An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
When Gangle placed her suggestion in the box, a part of her did so knowing it would never get picked. So when Caine needs a quick, easy adventure to tide everyone over, it's her high school prom idea that's plucked out of the suggestion box. While she'd often dreamed of a chance to overwrite the memory of her own prom, she still can't quite escape the chokehold it has on her.
But she's not the only one who's trying to keep themself from looking back. Skipping out on adventures is nothing new to them, but this one in particular hits home for Zooble in a way they'd rather not think too hard about. But to give Gangle the night she's dreamed of—that she deserves—Zooble has to decide if they can set their own feelings aside for one night, for her.
Because obviously just talking to her about it would be too easy.
—
An abstragedy-focused, suggestion box adventure where Gangle and Zooble relive their respective prom nights.
Zooble sat on the bench at the end of their bed, locked in a stare-off with the Os of their Zooble box. The set of their eyebrows remained firm, determined, and unwavering. Elbows braced on their knees as they leaned forward, like they were about to get up from their perch and close the distance between themself and their box, but an invisible tether held them in place. Their green headpiece, shaped like a spade, twitched as they heard a door shut somewhere beyond their room.
They held their breath as they listened for any footsteps against the carpeted hall. They could barely hear them, but there was no mistaking the wispy sound of Gangle walking just past their door. Her steps were little heavier than usual, but they knew it was her from the way there was a slight drag and shuffle along the floor. That, and they stopped right outside their bedroom door.
Zooble finally forced their eyes away from the unblinking box to look at their door through the mirror. They could see a shadow through the crack at the bottom of it, lingering for a minute. Zooble's eyes widened, their zig-zagged and curlicue arms stiffening as they refused to take a single breath.
It's okay, you can knock, the thought came unbidden as their leg kicked out reflexively when it straightened out, only to be chased right out of their head by its polar opposite. Please don't knock.
Rejecting her before had been accidental. Despite wanting nothing more than to give her their full attention, their mind had been buzzing with the white noise of a memory they'd long suppressed—if only because of how much it didn't matter. They'd grown past it. The last thing they were going to do was let one stupid night hold any sort of power over them.
The shadow rocked from side to side, not moving away, but not calling out to them either. They could picture her so clearly. Ribbons curled in front of her, wringing her hands together as her big, black eyes gazed longingly at their door. The way she often looked when she wanted something and didn't know how to ask. Didn't know where to start.
Their chest began to burn. They wanted her to come to them. They wanted her to leave. They wanted her to ask again. They didn't want to let her down.
Zooble's arm suddenly snapped straight. They jerked back as the force behind the involuntary motion popped the limb right out of their socket. It clattered noisily as it smacked the ground.
"Shit," Zooble exhaled on a cartoonish clown horn of a sound, their still-attached arm lurching to grab their leg just before they lost that, too.
