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Last night, the home owner had realized the two of them.
Now human…the world felt… loud.
Not in a bad way. Just in a way that was new—fuller, deeper, more real.
Parker blinked up at the ceiling, vision adjusting slowly to the morning sunlight bleeding through the curtains. His chest rose and fell with a breath that felt like his, ribs expanding in ways he’d only ever mimicked before. He brought one hand up to his face—his hand, with warm skin and knuckles and little creases in the palm—and ran his fingers over his lips, like he had to make sure they were really there.
In the bed beside him, Chance stirred. And for a second, Parker forgot how to breathe.
He was always handsome. Even as a die. (And Parker would know—he was a board game collection, after all, so he knows dice.) But this was different. Chance’s chest rose slowly under the covers, his skin golden in the morning light, his black hair sticking up wildly from sleep. His brows furrowed just slightly—concentration, maybe even discomfort—and then he yawned so hard his whole body stretched.
Stretched.
Parker watched, fascinated. Muscles moved beneath skin like waves. His body flexed. Every motion sent sparks of curiosity down Parker’s spine.
Then Chance’s eyes blinked open. “Parker?” he croaked, voice hoarse, real.
Parker’s grin was instant, wide and childish and overwhelmed with awe. “Dude, we’re human. Like, actually human.”
Chance squinted, then pushed himself upright in bed with both arms. “My arms work.”
“I saw!” Parker’s voice cracked a little. “And—oh my god—you have a torso. And—and eyebrows!”
“You have a bellybutton,” Chance replied, already grinning too. They spent the next several minutes just poking at themselves—and each other. Fingers ran over knees and collarbones, marveling at how bendy everything was. They giggled at freckles, at ticklish spots, at how weird elbows looked from certain angles. Chance spent a full sixty seconds squeezing his own biceps in disbelief. Parker got distracted by the softness of his own stomach.
“I can feel my heartbeat,” Parker whispered at one point.
“I have a heartbeat,” Chance whispered back.
They sat there for a long moment, cross-legged on the mattress, just… being. Letting it settle. The overwhelming, dazzling truth of it: They were human now. Entirely. Fully. Permanently. And everything was about to change. For the better.
—
“Okay, hear me out,” Parker said, pausing mid-bite of toast. “Why does jam taste like a warm hug and a slap in the face at the same time?”
Chance choked on his coffee. “Not actually a slap—like, metaphorically,” Parker added quickly, waving his butter knife. “It’s just. So sweet. It’s stupid.” “It’s strawberry,”
Chance replied, still coughing a little. “You’re reacting to strawberry jam, dude.”
“Okay, but it tastes like summer and affectional violence. Don’t act like I’m wrong.”
Chance grinned over the rim of his mug. “I love you so much.”
Parker froze, mouth full of toast. Slowly, jam-drunk and red-cheeked, he swallowed. “I love you too. Even if you chose to drink bitter black liquid first thing as a human.”
“Coffee is good.”
“Not as good as the jam.”
After breakfast (and a ten-minute detour spent marveling at the texture of a banana peel), they collapsed back onto the couch. Still wrapped in pajamas, still breathless from giggling and the dizzying thrill of being, they curled together under a blanket that was too soft to make sense.
Chance stretched out first, arm tucked behind his head, gaze dreamy and content. Parker lay beside him, cheek resting against Chance’s chest. Their legs tangled lazily, and for a long moment, the only sound was the quiet rhythm of two heartbeats in sync. Then Chance tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on Parker’s hair. It was longer than he expected. Thick, soft, and wildly colored in a way that defied nature—a dreamy blend of teal and violet and fading pinks. But more than that… it used to be cards. Playing cards. Crisp, clean edges, paper-thin and glossy. He used to shuffle them, slide them between his fingers.
And now— “Can I…?” Chance asked softly, fingers already twitching.
Parker smiled against his chest. “Yeah. I want you to.”
Carefully, reverently, Chance ran his hand through Parker’s hair. It was soft. Softer than it had any right to be. His fingers sank in and came out smelling faintly like shampoo and something warm and familiar—like the box Parker used to live in. The colors shimmered slightly under the sunlight, like holographic foil, and Chance couldn’t stop staring. “You feel real,” he whispered, awe thick in his throat.
“You too,” Parker whispered back. “Even your voice feels real.”
Chance swallowed. “I used to dream about what this would be like.”
Parker lifted his head slightly to look at him. “What part?”
Chance’s eyes flicked down. “Touching you like this. Holding you, without any rules or shifting limits. Just you. Your skin. Your laugh. Your breath on my neck.” Parker’s breath hitched. And then, quietly, as if testing the idea, Chance spoke again: “Can I kiss you—see how it feels as humans?”
Parker nodded. And Chance leaned in—slow and shy, but filled to the brim with wonder. Their lips met like they’d been waiting for years. Because they had.
The first kiss was slow. Careful. Like two people meeting in the middle of a story they’ve been reading from opposite sides, finally realizing it was about them all along. And then they kissed again. Softer this time. Sweeter. Chance’s hand stayed in Parker’s hair, fingers curling gently at the roots like he was scared Parker might vanish if he let go.
Parker tilted his head, chasing the warmth of it, breath stuttering like he hadn’t realized how badly he needed this. “Your lips are—oh my god. So soft.”
“Yours too,” Chance murmured, forehead resting against Parker’s. “Like I get it now. Why people write poetry about this.”
Parker let out a little snort, but it was shaky. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
“Not allowed,” Chance whispered. “This is a no-crying zone. We’re strictly doing ridiculous amounts of kissing and maybe holding hands forever.”
“Wow, that’s crazy,” Parker said. “You’re describing literally all my plans.”
They both laughed—and then Chance leaned in again, smiling against Parker’s mouth as they kissed and kissed and kissed, until time got weird and breathing was just something they did in the pauses. It wasn’t even about heat—though there was that spark, simmering quietly below the surface. It was about having. About being allowed. About knowing the person who used to be nothing but wood pulp and ink and a stack of quiet evenings now had blood and warmth and a pulse that jumped every time Chance kissed the corner of his mouth. They kept finding new places to kiss. Parker’s cheek. The bridge of his nose. His collarbone when his shirt slipped a little. His jawline, which made him squeak the first time because he didn’t know he was ticklish there.
Parker ran his hands up Chance’s arms like he was still mapping out what muscle felt like. “You’re so soft,” he murmured, dazed. “You used to be hard and shiny and—a dice”
“I still am, I’m still me.”
“Yeah, but now you’re also warm. And you have eyelashes.”
Chance blinked. “That’s what’s doing it for you? The eyelashes?”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t everything else, too,” Parker replied, pulling him in again.
The kisses kept going—lazy and giddy, two boys wrapped up on the couch like they’d never get tired of learning each other’s shapes. They probably wouldn’t. And when Chance finally pulled away, flushed and grinning, he whispered, “Being human with you might be my favorite thing I’ve ever done.” Parker’s hand found his.
“Yeah. Me too.”
—
Going Outside for the first time as humans was weird, especially since neither of them really got to go outside before this anyways.
The air was different when it touched skin. Parker stood just outside the house’s door, hand clenched around Chance’s like he was scared the world might rush in too fast. The sunlight hit his face and he flinched—not because it hurt, but because it was warm in a way he’d never understood before. Not just light. Temperature. “It’s… so loud,” he whispered.
“It really is,” Chance said beside him, gaze soft. “But it’s not bad loud. Just… real.” They walked together like two kids who’d just discovered their legs were meant for more than standing. A breeze swept past them, ruffling Parker’s hair—his real hair, which used to be cards, but now bent and bounced with the wind like soft watercolor. Chance’s hand lifted instinctively, fingers brushing it back, tucking strands behind Parker’s ear like it was something he’d done a hundred times before. Like it was sacred. “You looked like you got struck by lightning,” Chance teased gently.
“I feel like I did,” Parker replied. “It’s just air. I know it’s just air. But… it moved me. That’s insane.”
They walked to the corner bakery the house owner talked about often. Chance had picked it because of the smells. “You’ve gotta try cinnamon rolls,” he said with a dramatic, reverent tone. “Like smell it—“
When they stepped inside, Parker gripped his hand tighter. “Too many smells,” he whispered.
“I know. We’ll sit by the window.” They picked a quiet corner, Parker’s eyes wide as he looked around at the swirl of scents and people and the sound of a milk steamer hissing behind the counter. And then the cinnamon roll arrived—huge, warm, sticky, covered in icing like it had just barely survived a blizzard.
Parker took one bite and let out a choked sound. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “Oh my god. That’s insane.” Chance laughed so hard he snorted. “I wanna marry it.”
“Not if I marry you first,” Chance said easily—and then immediately turned bright red.
—
They found themselves in the park after lunch, following a path lined with flowers and warm pavement, though Parker had stopped to crouch near a bush and gasp: “Chance. This plant is fuzzy.”
“It’s lamb’s ear,” Chance said with a grin, crouching beside him. “Very important discovery.”
“I’m going to cry,” Parker whispered dramatically, rubbing the soft leaf with both hands like it was sacred treasure. “We were made of plastic and wood. This is illegal.”
Chance, biting back laughter, looked up toward the playground nearby. Kids were screaming joyfully, and one of the adults was chasing a toddler away from a slide. His heart squeezed a little. “I… kinda wanna try the swings.”
“Do adult humans swing?” Parker blinked at him. “Is that a thing?”
“If they do or not,” Chance said, already dragging him toward it, “we have limbs now. We’re allowed to be stupid.”
Parker didn’t argue. In fact, ten minutes later, they were both flying on the swings, howling with laughter. Parker’s legs flailed wildly, his shoes flying off at one point. “THIS IS TOO MUCH FREEDOM,” he screamed.
Chance snorted, pumping his legs higher. “I feel like I’m gonna orbit the Earth.”
They collapsed into the grass after, dizzy, sweaty, and utterly gleeful. Parker flopped onto his back and squinted up at the sky. “Okay. So being human is maybe the best thing ever.”
Chance rolled onto his side, chin propped on his hand, just… looking at him. “Yeah. Especially like this.”
Parker glanced at him, hair all wild from the wind. “What?”
“Just…” Chance swallowed, then reached out to gently tuck Parker’s hair behind his ear. “You’re really handsome.”
Parker’s cheeks turned pink. “Don’t say that like you haven’t been touching my face all day.”
“I haven’t,” Chance mumbled. “I’ve been trying not to. Your skin’s just… warm. Soft. Like… not card-deck slick anymore. It’s dryer but also softer.”
Parker grinned, but quieter this time. “Yeah. It’s weird. I used to click and shuffle. Now I bruise. I breathe. You do too.” They sat there for a while, feeling the breeze on their faces, listening to the world around them — birds, wind, someone’s dog barking in the distance. Parker finally scooted over, resting his head on Chance’s chest. “I like the way your heart sounds.”
Chance blinked. “It’s… pretty fast right now.”
“I know,” Parker whispered. “Mine too.”
—
By the time they got back home, the sunlight had mellowed into golden haze and both of them were crashing hard. Parker was curled up on the couch in an oversized hoodie Chance had tossed at him, his knees tucked to his chest, and Chance cuddled up against him. They stayed there for a long while, just kind of… melting into the quiet. Chance absentmindedly rubbed his thumb across Parker’s shoulder, and Parker leaned into it like a cat discovering touch for the first time. “I like this,” Parker murmured. “All of this.”
“Me too.” There was a long pause, the soft hum of the Hector, the heater, kicking on, the distant murmur of sounds outside the window. Parker blinked slowly, turning to look at Chance, just to kiss him again. “I don’t think I can ever get enough of this,” he breathed out.
“Me neither.”
After a moment, the kisses slowed. Not because either of them wanted to stop, but because their eyelids were heavy and their bodies were so new and sore and overstimulated. Every sense was louder now — the smell of the blanket, the sound of each other’s breathing, the heat that pooled between where their arms stayed tangled.
Chance had melted into Parker’s side, head resting against his shoulder, face half-buried in the oversized hoodie he’d loaned him earlier. It smelled like Parker now. Sweet laundry, cardamom lip balm, and something warmer he couldn’t name — maybe the leftover trace of the day’s sunshine.
Parker blinked slowly, watching the rise and fall of Chance’s chest. “You good?”
Chance made a sleepy little noise. “Mhm. Smells like you in here. I like it.”
Parker flushed, but didn’t move. He liked it too. The hoodie had slipped halfway off his shoulder, exposing skin that felt unfamiliar and his, all at once. He’d never realized how good it felt just to exist like this — limbs tangled, no need to shift or transform, just a body next to a body, soft and human and here. He whispered, “You’re breathing really fast.”
Chance’s fingers flexed against his side. “I keep thinking it’s gonna go away. That I’ll blink and be made of plastic again. Or someone’ll pick me up and toss me in a drawer.”
Parker turned his head toward him, forehead touching Chance’s hair. “Hey. No one’s tossing you anywhere. You’re stuck with me now, remember?”
Chance smiled faintly. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember.”
Parker whispered, “Can I tell you something kinda dumb?”
“Always.”
He hesitated. Then: “Sometimes I get freaked out when I catch my reflection. Because, like… I have skin. And freckles. And a weird mole on my thigh. And I think—that’s me now. And I don’t know how to live like that. Being so… here. All the time.”
Chance’s eyes opened slowly. He shifted, tucked closer. “I get it,” he said. “Sometimes I look at my hands and think they still feel too light. Like I’m waiting to roll across the floor again.”
Parker snorted softly. “You were a d20.”
Chance smiled sleepily.
They didn’t move again. Just sank into the weight of each other, into this slow, human rhythm. It wasn’t perfect — their bodies ached, their nerves still tangled from all the change. But here, in this hoodie nest of sleep and warmth and quiet trust?
It was enough.