Chapter Text
The coffee shop hummed with a soft, rhythmic life of its own. Murmurs of idle conversation floated like smoke through the warm air, blending with the faint clatter of cups and the occasional hiss of steamed milk. It was a pocket of calm in a bustling world, a rare sanctuary where a Plaything could exist without the weight of scrutiny, without the sharp stares or whispered judgments of humans.
When the door opened, the chime of a bell marked the entrance of someone familiar. Rosie Bearhug stepped inside, her russet fur catching the low afternoon light. With a polite nod to the barista, she let the door swing shut behind her and took a slow glance around. The heaviness she carried always seemed to loosen here, slipping from her shoulders like a cloak unwound.
Her gaze found what she was looking for, a table tucked near the window, already occupied. A greenish-furred hare lounged casually in one of the chairs, arms folded across the table and a playful glint in her eye. She raised a hand with a cheeky wave as Rosie approached.
“I am so sorry,” Rosie said softly, easing into the chair opposite. “Have I kept you waiting for too long?”
“Not at all,” the hare replied with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “My break started five minutes ago. And hey, I was on the other side of town, so count your blessings!”
Jade, the local newspaper courier, chuckled and leaned back just as a server approached to set down two freshly poured cups of coffee and tea, respectively.
“Oh-have you already ordered?”
“Actually,” Jade said with a smug tilt of her cap, “I’ve already paid.”
“You didn’t have to...!”
“Oh, hush! It was nothing.” She took a sip, then peered over the rim of her cup. “So? How’s it going… You know, the whole reunion thing?”
Rosie paused, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup. So much time had passed since the day everything fell apart. Years ago, a single tragedy had torn their group of friends asunder. But now, finally, she was ready to find them… Because it’s what she would have wanted.
“Kingsley said just the other day that he’s in,” she said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You wouldn’t believe how much he has changed.”
“For the worse, you mean.”
“Jade!” Rosie scolded, though her tone was more amused than angry. “That’s not very kind.”
“What? It’s true. He’s become a total idiot- and a womanizer, no less! I’d keep my distance if I were you.”
The bear shook her head with a soft laugh. “Have a little faith. He’s still our friend. Anyway, he did tell me Picky is running a tavern now, and… I got a response from Douglas. In a letter.”
There was a pause. A name hung unspoken in the air like a held breath.
“…And him?” Jade finally asked, voice quieter now.
Rosie looked down into her raspberry leaf tea, the steam swirling like memories. “Bernard…” she said at last. “I… I haven’t heard anything yet,” She murmured, her voice tinged with a quiet disappointment. “He… has been hard to find.”
She smiled, as she always did when things felt uncertain- soft, resilient, like patching up a crack with sunlight. But Jade saw through it. She always did. Beneath the warmth of that familiar optimism was something far more fragile, and Jade hated seeing her like this… especially over him.
“Rosie,” Jade said, her tone edged with more bitterness than she intended, “I know your heart’s in the right place with all this. But what if it doesn’t work? What if this whole plan just… falls apart?” Her hands clenched slightly around her cup. “He left, Rosie. Twenty years ago. Not a word. Not even a goodbye.”
She stared at her friend across the table, her expression clouded with old pain. The day he left had been cruelly timed, right when the tragedy struck, when they needed each other the most. “Even if you do find him,” she added, “what makes you think he’ll want to stay in touch?”
Rosie didn’t respond right away. She simply looked at Jade, hands clasped gently on the tabletop, gaze steady and solemn. She had thought about that. Of course she had. But hope, no matter how foolish, was something she refused to abandon. She opened her mouth, ready to speak… and then-
Ding!
The bell above the door chimed again, bright and sudden like a spark in a dark room.
“Yoo-hoo~!” came a voice full of mischief and flamboyance.
Both Rosie and Jade turned in unison.
A tall, elegantly dressed vixen sauntered into view, her presence unmistakable. With a flick of her tail and a sly grin, Valentine Vixenique made her way over, snatching a chair from a nearby table and settling in like she owned the place.
“…Really?” Jade said flatly, eyes narrowing. “Her?”
“Hehe, I thought she might help…” Rosie replied sheepishly. “She’s a secretary. She knows people.”
“She works for Leithe Piette, the human mayor, Rosie. The one who practically keeps us under lock and key.”
“What’s the matter, Hoppy?” Valentine purred, clearly enjoying herself. “Don’t trust my sources?”
“Don’t call me that.” Jade’s ears twitched. “It’s not you I distrust. It’s your contacts.”
“Oh, come now. I’ve got my tricks~” Valentine batted her lashes playfully, and Jade, much to her own frustration, looked away with an exasperated blush.
The vixen reached into her bag with a flourish, producing a bundle of neatly folded newspapers and spreading them like a magician revealing her final card. “Ta-da! I’ve got something for you, sweethearts. Hot off the press!”
Rosie leaned in, scanning the headlines… And her breath caught.
Photos. Articles. Names. And him.
“‘First Plaything Graduates at Playfair University…” Jade read aloud, her voice quieting as she took in the print. She looked up, eyes meeting Rosie’s. The bear’s face was lit with wonder. “This article is from twelve years ago!”
“Isn’t it exciting?” Rosie said, her voice laced with reverence, not really focused on what her partner had just said. “It’s really him!”
“But you´ve got studies too, Bobby,” Jade said, puzzled. “Why would his case be any different?”
“Oh-ho-ho~” Valentine chuckled, draping her arms along the chair like a queen on her throne, legs crossed. “Silly Hoppy, that’s no ordinary school! Playfair University is the top institution in the entire city. And until just a few years ago, it was exclusively human. No Plaything had ever set paw, hoof, or claw through its doors unless they were sweeping the floors.”
She gestured grandly. “For one of us to not only enter, but graduate? That’s extraordinary. It means your friend must’ve passed with a score so high, they had no choice but to accept him.”
Rosie’s eyes gleamed with renewed hope.
Jade, meanwhile, sipped her coffee with practiced indifference. “Yeah, well,” she muttered, “I already knew that.”
The soft clink of cups and the murmur of idle chatter were suddenly broken by the sharp call of a cuckoo clock perched on the café wall. Rosie flinched, her head snapping toward the sound.
“Oh, goodness!” she gasped, rising abruptly from her seat. “How time does fly!”
“Huh, you’re leaving already?” Jade asked, sounding genuinely surprised.
“Yes, I am terribly sorry… I have an appointment with a new patient in ten minutes!”
“Well, you better hurry, hon." Valentine chimed, slipping an arm around Jade with a smirk. " I’ll handle the rascal here~”
“Hey!” Jade squawked in protest, half-heartedly trying to squirm away from the vixen’s teasing grip.
Rosie chuckled as she gathered the last of the newspapers and tucked them neatly into her satchel. “Ta-ta~ Wish me luck!” she called, offering a warm wave as she turned and exited the café.
Stepping into the crowded streets of Playfair City, Rosie was met with the usual ebb and flow of city life. Humans and Playthings bustled past one another with practiced indifference, shoulders brushing, voices rising, lives colliding only for a second before drifting apart again. It was always like this. Busy. Chaotic. Predictable. And yet, beneath it all, there was a quiet bitterness to the rhythm, something still felt pressuring despite the freedom it falsely gave away.
She walked with purpose, weaving through the flow with a calm grace, until the familiar facade of her clinic came into view. She arrived just in time- or so she thought.
“Doctor Bearhug,” the receptionist said the moment Rosie stepped inside, “The Gardenias are waiting for you.”
With a nod, she wasted no time heading to her destination. In the waiting room stood two figures: tall, poised, and unmistakably floral in their elegance. One resembled a purple cosmos, her petals soft and trembling slightly as she turned. The other stood like a red tulip in full bloom…Sharp, vivid, and entirely unamused.
“G-Good evening!” Rosie greeted, offering a polite bow of the head. "My apologies for making you wait."
"It is quite alright…” The cosmos said gently, her voice nearly a whisper, laced with hesitation.
The tulip, however, met Rosie with a scrutinizing stare.
“…You are Doctor Bearhug, yes?”
“Yes, I am,” Rosie replied, placing a paw lightly over her chest. “Thank you for placing your trust in me, it’s truly a pleasure.”
“It better be worth our time” the tulip snapped, her tone curt, arms folded with a scoff that chipped away at Rosie’s smile. “Because this situation is spiraling.”
With a huff, she stepped aside, but then glanced around suddenly, frowning.
"William- Where has he run off to now?!”
“I believe he’s already inside, Tulip…” Cosmos offered, softly motioning toward the corridor that led to Rosie’s office.
The red tulip, clearly the more impatient of the two, sighed heavily, then turned her sharp gaze back toward Rosie.
“That child has been impossible. Skipping school, running away from home…”
“Oh, don´t be so hard on him, he’s been hurting,” Cosmos murmured, her hands, shaped like delicate green leaves, clasped gently before her. “The poor thing has been in denial, ever since his father abandoned him…”
Rosie’s expression softened. She stepped closer, her presence warm and sure.
“I understand,” she said with quiet conviction. “I will do everything I can.”
“Please do,” Cosmos said with a faint, grateful smile.
Rosie nodded once more, her gentle expression never wavering, and made her way down the hall. With every step, her mind eased into the quiet rhythm she knew so well- breathing, listening, feeling. She paused at the door, her paw resting lightly on the handle. A slow inhale… and then she exhaled, steady and soft, like a lullaby whispered into the silence.
She opened the door.
The room, bathed in the soft amber light of a low-hanging lamp, appeared empty at first glance. Quiet. Still. Rosie’s eyes scanned gently, patient and unhurried, until her gaze dropped just beneath the lip of the chair across her desk.
“Hello there.” she said warmly, her voice soft enough to soothe, but strong enough to carry.
No answer.
Undeterred, she walked in with the calm grace of someone who knew better than to rush trust. She set down her satchel with a quiet thud and stepped around the desk—no barriers, no walls. And there he was.
A small boy, no taller than her desk when seated. Arms crossed, face drawn into a scowl. His cap was pulled low, shadowing his eyes like a barrier built brick by brick. His posture screamed resistance, but not the kind born of anger. No, Rosie saw it immediately. It was hurt. Hardened and wrapped up tight.
She didn’t force a smile, she offered one. Gentle. Inviting.
“I don’t think we’ll be needing this,” she said lightly, tapping the desk. “It’s a bit too serious, don’t you think?”
With that, she pulled her chair forward and sat directly across from him. No desk between them. No judgment. Just space to breathe.
“I’m Doctor Bearhug,” she continued in that same easy tone. “What’s your name?”
He didn’t answer. Just shifted slightly, eyes darting to the floor.
Still, her demeanor didn’t falter. If anything, it softened.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” she said, as if they were already friends sharing tea. “How are you feeling today?”
The boy gave her a glance: brief, annoyed, and turned his face away again, lips pressed into a stubborn line.
“Oh dear, that’s quite the long face,” she said playfully, reaching for a drawer beside her. “Luckily, I’ve got just the thing for that.”
From the drawer came a small, brightly wrapped lollipop. She unwrapped it halfway and held it out, her paw extended like an offering of peace. He eyed it warily, like it might explode—but when she gave it a little wiggle, almost conspiratorially, something flickered in his eyes. Suspicion gave way to curiosity… and then, cautiously, he took it.
“…Billie,” he muttered. “And… thanks.”
There it was. A voice. Small, but there.
“You’re welcome, Billie,” Rosie said with genuine warmth. She sat back, giving him space. “Is this your first time in a place like this?”
He shook his head. Barely. But she noticed. She noticed everything.
“I see…” she said, nodding. “Then maybe you already know this, but… do you know why you’re here today?”
There was a pause, longer this time. His hand tightened slightly around the lollipop stick.
“…Because I need help.”
Rosie’s eyes didn’t flicker, didn’t widen or soften in the way others might. Instead, she just smiled. A small, proud smile.
“It’s always okay to ask for help, Billie,” she said, her voice low and steady. “And I’m here to help you. Truly. Whatever it is… I’ll listen. And I won’t judge.”
For the first time, Billie looked at her fully. Still guarded, but not as tightly.
And that was something.
“…Honest?”
“Pinky promise.”
Rosie offered her finger gently, and after a moment’s hesitation, the boy reached out and hooked his small finger around hers.
“I need to find my dad, Miss Bearhug.”
The words landed with weight, pulling at something deep in Rosie’s chest. She remembered what his aunts had said: how his father had left, abandoned him, caused the rift that now defined so much of Billie’s fragile world. And yet… This wasn’t the version she’d expected.
“Oh?” she asked carefully, keeping her voice calm. “Did he… go somewhere?”
Billie’s eyes shifted. He looked around, cautious… though they were alone in the room, his glance scanned every corner like shadows might be listening. Then, in a whisper:
“He was kidnapped.”
Rosie blinked, sitting still. That wasn’t what the family had told her.
“Kidnapped?” she echoed, gently.
“Yeah!” he said, with unexpected fire. “I saw it. But nobody believes me!”
She leaned forward, attentively. “Have you told anyone else? Maybe the police?”
“I tried,” he muttered. “But they said I was too young, and my aunts told them it wasn’t true. They made them believe he just… left me.”
His little arms folded again, this time not out of defiance, but hurt. Anger. “I don’t like them. I don’t want to live with them. I want to go home. I want my dad…”
Rosie took a slow breath, grounding herself. There were too many threads, truths and half-truths, tangled here. It could be a child’s grief shaping his memory… or it could be something more. But before she could say anything else, Billie piped up again, his tone shifting, lightening, almost casual.
“…Hey, Miss Bearhug?”
“Yes?”
“If someone… I dunno… if someone lost something, but grown-ups weren’t helping, who do they ask instead?”
“Hm?” Rosie tilted her head, curious. “What kind of something?”
“Like… something really important.” He stared at the floor, kicking his feet lightly. “Like… what if they thought it was gone forever, but it wasn’t? What if they needed to find it, but they couldn’t do it alone?”
She smiled, softening again. “Well, sometimes people ask for help from someone who looks for things. Someone who investigates.”
“Investigates?” he repeated, innocently enough.
“Yes. A detective,” she said, watching him closely. “They’re trained to look into things like crimes, or people who’ve gone missing.”
“Oh…” Billie nodded slowly, then looked up. “That sounds cool. Bet they don’t tell them they’re too young to know stuff.”
Rosie chuckled quietly, though something in her gaze remained thoughtful.
“Well,” she said, “if you were to find someone like that, you’d need to be very careful. Some folks call themselves detectives but don’t do real work. And for someone your age… you should always have an adult you trust helping you.”
“I do,” Billie said immediately, glancing up at her with the smallest glimmer of hope. “I’ve got you, don’t I?”
Rosie’s heart ached gently at the look in his eyes. She gave a slow shake of her head, her voice soft, regretful.
“Well… I’m not a detective myself, Billie. I’m sorry. But if I ever come across someone who is, someone trustworthy… I promise I will let you know.”
And just like that, she watched the flicker of hope in his expression dim, like a candle caught in the wind. But he gave a small nod, accepting the answer without protest… At least on the surface.
Surprisingly, the rest of their session went on with little trouble. Billie opened up a little more, and for a child burdened with so much, he showed moments of resilience that quietly impressed Rosie.
By the end of the hour, she stood up with him, offering a warm smile as they walked toward the front.
“It was really nice getting to know you today, Billie. I hope we get to talk again soon.”
“Yeah…” he muttered, tugging his cap down slightly. “Thank you, Doc.”
Together, they returned to the waiting room, where his aunts were seated, dressed in their usual elegance. Cosmos was the first to rise, greeting him with a mild smile.
“Oh, William! There you are. You look much more at ease,” she said, gently brushing his shoulder.
Billie’s face scrunched slightly at the use of his full name.
“How did it go?” Cosmos asked Rosie, eyes kind but curious.
“Oh, I’d say quite well,” Rosie replied. “He was very open and responded wonderfully during the session. I’m optimistic about his progress.”
Just then, Billie had wandered back toward the hallway.
“Where have you gone off to...?” Tulip asked sharply, brows narrowing.
“I forgot something,” he said flatly, not meeting her eyes.
She eyed him with mild suspicion but said nothing, merely sighing as she took him firmly by the hand.
“If you say so… Come along. We have other matters to attend to.” She gave Rosie a curt nod. “Until next time, Doctor.”
“Say goodbye now, William.”
He hesitated for a breath, then looked over his shoulder, holding the brim of his cap.
“…Goodbye, Miss Bearhug.”
And then the three of them were gone, swept back into the bustling world outside.
Rosie stood there for a moment, then turned and returned to her office, her mind already lingering on the session, on Billie’s quiet defiance, his strange story… His question about detectives that felt like a deja vú.
She sat down at her desk, intending to record her notes, placing her bag upon her desk.
But paused.
Her eyes narrowed.
…How odd.
She could have sworn that she had left her satchel closed.