Chapter Text
The bathroom was empty with the exception of the buzz of fluorescent lights and the sound of Wemmbu trying not to cry.
It had started in volleyball.
One glimpse across the gym was enough.
His old mentor.
Just standing there, talking to the instructor as if nothing had occurred. As if years of silence could be shrugged away. As if leaving Wemmbu behind was something unrelated to his life's purpose.
The second that he saw Mane, everything around him froze. The volleyball had bounced off of his forearms, someone had laughed and the teacher had called out his name; all of those sounds became nothing more than a blur to Wemmbu as the only thing that he heard was the sound of his own thoughts.
Lost cause.
The words hit once.
Then again.
Lost cause.
Lost cause.
Lost cause.
He was unable to recall leaving the gym.
He was now kneeling in front of the bathroom sink. He was crying; tears were dripping off his chin onto the grout of the bathroom sink. Each time he attempted to take a full breath into his lungs, his mind would repeat the same two words.
Lost cause.
He squeezed his eyes shut hard enough to make his temples ache.
Lost cause.
His shoulders curled inward toward his body until he was almost folded in half.
He felt nineteen years and five years old at the same time.
Small.
Too small.
He wanted someone to sit beside him and tell him that everything would eventually stop hurting.
He missed Eggchan.
Dear god, he missed Eggchan so much.
He needed someone—anyone—or even something to ground him before everything inside finally shattered. Every breath came out uneven, catching painfully in his throat as he gripped the edges of the bathroom sink hard enough for his knuckles to ache. The cool porcelain dug into his palms, but even that sharp sensation wasn't enough to drag him back into the present. His reflection stared back at him through blurry, tear-filled eyes, looking more like a frightened stranger than himself. His chest felt impossibly tight, his thoughts racing so quickly that they tangled into an unbearable mess. Every anxious feeling crashed into the next until he couldn't separate one emotion from another. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted the panic to loosen its grip, even for a moment. In the frantic silence of his own mind, he begged desperately for someone to help him. He didn't care who it was anymore. He just needed someone to notice, someone to understand before he completely fell apart.
As if the universe had answered that desperate plea, the bathroom door creaked open.
Voices drifted in before the door fully swung wide. Jaden and Flame had clearly been talking about something outside, their conversation casual and carefree, but the second they caught sight of Wemmbu hunched over the sink, both of them went completely silent.
For several long seconds, nobody moved.
To anyone who didn't know him, Wemmbu probably looked completely unhinged. His shoulders were trembling uncontrollably, his head hung low, his breathing shaky enough to be audible across the room. His hair hid most of his face, but not enough to conceal the tears slipping steadily down his cheeks and splashing into the sink below him.
“...Uh,” Flame finally said, cautiously breaking the silence. “Bro... you good?”
The question hit harder than it should have.
Wemmbu opened his mouth, intending to answer, but nothing came out. The pressure building behind his throat was unbearable. If he tried to speak, even a single word, he knew the fragile wall keeping him together would crumble instantly. Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and gave a quick, frantic shake of his head.
No.
Not even close.
His gaze stayed fixed on the sink, too embarrassed to look either of them in the eye.
Flame frowned, clearly confused. He looked between Wemmbu and Jaden, trying to figure out what exactly was happening. This wasn't like the Wemmbu he knew. He'd never seen him like this before.
Jaden, however, understood immediately.
His expression softened the moment he pieced everything together.
Unlike Flame, Jaden knew about Wemmbu's involuntary regressions. They'd been friends for long enough that he'd learned the signs, even the subtle ones. The trembling hands. The inability to speak. The desperate need for comfort that Wemmbu hated admitting he had.
Without saying anything, Jaden slowly walked over.
He made sure every movement was slow, predictable, and gentle, careful not to overwhelm someone who already looked frightened enough.
When he reached him, he rested a warm hand against the back of Wemmbu's neck, rubbing slow, comforting circles with his thumb.
“Hi, Puppy.” he said quietly, his voice dropping into the calm, reassuring tone he instinctively used whenever this happened. “Are we doing okay?”
Flame's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Puppy?
He looked at Jaden like he'd suddenly started speaking another language.
Wemmbu, however, reacted instantly.
A tiny, miserable whine escaped him before he could stop it.
The sound alone was enough to confirm Jaden's suspicions.
He glanced over at Flame for only a second before giving him a small, reassuring wink that silently said, I've got this.
Then he carefully guided Wemmbu closer until the smaller boy was leaning against his chest. One hand remained on the back of his neck while the other gently tilted his chin upward just enough so he wasn't staring at the sink anymore.
“Can you talk, buddy?”
Wemmbu's response was immediate.
He shook his head so aggressively that a few more tears slipped free.
Jaden smiled—not mockingly, not pityingly, just with that infuriatingly gentle smile that somehow made everything feel a little less terrifying.
“Alright,” he whispered. “That's okay. You don't have to.”
Watching the interaction, something finally clicked inside Flame's head.
A conversation.
Months ago.
Manepear.
Flame remembered sitting with his older friend while they packed for a trip.
Completely out of nowhere, Manepear had pressed a small purple pacifier into his hands and told him to keep it in his backpack.
“Don't lose it,” he'd said.
Flame had laughed.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“In case you ever find a certain someone having a bad day.”
At the time, Flame had assumed Mane was joking.
Manepear rarely explained himself, and even when he did, it usually came wrapped in confusing metaphors.
Still...
Flame couldn't say no to him.
Mane had been like an older brother for years, and despite everything that had happened between him and Wemmbu, there had always been one thing Flame couldn't ignore.
Mane still cared.
He pretended he didn't.
He acted detached.
He'd walked away.
But every now and then, little things betrayed him.
Like making Flame carry around a purple pacifier every single day—just in case.
Just in case Wemmbu ever needed it.
Flame had felt ridiculous carrying the thing around everywhere. More than once he'd considered taking it out of his bag. More than once he'd wondered if Mane had completely lost it.
Yet every single time, he'd sighed, zipped the pocket back up, and left it there.
Mostly because saying no to his big brother had never been one of his strengths.
And now...
For the first time...
It actually had a purpose.
Without saying a word, Flame crouched beside his backpack and rummaged through one of the smaller pockets until his fingers brushed against smooth silicone.
He pulled out the purple pacifier, staring at it for a second before quietly walking over to the sink.
He rinsed it carefully under cool water, drying it with a clean paper towel to make sure it was clean.
Only then did he walk back over and silently hand it to Jaden.
Jaden looked at him with quiet appreciation.
“Thanks.”
Flame simply shrugged, still processing the entire situation.
Jaden turned his attention back toward Wemmbu.
“Hi, Puppy. You want this, hm?” he whispered.
He held the pacifier where Wemmbu could see it instead of forcing it on him.
After a small, hesitant pause, Wemmbu's watery eyes locked onto it.
The tiniest nod.
That was all the permission Jaden needed.
With incredible care, he slipped the pacifier between Wemmbu's lips.
The effect wasn't instant.
But little by little, the frantic shaking eased.
His breathing slowly became less ragged.
His shoulders loosened.
The desperate panic that had consumed him moments earlier began to melt away, replaced by exhausted sniffles and quiet hiccups.
He still clung tightly to Jaden's hoodie, but he wasn't spiraling anymore.
Flame watched the change with quiet amazement.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and quickly opened his messages.
Flame: Found your lost puppy. He's alright, or at least, he will be.
The typing indicator appeared almost immediately.
A second later, a voice message arrived.
Flame stared at it for a moment.
He already knew what it probably contained.
Some awkward attempt by Mane to pretend he wasn't worried.
Maybe a lecture.
Maybe a sigh of relief disguised as annoyance.
For now, though, it could wait.
He locked his phone without listening.
Right now, someone else needed him more.
Walking back over, he hesitated awkwardly before lifting a hand and gently resting it on top of Wemmbu's head.
His movements were a little stiff, clearly unfamiliar with comforting someone this way, but they were careful and sincere.
He softly patted and stroked his hair, offering silent reassurance while Jaden continued holding him close.
Neither of them rushed him.
Neither asked questions.
Neither expected explanations.
They simply stayed there with him in the quiet bathroom, letting him recover at his own pace, reminding him without a single word that, this time, he didn't have to face it alone.