Hello everyone! This is the Edvy fic I've been working on for the last six months - it's not fully complete, but it's close, and I'm posting what I have to celebrate Envy Week on Tumblr! While it wouldn't be fair to actually call this a rewrite of SNEA, it touches on a lot of same themes. Which means, the inevitable long, long list of trigger warnings.

SPECIAL NOTE: This version of the fic has lots of implied sex and sexy scenes, but there is no explicitly described sex or smut. There is a version of this fic with those scenes - you can find it at my AO3 account.

TW for the whole fic: Drugs, sex, sex work, abuse, CSA, transphobia, racism and violence (domestic, police, etc.) all show up in this fic.

TW for this chapter: Sex, child abuse (physical), knives, implied domestic violence/partner abuse.

CHAPTER ONE

broken toys

Of all the weird, bizarre things I've ever seen in movies, attempting to pass itself off as real, I think 'mornings' tops the list. A pretty couple all tangled up in sheets and curled up comfortably with each other – or maybe the chirping of birds, a little bit of sun streaming through the window…

Reality check. My mornings consist of the sun getting ready to set, me picking my face up off my drool-encrusted pillow, kicking off whatever I fell asleep in the night before, and falling asleep again.

"Ah – ah! H-harder, please, god, don't stop –"

I opened one eye and glared at my ceiling. Unsurprisingly, that accomplished nothing.

For fuck's sake.

I grabbed the shoe that had somehow migrated to the pillow next to my head during the night, and flung it at the ceiling. A shower of plaster dust cascaded down on me, and I blinked rapidly with another frustrated growl – and yelped as the shoe came down on me again, high heel missing my face by an inch.

Well, my terrible upstairs neighbours seemed to have gotten the message that their gay sex was ruining my nap time. Again. The least they could do was moan creatively.

"Envy! Stop throwing things!" Beat. "And for the love of fucking god, are these your eggs in the microwave again?" And, right on cue, my roommate. So much for the joys of living alone.

"I'm done," I grumbled, flipping my face back into the pillow. "And no. The gremlin did it."

So much for nice, relaxing mornings. My name is Envy, my apartment block won't stop fucking each other, and I have anger issues.

Basically, stop here. You'll be much happier.


Naturally, my day continued to be marvellous as I poured scalding coffee all over my hand. "Fuck," I grumbled again. I would have been a bit more creative, but it's hard to be creative when your brain feels like it's just been steamrolled. That, and the raucous sex above my head had a way of rubbing in how bizarre and joyless my sex life was currently.

"What's the matter? Somebody piss in your coffee?"

"That would probably make it better." I slumped at the kitchen table, eyeing my roommate with some trepidation. She was putting together some sort of monstrosity of a breakfast sandwich and... humming? Was she humming? "...You're perky. Who's dead?"

"Nobody."

"Yet."

She laughed, and even that sounded kind of sinister. Or maybe I just have trust issues. "I'm just happy. Bouncy, you know. New day, new chances, all that..." She balanced the knife point-first on the countertop for a moment, then, still humming, sliced her sandwich in half.

...That wasn't suspicious, at all. "You got back together with him, didn't you?"

"I did not!" She dropped the knife (on the counter, not the floor, thank god) and turned to face me, feathers ruffled and perfectly-coiffed curls bouncing. Oh, I'd pissed her off. Definitely Scarface, then.

"Right, right. You're just, what? Friends with benefits? Hanging out?" I smirked at her over my coffee. "You have such a short memory." I wasn't trying to be an asshole... well, okay, I was, but I was being an asshole with a point. Mostly so that I could say 'I told you so' later on.

My coffee went flying out of my hand, and there was a smash as it hit the wall, leaving a brown stain behind. Her eyes had gone cold, and for whatever reason, I suddenly felt a lot more comfortable. "Not short enough," she growled, poise dissolving.

I managed to drop the smirk, although it was a bit of a struggle. "Yes, ma'am," I drawled in return, although now I was sort of regretting not saving my mostly-well-intentioned comments until after I'd finished the coffee.

"Take out the garbage," she snapped. "You've been putting it off too long again."

"Yeah, yeah. I need a smoke anyway." I got up, eyeing the new gash in the wall. It was getting easier and easier to make her angry – not that it had been hard to begin with.

Before I left, I heard her murmur quietly, voice calm and even, not betraying a single hint of emotion. Her mask was back, firmly fastened. "I didn't mean to, you know." She could have meant all sorts of things.

I just shrugged. "I know. You never do."

I grabbed the bag of garbage and my pack of smokes. She'd be alright. Well, no, that wasn't really true – but she'd be good enough. Just like the rest of us.


It was already getting dark outside. I lead a pretty nocturnal life, cause my busy hours tend to be when the clubs are open and when people are drunk enough to explore the parts of themselves they're too scared to acknowledge otherwise, and my neighbours are mostly the same. I mean, there's a few weird people who actually hold day jobs, but they come to our 4 AM gaming sessions anyway, so more power to them. The upside of that is that there's no one around this time of day to see me in my boxers and smudged makeup.

I chucked the bag into the dumpster, flipping open my pack of cigarettes and grabbing one with my teeth. I didn't even bother looking – I mean, who looks inside a dumpster? Who bothers?

I say this only because there was a definite squeak when my bag hit the bottom.

"Um."

I dropped the unlit cigarette back into the box, shoved it back into the pouch of my hoodie, and took an uneasy step towards the dumpster. I knew we had mice, but mice didn't exactly live for long in a garbage bag. Hell, anything that could have ended up in there could have just as easily gotten out.

That, and that was pretty loud for a mouse.

I peered over the edge of the dumpster, wrinkling my nose. Staring up at me with wide and terrified blue eyes was a little kid, maybe six, with hair the same colour as the trash bags he was surrounded by.

I blinked. Blinked again. He was still there, so no, I couldn't attribute him to sleep deprivation.

"...This ain't a hotel. Get out."

And then he began to cry, blubbering noisily and burying his face in his knees.

Well. I kinda fucked that one up.

"I'm not kidding. That's a terrible place to sleep."

"...'m not sleepin," he mumbled between sobs.

"I can see that." I debated actually climbing into the dumpster, but it smelt really bad. Like, I wanted to hose the kid down with bleach. Or maybe hydrogen peroxide. I'm sure Greed had some somewhere. He always had weird chemicals around. "Look, are you coming out or not? Cause -"

His hair shifted to the side as he looked up again, and it fell out of his face to reveal a blotchy, dark-blue bruise around his left eye, spreading purple and mottled down his cheekbone.

I could feel my fingers spasm on the metal edge of the dumpster, bitten nails scratching the grimy surface -

"Cause there are beds inside and all." God, he was so fucking small.

"Are the police there?" he whispered. The skin above his top lip was smooth and unridged.

I shook my head. "No cops." I smiled, and hoped I'd managed the non-threatening thing. "Just me and the rest of the screw-ups."

He considered this carefully, and I could see him shivering. "...Okay," he whispered.

I leaned over, holding my breath, and reached out my hand. From beneath his curtain of hair, he gave me a shy smile, and grabbed my arm.

What can I say? I'm a softie – if you get really, really lucky.