Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Great seeing you all again!” Grian heard Scar call out as he unlocked the car, undoubtedly giving a big animated wave. “It was real fun getting to rough it out with you!”

“Great seeing you too, dude!” Ren called back. “Get home safe, alright?”

“Call me when you get back.” Mumbo said from where he was getting into his own car, as Grian slipped into the driver's seat. Starting the car and waiting for Scar to get in too, he let himself slump back against the seat momentarily, the exhaustion of the past couple days winning out. 

Don’t get him wrong, he absolutely loved his friends, and this yearly ‘retreat’ they all did was one of his favorite things in the world, but he always felt like he went into a bit of a fugue state as soon as it ended. When they were still in uni and didn’t all have their own cars yet, himself included, it was easy to just get in the backseat of whoever’s carpool he was a part of and conk out for the three hour trip back into the city from the campsite they usually went to. Now, though, he had his own car, and while a lot of people still chose to carpool, Grian was also aware that his and Scar’s place was a bit out of the way. Asking his friends to drive that extra time just to drop them off felt unnecessary. And besides, it wasn’t like he was incapable of the drive, it was just a little exhausting. Especially since at this point—after all the activity-packed days and late-nights around the campfire—he was almost running on fumes. It was alright though, because he knew that the satisfaction of finally getting home to his warm, cozy bed would be worth the extra energy.

After a few more moments of Scar chatting with their friends, all piling into their own rides back home, he slipped into the passenger seat, seeming as alive as ever. Grian hummed in amusement as Scar started going on about how much he loved the “Hermit Retreat™,” and smiled to himself in the knowledge that putting on music or a podcast would be wasted effort. Scar would probably talk them all the way home without even noticing.

He reached up to rub at the space between his wings to relieve a bit of the tension there as he pulled out of the campsite’s parking lot, wiggling his toes in tandem—something he’d been doing ever since Scar taught him the trick. Apparently, it was something fighter pilots did when they were getting into formation that subconsciously released tension in the upper body. Maybe it was a placebo or some other weird mind-trick, but it definitely worked regardless, and Grian could not count how many times he was reminded of it when he was hunched over his desk or driving. That was something he loved about Scar, all of his seemingly useless tips and tricks that actually really worked. Call him a lovable idiot all you want—Grian certainly did—when the man knew what he was talking about, he really knew.

“What was your favorite part, G?” Scar asked. Grian hummed, sorting through the past two days of memories in his head.

“Was Skizz jumping the firepit this year or last year?” He asked.

“This year!” He said, like he himself was only just remembering that even happened. “Gosh, that was so unsafe!”

“Well, what was he going to do?” Grian asked rhetorically. In the entire time Grian had known Skizz, he’d never once backed down from a dare. Which, of course, meant that every time they played truth or dare, everyone threw their most insane stuff at him to try and get him to crack. No one had ever been successful, even after a series of admittedly ridiculously dangerous dares that he somehow survived. Jumping the firepit was just another one for the list.

“Fair enough.” Scar laughed. “But really? That’s your favorite?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong with it?” Grian raised an eyebrow, before catching on and sighing. “If you want a sentimental one out of me you'll have to wait until I’m a lot more tired.”

“Darn!” Scar snapped his fingers dramatically. “You’re really not tired enough to be a sap yet?”

“Not yet.” Grian sing-songed. “Can’t catch me that easily, Mr. Goodtimes.”

“Please, Grian, Mr. Goodtimes was my father’s name.” Scar reminded with a fake snooty voice and Grian laughed.

“When we get married you have to take mine.” Grian said.

“But Scar Goodtimes has such a ring to it!” Scar argued.

“And? Grian Goodtimes decidedly doesn’t.” He said, matter-of-factly. “Can’t you ever think of me? How will my peers look upon me?”

“Grian, all of your peers are my peers, and they’re all mostly fine with it!” Scar said, waving off the fact that he does get teased for having the last name ‘goodtimes’ on a pretty regular basis. It was more often in uni, granted, since they’d use it incessantly every time he got even a little tipsy, but it wasn’t infrequent nowadays. “But if you’re really so bothered by it, we can hyphenate!”

“So I’ll be Grian Xelqua-Goodtimes?” He said, shuddering. “I think that might be worse.”

“You know, you sure are invested in this for someone who’s said to me, many-a-time, that you aren’t going to think about marriage until we’re at least five years down the road.” Scar teased.

“Oh, what, so now I’m not allowed to joke about a hypothetical future in which we get married?” Grian asked. “Hypocrite.”

“No, that’s in character for me!” Scar said. “For you this is highly suspect.”

Grian bit the inside of his cheek, rolling his eyes as nonchalantly as he could. “I was just saying.”

Scar hummed. “Sure thing.”

“Hey, Scar,” Grian said, switching the topic as fast as he could manage. “What’s going on with that model in your office?”

“The zoo?” Scar asked, eyes lit up in an instant.

“Is that what that is?” Grian asked.

“What else!” He grinned. “And you really only just noticed it? I’ve been working on it for, like, months now. I’m pretty sure I told you I was building it, too.”

“Well, no, I noticed, I just…” Grian shrugged. “I forgot a lot of the details.”

Scar gave Grian a look before something seemed to click, and he switched into an animated cheeriness in a second. “That’s okay! I’ll just tell you again!”

Grian smiled to himself as Scar set off on a rant, describing in detail the entire project so far, taking a lot of detours along the way to talk about vaguely-related things. And sure, maybe Grian had been bluffing about not remembering, and already knew most of what was talked about, but he’d be damned if pretending to forget wasn’t a good way to change the topic. And, if he was being honest, well…he liked hearing Scar talk, so it was a win-win scenario regardless.

It was as Scar had gotten to describing the in-depth layout of the entire zoo that he suddenly stopped.

“Okay, Grian, my turn!”

“Your turn to what?” Grian asked, yawning in the middle of his sentence. “Talk? Pretty sure it’s been your turn for the past hour.”

“To drive, silly.” Scar said, rolling his eyes fondly. “Now pull over so we can swap.”

“What? No way.” Grian protested. “I always drive us home, Scar. That’s the arrangement—you drive us there, I drive us back.”

“Whoever said we weren’t allowed to change things up?” Scar smiled, the picture of innocence.

Grian looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing! I just want to drive for a little, y’know? I’m getting restless.”

“If you’re getting restless the last thing I should do is put you behind the wheel of a moving vehicle.” Grian snarked and Scar huffed.

“Just pull over.” He said, and, for a reason even Grian himself couldn’t decipher, he actually did. They swapped places pretty quickly, though Grian had to help Scar with maneuvering around the car a bit since his cane was in the backseat and he felt it was too short a move to require it. But soon they ended up in each other’s places, and Grian couldn’t help the way he sank into the passenger’s seat as Scar pulled back onto the road. After a bit, Scar started talking again, though his voice was pretty notably quieter, and Grian found his responses getting shorter and shorter until eventually he was only barely humming acknowledgement at things.

He let his eyes slip closed, the tension dissipating from his body. He leant his head against the window, slumping down some as he got more comfortable and his mind dragged him towards sleep.

—

“Mornin’ sleepyhead.” Scar’s voice cooed at him as he woke up, squinting at the light.

“Are we home?” Grian hummed.

“Sure are.” Scar chirped. “I’ll have to call Mumbo and let him know we made it back safely.”

“Ugh, now we have to actually do Sunday.” He groaned, knowing that even though it felt like an entire day had passed, it had only been three hours since they left the campsite. It was probably comfortably noon by now.

“You could always just sleep it away.” Scar suggested, reaching over to brush some of the hair away from Grian’s eyes.

“No, I’ll be fine.” He said, grunting as he pushed himself up in his seat. “Otherwise Monday-Grian will wring my neck.”

“Not sure how he’ll do that across space and time.”

“He’ll definitely want to.” Grian said, opening the door and getting out of the car. He then went around to the trunk and got his and Scar’s bags out, hiking his onto his shoulder and holding Scar’s by the strap. He went ahead toward the house, but had to wait at the door anyway for Scar to come over and unlock it.

“Ah, home sweet home!” Scar smiled, taking a deep breath as if he was trying to taste the air. “Dontcha just love the feeling of coming home after a long trip? Feels like rediscovering your own living space.”

“We’ve been gone for two days, Scar.” Grian said, dropping their bags in the living room to be dealt with later.

“Long enough for me.” Scar said. “So, coffee?”

“Don’t you have to go get the cats from the sitter’s?” Grian asked.

Scar shrugged. “They’ll be fine a few extra minutes. I know they’re being spoiled rotten over there.”

“True.” Grian said, hopping up onto the kitchen counter to sit. “They probably like the sitter more than you at this point.”

Scar gasped dramatically. “They would never!”

Grian laughed, watching as Scar went on a tirade correcting him and bustled about the kitchen making coffee. It was only as Scar started getting out the half and half that something occurred to him. “Scar! You tricked me!”

“Oh no, what did I do?”

“You tricked me into sleeping through my half of the driving responsibilities.” Grian said, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

“Did not!” Scar defended, his free hand over his heart. “I just asked to swap for a little bit, you falling asleep was completely unplanned.”

“So if I’d stayed awake, we would have switched back at some point?” Grian asked, and watched Scar falter for just a second too long. “Aha! I knew it!”

“In my defense, you seemed really tired!” Scar said. “And apparently you were, since you passed out immediately.”

“I did not ‘pass out.’” Grian said, doing air quotes around the words.

“Oh, you most certainly did!” Scar said, finishing up Grian’s coffee and handing it to him. Grian didn’t miss the fact that Scar didn’t move again to make a cup for himself.

Grian smiled. “But only a little.”

Scar smiled back, nodding. “Yep, sure, only a little.”

“So…” Grian said, blowing on his coffee. “Cats?”

“Yes!” Scar said, jumping into action and grabbing his keys from where he’d set them on the counter. “Be right back!”

Grian didn’t even have time to say anything back before he heard the door slam. He laughed to himself, soaking up the warmth of the mug in his hands. He looked down at it, as if the liquid inside might tell him something. But he knew, smiling down at the coffee in his hands, that whatever it could tell him, he already knew. Grian pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened up his browser, watching as tons of tabs with different engagement rings and articles about proposals lit up on his screen.

Sure, maybe he wasn’t totally sold on marriage yet. And maybe all this was just a fanciful thought that wouldn’t even be acted on for years. But he knew, without a doubt, that if ever he were to get married, it couldn’t be to anyone but Scar.

Chapter Text

“Oh, boys!” Martyn sing-songed, practically bursting into the living room. Scott looked up at him from where he was sitting on the couch, currently in the process of preening Jimmy’s wings. The first things that registered were that Martyn was incredibly done-up—like, suit and tie done-up, which was abnormal for him to say the least—and carrying three small boxes, carefully cradled in his arms. He sauntered over, setting them on the table with a massive grin. “I don’t know if you three noticed, but today is the one year anniversary of us finally becoming a proper foursome. So, happy one year!”

Scott smiled, raising an eyebrow as Jimmy sat up, trying to shake off the strange state of mind that preening often inflicted on avians. He surveyed Martyn’s face, the unblinking joy of it, and while if it was anyone else he might’ve taken it a bit more at face value, he was nothing but suspicious. “What’s this, Martyn?”

“Your anniversary presents.” Martyn grinned. “I thought that was pretty clear.”

“No, I agree with Scott, something’s off.” Tango said, squinting at Martyn as if trying to decode him. Martyn didn’t even flinch. “I thought you said you didn’t want to do anything special today.”

“I changed my mind. What, am I not allowed to show my love for my wonderful boyfriends?” Martyn asked, practically batting his eyelashes. He then shoved a box towards each of them. “Now, open them!”

Scott shared a look with Tango and Jimmy, who both seemed just as confused and suspicious as he was. They all seemed to subconsciously agree to open their boxes at the same time, taking a collective nosedive into whatever chaos Martyn was up to. Scott lifted the lid off of his box carefully—just in case it was a glitter bomb or something—and peeked inside. He was immediately greeted with the cold, lifeless eyes of a dead fish. He screamed, slamming the box shut and practically hurling it away from him.

“Woah, are you okay?” Tango asked, looking up from where he himself was currently examining the lighter that seemingly came from his own gift. Scott sprang up off the couch, side-stepping Jimmy and lunging at Martyn.

“What in the world is wrong with you?” He shouted, grabbing a now cackling Martyn by the front of his shirt and shaking him.

“Hey! Not cool!” Jimmy yelled, and Scott watched as he took a Woody doll out of his box.

“You are evil!” Scott screamed, which only seemed to make Martyn laugh harder. “What is the meaning of this?”

“It reminded me of you!” He laughed, trying and failing to sound sincere. Scott could hardly form a sentence.

“A dead fish head reminded you of me?” He gaped.

“That’s why there’s a lighter in here?” Tango asked, cutting in. “Dude!”

“Martyn!” Jimmy said, affronted.

“Did you think you could get away with this?” Scott asked, still all up in Martyn’s face. “Because you are not going to get away with this!”

“And on our one year anniversary no less.” Jimmy pitched in.

Tango sighed. “I wish I were surprised.”

“Oh, you wanna be surprised?” Martyn asked, grinning ear-to-ear. Scott almost didn’t even want to know what that was supposed to mean.

“Martyn, what more is there?” He asked, trying to calm himself down. Sure, he wasn’t actually mad, really only a bit insulted, but he was getting a little annoyed. It was really just like Martyn to pull pranks on their anniversary.

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” Martyn said, gesturing towards the back garden. Scott heard Jimmy gasp in horror.

“You didn’t!” He said, taking off for the back of the house. Scott was quick to follow him, grabbing Martyn’s wrist and pulling him along so he couldn’t get away from the carnage. “Martyn, I swear, if you messed with my—”

Scott heard Jimmy cut himself off, and immediately felt his stomach drop. He let go of Martyn’s wrist and pushed past Jimmy lightly, expecting to see something truly horrible. But instead of seeing a bunch of dead fish heads on sticks or the entire garden dug up and moved around, he saw a picnic blanket spread out on the grass. The entire back garden was lit by candles and fairy lights, and on the blanket itself were a large picnic basket and a vase full of flowers—poppies, torchflowers, dandelions, and an array of other, smaller flowers to fill space and make the bouquet marginally less of an aesthetic nightmare.

Scott watched as Jimmy stepped carefully out into the garden, and followed, awestruck. He glanced around, noticing a printed photograph on the ground. He picked it up, looking at it, and seeing that it was from Scott and Martyn’s first real date. The two of them were smiling at the camera, dressed to the nines in matching siren and sailor halloween costumes, backlit by the neon glow of a street party. He looked up from the picture to see Martyn standing in the doorway, a much more sincere smile on his face.

“Martyn?” Tango asked, sounding a bit teary-eyed.

“Happy anniversary, guys.” He said. Scott watched as in what had to have been a matter of two seconds flat, Jimmy had raced back through the garden and tackled Martyn in a giant hug.

“You aren’t a heartless monster after all!” Jimmy cried, making all of them burst into stunned laughter.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I just thought it’d be funny to set expectations as low as possible.” Martyn told them, shrugging. “And Scott, if it’s any consolation, that fish head is completely fake.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Scott sighed, glad that there was not currently a rotting fish head in a box sitting on his sofa. “Does not make the fact you said I remind you of one any better.”

“It was the first thing I thought of that would actually be funny!”

“You’re digging a deeper hole there, bud.” Tango advised, and Martyn groaned.

“No, because all the things I thought of before that were nice.” He promised.

“Did you have the same problem with mine?” Jimmy asked, still clinging to him.

Martyn grinned. “No, Tim. That was actually the very first thing I thought of.”

“You’re gonna make me take back my compliment!” Jimmy warned.

“Compliment? Is saying I’m not a heartless monster a compliment?” Martyn asked.

Jimmy turned his nose up. “Better than any compliment you’ve ever given me.”

“Hey! That’s not fair!” Martyn protested.

“So is this picnic basket just for show, or…?” Tango asked suddenly. He always seemed to know the perfect time to cut in and interrupt for the sake of peace-keeping. Scott wasn’t sure what they’d do without him.

“No, sir! It’s got a veritable feast tucked inside, if I do say so myself.”

“A ‘veritable feast?’” Scott asked, cringing a bit. “I thought you were done trying to get on our nerves.”

“Oh, sit down.” Martyn said, rolling his eyes and pulling Scott over to the picnic blanket.

Tango sat down too, reaching out to grab a nearby photograph from the grass. He smiled at it, gesturing with it in such a way that Scott could see that it was one of all of them at the aquarium. “Did you cover the lawn in these?”

“Sure did.” Martyn smiled.

Scott pinched his cheek and Martyn jolted away quickly. “Aw Martyn! That’s so cute.”

“Did you have to do that?” He complained and Scott smirked.

“I felt the situation called for it.”

“I feel the situation calls for a lot of things.” Jimmy said, having found himself four champagne glasses and a bottle in the basket. “Including a toast!”

Scott helped him pour the champagne and pass a glass to each of them, the four of them sitting close together so they all fit on the blanket, which, now that Scott really looked at it, seemed like it had been stolen from their guest bedroom. Jimmy cleared his throat and smiled at all of them.

“To every relationship here tonight, those of six years and those of newly one, I raise a glass.” Jimmy said, giving Scott a wink. “I’d like to make a toast to all of my wonderful boyfriends and all of the love we’ve found in each other. To the good and the bad and the inbetween. Thank you for all making my life better than I ever could’ve hoped for. And especially to Martyn who, though he has really questionable methods, is the reason we’re out here enjoying this picnic tonight. Even if he called me a toy to do it, as long as it leads me back to stuff like this, I almost don’t mind.”

“I’ll hold you to it!” Martyn said, and Jimmy straightened up.

“Cheers!” He said quickly, hurrying to clink his glass with all the others. Scott laughed as he did the same, taking a sip from the glass once he was done. He looked around the little circle they’d formed, at all of his boyfriends smiling and enjoying each other’s company. He looked to the sky, which danced with the pinks and oranges and purples of the sunset, blending together in a painting of light. A promise of the stars, a promise of the moon, and a promise of the sun in the morning. A promise of another day after this one, where Scott would wake up surrounded by the people he loved most in the world. Where he would wake up to Jimmy and Martyn trying to argue quietly about one of them kicking in his sleep; Martyn gently carding through his hair; Tango mumbling incoherently to himself about some new redstone project he’d dreamt of and just had to write down in case it was possible; Jimmy’s wings brushing against his skin as he stretched, leaving a tingling sensation. Or, maybe, just the quiet peace of early morning. Of lying in bed, knowing that his boyfriends might not be up for hours, but being content in the knowledge that they were all there surrounding him. Of waiting those hours lying in bed so that when they woke he could pretend he was still asleep, because he knew that when they thought he was they’d try and wake him up softly with light touches and soothing words. Conversely, of getting up early and staying up to make them breakfast and coffee and to wake them up with his own small comforts. He looked to the sky, and saw in it all the swirling colors of both sunset and sunrise, and figured both were equally magical, because he equated both with these men that he loved.

Scott sipped his champagne, feeling the light, bubbly sourness of it down his throat, and leaned back on his free hand to watch them all laugh and drink and eat. And he figured that both sunsets and sunrises were equally magical, but neither could be quite as beautiful as this.

Chapter Text

One of the things Martyn found most interesting about starting new relationships was how people changed when viewed through the differing lenses of “friend” and “partner.” Not in a necessarily bad way, and not a necessarily good way either, more a neutral way. The kind of natural little changes people made in behavior depending on the relationship.

So when Martyn started officially dating Jimmy and Tango as well as Scott, following years of off-and-on dancing around each other, he was very attentive to the little changes. And Jimmy especially was someone he was thrilled to get to know as a boyfriend. They’d been friends for as long as Martyn could remember, dating all the way back to middle school, and the dynamic they’d had was comfortable. And, to be honest, it didn’t change all that much. Martyn still teased Jimmy a lot, and Jimmy still went out of his way to annoy Martyn or make bad jokes just to get a rise out of him, but there were little differences.

The main thing he noticed was that Jimmy, apparently, loved to spoil his partners. It was something he vaguely knew, seeing as every once in awhile Jimmy would mention buying Scott bouquets of flowers or bringing Tango breakfast in bed after he pulled late hours, but he didn’t quite grasp the extent of it. It seemed that, when it came to love languages, Jimmy spoke primarily in gift-giving. He remembered talking to him about it all the way back in high school, when Jimmy lamented not being as touchy or as affectionate with his words as the girl he’d been dating at the time. Martyn knew that, back then, Jimmy often fell back on small gifts and acts of service as a way of compensating for the “good-boyfriend categories” he felt he was “lacking” in. Now, though, it didn’t seem motivated quite like that. Jimmy just seemed to like doing things for his boyfriends, the appreciation he got in turn enough payment in itself.

For that reason, Martyn didn’t fight him any more than necessary when he offered to pay on dates or give too many “oh you shouldn’t have”’s when he bought him little gifts or surprised him with stuff. Instead, he knew to just thank him a lot and show all the appreciation he could. And he was content to do that, too, it was just, well…

To be frank, two could play at this game, and Martyn loved nothing more than the thrill of the game.

And so, sometimes, when he felt a little mischievous or just a little extra lovey-dovey, he’d turn Jimmy’s love back around on him. He left flowers—chosen, of course, with Scott’s help—in his office, and brought him coffee, and always made sure to pick up his favorite snacks when he went shopping and leave them in the cabinets with little love notes attached.

The best part was that it took no time at all for Jimmy to catch on to what he was doing, and to double-down immediately. Now, Martyn was waking up to his tea and lunch prepped and ready for him on the kitchen counter, finding love notes all over his belongings, and being generally bombarded with cutesy little presents at every turn. It eventually got to the point where both of them would show up with surprises for the other on such a regular basis that it would turn into this fun little dance of: “oh, you shouldn’t have!” “No, no, I insist!” “Well, if you insist, then I insist!” “Here let me get that for you!” “No need—after you.”

These back and forths were always ended or interrupted by a loud sigh from Tango or a “get a room!” from Scott. At which point, Martyn and Jimmy would give each other a little glare and continue conversation as usual, both trying to stifle laughter and smiles.

And Martyn was fully content to let things go on like that, until Scott approached him with a devilish grin and a phone in hand. Martyn gave him a wary look as Scott passed him the phone, and he looked down to see it open to the page of some obscure caramel brand based in Norway of all places. He stared, before turning his gaze on Scott and giving him an intrigued look. “Elaborate?”

“Jimmy and I went on a trip to Norway years back and while we were there, we tried some of this place’s caramel. It was the best either of us have ever had, and ever since, Jimmy can’t seem to eat caramel without mentioning it.” Scott exposited, his grin widening as he reached over and tapped the phone. “You wanna win this weird game thing you’ve got going? Nothing says ‘spoiled rotten’ than buying someone caramel from Norway that they don’t even know can be ordered.”

Martyn smiled to himself, giving Scott an approving nod. “Have I ever told you you’re a genius?”

“Not nearly enough.” Scott said, and Martyn leaned up to kiss him.

“Well, you’re a genius.” He said, quickly sending himself the link from Scott’s phone.

The next couple weeks went by without much going on, and Martyn could tell that Jimmy was growing more and more suspicious of him as the days went by. It seemed they’d reached a stand-still in their little competition, just waiting to see who would strike next. And Martyn was anxiously awaiting the caramel to arrive, keeping a careful watch for the mail so he could make sure Jimmy didn’t accidentally ruin his own surprise. 

Then, at long last, on a Saturday evening, Martyn put things in motion. He took the box of caramels and set them out on the coffee table while Jimmy was showering, knowing he’d have to go over there to pick his phone back up, and waited. However, as he was waiting, he noticed something on their kitchen counter, wrapped in a little paper package. Suspicious, he grabbed it, reading the cursive handwriting—which belonged to none of them—scrawled across the label reading: To Martyn, from Jimmy .

He stared at it for a couple seconds before carefully opening it. He paused when he saw the glint of silver and the careful ornate detailing of an obsidian hilt winking at him from inside. He turned at the sound of a gasp, locking eyes with Jimmy.

“Is this—?”

“Did you—?”

They both stared at each other for a long while, taking short steps closer to each other. Jimmy was the first to break the silence. Martyn felt like there ought to have been western music playing.

“How’d you even find out about these?” He asked.

“Trade secret.” Martyn said. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Trade secret.” Jimmy parroted.

“Hm.”

“Where did you…” Jimmy said, staring at the box in his hands. “I mean, these are from Norway .”

“And this is from a ren faire blacksmith who’s so niche they don’t have any social media.” Martyn said, narrowing his eyes. “And you’re not the internet sleuthing type.”

“No, and neither are you.” Jimmy said. “Which means…”

“Scott…”

“Set you both up so I could win?” Scott’s voice smiled from out of Martyn’s periphery, and he watched as Jimmy practically jumped three feet in the air in surprise. Martyn whipped around, finding Scott lounging easily in one of the barstools at their kitchen counter. Martyn half expected to see him sinisterly petting a cat, as well. “You bet.”

“Oh, you little—” Jimmy said, exasperated. “But why?”

Scott just gave the two of them a look, and Martyn rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine, point taken. We’ll roll it back.”

“This doesn’t mean you won though.” Jimmy said. “You may have picked the gifts, but we still bought them for each other.”

“I guess you haven’t had a chance to check your wallets yet, then.” Scott said, setting his head on his hand and giving them a smug grin.

Jimmy stuttered for a minute before sighing. “He’s thought of everything.”

“So you bought gifts for us to give to each other?” Martyn asked. “And then tried to make us both think we were going to ‘win’ because of them, only to pull this at the last second?”

“Precisely.” Scott smiled.

“You know I have to pay you back, right?” Martyn said. “If not for Jimmy’s gift then for mine. I mean, this blade is easily a couple hundred pounds, not accounting for shipping.”

“No, no, Martyn, don’t be silly.” Scott said, sincerity hiding beneath his saccharine tone. “It’s my treat.”

Martyn laughed to himself, sidling up beside Scott and wrapping an arm around his waist. He set the dagger on the countertop as he did so. “What an evil genius you are.”

“Evil?” Scott said. “Sir, did I not just buy you a totally heartfelt gift?”

“No, I’m with Martyn, this is evil.” Jimmy said, joining them in the kitchen. “You did this to prove a point.”

“And? I proved my point by being excessively kind.” Scott smiled. “What’s so wrong with that?”

“It’s the way you go about it.” Martyn said, matter-of-factly.

“Seconded.” Jimmy said. “You’re just so snarky.”

Scott grinned. “You know you love my snark, Jimmy.”

“It is something I tolerate.” Jimmy amended, but caved as soon as Scott pouted, cooing. “I love it. I do.”

“Gotcha.” Scott smiled.

“What’s going on in here?” Martyn heard Tango ask, and he looked up to see the other entering the kitchen, actively wiping redstone-covered hands off on a little rag.

“Scott’s effectively put a stop to our fun.” Martyn told him, and Tango squinted for a second before his eyes lit up with recognition.

“Oh, is this about that annoying thing you guys were doing with one-upping each other’s little gifts and things?” Tango asked, and after a little offended huff from Jimmy, Martyn nodded. Tango sighed in relief, wiping his brow. “Thank god. I was getting tired of you two walking through the front door with like thirty bouquets.”

“Only thing you were getting tired of was knowing none of the bouquets were for you.” Scott teased and Tango rolled his eyes.

“Well, it would’ve been nice to get one .” Tango said, and Jimmy reached out a hand, beckoning him over to where they were. They slotted together in a little side-hug seconds later.

“Don’t worry, rancher, next time, I’ll buy flowers for everyone.” Jimmy declared.

“I’ll hold you to it.” Tango said. Martyn smiled at the both of them, and was about to say something about how much of a dent Jimmy was set to make in his wallet when he heard a short chime from nearby. He watched with a raised eyebrow as Scott wiggled out of his grip and pulled out his phone, turning off the alarm and swinging himself around the counter-top to get to the oven.

“Scott?” He asked as Scott leant down, opening the oven and pulling out a tray of cinnamon rolls out.

“Just cementing my victory.” He hummed, tossing the potholder he’d used to the side and smiling as he leant up against the countertop.

“We get it, you’re great.” Jimmy said, and Scott smirked back.

“Thank you for noticing.” He said. “And, before you even have the time to think about it, white roses and chocolates from that little french place near Magic Mountain.”

Martyn and Jimmy shared a look, fond and exasperated. They both nodded, turning back to him.

“Noted.”

Chapter Text

Skizz hummed contentedly, settling back on the couch and hearing his back pop as he rolled his shoulders. Two stacks of papers sat pleasantly on the table in front of him, one covered in his own little red notes and markings and the other with only black text—he always preferred to print his students' work, the light from screens hurt his eyes after too long—waiting to be graded. This was probably his favorite assignment to grade out of them all: a personal letter to anyone or anything in his students’ lives styled after a memoir they’d just finished reading. It was always fun to read what they had to say, or who they chose to write to. He was, of course, biased towards the one or two students each year who chose to write to him, but he found all of them a joy to read. The one he’d just finished grading was a letter to redstone, from a student who wanted to be a redstoner when they were older. Skizz, for one, didn’t understand a lick of the jargon, but he was more than excited to show Impulse when he got home.

He sighed, leaning forward to take a sip of his water before tackling the ungraded pile, smiling to himself when he read ‘a letter to my dog, Chewy.’ This was gonna be a treat.

He was pulled out of it only a couple sentences in, though, by the sound of the door opening. He heard Impulse shuffle in and smiled. “Hey, Dipple-Dop!”

He fully intended to go right back to it after receiving a short ‘hey’ from his roommate in return, and was pretty caught off-guard when that didn’t happen. Instead of a ‘hello’ or a ‘how was your day?’ or anything along those lines, Impulse just grunted. Skizz raised an eyebrow, turning around and leaning over the back of the couch slightly to see the door. There, Impulse was shrugging off his coat and kicking his shoes out of the way—quite aggressively, if he might add.

“What was that?” Skizz asked, watching Impulse continue to stare bitterly at the floor, huffing a non-response. “Come on, buddy, help me out here. I can’t speak horse, y’know.”

“Not now, Skizz.” Impulse said, gritting his teeth. Then he turned towards the hallway and left.

“Well, someone’s a bit grumpy.” Skizz said, trying to maintain a light tone as his concern grew. He heaved himself off the couch, following Impulse from a safe distance. “This isn’t like you at all.”

“I said not now.” Impulse said, stern. Skizz held his hands up in surrender, and Impulse gave him a sour look before reaching up to rub his temple. Skizz noticed he left a smudge of redstone behind, and he made a note-to-self to check Impulse’s coat for the dust and wash it out before it could stain. Well, stain any further. Skizz honestly wasn’t sure what it looked like when it was new, what with how many red spots and streaks decorated it now. “Just…leave me be, yeah? I’ve had a rough day.”

“Alright, bud. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to fix it.” Skizz offered, watching Impulse’s frown deepen. He didn’t say anything more, though, just turned and disappeared into his room. Skizz watched him, papers totally forgotten as he started scheming a way to make Impulse’s day a bit brighter. He ran to the kitchen pretty quickly, scowering the place.

Now, Skizz was no cook, but he could make a mean grilled cheese, and he knew that Impulse was particularly partial to those. Skizz used to pack one for him every day before Impulse started picking up lunch for himself during his break, since apparently his workplace was filled with sandwich-stealing hooligans. Skizz was just glad for the unspoken peace treaty between all the teachers in his department. Lord knew how little anyone wanted to deal with missing lunch drama on top of all the natural drama that came with teaching at a middle school. He was sure he’d overheard enough drama of the “boyfriend-stealing” variety to last him the rest of his life—and, undoubtedly, there was more on the way, if the way he noticed Eliza’s boyfriend Tyler looking at Kenzie was anything to go by. Not that that was any of his business.

Skizz was adding the final touches to the grilled cheese’s—meaning he was putting them on their plates and making sure the less-burnt side was face up—when Impulse reappeared. Skizz liked to think he’d been lured out by the smell.

Impulse gave him a look as he slid his plate across the countertop towards him. “Bone appetite!”

Skizz was discouraged when Impulse didn’t correct his dreadful mispronunciation, but he didn’t let up, rounding the island so he could sit at one of the stools, leaving the other open for Impulse. It was silent for a while after Impulse sat, Skizz content to give him time while they ate. And even after they were done eating they sat in a strange sort of quiet, and Skizz could practically hear the gears in Impulse’s head turning.

“Something on your mind?”

And thus, the floodgates were open.

“Why’d I ever decide to be a redstoner?” Impulse sighed. “I should’ve just become an accountant or something.”

“You would’ve hated that.” Skizz said, laughing a little, and he saw Impulse crack a tiny smile.

“Yeah. I would have.” He said, fiddling with his empty plate. “But it might not have been so…y’know?”

Skizz raised an eyebrow. “I don’t.”

Impulse sighed, sitting back. “I guess you don’t.”

“Did something happen?” Skizz asked.

“Just…there’s this client, right? I finished her little compact-dispenser thing, and it worked as intended and it was fine, really simple, but fine. But then I show it to her and she can’t seem to find one thing she doesn’t want me to change about it.” Impulse groaned. “And all her suggestions were crazy impractical! I hate it when people who don’t get redstone try and act like they know better. Like it’s magic or something, and I can just say ‘presto change-o’ and suddenly it’ll have three new functions.”

“Ah, that does sound…frustrating.” Skizz hummed, cringing a bit.

“It is, but it’s also not new. I’ve dealt with plenty of customers like that, but usually they either chill out when I explain the logistics to them or they just throw a hissy until I change things and I get to charge them gratuity and deny refunds when their stupid additions don’t work out.” Impulse explained. “Both are good enough solutions.”

“I take it she was not chill?”

“Well, she acted like it. And then, get this, called my boss thirty minutes after our meeting and complained.”

Skizz gasped. “She didn’t!”

“She did. Told him I wouldn’t take her seriously, and that I was rude and patronizing. Said I was exceedingly unprofessional.” Impulse said, clearly bothered. “And I told him that was ridiculous, because it is—I’m never anything but polite to my clients—but he didn’t care. He said he believed that I wouldn’t do that, but he ‘had to be careful’ because she could tell other people about it and if he didn’t do anything she definitely would.”

“So what’d he do? Tell her you were in big trouble and then leave it alone, right? Right?”

“I’m…suspended, essentially, from taking on any new clients or starting any projects.” Impulse sighed, rubbing his forehead. Skizz frowned. “I can still help out behind the scenes but I’m basically not allowed to do anything on my own for the next couple months.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Skizz said, in disbelief. “They can’t just do that, can they? I mean, you didn’t even do anything!”

“Unfortunately, they can.” Impulse sighed. “I’m just…honestly, I’m so over it. It feels like if it’s not something like this, it’s falling behind on a project or having to work overtime or having to collaborate with new people who don’t get how I do things and…I’m thinking I might just quit.”

“Quit?” Skizz asked, pulled back in shock. “Like, find a new company?”

“Like quit redstoning.” Impulse said, and Skizz felt his stomach sink. “Find something else to do with my time.”

“You don’t mean that.” Skizz said. “Dipple-dop, you love redstoning!”

“I thought I did.” Impulse grumbled. “But it feels like every step forward is five steps back.”

“Impulse, come on.” Skizz said, clapping his shoulder and shaking it a little bit. “What about making a name for yourself? What about all those huge projects you’re working on?”

“All that’s just…fantasy, Skizz.” He sighed, brushing Skizz off and leaning his head on his hand. “All I know is that I can work my butt off and no one will ever notice it. Redstone’s…it’s a dead end.”

“It is not a dead end!” Skizz said, adamantly. “How could you say that? You are crushing kids’ dreams, you know. There are so many people who would kill to do what you are.”

“I’m not crushing anyone’s dream, Skizz.”

“Yes—“ Skizz said, jumping out of his seat, running to the table, and snatching his student’s paper off it. He held it out to Impulse, looking him dead in the eye. “You are.”

Impulse looked at him for a second, confused, before he took the paper. Skizz watched as he read, furrowed brows slowly uncreasing.

“If you give up, you’re letting down this kid. His whole dream is to be like you, to do exactly what you are. He knows it won’t be easy, but he’s determined, and he wants it so badly.” Skizz said, watching Impulse’s shoulders drop, tension seeping out of him. “And that’s not the only kid you’ll be letting down either.”

Impulse looked up at him. “More of your students wrote about this?”

“Plenty more, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” Skizz said, before poking Impulse in the chest. “I’m talking about the kid in here. The one who’s spent everyday since I met him talking about redstone and creation. Who’s spent his whole life getting to this point. Who are you to crush his dreams? To tell him he can’t do it?”

Impulse stared at him, a small smile spreading across his face. “You’re such a cornball.”

“But I’m a correct cornball.” Skizz said, and Impulse laughed.

“Yeah, you are.” He said, a look of concentration on his face as he glanced down at the paper. “But…this doesn’t change what happened. I’m still not going to be able to do anything at work.”

“How’s about you just let me handle that?” Skizz said, and when Impulse gave him a questioning look, he smiled. “C’mon, man, you fix everything around here. Let me at least fix this.”

“Alright.” Impulse relented. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

And, oh, did Skizz know what he was doing. Within a couple hours, he had an entire army of people ready to call Impulse’s place of work with redstone requests, ready to specifically say they wanted him to do them. And when they were told he couldn’t, they were quick to refuse any alternatives, saying they were happy to wait. That they wouldn’t have anyone else.

Was it probably a little suspicious? Yes. But did it eventually mean Impulse was able to make his two month probation a one week probation? Also yes. And the resulting skip in Impulse’s step was all Skizz needed to see.

Chapter Text

Martyn wasn’t really the partying type—

Alright, scratch that, he totally was. Who was he fooling, really? He’d always felt he fit right in with the loud atmosphere and flashing lights and faces that blurred into neon and disappeared into corners because they thought they’d be invisible there. When he was still in uni, he’d been a bit of a “frat rat,” as Gem so lovingly called him when she found out about the clubbing he did. Though, of course, the two things weren’t really related. Sure, most of the clubs by his uni were populated by students, but they weren’t exclusive or anything. He’d told her as much, and she said she didn’t care. He’d always be a frat rat to her. 

What could he say? It was a good way to blow off steam and de-stress after all the long days. And, really, it was just fun. All the interesting things went down at clubs, after all. And the socialization was great. He didn’t often have the time to talk to people during school, given how busy he was, so he made most of his friends at clubs or society events.

One such friend was currently dramatically draped over Martyn, loudly complaining about how much his feet hurt.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have worn heels.” Martyn said, looking down at Scott. Rays of pink caught in his hair from the LEDs around the room, washing it a misty purple, and the glittery eyeshadow he was using was nearly blinding with how it reflected the lights. Martyn liked to imagine this was how he looked without his glamour up, with galaxy hair and stars dancing around his eyes and cheekbones. Not that Martyn would know. He didn’t think he’d seen Scott without his glamour in all the time he’d known him. Scott said teal suited him better, anyways.

“But they go so well!” Scott bemoaned, kicking one of his feet up as an example, showing off the shiny black stilettos there. “And I wouldn’t be caught dead in this nice of an outfit and sneakers.”

“You could’ve worn flats.” Martyn told him as Scott hung off his arm. Martyn guessed he was a few seconds away from demanding Martyn carry him around the rest of the night.

“I can’t believe I ever once trusted your opinion on fashion.” Scott said, snippy and with his chin up. Martyn rolled his eyes fondly.

“Scott!” A voice called out to them. Martyn watched as Cleo shoved her way through the crowd towards them, giving him a brief once over before she was back on what she’d come for. “You up for another round?”

“You buying?” Scott asked, sounding bored as he set his head on Martyn’s shoulder.

Cleo gave him an amused snort. Looking around at the scenery. “I think Lizzie and Joel are, technically.”

She was, of course, referring to the fact that they were in their house, for their engagement party, and drinking from their liquor supply. Martyn raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you plan on bankrupting the both of them before they even get married.” He said and Cleo rolled her eyes.

“If they didn’t want me to drink them out of house and home, they shouldn’t have let me in.” Cleo said, before turning her gaze back on Scott. “So?”

“Lead the way.” Scott said, finally pulling himself off of Martyn and blowing one final kiss before he was skipping off with Cleo. Martyn watched them go, and tried not to pay too much attention to how Scott’s outfit hugged his body, or how the look in his eyes when he blew that kiss made his heart flutter. He tried not to think about it, because, really, how terrible of a friend would he be if he did?

Subconsciously, Martyn’s gaze drifted to a family portrait on the wall he was standing by, and he found himself making eye contact with photo-Jimmy. Martyn sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

It wasn’t like it was his fault they were on a break, but it would be his fault if he caught feelings while they were. He knew they were probably going to get back together, even if it was, admittedly, taking a while. Maybe if Jimmy were just a little smarter this wouldn’t be happening in the first place.

Martyn tried to force out that thought. It wasn’t Jimmy’s fault. Not completely. Could he have been a bit more tactful about telling Scott his feelings for Tango? Yes. Could he have waited at least a week before starting to date the guy the “love of his life” had put their relationship on hold over? Yes. Was he a bit of an idiot? Yes. But Scott had said he was open to polyamory when Jimmy and him started dating, so maybe he could've been a bit less hasty putting them on ice. It was just a huge, huge mess. And, quite honestly, Martyn didn’t want even a sliver of responsibility for making it any worse.

Say what you will about Martyn, but he wasn’t the type of guy to fawn over someone one of his closest friends had called his “future husband.” So for the time being, he was content to just call his interest in Scott fully platonic and maybe some type of “aesthetic attraction.” Nothing more than that.

On a completely unrelated note, Martyn was starting to think Cleo was onto something when she set out to drink the Solidarity-Shadow’s—was it Solidarity-Shadow-Smallbean’s now? Martyn kind of hoped not, for the sake of any future children Joel and Lizzie might have—into bankruptcy. At the very least, it’d make a good distraction.

—

“Oh, Martyn!” He heard someone practically purr from behind him, before he felt hands skitter across his back and Scott’s head pop into view. “Have you seen my friend, Pearl? She’s about yeh-high and dressed like a medieval witch.”

Martyn gave him a look, to which Scott just smiled innocently. Martyn could smell alcohol on his breath, and could see a slight fuzziness in his eyes. “Do I want to know why?”

“I’m going to ask her to dance.” Scott said, conspiratorially. Martyn felt like a 13 year old at a school social, whose friend was hoping to be hyped up before he danced with the girl of his dreams. Though, to be frank, Martyn was pretty sure that Scott’s dreams didn’t really involve girls. Not in that context. Scott playfully pressed a finger to his lips, winking. “Don’t tell anyone!”

Martyn laughed a bit. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Oh, a cocktail or two.” Scott said, waving his hand flippantly.

“Really? Because you’re not usually so…” Martyn gestures to Scott’s demeanor. “I’ll be nice and call it bubbly.”

“Aw, you don’t like it?” Scott said, giving a little pout that transformed rather quickly into a wolf-toothed grin. “Not enough danger for you?”

Martyn tried to hide his flush with a facepalm. “Well, that settles it.”

“Settles what, handsome?” Scott smirked, toying with Martyn’s tie.

Martyn, by way of an answer, scooped Scott up into his arms. He was able to do it just casually enough that his giddiness at having Scott so close didn’t show through. “I’m taking you home. I think you’ve had your fun, yeah? And you’ve got things to do tomorrow, so I hear.”

“Nothing that important.” Scott said, before turning these faux-sad eyes on Martyn. “Do I have to go?”

“It’s nearly midnight.” Martyn said. “I think if I don’t walk you home now you’ll complain about no one trying to save you from yourself.”

“Touché.” Scott smiled, before pointing in the general direction of the door. “Lead the way.”

Martyn smiled fondly, adjusting his grip and carrying him out towards the door. Scott took every opportunity to draw attention to them as he did so, waving enthusiastically at everyone they passed and making snide, sometimes flirtatious, remarks about his “knight in shining armor.” Martyn just maintained the same exasperated expression, even when he caught Grian’s eyes and the other mouthed the word “sucker” at him. He just sent a pointed look between him and Scar, who Grian had been following around all night. “Sucker.”

It was…less easy to play things off when they passed Jimmy, whose smile immediately wavered, and whose eyes took on this terrible look of hurt. Martyn didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t like that , while simultaneously carrying the love of Jimmy’s life away in his arms. He’d have to explain it tomorrow. He’d…probably have to explain a lot of things tomorrow. This wasn’t the best look, was it? People didn’t usually leave parties with someone else in their arms unless they were planning on doing something after they left. Martyn just wanted to save himself from Scott’s complaints about his feet. That was it.

He began mentally drafting an apology text to Jimmy as they left and Scott quieted down. Apparently, once there was no one to embarrass Martyn in front of, his drunken ramblings were a lot more controlled. Funny how that worked.

Martyn just counted himself lucky that Scott lived pretty close by. He liked to think himself strong, but he knew he wasn’t carry-someone-30-minutes-across-town strong.

As they neared Scott’s apartment complex, he went to put Scott down only for Scott to just cling tighter. He sighed. “What?”

“You’re really going to make me walk up all those stairs by myself?” Scott said, fixing Martyn with a look that seemed a cross between threatening and pitiful. He wasn’t totally sure how that worked, but Scott pulled it off.

“Fine.” Martyn said through grit teeth, hiking Scott up and starting up the stairs. “I’m starting to think you did this to yourself on purpose.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean, I think you knew that wearing heels would hurt your feet, and eventually you’d have someone carrying you home because you couldn’t walk.” Martyn speculated, and Scott flashed him an innocent smile.

“Good guess.” Scott said. “But this is just a perk.”

“For you.” Martyn said, shifting him again. “For me this is torture.”

“You didn’t have to carry me.” Scott said, and Martyn scoffed.

“You would’ve made me eventually.” Martyn said. Scott didn’t defend himself, just leaning his head against Martyn’s shoulder. Martyn was kind of glad Scott couldn’t see his face, or the heat that rushed to it.

When they got to the door of Scott’s apartment, he finally got a chance to set him down, and thankfully Scott didn’t cling and force him to carry him to bed, too. Even for the situation, that seemed just a bit too domestic. Scott leant against his door as he unlocked it, and Martyn was going to say goodbye, figuring that would be the end of that, when Scott turned around and fixed him with a smile.

“Thanks for walking me home, Mean Gill.” Scott smirked, leaning up to kiss Martyn on the cheek. He winked one final time before disappearing behind the door. Martyn stilled, staring a hole through Scott’s closed door. The world seemed to halt, like it too was a bit stunned. Martyn felt a chill run through his body as he lifted a hand to touch his cheek, before harshly shaking his head and turning around. He descended down the stairs, trying to school his face into something nonchalant.

He didn’t mean anything by it. He was drunk, after all—he didn’t act that drunk, though, not after they left. But even then he was probably just…being Scott. “Flirt” was practically his middle name. Martyn could’ve been anyone, and Scott would’ve done the same thing. Besides, he knew Scott was still head over heels for Jimmy, underneath all the resentment he was currently clutching onto. 

When he wrote his apology text to Jimmy, he left out the kiss. He wasn’t going to ruin things between them for good over a little mistake.

That’s all it was, right? A mistake?

Martyn wouldn’t get his hopes up.

Chapter Text

When it came to fights in the household, there were usually two main ways they came about. One: Either Scott or Martyn got a little too comfortable in their teasing, and the subject of said teasing wasn’t having it. Or two: there was an actual issue that had been bubbling under the surface for a while, and no one caught it before all hell broke loose. There were, of course, variations on these, and number two was fortunately very uncommon, but that was the main structure.

When it came to diffusing fights, there was also a structure. If there was a fight between Martyn and Jimmy, Scott mediated and Tango sometimes ran moral support. A fight between Tango and Jimmy usually ended up not needing mediators, but also usually incited a lot of hugging and tears. Martyn and Scott usually fought the quietest, with subtle jabs and passive aggression, and eventually moved on just as quietly without much need for mediation either, though Jimmy still tried. Fights between Martyn and Tango didn’t usually happen unless one of the others were involved, in which case everyone just talked it out. Fights with Scott and Tango were perhaps the loudest and most frequent—in comparison, of course, they weren’t at each other's throats daily or anything—with the two having butt heads since they first met for fairly obvious reasons. Their fights now obviously weren’t so emotionally charged, and the resentment that burned behind them wasn’t there anymore. Rather, fights between the two of them were usually over petty things and misunderstandings—play fights and bickering more than anything else. If needed, Jimmy mediated these, and Martyn typically just ignored them.

This structure worked until something stopped it, say, Jimmy going out of town for the weekend on a “siblings only” trip with Lizzie. Martyn just hoped Scott and Tango were having a spat over something inconsequential and not some sort of reckoning, and that he would be fine to go about his business.

He still caught snippets of it though, standing in the kitchen as Scott and Tango bickered in the living room.

…

“You are insufferable.”

“And you’re no fun.”

…

“Maybe if you had a real job you wouldn’t have so much time to stand around heckling me!”

“A real job? Right, because playing with redstone is so much more real than modeling.”

“It’s not ‘playing’!”

…

“I know modeling is hard, I’m not talking about that.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

…

“Oh, please! Anyone can move around some colors on a screen.”

“And anyone could flick a light switch.”

“That is not what redstoning is!”

…

“So just ‘cause I don’t have a nine-to-five means I’m not really working?”

“I didn’t say that.”

…

“So which job do you have a problem with then?”

“I don’t have a problem with either of your jobs!”

“Because neither of them are real, right?”

“Oh, come on!”

…

And so on. Really, Martyn was not nearly invested enough to try and work out why in the world they were bickering over jobs that they both obviously respected. Martyn had heard Tango compliment Scott’s graphic design time and time again, and had just as frequently seen Scott lavish Tango’s redstone with praise. And the modeling thing was something Martyn had only ever seen Tango be supportive about, so it was hard to see that being a real issue either. Really, it just sounded like Tango made an offhand dig without thinking, and Scott was now grilling him on it. Which, yeah, that was probably it.

“I’m going to bed.” Scott said, now closer to where Martyn was working. “Got to wake up bright and early so I can get to my fake job.”

“I didn’t mean—” Martyn watched as Scott stormed into the kitchen, snatched an orange from their little fruit-display-thing and marched towards the bedroom, Tango following after him but stopping in the kitchen to lean against the counter and groan. He looked up after a second, catching Martyn’s gaze. “Did you hear any of that?”

“Almost all of it.” Martyn answered, sliding some diced onions into the broth he was making.

“Great.” Tango huffed. “He’s just so petty! It’s like I can’t say even one wrong thing.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean, he spends all of his time trying to rile me up, but the second I do it back he takes it this badly?” Tango complained.

“Well, you did insult his livelihood.” Martyn shrugged. “Livelihoods?”

“But I didn’t mean to!” Tango defended, looking down at his hands as he wrung them. “I was just frustrated. He’s been bothering me all day!”

“Oh, yeah?” Martyn asked, going back to cooking. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted Jimmy back home more in his entire life. This was not his responsibility.

“Yeah! He just can’t help himself or something. Like, since Jimmy’s not here he has to make someone else’s day hell on earth.” Tango said, and Martyn just raised an eyebrow. Tango frowned. “Well, not hell on earth. I don’t mean that he spends all his time trying to make Jimmy’s day worse. I know he’s just more comfortable showing his affection that way, or whatever. That it’s not heckling just…teasing. And, Jimmy’s fine with it anyway, so it’s not malicious…”

Martyn just continued to look at him in between chopping vegetables. 

“Dude, stop looking at me like that! Okay, I know that was a little harsh…maybe more than a little. I don’t know, I just wish he’d quit getting on my case over everything! And I know what you’re gonna say, I should ‘just tell him to stop if it’s bothering me so much.’” Tango said, and Martyn just let him keep therapizing himself. Clearly, he was just here to listen so that Tango had someone to say this all to. He was fine with that. As long as Martyn didn’t have to get any more involved than this. Scott and Tango were dating each other just as much as they were dating him, if their relationship was having issues, that was a them problem. Unless it affected him, their bickering was something they needed to work out on their own. Martyn tuned back in after a moment to find Tango still ranting. “It’s not like I want him to think I don’t like it when he talks to me, or like I wish he was busier so he couldn’t. Oh, man, do you think that’s what it sounded like? Maybe that’s why he was so upset.”

Martyn hummed. “Maybe.”

“Or maybe he’s just having trouble with work and me mentioning it ticked him off. Do you think that’s it? Maybe his agent’s being a jerk or something…or he’s not got as many clients as usual for the design thing.” Tango pondered, pacing a little bit now. “If that’s the case then I really screwed up. I’d probably be upset if someone said my job wasn’t real work right in the middle of me having issues with it. Man, I should really fix this—but he’s trying to sleep! I can’t do anything now.”

“Dinner in twenty.” Martyn told him, setting a lid on the pot.

“Thanks.” He said, setting himself down on one of the barstools they had for their kitchen island. Martyn busied himself with clean-up, and Tango had stopped ranting for the time being, instead mumbling furiously to himself every once in a while and typing on his phone. Martyn let him.

—

The next morning, Martyn woke up to find both of his boyfriends out of bed. He lifted his phone on the nightstand and glimpsed the time: 5:29 . He groaned. He’d have to go pick up Jimmy from the airport soon, which was probably why the other two were up and about. That, or Scott really wasn’t kidding when he said he had to be up bright and early for his shoot.

Martyn hauled himself out of bed, walking slowly out of the room and journeying down the hallway when he was stopped by the silhouettes of Tango and Scott at the end of it, backlit by the kitchen lights.

“Martyn made it last night.” Tango whispered, handing Scott a thermos. “I just heated it up.”

“Thanks.” Scott said, taking it and slipping it into the bag at his side. He took a step as if to leave when Tango stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I’ve really got to go.”

“I know.” Tango said, tucking a strand of Scott’s hair behind his ear. “Have a good day at work.”

Martyn could just barely make out the way Scott’s lips quirked up in a small smile, and he leaned forward to give Tango a little kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, love.”

Martyn watched them linger just a second longer before Scott was making his way out of the kitchen and towards the front door. Tango’s shoulders dropped a bit in relief. Martyn nodded to himself.

He knew they could work it out on their own.

Chapter Text

Gem carefully balanced a teacup on her knee as she sat, watching the morning as it flitted by with the birds and butterflies. She’d always loved springtime. Something about it just felt different. Like everything was at peace, and things were really starting anew.

“There you are.” Pearl’s voice spoke from behind her. Gem could hear her footsteps against the rough pavement of the patio. She hadn’t noticed that Pearl had even entered her home, but she wasn’t about to admit that. “Should’ve looked here first.”

“Mhm.” Gem said, taking a sip from her tea. “Need something?”

“Just wondering where you were.” Pearl said, the chair opposite Gem’s creaking a bit as she sat down. Both of them were angled outwards so that you saw the view first and foremost, but you could still glimpse the person in the other one. A small, glass end-table which Gem had repurposed as a coffee table sat between them, wearing a proud green and gold and white picnic-y tablecloth, which in turn wore a couple ring-shaped coffee stains. Pearl set a bowl of what looked like cereal down on it, stretching back in the chair. “You’re not usually up this early.”

“Yes, I am!” Gem protested lightly. “And it’s not like you can talk Ms. Stays-Up-Til-Five-A.M.-Frequently.”

“I’m working!” Pearl said, like she always did.

“And?” Gem said, raising an eyebrow. “Five a.m. is still ridiculous.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll be ridiculous.” Pearl huffed. “But you have to admit this is early, even for you.”

“It’s eight in the morning.” Gem pointed out.

“On a weekend.” Pearl said. “That’s early.”

“Sure.” Gem said, laughing a bit. “Whatever you say.”

Gem smiled as she sipped at her tea, watching Pearl eat oatmeal out of one of her nice, flower-patterned bowls. “Were you going to explain why you’re at my house? Eating my oatmeal?”

“You gave me a key.” Pearl said, still eating. Gem rolled her eyes.

“That’s not a reason!” Gem said. “You’re at my house, ‘early’ in the morning, eating my oatmeal.”

“Do you not want me to eat breakfast?” Pearl asked, twisting the words, and Gem groaned.

“You have food at your own place.” Gem said, setting her tea down so she could cross her arms.

Pearl shook her head, closing her eyes and scooping some more oatmeal into her mouth. Gem had only just realized that she’d even cut up strawberries into it, strawberries Gem was running low on. The nerve . “Not hot food. Stove’s broken.”

“You have a microwave!”

“Microwave oatmeal is gross!” Pearl complained. “And why would I go out of my way to do that when my lovely friend Gem, who lives only a few meters from my apartment, has fresh, rolled oats sitting untouched and unappreciated in her pantry?”

“Since when is microwaving oatmeal more work than breaking into my apartment?” Gem argued, pointing an accusatory finger at Pearl. “And I’ll have you know that my rolled oats are very appreciated.”

“Oh yeah? Then why have you only used an eighth of them?” Pearl said, smug.

“It’s a new bag!” Gem said. “And it’s not like I eat oatmeal every morning. And neither do you.”

“A girl’s got cravings.” Pearl shrugged.

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re here.” Gem said, to which Pearl just raised an eyebrow. “You know what I mean!”

Pearl hummed. “You ever have a dream about someone and it makes you think ‘oh, I haven’t seen that person in a while, I think my subconscious is telling me to go see them.’”

“Not once in my entire life.” Gem said, though she smiled. “Is this your convoluted way of saying you had a dream about me?”

Pearl shoved another spoonful of oatmeal in her mouth, now having to use her spoon to gather what remained in the bowl. “Maybe.”

“Aw, Pearl!” Gem grinned. “Was it a good dream?”

Pearl nodded. “We were robbers doing a bank heist.”

“And we succeeded at that?” Gem asked, a little incredulous.

“Only ‘cause of dream-you’s badass martial arts skills.” Pearl said, grinning back.

“You think I should take classes?” Gem asked, finishing off her tea.

“Definitely!” Pearl said, setting her bowl down. “You look great doing it.”

“Aw, you flatter me!” Gem smiled, though she still eyed the bowl. “But don’t think this means you don’t owe me more strawberries.”

Pearl groaned, slumping back in her seat. “Strawberries are expensive!”

“Which is why you owe me new ones!” Gem said, setting her teacup in the empty bowl so she’d be able to take it all to the kitchen in one fell-swoop later. She laughed as Pearl continued to groan and complain about the price of fresh fruit. “Well, maybe you should think about that next time you go breaking into my apartment!”

“Fine, fine, okay. I’ll buy you new strawberries.” Pearl relented. They fell into a comfortable silence from there, Gem kicking up her feet on the little footrests she’d set up before her deck chairs and contentedly watching the world move by. She didn’t have a perfect view by any means—it faced the street and didn’t provide a great view beyond that, with only a few trees and some flowers across the way, but it was enough for her. Some days, she was even lucky enough to see a squirrel scamper by on the greenery, or a hummingbird or some bees flitter around the hanging-flowers she had set up. She loved it out here, and one look at Pearl told Gem that she loved it too. Pearl looked over at her after a moment, a sheepish smile on her face. “You aren’t actually mad, are you?”

Gem laughed. “I’m not actually mad. You’re welcome whenever.”

“Good.” Pearl smiled. “‘Cause I wasn’t kidding about my stove being broken.”

Chapter Text

In hindsight, Scar shouldn’t have been so surprised they forgot about him. While he worked at the same architecture firm as a lot of the other “Hermits”—as they’d been calling their friend group for years now—he wasn’t actually at the office very frequently, preferring to work from home whenever he could. Thus, it wasn’t often he actually needed to come in—when he did, it was usually just because he wanted to. Work from home did get stale after a while, despite what some of his saltier coworkers over the years thought.

So, naturally, when he came in for the yearly meeting between every firm beneath their parent company, he didn’t have a chair. This wouldn’t normally be an issue—in years past he’d almost always come in his wheelchair, and so whatever chair they had for him was usually useless anyway. The point, though, was that that chair had always been offered. Now, it just…wasn’t? There wasn’t even a nameplate for him at his firm’s table.

“Uh, G?” He said, grabbing the attention of his boyfriend, who was chatting with some of their coworkers a couple steps away. Grian gave him a prompting look, and he chuckled a little nervously. “They didn’t give me a chair.”

“Huh?” Grian said, glancing around the table before he realized what Scar just had. He let out a long groan, pinching his brow. “Those idiots.”

Scar laughed a bit, in spite of himself. Grian had never been a huge fan of the people in charge of their parent company. The head of their firm, Xisuma, was one of their closest friends, and an excellent boss, but his bosses were…well, most people at the firm didn’t really like them, to say the least. This would really just be fuel for the steadily growing fire of hatred.

“Take my seat for now, okay? I’ll see if I can go find an extra chair.” Grian told him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. Scar nodded, sitting down and collapsing his cane so he could tuck it comfortably under the seat.

Slowly but surely, the other chairs were filled, and there was still no sign of Grian—or Xisuma, for that matter, whose chair sat empty. A couple people asked if Grian wasn’t coming or if something happened, to which Scar just explained he’d gone to get a chair. Even still, it was odd how long it was taking. These kinds of events usually had extra chairs lying all over the place—how long did it take to check a storage closet?

The first speaker had approached the mic by the time they returned, Xisuma taking his seat and Grian practically perching himself on the arm of Scar’s. Scar looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, catching Grian’s exasperated, mellow anger in return.

“Couldn’t find a chair.” He whispered, more of a hiss than anything else.

“There weren’t any?” Scar whispered back. “Well that’s a little crazy.”

“You’re telling me.” Grian rolled his eyes.

Scar paused a little bit. “Do you want your chair back?”

“Do I…” Grian looked at Scar like he’d grown two heads. “No, Scar, I don’t need it.”

“But, it is technically yours.” He reasoned, Grian scoffed under his breath.

“This thing’s several hours long at best, Scar, I’m not going to make you stand.” Grian said.

“But perching like that can’t be comfortable.” Scar said, and Grian had to stifle a laugh.

“I’m part parrot, Scar.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Grian just laughed to himself, shaking his head fondly and refocusing on the speaker. Scar smiled to himself, leaning slightly towards where Grian sat, and in turn supporting him slightly.

Later, during the provided dinner, one of the higher-ups approached their table with a judgemental glare and a tight smile.

“Is everything alright?” He coughed. When the table just looked at him he gestured towards Grian. “You’re, well, sitting in a rather—“

“I wasn’t given a chair.” Grian said, with a certain level of pettiness mixed with professionalism. “Just making the best of it, sir.”

“Oh?” The man said, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Well, carry on, then.”

The conversation moved on pretty quickly after that, but Scar didn’t miss the little wink Grian sent his way which spoke, in not so many words, “don’t worry about a thing.”

Scar decided he’d never loved anyone more.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for coming! Have a nice day!” Lizzie called, watching as the last customer gave a wave before continuing down the street. She sighed lightly as she flipped the little wooden sign on her door to ‘closed.’ Jimmy had given it to her when she’d graduated from college and set out to start working towards the bakery of her dreams. It wasn’t perfect, very obviously handmade and not professionally, but it always made her smile. She knew, though, that when she told customers that her little brother made it, they imagined him as if he were ten years old. That in itself was enough to put a grin on her face.

She swung herself around the counter with a practiced ease, landing behind a nearly empty display case. Saturdays were always great for business. Though, she’d be the first to admit that sometimes that seemed like the only upside to having the bakery open on them.

She slipped her phone out of her back pants pocket and turned it off “do not disturb,” a barrage of notifications flooding her phone shortly thereafter. Most of them were group chats or social media posts or spam emails, but a couple sat pretty at the top of her screen. Those ones, though, she’d felt buzz as they came in. Joel was the only person on she’d set to “allow notifications from…”, just in case. It hadn’t been necessary yet, but she liked having them on.

Joel <3 (sent 15:54): Dinner?

Joel <3 (sent 15:57): I’m at the shops

Lizzie smiled, leaning across the counter as she texted back. She set her phone down after the fact, puffing out a short, contented, breath as she eyed what was left in the case. She’d usually donate leftovers to the local food bank, or to her friends and family, sometimes the school Skizz taught at for the teacher’s lounge if he asked. Tonight though, there were so few and really, she had a husband who’d probably eat it up in a day or two anyway.

She got out a couple of her little bags and boxes, fitting as many pastries and baked goods she could in each one so as to not be wasteful, and paused momentarily as she packed up a couple slices of cake. She hummed, opening up the little cold-storage in the back to get out a single slice of black forest cake. Joel’s favorite. She almost forgot she’d set it aside.

Setting it in a box of its own and putting all of the boxes and bags in a reusable grocery bag she used as a tote, she finally began the actual clean-up process. It was fairly quick, given she didn’t have any help today—the worker she usually had help with customers left in the middle of the day for a family event, and her bakers only rarely stayed through the whole day—but it was still her least favorite part of the job. Say what you will, scrubbing countertops is no one’s favorite activity.

She locked up at last, hefting her bag onto her shoulder and tucking the rest of her items into the pockets of her coat before making the walk down to the—mercifully free—parking garage where her car sat.

The drive home was short and filled with music blasting through her speakers, her fingers drumming against the steering wheel as she went. When she arrived, she let the song that was playing finish before getting out, locking the car with a solid beep and finding her way to the front door.

“Honey, I’m home!” She called out as she stepped in, shrugging off her coat and slipping off her shoes.

“In the kitchen!” Was the response she got, and she was quick to make her way in there, watching as Joel turned away from the oven to greet her. He eyed the bag on her shoulder. “Goodies?”

Lizzie nodded, setting the bag down and pulling out all the things inside. Joel stood by, taking the things she handed him and setting them in a little case they kept for baked goods. “Oh, and look!”

She held out the slice of cake and watched his eyes light up. “Yes! You didn’t sell out of these today?”

“I may have saved a piece.” She smiled.

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” Joel asked leaning forward to plant a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

“Couldn’t hurt to do it a little more.” She said, leaning into him. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” Joel said quickly, punctuating each one with a little kiss. “Good?”

“Eh, better.” She smirked, and he rolled his eyes fondly. He set the cake on a nearby counter, turning back to the pans on the stove and pushing around some stir-fryed vegetables before lowering the heat. Lizzie took the opportunity to wrap her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder. She stood, watching him cook and humming delightedly to herself. “Smells good.”

“I try.” Joel said, his voice reverberating through her a bit. “Work was good?”

“Yeah.” She said, disconnecting herself from him to lean against the countertop instead, rolling her shoulders. “Hectic, though. Katherine left me halfway through the day!”

“Oh?”

“Family thing, I don’t really blame her.” Lizzie said, shrugging. “Still, would’ve been nice to not be lonely.”

“Just call me next time.” Joel said. “I could run a register.”

“Sure thing.” She smiled.

“Oi, I think you’re forgetting a little bit of our history here.” Joel said. “I worked for you for a whole blummin’ year.”

“Yeah, one day every other week.” Lizzie reminded. “I didn’t even pay you for it.”

“Money’s not a motivator for me.” Joel said. “I just like to help.”

“Okay, Joel.” She said, rolling her eyes. “Next time I’m short staff on a Saturday, I will call you. But I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ when you complain about needing to work on one of your precious days off.”

“It’s a deal.” Joel said, holding out a hand so Lizzie could shake it. “And just for the record, I’d never complain about getting to spend time with my lovely wife.”

“Not even if I make you clean beneath the ovens?” Lizzie grinned, and Joel grimaced shortly but shook his head.

“Not even then.”

“Oh, what a charmer!” Lizzie said, batting out a hand. “Careful there, I might fall for you all over again.”

“If only I were that lucky.” Joel said, taking her hand and pressing a gentle kiss to it for good measure. Lizzie scoffed at how cheesy he was being, but did nothing to combat the little smile that settled on her face. Maybe she should bring home cake more often.

Chapter Text

“Spring cleaning today.” Scar said over breakfast, with the same subtle optimism he seemed to say everything with, and Grian’s gaze immediately snapped to the calendar on their fridge. Lo and behold, there it was, a penned in ‘Spring Cleaning!’ and a little flower drawing in the box with today’s date.

“Do we have to?” Grian groaned, only slightly resisting the urge to let his head fall into his bowl of cereal, which was by this point just a bowl of milk.

“It’s on the calendar, so I think yes.” Scar shrugged as if he wasn’t the one who wrote it there. “And if we don’t, Pearl will find out soon enough and whirl through here just getting rid of random stuff to clean up.”

“Fine.” Grian said, scooping up his bowl and standing. He pointed a finger across the table. “But we’re starting with your stuff.”

Scar frowned, echoing Grian’s earlier groan, which made him snicker as he placed his bowl into the sink.

—

To be honest, spring cleaning wasn’t awful, but it sure wasn’t fun just picking things up, saying “do we need this?”, and then putting back if they did and in either a trash or donation bag if they didn’t. Grian and Scar had both taken about five breaks already, and they’d only started three hours ago. With any luck, they’d be finished by around 5 o'clock tomorrow night.

“This?” Grian asked, holding up a garish red and blue candleholder that’d been sat on one of their bookshelves and that they’d rarely, if ever, used.

“Oh, we have to keep that, Bdubs made it for our housewarming!” Scar said, and suddenly Grian was reminded of why they still had it. Because Scar was more sentimental than anything else, and so obviously no gifts could ever be thrown away, even if all they were good for was collecting dust. Grian shrugged, setting it down.

“Okay, it stays.” He said, before brushing a finger across a collection of books they had on architecture and redstone—one group of which was much more obviously worn than the other. Just as Grian was about to pull out one of the redstone books so he could hold it up while asking why on earth they still had these—knowing the answer was probably ‘Mumbo gave them to us for our 33 week anniversary!’ or something—he was cut off by Scar’s voice beating him to the punch.

“How about this?” Scar asked, and Grian turned around to see him holding up a familiar blue sweatshirt. His heart leapt into his throat. He’d hidden that. Scar was never supposed to find it. How did he find it? “Found it in a box in the back of the closet, I think one of us probably forgot it there. Pretty musty, by now, though. Definitely needs a wash.

“Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear this. Do you want it anymore?” Scar wondered, inspecting it closely. Grian rushed forward before he could even think about what he was doing, snatching the sweater from Scar’s hands and holding it close to his chest.

“We’re not getting rid of it!” Grian snapped, watching Scar reel back a bit, looking at him shocked and confused. A little bit of the tension melted away and he softened, coughing. “Sorry.”

“Okay. We aren’t getting rid of it.” Scar said, holding his hands up placatingly. It almost looked like he wanted to reach out and wrap Grian in a hug, but thought better of it at the last second. Grian wasn’t sure if he was glad for that or not. Grian took a deep breath, deliberately pulling his face away from the sweater to do so. He knew it smelled musty. He hadn’t taken it out of that box in about ten years, after all. It was a miracle it hadn’t disintegrated or something.

It felt wrong holding it again, too. It felt like his hands were on fire just from touching it. It felt gross and itchy and wrong—but somehow still soft. Something that Grian almost wanted to bury his face in. He wanted it, he needed it, but he never wanted to be near it. So he quickly moved towards the closet and started putting it back in the shoebox it lived in.

Scar cleared his throat behind him, leaning over. Grian turned to meet his eyes, soft and confused. “Can I ask?”

Grian paused. Could he ask? That was…a loaded question. All this time, and Scar really only knew snippets of Grian’s high school experience. He really only knew that it was tough, and not why or how. The real question was whether Grian wanted him to know. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It was, uh…it belonged to a friend of mine. Back in high school.”

“Mhm?” Scar hummed, gently nudging Grian along.

“He died in a bus accident.” Grian said, fiddling with the cloth of the sweater.

“Oh, Grian.” Scar said, quietly, wrapping his arms around Grian from behind. Grian leaned into him, letting his hold on the piece of clothing become a little looser. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Grian said, and as a shock to even himself, he found he kind of meant it. “It happened so long ago. I don’t even remember it very well.”

“Still.” Scar said. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Thank you.” Grian said, because he couldn’t find it in himself to say anything else. He didn’t know what to feel. He rarely thought about what happened nowadays, and a part of him felt terrible about it, felt like he was betraying his friends memory, but he’d also been through enough therapy to know that wasn’t the case. He knew the grief would never fully leave him, but it was easier to handle now, and it didn’t consume his life the way it did back then. It also helped that he had a much better support system now. One that would actually listen to him, that would hold him when he needed it and back up when he needed space instead. He looked down at the sweater in his hands, and it didn’t really feel wrong anymore, but it didn’t feel right to be clutching onto it with Scar’s arms gently wrapped around his torso and his breathing on his neck. “Hey, Scar?”

“Hmm?” He mumbled into Grian’s shoulder.

“We can get rid of this.” Grian said, letting it drop into the shoebox. Scar lifted his head, turning slightly so that he could look Grian in the eyes.

“Are you sure?” Scar asked, leveling Grian with a look that told him that Scar would support his choice no matter what it was, but that he wanted to know that Grian was really sure. “Don’t feel like you need to give it up if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t. I think it’s probably good if I do.” Grian said, closing up the box. “I don’t really look at it anyway. I don’t think I’ve opened this box since I put it in there.”

“Probably why it smells like that.” Scar mused, and Grian laughed lightly. “But you’re sure?”

“I think so.” Grian shrugged. “I think I was just holding onto it because…I don’t know, maybe knowing that I had this piece of him tucked away somewhere was good proof that I hadn’t left him behind.

“But this isn’t his anymore, is it?” Grian asked no one. “It stopped being his a long time ago. And now I’ve just trapped it away in a box and I don’t even look at it or think about it at all. I feel like that’s almost worse than not having it. Because at least if I don’t have it, I can’t ignore it.”

Scar hummed. “As long as you’re really okay with this.”

“I am.” Grian said. “It’s not like I’m letting go of him, or anything. I can remember him just the same without it.”

And Grian knew he was just sort of justifying this decision to himself at this point and not really explaining anything, but Scar still nodded as he spoke, like he was attentive to every word. “Exactly.”

“So yeah, we can get rid of it.” Grian said, picking up the box and standing. He turned to Scar, helping Scar up off the ground before holding it out to him. “Or, uh, you can?”

Scar smiled a little, taking the box from him gently. Grian’s fingers lingered on it for only a moment. “I can.”

“Thank you, Scar.” He said, and Scar just gave him a simple nod before he was turning around and maneuvering out of the room, presumably out towards the small pile of donation boxes and bags in their living room, or maybe to the washing machine so that when they dropped it off for donation it wasn’t quite so musty. Or maybe he was just aiming to drop it in their outdoor rubbish bin to be picked up on collection day. Grian found that he was content with either fate. It was just a sweater, after all.

He walked over to their bookshelf once again, collecting the redstone books in his arms and unceremoniously dumping them in the ‘going away’ box for their bedroom set up on the floor. If Grian could part with his useless sweater, then Scar would have to be okay with parting with these useless books. In all honesty, he probably wouldn’t even notice they were gone.

Chapter Text

The only thing Martyn regretted even slightly about starting to date Jimmy and Tango was that he no longer had Scott all to himself very often. Call him selfish or clingy or what-have-you—he wasn’t about to deny any of it—but he really did miss the early days of dating Scott, when the both of them could just focus all of their energy and attention on each other. Not that he didn’t love his other boyfriends, just, well, he missed one-on-one dates sometimes, alright?

Suffice it to say, he was thrilled when Scott asked if he wanted to get dinner, just the two of them, one random Saturday night. Besides, it had been so long since they had a proper date-night with how busy their schedules were that it’d be nice for that reason alone.

So Martyn was making a pretty big deal of it. He’d got dressed up much nicer than usual, and had left the house altogether a few minutes before they were meant to go out just so he could ring their doorbell and stand outside. When Jimmy opened the door, he couldn’t help but grin at the double-take he did.

“Weren’t you just—?” Jimmy asked, pointing over his shoulder in confusion.

Martyn grinned. “I’m here to pick up Scott for our date.”

Jimmy just blinked at him, shaking his head. “You are ridiculous.”

“Thank you.” Martyn said.

“Alright, I’ll go get ‘im.” Jimmy said, rolling his eyes and stepping back inside, closing the door in the process. Martyn took the second to adjust his coat and briefly check his hair in the reflection of the little window on their front door. He felt like he’d traveled back in time to his teenage years, waiting anxiously on the front door step of his first girlfriend’s house.

The door opened a few moments later and Martyn straightened up to watch Scott step out, dressed in this gorgeous gold and black outfit with his glamour down, galaxy hair shimmering and eyes aglow with specks of starlight. He let out a low whistle, smiling as he took Scott’s hand. “Hello, gorgeous.”

“Hello, yourself.” Scott smiled. It was only then that Martyn noticed how Tango and Jimmy had propped themselves up in the doorway.

“You crazy kids have fun, now.” Tango said, smiling cheekily. “And have him back before midnight.”

“Yes sir.” Martyn said, giving him a little salute as he and Scott turned away from the door and ventured towards where Martyn’s car sat in the driveway. He was sure he could hear Jimmy muttering something about how he didn’t sign up for this, and it took all of Martyn’s strength to keep walking and not tease him for just how untrue that was. He got to the car just before Scott, opening the door. “Let me get that for you.”

“Someone’s in a good mood.” Scott teased, pressing a kiss to Martyn’s cheek as he got in. Martyn grinned, circling the car and getting in on the driver’s side.

“I’ve been looking forward to this.” He said, simply and Scott hummed.

“Well, Prince Charming, where are we off to?” He asked, and Martyn smiled, pulling up the directions to an Italian place they’d been a few times on his phone wordlessly before plugging it into the dash and letting the maps flash up on the screen. “Ooh, I love that place.”

“Oh good, I was a little worried I’d made the wrong call.” Martyn said, beginning to pull out of the driveway at last.

“No you weren’t.” Scott accused. “I’ll bet you spent an hour trying to figure out where I’d most like to go.”

“Oh, come on, I’m not that much of an overplanner.” Martyn scoffed.

“Did you not just ‘pick me up’ from your own house?”

“That was a spontaneous decision, I’ll have you know.” Martyn argued, knowing that was far from true. Though, from the way Scott hummed dubiously, and the look Martyn could see being shot out of the corner of his eye, Scott knew it too. Martyn was fine with that. They both knew who the real overplanner was between the both of them.

—

One of Martyn’s favorite things about this particular restaurant was the atmosphere. None of the cheesy wall decor or picnic-blanket-esque tablecloth, just simple elegance. It made Martyn feel like he was eating somewhere much more high-class than he actually was. He suspected that Scott liked it for similar reasons. 

Though, Scott had also told him he liked this place for the complimentary bread they served, and the fancy olive-oil that came with it.

Which, strangely enough, Martyn had come to realize only he was eating. At first it made him a bit self-conscious, but then he just got concerned. The bread was Scott’s favorite part of coming, wasn’t it? So why was he holding off?

Martyn hoped he was just reading into things. Maybe Scott just wasn’t all that hungry, or he was waiting until they had their actual meals so he could eat it as a side—though, they could get refills on the bread if they wanted, so he wasn’t totally sure why Scott would be trying to save it. Whatever the reason, though, Martyn would try not to worry too much about it.

Keyword, of course, being try.

Because then when the waiter came around and they ordered, Scott asked for a small green salad and not any of the pastas Martyn had been watching him eye for the past three minutes. And, okay, yeah, maybe if this were anyone but Martyn’s boyfriend, he wouldn’t be so concerned with someone else’s food choices, but…

Martyn knew Scott, and he knew what this kind of behavior meant, so forgive him for being a little concerned.

He tried to push it down, though, for the sake of their date night. And he did a good job of it for a while, but when the food came and Martyn just watched Scott push around his salad and send lingering glances towards Martyn’s food, he cracked. He took one of the little serving plates that had been left for their bread, and started forking over a good portion of his meal.

“Martyn.” Scott said, a little stern, when he noticed what he was up to.

“Scott.” Martyn said back, undeterred. He looked up to see Scott just staring at him. He shrugged. “What? I want to share. Here, give me half of your salad.”

Martyn picked up the other serving plate and placed it on Scott’s side of the table. Scott hesitated. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Sharing food with my lovely boyfriend.” Martyn smiled, undeterred by the way Scott worried his lip between his teeth.

“I’m not going to eat that.” Scott said as Martyn pushed the plate towards him.

Martyn shrugged, helping himself to a small bit of Scott’s salad. “Okay.”

“I really shouldn’t.” Scott said again after a few seconds. Martyn just nodded. Scott seemed to grow a little irritated. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Doing that thing you do where you’re clearly trying to get me to eat more without saying it out loud.” Scott said, crossing his arms indignantly. “I’m not a child, Martyn.”

“I never said you were.” Martyn said, earnestly. He looked at Scott, watching the way he held himself upright and steady. It was what he always did when called out—overplay the confidence or annoy the hell out of whoever was badgering him until the problem was forgotten about. Martyn was pretty proud to say it’d never worked on him. “Are you dieting again?”

“Yes. I have an audition coming up and I want to make sure I look my best.” Scott answered, a little clinical. “I’m being safe about it.”

“I believe you.” Martyn said. “You just have to understand why I’m a little worried.”

Scott looked at him cautiously, dropping his shoulders just a little bit. “I do.”

“Good.” Martyn said. “I wasn’t joking about wanting some of your salad though.”

“Since when do you eat salad?” Scott teased, earning an affronted gasp.

“I eat plenty of salad.” Martyn said, shoveling a bite of it into his mouth as if to prove a point. He couldn’t help but crack a smile when Scott laughed at the face he made afterwards, surprised by just how sour the vinaigrette was.

And just like that, they were back on track, laughing and talking and enjoying the night. Martyn subtly kept an eye on Scott’s plate, watching with a contentedness as the rest of the salad and eventually some of the pasta Martyn had given him disappeared. At the end of their meal, Martyn asked for a box for some of it, and stole the remaining bread they had, even managing to swindle the waiter out of a little plastic condiment container for the olive oil. (All of this was, of course, above board, but Martyn always preferred the dramatics). And when they got home, he’d put the boxes on the counter only to come back and find the one with the bread missing. A short survey of the kitchen found that it had, in fact, been stored behind their largely-untouched bottles of wine in one of the lower cabinets—Scott’s go-to spot for hiding things he didn’t want anyone else eating.

Martyn smiled to himself, closing the cabinet and rearranging the bottles as he’d found them. Martyn suspected the box would be long gone by the time he thought to look there again. He’d be glad for it.

Chapter Text

“Gemstone!” Skizz called, throwing his arms wide open for a hug as Gem sped towards him. He collected her up in his arms, lifting her lightly into the air before setting her back down. “Look at you killing it up there!”

“Thanks Skizz.” She smiled, licking sweat from her chapped lips. She’d just gotten off-stage at a little gig thing she’d booked at a local bar, and adrenaline was still pumping wildly through her veins.

“You really don’t need the rabble, huh?” He asked, smiling. “Even solo you kill it.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.” She grinned, flipping her braid over her shoulder like it was nothing. She stopped a bit though, shrugging. “I do miss my back-up though.”

“I’m sure ‘the Scotts’ would kill for a reunion sometime.” Skizz told her, and she really did hope he was right about that. Scott, Impulse, and her had formed a band back in university that they were pretty serious about at the time, but like most college-bands, they dissolved pretty shortly after graduation. Suddenly Scott was way too wrapped up in modeling and Impulse in redstone and the only one who was reliably free for gigs was Gem. The decision to drop the band thing was an easy one, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a little bittersweet. Still, it wasn’t like they never saw each other outside of it, and there wasn’t any drama over it, and Gem herself was still able to book some pretty nice gigs here and there, so she couldn’t really complain. “Dipple-Dop still wakes me up with his drumming sometimes.”

“I’m sure.” Gem laughed.

“So, can I buy you a drink or something, rockstar?” Skizz asked, and Gem rolled her eyes at what a dad he could be for a man who didn’t yet have any kids of his own.

“Could you buy me ice cream instead?” Gem asked. “I’m already a little buzzed.”

Skizz blinked twice. “Gem, were you drunk onstage?”

“Just tipsy.” She said, already dragging him towards the door. “It’s called ‘liquid courage,’ Skizz.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.” Skizz laughed, following her through the crowded bar. “Just impressed with your ability to be so coordinated like that.”

“Skizz, if you want to be impressed, you should know that when we were still ‘Gem and the Scotts,’ we were a lot more than buzzed when we got onstage.” Gem told him, laughing a little at the memory—specifically how Impulse used to wake both of them up in the morning groaning about how they ‘absolutely could not do that again’ only to be the one who bought the beers the next time they performed. Not to say they only ever performed drunk, in all honesty most of their performances were done sober, but letting Skizz believe that they were all really good drunks was way more fun.

“Wow.” Skizz said. “That is impressive.”

“See? A drink or two is nothing.” Gem offered as they got outside. She pointed down the street. “Ice cream shops this way.”

“I’m right behind you, Gemstone.” Skizz said, letting her lead the way and, true to his word, only a step behind. The walk only took five minutes tops, but Gem was already starting to feel the adrenaline wear off and the cold start to seep in through the holes in her ripped jeans and flowy top. She ignored it, though, as they stepped inside. “Ah, I love this place.”

“You’ve been here?” Gem asked.

“‘Course I have, it’s the best place in town for ice cream.” Skizz said, tone suggesting he held some strange authority on the topic. “You really think I’m going to walk into ‘Dairy Fairy’ when this exists?”

Gem laughed. “I didn’t know you had such strong opinions on ice cream shops.”

“Gem, I teach middle school, I have to have strong opinions on a lot of things or kids would think I didn’t know what I was talking about.” Skizz said, reading the signs above the display.

“Are you suggesting you’ve gotten into arguments over ice cream with your middle schoolers?” She asked, looking at him with a barely concealed look of incredulity.

“You don’t believe me?” Skizz asked. “Those kids would rather do anything but the coursework, and some days, I would too.”

“You mean you just let your kids get you off-topic?”

“Gem, all teachers do that.” He said, shrugging. Gem thought back to multiple teachers she’d had throughout the years who were easy to get to go on tangents—she’d never considered that they were letting themselves be tricked into it. She’d always thought the class was just good at exploiting that. Maybe her teachers just really didn’t care to teach those days.

“Huh.” She said. “I guess we’re both learning new things today.”

“Sure are.” Skizz laughed before gesturing to the case. “Whatcha want?”

“Uh, ooh, ‘honey lavender’ sounds really good.” She said, surveying the list.

“Honey lavender it is, then.” Skizz said, stepping forward into the short line. Gem followed, glancing around and waiting until the worker handed two cones to Skizz, and the one with this fun purplish ice cream was handed off to her. She waited as he paid and then walked with him out the doors, the both of them having seemingly come to the decision that they’d be taking a walk. “Any good?”

“Mhm.” She nodded, letting the shop door close behind her. “What’d you get?”

“Butter pecan.”

“Of course.” She grinned, watching him raise an eyebrow in confusion. “That’s such a dad flavor.”

“Hey, no, they had a bourbon one. That’s far more dad.” He argued, and she nodded sideways, considering it.

“Touche.”

They continued walking, only hitting the nearest crosswalk before the chill of the night and the cold ice cream combined enough to make Gem cold. She shivered slightly, trying to ignore it but having to run a hand up her arm all the while. Skizz looked over at her. “You alright there?”

“Just a little cold.” She shrugged, waving it off with her hand. “I’ll be fine.”

“Here.” Skizz said as soon as they made it safely across the crosswalk, handing her his ice cream and beginning to shrug off his coat.

“Oh, you don’t need to—”

“Too late.” Skizz smiled, initiating a little trade of ice cream and coat and waiting until Gem relented and slipped it on. It was a bit big on her, obviously, but it did do a nice job of warming her up. She hummed, content. He handed her ice cream back over. “Good?”

“Much better.” She said, taking it with a smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem, kiddo.” He smiled, and she couldn’t help but laugh. “What?”

“You’re just such a dad!” She laughed.

“So I’ve been told.” Skizz said, linking arms with her and continuing down the street.

She rolled her eyes. “I mean, seriously, you called me kiddo.”

“Do you have a problem with it?” Skizz asked, sincere, and Gem shook her head.

“No, I’m okay with it.” She said and he grinned.

“Alright, kiddo.” He winked, sending her into another round of light laughter. He nodded towards the street. “Where to?”

“It’s not getting too late for you, gramps?” She teased.

“Hey, the night is young and so am I!”

She smiled, adjusting the sleeve of the coat so it was hanging over her hands a little less. “Whatever you say, Skizz.”

Chapter Text

Lizzie had spent the better half of the past hour trying—and only kind of failing—to keep herself from fully breaking down. She just couldn’t understand how she’d been stupid enough to do all this; plan a whole party with catering and drinks and homemade desserts, and then forget to actually invite her friends. She didn’t know what on earth to do. It was too late now. The party was meant to start a half an hour ago, and by now people surely had plans they wouldn’t be able to get out of just to come to her stupid birthday party. She was usually so good about planning these things, so where on earth did she go wrong?

She’d sat herself at the kitchen counter, moping over a half-eaten cupcake and just trying to work out a solution to all of this, when the front door slammed open.

“Sorry I’m late!” Joel called out, and Lizzie groaned, burying her head in her hands.

“Don’t be.” She called back, a little bitter. “You're early.”

She looked up to see Joel stop short in the entryway to the kitchen, his face puzzled and concerned. “Where is everybody?”

“Not here.” She mumbled, and Joel looked a bit cross.

“Blummin’ heck.” He said under his breath. “Where are they?”

Lizzie softened a bit at how protective he’d got. She cracked the smallest, pitiful smile. “I forgot to send out the invitations.”

“Oh.” Joel said, coming over to sit on the barstool beside her. “So I shouldn’t go hunt anyone down, then?”

“As fun as that would be to see, no.” Lizzie said, fiddling with the wrapper on her cupcake. They were these really cute star ones that she’d initially bought for a special event at the bakery, but had decided to use for this instead in her excitement. They weren't of any use now.

“But that should be an easy fix, right?” Joel asked. “Just tell ‘em to get over here.”

“I can’t do that now! Everyone will complain about the short notice.” Lizzie bemoaned. “I’ll just have my birthday party some other day.”

“And let all this delicious food go to waste?” Joel asked, incredulous. “Let them complain. Some people are bound to show up if we tell them.”

“Maybe.”

“It’s your birthday, Lizzie, I’m not letting you celebrate alone.” Joel said, whipping out his phone and starting to type out a lengthy message.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Lizzie said cheekily.

“Okay, I’m not letting you celebrate your birthday with just me.” Joel said, before quickly amending that. “Not unless you want to, clearly. Which, given all the decor and food and drinks—”

“I got your point.” She laughed, feeling her phone buzz in her pocket but deciding not to check it. She offered Joel the other half of the cupcake. “Cupcake?”

“What kind?” He asked, still typing away, probably to a different group chat or person now.

“Red velvet.” She smiled.

“With pleasure.” He said, taking it from her and munching away. “Jimmy and his boyfriends will be here within the hour, and Gem says she’s gonna drag Pearl, Grian, and them over because they’re all out right now.”

Lizzie grinned, listening intently as Joel paused his typing every once in a while to tell her about all the people he’d gotten to come. And sure enough, within a couple hours, their house was full of life and laughter. She’d had a couple people come up and beg forgiveness for not having a present for her, which she just laughed off and pardoned them from, usually with a teasing ‘just give me one next time you see me,’ which she was sure at least one of them would try and take literally. Oh well, she wasn’t one to turn down a gift.

She wrapped an arm around Joel, coming up from behind him where he was chatting with Etho and pouring himself a drink. He looked to her, smiling. “Hey, honey.”

“Hey there.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

“No need.” He said, waving a hand. “It’s just what I do.”

Lizzie didn’t say a thing. She’d let him have this one, in all it’s overconfident pompous glory. He’d earned it.

Chapter Text

“What’s all this?” Jimmy heard Scott speak from the doorway. He smiled, turning around and leaning across the kitchen table. Scott was still dressed for work, in the plain-clothes he turned up to shoots in so that he could get into the actual garments quickly. This outfit was perhaps the most simple Scott ever looked, just jeans and a tanktop, but Jimmy thought he looked gorgeous anyway.

“Happy prom!” Jimmy chirped, gesturing widely to the decor and drinks he’d set out on the counter.

Scott raised an eyebrow. “Prom?”

“Well, I was thinking about what you told me a couple nights back, about how you didn’t really get to go to prom because you weren’t out at the time, and I thought I’d throw you one to make up for it.” Jimmy smiled widely, watching the way Scott looked on in shock. Eventually, his face folded into a little smile, and if Jimmy looked hard enough, he swore he could see tears beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes.

“God, Jimmy, that’s so sweet.” Scott said, circling the counter to collect Jimmy in a short hug. He pressed a kiss to his lips, and Jimmy leaned into it happily. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.” Jimmy smiled, gently swiping Scott’s hair out of his face. He stepped back slightly after a moment, letting the music playing from his phone speaker carry him as he dipped into a short bow and reached out a hand towards Scott. “May I have this dance?”

“You may.” Scott grinned, putting his hand in Jimmy’s and waiting patiently for Jimmy to lead him through a very rudimentary waltz. It was very obvious to both of them that Scott was the better dancer of the two of them, but it almost didn’t matter. Jimmy could trip over his own feet and stumble in his movements and accidentally spin the both of them into the edge of the counter; if he wanted to lead, Scott would always let him.

They danced through a couple songs, shifting what they were doing at random between slow waltzes and fast movement, uncaring of the genre of music playing. They only stopped when Jimmy nearly knocked both of them over, and Scott suggested they take a break so they didn’t end up dying in each other's arms during this make-shift-prom; “as romantic as that would be.”

“Probably a good idea.” Jimmy hummed letting Scott settle into a lean against the nearby countertop. “Dinner should be here soon anyways.”

Jimmy watched Scott’s eyes light up a bit, snatching two glasses off the counter and barely looking as he poured some of the sparkling cider Jimmy had bought for the occasion. A bottle of real champagne was hidden in the cabinets for later, if Scott complained about being served fake alcohol at his personal prom. Which he would eventually, if Jimmy knew his boyfriend as well as he thought he did. “What’d you order?”

“Sushi from that place you love on Crastle street.” Jimmy said, smiling.

“Ooh, I do love that place.” Scott said, handing Jimmy a glass. “You got tempura rolls?”

“I think you’d kill me if I didn’t.” Jimmy joked, and Scott shrugged before nodding in affirmation, a smile on his face.

It was quiet for only a second as Jimmy offered a silent toast of their glasses. He noticed, though, as he took a sip of the cider, that Scott didn’t take one from his. Instead, he stared at Jimmy with this fondness in his eyes. This upturn of his lips and sinking of his body into itself. “What’d I ever do to deserve you?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Jimmy asked, setting his glass down. “I mean you’re like a greek god, you're so gorgeous.”

“Jimmy.” Scott said, leaning across the counter and running a hand along Jimmy’s arm. “Just let me appreciate you, hm? My great, beautiful, talented, wonderful boyfriend.”

Jimmy’s cheeks burned. He wasn’t so easily flustered by Scott anymore as he was when they first met, but that didn’t mean Scott couldn’t get to him. “Scott—”

“Ah, ah, you are a very strong, very handsome man, who I love even though he can’t dance—”

“Hey!”

“Because he makes me coffee and buys me flowers and remembers my favorite restaurants and throws me fake proms just for the hell of it.” Scott smiled, and Jimmy knew that he knew what he was doing, but far be it from him to tell him to stop. “Jimmy, I am so lucky to have you.”

Jimmy had to bite back tears at the sincere sweetness of his voice. It wasn’t often Scott got this sappy but when he did…god did he know all the right things to say to make Jimmy get emotional. “I’m even luckier to have you, Petal.”

Jimmy hummed as Scott leaned up just slightly to kiss him, before pulling away and resting their foreheads together. Jimmy moved slightly so that he was no longer leaning against the counter, instead taking his hands and gently placing them on Scott’s waist. Scott moved his own to hug the back of Jimmy’s neck, and the two of them swayed ever so lightly to the music that continued to play, their bodies pressed together. Jimmy recognized it as one of Scott’s favorites—a love song from the 80s, which pulsed in the way all the music from that era seemed to do, but felt tender and warm all the same. But it could’ve been any song, really, and Jimmy would’ve had the same thought. That it was the perfect soundtrack. That now, he’d have to put it on every playlist he ever made Scott from this day forward. That even if he heard it a hundred times, he’d never get sick of it.

The both of them pulled their heads back at the sound of the doorbell, and Scott smiled. He pressed a short kiss to Jimmy’s lips before unwrapping his arms slowly and sliding them down Jimmy’s shoulders and arms as he stepped back. “I’ll get that.”

“Okay.” Jimmy agreed, letting Scott step away with only a moment of his touch lingering. He watched him go, and noticed with a strange belatedness that at some point his glamour had dropped, and his bright blue hair had faded into star-speckled purple. He remembered, with a hint of pride, that Scott’s glamour would sometimes drop without him even noticing when he was really at ease. When his magic knew without a doubt that he was safe at home, and warmed by love.

Jimmy wondered, not for the first time, what he would've done had Scott’s mother not fallen from the sky, and brought another star with her to earth. The only thing he was sure of, really, was that he probably would’ve never known this kind of joy.

Chapter Text

Grian considered himself a pretty lucky person, at least when it came to his relationships. He had incredible friends, an amazing boyfriend, a wonderful older sister, and to top it all off, the best best friend that anyone could ask for.

Really, sometimes just a planned hangout with Mumbo was enough to get him through an otherwise dreadful work week. The man just had this way of wiping away all of Grian’s troubles—it was like magic. Mustachioed magic.

And so when Mumbo had invited Grian over to his so that they could start binging this new TV series that Mumbo was fascinated by, Grian had dropped everything else—which was nothing else, except maybe a lazy Saturday in with Scar and a bit of model building—to make certain he’d be there.

He spent all of Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday buzzing about it, doing a bit of preliminary research on the show and trying to think of things they could do instead if they got bored. He came up with maybe two before he himself got bored of that, and then he got his mind set on making Mumbo’s favorite cookies for him, so he started pouring over that on Friday night.

He maybe got halfway through the recipe before he remembered that baking was stupidly difficult, and that he didn’t know how to do it. Following the recipe was so boring but not following it made for bad cookies, but then following it also seemed to make for bad cookies when he was the one baking them, so really he was hopeless whatever way you spinned it. Grian fancied himself good at many things, but he could admit that baking was not one of them.

“Uh oh.” Scar’s voice said from the entryway to their kitchen, and Grian turned around to see him sat there in his wheelchair with one of their cats nestled comfortably in his lap. “Do I want to know?”

“I was trying to make cookies for Mumbo.” Grian said, a little discouraged by Scar’s immediate reaction. Things surely didn’t look that bad. Was just the general sight of Grian and baking supplies unnerving somehow? “Forgot that baking is awful.”

Scar laughed. “Do you want me to make them for you?”

“But the gesture, Scar! What about the gesture?” Grian asked, waving his arms about dramatically.

“You could always lie.” Scar suggested. “I give you permission to say my baked goods are yours.”

“You want me to lie about a gesture?” Grian asked, already making to clean up what he’d done so that Scar could start from scratch.

“Or not! Maybe the gesture is just you thinking of making them in the first place—like buying someone a cake for their birthday. You don’t have to make it yourself for it to mean something.” Scar said, coming over and helping Grian get things ready. It was fairly easy, given how they’d purposefully made their countertops just a bit shorter than average so that they were easy to use for both Grian—who as an avian, was naturally a bit short—and Scar when he was in his wheelchair, but some things were still just out-of-reach enough that Grian did most of the cleanup.

“I guess you’re right.” Grian sighed, hopping up on one of the counters once he’d finished resetting things.

“It’s the thought that counts!” Scar said, happily, as he started getting things together. He moved over to Grian first, though, so that he could hold up their cat to him. “Take her?”

“Oh, come ‘ere you big bug.” Grian cooed, taking the cat from Scar as she accordioned out to full length before squishing herself back into a ball in Grian’s lap. He pet her gently, scritching behind the ears as he watched Scar busy himself with baking.

—

Grian knocked—maybe pounded was a better word—on Mumbo’s front door the next day, practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Hey Mumbo!” He said when the door swung open, and Mumbo smiled down at him.

“Hello, Grian.” He said, stepping aside so Grian could come in. “You’re early.”

“I made your favorite!” Grian chirped instead of responding, producing the plate of cookies from behind his back and holding them out. Mumbo blinked, before this great smile took over his face as he reached out to accept them.

“Oh, Grian, you shouldn’t ha—” Mumbo paused, eyeing the cookies and Grian suspiciously. “Scar made these, didn’t he?”

“Of course not!” Grian said with an offended gasp. “Do you really believe in me so little?”

“I just know what your track record is with baking and these don’t look nearly as dodgy as I’d expect.” Mumbo said, still eyeing the cookies as they walked into the living room.

“Alright, fine, Scar made them.” Grian admitted. “But I plated and delivered them, so really, you should be thanking me.”

Mumbo laughed but did nod as he set the cookies on the coffee table. “Thank you, Grian. I’m right pleased.”

“Good.” Grian grinned, following after and plopping himself onto Mumbo’s couch. “I’m glad, I put a lot of work into almost baking those.”

“Oh, I’m sure that you were slaving away to make sure they were placed on the plate just right.” Mumbo joked, sitting as well. “Really, Grian, thank you. This is very thoughtful.”

“You’re welcome.” Grian smiled as Mumbo took one and bit into it. “But don’t expect me to do this all the time.”

“Oh, I don’t.” Mumbo said around a mouthful of cookie. “I’m sure even Scar’s willingness to help you wears out sometimes.”

“Hey!” Grian said, smacking Mumbo lightly on the arm. “Just put on the show, you spoon.”

“Okay, okay!” Mumbo said, setting the half-eaten cookie down on the coffee table and picking up the remote. “Have you seen any of this before?”

“I looked up a synopsis earlier.” Grian shrugged. “But I haven’t watched any of it.”

“Me neither. One of my work friends recommended it though, and he usually has good taste in these sorts of things.” Mumbo said, navigating to the show and pressing start on the first episode. “If it’s rubbish I’m sure we can find something else to do.”

Grian smiled, settling back into the couch. “I’m sure it’ll be great.”

Chapter Text

Skizz was a pretty heavy sleeper, by his count. He could sleep through storms and calls and alarms set to the highest volume. So he wasn’t totally sure why he couldn’t seem to sleep through Impulse’s late-night redstoning sessions, but he just couldn’t. The grinding of gears and clanking of metal parts just seemed to trigger some base instinct that meant, essentially, that he’d be drinking an extra cup of coffee in the morning.

Not like he held it against Impulse or anything! Really, Skizz could tune it out when he absolutely needed to and deal with the little breaks in sleep when they happened. Skizz was all too familiar with the primal need in creative people to just—well, create. He’d had a few too many talks with his friends involving one of them (typically Grian, if he was being totally honest) whipping out some crazy drawing or model or idea or something and following it up with ‘yeah, I didn’t sleep at all last night,’ to think it was something abnormal.

So Skizz wasn’t bothered, usually, when he was occasionally awoken by the sound of repeaters at four in the morning. The only problem came when Skizz had to reckon with the fact that Impulse wasn’t rising early to finish these projects, but staying up late. In Skizz’s mind there was a very clear difference. And he wasn’t super happy to see his best friend just throw away tons of very necessary sleep like that. And sure, mostly because he cared about Dipple-Dop and wanted him to be happy, but full transparency? Impulse was a chill guy overall, but even the nicest people in the world get a little grumpy when they’ve been up for 36 hours straight, and Skizz didn’t like dealing with grumpy Impulse.

So when Skizz was awoken by a pretty loud bang around 3am one fine autumn eve, he was quick—or as quick as a man awoken from the dead could be—to haul himself out of bed and trudge into Impulse’s room across the hall.

“Dipple-Dop.” Skizz said as soon as he’d pushed the door open. He could tell his eyes were doing a weird droopy-tired thing from how he was stuck seeing the world through the cloud of his own eyelashes. He did not particularly want to be corralling his idiot genius of a roommate to bed when he could be in his own, but he knew that it had to be done. Good friends make sacrifices, after all.

Impulse gave a little yelp, jumping just a bit and barely managing to catch the doohickey he was holding onto before it fell to the floor. He looked up at Skizz with a smile. “Woah, Skizz, scared me a second there!”

Skizz blinked a bit of the sleep from his eyes in order to focus on the scene in front of him. There was a ton of redstone stuff littering the place—small equipment that could fit strewn about Impulse’s bedroom floor, nothing crazy, but still a bunch of it. Impulse himself was sat beside a little contraption with redstone circuitry buzzing around it in a way that even Skizz knew meant it wasn’t functioning, just glowy, looking for all the world like this was the most normal thing he could be doing at three in the morning. “What’re you up to?”

“Oh, I was just testing something out for a project I’m working on. I was seeing if I could do it on a small scale without breaking anything before I accidentally screw up a bunch of expensive redstone. I think I’ve almost got something working here, but it’s a little lopsided, and I can’t quite get the repeater to—” Skizz was then lost in a world of very confusing, very dense redstone talk that he struggled to believe anyone but Impulse could really understand. Skizz recalled some post he read about debugging somewhere, now pretty sure he was the rubber duck. He didn’t totally mind it though, sitting himself on the floor beside Impulse halfway through the explanation. Just out of the way enough to not get redstone on him, but close enough that it was clear he was paying attention—even if he didn’t understand a lick of what Impulse was actually saying. Impulse looked up at him after a while, a little sheepish. “Sorry, got a bit rambly there.”

“No, dude, it’s cool!” Skizz said quickly. He had, it seemed, forgotten entirely what he came for. “So this thing’s part of a bigger thing? What’s the bigger thing?”

“Ah, well, essentially…” Impulse started off, walking Impulse through this big project he’d been put on at work. Skizz was more than happy to listen, even as tiredness dragged him deeper and deeper down.

“Mhm.” Skizz hummed for the thirtieth time, which seemed to snap Impulse of something. He glanced at the little alarm clock set up on his nightstand—handmade by a teenaged him after years of trial and error with redstone.

“It’s nearly four in the morning!” Impulse said, as if he was truly shocked by the passage of time. Skizz wondered when exactly he’d started working. “You probably came in here to get me to go to bed, huh? Sorry I kept you up so late.”

“It’s okay, couldn’t sleep anyway.” Skizz fibbed. Impulse regarded him with a little laugh.

“Alright, bud, I think it’s time for some shut-eye.” Impulse said, getting off the floor and dusting his hands off on his pants before helping Skizz up. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

“‘S what I’m here for.” Skizz smiled, clapping Impulse on the shoulder. He yawned a moment later. “You’re lucky it’s a weekend.”

“I am.” Impulse laughed. “Night Skizz.”

“Night.” Skizz said, pointedly flipping off the lights on his way out. He heard Impulse make a slight noise of protest before he just seemed to accept his fate and start shuffling towards bed. Skizz shut his own door behind him as he reentered his room, falling face first into bed and wrapping himself tightly in the sheets, careful of his admittedly already pretty rumpled wings.

Mission success.

Chapter Text

The first time Jimmy actually met Joel, he was totally terrified of him.

In highschool Joel was known for being what one might call a “problem student.” All that Jimmy heard was how he would pick fights and disrupt things on purpose and generally make himself a nuisance. Why? Jimmy had never really figured that out. Some sort of anger-issue, lack of trust thing. Looking back it was most likely just a persona he put on so people would leave him alone, so he could appear cooler or more powerful or something, but Jimmy wasn’t sure. All he really knew about Joel at the time was that he wasn’t someone to be messed with, at least if you didn’t want to get torn to shreds.

…Or, something like that. Really, Joel didn’t seem that bad. Just a little prickly. Jimmy could deal with prickly—all his friends were at least a little prickly! Maybe it was something in the water making everyone just, like, mad or something.

Whatever, doesn’t matter, point is, Jimmy did not anticipate any kind of friendship blossoming when he first ran into Joel. Literally, that is.

“Woah, sorry about that!” He’d said with a sheepish smile, hoping to just continue walking until his eyes caught on the shades and the pitch black leather jacket with studs and patches decorating it. He felt his heart sink in his chest. Two weeks into high school and he was already facing the threat of being murdered in the middle of the hallway. Just his luck. “Uh…really sorry about that.”

Joel looked him up and down, ‘tch’ing under his breath. He growled. “Watch your step.”

And then he just left. No beatdown, no shouting, no nothing. At the time, Jimmy had considered himself lucky he hadn’t caught Joel on a bad day or something. He was just happy he wouldn’t have to try and explain a black eye to his parents, or worse to Lizzie.

It soon became apparent, though, that all the terrible things he’d heard were, well, extremely exaggerated.

Everytime he interacted with Joel from that point forward, there was just a bit of light annoyance. He didn’t seem nearly as angry and blood-thirsty as everyone seemed to say he was, and Jimmy almost wasn’t sure how to feel about it. On one hand, it was nice he was going easy on him, on the other, why on earth was he going easy on him? For awhile, especially once it became clear how much Joel liked Lizzie, Jimmy thought it might be because Joel didn’t want to beat up the younger brother of the girl he had a crush on. It didn’t become clear until after Jimmy had started wearing leather jackets too and hanging out with Joel more often that he hadn’t even known they were related until Jimmy asked him to drive by his house to get something and Joel recognized the place.

“You know, in high school, I thought you were gonna beat me up everytime I talked to you.” Jimmy admitted one afternoon, late into their third year of uni. “Why didn’t you?”

Joel gave him a look only briefly before he started laughing. “Jimmy, I didn’t just go around beating up random people, blummin’ heck—what do you take me for?”

“Hey, man! You were pretty spooky back then.” Jimmy said, a little embarrassed.

“Was it the sunglasses inside look?”

“Partially, yeah.”

“Knew it.” Joel said, looking smug. “But yeah, I really only finished fights, I never started them.”

“Huh.” Jimmy said, his whole view of Joel recontextualizing. He liked Joel by this point, don’t get him wrong, but he was still a bit hesitant. Especially with Joel and Lizzie now going out and Joel having hinted at wanting to propose. Knowing he’d never actually started a fight helped just a bit in easing his nerves.

So, no, when Jimmy met Joel, he never once expected he’d be the best man at his wedding. He never expected he’d be standing up by the officiant, eagerly cheering him on as he came down the aisle. But boy oh boy, was he thrilled that he was.

“Hey, watch your step.” Jimmy stage-whispered as Joel made his way up to the little platform where the wedding party was situated. Joel looked up at him with a little eye-roll but heeded his advice, carefully navigating to where he was meant to stand.

Jimmy didn’t realize until after the service, when he was giving his speech at the reception, that he’d echoed the words Joel had said to him all those years ago. He decided not to mention it for that exact reason, even though the look in Joel’s eyes told him he wasn’t slick—weddings were made to be cheesy, but even Jimmy had his limits.

Chapter Text

Grian knew from the second he woke up that something was off, and as soon as he locked eyes with his reflection in the mirror, he was positive something was. To put it nicely, he looked absolutely awful. He groaned, running a hand through his hair and leaning across the countertop to inspect the bags beneath his eyes and the paleness of his face more closely, knocking a couple of the feathers around his ears loose in the process. He grabbed them off the counter and swept them into the tiny bin he and Scar kept in their bathroom, before promptly turning around and stumbling back to bed.

He landed with a flop on top of it, maneuvering until he was warmly surrounded by the sheets. As if he’d never even tried to get up.

“Uh oh, is someone having a bad morning?” Scar asked, sounding so energetic it physically ached. When Grian didn’t respond, he heard Scar creep closer, settling down on the edge of the bed. A cool hand came to press against his forehead a few seconds later, and he whined a bit when it jerked away just as quickly. “Geez, Gri, you’re burning up! Want me to call you in for the day?”

“Please.” Grian groaned, turning over so he was facedown in the pillow.

“You’re the boss.” Scar said gently, rubbing small circles in the space between Grian’s wings before getting up and leaving the room.

Grian must have passed out after that, because the next thing he knew Scar was gently coaxing him awake. Grian flipped himself over, groggily looking up at his boyfriend, who was sat on the end of the bed with a mug in his hands.

“Hello there, sleeping beauty.” Scar cooed, and Grian just buried his face in his hands.

“I feel awful.” He complained.

“Any idea what’s wrong?” Scar asked. Grian ran a hand over his wings and felt a rise of frustration as a couple feathers fell out onto the bed.

“Some avian thing, I don’t remember what it’s called.” Grian said. “I caught it as a kid and it sucked. Feels like a normal sickness but also just makes a bunch of my feathers fall out.”

“Well that’s no fun.” Scar said, frowning. “Anything I can do?”

“Not for the feathers thing. I just have to ride that out.” Grian said. “But the other symptoms can be dealt with the same way you deal with a normal cold or flu.”

“Then I think you’re in luck.” Scar smiled, holding out the mug in his hands and encouraging Grian to sit up so he could take it.

“What is it?” Grian asked, looking into the mug. It looked just like the cocoa-less hot cocoa Scar sometimes made him in the winter time.

“Well, you know how Gem prefers to use potions, right? She taught me how to mix them with other things to mask the taste, and I figured I’d try my hand at it.” Scar smiled, clearly proud of himself. Grian had only taken potions a couple of times, most of the time medicines were compacted into pill form since people found them easier to take, rather than stomach the often extremely strong taste of most potions. Some people still preferred potions, though, since their effects were usually a bit stronger and they had less glaring side effects—and Scar was apparently one of them now. “Healing and weakness. Gem said it functions similarly to cold medicine, but is faster acting and makes it easier to sleep. I just mixed them in with some hot no-coa.”

“You went out and bought potions for this?” Grian asked. He didn’t think there was a pharmacy that still sold potions in miles. How long had Scar spent looking for this just to help him?

“I had some help from Gem.” Scar said, waving it off. He gently tapped the bottom of the mug up towards Grian’s face. “Now drink up.”

Grian obliged, surprised by the fact that he couldn’t taste the potions at all before the rich pseudo-chocolate of the drink. He drank it pretty quickly after he got over that initial worry, eventually finishing the mug and letting Scar take it from him.

“Any good?” Scar asked as Grian settled back down into the bed. He hummed, nodding slightly, and Scar lit up. “Great! I’ll make it just like that for your next dose.”

Grian groaned, flipping over and burying himself back in the pillows. Scar laughed, and Grian could hear the clink of the mug being set on the bedside table before Scar moved to sit on the bed beside Grian, gently carding his fingers through his hair.

After a bit, Scar seemed to decide that Grian had gone back to bed and began quietly mumbling under his breath a list of things he needed to do. It was something Grian had gotten used to after living with him so long, but it was always a little fun to hear in real time how Scar’s brain worked to organize tasks before completing them.

“Alrighty…feathers, then I’ll wash this—” Scar mumbled, and Grian could hear his fingers lightly tapping against the mug on the coffee table before the bedsheets began to gently rustle around him. “Then dinner—soup? Soup sounds good, who can be mad at soup? Well, actually, Tango’s a little picky about soup. But Grian can’t be mad at soup, soup’s great, I’ll make us some soup.”

Grian could feel as Scar carefully collected up all the loose feathers on the bed. and watched through half-lidded eyes as he turned away to drop them into the bin, which he must have brought over from the bathroom. “Feathers, though, feathers first.”

Scar made quick work of getting all the feathers out of Grian’s way before he took the little bag from in the bin and tied it up to take it to their larger one. He hummed a bit as he did so, stopping every once in a while to remind himself of some other thing he needed to do. “Gotta come back for that cup,” “What kind of soup is good for avian mystery illness?” "Do we need more blankets?”

“Scar.” Grian managed to get out just before Scar left, and the other turned around quickly. A bit surprised that Grian was up, but attentive.

“Mhm?”

“You talk a lot.” Grian said before burying himself back in the sheets. He heard Scar laugh softly.

“I’ll be a little quieter.”

“It’s okay.” Grian said. “You’ve got a nice voice.”

“Why thank you, Grian.” Scar’s voice floated to Grian gently, a little muffled. “Get some rest. I’ll take care of things.”

And Grian did so happily.

Chapter Text

“Come on, Tim, it’ll be fun!” Grian said, a mischievous smile flickering across his face. Jimmy groaned.

“Grian, I always lose your stupid games!” Jimmy complained.

“But you also always have fun.” Grian argued back. “And this time’s different.”

“If by ‘different,’ you mean ‘more boring’, then sure.” Jimmy said, picking up his coffee cup and depositing it in the nearest bin as he went to leave the little on-campus coffee shop that Grian had clearly stalked him to.

“It isn’t boring.” Grian followed him out the door. “It’s hiking! I even got Scar to agree.”

“That’s ‘cause he’s Scar, Grian, he’d do anything if you were the one asking him to.”

“That’s not true.”

Jimmy just gave Grian a look, which he in turn hastily ignored. “Come on, Tim, I need an even number of players.”

“...Is Scott doing it?” Jimmy asked, receiving an excited nod. “Will we be teamed?”

“I don’t know—maybe? I’m just gonna randomly generate it for the sake of fairness.” Grian shrugged. “But there’s a chance!”

Jimmy thought on it for a moment, weighing the possibilities of hiking in the woods with a stranger for multiple hours or having a romantic, albeit slightly competitive, outing with his boyfriend under the guise of participation. The positives won out in the end. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

—

Jimmy was, in fact, not teamed with Scott.

But maybe that was a good thing, because it seemed like no one knew who Scott was teamed with anyway.

“My email said he was my partner.” Pearl repeated for the hundredth time, looking super lost as she looked back and forth between Cleo and Scott, who were so committed they were having this conversation with their arms linked.

“So did mine.” Cleo reminded her. “And his said me, so I think it’s me.”

“But mine also said you.” Martyn chimed in. “So maybe it really is me-you, Pearl-Scott.”

“Sorry, Pearl, but I really think it’s Cleo.” Scott said, and Pearl just seemed to get more annoyed.

“But then why—”

“So Grian made a mistake, big deal! Guy’s a bird-brain after all.” Martyn said, trying to calm down the three of them before they all started shouting at each other, while also trying to make it seem like that wasn’t what he was doing at all. “Pearl, I’ll be your partner.”

He grabbed her wrist and started marching off with her before she had a chance to refute his declaration, and begrudgingly followed along while sending glares over her shoulder.

“That seems like it’ll be a fun fight to watch.” Jimmy was startled by a voice next to him. He turned to meet the piercing red eyes of a blazeborn standing barely a foot away and radiating so much heat that Jimmy was surprised he hadn’t noticed him until just then. He knew he recognized the guy from some of Grian’s other game nights and weird social events, but the two hadn’t talked that much. The blazeborn extended a hand and gave a big, sharp-toothed grin. “I’m Tango. I think we’re partners.”

Ah, that was it. “Oh, I’m Jimmy.”

“Yeah, I know, I recognized you.” Tango said, smiling. “Wouldn’t’ve come over here if I didn’t.”

“Oh, right.” Jimmy said, laughing nervously. “Sorry, I didn’t really recognize you until you came over.”

“What, did you not check who I was when Grian told you your partner?” Tango asked, and where Jimmy expected a teasing from that sentence, all he got was genuinity. “Or were you just waiting for me to come to you?”

And there was the teasing. “That, definitely.”

Tango smiled again, and Jimmy felt like he would never really get used to just how sharp this guy’s teeth were. “I think I’m gonna like you, Rancher.”

“Rancher?” Jimmy asked.

“Your boots.” Tango said, pointing down. Jimmy followed the finger down to the cowboy-esque boots he had on, flushing a little.

“Oh.” He said. “Forgot I was wearing those.”

“I don’t know how you forget wearing something like that.”

“None of my normal shoes are really fit for hiking so I grabbed the first thing I could.” Jimmy admitted. “They’re not even mine.”

“You don’t own sneakers?” Tango asked. “Couldn’t, like, borrow a pair of those instead?”

“Can you hike in sneakers?”

“Better than you can hike in cowboy boots.”

“Right.” Jimmy said, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. “Welp, uh, hope you’re okay with last place.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, man! I’m sure we won’t lose that badly.” Tango reassured.

—

They were so going to lose, and badly. Jimmy wasn’t even sure how they ended up here—halfway up a bunch of crooked rocks on a crazy shortcut Tango had suggested and Jimmy had agreed to because climbing rocks did sound fun in theory.

Jimmy was never very great at theorizing.

“You got this, Rancher!” Tango called out to him from where he was a few rocks ahead. Jimmy was beginning to wonder if he just went out and climbed rocks in his free time because my gosh no one should be able to do this that speedily. “You just gotta hoist yourself up! Like in a video game!”

“Uh huh.” Jimmy panted back, starting to think that maybe agreeing to hours upon hours of endless exercise with a trainer who never got tired was maybe a bad thing to sign up for, actually. “Just a sec—”

“Woah, Jimmy, look!” Tango called out suddenly, making Jimmy stumble a little as he grabbed onto the nearest rock for stability and looked up to where Tango was pointing. He felt his jaw drop in shock as he watched a giant hawk swoop above them, flying to its nest in a nearby tree. He’d never seen a hawk before, he didn’t think, especially not one this close up. It was a little mind-boggling. He couldn’t help but let out a shocked little laugh. “Don’t see that everyday, huh?”

Jimmy turned to see Tango staring up at the tree the hawk had landed in with stars in his eyes—not the same, literal stars that Scott got in his eyes sometimes when he was really excited, but almost as cute.

What? No, not almost as cute. Not almost as cute. What on Earth was he thinking?

“Crazy.” Jimmy said, trying to shake off the strangeness that had settled in his psyche. Maybe the forest was getting to him or something. Too much oxygen. Or maybe too little? How high up were they again?

Tango grinned at him and gestured for Jimmy to keep following. “Come on, not much further now.”

Jimmy nodded, sucking in a bunch of air before he hopped up the next rock in the sequence. He made it up a few more like that, confidence building with each one, before he felt the sole of his shoe slide a little bit, and fear seized him immediately. “Tango?”

“What’s the hold up, Rancher?” Tango said, the nickname rolling off his tongue as easily as it had been since it was first said. He seemed to notice Jimmy’s fearful expression pretty quickly though, shifting from a look of excitement to one of concern. “Woah, you okay there Jimmy?”

“I can’t do this.” Jimmy said, suddenly very aware of just how high up they were and how much it’d hurt to fall down all those rocks he’d just spent who-knows-how-long scaling. “I can’t—I’m gonna die up here!”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” Tango said, voice-pitching up even though it seemed like he was trying to calm Jimmy down. “It’s okay, I gotcha.”

“We should go back.” Jimmy told him, holding onto the rock in front of him so tightly it bit into the palms of his hands. “This was a terrible idea.”

“Maybe, but it’s too late to turn back now. Look how far we’ve come!” Tango said, and Jimmy’s face just twisted into a deeper frown. Tango waved his hands frantically. “Or don’t! Don’t look how far we’ve come, actually!”

Jimmy groaned, facepalming and shutting his eyes against the sudden, staggering fear of climbing he’d just developed out of nowhere. If only he’d been paired with Scott—Scott would’ve never led him up a crazy rock-slide-waiting-to-happen!

“Can I hold your hand?” Tango said, snapping Jimmy out of it just enough that he was able to look up and see Tango on the rock above him, holding his hand out like a lifeline.

“What?”

“Your hand, can I hold it?” Tango asked again, gesturing with his outstretched hand for emphasis. “So I can help pull you up the rocks?”

Right, why else would he be asking? Mind out of the gutter, Jimmy! You’re a taken man!

“Oh, uh.” Jimmy thought for a second, looking around at the situation he was surrounded by. Tango was right, there was no turning back now. If they wanted to get out of this, the only way they could go was up. He sighed. “Okay.”

Jimmy reached out his hand to take Tango’s and let himself be carefully helped up onto the next rock. And the next, and the next, until they’d cleared all of them and Jimmy only realized how long they’d been holding hands for when Tango let go of his to skim the bark of a nearby tree. He watched Tango keep walking, leaving him behind just a little bit as his mind went on a little hike of its own, only startled back to himself when Tango turned around to face him again, smiling. All teeth. Jimmy wasn’t so freaked out by it anymore. “Coming?”

“You bet!” Jimmy called, trying to pump himself up with energy for this final push, and being glad he did so when Tango’s smile widened further and he let out a holler. Jimmy ran up to catch him, and the two began practically sprinting through the forest, as fast as they could without tripping on exposed rocks and roots. “Ranchers for the gold!”

“Ranchers for the gold!” Tango cried out, pumping a fist in the air. A few moments later, they breached the wilderness, finding themselves at a small clearing at the top of the mountain. Jimmy grinned, feeling a rush of ecstasy through him, before he actually slowed down and started counting all the groups that were already there.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” Jimmy said, groaning at the ensuing laughter from a couple of his friends nearby.

“What is it?” Tango asked.

“We’re last!” Jimmy bemoaned. “I’m last! Again! I’m never playing another one of Grian’s stupid games.”

Tango laughed a bit as Jimmy kicked a small pebble away. “Hey, it’s not like it’s his fault.”

“You’re right.” Jimmy sighed. “Sorry Tango, I totally screwed up your chance at winning.”

“What? Hey, man, no way!” Tango said, clasping Jimmy’s shoulder and grinning. “I’m proud of us dude! We did it! You did it. Bested your fear of rocks and everything. I don’t care that we didn’t win, that was like, the most fun I’ve had this year.”

Jimmy smiled. “You mean it?”

“With my whole heart.” Tango smiled back, patting Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Well, thanks, Rancher.” Jimmy said, kicking out a cowboy boot. Tango tipped an imaginary hat back at him.

“Anytime.”

“Hey, Jimmy, guess what?” Scott’s voice came from behind him, and Jimmy whirled around. He felt his smile get even wider as Scott marched towards him, proudly holding up a little plastic trophy. “Pearl and I won.”

“Pearl and you?” Jimmy asked. “I thought you were teamed with Cleo?”

“Our groups ran into each other during the final stretch of the hike and when we started running to get to the end, Pearl got there first.” Scott explained. “Turns out we were paired after all, ‘cause Grian declared us the winners once he and Scar showed up. I think it’s fair, since I did get there second technically, but Martyn’s a little salty about it.”

Jimmy laughed. “I can imagine.”

“How was your go?” Scott asked.

“You can probably guess based on our placement.” Jimmy joked, and Scott just rolled his eyes at him.

“Seriously, Jimmy.” He said, softly. Jimmy shrugged.

“It was good!” He corrected, looking over his shoulder to see Tango talking with Etho, who also seemed pretty exhausted from the trek. Jimmy wasn’t totally surprised—he remembered overhearing Joel say they were paired, and everyone knew how competitive he could get. He watched as Tango gestured widely, tipping his head back so that sunlight bounced off the shiny red sunglasses he’d been wearing all day. Jimmy smiled. “Great, actually.”

“I’m glad.” Scott said, slotting his hand into Jimmy’s own and beginning to lead him off in the direction of some of their friends. Jimmy, against his better judgement and his own sanity, silently wondered what he was doing having two hands if they weren’t both being held.

Chapter Text

Scott relished in the light hiss of butter in the pan as he flipped this next batch of pancakes. The soft hum of the stove, the light sound of early-morning traffic outside his window. Sometimes he wondered what in the world people were rushing to this early on a Saturday, but he figured everyone had their own varying schedules. He knew that all too well. His own work schedule was far too all over the place for him to really indulge in weekends like others, but the ones that he did get off he treasured.

“G’mornin’.” Martyn mumbled, suddenly and slowly emerging from the hallway and swinging himself into the kitchen. He draped himself over Scott’s back, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“Morning, love.” Scott said, lightly brushing him off so that he could actually move the pancakes onto a plate to cool as he started the next round. “Someone’s clingy this morning.”

“I’m tired.” Martyn groaned. “You can’t blame a man for being tired.”

“Then go back to sleep.” Scott teased.

“Wanna be with you.” Martyn said, still keeping his arms around Scott’s waist. “Also I left my phone out here last night, so I can’t lay in bed and scroll.”

“Ah, the truth comes out.” Scott laughed. He looked up as Tango marched into the kitchen, far more bubbly than Martyn was—which made Scott wonder how long he’d been up, or if he’d even slept at all. Scott knew that he himself was always a bit more peppy in the morning when he hadn’t slept much, before his energy crashed completely in the afternoon. He wouldn’t be surprised, Tango always seemed to have something he felt he needed to do.

“Morning!” Tango called. “Something smells fantastic.”

“Scott’s making pancakes.” Martyn said, unlatching from Scott so he could lean against the counter and face both of them.

“Ooh!” Tango smiled, circling into the kitchen and making a beeline for the fridge, producing a few cartons of berries. “Are you using Jimmy’s mom’s recipe?”

“Like I could get away with using any other one without being murdered.” Scott rolled his eyes. “I think setting foot in this house with boxed mix would get me yelled at.”

“Scott, we’d never yell at you.” Martyn said, to which Scott just raised an eyebrow. “We’d never yell at you and mean it.”

“Fine.” Scott said, waving a hand. “I’m still right.”

“Not our fault that’s the best recipe for ‘em.” Tango said. “Nothing else compares.”

“Mhm.” Scott said, shaking his head a bit as he served up more pancakes and Martyn and Tango started moving in on the serving plate with smaller ones of their own, like cats slinking around waiting for their bowls to be filled. By the time Jimmy joined them, all three of them had served themselves and topped their pancakes before retreating to the dining room table for breakfast. Scott almost didn’t clock him in his beeline for the kitchen.

“Morning, Tim.” Martyn called out, receiving some kind of garbled greeting response that sent him laughing. Eventually, Jimmy found his own way to the table, setting his plate down and slipping into his chair with a certain weight.

“Sleep well, Petal?” Scott asked, reaching a hand across the table for Jimmy to take and squeeze lightly before going back to his own meal.

“Would’ve slept better if someone hadn’t stolen my pillow in the middle of the night.” Jimmy said, glaring at Martyn. Martyn put his hands up like he’d been caught.

“Hey! It’s not like I meant to!” He defended.

“I woke up in the middle of the night, and this creature—” Jimmy said, jabbing his fork across the table at Martyn. “Was fully stealing my pillow and when I said, ‘Martyn, that’s mine,’ he said ‘maybe you should’ve thought about that before marrying me’ and then went back to sleep.”

Tango laughed. “I didn’t know you two had tied the knot.”

“Marriage is a construct.” Martyn shrugged.

“It’s my pillow!” Jimmy groaned. “You have your own!”

“But yours is so much softer! And it’s warm.”

“If you want a warm pillow, why not steal Tango’s?” Scott asked.

“Tango’s is too warm.” Martyn said, rolling his eyes like it was obvious.

“Why do you even need two pillows?” Tango asked, scooping a truly absurd number of raspberries out of the carton to put on his new stack of pancakes.

“I put Jimmy’s under my back.” Martyn said, pushing his food around. “Helps with the ache.”

“Is your back bothering you again?” Scott asked, raising an eyebrow.

Martyn shrugged it off casually. “Not that much. Just bad posture from sitting at my desk, I’m handling it.”

Jimmy stared at him for a few seconds before sighing loudly. “Fine, you can borrow my pillow sometimes. But it’s mine the rest of the time, and when you use it, I get yours and you have to use one of the cheap ones in the guest room for your head.”

“I can work with that!” Martyn grinned, prompting Jimmy to just grumble to himself and start shoveling more food into his mouth. Martyn studied him a second, still grinning, before softening just a bit. “Thank you, Jimmy. I really do appreciate it.”

It took all of Scott’s energy to stifle a laugh as Jimmy’s face turned beat red and he sat up a bit straighter. He hummed, clearing his throat. “All in a day’s work for the world’s best boyfriend.”

“Hey, if you’re the world’s best boyfriend, what does that make the rest of us?” Tango asked.

“2nd, 3rd, and 4th best, obviously.” Jimmy said.

“Care to name names on that one, Jimmy?” Scott asked, watching as realization dawned on his face. “Well?”

“Well—obviously you’re all equally—I was just—” Jimmy sighed, dropping his head into his hands. “Oh, come on!”

“Really dug a hole for yourself there, huh, Jim?” Martyn teased.

Tango laughed. “One of these days we should take away his shovel.”

“He’d find a way to use a spoon.” Martyn said, as Jimmy just sunk further and further into his chair.

“You’re lucky we love you, Petal.” Scott teased, getting up to clear his plate and giving Jimmy a little kiss on the head as he walked past. Jimmy just seemed to shrink even more. Scott was able to hear Tango and Martyn cackling, and Jimmy whining as he tried and failed to defend himself, as he made his way into the kitchen.

It was hard to say that Scott loved any day of the week specifically, but he was fairly content in that his favorite would always be whatever day he got to spend the most time with the people he adored.

Chapter Text

Cleo was ten when they fell in love with roller skating, dragged to the local rink by Etho, Bdubs, and Scar during one of their random hangouts—with Scar’s mom there as adult supervision.

“C’mon, Cleo, you never know, you might love it!” was what Bdubs had said to convince her to come to this, even though the idea of skating felt vaguely terrifying, and the idea of Bdubs on wheels was even scarier. They were honestly shocked that no one had ended up breaking a bone by the end of it. In fact, they were shocked by just how well things went.

They were immediately entranced by all of it—the retro music, the colorful lights, even the strange odor of the place was a little intoxicating. It all just felt so natural, like time melted away with every push of her skates against the rink. And from that moment on? Obsession.

Cleo spent all of her free time skating, getting a pair of her own for her birthday and using them every day to learn new tricks. And once she was able, she immediately joined a roller derby team and did it all through high school and most of college. They loved the rush of it, the art, the energy. It was like their own little world.

So after they graduated and found themselves a little group to call home, they figured it was about time they share with the class, so to speak.

“We should go roller skating.” She suggested one day when her, Pearl, and Scott were all lounging listlessly about her apartment. Both of them turned to look at her from where they’d been buried in their phones. “I think you might like it.”

Scott powered off his phone and stuck it in his pocket, getting out of his seat and stretching lightly. “Sure. It’s not that far off from ice-skating, is it?”

Cleo didn’t have the heart to say anything until he was already struggling to walk-skate across the carpet and to the rink. And even then all she could really do was try not to laugh, Pearl clinging onto her.

“It’s easier when you’re actually on the rink.” She told them, and they both looked at her with the most skeptical eyes she’d ever seen. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad, just think of it as walking but with wheels strapped to your feet.”

“Is that not terrifying to you?” Pearl cried, way too close to Cleo’s ear. They flinched away rubbing at it pointedly.

“You’ll get used to it.” They said, rolling their eyes and leading Pearl to the rink. Scott was already a bit ahead of them, clinging to the railing and inching along the rink, legs bent like a baby deer. Once she was sure Pearl wasn’t going to immediately die as soon as she hit the rink, she skated off on her own, doing a few laps around the rink and just enjoying the atmosphere.

One of Cleo’s personal favorite parts of skating was watching other people do it, strangely enough. The first-timers like Scott and Pearl, the people who were masters like she was. Some of her favorites though were the people who started out shaky, who she watched fall and fumble, but who by the end of the night was skating around like they owned the place; the couples where one was obviously great at this and the other obviously terrible; the kids who she could tell would turn out like her.

She also loved watching as her friends slowly but surely got more confident. By the end of the night Scott seemed to approach the rink with the same self-assuredness that he did everything, and Pearl was so locked into the moment that Cleo thinks she would’ve looked almost frightening if she weren’t being washed in soft pink lighting and subtly bopping her head to a Madonna song.

Cleo smiled as they skated up to where the two of them were unlacing their skates and slipping them off, Pearl groaning a bit as she rubbed at her raw ankle. “So?”

“Eh, it was fine.” Scott shrugged, though his eyes betrayed something more, and Pearl was quick to elbow him.

“He loved it!” She accused, rolling up her jeans to lightly poke at a bruise. “And I’d have probably liked it a little more if I didn’t fall quite so much.”

“Hey, you were already doing a lot better by the end of it.” Cleo said, and Pearl lit up.

“I was, wasn’t I?”

“Ay, ego check.” Scott said, poking her in the side, and Pearl gasped affronted.

“Oh you are bold for saying that to my face, mister.” She said. “No one needs an ego check more than you.”

Cleo laughed as their friends continued to bicker back and forth, bouncing light jabs off of each other all the way back to their car. Cleo slipped into the driver’s seat as Pearl practically shoulder checked Scott into letting her sit shotgun. Once the three of them were buckled in and on the road, Scott mumbling something about how violent Pearl was, Cleo put on some music, the first song on their playlist shuffling to one they’d all just heard on the rink.

“Hey, Cleo, where’d you say you got your skates from?” Scott asked, leaning forward in his seat a little to ask.

And Cleo felt a surge of pride in her chest, because she knew in that moment, she had them hooked.