Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Alright, party people! We've got three minutes before we need to be in the choir van and off to our two-and-a-half-day choir vacation if we want the good cabins!" Ocean shouted as Constance put both Ocean's and her bags into the trunk of the old school van, before sitting down on the sidewalk in front of St. Cassian.

These two days were anything but a vacation for every other choir member. None of them wanted to go to choir camp. But Ocean had insisted: if they wanted to win first at Kiwanis this year, they'd need to step up their game and spend double the time practicing, which included driving five hours to Northern Saskatchewan to sing by a lake in the sweltering heat of the Canadian sun. Again, not how anyone wanted to spend their summer.

After a chaotic game of Tetris to fit all the bags and choir members into one van, the five-hour journey to Pike Lake began. Ocean sat in the front with Father Marcus, fiddling with the minivan's navigational system, while Noel and Misha occupied the middle row, headphones in and blocking out the world. Constance, Penny, and Ricky were awkwardly squeezed into the back row among the luggage, with elbows jamming into each other's thighs and the occasional luggage falling out of the trunk and onto their heads.

The first hour of the trip was dominated by Ocean's fruitless attempts at road trip games and forced choir bonding. Eye-spy and the province license plate game weren't top of the list for anyone in the van, but Constance, Penny, and Ricky humored Ocean with minimal excitement.

In hour two, mild conversation bubbled up among a few of the choir members, mostly about summer plans and comic books. Ricky and Penny tossed around new designs for Space Age Bachelor Man along with some new plot lines, while Misha shared with Noel the raps he planned to write over the break.

Hour three included a stop at a 7-11, where the choir finally had a chance to stretch their legs, grab a few snacks, and use the bathroom. They returned to the van with four Slurpees, a pack of trail mix, two bags of chips, and six coffees split evenly between Noel and Father Marcus, who needed the energy to handle Ocean for another two hours.

Hour four was mostly uneventful, filled with more small talk and arguments over who got to control the radio and whether or not Taylor Swift was off-limits during the trip.

Finally, after five hours of being crammed into a hot, sticky, cramped minivan in the middle of summer, the choir stepped into the dry heat of Pike Lake. While Father Marcus arranged the cabins, Penny walked over to Ricky and tapped his shoulder. He turned, and Penny asked with a shy smile, "Would you like to check out the campgrounds?". Ricky eagerly agreed. 

The two of them set off toward the forests, pausing to observe wildlife amid jokes and light conversation. They ventured further away from the group, with the sounds of nature and the crunch of their footsteps on the fallen leaves drowning out Ocean lecturing Misha - something about his phone use and needing to connect with his fellow choir members.

"So, what are you doing this summer?" Penny asked, breaking the silence as they walked further into the woods and the trees became denser. "And don't say you're only working on comic books, I know there's more to your plans than that."

Ricky paused for a moment before signing back, "Well, there isn't much to do in Uranium, is there?". His expression was thoughtful and distant as he and Penny continued into the woods. "I guess I'd go to the arcade in the mall, maybe annoy Noel while he works. Besides that, I don't have any other plans. I'm here all summer, just like every other year. My family thinks I'll combust if I do anything outside of Saskatchewan".

Penny let out a laugh and kicked a stone on the ground, letting it tumble down the small hill they were descending. "Well, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out this summer? Ezra's attending some nerdy philosophy summer camp, so I'm kinda friendless. Plus, you're the only 'fun' member of the choir,"

Ricky snorted. "So you're saying you don't want to spend your summer break with Ocean preparing you for Algebra twelve?"

"God no," Penny replied, watching as the stone she was kicking tumbled into a creek and washed away into the water. "But would you be interested in something like that?"

Ricky looked up at Penny and smiled, before signing, "I wouldn't want to spend summer any other way."

They didn't notice how far they had traveled into the woods, or how quiet the world had become.

It never occurred to the two of them that they were now lost in the forest, or that this may be the last summer they spend together. For now, they'll venture deeper into the forest and make plans for a summer and school year they will never finish.

Chapter Text

Since Jane Doe and Karnak left the warehouse, the choir had settled into the afterlife. They'd rearranged the mismatched boxes and furniture into something, carving out their little spaces. Occasionally, one of the choir members would leave to visit Uranium as a ghost, but they never stayed for long.

It had been three months since the accident - at least that's what the calendar hanging in the corner of the warehouse, featuring a girl in a bikini, said. The weather outside became what they'd expected from Saskatchewan: cold, bitter, miserable, and overall invoking seasonal depression. But there was one thing that helped with the misery and monotony of everyday life in the warehouse.

Every month or so, on or around the fourteenth, they'd receive a package, delivered on the warehouse stage, filled with something from their past lives. One month ago, the package held relics from their childhood. Two months ago, the box contained the choir members' favorite outfits. It was the one thing everyone could still look forward to in the afterlife, aside from the birthday present they would receive whenever their eighteenth, or in the case of Misha and now Constance, nineteenth birthday rolled around.

So, there the entire choir was, sitting by the stage of the warehouse, on December fourteenth, trying to guess what tomorrow's gift would bring them.

"I bet they're going to be old Christmas gifts, or whatever gifts our parents planned on giving us this year," Constance suggested, braiding the hair of the American Girl she had received last month."

"Probably," Ricky said, his stuffed cat sitting in his lap. "Or maybe, because it's almost Ocean's birthday, it'll be something Ocean-related, like favorite books or awards."

"Hey!" Ocean shouted from her corner of the warehouse, re-arranging the layout of her 'room' to have space for a new gift. "Neither of those is a bad thing!”

"For you, maybe," Constance replied. "I don't need the nicest girl in homeroom trophy covered in old chicken skins from the KFC dumpster."

"Well, you've won other awards," Ocean huffed. “Remember how we won first place in the Uranium City debate? We won a trophy for that!"

"We won a trophy?" Constance asked, looking up from her doll's hair, now in half of a French braid.

"Oh. Right. I kept it and never told you," Ocean said sheepishly, turning back to her spelling bee trophy neatly placed on a cardboard box, which once held one of the fairground swings.

"Yeah, thought as much," Constance said, returning to her doll's hair.

Just as the old grandfather clock tucked into Noel's corner of the warehouse struck midnight, a small box appeared center stage. The choir members dropped what they were doing and ran to the stage to see the package.

It was considerably smaller than all the other packages - just a few centimeters long and a couple of centimeters tall. Misha picked up the box and shook it, but didn't hear any noise from inside.

"Is it a dud?" Ricky asked, peering over Misha's shoulder.

"That would be rude," Ocean said, arriving at the scene.

"Maybe it's a block of coal," Noel suggested. "None of us has been that 'good' this year".

"Well, open it!" Constance said, whacking Misha's arm

"Okay! Jeez," Misha said, ripping the packing tape off the box and peering inside. Inside was not empty, nor was there block of coal. Inside were postcard-style photos, each a photograph from their songs. Placed right at the top were pictures from "This Song is Awesome" and "Talia", both of which Misha was quick to snatch up and admire. He set down the box on the stage and left the other choir members to collect their photos. Individually, the choir members picked up their photos, commenting on the pictures until only two of the six were left in the box.

Ocean approached the box with shaky hands before pulling out her photograph. She viewed the photo of her standing triumphantly on the human pyramid and sighed. She hated being reminded of her song. Every time that sickening pop melody rang out from the old vinyl player, it evoked memories of who she was before, not who she was now. She tried to tear her photo in half, but it wouldn't rip. It was as if the picture was mocking her, her past-self grinning with her signature smile as she stood on the backs of her fellow choir members.

She returned the photo to the box and sat down on the stage, her legs dangling off the edge. This was by far the worst gift the warehouse had given her, even worse than her ‘favorite outfit’ which was her school uniform.

A few minutes later, Constance hoisted herself onto the stage and sat next to Ocean, her “Sugar Cloud” photograph proudly displayed in her section of the warehouse.

“You okay?” Constance asked, putting her hand over Ocean’s.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Ocean lied, swinging her feet back and forth.

“I know you’re not. Your eyebrows are scrunched and your hair is getting frizzy,” Constance said, running a quick hand through Ocean's red hair.

Ocean looked up at Constance, before asking the question that had been haunting her for months. “Do you hate me?”

“What?” Constance asked, snapping her head up. “No, Ocean, not at all! Why would you think that!”

“It’s just… my song was brutal, you know? I mean, I literally told you that your greatest accomplishment in life would be to become an organ donor! If someone said those things to me, I’d hate them, so why don’t you hate me?” Ocean asked, curling her legs up to her chest and placing her chin on her knees.

The two sat in silence for a moment, before Constance spoke up. “Do you still think those things about us?”

“No. Of course not,” Ocean responded, pulling at the hem of her dress.

“And that’s why we don’t hate you anymore. You’ve changed and grown as a person, Ocean, and the fact that you aren’t what you once were is why you’re so great.” Constance said, wrapping an arm around Ocean’s shoulder. Ocean didn’t reply, but she put her head on Constance’s shoulder and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of cotton candy that clung to Constance.

“Plus, your birthday's in eight days. You’ll get a better gift than a postcard,” Constance noted, before pulling out a heart-shaped locket with a photograph of her family inside. “I got something good for my birthday”.

“Yeah… I hope so.”

Chapter Text

Noel, Penny, Constance, and Ricky sat in a semicircle of chairs surrounding Ocean while she paced back and forth. The room was silent, besides the ticking of the clock and Ocean's Mary Janes tapping the floor.

Misha was ten minutes late - per usual - but Ocean wasn't starting choir as she usually did. It was the last choir rehearsal of the school year, and it was highly unusual for Ocean to delay it. Ocean continued to pace, gently scuffing her shoes against the hardwood floors.

Finally, Constance spoke up.

"Ocean, it's 3:11, can you tell Misha after practice?" She asked, twisting the bracelet around her wrist.

"No, I can't!" Ocean snapped, earning a sheepish 'sorry' from Constance. Ocean sighed and tugged at her hair. "Sorry for snapping, I'm just... everyone needs to hear this. It's important."

"If you signed us up for another choir summer retreat," Noel began, "Then I swear to god-"

 It has nothing to do with choir, Noel," Ocean said, turning to face him. Her voice was strained and hoarse.

"Then why do we-" Noel started. Just then, the door to the choir room flung open and Misha sauntered in, now twelve minutes late. He kept his earbuds in, threw his bag in the corner, and sat beside Ricky before pulling them out.

"Misha, choir starts at 3 o'clock sharp! Why are you so late?!" Ocean asked, concluding her pacing

"It does not start at 3:15?" Misha asked, looking down at his cellphone.

"That was your excuse last week!" she retorted, standing above Misha, who reluctantly put his phone in his pocket.

"Good," Ocean said, before returning to her position at the front of the semicircle. She took a deep breath and unfolded a slip of paper from a pocket sewn into her pinafore - one she added specifically for speeches and announcements.

”My fellow choir members," she began, tugging at the edges of her paper. "What I am about to say may permanently alter your perceptions of me, but this is an important issue I must address." 

"In the spirit of June," she continued, "I believe it is my duty as your choir president and lead singer to finally tell you what I have hidden for so long. I want you to know that... I'm coming out. I'm an asexual lesbian." Ocean admitted, continuing to look down at the paper.

Constance opened her to say something, but Ocean continued with her speech. "I know that many of you will be upset with this news. Some of you may wish to befriend me-"

"Ocean-"

"But I have finally come to a point in my life where I'm ready to accept myself and my community."

"Ginger-"

"I hope that my identity will not affect choir registrations next year, and we can form an inclusive-"

"Ocean! We're all queer!" Noel interrupted, hitting his hands on the side of his chair to cut her off.

"Wh-what?" Ocean stammered, looking up from her speech and at the confused faces of her fellow choir members. "All of you?"

"Yeah," Constance said with a laugh. "I've been wearing a pan bracelet for six months."

"I thought you just liked the colors!" Ocean replied, her ears turning red.

”Seriously,” Ricky signed, gesturing to the genderfluid and pan stickers on their crutches, ”How oblivious were you?” 

”In my defense,” Ocean argued, “You guys don’t act that queer!”

“So people yelling slurs at me in the hallways wasn’t gay enough for you?” Noel asked, picking at his nail polish.

”I thought they were making assumptions and trying to be mean! I mean, those kids bullied Penny for being a lesbian, and she said it herself that she wasn’t!”

“Yeah, I’m not lesbian, but I’m bi. So is Ezra, and he’s also poly.” Penny responded.

”Oh…” Ocean said sheepishly. “And I assume Misha is…?”

”Bisexual, yo,” Misha answered, flashing the pin on his backpack.

“Well I feel silly,” she said, looking around at the faces of the choir. “I mean, next thing you know you’re going to be telling me Father Marcus is gay,” she said with a laugh.

”Hey, at this rate, I wouldn’t bet against it,” Ricky signed.

Chapter Text

“Ready to go, Космічний Ісус?” Misha asked, standing outside Ricky’s bedroom door.

He heard some shuffling before the clacking of Ricky’s crutches against the wooden floor. Two seconds later, Ricky opened the door in his Star Trek T-shirt, which was Misha’s early birthday gift to them.

The two left the house and headed down the cracked pavement of the driveway towards Misha's car. Misha moved ahead to open the passenger side door with a mock gentlemanly bow.

Ricky rolled their eyes, easing themself into the car and folding up their crutches. "What's that for?" Ricky asked before putting on his seatbelt.

"It's your birthday, моя зірка," Misha replied, leaning to put a kiss on Ricky's forehead, "I get to treat you like a prince."

"That's corny, and my birthday's not even today, it's tomorrow," Ricky signed as Misha walked around the car and opened the driver's side door.

"But your birthday party is today," he said, buckling his seatbelt and putting the key into the ignition. Once the car started, he pulled out of the driveway before heading to the Mega Mall.

Ricky pulled out their tablet from their bag and opened their text-to-speech app. They preferred to sign, but seeing as Misha was driving, he needed to communicate somehow. 

"Where are we going?" the AI-generated voice of Spider-Man asked on their tablet.

"The choir arranged something at the arcade. Was my idea," Misha responded.

"What were the other ideas?" Ricky asked.

"Well, Penny suggested we throw a small get-together at your house, but she forgot Ocean was allergic to cats. Constance offered to have it at the Blackwood Cafe so she could provide free cake, but that's what we've been doing every birthday party every year since the choir was formed, and I wanted your eighteenth to be special, y'know. I told them arcade is your favorite place to go, and they let me plan it! Besides, I want a rematch after you beat me at Pop-The-Lock on our first date."

"So you planned and arranged everything?"

"Yep! Made reservations at a table and everything."

"You don't need to reserve a table at the arcade. It's not a fancy restaurant, it's greasy pizza and over-carbonated soda."

"Then what was the reservations tab on the website for?"

"Bowling lanes."

"Then I even reserved a bowling lane!"

"Misha, I can't bowl on crutches."

Misha paused for a moment before responding, "It's a good way to get the choir out of our hair while we hang out together."

"I'll accept that excuse."

When Misha and Ricky arrived, the rest of the choir was already busy setting up a booth, putting a purple plastic tablecloth down, and arranging their presents into little clusters at the head of the table. 

"Yo! Rickster is here!" Misha called out from the entrance of the dining portion of the arcade.

Constance waved them over, holding a small pink gift bag. "Happy birthday, Ricky!" Constance said, placing the bag on the table.

"Thanks," Ricky said, sliding into the booth. Misha sat next to them and put his arm around them, before gently kissing their nose.

”They’ll bring the pizzas out in about forty-five minutes, which gives us enough time to play at the arcade before dinner,” Penny said, putting paper plates on the table. “Constance brought chocolate cake for all of us and a vegan cupcake for Ocean.”

“Misha also reserved a bowling lane,” Ricky signed

"Not purposefully," Misha added, "But you guys will be able to bowl while Ricky and I play more games on our own.

“Then we’ll go bowling whenever our time slot is available,” Noel said, adding his present to the pile.

“Should we start with the arcade, you guys bowl, then we eat?” Ricky suggested.

”Sounds good,” Penny said, pulling $25 from her pocket to buy arcade credits.

Ricky went to pull their cash out of their wallet, but Misha put a hand over their wrist to stop them. “I will pay tonight, зірка. Is your birthday. Besides, we will play most games together.”

Reluctantly, Ricky let Misha pull out his wallet. The group went up to the counter and purchased their arcade credits, as well as reserving bowling shoes for when they were ready to bowl. Ricky refreshed their existing play card, the arcade logo worn off the front from years of use.

The group dispersed around the arcade, with Constance heading for the claw machine, Noel to the pinball machine, and Penny and Ocean to the Mrs. Pac-Man cabinet. After a few minutes of debate, Misha and Ricky settled on playing Space Invaders, which was Ricky's favorite game in the arcade.

"I've been trying to get my high score back ever since I lost it to Henry, one of the arcade workers," Ricky signed, gesturing to the leaderboard. "And you'll help me."

"I don't think I'm good enough to beat 54,800 points," Misha replied, hovering over the player two button.

"If you die, I'm going to keep going without you," Ricky signed, before swiping their play card. The moment the screen lit up, Ricky was at it, balancing on their crutches while smashing buttons. By the time they hit wave two, Misha had lost all three of his lives, but Ricky was still going strong.

By the twenty-minute mark, Ricky was still going. They had reached a score of 35,000, or at least that's what they told Misha between waves and sips of root beer. By now, the rest of the choir had either gotten bored or used up all their points and had begun bowling across the arcade.  Ricky was now sitting down on one of the stools from the arcade bar, one Misha had retrieved for them after their legs got shaky. 

Another 15 minutes passed, with Ricky bordering the previous high score. They were running on one life, having lost the first two while trying to sign to Misha. Ricky hunched further over the cabinet, focusing on protecting their laser cannon while shooting blindly. Misha watched from behind as the points ticked up. 

54,650

54,670

Then, right as they hit the mystery UFO, 54,810.

"Rickster, you got it! You beat him!" Misha exclaimed, putting his hands on Ricky's shoulders. Ricky looked up to verify, but was promptly struck down by a large invader. After a brief moment of disappointment, he screen flashed with NEW HIGH SCORE, and the slots to enter their initials. Ricky typed in RKY before his initials were added to the leader board. 

"I am proud of you," Misha said, kissing Ricky's forehead, earning a laugh from them.

"C'mon, the pizza came already, but I didn't want to bother you," Misha said, handing Ricky their discarded crutches.

The two headed back to the table, where the rest of the choir had already begun eating.

"Where have you two been?" Noel asked, picking the pepperoni off his pizza.

"Ricky was busy being the best Space Invaders player in all of North-Eastern Saskatchewan, yo!" Misha replied. "They beat the high score!"

"Well, congratulations," Penny said, sliding the remaining four pieces of pizza over to Misha and Ricky.

The two sat down and began talking with the rest of the choir. They learnt that Penny ended up winning the bowling tournament, much to Ocean's frustration, and Constance spent all of her credits trying to win a stuffed panda bear from the claw machine but came out empty-handed. 

Once Misha and Ricky finished their pizza (which didn't take long, considering how quickly they ate), Constance brought out the cake, covered with an opaque lid. "I tried my best on the cake decorating, but my mom's way better at it than I am," she said, removing the lid and revealing the cake. It was a three-tier chocolate cake covered in chocolate frosting with cat sprinkles dusting the edges. On top, there were eighteen candles and Happy Birthday, Ricky written in icing

"Holy shit, Constance, this looks amazing!" Ricky signed.

"Oh, it's nothing," Constance said as she lit the candles on their cake.

"Ready?" Ocean asked as she stood up from the head of the table. Ricky gave a thumbs-up, and Ocean counted down from three before the choir began to sing.

"One two three, one two three, one two three four..."

Chapter Text

Noel sat in his room, with the lights dimmed and his laptop open. The white screen of a blank Google Doc stared back at him as he wrote and rewrote the opening line.

Noel never intended to write down his Monique stories, always scared that either his mom or one of the other choir members would find them and tease, or, in the case of Ocean, scold him for it. But after the Cyclone accident, Misha asked for more stories about Monique, and if Misha Bachynskyi wanted to read Noel’s fantasies, then Noel would deliver.

Of course, he needed to make a few mental edits. He knew he needed to change the appearance and backstory of Monique's lover so that they wouldn't be so similar to Misha. The smut would need to be toned down until he knew what Misha was comfortable with reading.

He knew what he needed to do, but he couldn't do it.

Noel wasn’t sure where to start with Monique's story. Monique was a character whose story he’d been fleshing out for years. There wasn’t a ‘good’ place to begin her story, because in his mind, her life had no 'beginning', only an end.

It had been twenty minutes since he sat down to write. Twenty minutes spent staring at a white screen. Noel closed his laptop in frustration and pulled his black notebook from his shelf. It was always easier for him to write on paper than it was for him to type it out. He opened it to a blank page and wrote his name in the top right corner.

His name was all he wrote for the next hour.

He had tried everything to get his creativity flowing. Music didn’t help, re-arranging his desk didn’t help, sitting by the window didn’t help, and not even lighting a cigarette would help. He never smoked his cigarettes, but they usually helped get him in the mood.

Noel looked up at the clock.

11:35. 

One and a half hours since he sat down to write. 

This wasn’t working.

Noel could write poetry effortlessly, but when it came to stories, he could never find a place to start. He slammed the cover of his notebook shut and tossed it on his bed, groaning in frustration.

He wanted to write something - anything - to show Misha. He'd been crushing on Misha since he moved from Ukraine in his sophomore year, had begun talking to him when he joined the choir midway through junior year, and the two got close after the crash left them in the same hospital room. It was in the hospital room where Misha had first asked him to share his Monique stories, but he'd used his broken wrist as an excuse not to write. Now that the cast was off, he couldn't give Misha any more excuses. He didn't just want to write, he needed to write.

Just as he was getting lost in thought, his phone lit up with a text message from Misha.

BADEGG💸😎💯

yo poet u up?

Noel wasted no time in answering his message.

Noel

Yeah, why are you?

BADEGG💸😎💯

had late hockey game. got home two hours ago and i still need to do homework

Noel

Damn, that sucks

BADEGG💸😎💯

how are the stories going? i want to know about monique and her beautifully tragic life ;)

Fuck. That's the one thing Noel was hoping Misha didn't ask about

In that moment, Noel had two options. Either he lies and gives Misha false hope, or he tells the truth, and Misha loses all interest in him. He knows the result of the latter is a bit of a stretch, but there was nothing wrong with a bit of dramatics.

So, he decided to lie.

Noel

Going well. I just need to write a few more paragraphs.

BADEGG💸😎💯

send what you have so far. i want to read

Fuck. Once again.

Noel

Can't right now.

BADEGG💸😎💯

why no?

Noel

It's complicated.

BADEGG💸😎💯

you did not write any, did you?

Noel was caught.

Noel

Fine, I didn't. I just have no clue where to start.

BADEGG💸😎💯

is it easier to talk than to type or write about her?

Noel

Maybe.

BADEGG💸😎💯

then we will call and you can tell me about her. i am more of an auditory learner anyway

Noel smiled down at his screen. God, Misha was so cute.

A few moments later, his phone lit up with an incoming call from Misha Bachynski.

Chapter Text

"And you're sure your lunch is in your bag?" Ocean asked, handing Matilda her water bottle.

"Yes, Mama already put it in. I'm fine," Matilda responded, sliding her water bottle into the side pocket of her new backpack.

It was Monday, September first. The first day of school for St. Cassian, and Matilda’s first day of middle school. It was also the first time the Blackwood family would step on campus in twenty years.

"Good. The school lunch is terrible there," Ocean said. "Speaking of, where is your Mama?"

"Right here!" Constance said, coming out of the kitchen holding a tray of fresh muffins. "I made muffins for your first day of sixth grade!"

"Thanks, Mama," Matilda said, picking out a muffin and stuffing it into her purple lunchbox.

"And one more time, you have all your notebooks, pens, and pencils?" Ocean asked, chewing her nails until put a hand over her wrist to stop her.

"Yes, Mom, I do. You don't have to ask again,” Matilda said, swinging her backpack over her shoulders.

“Okay, you can head out then,” Constance said kissing Matilda’s forehead. “Do you want me to drive you, or do you want to bike to school?”

”I can bike, Mama,” Matilda said, opening the door.

”Are you sure you know the way-“

”Mom, I’ve lived in Uranium my whole life, I know where it is.”

Ocean nodded, and moved to sit on the couch. She knew Matilda would be fine, of course. She was independent, intelligent, and responsible, but Ocean couldn’t help but worry about her.

Constance knew about Ocean’s anxieties. Ocean struggled with dealing with change, and her daughter going into middle school was a big one.

As Matilda closed the door behind her, Constance tuned and sat down next to Ocean, who was rocking on the couch.

”You okay?” Constance asked, putting her hands over Ocean’s.

”How is she already in sixth grade? It feels like she was born yesterday,” Ocean said.

”I know. Time goes by quickly, huh?” 

“I don’t like it.”

”Well, you should enjoy it while it lasts. Before you know it, she’ll be moving out to college.”

”I know… I just wish she could stay a baby for a while longer.”

”Yeah, me too. But soon you’ll be hoping she’ll be a middle schooler again.”

”I hope she won’t become a moody teenager.”

Constance laughed. “Yeah, but it could be worse. She could have an emo phase.”

”Like Noel did in middle school!” Ocean exclaimed, causing the two to break down into laughter.

”Oh god, he’d kill you if he knew you brought that up!” Constance said between laughter

“But seriously, whoever she turn’s out to be, I’ll love her. No matter what.”

”Yeah, me too. She’ll always be our little girl.”

Chapter Text

Noel Gruber never intended to become a school tutor. His grades were slightly above average, but he excelled in English and French, and needed the money. After all, Taco Bell didn't pay too well. So, the school hired him as one of five student tutors.

Today, Noel was sitting at one of the tables in the library, skimming through the notes Ocean had given him. He had been assigned one of her former students, who, like many others, was too fed up with her to continue being tutored by her. 

Student name: Mischa Bachinski

Reading level: Kindergarten

First language: Russian

Notes: He does not work well with others, and knows very little English.

Good luck,

Ocean O'Connell-Rosenberg

Right as Noel finished reading, the door to the library swung open, and Misha entered, wearing an oversized gray hoodie over his hockey uniform. He brushed the hair out of his face, walked over to Noel's desk, and sat down beside him. He put his duffle bag on the floor beside him and yanked his earbuds out by their wires, before facing away from Noel.

"Hello?" Noel asked, looking up at Misha. He took a moment to admire his freckles before snapping out of it and looking down at his paper.

"Let's just get this over with. I need to leave soon," Misha said, shoving his headphones in his pocket and putting his elbows on the table.

Noel cleared his throat and picked up Ocean's notes and re-read them. "So you're from Russia? I'm sorry, I don't know any Russian-"

"I am Ukrainian. Fuck Putin and horse he ride naked on," Misha interrupted.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Ocean wrote that-"

"Ginger punk did not listen to anything I told her. I told her I did not need a tutor and that I am close to fluent, and she made me read The Hungry fucking Caterpillar like I am baby!" he exclaimed, slamming his hands onto the table. "It was humiliating."

"Well, that's Ocean for you. So, what else on this slip is wrong?" Noel asked, sliding the piece of notebook paper over to him from the other side of the table. Misha grabbed a pen and got to work, scratching out and rewriting Ocean's words.

Student name: Mischa Bachinski Misha Bachynski/Міша Бачинський

Reading level: Kindergarten, Anything but Shakespeare. Fuck Shakespeare.

First language: Russian, Ukrainian, also fluent in Russian and semi-fluent in Dutch

Notes: He does not work well with others, and knows very little English.

Good luck,

Ocean O'Connell-Rosenberg

Noel read over the edited version thoughtfully. "So, all you struggle with in English is Shakespeare?" he asked, trying to get an idea of his true skill level.

"Pretty much," said Misha. "I only passed the exam on Romeo and Juliet by watching the movie. It just makes no sense, y'know?"

"Well, we can do Shakespeare then," Noel responded, going through his bag. He pulled out his copy of Hamlet, the book they were currently reading in English, and set it on the table. "What scene are you on?" he asked, opening to the table of contents.

"I haven't started the book, got lost on the first line," Misha admitted, pulling out his school-distributed copy of the book, which had been smushed between his hockey supplies.

"Here, use mine," Noel insisted, pushing his copy in front of Misha. "I bought my version with the modern English translation on the side. I had a bookstore coupon I needed to use, so I figured why not make school a bit easier, you know?" he laughed nervously.

"Oh. Thanks," Misha said, opening to the first page and beginning to read through the translation 

"Is that any easier to understand?" Noel asked. Misha nodded in reply and read through the first scene. Then the second, then the third. Soon, he read through the entire first act.

"You don't need a tutor, do you?" Noel asked, watching Misha as he read.

"Nope," Misha said, finally closing the book and handing it to Noel.

"No, you keep it. I have another copy at home," Noel said. Misha nodded and slid the book into his duffle bag. "But I do have a question, though. If you're doing well with English, why do you need a tutor?" Noel asked

"School says that it is policy to provide me a tutor since English is not my native language," Misha answered, coming back up to the table.

Noel hummed before returning the pen to his pencil case. "So... what should we do now? You don't need any help from me."

"You want to go hang out? Maybe swing by the 7-11?" Misha suggested, already grabbing his duffel bag.

"Really? Alright," Noel responded, his face flushing as he grabbed his books and packed his bag as well.

"Can be a new routine. After practice, you and I grab slushees from 7-11 instead of tutoring."

"Sounds like a plan, Misha."

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks since Misha had posted his breakout single, "This Song is Awesome". He had amassed a staggering 58 views and two subscribers; not as much as he had expected, but the world wasn't quite ready for his epic raps. 

It was a summer evening, and he was scrolling through his Twitter timeline while drinking a Slurpee he had bought from 7-11 twenty minutes prior. He was drafting out ideas for his next single and needed to take a short (2-hour) break to clear his mind and reset his focus. Kanye blasted through his cheap earbuds as he stalked the profiles of other famous rappers, trying to influence some of their followers to listen to his music. Then, while advertising his song under one of Eminem's posts, a notification came in from YouTube.

You have received 1 new comment on your latest video.

Misha froze. This was his first comment!

@Таля.Болінська

Вау! Ти неймовірний автор текстів і репер. З нетерпінням чекаю на твої майбутні репи, красуне ;)

Wow! You are an amazing lyricist and rapper. I am excited to hear some of your future raps, handsome ;)

Misha read the response while grinning. Not only was this girl his first fan, but she also spoke Ukrainian and found him handsome! He opened up his phone keyboard and began typing a reply.

@BADEGG

Дякую, Тальє. Я завжди пам'ятатиму тебе як свою першу фанатку серед багатьох.

Thank you, Talya. I will always remember you as my first fan of many.

Misha stared at the comment for an unhealthy amount of time, unintentionally committing it to memory. He wasn't aware of how much time had passed, just that his Slurpee had become slush and the sun had fully set outside.

Right as he decided to leave YouTube, a second reply snapped his focus back to the screen.

@Таля.Болінська

Чи є у тебе ще якісь соціальні зв'язки? Я б хотів познайомитися з тобою, Бадегг.

Do you have any other socials? I'd love to get to know you, Badegg.

Misha knew he looked desperate, replying the moment he got the comment, but he didn't care.

@BADEGG

У мене є Твіттер, Фейсбук та Інстаграм. Я BADEGG на всіх них.

I have Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. I am BADEGG on all of them.

Misha waited ten excruciating minutes, rolling on his bed and stirring the soup of what was once his Slurpee. Right as he stood up to finally throw it away, a Twitter DM pulled him back to his bed. 

Таля

Привіт! Це Таля з YouTube. Як тебе звати, БАДЕГГ?

Hello! This is Talya from YouTube. What's your name, BADEGG?

Міша

Мене звати Міша Бачинський. Я з маленького містечка поблизу Одеси, але живу в Канаді. А тебе?

My name is Misha Bachynskyi. I am from a small town near Odessa, but I live in Canada. You?

Таля

Мене звати Таля Бонінська, і я зараз живу в Києві. Скільки тобі років? Мені сімнадцять років.

My name is Talya Boninska, and I live in Kyiv right now. How old are you? I am seventeen years old.

Міша

Хворий! Мені майже вісімнадцять.

Sick! I am almost eighteen.

Misha was lying facedown on his bed, the sun now long gone below the horizon. Right as Talya's typing bubbles came back up, his phone went black.

Yup. Dead.

Shit!

Chapter Text

Father Louis P. Marcus, along with many other teachers at St. Cassian, was not an ordained catholic priest. He was a man who left Uranium City to pursue a music career, only to return to his hometown for a teaching job when it didn't work out. Now, he was teaching band, orchestra, and choir at St. Cassian, where he was given the title "Father" to fit in with the other priests and nuns on staff.

He was still religious - he believed in the word of God and Christ’s promise to the world - but his beliefs and interpretations of the bible were less orthodox than those of his colleagues.

For one, he was a gay man, a fact that wouldn’t sit well with the other teachers and students at St. Cassian. So, for the most part, he kept his identity hidden. As far as he was aware, only two people knew of his identity: Noel Gruber and Father Michael Francisco.

Noel had found out over four years ago. On the night of his seventh-grade dance, he'd been bullied off the dance floor and took refuge in the music room. Father Marcus, who had stayed late that night to arrange the live music for the event, listened to Noel and offered a bit of his own. It was here that he confided in Noel that he wasn't the only gay man in Uranium. Ever since that day, Noel had always been much closer to Louis than any of his other students. Noel even joined the choir in high school to spend more time with him, even if it meant spending time with Ocean in the process. When his mom kicked him out, Noel went straight to his house, where he still lived.

Father Francisco, on the other hand, was a different story - one entirely beyond Louis's control. Much like himself, Michael was not a catholic priest, but instead the only person in Uranium qualified to teach history. In the first five years of teaching together, the two were nothing more than colleagues. They never interacted outside of school, and even at work, conversations were infrequent. Still, Louis found himself inexplicably drawn to Michael. He never acted upon his feelings, but they were always there in the back of his mind, silently yearning for something more.

He'd written a few songs on the guitar about Michael; little lyric sheets with guitar chords scrawled above the words. They had all been shoved into a folder at the back of his desk, with the initials M.F. written in blue ink on the front. Not the best idea in hindsight. 

He could say it was his fault that Michael found the songs, but he'd rather blame it on fate. One morning, Father Marcus had come down with a cold and needed a substitute to cover the choir, and Father Francisco was the only teacher in the school who possessed any musical talent whatsoever. Louis told him that all of the sheet music was in a desk drawer, too drowsy on cold medicine to remember the love songs in the same location. While digging through the drawers, Michael found the manila folder - the one marked with his initials - and assumed it was the sheet music.

So he opened it. And he read its contents.

He read every song with all of its raw emotions and lyrics and saw every declaration of love, all of which had been addressed to him, but none of which had been sent.

More importantly, he saw all of his feelings reflected.

He held onto the songs until after choir practice ended, and took them home to study and plan his next move. That Friday, once Father Marcus recovered from his cold, Father Francisco cornered him in the staff room and formally asked him out.

Of course, Louis said yes. He'd be a fool not to.

Their first date was spent stargazing at a lake on the outskirts of Uranium City, away from the prying eyes of its citizens. Michael, who had always been fascinated by the stars and other astronomical subjects, pointed out constellations to Louis while the two cuddled on the picnic blanket. It was beneath those same stars that the two shared their first kiss.

Now, over a year later, the two were still dating. Michael had moved in with Louis and Noel only about a month ago, and the three of them had begun building a family. For the most part, their relationship remained a secret, but they still received odd glances now and then when they sat next to each other at events or held hands while chaperoning field trips. And, thanks to neither of them being actual Catholic priests, they were under no obligation to remain unmarried.

Louis knew Michael was planning to propose. He saw the receipts from the jewelers that Michael had forgotten on the counter, and he knew Noel was in on the surprise. All that was left to see was when he would pop the question.

Chapter Text

"Well, this couldn't possibly get any stranger," Constance muttered.

"I'm under the firm belief that it always can," Karnak replied

Right on cue, ominous music swelled as the mystery contestant emerged from behind the curtains. She was a girl in a St. Cassian uniform with a proportionally incorrect Barbie doll's head instead of her own. The choir stared in shock and confusion as she stepped forward, her head rotating incoherently with the rest of her body.

"Jane Doe is what the coroner said," Barbie's voice rang out, unusually cheerful. "They found my body, not my head! No parents came, and so they never learned my name or who I used to be. My life: an unsolved mystery. From ashes-"

"Hold on," Noel interrupted, waving his hands to stop both Jane and the dramatic music. "You expect us to take that seriously?

"Why not?" Karnak asked. "She is the mystery competitor; the sixth victim who lost her head."

"Yeah, but why does she have a Barbie head?" Constance asked.

"Unfortunately, I was limited in my head selection to whatever was available at the carnival. I chose a Barbie doll from the lost and found."

Jane Doe - or Barbie - stepped towards Constance with the body of a decapitated Barbie doll.

"Would you like to brush Barbie's hair?" she asked, thrusting the doll towards Constance with her unblinking eyes and empty smile.

"I'm... very disturbed right now," Constance said, sidestepping away from Jane and running up to Karnak's booth.

"Couldn't you at least make her head the same size as the rest of her body?" she whispered, gesturing to Jane, who was trying to braid Ocean's hair.

"Would you rather I use my magic on bringing one of you back to life or to enlarge a doll head?' Karnak asked flatly. Before Constance could reply, Jane stood up from behind Ocean, whose hair had been forced into a perfect braid.

"Constance, would you like a makeover?" she asked, grabbing a toy beauty kit off the wall.

"Maybe later, sorry," Constance sheepishly said.

"So, let me get this straight," Ocean said, standing up and walking over to Karnak. "Everyone is competing for the prize? Even her?"

"Correct," Karnak said. "You will all receive equal opportunities to win."

"This is ridiculous," Ocean said, throwing her hands up in the air. 

"Well, you'll find a way to deal with her," Karnak said, hovering over his crystal ball. "Let the games begin."

Chapter Text

"What is a Savannah?" Jane asked, tilting her porcelain head towards Ricky.

Ricky fidgeted with their fingers. "Uh-... Savannah is a special name I've been saving, but you can have it. Cause everything I've been saving has to go. It's a fire sale in my brain, and everything has to go by m-m-midnight!" they said, attempting humor.

Jane crossed to sit next to Ricky at the accordion. "I like Savannah."

"Well, you can have her," they said with a faint smile.

"Can Savannah have the greenest eyes?" she asked.

"Yes," they answered.

"Savannah... with the greenest eyes."

The two were silent for a moment, with Ricky fiddling with the accordion and Savannah gazing at nothing in particular. Finally, she spoke up.

"What does a Savannah look like?" she asked, turning her body to face Ricky.

"Well, whatever you look like. You're Savannah," they said, looking up from the accordion.

"I don't know what I look like," she said softly.

"Well, you can make it up!" Ricky grinner. "I do that a lot. I imagine myself looking cooler, like with sexy purple hair and huge muscles," Ricky said, striking a halfhearted pose.

"How do you... Imagine?" Savannah asked. 

Ricky paused and dropped their position. How were they supposed to explain the concept of imagination and daydreaming to a girl who had never experienced either? "Well, sometimes drawing helps me imagine things better. If I can see it in front of me, it's easier for me to see it in my head."

"I don't know how to draw," Savannah said, a hint of gloom added to her monotone voice.

"I can teach you!" Ricky said, hopping up and reaching for a pad of paper that had been on the prize wall. Ricky might not be able to explain imagination, but they could explain how to draw!

They lifted the accordion off the table, put the paper in front of Savannah, and sat down next to her. Ricky rummaged around in their pocket, before they found two pencils and an eraser.

Ricky flipped through the pad before they found a fresh sheet and handed Savannah a pencil. "Here. You use this to draw. The black part at the tip is called "graphite" and makes marks on the page," they said, scribbling on the corner of the page. Savannah looked at her pencil curiously, before placing the tip of her pencil on the page and mimicking the motion Ricky made with their pencil. Her hand was stiff as she dragged the pencil along the page, creating a light mark at the top of the page.

"That's a good start," Ricky praised, smiling up at her. For a moment, Ricky saw a flicker of a smile before she returned to her blank expression.

"Well, if you want to draw a person, you'll need to draw a head," they said, drawing a circle for a head and a triangle for a chin. "My style is pretty anime-inspired, but once you know how to draw, you can develop your style!" they said enthusiastically.

Savannah drew a head a few inches away from Ricky's, though her's was much sloppier and more disproportionate than theirs. 

"Now, once you draw the head, you can draw the body. You can make yours however you like, but I'm giving mine a more masculine body with muscular features," Ricky said, drawing their body below their head.

"How do I draw my body?" Savannah asked them, looking down at the paper helplessly.

"Here," Ricky said, putting their hand around Savannah's and gently guiding the pencil. "You have some nice curves, and you have long legs. But you can draw your body however you like!"

When Ricky looked up from the paper, they froze. Savannah's cheeks were dusted a deeper shade of pink than before, and her eyes were wide as she looked between her and Ricky's hand and the paper.

Ricky stammered for a moment, their face flushing as well. They took a deep breath to re-focus themself, before Savannah spoke.

"I like my body..." she said, looking down at herself.

"Then keep it. It's yours," Ricky said softly, looking down at the two unfinished drawings on the paper, before refocusing their attention.

"Now we get to move on to the fun part. Faces and hair," they said, pulling their hand away from Savannah's and drawing their hair. "My hair is long and spiky. I've always wanted long hair, but I've never taken the time to grow it out. I also have cat ears."

Savannah placed her pencil on the paper and drew herself with long hair similar to Ricky's, although without the spiky texture.

"Now, for the face," they began, "I'm giving myself sunglasses since I don't like drawing eyes all that much". They added sunglasses, a line for a nose, a smirk, and topped it all off with large blocky shading. Savannah replicated what they were doing, aside from exchanging their sunglasses for large animated eyes.

"Now you're getting the hang of it!" Ricky said, pointing at the eyes Savannah drew.

"Are my eyes... pretty?" she asked Ricky sincerely, still looking down at the paper.

"They're gorgeous," they said earnestly, earning a real smile from Savannah, which Ricky happily returned.

"Now, you can draw yourself wearing whatever cool outfit you want!" Ricky said, already drawing his Space Age Bachelor Man suit. Ricky drew their outfit in extreme detail, while Savannah drew herself in a simple St. Cassian uniform.

Once the two finished, Ricky pulled something else out from their pocket that they had grabbed from the prize wall. It was a pack of 12 colored pencils. "The best part of drawing is coloring, at least in my opinion," Ricky said, opening the box and dumping out the colored pencils. Ricky picked up a purple pencil and colored with extreme precision, while Savannah messily colored outside of the lines with her green colored pencil.

"Do you want help coloring?" Ricky asked, setting down their purple pencil. 

Savannah nodded in reply, and Ricky went back to holding her hand and guiding her. Now and then, Savannah would pick out a new color, but for the most part, they were sitting next to each other and holding hands while they colored. 

Soon enough, both of their drawing were colored. Ricky picked up a purple pencil with their spare hand and wrote Space Age Bachelor Man above his drawing. Savannah followed their lead and wrote Savannah in green ink. 

"There you go! You know how to draw!" Ricky said with a smile. Savannah smiled back at them before resting her head on their shoulder.

Chapter Text

“I have been teaching at this school for five years, and I have a masters in English and French, why can’t I take the position?” Noel asked Ocean, the head of school.

“Mr. Gruber, I've already told you, we need you in our English department. We can't afford to lose you, especially considering the improvement in standardized testing scores. Besides, we've already hired someone for that position," Ocean said, lacing her fingers together and resting her arms on the desk.

Noel scoffed. "Ms. Perkins only died a week ago. How did you already find someone else?"

Ocean glared up at him. "You're not the only person in this town who can speak French, Mr. Gruber."

"Well, who's the new hire?" Noel asked, his voice a mix of bitterness and curiosity.

"His name is Misha Bachynskyi. He's a polyglot; fluent in Ukrainian, Russian, and English. He knows some Dutch and Mandarin and picked up French in just a few months. He's already a favorite among the students."

Noel scoffed. "Come on, no one can learn French that quickly."

"You'd be surprised. Now, go back to your classroom; it's almost fifth period." Ocean said, returning to her computer.

Defeated, Noel stood up from her desk and left her office. This was a complete waste of his break.

He walked back to his classroom, passing groups of students in the halls, all of whom were chatting about the new French teacher. 

"Yesterday, we translated rap songs into French and tried to rap them."

"In French today, Monsieur Bachynskyi let us watch Saw V  - in French!"

"He's way better than Ms. Perkins was."

Now, Noel was by no means a favorite teacher, but he wasn't hated either. He was known for being a professional, competent English teacher. Sure, he had a few students who loved him, but he had never received praise akin to what Misha was given.

It was a blow to his ego, especially given how unprofessional this new teacher sounded. It seemed like Monsieur Bachynskyi was focusing more on bonding with his students than actually teaching them French, because really? Rap music? Horror movies? This teacher still had to be mentally in college.

Noel made his way back to the English classroom and prepared for fifth-period English. He straightened his tie and began arranging papers and lesson plans, writing that day's writing prompt and the homework due on the board.

Overall, the class that day was okay. A few kids here and there talked or passed notes, but it went smoothly for the most part. However, the one thing he did notice was that all of the students' conversations revolved around the same topic: Monsieur Bachynskyi.

At this point, Noel was fed up. He took his shitty store-bought salad to the staff break room. Noel entered the empty room and poured himself a cup of hot coffee, or at least the hottest coffee the school's janky coffee maker would make.

Noel grabbed his cup off the counter and turned around, only to slam into another teacher and splash his drink down his front.

Noel hissed and recoiled from the unpleasant sensation of the liquid soaking through his shirt. When he looked down, his white shirt had been stained brown and had become transparent in parts he didn't want to become visible.

"Shit, bro, are you okay?" he heard a man with a soft Ukrainian accent ask. When Noel looked up, he saw none other than Monsieur Bachynskyi reaching for a stack of paper towels and heading towards Noel's shirt.

"I don't need-" Noel began. Before he could finish his sentence, Misha was dabbing away at his shirt with a napkin.

"Hold on, let me get it dry. You'll get cold," Misha interrupted, focused on drying his shirt.

Noel tried to pull away, but Misha held onto his shirt and kept cleaning, not understanding that Noel wanted him to leave. Then, without asking, he gently untucked the hem of Noel's shirt and slid the napkin underneath, drying his shirt while brushing against the sensitive skin of Noel's abdomen.

Noel gasped and yanked his shirt back from Misha, his ears having turned red. "I don't need help," Noel said sharply, walking back to the machine to refill his mug.

Misha followed, wet napkins in hand and a concern flickering in his eyes. He wasn't quite sure where he went wrong. "You sure? You were shivering when I was helping. Have my jacket, it's warm and you can-"

"I have a cardigan in my classroom," Noel said with a sneer, filling his cup and picking up his salad. He decided against eating in the break room today, especially if he would be there.

"If you need me, I am in the French room!" Misha called after him, as if to add salt to the wound

Noel closed the door behind him, chest tight with irritation, and stormed back to his classroom. If he thought Misha was unprofessional before, what he pulled in the lounge solidified his suspicions. Yes, he was cold, and yes, a hot guy did offer him a jacket, but Misha should have asked before sliding his hand under his shirt! That was crossing a line.

Noel stepped back inside his classroom and closed the door behind him. He slammed his salad on the table and picked up his bag, searching for his cardigan, before his stomach dropped. 

He forgot his cardigan at home.

Well, if today couldn't get any worse, it had. Noel groaned and dropped his bag beside his desk. He couldn't teach with a huge coffee stain exposing his abdomen to the class. His only option was to swallow his pride and accept Misha's jacket.

Noel exited his classroom and headed towards Misha's classroom. He walked through the halls, earning a few weird looks from students and faculty alike. Finally, he reached the door to Misha's classroom and peered inside.

Inside, he saw eclectic decorations and a few posters for rap albums and horror movies in French, along with a few faded and peeling educational posters Misha had kept from the old teacher. Behind the desk, Misha sat with a student, going over what looked to be her French homework.

Noel paused at seeing this side of Misha. The girl he was tutoring, Angela, was a freshman in his period 7 English class. Noel knew she struggled with English, having transferred from a school in China, and he imagined French just as difficult. From what he could hear through the door, Misha was communicating with her through Mandarin, patiently explaining the questions on the homework.

Misha caught Noel's eye and waved. "Yo! Mr. Gruber! You want this?" he asked, holding up a jacket.

Noel opened the door and stepped inside. "Yeah, thanks..." he said as Misha approached him. Misha handed him the jacket and turned to walk to his desk, but Noel put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Noel whispered, finally making eye contact with Misha.

"Don't apologize," Misha said with a sheepish smile. "I should've asked before touching you. I should be the one apologizing."

Noel felt a soft blush spread across his cheeks. "Well, I'll see you later."

"See you, Noel."

As Noel stepped out the door and made his way down the hall, he realized something:

He had never told Misha his first name.

He just knew it.

Finally, the day had ended. The bell had just rung, and the students from Noel's period 7 English class were filing out of the room. While the other students ran off with their friends or gathered their books, Angela walked up to his desk, giggling.

"What's so funny?" Noel asked, feeling a bit more lighthearted after his and Misha's interaction earlier.

"Monsieur Bachynskyi says you are pretty, Mr. Gruber!" Angela blurted, before bursting into laughter.

Noel's brain short-circuited.

What the fuck?!

"Uhm... thank you?" Noel asked, feeling the blush creep up his neck.

"No problem! Bye, Mr. Gruber!" Angela said, suppressing giggles as she walked out of the classroom.

Noel needed to take a moment to cool himself down and refocus.

Misha thought he was pretty.

Noel felt his stomach flutter. He had never been called "pretty" by another man. He had never felt this about another man either.

Dazed, Noel got up from his desk and headed in the direction of Misha's classroom, his brain on autopilot. He didn't process what he was doing until he was knocking on the door to the French room.

Misha opened the door with a wide grin, showcasing the small gap between his two front teeth. God, how had Noel gone from despising this man to falling for him in four periods?

"Yo, Noel! Come in, what do you need?" Misha asked, leaning against his desk.

Noel stammered, not having come up with an excuse to be there. "Uh... I came to return the jacket," he said, deciding that was a good enough excuse. He went to unzip the jacket, but Misha put his hands over Noel's to stop him.

"Keep it until you can change into something without coffee stains," Misha said with a crooked grin. 

Then he realized what he was doing. Misha snapped his hands back and stuffed them in his pockets.

The two stood in awkward, yet comfortable silence before Noel spoke up.

"So... Angela seemed to like you," Noel remarked, picking at his nail polish.

"Yeah. I know what it's like attending an English-speaking school as an immigrant student," Misha said, staring out the window. "Just like her, I knew English, but I couldn't understand all of it and learn at the same time, y'know?"

Misha shrugged. "I just figured I could make things easier for kids like me who have to think in three different languages at once."

"Wow, that's admirable," Noel said, standing a bit closer to Misha than before.

"I also made French more engaging. I struggled to focus on lectures - short attention span and no filter, thanks to being neurodivergent as hell - so I throw in some things that helped me. Movie days, fun translations, and projects, that kinda stuff. I throw some lectures in there too, but I always provide fidget toys and shit. God knows I wouldn't have been able to process a thing without them," he said, pointing to a box of fidgets by the entrance to the room.

"I never thought about doing that in English. Old school was always easiest for me," Noel muttered, having scratched his nail clean.

"Give it a try! Let them watch movies and give them fun essays now and then. It keeps them engaged."

Noel nodded, and silence fell once more. He looked around the classroom, seeing the rap album covers and Saw posters in a new light. Misha wasn't doing this all to be the "fun teacher", but was doing it out of a genuine love and understanding for his students.

"So, Angela told me something at the end of class today," Noel said, unable to stop the words before they came out.

"Yeah? What did she say?" Misha asked, turning to face Noel with a slight smile.

Noel turned to look up at him, watching the sun dance across his cheekbones, freckles, and chestnut brown hair. "She said you think I'm pretty."

Misha froze, his eyes widening and his face going pink. Misha chewed his bottom lip before rambling. "Well, she asked me why I was smiling at you when you left, and I told her that, uh, you were pretty, but it was just an offhand comment, I - well, I meant it- but I didn't think she'd take it seriously or mention anything to you, but-"

Noel couldn't take it anymore.

So he grabbed his face and kissed him.

Hard.

Misha was stunned. His hands, which had previously been nervously flapping, had stopped midair. Once his brain caught up to speed with what was happening, Misha closed his eyes and surrendered to the moment. His hands found their way to Noel's hips and pulled him closer.

It wasn't long before things got heated.

Misha had backed Noel against his desk, all without breaking the kiss. Misha frantically fumbled with the knot of Noel's tie, desperately trying to get it loose. Finally, Noel pulled away, giving Misha enough space to pull off the tie.

"This is incredibly unprofessional," Noel whispered breathlessly.

"I would know a thing or two about that," Misha said against his jaw, before planting a trail of kisses down and onto his neck. Noel made a noise from the back of his throat - something between a gasp and a whine - and Misha lifted him onto the desk.

Right as his hands landed on the zipper of the jacket he lent Noel, the door swung open.

"Monsieur Bachynskyi, I forgot my pencil case on your-... oh!"

Misha forgot about the zipper and whirled around. Standing at the doorway was Angela, pale as a ghost.

Angela stepped back. "I'm sorry, I'll... uh.."

With that, Angela slammed the door shut and ran off, leaving Noel and Misha standing in Misha's classroom, absolutely mortified.

"Oh my god. Ocean is going to fire me."

Chapter Text

Constance stumbled out of the porta-potty, still fumbling with her shirt.

It could have been worse. The location wasn't the best, and the sex was in no way good. It was rough, sloppy, and quick, but it wasn't the worst way to lose her virginity.

At least she hoped it wasn't. 

She looked up from the buttons she'd been fiddling with and out at the fairgrounds. The sun had begun to set, casting a warm, orange glow over the rides. All around her, kids were running around with their parents, and teenagers were getting tipsy from drinks they weren't old enough to buy. The fair was filled with joy, laughter, and the sickening smell of cotton candy, corndogs, and rancid beer.

None of it brought Constance happiness. Just emptiness.

She walked away from the porta-potties, distancing herself from what had just happened. With every step she took, she felt the soreness that remained.

Constance felt no relief. She thought that once she got the issue of her virginity out of the way, she'd be satisfied, not just as empty, if not more than before. She thought she'd feel better.

Now, she just felt dirty.

Chapter Text

Ocean and Trishna were at the top of the class.

4.0 GPAs, near-perfect standardized test scores, and unhealthy school-life balances.

It only made sense that they were paired together for a group project. They'd both do the work and do it well. Ocean had the confidence Trishna lacked, and Trishna had enough free time to work on the project when Ocean was busy with her six different clubs.

They were perfect, aside from one problem: Ocean could never focus when Trishna was around.

Despite being academic rivals, Ocean had fallen for Trishna halfway through their junior year, and she fell hard. She'd give anything to be able to call Trishna her girlfriend.

Trishna would give anything to make her feelings go away.

Her parents were staunchly anti-LGBTQ. She knew she'd be out of the house if they found out about her sexuality. She liked Ocean, and she was aware that Ocean felt the same, but she would never do anything about it.

So, the two sat on the floor of Trishna's bedroom, working on a PowerPoint presentation. Well, Trishna was working. Ocean was braiding Trishna's hair.

"How do you like this background?" Trishna asked, giving Ocean space to look over her shoulder at the laptop. She craved Ocean's validation and wanted to ensure their entire project was to her liking.

"I think it would be better if it were blue," Ocean responded, before pulling back from her shoulder and resuming Trishna's hair.

Trishna changed the colors without argument, while Ocean tied Trishna's braid back with one of Trishna's baby pink butterfly hair ties. 

"There," Ocean said, putting her hands on Trishna's shoulders and smiling up at her.

"Thank you," Trishna replied, tugging the braid forward to admire it. "It's a gorgeous braid."

"It's nothing," Ocean said casually, though Trishna knew that compliment meant so much more to her.

"It's your hair that looks so great," Ocean added, a bit quieter now. "With or without a braid in."

Trishna turned back to face Ocean. She saw the way Ocean's face flushed, and how her smile grew wider.

For a moment, Trishna let herself believe that they could be together. If her parents were different, the two could kiss right here and now. They could be the golden couple of their school: academic weapons, co-valedictorians, and girlfriends. She could have it all.

Then, of course, the sound of her mother walking up the stairs shattered her dreams. In the real world, she couldn't have it all.

On the day of the presentation, Trishna retrieved her notecards from her locker when she heard the signature sound of Ocean's Mary Janes clacking against the tile floors approaching her. Trishna stuffed her cards into a folder and looked up at Ocean, who was holding their research paper.

"Hey, Trishna?" Ocean asked softly, bending the corner of her paper - something, Trishna had learned was one of her nervous tics

"Yeah?" she answered, closing her locker door.

"I just wanted to wish you good luck. Well, wish us good luck," she said with a nervous laugh.

"Thank you," Trishna said, smiling at Ocean.

And, before she could stop herself - or fully process what she was doing - Trishna leaned over and pressed a kiss to Ocean's cheek. It was a quick peck, but it shifted their whole dynamic in a second.

Ocean went as stiff as a board, and her eyes widened. The instant Trishna's brain caught up with the situation, she pulled back from Ocean, heart pounding in her chest.

What had she just done?

She was terrified not by the thought of Ocean not reciprocating her feelings or ruining their friendship, but by the consequences of her actions.

Ocean's mouth hung open as she locked eyes with Trishna, before her expression transformed into a sheepish grin. Ocean leaned forward and returned the peck before scurrying away to Constance's locker, no doubt about to tell her about the whole encounter.

Trishna stood at her locker, lovestruck and terrified. On one hand, her impulsiveness got her what she wanted. She just got Ocean.

On the other hand, this could ruin everything.

Chapter Text

The vintage thrift store in Uranium was Penny's and Ezra's second home.

The store was the one place in town where Penny would never have to worry about running into any of the girls from Saint Cassian. Tucked into a corner on Main Street, the only people who still came to the store were the Lamb siblings and the old ladies who were here when they first opened the uranium mines. Half of the things in there hadn't been looked at since they were donated, leaving Penny and Ezra a whole store to peruse.

That Sunday afternoon, Ezra and Penny were browsing the cluttered shelves of the store, planning to purchase whatever they could afford with Ezra's drug money. Usually, they bought vintage puppets, dolls, and random props for the puppet theatre they kept in their shared dorm.

Penny was sitting cross-legged on the floor, scrutinizing a doll she had found on the bottom shelf of the miscellaneous section. She was missing a few eyelashes and strands of hair, but she looked fine for the most part. The tag on her dress had Savannah scrawled on it in messy handwriting. Penny wondered whether that was the name of the doll or her former owner. Either way, that was what Penny decided the doll's name would be.

Penny stood up to find Ezra, but Savannah fell out of her grasp and hit the floor, rolling back under the shelf. Penny kneeled to retrieve her, fumbling around under the shelf until she felt the doll's leg. She pulled it out, only to discover that somehow her head had popped off, and stuffing was beginning to leak out of her neck.

Penny positioned the doll to sit back on the shelf before lying facedown on the ground and reaching back under in search of Savannah's head. She couldn't see much down there, and kept feeling around until she grabbed something wooden.

Curious, Penny retrieved the object from underneath the shelf. It was a music box, looking to be about as old as she was. It was by no means "vintage", but it was covered in dust from how long it had been hidden under the shelf.

Penny cautiously opened the box, wondering if it would even function after years of nonuse. Lifting the lid, she saw a tiny dancer in a Saint Cassian uniform without a head. It could be a graduation gift that had been given to a former student of Saint Cassian, who had sent the box to the vintage store. Somewhere along the way, the dancer must have lost her head.

Once the box was fully opened, Penny turned the crank on the back of the box, winding up the headless girl. Once she released it, a soft melody began to play, and the girl started rotating clockwise. The song wasn't the typical nursery rhyme or popular ballad she'd come across in music boxes previously. It was darker, almost eerie.

"Some might say we're released, pushing daisies, deceased.

But we all know the worms must be fed.

There's just one, lingering fear:

Oh my soul, is it here?

Or is it rotting somewhere with my head?"

Either the dancer was designed without a head, or she had the self-awareness to acknowledge the fact that she was missing one. Either way, it was intriguing to Penny.

For some reason, the doll and the music box spoke to her. Almost as if they'd been hers the whole time.

She stood up and grabbed Savannah from the shelf, Penny having given up on the search for Savannah's head. She and the music box girl could be a set of headless twins.

It didn't take long for Penny to spot Ezra in the small store. He was holding a second-hand art supplies kit with little cats drawn on the front of the box. Again, not vintage, but older than Ezra.

"I found these," Penny said, holding up the music box and doll to Ezra.

Ezra nodded and pulled out his wallet, which had been beaten up after years of use. He didn't think to question why Penny was buying two things without heads; Penny always bought weird things, saying they "spoke to her" or she "felt like she owned this once".

The two navigated the aisles before approaching the owner sitting at the register.

Ms. Willows, the owner, opened the shop when the town was established in the 1950s. Even though the store has been open for nearly 70 years, the 92-year-old woman recalls every donation that has come into her shop, along with the names of the donors and their reasons for giving.

When Ezra placed his art kit on the counter, Ms. Willows picked up the kit to do a quick examination before setting it back down.

"Ah, that kit belonged to Richard Potts. He was a victim of the Cyclone rollercoaster crash in 2009. Ask anyone above the age of 30 in this town, and they'll tell you what a tragedy it was. Five St. Cassian kids and one unidentified body died that day, and Ricky was one of them. His parents donated many of his things here," she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world to tell her customers that their art set belonged to a dead teenager. "Any-hoo, that kit is $12.99."

Ezra rummaged through his wallet, finding the cash they would need. Meanwhile, Penny placed the music box and the doll onto the counter.

Just as she had done before, Ms. Willows searched the objects, looking for any names or dates written on either.

"That's strange, I don't remember receiving either of these in any donations," she said, her brow furrowed. "Well, memory goes with age. I'll say $14 for the music box and $10 for the doll since they're both damaged."

Ezra retrieved $37 from his wallet and slid it across the counter to Ms. Willows. She put the cash in the register before handing Ezra a penny in return.

"Thank you, you two!" she said, smiling at them from across the counter. Penny and Ezra picked up their new possessions and left the store.

On the walk home, while Ezra was talking about repainting the puppet theatre, Penny looked over the music box once more. Turning it over in her hands, she saw a signature written in pencil, one that Ms. Willows had missed.

Jane Doe, 2009.

Chapter Text

Constance was sitting alone at recess that day. Normally, she and Ocean would play Duck, Duck, Goose - Ocean's favorite game - but today Ocean insisted on practicing for the spelling bee inside.

So, Constance sat on the grass, watching the other kids play tag and hide-and-seek. Constance was on the shyer side and didn't want to ask any of the other kids if she could join them. The only real friends she had were Ocean, Noel, and Ricky, but Noel and Ricky never went outside to play. They were always inside drawing.

Constance plucked the blades of grass from the sides of her legs. She wasn't trying to look lonely, but it probably looked that way.

A moment later, a baby lizard ran past her arm, seemingly trying to hide from something. Constance looked up, seeing four boys from her grade chasing the lizard while a girl from the grade below her desperately wanted to stop them. Since it was a K-2 Recess, seeing 2nd graders pick on the younger kids was quite common.

"Stop! He's scared!" the younger girl shouted, grabbing onto one of the boys' wrists. The boy shook her off, causing her to fall back onto the grass and scrape her elbow.

Constance stood up, blocking the lizard from the boys' view. "Hey! Don't be mean to her!" she said, mustering up all the confidence an eight-year-old could possess.

The boys were about to talk back, but before they could, the recess monitor spotted them and yelled for the boys to head to the principal's office. Reluctantly, the boys left the younger girl and the lizard alone. Constance picked up the lizard and walked over to the girl, whose eyes were watering, and her braids were messy.

"Are you okay?" Constance asked, offering a hand out to the girl. The girl shook her head, though she accepted the help.

Once she was off the ground, Constance handed her the lizard. The girl smiled, beginning to stroke the lizard's scales to calm him down.

"What's your name?" Constance asked, tugging on the sides of her dress.

"Penny. Penny Lamb," the girl answered, putting the lizard into a little pocket on the front of her dress.

"I'm Constance Blackwood," Constance said, continuing to fidget. "You're in first grade, right?"

"Yeah," Penny replied, looking around the play area.

"My brother's over there," Penny said, pointing to an even younger kid, who was surrounded by puppets. "He's only four, but he's already in first grade 'cause he's smart. He already knows subtraction and all that."

"Woah. My little brother doesn't know that yet! Although he's still in my mommy's tummy. He doesn't know anything," Constance joked, earning a chuckle from Penny. Constance grinned, proud that she was able to make Penny laugh.

"Do you wanna be friends?" Penny asked Constance while she secured her lizard in her pocket. "I could tell you a lot about animals! And my brother, if you're interested."

Constance's face lit up. "Sure! I love animals," she said, grabbing Penny's hand. Penny led her over to the shady patch of grass where her younger brother was sitting, setting up a collection of toys and puppets.

"My favorite animal is the coatimundi," Penny began. "They kinda look like raccoons, but they're longer and have a different nose. There are a lot of them in Costa Rica."

"I like dogs!" Constance said, not knowing many animals outside of the ones the teachers talked about in class."

"What kind of dog breed is your favorite?" Penny asked. "Mine is the Bedlington Terrier."

"Uh... me too?" Constance replied, unaware there was more than one type of dog. Penny smiled and nodded before dragging Constance off to meet Penny's brother.

Soon, the two approached Penny's brother, who had neatly arranged all of the puppets into a line.

"Ezra! I got a new friend!" Penny shouted at Ezra, who looked up from his line of toys. Ezra nodded, moving to let the girls sit next to him.

"Ezra, this is Constance. Constance, this is Ezra!" Penny said, before running to sit down next to her brother. 

"Hi," Constance said, waving at Ezra. Ezra waved back before resuming his organizing.

"He's a little weird, but he's cool!" Penny said, pulling Constance down with her. Once all three were seated, Penny began introducing her puppets and stuffed animals.

"This one," she said, holding up a cat puppet, before handing it to Constance, "Is a Turkish Van cat. It's from the Middle East, I think."

"Wow, you know a lot about animals," Constance said, examining the puppet.

"I have a lot of books about them." Penny said, trying to find a good stuffed animal to present.

Right as she reached for the next stuffed animal - a black-footed ferret - the teacher blew her whistle.

"Oh. Bye, Constance," Penny said, her smile dropping as she packed up her and Ezra's stuffed animals.

"Bye, Penny," Constance said, standing up from the ground and turning to walk back to second grade, before turning back to Penny.

"Do you want to talk about animals again at lunch today?" Constance asked, shuffling her feet against the ground.

Penny looked up, the smile returning to her face. "I would," she said, pulling out the lizard and releasing it back into the bushes.

Chapter Text

2 hours of after-school detention for 2 weeks.

That's what Penny had been given for calling one of her bullies a bitch. After that girl had ransacked her dorm room and set her bag on fire. Again.

Of course, she wasn't being punished for destruction of property, because Penny was the bully in this situation.

This school was screwed up.

Penny opened the door to detention. The room was a poorly lit classroom at the edge of campus, with crucifixes and posters of Jesus telling her to repent at every turn. Inside were the usual pranksters, trouble-makers, and the few innocent kids who had too many tardy slips. She kept her head down as she walked to her seat, gently putting her new backpack on the side of her chair. She sat down, avoiding eye contact with the people around her.

She figured that while she waited, she could use this time to do her homework. She pulled her science textbook out of her bag, preparing to study for her next chemistry quiz. She skimmed through her notes, trying to decide which topic to study, before a ruler was slammed onto her desk. Penny jerked her head up to meet the glare of the nun looming over her.

"Miss Lamb! This is a detention, not a study hall!" the nun shouted, waking up the entire room with her unreasonably loud voice. She pointed to the chalkboard, which read:

Detention rules

1. No homework.

2. No phones.

3. No free time activities

4. No talking.

5. No eating or drinking

If you're bored, think about the consequences of your actions!

"But I-"

"No 'but's!"

"Sorry," Penny whispered, looking back down at her lap. She could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her as the nun walked back to her desk.

Penny, whose ears were red from embarrassment, put her face down on the desk to hide from the stares of everyone else. She resigned herself to staring at the wood on the desk for the rest of the detention, looking and speaking to no one who could humiliate her.

"Rookie mistake," someone whispered beside her. "First time?"

Penny nodded, pulling her head up from the desk. She hesitantly turned to face the guy talking to her. 

"I could tell," the guy, whom Penny now identified as Misha, said.

"Isn't talking also not allowed?" Penny asked, shifting her focus between Misha and the nun. She couldn't tell if he was trying to set her up to get her in trouble or if he was being genuine.

"Technically, no," Misha said, "But Sister Margret is deaf as hell."

Penny chuckled in her seat, causing Misha to grin.

"Why are you in detention?" Misha asked.

"I called this girl a bitch after she wrecked my dorm and set my backpack on fire," Penny said, looking out the window, where that same girl was smoking and laughing with her friends, unpunished for what she did to her.

"And you are the one in detention?" Misha asked incredulously, following Penny's gaze.

"Yup," Penny muttered. "Why are you?"

"I beat up a kid," Misha said casually, swinging his arm over his chair

Penny did a mental double-take, turning to face Misha directly. "I'm sorry, what?!"

"He was being homophobe! It's not cool," Misha defended.

Penny nodded in understanding, still making eye contact with Misha.

"Hey, what's your name?" Misha asked, grabbing his backpack and searching through it.

"Penny. Penny Lamb," she said, holding out her hand.

Misha grabbed her hand and shook it. "Misha Bachynskyi."

Penny smiled at Misha, who smiled back. Maybe detention wouldn't suck after all.

Chapter Text

“It’s like… cotton candy melting in the rain. It’s so sweet, so fluffy, so perfect! But when it hits water, it just… dissolves.”

“Maybe it's a flood that washes it all away, or little moisture droplets that slowly eat it until it crumbles. That’s what my life felt like. I always tried to be the sweet, lovable—hell, even innocent—choir member! I was sugar on a stick, but the water dissolved me until I finally fell off.”

“When I did fall off, nobody noticed. Nobody could see the scars I had hidden under friendship bracelets. They saw me daydreaming, not me wondering what would happen if I left this earth once and for all.”

“People only saw a sugar cloud. They couldn’t see it was hollow on the inside.”

Chapter Text

Ricky was sitting under a tree, drawing cats in their sketchpad. First grade was almost over, and while the rest of the class signed yearbooks and played their final games of tag, Ricky preferred to spend their last recess under their favorite tree. Besides, they had already collected signatures from Noel, Constance, and Penny. Those were the only people they cared about.

Especially Penny. Penny was a new student this year and their first crush. Ricky had held her hand a few times during library, but that was as far as their relationship had gotten.

Halfway through recess, Constance ran up to Ricky, giggling excitedly.

"Ricky! We have a surprise for you!" Constance chirped, shifting her weight between her feet.

Ricky looked up from their sketchbook, confused.

"Don't ask any questions, just follow me," she said, offering a hand to Ricky.

Ricky grabbed her hand and stood up, using their crutches for balance. Ricky adjusted their crossbody bag with their tablet inside and followed Constance, who led Ricky to the class garden.

The garden wasn't anything special—just a few peas and flowers the first-graders had grown during their unit on plant life—but it was a community spot of sorts for their class.

Today, a few chairs had been set up along the garden beds, and the flowers were neatly arranged along a pathway to the front of the garden. A few kids from their class sat in the chairs, but the rest of the seats were filled with toys and dolls.

Noel approached Ricky, holding a bouquet he had picked from the class garden.

"Are you ready?" Noel asked expectantly, giving Ricky the bouquet. Ricky looked puzzled as they held the bouquet to their chest, causing Noel to turn back to Constance.

"You didn't tell them?!" Noel whispered to Constance, who shrank back with her flower.

"Ocean told me to keep it a surprise or they'd chicken out!" she replied, gesturing to Ocean, who was talking to someone else on the field.

Noel groaned, pushing Ricky to the front of the garden, where a small space had been cleared. Still utterly baffled by the situation, Ricky unzipped his bag and pulled out his tablet to communicate.

"What's going on?" they asked as Noel pinned a fake flower to their front.

"I can't tell you," Noel huffed, standing beside Ricky, "But if something goes wrong and you or Penny end up crying, I didn't help plan it. This was all Ocean and Constance."

"Penny? Why would Penny be crying?" Ricky questioned.

Before Noel could answer, Ricky heard Constance begin to play "Here Comes the Bride" on the xylophone, but it was off time and out of tune. Ricky looked up and was greeted by the sight of Penny, with a white napkin stuck to her head, being shoved down the aisle toward Ricky by Ocean.

Penny looked equally as confused while she was pushed towards Ricky before their seven-year-old minds finally processed what was happening.

They were getting married. 

Ocean planted Penny firmly in front of Ricky, who was now avoiding eye contact with anyone out of embarrassment.

Constance stood next to Penny before Ocean moved to stand between Ricky and Penny.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Ocean called out to the audience of two other first graders and a group of stuffed animals. "We gather here today, in holy... whatever, to unite Ricky Potts and Penny Lamb in marriage."

Penny and Ricky stared at each other in shock and horror as Ocean began the wedding proceedings. "I'm gonna skip over all the boring, sappy, and religious junk and get straight to the good stuff. Do you, Ricky Potts, take Penny Lamb as your lawful wedded wife?"

Ricky didn't have a chance to type out a response on their tablet before Ocean interrupted. "I'll take that as a yes. And do you, Penny Lamb, take Ricky Potts as your lawful wedded partner?"

Penny stuttered, looking between Ricky, Ocean, and the other kids. "Ocean, this is-"

"Good enough!" Ocean exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "And, by the power Father Markus gave to me, I now pronounce you partner and wife! You may now kiss the bride!"

When neither of them moved, Ocean slapped Ricky's arm. "You heard me, kiss her!"

Ricky stared directly at Penny, who was anticipating whatever happened next. Ricky fumbled for their tablet to say something, but Penny leaned in and pecked their cheek before they could say anything else.

Ricky went bright red as they stared at Penny, who pulled back shortly after the kiss. Ricky turned to Noel for help, but he did nothing more than give them a thumbs-up. Without much guidance, Ricky returned the favor and kissed Penny back.

Penny gasped and looked up at Ricky, who held out their hand. Penny took their hand in hers and smiled at them.

Around them, kids were clapping, cheering, and asking questions, but momentarily, the two kids were in their own world.

"So, what's your new last name?" Constance asked Penny, who turned to Ricky for their opinion. Ricky shrugged, gesturing to her that it was her choice.

"Uh... Lamb-Potts. I'm Penny Lamb-Potts," Penny declared.

"Me too. Ricky Lamb-Potts," Ricky said, now with enough control to work their tablet.

And that's what they did. On every name tag, desk plate, Christmas card, and sign-up sheet, they used "Lamb-Potts" until they could put it on their marriage certificate. Their real marriage certificate.

Chapter Text

Noel had gotten Ricky, his partner, a cat for their birthday. The two had moved in together two years ago, and Noel had decided the perfect birthday gift for Ricky was to get them the one thing Ricky loved more than anything for their birthday. He gifted them a cat. A tiny, long-haired black kitten, Ricky had named Void. Void loved Ricky, and Ricky loved Void back.

Theoretically, a cat would’ve been a great addition to the apartment. If only Noel weren’t incredibly allergic to cats.

He had never told Ricky about his allergies. At the beginning of their relationship, if Ricky knew Noel couldn't be around cats, it would’ve been a deal breaker, so he never told them. Now that they’d been dating for two years and married for one, Noel doesn’t know how to inform them. Instead, he got a cat, further solidifying his secret.

Every morning now, Noel woke up with a clogged nose thanks to the cat dandruff that had clung to his pillow the night before. His eyes would water every time he hugged or kissed Ricky from the unnatural amount of fur Void shed on his partner daily. He developed red, itchy blotches on his skin every time Void came to cuddle.

He hid them all from Ricky, because nothing would be worse than watching them send the cat they loved to the animal shelter. He took medication as much as possible, but it never did as much as he’d like to combat the allergies. Besides, they never got severe enough to send him to the hospital.

Until they did.

Noel had forgotten to take his usual medications that morning. While lying on the couch spooning Ricky, Void jumped up to join them and sat next to Noel’s face.

It started with sniffles. Then came the red blotches. Before Noel knew it, he was struggling to breathe while Void sat obviously on the couch. When Ricky heard Noel’s breathing become ragged, they turned around to see their husband in the middle of a severe allergic reaction.

Noel was forced off the bed, into the car, and to the ER. Ricky couldn’t sign while driving, but they asked every possible question about Noel’s allergy history when they got their hands free.

“Have you eaten, felt, or touched anything new?” they signed to Noel, sitting on a table in the ER as the nurse reviewed his file. The fluorescent lights shone down on Noel as his paper gown crinkled beneath him. 

“No,” Noel said, knowing exactly what caused his reaction.

“Have you gotten any allergy tests?” Ricky asked.

“Yes,” the nurse answered for Noel, reading from the computer. “Noel tested positive for pollen, mold, and cat dander-related allergies five years ago."

Ricky froze, looking between the nurse at the computer and Noel staring down at his feet. “But you’ve never had any reactions to Void,” they signed.

“I’ve been taking medications. I hid the symptoms from you. I'm sorry,” Noel sighed.

“If you were allergic to cats, why did you get me one in the first place?” Ricky questioned, their brows furrowed.

“My moon, you love cats so much. I wanted to give you someone else to keep you company and give you love whenever I couldn’t, especially since I don’t want kids,” Noel admitted, looking back up at their partner.

“Noel…” Ricky signed, pulling Noel into the tightest hug they could muster before Noel had to push them away for rubbing against his hives. “I don’t want you to keep getting hurt. If we need to..." Their hands hesitated, "Give away Void-”

Noel grabbed Ricky’s hands, stopping them from signing anything else. “No. You love that damn cat as much as you love me. I’m not letting you give her away.”

“What are you going to do about your allergies?” Ricky asked, concerned for Noel’s well-being.

“I’ll push through it to see you happy. I’ll be more careful about taking my medications,” Noel said, kissing Ricky’s forehead.

“God, I love you,” Ricky signed, smiling for the first time since they’d arrived at the hospital.

“I love you, too.”

So, they kept Void around, even if it meant Noel had to carry an EPIPen from now on.

Chapter Text

The curtain closed and the lights dimmed. The show was over, and their lives were done. The Saint Cassian Chamber Choir had performed their last song in purgatory before whatever came next. A religious afterlife? Resurrection in a different form? Nothing at all?

The group looked at each other for the last time before fading away.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Ocean woke up in a luxury condo in downtown Ottawa. The spring sun cast a warm glow from her window as she rolled out of bed.

Ocean thought she was supposed to be dead. She slapped herself on the wrist, and sure enough, it hurt. Still, she was wary of the situation. Why was she in Ottawa, of all places? Sure, she had wanted to visit there since she was a little girl – she needed to meet her future political candidates bright and early – but she went from being dead to living in a new city in a different province.

Ocean stood up and took her hair out of her usual braids, a habit she’d continued in this afterlife. She knew she was still Ocean when she saw the bright orange hair cascading down her back. She walked out of her bedroom, where she was met with a gorgeous living room, with symbols of her success decorating the walls and shelves. Her masters in political science degree hung above numerous other social, environmental, political, and academic awards. 

She stepped fully into the living room and sat on her pristine white couch, unlike the one in her old home, which had been stained yellow and plagued by the stench of marijuana.

Turning on the television, a luxury new to her home, she was greeted by a news segment on the recent elections. Ocean tried to keep up with relevant political news in Canada whenever possible, so she sat and watched the segment. It discussed various new holders of seats in the House of Commons before announcing that the LPC had won the most seats.

“So,” the newscaster announced, “we are proud to announce that the leader of the liberal party of Canada, Ocean O’Connell-Rosenberg, will now serve as prime minister and be the first democratically elected woman to do so.”

Ocean gasped, staring at the television screen in shock. The first democratically elected female prime minister?! Frick yeah!

Ocean squealed, leaping up from her couch and running to her balcony. She slid open the glass door and looked out at the sprawling city of Ottawa, all leading up to the beautiful Parliament Hills where she would be making her political mark.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִִֶֶָ🥀་༘࿐

Noel woke up in a musty apartment, where the scent of cigarette smoke and sweat lingered above the bed. Beside him lay a man much older than himself, still asleep. Noel pulled himself out of bed, his legs shaking with a dull ache as he stood. He looked down at his body, which had been replaced by a paler, slimmer, more feminine figure. Feeling his naked and bruised body, he realized he was somewhere far away from Uranium.

Hopeful, Noel crept to the window and opened the blinds, looking down at 1920s Paris. The streets were littered with young men, veterans from the war, desperate widows, and people with cash to spare. It was by no means a time of economic prosperity, but when people needed a night to forget about the ravages of war, they turned to Monique – really, Noel – for a night of pleasure.

She knew instinctively what to do in this situation. Take the cash, get dressed, and leave. Monique grabbed 40 francs off the table and gathered her lingerie around the room. Once she had everything, she put on her high heels and slipped the currency into her bra, but not without stealing a pack of cigarettes from the dresser before she left.

Monique slipped out of the apartment and onto the streets of Paris. 40 francs was a generous amount of money, and she knew what to do with it. She passed by the war veterans begging for change and headed into a dingy bar on the outskirts of town. After all, Noel couldn’t spend his afterlife not having fun.

The bar was empty, which was to be expected this early in the morning. She walked into the bar and sat on the counter by the bartender. It was a man she and Noel were both very familiar with, though for different reasons. To Noel, he was essentially Misha’s insertion into his idealized world, but to Monique, he was a frequent client. His curly hair was stifled beneath his beret, but Monique knew what it looked like loose. She had run her fingers through it on many occasions. He looked up from the beer glass he was cleaning and smiled at her with his signature gap-toothed grin.

“The usual?” he asked in a thick accent, not bothering to question her early presence.

“Oui,” Monique said, pulling a cigarette from the pack and hanging it in her mouth. The bartender chuckled, pulled a lighter from under the counter, and flicked on the light. 

⋆⋆✮♪♫🎧♫♪✮⋆⋆

Misha awoke in an open field, feeling the tall grass brush against his arms. He recognized the partly cloudy skies above his head and sat up to get a better view of his surroundings.

He was in Ukraine, no doubt. He remembered this exact field from his childhood, being chased around by his мама and giggling, before setting up a picnic at the top of the hill. Some of his favorite memories were made in this field.

He stood up from his spot on the ground and began exploring. His first instinct was to return to his childhood home, but something drew him to the hill. Misha walked through the field, brushing the grass as he traveled. As a young boy, he remembered being enveloped by the grass, but now it went no higher than his hips.

He climbed the hill, eventually reaching its plateau. At the very top, a small picnic was set up by two women. When they heard him approaching, the younger woman turned around and greeted Misha with a familiar smile. 

Misha’s heart soared, recognizing Talya almost instantly. She stood up and crossed the hill towards Misha, while he ran to meet her, holding his arms out.

“Міша!” she squealed, falling into his arms. “I missed you!”

Misha pulled her into the tightest hug he could muster. “I missed you, too, my love,” he whispered, tears forming. For the first time in his life–or afterlife, as he was now aware–Misha bent down and gently pressed his lips to Talya’s forehead, eliciting a giggle. 

“Oh, Misha! Your mother prepared a wonderful picnic for us,” Talya said, pushing a few of Misha’s loose curls from his face. Misha’s eyes widened as he looked away from Talya and back to the picnic. His mother sat on the blanket, laying out a simple picnic just as she used to before she died.

Misha grabbed Talya’s hand and led her back to the blanket, holding out one arm as if to reach his mother sooner. His mom looked up from the blanket with the same warm smile he’d remembered her having all his life.

Misha sank to his knees, pulling his mother into a desperate embrace. If he wasn’t crying before, he knew he was now. For the first time in years, he could feel his mom’s hugs, hear her breathing, smell the scent of fresh bread that seemed to linger on her clothes.

“Mама…” he sobbed into her shirt, limply falling into his mother’s hug.

“О, мій Мішо. Я тебе люблю.”

All he had wanted from death was to reconnect with his loved ones.

༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･

“Ricky! Count Dogulous has returned!”

Ricky was shaken awake by a Ukrainian levkoy catman, whose brow was furrowed and tail was swaying nervously. They recognized him as one of their original characters in their Zolar tales.

“I’m sorry, Ricky, we had to abduct you from the mortal plane as quickly as possible. Count Dogulous has forgotten about your messages of peace and love, and only you can save our galaxy, Space Age Bachelor Man !”

Ricky was wide awake now, looking at their advisor in disbelief. “He… what?” they asked, sitting up in their freakishly large bed, which they now realized held two other cat ladies, one calico with orange eyes and one white Persian with striking green ones.

“You must be quick, he’s threatening Zolar’s solar system with galactic warfare! We’ve pulled out your suit already so you can reason with him,” the advisor said, making a dramatic gesture towards Ricky’s bright purple suit, which was hanging on a mannequin in the corner of his bedroom. They stood up, the silk sheets falling off their body as they approached the magnificent ensemble. Its familiar fur-collar and flared pants drew Ricky even closer.

“I’ll do it,” they said, feeling the sequined jumpsuit between their fingers. They knew deep down that the Cyclone accident was to bring them back where they truly belonged: Zolar.

“Thank you, Ricky. Your service to the star cluster is greatly appreciated,” he said with gratitude, then turning to the cat women in Ricky’s bed. “Come now, kitties. Ricky needs time to prepare for their duties.”

The cat women got up to leave, but not before they kissed Ricky goodbye and admired their bravery.

Ricky bid them farewell and turned to face their suit once more. This was the moment they were waiting for.

₊˚⊹♡🍰🍓♡⊹˚₊

Constance woke up to the signature smell of coffee and baked goods that came with the Blackwood Cafe. She lifted her head from the table and looked around the cafe, which had undergone some noticeable changes while maintaining its small-town cafe feel.

The awful orange wallpaper behind the seats had been replaced by a light brown, giving the space the coffee-shop-bakery aesthetic she’d always wanted for the cafe. The pictures and signs displaying a detailed history of Uranium along the wall were now pieces by local artists and photographers. Tables were adorned with lace tablecloths and potted plants, all of which were changes she wanted for the cafe.

She stood from the booth and walked to the middle of the cafe to get a full view of the space, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find a much older version of her father smiling down at her.

“I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again: I love what you’ve done to the place,” he said, putting an arm around her shoulder.

“I did all this?” she asked, looking at the cafe.

“Well, your daughters helped a bit, but for the most part it was all you, pumpkin muffin,” he sighed. 

“Where are they? My daughters, I mean,” she asked, taking in the decor.

“Ah, still studying in the library. They got many of their personality traits from your wife,” he said, gesturing to the Blackwood family portrait hanging near the menus. In the photograph, Constance and Ocean posed on a couch, with two teenage daughters by their side, one resembling Ocean and the other with Constance’s features. She gazed at that portrait for as long as time would allow.

“By the way, Ocean said she’d pick the girls up from the library, and asked if we could have a family dinner. Would you be okay if your mom and I joined the rest of the Blackwoods for dinner?” he asked playfully.

“I’d love that,” Constance said, looking at the new cafe. Finally, she appreciated the town she’d loathed for so many years and built the family she had never been able to.

Chapter Text

Noel sat with the choir on Constance’s living room floor, wrapped in fluffy blankets with popcorn on their laps. They had agreed to all watch one movie, but no one could decide which one to watch.

“I already know how that one ends, Ricky,” Ocean exclaimed, pressing herself deeper into Constance’s lap. “Darth Vader is Luke’s father, everybody knows it!”

“That’s Star Wars , Ocean,” Ricky’s tablet said, throwing popcorn at her. “ Star Wars!”

“ Star Wars, Star Trek , what’s the difference?” Ocean asked sarcastically, throwing the popcorn back. “It’s men in space with daddy issues.”

“A lot . First of all,”

“Don’t get them started, Ocean,” Noel interrupted. “I once asked if Captain Picard was the blue one with the bowl cut. Never again.”

“Picard has no bowl cut!” Ricky said dramatically, aggressively typing on their tablet. “That’s Spock, who’s from a completely different timeline and series, and he isn’t always blue; he wears blue when he’s in the science division!”

“This is… confusing,” Constance said, exasperated, trying to operate Amazon Prime with Ocean blocking her view.

“Let’s watch Legally Blonde ,” Ocean insisted, rubbing Constance’s knees. 

“That’s what we watched last time,” Penny reminded her.

“We’ve never actually watched The Blue Angel- ”

“No,” Ocean said, crossing her arms. 

“ Saw VI !” Misha shouted from his seat. “It's perfect!”

“No!” Ocean called back. “I am not watching glorified torture porn.”

“Ocean, maybe let someone else pick the movie for once?” Constance suggested, rubbing her girlfriend’s shoulders.

“Fine,” Ocean grumbled.

“We watch Saw VI then!” Misha said, taking the remote from Constance on the couch.

“I’m down!” Penny exclaimed, putting her head in Rick’s lap. “I’ve been meaning to watch more horror movies recently.”

“Sounds good,” Ricky said, fingering Penny’s hair.

Ocean stared at the group in horror, appalled that they’d be so willing to watch such a gory movie. “But that’s-”

“Ocean, you can cover your eyes if it gets too bad,” Constance said, kissing her temple to calm her down.

Noel wasn’t the biggest fan of horror movies, but he was sure he could handle it; he’d written some grotesque things about Monique before, so what’s the worst that could happen?

–

Ten minutes later, he regretted ever coming over to the sleepover.

He tried to enjoy the film as much as Misha, Ricky, and Penny did, but… wow. Watching Simone’s arm hit the scale after it had been sawed off was disturbing, to say the least.

The blood was thick, the screams felt real, and it was all so deeply unsettling. It wasn’t anything like the cheap, CGI horror movies with bad acting he was used to seeing.

On screen, Simone collapsed to the floor, gripping her arm and sobbing. Noel nearly gagged at the gore surrounding her. Misha’s and Ricky’s laughter and comments were drowned out as Noel pulled the blanket tighter around himself. He wanted to shield his eyes or look away, but he couldn’t. 

Another trap. Metal grinding. Bones crushing. A mutilated corpse.

Noel’s muscles tensed as the body fell helplessly to the ground. He couldn’t stop himself from letting out a whimper as the blood splattered against the camera.

His hands were shaking as he tried to zone out, but the screams pulled him back. 

The screams held his attention for all ninety excruciating minutes.

Constance and Ocean had long left the living room. Misha, Penny, and Ricky were all discussing the film on their sleeping bags, unaware of how Noel was shaken.

“Ooh, that shotgun carousel!” Penny exclaimed, her head not having left Ricky’s lap since the start of the film. “That was my favorite trap.”

“Personally,” Ricky said, trying to use their tablet over Penny’s head. “I think the acid room was the best.”

“Both are pretty sick, but you can’t deny that the oxygen crush is the best trap,” Misha said, throwing his arms back onto the couch.

“What about you, Noel?” Misha asked, turning his head to the poet.

Noel snapped out of his current state, trying to answer. He remembered each trap so vividly, but enjoyed none of them.

“Uh... the pound of flesh,” Noel muttered, picking at his cuticles. That was the trap burned into his mind.

Misha, noticing his unease, moved away from Ricky and Penny and crawled over the couch to sit next to Noel on his sleeping bag.

“You okay, poet?” Misha asked, his voice softer than before.

“Yeah,” Noel lied, not looking up from his cuticles. “Great movie, Mish.”

Misha frowned, grabbing Noel’s chin and tilting his head towards himself. “Did it freak you out?”

“Well, yeah,” Noel stammered, “but that’s the point, isn't it?”

“Sorry, Noel. I forgot not everyone likes slaughter horror as much as Rickster, Penny, and I do,” Misha joked, glancing back at Ricky and Penny, who were absorbed in their conversation. “Do you want to watch a different movie to cool down?” he suggested. “I will watch with you.”

Noel smiled softly. “I’d like that.”

“Sick,” Misha said,  picking the remote off the floor and handing it to Noel. Noel clicked out of the Saw VI credits and searched for The Blue Angel on Amazon Prime.

“I prefer watching it on VHS, but streaming will have to do,” Noel said, pressing play on the movie. Noel set the remote back on the floor, and Misha slipped under his blanket.

“Looks old,” Misha said, cuddling up to Noel.

Finally, Noel let out a laugh and relaxed. He watched the black-and-white imagery flicker on screen as Misha pulled Noel’s untouched bucket of popcorn between them.

The two got comfortable as the film played on. Noel had to explain bits and pieces of the plot to Misha, but for the most part, the two sat in silence, enjoying each other’s company.

Only about halfway through, Misha fell asleep on Noel’s shoulder, exhausted from trying to keep up with the subtitles. Noel smiled down at Misha and pulled the blanket tighter around them. 

Noel closed his eyes and let himself doze off, images of Saw VI long forgotten.

Chapter Text

Savannah was born on September 14, 2009 — the same day as the Cyclone rollercoaster disaster.

Everyone in Uranium believed she was a reincarnation of the now deceased Saint Cassian Chamber Choir. Savannah thought it was nothing more than a coincidence; she hated being associated with the members of a dead choir she had never met.

Of course, as soon as she enrolled in Saint Cassian, the teachers fawned over how much she reminded them of the old choir members.

Savannah’s math teacher told her she was Ocean O'Connell-Rosenberg's protégé – academically gifted, a natural leader, and a perfectionist. Savannah was at the top of her class and skipped her freshman year entirely. She hated group projects because things weren’t exactly how she liked them, but she was always up for taking leadership positions for a sense of control. She had earned the title of student council president, the first sophomore to do so since Ocean herself.

Savannah’s English teacher told her she had the mind of Noel Gruber – romantic, tragic, and a talented writer. Savannah had fallen hopelessly in love more times than any fifteen-year-old girl should, but none ever loved her back. She wrote dark love stories and won Saint Cassian’s poetry competition, an award named in honor of Noel.

Savannah’s foreign languages teacher told her she was a little Misha Bachynskyi – passionate, rebellious, and a rap enthusiast. Despite being the top of her class, she frequently skipped morning mass and boring classes to smoke by her local 7-11. She wrote original raps and posted them on YouTube, garnering many fans. She adored her YouTube community more than anything and had developed a flirty relationship with a girl she’d met in her comment section.

Savannah’s art teacher told her she reminded them of Ricky Potts – imaginative, artistic, and geeky. She was a huge fan of Star Trek, drawing fan art and writing fan fiction for the show. She’d created a line of sci-fi comic books and would always doodle character designs in class when she finished her work. She frequented Uranium’s bookstore, rummaging through the old piles of comic books and graphic novels in search of something she hadn’t already read.

Savannah’s home economics teacher laughed and said she had the heart of Constance Blackwood – sweet, friendly, and a talented chef. When she wasn’t working on her new raps, writing poetry, drawing comics, or studying, she prepared amazing dinners and desserts for her older brothers and sisters. Savannah helped the new students navigate the campus and slipped cupcakes into students’ lockers whenever they had a bad day.

She tried to go through school like any normal teenager, but everything she did was compared to the choir members. If she listened to hip-hop, she was just like Misha. If she corrected someone’s grammar, she was a clone of Ocean. If she watched an old movie, Noel did that too. Even coming out as pansexual was compared to Constance and Ricky.

It felt like nothing she did was original. Everything that made her unique was passed down to her by a dead choir she didn’t care about.

She was her individual, but to everyone else in the town, she was six ghosts in a new body.

Chapter Text

Penny Lamb sat on her bunk bed, examining the doll in her lap. Savannah, whom she’d previously purchased from the thrift store, was steadily losing stuffing due to the hole where her head used to be. Penny tried to sew Savannah’s neck back together, but there wasn’t enough fabric. She’d also noticed brown stains – coffee or blood – on the bottom of her dress.

Ezra was on the floor of their dorm, repainting the puppet theatre with the art supplies kit he had bought. It was easily sixteen years old – most of the paint had separated – but Ezra was making do with what he had to work with.

“Ezra?” Penny asked, moving Savannah’s arm upside down.

“Hm?” he responded, trying to mix the pigment back into the red paint.

“Where do you think this doll came from?” she asked, lowering Savannah over the side of her bed. “Ms. Willows said she didn’t know, which is odd because she knows everything about the shop.”

Ezra looked up from the puppet theatre to examine the doll. “The name Savannah was popularized in the late 20th century, reaching its peak in 2006 and 2007,” he stated, before refocusing on the theatre.

“Huh?” Penny asked. “How does that relate to where it came from?”

“The doll would probably be from the mid-2000s,” he said, boldening the faded lettering. “That, or its previous owner was born then.”

“Well, they’d be eighteen or nineteen now,” Penny said, trying to recall the senior roster from the past two years at Saint Cassian. “I don’t remember any Savannahs who went to Saint Cassian. Hell, I don’t remember any Savannahs who lived in Uranium.”

“Maybe they don’t live here anymore,” Ezra suggested. “Or they died. Who knows?”. Ezra left Penny that final thought before resuming painting the theatre walls bright yellow.

Penny sat in silence, looking down at Savannah in her hands. Ezra was right; Savannah probably moved away or died long ago. But that got her curious. Which of the two was it?

“Ez?” she asked, scooting across the bed and climbing the ladder with Savannah. “I’m going out to check the cemetery. See if any ‘Savannahs’ are in the death certificate files.”

“M’kay,” Ezra said, still crouched over the front wall of the theatre.

Penny grabbed her dorm keys and satchel and slipped on her sneakers. She unlocked the door, and she and Savanah headed off.

The Uranium City Cemetery was only a few blocks away from Saint Cassian. Despite being the least appealing place in the town, it was where most students went when they skipped school.

After a short walk, Penny pushed the metal gate open with a loud creaking noise. She traveled to the back of the cemetery, towards the office where death records were kept.

The cemetery was small, considering how few people lived in Uranium in the first place. It was filled with people who had moved to Uranium when it was a boom town in the fifties, except for a few who died young, most notably the Saint Cassian Chamber Choir.

Penny walked through the cemetery, glancing at the old, dilapidated tombstones which had fallen into disrepair after the relatives of the people beneath them moved away. Penny spared glances at the Saint Cassian Chamber Choir Members' graves, some overgrown and faded, while others were kept somewhat presentable.

Then, Penny passed a grave that caught her eye. In the brightest spot in the cemetery, which wasn’t saying much considering how gloomy the Saskatchewan weather was, lay a polished headstone with fresh flowers and photographs around it.

Here lies Constance E. Blackwood

Nov. 14, 1992 - Sept. 14, 2009

Beloved daughter, sister, and friend to many.

Fly high, sugar.

Penny knew a little about Constance Blackwood. The Blackwood cafe had a memorial for her that had been maintained for sixteen years since her passing, including a menu item named after her. The Blackwoods often visited Constance’s grave, frequently leaving fresh flowers, photos, and tributes. 

She scanned the photos momentarily, looking at each baby photo, elementary school play, and choir performance, when one stuck out.

It was a photo of Constance, the rest of the Saint Cassian Chamber Choir, and one unidentified body taken on the day of the accident. While the choir members sang with rehearsed smiles, excluding Misha and Ricky, Penny saw the girl–or the “Jane Doe”–holding a doll in a frilly white dress by the arm. A doll that eerily resembled Savannah.

Penny picked the photograph off the grave and held it up to Savannah for comparison. They looked to be the same size in the same dress. Penny recalled the head being the same as well.

Penny finally had a lead. She slipped the photograph into her satchel, ignoring the questionable ethics behind stealing a photo from a grave, and continued to the office.

Much like the rest of the cemetery, the office was run-down and forgotten, save for the vandalism on the side. 

Penny pushed open the old door and examined the inside. The decor and sorting systems hadn’t been updated since the seventies, with manilla folders stuffed into filing cabinets being the only way to view records. Instead of going through the S section as she intended, she knelt and opened the filing cabinet’s drawer furthest from the entrance. The one marked unidentified .

There was only one file in the drawer. In a town where everyone knew everyone, you didn’t often come across dead bodies no one could identify. She pulled the file from the drawer and sat on the dusty floor, her back pressed against the cabinet behind her.

STATEMENT OF DEATH

• Deceased’s Last Name AT DEATH: Doe

• Deceased’s Last Name AT BIRTH: Doe

• First Given Name: Jane

• Second Given Name: Jane

• Date of Death: 09/14/2009

• Sex: Female

• Saskatchewan Health Card Number: Unknown

• Place of Death - City/Town/Village/Other - Name of Hospital or Institution (or give exact location where death occurred): Wonderville Traveling Carnival

• Place of Death - City/Town/Village/Other (if rural, give Section, Township, Range, and Meridian): Uranium City

• Date of Birth: Unknown

• Age (Years): 17 estimated

• If under 1 year:

• If under 1 day:

• Place of Birth - City/Town/Village/Other - AND Province, State, AND Country (if rural, give Section, Township, Range, and Meridian): Unknown

• Usual Residence - Street Address (if rural, give Section, Township, Range, and Meridian): Unknown

• City/Town/Village/Other: Unknown

• Province/State AND County: Unknown

• Postal Code: Unknown

• Marital Status: Unknown

• If Married, Widowed, or Divorced, give the current Full Name of spouse AND their Last Name at Birth: 

• Common Law Status - Indicate if Deceased was living Common Law: Unknown

• If Common Law, give the current Full Name of Common Law spouse AND their Last Name at Birth: 

• Occupation - Held during the majority of life: Unknown

• Type of business or industry in which worked: Unknown

• Father’s Last Name at Birth: Unknown

• Given Name(s): Unknown

• Place of Birth of Father - City/Town/Village/Other - AND Province, State, AND Country (if rural, give Section, Township, Range, and Meridian): Unknown

• Mother’s Last Name at Birth: Unknown

• Given Name(s): Unknown

• Place of Birth of Mother - City/Town/Village/Other - AND Province, State, AND Country (if rural, give Section, Township, Range, and Meridian): Unknown

• Burial, Cremation, or Other Disposition: Cremation

• Date of Burial, Cremation, or Other Disposition: 9/16/2009

• Full Name and Address of Place of Disposition: Uranium City Funeral Home, Box 213, Uranium City, Saskatchewan

• Full Name and Address of Person in Charge of Remains: N/A

Penny read over the statement of death repeatedly, with Savannah tucked into her arm. For a moment, she was stuck, unsure of how to proceed with this information. She looked back into the folder, retrieving the crime report from the file.

She didn’t bother to read the information, skipping to the images paperclipped to the inside. She examined each brutal image of the accident until she found what she was looking for.

There she was. Jane Doe, clinging to Savannah's body, with a blood-soaked dress and a head that was hanging on by a thread.

Chapter Text

Uranium never held pride parades or celebrations, given its conservative nature and marginal queer population.

That didn’t stop the Blackwood cafe from hosting a pride event for the choir.

It started with Ricky mentioning they’d always wanted to go to a pride celebration, but the closest one was in Saskatoon, over 1,200km away. After the choir rehearsal that day, Constance casually brought up Ricky’s comment with her parents, who suggested the Blackwood Cafe do something for the choir and anyone else who wanted to join.

So, that’s how Constance found herself pinning rainbows over the cafe in the brightest outfit she owned, while her dad closed the cafe for the evening.

“Connie?” her mom called out, carrying a tray of cupcakes from the kitchen. “What flag cupcakes am I supposed to make?” she asked, setting the tray of cupcakes on the counter.

Constance pinned the final rainbow to the wall and climbed down the step stool. “Uh… Ocean’s ace and lesbian, Noel’s genderqueer and gay, Ricky’s pan and genderfluid, Penny and Misha are both bi, and Penny might be bringing Ezra, who’s bi and poly. Oh, and I’m pan and a demigirl,” she said, flashing her friendship bracelets to her mom.

“Jesus Christ, kid, I need to mix more frosting,” she said, heading back into the kitchen for a second batch.

Constance chuckled before hooking up the karaoke machine to one of the screens that usually displayed the menus. Meanwhile, her dad set up her old pin maker at one of the booths to make custom pronoun pins.

At 6:30 on the dot, people began arriving. The Lambs came first, both sporting subtle pride pins. Next came Ocean, wearing the minimalist ribbed shirt with a lesbian flag across the front that Constance had gotten her for her birthday. After her were Noel and Misha, and while Misha wore an obnoxious I’m Not Gay, But My Boyfriend Is tank top, Noel came in a black turtleneck, despite it being the middle of June. Finally, Ricky arrived, their cane decorated in pink, yellow, and blue streamers.

Mrs. Blackwood reemerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray of fully decorated cupcakes.

“Okay, everyone, grab your cupcakes!” she said, placing the cupcakes on one of the booth tables. The group followed, chatting amongst themselves.

Each cupcake was frosted to resemble one or two pride flags, specially made for the individual. 

“I appreciate the symmetry in the lines,” Ocean commented, picking up her lesbian-ace cupcake.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Blackwood said, untying her apron. 

“Yo!” Misha shouted, grabbing the largest of the two bi cupcakes. “This is sick!”

“Hey!” Penny said, having to take the smaller one.

Misha shrugged, peeling the wrapper off and taking a bite, getting frosting on his face in the process.

“Misha, you have frosting everywhere,” Noel said, reaching for a napkin. Misha cringed as Noel dabbed his face clean, while the others began to eat their cupcakes.

Once they had all finished eating (aside from Ocean, who took comically small bites), Constance wandered over to the booth by the window, where her dad had set up the pin maker.

“Hey, does anyone want to make pins?” Constance asked, holding up a demo pin her dad made. 

The choir nodded in agreement, moving to the window booth and taking their seats. Instinctively, they grouped into pairs, with Ezra third-wheeling Penny and Ricky. Noel sat next to Misha, while Ocean joined Constance at the head of the table.

“What are you making?” Constance asked, popping off the cap of a pink marker.

“She/her pin,” Ocean said, hunching over the pin with her teal marker. She wrote precisely, ensuring the text was centered and the same height. Constance wrote “she/they” with little care and grabbed a glitter pen to doodle flowers.

Meanwhile, Misha had already finished his and pressed it into a pin. He clipped his “він/його/йогy” pin to his tank top before peering over Noel’s shoulder.

“Can I see?” Misha asked, resting his head on Noel’s shoulder. Noel moved his hand away, showcasing the “he/they, she in drag” pin he made. Misha smiled, leaning up to kiss Noel’s jaw, before returning his chin to Noel’s shoulder.

Ricky and Penny were doodling like crazy on theirs, with Ricky adding little cats and stars to their “ask me my pronouns” pin and Penny adding little swirls on her “she/her” pin.

Penny looked over at Ezra, who hadn’t looked up since he sat down to draw.

“Ez, show me,” she demanded, shoving his head out of the way and looking down at his pin.

Ezra batted at her hand, dropping his purple marker as Penny read his pin.

“Ezra, you have awful handwriting,” Penny said, swatting his forehead and returning to her drawing.

“I have ADHD, you know that,” he said, picking up his purple pen.

“Maybe you should take your medications, because your handwriting is shit,” Penny said, adding her 6th swirl.

“Thank you, Penny, for defending the need for legible handwriting!” Ocean said, having only accomplished half of her pin.

“You have no say in this matter, you write in Times New Roman,” Ezra said, shooting his pen cap at Penny, who flicked it back at him.

“Hey, Times New Roman is a good font!” she replied, finally writing “She/Her” in perfect handwriting.

“Not if it takes you five minutes to write two words,” Misha said, flicking his simplistic pin.

“Well, yours isn’t fancy at all, Misha,” Ocean said, adding a little lesbian flag above her text.

“It’s uh… what’s the word, min… mamal…”

“Minimalist?” Noel asked, standing up to put their pin in the machine.

“That!” he exclaimed, finger-gunning at Noel.

“It’s pride, we’re not supposed to be minimalist,” Constance said, bringing her and Ocean’s pins to the machine.

Misha shrugged. “You all are just haters,” he said, wrapping an arm around Noel once he sat back down.

“Sure,” Penny said, crimping her, Ezra’s, and Ricky’s pins and tossing Ricky’s and Ezra’s pins back to them.

“Well,” Constance said, standing up from the booth, “now that we’re all labeled, who’s up for karaoke?”

The choir scrambled to their feet with Ricky and Penny lagging to joke about each other’s pins.

Constance pushed up a chair for Ricky, while the rest of the choir took their place on Constance's comforter in front of the TV screen.

“I'll go first!” Ocean exclaimed, standing up to use the karaoke machine. She grabbed the microphone from the speaker and searched for her song of choice on YouTube. She selected her karaoke track, earning a groan from the choir.

“Shake It Off?” Noel asked, sitting in Misha’s lap.

“It’s not a bad song!” Ocean retorted.

For the next 3 minutes and 39 seconds, the choir was forced to endure a slightly off-key rendition of Shake It Off, with occasional booing from Noel and “that song’s not gay enough” from Penny. That didn’t stop Constance from applauding at the end.

Ocean huffed and sat down next to Constance, who rubbed her shoulder.

“Hey, I liked it,” Constance whispered, watching Noel cue “Roxie” on her karaoke machine.

“And what makes this song any more gay than mine?” Ocean asked, crossing her arms and leaning against Constance, who went bright red.

“For one, it’s musical theatre,” Noel said as the backing track began to play. “Second, I do this song for a drag routine. Misha can confirm.”

Misha nodded, already entranced by the performance before it began. Once it did, Noel performed the song with full choreography, only restrained by the microphone cord. It was a bit much for a cafe karaoke, but no one could say anything as he fankicked on the ordering counter.

Noel dramatically passed the microphone to Misha when he was done, who was already pulling up “Same Love” on the TV.

“Misha, you sang this last karaoke night,” Ricky signed from the chair. “You sing this every karaoke night.”

“It’s emotionally devastating, yo!” Misha shouted back as the soft piano played. 

He earnestly rapped with exaggerated hand motions for the verse, almost knocking Ricky’s cane off the stand behind the machine, before switching to his full falsetto for the chorus, then back to rapping. The familiar cycle continued throughout the song, with Noel trying to be supportive from the front row.

Misha finished with an exaggerated bow, placing the microphone back on the karaoke machine and sitting beside  Noel.

“Who’s next?” Ocean asked, her head finally leaving Constance’s shoulder.

“I’ll go last,” Constance said, still recovering from the feeling of Ocean breathing on her neck.

“I’m not playing,” Penny said, sitting at Ricky’s feet. “That leaves you, Ez.”

“No,” Ezra said flatly, glaring at Penny.

“Yes,” Penny retorted.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

"No."

"No."

"Yes."

“Hah!”

“Fine,” Ezra grumbled, his cape flourishing as he walked to the karaoke machine. “What do I sing?” he asked, clicking the search bar with disdain. 

“Born This Way by Lady Gaga!” Penny jeered, earning a glare from him. Reluctantly, Ezra pulled up the song, and it began.

Completely deadpanned, Ezra began the song. His rhythm and words were right, but he sang it like he was reading a legal document. Still, the choir, especially Penny, was doubled over in laughter by the time he finished.

“How are you going to beat that?” Ocean asked Constance between fits of laughter.

“Oh… I don’t think I will!” Constance replied, wiping a tear from her eye.

She stood up, still giggling, and took the microphone from Ezra, who flopped dramatically onto the blanket. Humming “Born This Way” under her breath, Constance typed “girls” by Girl in Red into the search bar.

The choir had quieted down enough to listen to her. She’d sung this song in her bedroom so many times that she knew all the lyrics and notes by heart. 

Without realizing it, she started singing the song at Ocean.

Not just in her direction, but at her .

And judging by the not-so-subtle flush, Ocean caught on before Constance herself did. Only when Noel began whispering to Ocean did Constance realize what she was doing and redirect her singing to the group in general, though much more timidly than before. Her face reddened quickly, and she felt she could pass out from embarrassment. If Ocean didn't know before, she certainly knew now.

The song finished, and Constance sheepishly slipped the mic into the machine. She returned to the blanket, although she sat noticeably further away from Ocean than she had been. She caught Ocean glaring at Noel, who, for once in their frenemy-ship, looked apologetic.

Mrs. Blackwood had been watching the choir perform from behind the ordering stand, more or less forgotten about. The display case offered enough protection, but she caught the pink cheeks, nervous glances, and Ocean leaning towards her daughter.

She’d had her suspicions for a while, but this confirmed them.

And as any good mom would, she figured the two girls needed some alone time.

“Alright, who’s up for their favorite cafe snacks?” Mrs. Blackwood called, startling a few people as she emerged from the counter.

The choir made sounds of agreement, and soon Mrs. Blackwood took orders. One black coffee for Noel, a cinnamon muffin and glass of milk for Ricky, a blueberry muffin and herbal tea for Penny, a poppyseed bagel for Ezra, a caramel coffee for Misha, a slice of lemon cake for Ocean, and a chocolate donut for Constance.

“Ocean and Constance, would you two mind helping me prep everything in the back?” she asked.

The girls stood and followed her into the kitchen. Once inside, Mrs. Blackwood closed the door behind her. She had a plan.

“Girls, I need to run to the store to refill on raspberry jam. Take your time prepping everything,” she said, grabbing her purse as if about to leave.

“Okay, bye, Mama,” Constance said absently, opening the refrigerator to retrieve the milk. Mrs. Blackwood slipped out the back door before closing it behind her and pressing her ear back to the wood. 

Was it wrong to snoop on her daughter and crush? 

Maybe. 

That wouldn’t stop her.

Ocean stood by the counter, watching Constance pour a class of milk for Ricky. She quietly tapped her fingers on the counter, waiting for Constance to speak up.

“Can you pass the caramel?” Constance asked, pouring Misha’s coffee into a mug.

Ocean passed the caramel, leaving the two in yet another charged silence, with nothing but the sound of the coffee maker running in the background.

“I… I liked your song,” Ocean said, picking up a mug and flipping it over in her hands.

“Thanks,” Constance said sheepishly, pouring another coffee for Noel.

“Out of curiosity, were you thinking of anyone when you sang that?” Ocean blurted, nearly dropping the mug in her hands.

Constance snapped her focus up from Noel’s coffee. “What?” she asked, oblivious that she was causing the mug to overflow.

“Well, it’s just, you were kinda staring at me the whole time, and I really like you, and I was hoping you were kinda maybe sorta thinking about me?” Ocean rambled, confessing everything without realizing it.

“Oce-”

“And it’s stupid, I know, I’m like every lesbian stereotype who falls for her best friend, but you mean a lot to me!”

“Ocean!” Constance interrupted, putting her hands firmly on Ocean’s. “I like you too!”

Ocean froze, her mouth hanging open as she stared at Constance. “You what?”

“I have a crush on you, too, Ocean,” Constance said, smiling up at Ocean.

“Oh…” Ocean whispered, her lips curving into a smile.

“Yeah,” Constance said, resting her forehead against Ocean’s as the two stood holding hands in the kitchen, unaware of the choir watching them from outside the kitchen window.

"Homos..." Ezra whispered under his breath, earning a smack from his sister.

Chapter Text

Noel usually drove Ricky home daily, since he was the only one in the choir who owned a car. However, Noel had Romeo and Juliet rehearsals on Tuesdays and Thursdays, leaving Ricky to wander the halls alone, waiting for him.

Usually, Ricky hangs out in the art room, working on their comics, but today, the room was locked. That leaves Ricky aimlessly wandering through the halls of Saint Cassian, watching the other extracurriculars in progress.

Ricky pushed their wheelchair through the halls, occasionally looking into other classrooms to watch the various bible studies, student council meetings, and study groups in progress. 

Soon, they decided to grab a snack from the vending machine by the English room. The snacks weren’t anything special, but they would satisfy their hunger.

They traveled to the corridor where the vending machine was, and rummaged through their wheelchair pocket, finding 2 loonies. Ricky inserted the coins into the machine, reaching up to select a bag of pretzel sticks. They would prefer some candy, but Saint Cassian never carried any. The bag fell from the vending machine, and they grabbed it from the slot, noticing most of the sticks had already snapped in half. Of course they did

Ricky decided to sit by the vending machine for a while, snacking on pretzels while their wheelchair pressed against the door to the English room.

Then, they heard something.

It started with soft sniffles, then hiccups, before turning into ragged sobs. Ricky tried to peer into the glass window on each door, but their wheelchair wasn’t tall enough to reach it.

Ricky slowly and quietly pushed open the door, confirming no one was hurt.

Inside, a junior girl sat in the center of the room, surrounded by a circle of empty plastic chairs with puppets. The puppets, a rabbit in overalls, a dog with a few chunks of hair missing, a ballerina tied up by marionette strings, an orange tabby cat, a little brown monkey, a frog with a monocle, a koala in a skirt, and a wooden wizard, were seated upright or slouching, almost as if expecting company,

Ricky looked at the door, reading the flyer taped to it.

Penny Lamb’s Pupetry Club!

Join me every Thursday, 3:15 PM to 4:00 PM, to learn about the art of puppetry, ventriloquy, marionettes, and other fun puppet-related things.

That made sense.

Ricky knew about Penny Lamb’s reputation. As the “high school lesbian”, Penny was ostracized by the Saint Cassian student body. Judging by the sign-up sheet below the flyer, none of the people who signed up intended to come.

But seeing Penny cry, surrounded by puppets, pulled at their heartstrings.

Ricky fully pushed open the door to the English room. Penny looked up from her lap, hurriedly wiping away her tears and snot to pretend she wasn’t just crying.

“What’s wrong?” Ricky asked, communicating via their tablet, if Penny didn’t know how to sign.

“I…” Penny stammered, her voice still raw from crying. “M-my social worker told me I should socialize more, so I created a club to get more friends. Other people who shared a common interest, just like she told me to,” Penny said, her voice shaking as she spoke. Ricky listened, pushing themself further into the room.

“Well, I had eight other sign up, so I brought out my nine favorite puppets,” Penny said, holding up a beautiful fox puppet. “But none of them showed up!” she exclaimed, her eyes watering again as she held her fox puppet closest to her chest.

Ricky pushed their wheelchair into the circle, picking up an orange tabby cat puppet and lacing their fingers onto the marionette sticks.

With their free hand, they typed “What’s their name?” into their text-to-speech program.

“Orangefarbene Teufelskatze,” Penny said, looking up from her fox to make eye contact with Ricky. “It means 'orange devil cat' in German. Ezra named him.”

“I like him,” Ricky said, steadily moving the cat across their leg. When Penny curled into herself in the chair, Ricky frowned and picked up Orangefarbene Teufelskatze, making him walk through the air towards Penny.

Penny looked up from her knees, a smile tugging at her lips as she watched Ricky move the cat through the air, before triumphantly landing on her knees. Penny giggled, causing Ricky to smile proudly.

“Well, I’ll join the club,” they said, picking up Orangefarbene Teufelskatze before resting him in their lap.

Penny's voice caught. “You will?” she asked hopefully, her hand faltering.

“I will.”

Chapter Text

Ocean was in the backyard of her home, wrestling a balloon arch into submission.

It was Matilda’s first birthday today, and Ocean needed to ensure it was perfect. Being the Pinterest mom she was, she was putting excessive effort into a one-year-old’s birthday.

“You sure you’re okay?” Mrs. Blackwood asked, setting the finger paints on the table.

“I am!” Ocean shouted back, despite only being a few feet away. She dug the spike into the ground, finally fixing the balloon arch. It wasn’t Pinterest worthy, but it would be good enough for Ocean’s standards.

“Oce?” Constance called out, closing the back door behind her and walking down the porch steps with Matilda in her arms.

Ocean snapped her head up, dropping the remaining tools and running over to Constance.

“Connie, Matilda can’t see the party yet, it’ll ruin the surprise!” Ocean said, using her body to shield her view.

“Ocean, she’s one,” Constance said, hoisting Matilda onto her shoulder. “She’ll forget what the party looks like when she goes inside.”

“Fine,” Ocean grumbled, stepping out of Matilda’s view.

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted me to take over setup,” Constance suggested, already handing Matilda over to Ocean.

“I’ve got it,” Ocean said, handing Matilda back. “I only need to set up the cupcake stand.”

“Which is something I could handle,” Constance argued, handing Matilda back to Ocean. “I can see how stressed you are.”

“But-”

“No buts,” Constance said, kissing Matilda’s forehead, before getting on her tip-toes to do the same to Ocean. “I have the cupcakes, you have Matilda.”

Ocean sighed and took Matilda back inside, leaving Constance with the setup. Constance returned to the party, neatly arranging the cupcakes on the tower and putting Matilda’s smash cake onto the stand.

The gate creaked open once the party was set up, and the Bachynskyis arrived with their daughter, Rose.

“Yo!” Misha shouted to Ocean and Constance, parking the stroller while Noel carried in an armful of presents.

"Rose wouldn’t want to miss her best friend’s birthday,” Noel said, raising his sunglasses with a grin.

Misha adjusted his grip on Rose, letting her gently tug at his curls. “Rickster and Penny pulled in behind us. They should be coming in soon.”

Right on cue, Penny pushed open the gate, with Ricky following behind her.

“What’s up?” Penny said, closing the gate. Ricky waved before carrying Penny’s and their gifts to the present table.

“Wow, you guys went all out,” Penny noted, observing the intricate decorations.

“I told her it was too much, but you know Ocean,” Constance said, setting Matilda down. Matilda used Constance’s leg to stand, toddling to the finger painting station Ocean had pulled from her Pinterest board.

“I could guess this was her idea,” Noel commented. Rose squirmed in Misha's arms, reaching for Matilda. Misha sat her down next to Matilda, watching the two dab their fingers in paint and smack the table, sometimes hitting the paper.

The choir stood around, watching the two girls painting everything but the paper, despite Ocean’s interference.

“Oce, I told you we should’ve gotten her into her overalls for the party, that can go in the wash,” Constance whispered, watching Matilda smear paint over her pink dress.

Ocean cringed at the mess. “Fine, you were right,” she grumbled. “But I saw another art project on Pinterest!” she said, taking the slightly finger-painted paper away from the girls and placing a new sheet of paper in front of Matilda. “We can paint Matilda’s hands any color, have her stamp her hands on the paper, and then let the rest of the guests finger paint a rainbow around them!" 

“Nuh-uh,” Noel said, crossing his arms. “I wouldn’t have worn a new outfit if I knew we were finger painting.” 

“Noel, do you think we’d give one-year-olds paint if it didn’t wash out?” Constance asked.

Ocean grabbed a paintbrush, coating Matilda’s chubby hands in purple paint. She grabbed her wrists, pressing her hands to the paper, before removing them with a satisfying sticking noise, leaving two handprints.

Noel sighed, but gave in. Ocean thoroughly wiped down Matilda’s hands, dress, face, and anything else that could’ve gotten paint on it with a wet wipe. Matilda swatted the wipe away, but Ocean only stopped once she was clean. Then, Ocean handed her and Rose a fresh sheet of paper to paint, knowing full well that they would rather paint each other.

Ocean placed Matilda’s handprints on the table and grabbed a set of rainbow finger paints, offering them to the choir.

Misha started, dipping his fingers into the red paint and dotting red fingerprints on the paper. Once finished, he smeared the remaining paint onto Rose with a mischievous grin, sending her into a fit of giggles.

The rest of the choir continued, with Ocean doing orange, Constance doing yellow, Penny doing green, Ricky doing blue, and Noel begrudgingly adding his purple fingerprints to the bottom.

When the rainbow was finished, Ocean grabbed the painting, letting it dry for a while.

Matilda and Rose eventually got bored, ditching the paint and deciding to roll on the lawn while the adults stood by the small posterboard pinned to their fence.

“Name that baby?” Penny asked, reading the sign.

“Yeah!” Constance said, passing out slips of paper and pencils. “My mom set this up. She harassed your parents or stalked your social media to find baby photos of each of you, and it's our job to guess who is who! Just write the letter below the picture, and match the baby to the grown-up!”

The choir observed the pictures before scribbling down answers. Once everyone finished, Ocean passed out red pens to “correct their answers”. Constance grabbed the answer key from behind one of the photos.

“Ready?” she asked, channeling her inner gameshow host.

“Ready,” Ocean replied, handing out the last red pen and looking back down at her notecard.

“Okay,” Constance began. “A was Noel – easy, wrapped in a feather boa and stealing Ms. Gruber’s sunglasses. B was Ricky, asleep while watching Star Trek Generations while it was still in theatres in 1994.”

“I missed a great movie,” they signed, marking their guesses correct.

“I was C, snacking on a Blackwood Cafe pastry in my diaper. Penny’s D, performing in Elysium’s humanistic talent show at age two.”

“I remember those!” Penny said, wagging her pen at Constance.

“Misha is E, playing in the sand in his swim diaper on a beach in Odessa. Finally, Ocean is F, reading The Lorax in her dad’s lap for its environmentalist themes.”

“I got all mine correct!” Ocean exclaimed, triumphantly handing her card over to Constance.

“Me too,” Noel said, handing his over as well.

“I think we all did,” Constance said, looking over the cards.

“Well, I don’t think we’ve changed much,” Penny said, looking up at the photos on the board.

Finally, it was time for cake.

Constance had baked a homemade smash cake for Matilda, with thick fudgy cake and chocolate frosting covering every inch of it.

Constance placed the cake on her high chair, brushing Matilda’s hair out of the way in preparation for what was about to happen.

“Okay… 3, 2, 1.”

“One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three, four.

This is the new song we sing for birthdays.

Bouncy and merry and not quite as-”

Matilda couldn’t wait any longer. She slammed her hands into the cake, splattering frosting over her and the high chair.

The choir stopped singing, watching as she shoveled cake into her mouth, though most was on her face.

“Well, at least she liked the cake!” Constance joked as Matilda spread it across her high chair table.

“Remind me why we’re doing this?” Ocean asked, looking at the ruined dress and messy babe.

“Cause she’s cute?” Constance replied, removing the tiny topper that had been pushed over in the cake mess.

Ocean sighed, although Constance could see the smile she was trying to hide. One that only showed up when watching their daughter.

Chapter Text

September 1st, 1997. Uranium City Community Pre-K.

Ocean sat cross-legged on the nursery rug, playing Barbies with her new best friend, Constance.

Ocean moved President Barbie across the rug, issuing decrees to the toys around the two girls. She didn’t know what an American president did, but she assumed it was similar to this.

“I’m going to sign a new bill into law!” Ocean exclaimed, shuffling her doll towards Constance’s Veterinarian Barbie. “There’s no more bedtimes!”

Constance cheered, rocking her Barbie doll from side to side. “Now I can save more animals!” she said, picking up a plastic dog and placing it into Barbie’s arms.

Ocean felt a tap on her shoulder. She looked up from her Barbie to see a boy with a bowl cut, looking at the pile of Barbies.

“I’m Noel… can I play?” he asked, tugging on the silver bracelet on his wrist.

Ocean’s brow furrowed. “But you’re a boy. Boys don’t play with dolls.”

“I play with dolls at home,” he said, putting his hands on his hips. “I know how to play Barbies!”

“Well, we don’t want to play with you!” Ocean blustered, turning back to her game with Constance. Constance tried to speak up, but Ocean glared at her and she shut her mouth.

Noel huffed, stamping his foot and stealing a Barbie off Ocean’s pile.

“Hey!” she shouted, but he stormed off to another corner, Princess Barbie in hand.

He sat at the arts and crafts table, looking at his Barbie. Something was… missing from her appearance. She was less attractive than the other Barbies he had at home.

She had an okay dress, but it could be better. For one, the lace was hideous. Secondly, the skirt was too long. He knew it was a princess gown, but Princesses didn’t dress like that anymore.

If the designers at Mattel didn’t understand fashion, he’d help them out. He’d give her a makeover.

Noel scanned the room for something he could use to remodel the dress. Then, right next to the non-toxic glue sticks, he saw them.

A pair of safety scissors.

Noel grabbed the scissors from the caddy and returned to his seat at the table. He unvelcroed Barbie’s dress, ignoring the strange looks he was getting from Ocean as he spread the dress on the table.

First, he removed the lace overcoat. With jagged snips, the lace fell onto the table, mixing with the glue and whatever else was stuck there. After removing the lace, he moved on to the skirt, removing the purple satin with uneven cuts.

Finally, the doll looked presentable. He’d transformed her ball gown to something more practical for a princess. However, she didn’t quite look like a princess anymore. Maybe she’d be more suited for a rebel, or whatever those women were called in the movies his mom liked to watch.

“AACK!”

Noel snapped his head up. Standing above him was the same redheaded girl from earlier, staring at him in horror

“What have you done to her?” she screamed, her hands curling into fists at her side.

“I made her pretty!” Noel snapped back, clutching the doll to his chest.

“That’s not pretty, she’s ruined!” she said, voice trembling with pure anger. Noel couldn't understand why she was so offended over a doll.

“Well, she has a better dress now. You can see her legs,” he said, adjusting the doll’s legs into a split and revealing her plastic underwear underneath.

“You’re not supposed to see her legs!” she said sharply. “That’s inappropriate for a princess.”

Noel opened his mouth to argue, but Ocean spun on her heel and marched toward the break-time aide, tearing the doll from Noel’s hands to present as evidence.

Noel froze, watching her whisper something into the teacher’s ear while pointing an accusatory finger at him. The aide looked back and forth between Noel and the doll, her lips tightening into a line.

The aide stepped away from Ocean, heading straight for Noel. He dropped the safety scissors and looked up at the taller woman.

“Mister Gruber, why did you ruin Ocean's doll?” she asked firmly, taking the safety scissors off the table and sliding them into her back pocket.

“She wasn’t playing with it!” he defended.

“No excuses. Time-out, now.”

“But-”

“No buts. Go now, or you won’t be able to play outdoors today,” she said, pointing him to a chair on the other side of the room with a “what can I do to fix my behavior?” sign above it.

Noel sighed and walked over to the chair, flopping dramatically as the aide stared at the fifteen-minute timer.

He peered behind the aide’s legs, seeing Ocean sweetly grinning back at him as she brought the doll back to her and Constance’s game, dropping President Barbie to play with Noel’s doll.

She never thought the dress was too inappropriate. She just wanted to get him in trouble.

And so began Noel and Ocean’s playful rivalry. When Ocean scored better than him on a spelling test, he beat her in a short story competition. When Noel made fun of Ocean’s Valentine's Day cards, she told his crush he liked him. When Ocean beat him for student council president, he won the lead role in a show.

Of course, they still found a way to become friends. When Noel’s father left, Ocean was there with pillow forts and movie nights. When Ocean turned up drenched in rain and smelling like weed, Noel would slide open the window and blow up the air mattress.

Maybe frenemies suited them best.

Chapter Text

When Virgil met Karnak, two things became clear: the man was really into star charts and sandalwood, and he had kids. Two adopted teens, to be exact.

Virgil was never a fan of children – he’d had his fair share of bad experiences with rowdy kids interrupting his shows – but he figured Karnak would’ve raised them well enough. That, or he made those children complete weirdos.

So, he stood in front of Karnak’s apartment, holding a bouquet of marigolds and picking his front teeth with a bass pick.

Karnak opened the door in his usual turban and linen shirt. Virgil grinned, his bucked teeth even more pronounced than before.

“Virgil. Welcome,” Karnak greeted him, as if they hadn’t been dating for eight months.

“Greetings to you,” Virgil teased, stepping inside like he owned the place.

Karnak’s apartment was filled with crystals, astrology charts, planetary mobiles, and dried herbs. It was exactly what Virgil would expect from him. There were boy band posters thumbtacked next to framed Nietzsche quotes, and puppets loosely scattered on the floor. Not what Virgil expected.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Karnak said, gesturing towards the couch. Virgil kicked off his Doc Martins before spreading himself on the sofa, smelling strongly of incense and herbal perfume.

“I’ll grab some snacks and tea. Well, tea for me. I bought you soda. I’m sure the kids will… introduce themselves”. Karnak headed to the kitchen with that, leaving Virgil alone in the living room.

Virgil grabbed one of the crystals off the coffee table, tracing every ridge.

“EZRA!”

Virgil dropped the crystal in surprise, but caught it with his feet before it shattered against the hardwood floor. He picked it up and placed it on the table before looking around to see where the noise came from.

A moment later, a fourteen-year-old boy came running out in socks, clutching a CD to his chest while being chased by his older sister.

The boy, whom Virgil assumed was Ezra, skidded to a halt. “I would like the photos back,” he said, holding the CD behind him.

The girl sighed, returning a Polaroid photo. Ezra pocketed the picture before handing her the CD back. 

She polished off the CD with her green sweater, desperately trying to remove the fingerprints. “I’m telling you, Dad isn’t going to care. When I told him I was going out with Ocean, he was accepting.”

“This is different,” Ezra said, waving the Polaroid in her face.

Her brow furrowed, and she pushed Ezra’s hand away, tilting her head to see around Ezra. She and Virgil locked eyes.

She grabbed Ezra by the shoulders and spun him around, causing his glasses to slip down his nose.

The kids and Virgil stared at each other, not knowing what to make of each other.

“Who are you?” the girl asked, narrowing her eyes at Virgil.

“Virgil,” he responded, offering a hand to her. “Your dad’s boyfriend.”

“Penny,” she said, tentatively shaking his hand. “This is my brother, Ezra. Together, we are the Lambs.”

“Nice to meet ‘cha,” he said, offering a hand to Ezra, whose hands stayed firmly at their sides.

“You look like a rat,” Ezra said matter-of-factly, observing Virgil’s upturned nose, buck teeth, large eyes, ears, and pointy chin.

“Aw, thanks!” he responded, flashing a toothy grin. “So, what are we hiding from your dad?”

“Nothing,” Ezra said, fastening the photo in his pocket.

Karnak returned, carrying a tray of tea with one Dr. Pepper for Virgil. He set the tray on the coffee table and sat next to Virgil, who wrapped his arms around him.

Penny and Ezra sat on the adjacent couch, with Penny sitting cross-legged and Ezra sitting straight up.

“I take it you two have met Virgil?” Karnak asked, bringing his herbal tea to his lips.

Ezra nodded unenthusiastically. On the other hand, Penny grinned, rebraiding her hair.

“Good,” Karnak said, handing Virgil his soda with a peck on the lips. 

Penny gagged. Ezra stared out the window.

“Penny, I’ve seen you snog Ocean on this couch, don’t you gag at us,” Karnak said, his monotone voice emphasizing his usual sarcasm.

Penny stopped, shrinking back into the sequined throw pillows she’d added to the couch.

Virgil flicked open his soda can, taking a swig and putting his head lazily on Karnak’s shoulder, his messy hair caressing his boyfriend’s neck.

“What are you two into?” Virgil asked.

“Well, I like puppets and Johnny Moon,” Penny began.

“Johnny Moon? Like JK-47?” Virgil asked, lifting his head from Penny’s shoulder.

“Well, I like Johnny, not whoever he became after his moon eclipsed,” she said with a shudder.

“Ah,” Virgil said, returning his head to Karnak’s shoulder. “One of my American buddies was at the Bitch Slap when that girl bit his cheek off!”

“Oh. That was me,” Penny said with a sheepish grin.

“Really?” Virgil asked, tilting his head.

“Yup. Ez’s and my mugshots are on the wall over there!” Penny exclaimed, pointing to a newspaper clipping taped to the wall beneath framed tarot cards.

“Well, all be damned.”

Karnak set his tea back on the table. “I ordered pizza tonight. Virgil’s favorite. I hope you two don’t mind.”

“I’m okay. Ez?” Penny asked, turning to Ezra. Ezra nodded, still staring out the window through Karnak’s astronomical curtains.

“You have something on your mind, Ezra,” Karnak stated. Not asked. Stated.

Ezra grumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest.

Karnak sighed, leaning back into the couch. “Virgil, enlighten the Lambs on your current occupations and hobbies,” he said, quietly observing Ezra.

“Sure!” Virgil said, adjusting himself on the couch so his legs rested on Karnak’s thighs. That was something Karnak only let him do. “Well, I play the bass and sing for my band, Virgil and the Underworlds. We’re decently popular on Spotify,” he began, picking at his black nail polish. “I’m thirty-four, but I have a baby face. Aries, Karnak says.”

“Oh! I’m an Aries too!” Penny exclaimed. “The lucky nature.”

“Also, the most chaotic and competitive of the zodiacs,” Karnak said, pointing to the astrological chart stuck to the wall with 7-Up stickers. “Alas, Mars has given us two of its warriors.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Penny stood to get the order, but Ezra beat her to it. He stood and got the door, unaware that a slip of paper had fluttered out of his pocket and onto the floor.

Penny noticed. So did everyone else.

Penny lunged to hide it, but it was too late. The photo landed face up.

They saw the picture of Ezra smiling while his partners kissed his cheeks.

Ezra turned around, arms full of pizza boxes, and froze. Karnak and Virgil were bent over the photo, while Penny looked up at him apologetically. 

Ezra froze, his grip tightening on the cardboard boxes. Karnak looked up at him with the same expressionless face the two usually shared.

“You have good taste,” Karnak said, picking up the Polaroid by its corner. “Better than I do.”

“ Hey, I’m right here! ” Virgil, stage-whispered, thwacking his arm.

Ezra stood in place, frozen. “What?”

“It’s a beautiful photo, Ezra,” Karnak said, bending over to grab a thumbtack off the coffee table and pinning it above the sofa.

“You’re not mad?” Ezra asked, setting the pizza on the table.

“Nah,” Virgil said, lifting the top of the pepperoni pizza box off. “But I will be if this pizza isn’t greasy enough.”

Ezra sat down, still processing what had just happened. 

“I told you so,” Penny whispered. Ezra punched her.

Virgil kissed Karnak goodnight and finished lacing his Doc Martins back up. He opened the door, closing it behind him, but it swung back open. He turned to see Ezra at the door, one foot stopping it from closing.

“Yeah?” Virgil asked, looking Ezra up and down.

“Welcome to the family, rat man.”

Virgil grinned. "You, too, hedgehog boy."

Chapter Text

The sun was setting on Lake Athabasca, glistening against the blue waters of the lake. They’d spent the day hiking, exploring, and playing games in the surrounding forests or on the coast, savouring the last summer together before they left Uranium for college.

They set up their towels and chairs, discarding their bags by the umbrella. They’d changed into their swimsuits and were ready for a fun evening. 

Misha, Constance, and Penny ran straight for the water, all bearing water guns and floaties. Noel had tried to tan, but after being sprayed by Misha’s water gun, decided to join the group in the water. That left Ocean and Ricky alone on the shore.

Ocean lay on her beach towel, the rocks digging into her back. The choir had migrated deeper into the lake and engaged in aquatic warfare.

“Ocean!” Penny shouted, firing a water balloon towards the shore. It landed at Ocean’s feet, soaking the bottom of her beach towel. She lifted her sunglasses from her eyes, squinting at Penny, who was waving her arms to get her attention. “C’mon, Misha wants revenge for all the years you made him sing bass! His words, not mine!” 

“I’m okay!” Ocean shouted back, sitting upright on her beach towel.

“Your loss!” Penny replied, grabbing a water balloon from the floating bucket and firing it at the back of Noel’s head.

Ocean laughed, but it died quickly. As much as she’d like to throw water balloons at the others, she couldn’t. She’d told them she didn’t want to get her hair wet after straightening out her curls.

Ricky sat beside her, curled up in a beach chair, drawing the lake scene. They occasionally looked up from their drawing, but only to check the perspective of the lake and surrounding trees.

Ocean sighed, looking enviously at the rest of the choir, wrestling with each other in the water. Normally, she would’ve considered this behaviour immature, but something in her longed to be with them, tackling each other under the lake’s surface.

“You’re not worried about your hair, are you?” Ricky asked via their tablet.

“No,” Ocean admitted, watching Misha throw Noel underwater.

“What’s it really about?” they asked, facing Ocean.

Ocean paused, picking up a pebble and rotating it in her hand. “I can’t swim,” she confessed, avoiding eye contact. “My parents never taught me.”

“Oh,” they said, looking up at the choir. “Well, if you’d like something to do instead, you can draw with me,” they suggested, tearing out a page of their sketchbook.

“Thanks,” Ocean responded, taking the paper and one of Ricky’s pencils. 

She looked up, searching for something to draw. She settled on drawing Constance, sitting in a donut floatie, watching Penny tackle Misha from behind.

She wasn’t the best artist, but drawing Constance laughing as she was hit with a splash of water gave her something to do. Something other than being envious of the others who got to swim.

She promised herself that by next summer, she’d learn to swim well enough to drag Noel underwater. For now, she’d keep drawing by Ricky’s side.