Archive of Our Own

Cleo's been—yeah, actually—doing pretty damn good recently.

Commissions have been coming in at a steady pace for once; not a torrent so harsh they have to turn away customers, not a perpetually deserted inbox that makes them worry about next month's rent. Cleo spends the mornings working on those and the afternoons doing administrative work. Emails, social media posts, printing stickers to sell, the like.

And the new roommate. That's been going good, too—which is surprising, given how little Cleo knew about her before they moved in.

It was dire straits after their lease ran out, but Tango knew Jimmy who knew this girl, Lizzie, who was also looking for new housing and, well, things fell into place. She's sweet enough that Cleo worries she's hiding something dark (but thus far, she hasn't shown to be) and she does her dishes in a timely fashion. Cleo can't ask for any more than that.

Lastly, most importantly, there's Cleo's new fixation.

An audio drama.

They've never been one to go for those in the past, but, one day, during their evening video games, nothing in the subscription box was hitting the spot. They'd already listened to their weekly podcasts. Music wasn't the mood, either. And so they went out on a lark, pulling up something they'd seen a mutual talk about. It had seemed interesting, whatever they were saying. Cleo can't even remember anymore.

Now this show is just about the only thing they can think about.

The intrigue. The character arcs. The quick-moving plot. Cleo binged it in a week, season one and two, all twenty-seven hours of currently available episodes. They release bi-monthly, which is startlingly fast for something with such high production value, but still agonizes them as they wait.

And what else is one to do in this situation but dive headfirst into fandom?

The art in the show's main tags is good. Damn good.

It's pretty wonderful to see the variety in interpretations of characters, given that there are no canon images of them—barely even physical descriptions, at that. It's something you don't get in fan-works of visual media.

Cleo reads meta, reads speculation and interpretation and analysis posts, too. Someone theorizes betrayal in the main faction. Someone else argues that anything but full loyalty would harm the established themes of it all. Cleo honestly sees both sides.

It's not all sunshine (heh), though. There's still the low effort "incorrect quotes" and long-ass roleplay replies clogging tags. This one blog keeps popping up and—on posts with nearly 2000 notes, mind you—totally misunderstanding characters. Like, they're seriously saying Hattie might forgive Little J even after he used the fool's curse on them when he didn't have to. Come on.

One night, a random Tuesday, Lizzie asks if Cleo would like to watch a movie together. They nearly say no, nearly retreat to their cave and go back to scrolling, but guilt tugs at the back of their mind.

It's good and human(ish) to make friends with your roommate, right? And, hey, when was the last time Cleo spoke to someone in person more than the cashier at the grocery store?

So she agrees. Lizzie offers up a few movie options: a romance, a horror, a sci-fi. Cleo chooses the fantasy romp, since even a trash fantasy movie has some appeal, and they spend an hour and a half curled up on the couch, trying to not touch Lizzie with their foot, or whatever, on accident.

The princess rescues her sister, the day is saved, the credits roll over a rather embarrassing tie-in pop song. Cleo's crafting their perfect snide comment about the dissonance of that tonal shift when, um.

When they realize that Lizzie has tears streaming down her cheeks.

Cleo looks back to the screen as fast as they can, trying to pretend they didn't see, but they can still see her crying out of the corner of their eye. Lizzie notices. She turns to them as she wipes a line of tears away.

"I'm—uh! I'm sorry. Haha," she says, voice sniffly. "It's just me and my sister—It's like, um. I'm really close with my siblings and I'm, like, so—I'm sensitive at movies."

"It's—it's fine!" Cleo nods and fiddles with their hands in their lap. God damn it. What about this is making them feel so awkward?

Lizzie smiles, the skin around her eyes red and blotchy. Her eyes still look filled with water. "Do, uh, you ever cry at things? Movies? Media? You seem like the stoic type, maybe you don't."

"Um!" Cleo coughs to clear her throat. "No, I get got sometimes. Like anybody. Just the other day it happened, I bawled my eyes out."

"What was it at?" Lizzie asks.

"Err." Cleo envisions Lizzie pulling a face, weirded out by some aspect of their interests and failing to hide it. "It was this audio drama? I just got into it. It's—It's pretty good."

Lizzie—damn her—smiles wider and tilts her head, prompting Cleo to keep going.

"It's called, um, Penultimate Verve?"

Lizzie's brows raise, her eyes flashing with recognition. "You—Really? I love that show!"

"Y-yeah?" Oh. This is—this isn't scorn. "Wait, actually?"

"Yes! I—oh gosh. Are you caught up?" Lizzie bounces in her seat. Cute, Cleo thinks.

"I am. Can you believe that last cliffhanger?" They grimace. It was really rough.

"I hope Crater doesn't lose a life! I'm not ready for him to be in heartless mode." She pouts.

"I kind of hope he does, honestly. It'll be funny."

Lizzie barks a laugh, her lips curling. "You're brutal!" The way she says it, it sounds like a compliment. "Who do you think is going to win?"

"Ooh," Cleo says. "I… I honestly don't know. I want it to be Celeste because she's my favorite, but will it be? Probably not."

"I'll be happy whoever it is, as long as things are dramatic." Lizzie nods. A rather basic opinion, but it's fine. "Um, maybe not Sunshine again though. That'd be disappointing."

"Agreed. Anyone but him." Sunshine was the first contest winner. It'd be lame to have him again. "Obin would be good, maybe. Underdog winner."

"I love Obin," she sighs.

Cleo's yawning by the time they and Lizzie finish talking. Their phone clock tells them it's well past their bedtime, but they find themself wanting to stay.

"We've gotta talk after the next episode drops. Promise me you will?" Lizzie asks, sliding out of her seat. Her eyes have recovered from crying by now. "You work so much, all holed up in your room in there… I worry."

Cleo feels their face warm. She notices? She worries? It's sweet, but part of them is slightly offended. They aren't a shut-in! "I promise. We can, um, maybe have dinner together about it. Or something."

"Yes! I can't cook but we can order in!" Lizzie beams.

"Sounds good." Cleo grins back.

And it's nice to be on friendly terms with the roommate. To have something in common, even. Cleo hasn't made a new—well, it feels a little early to say "friend," but—friend in a long time.

Something makes Cleo think back to those early days with Joe. The easy way they fell into conversation with each other right from the start. They scold themself for being naive, but still, Cleo wonders: is this time like that? Minus the challenging each other to duels and such, of course. Lizzie won't do that. Probably.

Cleo spends an evening drawing for fun and posts her first Penultimate Verve fan art the next day. The reception from followers is pretty good. The reception from Verve fans is even better. A few people respond to their rambling in tags about having just gotten into the show with "welcome to the fandom!" and "hope to see more great art, op."

They even get a reblog from that person from before—the one arguing that Little J did nothing wrong, Cleo recognizes by the pink profile picture. It's amusing, honestly. Gives them a little chuckle.

"Penultimateharmony" is their name. Cleo clicks into the blog to see more.

They note the pronouns in the description. Ooh, she/they. Same hat.

But it's downhill from here.

They read text posts, reblog commentary, ask answers. Each of this person's opinions are more daft than the last. Cleo doesn't get it. How can she miss the point so hard? Why is she so focused on all of the most boring parts of the show?

Turns out they draw, too. Rather well, in a way that's deeply frustrating. But none of the dialogue on their traditional art, slice of life, modern au comics feel in character to Cleo at all.

And of course, of course she ships Crater x Sunshine. The most snore-worthy, overrated ship in the fandom, Cleo thinks.

They open the text editor and set the blog switcher to their non-professional sideblog. Barely thinking over their words, they tap away at the keys before pressing post.

"Is it just me or is a certain ship waaay too popular. some of you forget there are thirteen other characters." #c rambles #verveblr #all the most annoying blogs ship cr*tershine #i'm just being rude don't mind me lol

That's enough of that. Cleo closes the tab and puts their computer to sleep. It's fun to have a little hate-reading, but you can't let it get to your head. It really, really doesn't matter.

Lizzie asks if Cleo can take out the trash that night. Cleo obliges, but while they're tying up the bin bag, Lizzie stays hovering. "Only three more days 'til the new episode." She grins, standing there in her flouncy pajama top and bottoms.

"I'm so ready." Cleo nods. "Have you seen that post that's like, the chibi art of Crispyn holding his axe and Crater's on the ground and it's the meme of 'your motherfucking life ends three days from now'?"

"I have!" Lizzie giggles. "Oh my god."

They've finished tying the bag into a knot already, the garbage left slumped at their feet. "You use tumblr, then?" they ask.

Lizzie's lips quirk at the question. "No." She answers fast. "No, I don't—I've really never used it at all, um. I must have seen it on Instagram!"

"Ah," Cleo huffs. "Damn reposters. Or maybe the artist is on there too, I wouldn't know." Cleo doesn't look at fandom stuff on Insta. They just post their art for business. "Anyways. That's a good one."

"It is. Have you read—"

It takes fifteen more minutes of chatting before Cleo gets outside at all.

Time just passes like that, thinking or talking about the show: it moves fast, shrinks like water freezing.

Cleo really notices it working on their commissions. Painting peoples' pets, drawing characters from comics they haven't read, sketching icons—it's a little more difficult than usual. Still a wonderful time, don't get them wrong. But their tablet pen flies a little bit faster when working on Verve design lineups, instead.

Someone screenshots their post about cratershine and adds nasty commentary.

"how about what's annoying is posts like this that try to polarize the fandom. If you ship cratershine you're super cool, don't listen to them." #verveblr #penultimate verve #verveshipping #cratershine #penultimate verve shipping #fandom discourse #penultimate verve season 2 #my posts

Cleo has to laugh. For someone who disliked what Cleo said, they sure are trying to make sure the maximum number of people see it.

At least they blacked out their url. Not their personal tag, and the post would be findable through search anyways, but. Hopefully they won't get any anons about this.

And they don't.

They get a full on, mask off ask.

From penultimateharmony.

"Just letting you know It's pretty rude to maintag negativity. Try using "#verve critical" instead. PS. cratershine rules."

Cleo grits their teeth. She's kind of right about "maintagging" the post, to be fair. Cleo didn't realize that #verveblr would get it noticed like that. But fuck off. That passive aggression.

It'd really be best to just ignore the ask, to delete it. Yet…

"I'll use what tags I like. You're free to block me if you want. P.S. have you remembered the rest of the cast yet?" #c rambles #ask #penultimateharmony

It's not an entirely accurate blow—Harmony posts about a variety of verve characters pretty frequently—but this is the phrasing that'll get notes. (And it'd be a little embarrassing to admit they know the intricacies of her multiple favorite characters.)

Cleo tries to go back to drawing, but a notification sounds off after just a few minutes. Bad habit: they check it compulsively.

Another ask. Penultimateharmony.

"You use what tags you like and I'll post what ships I like. Get your head out of your ass. The link to your ask box on your theme is broken btw."

They have enough sense to not respond this time.

But they do go back and check the link they're referring to. And, dammit, it is broken. They forgot to change it when they switched URLs a few months back.

Ugh. Heartbreaking. The nastiest blog in your inbox just made a good point.

Cleo fixes it and then reblogs a few art pieces before closing out of Tumblr, but the frustration from it all lingers in their stomach, still, afterwards.

They're doing the right thing not responding to her, but it still makes them feel like she's getting the last laugh. Cleo washes their face that evening with a little more vigor than usual.

Dim sum dishes spread across the coffee table and asses sat directly on the living room floor, Cleo and Lizzie spend an evening locked in discussion of the new episode. It turns out Crater did not die, instead counter-attacking and leaving Crispyn collapsed at the shore of the lake. In the subplot, Tiger's Eye stole supplies from Yonny's camp and overheard news of the secret alliance. Cleo's terrified of what that'll mean for Obin's reputation, Lizzie's just happy to see everyone staying alive.

They don't just talk about the episode though. Not entirely.

"When do you even listen to the show? During your shifts or something?" Cleo asks.

"Nah, I could never focus on it enough. Or hear it over the puppies." Lizzie works at an animal shelter across town. She's complained before about coming home every day smelling like dog, but Cleo's honestly never noticed it, their faulty sense of smell. "I listen on my commutes! You?"

"Ah–" On their binge, Cleo basically listened during every activity. Today they marked out a special hour during work to drop everything and consume it. "During lunch and chores, mostly. Or in the—in the evenings while I play games." Cleo shifts in place, unfolds their leg from beneath themself.

Lizzie nods as she takes an extra large bite of dumpling.

That Tumblr stuff, god. It's still weighing on Cleo, stupid as it is. Maybe Lizzie would understand? Or maybe she'll understand it so little that it'll make the exchange feel trivial. "Do you know anything about shipping, by the way?"

Lizzie bolts upright like she's been shocked. She seems to wince and then covers her mouth. "I—! Oh, fuck I—I bit my tongue, sorry!"

"Oh dear!" Cleo says. "Ouch."

"I—haha, yeah, ouch. I, um, don't really follow any shipping stuff for Verve, nope."

"But you know what it is, of course." Cleo nods. "Yeah, no, there's like a really big scene for it. Especially on Tumblr, probably. And it's, like…" Cleo huffs. "It's kind of hellish."

Lizzie pouts, listening along and eating.

"Don't get me wrong, some of it's good! But, like, I made a post about a ship being overly popular? And someone screenshotted it and posted that and now there's like 200 notes of people calling me an asshole." Cleo rolls their eyes, shakes their head like it'll cast off the negative energy. "It's mental."

Lizzie blinks before responding, probably processing Cleo's words. She frowns. "…That's not cool. There's no need to call you names."

"Yeah!" Cleo says. Err. They puff up, un-hunching their shoulders. Hopefully that didn't sound too pitiful, didn't sound like this stuff actually got to them. "I mean, it's not a big deal, but… And someone even came into my inbox telling me to be less rude by using a different tag. Like, fuck off, I know what I'm doing."

Lizzie's jaw drops open for a second, the gall of Harmony apparently stunning her. "I–I mean maybe they were genuinely trying to advise you? Clumsily!"

"Nah." Cleo sighs. "I could read their tone. It was spiteful. And they sent another message telling me to get my head out of my ass."

"…Damn. Fuck." Lizzie sips her beer and leaves the can in her lap rather than place it back on the table. She fidgets by running her thumb up and down the aluminum. She presses and it makes a tinkling pop sound. "Sorry."

Cleo pokes at the vegetable roll on their plate. "Why? S'not your doing."

"Well—I," Lizzie stammers. She looks to Cleo and then to the dishes on the table. Her wide bangs hang in front of her eye. "I just mean sorry that it happened."

"Thanks," Cleo mumbles. It's embarrassing to receive sympathy, but of course Lizzie offers it. She's a good, nice person. Cleo will just be happy to move the conversation along. "Yeah. Social media. It sucks and we all know it. What are you gonna do?" Cleo shrugs with one shoulder.

"Yeah! Yeah," Lizzie agrees. She sighs, bites her lip for a moment. "…We should all go back to like, Runescape and Neopets."

Cleo laughs, surprised and pleased. "Wouldn't that be a treat. Editing HTML for store pages and… whatever you do in Runescape. Fight goblins?"

Lizzie's eyes light up. Her giggles are bright. "Yeah! You do that! And you fish and mine and do quests."

"Hmm." Cleo sips their soda. "That was a little past my time. Didn't play Neopets either, to be honest."

"Oh yeah! You're older than me, huh."

They raise an eyebrow. "Watch out."

"—And that's not a bad thing!" Lizzie adds. "You look absolutely wonderful."

Cleo barely stops themself from rolling their eyes, the empty compliment whooshing by. Unless she means it. Because she has a thing for older people or something.

A smug grin plasters itself across Lizzie's face. Her tone is deadpan, reverent: "Especially for 65."

"Hey—" Cleo gasps. She can't help the amused twitch of her lips, even as offended as she is.

Especially as Lizzie's snickers turn into full blown roars of laughter.

"Hah, fuck off! Oh my god."

"I don't mean it! I don't mean it." She leans her head on the table, still giggling.

"You better not. Or you're not getting your half of the deposit back." Cleo crosses her arms.

"That was expensive! Nooo!" she says towards the carpet.

"Too bad." Cleo sips. They wonder if Lizzie's a total lightweight, if that beer's gone to her head.

Lizzie sits up and grabs for another dumpling, laughs finally having exited her system. She lifts it carefully with her fork back to her plate.

Cleo's just about finished eating, as wonderful as it all is. They're big into leftovers. It looks like they'll have some, even if Lizzie takes all the dumplings.

"Yeah, um. I played those games!" she says, after finishing her bite. "Neopets, Runescape, tons of others. Played 'em a lot."

"Mm, yeah? Child of the internet?" Cleo looks over her pink hair, the sliver of brown roots growing out down her part.

"You could say that! Or you could say I didn't have any friends." Lizzie shrugs.

"Ahh," Cleo draws sharp breath through their teeth. "Yeah. I get it." They nod. "I really do. I wouldn't have thought that about you, though."

"Really?" Lizzie tilts her head.

"Yeah, never. You're so… bubbly. You seem outgoing. And—and you go out all the time." While Cleo just rots in their cave. "I would have figured you were like that as a kid, too."

"I might be outgoing these days!" A small smile on her face. "Maybe. But I've had to grow a lot. As a kid I just… got bullied. And I had to deal with it. I got friendlier hoping they would turn around and like me. Still spent all my time at home."

A shiver, but not from the room temperature. Goosebumps dot Cleo's arms. "Oh. Oh yeah. I can—can see how that goes."

Maybe she's not tipsy, after all. Unless this is booze-induced oversharing. She doesn't seem sad at all, though, not in the way that indicates this is pouring out of her. She's speaking about this because she wants to. But why?

And—ugh. Gosh. What should Cleo say in return? What can they say that won't be wrong?

They settle onto, "I, uh, had more home problems than school problems. But I get needing to escape. It was always with art for me. Occasionally video games."

"They're damn good for that aren't they." She laughs a note. "And then you made art your career! That's so neat."

"Mm, yeah. It is." They're forever grateful they've been able to make it as an artist, and, now, as a self-employed artist, too.

Cleo finishes their soda, tilts the glass up and their head back. When they place the empty thing on the table, they catch Lizzie looking at them. Probably having been looking at them.

It—it's unsettling, something about it.

Cleo freezes. They look away from her gaze.

Talking about Verve together is great. It's easy. It makes Cleo's brain light up with all the good chemicals. But this is different. Personal. And for what.

What if she's not the sweet woman Cleo had been understanding her as? Maybe this is a game—maybe she's appeasing them with sympathy but laughing at Cleo internally. How awkward they are when—

Cleo drives their fingernail into the pad of their thumb and watches the skin blanch.

Stop thinking that way. Stop.

This is all normal. Probably. This is—it's regular people bonding and sharing.

"You're free to come out with me anytime, by the way. I usually go see Jimmy or Oli and El. They'd all love to see you or meet you. Anytime, Cleo."

"Really?" Cleo blinks. "Or are you just saying that." Rude. But they can't help it.

Yet Lizzie smiles. She runs her fingers through her hair. "I mean it!"

And the way she says it, Cleo can nearly believe it's true.

They post more Verve fanart over the coming weeks.

The character design lineups do particularly well, netting them a whole a commission. Tiger's Eye x Celeste isn't their ship, not like Hattie x Becca is, but they're ecstatic to get to draw it for someone for money.

Well, they get to draw it in a week or two, when it actually comes up in their queue of jobs. They have to respect the order of things.

Cleo goes to the shops with an earbud underneath her winter hat. She's been relistening to season one.

In the middle of the produce section, hands clutching her basket, they stop and stare into space as a scene that they can't miss plays out. Shoppers moving around her must have thought her crazy, or, at least deeply neurotic about choosing a cucumber.

Having her show in her ear makes the trip rather nice. She usually listens to music to block out the din of everyone around her, but this offers a bit more to focus on. It feels like it leaves her calmer, by the end.

Cleo comes home with their needed groceries plus a packet of brownies they leave on the counter. Next to them, a small note in red marker: "Got these to share. Feel free to have some."

Penultimateharmony is is full of good takes about the new episode, is what Cleo would say if they were lying.

They know because they check her blog now—on occasion only! It's entertaining to keep up with her, affirming to see someone they disagree with continue to be in the wrong. And it's fine. It's not like they interact with her at all.

Unlike Harmony. They continue to reblog Cleo's work. Does she know that their main and their sideblog are connected? It's possible they don't, maybe they missed the note in their description about it when sending that ask. Or maybe they forgot about it. Cleo can't imagine they'd still be reblogging her art if they knew it was her.

Cleo makes a post. On the sideblog, of course. They think it's pretty good.

"Yonny isn't your uwu babygirl he's a traitor and he's committed murder three times."#verveblr #c rambles

Harmony reblogs and—in the body of the post, not the tags!—adds a

he's still my uwu babygirl #verveblr #rb

An expected response, honestly. Of course somebody would.

But, ooh, Cleo grits their teeth. It's Harmony who did it. Who thinks she's so funny. She made the post and it's her dumb followers who boost it from there.

Every additional note on that version of the post makes their blood boil a degree hotter. And it's a fair amount of degrees.

Lizzie knocks on their door one evening. Cleo takes off their headphones, swivels around, and shouts a "Come in." Her pretty pink hair looks freshly washed. Freshly rejuvenated by her color deposit shampoo.

"I wanted to thank you for these!" She raises the brownie, half-eaten, in her hand. "They're really lovely and it was nice of you to buy them."

Cleo smiles. "Do you like double chocolate? I had to guess."

"I do! I do." Lizzie takes a nibble. "Can't go wrong with chocolate."

"Unless you had an allergy. Thank god not."

"Would have been more baked goods for you, then. No big deal," she chirps.

"God," Cleo grumbles. Fake grumbles. "You're sickeningly positive."

Lizzie snorts. "I'm agreeable. That's different," she sighs.

Are they? Cleo can't put their finger on how.

Lizzie's eyes flick to the monitor facing the door. The ever-alluring screen.

"Oh." Cleo clicks out of Harmony's blog and navigates to their dashboard. "Just doing a bit of blogging. Posted some commissioned pieces today. Do you want to see? Or, err… I don't know if you want to see."

"You know I like your art, Cleo. But, um, I actually have to go! Thanks again!" she says, departing.

They nod. "No worries. Enjoy your evening."

Lizzie closes the door behind her, like a good person does. Thank you, Lizzie.

A different day, Cleo tries to check Harmony's blog and gets an error message.

"This blog is private." the screen tells them. What? Did Harmony restrict their blog or something?

Cleo's old hat at this, though. They open an incognito tab, paste in her url. They drum their fingers on the keys as the page loads.

Their pastel blog colors appear again.

Motherfucker. Cleo thinks. They blocked me!

As much as it's well within her right to do so, part of Cleo still wants to complain. What did they do? Why would she do this all of a sudden?

Hopefully it's not some micro-drama that'll bite them in the ass and hurt their art sales. It's more likely to be personal. Or an accident. They've accidentally blocked someone before, it happens.

Achieved my first confirmed blocking in the fandom today. I don't know why it happened but I guess I win? #c rambles #actually so confused tbh #but whatever. not my business i dont need to know

Should they stop looking at her blog, they wonder? Is it, like, invading their privacy to do so? Not in a serious way, but. Maybe it'd be like, the reasonable and cool-headed thing to do.

Cleo leaves the incognito tab open anyways. It's there just, like, because they don't close it. Not because they're going to look again.

The days pass as normal. Rent and utility bills are due at the end of the month. Cleo pays them and is refunded for Lizzie's halves in short order. The notification reads "Lizzie Shadowlady has sent you XXX.XX". As the message, she attached a pink heart and a house emoji—the one that has the garden, even though the only green space they have immediate access to is the spider plant in the corner of the living room.

And then, okay, fine, Cleo looks at Harmony's blog again. They click into that other window and press refresh before they can catch themselves doing it. It's habit. It's innocent curiosity.

The same posts as ever pop right up. Reblogs of zines, a fan song, some meta. They scroll, occasional snarky thought making them exhale. Hey, there's a Becca illustration this time. Maybe she's not all bad taste.

God though. This one Crispyn post she wrote? It really falls for the facade he puts on rather than actually understanding his true self. It's clear from the skull cave scene that he is not nearly as unaffected as he pretends to be and it's honestly sad that someone wouldn't pick up on that detail.

Cleo wonders what Lizzie would think about this. She likes Crispyn. She really gets him. She probably wouldn't stand for this slander either.

So Cleo saves the post link and sends it to themself. Opens it in the browser of their phone.

They find Lizzie in the living room, butt sunk deeply into the couch—Cleo's green couch they brought along, the one that Lizzie complimented profusely on the day they moved in.

Her brows are knit and her hands are knitting. The—the two needles moving in and out, the yarn, that whole thing. Cleo's no fiber crafter. And it looks like Lizzie might not be either, given her demeanor and the pace she's going. With the care of a woman constructing a tower of cards, she shoves a needle through a tangle of baby blue yarn, loops the tail on top, and slides her needles apart.

"My," Cleo remarks, standing across the living room. "What are you up to?"

Lizzie regards them with a warm smile. "I bought a knitting kit and I'm trying it out. It's hard! But I've got the start of a square." She hands off a needle and pulls at the end of her project, stretching it to show the loose lattice of yarn.

"Oh, wow. Nice!" Cleo nods. She doesn't understand it, but that looks enough like the end of a scarf or something.

"It's just to unwind and try out, but maybe someday I'll knit the animals at work sweaters." She shrugs, but her sly smile tells Cleo she's quite proud of herself. Which she's perfectly entitled to be.

"Cute little doggy and kitty sweaters. I bet they'll hate it, but they'll be warm," Cleo says.

Lizzie laughs and performs another loop.

"Let me show you something? I saw this post and—see, it's not a good one, right?" Cleo pulls their phone from their pocket, unlocking it and offering it to Lizzie.

"Oh?" Lizzie puts down her work and takes it, uses her slender, long fingers to cradle the phone with both hands. Her nails are trimmed and painted with chipping shimmery polish but her cuticles look bitten back, Cleo notices for the first time. Aw.

Her eyes scan the screen.

Her flat expression breaks into a frown. "…Ooh," she grunts.

"Yeah. Doesn't it just misunderstand him so bad? He's not a 'cool evil guy'—he's scared and a total weasel because of it. It's like they didn't even listen to the same show." Cleo leans their hand on their hip as they talk.

"I—I know, right? Oof!" Lizzie shakes her head. "Makes me—makes me, uh—Grr. So annoyed."

"Wait." Cleo pauses. "…Are you pretending to think that? You sound a little bit like you're making it up."

Lizzie's eyes grow wide and she deflates, her shoulders falling. "I— No! Um."

They purse their lips and let their hands lower to their sides. "Hey, you don't have to do that. Why do you think you have to do that? It's just—just a post. It's okay if you think it's funny or it's right or whatever."

"Hah, aha, um," Lizzie laughs, eyes darting to the side. "Sorry! I'm so embarrassed. I. Bad habit of mine." She swallows. "Yeah, I… don't see what's wrong with it, really."

"That's fine." She looks bashful, sad. Pathetic, frankly. It makes Cleo want to scoop her up and poke at her soft spots until she can't take it. Only then would Cleo let up, would get her in a warm bath and take care until she smiled again. "I simply love complaining."

"Complaining can be good. Yeah." Lizzie squirms. She pulls her legs up onto the couch, too, folding them in front of her.

"It's like, that whooole blog that gets me annoyed. I disagree with them at every turn," Cleo sighs. Lizzie picks at her nails. "I look at it because I hate it. And that's fun for me."

Lizzie nods. "Like watching a shit reality show?"

"Yeah, yeah totally like that. Heh." Common sense tells Cleo they should get out of here soon, that it'd be polite to let Lizzie recover from the awkwardness alone. "Sorry, I'll let you get back to your knitting. Good job at that!"

"Thank you," Lizzie responds. She smiles, but it's weak.

Yeah, better go. Cleo waves and makes their way back to their room as fast as possible. And they double check that Lizzie isn't in the kitchen before making their dinner that night.

If you're going to block me please know I'm probably still gonna look at your posts on a signed-out tab. lol. #it does nothing to me #c rambles #not about anyone specific #i promise

Cleo thinks a lot about Lizzie's offer to tag along to visit her friends. They really should take her up on it one of these days—should keep up appearances as a person who isn't socially useless—but it's so easy to say "No, I'm busy with work tonight", "No, I'm a bit sick", "No, I have something scheduled, maybe next time" until Lizzie stops asking.

She gets a chance, though, to change it up after she makes plans with Ren. His texts about it are adorable. "yes my dude!! lizzie is always welcome at the table. specially now that shes your stinkin roomate :D <3"

Lizzie's room is a certified mess, Cleo discovers after being let in.

It's not in a gross way—the laundry on her rug looks to be clean and she has only a normal amount of used mugs on her desk. Rather, it feels like her things could comfortably occupy a room double the size, and uncomfortably occupy a room of the current one. There's simply so much stuff.

Hobby supplies are strewn about the room: bundles of yarn atop her dresser, paper and colored pencils beneath her laptop riser, makeup living on the vanity, a teetering pile of books on the bedside table, a hockey stick leaned in the corner. Some items are contained, and hopefully organized, inside the plastic drawers and tubs that line the walls. Cleo would hate to see what Lizzie could do to a cramped closet.

Lizzie herself sits on her bed—a bed with entirely too many pillows—phone in hand and thumb scrolling. She looks at Cleo, greets her with a smile.

"Ren asked if I wanted to go to brunch with him tomorrow. I wanted to know if you'd come with. He'd be happy to see you." Cleo even checked the calendar in the hallway. Lizzie doesn't have work on Saturdays.

But Lizzie's face twists into a grimace. "I said I'd help BigB with his cat-sitting tomorrow. I'll be over there in the morning and afternoon. Oh, darn."

"Oh." Cleo nods. "'S alright."

"And I really love brunch. Orange juice… American pancakes…" She sounds genuinely devastated. "Maybe—maybe we could go another time?"

"A rain check, for sure. Ren won't mind. The restaurant is right next to his trading card place, anyways. That game store." Ren spends hours and hours there. As much as they love to support him, it's not their scene. They'll give him like, a half hour maximum before needing to be taken home.

"We could even. Go. Like—like all ourselves."

Cleo purses their lips. Flippant, "I mean, yeah, but. You'd want that? We see each other every day."

Lizzie frowns. "And I like spending time with you." Her lips tighten, like in her mouth she's chewing on her bottom lip.

"I—well," Cleo stammers. She likes spending time with them? Of course that's true, the amount of time they've spent around each other by now. But how can she just say that? And she wants to go on lunch outings together about it? Something twists in Cleo's chest—their heart squirms. "That's true. We could do that."

"When would you like to? I mean, oh, we could even go for lunch right now, if you have the time!" Lizzie swings her leg, the one hanging off the side of her bed.

"Erm. Yeah, I wasn't doing anything, really." Cleo blinks. This has happened rather fast. The spontaneity is a bit scary, to be quite honest. But they are rather hungry and not looking to cook anything. "Sounds good. I can be ready in… ten?"

Lizzie stands and leans in to her vanity mirror, checking herself over. "Give me fifteen," she says, smiling. Cleo's happy to oblige.

They end up walking to a local spot. A bistro-type place. Not French cooking, though. God no. Just typical lunch fair.

It's only a few minutes away, but the cold makes it feel like ages. Classic wintertime face numbness sets in quick as ever.

"Cleo," Muffled behind her scarf, Lizzie whines. "This ice is terrible. I'm going to fall on my ass."

"God, right? You can grab on if you want," Cleo says. They lift a steadying arm in her direction. It's stiff with layers of sweater and coat.

She hesitates. Her face grows rosy—from the cold, the chilly wind. She's nervous to take the help, Cleo guesses. But then she takes the offered arm and curls her own around it. Her gloved hand rests on Cleo's wrist. "Thank you," she murmurs.

"No problem. Just don't take me down with you," they joke. Their arm is warm where it's held.

The walk isn't long. Neither of them slip.

Stepping inside, Cleo's face stings from the temperature change.

A waitress greets them from across the room. Tinkling music plays from somewhere overhead. "Hello! Two?"

"Two," Cleo repeats, unbuttoning their jacket. They untangle from Lizzie's grasp.

It's a sweet-looking older woman dressed in a white apron. She finishes swiping a cloth over a table and then draws closer.

While gathering menus, silverware, "How are you lovely ladies today? Out on a winter d—?"

Cleo's hearing fails them as they take off their hat. They shove it in a jacket pocket. "Hm?" Cleo smiles at her with knitted brows, unsure. A winter day, maybe? Yeah, it's a winter day. They start to nod.

Meanwhile, Lizzie splutters. "No! Not at all, no. We're friends! Friends." Was—what? Oh.

"Oh!" The waitress laughs it off. Cleo chuckles with her, looking to be polite. "Of course, of course. My mistake—would you like a table or a booth?"

The answer is booth. Cleo gets a sandwich. Lizzie gets a soup that smells incredible.

They, predictably, chat about verve. A voice actor tweeted something ominous; they discuss if it really means their character is in danger next episode or not.

They talk about life, about themselves and stuff, too. A cat at Lizzie's work came in pregnant. It's due any day now and she's excited. Cleo mentions their sister, offhandedly, and Lizzie asks to hear more about her. Cleo divulges a few details. Lizzie isn't weird about them being estranged: not overly sad and not outwardly judgemental. Surprisingly for them, Cleo feels safe to say that she isn't being internally judgemental either.

Cleo doesn't take out their phone even once.

It's a nice time. Really nice.

At home that evening, happily warm in their pajamas and snuggled up in bed, Cleo gets a notification.

Falling from the top of their screen like an icicle—a big and sharp one—the box reads "PenultimateHarmony sent you a message."

Cleo rolls their eyes with prejudice. What more could they want?

Of course they open it immediately.

"okay fine I unblocked you. stop stalking my blog."

First, embarrassment crawls up Cleo's back. But then she thinks… what? Why would she—? And how—?

Cleo types back, rapid fire.

"stalking your blog? how would you know if I'm doing that." A pause. New message. "unless you were stalking my blog"

Cleo closes her phone and lays back in bed. She stares at the ceiling.

Weird. Weird weird weird. What the fuck.

Another buzz. The vibrations rumble through her chest.

"please"

Uh. Yikes.

Wait. Is that an "oh, please. As if"? A flippant response they couldn't even dignify with punctuation? Or—or a cry of desperation?

She hopes it's not the second. She'd prefer this—this bizarre little feud be continued than to be faced with that reality. She'd rather be sneered at than begged.

In either case, there's no response to be given. Cleo plugs their phone into charge, opens their sleep podcast (101 facts about video game world-building. They never get to hear past fact 28.) and tries to put it out of mind.

Ren picks Cleo up from the front of the apartment building in his little red truck. It's old enough that the windows are manual, but it makes up for that by taking CDs. Ren burns his own mixes, including ones specific to which friend he's driving around. He's taking the disc marked "CLEO" down from his CD holder when they climb into the car.

They love Ren.

Before brunch is served, Cleo and Ren catch up. "So what have you been up to recently, Cleo?" Ren asks, voice singsong-y and cute in the way he does.

"Err, not much, really!" Cleo shrugs. They hate having nothing to say. Makes them feel so boring, so stagnant, even when they're quite happy with their lifestyle.

"New apartment still going good?"

Cleo nods, sipping their water.

"And what's that thing I see you posting all that art of? That's new, right? Usually your art that isn't commissions is just of your DND characters 'n stuff." Ren's tail wags gently behind him, Cleo hears.

"Oh! That." Cleo feels a twinge of embarrassment that their thing for verve was so strong it was noticeable even to Ren. "I got into an audio drama. It's on YouTube. It turns out Lizzie likes it too."

"No way!" His ears perk up tall. "That's amazing. It's great to have something to share like that."

He asks Cleo to tell him about it; they spend some time infodumping the concept and plot, only worrying a little that they're talking too much.

And then they get into their fandom experience… Cleo takes a nice, big glug of water before starting.

"I've actually got a bit of a nemesis on Tumblr. Can you believe that?"

"Well..?" Ren considers it. He pulls a face like he has something unfortunate but true to tell them.

He's joking, but Cleo narrows their eyes at him.

Ren puts his hands up as if to defend himself. "No! No I can't believe it, Cleo. What does being your nemesis mean?"

"At first I just hated their posts and it was one sided. But then they sent me this snide ask correcting me over something, and we kept interacting. And then they blocked me—blocked me!—but then just last night they sent me a message. I think I got unblocked? Wait, let me check, actually—"

Cleo retrieves their phone from their coat pocket and stuffs their mittens back inside it after. It's just a few taps to open Harmony's blog from their tumblr app.

"Yep. I'm unblocked now. Could interact with any of their posts I wanted."

"Oh, dear. That's a lot, Cleo." Ren grimaces. "What you get up to online scares me."

Cleo puts their phone down on the table, scrolls thoughtfully through Harmony's posts and reblogs. "They draw these comics that are really out of character. But the worst part is that the art is so good otherwise, I just wish their writing wasn't so… you know. Here—here's one."

Ren leans in to see, squinting through his glasses. Cleo turns their phone around so he sees it right-side up.

"You won't know it, but Hattie would, like, never ever say that." Cleo shakes their head. Terrible.

Ren's brows furrow. "Hey, that looks a lot like Lizzie's art. That's so weird."

"What?" Cleo recoils. That's wrong, surely. "Lizzie draws?" And Ren knows about it, but she hasn't told Cleo?

"Yeah! Not for as long as you. But she showed me once. Mmm, I think it was a text, lemme see…" Ren fishes for his phone.

What does it mean that Lizzie hasn't told Cleo about her art? Is—does she not trust them to be kind about it? Art is Cleo's life. They hold all creation in such high respect. They'd never discourage her from it. Surely they don't give off the vibe that they would, right?

It takes a bit of searching, but soon Ren pushes his phone into Cleo's space. They hold it gingerly, particularly because Ren's screen is already so cracked.

But past the cracks, Ren has an image opened from a messaging app. White paper, inked lines, and what looks to be colored pencil for the colors.

It's verve fanart.

Little J.

In PenultimateHarmony's character design.

Cleo gasps. Their mouth hangs open.

Ren's ears swivel backwards, concerned. "What? What's up?"

"It's—this is the same. Oh, what the fuck." Cleo can't be bothered to care about not swearing loudly in public right now.

"What do you mean 'the same'? Surely it could just be coincidence, right? Similar art?"

"This is the same way the blogger draws this character. In the same style. The eyes are—the eyes are drawn the same way."

"What if she was inspired by them? Maybe she draws like them on purpose?" Ren frowns, his bottom lip curling. He thinks Cleo is overreacting, they know it.

"No, no, Lizzie told me she doesn't use Tumblr. And she must have been lying."

Maybe this explains the weird behavior. The sudden blocking over nothing, the reblogging Cleo's work after dissing them, the—oh, god. The way that Lizzie reacted when Cleo showed her that post and said it was the worst thing they've ever seen.

Cleo lays down Ren's phone, puts their head in their hands. "I'm so stupid. Ren. Oh, god. She must hate me."

"Cleo? It's—it's okay! Um!" Ren fumbles.

Not even the beautiful, beautiful omelette Cleo gets soon after can soothe them. They spend the brunch being reassured by Ren. A horrible pit takes up residence in their stomach when they realize they took up so much of the outing with their panic.

On the drive home, they pretend to be convinced. "You're—you're right, Ren. It'll all be fine. It's gonna be a funny mistake we both made and that's all."

"Exactly, Cleo. Tell her you didn't mean it and it'll all be okay." His smiles is soft like caramel candy. It goes down Cleo's throat tasting rancid.

Cleo wills their hands not to shake putting the key into the apartment door.

Bad luck. Lizzie's in the kitchen, just off the doorway. She spots Cleo as they enter. She perks up, cheerily greets them. "Hi, Cleo! I just got home, too. How was your brunch?"

"Was, uh, was good. Ren's great." Cleo scrunches their toes inside their boots.

"Aww. Yay." She launches into talking about Big B's cats—how she had to give one medication and she was a real hassle but she got her—while Cleo inches towards her room.

Eventually they get away.

In private, Cleo pours over reblogs, asks, those DMs. When was it that they showed Lizzie her own post? Does that line up with when she blocked them? When did she stop reblogging their art? It's a sticky mess, all of it. Wriggling only gets Cleo more stuck.

She feels sad and confused. Then humiliated. Angry. Guilty.

So guilty.

And then she doesn't know what to do.

She—she thinks she needs to give Lizzie an apology, at least. That's one step. At some point Lizzie knew that Cleo was badmouthing her blog right to her face and had to sit through it. That sucks.

And then… then maybe Lizzie's reaction will lead the way from there. They could feel any number of ways about the situation being revealed. For whatever reason, they chose to keep it secret this whole time.

It takes a few days—a few uncomfortable days—but Cleo emerges from their room and approaches Lizzie's. In their hands, a page of paper. Printed in vibrant color from their high-quality printer.

It's—they drew something. They drew Hattie and Little J from Penultimate Verve hugging. It makes Cleo's skin crawl with embarrassment when they think about it too hard, the fact that they're apologizing with some—some silly fanart, but they had to outlaw their overthinking many hours ago.

That post about a Little J forgiveness arc was the first post of Lizzie's she ever saw and. And maybe they were too quick to judge it. Or something. Regret is eating a hole in their chest.

They flip their print over, let their eyes skim the short letter they wrote on it one last time, and slip it under the door.

And then they turn around and book it back to their room, pulse pounding.

They don't make it out of earshot before Lizzie opens the door behind them.

"Cleo? Wait—wait. You left this?" she calls.

Cleo freezes. Pivots around on their heel. "I–I did. And it's got a note on the back. Read it and—and maybe text me what you think, or—"

"Text you? Silly. I can probably tell you right now. Just give me a second." She moves, sits on a living room chair. "The art is so cute by the way!"

"Thanks," Cleo mumbles, trapped by the conversation. She decides to sit on the couch.

It sucks, sitting there while they read.

Watching their face fall.

Their expression twisting into knots.

Cleo's stomach broils.

Lizzie looks up. Their face is filled with concern. They speak, "Cleo…"

"Lizzie," she returns.

"I'm…" Their eyes stare at the carpet, unfocused. Their fringe hangs in front of their face. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for you to find out," they say, voice timid.

"What? Lizzie—I." Cleo worries at the corner of their thumbnail, hands in their lap. "I'm sorry. I'm the one who fucked up."

"But! But I sent you that mean ask. The—the 'get your head out of your ass'… thing… and…" Their voice trails off.

"Only after I was rude to you first! And, and insulted your ship, um." Cleo pushes their bangs back, grabs the hair between her fingers to tug softly. Grounding sensation. "What are you even talking about?"

Lizzie squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and their nose crinkles with it.

"Lizzie, I was really horrible. I, of course, would never have said those things if I knew I was saying them about you. My—my behavior really got out of hand. I was awful and… and obsessive, honestly." Cleo swallows. "I regret it all."

"I—um. You weren't that bad." A lie. A total fib to try and make Cleo feel better. "I could have—could have stopped it all if I just told you to… I even thought… maybe I could do better. I could, like, change how I posted and you'd stop thinking I was bad. But it didn't work."

"Oh. Oh, Lizzie." Cleo bites their lip. God. They did that to her? "You never ever had to do that. It was all my bad."

"The first time, when I realized, I was so shocked that it was you I had interacted with that I didn't say anything. Plus I had just lied to you about not being on Tumblr or shipping the characters. I just—I lie sometimes because I get nervous. I thought you'd think I was so lame. And then I had to keep going and going. It kept happening, you watching my blog..."

Cleo hunches their shoulders under the weight of it all. They're so stupid. They were so stupid!

"—And to make it all worse I had this dumb little crush on you! I just wanted you to like me so badly."

"You—what?" Cleo blinks. "You have a crush on me?"

"Wasn't I so obvious?" Lizzie sighs. They cross their arms over their chest, looking away.

"I—I didn't. No. I didn't realize." Cleo's hands lay in their lap, limp.

"Well—I… Yeah…" they say.

The gears in Cleo's brains feel jammed up with honey. "I'm—I'm so sorry, Lizzie. Again, all of this was my bad."

Lizzie seems to close her eyes. Hopefully not with anger at Cleo. But maybe that'd be right.

"You're a wonderful person. So kind and funny and thoughtful. You're a good roommate, a good person to talk to. I—I love talking to you about verve. I like your thoughts about it and—and I don't know why I didn't when they were posts. And I like your art! I wish you would have shared it with me before. I'm sorry I made you feel like you were doing something wrong when—when you're always so good." Cleo wrings their hands together as they talk, squeezing and twisting to push down the discomfort.

Lizzie blinks and—and her eyes are wet. Cleo made them cry. Fuck. They're a monster.

"You're so good. Please accept my apology even though I don't deserve it."

Lizzie breathes a shaky breath. "Y–you really think all that of me?"

"Of course." Cleo means it. So, so means it.

Lizzie crosses the room, zags around the coffee table.

She throws her arms around Cleo.

Cleo gasps. Warmth. Pink hair obscuring their vision. The smell of her shampoo and body spray, something floral. Her chin rests on their shoulder.

They lean into the hug, close their eyes.

Lizzie pulls back, just enough to kiss Cleo's cheek. Something warm blooms in Cleo's chest, oozing between every cell. She forgives them. She forgives them.

Cleo turns her head.

And captures her lips on theirs.

The kiss is soft, gentle. They feel Lizzie shaking on the other end as she kisses back.

They part. Lizzie lowers herself into sitting beside Cleo. Their eyes are so blue.

And they're blown out wide.

"Was that okay?" Cleo breathes.

"Yes." Lizzie's lips stay gently parted.

"Can I do it again?"

Lizzie smiles.

And she leans right back in.