[A/N]: This work has been a long-time coming. It will be the first in a series of stuff I've been working on sporadically the past number of years. You can read the full story on my profile.
Because of the older nature of this work, I suppose I should say this: This was first conceived while Regular Show was still airing on CN, meaning it was primarily written in the Pre-'Mordecai's a Simp meme' days. Does he act like a simp in this story? Possibly. The thing is, I always interpreted his actions as being socially awkward more than anything else, but you're free to view it however you like.
Title is taken from the Traffic song of the same name. I recommend listening to it before or after you read this work.
Hope you enjoy. Leave an honest review if you like.
'Ugh, my feet are killing me!' Mordecai thought, leaning onto the counter for some support.
Benson had put both him and Rigby to work at the snack bar today. Mordecai didn't like to work at the snack bar as a rule, (especially after the incident where Rigby's body rejected his consciousness), but notwithstanding aching feet at the end of the day, the job had started to grow on him. He'd begun thinking of it as a temporary vacation from Benson's short temper. Benson was in no position to call the pair "slackers" while they worked at the stand, because half the job involved standing around doing nothing while waiting for customers. It occurred to Mordecai that perhaps this was the reason why Rigby said he loved to work at the snack bar. This made Mordecai wish he and Rigby could work at the snack bar more, but it was apparent that Benson reserved this job almost exclusively for Muscle Man and Fives, leaving the former pair to park maintenance.
After almost a year of working at the park, Mordecai had figured out why Benson and the two of them were always butting heads. While it could be said that it was Rigby who was mostly to blame, as it was he that Benson directed most of his anger at, with Mordecai caught in the crossfire, what it really came down to was a difference in overall personality types—Benson a Type A and Mordecai and Rigby Type B's. Benson was a get it done right now kind of guy, while Mordecai and Rigby worked at their own pace with a it'll get done when it gets done attitude.
Of course, it was certainly true Mordecai was more motivated to do his work than his companion, and Mordecai was aware of this. But even so, Mordecai would inevitably side with Rigby when it came to certain things. Rigby knew that some things could, theoretically, never be completed. For example: mowing or raking the entire park. By the time you'd finish cleaning or cutting the whole thing, the grass would have grown back and the breeze would've caused the leaves to settle right back where they originally were, undoing the whole process. It was kind-of like playing a video game without a memory card—you can get as far as you can in the game, but the moment you stop and shut-off, you'll have to start from scratch again and again. Redundant would be the simplest way to put it.
Mordecai was aware of the position Benson was in, and could sympathize with him to a degree. He had to take a lot of crap from Mallard, and was always under pressure to have things run smoothly. To Mallard, the employees were a reflection of Benson, meaning that if they weren't getting things done the way they were supposed to, then that must've meant Benson wasn't doing a good job as a manager. But yelling at something, expecting it to magically get done right then and there, was, to Mordecai, a waste of time and energy.
Mordecai stretched his legs individually to get some blood flowing back into them, taking a minute to lift each of them to take some pressure off for a few moments. It was a clear sunny day, the kind of day that would, normally, fill Mordecai with all the energy he needed to put in a solid effort. But it was 85 degrees outside, in the middle of summer, and while the stand provided decent shade, the humidity was unbearable, not helped by the hole in the stand where people came to place their orders.
'Yeah, people. Where are they? Oh right, they're staying in their air-conditioned homes like smart people' Mordecai thought.
No one had shown up all day, which was especially frustrating considering Mordecai and Rigby had to prepare all the food that no one's come to eat. Well, actually, some of the food had been eaten, but only by a certain person who was supposed to be selling them.
"Dude, easy on the food" Mordecai said, looking behind him. "Don't you remember what happened last time?"
Rigby scowled at Mordecai, arms in the air slightly. "It's just a pretzel, man! I didn't get a chance to eat breakfast. I'm not that stupid, you know."
"Just looking out for you, dude" Mordecai said, taking a sip from a personal water bottle he had bought some time ago.
"I know, I know" Rigby said, continuing to munch away.
About an hour and a half went by. Nothing but sweat and uneaten donuts.
Rigby leaned back into the counter directly beside Mordecai. "Dude, this sucks. No one's coming today—they'd be crazy to come here in this kind of heat" he said.
"You're joking right? Mr. 'I for one love working at the snack bar' is saying that he doesn't want to work here?" Mordecai asked, mimicking his friend's voice.
"You know what I mean!" Rigby said, punching him in the shoulder.
"Yeah, dude, I know" Mordecai said, chuckling at his friend's usual pathetic attempt at a punch.
"I mean, why would Benson make us stand here when it's so obvious there won't be good business today?" Rigby asked after a groan, his arms gesticulating.
"It's not his call to make, dude, you know that. Mallard's the one who's always riding him."
"I guess."
As if on cue, Mordecai and Rigby spotted a jogger running along the park path. As she was about to pass the stand, Rigby called after her.
"Hey! If you're hungry, we got food over here!"
The jogger stopped in place still jogging in place and looked at the stand, noticing a tall blue bird and a short brown rodent cupping his mouth with his hands like a megaphone. She rubbed a finger under her chin, debating whether or not to go over.
The two guys in the stand seemed like ordinary workers, working the average minimum wage job. The fact the little guy called her over implied that business must have been slow today and that they were looking for some kind of profit. She hadn't really planned on buying anything during or after her jog, although she did have some chump-change in her fanny pack, not that the two guys knew that. Of course, she made the mistake of acknowledging them.
'They'll think I'm a bitch if I don't go over' she thought. 'But then again, if I hadn't acknowledged them and kept on going, they probably would have still thought I was a bitch anyway for ignoring them.'
She wasn't the kind of girl who'd want to hurt anyone's feelings outright. But the only potential "relationship" she could have with those two guys was a one-time Employee-to-Customer one, (it isn't like she jogs through the park regularly, as she usually just sticks to the four blocks around her house—she had felt adventurous once and had gone through the park before, but she got lucky and didn't run into anybody—'Got greedy this time' she thought off-handedly), so does her principle still stand?
Regardless, it didn't really matter what those two thought of her, as it was almost guaranteed they'd never see her again. If they got mad at her, it wouldn't be the first time a potential customer blew them off—couldn't be, as the park is a popular place for people to go. They've seen people like her all the time.
By now she realized she'd been jogging in place staring at them for a bit too long. She stopped jogging and unzipped her fanny pack to see how much money she actually had. Two-fifty total, one dollar as three quarters, two dimes, and a nickel. Hopefully it wasn't more than that. Maybe they could haggle if it was over . . . no, that wouldn't work, because if she was one of two or three, (or heck, maybe the only), customers they got today, it wouldn't look good when their boss did inventory. She would know, she works part-time at a clothing store.
'Oh would you stop thinking so much into things and go over already?' a voice in her head said. So she did.
All this time, Mordecai and Rigby, (Rigby mostly), had been on a roller-coaster ride of an is she, or is she not going to anticipation. When the girl had checked her fanny pack and started walking over, Rigby sighed, both in relief and as a way to say non-verbally "Well it's about time." Despite his initial enthusiasm in calling out to the girl, he walked to the back of the stand, deciding it was best if Mordecai took the order, as he didn't appreciate the girl toying with his emotions like that.
Mordecai looked at Rigby as he stepped away from the counter, realizing he was going to have to take the order. It didn't really make sense that the guy who showed initiative in calling the customer over wasn't going to be the one who helped the customer out, but Mordecai was used to Rigby's quirks, from both working with him and knowing him on a personal basis, so it didn't really bother him.
As Mordecai straightened up, he looked at the girl approaching the stand more closely. She had brown hair in a pony-tail, a back headband, a blue tank top, black leggings with a hint of silver that ran up the sides, and gray sneakers with black trim. She wasn't very tall, about the medium between his height and Rigby's. Her skin was naturally tanned, and she had small freckles here and there, some on her thin cheeks just below her dark eyes. Mordecai wasn't into human chicks that much, but he found this girl to be fairly attractive, (though it might have been because she was wearing a blue shirt).
'Got to give her credit, though, I wouldn't jog when it's this humid out' he thought. As she drew closer, he smiled to greet her. "Hello, how are you today?" he said.
"Pretty good" the girl responded, returning the smile. 'At least he seems nice' she thought. "Where did the little guy run off to?"
Turning back, Mordecai saw a ringed tail slip out the metal door before hearing it close.
"He's indisposed."
A silence fell between them, each expecting the other to say something else.
"Uh, what can I get you?" Mordecai finally said.
"I guess a bottle of water would be nice."
"What? You don't want a hotdog, or some popcorn or something?" Mordecai said sarcastically, laughing slightly.
Smiling at his silliness, she said "No, I'm all set."
"All right" he said. He walked to the back to the cooler where they kept the water bottles. He picked one up, did his best to wipe off the bottle sweat, and brought it back over.
"So you're a jogger, I take it?"
"What gave it away?"
"There were a few hints" he said, lightly motioning to her clothes. Clearing his throat a bit, he continued. "I've got to ask, though: How can you run in this kind of weather? I think I'd pass out if I tried."
"Well, after years of running every day, I've learned to mostly ignore the weather. It's got to be really bad out for me not to jog."
"How bad?"
"As hot as the sun or as cold as the arctic."
"I hear you. That'll be two-sixteen."
"The only money I have is one dollar and some loose change" she said, as if asking if it was okay that the exchange of money wasn't going to be as fast or discreet as it usually is.
"Hey, every bit helps, right?" Mordecai said with a carefree smile, which for a brief moment struck an unconscious chord with the jogger. Something about the bird-man gave off a genuine vibe which she found sweet and inviting, which was unusual for her as she normally wasn't into anamorphs. She almost felt herself blushing.
After fumbling with the money slightly, she wordlessly counted out the money and pushed it towards the bird. He picked up the money, the register let out a ring, and was quickly shut.
"All right, you're all set. Try to stay cool."
"Thanks, I will" she said with one last smile at his subtle joke. As she jogged away, she off-handedly entertained the idea of jogging through the park more often.
Just as the jogger was becoming out of focus, Rigby walked back in.
"Really, dude?" Mordecai said.
"What?"
One o'clock came soon after that, which meant it was time for the best part of the day: Break.
Rigby followed Mordecai to the cart and got in. As they drove to their destination, Rigby suddenly realized, despite always driving the cart, Mordecai didn't appear to have a license. So he asked about it nonchalantly.
"Of course I have a license" Mordecai said, seemingly with a hint of anger in his voice, as he turned to face Rigby briefly before focusing back on the road. The anger was quickly softened, however, and replaced with a frown. "I just can't afford a car," he said, not able to look at his friend.
Rigby was taken aback slightly. "Sorry, I didn't mean nothing by it."
Mordecai turned back and gave his friend a small smile. "It's fine, dude, I was just messing around."
They pulled up to the coffee shop, got out of the cart and walked in. At the sound of the small bell above the door, they were greeted with the familiar scent of coffee beans and sandwiches. The shop's A/C instantly relieved them of the coats of sweat they had acquired throughout the morning. They walked down the staircase and went to sit at their usual table in the middle of the shop, facing the sunlight of the upper windows.
As usual, the shop was fairly dead inside. There were only two other people in the shop. One was sitting in a corner booth with a writing pad in front of him, pen flipping absentmindedly in his hand, with an untouched coffee mug off to the side. The other was a kid playing at the Broken Bones cabinet, reacting accordingly in disgust or celebration when his character died, or if he made it to the next level without having to spend another quarter.
Mordecai thought this coffee shop was somewhat of a well-kept secret in town. Mordecai wasn't entirely sure if that was the case or not, however, seeing as how he and Rigby mostly came to the shop in the afternoons. They would visit in the evening on occasion, but even then the shop never appeared much busier. Mordecai thought the shop was one of those places that if you knew of it, you were in the know, and part of a small group of people who knew where to find good food and great service without the forced pleasantries of a chain.
Speaking of great service, the object of Mordecai's affections was approaching the table, a toothless smile across her face, with her simple white uniform that hugged her body in all the right ways.
"Hey Mordecai, hey Rigby. How are you guys?" Margaret said.
"Meh, same old, same old" Rigby said.
"G-Good" Mordecai said, slightly delayed.
Mordecai was immediately smitten with the red robin the moment he first laid eyes on her. The genuine side of him would say it was more than just her looks. Something about the way she carried herself gave him the impression she was a strong-willed person. This was helped by the idle chat he sometimes overheard when she was talking with other customers or to another employee, the usual topics being college, career aspirations, and looking to the future.
Of course, the other side of him would sometimes pollute his thoughts to the point that he wasn't sure if those genuine thoughts were what they claim to be—if he was projecting something primal/selfish or not. He would deny this other side of himself, ignoring it the best he could. But those thoughts were persistent, and would often interfere with his rational side, especially in the moments when he actually had, or wanted, to talk to her.
"So, what do you guys want today?" Margaret asked.
"Coffee for me," Rigby said. "The day's been such a drag; I need a little pick-me-up."
"Ugh, I know the feeling" she said. "I don't know how you guys work at the park all day."
"It grows on you" Rigby said, shrugging. Margaret nodded back.
"And what about you?" she said to Mordecai, with what Mordecai thought was said with more emphasis, as if she was purposefully giving him more attention.
"Uh . . . same" he managed to say, with a smile he hoped wasn't fake looking.
She smiled back. "'Kay, I'll be back in a sec."
'Why do I always do that?' began Mordecai's intrusive thoughts. The sudden and multitude of shifts every conversation could take made any sort of preparation useless, which brought on dreaded hesitation, including a dark cloud of anxiety obscuring any road to clear and confident speech.
For all his casual banter with friends, family, and even one-time strangers, Mordecai had long convinced himself, (unconsciously), interactions directly affecting his life—those he deemed serious—required clarity and confidence to guarantee the best possible outcome. As expected, the pressure caused by this line of thinking could get intolerable, to such a degree that Mordecai often thought negatively on the present state of his life, even if, from an outsider's perspective, such thoughts appeared ludicrous.
Unbeknownst to Mordecai, Rigby had noticed his friend's sudden quiet spell. He could see on his face thousand-yard eyes and clenched eyebrows. But despite noticing, Rigby kept to himself, figuring Mordecai was beat from the day, and just needed some energy from the coffee.
Margaret returned with the coffees. "Here you go" she said as she placed the cups on the table.
"Thanks" Rigby said.
"Yeah, thanks" Mordecai followed. "So, uh . . ." Mordecai began, to catch Margaret's attention before she walked away. It worked, and she turned back around and smiled warmly at him.
'Well, at least she doesn't seemed creeped out at me calling for her' Mordecai thought.
"How's business today?" he asked, despite already knowing the answer. He was going to say 'How are you?' but felt leading in with that would be too personal.
"It's been fine, but pretty slow. I'm here by myself till the new girl comes in at two-thirty, I think her name's Elise? But, it's nothing I can't handle."
"That's good"—
Then came the Hail Mary pass—
"Everything else okay with you?"
"Oh yeah, everything's good. Not much going on at the moment."
One of Mordecai's problems with Margaret was that he seemed to care about her so much that he hated to risk making her upset by appearing to bother her, no matter how small the possibility. He wasn't going to risk ruining how good she was doing with an awkward flirtation.
"Good to hear" was all he could say. And with that came the most difficult part—the awkward silence where no one knew what to say next. He hated it. He knew he wanted to say more, but couldn't think of the right words. And he knew that she didn't know what to say because what else was there to say.
'She's doing good ok no need to ruin it for her she's already in a good mood I'd just put it down with my stuttering mess of self—'
"Thanks" she said.
'—Thanks? so I brightened up her day maybe just a little that's good enough say something more say something more—'
"Well, I've got a few things I need to do. Enjoy your coffees you two."
'—Damn it damn it there she goes again but I can't fault her it's my fault I'm not charming in the right ways but then again she's always so busy with what she does maybe she just doesn't have time but no that's not true there's all those guys she's went on dates with so obviously she must not be that busy that she can't have fun with others and then there's the friends she probably has and ok so maybe—' and on and on he went until—
"Mordecai? Hey, Earth to Mordecai!"
He snapped back to reality.
"Huh, what is it?"
"Your coffee's getting cold."
He looked at the cup. There was almost no steam left.
"Oh, uh, guess I didn't want to burn my lips" he said trying to play it off.
"You don't have lips."
"Uh . . . right."
Mordecai quickly started downing the black liquid. He coughed when he realized he hadn't put any sugar in it. He did so and stirred the drink with quick spoon rotations.
Rigby had been observing how flustered his friend had got, a far-cry from how he usually acted. It was at that moment Rigby recalled similar incidents that had happened before. He concluded that Mordecai seemed to only get really flustered when they came to the coffee shop. He had a feeling he knew what the cause was.
"You know, dude, if you like her you could've—" Rigby started to say.
A buzzing noise came from each of their cellphones.
"Break time's over; get back to the park" said Benson's automated message, a message he'd done up especially for them. Even though the text was written plainly, the duo could still hear their boss's shouty and sarcastic voice talking at them.
They groaned in unison and got up from their seats, finishing off their drinks as quickly as they could. They placed their mostly empty cups above the nearby trashcan and threw away their napkins. They started walking up the staircase.
"Take care, you guys" Margaret said from behind the front counter.
"You too" Rigby said.
"B-Bye," Mordecai said, waving at her.
She waved back.
'Phew, she still thinks I'm good' Mordecai thought. 'But if only she knew how much I—'
After they left the shop and got into the cart to head back, Rigby noticed Mordecai still wore a sullen expression.
"Hey, you okay?" Rigby asked, when they were about halfway back to the park.
"I'm fine" Mordecai said, tersely.
"Are you sure? You look kind of down."
"Yes. Dude. Everything is cool" Mordecai said in an emphatic monotone.
For once, Rigby was compelled to hold his tongue.
"Okay" he said back. Though it looked like he dismissed it all, secretly, Rigby wasn't about to let the matter go so easily.
The rest of the day went by uneventfully, unusual for the duo who had grown accustomed to something out of the ordinary happening to them at least once or twice a week. They closed up the snack bar, (sneaking some of the uneaten food with them for later), and made their way back to the house.
Normally, they would make their own dinner, but they got lucky. When they walked into the kitchen, they saw Pops making pancakes. Pops, in his usual chipper tone, invited them to help out. The duo obliged. The three of them sat down at the table afterward and chatted between mouthfuls. When they finished, they made their way upstairs. Mordecai and Rigby said goodnight to Pops and went into their shared room.
The duo took turns showering before heading for bed. They said goodnight to each other and all was silent and still for a while. Mordecai hoped the footaches, headaches and heartaches he endured during the day would dissipate by morning.
"Hey . . . Mordecai?"
Mordecai inwardly sighed. "Yeah?"
"Uh, well . . . I've got to ask you something—something as one friend to another."
The dust in his eyes was just beginning to crust. Now partially awake, Mordecai rolled over groggily to face Rigby. Sometimes Rigby had one of those weird night thoughts that he felt he needed to talk about. He didn't mind, most of the time. But the mention of "as one friend to another" clued him in that he should probably pay a little more attention tonight.
"Sure, what is it?" he asked, yawning.
"Uh . . . how do I put this," Rigby began. He knew he was treading on thin ice when it came to what he was going to ask. Probably. But while he wasn't always the most lucid when it involved certain things, Rigby knew he had fairly good judgement, and he would never forgive himself if he saw Mordecai tread down a bumpy path that he could've stopped him from going down.
"Why do . . . no . . . is there . . . uh . . ." Rigby tried again.
Mordecai's eyes were gradually becoming more alert. Rigby didn't tend to stammer, usually doing so only when he was trying to say or ask something serious. Or, at least as serious as Rigby could be. Mordecai was too relaxed to be impatient, so he waited for Rigby to spit it out.
After an audible intake of air, Rigby said "How much do you like Margaret?"
Mordecai's eyes were now wide open. Of all the things Rigby could've asked, that was the last thing he was expecting. Mordecai felt anxious.
"Wha-what do you mean? What are you getting at?"
Rigby half groaned and half sighed, both in frustration and nervousness. He knew there was never going to be a right way of asking. "I don't know man, I mean . . . we've been going to the coffee shop for a while now, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out you really dig Margaret, and you still haven't asked her out or anything. But I've noticed how tongue tied you get when she talks to us, so something must be bothering you. I just want to know if you're all right."
Mordecai could've responded in a number of ways. He could've shrugged it off and made up some excuse. Or, he could've snapped and asked why his supposed friend was suddenly prying into his personal matters. But the fact Rigby seemed worried for him and looked like he really wanted to help him, and because he felt he was in a relaxed state of mind, (thanks to his bed, no doubt), it made him realize there was no point in not venting a bit, despite a part of him telling him not to and that he could deal with it on his own. He worked up enough courage to tell that part of himself to go away so he could talk to his friend.
Mordecai let out a long, defeated sigh. "It's a bit complicated, dude."
"You can tell me."
Mordecai became lost in thought for a moment, a single event crossing his mind that he had played many times over and over in his head. Back in high school a lanky, pimpled kid with a set of upper row braces had tried to ask a certain girl he liked out on a date.
It didn't end well.
When everyone found out, he became the butt of many jokes, and was harassed for even thinking he could be in the same league as someone above his social rung. It certainly didn't help that his appearance didn't start improving until after high school was over.
This kid wasn't disappointed in himself for having tried, (as the act of doing so showed a certain amount of courage, that is commendable in the context of school-life), but the reaction from everyone in school was blown so much out of proportion that he couldn't help being forced into a perpetual state of disinterest.
As such, he coasted through his college years without playing the game as it were, instead focusing most of his time on trying to be an artist. When that didn't pan out as well as he would have liked, he came to the conclusion he had missed out on many chances to experience the youthful pleasures of life, which become fewer the older one got.
And now this certain someone was at a crossroads in his life, working at a dead end job, waiting for something better to come his way. Waiting . . . and waiting . . .
"Well, let's just say my nerves get to me at the worst possible moments, and I wind up not knowing what to say."
"Just be blunt and ask her, dude. You can tell she's already into you, so it wouldn't be that hard."
"You really think so?"
"Totally. She'd probably be more receptive to you anyway, since you probably treat her better than the other guys who ask her out. At least when you're not clamming up, that is."
The last part stung Mordecai's self-esteem a bit, but he knew his friend was speaking the truth and couldn't help but smirk a tad.
"You speak as though you've had some experience in this sort of stuff" Mordecai said. "Have there been some hookups you haven't told me about?"
Rigby chuckled a bit. "Not really hookups. But I've asked a few girls out before. Managed to get past first base with one of them, but it never got that serious afterward."
"And what do you consider second base?"
"Making out," Rigby replied, matter of factly.
"I see."
The two stopped speaking for a moment. In the darkness of the room, lit faintly by the moonlight peeping through the blinds, another element to Mordecai's inner struggle surfaced in his mind. If his friend was already offering to help him out, he figured he might as well take any advice he could get.
"Well, let me paint a scenario. Have you ever encountered, what I guess you would call a settling-down girl? Like, the kind of girl you know is long-term relationship material?"
"Sure."
"The thing is, I'm not sure where Margaret is on the spectrum of long-term or short-term. And because I don't know, I get nervous, because I'm not sure what type of relationship I should prepare for."
"Well, what seems like the better option? What do you really want?"
"I don't know what I want" Mordecai said, confused and upset. Silence swept over as Mordecai curled up and faced away from Rigby. He seemingly lost the will to speak anymore.
Rigby knew his friend was in a rough patch, and hated seeing him like that. But the gears in his head were well oiled and turning, and he immediately knew what he had to do. He got up from his trampoline and walked over to Mordecai's bed. Mordecai was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice Rigby until Rigby put a hand on his shoulder.
"Tell you what, tomorrow I'm going to be your wing man."
"What?" Mordecai said sitting up, his blanket loosening its cocoon grip on him.
"You heard me. When we go to the coffee shop tomorrow, you're going to ask Margaret out. No ifs ands or buts about it. And I'll be there for moral support."
"Dude, I'm not ready for that yet."
"And when will you be?"
Crickets . . .
"Look, man, no one's ever ready. But you miss all the shots you don't take. So what if it will be short-term or long-term—you can plan all you want in advance, but the plans are useless if the work don't start."
"I guess you're right. But the only problem is that I don't know what to say half the time, like I can't talk."
"You talked to her earlier, didn't you? You did fine."
"Yeah, but that was casual stuff. Not the serious stuff that comes with asking someone out."
"It isn't as serious as you might think. Just be your normal, Mordecai-self, and she'll be receptive."
"But what if, on the off-chance, she's having a crappy day when I ask her? Then it would look like I'm bothering her."
"You're already setting yourself up for failure thinking like that. Dude, it's only a bother if you think it is. You're just asking her a question. No more, no less."
"Okay, I'll try."
"Good. And also, don't tell me you have problems talking—you talked to that jogger girl just fine."
Mordecai had almost forgotten about that.
"How do you know? You left out the back door when she came over."
"What, did you think I ran away while you talked to her? I was listening while hiding up against the wall."
"What are you? Solid Snake?"
"Uh, no—but I'm definitely a Solid Raccoon."
" . . . "
" . . ."
"Okay, even I'll admit, that was pretty bad" Rigby said.
"A fun kind of bad" Mordecai said with a small smile. His eyes and head looked less tense.
"Hey, my friend is back."
"Shut up" said Mordecai in a playful tone.
"You'll do fine, dude, and I'll be right there to help out."
"Thanks, dude, I'm glad I've got you as a friend." Mordecai knew it was a wishy-washy thing to say, and that Rigby usually brushed off that kind of stuff. But he meant it, and he was sure Rigby knew he did.
"I am pretty cool, aren't I?" Rigby said with a flex and a smile.
"And humble, too."
"Hehe . . . good night."
"Night."
They each went back to bed. Morning came quickly.
Upon waking, Mordecai felt rejuvenated.