Chapter Text
Floyd stared at the clock as though sheer determination could force the numbers to move faster.
11:59.
He bounced his leg impatiently.
11:59 and thirty seconds.
Come on.
The second the clock switched to 12:00, a grin spread across his face. He immediately turned toward Boom.
His boyfriend had returned completely exhausted after finishing his commitments with Kismet and had fallen asleep the moment his head touched the pillow. At this point, Floyd was fairly certain not even a marching band could have kept him awake.
Still...
Floyd gently nudged his shoulder.
“Mmm...” Boom frowned, barely reacting.
Not enough. Floyd tried again, a little softer this time.
“Dearest,” Boom mumbled into the pillow, “I love you very much, but unless the house is on fire, I really need to sleep.”
Floyd winced. That is fair. Boom looked like he hadn't slept properly in days.
“I know,” Floyd admitted. “Sorry. You’re right. Go back to sleep.”
He was already pulling away when Boom cracked one eye open. “Nope.”
“What?”
“You woke me up.” Boom pointed vaguely in his direction without lifting his head. “Now you have to tell me why.”
“You don’t have to stay awake.”
“I do,” Boom replied. “Because if I fall back asleep without knowing, my brain will spend the next hours inventing increasingly ridiculous possibilities.”
Despite himself, Floyd laughed. “Fine.” His smile widened. “It’s officially June first.”
Boom blinked. A second passed. Then another. “Oh.” A sleepy smile appeared on his face. “Pride Month.”
Floyd nodded eagerly. “Pride Month,” he repeated.
The fondness in Boom's expression softened even further. “Happy Pride Month, love.”
Floyd's smile somehow grew. “Happy Pride Month.”
Boom reached out blindly until he found Floyd's hand and squeezed it. “Why don’t you ask Hype to help with the decorations?” he suggested between yawns. “I’d love to help, but I’ve officially run out of battery.”
“That’s fair.”
“And we both know Hype has enough energy for the entire family.”
Floyd laughed. “True.”
“Possibly the entire neighborhood.”
“Also true.”
Boom yawned again. “Now go make everything rainbow-colored.”
Floyd leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Rest.”
With a light step, Floyd slipped out of the room and headed toward Hype’s door. He raised his hand to knock. The door flew open before his knuckles could touch the wood.
“FLOYD!”
Floyd nearly jumped.
“I was literally coming to get you!” Hype announced. “It’s time to make this house look like a rainbow exploded inside it.”
Floyd stared. “Hype... were you waiting behind the door?”
“Maybe.”
“Hype.”
“Maybe yes.”
Floyd laughed. “Come on, sweetpea. Let’s get the decorations.”
The two practically sprinted up to the attic. But the moment they arrived, they stopped short.
Trickee, Ablaze, and John were digging through boxes with the determination of archaeologists searching for a lost civilization.
“I know they’re up here somewhere!” John groaned, shoving another box aside and running a hand through his hair.
Ablaze emerged from behind a stack of containers covered in dust. “Found Christmas.”
“Wrong holiday.” Trickee said.
“What are you guys doing?” Hype asked, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you were asleep.”
The three turned toward them. For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then John pointed. “Do you know where the soccer decorations are?”
Floyd immediately crossed his arms. “The what?”
“The soccer decorations.”
“No.”
John blinked. “No, you don’t know where they are?”
“No, we’re not using them.”
A heavy silence fell over the attic.
Then Floyd gestured dramatically around them. “This is June. The rainbow cushions come out in June. The rainbow curtains come out in June. The Pride paintings come out in June. The flags come out in June.”
Ablaze threw his arms into the air. “But it’s the World Cup!”
“I don’t care.”
“The World Cup!”
“I heard you the first time.”
“The entire planet watches it!”
“The entire planet can watch it somewhere else.”
Ablaze looked personally offended.
John stepped forward, choosing diplomacy. “Okay. What if we make a small exception?”
“No.”
“A compromise?”
“No.”
“A tiny compromise?”
“No.”
John sighed. “You’re not even hearing the proposal.”
“I'm saving us both time.”
Trickee pinched the bridge of his nose. “Floyd, we’re talking about replacing a few decorations.”
“You are not replacing my rainbows with soccer balls, team crests, and giant flags.”
“We absolutely are.”
“You absolutely aren’t.”
Trickee smiled. It was never a good sign when Trickee smiled. “Sorry, Floyd.” His grin widened. “We’re the majority.”
Floyd pointed an accusing finger. “Not so fast. If I go wake up Boom, we tie.”
“Boom’s asleep,” Ablaze said.
“He would still vote for me.”
“That’s not how voting works.”
“It’s how this voting works.”
Trickee folded his arms. “I don’t think so.” Then he turned slowly toward Hype. “Hype.”
Hype straightened.
“You know where you belong.”
For the first time, uncertainty crossed Hype’s face.
Floyd immediately jumped in. “He doesn’t even like soccer.”
“That’s true,” Hype admitted.
Ablaze stroked his chin thoughtfully. “No.”
Floyd brightened.
“No,” Ablaze continued, “but he does like the snacks.”
Hype froze.
The attic fell silent.
Slowly. Very slowly. Hype turned toward Floyd. The look on his face was one of pure internal conflict.
Floyd pointed furiously at Ablaze. “That’s playing dirty!”
“We’re simply presenting the facts,” Trickee replied with flawless innocence.
“You weaponized food!”
“And it’s working.”
Hype looked at Floyd. Then at Trickee. Then back at Floyd. His eyes narrowed with the grave seriousness of a detective investigating a major crime.
“What kind of snacks?” he asked.
Floyd gasped. “Don’t you even think about it.”
“I am simply gathering information.”
“Information you don’t need.”
“Information that may influence my decision.”
“We’re not voting!”
“Of course we’re voting,” John said, crossing his arms. “This is a democracy.”
“Not when it comes to Pride decorations.”
“That sounds suspiciously authoritarian,” Trickee observed.
“And you sound suspiciously homophobic.”
The three stared at him. “What?!” they exclaimed in unison.
Floyd waved a hand. “I didn’t say you were homophobic. I said you sounded homophobic.”
“Johnny is bisexual and literally dating a cowboy!” Ablaze protested, pointing dramatically at John.
“And yet you’re still trying to take away my rainbows.”
“Because there's a World Cup!”
“It’s June!”
“It’s the World Cup!”
“It’s Pride Month!”
“Our national team is playing!” the three shouted.
“But I have new cushions!”
“We have a signed flag!”
“My flag is bigger!”
“We have five flags!”
“I have twenty!”
“THAT'S NOT THE POINT!” Hype exploded. His voice echoed through the attic.
Silence followed.
Everyone slowly turned toward him.
Hype blinked.For a brief moment, he seemed surprised that he had everyone’s attention. Then he pointed at Ablaze.
“So... about the snacks?”
“SHUT UP, HYPE!” the other four shouted in perfect unison.
Hype immediately raised his hands. “Okay, wow. Hostile environment.”
John stepped forward before the argument could spiral even further. “Listen. We can decorate for the World Cup and leave Floyd a small section of the house for Pride decorations.”
“No.” Floyd said immediately.
“Why not?” Trickee asked.
“Because this house is rainbow territory.”
“According to who?”
“Me.”
John crossed his arms. “And what authority do you have exactly?”
Floyd placed both hands on his hips. “By the authority granted to me by being fabulous.”
A heavy silence settled over the attic.
Ablaze frowned. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Of course it does.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Yes, it does.”
“How?”
“It just does.”
“That isn’t an explanation.”
“It doesn’t need to be.”
“Yes, it does!”
“No, it doesn’t!”
“YES, IT DOES!”
“NO, IT DOESN’T!”
“YES!”
“NO!”
“YES!”
“NO!”
The argument devolved at alarming speed.
Meanwhile, Hype quietly wandered away.
Nobody noticed.
A moment later, he returned carrying a half-open bag of chips.
Nobody questioned it. The others were still yelling.
“YOU CAN’T DECLARE YOURSELF KING OF PRIDE!”
“I’M NOT THE KING OF PRIDE!”
“THEN WHAT ARE YOU?”
“THE DECORATION COMMITTEE!”
“THAT’S NOT BETTER!”
Hype sat down on a nearby box.
“THE COMMITTEE HAS SPOKEN!”
“THERE IS NO COMMITTEE!”
“THERE IS NOW!”
Slowly, Hype adjusted his position until he was comfortably leaning against a stack of boxes. At some point he’d become less of a participant and more of an audience member.
“YOU CAN’T JUST INVENT AUTHORITY!”
“WATCH ME!”
The attic door suddenly swung open. Everyone froze. Even Hype stopped chewing.
Bruce stood in the doorway wearing twisted pajamas and an expression of profound confusion. His hair looked like he’d lost a fight with his pillow.
“Why,” he asked slowly, “can I hear you from my room?”
Behind him, Clay appeared, rubbing one eye. “Why are people yelling?” he mumbled.
Nobody answered.
The silence lasted exactly two seconds.
Bruce glanced around the attic. At the boxes. At the flags. At Floyd. At John. At Hype eating chips. His confusion only deepened.
“It's midnight,” he said. “What is happening?”
Floyd immediately pointed at John, Ablaze, and Trickee with all the dramatic flair of a lawyer presenting evidence to a jury.
“They want to replace my Pride decorations with soccer.”
“Because there’s a World Cup!” John argued.
“It’s important!” Ablaze added.
“Very important,” Trickee agreed.
“Extremely important,” John finished.
Bruce blinked. Once. Twice. Then he looked at Clay.
Clay looked back.
Neither of them seemed to know where to begin.
“Are you serious?” Bruce finally asked.
“Very.”
“Completely.”
“One hundred percent.”
“Absolutely.”
The answers overlapped into another burst of noise.
Clay pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to pretend that made sense.”
“Good luck,” Hype said around a mouthful of chips.
Before anyone could continue arguing, another figure appeared in the doorway.
Branch. He took one look at the crowd gathered in the attic and immediately looked concerned.
Behind him shuffled Boom. A blanket was wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. His eyes were half closed. His hair pointed in at least six different directions. He looked less like a pop star and more like a ghost who had been forced to attend a meeting.
“Is the house on fire?” Branch asked.
“No,” Floyd replied.
“Did somebody get hurt?”
“No.”
“Is there an emergency?”
“No.”
Branch stared. “Then why are you all screaming?”
Nobody had a good answer.
Boom immediately turned around. “Great. We’re going back to bed.”
He took exactly one step.
“WAIT!” Floyd and John shouted simultaneously.
Boom froze. Slowly, painfully, he turned his head. The sigh that escaped him was so deep it sounded ancient. It was the sigh of someone who had already been woken up twice tonight and knew with absolute certainty he was about to regret stopping.
“What?” he asked.
“We need your vote.”
“Our what?” Branch asked.
“Vote,” Floyd repeated.
Branch looked at Floyd. Then at John. Then at the boxes scattered throughout the attic.Then at Floyd again. His expression was a masterpiece of skepticism.
“I’m going to regret asking this, aren’t I?”
Bruce, still leaning against the doorframe, nodded solemnly. “Almost certainly.”
Clay sighed. “I already regret it, and nobody has explained anything yet.”
From his corner, Hype lifted his bag of chips. “Anybody want some?”
Every head turned toward him.
“No, sweetpea, thanks,” several voices answered at once. The response carried varying levels of exhaustion, affection, and disbelief.
Hype shrugged. “More for me.”
Branch closed his eyes. Slowly, he rubbed his temples. It looked less like a headache and more like an attempt to manually restart his brain.
“Okay,” he said. “Explain to me why the entire house, except Rhonda, is awake at midnight arguing about decorations.”
Nobody volunteered. Nobody raised a hand. Nobody took turns. Everyone started talking at once.
“Because it’s June!”
“Because it’s the World Cup!”
“Because it’s Pride Month!”
“Because we need country flags!”
“Because we have a signed jersey!”
“Because I bought new cushions!”
“Because there are snacks!”
Branch blinked. “Wait, what?”
“THERE ARE SNACKS!” Hype repeated.
“SNACKS ARE NOT THE ISSUE!” Floyd shouted, clutching his head.
“THEY ARE A VERY IMPORTANT ISSUE!”
“FOR YOU!”
“FOR EVERYONE!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Bruce slowly looked toward Clay. “Do you ever wonder if we’re related by coincidence?”
“All the time,” Clay answered.
Boom had remained silent throughout the entire exchange. He stood near the doorway, wrapped in his blanket. One side had slipped from his shoulder. He looked exhausted enough to fall asleep standing up. Still, he watched the argument unfold with surprising patience.
When he finally spoke, he didn’t t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. The room gradually quieted on its own.
“I'm not taking sides,” he said.
Ablaze immediately looked suspicious.
“But,” Boom continued, “you all know Floyd gets really excited about decorating for Pride Month.”
The room fell a little quieter.
“Every year,” Boom added.
Floyd’s lower lip immediately pushed forward into a pout. “Thank you.”
Boom pointed at him without looking. “Don’t make that face.”
“I wasn’t doing anything.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You absolutely were.”
Floyd smiled innocently. Nobody believed him. Then he pointed dramatically at the others. “Don't let them take my happiness away.”
John threw his hands into the air. “We are not taking your happiness away!”
Bruce pointed at John with an accusing finger. “Aren’t you supposed to be the responsible one?”
John looked offended. “I am the responsible one.”
“Then why are you awake at twelve-thirty in the morning arguing about decorations?”
“Because there are priorities.”
The answer came with such conviction that several people actually paused to process it.
Clay stared at him. Unblinking. “It is twelve-thirty in the morning, John Dory.”
“Exactly.” John nodded as though Clay had just strengthened his argument. “The World Cup is getting closer every day.”
Clay continued staring. “That doesn’t answer anything I just said.”
Bruce slowly crossed his arms. “I’m starting to think he’s beyond help.”
“Starting?” Branch asked.
Bruce considered it. “Fair.”
Branch let himself fall onto an old box. The cardboard groaned in protest. He didn’t care. “This is officially the dumbest thing I’ve heard all week.”
“We’re starting Monday, Bitty,” Clay reminded him.
Branch nodded. “Exactly.”
Ablaze folded his arms. “We just want to bring out the decorations.”
“The decorations that have been gathering dust for four years,” Floyd shot back.
“Because the World Cup happens every four years!” Trickee argued.
“That somehow makes it worse,” Branch replied.
“No, it doesn’t.”
“It really does.”
Meanwhile, John had resumed digging through boxes. His search was becoming increasingly frantic. One box. Another box. A third box. Nothing.
“Where are they?”
“Where are what?” Floyd asked innocently.
John froze. Slowly. Suspiciously. He turned toward him. “The decorations.”
Floyd's smile immediately became a problem. A slow smile. A dangerous smile. The kind of smile that practically came with warning labels.
“Hopefully buried under my flags.”
“I KNEW IT!” John shouted.
“You knew nothing!”
“You moved the boxes!”
“I never said that!”
“You implied it!”
“You can’t prove anything!”
“Why would you even do that?”
“Why would you leave soccer decorations in my attic?”
“OUR attic!”
“Debatable!”
“It’s literally not!”
“You sound nervous!”
“You sound guilty!”
“Suspiciously specific!” John accused, pointing dramatically.
“Suspiciously dramatic!” Floyd fired back.
Without realizing it, both of them had stepped closer. Both were pointing. Both were glaring. Both looked equally ridiculous.
Boom sighed. It was a deep, weary sigh. The sigh of a man who loved Floyd very much. “I’m going to need coffee.”
Clay immediately raised a hand. “I vote we all go back to sleep and continue this tomorrow.”
But Hype wasn’t listening anymore. His head was tilted back. His gaze was fixed somewhere near the attic ceiling. He looked like a philosopher contemplating the meaning of life.
“What snacks exactly?” he asked quietly.
“Hype,” Floyd warned.
“I am attempting to make an informed decision.”
“There is no decision to make.”
“There are several decisions to make,” Trickee corrected. A dangerous smile spread across his face. “For example: nachos or wings?”
Hype froze. “There are wings?”
The room fell silent. Everyone could practically hear Floyd's blood pressure rising.
Ablaze nodded. “We make them for the important games.”
“Important games,” Hype repeated.
“Very important games.”
Hype looked thoughtful. “And nachos?”
“Of course.”
“With cheese?”
“Obviously.”
“With extra cheese?”
Ablaze looked offended. “What kind of amateurs do you think we are?”
Hype placed a hand over his heart. “That’s beautiful.”
Floyd made a strangled noise. “Hype Sterling!”
Trickee immediately sensed weakness. “And mini hot dogs.”
Hype's eyes widened. “Mini hot dogs?”
“Yep.”
“Wrapped in pastry?”
“Sometimes.”
Hype sat up straighter. “Sometimes?”
“We rotate the menu.”
“The menu?”
“Depends on who’s playing.” John said.
Hype looked genuinely emotional. “There are themed menus?”
Floyd looked moments away from climbing the walls. “STOP ENCOURAGING HIM!”
“Nobody’s encouraging him,” Trickee replied. “We’re simply answering his questions.”
“You’re campaigning!”
“That’s what elections are.”
“THERE IS NO ELECTION!”
“There is now,” John declared.
“NO!”
Boom watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. Wrapped in his blanket, leaning against the doorway, he looked less like someone who had been dragged out of bed and more like a very tired king presiding over a deeply disappointing council meeting.
“Can we vote for a solution that makes everyone happy?”
To everyone’s surprise, there were no objections. No shouting. No dramatic speeches. No accusations of homophobia. No discussions about snacks. For the first time in what felt like hours, the attic fell silent.
Then Branch stood. The old box beneath him creaked in relief. “I have a proposal.”
Immediately, Floyd and John pointed at him. “Speak.”
Branch blinked. Then looked at both fingers aimed in his direction.
Slowly, they lowered their hands.
“Thank you,” Branch said. He rubbed his forehead. Took a breath. And began. “The kitchen gets decorated for Pride.”
Floyd’s face lit up instantly. “Excellent.”
“I’m not finished.”
The smile vanished. “So fast it was honestly impressive.”
“The living room gets decorated for the World Cup.”
John immediately brightened. “Thanks, Bitty.”
“I’m not finished either.”
John’s smile suffered the exact same fate.
From across the room, Floyd looked dangerously close to laughing.
Branch pointed toward both of them. “You two are making this harder than it needs to be.”
Neither had the decency to look guilty.
“The hallways get split evenly.” He pointed at Floyd. Then at John. Like a referee assigning sides before a match. “Half and half. No arguments.” Then he folded his arms. “And if either of you shouts again after one in the morning...”
The room went still. Everyone knew that tone.
“All the decorations go back into storage. Both sets.”
Ablaze gasped. John looked horrified. Trickee looked personally offended.
Floyd looked like he’d just witnessed a tragedy. “The attic?”
“The attic.”
“Until next year?”
“Until next year.”
The silence that followed was immediate. Absolute. Even Hype stopped eating. A chip remained halfway to his mouth.
“...That was terrifying,” Clay whispered.
“Very terrifying,” Bruce agreed.
“Extremely terrifying,” Ablaze added.
“Honestly impressive,” Trickee admitted.
Branch nodded. “Good.”
Boom gave an approving hum. “Perfect.” Then he pointed toward the attic stairs. “Now let’s all behave like adults and go back to sleep.”
Nobody argued. Nobody complained. Nobody even attempted a counterproposal. The meeting had clearly ended.
Everyone was already turning toward the stairs when Floyd suddenly raised a hand. “Wait!”
Several groans immediately answered him.
Branch closed his eyes. “No.”
“I haven’t even said anything yet.”
“You’ve lost that privilege.”
“I just need thirty seconds.”
Branch sighed. “Fine.”
Every head turned toward him. Some looked tired. Some looked curious. Hype looked hopeful. Mostly because there was still a small chance this somehow involved snacks.
Floyd straightened proudly. “I signed all of us up for the Pride parade.”
“You what?” Clay asked.
“Bobby already knows,” Floyd continued cheerfully. “He’s helping organize everything.”
“Floyd—”
“And before anyone complains,” Floyd interrupted, raising a finger, “it’s at the end of the month. You all have plenty of time to prepare outfits.”
Clay stared. “Floyd.”
“Yes?”
“I think you’re the only person here worrying about outfits.”
Floyd shot him a look. “That’s a very bold statement from someone who owns six identical vests.”
“They’re different vests.”
“They are absolutely not.”
“They are to me.”
“That’s because you’re weird.”
“Thank you.”
Trickee rubbed his forehead. “If we’re all going to the parade, then I think it’s only fair we watch the important World Cup matches together.”
Ablaze immediately pointed at him. “See? Finally. Someone reasonable.”
Clay shrugged. “Sounds fair.”
“Agreed,” Branch said.
“I’ll be there,” Bruce’s voice called from somewhere downstairs. Nobody was entirely sure where he was anymore.
The negotiations concluded with far less yelling than expected.
One by one, everyone drifted away. Doors opened. Yawns echoed down the hallway. The house slowly began settling back into silence.
Boom yawned. A massive yawn. The kind that nearly folded him in half. Then he pointed at Floyd with a blanket-covered finger.
“Why don’t you come back to bed, love?”
Floyd’s shoulders immediately relaxed. The fight was over. The decorations were safe. The parade was secured. Life was good.
“I promise I’ll help decorate tomorrow,” Boom added.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Floyd smiled. “Deal.”
Together they headed down the hallway. The noise of the others gradually disappeared behind closing doors.
For a while neither of them spoke. Then Boom yawned again. “Can you get me a Pride flag with your face on it?”
Floyd blinked. Once. Twice. “With my face?”
Boom nodded. Completely serious. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because thanks to the curse, I discovered I’m Floydsexual.”
Floyd stopped walking.
Boom kept walking. Apparently unaware that he’d just said something ridiculous.
Floyd stared. “...You’re what?”
“Floydsexual.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
Boom sounded so matter-of-fact that Floyd almost believed him. Then he laughed. A soft, helpless laugh. Shaking his head, he leaned over and kissed Boom’s cheek.
“Whatever you say, sunshine.”
Boom looked extremely pleased with himself. “Great.” He opened the bedroom door. “I’m buying a shirt too.”
“A shirt?”
“With your face.”
“Boom!”
“Maybe two.”
“BOOM!”
By then Floyd was laughing too hard to sound genuinely offended.
Boom simply crawled into bed, dragging the blanket with him like a victorious conqueror. “Goodnight, dearest.”
“Goodnight, you menace.”
“Love you too.”
*****************************
The living room had undergone a peculiar transformation. One half remained unmistakably Floyd’s territory: rainbow flags, colorful curtains, sequined cushions, Pride banners, and even a small neon sign that proudly declared “Love is Love.”
The other half belonged entirely to John, Trickee, and Ablaze. Country flags hung from the walls, scarves draped over furniture, and enough soccer memorabilia had appeared to suggest someone had robbed a sporting goods store.
Somehow, against all odds, it worked. Not well. But it worked. The room looked like a themed shop that couldn't decide what it was celebrating. There was something oddly charming about that.
Floyd stepped back to admire a rainbow cushion he’d just adjusted. Then his gaze landed on a decorative soccer ball hanging from a lamp. His nose wrinkled immediately.
“I still think the balls ruin the aesthetic.”
Across the room, John was adjusting a Mexican flag. Without even looking up, he replied: “And I still think your cushions have too many colors.”
Floyd stared at him. “John.”
“Yes?”
“That’s literally their purpose.”
“I know.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because it bothers you.”
“Fair.”
Ablaze grinned. “See? This is exactly why we needed the World Cup decorations. For balance!”
“I don't t think you understand how balance works.” Floyd pointed dramatically toward the lamp. “That thing is hanging from the ceiling.”
Before Floyd could continue, Boom appeared behind him carrying a plate piled high with nachos. Without a word, he deposited it directly into Floyd’s hands.
“Eat.”
Floyd blinked. Then looked at the plate. Then at Boom. Then back at the plate.
“Thanks, sunshine.”
“You’re welcome.”
A moment of peace settled over the room. Floyd grabbed a nacho. Another. A third.
The silence stretched.
Boom allowed himself to relax. Maybe the crisis was over.
“The balls still look horrible.”
Boom closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Floyd Valtren.”
Floyd immediately held up a nacho. “I’m eating, sunshine. See? Now I’m quiet, and I promise you I’ll stop complaining.”
Meanwhile, the coffee table had completely disappeared. Technically it was still there. Nobody could see it anymore.
The surface was buried beneath mountains of food. Nachos. Wings. Mini hot dogs. Three different kinds of popcorn. French fries. Cookies. Sodas. A fruit salad that nobody had touched. And a bowl of cheese dip so large it looked capable of supporting its own ecosystem.
Hype stared at the feast with shining eyes. His expression bordered on spiritual. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered.
Bruce glanced at the table. Then at Hype. Then back at the table. “It’s food.”
“Exactly.” The reverence in Hype’s voice suggested Bruce had just proven his point.
At that moment, the front door burst open.
“We're here!”
Poppy entered first carrying a tray of desserts. Behind her came Viva, Brandy, and Hickory, all balancing containers and bags.
“We brought more food,” Viva announced proudly.
She placed a massive container on the table. Or at least she attempted to. There wasn’t actually any room.
Clay watched the process unfold. He looked at the table. Then at the container. Then at the table again. The realization slowly dawned on him.
“Why is there more food?”
Viva blinked. “Because Hype said there wasn’t enough.”
The room fell silent. Every head turned toward Hype. The table was already overflowing. There wasn’t t a single free inch left. Even the fruit salad seemed overwhelmed.
Branch crossed his arms. “Hype Sterling.”
“Yes?”
“There is enough food here to feed a small city.”
Hype considered this carefully. Then nodded. “Yes.”
Branch waited. “So?”
“What if more people come?”
“Who?” Branch asked.
“I don’t know.” Hype gestured vaguely toward the universe. “People.”
“There are no people.”
“There could be.”
“There won’t be.”
“You don’t know that.”
Branch opened his mouth. Closed it. Then looked away. For once, he had no argument.
“I promise I’ll finish all of it,” Hype added solemnly.
Hickory studied the table like a military commander evaluating troop positions. Finally, he nodded. “I choose to believe my son.”
“Same,” John agreed immediately.
“Thank you,” Hype said.
“You’re welcome.”
Brandy rested her cheek on one hand and smiled. “You two are adorable.”
“No,” John and Hickory replied simultaneously.
Same tone. Same timing. Same expression. The resemblance was honestly alarming.
“Yes, you are,” Bruce replied without looking up from his drink.
“No, we’re not.”
“You answered at the same time again.”
“That’s a coincidence.”
“That was definitely not a coincidence,” Branch muttered.
Poppy laughed and carefully searched for a place to set down her brownies. After several seconds, she gave up.
“There is literally nowhere to put these.”
“Move the nachos,” Viva suggested.
The reaction was immediate. Hype clutched the tray of nachos to his chest. “Don’t touch my nachos.”
“Sweetpea,” Boom said patiently.
Hype narrowed his eyes. Protective. Suspicious. Possibly feral.
Boom sighed. “No one is going to take your nachos.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Only then did Hype reluctantly lower the tray. Still, he kept one hand resting protectively on it. Just in case.
The television announced the start of the ceremony. Before anyone could protest, Ablaze grabbed the remote and turned the volume up. The roar of the stadium flooded the room.
Gradually, conversations faded. One by one, everyone settled into place. John claimed one end of the couch immediately. Hickory sat beside him, back straight and eyes fixed on the screen, looking ready to personally participate in the tournament if necessary. Trickee and Ablaze occupied the center of the couch, each armed with a bag of chips.
Clay ended up on the floor beside Viva, leaning against the couch with his legs stretched out. Viva immediately stole one of his fries. Clay didn't even react. It clearly wasn't the first time.
Bruce settled into the armchair. Brandy perched on the armrest beside him so naturally it looked like she'd always belonged there. Branch remained standing for a few moments, surveying the crowded room. Then Poppy quietly tugged on his sleeve. Without argument, he sat beside her on the floor. Floyd eventually claimed the opposite end of the couch and immediately leaned against Boom. And Hype...
Hype had positioned himself beside Rhonda. Not near the snacks. Not close to the snacks. Directly adjacent to the snacks. Strategically adjacent.
Rhonda rested her head on his legs.
One of Hype's hands absently scratched behind her ears. The other hovered suspiciously close to a plate of mini hot dogs. Like a dragon guarding treasure.
“Ready,” he whispered. The tone suggested he was preparing for a life-changing event.
The ceremony began. Lights exploded across the stadium. Music thundered through the speakers. Dancers crossed the field beneath fireworks that painted the sky with color.
Even Floyd found himself watching. For a moment, he forgot to complain. Forgot to argue. Forgot to criticize soccer decorations.
“It’s pretty,” he admitted quietly.
The reaction was immediate. John’s head snapped around so fast it was almost concerning.
“Pretty?”
“Yes.”
“Pretty?” Trickee repeated, clutching his chest dramatically.
Floyd frowned. “What?”
“That’s your review?”
“It is pretty.”
Ablaze looked horrified. “It’s historic.”
“It’s pretty.”
“Historic.”
“Pretty.”
“Historic.”
“Pretty.”
“Historic!”
“Very pretty.”
Ablaze looked personally attacked.
Around the room, several people exchanged looks. Bruce narrowed his eyes. Hickory slowly shook his head. Branch looked ready to leave again. Boom closed his eyes.Then released a long sigh.
The sound alone was enough. The argument died instantly. Nobody wanted to be responsible for making Boom sigh twice.
Three seconds passed.
Then Hype spoke. “Historic and pretty.”
Everyone turned toward him.
Hype didn't look up. He was focused on the television. And on Rhonda. And on a french fry. Mostly on the french fry.
“Can we watch the game now?” He handed the fry to Rhonda. “She agrees with me.”
Rhonda accepted the fry without objection.
Branch snorted. Poppy disguised her laugh with a cough.
Nobody argued.
On the screen, the presentation of the participating teams began. Flags filled the stadium. Colors flowed through the stands like waves. Music echoed through the speakers, so powerful it almost seemed to vibrate through the living room itself.
For a while, nobody spoke.
Everyone watched. Everyone shared the same moment. The soccer fans. The people who had come to support the soccer fans. The people who didn’t understand soccer at all. And the people who were mostly there for the food.
Brandy smiled softly and rested her cheek on Bruce’s shoulder. “It really does bring people together, doesn’t it?”
Bruce looked around the room. At the crowded couch. At the snacks. At the family gathered together.
Then he nodded. “Yeah.”
“I suppose it does,” Floyd admitted. The word suppose sounded physically painful for him.
John immediately turned toward him. “You suppose?”
Floyd narrowed his eyes. “Don’t get excited.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were thinking about it.”
“I absolutely was.”
Floyd pointed a warning finger at him. “I still think my decorations are better.”
John smiled. Not smugly. Not triumphantly. Just a small smile. “And I still think the World Cup is better.”
“Agree to disagree?”
“Agree to disagree.”
For a second neither moved. Then they both stood at the exact same time. The timing was so identical that several people noticed. They met in front of the television. And shook hands. Firmly. Like two diplomats signing a treaty after months of negotiations.
“Happy Pride Month,” John said.
Floyd blinked. The answer surprised him enough that he hesitated. Then he smiled. “Enjoy the World Cup.”
The room collectively relaxed. Peace had finally been achieved. Then—
“RHONDA VALTREN!”
The shout nearly rattled the windows.
Everyone jumped. Heads whipped around.
Hype stood beside the coffee table. Frozen. Horrified. Heartbroken. In one hand he held an empty napkin. In front of him sat Rhonda.
The puppy was licking barbecue sauce from her muzzle with absolutely fake innocence. Not a single trace of the wing remained. Only a suspicious puddle of sauce on the floor.
The room fell silent.
Hype pointed. Slowly. Accusingly. “I was going to eat that.”
Nobody spoke.
“I had plans for that wing.”
The silence broke. Laughter erupted throughout the room.
“It’s funny to you?” Hype asked, scandalized.
“Yes,” Branch answered immediately.
“Very funny,” Bruce agreed.
“I had been saving it!”
“For when?” Clay asked.
“The right moment!”
“The right moment?” Hickory repeated.
Hype nodded.
The laughter only got worse.
Rhonda’s tail wagged happily. Completely unrepentant.
Hype looked down at her.
She tilted her head.
“You betrayed me.”
Rhonda licked the air.
“You knew it was mine.”
More tail wagging.
“Very mean.”
The puppy barked.
Hype’s expression softened immediately. The betrayal clearly had limits. “...But I love you so much, princess.” He dropped onto the floor beside her.
Rhonda immediately crawled into his lap.
“See?” Viva laughed. “She isn’t even sorry.”
“No,” Hype agreed, kissing the top of her head. “She’s lucky she’s cute.” Then he grabbed a handful of popcorn in consolation.
The television erupted as the match finally kicked off. Someone dimmed the lights. Conversation settled into murmurs. Laughter faded into smiles.
And surrounded by snacks, flags, rainbow decorations, soccer chants, and far more food than any family realistically needed, everyone settled in to enjoy the game together.
****************************
The music echoed through the avenue. Flags danced in the wind. People filled the streets in an endless river of color, laughter, and celebration. The sun shone overhead as if it had personally received an invitation. Their float rolled slowly forward while the crowd waved, cheered, and called greetings from both sides of the street.
“This is officially the best day of the year!” Floyd announced over the music. For the fifth time. In the last hour.
Clay raised a finger. “You said that at Christmas.”
“And Halloween,” Branch added from beneath a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses.
“And your birthday,” Bruce said.
Floyd placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “You all make excellent points.” He paused. “Unfortunately, I’m still right.”
John snorted. “I can’t believe you convinced us to wear matching outfits.”
Floyd turned toward him immediately. “Convinced?” His eyebrow rose. “John Dory Valtren, I showed you one picture.”
“I was distracted.”
“You said yes.”
“There was a game on.”
“You verbally agreed.”
“There was a World Cup game on.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
“I don’t think that’s how consent works,” John informed him, pointing a finger. “Not when soccer is involved.”
Floyd gasped. “You’re saying soccer impaired your judgment?”
“Obviously.”
“That’s the strongest argument against soccer I’ve ever heard.”
Ablaze laughed so hard he nearly dropped his flag.
Beside John, Hickory wrapped an arm around his waist. “Looks like your brothers found your weakness, mousie.”
John groaned dramatically and let his head fall against Hickory’s chest. “Traitors.”
“Victim of a terrible conspiracy?” Hickory asked.
“The worst.”
“You poor thing.”
“Thank you for understanding.”
“I always do.”
The grin John gave him was immediate. And completely unrepentant.
Hickory looked at him for a moment. Then at the outfit. Then back at him. “Well,” he said, voice softening, “for what it’s worth, I think you look incredibly handsome, John Dory Valtren.”
John’s entire expression melted. The dramatic suffering disappeared instantly. “Thanks, cowboy.” His smile widened. “But if you really want to make me feel better... I think a kiss would help.”
Several groans erupted immediately.
“Get a room,” Trickee added.
“We are literally outside,” John pointed out.
Hickory chuckled. “You know,” he said, cupping John’s cheek, “most people would be embarrassed.”
“Most people aren’t me, and most people aren’t dating you.”
Hickory laughed. “Good answer.” Then he leaned down and kissed him.
The cheers were immediate. Whistles erupted from the crowd. Someone shouted something unintelligible. A group further down the avenue started applauding. Another started chanting.
John pulled back just enough to grin. “See?”
“See what?”
“The people support my decisions.”
“The people support kissing.”
“Same thing.”
“That is absolutely not the same thing.”
At the front of the float, Brandy watched the crowd with open fascination. Flags waved in every direction. Glitter sparkled in the sunlight. Music echoed through the avenue. Everywhere she looked, people were smiling. Laughing. Celebrating. It felt less like a parade and more like happiness taking physical form.
“Is it always like this?” she asked softly.
Bruce stepped beside her. Shoulder against shoulder. “More or less.”
Brandy laughed. “More or less?”
“Okay, maybe a little more chaotic.”
“A little?”
“A lot.”
“That sounds more honest.”
Bruce grinned. For a moment they simply watched the crowd together. Every so often, someone recognized him. A shout would rise above the music. Hands would wave. Bruce would wave back. Smile. Pose for a picture. Then return to Brandy's side as naturally as breathing. Like that was where he belonged.
“It’s incredible,” Brandy said.
Bruce glanced at her. “You say that like you’ve never seen a crowd before.”
“Not one this happy.” Her fingers brushed the railing. “At least not since your concert at the festival.”
Bruce’s smile softened. The sunlight caught Brandy’s hair. The music faded into the background. Or maybe he just stopped paying attention to it.
“You know...” he began. His voice lowered automatically. Not because the music was loud. Because somehow every conversation with Brandy ended up feeling private. “Crowds make me happy.”
Brandy looked at him. “But?”
“But nothing beats having you here.”
Her expression softened immediately.
Bruce squeezed her hand. “Seriously, Brandy.” He laughed quietly. “I spent years performing for thousands of people.” His thumb brushed over her knuckles. “And somehow the thing that makes me happiest is turning around and finding you next to me.”
Brandy felt warmth rush into her cheeks. “You really are impossible, heartthrob.”
Bruce smiled. “No.” His answer was immediate. Certain. “I’m serious.” The teasing faded from his voice. “You’ve made my life better.”
Brandy’s smile softened. “So have you.”
Neither looked away.
“I love you,” Bruce said.
“I love you too.”
She leaned forward first. Their kiss was gentle. Brief. Perfect.
The crowd reacted as if they had just scored a winning goal. Cheers erupted. Someone whistled. Confetti flew through the air.
Neither of them noticed.
A few feet away, Floyd placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “Oh, that’s adorable.”
“Leave them alone,” Boom said.
“I’m not doing anything!”
Boom raised an eyebrow. “Not yet.”
Floyd looked offended. “I can’t believe you think so little of me.”
Boom stared. Floyd stared back. The silence lasted two seconds.
“Fair,” Floyd admitted with a smile.
Boom shook his head, but couldn’t hold back a small smile. He looked down at his shirt. The shirt. His masterpiece. The one proudly displaying the word “Floydsexual” across the front. He brushed a hand across it. Admiring his work.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I still think this shirt is brilliant.”
Floyd laughed. “You would.”
“No, really.” Boom pointed toward the crowd. “Look at all these people.”
“Okay?”
“I give it an hour before someone posts about it online.”
“Only one?”
Boom considered. “Thirty minutes.”
Floyd smiled. “And you’re not worried about competition?”
“Competition?”
“Other Floydsexuals.”
Boom looked genuinely confused. Then he laughed. “No.”
“Very confident.”
“Extremely.” Boom slid an arm around Floyd’s waist. Pulled him closer. The movement was effortless. Natural. “Because at the end of the day,” he said quietly, “the real Floyd Valtren comes home with me.”
For once, Floyd didn’t have a clever comeback. Didn’t tease. Didn’t joke. He just smiled. Slowly. Warmly.
“And don’t you forget it, sunshine.” Then he leaned in and kissed him.
Behind them, Hype was halfway through a rainbow ice pop. He watched all of this unfold with growing confusion. Finally, he turned toward Trickee.
“Why is everyone kissing today?”
Trickee didn’t even look up from his drink. “It’s Pride Day, Hype.”
“Oh.” Hype considered that carefully. Then took another bite of his ice pop. “Okay.” A pause. “That explains a lot.”
Trickee smiled. “Does it?”
“Not really.”
At the other end of the float, Viva and Clay waved at the crowd between bursts of laughter. Or rather, Viva waved. Clay was mostly attempting to keep up.
Every time someone shouted their names, Viva waved back with enough enthusiasm for three people. Sometimes five. And every single time, her excitement proved contagious. Even Clay found himself smiling more than usual.
“Look!” Viva exclaimed for what was probably the twentieth time. “They’re waving back!”
“That’s generally how waving works.”
Viva gasped dramatically. “You don’t have to ruin the magic.”
“Sorry.”
“You should be.” Viva bumped her shoulder against his.
Then, in the middle of all the noise and music, she stopped waving. Without warning, she slid her hand across the railing until it found his. Clay immediately looked down. Their fingers brushed. Then intertwined. Effortlessly. As if neither of them had needed to think about it.
His thumb traced a small circle over the back of her hand. A tiny gesture. One that made Viva smile immediately.
When Clay looked up, she was already staring at him. “What?”
“Nothing.” The smile on her face suggested otherwise.
“You’re smiling.”
“So are you.”
Clay opened his mouth. Closed it. Then smiled a little wider. Viva looked absurdly pleased with herself.
For a few seconds, the music, the crowd, and the cheering faded into the background. The float could probably have caught fire. Neither of them would have noticed.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the float, Hype was attempting to distribute gifts to the crowd.
Attempting being the important word.
The operation was being coordinated by Trickee and Ablaze, who handed him bracelets, keychains, stickers, and rainbow-colored ice pops with the urgency of emergency responders.
Unfortunately, Hype’s accuracy left much to be desired. Half the gifts reached the crowd. The other half landed somewhere on the float. And a concerning percentage ended up in Rhonda’s possession.
“Hype!” John shouted.
Hype immediately froze.
“Don’t give my daughter any more treats!” John pointed accusingly toward Rhonda.
The puppy was happily chewing something that definitely hadn’t been intended for her.
“If she gets sick, you’re taking her to the vet!”
“It’s just an ice pop,” Ablaze argued. Though notably, he was already hiding the remaining ice pops behind his back.
“And half a hot dog,” Hype admitted.
John stared. “Half?”
“The other half was mine.”
Rhonda wagged her tail. Completely unbothered.
Ablaze shrugged. “Relax, Johnny. We all know that if Rhonda gets sick, you’ll spend the entire night taking care of your favorite daughter anyway.”
John opened his mouth. Immediately. Offended. Ready. Prepared.
Then Hickory casually wrapped an arm around his waist. “You heard your dad.”
The words stopped John cold. Ablaze and Trickee blinked.
Hickory smiled. Slow. Dangerous. “Listen to him.” His gaze shifted toward Ablaze and Trickee. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”
The silence lasted exactly one second.
Then Trickee doubled over laughing.
Ablaze groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on.”
“What?” Hickory asked innocently.
“You enjoy saying that.”
“I absolutely do.”
“That’s weird.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
Hickory wasn’t even slightly ashamed. Beside him, John was trying very hard not to smile. Failing miserably.
“You love it,” Hickory whispered.
“Don’t start.”
“Too late.”
“Cowboy.”
“Mousie.”
John sighed. The sigh of a man who knew he had already lost the conversation.
“Hype!” Floyd’s voice cut across the float.
Hype looked up immediately. “What?”
“You just hit Branch with another bracelet!”
Hype blinked. Then looked toward Branch. Then toward the crowd. Then back toward Branch.
“It was an accident!”
“Your honor,” Trickee said, placing a hand over his chest, “my client is innocent.”
“It was clearly the wind,” Ablaze agreed.
“There is no wind,” Floyd replied.
“There was emotional wind.”
“That doesn’t mean anything!”
“It means a lot to us.”
Across the float, Branch slowly pulled a rainbow bracelet out of his hair. The third one in ten minutes. He held it up between two fingers. Studied it. Then looked at Hype.
The smile Hype had been wearing vanished immediately.
Viva burst out laughing. Clay followed a second later. Even Bruce snorted. A few moments after that, Branch found himself laughing too.
Because honestly? He probably looked ridiculous.
Poppy, who had been watching the entire exchange with increasing satisfaction, leaned slightly toward him. “You’re having fun.”
“No.”
“Branch.”
“No.”
“Branchifer.”
There was a pause. Branch stared at her. Poppy smiled sweetly. The battle was already over.
“...Maybe a little.”
Poppy’s face lit up. “Aha!”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
Before Branch could answer, Poppy had already pulled out her phone. Click. A photo.
Branch narrowed his eyes. “Poppy.”
“I’m preserving memories.”
“You are gathering evidence.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“Poppy.”
She looked down at the screen. The smile widened. “Oh, this one’s going in the album.”
“Singular?”
Poppy laughed. “For several albums, actually.”
“Poppy.”
“And maybe framed.”
“Poppy.”
“Possibly enlarged.”
“Poppy Summers.”
“Maybe a canvas print.”
“POPPY.”
By now, she was barely listening. She was zooming in on the picture with the concentration of a professional artist.
“Look at this smile.”
“I hate this.”
“You absolutely do not.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“I really do.”
“You smiled.”
Branch opened his mouth. Closed it again. Because unfortunately, she had evidence.
Poppy held up the photo triumphantly: Branch laughing. A bracelet tangled in his hair. Viva laughing beside him. The parade in the background.
It was a pretty good picture.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered.
“I know.”
“And you’re keeping that forever, aren’t you?”
“Oh, forever is the minimum.”
Branch closed his eyes. Then released a long sigh. The kind of sigh that came from accepting fate.
Somewhere nearby, Clay patted his shoulder. “There’s no point fighting it.”
“I know.”
“She’s already planning the scrapbook.”
“It’s color-coded,” Poppy informed them proudly.
Branch groaned.
Poppy’s smile only grew brighter.
At that moment, Floyd raised his flag high above his head. “FAMILY PHOTO!”
Seven brothers groaned in perfect unison. The synchronization was honestly impressive.
Boom, leaning against the railing, laughed outright. “You practiced that.”
“No, we didn’t,” John replied immediately.
“That’s exactly what someone who practiced would say.”
“FAMILY PHOTO!” Floyd repeated. Then he pointed dramatically at everyone. “AND I WILL NOT BE ACCEPTING COMPLAINTS!”
“You can’t force us,” Branch said. Despite this, he was already walking toward the center of the float.
“Yes, I can.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Floyd smiled. “Everyone move. Come on!”
Around them, people reluctantly began gathering. Clay and Branch complained the entire way. Bruce, Boom and Ablaze complained while laughing. John and Trickee complained because everyone else was complaining. Hype complained because someone had interrupted his ice pop.
Meanwhile, the significant others looked completely unsurprised. Poppy, Viva, Brandy, and Hickory were already holding their phones up. Prepared. Ready. Patient. Like professionals who had witnessed this exact scenario dozens of times before.
“See?” Floyd said triumphantly. “Even they knew.”
“That’s because you announce family photos like natural disasters,” Clay replied.
“PHOTO FORMATION!” Floyd shouted.
“That sentence proves my point.”
Amid laughter, complaints, affectionate shoves, and at least one flying bracelet, everyone eventually crowded together.
Rhonda immediately claimed the front row. Without permission. Without discussion. As if she owned the float. Which, honestly, she kind of did.
Hype squeezed into the group at the last second. Still holding his rainbow ice pop. “Should I keep the ice pop?”
“No,” several people answered.
Hype considered this. Then kept the ice pop anyway.
“Ready?” Poppy called.
Nobody was ready.
The photo was taken. At the exact moment the camera clicked, John looked away.
“Again!” Floyd shouted.
The second photo captured Ablaze mid-blink. The third captured Trickee laughing. The fourth captured Bruce looking at Brandy instead of the camera. The fifth captured Rhonda attempting to lick the lens.
“Again!” Floyd demanded.
“Floyd,” Branch warned.
“One more!”
“Floyd.”
“Just one!”
“Floyd.”
“Okay, maybe two.”
The groans returned immediately.
Eventually, after far more photos than necessary, one final picture was taken. Nobody was perfectly centered. Half the group was laughing. Someone was definitely blinking. Rhonda’s tail was a blur. And Hype was still holding the ice pop.
It wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t elegant.
It wasn’t even particularly organized.
But it was them.
Messy. Loud. Ridiculous. Happy.
For a moment, Floyd looked around at all of them. His brothers. Their partners. Their friends.
Their family.
The people who had filled every corner of his life with love, chaos, and enough stories to last a lifetime.
His eyes shone.
Then, before anyone could take the last photo without him, he darted back into the middle of the group.
“Move over!”
“You were already in the picture!”
“Not enough!”
“That’s not how pictures work!”
“It is when I’m fabulous!”
The flash went off.
Laughter followed.
And as the float continued rolling through the sea of music, colors, and celebration, Floyd looked at the photo afterward and smiled.
Imperfect. Chaotic. Completely ridiculous.
It’s perfect.