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Goob sat in front of the mirror like he was waiting for it to say something different. His shoulders curled in tight, as if maybe if he shrank far enough, he’d disappear.
The room was too quiet. Just the tick of the clock and the soft, constant rustle as he picked at the tufts on his cheeks. He hated the sound. Too soft. Too fuzzy. Like it didn’t belong to him.
He squinted at his reflection. Cross-eyed, again. His forehead looked huge. His face too square. The freckles—blue on one cheek, red on the other—looked less like a design and more like an accident. A spill. Something someone forgot to wipe up. Not cute. Not fun-weird. Just… wrong.
His long, black arms dangled in his lap like overcooked noodles, and his rounded claws fidgeted against each other—red on one side, blue on the other. Even his hands couldn’t agree with themselves.
There was nothing wrong with him. That’s what people always said. But Goob wasn’t sure he believed them. Not when he looked like this. Not when nothing matched—not his colors, his shape, his voice in his own head.
He dropped his gaze and tried to brush the fluff on his forehead flat, but it sprang right back up.
The door creaked open with the flourish of someone who never just entered a room quietly.
“Oh darling! I found the most scandalous pair of—”
Glisten stopped in the doorway, one hand still on the frame, the other holding a sparkly something he’d clearly been dying to show His eyes landed on Goob, and the smile slipped—just a little, just enough to soften. He stepped in and set the glittery thing aside.
“…Hey,” he said, stepping closer. “That’s not the face of someone who just got handed something fabulous.”
Goob didn’t look up. He curled his fingers tighter into his palms.
“I’m fine.”
Glisten didn’t buy it for a second, but he didn’t push. He just crossed the room in slow, quiet steps—unusual for someone who usually sparkled with every move—and crouched down beside him.
“Talk to me, darling,” he murmured, resting a hand lightly on Goob’s knee, careful not to crowd him. “What’s the matter?”
Goob didn’t answer.
And Glisten didn’t press. He just stayed there, his presence like warmth slowly seeping in, patient and steady.
Goob’s fingers uncurled slowly, resting heavy in his lap. He kept his eyes on the floor.
“…I dunno,” he mumbled. “I just… looked in the mirror and I didn’t like it.”
Glisten didn’t say anything, but he shifted, settling onto the floor beside him. Close, but not touching.
Goob’s voice wobbled. “It’s dumb. I know. But I—” He sniffled and rubbed at one cheek, fluff and freckles brushing under his palm. “I look weird. Like—like a bunch of different toys shoved together in a box. And not the good kind. Like the kind no one picks first.”
There was a beat of silence. The kind that made him want to take it all back. Stuff the words down and pretend they never left.
And then, Glisten spoke. Gently. No teasing in his voice, no dramatic flair. Just soft.
“Oh, darling…”
That did it.
Goob’s eyes burned, and before he could stop it, a tear slid down his cheek. He scrubbed at it with the back of one thick arm, claws awkward against his face.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, voice breaking. “I don’t mean to make this a thing—just ignore me, I’m being dumb, I—”
Glisten reached out and gently caught his hand, large and mismatched as it was, and held it between both of his.
“No,” he said. “No, no, no. Don’t ever apologize for feeling that way.”
His voice was warm, serious, completely focused.
“You’re not dumb. And you’re not weird—not in the way you think you are. You’re art. Messy, wild, wonderful art. And I love that about you.”
Goob blinked. The tears came slower now. He looked down at their hands—held like they mattered. His big blue-red hand swallowed up in Glisten’s smaller ones, held like it mattered. “…You do?”
“I do.” Glisten smiled. “You’re the most interesting creature in any room you walk into. Every bit of you is something worth looking at. Worth admiring. Worth loving.”
Goob sniffled again. But this time, it was quieter. Looser. His shoulders had started to drop.
Glisten adjusted his grip, lifting Goob’s hand a little as if showing it off.
“These claws? They’re not mismatched. They’re styled. Intentional. Like someone hand-picked the colors just to make sure you’d stand out.”
He brought the hand closer. Pressed a kiss to the blue side. Then the red. Goob froze.
Glisten’s gaze flicked up, and his voice softened again. “Every part of you was made to be loved. I’m just lucky I noticed first.”
A new tear slipped down Goob’s cheek, but he didn’t wipe it away this time.
“…You mean that?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
Glisten leaned in, close enough that his next kiss landed just under Goob’s eye—right in the blush.
“I do,” he whispered. Another kiss, near the red freckles. Then one at the center of his forehead, between the tufts of fluff. “And I’ll keep meaning it until you do, too.”
Goob let out a soft sound—half-laugh, half-sob—and leaned into him like gravity had shifted.
“Okay,” he said, voice shaking. “Okay.”
Then, without saying anything, Glisten leaned in and wrapped his arms around him, careful but full. Goob’s body tensed at first, unsure, then slowly melted into the embrace. His long arms curled back around Glisten, hesitantly at first, then tighter, looping once—twice—until the thick, cable-like lengths had wrapped him up completely. Not in a squeeze, but in something steadier. Secure.
Glisten’s voice came soft near his ear.
“You don’t have to be anything other than yourself, Goob. Not for me. Not for anyone.”
Goob’s claws pressed gently into Glisten’s back, not to hold on—but to feel the moment anchor him.
“…Thanks,” he murmured. “I think I needed to hear that.” Goob nodded, still blinking a little, but smiling now. A real one.
And maybe it wasn’t all fixed. Maybe tomorrow the feelings would come back.
But for now, with Glisten holding his hand and that warmth still tucked around his chest like a blanket—
For now, Goob felt okay.
He didn’t even mind the mirror at all.
And that was enough.