ok what about a fic where boyliife's girl(friend) is mad at one or all of them! does she favor the ones she's not mad at, or just decides to be mad at all of them purely because of association?
— RACOON in which boyliife are thieves.
you don’t even start the day mad. you’re doing your little routine, rummaging through your makeup bag for the stuff you always use first, humming under your breath, minding your business. and then you reach for your foundation — the good one, the one that matches your undertone perfectly — and the spot it’s supposed to be in? empty. like someone cleaned the place out. you freeze for two seconds, blinking at the space as if the bottle might magically reappear if you stare with enough disappointment. but nothing changes. and that’s when you inhale through your nose, slow and sharp, and step out into the living room where everyone is scattered like a bunch of college roommates pretending they’re productive.
roman looks up at you first. that was his mistake.
“roman,” you say, holding up the empty space in your makeup bag like you’re about to interrogate a suspect on live TV. “where’s my foundation?”
his brown eyes widen immediately. “i… don’t know what you’re talking about.”
you squint. slowly. dramatically. the others even shift a little like they can feel the temperature drop. “roman,” you repeat, “it was in my bag. it is not in my bag. and you have glitter on your sleeve.” he looks down, sees the shimmer, and winces like he’s been caught shoplifting. “okay okay— look— i had a breakout, and i had that shoot this morning, and your stuff is actually good—”
“i borrowed it,” he corrects, pointing a finger like that somehow helps him. “with the intent to return it.”
you blink again. “roman. that’s not returning it.” before you can lecture him further, you notice something else. the eyeliner tip on your desk looks dull. duller than it should. you look at ryan. “why is my eyeliner shorter.”
he raises his eyebrows like you just accused him of a federal crime. “damn, so we’re just pointing fingers already?”
“ryan.” he starts laughing, rubbing the back of his neck. “okay, listen, yours is waaaay darker than the one i have. i needed it for a look. i thought you wouldn’t notice.”
“i ALWAYS notice,” you snap. “it’s mine.”
roman whispers, “she always notices,” like you’re a folklore creature.
you hold your hands up. “so both of you? both of you touched my stuff before noon?”
“to be fair,” ryan says, “i only used it once. roman’s the real thief.”
roman gasps. “BRO YOU STOLE TOO??? HOW YOU THROWING ME UNDER THE BUS—”
“because you stole a whole bottle,” ryan shoots back. “mine was like— two strokes!”
you drag your hands down your face, pacing like a mom trying not to swear in front of her kids. “oh my god. okay. whatever. that’s it. i’m mad. i’m officially mad.” you sit on the couch with dramatic finality, pulling your blanket over your lap, opening your phone like you’re exiling yourself from humanity. the boys stare like you slapped all of them. five minutes later, you’re finally calming down, scrolling through tiktok in silence… when you glance over and notice something sticking out from behind hollis. your hair curler.
you freeze. “hollis,” you say slowly. he flinches like he already knows.
“HOLLIS. is that… my curler?”
he smiled nervously. “okay, okay, okay— before you say anything— hear me out—”
“why do all of you always start with ‘hear me out.’ why does that never come after good behavior.”
he holds up his hands. “my hair wouldn’t stay right. yours is like… the one that works, dude!”
“and you didn’t ask,” you say.
“i didn’t think you’d notice!” he tries.
you sit up, eyes wide with disbelief. “YOU TOOK AN ELECTRONIC HAIR TOOL OUT OF MY ROOM. YOU THINK I WOULDN’T NOTICE?”
ryan mutters, “bro you should’ve hid it better,” and hollis smacks him.
your voice is rising now, frustration climbing in levels like a video game boss fight. “so roman steals my makeup, ryan dulls my eyeliner, and you—” you point aggressively at hollis, “you stole my curler???”
hollis says, “stole is a crazy word.”
“WHAT WORD WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO USE.”
“…borrowed without permission?”
you groan into your hands and sink back into the couch, pulling the blanket over your face like you're being spiritually tested by the lord himself. another five minutes pass. five peaceful, quiet minutes where the boys give you space, tiptoeing around you like you’re a sleeping dragon they hope doesn’t wake up.
then nate walks back into the room holding a fork. you watch him. he freezes mid-step, glancing between you and the fork like he just remembered something horrible. “nate,” you say, very calm, very steady. “what did you take.”
he hesitates. “…okay, so. those leftovers you had. the really good ones with the sauce—”
your jaw drops. “YOU ATE MY LEFTOVERS?”
“BABE— I DIDN’T KNOW THEY WERE OFF LIMITS—”
“THEY WERE MINE— THEY WERE IN MY CONTAINER— WITH MY NAME ON THEM—”
“IN CURSIVE!” nate protests. “i thought it was decoration!”
roman whispers to ryan, “nah yeah he’s cooked.”
nate puts the fork down slowly like he’s surrendering a weapon. “i’ll buy you more. i’ll buy you like— three containers of it. a whole buffet. whatever you want.”
you slouch back, staring at the ceiling like god himself is punishing you. “you guys are actually raccoons. racoons who break into my room and eat my food and use my expensive things like i’m a CVS.”
roman crosses his arms, cheeks puffed. “okay but in OUR defense—”
“don’t,” you say sharply. “roman. don’t.”
the boys all gather in front of the couch like a lineup. hollis scratches his neck. ryan looks guilty-shy. nate looks like he’s bracing for a verdict. roman is trying to appear cute and remorseful at the same time.
“okay,” ryan starts, “we’re sorry.”
roman nods. “i’m the sorriest.”
“no you're not,” nate says. “i ate her leftovers.”
“bro she can replace food,” roman argues. “she can’t replace the FOUNDATION.”
“i literally can,” you say.
“yeah but it’s expensive!” roman protests.
hollis raises his hand. “i am also sorry. i didn’t burn myself with the curler though, so that’s like— a win for everyone.”
“hollis,” you say, exhausted.
the four of them shuffle closer, energy like puppies who knocked over a vase. roman kneels in front of you dramatically. “we swear we’ll ask next time.”
“yes,” nate echoes. “we will literally form a sign-out sheet if we have to.”
ryan says, “we won’t, but he means well.”
hollis adds, “i’ll buy you a new crimper. one that has more settings. like a deluxe model.”
you stare at them for a long second. then sigh.
“i’m still mad,” you say softly.
“but i forgive you. eventually.” roman perks up instantly. “so i can sit next to you?”
he sits on the floor instead, leaning against your leg. surprisingly, you don’t kick him away. the others melt into relieved chaos, piling onto the couch in their own spots, surrounding you like a pack of idiots who adore you too much to function.
annoying or not, you wouldn’t trade your raccoons for anything.
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