of them were angled outwards so that you saw the view first and foremost, but you could still glimpse the person in the other one. A small, glass end-table which Gem had repurposed as a coffee table sat between them, wearing a proud green and gold and white picnic-y tablecloth, which in turn wore a couple ring-shaped coffee stains. Pearl set a bowl of what looked like cereal down on it, stretching back in the chair. “You’re not usually up this early.”

“Yes, I am!” Gem protested lightly. “And it’s not like you can talk Ms. Stays-Up-Til-Five-A.M.-Frequently.”

“I’m working!” Pearl said, like she always did.

“And?” Gem said, raising an eyebrow. “Five a.m. is still ridiculous.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll be ridiculous.” Pearl huffed. “But you have to admit this is early, even for you.”

“It’s eight in the morning.” Gem pointed out.

“On a weekend.” Pearl said. “That’s early.”

“Sure.” Gem said, laughing a bit. “Whatever you say.”

Gem smiled as she sipped at her tea, watching Pearl eat oatmeal out of one of her nice, flower-patterned bowls. “Were you going to explain why you’re at my house? Eating my oatmeal?”

“You gave me a key.” Pearl said, still eating. Gem rolled her eyes.

“That’s not a reason!” Gem said. “You’re at my house, ‘early’ in the morning, eating my oatmeal.”

“Do you not want me to eat breakfast?” Pearl asked, twisting the words, and Gem groaned.

“You have food at your own place.” Gem said, setting her tea down so she could cross her arms.

Pearl shook her head, closing her eyes and scooping some more oatmeal into her mouth. Gem had only just realized that she’d even cut up strawberries into it, strawberries Gem was running low on. The nerve . “Not hot food. Stove’s broken.”

“You have a microwave!”

“Microwave oatmeal is gross!” Pearl complained. “And why would I go out of my way to do that when my lovely friend Gem, who lives only a few meters from my apartment, has fresh, rolled oats sitting untouched and unappreciated in her pantry?”

“Since when is microwaving oatmeal more work than breaking into my apartment?” Gem argued, pointing an accusatory finger at Pearl. “And I’ll have you know that my rolled oats are very appreciated.”

“Oh yeah? Then why have you only used an eighth of them?” Pearl said, smug.

“It’s a new bag!” Gem said. “And it’s not like I eat oatmeal every morning. And neither do you.”

“A girl’s got cravings.” Pearl shrugged.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” Gem said, to which Pearl just raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean!”

Pearl hummed. “You ever have a dream about someone and it makes you think ‘oh, I haven’t seen that person in a while, I think my subconscious is telling me to go see them.’”

“Not once in my entire life.” Gem said, though she smiled. “Is this your convoluted way of saying you had a dream about me?”

Pearl shoved another spoonful of oatmeal in her mouth, now having to use her spoon to gather what remained in the bowl. “Maybe.”

“Aw, Pearl!” Gem grinned. “Was it a good dream?”

Pearl nodded. “We were robbers doing a bank heist.”

“And we succeeded at that?” Gem asked, a little incredulous.

“Only ‘cause of dream-you’s badass martial arts skills.” Pearl said, grinning back.

“You think I should take classes?” Gem asked, finishing off her tea.

“Definitely!” Pearl said, setting her bowl down. “You look great doing it.”

“Aw, you flatter me!” Gem smiled, though she still eyed the bowl. “But don’t think this means you don’t owe me more strawberries.”

Pearl groaned, slumping back in her seat. “Strawberries are expensive!”

“Which is why you owe me new ones!” Gem said, setting her teacup in the empty bowl so she’d be able to take it all to the kitchen in one fell-swoop later. She laughed as Pearl continued to groan and complain about the price of fresh fruit. “Well, maybe you should think about that next time you go breaking into my apartment!”

“Fine, fine, okay. I’ll buy you new strawberries.” Pearl relented. They fell into a comfortable silence from there, Gem kicking up her feet on the little footrests she’d set up before her deck chairs and contentedly watching the world move by. She didn’t have a perfect view by any means—it faced the street and didn’t provide a great view beyond that, with only a few trees and some flowers across the way, but it was enough for her. Some days, she was even lucky enough to see a squirrel scamper by on the greenery, or a hummingbird or some bees flitter around the hanging-flowers she had set up. She loved it out here, and one look at Pearl told Gem that she loved it too. Pearl looked over at her after a moment, a sheepish smile on her face. “You aren’t actually mad, are you?”

Gem laughed. “I’m not actually mad. You’re welcome whenever.”

“Good.” Pearl smiled. “‘Cause I wasn’t kidding about my stove being broken.”

Chapter Text

In hindsight, Scar shouldn’t have been so surprised they forgot about him. While he worked at the same architecture firm as a lot of the other “Hermits”—as they’d been calling their friend group for years now—he wasn’t actually at the office very frequently, preferring to work from home whenever he could. Thus, it wasn’t often he actually needed to come in—when he did, it was usually just because he wanted to. Work from home did get stale after a while, despite what some of his saltier coworkers over the years thought.

So, naturally, when he came in for the yearly meeting between every firm beneath their parent company, he didn’t have a chair. This wouldn’t normally be an issue—in years past he’d almost always come in his wheelchair, and so whatever chair they had for him was usually useless anyway. The point, though, was that that chair had always been offered. Now, it just…wasn’t? There wasn’t even a nameplate for him at his firm’s table.

“Uh, G?” He said, grabbing the attention of his boyfriend, who was chatting with some of their coworkers a couple steps away. Grian gave him a prompting look, and he chuckled a little nervously. “They didn’t give me a chair.”

“Huh?” Grian said, glancing around the table before he realized what Scar just had. He let out a long groan, pinching his brow. “Those idiots.”

Scar laughed a bit, in spite of himself. Grian had never been a huge fan of the people in charge of their parent company. The head of their firm, Xisuma, was one of their closest friends, and an excellent boss, but his bosses were…well, most people at the firm didn’t really like them, to say the least. This would really just be fuel for the steadily growing fire of hatred.

“Take my seat for now, okay? I’ll see if I can go find an extra chair.” Grian told him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. Scar nodded, sitting down and collapsing his cane so he could tuck it comfortably under the seat.

Slowly but surely, the other chairs were filled, and there was still no sign of Grian—or Xisuma, for that matter, whose chair sat empty. A couple people asked if Grian wasn’t coming or if something happened, to which Scar just explained he’d gone to get a chair. Even still, it was odd how long it was taking. These kinds of events usually had extra chairs lying all over the place—how long did it take to check a storage closet?

The first speaker had approached the mic by the time they returned, Xisuma taking his seat and Grian practically perching himself on the arm of Scar’s. Scar looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, catching Grian’s exasperated, mellow anger in return.

“Couldn’t find a chair.” He whispered, more of a hiss than anything else.

“There weren’t any?” Scar whispered back. “Well that’s a little crazy.”

“You’re telling me.” Grian rolled his eyes.

Scar paused a little bit. “Do you want your chair back?”

“Do I…” Grian looked at Scar like he’d grown two heads. “No, Scar, I don’t need it.”

“But, it is technically yours.” He reasoned, Grian scoffed under his breath.

“This thing’s several hours long at best, Scar, I’m not going to make you stand.” Grian said.

“But perching like that can’t be comfortable.” Scar said, and Grian had to stifle a laugh.

“I’m part parrot, Scar.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Grian just laughed to himself, shaking his head fondly and refocusing on the speaker. Scar smiled to himself, leaning slightly towards where Grian sat, and in turn supporting him slightly.

Later, during the provided dinner, one of the higher-ups approached their table with a judgemental glare and a tight smile.

“Is everything alright?” He coughed. When the table just looked at him he gestured towards Grian. “You’re, well, sitting in a rather—“

“I wasn’t given a chair.” Grian said, with a certain level of pettiness mixed with professionalism. “Just making the best of it, sir.”

“Oh?” The man said, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Well, carry on, then.”

The conversation moved on pretty quickly after that, but Scar didn’t miss the little wink Grian sent his way which spoke, in not so many words, “don’t worry about a thing.”

Scar decided he’d never loved anyone more.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for coming! Have a nice day!” Lizzie called, watching as the last customer gave a wave before continuing down the street. She sighed lightly as she flipped the little wooden sign on her door to ‘closed.’ Jimmy had given it to her when she’d graduated from college and set out to start working towards the bakery of her dreams. It wasn’t perfect, very obviously handmade and not professionally, but it always made her smile. She knew, though, that when she told customers that her little brother made it, they imagined him as if he were ten years old. That in itself was enough to put a grin on her face.

She swung herself around the counter with a practiced ease, landing behind a nearly empty display case. Saturdays were always great for business. Though, she’d be the first to admit that sometimes that seemed like the only upside to having the bakery open on them.

She slipped her phone out of her back pants pocket and turned it off “do not disturb,” a barrage of notifications flooding her phone shortly thereafter. Most of them were group chats or social media posts or spam emails, but a couple sat pretty at the top of her screen. Those ones, though, she’d felt buzz as they came in. Joel was the only person on she’d set to “allow notifications from…”, just in case. It hadn’t been necessary yet, but she liked having them on.

Joel <3 (sent 15:54): Dinner?

Joel <3 (sent 15:57): I’m at the shops

Lizzie smiled, leaning across the counter as she texted back. She set her phone down after the fact, puffing out a short, contented, breath as she eyed what was left in the case. She’d usually donate leftovers to the local food bank, or to her friends and family, sometimes the school Skizz taught at for the teacher’s lounge if he asked. Tonight though, there were so few and really, she had a husband who’d probably eat it up in a day or two anyway.

She got out a couple of her little bags and boxes, fitting as many pastries and baked goods she could in each one so as to not be wasteful, and paused momentarily as she packed up a couple slices of cake. She hummed, opening up the little cold-storage in the back to get out a single slice of black forest cake. Joel’s favorite. She almost forgot she’d set it aside.

Setting it in a box of its own and putting all of the boxes and bags in a reusable grocery bag she used as a tote, she finally began the actual clean-up process. It was fairly quick, given she didn’t have any help today—the worker she usually had help with customers left in the middle of the day for a family event, and her bakers only rarely stayed through the whole day—but it was still her least favorite part of the job. Say what you will, scrubbing countertops is no one’s favorite activity.

She locked up at last, hefting her bag onto her shoulder and tucking the rest of her items into the pockets of her coat before making the walk down to the—mercifully free—parking garage where her car sat.

The drive home was short and filled with music blasting through her speakers, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel as she went. When she arrived, she let the song that was playing finish before getting out, locking the car with a solid beep and finding her way to the front door.

“Honey, I’m home!” She called out as she stepped in, shrugging off her coat and slipping off her shoes.

“In the kitchen!” Was the response she got, and she was quick to make her way in there, watching as Joel turned away from the oven to greet her. He eyed the bag on her shoulder. “Goodies?”

Lizzie nodded, setting the bag down and pulling out all the things inside. Joel stood by, taking the things she handed him and setting them in a little case they kept for baked goods. “Oh, and look!”

She held out the slice of cake and watched his eyes light up. “Yes! You didn’t sell out of these today?”

“I may have saved a piece.” She smiled.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Joel asked leaning forward to plant a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

“Couldn’t hurt to do it a little more.” She said, leaning into him. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” Joel said quickly, punctuating each one with a little kiss. “Good?”

“Eh, better.” She smirked, and he rolled his eyes fondly. He set the cake on a nearby counter, turning back to the pans on the stove and pushing around some stir-fryed vegetables before lowering the heat. Lizzie took the opportunity to wrap her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. She stood, watching him cook and humming delightedly to herself. “Smells good.”

“I try.” Joel said, his voice reverberating through her a bit. “Work was good?”

“Yeah.” She said, disconnecting herself from him to lean against the countertop instead, rolling her shoulders. “Hectic, though. Katherine left me halfway through the day!”

“Oh?”

“Family thing, I don’t really blame her.” Lizzie said, shrugging. “Still, would’ve been nice to not be lonely.”

“Just call me next time.” Joel said. “I could run a register.”

“Sure thing.” She smiled.

“Oi, I think you’re forgetting a little bit of our history here.” Joel said. “I worked for you for a whole blummin’ year.”

“Yeah, one day every other week.” Lizzie reminded. “I didn’t even pay you for it.”

“Money’s not a motivator for me.” Joel said. “I just like to help.”

“Okay, Joel.” She said, rolling her eyes. “Next time I’m short staff on a Saturday, I will call you. But I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ when you complain about needing to work on one of your precious days off.”

“It’s a deal.” Joel said, holding out a hand so Lizzie could shake it. “And just for the record, I’d never complain about getting to spend time with my lovely wife.”

“Not even if I make you clean beneath the ovens?” Lizzie grinned, and Joel grimaced shortly but shook his head.

“Not even then.”

“Oh, what a charmer!” Lizzie said, batting out a hand. “Careful there, I might fall for you all over again.”

“If only I were that lucky.” Joel said, taking her hand and pressing a gentle kiss to it for good measure. Lizzie scoffed at how cheesy he was being, but did nothing to combat the little smile that settled on her face. Maybe she should bring home cake more often.

Chapter Text

“Spring cleaning today.” Scar said over breakfast, with the same subtle optimism he seemed to say everything with, and Grian’s gaze immediately snapped to the calendar on their fridge. Lo and behold, there it was, a penned in ‘Spring Cleaning!’ and a little flower drawing in the box with today’s date.

“Do we have to?” Grian groaned, only slightly resisting the urge to let his head fall into his bowl of cereal, which was by this point just a bowl of milk.

“It’s on the calendar, so I think yes.” Scar shrugged as if he wasn’t the one who wrote it there. “And if we don’t, Pearl will find out soon enough and whirl through here just getting rid of random stuff to clean up.”

“Fine.” Grian said, scooping up his bowl and standing. He pointed a finger across the table. “But we’re starting with your stuff.”

Scar frowned, echoing Grian’s earlier groan, which made him snicker as he placed his bowl into the sink.

—

To be honest, spring cleaning wasn’t awful, but it sure wasn’t fun just picking things up, saying “do we need this?”, and then putting back if they did and in either a trash or donation bag if they didn’t. Grian and Scar had both taken about five breaks already, and they’d only started three hours ago. With any luck, they’d be finished by around 5 o'clock tomorrow night.

“This?” Grian asked, holding up a garish red and blue candleholder that’d been sat on one of their bookshelves and that they’d rarely, if ever, used.

“Oh, we have to keep that, Bdubs made it for our housewarming!” Scar said, and suddenly Grian was reminded of why they still had it. Because Scar was more sentimental than anything else, and so obviously no gifts could ever be thrown away, even if all they were good for was collecting dust. Grian shrugged, setting it down.

“Okay, it stays.” He said, before brushing a finger across a collection of books they had on architecture and redstone—one group of which was much more obviously worn than the other. Just as Grian was about to pull out one of the redstone books so he could hold it up while asking why on earth they still had these—knowing the answer was probably ‘Mumbo gave them to us for our 33 week anniversary!’ or something—he was cut off by Scar’s voice beating him to the punch.

“How about this?” Scar asked, and Grian turned around to see him holding up a familiar blue sweatshirt. His heart leapt into his throat. He’d hidden that. Scar was never supposed to find it. How did he find it? “Found it in a box in the back of the closet, I think one of us probably forgot it there. Pretty musty, by now, though. Definitely needs a wash.

“Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear this. Do you want it anymore?” Scar wondered, inspecting it closely. Grian rushed forward before he could even think about what he was doing, snatching the sweater from Scar’s hands and holding it close to his chest.

“We’re not getting rid of it!” Grian snapped, watching Scar reel back a bit, looking at him shocked and confused. A little bit of the tension melted away and he softened, coughing. “Sorry.”

“Okay. We aren’t getting rid of it.” Scar said, holding his hands up placatingly. It almost looked like he wanted to reach out and wrap Grian in a hug, but thought better of it at the last second. Grian wasn’t sure if he was glad for that or not. Grian took a deep breath, deliberately pulling his face away from the sweater to do so. He knew it smelled musty. He hadn’t taken it out of that box in about ten years, after all. It was a miracle it hadn’t disintegrated or something.

It felt wrong holding it again, too. It felt like his hands were on fire just from touching it. It felt gross and itchy and wrong—but somehow still soft. Something that Grian almost wanted to bury his face in. He wanted it, he needed it, but he never wanted to be near it. So he quickly moved towards the closet and started putting it back in the shoebox it lived in.

Scar cleared his throat behind him, leaning over. Grian turned to meet his eyes, soft and confused. “Can I ask?”

Grian paused. Could he ask? That was…a loaded question. All this time, and Scar really only knew snippets of Grian’s high school experience. He really only knew that it was tough, and not why or how. The real question was whether Grian wanted him to know. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It was, uh…it belonged to a friend of mine. Back in high school.”

“Mhm?” Scar hummed, gently nudging Grian along.

“He died in a bus accident.” Grian said, fiddling with the cloth of the sweater.

“Oh, Grian.” Scar said, quietly, wrapping his arms around Grian from behind. Grian leaned into him, letting his hold on the piece of clothing become a little looser. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Grian said, and as a shock to even himself, he found he kind of meant it. “It happened so long ago. I don’t even remember it very well.”

“Still.” Scar said. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Thank you.” Grian said, because he couldn’t find it in himself to say anything else. He didn’t know what to feel. He rarely thought about what happened nowadays, and a part of him felt terrible about it, felt like he was betraying his friends memory, but he’d also been through enough therapy to know that wasn’t the case. He knew the grief would never fully leave him, but it was easier to handle now, and it didn’t consume his life the way it did back then. It also helped that he had a much better support system now. One that would actually listen to him, that would hold him when he needed it and back up when he needed space instead. He looked down at the sweater in his hands, and it didn’t really feel wrong anymore, but it didn’t feel right to be clutching onto it with Scar’s arms gently wrapped around his torso and his breathing on his neck. “Hey, Scar?”

“Hmm?” He mumbled into Grian’s shoulder.

“We can get rid of this.” Grian said, letting it drop into the shoebox. Scar lifted his head, turning slightly so that he could look Grian in the eyes.

“Are you sure?” Scar asked, leveling Grian with a look that told him that Scar would support his choice no matter what it was, but that he wanted to know that Grian was really sure. “Don’t feel like you need to give it up if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t. I think it’s probably good if I do.” Grian said, closing up the box. “I don’t really look at it anyway. I don’t think I’ve opened this box since I put it in there.”

“Probably why it smells like that.” Scar mused, and Grian laughed lightly. “But you’re sure?”

“I think so.” Grian shrugged. “I think I was just holding onto it because…I don’t know, maybe knowing that I had this piece of him tucked away somewhere was good proof that I hadn’t left him behind.

“But this isn’t his anymore, is it?” Grian asked no one. “It stopped being his a long time ago. And now I’ve just trapped it away in a box and I don’t even look at it or think about it at all. I feel like that’s almost worse than not having it. Because at least if I don’t have it, I can’t ignore it.”

Scar hummed. “As long as you’re really okay with this.”

“I am.” Grian said. “It’s not like I’m letting go of him, or anything. I can remember him just the same without it.”

And Grian knew he was just sort of justifying this decision to himself at this point and not really explaining anything, but Scar still nodded as he spoke, like he was attentive to every word. “Exactly.”

“So yeah, we can get rid of it.” Grian said, picking up the box and standing. He turned to Scar, helping Scar up off the ground before holding it out to him. “Or, uh, you can?”

Scar smiled a little, taking the box from him gently. Grian’s fingers lingered on it for only a moment. “I can.”

“Thank you, Scar.” He said, and Scar just gave him a simple nod before he was turning around and maneuvering out of the room, presumably out towards the small pile of donation boxes and bags in their living room, or maybe to the washing machine so that when they dropped it off for donation it wasn’t quite so musty. Or maybe he was just aiming to drop it in their outdoor rubbish bin to be picked up on collection day. Grian found that he was content with either fate. It was just a sweater, after all.

He walked over to their bookshelf once again, collecting the redstone books in his arms and unceremoniously dumping them in the ‘going away’ box for their bedroom set up on the floor. If Grian could part with his useless sweater, then Scar would have to be okay with parting with these useless books. In all honesty, he probably wouldn’t even notice they were gone.

Chapter Text

The only thing Martyn regretted even slightly about starting to date Jimmy and Tango was that he no longer had Scott all to himself very often. Call him selfish or clingy or what-have-you—he wasn’t about to deny any of it—but he really did miss the early days of dating Scott, when the both of them could just focus all of their energy and attention on each other. Not that he didn’t love his other boyfriends, just, well, he missed one-on-one dates sometimes, alright?

Suffice it to say, he was thrilled when Scott asked if he wanted to get dinner, just the two of them, one random Saturday night. Besides, it had been so long since they had a proper date-night with how busy their schedules were that it’d be nice for that reason alone.

So Martyn was making a pretty big deal of it. He’d got dressed up much nicer than usual, and had left the house altogether a few minutes before they were meant to go out just so he could ring their doorbell and stand outside. When Jimmy opened the door, he couldn’t help but grin at the double-take he did.

“Weren’t you just—?” Jimmy asked, pointing over his shoulder in confusion.

Martyn grinned. “I’m here to pick up Scott for our date.”

Jimmy just blinked at him, shaking his head. “You are ridiculous.”

“Thank you.” Martyn said.

“Alright, I’ll go get ‘im.” Jimmy said, rolling his eyes and stepping back inside, closing the door in the process. Martyn took the second to adjust his coat and briefly check his hair in the reflection of the little window on their front door. He felt like he’d traveled back in time to his teenage years, waiting anxiously on the front door step of his first girlfriend’s house.

The door opened a few moments later and Martyn straightened up to watch Scott step out, dressed in this gorgeous gold and black outfit with his glamour down, galaxy hair shimmering and eyes aglow with specks of starlight. He let out a low whistle, smiling as he took Scott’s hand. “Hello, gorgeous.”

“Hello, yourself.” Scott smiled. It was only then that Martyn noticed how Tango and Jimmy had propped themselves up in the doorway.

“You crazy kids have fun, now.” Tango said, smiling cheekily. “And have him back before midnight.”

“Yes sir.” Martyn said, giving him a little salute as he and Scott turned away from the door and ventured towards where Martyn’s car sat in the driveway. He was sure he could hear Jimmy muttering something about how he didn’t sign up for this, and it took all of Martyn’s strength to keep walking and not tease him for just how untrue that was. He got to the car just before Scott, opening the door. “Let me get that for you.”

“Someone’s in a good mood.” Scott teased, pressing a kiss to Martyn’s cheek as he got in. Martyn grinned, circling the car and getting in on the driver’s side.

“I’ve been looking forward to this.” He said, simply and Scott hummed.

“Well, Prince Charming, where are we off to?” He asked, and Martyn smiled, pulling up the directions to an Italian place they’d been a few times on his phone wordlessly before plugging it into the dash and letting the maps flash up on the screen. “Ooh, I love that place.”

“Oh good, I was a little worried I’d made the wrong call.” Martyn said, beginning to pull out of the driveway at last.

“No you weren’t.” Scott accused. “I’ll bet you spent an hour trying to figure out where I’d most like to go.”

“Oh, come on, I’m not that much of an overplanner.” Martyn scoffed.

“Did you not just ‘pick me up’ from your own house?”

“That was a spontaneous decision, I’ll have you know.” Martyn argued, knowing that was far from true. Though, from the way Scott hummed dubiously, and the look Martyn could see being shot out of the corner of his eye, Scott knew it too. Martyn was fine with that. They both knew who the real overplanner was between the both of them.

—

One of Martyn’s favorite things about this particular restaurant was the atmosphere. None of the cheesy wall decor or picnic-blanket-esque tablecloth, just simple elegance. It made Martyn feel like he was eating somewhere much more high-class than he actually was. He suspected that Scott liked it for similar reasons. 

Though, Scott had also told him he liked this place for the complimentary bread they served, and the fancy olive-oil that came with it.

Which, strangely enough, Martyn had come to realize only he was eating. At first it made him a bit self-conscious, but then he just got concerned. The bread was Scott’s favorite part of coming, wasn’t it? So why was he holding off?

Martyn hoped he was just reading into things. Maybe Scott just wasn’t all that hungry, or he was waiting until they had their actual meals so he could eat it as a side—though, they could get refills on the bread if they wanted, so he wasn’t totally sure why Scott would be trying to save it. Whatever the reason, though, Martyn would try not to worry too much about it.

Keyword, of course, being try.

Because then when the waiter came around and they ordered, Scott asked for a small green salad and not any of the pastas Martyn had been watching him eye for the past three minutes. And, okay, yeah, maybe if this were anyone but Martyn’s boyfriend, he wouldn’t be so concerned with someone else’s food choices, but…

Martyn knew Scott, and he knew what this kind of behavior meant, so forgive him for being a little concerned.

He tried to push it down, though, for the sake of their date night. And he did a good job of it for a while, but when the food came and Martyn just watched Scott push around his salad and send lingering glances towards Martyn’s food, he cracked. He took one of the little serving plates that had been left for their bread, and started forking over a good portion of his meal.

“Martyn.” Scott said, a little stern, when he noticed what he was up to.

“Scott.” Martyn said back, undeterred. He looked up to see Scott just staring at him. He shrugged. “What? I want to share. Here, give me half of your salad.”

Martyn picked up the other serving plate and placed it on Scott’s side of the table. Scott hesitated. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Sharing food with my lovely boyfriend.” Martyn smiled, undeterred by the way Scott worried his lip between his teeth.

“I’m not going to eat that.” Scott said as Martyn pushed the plate towards him.

Martyn shrugged, helping himself to a small bit of Scott’s salad. “Okay.”

“I really shouldn’t.” Scott said again after a few seconds. Martyn just nodded. Scott seemed to grow a little irritated. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Doing that thing you do where you’re clearly trying to get me to eat more without saying it out loud.” Scott said, crossing his arms indignantly. “I’m not a child, Martyn.”

“I never said you were.” Martyn said, earnestly. He looked at Scott, watching the way he held himself upright and steady. It was what he always did when called out—overplay the confidence or annoy the hell out of whoever was badgering him until the problem was forgotten about. Martyn was pretty proud to say it’d never worked on him. “Are you dieting again?”

“Yes. I have an audition coming up and I want to make sure I look my best.” Scott answered, a little clinical. “I’m being safe about it.”

“I believe you.” Martyn said. “You just have to understand why I’m a little worried.”

Scott looked at him cautiously, dropping his shoulders just a little bit. “I do.”

“Good.” Martyn said. “I wasn’t joking about wanting some of your salad though.”

“Since when do you eat salad?” Scott teased, earning an affronted gasp.

“I eat plenty of salad.” Martyn said, shoveling a bite of it into his mouth as if to prove a point. He couldn’t help but crack a smile when Scott laughed at the face he made afterwards, surprised by just how sour the vinaigrette was.

And just like that, they were back on track, laughing and talking and enjoying the night. Martyn subtly kept an eye on Scott’s plate, watching with a contentedness as the rest of the salad and eventually some of the pasta Martyn had given him disappeared. At the end of their meal, Martyn asked for a box for some of it, and stole the remaining bread they had, even managing to swindle the waiter out of a little plastic condiment container for the olive oil. (All of this was, of course, above board, but Martyn always preferred the dramatics). And when they got home, he’d put the boxes on the counter only to come back and find the one with the bread missing. A short survey of the kitchen found that it had, in fact, been stored behind their largely-untouched bottles of wine in one of the lower cabinets—Scott’s go-to spot for hiding things he didn’t want anyone else eating.

Martyn smiled to himself, closing the cabinet and rearranging the bottles as he’d found them. Martyn suspected the box would be long gone by the time he thought to look there again. He’d be glad for it.

Chapter Text

“Gemstone!” Skizz called, throwing his arms wide open for a hug as Gem sped towards him. He collected her up in his arms, lifting her lightly into the air before setting her back down. “Look at you killing it up there!”

“Thanks Skizz.” She smiled, licking sweat from her chapped lips. She’d just gotten off-stage at a little gig thing she’d booked at a local bar, and adrenaline was still pumping wildly through her veins.

“You really don’t need the rabble, huh?” He asked, smiling. “Even solo you kill it.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” She grinned, flipping her braid over her shoulder like it was nothing. She stopped a bit though, shrugging. “I do miss my back-up though.”

“I’m sure ‘the Scotts’ would kill for a reunion sometime.” Skizz told her, and she really did hope he was right about that. Scott, Impulse, and her had formed a band back in university that they were pretty serious about at the time, but like most college-bands, they dissolved pretty shortly after graduation. Suddenly Scott was way too wrapped up in modeling and Impulse in redstone and the only one who was reliably free for gigs was Gem. The decision to drop the band thing was an easy one, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a little bittersweet. Still, it wasn’t like they never saw each other outside of it, and there wasn’t any drama over it, and Gem herself was still able to book some pretty nice gigs here and there, so she couldn’t really complain. “Dipple-Dop still wakes me up with his drumming sometimes.”

“I’m sure.” Gem laughed.

“So, can I buy you a drink or something, rockstar?” Skizz asked, and Gem rolled her eyes at what a dad he could be for a man who didn’t yet have any kids of his own.

“Could you buy me ice cream instead?” Gem asked. “I’m already a little buzzed.”

Skizz blinked twice. “Gem, were you drunk onstage?”

“Just tipsy.” She said, already dragging him towards the door. “It’s called ‘liquid courage,’ Skizz.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.” Skizz laughed, following her through the crowded bar. “Just impressed with your ability to be so coordinated like that.”

“Skizz, if you want to be impressed, you should know that when we were still ‘Gem and the Scotts,’ we were a lot more than buzzed when we got onstage.” Gem told him, laughing a little at the memory—specifically how Impulse used to wake both of them up in the morning groaning about how they ‘absolutely could not do that again’ only to be the one who bought the beers the next time they performed. Not to say they only ever performed drunk, in all honesty most of their performances were done sober, but letting Skizz believe that they were all really good drunks was way more fun.

“Wow.” Skizz said. “That is impressive.”

“See? A drink or two is nothing.” Gem offered as they got outside. She pointed down the street. “Ice cream shops this way.”

“I’m right behind you, Gemstone.” Skizz said, letting her lead the way and, true to his word, only a step behind. The walk only took five minutes tops, but Gem was already starting to feel the adrenaline wear off and the cold start to seep in through the holes in her ripped jeans and flowy top. She ignored it, though, as they stepped inside. “Ah, I love this place.”

“You’ve been here?” Gem asked.

“‘Course I have, it’s the best place in town for ice cream.” Skizz said, tone suggesting he held some strange authority on the topic. “You really think I’m going to walk into ‘Dairy Fairy’ when this exists?”

Gem laughed. “I didn’t know you had such strong opinions on ice cream shops.”

“Gem, I teach middle school, I have to have strong opinions on a lot of things or kids would think I didn’t know what I was talking about.” Skizz said, reading the signs above the display.

“Are you suggesting you’ve gotten into arguments over ice cream with your middle schoolers?” She asked, looking at him with a barely concealed look of incredulity.

“You don’t believe me?” Skizz asked. “Those kids would rather do anything but the coursework, and some days, I would too.”

“You mean you just let your kids get you off-topic?”

“Gem, all teachers do that.” He said, shrugging. Gem thought back to multiple teachers she’d had throughout the years who were easy to get to go on tangents—she’d never considered that they were letting themselves be tricked into it. She’d always thought the class was just good at exploiting that. Maybe her teachers just really didn’t care to teach those days.

“Huh.” She said. “I guess we’re both learning new things today.”

“Sure are.” Skizz laughed before gesturing to the case. “Whatcha want?”

“Uh, ooh, ‘honey lavender’ sounds really good.” She said, surveying the list.

“Honey lavender it is, then.” Skizz said, stepping forward into the short line. Gem followed, glancing around and waiting until the worker handed two cones to Skizz, and the one with this fun purplish ice cream was handed off to her. She waited as he paid and then walked with him out the doors, the both of them having seemingly come to the decision that they’d be taking a walk. “Any good?”

“Mhm.” She nodded, letting the shop door close behind her. “What’d you get?”

“Butter pecan.”

“Of course.” She grinned, watching him raise an eyebrow in confusion. “That’s such a dad flavor.”

“Hey, no, they had a bourbon one. That’s far more dad.” He argued, and she nodded sideways, considering it.

“Touche.”

They continued walking, only hitting the nearest crosswalk before the chill of the night and the cold ice cream combined enough to make Gem cold. She shivered slightly, trying to ignore it but having to run a hand up her arm all the while. Skizz looked over at her. “You alright there?”

“Just a little cold.” She shrugged, waving it off with her hand. “I’ll be fine.”

“Here.” Skizz said as soon as they made it safely across the crosswalk, handing her his ice cream and beginning to shrug off his coat.

“Oh, you don’t need to—”

“Too late.” Skizz smiled, initiating a little trade of ice cream and coat and waiting until Gem relented and slipped it on. It was a bit big on her, obviously, but it did do a nice job of warming her up. She hummed, content. He handed her ice cream back over. “Good?”

“Much better.” She said, taking it with a smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem, kiddo.” He smiled, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “What?”

“You’re just such a dad!” She laughed.

“So I’ve been told.” Skizz said, linking arms with her and continuing down the street.

She rolled her eyes. “I mean, seriously, you called me kiddo.”

“Do you have a problem with it?” Skizz asked, sincere, and Gem shook her head.

“No, I’m okay with it.” She said and he grinned.

“Alright, kiddo.” He winked, sending her into another round of light laughter. He nodded towards the street. “Where to?”

“It’s not getting too late for you, gramps?” She teased.

“Hey, the night is young and so am I!”

She smiled, adjusting the sleeve of the coat so it was hanging over her hands a little less. “Whatever you say, Skizz.”

Chapter Text

Lizzie had spent the better half of the past hour trying—and only kind of failing—to keep herself from fully breaking down. She just couldn’t understand how she’d been stupid enough to do all this; plan a whole party with catering and drinks and homemade desserts, and then forget to actually invite her friends. She didn’t know what on earth to do. It was too late now. The party was meant to start a half an hour ago, and by now people surely had plans they wouldn’t be able to get out of just to come to her stupid birthday party. She was usually so good about planning these things, so where on earth did she go wrong?

She’d sat herself at the kitchen counter, moping over a half-eaten cupcake and just trying to work out a solution to all of this, when the front door slammed open.

“Sorry I’m late!” Joel called out, and Lizzie groaned, burying her head in her hands.

“Don’t be.” She called back, a little bitter. “You're early.”

She looked up to see Joel stop short in the entryway to the kitchen, his face puzzled and concerned. “Where is everybody?”

“Not here.” She mumbled, and Joel looked a bit cross.

“Blummin’ heck.” He said under his breath. “Where are they?”

Lizzie softened a bit at how protective he’d got. She cracked the smallest, pitiful smile. “I forgot to send out the invitations.”

“Oh.” Joel said, coming over to sit on the barstool beside her. “So I shouldn’t go hunt anyone down, then?”

“As fun as that would be to see, no.” Lizzie said, fiddling with the wrapper on her cupcake. They were these really cute star ones that she’d initially bought for a special event at the bakery, but had decided to use for this instead in her excitement. They weren't of any use now.

“But that should be an easy fix, right?” Joel asked. “Just tell ‘em to get over here.”

“I can’t do that now! Everyone will complain about the short notice.” Lizzie bemoaned. “I’ll just have my birthday party some other day.”

“And let all this delicious food go to waste?” Joel asked, incredulous. “Let them complain. Some people are bound to show up if we tell them.”

“Maybe.”

“It’s your birthday, Lizzie, I’m not letting you celebrate alone.” Joel said, whipping out his phone and starting to type out a lengthy message.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Lizzie said cheekily.

“Okay, I’m not letting you celebrate your birthday with just me.” Joel said, before quickly amending that. “Not unless you want to, clearly. Which, given all the decor and food and drinks—”

“I got your point.” She laughed, feeling her phone buzz in her pocket but deciding not to check it. She offered Joel the other half of the cupcake. “Cupcake?”

“What kind?” He asked, still typing away, probably to a different group chat or person now.

“Red velvet.” She smiled.

“With pleasure.” He said, taking it from her and munching away. “Jimmy and his boyfriends will be here within the hour, and Gem says she’s gonna drag Pearl, Grian, and them over because they’re all out right now.”

Lizzie grinned, listening intently as Joel paused his typing every once in a while to tell her about all the people he’d gotten to come. And sure enough, within a couple hours, their house was full of life and laughter. She’d had a couple people come up and beg forgiveness for not having a present for her, which she just laughed off and pardoned them from, usually with a teasing ‘just give me one next time you see me,’ which she was sure at least one of them would try and take literally. Oh well, she wasn’t one to turn down a gift.

She wrapped an arm around Joel, coming up from behind him where he was chatting with Etho and pouring himself a drink. He looked to her, smiling. “Hey, honey.”

“Hey there.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

“No need.” He said, waving a hand. “It’s just what I do.”

Lizzie didn’t say a thing. She’d let him have this one, in all it’s overconfident pompous glory. He’d earned it.

Chapter Text

“What’s all this?” Jimmy heard Scott speak from the doorway. He smiled, turning around and leaning across the kitchen table. Scott was still dressed for work, in the plain-clothes he turned up to shoots in so that he could get into the actual garments quickly. This outfit was perhaps the most simple Scott ever looked, just jeans and a tanktop, but Jimmy thought he looked gorgeous anyway.

“Happy prom!” Jimmy chirped, gesturing widely to the decor and drinks he’d set out on the counter.

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Prom?”

“Well, I was thinking about what you told me a couple nights back, about how you didn’t really get to go to prom because you weren’t out at the time, and I thought I’d throw you one to make up for it.” Jimmy smiled widely, watching the way Scott looked on in shock. Eventually, his face folded into a little smile, and if Jimmy looked hard enough, he swore he could see tears beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes.

“God, Jimmy, that’s so sweet.” Scott said, circling the counter to collect Jimmy in a short hug. He pressed a kiss to his lips, and Jimmy leaned into it happily. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” Jimmy smiled, gently swiping Scott’s hair out of his face. He stepped back slightly after a moment, letting the music playing from his phone speaker carry him as he dipped into a short bow and reached out a hand towards Scott. “May I have this dance?”

“You may.” Scott grinned, putting his hand in Jimmy’s and waiting patiently for Jimmy to lead him through a very rudimentary waltz. It was very obvious to both of them that Scott was the better dancer of the two of them, but it almost didn’t matter. Jimmy could trip over his own feet and stumble in his movements and accidentally spin the both of them into the edge of the counter; if he wanted to lead, Scott would always let him.

They danced through a couple songs, shifting what they were doing at random between slow waltzes and fast movement, uncaring of the genre of music playing. They only stopped when Jimmy nearly knocked both of them over, and Scott suggested they take a break so they didn’t end up dying in each other's arms during this make-shift-prom; “as romantic as that would be.”

“Probably a good idea.” Jimmy hummed letting Scott settle into a lean against the nearby countertop. “Dinner should be here soon anyways.”

Jimmy watched Scott’s eyes light up a bit, snatching two glasses off the counter and barely looking as he poured some of the sparkling cider Jimmy had bought for the occasion. A bottle of real champagne was hidden in the cabinets for later, if Scott complained about being served fake alcohol at his personal prom. Which he would eventually, if Jimmy knew his boyfriend as well as he thought he did. “What’d you order?”

“Sushi from that place you love on Crastle street.” Jimmy said, smiling.

“Ooh, I do love that place.” Scott said, handing Jimmy a glass. “You got tempura rolls?”

“I think you’d kill me if I didn’t.” Jimmy joked, and Scott shrugged before nodding in affirmation, a smile on his face.

It was quiet for only a second as Jimmy offered a silent toast of their glasses. He noticed, though, as he took a sip of the cider, that Scott didn’t take one from his. Instead, he stared at Jimmy with this fondness in his eyes. This upturn of his lips and sinking of his body into itself. “What’d I ever do to deserve you?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Jimmy asked, setting his glass down. “I mean you’re like a greek god, you're so gorgeous.”

“Jimmy.” Scott said, leaning across the counter and running a hand along Jimmy’s arm. “Just let me appreciate you, hm? My great, beautiful, talented, wonderful boyfriend.”

Jimmy’s cheeks burned. He wasn’t so easily flustered by Scott anymore as he was when they first met, but that didn’t mean Scott couldn’t get to him. “Scott—”

“Ah, ah, you are a very strong, very handsome man, who I love even though he can’t dance—”

“Hey!”

“Because he makes me coffee and buys me flowers and remembers my favorite restaurants and throws me fake proms just for the hell of it.” Scott smiled, and Jimmy knew that he knew what he was doing, but far be it from him to tell him to stop. “Jimmy, I am so lucky to have you.”

Jimmy had to bite back tears at the sincere sweetness of his voice. It wasn’t often Scott got this sappy but when he did…god did he know all the right things to say to make Jimmy get emotional. “I’m even luckier to have you, Petal.”

Jimmy hummed as Scott leaned up just slightly to kiss him, before pulling away and resting their foreheads together. Jimmy moved slightly so that he was no longer leaning against the counter, instead taking his hands and gently placing them on Scott’s waist. Scott moved his own to hug the back of Jimmy’s neck, and the two of them swayed ever so lightly to the music that continued to play, their bodies pressed together. Jimmy recognized it as one of Scott’s favorites—a love song from the 80s, which pulsed in the way all the music from that era seemed to do, but felt tender and warm all the same. But it could’ve been any song, really, and Jimmy would’ve had the same thought. That it was the perfect soundtrack. That now, he’d have to put it on every playlist he ever made Scott from this day forward. That even if he heard it a hundred times, he’d never get sick of it.

The both of them pulled their heads back at the sound of the doorbell, and Scott smiled. He pressed a short kiss to Jimmy’s lips before unwrapping his arms slowly and sliding them down Jimmy’s shoulders and arms as he stepped back. “I’ll get that.”

“Okay.” Jimmy agreed, letting Scott step away with only a moment of his touch lingering. He watched him go, and noticed with a strange belatedness that at some point his glamour had dropped, and his bright blue hair had faded into star-speckled purple. He remembered, with a hint of pride, that Scott’s glamour would sometimes drop without him even noticing when he was really at ease. When his magic knew without a doubt that he was safe at home, and warmed by love.

Jimmy wondered, not for the first time, what he would've done had Scott’s mother not fallen from the sky, and brought another star with her to earth. The only thing he was sure of, really, was that he probably would’ve never known this kind of joy.

Chapter Text

Grian considered himself a pretty lucky person, at least when it came to his relationships. He had incredible friends, an amazing boyfriend, a wonderful older sister, and to top it all off, the best best friend that anyone could ask for.

Really, sometimes just a planned hangout with Mumbo was enough to get him through an otherwise dreadful work week. The man just had this way of wiping away all of Grian’s troubles—it was like magic. Mustachioed magic.

And so when Mumbo had invited Grian over to his so that they could start binging this new TV series that Mumbo was fascinated by, Grian had dropped everything else—which was nothing else, except maybe a lazy Saturday in with Scar and a bit of model building—to make certain he’d be there.

He spent all of Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday buzzing about it, doing a bit of preliminary research on the show and trying to think of things they could do instead if they got bored. He came up with maybe two before he himself got bored of that, and then he got his mind set on making Mumbo’s favorite cookies for him, so he started pouring over that on Friday night.

He maybe got halfway through the recipe before he remembered that baking was stupidly difficult, and that he didn’t know how to do it. Following the recipe was so boring but not following it made for bad cookies, but then following it also seemed to make for bad cookies when he was the one baking them, so really he was hopeless whatever way you spinned it. Grian fancied himself good at many things, but he could admit that baking was not one of them.

“Uh oh.” Scar’s voice said from the entryway to their kitchen, and Grian turned around to see him sat there in his wheelchair with one of their cats nestled comfortably in his lap. “Do I want to know?”

“I was trying to make cookies for Mumbo.” Grian said, a little discouraged by Scar’s immediate reaction. Things surely didn’t look that bad. Was just the general sight of Grian and baking supplies unnerving somehow? “Forgot that baking is awful.”

Scar laughed. “Do you want me to make them for you?”

“But the gesture, Scar! What about the gesture?” Grian asked, waving his arms about dramatically.

“You could always lie.” Scar suggested. “I give you permission to say my baked goods are yours.”

“You want me to lie about a gesture?” Grian asked, already making to clean up what he’d done so that Scar could start from scratch.

“Or not! Maybe the gesture is just you thinking of making them in the first place—like buying someone a cake for their birthday. You don’t have to make it yourself for it to mean something.” Scar said, coming over and helping Grian get things ready. It was fairly easy, given how they’d purposefully made their countertops just a bit shorter than average so that they were easy to use for both Grian—who as an avian, was naturally a bit short—and Scar when he was in his wheelchair, but some things were still just out-of-reach enough that Grian did most of the cleanup.

“I guess you’re right.” Grian sighed, hopping up on one of the counters once he’d finished resetting things.

“It’s the thought that counts!” Scar said, happily, as he started getting things together. He moved over to Grian first, though, so that he could hold up their cat to him. “Take her?”

“Oh, come ‘ere you big bug.” Grian cooed, taking the cat from Scar as she accordioned out to full length before squishing herself back into a ball in Grian’s lap. He pet her gently, scritching behind the ears as he watched Scar busy himself with baking.

—

Grian knocked—maybe pounded was a better word—on Mumbo’s front door the next day, practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Hey Mumbo!” He said when the door swung open, and Mumbo smiled down at him.

“Hello, Grian.” He said, stepping aside so Grian could come in. “You’re early.”

“I made your favorite!” Grian chirped instead of responding, producing the plate of cookies from behind his back and holding them out. Mumbo blinked, before this great smile took over his face as he reached out to accept them.

“Oh, Grian, you shouldn’t ha—” Mumbo paused, eyeing the cookies and Grian suspiciously. “Scar made these, didn’t he?”

“Of course not!” Grian said with an offended gasp. “Do you really believe in me so little?”

“I just know what your track record is with baking and these don’t look nearly as dodgy as I’d expect.” Mumbo said, still eyeing the cookies as they walked into the living room.

“Alright, fine, Scar made them.” Grian admitted. “But I plated and delivered them, so really, you should be thanking me.”

Mumbo laughed but did nod as he set the cookies on the coffee table. “Thank you, Grian. I’m right pleased.”

“Good.” Grian grinned, following after and plopping himself onto Mumbo’s couch. “I’m glad, I put a lot of work into almost baking those.”

“Oh, I’m sure that you were slaving away to make sure they were placed on the plate just right.” Mumbo joked, sitting as well. “Really, Grian, thank you. This is very thoughtful.”

“You’re welcome.” Grian smiled as Mumbo took one and bit into it. “But don’t expect me to do this all the time.”

“Oh, I don’t.” Mumbo said around a mouthful of cookie. “I’m sure even Scar’s willingness to help you wears out sometimes.”

“Hey!” Grian said, smacking Mumbo lightly on the arm. “Just put on the show, you spoon.”

“Okay, okay!” Mumbo said, setting the half-eaten cookie down on the coffee table and picking up the remote. “Have you seen any of this before?”

“I looked up a synopsis earlier.” Grian shrugged. “But I haven’t watched any of it.”

“Me neither. One of my work friends recommended it though, and he usually has good taste in these sorts of things.” Mumbo said, navigating to the show and pressing start on the first episode. “If it’s rubbish I’m sure we can find something else to do.”

Grian smiled, settling back into the couch. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

Chapter Text

Skizz was a pretty heavy sleeper, by his count. He could sleep through storms and calls and alarms set to the highest volume. So he wasn’t totally sure why he couldn’t seem to sleep through Impulse’s late-night redstoning sessions, but he just couldn’t. The grinding of gears and clanking of metal parts just seemed to trigger some base instinct that meant, essentially, that he’d be drinking an extra cup of coffee in the morning.

Not like he held it against Impulse or anything! Really, Skizz could tune it out when he absolutely needed to and deal with the little breaks in sleep when they happened. Skizz was all too familiar with the primal need in creative people to just—well, create. He’d had a few too many talks with his friends involving one of them (typically Grian, if he was being totally honest) whipping out some crazy drawing or model or idea or something and following it up with ‘yeah, I didn’t sleep at all last night,’ to think it was something abnormal.

So Skizz wasn’t bothered, usually, when he was occasionally awoken by the sound of repeaters at four in the morning. The only problem came when Skizz had to reckon with the fact that Impulse wasn’t rising early to finish these projects, but staying up late. In Skizz’s mind there was a very clear difference. And he wasn’t super happy to see his best friend just throw away tons of very necessary sleep like that. And sure, mostly because he cared about Dipple-Dop and wanted him to be happy, but full transparency? Impulse was a chill guy overall, but even the nicest people in the world get a little grumpy when they’ve been up for 36 hours straight, and Skizz didn’t like dealing with grumpy Impulse.

So when Skizz was awoken by a pretty loud bang around 3am one fine autumn eve, he was quick—or as quick as a man awoken from the dead could be—to haul himself out of bed and trudge into Impulse’s room across the hall.

“Dipple-Dop.” Skizz said as soon as he’d pushed the door open. He could tell his eyes were doing a weird droopy-tired thing from how he was stuck seeing the world through the cloud of his own eyelashes. He did not particularly want to be corralling his idiot genius of a roommate to bed when he could be in his own, but he knew that it had to be done. Good friends make sacrifices, after all.

Impulse gave a little yelp, jumping just a bit and barely managing to catch the doohickey he was holding onto before it fell to the floor. He looked up at Skizz with a smile. “Woah, Skizz, scared me a second there!”

Skizz blinked a bit of the sleep from his eyes in order to focus on the scene in front of him. There was a ton of redstone stuff littering the place—small equipment that could fit strewn about Impulse’s bedroom floor, nothing crazy, but still a bunch of it. Impulse himself was sat beside a little contraption with redstone circuitry buzzing around it in a way that even Skizz knew meant it wasn’t functioning, just glowy, looking for all the world like this was the most normal thing he could be doing at three in the morning. “What’re you up to?”

“Oh, I was just testing something out for a project I’m working on. I was seeing if I could do it on a small scale without breaking anything before I accidentally screw up a bunch of expensive redstone. I think I’ve almost got something working here, but it’s a little lopsided, and I can’t quite get the repeater to—” Skizz was then lost in a world of very confusing, very dense redstone talk that he struggled to believe anyone but Impulse could really understand. Skizz recalled some post he read about debugging somewhere, now pretty sure he was the rubber duck. He didn’t totally mind it though, sitting himself on the floor beside Impulse halfway through the explanation. Just out of the way enough to not get redstone on him, but close enough that it was clear he was paying attention—even if he didn’t understand a lick of what Impulse was actually saying. Impulse looked up at him after a while, a little sheepish. “Sorry, got a bit rambly there.”

“No, dude, it’s cool!” Skizz said quickly. He had, it seemed, forgotten entirely what he came for. “So this thing’s part of a bigger thing? What’s the bigger thing?”

“Ah, well, essentially…” Impulse started off, walking Impulse through this big project he’d been put on at work. Skizz was more than happy to listen, even as tiredness dragged him deeper and deeper down.

“Mhm.” Skizz hummed for the thirtieth time, which seemed to snap Impulse of something. He glanced at the little alarm clock set up on his nightstand—handmade by a teenaged him after years of trial and error with redstone.

“It’s nearly four in the morning!” Impulse said, as if he was truly shocked by the passage of time. Skizz wondered when exactly he’d started working. “You probably came in here to get me to go to bed, huh? Sorry I kept you up so late.”

“It’s okay, couldn’t sleep anyway.” Skizz fibbed. Impulse regarded him with a little laugh.

“Alright, bud, I think it’s time for some shut-eye.” Impulse said, getting off the floor and dusting his hands off on his pants before helping Skizz up. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

“‘S what I’m here for.” Skizz smiled, clapping Impulse on the shoulder. He yawned a moment later. “You’re lucky it’s a weekend.”

“I am.” Impulse laughed. “Night Skizz.”

“Night.” Skizz said, pointedly flipping off the lights on his way out. He heard Impulse make a slight noise of protest before he just seemed to accept his fate and start shuffling towards bed. Skizz shut his own door behind him as he reentered his room, falling face first into bed and wrapping himself tightly in the sheets, careful of his admittedly already pretty rumpled wings.

Mission success.

Chapter Text

The first time Jimmy actually met Joel, he was totally terrified of him.

In highschool Joel was known for being what one might call a “problem student.” All that Jimmy heard was how he would pick fights and disrupt things on purpose and generally make himself a nuisance. Why? Jimmy had never really figured that out. Some sort of anger-issue, lack of trust thing. Looking back it was most likely just a persona he put on so people would leave him alone, so he could appear cooler or more powerful or something, but Jimmy wasn’t sure. All he really knew about Joel at the time was that he wasn’t someone to be messed with, at least if you didn’t want to get torn to shreds.

…Or, something like that. Really, Joel didn’t seem that bad. Just a little prickly. Jimmy could deal with prickly—all his friends were at least a little prickly! Maybe it was something in the water making everyone just, like, mad or something.

Whatever, doesn’t matter, point is, Jimmy did not anticipate any kind of friendship blossoming when he first ran into Joel. Literally, that is.

“Woah, sorry about that!” He’d said with a sheepish smile, hoping to just continue walking until his eyes caught on the shades and the pitch black leather jacket with studs and patches decorating it. He felt his heart sink in his chest. Two weeks into high school and he was already facing the threat of being murdered in the middle of the hallway. Just his luck. “Uh…really sorry about that.”

Joel looked him up and down, ‘tch’ing under his breath. He growled. “Watch your step.”

And then he just left. No beatdown, no shouting, no nothing. At the time, Jimmy had considered himself lucky he hadn’t caught Joel on a bad day or something. He was just happy he wouldn’t have to try and explain a black eye to his parents, or worse to Lizzie.

It soon became apparent, though, that all the terrible things he’d heard were, well, extremely exaggerated.

Everytime he interacted with Joel from that point forward, there was just a bit of light annoyance. He didn’t seem nearly as angry and blood-thirsty as everyone seemed to say he was, and Jimmy almost wasn’t sure how to feel about it. On one hand, it was nice he was going easy on him, on the other, why on earth was he going easy on him? For awhile, especially once it became clear how much Joel liked Lizzie, Jimmy thought it might be because Joel didn’t want to beat up the younger brother of the girl he had a crush on. It didn’t become clear until after Jimmy had started wearing leather jackets too and hanging out with Joel more often that he hadn’t even known they were related until Jimmy asked him to drive by his house to get something and Joel recognized the place.

“You know, in high school, I thought you were gonna beat me up everytime I talked to you.” Jimmy admitted one afternoon, late into their third year of uni. “Why didn’t you?”

Joel gave him a look only briefly before he started laughing. “Jimmy, I didn’t just go around beating up random people, blummin’ heck—what do you take me for?”

“Hey, man! You were pretty spooky back then.” Jimmy said, a little embarrassed.

“Was it the sunglasses inside look?”

“Partially, yeah.”

“Knew it.” Joel said, looking smug. “But yeah, I really only finished fights, I never started them.”

“Huh.” Jimmy said, his whole view of Joel recontextualizing. He liked Joel by this point, don’t get him wrong, but he was still a bit hesitant. Especially with Joel and Lizzie now going out and Joel having hinted at wanting to propose. Knowing he’d never actually started a fight helped just a bit in easing his nerves.

So, no, when Jimmy met Joel, he never once expected he’d be the best man at his wedding. He never expected he’d be standing up by the officiant, eagerly cheering him on as he came down the aisle. But boy oh boy, was he thrilled that he was.

“Hey, watch your step.” Jimmy stage-whispered as Joel made his way up to the little platform where the wedding party was situated. Joel looked up at him with a little eye-roll but heeded his advice, carefully navigating to where he was meant to stand.

Jimmy didn’t realize until after the service, when he was giving his speech at the reception, that he’d echoed the words Joel had said to him all those years ago. He decided not to mention it for that exact reason, even though the look in Joel’s eyes told him he wasn’t slick—weddings were made to be cheesy, but even Jimmy had his limits.

Chapter Text

Grian knew from the second he woke up that something was off, and as soon as he locked eyes with his reflection in the mirror, he was positive something was. To put it nicely, he looked absolutely awful. He groaned, running a hand through his hair and leaning across the countertop to inspect the bags beneath his eyes and the paleness of his face more closely, knocking a couple of the feathers around his ears loose in the process. He grabbed them off the counter and swept them into the tiny bin he and Scar kept in their bathroom, before promptly turning around and stumbling back to bed.

He landed with a flop on top of it, maneuvering until he was warmly surrounded by the sheets. As if he’d never even tried to get up.

“Uh oh, is someone having a bad morning?” Scar asked, sounding so energetic it physically ached. When Grian didn’t respond, he heard Scar creep closer, settling down on the edge of the bed. A cool hand came to press against his forehead a few seconds later, and he whined a bit when it jerked away just as quickly. “Geez, Gri, you’re burning up! Want me to call you in for the day?”

“Please.” Grian groaned, turning over so he was facedown in the pillow.

“You’re the boss.” Scar said gently, rubbing small circles in the space between Grian’s wings before getting up and leaving the room.

Grian must have passed out after that, because the next thing he knew Scar was gently coaxing him awake. Grian flipped himself over, groggily looking up at his boyfriend, who was sat on the end of the bed with a mug in his hands.

“Hello there, sleeping beauty.” Scar cooed, and Grian just buried his face in his hands.

“I feel awful.” He complained.

“Any idea what’s wrong?” Scar asked. Grian ran a hand over his wings and felt a rise of frustration as a couple feathers fell out onto the bed.

“Some avian thing, I don’t remember what it’s called.” Grian said. “I caught it as a kid and it sucked. Feels like a normal sickness but also just makes a bunch of my feathers fall out.”

“Well that’s no fun.” Scar said, frowning. “Anything I can do?”

“Not for the feathers thing. I just have to ride that out.” Grian said. “But the other symptoms can be dealt with the same way you deal with a normal cold or flu.”

“Then I think you’re in luck.” Scar smiled, holding out the mug in his hands and encouraging Grian to sit up so he could take it.

“What is it?” Grian asked, looking into the mug. It looked just like the cocoa-less hot cocoa Scar sometimes made him in the winter time.

“Well, you know how Gem prefers to use potions, right? She taught me how to mix them with other things to mask the taste, and I figured I’d try my hand at it.” Scar smiled, clearly proud of himself. Grian had only taken potions a couple of times, most of the time medicines were compacted into pill form since people found them easier to take, rather than stomach the often extremely strong taste of most potions. Some people still preferred potions, though, since their effects were usually a bit stronger and they had less glaring side effects—and Scar was apparently one of them now. “Healing and weakness. Gem said it functions similarly to cold medicine, but is faster acting and makes it easier to sleep. I just mixed them in with some hot no-coa.”

“You went out and bought potions for this?” Grian asked. He didn’t think there was a pharmacy that still sold potions in miles. How long had Scar spent looking for this just to help him?

“I had some help from Gem.” Scar said, waving it off. He gently tapped the bottom of the mug up towards Grian’s face. “Now drink up.”

Grian obliged, surprised by the fact that he couldn’t taste the potions at all before the rich pseudo-chocolate of the drink. He drank it pretty quickly after he got over that initial worry, eventually finishing the mug and letting Scar take it from him.

“Any good?” Scar asked as Grian settled back down into the bed. He hummed, nodding slightly, and Scar lit up. “Great! I’ll make it just like that for your next dose.”

Grian groaned, flipping over and burying himself back in the pillows. Scar laughed, and Grian could hear the clink of the mug being set on the bedside table before Scar moved to sit on the bed beside Grian, gently carding his fingers through his hair.

After a bit, Scar seemed to decide that Grian had gone back to bed and began quietly mumbling under his breath a list of things he needed to do. It was something Grian had gotten used to after living with him so long, but it was always a little fun to hear in real time how Scar’s brain worked to organize tasks before completing them.

“Alrighty…feathers, then I’ll wash this—” Scar mumbled, and Grian could hear his fingers lightly tapping against the mug on the coffee table before the bedsheets began to gently rustle around him. “Then dinner—soup? Soup sounds good, who can be mad at soup? Well, actually, Tango’s a little picky about soup. But Grian can’t be mad at soup, soup’s great, I’ll make us some soup.”

Grian could feel as Scar carefully collected up all the loose feathers on the bed. and watched through half-lidded eyes as he turned away to drop them into the bin, which he must have brought over from the bathroom. “Feathers, though, feathers first.”

Scar made quick work of getting all the feathers out of Grian’s way before he took the little bag from in the bin and tied it up to take it to their larger one. He hummed a bit as he did so, stopping every once in a while to remind himself of some other thing he needed to do. “Gotta come back for that cup,” “What kind of soup is good for avian mystery illness?” "Do we need more blankets?”

“Scar.” Grian managed to get out just before Scar left, and the other turned around quickly. A bit surprised that Grian was up, but attentive.

“Mhm?”

“You talk a lot.” Grian said before burying himself back in the sheets. He heard Scar laugh softly.

“I’ll be a little quieter.”

“It’s okay.” Grian said. “You’ve got a nice voice.”

“Why thank you, Grian.” Scar’s voice floated to Grian gently, a little muffled. “Get some rest. I’ll take care of things.”

And Grian did so happily.

Chapter Text

“Come on, Tim, it’ll be fun!” Grian said, a mischievous smile flickering across his face. Jimmy groaned.

“Grian, I always lose your stupid games!” Jimmy complained.

“But you also always have fun.” Grian argued back. “And this time’s different.”

“If by ‘different,’ you mean ‘more boring’, then sure.” Jimmy said, picking up his coffee cup and depositing it in the nearest bin as he went to leave the little on-campus coffee shop that Grian had clearly stalked him to.

“It isn’t boring.” Grian followed him out the door. “It’s hiking! I even got Scar to agree.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s Scar, Grian, he’d do anything if you were the one asking him to.”

“That’s not true.”

Jimmy just gave Grian a look, which he in turn hastily ignored. “Come on, Tim, I need an even number of players.”

“...Is Scott doing it?” Jimmy asked, receiving an excited nod. “Will we be teamed?”

“I don’t know—maybe? I’m just gonna randomly generate it for the sake of fairness.” Grian shrugged. “But there’s a chance!”

Jimmy thought on it for a moment, weighing the possibilities of hiking in the woods with a stranger for multiple hours or having a romantic, albeit slightly competitive, outing with his boyfriend under the guise of participation. The positives won out in the end. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

—

Jimmy was, in fact, not teamed with Scott.

But maybe that was a good thing, because it seemed like no one knew who Scott was teamed with anyway.

“My email said he was my partner.” Pearl repeated for the hundredth time, looking super lost as she looked back and forth between Cleo and Scott, who were so committed they were having this conversation with their arms linked.

“So did mine.” Cleo reminded her. “And his said me, so I think it’s me.”

“But mine also said you.” Martyn chimed in. “So maybe it really is me-you, Pearl-Scott.”

“Sorry, Pearl, but I really think it’s Cleo.” Scott said, and Pearl just seemed to get more annoyed.

“But then why—”

“So Grian made a mistake, big deal! Guy’s a bird-brain after all.” Martyn said, trying to calm down the three of them before they all started shouting at each other, while also trying to make it seem like that wasn’t what he was doing at all. “Pearl, I’ll be your partner.”

He grabbed her wrist and started marching off with her before she had a chance to refute his declaration, and begrudgingly followed along while sending glares over her shoulder.

“That seems like it’ll be a fun fight to watch.” Jimmy was startled by a voice next to him. He turned to meet the piercing red eyes of a blazeborn standing barely a foot away and radiating so much heat that Jimmy was surprised he hadn’t noticed him until just then. He knew he recognized the guy from some of Grian’s other game nights and weird social events, but the two hadn’t talked that much. The blazeborn extended a hand and gave a big, sharp-toothed grin. “I’m Tango. I think we’re partners.”

Ah, that was it. “Oh, I’m Jimmy.”

“Yeah, I know, I recognized you.” Tango said, smiling. “Wouldn’t’ve come over here if I didn’t.”

“Oh, right.” Jimmy said, laughing nervously. “Sorry, I didn’t really recognize you until you came over.”

“What, did you not check who I was when Grian told you your partner?” Tango asked, and where Jimmy expected a teasing from that sentence, all he got was genuinity. “Or were you just waiting for me to come to you?”

And there was the teasing. “That, definitely.”

Tango smiled again, and Jimmy felt like he would never really get used to just how sharp this guy’s teeth were. “I think I’m gonna like you, Rancher.”

“Rancher?” Jimmy asked.

“Your boots.” Tango said, pointing down. Jimmy followed the finger down to the cowboy-esque boots he had on, flushing a little.

“Oh.” He said. “Forgot I was wearing those.”

“I don’t know how you forget wearing something like that.”

“None of my normal shoes are really fit for hiking so I grabbed the first thing I could.” Jimmy admitted. “They’re not even mine.”

“You don’t own sneakers?” Tango asked. “Couldn’t, like, borrow a pair of those instead?”

“Can you hike in sneakers?”

“Better than you can hike in cowboy boots.”

“Right.” Jimmy said, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. “Welp, uh, hope you’re okay with last place.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, man! I’m sure we won’t lose that badly.” Tango reassured.

—

They were so going to lose, and badly. Jimmy wasn’t even sure how they ended up here—halfway up a bunch of crooked rocks on a crazy shortcut Tango had suggested and Jimmy had agreed to because climbing rocks did sound fun in theory.

Jimmy was never very great at theorizing.

“You got this, Rancher!” Tango called out to him from where he was a few rocks ahead. Jimmy was beginning to wonder if he just went out and climbed rocks in his free time because my gosh no one should be able to do this that speedily. “You just gotta hoist yourself up! Like in a video game!”

“Uh huh.” Jimmy panted back, starting to think that maybe agreeing to hours upon hours of endless exercise with a trainer who never got tired was maybe a bad thing to sign up for, actually. “Just a sec—”

“Woah, Jimmy, look!” Tango called out suddenly, making Jimmy stumble a little as he grabbed onto the nearest rock for stability and looked up to where Tango was pointing. He felt his jaw drop in shock as he watched a giant hawk swoop above them, flying to its nest in a nearby tree. He’d never seen a hawk before, he didn’t think, especially not one this close up. It was a little mind-boggling. He couldn’t help but let out a shocked little laugh. “Don’t see that everyday, huh?”

Jimmy turned to see Tango staring up at the tree the hawk had landed in with stars in his eyes—not the same, literal stars that Scott got in his eyes sometimes when he was really excited, but almost as cute.

What? No, not almost as cute. Not almost as cute. What on Earth was he thinking?

“Crazy.” Jimmy said, trying to shake off the strangeness that had settled in his psyche. Maybe the forest was getting to him or something. Too much oxygen. Or maybe too little? How high up were they again?

Tango grinned at him and gestured for Jimmy to keep following. “Come on, not much further now.”

Jimmy nodded, sucking in a bunch of air before he hopped up the next rock in the sequence. He made it up a few more like that, confidence building with each one, before he felt the sole of his shoe slide a little bit, and fear seized him immediately. “Tango?”

“What’s the hold up, Rancher?” Tango said, the nickname rolling off his tongue as easily as it had been since it was first said. He seemed to notice Jimmy’s fearful expression pretty quickly though, shifting from a look of excitement to one of concern. “Woah, you okay there Jimmy?”

“I can’t do this.” Jimmy said, suddenly very aware of just how high up they were and how much it’d hurt to fall down all those rocks he’d just spent who-knows-how-long scaling. “I can’t—I’m gonna die up here!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” Tango said, voice-pitching up even though it seemed like he was trying to calm Jimmy down. “It’s okay, I gotcha.”

“We should go back.” Jimmy told him, holding onto the rock in front of him so tightly it bit into the palms of his hands. “This was a terrible idea.”

“Maybe, but it’s too late to turn back now. Look how far we’ve come!” Tango said, and Jimmy’s face just twisted into a deeper frown. Tango waved his hands frantically. “Or don’t! Don’t look how far we’ve come, actually!”

Jimmy groaned, facepalming and shutting his eyes against the sudden, staggering fear of climbing he’d just developed out of nowhere. If only he’d been paired with Scott—Scott would’ve never led him up a crazy rock-slide-waiting-to-happen!

“Can I hold your hand?” Tango said, snapping Jimmy out of it just enough that he was able to look up and see Tango on the rock above him, holding his hand out like a lifeline.

“What?”

“Your hand, can I hold it?” Tango asked again, gesturing with his outstretched hand for emphasis. “So I can help pull you up the rocks?”

Right, why else would he be asking? Mind out of the gutter, Jimmy! You’re a taken man!

“Oh, uh.” Jimmy thought for a second, looking around at the situation he was surrounded by. Tango was right, there was no turning back now. If they wanted to get out of this, the only way they could go was up. He sighed. “Okay.”

Jimmy reached out his hand to take Tango’s and let himself be carefully helped up onto the next rock. And the next, and the next, until they’d cleared all of them and Jimmy only realized how long they’d been holding hands for when Tango let go of his to skim the bark of a nearby tree. He watched Tango keep walking, leaving him behind just a little bit as his mind went on a little hike of its own, only startled back to himself when Tango turned around to face him again, smiling. All teeth. Jimmy wasn’t so freaked out by it anymore. “Coming?”

“You bet!” Jimmy called, trying to pump himself up with energy for this final push, and being glad he did so when Tango’s smile widened further and he let out a holler. Jimmy ran up to catch him, and the two began practically sprinting through the forest, as fast as they could without tripping on exposed rocks and roots. “Ranchers for the gold!”

“Ranchers for the gold!” Tango cried out, pumping a fist in the air. A few moments later, they breached the wilderness, finding themselves at a small clearing at the top of the mountain. Jimmy grinned, feeling a rush of ecstasy through him, before he actually slowed down and started counting all the groups that were already there.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Jimmy said, groaning at the ensuing laughter from a couple of his friends nearby.

“What is it?” Tango asked.

“We’re last!” Jimmy bemoaned. “I’m last! Again! I’m never playing another one of Grian’s stupid games.”

Tango laughed a bit as Jimmy kicked a small pebble away. “Hey, it’s not like it’s his fault.”

“You’re right.” Jimmy sighed. “Sorry Tango, I totally screwed up your chance at winning.”

“What? Hey, man, no way!” Tango said, clasping Jimmy’s shoulder and grinning. “I’m proud of us dude! We did it! You did it. Bested your fear of rocks and everything. I don’t care that we didn’t win, that was like, the most fun I’ve had this year.”

Jimmy smiled. “You mean it?”

“With my whole heart.” Tango smiled back, patting Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Well, thanks, Rancher.” Jimmy said, kicking out a cowboy boot. Tango tipped an imaginary hat back at him.

“Anytime.”

“Hey, Jimmy, guess what?” Scott’s voice came from behind him, and Jimmy whirled around. He felt his smile get even wider as Scott marched towards him, proudly holding up a little plastic trophy. “Pearl and I won.”

“Pearl and you?” Jimmy asked. “I thought you were teamed with Cleo?”

“Our groups ran into each other during the final stretch of the hike and when we started running to get to the end, Pearl got there first.” Scott explained. “Turns out we were paired after all, ‘cause Grian declared us the winners once he and Scar showed up. I think it’s fair, since I did get there second technically, but Martyn’s a little salty about it.”

Jimmy laughed. “I can imagine.”

“How was your go?” Scott asked.

“You can probably guess based on our placement.” Jimmy joked, and Scott just rolled his eyes at him.

“Seriously, Jimmy.” He said, softly. Jimmy shrugged.

“It was good!” He corrected, looking over his shoulder to see Tango talking with Etho, who also seemed pretty exhausted from the trek. Jimmy wasn’t totally surprised—he remembered overhearing Joel say they were paired, and everyone knew how competitive he could get. He watched as Tango gestured widely, tipping his head back so that sunlight bounced off the shiny red sunglasses he’d been wearing all day. Jimmy smiled. “Great, actually.”

“I’m glad.” Scott said, slotting his hand into Jimmy’s own and beginning to lead him off in the direction of some of their friends. Jimmy, against his better judgement and his own sanity, silently wondered what he was doing having two hands if they weren’t both being held.

Chapter Text

Scott relished in the light hiss of butter in the pan as he flipped this next batch of pancakes. The soft hum of the stove, the light sound of early-morning traffic outside his window. Sometimes he wondered what in the world people were rushing to this early on a Saturday, but he figured everyone had their own varying schedules. He knew that all too well. His own work schedule was far too all over the place for him to really indulge in weekends like others, but the ones that he did get off he treasured.

“G’mornin’.” Martyn mumbled, suddenly and slowly emerging from the hallway and swinging himself into the kitchen. He draped himself over Scott’s back, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Morning, love.” Scott said, lightly brushing him off so that he could actually move the pancakes onto a plate to cool as he started the next round. “Someone’s clingy this morning.”

“I’m tired.” Martyn groaned. “You can’t blame a man for being tired.”

“Then go back to sleep.” Scott teased.

“Wanna be with you.” Martyn said, still keeping his arms around Scott’s waist. “Also I left my phone out here last night, so I can’t lay in bed and scroll.”

“Ah, the truth comes out.” Scott laughed. He looked up as Tango marched into the kitchen, far more bubbly than Martyn was—which made Scott wonder how long he’d been up, or if he’d even slept at all. Scott knew that he himself was always a bit more peppy in the morning when he hadn’t slept much, before his energy crashed completely in the afternoon. He wouldn’t be surprised, Tango always seemed to have something he felt he needed to do.

“Morning!” Tango called. “Something smells fantastic.”

“Scott’s making pancakes.” Martyn said, unlatching from Scott so he could lean against the counter and face both of them.

“Ooh!” Tango smiled, circling into the kitchen and making a beeline for the fridge, producing a few cartons of berries. “Are you using Jimmy’s mom’s recipe?”

“Like I could get away with using any other one without being murdered.” Scott rolled his eyes. “I think setting foot in this house with boxed mix would get me yelled at.”

“Scott, we’d never yell at you.” Martyn said, to which Scott just raised an eyebrow. “We’d never yell at you and mean it.”

“Fine.” Scott said, waving a hand. “I’m still right.”

“Not our fault that’s the best recipe for ‘em.” Tango said. “Nothing else compares.”

“Mhm.” Scott said, shaking his head a bit as he served up more pancakes and Martyn and Tango started moving in on the serving plate with smaller ones of their own, like cats slinking around waiting for their bowls to be filled. By the time Jimmy joined them, all three of them had served themselves and topped their pancakes before retreating to the dining room table for breakfast. Scott almost didn’t clock him in his beeline for the kitchen.

“Morning, Tim.” Martyn called out, receiving some kind of garbled greeting response that sent him laughing. Eventually, Jimmy found his own way to the table, setting his plate down and slipping into his chair with a certain weight.

“Sleep well, Petal?” Scott asked, reaching a hand across the table for Jimmy to take and squeeze lightly before going back to his own meal.

“Would’ve slept better if someone hadn’t stolen my pillow in the middle of the night.” Jimmy said, glaring at Martyn. Martyn put his hands up like he’d been caught.

“Hey! It’s not like I meant to!” He defended.

“I woke up in the middle of the night, and this creature—” Jimmy said, jabbing his fork across the table at Martyn. “Was fully stealing my pillow and when I said, ‘Martyn, that’s mine,’ he said ‘maybe you should’ve thought about that before marrying me’ and then went back to sleep.”

Tango laughed. “I didn’t know you two had tied the knot.”

“Marriage is a construct.” Martyn shrugged.

“It’s my pillow!” Jimmy groaned. “You have your own!”

“But yours is so much softer! And it’s warm.”

“If you want a warm pillow, why not steal Tango’s?” Scott asked.

“Tango’s is too warm.” Martyn said, rolling his eyes like it was obvious.

“Why do you even need two pillows?” Tango asked, scooping a truly absurd number of raspberries out of the carton to put on his new stack of pancakes.

“I put Jimmy’s under my back.” Martyn said, pushing his food around. “Helps with the ache.”

“Is your back bothering you again?” Scott asked, raising an eyebrow.

Martyn shrugged it off casually. “Not that much. Just bad posture from sitting at my desk, I’m handling it.”

Jimmy stared at him for a few seconds before sighing loudly. “Fine, you can borrow my pillow sometimes. But it’s mine the rest of the time, and when you use it, I get yours and you have to use one of the cheap ones in the guest room for your head.”

“I can work with that!” Martyn grinned, prompting Jimmy to just grumble to himself and start shoveling more food into his mouth. Martyn studied him a second, still grinning, before softening just a bit. “Thank you, Jimmy. I really do appreciate it.”

It took all of Scott’s energy to stifle a laugh as Jimmy’s face turned beat red and he sat up a bit straighter. He hummed, clearing his throat. “All in a day’s work for the world’s best boyfriend.”

“Hey, if you’re the world’s best boyfriend, what does that make the rest of us?” Tango asked.

“2nd, 3rd, and 4th best, obviously.” Jimmy said.

“Care to name names on that one, Jimmy?” Scott asked, watching as realization dawned on his face. “Well?”

“Well—obviously you’re all equally—I was just—” Jimmy sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “Oh, come on!”

“Really dug a hole for yourself there, huh, Jim?” Martyn teased.

Tango laughed. “One of these days we should take away his shovel.”

“He’d find a way to use a spoon.” Martyn said, as Jimmy just sunk further and further into his chair.

“You’re lucky we love you, Petal.” Scott teased, getting up to clear his plate and giving Jimmy a little kiss on the head as he walked past. Jimmy just seemed to shrink even more. Scott was able to hear Tango and Martyn cackling, and Jimmy whining as he tried and failed to defend himself, as he made his way into the kitchen.

It was hard to say that Scott loved any day of the week specifically, but he was fairly content in that his favorite would always be whatever day he got to spend the most time with the people he adored.

Chapter Text

Cleo was ten when they fell in love with roller skating, dragged to the local rink by Etho, Bdubs, and Scar during one of their random hangouts—with Scar’s mom there as adult supervision.

“C’mon, Cleo, you never know, you might love it!” was what Bdubs had said to convince her to come to this, even though the idea of skating felt vaguely terrifying, and the idea of Bdubs on wheels was even scarier. They were honestly shocked that no one had ended up breaking a bone by the end of it. In fact, they were shocked by just how well things went.

They were immediately entranced by all of it—the retro music, the colorful lights, even the strange odor of the place was a little intoxicating. It all just felt so natural, like time melted away with every push of her skates against the rink. And from that moment on? Obsession.

Cleo spent all of her free time skating, getting a pair of her own for her birthday and using them every day to learn new tricks. And once she was able, she immediately joined a roller derby team and did it all through high school and most of college. They loved the rush of it, the art, the energy. It was like their own little world.

So after they graduated and found themselves a little group to call home, they figured it was about time they share with the class, so to speak.

“We should go roller skating.” She suggested one day when her, Pearl, and Scott were all lounging listlessly about her apartment. Both of them turned to look at her from where they’d been buried in their phones. “I think you might like it.”

Scott powered off his phone and stuck it in his pocket, getting out of his seat and stretching lightly. “Sure. It’s not that far off from ice-skating, is it?”

Cleo didn’t have the heart to say anything until he was already struggling to walk-skate across the carpet and to the rink. And even then all she could really do was try not to laugh, Pearl clinging onto her.

“It’s easier when you’re actually on the rink.” She told them, and they both looked at her with the most skeptical eyes she’d ever seen. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad, just think of it as walking but with wheels strapped to your feet.”

“Is that not terrifying to you?” Pearl cried, way too close to Cleo’s ear. They flinched away rubbing at it pointedly.

“You’ll get used to it.” They said, rolling their eyes and leading Pearl to the rink. Scott was already a bit ahead of them, clinging to the railing and inching along the rink, legs bent like a baby deer. Once she was sure Pearl wasn’t going to immediately die as soon as she hit the rink, she skated off on her own, doing a few laps around the rink and just enjoying the atmosphere.

One of Cleo’s personal favorite parts of skating was watching other people do it, strangely enough. The first-timers like Scott and Pearl, the people who were masters like she was. Some of her favorites though were the people who started out shaky, who she watched fall and fumble, but who by the end of the night was skating around like they owned the place; the couples where one was obviously great at this and the other obviously terrible; the kids who she could tell would turn out like her.

She also loved watching as her friends slowly but surely got more confident. By the end of the night Scott seemed to approach the rink with the same self-assuredness that he did everything, and Pearl was so locked into the moment that Cleo thinks she would’ve looked almost frightening if she weren’t being washed in soft pink lighting and subtly bopping her head to a Madonna song.

Cleo smiled as they skated up to where the two of them were unlacing their skates and slipping them off, Pearl groaning a bit as she rubbed at her raw ankle. “So?”

“Eh, it was fine.” Scott shrugged, though his eyes betrayed something more, and Pearl was quick to elbow him.

“He loved it!” She accused, rolling up her jeans to lightly poke at a bruise. “And I’d have probably liked it a little more if I didn’t fall quite so much.”

“Hey, you were already doing a lot better by the end of it.” Cleo said, and Pearl lit up.

“I was, wasn’t I?”

“Ay, ego check.” Scott said, poking her in the side, and Pearl gasped affronted.

“Oh you are bold for saying that to my face, mister.” She said. “No one needs an ego check more than you.”

Cleo laughed as their friends continued to bicker back and forth, bouncing light jabs off of each other all the way back to their car. Cleo slipped into the driver’s seat as Pearl practically shoulder checked Scott into letting her sit shotgun. Once the three of them were buckled in and on the road, Scott mumbling something about how violent Pearl was, Cleo put on some music, the first song on their playlist shuffling to one they’d all just heard on the rink.

“Hey, Cleo, where’d you say you got your skates from?” Scott asked, leaning forward in his seat a little to ask.

And Cleo felt a surge of pride in her chest, because she knew in that moment, she had them hooked.

Chapter Text

“Look at that view!” Scar called out from so far ahead Grian was surprised the sound even traveled.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t that far ahead, but Grian was so nearly dead on his feet that it might as well have been a hundred meters. He leaned over, panting heavily as he tried to take in any of the view but, seriously, he was just out of it. He was honestly shocked that Scar still had any energy at all after that trek, but then, Scar lived for this kind of thing. Hiking was one of his favorite things in the world—in one of the first conversations Grian had with Scar, he’d said something about how he couldn’t think unless he was in nature. Every day of their lives since seemed to prove that point.

Finally, Grian caught his breath enough to look up, and smiled both at the scenery and the pure awe painted all over Scar’s face. He almost outshone the sun itself where it glowed proudly above the sea of trees below the little cliff side lookout Scar had led them to. He sidled up to where Scar was sitting on the little bench that was set up there, the trekking poles he used for hikes rested on his thigh. Grian gently leaned his head up against Scar’s broad shoulder, smiling. “It is quite pretty.”

“Right?” Scar chirped. “The pictures on the website really don’t do it justice.”

Grian scoffed. “Do they ever?”

“Nope!” Scar laughed, Grian pressing ever closer to his side. He loved Scar’s laugh. Like bird song—but the kind that was actually beautiful, and not the car-alarm kind that the birds outside their home seemed to make every day specifically when Grian was trying hardest to focus. But then, Grian figured that even if Scar’s laugh sounded like a car-alarm, he wouldn’t mind. Because, if nothing else, it was his.

They sat a while longer, drinking in the view and watching the sun drift closer towards the horizon. It seemed as though as soon as it hit the top of the tallest tree in view, Scar was yawning, stretching his arms and slowly getting up. “We should head back before it gets dark out.”

Grian nodded, getting up and stretching his legs with a light groan as he remembered just how tiresome the hike up was. At least they’d be going downhill this time. That’d be a little easier on his poor largely-under-exercised body.

About halfway down the trail though, Grian watched Scar stumble just a bit, leaning heavier on his poles than he had been up until then. Grian frowned. Though it was easier for him, going downhill was sometimes harder for Scar—something about not liking how gravity pulled at him—and Grian couldn’t help but worry. Scar was capable, he knew that, but he still didn’t like seeing his boyfriend so worn down. Sue him.

“You okay?” Grian asked when Scar stopped to catch his breath against a tree. Scar seemed to nod his head on autopilot before letting out a breath and shaking it. “You wanna take a break?”

“I don’t want us to be late for dinner.” Scar said, and Grian tried not to roll his eyes.

“We aren’t eating out, Scar, we don’t have to be anywhere.” Grian reminded.

“But you wanted to order from that Indian place you like.” Scar frowned. “They close early on Sunday’s.”

“We can have something else, I’ll be fine.” Grian said, even though he was kinda looking forward to that curry. Scar was more important.

“No, I can do it.” Scar said. “Just—give me a sec.”

Grian nodded, crouching down to get his bearings. They were there for a few more seconds before he caught Scar’s eye and saw the absolute frustration there. “Scar?”

Scar worried his lip between his teeth before sighing. “I don’t think I can do it. Not quickly—not all of it.”

“That’s okay.” Grian promised, though he could see how much it was bothering Scar. He thought for a couple seconds before reaching for the hem of his jumper. “I could carry you.”

“Grian, I’m not gonna make you carry me.” Scar said, laughing just a bit.

“Hey, I could totally do it! I’m stronger than I look, you know.” Grian defended, stretching out a wing. “I have to be to lug these things around.”

Scar seemed to consider this for a second before humming. “Do you think you could actually…?”

“Definitely!” Grian said, springing up. He pulled his jumper off over his head and carefully tucked his wings against his back before putting it back on—there were still slits in the fabric, so it wasn’t ideal, but it’d keep them steady and safe so he didn’t accidentally hurt them carrying Scar on his back. He watched Scar sling the mini-backpack he insisted on bringing with them when they went hiking around so he could reach it, before collapsing his poles to stow them inside. Then, Grian crouched slightly in front of him to help him up into the piggyback. “Ready?”

“Yep!” Scar said, giving a little warning before he was heaving himself onto Grian’s back. Grian carefully adjusted him, making sure they were both comfortable before starting down the trail. It was difficult, don’t get him wrong, but he also wasn’t lying when he said he was strong enough to handle it. It was kinda just like his wings were bigger all of a sudden, like a weird wing-only growth spurt, and it was easier to keep going if he imagined it like that. He’d carried his wings his whole life, the extra heft wouldn’t stop him.

By the time they reached the next stopping point, almost at the beginning of the trail, Grian was a little exhausted, and Scar convinced him to finally let him down. “I can walk the rest of it, G, trust me.”

So Grian did, and they settled for just a bit as Scar got out his poles and Grian let his wings free. He checked his phone afterwards, smiling at the time. It hadn’t been long at all. “I think we might be able to make it home in time for dinner.”

Scar grinned, pumping his fist in excitement, and Grian nearly forgot that he was the one who’d been daydreaming about this Indian place all week. “Yes!”

Grian smiled as Scar grabbed his hand, pulling him gently along the rest of the trail, as if neither of them had ever been tired at all.

Chapter Text

“So, that’s…it?” Jimmy asked, trying so hard to keep himself from reaching out and wiping away the tears collecting in the corners of Scott’s eyes.

“I don’t know.” Scott said. It killed Jimmy the way Scott couldn’t even seem to look at him. How his eyes stayed locked firmly on the floor, his hands balled up in fists, nails no doubt pressing little crescents into his palms. Jimmy wished he could take Scott’s hands and unfurl them. Wished he could kiss the marks away. But he couldn’t kiss this better. A kiss is what got them into this mess in the first place. “I need time, Jimmy. To process all of this…whatever the hell just happened.”

“Okay.” Jimmy said dumbly, nodding. “I’ll wait.”

Scott had left after that, and their—Jimmy’s—flat suddenly felt empty. Hollow. Jimmy just sat down and stared, unblinking, at the wall of his living room.

Jimmy started officially dating Tango a few days later, which was easy, because really all it took was Tango introducing Jimmy to a coworker as his “boyfriend” and just like that it wasn’t a question anymore. And Jimmy was happy, he was certainly trying to be, but he couldn’t help but feel incomplete. He couldn’t help but feel like the biggest idiot in the world. He would never regret choosing Tango, but he also had never meant to choose Tango over Scott. He wanted to choose them both. He knew he was selfish for that.

Scott had moved in with Cleo, last Jimmy heard, which felt weird because all of his stuff was still in Jimmy’s apartment. It felt a little cruel, if he was being honest, even if he knew it wasn’t meant to be. It felt like a reminder. That Scott was still deciding whether they were going to be a thing again. That he hadn’t made up his mind yet. For every part it felt cruel, though, it did give Jimmy just the littlest bit of hope.

Jimmy didn’t move a single thing from where Scott had left it, even when Tango was there. He didn’t hide any of Scott’s makeup or close the bedroom door so Tango couldn’t glimpse the wide open closet where all of Scott’s clothes were hanging. It felt wrong to do so. It felt like he was breaking a promise.

He’d asked Tango the first time he came over if he minded how much of Scott’s presence there clearly was, and Jimmy couldn’t even describe the breathtaking relief that came when Tango just smiled at him like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Well, he’s coming back, isn’t he? I should at least familiarificate myself with the guy’s stuff if I can’t get to know him yet.”

Jimmy knew, though, that even though Tango never outright admitted to having a problem with it, he was a little put-off by everything going on.

“I never meant to steal you.” Tango had said one night, when the two of them were lying in bed at his flat—both of them felt far too weird sleeping in Jimmy’s, because it still kind of felt like Scott’s.

“I know.” Jimmy said, gently. “You didn’t.”

“People think I did.” Tango said, and Jimmy could tell this had been eating at him for a while now. “I know they do. It’s so hard to talk to Cleo and Martyn and everyone because so many of them seem to think I did it on purpose.”

“They’re wrong, Tango. Don’t worry about what they think.” Jimmy reminded him. “I wasn’t stolen. I can’t be stolen, I can make my own choices, and I chose you.”

And then, when it wasn’t self-doubt, it was bitterness. That was harder to see, because he knew Tango himself didn’t want Jimmy to know about it, but it seeped through. Especially when Tango got in a mood or he’d just seen Jimmy stare forlornly into the distance one too many times that day, and he started making little snippy comments about Scott. It was never anything terrible, but it was enough to know that he was holding a grudge.

“Sorry.” Jimmy had said, after Tango had muttered something about Jimmy giving the wrong people the time of day. “I’ll stop talking about him.”

“You’re not the one who needs to apologize.” Tango said simply, and Jimmy felt his heart squeeze in his chest. “He broke your heart.”

“I broke his first.” Jimmy said, not for the first time, and Tango just looked away. He’d never say it to Tango’s face, but sometimes he wished that Tango weren’t so protective of him. He’d said, once, after an argument with some third-party about their relationship, that he thought Jimmy was worth defending. Jimmy didn’t have the heart to say that he’d much rather be someone who didn’t need to be defended.

But he was, and he was stuck with that, so he tried to let Tango go to bat for him, just a little. And he tried to make all of it up to him. Jimmy worked so hard to be someone deserving of the endless affection Tango had for him. It was a hard balance to strike, waiting for Scott but making space for Tango, but after so long of him and Scott being ‘on break,’ he felt like he was doing pretty good at it. Tango at least seemed happy, which was enough for him.

Then, three months after they went on their break, Scott had asked him out to coffee. The conversation was hard, so much more awkward and halting than any they’d had before, but they had it. Airing grievances and catching up and trying to make things work. It was a little hard hearing that Scott was going to be dating Martyn too, but Jimmy also knew that it was fair. After all, it wasn’t like Tango, Scott, and him were in any way a closed unit. Not yet, not the way Jimmy wanted them to be when he’d first fallen. Tango wasn’t even here having this conversation with them. No, this was about Jimmy and Scott, and the rest could come later if it needed to. Jimmy was at peace with that.

And so, slowly, Scott started coming back into Jimmy’s life. It wasn’t a perfect transition—Scott and Tango fought more than Jimmy had expected, but then, he hadn’t expected them to fight at all, so maybe he really just was that naive—and they ran into more than a couple pitfalls, but none of it was deal-breaking. They still loved each other. They would still make it work. If nothing else, Jimmy was sure of that.

Even still, things didn’t really feel like they had clicked yet until months later. Jimmy and Scott were in the middle of packing up the things in their flat so they could move into a larger home with Tango. It seemed like the right move for them. Sure, Scott still referred to him as ‘the side-piece’ some days, but they also did seem to be more actively getting along with each other as of late, so Jimmy would take it for what it was.

“Oh.” Jimmy heard Scott say under his breath while he was packing up their bathroom, and turned from where he was putting things away in the living room to see him standing by the door way, cradling a makeup bag. Scott looked up and made eye-contact with him, looking a bit surprised. “You kept this? On your counter?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Yeah?”

“You don’t wear makeup.” Scott said, as if that meant anything. Jimmy raised an eyebrow.

“No?”

“Why’d you keep it?” Scott asked.

“I wasn’t going to throw away your makeup, Scott, that stuff is expensive.” Jimmy said, a bit offended at just the idea. Seriously, what a petty waste of money would that have been? Even though Jimmy knew the bag he’d left behind had mostly been stuff Scott didn’t use as often and that he’d taken a different one to Cleo’s, it still just felt plain rude to get rid of any of it. It didn’t matter whether it was used or not, it wasn’t his to toss out.

Scott rolled his eyes, gesturing with the makeup bag in his hands as if Jimmy was missing something stupidly obvious. “But you didn’t store it somewhere? You just left it on the counter?”

“It’s yours.” Jimmy said, and then things seemed to click. It had been like this for a while now. Scott would find something of his laying around the flat and either give Jimmy a weird look or outright ask why it was there. Jimmy hadn’t realized until just then that Scott had expected Jimmy to hide him. Had expected the place to be fully do-Scott-ified by the time he came back. Maybe he even expected Jimmy to throw some of his stuff away or put it in storage or tell him to come pick it up, but he never did. All this time, he’d never even thought to. Scott never came for his things, so Jimmy had felt like there was an unspoken agreement that he’d want them there when he came back. Jimmy’s eyes softened as he took in Scott’s dumbfounded expression, and he took a few steps forward before cautiously wrapping Scott up in a big hug. “I told you I’d wait, didn’t I?”

“I didn’t think—” Scott cut himself off with a laugh. He pushed back from the hug enough that Jimmy could see him roll his eyes. “You’re so dumb.”

“Hey now!” Jimmy said. “You love my dumbness.”

“It is rather charming.” Scott said, and Jimmy didn’t miss how completely smitten he looked. They were quiet for a few moments, before Scott leaned back into the hug. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Jimmy asked.

“For giving me space. For giving me time.” Scott said, softly. “For waiting.”

“Of course.” Jimmy said. It was hard to admit it to himself, but Scott was right to put them on hold. They needed the time to work things out. They needed this. Jimmy held Scott close. “Always.”

Chapter Text

Gem smiled to herself as she heard the door behind her open, straightening up from where she’d just finished putting the finishing touches on the little surprise she’d set up for her bandmates. She turned around, feeling for all the world like a cartoon supervillain petting her trusty evil cat. And she could tell Impulse and Scott were getting that vibe too from the way they both immediately looked confused and possibly a little concerned at the grin on her face.

“My boys!” She said, throwing her arms wide open. “Hello!”

“Hey Gem.” Impulse said, looking around at the room, eyes blown wide. She could hardly keep from laughing at just how surprised he was. “What’s the occasion?”

“Is it like our anniversary as a band or something?” Scott asked, fiddling with one of the golden streamers she’d hung from the ceiling. “We haven’t been together that long, have we?”

“Nope! Just seven months and twelve days.” Gem said, which didn’t seem to make it any less confusing.

“So this is a…seven month and twelve day anniversary celebration?” Impulse asked.

“Nope!” She said, proudly.

“So then why all the decorations?” Scott said. “It looks like a party supply store exploded in here.”

“I just felt like putting together a little something for my favorite bandmates.” Gem said, shrugging. She watched Scott and Impulse look between each other skeptically, before Impulse leaned in a bit and stage-whispered to Scott.

“Scott.” He said, eyeing Gem strangely. “I think this is a trap.”

“Definitely a trap.” Scott nodded, and Gem rolled her eyes.

“It’s not a trap!” She groaned. “I was just trying to do something nice for you.”

“But why?” Scott asked quickly, like he might catch her on a lie or something.

“Just because!” Gem said. “Geez, if I knew you two were gonna be so ungrateful about it I wouldn’t have wasted my time.”

“Woah now!” Impulse said, stepping forward with his hands outstretched in placation. “We’re super grateful, Gem, really. Just…confused, I guess. But it’s very sweet that you were thinking of us and that you put all of this together.”

“Uh-huh.” Gem hummed, narrowing her eyes just in time for Impulse to scoop her into a bear hug.

“What, do you not believe me?” Impulse teased, practically crushing her. “Do you not believe how thankful we are for you?”

“Okay, okay! I get it! Let me down!” Gem wheezed out, making Impulse laugh as he finally set her on the ground. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to make it look like she hadn’t been fully caught off guard. She remembered something though, as she looked between her bandmates, and sprung back into herself. “Do you want to see your other surprise?”

“Oh?” Scott asked, looking intrigued. “I’ll bite. What else is there, Gem?”

“Well…” Gem said, dragging out the word as she wandered over to a little corner of the room which she’d covered with a blanket. She grabbed the edges of it. “Let’s say I thought it’d be nice if you finally had some of your own instruments so you didn’t have to keep renting from the school, and I also thought that it’d be nice if they were like clearly yours, like customized, so—voila!”

Gem ripped back the blanket with a flourish, revealing a drum set and bass guitar in Impulse and Scott’s favorite colors, respectively. The guitar was fairly standard at first glance, but the drumset had a huge “Gem and the Scotts!” logo on the bass drum, proudly declaring who they were for anyone lucky enough to listen. Gem smiled at her bandmates, who both looked thoroughly awed.

“Oh, Gem, you shouldn’t have.” Impulse said, looking on the verge of tears. Scott took the opportunity to step forward, taking the bass in his hands and testing it out a little bit. He turned it over in his hands, taking all of it in, when he seemed to notice something on the edge of it that made him burst out laughing. Impulse raised an eyebrow. “What? What is it?”

“It says ‘the pretty one’ on it.” Scott said, turning it so that Impulse could see the engraving. Gem beamed.

“Yours says ‘the smart one.’” Gem told Impulse, which made him sputter a little bit about how they were all very intelligent and he wasn’t the smart one, though Scott and Gem quickly shut him down.

“Well, what does yours say?” Impulse asked.

“Oh, I don’t have one.” Gem shrugged, which made them both look at her like she’d grown two heads. “I’m the singer, guys, I don’t have any instrument to customize.”

“Well that won’t do.” Impulse said, and Scott nodded. “Scott, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we need to buy Gem a personalized microphone? Absolutely.” Scott said.

“You don’t need to do that.” Gem said, waving it off.

“You didn’t need to do this.” Scott reminded her. “These must’ve cost you a fortune.”

Impulse jumped in. “The least we can do is get you something in return.”

“I—” Gem started, but she couldn’t find the words. Partly because she knew Scott and Impulse weren’t going to budge on this, and partly because she felt like she was verging on tears. “Okay.”

“C’mere, you.” Impulse said, wrapping Gem in another hug. Gem heard as Scott set down the bass and came to join their little group hug. “Thank you, Gem, really.”

“It’s no big deal.” Gem tried, even though she knew they wouldn’t let her get away with it.

“It is.” Scott insisted. “You’re the best lead singer we could ask for.”

Gem smiled, leaning into the both of them. She didn’t know where this band would take them, or if it would even still exist in a year, but she was content in knowing that for now, it was theirs. For now, these boys were her bandmates, and she would do anything for them.

Chapter Text

“And we always have to look both ways when we cross the street.” Lizzie told him, the eight-year-old looking as serious as she always did when she was telling Jimmy something he should remember. “So that we don’t get smashed flat.”

“Like pancakes?” Jimmy asked, and Lizzie nodded gravely. “I like pancakes.”

“But you can’t be a pancake, Jimmy.” Lizzie insisted. “Otherwise people would come eat you.”

“A crosswalk!” Jimmy shouted as they came up on one. “Lizzie, we have to look both ways!”

Lizzie nodded proudly, and the both of them very dramatically looked from side to side before stepping across the street. Jimmy could hear their parents laughing a little behind them, and looked back to smile at them. They both grinned back, giving him thumbs-ups that put a little skip in his step as they kept walking, his hand in Lizzie’s.

—

“Look both ways!” Lizzie called from her bedroom as Jimmy passed by, and he couldn’t help but groan.

“I’m not a kid anymore, Lizzie!” He shouted back, hearing her and Joel break down in laughter where they were lounging on her bed. He hated how they would treat him like he was still a baby even though he was almost fifteen. Always telling him to eat his veggies and look both ways and—maybe it was funny the first time, but it got old so fast that Jimmy didn’t even care to remember when the first time even was. He wheeled around, stomping back to her open door and glaring at them.

“Why do you always do that?” Jimmy asked, and Lizzie looked a bit surprised.

“I just want you to stay safe out there.” She said, and Jimmy rolled his eyes.

He didn’t say anything more, just huffing to himself and leaving without a second look. She was just teasing him again.

—

“And make sure you always check before going.” Lizzie said, in the passenger seat of her own car as Jimmy sat terrified behind the wheel. He’d put off getting his license for years but now they were both in college and he had finally worked up the courage. Lizzie had volunteered to teach him almost immediately. “Some people are just crazy and will go even though it’s not their turn so you have to be on the lookout.”

Jimmy nodded. “Like crossing the street.”

“Exactly like that!” Lizzie beamed. “Exactly.”

—

Jimmy always loved going over to Lizzie’s, but there was always something special about the little ‘family night’s’ she organized for just the two of them. Joel would go out of the house with some friends, and Lizzie would tell Jimmy to come over so they could chat. Jimmy especially loved it because Lizzie always had leftovers from her day at the bakery, and he could just indulge in what were, in all honesty, the best baked goods he’d ever had.

“What would I need to pay you to have these every day?” Jimmy asked, gushing over an absolutely heavenly raspberry tartlet.

“Hm, well, I usually sell them for two pounds each, so if you want to give me seven-hundred pounds I can make that work.” She grinned.

Jimmy smiled sheepishly. “I’ll have to talk to my boys about it, I think.”

“Don’t you have spending money of your own?” She asked.

“Yes, but you don’t think Martyn will be stealing at least half of them?” Jimmy said, and Lizzie shrugged.

“Fair.” She leaned forward to pick up the cocktail he’d made for them with some of the liquor in her cabinets that she was complaining about not knowing what to do with. Jimmy thought it came out fine—he was no bartender—but Lizzie seemed perfectly content, so he figured it couldn’t be that bad. He wasn’t totally sure, though, that she wasn’t going to turn around and tell Scott about his laughably bad bartending skills the second the two of them were in the same room again. He didn’t know how he always ended up loving such gossip-y people.

They talked for a few hours, going back and forth with their own stories and catching up until finally, Joel came back from his little hangout and they decided to call it a night.

Lizzie took the time to box up a few sweets for him and his boyfriends, with a promise to drop off any extra raspberry tartlets when she had them. He took it graciously, giving her a hug before making his way out the door.

“Look both ways!” She called, and Jimmy couldn’t help but smile. Somewhere along the way, that had just become her sign-off for him. An easy way to say how much she cared without seeming overbearing. It stopped bothering Jimmy so much once he learned to see it that way. She didn’t think he was a baby, she just didn’t want to see him hurt. Jimmy would never be an older brother, but he could understand that.

Chapter Text

As much as they liked to joke, Cleo and Etho were never really married. Obviously. They were kids when “the clockers” was even a thing, and Cleo never even liked Etho, and Etho never liked her—not like that, at least.

Their “divorce” still felt weighty, though. They acted like they were really sharing custody of Bdubs and Scar. They acted like they really hated each other. For a time, Cleo guessed, they really did hate each other.

She’s not exactly sure when that simmered into indifference. Or when they started being able to be in the same room as each other. Sometime before high school ended, to be sure, but it wasn’t like it mattered. For a while, the last thing Cleo had heard about Etho was that he had moved away for college. She assumed that he probably wouldn’t be back, so she didn’t worry too much about the past. They weren’t meant to be friends, simple as that. For a while, that was fine.

“You won’t believe who I just ran into!” Bdubs said, sitting down across from her in this little coffee shop he’d recommended looking absolutely giddy. Cleo gestured for him to continue. “Etho! He’s back in town, something about there being better redstoning firms around here, but isn’t that exciting?”

Cleo felt a bit…conflicted. It wasn’t like Etho and her were still on as bad of terms as they were, but there was still a lingering distaste there. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah! I told him we should totally hangout sometime—like, the clockers, two-point-o!” He said. “I’ve already got Scar on board.”

“Oh no, I think I’m busy that day.” Cleo said. Bdubs frowned.

“I didn’t even say when?”

“What did you get?” Cleo asked, which they knew would bait Bdubs into an overly complicated rant about coffee orders. It did, surely enough.

But even distracting Bdubs with arguing wasn’t enough to stave things off forever, and eventually, “the clockers” were all in the same room again. It wasn’t bad, not really. Maybe a little awkward. But not bad.

Scar had proposed they all go bowling, and that seemed like a good enough activity. At least it wasn’t something like a dinner where they’d all be forced to talk to each other for who-knew-how-long.

Scar and Bdubs, though, seemed to have ulterior motives. The both of them kept making excuses to get Cleo and Etho alone together—going to get snacks together, helping each other bowl even though they both knew how, leaving at random for water or the bathroom or any number of things. Cleo saw right through it, and she was sure Etho did too, but for some reason, he didn’t seem that bothered. A little anxious and awkward, maybe, but definitely not as annoyed as Cleo was getting.

“Can you believe those two?” Cleo complained, and Etho looked a bit surprised. They had spent the last few times Scar and Bdubs had run off in relative silence, after all. Cleo rolled their eyes. “I mean, I don’t think they could be any more obvious.”

“Yeah.” Etho said, shifting a bit uncomfortably. “Cleo, I’m sorry.”

Cleo raised an eyebrow. “You’re sorry?”

Etho nodded. “For what happened. You know, the whole implosion of our entire friend group thing.”

“Oh.” Cleo said, and then they started laughing, just a bit. “You don’t need to apologize. We were in middle school, Etho, we were all kind of stupid.”

“I think I do, though. We haven’t really spoken to each other in a decade.” Etho said. “It’s not like it’s all in the past.”

“I guess not.” Cleo shrugged. “I’m over it, though.”

“Are you?” Etho pressed. Cleo just looked at him, and he shrunk back just a little. “Sorry, nevermind.”

Cleo sighed, leaning back against the plastic bowling alley seat. “No, you’re right. I have been holding a bit of a grudge. I’ll admit that.”

“You tend to do that.” Etho joked. He looked away. “Do you, uh, remember what started it?”

Cleo went to say ‘of course,’ but realized pretty quickly that that wasn’t anywhere near true. They laughed. “Actually, no. Not in the slightest.”

“Oh, good.” Etho said, eyes crinkling in a bit of a smile. “Me neither.”

“Wow. I can’t believe I’ve been holding a grudge for this long and I don’t even remember why.” Cleo said. “Guess it must not have been that important.”

Etho hummed. “Do you think we could ever be friends again?”

“Last I checked, we’re bowling.” Cleo said. “I don’t bowl with my enemies.”

Etho laughed. “Is that a rule of yours?”

“Well I just made it, but it is.” Cleo said. They got up and crossed to the rack of bowling balls, grabbing one and hoisting it up. “And now I’m going to destroy you.”

“Oh, you are on.” Etho said, standing and coming over to watch Cleo bowl. Snickering when she only hit two of the pins. Cleo immediately rounded on him and started goading him into doing better. He didn’t.

For the rest of the night, Cleo relaxed into the comfort of an old friendship, and tried their best to ignore the twin smugness on Scar and Bdubs faces.

Chapter Text

“So, when, exactly, are you planning on actually going home?” Gem asked, looking across the living room where Pearl was laying upside down on one of her chairs, phone hovering a few inches from her face.

Pearl looked up—down?—from her screen and shrugged. “Do you want me to leave?”

“I mean, I don’t really mind, I just need to go to the store soon.” Gem said, and Pearl just looked back at her phone.

“Okay.”

Gem sighed, exasperated. She pushed herself up from the couch and went to go grab her keys. “Are you coming with?”

“I can hold down the fort.” Pearl called, waving her hand. Gem stood completely unsurprised.

Really, she didn’t mind how much time Pearl spent at her apartment, it was just a little strange considering that Pearl had an apartment of her own that she could go back to at any time. Gem honestly believed that Pearl had spent more time in her home than her own in the past year. Some days, it felt like Gem had accidentally collected a roommate—the worst kind, who didn’t pay rent and kind of just came and went whenever. But Pearl was really hard to get mad at, honestly, so Gem could never get that upset about it.

Pearl didn’t even go home to sleep most days, just crashed on Gem’s couch for a while until she eventually ended up needing something from her own apartment and disappeared. For a bit, it was actually mildly concerning. Gem had tried to subtly ask multiple times if something was like, actually wrong with Pearl’s apartment. Maybe it was infested with termites or her neighbors were creeps or the place was filled with asbestos and black mold. It became obvious pretty quickly that the answer was none of the above. Pearl was just lonely. She wasn’t ‘built’ to live alone, as she put it.

Gem kind of was, though, so it was a bit weird just having Pearl lounging around her house all the time now. It wasn’t bad, just odd. It’d kind of just become the usual.

Gem was only at the store for maybe thirty minutes before she came home, but it looked as though more time than that had passed. Given the way the floor was very obviously freshly vacuumed and all the dirty dishes were gone from the sink, and Pearl was just lying bored on the couch, you’d think she’d been gone all day. Gem gawked just a bit as she set down the grocery bag on the counter.

“Pearl, did you do my dishes?” She asked.

“Yes ma’am.” Pearl said, sending a lazy salute Gem’s way.

“Oh, Pearl! That’s so sweet.” Gem smiled, getting to putting things away. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Pearl said, sitting up and coming to lean across the arm of the couch so she could see the kitchen. Gem immediately recognized the glint in her eyes. “So, I saw you had chocolate covered strawberries in your freezer…”

“I should’ve known.” Gem said, rolling her eyes. “When do you ever do something nice without expecting something in return?”

“What? No! No, it’s not that.” Pearl said. “I just figured I should help out a little bit, since you’ve been such a gracious host.”

“Uh-huh.” Gem said. Pearl kept looking at her with those slightly pleading eyes and she groaned. “I haven’t even opened them yet, Pearl! When I open them you can have some.”

Pearl pouted a little but flopped backwards and onto the couch again. “Fine.”

The rest of the day passed pretty easily. The thing about Gem and Pearl’s situation was that they didn’t really ‘hangout’ when Pearl was over. A lot of the time Gem would be working on music or watching TV, and Pearl would be doing her own thing in the background, sometimes piping up with something she wanted to talk about or that she just needed Gem to see right then. It was kind of nice, honestly. Not feeling like she was obligated to entertain, just exist. Gem didn’t know if she’d ever outright admit it, but Pearl would actually make a pretty good roommate if they ever wanted to officially move in together—granted she actually, well, contributed to the household and that things weren’t exactly the same as they were now. That would probably be a few years down the line though, when Gem could afford more than a one-bedroom apartment, and Pearl wasn’t so insistent about needing her own apartment even if she rarely used it. They’d work it out some day.

Somewhere around eleven at night, Gem finally got up and away from where she was playing around on her mixing software and made her way to the kitchen. She didn’t know what she was reaching for, exactly, until she uncovered the bag of chocolate-covered strawberries in her freezer and got them out. She ripped the bag open along the ‘cut here’ line, and shook a few strawberries into two of her smaller bowls. She silently delivered one of the bowls to Pearl, who’d at some point opened her computer and was now typing away at something—possibly work-related, but most likely just some weird passion project she’d started up. Pearl looked up just as Gem started moving back towards her room.

“Thank you!” Pearl called out, sounding a little surprised and generally very delighted.

Gem smiled, humming in acknowledgment and returning to her desk.

Chapter Text

Jimmy wasn’t an anxious person. Really, he wasn’t. It was just…well, his boyfriends had said they’d be back around three, and it was getting close to five p.m. now, and none of them were answering his calls. So maybe he was a little bit more freaked out than normal.

And he definitely hadn’t been nervous the whole time—no sir. Not when he’d found out they were all leaving and definitely not when he found out that the weekend they’d be gone for had thunder and lightning storms in the forecast almost the whole time.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Jimmy had asked, totally calm, the Friday night they were set to leave. “Maybe you could book a flight instead.”

“For the fifth time today, Tim, we will be fine.” Martyn said. Jimmy pouted. Fifth was a complete over-exaggeration. “It’s too late to book a flight now if we want to get Scott there on-time for his shoot, anyways.”

That was another thing. This whole roadtrip was originally just going to be something Scott was doing ‘cause he needed to go all the way out to some remote location for this desert-themed magazine shoot, but then it fell over the weekend and the rest of them wanted to come to support him and spend some time together. Jimmy was supposed to be going with them, but the coworker who was supposed to cover his Saturday shift bailed at the last minute and now Jimmy would be spending the whole weekend alone.

But it was fine. That was fine. It wasn’t at all nerve-wracking to watch his boyfriends leave and load up the car, knowing that they’d have spotty cell-reception and be busy basically the whole time, even if they had promised to call him whenever possible.

Jimmy helped carry some of their stuff out to Martyn’s car just to feel like he was a little bit involved in this whole thing, but it was still eating at him. Tango took a backpack from him gingerly, lingering on his hand just a bit with this look in his eyes.

“We’ll back before you know it, Rancher.” He said, smiling softly as he finally took the bag.

Jimmy nodded. “Okay.”

“Do we have everything?” Martyn called from where he was standing by the driver’s side door. “Scott?”

Scott seemed to check over everything meticulously, mentally—and verbally, under his breath, but Jimmy knew he didn’t like that being pointed out—checking off everything he needed from the metaphorical list. After a moment he nodded, satisfied. “We’ve got it all.”

“Then off we go!” Tango cheered. He turned to give Jimmy a light kiss. Martyn and Scott also followed suit, wishing him well before loading into the car.

Jimmy held onto Scott for a moment, trying not to bite his tongue off. “Drive safely.”

“We will, Petal. Martyn’s the chauffeur, and he’s a great driver, you know that.” Scott reassured. “We’ll be back at three on Sunday. Don’t miss us too much, yeah?”

“I won’t.” Jimmy said, pushing Scott away lately. Scott laughed before sliding into the passenger's seat.

Jimmy stood in the driveway as they left, waving them off until the car disappeared from view, and then just stood there a bit more.

It was only two days. He could do two days. All he had to do was wait until three on Sunday and they’d be home.

Except that wasn’t the case, because by three on Sunday, they still weren’t there. And they hadn’t texted to say anything about when they would be. Jimmy had tried not to worry about it too much for the first half hour and then he started getting a little jumpy. Every creak of the house or sound of a car passing by drove him to the living room window, from where he could see the driveway, but no car ever pulled into it. Then he tried calling Scott and it didn’t go through. Didn’t even ring, just straight to voicemail.

But that was fine, Scott was the kind of person who fully turned off his phone sometimes, and he was on the way home from a pretty high-stakes gig. Maybe he’d turned off his phone to nap in the car undisturbed. Or maybe his phone was just dead. Everything was fine.

And then the same thing happened with Martyn, twice. But okay, he was the driver, maybe he wasn’t looking at his phone. Maybe Tango’s phone was plugged into the aux and so Martyn would have no reason to look at his own. Maybe his was also dead.

Tango. Straight to voicemail. Three times.

There was absolutely no way all three of their phones were dead or off. Not in any world. They had a cord in the car, Jimmy knew that, he used it all the time because his own phone seemed to be constantly on the verge of running out of battery.

Jimmy breathed and tried a couple more times. Still nothing. Then he started to pace. He tried to get his mind to calm down. Maybe they were just in a dead zone still, or the storm was messing with their cell reception—it had been raining pretty heavily all day, after all.

Or maybe they’d gotten in an accident. Or something had gone really wrong at the shoot and they were having to stay another day somewhere. Or they’d hydroplaned in the middle of the road or their car broke down and now they were stuck waiting in the middle of nowhere for a repairman. Or the car had gotten struck by lightning and all of them were just electrocuted by freak accident. Or—

Jimmy sat against the couch, shoulders hunched up to his ears and breathing so hard he felt like he was going to die. His chest hurt. His hands were shaking so viciously it felt like he might drop the phone clutched in them, staring at Martyn’s contact information. What the hell would he do if they were hurt? Or dead? He couldn’t live without them. He couldn’t pay for this house on his own.

God, that’s so stupid. That’s such a stupid thing to think about right now. His boyfriends could be dead in the middle of a storm and he was thinking about his house being way too expensive for one person. That was insane. Why couldn’t he just be normal?

Jimmy set the phone down and pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat and being startled by how slow it seemed. Shouldn’t it be racing? Wasn’t he freaking out?

Was he freaking out? What was happening? Why couldn’t he think straight? Why was he so concerned about the price of the house and not how he was going to pay for their funerals—

Jimmy jumped at the sound of a key in the lock, the little clunking sound it made because it was a little old and rusty so getting it open took way longer than it would otherwise. He pulled himself to his feet and glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly five-thirty.

He could hear his boyfriends voices chatting quietly as the door pushed open and felt a rush of relief through his body. He smiled, still feeling a little bit like his chest was caving in on itself but forcing himself to ignore it.

“You’re home!” He said, as loud as he could physically manage. It still sounded a bit too squeaky for his liking, but that was fine.

Martyn grinned. “Miss us?”

“Not that much.” Jimmy laughed nervously. He pulled Tango into a little hug but let go quicker than normal. His chest was so tight. A hug felt like it might push all his ribs into his heart and lungs and kill him outright. “What took you so long?”

Tango laughed. “Oh, you would not believe how rainy it is out there.”

“We nearly got struck by lightning.” Martyn added, which just made Jimmy feel more like he was going to pass out.

“You what ?”

“Martyn’s exaggerating.” Scott said. “Lightning struck the side of the road we were on and scared us a little, but it wasn’t that close to us.”

“Oh.” Jimmy said, swallowing. He laughed again. Was he doing that too much?

“Sorry we didn’t answer your calls.” Tango said. “Our cell service was spotty the whole way back. We didn’t even see the notifs until we were only five minutes away.”

“You’re alright, yeah?” Martyn asked. “You called quite a lot.”

“I was just…checking in.” Jimmy shrugged.

“Well, we’re all good, Tim. Swear it.” Martyn promised. Jimmy nodded.

A hand landed lightly on his shoulder and he jumped just a bit. He turned to see Scott looking at him softly. “You need any water, Petal? You look flushed.”

“Just happy to see you.” Jimmy said. His words sat awkwardly for a few seconds. “I was…a little worried.”

“We could kind of tell.” Martyn said, just a bit teasing. Jimmy frowned.

“It’s not a bad thing.” Tango said quickly. “We just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m…” Jimmy gulped, sighing a little. “I’ll be okay. I’m just happy you’re home.”

“Next time I have to go somewhere crazy for work, I’ll make sure you come with.” Scott promised. “I’ll even tell off your coworker myself if I have to.”

“That’s not necessary.” Jimmy laughed.

“Sure it is.” Martyn chimed in. “I’d even go to her house and drag her to your workplace if need be.”

Jimmy buried his head in his hands. “Oh my gosh, you guys.”

Tango laughed. “I’ll help too!”

“Nevermind, you should all get back on the road right now.” Jimmy said, groaning.

“No can do.” Martyn said, plopping down on the couch and taking his phone out. “I’m too busy ordering us dinner. I think we’ve all earned it.”

Tango and Scott immediately started playfully arguing over their choice of takeout, and Jimmy just quietly settled down on the couch, retrieving his phone from the floor and pocketing it. He watched his boyfriends bounce off each other, all alive and perfectly okay. He took a deep breath. His chest still felt a bit tight, but he knew it’d go away on its own with time.

Everything would be okay.

Chapter Text

Lizzie stood in front of the mirror, twirling the skirt of her dress experimentally. She’d borrowed a petticoat from Katherine just for the occasion and she didn’t think she’d ever been more thrilled with the look of an outfit. She was going to be the best looking person at this festival, no doubt about it.

Lizzie was never really that in touch with her faerie side—her mom was who she got it from and Lizzie never even really met her, but then again, that was pretty common for fae parentage. She’d made peace with it, but it was still a little disappointing how far from it all she felt.

That was why she always got so excited when this time of year came around, and for a few nights fae took over this little area in the woods and threw a big party. Even if it was for just a small amount of time, Lizzie felt like she was really a part of a community, so no expenses were spared when it came to making a good impression. The fae were very interested in appearances, after all, so coming in anything but your best was a pretty big insult.

That was why Lizzie was a little shocked to find Joel just laying on the couch, eyes closed like he was sleeping. Sleeping.

“Joel!” She practically shouted, feeling only a little sorry when he jumped and brought a hand up to his head. “Why aren’t you dressed? We have to leave in twenty minutes!”

“Sorry, just let time…get away from me.” He said, grunting a bit as he pulled himself up.

Lizzie was fully prepared to push him a bit more, but she stopped herself when she saw him falter before standing, wincing and with a tension to his shoulders that was decidedly not normal. “Joel? Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” He said, still looking a bit pained. “Let me get dressed and then we can go.”

Lizzie sighed, walking over and lightly pushing him back down onto the couch, settling beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“Just a headache. I’ll be fine.” He said. It was anything but convincing.

Lizzie frowned. “A really bad one, it seems.”

“It’ll go away on its own.” Joel said, trying again to stand. Lizzie held onto his hands to keep him still.

“Stop being stubborn, Joel.” She lectured. “You and I both know that if your head’s already hurting you so much just sitting here, going to a big loud festival won’t make it any better.”

“It isn’t that bad.” He shrugged.

“It’s still not a good idea. Some fae feed off of negative emotions, going to a place full of them when you’re in pain is not an option.” Lizzie said, crossing her arms. “I am not bringing you somewhere that could get you hurt.”

“But—”

“No buts. You’re already a little at risk going even when you’re in perfect health.” She said. “You know that.”

“I’m not fully human, Lizzie. I can hold my own.” Joel said, rolling his eyes.

“Fae don’t care that your great great great grandfather or whoever was a pixie, you’re still human in their eyes.” She explained for the umpteenth time. Safety was a big deal whenever they went to the festival, and something that Lizzie had heavily reminded Joel of every single time they went. The first time he’d offered to come she’d spent the whole time being terrified that the love of her life was going to get bound to the fae realm forever because he ate something or told the wrong festival goer his real name. Everything had been fine, obviously, and Lizzie did trust Joel to know how to not get tricked, but she thought he’d get by now that there was no leeway in these things.

Joel seemed about to argue again but just sank back into the couch, pressing the heel of his palm into his right eye. “I just…I don’t want to ruin this for you.”

“You’re not ruining anything.” Lizzie swore.

“But you look forward to this festival all year.” He said, not even meeting her eyes. “I don’t want you to miss a night just because I have a headache.”

“Joel, I’d much rather miss a night than make you go when you’re not at your best.” Lizzie said, taking his hand.

“You could just leave me here and go yourself.” He said. “I’ll be fine.”

“But you’re what makes it fun.” She insisted. Joel laughed a bit.

“The place is full of people with literal magic and I’m what makes it fun?” He said, grinning incredulously. 

Lizzie nodded. “I don’t think you understand how necessary having some normal is in the middle of all that chaos. I’d get lost.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re my anchor, Joel.” She smiled, pleased at the way he flushed. “I need you.”

“Alright, alright.” He said, batting her away lightly. He paused a moment before sighing. “Are you sure you’re okay with not going?”

“There are still two nights left. I won’t be missing too much.” She reminded him. “And even if we have to miss those ones too, there’ll always be next year. Or the year after that. I can wait.”

Joel seemed to finally, though still a bit begrudgingly, accept that. “If you say so.”

“So,” She said. “What do you want to do?”

“Sleep.” He said, still clutching his head a bit. “Or just lay next to you.”

“I can make that work. I’ve got a book I’ve been meaning to finish.” She smiled, getting up from the couch alongside him. “Just let me get changed.”

“Hold on. Let me admire you a little longer.” Joel said, and Lizzie rolled her eyes but obliged. “You’ll wear this tomorrow night?”

“I’ve got to get some use out of it.” She said, twirling the skirt a bit.

“You look so beautiful.” He said and Lizzie smiled.

“Why thank you, sir.”

“Are you sure you can’t just have your glamour down all the time?” He asked.

“Unless you want me entrancing random people on the street, yes, I’m sure.” She said. “Besides, the wings are such a bother.”

“If you say so.” Joel said, leaning forward to give her a kiss before grabbing her hand and dragging her towards the bedroom. “Time for bed.”

“Right behind you.” She smiled, fully content. Whether she was with him at a big festival or in the quiet of their own home hardly even mattered to her. As long as he was there.

Chapter Text

Grian groaned, rubbing at his eyes as if that would make the words dancing across his computer screen any less impossible to comprehend. He had a love-hate relationship with designing concepts. On one hand it was literally his job, and on the other it was sometimes near-impossible to actually grasp what a client wanted. So many people just came in with these crazy contradictions and expectations that made Grian want to literally shake them. He never did—obviously, he never met with most of their clients, so he physically couldn’t—but it was always tempting whenever he passed by Xisuma’s office and saw some random business guys standing around, no doubt having his boss typing out a list of requirements that’d make Grian and the rest of the design team want to rip their hair out.

He looked between the screen and the large sketchpad in front of him, feeling for all the world like just giving up for the night. He couldn’t, though. There were people waiting on him to get these preliminary designs ready so that they could start drawing up schematics and making models, and Grian was already treading on thin ice even having to work on this at home at all. He should have had this done by the time he left the office, but his brain had just been working against him all day and he just kept detouring to work on other projects instead.

“Need some help?” Scar’s voice sounded from where he was sat on the couch a few feet away, curled up with a book and a cup of tea. Grian couldn’t help but feel jealous.

But then, he did do this to himself. Normally he’d do work like this in Scar’s home office, since by the time he needed to use it, Scar had usually cleared out and Grian could take the space for himself. Tonight, though, Grian had only spent about a half hour in the office before he felt like he was going to die. He’d moved himself to the living room, then, convinced that all he needed to get this done was a change of scenery. He was wrong. “No, it’s fine.”

Scar hummed like he didn’t quite believe him and Grian rolled his eyes.

“I can’t get the back right.” He admitted. Scar made a little noise of understanding but didn’t offer his help again. Grian guessed that Scar was waiting for him to admit he needed it. Grian decided he’d be waiting forever if that was the case. Grian looked over to see Scar a few pages into some book, hand holding it open as he kept staring at Grian, waiting. Grian knew that if he were quiet for long enough, Scar would go back to doing his own thing eventually. He also knew that if he just kept mulling over this a solution would come to him eventually, and that he needed to actually be looking at this to work out the problem, but Grian wasn’t quite as good as anything else as he was at getting in his own way. “What are you reading?”

“This book Martyn recommended me. It’s supposed to be set in like, medieval times I think. Princesses and dragons and all that.” Scar explained. Grian nodded. He’d always been kind of iffy about that genre of historical fiction, stuck in a past that was apparently ‘more magical.’ As if just because they had dragons and not dragonbornes things were somehow better. Grian thought things now were plenty magical, and preferable—people weren’t dying of the plague or killing off hybrids for being ‘devil’s spawn’ anymore, for one. But he figured a world where they actually used all the magic they had could be sort of interesting, if you were into that kind of thing. “It’s actually pretty good.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Grian said.

Scar grinned. “I could read you some of it, if you want.”

Grian looked back at his work and then shrugged. “Yeah, go on then.”

Scar smiled and began to read, doing this grand narrator voice for the opening of the chapter. And before Grian knew it, he was fully swept in. The way Scar read was captivating, doing fun voices for every character but never making it too outlandish that it distracted from the plot. Grian didn’t even remember leaving his armchair, just that one moment he was there and the next his laptop was closed and he was beside Scar on the couch, listening intently to every word.

But it wasn’t really about the story. Instead, Grian was captured by just how much fun Scar seemed to be having. The permanent smile lighting up his face as he read on, the way that words danced across his lips and fell with perfect intonation. Grian hadn’t thought about it much before this, but he really did love Scar’s voice. It was just so nice to listen to. So soft and yet so bubbly. So full of brightness no matter what. It made Grian think of the way people described fancy cheese and wine. Rich, bright, sharp, a little tart, but with a hint of sweetness.

Grian wasn’t really cut out to be a food critic, but he could be a connoisseur of Scar’s voice without much work at all.

Grian internally groaned as soon as he thought that, barely resisting the urge to bury his face in a nearby pillow. Talk about cheesy.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Scar asked after the end of one of the chapters. Looking at Grian with a little knowing smile.

“One more chapter.” Grian said, though he was sure they both knew that Grian would much rather fall asleep here than ever go back to what he was supposed to be doing. “I have to find out what this Davey-Poor guy is all about.”

“Davenport.” Scar corrected.

“Whatever.” Grian said, waving his hand. “It’s a weird name.”

“Anything you say, Grian.” Scar said, teasing.

“Watch your tone, Scar.” Grian shot back, poking him. Scar laughed.

“Point taken.” And then Scar cleared his throat and began to read again. “Chapter seven…”

Grian settled into the couch a little further, watching Scar as he read and feeling as his eyelids began to drift closed. Sure, he’d probably have to scramble to get that mock-up done in the morning. Might even have to get to the office early just so he could finish things before the wrath of a team of architects-behind-on-schedule descended upon him all at once. But for now, he was perfectly content to let all his worries disappear and just focus on the sound of Scar’s voice, narrating a story that really, Grian would have never cared for on his own.

Chapter Text

Scott didn’t think he was usually a catastrophizer, but he really didn’t think there was a way things could be going any worse right now. He was cold, he was exhausted, he was at his wits end trying to get the staff at this festival to actually listen to him—seriously, were these people trained at all? Even his worst modeling gigs at the very least had staff competent enough to know where the bathrooms were. Not that he’d done very many modeling jobs yet…he was working on it. He could’ve been at an audition right now—a small part of him said he really should have been—but this festival was important to Gem. It could actually make their band into something more than just a bunch of uni students with instruments. And while Scott didn’t know if he’d be able to make the band work alongside all the other things he had lined up for himself post-college in the same way Impulse seemed to be, Gem’s future was undoubtedly one in the music industry, and furthering her future was worth sacrificing his own a bit.

Speaking of Gem, she was currently plugging one ear and squinting really hard as she tried to hear the words of whoever was on the other side of the phone. Not Impulse. It hadn’t been Impulse for almost an hour now. He’d been on his way to the venue, driving himself from work and unable to take the standard carpool they usually had worked out for things like this, and then he’d just stopped responding to their, admittedly frequent, texts and calls. They were scheduled to go on in thirty minutes, and he still wasn’t here. And judging by how Gem was pacing a hole in the floor, it didn’t seem like he’d be here anytime soon.

Scott walked up to her and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her pacing. She looked at him and, without him even having to say anything, just shook her head. Scott was about to pull out his own phone to try and call around some so she didn’t have to do all of it, but he was stopped by her suddenly pulling the phone away from her ear. Scott watched as Skizz’s caller ID took up the screen, prompting a ‘hang up and receive’ button that Gem pressed pretty quickly after saying goodbye to the person on the other end.

“Skizz!” She called, immediately, and Scott very pointedly ignored the dirty looks a couple nearby staff members gave her. He did, however, start gently steering her towards a quieter part of the backstage area, further away from the chaos. “You’d better be calling me for a good reason!”

Scott watched as Gem listened to whatever Skizz was telling her, and felt his stomach drop as she gasped, reaching up a hand to cover her mouth before pulling it away to panic into the phone. “He what? What do you mean he—he what?”

“What’s going on?” Scott asked quietly. Gem didn’t even acknowledge him.

“Well is he going to be okay?” She asked, voice pitching up in fear. Scott had never wanted to be able to eavesdrop on a phone call more, but it was just so loud back here. With the staff and other bands rushing around and the sound of the crowd filtering through. “Oh thank goodness. Can we talk to him? Please?”

Scott watched Gem sigh in clear relief, but she still had this very unnerving amount of panic in the way she was holding herself. 

“Thank you, Skizz.” She said, pulling the phone away from her a bit and finally looking at Scott. She looked weary. “Impulse was in a car accident.”

“He what?” Scott gaped.

“That’s what I said!” Gem said, laughing a bit hysterically. “He’s, uh, Skizz said that he’s going to be okay. He didn’t get hurt too badly, I don’t think. Maybe a fractured wrist? It wasn’t totally clear, but he’s alive, so that’s good. Skizz is trying to get the phone to him so we can talk.”

Scott nodded, mouth suddenly dry. “That’s—that’s good.”

“Scott, what are we going to do?” Gem asked, quietly, like she really didn’t want any but him to hear. “We’re supposed to go on in like twenty minutes. We can’t do this without Impulse.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Scott said, but the promise felt hollow even to him. “We can make it work.”

Gem frowned a bit but didn’t say anything else before she hurriedly put the phone back up to her ear. “Impulse! Wait, let me put you on speaker.”

Gem took the phone and held it between them, putting it on speaker. Scott crowded in a little closer to hear better, and felt a bit of relief when Impulse’s voice filtered through. “Can you both hear me now?”

“We can.” Scott said.

“That’s great. It’s good to hear from you two.” Impulse said. “Sounds loud there.”

“Really loud.” Gem laughed. She hesitated a second before speaking. “How are you doing?”

“Ah, you guys don’t worry about me.” Impulse said. “I’ll be fine, promise. You kids just get out there and put on a good show.”

“Are you sure?” Scott said, at the same time Gem said: “We can’t do that!”

“Impulse, we need you! We can’t go out there without you!” Gem said. Scott had never heard her so frantic.

“You can, Gem. I know you can. You just need another drummer and you’ll be set.”

It was Scott’s turn to panic a little bit at that. “Where are we meant to find a new drummer?”

“You’re at a musical festival, aren’t you?” Impulse said and Scott couldn’t help but scoff.

Gem huffed along with him. “It’s not that easy.”

“Says who?” He asked, but before Gem and Scott could hit him with some more reasons that wouldn’t work, Skizz cut in.

“Hey, Dipple-Dop’s not the only drummer you guys know, right?” He said. “What about that friend of Jimmy’s? I thought I heard his music major friend say something about having recorded some songs with him on drums.”

“Oli?” Gem asked, but then it seemed to click. “Oh, you’re right! Oli’s recorded a couple things with Joel on the drums, he’s really good! And he should be here, right? Jimmy said he was bringing Lizzie, so she probably brought Joel—”

“Hold on, no, we’ve never played with him before. How do we know he’ll get the kind of music we do? He might not even know our songs.” Scott reasoned.

“But we have to try!” Gem said. “It’s either that or we just don’t go on at all and we can’t have made all this for nothing.”

“But—”

“Listen to Gem, Scott. This festival is a big deal!” Impulse piped up. “And I thought you were a thespian. Aren’t you guys the ones always saying ‘the show must go on?’”

Scott looked at Gem’s pleading eyes and sighed. “He might not even want to help us anyway.”

“Why, ‘cause he’s jealous of you or something? He can get over it!” Gem said. “I thought you said his dumb rivalry thing didn’t bother you?”

“It usually doesn’t, I’m just saying, Joel’s stubborn.” Scott said.

“Yeah? Well, so am I.” Gem said, pointedly. “And so are you, last I checked, and so help me, I am not going on that stage tonight without a drummer. And I am not missing out on this opportunity. So are you with me, or not?”

“That’s my girl!” Impulse called through the phone and Scott could hear Skizz hollering too.

“We’ll have to be quick.” Scott said, smiling himself as Gem’s face lit up in a grin. “I’ll call Jimmy and have him give his backstage pass to Joel.”

In seconds, Scott was pulling his phone out and scrambling for Jimmy’s contact. He heard Gem start speaking to Impulse again. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Like I said, don’t worry about me.” He said, and Scott could practically hear his smile. “You guys just go out there and rock that stage.”

“Aye aye, captain!” Gem said, throwing up a mock salute. Scott, meanwhile, had finally gotten through to Jimmy.

“Jimmy!” He said as soon as the call went through. “Is Joel with you?”

“Uh, yes? Yes, he is.” Jimmy said. “Is everything—”

“We need a drummer, Impulse can’t make it.” Scott explained. “I need you to give your pass to Joel—the one you used when you were helping Gem and I get our things backstage? Tell him to hurry.”

“Oh, uhm, okay! Okay. Joel!” Scott heard as Jimmy got to Joel and started explaining the situation. He could tell there was some resistance, though, when Jimmy’s voice got close to the phone again. “How dire is the situation?”

“Extremely dire, Jimmy!”

“It’s extremely dire—oh, yeah, okay. But you could…? Joel, I would owe you big time. I swear, whatever you want from me for a year, man.” Jimmy reasoned, before clamoring into the phone again. “I’ve got him! He’ll be there in five minutes, Scott, don’t you worry.”

Scott let out a breath of relief. “Thank you, Jimmy, seriously. You are my hero.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Jimmy said. “I expect a big kiss as thank you. I might have just sold my soul for you there, Petal.”

“As many kisses as you want.” Scott flirted back, catching Gem rolling her eyes as he looked back up. He rolled them back at her. “I’ve got to go, Jimmy. I’ll see you soon.”

“Break a leg!” Jimmy chirped before the call hung up. Scott looked at Gem who was already surging towards him to begin dragging them over to the entrance to the backstage area. They had to fight through a pretty dense crowd but, eventually, they made it through and shook off the few staff members who were questioning Joel.

“There had better be a bloody good reason for all this.” He said as soon as they’d gotten rid of the staff.

“Impulse was in an accident. He’s okay, but he can’t make it.” Scott explained, which seemed to shut Joel up pretty quickly.

“Thank you so much for helping us.” Gem said quickly. “We know it’s not ideal, but you’re a really great drummer so I think you’ll get the hang of it pretty quickly.”

“You lot are lucky I was here.” Joel said, a little cocky. “And that I happen to know the drumline to a few of your songs already.”

“You do?” Scott asked, genuinely surprised by that. “I didn’t think our music was really your style.”

“Excuse you, it’s not that far off from what I listen to.” Joel said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Besides, Lizzie keeps dragging me to your gigs so I was bound to pick up a couple things eventually.”

“Then we’ve really struck gold!” Gem said, and Scott knew she was just trying to play into his ego so that he’d be more agreeable, but it was still a little ridiculous to him. “Now come on! We have to get you into makeup and wardrobe asap!”

“Do you think we have time?” Joel asked. Scott rolled his eyes.

“Joel, I’ve gotten this whole group ready in fifteen minutes before, I can get a little makeup on your face in the next ten.” Scott said.

“And he was drunk then, too.” Gem added, and Scott smiled at the disbelief on Joel’s face.

“It was a very fun night.” Scott said.

“Like hell. You were stressed out of your mind.” Gem teased. “I think you curled up into a ball the second we got off stage.”

Scott groaned at the way Joel laughed at that. If this was her way of getting Joel on her good side, they were going to have a serious talk later about throwing people under the bus. Hopefully Impulse would help him with that too. Put a little fatherly disappointment into the lecture that Scott didn’t really have.

Impulse. Oh, Scott hoped he was alright—

Nope! Impulse had told them specifically not to worry. They just needed to get through this performance and they could panic about their missing member later.

Getting Joel ready was relatively easy. They’d considered putting him in Impulse’s outfit but decided against it pretty quickly. Instead, Scott did some green makeup and they were able to get Joel a nice leather jacket and some neon green wristbands from this really sweet rocker group that had gone earlier in the line-up and that Gem had, apparently, managed to get in the good graces of even while panicking over Impulse not being there. It was things like that that made Scott sure that Gem was going to go far in this industry. Whether with a band or solo, she had what it took to make it big. Scott was really glad they’d decided to power through. Gem had really earned this.

“Gem and the Scott’s you’re on in one!” The stage manager called in their general direction and Scott felt Gem grab his hand and squeeze it.

“We’ve got this.” She said, grinning.

“We’ve got this.” He repeated, putting his hand out. Gem frantically waved Joel over and the both of them, too, put their hands in the middle.

“Joel, you’re an honorary Scott now.” She said. “Make us proud.”

Joel nodded, looking a bit frazzled. Scott realized just then that he didn’t know if Joel had ever actually played in front of an audience before. “Will do.”

“No nerves but we’ll give the audience chills.” Scott said, trying his best to remember the little pep talk Impulse gave before every performance.

“No sweat but we’ll set the stage on fire!” Gem joined in. Joel looked back at them, lost, until Gem leaned in and whispered something to him.

“No fear but we’ll have them all in the spirit?” Joel said, sounding confused. Scott looked at Gem with a knowing smile, which she returned in kind.

“Gem and the Scott’s, you’re on!”

“This one’s for Impulse, alright? Gem and the Scott’s on three.” Gem said. “One, two, three!”

“Gem and the Scott’s!”

—

Scott and Gem were stood outside of Impulse and Skizz’s place a week later, Gem with a little gift basket just overflowing with presents and letters from all of the friends they’d run into since Impulse had gotten into the crash. A few seconds after knocking the door was thrown open by a very jovial Skizz.

“Well if it isn’t my two favorite rockstars!” He said. “Finally decide to pay your ailing bandmate a visit, huh?”

“School’s been rough.” Scott defended.

“You guys are so lucky you’ve graduated.” Gem groaned.

Skizz laughed. “Ah, you say that, but I honestly wish I had a bit more experience. I’ve just got a substitute job right now and the kids are already making me feel like I was way underprepared.”

“Don’t say that.” Gem said. “I’m sure you’re a great teacher, Skizz. And I’m sure you’ll be an even better permanent one when a school finally takes the hint.”

“Thanks, Gemstone.” Skizz smiled.

“Where is Impulse?” Scott asked.

“That big lazy bones has been in his bed all day.” Skizz sighed. “You guys go on in and talk to him. I’ve had enough of the guy lately.”

Scott laughed. “If you say so.”

Scott followed Gem down the hall, knowing she was far more familiar with this place than he was, and into the door at the end of it where they, sure enough, found Impulse just sort of staring at the ceiling. He looked up when they entered and Scott watched this huge smile take over his face.

“Hey guys!” He said. “Oh, have you got goodies for me?”

“Sure do.” Gem said, setting the basket on his bedside table. “For someone who isn’t even in school anymore you sure have a lot of people there who wanted to know how you were.”

“How are you doing?” Scott asked, and Impulse shrugged.

“I’ve been better.” He said. “Turns out I got a minor concussion from the crash so I can’t look at screens or anything. It’s a bummer. I can’t really work because of it.”

“You could probably use a break from working anyway.” Gem said, poking his arm. Impulse groaned.

“Alright, alright.” He said. “How was the festival?”

“It was great!” Gem chirped. “We killed it out there!”

“Joel was actually pretty good at the drums.” Scott said. “Especially for his first live performance.”

Gem’s eyes lit up. “Yeah! It was super impressive, Impulse, you would’ve loved it.”

“Good to know you’ve got my replacement lined up.” Impulse joked.

“No way! We’re Gem and the Scott’s forever!” Gem said, fully determined. “Either it’s us three, or there’s no band at all.”

Scott felt a bit of guilt creep into his conscience, but pushed it back. “Gem did really great at getting connections.”

“Oh, I made tons of friends!” Gem said. “And these really nice staff guys said that they loved working with us and wanted to offer us a chance to do semi-regular gigs at a club they work for, isn’t that awesome? I think we could really make it big!”

“That’s great Gem!” Impulse said, but Scott could hear a bit of hesitation under it, and Scott shot him a knowing glance. Music was never going to be their end-goal. It was Gem’s, that much was clear, but him and Impulse? “I’m so proud of you guys.”

“Thanks.” Scott smiled, settling on the foot of Impulse’s bed. “I wish you’d seen it.”

“Me too!” Gem said, pulling out her phone. “Which is why I’m super glad that Lizzie recorded the whole thing for us!”

“What?” Scott said. “She did? Why didn’t I know about this?”

“I thought it’d make for a fun surprise.” Gem said. “So? You boys want to see, or not?”

“Bring it here.” Impulse said, scooting over in bed so that Gem could sit beside him, and Scott maneuvered around so that he was sat on Impulse’s other side. Impulse took the phone and started playing the video. It was immediately a cacophony of sound, the crowd humming with excitement, but Scott could clearly make out Gem’s call of “one, two, one two three four!” at the start of one of their songs.

And he relaxed a bit into the present. Scott was a planner, at heart, but even he knew when to let it all fade into the background. When to let himself stop worrying about the future and enjoy the moment. Tomorrow, he had an audition for a modeling job with this big magazine, and if he got that…but he also had a songwriting session with Gem and Oli, who helped them on their songs sometimes. Maybe, just maybe, he could make both things work.

And even if he couldn’t, well, he’d always have this moment. This memory. Things would be okay.

Chapter Text

Gem jolted at the sound of hurried knocking on the door. She blinked a few times, trying to remember if she’d invited anyone over or if she had a package coming—but postmen didn’t knock like that.

Well, one of them did, she guessed.

She groaned, pushing herself off her couch and shutting her laptop. She trudged over to the door and threw it open, completely unsurprised when she found Pearl on the other side looking sheepish.

“I should have guessed.”

“Hey, Gem!” Pearl smiled. “So, uhm, funny story…”

“Am I hiding you from the cops or something?”

“No! No, of course not.” Pearl said, looking a little shocked at the implication. “I’m not a criminal, Gem!”

“Sure thing.” Gem said, stepping aside to finally let Pearl in. Pearl came in pretty quickly, beelining for the couch and throwing herself down dramatically. Gem shut the door and sighed. “Okay, Pearl, what’s the problem?”

“Well, it’s…” Pearl worried her lip between her teeth and sighed. “I lost my apartment.”

Gem felt herself freeze. “What?”

“It’s—I must have been too late on the rent or something ‘cause…” Pearl groaned. “I came home tonight and it was just locked. Like, my key didn’t work anymore. And my landlords aren’t going to let me back in until I pay the rent with like a ton of interest on top.”

“That can’t be legal.” Gem said, exasperated.

“I don’t think it is but, like, it’s not like I have the money to sue them anyway.” Pearl sighed. “It’s whatever, I’ll pull something together, it’s just…well, this was a really bad night for this to happen.”

Gem hummed. “I’d say any night is a bad night for this to happen.”

“Alright.” Pearl said, waving her off. She sat up then, looking a little more serious, and Gem guessed this was the part where Pearl asked for her help. “The thing is…well, Scott’s got this big fancy event tomorrow that his agent is making him go to for modeling reasons or something, and he wanted me to come as his plus one.”

Gem nodded. “And now you have no way to get a nice outfit for it.”

“Exactly!”

“Why can’t he just bring one of his boyfriends?”

“I don’t exactly know? Maybe they’re busy or he doesn’t want the people there to know he’s gay or something?” Pearl said, shrugging. “All I know is that he asked me, and I really want to go because…well…”

Gem considered trying to finish her sentence, but Pearl wasn’t even looking at her anymore. She seemed lost in her own head.

“It’s just been awhile since he’s trusted me with something like this and I really don’t want to mess it up.” She said, running a hand through her hair. Pearl finally looked up at Gem, that same sheepishness from the door back. “So, I was thinking that…maybe I could borrow a dress from you? Just for the event, and then I’ll give it right back. I promise I won’t even eat or drink in it or anything if you don’t want me to.”

“Sure, Pearl.” Gem said easily. “And you can do whatever you want in it, just as long it’s not destroyed.”

“Oh, Gem, you are a lifesaver!” Pearl said, jumping up from the couch and wrapping Gem in a hug. Gem rolled her eyes and pushed her off lightly.

“Okay, okay! You have to let me actually get the dress.” Gem said, and Pearl backed off enough for Gem to lead them both to her room and to her closet. She slid it open and started sorting through her dresses. “So, when you say fancy are we talking like ballroom-fancy or cocktail-hour fancy?”

“The second one, I think. I mean, it’s a gathering for models and agents and stuff, so I was thinking like high-society elegant but not too show-offy, you know?” Pearl explained, and Gem nodded, looking through her dresses. Eventually she landed on a pretty floor-length navy-blue dress, tastefully accented with silver. Gem remembers never being able to wear it properly because it was too long on her, but she imagines that on Pearl, it’ll probably fall just above her ankles. The perfect length for this kind of thing, in her opinion. Especially if they were also able to get Pearl some heels.

“What shoe size are you?” Gem asked, taking out the dress and handing it to Pearl.

“Uh, like a ten?” Pearl said.

“Aw, I’m a six.” Gem said, pulling out her phone. “Maybe we could get Lizzie or Cleo to lend you pair of heels. They should be closer to you in size.”

“Oh. I hadn’t even thought about shoes.” Pearl admitted, looking at the dress in her hands.

“Pearl, I am so glad you came to me.” Gem said, smiling as she texted both Lizzie and Cleo to ask their shoe size and if they had any heels she could borrow, planning to send a picture of Pearl in the dress once she had one so they could help her match it. She also briefly thought about texting some of the boys—she knew that Scott and his boyfriends owned a couple pairs, and Grian might still have some from when he did drag in uni, but she decided against it just since she knew they probably wouldn’t have a similar size. “Now go try that on.”

“Okay!” Pearl said, and then she was disappearing into the bathroom.

Gem took a seat on her bed, having found that Cleo wore a similar size and was now texting back and forth with them to see if they had any heels that’d work with the dress she’d given Pearl. Pearl emerged a few minutes later, and when Gem heard her coming back she started pulling up the camera on her phone, but stopped a bit when she saw her in the doorway.

“Well?”

“Wow.” Gem said. “That looks really good on you.”

“Did you think it wouldn’t?” Pearl teased, sounding mock-offended.

Gem shook her head. “No, I just didn’t know it’d look that good.”

Pearl smiled. “Thanks.”

“Oh, uh, I have to take a picture for Cleo so she can find shoes for you.” Gem said, and Pearl nodded, posing a bit awkwardly as Gem snapped the picture and sent it off. She felt validated when Cleo also commented on how good Pearl looked in it. Pearl came to sit beside her on the bed as Cleo started sending pictures of pairs she owned that looked like they would work. Eventually they landed on a simpler silver pair to match the accents of the dress without being distracting, and settled a bit. Gem looked over to where Pearl was checking herself out in the mirror leant against Gem’s wall. “You know, if you want to keep it, you can.”

Pearl startled slightly. “Oh, no, I couldn’t.”

“Come on, Pearl, you know you want to!” Gem smiled. “It looks perfect on you! And besides, it’s too long on me anyway, I would have to get it hemmed if I wanted to pull it off even half as well as you do.”

“Oh, stop.” Pearl said, blushing a bit. She looked back at the mirror and smiled. “I guess it does fit me pretty well.”

“It was made for you.” Gem grinned. “I’ll be shocked if you don’t get at least one modeling offer at this party thing.”

“Okay, well, I wouldn’t say that.” Pearl laughed. “I don’t think Scott would be very happy with me if I stole the spotlight like that.”

“Eh, he can get over himself.” Gem smiled. “It’s not like you two would be competing for gigs anyway.”

“I guess not.” Pearl shrugged. “I don’t really think modeling's for me, though.”

“Do you know what is?”

“Wow, Gem, way to call me jobless.” Pearl snarked, but after a few seconds her shoulders sank. “I’m working on it. I mean, I don’t know if I really want to deliver post for the rest of my life, even if it is an essential part of society.”

Gem hummed. “Maybe we could be a musical duo.”

“Nice try, but I am definitely not the music type.” Pearl said, laying down and staring up at the ceiling. Gem lay back with her, and the two were quiet for a second. “Maybe I could be your manager or something.”

“Like I’m gonna put someone who got locked out of her apartment in charge of my job security.” Gem teased and Pearl squawked indignantly.

“Hey! That was not my fault!” Pearl said, pouting. “My landlords are just cu—”

“Woah now, miss Australia.” Gem said, smacking Pearl lightly. “What’s the rule about swearing in my apartment?”

“Uh, there isn’t one?” She said. “You swear all the time.”

“I do not!” Gem said. “And the rule about swearing in my apartment is that only I’m allowed to do it.”

“What? That’s not fair!”

“My apartment, my rules.” Gem said and Pearl grumbled. Gem laughed, and for a bit they were silent again.

“I should probably go.” Pearl said quietly.

Gem raised an eyebrow and turned to look at her. “Where? You can’t go home.”

“I don’t know, a hotel or something?”

“Just stay here, Pearl, it’s fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“You already sleep here ninety-percent of the time. What’s the difference?”

“Okay, ninety is an exaggeration.” Pearl said, sitting up. Gem followed suit. “I guess I’ll move to the couch then.”

“Okay.” Gem said, watching her get up and start to leave. “You are going to change, right?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah I am.” Pearl said. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“Anytime.” Gem smiled as Pearl left, gently closing the door behind her. Gem laid back again, staring up at her ceiling and thinking, not for the first time, about what it would be like to have Pearl around every day. She was starting to think that she wouldn’t really mind it, after all.

Chapter Text

Scott was not having a good week. Or a good month, for that matter. Everything just seemed out to get him. He hadn’t had a gig in what felt like forever, and every audition that his agent sent him just fell through for the stupidest reasons. He hadn’t been ‘the right fit’ for a job in so long it was starting to weigh on him. He knew it wasn’t about him, not really, but it was hard not to feel a bit slighted by it. Or like he really wasn’t good enough, after all.

He’d just gotten home from another failed audition—they hadn’t even waited to drop the bombshell or anything just a flat ‘you’re not what we’re looking for,’ and then he was on his way. All he wanted now was to go to bed. Just fall away for the day and ignore everything else. It was still the afternoon, his boyfriends weren’t even home yet and wouldn’t be for another couple hours, but he didn’t care. This was all far too much.

He knew it wasn’t good of him to be moping like this. He should be doing something more productive. Working out or calling his agent to set up more auditions or checking in on his latest graphic design client, but he just couldn’t. Not right now. Maybe in a little while when his boyfriends were home and he could find the motivation to pretend like he wasn’t actively regretting all of his life choices.

He didn’t even get more than an hour to wallow, though, before he was being interrupted by Cleo calling him out of the blue. He stared at it for a few seconds, trying to decide if he was really in the mental space to chat right now, but inevitably picked up the call. If Cleo was calling him, it must at least be something semi-important.

“Hey, Cleo.”

“Open your door, Scott.” Scott sat upright, still holding his phone to his ear but trying to more actively listen to what was definitely knocking at his front door.

“What?”

“Open up. Pearl and I are going to freeze to death out here.”

“It’s not that cold out.” He said, but pulled himself up and out of bed to go do what she was asking him to, only stopping briefly to fix his hair and put up his glamour so he didn’t look quite so pathetic.

“Still, we’ve been knocking forever. I know you’re home, don’t try and lie to me.”

Scott rolled his eyes, hanging up, and continued to the door, opening it up to find Pearl mid-knock and Cleo saying something about him being rude and hanging up on them.

“Finally!” Pearl called, pushing her way past Scott and into his house. He watched them both in shock as they just let themselves in with no explanation.

“So, were you going to explain why you’re here?” He asked. “‘Cause I do not remember inviting you two into my home.”

“Wow, you were that drunk, huh?” Pearl said with a grimace, before dropping the act and laughing a bit. “Kidding! Gosh you should’ve seen the look on your face. We invited ourselves.”

Scott was almost positive there was no look on his face, because he definitely hadn’t drank in almost a week now and wouldn’t fall for that, but he didn’t really care to argue. “And why did you?”

“Scott, you are in major need of a pick-me-up. We can see it, you can see it, and we’re here to help.” Cleo said, sagely. “Now close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

Scott rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Cleo.”

“She said close your eyes, Scott!” Pearl said, and Scott begrudgingly agreed.

“Please don’t put a bug in my hands.” Scott said, without really thinking. He never liked this method of gift-giving. It felt far too much like a prank waiting to happen every time.

“Of course not, Scott, what do you take us for?” Cleo said. Scott felt as something paper was pressed into his open palms. “We aren’t Martyn.”

“Okay, now open your eyes.” Pearl told him, and Scott cracked one open to see what was there. He paused at the sight of a printed out ticket in his hand for the touring production of one of his favorite musicals, and opened his eyes fully to look closer. He’d been thinking of getting tickets for it since he found out it was coming to where they lived, but he’d been unsure if he could because he never really knew when a job would pop up and he’d have to drop everything. He looked up at them.

“For tonight.” Cleo said, smiling. “Hope you’ve not got any plans.”

“No, no, I…” He said. “I’m not sure what to say—thank you. Seriously. I can’t believe you did this.”

“Of course!” Pearl smiled. “The G’s have always got to have each other’s backs.”

“It seemed like you’ve been having a rough time lately and we thought this might make things a little better. Even if just for a night.” Cleo added.

“You guys! This is so sweet of you.” Scott said, unable to keep from smiling as he held the ticket tightly.

“Don’t mention it.” Cleo said. “But you’ve got to get ready. We want to get dinner before the show.”

“Right, of course.” Scott nodded. “I’ll have to text my boyfriends and let them know I won’t be home until late.”

“Don’t bother, they already know.” Pearl said. “They were the ones who helped us decide what day would be good for this.”

Scott shook his head fondly. “Of course they were.”

“Now go get ready!” Cleo said, pushing him lightly in the direction of his room.

“Okay, okay! So pushy.” Scott laughed, leaving the two of them in his living room, listening as they started looking for good restaurants near the theatre.

Scott, not for the first time, thought that with friends like these, he might very well be the luckiest person alive.

Chapter Text

“First off, thank you two so much for actually agreeing to this.” Ren said, smiling at Tango and Impulse where they were tying up little ‘kiss the cook’ aprons that Ren, apparently, had multiple of. Tango grinned, waving it off.

“Ah, don’t mention it.” He said. Though he was technically only here because Martyn—who would’ve otherwise been one of the ones behind this whole ‘baking a ton of bread for Ren’s theatre’s fundraiser’ thing—couldn’t be, he couldn’t help but be genuinely excited. He may not show it off very often, but he’s not too bad at the whole baking thing. It’s practically just science, after all, as is redstone, and Tango would count himself pretty good at both.

“Yeah, man, I’m super excited!” Impulse said. “A whole day baking with two of my best buds. I couldn’t ask for more.”

“I’m happy to hear it, gents.” Ren said, still in the process of setting up the third stand-mixer they had. Tango was honestly shocked to find out that the theatre even had this big of a kitchen, but then he guessed they did have to feed quite a few people on the longer days. Ren cleared his throat as he stood, handing the both of them printed off recipe sheets with little charts detailing exactly when each batch of dough needed to be finished and when each loaf needed to go in the oven, courtesy of Impulse’s wonderful planning skills. “Now, we have a lot of work cut out for us if we’re going to keep this to just a day of baking, so let’s get to work! Gluten Guys, go!”

“Is that what we’re going with?” Impulse asked, laughing a bit.

“I’m game!” Tango said. “Gluten Guys, go!”

And then they were off to the races. The goal for the day was around thirty loaves of bread, with the hope of making, by the time of the fundraising event a few days away, over three-hundred sandwiches. Thankfully, Tango was not going to be there for the sandwich making, just the baking, which he preferred. Repetitive sandwich making sounded just so much more tedious than repetitive bread baking, in his eyes. Maybe that was strange, but he just figured he’d get so bored of putting the same sandwich together over and over again. At least baking required a little more thought to ensure things didn’t go south.

Speaking of.

“That’s one ruined batch!” Impulse called, suddenly. They were only a few in, but it was bound to happen eventually. “My bad, forgot to actually add the yeast.”

“All good, dude! That just means we only have two more mistakes left in the budget.” Ren promised, getting back to it.

That was another thing, there was very limited room for error. They only had so many ingredients at their disposal, after all, and so they’d calculated out that they had enough wiggle room to make exactly three mistakes before things truly went awry. That was another way Tango could connect this to redstoning. Sure, redstone was a little more forgiving in what you could do after a mistake to fix things, but it was very similar. Both mediums very much had a ‘one mistake meaning you’ve got to start from scratch’ kind of deal to them.

“I kind of hope we don’t have any more mistakes.” Impulse said. “Skizz was dropping some very unsubtle hints about wanting an extra loaf if we had any.”

“Ooh, you’re right. I’m sure my boyfriends would love having some homemade bread.” Tango said, thinking of just how much fun Martyn especially would find in having homemade bread to make meals out of. How he’d definitely turn it into a fun little thing to point out every time the bread was used. He did wonder, though, how quickly that might turn into them asking Tango to bake for them. He wasn’t sure if he’d mind it, but it was still worth wondering.

Ren nodded thoughtfully. “Then I guess we’d better be careful.”

They ended up following through on that pretty well. A couple of close calls here and there, but they eventually managed to get a whole three extra loaves—somehow—and were finally starting to wind down from the baking extravaganza. Impulse sighed, leaning back against the counter top and wiping sweat from his brow with his apron.

“What a day.” He chuckled. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at flour the same way again.”

“Me neither.” Tango grumbled. “At least nothing went terrifically wrong.”

“At least.”

“You guys ready for your prize?” Ren asked, looking a bit mischievous as he ducked towards one of the pantries. 

Tango looked over at Impulse, confused. “There’s a prize?”

“Don’t look at me.” Impulse said, putting his hands up in mock-surrender.

A few seconds later Ren reemerged, one arm tucked behind his back and the other carrying a little basket of goodies. Tango could already see some nice looking cheeses and wines, presumably to pair with their homemade bread, and a few other little knick-knacks.

“Aw, Ren!” Impulse said the moment the basket came into view. “You shouldn’t have!”

“Oh, but I did.” He smiled. “I only ended up being able to put together one basket, unfortunately. Sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, Impulse and I can share.” Tango said, nudging him lightly. “Right Impulse?”

“Of course.” Impulse said, smiling in a way that told Tango that they were definitely going to end up fighting over a few of the things in this goodie basket. “Can we take a look?”

Ren set the basket on the counter and nudged it forward. “Be my guests.”

Tango and Impulse almost immediately started rooting through the basket, laying claim to different things—Tango’s being put to the side, since of course Impulse had the idea to claim the basket as his first item. The hot ticket, though, was a super fun looking book that seemed to be a cookbook that aimed both to give nice recipes and explain a lot of the elements of baking in science and redstone terminology. Tango was just a second quicker on laying claim to that one.

“Aw, not fair!” Impulse said, and Tango couldn’t help but rub it in his face a little bit.

“Don’t be salty, Impulse. Just gotta be quicker next time.” He teased.

“At least let me borrow it?” Impulse asked, and Tango gestured like he was hesitating on whether or not he was going to. He knew he probably would, eventually, but it was a little funny seeing Impulse get a little sad about the prospect. How could he be so attached to a book he didn’t even know existed five minutes ago?

“I worried this might happen.” Ren piped in, revealing a second copy of the cookbook from behind his back. “Good thing I bought two, huh?”

“Oh, Ren, you are an angel!” Impulse cheered, taking the second book.

Tango sulked just a little bit. “And here I thought I was special.”

“You are!” Ren promised. “You get title of best in the kitchen today. Your loaves came out fantastic, Mr. Tek.”

“Why thank you, Ren.” Tango smiled. “Now, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra bag or something for me to carry all these goodies in, would you?”

“We probably have something extra in the back—just a second!” Ren said before he was disappearing into the pantry again.

“Look at us, a couple of baking boys with our new books.” Impulse said, tucking all of his items into the basket in orderly fashion.

“Careful, the Bad Boys might accuse us of stealing their brand.” Tango joked, and Impulse shook his head.

“They only really did the whole bread thing once or twice.” Impulse argued. “And none of them are even the main bakers in their relationship.”

“Hey, now that you mention it, yeah!” Tango said. “Lizzie’s got a whole bakery under her name, Scar is practically known for his cookie skills, and Jimmy is far from a master in the kitchen in any capacity.”

“And even if he was, I think you just took over as your household's best baker.” Impulse said. 

“Oh-ho, yeah. The Solidarity-Major-Littlewood-Tek’s just got themselves a new bread winner, if I do say so myself.” Tango grinned, and Impulse laughed.

“You should really consider consolidating that name.” He joked.

“I think it’s got ring to it.” Tango said smugly.

“One tote bag for my lovely sous-baker!” Ren said, swinging out of the pantry with a little branded bag from the theatre.

Impulse blinked. “Is sous-baker a term?”

“It is now!” Ren smiled, helping Tango get all of his stuff put away. “Thanks again for your help, guys.”

“Anytime.” Tango said. “I had lots of fun.”

“You said it!” Impulse agreed. “Next time you need thirty loaves of bread baked in a day, count me in.”

“Wonderful!” Ren cheered, pulling his phone out and corralling them over towards where a bunch of the loaves were cooling on a rack. “We have to get a picture for social media. Part of actually getting people to come to the fundraiser.”

“Oh, the little old ladies who frequent the place are going to eat that up!” Impulse said. “Three handsome young men in the kitchen? It’s like a honey-trap.”

“That’s the spirit, Impulse!” Ren cheered. “Now come on!”

Tango and Impulse crammed in, Impulse holding up his cookbook and Tango gesturing to the bread while Ren snapped a selfie. Tango smiled at it, nodding in satisfaction. It had been a pretty great day to bake bread, if he did say so himself.

Chapter Text

“Oh, Jimmy!”

Jimmy fumbled to pause the game he was playing, pulling his headphones out and looking up to where Tango had appeared in the doorway. He was wearing this huge grin and clothes that were way too fancy for a Sunday afternoon.

“What’s with the get-up?” Jimmy asked.

“I’m so glad you asked.” Tango said, stepping into the room and gesturing grandly. “Jimmy, I am about to take you on the best fourth anniversary date ever!”

Jimmy knew he probably should’ve been excited about that, but all he could feel was an unbelievable dread. He could’ve sworn he had the date of their anniversary marked out on the calendar, and it definitely wasn’t today. Right? Oh, he was the worst boyfriend ever . “It’s…oh my goodness, Tango, I am so sorry—”

“Don’t be!” Tango said quickly. “It’s not actually our anniversary, but that is on Tuesday and I will be out of town for a redstoning conference with the rest of my team, so I figured this was the best day for us to do it.”

Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief, getting up from his chair and shaking his head. “You couldn’t have led with that?”

Tango took a hold of Jimmy’s hands and pulled him in close, grinning. “Slipped my mind.”

“You are an evil, evil man.” Jimmy admonished, planting a kiss on Tango’s temple all the same.

“You say that to all of us, and I’ve not seen any divorce papers yet, so I don’t think you mean it.” Tango said and Jimmy huffed.

“I can’t divorce you because we aren’t married.”

“And we won’t be ‘til they legalize four-way marriage, so I am safe for now.” Tango said. “Now get dressed, I want to show you all the sights.”

“Alright, alright.” Jimmy said, separating himself and heading for the door. “Scott and Martyn know we’re going out?”

“They’re going on their own date, I believe.” Tango said. “Some play that Ren’s in?”

“Aw, I wanted to see that one!” Jimmy complained.

“Hey, if I know them, they’re going to want to go again. Martyn will at least.” Tango said. “For exes, Martyn and him are oddly attached.”

“I’d be mad jealous if I didn’t have full proof they didn’t want to be a thing anymore.” Jimmy joked.

“I’d be mad jealous if I weren’t a little attracted to Ren myself.” Tango teased. “He’s a handsome man.”

“Tango, no!” Jimmy reprimanded. “Don’t add another one! You and I both know that even if they legalize four-way marriage, five-way is fully off the table.”

“Gives me more time to stall that divorce!”

Jimmy groaned, fully leaving the room and purposefully closing the door to their bedroom with a bit of force. He could hear Tango laughing in the hallway, and he tried really hard to pretend he didn’t find it very adorable.

—

“After you.” Tango said, for what was probably the fiftieth time that evening. Every door they passed through—car, restaurant, you name it—every time Tango poured Jimmy water, every time they did anything where someone could remotely go first.

“There’s not even a door here.” Jimmy said, walking in front anyway as they stepped into the little park Tango had driven them to as the final spot of the day. He heard Tango chuckle behind him and shook his head fondly. “Is that just your bit for the day?”

“You’re accusing me of messing around on our anniversary date?” Tango asked, his hand over his chest as if clutching pearls. “Jimmy, I could never!”

“You’re doing it right now!” Jimmy pitched back, and Tango just shrugged his shoulders.

“No clue what you’re talking about.” Tango said, stepping ahead just in time to beat Jimmy to the trail head, where he then held out his arms as if displaying something. “After you.”

“You are ridiculous.” Jimmy commented, but didn’t protest any further, instead beginning down the little hiking trail. Jimmy hadn’t really thought much about why they were hiking, of all things, as their final stop on this anniversary date, but then he was a bit distracted. Tango was a great conversationalist. If Jimmy was actively being kidnapped, he probably wouldn’t even notice so long as Tango was there to chat with him. He only clued himself in when Tango started leading them through a short cut that involved some highly precarious rocks. He stopped, squinting at the surroundings. “Am I going mad?”

“What do you mean, Rancher?”

“We’ve been here before.” Jimmy said, before it finally clicked and he gasped. “You almost killed me on these rocks!”

“Wh—hey! I didn’t almost kill you!” Tango laughed.

“You did!” Jimmy said. “And then we lost Grian’s dumb race and…”

And Jimmy found the third piece of his four-piece heart.

Tango grinned, gesturing towards the rocks. “After you.”

“No way!” Jimmy said, before turning around and surveying the rocks. He hummed, trying to decide if he was actually about to climb these, before he shook his head definitively. “No! Nope! No way am I going to—”

Jimmy cut himself as he turned around to find Tango looking sheepishly up at him from where he was down on one knee, holding up a little white ringbox with this absolutely gorgeous gold band with a blue gemstone.

Jimmy actually shrieked. “Tango!”

“It’s not a proposal! I’m not proposing!” Tango said as fast as possible. Jimmy felt a bit of his shock leave him, a little glad he wasn’t about to have to tell his incredible boyfriend that he didn’t want to choose to marry one of them like that. It still felt surreal though. “It’s a promise ring!”

“Okay.” Jimmy said, nodding. Tango stared up at him for a little longer. “Do you have a speech or something?”

“Right! Yes!” Tango said, shaking his head and taking a deep breath. “Jimmy, I don’t really know how to say this correctly, but I love you. Everything about you. You’re so kind and funny, and you always know just what to say when I’m—wow, uh, when I’m getting all emotional like I am now.”

Tango and Jimmy let out twin, watery laughs. Tango breathed and continued.

“I know that we’re all a lot, me and Scott and Martyn, but you hold us together so well. You’re at, like, the center of this whole deal, man. We’d be lost without you, I’d be lost without you. You’re my favorite reason to wake up in the morning.” Tango smiled. “So, Jimmy Solidarity-Shadow, will you do me an incredible honor and promise that you will stand beside me, like I will for you, every step of the way? And when they finally legalize four-way marriage, maybe marry me?”

“Yes, you idiot!” Jimmy said, grabbing Tango’s hand and pulling him off the ground and into a big kiss. He pulled back eventually, laughing a bit hysterically. “Gosh I can’t believe you planned all of this for me.”

“Of course I did!” Tango smiled. “Are you gonna let me put the ring on you now?”

“Oh, yeah! You do that.” Jimmy said, extending a hand so that Tango could slide the ring on. It fit like a glove.

“How did you figure out my ring size?” Jimmy asked, marveling at it.

“Scott helped me.” Tango said.

“He knew about this?” Jimmy exclaimed.

“Not…exactly? I didn’t tell him what the ring was for, just that I was getting one.” Tango said, sheepish again. “I’m planning on giving him and Martyn rings too, but not yet. I want to wait until I’m as in love with them as I am with you, or at least a comparable amount. It won’t be long, I can feel it, and I’ll get there eventually, but we need a little more time.”

“Take it.” Jimmy said, sincere. “All the time you need.”

Tango smiles and leans up. Jimmy leans down so that their foreheads are pressed against each other. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Jimmy whispers. “Happy four years.”

“Happy four years.”

Chapter Text

Martyn wasn’t usually the type to hangout around his friends houses while they weren’t even home, but Cleo had practically forced him to when she suddenly ran out to go bring Scar something in the middle of the little game night they were doing together. Martyn hadn’t even really gathered what it was that Scar needed so badly at almost eight in the evening, just that it was apparently ‘urgent.’ With Scar, that could mean almost anything from ‘actual health emergency’ to ‘lost cat’ to ‘I forgot how to make cereal.’ Martyn wasn’t that bothered about it though. He hoped Scar was alright, whatever it was, but beyond that he was just content to scroll around on his phone until Cleo got back from what she was doing.

It was only maybe thirty minutes after they left that Martyn registered a knock at the door and rolled himself off the couch to get up and open the door to Cleo’s flat, figuring they’d just forgotten their keys. He made his way over to the door, preparing to tease them, and not at all preparing for what was actually on the other side of the door.

Namely Scott, dressed like he’d just come home from a shoot, glamor still up but not doing much to hide how absolutely wrecked he looked. Teary and like he was about five seconds from screaming, hand clutching a tote with enough tension to snap the handle in half. Martyn physically stopped and stared, watching Scott’s eyes blow wide as he seemed to realize that Cleo was not the one in front of him.

“Where—?”

“They stepped out for a bit to help Scar with something.” Martyn said, concern growing as Scott just continued to stare at him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Martyn.” Scott said, but it lacked any real bite. “I’ll just…”

“Hang on.” Martyn said, quickly, reaching out but being sure not to grab Scott in case because that didn’t really seem like the move right now. “Tell me what’s wrong, maybe I could help?”

“You can’t.” Scott insisted.

“I could listen?” Martyn offered and Scott seemed to debate it for a few moments before deflating.

“Jimmy cheated on me.”

Martyn felt his heart drop. “He what?”

“Okay, he hasn’t yet, but he might as well have.” Scott corrected, running a hand through his hair and gripping a fistful of it. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Come here.” Martyn said, gently, holding his arms open. Scott seemed to hesitate for a second before he folded and let Martyn hug him. He held him tight, gently rubbing a thumb across his shoulderblade. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Scott didn’t step out of the hug. In fact, he seemed to hold on even tighter. Martyn felt a little helpless. Him and Scott were friends, yes, close ones even, but he’d never seen him so vulnerable before. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” Martyn reassured quickly. “Do you want anything? Food? A drink? A blanket?”

“A…a blanket sounds nice.” Scott said, after a few seconds.

“Alright.” Martyn said, but he was getting the sense that Scott didn’t really want to be the one to step away, so he let him stay a little bit longer. “Permission to carry you?”

That got Scott to startle enough to pull his face away from Martyn’s shoulder. He looked perplexed but, all the same, gave a little smile. It felt like a win. “What?”

“You didn’t seem like you wanted to stop hugging.” Martyn shrugged.

“You’re crazy.” Scott said, resting his head on Martyn’s shoulder again. “You can carry me.”

Martyn nodded and maneuvered enough that he could actually pick Scott up, leaving a hand free to shut the door before returning both to Scott and carrying him over to the couch. He grabbed a throw-blanket Cleo had out and handed it to Scott, who took to wrapping himself in it pretty quickly. Martyn had never seen him so small. Scott was like the picture of confidence in his eyes. It felt almost wrong to see him like this, so worn down. It felt far too intimate. Above Martyn’s emotional paygrade, if you will.

But he was the one who happened to be here, and damn it he was going to be here.

Martyn debated asking again what Scott wanted, but Scott just kept looking at Martyn like he was wordlessly asking for his company, so Martyn bit the bullet and sat down on the couch beside Scott and held him once more. He found himself halfway under the blanket, and tried not to let how unbearably domestic this felt get in the way of helping.

“He wants to date Tango.” Scott said, quietly.

“Did he…end things?” Martyn asked, carefully. Scott shook his head.

“He wants to date Tango too.”

“Like a throuple?”

“I guess.” Scott shrugged. “I thought I’d be fine with poly. When we started dating, I said I’d probably be fine with it. Jimmy has a big heart, of course this happened. I knew this would happen. Why am I not fine with it?”

“I don’t think you can really know how something will feel until it happens.” Martyn argued and Scott hummed.

“It feels like I’m not enough for him.” Scott said, laughing pitifully. “Isn’t that stupid?”

“You feel how you feel.” Martyn said. “What do you think will happen next?”

“I don’t know. I think we’re on a break.” Scott said. “I don’t know where to go from here.”

“We’ll figure it out.” Martyn promised.

Scott sat up a bit, giving a little smile. “We will?”

“Sure we will.” Martyn said. “I’m with you, a hundred percent.”

“What about your big dog?” Scott teased.

“Don’t need ‘im.” Martyn said. “I’ve got my mean gill.”

Scott laughed. “Oh god, let that die, will you?”

“Not in a million years. You’re the one who wanted to be mean gills in the first place, you know?” Martyn joked, lightly poking Scott’s arm where it peeked out from beneath the blanket.

“I was drunk, Martyn, I can’t be held accountable.” Scott argued.

“Hey, don’t try and mess with me like that, I know you’re a heavyweight.” Martyn said. “You just pretend to be a lightweight for fun and to flirt with guys easier.”

Scott gasped, affronted. “Who told you that?”

“You did. Same night you asked me to be your mean gill.” Martyn reminded.

“Well I don’t remember that at all, so maybe I was lying then.”

“Maybe.”

“I guess you’ll never know.”

“Not unless I start running experiments.” Martyn joked and Scott rolled his eyes.

“Like you could even fake knowing your way around lab equipment.”

“Hey, I got great grades in chemistry, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh, yeah?” Scott grinned. “Is that because you were good at science or because the teacher liked your antics?”

“No comment.” Martyn said, and Scott laughed. He still had a tear track on his cheek and his nose was a bit red, but he seemed like he was finally beginning to feel better. Martyn couldn’t be prouder.

They talked a bit more, Martyn doing what he did best and trying to keep Scott’s spirits as high as he could, knowing that when Cleo got back they might be at least marginally better at the emotional turmoil stuff. And eventually, Scott started to dose off, clearly exhausted. Martyn’s arm was trapped when he did, pinned by where Scott was clutching it in his sleep—Martyn had no clue Scott could even be clingy like that—but he didn’t make any effort to move it. He was pretty content with it and, besides, scrolling on his phone only really took one hand.

“I’m back. Hope you didn’t burn down my flat—” Cleo announced, and Martyn quickly shushed her. He watched her face shift into confusion as she walked closer. She paled when she saw the scene on the couch, blinking like her brain couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening. “Is that Scott?”

Martyn nodded. “He and Jimmy…sort of fell out? He should explain it, not me.”

“Right.” Cleo sighed.

“Do you want me to wake him?” Martyn asked.

“No, it’s fine Martyn. Let him be.” Cleo said, before they seemed to register how Martyn’s arm was trapped with Scott. They smirked. “Do you want to wake him?”

Martyn shrugged. “He seems cozy.”

“He does.” Cleo said, resituating themself across the coffee table from him. “Think you can play Sorry with one hand?”

“You’re on.” Martyn said, inching forward a bit until he could reach the board and play as effectively as he could.

He checked a couple times to make sure Scott was still asleep and comfortable, and each time he was a bit lost with just how he’d ended up here.

But it wasn’t worth dwelling on. He’d promised Scott they’d get through this. He intended to keep that promise, no matter how many weirdly domestic situations it landed him in. He was just a good friend like that.

Chapter Text

Grian cracked his knuckles as he got up from his seat on the couch, shutting his laptop and placing it on the coffee table in front of him. He’d just finished the quick weekend work of sending off a few sketches and concepts to some other members of his team via email, and while doing so had been momentarily distracted by the baking show he’d absent-mindedly put on in the background. Needless to say, cookies sounded really good right about now.

He made his way to where Scar’s office sat and pushed open the door the rest of the way—Scar always left it cracked a little bit for the cats’ sake, since they loved coming in to snuggle on his lap or just generally make nuisances of themselves while he worked, and he was too weak-willed to say no to their tomfoolery. Speak of the devils, both of their cats were lounging around Scar’s office, one letting out a small ‘mrrp’ from where Grian nearly avoided kicking it as he pushed the door open and the other laying on Scar’s desk. Scar looked up at the sound of the door squeaking, turning in his chair.

“Are you doing anything important?” Grian asked.

“Just finishing up a some modeling, then I’ll be done.” Scar said. “Need anything?”

“Can you make cookies?” Grian asked. Scar gave a little smile.

“What kind?”

Grian thought back to the baking show he’d been watching, and hummed. “Snickerdoodle?”

“I’m on it.” Scar said, giving a little two-fingered salute before turning back to his computer to start closing down his software. Grian grinned and chirped out a little ‘thanks’ before he was scooping up the cat by the door and taking it with him back out into the living room. He let it flop down on the couch beside him and took up the remote to start looking for a new show to watch now that he was able to give it his full attention. Baking shows were fun, and great for motivating his sweet-tooth, but he always got a bit bored of watching them if he wasn’t multi-tasking. They were great for background noise, but he needed plot or his brain just couldn’t really set on any one thing.

Grian spent a bit navigating through the streaming services and channels they had, noticing as Scar entered the kitchen a bit into his search and reemerged only a few moments after Grian settled on a choice.

“We’re out of butter.” Scar said. “Gonna head to the store.”

“Are you sure? It can wait ‘til tomorrow.” Grian asked.

“Are you kidding? I am a man on a mission now!” Scar said, grabbing his coat and heading for the front door. “You, sir, are going to get some snickerdoodles if it’s the last thing I make sure of.”

Grian shook his head fondly. He was going to just let Scar go after that, but his eyes caught on something on the coffee table and he contained a laugh. He called after Scar. “Forgetting something?”

“Oh! I guess I am.” Scar said, ducking back into the room. Instead of going for the coffee table though, he went for Grian, leaning down a bit. He seemed to see the confusion in Grian’s eyes because he stopped just short of the kiss he was obviously going for. “Can I?”

“Yes, Scar. But that’s not what I was talking about.” Grian said, reaching around Scar and grabbing the wallet off the coffee table so he could wave it in front of his face. “Might be hard to buy butter without your card.”

“Oh.” Scar said, cheeks going a bit red. “Silly me.”

“Silly you.” Grian said, but didn’t miss how Scar hadn’t fully stood back up yet. “Go on.”

Scar happily gave him a little kiss goodbye as he took the wallet. “Back in a jif!”

Grian watched him go, settling back a bit with a lingering smile on his face. No one could quite make him feel fond like Scar.

Chapter Text

Lizzie would always adore her brother. They might not be blood-related, but ever since Jimmy had been brought into her life, she was convinced that that could never matter. He was, quite possibly, her favorite person in the whole world—a hard-fought battle between him and Joel that she could never really name a clear winner for. That didn’t mean she wasn’t a little stuck in reminiscence, though. She missed when he was like a little duckling following her around, talking her ear off about everything and trying so hard to be like her in every way. When they did everything together. She would always be proud to see him mature, but there was something about that child-like joy and innocent excitement that she missed seeing everyday. Ever since he’d gotten to year 10 and started hanging around with ‘the Bad Boys,’ he’d been a lot more reserved with his excitement.

Lizzie couldn’t really blame him—she too had had her angsty teen phase, it seemed everyone did—she just missed getting to see that other side of him. To tell him some fun fact she’d learned about sea creatures or something nerdy and watch his eyes light up. To tell a joke and hear him die laughing like he did when they were kids. And since she’d gone off to university, seeing that had gotten even rarer, what with how busy she was and how much he seemed to change even within the space of the few weeks she went without visiting home.

It was a weird feeling, being jealous of her boyfriend, but she really was. Every time she saw him and Jimmy and Grian hanging out together and laughing, she just thought about how she couldn’t honestly remember the last time she made him laugh. At all, almost. He seemed to only ever smile or snort a little bit at her jokes and jabs nowadays. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite get over that.

So the next time Lizzie arrived home for break, she was fully prepared to get a laugh out of Jimmy by the end of this visit by any means necessary. She was a bit disheartened to find that he wasn’t even home when she got there, though. Instead, he was at some friend’s house. She wondered if he even remembered she was getting home today. If maybe he just didn’t care that much. If he didn’t miss her like she missed him.

She elected to ignore it, instead chatting with her parents and trying to catch them up on all the things happening at uni. It was pretty easy to slip into that, her talking about homework and professors and them talking about the new coffee table her dad was building or how her mom wanted help workshopping a new muffin recipe. She almost didn’t even realize how much time had gone by until her dad got up to start on dinner and Jimmy still hadn’t come home yet.

“What friend is he with again?” She asked her mom, who shook her head fondly.

“Oli, I think, but you know Jimmy, he could be anywhere.” She said. “So bad at telling me where he’s off to.”

Lizzie hummed, but couldn’t help but feel a little discomforted. Jimmy used to be such a goody-two-shoes. When had he changed like that? How hadn’t she noticed? “How has he been?”

“He’s been well, dear.” Her mom reassured. “Just leaning into his independence a little bit. You were like that not too long ago.”

Lizzie smiled. “I told you where I was, at least.”

“When you thought we were awake.” Her mom pointed out, sly. “Don’t think we didn’t notice you sneaking out. It’s an old house.”

Lizzie flushed, a tad embarrassed that her parents had known all along about the sneaking out she’d done. It shouldn’t have been that surprising, but it did make her feel a little awkward. “You’ve got me.”

Lizzie’s mom smiled, going to start a sentence about her sneaking out, probably to tease her about Joel or something, when the front door creaked open. Lizzie leaned over the back of the couch to see Jimmy walking in, shoving his house key in the pocket of the leather jacket he wore everywhere. A gift from Joel after becoming a ‘Bad Boy,’ she believed. They’d kind of disbanded since Joel left for uni and Grian got more and more busy with working on his A-Levels, but Jimmy was still mighty attached to it. It was a little endearing, to be honest. Lizzie grinned when she saw him, waving at him. He looked at her a bit wide-eyed.

“Oh, hi Lizzie.” He said.

“Forget I was coming back today?” Lizzie asked, teasing. Jimmy looked a little embarrassed, but just shrugged.

“You’re home just in time, dear. We’re having dinner in a few minutes.” Their mom said, and Jimmy nodded.

“Gonna go shower.” He said before shuffling off down the hall.

Lizzie didn’t really chat to him much more that evening. Dinner was pretty lively, but only because their family was itself. Jimmy didn’t really contribute much, honestly. He seemed occupied with something else. Like his mind was elsewhere. Lizzie had overheard him quietly ask their mom if he could eat in his room, which she lightly scolded him for.

“Your sister just got back, Jimmy. You weren’t even home when she got here.” She’d said. “At least give her this.”

Jimmy had grumbled in response but obliged. Lizzie pretended she hadn’t noticed anything wrong, and she kept that up until she found herself sitting in her family’s kitchen, leaning over the countertop and scrolling through the instructions to some assignment that one of her new courses had given. It was easy, just some intro work so they could skip over the groundwork and get to the actual important things, but it would never not be annoying having work over break.

She was distracted from it, though, when she heard footsteps and looked up in time to catch Jimmy standing in the entrance to the kitchen like a deer in headlights.

“Hey Jimmy.” She said, and he gave her a little noise of acknowledgement before navigating past her and to one of the cabinets. Midnight snack, then. Lizzie could get that. She went back to her phone after a second, ignoring the little bumping of the cupboard against itself and the crinkling of a bag of crisps.

“Hey, Liz?” Jimmy asked, suddenly. She looked up and raised an eyebrow. She could barely see him in the little light that came from the above-stove one she’d turned on so she didn’t strain her eyes too much, but she knew he’d be able to see it. “How’d you know you were in love with Joel?”

“Ah, finally seeking my advice, hm?” She teased lightly. He shrugged. “Well, to be honest, I didn’t really. He was just really sweet, and I liked hanging out with him and being around him. I always got so excited when I saw him, and it was nice ‘cause he was so easy to talk to. Saying yes when he asked me out just made sense.”

“Alright. Thanks.” Jimmy nodded, looking like he might leave. Lizzie narrowed her eyes.

“But if you mean when I knew I was in love with him, it was when we were on this date and he told me that he scored tickets to this concert I’d been raving about for a while. I’d mentioned a few weeks earlier not being able to go since I didn’t have any spending money and he just got them for me as a surprise. He didn’t even like the band, just knew it would make me happy. And goodness knows how much those tickets cost.” Lizzie smiled, recounting it. “It was how I realized just how selfless he was. Just how far he’d go to make me smile, and how well he listened.”

Jimmy smiled. “That’s cute.”

“It was.” Lizzie said. “You wanna know another time?”

“Okay?”

“When he told me he was getting you that jacket you always wear.” Lizzie said, and watched Jimmy’s eyes pop.

Jimmy blinked. “Wha—my jacket?”

“Yep.” Lizzie said. “Jimmy, I don’t know who you’re in love with, but I need you to listen very closely to the advice I’m about to give you.”

Jimmy shifted on his feet, but looked intent. “Yeah?”

“If the person you love doesn’t love me as much as you do, drop ‘em.” Lizzie said, comically serious. “I am not dealing with any bitter in-laws.”

Jimmy smiled a little, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

“Oh?” Lizzie said, leaning forward. “Do tell.”

“Uh, well, he’s a pretty close friend of yours.” Jimmy admitted.

“It’s Scott, isn’t it?” Lizzie said after a couple seconds of deliberation. Jimmy looked shocked.

“Well…I mean, yes, but how did you—”

“Jimmy, you bring him up constantly.” Lizzie bemoaned. “It would be more unforgivable if you weren’t in love with him, honestly. But you get a pass.”

“Did you…” Jimmy looked a little nervous. “How long have you known I was bi?”

“Jimmy, I don’t know how to tell you that no straight man would ogle Captain America the way you do.” Lizzie said matter-of-factly, and Jimmy laughed. Genuinely laughed. Lizzie swelled with pride in herself. She’d missed that sound.

“I guess that’s fair.”

“Oh, and Jim?” Lizzie said, dropping her voice to a more conspiratorial tone. “Me too.”

“You too as in…Captain America?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, teasingly. “As in I’m also bi, Jimmy.”

“Oh!” Jimmy said. “Well I guess that makes us the sea-bi-lings…oh gosh.”

Lizzie put a hand over her mouth to muffle the laughter that poured out of her. The kitchen was pretty far from their parents bedroom, but if they’d heard her sneaking out at night, who knew what else they could hear from there.

“That sounded so much better in my head.” Jimmy groaned. For the first time in a long while, Lizzie felt like she had her dorky little brother back.

“I’m using that now.” She said and Jimmy groaned again and covered his face with his hands.

“Aw, man!” Jimmy said. “This sucks. I’m so cringe.”

“A little.” Lizzie smiled, letting him wallow for just a moment longer. “So, about this Scott thing.”

“Yeah?” Jimmy asked, lifting his head from his hands.

“Tell me everything.” Lizzie implored, and watched him smile before launching into a long-winded explanation. Talking her ear off in the dead of night. Maybe he hadn’t changed so much, after all.

Chapter Text

Gem was never going to tire of the stage. The roar of the crowd and the blinding lights. The rush of energy she could feel every time she got on stage, the adrenaline and excitement and the knowledge that at least someone here, in this huge festival audience, was here specifically for her. And if they had the time of their life, then that was all that mattered.

Her calves burned from how much she was jumping around, trying to hype up the crowd and herself. Losing herself in the music. 

She did miss having a band, a typical one, where she could look to Scott and Impulse and know they were there singing and playing right with her. That they weren’t just bandmates, but friends. That didn’t mean she didn’t absolutely adore every set of musicians she played with, the one for this festival was fantastic, but it was a different feeling. She was the main musician. She was in charge of making this performance what it truly was. It was weird not hearing Scott’s backing vocals through her earpiece, or not being able to look over to Impulse while he nodded along to the beat. She’d gotten a little used to it over the years, but it was still strange. The last time she’d played a venue even close to this size was when they were still a band. It was weird being alone like this. She tried not to think about it too much. To let the movement and the music and the crowd whisk her into a different headspace. To let loose.

She hit the final note of the final song with a clarity that surprised even herself once she was done, and she felt nearly dizzy as the crowd erupted into cheers. She dipped into a little bow, holding her guitar—which she’d learned so she could give some extra flair to some of her newer songs—close to her chest before letting it go to hang around her so she could grab the microphone and shout out her final farewells to the audience.

After one last acknowledgement of the band into the microphone, she quickly got her things together and vacated the stage so the next performer could set up. She stopped briefly along the way to say goodbye to the band and smiled when the drummer pressed her phone number into Gem’s palm. Business or otherwise, Gem didn’t think she would mind seeing her again.

Gem maneuvered through the crowded backstage area and to her little corner, collecting all of her things and getting ready to leave. She was only booked for this first day of the festival, and since she did still have a ‘real’ job, she had to get back to the city preferably before midnight so that she wasn’t dead on her feet when she strolled in the next morning. She tucked her things into the little duffle bag she kept for gigs and packed up her guitar before running over to sound to get the final thing. Her microphone, customized for her by her former bandmates with ‘The Heart’ emblazoned on the side. She remembered being absolutely overwhelmed when she got it, and after all these years, she’d refused to use any other microphone unless it was absolutely necessary. Any venue she could get to agree to connect her microphone to the audio, she did it. This festival was no exception, and she was eternally grateful to the sound team for making it work and for getting it disconnected so quickly. She took it from one of the crew members with a rushed but very sincere ‘thank you’ before she was navigating towards the exit to the backstage area.

As she did so, she took her phone out and called Skizz, who’d agreed to be her ride home since she still didn’t have her own car and usually relied on public transport. He’d been enthusiastic about it, too. Had been calling himself her ‘personal driver’ and insisting she call him that too. And, if she wasn’t a little worried about coming off pretentious to new artists she met, she totally would.

“Hey, Gemstone!” Skizz said.

“Hey, Skizz! I just got done with the performance.” Gem said, wrapping her jacket a little tighter around herself to fight off the chill of early evening. “Ready for pick-up.”

“I know! Already on my way.” Skizz said. “How was it?”

“It was…good…” Gem said, trailing off as Skizz’s words finally registered. “Skizz? What do you mean you know?”

“Hm? Oh, shoot.” Skizz laughed. “Always ruining surprises! Ignore that.”

“Skizz, what’s—?”

“There she is!” A familiar accented voice rang through the air, and Gem whipped around to see Scott and Impulse coming in her direction. Impulse had his arms up in a cheer, shouting something about how good of a job she did. Gem’s jaw dropped and she stuttered out something about calling Skizz back before she was hanging up just in time to accept the giant bear hug Impulse picked her up in.

“Scott? Impulse?” She asked, once he let go. “What are you guys doing here?”

“What, can’t two guys come and support their favorite ex-bandmate?” Impulse asked, smiling.

“Who did great, by the way.” Scott added, and Gem finally noticed the bouquet of flowers in his hands as he held them out to her. She took them and examined them closely. They were beautiful, if not a little bent up around the edges. Scott looked a bit amused, glancing at Impulse knowingly. “They didn’t totally survive the excitement.”

“Hey! It’s really hard to mosh with a bunch of flowers, I’ll have you know.” Impulse defended.

“There wasn’t even a moshpit.” Scott said, rolling his eyes. “He’s just crazy.”

“Rude.” Impulse admonished. “If you were so worried, why didn’t you hold them?”

“I was busy clapping along.” Scott said, like that really mattered.

“Well, maybe I wanted to clap along, too!”

Scott laughed, before seeming to finally notice Gem, who’d been just staring at the flowers since they’d been handed to her. She took the petal of one of them between her fingers and rubbed it soothingly, feeling a pressure beginning to build behind her eyes. A stinging in her nose and wobbling of her lip. “Gem?”

Gem shook her head, about to reassure herself and them that she was just fine before she actually looked up and caught sight of the both of them. She hadn’t even recognized it, what with the encroaching night and the rush of what was happening, but they were both dressed up in imitations of their old ‘Gem and the Scotts’ outfits, makeup and everything. She couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, and hiccuped, watching their eyes widen as she went to hide the lower half of her face with a hand.

“Oh no! No, don’t cry.” Impulse said, softly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. Oh, Gem, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” She fought out. “I just…I’m really happy you guys came.”

“Aww, Gem.” Scott said.

“Come here.” Impulse said, pulling her into another hug. She moved the flowers out of the way so they wouldn’t get crushed and hugged him back with her one arm, looking over at Scott and beckoning him so they’d all three be hugging. He relented pretty quickly. “I didn’t know you were such a sap.”

Gem gave a watery laugh, pulling back and wiping at her cheeks. “I’m not!”

“You might be.” Scott teased.

“I’m not usually!” She said. “You guys are just mean.”

“Just a little.” He said, pulling a small pack of tissues from his pocket.

“Did you know I would cry?” Gem asked, taking the offered tissues either way.

“I always carry around tissues. You never know when someone might need one.” Scott shrugged.

Gem laughed. “You’re so stupid.”

“Hey!”

“Alright, break it up you two.” Impulse said, pushing Scott away gently, to which Scott just looked a little bit offended. Impulse gave Gem another big smile. “You really did kill it out there.”

“Thanks.” Gem said, fighting back another wave of tears. “I miss performing with you guys.”

“We kinda miss it, too.” Impulse admitted. He looked a bit apologetic. “If we weren’t so busy, I promise, we’d be right there with you.”

“Maybe we could work out a reunion of some kind.” Scott offered. “Get the band back together.”

Gem smiled. “I’d like that.”

Impulse’s phone went off and he pulled it out of his pocket. “Skizz says he’s here. Parking lot ‘A?’”

“Why didn’t he just go back to where he dropped us off?” Scott asked. Gem was excited to put together that they were all driving home together. Maybe she’d even be able to convince them to stop somewhere along the way and get dinner. Her plan of being home before it was too late was fully forgotten.

“He’s Skizz.” She answered, and Scott nodded thoughtfully.

Impulse laughed. “You’re all ready to go?”

Gem nodded, picking her duffel bag up from the ground and tapping the strap of her guitar case. “All good!”

She followed them, watching Impulse try—and somewhat fail—to navigate them to parking lot ‘A’ using a little map of the festival grounds he’d pulled up on his phone and catching up with Scott as they walked. She was pretty proud of the performance she’d put on, but it almost didn’t matter. The feeling of performing was one thing, but she was fairly certain that nothing could ever really top this.

Chapter Text

Grian doesn’t know that he would call himself an “artist.” He could do some rudimentary sketches and had a lot of practice with design and blueprints, but outside of that he was kind of useless when it came to craftsmanship. It just never really clicked for him, he supposed, which was why it was always a bit difficult to get himself to agree to things like this—a pottery cafe that Bdubs had been insistent on dragging him to for whatever reason. He’d heard of the place before as something that Scar’s little “Clockers” friend group had done for an outing, and it seemed that Bdubs had fallen head-over-heels for the place. When he’d asked Grian to come with, it’d been under the pretense that Bdubs wanted to make something for Etho as a gift since their anniversary was coming up and Bdubs apparently needed someone to come with him who “wouldn’t snitch.” Grian could see pretty clear through that—he was just as likely to spill secrets as anyone else they knew, really—but he relented. He was sure he’d never know the real reason anyway. Who was he to try and understand Bdubs’s machinations?

“All you have to do is pick a thing and paint it.” Bdubs explained, gesturing to the big wall of unfinished ceramic pieces on the shelves. “You don’t actually make it yourself.”

“It won’t turn out lopsided, then?” Grian asked.

“Not unless you really screw it up.” Bdubs said. “But I believe in you.”

“Right, so I just…” Grian carefully picked up a pretty standard looking mug from the shelf and Bdubs gave him a nod and grabbed his own, more confusingly shaped, mug-vase-thing and started leading the both of them towards a table with paints and paintbrushes.

Bdubs got into the swing of it really quickly, picking out colors and brushes and setting to work. It was pretty obvious he’d done this before. Grian on the other hand just kind of wound up staring at his plain mug base, inspiration lost to the wind. He picked up the mug a couple times, spinning it in his hands and trying to think of anything to put on it. What was he even going to use this for, anyway? He already had a favorite mug, this fun one covered in cats that Scar got him before they even started going out, and he really only used it. They had other mugs, sure, but those were only for when his favorite was dirty. Or for Scar’s use.

“Hitting a roadblock?” Bdubs asked, glancing up from his furious painting to finally realize that Grian had yet to make any progress at all.

Grian sighed. “I’ve just got nothing. I don’t have a plan and it makes me not want to start it at all.”

“What’s something you like?” Bdubs asked. “Just slap that on there.”

“Cats, I guess, but I already have a mug covered in them.”

“Oh, yeah! That one Scar made you, right?” Bdubs asked, and Grian quirked an eyebrow.

“Made me?” Grian asked.

“Yeah, man. I helped him make it like decades ago.” Bdubs said, throwing his arms out to represent the apparent decades. “D’you think he just bought that?”

“He never said otherwise!” Grian said, rubbing his eye in disbelief. “Ugh, Scar.”

Bdubs laughed. “Well, how’s about you get back at him?”

“Make him a mug and pretend I didn’t make it?” Grian hummed.

“Yeah, dude! And it’s even more fun ‘cause then one day I can do the same thing to him that I did to you just now!” Bdubs said, and Grian laughed.

“Deal.”

He pretty quickly started on the mug after that, doing a bunch of little cats all around the cup. He made the biggest ones look like their own cats, just so it’d be extra funny when Scar didn’t catch onto the fact that he made it. It wasn’t perfect—again, Grian’s art skills were pretty primarily meant for buildings—but not too shoddy either. Grian could probably be convinced that it came from some sort of market stall of handmade things if he didn’t know he himself made it. To be honest, that’s kind of where he thought the mug Scar gave him came from. He felt a bit silly looking back on it, but really, if Scar wanted credit, why wouldn’t he say anything?

Maybe he really was just that forgetful. Grian couldn’t say he didn’t find it endearing.

—

About a week later, after the pottery cafe had finished firing the mug and told him to come pick it up, Grian arrived home with it in tow. He opened the door and beelined to the kitchen to unpack it and throw out the branded bag and wrapping the pottery place used. He was intending to make them both coffee or tea or something in their newly matching mugs, but was interrupted by Scar coming into the kitchen halfway through him washing it.

“Hey!” Scar said, wheeling around the countertop. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I was being sneaky.” Grian said, wiping the mug clean.

“Oh?”

“I got you something.” Grian said, putting the dishrag down and showing off the mug. Scar ‘ooh’ed audibly and took it, turning it over in his hands excitedly. “It matches my one.”

“It does!” Scar gasped, looking up with a big smile. “Look at us with our matching mugs.”

Grian grinned. “I was gonna make coffee.”

“At five? Grian, self-preservation please.” Scar judged and Grian scoffed.

“Coming from you?”

Scar shrugged, smiling. “I can make us hot no-coa.”

“But this was supposed to be my surprise.” Grian complained. “And I’m not having no-coa in the middle of Spring.”

“Okay Mister-No-Fun.” Scar said, setting the mug on the counter. “Make us tea or something. No caffeine!”

“And I’m Mister-No-Fun.” Grian scoffed as Scar left, laughing.

—

It must’ve been close to a year later that Scar barged into the bedroom while Grian was getting ready for sleep, holding the mug and looking baffled.

“You made this?” He asked, and Grian blinked a couple times before cackling.

“You made me one!” He said, jabbing a finger at Scar and laughing harder when Scar looked confused.

“I did?”

“Scar!” He shouted. “Is that why you never admitted it? You really forgot?”

Scar looked at the mug in his hand sheepishly. “I guess so.”

“Oh, Scar, never change please.” Grian said, wiping a tear from his eye.

“So you didn’t tell me you made this just to get back at me?” Scar asked.

“Sure did.”

“Unbelievable.” Scar sighed. “Well I guess we’re even.”

“We are.” Grian agreed.

“Thank you.” Scar said, after a moment. “I love it.”

“Thank you.” Grian smiled. “It’s my favorite mug, you know.”

“I do.” Scar smiled back. “Wish I’d remembered I made it.”

“You know now.” Grian said. “And you made it in the first place. That’s what counts.”

“It is, isn’t it.” Scar beamed. “I am just the greatest.”

“Alright.” Grian said, waving him away. “Get out of here, I want to change.”

“Okay, okay.” Scar said, retreating. “Thank you!”

Grian smiled fondly, shaking his head as Scar left. He hoped Scar never noticed that it took Grian way, way more time to figure out that Scar made his mug than it took for Scar to notice Grian made his. He was pretty sure he wouldn’t, but if he did, Grian was sure he’d never hear the end of it. If Scar even remembered, that was. Maybe his forgetfulness was for the best. It certainly worked in Grian’s favor. And it was pretty endearing.

Chapter Text

Bad Boys sleepovers had become a pretty common occurrence since they’d started hanging out more frequently, but Jimmy still wasn’t totally used to sleeping in a room that wasn’t his own. It just felt weird, you know? Joel’s house was pretty nice and he had extra mattresses for some reason so it wasn’t like he had to sleep on the floor or anything, but it was a bit uncomfortable. Jimmy was pretty often the last person to fall asleep for that reason.

Not tonight, apparently.

He had thought Grian and Joel had fallen asleep like, an hour ago. Maybe less, time was weird when you were just staring at the ceiling. But he’d started hearing this rustling sound, which for a while just seemed like one of them shifting around in their sleep but soon turned more clearly into what sounded like someone trying to hide the fact that they were crying. That definitely got his attention.

He sat up a bit, blanket falling off of him a bit as he tried to get his eyes to adjust more appropriately to the darkness. He pretty quickly noticed that Joel was conked out, but Grian had turned so he wasn’t facing either of them, and his shoulders were shaking. Jimmy felt his stomach sink.

“Grian?” He whispered, and watched as the other physically paused.

“Go back to sleep, Jim.” Grian said back.

Jimmy frowned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just a nightmare.” Grian said. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay.” Jimmy said, but stayed sitting. He didn’t like the idea of leaving one of his best friends on his own, even if Grian said to. It just felt wrong. He opened his mouth a couple times, trying to hype himself up into saying something, and finally managed to spit it out. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Grian groaned. “I said I’m fine, Jimmy. It’s none of your business.”

“I just wanna help.” Jimmy said, picking at the threads of the wool blanket Joel had given him.

“Wha’s happening?” Joel’s muffled voice came from the bed, and Jimmy looked over to see him squinting at them, looking like he was about two seconds away from falling asleep again.

“Oh, great, now Joel’s up too.” Grian hissed, turning over so that his face was buried in his pillow.

Jimmy grimaced. “Sorry?”

“Why’re you being a prick, Grian?” Joel asked, and Jimmy quickly turned to him and made a swift ‘cut it out’ motion across his throat. Joel just looked at him like he was crazy.

Grian pushed himself up enough that he could glare at Joel, and Jimmy was vaguely able to make out dried teartracks on his face. “Why are you both so nosey?”

“I thought you liked that about us.” Joel pushed and Grian huffed.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna talk about it?” Jimmy asked and Grian turned his deathglare to him.

“Doesn’t seem like you two wanna give me a choice.”

“You don’t have to—” Jimmy tried.

“Spill, bird boy.” Joel goaded. “I wanna know why I’m having my beauty sleep interrupted.”

“Don’t you have to be beautiful to get beauty sleep?” Grian mumbled and Joel made a noise of offense.

“Grian.” Jimmy said, trying to bring them back to the topic at hand. Grian frowned. “Please?”

“It was just a nightmare about my last school.” Grian shrugged. Jimmy nodded. He didn’t know much about the school Grian went to before coming to theirs, but it was pretty easy to pick up on the fact that it wasn’t super fun there. Jimmy assumed he was bullied or something, as crazy as that seemed. Jimmy couldn’t imagine someone bullying Grian. He thought he was way too cool for that to ever happen. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Jimmy hummed. “Well, whatever happened, it’s not gonna happen with us around.”

“Seconded.” Joel said. “I’ll pummel anyone who messes with you.”

Grian smiled a bit. “Thanks guys.”

“Of course.” Jimmy said, sincere. “You’re, like, my best mate next to Joel.”

“Aww, Tim.” Grian said. “I didn’t know you were a sap.”

“Not very bad boy of you.” Joel said, reaching out to rustle Jimmy’s hair. Jimmy squawked, leaning out of the way and covering his head with his hands. “Might have to take the jacket back.”

“What? No, no! Guys!” Jimmy pleaded.

“Yeah, c’mon Joel, Tim’s bad.” Grian said, though Jimmy could tell by his tone that Grian was really just making fun of him. “He’s skipped class and everything.”

“Not without crying the whole time about teachers yelling at us.” Joel scoffed.

“I was not crying!”

“Sounded like crying to me.” Joel said, before imitating a baby crying. Jimmy gasped and started swatting at him, trying to get him to shut up as Grian laughed in the background.

“Dude, you’re gonna wake up your parents!” Jimmy said, whacking Joel on the shoulder.

“My parents aren’t even home, idiot.” Joel said, rolling his eyes. “I told you that.”

“Oh, right.”

“Can we go do something?” Grian asked. “I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t think I’m getting back to sleep now.”

“But what about Joel’s beauty rest?” Jimmy teased and Joel shoved him onto the ground. Jimmy gasped. “You could’ve bent my wing, you crazy man!”

“Oh, give it a rest, princess.” Joel mocked.

“Princess?”

“I’m hungry.” Grian said, with a mischievous lilt to his voice. “We should make bread again.”

“I’m in.” Jimmy said, pointedly straightening out the feathers on his wing. “Can we put chocolate chips in it?”

“Do you want to kill me?” Grian said. “I thought you said you were gonna be good friends.”

“Okay, well, I obviously meant fake chocolate chips. That’d kill me too.” Jimmy said. “And I am a good friend!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I don’t know if we have fake chocolate chips.” Joel said. “No offense, mate, but I don’t really have the fancy rich people money for that kinda thing.”

“It’s not a rich people thing, it’s an avian thing.” Jimmy said.

“Well, I’m not an avian.” Joel said. “I can eat all the real chocolate I want.”

“Lucky.” Grian mumbled.

“Let’s put something else fun in it, then.” Jimmy said.

“We should do something that Joel’s allergic to, then.” Grian teased.

Joel huffed. “Good luck baking pollen into bread, genius.”

“Aren’t you also allergic to shellfish?” Grian asked.

“Only a little.” Joel said. “And you say that like bloody shrimp bread is gonna be any better.”

“Just let Tim loose in your kitchen and I’m sure we’ll find something that’ll kill you.” Grian said. “Purposeful or not.”

“You’re on.”

“Wh—hey!” Jimmy said as Grian got up and grabbed his hand to pull him to his feet.

“C’mon, Timmy, we’re gonna kill Joel.”

“I don’t want to kill Joel!” Jimmy complained.

“Too bad, we’ve got a mission.”

“It’s been nice knowing you, Jimmy.” Joel sighed, getting up to follow them. “Can’t believe I’m going out to the likes of you.”

“Oh my—alright, let’s kill him.” Jimmy agreed, leading the charge to Joel’s kitchen while his friends’ laughter followed him. He smiled to himself a bit as he sped up. There was a small part of him that worried, sometimes, about losing the both of them as their lives changed and as they grew up. But then he reminded himself of stuff like this. Grian and Joel were like his brothers. They weren’t getting rid of him that easy.

Chapter Text

Of all the teachers at this stupid school, Joel was glad that at least the band teacher liked him. That was what being one of the only kids on percussion would get you, he guessed. He was happy about it. It meant that he could pretty easily secure himself one of the two practice rooms if he ever wanted it, which he did often. He’d originally taken up drumming since it would be a good outlet for his anger issues, according to his childhood therapist. He didn’t really have anger issues anymore—not as intense ones at least, he was working on it—but the drumming passion had stayed. Whether it was an outlet or just a way to feel like he was doing something creative and productive, he’d been doing it a lot lately, so having the practice room practically guaranteed if he ever wanted to come in for an hour before or after school when the band teacher was just there doing whatever teachers did was nice.

It did also make him a bit predictable for his liking, but he guessed it was only the people he was cool with who could predict him like that, so he wasn’t too upset about it. Case and point?

“I thought I might find you here.”

The voice piped up only a couple seconds after Joel finished up a song he was working on as a passion project. He looked up to find Etho standing at the door of the practice room, looking a little like he didn’t know how to stand and not be awkward about it. Joel gave him a look but didn’t dwell on it.

“Hey Etho.” Joel said, collecting both drumsticks in one hand so he could grab his water. “Need something?”

“Had to stay after for a redstoning club thing, but it finished really early.” Etho said. “Thought I might come see what you were doing.”

“Well. You’ve seen.” Joel said, gesturing around loosely as he set his water bottle back down.

“Could I sit in here while you practice?” Etho asked.

Joel nodded. “Sure, mate. Just don’t be distracting me.”

“Will do. Won’t do?” Etho said, sitting cross legged on the floor by the door. “Won’t do.”

For a while, Joel just turned back to practicing and Etho seemed to have busied himself with some sort of homework assignment, and it was like that until Joel’s ‘warning’ alarm started going off and he picked his phone up from the floor and switched it off. He stood from sitting and stretched, before starting to get everything packed up as per routine.

“Time to go?” Etho asked.

“Jeremy leaves like an hour and a half after the school day ends and I have to be out before he can go home so I have a warning to leave early so I don’t cause him trouble.” Joel said, referencing the band teacher.

“He lets you call him by his first name?” Etho asked, beginning to pack up his own bag.

“Jeremy’s his last name, idiot.” Joel corrected. “Gosh, Etho, it’s like you’ve never listened to me.”

“Sorry. In my defense, I don’t think you talk about your band teacher all that much.” Etho said.

Joel mumbled something mocking, and smiled a bit with his back turned to Etho, finishing packing up all his things.

“Hey, Joel? I actually, uh…” Etho started, hesitating as he stepped closer. Joel raised an eyebrow and gestured as if to say ‘out with it.’ “Well, I kind of came here today because I…wanted to ask you out?”

Joel furrowed his brow. “Uh.”

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah? I mean, no. Not really?” Joel said, shrugging. He felt a little bad about how awkward this was turning. “I mean, it’s fine you feel like that, I guess, but I don’t really swing that way, man.”

“Oh. Right, sorry. Of course.” Etho stumbled, composing himself. “But all the jokes…?”

Joel shrugged again. “I just thought it was a funny bit. I didn’t know you thought I really liked you like that. Or that you liked me like that.”

“That makes sense. Maybe I don’t.” Etho said, scratching his head. “I’m kind of confused about everything, honestly.”

“Hey, man, listen.” Joel said, stepping forward and setting a hand on Etho’s shoulder. “You’re one of my best mates, okay? I think you’re a really cool guy, I just don’t like cool guys the same way I like cool girls, if that means anything.”

Etho nodded, but seemed to also find the way Joel phrased that amusing. Good, Joel didn’t want the mood to be damp. “I get what you mean.”

“I still like you a lot as a friend though. And I know you’re still obsessed with me, so I don’t think that whole thing is changing anytime soon.”

“Hey, I’m not obsessed with you! You’re the one obsessed with me.”

“I don’t know, Etho, a love confession is pretty obsessed behavior.” Joel teased.

“Oh come on!” Etho said, pushing him back and huffing. “That’s a low blow, Joel.”

“You clearly don’t know me if you don’t think I’m going to go for low blows.” Joel grinned. “Seriously though mate, there’s no hard feelings.”

“You’re sure?” Etho asked.

“Positive.” Joel said. “And I still think the jokes are funny if you’re okay with them.”

Etho’s eyes crinkled in a smile. “Sure.”

“Don’t worry man, I am going to be the best wingman in the whole world from now on.” Joel swore. “We are going to get you the man of your dreams.”

“Well, I don’t really know if that’s what I want yet.” Etho shrugged. “This was kind of a test run I guess? But I don’t feel totally crushed, so maybe I don’t like guys after all.”

“Well, whoever or whatever you’re into, I’m gonna help you bag ‘em.” Joel said. “You can trust me on that.”

Etho laughed. “If you say so.”

“And thanks for being so chill, yeah? Like, I’ve heard of people who go full crazy when someone rejects them.” Joel said. Etho tilted his head.

“Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you?” He said, laughing a bit. “For, like, letting me down easy?”

“Well, if you wanted to make it up to me for being so gracious, I could use a coffee.” Joel said. “Big essay due tonight and I haven’t started.”

“Is that so?” Etho said, giving Joel an incredulous look. He sighed. “I guess I could buy you a coffee.”

“Oh, Etho, you don’t have to do all that for little old me.” Joel said, not giving Etho space to respond before he was started out the door. “Well, if you insist.”

“Hey, wait up!” Etho called out, following after him and asking what coffee place Joel even wanted to go to.

And both of them were pretty content in knowing that, all things considered, that could’ve gone a lot worse.

Chapter Text

Scott would always love going on holiday, especially because with all the mess that was his and his boyfriends’ schedules, them even getting to think about one was crazy rare. When they did roll around, though, Scott was determined to make the most of them and could get a bit intense with the planning. Thus, ‘the Scott-Free Hour,’ as Martyn had so lovingly entitled it, was put in place. An hour or so each day of the holiday where they’d all split from each other to go do whatever they wanted without need for planning or to all be on the same page. It was technically an ‘alone time hour,’ not just a ‘Scott-Free’ one, but apparently that name was “more fun.” Scott thought it was a bit rude, personally, but changing Martyn’s mind on a bit was hard enough as it was, and Scott was fine to let the rule be called something a little targeted if it meant no complaining otherwise. Besides, he did kind of like having an hour to himself. Just to go see the sights that none of his boyfriends were all that interested in or to give himself a break from feeling like he needed to know what was going on at all times.

Like now, for instance, on their little seaside get-away as a celebration of their three year anniversary all together. Scott had found himself this small art gallery slash coffee shop and had spent a while just walking around the little art gallery offshoot and looking at everything. It was nice seeing all the different techniques and styles used, his favorite piece being a collection of small driftwood sculptures of birds, and finding little things that he thought could fit perfectly in their place back home. He didn’t indulge his love for fun art pieces nearly enough, if you asked him. Maybe he would have to get something to bring back home.

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket as he was looking at a cute little painting of a boat drifting out onto the water, a tiny cat perched on the bow, and pulled it out to check.

Flower Husband <3 (sent 13:48): Where are you rn?

Scott smiled, dropping his location pin before texting back with a picture of the driftwood birds he’d taken earlier.

Scott (sent 13:49): [Attachment: 1 Photo]

Scott (sent 13:49): Trying to break Scott-Free hour rules?

Flower Husband <3 (sent 13:50): It’s almost over anyway

Flower Husband <3 (sent 13:50): And I have something 4 u

[Flower Husband <3 loved an attachment]

Scott (sent 13:50): Oh?

Flower Husband <3 (sent 13:51): There in 10isj

Scott (sent 13:51): Do you want anything from the cafe?

Flower Husband <3 (sent 13:53): Hot chicolate

Scott (sent 13:53): We’re at the beach Jimmy

Jimmy didn’t respond in the next couple minutes, so Scott assumed that he did not, in fact, care that they were at the beach and that that was an absurd place to have a hot chocolate. Especially with the weather as nice as it was. Scott was one to judge, not to stop, though, so he got the dumb hot chocolate alongside a nice fancy lavender lemonade drink for himself and sat at one of the mercifully free tables by the cafe windows. It was nice for the view alone, but it also meant he could see Jimmy coming and wave him down so he didn’t get lost. Which was apparently needed based on the way he kept glancing up and down at his phone to check where he was.

“Hey.” Jimmy said, once he got inside, pressing a kiss to Scott’s lips as he sat across from him.

“Hello to you too.” Scott smiled. He eyed the small bouquet of wildflowers in Jimmy’s hand. “Are those for me?”

“Indeed they are.” Jimmy said, holding them out across the table. Scott took them carefully, admiring them and the little twine that was used to hold them together. Lots of colors, but mainly blue and red, with the red ones looking what Scott assumed were purposefully poppy-adjacent.

“Oh, Jimmy. These are beautiful.” Scott said.

“I picked them myself.” Jimmy beamed. “There was this really great community garden and a nice older lady there offered me some of the flowers from the patch she was working on. Even gave me the twine to make them a proper bouquet.”

“That’s very sweet of her.” Scott smiled. “Thank you so much. I love them. I’m only sorry we probably won’t be able to take them home with us.”

“Probably not.” Jimmy agreed. “But, you will be thrilled by the other thing I got!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah! Look at this.” Jimmy said, producing a small camera from his bag along with a little ziploc baggie full of polaroids. “Fun, yeah? I thought it could be a fun way to take memories of the holiday.”

Scott smiled, taking the bag and opening it to carefully look through the few polaroids Jimmy’s taken so far. “Is that it?”

“Well, and I’ve just been wanting a camera for a while.” Jimmy admitted. “But you can’t say it’s not a nice idea.”

“I can’t.” Scott relented.

“Here, let me get a picture of you and your flowers.” Jimmy said, bringing the camera up to his eye. Scott smiled, playing along and holding the flowers in such a way that they’d be fully visible alongside himself. Jimmy snapped the picture after a few seconds, taking it away from his eye and waiting for the photo to dispense, waving it around so it’d dry and talking as he did so. “You are just a natural. It’s almost like you pose for a living.”

“Almost like that.” Scott smiled, watching his phone begin buzzing on the table as Martyn and Tango discussed meeting up to get lunch. “Looks like Scott-Free hour’s up.”

“It’s been up for a few minutes, they’re both just late to noticing.” Jimmy said. “Guess we should go find them though, huh?”

“Guess so.” Scott said, standing from the table and helping Jimmy collect all his things so they could go meet Martyn and Tango at the hotel before going for lunch. He looked down at the flowers in his hand, rubbing a petal between his fingers. “We should get these in water.”

“That’ll be stop one.” Jimmy promised, giving Scott his hand, which Scott took in his free one after dropping his empty cup in the trash. “To the hotel room?”

“Lead the way.” Scott smiled, letting Jimmy walk them out of the cafe and down the roads towards the hotel they were staying at. Scott knew he’d have to take over in a little bit, since Jimmy didn’t know the exact route back to the hotel since he wasn’t there when Scott walked over here, but for now he was content to follow and, for lack of better words, stop and smell the flowers.

Chapter Text

Of all the people Tango expected to get a call from in the middle of the workday, Scott was probably towards the bottom of the list. Sure, they didn’t actively dislike each other—not anymore, at least, though Tango’s still not fully sure if they ever did—but it was still weird. Scott really only talked to Tango when Jimmy was there. Like he was trying to keep up appearances or something. Trying to play nice. It had been a couple months since Scott and Jimmy patched things up, and they were at the point they were all talking about moving into a house together now, and Scott still rarely spoke to him if Jimmy wasn’t in the room. 

To be honest, though, Tango would be a little more annoyed by it if it didn’t seem like Scott did find some sort of enjoyment in talking to him. Weird as it was, sometimes it seemed more like Scott was trying to pretend he hated Tango than pretend he liked him.

Whatever the reason, Scott was calling him. He should probably pick up instead of staring at his phone like an idiot, huh?

“Y’ello?” Tango said, wiping redstone dust on a nearby handrag.

“Hi.” Scott’s voice sounded stilted, a little embarrassed. Definitely smaller than Tango was used to.

“Is everything okay?” Tango asked tentatively. He’d yet to hear Scott be anything but confident. It was sorta unnerving.

“Are you busy?”

“I’m at work.” Tango shrugged.

“Then nevermind.”

“No, hey, wait—what’s up, man? Do you need something?” Tango pressed.

Scott made a noise like he was trying to scoff, but it got caught in his throat. More of a choking sound than anything. “Nothing you can help me with.”

“Are you sure?” Tango asked. There was a moment of silence before he sighed. “It’s a slow day, y’know. I don’t have any clients I’m working with at the moment. I could probably sneak away pretty easily if uh…if it was an emergency.”

“I have to go to hospital.” Scott admitted. “And I can’t drive.”

“You can’t…drive?” Tango asked. “Like, you don’t have your license? Man, aren’t you…I thought we were the same age.”

“I have my license.” Scott snapped. “I can’t drive right now.”

“Why not?” Tango asked.

“Can you take me or not?” Scott said in lieu of an answer.

“Well…” Tango hummed.

“I knew I shouldn’t have called you.”

“Hey, hey, I was just kidding! I’ll be there in, like, fifteen, alright?” Tango said quickly. Scott humphed.

“Okay.”

Tango took the phone away from his ear just in time to see the call end, and shook his head. He stuffed it away in a pocket and got up from his desk, disassembling his little boredom project and putting the redstone he was fiddling with in its designated drawer before swinging out of his office and towards his supervisors. Luckily, his supervisor was a really chill guy, and happened to really like Jimmy after meeting him at a work party once. All Tango needed to do to get himself a little off-time was say he needed to take his boyfriend to the hospital and not specify which one. Not that his supervisor knew he had two anyway. Honestly, Tango barely knew if he had two. That was the first time he’d ever called Scott his boyfriend to anyone. Even himself.

He pulled up outside of what was technically Cleo’s apartment where Scott was still bunking for some reason. Tango thought that he and Jimmy must have patched things up enough to move back in together, but maybe they were taking it slow. Or maybe Jimmy insisted that if they lived together again, Tango would have to be a part of the arrangement. The idea made him feel warm inside. He hoped it was that.

Tango texted to let Scott know he was there and waited what felt like an eternity for him to emerge from the lobby, an umbrella clutched in one hand, seemingly being used in place of a cane. Tango’s eyebrows shot up as he rushed to get out of the car. He didn’t know this was an emergency emergency.

“Woah, man, are you okay?” He asked, watching Scott’s head whip up in his direction.

“I’m fine, Tango.” Scott said, tersely. “Where’s your car?”

“Uh, right next to me.” Tango said, and watched Scott grimace. He only really noticed then that Scott wasn’t really looking at him. He didn’t seem to be looking at anything, actually. “Can you not see it?”

Scott seemed to weigh his response for a moment before sighing. “No.”

“Okay. Okay, do you want me to guide you to it?” Tango asked and sidled up beside Scott when he gave a nod, guiding him to the passenger door and opening it up for him so he could get in. He rounded the car quickly after that, jumping in the driver's side and pulling out onto the road.

It was quiet for a bit before Scott seemed to give in to whatever he’d been warring with. “It’s a starborne thing. The blindness.”

“Yeah?” Tango prompted.

“We have this thing where if we get hurt and don’t anticipate it, we go blind and are paralyzed for a bit.” Scott explained.

“Oh, man.” Tango grimaced. “That sounds awful.”

Scott shrugged. “It sounds worse than it is. It doesn’t happen very often, and it really only lasts thirty seconds on average, but…sometimes things last longer than usual.”

“Like now?”

“Like now.” Scott hummed. “At least it’s only the blindness part.”

“Has it done this before?” Tango asked.

“Once, but it went away while we were in the waiting room so I didn’t end up needing any help.” Scott said. “I thought this might be the same, but it’s been a couple hours, so.”

“And…” Tango hesitated. “Is there a reason you called me?”

“I called Martyn and Jimmy too.” Scott said, a little defensive, almost. “You were just the one who picked up.”

Something in Tango felt a little lighter at the implication that he was Scott’s third choice. Of all the people Scott could have called after his two boyfriends, he chose him. It was kind of nice. Tango smiled, knowing Scott couldn’t see it. “If it’s any consolation, Jimmy will be kicking himself once he finds out you called.”

Scott chuckled. “Oh, I know. He’ll never let himself live it down.”

“No way. He’s going to apologize like forty times.” Tango joked. 

“Or he’s going to make a big deal of the fact you’re the one who drove me.” Scott said.

“Probably both.” Tango said. They were both quiet for a moment. “Maybe we shouldn’t tell him?”

“Definitely not.” Scott said, shooting a grin vaguely in Tango’s direction. Tango smiled back.

When they got to the hospital, Tango found himself slotting very comfortably into the role of ‘boyfriend.’ It felt very akin to the one time Tango went with Jimmy to a dentist’s appointment, actually. Like nothing about this was any different. He led Scott around the space, backed Scott up when he insisted on being seen by a hybrid doctor, if not another starborne, and listened intently when the doctor they did get talked about what was going on. Something about Scott’s starborne instincts not being able to calm themselves down properly because of heightened stress in his personal life. One prescription write up and a pharmacy visit later, and Tango was dropping Scott back off at his apartment.

Scott paused as he went to get out of Tango’s car. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving me.”

“Don’t mention it.” Tango smiled. “I’m happy to help.”

Scott’s eyes looked him over once, a little smile settling on his lips. “How do you feel about karaoke?”

“Are you kidding, I love it! I mean, I’m terrible, but it’s so much fun.” Tango smiled.

“Me and a couple of people are going to a karaoke bar tomorrow, if you’d want to come?” Scott offered.

Tango blinked. “Will Jimmy be there?”

Scott looked a bit put off, but shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe. I think he might be busy.”

“Ah, alright.” Tango said. Honestly, the only reason he asked was to gauge whether Scott was just inviting him because Jimmy told him to. Knowing he wasn’t? Well, Tango loved Jimmy and loved spending time with him, but this kind of opportunity was a rarity. A couple hours ago, he would’ve called it an impossibility. “Y’know what, sure. I’ll be there.”

Scott smiled. “Great! I’ll text you.”

“Sounds good.” Tango called as Scott shut the car door and made his way towards the door to the lobby. Tango watched him go, starting up the car only once he was safely in the building. Despite how easily he slid into the role, he wasn’t sure if “boyfriends” was quite the word for them yet. Friends, though. For now, that sounded pretty good.

Chapter Text

Impulse and Skizz have a system when it comes to watching TV together. They have a lot of systems actually—living with each other would be a lot harder if they didn’t. The TV system, in particular, is that whoever cooked dinner last gets to decide what they watch together next. Which, of course, means that Impulse gets to decide more often than not. Skizz isn’t an awful cook, but he really only cooks if he needs to, which is infrequently, or if he really wants to show Impulse a specific show or movie, which is also pretty infrequently. Skizz isn’t particularly picky about entertainment, or at least that’s what he says. Impulse knows that sometimes Skizz is a bit bored by his picks, but he does a fairly okay job of hiding it.

Most nights.

Skizz had seemed in a funk ever since he got home, though, so Impulse isn’t totally sure that his sour expression is totally the fault of the old sitcom he chose. Not that it’s particularly funny though either. Impulse mainly chose it for the nostalgia. He never realized how often there was a laugh track until Skizz started looking more and more annoyed every time it played.

Impulse tried to ignore his buddy’s sour mood, making jokes and talking over the show when it got boring but only really receiving short answers and huffs in return. He spent a bit turning over the day in his head, trying to decide if this was a standard tired bad mood or something deeper, and came to the conclusion it was the latter. Skizz had seemed his usual amount of peppy when he left this morning for work, it was only once he came home—or rather, when Impulse did, since he tended to work later—that he noticed something off.

“Everything okay?” Impulse had tried asking, but was just shrugged at.

“Work stuff.” Skizz said, flippant. “Parents are annoying.”

“Oh yeah, I get that.” Impulse said, trying to provoke more of a response as he went about preparing dinner. Skizz just hummed, so Impulse gave in to the temptation to divert the conversation, going on about his own work grievances as Skizz passively listened.

So, clearly a direct approach wasn’t going to work.

Impulse snatched up the remote once the first episode they watched was over, pausing it and holding it out for Skizz to take if he wanted. He raised an eyebrow. “What do you wanna watch?”

“What?” Skizz asked.

“Show’s more boring than I remember.” Impulse half-fibbed. “You pick something.”

“Wh—that’s not the deal, man, you cooked, you pick.” Skizz argued.

“I don’t have any good ideas. My brain’s fried from work.”

“And mine’s not?” Skizz said, a little offended, but Impulse figured it was mostly joking. Even if his tone suggested otherwise.

“Hey, you’re not inhaling redstone dust all day. I think I’m a couple breaths away from not having brain cells anymore.” Impulse jabbed.

“I thought you said redstone dust didn’t have any ill-effects?” Skizz battled.

Impulse snickered. “Makes my snot a little red, maybe it’s doing more.”

“Ew, man! TMI.” Skizz said, seemingly unable to keep himself from laughing. “I don’t want to know what color your snot is.”

“I thought you wanted to know everything about me.” Impulse said.

“When did I ever say that?” Skizz said. “I want to know as little about you as possible.”

“You’re not doing a great job.” Impulse said, gesturing around their apartment.

“Well, I never claimed to be super principled, did I?” Skizz said.

“That’d be your boss's job.”

“Oh, come on, man!” Skizz said, laughing. “That wasn’t even good!”

“It made you laugh!” Impulse defended.

“Yeah, out of second-hand embarrassment!” Skizz said. “You know what, just for that, I think you lose remote privileges.”

“What? I was already offering—!” Impulse said.

“Doesn’t matter, give it here.” Skizz said, snatching the remote from Impulse, without any resistance, obviously. Impulse was already going to give it to him, but of course it had to be on his terms. Impulse rolled his eyes as Skizz closed out of the sitcom for good and started scrolling through action movies. He landed, eventually, on an action-comedy that Impulse has seen a bajillion times and Skizz must have seen whatever a-hundred times is. Impulse kept himself from complaining, though. It was a good movie, and Skizz clearly needed this, so he could sit through it one more time.

And he’d sit through it a hundred ‘one more’ times if he needed to, honestly. Not that he felt sappy enough to admit it at the moment.

It was after the movie had ended and Skizz was getting up to go sit at his desk and grade papers that he finally acknowledged the great sacrifice Impulse had made. “Thanks for letting me pick, man.”

“Sure thing.” Impulse smiled. “Seemed like you needed it.”

“Well, that sitcom you chose was really garbage.” Skizz said.

Impulse gaped. “Hey! That was one of my favorite shows as a kid.”

Skizz laughed. “Kid-you had really bad taste, man.”

“Like kid-you’s taste was any better.” Impulse huffed. 

“Better than what the kids are watching these days at least.” Skizz said.

“Aw, you’re making us sound old.” Impulse said.

“We are old!” Skizz shot back, finally heading for the hall. “Get used to it, grandpa!”

“If I’m grandpa, you’re ancient!” Impulse shouted, laughing at the pearl-clutch Skizz gave him as he ducked into his room.

Impulse was starting to wonder if maybe the new system should be about who needed it most that day, instead of who cooked. He decided pretty quickly that that’d evolve much too quickly into Skizz guilt-tripping him into getting the remote far too often. Or more often than he already did. The rules were important for fairness. But, he supposed, so were exceptions to them.