Numberblocks - Festival for Tens Two
Context: I felt super bad for 36 and 45 that their entire journey led to something anticlimactic that they didn’t even participate in, so I decided to make this to fix that crack a bit
RHYTHMRIDDLES WARNING 👀
The walk back from the Festival of Tens was anything but festive.
The lights had long faded behind them as Thirty-Six and Forty-Five made their way down the path towards home. They just used their rays past the swamp, and slid through the wall sideways. No point in making things complicated.
Thirty-Six hummed something cheerful, or at least he tried to make it sound that way. His usual eager step had become a casual trudge, hands tucked behind his back as he kicked at a loose pebble on the path.
Forty-Five kept her gaze forward, her expression unreadable. She’d been quiet since they left, save for the occasional polite “Mhm” whenever Thirty-Six attempted to start a conversation. The evening air somehow felt more alive than the space between them.
“So… That was something,” Thirty-Six started with muted enthusiasm.
“Yep.” Forty-Five replied in agreement, her gaze turning down to the grass beneath her boots. One word. That was all he got. She’d been counting her steps, a habit she took when her mind wandered about.
The festival was something. Full of tens laughing and playing games, of tens spinning in circles, tens sharing treats.
Try again.
“So…” He cleared his throat. “I heard that Nine might need us next month for a brunch he’s hosting. He said something about needing our—”
“Our nines, I’m assuming?” Forty-Five’s voice was flat.
“…Well, y-yes. I believe so.”
She looked like she was about to say something, but pressed her lips together instead. All he heard was a sigh. They walked another dozen or so steps in silence.
Then without warning, Forty-Five slowed down to a stop. Thirty-Six paused the moment he felt she wasn’t beside him anymore. He turned to find her standing completely still, her expression still difficult to read, yet her eyes noticeably glossy.
“…Are we boring, Thirty-Six?”
The words slipped out before Forty-Five could stop them. She immediately regretted it, her body tensing as she turned away from him.
Thirty-Six blinked, then stepped in front of her with wide eyes. “What? Where’d you get that from?”
Her eyes stayed on the ground, as she shook her head. “I— I don’t know, forget I said anything.”
“No, no. Hold on.” Thirty-Six stepped closer, his voice softening. “Why would you think that?”
“It’s just that…” Forty-Five looked down at her feet. “We went all that way. We were chosen for an adventure. A-And I just figured… That Ten would want something to do with us— but… she just wanted our parts.
Thirty-Six’s eyes widened. He knew what Ten wanted, but in the moment, caught up in the excitement of “solving the puzzle,” he hadn’t really processed it. It had seemed harmless at the time. Helpful, even.
“I was pretty angry at her…” Forty-Five continued, “But I’m… starting to think part of it is my fault as well. I-I mean, I’m not known for being fun at parties, and…,” Her voice began to crack, “I don’t play a fancy guitar, and I was never personally chosen for something special! I don’t know why I thought that would ever change…”
Thirty-Six’s expression shifted from confusion to understanding, then to something determined.
“…It’s not your fault.”
“No, you don’t have to—“
“Forty-Five, look at me.” He lifted her “chin,” making her meet his eyes. “You’re one of the smartest Numberblocks I know. Not your tens, not your fives or nines. You. When we work together at MI-15, I’m always impressed by how easily you solve problems.. You’re a wonderful sister, so mature, and a musical genius!” He gestured vaguely, as if trying to capture the essence of her in the air. “I wouldn’t say you’re even an inch close to boring.”
Forty-Five blinked slowly, starting to steady her voice. “That’s… thank you.”
“…Look, I get it, I felt it too,” Thirty-Six continued, his voice slowing. “It’s been ringing in my brain since we left, but I couldn’t put the feeling into words until you said it. All that way, and we didn’t even get to join the festivities. I know I’m good at games, and I know I’m more than my parts, but…” He scuffed his boot against the ground. “Still made me pretty used, honestly.”
They stood in silence, the tension formjng into comfort in their mutual sadness.
Then Thirty-Six’s expression suddenly brightened, that familiar spark brightening his features. “Wait! Wait, wait.”
“What?”
“What are we doing!? Why are we walking home feeling sorry for ourselves when we could be doing something about it?” He grabbed her hand, excitement building in him. “Who says we can’t have our own festival?”
Forty-Five tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her skepticism.“Our own festival?”
“That’s right!” Thirty-Six spun her around. “Why wait for someone else to include us when we can include ourselves? We’ve got this whole forest, the moon’s almost out, there’s nobody around, it’s perfect!”
“That sounds…” Forty-Five trailed off. “Very ambitious.”
“Perhaps…” He grinned, “But I’m sure you like the sound of it.”
She did. She really did.
“Alright,” she said, her voice careful but warm. “What did you have in mind?”
Thirty-Six’s gaze scanned the forest, landing on a nearby bush with small white daisies. “First things first: every festival needs decorations.”He darted to the bush.
“Thirty-Six, what are you—”
He was already plucking flowers, examining each one with surprising focus. His hands worked quickly, twisting stems together with the kind of concentration usually reserved for his puzzles.
Forty-Five watched, amused. “Are you making a bouquet?”
“Better.” He held up his creation: A corsage woven from the daisies, small enough to fit around a wrist but detailed enough to show real effort. He plucked another daisy to place on his “chest,” then approached her with uncharacteristic shyness, holding the corsage out. “Just for you.”
Forty-Five felt her cheeks warm as she extended her hand.
Thirty-Six carefully tied the corsage around her wrist, his touch gentle despite his excitement.
“There,” he declared, stepping back to admire his work. “Fit for a festival for two.”
She examined the corsage, running her hand over the soft petals. “It’s beautiful— thank you…” she whispered, and she meant it.
“Good! Now we need music.” He smirked at her knowingly.
Forty-Five brightened. “Now that’s up my alley!” She pulled the instrument from her back, the polished bars gleaming in the light of the setting sun.
“Perfect! Play something.”
She hummed in thought. “But what should I play?”
“Anything! Something happy. Something that makes you feel better.
Forty-Five positioned the xylophone carefully, her mallets at ready. She thought for a moment, then began tapping out a melody. Light and hopeful, with a rhythm that reminded her of the songs she loved. The notes vibrated in the air, clear and sweet, filling the empty forest with life.
Thirty-Six immediately began to move.
It wasn’t graceful, nor traditional. But his movements were enthusiastic, to say the least.
He spun and stepped and threw his arms out wide, moving to the rhythm with commitment. At one point he attempted what might have been a cartwheel but looked more like a tumble.
Despite everything, Forty-Five found herself laughing. A loud, genuine laugh that surprised her. “What are you doing?” she called out between notes, trying not to mess up the melody.
“Dancing!” Thirty-Six shouted back, mid-spin. “It’s a festival! We need dancing!”
Forty-Five shook her head, but her smile was wide now, her former melancholy fading away with each move Thirty-Six made.
He was trying so hard, putting in so much effort just to make her feel better, and it was paying off.
After a particularly ambitious leap that ended with Thirty-Six stumbling but somehow staying upright, he paused, slightly breathless. The xylophone continued its cheerful melody, and in that moment, something shifted in his expression.
He walked over to Forty-Five, his usual confidence soothed with something different. “This is fun and all, but…” He extended his hand toward her. “I’d rather a dance for two, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Forty-Five’s mallets stopped mid-note. The sudden silence felt loud. She saw the obvious problem. “I can’t play and dance at the same time. She pointed out, though her heart had started beating a bit faster.
“I know, but…” Thirty-Six glanced at the xylophone, then back at her. “Can you think of another way to make music?” He smirked.
Forty-Five looked down at her instrument, then at his outstretched hand. She grinned, carefully setting her xylophone down on the grass. “We could sing instead.”
Thirty-Six’s expression transformed into pure delight. “Really?”
“I could give it a try. It’s nothing like my xylophone though,” she warned, taking his hand. “My singing’s nothing special.”
“I have my doubts.” He gently pulled her closer into a simple dancing position: one hand holding hers, the other hovering near her shoulder before settling. He began to to hum something tuneless and off-key, but definitely with effort.
Forty-Five snorted. “That’s terrible.”
“How about you do better, then?!”
She took a breath, then started to hum softly. A melody from one of her favorite songs, the words remembered but not said out loud. Thirty-Six listened, his eyes shutting as he swayed with her, their movements clumsy but genuine.
“See?” he said, his voice gentle. “Sounds pretty special to me.”
Thirty-Six led with his usual creativity, spinning her out and pulling her back in with movements that were more playful than elegant. Forty-Five found herself squealing when he improvised a dip that was far too daring and nearly dropped her.
“Thirty-Six!” she gasped, gripping his shoulders.
“I’ve got you! I’ve got you!” He pulled her back upright, grinning sheepishly. “Okay, maybe that was a bit too out-of-the-box.”
“Maybe stick to simpler moves,” she suggested, but there was warmth in her voice.
“Right. I can do that.” But even as he said it, he was already thinking of another way to surprise her.
Somewhere during the second verse, Forty-Five realized she stopped thinking about the Festival of Tens entirely. She was just thinking about this moment. About Thirty-Six’s hand in hers. About how he noticed her sadness even when she tried to hide it, and how he immediately tried to fix it in the most Thirty-Six way possible.
“Thank you,” she said softly, the words almost getting lost in their singing.
Thirty-Six missed a step, stumbling slightly. “It was my pleasure. But I’m especially happy it’s yours. All of yours.”
“All of ours,” She corrected gently.
Neither of them noticed the figure watching from behind a distant tree.
Ten’s expression was unreadable: Surprise?Admiration? She followed them after noticing they slipped away from the main festival rather early, curious about where they’d gone.
And now here they were, making their own celebration. Together.
A small smile overcame her lips.
She turned and walked back, her footsteps quiet on the grass. Whether she’d planned or not this remained her secret, tucked away like the flower stems Thirty-Six had woven.
✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦
They eventually found themselves at Forty-Five’s place. Exhausted from sharing snacks, from caramel apples to popcorn, and playing simple games: I Spy, riddles, seeing who could throw more kernels of popcorn into their mouth in a row.
Now, sprawled across Forty-Five’s couch with a blanket draped over them, they crunched at cheese and crackers while cooking up absurd festival themes.
“A festival entirely about squares,” Thirty-Six proposed, gesturing with a cracker. “Everything square-shaped. Square food, square decorations, square dancing…”
“That’s just called a regular dance,” Forty-Five interjected.
“You know what I mean!”
“I really don’t.”
The banter continued until their words grew slower, heavy by contentment and sleepiness. Forty-Five’s head made its way to Thirty-Six’s shoulder. He didn’t feel the need to move.
“Hey, Forty-Five?”
“Mm?”
“I’m glad Ten didn’t want us today.”
She was quiet for a second. Then, slightly above a whisper: “Me too.”
Outside, the world was settling in. But inside Forty-Five’s small living room, something new had begun, something that belonged just to them.
When morning peeked through the curtains, it found them still there: Thirty-Six sprawled sideways with an arm dangling from the couch, Forty-Five curled against his side with the corsage still wrapped carefully to her wrist, both fast asleep and smiling.
