Chapter Text
“Do it,” Chase urged.
“No,” Buddy refused.
Chase and Buddy stood a few feet apart, eyes locked and jaws set. Chase heaved a frustrated sigh; he had limited time to guide his horse to water and make it drink. Or rather, he had limited time to convince Buddy to exit the story of his own free will. Buddy had never willingly left a story before, and Chase had always assumed that was because it was all that insufferable professionalism Buddy boasted he had, but now, while Chase waited for Buddy to grasp his key and skedaddle, Buddy seemed…far more reluctant than Chase would expect. “You gotta ask Violet to get you out of this story, Buddy. There’s no time.”
Buddy’s crossed arms tensed, and he tilted his head, his eyes seemingly glazed over in boredom. “We have plenty of time before this story ends, and I never leave a story prematurely.”
Chase bit his tongue as panic leaked into his gaze. “Listen. That Molotov cocktail won’t hold those guys off forever—”
“—that what—?”
“—doesn’t matter. Deacon and I are in your room—it’s creepy as hell, by the way—and you gotta wake up.”
A spike of anger shot through Buddy, and his arms fell to his sides. “What are you talking about? How could you be in my room? You have no idea where I am! I haven’t given anything away, and how could I—” His words cut off as he remembered. How could he be asleep? He was in a book with Chase. The typical way of going into a book required that whoever used a key must be conscious…. The atypical way, on the other hand…. A chill clawed its way up Buddy’s spine. He wasn’t using the typical way this time.
Lately, he had been subjected to more and more atypical shifts. Buddy’s upper arms were more than likely bruised from the tight hold of other Ex Libris members encouraging him towards that dark, sterile room. His feet dragged the whole way until someone struck him across the face. In one moment, Buddy struggled, and in the next, he shoved down his emotions and walked the rest of the way. If he fought, everything would only take longer, and he’d do it with far more bruises. The only thing worse than lying down in the narratonin-collection chamber and allowing the medical team to put him under was lying down in the narratonin-collection chamber and being awake during the whole process and using his own strategy to try and fall asleep.
This most recent time, Buddy walked into the designated room with someone on either side of him, ready to scoop him up and complete his job for him if necessary. Buddy shivered as he caught sight of the chamber. It was always freezing. The thick glass lid which blocked out all sound was lifted, perpendicular to the bed. It was a bed in name only and more closely resembled a dissection tray with specifically placed rubber mats and lipped metal edges. Buddy stood beside the “bed” and stared down at it as his stomach churned with nervousness. His eyes flicked up to view the head doctor on staff and then to the anesthesiologist who stood beside the doctor. At least the anesthesiologist was there. At least Buddy wouldn’t have to stare into his own terrified eyes reflected back at him in the glass for a half hour as he tried to naturally fall asleep.
Buddy gulped and worked to shove his worries down. There were at least four other people in the room closer to the door. Even at his most nimble, there was no hope that he’d be able to escape an atypical shift. It would go faster if he just complied. His hand shook as he reached out and rested it on the bed’s metal edge. A shiver shot through his arm as his heart sank.
“Get in,” the doctor commanded.
Buddy’s gaze met the sheen on the doctor’s glasses before he focused on the bed again. Every bone and nerve in his body desperately begged to push past everyone, run out of the room, and lock himself in a closet. Knowing that, Buddy sucked in a breath and climbed onto the bed.
“Wish they’d cut these shifts,” the doctor huffed to the anesthesiologist beside him. “Collecting narratonin with a medical staff on standby has to be the stupidest misuse of money I’ve seen.”
Buddy moved to position himself and ignored the words shared amongst the medical staff; they weren’t talking to him anyway, and he certainly didn’t want to hear that the problem with him crawling into a glorified coffin-shaped sensory deprivation chamber was that it was just too expensive to justify forcing on him.
“Apparently, they can fill a jar much faster when they do it this way,” the anesthesiologist picked up the conversation. “I understand the importance of making sure you have staff here in case the subject inhales a surplus during the anesthesia. Excessive use and non-paralyzed lungs don’t go hand-in-hand,” he chuckled.
Buddy bit his tongue as he gripped the lipped edges of the bed and stared at his own legs stretched out along the bed's length. He was sitting in the chamber but terribly reluctant to lie down.
“We’ve got something to combat that this time.” The doctor adjusted his mask and pulled a cart into the anesthesiologist’s view.
“Oh—,” The anesthesiologist looked over the various tubes on the cart, “—you’re intubating?”
The doctor nodded. “It’s the surest way that the subject will keep breathing even if he inhales a lot of gas. No worries for paralyzed lungs.”
The anesthesiologist whistled, surprised but not put off by the decision. “Yeah, no kidding. I’ll still have to watch the dosage, though. I’m sure Ex Libris wants to avoid brain damage.”
“He’ll be like any other coma patient.” The doctor, fed up with Buddy taking his time, gripped Buddy’s shoulder and guided him to lie down faster than he’d originally planned.
As the back of Buddy’s head bumped against the hard rubber of the bed, two shining metal protrusions appeared in his peripheral vision. The protrusions were flat and ended at his temples on either side of his head, forcing him to look up at the lifted glass lid above him. He gulped and balled his hands up into fists as he fought every instinct in his body and remained still. The three-inch-thick gray straps were pulled over Buddy’s chest, wrists, and ankles and were secured. Buddy’s left eye twitched as he unblinkingly stared at the dark ceiling. The secured straps were meant to keep him immobile so his head wouldn’t fall out of the machine’s frame—or that’s what he was told.
“Relax your hand.”
Buddy heard the doctor speak to him, a rare occurrence. He grit his teeth, and the fingers of his right hand trembled as he allowed them to splay flat against the bed. The pinch of a needle tucking itself under a few layers of dermis was slow and precise, and Buddy hated every millisecond. Who cared about nutrients mixed with saline? If it meant he could go without the pinch and the tight medical tape placed overtop the needle, he’d go without the IV. Let him lack fluids; maybe in that case, the shift would end sooner. Buddy’s eyebrows pulled together in silent dismay as his eyes fell closed in defeat.
A cold weight pressed around Buddy’s nose and mouth.
“Slow, deep breaths,” the anesthesiologist commanded.
Buddy’s eyes flicked down to see the clear rim of the oxygen mask. His gaze traveled back up to the glass lid of the chamber. He breathed in and then breathed out, slowly and deeply, while also keeping his eyes open for as long as he could; closing his eyes before the medication would take effect would tell the anesthesiologist to cut the medication. Buddy wasn’t interested in risking brain damage, but there was something about being strapped down to a metal and rubber slab beneath a locked glass lid that really seemed much less bearable than fainting spells and other near-death symptoms.
It felt like forever until Buddy’s eyes finally grew too heavy to keep open. The last sensation he remembered was someone tilting his head back and guiding his chin down to open his mouth.
Chase grabbed Buddy’s hand and tugged on it to pull Buddy out of his thoughts. “Buddy, hey, hold your key and say that you want to leave the book.”
Buddy’s voice came out in a disoriented whisper, “N-no.”
Chase’s lips pulled into a taut line. “Listen, Deacon and I are opening that thing you’re in. We can’t get Violet out of the book they’ve got set up by the machine thing. You have to wake up.”
Buddy shook his head and broke eye contact.
“Deacon says that whatever’s up against your temples might malfunction if we try to pull you out of it, so you gotta wake up on your own.”
“I’m not leaving the book.” The idea of waking up strapped down inside the chamber with nothing to do but stare into his own panicked eyes was too much to bear. He couldn’t wake up. He refused.
Chase leaned into Buddy’s field of vision. “You gotta, ‘cause we don’t know if pulling you out is gonna make you brain dead or not.” His jaw locked as the panic seemed to heighten. “Wake. Up.”
Buddy raised his voice, “No! If I leave the book early, then—” His words died on his lips.
Chase ventured a guess into Buddy’s worries. “...Then the Ex Libris guys would…do something to you, right?”
Buddy looked away from Chase again. His shoulders trembled. “I’m not waking up.”
Chase released his hold on Buddy’s hand. He lifted his hands and gently rested the pads of his fingers against either side of Buddy’s cheeks. Gingerly, he guided Buddy to meet his eyes. “Buddy, I’m right here. Deacon is, too. We’re right there, and we’re gonna get you out of that Brain Surgeon Barbie horror box, okay? Just grab your key and wake up.”
Instead of getting angrier or more frustrated, Chase had become more gentle in both movement and speech. Buddy truly didn’t expect it, but…it was Chase. He’d never been the first to throw hands. He’d always been prodded first. Buddy gazed into Chase’s earnest brown eyes for a few moments longer before his eyebrows pulled together, and his eyes fell closed. “...A….alright.” Chase wouldn’t lie. Not about this.
Chase’s hands fell from Buddy’s cheeks before grabbing onto Silver’s key. He waited, however, until he could be sure that Buddy had left.
Buddy’s eyes opened, and he peered down to Violet’s key. His hand trembled slightly as he reached and then clasped Violet’s key. His eyes flicked up to meet Chase’s sincere gaze again before Buddy dared to speak, “...Okay, Violet, take me out of the book.” Buddy’s eyes squeezed closed as his body was enveloped in light, and his consciousness was lifted out the book.
Buddy’s eyes opened as every fiber of his being radiated dread.
“Oh, hey, you’re up!” Not Chase—better known as ‘Deacon’—was standing where the doctor had once stood. “Come on, stay calm and sit up.” Deacon leaned down to hook an arm below Buddy to cradle his shoulders and gently lift Buddy from his lying down position.
Buddy looked down to see the blue plastic edge of something pressed up against his cheeks. His eyes widened.
A flash of light appeared on the other side of the bed, and Chase materialized beside Buddy, having just jumped out of the book. Immediately, Chase held Buddy’s left hand. “It’ll be okay, Buddy. We got this.” He hooked a finger under the elastic band which kept the blue plastic pressed against Buddy’s mouth and lifted it over Buddy’s head to unfasten it.
Deacon checked a small tube and fussed with something—Buddy was too focused on being unable to breathe to question it. Buddy tried to intake air, but the intubation tube down his throat allowed few to no openings.
Deacon locked gazes with Buddy. “Okay, Buddy, look at me. I need you to breathe out while I pull the tube out, okay? I’m going to do it slowly and carefully so I don’t catch something.”
Buddy’s eyebrows pulled together in horror as a whine attempted to squirm out from around the tube.
“You can do it. I’m going to start pulling the tube out in—”
“Deacon, c’mon, he can’t breathe!” Chase looked to Deacon with worry in his eyes. He gave Buddy’s left hand a squeeze to try and reassure him.
With a nod, Deacon gently eased the tube out of Buddy’s mouth.
Buddy’s eyes could only grow wider as he watched the length of tube grow longer and longer as each inch was recovered from his throat. Once it was out, Buddy let out a violent cough and gasped in breath. Chase pulled Buddy into a firm hug as Buddy struggled to catch his breath. Tears beaded in Buddy’s eyes and dripped down his cheeks as he took note of the straps that had been yanked open and unfastened as well as the chaos of unconscious men and makeshift weapons lying around the room.
“Buddy, I’m going to take the IV out, okay?”
Buddy’s gaze met Deacon’s eyes. He let out another cough, and he nodded.
Deacon peeled back the medical tape, grabbed a section of gauze, and held it against the wound on Buddy’s right hand. He then eased the needle out and pressed the small section of gauze to the wound to stifle any blood. “You should rest your voice and just focus on breathing. It should get easier in a few hours.”
Buddy gave Deacon a bit of a doubtful look. His throat felt raw, and he didn’t dare speak at the risk of setting off another coughing fit.
Chase rubbed Buddy’s back and pulled back enough to stand aside. “C’mon, we should try to get going. I’ll help you stand.” He lifted Buddy’s left arm over his shoulders and wrapped his right arm around Buddy’s back. “One step at a time.”
Buddy glanced to Chase before he swung his legs over the side of the bed and entirely misjudged the effort it’d take. He clung to Chase as the other acted as a pillar of support keeping Buddy from tumbling to the floor.
“Oop—I know you wanna sprint out, but Deacon said you were hooked up for a while.” Chase pulled Buddy up to sit on the bed’s edge. “Your legs are supposed to take a while to stop being spaghetti. I guess?” Chase’s gaze met Deacon’s for confirmation.
Deacon walked around the chamber, lifted Buddy’s right arm over his shoulders, and hooked his left arm around Buddy’s back as an extra support. “Yeah, so we’re going to be your leg strength for a bit until you can shake the spaghetti legs off.”
Buddy looked between the two practical strangers, absolutely gobsmacked that they’d go through so much effort to help him. His jaw locked, and his gaze fell to the floor. His legs were more or less useless. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t act as any kind of asset to their team; the feeling of being a burden stoked a deep-seated frustration within him. A shock of realization passed through his eyes, and he looked to the book in a smaller chamber beside the main narratonin-gathering chamber. “V-Violet,” he choked out before releasing another few lung-rattling coughs.
“Hunh?” Chase looked to the smaller chamber to see the small purple keyperson standing between shards of glass that had been smashed by Chase not ten minutes earlier. “You got it.” Chase released his hold on Buddy, scooped a hefty crowbar up from the ground, and swung it down into the glass wall to remove any remaining glass. With a couple well-placed whacks, the remaining glass shattered away. “Heya, Vi!” Chase flashed her a brilliant smile and offered her his free hand to walk onto. “Ready for a jailbreak?”
Violet, who had watched as Chase and Deacon dispatched the medical team through a combination of skill and luck, quickly hurried onto Chase’s hand and clung to it until she could slip into the satchel which hung from his shoulder. She slipped down to come face to face with Silver and Bronze.
Chase hurriedly went right back to Buddy’s side as the keys shouted excitedly at being reunited. He hooked Buddy’s left arm around his neck and reached his right arm around Buddy’s back. “Okay, take two. Action!”
Buddy’s head spun as they escaped Ex Libris. His head continued to spin as he, Chase, and Deacon jumped into the car and sped off. Even as Chase and Deacon introduced him to their Grandpa Ralph and assured him that he’d be very comfortable at the farmhouse, Buddy’s head still spun. He sat on the couch and stared at the TV’s flashing lights without taking in any meaningful information, not sure how to exist in this new space.
“Buddy?”
Buddy’s gaze lifted from the TV to rest on Chase who had appeared standing beside him. He blinked a bit blankly and replied, “Yes?”
Chase tilted his head. “Are you okay? You’ve been pretty quiet the past couple days. You’re usually more talkative in books.”
Buddy’s eyes fell to Chase’s shirt, flicked over to Chase’s hand to see he held a glass of water, and landed on the coffee table where his eye muscles felt most relaxed. “...I…. I’m not in a book…right now.” He leaned on his knees and threaded his fingers together. “There’s no script to follow,” he admitted, a bit embarrassed. He was out of his depth. He was no longer an expert lavishing criticism and banter on Chase and Deacon. It was…unnerving.
“Oooh,” Chase hummed in amusement before setting the glass of water in front of Buddy on the coffee table and taking a seat beside him on the couch. “S’that it? You don’t have to worry about anything. You can be whoever you want here. You can be whatever you want. No one’s gonna yell at you for it.”
No, Chase didn’t get it. ‘Be everything and anything’ was fine advice for a rebellious teenager looking to stretch his legs in a place without consequences, but Buddy’s situation was different. There was always a way to act, and he had always had a script to work off of—there had always been concrete expectations to mold himself to. Although it was suffocating, it was structured, and to suddenly be without it meant that Buddy was going to walk out into the world with jelly legs. Being without the braces he’d used for so long to walk the walk and the script he’d used to talk the talk left him atrophied.
“Buddy?” Chase spoke up when it seemed Buddy had receded into his thoughts. “Hm…, maybe…. Maybe you just need to do something to feel normal?”
Buddy’s chin lifted, and he looked to Chase. “Something to feel normal?”
“Yeah.” Chase gave him a relaxed smile. “You’ve been stuck in a really awful place for a long time, so you probably aren’t super familiar with stuff normal guys do. I’m sure if we go do a normal guy thing, then you can loosen up a bit, and you’ll be calling me an idiot again in no time.” He chuckled.
A corner of Buddy’s lips tugged into a small smile. Maybe that could work. His gaze drifted to the water glass on the coffee table, its edge fogged with condensation. If he could see how other guys acted, perhaps he’d learn how to be one, too. “Alright. It could be worth a try.”
“Even if the idea came from an idiot like me?” Chase’s smile turned coy.
A soft laugh escaped from Buddy. “Yeah. Even if it came from a little idiot like you.”
Chapter Text
Buddy stood in front of a house he didn't recognize with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. It seemed that every light was on or flashing and sent up pillars of light to the dark night sky. A beat thumped from within the house, and Buddy found himself bonding to the quiet, crisp breeze outside much more than the rampant activity inside.
Chase stood beside Buddy with a bright smile lighting up his face. “Okay, so this is a house party. They're super fun, and you'll get a ton of chances to talk to people and make friends!” He patted Buddy’s back in an effort to encourage him and put him at ease. “I don't know how old you are, but there’s gonna be beer, and you can have some if you want. There’s also soda and water if you don't want beer, though.”
Buddy crossed his arms in an attempt to mimic stability and gave Chase a hesitant nod of confirmation.
Deacon stood on Buddy’s other side. “Don't worry. These parties can get loud and rowdy, but it’s a pretty considerate crowd. You might just have to be firm when you're turning someone down, but don't be mean about it.”
Buddy sent Deacon a confused look. Be mean but don't be that mean. How could that possibly work? The crowd is considerate, but they're loud and rowdy. Then wouldn’t that mean they’re not actually considerate? He looked back to the house as trepidation settled in his chest. He was already faced with two oxymorons, and he hadn't even set foot in the ‘super amazing, fun, cool’ party yet.
“Hey,” Chase hummed and rested a hand on Buddy’s shoulder.
Buddy’s head turned to meet Chase’s eyes.
Chase’s smile was relaxed as he gave Buddy’s shoulder a gentle pat. “You can do it. Easy peasy. Just follow my lead.” He walked ahead towards the front door.
Deacon followed after Chase, leaving Buddy where he was standing.
Buddy’s nails dug into his arms as he watched his braces walk away from him. He looked at the lights on the second floor of the house one more time before his arms fell to his sides, and he followed Chase and Deacon into the house.
Much unlike outside, the inside of the house was filled with people, pounding music, flashing lights, and heat. Everywhere Buddy looked had people chattering, cackling, cooing, and chugging. His shoulders tensed as he instinctively tried to make himself smaller to make it easier for him to bob and weave around people in his efforts to keep close on Chase’s trail.
Chase threw his arms up and shouted, “Yo! Simon!” His face brightened with a luminous smile, and excitement burst from his gaze. He hurried over and punched another person’s shoulder. “You left me at dance practice alone again!” He laughed. “I’m starting to think you hate it!” Chase had to project his voice to be heard over the sound system.
Buddy followed suit and chose to hang out near Chase like a shadow. His gaze flicked between Chase and this other person—this Simon. Simon was taller than Chase, but not as tall as Deacon. His muscles were lean and were backed up by strength—or they must’ve been if Simon danced like Chase did. Simon’s jaw was pronounced, his smile was bright, and his eyes were glittering with amusement as he joked back with Chase. Buddy could hardly hear them even though he was within five feet of them both. They both projected their voices to be heard over the incessantly loud music.
“What’s up with sourpuss there?!” Although he was speaking at Chase, Simon nodded towards Buddy.
Buddy bristled, feeling a strike of anger seethe within him.
Chase glanced back to see exactly who Simon was talking about before turning right back to Simon. “He’s not used to this scene!” Chase called back. “He’s cool, though! You should see him in a library!”
Simon burst out laughing, not expecting Chase to link ‘cool’ with ‘library’.
Buddy frowned considerably and bit back an insult. He pointedly glared away from the oh-so-chummy duo and flinched as an unbearably shrill note sounded over the loudspeakers. He took a few concentrated breaths as he watched the lights shade everyone in red, then blue, then yellow, then white, and then back again for another loop. Someone particularly annoying had their phone flashlight on and waved their phone back and forth to the beat of the frantic song playing.
“No, he’s great!” Chase’s voice somehow found its way back to Buddy’s ears. “He can spear fish and dance and stuff!”
“How’s his game?!” Simon shouted back.
Chase’s arms fell, and his head tilted to the side. “How’s his game? His game’s awesome! You don’t even know! Buddy!” Chase looked back at Buddy. “Hey, Buddy, show yourself off! Get in on this!”
Buddy, on the other hand, was trying his best to find some object to look at that wasn’t bathed in technicolor flash bombs and was trying to hear his own inner thoughts. The jacket he wore used to be cozy—used to be comfy. Now, it stuck to his arms and heightened the muggy heat that weighed the house’s atmosphere down. A friendly punch to Buddy’s shoulder forcibly tore Buddy from the crumbling castle of solitude he had been trying to construct. More than the ache that pulsed in his shoulder, the shock of being ripped out of his own thoughts sent figurative flames alight in Buddy’s eyes. Reluctantly, Buddy’s piercing ice-blue gaze met Simon’s unassuming and stupid and annoying and dumb eyes. “What?” He hissed, completely inaudible thanks to the speakers.
“Chase says you’re a badass!” Simon’s voice boomed from his lungs; projection proved to be a much more useful weapon when facing someone head on, and Buddy was unsure he had the ear drums to protect against it. “What’s your best pickup line?!”
Buddy’s jaw locked, and his nails dug into the palms of his hands. A challenge he wasn’t prepared for was laid in front of him, and he really wasn’t interested in making a fool of himself to entertain Chase’s insufferable friend. “I don’t have one,” he huffed.
“What?!”
“I don’t have one,” Buddy hissed again. His attempts to raise his voice were unsuccessful. It was as if he was talking into a black hole that ate sound. The very least Simon could do was read his lips.
“He’s really good at attitude!” Chase yelled to Simon and elbowed Simon’s arm. “He can command a room like a queen!”
Simon snickered. “Like a queen?!”
“Like a drag queen!” Chase clarified. “He can have you eating out of the palm of his hand!”
Simon glanced between Chase’s bubbly golden retriever energy and Buddy’s murderous glare. “You always did like ice queens!”
Buddy bristled again. He had just about enough of people shouting at him no matter what they said or how they meant it.
“I’m telling ya!” Chase held Simon’s upper arm and yanked him back and forth jovially. “He could walk on you in heels, and you’d thank him!”
Simon let out another peal of laughter, startling another flinch out of Buddy.
Buddy huffed and glanced around again, trying to find some non-annoying surface to focus on, trying to ignore just how loud the music was, trying to ignore just how clearly he could feel his heart beat with the pulse of the speakers. Another jab at his shoulder pulled Buddy back into conversation with Simon. Buddy snatched the two fingers Simon had used to jab his shoulder, and he dug his nails into the skin. “Touch me again, and I’ll snap your fingers off,” he growled as poison dripped from his voice.
“Hey!” Simon yanked his fingers out of Buddy’s claws and examined the scratches that were left behind. “What the hell, man?!”
Chase’s eyes widened. “Buddy, what’s up?!”
Buddy’s focus passed between Simon and Chase. Simon’s eyes were filled with shock and indignance as if he’d just watch Buddy strangle someone with his bare hands. Chase was watching him with eyes filled with concern and surprise. That look hurt more—much more than whatever disgust Simon could throw at him. Wait. Had…he done something wrong? His eyebrows pulled together in confusion. Was he not supposed to defend himself if his space was invaded? His gaze fell on Simon’s fingers and at the beads of blood and scrapes of bright white all down the skin. Buddy gulped, met Chase’s eyes one more time, and then looked to the floor as he ducked past Simon to head for the exit. Chase called after him as Buddy all but swam through the humidity that permeated the house.
The front door opened and then closed. Buddy stood on the path which led from the driveway to the front door. The music still pulsed through his organs. Buddy hooked a left and walked past the driveway, desperate to escape the cacophony of noise. Every step away from the music, flashing lights, and groups of people attempting what could only be described as a competition to do the stupidest thing was one more step into blissful solitude. Buddy stopped once he had reached a small pond at the playground next door and fell to sit beside the water.
Buddy's skin was practically buzzing from the stimulus he had desperately tried to shrug off. This wasn't being normal. Normal people jabbed shoulders, shouted, bounced up and down to a beat, loved having their eardrums rupture–WHY?! “Why?” Buddy whimpered and tucked his knees to his chest. He rested his head against his knees, flicked his bangs aside, and pressed his hands to his ears. It felt as if all his nerves had been stripped of their insulation and had been electrified long past the point that Buddy could stand it. It'd only been maybe ten or fifteen minutes! He could traverse land, command armies, pull off clever plans, but couldn't last fifteen minutes in a normal party? Buddy shuddered in shame.
“Buddy!” Chase called from a distance.
Buddy flinched, but didn't move from his position.
The crunch of leaves grew closer and closer. “Buddy,” Chase's shout had turned into a soothing coo. “Hey, Buddy….” Chase stood beside Buddy's curled-up form.
Buddy's fingers slowly curled into his hair, and his mouth affixed itself into a firm frown.
Chase was quiet for a moment, and then he sat down beside Buddy. “Are you okay?”
Buddy bit his tongue. He had fumbled the social interaction so completely that Chase had to pull himself away from his fun time to comfort him. He mentally cursed at himself.
Chase leaned, looking between Buddy and the house. “I…guess it's a lot if it isn't a scene you're used to.” Truth be told, Buddy always seemed so formidable; Chase figured he could handle anything that was thrown at him with ease. Chase's gaze traced the curve of Buddy's back, and then he scolded himself. Just because Buddy could seem to handle anything, it didn't mean that Buddy should be thrown in the figurative deep end to claw and sputter his way out again. “I'm sorry.”
Buddy's head lifted, and he finally made eye contact with Chase. His jaw locked, and his eyes were absolutely filled to the brim with misery. He rested his hands against his knees and whispered, “You're sorry?”
“Um. Yeah.” Chase scooter a little closer to Buddy. “I didn't think about how crazy parties can feel—especially if you're not used to them.”
Buddy glanced away and rubbed his eyes. He shook his head and muttered, “S'fine. I just…need to be alone right now.” That was the usual solution: finding a dark hole to curl up in, pulling curtains closed, and wrapping himself in a blanket to ride out the waves of unforgivably irritating sensations. But right now, removing himself from the sensations wasn't working, and it began to summon panic.
Chase's eyebrows pulled together with worry, and his gaze passed between the house and Buddy again. “Will you be okay? We can go back home. We can leave right now. Do you want to leave?”
Each new question layered another responsibility Buddy had to address before he could work on calming down. He shook his head and shrugged. “I. I don't know. I don't know.” Why wasn't removing himself from the party working?
After a moment's thought, Chase altered his questions to what he hoped would've been easier to answer. “Does sitting out here feel good?”
Buddy paused and then took stock of his senses. Closing his eyes had helped, but there were streetlights that flooded the shimmering, wet pavement with punches and stabs of white and yellow. Each time he opened his eyes, there was more to block out again. His taste buds were fine. His ears rang with how loud the music had been, and they suffered each time the breeze yanked a swing or other playground fixture into a squeaking symphony. It had rained recently, so all the scents of outside were pronounced and incessant. Lastly, the breeze had betrayed him. He had been much too warm in the party, and now that he was outside, the breeze blew his bangs every which way and chilled his cheeks. The wet from the ground seeped into his pants as an accomplice to the breeze and kept him cold and uncomfortable. There was no coming down from sensory hell in a place like this. The realization sent a couple frustrated tears dripping down Buddy’s cheeks. “...No…,” he whispered.
Chase’s heart squeezed. “What if we went home? Right now. You could sit in my room where it’s quiet. You can keep the lights off and use the really soft blanket, and when you're ready, we can make some soup.”
After a pause of consideration, Buddy nodded. He rubbed the wet trails from his cheeks, and finally conceded that he’d lost that night’s social interaction battle.
Chase’s lips pulled into a relieved smile, and he stood before offering Buddy a hand. “Okay. Let’s go grab Deacon and head out.”
Buddy stared at Chase’s hand, mildly confused. He tilted his head to meet Chase’s eyes. “It’s…fine?”
“It will be,” Chase assured him and waved his hand a bit. “C’mon. There’s a mug of hot chocolate with your name on it at home.”
Buddy’s jaw clenched, and he willed himself not to shed any remaining tears. He breathed in a shaky breath and released it. After a moment’s thought, Buddy reached up and accepted Chase’s hand before pulling himself to stand. He gave Chase’s hand a squeeze, a silent plea to guide him.
Chase gave Buddy a warm smile and a gentle hand squeeze in return.
Buddy didn’t hold Chase’s hand the whole way home—home—but he didn’t feel any less cared for. Deacon elected to grab his own refreshments and retire to his room to finish some very pressing reading as Chase guided Buddy to his room. “I know the ground was a lil’ wet,” Chase assumed as he dug through his dresser drawers. “I’m pretty sure I got some comfy pants somewhere….”
Buddy stood at the center of Chase’s room. He’d stood in Chase’s room and observed his surroundings before—the posters, the books, the blankets, and the vibe. It was, indeed, cozy.
“Aha, there we go.” Chase tugged out a pair of pajama pants and held them up for Buddy to see. “What do you think?”
Buddy turned to catch sight of the pants. He reached a hand out and rubbed the fabric between his thumb and index finger. “...It’s soft….”
“Good soft or bad soft?”
Buddy pondered and then ducked his hand inside the pants to feel the inside’s texture. “Good soft,” he decided.
Chase nodded and then held them up for Buddy to take. “M’kay. You can use them instead of those jeans.” He rested the pants over Buddy’s arm and walked over to his bed. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he took stock of his blankets.
While Chase focused on choosing the best blanket, Buddy unzipped his jacket and shrugged it off with a slight shudder before draping it over the top of Chase’s dresser. Wearing short sleeves was vastly preferable at the moment. He unbuttoned his jeans and paused, deciding to wait until he was alone to change.
“Here we go,” Chase hummed as he yanked a blanket from its spot compressed between the mattress and the wall. He shook it out and held it up for Buddy to inspect. “Best blanket in the house.” His eyes filled with pride as he showed the blanket off.
Buddy’s gaze drifted from the flecks of gold in Chase’s eyes to settle on the blanket. Its coloring was simple: various shades of blue and purple fading in and out of each other with smooth value changes. Buddy walked over and ran a hand along the blanket. The pile was long and softer than velvet. Buddy’s eyes fell closed as he savored the feeling.
Chase’s lips quirked into a relieved smile, and he dragged the blanket up Buddy’s arm to his shoulder and then to rest against Buddy’s cheek.
Buddy’s head tilted into the motion, and his eyes opened just enough to watch Chase. “Good soft,” he whispered as his nerves finally began to settle.
Chase remained there, standing and inspecting the glimmer of interest swimming in Buddy’s eyes like a school of fish glittering between sunbeams. Soft trails of warmth brushed against Chase’s hand until Chase realized Buddy rested his own hand against Chase’s, encouraging Chase’s touch. Warmth rose in Chase’s cheeks. He blinked idly, debating on whether or not to step into the warmth and indulge in it.
Buddy’s pinky hooked the blanket to catch over his shoulder, removing the fluffy indigo wall between his jaw and Chase’s hand. While keeping a close watch on Chase’s expression, Buddy turned his head to nuzzle his lips into Chase’s palm in a silent kiss. “...Chase,” he whispered.
“Y-yeah?” Chase shivered as blotches of red staggered up and down his neck and shoulders. His heart pounded so loudly in his ears, he nearly didn’t catch what Buddy had said.
Buddy turned his head just enough to avoid speaking into Chase’s hand. “Would you stay with me…while I rest?”
“No prob, Bob,” Chase murmured absently. He flinched as his attraction had been combined with embarrassment. “Um. Uh.”
Buddy’s lips pulled into a smile, and he chuckled softly, unable to keep his amusement under wraps. “Okay. I was going to lie down.” His amusement faltered as the familiar dread associated with climbing onto a ‘bed’ reared its prickly head. His gaze fell to the bed.
“Yeah, yeah. Sounds good.” Chase gingerly slipped his hand from Buddy’s hold and turned away. “You needed to change into the PJ pants, right?”
Buddy nodded to himself before adding, “Yeah.”
“Okay.” Chase leaned over to fix his sheets and pillows, making sure to keep his eyes off Buddy. “I can head out of the room, and you ca—”
The sound of a zipper unzipping froze Chase in place. He remained stuck as he heard the apathetic drop of jeans against the floor and the rustle of fleece sliding into place. “S’fine,” Buddy confirmed. “It’s already done.”
Chase’s gaze snapped over to see that Buddy had replaced the jeans with the pajama pants. “...Ahuh. Yeah. Y-yeah. It, uh. Glad to see they fit.” He smiled through his blushing haze before he climbed onto bed. “Alright. Um….” Chase moved to sit on the side closer to the wall. “Is over here good?”
Buddy nodded and hooked his fingers on the blanket. With a tug, he pulled the blanket to hang over both of his shoulders and back like a cape. He took stock of his senses. Taste was fine. Scent was fine; Grandpa Ralph’s wallflower wax melts were unobtrusive and all the way downstairs. Hearing was fine; the silence occasionally accompanied by Chase’s voice was absolute bliss compared to earlier. Sight was fine; Chase had left the lights off. A solitary nightlight offered the room a humble glow without intruding between them. Touch was fine; the blanket and pajamas were divine.
This wasn’t Ex Libris.
Buddy’s eyes fell closed as he breathed in a slow, focused breath before releasing it just as slowly.
This was the farmhouse.
Buddy’s eyes peered open to see the night light’s glow lazily contour the tips of Chase’s hair and his jaw.
This was Chase.
Buddy leaned forward and reached out a hand to press against the very real mattress. His other hand followed suit. He tucked up his left leg and pressed his knee against the sheets. His other leg followed suit. Buddy settled at the center of the bed, kneeling and watching Chase.
The image of a tiger trying to make peace with going from a tight cage to several acres of land filled Chase’s thoughts for a moment before he shrugged it off. “We gotta get maximum comfort, right?”
Buddy’s chin lifted, and his gaze focused. “Maximum comfort?” He murmured.
“Yeah. Here.” Chase leaned forward, pinched the edges of the blanket, and pulled it forward just enough to give Buddy a makeshift hood. “Cozy all around.” He leaned back and rested his head against his pillow. “One thing missing.” Chase patted his chest. “Put your head here.”
Buddy tilted his head in thought. “On your chest?”
“Yeah, trust me.” Chase held his arms up to give Buddy room.
After a pause, Buddy scooted closer and leaned down to lie his head where Chase had indicated. His jaw nuzzled against Chase’s sternum, and his ear pressed flat against Chase’s chest. Buddy’s arms wrapped around Chase’s torso as best they could, and his gaze rested on the bedroom wall.
Chase’s arms settled loosely on Buddy, resulting in a gentle weight keeping him from mentally floating away.
Buddy breathed in, closed his eyes, and breathed out, allowing himself to succumb to a restful sleep to the steady music of Chase’s heartbeat.