Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Whatcha’ got there, friend-o?”

You jump, startled to find Jerry peering over your shoulder, looking with interest at the old composition book sitting on your desk. It has a tattered cover, littered with peeling stickers with miscellaneous things sticking out all over. It hardly even closes.

“Just something I found in the attic,” you reply. “Lady Memoria really wants me to get on cleaning it out. I knew I had a lot of stuff up there, but I never realized how much.”

“A lot of stuff, hmm…?”

“Jerry, we talked about this.”

“No, no, you’re right, the attic wouldn't be a…healthy environment for me,” he says, with a bit of a frown. “But, if you ever decide you needed a little assistance with curating-”

“Jerry.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Anyway, to answer your question…it's my old scrapbook.” You hope that if you sate his curiosity, it will distract him from the idea of all the potential lost items in the attic. “I used to paste everything and anything in here for years.”

“Cheese n’ crackers…! Uh, may I?” he asks, gesturing toward the well worn book.

“Sure. Actually…” you rise from your office chair and gesture for him to sit.

As Jerry thumbs through the well worn pages, you point out photographs and little notes, explaining the context behind each one. Jerry, however, is less interested in the photographs than he is the various bits and bobs taped and glued to the pages.

“Oh, that?” you ask, referring to a chunky star shaped button. “I grew out of my favorite coat that year. One of the buttons fell off before my mom donated it, so I decided to keep it. It's really kinda cute, isn't it?”

“And what about these?” Jerry asks, pointing out a series of candy wrappers adorned with cute cartoon characters, lined up neatly, each adhered to the page with decorative tape.

“Oh, a candy company did a promo for a show my friends and I liked! Each wrapper had a different character on it! We spent the whole summer trying to get a full set,” you laugh. “I was the only one of us who managed it. We were so sick of that stuff by the end of it. I haven't eaten any since.”

He turned the page, revealing a photograph of a young man right in the center, the entire rest of the page adorned in heart shaped glittery stickers.

“Oh-ho, and who is-”

“You don't need to see that right now,” you say, turning the page.

“But-”

“You don't. Need to see it.”

“I, uh, I guess I don't need to see it. Hey, look, a four leaf clover! And so well preserved!”

“Oh, yeah! Some friends and I went on a hike during spring break that year! I found that while we were having lunch!” you smile, as the memory of that day comes flooding back. “I was nearly dead by the time we got to the end of the trail, but I was so excited to find that. Like that made the sweat and hard work of getting there all worth it.”

Your eyes light up at the next page and you point out an old concert ticket, covered with a large piece of clear packing tape.

“That was my first concert!” you exclaim loudly, causing Jerry to startle as a broad smile grows across your face. “I saved my money for months to afford tickets to see Warp live! I still remember feeling the bass all the way in my chest! It was amazing!”

Jerry looks at you. He's not sure he's ever seen you quite so excited, even among the beauty of his various exhibits in the junk drawer. Not even the spare change exhibit has ever caught your interest this way and that was always a crowd pleaser. The crowd was usually just him, but still

“Bedknobs and broomsticks, it certainly seems that way. I guess those were pretty good times!”

“They really were,” you say softly.Your expression dims, as sadness starts to creep over you. “It's weird, suddenly being reminded of people I don't talk to anymore and stuff I used to like doing. Maybe I should just throw this out…”

You reach towards the book, but Jerry snatches it away, jumping to his feet. For a moment, he splutters in disbelief, holding it to his chest, almost protectively.

“Wh- How…How could you ever consider throwing this away?! All these stories, these memories…?!”

“Jerry, it's not even a proper scrapbook. It's a composition book with crap glued in it.”

“It's not crap! It's a rich history! It's incredible! It's beautiful! It's…it's you!”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, silence hanging heavy in the air. After a few moments, Jerry laughs nervously.

“I…I meant that…you, you don't…haha, listen to me, going on! That's uh, that's ol’ Jerry for you, huh? Just, uh…oh boy…”

You're quiet for a moment more, as your eyes settle on the ragged notebook in Jerry's hands. He notices you staring and his own gaze flits around the room anxiously, feeling as if your eyes could bore holes into his chest.

“I guess keeping it a little while longer might not be such a bad idea. Actually, why don't you hold on to it for me?”

His face lights up and he holds the scrapbook to his chest, a little tighter, as if it were some precious treasure.

“Really?!”

“Sure. …Just don't take anything out of it.”

“I-I wasn't going to!!”

Later, in the cramped confines of the junk drawer, Jerry wanders, looking for the perfect place to put…the Tome of Memories.

But nothing seems quite right. It's not a Lost Item, after all. It's a Found Item with no mysteries held within. He already knows all of its secrets. Well, most of them. He thumbs through it again, smiling fondly, thinking of you, radiating joy as you told him all of your stories. Carefully, he tucks it into a pocket inside his overstuffed jacket. Perhaps this treasure will be part of his private collection for now.

Chapter Text

“Goddamnit.”

You look at the box of photos that now lay scattered across the floor. At Lady Memoria's behest, you've been making progress cleaning out the attic and, rather than getting rid of all these photos at once, you decided to take them down and sort through them at the kitchen table. With a sigh, you kneel down to gather them back up.

Jean Loo, crouching in the doorway of the ground floor bathroom, scoops up a handful of them and begins sifting through them with a look of disinterest. He lets out a quiet hum as he looks over a photo from your college graduation.

“So you did progress past École Élémentaire. For you, this is very impressive.”

God, he pisses you off sometimes.

“Ha ha, yeah,” you reply dryly, snatching the photo from him. “You know, you're talking a lot of smack considering one of us is a college graduate and one of us is a toilet.”

Jean Loo bristles, a slight flush blooming across his face.

“You are the one who is talking smack, huh? Remember that one of us is an artiste and one of us is a, how do you say…corporate wage slave?”

“...I don't know why you asked how to say it when you clearly already know. …Jackass.”

“Kissless loser.”

You narrow your eyes at him, showing him the photograph you just snatched from him.

“Jean, I am literally kissing someone in this photograph.”

“Pah! You are being too literal,” he scoffs.

“What. What does that…?” You take a deep breath “Okay then, Jean, what does kissless mean, exactly?”

There's a brief moment of silence as his gaze wanders off to the side. The wallpaper is suddenly immensely interesting to him.

“It is an, euh…abstract concept. You know? Very difficult to explain."

You exhale sharply, dragging a hand down your face.

“OHHH MY GOD. I don't know how I can put up with you.”

“Hey, hey, do not forget you need Jean Loo more than he needs you. He deserves a little respect, no?”

“Oh, really? You wanna elaborate on that?”

“Par exemple, when you got dumped last year, who did you come to for comfort, hein? You spent the whole night with Jean Loo, clinging to him with your so pitiful crying.”

“I didn't have the Dateviators back then,” you reply with aggravation. “You're a toilet and I was drunk and couldn't stop vomiting.”

“...Jean Loo stands by his statement.”

“And I can't believe you would really bring that up. That was such a hard time for me and you're really gonna throw it in my face like that?!”

Jean Loo says nothing but lets out a huff. You could almost swear there's the tiniest shift in his expression as he idly turns his gaze toward the stairs, but…well, it probably isn't anything.

You glare at him. “Fucking…absolute kissless behavior.”

“Hah?”

“Kissless ass bullshit.”

“Hey, hey, hey!”

“Fuckin’ ZERO SMOOCHES ON THIS MAN!” You continue, raising your voice.

“Jean Loo has had many smooches! More than you can count!”

“Oh, yeah? From who? Name one.”

Another moment of silence.

“...Jean Loo may be a Crapper (note: Cool Rapper) but he is also a gentleman. He does not, as you say, kiss and tell.”

“Okay, so nobody then.”

“That is not…!”

“I got shit to…stuff to do, Jean,” you say standing up, plucking the last of the photos from his hand and walking towards the kitchen.

Jean Loo retreats into the bathroom and sits on the floor, shoulders hunched, red faced and absolutely seething. He furrows his brow as he stares at the bathroom wall, grasping the flapper that hangs around his neck. After a moment, he catches sight of Sinclaire casually leaning against the door frame.

“What are you looking at, hein?”

Sinclaire lets out a sympathetic sigh.

“So. Zero smooches, huh, buddy?”

Seething.

Chapter Text

There was a time, albeit brief, where Hector wondered if he might love Lady Memoria, just a little. She was, he supposed, the amalgamation of his beloved's memories and experiences, everything that made them who they are. Perhaps that's why she made him a little nervous. That couldn't be right, though. What he loved was his beloved's present, their now. Not their past, but everything they had become as a result.

Still, he did enjoy speaking to Memoria every once in a while, especially given that they shared a space up in the attic. He would tell her the goings on in the house that he could see from the vents and she…well…

“Hello, Hector.”

“Good evening, Lady Memoria. I trust you're well.”

“As well as one can be with all…this,” she responded, vaguely gesturing to the piles of long abandoned possessions around her. “Hoping to hear another memory?”

Hector inhaled sharply. “O-oh, no, I couldn't! I would hate to be a bother, really-”

“I'm not a fool, Hector,” she said. “I don't mind it. It at least provides a little entertainment all cooped up in the attic as I am.”

She briefly eyed Parker, who grinned back at her, holding what seemed to be an extremely thick board game manual, no doubt filled to the brim with rules. She turned her gaze back towards Hector. Parker pouted and went back to his manual.

Hector smiled, a bit sheepishly. “Then…if it pleases you…”

“Let's see what we have tonight…,” Memoria murmured as she reached into a nearby box, eventually producing a small envelope. It was already open, a heart shaped seal barely hanging on. It was worn from suffering years of neglect, sitting in a box with a menagerie of other items. Memoria raised an eyebrow.

“Of all the things to keep…,” she said quietly.

Hector leaned forward, just a bit, to get a better look. “What is it?”

Memoria breathed a sigh. “A remnant of their first love.”

Hector's breath hitched in his throat and he, with some hesitation, held out his hand. “M-may I…?”

“They were quite young at that time, you know,” Memoria began, handing Hector the envelope. “School age. A turbulent time for many humans as I understand it.”

She sighed. “There was a young man. They loved everything about him. They pined for him day and night, much like you do for them now. …Well, perhaps not with quite the same intensity, but you understand. So to make their feelings known, they wrote and presented him with that very letter."

Gingerly, Hector began to remove the letter from its envelope. It was crumpled and smeared in a few places. Some kind of water damage, perhaps?

“And what then?”

“Well, he rejected them.”

“What…?”

“Why do you think the letter stayed in our dear human's possession and not his?” She mused, stroking the small electronic dog in her arms. “If I recall, he was quite cruel about it as well. He certainly didn't turn out to be quite the prize our human thought he was. Not just a rejection, but a humiliating spectacle.”

“How terrible…!”

“Yes. Being so young, they cried and cried like it was the end of the world. They got over it eventually, as one must, but for them to keep such a thing…well. One can't help what one feels, I suppose.”

He read over the letter slowly; it certainly wasn't written quite as elegantly as he might have done — not that he would ever say as much out loud, God no — but even through their simple words and phrases, he could feel their tenderhearted yearning, the pure love felt in their youth, the heartbreak where what he now realized must have been tears caused the ink to run. He held the letter to his chest, eyes closed. It brought both immense joy and a terrible ache to his heart, knowing that his beloved had once felt as he did, that they had experienced the complex sweet agony of loving someone from afar.

“–tor? Hector?”

He was snapped out of his reverie by Memoria's voice, opening his eyes to see her outstretched hand.

“Oh!” With mumbled apologies, he carefully folded and slid the letter back into its envelope, placing it back in her hand. It pained him to watch her drop it so unceremoniously back into the box from whence it came. “Thank you, Lady Memoria. Your time tonight, as always, is much appreciated.”

Hector felt just a bit closer to his beloved after that.

Chapter Text

“Darling, are you sure this is really necessary?”

Sinclaire was lying on the bathroom floor, hands folded over his stomach and his faucet dripping steadily into his own face. The Human knelt next to him, patting his arm sympathetically as Sudsy made his way onto Sinclaire’s lap.

“You know it is,” they replied. “I know it's uncomfortable, but it's the middle of winter and it's supposed to freeze tonight. If we don't drip the taps, the pipes might burst and then we'll have a much bigger, much more expensive problem. Hector may be able to keep the house warm, but the plumbing is a different story.”

“I suppose that's true…,” he replied. He briefly gagged as a drop of water dripped directly into his drain. He sat up with a groan, grabbing one of the towels that Tyrell had so kindly left for them. “Just wish that didn't happen so often.”

“We've got the shower and bathtub dripping too, just in case.”

“I'm sure Bathsheba is taking it well.”

“As well as one can expect,” the Human said with a shrug. It took them lavishing praise upon her for so kindly making a sacrifice for the good of the house to get her to agree, but…whatever got results at this point.

They turned to Johnny, who sat holding a towel near his mouth. Every once in a while he produced a muffled gurgling sound from the back of his throat as water – saliva?– ran out of his mouth. The human gave him a little smile.

“Thanks for being such a good sport about this, Johnny.”

“I may not be able to sing like this, but ol’ Johnny doesn't mind taking one for the greater goo- hhhggaahhh…”

Jean Loo, leaning lazily against the wall, laughed. “Jean Loo is sure everyone at the Breaker Box will be devastated.”

Johnny shot him the dirtiest look he could muster, which actually wasn't that bad, as The Human turned their attention to Jean Loo.

“This is for your good, too, you know,” they said, almost like a parent scolding a child. “If the pipes burst…well, imagine a toilet that can't flush.”

Jean Loo made a face and went back to minding his own business.

The Human affectionately rubbed their finger against Sinclaire’s faucet producing a little squeaky sound.

“I know it's an inconvenience to you guys so I'll do my best to make it up to you all.”

Sinclaire removed the toothbrush and toothpaste he always kept in his shirt pocket. “Well, Darling, if you want to make it up to me…perhaps later, we could engage in a little…dental hygiene?”

“What? I've already brushed my teeth for the nigh-”

Sinclaire waggled his handles.

Oh.

Oh.

The Human could feel their face starting to burn as they clenched their teeth.

“Sinky. Dear. My precious porcelain paramour. Maybe that's not something we should talk about in front of… you know?”

Johnny, his cheeks slightly flushed, had suddenly developed a keen interest in the bathroom tile while Jean Loo made no attempt to hide his extremely judgemental expression.

“Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, Darling. You know that around you I sometimes…forget myself.”

Jean Loo grimaced like someone listening to their parents hardcore flirting.

“Mon Dieu,” he muttered under his breath. “Jean Loo does not want to be hearing about this...!“

Chapter Text

It was, perhaps, not the nicest activity the two of them could have taken up. Celia admitted it was probably unnecessary and a bit improper to be so invested in their personal goings on and Florence said it made her feel a bit like the Scandalabra. However, drama seemed to follow the Human wherever they went. It was almost like watching one of Chairemis's plays. The plays were much less messy, of course, and they could always guarantee they would find out how they ended but the Human's various escapades were nearly always enough to tide them over until theater night. Plus, it's not as if they followed the Human around all day, but...if they happened to see them while going about their business for the day, they might check in and see how they're doing.

Covertly.

For their own good, really.

"Until now, I haven't even had the courage necessary to show my face!"

"You're brave enough now. And I love it."

“You love it…," Hector breathed. "Does that mean you love…No! I dare not ask! And do not answer, please! Let us enjoy where we are. Here. Now. …Let me care for you.”

Celia and Florence watched from the corner as Hector and the Human had a heart rending exchange. Despite the Human's pleas, Hector forbade them from seeking him out, begged them not to, while still professing his undying love for them.

“Oh my…,” Florence whispered. “I had no idea Hector was such a romantic…!”

“He certainly is eloquent,” Celia replied. “Though, I do find his actions a bit…concerning.”

“Oh, I think it's exciting. A mysterious lover, speaking unseen…”

“ Don't expect me to get into the vents.”

“Oh, stop…!”

In the darkness of the kitchen, lit only by a single candle, the Human found themselves in Friar Errol's firm embrace, having shared a passionate, cheese laden kiss.

“In the arms of my Beloved, I am a Friar no longer!”

“Errol…”

“It sounds like the sweetest prayer from your lips!”

“That mozzarella stick was a bit…lascivious, wasn't it…?” Celia said quietly as they peeked from the dining room.

“More than a bit. But it certainly was dramatic. The tension of it all…! A man of the cloth and his secret lover!” Florence giggled, with more than a little suppressed glee. “I never knew the Friar had it in him…”

“Neither did I. He always seemed so…single minded and severe.”

“Who's more severe, you or the Friar…?”

“Oh, Florence. I'd hardly call myself severe…!”

The Human stood, leaning back against the resident magician (I,) Ronaldini, one arm thrown dramatically across their forehead, the other outstretched with their hand firmly grasped in his as his free arm snaked around their waist. It was like the cover of an especially strange romance novel.

“Part…the…curtain,” he growled.

“Master, I am yours! A rapt audience at your mercy…let the show begin!”

“Come, my little bunny!!”

“That certainly was a…provocative conversation,” Celia said quietly, as she and Florence stood in the laundry room. Despite her stern expression, a slight flush bloomed across her face.

“That's certainly a word for it,” Florence responded, her own face turning a bit pink. “The Human does seem to be quite, uh…amorous.”

“That…that does seem to be an accurate descriptor,” Celia replied.

Had it been anyone else but them the words “a fucking freak” might have come up.

They were both quiet for a moment, before Celia continued. “For now, why don't we retire to the office and discuss this week's...observations?”

Later that week, Celia and Florence noticed something that seemed a bit strange.

“Oh! Pastor! Don't run away from this! Can love really be…a sin…?!”

Chairemis's play seemed very familiar.

Chapter Text

“Non. Non non non non non!”

“It's not even that bad.”

“It is not that bad, it is worse!”

You and Jean Loo Pissoir, your favorite former toilet turned lover turned accountant, sit at your kitchen table drinking some of the most dogshit coffee you've ever had.

God, you miss Kopi.

“You said you would give me a hand with my taxes!”

“Jean Loo admits he did say this,” he sighs, lacing his fingers together. “But! That was before he knew you were un désastre financier!”

“What the hell does that mea…oh! Financial disaster!”

“Oh ho, très bien! You have been studying?”

“Oh yeah. I got some uh, tapes from the library. Anyway, my finances can't be that bad!”

He removes a disorganized folder from his briefcase and tosses it on the table. A few receipts flutter out of it when it lands.

“What is this, hein? It is the…,” he gestures vaguely as he searches for the right word. “It is like the…the…financial spaghetti code!”

“How do you know the phrase Spaghetti Code?”

“Some of the walls in this house…they are very thin. You think Jean Loo could not hear everything that went on in the office? One would not think Mac could get so angry at a website, but…”

“Well, if it's that bad doesn't that just mean I need your help even more?!”

“If Jean Loo tries to deal with this…mess, he will end up in prison!”

“Oof. You really think it's that bad? Do I really need to worry about the IRS?”

“Non, non. What you will have to worry about is Jean Loo losing his mind and putting you in a shallow grave!”

“Ugh. Come on! Please? You promised!”

“Jean Loo never said the word promise.”

“It was implied,” you groan. Plan B. You rest your head on your hand. “I really could use your help. I'm just so…bad at this kind of thing.”

He looks at you, unmoved.

“And when you said you'd help me, I couldn't help but be sooo grateful that I had such a cool and smart boyfriend to sort it all out.”

He looks at you, a little moved. He huffs, exhaling through his nose. “Well…”

You look at him, trying your hardest to look sweeter and cuter than you ever have before in your goddamn life. “Gosh, without your help, I don't know how I'm going to-”

“Hey! Stop it! Non! Jean Loo sees what you are doing! He will not be swayed by your flirt words and manipulations!” He points at you accusingly, narrowing his eyes. “Hoh hoh, you think you are the smart little cookie, no?”

FUCK. You were so sure he was going to crack, too! Plan C. You reach across the table, with a half lidded gaze, and grab his tie, giving it a gentle tug.

“You wanna make out?”

“Absolutely, yes.”

“I'll be right back…lover,” you say, doing your best to sound as sultry as possible as you leave the table. When you return, you present Jean Loo with a cup containing a small amount of blue liquid. He looks at it curiously and takes an experimental sniff.

“This is…mouthwash?”

You say nothing, but waggle your eyebrows.

Jean Loo takes a deep breath, setting down the cup and rising from his seat.

“Jean Loo…will be taking his leave.”

Chapter Text

You emerge from the upstairs bathroom, wiping sweat from your face with a towel, to find Hank No. 3 sprawled out on your bed. He sits up, looking at you with a flirtatious smile.

“Hey, Gorgeous, you come here often?”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Hank, this is my bedroom.”

“Wasn't a question, House Honey, it was a statement.”

“Hank!” you cry, pretending to be absolutely scandalized. “Hey, get your shoes off the bed.”

“Oh, shit, my b.”

“Not hanging with the guys today?”

“We're gonna get together later. I just finished a totally rad study sesh,” he replied, kicking off his boots. “Farya is like, so intense about this stuff! Sometimes, I feel like I wiped out on my hang glider, but instead of a hang glider, it's like, my brain.”

“Sounds like a lot.”

“Yeah, but nothin’ a Hank can't handle.” he replied. “Anyway, I'm more interested in what you've been up to, babe. You know, besides dreaming about all this all day.” He starts to flex.

You stifle a giggle as you cross over to your closet, looking for something to change into. “I…have been working out with Dunk today. He really knows how to work up a sweat, you know?”

“I could show you how to work up a sweat, Hot Stuff.”

You look back at him. He's now laying on his stomach, kicking his feet. He winks and kisses the air. Without a word, you go back to rifling through your closet.

“Anyway,” you begin, “I think it would be nice if I could keep up with you guys a little more. I never thought I’d get into fitness like this.”

“I don't know about fitness, but maybe you can try fittin’ that fine body over here next to me.”

When you look over, he's rolled on his side with his head propped up on one hand and gesturing to the space next to him on the bed with the other.

“Have you tried talking to Dante like I suggested?”

“...Yeah.”

“Have you?”

“Dude, yes!” Hank whined. “But Dante’s lessons on top of all the medical stuff? I can do it, but my brain needs to chill.”

“Okay,” you say, once again turning to your closet. “But if you keep using all those busted pick up lines on me, I might just start thinking you're just playing around with me.”

“...What?”

When you turn around, Hank is sitting up, an unfamiliar expression on his face. He looks sort of…hurt? You hurry to go sit on the edge of the mattress.

“Oh. Oh, no. Hank, listen, I was just joking, I didn't mean-”

“No. No, hold up, be straight with me. Do you for real feel like I'm not serious about you?”

The Hanks are, from your experience, some of the most unserious objects In the house. But, you had to admit that, with his terrible pick up lines and wild flirtations, No. 3 was…well…

“...Maybe a little? Sometimes?” Somehow you find it hard to look at him.

He runs his hand through his hair. “Oh, man…”

“Hank, listen, I'm sorry. I-”

“No, it's…it's cool. If you were feeling some kinda way, I needed to hear it. Communicating about our feelings, uh, highkey slaps.”

There's an awkward silence between the two of you. For a moment, you can't help but worry. Have you just ruined things with 3? What if you ruined things with all the Hanks? Will this drive a wedge between them? Finally, Hank put his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“Listen, I gotta say something hella important, House Honey,” he says, looking you directly in the eye. His brow is slightly furrowed and his lips are drawn into a tight line. “I really like you. And just because I like to let you know I think you're a total hottie with a body doesn't mean I'm not serious about you. And that's facts. No cap.”

You're sure that probably sounded a lot cooler and more romantic in his head, but if nothing else you can tell by his expression that he really means it.

“I love you. Just as much as the other Hanks do. You feel me?”

You lean forward, pressing your forehead to his. “I know,” you whisper. “...It looks like you're feeling me right now.”

“Ohhh, okay, okay!” He laughs before pulling you into a kiss. He falls backwards onto the mattress, still holding you tight against him.

“Now that we understand each other a little better, Gorgeous, why don't you let me really feel you?”

*******************
[ALTERNATE ENDING]

“Actually, House Honey, I gotta ask you something real important.”

Hank moves from the mattress onto the floor, kneeling before you on one knee. He takes your hand in his tenderly rubbing his thumb across your knuckles.

“Would you make me the happiest bro in the world and do me the honor of letting me hit that forever and always?”

“Hank,” you say softly, reaching down to run your fingers through his soft locks. “You know I'm telling Curt and Rod you said that to me, right?”

“What?! Babe, that one was really good, though!”

“I'm telling Dante, too.”

“Aw, Babe, no!”

Chapter Text

After much discussion, it was determined that the backyard was probably safe. TinfoilHat and Skylar still didn’t like the idea of you going out into the wider world for longer periods of time, but as long as you left the Dateviators inside, the backyard was...probably fine. For a little bit. Probably. Once TinFoilHat introduced to you the concept of Realization, the backyard became more than a place for you to get a little sun. It became a place to introduce your Realized friends to the world outside your house.

It was spring when you Realized Prissy. The weather was mild that day. Not too warm, not too cold. She marveled at the little wildflowers that were sprouting up in the grass. She inspected a dandelion, gasping when the fuzzy little seeds were swept away with a sudden strong breeze. She wondered aloud if she could also travel so far and with such ease one day. You told her that day could be now, if she wanted.

When you Realized Hector, it was summer. He shed his shiny silver blazer as the two of you lay in the grass, hands entwined, under the heat of the summer sun. He wiped his damp forehead and briefly stared at the back of his hand. Sweat! He was actually sweating! Not condensation. Real, human sweat! Eventually, it got to be a little too much and the two of you headed inside. He instinctively let out a sigh, feeling the cool air upon entering the house. After a moment, he snapped to attention, eyes wide. “So that’s what it’s like…”

In the Fall, Dunk was Realized. The summer heat was tapering off and the autumn chill was setting in. Dunk was thrilled to play sports! With you! Outside! You spent most of the day playing catch, having a badminton match, kicking around a soccer ball, doing outdoor yoga and any other sport Dunk could think of. Eventually the two of you started just plain running around as you challenged him to catch you, the fallen leaves crunching beneath your feet. He did. Several times. He was reluctant to let go every time.

Jean Loo was Realized in the winter. He scowled, teeth chattering and arms crossed, as the snow fell around you until you finally zipped up his ridiculous jacket. He claimed he was just about to do that himself anyway, but you knew he was lying. As the two of you sat on the stoop you called a back porch, he moved just a little closer to you. He didn’t look at you as he felt around the concrete until he found your hand. He also didn’t appreciate you laughing when he burned his tongue on a mug of hot chocolate.

And so it went. Looking at the neighbors’ holiday lights with Holly. Florence looking with wonder at the buds just starting to grow on the trees. Sinclaire holding an umbrella as the two of you stood under a warm summer rain. The Hanks clambering up the tallest tree in the yard and jumping into a newly gathered pile of leaves. A snowball fight with Freddy. Watching The Perseids with Hoove. Playing with Mateo and his inanimals — Well, animals, now — in the grass. Trying to stop I, Ronaldini’s rabbit from burrowing under the leaves.

Day by day. Week by week. Month by month. Season by season.

Chapter Text

“Yoooo! House Honey! I feel like I haven’t seen you all day!”

As you exit the attic, you look up to see Hank 2 waving at you from the top of the stairs. You give him a tired little smile as you approach.

“That’s because you haven’t, Hank. I’ve been putting out fires all day. Who knew I could do so much running around in my own home…?”

“Fires, babe?” Hank’s eyes widened a little, raising his eyebrows. “Whoah. I thought Arma would have been all over that.”

“Figurative fires.”

“Ohhhhh. I’ll ask Lyric about that later…”

“Anyway,” you continue, “I think I’m just gonna...lay down for a little bit. Get in some Floor Time.”

“If you’re tired, I got a better idea,” Hank said. Before you can respond, he throws you over his shoulder and makes his way to the gym bathroom, despite your protests.

“Hey, B!” Hank says, giving Bathsheba a wave. “You mind if we use your space for a little bit, homie?”

Bathsheba rolls her eyes. “My name is not ‘B’ and I am not your ‘homie.’”

“Aw, what? Sorry, dawg, I thought we were gucci.”

“Oh, my God, just use it,” she groans, swiftly making her way out of the bathroom. “Rebbieeeee! Oh, Rebbieeeeeeeee~!”

“Thanks B-dawg!” He calls after her, as he turns on the water.

“Hank, I’m not letting you bathe me,” you say annoyed, as you remain slung over his shoulder.

He finally sets you down and begins rummaging around in the cabinet. “Nah, that’s not what this is, babe,” he laughs. “...That can be for a different day.”

“You are Hank Number 2, right? Not Number 3?”

“Oh, ouch!” he chuckles, grinning as he pulls a bag of epsom salt from under the sink and walks over to turn off the bathtub faucet. “...I’m allowed to be a little cringe, right?”

You peer into the half filled tub as Hank pours the contents of the bag into the water. He kneels down and removes your slippers before rolling up the legs of your sweatpants. He lifts you gently and places you so that you’re just sitting on the edge of the tub, your feet slipping under the lavender scented water. He swiftly kicks off his boots and pulls up the pants of his jumpsuit before climbing in himself and sitting on the opposite edge, sighing as he submerges his feet in the water. He undoes the top of his suit, tying the arms around his waist.

“It’s nice, right, House Honey?” he asks. He stretches his arms with a groan. “You just gotta destress sometimes.”

You let out a low hum with a nod. You close your eyes and moments later you feel Hank reach over and ruffle your hair a little bit.

“You just work like, mad hard, you know?” He says softly. “...You spend so much time dealing with everyone else’s stuff. You gotta take time to relax.”

“Hank, you regularly go out and do dangerous stunts for fun.”

“Yeah, but then I come back and chill!” He says, playfully kicking a little water at you. You kick back and eventually the two of you are giggling and splashing one another.

“Stop, stop!!” you cry between bouts of laughter. “If you make a mess, I’m not asking Tyrell to clean up after you!”

“Me?! You’re the one making the mess, babe!”

You start to stand from your perch on the edge of the tub and shriek as you lose your footing and start to slip. Hank moves swiftly, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you close to keep you from falling. The two of you are face to face, almost exchanging breath, and you press a chaste kiss to his lips. He flushes, just a little.

“You, uh, you gotta be careful, babe.”

“Well, I have you looking out for me,” you say quietly. “So I can be as dangerous as I want.”

“House Honey, that is not how it works.”

You move to sit back on the opposite edge of the tub, taking Hank’s hand in yours, both of your arms stretching across the tub. You squeeze and the redness splashed across his face deepens. You laugh.

“How does holding hands make you blush more than kissing?!”

“I dunno,” he mumbles. “You’re just like, mad cute.”

“Cute enough that we can do this again?”

“Cuter.”

Chapter Text

“Well, if it isn’t...ngh...my little bunny!”

I, Ronaldini looks up at you with a bright, if somewhat strained, smile. He’s currently on the floor tangled in a mess of ropes and silk scarves and...is that a pair of handcuffs? ...Two pairs? He’s straining against what you can only assume are self imposed bonds.

“Hi, Ronny,” you reply. The two of you had become a little more casual as of late, having learned a little more about one another. Who knew he was Canadian? Besides, saving the whole Master-Servant routine for Ronaldini’s closet made the whole thing a little more...exciting. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

He’s quiet for a moment, his expression shifting a little, before his smile returns.

“…Ah, yes. You see, dearest, I’m working on a new trick to add to my repertoire! It will be the greatest illusion ever known to man!” He pulls at his restraints a little more. “Just need to...rrgh...work out the kinks.”

You decide to be nice and not go for the joke.

“Do you need help?”

Ronaldini laughs dramatically. “No, no! While I do appreciate your concern, dearest bunny, I’ve got this completely under control!”

“Your wrist is handcuffed to your ankle. Your left ankle. Behind your back.”

“It’s part of the trick.”

“It looks uncomfortable.”

“Art...hghh...isn’t always comfortable,” he replies, grunting as he pulls at one of the ropes.“Art can be difficult. Sometimes art requires suffering.”

“Ron. I will go and track down Bobbi if I have to.”

“Oh, come now! There’s no need to get Bobbi! I, Ronaldini, am a Master of Magic! An Overlord of the Occult! An expert of Enchantment! A...a, uh…”

You can see steam starting to come off of him. He continues to struggle for a moment until, finally, he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Yes, I need help, please.”

You kneel next to him, fingers moving along the various ropes and silks, trying to figure out the many twists and knots.

“Do I want to ask how this happened?”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Was it ever a new trick?”

“It was! It was going to be magnificent! Perhaps I just got a bit too ambitious.”

“Oh, nonsense. There’s no such thing as too ambitious in regard to…” a dramatic pause. “Ronaldini, the Great and Terrible!”

“You know, you don’t have to make fun.”

“I’m not! I love that you push yourself to get better and better,” you say. “Your act is already pretty incredible, though. That transmogrification trick still blows me away.”

“...Thank you.”

“You gotta tell me how you do it.”

“A magician never reveals his secrets. Not even to his favorite little bunny.”

The rabbit in his hat starts to steam profusely.

“Oh, stop that! You know what I mean!”

“Not even to me, huh?” you laugh. “...You know, this is a good look for you.”

“Oh, come now!”

“I’m just kidding! I wouldn’t want to ruin the mystery, anyway.”

You hum as you continue examining the ropes. What did he even do here? You turn your attention to the handcuffs, running your fingers along them.

“We can start off with something easy, I guess. Where are the keys for these?”

Silence. Ronaldini frowns.

“We…may need young Pinn for this.”