Chapter Text
Pickle woke up feeling… not awful. Which, for college so far, was a win.
Soap was already up, hair brushed back neatly, muttering at her notebook like it had personally wronged her.
“Morning,” he croaked, stretching.
She didn’t even look up. “You drooled on your pillow again.”
“Lies,” Pickle said immediately, flipping the pillow over before she could prove it.
Her pen paused. “I washed those sheets two days ago. If you make me do it again, I’m telling your mom.”
Pickle rolled his eyes but grinned. Life here was starting to feel… normal. Or at least, manageable. Bomb had texted him a string of emojis at 3 a.m.—he still wasn’t sure if it was about food or feelings. Soap was Soap. His classes weren’t killing him yet.
And sure, his brain kept flashing back to last night, to a scavenger hunt that had ended with Knife too close, their hands brushing like something out of a ridiculous fanfic—but he could ignore that. Totally.
He brushed his teeth, hummed nonsense, tried not to think about Knife’s face when he’d leaned away. Normal morning.
By midmorning, the campus lawn buzzed with energy. Posters from Community Night flapped in the breeze, people swapped scavenger hunt horror stories, laughter cutting through the air. Pickle lingered near a bulletin board pretending to care about club sign-ups, mostly because Pom Pom and Bottle had cornered him.
“Okay, answer me this,” Pom Pom said, eyes narrowed like she was interrogating a war criminal. “Life-or-death scenario. You marry Knife, or you’re single forever.”
Pickle blinked. “That’s not life-or-death. What kind of Saw trap is that?”
Bottle winced apologetically. “Sorry.”
Pickle waved them off. “No, this is hilarious. I love it.”
Pom Pom leaned closer. “So what is it, then? Friends? Rivals? Enemies-to-lovers slow burn?”
Pickle sputtered, way too loud. “What—”
“Don’t act innocent,” she cut in. “Last night looked like episode twelve of an anime. ‘Their hands brushed, static filled the air.’”
Pickle covered his face, cheeks actually on fire. “Hands brushed- w- were you actually watching us?”
Pom Pom smirked, deadly serious. “I see all, Pickle.”
Pickle dragged a hand down his face, cheeks burning. “You’re out of your mind.”
Pom pom gasped. “Aha, so you don’t deny it!”
Before he could recover, a shadow fell across him. A hand clamped on his sleeve.
Knife.
Pickle’s brain short-circuited. He barely caught the words—“We’re leaving”—before being hauled down the path, Pom Pom’s cackles chasing them like a victory chant.
“Knickle power couple walk off!! So happy for you two!”
Bottle’s voice trailed faintly. “Pom shut upppp..”
Pickle barely caught up with Knife, who kept speed walking until they couldn’t hear Pom poms laughter anymore. Knife let go of Pickles sleeve and looked away abruptly.
Pickle, catching his breath, grinned lopsided. “Wow. You really swooped in there. Didn’t know you cared about my social life.”
Knife kept his eyes fixed on the building across. “You didn’t need that.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t need to rescue me like some broody antihero either.” Pickle nudged his arm lightly. “You could’ve just laughed. It was fine.”
Pickle tilted his head, smile fading. Now or never... “Hey. Can we… talk about last night?”
Knifes face turned pale, Pickle was just going to take back the question, Knife was probably uncomfortable… was it really too soon to ask?
“Nothing to talk about,” Knife muttered, stepping back. “Forget it.”
Oh of course.
“Knife-”
Knife walked off.
“Cool,” he muttered. “Very cool. Totally not embarrassing.”
Except it was. His chest buzzed like he’d been zapped. He didn’t know if he wanted to throw a rock at Knife’s head or… lean into that feeling gnawing at him since last night. Half love, half loathe. Fantastic combo.
——
By afternoon, he migrated to the library with Soap. Supposedly to study. Realistically, to dump his mental spiral while she highlighted like a machine.
“You’re not even pretending,” she said flatly, pointing at his notebook, where he’d drawn five increasingly dramatic sets of eyebrows in the margin.
Pickle slumped. “I don’t know what his problem is. He drags me away like some kind of antihero and vanishes like—Batman. Except Batman would at least let it be clear why he’s doing the stuff he does. One bad guy to defeat. Simple. Antiheroes suck.”
Soap didn’t look up. “You like him.”
Pickle nearly choked. “Sorry?”
“You like him,” she repeated calmly. “But you’re allergic to your own feelings, so now it’s my problem.”
Pickle groaned, burying his face in his arms. “This is why I don’t talk to you.”
“This is exactly why you talk to me,” Soap said softly. “Look. He’s complicated. But don’t let him string you along. If you want in, be in. If not, stop torturing yourself.”
Pickle peeked up. “…when did you become a love guru?”
Soap deadpanned, “Since five minutes ago. Now read the chapter summary before I hit you with my pen.”
Mic appeared at the table, grin tilted. “So this is where you’re hiding.”
Soap lit up. “You’re late.”
Mic leaned down, kissed her cheek. “Traffic.”
Pickle made a face. “Library traffic?”
Mic shrugged. “Campus traffic. Don’t question it.” She slid into the chair beside Soap.
Pickle rubbed his face, trying not to think about Knife.
Mic caught it anyway. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.” His voice cracked.
Soap snorted.
Mic tilted her head. “This wouldn’t be about a certain silver-haired friend, would it?”
Pickle hesitated. “…maybe.”
Mic looked at Pickle with a sorry smile. “Look, he’s been through stuff. More than you probably guess. But he’s not cruel. If he’s pulling away, it’s because he’s scared of breaking something, not because he wants to.”
Pickle stared. It was enough. A reason not to hate him too much.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
She smiled. “Don’t mention it.”
They settled into a rhythm. Soap highlighted like a machine, Mic watched her with the occasional soft grin, and Pickle… well, Pickle stared at the same sentence for ten minutes while doodling stick figures falling in the margin.
A shadow drifted over the table.
“Hey,” Clover said, bag strap twisted around her fingers.
Pickle blinked. “Oh- hey, Clover.”
She slid into the empty chair, wide smile like she wasn’t nervous. “Did you guys win anything last night? Total chaos.”
Soap hummed without looking up. Mic leaned back, looking like she could fall asleep any second. Pickle shrugged. “Nah, just bragging rights. And that Pom Pom’s eternal satisfaction.”
Clover laughed. “Figures. You and Knife made a good team, though. I mean, the way you two-” she waved her hand, then stopped. “Anyway. Looked fun.”
Pickle rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, it was… fun.”
For a moment, it was normal. Classes, jokes, Soap’s curt answers. But then her tone tilted casual.
“So… you and Knife. What’s the story?”
Pickle stiffened. Mic opened an eye.
“Not nosy,” Clover said, bright and easy. “You seemed really close last night.”
Pickle barked a laugh that was more like a cough. “Uh. Nope. Just scavenger hunt buddies. Nothing dramatic.”
Her smile didn’t waver.
Mic cut in, voice low but sharp. “Clover. Enough.”
The smile faltered, flickered back on. “I was just asking—”
“Drop it,” Mic snapped.
Silence stretched. Clover gathered her things. “Okay. Jeez. Didn’t know it was a crime to ask. See you guys around.” Her grin stayed, brittle now.
Pickle exhaled. “She didn’t mean harm.”
Mic’s jaw was tight. “Yeah, but she shouldn’t be asking like that.” She shook her head. “I don’t like it.”
Pickle snickered, Mic just huffed.
Soap finally set her highlighter down. “Well. Learned more about Knife in five minutes than in two weeks.”
Pickle chuckled weakly, doodling another stick figure. Pretending to study. Pretending his chest wasn’t buzzing from the mess of it all.
Half in love, half despising, and completely stuck.