Chapter Text
The main group chat was a total mess, scrolling by so fast it was almost impossible to read. Even though every single one of them had moved to the USA and lived in the same country now, their mixed backgrounds and wildly different sleep schedules meant the chat was an absolute twenty-four-hour disaster zone. Lookout was sending completely unhinged, chaotic messages, typing in broken all-caps while crashing around his room. Right underneath his texts, Twixxel was spamming historical memes and typing out paragraph-long, hyper-specific facts about World War II tank armor and German military strategies, his German roots showing in his absolute hyper-fixation on precision.
But while the main chat was a loud disaster, a completely different, high-panic conversation was happening in the private direct messages.
Mob's hands were shaking so badly he could barely hit the right keys on his screen. He pulled his knees up to his chest under his blankets, staring at his phone in absolute despair before typing out a frantic message to the only person he trusted with this secret.
"Mob":- grox help me please twixxel just texted a picture of a kitten in the main chat and said "this is us" i am literally going to pass out right now on my floor
"GroxMC":- Bro chill. You are stressing over a cat meme. Just reply with something dry and pretend you didn't notice. Look at my situation instead. Lookout is literally spamming thirty-second voice notes laughing like an actual maniac, and I am ninety-nine percent sure he is already on his second or third beer. I swear the guy is completely mentally insane but why is he so cute?? I actually cannot do this tonight.
"Mob":- at least you can type normally without typos im literally shaking under my blankets right now because he keeps tagging me
"GroxMC":- We are both completely down bad. Just keep it on the lowdown, act normal, and do not say a single word about any of this in the main chat.
Suddenly, the text messages cut off as a massive, incoming group voice call flashed across all of their screens. Lookout had officially started a live call, and the loud, aggressive ringtone started buzzing through everyone's phones simultaneously. One by one, they all started clicking join, braced for the impact of entering a digital war zone.
The second the call connected, Lookout’s voice blasted through the speakers with pure, chaotic energy, accompanied by the distinct sound of things rattling around in his room. Even though he was living in the States now, his chaotic energy and loud Arabic phrases still flew out whenever he was completely out of his mind.
"Lookout":- YALL! LALALALA! LISTEN TO ME RIGHT NOW! We are doing a sleepover. TONIGHT. At my house. No excuses from anybody, everyone is packing their bags and coming over right this second or I am literally going to drive over and throw a brick straight through your bedroom windows! I already have the bricks in my car, I am not joking with you guys!
"Twixxel":- JA! Let's go! This is the perfect idea! I am going to pack all the energy drinks and snacks right now, and when I get there, we can finally watch that three-hour documentary on the Battle of Stalingrad that I've been talking about all week! Nobody is allowed to sleep! If you close your eyes, I will blast military marches directly into your ears!
"Mob":- U-um... okay, I guess I can come over... if everyone else is going.
The moment Mob spoke, his voice cracked slightly from pure anxiety. Across the call, Twixxel immediately let out a loud, booming laugh, his German accent thick and incredibly enthusiastic.
"Twixxel":- Excellent! Mob is coming! Mob, I am going to bring the extra large blanket just for you because I know you always get cold hiding in those massive hoodies of yours! We are going to sit right next to each other and eat so much pizza!
Hearing those words echo through his phone speakers, Mob felt his entire face instantly burst into heat. He blushed so hard that his skin felt like it was physically radiating fire under his blankets. The crimson flush rushed from his cheeks down to his neck and up to the tips of his ears, turning him a vibrant, dark scarlet. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face so deep into his pillow that he almost choked on the fabric, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He couldn't even form words to reply, completely paralyzed by how intense his blush was.
"GroxMC":- Yeah, sure. I'm down. Sounds chill.
Grox spoke up quickly, his deep, smooth, and icy voice cutting through the noise, effectively saving Mob from having to unmute his mic while he was still burning alive from blushing. On the inside, Grox was losing his mind over Lookout's screaming, but his voice remained as cold and dry as winter.
Then, the call went completely quiet for a second as Wifies finally typed his response directly into the text channel of the voice call, keeping his distance like he always did.
"Wifies":- No. Sound annoying. Count me out, I'm staying home tonight.
Wifies was sitting in his room, staring coldly at the screen, feeling that heavy, painful ache in his chest. He had deeply rooted, intense feelings for Grox, and the last thing he wanted to do was spend a whole night sitting in a room watching an unhinged, crazy Lookout cling to Grox's arm while Grox just let it happen. Even though they all lived in the USA now, Wifies still felt miles apart from the group, preferring to keep his walls up. He figured it was easier to just stay isolated and cold.
But Grox noticed the text instantly. He cut off whatever chaotic thing Lookout was rambling about and spoke directly into his microphone, his tone softening just a little bit, dropping into that smooth, captivating register that always made Wifies' chest tighten.
"GroxMC":- Come on, Wifies. Don't be dry. Just pack your stuff and come over, it seriously won't be the same if you aren't there with us.
Across town, Wifies froze. He stared at his phone screen, his breath hitching as his heart completely skipped a beat. Just those few smooth words from Grox changed his entire train of thought, melting right through his cold exterior. He tried to keep his reply looking totally unbothered and distant so nobody suspected how heavily he felt, but his hands were moving fast over his keyboard.
"Wifies":- Fine. Whatever. I'll be there in twenty minutes.
With everyone officially locked in, Lookout let out another insane scream of victory, yelling a chaotic mix of English and Arabic praises before abruptly slamming the hang-up button, ending the call and leaving everyone in sudden silence.
Mob immediately dropped his phone onto his bed, his face still burning a bright, painful red as he fanned himself frantically, his mind completely reeling from Twixxel's words. He scrambled off his bed, rushing to find his largest, most oversized hoodie to hide his blushing face in before heading out into the night.
---
The silence that followed the sudden termination of the group call was heavy, broken only by the hum of the computer fans and the steady patter of rain against the windowpanes. In five different houses across the city, five boys stared at their dark phone screens, processing the sheer momentum of what had just occurred. A casual group chat discussion had spiraled into a high-stakes midnight sleepover invitation within a matter of minutes, completely derailing everyone’s plans for a quiet night.
Mob lay perfectly still under his heavy grey comforter, his phone clutched loosely in his hand as it rested against his chest. His face was still radiating an intense, prickly heat that refused to fade. He could feel his pulse fluttering rapidly in his throat, a direct physical reaction to the echo of Twixxel’s booming voice in his ears. *We are going to sit right next to each other,* Twixxel had said, with that effortless, unshakeable confidence that Mob found both utterly mesmerizing and deeply terrifying. Mob rolled onto his side, pulling his legs tightly up to his chest as a wave of intense insecurity washed over him. He had been harboring this crushing infatuation since their freshman year of high school, a silent, agonizing secret that he carried like a physical weight. Every interaction, every casual text, felt like walking a tightrope over a massive canyon. The thought of spending an entire night trapped in a room with him, trying to keep his face blank while his heart threatened to break through his ribs, was almost too much to bear.
With a shaky breath, Mob forced himself to sit up, the cold air of his bedroom hitting his bare shoulders. He slid off the mattress, his feet hitting the cold hardwood floor, and walked over to his closet. He didn't look at his regular clothes; instead, his hands instinctively reached for the furthest corner of the clothing rack, pulling out an incredibly large, oversized black hoodie. It was thick, heavy, and spacious enough to completely swallow his frame, allowing him to pull the collar up past his chin and bury his face behind the fabric if his blushing became too obvious to hide. He pulled it over his head, letting out a soft sigh as the material enveloped him like a shield. He grabbed a small duffel bag, threw in a change of clothes, his chargers, and his dark mask, before quietly heading out the door to his car.
---
Across town, Wifies stood in the center of his dimly lit bedroom, his canvas duffel bag sitting open on the edge of his neatly made bed. He wasn't packing quickly. His movements were slow, deliberate, and weighed down by a familiar, suffocating ache that had taken root deep in his chest. His sharp eyes were fixed on the dark monitor of his PC, where the text channel still displayed the remnants of the call. He had wanted to stay home. He had explicitly said no, intending to shield himself from the inevitable pain of watching the night unfold. He knew exactly what Lookout’s house would be like: a chaotic whirlwind of high-energy antics, loud laughter, and Lookout inevitably throwing his entire weight onto GroxMC, clinging to his arm or his lap without a care in the world. And Wifies knew, with a bitter certainty, that Grox would just sit there and let it happen, maintaining that cool, indifferent composure that secretly harbored a deep fondness for the erratic boy.
Watching that happen from the sidelines while keeping his own intense, heavy feelings locked behind a cold, dry facade was a form of slow torture. Yet, with just one sentence, Grox had shattered his resolve. *It seriously won't be the same if you aren't there with us.* Wifies closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as the memory of Grox’s smooth, quiet tone vibrated in his thoughts. It was infuriating how much power those few words held over him. He pulled his purple bandana tighter around his forehead, the long trailing ends brushing against the back of his neck as he threw a few essential items into his bag. He zipped it closed with a sharp, aggressive snap, refusing to let himself hope for anything, but knowing he couldn't stay away if Grox was the one asking.
---
The driveway of Lookout’s house was already packed with cars by the time the rain slowed to a light, misty drizzle. The two-story suburban home was completely ablaze with interior lights, casting long, fractured yellow squares onto the wet asphalt outside. From the sidewalk, the faint, low thud of bass could be felt vibrating through the air, a clear sign that Lookout’s chaotic energy was already running at full capacity inside.
When Mob stepped through the front door, his duffel bag clutched tightly against his chest like a piece of personal armor, he was instantly hit by a wall of warmth, the rich aroma of greasy pepperoni pizza, and the sweet, artificial scent of open energy drinks. The living room was a scene of immediate, overwhelming intensity. Lookout was pacing the floor in a state of pure, buzzed delirium, his red-and-white checkered headscarf completely askew over his messy brown hair. He was gesturing wildly with a half-empty beverage, laughing loudly at something on his phone.
The moment Lookout’s wild eyes locked onto the entrance, a massive, unhinged grin broke across his face. "Lookout":- MOOOOOOOB! YOU MADE IT! LOOK, THE SHY BOY IS HERE!
Before Mob could even take off his shoes, Lookout launched himself across the carpet, throwing a heavy, careless arm over Mob's neck and dragging him violently into the center of the room. Mob stiffened instantly, his shoulders bunching up as he desperately pulled the massive collar of his black hoodie up over his nose, trying to shrink out of sight.
"Mob":- L-Lookout, please, stop yelling. It's literally midnight.
"Lookout":- NO STOPPING! WE ARE IN PEAK MODE TONIGHT! CAPITAL LETTERS ONLY!
With a sudden burst of erratic motion, Lookout dropped his grip on Mob, completely shifting his focus to the center of the living room sofa. Sitting there, looking entirely out of place amidst the chaos, was GroxMC. He was dressed immaculately, wearing his signature split-design beige and black suit jacket, his legs crossed elegantly at the knee as he leaned back against the cushions. He looked like the absolute definition of ice—cold, dry, and completely unbothered by the screaming match happening two feet away from him.
But as Lookout spun around, a split-second look of high panic flashed through Grox’s dark eyes, directed straight at Mob. It was a silent, desperate plea that said *get me out of here right now.*
Lookout didn't give him the chance. He threw his entire body weight sideways, collapsing heavily onto the sofa and burying his face directly into Grox’s lap, his arms wrapping tightly around Grox’s waist like a koala refusing to let go of a tree trunk. "Lookout":- Grox-y! My favorite pretty boy! You look so nice tonight, why are you always wearing a suit to a sleepover? It's so funny, I love it!
Grox froze completely, his spine turning to solid stone against the backrest. On the inside, his mind was a catastrophic war zone of conflicting emotions. *He's holding onto me, his hair is touching my hands, I can't breathe, why is he so erratic but so cute,* Grox’s internal voice screamed in pure, unadulterated panic. But on the outside, his face remained a mask of flawless, freezing indifference. He slowly raised his hand, placing two long fingers firmly against Lookout’s forehead, and pushed him back an inch with an air of complete, bored detachment.
"GroxMC":- Lookout, you are being incredibly loud and highly annoying. Get off me, you're going to wrinkle the fabric of this jacket.
"Lookout":- NO! NEVER!
Lookout laughed hysterically, tightening his grip around Grox's waist and burying his face deeper into the fabric of his vest. Grox let out a long, slow, controlled sigh, looking up to meet Mob’s gaze with an expression of profound, silent suffering—though Mob noted that Grox made absolutely no actual physical effort to untangle Lookout’s arms or push him off the couch.
Before Mob could comment, the heavy front door swung open with a loud, resounding thud, shaking the frames on the wall.
Twixxel stepped into the entryway, practically vibrating with an infectious, booming energy that filled the entire ground floor. He had a massive, bursting backpack slung over one shoulder, and his arms were entirely full, cradling three large, steaming pizza boxes and a plastic crate stacked high with brightly colored energy drinks. His messy, spiky dark hair was wild, his demon-like horns catching the overhead light, and the pixelated digital smile mask across his lower face glowed faintly in the dim hallway.
"Twixxel":- JA! THE PARTY HAS OFFICIALLY BEGUN! I brought the fuel! We have pepperoni, we have garlic bread, and I have found the exact energy drinks that are banned in four European countries! We will stay awake until dawn!
Twixxel’s sharp eyes scanned the room, bypassing Lookout's writhing form on the couch, and landed squarely on Mob. His expression softened instantly, his bright eyes crinkling with genuine, immense delight. "Twixxel":- Mob! My favorite guy! You came! You look so cozy in that giant hoodie! It is like a giant tent! I love it!
Twixxel dropped the pizza boxes onto the coffee table with a heavy crash and strode across the carpet, his large, imposing shadow completely enveloping Mob’s smaller frame. Without a single word of warning, he reached out, grabbed Mob firmly by the shoulders, and pulled him into a massive, lifting embrace, completely hoisting Mob’s feet off the floor.
Mob’s entire internal system suffered a catastrophic crash. His face instantly turned an intense, vibrant shade of deep crimson that spread like wildfire from his cheeks down to his collarbone and up to the tips of his ears. He blushed so intensely his vision blurred for a fraction of a second. His hands flew up instinctively, his fingers gripping the rough fabric of Twixxel’s shirt just to keep his balance while his legs dangled helplessly in the air.
"Mob":- T-Twixxel! Put me down, please, everyone is looking... I'm going to drop...
"Twixxel":- Haha, alright, alright, if you insist!
Twixxel laughed heartily, his booming voice vibrating right through Mob’s chest as he gently lowered him back down until his socks touched the carpet. However, he left his large, warm hands resting casually on Mob's shoulders for a few seconds longer, looking down at him with a wide, bright grin that turned Mob’s knees into absolute, structural jelly. Mob quickly pulled his hood down further over his face, desperately trying to hide the fiery scarlet flush that refused to leave his skin.
Before the tension could shift, the front door clicked open one final time. The air in the entryway instantly felt like it dropped twenty degrees as Wifies walked into the house.
He wore his dark purple hoodie, his messy black hair casting deep shadows over his eyes, and his signature purple bandana tied tightly around his forehead with the long ends trailing over his shoulder. He carried his single duffel bag loosely in one hand, his other hand shoved deep into his pocket. His face was a mask of absolute, freezing stone—completely dry, cold, and utterly detached from the warmth of the room. He didn't offer a greeting, closing the door behind him with a quiet, deliberate click that signaled his arrival.
Wifies' sharp, calculating eyes immediately swept the living room. They passed right over Twixxel and Mob’s awkward interaction, completely ignored Lookout's muffled shouting, and locked directly onto the sofa.
He stood perfectly still, watching as Lookout lay completely tangled up in Grox’s lap, laughing wildly, while Grox sat there, maintaining his cool, indifferent expression but allowing the heavy physical contact to continue without any real resistance. A sharp, burning twist of intense jealousy and deep, heavy misery flared up in Wifies’ chest, pressing down on his lungs like a physical weight. He felt entirely left out, a dark, silent anomaly standing at the edge of a room full of color. He hated how much it hurt to look at them. He hated how much he cared about the boy in the suit.
Grox looked up, his dark eyes instantly cutting through the room to meet Wifies’ icy gaze. For a split second, Grox’s perfectly maintained, dry expression faltered, a look of genuine, sharp nervousness crossing his features as he realized Wifies was watching him hold Lookout. Grox cleared his throat quickly, trying to sit up a fraction straighter despite the dead weight attached to his lap.
"GroxMC":- Hey, Wifies. You actually made it. Glad you decided to show up.
Wifies didn't break eye contact, his gaze cutting through Grox like a knife. His expression remained entirely deadpan, cold, and unreadable as he slowly walked across the room, dropping his duffel bag heavily onto the floor near the furthest wall, as far away from the couch as physically possible.
"Wifies":- Yeah, well, someone had to make sure Lookout didn't accidentally burn the house down. Though it looks like he's already brain-dead, so maybe I'm too late.
"Lookout":- Hey! I am not brain-dead! I am in peak physical and mental condition! Grox-y, tell him I'm smart! Tell him right now!
"GroxMC":- You're a complete idiot, Lookout.
Grox muttered the words with his usual slow, deep drawl, but his eyes never left Wifies' face, silently searching for a sign of what the other boy was thinking. Wifies simply looked away, his jaw tightening as he stared at the floor, the heavy, suffocating weight of his unconfessed feelings pressing down on him like a mountain in the silent corner of the room.