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"Like, Freddy—no offense, but this cup smells like someone drowned a gym sock in it." Shaggy wrinkles his nose, pushing the questionable latte across the chipped wooden table of Shaky Joe’s.
Fred laughs, rubbing his temple with ink-stained fingers. Midterms have left dark circles under his eyes. "Yeah, well, Joe did say it was an ‘experimental blend.’" He nudges Shaggy’s ankle under the table—a silent hey, I missed you—before sighing. "Listen, I need help. Professor Shrike’s about to flunk me unless I pull off some insane extra credit."
Shaggy’s fingers tighten around his own cup. "Zoinks. What’d you have in mind?"
Fred leans in, grinning. "A mystery. Small-scale, low-risk-"
"Fred." Shaggy’s voice cracks. He swallows hard. "Therapist’s orders, remember? ‘Acute threat avoidance hypertrophy’ isn’t just a fancy way of saying I’m a scaredy-cat. If I freak out mid-chase, my lungs literally—"
Fred catches his hand, thumb tracing the jagged scar from last semester’s panic attack. "We’ll adapt. No dark alleys, no monsters—just us, a library ghost rumor, and maybe a pizza break?"
Shaggy exhales, shaky but smiling. "Like… with extra cheese?"
Fred kisses his knuckles. "Obviously."