Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bus screeched to a halt.

You were the first to step off, perceptively clutching a newspaper in one hand and your guitar case in the other as you scanned the scenery. Everything was... really nice. A generous upgrade from your last town, which was only an hour away. In your old town, you couldn't take five steps out of your apartment without witnessing a crime. Here it was sunny, warm, and you didn't feel like you were choking on second-hand smoke. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you took a greedy deep breath.

Maybe this time you'll get somewhere.

Opening your eyes, you glanced down at the newspaper in your hand. Bold letters circled in red marker:

WANTED
GROUNDSKEEPERS FOR LOCAL PARK.
NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY

Not so far from where you stood on the sidewalk, was the entrance to said park. A vast landscape with a river, a pond, trees... anything greenery, really. The whole place almost seemed too big, you hoped you could get your bearings sooner or later.

Your heart felt full.

Your hands didn't feel full though... didn't you have two bags? You scrutinized your belongings: your beloved guitar, and your very much needed... newspaper.

You had forgotten your luggage on the bus. You panicked so hard your face set into stone. Like a spinning top, you whirled around only to find that the bus had been long gone, kindly leaving a trail of exhaust.

Powerlessly, you stood with your shoulders slumped, a grim expression on your face, staring at nothing in particular. It hadn’t even been five minutes, and you already wanted to cry. To be fair, the only things you had really packed were a few clothes and your toiletries. Nothing that would bite you in the butt later if someone were to find it, you're hoping. This, however, left you with the most irritating option — having to buy a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and at least a spare shirt. You groaned louder than the bus engine, before lumbering back to the entrance of the park. Your somber expression was quickly replaced with one of surprise.

"Well, hello there!"

... that was the strongest British accent you had ever heard.

In front of you was an older man, sitting in a golf cart, a smile wider than you could comprehend. His head was gigantic... you were willing your jaw not to drop. Unsure if you wanted to snicker or goggle at his appearance, you stood with the face that could only be described as a face mid accidental fart. Despite the overwhelming nature of his presence, he seemed like a nice folk. He had a small, black top-hat and a white mustache trimmed to precision.

"I'm so delighted to finally meet your acquaintance! My name is Pops."

Pops.

Very fitting.

Having long forgotten your earlier issue, you put on a polite smile.

"Hi, Pops..." You introduced your name, mentally kicking yourself when you stuttered.

Pops tipped his hat, "Yes, I am quite aware." He softly pat the passenger seat of the golf cart, "Nevertheless, I shall give you a tour of the park. A warm welcome from us."

You let out a huff of relief, climbing into the cart.

The tour was very long. A lot of it was Pops talking, but there were a few instances where you had to answer. You told him about your old town, Pops grimaced at the idea of it. Honestly, his reaction was humorous, because it was valid. Pops seemed a little old fashioned. But sweet, like candy... like a lollipop— oh my god, he's shaped like a lollipop.

The cart stopped by the garage of a small house and Pops introduced you to this guy, Skips. He firmly shook your hand, you returned the gesture, though on the inside you felt like one wrong move and he could crush you into powder. You also met a sweaty, green... fat guy with his ghost friend — Muscle Man and Hi Five Ghost. You refrained from touching either of them, resorting to a courteous wave at a comfortable distance from inside the cart.

Eventually you made it to the big house in the middle of the park and before you knew it, you had toured around the whole thing.

"And here, you will be sharing a room with Mordecai and Rigby." Pops stood at the door frame, allowing you to meekly step inside. You knew that most likely you'd have to share a room with someone else, but you didn't think your bed would be a blanket and a pillow lazily laid out in a closet. "It seems they have already prepared your bed." Pops chirped.

Well... it's better than nothing.

You turned around, "Thanks, Pops. This means a lot, I can't wait to start working here."

Okay... this is it. New town, new job, and closet bed.

Mordecai and Rigby, you don't normally hear names like that. You hoped they weren't the type to snore loudly, or make loud noises when you're trying to sleep. But if Pops trusted them, then by no means you shouldn't.

Pops let out a high pitched chuckle, "It's no worries. Now, if you'll excuse me, I shall head to my room to practice the harpsichord."

You nodded, watching Pops and his big head skip down the hall.

Letting out a breath, you walked over to your makeshift bed, gently placing your guitar case down. You clicked your tongue remembering that you didn't have your luggage, making a mental note to go shopping later today. However, now, you wanted a cup of water.

Straightening yourself up, you collectedly headed to the bedroom door only to jump out of your skin at the abrupt appearance of two guys staring at you.

"Jesus—" You wheezed.

"Woah, sorry!" The taller guy chuckled, apologetically raising his hands up. "We didn't mean to scare you. We just didn't expect to see you here already."

You let out a breath, regaining your composure, "No worries, I didn't either." You chuckled awkwardly, tapping your fingers against your thighs.

"You're the new hire, right?"

Obviously.

"Yep, that's me."

Nobody said a thing for a while. Or, it felt like a while. You pressed your lips into a thin line, not knowing what else to say.

The shorter one spoke up, "Cool. Now, let me get the cassette player." He marched towards the pile of clothes on the trampoline in the corner, not taking a second to acknowledge you. He, however, got punched in the arm before he could take another step. "Oww..."

"No, dude. We should introduce ourselves. It's the least we should do." The taller one turned to face you again. "I'm Mordecai."

"Rigby."

So this was Mordecai and Rigby. That made a lot of sense. You tried to introduce yourself but trailed off when you noticed both of them looking behind you like their was a genie that could grant them three wishes. You raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two, before cautiously following their gaze. Your guitar sat next to your blanket.

Rigby raised his finger and pointed in that direction, "Is that a guitar?"

You nodded, "Uh, yeah. That's my guitar."

Like magnets, Mordecai and Rigby rushed toward it, eyes sparkling. They both crouched down in front of it, you hastily followed them, sandwiching yourself between them in hopes they wouldn't do anything to it.

Mordecai placed his hand on top of the hard case, "What does it look like?"

Are they seriously this interested in a guitar? You grew up in a place where the only times you'd see a guitar was in the arms of a homeless man on the street, but you were never so entranced by one.

Either way, you happily opened the latches on the case.

"Woooaaaah, coooool..." Mordecai and Rigby sighed in unison. In the case sat a silver telecaster, a few scratches on the black pickguard, but nonetheless still a pretty sight.

"Spent a fortune on this thing." You lifted the guitar into your lap, turning the tuning pegs. "I'm practically nothing without it."

"Awesome... I also play guitar." Mordecai watched as you tuned the guitar. You perked up.

"Really?"

"Yeah! Well, a little. I'm not the best at it."

Rigby sat up straighter, leaning in closer like you weren't already squished between the two. "I can play too!"

Mordecai snorted, "No, you can't."

"Yes, I can!"

"You play the tambourine."

"STOP TALKINGGGG!"

You snickered. Ahh, they're like siblings. Mordecai gestured toward you, "So what, you're like a musician?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. I'm not a professional or anything." You replied sheepishly, putting your guitar back in the case. So far, these guys seemed pretty cool. You felt yourself becoming more comfortable with their presence.

"Do you write your own songs?" 

"I do, I write all the time, actually." You proudly reached for your songbook, only to grab at nothing. You left your songbook in your bag, which you left on the bus. You clenched your jaw, a sinking feeling in your stomach.

It'll be fine. You'll just write new songs. Nobody is going to go through that book even if someone finds it.

Before Mordecai or Rigby could ask why you had the face of a war veteran, you quickly changed the direction of the conversation. "Shame I don't have an amp. Pretty annoying to play when it's not plugged in." You scratched the back of your neck, clicking the case latches shut.

Rigby stood up, "We have an amp in the garage!"

Mordecai stood up as well, approaching to the door, "Yeah, we have tons of music equipment down there." You beamed.

Rigby sprinted out the door juvenilely, "Come on, let's go!" Mordecai quickly followed after him, before skidding to a stop just outside the doorframe. You rose, meeting Mordecai at the door.

"Wait dude, we should probably get back to work, or Benson's gonna get really mad." Mordecai grasped Rigby's wrist, Rigby struggled to free himself, growling and grunting like a wild animal.

"Dude, who cares about Benson! He's not gonna know." He scoffed. You tilted your head, furrowing your eyebrows.

"Who's Benson?"

Mordecai and Rigby both turned you, a puzzled expression on their faces. Rigby rolled his eyes, "Benson's our boss. He's a real pain— OW." Rigby clutched his arm, glaring up at Mordecai.

"Rigby's right though. He's a bit of a jerk."

"Yeah, he's always targeting us for no reason!"

"He's always threatening to write us up. There's never a day where he's not angry at us."

"Benson never trusts us with anything..."

"... that's a little fair though—"

"And we can't do anything because he's our boss."

Of course, you knew your life here wouldn't be cupcakes and rainbows. But you didn't expect to hear such bad talk about someone who was supposedly your boss starting tomorrow. You apprehensively drummed your fingers against your leg. Surely, they were exaggerating, right? Benson seemed like a real skate, otherwise. Maybe if you get on his good side...

How come you hadn't seen him at all today? If he was the manager around here, shouldn't you have met him already?

"Where is Benson?" You questioned, following them from a distance as they began to walk down the hall.

Rigby glanced behind at you, "Uh, I think he's taking one of the golf carts to the shop."

Mordecai rubbed the back of his neck, "Yeah... it's a whole story." He turned to Rigby, his expression hardening. "—And we don't know when he'll get back, so we should get back to work before he snaps his crank. You gotta be responsible sometimes." Mordecai ushered Rigby down the hall with him, a bit of a bite to his words. Rigby groaned melodramatically, disappearing down the stairs.

You stood like a dazed chicken, listening as their footsteps got fainter.

Snap his what now?

Chapter Text

From what you could gather, from your seat by the kitchen window, it was extremely sunny early in the morning here. You had woken up with a jumpstart, worried that you had overslept, not expecting the sun to already be out. The wash of relief you felt when you realized it wasn't even seven yet was almost comical.

You were still groggy from just waking up, sluggishly rubbing your eye as you chewed on your cereal. Something about the cereal really resonated with you, and you found yourself shoveling more and more into your mouth. The cereal wasn't even anything special, just some multigrain corn flakes, but there was nothing like this back where you used to live.

You pulled your bowl closer to you, slouching over it like it was your death row meal. The sound of chairs scraping against the wooden floors cued you to look up, Mordecai and Rigby sat across from you. They both still looked sleepy. Rigby took the cereal box, his eyes barely open, and began devouring it with his bare hands. That slightly made you reconsider the health risk of what you were eating... does he drink the milk straight from the carton too?

Mordecai snatched the box from Rigby's hands, Rigby grunted in frustration. "Use a bowl, Rigby." Mordecai rebuked, pouring the cereal into his own bowl.

"That'll just add to the dishes." Rigby replied, tapping his temple and raising his eyebrows with a smirk.

"Don't be savage, dude. Get a bowl." Mordecai said slowly, pointing his spoon toward him.

"I can eat however I want!"

"Get a bowl."

You watched as Rigby threw his head back with a groan, hopping off his chair and scavenging the kitchen, opening every single cabinet and leaving them open as he opened the next one.

"We're out of clean bowls."

Rigby resorted back to eating straight from the box, Mordecai grimaced. You considered pushing your bowl away and brushing your teeth again. Mordecai and Rigby quickly began to talk amongst themselves, you listened mindlessly.

"I'm telling you dude," Rigby babbled, crumbs shooting from his mouth, "Robotic Big-Foot would totally win in a fight!"

"No way, the dinosaur would be twice the size! And have the killer instinct!"

"Well, your forgetting one thing." Rigby raised a finger, smirking. Mordecai raised an eyebrow.

"And that is?"

Rigby froze, his smirk faltering slightly. "Uh..."

"Pea-sized brain?" You offered awkwardly. Rigby lit up, delighted with your help.

"Exactly! Dinosaurs are idiots. In your face!" Rigby stood on his chair triumphantly, stuffing his face with more cereal. Mordecai simply rolled his eyes, continuing to eat his. You considered going on a tangent about how not all dinosaurs have pea-sized brains, since nobody specified what type of dinosaur, but you didn't want to seem like a nerd — considering you weren't in the conversation to begin with.

Suddenly, the kitchen door creaked open, "Mordecai, Rigby, I need your help with—" The man at the door paused, his eyebrows furrowing. "Rigby, what did I tell you about eating straight from the box—" He paused again, his eyes roaming around the kitchen. "And why are all the cupboards open!—"

His gaze landed on you, and he stilled. You stared back like an awkward statue, spoon half-raised to your mouth, cheeks full of cereal. At the door, stood a gumball machine, a hard expression on his face. You don't remember meeting him yesterday, or seeing him at all. It was evident he doesn't sleep enough, judging from his eyebags. You felt a bit embarrassed in your chair, hunched over your cereal bowl, milk dribbling down your chin. You were pulled from your self-deprecating thoughts when the man at the door said your name in an inquiring tone.

You nodded somewhat miserably, "Last time I checked I was." You wiped the bottom of your chin, smiling timidly. He didn't laugh.

He made his way toward you, extending his hand, "My name is Benson, nice to meet you."

Oh, so this is Benson.

You stood up (maybe a little too formal), taking his hand, "Nice to meet you." His hand was cold. "I gotta say, you've done a great job with the park. When I arrived yesterday, I was really impressed." You don't know why you felt the need to praise Benson and the park, maybe deep down you held onto what Mordecai and Rigby said last night and wanted to get on his good side. Nevertheless, Benson's eyebrows rose in surprise, a slight smile forming on his lips.

"Ah— well, thanks. I just love my job." Benson placed his hand on the table and leaned his weight onto it.

The awkward silence was back. You glanced at Mordecai and Rigby, everything seemed mundane to them.

Benson blinked, turning to the pair, his stern expression back, "Mordecai, Rigby, I need your help with the shed." He established, already walking out the kitchen door. Mordecai and Rigby shared an unmotivated look before following after him. Benson paused at the door, gazing back at you. You stood a little straighter, unconsciously drumming your fingers against your thigh. "For your first job, I'd like you to clean the paddleboats down by the dock. I want that done by the end of the day, can you do that?"

His tone was so... imperative.

You stupidly gave two thumbs-up, "Got it."

Without another word, he shut the kitchen door, only leaving you standing like an idiot.

You slumped back into your chair, huffing out an audible sigh. First interaction with the boss, went as well as pickles and peanut butter. Either good or bad, you couldn't tell. What the hell was that? Was there something on your face? You prayed he didn't think you were weird or anything. You knew you were overthinking, if Mordecai and Rigby didn't seem to be concerned, you shouldn't either.

Benson did, to an extent, match the adverse description Mordecai and Rigby gave of him the night before. He was assertive, and didn't seem to trust the two. They didn't seem to like his orders either.

You should probably wash the dishes and get to work.

"This is fine," You muttered to yourself, hands on your hips, as you stared ahead.

Everything was a mess, it must have been a party.

All the paddleboats had dirt and muddy shoeprints all over, unfinished pizzas were discarded everywhere, someone even scribbled their name inside one of the paddle boats. Not to mention the state of the dock itself — disregarded pizza boxes, soda cans, wads of gum (one already made it to the bottom of your shoe). You exhaled out of your nose, glancing down at the sad buckets and rags by your foot.

Benson only told you to clean the boats, but you might as well do the whole thing.

You hummed while you worked, a random tune you made up on the spot. It helped you get through having to pick gum off the wood with your bare fingers, and scrub the stringiest cheese you had ever seen off the boats. And, hey, some melodies were keepers. You scrubbed and scraped, determined to get this job done. As the sun rose higher and higher, your back ached, and you were getting bored.

"Doop da doo . . . doing my job . . . doop da do . . . corn on the cob . . . doop da do . . . what the..?" You groaned, sweat trickling down the side of your face. This kid used a permanent marker on the boat. You tried to wipe the name off but to no avail. You clenched your jaw, climbing into the boat and trying again. Whoever "Percy" is should think before writing on park property.

"Come on..." you hissed to yourself, irritably swiping at the blocky letters. Your elbow was beginning to wear out, and the sun beat down on you. Just before you could give up and call it a day, your Nokia buzzed violently in your pocket. You stood up, yanking it out, an unknown contact on display.

The sway of the boat in the water threw you off, though. Before you knew it, your knees were giving out, and— "Wait, no, no, no, no—!"

You fell into the water, merely saving your phone by dropping it in the boat. You swam up for air, hauling yourself up into the edge of the boat. You glanced into the boat, the caller must have hung up, as your phone wasn't buzzing anymore. Hm...

Now is about time you took your lunch break. You'll come back to this later.

"... And here's your BLT. Are you sure you don't want something hot to drink?" Your server eyed your shivering frame concernedly. The air conditioning was blasting inside, which didn't go so great with you being soaked. You hugged yourself, your cheeks flushing red.

"Um, I'll have a tea. Any kind of t-tea you got... thank you." Your teeth chattered, watching as the server disappeared back into the kitchen. You had to admit, she looked a lot like Mordecai. Except, she definitely wasn't a blue jay. Maybe a cardinal? You were brought out of your thoughts by your stomach growling, and you quickly began eating, the sandwich itself already warming you up.

You sighed. All the food here is so much better than where you used to live.

"COME ON RIGBY! WE GOTTA FIND SKIPS, OR WE'RE GONNA DIEEEEE!!!"

Speaking of Mordecai.

You blindly faced where the noise was coming from, and you barely caught a glimpse of Mordecai running— no, sprinting down the road outside. Rigby followed close behind on all fours. You chewed slowly, an eyebrow raised.

That's when you saw it.

Chasing them was a gigantic fish with human arms and legs.

A fish with human arms and legs. Gigantic.

You dropped your sandwich, whether it landed on your plate or your lap you couldn't tell. Springing up, you left a few bucks onto the table before dashing out of the door. Faintly behind, you could hear the waitress call, "Wait! Your tea!"

You weren't cold anymore anyway.

You sprinted as fast as your legs could go, huffing and puffing, stitches forming in your abdomen. You gasped in trepidation, Mordecai and Rigby were leading that thing straight to the park! Your head whipped around for anything to help you catch up, to steer that monster some place else.

A little kid's unattended bike, bright pink, tinsel sprouting from the handle bars.

The front wheel of the bike trembled as you pedaled, the miniature bike barely holding your weight. You managed to swiftly pass around the running fish and catch up to Mordecai and Rigby. "What's going on!?" You cried, your wet shirt sticking to your body.

"Rigby ticked off this guy at a food stand and... he turned into that!" Mordecai panted, pointing at the fish. It was picking up speed.

"I DID NOT!" Rigby fought. Your legs were starting to burn from pedaling on such a small bike.

"We're looking for Skips so he can help us!"

Just as Mordecai said that, the fish balled it's weirdly muscular fists, and hit the ground hard. The road cracked, creating a shock wave that sent the three of you flying. You all landed on your stomachs by the entrance of the park, groaning in pain. You coughed, the poor kid's bike crushed beneath you. Whatever wasn't broken, it was now.

You whined in pain, rolling onto your back as ache shot all across your body. Your eyes cracked open to find the monster towering over you, Mordecai and Rigby had already ran off looking for Skips. The look in its eyes was predatory. First day on the job, and you were already done for. You screamed as it reached for you, crushing you in its fist as it held you up. You watched as it slowly brought you to its mouth, and you frightfully starting squirming and flailing your legs around.

You screamed and cried for help, but you knew it was no use.

You shut your eyes, preparing for darkness, until you felt something on the bottom of your shoe.

"... huh?" Glancing down, you almost peed yourself. The walking fish monster was chewing at the bottom of your shoe.

What the hell?

"Wh... what are you—... why!?" You stammered, wincing in pain from the grip it had around you. Quickly, you realized that the monster was chewing the gum off your shoe... and it seemed to like it. A sense of disbelief washed over you. Here you were, dangling from the grip of a gigantic fish monster, and yet it was more interested in your shoe gum than your flesh. You took advantage of this to think of a plan to escape, or, distract the monster until Mordecai and Rigby came back with Skips. How would Skips be able to help, anyway?

"You like that!? I have plenty more where that came from!" Your voice strained.

The fish paused, contemplating your statement, before literally dropping you from meters high, causing you to shriek again. You landed on your butt, yelping in pain, but quickly shot up and limped to where your station by the paddleboats was.

The fish followed closely behind, crushing anything and everything in its way.

"HERE!" You held up your trash bucket like a peace offering, your arms trembling. The giant fish examined the bucket, taking it between its two fingers. In the bucket was an egregious mixture of chewed up gum, cold pizza, and crushed soda cans. "TAKE IT ALL!"

It ate the bucket as a whole in one bite. You gulped.

You turned to run, but could only limp. Then, you caught sight of someone in a golf cart nearby.

Out of pure luck, you managed to jump onto the back of the cart, holding onto its poles for dear life. You peeked at the driver.

"What the heck is that!?" It was Benson.

"I—... JUST FLOOR IT!" You shrieked. Benson took no time to question, swerving the cart around and driving it as fast as it could go. Your heart pounded in your chest, you limbs aching as the golf cart swayed and rumbled on the path. Pitiably, your palms were sweating too much, and you felt your grip slipping. However, amongst the chaos, you felt the tiniest thrill from the chase.

"Did you do this!?" Benson sounded furious. You frantically shook your head, knowing he probably wasn't look at you.

"NO! I was just having my lunch, and then I saw Mordecai and Rigby—!"

"THOSE SLACKERS!"

Benson turned bright red, his hold on the wheel infinitely tight. Just as you felt you were about to fall, you heard the sound of a screech behind you. Your head whipped around to see a lasso around the monster's body, arms tied still, Skips sat on its back. It was like watching a rodeo.

The beast thrashed, Skips struggled to stay put.

"Hold on Benson, slow down!" You turned back, Benson let out a confused sound.

"Why!?"

"Just do it!"

Benson slowed down the cart just as you were passing a trash can. You adjusted your grip and balance at the back, holding out a hand and successfully snagging it. "Now turn around!"

"WHAT!?" Benson choked.

"Trust me!"

"... I—"

"Turn the cart around, NOW!"

Benson swerved the car around, you almost lost your balance.

Now you two were headed straight toward the danger. You noticed Mordecai and Rigby timidly crouching behind a park bench.

"Mordecai! Catch!" You yelled, managing to throw the trash can toward Mordecai without slipping. Mordecai fumbled with the garbage, a bit spilling out, "Throw it into its mouth!"

Mordecai nodded, standing up.

Just as Mordecai prepared to cast the trash can toward the monster, the golf cart drove over a rock. The violent bounced caused you to lose your grip and... you fell back.

The last thing you felt was your back hitting the ground before everything turned to black.

The first thing you comprehended when you blinked your eyes open was distant scolding. You shakily sat up, feeling as though your body had been put into a meat grinder. You hissed, bringing a hand to your head. Groaning in pain, you glanced at where the yelling was coming from.

"I can't believe you two! I tell you to do one thing, and this is what you guys turn around and do!? Look at the state of the park!"

"But... the guy at the stand—!"

"NO! No excuses! When I tell you to do your job, YOU DO IT! Now, you better have this mess cleaned up, or you're both FIRED!"

Your eyes followed Benson as he stormed off, his face bright red. Benson caught a glimpse of you as well, before looking at the ground as he stomped away. Mordecai and Rigby shared a defeated glance, "Fine, let's just get this done."

Your view was cut off by a pair of legs stepping in front of you. You looked up to see Skips, his expression stone cold. "You alright?"

You nodded, because that's all you could really do. In reality, you had a mind-splitting headache, a bruise on your back, a bruise on your butt, a bruise on your stomach, and your mouth was drier than the Sahara Desert. You felt like you were on the verge of puking.

At least you did your work today.

"Does stuff like this happen... frequently?" You meekly rasped. Skips slowly inhaled through his nose.

"Unfortunately."

Huh...

Maybe you could write a song about this... but first you need a doctor.

Chapter Text

A month flew by faster than you had anticipated.

Throughout the whole month; you had managed to twist an ankle, get eaten alive by a goose, get sucked into a wormhole, and so many other things you could put under the "traumatizing" category. Skips must have saved your life at least three times a week. All thanks to your roommates, Mordecai and Rigby. You'd think that after just a week you would pack your things and run off, but it seemed like every morning everything would reset. And for some reason, you never questioned it. It felt so natural.

Plus, it gave you material to write about. Just not good material.

The blank page was your tormentor. It was the only thing laid in front of you on the table tucked in the corner of the garage. You stared at the empty page, slouched in your chair, your guitar sitting in your lap as you twisted your pencil between your fingers. Songwriting was easy in the literal sense, anyone could write a song. Writing a good song was different, nobody would listen to a song about being thrown into space and having to fight an alien for a bag of crisps.

You were already a quarter through the red notebook Skips kindly gave to you, all the pages full of scratched out words and horrible lyrics. Leaning back in your seat, you let out a frustrated groan, staring at the ceiling as if it were to give you answers. You never thought writing was your strong suit, despite doing it your whole life. Anything you wrote, you'd come to it the next day and absolutely hate it.

You knew it sounded stupid, but you missed your old songbook (that you idiotically left on a bus). It held some of your deepest, darkest secrets, lyrics from when you were at your lowest, pieces of music that were for you only. Your dad sent it to you on your eleventh birthday, from all the way across the state, from an even worse area than yours. It was bright blue, with a tassel for a bookmark, and on the inside of the cover:

Miss you
- Daddy

The old thing was cheap. Even if somebody were to have found your bag, dug to the bottom of it, and pulled your book out, they wouldn't have taken the time to read it. But somebody reading the things you wrote wasn't the problem — it was the fact that you had lost it in the first place.

You bit your lip, your grip on the pencil tightening.

Maybe you should establish the guitar before the lyrics.

"Ooh! What endeavor are you partaking in, now?" You nearly jumped out of your skin at the cheery voice calling behind you. You almost forgot that the garage door was open and anyone could just walk in. Quickly, you plastered on a smile, turning around in your seat.

"Hi, Pops. I'm just..." You glimpsed at the notebook, "... working on material."

Pops gamboled toward you, sparkles in his eyes. Curiously looking over your shoulder, only to find blank, he tilted his big fat head in confusion. "Material for what?"

You slumped in your chair, looking at the notebook in disdain. "Nothing... it's supposed to be a song, but, I gave up."

"Ah! A song? How fascinating! I, too, enjoy writing songs." Pops said gleefully, proudly placing his hands on his hips. You blinked.

"You do?"

"Why, yes!" Pops cleared his throat.

Pops began to sing, prancing around the garage, and you were honestly impressed. Yes, his style of music was very old fashioned, and he wasn't the best singer. But it was still better than anything you could have written. You couldn't help but feel a mix of admiration and frustration, Pops' enthusiasm only highlighting your struggles. The song came to a close, and you benevolently applauded him. "Thank you, thank you."

"Wow, Pops, that was amazing!" You raved. Pops beamed, taking a bow. "Maybe I could learn a thing or two from you."

"I must assure you that it is quite simple! All you have to do is believe in yourself. Mistakes are your friend!"

"Ah."

Great advice.

"Thanks, Pops. I think I'll give it another try." You turned back to your working station, a tad grimly. Pops smiled brightly, skipping away.

"Very well then, ta ta!"

You exhaled from your nose, glancing at the book before slamming it shut. You lazily leaned back in your chair, playing a random riff on the guitar you learned as a teenager. It was from a song by that band, Adrenaline — one of their slower songs.

"Huh?" You were interrupted by a muffled tune in your pocket. This was the fourth time in the last two weeks that someone had called you, and it was always by the same unknown number. You never answered the calls, though. You pulled your phone out, flipping it open, and not to your surprise, it was the same unlisted contact. Your thumb hovered over the answer button (for once) before you were kindly interrupted again.

"What are you doing? Aren't you supposed to be working?"

You ultimately pressed the decline button, shutting your phone. Instinctively, you turned your plastic chair around so you were fully facing your boss.

"I already finished my work, so, I thought I'd work on some music." You grinned timidly, straightening your posture.

"You did, huh?" He seemed genuinely surprised, turning around to glance at the freshly trimmed bushes. "Oh, looking good!"

"Thanks, I loved making crafts as a kid because I had a lot of time on my hands, so I guess I'm pretty good with scissors..." You mentally face palmed. Benson turned back to you, his expression soft.

"Well, I'll leave you to it then. I'd turn the volume down on that, though."

"Sure thing."

And with that, Benson buried his head back into his clipboard and scuttled away. Talking to him always felt so... nerve racking. He was like a bomb, always exploding on Mordecai and Rigby. It also didn't help that he had the power of taking your job whenever he pleased. Though, with Mordecai and Rigby's record, you had nothing to worry about, you supposed.

"Actually—" Benson peeked back into the room, flipping through papers on his clipboard, "I do have another job for you."

"Yeah?"

"I asked Muscle Man and Hi Five Ghost to pick up a package, but I think you should tag along as well."

"Uh, yeah, sure... why is that a three-person job?"

Benson simply slumped his shoulders, "You'll see why. Muscle Man and Fives are already ready to leave, you should probably get going if you don't want to have to catch up with them."

You nodded, "Okay, got it."

Casually, you turned off the amp and put it away, making sure to neatly roll up the cable. You grabbed your guitar and placed it back into the case as carefully as possible. You knew that this job wouldn't be the best, at least for you, since it was with Muscle Man and Hi Five Ghost — yet, you couldn't help but wonder what Benson meant by "you'll see why."

When you stood to head out the garage, you almost jumped out of your skin. Benson was still standing there. You both stood awkwardly, staring at one another. The silence seemed to stretch for forever.

"Nice guitar." He commented before retreating.

Sitting behind Muscle Man in the golf cart was like sticking your head in a bag of barf for air.

"AWW, YEAH! This solo ROCKS!"

You had to appreciate his taste in music though, "How long until we get there?"

Muscle Man placed his feet on the wheel, leaning back with his hands behind his head. "Just another ten minutes. Why, need to use it or something?"

"What? No, it's just, we've been driving for twenty minutes already. I didn't think the post office would be that far."

"Don't worry, bro. I know a shortcut."

Without warning, Muscle Man sharply jerked the cart to the right. You let out a yelp, clinging onto the back of Muscle Man's and Hi Five Ghost's seat for dear life. If it weren't for that, you would have been flung out of the cart and left on the road. The cart sped through trees, on pavements, over ramps — anywhere but the road. You swear you had been smacked in the face by three branches in a row. Now you actually wanted to barf.

If you don't survive this... tell Skips he can have what's left.

Muscle Man and Fives seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing hysterically. You gritted your teeth. "You know who else knows a shortcut? MY MOM!" Muscle Man chortled, "YEAH!" him and Fives high fived. You always wondered if Hi Five Ghost actually found his jokes funny, because they didn't even make sense. Everyone is different, you supposed. "What are you waiting for, bro?"

You blinked, realizing the cart was now parked in front of the post office and Muscle Man and Fives were waiting for you.

"Oh, sorry." You apologized sheepishly, staggering out of the cart.

The three of you entered, Muscle Man only leaving the door open for Fives, leaving you almost getting smacked in the face by it.

Muscle Man held his arm in front of you, "Alright, stay here, guys. I'll do the talking." he swaggered toward the counter, leaving you and Fives by the chairs. You raised an eyebrow, but gave him a thumbs up and sat down.

You faced Fives, "So... do we know what's in the package?"

Fives shook his head, "No, but Benson told us we need to be careful with it."

"Huh."

You twiddled your thumbs, glancing at the clock in the corner. "Do you actually find Muscle Man funny—?"

"Bad news, bros." Muscle Man appeared in front of you two out of nowhere, you almost screeched. "They don't have it."

You both stood up, you sighed, "Oh well, let's go back and tell Benson."

As you stepped toward the exit doors, you felt Muscle Man's damp hand on your shoulder. You shuddered, feeling his sweat seep into your clothes. "No way, I know that lady is just keeping it from us. Look at her." He pointed at the old lady behind the counter, politely talking to someone in line. You squinted.

Fives stepped in, "Uh... are you sure, man? Maybe it just didn't deliver."

"No, Fives, I know I'm right. Good thing is, I know a way to sneak into the warehouse at the back." Muscle Man pointed at the door behind the counter, very close to the old lady. You did not feel like getting yourself into trouble, so you quickly brushed his hand away.

"Come on, Muscle Man." You raised your hands up in consolation, "Let's just drive back and tell Benson—"

You were cut off by a grunt from Muscle Man, followed by a chair flying past your face, merely missing you, and smashing against the far wall. The lady at the counter whipped her head toward the sound, startled. You couldn't even let out a peep before Muscle Man grabbed you by the wrist and bolted for the door to the warehouse, Fives following close behind.

You stumbled inside, Hi Five Ghost helping Muscle Man heave a big box in front of the door. "What the heck are you doing!?" You hissed, but was utterly ignored. You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

Think... think... ways to turn back time and refuse taking this job...

You jumped at the sound of banging at the door, "GET OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW!" a shrill, quavering voice yelled from the other side. Oh crap.

You were about to grab Muscle Man by the collar and scream at him to just let it go, but you quickly realize that him and his friend were no longer by the door. You frenziedly looked around for any trace of them, only to be faced with nothing. The continuous banging and aggressive turning of the door nob prompted you to sprint deeper into the vast warehouse, in hopes of finding your job partners (or an unlocked window to climb out of.)

"Muscle Man!? Fives!? Come on guys! Let's just go home, tell Benson the truth! It's not like he won't understand!"

Your voice bounced off the walls like a game of ping-pong, and your legs were starting to get tired. You never ran around as a kid, you mostly just stayed inside coloring. Skidding to a stop, you doubled over, hands on your knees, panting like a dog. All you could smell was cardboard.

The sound of Muscle Man's voice caused you to perk up, and you reluctantly starting chasing the sound.

"Here it is! I found it!" You heard Muscle Man exclaim, braking.

"There you are..." You wheezed, wobbling toward them. You looked up at the huge box Muscle Man was referring to, scrutinizing the label.

THE ULTIMATE REFRIDGERATOR

You furrowed your eyebrows. At the top corner of the box, a sticker was pasted on.

Dunwoody, Benson

"Wow... I guess you were right."

"When am I ever wrong?" Muscle Man boasted, you rolled your eyes.

"Why would we even need a new fridge? Our current one is fine."

Fives floated toward the box, placing his hand on it. "I saw this on TV. Apparently it uses its robot brain to keep every food in it at their own perfect temperature, which makes them last up to a year and a half without going bad. Plus, it comes with a built in jukebox. Our fridge doesn't have a jukebox."

"That sounds almost too good to be true..." you whisper, astonished. Muscle Man nodded.

"Yeah, that's actually pretty cool."

You grabbed the box at its sides and tried to pull it off the shelf, but it was barely budging. "Uh... a little help?"

Muscle Man and Fives quickly helped you hoist the box off the shelf, and you all made it three steps with it before you froze.

"Not so fast..."

It was the old lady at the counter. She was fuming.

"What's your deal, lady!? We just wanted our package." Muscle Man demanded, you felt like sinking into the floor.

"For weeks I've been wanting an ultimate refrigerator... only to find that they are out of stock, and too expensive."

... is she brooding right now?

"When I realized one was delivered here, I knew that this was my chance. Now, just hand over the fridge."

You shook your head in disbelief, "That's a little selfish..." You whispered to yourself.

Fives tried to explain to the woman, "Look, man. It's not even us who bought this. We're just picking it up for our boss— OOF!" He was cut-off by a wrinkly fist to the face. You gasped. That lady has some strength...

The three of you scrambled, holding the box over your heads like ants, sprinting at full speed away from the old lady. She chased quickly behind, and you shivered at the sight of a wrinkly old lady chasing you at top speed. Eventually, you three outran her, and ducked behind more boxes, trying to stay as quiet as possible. You timidly peeked between the boxes. She was on your trail, but couldn't see you. Currently she was looking around, veins bulging from her head.

You ducked back, "What do we do?"

Fives shook his head and shrugged, rubbing his cheek in pain. Muscle Man perked up, "We wait for her to get lost in this place, and then, boom, we escape."

Such a vague plan. But it's all you have.

You glanced back at the lady, still in view, before turning back, "Okay, that could work. We just need to wait for her to walk off some place else..."

You sat, your back against a box, drumming your fingers against your thighs. Slowly, you could hear her footsteps become more and more distant. You heaved a sigh of relief, "Alright... let's—"

You were disrupted by a familiar buzzing in your pocket, and a reprehensibly loud ringtone. Panicked, you struggled for your flip-phone, your fingers suddenly slippery, but it was too late.

Falling back, you realized the box you were leaning on was no longer there... you anxiously glanced up, the older lady towered over you holding the box above her head.

"THAT FRIDGE IS MIIINE!!!"

Without another second, she grabbed the box from Muscle Man's lap. The three of you pounced, grabbing the other end of the box. Muscle Man squealed, "Give it up! You're not getting this fridge!"

You stumbled, letting go by accident, and your back hit a few boxes.

There must have been a lightbulb above your head.

The boxes were ordered from smallest to biggest, the largest one just as tall as one of the high shelves in the warehouse. You climbed onto the boxes, grunting as you pushed yourself up. Eventually you hoisted yourself up onto the tallest box and teetered to the shelf, successfully jumping onto the platform.

You glanced down from up high. Muscle Man was squealing like a pig, protesting like a child, and Fives was desperately trying to keep ahold of the box.

You took a few steps back, a deep breath, and then... you froze.

You were so far up high..

You couldn't.

Once again, you crept up to the edge of the big shelf and glanced down. It was like the ground kept sinking downward. You scurried away, your palms beginning to sweat and your heart palpitating. You hadn't thought this through.

"All you have to do is believe in yourself. Mistakes are your friend!"

"Ah."

No, Muscle Man and Fives needed you. You needed that fridge. In a fit of impulsiveness, you leapt off the shelf toward the lady. You felt your stomach do flips as you began to free fall, you suppressed the urge to scream and flail your arms and legs.

Everything happened so fast, you didn't even know how to think. The first second you were falling directly onto the woman, arms spread, ready to tackle her. The next second, she shifts back, and you end up plummeting directly onto the box.

You felt multiple things crunch under you, it was hard to tell of that was the fridge or your ribs.

You groaned, a sharp pain in your guts. Pushing yourself up from the box, you noticed everyone seemed... confused. Even the old lady. You curiously followed everyone's line of vision.

Rocks.

Palm-sized rocks were spilt out from the bottom of the box, which ripped open on impact. You shakily lifted the box. tilting it, and more rocks poured out.

The old woman's voice quivered, "... it was all a scam?"

Well that was a waste of gas.

"I knew it was too good to be true..." You let go of the box, slumping back and watching it smack against the floor.

"I knew it was too good to be true." Benson clicked his tongue, sat at his desk, angrily scribbling at his desk, "I'll do more research next time. Thanks." He said through gritted teeth, not even looking up.

You, Muscle Man, and Hi Five Ghost shared a look, before one by one leaving his office without another word. You were the last to leave his office, mostly because you were hunched over and limping.

"You okay?"

You perked up, turning back to Benson. He was still ticked off by the whole thing, but looking at you now, there was a sliver of genuine concern. He really didn't seem like the mean guy Mordecai and Rigby described him to be.

"Yep." You nodded, giving two thumbs up, and closing the door to his office.

What a day. You couldn't wait to take a warm shower and sleep early, and maybe brainstorm a song—

Your phone buzzed again, you rubbed your temple.

"Hello?" You croaked.

"Ohmigod— HI! Hi..." The person on the other line stuttered out your name, "is that you?"

"Uh... yeah. Who is this?"

"Oh, thank god. Look, it's... I have something that—" The hushed voice paused, distant yelling could be heard in the back. You squinted.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, sorry—" More distant yelling, however it seemed to be getting louder and louder. Your jaw clenched.

"This better not be a prank."

And louder...

"I have—!"

The line went dead. You clicked your tongue, stuffing your phone back into your pocket.

Weird...

Chapter Text

"We didn't get good quality meat like this where I grew up." You commented, knees tucked to your chest as you savored your salami sandwich. Skips sat next you, sipping a soda. It was around 1 in the afternoon — the two of you sat on top of the house, taking a break from retiling the roof. The afternoon breeze felt cool against your sweaty forehead.

Skips hummed, "What did you have?"

You sighed, lifting the top slice of bread and staring appreciatively into the inside of your sandwich, "Well," you pondered, taking another wistful bite, "I got food poisoning a lot"

"Yeesh..." Skips cringed.

"Right? That's not even half of it."

Skips chuckled, shaking his head. Your lips curved into a smile, watching the birds soar across the sky — a soft blue, dotted with fluffy clouds drifting by. A gentle rustling of leaves accompanied the distant sounds of the city surrounding the park.

You turned your head to Skips, "What about you?"

"I've never gotten food poisoning."

You snorted, "No, I mean, your upbringing." You finished the last bite of your sandwich, resting your chin on your knees as you pulled your legs closer. "What were things like where you grew up?"

Skips smirked plainly, "You don't wanna hear it."

"I do!" You insisted. Skips sighed, surrendering.

"Ah, alright. Well, for starters, we didn't have light bulbs."

"Pfft, what?" You laughed incredulously, "Stop messing with me."

"I'm not messing with you." Skips pressed, crushing his empty soda can in his hand and tossing it into the cool box next to him. Wait... what?

"You mean— you're— Mordecai and—" You sputtered, brain suddenly fuzzy, "How old are you!?"

"Around 400." He answered simply, laying back with his hands behind his head. Your eyes practically bulged out of your head, and shook your head like a cartoon character. Skips seemed to have found this hilarious, as he started snickering.

You budged closer to his side, "So..." you blinked, "Mordecai and Rigby told me you were immortal. I thought they were joking." You gazed out at the city skyline in deep thought.

"Nope, I'm immortal." Your jaw dropped. Your mind just couldn't seem to wrap around the fact that he couldn't die... ever.

You glimpsed at him, your initial shock fading, raising an eyebrow amusingly, "You're so casual about it."

"Yeah, well, it's not really something to boast about." Skips shrugged, you scoffed. Being immortal sounds like the coolest thing ever.

"I think it is." You fiddled with a rooftile, careful not to drop it, "I mean, you never have to worry about having a bucket list. And, you get to watch the world as it progresses. Well, I'm assuming nowadays was better than back then." You rambled.

"Immortality does have his perks," Skips remarked, "but there is an equal amount of downsides. For example, I'm forced to watch loved ones come and go."

A silence simmered between the two of you.

"I hadn't thought of that..." You muttered, a sudden guilt washing over you. Maybe you shouldn't have brought it up. "Sorry, is this a sensitive topic?" You placed down the rooftile, drumming your fingers against your legs. Glancing at Skips, you noticed he didn't look upset. He was smiling.

"Eh, it's okay. I'm not too bothered by it."

"Seriously? Sounds really dark."

"I've had plenty of time to come to terms with it. And it was my choice to be this way."

A weird faint feeling came across you — you knew Skips was right, and he didn't look upset to talk about it at all. But just the thought of out living everyone you had ever loved, to live to see the end, it left a heavy feeling in your chest. You really didn't need to imagine Skips watch all his friends die... including yourself... that was something you should at least save to think about late at night.

Skips spoke up, "But, it is cool. I have a vast knowledge of things I wouldn't have learned if it weren't for my immortality."

"Yeah, that is cool, I suppose." you concurred, laying back and placing your hands behind your head like Skips, "You're the wisest person I know."

Skips let out a content sound, "Thanks."

Promptly, a clicking sound was heard behind you. The two of you sat up, turning around to spot Benson peeking through one of the attic windows, "Almost done retiling the roof?" he asked, more upbeat than usual.

Skips scanned the area, "Give us another hour."

"Great. Well, this guy over here—" He proudly pointed two thumbs toward himself, "—managed to get a discount for karaoke. You guys in?" Benson looked at the two of you expectantly, you noticed that he actually looked... happy. There was no hard line between his eyebrows, and there were barely any creases around his eyes. You didn't feel a weird sense of self-conscious fear with him like this.

You quickly realized that both Benson and Skips were waiting for you to answer, "I have nothing planned, count me in!"

"Okay," Benson nodded, smiling a bit wider than before. "I'll see what the others think." He shut the attic window, and you watched him trot down the attic stairs.

"Huh." You let out a confused sound, turning back around to face the park horizon, "He's a lot more cheery than usual."

"Benson isn't the boring guy you think he is." Skips stood up, keeping his balance with ease, starting on the roof again. You pondered, you knew he was right. It's been a while since you started at the park, yet you never took the time to get to know your boss out of fear. Wow. Some employee you were.

"Yeah, you're right. I've just never seen him so... not-angry before." 

Skips didn't respond, but you didn't mind, he was a man of few words. You slowly stood with a wobble and nailed a tile to the house. You nailed five before you realized the nail gun was out of nails.

"Skips?"

"He just likes karaoke."

"... huh?"

Skips turned to you, handing you a packet of nails, "Benson likes going to karaoke."

You nodded as you took the packet, "... makes sense."

A month and a half. You had been living at Pop's house for a month and a half, yet, you still kept your entire wardrobe (albeit, not that big, considering you had to start from scratch) folded beside your "bed." Despite basically sleeping in a closet, you never actually took the make use of it. You felt like it was an invasion of Mordecai and Rigby's privacy, as they were using it too. It was only when you realized that your stack of clothes was practically a border that you decided it was time to hang things up.

"Dang it..." You browsed the inside, not finding any free hangers, to your dismay. Clicking your tongue, you retracted your hand from the hangers when you accidentally flicked one off the rail. You made a surprised noise, kneeling down and grabbing the shirt to put it back when the print caught your eye.

"Mordecai and the Rigby's?" You read out-loud, furrowing your eyebrows. What could have this possibly been for? Knowing Mordecai and Rigby, it was probably a late-night/early-morning, coffee-induced, frenzied lightbulb moment. That was their thing. At this point, you probably couldn't even count on your fingers the amount of times your roommates have kept you up with their noise. You wondered how Pop's could sleep through all of that.

"Guys?" You called as you padded down the stairs, the t-shirt neatly folded in your hands, to find Mordecai and Rigby sitting at the TV, feet propped up at the coffee table again.

Mordecai leaned his head back, looking at you upside down, dubbing you that dumb nickname the two came up with, before turning back to his game against Rigby.

"Can you guys tell me what this is?" You asked as you made it beside the couch, unraveling the shirt and holding it up in front of you.

"What what is?" Rigby lazily slumped further into the couch, not even looking in your direction.

"This?" You agitatedly lifted the shirt higher, shaking it slightly to try and catch their attention. Neither of them moved, you huffed solemnly.

Mordecai followed Rigby in leaning back into the couch, "Just a sec..."

You waited in silence, dropping your arms and folding them impatiently. The only sound being the clacking of their controllers. You thought back to earlier. You've never done karaoke before, there was no place that did karaoke where you used to live. Listening to your colleagues sing, incredibly well or incredibly badly, that sounded like the most fun you'd ever have for a long time. And for once, Benson wouldn't be screaming his lungs out at somebody, which was a plus.

"What was it you wanted to ask us?" Rigby unhappily drew you out of your reverie, having obviously lost against Mordecai, you blinked back to see them watching you in anticipation.

You cleared your throat, lifting up the shirt once more, "Um, this. What is this?"

Mordecai and Rigby's expressions brightened and they sat up. Mordecai pointed at the shirt, "Oh, that's just one of our band tees!" He jauntily explained. You short circuited.

Band tees?

Band tees?

"Band... tees?" You swallowed thickly, shambling toward the couch and sitting on the armrest. You stared down at the print like it was a cup water in the desert, basically cradling it in your lap.

Rigby eyed you, "Yeah. band tees, ever heard of it?" He mocked, a sly smirk on his face.

You glanced between the two in awe, "You guys have a band?"

"Yep." Rigby proudly rested his arms behind his head. Why haven't you known about this?

"Well," Mordecai spoke up, "We've only ever performed two... maybe three times. We weren't professional or anything." You eagerly nodded, urging him to say more, "Yeah. That's it."

"You didn't tell me you had a band." You raised your hands up in mock-frustration.

Rigby raised an eyebrow, "We didn't?" You shook your head.

"No, you didn't." You sighed, gazing at nothing in particular, "Being in a band must be so cool. I've always wanted to be in a band."

"Yeah, cool... at times." Mordecai murmured the last part.

"So, it's just the two of you?"

"At first it was, but then the whole park got involved."

You blinked, "... really?"

Rigby picked up his controller, fiddling with the joysticks, "Yeah, dude. It was awesome!"

Mordecai chuckled, "Yeayuh, it was!"

Rigby stood up on the couch, "Me and Mordecai would be shredding in the front—" he exuberantly mimed the air guitar, "while Skips was behind us on bass—"

Skips on bass?

"And Muscle Man and Fives on brass—"

Muscle Man and Fives on brass?

"Pops on keys—"

Well, that's not very surprising.

"And Benson on drums! We were the coolest!"

Benson plays the drums?

You sat in silence for a second. "You keep talking about your band in the past tense. Are you still...?"

In unison, "No."

"Oh."

You sat quietly, staring blankly at the t-shirt. So much for getting your hopes up. "Well, I'll stop nagging you guys now. Uh, enjoy your video game." You retreated up the stairs.

"See ya."

When you returned back to your room, you stood in front of the mirror, ambivalently staring down at the shirt in your hands. Making sure nobody was looking, you slipped it on. The shirt was a bit tight, being Rigby's, but you couldn't help but admire it in the mirror. You probably looked like a creep, wearing your coworker's band shirt and admiring yourself in the mirror. Your open guitar case caught you eye, and you wasted no time slinging it over your torso. You strummed a few chords, wincing at your lack of stage presence in the mirror.

Maybe if you just stand with your feet further apart? Puff out your chest, maybe? Relax the shoulders...

You found yourself grinning a little, chuckling.

"We are the Mordecai and the Rigby's!" You enthused quietly, sure that nobody could hear you. You struck an audacious pose, picking hand in the air, a pose in which if someone were to walk in on you doing, you would die of embarrassment. "This is a brand new song we got for you tonight!"

A roar of cheer and applauses echoed across the stadium. Mordecai and Rigby, the other front men, gave you a reassuring wink, and you smiled. Turning back to the crowd, almost in hysterics from anticipation, you gave Benson a thumbs up. He counted in, slamming his drum sticks together. Once he got to four, the whole band burst with sound. A hard and gritty song you wrote almost a decade ago.

You were about to start rocking out when you realized what you were doing.

"What am I doing?" You snickered at yourself, shaking your head and putting your guitar away. But deep down, you wanted it to be real.

The eight of you squished yourselves into a booth closest to the stage at the karaoke restaurant. You were thankful to be sat on the edge next to Pops instead of squished between Muscle Man and Rigby.

"Oooh! So many songs to choose from!" Pops flipped through the pages of the songbook with a sparkle in his eye, you couldn't help but smile.

"Which one are you thinking of singing, Pops?" You inquired, flipping through the drinks menu.

"I don't know, I want to sing all of them!" Pops giggled.

Benson spoke up from the other side of Pops, "You're gonna have to pick one soon, Pops. I'm not paying for every song."

Muscle Man sat up a little straighter, an impish grin on his face. He snickered, "Don't worry, Pops," he malevolently leaned back, arms folded, "you'll have plenty of time to pick a song."

For once, you actually agreed with him, "Yeah, there's no rush—"

"—because they're going up first!"

Initially, you eyed Muscle Man in confusion, but the color quickly drained from your face when you realized Muscle Man was pointing at you. You frantically waved your arms around in front of you, "Oh, no. I'm not singing." You said as politely as possible.

"Did no one tell you, bro? Newest employee has to sing at their first karaoke."

Your stomach fell to your feet. "But... I... I've never—"

"It's tradition, bro!" He pressed further raising his hands up.

You bit your lip, feeling sweat beginning to form on your forehead. You meekly took your eyes off of Muscle Man, glancing at the other people in the restaurant. So many people... too many people. Suddenly, it felt as if everyone's eyes were on you. Oh god. Oh, no, no, no, no. You shriveled up, making yourself as small as possible in your seat. Your nails dug into your legs lightly.

"Oh! I found a song I'd like to sing!" Pops sprung up, climbing over you to get out of the booth. You heaved a long sigh of relief, sitting up. However, you made the mistake of making eye contact with Muscle Man.

"Hm, saved by the bell." He pointed directly at you, "But you're up next."

You gulped.

A few minutes later, you saw Pops standing proudly on the stage, a childish smile on his face. Everyone else who sat at your booth cheered, and you timidly clapped with them. You tried to focus on Pops, he was singing Don't Stop Believin' by Journey, but you couldn't ignore the feeling of something unpleasant swimming in your stomach.

You might as well see what songs they do here, right? Because you're forced to sing.

You picked up the songbook, it unexpectedly became really heavy in your grasp. It wasn't that thick either, you knew it was your head messing with you. Your eyes skimmed the list, but nothing stuck out to you. You flicked through the pages way faster than you should have been.

Eventually, you gave up, hoping Muscle Man would let you off.

"So, what do you think?" Benson turned to you, "... about this place, I mean."

You blinked hard, looking up at Benson. "Uh... it's cool." You squeaked.

"... cool." Benson looked a bit down from your dry response, turning back to the stage.

"I mean, it's great!" You laughed nervously, twisting your mouth into a smile, "So many songs to choose from, a lot from my childhood."

Benson perked up, "Yeah, makes me feel nostalgic coming here. If only the people here knew how to sing." He said the last part through gritted teeth, giving a dull glance at Pops on stage, who was hitting voice cracks left, right, and center. You let out a snort.

"Ooh, harsh."

You both shared a short, slightly awkward, laugh.

Benson glanced at the menu left open in front of you, "Are you ordering anything?"

You followed his gaze, "Um..." you paused as you looked through the list, thankful to get your mind off of your crippling stage fright, "I don't know. Maybe I'll get a water."

Benson nodded with a hum, "Yeah, that's always a good choice."

You gave a puzzled look, but quickly moved on. "Are you gonna sing?"

Benson beamed in an embarrassed manner, "No way," he chuckled, "I'm not really a singer."

At least he gets a choice not to sing.

You banteringly crossed your arms, "So what are you then? Apart from park manager."

"Well," Benson leaned his chin on the palm of his hand, matching your playful tone, "I guess you could say I'm a bit of a drummer."

Something inside you stalled. "So I've heard."

"You have?"

"Yeah, just today, actually."

"Oh." Benson genuinely looked a bit surprised, "Well..." he leaned back again, pondering on what to say next, "can't wait to hear you sing!" He flashed you a plain grin. Your ribcage tightened with dread. Benson jokily elbowed your arm, "I better be impressed, I am a man of high expectations."

"Hahaha... yeah."

Your fingers drummed against the table anxiously, trying to focus on Pops again. He made it look so easy.

You dreamed of being a performer, yet you couldn't even perform. Jeez, what kind of musician were you? This was your chance. Maybe there were some really important dudes in the crowd just waiting to offer someone a gig.

Maybe if you could just man up—

"Thank you, thank you!" You were snapped out of the storm in your mind by a big applause, which only made your heart beat faster. No, no, no, no. Not yet, please. Pops slid back into his seat, having to climb over your legs, and sat down with a satisfied hum. Everyone praised him, everyone except you.

"Sooo," Muscle Man said your name, making sure to drag it out, "what will you be singing tonight?"

Words couldn't describe how much you wanted to punch him.

You sat in silence for what felt like forever. Eventually, you swallowed the lump in your throat, "Um... do I have to?"

"It is park tradition." Benson commented. Skips nodded with him, why wasn't he on your side?

Rigby raised an eyebrow, "Aren't you, like, a musician? You can sing."

"I'm a guitarist."

"You said you were a musician."

"Well, I mean—"

"You look like you can sing. It's not that hard." That earned Rigby a sideward look from Mordecai.

You looked down, wiping your sweaty hands on your lap. "I just..."

"Hey, dude," Mordecai smiled reassuringly, "if you're really that nervous, me and Rigby can sing with you."

"I'm not—" you cut yourself off, there was no point in being defensive. You sighed, glancing at everyone around the table, before looking back at Mordecai and Rigby, "You will?"

They both nodded.

Slowly, your shoulders began to relax again, and you didn't feel like you were being suffocated.

Benson leaned his elbow on the table, tiredly resting his cheek on his hand, "So?"

You raised an eyebrow, "So what?"

"What are you guys singing?"

Mordecai and Rigby had to stand slightly behind you, to prevent you from shuffling all the way to the back of the stage. You gulped, standing like Bambi on ice, not sure if you wanted to hold the microphone in your left, right, or both of your hands.

A perk of being in a crappy spot light is that it puts the whole audience in a shadow. Still, you felt the microphone slipping in your hands from how sweaty they were.

"When is the track gonna start?" You whispered to Mordecai, he shrugged. Speaking of Mordecai, him and Rigby looked way more put together than you did. Not a single ounce of fear in their eyes. You were jealous, honestly. They not only looked composed, they looked confident. Rigby looked cocky, even.

You were going to die from anticipation, it felt like you had been standing for minutes in silence.

Finally, the track began to play. Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie. It was the first song you had learned on the piano as a small child. At first, you sang a bit quieter than Mordecai and Rigby, hoping to be drowned out by them. Your voice was shaky and breathy, and you kept your eyes glued to your feet.

By the time you hit the first chorus, you got the courage to look up.

People were... smiling.

Mainly because of Mordecai and Rigby and their bold dance moves, but still. Nobody seemed to be judging you. Your gaze fell onto your booth, Skips gave you a proud look, shooting a thumbs up and a wink. You smiled. Then you looked at Benson, he stared at you intently. His lips were slightly parted, you hoped it was in amazement. You noticed how he was tapping his finger to the beat. And Pops, who looked ecstatic. Even Muscle Man and Fives looked to be enjoying.

Gradually, you sang louder and with more confidence. You shimmied your shoulders to the beat, all your worried washing away in seconds. Sure, your feet were still firmly planted on the floor and you were sweating bullets. But you felt accomplished.

You were enjoying yourself.

The song ended, and your face immediately shined red. You grinned, shyly bowing as the crowd applauded, your booth in particular cheered the loudest. Mordecai and Rigby raved about how awesome you did, giving you a high-five each. You've never felt so honored before.

You muttered a quick "Thank you!" into the mic, before hurrying off the stage and approaching your workmates.

Skips was the first to say something to you, "I knew you had it in you." You almost wanted to cry, you're not sure why.

Pops clapped enthusiastically, "Spectacular!"

You scratched the back of your neck, "Thanks, guys."

Pops grinned, standing up, "Now, does anyone want to accompany me to the loo?" Rigby jumped out the circular booth, raising a hand.

"I'll go."

As Pops and Rigby walked off, you noticed Benson looking at you. A look you couldn't pinpoint. The same look he had in the kitchen your first morning at the park, "Did I meet your expectations?" You raised an eyebrow.

Benson took a moment, before shaking his head. You rolled your eyes, letting out a huff. Though, on the inside, you felt a slight pang in your chest.

"You exceeded them."

You perked up, "Oh. Well, thank you, Benson."