wiillowwiiggles

i’ve always been a fidgety person—tapping on any surface despite not needing a clearer image, shuffling around when i ought to be standing still, tinkering on something unnecessary while having an unrelated conversation. i know this- everyone who has ever been in close proximity to me knows this; it's obvious if you pay attention to me for more than ∀ seconds. what i did not know was that aliens apparently also have this trait.

ryland's nervous energy manifests differently to mine, which i guess makes sense when you consider he has three less arms for activities, but it's obvious nonetheless—talking to himself when he’s in the middle of something that doesn’t require communication, constantly readjusting his clothing even after telling me he’s comfortable, vibrating his leg up and down if he’s sat down. it's nice to think that, despite the light years of distance between our two worlds and the complete incompatibility of our atmospheres and bodies, we really aren't all that different.

since i developed and began wearing the suit on a daily basis, our fidgeting has become more intermingled. mostly this means we're just tapping each other, but the thinness of the xenonite allows us both to feel textures that were previously unknown to us: my carapace and ryland's flesh. the squishiness of all that protects my friend from pathogens and wounds both unnerves me and intrigues me, but i suppose that he wouldn't be here if it were that inefficient. still, it's pretty gross.

apparently i have a morbid curiosity though, because the objectively disgusting feeling of ryland's skin moving under my claws is not enough to deter me from using him as a distraction item from time to time. like right now.

we're not talking much right now, both of us involved in our own entertainment, but the proximity made available by the suit is still novel and we are not about to waste an opportunity to cuddle, as ryland calls it. i idly rub my hand across the side of his abdomen while i listen to the drama i’m still not caught up on. seriously, how can i have been in space for years and still not have finished my podcast? ridiculous. 

i reach the part of ryland's body where his ribcage ends and his skin is especially squishy. out of interest, i squeeze gently to feel just how much give it has, and ryland makes an alarmingly high pitched noise as he startles in his seat. we both freeze, staring at each other, until i ask, "what the fuck was that?"

"language." ryland says weakly, marking the page in his book and setting it to the side. the speed of his heart tells me he’s embarrassed, and my interest piques. "and, uh- human thing."

i do my best to mimic the human expression of being unimpressed. "you watch me eat. you can tell me what that was."

ryland nods weakly. "okay, i just- i’m ꕷ𐒅𝚋ݬ𐒅𝛤ဌ. um- it's when you touch someone lightly, and they laugh."

"humans can be ticklish?" i screech, standing bolt upright and not caring for how taken aback ryland looks. "how? you’re so soft!" without waiting for an answer, i squeeze ryland's abdomen again and he squirms in his seat, a nervous smile beginning to form. i try tapping at his skin, and the squirming continues. "interesting. humans need even lighter touch to be tickled."

"so how does it work for yOU- hehehey!" ryland starts to ask, when i try to test out scratching gently and he yelps before giggling. it's kind of adorable how he curls up in a poor excuse of a defence. "c'mon, i gotta- it's for science."

i sigh dramatically, because i was totally prepared to tickle ryland like i would an infant eridian, but i guess he has a point. "much harder motions, since we have harder skin. like this." i rub against his arm in what i would expect to be a sensitive manner, but of course, he just nods. "where are humans most sensitive? eridians have places that are more vulnerable; i assume you do too."

ryland narrows his eyes, and i can’t help but laugh. "you’re just trying to get me."

"not just." i wiggle my carapace teasingly, both amused and disgruntled that i’ve been found out so soon. "i'll tell you my places if you tell me yours." i concede.

ryland sighs, and i can already tell he’s gonna go through with it. "alright. for humans, it's here," he gestures at his lower torso—all the squishy bits "here," he holds up his arms and points at the pocket of skin beneath the joint. "and for some reason, here." he lifts his foot and pats the base of it.

that last one makes no sense to me. "you- don’t you walk on that? surely it should be less sensitive, so it would be less painful."

"hey, i didn't design it." ryland grins, and i guess that's true. "your turn."

"eridians are mostly ticklish here," i stretch out one of my legs to demonstrate. "here," i tap the top of my carapace, where the vents sit. "and here." i point at my mouth. "where the body is weakest, at joints and openings." i explain, because ryland looked confused. "can i tickle you now?"

blood rushes to ryland's face, and i suppose the phenomenon of being embarrassed about your sensitivity is not unique to erid. "i don't- hang on, i’ve not had a turn yet!" he folds his arms petulantly. i am again reminded of a baby, though i don’t say this aloud. "where are you most ticklish?"

i wasn't expecting this question, and i shift from leg to leg for a moment in flustered surprise before answering. ".. my vents. where are you?"

"my ල𐒅Էලဌ." ryland gestures to the lower middle of the squishy part of his torso, and i mentally catalogue the word. "for humans, you gotta be pretty light- like this." he taps his fingers against my carapace so gently, i can hardly feel it—though i suppose it wouldn’t be as barely-there if your skin is so soft. 

"i think i was doing a good job." i say smugly, if only to hear the way ryland's heartbeat quickens. "it's kind of difficult not to tickle when i have to be so gentle on your weak sk♬♩♫-!" my words are quickly interrupted by a shriek as ryland darts forward and scrubs at my vents in an alarmingly ticklish manner for a human with such weak hands. i’m so surprised by the sensation that for a moment, i just flail around before i remember that i am considerably stronger than ryland and push him off. "rude!"

ryland, being the awful person that he is, just laughs at me. "that was so cute!" he grins, and i crumple down onto the floor dramatically. "you sounded like a cat."

"well you look like a baby." i retort, giving him a poke in the stomach for good measure. as expected, he squeaks and pulls away. "you’re a pebble. dumb, lanky, and dangerously squishy."

"and you are a ticklish rock." ryland teases, which is probably funnier if you’re a human; to me, this just seems obvious. annoyingly, it still makes me feel a little embarrassed. no- not embarrassed—flustered. "hey, do you guys ever get- like, cosmetic smoothing? like you’re getting polished?"

i tilt my carapace to the side. "yes. it's similar to human hair, since the skin grows back after time." a second later, i realise why he’s asking this question now. "oh- it can tickle, if that's what you mean."

ryland looks pleased. "i knew it."

for whatever reason, his smugness makes me all the more agitated and i scuttle a few metres back to finish my podcast. "i’m sitting here now." i declare. ryland laughs, but he doesn’t protest, and we resume our comfortable silence.

-

let this be very clear: i do not forget things. my memory is unusually good even among eridians, especially so when it's things i care about, so when i start idly tapping at ryland's ribs, it is not because i forgot about his sensitivity—it's because i think it's funny to watch him squirm. he assumes unconsciously that my memory must be similar to his (or maybe he’s just gotten used to me ignoring him completely sometimes and repeats everything he says for my benefit) and so his first instinct is not to complain about me being annoying, but to remind me. i can understand why he enjoyed teaching so much, to be honest. 

"hey- rocky!" ryland wiggles particularly strongly as i move my poking closer to the flat of his stomach. it's a good distraction as any from the fact that his stomach didn’t used to be flat, and wouldn’t be if he had enough calorific intake, but there's not a lot either of us can do about that right now. "that tickles."

i make a show of gasping and putting a claw against my carapace like i’ve seen humans do in movies when they’re shocked. "really? you are ticklish? i can’t believe i forgot!" ryland gives me an unimpressed look, and i just continue my joke. "it's funny because i didn’t forget, and i never forget anything."

"alright, alright- sue me for giving you some grace." ryland scoffs, playful. i’m about to say something very funny about the 'grace' part of his comment, when he scratches hard at the leg i still have resting against his torso and i squeal unflatteringly as i scramble backwards. "i remembered that, didn't i?" he adds, clearly pleased with himself.

"you forget everything, and you still remembered that?" i mutter, shaking my leg out indignantly. "rude and disrespectful."

ryland grins, poking at my carapace teasingly. i know there's no way such light touch might tickle, but i find myself shying from his hands all the same with that familiar nervous excitement. "i mean, with that kind of attitude, you’re basically just asking for it now."

bizarrely, the idea kind of sounds nice. i straighten up in a mix of embarrassment and confusion at this thought, and ryland laughs. "that is not- i am doing- you are wrong and dumb." i settle on eventually, higher pitched than i usually am. "when did you last sleep?"

"uh uh, you can't pull that one on me again." ryland wiggles his fingers in my direction, and i suppress a squeak. why is this getting to me so much? "if you want me to stop, just say the word."

obviously my first instinct should be to tell him to stop, so i can go back to watching mamma mia with him and criticising the logistics of getting married at twenty human years. so- why is it that instead, i don't say anything of the sort? "i am not afraid of tickles." i say in a voice that completely undermines my statement.

this seems to be exactly what ryland wanted to hear, because he perks up even more. "i don’t know, you seem pretty nervous to me." he teases, fingers hovering just above my carapace. i squeak a little at the proximity, and he laughs, which does nothing to quell my embarrassment. "or are you just excited, hm?"

"you're seeing things." i say, focused entirely on how close his hands are to me—it feels like my insides are buzzing with the anticipation. "you need sleep. i watch."

"or, i could just do this." ryland begins scratching at my vents and i shriek in panic and excitement—which is a very strange combination of feelings, but i’m not really paying attention to that right now. instead i’m realising with horror just how much more ticklish the improved version of my suit makes everything now ryland's fingers can just glide across my carapace. "woah, that bad?"

"ye♬♪s!" i squeal, barely within ryland's hearing range. "it- ♩t fuck♫♬g t♩♫♪kles!" there's no way half of my words are making any sense whatsoever, but there's not a whole lot i can do about that when i feel like i’m about to explode. "♪♫♬♩!" 

"that one wasn't even a word." ryland teases, not letting up on my fucking vents holy shit why are his stupid fleshy hands so ticklish? it's all i can do not to smack him in the face and sprint away. "c'mon, you can do better than that."

i do honestly try to say something (mostly insults), but all that comes out is a garbled stream of notes and laughter. listen, okay- it fucking tickles, and i have barely had any contact with another living being for decades, and my brain can't seem to decide whether i love this or need to escape right the fuck now. it's a lot! 

ryland is entirely unsympathetic to my plight—just cooing at me like i’m a child. "uh oh, i think someone's ticklish! coochie-coo, rocky!" i don't think i've ever been more flustered in my life. 

the worst part might just be that i know i can escape if i want- we both know i’m perfectly capable of pushing him off and getting out of there if i want to. so the fact that i’m still here, being tortured relentlessly by a big squishy alien is.. not a great look on me. although i have no idea why i’m so embarrassed about this; we are literally in space. there is no one else for lightyears that might be able to see us!

"this is adorable." ryland says fondly, beginning to slow down a little. i think i prefer this—still pleasantly unbearable, but not so much that it's all i can think about. "i can’t believe this never came up before."

"y♩ou are- you♬♪ abusing this." i complain, still laughing helplessly. weirdly, the lighter touches make it harder to keep still, and i find myself squirming despite my best efforts otherwise. "i w♩ill have rev♬♫nge."

ryland pokes me again, and i squeak even though i barely feel it. "yeah, i’m sure you will, buddy." it sounds sarcastic, but his nervous grin suggests he knows otherwise. 

-

apparently there's a human saying that revenge is a dish best served cold. maybe this is true, in the sense of building up the anticipation would make ryland all the more tense and thus squeakier when i do eventually squeeze him to death, but i’m not nearly patient enough for that. another human phrase is cuteness aggression, which is when they find something so endearing that the brain doesn’t know what to do with the information and decides they need to kill it. when ryland first told me about this phenomenon, i thought it sounded ridiculous, but now i’m listening to his squishy body stumbling around and the way he laughs when he’s excited, and i definitely get it. 

so technically, this doesn’t have to be counted as revenge and i can still serve it cold later on. right now, i need to squeeze this human until he metaphorically pops.

i pounce on him when he’s sat on his bed so i don't actually injure him, and he yelps in surprise. "rocky! jeez, dude, you nearly gave me a heart attack."

"i have a problem." i say, poking his cheek as i do. it's interesting to feel the softness of it compared to the ungiving bones of his teeth behind it, but mostly i’m doing it because i think it's sweet. he kinda looks like a ♫♩♬♫—an animal that doesn't have much of a tough exterior, since it lives mostly underground on erid and thus doesn't need protection against the atmosphere. "cuteness aggression is the problem."

ryland blinks at me for a second, and laughs, the blood rushing to his face in the way i know means he's embarrassed. "you think i’m cute?"

"yes, cute cute cute." i punctuate each word with a poke to each one of his cheeks, both amused and endeared by his reaction to all this. "i’ve done some research about how humans can help this feeling."

"i- alright." ryland grins shyly, and i shift a little so all my legs are free. "what is it?" i give his stomach a quick squeeze and he makes an adorably high pitched noise, eyes widening as he realises. "oh, come on. i’m not- that's not fair!"

i trill happily. "it's so fair. you make cute noises, and i want to hear them." 

before ryland has the opportunity to complain all too eloquently, i begin to scribble at his stomach and he squeals, covering his face in his hands. "rock- rohohocky!" 

"you’re like a little baby." i coo teasingly, tracing nonsensical patterns where his shirt has started riding up and ryland squirms uselessly. "cute cute cute."

"not fahahahair." ryland giggles helplessly, and i very politely don’t point out the fact that he could totally get away if he just asked me to get off. "ihihit tickles!"

i laugh because that seems pretty obvious to me, but maybe it's not as clear to humans. "yes, i’m doing it on purpose. tickle, tickle!" i tease, and ryland whines in embarrassment, beginning to push at my arm halfheartedly—i know his full strength, and this isn’t even close to half of it. "now, i’ve been doing research."

"how- hohohow much rehehesearch could yohou have dohohohone?" ryland complains, pulling his knees up seemingly unconsciously as i start to poke at his hips. i squeeze experimentally at where they meet his thighs, and he shrieks. "NOHOHO- not thehehehere!"

"you didn't tell me all the places humans can be ticklish." i wag a finger at him in mock-disapproval, mostly because he keeps doing it to me when i crash into something in my ball. "i told you the truth, and this is how you repay me? i don't even know if your worst spot is your stomach now, so i need to test."

i pull all my hands back, giving ryland room to breathe as he stares at me in playful horror. his heartrate has increased, but if the way he’s fighting a smile is anything to go by, it's excitement rather than fear. "you’re setting yourself up for a whole lot of revenge, buddy." 

"it's for science! you love science." i wiggle my claws teasingly in the air, and ryland makes a very cute squeaky noise in response. "where should i start?"

when i don't do anything other than wait for a reply, ryland seems to realise i’m actually asking him. "where- you want me to tell you?" he gapes, as if i’ve just asked him to saw off his own leg. 

"well, i could just figure it out myself." i say smugly, positioning my hands over his thighs and chirping in amusement when he twitches. "i’ve heard vibration can often be ticklish for humans, do you want me to test that too?"

"you- it- wait, is it?" some of the tension drains from ryland's body as his curiosity overrides his nerves, and i laugh. "shut up- i didn’t even know that." he grins, folding his arms. 

i tilt my carapace to the side. "wanna see how it feels?"

ryland gestures to himself as if to say go ahead, and i begin to hum at a frequency too low for him to hear, but strong enough for it to rattle my body slightly; manipulating soundwaves is the most common way eridians tickle one another, but since ryland is incapable of doing anything similar, i didn’t think it was that important to mention. apparently i should have brought it up sooner, because the moment my carapace starts to vibrate on his stomach he gasps and claps a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggling—as if i can’t hear it regardless. 

"so? does it tickle?" i ask. it's obvious this is sensitive for him, but i will never pass up an opportunity to tease my squishy friend. 

he nods for a second, eyes squeezed shut, before he takes a breath and his laughter comes tumbling out. "yehehes! oh my gohohosh- sohohoho muhuhuhuch."

"good!" i begin to poke at his his chest and he squirms a little more underneath me. "where do i tickle next?"

"i cahahahahan't." ryland begs, which i guess is just an invitation for me to experiment on my own. after all, i don’t hear him saying no.

i laugh, squeezing gently at his ribs. he squeals, so i just have to keep going. "you can. i believe in you." 

the testing lasts a while before ryland starts to flag, which allows me to learn that pretty much every part of him is ticklish. the worst places seem to be his stomach (at least that wasn't a lie), thighs, knees and ears (ears? that seems ridiculous to me- why should they even have nerves?), but i was able to get at least a giggle from anywhere i tried. as expected, he is utterly adorable in every second of my 'experiment'—curling up in a futile attempt at defence, wiggling around to release some of the nervous energy, occasionally smacking the ground when i find a particularly sensitive area—and it's all i can do not to squeeze him so hard it begins to hurt.

eventually though, his stamina is depleted, and he lays spreadeagled on the ship's floor while i pat his head; i don't know if this is helping him or not, but i like it, so- whatever. "you are disproportionately good at that." 

"yes, i’m good at everything." i say smugly, happy to have brought my friend joy and proved my superiority at the same time—yet another point to rocky on the humans vs eridians scoreboard. "and you are very ticklish." i add, just to tease him a little more.

ryland scoffs, before reaching out and squeezing at my leg. i yelp in surprise and crumble to the ground as he doesn’t stop, a mischievous smile taking over his face. "oh yeah? it's just me?"

i squeal a series of words that are mostly just curses, and kick him off. he laughs at me and i huff dramatically. "you are.. also good at it. somewhat."

Despite the companionship he has, an awful emptiness latched its teeth into his core and wouldn’t abate. No matter how much time he’d spend with Rocky or watch clips of Earth in the Don’t Go Crazy Room, the feeling of wrongness stayed, and Grace has no idea how to stop it. 

A shudder runs through his form, making Grace hunch further in on himself, gripping onto his arms. His skin ached something fierce, despite his hands rubbing along the surface in a meager attempt to self-soothe against the barrage of phantom needles. What he would give to be bundled in his mother’s arms like he was ten again after tumbling off his bike and scraping his knee. Or being smothered in his dad’s all-encompassing embrace after a failed science experiment, a promise that one day, “He’d be the smartest and coolest of all scientists”. What he’d give for any form of hug at all whilst in deep space-

The invisible aches haunting his body intensify in a sudden surge. Grace freezes in place, struck by a daunting realisation.

…Oh. 

It was cruel and unfair, but it made sense. The urge to cry welling up behind his eyes has Grace's breath shuddering out of him sporadically. 

“Grace, okay, question?”

The doubled thudding of the Eridian’s back leg cuts through the static building in Grace’s head. He looks to the side and finds the alien ‘watching’ him intently, his carapace shifting in blatant concern. 

Grace has to push the word out of his throat. “...No.” He rubs his palm along his arm with a disconnected fervor. It doesn’t feel as though the warmth of his own skin is even getting through. 

“What problem, question?” 

How could he even begin to explain the torrential emotions wreaking havoc on his wrung-out body? “There’s something wrong with me.”

“Grace sick? Question?” Rocky is growing restless, feet thunking against the xenonite shell of his ball.

Grace swallows back the lump trying to start an uprising of sadness in his throat. It was a persistent battle. “It’s a human thing,” he rasps. “I don’t know if it can be helped.”

“Explain. Rocky fix.”

Grace shakes his head as he burrows into his arms, both to hide his burning eyes and to escape this conversation. Rocky couldn’t fix it. Bless that alien’s heart of gold for trying, but he just couldn’t. What Grace needed, what he was craving, was human touch. It had been years since he left Earth, and his skin was growing desperate for an inkling of steady, warm contact. But by abandoning his journey to Earth in favour of saving his best friend - which he didn’t regret for a second, mind you - he’d robbed himself of the chance to ever experience it again. 

Granted, the last memory of touch was being forcibly restrained to the ground, suffocating pressure pinning him down as he screamed for help that would never come. Not exactly a golden recollection of human connection. 

A steady series of tapping filters into Grace’s ears, getting past the marching band thumping away. He peeks over his forearm. Rocky has rolled himself so close that he’s right beside his friend. 

“Heartbeat fast,” the Eridian states, worry warbling through his medeloic voice. “Bad, bad, bad. Oxygen needed.”

He’s close enough that Grace can feel the alien’s warmth through the xenonite. His skin practically buzzes with the idea of leaning against the Eridian’s stone-like form, multiple arms encircling him with a pressure that could settle his racing thoughts and lonely heart.

Grace can’t help it. He gives in to his pathetic, human instincts. 

His arms stretch out from his self-contained ball of panic to clutch around the xenonite, drag Rocky into his chest, and slump against the warm, glass-like surface. A sob tries to strangle his throat, but any noise is kept locked behind Grace’s pursed lips. Rocky tucks himself against the wall separating them, soft melodic noises rumbling from his form in an attempt to settle the erratic pounding he can hear within Grace’s chest. He’d only heard this in moments of extreme distress for his human, and it hurt every time. Though Grace is trying to stay quiet, soft plinks of moisture hitting the top of the zenonite were heard loud and clear for the alien.

Grace clings to the zenonite ball as tightly as he can, trying to trick his mind into believing that the smooth, warm surface was what it was after. That this hug shared between two species unable to co-exist within the same environment is enough for his human instincts. 

His skin prickles. The tears keep falling. It isn’t enough. And it is going to stay that way for as long as he is away from Earth. 

A shudder runs through the man at this bleak thought, the ever-expanding pit in his chest feeling as though it’s swallowing up his entire being. 

As if he heard the emotional casam split further, Rocky’s warbles take on a mournful croon. “Grace, tell Rocky what wrong. Please?”

Grace presses his tear-stained cheek against the warm surface, sighing miserably. 

“I’m touch starved.” He says it quietly, fingertips brushing over a surface that isn’t organic enough to trick his brain into thinking it’s skin. “Humans are social beings; we naturally seek connection, and with that comes physical contact. It’s common with anyone we’re close to, not just mates. It’s ingrained into us to co-regulate, so when we go for a long time without that, it causes us to experience skin hunger. It makes humans feel bad.” 

Rocky cocks his body to the side, akin to tilting one's head. “Is hug helping badness?”

Grace wishes he could say yes, but then he’d be lying, and he didn’t want to do that to Rocky. Shaking his head miserably, Grace scrubs a fist across his eyes to stem the flow of tears. “No. I’m hugging you, but I can’t feel you hugging back. Pressure is a key thing with hugging; it feels safer that way.”

Rocky trills sadly. “Apologies.”

Grace shakes his head again, but this time it’s paired with a weak, sincere smile. “It’s not your fault. Just sucks that our biologies are so different. I bet you’d give really good hugs without this thing in the way.” Grace knocks twice on the ball, emphasizing the distance between them.  

Rocky chitters, though there’s something contemplative about his tone now - an inquisitive warble rumbling through the plates atop his body. He leans away from Grace, his back legs thumping against the casing of his ball as he thinks. “Rocky has idea.”

“Yeah?” Grace lets his arms fall away, desperately ignoring the loss they feel as the warmth disappears from them. There was no need to be clingy. It wasn’t exactly like the hug was helping him in the long run. It was like putting a sticky plaster over a gaping chest wound and calling it a day.

Rocky trills again, more full-bodied. Determined. “Yes. Need to begin work now. Will show Grace when ready.” Rocky is practically buzzing. An eagerness tugging at his limbs as he fidgets in place, itching to start whatever ‘mystery project’ he’s begun cooking up.

“...You gonna tell me what your idea is?”

The alien gives Grace his version of a thumbs up and happily chirps, “No.”

______________________________________________________________

Two days. 

Rocky has been working nonstop for two days. 

To make it even more peculiar, he hasn’t allowed Grace anywhere near him as he crafts. Any time Grace sets foot in the lab, he gets hissed at. Forget Eridans being extraterrestrial lifeforms of complex intelligence. That sentient stone spider is a cat in disguise. Grace has it on good authority that the little guy practically purrs whenever he’s smug or has done something clever. There was simply no other way to describe the happy trills rumbling from his body. 

So, Grace has been forced to amuse himself with other things on the Hail Mary, as his only companion is acting like a kid fresh into puberty and staying in his room to play video games. Fortunately, Stratt had been generous enough to provide enough stimuli aboard the ship to keep the passengers entertained while they slowly died in an eternal abyss of stars. 

Unfortunately, he could only consume so many episodes of Star Trek in total silence before he felt an oncoming existential crisis about watching a space show in space.  

Thankfully, just as he’s considering going into the lab and risking being cursed out in Eridian, a series of clunks from multiple legs echo through the ship. Only… it didn’t sound like it was coming from inside the hamster tunnels running throughout the vessel. Nor was the clunking dulled slightly by a xenonite ball following the demands of five limbs. 

It sounds clearer. Closer. Concerningly faster than the ball as well. 

Grace drops the Comfort Quilt™ from his shoulders and scrambles up from his crossed leg position. He doesn’t even know what he’s bracing for, but what greets him when it stomps into view is not what he’d been expecting in the slightest.

Rocky is encased in xenonite. Not a ball. His body is literally wearing such close-fitting xenonite that it follows every crevice, bump, and grain on his form. 

“Hi, Grace!” He chirrups, sounding utterly exhilarated as he holds up a claw and splits it into the famous Vulcan greeting from Star Trek. “Surprise!” 

Thank god Grace put down his mug of coffee before preparing for a potential ambush, or the inventory would be down a cup. His jaw has long hit the floor in place of ceramic shards, eyebrows high as if pulled by a passing moon’s gravity. “You’re- you made a suit,” he sputters out.

“So Rocky can fix starvation of skin!” Rocky bounces and wiggles in place, the thin xenonite moving with him flexibly. He eagerly reaches out with his two front limbs. “Can hug properly now!” 

Grace stares. His ears heard it, but his brain could not comprehend the development. That being said, his heart definitely could, and it felt full enough to burst. 

He practically dives for Rocky and slams his full weight into him, knees colliding heavily with the floor. Rocky’s three back limbs counterbalance instantly, and the other two wrap tightly around his human. His claws grip into the fabric of Grace’s cardigan and stay there, keeping the man close against his body heat.

After months of being on the ship - technically years, but Grace didn’t count the coma for his own mental health - with absolutely no physical contact from another being bar a ball of xenonite, this hug was everything. 

It was tight, yet not enough for Grace’s deprived body. Every nerve was screaming from overwhelming warmth and pressure, but the idea of letting go only made Grace grip harder. He barely acknowledges he’s sobbing into the top of Rocky’s carapace; he’s too preoccupied trying to convince himself he isn’t dreaming. 

Rocky stays put, soft notes humming out of him in a gentle, soothing coo. He’s seen Grace cry before - that man had earned the title of ‘Leaky Space Blob’ after all - but this is different. It’s relief, it’s despair, it's everything the man has been silently yearning for in the depths of his subconscious. 

Rocky is more than content to stay where he was with Grace practically smothering him from his doubled-over position, all his strings cut and emotions raw. He would stay put for as long as Grace needs. He lifts one of his limbs from the floor and runs it through Grace’s hair. 

He pretends he doesn’t hear the high-pitched, wounded keening that leaves the human in a cathartic, emotional release.

______________________________________________________________

“How did you do this?” Grace asks. “This looks too thin- heck, it feels too thin to be safe for you.”

Rocky chitters, pleased. “Much trials and errors,” he says. “Important. Needed to make.”

Grace tightens his arms around Rocky for a moment before letting him go again. Well, kind of let him go, Rocky is lying over Grace’s legs with the man’s arms draped over his limbs. Yes, he was being a little clingy, but his entire nervous system was recovering from months of neglect. He needs this. 

“It means a lot,” he swallows back tears that threaten to have another revolution and overthrow his ability to see. He’s already shed enough to fill a water bottle or two. 

They’d moved to the dormitory once Grace felt reasonably steady to become a functioning human being again. (For those curious, it took a decent while for that to happen.) Now, he’s lying on his back atop the bedclothes with an Eridian carefully perched on his lower body as a steady source of contact. It seemed the small alien was enjoying the newfound freedom of touch without a ball getting in the way. 

One of Grace’s hands is being diligently studied by the Eridian. “Humans soft.” Rocky remarks, something like awe filtering through his musical tones as he delicately handles Grace’s fingers. “Too easy to damage.”

Grace snorts. “We can’t all be sentient canon balls, Rock.”

“What is ‘canon ball’, question?” 

“Projectiles we have on Earth. It was used in battle.”

“Rocky is terrifying space spider and dangerous ball, question?” 

Grace thinks of when Rocky first barged into the Hail Mary and proceeded to almost cause irreparable property damage to multiple items and devices within the ship. “Yes.” He states with a laugh. “You’re a force to be reckoned with.”

Rocky perks up. “Good reputation to have!” He prods at Grace’s fingers. “Better than leaky, squishy, space blob.” He pokes at the softer skin of the man’s side to further drive his point home.

Grace yips, batting Rocky’s claws away from his torso instinctively. “Hehey!”

Rocky jolts upright, removing himself from Grace’s legs. “Hurt? Grace hurt? Rocky hurt Grace?!” His voice flits up several octaves as he panics, hands tightly curled against his body to keep them far from his friend.

“No. No, no, you didn’t- hey, come back here, you silly goose. Stop freaking out.” Grace grasps one of Rocky’s retreating limbs and gently tugs him forward with an exasperated chuckle.

Rocky hesitantly steps closer, but doesn’t settle back down. Grace’s legs mourn the loss of their weighted blanket. “Grace make hurt noise,” he states. “Make same sound when burnt with solder iron.”

Grace sighs and sinks deeper into his mattress. He didn’t think this would be a topic he’d have to explain to aliens, but here we are.

“Humans have a pretty complex nervous system that has evolved to alert us when we’re in danger, specifically through touch. When you poked me, my body was telling me something was digging into a place where vital organs sit. The noise I made was just a byproduct of that.” 

Rocky considers this explanation, then makes a confused warble. “You laughed afterwards.”

Damn. Grace had been hoping Rocky didn’t catch that. 

“...Yeah.”

“Why, question?” 

“...It’s a human thing.”

“Explain. Grace live on Erid in future, need to know human biology.”

Well, no dodging the question now.

Grace sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “It just tickled a bit, that’s all.”

“No understand word.”

Double damn. 

“...Tickling is when humans are touched in a certain way that makes us laugh. It’s attached to the nervous system thing, part of our fight or flight response.”

Rocky tilts his carapace and extends a claw to wiggle against Grace’s side again. The small squeak Grace lets out causes heat to flush his ears. Rocky chirps, delighted. “This make laughter on command!”

Grace opens his mouth to parry that point, only to gasp and fall into bouts of snickers when Rocky’s claws start prodding at his stomach insistently with both claws. “R-Rohohocky!” 

It’s been years, even more than he’s been on the Hail Mary, since he’s felt this sensation. The scuttling, electric sparks spread through his nerves, causing him to flail helplessly. His hands scrabble to both grab onto and bat away Rocky’s curious limbs. Neither tactic got him very far.

“Grace sound very happy,” Rocky informs him. Thank you, Rocky. We’d be lost without your keen observation skills. “Are all humans this sensitive?”

Grace makes a strangled, embarrassed noise in the back of his throat and tries to yank his legs up so he can curl into a ball and hide. 

“No, stay stationary. Rocky is not done exploring this.” Rocky’s claws grab onto Grace’s knees to simply push them away, only for Grace to yelp and kick his legs out. 

“Nononono- Rohohocky c’mohohon!”

Rocky chirps, curiosity singing through his melodic voice. “Tickles happen all over, question?” He inquires, his back hand squeezing Grace’s knee and thigh twice in place of stomping. 

“ROHOHOCK!” The hearty cackles that sprang forth like an exploded fire hydrant were answer enough.

Rocky scuttles and prods over the muscular limbs, little chirps of excitement emanating from the depths of his carapace with every new noise he draws from Grace. Scratching at the underside of the human's knees produced a series of breathy, unstoppable giggles that vividly reminded Rocky of the young Eridians back home with newly developed squeaks perpetrating their vocal cords. 

Rocky relays that thought to Grace, and the temperature of the human’s face increased dramatically. 

“Grace embarrassed, question? Sound cute.” Rocky reassures, wiggling his claws into Grace's lower abdomen. 

A flustered noise left the man, quickly buried behind his arms as he wriggled incessantly from the tickling. “E-Enohohough wihihith- my knees!” He pleads, the feather-light wisps of touch sending his brain into a haywire state of laughter. 

“That okay, plenty more to try!”

Grace feels pressure firmly lay across his legs, keeping them still despite their instinctive desire to kick. Rocky has become essentially deadweight, using his higher body mass to easily pin Grace to the bed. At first, his heartbeat kicked up in learned fear from being pinned down amongst dead grass, but the gentle touches and familiar warmth of the Eridian dashes his anxiety instantly. 

It was kind of hard to focus on the last memory of being pinned whilst Rocky's two front claws had taken to prodding all over the man’s torso. Light and experimental pinches being tossed in just for curiosity's sake. 

“Grace should have informed Rocky of this sooner, could’ve cheered you up easily,” Rocky says, mirth filling his voice as he takes in Grace’s blinding grin, flushed cheeks, and bubbling laughter. He made sure to keep his touch light, not wanting to accidentally hurt his friend; however, in doing so, the tickling was simply more unbearable. 

And as much as Grace's touch-starved body is relishing in this newfound, sorely missed companionship, it’s tiring quickly. 

“R-Rohohock! Plehehease! No- Nohoho mohohore!” Grace wheezes out a laugh before slumping back into the rumpled bedclothes, all fight disappearing and leaving him in a puddle of giggles. 

Rocky chirps, withdrawing his claws from Grace’s stomach. “This hurts, question?” He stomps his back foot into the mattress to punctuate his concern. 

“No, not at all.” Grace drapes an arm over his eyes and takes in grateful gulps of air, the last of his laughter shaking his chest. “Just overwhelming, bud. It’s been a long time.”

“But Grace is okay, question?”

The hollowness is gone. Grace’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He feels good. “Yeah.” The scientist reassures. “Better than okay. I don’t think I’ve laughed that hard in a while.”

“Want me to do again, question?” 

Grace’s arm that’s draped over his eyes shoots down to preemptively cover his stomach, an embarrassed grin spreading across his face. “Uh- no, no, that kind of touch is usually for play. Kinda wanting to get some rest now, Rock.”

Rocky chirps, leaning a bit more into Grace’s chest, akin to a weighted blanket. He wraps his claws underneath Grace in a hug, while one reaches up to scratch through his hair. Grace practically melts, a blissful sigh heaving Rocky up and then down in a slump. 

“Better, question?”

“Yeh, feels n’ce,” Grace slurs out, eyelids long since closed, and wrapping his arms over Rocky’s warm, xenonite-enclosed form. It was like hugging a hot water bottle made of glass. Sleep was sneaking around the corner with a bat and a trip to Night Night Station. 

A claw slips down his scalp, scraping close to the skin of his ear. Grace flinches with a small grunt. The claw pauses.

“Grace is serious? Here as well, question?” The amusement is abundantly obvious. 

“Shut up,” Grace grumbles, gently taking Rocky’s front limb and guiding it back to his hair. 

Rocky chuckles. “Humans are very endearing. Will be doing this again, statement."

Grace rolls his eyes, trying to pretend there wasn’t a blush practically living on his ears now. Rocky let him dodge answering that. After all, he plans to use this newfound information to keep Grace’s spirits up. There would be plenty of time to prove to his friend that humans were loveable space blobs. 

“You sleep, I watch.” He murmurs, carefully scratching the man’s scalp in rhythmic patterns. 

Grace’s fingers intertwine with Rocky’s and squeeze. “Thanks, Rocky. …And thank you for fixing this. You’re a miracle worker.”

“Will always fix for Grace. Grace family, statement.” 

Grace squeezes a bit tighter, hoping Rocky understands the love being projected through the gesture. He pretends his voice isn’t choked up as he whispers, “You’re my family too. Statement.”

“Zagreus.” She unspools her whip. The glowing pink braid coils languidly against the marble floors.

“No witty rejoinder for me this time?” He twirls Stygius idly, leaving trails of simmering heat in the air. The hellfire crackling in the braziers around them is achingly cold. He welcomes the touch of warmth.

“No time, I’m afraid.” She cracks her whip. The end zips right past Zagreus’s cheek before returning to her. A caress.

“Then I’ll make this quick.” He rushes her. Stygius sparks and pops as it collides with the extraplanar fibers of her whip. They trade furious blows, chasing each other across every surface of the chamber. Zagreus manages to flip over a wave of razor-sharp pink magic and gets blindsided by her whip latching onto his wrist. Stygius skids across the floor.

He reaches up with his free hand towards the captive one and she yanks his arm behind his back, winding the whip over his shoulders and around his waist until he’s dizzy. She tucks the handle into the layers and gazes proudly at her work—Zagreus bound, swordless, and confused.

“What now, then? Going to carry me back to Father on foot?” Zagreus spins as carefully as he can to stay facing her, feeling very much like a baby penguin on ice—or at least what he’s heard of them.

Her silence is unnerving. Megaera already has a shark-like aura about her—so do many of the Chthonic gods, if he’s honest—but she’s just…watching him. Sizing him up. His skin prickles where her gaze lands.

“This is hardly a fair fight.” He hops around to face her again. She chuckles at him, the sound bubbling from deep within her chest.

“It’s hardly a fight, Highness.”

“Meg—“

“I heard something intriguing the other day.” She drags her long nail down the length of his throat, then back up, chasing his pulse from its hiding place. He kinda wants her to palm the side of his throat, let him feel the full pressure of her touch, but he knows that he is not here to get what he wants—not this time, at least. He shivers and snickers a little at her touch, tossing his head a bit as if it’d dissuade her.

“A-alright, but what does that have to do with anythihing?” He clears his throat to purge the titters. He’s so frazzled by this change of pace that he can feel the ends of his hair beginning to sizzle. This is her game—always keeping him on his toes for better or for worse.

“Don’t interrupt me.” She tilts his chin up. He goes breathlessly quiet.

“I was walking through the House and mulling over just how much of my time that you insist on wasting. It would be to my benefit if I could properly dissuade you from even attempting to exit Tartarus.” Meg trails her finger along the pauldron of skulls on his shoulder.

“You can’t. You know that.” He furrows his brow. He thought they were past this. Unstoppable force versus immovable object, and all of that.

“That’s the problem. How do I convince the most stubborn, hard-headed, cocky man I’ve ever met to quit attempting the impossible so I can do my job in peace?”

“Tell me how you really feel—“

“Then I spoke with Thanatos.” Meg’s eyes gleam. Zagreus swallows.

“He can be quite forthcoming in the right conditions, y’know. He shared something most interesting.” She gives him a long look up and down and chuckles again. Something about this doesn’t smell right. Than would never give up anything on him—nothing vital, at least. What could he even share? That Zag is awful on the lyre? Everyone in the House and likely surrounding Tartarus already knows—

“So, Zagreus, I’ll ask you one last time. Do you still intend to leave Tartarus?” Meg plays with a piece of the whip coiled around his chest.

“Of course.” He doesn’t hesitate. He knows what he has to do. No matter how oddly nervous she’s making him.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Meg grins again, that gorgeous unsettling smile that makes the hair on his neck raise.

Meg’s fingers worm beneath the whip, tapping along the bare plane of his chest. Those wicked pink claws are not just for show—he can feel their cruel points triangulating the precise location of his organs.

Disembowelment would certainly be a way to go.

She gives a gentle scratch over his abs and he shivers involuntarily. He bites his lip as the corners twitch up. Goosebumps flare across his skin. She digs her claws in…and Zagreus has the wind punched out of him in the strangest way possible.

She’s…tickling him. On purpose.

“Meg, wahahait!” It comes out far shriller than he intends. Zagreus’s head collides with her shoulder and he hops in place, trying not to lose his accursed balance.

“I’ll pass.” Her apathy somehow makes it worse. Her nails skim his torso and call sparks in their wake, literal jumping embers just barely visible beneath his skin. She coos at him.

“Tickling is cheating!” It’s all he can think to say. He can hear himself giggling and it’s only making him more jumpy. Her fingers catch this awful little spot near his hip and Zagreus throws his head back.

“Oh, so your rampant, unhinged escape attempts have rules now?” She chuckles at him and presses her fingers into her apparently new favorite spot. His arms flex and strain against the whip, but he’s well and truly stuck.

There’s a plushness to his hips and waist, leftover from a lifetime of libations from the gods themselves. Meg starts pinching and poking there with deadly persistence. He hiccups his way into a giggle fit and wiggles uselessly in her arms.

He starting to regret accepting a message from Zeus to get here, because the latent lightning beneath his skin is making all of this worse somehow. His only comfort is knowing his mighty relatives can’t actually see him. Hopefully. Probably.

“Can’t we act like adults? Please?” His grin takes on a nervous wobble when her nails touch down yet again upon his skin.

“You first.” Her eyes glint wickedly in the firelight. With a flourish he can’t quite track, his arm gets yanked above and behind his head, leaving the right side of his torso completely exposed, collarbone to waist. Uh oh.

Zag can only imagine what he must look like. Maybe somewhat like Dusa, utterly flushed and frantic. Gods above, he’s giggling into the shoulder of a Fury. If Hades could see him, he’d filet him and send him through the Styx on principle.

Her fingers skitter under his arm ever-so-gently, like a spider in a web. Zagreus cackles.

“Hm. Seems promising. What do you think?” She presses her thumbs into the divots of his ribs.

He glares and belly-laughs in response—that’s definitely cheating. She only knows about that spot from Thanatos, which isn’t fair. He’s not quite sure about the logistics around killing Death himself, but he’s certainly going to try it the next time that they meet.

Meg tries pressing her thumb where his chest meets his ribs, just beside his pec, and he chokes sharply on an inhale.

“Megaera. Meg.” Zagreus fixes her with the most composed, imploring look he can manage. “I’m sorry, alright?”

“Right. Just to be clear, you’re not sorry when I’m touching you here?” She starts tickling his stomach again and he folds faster than one of Charon’s expended wells. It just…it tickles, okay, and her nails are dismantling every functioning neuron he has.

“No, I am! I ahaham!” He shrieks. He’s used to dirty tricks, but even then, he gets to fight back. It’s not fair, being at her mercy. Their whole thing relies on the push and pull, not the…squeal and writhe. Which he’s doing in spades.

It’s also not fair the way that his knees betray him, because he falls to the ground much faster than he would like. It gets him away from Meg’s hands for a second and he gratefully gulps in air, but then he sees her eyeing his feet—

Oh, absolutely not.

“No! Nohoho, waitwaitwait—Meg, truly. Please. I’m sorry.” He holds up his hands in the best surrendering gesture that he can manage. She smirks and drags a finger up the sole closest to her. The lack of oxygen has dimmed the hellfire a bit, letting her poke at him lightly with only a mild hiss of pain.

Zagreus squeals at an earth-shaking pitch and tries to roll away, but Meg grabs a coil of the whip and stops him.

“That bad, hm?” She kneels over him, blotting out the braziers burning in the chamber.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun. Let me up?” Zagreus shimmies against the ground. Meg leans close, close enough for him to smell the thick scent of ambrosia on her breath.

So she did drink it. Point to Zag.

“If I untie you, are you going to surrender?” She raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“No, but I will go easy on you.” He grins.

“Gods, you’re insufferable.” She kneels beside him. The coils of the whip loosen around him and he starts to sit up, but then he’s yanked into the air by his ankle and right into her grasp.

“Gotcha,” she smirks. She raises her hand to his foot again and panic takes over—he kicks her in the shoulder with his free foot, using the momentum to flip out of her grasp. In a flash, he dashes to Stygius and kicks the sword up into his hand.

“At least give me the dignity of a death by your hand?” He holds the blade up between them, but it feels more like he’s hiding behind it.

“Don’t say I never did anything nice for you.” Meg shakes her head, but the fond smile on her face doesn’t melt.

…

“My prince.” Hypnos gives an exaggerated bow. Zagreus shakes out the blood of the Styx in a way that would make Cerberus proud.

“What’s got you so…animated?” Zagreus tilts his head.

“Who, me? Nothing, nothing—say, is there a comedy club in Tartarus that I don’t know about?” Hypnos chews on the end of his quill and looks up with wide, innocent eyes.

“…not that I recall. It’d certainly lighten the mood.” Zag works out a knot in his shoulder. Even reformed, he swears his lungs and limbs still ache.

“Right, right. It’s just interesting because—“ Hypnos leans forward, his unassuming grin suddenly predatory— “It says here that you died of laughter.”

Zagreus’s skin burns. He opens and closes his jaw a little, eyes darting around. Hypnos gives a warbling laugh. He yelps when his scroll disintegrates in a rush of hellfire.

“Jeez. Tough crowd.” Hypnos reaches forward and flutters his fingers under Zagreus’s jaw. He giggles, startled, and smacks his hand away. Hypnos laughs again and watches him flee the throne room.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been more grateful that Hades isn’t here.

“B-but! I couldn’t say no!” Kabru cried, remembering how gentle Laios looked when he made the suggestion.

“Here he comes. I’d run if I were you,” Chilchuck said. Kabru looked over his shoulder to see Laios approaching with terrifying speed and determination. He already caught up! 

“N-n-no, Laios, can I still surrender -?” Nope. There wasn’t even time to surrender. Laios was like a huge excited dog, tackling him down as if he were ready to lick him all over his face. If only that was the case, Kabru wouldn’t even mind. 

“Gayaahaaaaaa hahahaha Laiahahaa!” he howled hysterically as soon as Laios started to tickle him. 

"Tickle fight, commence!" Laios sang, and all Kabru could do at this point was squeal and giggle.

"Nohoho Lahhahaios whaha-wahahahait!"

When he and Laios finished their cooking duty early due to their competitive spirit - who could chop the vegetables fastest? - Laios challenged him to a fun tickle fight immediately after, just to kill time until dinner. 

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” he said. Though hesistant, Kabru responded with “eh s-sure…”, not knowing this would transform Laios into an enormous tickle fanatic right away. There was no chance to back down now. He was stuck.

“Laahahahaios! Nohoho! Stah-ahahah!” Kabru laughed, suffering from the relentless tickle attack.

“Come on. Aren’t you going to tickle me back?” Laios asked eagerly, but instead of granting Kabru any good chance to do so, he caught both his flailing arms and pinned them over his head using only one hand. 

“YOU WOULDN’T!” Kabru expressed his disbelief, thinking Laios couldn’t possibly tickle him while he was in this helpless position, but oh he really did. 

“WAAHHAAH! Hehehehehelp! Aaaaaah!” Kabru squealed hysterically, his legs kicking and his head shaking desperately, but nothing he did convinced Laios that tickling his vulnerable underarm, ribs and side while pinning his arms down was truly a monstrous thing to do. 

“Look, Mr. Monster Lover has turned into one himself!" Kabru could barely hear Chilchuck's voice through his own laughter but he definitely heard that part and agreed.

“A tickle monster alright,” Senshi laughed before tasting the stew he was making. 

“Hmm, needs more herbs.”

“Nah, I’m not a monster! I’m just really good at tickle fights,” Laois said proudly while he clawed up and down Kabru's exposed and helplessly vulnerable torso. 

!!! This wasn’t a tickle fight in the slightest! It was a massacre!

“Plehehease nooooohoho! I gihihive!” 

“What was that? Give what? You’ll give it your all? Sure! Come at me!” Laios said excitedly. He did release Kabru’s arms there, only to start squeezing his sides with both hands. 

Kabru arched his back and cackled for his life. “I cahahahan’t! Releeeease meehehe!“

He reached for the hands executing the horrors and tried to pry them off his ticklish body, but he was just no match for Laios and his abnormal energy. All Kabru could do was laugh and flail.

“Ahahaha! It tickles- hehehe nahahaha!”

“It does? I’m glad!” Laios replied merrily, and he dug into Kabru’s ticklish sides with terrifying enthusiasm. Kabru thought he was going to die. 

… Was that possible?

Kabru was just going over the possibility of death by tickles, when the attack stopped suddenly. He opened his teary eyes and saw Rin and Marcille. Each held one of Laios’ arms, forcefully stopping his tickle attack on Kabru. 

“O-oh! Hello there,” Laios said, and Kabru flinched when he wiggled his fingers eagerly despite being unable to move his arms. 

“Are you joining the tickle fight?” Laios asked. Baffled that he would still give this slaughter such a term, Kabru crawled backwards and gasped for air. 

“Yes? You okay?” Rin asked, and as if they had agreed on this beforehand, she and Marcille both pulled Laios’ arms back, forcing him on his back with a surprised yelp. 

“What is happening now?” he asked, not even bothering to struggle yet. 

“Kabru’s turn to tickle you back! I felt anxious hearing his cries,” Rin huffed, using her knees to pin Kabru’s arm down. Marcille nodded. 

“You are too much, Laios! Learn when enough is enough!”

The blond blinked and sputtered: “E-eh eh? Whaha- what? Hey! That’s not fair! Let go of me!” He kicked his legs dramatically. 

“Very fair. Kabru, go ahead!” Kabru felt conflicted only for a split second; he didn’t like to have their sympathy. He felt embarrassed and humiliated, yes. But seeing Laios blushing already and squirming helplessly, ready to be at his mercy. Well… How could he resist?

“Good... Time for round 2 of this…. Tickle fight,” Kabru said, and while he would’ve loved to hear Laios’ desperate pleas before starting, he just couldn’t wait. 

“NO- nonono aaahahahah lehehehet me gooooaahaha!” he shrieked when Kabru already tickled him. He only just started and barely touched him. He was that sensitive huh! 

“Looks like the tickle monster is quite ticklish himself. Also, Dinner is almost ready,” Senshi announced. 

“No it isn’t! Take your time!” Marcille said, and that was the last bit of normal conversation that could be heard before Laios exploded in a loud, hilarious and hysterical laughing fit.

"KAHAHABRU!! Fohohorgihihive mehehe! MAhha-Mahaharcille lehehet go- aahaahah!"

Kabru was truly amazed that someone as ticklish as Laios, was such a fan of tickle fights.

"You're unbelievable," he muttered with a smile, and while he continued to tickle Laios, he analyzed every reaction, experimented on every tickle spot he could think of, and had a blast until they could finally eat dinner.

And well, they both did learn their lesson. Laios learned that he was a little too intense and behavior like that earned a proper revenge. And Kabru, he learned to not just accept any tickle fight challenge from Laios.

Although... He stared at Laios who, despite getting tickled to death just now, cheerfully munched on his food. Kabru blushed and covered his mouth to hide his smile.