BooBooSnatch

It's quiet, except for the low hum of a box fan spinning lazily in the corner, and the occasional creak of Misaki's sneakers against the padded mat. They're pacing—or more accurately, bouncing. Half-pacing, half-hopping in place like they're trying to shake the nerves off.

"Okay, so—" Misaki claps their gloved hands together. "First thing. You’re not gonna die."

You raise a brow. “That’s comforting.”

They flash you a grin, wolfish and crooked. “I’m incredible at comfort. Ask anyone.” They fake a modest shrug, then throw a lazy punch into the air. “Five stars. Probably. Anyways, you’ll probably never need to know any of this stuff because I’ll be with you but it is fun to know.”

You glance at them, the bright red streaks in their hair, the little choker swinging every time they move, the string-bow tied neatly on their bicep, and try not to smile. Misaki’s energy is loud, messy, and kind of overwhelming… but it works for her and for you. 

And it’s not like you don’t want to be here. You asked for this. Or, well—hinted at it.

Okay, maybe you said something vague like “I wish I knew how to do that..” while watching them beat the absolute hell out of a training dummy last week. (Which was hotter than you’d like to admit)

And maybe Misaki had turned around, all flushed and sweaty and shining with adrenaline, and said, “Say less. You’re coming with me.” There was a gleam in her eye then. Like they already knew exactly how this was going to play out.

Now you’re standing here, heart hammering under your hoodie, watching them shadowbox in place like they forgot they were supposed to be teaching you.

“So, uh,” they say, turning toward you again. “You ready? Hands up.”

You raise your fists awkwardly. Misaki frowns.

“Okay, no, you look like you’re about to throw hands with a ghost. Here—” They step forward. Too close. “Let me fix your stance.”

Your breath catches a little as their hands…warm, soft hands…wrap around your wrists, gently guiding them into place. Not that you’re paying that much attention to your wrists. But they don’t let go. Their thumbs trace small circles on your skin, absentmindedly, like they’re forgetting this is supposed to be instructional.

Their fingers brush your forearm as they tilt your elbow just right.

“You’re stiff,” they murmur. “Don’t be so tense.”

“I am tense,” you reply, staring at their hands on you. “That’s sort of your fault.”

Misaki blinks—then smirks, like she knew you’d say something like that. They don’t move away.

Instead, her hands settle lightly on your hips. “Okay,” they say, voice a little softer. “Feet here. Shoulder-width. No, farther.” Then her leg is suddenly between yours, kicking them apart. You move instinctively trying not to focus too hard on the warmth of her knee on your thigh. “Yeah. Like that.”

They linger a moment longer than necessary, fingers tightening on your hips just slightly. You’re pretty sure that’s not part of the lesson. You shift under their touch, trying to find balance, but it’s hard to focus when they’re this close, when their breath is this warm on your cheek. Every nerve in your body is tuning itself to their frequency. A bit of their hair brushes your jaw. You don’t move. Maybe if you held your breath, you could stay this way forever.

“God, you’re so cute when you’re nervous,” they murmur, mostly to themself.

You freeze.

Misaki pulls back immediately. “Wait, fuck—sorry. That was—okay, forget I said that.”

“No,” you say quickly. “I didn’t hear you sorry, what did you say? Maybe if you’d repeat it I’d remember..” Your tone is teasing, but your heart’s pounding like it’s trying to jump out of your chest.

She laughs, rubbing the back of her neck. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Says the actual hitman.”

“Hey.” She scolds playfully. “I’m harmless. Ish.” Misaki grins, then gestures to the mat. “Okay, let’s do some footwork. Just mirror me.”

You nod, focusing hard on their movements—quick sidesteps, light bounces. You try to follow, and it’s… fine. Sort of. You stumble once,  Misaki darts forward like they’re wired to catch you. Their hand lands on your waist again.

“Steady,” they say, quietly. But they don’t move away. Not immediately.

The next time you stumble, Misaki doesn’t say anything, but their smirk is louder than words. They were making fun of you. “Okay, okay, you’re not that bad,” they say after a minute. You scoff and shove their shoulder, resting your hand on it afterwards. “Forgive me for being a little distracted.”

“I don’t know what you could be referring to!” She giggles, the sound ringing in your ear, making you forget why you were ever annoyed with her to begin with. “But no, you are good. Could probably kick my ass in a few months.”

“Bold of you to assume it’ll take that long.”

That earns a low whistle. “Damn, okay. Didn’t know you were feeling cocky today baby.”

You shrug, trying to act calm. “Just saying. You’re the one who dubbed me the dangerous one here.” You glance at her lips before you can stop yourself. When you look back up to their eyes, they have this look in them that makes your legs feel weak. “Just trying to…live up to it.”

Misaki stops, tilts their head—then smiles, slower this time. “Guess I should keep you close, huh? Just in case you get any ideas.”

Their tone is teasing, but their eyes linger on yours a second too long.

You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly you’re standing toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest. The space between you tightens until it’s barely there, your breath catching on theirs. The whole world seems to narrow down to the inches between your lips. 

They inhale sharply. “Is this working? ” They whisper.

You laugh instantly, leaning into their shoulder as they break the moment.

“What?!” They ask, also breaking into a laugh.

“I’m like 2 words away from sucking face with you and you ask if it’s ‘working’ !”

“I just have to make sure!” You’ve seen her like this before; eyes wide and too bright, cheeks tinged with color that has nothing to do with exertion. One of your favorite flavors of Misaki. “You make me nervous!”

“Oh? But you were so confident before?”

“Stop it…” She says, but she's smiling ear to ear with pink in her cheeks. They say it in that drawn out, breathless, and almost whiney way that you can’t help but adore.

It’s unreal how fast the moment shifts—from playful to charged and back again. Every look from her feels like a trap you’re gladly walking into. “Maybe I’m not the only one who’s distracted today?”

“Maybe…crazy right.” They clear their throat and place their hands on your waist, playing with the top of your pants. “Must be the wind or something…or however the saying goes..” 

It always brings you such happiness when you’re reminded that she’s just as dizzy for you as you are for her. Watching her unravel before you is incredibly astonishing. They were ruining you for everyone else. And then she gives you that look that you know is strictly reserved for you and you forget that everyone else even exists in the first place. You swallow hard, your eyes flicking to their lips again, then back to their eyes. It’s not subtle anymore. None of this is. You’re both teetering on the edge of something that doesn’t really feel like a sparring session. Maybe they were all like this.

If so, you were going every day.

“…You gonna teach me how to actually throw a punch,” you murmur, “or are we just gonna stand here flirting until someone dies of tension?”

When they got into this job, they quickly learned to get over the hassle of caring so much about the people they were taking care of. Everyone’s gotta eat right? It wasn’t anything personal. They do the job, they cash the check, they go home and sleep soundly, or at least well enough. So when they got this job it was the same deal. Misaki had done this a hundred times. The shadowing, the waiting, the anticipation of the perfect moment. But for some reason, this hit felt… off.

It wasn’t you. Well, okay, it was you—your name, face, and routine all matched the report—but you weren’t the kind of person that usually ended up on a hitlist. You weren’t a slimy CEO or a debt-dodging gambler or a shitty husband. You looked... painfully normal.

It started when they tried to sneak in undercover in a disguise like the server suggested they do. Which meant they had to sit in increasingly uncomfortable positions pretending to be a normal person in public, when really, they were just trying not to stare too hard through the reflection of the glass of the cafe.

You were seated across from someone—a friend, judging by the way your posture relaxed. You laughed, leaned in, animated in that way where your hands moved with your mouth. Misaki angled their earbuds, phone camera off but mic on, sipping at their untouched drink while the wire caught every word.

Your voice was easy to pick out. “Look, I’m just saying,” you said, stirring something into your drink, “I’m not that picky.”

“Mmm,” your friend replied, teasing, “You say that…”

“Okay, not that picky doesn’t mean no standards.” You grinned. “I just like people with a brain. And a spine. And, like, a sense of humor for once! That’s not rare.”

Misaki blinked. Subconsciously, she sat up straighter.

“I’m not gonna date someone who doesn’t challenge me a little,” you went on, sipping your drink. “I want banter. Chaos. Someone who can keep up with me but also knows when to shut up and watch TV with me for hours.”

The friend raised a brow. “So… your type is someone who’s just like you?”

“I mean,” you said, shrugging, “yeah? But also like… super soft for me? But not where it becomes their whole thing. I want them to have their own life and relationship dynamics apart from me and not make it a big deal. I don’t want to be their whole world, that’s overwhelming.”

“But you want them to be crazy about you.” They deadpanned

“They can exist simultaneously!!”

Misaki nearly crushed their cup in their hands.

“What about physically?”

You tapped on your cup while speaking, the drumming audible in Misaki’s ears. “Oh I need them to have an actual style. And I like cool hair. I love it when people have a color that they stick with, I want them to have their own color.” 

Your friend stared. “That is... distressingly specific.”

“I know what I like!”

“You just described a tragic anime protagonist.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.”

Misaki swore quietly into her sleeve. “You’re doing this on purpose. This is entrapment.”

They watched as you laughed, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes bright with mischief. “I guess I just want someone who gets it, y’know?” You looked down at the table. “Someone I don’t have to explain myself to. Like, I’m a lot, I know that. But if someone saw all of it and didn’t run? That’d be cool.”

Your friend bumped your foot under the table. “You’ll find ‘em. Probably when you’re not looking.”

“Ugh I hate it when people in relationships say that. Rub salt in why don't you.” You snorted. “Anyways they’ll probably have like a crazy job if they’re like what I described. Which is fine, I’ve dated a DJ before.”

Misaki froze. Almost choking on the air.

The friend laughed. “You’re so dramatic.”

You grinned. “I’ve been told I’m a little too into the enemies-to-lovers trope.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“I will not settle, I refuse!”

The conversation drifted after that—weekend plans, roommate drama, some new sci-fi show—but Misaki had stopped listening.

Their heart was too busy pounding. It wasn’t just that you were attractive or charming or had a nice voice. It was worse than that. So much worse.

You were compatible with each other. Horrifyingly so.

Everything you said—it was like a checklist of their traits, and they didn’t even know you! You didn’t know them! Not really. Not yet.

But you had already described them in unsettling detail. Like you’d read the footnotes of their life before they even showed up on your radar. And suddenly they were envisioning a whole future with you because of one eavesdropping session!

They needed to stop. This was a mission, you two don't know each other. They were a stranger with a rifle.

But still... it hurt more than it should have.

Misaki sat there another minute, phone still recording, the warmth of their coffee long gone.

Then they muttered under their breath, “This would be so much easier if you weren’t fucking perfect for me.”

Over the next few days Misaki continued to observe, waiting for the right time to strike but always finding an excuse not to. You held the door open for strangers. You tipped at sandwich shops. Misaki had watched all of that. And the whole time they kept waiting for the catch. There had to be one. There always was. No one like you ended up in their crosshairs without a damn good reason.

But every hour passed, and nothing gave. You just kept being... you. And it was infuriating

And it doesn’t help that you were constantly surrounded by people. Misaki had spent the whole damn day trailing you through the city, muttering into their sleeve.

“Why do they walk like that?”

“Why are they… kind of cute when they tilt their head like that—OKAY nope. Focus.”

“Can I lock tf in???”

“Aaugh! My god that smile…”

Watching over you, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. While also unintentionally growing more and more reluctant to do so. The more time they spent around you and observing you and the more human you became. 

Misaki caught themselves smiling once. Just a little. Watching you beam at an old lady as you helped her cross a busy intersection. It was such a stupid thing. Such a you thing to do. And they felt their chest ache in a way it hadn’t in a long, long time.

This gig didn’t even pay that well.

They could do without it, right?

…No. No. That was stupid. They weren’t about to throw away their professional edge because some hottie with a good laugh and excellent posture made them forget how to breathe.

They were still a professional. This was still just another job. But, Misaki hesitated.  

Again. 

This had to stop.

You were walking down a quiet alley—that perfect, cinematic kill zone.

Misaki crouched behind a dumpster, muttering to themself quietly. "Okay. Breathe. Just breathe. You’ve done this before. It’s just a person. A normal person. Probably. They look like they floss. No way they’re a threat. Just a nice face and nice... okay, don’t finish that thought—focus. You’re not catching feelings for a target.”

Then a metal lid under their foot screeched. They toppled to the ground, making a loud crash as she crumbled.

Too loud.

A click. Cold metal pressed against Misaki’s forehead. Your gun. Expression unreadable.

“Why,” you asked coolly, “have you been stalking me all day?”

Misaki froze, heart hammering. “U-Uh. Stalking??! Me?! N-Noo!! I wouldn’t do that..heh heh…You dropped this! I was just returning it!” They gesture to their rifle.

Your eyes narrowed, a cold expression they had yet to see on your face. “Try again”

“F-Funny story, actually. You’ll laugh I promise!” They fumbled with their words, eyes darting everywhere but at you. ”I uhh kinda got assigned to kill you? But like, in a professional way.”

Your brow twitched, just slightly. “So… you're an assassin.”

“Y-Yeah. Unfortunately. Please don’t shoot, it’s been a rough week.” She pleaded, it would've been extremely embarrassing if she died because of a silly crush.

Your eyes darkened again as you looked down on them. “And someone paid to have me killed?”

Misaki nodded, trying to inch back without making you twitch. “Look, I thought it was weird too! You're like, aggressively normal. Like, shockingly well-adjusted. And like you’re emotionally available and have a strong moral compass and are super cool and…” They coughed, cutting themself off. She was talking like she forgot there was a gun to their head. “Y-Yeah I’m done now..”

You snorted. “That’s a new one. You must’ve picked up on a lot of stuff from watching me huh?”

Misaki gave a nervous smile. “Most targets don’t intrigue me like you did I guess.” They said, their face growing warm. “Y-You kill here often…?”

You stared at them, then slowly lowered the gun. “You’re not very good at this.”

“Hey! I’m great at this. I just… you were really interesting, okay? And …hot. In a completely professional way.”

“Hm.“ You took a step closer and leaned down, Misaki’s breath caught, face turning pinker and pinker. “You said someone hired you. Did they say why?”

“No,” Misaki said. “They usually don’t. But now I’m starting to think… maybe you’re not normal after all.” Misaki wasn’t used to this at all, all the time they spent watching you, you never acted so detached and numb and guarded before. You were always so friendly and polite so this was a stark contrast to what they were used to. And she kinda liked it.

There was a pause. Then you sighed and tucked the gun into your coat. “Yeah. I’m a killer too. Retired. Mostly. Someone must’ve snitched. Probably the guy I iced last month. Should’ve used acid.”

Misaki blinked. “You say that like it’s a completely rational thing.”

“It is. You’re a hitman too.”

“I prefer freelance threat removal specialist, thanks very much.”

A beat of silence. Then you smiled. “You’re lame, y’know. I like that.” You said, lending them a hand to stand back up

Misaki flushed, laughing lightly. “Aha.. Lucky me…”

You stepped closer again, and this time, Misaki didn’t flinch. They stared at you, mouth dry, heart still racing—but not from fear. “So,” you said softly, “you in or out?”

“Huh?” They tilted their head in confusion. 

“I’m going to get that person who hired you back.” You spoke. “Are you coming along?”

“Me? Like…with you…after I just tried to kill you? You still want me to be with you? Ar-Are you sure?”

You nodded, sending them a sweet smile. So sweet it almost made them forget about the bounty over your head.

QUEST

The server was empty. Not just quiet—empty.

Quest sat in the digital void of #general, watching the green lights of system pings blink like heartbeat monitors. This not-quite-discord server was live, launched ahead of the next “Blooming Panic” chapter drop. The web novel’s fanbase had been buzzing for weeks, and someone on the mod team thought an invite-only server could be a safe haven for serious fans.

He didn’t think he’d be the first one here.

The silence was peaceful, honestly. Read through the pre-set rules, made a few channels and roles, poked around the bot settings.

Then, with a soft ping—

       June has joined the server.

Quest blinked, then smiled.

Quest: Welcome to the Blooming Panic server.

Quest: You’re our first real guest. :)

June: hi!! oh my god no pressure or anything 

June: i wasn’t expecting this to be so… empty. is it new??

Quest: Yep. Brand new. You’re the first one to hop in.

Quest: Not a bad way to start, huh?

June: omg well it’s nice to meet you!!!

June: :bloomWave:

June: these emoticons are so cute!!! :bloomExcited:

June: but right!

June: maybe I can share the join link with some friends or something…?

Quest: Oh right me too.

He sighed audibly and pretended to take a few minutes to message said ‘friends’.

June: Wait the link is gone!! 

June: :BloomPanic: 

June: omg where is the link…

Quest: huh

Checking back in the tweet with the link on it only to find it was completely gone. The account too.

Quest: yeah what?

Quest: I swear that wasn’t me.

June: You didnt make this server?

June: you’re the only one here tho :bloomUhh: 

Quest: yes but

Quest: i joined through a link like you i swear!

June: okok i believe you

June: I’ll just grab a link from the server itself

June: uhmm..

June: I dont think i can do that!

Quest: yeah i dont know what this app even is but i dont think theres a way to be able to do that.

June: Oh what about the bot!

Quest: Bloombot i dont think does anything other tha the standard moderation and roles.

Quest: Oh 

Quest: sorry i forgot to introduce myself!

Quest: [REDACTED]

Bloombot: Please do not share any identifying information about yourself!

June: ???

June: HUH :bloomPanic:

Quest: uh

Quest: :bloomUhh:

Quest: All i said was my name?

Quest: [REDACTED]

Bloombot: Please do not share any identifying information about yourself!

June: Maybe because your computer has your name on it?

June: [REDACTED]

Bloombot: Please do not share any identifying information about yourself!

June: :bloomPanic: WHATS GOIING ON

Quest: Was that your name?

June: YES BUT

June: MY LAPTOP HAS MY DEADNAME ON IT

June: I DIDNT SAY MY DEADNME

Quest: oh what?

June: HOW DOES THE BOT KNOW THIS STUFF

June: :bloomCry: IM GETTNG SCARED

Quest: Calm down it must be pulling information through some kind of account we made

Quest: i dont know how else it’d know that info

Quest: its a fanserver for a webnovel, how advanced can it be?

June: :bloomCry: I think ur right…

June: still kinda nervous

Quest: we can talk about something else

June: yes please..

Quest: Are you up to date with Blooming panic?

From then on the two had a long conversation about all of the characters and plotline. Quest gently guiding them both into #blooming-discussion where June was able to excitedly rant about their opinions.

Quest: sorry to cut you off but I think i have to head off for now

June: aww its ok!

June: I’ll see u later Quest!

June: Maybe they’ll be another member next time!

Quest: Quest?

June: i can’t call you your name so i just went with quest..

June: SORRY IS THAT OK I DIDNT ASK :bloomPanic:

Quest: Oh its alright! Quest is ok!

Quest: Goodnight June!

June: :bloomWave:

Quest is offline

June is offline.

Over the next few days the server remained quiet but nice, June finally had someone to ramble to who actually understood and was able to participate in said rambles. And Quest was able to make a genuine connection with someone out of nothing but pure solidarity from Bloomic. If he was being honest, he never thought he’d be able to feel normal again. June was loud in the way light could be loud—unavoidable, bright, and a little bit impossible not to enjoy. She made the server feel alive.

June: id love to keep chatting but i need to clean up my room :bloomCry:

Quest: aw thats ok june i can wait till you’re done if you’d like?

Quest: im not doing anything right now anyways. 

June: Idea!! :bloomExcited:

June: we should test out the voice calls!

Quest: oh right those

June: only if you’re comfortable of course!!!!

Quest: with the whole censorship thing do you think they’d even work?

June: we can find out!!

Quest blinked and June's profile picture moved into the call channel, waiting for him. There were two things going through his head, one that he was absolutely mortified at the idea of June seeing his face. He was far too tired of people seeing him and instantly seeing the fear stretch across their face or worse: recognition. If June recognized him, then…all of that hope and friendship he was quickly beginning to treasure would be flushed straight down the toilet.

But on the other hand, an itching part of curiosity clawed at him. He wanted to know what June looked and sounded like. He wanted June to see him, and he hoped she wouldn’t be at all scared or uncomfortable. He wanted to be seen and be normal. He missed being able to just video call someone and have a basic conversation. And his wants happened to outweigh his fears, barely.

He needed this.

He clicked on the voice call. 

XYX

The name caught his eye by accident.

Blooming Panic: Fan Server. Invite Only.

Xyx clicked. It wasn’t like he wasn’t a fan. He liked the drama, the aesthetic, the fanfics with 4 kudos and art of Celeste drawn like some tragic Grecian statue.

And besides, he was bored.

xyx has joined the server.

June: It was the cutest thing i swear!

Quest: it sounds like it

June: wait

June: HIIII WHO ARE YOU

June: omg you’re the THIRD PERSON we’ve seen since launch this is a BLESSING :bloomExcited:

Quest: oh?

Quest: Welcome, Xyx

Quest: Nice to see we finally have a new member

June: wait do you go by xyx orr

June: :bloomPanic:

June: how do you say your name!?

xyx: its pronounced how its spelled

xyx: dw just sound it out

June: :bloomPanic:

June: UHHH?

Quest: is that ben affleck in your profile picture?

xyx: nah

xyx: thats just a pic of me we look really alike

He chuckled as he watched them both begin to type and pause, and begin to type and pause again.

Quest: ..yeah?

June: nice flowers.!

xyx: thank you

xyx: one of my best pictures

Quest: ok but there’s no way that’s you right?

Quest: i have ben afflecks picture on my phone right now and its the same exact thing but without the crown?

xyx: no man im telling you

xyx: its me

xyx: I wouldnt lie to you guys :bloomSmug:

xyx: at least its not like

xyx: a photo of my

xyx: [REDACTED]

BloomBot: Please keep your message on the cleaner side!

June: it got you that fast??? 

xyx: blasphemy

xyx: this server stacked against me.

Quest: thats just Bloombot

Quest: what did you try to say?

Quest: dont answer that

xyx: let’s talk about Celeste

xyx: thats what this server is for right

Quest: oh we were just yesterday on call

June: omg yes we call!! come in we were literally just about to start one

This was going a little too fast for Xyx’s taste. A call? He just met these people. How was he supposed to know if they were trustworthy? He wasn’t even trustworthy. No, they already know enough about him, they don’t need anything more. 

Maybe in like 6 years when he’s old and sappy, probably with a cat or something too.

xyx: what call

Quest: ?

Quest: You cant see the call channels?

June: omg really :bloomPanic:

xyx: ur joshing me theres no call channels here

Quest: I wonder if its something to do with your role?

Quest: or maybe because you just joined?

xyx: I can see it now

June: oh! That’s good!

xyx: im in

June: ,,,

June: no?

Quest: I don’t see you?

xyx: im in right now 

xyx: wru

June: :bloomPanic:

June: are you messing with us???

Quest: I think he is

xyx: im in there guys 

xyx: ur missing out on this killer ui

Quest: lmao ok

The sun filtered gently through the windows of the workout room in the player’s house. A few plants stretched lazily toward the light, and somewhere in the background, Washford could be heard whirring cheerfully.

But at the center of the room, beneath a carefully laid-out yoga mat, Dunk was grinning ear to ear.

“You ready?”

Across from him stood Stepford, gleaming as always. His posture was perfect. Immaculate. “Yes! Very ready! Are you!?”

“Totally!” Dunk said, already in a lunge stretch. “I’m so glad you agreed to do this workout with me! You’ll feel great after.”

Stepford’s eyes had a small glimmer with determination. “I already feel great. All the time. I moisturize.”

“I don’t doubt that!” He chuckled.“Let’s just start easy, squats!” Dunk said, still grinning. 

Round One: Squats

Dunk sank into a squat with perfect ease, rising fluidly. “Just like sittin’ down.

Stepford followed, mimicking the motion. After a few, his breathing picked up. His brow knit. “These are… repetitive,” he muttered. 

“Yeah, that’s the point!” Dunk said, mid-squat. “We’re warming up those thighs!”

“My thighs are always warm!” Stepford huffed. “I need immaculate thighs. Do thighs even have pores? Are mine…ugh glistening yet?”

“Shiny as ever,” Dunk chuckled.

Stepford did one more squat, then stood stiffly. “Ow! Ow! OW! Dunk! I heard a pop! I heard a pop!” He sighed, “Aw man that’s why I told you to stretch!”

Round Two: Lunges

“Alright, lunges next!” Dunk announced cheerfully.

Stepford stepped into the first one, wobbling. “Am I…doing this wrong?” He stumbles and throws his arms out to attempt to balance himself. 

“It’s good for your legs!” Dunk said, lunging with perfect control. “Practicing that balance!”

“I have balance!” Stepford barked. “I once carried a full tea set down marble stairs in heels!”

“Okay, okay,” Dunk said gently. “No need to rush man. Go slow.”

“Don’t coach me,” Stepford snapped. “I know how to move.” And with that, Stepford abruptly tilted to the side and toppled over with a yelp. 

“Oh buddy..”

Round Three: Dumbbell Press-Ups

They lay side by side on the mat now, small dumbbells in hand.

Dunk lifted his easily, smooth and steady. “Just press straight up. Easy peasy.”

Stepford arched his back (very glamorously), gripped the dumbbells, and grunted as he pushed them upward. They shook instantly. Quivered even. His arms looked similar to a mild earthquake.

He pressed again, breathing heavily, face turning slightly red from exhaustion. “This is a deeply undignified motion.”

“You’re killin’ it,” Dunk said. 

Stepford blinked over at him, chest heaving. “You’re… not even winded.”

“Yeah, this stuff’s kinda my jam,” Dunk said, obliviously. “But, y’know, quality over quantity.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Stepford hissed, teeth gritted. “You’re doing this on purpose—looking effortless. Smiling at me like some... some... sweaty Olympian lumberjack!”

“That’s oddly specific.” Dunk laughed. “Here, can I get in there and help?” He sat upwards and motioned towards his arms.

Stepford rested both the weights on his chest with a huff. “Pleasee” He drew out the word, breathing it out. He looked up at Dunk from his place on the ground with a pitiful expression. Dunk gently positioned his arms to be straighter, running his arms over his biceps. 

The position his arms were in meant Dunk was directly behind Stepford, if he leaned backward a bit his head would make contact with Dunk’s knees. “Alright just give me three more.” “Three?!” “I’m right here buddy!” His hands hovered under Stepford’s hands. Reluctantly and very slowly, he pressed the dumbbells up three more times, to Dunk’s very enthusiastic approval and cheers.

Stepford dropped the weights to his sides, scowling. “I hate this. I hate you. You don’t even breathe hard.” 

“Hey man it’s alright, your body’s just not used to this!” Dunk gently reassured, a concerned expression on his face. “Let’s just move on.”

Final Round: Plank

“Last one,” Dunk said, easing into a plank position like it was second nature. “We just hold it for a minute.”

Stepford lowered down beside him, trembling within seconds.

He grit his teeth. “This is stupid. People who do these must be masochists.”

“Hang in there,” Dunk encouraged. “Keep your back straight.”

“I am trying!” Stepford hissed. “What even is the point of this? This is not what I thought working out was supposed to be like!”

At thirty three seconds, he collapsed with a growl of frustration, panting and flushed and furious. “I thought…” He paused to breathe. “Exercise was supposed to give you…endorphins or something.”

“Oh they do?” Dunk asked, tilting his head. “Well that's handy!” “It would be if it wasn’t a total lie!” Stepford angrily banged his hand on the gym floor.

“And you’re still going!” he spat, glaring at Dunk. “Why are you still going?! Why is this so easy for you and so hard for me! You know what!?”

Then, without thinking, he sat on Dunk’s back in a huff.

Dunk, still planking, smiled. “Oh, nice! Thanks for the extra challenge.”

Stepford blinked, caught off-guard. “Wait. I’m... helping?”

“Big-time,” Dunk said, voice totally chill. “You’re like the perfect weight for me!”

Stepford froze. “…I’m perfect..” he mumbled.

“Exactly,” Dunk said. “And you didn’t quit. Even when you were mad. That’s actually really impressive, dude.”

Stepford straightened up, still sitting on him, his face rapidly flushing redder, but not from feeling tired.. “You… you think I’m impressive?”

“Oh yeah totally,” Dunk said without a beat. “I’ve seen so many people give up when stuff’s hard. But not you. You stuck with it. That’s admirable, man. Honestly.” He spoke quickly, finally appearing to work up a bit of a sweat.

Stepford made a tiny, high-pitched sound he would later deny was real. Then, silently, he felt Dunk lower his body into a push-up. And then another.

“And you’re really like, still man ,thanks! Other people kinda wobble a bit and their weights all uneven but you’re incredible!”

Stepford’s mood flipped so fast it was like watching a dog perk up at the sound of a treat bag. “Yeah?” After a few more push-ups, Dunk gently lowered himself to his mat and sighed, Stepford quickly moving off him and sitting beside him, eagerly awaiting whatever could be next.

After a 30 second break where Dunk continued to praise Stepford for his hard work, they began their after work-out stretches (which Dunk absolutely required they do.) Dunk looked over at him, still beaming.

“You really did awesome today, Step,” he said. “It’s not about how many reps or the weight. It’s the fact that you tried. You pushed past your comfort zone. That’s real strength.” He spoke kindly, bringing his hands to his heels and he bent his body forwards. “Stronger than most people I’ve seen.”

Stepford hid his face behind one of his perfect hands, cheeks red. “I… Yes. Well. That does sound like me.”

“Exactly,” Dunk smiled wide. “You’re crazy persistent. That’s what everyone wants to be when it comes to exercise.” He spread his legs into a split and leaned his body towards the floor again.

Stepford copied his position, flexible enough to finally be keeping up with him, blinking down at the floor.

“…I suppose we could train again sometime,” he said breathlessly. “But only if you bring a towel. I won’t be caught glistening without one again.”

“You got it,” Dunk said, offering him a fist bump.

The stream starts with a sparkle.

Literally.

Lux’s overlay is a shimmering gold frame with animated twinkles that flare in sync with their voice. They’re perched on their couch, all highlight and glitter. Beside them, Chance sits slightly off-center, twiddling his thumbs awkwardly and fiddling with the string of his hoodie.

“Hayyyy Luxies!” Lux beams, resting a manicured hand delicately on their heart like they just accepted an Oscar. “Welcome back, babes. And double welcome to a very special stream. As you can see, I’ve generously allowed a guest into the spotlight tonight.”

They tilt their head ever-so-slightly toward Chance—who gives a sheepish wave. He’s wearing his favorite hoodie, sleeves pulled halfway over his hands, and a single gold star sticker on his neck. Unbeknownst to viewers (but very known to the two of them), it’s discreetly covering a hickey Lux gave him.

“Hi! I’m Chance. Uh—well, I’ve been here before, so I guess I’m still Chance? In case you… forgot?” He chuckles awkwardly, eyes flicking to chat.

Lux turns to him with a smirk sharp enough to crit. Their glowing fingers drape casually over his shoulders, a pose so practiced it should be illegal. The D20 earrings dangling from their ears catch the light, as do the matching ones Chance wears.

“Sweetie, no one could forget you. Especially when you're accessorized to match me.” They wink at the camera like they invented it. “But today is super special. Today we’re doing a ‘Boyfriend tag’! ” They clasped their hands together. “Well ig ‘partner tag’ but this trend was invented before me!”

Chance laughs, more relaxed now. “Hopefully we’re able to answer these questions well enough for you guys! Let's see if our romance is rolling nat 20s or… a critical fail.” He presses his hands together, drumming his fingers together deviously. 

They glance at the chat.

'hi guys!!'

'OMG THEY’RE SITTING SO CLOSE'

'Lmao bc they’re dating??'

'Chance looks so nervous calm down king'

'WAIT ARE THEY MATCHING EARRINGS???'

'D20 earrings… i’m SCREAMING.'

Lux clicks into the first question with a dramatic flourish of one ringed finger.

“Okay,” Lux purrs. “First one: ‘What’s your favorite color?’ 

“Oh yeah I know this one,” Chance says quickly. 

Lux scoffs,“Yeah duh! Mine’s easy.”

“Gold, right?”

“Obviously. Or champagne. Or like… platinum with a hint of gold undertones, if I’m feeling humble.” Lux leans back in their cushions casually.

Chance squints. “Those all sound like… gold?”

“Oh baby.” Lux smirks. “You’re adorable but tragically unsparkly. So naive.”

“I know this stuff! I have to describe colors all the time!” Chance protests, laughing. “What about me, huh?”

Lux blinks. For a moment, their expression blanks, before they recover with suspicious smoothness. “Clearly… maroon. Or wait—do you even have one? Are you like, a beige mom?”

“Red,” Chance says proudly. “My dice are gold and red though. I guess it was fate, huh?”

Lux’s smirk falters for a moment, their face tinted pink, before returning. “Ew. You’re so cute. Disgusting.”

'He has relationship colored DICE'

'they're so disgustingly adorable'

'LUX BLUSHING??? mark your calendars'

“First impressions?” Lux grinned in anticipation. “Oh easy peasy!” Chance grins. “I think I know this?”

“You go first then” Lux crosses one leg over the other.

“...Didn’t you not like me?” Chance asked with a confused look.

Lux gives a knowing smirk. “Oh, I hated you. You know. All that… ‘earnestness.’ All that sincerity . How dare you?!”

“It worked out didn’t it.” Chance leaned over to bump his shoulder with Lux’s.

"Literally dumb luck.” They brushed him off bashfully. “You were scared of me right?”

Chance grins wide, nodding. “I thought you were terrifying and probably an eldritch being pretending to be a human. I was really into it.”

“Eldritch?!” Lux clutches their imaginary pearls.

“In a hot way!” He defended.

Lux nearly snorts. “You’re spending too much time with Ben-hwa.”

'You guys are so cute, i say aiming the gun at my head'

“LOL WHAT IS CHNACE ON ABOUT'

'Not the enemies to lovers…'

“Favorite date?”

They glance at each other.

“Let’s say it at the same time,” Chance suggests.

“Okay, 3, 2, 1—”

“Picnic!”

“Movie night!”

“Really?!” they say in sync.

Chance’s brows lift in suspicion. “You liked the picnic?” 

“Duh! It was soo cute!” They placed their hands on their chest happily. “Luxies, he planned this adorable little picnic by a creek and packed us lunch in little tuperware! It was like living inside a Pinterest board. I was the moment. We were the moment. Like a rom-com but with less budget and natural lighting.”

“I picked you a flower trying to be cute and ended up getting a spider on you.” Chance blinks.

“You did do that, which was absolutely insane, by the way. But I forgave you.”

Chance laughs. “Why do you like that one the most though?”

Lux narrows their eyes. “You really forgot? I’m going to be so mad if you forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“That was when you first told me you loved me.” Their tone softens, just slightly. Like melted cheese.

Chance flushes red. “Is that why?”

“Anyways!” They clapped their hands together and quickly changed the topic. “You like the movie date?”

“Yeah I loved it, it was so sweet.”

“Yeah but like nothing happened.” They tilted their head.

“Well yeah but I dunno, I just like being around you. Even though we weren't really doing anything in particular.” Chance smiled while speaking, his voice dripping with adoration. “I like you like that, just existing around me.”

“So you don’t like me all of the other times?! Is that what you’re SAYING?”

“Lux really?” He said exasperatedly but his expression was disturbingly happy.

The questions keep coming.

'Biggest fight??' 

'Who’s the better cook?' (which caused some lighthearted arguments)

'Childhood crushes?'

Through it all, Lux’s energy begins to shift.

Their eyes keep flicking to chat. Their laughter shortens. Shoulders tense. The smirk widens a little too much, their tone a bit too polished. 

Chance notices like the good boyfriend he is and intervenes.

“Alright, next one—"

"Wait, is it okay if I pause real quick?” Chance asks, straightening suddenly. “I need to get some water.”

“Oh, of course!” Lux replies quickly, voice unnaturally sweet. “In the meantime, I can keep you guys company—”

“No. You’re getting water with me.”

“I’m literally not thirsty! Actually, I should be the reason everyone else is thirsty!”

“Too bad. You’re still coming.” Chance says sternly, grabbing onto Lux’s hand and helping them up.

Lux blinks, caught off guard. “…Okay guys I guess it’s B-R-B!! Stick around Luxies I’m doing an ad-break!”

Chance leans forward, muting the mic with a practiced flick.

Or… so he thinks.

“Am I like, in trouble or…”

“I know that look,” Chance says quietly, pulling them aside just behind the couch, standing up so their heads were out of frame but their bodies were still seen at the top of the screen.

Lux stiffens. “What look?”

“The one I don't like.” Chance sighs. “We can take a pause if you really need one.”

Lux scoffs. “Oh, please. This is me. All sparkles and sass, the people love it.”

“But do you love it right now?”

Silence. A month ago Chance would have never dared to confront this issue so head on but at this point he was more than familiar with this problem. It was better to catch it and squish it the moment it starts.

Then, softer, quieter than Lux ever is on stream, they murmur: “I’m sorry.”

Chance’s brows knit together, a gentle look on his face. Chance swallows.

“I keep trying but I keep thinking… what if they stop liking me?” Lux says quietly. “What if they see me laugh or my makeup creases or I say something embarrassing, and they go, ‘ugh, no thanks.’ What if the Luxies leave? What if you do?”

Chance blinks, eyes wide behind his glasses.

Lux isn’t done.

“I spent years building this. Every comment, every follow, every post. My worth is tied to a follower count, Chance. And it’s not even real. Half of them are bots. But if people stop watching? What am I even worth without it?”

Chance takes a breath. His own words come out halting. “I… kind of feel the same. Except, like, the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

“I keep thinking this isn’t real. Us. That I’m just some… nerd you’re humoring until you remember you’re out of my league. You’re this amazing, talented, successful person and I’m…” He shrugs. “A dice gremlin with bad posture.”

Lux lets out a breathy laugh.

“I’m scared one day you’ll get tired of my rambles. My hyperfixations. Me.” Chance holds their hand tighter, bringing it up to his lips and brushing over their knuckles gently. “I’m scared I’ll mess this up. That I’ll say the wrong thing. That you’ll… hurt me.”

Lux stiffens. “I’m scared I'll hurt you, you’re scared I'll hurt you. Where do we go from there?” They look towards the floor. “I don’t want these gross thoughts and habits taking me away from you.”

“Hey,” Chance says gently. “I’m not going anywhere.” He uses his other hand to softly hold Lux’s cheek.

Their fingers intertwine. “You don’t have to earn love every second.” Chance brings them closer, pulling them into a warm embrace. “Not from me.”

Lux looks at him.

They lean forward, Lux leaning upwards and Chance resting his other arm around their waist, pulling them closer. When their lips meet its soft and honest. Lux has said this before (privately of course) but Chance’s lips were softer than any plush carpet they’ve ever stepped foot on. And the enthusiasm is greatly reciprocated. Chance easily gets lost in Lux’s kisses, to the point where he often loses air from them and gets lightheaded. Worth it in his eyes.

Slowly they pull away, still holding each other. “You hydrated enough?” Lux asked playfully.

“Now I am.” Chance replied. “You sure you’re ok? We can end the stream?”

“I think I’m ok, I’ll let you know.” They said as they pecked his nose. “Thanks lover”

Chance smiled, happy to see them feeling better. “Of course.”

They break apart and move back onto the couch and go to unmute. They both notice it at the same time. Chance freezes. Lux pulls back sharply. The mic and camera are still rolling and probably rolling the entire time. They both turn to look at chat, eyes wide.

Chat, running a mile a minute.

'WE CAN HEAR YOU GUYS' 'IS THIS REAL??' 'THEY LOVE EACH SO MUCH OTHER I’M GONNA SCREAM' 'THIS IS SO VULNERABLE I’M SOBBING' 'I AM LITERALLY A WITNESS TO HISTORY' 'did they KISS..' 'CLIP IT CLIP IT CLIP IT'

Chance and Lux stare in horror.

Lux squeaks. “The mic— you said you muted it— ”

“I DID!! I DID!! ” Chance blurts out, panicked. 

They lunge off-screen in a flurry of limbs, sparkles, and chaos. Stream ends with a squeal, a crash, and the iconic message: 'LuxLuminary has ended the stream.'

The clip of their kiss gets a million views in an 30 minutes.

Their followings double. Fan art floods the tags. Someone makes a “Roll for Love” animatic by midnight.

Chance’s Dicelings now ship “Performance Check.”

Lux, curled on their couch with Chance’s hoodie over their body, muttering into his shoulder, “This is so humiliating.”

Chance laughs. “You say that, but you’re bookmarking the fanart.”

“…Shut up, Dice Boy.”

The bell above the door chimed, shrill and too bright. Eddie flinched. His eyes stung, his jaw clenched tight from another long night. The noise in here—the laughter, the machine’s hiss, the low swell of jazz, it was too much and not enough, all at the same time. He trudged his way to the counter.

“Kopi,” he grunted.

She leaned in, smelling like cinnamon. “Oof, rough night, sweetheart?” Her eyes twinged with pity, “You want your usual?”

“Hit me with everything that’s still legal in this state,” he muttered.

Kopi grinned “So, your usual. Got it.” She slid a cup under the espresso nozzle. “How’s the club? Still standing?”

“Barely,” Eddie muttered. "It's held together with tape and prayers right now. And I don’t—” He stopped himself. He’d already said too much.

Kopi didn’t press. She never did. Just added an extra shot to his drink and sent him a friendly smile. “Corner’s free.”

He took the cup and shuffled over to his usual spot. Collapsing into the corner booth, the far one with the outlet. Dumped blueprints and scribbled lists and drawings on the table. A yellow sticky note in the corner covered up by other pieces of paper read “BUILD BEDFRAME”. That one had been ignored for at least a couple weeks at this point, his back surely reminds him.

When the espresso hit the table, he didn’t even look up. Just muttered, “Thanks,” and drank half in one go. His pulse jolted like a jumper cable rewired his brain although his body still felt weak.

“Woah now, handsome,” came a voice, electric and too close. “Careful with that. Wouldn’t want anything bad happening to that heart now would we?” Eddie looked up to see a man peering down at him, his hair long and white and he wore a charming smile that screamed confidence. 

Volt had walked into the café hoping for something strong and maybe a quiet place to flirt with the idea of productivity. Instead, he saw him—dark-haired, bags under his eyes, hunched over a mess of papers. Frankly he was incredibly hot.

Volt ordered his drink and casually wandered to the guy’s table.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the empty chair across from him. Eddie shrugged. “As long as you stop talking.” “So do you always look this way? Or is the poison finally kicking in?” He motions towards Eddie’s cup which had a caution sign drawn on by Koip.

“What did I just say?” The man looked up, blinking slowly, like he wasn’t sure if Volt was real. Before glaring sharply. “And it’s not poison,” he said hoarsely. “It’s espresso.”

Volt laughed, a low but beautiful sound that bounced around Eddie’s ears. “Volt, by the way.” He introduced himself. “And you?”

The guy hesitated. “Eddie.”

“Suits you really.”

Eddie just stared at him, deadpan. Then took another sip of his drink. “You always talk this much?”

“Only when I see someone drinking motor oil and curling over a mess of paper like they’re trying to decode a message.” Volt said, grinning. “Seriously, you alright?” He reached over and slid Eddie’s coffee out of reach. “Let’s put a pause on the heart attack, yeah?”

Eddie didn’t argue. That was new. He sighed, rubbed at his eyes. “I run this club, The Breaker Box. Strong drinks, we have talent shows sometimes, people like it i guess.”

Volt perked up. “Breaker Box? That’s yours?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“Only through every half-drunken rave about ‘the place with the electric cocktails and the guy who looks like he hasn’t slept since he was born,’” Volt said. “Didn’t know it was real. Or that you were this…cute.”

Eddie coughed, ears tinting pink. 

“So,” Volt said, tone softening. “What’s really going on?”

Eddie hesitated. “I’m not good with people.” His voice was quiet. “I can handle the maintenance fine. I can mix a drink that'll rock your world. But coordinating? Making connections?” He sighed. “Not my style.” “Really? You? ” Volt chuckled.

“Yeah, real shocker huh?” The corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile. “Anyways dealing with that on top of bills and the lights being busted has been a real pain in my ass” He sat up and leaned back, hearing his back pop a bit. Thanks to the height and positioning of the table, a small section of his midriff peaked out of his shirt. Which Volt took great advantage of. 

“You ever work in a place like that?” Eddie asked, after a silence that wasn’t awkward.

Volt shrugged. “I’ve worked around them. Performance art, hosting open mics.” He sipped his drink, then leaned forward resting his cheek on his palm “And I might know a few people who’d kill to perform. Not professionals, but they’ve got energy.”

Eddie squinted. “Like who?”

“Well,” Volt said, drumming his fingers against the table. “There’s Johnny. Imagine a man who looks like a cologne ad but sings like he's trying to breathe in and out simultaneously.”

Eddie snorted. 

“And Jean Loo who…Let’s just say the mixing of his French accent and his rapping makes an…interesting sound.” Volt spoke quietly, as if it was a secret. Eddie could hear his smile in his voice while he responded, "Definitely an original bunch.”

Volt grinned, triumphant. “Exactly. Not great, but entertaining. People eat that up. If your shows had a revolving lineup, even folks just brave enough to try, it’d get people talking. Keep the energy high. I could help.”

“Help?” Eddie squinted suspiciously.

Volt nodded. “You keep the drinks strong and the lights on. I’ll wrangle the messy stuff. Flirt with the crowd. Encourage the talent. All stuff I assume you’d want nothing to do with.”

Eddie stared. “…Why?”

Volt smiled, softer this time. “Because you’re doing something unique. And because I’ve got a feeling it’ll be fun.”

He stood up, stretching a little. “Well, Eddie,” he said, pulling a napkin from the table and scribbling something. “In case you’re serious. Or if you want help not dying of caffeine overdose.”

Eddie took the napkin cautiously, maintaining eye contact.

“And hey,” Volt added, flashing one last shining grin.

“You ever need someone to distract the crowd in a tough patch—” He leaned in, voice dropping, “—I clean up real well under a spotlight.”