Michael Afton: Outlived Purpose Chapter 46, a five nights at freddy´s fanfic

NOTES

haha. uh.

...

I'll explain where I've been at the end of this chapter; the only necessary information for right now is that there was a great hiatus, and then something of a second one after that.

Blah blah blah, what's relevant right this moment is that, because of such vacations, I've written some parts of this chapter (like the very beginning) WAYYYY before I wrote other parts.

The end result was a chapter, split between two different word platforms (word and FF), and quite literally in non-chronological puzzle pieces at some points.

Keep that in mind; to this day I'm feeling a little weird about it. By far the most editing I've ever had to do for a chapter, and I'm still not 100% there isn't some crucial stuff I've neglected to do still.

What parts were kept in, what parts got cut, what parts were *entirely redone*, what this chapter 'is' compared to how it was originally 'meant to be'. There's a lot that went into the actual, literal 'putting together' of this chapter; and over the timespan of its creation, some of it feels as if it was written by another author, and I'm only in charge of making my writing merge well with it.

Even now, I've got a few worries. If I had cut out every part I wasn't totally sure about, this chapter would be half the length it currently is; by far the worst offender being the very second scene, which I have come *SO* close to scrapping again and again (like, even yesterday, I got to work on this chapter with 'scrap that scene' on the top of my to-do list.).. But all in all, so long as I haven't deluded myself, the direction the chapter's finally pointing towards is one I think I'm happy with.

With how long the time period was between when I wrote some of these segments, I must regretfully ask that you take any redundancies, contradictions, and other things like that with a grain of salt; because they're a ton more likely to be in this chapter than ones in the past.

There was well over 70,000 words written in making this chapter, potentially WAY more, but the final result here is in the 48,000's. (And recently I've been telling people it'll be around 55,000. Yeah- I dare you to try and guess what monster of a part I decided to cut out in these last couple days.)

Here we go.

- Stoicism -

(Ne-ver Better~!)

.-.

..I'm not.. what I'd call 'the best person' to trusted with maintaining a firearm..

...

..But surely, to some degree, I can be spared at least a little of people's judgement for the shape this thing's in, considering how dirty and decrepit it already was when Arin gave it to me..

With a huffy sigh, I set the rag aside and stare blankly at the forlorn revolver in my lap.

...

I pick up the small bottle on the kitchen island I'm by.. Supposedly, despite my underwhelming results, the liquid it contains is good for cleaning firearms.

..And it probably is, but-.. This thing might just be beyond saving..

...

..I shouldn'tve tried to do this with one hand - that's where the mistakes began..

...

Whelp.

...

- crrkk –

I note the bathroom door opening into my subconscious, but pay it very little mind; most of my focus still routed to this thankless task.

...

..Thank God there's hardly any foreseeable futures where I have to shoot somebody.. 'Cause the longer I mess with this thing, the less confident I am that it will actually fire if I pull the trigger..

...

It's got some weight to it, though I suppose most guns do.. I really need to take the time to learn how to properly use this thing; every second I wield it without any practice is a hazard to just about everybody.

...

"..Is that a 'gun?'"

I lift my eyebrows and side-eye the demon that just paced into the room.

Roxanne's fur is still visibly a touch wet from the shower. She's fully clothed, but has a towel wrapped around the top of her head to dry her hair. I heard her footsteps heading this direction; I probably should have payed attention to them. In my head, I was just doing a menial task, but in hindsight, stumbling across the household's first firearm is something that'd definitely snag someone's attention away.

...

"No." I reply, slipping the gun into a nearby cabinet in the most obvious manner conceivable.

...

"You gotta start telling me about all this nonsense you keep getting into." Roxanne moans, dragging the towel over her face to rub it dry.

"I feel as if this goes without saying, but don't touch the gun."

"You're far more qualified, I'm sure."

"I'm a degree more informed, maybe, but what I really mean is 'two idiots messing with a gun is probably more dangerous than one idiot messing with a gun'."

"I feel zero need to touch that thing anyway – don't you fuggin' worry.."

My head follows her as she starts walking again, presumably heading for the stairs.

...

"..Also, accidentally shooting myself isn't as big of a concern for me as it might be for other people."

"I-, yes, that's great, Mike, but lets avoid shooting ourselves at all if we can help it, huh?" Roxanne huffs, dismissively lobbing the towel behind her on the floor like a six-year-old. "Is Friendo awake?"

"I have no idea where Friendo is."

"We really oughta know where Friendo is."

"He m-"

- THUNKAthUNKathunkathunkathunk..! –

...

Friendo just fell down the stairs.

...

"There he is." I helpfully thrum, pointing at the robotic carcass sprawled out on the carpet.

Before I can even finish my three-word sentence, however, Roxanne's already stepped over him and has continued up the stairs.

...

Man..

...

It's beautiful out here, but.. It's also bright.. Almost hard to believe that the beaming sky is the same as the cold and melancholic one Roxanne and I were watching last night.

I look up from my notebook, unable to ignore the glare at the top of my vision.

...

It's a beautiful morning out. And yes, it is morning.. Roxanne got a few hours of sleep, but not much; I was still awake when the sun poked over the horizon, and she only fell unconscious thirty minutes or so before..

Something about watching the sunrise made my brain decide it was wakey-wakey time, so I didn't sleep. I didn't try either, but I have a feeling any attempt would have only been a waste of time.

...

I'm out on the back porch, sitting on some forlorn backyard furniture that came with the house. No particular reason for me to be out here other than "it's nice outside". Basically just killing time until Roxanne finishes her morning routine. Whatever that entails.

...

Today's a free day. More or less. Only one particular errand I plan to run, but I can't imagine that entire expedition will have me out of the house for more than an hour tops.

...

I'm not really sure what Roxanne does in her free time, other than sit in front of a mirror.. And she did a lot of that back in the Pizzaplex, but..

..I dunno.. I kinda feel like Roxanne's changed a bit since the last time she had free time at the Pizzaplex. I struggle to imagine her 'basking in her beauty' in front of a mirror nowadays.

Not to say she doesn't still sit in front of a mirror for exorbitant amount of time, but now it's only for the duration that it takes her to prepare. No beauty basking.

Not at herself, at least.. Y'know-

For a reason I can't quite pin down, the memory of last night when Roxanne had her breath taken away by the Milky-Way and/or starlit sky, just..

..I don't know- It makes me feel happy. Maybe it's just that long-lasting heart-filling rejuvenation of watching someone you care about get lost in a wholesome, soulful experience. Especially Roxanne, considering how badly the world's been beating her down lately.

Remembering the sight of her eyes filled with an ageless wonder made me feel a little better, about everything. Helps me remember that she isn't beyond saving just yet.

...

I'm thinking too much.

I drop my pencil, propping my head up with my hand and admiring the dancing treeline.

...

..Went down that whole train of thought because I was thinking about how Roxanne doesn't bask in her own beauty anymore, but the beauty of.. I dunno. Other things, I guess.

Basking in her beauty is closer to what I was doing, honestly. Though I think I was just amused by the sight of her getting so absorbed.

...

..My stare clouds over after a second as I try to recall what I was busy doing out there.

...

I look down from the treeline, subconsciously moving my hand above my eyes as if I'm trying to pretend like I'm blocking out the sunlight, when in reality I'm trying to cover my face a bit.

...

Something about Roxanne being robed in the moon's everglow, like royalty. I remember the word 'beautiful' making an appearance a number of times.

Yeah – alright, now that I think about it, I feel like I remember thinking some embarrassing things.

...

The tranquility of the night must've put me in a mood.

Or maybe sleep deprivation.

...

- 'What' the-? –

"Whatcha doin'?"

The exact moment Roxanne's voice strikes my ears, I abruptly feel the bottom of her snout planted on the top of my head like a headrest as she peers down into my notebook to see what I've been doing.

"Jesus.."

"You looked all embarrassed. Was kinda hoping to find you drawing something embarrassing."

"Sorry - nope.. Just s'more ramblings of a madman.."

"That is what it looks like."

"It's what I'm good at."

Roxanne hums happily. Despite everything, she appears to be in a good mood this morning.

...

After a couple seconds of silence, Roxanne lifts her snout off my head.

Instead of anything normal, however, she then stands up and bends all the way over the chair I'm sitting in, until Roxy's upside-down face is all I can see. Her hair falls all the way down to my lap, almost curtaining us in.

...

"Good morning, Michael."

"Good morning, beagle."

"Sleep well?" Roxanne merrily exhales, standing up straight and gazing ahead into the lush woods.

"Like a stone." I drone, letting my head hang back a bit to spy up at her.

...

After a brief, peaceful silence, Roxanne quietly sniggers for seemingly no reason.

"You know what, maybe you were right.." She begins, resting her weight on the back of my chair. "World doesn't feel to bad this morning. Maybe I did just need a little sleep and sun."

"My miracle cure from time to time.. The morning sun does a good job of convincing you that things are alright.."

"Mm."

...

Eventually I return to jotting down the last couple words of a sentence I hadn't finished in my notebook, and Roxanne contentedly leans on the back of my chair while we enjoy a comfortable silence, listening to the distant song of the birds.

...

"How'd you sleep? I know it wasn't for quite as long as you'd probably like." I dismissively ask, for no other reason than to enjoy light conversation while I finish up my work.

"I'm feelin' refreshed. Nightmare, though."

"Mm, I'm sorry."

"It's nothing - I still feel like I got a good nights' sleep. It probably helped me be in a better mood this morning too, since I got to awake out of a nightmare I didn't wanna be in."

"You remember what it was about?"

"It'll sound a lot 'deeper' than it actually was." Roxanne dismissively explains, pulling another chair out from the dinky little porch table and moving to sit in it.

"That makes it sound interesting, at least." I reply, closing my notebook and sitting back in my chair.

Roxanne hums in acknowledgement, planting her elbow on the table and propping her head up with the corresponding hand; gazing thoughtfully into the swaying woodland.

...

"You had left. Which isn't a big surprise - that's what I keep stressing about all the time, so of course I dream about it here and again. But I think it took place long after you'd already gone. Like, months later. I was in the Pizzaplex, working like I always do. Everything was back to normal. Only you weren't there."

"M'kay.. Did something happen after that?"

"No." Roxanne replies matter-of-factly, shaking her head a little. "Nothing else. Everything was normal. It was just like it'd always been, before you arrived. Freddy was happy, Chica was happy, Monty was happy – Trudge was there, Arin was there.. I think they were all sad you left, but eventually they all just.. 'moved on'.."

..I cross my legs and continue listening, looking at Roxanne as if to maintain eye-contact, but she's still looking the other direction, into the woods.

"Mm.."

...

"But I didn't."

I feel a tired exhale escape my lungs. I knew she was leading up to that, but I'm not sure I'll ever get used to it for as long as I fail to understand it.

"look- I don't want to leave, and I don't intend to, so keep that in mind, but-.. Come on - Nothing? Even after everyone else did? How?" I ask through an exasperated breathy chuckle.

Roxanne scoffs, briefly looking at me with an amused side-eye before lazily leaning back in her chair and continuing to look outward into nature.

"Mike – how could I?"

"You've been fine without me before; you were happy at the Pizzaplex well before I was ever a part of your life."

"Yes, but, pff.. Back then my 'kicks' came from hearing the kids cheer, performing, successfully fixing a go-cart, ect.."

"You had all those things in the dream. Why was it not enough now?"

"Now?" Roxanne rhetorically parrots, crossing her arms and shifting in her chair to look at me for a bit. "'Cause for better or for worse, the things I 'experience' nowadays have actual meaning. Now I've seen the blood of my 'creator' soaked into your uniform. Now I've fallen down a cliff after the ground broke beneath my feet. Now I've literally fought you with my own two hands."

"Wolf-"

"Mike- Now I've had a taste of what a real life is. No 'acting'. No 'guardrails'. No safety-nets, or pretending; – Everything I did at the Pizzaplex was and is 'fun', but it's all 'fake'. It's all scripted, planned, executed – and I like it, but, y'know.. It was never really this." Roxanne emphasizes, holding her arms out like she's gesturing to either herself or the world around her.

"..Okay.." I dryly acknowledge, raising a brow.

"I understand whatever life I'm living right now sucks, and hurts, and it's always getting worse, but.." Roxy continues, shaking her head slightly while she struggles to find the words. "..But it's real."

"..I suppose.." I answer honestly, resting my head on the back of my chair with little success. "..ha- Though sometimes what happens nowadays feels so absurd that I really can't tell if actually *is* real or not.."

"I know- but you know what I mean, right?" She asks, with an almost alarming amount of investment in what she's talking about.

"I think so."

"Living a life so easy and effortless is nice, but after what you and I-'ve been through, it just isn't enough anymore.." Roxanne keeps droning on despite my answer. "..I mean- I wanna go back and perform like we used to, and I'm excited for it, but I just can't do that if you're not around to give me a real life at the same time."

I reply with quiet sarcastic scoff at nothing in particular.

"You're a machine, and I'm dead.. We have to be two the biggest insults to 'real life' there is. And I'm not sure either of us are really experts on the topic.." I begin, mostly just for banter; waving my hand dismissively at the yard while I continue. "I mean- Can we live a real life? Do we even know what that means?"

"Yes. 'Cause I've felt what living a fake life feels like, and now I know what the difference is."

"Alright, alright – I get it." I breathily chuckle, reaching back to scratch my head. "So that's why it was a nightmare? Life was just too boring without the troubles I brought with me?"

"It wasn't just 'boring', Mike – it's like there wasn't anything good enough to make me feel alive. It was all too hollow, or inconsequential."

"That sounds bad, and I mean no joke.. but surely that feeling couldn't be any worse than, I don't know.. Bleeding out on the floor of the Pizzaplex lobby?"

"It-, ugh.. I dunno, dude – I can't tell you what it felt like with words. It wasn't just 'boring', it.." Roxanne groans.

"Right- but what 'was' it, though..?"

...

"You left me more dead than you will ever know."

...

I sigh, gently turning my head the other direction to look at nothing in particular while I let my thoughts swim.

...

I don't get it. Not entirely..

Though it brings me face to face with the all-too familiar sinking feeling that, one day, I may just have to make a choice, and there is no right answer awaiting me when that time comes..

...

..-

Je-sus..!

For the second time today – in the last six minutes, even – my entire line of sight is startlingly consumed by a fat fuzzy face seven inches away from my nose.

Having expertly taken advantage of the four total seconds I zoned out to think, Roxanne stretched leaned her entire body across the table to plant herself right. fuckin'. there.

"Good lord - stop doing th-. What the hell's gotten into you this morning?" I chide, craning backwards as a reflex to the snout jumpscare.

"Too early for you to start your 'thinking' nonsense again. I'm feeling happy today, and you're gonna be dealing with the ramifications of that." Roxanne blithely hums.

"Riveting."

"You said today's our free day, Michael."

"Yeah, effectively."

"So~" Roxanne continues, reaching up and putting her hands on either side of my cranium as if to prevent me from moving my head. "Play with me."

...

"Play with you?"

"or- 'Do something' with me; Whatever – you know what I meant."

" 'Play with you.' " I face-punchingly parrot, wanting to drag out wherever that choice in verbiage came from.

"I-, Mike."

"I'm not letting you ignore that."

"Mike- I interact with kids all day – it's my job. They call those kinds of things 'play', it slipped out."

"You-"

- 'Thumpf!' –

...

Somewhere in the backyard, Friendo just fell out of a tree..

...

"You think he's really dead this time?" I quietly query, craning my neck to see the bot motionlessly splayed out in the grass.

...

"No." Roxanne replies, pushing herself off the table all the way until she's standing upright to see better.

...

"Do you w-?"

- fnk –

I turn to find Roxanne has returned inside and closed the sliding door behind her.

Hm..

...

"Roxanne." I call with a gruff, wishing I had a second arm to do everything with. Such as open the back door in addition to carrying literally anything.

"Whaaat?" She calls back from upstairs, presumably in one of the bedrooms up there.

I set my notebook and pencil aside with a lazy toss, before leaning on the wall next to the stairs while I casually yell up at her.

"Hey- I was thinking. We should really get you wrapped up today."

An angsty groan follows, right on que for how I expected this conversation to go.

"You need to stop *thinking*, Mike – it's always something bad or annoying for me."

"You think everything good for you is 'bad or annoying'."

"You have no idea what's good for me."

"Your cuts got really irritated last night, wolf – I think one more day of bandages after that would help me guarantee that you don't accidentally open one back up."

"Ugh."

I hear something -thunk- upstairs, like she put something down all huffy.

...

"We.. or- 'I' have something small to go do today, but I shouldn't be gone from the house for any more than an hour and a half; with generous rounding. You can come if you want."

"Godammit."

"Mm."

"What could 'possibly' be on your to-do list on a day like this?"

"A few things, all condensed into one small trip to the Pizzaplex."

"Fun."

"Wanted something from Arin's house that I never got to take home since we left in a hurry. Asked him about it, n' told him I needed to run to the Pizzaplex anyway, so he's leaving it with our old friend Icarus for me to pick up."

" .."

"Yeah – didn't think you'd be too thrilled about that.." I reply with a quieter callout. "That's why I'm saying you can stay here. I know you'd usually prefer to come with, but.. I don't really know what you think about Icarus."

"I don't *think* about Icarus, at all." Roxanne replies, as if being a little petty. "..I'm going. I'll be down in a minute.."

...

"..Oh- I'm also dropping my old metal arm off there, for Freddy. Talked to him – giving it to him so he can reverse engineer it or use it as a base or something; anything that might help him develop another arm for this poor purple fool."

I hear another sigh, followed by some ruffles upstairs.

Following distant carpeted footsteps, Roxy pops into view at the top of the stairs. She doesn't come down right away, only staring at me with what I can only describe as her regular 'mildly-perturbed' expression.

I stare back up, blinking once or twice.

...

"Do you ever get that feeling where you wanna go home, and being home doesn't make go away?" Roxanne asks, her tone completely unchanged from how she normally speaks, making me unable to identify the nature of this question.

"..Well – maybe the Pizzaplex will feel more like home than this." I reply, holding my arm out to gesture to the house.

"I don't think so, but do you know what I mean?"

"Where home doesn't give you the feelings it should?"

"Yes."

You have no idea.

"I think so. Is that how you're feeling?"

"Maybe. Home felt like Arin's house for a minute, so I think it's just wherever my family is.." Roxanne mindlessly continues, looking down while she descends the staircase.

"That sounds reasonable." I suspiciously concur, stepping aside and watching her walk past me.

Roxy arbitrarily decides that to be a good place to end the conversation, leaning her whole body over the kitchen island to grab whatever's on the nightstand in the living room.

...

"Here- I got them.." Roxanne huffs as she turns back around, looking down at the opened roll of bandages in her hand.

"You'll need to wrap yourself up on your own this time. It's not hard – I know you've done it before."

"What..? No- I want you to do it." She simply 'announces', outstretching her arms to hold the bandages out in my general direction.

"I can't, not with one arm." I reply, holding my hand up dismissively. She looks back down at her own hand with a dejected sigh before I'm even finished talking, evidently remembering this issue just before I was finished explaining it.

"mn.."

...

I mindlessly pace after her as the canine marches onward into the living room. With no objective in mind, I simply stand off near the entrance to the room while she lazily pulls a stool out from underneath the island to sit on while she works.

"I'm sure you're faster at putting them on yourself at this point anyway, no matter how many limbs I've got."

"I just like it when we both do it." Roxanne replies automatically, already beginning the wrapping process.

"Sorry to deny you your pampering, princess."

"It gives us a reason to talk for a while – I like it when we talk."

I stifle an amused huff, entertained by how far we've come. A long time ago, she'd turn red as a beet whenever she admitted enjoying any aspect of my presence whatsoever, directly or indirectly.

"We don't always talk about fun stuff. We don't usually talk about fun stuff."

"I know, that's fine. Maybe we're talking about more serious things nowadays, but I like how it always gives our talks meaning. No icebreakers or small talk."

"..Y'know – you were awfully smiley and coy two or three minutes ago when we were outside; now you're all stoic and introspective." I note, formatting my tone as light banter.

Roxanne side-eyes me for a few seconds, before shrugging at me with an apathetic "no idea, Mike" body language.

A couple finishing thoughts bounce telepathically between our eyes, comfortably wrapping up our conversation without saying a word.

...

"Y'know, wolf, you're.. a little turbulent.." I find myself unintentionally commenting out loud, tilting my chin up a little in thought.

..Roxanne's gaze seems to go blank for a few seconds as she attempts to comprehend what I mean, gradually slowing the wrapping movement until she curiously side-eyes me again.

...

"..I don't know what that's supposed to mean for me." She replies after a moment.

"Do you ever feel like you catch your mood swinging here and again..?"

In all honestly, sometimes it feels like her personality entirely, not just her mood.

...

"No, but.. I mean- I'm never really paying attention to it either. Why?"

"Nothing.. Sometimes I just wonder if I'm losing my mind or if your temperament might have a habit of fluctuating every now and again.."

"Has it been?" Roxanne asks, turning her head toward me as if interested in whatever I'm trying to say.

...

..I felt my natural urge to dismiss it with a 'No, probably not' or something to that effect.. But, even with small things like this, I do think it's about time I start figuring out how to tell her the truth at every possible opportunity..

...

"Yeah. Here and there."

...

..Roxanne's eyes drift from mine for a second, subconsciously looking at a couple things around the room in my direction before returning her sights to me in silence.

...

"Mike- I still don't really know what that means."

"..What?"

"I don't-.." Roxanne shrugs, eyes calmly darting for a moment as she tries to find the words. "..Like- I don't know what I'm supposed to feel toward that."

...

"I don't know either."

"Like- is it bad..?" She asks, holding her arms out a bit to emphasize the question.

"I don't know. Not inherently, I don't think. It's just something I think I've noticed.. I don't remember it happening at all at first – that's the main reason I care about it."

"Has it been bad before?"

"Very infrequently. Only time I can argue that it might've made anything worse is last night – I started having a panic moment, and you got way more stubborn and apathetic than I've almost ever seen you; and only a short time before that when you were telling me your real thoughts, you were, like.. maternal, is the best way I can describe it. Something I don't remember you ever being before."

"I-, Mike – I just 'get' stubborn sometimes, you know that." Roxanne huffs, evidently unhappy with these memories being brought up. "I don't like thinking I fucked something actually important up, so when I see that I might've, I get defensive. Sorry."

"No, I'm-.. I'm not scolding you or anything, I just meant it seemed a little out of character at the time."

"I didn't even-.. I still don't even really know what the hell a 'panic-attack' is, I didn't know how serious I was supposed to be. Of course I didn't seem normal – I had no idea what I was supposed to be d-"

"Wolf."

The moment I interrupt, Roxanne erupts a fussy huff and whips her body back away from me in her chair, continuing to do her work with the bandages without facing me.

..I watch her for a few moments, the stretchy sound of the bandage roll being pulled quietly filling the living room..

...

"Sorry." I lightly express. Roxanne dismissively shakes her head with an exhale, staring down at what she's working on.

"I don't even know what you're sorry about. I don't even know why I'm upset."

"Maybe I shouldn'tve used that example so lightly on the day we're supposed to unwind." I casually continue, putting my remaining hand in my pocket.

Roxanne gazes over her shoulder at me, though I get no connection when our eyes meet. I see her mind churn.

Thoughtful eyes, scanning me for surface information, but deliberately making no effort to open a telepathic communication between us.

...

"You look nice today.. It takes a special kind of mind to put together a pleasant outfit out of old clothes I'd more or less forgotten about." I comment, averting eye contact for a moment to traverse to the living room sofa without stumbling over anything.

Roxanne peacefully scoffs under her breath, calmly turning around again to wrap herself up some more.

"This isn't even my 'outfit' – this is just whatever was comfortable and simple enough for me to wrap myself up in."

"Maybe I just like the simplicity."

"I'm not going out like this for you."

"You know that's not what I meant." I reply with an amused exhale, sitting politely on the sofa for a minute before succumbing to letting the cushion mold around me. "I know crop-tops are what you're familiar with, but I'd advise against one today too. The cold'll bite if you stay outside wearing something like that for long enough."

"I'm not gonna – I just put it on so I didn't have to lift my shirt to wrap these things around my torso."

"I know, I figured – I just also noticed you have an affinity for those kinds of clothing over others; don't want you trying to sacrifice some comfort for style points for some reason.."

"I'm not obsessed with crop-tops – they're just what I'm used too.. I have fur, too. Anything long-sleeve is usually fine but it starts to feel like I'm wearing two shirts after a while."

..Y'know – I could have sworn Roxanne used to hate the cold at one point.

"..I didn't know being 'used' to something applied much to clothing.. It's not like being 'used to' a hammer or some other tool; whatever you're wearing probably isn't gonna effect your performance by all that much."

"The clothes I wore almost exclusively all my life was my crop-top uniform until you hobbled your paranormal ass to the Pizzaplex. I'm not saying I suffer when I'm wearing something else - these just feels a little more familiar, and therefor a little more comfortable."

"I see."

...

..Decidedly satisfied with how that conversation played out, we both sit in comfortable silence for a few moments while she finishes up her activity.

...

"Why the hell do you even-..?" Roxanne abruptly mutters, holding her arms up for a moment to look down at herself.

"..?"

"Why do you even have crop-tops? I'm the only other person – much less 'woman' – who's ever even been in this house, right?"

"Right. Other than my wife, of course.

"Yeah-fuckin-right, dipshit; nice try." Roxanne exhales, half to me and half to herself.

"Sorry." I hum. "But yeah – those were for someone else."

"Who?" She asks, tearing off an end to the bandages and finishing up the process of wrapping an arm before blanking a moment, turning over her shoulder to look at me. "..Mike - Who?"

"Someone else - I can't think of another answer that'll actually mean something to you. I can give you a name, I guess - but you wouldn't recognize it." I defensively shrug in response to her slight increase in energy.

"Who were they 'to you' that resulted in their clothes ending up in your house?" Roxanne slightly emphasizes, pointing at the floor as if to show me where my house is.

"Most of them were for someone I never actually interacted with, almost at all; but.. they were kind of like a relative. Someone made them for their daughter, but they never got to use 'em, and a lot of their stuff fell into my hands. I don't even think that was intended to be a crop-top, actually.."

"Jesus Christ – just say 'old relative' next time."

"Rox- I'm positive I told you that I've never been in a relationship before, several times. I know I've said that to you in the Pizzaplex at least twice." I banter, tilting my head an inch.

"Mike- You've told me *all sorts of shit* over the year at the Pizzaplex, but I can count on one hand the amount of times you've said shit that wasn't a fat fuckin' lie. "

Ah - yeah, ouch, alright..

"Alright, alright - Sorry.." I sheepishly turn my gaze elsewhere, I was not expecting her to be actually annoyed or serious about this topic. I thought it was just banter.. "I've been trying to get better about that recently.."

Roxanne's eyes go blank for a second in response to my uncertain tone, before she looks over her shoulder at me as if to defuse something.

"I know."

"S-"

"Mike - I know you're trying. You *are* doing a lot better with that now; I wasn't trying to accuse you." Roxanne quickly refutes any ill-meaning she had in her previous words. "I was just saying.."

Perhaps both of us are horrible with word choice, then.

"Why would it matter to you so much whether or not I had a past relationship anyway?"

"Because I really like the idea that you and I are special to each other in a 'experiencing a new thing and working through it together' kind of way." Roxanne replies, pointing between us a couple times.

"What do you mean?"

"I never really opened up to anyone because I wanted my public image of me to be people's only image of me, and you sure as hell weren't jumping at any chances to make friends."

"I suppose..?"

"I'm just saying – I kinda like how you and I first broke those old habits with each other. I first opened up to you, and you first opened up to me. It feels special. We get to experience making and maintaining an actual, meaningful relationship for the first time, together."

"..Alright.. Yeah – I guess I can see that.." I idiotically ponder, looking up at nothing in particular. "..Like.. taking your first Spanish class with a friend, instead of taking it alone with the help of a friend who's already done it."

I don't know who I was trying to help with that analogy, but it was stupid. Thank god Roxanne likes my stupid.

"I'll have to trust that makes sense, 'cause I have no fuggin' idea what that feels like." Roxanne dismissively returns to her work.

"Whatever- I mean I get it. Or something close to 'it'." I respond, chuckling at Roxanne's response. "Like, how it'd probably be more outright useful to have a friend who's taken spanish already. But, taking it with a friend for the first time.. There's something special about that.. You get to see them in class, sit next to them, do schoolwork and homework together; your struggles become our struggles, and you get to fight through them together. There's memories to be made."

..I see Roxanne thinking about what I'm saying.. Her body language hasn't changed, but I can see it in her eyes as she works.

...

After a suspicious amount of time, she seems to subtly nod her head to herself, as if having successfully acquired an understanding from the experience I hypothesized.

But I also see something else in those eyes. Something a little somber – highlighted by her decision not to verbally continue the conversation after that.

For a moment, it looks like apathetic distaste.

But almost immediately after, it devolves into a simple disciplined longing.

...

"I can almost see the world you're fantasizing through your eyes." I call out, lightheartedly interrupting the wolf's daydreaming.

She doesn't move her head, only side eyes me with a neutral emotion I can't quite identify. A short while later, her eyes return to her work as she quietly breathes in for whatever she's going to say next.

"..I guess you didn't really get that much of a school experience either, huh.." Roxanne almost mutters, as if trying to turn the longing into empathy.

"I was young enough to not really consciously register most of it; I don't remember a whole lot."

"Most of the kids say they don't like it."

"I'm sure they didn't – it isn't until the later years of it that the flow of memories actually starts being made.. But, on the other hand, I suppose it's easy to miss school when you're not actively in it."

"Mm.."

...

"I don't think it's something you should feel like you missed out on, wolf." I reassure, casually but with some sincerity.

"It's your fault I feel this way." Roxanne chuckles, finishing up the last step of her process. "I was doing just fine working through my problems on my own, but then you came along and showed me how it feels to struggle alongside somebody else; now I dunno if I can give it up."

"Mm." I hum, letting my head rest on the back of the couch cushion. "..Yeah; well- who knows.. Maybe, with an unfathomable amount of luck, you won't have too."

...

"I look like a victim of a horrible plane crash."

"Looping big white bandages across your body does look like overkill.." I concur without opening my eyes. I've thought this exact same thing before, actually..

"You wouldn't think I'm covered in head to toe in these things just 'cause I've got a million little papercuts that I don't wanna irritate."

"They're more than papercuts, wolf; some of them far worse than others."

"Maybe when I first got them, yeah – but they're healing fine. They closed themselves up. They just kinda look like.. notable scratches now."

"Mm.. You still take the medicine?"

"..Well- yeah, I mean, fuggin'.. A million little papercuts all over yourself would still hurt, even if they aren't serious injuries or anything,."

"Sure, sure - I was just curious."

...

I haven't quit resting my eyes yet, which is admittedly a little dangerous for someone who hasn't gotten proper rest in a little too long. I don't see what Roxanne's doing, but I noted that the sound of the bandages unfurling stopped a small while ago. I think she finished.

..Guess that means we're ready to roll, but.. No rush today..

...

I hear Roxanne shift in her chair, turning herself, presumably to look at something. Me, probably.

I've got nothing I need to show her right now though, so I don't respond with any kind of movement or change in my behavior.

...

- scoff –

That bodes poorly.

...

"I'm taller than you.." Roxanne comments.

"..By a little, sure..?" I suspiciously concur after a delay, cracking my eyes open to look at her to try and distinguish the nature of that observation.

Roxanne only chortles under her breath, as if something about her being taller than me is simply ridiculous.

...

"You and all of your nonsense makes you seem larger than life sometimes.. It'll feel like the entire world revolves around you; like you somehow have something to do with everything that actually matters." Roxanne continues, stepping off the barstool and pacing up in front of the couch I'm on.

"..?"

"But if I stare at you long enough, or watch you move for a few minutes.." Roxanne continues, bending at the waist to bring herself to eye-level with me. "..I'll eventually start to see you're not all that big after all.. I'm taller than you, even."

"I'm not entirely sure I'm caught up with whatever you're trying to demonstrate."

"I'm not demonstrating anything – I'm just saying, you're weird." Roxanne lightheartedly rebukes, bending at the waist to meet my eye-level as I sit. "How can someone so big be kept in a body that small?"

...

"How long ago did you take your medicine..?" I ask, admittedly a little arbitrarily.

"..Like- half an hour ago. Why?"

"You seem.. a little loopy right now.. Maybe we should wait like an hour or something to go anywhere."

..Roxanne furrows her brow, not moving from how she's bent.

...

"..What- do the pills make me 'loopy'..?"

"They make you drowsy. They're real-deal painkillers; light narcotics."

"I don't know what that word means."

"It means they make you drowsy."

"Do I seem sleepy?"

"You seem a little 'loopy' – they're probably just now getting into their full effect."

...

..Eventually, Roxanne shakes her head like she's saying 'whatever', standing up straight and looking down at me like an idiot.

"I don't feel sleepy. But we can wait if you want, I don't really care."

"You'll feel it soon."

"Yeah – whatever." Roxanne dismissively replies, backpedaling a couple steps until turning around completely to wander off somewhere. "You can sleep if you want – I've got shit I wanna do on a free day."

"..Mm.."

...

Sixteen minutes have passed. I have not moved from the couch.

Roxanne has, in fact, moved to the touch.

She turned on the living room TV and laid out horizontally on the sofa, somehow managing to slither her head onto my leg to use as a headrest while I was typing on my phone, finishing a text. Despite Roxanne's recent emphasis on how alert she is, her cozy body language and droopy eyelids as she watches the television with glazed eyes leads me to believe she is, in fact, incredibly drowsy.

I don't nag her about it, regardless of how amusing it might be. It's very possible that she really wasn't all that sleepy a short time ago – narcotics are no joke when they finally kick in.

I take the time to proof-read the text I'm sending. I don't usually send people paragraphs, but Arin has been asking me for my thoughts on a few things regarding how we handle our eventual re-opening.

..It's kind of funny, actually.. A lot of what he's been asking me are things he could reasonably come up with an answer for himself; he just likes to confirm with me, I guess.. Either that or Cooper was actually pulling a lot more weight as the CEO than he led me to believe, and now Arin's left swamped.

I kind of doubt it. Cooper was alarmingly good at organizing events and whatnot, but for the most part, what made him such a fitting choice as the CEO was his character. He'd bend over backwards to fill the requirements of anything his employees needed, whether it be a short-notice day off or generously providing extra pay or bonus to those he thought needed it due to their home-life conditions; which is incredible, because that means he knew what everyone's home-life was like.

In the end, I think that's what made Cooper such a meaningful CEO. He was impossible not to like. He did right by everybody, and went the extra mile in every single case where a specific employee interaction or agreement went down.

He wasn't perfect, sure.. He was perhaps a little too big a fan of the bottle, but at least he was just as charismatic and pleasant drunk as he was sober. Still, I'm fairly confident I remember him driving while drunk once or twice, which is a pretty big no-no.. And while he was exceptional at putting effort towards his employees needs and lives, Cooper had a tendency to be a little lazy and goofy about his actual business responsibilities.

But, as dopey as he was, that old man had an bright fire of passion in that old beating heart of his,.

...

A fire that burned just a little too bright.

...

With a dismissive flick of the thumb, I send my reply, confidently deciding the grammatical prowess of my paragraph is a stalwart and uncompromising "good enough."

My phone falls from my hand, onto the couch below it. Roxanne's ear twitches at the muted sound of my phone colliding with the couch cushion.

I thoughtlessly look at the television for a second, checking out what Roxanne found to watch, until very quickly realizing that Roxanne didn't really choose to watch anything either – she simply turned the TV on and let the changing colors of the television screen do the work keeping her awake for her.

..Little does she know, apparently, that the TV actually does quite an outstanding job at lulling people into sleep.. I'm not sure if Roxanne's figured that out yet or has simply given in, knowing she's just waiting for a little bit of time to pass anyway.

...

..Roxanne huffs loudly, obviously exaggerating the sound like a wild deer to express dissatisfaction with something.

Before I'm able to find a way to make fun of her, Roxanne lifts a hand backwards over her head and onto my lap, patting around for something.

I watch mindlessly for a few seconds, before something in the back of my head clicks, and I move my arm from my side to the center of my lap, hovering it off my legs a little bit for her to find.

Sure enough, getting a little huffy she couldn't find anything, she eventually lands her hand on my arm with a slap, before patting it down until she finds my wrist and grabbing on there. Then she shamelessly drags it through the air until my open palm lands on the top of her head between her ears.

With a victorious(?) and drowsy huff from her nose, she releases my arm and moves it back to where it was; continuing to watch the colors of the television without bothering to turn them into comprehensive shaped.

...

I'd move it an inch, and Roxanne almost immediately catapults her hand back on top of mine and furrows her brows, applying pressure down to keep my hand where it is.

...

"..I'm not moving it off, I'm just moving it.." I half-whisper down to her.

Roxanne tilts her head upwards until she's glaring at me upside down. Not in a particularly hostile way, but in a way that says she'll be unhappy/disgruntled if I move my hand.

Though soon after, the gears in her head register the words I've spoken, and her expression softens slightly; though not all the way. Lord knows acknowledging she may have jumped the gun is something beyond her.

..Not that I'm particularly immune to such a fault either, I suppose.

Roxanne lets her hand fall as she comes to terms with the fact that I don't intend to move my hand, but she doesn't look away yet.

I respond with a small quick ruffle of her hair, as if reassuring her. Somehow, that communication seemed to go through, and she resets her resting position and closes her eyes with a mildly content sigh.

...

I gradually let my head lay back on the couch cushion, nothing else to do but wait for time to pass. It's peaceful, and despite the recent 'everything', I'm not feeling too dreadful today. There's always gonna be the subtle nagging worries and stresses of whatever larger nonsense we're knee deep in, but I'm feeling pretty good today, at least relatively.

Today's gonna be alright. We got a chore or two to run, but this still more than qualifies as a 'day off' for both of us. Maybe we'll even enjoy being out and getting stuff done.

...

I close my eyes, as if trying to focus harder on that thought and internalize it.

...

-.-._.

-._.

.-..

...

I awoke peacefully, motionlessly. Not a single movement other than opening the eyes and staring at the ceiling.

My grip on reality comes quickly – must not have been out for very long.

Thoughts already beginning to spin in response to my regained consciousness, I blink once or twice with a long delay between them; eyebrows raised a bit as I feel my heart beat the energy back into my body.

...

I just had a dream.

...

Not one of the peculiar lucid dreams, or whatever those should be called; I mean an actual, literal dream.

For a moment it feels like I have a phantom limb, my missing arm tingling slightly as if it should still be there. And in the arm still present, I curl and uncurl my fingers a few times, no longer feeling the weight of a heavy blade in its grasp.

It feels a little childish to be reminiscing in the feelings of the fantasy I was living in briefly, but I'm giving myself a pass this once on account of not having had a real actual dream in as long as I can remember.

...

It almost makes me smile a bit; I'm not entirely sure I could identify why. It's like falling for a light prank or a cheap scare and laughing about how fooled you were. For a moment, I really was a knight in heavy rusted armor, and I didn't even question it.

What exactly the plot of the whole thing was has already slipped quite a bit, but I remember Roxanne was there, like we were traveling companions. Or like she decided to come travel with me, forsaking a safe stationary lifestyle to life the adventurous and dangerous one I was living with me.

...

..Fantasy or not, I don't think it was all rainbows and wonder – the only setting I can remember is sitting around a campfire at night after a particularly rough night of the 'real world' while Roxanne was coming back with wood or something. I was zoned out staring at the fire, feeling some kind of deep but slow periodic throb of worry for the wolf after the day we had.

I think I'd been adventuring and facing adversity most of my life, and the rare occasional day of extra hardship was something I had made peace with. But not Roxanne. I was worried because the whole 'life of danger' thing was new to Roxanne, and I could see that the days where our lives flashed before our eyes were starting to chip away at her confidence to be able to keep doing this with me.

It only added to the growing desperation she's bottling up and hiding in her eyes.

I guess it puts it a little more into perspective. Roxanne's hiding it well, but she's cracking a little, bit by bit, and that terrifies her. If she loses the confidence and will to keep fighting with me, she'll lose the one thing she thinks she can't live without anymore.

Whether that thing is me, the rush of it all, a real life, or the feeling that she's involved in something that matters.. I don't really know.

...

With a huffy sigh, I lift my head up, and begin to push off the couch.

- Phunk –

Shit.

...

Roxanne was still asleep using my legs as support for part of her upper body.

I have stood up. My legs are vertical.

Roxanne is on the floor, no longer asleep; frozen with saucer eyes from the shock of being woken up via a 2-foot drop.

...

"I'd help you up if I didn't think touching you meant a swift death."

...

"Mike, I-.. If I wasn't on painkillers, I'd eat your fucking jugular."

"Did you hit the coffee table on the way down?" I ask, bending down to yank her back up; little worried that if she did hit the corner of the table, the pain'll still be pretty damn spicy once the adrenaline wears off.

"No, stop touching me."

"I'm helping you up."

"You've helped enough, rotsack."

Roxanne bats my hand away with light whaps when I try to reach down any further. So be it.

"Fine – get up on your own."

"I'm not trying to get up; Stop.. You're taking the blanket with you, stop moving."

"You're not staying down there either – what's your plan?"

"It's carpet."

"What's carpet-, the floor?"

"Yes the fucking floor, moron – give me t-"

"You are not sleeping on the floor; I'll forget and trip over you."

"Mike – unhand the fucking blanket."

Roxanne's been lightly tugging the blanket down, but I've been holding it up still where I'm standing to encourage her to get up and sleep somewhere besides the floor.

"You've got quite the sailor's mouth for someone who performs in front of children for a living."

"You've got quite the fuckin'-.. Gimmie."

"Get back on the couch, at least. I'm not gonna accidentally knock you off this time."

"I'm fine. Give."

"You're not sleeping on the floor."

"That's it."

Roxanne yanks hard, pulling me down a little and her up an equal amount; meeting in the middle via Roxanne's grip leaving the blanket and grabbing my wrist.

Still not used to the imbalance of missing an arm, I nearly tumble down on the floor with her when she tugs.

"Ho-ly hell."

"Now *we're* sleeping on the floor."

"I just woke up - let go of me."

"So did I."

"I woke up naturally. You fell off a couch."

"You're not winning this."

"I have one arm – you're harassing a cripple.." I huff, tugging myself upright some, but Roxanne's right. I'm not used to the lopsided-ness, and I'm working with half the arm muscles she's using to pull me down.

Roxanne's grip actually lightens a bit as she outright laughs some, presumably at the incredibly half-hearted attempt at a 'joke' I just made.

"Hey~ you know what, you should park at the disabled parking spaces at the Pizzaplex now - they're right next to the door. That's exciting."

"Marginally less enthralling than having a second arm."

"Yeah- well you're obviously not very responsible with one; maybe this is better for everyone, huh?"

"Yeah yeah – sorry.. You know I d-"

"I'm just fucking with you, purple knight -Get down here."

"Purple knight does not roll off the tongue."

"I'm not calling you that because it's convenient for you."

"You d-"

"Floor."

- Flump -

Ho-ly shit. Floor.

...

Hhuff-..

...

..Every once in a while Roxanne will remind me that she is just ever so slightly taller than me by subconsciously putting something she was holding on a shelf that I have to stretch a bit to reach..

"Do I look like I'm wearing a costume?"

Roxanne waltzes into Friendo's 'room', where I'm putting a few things back where they're supposed to be.

"..What?" I reply over my shoulder, looking at her with a furrowed brow with my arms still raised up towards the high shelf.

"Like, with the bandages."

"Do your bandages make you look like you're wearing a costume?"

"Yeah."

"They make you look like a critically injured hospital patient that wandered out of their room and got lost."

"Okay." Roxanne responds utterly nonchalant, backing right back out of Friendo's room without so much as looking up from her wrapped arms.

I stare at the door for a few more seconds, my arms raised like a kid reaching for the cookie jar, barely able to comprehend that Roxanne took that answer seriously.

...

Mmkay.

I finish doing what I was doing with my arms, backing up a few steps before heading to the 'bedroom' door myself.

I dunno where Friendo is. Around, surely – it hasn't been hardly any time since I've seen him last. He might still be outside, falling off things.

...

I find myself halting at a peculiar sight upon the door.

This door right here is older than just about every other one in the house, and as a result, the way it locks is different than the other doors. Not any better or worse – just a different design. A small tab on the doorknob itself that you slide left or right slightly to lock and unlock the door.

Or it was; but now that tab is slightly crooked and shows signs of recent wear.

...

After 4 seconds of deep thinking as to what this symbolism could possibly mean, I deduce that the real mystery behind why the lock looks the way it does it because 'Friendo got interested in the door lock and fucked with it until it broke'.

..Thankfully, God appears to be distributing divine retribution upon him today by making him fall off of something every ten minutes.

I quietly sigh, but it's not an entirely unpleasant sigh.

...

"mike - let's GOOoo~..!"

I'm coming, I'm coming..

Closing the door behind me, I let muscle memory take me toward the stairs while I look out into the kitchen and living room to see where Roxanne is, for no particular reason. But, once I turn my head back straight, I instead find her walking out from the hallway that leads to the downstairs bathroom and front door; pulling the small collar of her shirt up tight as if trying to button it.

Toying with that thought in my head, I turn to head up the stairs and grab a quick change of clothing myself, before finding a relatively plain and slightly plaid button-up shirt already lying on the stairs before me; still with its hanger.

It's a little charming; like we're an old couple getting ready for morning church.

Unfortunately, that's not quite what we're doing, and this set-up is a little ridiculous because of it. Not that I'm entirely against the gesture. I lean back a bit to poke my head out from the stairway.

"Hey- You look nice, Rox; but with you wrapped up like that, 'being seen' is something we're going to be keeping to a relative minimum."

Roxanne glances up at me from her buttons, not moving her head.

"..Yeah - I know. I'm not trying to impress anybody with our looks today, this is just 'bare minimum' stuff for going out of the house."

"Mm. Well.." I reply, leaning back forward to the shirt on the stairs. "..Your idea of 'bare minimum' may extend beyond mine."

"Whatever you say." Roxanne hums dismissively, pacing into the kitchen; still struggling with the buttons. "I laid a shirt out for you."

"I see it."

"Throw it on and we'll go."

...

"Button-up seems a little excessive for a 'bare minimum'." I hum, removing the shirt from the hanger and stepping off the staircase.

"You like button-ups. You always wear them." Roxanne lightly defends, glancing up at me.

"I know. A plain t-shirt would've worked just as well, though – I just thought it was funny how a button-up was your first choice for a run like this."

Roxanne looks at me like I'm slightly exasperating her; though my eyes are glued to the shirt I'm preparing to dawn.

...

"You look *nice* in button-ups." She defends with a small huff, holding her arms out from her sides a little bit.

"Thank you - but I'm not going out to be seen by anybody though, right?" I banter back, setting the shirt side for a second and tugging up a bit at the collar of my current one.

"I'm still going to see you."

"Alright, alright.."

Roxanne quietly exhales with a seemingly victorious huff, looking down to her own clothing and pulling it straight to rid of wrinkles.

A moment later, she walks past me to reach across the island for my keys for me. I hum absent-mindedly, now buttoning the new shirt I just put on.

"It's nice to know this purple man can still look half-decent from time to time.." I mutter out loud in light jest.

"Passable is passable by definition."

That fits with her dry humor for situations like this, but a portion of me can't help but wonder if she's not kidding..

Not that I deserve much better – I put about as much care into my appearance as professionally acceptable. Anything beyond that feels like putting make-up on a pig, considering my slightly-off appearance; a consequence of 'being dead.'

The way the early(ish) sun tints the room a slight shade of orange is therapeutic while we go about the last steps of our minimal preparation in a cozy silence. The lights inside aren't turned on, since the light coming in through the many windows that face in the direction of the morning sun give us far more than enough natural light to see everything inside; permitting the light that exists to be this warm color that the interior lights would usually overpower.

...

- k-Thunk –

...

I raise a brow at Roxanne.

"..I'll bet you a dollar that was Fr-"

"Of course that was Friendo, the dumb fuckin-.. Did that come from outside?" Roxanne huffs, Marching away to the front door to look out the window; endearingly showing a rare glimmer of concern for our endoskeleton friend since the sound this time resembled metal on concrete, like on a driveway or something.

The front door is just out of sight from my angle, so I only silently release an amused exhale and look down at myself to contentedly go about tucking my shirt in.

...

After seven or eight seconds, the sound of Roxanne breaking down into a small quiet chuckle echoes from the small hall the front door's in.

"'I'll bet you a dollar that was Friendo'.." Roxanne parrots my statement from earlier, chortling slightly through the whole sentence as she absent-mindedly wanders back into the kitchen and stairs area.

"..?"

"What are either of us gonna do with one dollar?" Roxanne continues, smiling while she works on tying her hair like she's still pleasantly amused.

"Have it, probably. Take satisfaction in the other person not having it."

"There's some value in that, I suppose."

"You reacted to that muse incredibly late.." I chuckle back, patting away what wrinkles I can out of my shirt now that it's been tucked in.

"I have a feeling you get stupid sentences past me all the time without me noticing, and this was just one of the rare occasions where I do catch it." Roxanne claims rather confidently, for better or for worse.

Not long after, I see Roxy side-eye me for a moment after she's done tying up her hair.

...

"I'm ready when you are." I declare, guessing that's what Roxanne's looking at me about.

...

"..I forgot you only have one hand.. You managed to get everything on real quick for being without a second upper appendage."

"I've figured out a few tricks. Still doesn't come to me as naturally as having both my arms, obviously, but I can handle myself pretty easy.."

"You can ask me for help, you know." Roxanne mentions nonchalantly, lightly grabbing my shirt on either side of my midsection and tugging it down a bit to remove even more wrinkles.

"I got it on without any trouble, wolf – I don't need to bother you over something like this that I can handle on my own."

"It's not a chore. Doesn't take any effort from either of our sides, and given the choice, I think I'd prefer going out into public with a man who looks close-to capable of dressing themselves in the morning." Roxanne continues, still struggling with the sides of my shirt like it won't look quite how she wants it to.

"You set a high bar."

Roxanne doesn't reply verbally or physically, pre-occupied with holding the sides of my shirt and trying to identify what exactly she doesn't like about how I'm wearing it.

...

Following a brief silence, Roxanne hums to herself, before tugging up on my shirt a bunch to un-tuck it.

I keep my arm hovering out of Roxanne's way a bit longer, cocking a brow at Roxanne's decision.

...

"..You do that for any particular reason, or just so that I'll have to tuck it back in again?"

Roxanne straightens and backs up a couple steps, leaning back and peering at me through her fingers that she's holding up at a right-angle.

"..Yeah – you look better without it tucked in.." She comments nonchalantly, seemingly making this judgement for herself the same time she's saying it to me; altering her positioning a little bit to make sure I look passable at different angles. This is dumb.

"I almost always have it tucked in. Like when I'm working. You're only now deciding you prefer it like this..?"

"No.. It's different when you're working; it's good to look professional then.." Roxanne replies seemingly absent-minded to my questions, her responses a little slow and monotone, continuing to judge my appearance for longer than what could possibly be excusable. "You're not working this time – you look better casual in that case.. Un-tucked and wrinkly plaid shirt gives you a good bad-boy thing goin' on."

I furrow my brow a little bit, waiting for a sign that she's making a joke before honoring that with a response.

...

"..I do not have a 'bad-boy' personality, wolf."

"I was just using the phrase as an example – I mean the sloppily-worn nice clothes gives you the 'I don't care what other people think of my looks' kinda feel, while also still looking nice.. Like an older delinquent, in.. old Disney movies."

"You've seen Disney movies..?"

"I don't know – I don't think so."

"Then how could you possibly know that I l-?"

"Mike – I was created to be good at this type of shit; just shut up and trust me that I know what 'm doing, yeah?"

..I subtly shake my head, looking off to the side with a mildly befuddled expression; deciding it would be better for me if I just stopped asking.

Sure enough, before the hour is done, a stone-faced plaid-shirted man and a church-sweater'd 'woman' are on the road bright and early. The former with a hand atop the wheel, and the latter on the former's phone, actually doing something somewhat productive with it for once; calmly browsing websites of local grocers for either coupons or deals, or.. whatever she's doing..

Nonetheless, our objective for the time being is the Pizzaplex; the smooth bumps and motions of the car filling the air with a cozy silence.

...

Y'know – between the two of us, you'd think it would be the wolf-ish woman in the passenger seat who would stand out the most.

But in reality, the most outlandish between the two of us is actually not the two of us, and is instead the naked metal endoskeleton sitting behind us in the middle of the backseat with a wide and attentive eyes that reflects not even a single sentient thought bouncing around behind them.

...

"Doin' alright back there tin-man?" I politely call out as we enter town, a short distance from the Pizzaplex.

...

There's no response for a moment, the tin-man seemingly taking a moment to realize he still exists.

But once he's back with us, he responds by thrusting a thumbs up in between our chairs over the center console with a debatably unnecessary pool of energy behind it.

Roxanne, utterly zoned into her shopping-list fantasy, wasn't expecting a shaped metal hand to fly into her proximity and take up a good chunk of her peripheral, so she responsibly freaks the fuck out; flailing for a fraction of a moment as the cell phone ejects from her hand and loudly clunks into the car's ceiling before falling gracefully onto the floor of the backseat.

Friendo, his inner mechanisms dictating he be a greedy fuckin' hobgoblin, immediately vacuums it into his loving arms like a kid that spots a skittle on the floor. Roxanne firmly pushes herself against the back of her seat to stabilize herself, discontently barks a loud expletive, and flings herself over her shoulder at the phone in Friendo's hand, missing the initial lunge and instead reflexively gripping his leg as her seatbelt pulls her back into her seat.

Friendo then proceeds to do *everything in his conceivable power* not to give the phone back, twisting and falling horizontal on the backseat as Roxanne holds herself up for leverage with a knee on her chair's armrest while she wrestles th-

All I did was ask Friendo if he was alright. That's all I did. Stop it.

"This is ass."

"It kills me that you entertain children for a living." I respond dismissively, listening out for footsteps belonging to someone other than the three of ours as we walk down the center of the atrium.

"No, Mike- I'm not insane for thinking this is a comically un-intelligent way to get a job done this time." Roxanne argues back. I'm sure she's using puffy arm gestures to emphasize her words behind me, but it's pretty easy to ignore them when you're not looking.

And she's absolutely right, by the way. Undoubtedly. Not that that's ever been enough to quell my bullshit before.

"Icarus knows she's here to meet with me. If she thinks about where to find me, this is where she'll go first."

"Literally just text her."

"I don't have her phone number."

"You have Arin's. And he clearly has hers. Mike- you know this already, what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Look, I'm not sure either of us want to have each other on-demand.." I defend less-energetically, briefly pointing up to the ledge of the stage we're approaching to indicate where we're going.

"That's stupid. You're stupid. What are you, four?"

"Last I remember, you don't exactly like her either."

"I 'don't like' a lot of people, but this is shit we have to get done, right?" Roxanne huffs, her sentence strained in the middle as she jumps up to the deceptively high-up atrium stage with good-enough levels of success.

"Maybe. I don't really know, there's a potent chance it doesn't end up mattering any; just some papers and things Cooper had that I thought might have some info on them." I reply, losing my 'banter' tone and talking informatively. With a tight-lipped hum of effort, I make the high jump as well, moments after Roxanne did.

"Don't even know if it's important or not.. nn-.. -sigh-That works out, I guess; 'cause I don't really know which I'd rather it be.." She grumbles under her breath in response, eyes wandering ahead as she takes a few paces further onto the stage while I contently stand next to the ledge we'd climbed up.

I take a couple un-rushed steps along after her, before stopping again and putting my remaining hand on my hip, deciding there's not a lot for me to accomplishing by wandering behind her. She's just pacing; we're already at our destination.

"..I know we were just bantering a moment ago, but you sound a little actually upset." I comment, watching her move.

Roxanne weakly shakes her head to herself as she continues leisurely walking without aim in the other direction, eventually stopping and placing her hands on her own hips, her head hanging back to look at the ceiling contemplatively.

...

"Maybe a little. I don't know why."

"Nervous?"

"That's probably it. I'm not mad at you."

"I didn't think you were."

"No madder than usual."

"I know what you meant." I concur, hiding hints of a dry smile on my face when she said that.

"..Mike - does the old woman even know we're at the Pizzaplex at all?" Roxanne takes a step to the side to turn half of herself around, looking at me partly over her shoulder.

"She should. Even if she doesn't, th-"

- kLANksh..! -

...

Friendo didn't quite make the same jump Roxanne and I did, and is once again sprawled out, face-down, and inanimate on the Pizzaplex floor beneath us.

...

"I suspect she knows." I hum, peering over the ledge peacefully at the defeated bro-bot.

...

When I look over, Roxanne's already sitting cross-legged on the stage with a furrowed brow, holding her head up with both hands.

...

I go and sit with her, naturally.

Either Friendo's actually died this time, or he's given up on today and has decided to wait for tomorrow before getting off the floor. We can't see him, but sound travels incredibly well in the empty atrium, we'd hear him move.

...

-M-

...

"Mike- these clothes.." Roxanne quietly whines, snapping me out of a rather pleasant train of thought.

"..?"

...

"..They're just annoying, hold on.." She huffs, shifting like she's about to push to her feet.

"What?"

"No pockets. And something about the material. I don't know - it doesn't feel normal, I'm getting some from my room.."

"They're old clothes, made of different material than what you're used to." I reply, figuring that out as it's coming out of my mouth. "Wait for me, I'll come with you in a minute."

"Aren't you waiting for Icarus?"

"We're waiting for Icarus - I don't want you going alone." I explain with little urgency, but nab the edge of her clothes with my pointer and my thumb as she's in the process of walking by.

"I can handle being out of your line of sight for a few minutes, Mike - don't tell me what to do." Roxanne replies, a little disproportionately huffy toward my last statement for some reason.

..Mm.. Her sense of independence is still pretty crudely crumpled after last night. I'd do well to choose my words better.

"Wait, wait, please don't go alone, is what I meant. For my sake. Knowing you're out walking around in the dark while someone else potentially dangerous is here would make me worry." I reply, my tone still not having raised over neutral and informal.

"Icarus won't hurt anybody - that wouldn't make any sense.." Roxanne quietly comments. Despite what sounds like a rebuke, I can see how much fight left her eyes after I re-established where I'm coming from.

"I know."

...

Without complaint, Roxanne only stands and looks idly into the darkness of the atrium with a hand on her waist.

I release her clothing after realizing I was still holding on, but only to a degree of which she didn't even realize I let go.

...

"The darkness is intoxicating."

I'd almost call that sentence semi-intelligent if I didn't know she was referring to the literal light level here in the atrium.

"Mm." I concur with a hum, looking aimlessly elsewhere.

"Makes me feel like I'm somewhere I'm not supposed to be, seeing something I shouldn't."

"Feels significant, even if it isn't."

"I suppose you would know the feeling." Roxanne dryly acknowledges, turning a bit and pacing away from the absent audience.

"I would have thought you were, too." I reply with just as much enthusiasm, raising a brow but still looking elsewhere as she continues pacing backward until she's out of view behind me. "You were alone here for most of your life whenever nighttime came around."

"The lights were obnoxious enough to keep the energy in here more or less the same, even without a crowd."

"I think you just got used to it."

...

"Mm.. No." She eventually replies, as if she just finished thinking about it.

"You don't think so?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

No it is, then.

...

..Roxanne's off a few meters to my side, furrowing her brow at some of the light patterns up on the back walls of the stage like she's judging them.

I haven't moved. Been keeping myself busy with the arduous task of pretending not to be watching the under-stimulated canine from afar with a side-eye.

...

I catch Roxanne's ear twitch without a sound. It's subtle, to the degree that I'm pretty sure not even Roxanne herself noticed as she glares at the offensively uncomplementary decor, but it's just present enough for a glint of curiosity toward its cause to form.

My fingers stop quietly drumming as I continue gazing aimlessly at her head, mildly spaced out as I muse to myself about how peculiar her ears behave for the type of animal she's supposed to represent, then pondering why it might've twitched if it wasn't a conscious reaction.

...

My eyes focus back in on the world around me as the only obvious cause begins to swim in my mind, now consciously looking at her ears as if hoping to glean more information from them.

She must have heard something. I didn't, but her sense of hearing is substantially better than mine. Whatever it was, it was so small and insignificant that it didn't even register in her mind, and she only continues to fantasize about proper interior design.

Maybe I would have thought it to be too insignificant to acknowledge if I heard it too, if it weren't for the visual indication that forced me to think about it for a moment.

...

I take a moment to empty my lungs, the breath cold against my upper lip. As I quietly fill them back up, I stern my expression and turn my head enough to glance into the darkness of the atrium floor.

It doesn't take long to see. Even as a silhouette I can feel the weight radiate off them.

Perhaps out of both acknowledgement and necessary respect, I take to wordlessly approaching and standing on the ledge of the stage.

If I was smart about it, I would have let Roxanne know, but it's a bit late for my focus to have the leniency to be directed elsewhere.

...

Seeing their features illuminate under the dim light surrounding the area around the stage, I do my part to meet her as well.

...

My feet resounds off the laminated atrium floor with a powerful - CLACK - as I fall from the tall ledge of the stage, unwavering our eye-contact. Amplified by the acoustics of an empty atrium, the sound jars Roxanne's attention from atop the stage.

Her furrowed brow doesn't dissipate as she goes through the short process of looking for the source, then recognizing the situation. Very little of her expression changes, but there's some thoughts readable in the iris of her eyes as she registers the foreign character. There's no panic in her face or body language, but despite her vow of coming along with me to learn to better constitute herself in stressful situations, she already seems a little defeated in the 'knowing what to do' category.

...

There's no reason for Icarus and I to be so wary of each other, we have no basis to doubt the other's intentions, no reason to make anything out into something that feels like a confrontation like this.

But there's just this feeling. I wish I had a better excuse, but that's really it. And I know she feels it too.

Like we have utter calm and stoic control over our minds and thoughts, telling us reasonable things and judging the situation properly; but there's just this infinitesimal portion of our brains in the very back of our heads that's just screaming with a voice that we can barely hear, but can hear nonetheless. As if a learned behavior we don't even remember obtaining is triggering in full force, recognizing something about the situation and blaring every alarm it can get ahold of.

But just like how a small scrape shooting pain signals to only a puny fraction of your entire nervous system can still be impossible to ignore, this feeling in the back of our heads is vastly outnumbered by the reasonable parts of our mind, but it's just impossible to pretend it doesn't exist.

...

"You don't look particularly pleased to see me." I half-mutter, moreso musing to myself.

"mm.. y'know-I wouldn't normally care, but you make it hard to ignore whatever it is you're doing." Icarus responds. Despite her fruitful efforts to keep her body capable, her age still reveals itself in her voice; hints of southern drawl poking through.

She doesn't look hostile or aggressive, but speckles of discontent in those stern graying eyes are communicated well. Not particularly unhappy with what I'm doing, only that the small excursion from whatever work she's doing is a little inconvenient, and her tone reflects that 'slightly inconvenienced' sound because she doesn't feel any need to impress me.

Put simply, she looks indifferent, mostly. Or perhaps thankfully. There's one or two things on her mind, but.. nothing extreme. I think.

"..I'm not doing much right now - is that what you mean?"

"Nah.. Not exactly- but whatever it is yer' doin' on a grander scale; it's just as irrational as everything I've heard about you. I've got nothing against freaks of any sort - you hardly even qualify as one, so I shouldn't care, but it's hard."

"How could it be hard?"

"Well it wouldn't be if everything you're involved in wasn't.. infested with nonsense. n' Now here I am, transferring even more nonsense from Arin's hands to yours like it's significant." The old woman remarks, furrowing her brow further than it usually is.

"I don't follow."

"You wanted papers. I didn't intend on reading them, but Arin commented on my way out sayin' that it didn' matter.."

Mm..

"And what did you make of them?"

"That they were nonsense, 'course they are.. Like a collection of.. ideas that some.. obnoxious fiction author jotted down."

"..I suppose that's reasonable.. Cooper and Arin thought the same.." I reply, just to respond with something, despite talking primarily to myself. "..So, I'll admit, I don't really follow what your 'qualm' with it is."

"That'ya want 'em. Going as far as *this* to retrieve them."

"So what if I am..?"

"It makes me wonder why, kid - what do you think?" Icarus impatiently huffs, perhaps justifiably thinking the answer obvious. "..Absurdities being passed around like.. you've got plans for them. I can't even imagine what you'd want with em'; which scares me, since you got people I care about in the mix."

...

..It takes me a moment for me to identify what I assumed must be a small misunderstanding somewhere putting us on slightly different tracks, but I think I find it nonetheless.

"You think I'm using the info on the papers for some 'plot'?"

"I dunno', that's the issue. It's not my place to intervene, and I won't, but I'm allowed to be concern fer' what of mine is in this mess."

"I'm not plotting, I can't be. I haven't read them yet."

...

There's a brief moment of conjoined contemplation, but it's a notably passive one. Relatively, of course..

I think that was new information for her. She thought I'd already read them, making it suspicious that I wanted this 'nonsense' even after I'd already seen it was nonsense for myself.

...

"What's with the girl?" Icarus abruptly mentions, nodding her head in Roxanne's direction but keeping her eyes on me.

"What about her?"

"Look at 'er."

"She w-"

"Accident." Roxanne suddenly replies for me, doing her best to mimic our tall and strong stances from atop the stage, and speaking 'inexpressively', like a verbal poker face. She must've picked up that Icarus meant the bandages, something I admittedly didn't think of right away.

There is expression in her voice; an unusual and slightly unnatural pitch, and emphasis on each syllable that's just a little off from how she is normally. But, it's Roxanne's best attempt at speaking with dry stoicism, and it works just fine in this case. Icarus's never heard her voice before, at least not in person. As far as she knows, that really is how a stoic Roxanne sounds.

...

"..Those seem t'happen quite a bit around you." Icarus replies, the remark directed towards me.

"You have no idea." I respond, perhaps without thinking.

...

"..I don't think I like that answer very much.." She comments, eyes narrowing a smidge.

"I don't either." I mutter, half to myself.

"Keep me out of them. n' Arin, too.. It'd be wise to learn how to stop having accidents."

"I'm trying."

"Did you jus' start trying?"

I release a discontent exhale under my breath and tilt my head down a degree or two.

I don't have an answer for that; that was a good verbal corner she backed me into. No matter what I say back, it'll paint me in a bad light.

...

"..C'mon, kid - let's get you your papers.." Icarus decides, tone softening back into a less-targeted disinterest. She waves me along with her as she turns, walking off for me to follow.

I only hum in response, unable to look away from the back of her head for a moment.

That turned into a game at some point, and I'm not certain either of us meant for it to.. We overcame the suspicion she arrived here with, proving I wasn't 'plotting' something, and from there we should have just went on with the exchange and went on our way. There was no reason to do anything else.

But it seamlessly converted into some game of witty unnecessary banter, perhaps before either of us realized it.

And, pointless as it was, she backed me into a corner with an unwinnable question quick.

It was subconscious, like a long suppressed competitive personality just barely emerging through the cracks of her hardened heart before she could shut it down and focus back on what's important.

..She's deceptively witty, almost admirably so. And a challenging, competitive foundation exists in there somewhere despite a lifetime of covering it up. Talking with her leaves a weird taste in your mouth that's hard to distinguish.

It's a little bitter, but in a strangely familiar way.

I've tasted this before. Back the first time I heard her name was Icarus. Or her moniker, at least.

...

"Where are we going?" I ask, eventually beginning to trail after her.

"Where I left th'papers. I haven't been carrying the things with me this whole time - can't just put'em in my pocket."

...

Despite the many things I feel are worth saying, I follow, eyes on the back of her gray head.

I'm taking the silence from behind me as a sign that Roxanne understands. Or at least trusts me enough not to speak in opposition to what's happening.

Every part of this interaction is hard to explain. It follows less traditional rules, and you have to feel it out instead of identify what you should do next ahead of time. Like jazz music.

..But, it isn't the time to think about how I wished this interaction would go; just need to worry about getting it done.

-M-

...

"Who are you?"

It comes out before I even realize I wanted to speak.

My tone is indifferent than how we've been talking to each other thus far. Inexpressive and focused, as if we know that portraying emotion in our speech will make us predictable. Something we don't want, and yet I'm not even really sure either of us know why.

...

"I feel like y'already know better than to expect a good answer to that from someone like me." She seemingly muses, tilting her head an inch to indicate she's responding.

We haven't been walking long, only a couple minutes, enough to pass through only a couple passageways. Currently we're in a corridor, outfitted with disabled neon lights and flashy decor. A wide and often populated hallway, headed in the general direction of the front of the building if we keep going long enough.

"I think so, but I hoped whatever you responded with would have given me something nonetheless."

...

"You didn't expect an answer, but wanted to start a conversation over a topic you might be able to glean somethin from." Icarus summarizes to herself out loud.

"Something like that."

"It's the small things about you, kid.." She continues, in a tone that isn't particularly aggressive or friendly. "I don't know you well, and I don' needa, but sometimes you hear and see things without even trying, and what I've been gettin' from those moments which involve you are things that don't mix well."

It's interesting you're 'hearing' about me at all, short of maybe Arin. But Arin's rather concise, and self-sufficient, I don't see him just mindlessly rambling on about me.

"I don't know what that means for me."

"I mean y'have a knack for 'accidents' happening among those orbiting around you."

"You said that earlier."

"I know. And if that were it, I'd have an easier time sizin' you up as just some unlucky fool." She finishes with an unexpected twist of firmness to the end of her sentence, stopping and taking a step to the side to turn and look at me half over her shoulder. "But it's the little things about you that makes me have questions I don' wanna have."

"L-"

"You're smart, kid. The little things tell me that; like what you did back there; the games you play with your words, n' the ulterior motives behind them." She continues, tone making it sound like it may not be a positive thing. It's getting harder to read.

...

"..And you think 'smart kids' should be better at stopping accidents than I am."

"I think smart kids are good at learnin'. 'Problem solving'. Yes. So I don't know what it means when a smart kid doesn' seem to be slowin' them down."

"You think I want this?" I reply, a little discontent at the theory that I might be reveling in all these problems I'm trying to put back together.

"Probably not, no. ..n' fact, I don't believe you do. But what I do know 's that these 'things' line up in a way that makes it sound not entirely impossible either, and I've never been fond'a gamblin', no matter how favorable the odds are."

...

"..You certainly seem to think about me a lot, at least for how much you claim that you try not to care." I reply, not having a response to her previous statement.

"Surely you're familiar with the feeling. Yer' brain, thinking, no matter how much you try to make it stop."

"Intimately.. But I don't suffer the same problem you do. I don't.. 'look into you', just as you don't actively look into me. But.. I also don't struggle choosing not to care."

That was a lie. A conscious and deliberate one, and one I mean to continue to build upon. I have asked Arin about her, if you count that as 'looking into' her. Nor am I shy about taking pieces of information I learn about her and letting them swim around my mind freely to try and see what other puzzle pieces they fit together with. But she doesn't know that, and I can turn this into a way to encourage her to turn more of her attention away from me and my anomalies.

It does get a reaction, which I suppose I was looking for in some capacity. Her foot shifts in a way that turns her a little more in my direction, and I can see her stoic frown become a little less inexpressive.

...

"..You're smarter than choosin' to let a sharp tongue like that fly for no reason, kid.. So what's yer' point? You saying it's not fair?"

"If you boil it down enough, sure.. You and I both didn't want more trouble, or to make more trouble for the other; so I thought the consensus was that we would both stay out of each other's hair and avoid accumulating suspicions about one another.. I did my part, I know nothing about you. But that's shot me in the foot, and left me with no ammunition to fire back at you with.. We're both shady people with shady issues - we could do with not adding more weight to each other's shoulders."

"My 'issues' haven' left any friends of *yours* in the same state Arin is in right now, kid.." She bites back a bit. Nothing about me physically changes, but I can feel a discontent stifled grimace try to poke at my expression in response.

"..There's a lot you don't know about me, I understand that. But I know that you know I didn't want Arin to end up like this either."

"I believe you, boy - I do. But I also don' like how there's room for doubt, no matter how small."

"Well.. I've got nothing to disprove it on me either. So what am I supposed to do to appeal to you?"

"I ain't telling you to do anything, kid." Icarus huffs back with notably more emphasis, going as far as to even take a few idle pacing steps toward me. "I'm incentivizing' you not to cause any more problems. Or - more specifically, - I'm tellin' you to do what it takes to keep my acquaintance out of the blast zone of whatever 'accidents' happen around you next."

"You're threatening me if I fail." I acknowledge.

"I'm looking out for him, like any other fool with a heart would do.. Don't talk down to me like I'm some barbarian, kid; I'm helping you, n' keeping my own folks safe in the process."

" 'Your folks', huh..?" I half-mutter dryly. Perhaps it was a childish thing for me to do; I suppose I'm just a little huffy how she acts like Arin isn't an ally and friend of my own.

"My folks." Icarus affirms with just a hint of disdain. Really don't think she liked my tone right there. "Not yours."

"Arin? He trusts me. And I trust him. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him trusting me at times most others wouldn't. He's important to me, and his friends here, too."

"He can be your friend, kid - but he's my folks."

She's possessive, and a little touchy about the subject too; judging by the now utter lack of any distance between us that she's closed over the course of the last few back-and-forths.

"You're uncharacteristically protective for the background you hail from."

"Don' devolve to mockery, boy - You don't know hardly anything 'bout me." Icarus huffs, our heads barely a foot apart like we're both trying to seem tall and looming.

"Not much, no. But this talk has taught me a lot.. And I suppose that's exactly what I wanted in the first place, huh?" I reply, maybe half-lost in the energy, but mostly to pay her back in-kind for backing me into a verbal corner a few minutes ago.

If she weren't bound by Arin's requests, I'm pretty certain she would have grabbed my collar there; it's hard to pass off what I said as practical in any way other than disrespect.

"What is your 'problem', kid..?" She voices, clearly fed-up in response.

"Noth-" I try to reply, dedicating a little focus to standing unwavering in the face of her fed-up and close-up aggression.

"And enough with that *look*, too.." Icarus interjects, like adding on to her previous statement. "..T'hell with it - Come on, boy.. You and I are going outside for a talk - you understand me?"

"Excu-?"

"Good, this way." She bites, finally as far as tugging me alongside her this time.

It escalated.

And despite what I'd like to say, I can't deny some of it was my fault.

This isn't good - far too much trouble can come from this, but she's clearly beyond the point of listening.

I have no idea what she means to actually do when we make it outside. But it won't be good. It can't be.

-M-

...

*hic*

Two hours have gone by.

Her condition is worsening - but I can't bring myself to do something about it.

...

"I mean- everyone's gotta wonder how it feels to have people like that at some point, kid; everyone like us.."

"Maybe we would've turned out different." I monotonously reply, letting the empty bottle idly hang from my two fingers down beside my leg dangling off the back of the truck while I stare emptily into the sky above the nearby field. "..Or maybe not, I suppose we can't know. But they're talked about like role models."

"Naw - not all th' time.. but they don' gotta be." Icarus waves off, the movement undoubtedly reflecting her.. immense inebriation, along with the rather telling slur and liquidy flow to her voice. "Cartoons, n'.. Disney movies always show grammas like.. Pie-n'-the-windowsill, gentle ol' ladies, n'.. grandpas are all storytellin', hardworkin' lazybones.. But it ain't gotta b-*hic*-ugh.. it ain't gotta be like that. Sometimes they're.. crude, foulmouthed, feeble ruffians, shakin' their fist at change n'.. telling dirty jokes at family dinners. But you love 'em as a kid anyway.. 'Cause they're fun. n' Funny."

"You love them because they're yours."

"'Cause they're *yours*." She parrots, concurring with emphasis like she's restating my point in an argument she's having in her head. " 'Long as they love you, they can take any form they like, n' you'll always love them right back."

I watch her in my peripheral for a second, the way she's leaning back on the open trunkbed and huffing with a subtle sense of elderly reflection up at the subtle orange of a developing sunset.

It's already that time of day, yeah. Still in the tail-end of the colder season so the sun sets a little early, n' Roxanne and I slept in quite a bit after being up so late last night.

...

"What happened to yours?"

"One died at childbirth 'n the other in 'nam at nearly at the same time." She drones dryly, dinking the empty bottle against the lip of the truckbed mindlessly.

"When?"

"First year or two of the war - can' remember exactly.. Stupid early, I 'member.."

...

"Women still died from childbirth in the 1950's..?" I ask after a small pause to think about it.

"Still killed one outta five 'till the 70's.."

"Bad luck."

"Runs 'n the family."

I exhale from my nose, looking off elsewhere in the parking lot for a moment with quarter-lidded eyes from the feel of the atmosphere and melancholy of the conversation.

...

"..Alright.. Think I wrung you dry.." I dryly muse, lazily lobbing the empty bottle in my hand into the truckbed and shifting to momentarily hop down from the wall of the truckbed I've been sitting on. "I doubt you meant to empty a case of beer like this.. Next time it's convenient I'll get you another one-"

"Youuu didn' drink *shit*." Icarus dismissively exaggerates with a slur to her voice and a lazy but dramatic wave of her hand, reading the mood and beginning to push herself upright as well, though with varying levels of success. "Y'had a couple, and a couple's all I needed to be able to say I didn' drink the whole thing myself."

Despite my best efforts, I dust myself off and pull the wrinkles from my shirt with something of a amused smile toward that last statement.

...

"Mn.." I groan alongside a breathy apprehensive chortle, putting my hand on my hip and eyeing the doors of the Pizzaplex across the parking lot with a deliberate grimace. "..Roxanne's gonna be mad.."

"No, kid - don't you bother and make a fool of yourself over, friggen'.. *women.*" Icarus's voice emanates with some effort from the other side of the truck beyond where I can see her, the alcohol in her system warping her consciousness toward what we're actually talking about. "They're all either squares, fools, 'r degenerates."

"Think you're thinkin' of men.." I chortle under my breath as I look down and kick the asphalt lightly.

"No. No, I'm thinkin' of women." She intonates like I'd better take her word for it. "Men're usually just degenerates. And you best not turn into one. You had a woman yet?"

"Have I? No, I-"

"You listen to me, then." Icarus abruptly commands in her obviously somewhat drunken stupor, poking her head up above the other side of the truck and outstretching an accusatory finger at me. "Take yer' time, do it right, n' do it right the first time."

I raise my hands (hand..) defensively with an equally amused and exasperated chuckle.

"Alright, alright.."

"You want people that put in effort? Y'need to put in effort yerself." She huffs in her hazy stupor, disappearing behind the other side of the truck once again. "World's ever entitled anyone for second chances, no matter if they deserve one or not."

"..I suppose so.." I hum mostly to myself, musing in my mind about how quickly Icarus bonds over the bottle. Thanks, grandma.

"Alright - good, get outta 'ere.. I ain't done with my work n' your restaurant - you're distractin' me.."

...

It was an artificial change of gears, highlighting just how out of it she must be, but I decide it's probably best not to argue, lest I'm on the receiving end of another one of her life lessons.

...

Strange.. How strange..

My mind swims, with a hint of perhaps a bit of inhibition from the drinks, about that whole mess as I pace halfway across the parking lot.

...

That did not go how I thought it would.

...

I'm not really sure what the whole thing means for me now.. We'd obviously begun to be alright with each other before either of us had gotten too deep into our drinks, but the mindless, shameless rambling akin to that of a cranky grandma to a grandchild reflected an obviously unnatural amount of comfort around me that was absolutely boosted by the drinks.

Roxanne will probably be upset with how long I've been gone. But that's fine. Something like this was well worth the rewards for how long it took.

Despite how I made it sound, continuing to talk with her for that long was a conscious decision; but I'll admit Icarus was a little strangely easy to talk to in a familiar sort of way. As if I already knew how to do it.

...

Mysteries. Perhaps maybe a little better off unsolved for the time being.

...

- krnch -

It's barely noticeable, coming from a very distant point deep inside the Pizzaplex, just as I touch the door handle. Metal, unnatural..

...

Friendo.

Falling off of something, I bet.

...

Oh- wait, arm, need that from my car first..

-M-

...

"Icarus.."

Roxanne quietly mutters the name under her breath while she walks about a foot behind and to the left of me.

...

"You know - usually.." I begin with a half-sheepish chuckle, trying to put words with the feeling. "..usually when I do something that's upsetting for you, I'm met with a stern lecture or a fit of some kind.. But I didn't get one this time, and.. that's somehow making me feel even worse."

Roxanne responds to that with a huff from her nose and a small smile stemming from an emotion I can't pin down.

"Good to know. But no - it's fine this time. I don't like her, but.. Whatever. I get why making peace with her like that would be worth it.."

...

"..I noticed how you reacted to Icarus when she and I first started talking." I eventually bring up, referring to her interjection when Icarus and I were speaking a while back. I keep my eyes forward down the corridor we're walking through.

"Shut up, I tried." She replies almost immediately, I can hear her voice fade in volume near the beginning like she looked away.

"What?"

"I tried. I'm not good at holding it all in yet, I know that - I'm working on it."

...

Our pace subconsciously slows just a bit while I'm looking over my shoulder at her.

...

"Wolf - you did do it. You stood tall, and responded confidently; when she wasn't even talking to you, no less."

...

"Okay - but it wasn't, fuggin', good. My voice was wrong, she heard that.." She huffs back with considerably less energy.

"Barely, but it didn't matter - she doesn't know the difference between your natural and artificial voice."

"That's not something I can bank on in the future, Mike-"

"You did really well, wolf. I don't care what doubts you hold over how you did, I'm telling you that you did perfect. Better than I was prepared for, especially nowadays with how unstable everything is, including us."

...

Roxanne doesn't reply, and I turn to look back ahead.

...

"I don't completely understand why you think you need to prove yourself to me. But whatever the reason, I thought it was only fair to let you know that you did really well, and I noticed." I finish, tone almost like the inexpressive stern tone of a father, mostly so she doesn't argue with me on it anymore.

...

After several seconds, the only noise that eventually emerges through the sound of our isolated footsteps is the tail end of a long and slightly shuddering breath.

"What are you doing with that thing again..?" Roxanne asks, perhaps perfectly timing the topic shift for when I glance back over my shoulder at her again to see what that breath was all about. Unfortunately for me, she's gotten far too good at masking her feelings when she wants to, and I can't bring myself to try and disregard this topic to chase the last one.

"..The arm..? I'm leaving it in Freddy's room so he can have a reference to potentially make a new one that doesn't suffer too much of a quality difference. from this old one."

"He's going to ask how you made that one attach. And he's gonna make a new one that'll have its movements triggered and based off of something other than 'magic stuff' like that old one."

"I mean to send him a message about it, or maybe a call. I'll tell him not to worry about making it connect, and figure out something to say about how making the fingers and wrist move and whatnot."

"That-.. That's a fuckin' ridiculously trivial workaround to those problems - how the hell are you gonna convince him to just 'do this, don't worry about making it work'?"

"I'll find a way."

"Mike."

"I'm good at talking with ulterior motives. You know that."

Roxanne stifles a mildly discontent grunt, turning her head to look idly elsewhere in the corridor.

"You're not a great 'talker', but you're unhealthily good with words when it comes to getting something you need.. I don't really think I like it, but you're pretty good at bullshitting your ulterior motives through people.."

...

"..That sounded a little more passive aggressive than usual." I comment, raising a brow at nothing in particular.

"I 'get' that deception has a real place in the world, but I still don't like it when it's between people who're supposed to be our friends."

"..Mm.." I hum quietly in response, not having much to say for myself.

...

..There's a sizable exhale from behind me, close to a huff.

"..Look- I know it's necessary, I'm not-.. I wasn't trying to be mean."

"It's okay to not like it, wolf - it.. Well - it reflects well on you that you think that way, wanting deception to be left out of a circle of loved ones who you're supposed to trust." I reply, a little bit lost in thought after that.

"No- well now that sounds like I'm making you out to be a fuckin' leech. You're not abusing his trust, y-"

"That's probably what I'd call that, Roxanne."

"You're *not,* Mike." She replies a little more forcefully. "You're just-.. You're doing what you need to do. Cause that's all the fuckin' choice you have."

...

"Maybe. I'm sorry - I didn't mean to make you upset." I state after a short pause.

"I'm always upset."

"I don't show it, but it does really mean something to me when you say I'm not the demon I feel like sometimes."

...

"I like knowing that." Roxanne replies with very little expression, but genuine nonetheless.

...

"..Icarus made it sound like she's just getting something from her truck, but I should have made sure.. I'm hoping she knows better than to drive in the condition she's in.."

"You two are peas in a pod."

"Ha.. She called me 'kid' a lot, but I suppose she has no reason to think that's incorrect. In the most literal sense, her and I are about the same age."

"You 'aged' weird. Like a fuckin' vampire who's lived a thousand years but still looks and acts like an angsty teen."

"I was little more than a machine after I died - I only ever thought about getting one thing done. It was a looooong time having nothing but the animatronic hunt and my father on my mind, but I guess I never dedicated the brainpower to do anything else, like grow up."

"That's kinda funky. You're 50-something, and I'm like two, but we click enough to be compatible."

"That sentence should land you in prison."

"Well unless you want to go hang out with other kids your age - like Icarus - then I'd say you're pretty fuckin' stuck with me, yeah?"

"For better or for worse.." I huff, taking the bottom of the lift-able shutters in the way of the corridor we need to enter. "Don't think Icarus would like a friendship bracelet from me just yet.."

"You said she drank a whole case of beer while you talked?" Roxanne replies, molding quickly to the change of topic as the shudder door opens just enough for her and I to enter rockstar row.

I gesture to her room with a glance back to her, indicating she should get whatever she wants from her room while I go drop off this arm in Freddy's.

"We did, wouldn'tve been as much of a shared moment if it was only her. Got a couple in my system - but she was by far the 'scourge' of that beer crate." I hum, musing over the recent memory.

"What- you had some?" Roxanne asks, somehow intrigued enough for her to go out of her way to stop walking and look at me.

"Yeah."

...

I don't feel the same level of significance in this topic as she does, but I slow to a stop as well to be polite.

...

"You don't drink, Mike."

...

"I know." I reply, not really sure what to say for myself.

"No - I don't mean it's not a hobby of yours, I mean you actively avoid drinking. I know that." She reinforces with a little more emphasis, not accusing me but desiring an answer to a contradiction I'm a little surprised she remembers.

"Yeah, I know what you meant; it was just, ah.."

"'Cause of your dad."

...

Sheepishly I take a couple paces to the side and look elsewhere with a quiet chuckle.

"Yeah - I know.. I don't drink, you're right. And I also don't act intentionally deceptive toward friends like Freddy." I begin, alluding to what I said I was going to do earlier, and piecing together a good way to say this as I briefly scratch the back of my neck. "..But ah.. Like you said, I also don't stop myself from doing the things that need to be done.."

..Roxanne huffs a little, not particularly at me.

...

"..How artificially cryptic."

"I didn't mean for it to be."

"I know - I'm just fucking with you." Roxanne dismissively waves it off, already turned to walk for her room again. "Didn't have another idea of how to respond to that, and acknowledging it with an 'okay' or something felt too boring."

...

"You're weird."

"Corpse."

A hearty chuckle escapes underneath my breath as I watch her enter her room with that rather snappy final remark.

...

..Mm.. Even if she was joking, I do feel like my words taste a little artificial coming out of my mouth. Maybe I just haven't transitioned my syntax from 'Icarus' to 'Roxanne' mode all the way yet.

...

Alright - lets see if I can open this door with one arm.

-M-

...

I find myself gazing mindlessly at the several miscellaneous scrap pieces on Freddy's desk after I'd already left my old metal arm where he can easily spot it. Which is also just smack dab in the center of the desk.

Absent-mindedly drumming my fingers on my own hip, I recall a few of the smaller pieces of metal scrap being of the same texture and metal of that small little device that produced Remnant in my hands however long ago, before I promptly irrationally crushed the thing in my hand like an ape.

...

..I find myself with a slightly smouldering renewed interest in the device again, wondering how it worked among other things.. It seemed to produce Remnant right then and there, but I couldn't tell you where it got it from. I suppose it could've just been storing it, but I feel as if I remember the little thing being a little too convoluted looking just for it to be a little Remnant-holding pokeball..

...

My thoughts do feel ever so slightly askew, which I assume must be from the alcohol, even if I didn't have all that much.. I've never really liked the feeling of anything mind-altering, even if the effects were meant to be blissful. I spend a lot of time in my mind, and whenever it's in a state where I just can't utilize it at its regular capacity, I found myself getting frustrated at my inability to do things I know I should be able to do with it.

Slight as it might be, the drinks are definitely contributing to what's an irrational urge to invest myself in the ins and outs of that little device.

..Seems like a strangely odd effect to associate with inebriation, one I definitely don't recall hearing talked about much.. But what do I know, I suppose. Not like I've had prior experience with alcohol, not even when I was something of a 'delinquent' as a kid. No memories to compare this feeling to.

...

Guess it doesn't really matter anyway - I've already done what I came here to do. And no matter how much I want to learn about those little devices for whatever reason, what's left of this one certainly won't teach me anything.

Plus, I crushed this one for a reason. Deep down, I don't really want to mess around with something like that. And it's broken anyway.

...

..Well- I guess there were more in that old bunker, now that I think about it. But there's no reason for me to act on that - it'd only make trouble, and I want little to do with them in the first place.

...

..I should-..

...

..I could drop by.

I could always drop by.

...

I blink a few times, re-introducing myself with the real world.

Shaking my head slightly with a huff, I rub my eyes. Hardly any lights are on in here and I can see everything light as day, along with a subtle uncomfortable ache behind my eyes.

..It's like they dilated too much while I was zoned out. I mean - I like seeing in the dark, but even my eyes themselves seemed to be telling me that it was too much.

Strange, but ultimately another random quirk with Remnant regeneration for me to add to the pile.

...

I exit Freddy's room, not having even bothered with letting the door close behind me when I first walk in.

...

No longer rubbing my eyes, I plant my hand on my hip with a huff of dedication to tell myself to keep my energy up until I'm done for the day.

...

"You wanted to change, didn't you?" I ask, seeing the wolf in my peripheral as I continue to confidently stare off into space.

"No. I mean - yeah, but after being in there and looking through my options, I think I'd rather just wait until we go home instead of carry clothes with me for the rest of the day.." Roxanne half-murmurs, messing around with a couple of buttons at the top near her collar.

"Don't want to bring your uniform for any reason?"

"It's at your house."

"I mean another uniform."

"That is *my* uniform. The one I have."

...

"It is?" I ask again like an idiot.

"Yes. And no, I don't think I'll be putting it back on again."

"I would have asked Arin to get another uniform made for you if I'd known that was your only one.." I reply quietly, lowering my hand from my hip as if asking if she's ready to go.

"I saw you washed them, by the way. As if that'd do literally anything to salvage them." Roxanne retorts, taking a single step forward to communicate she's ready. Despite her forever mildly-annoyed tone, I've known her long enough to see through the cracks and know she's rather enjoying the small talk and banter. The simple things in life.

"Yeah yeah - I know.. I think for a moment I considered sewing them back to appropriate order, but they were damaged enough that even if I could somehow get them to look seamless again, and I assure you that I couldn't, they probably wouldn't be comfortable to wear anymore.."

"I don't need a uniform again for a while still - don't you mope about it, you know I'm just fucking with you."

"I bet the kids would dig this mummy cosplay you're rocking, though." I reply nonchalantly. One of these days we'll actually remember that we were supposed to get going.

"Yeah - I bet they fuckin' would; I'll start giving them signatures on the shards of glass, too." She huffs back a bit.

"The cuts feel fine?"

"Yes - I'm good, Michael." She insists lightly, taking a few steps closer to initiate our walk back to the parking lot. "Can't even feel them underneath the bandages."

"They'd better leave you better than they found you for how much they cost."

"What- really?" Roxanne mutters as if getting annoyed on my behalf, stopping and looking down at her dramatically bandaged body. "..That's stupid - it's just kind-of soft tape."

"No- it's fine, I'm kidding - they were only like fifteen dollars a pack." I de-escalate with a quiet airy chortle that's supposed to be below what she can hear.

"I mean - is a 'pack' a lot?"

"Twenty-something medium-sized rolls, you only use like two per full-body wrapping. I got two packs and I don't even think we'll end up needing the second one."

"Okay.." Roxanne exhales huffily under her breath, as if backing down from getting annoyed like she fully meant to do. Don't need her getting fussy over something new, as endearing as the gesture of getting upset for me is.

"Think you won't need them after today, as long as you don't, you know.." I trail off, alluding to yesterday's events of her accidentally irritating the hell out of all the incisions just in time for the painkillers to wear off.

"Yes - thanks for the reminder, dipshit - lets go."

"Mm."

"And throw away my old uniform."

"It's in your room upstairs - you do it."

...

Roxanne slightly narrows her eyes at me as she thinks, as if doing her very best to come up with a reason as to how that could ever possibly be conceived as an unfair request.

"..'Long as you cut down the sass, then fine." Roxanne eventually concludes, taking a couple steps past me to be on our way.

"Me?"

"Mike - who the fuck else w-?"

"Alright, alright - I'll tone it down. Just a funny thing to be accused of from you. Queen of sass herself - but that trait fits you nicely." I breathe through another hidden hum of amusement, trailing after her as she looks over her shoulder at me.

"You already sassing me again?"

"No - genuine that time."

"I'm not sassy, Mike - I'm just fussy."

"That-.." I begin, actually failing to find the words to respond to Roxanne's unironic claim that she isn't sassy.

"Shut up."

...

"What do you want for dinner, mummy?"

"Something.. Something meat.." Roxanne replies with utterly no hitch or hesitation to the change of topic, narrowing her eyes down the hallway as she searches her feelings for what she's feeling like.

"What kind of meat?"

"I don't know what a proper answer to that is."

"Like - something 'meat' as in it's the entire dish, like steak? Or something that just has a lot of meat in it like omelettes or lasagna?"

"Fuggin'.." Roxanne begins, instinctively huffing at the absurdity of how I'm telling her to judge how she feels, before she actually tries and seems to have a measure of success. "..Meat in it.. but a lot of it.. Not lasagna."

"Like what?"

"Like pasta and.. Like- those nonsensically sized meatballs you accidentally got that one time."

...

"..Okay - I understand that Lasagna isn't the most 'pasta dish' of pasta dishes, but how the hell did you conclude that you want pasta immediately after ruling out lasagna as if they aren't fundamentally similar?" I ask, furrowing my brow at the back of her head.

"No- 'cause you don't like lasagna, dipshit - I'm not making you make something only I'll like."

"What?- I like lasagna."

"Mike, you told me-"

"No- I don't like restaurant or store-bought lasagnas. I'm picky about them - but I like them when they're done right."

...

..I can visibly see Roxanne restrain herself from shaking her head like I'm insane.

"..Okay - what about other places does them wrong?"

"I'm not a fan of melted stringy-cheese on pastas. Something about the texture."

"All lasagnas have that."

"Well yeah - but everywhere else has a whole restaurant to serve, so they just kinda lob a handful of mozzarella on top of it and call it good enough.." I reply, using my one arm in front of me as if demonstrating, despite not even knowing if Roxanne's looking at me.

...

"Have you secretly been a picky eater this whole time and you've just been hiding it?' Roxanne eventually huffs in my direction, tugging at a bandage atop her snout as if she's considering discarding it.

"What? No - this is just a niche quirk, I suppose.."

"I don't remember you liking seafood either. And seafood covers a lot of food."

"I like seafood - I'm just not over the moon about any of it. All the fish taste like fish, crab tastes okay and lobster tastes like crab, shrimp is pretty tasty, and seaweed is just.. angry.. lettuce.." I elaborate, gears in my brain chugging to try and find a way to make the last part make sense.

"You said you didn't like octopus."

"I haven't tried octopus. Squid is the more popular option, I think, but I haven't had that either. And I don't-.. really want to try octopus.." I drone, as if having this thought process myself as I'm saying it out loud.

"You can't just decide octopus isn't your thing without having tried it."

"I'm not a picky eater because I don't want to try octopus."

"Whatever you say. You talk big for someone who thinks parmesan ruins a pasta." Roxanne dismissively hums, apparently amusing herself with that one.

"..Are you just, making up things I don't like..?"

"Mike - you just said you don't like stringy cheeses on it."

"Parmesan is delicious on past-"

"Parmesan is a stringly-goddamn-cheese, Mike-"

"No - that's not the same, you don't.. cake a layer of parmesan on something, you sprinkle it on like a seasoning."

"It-"

- "Roxanne?" -

A voice like a bullet carved from ice pierces our hearts.

...

It's Freddy.

Our eyes meet. All of ours.

Our heads don't snap to look at him, but as they finish turning in Freddy's direction, it felt as if the air itself grew dense and sank to the floor of the corridor as a fog.

A frost forms around my heart, and the cold gradually snakes its way up my spine like a growing moss.

...

We aren't frozen, but no one moves quite yet; all of us for different reasons. Mine, alone, is that I know I can do nothing but watch Freddy properly register what he sees, like a black powder fuse burning into the bomb casing, waiting for the imminent boom.

Roxanne, and all the bandages she wears. A story revealed and a secret told quicker than the words of a gossiper ever could.

...

We've grown careless, cocky even. We can only ever hope things go the way we expect them to, but only recently have we stopped acting on precaution. Taking Roxanne out looking like this.. Harmless, if things went as predicted. Devastating, if they didn't.

No doubt my confidence came from a relatively well-handled damage control regarding the secrets I don't want getting out; things were looking promising in that field. But as that eagle began to soar, I let the albatross crash land.

...

"..What are you doing here..?"

Roxanne speaks first; her tone intending to express something of generic distaste, but the lack of volume in the delivery reflects just how compromised she really feels.

I purse my lips as soon as I realized they were parted. This is beyond deflecting, but I'm not without options; and my expression slowly begins to harden in anticipation of them.

...

"I'm only-.. I'm retrieving what I need to make-.." Freddy seems to reply on subconscious instinct as he continues to stare for a moment, though naturally forsakes the whole topic the moment he does consciously decide to speak. "..What on Earth, are-..?"

"..We w-"

"What on Earth am I looking at?" It comes out with less hesitation than before; not remotely aggressive, but more insistent.

"I'm fine - it doesn't even hurt.."

Obviously that statement does less than wonders for Roxanne's case. Both Freddy's hands are full holding containers and a couple tools, and a few looser things like single nuts and bolts drop from them as he takes a few paces forward, tinking on the tiled floor but grabbing none of our attention.

Freddy can detect our reluctance to speak with him. But he's the closest thing they have to a 'head' of their family, and Roxanne's his family. He doesn't want to have it.

...

"Roxanne."

Freddy breathes her name. I can feel a great many things in the way he says it while his body moves in small amounts; desperately wanting to do something, but not understanding.

I hear hurt from a failed responsibility to watch over his flock; or at least to understand what's going on with all of them. And I hear something bitter, growing from knowing something bad happened to his family, and he wasn't even allowed to help.

"..Why..?" He half-mutters as a blanket statement; willing to accept any answer whether it's why she's covered in bandages or why her she's dismissing it the way she is.

"Fred-"

"Are you even alright-? Do you need to be taken somewhere?"

"No, Freddy- listen to me..!"

"When was this? Were you like this yesterday?"

"N-..."

"Did this happen on the day we were supposed to perform?" He continues, asking this last one with something of a confrontational dread. Freddy heard Roxanne sound the worst she's ever been the day Cooper died, and has never gotten an explanation for it. Or for most of that day in its entirety. He seemed to instinctively know it was something serious the day it all happened, but now it seems he's about to find out that he was right.

...

"Freddy." I finally speak. It took time coming up with what exactly I'll need to say, and I'm not going to like saying it, but no more than Freddy's going to like hearing it.

...

"This is wrong." Freddy simply dictates. Wrong morally - stating with adamance that whatever happened, and however it was handled; it was wrong. Not incorrect, but a wrong thing to do.

I watch him think. Simple organization of facts he knows, compiling in his head to dictate a list of times this could have happened. I can't read his mind, but the more he expurgates from the list of possibilities, the more he figures out that he needs to take this seriously, not act exasperated and wait for answers. He at least needs to present himself as the embodiment of 'controlled', and 'unabating'.

...

".."

"Why wasn't she allowed to come to us for comfort?"

He's a little upset. Not very, but there's something there that just hates this.

"That's not-"

"Roxanne has people she can fall back to when something terrible happens for unconditional love and support. That is a beautiful, and rare blessing. Unimaginable peace and comfort, of which I cannot even begin to express. How, in the name of all that I wish for, have you managed to take that from her?"

...

The equipment in Freddy's hands, once the focus of his current goal, now gently clinked and clacked with insignificance; worth nothing.

His face his hard. Stern, expressing no outright anger despite his words, but perhaps something of a similar direction; and with no lack of inner ache reflected in how his brow is furrowed and his lips are frowned. Freddy's head still buzzed with lingering sensations of urgency, but the weight of his eyes on mind reflects a steady and resolute intent to learn what he wants, and act as he finds necessary.

But, just like how we faced each other the day of Cooper's death, the stone in his expression is reflected in my own. Like two pack animals using body language to decide who needs to listen to who in this moment. I hate it, he has every right to feel the way he does right now, but my way out of this isn't an excuse or lie like they were in the past. This time, Freddy's demand needs to be outweighed with a few words of my own.

...

"I need something from you." I begin as if starting to initiate a stoic bargaining.

"Roxanne is one of us, Michael." He ignores.

"Yesterday you told me about a promise you made. Maybe it's one I don't deserve, but I need you to listen."

...

"You think this a matter of trust.." Freddy unamusedly confirms after a brief period of recollection.

".."

"It shouldn't have to be. That is my family over there, injured and weakened - that is why I care; not whether or not I trust you. I want to go to her."

"That isn't what I mean. And I will never stand between you and her - I would never.." I find myself defending, perhaps subconsciously emphasizing on it a bit much. I know I'm dishonest, deceptive - but I'm not.. that..

...

"Michael-"

"I mean I want to ask you for something. Not making a demand - a request; a slightly desperate one, from one friend to another. A chance."

...

I watch his brow furrow further. I don't see this from him very often. The way he stands tall, with eyes focused on yours so hard that it feels as if he's trying to echo-locate the nature of your soul through them.

But I know something in there crumbled. Through changing the perspective from a demand to a plea, I know Freddy's sense of respect now applies to the rest of the interaction; my role changes, in his eyes, from an obstacle, to a friend in an odd spot.

..Though, obviously, what exactly he thinks in the moment is a little more complicated than that..

...

Regardless, he demonstrates virtuous stoicism. Some of the noise in his mind has quieted down, but it's far from swayed.

...

"Roxanne used to be different." Freddy comments with little expression. It does take me a touch off guard.

...

"..I don't understand."

"We're young, still. I understand that. Even if our programming grants us the critical thinking of adults, we are young, inexperienced. What's experienced is what shapes people; what makes them change."

".."

...

"But Roxanne has changed since she met you. And I don't think that a coincidence."

"..It isn't."

"..At first, it was little more than.. behavioral changes; and endearing alterations to her speech.. But sometimes, Michael - I feel as if things that were once a part of her don't exist anymore."

...

"That may be."

...

"I am worried, Michael."

"I am, too."

...

"Ask me." Freddy finally resolves after hearing my answer, stone gaze unwavering, ready to hear what I have to say.

...

"Yesterday, at Arin's. you told me why you choose to trust me despite knowing I hold secrets from you."

"Yes."

"..Because you think my heart is good; and that, whatever secrets I keep, I do so only when necessary; for the betterment of you, your family, and the Pizzaplex."

...

"..I understand my reasoning, and I still do. ..But I also gave you a condition, Michael; in which none of it applies any longer if not met."

"Yes, you.. told me that you continue to believe in me, because.. I have, thus far, sustained everything... You trust me with the secrets I keep from you and your family because I make sure everything turns out 'okay' in the end.."

"And when things stop being okay, Michael; I will have no more foundation with which to blindly believe in you."

..It feels like a small puncture to my heart when he says that with such.. merciless meaning..

...

"..That's why I mean to ask you to wait.. a little longer.." I continue after a dry pause.

...

"Specify."

"..Roxanne is your family, I'm not oblivious to how hard this is to overlook.. But I have worked hard to keep everything okay.. I have done everything I can feasibly do to make sure everything and everyone stay 'okay', so that you can continue to trust me. And with that trust, I want to ask-"

"Roxanne does not look *okay*, Michael."

...

.- "I am." -.

Roxanne speaks for herself, after listening to us talk about her like she isn't even here. Lips pursed, brow as furrowed as ours - I see natural hints of uncertainty and anxiousness in her expression, but only because I alone know what those hints look like.

..Despite how heroically Roxanne stood up for me in this moment, something in my heart pangs uncomfortably knowing I can't actually fully determine whether she actually means what she just said.

...

It also seems to make Freddy's expression stop in a few places, but doesn't break it much.

...

"..To stand in your defense in such a condition. That is high praise, Michael.."

...

"I want to talk to you. I want to tell you what happened the night the alarms went off and your performances were cancelled." I continue after a silence, given another chance with Roxanne's reassurance.

"..Mm.."

..Though I'm not done speaking, hearing me express my genuine understanding and desire to give him what he wants, in addition to Roxanne's two-word rescue.. it appears some work has been done against that mind of his.

Freddy's chin has raised an inch, and his brow furrowed with less intensity; a subconscious alteration to the face he's been making for the duration of our talk.

It's because something's reached him; and once again, despite his unfettered resolve, something's managed to seep uncertainty back into his skull. The volume of which is not as grand as I make it out to be, but it's there.

..Once again, I've managed to slither past the confidence of someone I care about and inflict them with thoughts of uncertainty, worry, and inklings of confused regret.. Look, as his subconscious start to ask if he's been reacting the right way. Watch as he loses confidence in his own judgement. Come, see his heart begin to gradually tear itself in different directions as I take his psychological foundations from under him.

I hate it. And I how this is where my hope comes from.

"..But I need to call upon your promise, Fred. and ask you to wait, just a little bit longer."

...

".."

"Next time we talk, I will tell you what you want to know. I'll tell you what happened to Roxanne, and why we hid it from you and the rest of her family. And I believe you will understand."

".."

"..Just.. Not yet."

".."

"Almost, Freddy. Almost. but.."

".."

...

"Not yet."

...

I see it finally close-circuit in his brain. A simple logic loop that finally closes, disallowing any other thoughts or contradictions to interfere with the logic. Like a machine, working through simple conditionals.

I've worked hard to make sure things end up okay in the end, and Freddy's been faced with no other option than to see what's in front of him as 'okay' following Roxanne's input. And if everything's still okay, then he still believes in me. He still trusts me, despite knowing I have secrets I keep from everybody.

That is what he told me. That is what Freddy promised. That is what Freddy still believes.

And, with that trust I've struggled so hard to maintain; a living proof of my love for him and this family I've involved myself in; he's heard me ask him a very difficult favor, one that stretches the limits of what even counts as a matter of faith, without so much as giving him a reason why he should listen.

..And so, by that 'logic'.. Freddy understands that this trust he's promised me: it has not yet been broken..

..Thus, this senseless favor I beg of him.. He still believes that it, and all else I do, is what I truly believe to be best. For us, for him.. And for her.

...

Freddy can't bring himself to verbally respond. He doesn't really know what to say, but much of that stern dutiful glare has been replaced with a thinly masked worry.

..He communicates a gray capitulation to me through his eyes, but little else happens for a moment.

...

..And I can see it..

It's barely there.. but it's there..

Through his recession.. Through all that he's been faced with; having to consider how much I've worked for the best outcomes, and how I've done everything in my power to not betray his trust.. And even through his trust itself, as he believes I still deserve..

...

..Doubt..

..The tiniest, most infinitesimal blotch.. of doubt..

...

..It's something he can't help.. I've worked hard, and he has truly been convinced that I have not failed him in making sure he and his family stay 'okay' through all of this..

Freddy, somehow, still believes I have the right to his unconditional trust. And despite his emotions, he's giving it to me.

...

..But there is an inkling.. a lilliputian pinprick of something tar-colored in that sheet of unblemished white faith.. that he just can't will away..

Something he can look past, currently.. But something he can't get rid of anymore, no matter how he may try to convince himself otherwise..

...

..A speckle of doubt..

..Irremovable.. And ready to crack wider and wider, bit by bit, like a pothole..

...

For some reason, the few last final words passed between Freddy and I seem to fall within the responsibilities of my subconscious. Words of reassurance, acknowledgement; and a promise to talk soon, if not about the secrets, then to mend what may have been damaged here.

I feel as if I barely hear them, nor do I even truly feel myself speak back to him in kind.

But the daze is only temporary, and brief, at that.

By the time I'm fully aware of everything going on around me again, I hear Freddy's footsteps behind me; fading in the direction of his greenroom.

...

I notice I didn't turn my head to follow him as he walked by. I continue to stare straight ahead, exactly where I was looking while Freddy and I had our talk. Nothing but an empty corridor where Freddy once stood.

..A telling sign that, at some point, I stopped looking him in the eye.

-M-

..-

Laminated menus sit waiting for us, back in a less visible booth. My nerves dance a bit in my chest, but well within the control of my senses.

I slide into the cushion-less wood bench on my side with the elegance of an elderly man; lips pursed shut as I instinctively time my exhales with the small motions it takes me to reach the center of the seat. Chose a booth without a window, earning us a very warm-colored lamp and old unidentifiable framed pictures.

Though we reach the table at around the same time, Roxanne doesn't start to sit as I have until I'm already most of the way seated; getting as far as planting one of her palms on the wooden table for support before having to swivel her head back over her shoulder and continue responding to the one and only 'waitress' of this fine little diner. The temporary 'background' chat between they have and the distant clinking of porcelain dishes and silverware in the kitchen do admittedly imitate an atmosphere that fills me with a little bit of ease.

I've known about this place, but it's Arin's direct reference to this area that got me to try it. Something of an obscure square with small markets instead of corporate grocery stores, barely staffed diners, and coffee shops who's services are quality but will never make enough to be more than what they are now.

Father and daughter run this such diner; the former is cook that looks like he has a hard time keeping up with his daughter's generation but loves to be involved with what she's excited about, and the latter the clean and well put-together 'waitress' who's chippy and talky attitude couldn't be shot down by an orbital cannon.

Then there's.. The purple man and the wolf..

While the apron'd father stood politely with his hands folded in front of him, pretending to understand, the daughter was all too familiar with the Pizzaplex, and thus Roxanne herself. After our meeting with Freddy, Roxanne was.. pret-ty damn quick to get the bandages off her.

Thankfully the result was a lack of any questioning on their end, with the girl too busy talking about how she's going to tell all her friends how cool this is when she sees them tomorrow at 'school'. Presumably she means college, judging off her visible age alone - but what do I know, I suppose..

Somewhere along the lines the girl seemed to recognize that eating out like this is something Roxanne, understandably, isn't familiar with; so much of the last 45 seconds have been the daughter meticulously explaining every step of the dining in experience, like she's explaining it to a child.

Eventually, Roxanne finally plops down on the corner of her booth bench with a small bounce, her final statement trailing off while the daughter finishes with a couple last 'reassurances'.

I rest my elbow on the table and wait for Roxanne to scoot in across from me; the polite social smile on her face stalling as she makes sure the daughter's not looking anymore, before facing me with a straight face and wide eyes in reaction to that woman's personality.

It makes me smile a little, raising my own eyebrows and glancing in the direction of the kitchen to say that I agree.

...

Out of the corner of my eye I watch Roxanne take in the surroundings. The theme, decor, lighting; a lot of warm colored wood and framed technicolor pictures that look old-timey. A fake mounted elk head, moose antlers around our booth's little wall-mounted lamp; mostly simple with just enough detail to feel at home.

Roxy likes it. She doesn't beam like a child, but I can see the soothing stimulation in her eyes. Like a kid on a train for the first time: this is a new thing for her. It makes her happy.

...

After a short time, her head turns back to me. I'm still idly staring off into what I can see of the diner from where we're sitting, head propped up with my hand.

And, as if to remind me that her happiness is my consequence to deal with, she props both her arms upright too, and rests her chin on the little bridge she's made with the backs of her hands.

I let her wait a few seconds before rotating my eyes to hers; acknowledging the pleased and vindicated smile she's giving me.

...

"..you were so worried." Roxy quietly croons, reassuring and just a tiny bit coy. Her voice breathy and soft, like it's just above a whisper for only us to hear.

"I'm always worried." I sarcastically defend with her same hushed volume, tilting my head an inch and looking back out into the diner again.

"People aren't so bad, Mike. They're like them. They like to understand each other, and to feel like they're helping."

The quiet volume makes her voice warm and comforting; or maybe it's just her good mood. Regardless - it's rare enough that I find it hard not to get intoxicated by it.

I mime a small dismissive wave, then let my arm rest on the table for a moment.

"..Yeah- you're right, I know you're right." I murmur thoughtfully, even quieter; letting out some air with it to try and ease some of those unnecessary nerves.

...

"It felt kinda nice to be popular again." She hums, taking advantage of my resting hand to place hers on top of it; almost like to tell me that this little outing we're on to feel better about the pressures we're facing is working.

"Yeah - she's a nice girl.. I've been wondering whether or not buckling down too hard on keeping attention from you lately. Even with situations being what they are - being social is healthy; good for the soul.."

"You're just trying to keep things from complicating; that's good. But I think coming out here tonight was the right thing."

"I'm sure you do think that." I huff in amusement, sliding my hand out from under Roxanne's palm and lightly batting it away until it's back on her side of the table. "I know you've been wanting to go and actually eat somewhere. But we couldn't do that before you got all those wrappings off."

"I know." Roxanne responds, elegantly propping her chin up with her palm. "But I also know you were worried about it. Makes me happy you did it for me anyway."

I find myself dismissively shaking my head at nothing in particular, staring with lidded eyes at the decor on the wall behind Roxanne's side of the booth; fond of the coffee smell drifting throughout the diner.

"..Well- nah, that's nothing special.. Like I told you a minute ago: I'm always worried, about anything I can excuse being worried about; probably easier to count the amount of things I do for either of us that I don't worry about."

"It makes me happy anyway."

" 'Suppose I'm happy too, then." I dryly thrum, drumming my fingers twice on the table subconsciously. "..But you're right, it's good to get out like this. I know this barely counts, but the cook and his daughter were nice new people to meet."

"I like the girl."

"I do too. And her father."

"It feels funny, meeting someone new like her this way; different from how it feels in the Pizzaplex."

"More intimate, I'd imagine."

"I think so." Roxanne hums contentedly; the permanent small smile she's worn since sitting down is almost enough to fool you into thinking she's easy to please. "I always need to be a 'big shot', because a lot of the 'character' I play at the Pizzaplex wouldn't really work if I wasn't. So now a big shot walks in and meets this sweet small-time country bumpkin, and it feels different now that I'm not in the Pizzaplex where 'meeting new people' is just an obligational part of my job."

Between her description of herself as a big-shot, and the scenario she's invented in her head, a soundless snicker awaits her by the time she can even finish speaking.

"You've found your foil."

"I dunno about 'foil' - I'm just sayin' I kinda like the way it feels to think deeper about the personalities I meet, since any of them out of my jobsite could be actual normal friends."

"I guess that makes sense.. So, what about this girl - you think you want to try making that work?" I ask with unbothered sincerity, rotating my gaze to meet hers again.

"No, no - I just like the possibility being there, it's new to me. Don't think I need to throw a sweet and slightly airheaded waitress into the already exhausting gaggle of strong personalities we have ties with."

"Thank God."

"Yeah, thought that'd like that too." Roxy comments, chuckling softly underneath her words; the sound as gentle as the weightless footsteps returning to the side of our table.

Coffee in fragile porcelain teacups manifest before us, audibly sliding a bit the wooden table as the waitress sets them down. I've already sat up straighter in my seat and uttered a reflexive 'thank you' by the time she begins reaching past me to reach Roxanne.

"Pa likes new people, Pa's little angel likes you. And, lucky for youu~.. we give treats to the one's we like." Sing-songs 'Pa's little angel', dragging out her 'you~' as she stretches to place the coffee in front of Roxanne.

I don't respond right away, chortling instead at the generous $1.99 this treat consists of; but the rather heartwarming gesture is far from lost on me. Roxanne is, instead, the one to properly reply first.

"Well thank you, hun. We were just saying the same about you." Roxanne matches her chirpy tone with a slightly more mellow one of her own, using both hands to scoot her cup in front of her. "Deputy discolor over there says he likes your dad, too."

"That's good, 'cause he's givin' ya'both free coffee." The daughter replies with a (seemingly) playful side eye towards Roxy as if to say she should like her dad, too.

"Well.." Roxy huffs back, her tone equally frivolous while her eyes rest in lidded contentment on her beverage like it's more of a sentimental gift than a drink. "Fine. 'Suppose you're 'both' pretty cool, then.. But, only 'cause you said you like me."

Amidst their brief talk I have to lean to the right a bit, accurately foreseeing a flick of the daughter's ponytail while she stands up straight again and making sure I don't eat a face-full of it for my meal here. As graceful and natural as her movements are, 'a little airheaded' may not have been Roxanne's most inaccurate judgement.

The waitress smacks her lips once matter-of-factly before she responds back to the wolf woman's banter.

"Well I meant I liked the both of you." She claims with a deliberate weightless cockiness.

"Aw- you haven't even met *him*." Roxy dismisses with a wave of her hand.

"Maybe, well-.. 'least I know who you are well enough." The daughter reaffirms to Roxanne, pointing at her with a finger still held at her side. "You though, mister.. I guess I've only had a gut feeling about, but it's a feelin' I like. Sit still, show me your eyes."

I was content to be the topic of this conversation without actually being part of it, but that plan seems to fall apart as I perk slightly to the unexpected sensation of the cook's daughter poking the center of my forehead; using the point of contact to both refer to me, as well as tip my head up a little bit to get a clearer look of me from where she's standing, leaning at the waist.

The permanent 'happy-to-be-involved' upward tilt affixed to either corner of her lips face doesn't get replaced while she furrows her brow at me a bit, eyes locked hard onto mine, as if searching my soul with a telepathic ferocity that's almost invasive. Roxanne purses her own lips at the somewhat unexpected sight, but her face still tells me she's just happy to be somewhere making memories with people throughout the continuing seconds of silence.

..Maybe this is a culture thing.. Or maybe this girl just is a little weird.. But, 'weird' befits me and my friends just as much as it does her, I suppose..

...

"..There ain't many like you around here anymore, you know.." She speaks thoughtfully during her soul-search, tone light-ish but more genuine than it was moments ago, as if she'd found something in my eyes she deem worthy of acknowledgement.

"..For better or worse, I'm inclined to agree." I respond, feeling a prompted to acknowledge.

"Fer' better, keep that chin up.. There's a lotta promise in a boy with eyes like death, but a heart like gold." The waitress concludes. Nothing on her face seems to change, but somehow I sense a contentment coming from it; like a satisfaction toward her findings. I lean back on the table a bit more when her mind-probing finger leaves my cranium. "..n' that's a good thing for you, too. Means I'll let ya keep your coffee."

"Thank you.." I utter with little thought, but she seems pleased with the reply nonetheless.

"Pa'll like you too. Show me what ya' both want - I'll make sure dad cooks it right."

"I was j-"

Roxanne's elbows hit the table with a little more invested interest than regular, leaning forward to become the center of the waitress's attention and cutting me off with a smiling blabbering maw and a finger pointed at something inside the menu she's holding.

Briefly I believe she's interjecting to either bring attention to the strangeness in what the waitress did, or simply because Roxy's just possessive of the people she likes; but her face says otherwise. There's fondness, even fascination, in her eyes; like this new unusual personality we've run into strikes her in all the right ways. Roxy's just excited to interact with her a bit more.

I take the following moments to blink and look off into the restaurant again with a deep exasperated exhale, quiet enough not to attract either of the girl's attention.

...

..I'm all for the prospect of Roxanne making new friends, but.. I also can't imagine how a personality like that would react to some of the trials our whole group are facing currently..

...

..Though I suppose this is still.. vastly more preferable than much of the tribulations I've faced today..

...

Even fighting recent instincts, the sip I take from my little coffee cup is.. a size greater than what could be described as a sip..

While the porcelain touches my lips I let my eyes rest, taking the time to be in my own little world for the 2 second duration of the drink I'm taking.

It's still been no longer than four, maybe five minutes since the cook's daughter came over to give us coffee; her and the wolf have been chatting informally up until now. I've barely been listening, but start to mentally engage a little bit more as the sound turns into departing lightweight footsteps on the wooden floorboards.

...

Regrettably, I find myself debating whether the waitress's departure is a good or bad thing for me. Next time I open my eyes, I do so with a mildly-amused raised brow, already anticipating the expectant teasing smile she'll be shooting at me.

"..You got along well." I try and playfully shoot first, setting my cup back down but not taking my hand from it.

"*You* got along well! d'You hear what she said about you~?"

Right away, the hushed targeted chirping from her causes me to roll my eyes and look off to the side in a masked attempt to avoid eye contact.

"I was there.."

"Eyes like ice, but a heart like gold." Roxanne recites with her head propped up; keeping the teasingly giddy tone soft as to make sure the waitress can't overhear it. "And the way she bored into your soul through those eyes; how d'you think she did that?"

"Seemed a little superstitious; which.. would probably contribute to that personality of hers as well.."

"I 'unnooo~.. Chica can kinda do that too, you know; maybe there's a trick. Or like a special inherent quirk, like perfect-pitch."

That theory sounds equal parts magical, and like a nightmare.

"One Chica is enough for me.."

"Come onnn, Mike - you're allowed to be happy when someone says that about you..!" Roxanne eagerly whispers, really wanting to drive this point home for some reason.

"Alright, alright - I am happy. It was a nice thing to say.."

"No, Mike- I mean-.."

She hesitates, releasing the rest of the air she had for that sentence as a quiet puff under her breath while her nose tilts down and she looks up at me with expectant eyes.

...

"I'm sorry - you know I'm not good with this sort of thing.." I find myself apologizing, drumming my fingers on the table and looking elsewhere for a moment.

"That's not what I mean.." She nearly whines under her breath, unable to express what she means herself.

"What..?"

"A heart of gold, Michael. That's what she said about you. She said it, and she really meant it."

"I'm happy - that was a really nice thing to say.. I'm sorry - I don't understand w-"

"Chica is good at reading people too, Michael - and she says the same thing. She always tells me you have a good heart."

"I understand that, I promise I do. It feels.. nice, to have them say that."

"It's not about what they're saying, Mike. It's why they say it. Look at me.-" Roxanne quickly, though gently, demands.

Roxy takes my hand with delicate adamance, sliding it in front of her and placing both palms on top of it while she leans in a bit.

"I'm-.. what..?" I fail to respond, having done exactly as she told, though it was more an instinctive reaction to my hand being moved between us.

"Listen to me."

"I am, I just-"

"They can tell, Afton."

It's no devastating impact, but it does take me slightly aback. Such was likely her intention. To call me by my last name - it isn't something she would do normally, only when she would mean to make a point of it.

And this point; she makes it with such a rare, enveloping inflection. Quiet, almost like a whisper; but with such a strong and sensitive reassurance that it feels almost like a subtle begging for me to listen and believe.

...

"They can see it. And I can too." Roxanne continues, following my stuck silence.

I finally purse my lips back together; the words don't come to me quickly.

...

"I.. understand.. I don't know how to express this either, but-.. I know what you're saying; it doesn't go over my head.." I reply with a little struggle to come up with the vocabulary.

...

"Which is why I just don't understand how you think, Mike- even you know you're trying to do the right thing every day."

"I know, I know - I don't really know what to feel about it these days, it's.. I don't know- confusing."

"I can't help but think it's because of how hard-wired you've ingrained the old you into your head." Roxanne continues, leaning further over the table with her elbows propped up on it. "I *know* I can't understand the feeling like you can, and I know it's too deep in your head for you to just 'logic' your way out of; but-.. Come on, something's got to change sooner or later, Michael."

"Things are changing - I'm just not very vocal about it since it never comes up.." I reply, finding it a touch difficult to maintain eye contact while I force myself to dig into these feelings and pull out answers to give her from them.

"I know things did change, I'm just-.. I don't know, I feel like I'm always one step away from understanding things the way they are."

"I don't always feel caught up either."

Roxanne sits back a bit in her chair, no longer leaning her upper body over the table; face contemplative, but not altogether expressing displeasure towards this conversation.

"..I have noticed. I don't want you to think that I haven't.. Especially after our last day at the Pizzaplex; a lot happened, and a lot happened to you on the inside."

I exhale out my nose, finally looking off to the side for a moment.

"I've felt weird in a lot of ways since that day; I'm not familiar with a lot of it."

Absent mindedly, Roxanne appears to mimic my nose puff and bounce her hand on the table in thought; consequentially bouncing both of our hands like a rather unconventional handshake.

...

"..Well anyway, I still mean what I said. I understand you've done bad shit, Michael - but we can see you're a good guy, now. We already know that - I just want to make sure you internalize that too."

"Maybe - thank you, I try, but.. You know.." I respond with a dismissive head roll.

"No, No - I don't 'know'."

"I- I mean I believe you, or at least believe that you believe what you're saying, and I don't mean that dismissively - it makes me try to stop and consider sometimes, and actually try to see the truth in what you're saying. I'm just.. Not very good at going anywhere with a train of thought like that."

...

..Eventually, the subconscious hand thing she's doing devolves into her pressing on my thumb-nail repeatedly like she's clicking a pen; her head tilted a bit as she looks at me with eyes that seem to be investigating me like a crime scene instead of looking at me.

...

"Hey. The day Cooper died, we said some things in the reception lobby." Roxanne begins. I'm rather quick to react with an internal grimace and groan; eyes once again gravitating to some miscellaneous piece of artwork on the walls of the diner.

"I know, I know - it's-.." I begin replying, but eventually devolve into a simple angsty huff towards the memories.

"They're what I understand the least."

"Mm.."

Roxanne leans on the table a little bit again, moreso just not resting her back on the booth cushion.

"I remember one thing you said is that you loved us, and the life you've built here; but that you hated yourself more-"

"No, no, no - that wasn't-.." I begin, immediately dismissively shaking my head and waving my hand. "That-.. I don't know, that might have been true at one point, but-.. No, that's.. I don't know, that wasn't the right thing to say to express what I actually felt back then.."

"Mike-"

"I just- I hated something really bad, and that thing was in me somewhere, but-.. No, the way I said it, it just-.. It was misleading.."

"Do you hate yourself?"

The question earns another drawn out exhale from my nose, and this time I'm the one to sit back in the booth cushion and look out into space like I'll find words out there.

...

"..No.. It's hard to explain; but, I don't know - Ironically I feel as if I did, but.. that stopped being entirely true the day Cooper died."

Roxanne doesn't offer any words this time, resting her chin on the back of her hand and patiently waiting for me to work it out. Before long, I speak again, saying the words as they finally form to coherent and formal sentences.

"..I feel hate. A lot of it, directed at.. countless things that are all stored within me somewhere; memories, regrets, judgements.. I think I feel more than I probably should, but, I don't-.. I don't hate what I'm doing, or what I'm trying to do; I'm doing what I think is right, but-.. I don't know. I felt like there were a lot of divisions in me, and I hated a lot of them, but recently they've all blended into one 'Michael Afton'; and that's changed the way I think about a lot of things lately."

..I'm used to pursed frowns and uncomfortable eyes in conversations like this - but seeing Roxanne watch me from the other side of the table, pondering the things I'm saying without grief.. It feels like.. progress, in a weird way.

...

"You still zone out from time to time, but.. You know - I have noticed that you don't really.. 'struggle' for control much anymore."

I blink at nothing in particular; feeling like those words hold truth but not entirely being able to place them in my mind.

"..How do you mean?"

"I don't know - I used to feel like there was always this 'threshold' with you, where shit would.. go south, if I let you cross it. You've told me about it, too."

"Mm.." I hum in response, though reflect genuine thoughtfulness in my tone. It's not something I've really thought about before.

There have been tense points this last week or so, and points where I've faced heaps of exposure to that old stimuli that would set me off; even yesterday, when Roxanne.. 'passionately' compared me to my father.

I do still zone out from time to time, but.. Thinking about it, I guess the last time I 'lost it' was back when I found Cooper and Evan; but even then, it didn't really feel the same. Since then, it hasn't been a relevant issue, despite times where it.. probably should have been.

...

"..I guess you're right.." I hum, with a hint of shame towards the topic being about my old habit of.. 'losing it', like a child throwing a tantrum..

"..Aaaaand.. you have any thoughts on that?"

"Well.." I huff out my nose, amused by her direct prodding. My thoughts flow in unison in my head like a steady underwater current, searching quite fruitfully for 'thoughts' I have on it, and the words to express them.

..Ever since the Pizzaplex first began to grow on me, I've felt like I'd been divided into two souls trapped in one body. Obviously that's not.. literally what happened, but.. There was a separation within me that was so potent that it felt like two entities with two different wills who were locked in a constant lukewarm struggle to have more control over my actions than the other.

One part of me was always there since the moment Evan died.. But the other part had only just began to manifest after some time at the Pizzaplex, wherein these 'miscellaneous background colorful characters' I simply tolerated had gradually grown to be.. well, my Friends.

Then I was torn. Between the me that wanted nothing more than to just be a normal night-guard that protected and interacted with these new friends I had made, and the me that carried the weight of all the sins of the past: mine, my father's, and the children's.. Fundamentally, that new me wanted to separate from my past entirely, and therefor from the other part of me that was defined by it; the latter of which also wanted the former to understand that my responsibility outweighed these new relationships, and they must be cast away if I'm to live my life making up for the tragedies I caused; a lonesome but stoic fate that I owed to all the children who suffered because of me.

It's only natural any feeling of being 'split' would only worsen with time.. Both parts of me wanted to separate from the other, going as far as to develop a near-hatred for their counterpart for their perceived self-destructive or irresponsible nature. When these points were at their worst I always struggled to maintain control, and could even go as far as to 'lose' myself to the will of myself within..

But that's not really true.. I keep referring to losing control as 'losing it', like my mind cracks to the pressures of some invisible force, when reality it was nothing more than.. One of the two ideologies I'd developed over time weighing more in my mind than the other; my priorities swapping when I felt one ideology was more true than the other.. And when both of my 'halves' have 'priorities' as counterproductive to each other's beliefs as they were, I suppose it isn't unnatural that they developed a disdain for one another over time..

..So.. Then I suppose it wasn't entirely incorrect to say I 'hated myself', like I had said to Roxanne the day Cooper died.. But, a more transparent account of how I felt would be that.. I was divided inside, and each half of me held hatred for the other, but not so much for themselves..

...

A lot's happened, though. And something's changed since then. I didn't understand it when it happened, but the moment I found Cooper and Evan in that small room, it's like I just.. Gave up, on.. all of it.

Over a full year, I've had to step lightly, choose words carefully.. Everything even potentially sensitive, I handled with caution; and with how divided the war within me raged, it became almost like a game.. Losing myself at the wrong time could let out important secrets. Improperly warding away the past from the Pizzaplex could result in distrust and confusion among the gang, not being brutal enough when I needed to be brutal could result in any given situation slipping through fingers and rapidly getting out of my control.

Keep them hidden, keep them separate, keep myself controlled; all to prolong the time I could stay at the Pizzaplex, with my friends.

But in a moment - just a single moment, something changed, and all of it just.. didn't mean anything anymore.

Watching as Cooper's life faded from his.. manic, wonder-filled eyes.. It was only at that point that I finally understood that.. this unexplainable, almost childish game of tug-of-war within me, each side of trying to have nothing to do with the other.. It just didn't matter anymore. There was no reason to even try sustaining it. It was, at least at the time.. over. Regardless of what I thought or did.

...

..So maybe that's it. It was the failure and the apathy I had felt that day that ended up revealing to me the truth, forcing me to embrace it..

Maybe I stopped obsessing over these separations when I saw it was all over, and just let the divides cease to exist. Two halves of me that had practically developed into two whole entities, both kept in one body; suddenly losing their purpose for being separated, and giving up.

And combined, they come together to equal-.. I don't know; Michael Afton..

In the mere seconds it took for Cooper's life to fade from his eyes, an ironic acceptance was forced upon me that both my love for these new bonds and the weighty sense of responsibility from the past are both as real of parts of me as the other. No more nonsense about two halves of me trying to.. fight for control, so that they can try and make 'Michael Afton' only the parts they desire, and throwing away the rest.

Even now I can recall the coldness and brutality I acted with after I had killed Cooper and began to make my way out of the Pizzaplex.. Traits I used to associate with the half of me obsessed with the past. But.. despite that, I took a detour, and took an immense risk, showing Roxanne the real me and revealing all of my secrets to her before I tried to leave. And I did so for no other reason than.. because I cared for her. And.. after all the time we spent together, all the trials we faced with one another, I decided she simply deserved to know.

I took a great risk, and made a great sacrifice, just to show Roxanne the truth, because I cared about her too much to leave her scared and confused forever.

That.. Isn't something that old past-obsessed division of me would have done. That.. had to have been the part of me that loved my new friends, and the new life I was leading with them.

What other explanation is there for both being true? ..The closer I got with my friends, the more my soul was torn in two. But then it mended back together again, on the day it was all supposed to be over..

..It's a.. deeply melancholy blessing..

To think I might never have overcome this internal struggle if it weren't for Cooper's death, and his horrible state of decay beforehand..

It reminds me of how I.. may never have changed from the hateful and wicked kid I once was, if it weren't for the mistake I made.. Killing Evan, and begetting an entire follow-up nightmare of unthinkable proportions..

..It feels backwards.. We should change to prevent tragedies and heal struggles. What's the point of changing as a person if what it take to do so is waiting until after the permanent damage has already been done?

...

..No..

I don't mean the things I'm saying.. 'Backwards' as it all seems at first glance, it makes sense.. I already knew that before I even opened my mouth..

There is no better teacher than regret. There just isn't.

...

I suppose that's why it exists in the first place, anyway.

...

.-._.

..-?

My eyes reflexively widen a bit and adjust to reality again I'm taken out from my thoughts; Roxanne lightly pulling on my arm in pursuit of exactly this outcome.

...

Roxy stares at me patiently for a little bit afterwards, no urgency or impatience in her expression; if anything, just a little amused while she waits for me to answer her.

Somehow, someway, even with the conversation topic being what it is, and how sensitive this week's been, and even after every little single thing she's been through on my account: she still looks at me with a small smile at the corners of her lips. It's as soft as her weightless fur, and as warm as the lamplight coloring us and our table from above.

Roxanne has a lot of different smiles, all with different meanings; much of which translate to fuckery. But not all of them. Some are like this. And hell, just looking at it makes me take longer to compose myself.

Small as it may be, I want to protect that smile, just as much as I want to protect the world from my father's influence.

...

"Miiiiikeee~.." Roxy intonates up and down, volume barely above a hum. She bows her head a bit and raises her brows at me like she's asking if I'm 'still in there'.

"Sorry- I was.." I start to reply, briefly closing my eyes and gently shaking my head while I take a controlled pause to figure my words out. "You got me thinking."

"I asked if you 'had any thoughts on that'." She continues, cocking her head to the side by a few degrees, tone prodding me on to fill her in with details. "..aaaaand.. You seemed to do a loot of thinking afterwards, sooo.. Anything you wanna say 'bout all that?"

I chortle under my breath, looking off to the side briefly.

'Anything I wanna say about that', she asks.. As if I haven't just sat and thought of things to say for however long I was zoned out.. And as if this issue the topic is about isn't something I'd been struggling for the entire duration of her and I's knowing each other. As if this doesn't pertain to both of us in our own, important ways.. I can think of a couple things to say about that, I reckon.

And she knows I've started getting a into a new habit of rambling about things recently, too.. Or, at least, she knows, and failed to take that into consideration that by the time she asked me the question.

Well.

I feel a small amused smile tug at the corners of her lips, eyes on Roxanne's from across the table. I just had the deepest moment of productive 'reflection' I've had in god knows how long, and know she's sat me at a dinner table to do nothing but talk with her for an evening.. Then she asks me if I have 'anything I wanna say'.

Well. As a matter of fact~..

...

"..No. Not really." I respond with a small simper of my own, leaning back in my booth seat with a smooth exhale that releases a lot of nerves I didn't realize I've been holding in all this time.

Roxanne throws her eyebrows up with a gentle chuckle, leaning forward on the table as I lean back into my chair.

"Not really?"

"Not particularly." I confirm with a lighter tone, Roxanne's lighthearted 'lets have a nice time at a small diner somewhere' attitude finally rubbing off on me. As she haphazardly forward even further, I reflexively nab the handle of her coffee cup and slide it gently back towards my side of the table so she doesn't make a mess. "Please don't spill the coffee - I'd like our first impressions to stay good between the dad and daughter..."

Roxanne just eyes me from her side of the table, her expression skeptic but clearly having fun. She waits for me to add a 'but' to the end of my claim, though it never comes.

"I thought you liked talking about things."

"I know, I know - there's just nothing worth the time to talk about, things have been.. Pretty good on that front recently."

"Well I also remember from yesterday how you talked 'bout how you felt all divided, like it's been a big deal to you for a long time now."

"Yeah, well.." I start to reply, idly looking elsewhere and dismissively waving my hand. "It isn't really anymore. Or at least it hasn't been in a pretty long time, now."

"Really~..?" Roxanne sing-songs just barely above a whisper like she's proud of me the same way a dad is proud of their child for coloring inside the lines of a coloring book. "Gotten over it? All on your own? ..Iiiis this a sign you're finally figuring out how to make peace with yourself here and there?~"

"Maybe." I huff with a limp arm gesture in her direction. "That's as close as I could probably come to describing it, anyway; but.. yeah. It was a big deal once, and.. I don't really think it is anymore. And having less things to worry about these days is quite a blessing, too - so it's good for us, not just the angsty teen in me."

"Well I'm happy for you. Or- us, if you insist it matters to us both in some way."

"Thanks." I reply with the deliberate sound of a dismissive hum, though sprinkle enough hints of sincerity into it to ensure she knows it's genuine.

Moments after the last word rolls off my tongue, I bring the cup of coffee up to my lips; going as far as to briefly close my eyes while I drink, as if to express that the peacefulness Roxy's been drowning in the whole time we've been here has finally made its way through to me.

...

Worth noting is that this coffee cup is not, in fact, mine, but is instead the cup I slid my way so Roxy didn't spill it by leaning on it by mistake.

"Mike- that's 'mine'." Roxanne practically mutters to herself so low that I can barely hear it through a voiceless puff of amusement in her tone, her elbows leaving the table and outstretching her arms towards the cup at my lips with her palms facing upward like she's going to gently 'cup' the cup in her hands and take it away from me.

As the hands approach, I lower the cup into her palms just as she was wanting to grab it, satisfied with the volumes of my thievery.

"I-, That-.." I begin with a small cough, wiping my lips with my sleeve with a bemused gaze at the cup she's taking back to her side of the table. "..that coffee is a dessert at that point."

"Shush." Roxy responds like she already knows what I'm talking about, setting the cup down just below her on the table and stirring it with a small spoon as if that will somehow make it better. It's a little entertaining watching single strands of all that silvery-gray hair flow down one by one for her to continuously push away and fold over her ear so it doesn't get in the coffee.

"Did you mean for it to be that way?"

"Yes." She responds quietly but with amused emphasis, defensively rotating her eyes to glance back up at me as if I can't see the corner of her lips tilted upward. "This stuff is new to me - I haven't gotten used to the taste of darker coffee yet."

"What did you put in it?" I ask, putting my elbow on the table and resting my chin on the back of my propped-up hand as if to get a better look at the top of her coffee.

"Sugar."

"I could tell, I m-"

"Five packets of sugar, one cream, and my backwash - that is what's in my drink, Michael."

"The Roxanne special.." I hum rotating my eyes from the coffee to the wolf herself above it. "Maybe we can get them to add that on the menu."

"No." She absent-mindedly whines back, distracted enough by her cup of coffee for it not to entirely click with her that I was kidding. "That'd be embarrassing."

"Really?"

"Yes, it-; whatthefuckdo you mean *'Really'*?"

"I don't know- since when do 'you' shy away from an opportunity to have your name plastered somewhere?"

"Probly' since I started hanging around with you. All that social aversion radiates off you like.. invisible cell phone waves.. affecting my brain." Roxanne concludes, looking up from her coffee to stare blankly at nothing with a dopey cross-eyed expression, as to demonstrate how much damage my 'invisible cell phone waves' have done to her brain after all this time.

"I don't have a 'social aversion', I'm just-" I begin to defend with a dismissive look to the side, rapidly interrupted by Roxanne who refuses to let me get away with that.

"Mike."

"No- it's not an aversion.."

"Michael fuckin' Afton.

"I d-"

"Come on, Mike." She.. 'insists', gazing up at me like she's never been more confident about something in her entire life; like it's common sense.

"Yes, yes, I know- I get it.." I gently huff with my arm up gesturing to give me a chance to defend myself. "And you're right, I'm not social, and I've had to evade public interaction for a lot of reasons before; but, y'know.."

"I do know. But tell me anyway." Roxy prods on propping her head up with her palms to her cheeks like a dreamy-eyed child; probably a deliberate effort to incite just a little more fuckery.

"I'm still not the presidential icon of good skin health, but.. It keeps healing bit by bit whenever it gets damaged; and when it reaches points like this, it's easy to pass it off as just.." I thrum, rotating my hand in the air to try and think of the right phrasing. "..'A guy with slightly strange colored skin spots here and there'."

"I don't remember you bouncing around the block the moment your skin healed to look better; you still don't really.. Go anywhere."

"I do too go places - Nowadays, with you here, and the setting as built up as it is, it's just not a good 'go places' time.." I lightly grumble under my breath, intentionally below her range of hearing. I do continue onward with a regular tone, however: "And no, it never gave me more places to go, it just.. It was the difference between needing to be elusive, and not needing to be elusive anymore."

"You're al-"

"*So*, canine - I do not have a 'social aversion', 'cause I don't actively avoid it~. What I have is also just a.. lack of social.. proactivity.." I sassily interrupt, nabbing the debatably worthwhile gratification of getting Roxanne back for doing that earlier.

Roxanne only huffs at first, smirking both at the response and the intonation it's delivered in. She stops propping her head up but continues leaning her elbows on the table.

...

"Thank you for taking me out today, Michael." She hums warmly; not 'tender' as much as it is simply 'happy', 'pleased'. Dare I say 'grateful', even.

I wave my hand dismissively, shaking my head with acknowledgement but slight hints of indifference.

"We came here together - I didn't 'take' you anywhere, I just drove." I casually deflect, recalling that it was Roxanne's suggestion to try this place today, not mine.

"Then thank you for coming with me, or whatever other verbiage works for you. This made me really happy."

"Well keep the thanks until after we're sated and out of here, first. We haven't even gotten our food; still have the 'main attraction' to experience yet.."

"You're the one I'm out eating with, dingus; *You* are the main attraction to me. That's how eating out with someone works."

I finally let an audible chuckle escape my breath after that one, sitting upright and then resting back on the booth backboard; looking off to the side with a small amused smile painting my expression.

"Aw- listen to you.." I muse with a smile, continuing to rest against the backboard but with a more upright, respectable posture.

"I don't think that counts as a pun, if that's the argument you're about to try and make with me." Roxanne thrums back with a merciful chide.

"Nope - not that, I mean that might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me." I finish with a stifled, slightly teasing chortle. Feels good to be on this end of the nonsense for one.

"That's not true.." She mutters dryly, rolling her eyes at her coffee cup while she shifts a little in her seat.

"It's close." I insist lightheartedly, not taking the time to actually sit and think if that's true or not. Roxanne's brought her cup to her lips by the time my words ring out, and I wait the two or three seconds she sips from her coffee to continue. "And a little amusing. You haven't been around long enough to know when saying something like that that sounds like flirting instead of kindness."

Roxanne starts drinking again, having kept the cup up in her hands. Her eyes rotate up to mine for the duration that she does so, though; as if internally deciding on something.

I delicately take the handle of my own cup as well, but Roxanne sets her cup down in a slightly exaggerated fashion, clinking as it gently hits the table. It's clearly a telling that she wants my attention/is about to speak, so I glance up with my eyes to meet her gaze and wait for her to say what she wants to say before I try picking my cup up to drink.

It takes a moment, for the first second or two she simply continues to stare at me with the same bemused expression she wore while she was sipping at her cup, and I stare back at her with a bemused expression of my own, cocking a brow.

...

Finally, she puffs out her nose and sets her cup down, leaning deeper across the table. An slightly annoyed tone in her voice, but with her lips still curved in a small smile.

"okay- Mike." Roxanne begins, tone like a teacher who's been dealing with a little kid's issue in her class that she's done putting up with for so long. "If things changed the day Cooper died like you say they did, then.. At this point, you can't just-.. Like - it doesn't matter what happens out there regarding your father or any other of that nonsense, you can't leave us. You can't leave us anymore - and you know it. Too much has happened."

The topic hits me a little out of the blue, I feel myself perk a little bit in intrigue.

"..Well, I-.."

"And I don't mean 'I won't let you leave' or whatever - I mean you yourself know it's just.. Too late for that anymore." She insists, pointing a finger at me with her hand that's on the table. "You did what you could to keep all the relevancy of the past away, but things slipped through the cracks. And now - the shit you've always been so scared of affecting the Pizzaplex, affected the Pizzaplex, and now it's just a part of it. Part of me. And part of all of our friends, even if they don't know it."

"I know, I know, it's-.." I mutter back, looking elsewhere and scratching my head in a weird assortment of emotions.

...

"So- I mean fuck it, right?"

Roxanne quietly but meaningfully huffs that last part out, chuckling half-wryly and shaking her head in a similar 'fuck it' kind of way. She takes my hand, plants it on the table and puts both hers on top of it, all but forcing me to focus on her. She doesn't give me the time to respond, continuing on with what she wants to say.

"Leaving was your last-resort solution to sparing us from any dumbass 'curses' that might infect everything here. And the possibility of having to 'leave' is what's been scaring you off from committing to us. But, fuck - it didn't go well, and now we all carry your little curse. That sucks, that's bad, whatever - but the damage has already been donee.." Roxy emphasizes with a small sarcastic whine. "Leaving won't help much, and you're basically stuck with us now anyway; cause if any incident relating to the past happens at this point, it's probably gonna happen here."

She tilts her head down a bit and cocks up her brows at me expectantly. I respond with a reluctant sigh and reflexively look off to the side for a time.

"..Yeah.. probably.." I half-mutter with a little angst, knowing it to be true but not enjoying having to acknowledge it

"So come onn, why not just make it official that this is your home, and open up to everybody some more, hm?"

"I do open up to everyone." I respond with a half-serious huff, neglecting Roxanne's various small efforts to get me to look directly at her again. "Maybe not 'revealing the entire dark and ugly history' kind of open up - but I'm the 'real me' when I interact with everyone. I don't wear a mask over my personality, they're exposed to the real me."

"What I 'mean', Michael, is that once you finally commit, you won't need to put up those 'walls' you have to limit how much you can matter to everyone. You were scared of hurting everyone when you leave, but now there's hardly any point to leaving, soooooo..?" Roxy trails off with an expectant bow of her head like she's telling me to finish the thought.

I exhale in another somewhat angsty acknowledgement, tapping my fingers inaudibly on the table while I space out.. Roxanne's making sense, I know what she's saying, it's just-.. I don't know; I've spent forty years basically hammering into my brain that developing any strong bonds with anyone is a horrible horrible idea, because of how I'd either eventually infect them with the kind of past trouble that follows me around, or leave them forever to ward them from that threat for good, which would break one or both our hearts in the process.

So now, someone telling me that the time's come for me to commit and let my connections grow as deep as they can go makes me feel almost.. defensive. Like someone's trying to tell me to start smoking, and I know better.

"..-sigh-yeah, I get it, you're probably right." I respond in time, almost like I'm grumbling. Finally, my eyes meet Roxanne's again. "And I know that. But it's not just a 'switch' I can turn on and off in my brain; I've been against having that kind of mindset for so long that I'm not gonna develop it very quickly now that I'm 'allowed' to."

"That's fiiine, I know it's not as simple as just.. stamping a stake in the ground and deciding this whole committing thing is now true." Roxanne waves off with one hand . "Only making sure. Just don't want us all to live our lives together for like ten years and still see you avoiding stronger connections with everyone because 'oOoOh WhAt If i LeAvE aNd HuRt ThEiR fEeLiNgS?'"

I chortle under my breath at the mockery, eyes drifting out into the restaurant yet again.

It still scares me a little, somewhere deep down. Roxanne's logic makes sense, 'leaving' as a last resort wouldn't solve everything like it once might have; and it'd even introduce some new problems.. But I also understand life's not that simple, and that a history like mine is least simple of all. It's impossible to know what might happen in the future, but a small part of me is still afraid that one of such 'happenings' will put me in a situation where staying here will put my friends at such great risk of terrible things that I simply can't bear the thought anymore.

Dishes clink in the background, alongside sizzling and what have you. Eventually the atmosphere drags me back to reality before I can stay zoned out for any more than two or three seconds.

"What's the point of wanting to stay with everyone if I keep them all a certain distance away anyway.." I reflect quietly, looking down into my coffee cup; simply expressing that I agree in at least some regard Roxanne's sentiment. "I'm sorry to predict that this 'mindset' I'm supposed to develop now probably isn't going to affect anything for a good loooong while.."

"Whatever." Roxanne dismisses, mostly reassuringly. Out of the corner of my eye I see her twirling her hair, this time just looking off somewhere as well instead of trying to get me to look back at her again. I almost can't believe I've known her this long and haven't seen her do that with her hair even once until now. "Those old walls of yours haven't really made a meaningful difference yet - just want them to fuck off before they do."

"Mm.." I hum. I admittedly don't know exactly what she means, or is referring to, but I don't really need to. Seconds later I speak again, moving my cup an inch so the liquid within doesn't go completely still. "What brought this up..?"

Her eyes rotate to mine, stopping what she's doing with her hair for a moment, but resuming after she's done thinking.

"Brought what?"

"Committing, all that.."

"Oh - something you said. You didn't mention anything about the topic, it just made me think of things is all." Roxanne answers with hints of amused satisfaction, letting go of her hair and turning to face me directly, propping her chin up with her palm.

"Like what?" I prod her on, basically just making conversation while I sit back in my booth, cup in hand.

She puffs out her nose as if she found my question a little funny, smiling a little and rolling her head a little bit like she's pretending to say she doesn't know.

"I 'unno. 'You and me', I guess." Roxy answers with a slight exaggeration to the coy part of her voice, finishing the head roll and resting on her chin on her upright palm again. "I'm kinda fond of you and me."

I exhale a small soundless chuckle, looking off into the diner for a second.

"Well.."

"So, just so you knoww.. If you ever feel like you're start to get a hang of this whole 'committing' thing.." She drums her fingers on the table, knowingly tilting her head as if just throwing an idea out there. "Maybe you coulddd.. Try it out on me?"

...

I shake my own head a little, not expressing disapproval but bemused uncertainty.

"Wolf- of course I'd be committing to you. Why wouldn't I be if I'm already committing to everything else?"

...

I don't really understand, but judging by her expression, what I said was most certainly not the correct response.

...

"I-.. Mike- are you fuckin' kidd-..? ..*No*, dipshit, I mean we-"

"Aarright littles - thank you for waiting.. Pa's big and strong, but we only got so many hands back there." Declares the cook's daughter from before, skillfully if not haphazardly sliding our plates of food towards us.

It almost makes me jump, but I'm already helping and responding by the time our plates even actually hit the table; guiding mine down to ensure it doesn't fall while letting reflex handle my thanks to her.

Roxanne looks a little overstimulated over on the opposite end. But, whatever she was about to get mad at me about, I think I'm happy it was avoided..

...

..Even after my responses are sent, I find myself continuing to gaze emptily at my phone screen, absent-mindedly playing with the toothpick sticking out from between my lips while I fish a few thoughts through my head.

Arin's been asking me a few more things - usually just asking for my thoughts on the plans he comes up with regarding all the different 'things' there is to consider about re-opening the Pizzaplex.

I don't hate it; part of me actually enjoys being 'in the know' about what's going to be happening and in what order. Though it's only a shallow fleeting feeling - I've objected to none of his plans, and don't need to involve myself in any of them either, so things would ultimately turn out utterly the same regardless if I knew what was going on or not. But I'll enjoy these occasional moments of getting to feel like I'm fundamental to the Pizzaplex's operation.

Like this morning, I simply can't help but muse about the frequency of Arin's check-ups. The man practically radiates independency, and he's got quite the history under his belt to vouch for such thing as well. I wonder if he's asking for my input just to help make me feel better and more in-control of everything after the shaking week we've had.

...

I also have a message from Trudge, but I'm pretty sure only thing I saw in the message preview on the top of my screen was emojis, so I think I'm going to save myself the trouble of trying to slowly type yet another message with one hand by choosing to ignore that for the time being.

I glance to my side for a very brief moment, catching a glimpse of Roxanne dragging a stool behind me and the stool I'm currently sitting on. We made it a good quarter of a block down the sidewalk from the diner, but stopped again at some outside furniture belonging to another restaurant. I'm sure it's meant for outdoor dining, but the place is closed, or at least looks that way; we took the liberty to.. Stop. Or something. I don't know - Roxanne stopped here, not me. I just follow her around nowadays.. I think she just wanted sit here like 'normal' people do and experience the 'normal' pleasures of life through them.

My eyes follow her back as she walks outside my field of vision, directly behind me. But, I immediately after receive another message, and my instincts are already telling me that I know better than to trying to ask what Roxanne's doing. So, my eyes dismissively find themselves back on the phone screen; half-lidded from just a hint of post-meal sleepiness.

It's Trudge again. There's words in the message this time, so fine; I'll look at it.

.-._.-

Trudge : *An indecipherable accumulation of roughly twenty-three different emojis, all of which feature the standard yellow-faced emoji doing some sort of expression that reflects a positive emotion like a smile or laughing face. There is also one single emoji of a plump orangutan sitting on the floor like a chump, which I am almost positive he added in by mistake.*

Trudge : oh sorry that was chica

Michael : No it wasn't.

Trudge : no It was not

.-._.-

...

In my peripheral, I see Roxanne lean over from the stool behind me to nab a hair-tie off the umbrella'd round-table to my right with a huff that sounds equal parts 'stern' and 'huffy'; placing it between her lips to hold it and free up her hands before she once again disappears out of my sightline behind me.

My drowsy attention, however, is kept on the three little 'typing' dots on coming from Trudge's end. Roxanne starts messing with my hair from behind me, planting her hands on the top of my forehead and sliding them both back several times to first get the hair out of my face; as gentle as an exasperated mother that's running late for work and doing her daughter's hair quickly so she can run off to school.

No, I don't know what she's doing.

No, I won't be acknowledging it either.

.-._.-

Trudge: chica wants You two to come over

Michael: Does she?

...

..A rather telling 25 seconds of no response follows before his little typing dots finally return..

Trudge: yeah

Michael: Was that you asking her?

Trudge: yeah

...

Michael: Roxanne and I are in town. I'll ask if she wants to, but I'd bet anything she'll say yes. We'll probably stop by on our way back home.

Trudge: where in town

Michael: Nowhere, currently. Roxanne wanted to try going out to eat, and there's a couple small but nice diners in a homely square of town out here; sparsely ever has people walking around.

Trudge: I'm surprised Roxanne was chill with that; she has to have known how many heads would turn. But, then again, maybe that was yet another incentive for her to go out. Chica doesn't like going out; she says she doesn't mind the attention itself, but having to ignore it instead of interact with it like she would at the Pizzaplex makes her antsy.

...

..I have no choice but to sit there and furrow my brow at that message..

I don't know how Trudge went from 'no punctuation and random capitalization' to 'grammatically exemplary' in the span of one back and forth, but I feel like it's somehow at my expense..

...

Michael: There aren't many people around - and the few heads there are to turn around here don't just stare forever.

Trudge: cool

.-._.-

"Rox." I hum at my phone, ready to relay the info.

"Just a minute.." She responds with abnormal embouchure, still holding something with her mouth.

...

A few strands of hair fall back into my vision.

"Fuck." Roxy huffs, aborting what she's doing and starting over by sweeping my hair back again.

"What in the world have you been doing back there?" I ask, beginning to glance back before a few impatient fingers nab my chin and force me to look forward again.

"Remember the three hundred times I've told you to go get a haircut?"

"..No?"

"'kay - Well you still haven't, and I'm not letting you let it grow anymore without making you *do* something with it."

"It's not that long - not unusually so for a boy, I don't think.."

"The first time you walked into the Pizzaplex your 'hair' was barely halfway down the back of your neck - if even."

"That's within my idea of 'normal'."

"That was normal. That was boyish hair - then you continued to not once go to a barber and get it cut, so now look at it. This is a year of un-cut neanderthal hair right here." Roxanne chides from behind me, gently shaking the hair in her hand so I can get a feel for its length. I don't really know why she thinks that'll work - I don't have nerves in my hair, nor any idea how far back her hand is..

"I don't go out unless I have a good reason. I'm not as purple nowadays, but you remember what I looked like.."

"You went places - don't try and tell me you didn't hobble your jolly ass to the supermarket and prance around with a shopping cart for a half-hour every week. You've told me stories about that."

"Of course I went grocery shopping - that's necessary.."

"I don't care what you tell me - it is not hard to find and go to a barber for fifteen minutes every few months.."

"I don't know any barbers."

"*I* am a barber, dumb fuck."

Oh yeah.

...

"..Fine - when we're back at the Pizzaplex, you can cut it; as long as you take it seriously.." I reply after a moment, tone a resigned but firm hum.

"No - *I'm* not doing it." She says right back, speaking on auto-pilot while she focuses on getting my hair to cooperate.

"The hell do you mean 'I'm not doing it'..?"

"Why would I?"

"You just told me you're a barber - you can cut my hair whatever length you want."

"No I'm not cutting it - I like it long."

wh- Are you kidding me..?

...

"You like it long?"

"Yes."

"My hair?"

"Yes, stupid."

"Why have you been badgering me?"

"*Badgering* you?"

"You just said that you keep telling me I should get a haircut."

"You *should* - it's good for your hair; cutting it helps keep it healthy." Roxanne huffs, dismissing it almost immediately as most all her attention remains on what she's doing. "I personally prefer it longer is what I'm saying - doesn't mean you shouldn't still get it trimmed here and there, dingus.."

I'm going to kill her.

I am going to kill her - that is so absurdly unclear, she has to be doing this on purpose.

...

"..w.. whatever- still, what are you doing with it back there..?"

"Working with it. It's being stupid - shut up."

...

"I don't know what that means." I drone with a mildly exasperated stone-faced gaze facing out into nowhere. She's having a time back there, gathering and tugging around my hair in a mildly therapeutic fashion like she has been for the last three or so minutes.

"It means, fuckin-.." Roxanne begins, but gets frustrated with something I can't see back there and seems to lose her train of thought, getting closer and propping her elbows on my shoulders for support while she continues trying to gather and do something with my hair.

...

"You're scaring me, wolf."

"Mike - *just* a pony-tail, it's not a complex thing." She finally informs, some of her frustration likely unknowingly projecting onto me.

I don't think it's that long..

"..This 'simple thing' is giving you an awful lot of trouble - what's happening back there?"

"Your hair is like a fuckin' disobedient child with no reproach; I can get most of it, but I need all of it, and it's like that literally isn't possible. Like it's actively preventing itself from being uniform.."

"..Is that a sign it's unhealthy..? I don't put much care into it - just.. Shampoo.. Conditioner too, because you make me care about that sort of th-"

"No, no, your hair is fine - I wouldn't care what you do with your hair if its texture wasn't so god - damn - 'delectable'; but I'm not letting you waste that by refusing to acknowledge it and leaving it unmanaged without-.-.."

Roxanne trails off below the point where I can understand her. Delectable isn't a horribly reassuring word to have my hair described as by a wolf that bites things like a teething child.

...

I get another message.

.-._.-

Zargothrax, Master of Nightmares: chica's asking if you guys won't be hungry when you arrive since you just ate out

Michael: Probably not. I'm not certain we'll stay for too long either, maybe just a little longer than the traditional 'dropping by'. We both need sleep.

Zargothrax, Keeper of the Celestial Flame: that works best for us too

Michael: Between you and me, Roxanne needs the socialization. Recent events have left her exasperated, and I know being around her old mates makes her feel better.

Zargothrax, Wizard King, Chaos Incarnate: its probably best for chica too. i like her around, and she likes being around, but she obviously needs the time with her friends, even if she doesnt say she does

Michael: Oh really?

Zargothrax, Scion of the Kingdom: yeah. it isnt a big deal or anything but i know it makes her feel best when she feels at home, and home is where her friends are. friends other than me of course

Michael: Sounds like you're putting yourself down.

Zargothrax, Double Wizard: im not, i recharge her batteries too. being with everyone is just more thorough still, and i dont have any reason to make her learn to be most content with just me instead of also with all her buds

Michael: You know her better than me, but I really do think Chica already is happiest with you. Having her friends with her recharges a different kind of battery, is all.

Zargothrax, Entombed in Liquid Ice: you think?

Michael: Stop changing your name.

Trudge: k

.-._.-

Early on in that interaction, Roxanne accomplished her endeavor and let her arms fall from 'sitting on my shoulders to mess with my hair' to 'limply draped forward over my chest', propping her head atop one of those arms on my shoulder to peacefully spectate the conversation I'm having over the phone. I made no effort to prevent her from reading our messages, despite the 'Between you and me' message I typed to Trudge regarding Roxanne herself.

As the text convo comes to a close, Roxanne hums in pleased amusement at one of the last messages I sent, and cozily moves her arms draping down my chest to be wrapped around the front of it instead.

"That was sweet." Roxanne comments, still looking at the phone screen.

"Trudge doesn't seem to know just how much Chica lights up when she's with him. I bet he thinks she's always like that.." I absent-mindedly reply, almost just speaking the thoughts I'm having to myself out-loud and continuing to stare at the phone along with her just in case 'big T' has anything else to say.

"I'd love to drop by and 'socialize with Chica', even if you make it sound like you two are zookepers tending to their animals." Roxy muses, closing her eyes upon my shoulder and resting there for a moment like she's a little sleepy too.

"We're all animals. Part of being an adult is just pretending like these arrangements isn't also for our sake." I dryly muse back. Roxanne hums again in response, sitting in silence for a few comfortable seconds.

...

Just as I begin putting my phone away, I feel Roxanne's vocal chords vibrate on my shoulder as she speaks up again.

"Even if being with everyone is what makes Chica and I feel better, I'm happiest with you, too."

"aw- 'That' was sweet." I openly chortle under my breath as I look down and slide my phone away.

"Your reward saying something shamelessly nice to someone for once."

"You figure out the hair..?" I ask, reflexively starting to reach back there to feel it.

"Mhm."

"I still look debatably presentable?"

"You still look like Mike."

"Not horribly reassuring."

Roxanne puffs out her nose in amusement, lifting her arms and head off my shoulders as I indicate I'm standing up.

"It's an acquired taste, maybe. But it's worth it."

I hum in place of an actual response, pushing myself up off the stool with the elegance of an elderly man and stretching.

Her mood changed awfully quick, more than I truthfully envision seeing a 'cute' text being able to incite. Thankfully it was for the better this time - an arbitrary mood swing taking her from 'fussy' to 'cozy' isn't something that happens often, I'll take that boon when I can..

And yes, I am deliberately choosing to believe her current mood is the result of a mood swing, because I'm fairly certain I'd have a lot harder of a time playing off the things she's saying to me otherwise.

Mm..

...

Hot corn bread and syrup..

I was fully prepared to relate this to putting ketchup on a steak.. I'm glad I didn't do that, at least not verbally - or it'd make this third helping I'm shamelessly carrying around make me look awfully hypocritical.

...

Trudge and I talked about whether or not they should make food for our arrival. We decided on 'no'. In this particular instance, I'm glad they don't always listen.

The girls went outside a little bit ago - glancing out the sliding glass backdoor, I believe I can trace their silhouette in the moonlight, sitting and chatting. It's rather endearing.

...

It's suspiciously quiet inside the house, still. Trudge is in here somewhere - but we've long since disbanded from the table we were all eating at to go about our own thing until Roxanne and I feel the need to leave.

I glance around the dimly lit kitchen and connecting doorways, before pacing into a couple other rooms with my small bowl of warm corn-bread still in my hand. I can't bring myself to call Trudge's name as I look around, as if apprehensive of what might actually happen if I find him.

Maybe what'll happen is that this discolored ape stumbling through his co-worker's house will finally get some much-needed social activity this week.

..Or- day.. Every day this week has felt as if they take months each to live through - it's easy to forget I just got as much social activity as I ever could have wanted only yesterday at Arin's house..

...

Where the hell *is* this two-legged dues-ex-machina?

I finally come to a stop at the far end of the living room, next to the front (though less-used) entrance to the house.

It's more unsettling to have an un-accounted-for Trudge loose in the building than any forlorn animatronic. At least those things were predictable..

For all I know, Trudge could be consciously hiding and stalking me while I'm stumbling around looking for him.

...

You know what - that thought alone has terrified me enough to decide to hobble my purple ass outside as well.

Oh look. A door.

...

I could have sworn there was a gate to Trudge's backyard fence. Almost positive, even.

If there is one, then I'm discovering it's much harder to identify from the outside.. Maybe I oughta wait a moment and let my eyes adjust to the light-level out here.

...

I hear the girls talking, and I reflexively keep my footsteps light as I search around as to not alert them to my presence outside the fence - in which they would immediately identify me as either a creep for listening in on them, or a fool for not being able to find the door. And should it be the latter option they conclude, they'd be entirely correct.

...

There's a small circular hole in this plank - perhaps a decorative indication of the gate. When I gently press on it, I'm met with more of a reaction than the rest of the fence.

Good. I haven't totally lost my mind quite yet.

...

After both pushing and pulling, I come to the delicate deduction that this gate is, in fact, locked, like any other fence gate on the planet would be.

I hum under my breath, briefly considering just jumping the fence - it's only a foot or so taller than I am. Plus, it would give the girls a good startle.

...

I have one arm.

You'd think that'd be easier to remember.

...

Giving up with a silent sigh, I decide I should stop 'thinking' and just ask one of the girls to open the door. They'll ask why I decided to come in the backyard this way instead of the sliding glass door, and I'll either have to look at them awkwardly like they're the weird ones, or admit that the looming presence of an un-located Trudge struck enough fear into my heart that I couldn't bring myself to walk to the backdoor.

Before I call out, I zone into the girl's chat, just to briefly ensure they aren't having a girl-to-girl moment I don't want to be intruding in.

.-..

"Head just kinda hurts. Only a little bit, but all the time." Roxanne mentions, between a serious comment and a dismissive grumble.

"You said. I was asking if you knew why."

"Yeah; things just feel messy."

"Why?"

"'Why'?"

"Sorry, I mean-.. *Are* things messy?"

"Things aren't *tidy*." Roxanne replies, confirming earlier that the other voice did, of course, belong to Chica. Such a tone from her is.. Rare, though. Enough so that it made me hesitate to actually assume the voice belonged to the bird.

Maybe I really did walk into some girl-talk.

"..Kay', but. Are they 'messy'?"

...

"I don't know. When I think about it, everything seems to be under control, at least currently being handled one way or the other.. But I can't stop feeling like it's all a mess. I'm overthinking, I don't need you to tell me that, but still, it bothers me."

"And that makes your head hurt?"

"It, -sigh-.." Roxanne exhales, unable to just conjure up the words then and there and instead needing a moment to figure it out. "..You ever find yourself unable to stop thinking?"

...

"Maybe. I dunno' if it's the same."

"One thought at a time, in a calm calculated sequence, flowing gently like a controlled stream. It isn't overbearing, it just won't stop."

"..I dunno. Maybe super rarely..? Not right now, no."

"In general - I didn't mean right now. But yeah, it's like that."

"The mess makes you feel like that?"

"Something like that."

...

"'Something like that' makes it sound like I don't actually understand."

...

"..Yeah - maybe.. Sorry."

"There's something else..?"

"I don't know - maybe it's just a particular part of the same thing."

...

..My hand begins to gently close and slide down the fence wood. I feel a force pulling me back, like a compulsion.

They're having a moment together. They're finding comfort in thinking they're alone with each other; the familiarity of what is basically family to Roxanne allowing her to open up a little to someone she trusts.

Being here, listening; it might give me helpful information, but it doesn't feel good. It doesn't feel right.

What they don't know can't hurt them, but even if I was assured I could get away with listening and them never finding out, it still feels like a blemish on the extremely sensitive issue of trust between Roxanne and I. Maybe against Chica too, even if she doesn't know it.

...

I don't leave yet, but I feel the pull.

A part of me likes that Roxanne has someone she can talk to other than me, even with everything she's hiding and been through.

And I know why, too. Roxanne's observant; and if I've recognized the prodigy-like talent Chica has for working with feelings, Roxanne has as well. Hell, perhaps she knew it before I was ever even in the picture. They've been family since the beginning, even if Roxanne wasn't as outward with them as she is today.

...

A small part of me feels a twinge of envy. Maybe toward their sense of family-bond that has lasted since their manifestation, or maybe even toward Chica's incredible ability to know what to do in the face of any emotion she can identify in Roxanne. An ability I could desperately use in these shaky times.

But, of course, the twinge is vastly outweighed by all the other rather reassuring feelings I've managed to accumulate towards the main four, and their relationships with one another.

...

"..You can say it."

"I 'can' say it, huh?" Roxanne slightly deadpans back, as if Chica was granting her permission.

...

"You wanted to talk to me about this."

"I just wanted to talk in general."

...

"No-, you.. You wanted to talk to me about something, I could tell.." Chica lightly argues back.

"Bird-"

"It's why you came out here with me, Roxy." Chica gently interjects, her tone taking a sense of necessary firmness. "..You knew what you wanted to say to me out here, but you stopped wanting to say it now that we're finally here."

..The claim is a touch bold, but I feel as if I know better than to doubt Chica's judgement on a topic such as this..

...

"I don't know what I should and shouldn't say." Roxanne replies with little expression, acknowledging Chica as correct and commenting on why she's been reluctant.

"..Because of.. What..? Trust?"

"No - Chica, you know I trust you."

"Then it's because you're scared of what I'll think."

...

"I don't know."

...

"I am not going to stop loving you."

"I know- and.. Thank you, I don't take that for granted. But it's something I might deserve to be scorned over regardle-"

"I won't. I don't care what you think you deserve."

"What if I *need* the scorn?" Roxanne huffs with tender annoyance.

...

"I can scorn you, if that's what I really think you need."

"..Bird-"

"But no matter what I do, I won't stop loving you."

...

Roxanne quietly lets go of a mighty breath she's kept in her chest, unable to figure out what to do with the air while she turns her head away.

...

..I need to get out of here..

I get captivated by their talk, and I stay to listen - but listening isn't what I should do. Especially not now, where Roxanne may finally release her admission. It isn't for me.

It's so hard to stop, but it's also begun to hurt to continue listening. Words that aren't meant for me - that only exist because the perceived lack of me - robbed by my eardrums.

It's not a superstitious thing - I don't think I'll be haunted by some supernatural morality ghost if I listen, but it just feels incorrect. Opportunities Roxanne has to have conversations like these with her family are rare, to say the least; she deserves the right to speak openly to somebody other than me, privately.

...

My hand parts from the wood entirely, and I find myself staring at the side of the fence after taking a step back.

For some reason, my heart beats. Apprehensive, maybe, of what Roxanne might say. Apprehensive of being here to hear it, also.

...

..Enough.. This whole cavalcade of how I feel is childish..

It will take a little more convincing on Chica's part to crack Roxanne's shell, I think; but she's most of the way there. I believe I have time to go. Even if it is just my own conscious I'm rescuing.

For what it's worth, those words Chica reassured Roxanne with was pretty nice to hear, even if I wasn't supposed to.

But nonetheless, summoning an inklings worth of damn integrity, I furrow my brow in focus and tear my empty gaze away.

Several parts of my brain are screaming at me to keep listening, but ugh - that's enough as it is. I'm supposed to be getting over these old deceptive habits.

But. If I leave now, I think I'll let myself get away with not telling anybody I've been listening as long as I already have. There's no h-

"I've been putting Michael through things he doesn't deserve, lately."

"..Like, in a mad way..?"

"Usually. And you know what - not just lately, I've been pretty bad to him. In general."

...

"Well that's still okay - you both didn't like each other at first.. But you two always work it out, that's the important part."

...

"Maybe. I don't know - I didn't really express what I mean good enough; I haven't just been, like, 'annoyed', with him, I mean like-.."

"Really mad?"

"Worse than that, even."

"Like what..?"

...

"I screamed at him yesterday. Said a bunch of things I didn't even mean, just to try and hurt him. Said I hated him, a lot."

...

"..But Mike-.. I thought Mike told me over the phone that everything was okay after you two left Arin's..?"

"Mike was protecting me."

"..No.. No- I would have-.. I would have been able to hear something like that in his voice - I'm good at that kinda thing. He didn't think he was 'protecting' you.."

"No, maybe not - but it's similar shit, like-.. He, -ugh-.. He always, just.. *makes up* reasons why it was okay that I did something I really shouldn't have - but come on.."

...

"..You know he listens to you. You can talk to 'him' about this, too, Roxy."

"We do talk about it - he just-.. I don't think he's hard enough on me about things he needs to be hard on me about."

...

"That's kind of a scary thing to say, Roxy."

"Well-"

"Is it that bad..?"

...

"I think so. It's been happening for a while."

"What has?"

"Just- this shit I've made him put up with. We've both made each other put up with some gnarly stuff over the last year or whatever - but no, I don't care what he says, I've been far worse to him than he's been to me."

"Like - since he started at the Pizzaplex..?"

...

"I'm going to tell you a secret, alright?"

"Oh-.. Okay."

"It was my fault he lost his arm. It was an accident, but still - it wasn't.. like some obscure butterfly effect or something. I did it. Pretty directly."

...

"Oh."

"Yeah."

...

"Oh wow.."

"Monty found out too, and Mike had to stand up for me. And even that was just after I had finished yelling at him."

...

"..Okay.."

"Yeah- but every time I even try to express regret about that, he shuts me down before I can say anything. 'Because it was an accident', is usually his reasoning - but a little negative reinforcement is how people learn to stop having accidents like that, you know what I mean..?"

...

"I mean, I-.. I think, if anyone, 'Mike' is the one who should decide if you need to be scorned for that.. But he still chose not to, didn't he..?"

"ugh- He makes *that* argument a lot, too.. goes any length to make me feel like I didn't do something wrong.."

...

"And.. You don't like that."

...

"If it was just one or two things, I wouldn't care so much, Chica - but it's not just a little - It's a lot. I've done a lot; we've both done stuff, maybe - but I've done.. a lot."

"I understand, I understand - Mike's still tough though, ain't he? And, wolf- I don't.. I don't know how much worse it can get than an entire *arm*.."

"Well- once, I-.."

...

"..What - something worse than *that..?*"

"I know that sounds stupid, but maybe. Yeah."

"How?"

...

"There was one day that I outright betrayed him, really bad. Really bad. Right in front of him; in front of his face. His world was crumbling into pieces around him, and I stood at the middle of it all, pointing a finger. Freddy had to come save the day, because he trusted Mike more than me in the moment, and I was supposed to be his best friend."

"Aw- Roxy.."

"No. No - not this time. Argue with me all you want excusing the other stuff I did, but not this. I don't want to feel better about this."

...

"..Why do you think he always lets it go..?"

"I don't think I can tell you that yet. Sorry."

"No, no- that's okay."

...

"So maybe that's it. I know things look kind of under-control, but I'm scared *I'll* make things messy."

"You think you might..?"

"I really fucked up last night, Chica. Really bad. I damn-near already did."

...

"That's okay."

"I don't know if it's okay - sometimes it doesn't feel like it is."

"No- it's okay."

"Bird-"

"I said I wouldn't stop loving you no matter what, and that's all just Mike doing the same thing."

"I know- but I don't deserve to j-"

"I don't think either him or I care about what you think you deserve."

...

"What do I do?"

...

"..Maybe we work on it..?"

"Work on what?"

"The stuff you.. said you did."

...

"What do you mean..?"

...

"..Well- You feel worse because Mike keeps letting it go.. I think I can kinda get that, and-.."

...

"..And, I know I don't know the full story behind any of the things you did, but.. I mean - you at least made some of them-.. made some of them *sound*.. kinda-.. really kinda bad."

...

"I'm sorry."

"No - sorry is between you and Mike. But if you feel like-.. like you need to work on yourself, kinda; and Mike keeps letting you off easier than you want, then.. we can do it..? We can work on it?"

...

"..Probably.. Well- now I feel a little anxious about it.."

"Well- you're not 'supposed' to feel good. You're.. supposed to feel kinda scared, and maybe a little dread."

"Good lord, bird."

"I don't know if I'm good at 'not being soft', but I'm.. good at doing what I think I need to. Maybe even if it means being a little blunt."

...

"..You're.. weird.."

"I know. We're all weird - but weird is okay."

...

"You know - I thought you once hated feeling weird.."

"I did, a long time ago. But Mike helped me fix it - he's the one that taught me weird isn't bad. He said weird is weird, and bad is bad; so I can be weird, as long as I make sure I'm not bad. Even though I 'was' doing something pretty bad at the time that he made me stop.."

"You know what - yeah, I remember he told me about that once. But I don't really remember any of what he said."

"I do. I think about it a lot; he made things better."

"Yeah. He's good at doing that."

"He 'is' good at doing that."

...

"I don't deserve him."

...

"..Well.. I still don't think he cares about what you think you do or don't deserve."

...

"..You know what - maybe that's why we've worked together so far. 'Cause we both kinda feel that way.."

"He thinks he deserves something bad?"

...

"..Nah, nevermind; that makes it sound worse than it is."

"..Well.. I hope it's not, then."

"He's fine - I probably shouldn't talk about it, is all I mean."

"Good. Okay."

...

"Thank you for talking, Chica."

...

"Come here."

"No- No hug, not right now. Stop - I'm not in the mood to be touched right now."

"Don't care."

...

"I want you to go get one of these from Mike too, before you leave Trudge and I's house."

"It'll be a cold day in hell before I ask him for a hug, bird."

"It's already cold."

...

"..Riveting.."

...

"..Okay, okay, Chica- that's enough, already.."

"Love you."

"Love you too. Now let go."

...

"'Kay- we go inside now."

"In a minute - the cold's helping me keep my head from overheating."

"Inside time."

"Chica-"

"Trudge's gonna get mad if I'm out here too late. Inside time."

"At you, not me - He's *your* keeper, not mine.."

"Then he's gonna get mad at Mike for not telling you to come inside."

"What the hell is even the point of a backyard curfew- are there monsters in his backyard?"

"He worries."

"Trudge does not seem like a fuggin' worrywart, bird."

"I'll get you in trooouuubleee~."

"..He's a bad influence though, a-fuckin-pparently - don't you blackmail me into-"

"Get over here already!"

"*Fine*, fine, fine- stop, hold on - I'm coming.."

...

I head back inside too.

"Vacuum." I suggest/demand, regretting the decision to let Trudge handle a matter of problem-solving on his own.

"I have a broom."

"You also have a vacuum - It's in the living room, right there."

"I have. a broom." Trudge repeats with a volume of confidence rivaled only by the gods.

"Don't use the broom, you'll-.."

I'm made to quietly trail off and kinda defensively prance in place as Trudge pokes the broom at my feet in response to my criticism.

During such, Roxanne emerges from another hallway connected to the kitchen via the wall on the right with a furrowed brow at the noises she's hearing, before catching herself with a hand on either end of the narrow hallway just before she steps into the kitchen and gets her feet dirty.

"Ho-ly shit - are you kidding me..?" She huffs in surprise at the state of the kitchen floor.

"Cornbread thing fell over." Trudge replies, jabbing at my feet still. It does not stop me from speaking up about the inaccuracy of that claim.

"It didn't 'fall over' - you jumped on the counter, forgetting the bread was there."

"Nope."

"Yes. I watched it h-, stop with the damn broom."

"It was a ghost."

"No."

"A ghost did it."

"No, what-? A 'ghost'?"

"A ghost."

...

"A ghost did it." I concur, affirming to Roxanne moments before the spindly bottom part of the broom plants itself squarely in the center of my face.

"Did it fucking explode?" Roxanne finally interjects, exasperated by just how much of a mess it caused.

"The tray lande-"

"I took my eyes off you two for seven seconds. That isn't even an exaggeration."

"*I* didn't do anything."

"Vacuum it."

"That's what I'm trying to tell him"

"I *have*. A *broom*." Trudge passionately reminds.

"There are crumbs everywhere- you are not sweeping it; that won't even get it all." Roxanne replies unabated, leaning over the kitchen but not actually stepping foot into it.

"You doubt me?"

"I doubt the fuckin' broom, cornbread assassin - you'll sweep it into the carpets if you try using that thing."

"You doubt my broomskill?"

"You don't even have a dustpan - what the hell is wrong with you?"

"*Alright,* alright, that's enough - the vacuum's right here.." I dryly interject.

"Trudge- get *out* of the kitchen before you get shit all over your socks."

"Don't antagonize him, I'll get the damn v-"

"wAAAH-!"

Trudge leaps with olympic form down the hallway Roxanne's in, holding the broom underhanded like a javelin; to which Roxanne responds by screaming and falling over backwards until they're both too far down the hall for me to see.

...

"..I see.."

I don't think she does.

Nonetheless, I sit still and glare at my open palm that Chica's slowly dragging her finger across.

...

"..Money.." She mutters.

...

"..Like- plenty of it..?"

"Something to do with money.."

Outstanding.

...

I should not have let her do this.

"We need to go, Mike." Roxanne calls from another room.

"I'm in the living room. Been ready." I somewhat dismissively reply back.

...

Subtle carpeted footsteps preface the gray canine's emergence from a hall to the right of the couch Chica and I are lopsidedly sitting on. Her face is scrunched slightly as she appears, which prompts me to try and recognize a smell that might be inciting such behavior, until watching her face for a moment longer reveals she's just squishing and stretching her face muscles for its own sake.

She has a plastic bag in her hand that she's holding against her hip as she leans against the wall a bit, bearing a couple cornbread muffins Trudge is sending us home with.

Between thinking I had finished them off earlier, and the tray flipping over only a moment ago, I don't actually know where these cornbread muffins keep coming from.

...

"What are you doing?" Roxanne finally breaks.

"Chica says she can read my palm."

"What?"

"She's reading my palm."

"Who wrote shit on your palm?"

I love this woman.

"No. It's like fortune telling."

...

"I'm not supposed to be looking for words..?" Chica wonders out loud, raising her head a few inches like her concentration breaks.

"No..?"

"Oh."

"How did you get the word *money..?*"

"Let's go, purple boy." Roxanne mundanely insists as Chica gets up with absolutely no regard to my question.

"Fine. You say bye to Trudge?" I reply with just as much expression as I push myself off the couch like an old man.

"Yes. As a consequence, he gave me muffins."

"Ah."

"Byee~!" Chica girlishly sings. Roxanne's given just enough warning to lob me the plastic bag before she's engulfed in the duckling's impassioned hug.

I sound a low chortle just loud enough that I think Roxanne will be the only one that can hear it, before calling out to the missing anomaly himself:

"We're leaving."

"Get off my property." Replies the man of the house from some other chamber.

I hum contentedly at the response, before eyeing Roxanne until she's been freed from the bird's grasp.

Chica seems to have her by the shoulders for a moment while she pulls away, speaking in a quick and reassuring series of whisper to the mildly exasperated Roxanne gently being shook a bit. They're below what I can hear, but I can always make my guesses regarding what it is she's talking about.

And finally, out doth the chicken travel from this living room; somewhere in the direction Trudge's voice was heard.

Roxanne and I share a moment of telepathic banter between our eyes regarding the girly hug she just received, before the former just starts ignoring me and walking in the direction of the door.

"*Bye, Trudge*." Roxy calls out as well.

"Getoffmyproperty."

There are muffled sounds of a stock-shotgun sound effect being played via his phone from across the house.

"He must really mean it this time." I hum, stepping aside and waiting for Roxanne to lead the way while I gaze fondly in the direction of the noise.

"He never 'means' anything."

"arright- Let's get out of here, I got things to do." I motion past me for the door.

"mm.."

...

"..So let's go, wolf."

"Look at me, for fuck's sake."

I do as told, expecting to find some obstacle somehow preventing her from going the right direction.

No such thing. Of her own volition, Roxanne's instead parked herself right over here by me, arms extended outwards towards me at slack angles like a young child would do towards a stuffed animal they're not entirely sure if they want or not, but are willing to give a try.

...

"Why?" I ask, pretending not to know that this is her fulfilling a command made by Chica while they were outside.

"The fuck do you mean 'why' - who needs a reason to accept one of these?"

"You know it's unusual."

"What - Chica doesn't need to give you a reason, but I do?"

"Wolf."

...

"Because I want one."

"Because you want one."

"Because I want one, and we don't do these very often."

...

"We d-"

"The ones at home don't count."

That doesn't make any sense.

But, I've argued with it long enough to keep her from being suspicious when I do accept the hug.

So very well.

...

"Can I drive?"

"No."

"Mm."

...

She's lucky I didn't even think about her question for very long. Otherwise I would have said 'No' with a far more condescending tone.

Roxanne reaches the car before I've even really stepped off the front porch. She pulls the door handle to a dry and unsuccessful 'clunk', side-eyeing me until I unlock the car.

To which I respond by slowing to a stop and staring back at her from across the driveway with a neutral expression, timing how long I can do so until Roxanne comments on it.

...

"Really like messing with people, don't you?" Roxanne, as foretold, dryly comments.

"Yeah- I don't really know what's up with me today." I reply with equally dismissive sincerity, wasting no more time unlocking the doors with a lazy flick of my wrist and press of a button while I take to my side of the car.

The wolf clambers in the passenger seat at the same time I place my hand on the doorhandle; the yellowish interior lights gradually aglow while I bend down a bit and fish out a couple things from out of my pockets to set in the cupholder, since taking them out while I'm driving would be nigh impossible with only one hand.

One such item is my phone, which I can feel sink into Roxanne's loving palm after holding her hand over the cupholder in anticipation of it.

I stand up straight again, briefly rummaging my pockets one more to ensure I didn't miss anything. While I loom over the roof of the car, a faint reverberation just barely captures my curiosity enough to get me to look out into the black empty street outside of Trudge's driveway.

...

..Such curiosity is rewarded. A rather incredible ways down the street, a dim figure emerges from between a few buildings on the right, curving onto this street with the momentum of a practiced sprint; pumping his arms and legs like officer earl flint lockwood-ing in our general direction.

Headed right for us, sure. But that's-.. that has to be a mile and a half, at least. Turning what would otherwise be a startling and intimidating sight into something just interesting enough for me to throw my half-lidded eyebrows up a quarter of an inch and just kinda stare in dry amusement.

...

"..'ugh'.. Mike- your radio's not working."

"Press the volume knob." I respond with little expression, continuing to look idly down the street.

"The dial?"

"Press down on it."

...

The radio plays.

"There we go.." Roxanne mutters under her breath. I hear her shimmy down to a lazier and more comfortable position in her chair while she messes with my phone with one hand, taking a styrofoam cup from the cupholder in the other and audibly slurping from it.

I don't know where it came from, we haven't stopped at a gas station or any such thing today. I guess it's old, despite my efforts to keep my car acceptably clean.

...

A dozen seconds or so later, the drink it pressed into my hand that was idly dangling there. An offer to share from who's most likely still down there on the phone like a baby to keys.

...

Unabated by logic, I bring the straw up to my lips and take a nice sip or two while I watch the distant sprinting figure like I'm at a movie theater.

Nope. It's cold and fresh; not flat whatsoever. Still got ice in it, even. So no. No idea where it came from.

...

"We going home, r-shirt?"

"Mhm.." I hum back with little urgency, watching only a little longer.

"You think you forgot something?" Roxanne asks; I hear her drop the phone on her thigh and lean across the center console to get a look up at me from where I'm standing.

"No, just lookin' at something.."

...

A full twenty seconds pass before I finally get the r-shirt joke and chortle under my breath.

Or I started to, before quickly wincing a little instead; because our mystery runner over here tripped over *something* and ate the asphalt face first.

They're not close enough for me to ask if they're alright, not without yelling as loud as I possibly could. A few seconds pass and I start to think I just witnessed a suicide-by-asphalt; but finally, our hero over here pushes himself back to standing with pep, and once again begins his comically exaggerated sprinting motion.

...

"Oh- 'Fuck'; *well* - wrong answer, gaylord; 'cause we forgot somethin'." Roxanne huffs with a somewhat abrupt demonstration of half-assed urgency, twisting and bending around her chair to get an obnoxiously thorough look at the backseat.

"Oh boy." I drone back. It's gonna have to be something ludicrously important for me to care enough to get it back tonight instead of going right home.

"We left the fuckin' tin-can on a date with Icarus - he's been there the whole time."

Ah. Yeah- I think he qualifies.

"What - at the Pizzaplex..?"

"Friendo's shiny alloyed ass, yes."

I hear Roxanne's seatbelt click while I hum low in a somewhat serious acknowledgement.

"Suppose it's a good thing we didn't live town, then.."

"We're still on the very fuckin' outskirts - we'd better go 'now'."

"..Mm.. I bet he's sad we forgot about him.. Probably thinks he's gonna have to spend the night at the Pizzaplex again after all his hype of getting to stay at the house.."

"That motherfucker doesn't even know what sad *is* - we could throw him in a woodchipper and he'd just look at us like we're weird.." Roxanne grumbles slightly, shifting in her seat. "And he's not gonna have to stay at the Pizzaplex, because we're gonna go fuggin' get him."

"Yes- you're right, you're right,.."

...

"..dude- Let's *GO*, Mike."

...

..I tensely squint my eyes at the distant figure still rapidly bounding down the street under the cover of moonlight.

...

Yeah- Yep. Yyyep.

That's Friendo alright. Pumping his arms and legs with what I can only imagine to be a profoundly determined look on his face.

...

..Saves me the trip of going back to get him..

...

..I.. suppose that's nice..

By the time I manage to grab everything out of the car and slip them back in my pockets one by one, I hear the front door open, then close without latching.

I steadily horse-kick my car door closed, fiddling my keys into my pocket while I watch a Roxanne-colored blur walk out of view from the bendy glass window embedded in the front door.

Friendo walks by me in the direction of the house as well, ready to go inside.

I think, anyway.

One of the many crickets doing their calls into the night sound like they're somewhere on my front porch. There is an alarmingly high chance that it's caught Friendo's interest, and he wants to go harass it instead.

I tag along behind him a short ways. Friendo's normal walking speed is, unsurprisingly, not a normal walking speed; so while I only linger a meter and a half behind him now, I'm losing a little ground.

..Or maybe I'm just slow.

I'm feeling slow. Something about finally getting home after a full day away; I'm not feeling much inclination to go any faster than an unhelpfully slow leisurely p-

- Thumph -

...

A couple seconds later, I reach the edge of the sidewalk Friendo tripped off of, waiting to see if he'll stay down this time.

...

All things considered, the lush grass he's face-down in probably made this fall his least impactful one. But, I think the principle has finally defeated him.

No effort to get up. Or to move at all. Hardly even a sign that he's still alive.

A heap of humanoid scrap metal, sprawled out lifelessly in the grass. He's had enough. He's experienced the signs. He gets the point.

He knows when to call the day a loss; simply waiting right where he is until tomorrow rears its ugly head.

He's done.

...

And yeah - I get that. I think I'm done, too.

...

My gaze shifts from him to the grass left of him; directly in front of me.

...

hup.

- Thumph -

There.

Now we'll wait in the grass together.

"With any luck, this'll be the end of needing painkillers.." I thrum low enough that it may as well be to myself, meticulously yet peacefully preparing the medicine I'd ordered for the canine.

...

"This is a sketchy ass process, Mike- I want to stick with the pills.." She comments uncomfortably from atop the stool, a bit above where I'm kneeling to get things ready.

"This will work a lot longer; keeps us from having another situation like we had last night at Arin's."

"Us?"

"Us. You really won't need anything like this any longer, but.. We're pretty good at getting ourselves hurt. Call it a precaution, for.. the not-so-distant future.."

...

"Wait, stop- wait. Tell me when you're doing it.." Roxanne abruptly requests as her eyes dart down to me, keeping her act together at least physically for the time being, despite the strange subdued urgency that's been lining her every word ever since I even suggested we get this medicine deal over with.

"What..? No - I know, I will.. I'm not trying to sneak it past you - I haven't even taken the cap off yet.." I reply, briefly looking back up at her but returning my attention back to the syringe I'm fiddling with in my lap as I finish the rest of my sentence.

..Despite not looking at her, I can feel her eyes move across the top of my head while I get the medicine ready. Not panicked or fearful, just.. noticeably antsy, I suppose.

She's sitting on a short stool, I'm a few feet away but crouched since this is the level I'm going to need to be at to do the injection.

She also isn't facing me, I've noticed; instead oriented with her front facing most of the way away from me and looking over her shoulder when she wants to look at me, as if she's convinced that's the way she needs to be positioned during this incredibly short process for some reason.

...

"Okay, c'mere.." I dismissively exhale, shuffling closer with the syringe in hand.

Roxanne turns her head back forwards upon seeing I'm ready, off into the living room as I take all of three seconds to approach.

...

"..alright- Face me, please." I continue, gently lifting my arm in anticipation of her turning so I can prop my elbow on her leg while I do this.

"No- here, you have better control of my arm this way.." Roxy promptly replies, looking down at her left side; tone a bit sheepish but genuinely trying to be helpful.

"I suppose, but I really do need you to face this way."

"*huff-* Mike I don't-.. I also don't really want to 'look' at it while it happens.."

That's reasonable, this is her first ever shot. No one likes imagining what it'll feel like to be pricked with a needle until they finally feel it and learn it isn't so bad.

"That's fine, a lot of people don't like watching it either. But it's not the arm this needs to go in, I need your front."

"oh.." She murmurs to herself, doubling the tone as an acknowledgement and also an apprehensive whine. "..How come you can't do it in the arm..?"

Reading her intonation, I catch a hint of huffy disappointment; as if she was psyching herself up for this moment by projecting how it will go, and now that it's deviated from that path some of her uncertainties can stir in her little brain again.

It's a little intriguing, if I can be honest. An excessive precaution, if only just a bit.

"Subcutaneous injections go in different places than normal; need to go in somewhere with more fat, so the medicine gets absorbed slower." I helpfully respond with enough confidence to make it seem like I didn't just look up that term along with the proper way of going about this process half an hour ago.

In truth, it is possible to do it in the arm at a few places. But they're all in the upper arm, different from what she was expecting, and the area is more precise than the alternatives, giving me a greater chance of fubbing it up in some capacity. I could also do it at the front of the thighs, but I don't think that's an option I feel like mentioning to her.

"Mn.. Y'know- now that I know you gotta inject it somewhere obscure and unique to this shit, I don't think I'm a big fan of this idea anymore.." Roxanne whines under her breath at me, but nonetheless does what I asked her to.

"It isn't obscure or super specific - it's actually one of the most common. People inject insulin this way. I think." I try to reassure, lifting the syringe in my hand to around her midsection to indicate what I need from her; which only causes her to look down at herself and hover her own hands around the same area I'm pointing at, like she's trying to solve a puzzle I just set before her.

"..I d-.. What do you want from me?"

"I'm injecting it here, lift your shirt a bit."

"Injecting it where, tummy?"

"Abdomen, by the navel."

"Navel.."

"Belly-button."

"Navel.." She murmurs with a hint of recognition this time, like she's indoctrinating that term into her vocabulary.

Roxy does as I ask with the shirt as well, her motions fluid and prompt as if trying to be as helpful as she can during this process. I dutifully approach with the syringe between my fingers with an unceremonious thankful hum, as if I'm about to draw on her tummy with the world's sharpest pen.

...

"Mike- don't *go*, yet.." Roxanne huffs unhappily, breaking my focus; reflexively lowering her shirt a half inch but not in a way that covers the area I'm working with.

"Right, right, sorry, that's right - you wanted me tell you first.." I remind myself while gently reeling the syringe back a bit from where it was approaching her skin.

"Fuckin-.."

...

"..?"

"Take me seriously, Mike.." She discontentedly mutters, as if she was waiting to get offended until after I confirmed that I was actually about to do it without letting her know.

"What? I do."

"Whatever.."

..My eyes glance up at hers from where I'm angled down here to align the syringe.

...

"Rox, I do take you seriously."

"I know, I know you do; I overreacted.."

...

Not quite convinced anymore she was like this just because it was a new and popularly apprehensive experience, I move my hand elsewhere and take the syringe away for a moment.

"This is bothering you an awful lot, wolf." I firmly but gently declare, as to skip the part where we banter whether or not that's true back and forth for the next few minutes.

"I don't know, Mike - I don't like the thought of that thing. Makes my whole body uncomfortable." Roxanne huffs back, though the huffiness isn't particularly directed towards me, but instead at the inanimate and rather non-threatening looking needle in my hand.

"What about it?"

"Fuggin' needle, I don't know. I know it's harmless or whatever - but just imagining it makes me feel like there's something stuck in my skin that isn't supposed to be in there."

"I've heard words like that a lot from people who don't like shots; I suppose that doesn't make you weird.." I hum, tapping the firm plastic/glass side of the syringe with a finger.

"Fear of needles. Whatever that word is - it's probably what I have; people talk about it like it's common.."

"No, I don't think so - needles make a lot of different people uncomfortable; something's only labeled a phobia when it's so bad that it's actively crippling.." I reply absent mindedly, furrowing my brow as I seemingly try and read Roxy's mind through her eyes for answers not even she knows.

"..okay.."

...

"I don't know - you kind of feel like you're in between, though." I hum, mostly to myself.

...

"Mike- I can do it, I was just sensitive about the timing.."

"Yeah- alright, alright, let's do it real quick.."

...

I rest my ring finger on the tip of the syringe, then press the top of that finger against Roxanne's tum diagonal from the navel to ensure that when I press down, it's actually gonna go where I want it to go.

Roxanne, nonetheless, reflexively sucks in her gut a little bit in response to the touch; evidently made much more responsive by the anticipation of the needle being so close to her skin.

"Oh god - there's a lot of nerves down there.." She huffs quietly, half speaking to herself like she's having a revelation about her own body; one she isn't particularly fond of right in this very moment.

"It's malleable and fatty.. Or malleable because it's fatty.. Gives it the squish.." I respond dryly, not at all thinking about my reply - and therefor failing to recognize how it does not actually pertain to what Roxanne just said at all.

In my defense, I don't think the abdomen actually has any more nerves than usual anyway..

"Well now I wanna 'stab it' even less, Mike.." Roxy apprehensively breathes out a bit of a deep breath, masking it behind a short groan.

"Alright - buckle up.." I hum dryly.

"what - 'Buckle up', what does that mean-?"

"Buckle up."

"What does 'buckle up' mean- Does that mean you're 'going'?"

"Yes I'm going; keep it together - this won't even last last three seconds.."

"Don't fuckin' green-light me with *Buckle up*, dipshit - give me-"

"Going."

"Godammit-hold, hold on, hold-" Roxanne exasperatedly babbles with a quiet airy breath without daring to move her abdomen and mess something up; choosing to instead plant both her hands on one of my shoulders and grip it excessively firmly while she then uses me to support her own weight; her head pointed down and hair utterly covering her face as she braces like she's getting ready to withstand a cannonball shot.

...

"Ow."

"You're fine.."

...

Sure enough, as I inelegantly lob the now empty syringe back on the small tray on the floor of the living room, I to take a moment to grumble-muse to myself about just how incredibly drawn out that three seconds of actual work was.

...

"..Well shit." Roxanne half-sheepishly mutters, holding her hand over the puncture point in an almost disappointed manner.

"It's harmless. Like you said." I dryly concur, focused on what I'm doing rather than on the conversation.

"It hurt a little.."

I puff out my nose with a subtle smile at her response; sitting back and relaxing on the floor for a moment before I mean to take the tray back to the kitchen.

"Think you're over needles now?"

"Probably, 'unno.." She murmurs to herself. "..Thought it would hurt coming out, too."

"The needle?"

"Yes."

"Why..?" I hum, watching the back of her head as she proceeds to stand and pace a short distance away toward the exist of the living room.

"Dunno. Just thought it would."

...

Roxanne's already left the living room - audibly doing something in the kitchen now. Let my thoughts swim for a moment, but in the end, I mentally shrug it off and begin to push myself up from the floor to clean up a bit.

As soon as I do, I can see her through the window of the kitchen island; presumably filling herself a glass of water, despite the cup she already has out here.

...

"You've got a glass of water out here on the coffee table, still most of the way full." I nonchalantly remind, bending again to pick up the tray from the floor.

"It's lukewarm - I'm getting ice water."

"Refill the old glass."

"No."

No it is then, you dish guzzling buffoon.

...

Her laziness is contagious, and I find myself setting the tray down on the island from the living room side and deciding I'll come pick it up from the other side later and get everything washed up.

For a moment, I lean on the island myself prop my head up with my remaining palm, watching Roxanne kick a piece of ice under the fridge and bottoms-up the water glass like an alcoholic on his monthly day-off.

...

..She thought the needle would hurt when I took it out. I know this is out of the blue, but I've been musing quietly to myself about how odd of an assumption that is to make.

Naturally, needles these days are designed to be non-invasive - I'm sure even she already knew that, or at least assumed.

Though all those efforts go toward making the insertion seamless.. I imagine removing an inserted needle would inherently be painless, unless there's some other nonsense in play. Only way I can imagine the extraction causing discomfort is if the needle is unreasonably big, or barbed like a bee stinger.

...

..Or a porcupine quill.

...

I fail to stifle a small smirk when I put two and two together, watching her stare back at me in her blissful dramatic irony.

...

Mm-..

The back door slides open with a pause, before gentle footsteps can be heard pacing from the carpeted floor to the wooden backyard porch.

I don't really move, though I'm sure I looked a little weird from inside. There's a small cute table and set of wooden chairs around it here on the porch, but I ultimately vouched to just sit cross-legged on the end of the porch near the couple stairs that descend a foot or so into the grass of the backyard. It was just easier to see the sky from here.

Or it was.. A moment or two ago a blanket of dark clouds gradually cast themselves over the night sky, so now only barely-noticeably glowy bits exist where stars used to be, and one big faded glowy bit replaces where the moon was.

I'm not really sure what I'm waiting for now. Maybe I'm holding out hope for the clouds to pass, but I doubt that's really it.

Regardless, I absent mindedly move my fingers on the wooden porch like I'm picking at grass while I aimlessly watch the muted sky.

...

Padded footsteps make their way up to an angle behind me. I can almost see Roxanne looking up at the sky as if she's trying to find whatever I'm looking at, but obviously, she doesn't find anything, because I'm not truthfully looking at anything.

...

..I blink once or twice, getting a hold of myself for just long enough to noticeably look over my shoulder some.

...

"..I kinda thought you were in bed already." I quietly hum, returning my gaze to the sky.

"It's a little late for you to be starting a psychological crisis with yourself."

I just chortle under my breath and dismissively wave her off.

"No - no 'crisis', not this time. I'm doing alright, night sky just lulled me out here again."

...

"There's no stars for you to watch out here." Roxanne responds, quietly but a little challenging.

"I know. I was watching them, but it got cloudy a couple minutes ago and they all hid."

"No it didn't, Mike - It's been this cloudy before we even left Trudge's house.."

...

"oh."

...

I fold my arms on top of my knees, continuing to sit and look outward anyway, somehow failing to come up with more than an acknowledging expression.

"Don't take your thoughts too seriously this late at night, Mike - it was you that taught me that.." Roxanne huffs, audibly stepping down to the step I'm on.

"It's not like that." I insist again with an amused puff, shaking my head slightly at nothing in particular. "It's nice seeing your effort, though."

Roxanne makes a sound like a 'mmph', her silhouette sitting on the same stair I'm on, then propping her chin up with both of her hands; elbows on her knees.

...

"You're thinking about Freddy."

She states the claim with 85% certainty, leaving just a hint of leeway in her tone in case she's incorrect. I roll my head slightly to exaggerate an eye roll, looking up straighter into the sky for a time.

It really is nice that she cares. It's a reflexive effort by now, 'intervening' whenever she sees me sitting alone somewhere like this, like she's been learning to do over the lesser half of a year.

But I'm fine this time.. A breeze through the trees, and grass dancing in the dark. It's just nice out here.

I'm not 'thinking' about anything this time. Not about Freddy, not about anything.

...

"Yeah. I am."

...

You 't to sa.-.y -.t...

...

"Nervous?" Roxanne asks, more peacefully conversational now that she's gotten what she wants out of me.

"Kind of. Nervous is in there, but I obviously feel.. a lot of things towards it."

"Nervous should be in there. What on earth are you going to tell him..?" Roxanne asks, turning her head to look at me as if to emphasize that my worries might, in fact, be something worth worrying over.

"I've got it figured out."

"You do?"

"I've got an outline, at least.." I hum out into the yard, propping my cheek on my fist. "..And I wasn't lying. I'll be telling him a few things."

"What can you even afford to tell him-?"

"What happened the day Cooper died."

..Roxanne sits up a little straighter on her step, I can still see her head pointed at me in my peripheral.

...

"There's a lot that happened, Mike. And a lot of it can't stand on its own - it'll need context. Context that'll dig into the past."

"Alright- I'm not completely done figuring it out, but listen.." I begin, pausing a moment to exhale and shake my head at nothing a little bit. "..He knows some about what happened in the past, but I'll be elaborating on a lot of it more. All that parts I can without delving into.. blatantly supernatural, in an objective sort of way.."

"You could make a sport of walking on thin ice-.."

"People don't know what really happened, but there were a lot of rumors, and some of the most popular had just enough of a hint of truth to them that I can use them to explain what happened that last day at the Pizzaplex."

...

"Haunted bots were as much of a rumor as they were the truth.. Fine - I guess 'haunting' was a popular enough rumor that you could still pass it off as a rumor.."

"One way or the other.. I'm going to need to tell Freddy about Cooper. And a rapid descent into obsession is.. at least mildly easier for him to believe if he were to know that there was a time that people did obsess over this sort of thing.."

"'kay- but you keep telling me that whatever happened to Cooper wasn't normal, though."

"I know, and I don't think it was - but the point will get across.."

...

"Mike-.." Roxy begins, a puff of disguised worry escaping her nose. "You'll have to tell him that.. you were.. strongly connected in all of it. Your reasons for doing the things you did that day - none of them will make sense otherwise..

"I'm going to do that too.. And I'll find a way to explain it to him without the all preposterous taking root in his interests.." I let my face melt into my hand a little more, admittedly feeling a little anxious about this in particular. "..Part of me wants him to be as entirely in-the-know as you, but.. There just isn't a way. You can't just explain you're a walking corpse with dead children for enemies; and a father that made this ghost stuff that- yadda yadda - there's just.. no way.."

"No, there's not - I know.."

...

"ugh.." I exaggerate for a little bit of comedic effect, letting my head droop to my knees. "..I hated hearing him saying all he did about.. me 'keeping you from him'.."

"Mike- you know he doesn't understand."

"He understands enough to know his family was hurt bad once, and what kept him, along with the rest of the gang, from showering you in love and care to make you feel better, was me.. A cushion to fall back on during hard times; where when you're at your lowest, they'll catch you, and show you unconditional love regardless of what went on until you're back on your two feet again."

...

"I don't know what to tell you, Mike- I'm okay."

"Yes, but by god was it a nightmare.. For a time after Cooper died, you were on the very edge of your mind; something I couldn't fix on my own. But they could.. All the reassurances you'd ever need to feel your normal self, kept from you for uncertainties I was afraid of. I'm glad we're okay now, if that's what we can call us - but it took Freddy saying it all to me out loud to realize there was a chance I wasn't going to be able to reel you back in. Your family could, but I might not have. And the thought of you losing yourself because I kept you away from the ones that could always bring you back.. Ouch."

"Nice paragraph long hypothetical, Mike - but I'm still right here, and I'm still okay."

"I know.. I don't regret making the choices I did - they worked out as I'd hoped; but I can't help but theorize every now and then."

...

"You show that you care in the weirdest, most hard-to-appreciate ways sometimes.." Roxanne exhales over a long period, staring out ahead into the yard. "..But for what it's worth, I'm happy there's someone who knows the truth with me, and still cares."

I chortle almost inaudibly under my breath, propping my head up a little better.

"Caring hurts more than I wish it should.."

"You can only, fuggin'.. 'Hurting' is how you identify caring, dipstick.. All the good parts about caring can be faked - but they won't fake it for the parts that hurt."

...

"Kind of backwards, how that works.." I mutter into my arm that I've effectively devolved into using as a pillow on my knees.

"Really? ..I 'unno - I don't really think so."

...

"No.. Yeah. You're right.." I concur with a quieter hum, sitting in silence for a while.

...

"I'm going in."

"Do that.." I encourage, sitting upright but still staring off into nothing in particular. "We don't need a messy sleep schedule in a time like this - the night will only last so long.."

As if my explanation was unnecessary, (it was), Roxanne's silhouette pushes off her knees, footsteps on the wooden porch navigating off behind me.

The backdoor slides open and closed. She trusts me to come inside soon after her, and I will.

Still sitting up straight, I idly rub my hand over my thighs and knees to generate friction, and thus heat, on my legs. My eyes reflect the sky as if millions of little stars flicker in it, but there's nothing to reflect but the near-indistinguishable gray of the rolling clouds.

What a day.

...

..The way Freddy and I passed each other at the end of our interaction in the Pizzaplex.. I just don't like it. It doesn't hurt to think about, but it causes a similar-feeling ping in my chest that's hard to ignore.

No contempt or disdain for me in his eyes. We walked away as friends, in a setting we have to take seriously. Naturally, I'm grateful for that.

...

..But that inkling.. That little, itty bitty fraction of his soul visible in his eyes. A soul he had wrenched to place his trust in me during hard times, no matter what, so long as I deliver.

Just a little bit of it, barely a droplet in an ocean.. He was not able to wrench into correction like the rest.

A pinprick of his soul, doubts.

Uncertainty. Skepticism. Despite how hard he himself resolved to stay true to his word, and keep his total trust in me.. It's just a little bit, near impossible to detect.. But it's there.

It makes me feel like I'm doing something wrong.

Maybe I am. I don't know - I can't know until I, just.. keep going, like I'm doing now. Truths and revelations may come, but I'll need to be out there doing whatever I can day by day, so they can find me.

...

It's alright.. I can make it through. One way or the other.

I'll keep pushing forward.. Just like everyone else already does, every day.

I mean- it's not like we can do anything else.

...

With a soft 'hup', I push of my knees as well, and rise to a stand; putting my hand on my hip to bend and stretch my back for a moment.

Afterwards, I just stand there, staring into the blackness of my yard with my hand on my hip like a farmer on a hill appreciating the sight of all the crops he just planted.

...

Alright, world..

I tilt my chin up a bit, looking into the sky above the treeline.

I'm ready for you - bring it on.

...

I didn't grab the papers.

From Icarus.

I just got up and walked away after talking to her. I forgot to actually grab the papers.

...

Fractions of a second before the tidal wave of self-deprecating slurs fly through my mind and berate my intelligence, my eyes flicker to a discoloration in the skyline.

...

Hello Mr. Sun..

I think I gotta keep this quick if I even want to *dream* of waking up on time for the dentist tomorrow.

Aight - to tell you where I've been, I first want to preface with an old issue I was having where, whenever I tried to dedicate time to other hobbies and projects, I'd always feel antsy and bad while doing them because I thought I should be writing the fic instead; and it was frustrating, having all these things I wanted to see through, while being unable to enjoy them simply because of another hobby.

Anyway. Chapter 45 comes out. I take a small break, then get to work on chapter 46. So what happened early on in the process that caused me to butterfly effect into a near-year-long hiatus?

uh- Elden Ring. The Elden Ring DLC came out. I played that instead. That is, in utter honesty, what triggered it.

Then something else came out, then there was a development with something else I was looking forward to, then there were irl things, then there- blah blah blah blah blah.

But the result of that ended up with me having spent enough time away from the fic that, suddenly, I didn't feel bad when working on other things anymore.

And work on other things, I abso-fuckin'-lutely did. I have gotten *dramatically* better at art, been loving doing some true animation making these 1-2 second long 24fps animations where I draw every single frame. I've learned to program in several languages, well. Singing, work, career stuff, other projects, ect.

I can't go into detail, but I worked on everything, EVERYTHING I've ever wanted to try working on ever since my little fic-blight had afflicted me, and it was worth it. I've just finished college, my 21st was only a few days ago, and I'm thoroughly sated with how much time I've had to work on other things for these last months. Even got to catch up on games I've been wanting to play through, and hammer them out one by one with good time, while also doing everything I possibly could in them.

Life isn't without struggles; there will always be a handful. But these last few months have been some of the best for me, ever. Developing like crazy, alongside friends, some strangers became friends, some friends became very close friends; work, recreational, financial - everything it going, and it's going good. I suppose this is the time of life where it should.

What does it mean for the fic, now that I've come back and written a chapter again? Honestly, I don't know. A hiatus like the one I took shouldn't happen again unless there's a really damn good reason for it, and I'm satisfied with the position most of my other hobbies are in at the moment. That should mean fic development won't be halted like it has been.

If anything, it may stop for a short time for some irl reasons: mostly stemming from "I'm 21 now. I am, literally, in the best natural condition I will ever be in. I will *never* feel better than I do *right. now.* And I refuse to waste that." I want to go to the mountains, go experience physical freedom while I'm still capable. There's a short period of like where you're min-maxed, in absolute prime age-wise. And I know it'll only be a regret if I let it go to waste.

Anyway.

I've also got other plans, and friends I'm making stuff with. (There may, actually, be a Monster Hunter fic sometime in the future. An almost-certainly collaborated one; the thought of it excites me, I've already done a ton of the 'storyline' it follows.)

We'll see. But rest assured something like *this* is insanely unlikely to happen again.

I've got so, so, so very much I could say, but I think I need to stop here.

Thank you for reading, talk with me anytime. It's always a highlight of my day.

3 hours.

It will be 3 hours until I get a message detailing a horrible, catastrophic mistake I've made in this chapter.

Making that call now.

Here we go..