#food time now. c'ya

[monty-glasses-roxy]

https://www.tumblr.com/emirrart/619196026536001536/thank-u-discord?source=share but with Roxy. That's it that's the thought.

Roxy and her fun gender in scribbly comic form for you

Bonus: Freddy doesn't get it at all lmao

[sir-subpar]

1st (and 2nd) Meeting (Yandere Toppat Charles prequel oneshot)

Yep! I finally wrote more Yandere Toppat Charles. A lot of people have been requesting this. So here it is! Below the cut.

*Prequel oneshot! Let's go!*

Charles observed his computer monitor, watching the museum with the clan's hidden cameras they planted.

"Incredible.." He whispered in awe. The whole museum has fallen into chaos, and it was all thanks to one man. Henry Stickmin.

Yes, he'd been watching Henry for a while, seeing him make a name for himself. Charles wondered sometimes if he really worked alone. He had the skills of a whole task force, but always appeared to have no help. 

Did he plan these things? Or did Henry just make it up as he went along? He couldn't tell.

Oh Henry, so wild, so random. Yet so… impressive.

He had to meet this man. No doubt about it.

…

Henry ran with the diamond, he hid it in one of his hideouts outside the city. He'd have to lay low for a while, but it was worth it.

…

Henry left his hideout to retrieve some necessities, like food. He didn't plan on being out long, but he had a.. Strange encounter, on his way back.

Henry nabbed some fruit that he could stash and was in the process of running back to his hideout, it was night out and he used a lot of confusing alleyways and narrow roads to exit the city. Despite his efforts to avoid detection, someone apparently spotted him. 

"Henry Stickmin, or is it Stickman?" Henry whipped around and pointed his gun (which only had two bullets) at the voice, only to find no one standing there. Suddenly, he felt another body behind him. The stranger wrapped their arms around him, but in a way that felt more… gentle, friendly even. But the fact it was a stranger didn't help the fact that it was still terrifying. A hand quickly found itself grabbing his wrist, making him unable to fire it behind him. 

 

He felt someone's face right next to his own, they started whispering into his 'ear', "Hey, hey, calm down. I'm not here to cause you any harm. It's the opposite, really." The tone of the man's voice was strange. It was soft, but in a weirdly personal way. Like they knew each other or something. Which they did not. Or at the very least, Henry didn't.

"You broke yourself out of prison, stole the Tunisian Diamond, and even managed to avoid being recaptured… yet you struggle to even find a steady source of food… How sad. You deserve better, Henry.." The man somehow got even closer, Henry could feel his lips brush the side of his head, "... Way better." The stranger whispered, his tone changing a bit. 

Was this guy… flirting, with him?

"My name's Charles. I've seen your work from afar and I just gotta say, I'm impressed."

"Are you a cop or something? Because I'm pretty sure everything you're doing right now is illegal."

Charles laughed. "Good thing I'm not a cop then, huh?" Henry wasn't sure if that made it better or worse. 

"I'm a criminal. Just like you. The main difference is that I am a crime leader..."

 What was this guy? A mobster? Gang leader? When would he get to the point and stop all this weirdly intimate physical contact!?

" … and I think you should join me.."

Henry froze. This guy wanted him? A random solo thief, to join whatever crime syndicate he was in?

"I'll give you time to think about it. C'ya round, Henry." 

Just like that, Charles was gone. Henry only caught a glimpse of a red cloak and what was either headphones or ear muffs. He didn't get a long enough look to tell.

What a strange guy.

…

Henry woke up abruptly as he was practically thrown into a wooden crate. "Oh, I see you are awake at last." A man with a rather poised voice caught his attention. He saw a somewhat dapper looking man, with a brown mustache that he was twirling a bit as he talked.

Wait, was that a government uniform?

 "My my, no need to be so alarmed. We brought you here for a reason. We need your help." The man attempted to soothe Henry's anxiety. "My name is Reginald, and this is my right hand man," The man, now known as 'Reginald' gestured to another man who appeared to be driving the helicopter they all sat in. The second guy was taller than Reginald, Henry could tell, even though he was sitting down, and had a red mustache and hair. He appeared to be quite stern. And it was at this moment that Henry fully realized the situation.

He was in a government helicopter, with a couple soldiers holding guns at the ready, talking to someone who appeared to be in charge (maybe a captain). 

"You were a tricky little minx to catch, but I am sure your skills will make this worth the trouble."

Henry was briefed on the mission: go into the Toppat Clan's airship, find incriminating evidence, and gain his freedom. Seems fair enough.

Once he was on the ship, he found an air vent that eventually spat him onto a platform, one that was across from another platform with a "records" sign. 

"Oi, Henry. Might want to take a look at their records. You could probably find something there." Right's voice called through Henry's earpiece. His tone made it sound more like a command than a suggestion. "I've some things that can help you get across. What do you want to use?"

-Box

-Gun

-Right Hand Man

Henry decided on the box. Sure enough, one was dropped down in front of him. When he tried to open it, he realized it was made of metal. Suddenly, it seemed to unfold itself, sprouting arms and legs.

Ah. It was a small robot.

Suddenly, the small robot stomped up to him and lifted him off the ground with a vice grip. Henry had no time to get his bearings… and no time to prepare for the robot throwing him across the gap full-speed. 

Henry's body slammed into the metal floor, knocking the air out of his lungs. He looked across the gap, where he used to be, to see the robot give him a salute and then fold back into a box. Little pest. Useful, but still a pest.

Henry carried on his way to the records room, the shelves and files were practically endless, then he saw someone reading through a file. He ducked behind a shelf and watched the man. He had black sideburns, and a dark green uniform and Top hat to match. "Hmm. I gotta find a better spot for this, too incriminating to have in the open." He had a slight Brooklyn accent, if Henry assumed correctly.

Henry started to panic when the man stood up, seemingly turning to face the direction Henry happened to be in. 'Do something do something do something!' Henry's brain screamed.

Without thinking Henry grabbed a heavy book off the shelf and threw it full force at the guy. The book landed hard on the guy's foot, Henry could hear a *crack* upon impact. 

The Toppat crumbled to the floor, clutching his ankle and yelling obscenities for the whole world to hear. After some cursing, he seemed to refocus. "Who the FUCK-! Bukowski! Is that you!? I swear to god if that was you I'm gonna throw you off this Damn ship!" 

Henry crawled and sneaked his way around him, arms and legs on the metal floor. He maneuvered his way under the table, hastily grabbing the files the angry man dropped. He began to back up, hoping to leave the room without getting caught.

His hopes were dashed though when the guy turned his head to look at him. They both froze for a second when they made eye contact.

It did not take long for the Toppat to realize who was responsible for crushing his foot with a book. "Oi! Who the hell are you!?" Henry fumbled to his feet, and just ran. He was met with a locked door. Keycard only, Damn.

Henry turned to look at the man who was now getting up with the help of the table. That guy probably had a keycard.

Henry stuffed the file into his jacket, and bolted towards the guy. Using his built up momentum, he delivered a brutal kick to the guy's head, causing it to slam into the table top. While he was stunned, Henry snatched the card, and booked it towards the door. The identification on the card read "Rupert Price". 

Welp. Sorry Rupert, but he needed an escape. 

With his newfound access, he ran through the long metal halls of the ship. He had Right giving him directions to the nearest exit through his earpiece. It certainly helped with navigating the long, confusing, symmetrical halls of the airship.

Alarms started blaring. That Rupert guy must've alerted the clan.

Thinking fast, Henry swiftly dove into a vent, out of sight. He continued to listen to Right's directions.

"Take a left, don't make too much noise. There's a room full of crooks under you. A lot of 'em are armed."

Henry resisted the urge to say "no shit", feeling that it's pretty obvious a bunch of criminals would have weapons. He bit back his smartass remarks, it wasn't the time.

Henry eventually left the confines of the ventilation system, arriving in a room similar to a garage. Seeing as he was alone, he opened the huge metal garage door, ready to leave.

"Alright 'Enry. Get ready to-" the audio was cut off by garbled electronic noises. He couldn't make out what Right was saying, no matter how much he strained to listen. 

Suddenly, he heard someone… clapping?

"Finally, I can speak to you without interruptions," a voice said. A familiar one. Where had Henry heard that voice before?

"I gotta say, I haven't been this excited in a long time. Seeing you, Henry Stickmin, on my airship." 

A figure emerged from the darkness, a black hat with a red band and matching red headphones poking through, and a familiar red cloak.

The same guy from the alleyway! What was his name again? Henry's mind drew a blank, only remembering how weird that encounter was.

"I guess this is a good time to 'properly' introduce myself." The man said, a sly grin on his face. 

He approached Henry and gently grasped his hand, leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on his knuckles. 

"Charles Calvin, leader of the Toppat Clan."

Henry's face flushed a new shade of pink. He froze, muscles tense from intimidation, confusion, and slight flusherment. 

"I'm honored that you stopped by. It's a little unfortunate though. You are a talented thief, I didn't even know you were here at first!" Charles' tone took on a genuine excitement in that moment.

 "Though your 'government buddies' aren't quite as sneaky with that helicopter out there." His tone shifted again, laced with a feeling Henry could only describe as animosity when he mentioned the government.

 Henry swallowed thickly. He had been caught. What was Charles going to do? What would the government do with Henry's failure? 

"You're sweating," Charles said, seeming a bit concerned. He cupped Henry's cheek, gently caressing it with his thumb. Henry wasn't sure what to feel about this. For some reason, Charles seemed comforting and terrifying simultaneously. "What do they have on you Henry? I can't imagine that a habitual thief like yourself would willingly team up with the people hunting him down. Did they threaten you?"

Charles' voice had a protective edge to it.

Henry was at a loss for words. What was he supposed to do? 

On one hand, he barely knew this man, and the guy was a powerful clan leader. 

On the other hand, there was no guarantee that Captain Reginald would keep his promise. The government could be lying to him. They could have just wanted to use him to take down the clan, and then arrest him right after. Kill two birds with one stone.

Henry bit back his nerves, deciding to be honest and see how Charles would react. 

"My freedom." Henry stated, doing his best to make his tone unreadable. 

Charles tilted his head. "Your freedom? What, you do what they want and you don't get sent to prison? Is that really the deal?" 

Henry nodded. "They said they'd pardon me for my crimes."

"... And how do you know that they'll actually go through with it?"

Henry said nothing. He didn't know.

"Doesn't sound like you're any closer to freedom, bud." Charles' sympathetic tone made Henry feel… oddly safe. He wasn't sure why.

Charles cupped Henry's cheek, an oddly intimate and comforting action. "Join the clan Henry. No government, or prison, will even touch you, not if I have a say in it. You'll be safe with me, Henry, I promise. Just let me love you, and stay." 

Henry's eyes widened.

Wow… that was really forward of Charles. "Love" was an interesting word choice. Charles wasn't just asking Henry to join his criminal organization, he basically just asked him out. 

Henry's face lit up with a warm pink glow, before he thought about the reality of the situation. He had a choice to make. Both options had risks. He could either join Charles, or finish his government mission. A crime Lord stranger, or a US captain who had already kidnapped him earlier to get him to do the government's bidding. 

Henry averted his eyes, focusing them on the metal floor beneath them.

This place seemed stable. And the government hasn't taken these guys down. They were strong. If he stayed on their good side, he could be untouchable.

If he went with the government, he could be pardoned for his crimes and have a second chance at a normal life. No criminal record.

Henry closes his eyes.

-Stay

-Go

He looked Charles in the eye. The man patiently waited for his response with a smile. He was bouncing on his heels a bit. He seemed eager. 

Henry held out his hand, "Okay, I'll join you." He was expecting Charles to shake his hand, but instead, Charles threw his arms around Henry in a hug. He lifted Henry off the ground and spun around. 

"Oh Henry! I'm so glad! You won't regret this!" 

Henry squirmed awkwardly. This guy was very cuddly. 

Charles seemed to recompose himself. Henry was relieved when he could feel the floor beneath him again. 

Charles cleared his throat. "Ahem. So, how do you want to deal with… them?" Charles vaguely gestured to the helicopter outside. Henry was thankful they couldn't see him and Charles.

Henry tapped his chin in thought. Then an idea came to him.

"Do you have a spare hat?"

The cargo hold's door opened. The wind and air whipped around Henry violently, he had to squint. Henry held up the decoy he put together, making sure Charles's signature hat and headset stayed on its head. 

Charles waited off to the side, his back pressed against the wall by the door, nodding at Henry.

Suddenly, he could hear Right's voice in his earpiece again.

"Henry! What happened there!? I couldn't reach you."

"It's fine! I just had to turn off my earpiece for a bit. I didn't want to give away my location."

Henry stepped forward, making sure he could be seen from the helicopter, he put handcuffs on the decoy, and held it so that it looked like he arrested Charles. 

"I'll meet you on the ground!" Henry yelled, and turned off his earpiece. He backed up towards Charles, who had a decoy of Henry ready with a parachute strapped to it. 

They quickly tied the decoy together, still making sure that it looked like Henry was holding Charles, they gave the fake Henry the earpiece. Finally, they worked together to throw the decoys off the ship. 

 

Charles held a remote in his palm, quietly counting to himself so he could time it right.

Henry watched as the helicopter flew downwards to follow their false counterparts. Charles pressed a button on his remote, and the decoys' parachute opened.

They closed the cargo door, and smiled at each other. That should hold them off for a bit.

Charles started laughing. "Oh, I wish I could see their faces when they realize what we did." He wiped a tear from his eye.

Henry chuckled a bit. "I bet it would be funny."

Charles wrapped an arm around Henry. "Hahah… I hope we have a lot more moments like these, Henry." 

Henry smiled softly. "Yeah, me too."

Suddenly, Henry remembered something. 

"Oh! Uh… since we're working together now, I should probably give this back to you." He reached into his coat and pulled out the file he had stolen earlier. 

He handed it to Charles, who upon seeing it, let out another laugh. 

"Oh, you little minx! I didn't even realize you stole this!" Charles seemed genuinely impressed. "You're good.." He said, his tone ever so slightly flirtatious. 

Henry gave a dismissive (and bashful) hand wave. "It was nothing." 

"You're trouble, aren't you?" Charles smirked.

Henry chuckled. "Yeah, and now you have to deal with it."

"Gladly."

[after-valiant-hero-ask]

Soooo, somehow the "keep reading" Thing on tumblr kinda beoken for me, so I can't really post this with the keep reading, but also, I made a post about going to make a fandic of After Valiant Hero that takes place BEFORE the main event onthe comic, sooo, here it is!! I hope you all enjoy it! (And also, it's 2.000+ words long, so, it's kinda long^^)

============================

"TONIGHT"

by LovelyPink2005

——————————

Summary:

This takes 2 months after the valiant Hero ending, right when the toppats decided to celebrate their fully recovered airship and the clan, but something is up with sven that made him missed the whole party.

Note:

I'm not that good on english, so, I'm so sorry if this fic came out bad^^"

And also, this is a fanfic I wrote about the story of the messy doodle/sketch comic I did of sven and Charles on whiteboard, so, uhhh, yeah^^"

——————————

It was the day after they did their first heist after recovering their airship and their clan, which is 2 months after the Valiant Hero ending. It also charles's first time too, he feels strange for doing that, like there's something wrong with it but can't quite put a finger on it. He decided to forget about it. "It's probably just the side effect."

 

The toppat clan wanted to celebrate it for their success, they talk to talk, share to share about having a party for it, until it delivered to charles and sven who is on their room. "A party huh?" Sven said as he put his hand on his chin, thinking about it. "Suits yourself, If you wanted to celebrate it, then go for it" He continue with a smile on his face. He turned his head to charles to see his face full of excitement for that party, like he never had them before.

"Sven" Charles called as he put his hand on sven's shoulder. "Let's have it tonight!"

"Yeah, sure..." Sven paused, looking down for a second, and lifted his face back to charles. "Sure!".

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, if you all want it, then go for it."

"Alright, I'll go inform the others about this." He gives sven a pat on the back before leaving the room.

Sven waves and wanted to say "c'ya" to charles very badly, but charles already left them room. Sighed, and sits back to his bed, and looked up on the ceiling, smiling. "Hey, are you ok there..?" His face could easily shows you a bit of sadness, and pain. Sven was talking to himself, but really, he just missed his old friend.

Someone who used to be around him, a friend who ALWAYS around him ever since he joined the toppat clan. Burt Curtis. That's his name. Sven and Burt joined the toppat clan on the same day years ago, they even meet right before entering the airship. They keeps on running into each other as their relationship grows, until they become the best of friends. Even after Sven become the leader, their relationship or friendship still is the same.

But… sadly… He died at the orbital station when it exploded. got left behind because he was trapped on a room and couldn't get out. Sven wish he could found him, but the other toppats dragged him with force to the pod.

He couldn't save him. He failed to save him. The last thing he even heard from him was a when he called sven after the luxury pod has escaped.

"We're having a party tonight... Wish you could join us burt." A tear runs down on his face.

He wiped it as he rubs his eyes. "Ugh, c'mon sven, pull it together!" He palmed both of his hands on his face and falls on his bed.

"He's gone! Just.. Try to—– uuggghh!" He sighed to himself. He quickly sits up and try to pull his act together. A forced smile on his face, but it's not that obvious.

Take a deep breath, and let it out as he then go outside to also inform the others about the party. Yeah, let's just focus on that, focus on the clan. Maybe the other could distract him from his mind.

 ---

Charles straight up go to the cafeteria since most toppats usually just hang out there. He saw one of the toppat he usually talk to if sven wasn't around. He called him.

"Harold!" Said charles as he waved his hand at him and the other toppats that's with him.

Ah yes, Handsome Harold. Charles usually hang around him since he's the second person who ever talk to him after he woke up and got amnesia.

"Oh, Charles" Harold rise his hand up as high as his face.

"Sve— uhh, Chief said that we're having a party to celebrate the fully recovered of our clan!"

Harold and the other toppats look at each others as their eyes widened open.

What?? "Really?"

Charles nodded. The other toppats slowly having their face with smiles.

"Alright lads! Let's prepare things up for the party!" One of the toppat called Wallace Dagwood, yelled as the others on the cafeteria then cheered.

A couple of hours has passed, and the party is almost ready. The whole cafeteria was full with a lot of stuff, Charles just can't wait for sven to see this. There's a bunch of food and snacks on the food table, such as pizza, chicken wings, tacos, cupcakes, cake, and other food that usually on a party. There's also a berry punch, and some alcohols on the drink table.

Beside the foods and drinks, there's also a lot of decorations and other stuff that changed on the cafeteria. Like a small stage for anyone who wanted to perform anything. Blue carpet on the whole floor of the room, and disco light-ball. Charles can't really describe everything, but all he could say is that everything is going to be awesome!

Huh?

In a flip, he realized something. He haven't see Sven around to help since he know that Sven likes to help around.

Is he not feeling well?

He did startled for sometimes today whenever he talks… is there anything wrong with him?

Charles can only feel worried about him. But he hopes that non of his thoughts are true.

"Oi Charles!"

Sometimes tapped his shoulder. He jumped a bit and making the "eep" Sound as he surprised.

"Hmm? Oh, it's you" He signed, It was of course Harold.

"What were you thinking? I saw you were excited a view second ago, but then you immediately worried" Said Harold.

"What's wrong?"

"I- huh? No no, you guessed it wrong, why would I be worried when there's a party right in front me?"

How the heck did he know? Can he read face expression that good???

Harold sighed. "Charles, it's all over your face."

Shoot, Right. Knew it.

"O-oh, well, you're right" He smiles. "But I only worried because this will be the first party I'll ever have, since, you know.." He scratched his head.

He lost his memories. He can't even remember everything, how can he remember the last time he even go to one, right?

"Yeah, I know, sorry for that" He wrapped his hand around Charles.

"But they'll all come back! Even if they won't, you can always create new memory!" Harold just trying to cheer 'em up. "Just don't forget to have your medicals, 'kay?"

Charles smile and nodded.

Both of them then go to help t he others finishing some stuff for the party.

---

Sven was outside of the security room, the place where he get to see outside and have the winds in his hair (the place where henry got in the airship when we choose the grapple gun (PBT)).

Just standing there, watching the sun setting down. He looked at the sky.

Thinking to himself. Wishing that all of this was just a really long dream, and when he wakes up, everything was still… Normal. Burt still there, the orbital station was save and sound. And Reginald never got arrested.

He's been there for a hour now, until Charles contacted him. His phone buzzing.

"Hmm?" He picked his phone. It's Charles…

He takes a deep breath, and then answer the call. "Hello"?

"Sven! Where are you? I can't find you in your room, or the cafeteria!" Said Charles in a little worried tone.

"The party is starting in a hour!"

"Oh, really?" He responded as his eyes widened a bit. He didn't thought it'll be starting that fast. "That was fast"

"Yeah, and— wait, Sven! Are you at that place again??" Charles could hear the sound of the winds through sven's phone.

"... Well, yeah?"

"What's wrong?? You only goes there is you're down, you know that you have your greatest friend hereto help you!" Charles raised his voice, but not in an angry way, but more like in a worried and abit of disappointed tone.

Huh? Oh right, he knew.

"No, it's fine Charles! I only looking for some fresh air!"

Hmmm, that sounds convincing alright.

"Okay, but you HAVE to be here when the party started! It'll be the greatest time, truste!"

Sven chuckled on how silly Charles is. "Yeah yeah, I'll be there".

He closed the call as he sighed. He closed his eyes and smile as he shakes his head.

"Charles Charles, guess there's different between you two after all" He chuckled.

Sven then make his way In. He walk through the security room, the hall of portraits, and finally, the kitchen. He stopped there for a bit, looking at the drawer. He then turns around and open up the drawer where he knew a bottle of alcohol would be there. He takes it and looks at it for a while. His face seems like he had no emotions, it's pale, but you could see through his face that he's… tired.

Sven continue walking and bringing the alcohol. He's going to his room.

---

An hour and a half has passed, and there is no sign of Sven yet. Charles keeps on looking around. The party already going since around 30 minutes ago. Charles bit his lips for a bit, worried if there's really something wrong with sven.

He takes a sip of the berry punch as he holding one cup of it.

"Sven, where are you?" He whispered to himself.

A toppat named Carol Cross approach Charles from behind. "Where's sven?" She asked.

"Oh! Miss Carol!" He waved his hand to her, and then immediately scratched his head. "I uh, not sure, I haven't see him anyway around this place".

"Hmm, you should go and find him, don't wanna make him missed tonight."

"Yeah, maybe I should" He put his cup on the table. "Cya around Miss carol, and enjoy the party!". Charles immediately left the cafeteria and try to look for Sven everywhere. It'll took him a while since the airship is really big, he could be anywhere.

After a while, he still couldn't find him, until he walked over to their room.

"Sven? Are you here?" Charles opened the door to their room and look inside.

As he though, he was on their room, sitting on the chair right in front of his small desk beside his bed. But is he drinking by himself??

"Uhh… Sven, are you drunk?" He asked as he approach him. He saw a bottle of alcohol beside him that's almost empty. Sven usually can't handle to much alcohol, a couple of small cup can already made him drunk alright.

He sits next to him. "Are.. you ok? You shouldn't drink by yourself sven".

" O-oh… burt, you're here—"

Burt?? Who is he talking about? He's clearly brunk very badly.

"Uhh, sven, it's me, Charles. You're ready drunk, aren't you?"

He then takes the bottle from sven to prevent him from drinking more. "You should stop now, you don't even recognize me that well" He put the bottle away.

Sven looks at sven, his face really looking like a zombie who just came back to life. He smiled as he saw Charles.

"S-stop joking around—– I know that's you Burt-" He hiccups every now and then.

"Heh, you're so silly Burt… I know it's you.." Sven turned his head back to the cup he's holding.

"You'll always found me whenever I'm like.. This—- I know I've only saw you a couple hours ago…But for some reason… i missed you.. So— much.."

Charles has no clue what he's talking about. But then he somehow remember something. Sven once mentioned he used had a friend from high school maybe? He said they're really close friend. One thing he know that sven missed them too, so, Charles assume he think he's the old friend of sven???

A sob could be heard from sven.

"I…Always wanted to tell you something… b-but— I'm always to coward.."

Charles kinda feels bad for him. He then patted sven's back. "Sven, snap out of it, it's me, Charles, you should get some rest and—–" Before he finish his sentence,he could feel that Sven is about to pass out in any moment. "Woah, sven-"

"I know I know… but B-burt.. Before I Pass out, at least let me tell you h-how I—–"

Without any warning, sven grabbed Charles hand and dragged him really closed to him.

"S-sven!?"

Again, without any warning, sven pulled Charles closer as he kissed him on the lips for like 5 second.

What. The. Heck!?!?!???? Did he just..!?

Sven then immediately fall as he fainted. Charles quickly grab him before he fell to the floor.

Charles's face became RED. He didn't know what the hell just happened. Did his friend just kissed him!? That was unpredictable. He couldn't believe that.

"Wh— what was that…!?"

He never and didn't have that kind of feeling towards Sven, so that's not the reason he blushed. Sven literally just took Charles's first kiss. And that's at least how Charles feel about it. He rubs his mouth as in, he wish that never happened. He didn't want his first kiss to be from his great friend.

But at the same time, he still feel bad for Sven. He once mentioned that he used to have this friend on high school and rhat they've separated from each others for so long, with sven still have this feeling for them. At least that's what Charles assume.

Charles sighed. The blush on his face started to fade away as he calmed down.

"W-well, guess sven will missed tonight's party."

Charles then picks up Sven and lay him down on his bed. He put the blanket on him.

After that Charles tried his best NOT to mention that even happened or even slipped through his mouth as he foes back to the party.

---

The sun is rising, another day has come.

The party was a blast last night, but to bad sven missed all of it.

Sven slowly opens his eyes ashe waking up. Yawning and rubs his eyes before sitting down. He feels a bit dizzy, but can't quite remember what happened last night.

Oh wait, think he did, he remember that he drank by himself on the room until he passed out. At least that's how he remembers it.

As Sven was still sitting on his bed,Charles came in the room while having himself a cup of coffee. He then saw Sven.

"O-oh, morning there sven!" He waved his hand at him, highly hoping he didn't remember what happened last night. He sat down on his own bed.

"Morning Charles, didn't expect you to wake up sooner than me" Said sven as he stretched his arms.

"Oh, yeah, uh, well, you were really tired yesterday, so, that's explain why you over slept?" He takes a sip from his hot coffee.

"Heh, pretty much, I was kinda uh, drunk last night and passed out"

Phew, He didn't remember THAT. Charles relief.

"Yeah-" Charles then change the topic in a second to prevent him from trying to remember that night.

"H-hey sven! You totally missed the party! As I said, it was the greatest!" He said as he smiles brightly.

"Oh really?" He smiled back to him. "Tell me about it then.

Charles then when on telling Sven everything that happened on the party, really detailed. From where Charles went off to inform the others about doing a party, until the party ended and everyone have to clean them up after it.

Days has passed, and Sven haven't remember what has happened that night. So Charles decided to keep it a secret to himself, until now.

===========================

Welp, that's all of the fantic! I hope you enjoyed this, and tha k you so much for putting your time to read this all t he way down here! I really appreciate it!✨✨✨

[choccos-aaart]

Yeah, I’m gonna post my writing on here, now (even the not-so-serious stuff)

"CRAZY CHARACTER MEME REMIX" With the rooftop robots! (of the main characters, obviously)

>>BASE<<

"How old are you?" Matro: 144. BUT! I'm still depicted as to being in my thirties! REMEMBER THAT!!! Doc: I've existed a bit over 70 years, that's for sure. Forgot the specifics. And yes, Matro's right. All our AI depicts us as still farily young...ish adults. Farqua: 49. Nearly reachin' my milestone!!! Wyra: Nearly in my 70s, here.

"Height?" Matro: Tall. Very, very tall! Doc: Give it... I don't know, just a bit shorter than Matro. Excluding my antennae. Farqua: About 200cm. Tall for a human, but short for an android. *Sigh* Wyra: Hey, Farqua, don't act like I'm not any shorter than you!

"Do you have any bad habits?" Matro: Can't let go of things of the past, y'know... Doc: I get very easily distracted. I know, it's not the best trait for a doctor, but oh well. Nobody's perfect, I suppose. Farqua: Things get on all my circuits real easy. Even the lil ones! I'm real damn emotional, sometimes. Wyra: Dunno if it's a reflex or whatever, but I instinctively zap people out of affection!

"Are you a virgin" Matro: EXCUSE ME?! Don’t you know who we are?! Or what we are? Doc: No- I mean, yes. Gozzuck, I'm so used to saying no to so many things... Farqua: You're askin' if I'm a whatnow?  Wyra: Well, I know I'm a robot, but I'll ask if this counts. I basically- Doc: WHAT- DON'T SAY IT?!?!?!!

"Who is your mate/spouse?" Doc: Can we all agree that we're all single and move on? Everyone: Alright.

"Do you have any children?" Matro: No, but Lia calls me Uncle. Doc: No. Farqua: Nah, Wyra: Nope.

"Favourite food?" Matro: Tough... I don't eat. But, I feel like I'd be a sweet-tooth. Doc: I've always wanted to try dark chocolate. Farqua: Been told stuff about honey-lemon chicken. Dunno what that is, but goddamn, it sounds good! Wyra: Tacos? That sounds like it's nice?

"Favourite flavour of ice cream?" Matro: Another food question? Hm... Chocolate's Lia's favourite, so I'll take her advice. Doc: I don't feel too adventurous. Vanilla seems like a safe guess. Farqua: Goin' with my heart. Strawberry! Wyra: Pistachio! Sounds nice, too!

"Ever kill anyone?" Matro: GOD NO!!! Doc: On... Accident. Farqua: Nah! Been told I'm a slasher writer's dream actor though! Wyra: I hope I haven’t!

"Do you hate anyone?" Matro: Well, not necessarily... Doc: I try not to. Farqua: THE GUYS THAT SHUT ME DOWN! AND ALL THE LITTLE SCTUTT'S LIKE 'EM!!! Wyra: I don't think so...?

"Any secrets?" Matro: You remember my guitar teacher from almost a year ago? They looked a bit too charismatic for the amount of charisma I could tolerate, so I ended up telling them that guitar wasn't for me, and then took lessons in secret with the other guitarist. God, please don't tell anyone. Doc: Back in my working days, a co-worker complained to me about a rude co-worker, so I framed that rude co-worker and got them fired. Not that it matters now - that was almost 70 years ago. The both of them should be dead by now. Farqua: I stole my manufacturer's family heirloom and it's hidden in my room. Yeah, I took it too far, but I ain't givin' it back to 'em like this! Wyra: Hm... I was the reason for my city's entire power outage at one point.

"Do you love anyone?" Matro: Lots of people! Unless you meant that romantically, so none, recently. Doc: Don't know. Romantically? Definitely no. Farqua: I ain't never fallen' in love before! Wyra: I'm not feeling it, yet!

"Tacos?" Matro: Sounds interesting! Doc: I wish. Farqua: I'd love that stuff, Wyra: Yeah!

"Ever sleep in all day?" Matro: I was asleep for almost a century! Doc: I wish. You know, the way organic life does. Farqua: Even if I WERE organic, I probably wouldn't. Wyra: Same's with Farqua!

"Eye colour?" Matro: Plain black, for me. Doc: I can switch my sclerae to green, if you want. Farqua: Black, still. But, I like turning my eye whites bright yellow! Wyra: I have no irises! Haha!

"Hair?" Matro: Nice and curly. Doc: A mess. Farqua: HA! I AIN'T GOT NONE!!! Wyra: Twin tails!

"Body type? Fat/average/slim?" Matro: Pretty large. Doc: I'm quite lanky. Farqua: Small  but I'm pretty sturdily built! Gimme some muscles when ya turn me human, will ya! I also been told I'm quite voluptuous, too. Whatever that means. Wyra: I'm quite curvy. And a bit bigger than most girls depicted my age,

"Rain or shine?" Matro: The rain is always nice to look at through windows. Doc: I'd rather it sunny. You'll need that vitamin D. Farqua: I don't care! I'm all weatherproof! Wyra: I don't like rain.

"Pool or beach?" Matro: Beaches are okay. Doc: Of course, the beach. Pools are too crammed. Farqua: Tough. Uh... pool? Nobody's said it, yet? Wyra: I don't like water...

"Camping or stay home?" Matro: Surprisingly, I'm quite the homebody! Doc: Camping, probably. I love nature walks. Farqua: I love campin’!!! Wyra: I'll go camping, any day!

"Dog or cat?" Matro: I see myself as more a cat person. Doc: Cats. Farqua: Dogs! They're fun as hell. Wyra: Cats, probably!

"Do you believe in aliens?" Matro: Of course! They even exist! Doc: We've all met one. Farqua: Yeah, duhh. Wyra: If aliens don't exist, how come humans are here, then?

"How do you relax?" Matro: Listen to music, play some guitar... Doc: I take long walks. Farqua: I head off to the library and read a bit! Wyra: Relax? Uh... Maybe I watch TV...?

"Car or ship?" Matro: Cars are more my forte. Doc: A cruise sounds nice. Farqua: I don't like the ocean. Car's for sure. Wyra: Cars! I don't like the water.

"What is your occupation?" Matro: Public transport driver. I'm best with trains. Doc: I'm a doctor. Used to just be a children's doctor. Farqua: Horticulturalist! See me in the garden any day! Wyra: I help produce power!

"Anything particularly unusual about you?" Matro: ...My face is broken...? Doc: I was given a plugin by some idiot that makes my AI's thinking go to all extremes. Farqua: I was friends with a human in my working days...? Wyra: I... I don't have irises...? 

"Boy or girl?" Matro: Boy, Doc: ... Farqua: I'm a man! Wyra: Girl!

"Favourite place?" Matro: My train! Doc: Balcony 13.78. Farqua: The library! Wyra: Anywhere on the roof, really!

"Do you like pancakes?" Matro: Are they sweet? Doc: I feel like I'd like crepes better. Farqua: You can put fruits on 'em...? Wyra: Maybe!

"Any last words?" Matro: Goodbye! Doc: No, Farqua: C'ya! Wyra: C'mon, where was the time to think?!

[scintillating-galaxias]

Opposites, Chapter 1

hey!! i forgot to post this on tumblr too, since that’s what the cool kids these days do, so i’ll just go ahead and post my grimmons fic on here five…. days……… late………. yeah, anyways, enjoy!!

(read it here on ao3)

1 / 2

Something’s changed.

It was little things at first. Simmons nudging him a little more than necessary, letting him steal a bite of his portions without as much of a fight. A soft, “Good night, Grif,” almost every evening before they went into their separate rooms. Even the insults seemed a little more tender than derogative. Maybe that last bit was Grif being desperate.

He didn’t want to get his hopes up. Not again. So he tried avoiding Simmons for a couple days, but it was suddenly like Simmons had developed a sixth sense that told him where Grif was at all times. No matter what, Simmons would find him, drag him out of his new hiding spot, and scold him. That part wasn’t new. The new part was the sad expression passing over him he got before he left.

“Okay, why are you pissed at me?” Simmons asked him after finding him yet again. “You’ve been avoiding things more than usual.”

“How can you avoid something more? Do you avoid it and then magically predict the next thing and avoid that too?”

“That’s not the point,” Simmons said through grit teeth. Grif rolls his eyes.I’m not pissed. I just, uh, needed a thinking time.“ Simmons clearly didn’t believe him, but Grif stopped running from him after that. He couldn’t stand that hurt look.

“Look, I’m not pissed. I just, uh, needed a thinking time.” Simmons clearly didn’t believe him, but Grif stopped running from him after that. He couldn’t stand that hurt look.

After that, it became a little more like before. But there were still extra smiles, and those seemed more genuine. There were a couple times where the mood was charged with an unnameable tension that they both quickly walked away from. Neither one of them were any good at the emotional stuff. But he knew what he wants to say. He’s rewritten the script too many times to keep track of.

Years. It’s been literally years, and he still can’t his foot out of his mouth to tell Simmons he’s been— he is still so in lo—

“Good morning, Grif!” Grif chokes on his food. A slender hand pats him on the back as he hacks out his lungs.

“Uh. Hey, Donut,” he rasps when he recovers.

“How’re you this morning?” Donut asks cheerfully. Grif squints at him suspiciously.

“What do you want?” he asks bluntly. No point in dancing around when it came to Donut.

“Oh, nothing! I just wanted to know how you’re doing! I’m doing fantastic myself! I gave myself a good rubbing the other night, it gets the skin nice and moist, you know?” Donut chuckles heartily. “I am so glad you found that moisturizer on that last supply run! Thank you for that, by the way.” Grif studies him warily. Donut wanted something. He could see it in the way he practically vibrates with excitement. “So. How are you?”

“As good as I can ever be, which is fucking terrible.”

“Buck up mister, that attitude can’t be doing much good!” Donut chides. He lays a hand on Grif’s for a moment, then takes it off to fiddle with some non-existent smudge on his armor. Grif watched with one eyebrow raised. “How’s Simmons?” he blurts after a minute.

Grif cocks a brow and turns back to his tray. Suddenly, the oatmeal mush looks even less appetizing now. “Fine,” he says flatly.

Donuts smile drops a bit. “Did you have a fight?” he asks sympathetically. “A quarrel? Ooh, was it a lovers quarrel? Those are just the worst!”

“No? Why the emphasis? We’re just—” he hesitates faintly, “same as always.”

“Is he mad at you?” Donut leans forwards in interest. Grif shifts away.

“Probably.”

“What happened?”

“I dunno.”

“What did you do?”

“Who said I did anything?” Grif snaps. Donut is visibly taken aback as Grif grunts and stands up. “Nothing happened! Simmons and I didn’t fuck, we didn’t get drunk and make out somewhere, we haven’t clutched each other desperately while we bleed out, literally everything is the exact same shit as always!”

“Did you—”

“No.”

“I just want to help!” cries Donut. Grif doesn’t deem him an answer as he picks up his tray and moves to the other side of the cafeteria.

“Bad sex?” Tucker asks through a mouthful of rice the minute his ass touches the bench. Grif makes a noise of frustration, picks up his helmet, tucks it under his arm, and walks away.

A nameless buzz fills his head as he meanders the halls. It turns his mind blank, so he just lets his feet guide him. Wherever he ends up, he’ll probably just take a nap and be annoyed some other time. But while he’s very much awake? Well. He could figure out what’s got his thoughts all tangled up.

The others had noticed. He had noticed. And Simmons was promoting it. Something was definitely up. The Something wasn’t bad, he just… He doesn’t want to get his hopes up. He could dream about the moment for as long as he wanted, but God forbid he do anything that even has the slightest chance of screwing it up. That included any sort of social contact about the matter.

Grif stops in a doorway. Just in front of him is the motor pool, the number one place to go if he wanted to get yelled at by Simmons and Sarge for stepping over some line only they know about.

He could go in. Simmons was always in here after lunch. He could pull him aside, get it over with in a few minutes, and walk out. Whatever happens, happens. He could deal with it. How well he dealt with it was a different matter.

He could also just walk away, and not deal with any of it right now. There would be later he could rely on. Yeah. He likes that option better.

Grif wheels around, and smacks his head right into a hard, unforgiving chest plate. He stumbles, reaching out his arm to catch himself. To his surprise, a hand clasps his elbow, steadying him.

“Careful, fatass,” comes a voice. Grif makes out a maroon smudge through watering eyes.

“How about you watch where you’re going!” he automatically retorts, tugging at his arm. Simmons lets go of his elbow lightning quick.

“Technically I was. I go this way every day, and no one ever stops in the middle of the hallway to— Hey, wait, what are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be like, sleeping in a closet somewhere? Or pigging out in your room?”

“Man, sleeping and eating. I must have a really in-depth and insightful character,” Grif says sarcastically.

“Well, no one really ever sees you doing anything else since you actively avoid doing anything else.”

“Damn right.” Grif touches the knot on his head gingerly— that’ll definitely bruise, ‘cause holy shit that stings, is it bleeding?—

“Are you okay?” Simmons asks. Grif blinks for a moment. His hand falls limply to his side.

“Huh?” Grif says intelligently.

“You didn’t hit your head that hard,” Simmons reproaches. “I said, are you okay?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be fine?” This was weird. This was really fucking weird.

“Really? You don’t sound like it. Let me check.” Before Grif can get another word in, Simmons steps in close and brushes the strands of hair that escape his bun out of his face, leaning in close enough that Grif can make out even the faintest of the freckles that cover half of his face.

“What…” The words die in his mouth. Simmons ignores him and cups his hands lightly around his face. Grif can feel the contrast of the cool armor against his hot face just a bit too sharply. Too close, he’s too close—

Simmons thumbs at something above his eyebrow, but there’s nothing there, or on the back of his head, what the fuck is going on with him? Are his eyes lingering just a bit too long, a little bit too low to be looking at his forehead, or was Grif imagining things?

“Looks fine.” And the moments over just like that, with Simmons stepping around him and Grif just standing there in shock.

“Cool. C'ya.” Simmons disappears into the armory. A minute later, Grif can hear him already admonishing someone for screwing up despite his very clearly labeled system. Grif watches him for a moment, expecting some sort of clumsiness or to hear his voice get all squeaky when he’s embarrassed. But no, Simmons just goes about as if nothing had happened.

Maybe he did have a concussion. He should go lie down then. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you have a concussion, right? Do they normally make you feel like you could run around the whole world, or make you feel as light as a feather, or make you think, ‘I should marry him’?

He finally tears his gaze away and starts making the trek back to his room. When he does, he doesn’t see Simmons watching him. He doesn’t see the hopeful way his eyes linger around the corner Grif turns around, and he doesn’t catch him puffing his flushed cheeks out and letting out a sigh of relief.

He definitely misses Simmons murmuring, “I’m so fucked.”

When Grif gets back to his room, he finds that his nightstand has been entirely cleared off. The clothes he had thrown over it were folded and placed off to the side. The wrappers were thrown away, the only thing left a single piece of paper that was centered too well to be an accident. The floor and bed weren’t touched.

Grif shuffles over to it. He sets his helmet down and picks up the paper to read two words on it.

You were

It’s not printed. It’s not a voice or text message left in his inbox. It’s pen, written in real ink, and even if the ink is patchy and fading in some spots, he can tell it’s Simmons’ handwriting.

His brows furrow when he flips it over. It’s blank. What was this, some sort of fill in the blank? You were… Lazy? Dumb? Grif snorts derisively. That was old news. He crumples it up and tosses it somewhere. Whatever happened in the doorway was probably a part of this too.

Why? He stops. The chances of it just being Simmons screwing with him was almost at 100%. Why shouldn’t he just throw it away if it’s just another dumb prank? What could he possibly gain from indulging in this?

Think about it, dumbass.

He can’t recall recently doing anything out of the ordinary to fall victim to a joke. But this wasn’t about him; this was about Simmons, and why he would do this. So, what did Grif know about him?

Papers, pencils, pens. He knew that Simmons loved to doodle and scribble, but only with a pencil or pen. Nothing specific, just impossibly neat patterns and mesmerizing swirls and swoops. But pens weren’t really futuristic technology at this point in time, and everything that needed to be written down could be done so on datapads. Last time Grif had bothered to check in on their supplies, Simmons only had one left, a nice red calligraphy pen.

Simmons is bothered by it. Grif knows because he’s seen all of the irritated taps and huffs he makes during meetings. He’s noticed the way Simmons drags his finger in spirals and geometric shapes on the table, on his armor, on whatever surface was available. He stills when he is speaking, or being spoken to. And then he starts again a minute later when he thinks no one is paying attention to him.

He wouldn’t waste his last bit precious red ink for a joke.

Grif has to walk around hunched over for at least five minutes before he finds it again. He glances around, looking for somewhere to put it and not get buried. He ends up smoothing it out, because the crinkles he gave it annoy him, glancing over it one last time. Then he opens up his desk drawer to put it inside.

He goes to peel off his armor, casting it off into the corner of the room with a methodical thunk, thunk, thunk. Unorganized, inefficient, sloppy. Completely opposite of Simmons. Just like everything else he did.

Grif sighs.

If there was one thing he hated, it was opposites.

There were plenty of other things he hated, but they mostly revolved around opposites. What was the point in having two things clash, and then spending time and effort making those things work together? It was like trying to put two north ends on a magnet together. It just flung itself away or skated around each other.

Now Simmons, of course, was a fan of opposites. He liked things having one answer, never a free hanging one. True or false. Yes or no. Never just a simple 'maybe’ or a nonchalant shrug. He always had some bizarre system to give him a straight answer with no chance of it being anything else.

He smiles bitterly about the irony of it all. The man he had to have fallen in love with was his polar opposite.

Grif was better at improvisation than he was at sitting for hours agonizing over every detail of a plan. Simmons was not. Grif preferred the salty ocean breeze on his lips to fresh air on the mountains. Simmons did not.

Simmons was a control freak and couldn’t put together a chair without every square inch of the instructions read fifty times over. Grif was not. Simmons liked a cup of coffee without even a grain of sugar in it. Grif did not.

Grid liked brighter colors, Simmons preferred cooler ones. He liked the feel of rain, and Simmons says he’s tired of it. He loved spicy foods, Simmons always turned his nose up. Hell, even their bodies were hilariously contrasted when they stood next to each other.

He wonders if he and Simmons were meant to be North and North. Always fighting against each other, but unwilling to change so they could work together. Pride kept them from doing that. So they collided. They bounced away, came right back at each other, never connected, again, and again, and again.

He thought about what it would be like for them if he could ever suck it up and talk to him. If they ever got away from this damned war and maybe ask if they could live in a quiet apartment together, or a small house on the edge of the city, away from people, or a cabin hidden in the palm groves on a beach full of shells. Whatever Simmons wanted honestly, as long as there was a 24-hour convenience store in walking distance.

“Opposites attract,” says Simmons.

Not us, Grif thinks.

Over the course of a couple weeks, Grif finds more pieces of paper left on his desk. The second one is “hopeful”, the third is “out”, and the fourth one is “hate”.

“You were hopefully out hate? Were you hopefully out hate? What the fuck, Simmons?” he mutters as he shuffles through them again while he’s sitting in his room. He tries putting them in a different order, but it just makes less sense than before. “Hopefully you were out hate. Hate you were out hopefully. What?”

He hasn’t talked to Simmons about it. But notices Simmons looking at him expectantly throughout the day, which means he’s very much aware of what he’s doing. Their conversations are exactly the same, but both of them carefully avoid the topic. Grif is more and more tempted to ask with each new paper, but he resists as much as he can.

His resolve breaks on the fifth one.

“'Without’?” he blurts to Simmons that day. His head jolts up, smacking the top of it into the underside of one of the cars. He curses loudly as he slides himself out, his face contorting into a heavy scowl.

“How many times do I have to say to not talk to me when I’m underneath a six thousand pound mini-tank!” Simmons snaps. He puts the wrench down on the worktable forcefully.

“Shh, it’s okay, Simmons. You can just say armored car.”

“Shut the fuck up Grif, you still call the Warthogs 'Pumas’, don’t think I haven’t noticed. You can’t say anything.”

“But they totally look like Pumas! I don’t get why you can’t see it!”

The question is forgotten until dinner.

“Seriously, dude, what do you even mean?” Grif points his fork accusingly at Simmons. It flings a piece of steamed carrot over his shoulder and hits Sarge on his shoulder. Thankfully, he can’t feel it through his armor. Caboose is the only one nearby, and he’s focused on making a face out of his mashed potatoes, so he feels like he’s safe talking about this. “All I’m getting out of it is crap!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Simmons says airily, carefully avoiding eye contact.

“Bullshit, Simmons. None of this—” He goes to pull out the notes from his armors pocket, but Simmons closes his long fingers over his wrist before he can.

“Don’t pull those out here!” he hisses. His ears are as red as the flaming roots of his hair, and his eyes dart around in worry. “Just— You’ll get it. Even someone as dumb as you would.”

“Or you could just tell me, and spare me the pain?” Grif says hopefully.

For some reason, this makes Simmons smile crookedly. He turns away, hand on the back of his neck. “You’ll get it eventually,” he repeats.

“Ah!” Grif and Simmons stiffen and look at Caboose. He’s still poking at his potatoes, which are now a mess. “Gruf, Gruf, Gruf, Grif-with-two-f’s, maybe Simon is a spy! And he is making you do super secret spy stuff! Like codes! And you get to wear nice clothes, and then you get to ruin them!”

“Thanks, Caboose, but I don’t think this asshole would make a good spy. He’d bitch about the tie not being right or something, and then get caught.” He leaves a space Simmons to make a witty retort. Instead, all he gets is Simmons seething at Caboose. Something like realization dawns on his face a second later.

“Codes… Okay. Hey, Grif,” he says, “if you’re really having trouble, listen to Caboose. That’s my hint.”

“What?” says Grif incredulously. “Isn’t that like, breaking the number one rule? Never listen to anything Caboose says unless you want to die?”

“Yeah, but this won’t get you killed.”

“Wouldn’t kill you to just tell me what the fuck’s going on, either!”

Simmons does not tell him what the fuck is going on. Instead, his smile just gets a little wider and his eyes a little softer. “I will.”

Grif stares at him.

“Just not now.”

“God dammit!” Grif throws his hands up with a groan and stomps out of the room. He passes Sarge on the way, who glares at him. Well, he’s wearing his helmet, but Grif can tell when Sarge is glaring at him because that’s all he ever does.

“What’s got yer panties in a twist?” he asks.

“Simmons is being a cryptic asshole, and apparently everyone is in on something that I’m not!”

Sarge is silent.

“Sir.”

“Well, a mans got his business! And y'ain’t got no right to know if he ain’t tellin’ ya!”

“I know that, sir. And you all could take a leaf out of that book.” Grif leaves him there because he really doesn’t want to get caught in an emotional conversation with Sarge.

When he gets back to his room, he finds another goddamn note on his desk. This time, it just says, 'i’.

As usual, Grif flips it over to check the back side. He’s surprised to see there’s actually writing there.

Last one.

Perplexed, Grif takes out the rest of the notes. They’re a little worse for wear, but they aren’t torn or ruined enough to where he can’t read them. Not that that would matter. He’s memorized each one after reading them so often. But he was careful because this ink meant a lot to Simmons, and if he was using it on him, well. It must be something special.

He puts them down in order to read them together.

You were hopefully out hate without me.

Again, he tries to restring them, but to no avail. The closest he can get is a weirdly self-deprecating vibe. He’s fairly certain Simmons wouldn’t spend a couple weeks telling him to hopefully hate him.

He ends up going to his bed to think. Staring blankly up at the ceiling was always the best way to clear his mind. He ends up sitting there for three hours, and he still can’t figure it out.

Eventually, he gets a message from Tucker his communicator telling him he needs to get the fuck down here or I will go to your room and get Caboose to actually steal your mattress. Oops.

Well, he can’t have his most treasured item taken from him. So he goes and actually does the training. It’s as awful as he expects and by the end, Caboose, Carolina, and Sarge are the only ones left standing. Donut is whining about sore glutes, Tucker is critiquing Wash again about leg day, Simmons is sat up against a wall, looking like he would rather be dead, and Grif himself gave up halfway through and flopped down in the middle of the floor.

At least he has a good reason to convince the kitchen crew into giving him extra portions at dinner.

He’s distracted from the notes for a few hours more hours when the Tucker decides that they haven’t had enough all around team heckling. He sends out a mass message, but Donut is the one who physically drags down a few people from their rooms. Wash mysteriously escapes him. But he shows up later after a tearful message from Caboose.

Someone, definitely not Grif, breaks into the kitchen to find the alcohol after about an hour of just chattering about their recruits and a few stories being passed around. Over the course of a couple hours, they’re all practically shouting over each other to get their words in.

It’s a good night overall. Grif’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and the high hasn’t faded by the time he and Simmons stumble up to their rooms. They sound like a pair of elephants from the way they run into walls and trip and giggle, but he doesn’t care.

They reach the hallway, and they just stand there clutching each other and laugh and laugh. They’re surely waking up the whole base. Oh well. They deserved to something like this every once in a while. They worked hard, dammit!

“Goodnigh’, Gri’,” slurs Simmons. Grif turns to him to say the same because it’s so rude not to, but Simmons is right in his face. Huh.

“Hey,” he says. Simmons smiles at him, which makes his stomach do something weird. Oh, right. He was in love with this man. That’s why his— technically Simmons— insides do weird flips when he smiles.

“Hi,” Simmons whispers, and did he move closer? Grif should do something. Maybe kiss him goodnight? That’s what you’re supposed to do, right?

Simmons backs away like he’s been electrocuted. Grif tilts his head in confusion. “I should, uh,” he pauses to clear his throat. “Go. Yeah. G'night.” He brushes past Grif, his scent staying for a few precious seconds before fading into the damp smell of the hallway.

“G'night,” Grif calls to him after the door clicks shut.

He manages to get to his bed without falling flat on his face, flings himself into the covers, and sleeps without a single dream pushing past the cloudy haze.

The next morning, he can only recall laughter and the smell of vanilla.