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Branzy was halfway buried under a mountain of pillows when ClownPierce walked in, scythe at his hip like always.
“...What are you doing?” Clown asked, voice flat, though his eyebrow twitched at the sight of Branzy wrestling with a blanket twice his size, a smile slowly growing on his face.
“It’s called a fort,” Branzy said, muffled through fabric. He popped his head out, hair sticking up in every direction. “And you’re invited.”
ClownPierce crossed his arms, smiling much more distinctly. “I don’t do forts.”
“You don’t do fun,” Branzy shot back, grinning. “Which is why you need this more than anyone.” He tugged the blanket into place, creating a lopsided archway. “Come on, it’s got cookies inside.”
Clown’s mouth opened, probably to argue, but then Branzy shoved a plate of sugar cookies into his hands. The assassin stared at them like they were foreign weapons, then finally, reluctantly, took a bite.
Branzy watched him chew, eyes bright. “See? You’re smiling brighter than before.”
“I’m not,” Clown muttered.
Branzy flopped onto the pile of pillows with a satisfied sigh. “Mission accomplished. Now, get in here before I declare war on your brooding.”
For a moment, Clown hesitated at the edge of the blanket fort. Then, with a quiet exhale, he ducked inside. The space was warm, ridiculous, and far too small for two people, but Branzy’s grin made it feel like the safest place in the world.
It wasn't much more than a crooked pile of blankets and pillows, but inside it felt like a world apart. Branzy sprawled across the cushions, humming some nonsense tune while Clown sat stiffly beside him, cookie plate balanced on his knees like it might explode.
“You’re terrible at relaxing,” Branzy teased, nudging his shoulder. “You’re supposed to sink into the pillows, not sit like you’re guarding a throne.”
Clown gave him a look, sharp as ever, but Branzy only grinned wider. “Fine,” Clown muttered, and let himself lean back. The blanket sagged overhead, dipping low enough that Branzy had to duck his head closer, stifling a laugh.
The space grew quieter. Outside, the server buzzed with its usual chaos, but here, here it was just the soft rustle of fabric and Branzy’s steady breathing.
“You know,” Branzy said after a while, voice softer now, “you don’t always have to be the scary one.”
Clown’s eyes flicked toward him. “It works.”
“Yeah, but so does this.” Branzy gestured around them, the fort, the cookies, the ridiculous pile of pillows. “You’re allowed to laugh, you know. Or just… be.”
Clown didn’t answer right away. He stared at the cookie in his hand, then at Branzy’s messy grin. Finally, almost imperceptibly, he chuckled.
Branzy lit up like he’d won a war. “There it is! Proof you’re human after all.”
Clown shook his head, but the sound lingered, warm and strange in his chest. For once, he didn’t feel like the assassin everyone feared. He just felt… safe.
Branzy flopped sideways, half on Clown’s arm, half on the pillows. “See? Told you. Best fort ever.”
Clown didn’t push him away. Instead, he let the blanket sag lower, cocooning them in silence. And for the first time in a long time, he thought maybe Branzy was right.
The fort had gone quiet again, the kind of hush that only came when exhaustion finally caught up. Branzy’s eyelids drooped, his words slurring just a little as he shifted closer into the pillows.
“You know,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, “I bet you snore louder than Rek.”
ClownPierce huffed, low and amused. “I don’t snore.”
“You definitely do,” Branzy insisted, poking his arm weakly. “Bet it sounds like… like a zombie stuck in a cave.”
Clown rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth softened. “If I did, you’d be the first to complain.”
Branzy gave a half-smile, already fading. “Nah. I’d just… stay awake. Make sure you don’t get lonely.”
The words hung in the air, heavier than Branzy probably meant them to be. Clown glanced at him, messy hair, cookie crumbs on his shirt, already half-asleep, and something in his chest eased.
“…You’re ridiculous,” Clown said quietly, but his tone lacked its usual sharpness.
Branzy’s eyes fluttered shut. “Yeah. But you like it.”
Clown didn’t answer. He just let the silence settle, the warmth of the blanket fort wrapping around them both. And when Branzy’s breathing evened out, Clown found himself whispering into the dark, so soft it barely counted as words:
“Maybe I do.”
Branzy’s eyes were already half‑closed, but Clown’s quiet mutter pulled him back from the edge of sleep, causing Branzy’s grin to spread slowly and mischievous, warm even in the dim light.
“You’re terrible at hiding things,” he whispered, voice thick with drowsy amusement.
Clown turned his head, ready to deflect, but Branzy was already shifting. He scooted closer across the pillows, blanket rustling, until his shoulder pressed against Clown’s. The grin didn’t fade; if anything, it softened into something gentler.
“Guess I’ll stay right here then,” Branzy murmured, settling in like it was the most natural thing in the world, his head on Clown’s shoulder.
Clown froze for a moment, caught between instinct and comfort. But Branzy’s warmth seeped in, steady and unshakable, and eventually Clown let himself lean back into it.
The fort sagged lower, cocooning them in the quiet. Branzy’s breathing evened out, his grin lingering even as sleep claimed him. And Clown, for once, didn’t mind the closeness, he welcomed it.