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Fizzarolli had made the mistake of introducing Blitz to Asmodeus. Well, calling it a mistake is an exaggeration, but the sentiment still stands.
Blitz is the closest thing Fizz has to a brother. They have been causing as much trouble together since they were kids, all the way back to their circus days. And now, years later in college, with new friends and their lives steadily taking them in different directions, they are still as tight as ever.
So the introduction really was inevitable.
Fizz remembers Blitz reading him like an open book, flashing that shit-eating grin the second he clocked Fizz's embarrassing crush on Ozzie.
That wasn’t the issue. The issue was Blitz meeting Ozzie’s cousin, Stolas. Which meant that their little social circle had become considerably more tangled than it ever had any right to be.
While Fizz and Ozzie start dating relatively quickly. Stolas and Blitz, on the other hand, are considerably… slower to establish things. They are still working their way toward that point, actually.
When things are going well, things are going very well. Movie nights. Study groups. Double dates. The occasional evening rotting in one dorm room because nobody could agree where to go.
And then, when things were going badly, things were going… well… bad.
“ I should call, just to check on him.” Stolas sits on the couch in Ozzie’s dorm room, shoulders slumping, hands clasped tightly around his phone. “Or perhaps a brief text?”
Fizz and Ozzie exchange knowing looks. They have seen this before way too many times.
When Blitz and Stolas fight it is rarely over anything particularly important. An insensitive comment stemming from obliviousness. A sarcastic remark that lands badly. Stolas refusing to admit that he was being privileged. Blitz refusing to admit that he was being an asshole. One thing leading to another, until Stolas is storming out while Blitz remains exactly where he is, yelling profanities after him.
Then there’s a stalemate of silence. Usually a day or two, sometimes only a few hours, before Stolas calls to apologise. And Stolas always apologises.
“I’ll tell him it was a stupid idea,” Stolas says.
Except this time, it hadn’t been. Stolas had finally worked up the courage to ask Blitz to make whatever the hell they were into something more serious. Official, even. And Blitz had spectacularly freaked out. Worse, he’d thrown the privilege card in Stolas’ face.
Which, admittedly, was a genuine issue they’d have to talk about at some point. But there were better ways and moments to have that conversation that didn't involve turning Stolas's insecurities into ammunition.
Stolas fidgets with his phone, thumbs worrying at the edges of its case. His restless fingers eventually open the contact details and Blitz's stupid face fills the little contact photo.
For fuck’s sake. Fizz hates this. He hates knowing Blitz is doing exactly what he always does after a fight. Waiting for Stolas to call. Waiting for Stolas to apologise. Because Blitz knows that Stolas eventually will. Stolas always does.
It pisses Fizz off. Because Blitz is a fucking dumbass. A stubborn, emotionally constipated dumbass who would rather sit in miserable silence than admit he might have fucked up. And now he has Stolas sitting here, phone in hand, ready to smooth everything over for him again.
It’s an infuriating cycle.
“Maybe you shouldn't.” It escapes Fizz before he thinks better of it.
Stolas blinks, looking up at him. “What?” His brows crease together. “I thought you would want me to work it out with Blitz.”
“I mean, yeeahhhh.” Fizz drags the word out, glancing away. Fuck—what’s the strategy here, exactly? He didn’t mean don’t talk to Blitz. It just would be nice to see Blitz fucking try. Should he be doing this delicately?
“Look, Stolas.” Ozzie cuts in smoothly. “We’re not saying you can’t call him. Just… maybe not yet?”
Stolas only seems more confused. “Why not?”
Fuck it. We’re shooting straight.
“Cause you always do.”
“Oh. I see.” He lowers his phone a fraction. “I suppose I shouldn’t impose. Not after making such an unreasonable request.”
“Okay, nope.” Fizz steps forward, holding up both hands. “That's not what I meant.” He opens his mouth to elaborate, but thinks twice about it. Because, apparently, telling an emotionally vulnerable owl that his not-yet-kinda-boyfriend needs to stop letting him do all the emotional heavy lifting is harder than he thought.
“I don't think you were unreasonable,” Ozzie says, picking up where Fizz left off. “And I don't think you did anything wrong.”
Stolas looks at them, unconvinced.
Fizz pouts. They’re not getting anywhere like this.
“Look, how about a night out?” Fizz suggests.
“A night out?” Stolas echoes. “I’m not entirely confident I’m in the best mental space for an outing.”
“C’mon, Birdie,” Ozzie chimes in, resting a sympathetic hand over his shoulder. “It could be fun.”
“I don't know.” Stolas glances down at himself. He’s wearing a turtleneck sweater with sensible slacks. “I don't think my attire is particularly appropriate.”
Birdie does look like a librarian.
“Pshh, that’s fixable.” Fizz gently grabs Stolas’ hands before he can protest, pulling him to a stand. “I got Ozzie this amazing eyeliner that works well with avian skin.”
“Fizz—”
“You got to let me try it on you.” Fizz drags him towards the bedroom with Ozzie following close behind.
It turns out to be surprisingly easy to distract Stolas. One key is keeping his hands distracted.
“So, what do you think?”
Stolas holds the pocket mirror, examining the double-winged eyeliner. “Oh!” Sounding pleasantly surprised. “It is definitely more dramatic than what I’d usually do.”
Fizz hums in approval, sharing a glance with Ozzie.
They move onto clothes. Fizz digs through Ozzie’s wardrobe, along with the stash of his own that he keeps here for convenience. There’s laughter. There’s teasing. There are a few rejected outfits. Most importantly, there is no phone in Stolas' hand.
Stolas looks good. Like, really good. The tank top Fizz picked out sits low enough, showing off Stolas’ chest feathers. Paired with the leather skirt, which is a mini on Fizz, but becomes a micro on Stolas’ seemingly neverending legs. Fizz neglects to mention that it's Blitz's.
“So,” Ozzie says, he looks between them. “Club?”
Stolas hesitates, his eyes flick towards Fizz, like he’s looking for some indication that this is actually a good idea.
“Blitz will be fine.” Fizz assures with a dismissive wave of his hand.
There’s doubt in the way Stolas’s fingers fidgets with the compact mirror. But there’s reassurance, too. Fizz is Blitz's friend. If anyone knows Blitz can survive one night without Stolas checking on him, it's Fizz.
Stolas sets the mirror down. “I suppose I can survive one evening without calling him.”
The private booth gives Fizz and Ozzie a decent view of the dance floor. The music pulses, bass vibrating pleasantly through Fizz’s chest. Coloured lights sweep over the crowd in time with the beat, catching flashes of feathers, horns and bare skin.
Somewhere in the middle of it all is Stolas.
Fizz eyes glances over the crowd and spots him easily enough. It is hard to miss the tallest twink on the dance floor, especially when he’s also a Goetia.
He leans back against Ozziw, watching as Stolas laughs at something Verosika says. The two move with the music, Verosika effortlessly matching Stolas's awkward attempts to follow along. She eventually takes him by the hips, gently guiding him to the rhythm. Stolas gives her an awkward smile, then giggles. Fizz grins.
Stolas lifts one hand as Verosika spins beneath it, laughing when she bumps into him on the way around. They both nearly lose their balance, grabbing onto each other before dissolving into another fit of giggles.
“How’s he looking?” Ozzie asks.
“He’s fine.” Fizz watches Stolas stumble, recover, and immediately start laughing at himself. “He's just buzzed.”
“He’s not getting messy, is he?”
“Nah, it’s a happy buzz. Plus, Verosika can manage him.”
As if summoned by name, Verosika glances towards the booth, beams at them with an exaggerated thumbs-up.
Fizz gives a small wave.
Stolas follows Verosika’s gaze, spotting them. He joins in, flashing a smile and giving them his own enthusiastic thumbs-up.
Ozzie snorts.
It’s going well. Though Fizz makes a mental note to remind them to drink water, and maybe stop at WcDonald’s on the way home.
His phone buzzes on the table. He reaches for it, seeing the message.
Blitz: Were u guyz at?
Fizz looks towards the dance floor then back to the message again, his fingers hover as he contemplates his response. His phone buzzes again.
Blitz: Iz Stols wit u?
“Froggy?” Ozzie says cautiously, over his shoulder.
Fizz grins. Oh, this is going to be easy.
Blitz arrives not long after, dropping into the booth across from Fizz and Ozzie.
“Fizz. Big Oz.” He greets them with finger pistols before leaning back against the booth. His eyes sweep over the table, noting Fizz and Ozzie’s drinks—and a third unattended one. Stolas’.
“Blitz!” Ozzie greets. “You got here pretty quick.”
Fizz props his chin in his palm, watching him with a knowing smile. “Yeah. Any particular reason?”
“Nope.” Blitz’s gaze drifts past them, sweeping over the bar, then the hallway leading toward the bathrooms. “So,” he says, aiming to sound casual, “where’s Stolas? Scene’s a bit hectic for the bookworm, ain't it?”
Fizz’s smile widens. “Funny,” he says. “You couldn’t spare the time to call him, but you can apparently spare plenty of time to stalk him like a creep.”
“Fuck off. Where is he?”
Fizz takes another sip from the straw of his drink, thoroughly enjoying himself.
“Fizz.” Blitz shifts uncomfortably. He sighs, dropping his shoulders as he tries again. “Please.”
Fizz says nothing.
“Froggy.” Ozzie nudges him.
“What? It’s not like the bird is hard to miss.” Fizz rolls his eyes before taking another leisurely sip. He then tilts his head toward the dance floor.
Blitz turns his attention in that direction. His eyes light up when he spots Stolas, oblivious on the dance floor. If the enormous smile on his face is anything to go by, he hasn't noticed his arrival either.
Blitz’s eyes linger. His brows furrow, as if only just realising that Stolas can very well function without him. Stolas and Verosika dissolve into another fit of giggles.
Fizz smirks to himself. Good. It’s actually kind of nice, seeing Blitz the one pining for once.
“Is…” Blitz says, he turns to Fizz. “Is that my skirt?”
Fizz groans, dropping his face onto the table before lifting his head. “Is that all you got to say?”
“What else is there to say?” Blitz actually looks confused. “Stolas is very, very gay. Verosika is very, very much a woman.” He reaches across the table, grabs Stolas’ neglected drink, and downs it. “Like I gotta worry about Stolas trying fish taco.”
Fizz and Ozzie grimace at the comment.
“Besides, he’s allowed to have fun and have friends.”
Fizz blinks, clearly not expecting anything remotely levelheaded from Blitz. He massages the temple of his forehead before glancing back to the dance floor watching Verosika and Stolas.
He wishes he could conjure up some convenient excuse to separate Verosika from Stolas long enough for someone not serving fish taco to make a move.
As if fate favours him, someone greets Verosika. She turns to them with familiar enthusiasm, and Stolas gestures for her to go on. She waves over her shoulder, mouthing that she’ll be right back, leaving Stolas alone. He doesn’t seem bothered, going back to dance, following the rhythm as Verosika had taught him.
It doesn’t take long for someone else to approach him.
Fizz blinks, hardly believing his eyes.
The hellhound introduces himself, and Stolas smiles brightly as he shakes the hellhound’s hand. The hellhound looks confused by the formal gesture, but seems to find it endearing more than anything else.
“Holy fuck…”
Blitz lifts his eyes from his phone, following Fizz’s gaze to Stolas and the hellhound on the dance floor.
Blitz’s expression darkens, but he doesn't move. He watches, eyes studying the interaction before him.
The hellhound is definitely flirting. Leaning in closer with an easy smile. Stolas, apparently, can’t tell. He just smiles back, nodding along to whatever the hound is saying, still swaying to the music.
“Something about fish taco?” Fizz supplies unhelpfully.
Blitz growls. The hellhound’s hand settles around Stolas’s waist. Stolas blinks, leaning away to preserve some distance between them.
“I’ll be back.” Blitz stands.
Fizz and Ozzie watch as he pushes through the crowd.
“Should we do something?” Ozzie asks.
“What are you talking about, babe? This is exactly what we wanted!” Fizz beams at the situation about to unfold.
Ozzie chuckles, neither of them taking their eyes off Blitz.
He pushes through the crowd, shoulders tense, tail whipping behind him. His eyes never leave Stolas, taking in the eyeliner, the bare feathers at his chest, the leather skirt. Then his gaze settles on the hand still resting on Stolas's waist.
Blitz reaches them. “Stols.”
Stolas turns, blinking at him, “Blitz—"
He barely has time to react before Blitz pulls him away from the hellhound’s grip and kisses him. Their mouths collide. Stolas could pull back. He doesn't want to. Instead, his fingers gently grasp Blitz’s face, keeping him close.
When they finally part, Stolas straightens, visibly flustered.
“Boyfriend?” The hellhound says, reminding them of their spectator.
“No,” Stolas says at the same time Blitz says, “Yeah.”
They stare at each other. Impressively, Stolas manages to turn a shade darker.
“I mean—” Blitz starts.
The hellhound snorts. “Right. Gotcha.” Already slipping away into the crowd before either of them can correct it.
“Boyfriend?”
“Shut up.”
“You said—”
“I know what I said.” A brief silence settles before Blitz continues, “I just—don't like people touching what's mine.”
“What's yours?”
Blitz grimaces, apparently it’s like pulling teeth. But, for once, he doesn't backpedal. “You.” His hand settles on Stolas’. “My boyfriend. If you still wanna be… official.”
Stolas' breath catches. “Blitz… You still owe me an apology for earlier.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Stolas smiles. “Good.” Stolas bends down to pick Blitz up bridal style. “I know words aren’t your strong suit, so I have some things in mind to start you off.”
Blitz grins. “You’re a fucking dirty bird.”
Across the dance floor, Fizz watches them. “Fucking finally!”