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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Toodles sat on Rodger's lap, her hands wrapped around a crayon as she doodled on the back of an old museum pamphlet. She hummed tunelessly, absently kicking her feet against his knees. Rodger cleared his throat, staring at the ceiling while Teagan paced nearby. Steam from a nearby tea kettle boiled. Their shadows stretched long against the tan wallpaper—his stiff and hunched, hers sharp with restless energy.

Toodles frowned at the way Rodger's fingers kept twitching against her shoulders, like he was expecting something to happen. "Daddy," she said, pressing the crayon harder into the paper until it smushed, "why are you acting weird?" Rodger's breath hitched. Across the room, Teagan stopped pacing abruptly, crossing her arms under her breasts. Steam curled around her porcelain rim, obscuring her face.

"Weird?" Rodger muttered as he adjusted his shirt—a nervous habit Toodles had seen more often lately.

The silence stretched too long. Toodles twisted in his lap to peer up at him, her eight-ball surface reflecting the flickering overhead light in fractured patches. "Yeah," she insisted, poking his chest. "Your leg keeps bouncing," Toodles said in a matter-of-fact tone. She hopped off his lap and went to Teagan.

"Just...thinking, sweetheart," he spoke in a soft voice. "Why don't you go with your mom to the tea party room?" Toodles bounced on her toes, oblivious to the tension thickening the air.

"You'll come too, right? After your thinking?" She tugged at Rodger's sleeve, bouncing slightly—her version of a pleading gesture—before darting back to Teagan and slipping her tiny fingers into Teagan's. "You have to!! You've already been gone for so long! Promise!" There was no malice in her voice—just confusion at why her father kept needing to *think* so much lately.

Rodger swallowed hard, looking at her with a sad eye. "Come on, dear, let your father be." Teagan placed her gloved hand on her head, guiding her toward the exit.

"No! He promised!" Toodles stomped her foot, turning toward Rodger. Teagan's grip tightened around Toodles' fingers—just for a second—before loosening again. It was the kind of movement Toodles wouldn't have noticed before, back when hands didn't shake around her.

"He'll come later, darling," Teagan murmured, steam still obscuring her face as she nudged Toodles forward. "Come on, Cosmo made honey cakes." Toodles hesitated, glancing back—Rodger wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at his own hands, turning them over like they weren’t his. She didn’t understand, but the mention of honey cakes made her stomach growl.

"Fine," she huffed, though she didn’t let go of Teagan’s glove, squeezing it tight as they stepped into the hallway lined with cracked but polished porcelain tiles.

The tea party room smelled like bergamot and brown tea. But something was different. As it has been for the last few months, something thick and sour underneath. Like old milk left in the sun. Everyone was already there when Toodles stumbled in, still clutching Teagan’s hand. "Good morning, Teagan, Toodles," Dandy spoke softly, his petals drooping as he leaned back in his chair. His usually vibrant petals looked dull, and it was clear there were some missing.

Cosmo slid a plate of honey cakes toward them. "Freshly baked," he said, voice too cheerful. His cream filling oozed from a crack near his side. Razzle and Dazzle sat perfectly still for once, though she thought if they moved, it would all look wonky.

Brightney flickered weakly in the corner, her glow dimmer than usual. She didn’t greet them—just stared blankly at the wall. Not an expression on her face, not even her usual warm hum when Toodles skipped by.

"Thanks again, Teagan, for the tea, that is." Cosmo smiled awkwardly, rubbing his side where. Everything was so weird, as if this was all a prank she wasn't in on, but no one was laughing.

Toodles reached for a honey cake, but paused—Brightney's usual spot was cold, no warmth radiating from her base. She looked at Teagan, who was stirring her tea with a spoon that clinked too loudly against her porcelain. "Mommy," Toodles whispered, tugging her sleeve, "why's Brightney so quiet?" Teagan's spoon stilled for just a second too long before she forced a smile. "She's just tired, darling. Eat your cake."

Dandy groaned suddenly, clutching his midsection where his petals curled inward like crumpled paper. Cosmo's frosting-stained hands fluttered near him, hesitating before pulling back. "Don't throw up on me again," Cosmo muttered, though there was no bite to it—just exhaustion.

"Oh fu...screw off." He muttered lowly, pressing the teacup to his lips. Cosmo sighed, pushing another honey cake toward him—ginger-flavored this time, from the pungent scent wafting off it.

"Eat," Cosmo urged, nudging it closer. "It helps." Dandy glared but took a shaky bite, his petals trembling. Toodles watched as Ginger reached across the table to pat Dandy’s back.

"I'm fine, stop fussin'!" Dandy snapped, sitting up to smack her hand away. He sipped the tea, sighing in the cup.

Toodles picked at her honey cake, crumbs sticking to her fingers as she glanced around the table. The silence felt heavy, pressing against her like the walls of the museum after dark. She swallowed hard, then blurted out, "Mr. Dandy, can I ask a question?" Her voice echoed oddly against the porcelain walls.

Dandy froze with his teacup halfway to his lips. The clink of spoons stopped. "Of course you can," he forced a smile.

"What happened with Sprout?" she asked, rocking forward on her knees. "Everyone was happy before Christmas, and then he ran away. And now you're all..." She gestured vaguely at Dandy's missing petals, at Cosmo's oozing side. "Uhh, not so dandy."

The word hung in the air like shattered glass. Teagan's grip on her teacup tightened—as if she could shatter it. Brightney flickered violently in the corner, casting jagged shadows. "Toodles," Cosmo began, voice strained, "Sprout was—"

"Bad." Teagan cut in sharply, knuckles white around his napkin. "He was very bad."

Dandy exhaled through his petals—his fingers gripping the cloth. "He was bad, and now he's gone." Cosmo glanced at him, cream dripping into his lap.

That didn't satisfy Toodles. She frowned, kicking her legs under the table. "But what did he *do*?" The words bounced around the silent room, each syllable sharp as shattered glass. Everyone suddenly found something fascinating about their teacups—except Brightney, who flickered once before dimming entirely, like a candle snuffed out mid-breath.

Teagan leaned in close, her whisper hot with steam—not comforting like warm tea, but scalding. "Some things," she murmured, "you don't need to know."

Dandy abruptly stood, chair legs screeching against tile. "I need air," he walked out with his leaf tail brushing against the table. His footsteps echoed down the hall—too fast, too sharp—before dissolving into the hum of distant pipes.

Toodles glanced at Teagan, a frown growing on her lips. Did she say something wrong? No one was telling her anything—no one was helping her understand. The silence stretched like taffy, pulling tighter until she thought her head might pop. "But I *do* need to know!" Her voice cracked, bouncing off the teacups with a shrill echo. "Everyone's all... all..." She waved her hands wildly, knocking over her honey cake. It landed frosting-side down, cream smearing across the table like a wound.

Cosmo flinched, staring at the mess as if it were something far worse. His frosting-stained fingers twitched toward it, then recoiled. "Toodles," he began, voice thin as tissue paper, "it's grown-up stuff. You wouldn't—"

"Understand????" She finished for him, kicking the table leg. The teacups rattled, sloshing liquid over the rims. "That's what everyone keeps saying!" Brightney flickered weakly in the corner, casting jagged shadows across Toodles' face. She turned to her, desperate. "Brightney? You tell me stories all the time. Tell me this one."

But Brightney's glow guttered out entirely, plunging that corner of the room into darkness. Only the ragged sound of her vents wheezing filled the silence—like someone had punched a hole straight through her. Teagan's hand clamped down on Toodles' shoulder, sharp enough to sting. "Enough," she hissed, steam curling from her rim in agitated bursts. "This conversation is over."

The scrape of Toodles' chair was the only sound as Teagan yanked her upright, honey cake smeared across her dress. "Teagan—" Cosmo started, but she was already dragging Toodles toward the arched doorway, her porcelain feet clicking against tile with unnatural precision.

Halfway down the hall, Toodles twisted free, her eight-ball surface flashing under the flickering sconce light. "You're hiding something!" The accusation bounced off the museum's high ceilings, swallowed by the ever-present sounds of other toons. "Why won't you tell me? You treat me like I'm a kid!!"

"You are one—you *are* a kid!" Teagan snapped, steam billowing violently from her rim. But then her grip loosened, and she exhaled, her porcelain shoulders slumping. A sharp left turn down the hall, past the l, and they were back at Rodger’s door. He wasn't staring at his hands anymore—he was sitting stiffly at the table, a small leather-bound journal clutched between his fingers.

"You guys came back early," Rodger said hollowly, snapping the journal shut with a dull thump. He didn't look up, just slid the book across the table toward her, its frayed edges catching on the wood grain. "It's a journal that Brightney gave me. I think you should write in it, Toodles."

Toodles hesitated, fingers hovering over the cracked leather cover—it smelled like dust, like dusty cases Rodger used to go through. She traced the spine where the stitching was fraying, stained dark from fingerprints. "But Brightney gave this to *you*," she said, glancing up through her warped reflection in Rodger's magnified lenses. Rodger exhaled through his nose, pushing it closer until the edge bumped her wrist. "She did. And now I'm giving it to you."

Teagan's shadow flickered against the wallpaper as she moved to the kettle, her porcelain clinking softly. Toodles flipped the journal open—blank pages, unused.

Rodger cleared his throat. "Brightney used to say—" His voice cracked. He swallowed, adjusted his glasses. "She said writing things down helps make sense of them." His fingers tapped the table. "Even if you don't understand yet."

Toodles clutched the journal to her chest and bolted before he could change his mind, her footsteps echoing down the hall. Her room smelled like crayons and the faint metallic tang of old ink. She kicked the door shut with her heel, sending a cascade of drawings fluttering to the floor.

Perched on her lumpy mattress, she pressed the journal’s spine against her knees until the leather creaked. The first page stared back, blank and accusing. She gripped her crayon so hard it could have snapped. "Fine," she muttered, pressing the broken tip to the paper. It scratched unevenly:

She looked over her words while sighing—some letters too large, others smudged where she'd pressed too hard. The journal was already warm against her knees, the pages absorbing the heat from her frustration. But she did feel a bit better. She just wanted whatever happened to end. Can't Sprout just come back already? The museum hadn't been the same since he left.

Toodles lay on her back, looking at a post on the wall: Lights out Investigation. It was recorded that episode with Rodger. Why couldn't things just go back to the way it was?

Chapter Text

Dandy's petals trembled as another wave of nausea rolled through him. He clutched the edge of the wooden table, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Are you sure you're okay, Dandy?" Cosmo asked, sliding a cup of chamomile tea across the table. The scent usually soothed him, but today it made his stomach twist. He pushed it away, shaking his head.

"I'm fine," Dandy grunted through gritted teeth, though his drooping petals betrayed him. He straightened with visible effort, then laid his shoulder on the table. "Just—just get everyone together. In the lobby." He yawned.

"Oh, wait about that—," Cosmo said, gripping Dandy's arm as he tried to stand. "Are we so sure this is a good idea, Dandy? Not that I'm questioning you—but I think maybe it should be one-on-one or... anything else?" He stood, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"No," Dandy said, his voice ragged but firm. His petals curled tighter around himself as he stood, swaying slightly before steadying against the table. "We need *everyone*. Especially the ones who... attempted." His breath hitched, fingers digging into the wood grain. "Since Christmas." Cosmo frowned at his words, before sighing—his fingers twitching toward Dandy's arm, then pulling back. "Fine," Cosmo muttered.

The lobby was cold—too cold, not a word was said between the gathered toons. And to say they looked horrible was a massive understatement. Cosmo hovered near the door, visibly uncomfortable, as the others settled into mismatched chairs and couches dragged from abandoned exhibits.

Dandy staggered slightly as he stepped into the middle of the lobby. The collective gaze of the toons weighed on him—he knew he looked like hot garbage. "Hey toons," Dandy started, his voice cracking slightly. "You all are probably wondering why I called you all here." He shifted his weight, his tail limp. "And I think it's time for us to all talk. Yknow- as friends!" His forced chuckle echoed hollowly.

Cosmo lurked near the back, gripping his own arms tight. His gaze darted from face to face—Shrimpo's restlessness against his chair, Astro's nervous glances, Poppy's fists clenched in her lap. This was going to be bad, Cosmo knew it in his bones. "Dandy," Cosmo tried, his whisper sharp enough to cut glass—but Dandy waved him off, adjusting his drooping petals with false cheer.

Dandy's forced grin faltered as silence thickened. "Okay," Dandy rasped, tail curling defensively around his thigh. He cleared his throat, unaware of Cosmo silently mouthing *stop* behind him. "So—uh—therapy! We're gonna..." His voice trailed off as Vee abruptly stood, chair screeching. The mechanical click of her joints was deafening in the hush.

"You s̵̨̩̒̂ṫ̸̝̓ů̸͔ṕ̶̤̗͝i̷̢͓̋͝d̴̥͍̈́̈ bastard," she rasped, the words distorted and raw. "You ṫ̴͔-̴̌͜t̸̙̋̕h̸̼̾i̷̤̅̓n̷͍̾k̶̤̓ͅ we wanna hear your bullshit pep t̴̗̠̔͘ã̸̡l̴͎̳̅͂k̷̡͔̓̚?" Error screens popped up on her face. Her words still glitched and slurred even after all this time—damage from Sprout's actions that never fully healed. "I mean, damn! You think any of us w̷͓͊ḁ̸̈͐n̶̝̍ṫ̶̙̩̍s̷͔̦͛̉ to see your damn face again?!"

Dandy recoiled, a subtle rage growing on his face. "Look, Vee, I know you never really liked me, but this isn't the time to spite me," he spat. His petals curled inward defensively as murmurs spread through the room—not in his defense, but in agreement with Vee.

Then Poppy stood. The scrape of her chair silenced the room. A distant look replaced her usually bubbly persona, and her voice sounded hollow. "You *don't* get it." She clenched her fist. "You think this is therapeutic? Are you serious?" The accusation hung in the air. Dandy's breath hitched—his gaze darting to the others, searching for denial but finding none. Even Flutter, curled in the corner with her wings wrapped around herself, wouldn’t meet his eyes.

Shrimpo's laughter cut through the silence—sharp and humorless. He didn’t stand; he just leaned back in his chair, claws tapping against the armrest. "Oh, this is rich. Mr. ‘Let’s All Talk It Out’ didn’t even notice *nobody* wanted him here."

Dandy’s nausea returned in a wave. He staggered back. "I—I was trying to *help*," he choked out, but the words sounded feeble even to himself.

"Well, you didn't do well enough, did you?" Ginger's voice boomed as she stood up. "This is all the mains’ fault—yours, Astro, Vee, and Shelly. You all could have stopped Sprout if you weren't so busy pretending everything was fine!"

Astro flinched violently, the stars on his body dimming momentarily. He opened his mouth—maybe to defend himself—but Shelly spoke first, her shell rattling. "We didn't—"

"Yeah, that's the issue, dumbass!" Scraps suddenly barked, kicking over her chair with a clatter that made Goob flinch. Her claws strained as she gestured wildly toward the mains. "You *didn't* do anything! None of you did!" Her whiskers trembled—not in fear, but in rage. "You all just *watched* while that bastard—" Her voice cracked into a snarl.

Dandy's petals wilted completely, curling in on themselves like burnt paper. He took a step back, his tail dragging limply behind him—his usual confidence crumbling under the weight of their stares. "Look, guys—"

"Dandy, stop—just *stop*," Cosmo hissed under his breath, his fingers digging into Dandy's arm as the crowd's murmurs crescendoed into something ugly. But Dandy shook him off, petals trembling with forced bravado as he spread his hands in a placating gesture that only seemed to incense them further.

"Dandy, I think you should just stop." Tisha's voice was low, but it cut through the chaos like a scalpel. Her normally cheerful eyes were flat, pupils narrowed to slits as she stood between the arguing groups. "You're not helping. None of you are." She turned to Cosmo, who flinched under her gaze. "You didn't do anything. None of the mains did. You just let it happen."

Astro's star flickered erratically, his voice cracking like static. "We didn't—we didn't *know*—"

"Oh, fuck *off* with that!" Rudie snarled, slamming his hooves onto the table hard enough to crack the wood. His voice cracked like ice underfoot. "You ruined *everything*! You had *one job*—to keep us *safe*—and you couldn’t even do that!" His antlers trembled as he whirled around and ranted. "You let him ruin Christmas!" His breath came in ragged gasps, the words tumbling out in a choked rush. "And now you want to play therapist?!" His voice cracked again, this time with something wet and broken. "You don’t get to fix this."

Astro's star flickered violently—he stood abruptly, chair screeching. "We *tried*—" His voice glitched, hands clenching at his sides as he looked at Shelly's cracked shell, then at Cosmo's fingers gripping the table edge. "Cosmo must have known," Astro blurted, the words sharp as shattered glass. "He—he, I mean, he was Sprout's best friend. Always whispering, always laughing together—" His voice cracked. "You *had* to notice something was wrong with him!"

Cosmo recoiled as if he had been slapped, hands jerking away from the table. His mouth opened—closed—then opened again, but only steam hissed out. Astro's accusation hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Suddenly, Cosmo raged, "ARE YOU DEAD ASS RIGHT NOW?!" His voice cracked under the weight of the stares burning into him. His fingers twitched toward his side. "If we are planning the goddamn blame game, it's your fault! How many nightmares did the toons have, huh? And you ignored them! You IGNORED them!"

Astro's star flickered erratically—he stumbled back half a step before baring his teeth. "Oh, fuck *you*—you were his *best friend*!" His fists clenched so tight his knuckles popped. "You probably—"

"OH MY FUCKING GOD, SHUT UP!" Dandy's roar tore through the room like thunder, petals flaring violently as his voice cracked with something raw and desperate. The ends of his fingers turned sharp, claws growing on each digit. "You're doing *exactly* what *he* wants!" His chest heaved, fingers digging into his own arm hard enough to bruise. "Sprout would have loved watching us tear each other apart—don’t you *get* it?" His voice dropped to a whisper, ragged at the edges. "He reveled in it before, and he would..."Dandy slammed his fists onto the nearest table, sending a shockwave of silence through the room. "You wanna blame someone? Blame *him*," he snarled, claws digging into the wood. "You guys are like—like *puppets* letting him yank your strings even when he's not here!" His voice cracked, but he didn't care—he leaned forward, petals bristling. "For the lover of our creators, stop being *stupid*!"

Shrimpo's claws twitched, his smirk faltering. "Oh, like you're *not*—"

"OH MY GOD SHUT UP!" Dandy's roar sent dust shaking from the ceiling. He whirled on Shrimpo; petals were sharp, and eyes were tinted red. "You *bicker* while he's *still out there*—probably *laughing* at us! Or worse—planning!" His chest heaved, tail lashing behind him. "And don't fucking act like I didn't BREAK my back to try and stop you from cutting your wrists!" His claws sliced air as he gestured wildly at Shrimpo's scarred arms.

Glisten flinched violently, looking around to see if anyone else was reacting negatively. "Dandy—"

"No! NO MORE!" Dandy's voice cracked like breaking glass. He staggered forward, claws digging into his own palms hard enough to draw ichor. "You *hate* me? Fine. You blame me? *Fine.* But *don't you DARE* pretend I wasn't fucking trying!" His petals trembled violently as he whirled on Glisten, who recoiled. "Where was *your* effort when Boxt—"

He quickly stopped himself, choking on the words, but it was too late—the name hung in the air like a noose. The room froze. Glisten's face went blank, and his face went pale. He didn't even want to know Poppy's reaction.

Dandy’s claws retracted with a sickening scrape. "I—" he started, but the damage was done. Boxten's absence was suddenly palpable—the way Shrimpo always left an empty seat beside him, the way Poppy wore his bandanas. Glisten’s breath came too fast, too shallow, his fingers digging into his own arms like he was trying to hold himself together. The air smelled like rust and chamomile tea gone cold.

The silence was suffocating. Poppy made no sound—but the way she looked said enough. Cosmo exhaled sharply through his nose, steam curling from his vents in jagged bursts. "Dandy," he rasped, voice fraying at the edges, "you useless*asshole*."

Dandy’s stomach lurched as he took a step back. "I didn’t—" His voice cracked. He hadn’t meant to *say* it. Hadn’t meant to *use* it like a *weapon.* But the words had slithered out, venomous and sharp—just like Sprout’s. His vision blurred at the edges as Glisten’s breathing hitched, ragged and wet. He turned abruptly, claws scraping against the floor. "Fuck this."

The door slammed behind him with a hollow *thud.* Dandy stood frozen in the hallway, his claws still slick with ichor from where they'd dug into his palms. The silence pressed in—no footsteps followed him, no voices called after. Only the distant hum of Gardenview. His petals curled inward, brittle as dried leaves. *Boxten.* The name echoed in his skull like a gunshot. He hadn't meant to—*fuck,* he hadn't even *thought*—

The Toon Rooms loomed ahead, their pastel doors starting to chip. Dandy stumbled toward it. His claws fumbled with the knob—once, twice—before the door gave way with a whine. The room was exactly as he'd left it: bedsheets tangled, half-empty water bottles littering the floor, the cracked mirror reflecting back a version of himself he barely recognized. He collapsed onto the mattress, pressing his face into the pillow. It smelled like sweat and something sour.

A choked noise escaped him—something between a laugh and a sob. *"You're doing exactly what he wants."* Hypocrite. *Hypocrite.* His own words coiled around his ribs like barbed wire. He'd dragged them all into that room, shoved their wounds wide open, then *used* Boxten like a fucking *bludgeon.* Just like Sprout would've. The pillow beneath his face grew damp. He'd never told them—not Cosmo, not Poppy—about the night with Boxten. He didn't realize it dropped from his pocket, and he didn't realize that Boxten found it.

Quick Toon Anatomy, his ass, it just had to be the one that fell. How could he have been so careless? Dandy dug his claws into the pillow, muffling a ragged groan. He could only think of Boxten's wide, wet eyes staring at that stupid note from his stupid pocket. For damn research. Just theoreticals. Never meant for—

The pillowcase tore under his claws. Dandy hadn't even realized he'd been gripping it—hadn't realized his fingers had phased through the fabric until feathers spilled across the mattress like snow. He stared blankly at the mess. It was never meant to be found.

A knock rattled the doorframe—three sharp raps that made Dandy's petals jerk upright. "Go away," he snarled into the feathers, voice muffled and cracked. The knocking persisted. "I *said*—" The door creaked open before he could finish. Astro's star flickered unevenly in the threshold, casting jagged shadows across the floorboards.

Dandy didn't lift his head. "Here to yell at me more?" he muttered, tail curling defensively around his thigh. Astro's vents hissed—not steam, but static. The sound of a sigh filtered through damaged vocal processors.

"Actually," Astro said quietly, "came to apologize." He hovered near the foot of the bed, star dimming to a dull pulse. "Shouldn't have blamed Cosmo." He shifted under his blanket of static, his words coming out in bursts of distorted noise—damage from Sprout that never fully healed. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you care? We aren't dating anymore?" Dandy rasped into the pillow, still not looking up. His claws twitched around shredded feathers—he hadn't meant to say *that* either. The words tasted bitter, dredged up from a fight months buried. Astro's star flickered violently before dimming again, casting the room in near-darkness.

"You're right," Astro whispered after a long pause. The static in his voice crackled like ice breaking. "But we're still friends. And friends check on friends." He hesitated, then slowly reached out—only to pull back when Dandy flinched. "Even when they're being stupid assholes who say shit they shouldn't."

Dandy choked on something that wasn't quite a laugh. His chest ached with the weight of unspoken confessions—how he'd joked about toon mortality years ago, back when death was just a morbid hypothetical between comedy bits. "Do you want me to leave?" Astro asked softly, static distorting the edges of his words. The silence stretched too long, filled only by the rustle of feathers as Dandy finally lifted his head, his tear-streaked face catching the dim starlight from Astro's star eye.

"No," Dandy whispered, voice thick with exhaustion. He rubbed his face, smearing ichor across his cheeks like war paint. "Just—just shut the door." Astro hesitated, then nudged the door closed with his foot. The latch clicked softly—too quiet for the weight of everything left unsaid between them.

Dandy watched Astro's star flicker—once bright enough to guide lost toons through Gardenview's darkest halls, now dimmed to a fractured glow. He thought of all the times they'd huddled under that light, whispering plans and promises that now felt like ash in his mouth. "Remember when we swore nothing could break us?" Dandy murmured, picking at a feather stuck to his claw.

Astro's laugh was static-choked, bitter. "Yeah. Then Sprout happened." He drifted closer, star casting jagged shadows across the torn pillow. "But he didn't break us—we did that ourselves." His voice wavered, raw with the kind of honesty that only came in the dark. "We let him."

Dandy exhaled sharply through his nose, petals trembling. Outside, Gardenview hummed—the distant clatter of teacups being stacked in the abandoned cafeteria, the creak of old exhibit machinery. Normal sounds. Like nothing had changed.

The mattress dipped as Astro settled beside him, careful not to touch. Their silence was heavy with all the things they couldn't say—how Dandy still was missing petals, how Astro's star hadn't shone properly since Christmas.

"Yeah," Dandy whispered into the feathers, claws flexing. Astro's static buzzed in agreement—a broken transmission, a promise neither could keep.