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James Ortiz has a secret.
Most people know him as the gentle, funny puppeteer who can walk into a room with a puppet and immediately make magic. He makes the puppets come to life and he’s good at what he does, he knows this, and he genuinely loves puppetry.
What nobody knows is that puppets mean something much more personal to him.
When life gets overwhelming, exhausting, or simply too much, his mind sometimes slips backwards, smaller. Usually, he settles somewhere around four or five years old. He doesn't become incapable of taking care of himself, but his thoughts become much simpler. The world feels bigger, loud noises feel more startling, decisions become harder, and he wants comfort rather than conversation.
And when James is little, he has one thing he absolutely needs.
His puppets.
James keeps a large wooden trunk in his home. To anyone else, it looks like an ordinary storage box for puppets. To James, it's practically a treasure chest. Inside are dozens of hand puppets, well-worn and loved.
He has a cheerful little fox.
A sleepy bear.
A soft bunny.
A grumpy-looking frog.
A bright yellow bird.
And an old, slightly worn dog puppet that is his absolute favorite.
The dog has been with him for years.
James doesn't remember exactly when he got it anymore. The puppet's fur is slightly faded, one ear doesn't quite sit correctly, and there's a tiny repair near the paw. But James loves it. When he's little, the dog becomes his best friend.
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James is very good at hiding his regression.
He's learned how to recognize the early signs. He gets quieter, his mind starting to get that hazy, cotton filled feeling. He starts fidgeting, his hands suddenly needing something to hold or grab onto. He gravitates toward soft things, even going as far as to steal blankets and lying saying he was cold just to feel it. His speech becomes simpler, talking less and less. And eventually, he'll disappear with his puppet box. At first, he usually tries to resist. He'll tell himself that he's an adult. That he has work to do. That he can deal with everything later. But eventually his brain wins, it always does.
And once James slips fully into that four-year-old headspace, the puppets come out. The first thing he does is usually arrange them around himself. The bunny beside his leg. The fox in front of him. The bear tucked under his arm. And his favorite dog puppet on his hand.
Then the puppet show begins.
James doesn't need an audience, he prefers performing entire stories for himself. The fox goes on adventures. The bear gets lost. The frog causes ridiculous trouble. The bird discovers something amazing. And the dog is always there to help everyone get home. James provides all the voices himself, though his little voice becomes softer and more childish when he's deeply regressed. He giggles at his own jokes. He gasps dramatically when one puppet gets "hurt." He makes the puppets hug. Sometimes he even stops the show because one of the puppets needs a nap. There is no real plot. There doesn't need to be. It's simply something safe and familiar that makes his little brain happy.
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Ryan is the one who discovers him.
He doesn't immediately understand what he's seeing. He'd been looking for James. Nothing dramatic. He'd simply stopped answering messages, and Ryan knew he'd gone back to his hotel room after a particularly exhausting day.
So Ryan lets himself in with the spare key James had given him months ago.
"James?"
Nothing. He checks the living room.
Empty.
Kitchen.
Empty.
Then he hears something from the bedroom. The sound of a TV, quiet voices, and laughter. Very small, very soft laughter. Ryan knocks. "James?"
The laughter stops. There's a long pause. Then a tiny voice. "...come in."
Ryan opens the door. And stops. James is curled up beneath a blanket on the bed, knees tucked against his chest. There are puppets everywhere. A bunny is tucked against his side. A bear is sitting beside his pillow. The yellow bird is lying on its back near his feet.
And on James's hand is the old dog.
The television is playing an old children's puppet program. James looks up. He freezes. For a second, neither of them moves. Ryan can see the exact moment James realizes what has happened.
His face goes pale. The hand wearing the dog puppet immediately disappears beneath the blanket. The other puppets are gathered toward him protectively.
Ryan's heart sinks. Not because of what he's seeing. Because James looks terrified that he's been seen. "Hey," Ryan says softly.
James doesn't answer. Ryan decides to sit down on the floor several feet away on the floor, not wanting to make James more scared, but quietly letting him know he wasn't leaving him.
"Hi, James." James peeks over the blanket. His eyes are wide. He looks much younger than Ryan has ever seen him. Ryan smiles gently. "Is it okay if I sit here?"
James looks down. The dog's floppy ear sticks out from underneath the blanket. After a moment, James nods. Ryan stays. For several minutes, neither of them says anything. The puppet show continues playing in the background. Eventually, James's fingers slowly emerge.
The dog puppet appears first. It cautiously peeks over the blanket. Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Is that your friend?"
James nods. A tiny smile appears. "He's Doggy."
"Doggy."
Another nod. Ryan looks very seriously at the puppet. "Nice to meet you, Doggy." James's smile grows. Doggy turns toward Ryan. James makes the puppet's mouth move.
"Hi."
Ryan's smile widens. "Hi."
James watches him carefully. Then his voice gets quieter. "Doggy says you're okay."
Ryan's expression softens. "I think Doggy's right." James considers this. Then, very carefully, he holds the puppet toward him. "Say hi." Ryan leans forward just enough to make the puppet easier to reach. "Hi, Doggy."
James giggles. A real, bright little giggle. Doggy's head bobs enthusiastically. Ryan looks at James. "He's very friendly."
"He's my best friend."
"I can tell." James looks down at Doggy. For the first time since Ryan walked into the room, he doesn't look frightened. He looks comfortable. Ryan glances at the other puppets scattered around the bed. "Does everybody have names?"
James nods. And suddenly Ryan is introduced to the entire cast. James babbles on about each of his puppets and their personalities and some of their past adventures Ryan listens to every explanation as though he's being introduced to important members of a royal family. Eventually James starts smiling again. Then he looks toward the television. Then at Ryan. Then at his puppets.
A thought clearly occurs to him. "You wanna watch?"
Ryan nods. "Sure."
James shifts over. He pats the empty space beside him. Ryan climbs onto the bed, keeping a respectful distance until James himself scoots closer. The old dog puppet settles between them. James rests his hand against the blanket.
The puppet watches the television. Ryan watches James. And for the first time, James doesn't feel like he has to hide. He doesn't have to explain why the puppets matter. He doesn't have to apologize for being little. He doesn't have to pretend that the wooden trunk in his closet is just a collection of work props. Ryan simply accepts it.
And when James eventually whispers, very sleepily, "Doggy likes you."
Ryan smiles. "Yeah?"
James nods. "He's picky."
Ryan laughs softly. "Then I'm honored."
James smiles against the blanket. Doggy gives one final little nod. And somewhere along the way, without either of them realizing it, the puppet show becomes background noise. James falls asleep with Doggy still on his hand. And Ryan stays right there. Because apparently, if Doggy says you're okay, you're okay.