Chapter Text
There has undoubtedly been something… off about Apandah recently.
Now, that guy's always been a little… quirky… but lately Mika can’t help but notice a multitude of minuscule oddities that just don’t seem to add up. He can’t quite place it though, and nobody else has said anything about it. Could he just be imagining things? Maybe, but… there’s still a nagging in the back of his mind, making him wonder if maybe there’s more to his suspicions than just… well, a suspicion.
He sits at his desk, absentmindedly gnawing at the corners of his fingernails. The biting yields damage, bending the nail, expanding its white edge as it subtly separates from the nail bed. He doesn’t notice until it chips, and with a sigh he tucks the broken part underneath his nail in hopes of holding it in place. It won’t; he’ll have to clip it at some point, and it’s bound to snag on his sleeve’s loose threads in the meantime, but he’d rather leave it as a problem to be solved later.
The group’s typical Sunday recording session just wrapped up with Mika left sitting solo in their usual Discord call. He had wanted to confront Apandah, see if anything truly was wrong, but his friend had left the chat within seconds after closing the game. Aztro poked fun at his rapid retreat before bidding goodbye herself, with Schlatt following suit soon after.
Leaving… just him.
Just him, wondering all on his own, what was wrong with his friend.
If there was anything wrong with his friend.
It’s a conversation he desperately needs to have, even just to ensure that Pandah’s okay, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to have this conversation over texts or DMs. It’s far too easy for things to become misconstrued in writing—it has to be a verbal exchange.
It doesn’t seem like there’s anything he can do about it at the moment, though. Sitting alone in a Discord call certainly does nothing for him. He shuts the app, stands up, stretches… hmm, let’s see, he still needs to figure out dinner later… but there should still be some leftover pizza in the fridge, and he needs to get it out of there by tomorrow. Pizza it will be, then.
He spends the rest of his day doing totally healthy, not-staring-at-his-phone activities. As every totally healthy, very-much-not-addicted person does. Doom scrolling? Ha! Ha. Haha.
As the charge on his phone nears twenty, and the numbers on the clock near eve, he finally resides himself to his fated slice. Yet, just as he sets his phone down for what should be the rest of the evening, buzzing bears a message.
It’s… Pandah.
‘i’m bored’
Mika rolls his eyes, shooting back a quick ‘well, do something, then’
‘cant. too bored. call me?’
‘my phone’s nearly dead.’
‘how low?’
‘20’
‘pussy’, followed not long after by, ‘i’m at 4. I’m edging this thing’
‘i hate you.’
'call me'
A long, heavy sigh is closely followed by a hesitant finger hovering over the call button.
…No, he shouldn't, he really has to—
Riiiing! Riiiiiiing~
Ah. Well. Of course.
Leave it to Pandah—Mr. 'call me! call me!!' to go on ahead and take aaaaaall the chivalry out of Mika so graciously agreeing to call him by taking action himself. Heh… well, if he's that desperate, Mika might be able to extract an answer to his worries yet.
Blip—!
"MIKAAAAAAAA!"
He winces. "Oh, Jesus dude. Too loud."
"Watcha dooooooin'?"
"Uhh… just about to heat up some pizza."
"Type shit… can I have some?"
"How?"
"You could, like… hold on, lemme grab a charger." A shuffling sound, then a stifled snort escapes the receiver. "You could chew. Near the mic, right into my ear."
"What? Ew, no."
"Front-row tickets to the Mikasacus Pizzasacus ASMR Spectacular."
"You really, truly, annoy me."
"Nah, you love me."
His chest tightens. "Nuh-uh."
"Face it man. You soooooo love me."
Mika waves off his comment. What an absurd suggestion—of course he loves his friends, but he knows Pandah, and that he's teasing with broader… implications involved. Implications that are inherently obsolete, of course! Because… how can he say this without sounding rude… he guesses it's just that Pandah is a little, uh…
…
Never mind.
He places the slices into the oven over a sheet of tinfoil, mindlessly keeping up with the back and forth banter. Nuh-uh, yuh-huh! The minutes tick away to the pointless bickering, and Mika relaxes in the sense of familiarity it brings.
Maybe Pandah really is just fine, and he's making this all up in his head…
"Nuh—"
"Hey," Pandah sharply cuts in, interrupting Mika mid-negation.
"Hm? Sorry. What's up?"
"What would you do if I, uh…" he chuckles, before his voice contorts into a serious, far more grim tone. "If I had died."
A tense, prolonged silence.
Pandah's no stranger to being deeply existential for the bit, but this felt… odd? Either due to its unprompted nature, or due to the abnormal tone of voice devoid of his usual humor, Mika isn't sure. Something feels… off again, bearing the same sense of distance Pandah has been emitting in general recently.
He's worried. Fuck, now he's really worried about his friend.
"…Is this, like, a joke, or…?"
"…Eh, never mind. It was a stupid question."
"Ah… uh… are you… okay?"
"I was just goofing around and it didn't land! Don't worry about it, it's fine…"
The timer for Mika's pizza goes off. He swipes it away, using its presence as an excuse to fill in his confused, concerned silence.
Pandah coughs. "…Y'know, like a 'would you still love me if I was a worm' sorta question. Purely hypothetical."
"Uh… well, I'd be very sad." With a thud, he opens the oven door.
"Pshhhh—bullshit. You were going on and on about just how much you despiiiiise me earlier! Since I'm apparently just so annoyyyyying!"
"Oh—urgh—Pandah!"
"I triiiiicked youuuuuu~" He giggles maniacally. "You know I'm never gonna die. How stupid would that be?!"
"Oh my Gooooood. It was a setup. I can't belie—ugh." Mika sighs, taking a frustrated bite of his pizza.
"You were holding out… but I waited, I was patient, and I got what I wanted. I got exaaactly what I wanted."
"Okay, okay. Whatever."
Yet, Mika can't quite shake the feeling… that fearful flutter of pure dread that Pandah could just…
Breathe in. Breathe out.
He's overthinking things. Pandah is fine—the same as always, even. Teasing him and laughing at his expense. Tauntingly… typical.
…Yet, something's still looming.
No, ignore it. Ignore it! It's probably just anxiety, anyways.
"…Shit!" Mika interjects his own thoughts. "Sorry dude, I'm at 1, I gotta go."
“Oh? Awww, alright… buh-bye!”
Not waiting a moment more, Pandah promptly hangs up, and the screen goes dark.
Crap.
Mika chews on the remaining crust. What an odd guy, really. Calling up out of the blue, demanding misophonia-inducing ASMR, insisting love, and then… whatever that was. He often wonders just what goes on in that head of his—but then he remembers the, y'know, everything—and decides it best not to try to figure that out actually.
Though, he has to admit that Pandah was a tad endearing in his interactions. God, that man pisses him off sometimes, but God… is it strange to admit that it's worth it? Did that make him weird? Come to think of it, why would he even…
Oh.
Ohhhhhhhh.
Shit.
He fiddles with his chipped fingernail some more, mind racing. Given… well, a lot of things, it isn’t all that surprising, it’s just… now? Him? Really?
Oh. Oh no. Oh no no no.
This is just—it’s—it isn’t—what?
What?
Okay, hold on, back it up a little. These are… feelings, for… that guy, him, the funniest and most roundabout-charming bastard he’s ever known. That much is… clear…? What is not clear, however, is the why, the how, the what the actual fuck.
How did this happen? How could he have let it happen? It’s bound to end in disaster, no matter how he looks at it. They can’t be compatible—it just isn’t possible… right?
So what does he do now? …Part of him would love to just dive into this blindly, throw aside reality in favor of that instant gratification humanity is always chasing. Yet he’s unfortunately very aware of the crushing weight of the truth, a heavy sort of gravitational pull that keeps him grounded far from fantasy. So, the question still stands—just what does he do now?!
…
Gah!! His brain can’t help but grasp at the thinnest of straws, mere wisps, clawing through the haystack of negative outcomes to find that one damn needle of ‘Hey! Maybe this won’t turn out so badly after all!’
Little does his brain know, that needle doesn’t exist.
It can’t. It shouldn’t.
His excessive fiddling wears on the chipped part of the nail until its strung too thin, and snaps. As the stray clip falls to the carpet, he gently runs a finger across the nail's jagged edge. It's sharp.
…He'll take care of it later. There's just… too much going on. It's late anyways, he should just go to sleep.
He should just… sleep.