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altcvnningham · 2 days ago

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of a demon in my view

william “case” calderon x f!reader

summary: when the team return to the rook after visiting the science facility in kentucky you hear a bump in the night. good thing case is back to protect you, right? (takes place after the 'emergence' mission. inspired by this post. please heed the tags!!) read on ao3

tags/cw: nsfw, dubious consent, f!reader, angst, (case is) under the influence (of the cradle), rough sex, size difference/kink, biting, choking, case is hung, animalistic/primal behaviour?? i guess?? reader is confused but loves case too much, case is obsessed w reader, aftercare (ish), author goes mad with power at the use of italics wc: 4.8k

a/n: umm sorry to case + the case enjoyers, i wish i’d written something softer for him first... trust that my first full nsfw fic on here would be icky nasty dubcon w poor confused reader. promise she likes it. since there’s not a whole lot of case content to base his characterisation on, i hope this suffices!! shoutout to lovely lacie @dearlydevoured, case's actual irl gf who put up w my brainrot while i wrote this <3 title from “alone”, edgar allan poe.

You wake gasping.

The bedroom is pitch black, offering little but a sliver of moonlight to orient yourself, cutting the room split in two as you try to discern what the hell that sound was. A slam, booming like thunder and carried in with the draft and the dust. It takes much to hear it across the old house, the Rook as big as it is barren, and it takes much more again to wake you. But whatever it is, it had, and your body jolts in its instinct to get up and investigate.

But as you do, you stop. You’re half a leg out of bed and a finger upon the nearby flashlight when you catch something in your periphery. You don’t even look at it head on- the figure in the open door. Just stare ahead at the wall and freeze, trying to clock if whatever stands there has spotted you sooner than you’d spotted it.

Any other night, Case would have awoken before you. Hell, he would have dealt with the problem himself before you’d even stirred. But the space in the bed where he usually sleeps is cold, and it had been all night- they’d left for Kentucky a couple days ago now, and you hadn’t received much word in between. Only a call from Marshall on the way back, to keep an eye on Case when he returns. That he wasn’t quite right.

But you know Case better than anyone. You know he already isn’t really quite right as he is; you never minded it, the odd pauses between words and the bitten tongue, like he’s always holding something back, or the distant way he sometimes seems to regard you from across a room, before the colour floods back to his face and he finds the courage to smile. Whatever warmth you possess encourages a similar feeling in himself, and Case had found himself sweet on you quicker than he would most. He sees in you a kindred spirit, maybe. A missing piece. Enough that when he sleeps next to you, the screaming stops. Most nights.

But whatever it is in the door, you’re almost sure it isn’t Case. Almost. Until—

Breathing. Quick, shallow, raspy. For a second it doesn’t even sound human, until you recognise it- the same sound when he wakes from a nightmare, the same panting in your ear when you hold him tight and let him ride it out. The fear, primal, pacified by your patience and care. Your heart tugs- it’s him. You know it’s him.

With that knowledge alone enough to brave your panic, you turn your head to the open door, and regard the figure stood in it with an embarrassed laugh.

“Oh, god, Case. It’s you. Jesus,” you huff, a hand clutched to your chest. “Scared the shit out of me.”

A smile, sheepish, spreads over your lips as he just stands there in the doorway, filling it with his shadow. Tall, stocky, broad-shouldered as he is, arms held stiffly at his sides as he just stands there, shapeless face cast in darkness. His hulking figure eclipsing the moonlight trying to come in from the hallway windows. You can’t see his expression, only the whites of his eyes, and though it’s hard to tell at first, they look to be open wide. And staring at you.

Your smile slowly drops. You sit up.

“Case? What’s wrong?”

But he doesn’t talk. Doesn’t say anything. Just- fucking- just stands there- just you and him, locked eyes, for a fleeting moment feeling like prey and predator at a stand-off in a too-open clearing. Vulnerable, is the feeling that creeps up your spine and staples you there, still and rigid in the bed.

There’s a pause. He blinks. You think he snaps out of whatever daze he’s in, because he comes into the room and kicks the door shut with his heel, but where he’d usually sigh, sit on the bed, and undress, he just moves straight towards you. Unhurried, but urgent. Single-minded in his pursuit.

Case’s knee dips into the mattress, sinking under his weight, and though you aren’t scared you feel the urge to move back into the bed, hitting the headboard in your scuffle.

“Case, you’re still dressed,” you worry, voice lilted like a question. He must suddenly notice, or perhaps hear your concern, because he glances down at himself, though decidedly mustn’t care at all- even as you go for the zipper of his windbreaker yourself, he’s wholly intent instead on closing in on you. Scarred hands curl around the headboard as he leans in to kiss you- no, to- smell you? He noses your hair, behind your ear, licking a greedy stripe up the side of your neck. You do your best to ignore it, focusing your quivering fingers upon the zipper, and somehow you manage to push the jacket off him and onto the floor. His hands are immediately on you then, dug into the back of your hair and cradling your skull as he kisses sharply along your jaw, your cheek, the corners of your babbling mouth.

“H-hey, um,” is all you can manage as you’re jostled by his movements. He isn’t rough, isn’t even hurting you, but his fingers dig into your arms and pull at your hair in a way that’s unfamiliar, uncharacteristically desperate, like you’ll slip into dust any second. It’s enough to make you wince. “Case- Case, c’mon. Talk to me. Whatever’s wrong, we can—”

“Want you.” Is all he says.

“What?”

“Want you,” he repeats, an animal grunt in an octave you’ve never heard before. It thrills you as much as it frightens you, but you steel your focus, more concerned than you are anything else. That excitement that tingles at the base of your spine is unimportant, insignificant in the grand scheme, when he’s acting so strange.

“Case, I think you should sit down a sec,” you say, trying gently to pry his hands off you, but he won’t budge. He’s stronger than you- much stronger- and before you can open your mouth to protest his hands are on your waist, pulling you out of the bed and stringing you out atop the blanket like you weigh nothing. “Wh- oh!”

You land with a hiccup, disoriented as he climbs on top of you, and in your befuddled state you’re half worried about shoes on the bed as he wedges a leg between yours, coarse grey cargo pants chafing your sleep-soft thighs. A tiny yip makes its way out of you as you bear the sudden weight of him- as is always so stifling, yet now seems suffocating- a thick scarred forearm braced in the pillow beside your head as he buries his nose in your neck, not quite kissing but breathing you in, huffing like a dog, something primal, savage.

It’s so unfamiliar, and yet so like Case; never having seen him this way but always sensed, known, that there lingered in him something like this, some growling thing seated deep inside just waiting to get out, biding its time and snarling. It frightens you, but not enough to fight it off. Just enough to lay there and let whatever thing that’s reared its ugly head in him feel you out, get its bearings of the girl trembling beneath him.

You catch a scent on his shirt then, tart as it wrinkles your nose. It’s a strange smell, acrid, not entirely unpleasant but foreign to you- like chemicals or detergent, coppery like blood but lacking its warmth. It clings to Case’s clothes like something parasitic. You breathe it in, and strangely it has a texture, almost like smoke, but whatever it is your body rejects it, tangled in a cough as your vision blurs. It’s enough then to just let him close over you as he likes, pressing your face to his hair instead as he mouths at your neck, starved.

You’re burned by the heat of him. Heavy as he envelopes himself around you, greedy hands moving down your body to touch and grab and grope, undecided whether he wants to be gentle, whether he can be, calloused hands like sandpaper as he slides them under your shirt. Your own hands try to turn his jaw so you might see his face and deduce the expression into an answer, a reasoning for his behaviour. But every touch you give has him shuddering beneath you, near enough purring as he careens his cheek into your hand, lapping up your warmth.

Case feels like he’s on fire. Tunnel-visioned. Drunk, almost. He’d cooled off whatever substance he’d breathed in that facility on the flight back to Bulgaria, but part of it still sticks to him like sap, simmering and seething all red and angry in a place inside he can’t reach. He’d claw it out of himself if he could, if he had the guts, but he swears he could smell you from the fucking front door- and by then it was over, decided for him before he even knew what he was doing. Something else took hold then, brutish and hungry, overcome with the base animal need to stalk, hunt, fuck.

His hands run down your body, kissing wetly into your open palm. You whimper frantic and confused as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and tugs them down your legs, falling frail as petals somewhere off the bed. You gasp as he pushes himself forward, hips bullying your legs apart, while he peels back your shirt to knead your breasts and latch his mouth upon a perked nipple with a moan.

“Hey, slow- slow down,” you rasp, barely a whisper, dying on an open-mouthed sigh as a spike of pleasure needles you. You can’t help it. It’s him, Case, always so soft with you, so slow and gentle, now pawing at you like he’d sooner die than go without touching you. Your hands knot into his hair as he sucks at your nipple, tangled at the base of his neck, unsure whether you’re trying to push him off or pull him closer. “I think we should- just- calm down and—“

“No,” Case says, a low noise, almost strangled as he unlatches himself from you, shaking his head. He sounds pained, sick, emitting a whine as he unfolds himself, hands wrestling with his belt. In your sudden shyness, feeling all too exposed, you pull your shirt down and make a move to close your legs, but Case’s hand nudges your knee, as thoughtless as if he were swatting a fly as he pries them back open.

“Gotta have you now, baby, I-I gotta,” he mumbles, repeating it under his breath over and over like a mantra. Is it for you to hear? Is it for himself? You don’t know. But even as you try and move his hand away it’s a hopeless thing. He’s firm, resolute. Won’t so much as let you budge. He slides his belt off with one hand, shoving his cargo pants and boxers down his hips, and stamps your arm back at the side of your head with the other, wrenched tight around your wrist.

“O-ow, careful, Case—”

Your words are cut short by a jarring thud. His cock thumps thick and heavy against your tummy, and wide-eyed, you freeze. Oh. Case tugs around the base to give it some hopeless attention, something, anything to take the edge off. The shock of it all pulls out a breathless whine from you. He’s never usually so forward. He rocks himself slow against you, moving his hips down, nudging your clit with the leaking head of his aching dick. It’s- it’s so much that you don’t know whether to stop him or just surrender, craning your neck down to try and catch a glimpse of- of—

Fuck, you forget how big it is. Every time. It always looks so much more intimidating than it feels, but that’s because Case has always been careful with you, patient, always working you up on his fingers first before even attempting to split you open on him, even then only feeding you inch by tentative inch until he’s seated nice and deep inside you. Eager, but takes his time with you, never in any rush to give his sweet girl what she needs.

But you have the feeling that this time is different. Not- not bad, but- different. His hands are hard on you, bruising, kisses impatient and starving, even the way he’s slowly fucking his tip against your clit, hazy-eyed and mindless as he watches himself slide the length of his shaft between your folds, so pink and sweet- it’s maddening. It’s only then that you realise you’re moaning, bleating like cornered prey.

As if suddenly reminded of the fact he ought to prep you, he shoves two fingers unceremoniously into his mouth, sucking them wet before pulling them out with a pop and delving his hand between your legs. It’s done so fast you flinch, a panicked sound pulled out of you. His usual patience is swapped with hurried desperation, a flit of his eyes to yours- your lips, your face, God, the prettiest thing he’s seen in his life- measuring your reaction. Your shock and confusion must be evident in your wilted expression, because he moves his fingers just a little slower, watching with enamoured reverence as your face flushes hot, savouring the way he can see the thoughts just spill out of your head like honey as it empties itself for him. So, so pretty.

“U-um—” you stammer, as dumb as the day you were born. You want to say something, want him to say something, but your mind goes blank. Whatever good sense might linger is gone- there’s only Case, much too broad and much too big in your bed as he looms over you. He slides his fingers against your clit, tender with need; he thumbs at your slick entrance, soaking his knuckle as he teases against it, and moans at how reflexively it clenches around him, begging to be filled. How badly it wants him. He barely humours your poor, needy pussy as he slides his middle finger inside, thick as it stretches you, just about managing the first knuckle before you keen, body bowing into him.

“G-God, Case, please—”

Sobriety spurs vaguely into him then, the light coming back into his eyes as he blinks down at you, strewn like a blushing favour over the pillow. His perfect girl, his. As he looks at you, he slides his finger out of you slowly, relishing with a faraway look on his face the way you crumple and cry, grasping at his wrist to try and pull him back in again. He thinks he’d go mad for it. For you, he thinks he’d die.

“S’okay,” he grumbles under his breath, a click of his tongue as he tuts at you like one might a skittish animal. He pulls back, lining his cock up with your soaked entrance, his pupils blown black, drunk. “I’m gonna make it better. M’gonna make it better, baby, I promise.”

He has to make it better. Has to. Has to apologise for what he’s doing, how he’s acting- he has to apologise for what he is, the thing growling inside him, tearing, clawing, screaming to get out—

He’s still sucking the syrup of you off his fingers as he pushes himself inside you, eyes rolling into the back of his head with a loud, broken groan. He’s so lost to the white haze of bliss for a second as your slick heat all but swallows him in, pushing only a little resistance at the sudden intrusion and God, he knows you’re not used to it so quick, so soon, but you’re his good girl, his baby, and he knows you can take it.

And you’re not quite used to the stretch even on a good day- feeling it rip into you now is near agony. Your mouth opens wide but not a sound comes out. Useless anyway, given Case bends down and closes his own around it, tongue delving hot inside to seek yours. It’s so fast and so much that you barely find time to adjust, just letting your mouth loll open and surrender itself to him as he tongues you, trying so hard to focus on accommodating to his cock pushing- forcing- its way into you, too much, too much, too big—

The hand around your wrist loosens as though some pliant drug has washed cold over him, and you open your eyes for just a second, enough to catch the way his dilate, black melting into the white before he sinks himself all the way inside you. Filling you to the hilt, suffocating. Bliss is written into every line of his face, softening as he lets out a whine. He bottoms out, and you see it in him- complete and utter relief. Some awful agony in him quelled immediately, his body slack against yours. He feels, in you, complete. Home.

It’s evident enough that it puts you at ease, whatever it is that’s compelled him like this. He’s not trying to hurt you. You don’t think. He’s just rather like a big dog that believes itself to be no larger than a puppy, unaware of its own weight and strength. Case’s body goes almost flat atop yours and the only way he notices at all is how it pushes a wheeze out of you, a silent beg for release.

But just then you feel his hips pulling back, cock sliding out of you inch by agonising inch. A whimpering plea is all you’re given to let out before he slams back into you again and fuck, it’s too much, he’s too big, you’re not used to—

“F-fuck, Case, wait—”

Your legs tremor involuntarily as they part further to let him closer, let him in, his hips welded to yours as he buries himself right to the fucking root of you. Case groans, delirious as his face falls against your shoulder.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Case- s’too much, you’re—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, an attempt at comfort that leaves you dizzier than it does much else. He licks a wet kiss to your neck, meant to calm you, but only riles himself up more, setting off a dormant bloodthirst in him; he does it again, and this time he- he bites you.

You squeal. “O-ow!”

Like an apology he can’t voice he laps his tongue flat against your skin, mulling hungrily over the bitten flesh like he’s savouring it. It’s only when he’s sated himself on you that his hips start moving, slow, languid thrusts that quicken each time you yelp, hurried pace picking up once he feels you clench reflexively around him.

And he’s usually so gentle when he fucks you, almost hesitant, always like he’s half afraid of breaking you. Not like this. He fucks into you mindlessly, a rabid thing with a single razor sharp splinter of desire- you. Wants you. Has to have you, has to split you open and- take you. Fuck you so there’s nothing left in him to think of or breathe in but you. Every thrust is merciless and messy, Case pounding into you again and again as the sound of him fucking into your wet cunt smacks luridly in the air; loud enough that it makes you wince, cringing to hear yourself so shamelessly, how your body makes itself so slick and malleable just for him. His hips slam into you faster than you can take it- but you can take it, you can, he insists, demands it, grunting it into your ear, baby, please, jus’ take it for me, take it take it take it—

Your orgasm slams into you, a violent punch that singes you hot-white and blind; your thighs clench around his hips of their own accord and pull him in even deeper- as if there’s any more room- unbidden as you cry out, wailing helplessly as he just- keeps- fucking you. Wave after wave of pleasure drowning you over and over and over. It almost terrifies you, how willingly gone your body leaves itself, all sense and reason fleeing you all to make room for this- him.

You babble incomprehensibly as you ride it out, words lost in your throes of euphoria, smothered completely beneath the sweet and tender violence of him, your ravaged cunt milking and just taking him in its refusal to let go.

You don’t know if you’re crying- it all feels so good you can barely make sense of where you are- but through the red haze of it all you feel Case’s hand cup your cheek, caress your face, mumbling choked apologies into your shoulder as he keeps impaling you on his cock, chasing his pleasure into you. It’s the sweetest thing, his voice very almost pathetic, incongruous to the way the rest of him seems dead-set on pummelling you into the mattress as he garbles a knotted string of I’m sorry, baby, can’t help it, s’too good, I’m sorry—

As if you’d even care if he wasn’t. As if you wouldn’t let him break you and cradle the pieces in his mottled hands. As if you wouldn’t let him carve out a home inside of you, broken and bloodied, and nestle himself within. Where no one can hurt him ever again, where nobody could ever find him. Nobody but you.

You’d promise him that much, you think- the times when he wakes up screaming in the night, when he sits up in bed and stares empty at the wall, when mid-conversation he’s just suddenly stunned into white-noise silence, the Case you know, the Case that’s yours, absent for but a moment. Replaced by something else entirely, something you’re not quite sure you recognise. You take him then, like you take him now, your body so dumb and fragile in his big arms as he fucks you hard, cock punching into you so bad you go dizzy.

And isn’t this much like that? Don’t you love him even now, as he is? While he violently breaks you?

“C-Case,” you choke, his chest pressed so tightly to yours you can hardly breathe. His hand snakes up your neck, closing around your throat with a satisfied moan, stars dotted in your view. You feel something cresting again, down your legs, up your spine, the back of your neck— “Oh, god, Case, please, I’m gonna—”

But you don’t know what you’re gonna. It hits you before you can even find out. You come again, you think, some viciously delectable feeling severing you and flinging your body straight up off the mattress, holding him to you, begging him closer, as though he could be any more than he already was. Flesh melting into flesh, sweat sticky and waxen, indistinguishable from his. Inseparable. As you cry out again, he groans, thick and low and not quite human, spilling himself so deep inside you that you feel it pooling hot in your gut, molten sweet; your own climax is slow, tender agony, gorging you open, rippling warm and pink behind closed eyes like the thin warbling of blood in water… and then… and then…

It’s a short moment later, or maybe a few, when the black spots in your vision clear.

You’re staring up at the ceiling, cracked white, a picture much like Case’s eyes had been in the doorway, veins struck blood lightning across marble sclera. He’s there too, you can hear him, his voice a distant echo as you feel large hands cup your face, your whole world oscillating.

It’s bliss. It’s perfect. You lie there, barely coming to, your body sinking into the mattress as though you weren’t even there, floating, feeling so, so nice.

When the shadow pulls over your vision, you smile. Case holds himself over you, his thumb peeling back your eyelid, letting out a choked sound of relief when your eyes, lucid, finally fix on him.

“Oh- oh, thank god- oh- baby, I’m so—”

He scoops you up like a ragdoll in his arms, clutching you so tight to his chest that you can feel the erratic thrumming of his heart, quick as a rabbit’s to the slow drum of yours. A series of strangled noises leave him as he buries his face into your shoulder, wet, whether from kisses or crying, you don’t know- but you know that you love him, and he’s yours. It’s the only thing on your emptied mind as your face burrows against him, breathing him in. That strange chemical smell is long gone now, enveloping you back into the warm embrace of pine and petrichor, the smell of home. Of him. It’s all you can think of, the only thing you can form into words, when you mumble, exhausted, into his chest.

“‘Love you, Case.”

And he must hear it, because his heartbeat slows then, decelerating a steady hum to match your own. His death grip on you loosens, his body going slack as he falls into you. Whatever noise that screams endless in his mind seems to cease, because through it all he hears you, hushing and cooing at him as you pull your fingers softly up his arm, pulling him slowly, slowly, down into bed. You stay still as he sifts frantic hands over you, smoothing you over like he’s trying to keep the shape of you, checking you like he would for bruises. You know this is his way of taking care of you, of fixing you, of making everything right and keeping his precious baby together with all her pieces intact; he kisses you slow but trembling, lips finding every swath of skin he knows he’s bitten, pinched, groped too hard.

“Didn’t mean to,” he murmurs, quiet and worriedly into your hair. He kisses, again and again. “Didn’t mean to be so rough. Didn’t mean—”

“I know,” you whisper, “it’s okay. I’m okay. Look- feel.”

You find his hand in the dark, pulling it around yourself to press it against your chest, your heart beating heavy against his palm. You keep it there, proof of your wellness, showing him you’re unharmed. Where it matters, anyway. You’re so strung out from your orgasm that all you can do, want to do, is just lie there and hold him, body limp and satisfied in spite of it all.

It’s just that, then, quiet, the soft sounds of his breathing slowing in time to yours, a conscious effort to calm himself, to prove to you that he can be, that he isn’t that thing that lingered in the doorway glowering at you- to prove to himself that he isn’t a monster.

He tells you again that he’s sorry, but you just tut your forgiveness and shake your head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. And he tries to tell you why, but when he opens his mouth, no words come out. Just the voice in the back of his head again, the knife kept lodged in his throat all this time. We don’t talk about that. His vision warps, chromatic as he blinks away pictures of the lab, the lights, the Cradle. We can’t talk about that.

Case just sighs then, settling into your arms and cocooning himself around you like he’s not the very thing he’s trying to protect you from. He thinks he tells you he loves you too- that, at least, he knows is his- but he isn’t sure if you hear, fallen asleep before you can utter a response.

He just looks at you, and he’s completely besotted. Utterly and madly. He kisses you sweet and gentle, stamping his one last apology as soft fingers thread through your hair. He’ll fix it, he vows, for you, for you. Then he slides in next to you, curling his arms around your tummy to pull you in close, swearing until he falls asleep to make good on that promise. Then, as sleep slowly takes him, there are no more bumps in the night.

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puhpandas · 11 months ago

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Between The Lines

(7,832 words)

Tony thinks that there's something about Freddy and Bonnie that make them seem closer and different than the other Glamrocks. It takes him a while to realize that there isn't on the outside like he thought, and that maybe, he just sees himself and Gregory in them. And that a certain drawing Gregory has given to him might tell him that Gregory had the same idea.

Greg and Ellis had looked like kids in a candy shop when theyd entered the West Arcade for the first time since the Pizzaplex reopened.

Just like all the banners strung about have advertised, theres brand new arcades and games to try out around the place. The place is fuller, not only due to the sheer amount of guests, especially because of the return of Bonnie, but also because of all of the new cabinets taking up space.

Tony had been content just following his friends as they floundered over what game to play first. They had such big smiles on their faces while wandering around... itd been nice seeing them like that. Tony knows Gregory has been having trouble lately. The whole GGY thing takes a toll on him, even after it's been over for months. He's not much different, but... Greg definitely has it worse. Tony's just glad he's loosening up for this.

Even Tony, who hadn't ever really cared for arcade games, can notice just how many new games have been added to the Faz-Cade. Every step brings his attention to a new cabinet here, another one there, all with new themes and art he's never seen before.

Despite how much he likes to be aware of everything around him, he usually can only focus on one thing at a time. His friends voices are only background noise to him while he gazes at all of the new sights in the Faz-Cade. They're saying something about grinding for points and scores, but Tony cant focus when he's just admiring some particularly cool art.

Subconsciously, his body stops along with his friends when they suddenly quit walking to admire some other cabinet. He startles at the change, and goes to open his mouth, a question already on his tongue.

But he never gets it out. His head doesnt turn, and his eyes catch onto a certain arcade game to their right that's angled directly for the cabinet art to be staring right at him.

The bright and contrasting colors of the two characters in the drawing are all he needs to see to recognize them at first glance.

It's a drawing of Freddy and Bonnie; the colors bright and art angled to look dynamic on the curve of the games' outer shape. Its brand new art, Tony's sure of it. Theres been multiple of Bonnie across the Plex so far since he's returned.

He would know.

Freddy and Bonnie... Tony doesnt know why, but he just cant stop looking at the art of them on the cabinet. They're shoulder to shoulder, bodies leaned onto each other and looking at eachother from the corner of their eyes. Not their instruments or who would be the viewer... eachother.

Its like they're in their own little world, Tony thinks. He doesn't know why he thinks that. He's never noticed a difference before. Is there even one? Has there ever been this kind of closeness in promotional art with characters like Roxy and Monty or Chica and Freddy?

Maybe he should get another opinion. He tilts his head, never taking his eyes off of the art on the cabinet over. "Hey, guys? Does this art of Freddy and Bonnie look--"

"Midnight Motorist!" He's cut off mid sentence by Ellis' exclamation. Ellis takes off from his side, and it finally tears Tony's eyes off of the drawing of Freddy and Bonnie. He races to a cabinet a few over and is bouncing in place looking it over. "I cant believe this is one of the new ones they added!"

Gregory is the next to leave his side after that, heading to join Ellis at the cabinet and blabbering on about something himself. But Tony finds it hard to listen when his mind is still stuck on the brand new official Freddy and Bonnie art for some reason.

He shakes it off, leaving it for another time. He knows sometimes his curiosity can take over his brain in the middle of something sometimes. He just... doesn't understand what there is to be curious about this time. It doesn't eat away at him like curiosity does to him every time, though. This time doesnt feel the same.

He shakes it off again, this time shaking his head physically for good measure. Later. He thinks. He leaves the cabinet and joins his friends by Midnight Motorist, and begins to catch their conversation.

"Do you think we can get the first high scores on it?" Greg is asking when Tony gets there. Theres a kind of rare wicked grin on his face. "Just imagine. Setting an example for everyone else before they can even try themselves."

Ellis huffs a laugh, and eyes Tony when he stands beside Greg. "Hey," Ellis grins. "Wanna watch me set the first high score ever on Midnight Motorist?"

Tony smiles, eyeing the completely empty Best Players screen. "Sure."

To Tony's suprise, Gregory let's Ellis play first and waits his turn until he's done. Ellis steps up to the cabinet, and Tony is content watching Ellis get to know the game and his steadily racking points.

The two of them have formed a little huddle around Ellis' shoulder. His shoulder. For some reason, Tony and Gregory arent on each side like they should be. Theyve decided to squish into the left side of the cabinet and watch from there.

Why? Tony's thinking. Theres a weird feeling in his stomach that he cant identify. Why didnt they split up? They're shoulder to shoulder and theyre pressed so close together Tony is hyper aware of Greg's presence.

He feels his voice reverberate through his own arm and it makes Tony's cheeks burn and his thoughts scramble to come up with a reason.

He cant find one, he realizes. The chimes and music of the game in front of him kind of fade into the background while he tries to think about it more. His brain runs at a million miles an hour, and hes half aware of the thoughts in his head and half aware of how his heart is hammering in his chest at the same time.

Its confusing to him why he cares so much. Why this one little simple action has made his thoughts run so wild.

But while searching for why he and Greg are so close instead of far apart, for some reason, in response, his mind conjures up the art of Freddy and Bonnie.

"Yeah!" Greg cheers beside him, and Tony startles slightly, his thoughts coming to an abrupt halt as he comes back down to earth. His voice is right in his ear and Tony doesnt know what the weird feeling in his stomach is. "You got this, Ellis!"

He breathes out, deep but quiet and slow. He tries not to be obvious, but after the past few months, he shouldn't be suprised when Greg somehow notices.

He twists his neck over to look Tony's way, and Tony makes himself look back. Theres concern swimming in Gregory's eyes that Tony's so familiar with from over the past few months. When Tony would be struggling with the GGY incident and Greg would try his hardest to help him.

"Hey," Gregory asks, voice hushed and soft. Despite the loud button presses and the music coming from the cabinet just besides them, Gregory's voice reaches him so clearly. "are you okay?"

Tony doesnt respond immediately. He just stares, and ignores the twinge in his neck from how hes leaning his head back from the proximity. For some reason, he flounders for words.

"Uh, yeah." He says after a second, offering a smile. "I'm, uh, okay, Greg. Don't worry about me."

Gregory doesn't respond immediately, just looking at him a bit longer. Despite the inches of height Tony has on Gregory, his presence just feels bigger. Tony dares to flick his eyes, and deep blue meets gold.

Another moment of silence passes, and it feels like it drags on forever. Then, Greg nods. "Kay." He says, then turns back to the cabinet screen.

And that's that.

The feeling in his stomach doesnt go away, and along with the exchange neither do the thoughts. He tries to focus on Ellis' high score and having a good time with his friends, but he keeps being aware of his arm pressed against Greg's and the way that hes so close to him.

He doesnt know what's going on. He doesn't have anything to think about it that isnt jumbled and incomprehensible, so he tries to leave it for another day. He takes a breath, calming himself and the storm thats going on inside of him that's leaving him wondering and confused, and watches the car move back and forth on the road on the screen in front of him.

During it all, flashes of blue and orange keep appearing in his minds eye.

If theres one thing Tony had missed since getting Gregory back, its seeing Greg enjoy his art.

He'd never taken it too seriously, just drawn the Glamrocks and himself and his friends a few times, and always just for fun. But that's the point, isnt it? Tony... Tony may take his writing seriously, but that doesnt mean Greg would have to take his art seriously. That's something Tony's learned the past few months.

That you should appreciate chilling and having fun while it happens. GGY wasnt something easy to come back from. It wasnt easy to have seemingly recovered very fast from his attack and gone back to school while still grappling with what happened. Especially after it'd only taken a day or two for the real Greg to show up at his house and tell him what really happened.

The point is, Greg hasnt really touched a pencil and paper in a while. At least... not that Tony's seen.

He understands. He really does. Even Tony hadn't touched writing for a little while after... everything happened. He needed time to process everything, and writing was just never something he'd wanted to do, despite it being something he has fun with.

Greg just needed time, is all. But even Tony couldnt stay away from writing forever. He's picked it back up relatively recently. He just wishes Gregory would do.

Which is why when he goes over to Greg's house; a small apartment where he lives with Vanessa, Tony immediately is drawn to the sight of colorful paper and pencils on Greg's desk.

And on one page, two very distinct colorful characters standing next to eachother peeking under a couple other papers.

"You're drawing again." Tony says with a smile when he walks over to Greg's desk.

Gregory doesnt respond respond right away. It gives more time to Tony to just admire some of the newest art Greg's drawn obviously recently. Theres some of himself, some of people he knows, like Vanessa and even him and Ellis, one of a girl he doesnt recognize, and lots of Freddy.

But Tony's eyes keep being drawn to the orange and blue peeking out from under the more recent papers, and his right arm twitches, wanting to reach for the paper and pull it out to look at it.

It's a strange urge, one that doesn't feel quite like curiosity but has no other name Tony could put to it. It gets the better of him, and before Greg can utter a word from behind him, Tony reaches out and pulls on the corner to slip it out from under the others.

"Wait!" Greg yells from behind him. It's a little loud, and when Tony turns around, he looks a little sheepish, along with something else Tony doesnt have time to put a finger on. "Uh, which one is that?"

Tony raises a brow, but he let's his eyes fall back on the drawing of Freddy and Bonnie. He holds it out to Greg, trying to smile. "Uh, this one."

Gregory doesnt say anything, just walking up to his side and looking at the drawing himself. Theres an expression Tony cant place on Greg's face, and he cant help but feel like hes maybe done something wrong.

"I'm sorry," Tony blurts out, lowering the drawing. His brows furrow as he turns to look at Gregory. "should I have, uh, should I have not looked at your drawings without asking?"

Immediately, Gregory's shaking his head, waving a hand. "Uh. No. You're fine." He says slowly, and he's glancing at his desk and the corkboard hung above it with old and new drawings hung on it.

"I display them myself. Its..." Greg trails off, looking deep in thought for only a split second before he says, "it's... okay for you to see them."

Tony's quiet for a second, but his heads nodding and hes blinking shortly after. "Okay, good."

"Here." Greg says, coming up to him with a new small smile on his face; usually, all of Greg's smiles are small, so Tony can notice when ones real or not. This one... it's real, but also a little... nervous? Theres an undertone to it that Tony cant place, but any thoughts he could have had about it wash way when Greg's standing next to him again, bringing up the page in his hand he'd held out of sight back in view with a gentle hand. "You can see it."

Tony holds the page like its porcelain glass, his grip gentle and careful. Greg has the other side, and the paper is longways; meaning Greg's pressed against his shoulder again.

It... theres that weird feeling, again. But Tony doesnt really pay it any mind right now. He just admires the drawing Greg's offered him to see and takes in all the details.

In the soft sunlight of Gregory's window, it gives him plenty good view to see the art. Its good. Its really good. Tony knows Greg is a good artist, but... this is better than he thought it would be. Tony takes in the details, the line strokes and the color choices and even the little blocks signature in the corner of the page. He smiles instinctively.

"Its... good." He mumbles, voice quiet, but earnest. The drawing is of Freddy and Bonnie, colors bright and popping like they were on the arcade cabinet back at the Faz-Cade. This reminds him of then, Tony realizes. The drawing is similar, and... it gives him that same feeling. That same wonder if theres something else there between Freddy and Bonnie.

They're standing beside eachother, and the pose isnt as dynamic at the cabinets was. They're facing forward, but looking at eachother. They have one arm on each instrument, but the others that are in-between eachother just... hang limply. It makes Tony's brows furrow. It doesn't fit with the pose Greg was going for.

This whole time, Tony realizes, Greg had been watching his reaction. He suddenly becomes aware of Gregory looking at him and how hes holding the other side of the page and how their shoulders are pressed together. How their hands are hanging limply next to eachother. His fingers twitch and burn, and so does his face.

"You like it?" Greg is asking, and Tony tries to ignore that exact same strange feeling in his stomach he's been having to answer him. His mouth feels heavy and locked shut, and he stammers.

"Ye-Yeah!" He manages, managing to keep looking away from Greg's eyes and at the drawing in front of him. He smiles, and it's real when he says, "Its-- Its great, Greg. Its amazing."

But then Gregory is silent for a second too long, and Tony dares to glance over. It's the exact same time Gregory switches his gaze to the drawing and shifts his body.

Greg takes his hand off of the page, pushing it gently with both towards Tony's chest. Theres a smile that stretches wide across his cheeks when he says, "Its yours."

Immediately, Tony sputters. "What? But--" He gapes. "Yo-You dont have to do that--"

"Its fine." Greg cuts him off, smiling at him. Tony finds himself going quiet and staring. "I... uh... I drew it for you in the first place."

Tony gapes, unfurling the paper from his chest with a gentle grip. He takes another look at it, feeling something warm bloom in his chest. His fingers shake and tremble as he holds the paper in-between his fingers. Just, admiring it again. The orange and blue of Freddy and Bonnie.

"You did?" Tony asks, softer than silk. It's barely above a whisper.

Greg nods in front of him, smile still on his face. It dissolves into a small chuckle. "Dont act so suprised."

Tony shakes his head, whipping his head up. "I'm not!" He says, but his eyes find the drawing again quickly after. It's like hes unable to look away. The drawing... it feels different now, knowing it was made for him. "Its-- its just... really cool, Greg. I love it. I really do."

Gregory goes silent again, this time for longer than a second or two. Tony glances up, and barely catches a blank stare from Greg for a split second, like he'd been thinking about something. It's gone in an instant, and Gregory's smiling at him again, looking at him with yellow-gold eyes that seem to be shining in the light from his window.

"I'm..." He trails off. "I'm glad."

"I'll treasure it." Tony promises, holding the page closer to his face. Theres even highlights in their eyes as they look at eachother in the drawing. "I promise. I wont let anything happen to it, either."

This time, Tony looks up just in time to see Gregory smile softly, and say "I know."

Despite Bonnie being Tony's favorite, he's never actually gotten to meet him face to face.

He would be lying if he said he had liked him before his disappearance. It sounds bad, but... Tony hadnt ever cared much for the animatronic characters. It was Bonnie's sudden vanishing that caused Tony to gain interest in Fazbears brand and characters and history and why they would retire him if they meant to. And so abruptly at that.

But... after reading up and seeing all of the history and different iterations of the characters and their merch and art and brand and evolution... he maybe got a little interested.

It goes deeper than a childish interest in the animal characters, though. He... he doesn't know how to explain it. He just feels connected to Bonnie, somehow. It's not like Freddy and Gregory. They... they have something else. But it... it feels like Tony sees more in him than the other glamrock characters. To an extent, Freddy as well. But Freddy has what he has with Gregory, and Tony doesnt feel that connection with him like he does Bonnie.

Which is why he'd been excited when Bonnie had returned in the re-opening. The bowling alley has been flipped and remodeled and the art replaced and updated since hes come back, and the place is pretty packed usually, now. Bonnie performs on his stage sometimes, and will come out and mingle with guests rarely, but Tony's never gotten a chance to talk to him.

Of course, he should have known Gregory wouldnt let it stay that way for long. Not with how he still travels across the Plex behind closed doors sometimes to see the Glamrocks often.

Which is how Greg had gotten Tony into Bonnie's greenroom in-between his schedule later in the day, when not a lot of people are at Bonnie Bowl.

Of course, Greg had always known, but... his sudden action was definitely influenced by how Tony's been talking about it, recently. How he wants to be able to talk to Bonnie alone one on one. How he's always wanted to.

Its just... Tony's been looking at the drawing Greg made him a lot lately. And it keeps reminding him over and over of how it feels like theres... more to Freddy and Bonnie. Theyve been paired together since the very beginning. It feels like theres something else intangible with them that there isnt with the other characters.

They have history. Theyve always gone together, like yin and yang. Fire and ice. Red and blue.

He's... he's just always felt a connection with Bonnie.

It doesnt feel like meeting a celebrity, when Gregory ushers him with a smile into Bonnie's greenroom and shuts the curtain behind him. He doesnt feel starstruck, or like he wants an autograph. He just wants to talk to Bonnie.

Bonnie's sitting at his mirror when Tony inches in, feeling strangely nervous and anxious and fiddling with the Bonnie keychain on his backpack. Bonnies ear twitches, the one with the earring, and then hes swiveling his chair to face him.

"Ah! You must be Tony, then." Bonnie says with a smile. Tony just stays quiet when Bonnie gets up and heads over to him, his mind running wild with what exactly it is he wants to say. "Yeah, Fred and Greg told me about ya. Said you wanted to meet me. That I'm your favorite?"

Tony nods, meeting Bonnie's eyes. "Yeah, that's right."

"Well then, its nice to meet you, Tony." Bonnie says happily, holding out a hand for Tony to shake. Tony releases the keychain and takes it without another word, shaking it politely.

It's only then that Bonnie quirks a brow at him, his ears drooping a bit. Theres a small stretch of silence where nobody says anything, and Tony feels self conscious, the nerves rising up even more.

Bonnie's kneeling down to be eye level. His ears aren't pointed straight up anymore, they're more relaxed. Bonnie looks at him, looking... concerned? Curious? And he sets a hand on his shoulder.

"Alright, now." Bonnie finally says, and Tony glances back at the curtain, than at Bonnie. Bonnie fixes him with a look that's inviting and warm. "What's on your mind, Striker? I may have just met you, but Greg has told me all about ya. He told me you had questions for me and would be bombarding me with them."

Tony's shoulders droop a little more, and he feels the nerves ebb away ever so slightly when Bonnie is nothing but warm and inviting. Once again, Tony doesnt feel like hes meeting a big star. He feels like hes having a conversation with... someone he looks up to. Someone he came to ask a question.

"But you arent." Bonnie points out, not unkindly. When Tony frowns, Bonnie smiles kindly.

"You dont have to be nervous, Striker." Bonnie tells him, his voice quiet and encouraging. "Theres plenty of kids that come to us to ask us things."

"Things that..." Bonnie trails off. "they just need a little friendly advice for that they may not want to tell anyone else."

He says the end pointedly, just enough emphasis to bring it to Tony's attention. It feels so childish. It really does. It makes Tony bristle to think about, that hes a kid who needs advice, and that Bonnie already knows that. That Bonnie is using tactics he uses on young children on him. But... that's what he came for, didnt he?

It sticks out to him, though. And Tony's aware that Bonnie's tactic worked. 'Things they may not want to tell anyone else.' aka, things that Tony had wondered about in bed and at school and at the Faz-Cade when he'd think about the cabinet art or Gregorys drawing. When... when he'd felt like there was something else.

To Freddy and Bonnie. To what appears on the outside. To what there may be on the inside. To the colors orange and blue.

He opens his mouth, not quite speaking yet, and Bonnie's waiting patiently. Hes looking at him encouragingly, and Tony sighs, letting the words spill out. The big question that he's mulled over for months.

Tony takes one last glance around him, not exactly knowing why but feeling like he needs to. It feels personal, or taboo somehow. Like this needs to be kept under wraps and only for his and Bonnie's ears to hear. He grabs at his keychain again, fidgeting with it.

"Bonnie..." He manages eventually, feelings and thoughts that feel disconnected racing through his mind. The keychain gives his hands something to do, but it doesnt help much with his nerves. "Are you and Freddy... uh..."

He stammers over his words, feeling nerves fry his stomach. This is hard to say, for some reason. It feels scary. Bonnie waits, though. Still ever patient, but his head does tilt in curiosity, a quirk to his brow.

Tony opens his mouth, taking a second to continue. "Well... I just..." He trails off, and Bonnie is still looking at him. Theres a moment where Tony says nothing, and Bonnie just meets his eyes and nods, smiling.

Its okay it feels like he's saying. Tony breathes out again, and pushes past the wall he'd been hitting. "Are you two together?"

Bonnie jerks a bit, barely noticeable, but Tony had been searching for any kind of reaction, small or not. Tony watches how Bonnie's face twists in suprise for a moment, and Tony's eyes widen, his shoulders hitching up.

"I just--" He stammers, and averts his eyes when Bonnie keeps staring at him. "I notice sometimes that your promotional art has you two... uh, closer. Than the others."

Its agonizing, watching Bonnie mull over his words. His eyes twitch and look down, and it's clear he's deep in thought. Tony feels his ears burn. He feels embarrassed. It all feels scary. Why? Why does it feel like he's spilling all his deepest darkest secrets?

Tony watches carefully, holding his breath as Bonnie says nothing. He's taking his time, thinking deeply, and Tony watches Bonnie's eyes flick towards the curtain. The curtain Gregory'd promised him he'd wait for him behind.

They widen, ever so slightly, and Bonnie's eyes then look towards Tony's hands, and the keychain hes flipping between his fingers.

Bonnie stares for just a moment longer, and then he clears his throat a bit, and Tony releases the tightness in his chest when Bonnie finally responds.

"Well, Striker..." Bonnie says, voice hushed and quiet, like he's telling a secret. "Just between you and me, Freddy and I do have something going on that... may not particularly be apart of the brand characterization of us."

Tony's eyes widen. Something shoots through his chest, some sort of burning blooming feeling, and he just stares at Bonnie speechless.

There had been something going on between the lines. There had been. Just like he'd thought. Did... Does that mean that the closeness, the undertones that Tony had felt just had to be between them had been there all along? That he really was right.

But... Bonnie had said that last part with the same emphasis he'd used before, and it only just now clicks.

Tony feels something he cant place. It feels crushing, scary, like... somethings caught up to him. Like he was somehow wrong all along. Wrong about Freddy and Bonnie? Wrong about something he never ever knew why he latched onto in the first place?

"So..." He begins uncertainly, shoulders feeling heavy. He realizes he hasnt blinked this whole time, and releases the tight breath he'd been holding. His eyes flick up to Bonnie's. "The promotional art isn't any different?"

Bonnie's ears droop, and he shakes his head. Tony just looks away.

"No, buddy." Bonnie replies. He shakes him a bit, just enough to get his attention, and Tony makes himself look back at Bonnie.

He looks knowing, somehow. It makes Tony bristle. He looks like he just figured it out. But what is there to figure out? Why is Bonnie looking at him with sympathy?

Bonnie doesnt say something like Tony had been expecting him to, though. He just stands to his full height, herding Tony by his shoulders gently to go down the hallway and stand just at the mouth of the curtain. They dont go through, but stay tucked in the shadows. Tony frowns, confused.

"Might there be a reason why you saw a difference with us in the first place?" Bonnie asks, a whisper. He nudges him, and Tony, despite the confusion and how his question begins to weigh on him, joins him in peering through the gap in the curtain.

Tony's not really sure why Bonnie's brought him over here; it's just Gregory and Freddy on the other side, and Tony cant help but feel a little bit of impatient-ness mix with the confusion inside of him, because Bonnie obviously knows something that Tony doesnt and its killing him.

But any remarks over it he bites down, and he tries to decipher the reasoning himself. There obviously is one, after all.

Tony just watches, looking for whatever Bonnie may be getting at. Gregory's faced half away from the curtain, talking to Freddy about something, and he doesnt notice Tony's observing him. Tony watches Gregory's face; theres a smile that goes as wide as to crinkle the corner of his eyes, and it dissolves into laughter soon after. He looks amused, like the funniest joke in the world was just told, and Freddy laughs heartily next to him.

Theres that weird feeling in his chest that been eating away at him again. The one he always gets around Greg and if he gets to looking at the drawing he gave him. The one of Freddy and Bonnie. Or if he remembers the cabinet art.

Tony just watches. He watches and is aware that Gregory barely ever smiles like that and that it makes his eyes sparkle, and it's like the gold in them shimmers even more. How it curves around his cheeks and even after it dissipates a bit, the contentment is still there. He watches him speak and how it flashes his teeth and his home-cut, shaggy hair kinda falls over his face like a curtain and he has to brush it out of the way with a hand. Theres the scar on his face that travels up his jaw and the sharpness to his eyes and the curve of his nose and--

Oh.

He's long let go of the Bonnie keychain by now, but now, it weighs heavy on him. Suddenly he's all too aware of its presence, and Gregory's Freddy backpack that Tony can see on his back through the gap of the curtain.

Flashes of the cabinet art at the Faz-Cade and Gregory's drawing run laps through his mind. It makes sense, now. His mind is so jumbled he cant get a thought through, but he still knows what they're all saying. He feels it.

Freddy and Bonnie, the two always paired together that Tony saw a certain closeness between. Bonnie, who had always been Tony's favorite. Freddy, who is Greg's favorite. Who he draws all the time and has bonded with and who he's connected with.

Tony's always felt connected to Bonnie.

"Oh." Tony says outwardly, barely louder than a whisper. His voice cracks in the middle.

Bonnie tries to squeeze his shoulder, to open his mouth and say something, but Tony gently shoves him off, walking out of his hold and stumbling closer the curtain.

"Im--" He stammers, not knowing what to think. "I'm sorry, Bonnie. I-- thank you for this, but--" He sighs out, and it feels a little wet. He ignores Bonnie's worried expression and pushes open the curtain with one arm. "Ive-- I've got to go."

Bonnie doesn't try to stop him. He doesnt yell for him, ask him to wait, nothing. Tony appreciates it. Maybe that knowing look hed given him means he understands.

"Hey." Greg greets him on the outside, just like he said he would. Hes smiling, Freddy backpack still on his shoulders, but it drops a bit when he sees his face.

"Tony?" He asks, softer and less enthusiastic. "Are you--"

"I'm fine." Tony cuts him off, ignoring the guilt curling in his stomach when he walks past both Greg and Freddy. He needs-- he can't think right now. He doesnt know what to do. "Im-- I'm okay. I uh, just think im gonna go home."

Theres no response for a second until Greg goes "Oh." Its a little flat, and one hundred percent sounds disappointed and worried all in one. The guilt gets worse. "Are you--"

"I'm okay." Tony insists, and the tightness in his chest and rapidness of his thoughts dont go away. Greg doesnt get to ask again, because Tony's almost running away, now.

He can feel Greg and Freddys eyes on his back as he leaves Bonnie Bowl, not knowing how to feel.

Tony hasnt told Gregory.

How is he supposed to? He-- he hasnt even processed it himself. He doesnt know what to think or how to feel. He doesnt like not being able to think.

Every time he tries, it all gets jumbled and his brain twists in knots. He doesnt need to think to know. To know what it all meant and that he'd always felt this way. Since he'd gotten to know the real Greg.

That those moments where he and Gregory would be close where he'd have those weird feelings were because he liked him. He still does. He likes him. A lot.

He likes him and he'd-- Tony had always seen more in Bonnie and Freddy because he saw more in him and Gregory. Its always been that way. He's always felt closer to Greg. He's... he's the Freddy to his Bonnie.

The thought makes Tony's brain freeze up again. He blinks, feeling his arms burn from being sprawled out on the bed and holding them up for so long. He groans, long and drawn out, feeling lost.

His stomach does somersaults and his face burns when he looks at the drawing again. He's stared at it a lot already. Not only today, but since he got it. Its felt... special, to him. Now he knows why. That this drawing Greg gifted him always felt like it held something deeper. Something that... only Tony saw. That no one else would.

He grips the paper with his fingers, staring longingly at the art. It feels like hes getting a headache, lying flat on his back and straining his arms just to hold the drawing up in the air. He stares at the pencil lines and the colors and how Freddy and Bonnie's shoulders are pressed together and their hands are still awkwardly limp from where they fall by their waists.

Tony frowns, always feeling off about that part. It never fit in correctly. It never felt intentional. Not like everything about Gregory's art always has. It had always left Tony wondering. Like how he had with the feeling in his stomach and Freddy and Bonnie's official art.

He sighs, his arms drooping slightly from the strain. Today was a school day, and Tony hadn't gone with Greg to his house like he usually does. He's barely talked to him since his exchange with Bonnie. He doesn't want to avoid, him, he just... doesnt know what to say.

He doesnt know if he should tell him. Tony has always felt that he and Greg felt different, but he has no idea if Gregory does. Tony had been wrong about it being intentional in the art at the Plex. He'd created it himself because he saw himself in it. He doesnt want to-- to mess things up with Greg. He doesnt want Gregory to have never felt the same.

His brows furrow and he frowns as he readies himself to leave it for today, like he usually does. He takes a last long look at the drawing, eyeing Freddy and Bonnie's hands again, and how they look forced and awkward, and starts to drop his arms.

It's the afternoon, and the sun is setting and just at the right position to shine through his blinds and onto his bed. The blinds are almost fully shut, but the sun peeks through the cracks, shining on the back of the paper and highlighting the details of the drawing.

Tony wouldnt have paid it any mind if it hadn't revealed something hes never seen, never, about the drawing he's spent so long looking at.

He does a double take. Then a triple. Then some more for good measure. He blinks, and scrambles up on his arms to sit upright so he can see it better.

His eyes widen, and his stomach feels floaty. The same feeling from the cabinet art and when he and Greg will sit close to eachother at lunch and let their shoulders and knees touch or, stand closer to eachother than they should blooms in his stomach.

The sun, shining bright and golden through his window, illuminates the blank paper space adjacent to Freddy and Bonnie's hands in Gregory's drawing. They're bending awkwardly, out of the way, and it gives him room to see the faded lines besides Freddy and Bonnie's hands.

It starts from the wrist and the lines show up even through the marker Greg had used to color their hands with. It fits, Tony thinks, with the pose. With the original pose. This way, it doesnt feel forced or awkward. It looks like how it had intended to be from the start.

Because with the sun shining behind it and showing through the color and pen that had carefully covered it up, Tony sees faded pencil lines that before, had connected Freddy and Bonnie's hands.

His face becomes warm, and he just looks, feeling something blooms in his chest. Hope? Disbelief? Excitement? His brain short circuits and he's only feeling right now. He feels how sparks are flying in his stomach and it feels a little less impossible than before.

I... uh... I drew it for you in the first place.

This is how it had always been intended. For Freddy and Bonnie to be holding hands. Theres nothing else it could have been. It had always been unintentional in the Plex art. Always just created from Tony's own relation. But this... Greg wanted this. He wanted to draw Freddy and Bonnie holding hands and for that closeness to be more than an undertone. More than intangible.

Tony feels breathless. His arms and hands shake, and the paper in front of him shakes along with it. He doesnt care, though. The sun is still illuminating what Greg had intended in his drawing all along, the drawing he made for him, and Tony feels less unsure than before. He feels like maybe he isnt alone in feeling this way at all.

The next day, after a long night and day at school, Tony goes with Greg to his house.

The drawing sits heavy in his backpack. unfolded unfolded because he'd never want to crease it and he doesnt want the pencil lines to suddenly disappear, either. He handles it like porcelain glass, like itll slip through his fingers if he let's it go too much.

Even Ellis had noticed him acting weird, and Tony noticed Greg looking at him concerned from the corner of his eye. He knows why. He's been distant lately. But... at school today, Tony hadn't felt afraid of Greg. Of messing things up with him. He'd felt the warmth spread through his face and his stomach and fireworks go off and his face stretch in a grin when he'd seen him the first time that day. And he'd felt it times ten all over again when Greg had smiled back.

He wont lose him. Tony knows this. He'd spend all night and all day mulling it over. Greg feels the same. He'd felt the closeness like I had. He'd.. he erased it. He was scared, like I am now.

It feels different, walking into Greg's room. He hasnt been there in a couple days, but it feels almost similar to when he'd walked into Bonnie's greenroom. He knows now that it had been because he knew, deep down. It felt like he was about to confess something then. He pretty much had, saying that Bonnie and Freddy were together out loud.

It's not as far down, anymore. It's not buried underneath characterization branding and pencil lines and marker strokes and only revealed if the light hits it right. It wont stay under wraps. Not after today.

Tony becomes hyper aware of the bag on his back immediately after the door closes on them. Greg walks into his room first, slinging his bag off of his back and kicking his shoes off and talking about watching something, together, or writing like they always do, but Tony isnt listening. He's just balling up the hem of his green corduroy jacket in his hands and staring at the carpet and thinking about the colors orange and blue.

"Tony?" Greg asks him. Tony startles, looking up at Greg. Hes sitting on the edge of his bed, with concern etched on his face. "Are you okay?"

Tony opens his mouth, but theres no words on his tongue. He stands there silently for a moment, and he thinks about the drawing again. He knows it's time. The sun is peeking through Greg's blinds. His backpack and the knowledge that the drawing is inside and his Bonnie keychain weigh on him.

His eyes flick for a split second to Greg's backpack and his sneakers, and then he clears his throat, his mouth feeling dry. "Greg, can I show you something?"

Gregory tilts his head, looking a little worried. He jerks, patting the bed beside him. "Uh, yeah, of course."

Tony swings his own backpack off of his shoulders as he makes his way next to Gregory, but its gentler. Careful about the easily crinkleable paper inside. Pencil lines that have already been attempted to be erased.

It only fully sets in when he sits down next to Gregory on the bed, and he chose to sit close enough that their arms are flush against eachother and Tony's face gets warm. He doesnt fight it. He just unzips his backpack and carefully reaches in, grabbing ahold of the corner with light fingers.

He pulls it out, and Gregory looks suprised next to him, if not also a little but confused. Tony's face is still warm, and his fingers shake and tremble, and he turns his neck to face Gregory.

They're really close like this, and Tony's eyes widen and he has to fight to not look away. His heart hammers a hundred miles an hour in his chest, but he keeps his gaze on Greg's eyes. Gold meets blue, and they stay staring at eachother. Tony hopes deeply that Gregory gets the hint. That he understands.

Nothing, yet. Not a peep. Just a silent moment. Theres closeness now, Tony thinks. Closeness that feels carefully not one sided. That feels mutual. So after another moment, he forces himself to look away, pointing the paper at the wall and smoothing out the corners. Gregory follows his movements, still having not made a sound.

Tony doesnt, either. He just holds the paper up to the window on Greg's wall, or rather the beams of golden light shining through it, and just like how it did in Tony's room, it illuminates the pencil lines around the white of the paper.

Lines that had been hidden. That are being revealed now, brought to the surface because Gregory didnt have to be afraid. Becuase its mutual. It feels less like it was erased, now, and more like it was drawn in invisible ink. Blank to the naked eye, but the two of them know. Greg knows, he has to. He hid it himself. And Tony... well, Tony wasnt crazy for feeling that there was something between the lines all this time, has he? Not when there literally have been.

Tony looks at it for a moment, feeling like it's all being brought up to the surface. He feels connected to Gregory, right now. Like this isnt some big reveal. That its just an acknowledging of feelings. I know. Tony's trying to say. I always have, and now I know that you did, too.

He moves his gaze to Greg, who's staring wide eyed but almost blank faced at the paper. His lips are parted slightly, but other than that, he just looks... shocked. Suprised.

Scared

Tony's scared, too. But not in the way Greg is. Tony's nervous, and afraid, and excited, but Greg doesnt know if Tony knows. If he thinks the closeness is mutual.

He does.

He takes the leap, fire in his chest and on his face and sparks flying from where Greg's shoulder is pressed against his. "Maybe..." He begins, slow and quiet. He looks at Greg, meeting his eyes, and he points a finger at the lines that originally portrayed hands laced together. "...Bonnie and Freddy would like to hold hands. You know, like... in the promotional art".

Theres a fleeting moment of silence where Tony's words just hang in the air. Like in the promotional art, because Tony knows Gregory noticed, too. He knows he felt the same connection Tony had. He knows that he knows. He sets the paper down in his lap, no longer feeling like its needed. His hand lies on his leg, carefully positioned in-between them, like Greg's is.

Then, Greg stops looking so scared, and he meets Tony's eyes. The sun from his window makes them shine like gold, and Tony keeps ahold of his gaze. He hopes desperately that those few words were enough, that a moment like this that cant be shattered by big declarations gets across.

But then, Greg breaks from his eyes first, looking downwards, and Tony follows his gaze.

"Like in the promotional art." Gregory agrees. Tony watches as Gregorys hand twitches, and no matter how slow or agonizing, it moves to lace together with Tonys.

Tony doesnt dare smile, or laugh, or make a peep. He doesnt dare shatter the moment. His chest blooms and explodes with sparks and fireworks, and he knows. He knows that its requited. That Gregory knows, as well. That orange and blue go good together and that he was never wrong about there being something else there.

His head whips up from their hands to look at Greg's face again, and Gregory is looking at him already. Theres red on his face, too, like Tony knows there is on his own. Tony dares to use his thumb to brush against Greg's hand, and Gregory's eyes dart downwards for just a moment, before meeting his again.

Then, without a word, Greg smiles slowly. It's big and it stretches across his cheeks and crinkles his eyes at the corners. And Tony let's a grin appear on his own face.

The drawing sits in his lap, and a ray of sunshine continues to showcase the faded indents of pencil drawing laced together hands. Tony squeezes once, then twice, and shifts his hold to be tighter and more secure. Greg does the same.

ao3 link

#hope this works #this is a long oneshot LOL #u can go to the ao3 link to see more thoughts and stuff i had to say abt this fic #beckory #my fics #pandas writes #oneshot #gregory #tony #gregtony #ggy #PLS tell me if the size of this oneshot messed up tumbkr formatting in any way LOL #between the lines

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