Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Whatcha’ got there, friend-o?”

You jump, startled to find Jerry peering over your shoulder, looking with interest at the old composition book sitting on your desk. It has a tattered cover, littered with peeling stickers with miscellaneous things sticking out all over. It hardly even closes.

“Just something I found in the attic,” you reply. “Lady Memoria really wants me to get on cleaning it out. I knew I had a lot of stuff up there, but I never realized how much.”

“A lot of stuff, hmm…?”

“Jerry, we talked about this.”

“No, no, you’re right, the attic wouldn't be a…healthy environment for me,” he says, with a bit of a frown. “But, if you ever decide you needed a little assistance with curating-”

“Jerry.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Anyway, to answer your question…it's my old scrapbook.” You hope that if you sate his curiosity, it will distract him from the idea of all the potential lost items in the attic. “I used to paste everything and anything in here for years.”

“Cheese n’ crackers…! Uh, may I?” he asks, gesturing toward the well worn book.

“Sure. Actually…” you rise from your office chair and gesture for him to sit.

As Jerry thumbs through the well worn pages, you point out photographs and little notes, explaining the context behind each one. Jerry, however, is less interested in the photographs than he is the various bits and bobs taped and glued to the pages.

“Oh, that?” you ask, referring to a chunky star shaped button. “I grew out of my favorite coat that year. One of the buttons fell off before my mom donated it, so I decided to keep it. It's really kinda cute, isn't it?”

“And what about these?” Jerry asks, pointing out a series of candy wrappers adorned with cute cartoon characters, lined up neatly, each adhered to the page with decorative tape.

“Oh, a candy company did a promo for a show my friends and I liked! Each wrapper had a different character on it! We spent the whole summer trying to get a full set,” you laugh. “I was the only one of us who managed it. We were so sick of that stuff by the end of it. I haven't eaten any since.”

He turned the page, revealing a photograph of a young man right in the center, the entire rest of the page adorned in heart shaped glittery stickers.

“Oh-ho, and who is-”

“You don't need to see that right now,” you say, turning the page.

“But-”

“You don't. Need to see it.”

“I, uh, I guess I don't need to see it. Hey, look, a four leaf clover! And so well preserved!”

“Oh, yeah! Some friends and I went on a hike during spring break that year! I found that while we were having lunch!” you smile, as the memory of that day comes flooding back. “I was nearly dead by the time we got to the end of the trail, but I was so excited to find that. Like that made the sweat and hard work of getting there all worth it.”

Your eyes light up at the next page and you point out an old concert ticket, covered with a large piece of clear packing tape.

“That was my first concert!” you exclaim loudly, causing Jerry to startle as a broad smile grows across your face. “I saved my money for months to afford tickets to see Warp live! I still remember feeling the bass all the way in my chest! It was amazing!”

Jerry looks at you. He's not sure he's ever seen you quite so excited, even among the beauty of his various exhibits in the junk drawer. Not even the spare change exhibit has ever caught your interest this way and that was always a crowd pleaser. The crowd was usually just him, but still

“Bedknobs and broomsticks, it certainly seems that way. I guess those were pretty good times!”

“They really were,” you say softly.Your expression dims, as sadness starts to creep over you. “It's weird, suddenly being reminded of people I don't talk to anymore and stuff I used to like doing. Maybe I should just throw this out…”

You reach towards the book, but Jerry snatches it away, jumping to his feet. For a moment, he splutters in disbelief, holding it to his chest, almost protectively.

“Wh- How…How could you ever consider throwing this away?! All these stories, these memories…?!”

“Jerry, it's not even a proper scrapbook. It's a composition book with crap glued in it.”

“It's not crap! It's a rich history! It's incredible! It's beautiful! It's…it's you!”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, silence hanging heavy in the air. After a few moments, Jerry laughs nervously.

“I…I meant that…you, you don't…haha, listen to me, going on! That's uh, that's ol’ Jerry for you, huh? Just, uh…oh boy…”

You're quiet for a moment more, as your eyes settle on the ragged notebook in Jerry's hands. He notices you staring and his own gaze flits around the room anxiously, feeling as if your eyes could bore holes into his chest.

“I guess keeping it a little while longer might not be such a bad idea. Actually, why don't you hold on to it for me?”

His face lights up and he holds the scrapbook to his chest, a little tighter, as if it were some precious treasure.

“Really?!”

“Sure. …Just don't take anything out of it.”

“I-I wasn't going to!!”

Later, in the cramped confines of the junk drawer, Jerry wanders, looking for the perfect place to put…the Tome of Memories.

But nothing seems quite right. It's not a Lost Item, after all. It's a Found Item with no mysteries held within. He already knows all of its secrets. Well, most of them. He thumbs through it again, smiling fondly, thinking of you, radiating joy as you told him all of your stories. Carefully, he tucks it into a pocket inside his overstuffed jacket. Perhaps this treasure will be part of his private collection for now.

Chapter Text

“Goddamnit.”

You look at the box of photos that now lay scattered across the floor. At Lady Memoria's behest, you've been making progress cleaning out the attic and, rather than getting rid of all these photos at once, you decided to take them down and sort through them at the kitchen table. With a sigh, you kneel down to gather them back up.

Jean Loo, crouching in the doorway of the ground floor bathroom, scoops up a handful of them and begins sifting through them with a look of disinterest. He lets out a quiet hum as he looks over a photo from your college graduation.

“So you did progress past École Élémentaire. For you, this is very impressive.”

God, he pisses you off sometimes.

“Ha ha, yeah,” you reply dryly, snatching the photo from him. “You know, you're talking a lot of smack considering one of us is a college graduate and one of us is a toilet.”

Jean Loo bristles, a slight flush blooming across his face.

“You are the one who is talking smack, huh? Remember that one of us is an artiste and one of us is a, how do you say…corporate wage slave?”

“...I don't know why you asked how to say it when you clearly already know. …Jackass.”

“Kissless loser.”

You narrow your eyes at him, showing him the photograph you just snatched from him.

“Jean, I am literally kissing someone in this photograph.”

“Pah! You are being too literal,” he scoffs.

“What. What does that…?” You take a deep breath “Okay then, Jean, what does kissless mean, exactly?”

There's a brief moment of silence as his gaze wanders off to the side. The wallpaper is suddenly immensely interesting to him.

“It is an, euh…abstract concept. You know? Very difficult to explain."

You exhale sharply, dragging a hand down your face.

“OHHH MY GOD. I don't know how I can put up with you.”

“Hey, hey, do not forget you need Jean Loo more than he needs you. He deserves a little respect, no?”

“Oh, really? You wanna elaborate on that?”

“Par exemple, when you got dumped last year, who did you come to for comfort, hein? You spent the whole night with Jean Loo, clinging to him with your so pitiful crying.”

“I didn't have the Dateviators back then,” you reply with aggravation. “You're a toilet and I was drunk and couldn't stop vomiting.”

“...Jean Loo stands by his statement.”

“And I can't believe you would really bring that up. That was such a hard time for me and you're really gonna throw it in my face like that?!”

Jean Loo says nothing but lets out a huff. You could almost swear there's the tiniest shift in his expression as he idly turns his gaze toward the stairs, but…well, it probably isn't anything.

You glare at him. “Fucking…absolute kissless behavior.”

“Hah?”

“Kissless ass bullshit.”

“Hey, hey, hey!”

“Fuckin’ ZERO SMOOCHES ON THIS MAN!” You continue, raising your voice.

“Jean Loo has had many smooches! More than you can count!”

“Oh, yeah? From who? Name one.”

Another moment of silence.

“...Jean Loo may be a Crapper (note: Cool Rapper) but he is also a gentleman. He does not, as you say, kiss and tell.”

“Okay, so nobody then.”

“That is not…!”

“I got shit to…stuff to do, Jean,” you say standing up, plucking the last of the photos from his hand and walking towards the kitchen.

Jean Loo retreats into the bathroom and sits on the floor, shoulders hunched, red faced and absolutely seething. He furrows his brow as he stares at the bathroom wall, grasping the flapper that hangs around his neck. After a moment, he catches sight of Sinclaire casually leaning against the door frame.

“What are you looking at, hein?”

Sinclaire lets out a sympathetic sigh.

“So. Zero smooches, huh, buddy?”

Seething.

Chapter Text

There was a time, albeit brief, where Hector wondered if he might love Lady Memoria, just a little. She was, he supposed, the amalgamation of his beloved's memories and experiences, everything that made them who they are. Perhaps that's why she made him a little nervous. That couldn't be right, though. What he loved was his beloved's present, their now. Not their past, but everything they had become as a result.

Still, he did enjoy speaking to Memoria every once in a while, especially given that they shared a space up in the attic. He would tell her the goings on in the house that he could see from the vents and she…well…

“Hello, Hector.”

“Good evening, Lady Memoria. I trust you're well.”

“As well as one can be with all…this,” she responded, vaguely gesturing to the piles of long abandoned possessions around her. “Hoping to hear another memory?”

Hector inhaled sharply. “O-oh, no, I couldn't! I would hate to be a bother, really-”

“I'm not a fool, Hector,” she said. “I don't mind it. It at least provides a little entertainment all cooped up in the attic as I am.”

She briefly eyed Parker, who grinned back at her, holding what seemed to be an extremely thick board game manual, no doubt filled to the brim with rules. She turned her gaze back towards Hector. Parker pouted and went back to his manual.

Hector smiled, a bit sheepishly. “Then…if it pleases you…”

“Let's see what we have tonight…,” Memoria murmured as she reached into a nearby box, eventually producing a small envelope. It was already open, a heart shaped seal barely hanging on. It was worn from suffering years of neglect, sitting in a box with a menagerie of other items. Memoria raised an eyebrow.

“Of all the things to keep…,” she said quietly.

Hector leaned forward, just a bit, to get a better look. “What is it?”

Memoria breathed a sigh. “A remnant of their first love.”

Hector's breath hitched in his throat and he, with some hesitation, held out his hand. “M-may I…?”

“They were quite young at that time, you know,” Memoria began, handing Hector the envelope. “School age. A turbulent time for many humans as I understand it.”

She sighed. “There was a young man. They loved everything about him. They pined for him day and night, much like you do for them now. …Well, perhaps not with quite the same intensity, but you understand. So to make their feelings known, they wrote and presented him with that very letter."

Gingerly, Hector began to remove the letter from its envelope. It was crumpled and smeared in a few places. Some kind of water damage, perhaps?

“And what then?”

“Well, he rejected them.”

“What…?”

“Why do you think the letter stayed in our dear human's possession and not his?” She mused, stroking the small electronic dog in her arms. “If I recall, he was quite cruel about it as well. He certainly didn't turn out to be quite the prize our human thought he was. Not just a rejection, but a humiliating spectacle.”

“How terrible…!”

“Yes. Being so young, they cried and cried like it was the end of the world. They got over it eventually, as one must, but for them to keep such a thing…well. One can't help what one feels, I suppose.”

He read over the letter slowly; it certainly wasn't written quite as elegantly as he might have done — not that he would ever say as much out loud, God no — but even through their simple words and phrases, he could feel their tenderhearted yearning, the pure love felt in their youth, the heartbreak where what he now realized must have been tears caused the ink to run. He held the letter to his chest, eyes closed. It brought both immense joy and a terrible ache to his heart, knowing that his beloved had once felt as he did, that they had experienced the complex sweet agony of loving someone from afar.

“–tor? Hector?”

He was snapped out of his reverie by Memoria's voice, opening his eyes to see her outstretched hand.

“Oh!” With mumbled apologies, he carefully folded and slid the letter back into its envelope, placing it back in her hand. It pained him to watch her drop it so unceremoniously back into the box from whence it came. “Thank you, Lady Memoria. Your time tonight, as always, is much appreciated.”

Hector felt just a bit closer to his beloved after that.

Chapter Text

“Darling, are you sure this is really necessary?”

Sinclaire was lying on the bathroom floor, hands folded over his stomach and his faucet dripping steadily into his own face. The Human knelt next to him, patting his arm sympathetically as Sudsy made his way onto Sinclaire’s lap.

“You know it is,” they replied. “I know it's uncomfortable, but it's the middle of winter and it's supposed to freeze tonight. If we don't drip the taps, the pipes might burst and then we'll have a much bigger, much more expensive problem. Hector may be able to keep the house warm, but the plumbing is a different story.”

“I suppose that's true…,” he replied. He briefly gagged as a drop of water dripped directly into his drain. He sat up with a groan, grabbing one of the towels that Tyrell had so kindly left for them. “Just wish that didn't happen so often.”

“We've got the shower and bathtub dripping too, just in case.”

“I'm sure Bathsheba is taking it well.”

“As well as one can expect,” the Human said with a shrug. It took them lavishing praise upon her for so kindly making a sacrifice for the good of the house to get her to agree, but…whatever got results at this point.

They turned to Johnny, who sat holding a towel near his mouth. Every once in a while he produced a muffled gurgling sound from the back of his throat as water – saliva?– ran out of his mouth. The human gave him a little smile.

“Thanks for being such a good sport about this, Johnny.”

“I may not be able to sing like this, but ol’ Johnny doesn't mind taking one for the greater goo- hhhggaahhh…”

Jean Loo, leaning lazily against the wall, laughed. “Jean Loo is sure everyone at the Breaker Box will be devastated.”

Johnny shot him the dirtiest look he could muster, which actually wasn't that bad, as The Human turned their attention to Jean Loo.

“This is for your good, too, you know,” they said, almost like a parent scolding a child. “If the pipes burst…well, imagine a toilet that can't flush.”

Jean Loo made a face and went back to minding his own business.

The Human affectionately rubbed their finger against Sinclaire’s faucet producing a little squeaky sound.

“I know it's an inconvenience to you guys so I'll do my best to make it up to you all.”

Sinclaire removed the toothbrush and toothpaste he always kept in his shirt pocket. “Well, Darling, if you want to make it up to me…perhaps later, we could engage in a little…dental hygiene?”

“What? I've already brushed my teeth for the nigh-”

Sinclaire waggled his handles.

Oh.

Oh.

The Human could feel their face starting to burn as they clenched their teeth.

“Sinky. Dear. My precious porcelain paramour. Maybe that's not something we should talk about in front of… you know?”

Johnny, his cheeks slightly flushed, had suddenly developed a keen interest in the bathroom tile while Jean Loo made no attempt to hide his extremely judgemental expression.

“Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, Darling. You know that around you I sometimes…forget myself.”

Jean Loo grimaced like someone listening to their parents hardcore flirting.

“Mon Dieu,” he muttered under his breath. “Jean Loo does not want to be hearing about this...!“

Chapter Text

It was, perhaps, not the nicest activity the two of them could have taken up. Celia admitted it was probably unnecessary and a bit improper to be so invested in their personal goings on and Florence said it made her feel a bit like the Scandalabra. However, drama seemed to follow the Human wherever they went. It was almost like watching one of Chairemis's plays. The plays were much less messy, of course, and they could always guarantee they would find out how they ended but the Human's various escapades were nearly always enough to tide them over until theater night. Plus, it's not as if they followed the Human around all day, but...if they happened to see them while going about their business for the day, they might check in and see how they're doing.

Covertly.

For their own good, really.

"Until now, I haven't even had the courage necessary to show my face!"

"You're brave enough now. And I love it."

“You love it…," Hector breathed. "Does that mean you love…No! I dare not ask! And do not answer, please! Let us enjoy where we are. Here. Now. …Let me care for you.”

Celia and Florence watched from the corner as Hector and the Human had a heart rending exchange. Despite the Human's pleas, Hector forbade them from seeking him out, begged them not to, while still professing his undying love for them.

“Oh my…,” Florence whispered. “I had no idea Hector was such a romantic…!”

“He certainly is eloquent,” Celia replied. “Though, I do find his actions a bit…concerning.”

“Oh, I think it's exciting. A mysterious lover, speaking unseen…”

“ Don't expect me to get into the vents.”

“Oh, stop…!”

In the darkness of the kitchen, lit only by a single candle, the Human found themselves in Friar Errol's firm embrace, having shared a passionate, cheese laden kiss.

“In the arms of my Beloved, I am a Friar no longer!”

“Errol…”

“It sounds like the sweetest prayer from your lips!”

“That mozzarella stick was a bit…lascivious, wasn't it…?” Celia said quietly as they peeked from the dining room.

“More than a bit. But it certainly was dramatic. The tension of it all…! A man of the cloth and his secret lover!” Florence giggled, with more than a little suppressed glee. “I never knew the Friar had it in him…”

“Neither did I. He always seemed so…single minded and severe.”

“Who's more severe, you or the Friar…?”

“Oh, Florence. I'd hardly call myself severe…!”

The Human stood, leaning back against the resident magician (I,) Ronaldini, one arm thrown dramatically across their forehead, the other outstretched with their hand firmly grasped in his as his free arm snaked around their waist. It was like the cover of an especially strange romance novel.

“Part…the…curtain,” he growled.

“Master, I am yours! A rapt audience at your mercy…let the show begin!”

“Come, my little bunny!!”

“That certainly was a…provocative conversation,” Celia said quietly, as she and Florence stood in the laundry room. Despite her stern expression, a slight flush bloomed across her face.

“That's certainly a word for it,” Florence responded, her own face turning a bit pink. “The Human does seem to be quite, uh…amorous.”

“That…that does seem to be an accurate descriptor,” Celia replied.

Had it been anyone else but them the words “a fucking freak” might have come up.

They were both quiet for a moment, before Celia continued. “For now, why don't we retire to the office and discuss this week's...observations?”

Later that week, Celia and Florence noticed something that seemed a bit strange.

“Oh! Pastor! Don't run away from this! Can love really be…a sin…?!”

Chairemis's play seemed very familiar.

Chapter Text

“Non. Non non non non non!”

“It's not even that bad.”

“It is not that bad, it is worse!”

You and Jean Loo Pissoir, your favorite former toilet turned lover turned accountant, sit at your kitchen table drinking some of the most dogshit coffee you've ever had.

God, you miss Kopi.

“You said you would give me a hand with my taxes!”

“Jean Loo admits he did say this,” he sighs, lacing his fingers together. “But! That was before he knew you were un désastre financier!”

“What the hell does that mea…oh! Financial disaster!”

“Oh ho, très bien! You have been studying?”

“Oh yeah. I got some uh, tapes from the library. Anyway, my finances can't be that bad!”

He removes a disorganized folder from his briefcase and tosses it on the table. A few receipts flutter out of it when it lands.

“What is this, hein? It is the…,” he gestures vaguely as he searches for the right word. “It is like the…the…financial spaghetti code!”

“How do you know the phrase Spaghetti Code?”

“Some of the walls in this house…they are very thin. You think Jean Loo could not hear everything that went on in the office? One would not think Mac could get so angry at a website, but…”

“Well, if it's that bad doesn't that just mean I need your help even more?!”

“If Jean Loo tries to deal with this…mess, he will end up in prison!”

“Oof. You really think it's that bad? Do I really need to worry about the IRS?”

“Non, non. What you will have to worry about is Jean Loo losing his mind and putting you in a shallow grave!”

“Ugh. Come on! Please? You promised!”

“Jean Loo never said the word promise.”

“It was implied,” you groan. Plan B. You rest your head on your hand. “I really could use your help. I'm just so…bad at this kind of thing.”

He looks at you, unmoved.

“And when you said you'd help me, I couldn't help but be sooo grateful that I had such a cool and smart boyfriend to sort it all out.”

He looks at you, a little moved. He huffs, exhaling through his nose. “Well…”

You look at him, trying your hardest to look sweeter and cuter than you ever have before in your goddamn life. “Gosh, without your help, I don't know how I'm going to-”

“Hey! Stop it! Non! Jean Loo sees what you are doing! He will not be swayed by your flirt words and manipulations!” He points at you accusingly, narrowing his eyes. “Hoh hoh, you think you are the smart little cookie, no?”

FUCK. You were so sure he was going to crack, too! Plan C. You reach across the table, with a half lidded gaze, and grab his tie, giving it a gentle tug.

“You wanna make out?”

“Absolutely, yes.”

“I'll be right back…lover,” you say, doing your best to sound as sultry as possible as you leave the table. When you return, you present Jean Loo with a cup containing a small amount of blue liquid. He looks at it curiously and takes an experimental sniff.

“This is…mouthwash?”

You say nothing, but waggle your eyebrows.

Jean Loo takes a deep breath, setting down the cup and rising from his seat.

“Jean Loo…will be taking his leave.”

Chapter Text

You emerge from the upstairs bathroom, wiping sweat from your face with a towel, to find Hank No. 3 sprawled out on your bed. He sits up, looking at you with a flirtatious smile.

“Hey, Gorgeous, you come here often?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Hank, this is my bedroom.”

“Wasn't a question, House Honey, it was a statement.”

“Hank!” you cry, pretending to be absolutely scandalized. “Hey, get your shoes off the bed.”

“Oh, shit, my b.”

“Not hanging with the guys today?”

“We're gonna get together later. I just finished a totally rad study sesh,” he replied, kicking off his boots. “Farya is like, so intense about this stuff! Sometimes, I feel like I wiped out on my hang glider, but instead of a hang glider, it's like, my brain.”

“Sounds like a lot.”

“Yeah, but nothin’ a Hank can't handle.” he replied. “Anyway, I'm more interested in what you've been up to, babe. You know, besides dreaming about all this all day.” He starts to flex.

You stifle a giggle as you cross over to your closet, looking for something to change into. “I…have been working out with Dunk today. He really knows how to work up a sweat, you know?”

“I could show you how to work up a sweat, Hot Stuff.”

You look back at him. He's now laying on his stomach, kicking his feet. He winks and kisses the air. Without a word, you go back to rifling through your closet.

“Anyway,” you begin, “I think it would be nice if I could keep up with you guys a little more. I never thought I’d get into fitness like this.”

“I don't know about fitness, but maybe you can try fittin’ that fine body over here next to me.”

When you look over, he's rolled on his side with his head propped up on one hand and gesturing to the space next to him on the bed with the other.

“Have you tried talking to Dante like I suggested?”

“...Yeah.”

“Have you?”

“Dude, yes!” Hank whined. “But Dante’s lessons on top of all the medical stuff? I can do it, but my brain needs to chill.”

“Okay,” you say, once again turning to your closet. “But if you keep using all those busted pick up lines on me, I might just start thinking you're just playing around with me.”

“...What?”

When you turn around, Hank is sitting up, an unfamiliar expression on his face. He looks sort of…hurt? You hurry to go sit on the edge of the mattress.

“Oh. Oh, no. Hank, listen, I was just joking, I didn't mean-”

“No. No, hold up, be straight with me. Do you for real feel like I'm not serious about you?”

The Hanks are, from your experience, some of the most unserious objects In the house. But, you had to admit that, with his terrible pick up lines and wild flirtations, No. 3 was…well…

“...Maybe a little? Sometimes?” Somehow you find it hard to look at him.

He runs his hand through his hair. “Oh, man…”

“Hank, listen, I'm sorry. I-”

“No, it's…it's cool. If you were feeling some kinda way, I needed to hear it. Communicating about our feelings, uh, highkey slaps.”

There's an awkward silence between the two of you. For a moment, you can't help but worry. Have you just ruined things with 3? What if you ruined things with all the Hanks? Will this drive a wedge between them? Finally, Hank put his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“Listen, I gotta say something hella important, House Honey,” he says, looking you directly in the eye. His brow is slightly furrowed and his lips are drawn into a tight line. “I really like you. And just because I like to let you know I think you're a total hottie with a body doesn't mean I'm not serious about you. And that's facts. No cap.”

You're sure that probably sounded a lot cooler and more romantic in his head, but if nothing else you can tell by his expression that he really means it.

“I love you. Just as much as the other Hanks do. You feel me?”

You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. “I know,” you whisper. “...It looks like you're feeling me right now.”

“Ohhh, okay, okay!” He laughs before pulling you into a kiss. He falls backwards onto the mattress, still holding you tight against him.

“Now that we understand each other a little better, Gorgeous, why don't you let me really feel you?”

*******************
[ALTERNATE ENDING]

“Actually, House Honey, I gotta ask you something real important.”

Hank moves from the mattress onto the floor, kneeling before you on one knee. He takes your hand in his tenderly rubbing his thumb across your knuckles.

“Would you make me the happiest bro in the world and do me the honor of letting me hit that forever and always?”

“Hank,” you say softly, reaching down to run your fingers through his soft locks. “You know I'm telling Curt and Rod you said that to me, right?”

“What?! Babe, that one was really good, though!”

“I'm telling Dante, too.”

“Aw, Babe, no!”

Chapter Text

After much discussion, it was determined that the backyard was probably safe. TinfoilHat and Skylar still didn’t like the idea of you going out into the wider world for longer periods of time, but as long as you left the Dateviators inside, the backyard was...probably fine. For a little bit. Probably. Once TinFoilHat introduced to you the concept of Realization, the backyard became more than a place for you to get a little sun. It became a place to introduce your Realized friends to the world outside your house.

It was spring when you Realized Prissy. The weather was mild that day. Not too warm, not too cold. She marveled at the little wildflowers that were sprouting up in the grass. She inspected a dandelion, gasping when the fuzzy little seeds were swept away with a sudden strong breeze. She wondered aloud if she could also travel so far and with such ease one day. You told her that day could be now, if she wanted.

When you Realized Hector, it was summer. He shed his shiny silver blazer as the two of you lay in the grass, hands entwined, under the heat of the summer sun. He wiped his damp forehead and briefly stared at the back of his hand. Sweat! He was actually sweating! Not condensation. Real, human sweat! Eventually, it got to be a little too much and the two of you headed inside. He instinctively let out a sigh, feeling the cool air upon entering the house. After a moment, he snapped to attention, eyes wide. “So that’s what it’s like…”

In the Fall, Dunk was Realized. The summer heat was tapering off and the autumn chill was setting in. Dunk was thrilled to play sports! With you! Outside! You spent most of the day playing catch, having a badminton match, kicking around a soccer ball, doing outdoor yoga and any other sport Dunk could think of. Eventually the two of you started just plain running around as you challenged him to catch you, the fallen leaves crunching beneath your feet. He did. Several times. He was reluctant to let go every time.

Jean Loo was Realized in the winter. He scowled, teeth chattering and arms crossed, as the snow fell around you until you finally zipped up his ridiculous jacket. He claimed he was just about to do that himself anyway, but you knew he was lying. As the two of you sat on the stoop you called a back porch, he moved just a little closer to you. He didn’t look at you as he felt around the concrete until he found your hand. He also didn’t appreciate you laughing when he burned his tongue on a mug of hot chocolate.

And so it went. Looking at the neighbors’ holiday lights with Holly. Florence looking with wonder at the buds just starting to grow on the trees. Sinclaire holding an umbrella as the two of you stood under a warm summer rain. The Hanks clambering up the tallest tree in the yard and jumping into a newly gathered pile of leaves. A snowball fight with Freddy. Watching The Perseids with Hoove. Playing with Mateo and his inanimals — Well, animals, now — in the grass. Trying to stop I, Ronaldini’s rabbit from burrowing under the leaves.

Day by day. Week by week. Month by month. Season by season.

Chapter Text

“Yoooo! House Honey! I feel like I haven’t seen you all day!”

As you exit the attic, you look up to see Hank 2 waving at you from the top of the stairs. You give him a tired little smile as you approach.

“That’s because you haven’t, Hank. I’ve been putting out fires all day. Who knew I could do so much running around in my own home…?”

“Fires, babe?” Hank’s eyes widened a little, raising his eyebrows. “Whoah. I thought Arma would have been all over that.”

“Figurative fires.”

“Ohhhhh. I’ll ask Lyric about that later…”

“Anyway,” you continue, “I think I’m just gonna...lay down for a little bit. Get in some Floor Time.”

“If you’re tired, I got a better idea,” Hank said. Before you can respond, he throws you over his shoulder and makes his way to the gym bathroom, despite your protests.

“Hey, B!” Hank says, giving Bathsheba a wave. “You mind if we use your space for a little bit, homie?”

Bathsheba rolls her eyes. “My name is not ‘B’ and I am not your ‘homie.’”

“Aw, what? Sorry, dawg, I thought we were gucci.”

“Oh, my God, just use it,” she groans, swiftly making her way out of the bathroom. “Rebbieeeee! Oh, Rebbieeeeeeeee~!”

“Thanks B-dawg!” He calls after her, as he turns on the water.

“Hank, I’m not letting you bathe me,” you say annoyed, as you remain slung over his shoulder.

He finally sets you down and begins rummaging around in the cabinet. “Nah, that’s not what this is, babe,” he laughs. “...That can be for a different day.”

“You are Hank Number 2, right? Not Number 3?”

“Oh, ouch!” he chuckles, grinning as he pulls a bag of epsom salt from under the sink and walks over to turn off the bathtub faucet. “...I’m allowed to be a little cringe, right?”

You peer into the half filled tub as Hank pours the contents of the bag into the water. He kneels down and removes your slippers before rolling up the legs of your sweatpants. He lifts you gently and places you so that you’re just sitting on the edge of the tub, your feet slipping under the lavender scented water. He swiftly kicks off his boots and pulls up the pants of his jumpsuit before climbing in himself and sitting on the opposite edge, sighing as he submerges his feet in the water. He undoes the top of his suit, tying the arms around his waist.

“It’s nice, right, House Honey?” he asks. He stretches his arms with a groan. “You just gotta destress sometimes.”

You let out a low hum with a nod. You close your eyes and moments later you feel Hank reach over and ruffle your hair a little bit.

“You just work like, mad hard, you know?” He says softly. “...You spend so much time dealing with everyone else’s stuff. You gotta take time to relax.”

“Hank, you regularly go out and do dangerous stunts for fun.”

“Yeah, but then I come back and chill!” He says, playfully kicking a little water at you. You kick back and eventually the two of you are giggling and splashing one another.

“Stop, stop!!” you cry between bouts of laughter. “If you make a mess, I’m not asking Tyrell to clean up after you!”

“Me?! You’re the one making the mess, babe!”

You start to stand from your perch on the edge of the tub and shriek as you lose your footing and start to slip. Hank moves swiftly, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you close to keep you from falling. The two of you are face to face, almost exchanging breath, and you press a chaste kiss to his lips. He flushes, just a little.

“You, uh, you gotta be careful, babe.”

“Well, I have you looking out for me,” you say quietly. “So I can be as dangerous as I want.”

“House Honey, that is not how it works.”

You move to sit back on the opposite edge of the tub, taking Hank’s hand in yours, both of your arms stretching across the tub. You squeeze and the redness splashed across his face deepens. You laugh.

“How does holding hands make you blush more than kissing?!”

“I dunno,” he mumbles. “You’re just like, mad cute.”

“Cute enough that we can do this again?”

“Cuter.”

Chapter Text

“Well, if it isn’t...ngh...my little bunny!”

I, Ronaldini looks up at you with a bright, if somewhat strained, smile. He’s currently on the floor tangled in a mess of ropes and silk scarves and...is that a pair of handcuffs? ...Two pairs? He’s straining against what you can only assume are self imposed bonds.

“Hi, Ronny,” you reply. The two of you had become a little more casual as of late, having learned a little more about one another. Who knew he was Canadian? Besides, saving the whole Master-Servant routine for Ronaldini’s closet made the whole thing a little more...exciting. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

He’s quiet for a moment, his expression shifting a little, before his smile returns.

“…Ah, yes. You see, dearest, I’m working on a new trick to add to my repertoire! It will be the greatest illusion ever known to man!” He pulls at his restraints a little more. “Just need to...rrgh...work out the kinks.”

You decide to be nice and not go for the joke.

“Do you need help?”

Ronaldini laughs dramatically. “No, no! While I do appreciate your concern, dearest bunny, I’ve got this completely under control!”

“Your wrist is handcuffed to your ankle. Your left ankle. Behind your back.”

“It’s part of the trick.”

“It looks uncomfortable.”

“Art...hghh...isn’t always comfortable,” he replies, grunting as he pulls at one of the ropes.“Art can be difficult. Sometimes art requires suffering.”

“Ron. I will go and track down Bobby if I have to.”

“Oh, come now! There’s no need to get Bobby! I, Ronaldini, am a Master of Magic! An Overlord of the Occult! An expert of Enchantment! A...a, uh…”

You can see steam starting to come off of him. He continues to struggle for a moment until, finally, he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Yes, I need help, please.”

You kneel next to him, fingers moving along the various ropes and silks, trying to figure out the many twists and knots.

“Do I want to ask how this happened?”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Was it ever a new trick?”

“It was! It was going to be magnificent! Perhaps I just got a bit too ambitious.”

“Oh, nonsense. There’s no such thing as too ambitious in regard to…” a dramatic pause. “Ronaldini, the Great and Terrible!”

“You know, you don’t have to make fun.”

“I’m not! I love that you push yourself to get better and better,” you say. “Your act is already pretty incredible, though. That transmogrification trick still blows me away.”

“...Thank you.”

“You gotta tell me how you do it.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets. Not even to his favorite little bunny.”

The rabbit in his hat starts to steam profusely.

“Oh, stop that! You know what I mean!”

“Not even to me, huh?” you laugh. “...You know, this is a good look for you.”

“Oh, come now!”

“I’m just kidding! I wouldn’t want to ruin the mystery, anyway.”

You hum as you continue examining the ropes. What did he even do here? You turn your attention to the handcuffs, running your fingers along them.

“We can start off with something easy, I guess. Where are the keys for these?”

Silence. Ronaldini frowns.

“We…may need young Pinn for this.”

Chapter Text

“You...you’re sure you want to do this?”

“I mean, I thought we could try it. ...I-if you’re not comfortable, we don’t have to-”

“No, no, I’m not opposed to, you know, trying. It’s just…”

You look down at Sinclaire, who is currently lying on your bedroom floor, porcelain head resting in your lap. Your grip tightens around the toothbrush and toothpaste in your hand.

“...sort of unusual.”

“It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Nooo, no! ...A little. ...Yes.”

“I knew it,” Sinclaire sighs, sits up. “Listen, Darling, we don’t have to do this.”

“No, it’s fine. If it’s something you want to try, we can do it! I mean, we basically do this twice a day.”

“Not like this. Also, you should be brushing three times a day, but now isn’t the time for that conversation.”

“Why are you trying so hard to talk me out of this?”

“I don’t know, it’s-”

“If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine, but it was your idea in the first place,” you say with a frown. “...Sinclaire, what is this actually about? I feel like there has to be something behind you asking me to…to…”

“To spit into my drain, yes. See, you can’t even say it.”

“Let’s just talk about this.”

Sinclaire sits up, crossing his arms, shoulders (pipes?) tense. He doesn’t say anything.

“Please?”

He sighs. “I’ll preface this by saying I am not ashamed of being a sink. My father was a three compartment sink. Worked hard every day of his life. I do my job with a lot of pride and, not to brag, my materials-” he knocks on his head, making a quiet tink tink sound. “- are pretty good quality, if I may say.”

He nervously laces his fingers together. “But I’ve found that since we’ve started...hmm…”

“Fucking?”

“Dating. I was trying to be a gentleman about it.”

“Sorry. Please, continue.”

“Since we’ve started dating, certain characteristics of mine have made specific…acts...a little difficult.”

“Those being?”

He’s quiet for a moment, nervously fiddling with his collar. He exhales sharply. “Well, I can’t exactly kiss you, can I?”

“Are you serious? That’s what this is about?”

“Yes! Isn’t that sort of thing, you know, important to humans? I mean, you seem to like it a lot. Even some of the more human-esque objects...”

“Are you jealous?”

“I certainly am not!” He scoffs, placing a hand over whatever equivalent of a heart a sink has. Some sort of heart-like pipe, perhaps. “I am completely secure in our relationship and I’m perfectly fine with you engaging with others. I just...want to be able to do things for you that you like. I mean, Cam and I saw you smooching up on Luke and you looked like you were having the time of your life.”

“You and Cam hang out?”

“I mean, we share a space. Nice guy. A little quiet.”

“Really? He always comes off as kind of aloof.”

“Oh, you just gotta get to know him, he’s not a bad guy.”

“You share a space with Dishy, do you hang out with him?”

“Dishy is a...he’s a real character. We don’t really tal-...We’re getting off topic.”

“Right. So, this is all because you’re worried about not being able to kiss me? How does that relate to me spitting in your drain?”

“I mean, you know, an exchange of oral fluids. Sort of. I thought it would be kind of a...kiss equivalent.”

“And why the toothpaste?”

“I thought it would be easier for you if it was minty. But if it’s not something you’re into-”

“Let’s try it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. So just...lay down and we’ll see how it goes.”

The two of you shuffle around, a bit tense and awkward, as Sinclaire lays down on the floor once more, placing his head in your lap. You squeeze a bit of toothpaste onto the toothbrush in your hand and briefly dip it into a glass of water sitting nearby before starting to brush your teeth. You take a deep breath. This is fine. Maybe this could end up being a nice, intimate thing. Maybe this could be sexy. You can make this sexy. You are determined to make this sexy.

After a few minutes — he wants you to brush three times a day, that’s what he’s gonna get — you take a small sip of water. Leaning forward, you slowly open your mouth, allowing the combination of toothpaste and saliva to drip off your tongue and into Sinclaire’s...sink? Face area? Slowly, the foamy substance slides into his drain. He lets out a quiet, shuddering breath. You reach down and gently pat his sponge.

“Did...did that feel like anything?”

He laughs, a bit sheepishly. “I mean, sort of? You, uh, you really went for it. Dear me…!”

You can feel the heat radiating off his faucet. “Let me do it again.”

You repeat the process once more and you open your mouth...and happen the breathe the exact wrong way. The foamy mixture goes back into your throat, causing you cough and gag.

“You, uh, you okay, Darling?”

“Yeah, ugh, it just went down the wrong tube,” you sputter. “I just…haaghhhgh…I just need some water…!”

“Oh, dear, let me get that…”

Just as you lean over to grab your glass of water, Sinclaire sits up, causing him to bang his head on your chin, knocking you backwards.

“Ow! Oh, no, Darling, I’m so sorry!”

“No, no it’s …ack... it’s fine, I just-”

You reach over again, eyes shut tight and in the middle of a coughing fit, and in the chaos of it all, accidentally bump one of Sinclaire’s handles, causing water to cascade out of his faucet. He gurgles and flails, rushing to turn it off. By the end of it, the two of you are sprawled out on the floor, completely soaked. You would have to apologize to Florence for the mess later.

He sits up, shoulders sagging. “...I’m sorry, Darling, this whole thing was a complete mess, I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s fine,” you pulling yourself up to sit next to him. You pat his arm reassuringly. “We tried something, we got a little messy...it was kind of fun, actually. Maybe if we, um, refine the process a little, it could almost be as hot that hot water hand of yours.”

“Darling!” Sinclaire laughs, lightly slapping your arm. “You keep talking like that, you’re going to make me bust a pipe.”

“Oh, Sinky, I’ll make you bust something,” you purr, leaning towards him. You feel your hand land in a puddle of water, reminding you of the mess around you. “We should probably take care of this first.”

“I’ll...go ask Tyrell for some towels.”

Chapter Text

With a plastic grocery bag in hand, you unlock the door of Hector's apartment. You're pretty sure you can guess what's going on but he had called you, sniffling and sobbing about wanting to see you one more time before “the end.”

His apartment, while not a complete mess, is in a bit of state. A discarded sweatshirt here, a few dirty dishes there, sketches for new masks strewn across a table and temporarily left forgotten, half empty glasses of water, an empty tissue box… You quietly creep further inside setting your plastic bag on a nearby table and quietly calling out to him. “Hector? Hector…?”

“M-My - ACHOO - My love!”

The voice that greets you is hoarse and scratchy and the man it comes from looks to be in just as bad condition. Hector is curled up on his small sofa, bundled in a blanket, red nosed and sniffling. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and his curly hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“I’m so grateful that the p-pow -ha-CHOO!- powers that be have granted me time enough to see you before I depart from this world…!”

You approach him and cup his face in your hands. “Oh, look at you,” you coo. “My poor Hector. ...Here, hold this under your tongue.”

“Wha-” he splutters for a second, as you stick a thermometer under his tongue before you go about picking up around his living room. He clenches his teeth as he speaks in an attempt to keep the thermometer in place. “Uh...m-my love? Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m just picking up a little. I’m can’t just leave this place a mess if I’m gonna be here.”

“But…! Y-you don’t need to occupy yourself with these...domestic tasks right now! P-Please, could you just hold m-”

“I can’t just leave it either. If I leave it for later, it’s just gonna get worse.”

“My love, please! You would deny me your affection, your touch in my final hours?! Such cruelty! And yet…!”

The thermometer starts to beep and you return to him, gently removing it from his mouth; you look at the display and let out a low hum.

“100 degrees...a little high, but manageable,” you mutter to yourself. You tenderly run your hand through Hector’s hair, taking note of his distressed expression. “I’m happy to inform you that you’re not dying.”

“...I feel like I’m dying.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s just a cold. It’s normal.”

“A cold. A cold! I’m burning up!”

“That’s a fever. Your body is trying to fight off the sickness.”

“That's…What is, what is this? Is this just something human bodies do? Just heat themselves to death?”

“Again, my dear, you’re not dying,” you say, giving him a pointed look. “You were my air conditioner for years! You must have seen me at least this bad, more than once.”

“And you felt like this?! Most of those times, you were still up and about!” He coughs hard and lets out a groan of discomfort. “How did you bear it…?”

“Well, as far as I knew, I was living alone,” you reply, digging through the plastic bag you brought with you. “I didn’t have a choice but to take care of things myself. Besides, I was used to it. Most humans just...get sick sometimes. How did you think I was feeling?”

“I assumed it was bad, but I didn't know it was like this!”

“Here, suck on this, it will help the coughing,” you tell him, handing him a cough drop and gently rubbing his back. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t think to prepare you guys for all this. You’ve only been human for less than a year; I should have known you might not know how to deal with human illnesses.”

“Well, it certainly, was a - ooh, cherry – a shock,” Hector sighs, leaning back into your touch. “I’d been broken before when I was still a machine, but this is a whole different experience. I didn’t know being human could come with such...misery.”

“You’re not starting to regret being Realized, are you?”

“No! No, of course not, God, no!” he croaks. “...But a little warning would have been nice.”

“I said I was sorry,” you say to him, with just a hint of a whine. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll stay with you all day and take such good care of you. And the next day. And the next if need be.”

Given your new position at Valdivian, you certainly had the PTO for it, and if Franklin and David didn’t like it, well...there were a lot of things they could do and most of them weren’t very nice to talk about. Placing a hand on Hector’s shoulder, you lean into him and rest your head on his.

“You spent so long caring for me. Let me return the favor.”

Now that he knows he's not actively dying, Hector is able to relax at your touch. His eyelids start to grow heavy and he yawns.

“Well. I suppose that…seems fair…”

And he's out like a light. You make a note to contact everyone else before you start getting phone calls about more of the same.

Chapter Text

You stretched your arms with a groan as you closed the door to the office. You had finally been able to find some work on some side-hustle site; checking grammar for term papers, beta-reading people’s short stories...all those years you spent writing fan fiction were finally paying off. As soon as the door clicked shut, you turned to chat with Dorian only to hear a storm of footsteps approaching from the living room.

“House Honey!!” Hank no. 4 came barreling around the stairs with the energy of an excited puppy. He wrapped his arms around your midsection from behind and lifted you off the ground, much like a young child might pick up a cat. “You done with work for the day?!”

You laughed, your feet dangling off the floor, briefly giving Dorian an apologetic smile. You peer over your shoulder at Hank, who was looking at you with his usual toothy grin. “Yes, Hank, I’m done.”

“COOL! You wanna hang out!?”

You nodded and Hank, still holding you tightly against him, began hustling towards the stairs only to double back to the living room.

“Koa! Good talk, bro! Let’s chillax again sometime?”

Koa laughed quietly and nodded towards him before closing his eyes and dozing off on the couch. Hank took off once more and hurried up the stairs to your bedroom, nudging the door shut. He flopped backwards on to the bed with you still held tightly against his chest, both of your legs hanging over the side of the mattress. Hank’s feet were planted firmly on the floor while yours still dangled.

“I missed you,” he whined softly.

“Hank we were in the same house the whole time.”

“Yeah, but, like...I didn’t wanna harsh your grindset, you know? Your intense concentration.”

You didn’t know how intensely you might have been concentrating but you appreciated his being so considerate. You reached back and fiddled with his wild, blond curls as he nuzzled into your neck.

“You’re awfully affectionate lately,” you mused. “What’s up?”

“...Nothin’.”

“Hank. Come on, now. You’ve been doing this almost every day this week. The second I leave the office, you scoop me up and we end up hanging out for the rest of the night,” you said, the hint of a chuckle in your voice. “I think some of the others are starting to miss me. Apparently, Eddie and Volt have been asking after me.”

“...Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I like hanging out with you. Just...tell me what’s going on. Let’s talk.”

He held you just a little tighter, letting out a nervous little noise. You patted his hand to try and reassure him, gently kicking your feet.

“I guess,” he began, speaking slowly, as if trying to find the right words. “I’m just feeling like,...I dunno. A little lonely. Maybe?”

“Lonely? But you and the other Hanks still hang out all the time, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s like, kinda different?” He sighed. “They have like, all these big dreams and I totally love that for them ‘cause, you know, they’re my bros! I like seein' 'em happy! It’s so cool to see them all like, figuring stuff out, right?”

“But…?”

Hank’s hold around you tightened. “But I’m not. Like, they all have these cool goals and I don’t. It’s like they’re all moving forward and I’m not, you know?”

“It’s not like they’re going to leave you behind.”

“I know that. They’re my Squad 4 Life.”

You could absolutely hear that number four. You just knew it.

“But like, what if I never find what I wanna do, you know? What if they become, you know, Hank the Writer and Hank the Dog Parachute Maker and I’m just like...Hank. Forever?”

“You still have time to be Kevin.”

“Babe, come on…!” Hank whined. “I’m being so for real right now!”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you cooed softly, rubbing his arm. “You know, you have plenty of time to find a dream.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You might find a dream in the most unexpected place. I hear you’ve been doing a lot around here lately.”

“I’ve just been like, trying to occupy my time. Have you ever actually watched Stefan when he cooks? Dude is intense.”

“Is that so?”

“Totally. I thought dude was going to blow up. And have you ever listened to Jean Loo Crap (note: Cool Rap)?”

“A couple times.”

“That dude straightspits bars, fam. His rhymes are highkey based. And I did some flyer runs with Holly! Dude, she runs so fast.”

“She’s incredible, right?”

“Yeah!! We even stopped by the Junk Drawer. It lowkey kinda smells, but Jerry’s got so much cool stuff in there! I watched him make a bird out of a bunch of like, rubber bands and stuff.”

“It sounds like you’re experiencing a lot of new things lately,” you reply. “That’s the first step, you know.”

“To what?”

“To finding a dream.”

“...No cap?”

“No cap. You don’t have to look for a purpose. Just...experience the things around you and find things you enjoy and a dream will come to you eventually.”

“Whoah. So, it’ll just...happen?”

“Maybe. Sometimes you just stumble on something that just...resonates with you. Something that tells your heart ‘This is it. This is my dream.’”

“Cool…” Hank breathed. He stayed quiet for a few moments before letting out an unusually contemplative hum, nodding against your shoulder. “Can you be a dream?”

“Hank no. 3 is really getting to all of you these days, isn’t he?” You lightly slap his hand and the two of you burst into giggles.

“Hey, House Honey? Koa was telling me about this...like, Alone Together thing.”

“I’m familiar.”

“Can we do that? For a little while?”

“Sure.”

You weren’t sure how much of the “alone” part the two of you were accomplishing, considering that he was still holding you against his chest — you wondered briefly if this was how Teddy felt when you were a child — but you were happy enough with the “together” part. After a short while, you heard Hank starting to quietly snore.

It would seem you weren’t going anywhere for a while. The Breaker Box would have to wait yet another night.

Chapter Text

Still in your pajamas, you had finally managed to get the coffee machine going - God, you missed Kopi - when you heard a particularly loud series of knocks at your door. You furrowed your brow; you hadn't been expecting company.

“Just a moment!” You called out. However, despite your answer the knocks got more insistent. You frowned. If it was those weird church folks again, you were gonna lose it. As soon as you unlocked the door it practically exploded open, catching you by surprise and sending you stumbling backwards onto the floor.

“RANGER!!”

The tall muscular form of Luke Nukem stood before you, grinning broadly and his arms outstretched. His grin soon changed to a look of confusion as he glanced around before finally looking down at the floor.

“Well, what the cruck are ya doin’ down there?”

You stand up from the floor with a smile. “Luke, why didn't you tell me you were coming?!”

“What are you talking about? I did.”

“I would have remembered if you did.”

“I would have remembered if I didn't! Look, I'll show you,” Luke grumbled. He pulled out his phone and began swiping through his messages. “Look, see, I-... oh.”

You move, craning your neck to get a better look.

“You forgot to hit send.”

“I forgot to hit send.”

Luke briefly averted his eyes for a moment, embarrassed. In the next moment, however, that wide grin reappeared on his face. “I was just so GODDAMN EXCITED to see you, Ranger! How could I think of anything else?!”

“Alright, alright, fair enough,” you replied, laughing. “Hurry up and get in here.”

As the two of you reached the kitchen, Luke presented you with a cute cardboard bakery box.

“I, uh, I brought'cha something.”

“Ooh, pastries!” You accepted the box with a smile. “Oh, you shouldn't ha- ...Luke, were you already eating these?”

“...No.”

“Luke, almost every one of these has a bite mark.”

“I wasn't eating them, I was testing them for foreign contaminants! I can't just let you eat any damn thing and risk you getting poisoned !Or worse!”

“Ohhh, I get it now,” you said, teasingly. “My big, strong soldier, always protecting me. First from Swarmers and now you're putting your body on the line to save me from death by danish.”

“Exactly. Don't worry, Ranger. I gotcha.”

If he was at all detecting your sarcasm, he was hiding it extremely well.

“I really don't mind either way,” you remarked, with a little smirk. “It's almost like getting a little kiss when I eat.”

You picked up a pastry and deliberately took a bite where Luke had bitten off previously. He turned just the tiniest bit red.

“You know, Ranger…if you want, we can kis-”

“Oh! You know what would be great with these? Coffee! I was just getting a pot ready when you got here…”

“Um….Oh.”

As you stirred sugar and creamer into your own mug, you realized you didn’t know how Luke took his. It was, you assume, something he never did as a microwave. Or maybe he did. It was still a little strange to you how food and stuff worked for the objects before their realization. You knew it did, though, so you had decided long ago not to question it further. You turned to ask him, only to find him standing, staring pensively at the microwave. You joined him, brushing your arm against his.

“What are you doing?”

“Thinking. That used to be me. That little block of metal and radiation was me. Protected me for…” he counted on his fingers. “...Many years.”

He took a moment to look around the kitchen.

“I considered almost everyone here in the kitchen a valuable ally. Maybe even...a comrade.”

He saluted the stove.

He saluted the fridge.

He saluted the toaster.

He flipped off the air fryer.

“Oh, you know he’s part of a men’s choir these days? Hold on.” You grabbed your phone, pulling up a video. Errol, of course, was front and center, conducting the choir. “They’re really good, right?”

Luke watched the video for few moments, frowning. “They are and, not gonna lie, I’m a little mad about it.”

He flipped off the air fryer a second time. Both hands.

The two of you spent a long time together in the kitchen, eating pastries and catching up. You told Luke all about your new job with Valdivian as the Vice President of Human Experience (which still sounded like a bullshit title to you, but it’s a job) and he told all about his exploits in bomb disposal. You took what he said with a little grain of salt, but overall, you were pretty impressed with how easily he seemed to find his place in the world. Eventually you found him once again gazing at the microwave.

“...Do you think I was cooler as a microwave? I mean, being a human is pretty great, not gonna lie. But taking down Swarmers, radiation coursing through my veins…”

You gave a thoughtful hum. “You might not be a radioactive super soldier and mess cook anymore…”

“Hey.”

“But...not having that microwave embedded in your chest makes it a little easier to do...this.”

You gently seated yourself on his lap, leaning against him and laying your head on his chest. He was warm. So warm. You sighed and looked up at him, smiling tenderly.

Luke’s face flushed and he let out some sort of strangled squeak before putting his arms around you and holding you against him a little tighter. You craned your neck upwards, planting a kiss on his jaw.

“This is...This is real cool. Definitely cooler than being a microwave.”

Chapter Text

Maybe it was the way he held your hand so firmly in his own. Or maybe it was the complete lack of doubt in his eyes and voice when he asked he knelt before you. Or maybe — and you would assure your friends later that this did not at all influence your decision — it was his absurdly hot body and the way his stupid vest and shirt stretched across it, to the point where you thought the buttons were going to pop right off. No matter the reason, your choice was made.

"Will you be my little champ, forever and always?"

“Yes…Yes! Forever and ever!”

“Oh, WOW!!” Tom, your former manager, cried out, joyfully jumping to his feet and sweeping you up into his arms. “Love has come for ol’ Tom! LOOK OUT WORLD! Here comes Tom and his Little Champ!”

Without so much as another glance at David, Franklin and Sam, he carried you across the threshold and up to your bedroom as if you were already married, stumbling a bit on the stairs. When you awoke next to him the following morning you could feel his words reverberating in your mind and heart.

”Oh...Oh, my little champ…! I love you!”

What followed was a swirling whirlwind of romance and wedding planning. Tom moved in, of course, eager to begin your new life together. With your new promotion, the two of you decided that he didn’t really need to work anymore and Tom decided to be the best househusband he could possibly be! Sure, he could be a little clumsy and wasn’t the best cook and probably made more messes than he cleaned up, but what he lacked in domestic competence he made up for in love and devotion...inside and outside the bedroom.

Tom was surprised at your guest list for the wedding. One hundred and seven people! He knew you would invite your parents and Sam...and of course you had to invite David and Franklin, if only to stay on their good side…but he had no idea you had so many friends! He had no idea anyone had this many friends. You told him you didn’t expect all of them to RSVP.

They did, though. All of them. Even Jean Loo, likely at the behest of some of your other friends, you assumed.

Oh, this was going to be an expensive wedding. However, with a little pushing from Skylar, Franklin convinced David to cover it. Tom made David the Best Man as a gesture of appreciation. You had a bad feeling about it, but you shook it off easily enough. You were just too excited to get married to the love of your life! But you did ask Franklin not to let his husband pregame too much.

Before you knew it, the big day had arrived. David had convinced you two to have the wedding in Vegas. As you entered the venue you looked around. Johnny volunteered to officiate, of course. Teddy sat front row, alongside your parents. They didn’t recognize him, of course, but they had been happy to meet your dear friend. Lux was busy not so quietly live vlogging what was sure to be “THE WEDDING OF THE YEAR” making sure to mention that Valdivian’s Vice President of Human Experience had PERSONALLY INVITED them which basically put them on, in their words, “the same level as the ACTUAL PRESIDENT who IS ALSO HERE BY THE WAY.” Fantina was crying, surely overjoyed to see that her favorite person had found love. Keyes had graciously volunteered to perform. Skylar, your Friend of Honor, smiled at you encouragingly. It was all so beautiful, you could have been moved to tears.

And you were.

Finally, you stood with Tom at the altar, your hands in his.

“Do y’all take each other to be eachother’s in sickness and in health, ‘til death do y’all part?”

“I do! My little champ!”

“Oh, Tom! I d-”

You awoke with a gasp. You looked around the darkened bedroom, moonlight streaming through a break in the curtains. Johnny was still sleeping next to you, snoring softly, occasionally mumbling out a quiet “Uh-huh” in his sleep. You idly patted him on the head, twirling a few of his curls around your fingers. Even though you came all the way to Vegas to visit him, you still hadn’t managed to get in his pants, even though you thoroughly explained that no one used the Hays Code anymore and it wouldn’t have applied anyway. He at least gave in to sleeping in the same bed, which was progress.

“What the fuck was that?” you muttered to yourself, falling back into bed. “I’m never eating any of this Vegas buffet bullshit again...”

Chapter Text

“So…President Applegate, huh?”

“Well, I needed a surname and it was the first thing that came to mind. I found that I’d become somewhat attached to it after everything. A little ironic, I suppose.”

“Regardless, everyone really has to start telling me before they visit.”

You sat in your kitchen with Sinclaire Applegate, your former sink, the current President of the United States and...maybe your boyfriend? Former boyfriend? It had been a while and you weren’t really sure what your relationship was these days. You leaned to the side to take a peek at the front door. Through the window, you could see two tall men in dark suits standing on the front porch, keeping a quiet vigil. Almost Dorian-esque. You could only imagine what the neighbors were saying.

“I mean, you’re the President you can’t just show up,” you groaned. “At least send me a text or something.”

“Didn’t I?” Sinclaire takes out his phone, briefly scrolling through it. “Ha! Can you believe it? Forgot to hit send.”

“You forgot to hit send,” you repeated flatly. “Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Mr. President?”

“Aw, come on, don’t call me that,” he replied with a chuckle. “It’s embarrassing to hear you say that.”

“Embarrassing?” You could have sworn your jaw had hit the table. “You’re the President! You showed up out of nowhere, trampled your opponents and went from a sink to the most powerful man in the country. The most popular President our country’s ever seen on top of that!”

“Well, I sort of...fell into it.”

“Tell me about it! You didn’t even show up for the inauguration. It took them, what, a month to track you down?”

“Three weeks. Just sort of slipped my mind.”

“Slipped your mind? How does becoming the president slip your mind?!”

“Sudsy keeps me busy. You know what a little rascal he is!” Sinclaire said with a shrug, taking sip of his coffee. He made a face. “Woof, this is...uh...it’s a little…”

“You can just say it’s bad. I’m still figuring out how to make it properly.” God, you missed Kopi. “I’ll ask again, though. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I just...missed this place, I suppose,” Sinclaire sighed. “Feeling a little nostalgic. I mean, I’d been here since this place was built. And then one day, I became a human and I’m just...out there.”

“How’s being human treating you, by the way?”

“It took a little getting used to, but it’s great! I mean, eating? Now, that’s a hell of a thing.”

“Oh, come on, you guys ate. I literally had meals with Mitchell. Multiple times!”

“If you’ll recall, I didn’t have a mouth. Lotta smoothies went down that drain.”

“Oh, right, I forgot about that.”

“You forgot, huh? Even after our...dental hygiene sessions?”

“Oh my God,” you sighed, pressing your palms over your eyes.

“Oh, so you can be embarrassed, huh?” Sinclaire chortled, resting his head on his hand. “That, uh, that was an experience, wasn’t it?”

“That’s….a word for it,” you reply. “I can’t believe this. At one point, I was basically spitting in the president’s mouth.”

“Well, don’t say it like that!” He reached over and playfully slapped your hand. “I didn’t have a mouth then! And I wasn’t the president!”

“Well, you are now!”

“I am and I do!”

“Do what?!”

“Have a mouth!” Sinclaire went quiet for a moment, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck. “I, uh, I have a mouth now.”

“Oh,” you responded, quietly. “You do.”

He stood up, leaning over the table towards you. “Lips, too.”

“You know, you had a mouth the day I Realized you, too.” You moved closer as well, a slight smile forming on your face, placing your hand on his. “I showed you how to use it and everything.”

“Oh, yeah? ...Remind me, Darling.”

Meanwhile, Sudsy snoozed quietly on the bathroom floor.

Chapter Text

“He was the kissless loser THE WHOLE TIME, that fucking asshole!”

“Champ, I love that you’re expressing yourself, but I really think you need to dial it down a little bit. It’s late.”

Tom gave a sheepish smile to one of your nosy neighbors as he helped you into your house. The two of you and Sam had spent the night at a local bar and, apparently, you really got into your feelings when you drank. You didn’t normally drink much at all, but Sam kept buying so you kept knocking them back. You would feel pretty bad about this later, especially considering your relatively recent promotion; you probably should have been buying. Tom, however, insisted on staying sober. Someone had to be responsible, but also the guy was HUGE. You were sure if he really wanted to, he could drink you and Sam under the Able.

Table. Under the table.

“I can’t believe he ghosted me!” you sobbed. “What, he’s an accountant now, so he thinks he’s better than me?!”

“Aw, come on, Champ, I’m sure that’s not it,” Tom replied nervously, shutting the door behind you. “You’re great!”

“Am I?! I lost my last job to a orbot...a robort...to a ROBOT on my first day!” You flopped down on the couch, kicking off your shoes. “And now I’m crying over a stupid fucking toilet! His beats weren’t even that good, that idiot! ...Oh, who am I kidding, THEY WERE GREAT!”

Tom watched with concern as he sat down in a nearby chair. He was a little out of his depth here. He was pretty fond of you, but this was a side of you he had never seen, which wasn’t surprising because until around six months ago he had only known you through a screen. Also, the way you kept referring to this Jean fellow as a “toilet” was a little concerning to him and it made him wonder what that said about your proclivities. As you sobbed, Tom went and rummaged around your kitchen for a glass. If nothing else, he figured he had to get you hydrated. By the time he returned, you were laying on the floor, letting out a high pitched whine-sob.

“I’m such a loser! I got dumped by a fucking CRAPPER (note: Cool Rapper, but also toilet)!”

“That’s no way to talk about yourself, Champ! Would a loser be promoted to Valdivian’s Vice President of Human Experience?”

“Oh, it’s a bullshit title and you know it!” You wailed, pointing at him accusingly. “I’m halfway convinced it’s just a hush promotion to keep me from talking about those damn sunglasses. Those stupid...amazing sunglasses…!”

“Sunglasses?”

“It’s how we met!!”

Tom sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. Oh, now you were talking nonsense. This was getting out of hand. In the moment, Tom could only do what he knew: manage. He helped you sit up and took a deep breath, putting his hands on your shoulders and looked you directly in the eye. He needed to pull out the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. It was time…

For a pep talk.

“Listen, Champ, just because this guy doesn’t know what you’re worth doesn’t mean that worth isn’t there. He’s out of his mind if he would just drop someone like you! You’re an amazing person and you don’t just deserve better, you can do better!” He tightened his grip on your shoulders. “You’re my champ and I believe in you!”

You looked at him, eyes watery, and sniffled loudly. "You mean it...?

"More than I've ever meant anything," he replied with one of his trademark corny grins.

You lunged forward, throwing your arms around him, and started bawling.

“I love you, Tom!”

Tom's breath caught in his throat, his face flushing. Was this it? Had love finally come for good ol’ Tom?

“You and Sam! You guys are the only people who understand me! And Johnny. Gaia, too. And Barry. And Amir. Oh my GOD, I miss Amir SO MUCH RIGHT NOW…!”

As you continued to list off person after person who totally understood you, Tom sighed as he awkwardly patted you on the back. Maybe he would find love another day, hopefully in a more ideal situation.

“...Do you think I should try to call Jean?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good-”

“I’m gonna do it, I’m gonna call him.”

“Champ, NO!”

Chapter Text

“What…what is that, what do you have?”

Sudsy froze.

Sinclaire furrowed his brow as he slowly rose from his seat. “Sudsy…what are you eating?”

Sudsy took a step back, looking at his master with beady little eyes.

“Sudsy. Come to Daddy.”

Sudsy began chewing faster.

“SUDSY, NO!” Sinclaire leapt into action, grabbing the little white dog before he could take off. “Drop it! Drop it, Sudsy, give it here!”

He gently squeezed behind Sudsy's canines, trying to pry his mouth open, until the dog finally dropped his prize, a small decorative soap in the shape of a crab. He inspected it carefully; no pieces missing, just some teeth marks. Sinclaire let out a sigh of relief, as Sudsy whined quietly.

“For Pete's sake, Suds, you're not a little bar of soap these days. You're a flesh and fur little doggy,” he said, scratching Sudsy behind his fluffy little ears. “You can't just gnaw on any old thing any more.”

He looked at the crab-shaped soap in his hand, being careful to hold it out of Sudsy's reach. He supposed he couldn't exactly blame Sudsy. He was a dog, he didn't know better. Also, between the cute decorative shape and the pastel colors, the damn things looked delicious, which he quickly learned was not the case within days of being Realized. The Human had only ever bought regular bars of soap, and only ever one at a time. Buying a multipack would have been more cost effective, but God forbid the Human ever listened to him.

Actually it was probably better they didn't, considering that for most of the time they had together, Sinclaire hadn't been capable of communicating with them and once he was he was, he out of his right mind for a good while. Thinking about those days did make him a little nostalgic, though…

—--------

Sinclaire felt like he had a pipe missing. His life wasn't bad, not at all. He wasn't sure how to describe it. He had friends, so he didn't feel lonely, exactly. And he didn't feel understimulated either, often discussing philosophy and literature with Washford or Lyric. His bathroommates were…fine, for the most part, though a few in particular left a little to be desired. He had even been going on dates!

Maggie was lovely, certainly, but they just didn't click romantically though they did remain friends. And Sinclaire’s chronic drip was a deal breaker for Tyrell. He had even tried making a pass or two at Dorian but then again, who hadn't? (There's a saying among objects: “If you want a partner that's stable, find a door or a table.” It was an open secret that Able had a thing for Dasha, by the way, so Sinclaire didn't even try.) But Dorian wasn't budging for anyone.

Still, the feeling didn't pass, and Sinclaire was at a loss. It was too bad there wasn't a chaise lounge or a clipboard in the house. He'd heard they were excellent therapists. However, for the moment, he had no idea how to relieve this…ennui? Listlessness? He didn't even know what the feeling was to start with.

One day, as he pondered his situation, he heard a loud shriek from the gym bathroom. He wandered over to see what was going on and found Bathsheba cowering behind Dorian, absolutely hysterical.

“GET THAT LITTLE MONGREL AWAY FROM ME!”

Dorian looked at her over his shoulder. “S’ just a dog, Bathsheba.”

“IT TRIED TO BITE ME!”

“It tried to sniff you.”

“It's thinking about biting me, I know it!”

Sinclaire squeezed past the two of them into the bathroom. “Excuse me, may I…?”

“Go ahead,” Dorian grumbled. “Can't get any worse, I reckon.”

When he entered the bathroom, the sink found a little soap dog, going in circles, chasing its tail. It was covered in a fine layer of foam and bubbles, with beady little eyes and stumpy legs. As Sinclaire approached, the dog jumped up on his legs, yapping playfully.

“Well, you're just a feisty little fella, aren't you?” He asked, holding his hand out for the dog to sniff. “I haven't seen you around these parts. You one of Mateo's pack?”

“NO,” Bathsheba began, “The Human is trying a new kind of soap! Why couldn't they stick with the lavender one they had before, it at least smelled nice!”

“Cuttin’ costs,” Dorian remarked. “The other stuff's too costly for them right now.”

“They would choose the cheap stuff!” she scoffed.

“He's a real cutie, isn't he?” Sinclaire laughed, patting the little soap dog. “You didn’t mean to scare poor Bathsheba, did you, boy? I’m sure you just want to be friends, right, Dorian?”

“Don’t care much for dogs,” Dorian replied matter-of-factly, keeping a watchful eye on the little dog as it wandered over and began to sniff at his shoes. “Tend to scratch things up. Chew on door frames.”

“Well, the little guy is made of soap, Dorian, I don’t think he’ll be damaging any doors.”

“They also tend to do…that.” Dorian’s eyes narrowed slightly and Sinclaire followed his gaze. The little inanimal had left a soapy little puddle of liquid on the floor.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll, uh...I’ll take care of that.”

Tyrell, who had been moving his towels out of the dog’s reach, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, well, you’d better go get some rags from the laundry room.”
-------

From that day on, Sinclaire and his canine friend, who came to be known as Sudsy, were nearly inseparable. Rarely would one hear “Oh, if it isn’t Sinclaire!” but rather “Oh, if it isn’t Sinclaire and Sudsy!” Something just clicked with them. Every day seemed to hold a little more joy with Sudsy around. The other objects had their own opinions of the bubbly little dog, (Jean-Loo in particular was annoyed with how much Sudsy seemed to love toilet water and more than once threatened to drop a diss track on him) but Sinclaire felt a little lighter just having him around.

Then, the incident happened.

Sinclaire still wasn’t sure exactly how the situation came to be but one day he just seemed to fall apart. He held delusions of an alternate life, identity and history. He babbled on about insurance claims and walnut brittle and fortune tellers...no one knew what to make of it.

“My name’s not Sinclaire! It’s MARTIN! Martin Applegate!”

But the one thing that remained steadfast in his memory was Sudsy, his most trusted friend. No matter how irrational he became or what bizarre things he said or did or how much he screamed or how aggressive he got, Sudsy stayed steadfastly by his side. Most of the other objects gave up on Sinclaire entirely — “Sinclaire has lost it!” “The water pressure must have got to him!” “Wonder what’s gotten into his pipes?” — but Sudsy never did. Even in the midst of madness, Sinclaire cared for Sudsy.

Fortunately, Maggie and the Human managed to deduce the cause of his altered consciousness (for which the Human would apologize profusely later on) and with a flush of his disposal, he was returned to his normal self. He could only remember bits and pieces of what he had been like, a chaotic whirlwind of nonsense and madness. Exhausted after the investigation concluded, Sinclaire sat in the laundry room, holding his best friend, his little Sudsy.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” he said softly, petting Sudsy and watching as the bubbles that made up his ears popped and reformed. “That whole thing must have been so awful for you.”

Sudsy whined softly, nuzzling into his stomach.

“I know, Sudsy. Me, too.”

------------

Sinclaire, holding Sudsy in his arms as he sat on the floor, sighed. Now that they were alive, real flesh and blood beings, life was a little more complicated. But they had each other. And that was really all he needed.

Chapter Text

As you thought about what to have for breakfast, you heard the sound of someone knocking at your front door. A few quick knocks. Then a few more. As you headed towards the door, you ran your fingers through your hair, trying to make yourself presentable. You were at least thankful to have already gotten dressed; with the amount of visitors you had gotten as of late, you started making a habit of getting dressed earlier rather than later. You reached for the doorknob, and swung open the door to find…

An empty front porch.

“Goddamn kids, playing Knock Knock Ditch again…”

You paused. That was probably the oldest thing you had ever said.

Suddenly, there was a burst of smoke and confetti, startling you and sending you tumbling backwards onto the floor. From within the cloud of smoke, you heard a voice call out dramatically.

“I, RONAL- er, RON, HAVE ARRIVED!”

It would be Ron.

“For God's sake, Ronnie, I- OH MY GOD.”

Ron, previously known as Ronaldini, former ironing board and current laundry press innovator, stood before you, just outside your door. Rather than his magician’s tuxedo that he now reserved for trade shows, advertisements and the occasional magic show, he was clad in a simple button up and slacks, his loyal rabbit snuggled comfortably in the crook of his arm. None of that was terribly shocking.

What was shocking, however, was Ron’s clean shaven face, his trademark mustache completely absent.

The two of you stared at one another for a minute or so as the smoke dispersed and the last of the confetti fluttered down onto the porch. Ron coughed and after a moment, awkwardly touched his now bare upper lip.

“...You hate it, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that, Ron.”

“The look on your face said everything,” he sighed.

“No,” you protested. “I don’t hate it. It’s just...unexpected.”

“Does it look bad?”

“It looks fine! Great, even! I’m just surprised. The mustache is, you know, part of your look, isn’t it? Like, your brand?”

“Not to worry, I have a very convincing fake to use for business purposes.”

You looked at Ron, then the mess of confetti on your porch, then back. Ron did the same to you and coughed.

“I...shall clean that up later, I assure you.”

“Okay. Fine. Come on in,” you said, getting to your feet. “Let me guess, you meant to text me and say you were going to visit, but forgot to hit send.”

Ron looked at you quizzically. “What, no. Why would I do that? Had you been expecting me, it would not have been much of a magic trick, now would it?”

“No, I suppose it would not,” you reply, somewhat irritated with the way all these people that you loved and adored oh so much kept just showing up without notice. “Anyway, Ronnie, what are you doing here?”

“I was in town for a trade show and...well, I just had to make time to visit you, dearest bunny,” he said, putting a hand on your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You never could stay mad at him.

You handed Ron a mug of coffee as he took a seat; your kitchen table was getting a lot more use as of late. He nodded gratefully, taking a long drink.

“Oh! This is quite good! You made this?”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” you joked. “But yes, I did. Kopi visited last week and finally taught me how to make a proper cup of coffee."

You sat down opposite him, cradling your own cup in your hands. You took a sip and exhaled before deciding to address the elephant in the room.

“I just gotta know, Ronnie...what’s the deal with the mustache?”

“Ah. Well, you see,” he began, with the tiniest hint of nervousness, “I’m trying to create a...what’s the phrase…? Ah, yes, work-life balance. While I’ve accepted Ron, thanks to your help, I’m really making an effort to embrace Ron! Create more of a divide, an off-stage presence as is it were. Ronaldini may be the face of MagiFlat, but...well, Ron is who I truly am.”

He dropped his showy affectation.

“Who I’d like to be.”

He paused briefly.

“...With you.”

For a few moments, the two of you sat in silence. Ron nervously drummed his fingers on the table before briefly glancing at his rabbit, who was quietly snoozing next to his feet. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Jesus, that was corny, wasn't it? Sorry, I-”

“No, it's cute.” You got up and moved to his side of the table, pressing a kiss against his temple as you placed a hand on his cheek. “You're cute.”

Ron’s face flushed. If hadn't known any better, he could have sworn steam was pouring out of his ears as he leaned into your touch, closing his eyes.

It was like magic.

“I love you, bun.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, hey, Darlin’! That you?!”

You laughed softly as you sat on your bed, eager to have your nightly phone call with Johnny.

“Johnny, why do you always sound so surprised when I call you?” you asked.

“Well, it’s not that I’m surprised...It’s just that I’m always real excited to hear from you!”

“Johnny, we talk every night!”

“And every night I’m real excited!” he replied. You could almost see the boyish grin on his face and the way it made his eyes squint just a little.

“It’s not too late for a call, is it? I know I got in a little later than I meant to. Parker gets so serious about game nights…,” you replied, holding back a groan as you recalled Parker’s passionate reading of the Cream Capitalist manual earlier that night, as he asserted that a move Chance had made wasn’t allowed. His devotion to rules rivaled even Errol’s devotion to the Church of Convection.

“Of course not! You could call at five in the mornin’ and I’d still jump outta bed like a grasshopper in June to talk to you.” His voice softened a little. “It’s...It’s always real nice to hear your voice at the end of the day.”

“Oh, Johnny, you’re sweet,” you said with just the faintest hint of laugh. Somehow just saying his name felt nice.

“I bet you’re even doin’ that thing you do where you lay on your stomach and kick your feet.”

You raised an eyebrow, stopping to look at your phone, as if he would be able to see you. “Wh-...Johnny, how did you know?!”

“You always do that when you’re on the phone,” Johnny chuckled. “I love when you do that. It’s real cute.”

“Oh, stop it! You flatterer, you.”

“Aw, I ain’t tryin’ to flatter you, sweetheart! I really mean it. You’re just about the cutest darn thing I ever did see.”

“I didn’t call to talk about me, Johnny.”

“But I just love talkin’ about you!" he drawled. "I could talk about you all day n’ night if you’d let me.”

“Oh, come on! I want to talk about you. You’re so far away now and I like to check in with you. Like...How are you? Are you well? Feeling okay?”

“Aw, I’m swell, sweetheart,” Johnny replied. “Little tired the way work’s pickin’ up, though. With it being vacation season n’ all, we got a real uptick in weddings!”

“Oh, really? That must be really exciting!” You had tried not to ask too much about Johnny’s work. He went into the world to follow his dreams and then...well. “I know it wasn’t the kind of job you had in mind when you went to Vegas, but...how is it? Good?”

“Oh, it ain’t bad at all, really. It’s kinda nice, bein’ a part of a big moment for all those happy couples, getting’ to send ‘em off,” He said, trailing off. He got quiet for a moment. “The other day, we had this older couple come in to renew their vows. They’ve been together for 50 years. Can you imagine that?”

“Awww. That sounds so sweet” you sighed. “It must be so nice to find your person, you know? To be in love with someone for so long…”

“Oh, I know it, Darlin’,” he replied softly. “The kind of thing a fella dreams of. To be honest, it’s kinda got me thinkin’…”

“Oh, yeah? About what, Johnny?”

“Maybe this ain’t the kinda thing I should do over the phone, but...I was thinkin’ that maybe you and me should get toge…,” he trailed off into a mumble, and you strained your ears trying to hear him.

“Johnny? I couldn’t hear you. Ugh, let me check my signal…”

“Oh, uh, I was sayin’ that...m-maybe you and me should...should get together. Uh, sometime! Get together sometime! One of these days, I’ll...I’ll have to take some time off and come visit you! O-Or you could visit me!” He laughed. There was an overt nervousness in his voice, but you couldn’t imagine what he had to be nervous about.

“Oh, Johnny, that would be great!” you exclaimed, rolling over onto your back and letting your legs hang off the edge of your bed. “We’ll have to work out the details sometime.”

“Oh, sure, Gorgeous! I can’t wait!” He went quiet for just a moment. “I miss you somethin’ awful, you know.”

“I know, Johnny. I miss you, too,” you cooed. “I know it’s late over there, so I’ll let you go.”

“You know, these calls just never feel like they’re long enough.”

“I know,” you whispered. “And remember...you’ll hit it big soon. I just know it.”

“Aw, thanks, Darlin’. ...Love ya.”

“I love you, too, Johnny.”

The call ended and Johnny flopped backwards onto his bed. He racked his brain trying to figure out who to contact. Barry? Amir, maybe?

Who, out of everyone, would know your ring size?

Chapter Text

“Good morning, Dorian.”

“...Come to have a laugh, have you?”

You stood in the middle of your kitchen and gave Tiny Dorian a pointed look.

“You know I’d never laugh at you, Dorian. I confessed my love to you weeks ago.”

“You confessed to Front Dorian.”

“You’re all Dorian and you’re all equally important.”

“Tell that to Laundry Closet Dorian.”

You heard a loud sigh, dripping with ennui, from the laundry room. You let out a huff; you would definitely have to visit Laundry Closet Dorian soon. The struggles that come from having seventeen boyfriends that are also actually one boyfriend.

“You’re all Dorian and you're equally important to me and that’s what matters. I wuv you, Dorian,” you teased in a simperingly saccharine manner.

Tiny Dorian’s frown deepened a bit.

“That reminds me,” you said. “You really ought to hang out with Jacques. You guys have a lot in common, I think.”

“What, because we’re both short?” he replied, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, I was going to say because you’re both stubborn and have a bit of a temper,” you responded, sitting down at the kitchen table. “But now that you mention it…”

“If I’m so stubborn, I reckon you shouldn’t poke at me so much, yeah?”

You made your way over back to him and playfully ruffled his hair. “But you’re the only one I can play with like this. The other Dorians are too-”

“Tall?”

“Uh...w-well…”

“That’s just it, innit?” he grumbled. His stoic expression changed almost imperceptibly, giving off just a hint of frustration. “I hear what everyone says, you know. I’m ‘Tiny Dorian.” I’m not a real door, just a hatch for the ironing board. The one door no one’s got to take seriously.”

“Oh, Dorian…”

“S’fine.”

“It’s not fine!” you protested. “I didn’t realize it bothered you so much.”

“It doesn’t.”

“You certainly made it sound like it does!” You frowned, hands on your hips. After a moment, a sly little smile played across your lips. “But I think I know how to make you feel so much better.”

Never breaking eye contact, you knelt before Tiny Dorian’s step stool. He tensed visibly, a faint blush splashing across his face.

“What? Here? Now? In the kitchen?”

“Uh-huh.” You looked at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Well, uh...as...as you wish, then.”

With a quiet hum, you leaned forward...and leaned your head against his chest, pulling yourself against him in a hug.

“...Oh.” It wasn’t quite where Dorian thought you were going with this, but he had to admit, it was quite pleasant.

“You’re always looking out for me, Dorian. Even here in the kitchen,” you breathed. “Even if it was Front Dorian that said it, you must remember it, too, right? You’re big and strong…”

“...To keep the bad ones out,” he finished. He rested his head on top of yours with a sigh. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t hold you tighter than anyone else in this house.”

Chapter Text

“Dude, can you really do magic tricks?”

I, Ronaldini squinted slightly at the five wide-eyed men in front of him.

“I do not do ‘magic tricks’, I perform monumental feats of illusion! To call them ‘tricks’ is an affront to my great and terrible abilities!”

The Hanks stared at Ronaldini, uncomprehending, before looking to one another.

“Uh…” “Dude, what? His abilities are terrible? I heard he was pretty good, though...” “Bro, what did that mean?” “You’re the writer, dude, you’re supposed to know the words!” “Is he mad? He sounds mad.”

Ronaldini sighed. “Yes, I do magic tricks.”

“Cool!” Hank no. 1 replied with enthusiasm. “Can you show us some?”

The irritated iron tried hard not to grimace. There he was, a renowned magician (supposedly) with a legendary reputation (that he created) reduced to being asked about parlor tricks by a gaggle of jabbering slackjawed jocks. Perhaps if he showed them the bare minimum, they would be disappointed and leave and he could go back to wallowing in despair about how far he had fallen.

“I suppose,” he grumbled. With a performative flick of his wrist, he reached behind Hank no. 1’s ear, producing a shiny bottle cap. “And presto.”

For a moment, The Hanks stared expressionless at the bottle cap. Ronaldini rolled his eyes. They were disappointed. Good. Now he could get back to his closet and-

“YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The Hanks went wild, erupting into cheers, jumping up and down, slapping one another on the arm and generally losing their minds. The magician raised an eyebrow.

“You…liked that?”

“YEAH, BRAH!” Hank no. 4 exclaimed. “THAT WAS FUCKIN’ SICK!”

“How’d you do that, amigo?!” asked Hank no. 3.

“You’re not supposed to ask that, dude!” Hank no. 5 looked at no. 3 with mild reproach. “Magicians don’t tell people that shit!”

“Yeah, bro, it ruins...the mystique,” breathed Hank no. 2.

“Dude, can you do another one?” Hank no. 1 asked.

All five Hanks looked to Ronaldini, their eyes wide with wonder. Several other denizens of the house, hearing the excitement, also began to make their way to the kitchen to investigate. Ronaldini tensed as he looked around at the various objects whose gaze now rested on him.

“I...I am unfortunately hardly prepared,” he said. “But...I suppose I could do another demonstration in a few days time. Perhaps at say, eight o’ clock in the evening?”

“SICK, BRAH!” The Hanks cried in unison. “WE’LL BE THERE, HOMIE!”

The other objects chatted among themselves as they went back to their own business. I, Ronaldini took a deep breath, his lips drawn into a tight line.

He had a show to rehearse for.

-------

A few nights later, a small crowd of objects had gathered in the kitchen, their collective murmur dying down when Bobby stepped out in front of the crowd.

“Heya, folks! Welcome to the show! Before we dive into a…” they paused for a moment, sighing. “Night of wonder and mystery…, I’m gonna warm ya up! Get ready...for Bobby Stickyfingers!”

As Bobby entertained the audience with acts of contortion and lock picking, Ronaldini paced back and forth in the laundry room. God, how long had it been since he had actually performed? Fortunately, Bobby and the human helped him rehearse, but...this was so sudden! He had put together a show in a matter of days! The rehearsal had gone well enough, to be certain, but what if the show itself went poorly? One could never tell what could happen, Murphy’s Law and all that.

“Nervous?”

His head snapped towards the doorway of the laundry room, to see the form of the house’s resident actress, Chairemi.

“Me? Nervous? Preposterous. I, Ronaldini, am a well practiced magician, having delighted the most discerning audiences! I have performed for-”

“-The powerful and wealthy and tamed an ambush of terribly terrifying tigers!” She replied, dramatically throwing her arms wide and doing her best imitation. She smiled cheekily. “It’s okay to be nervous, though. I get a little nervy every time I perform! And I go on every night!”

“...Truly?”

“Yeah! But you’re gonna do great! If I’m gonna be honest, I sneaked a peek at your rehearsal after last night’s play. What I saw was incredible!”

“Oh. W-well. I thank you.”

“Oh! You’re on! Break a leg!” Chairemi whispered, as she grinned and gave him a thumbs up before disappearing from the view to join the audience once more.

“All right everybody! Get ready! For the one the only...I, RONALDINI!”

Ronaldini straightened his posture, took a deep breath and prepared to make his appearance.

--------------------------------------

After the show, the crowd talked among themselves as they began to disperse.

“That transformation trick...no matter how much I think about it, I don’t think even I could solve that mystery.”

“Did you see that?! He made that leftover pizza appear from nowhere! And then it just disappeared! I gotta make sure it’s still in here...”

“That teleporting trick was simply astounding! It almost, almost, rivals our acrobatics, don’t you think, Washy?”

“Dawg, my mind was BLOWN And I thought the bottle cap thing was cool!" "I’m still thinkin’ about pickles, bro!” “Me, too! My mind has been freaked, amigo!” “ Dude, SAME! ...Should we be worried about that?”

"Eddie, what do you think about getting him into The Breaker Box? It could be a breath of fresh air..."

Bobby slapped Ronaldini on the back. “Hey, Ronny, we did pretty good, huh? The crowd was basically eatin’ outta your hand!”

Ronaldini looked over the crowd. Chairemi shot him a grin and two thumbs up before making her way back to the living room and he nodded sharply.

“Perhaps, we should begin planning our next performance.”

Chapter Text

You looked around the room; boxes of rubber bands, pipe cleaners and other miscellany laid on the numerous tables. You had been pretty worried at first until you saw the little sculptures, many with little paper tags with names on them, set in various glass cabinets. Little eraser piggies, birds made of pompoms and bread ties, a car with wheels made of empty tape rolls.

“Wow, these are so cute!”

“Aren’t they?” Jerry replied, setting a hand on your shoulder. He smiled fondly, looking over them. “I mean, originally I just set all this stuff out to try and keep the kids from touching the models, but they really seem to love it!”

“I can tell!” You looked over at a corkboard with various photographs of museum patrons, children and adults, joyfully holding their little junk sculptures. “You love them, too, huh?”

“W-well…,” Jerry blushed just a little. “Yeah. It reminds me of, you know, what you did for me. Showing me the...the joy of creation! The satisfaction of making art!”

He looked again at the various pieces of art; sculptures, little drawings...one kid even managed to rig up a flashlight. Jerry didn’t even know he had all the stuff for that. He exhaled, a proud little smile forming on his face.

“It, uh, it feels nice to give that to other people, you know?”

“I bet....By the way, I still have your carousel.”

“What? No! That old thing…?”

“Don’t say it like that!” you said, playfully slapping his arm. “I love that thing! It was the first art piece you ever made! It makes me think of you every time I look at it.”

“Aw, jeepers,” Jerry ran his hand through his hair, bashfully adjusting his glasses. “I mean, as long as you like it…”

The two of you stood in silence for a moment. Jerry could feel his face grow warm as he stood, just looking at you as you regarded him with a fond smile.

“W-well, come on, you didn’t come here to look at all this!” He said, finally breaking the silence. “I gotta show you the real exhibits!”

“Of course! ...You’re really sure you’re okay with having the museum closed today?”

“Certainly! If it means getting to see…,” he trailed off, unable to get those last few words out of his throat. “I-I put up notices weeks ago, you know. It’s perfectly fine!”

You followed him to the next room; it was full of little dioramas and miniatures, each with model trains running through them. As the two of you walked through, he pointed out various points of interest.

“You know, Timothy came by the other day. That guy and his clocks. Wouldn’t stop hassling me until I synced up every clock in here and adjusted them to be-” He stood up straight, mimicking holding a pocket watch and doing his best imitation. “-time accurate.”

You laughed. “That certainly sounds like Timothy.”

“Took the better part of an hour! Do you know how many miniature clocks I’ve got in here?”

“One hundred and seventy three.”

“I...that’s exactly right. How did you…?”

“Tim visited me, too. We were cleaning pocket watches.”

Exchanging a look, the two of you went back to looking over the various exhibits.

“Oh, so this one is actually modeled after a station in Berlin! I mean, I’ve never actually seen it, but do you know how many train enthusiast Instaglam accounts there are?! There’s one guy that just visits train stations. The photos are incredible.”

You nodded along as your gaze swept over the diorama when something caught your eye. You moved closer to get a better look at one of the figurines; it was a woman with frizzy black hair with glasses, clad in a yellow jacket and pencil skirt.

“...Penelope?”

Jerry’s attention snapped back to you and he realized what you were looking at.

“O-oh, you noticed!” He bashfully rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, I kinda started missing everyone, you know?”

“Everyone?” Your eyes widened a little. You began to look over the exhibits just a little closer. “...Oh! There’s Dorian! And Lyric...Oh, you made Ronnie, too!”

You and Jerry decided to make a game of it. You searched the exhibits and Jerry gave you hints on where to find everyone. Jacques was at the beach and Johnny was near a small outdoor stage, Eddie and Volt were near a power station…

“And...there’s Gaia! You hid her inside this train!”

“I didn’t hide her! That’s just where she goes! She travels!”

“I guess that makes sense!” you snapped a quick photo with your phone. “She needs to see that Mini Gaia is traveling, too…!”

As you began to send Gaia the photo, something occurred to you.

“There’s one missing.”

“Huh?”

“There’s a figurine missing!” you exclaimed. “I didn’t see you.”

“Well, I’m right here.”

“Oh, you know what I mean!”

“Uh, there isn’t one,” Jerry said, quickly shoving his hand into his pocket. “I...don’t have a figurine.”

“What was that?”

“What, uh, what was what?”

You got up close to him, looking up at him with half lidded eyes. As you put your hands on his chest, Jerry tensed, his face growing hot. You leaned up, growing closer and closer to his face...then shoved you hand in the pocket of his cardigan, rummaging around like a raccoon.

“Lemme see!”

“Get...Get outta there, stop that!”

“Come on, I knew you had a figurine!”

“I...I don’t! Cut it out, you!”

“Let...me...see!”

You finally won out, managing to take the figurine from his hand. Your eyes widened as you looked at it. I wasn’t one figurine, but two, connected together. A tiny Jerry and a tiny you, holding hands with tiny little smiles painted on their tiny faces.

“Jerry,” you breathed. “This is so sweet.”

“You don’t...You don’t think it’s, you know, a little sad?” He looked away.

“Of course not! Now that I think about it, it has been a while since we’ve seen each other, huh?” You placed the figure down on a table and took Jerry’s hand. Jerry picked it back up and pocketed it.

“I’ll uh, put that one back later. It usually goes in the first room.”

You let out a quiet chuckle. That was just like him. You squeezed his hand. He let out a quiet “Oh!” and squeezed back.

“Uh, you know...since the museum is closed and if you’re not in a rush to get anywhere, we could go sit in the back office and-”

“I’d like that.”

Jerry grinned and let out a nervous breath.

“Cheese and crackers…!”

Chapter Text

“Thanks for letting me stay at your place, bun,” Ron said, as he rummaged though his suit case. “They have a conference and you’d think they’d try to reserve a hotel block, but no. Ridiculous.”

You watched him, leaning against the fireplace. “You know I’d want you to stay even if there were hotels available.”

“I hate putting you out, though,” he replied.

Ron, formerly I, Ronaldini and current laundry technology innovator, had chilled out quite a bit. Since being realized, he had made an effort to put aside his shame regarding his humble origins and really embrace being Ron. He still took up the Ronaldini persona as a sort of mascot for Magiflat, but on paper at least he was Ron Albert Dini, founder and CEO of the top selling manufacturer of laundry presses in North America. It was really fortunate that Franklin could use his resources at Valdivian to create all sorts of paperwork and documents for all your loved ones/former household objects.

“You love when I put out, though, don’t you?” you asked with a cheeky smile.

He sputtered out a strangled sort of wheeze. If he had still been an iron, his face would have been positively steaming. Literally and figuratively.

“For God’s sake, I’ve been here for twenty minutes and you’re already talking like that!” He laughed. "I ought to start carrying a spray bottle when I come to visit."

“Ronnie, you were an absolute freak the first time I met you.”

“Excuse me, if I recall correctly you're the one that said you were terribly interested in me.”

“Of course I was. You're terribly interesting.”

The two of you looked at one another for a moment before bursting into giggles.

“I really gotta show you this new thing I'm working on,” he said. “Not only is it portable but it works faster than any press I've made so far. It still needs a little tweaking, but…”

You watched as he rummaged through his luggage, his words almost completely lost on you. Just looking at him, you never would have guessed he was the same iron you met nearly a year ago. …Well, most people wouldn't assume he had ever been an iron, but that was beside the point.

“...And, no, there won't be any fires this time. …Shouldn't be, anyway,” Ron said, turning to look at you. “...Hey, what's on your mind?”

Your gaze softened. “You know, Ron, I am so proud of you.”

“Oh.” He ran a hand through his hair, smiling with just a whisper of sheepishness. “Well, thanks, bunny. I mean, MagiFlat's really gotten big since I started it. I'm pretty proud, mysel-”

“Not MagiFlat, you! I'm proud of you. You've really grown, you know that? You don't agonize about living a lie anymore,” you said quietly, as you approached him. “You don't pressure yourself to put up a front for people. You just let yourself be you. Do you know how much hard work that takes?”

Ron's heart fluttered, just a bit.

“I…well…”

“I'm so proud of the person you've become. My Ron from the vast wilds of Lloydminster, Saskatchewan.”

“Wow.” Ron swallowed hard. “I...Thank you. I mean, more than just thank you, but... I don't know what to say.”

With a smile, you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Well, how about ‘I love yo-”

“Oh, I hope you don't mind, you're gonna have another guest incoming.”

“What.” You narrowed your eyes as you pulled away. “Ronnie.”

“I didn't think you'd mind.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake,” you said, heading towards the kitchen. “I'm going to have to figure out new dinner plans! Maybe I should just order a pizza? Jesus, Ronnie, what was that you said a little bit ago about not wanting to put me out!?”

“Fear not, dearest bunny! You shall not be inconvenienced, for your surprise guest has been here the whole time!”

Hearing that familiar affectation, you whirled around to find him wearing a top hat, bowtie and an extremely realistic fake mustache.

“It is I, Ronaldini the Great and Tremendous!” he strode forward, taking hold of your wrist and pulling you close as you shrieked with laughter. “The greatest magician, lover and Canadian alive!”

“Why did you emphasize Canadian and not lover?”

“I'm embracing my roots.”

You threw your arm across your face dramatically. “And what sort of sinister, scintillating and seductive magics will the great I, Ronaldini cast upon me today?”

“Well, dearest bunny,” he said, his voice low. “The greatest magic is the kind that we can only make…together.”

You couldn't help but giggle. “Ronnie, you're ridiculous.”

“Yeah, you love it, though, don't you?”

“I do.”

Chapter Text

“Florence, I am...not sure if this is a good idea.”

Celia and Florence Stipple currently stood outside the J.J. Miniature Train Museum. Children and adults drifted in and out, happily chattering away about their experiences. Florence, having seen an article about Jerry’s work in their local newspaper, had insisted they drop by the next time they were visiting their favorite Human and was excited to see one of their former housemates. Celia, however, was less enthusiastic. She and Jerry had never had the most positive relationship before being Realized and they hadn’t spoken at all since.

“Oh, Celia, I’m sure it’ll be fine. He’s really done well for himself,” Florence said, patting Celia’s arm reassuringly. “If it gets too uncomfortable, I’m sure we can excuse ourselves.”

Wordlessly, Celia nodded and, as they entered, they were greeted by a sprawling metropolis of hyper detailed dioramas, model trains running through each one. Celia had to admit, it was quite impressive.

And clean.

Before long, they spotted a tall man, his familiar thick-framed glasses perched on his nose, guiding a gaggle of school children and their teacher through the various dioramas. He looked so much different than the last time they had seen him, various bits and bobs no longer spilling from his pockets. It wasn’t until the children began to shuffle their way into an area labeled “Scrungle Room” that he took notice of the two women. As they approached, a pit formed in his stomach. He had always been fine with Florence; she always had such a soft and kind demeanor, but...Celia. To him, Celia had always seemed so...domineering and demanding, especially when it came to his collection. But those days were behind him. They were all different people now! Literally! He could handle this! Jerry took a deep breath and adjusted his posture.

“Hello, Jerald.”

“Uh, H-Hello, Madams Mayors! N-nice to see you.”

“There’s no need for such formalities. We haven’t been your mayors in a quite a while. Just Celia and Florence will do.”

“Uh, yes, of course.”

For a moment, the three of them were silent as if a thick layer of awkwardness had settled upon them, like a winter’s first snow.

“This is such a lovely place you’ve got here, Jerry!” Florence exclaimed, eager to brighten the mood.

“Uh, yes, thanks!” he responded, thankful for the push. “I mean, I’m sure it’s not much compared to your work in politics…”

“Nonsense, this is wonderful!” Florence smiled, gesturing to the exhibits around them. “Everyone seems to be having so much fun!”

“Oh, yeah! The kids love it!” Jerry smiled. “I host at least a couple field trips a week. It’s a real hoot, getting to teach ‘em all about trains and making dioramas.”
“And everything is so detailed!” Florence breathed. “My goodness, are these miniatures handmade?”

“Oh, some of them are. I like to think I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

“...Oh! Oh, my! Is that a tiny Wallace?! How cute! And there’s Mateo! And Telly, too!”

“Glad you like ‘em. Started feeling a little lonely not seeing everybody all the time.”

As the two talked, Celia quietly observed. Florence was right. Jerry certainly had done well for himself. Her eyes drifted to the “Scrungle Room” and she saw museum patrons making various little art pieces and sculptures out of knick knacks and art supplies, gleefully gluing one thing to another and proudly showing one another their creations, just as Jerry had begun to do after the Human’s intervention. He was doing something that seemed to make so many people so happy...himself included. She had to admit, it was quite admirable. Soon, Celia was snapped out of her thoughts by Florence’s voice.

“Oh! Oh, Celia! Celia, look! It’s us!”

Following Florence’s gaze, Celia’s eyes landed on a pair of miniature figurines modeled after the two of them. They stood in a peaceful park, side by side. She imagined, if they could, that they were enjoying one another’s company.

“I…,” Celia began, doing her best to find the words. “Jerald. I’m...touched, that you would include us in your work. Truly.”

“Well, I couldn’t just exclude the two of you!” Jerry said, with a nervous chuckle. “I...understand that we didn’t exactly see eye to eye, but...you were still, you know, a pretty important presence in my life. All our lives.”

Another bout of silence, but thankfully one more thoughtful and less awkward this time. Something had been bubbling in Celia’s mind for quite a while now, ever since that newspaper article had brought Jerry back to her mind.

“Jerald, I want to apologize.”

Jerry’s eyes widened. “A-apologize? To me?”

“Yes. Back then, in the house...I thought you were just a messy individual. That your disorganization and mess was due to a lack of discipline and an unwillingness to change,” she said solemnly. “However...being a human, living among other humans, learning about the world around us...I have come to see that it wasn’t something that was entirely in your control.”

“N-No, I mean, I get now that it was really, you know, bothering everybody and causing problems and I was pretty stubborn about it and-”

“I’m not finished, Jerald, please.”

Jerry tensed, just a little.

“I’ll be honest,” Celia continued. “I still think that collection of yours was a nuisance. But, I realize now that the way I approached the issue was, perhaps, overly harsh and lacking in understanding...Understanding that our human was able to give you when I did not. Again, I apologize and I’m glad to see how well you’ve adapted to being human. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Oh. Oh, I, uh…” Jerry couldn’t help but sniffle, removing his glasses and wiping at his eyes. “Sorry, it’s a little dusty in here.”

Celia glanced at their surroundings; it was meticulously clean.

He took a deep breath. “That, uh, that means a lot. Really. Thank you, Celia.”

“You’re quite welcome, Jerald.”

“Just...just Jerry is fine.”

Chapter Text

It had been quite a while since you had visited with Dorian. He worked nights, you worked days and on top of that your days off rarely lined up. However on this particular day, you had finally managed to plan something. Dorian’s shift started later than usual, so you decided you would end your work day early. Sure, the two of you would only be able to visit for a few hours, but a few hours may as well be a few days with how rarely you saw each other as of late.

You couldn’t help but feel a little giddy, as you walked up the driveway to Dorian’s home. It wasn't terribly big, but according to him, he didn’t need much and having so much extra space would be a waste. However, the small size made Dorian’s home seem so much cozier, making your rare visits so much more enjoyable. You had initially been surprised at how quickly he closed on a house, but apparently being a bouncer at a particularly exclusive club pays quite well. As you knocked on the door, you imagined cuddling up to him, resting your head on his broad chest as you conversed, Dorian’s arms wrapping around you, instilling a feeling of safety and comfort. Your face lit up as you heard the click of the door unlocking and opening up.

“Hi, Dor- Oh my God, are you okay?”

There, just inside the door, stood Dorian, his usual steely expression on his face, which was not a reason for concern. What was a reason for concern was everything else. His eyes were bleary and his face was flushed, his hair damp with sweat. He sniffled loudly and you wondered how he managed to keep his composure. You reached up to touch his forehead, only for him to lightly swat your hand away.

“M’ fine,” he said, his voice coming out somewhat hoarse.

“Okay, I see where there might be some confusion because I phrased that as a question, but you are not fine. I am telling you that you are not okay.”

“S’just allergies. It's just pollen or some such in the air, innit?”

“Dorian.”

“Just need a cuppa and a bag of pastilles and I’ll be right as rain in no time.”

“What you need is to get back in bed. You’re obviously sick.”

“That’s a load of tosh. I don’t-” He let out a particularly phlegmy cough, followed by another loud sniffle. “...I don’t get sick.”

“Dorian.”

“You keep saying my name like that’s supposed to convince me.”

“Dorian!”

“See, you’ve gone and done it again.”

With a frustrated sigh, you began to walk down the driveway back to your car. Dorian frowned, calling after you.

“Oi! Where are you goin’?”

You turned around to face him, hands on your hips. “To the pharmacy. And when I get back, you’d better be in bed.”

It was only around half an hour before you returned with cold medicine, cough drops, electrolyte drinks and various other supplies. You knocked on the door and once again, Dorian answered, still looking as bad as he did thirty minutes ago. You frowned when you saw the tie in his hand.

“Dorian, what is that?”

“S’ a tie. Thought that much was obvious.”

“Dorian, you-”

“There you go, sayin’ my name again. No need to remind me of it, love.”

“Oh, for someone that’s all business, you really are a smartass sometimes.”

“What’s the saying? Better a smartarse than a-”

“Do not even finish that sentence. You know what I mean,” you said as you squeezed past him, entering his home. “What are you doing with the tie?”

“Ties, actually,” he said, taking a second tie out of a nearby closet. He swayed just slightly as he looked through his closet. Had it been anyone else, you wouldn't have thought twice. But this was Dorian. “Figurin’ out if I want to wear one to work tonight.”

“Dorian!”

“That is my name, yes.”

“You are not going to work. You. Are. Sick.”

“Bollocks. I’ve never been sick a day in my life.”

“Until this last year of your life, you were a series of wooden doors.”

“Still-” He sneezed. “Still true, though, innit?”

“You're so stubborn!”

“I prefer the word resilient.”

You glared at him before rummaging around in one of the plastic pharmacy bags, eventually pulling out a small digital thermometer and holding it out towards him, almost threateningly.

“Prove it. Prove to me that you’re not sick.”

“…No.”

“Because you can’t.”

“Because I don’t have to.”

You scowled. “You’re not going to get better if you don’t rest.”

“Don’t need to get better because I’m not sick.”

If he wouldn't take his own health seriously then maybe…

“It’s just you, right now, but you’re going to end up getting your coworkers sick, you know.”

Dorian didn’t answer.

“Then they get other coworkers sick and then the next thing you know, the club is short staffed and it’s chaos.”

Dorian furrowed his brow.

“Nothing will get done, it’s gonna be a mess and everything will be totally out of order. And what's everyone gonna say? ‘Goddamn Dorian got us all sick and threw the whole club outta whac-”

Dorian groaned.

“Alright, alright. You don't have to keep nattering on about it. If it'll put you at ease, I'll call in tonight.”

“Good.”

“‘Sides, if I'm not going to work, I suppose I can get a few things done around her-”

“Dorian!”

“What? I don't like the idea of just faffin’ around in bed all day.”

“It's not…faffing around, whatever that is, it's healing. You're a human, now, Dorian. Humans heal by resting!” You went quiet for a moment as something occurred to you. Before, Dorian had always unfalteringly protected you and your home. Before, aside from the occasional spray of lubrication to a hinge, Dorian rarely accepted care from others. Before, Dorian had always been the one to give assistance rather than ask for it.

“You know, getting sick doesn't mean you're not strong. It just happens,” you said, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your face to his chest. “Dorian, I'm not trying to nag you about it, I care about you. Just…take it easy for now and rest. …Please.”

You looked up at him, your face etched with worry. For a moment the two of you just stared at one another in what felt like a mildly sad battle of wills. Eventually, Dorian sighed and let his shoulders slump.

“...Fine. S'not fair, you know,” he said. “I can't say no when you look at me like that.” He leaned down to kiss your forehead only to be stopped when you pressed your hand against his lips.

“Absolutely not,” you replied sternly, before handing him the thermometer you purchased. “Absolutely no kissing until you're better. Get in bed and take your temperature while I make you some tea.”

With a huff, Dorian halfway snatched the thermometer from your hand, quietly grumbling as he headed off to call the club and get in bed.

By the time you brought him his tea, Dorian was fast asleep, his face smushed against his pillow. You took the thermometer that was held loosely in his mouth; 101 degrees. As he slept, you ran your fingers through his hair. He could be so stubborn sometimes… but he wouldn't be Dorian if he wasn't.

The following week, when you were laid low by a cold — you may have forbidden kissing, but you couldn't help but freely give hugs and cuddles that Dorian didn't ask for because he was too busy trying not to look like a pitiful mess— Dorian all but lived at your home, practically refusing to let you so much as lift a finger under his care, despite your protests.

Chapter Text

“And so I say to the guy ‘Strainer? I hardly know her!’ And then he called me a blasphemous heathen, but there's no accounting for taste I suppose. Speaking of taste, you'd think the guy had never heard of salt…”

The crowd at the Breaker Box howled and hooted as Sinclaire dropped one joke after another. You watched, head propped up on your hand.

“He's not Curt and Rod, but he’s really not bad.” Volt, holding a small clipboard, slid into the seat next to you with an almost absurd grace.

“He's so…different now,” you replied, keeping your eyes on the stage. The man...sink? ...Being before you now was no longer Martin Applegate, who only a week before had repeatedly insisted he was a human insurance claims adjuster and married father of two from Turkleman City, Florida under a curse. Now, he was Sinclaire, a perfectly normal sink — or as normal as a talking sink could be, anyway — who now seemed intelligent, charming and witty. Who WAS this guy?

“Yes. You'd hardly know he was the same sink, would you? Especially since you hadn't met him before his…malady, shall we say?”

“So, what, he was always like...this?”

“To be honest, Livewire, I don’t know him terribly well…but he always seemed quite well liked when he came in for drinks.” Volt tapped his finger on his chin as he thought. “Next thing we knew, Sinclaire had sworn off drinking altogether. Said it had brought him ‘nothing but grief.’”

“But Shirley Temples…”

“Don't have alcohol in ‘em,” Eddie replied as he leaned on the table. “Trust me, I tried telling him, but he wasn't having it. Guy went off on me. Volt nearly threw him out.”

Volt gave a quiet chuckle, eyes on the stage. “Quite literally, I might add.”

“Talk about being drained!” The audience burst into laughter once more. Sinclaire pointed into the crowd. “This guy knows what I'm talkin’ about!”

“‘Eeeyyyyyy! All day, baby, ALL DAY!”

Oh, Tony.

“I’m glad he’s back to normal,” Eddie said.

You looked to him. “Were you guys friends, or…?”

“No, but we could hear him screaming all the way from the bathroom.” Eddie ran a hand through his hair. “You know how hard it is to concentrate on repairs when someone down the hall is screaming about fortune tellers and Florida?”

Volt looked to the stage and made a subtle hand motion. Sinclaire nodded towards him.

“Oof, that’s my time! You’ve all been great!” Sinclaire said, grinning as the crowd applauded. “Oh, stop, you’re gonna give me a big head! ...Well, it might be too late for that.” He knocked on the porcelain basin that made up his head, eliciting a few more laughs from the audience as he left the stage.

“I suppose I should introduce the next act,” Volt said looking at the clipboard in his hand. “Jonathan Wash- For Amp’s sake, it’s Johnny again...!”

“As if we expected anything else,” Eddie laughed. “Surprised Amir and Jean-Loo didn’t try tying the shower door shut again.”

As Volt tried not to look like he was regretting having an open mic policy, Sinclaire quickly settled into the seat next to you.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite human!”

“How many humans do you know?” You asked.

“...My favorite human!”

“I see.”

“Hey, Eddie, let me get a drink for the human, huh?” He nudges you with his elbow. “Whatever you want.”

“How about your regular, Livewire? Whiskey sour?”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

“What about you, Sink man?”

Sinclaire fiddled with his collar. “Oh, uh, nothing for me, thanks.”

“You sure? ‘Cause-”

“No! ...No, I’m...I’m still working through some things.”

“Right. Gotcha.” Eddie nodded. “...Sorry.”

“...I’m sorry, too,” you said as Eddie headed off, burying your face in your hands.

Sinclaire put a hand on your shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Everything that happened to you was my fault,” you groaned. “Maybe if I hadn’t crammed those lousy weed cupcakes in your disposal and maybe if I had flushed it out right…”

The sink-headed man next to you sighed. “Sure, maybe it was irresponsible and maybe you could have disposed of them better and maybe those cupcakes were really awful-”

He took notice of your sullen expression.

“The point is, you didn’t mean anything by it. It was an accident.”

“You were delusional for weeks and I did that to you!”

“And it’s because of you that I’m back to normal.”

“It’s because of Maggie that you’re back to normal.”

“Maggie had been trying to figure it out the entire time and was getting nowhere,” he said. “Without your help, she might never have.”

“It’s the other way around, you know,” you sighed. “I couldn’t have figured it out with her.”

“Let’s say there was a mutual amount of mystery solving between the two of you, then.”

“Fine.”

“It’s not going to help either of us to beat yourself up about it.”

“Can you at least let me apologize?”

“You already did.”

“And…?”

“Apology sincerely accepted,” he rested his head on his hand — his head had to be heavy right? Or maybe he was just used to it — as Eddie returned with your drink, setting two glasses on the table.

“Thought you’d at least like a water,” he said to Sinclaire, who nodded politely in return before Eddie returned to the bar.

Sinclaire looked at your drink, a bit nervously, before leaning back and pouring his glass of water into his basin. With a sigh, he stood up, offering Eddie a polite wave.

“I think I’m gonna get outta here-”

“Uh, hey!” Why were you feeling so anxious? “Do, uh, do you wanna...hang out? Sometime?”

He stood for a moment, a bit taken aback, before giving you a wide grin and placing his hand on yours.

“Anytime. You know where to find me.”

Volt, who had been heading back towards your table, took a detour and instead went to the bar. Keeping his eye on the two of you, he turned to Eddie.

“I didn’t think porcelain was Livewire’s type.”

“Volt, just about everyone in this place is Livewire’s type.” He smirked. “I mean, we got ‘em, too, didn’t we?”

Volt suppressed a laugh as Johnny continued to warble tunelessly on stage.

Chapter Text

You had a long day. Not that it was entirely unpleasant — if nothing else, The Hanks knew how to have a good time — but between playing referee for Dirk and Harper and being dragged into another debate about the supposed superiority of air fryers you were about done for the day. You let yourself fall back onto your bed just to rest your eyes for a bit before going to bed.

“HELLO, BEEEAUUUTIFUL LOVER!”

Oh God.

You sat back up, to find Sinclaire standing in the bathroom doorway. …Well, no, after you and Maggie's investigation you supposed that, as far as the two of you were concerned, he really was Martin Applegate now. Maggie didn't like it, but it seemed to at least make him feel better. Still, why did you tell him he could be your lover, especially having already convinced Penelope not to date him? That was a joke, but he took it one hundred percent seriously. When you really thought about it, you didn’t know what else was going to happen considering his...condition. You did this to yourself, really.

You sighed. “Hi, Martin.”

He ever so gently closed the door behind him before practically swan-diving on the bed next to you and throwing himself over your lap. “Oh, my dearest, how I missed you!”

“Si-...Martin, I saw you three times today.”

“Yeah, but I was busy then!”

“Doing what?”

“Scheming! I think I’ve finally found a way out of this curse!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Elaborate.”

“I’ll crank call Vagabonda!”

“Huh.”

“Yeah! I’ll say ‘person-who-wants-to-uncurse-martin-applegate-says-what?’”

“What?”

“Yeah, like that! And boom! Curse lifted!”

“You have her phone number?”

“No!”

“Do you see how that might be an issue?”

“Hmmm. You’re right. Handwritten letters are much more personal!”

“I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“Of course it will! People love getting mail! Letters, post cards from local businesses, invitations to dinners that don’t require you to pay for anything and just listen to someone talk about timeshares…”

Oh, boy. “Well, Martin, postage is getting a little expensive.”

“Ah, damnit! Foiled by the postal service again!”

“Again?”

“They know what they did!” He sighed and rolled over on to his back, careful not to leave your lap. “I suppose this means I’m cursed to be a porcelain headed FREAK forever!”

“Hey, man, it’s gonna be okay,” you said quietly, patting him on the shoulder. Sure, he might be out of his mind, but you still felt bad for him. His human “life” may have been imaginary, but his feelings were real; you couldn’t imagine never seeing the people you cared about again, even if they were all in your head. “I’m sure it won’t be forever, Marty.”

Martin turned his head towards you and smiled, just a little. “Thanks, my little box of baking soda. Oh, the comfort you offer me rivals that of-”

“Your home in Turkleman City?” you replied, having heard variations of this same phrase multiple times.

He gasped quietly. “EXACTLY! You always know just what to say! It’s like we always finish eachother’s-”

“Sentences?”

“I was gonna say gazpacho, but that works, too!” He took your hand with a surprising gentleness. “Valentina, my previously mentioned incredibly hot wife, would have loved you. Maybe you’ll get to meet her someday.”

“You sure it’s okay to date me if you’re married?”

“Oh, sure! She’s into that! She’s a real SPICY MAMA. ...I bet the kids would have liked you, too.”

“You have kids?”

“Sure! It was always such a joy to come home from a hard day of adjusting insurance claims and hear my little tots go ‘Oh! It’s Martin! Martin’s home!”

“Your kids call you Martin?”

“Well, that’s my name, isn’t it?”

“It...It sure is.”

“But that’s all in the past now! Now I am but pipes and porcelain, no better than a toilet!”

An offended scoff came from behind the bathroom door. “JEAN-LOO CAN HEAR YOU FROM HERE, YOU KNOW!”

“THIS IS AN A B CONVERSATION, SO CRAM IT AND MIND YOUR OWN GODDAMN BUSINESS!” Martin’s mood snapped right back into despair. “Oh, my sweet spoonful of molasses, what am I to do?”

“I’m...I’m sure we’ll find a way. Eventually.”

And you did. When Tinfoilhat told you about Realization, Martin...Sinclaire? The sink was the first object you thought of. You and Skylar were both reluctant, however. What if you Realized him and he eventually discovered everything was a lie? A hallucination from inside his head? Would he be okay? Would his mind become clear? Or would he just spiral further into madness and despair? But it wasn’t like you couldn’t Realize him, not if you were realizing everyone else! He would eventually start asking questions, right? After lengthy discussions with Skylar, it seemed Realizing him along with everyone else was the only choice.

Almost immediately after being Realized, Martin, overjoyed to be human once more, climbed out the window and just kept going. You were almost sure you would never see him again. You worried about him, but you chose to believe that no news was good news.

One day, many months later, you received a handwritten letter from Martin, along with a photograph.

Goddamn.

His wife really was super hot.

Chapter Text

You and Jerry sat quietly at the coffee table in the dimly lit apartment where he lived above the train museum. You had mentioned once that he probably could have closed on a house by now, but he insisted that even now he preferred something smaller. It felt right, though it certainly wasn't as cramped as his former home in your junk drawer; it was much cozier and required less bone tilting. He still had his tchotchkes and thingamabobs here and there —you sometimes jokingly called his apartment a “grandma house” to his irritation — but he had gotten a lot more restrained about his collecting, something he had come to be quite proud of.

The two of you had dinner together at least once a month or so, partially to catch up and partially because you estimated that around fifty percent of Jerry’s diet at this point was, funnily enough, cheese and crackers. He reasoned that taste and texture-wise they were always generally the same, so he knew what he was getting into. You met less frequently than before, as the miniature train museum had gotten more popular as of late after being featured in a newspaper article in the next town over. It made what time you spent together just a little more precious.

“The museum is all over train Instaglam these days,” Jerry said, swallowing a mouthful of pasta.

“Train instaglam?”

“Oh yeah! There's a whole community of train enthusiasts there!” Jerry grinned. “Actually, I had this nice couple from Tokyo that said they bonded over their love for trains and wanted to come visit while on vacation in the states! Isn't that something?”

“Wow,” you replied with a smile. “You're an international sensation now.”

“Hardly!” he laughed. “Now, Timothy! He’s the sensation! That couple had so much Tim merch on ‘em! That’s apparently the whole reason they stopped here on their vacation, to visit Tim’s ‘home station.’”

“Oh, yeah, he mentioned they made a metro card with his face on it.”

Jerry dug around in his pocket for a moment before producing his keys, now sporting an adorable rubber keychain, bearing Timothy’s image standing straight and holding up a large pocket watch. “Look what they gave me! It, uh, it helps me find my keys.”

“Oh!” You rummaged around your own pockets before pulling out your own house keys, sporting an identical keychain. You held yours up next to Jerry’s. “We can match! Tim brought me one from his trip to Japan.”

You laughed a little as Jerry scrutinized the two keychains, almost as if inspecting them for differences. After a moment, his eye widened as if remembered something. You could almost imagine the lightbulb that used to be embedded in his hair lighting up.

“Oh! Hey, what do I owe you for dinner? Lemme see the receipt.”

“Jerry, I told you, you don’t have to pay me back for dinner.”

“Well, just let me see the receipt.”

“Why do you need the receipt?”

“Just, uh, just let me take a look at it.”

“Jerry.”

You frowned, just a little. You knew he had gotten better about keeping things, but you worried that he was starting to fall back into his old habits. After a tense moment or two, Jerry sighed, going over his desk and pulling something out of the drawer. In his hand was a familiar composition book, the cover tattered and worn and covered with stickers that were nearly worn completely off, scraps of things sticking out of the sides.

“My scrapbook!” you cried. “I can’t believe you still have that ratty thing!”

“It’s not ‘ratty’, it’s experienced! And you told me to hold on to it. What, did you think I was gonna throw it away?” He held it close, his cheeks flushing. “It’s like I told you. It’s not just a notebook. It’s all kinds of stories and things that I didn’t know about you. It’s...it’s the way you smiled when you were showing ‘em to me. It’s…you.”

You smiled, fondly. That really was just like Jerry, wasn’t it? After a moment, however, you noticed something about the scrapbook was different. It looked…chunkier? There were more things sticking out of the pages than you remember. Some new stickers had been added and you could see where decorative tape had been added to the spine as a way to keep it from falling apart.

“Have you been...adding things to it?”

“W-well, all you said was not to take anything out of it. And there were so many blank pages left...”

“Let me see, let me see!”

Jerry sat next to you and went through the various pages as you looked on.

“Is that...the receipt from our dinner last month?”

“Well, I hadn’t seen you in a while at that point and it felt kinda special…”

“And there’s the guitar pick we found on our walk a while ago!”

“Well, you don’t just find those every day! Well, I mean, unless you play guitar or something.”

The two of you went through the scrapbook and looked at the various new things Jerry had taped, glued or otherwise adhered to the previously blank pages: a note you had written him, an empty book of matches from a restaurant the two of you had gone to (begrudgingly on Jerry’s part), a leaf you had picked up and stuck in his hair, now carefully preserved between pieces of wax paper…

Eventually, you came upon a photo of yourself eating an ice cream cone, a smear of chocolate on your cheek.

“When did you take this?”

“W-when we went to that street festival a few months back. I’d bought one of those instant photo printers for the museum and, well…”

“And why were you hiding this from me?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned. “I guess I was worried you’d think it was weird.”

“Jerry, you used to be my junk drawer. You kept a dead fly in there.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“It’s not weird. And even if it was, I turned 100 objects from my home into humans. I kissed the dishwasher. I had 100 terrabytes of fanfiction on my computer. My sink is the president now."

"None of us saw that one coming."

"My point is, it’s safe to say I’m pretty okay with weird at this point.”

“Hhhhhhhhuh. I, uh, I guess I didn’t think about that.”

“See? If you’re being weird, then so am I,” you replied, a kind of soft fondness sprinkled over your words like sugar. “I like that about you.”

Jerry opened his mouth to speak only shut it again, unable to find the words to respond. You ran your fingers over the pages of the scrapbook again as you let out a quiet hum.

“You know this thing really isn’t me anymore, is it?”

“Huh? W-what do you mean?”

You leaned against him, feeling the warmth radiating off his flushed face.

“Well...it’s us now.”

He looked at you, letting go of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. A smile formed across his face.

“Cheese and crackers...!”