Archive of Our Own

“You want ‘me’ of all people to become an ASMR VStreamer?”

Caelus nodded with a proud smile despite the incredulous response from Ashveil as he stood right outside his refrigerator-bed hybrid in the latter’s office. “Why not? Besides, you got the face, the voice, I’m pretty sure you’d rake us both swimming in Wishpower in a couple of seconds.”

Mister N had eaten half his banana and given it a good look. Then, another long contemplative look before he swallowed down his food. “… Actually, we did consider the work of a streamer once for Mr. Ashveil, and he had done it for about three months.”

“How did it go?” The Trailblazer’s head turned toward the monkey, eager with curiosity.

Before the Ashen Detective could retort or deflect, his monkey assistant revealed with nochalant ease. “It was a unique experience to say the least. BabyFaceWolf was his handle, and a signature penned by the very man himself: ‘Rub me the wrong way, and I’ll show you what true darkness really means.’ Though short-lived tragically, after driving a nail to the coffin to his account in that last online flame war he had with another VStreamer.”

The Trailblazer’s mouth parted slightly at the admission, then closed, and then opened again before closing for the time. His yellow eyes drifted upward, picturing the older, dark-haired man sitting in this very room.

In front of his computer, with all the cheapest streaming gear of headphones and a mic, to curse and swear at the recipient with that particular name handle—

“... Pfft...,” Caelus quickly raised a hand to cover the amused smile on his face. However, despite the angry scowl on Ashveil’s face, he couldn’t hold it back anymore and burst out laughing. “Bwahahahaha! ‘BabyFaceWolf?’ Yeah, I totally see that ‘baby-faced’ of yours, hahaha!”

The laughter echoed through the cramped office, bouncing off filing cabinets and the humming refrigerator alike. Mister N peeled the remaining half of his banana to finish eating, while the other Furbos who heard the commotion peered inside the agency office.

Ashveil’s eye twitched.

“Keep laughing,” The Ashen Detective deadpanned from his seat, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “I’ll personally ensure your next big scoop for the newsletter involves jumping through six kilometers of Dimensional Walls.”

That only made Caelus laugh harder, his body bent forward at the waist, one hand braced on his knee, shoulders shaking.

“S-Seriously—!” The Trailblazer wheezed between breaths, clutching his stomach. “Out of every edgy username in existence, that ‘you’ picked?!”

Mister N calmly peeled another banana. “To be fair, Mr. Ashveil claimed it was ‘marketable.’”

“I was being ironic,” Ashveil snapped immediately and turned his head to the side to grunt in annoyance. “Tried copying that streamer and did it myself. But my stream ended up getting tags like ‘Trolling,’ ‘Pets,’ ‘Thrills,’ and ‘ASMR’—”

Realizing too late what he had just uttered and had reached Caelus’s ears, the latter’s yellow eyes widened in surprise, then lit up and moved a step closer to the detective. “So, your streams ‘are’ actually ASMR!”

“I… You… I… ugh… Come on!” The Ashen Detective felt his tongue tied and let out a loud, frustrated growl. “Maybe some people are born to be entertainers, while some don’t fit that job.”

Caelus immediately straightened and folded his arms dramatically. “Nope. I refuse to believe someone with a voice like yours failed as an ASMR streamer.”

“I didn’t fail,” Ashveil muttered darkly. “I’m not cut out for it.”

Mister N swallowed his banana. “Technically speaking, Mr. Ashveil’s account statistics were exceptional.”

That made Caelus pause.

“… Explain exceptional.”

The monkey assistant calmly threw the banana peel into the overloaded trash bucket. “His average live viewers exceeded expectations by approximately four hundred and twelve percent. Donations peaked during streams in the ‘Insomnia Hotline’ category. A radio stream channel focusing on listening to our audience friends’ troubles.”

A beat of silence settled over the office like fresh frost.

The Trailblazer stared.

Then stared harder.

From the mere image of Ashveil leaning close to a microphone in the dead of night with that low, gravelly voice saying something unreasonably intimate and protective while ambient rain noises played in the background.

Caelus slowly turned to look at Ashveil with an expression of pure, delighted wonder. The look one reserves for finding the rarest treasure in the most unexpected place. “Oh my god, you’re accidentally good at boyfriend ASMR.”

“I am not—!!” The Ashen Detective hissed, growing increasingly irritated and embarrassed.

“You absolutely are!” Caelus pointed at him accusingly through his laughter. “You didn’t even try and somehow stumbled into becoming every exhausted office worker’s fantasy sleep paralysis demon!”

Several nearby Furbos gasped. One of them dramatically clutched its cheeks.

Ashveil looked personally betrayed by existence itself.

Mister N, however, continued. “His fanbase was particularly devoted. Some viewers claimed Mr. Ashveil’s voice cured their insomnia.”

Furli raised a tiny paw to wave excitedly. “Mine too!”

“Only because you were eavesdropping right outside the room for a scoop,” Ashveil muttered flatly.

Caelus was nearly folding in half from laughing again. “No wonder you got tagged under ASMR! All the more reasons you should get back to streaming! You could not only rake in money, but there would also be new detective cases for you to solve!”

Ashveil immediately pointed at Caelus with the slow, exhausted fury of a man betrayed by every life decision leading up to this exact moment.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You literally had a successful insomnia comfort stream,” Caelus shot back without missing a beat, slamming both palms dramatically onto the detective’s desk. “Do you realize how much power you’re sitting on right now?!”

“I’m sitting on unpaid bills.”

“Yeah, and one of them is the bill you owed on ordering for delivery through Furbobocom Weekly Publishing House company funds ’again.’ Which could have been solved by that potential subscription revenue!” Caelus reminded with a pointed gaze, which cued Paraprince to come over and hold out the paper for his human president to take it.

Ashveil’s eye twitched for the second time at the mention of that very said bill.

He looked at the paper Paraprince was holding out with the quiet, measured hatred of a man watching his own past decisions walk through the door uninvited. Then he looked at Caelus, who was wearing the expression of someone who had just played their winning card and knew it.

Then he looked back at the bill.

The number on it was, objectively, not small.

“... The wine was on discount,” The dark blue-haired older man finally admitted with great dignity.

“The detective lied through his teeth that it was not on discount. It was an aged wine of five amber eras ago that had been worth the deal.” Mister N corrected in a narrative tone, earning a glare from the said human. “To be fair, Mr. Ashveil’s subscriber retention rate was abnormally high.”

Ashveil closed his eyes like he was trying to leave his body to escape from this hell physically.

“Retention rate?! You had ‘retention rate’ stats?!” Caelus whipped around toward the monkey assistant. “How successful are we talking here?!”

Mister N moved towards the agency desktop, then clicked a few times to open a dashboard window. “At the peak of his streaming career, Mr. Ashveil ranked within the top three percent under late-night comfort broadcasting.”

The office went silent again as the Furbos outside collectively leaned closer.

This was not just a gold mine they found. It’s a glitch that generated infinite Wishpower to pay bills, pay off debt, and live in luxury!

“Instead of getting an old-timer like me to stream, why don’t you get one of your Furbos or yourself to do it, boss?

Caelus opened his mouth as his little Furbos employee turned to look at him. Then, he closed it. Then opened it again. “... I mean, technically I could—”

“You absolutely could,” Ashveil agreed, with the serene energy of a man who had just successfully redirected a river. He leaned back in his chair with a rather charming smile. “Young, energetic, big hero of the Astral Express. The people love you, boss. Guaranteed viewership. I’ll even write you a tagline for free!”

“That’s not—Hey, don’t push it back to me!” Caelus immediately pointed at him with the intensity of a man defending a once-in-a-lifetime business opportunity. “The point is, none of us has your voice. ‘And,’ I have a publishing house to run for the Furbos, not to be homeless!”

Ashveil opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “… That sounded creepier than you intended.”

“It sounded exactly as intended.”

Several Furbos nodded solemnly in agreement. The Ashen Detective looked physically exhausted by the unwitting fate that had been placed upon him, slumping into the chair to pray that his end was finally here.

Meanwhile, Mister N clicked through several archived analytics tabs on the monitor with clinical calmness. “Viewer engagement increased significantly whenever Mr. Ashveil abandoned scripted content and spoke naturally.”

“That explains the insomnia hotline streams,” Caelus muttered thoughtfully, yellow eyes sparkling at the sounding green upward lines on the chart with admiration, and smiled proudly. “I could see why the number of viewers would increase just from Ashveil’s voice alone.”

“Oh?” The monkey assistant turned towards the young man, his voice tinged with interest, and he tilted his head slightly. “And, what is it that you like about Mr. Ashveil’s voice?”

The question landed far more directly than Caelus expected.

The Trailblazer blinked once.

Then twice.

“Hm…” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, genuinely considering the question. “It’s kinda hard to explain?”

Ashveil groaned quietly into one hand, which only encouraged the Furbos more. Furli pulled out a notebook, and Paraprince somehow managed to produce popcorn to share with the other Furbos.

Mister N gestured for the other human to continue. “Please elaborate.”

Caelus leaned against the desk, humming to himself while searching for the right words. “It’s just… Really calming, I guess? Like… When Fulwish ambushed the trap onto us to turn innocent people into abominations, and he told me things are going to be okay since the victims we attacked wouldn’t die.”

The office quieted slightly. Ashveil slowly adjusted his white hat to an angle that let his right eye glance over, focusing on the Trailblazer alone. The latter continued, unaware of the wolf’s eyes on him. “Ashveil’s voice feels like that. Gruff, a little mean sometimes, but… Safe? Also, that slander from Fulwish, she attacked on Sunday and Penacony, it sounds like you know he’ll still show up if you need help.”

Even when they were rivals as Supplicants in this current season of Phantasmoon games…

When Caelus’s own world was drowned by the negativity of the haters blaming the Nameless for the doom to their home…

The very same stern yet resolute voice from Ashveil had also once saved him from crossing beyond the border in that strange ‘Land of Sneering Gods’ station. If this voice could save him from the shadows, then he’d want—

Caelus blinked, noticing how the office had become unusually quiet. No chatter of jokes or dramatic gasp from the Furbos who stared at their president with admiration glittering in their eyes. Mister N regarded the Trailblazer for a moment with an intrigued look that said nothing.

“Anyway,” The gray-haired young man hurriedly changed the topic and rested both hands on his hips with a proud grin. “I’d consider this to be the best trade offer between both Ashen Detective Agency and Furbobocom Weekly Publishing House in all history! You get to increase your customer base for more cases to investigate, and the Publishing House gets to have a scoop to run our business!

The monkey assistant rubbed his chin thoughtfully and turned back toward the monitor. “A mutually beneficial arrangement. The proposal has considerable merit. Mr. Ashveil’s previous performance indicates strong monetization potential, while the crime column would create a mutually beneficial synergy between both brands.”

“Synergy! (And exclusive behind-the-scenes interviews!).” Furlee shot a tiny fist into the air while his Brucelee snapped his cameras, eyes starry.

At the same time, Ashveil stared at the other Furbos who continued chirping excitedly amongst themselves, then shifted back to where Caelus was discussing with Mister N about the old vlogs that ceiling for a long moment with the expression of a man taking a silent inventory of every decision that had led him here. He exhaled a low and slow sigh to resign his fate. “… Fine.”

The initial surprise at the cooperation from the detective made Caelus’s grin sharpen as his face lit up with joy. “Fine as in—!”

“One trial streaming of three months,” Ashveil held up three fingers before the celebration could fully ignite. “My terms. My schedule. And—”

The index finger leveled toward Caelus with the gravity of a formal declaration. “65-35, in my favor. Non-negotiable.”

“60-40.” The joy on the Trailblazer’s face was immediately replaced with an adorable—scratch that, stern expression, and he crossed his arms.

“65-35. I’m the talent.”

“I’m the producer.”

“You’re the person who started this by saying the word ‘boyfriend’ in my office.”

Caelus’s mouth snapped shut. One of the Furbos made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh. Paraprince offered the popcorn to Furli, who accepted it without taking his eyes off their notebook. Then the gray-haired young man suddenly recalled something and pointed it out. “55-45. You still have not paid your rents for electricity, rental, ‘and’ last month’s food delivery you charged into the publishing house account.”

“I… You… I… ugh… Come on!” The Ashen Detective exhaled slowly, then leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “55-45. Final offer.”

Caelus’s yellow eyes widened, and then he immediately thrust out his hand. “Deal!”

Ashveil narrowed his eyes. “You accepted that far too quickly.”

“Because I know when to quit while I’m ahead.”

“Concerning.”

They shook hands.

“Same time next week, then?” The Trailblazer asked.

The Ashen Detective looked at the computer at his, then, briefly and with great discretion, at the Trailblazer. “Don’t be late, I charge by the hour.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” Caelus laughed and walked out of the small office. The Furbos dispersed gradually, filtering back out into the hallway with the quiet, satisfied energy of witnesses to something they weren’t entirely sure they understood but knew mattered.

Mister N peeled one final banana, settled back into his chair, and said nothing. This was definitely going to be one long three months ahead of them.

=0=

The next day before midnight…

After plugging the headphone jack into the back of Ashveil’s computer in the detective agency office, Caelus turned back to the older man and grinned. “There, all set! All the streaming equipment has been set up and is ready for your comeback, ‘BabyWolfFace’!

On the other hand, Ashveil had been adjusting the cat headphones on his head. “Sure, but is this thing really necessary?”

“Himeko and everyone gave it to me when we first started to celebrate the anniversary of our trailblazing journey,” The Trailblazer turned towards the seated older man, his body leaning forward casually to help adjust the height of the headphones. “So, yes. Extremely necessary. Hold still, I think the microphone is also way off your mouth.”

He stood between Ashveil’s knees, fingers brushing against the detective’s temples as he carefully adjusted the black cat-ear headphones into place. The soft LED lights embedded in the ears flickered to life with a gentle purple glow.

Meanwhile, Ashveil sat very unnaturally still. This was partly because Caelus was close enough that the detective suddenly and acutely became aware of the younger man’s position.

The warm breath from the Trailblazer’s lips as he muttered about the headband adjustment, and the smell from the exposed collarbone and neck. Warmth from the fresh coffee beans Himeko had brewed earlier, the fresh herbal soap that the young man had taken a shower in his own room at the Astral Expression, and something uniquely his when he stood under the bright sun.

“... They gave you cat headphones,” He said, with great, careful neutrality as if to restrain whatever that was bubbling inside him.

“March picked them out.” Caelus tilted the left ear cup a fraction of a centimeter, frowning in concentration. “She said it would make the stream more approachable. Relatable, and she was right since it did hit off for us to reconnect with our friends across the universe.”

Once done, the Trailblazer leaned back, satisfied, and gave the headphones a light pat on the top, announcing it with a pleased expression. “There, perfect!”

Ashveil reached up and touched the ear cups once, briefly. The cat’s ears on top were small. Slightly rounded. He stared at his own reflection in the dark monitor screen.

He looked like a wolf wearing cat ears.

“... I’m increasing my cut to 60%,” Ashveil muttered, his voice even lower than usual.

“Too late, now break a leg, ‘BabyWolfFace’! We’re counting on you for the next few months’ bill payment!” Caelus smirked mischievously to give a thumbs up, then bolted out of the room with the door slamming shut just before Ashveil could curse out a complaint to change their deal.

Mister N stood at his desk while looking at the tablet in his hand, turning to the Trailblazer. “Stream goes live in 47 seconds.”

“Good,” Switching to the rest of the Furbos, Caelus then commanded. “Everyone in your positions! Paraprince, you’ll take care of the incoming calls directed to Ashveil.”

“Got it, Great Raccoon!” Paraprince raised a paw at its seat.

“Furblitzer, stand by the refreshments for Ashveil during break intervals.”

Furblitzer set down one of the paper cups in the small pantry area and acknowledged. “Understood, boss!”

Switching to Furbo, wearing a pinkish variant of his attire, Caelus reminded firmly. “And Furblix, no chatting with our audiences, and absolutely no cutting in to ask Mr. Ashveil whether he’s single.”

The pink-clad Furbo froze halfway through adjusting the headset.

“… What if the audience asks first?”

“Then you will pretend your microphone mysteriously malfunctioned.”

Furblitzer pouted, but snapped a salute. “Okay, boss.”

Caelus nodded with the solemnity of a battlefield commander. “Excellent. Tonight, we are not just running a stream.”

He raised one hand dramatically.

“We are launching the comeback of the century.”

The Furbos erupted into determined chirps. Mister N glanced at his tablet. “20 seconds to broadcast.”

“Then, I’m counting on you to keep Ashveil awake on the job, Mister N.” Caelus took a deep breath and smoothed down his jacket, his expression shifting from playful to focused as he took his seat at the desk. For all his playful teasing, he wanted this to succeed. Not only would it help the agency, but it would also help because he genuinely believed Ashveil deserved to know how many people found comfort in him.

“Five seconds.”

Faintly through the door, they could hear a chair creak. Then silence. Then, after a moment, the soft, deliberate percussion of classical music began.

The Trailblazer quietly exhaled, putting on his headphones as he joined the stream to begin moderating.

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

The live counter ticked to zero.

On the tablet screen, the viewer count began to climb—slowly at first—a handful, then a dozen, then several dozen. Furli’s pen started moving. Brucelee adjusted his angle on the door purely out of instinct, then remembered he couldn’t actually film through solid wood and lowered the camera with dignified acceptance.

Then Ashveil’s voice came through the thin wall.

“The city outside grows quiet. If you find yourself adrift in a sea of thoughts, I hope my voice can bring you a moment of peace.”

Instantly, Caelus almost fell off his seat. This wasn’t just ASMR…. It was like hearing a sexy incarnate Aeon wearing a wolf skin to conduct a private seduction 101 talk directly into the listener’s soul. Pushing himself back upright, the Trailblazer noticed the viewer count had jumped to ‘400’ in six seconds.

The chat box on the Trailblazer’s monitor transformed into an unreadable blur of scrolling text. The viewer count skyrocketed, breaking past a thousand before Caelus could even fully process the metrics.

Through the cat-eared headphones, Ashveil cleared his throat. The sound was rich and gravelly, translating through the high-end mic as a deeply resonant vibration.

“Welcome back to the Insonmia Hotline,” His headphones crackled again with the soft, velvet rumble of Ashveil’s voice. “This is Ashveil speaking. If you’re awake at this hour, you probably have a reason. You don’t need to share it. Just know that tonight… Is only you and me.”

The donation ticker moved.

Then, it moved again.

Caelus stared at it for a full three seconds before remembering he was supposed to be moderating for the stream.

The chat was a horizontal waterfall of text, moving too fast to read individual messages, but the recurring ones surfaced between blinks like debris carried on a current:

‘NO ONE TOLD ME BABYFACEWOLF IS BACK!’

‘I have been here since he first started the ASMR, OG FANDOM RISE FROM THE FORGOTTEN!’

‘Did he just clear his throat or propose marriage?’

‘OH NO HE’S HOT.’

The viewer count climbed past 2,000.

Then 5,000.

Then 10,000.

Caelus gripped the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. “Oh. My. Aeons.”

Mister N glanced at the analytics with calm professionalism. “Current engagement exceeds our previous peak by approximately 873%.”

From inside the office, Ashveil remained blissfully unaware of the chaos his voice was causing. “Tonight, let’s take some calls from the listeners in the audience.”

Paraprince clicked its mouse for the first user in the queue, letting their call go to the Ashen Detective. The phone rang a few times in the room before a hesitant, feminine, slightly trembling voice came through the speakers.

“I, um.” A shaky breath before the caller continued. “I don’t really know why I called. My friend sent me the link and I just—”

“That’s fine,” Ashveil assured. “People don’t usually know why they call until they’ve been talking for a while. Take your time. The meter’s not running.”

Through the speakers in both Furbobocom Weekly publishing house and the detective agency’s speakers, the caller began talking, halting a few times when tears choked her throat. Something about a project. A deadline that made an overworked executive forget, somewhere in the middle of rushing for perfection, that they were also a person who needed to sleep.

Ashveil listened, along with Caelus, Mister N, the Furbos, and the audience who offered encouraging comments as he worked on the screen. Praising the caller, she had done her best, and some ranting out together about their horrible bosses who pushed impossible deadlines onto them.

“You’re not behind,” The Ashen Detective finally spoke, when the caller wound down. “You’re just tired. Those are different problems.”

A long pause.

“... Yeah,” The caller agreed quietly. “I guess they are....”

“Get some sleep. The project will still be there in the morning. So will the problem. Tackle it when you’ve got more than fumes in the tank.”

The caller laughed. It was a small laugh, slightly waterlogged, but genuine. “... Thanks for listening, Mister Ashveil.”

“Don’t mention it. Drink some water before you sleep. You sound dehydrated.”

The call disconnected.

The viewer count, which had briefly plateaued around 11,000 during the call, resumed climbing with renewed enthusiasm. Caelus leaned back in his chair and ordered his Furbo employee. “Send in the next caller.”

Paraprince nodded and clicked the button to allow the next user to join the room.

A new ringtone echoed through the office speakers.

The line clicked sharply, followed by several seconds of silence.

Then, a low masculine voice came through—controlled, but with a tension beneath it. “… Me and my girlfriend broke up… I suppose it’s my fault for neglecting her to chase after hype and trends to get more views….”

Ashveil did not answer immediately. The chat, as if sensing a shift in atmospheric pressure, slowed its frantic scroll to something almost respectful. A few messages floated up between the others:

‘Oh no’

‘buddy...’

‘We’re here man’

“How long were you together?” The Ashen Detective asked finally.

A pause of five seconds from the caller before he answered. “...Three years.”

“Then let me ask you something.” The sound of Ashveil shifting slightly in his chair. “When you were chasing those trends… Were you doing it because you stopped caring about her?”

The caller hesitated. “… No.”

“Were you trying to hurt her?”

“N-Not at all, of course!”

“So, were you trying to do something you thought would make both of your lives better?”

There was a shaky exhale on the other end before the downtrodden caller conceded. “…Yeah.”

Silence on the line.

“...I don’t even remember most of the content I made,” The caller admitted. The control in his voice had begun to develop small cracks at the edges. “I remember she used to bring me coffee when I was streaming. And I’d wave her off because I was mid-recording and—”

He stopped. “Pushed her away too often that I lost count how many times I did….”

The chat had gone very quiet. Single words drifting upward now.

‘same.’

‘...yeah.’

Caelus listened quietly, his chin resting on one fist, as the caller’s voice continued. “I kept telling myself I’d make it up to her once things calmed down. But there was always another project, an event, or just some reason to put her off.”

Ashveil’s voice hummed in acknowledgment more gently than before. “We tend to treat the people who love us as constants. Assume they’ll still be there when we finally have time.”

Caelus felt something in his chest tighten. Then, on-screen, the chat began moving again:

‘Ouch.’

‘Why does this feel like therapy?’

‘He’s not wrong.’

‘I didn’t come here to get emotionally dismantled.’

The caller laughed weakly. “So what do I do now…?”

“You accept that some apologies are meant to heal the other person, not to win them back.” Ashveil’s answer came without hesitation. “If you hurt her, apologize sincerely. Only because she deserves to hear that you understand what happened.”

His voice softened, almost imperceptibly. “And after that, you let her decide what to do with your apology.”

“… That’s… Hard.” The caller let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a stifled sob. “But… Thank you for listening, detective.”

“Try getting some sleep before you compose a three-page apology message.”

That earned a genuine laugh from the caller.

“… I’ll keep that in mind.”

The line disconnected.

Nobody in the publishing office said a word, then Caelus slowly lowered his headphones and stared at the closed office door. The viewer count surged past 20,000, and donations poured in faster than the AI Journalist Gemibo could process them.

The chat became a flood of crying emojis and messages from listeners confessing they had needed to hear exactly those words tonight.

Furli sniffled loudly into its notebook.

Brucelee and Furlee had tears in their eyes as they tried to maintain focus on the camera.

Paraprince blew its nose into a tiny handkerchief.

From the speakers came the faint rustle of Ashveil adjusting his microphone. “This is the Insomnia Hotline. The night is long, but you don’t have to spend it alone.”

“Next caller,” Caelus picked up the paper cup and took a slow sip. Paraprince clicked the queue the caller belonged to, which was a young girl's voice.

“Mr. Ashveil… Um, it’s me from the last time…” Her voice was slightly nervous, but it held a faint warmth from the smile on her face at the other end. “I… Thank you for listening to me a few weeks ago. We have visited my big brother’s grave to tell him that the monster is gone, thanks to you and your friends….”

For the first time that night, Ashveil said nothing. Caelus lowered his paper cup slowly, his yellow eyes drifting toward the closed office door. Around him, the Furbos instinctively stilled. Even the chat, which had been a relentless torrent of comments and emojis, seemed to pause as if thousands of listeners recognized the significance of that small, trembling voice.

“My mom and I brought his favorite flowers. And…” The girl’s voice caught for a moment, but this time it wasn’t from grief alone. “I told him I’m trying to sleep properly now. Like you asked me to.”

The faint sound of a sniffle carried through the speakers. “I still miss him every day. But… It doesn’t hurt the same way anymore.”

Caelus pressed a hand against his chest. Like Ashveil, that young girl was one of the many victims, indirectly the result of Fulwish’s vengeance. Having those members of Daybreak Squadron, except Magnus, corrupted by Shufu’s flesh and killed them in the name of Elation…

Then Ashveil spoke, his voice was quieter than before, stripped of its usual edge until all that remained was warmth. “I’m glad to hear that. You’ve been very brave.”

“I cried a lot.”

“That’s usually part of being brave.”

A chorus of sniffles rose from the publishing office.

“...Mr. Ashveil,” the girl said. “Did you keep your promise? The one you mentioned... About making things right?”

The office clock continued its quiet rhythm in the background.

“I did,” Ashveil answered with the faintest slight smile. “I had someone… Whose knack of trouble allowed me to deliver justice for him. I’m sure right now on the other side… He’s enjoying life at a beautiful seaside town with tons of customers enjoying his coffee.”

‘Someone whose knack of trouble,’ Caelus froze at that statement. He slowly turned to look at the closed office door.

He slowly turned to look at the closed office door. The memory of him dialing the Ashen Detective about his favorite character idol coming to live in Planarcardia. Mister N dismissed and warned that the Trailblazer’s claims could be fooling him. Yet Ashveil answered: “No, he’s different. I believe in him.”

A voice that didn’t ask anything in return, even though the older man could easily charge him for his services.

Through the speakers, the girl was still talking and let out a faint contented sigh. “That’s good. I think he’d like that. And, um… Mr. Ashveil…?”

“Mm.”

“Thank you. For listening again to me tonight….”

“Get some sleep,” Ashveil said. “And listen to your parents to not stay out late in the dark, alright? “

The girl giggled quietly. “Okay.”

“Good night, kid.”

“Good night, Mr. Ashveil.”

The line disconnected, and the chat moved in slow drifts:

‘Goodnight, little one!’

‘the cafe by the sea...’

‘I’m eating breakfast tomorrow, I promise’

‘someone whose knack of trouble...’

‘I wonder who it is…?’

‘Probably is himself and his monkey assistant is covering his ass’

The viewer count, already staggering, leaped again as clips were shared across the network in real time with the tagline: “This is the Insomnia Hotline. The night is long, but you don’t have to spend it alone.”

The donation total surged so fast that Gemibo froze for several seconds before restarting with an alarmed chirp. Caelus pressed a hand to his chest and grinned at the office door, warmth blooming behind his ribs.

Yeah.

They were definitely renewing for another three months.

=0=

“Great Raccoon, look at this!” The next morning, Furblitzer scurried excitedly to where the Trailblazer was, and it flashed up a particular newsletter on the tablet. “Gossip Grove has now reached 5,000 subscribers thanks to yesterday’s livestream.”

Caelus took the tablet and looked at the number. “... 5,000.”

“And counting!” Furblitzer bounced on both heels. “Our subscriber count has been climbing since the stream ended! And look at the comment section—”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Caelus scrolled.

andomeda1: BabyFaceWolf’s Insomnia Hotline saved my sleep schedule and possibly my marriage.

catse7en: I subscribed to the newsletter because the article said he was a real detective who takes actual cases. I have a case. Please tell me how to hire him.

spill-sal: The monkey assistant wrote the article and it shows /pos

glow-thugs: ‘Someone whose knack of trouble’ I am going insane who IS he talking about

FGQDJFNs: I woke my husband up at 3am to tell him we treat the people we love as constants and he said ‘okay’ and went back to sleep but I think it worked.

Caelus handed the tablet back, still grinning widely on his face. “Pull out all the comments and sort by type. Anything that looks like actual detective work goes to Mister N first.”

“Already on it, Great Raccoon!” Furblitzer scurried off with renewed motivation.

Leaning back on his chair comfortably, a yawn escaped the gray-haired young man’s mouth with one hand lifted to cover it. Then another Furbo approached his desk with a robotic chirp. “Great Raccoon, here is the revenue report that you have requested from the stream’s donation.”

A single swipe of his screen, the Trailblazer’s yellow eyes widened.

Then widened some more.

Then he shot up from his chair so fast it nearly toppled backward.

“Holy—!”

Gemibo squeaked and barely managed to hold the tablet before it became one of the many things on the never-ending list to find budget for repairs.

On the screen, the total from the donation was glowing in bold green numbers, enough to cover three months of rent at Ashen Detective Agency, all outstanding utility bills, the Editorial Headquarters' operating expenses, the salary for the Furbo Journalist, and food delivery debt… And still leave enough profit to fund several future projects!

“Ashveil!” Caelus threw his head back and shouted loud enough for his voice to echo through the entire building.

“Not here!”

“The Ashen Detective yells as he wishes the cold of the refrigerator would summon a snowstorm for the snow to bury his frozen body under.” Mister N unhelpfully narrated the deflection from his human partner from the detective’s office.

Without waiting for permission, Caelus jumped out of the seat to slam the door open, seeing the older man lounging sluggishly in the open fridge with his legs and arms dangling at the edge. His hat pulled over his dark gray eyes, clearly having been dragged from a well-earned morning sleep. His expression carried the profound exhaustion of a man who already knew trouble was approaching and resented it on principle.

“Look at this!” Caelus crossed the room in four steps and held the tablet directly in front of the refrigerator.

One dark eye cracked open from under the hat brim. Looked at the screen. Closed again.

A beat.

Both eyes opened.

Ashveil sat up slowly, the frost at his collar catching the morning light, and took the tablet from Caelus’s hand. He looked at the number. Then scrolled down. Then looked at the number again.

“I’m going back to sleep. Wake me when reality returns.”

Caelus laughed and grabbed the brim of the hat before Ashveil could use it as an excuse to hide from the world.

“Nope! You don’t get to hibernate through this.” His grin softened into something warmer, more sincere. “You did this, Ashveil. All those people stayed up to hear your voice. They called because they trusted you.”

Ashveil stared at him over the edge of the tablet. The usual dry retort failed to materialize for the younger man. The refrigerator hummed softly around him, cool air curling around the brim of his white hat. In his hands, the tablet displayed undeniable proof that one sleepless night and a microphone had done more for the agency than weeks of scraping by ever could.

More than that, though, the comments scrolling past were impossible to ignore.

[Thank you.]

[I finally slept.]

[I felt less alone.]

[Please tell Mr. Ashveil he saved me.]

Ashveil’s gaze flicked from the screen to Caelus’s face. The younger man’s grin had softened into something earnest and luminous, pride shining openly in his yellow eyes.

“… You’re making it sound like I performed a miracle,” Ashveil muttered at last.

Caelus’s smile widened. “No. You just did what you always do.”

He leaned one hand against the edge of the refrigerator-bed and tilted his head. “You listened and answered what they really needed to hear to ease their heart with that voice.”

The words landed with far more force than they had any right to. Ashveil looked away first as the tip of his ear tinged in pink, his throat working once. “Hmph.”

A familiar non-answer that even Mister N knew better than to narrate out for his human partner’s sake. Instead, Caelus crouched down slightly until he was eye-level with the detective, wearing a bright yet mischievous smirk. “So… What do you think of your comeback stream, Mister ‘BabyFaceWolf’?”

“My professional opinion?” Ashveil lowered the tablet just enough to peer at him over the top edge, one dark eye narrowed beneath the brim of his hat. “The host was adequate. The producer is insufferable.”

The Trailblazer grinned wider, completely immune to the insult. “So that means you liked it.”

“I said it was adequate.”

“By the detective’s terms of ‘adequate,’ during his prime, he had reached a total of 150,000 users. Only a third stayed up late in the night to hear his baritone voice to go to bed.”

“Which proves the public has questionable judgment,” The said detective then gave a side-eyed glare at his monkey blissfully taking one of the bananas Furli offered him to eat.

Caelus laughed, the sound bright and warm enough to melt some of the frost curling around the edges of the refrigerator-bed. Ashveil tried to look unimpressed, though he failed the moment his eyes drifted back to the glowing comments on the tablet screen. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the device.

The Trailblazer’s expression softened, and before Ashveil could retreat behind another sarcastic remark, Caelus reached out and rested a hand lightly over his gloved one. “Hey, don’t need to think too hard. All that matters is you’ve done a good job of listening and helped wherever you could.”

Ashveil stared at their joined hands for a moment, then flicked back to the younger man, who then realized with a sheepish look to pull away hurriedly. “A-Anyway, thanks to you, we’re out of the red for the next few months on the bills and—!”

“What do you think?”

“What…?”

Ashveil handed the tablet back and swung his legs out of the refrigerator, standing. He swept the frost from his collar once, twice, and dusted off the brim of his hat. “My stream. You said that my voice is calming, right? So, what did ‘you’ think of it?”

Caelus blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it. Which was, he was dimly aware, the same sequence he and the Ashen Detective had performed approximately in the last twenty-four hours, and he found he had a new appreciation for how undignified it felt from the inside.

For all his confidence in bullying Ashveil into resurrecting his streaming career, he suddenly found himself at a loss for words the moment the older man asked for his honest opinion.

“I—” He scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, the stream data speaks for itself, right? 5,000 viewers, the retention rate alone—”

“I didn’t ask about the data.” Ashveil reached out with his left white-gloved hand, brushing away the speck of dust under the younger man’s dark eye bags. “You’re my producer, right? Don’t tell me you spend all night counting bananas’ revenue rather than getting a good sleep to answer?”

The Trailblazer’s cheek was now dusted pink at the warm touch under the leather material, and he forgot entirely for one second on what the question was he was supposed to be answering. Ashveil dropped his hand, tucking it back into his pants pocket casually, like a man who had not just done anything noteworthy, and looked at him expectantly.

Just as Caelus was about to answer, Paraprince’s high-pitched voice announced loudly. “Great Raccoon! A client from yesterday’s stream is here to see the detective!”

Caelus blinked, turning toward the doorway where Paraprince stood with the proud, upright posture of a very small creature who had delivered a very important message to the president, and then turned back to Ashveil. The moment, whatever it had been building toward, dissolved the way fog dissolved in Dovebrook mornings.

Ashveil had already straightened his coat and acknowledged. “Send them in.”

As Paraprince saluted with their camera and took their leave, the Ashen Detective let out a low sigh that carried equal parts resignation and relief. “Duty calls.”

“Right, of course. Business,” Caelus opened his mouth, closed it, then coughed lightly into his fist as if that might somehow cool the heat spreading across his face. He took an awkward half-step backward, nearly bumping into the edge of the refrigerator-bed while making his way to the door. “Anyway, keep up with that voice of ASMR. We’re counting on you for the publishing house to get their next scoop as well!”

Once the client arrived at the doorway, a young man in his mid-twenties, slightly rumpled in his pale yellow T-shirt, Caelus gave a quick, polite smile before closing the door on them for their business discussion.

Breathing out another sigh in the hope that it would relieve the strange feeling inside him, another high-pitched voice called out to him. “President!”

The raccoon Furbo, wearing the Trailblazer’s blue-themed clothes, rushed to where the human stood, its black eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Was that a client for the detective? Does that mean there’s a new scoop for the publishing house?!”

“Yeah,” Caelus breathed out a chuckle with a knowing yet exasperated smile. “Try not to get caught. And also, no breaks in between unless you want to see red for another year.”

“I’m on it!” Furli then disappeared in a puff of smoke, and the Trailblazer returned to his seat to pick up the company tablet to scroll through.

Oh, they weren’t just going to renew for three months; it would be a lifetime instead!

=0=

Over that span of weeks to two months, the stream steadily increased both its donation revenue and the number of channel subscribers. Even Caelus’s own friends, March, Dan Heng, and Sunday had joined the stream to call for and support their work. March had called in on the third week first among them.

“So, those photos you have taken were bothering you all night?” Ashveil summarized with a tactful tone.

“That’s right!” March’s voice crackled over the speakers with all the righteous indignation of a woman personally betrayed by her own trusty camera. “One of them was a beautiful scenery of the ocean from the train that I took to Seafield city. But, it’s all blurry! The horizon is crooked, my face is half cut off, and somehow the seagull in the background is the only thing in perfect focus!”

Ashveil sat behind his desk, one gloved hand supporting his chin while the other adjusted the microphone. “So the issue is not the scenery itself, but your inability to keep your hands steady for more than three consecutive seconds.”

“Hey!”

Outside the detective agency, Caelus nearly snorted coffee through his nose while sorting invoices at the next desk with Gemibo.

‘THE SEAGULL WAS THE TRUE SUBJECT.’

‘March Bunny getting roasted on a public stream.’

‘Mr. BabyFaceWolf is savage tonight.’

The Ashen Detective continued in the same even tone. “Tell me, Miss March. How many photos did you take?”

“Uh… 216?”

“And how many were usable?”

A pause with a few taps on the button on the other end, most likely the pink-haired young woman fiddling with the back of the camera before she answered. “… Three.”

“Then I recommend a revolutionary new strategy.”

March huffed in an unamused tone. “What strategy?”

“Take more than one picture of the same subject! That’d improve your skill to take great photos, a good old friend taught me that before I managed to take my first selfie.”

The line was silent for exactly one second before March erupted in a scream. “I DID!”

Caelus doubled over, shoulders shaking with laughter, while Furli rolled across the desk, chirping hysterically.

Ashveil, of course, remained perfectly composed even after he just dumped the whole tank of oil into the fire he had lit up for himself. “Then, I suggest investing in a tripod.”

March groaned. “Urgh, seriously? Just when I have already used up almost half of my savings for the sightseeing….”

‘PLEASE HE SOUNDED SO SMUG.’

‘I’d buy a tripod if he told me to.’

March made one last dramatic noise. “Fine! I’m hanging up. Caelus, you owe me on this!”

The call disconnected.

Ashveil leaned back in his chair as soft instrumental music filled the pause. Across the room, Caelus was still laughing for the rest of the stream as it continued with the rest of the audience calling in for the night.

…

On the fifth week of a Tuesday, Sunday called in next, which, in retrospect, should have been a warning that he had not dialed on the day of his namesake.

“A confession from me?” Ashveil repeated the Halovian man’s words, with skepticism yet curiosity.

“Yes, although Ca—I mean,” Sunday politely retracted the statement and simply went on. “A friend of mine has said this stream would be an appropriate place to ask for advice. I would prefer to hear troubles and confessions from other people, as Bronze Melodia, a role I have yet to let go in my current… Duties. Hence, let us hear the things you wished to confess, Mr. Ashveil.”

A beat of silence settled over the stream.

Then Ashveil made a sound that was almost a laugh. “You’re asking the host to confess.”

“Consider it an exchange,” Sunday said pleasantly. “You’ve listened to a great many people tonight. It seems only fair.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Caelus, who had been in the middle of sorting fan letters for Ashveil, complained about scoops from the publishing house, ready to burn them with his Flaming Lance, and receipts due for payment, slowly lowered the paper in his hands.

The chat had slowed to a reverent crawl:

‘Oh, he’s actually going to answer’

‘CHAT BE QUIET.’

‘I’ve never needed silence more in my life’

“...Fine,” Ashveil said. The word arrived the same way it always did — like a coin dropped in a quiet room — but quieter than usual. More careful. “One confession.”

“Of course.”

The clock on the wall continued its indifferent rhythm.

“I confessed…,” Ashveil spoke slowly, like he was selecting each one from considerable thoughtfulness. “All the last bananas budget we accumulated to pay for our rent six months ago… I used them to buy a limited edition comic book of ‘The Labyrinth Game.’”

Then the stream detonated.

‘HE WHAT?’

‘SIX MONTHS OF RENT???’

‘SIR THAT IS NOT A CONFESSION! THAT IS A FELONY!!’

‘I’M CRYING LMAO’

“I knew something was strange after I divided payment from Mister Sandford on the last case to manage the necessity, while he was to get food that was ‘not’ bananas. And he has the nerve to tell me I have overlooked it!” Mister Narrator smacked a hand to his face with an exasperated groan.

On the stream, Sunday to his immense credit, remained perfectly composed in his voice when he acknowledged. “I see. And, did this purchase bring you happiness?”

“Of course!” The Ashen Detective fiddled with his microphone giddily when he recalled. “It’s a side story with Detective Mercator challenged by a phantom thief that leaves candle wax behind after stealing treasures. And, Miss Chairsk brought up how this is the toughest challenge Detective Mercator has faced, but I never doubted her deduction skills!”

The chat moved so quickly that both Furlee and Brucelee’s monitor screens visibly lagged.

‘TWELVE MINUTES OF JOY FOR HALF A YEAR OF FINANCIAL RUIN.’

‘ABSOLUTELY ICONIC.’

Sunday hummed thoughtfully. “And how did your business partner react?”

Right away, when Caelus swiveled his chair to where the monkey assistant was, he learned it would take at least five Furbos Journalists: Furli and Furblitzer holding Mister N by the arm, while Furlee and Brucelee by the legs, and Gemibo at a corner being automated to snap photos for another scoop, to calm an angry monkey assistant from tearing his human partner into two.

Through the wall, Ashveil cleared his throat, almost exaggerating loudly to distract his audience while pretending he was unaware of the commotion outside. “My monkey assistant understands my needs very much, thank you for asking.”

“Did he now?” Sunday’s voice was perfectly even.

“… Yes, admirably so. Though eating bananas out of a banana budget for three months does feel a little too much for three consecutive meals.” Despite the sounds of something like stacks of files falling off the table, belonging to a certain monkey, demand a recount of their budgeting again.

“I see,” As for the Halovian man, he flipped over a page of his book at his end, acknowledged once more in a solemn tone. “Do you sincerely repent and vow to change your ways?”

A pause that lasted exactly long enough to be suspicious.

“I repent,” Ashveil confessed, “That the limited edition sold out before I could acquire the second volume.”

‘HE’S NOT EVEN SORRY.’

‘YOUR HONOR SUNDOVE HE’D DO IT AGAIN.’

‘LOCK THE COMIC BOOKS AWAY.’

On the other end of the line, Sunday let out a low, simple hum. “An honest answer.”

“I’m a detective. Lying would be unprofessional.”

“Indeed.” The sound of a page turning from Sunday’s end once more. “Then allow me to offer one final question, Mr. Ashveil. Do you seek to atone for your sins through good deeds?”

Ashveil’s mouth curving in the slightest hint of a pleased smile as he answered. “Yes, I do—”

“No, he doesn’t—!!”

At the end of the rather short insomnia hotline, cut off midstream, it was a mix of successes and failures. Success in increasing viewership by providing additional fan service, allowing callers to ask questions of the Ashen Detective, was limited.

The unsuccessful portion was a newsletter containing photos of a certain monkey going on strike, with hilarious concerns about animal abuse at the Ashen Detective agency.

……

Finally, in the first week of the second month, Dan Heng finally called in after possibly some push from March herself to let the dark-haired young man have a go at joining the fun.

He hadn’t announced himself when he dialed in, but flipped a few pages of a script from his end, before he finally asked with a quiet and hesitant tone. “… Sorry, if the caller does not have any questions for the stream? Could I leave?”

Ashveil glanced at his monitor, where the user ID remained conspicuously blank. Then, without warning, the detective’s posture eased by a fraction. The corner of his mouth lifted. “You called to ask if you could leave.”

“... Yes.” Dan Heng finally said, seemingly tightening the paper in his grip and crushing it, and he sighed. “A… Friend of mine introduced me to this stream to support. Another friend suggested that if I didn’t have any questions, I could use the ones she provided instead. But most of them seem to be too much of an invasion of privacy from her curiosity. And I’d like to get back to archiving the information in the Data Bank for the rest of the night.”

“Sure, don’t forget to get some sleep. Archiving keeps better hours in the day than insomnia.”

“It does,” Dan Heng agreed, and there was something almost warm at the edge of it. “Good night, Mr. Ashveil.”

“Good night.”

Right before the line disconnected, Dan Heng’s voice knowingly directed the other person on the stream. “By the way, Caelus, one of those Furbo reporters at the publishing house is already knocked out cold by the bar in the Party Car. I think Joolyon is their name, from what Shush told me. Shush is keeping the Furbo safe and hidden so Pom-Pom doesn’t find out. Try to pick them up when you have the time.”

Once the call ended, Caelus looked at his dark screen, the stream in disbelief, and repeated. “Joolyon?”

Didn’t he send that little red raccoon Furbo out for another scoop for one of Ashveil’s cases last week?

Unless…

With a swing of his right hand, the familiar Curio bat materialized in his hold, and he tapped it menacingly against his other palm. “That little slacking runt… Oh, they’re going to wish they stayed knocked out.”

A chorus of horrified chirps erupted from the Furbo staff.

“The President is on the hunt!”

“Emergency! Emergency!”

Though if only that warning had reached their poor Furbo comrade before they suffered the Great Raccoon’s divine punishment of three months of desk-bound jobs dictated by the heavens and the earth.

=0=

Nearly two weeks to three months later, inside the Furbo Weekly Publishing House office, Furblitzer stood before their boss’s office desk with eyes sparkling in anticipation. “So, Great Raccoon, what are we doing to celebrate the 500,000 subscribers achievement?”

“Hm…,” Caelus leaned back in his chair, balancing a pencil beneath his nose while he stared at the ceiling in deep thought. 500,000 subscribers across the universe tuned in to hear one sleep-deprived detective dispense dry observations, reluctant wisdom, and the occasional confession of comic-book-related financial crimes.

Furblitzer’s tail wagged with barely contained energy.

Joolyon, still serving the last week of their desk-bound sentence, had stopped pretending to file documents and was listening with the undisguised attention of someone who had learned that the best scoops arrived when the president thought no one was paying attention.

Caelus dropped his gaze back to Furblitzer and smiled; after all, his employees deserved the reward for their efforts that had paid off. “Alright. Here’s what we’re doing, tonight… We’re going to have a big feast tonight at the noodles restaurant a few blocks from here. My treat, of course.”

Dead silence. Then, from every corner of the office at once, the Furbo staff turned to look at each other before erupting into loud chitters of joy and excitement.

The celebration plans spread through the office faster than any breaking story.

Furli leaped onto a filing cabinet and pumped both tiny fists into the air. “Unlimited noodles!”

“Unlimited dumplings! (Unlimited dessert!)” Brucelee and Furlee bellowed from down the hall after picking up their printed copies from the copier machine.

At that, every Furbo in the room fell silent and turned slowly toward Caelus with identical sparkling eyes.

The Trailblazer blinked and crossed his arms to give a stern look. “… Within reason.”

No way, he’s going to let them leech him off for granted. The collective groan was so dramatic that Joolyon nearly slid out of their chair.

Still, that did nothing to dampen the mood. Furbos dashed in every direction, some already preparing ‘staff night out’ banners, others taking votes on preferred noodle toppings. Gemibo projected a celebratory animation of dancing bowls of ramen over the ceiling.

Then Furblitzer cleared their throat and lowered their voice conspiratorially. “And what about the detective?”

Caelus, who had just taken a sip of coffee, nearly choked at the mention of the older man. “What about him?”

Furblitzer and Paraprince exchanged a look. Gemibo projected a giant flashing question mark from their digital pixel eyes. Joolyon leaned forward over a stack of papers. “Are you inviting Mr. Ashveil?”

The gray-haired young man set his mug down very carefully and answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “Of course I’m inviting him. He’s half the reason we hit 500,000 subscribers.”

The Furbos stared at him wide-eyed in shock before their eyes again sparkled brightly for some odd reason.

Caelus frowned. “What?”

Furli raised a paw. “Will he sit next to you?”

“Why does that matter?”

“Will you feed him?” Furblix raised a paw as well.

Right away, the Trailblazer’s face turned bright red after choking on another sip of his coffee. He slammed the mug down, shooting an embarrassed glare at his employees. “I am not feeding him!”

Joolyon gasped. “Not even one strand of noodle?!”

“I have no idea what bullshit you guys are trying to get your scoop next,” Pushing off his office chair, Caelus’s hand made a waving gesture to shoo them off. “Come on, the restaurant doesn’t run 24 hours a day.”

The office evacuated with the organized chaos of a very small and enthusiastic army that had been waiting for exactly this moment. Caelus watched them stream out into the Dovebrook evening and shook his head with a fond, exhausted expression.

For all the times he had to track them down to make sure they did their jobs properly, they sure were adorable and the best employees he could ever have. As the Trailblazer approached the small detective agency office, his hand raised to knock on the door—

“But, I’m really sincere about my feelings for you, Mr. Ashveil!” An unfamiliar voice, belonging to the woman, cried out to the Ashen Detective, causing Caelus to stand there, frozen still.

Come to think of it, he recalled briefly seeing someone enter the building and being escorted by Paraprince to the Ashen Detective Agency. The gray-haired young man didn’t even give a second glance to verify, having been used to a steady stream of customers coming in to find Ashveil to do business with and earn more commission fees.

Caelus remained rooted to the spot, hand hovering a few centimeters from the door. The woman’s voice on the other side trembled with all the earnest desperation of someone who had spent days rehearsing this moment. “I know this may sound sudden, but ever since I found your stream, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

Caelus’s fingers curled into a fist.

Oh.

That was…

From inside, Ashveil’s voice answered delicately like he was when delivering news a person needed to hear but hadn’t asked for. “I appreciate you telling me that. That takes courage.”

“Then—!”

“But I suspect you’re in love with a voice, not the man attached to it.” The words from the Ashen Detective were gentle, but firm. “I’m flattered. Truly. However, my schedule is irregular, my finances are questionable, and my sleeping arrangements involve a refrigerator.”

Inside, the woman gave a watery laugh. “I don’t mind any of that. And it’s not just your voice, Mr. Ashveil… Your words gave me the strength to close the case of my sister’s murderer six years ago.”

And outside, Caelus stared at the wood grain on the office door as if it might offer strategic guidance as he thought. “The client inside… She is just like me.”

It wasn’t like there was anything special between a landlord owner and a detective in the first place.

Therefore… The sensible thing to do was for the Trailblazer to turn on his heels and head downstairs, where the Furbo employees waited to celebrate their big achievement.

It was a miracle his legs carried him down without tripping; his mind flooded with overwhelming thoughts.

By the time Caelus reached the ground floor, the Furbo staff already assembled on the pavement outside, organized into a loose cluster of party hats and hand-drawn banners that read ‘500K SUBS!!’ and ‘WE DID IT GREAT RACCOON!!’

The Furbos erupted immediately upon spotting their president approaching them.

“Great Raccoon!”

“Where’s the detective?!”

“Is he coming?!”

“He’s coming, right?!”

“Well…,” Caelus rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, which he considered an achievement given the current state of his mind, and smiled apologetically. “Ashveil is stuck with another client for tonight. Still in a meeting apparently, so it’s only just us to celebrate.”

The Furbos received this news with a respectful silence for one second, before they let out a disappointed ‘aww’ collectively.

Furli shrugged their small shoulders lightly and chirped. “More noodles for me!”

“That’s right, first-come, first-served,” The gray-haired young man agreed with a firm nod. “Let’s go before it gets soggy.”

As he turned and walked with the Furbos following him in an orderly single line, his mind still reeled back to that confession from the woman to the detective. Ashveil was a detective. He had clients. One of those clients had just confessed to being in love with him, which was not a crime itself.

Why shouldn’t someone fall for him?

The older man had a voice that could coax insomnia into surrender, eyes that missed nothing, and a habit of saying exactly what people needed to hear even when they didn’t know how to ask. Of course, people would fall for Ashveil except him.

… Right…?

=0=

“Great Raccoon! These are the latest financial reports for Insonmia Hotline stream last night. Please review before sending it to the detective!”

“Sure, I will,” Caelus grinned as he took the report from Furblix and later handed it to Gemibo right away to verify first. Then he also had the AI Journalist deliver it to Ashveil while he stepped out for the next commission.

...

Next week in the afternoon…

Furbricato materialized out of nowhere right before their boss’s desk and chirped. “Great Raccoon! The detective has sent over his weekly streaming schedule for next month, and he has written a personal note at the bottom of the document!”

Caelus looked up from the invoice he had been staring at without reading for the past ten minutes. “A note?”

“A personal note,” Furbricato confirmed and held out the envelope with both paws.

Just as the Trailblazer took it and turned it over to read, his phone vibrated, so he set the letter down instead. Upon seeing the notification, his yellow eyes widened, and he immediately stood up from his seat and headed for the exit. “I’ll read it later. Just let him know that I have already approved his new schedule!”

“W-What?” The poor ghostly Furbo darted their head between the letter and their president, who was already halfway to the door. “Then, anything else I should tell the detective?”

Caelus had one hand on the doorknob, his phone still clutched tightly in the other. His yellow eyes switched back to the letter, something briefly flickered in them before he turned away to wave over his shoulder. “Tell him I’ll read the note tonight!”

And, he was gone in a streak of gray coat and barely contained panic. Contrary to his words, the letter was left forgotten somewhere, buried under a pile of drafts for the next scoop to publish in the Gossip Grove channel.

.…..

And then, two weeks later in the evening…

“Great Raccoon! (Great Raccoon!)” Brucelee and Furlee went over to their boss’s desk, both siblings wearing the same cheerful expression. And it meant either that someone had discovered a scandal or had accidentally started one.

Caelus looked up from the paperwork, holding back another loud yawn that threatened to knock him off to sleep. “What is it?”

Brucelee thrust a tablet forward with both paws. Furlee, camera already raised, positioned himself at an angle that suggested the response would be worth documenting. “One million subscribers! (We have reached another milestone!).”

On the tablet screen was the Furbobocom analytics dashboard, the Insomnia Hotline’s subscriber count, which had, at some point between last night’s stream and this precise moment, crossed one million. The Trailblazer stared intently at the screen and set the papers down. “… That… Is a lot of people.”

“So, how should we celebrate the milestone? (Gift cards? Personalized one-to-one ASMR from the detective based on what they wished to hear?)”

The last one stung especially painfully to the gray-haired young man’s heart. No, this shouldn’t be the way. But before he could open his mouth to answer, the door to the Ashen Detective Agency swung open with Mister N coming out to give a chiding expression to Ashveil. “Jeez, you’ve nearly overslept for the day. You’re lucky that there is no client before they decide to change their mind and give their case to us.”

Ashveil leaned against the doorway, holding back a yawn from his misty breath after just waking up in the refrigerator. “Then, it’s a good thing there’s no one here to witness it.”

Even after two months of hearing it through microphones, headphones, and late-night streams, the sound had the same traitorous effect on Caelus every single time.

Like someone had reached into his chest and gently tugged on a string.

Ashveil pushed himself off the doorframe and finally spotted Caelus at his usual desk with surprise clearly on his face. At that moment, his mouth parted without a single word; the Trailblazer pushed himself away from his desk and stood. “Right. Just remembered, I’m on cleaning shift duty tonight from Pom-Pom. Furblitzer, you’re in charge of moderating the stream tonight.”

“Me?!” The poor Furbo journalist jolted at his seat, a paw pressing the wrong key of the keyboard to let out a sharp pitch screech.

Caelus was already reaching for the door. “You’ve watched me do it for two months. You’ll be fine.”

“But—!”

Ashveil, still standing in the doorway with his coat half-buttoned and sleep clinging to him like the last traces of a dream, watched the entire exchange in silence. Caelus did not deliberately look at him, not even out of necessity. Because every time he did, his heart insisted on acting as if it were training for a marathon.

“Good luck with the stream,” The gray-haired young man swiftly interrupted, “One million subscribers! Don’t accidentally confess to another financial crime.”

And he left, without once looking back at the office where the Furbo employees and the particular detective stood with his monkey assistant. This should be the way, for his and Ashveil’s sake. It was better to keep interactions to a minimum. People were counting on the detective whose voice had carried one million strangers through their worst midnights.

As for Caelus, he was just the producer, landlord, or even a friend of the older man.

=0=

For the next several days, Caelus became astonishingly efficient. It turned out that emotional avoidance was an incredible productivity tool. He approved three article drafts before breakfast, negotiated a new ad contract over lunch to promote Furbo Weekly, and balanced the quarterly budget in under an hour.

Also, tracked down a missing Furbo journalist who had attempted to ‘go undercover’ in the hotel spa by disguising himself as a folded towel, including giving a few beatings with his good old Curio Bat.

All without setting foot into the detective agency next door.

If Ashveil sent over schedules, Furbricato delivered them.

If invoices needed signatures, Paraprince handled the transfer.

Any questions about stream moderation? Gemibo was now the automated chatbot that answered only one question, improving cost efficiency for the robotic AI Furbo.

Ashveil, for his part, said nothing. Which somehow made it worse, even from Mister N, who remained quiet too.

It was, objectively, a sustainable strategy that lasted until…

=0=

BAM!

“Ow…” Caelus groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose, after seemingly hitting into something—Wait a minute…

He rubbed his eyes to clear away the drowsiness, to find himself standing on the staircase of the fourth level in the Furbobo Weekly Editorial Headquarters building. With one more quick scan of his surroundings, the Trailblazer let out another groan and rubbed his forehead. “How did I even manage to sleepwalk all the way here…?”

One moment, he had been in his room aboard the Astral Express, making sure Trash Cake had not attempted to hide in the kitchen trash area again while the Warp Trotter snuffled happily around the carpet.

Next, he was standing in the fourth-floor stairwell of the Furbobo Weekly Editorial Headquarters, all dressed in the usual attire of his coat, white t-shirt, gloves, pants, and shoes. Something he could boast to March, Dan Heng, and Sunday on the weekend nights for a card game.

On his left, a poster advertising the Ashen Detective Agency was pasted on the wall, with colors somewhat faded. The Trailblazer closed his eyes in disbelief. “… You’ve got to be kidding me….”

Apparently, even his subconscious had unionized and decided that if he refused to visit Ashveil while awake, it would try to take matters into its own hands.

Behind him, the stairwell light buzzed softly. Caelus rubbed a hand down his face and tried to decide which was more embarrassing. The fact that he had sleepwalked to the Space Anchor to another planet again. Or the fact that he had apparently sleepwalked specifically to Ashveil.

The answer was both.

“I should clear my mind before going back to sleep again…,” Caelus muttered, under the assumption that sleep even returned to him in the first place. He walked up the stairs and pushed open the door to the rooftop access.

The Dovebrook night spread out in every direction in the deserted space— the city’s scattered lights below, the cosmos above doing its usual indifferent magnificent thing with the stars. Caelus walked to the railing and leaned his arms against it.

The night air was cool against his face.

Below, Dovebrook glimmered like someone had spilled a box of stars across the streets. Neon signs flickered over rooftops. The occasional hovercar drifted past in the distance. Somewhere several blocks away, music and laughter floated up from a late-night bar.

Caelus exhaled slowly and rested his chin on his folded arms, muttering out loud. “This is ridiculous.”

The universe, in keeping with tradition, offered no useful response. He had fought eldritch monsters, jumped between worlds, and once willingly dug through a mountain of sentient trash in pursuit of a hidden clue.

And yet one emotionally constipated detective with a soothing voice and terrible financial judgment had reduced him to a sleepwalking-slash-sleep-deprived mess.

March was never going to let him live this down, and he could already hear her chiding yet teasing voice in his head. “You sleepwalked to his building? Caelus, that’s not a crush. That’s a medical condition called love!”

Caelus groaned and pressed his forehead to the cool metal railing. At first, Ashveil was a stranger who tried to hunt him and his friends after they used the Slumbernana virus to stop Sparxie’s plan at Phantasmoon Games. Then a neighboring tenant, a business partner, and later a friend.

Somewhere between late-night investigation and fighting for their lives, Caelus had crossed a line without realizing it. Now, one confession from a client was enough to make him retreat like a startled deer. Which, in hindsight, was not his finest work.

He rubbed a hand over his face and told himself. “You’re the Trailblazer. You’ve stared down beings that were near to the power of an Aeon. Why are you acting like a scared teenager?”

Bzzt! Bzzt!

Retrieving his phone, Caelus stared at the notification glowing on its screen.

[Insomnia Hotline with BabyFaceWolf will begin in 5 minutes.]

He had also subscribed to support as a user when the older detective just started.

So, there shouldn’t even be any more reasons to follow him. All that was left was for Furli to get Ashveil to sign the contract with the media to become a full-time VStreamer and detective.

His thumb hovered over the dismiss button.

One tap.

That was all it would take. And Caelus could go back to the Astral Express, crawl under his blankets, and continue pretending that the hollow ache in his chest was something he could ignore until it packed its bags and left.

Instead, almost against his own better judgment, his thumb pressed the join button. The familiar intro music spilled softly from his phone speakers. A few seconds later, Ashveil’s voice followed. “Good evening, listeners.”

Caelus closed his eyes.

There it was again—that quiet, low baritone that somehow managed to sound both dry and comforting at once. The voice that had once been just an amusing discovery, then a successful business venture, and now something dangerously close to home.

“Tonight,” Ashveil continued, “We’ve got ourselves a special guest for the hotline.”

The Trailblazer frowned. That was unusual. He didn’t recall any streamers or stars having wanted to collaborate with them over the past week.

Ashveil let out a light hum and continued despite the silence. “Our guest tonight… Is from the Furbobocom Weekly itself. It’s not often we get to see someone of their official representative coming in to drown out worries.”

“What?” Caelus blinked his eyes and stared down hard at his screen. Instead of his own personal account, he was still using the defaulted shared company account to manage commentary on Gossip Grove’s posts.

The realization arrived approximately two seconds before the consequences did. Caelus was logged into the company account.

The company account that Ashveil could see in the call queue.

At this precise moment, he was the only live viewer on the stream because it was five minutes past midnight and the regular audience hadn’t fully assembled yet.

“...The representative seems to be processing some information,” Ashveil said into the microphone, with the patient tone of a man who had all night. “We’ll wait.”

Caelus stared at his phone.

His options were, as far as he could inventory them: close the app and pretend this had never happened. Log out, which would confirm he had panicked. Or—

A deep breath in and a deep breath out. It’s not hard to imitate those Furbo journalists. If one of them could transform into him for disguise, the gray-haired young man should be able to do something similar as their ‘Great Raccoon.’

He unmuted.

“Good evening!” Caelus greeted in a rather high-pitched voice by an octave or two of cheerfulness mustered from his weary self. “This is the Furbobocom Weekly publishing house’s official representative, Paraprince. Conducting routine quality assurance and interviews on our partner stream!

A beat of silence from Ashveil’s end, and he replied. “Paraprince?”

“That’s right!”

“The Furbobocom Weekly President’s right-hand Furbo,” Ashveil quoted in a monotonous tone. “Who stands approximately 32cm tall.”

“That’s correct!”

“… Right…,” Something shifted on the Ashen Detective’s side. “And the voice. Notably similar to our producers.”

Caelus snorted in weak amusement and chirped in that false high-pitched tone. “All of us have been the biggest fans of Baseball Raccoon since the Fluffy series debuted. We’re still trying to see who would come up with the best imitation of Great Raccoon!”

On the other end of the call, Ashveil was silent for exactly two seconds, just long enough for Caelus to realize that his impersonation of Paraprince was roughly as convincing as Mister N trying to pass himself off as a houseplant.

Then the detective gave a low hum. “I see.”

The simple response was somehow more devastating than outright laughter.

Caelus doubled down. “We at Furbobocom Weekly pride ourselves on maintaining a professional relationship with all our business partners. So, we are conducting a surprise interview to ensure our star talent remains both emotionally stable and adequately hydrated.”

Ashveil hummed into his microphone. “Admirable initiative. And how may I assist the representative from Furbobocom Weekly?”

Caelus swallowed, and the rooftop suddenly felt very cold. He had gotten this far through momentum and sleep deprivation. Now that the spotlight was firmly on him, he had no idea what to say.

“Interview… What interview questions do they usually ask for their scoop?” Caelus thought to himself.

Eventually, a great idea hit the Trailblazer’s mind, and he put on his brightest, most professional fake voice. “Right! Our first question from Furbobocom Weekly. Mister BabyFaceWolf, how does it feel to reach 1,000,000 subscribers?”

On the other end of the call, Ashveil gave a thoughtful one-second pause to consider before he answered. “Surreal. I started this stream because my landlord insisted that my voice was marketable and that insomnia was an underserved demographic.”

The gray-haired young man felt the heat rise to his ears, but the Ashen Detective continued in a dry, unmistakably warm tone. “I expected perhaps a few dozen listeners. Certainly not 1,000,000.”

“Then,” Caelus asked, his voice a little steadier now, “What do you think is the reason so many people stayed?”

For a few moments of stillness, there was only the quiet crackle of the microphone. Then Ashveil answered. “Because they wanted to feel heard.”

And his voice softened gradually. “And… Perhaps someone believed in me long before I believed in this.”

Caelus forgot how to breathe, staring at the city lights, glad no one was looking up to see his face right now. He swallowed and pressed on, voice wavering despite his best efforts. “Furbobocom Weekly appreciates your thoughtful response. Second question. Have you… Enjoyed working with your producer?”

After several seconds of pause, the Trailblazer’s pulse began to pound in his ears. Ashveil then gave a low chuckle. “Very much.”

The simple answer landed harder than any elaborate speech could have.

“He is energetic to the point of recklessness. A magnet of trouble, which is occasionally alarming. And, he even manages to control those little Furbos under his thumb when the previous president left.” A quiet sigh left the older man’s lips before he went on. “But he is also kind, stubborn, and capable of seeing potential where others might overlook it.”

Caelus’s grip tightened around his phone.

“Since I met him, I have never been this hard-working a detective for Planarcardia.”

The words were spoken in plain honesty, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. When the gray-haired young man finally found his voice, it came out quieter than he intended. “That’s… Very nice of you to say, detective.”

“I am not being nice,” Ashveil’s reply was immediate. “I am being honest.”

The night breeze swept across the rooftop. Caelus pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes. His disguise, his avoidance, the careful distance he had spent days constructing—none of it seemed to matter anymore.

He laughed softly, acknowledging in Paraprince’s fake high-pitched voice. “Then, I’ll pass the message along to the Great Raccoon when he drops by! He will appreciate hearing your thoughts.”

As a loud yawn escaped from the Trailblazer, Ashveil snorted amusedly and prodded. “I didn’t know Furbos are still working overtime. Your boss is quite a demon there.”

“No, he isn’t,” Caelus scoffed automatically, still maintaining Paraprince’s cheerful falsetto by sheer stubbornness. “The Great Raccoon is a generous and benevolent employer who only occasionally swings a bat when employees commit grievous acts of journalistic misconduct.”

Ashveil’s low chuckle drifted through the speaker. “Such as?”

“Expense fraud. Unauthorized field trips. And mostly disguising themselves as others to be able to slack off on the clock.” Caelus snorted.

“Reasonable offenses.”

“Exactly!”

The detective let the brief humor settle before his voice softened again.

“Then why is this particular Furbo still awake at this hour?”

The question was phrased lightly, but there was no missing its intent. Caelus’s smile faded. The rooftop wind stirred his gray hair to play with it. “… Finding good scoops on time to save our company.”

However, Ashveil remained ignorant of the truth and lightly prodded again. “And if I were to ask the ‘Great Raccoon’ himself why you’re still awake?”

Caelus looked out over the city lights, shoulders slumping. The act had carried him this far, but under the steady warmth of Ashveil’s voice, it felt increasingly pointless. He exhaled softly. “… I couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?” The Ashen Detective asked without any hints of teasing in his voice.

‘Because I heard someone tell you that they loved you. How your voice and words save them. So, I thought the smartest thing I could do was walk away before I wanted something I had no right to ask for.’

Instead, the Trailblazer settled on something else that was comfortable for his tongue to speak each syllable. “Being a hero is also hard work for the Great Raccoon. How could I sleep when there are people out there needing his help?”

“Heh, sounds something like what those Nameless usually would do. Charging themselves right into business they shouldn’t be poking into,” Ashveil snickered dryly, but the concern beneath it was unmistakable. “Your boss sounds like exactly the sort of fool who forgets he’s allowed to rest.”

Caelus let out a short, quiet laugh despite himself. “Maybe.”

Below, the city lights shimmered like scattered stars. Above him, the real stars burned in indifferent silence. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Ashveil huffed fondly, and he decided. “Tell you what? Want to learn the fastest way to get knocked out to sleep? I can teach you right here and now. Free of charge from the host.”

“Now?” The Trailblazer raised an eyebrow dubiously from the advice, holding back his laughter to scowl playfully instead. “Do you want me to get a beating from the Great Raccoon if he finds out we’re sleeping on the job?!”

Ashveil’s soft chuckle drifted through the phone speaker, warm enough to send another traitorous flutter through Caelus’s chest. “I’m willing to take that risk.”

The response was so immediate and straight to the point that Caelus found himself smiling before he could stop it. “Very brave of you, detective. Do you offer this special coaching to your subscribers?”

Ashveil merely let out another chuckle, neither confirming nor denying. “Only because you and I have the same boss who runs the building. And, I have survived worse than this over countless amber eras.”

“Like six months of banana-only meals?”

“That was a strategic dietary adjustment before ‘Narrator’ puts a restriction.”

Caelus snorted. On the other end of the line, he could almost picture Ashveil leaning back in his chair, one gloved hand adjusting the microphone, the faintest smirk curving his lips.

“Now,” The detective continued, slipping into the same calm tone he used with his callers, “The first step is simple. Sit down.”

Caelus glanced around the empty rooftop. “I’m already leaning against the railing. Though… What if I really fall asleep? Are you ready to catch me?”

“Do you trust me?”

The Trailblazer went quiet. Below, Dovebrook shimmered. Above, the stars burned on.

“... Yeah, I believed in you.” The gray-haired young man mimicked the answer. Just as the older detective answered, his monkey assistant did too.

“Dangerous words, something you shouldn’t be telling to a big bad wolf that will eat you up. But, good enough. Next,” Ashveil instructed. “Put your phone on speaker and set it beside you.”

Caelus obeyed and set his phone on the ground so that the Ashen Detective’s voice flowed into the quiet air around him. “Done.”

“Close your eyes.”

He hesitated there, yet did as he was told.

The darkness behind his eyelids felt less lonely with Ashveil’s voice filling it. “Take a slow breath in.”

Caelus inhaled.

“Hold it.”

He did.

“And let it out.”

The tension in his shoulders loosened by a fraction. Ashveil continued speaking, each word unhurried. “Again.”

Caelus followed the instructions: Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

With every cycle, the knot that had been twisting tighter in his chest for days seemed to loosen. How strange, it’s been almost ten minutes since he had been talking to the detective, yet there’s still no one from the audience...

After a while, Ashveil’s voice grew softer. “Sometimes sleep isn’t what’s avoiding us.”

Caelus remained silent, eyes still closed.

“Sometimes,” Ashveil said, “We’re avoiding the thing that would let us rest.”

Caelus stayed very still.

The night breeze moved through his hair. Somewhere below, a hovercar drifted past in the distance. The stream played on from his phone on the ground, carrying Ashveil’s voice into the open air where it dissolved at the edges like everything else at this hour.

“... Yeah,” The Trailblazer acknowledged quietly, this time as himself. He could feel his body growing lax, and his eyes felt heavier to open. Huh… Who would’ve thought hearing an actual ASMR from this baby-faced detective would actually work…

But...

He still needed to check on the stream...

To be careful of how the audience reacted to this...

“Get some sleep, Caelus.” The words were spoken so gently that, for a moment, Caelus thought he might have imagined them. The use of his name in that low, familiar voice sent a warm ache through his chest.

He opened his mouth, perhaps to deny that he was tired, perhaps to say something brave and eloquent, perhaps to admit everything finally. What came out instead was a sleepy mumble. “… Okay.”

When Caelus finally allowed sleep to claim him, his body fell backward, unable to hold up its weight. Just before he hit the ground, the shadows on the ground formed into a monstrous jaw with its jagged mouth ready to devour the young man whole.

But instead, it cradled him gently to cushion his fall, allowing Ashveil to catch him without a sound. The shadow receded into his right prosthetic arm at the wrist. He looked down at the Trailblazer, who was sleeping soundly, and said nothing at first.

Then he exhaled softly to himself, moving his right prosthetic hand gently to stroke the Trailblazer’s cheek. “Still did not read the note I left for you... I told you that one of the streams will only be a private show for the two of us to talk.”

The Ashen Detective carefully muted the call line to end the stream, but not before he shifted his arms to adjust his hold on Caelus, then crossed the rooftop towards the door and returned to the detective agency for the rest of the night.

=0=

Before lunch hours arrived, Brucelee and Furlee burst through the front doors so quickly that they slid across the floor together to where the group of other Furbos was. “The detective is retiring from his streaming career! (And, right before reaching the three-month mark!).”

And Caelus, standing in front of the seated detective, had his mouth dropped wide open at the news, which smacked him in the face, by the said man himself. “You’re quitting to be a VStreamer?!”

Ashveil merely blinked once and stared at the younger man as if he had been expecting that reaction. “I said… That I am ‘concluding’ the streaming arrangement at the three-month mark, as we agreed.”

“That’s quitting!”

“That’s honoring the original contract.”

Brucelee and Furlee nodded emphatically beside him. “He is abandoning one million listeners! (And our ad revenue!).”

Mister N folded his arms. “Honestly, I was surprised myself when he told me this morning.”

The Furbo staff had already crowded into the office doorway. Furli clung to the doorknob with both paws. Joolyon scribbled notes at a pace usually reserved for celebrity scandals. Furblitzer gasped. “Is this because of creative differences?”

“Furblitzer, you can interview the detective later for your question—Wait…” Caelus stopped, then looked at Ashveil. Looked at the Furbos, and then back at the older detective again. “You planned this.”

Ashveil merely shrugged his shoulders and let out a yawn. “I’m running a detective agency here first and foremost, boss. Anticipating predictable reactions is part of the profession. Besides…”

Turning his head to the side, the Ashen Detective let his gaze drift toward the window, toward the gray Dovebrook morning doing its usual indifferent thing outside. “I never needed 1,000,000 people to listen to a hard-boiled detective’s pointless chatter at midnight.”

The office went quiet. And even Caelus and the Furbos were staring at him, Ashveil was still looking out the window, hands folded on the desk. “One is enough.”

“One…,” Caelus repeated. Behind him, every Furbo in the office collectively froze in place. Joolyon’s pen snapped in half. Furblitzer made a tiny squeaking sound that suggested they were one heartbeat away from fainting. Even Gemibo’s projected confetti animation stalled midair.

‘The detective folded his gloved hands atop his lap as if he had not just dropped a meteor into the middle of the room. The office went quiet again when that happened. And despite the stares he received, the detective wore an expression that said his piece, and was giving time to decide what to do with it for the—’

“Mmph!” Mister N’s mouth was stuffed with a half-eaten banana that Ashveil picked up from the table to shove into his assistant’s.

He let out an irritated grunt and warned. “One more word, ‘Narrator.’”

Mister N then chewed on his banana with a nonchalant hum, choosing to document this later when the dust had settled. Caelus’s brain, already running on inadequate sleep and several days of emotional avoidance, came to a complete and catastrophic halt.

‘One is enough.’

The words echoed through his head with all the subtlety of an Express locomotive. The Trailblazer opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. No coherent thought emerged.

Around him, the Furbos were reacting exactly as one would expect a room full of tiny gossip-loving journalists to react to a confession disguised as a contractual discussion. Furli clutched Furblitzer’s paw. “He said one!”

“THE one!” Furblitzer whisper-screamed back. Joolyon was writing so furiously that the pencil snapped in their paws. Without missing a beat, they pulled out another one. Gemibo’s projector sputtered back to life and immediately filled the ceiling with flashing neon hearts.

Brucelee and Furlee clung to each other in open tears. “This is the greatest scoop of our lives! (Our prize moment!).”

Caelus was still staring.

“Anyway,” Ashveil stood up from his seat and dusted his coat lightly. “To compensate for my sudden retirement and absence from the last celebration, early lunch is on me. My treat.”

The office erupted with another wave of unrestrained joy from the small group of Furbos.

“Lunch!” Furli shrieked, launching themselves into the air with enough force to spin twice before landing on Brucelee’s head.

“Paid for by the detective! (We are saved!).” Brucelee and Furlee cried in unison, tears of joy still streaming down their tiny faces.

Through all the chaos, Caelus remained rooted to the floor.

Ashveil had stepped around the scattered Furbos and was now standing close enough that the younger man could feel the faint chill clinging to his coat from the refrigerator. Gray eyes, still shadowed by fatigue, regarded him with an almost vulnerable honesty.

“You’re very quiet,” Ashveil observed.

Caelus blinked. Then, with a spectacular lack of dignity, he blurted, “You can’t just say something like that and then offer noodles!”

“What?” Ashveil tilted his head innocently. “You’re going to deny free food from your neighboring business partner who has been supporting your ventures?”

“That’s not—!” Caelus pointed at him. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“I’m not sure I do,” The Ashen Detective replied in a maddeningly calm tone for some reason. “Perhaps you could clarify.”

Opened and closed his mouth, the Trailblazer searched desperately for a response that would not embarrass him further. Unfortunately, his heart had already hijacked all higher brain function. “I… You… I… Ugh… Never mind!”

As the Furbos behind them were collectively still chittering about their upcoming feast, Ashveil’s lips curled into a fond smile, taking one step forward until there was barely any space left between them. “Let’s go, Caelus.”

Turning to where the older man stood, Caelus then saw his left gloved hand offered out to him, while his prosthetic right hand took his exquisite cane. For one suspended moment, he did nothing but stare at the outstretched hand.

The gesture itself was simple, understated, and entirely Ashveil.

‘Come with me.’

Caelus looked from the offered hand to the detective’s face. Ashveil’s expression remained composed, but there was something unmistakably uncertain in his dark eyes. A rare vulnerability that made the younger man’s chest ache.

Slowly, a warm smile spread across his face helplessly, but brighter than the morning sun spilling through the office window.

“Fine, you win.” Then Caelus slipped his hand into Ashveil’s. The detective’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly, as though reassuring himself that Caelus was really there.

Behind them, the office erupted. Furli launched into the air like a firework. “HE TOOK THE HAND!”

Brucelee and Furlee were sobbing openly. “The detective solved the case! (The case of his own heart!).”

Joolyon climbed onto a chair and began dictating at top speed. “Front page headline! ‘LOCAL DETECTIVE ARRESTS GREAT RACCOON FOR STEALING HIS HEART!’”

Hand in hand, they turned toward the door. The Furbos immediately swarmed around them like an overexcited escort procession. As they stepped out into the bright Dovebrook afternoon, Caelus glanced sideways at the detective beside him.

Ashveil met his gaze.

Neither of them said anything.

But their joined hands said more than enough.