mioka

Marie is depicted by the trio as being a very tenacious and versatile woman, similar to Milo; she seems to have this unrelenting urge to prove something to the pack, as we know she ends up taking the "official position" of being the pack's healer. And when Milo & Sweetheart are back at his place after the whole shade mess, he casually brings up the fact that his mother was disappointed that he had a lack of interest in taking up the mantle of being the pack healer and would've been pleased if he did so.

(Also, I'm pretty sure Milo said chagrin if not, I had no idea wtf he said in that bit then because of his accent. (╥ᆺ╥ ;)

Though Milo seems to end up in this sorta makeshift position where he plays as David's & Asher's advisor, which is sorta ironic, as he was also the one who got the two to fully embrace their roles as Alpha & Beta.

On to Colm: we don't know much about him because of Milo's disdain for him. David & Asher also don't talk much about him, and I'm sure it's possibly because Colm wasn't around much, and they both have their own grudges against him and are like, " Whatever, dude, the only thing good about you is your wife & kid.

The best way I can put it, from what we got, is that Colm seemed dogmatic, that he had to grin and bear it because this was all they got and weren't going to get or couldn't get anything else that would be better than what they already had.

And honestly, when you combine the two, you get Milo.

Throughout his story, it's very clear he's in this toxic cycle with himself, needing to be someone people can depend on without any kind of questions or hesitation, as it is the only way he seems to prove any kind of worth to the pack, and because he's built so much of his identity around it, it's a cycle he's content with and maintaining.

I'm sure the bullying from the pack also helped form this relationship with himself, all under the pretenses of being unintentional. But as we know, Milo ends up getting self-conscious and insecure about what he can do in his shifted form, and it's what drives him to take the possible shade situation out of Gabe & David's hands and into his. To him, this is his way of proving that he can still do what the others can do, and size doesn't matter.

However, even after the whole shade incident, and during and the whole aftermath of the inversion to even the summit arc, Milo carries himself as if he still has something to prove, whether it's from expectations, personal insecurities he still hasn't figured out, or refuses to acknowledge. In the end, he's driven by a need to demonstrate his value through constant service and sacrifice.

There's no denying Milo deeply loves and cares for Sweetheart and his packmates so much that their needs are put above his own, and if allowed, would be pushed out of consideration. He doesn't go to David because he wants David to focus on recovering from his grief rather than focusing on a trivial matter occurring within the pack, and he shakes off Asher during the summit because he doesn't want Asher to suddenly be concerned about what he did to take down the ward; to Milo, it was no longer something they should be worried about as it was now done and over and they needed to move on past it and they had more important things to focus on.

For Milo, accepting love is more difficult than giving it. As giving allowed him to remain in control, being the one to receive it meant he would have to acknowledge his needs or his biggest fear: expressing some kind of vulnerability, and to Milo, vulnerability is a threat to the identity he's built throughout the years.

Though it's one of his most recurring themes. Milo is uncomfortable being on the receiving end because being on the receiving end means expressing weakness or vulnerability. But to Milo, he can't do that because he needs to be strong and reliable; it's who He and Sam are; they're the rocks, and you can't be the rock if you're easily falling apart under pressure and everyone is already panicking.

Another reason he's uncomfortable is because of Sweetheart, who's disrupting this cycle he's so used to. Sweetheart is pushing and pushing and still has to constantly push for Milo to express how he feels, what he wants- all of this stuff Milo isn't used to because it has never been required of him to express what he wants or how he feels. So because Sweetheart is disrupting this familiarity, he freaks out, because now that he's being told all these things, he has to face it, but he doesn't know what to do or how, because he's never been on the receiving end before, and he's scared, as for once something is beyond his control and he's being made to face the unknown.

Milo isn't one to express emotions or show vulnerability. He tries to hide the fact that he's been crying, often resorting to humor while joking around with Sweetheart. He nearly withdraws from David, who checks in on him while they wait for Asher and Babe. In fact, Milo is the least expressive among the group compared to others whose audio interactions often convey emotional or intellectual intimacy. Most of Milo's audio clips reflect a sense of recreational intimacy, and the only time he strays into deeper emotional territory is when he is dealing with some sort of issue.

It’s likely why people can relate to him on different levels or may claim not to be a fan of him because he embodies what they’ve been trying to ignore. As I'm sure many know what it's like to be the dependable friend, the caretaker, the strong one in the family who keeps the family together during whatever turmoil they're facing.

While this role can be rewarding due to the praise it brings, it can also become a trap. Over time, people may feel they must remain strong for the sake of others. Milo exemplifies this struggle; although he is brave, loyal, affectionate, and dependable, he measures his worth by what he can do for others rather than by who he is as a person.

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Anyways I totally can see Asher & Guy being fine as to what happened and honestly they probably just pick it off and keep eating than the absolute reaction I had. Asher probably not be bothered by it because he can't cook even if it meant people lives where oh line. And Guy is a special case, I feel like the man would eat it then ask what was it.

So I very rarely close at work and when I do i just end up stopping at my local 24 hr fast food joint for dinner. Accept this time, because my aunt who I live texted me earlier how she had nab me leftovers from my grandparents, so yay I didn't need to spend 12$ and I had an actual meal to look forward to...unlike most college kids who's diets are nothing but either caffine, instant noodles, and pp&j sandwiches...or maybe the very rare occasion sliver of fruit & veggies they got from the campus canteen.

I will just straight-up eat in the dark if im the only one up, doesn't matter the time of day. Lights are just automatically off if im the only one up. However, I was still a bit hungry so I decide to chow down on a bag of tortillas, to which I just assumed they tasted differently because they were in the pantry and not in the fridge.

Asher got it because he thought it look cool and doesn't go a day of showing it off and is probably a bit more high than typical lower back tattoos. I'm talking about it sitting it more on the waist which btw you can't tell me this man doesn't have a snatched waist that makes everyone immediately jealous.

Milo got it because he knew he could honestly pull it off, though unlike Asher, he mostly likes to keep it hidden because he absolutely loves the reactions it gets out of people when they see it. Definitely teases Sweetheart with it whenever he strips.

Grumbling at Aggro as he gently nudges him away to try to get him to either quit nuzzling him because his whiskers tickled or to quit grooming his hair because of his tongue and fish breath.

Yells at Aggro to go to bed and to quit playing with whatever he has.

Definitely has held Aggro close to him whenever he sleeps, to try and get him to calm down for the night. Sometimes it works, sometimes not.

At some point, Milo got rid of his headboard because he got tired of Aggro jumping off of it and using him as a landing cushion at 3 am. Still confused as to how a tiny being could weigh so much.

Freaked out, sweetheart, the first time they either moved in or stayed the night by just bolting out of bed and making a mad dash towards the bedroom door whenever he heard Aggro chewing on plastic or was getting ready to vomit/cough up a hairball directly on the carpet.

Mostly tries his best to keep Sweetheart safe from Aggro's 3am activities due to wanting them to sleep as much as they can due to their job. Aggro, however, thinks Milo is trying to play with him and will sometimes get a bit too excited and end up biting or getting a nail stuck in his skin, so sometimes it's Milo waking up Sweetheart with his loud cursing.

1000% attacks Sweetheart's & Milo's feet whenever they move around in bed.

It's not like they can't kick him out of the bedroom either because he'll shriek and cry til he's let back in, genuinely sounds like he's being murdered.

Over time, as Aggro got older, he eventually began to semi-calm down and would have periods where he would sleep whenever Milo & Sweetheart were sleeping.

But he says something that catches my attention, which is aside from the fact Darlin & Sam have their place instead of sharing one place like everyone else.

He says the reason they have a place of their own is to avoid being woken up when everyone is awake and moving around in the cabin. First off, are Sam & Darlin just straight-up rotating what parts of the day they're going to be awake or asleep? Second off that alone isn't weird because there's instances where the two are up and about when people are sleeping and then asleep whenever the others are awake. But at the same time for the majority of them being together. They're up whenever everyone is and just tend to leave/show up either early in the morning or late in the day.

Plus you can't tell me David & Angel haven't been lugging around an umbrella/parasol for Sam to use if he does have to step out when the sun is in it peeked hours.

My best guess is that these two nut jobs have just been rotating the hours of the day, which i guess makes Sam a bit semi normal vampire because he’s up more than Vincent & lovely? I don't know at this point anymore, for some reason these vampire act like they're still human and at the same time not.

Anyways that scene and the one from where they're trying to get in the mood but fail and have this little comfy scene.

Something about it strongly screams Asher & Babe vibes, accept Asher can't lift up that high.

Darlin's car bumpers be covered with ductape, the classic garbage bag as the new window. The passenger door being held together by bungee cords. Every now they beat the crap out of their radio for it to work properly again. Probably had a big crack across their windshield from a stupid pebble.

Meanwhile Milo be crawling from the backseat of his car to get into the driver seat because the door no longer opens from the outside. His car no longer drives straight the moment he hits a certian speed so he looks like he constantly fighting the wheel to stay in his lane. Air conditioning was nonexistent in his car and his windows didn't fully roll down so they didn't really help.

At some point they both hit the classic push-start and still refused to get a new car because in their words the car was still in good condition. So unbothered by their car having various issues they probably wouldn't blink an eye if their brakes wouldn't work, because they would've no doubt found another way to break.

Their car was never choosen whenever they went out because the others were deeply afraid of getting in. Sometimes joking that they would actually die if they got into the car. Meanwhile Darlin or Milo be yelling for them to get in the stupid car already because surprise, surprise their horn doesn't work.

However, in my opinion, I think the reason Tristan fell through isn't that he's faceless or the trope; I believe it has to do with the fact that he got introduced a bit too late. And before someone tries mentioning Kayson’s farewell was a year ago, Tristan was mentioned about five years ago. On top of it, he wasn’t really a recurring person either at the time of Andrew’s and Kayson’s story; he was more of a very brief obstacle/push for both of them in driving the story, that was it. 

And I’ll be real, I completely forgot he even existed. I thought he was a completely different person with no real link to the existing or wrapped-up stories until I was in the comment section and people were mentioning Andrew and Kayson, and it clicked in my head that, oh, this is the dude that I guessed got used sorta..… (ᵕ—ᗜ—) 

Here’s another reason I think as to why he possibly fell through.

But first  Imma tell you what my psychology professor tells the class every day, it's her opening sentence for each lecture, and it's drilled into my head. Are you ready? 

The brain likes patterns.

It's why people do things a certain way, it's why people will repeat the very same question at Q&A con panels, classes/work, why certain book genres are more popular than others, and why addictions happen. And it's why people will have freakouts if something is different or if someone interrupts/changes a person's flow in doing something, or tries a completely different genre, because to the brain, this is new, and new is hard to adjust to, especially if they have to get used to it. 

There’s also no denying that Saqu has tropes that he uses frequently, aside from the fact that he does a very good job of making sure that they don’t feel boring and repetitive, and all his stories have their unique touch to them. It’s the fact that because he’s using the same tropes people are used to coming from him, they’re going to hit off because they have an idea of what to expect, and that's comforting. 

Quick off rant before I say what I want say. But I have a question, didn't Colm solely have a gambling addiction? Then the timeline happened and it mentioned how Milo stayed away from alcohol and drugs in fear of becoming like Colm.

But just from that mention of that, it feels like people interpreted as Colm having other issues and im not saying people can have these stack of addictions because they can. But at the same time, I'm just perplexed because when we do get a glimpse of Milo's life before adulthood aside from the timeline, he solely mentions Colm's gambling addiction. Yet you have this other half acting as if Colm had other addiction more so being an alcoholic.

I think what also feeds into it is how the media majorly portrays gamblers because you'll see them drinking heavily, smoking or doing illegal drug activities, then sprinkle in the itty bitty teeny tiny people with just gambling addiction but would lightly drink or help themselves to a little smoke and not be doing illegal drugs.

Another think is that Milo quotes that his father would gamble anything off as to chase his next high, and sure one could accidentally misinterpret it as drug or alcohol related. What you need to know the most is that gambling and drug addiction are similar because they both cause the brain in triggering dopamine which creates that "high" feeling.

And I'm going to stop there before I drift off completely and rant about addictions, how they work, and why i think Gambling is way more dangerous than most addictions.

Must contain my Healthcare student urges.

՞߹ - ߹՞

That being said, I do like the idea of Milo being infatuated with boozy, liquor or tobacco scented things more so because they remind him of Colm. Also it just more so stirs up bittersweet of old memories before their relationship completely went downhill.

But it like it the only scent Milo knows him by because it not like some random gambling spot or casino will be smelling of florals, wood, or whatever good scent there is.

𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯

 Streetlights hummed faintly, their amber glow pooling in soft halos over empty sidewalks and driveways lined with sleeping cars. A warm breeze wandered through the trees, stirring leaves. Somewhere far off, a dog barked once, then thought better of it. Crickets stitched the silence together, their steady rhythm claiming the streets as their own.

The old playground sat at the edge of the neighborhood like a memory no one had the heart to replace. Its metal frame held the chill of the night, faintly rusted in places, the scent of iron and damp mulch rising together in a strange, earthy tang. The swing chains creaked now and then when the wind leaned too hard against them, a slow, uneven rhythm that filled the silence in place of voices.

Darlin perched on the climbing structure, and they hugged their legs close to their chest, their chin resting on top of their knees, eyes fixed on the uneven stretch of mulch below. The mulch was dark, uneven, scattered with brittle leaves and the occasional pale chip that caught the porchlight glow. They stared so long it blurred, shapes dissolving into nothing, but their thoughts refused to do the same.

They hadn’t meant to snap. That was the worst part. It hadn’t been some slow boil, no warning signs rising to the surface. One second, they were laughing, really laughing, the kind that made their chest feel full, and the next, something inside them had buckled. Words came out too fast, too sharp, like glass flung without aim. The look on their faces after…God.

Darlin squeezed their legs tighter.

“Stupid,” they whispered, sharper this time, scolding themselves like it might undo anything.

The word didn’t feel strong enough, so they bit the inside of their cheek, hard enough to sting. It grounded them for half a second before the spiral picked back up again. The night had been good. It had been theirs, in that fragile way things sometimes were, like maybe, just maybe, they were finally easing into something that felt like belonging.

And then they had ruined it.

Of course, they had.

A few years. That was all it had been since the move. A few years of trying to wedge themselves into spaces already filled, already shaped by years of shared memories they didn’t have. Jokes they didn’t understand right away. Stories they weren’t part of. A constant balancing act between trying too hard and not trying enough. Darlin had always been the loose end, trying to knot themselves into something that was already whole. Sometimes it worked, or at least felt like it did. Sometimes they could pretend they weren’t the extra piece.

Tonight had almost been one of those times.

Darlin pressed their forehead into their knees, breathing in the faint scent of laundry soap from their hoodie, something clean and familiar against the restless churn in their chest. 

Of course, there was always him whom they could call. 

He made it easier. Not perfect, never perfect…but easier. Like there was a place, however small, that had been left open for them. Their thoughts circled. Call him. Don’t call him. What if he didn’t answer? What if he did, but his voice was different, flat, distant, already halfway gone? Worse, what if he was right with what he’d said before?

Their phone felt heavier in their pocket with every second they didn’t reach for it.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe this path wasn’t truly meant for them. Despite the deep yearning that coursed through their veins, a longing for connection, for acceptance, for those precious moments shared with others, it felt as if every attempt to reach out only led to fleeting bliss that vanished in an instant. It was a bittersweet irony that no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t hold onto those connections without feeling as if they were on the verge of fracturing under the weight of their desire. 

It was utterly ridiculous how heavy everything felt, as if an invisible burden pressed down on their shoulders. What seemed effortless and joyful for everyone else, those simple acts of fitting in, laughing freely, and forging friendships, had transformed for them into an exhausting emotional battleground. Each interaction became a relentless push and pull, a game of intricate dance steps that left them off balance and breathless. 

They would muster the courage to take one hopeful step forward, only to find themselves yanked back two steps into the familiar terrain of isolation and doubt. With each flicker of optimism, every moment spent believing they had finally discovered solid ground, the ground itself would betray them, shifting unexpectedly beneath their feet, leaving them scrambling to regain their footing in a world that felt perpetually out of reach.

Their shoulders curled in further, as if they could fold themselves out of existence entirely.

The touch came suddenly, a light tap against their shoulder. 

Darlin jolted, the reaction immediate and ungraceful. They unraveled from themselves with a startled yelp, nearly losing their balance as they whipped their head up. Their heart slammed hard against their ribs, breath catching halfway to a gasp.

“Whoa, hey, hey, sorry!”

The voice was familiar. Low and rough at the edges, but pitched just high enough to carry a kind of restless energy through it.

Asher 

Asher stood below them, one hand still half-raised where he’d tapped them, the other shoved awkwardly into the pocket of his jacket. His shoulders were hunched, not from the cold, but from something tighter, more uncertain.

“I tried calling you,” he added, glancing briefly away before looking back up. “A couple of times. You didn’t, uh—yeah. Guess you didn’t hear.” 

Darlin swallowed, the echo of their racing pulse still loud in their ears. “Jesus christ you scared the shit out of me, Ash.” 

“Yeah, I got that part,” he replied, a small, crooked smile tugging at one side of his mouth. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. Even in the dim light, they were too full, too much going on beneath the surface. There was an apology there, unmistakable, but it tangled with something heavier. Guilt, maybe. Frustration. A flicker of something like hurt. It all moved together, shifting too quickly to pin down, like a storm you could see coming but couldn’t quite predict.

Aside from it all, it was one of those rare occasions he was actually alone. Asher was rarely by himself. He moved through people as if he belonged there, like the center of gravity in any room he entered. Usually, Milo was nearby, or David, or a loose cluster of others drawn in by his energy. He had a way of filling space, of making it feel occupied even when it wasn’t.

“So,” he said lightly, though the edge in his voice betrayed the effort, “you gonna let me up there, or am I taking my rightful place on the world’s least comfortable mulch?”

Darlin stared at him for a second longer, then shifted wordlessly, scooting to the side. The metal bar was cold against their thigh as they made space. He grabbed hold of the structure and hoisted himself up with practiced ease, the metal rattling softly under his weight. His shoe scraped against one of the bars, sending a dull clang into the quiet before he swung himself onto the platform beside them.

His shoulders brushed Darlin’s for a moment before he settled, and even that brief contact felt charged, like static in dry air. He smelled faintly of something clean and sharp, maybe soap or cologne, layered over the cool night.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

They sat side by side, legs dangling over the edge, staring out at the empty playground. The silence wasn’t empty, though. It was thick, crowded with everything unsaid.

Darlin’s fingers twisted together in their lap. They could feel the words pressing again, insistent.

“I messed up,” they said finally, the words quiet but steady. 

Asher didn’t respond right away. He leaned back slightly on his hands, gaze drifting upward toward the dim scatter of stars barely visible past the streetlights.

“Yeah,” he admitted after a beat. It wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t soft either. Just honest. 

Darlin winced, their fingers tightening in their sleeves. “I just…,” they swallowed, their voice catching. “I feel like I’m always messing things up. Like I get close to—” they gestured vaguely, frustration creeping in, “—whatever this is, and then I just ruin it.”

Asher was quiet for a second, his expression shifting again, less storm now, more something grounded. “You don’t ruin it,” he said. “You just… make it harder on yourself than it needs to be.”

Darlin snorted softly. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

“Wasn’t meant to be,” he shot back, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth this time, more genuine than before. Then it faded, his tone settling again. “Look, you’re not the only one who gets in their own way. You just happen to be… really good at it.”

A weak laugh slipped out of Darlin before they could stop it.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Anytime.”

For a while, neither of them said anything. The crickets kept their steady rhythm, a soft, endless chorus humming through the grass. Leaves rustled overhead in uneven sighs as the breeze wandered through, brushing against branches and slipping between the bars of the playground equipment. 

Eventually, their shoulders drew in again, chin dipping slightly.

“...Sorry.”

The word slipped out quietly, almost reluctantly. They didn’t look at him when they said it. Their hair fell forward, creating a thin curtain between them and the rest of the world, as if that might soften the weight of being seen.

Asher let out a quiet huff of a laugh beside them.

“What’re you apologizing for this time?” he asked, tone light—almost genuinely puzzled.

Asher leaned back on his hands, tilting his head slightly as if trying to recall something distant.

 “For… earlier,” they muttered. “At the sleepover.” They exhaled sharply through their nose. “I screwed up the mood. Picked a fight for no reason.”

“The fight?” he echoed, like it barely registered. “Oh. That.”

Darlin blinked, a flicker of disbelief breaking through their guarded posture.

“That’s it?” they said, a little sharper than they meant. “That’s all you have to say?”

He shrugged one shoulder lazily. “What, you want a full dramatic recap? I can do voices if it helps.”

Darlin stared at him.

Then, because they couldn’t help it, they groaned quietly and dragged a hand down their face. “I’m being serious,” they insisted. 

“Me too.” 

“Asher-” 

“I mean it!” he laughed. He shifted slightly, turning more toward them, one knee pulling up as he rested an arm over it. There was something thoughtful in his expression now, less chaotic than usual.

“You ever see those videos,” he started, “of people rescuing feral kittens?”

Darlin stared at him, confusion cutting clean through their panic. “What?”

“Like, they find ‘em under porches or in dumpsters or whatever,” he continued, gesturing vaguely. “All tiny and scrappy. And when someone tries to help, they’re just—” He made a small clawing motion with his hand. “Hissing. Spitting. Acting like they’re about to throw hands with God.” 

Darlin stared at him, thoroughly perplexed.

“…Okay?”

“But the thing is,” Asher continued, glancing at them now, something softer threading through his voice, “they don’t actually do any real harm. They’re just scared. Not used to being cared for. Not used to someone… sticking around long enough to help or being gentle with them, so they freak out.”

He glanced at them then, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

“Kind of like you.”

Darlin opened their mouth, then closed it again.

Perplexed didn’t even begin to cover it.

“I do not hiss,” they said finally, a weak attempt at defense.

Asher snorted. “Debatable.”

“Shut up.”

He grinned, but it softened quickly, his tone settling again.

“Everyone’s got their own way of showing they care,” he went on. “And their own way of dealing with it when they do. You just… default to defense mode. Doesn’t make you bad at it. Just means you’re not used to it yet.”

Darlin swallowed, their chest feeling tight in a different way now.

“As for the others,” Asher added, ticking them off casually, “David’s gonna bulldoze his way into helping whether you like it or not. That’s just who he is. Means well—just doesn’t always know when to ease up.”

A faint huff of breath escaped Darlin at that. Accurate.

“And Milo,” Asher continued, “he’s the opposite. He’ll just sit there and wait you out. Won’t say a word until you’re ready. Which is great, unless you’re, you know—” he gestured toward them again, “you. Then you both just end up sitting in silence forever.”

A small, reluctant smile tugged at Darlin’s mouth.

“And me,” Asher said, tapping his chest lightly, “I’m just… incredibly charming and emotionally intelligent. Obviously.”

That earned him a quiet scoff.

“Obviously.”

“Obviously,” he echoed, satisfied.

He glanced over again, his expression settling into something steady.

“Point is… they care. We all do.”

“And caring for each other means sometimes arguing, but ultimately making up in the end. It’s about having those important conversations where we discuss our boundaries, expectations, and all the nuances of our relationship, rather than allowing a single bad moment to overshadow everything else,” Asher said, his voice steady and sincere. This wasn’t the Asher they had always known—the loud, exuberant joker who could turn any situation into a punchline and rarely allowed anything to weigh on him for long. No, this version of him felt profoundly different; he radiated a sense of grounding and introspection that left them momentarily speechless. 

Darlin's eyes widened, a flicker of awe crossing their features before they could mask it. They studied him, taking in the way his usual playful demeanor had been replaced by a depth they rarely saw. 

“…Who are you,” they murmured in disbelief, “and what have you done with Asher?”

Asher blinked at them.

Then, almost on cue, the moment shattered.

“Oh, wow,” he scoffed, straightening abruptly. “I pour my heart out, give you top-tier, life-changing advice, and this is the thanks I get?”

“You don’t drop wisdom,” Darlin shot back. “You trip over things and accidentally say something smart once a year.”

“Excuse you,” he scoffed, already slipping back into something more familiar. “That was at least twice this year.” Before Darlin could react, his arm slung around their shoulders, pulling them sideways into him.

“Hey!” Darlin yelped, panic flaring as the sudden shift in balance made the structure creak. “Asher, what are you—stop! We’re gonna fall!”

“Woe is me!” he lamented dramatically, ignoring their flailing as he tightened his grip just enough to keep them from actually tipping. “Cursed with the burden of caring! Forced to deliver heartfelt wisdom to an ungrateful audience!”

“Get off!” Darlin shoved at him, half-laughing despite the spike of adrenaline. “I’m serious!”

“Behold!” he continued, louder now, gesturing wildly with his free hand. “The tragedy of my existence, kind, compassionate, and devastatingly wise.”

“You’re insufferable!”

“And yet, here I am, choosing to associate with you anyway, truly, my generosity knows no bounds—”

 Darlin let out a breathless, helpless laugh, the sound breaking free before they could stop it.

Eventually, the energy burned itself out.

Asher let his arm drop back to his side, both of them settling into something calmer again. The night stretched on around them, unchanged but somehow lighter. After a moment, Asher took a deeper breath, like he was bracing himself for something smaller this time.

Then he hopped down.

The drop wasn’t far, but it landed with a soft thud against the mulch, the sound dull and grounded. He turned back immediately, looking up at Darlin. “You ready to head back?” he asked. There was no pressure in it, just an offer.

He held out his hand.

Darlin hesitated for only a second before reaching down and taking it. His grip was warm, steady as he helped guide them down. They landed beside him with a small, awkward thud, catching their balance just in time. “I meant it, you know.”

Darlin glanced up.

“All of it,” he added, his voice softer than it had been all night. “You’re not… alone in this. You don’t have to be.” His grip tightened just a fraction. “We’ve got you. I’ve got you.” The words settled somewhere deep, unfamiliar and fragile.

Darlin nodded.

Asher seemed to accept that, because a second later, the moment shifted again, as a switch had flipped. “Alright!” he chirped suddenly, energy snapping back into place as he swung their joined hands between them. “Adventure awaits!”

Darlin blinked. “What?”

“We journey forth,” he continued, already pulling them along, “back to the sacred land of David’s house—”

“You mean the sleepover you abandoned?”

“Where legends are born,” he pressed on, ignoring them completely, “and snacks are probably being eaten without us.”

“That part is actually a tragedy.”

“And where I will absolutely destroy everyone in whatever game they’re playing.”

Darlin huffed a quiet laugh as they fell into step beside him. Asher swung their hands between them, off-key singing spilling out into the night. 

“♪♫~ Two brave idiots on a quest so grand♪♫~”

“I hate this song.”

“♪♫~Through suburban streets, hand in hand♪♫~”

“Stop.”

“♪♫~ To reclaim their honor and snacks untold♪♫~”

“You’re making it worse.”

“♪♫~And maybe not freeze because it’s kinda cold♪♫~”

Darlin shook their head, but the smile stayed.

The playground faded behind them as they walked, the quiet of the neighborhood stretching ahead, not empty anymore, but full of something softer.

-

The quiet had been traded for something warmer, fuller. Laughter lived in the walls now, tucked into corners and woven into the furniture as it had always belonged there. The air carried the rich scent of buttered popcorn and something sweet baking in the oven, mingling with the faint citrus of a candle flickering lazily on the coffee table. David and Angel’s place had become something of a constant over the years, a center point.

The living room had been overtaken. Blankets layered over blankets, pillows stolen from every corner of the house, all arranged into something resembling a nest more than any proper seating arrangement. A movie played in the background, its light casting soft, shifting shadows across the room. No one was really watching it. Asher lay sprawled across the floor, half on a blanket, half off, like he hadn’t bothered to commit to comfort entirely. One arm was tucked behind his head, the other resting lazily across his stomach. His socked foot nudged idly at the edge of the makeshift nest, as if testing its structural integrity purely out of habit.

Darlin sat right beside him, close enough that their shoulder brushed his whenever they shifted. Their posture was loose now, easy in a way it hadn’t been years ago. They were mid-conversation with Milo, who lounged across from them, one arm draped over the back of the couch like he owned it, with Sweetheart curled up against his side. It wasn’t til Milo had excused himself to nab another drink for him and Sweetheart, along with seeing if David needed help in the kitchen, that Darlin noticed him. 

Just… staring. With this weird, soft, borderline ridiculous expression on his face, like someone who’d just remembered something good and decided to sit in it for a while.

Darlin blinked. “…What?” they asked, one brow lifting.

Asher didn’t answer immediately. If anything, his grin widened, slow, toothy, unashamed. “What’s with the stupid look?” Darlin pressed, nudging his shoulder lightly with their foot. “What?” he echoed, feigning innocence. “I can’t look at my best friend?”

“With that face? No. Absolutely not. Fix it.”

Asher inhaled sharply, his eyes wide with mock outrage, as Sweetheart and Angel stifled their laughter behind their hands. "Oh, I see how it is," he exclaimed, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "I was just about to express how thrilled I am to have you here with us, but I guess that’s off the table now!" He shot a playful glare in their direction, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Darlin stared at him for half a second. Then their face twisted dramatically into mock disgust. “Ew,” they said, recoiling. “What is this? When did you turn into such a sap?”

“Wow,” Asher gasped, offended. “I pour my heart out to you for a second time! And you still treat me the same way!”

“Oh, you did not pour your heart out,” they shot back.  They didn’t give him time to recover before they flopped fully on top of him, knocking the air out of his lungs in a surprised oof.“You’re turning into a sap,” they accused, squinting down at him. “It’s tragic, really.”

“I am being attacked,” Asher wheezed, struggling beneath them. “In my own home.”

“This is David’s house.”

“In a home I frequent!”

Darlin snorted, shoving at his shoulder as he tried to push them off. It quickly devolved into a half-hearted tussle, limbs tangling as they both attempted, and failed, to gain any real advantage. 

“Hey!” Asher twisted beneath them, trying to push them off. “Respect your elders!”

“I refuse!”

The blankets shifted dangerously beneath them, the carefully constructed nest beginning to collapse under the sudden chaos.

From the couch, Angel’s voice rang out, amused but warning, “Don’t you dare ruin that—we just fixed it!”

“And I swear,” Sweetheart added, half-laughing, half-serious, “if you ruin this nest we worked so hard on.”

Then

They bolted.

Darlin scrambled up first, nearly tripping over a pillow as they darted away. Asher followed immediately, scrambling to his feet with a laugh. “Get back here!” he called, already chasing after them. They circled the room, laughter spilling freely now, uncontained and bright.

Milo appeared first, pausing in the doorway with a raised brow. “The hell is goin’ on out here?” David stepped up behind him, arms crossed loosely, expression unreadable but unsurprised. “Could be anything,” he said in that low, guttural tone. “Odds are fifty-fifty it’s Asher’s fault.”

“David!” 

Darlin seized the distraction, grabbing Asher’s sleeve and yanking him off balance. He stumbled forward with a startled laugh, and suddenly Milo was getting dragged into it too, caught mid-step as Darlin collided into him. “Yo! Watch it!”

Too late.

David tried to step back, but Asher reached out and caught him around the waist in a last-ditch effort to stay upright. “Don’t you dare!” David started.

They all went down anyway.

A chaotic tangle of limbs and playful protests spilled onto the floor in a jumbled heap.“Careful now!” Sam’s voice cut through the noise, warm and firm with a southern lilt. “Before you break somethin’ or yourselves.” He emerged from the kitchen, a dish towel slung casually over his shoulder, accompanied by Babe, who watched the scene unfold with a spark of amusement dancing in their eyes. Both Sweetheart and Angel had turned away from the flickering glow of the television, their expressions mirroring Babe’s with twin looks of bemusement as they leaned over the back of the couch. The four on the floor, arms and legs intertwined, laughter bubbling up around them, were caught in a joyful tussle, their faces lit with delight as they rolled and wrestled, a vibrant snapshot of carefree happiness amidst the cozy chaos.

Eventually, the energy burned itself out.

It always did.

They collapsed where they were, a tangled mess of limbs and overlapping breaths, laughter fading into softer chuckles. For a moment, no one moved.

Then

“…I really do love you guys,” Asher said, voice quieter now, but no less certain.

A beat.

Then 

“God, he’s worse now,” Darlin muttered. “Unbelievable,” Milo added. “Man hits thirty, and suddenly he’s a poet. I always thought it would be David to be the first to be hit with sentimental age.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you,” David deadpanned.  “I—” Milo huffed, shifting slightly before immediately stopping as he winced. “Alright, serious question, anyone else stuck, or is it just me?”

“Someone’s foot is jabbed right into my ribs,” David said with a measured calmness, though his voice hinted at the discomfort he was enduring. Asher, feeling the urgent need to adjust, shifted in response only to let out an involuntary gasp when Milo gave him a playful smack on the arm. “Quit moving! Just stay still; it really hurts when you wriggle around like that,” he retorted, his annoyance starting to bubble over as he glanced in Milo’s direction.

Beside them, Darlin sighed, a wry smile creeping across their lips as they tried to peer at Sam from their weird headlock, who was crouched nearby, observing their chaotic entanglement. “I fear we’re stuck in a wretched game of Twister and can’t seem to find a way to untwist ourselves,” they mused, casting an exaggeratedly dramatic glance at the mismatched limbs and flailing bodies around them. Sam let out a hearty chuckle, shaking his head in amused disbelief at the comical scene before him.

Mist clung low to the earth, threading between roots and fallen branches, carrying the smell of wet bark and pine sap. The trail, if it could still be called that, had long since given itself back to the woods. Ferns brushed at ankles, brambles caught at sleeves, and the hush of early morning held everything in a careful, waiting stillness. 

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Milo asked, raising a brow at Asher, who excitedly jumped off a nearby log before extending his hand for Babe to take and help them down.  “Positive,” Asher answered, his voice carrying that raspy, matter-of-fact edge, as the conclusion had already been reached long before the question was asked. He rolled his shoulders once, like a runner about to take off, though there was no starting line yet just trees, breath, and anticipation.

Babe snorted softly. “How reassuring.”

David stood a little apart from the group, massive even in stillness. His presence was less movement and more gravity the way the space seemed to settle around him. Angel leaned lightly against his arm, familiar with the quiet strength there. Milo stretched lazily, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Relax,” he said, his voice smooth and husky, words shaped with a faint East Coast lilt. “Worst thing out here is him.” He jerked his chin toward Asher.

“Hey,” Asher shot back without heat.

The others laughed under their breath.

A few paces off, Sam adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, expression calm, almost contemplative. The early light didn’t quite touch him; it slid around him instead, as if uncertain where to land. His voice, when he spoke, carried that easy Southern drawl, soft but grounded.

“Seein’ how you brought us out to some old trail, I reckon you have something in mind, Asher.” 

Darlin stood beside him, quiet, still, and watching. Even in human form, there was something carved into them, something that had endured and remained. The scars were there, thin white lines crossing knuckles, cutting through brow, disappearing beneath collar. Old violence, worn like memory. They didn’t speak, only tilted their head slightly, listening to something no one else could hear. 

Asher turned, eyes lighting. “Yeah. We are.”

David’s gaze shifted to him. Slow. Measuring.

Asher’s grin widened.

“Going to race.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Milo barked a laugh. “You’re kiddin’.”

“Nope.”

David exhaled slowly, a sound low and gravel-deep. “Should’ve guessed you had this planned,” he said, voice flat, guttural, more statement than complaint.

“And you always keep up,” Asher shot back.

Milo chuckled. “He’s got you there, big guy.”

“It’s nothing more than a fun team race, our mates will ride on our backs, and whoever makes it back to the parking lot wins.” Asher explains, then looks back at Sam, “Of course, you race against us too, or are your bones too old to keep up?” 

There was something in the way Sam’s smile shifted then, slow, deliberate, a little dangerous.

“Careful,” he said softly. “You might regret invitin’ me.”

Darlin made a low, rough sound in their throat, something almost like amusement.

The decision settled over them like a spark catching dry kindling.

Without another word, David turned toward the brush. Milo followed, still smiling. Asher didn’t hesitate. Darlin lingered only long enough to glance once at Sam before stepping into the green shadow after the others.

The forest swallowed them.

For a moment, there was only the rustle of leaves and the faint crack of bones, causing the others to shudder from discomfort. “I’ll never get used to that part,” Angel uttered. Babe hugged their arms. “Same.”

A low sound broke through the quiet, not quite a growl, not quite a breath, and the brush parted.

David emerged first.

Massive.

His wolf form carried the same weight as his human one, broad, powerful, fur dark and dense, eyes steady and unyielding. He held his clothes in his jaws like it meant nothing at all, stepping forward with slow, grounded certainty. Angel didn’t hesitate. They stepped forward, taking the fabric from him, fingers brushing briefly against coarse fur to which David let out a small huff. 

Milo followed, smaller by comparison but still enormous by any human standard. Leaner. Quicker. His fur caught the dim light in softer shades, eyes bright with amusement even in this form. He dropped his clothes in Sweetheart’s hands with a playful flick of his head.

Asher burst out third, energy barely contained; his fur was lighter, streaked with pale tones that caught what little light filtered through the trees. He tossed his clothes toward Babe with a quick snap of his head, already shifting his weight as he might bolt at any second.

Last came Darlin. 

Their fur was rougher and uneven, lines cutting through their fur, patches where it grew uneven, where the past had left its mark. But there was nothing weak in them. They moved with a quiet, lethal grace, eyes watchful, posture coiled. As the others placed their mates' clothes into the bags they had brought with them, Sam stepped forward. Sam stepped forward slightly. “You alright there?” he asked, voice gentle. Darlin made a low, gruff sound, not quite a growl, not quite a reassurance. Sam smiled faintly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

One by one, the mates climbed carefully onto their partners’ backs, fingers threading into thick fur, legs finding balance along powerful frames. There was familiarity in the motion, but also something new: a shared glance, a breath held a little tighter. Angel settled against David’s shoulders, steadying themselves. Sweetheart leaned low over Milo’s back, already grinning. Babe adjusted their grip on Asher, bracing. 

The wolves and Sam formed a loose line, shifting paws, adjusting stance. The forest around them seemed to lean in, the quiet stretching thin. “Count of us will you? After all, this was Asher’s idea.” Sweetheart suggested to Babe, who let out a chuckle with a shake of their head. 

“Fine. On three.”

The others stilled.

“One”

Muscles coiled.

“Two”

Breath held.

“Thr—HEY!”

Asher launched.

Babe’s yelp snapped into laughter and outrage as the world lurched. Wind tore past them as Asher shot through the trees, already gaining ground. Behind them, a chorus of barks and snarls erupted.

“Asher, you cheater!”

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m going to bite him.”

David surged forward with a force that shook the ground beneath him. Angel clung tighter, laughter spilling out as the forest blurred into streaks of green and blue. Milo darted after them, quick and agile, weaving between trees with sharp precision. Sweetheart whooped, ducking instinctively as branches whipped past. Darlin launched forward more steadily but beside them. 

Sam vanished.

Not entirely.

But nearly.

He moved like something unbound by the same rules—his form a flicker, a blur slipping between trees faster than the eye could track. The air bent around him. Leaves stirred in his wake.

“Y’all better pick it up,” his voice drifted back, calm and almost amused.

 “Move faster, you guys! Or the old man wins!” Asher said.

David’s pace increased, strides lengthening into something relentless and powerful. Angel pressed closer, breathless with exhilaration.

“Faster! Come on! Don’t you dare lose!” they shouted, voice lost to the wind.

Milo cut sharply over a fallen log, barely touching it before launching forward again. Sweetheart leaned with him, trusting completely. Asher zigzagged through the trees, reckless and fast, Babe half-laughing, half-scolding into his fur.

The forest came alive around them, branches snapping, paws thundering against earth, the rush of a creek as they leapt it in a spray of cold water and reflected dawnlight. The world blurred into motion and sensation.

Wind.

Fur.

Laughter.

The sharp scent of pine and damp soil. The distant, fleeting trace of something wild and electric, Sam, just ahead, then gone again. Darlin ran in silence, steady and enduring, scars catching the light with each stride.

The forest stretched wider as they ran through thinner trees, longer sightlines, the ground sloping into familiar territory. The air shifted too, carrying the faint mineral scent of the creek that marked the edge of their loop. Dawn pressed a little brighter now, though the canopy still held most of it at bay.

Darlin felt it before it fully arrived. A familiar pang.

It started deep buried somewhere behind the ribs, threading outward like cold iron twisting through muscle. Their stride hitched for half a fraction of a second, barely noticeable, but enough for their heart to drop into something heavier. 

No…Not now. They thought. Their ears flicked back briefly, a subtle shake of the head as if they could dislodge the sensation. They pressed forward instead, digging into the earth, forcing their body into rhythm again.

Just gnore it. 

Keep going! They told themselves. 

Ahead, Asher’s pale form cut through the trees, fast and reckless, his energy sharp as a live wire. Darlin surged, closing the distance in a few long strides. Asher snapped playfully toward their shoulder, a quick nip meant more to provoke than harm. Darlin twisted cleanly out of reach and returned the gesture, teeth grazing air where his flank had been a heartbeat earlier.

“Oh, you’re not passing me!” Asher’s voice rang through the bond, rough with laughter and defiance.

Darlin surged ahead. For a brief, fleeting moment, the pain dulled beneath the rush of the wind tearing past, the forest bending around them as they overtook him. Asher’s presence dropped just behind their shoulder, close enough to feel the heat of him, but no longer in front.

Then—

Milo.

He moved with a different kind of speed, not reckless like Asher, not heavy like David. Efficient. Controlled. Every step placed with intent. Sweetheart leaned low against him, laughing into the wind. Behind them, Asher snarled something indignant and pushed harder.

“Aww, come on, guys, let me win, will you?” Asher whined 

“How do you end up losing to something you suggested?” Milo asked, briefly glancing back at Asher, who barked at the two. 

“Well, it was just me and tank til you cut me off.” 

“And look who’s in last.” 

“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” 

“Either way, we’ve officially lost to Sam,” David interjected. 

“So then we all agree second place belongs to Babe and me, right?”Asher said, Milo let out a snort as he and Darlin surged ahead, “think again.” Milo told him.  Darlin would said something if not the pain became more and more unbearable with each stride they took. Pain spiked through their chest as they launched over a fallen log, something catching wrong mid-air, they landed harder than intended, paws skidding slightly against damp earth. 

The forest blurred again. Breath, rhythm, motion. They locked into it, forcing their body into compliance even as they protested. Ahead, Sam flickered between the trees, untouchable, effortless. A ghost of motion more than a runner. Behind him were David and Angel. Angel clung tight, laughter still threading through their breath as David pushed harder, each stride pounding into the earth with quiet authority.

Darlin adjusted, angling toward him, drawing closer. His gaze flickered back at them just as they briefly slipped before finding their footing again. “You alright?” he asked, voice low, steady, cutting through the noise. “Don’t feel like you have to push yourself.”

Darlin surged forward, brushing past him with a flick of their shoulder.

“Watch where you’re going,” they shot back, tone light despite the strain curling underneath. “You’re gonna crash with Angel if you keep looking back.”

David huffed, something between annoyance and reluctant acceptance, and refocused ahead. Behind them, Asher groaned dramatically. “I should’ve made Sam ride. This is unfair because Tank is basically cheating, having no rider.” 

“Didn’t you basically challenge him?” David shot back, glancing back at the three who were slowly catching up. 

A beat.

“…Yeah, alright, that one’s on me.”

Their pace didn’t falter, though the pain gnawed deeper now, threading through each stride, each impact. Milo closed in again. Asher, stubborn as ever, followed. The four of them ran nearly neck and neck now, weaving through trees, leaping over roots and stones in tight synchronization.

The forest began to thin.

Light crept in more steadily now, still weak, still early, but enough to outline the clearing ahead. The parking lot. And there was Sam.

He was already there.

Of course he was.

Reclined beneath the wide sprawl of a tree, comfortably settled in the shade as if he hadn’t just outrun four wolves through dense forest. One leg stretched out, the other bent lazily, arms resting behind him.

Completely unbothered.

As they burst into the clearing, he turned his head toward them and smiled. A. Slow. Smug. Smile. 

He lifted a hand and gave them an easy wave. “Took y’all long enough.”

The clearing opened wider ahead, the great tree rising like a quiet sentinel where the trail curved and ended. Darlin’s stride broke first. It was subtle at the start. A half-step shorter. A hesitation where there hadn’t been one before. The rhythm they’d forced their body into began to fracture under the weight of something older, deeper, unavoidable.

Pain flooded in. Not sharp anymore, it was worse.

A spreading ache that lit up every scar, every old wound buried beneath fur and flesh. It crawled through their limbs, turned each step into something jagged and wrong, like running through splintered glass. Slowly, Milo and Sweetheart passed them and were now up against David and Angel, leaving just them, Asher, and Babe. 

Neck and neck for a heartbeat.

Darlin’s vision blurred, not from speed, but from strain. The world flickered at the edges, every movement dragging against resistance their body could no longer hide.

Asher pushed forward, stubborn, relentless, but Darlin couldn’t match it anymore, and they fell back. Asher crossed the invisible finish with a dramatic, drawn-out howl of defeat that echoed through the clearing like he’d lost something far more significant than a race.

“I wasn’t last!” his voice snapped back into words as he skidded to a stop.

Laughter broke instantly.

Babe doubled over against him. Sweetheart’s voice rang bright. Angel leaned against David, breathless and grinning. Even Sam chuckled low under his breath, shaking his head.

David huffed.

Milo snorted.

Darlin

slowed.

Stopped.

The moment the race ended, so did whatever thin thread had been holding them together. They limped forward, no longer hiding it, each step uneven, heavy. The strain carved plainly into their movements now, into the way their head dipped lower, shoulders tightening against pain that refused to be ignored any longer.

Sam’s gaze sharpened the second he noticed. Darlin reached him and didn’t hesitate. They sank beside him, body folding with a quiet heaviness, and lowered their massive head into his lap with a deep, exhausted exhale. The breath left them like something carried for far too long.

Sam’s hand came to them immediately, steady, familiar fingers threading gently through their fur, careful of the ridges where scars lay beneath. “Easy now,” he murmured, voice low and soft, the southern cadence even gentler here. Behind them, the others were already moving.

David, Milo, and Asher crouched low, allowing their mates to slide carefully from their backs. Concern replaced laughter in an instant, hands lingering against fur, eyes scanning for what they hadn’t noticed before. Angel clasps their hands together, “Are they okay?” 

Sam nodded as he continued to stroke Darlin’s fur, “tired, that’s all, promise you there’s nothing to worry.” David approached more slowly. Measured. His voice, when it came, was firm but quieter than before. “You should’ve said something.”

Darlin’s ear flicked.

"Save it."

The thought carried less bite than usual, more fatigue than defiance.

“It’s just the scars,” they added after a beat. “I ran this old body into the ground one too many times. Finally caught up.” 

Asher stepped closer, all restless energy softened into something more careful. He lowered his head, nudging Darlin lightly with his muzzle.“Yeah, well,” his voice came quieter now, stripped of its usual sharpness, “we care about you too, you know.”

A pause.

“I shouldn’t’ve pushed the race,” he added, almost grudgingly. “I didn’t know—”

“Don’t you start,” Darlin cut in, lifting their head just enough to nudge him back.

“I’m fine. Promise.” 

A breath.

“I had fun,” they admitted. “I haven’t had that much in a long time.”

Then, a flicker of dry humor, “Just getting old.” Milo snorted immediately. “Oh, that’s it,” he said, voice slipping easily back into its teasing lilt. “You've been spendin’ too much time with the old man.”

Darlin let out something between a grunt and a chuckle, and then, without warning, rolled their weight sideways into Sam. The impact pressed him back into the tree with a startled sound that broke into laughter as Darlin pawed at him clumsily, half-affectionate, half-retaliatory.

“Hey, easy now,” Sam laughed, bracing himself. “You’re a bit bigger than you think, darlin.” Angel laughed outright. Sweetheart joined in immediately. Babe clapped a hand over their mouth, barely containing it.

David shook his head once, then turned toward Angel. He nudged them gently. Angel blinked, then nodded quickly, already reaching into their bag. “Oh, right, your clothes, here.” They said, handing him his clothes. 

Milo and Asher followed suit, clasping down onto the wad of clothes handed to them. Sam slid his hand under Darlin’s jaw, helping guide them upright. “C’mon,” he said softly. “Up you get.”

Darlin pushed to their paws with a low, strained breath. Asher moved in immediately, pressing his side against theirs without comment, letting them lean as much as they needed. Sam passed Darlin theirs, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

The two slipped into the brush together, with Milo and David trailing behind them.  The forest swallowed them once more, and then, just as quickly, returned them. The four stepped back into the parking lot.  Sam approached Darlin again, eyes scanning them carefully. “You sure you don’t want me to take a look?” he asked, voice softer now. “Could fix you up.”

Darlin shook their head. “I’m alright,” they said, a little rough around the edges. “Just sore.”

Sam studied them for a moment longer before nodding his head. 

David opened his mouth, though before he could say anything,  Asher clapped his hands together. “Alright!” he said, far too loud for the quiet morning. “Breakfast. Immediately. I’m starving.” Without waiting for agreement, he slung an arm around David’s shoulders and the other around Darlin, pulling them both in close. “C’mon, you have to be hungry, right? Right? , We should get some food.”

Darlin snorted faintly.

David exhaled, but didn’t pull away.

Milo slipped an arm comfortably around Sweetheart’s waist, tugging them close as they started toward the park car. “Man runs one race, and suddenly he needs a feast.”

“What aren’t you hungry from all that running!? ” Asher asked.

“You could eat an entire self-serve buffet and still complain,” Milo added.

“I could, and I would, thank you.”

Laughter broke out again, lighter now. David spoke up after a moment, voice low but certain. “I wouldn’t mind eating either.” 

Asher froze.

Then—

“YES!”

He threw his arm up triumphantly and immediately bolted down the parking lot, dragging Babe with him. Babe let out an excited squeal, stumbling after him. “Asher—!”

The rest of them stared.

“…How is he not tired?” Sweetheart asked. Milo shook his head slowly. “Nothin’ in this world wears him out.” They started walking in the direction of the car.  Ahead, Asher’s voice echoed back at them.  “Hurry up! I’m starving!”

A beat.

“Faster! Faster it like you want Sam to turn into dust!” 

Sam scoffed. “Sun is hardly up, and he’s acting like I’ll combust the moment a sliver of light touches me.” 

They broke into a brisk walk.

Then a faster one.

“Seriously!” Asher called again, voice carrying pure, dramatic suffering. “I will starve to death if y’all take any longer!” David sighed, though there was something faintly amused beneath it. “The good thing about Asher,” he said, glancing at the others, “is that he keeps morale up.”

-

Because the creator Obi uses is the very first creator i had ever listened to and subscribe to when I first go into these audio rp stories which was like early 2020s to covid era.

Not to mention I'm a nutjob who doesn't read the description title or the full length of the video title. So the first time I had ever heard him was in Obi's merfolk, and he voices Serafin, to which I immediately knew who he was voiced by, and oh, cool, he's in here. And I didn't start to feel like I was going crazy until I had gotten to the heart, which was either the 6th or 5th series I was listening to, from Obi, where I was like oki there's no way it's him again.

So I started trying to convince myself that it had to be a completely different person whom I was mistaken for being him. Because I have a history of mistaking vas for being a certain person, only to be wrong and them to be completely separate people. So I was like yea that's it, it's someone else entirely different who just so happens to sound exactly like him.....until I went back and began going through the description boxes because I could not take it anymore.

Unsurprisingly, the same name kept popping up in every single one of them, Kabuyama or i guess, now Kabuyama Va, because YouTube nuked the crap out of him randomly one day.

Honestly, I don't blame the man because Kabuyama is a rather talented man with an impressive vocal range and never fails to give it his all in his roles. But man, was I going crazy, espically when I thought I finally escaped when I came around to his vampire and Gator series, NOPE was completely wrong. （´∇｀''）

After moving their stuff in, Sam takes to the floor and is like selling the comfort of the floor to Darlin as to get them to lay beside him. Then sometime later as the two ahem get handsy with each other, Sam makes the comment on how they only have the bed mattress because non of their furniture is put together as its still packed away.

Soo did these two nutjobs pull apart every piece of furniture they own or like wrap it? Rather than doing what everyone else does and keep it together before throwing it into the van and it like if it gets ruined then its ruined, whatever.

But at the same time him having like a outgrown buzzcut where he hit that kinda kiwi looking phase feels more natural to me and just feels right. And it like he has so much fun with it because it like he always end up with some dye design in it.

AHHHHH HAAAHHHHHAAA (ᗒᗣᗕ)

Aside from accepting the fact I'm not exactly pizza delivery driver material, (yes I understand I'm still new but I constantly feel like I'm in the way when there's nothing to do).

There's no way Guy hasn't face some kind of car troubles during work because let you tell you mine that has driven me towards a mental breakdown and a route to alcoholism.

Aside from the fact you're being time about your deliveries aka an estimated time the company clock thinks you should be back from this deliver because fuck living in the most suddenly popular place to visit for spring break, traffic, accidents and the distance.

So not only last night did both my driver & passenger door handles came off and I've been having to climb from the back to get into the driver seat. But today for the first time in years, locked myself out of my own car and was late to work because I didn't care the spare key on me, so I was waiting on a friend to bring it to me.