Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hi, welcome to Bread Bridge Bakery, how can I help—” Joel began, monotone and half-asleep, already dreading another day of stale muffins and even staler customer small talk. Why Grian insisted on dragging him into this job was beyond comprehension.

Then the bell above the door jingled, and in walked bubblegum-pink hair, sky-blue dress, and a smile so bright it could outshine the pastry case lights. Joel’s voice flipped mid-sentence like a light switch.

“—Hello there,” he said again, this time smoother, eyes locked on her as he straightened up behind the counter. Okay, maybe there was one perk to customer service—babes.

“We’re just looking for Jimmy. Is he around?” said the guy beside her, though Joel barely registered him. His eyes stayed on the girl until the man added, “Oh, hey Grian!”

Joel flicked his gaze toward the back, where Grian, who had just emerged with flour on his apron and a scowl on his face, groaned loudly.

“Hi Scar,” Grian muttered like it pained him. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted toward the back room, “TIMMY, YOUR SIBLINGS ARE HERE!”

“So,” Joel said, leaning casually on the counter and turning his attention back to the pink-haired girl, “you’re Jim’s sister?”

“Yeah! I’m Lizzie,” she chirped, voice as bubbly as her bright exterior, eyes wide with interest as she looked around the bakery.

Joel was absolutely not prepared for how disarmingly cute she was. He cleared his throat. “So, uh, Lizzie… do you think I could maybe get your number?” He scratched the back of his neck. “You know, uh, just in case something happens to Jimmy. No other reason. Totally not hitting on you or anything. Ha ha.”

She blinked once, then smiled. “Uh, sure.”

Joel’s heart did a little victory lap.

Before he could pull out his phone, a groan echoed from the back as Jimmy burst out wearing sunglasses and a grey jacket, on the back of his jacket were two words, Bad Boyz with 3 hearts in green, yellow and red. An odd choice, but one they’d mutually agreed on.

“EWWWW Joel, stop flirting with my sister!” he yelled, dramatically. “And Scar, leave Grian alone already!”

Scar only laughed as he leaned against the glass display, not even bothering to deny anything.

“Lizzie, keys?” Jimmy asked, holding out a hand.

Lizzie sighed and tossed him the keys from her bag. “We literally just got here.”

“I know,” Jimmy replied, adjusting his shades like a diva. “But this place has too much..” he paused, looking between the 4 of them before speaking again “…energy.”

As the siblings exited, Lizzie slipped Joel a piece of paper. He watched her go with a dopey grin, her note in his hand.

xxx-xxx-xxxx - Lizzie :)

Grian walked by, smacking him on the back of the head with a tray of croissants. “Get back to work, Romeo.”

---

Joel sat on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on his phone screen, heart pounding in his chest. What should he say? What could he possibly say?

He let out a frustrated sigh and flopped back onto the soft, unmade sheets, glancing at his faithful dog, Meri, who watched him with curious eyes. "What would you message a really cute girl who's also your best friend's sister?" he asked, half-joking, hopeful for some semblance of insight.

Meri tilted her head and barked, though it was clear she was just as puzzled as he was.

Groaning, Joel ran a hand through his hair, feeling a wave of nostalgia wash over him. He hadn’t felt this nervous about a girl since he was sixteen, and to be fair, he hadn’t even managed to get a girl’s number since then. Now, at the age of 26, he found himself spiraling into adolescent anxieties over a crush, yet again.

After a few moments of contemplation, he finally settled on a simple message: "Hey, this is Joel :)," feeling a mix of apprehension and hope as he hit send.

It took her only three minutes to respond, just three fleeting minutes that felt like an eternity, amplifying every nerve in his body.

Hey Joel, this is Lizzie :)

“Man, she always knows exactly what to say,” he sighed, a mix of relief and excitement washing over him.

Meri barked inquisitively, breaking his moment of contemplation.

“So what if I’ve only known her for a couple of hours?” he mumbled, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.

Meri barked again, as if she had something to say.

“And yes, she is Jimmy’s sister!” he retorted, waving a dismissive hand.

Another bark erupted from Meri.

“Oh, shut up, Meri! You're a dog! Just because you give me that look doesn’t mean i'll pretend I didn’t see the way you looked at your own poop yesterday!”

Meri tilted her head, as if pondering his statement with a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Why am I even talking to a dog?” he chuckled to himself. “I’m a grown man.”

---

The following day at the bakery dawned with an unusual stillness. Too quiet, Joel stood behind the counter, idly pretending to reorganise the pastry display—though in reality, he was sneaking bites of leftover cinnamon rolls.

“Hey Grian, is Jimmy coming in today?” he called out to his friend in the bustling kitchen, the sound of clattering pans echoing around them.

"if this is some elaborate scheme to flirt with his sister leave me out of it, I'm trying to bake macarons and its a very involved process," Grian retorted, his concentration unwavering as he whipped the delicate batter.

"nooooo its just he's erm in charge of making the coffees, you know cant have a bakery without coffee and can't have coffee without Jimmy ha ha," Joel replied unconvincingly, "you know our system, you bake, Jimmy brews and I charm the customers with my amazing customer service!"

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Grian murmured, casting a distracted glance at his phone. His expression shifted to one of annoyance as he read the latest message, a groan of dismay escaping him. “What did you do?”

Joel blinked, mid-chew. “Define ‘do.’”

“Jimmy just messaged me,” Grian hissed. “he said, and I quote, if I see that Shrek wannabe so much as glance in the direction of my sister, I'm going to end his existence”

“He’s probably just worried about the economy,” Joel replied, struggling to sound nonchalant. “Or inflation. Or, like, croissant integrity or something.”

Grian crossed his arms, skeptically raising an eyebrow. “He literally called you a Shrek wannabe and threatened your existence. Did you ask his sister out?”

Joel grinned, not bothering to deny it. “I said I might call her if, say, Jimmy suddenly went missing in a mysterious bakery-related incident.”

"Joel, mate, come on-" Before Grian could unleash his signature eye roll, the front bell jingled. Jimmy walked in, Lizzie trailing behind him, looking as effortlessly cute as ever in a lavender cardigan covered in bees. Her eyes darted around the bakery, searching for something-or, or rather, someone.

“Hey Joel,” she greeted shyly, a sweet smile lighting up her face.

“Hey, Lizzie,” he replied, feeling a flutter of nervousness mixed with excitement.

“HLEEAAHHHurkurkBLLEAAHH!” Jimmy exclaimed, feigning a dramatic retch as he clasped his stomach, his face contorting in an exaggerated expression of disgust. With a flourish, he spun on his heel to confront his beloved sister, his eyes narrowing. “We had a deal. You promised you were only coming in for coffee!”

“I am,” Lizzie replied, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “And to chat with Grian about his delightful honey lemon scones. Not everything revolves around you, James.”

“Don’t call me James,” Jimmy retorted, his voice a mix of mock exasperation and brotherly affection.

Out of nowhere, Scar popped up, casually leaning against the counter, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm, “Did someone mention honey lemon scones?”

“NO!” Grian and Jimmy both shouted in unison, their voices overlapping in a chorus of protest.

Undeterred, Scar’s face lit up with a wide smile. “Perfect! I’ll take three,” he declared, his excitement infectious.

Grian let out a frustrated groan, the sound echoing in the quiet kitchen. With a reluctant sigh, he made his way to the back, determined to retrieve the honey lemon scones for Scar. Despite his feigned annoyance that brewed within him, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth whenever Scar praised his baking. Each compliment made his heart race, a sweet thrill that contrasted with his outward exasperation. As he moved, he couldn’t shake the fluttering excitement that accompanied the thought of sharing his creations.

While Grian disappeared into the back, Joel caught Lizzie’s eye again. She mouthed “Text me later,” and Joel, for the first time since high school, genuinely considered swooning.

Jimmy, catching the moment, groaned loud enough to rattle the napkin dispenser. “I will have you arrested, Joel.”

Joel winked. “For what? Excessive charm?”

“For being disgusting,” Jimmy shot back. “And unoriginal.”

“Originality’s overrated,” Scar chimed in. “I’ve worn the same pair of flamingo socks for six years, and I still get compliments.”

“From who?” Grian called from the kitchen.

“From me,” Scar replied proudly.

Jimmy groaned again. “I hate this bakery. I hate all of you. Lizzie, we’re leaving.”

“Nope,” Lizzie countered as she slid onto a stool with a determined grin. “I’m getting a cinnamon twist. Plus, I want to annoy you. This is far too entertaining.”

Joel smirked at the banter while Jimmy’s expression shifted to one of mock betrayal. Scar’s gaze drifted toward the kitchen, perhaps hoping Grian would return quickly with the scones that had become a point of investment in idle chatter.

After what felt like an eternity filled with the background sounds of whirring mixers and clattering dishes, Grian reappeared, balancing a plate of golden scones with a deep sigh. “If you could all please save the bickering for outside of bakery hours…”

“Oh, come on,” Scar replied with a laugh, “this place could use a touch of drama every now and then.”

“It already has enough drama with Joel around,” Grian muttered, rolling his eyes but unable to hide a smirk. “That’s quite enough.”

In response, Joel tossed a sugar packet playfully in Grian’s direction. “Love you too, boss,” he teased, his charm radiating off him like the warm light from the bakery’s windows.

Jimmy exhaled dramatically, throwing his hands into the air as if surrendering to an inevitable fate. “This is literally the worst job I’ve ever had.”

Lizzie’s smile widened mischievously. “Then quit.”

“I would, but then who would keep Joel from dating you?” Jimmy grumbled, snatching a scone from the tray with the fervour of someone who felt personally wronged.

With a sweet smile, Lizzie leaned towards Joel, who grinned and looked at the fuming Jimmy “It’s funny that you think you can stop me,” he challenged.

Scar leaned over the counter, resting his chin in his hands, watching the chaos unfold like it was the best show he’d ever seen—and frankly, it was. “This is better than daytime television,” he said cheerfully. “You’ve got sibling drama, unspoken tension, Grian’s denial arc—amazing stuff. I smell Emmy nominations.”

“I’m not in denial,” Grian said too quickly.

“No one said you were,” Scar replied, entirely too pleased with himself. “But since you brought it up…”

Joel clapped his hands once. “Okay! Jimmy, buddy, you have to accept it: your sister is a grown woman, and I’m a charming, bakery-employed god among men who—”

“—still lives with a dog and a beanbag chair,” Grian cut in.

Joel blinked. “Okay. Uncalled for.”

Jimmy crossed his arms. “Joel, you’re not even her type!”

“I am her type,” Joel said confidently.

Lizzie looked mildly amused. “He might be, actually. I’ve always had a thing for idiots with confidence.”

Joel lit up. “See! That’s me! Idiotic confidence! It’s literally my love language!”

Jimmy looked toward the ceiling like he was waiting for divine intervention. “What did I do in a past life to deserve this. Did I, like, slay someone and steal the enchanter?"

Scar gasped his mouth full of scones. “nah, I'm sure that was me.”

Jimmy threw up his hands. “I’m going home. I don’t need this. I don’t need any of this. Scar, leave Grian alone. Grian, stop baking things with feelings. Joel, STAY. AWAY. FROM. LIZZIE.”

He stomped toward the door.

“You forgot your jacket,” Lizzie called helpfully.

Jimmy froze, then spun around. “No. I don’t want it anymore. The Bad Boyz are dead.”

“Okay, drama queen,” Grian muttered.

With one final, melodramatic sigh, Jimmy threw open the door and exited, the bell jingling behind him.

Silence fell.

Joel turned to Lizzie. “So… when’s our first date?”

“Hmm,” she said, pretending to think. “Do I get a discount on baked goods if I say yes?”

Joel leaned in with a wink. “I’ll throw in a cinnamon twist and a full refund if you pretend I’m funny.”

“Tempting,” she grinned, nudging his arm. “We’ll talk.”

Joel turned around, mouthing 'YESS!!' while pumping a fist in the air,

Scar sighed dreamily and turned to Grian, who was already looking at him warily.

“What?” Grian asked.

Scar smiled. “Just thinking about how romantic our first date’s gonna be.”

“There is no ‘our,’” Grian muttered, turning to head back into the kitchen.

Scar followed with a mischievous grin. “Not yet.”

Joel watched them go, then turned to Grian's lemon honey scones,

He whispered. “I knew this bakery job would be worth it.”

Joel saluted. “Bad Boyz forever.”

Behind him, Lizzie choked on her cinnamon twist, trying not to laugh.

Chapter Text

Unlike Joel, Grian had known Jimmy’s siblings long before the bakery ever came into the picture.

The three of them, Grian, Joel, and Jimmy, had met on their very first day at Woodland University. Nervous, sleep-deprived, and definitely not cool, they somehow ended up sticking together like flour on a countertop. Joel, ever the self-declared “ladies’ man,” had coined their group name: The Bad Boyz. His logic? “Babes dig bad boys.” Grian still wasn’t convinced. But the name stuck.

Back then, Grian was majoring in Business Administration, Joel in Architecture, and Jimmy in Communications. They had no idea what they were doing, just three barely-legal idiots trying to figure out how to do life away from home. Grian and Joel roomed together in a dorm that constantly smelled like microwave noodles and regret, while Jimmy commuted from home, where he lived with his mum, as well as his younger sister Lizzie, and his older brother Scar, who were away at uni but always home for Christmas.

Grian had spent many Christmases at Jimmy’s place. After a falling out with his parents at eighteen, Jimmy’s family had taken him in more than once, offering warmth, chaotic holiday traditions, and a kitchen full of half-decorated cookies. It was messy and loud and filled with love in a way he hadn’t realized he was missing.

So no, technically, opening a bakery wasn’t Grian’s childhood dream. At first, he just liked the quiet focus of helping Jimmy’s mum frost sugar cookies while everyone else argued over charades. But the act of baking, mixing, measuring, creating something warm and comforting became more than just a holiday tradition.

One year, Scar gifted him a little baking book titled “How to Bake Someone’s Day.” It was silly. A bit cheesy. The cover had a smiling cupcake on it. But Grian remembered opening it, thumbing through the pages filled with doodles and heartfelt notes from Scar tucked between the recipes, and feeling something settle in his chest.

That warmth and quiet joy, told him everything he needed to know.

---a few years ago---

It had been a cold, quiet December afternoon, the kind where the sky felt heavy and grey, and Grian’s hoodie sleeves stayed pulled halfway over his hands, the kind of afternoon that made you reflect. Grian was curled up on the couch at Jimmy's while Lizzie helped her, scar, and Jimmy's mum finish up the frosting on the cookies grian had helped bake.

Grian didn’t expect anything. He hadn’t been in the best place that year, barely scraping through exams, barely sleeping, and definitely not feeling festive. But then Scar plopped down beside him and held out a thin, square shaped parcel wrapped in glittery cupcake-patterned paper.

“For you,” Scar said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Thought you might like it.”

Grian hesitated, then carefully peeled back the tape. Inside was a small softcover book, worn at the corners like it had been sitting in someone’s backpack too long. The title read:
"How to Bake Someone’s Day."

He blinked. “What is this…?”

“Technically a cookbook,” Scar replied, tugging off his scarf. “But mostly just vibes.”

Grian flipped it open. Inside were simple, cozy recipes, chocolate chip cookies, banana bread, cinnamon twists, all written in looping, casual font. But more than that, tucked between pages, were notes. Handwritten ones. Some on pink sticky notes, some on scraps of notebook paper.

“Try adding a little nutmeg here, trust me, your future self will thank you.”

“This reminds me of that night you baked with Mum and almost set the kitchen on fire. Good times.”

“You’re more capable than you think. Just like yeast, you rise under the right conditions.”

Scar had doodled little flour bags with smiley faces. Whisks with arms. A loaf of bread flexing tiny cartoon biceps.

Grian felt something shift inside him, a weight he hadn’t even noticed he’d been carrying lightened, if only a little.

“You’re an idiot,” he murmured.

Scar grinned. “Yeah, but you like idiots.”

Grian didn’t say anything else. Just kept flipping through the pages slowly, carefully, like he was holding something fragile. Something valuable.

And somewhere between the doodles and the smell of cinnamon in the air, he felt something warm settle in his chest—small, but certain.

Maybe baking hadn’t been the plan.

But it could be the start of one.

-------

now he bakes in his very own bakery, Scar appearing every once in awhile to annoy him with his playful flirting.

Grian would never admit it, but he doesn't mind Scar's flirting

_-_

"Ughh," Grian groaned, staring frustratedly at his phone. Technically, the bakery was closed for the day, yet Lizzie and Scar were still lingering about, anxiously awaiting Jimmy.

"What’s up, Gri?" Lizzie asked, her eyes bright with curiosity.

"I need a date for my sister’s wedding. Mumbo just texted that he can’t make it," Grian replied, his tone laced with disappointment.

"I mean, I'd go with you, but Joel already asked me," Lizzie said with an apologetic smile, crossing her arms.

Before anyone could react, Jimmy burst into the conversation, his voice rising with indignation. "NO! You are NOT going with Joel!!!" he exclaimed, his brows furrowing as he shot a disapproving look at the thought. "You’ve known each other for, like, a week, and now you’re off to a wedding together?"

"I hate to break it to you, Jim, but she is going with me," Joel interjected, a confident smirk plastered across his face, as he tipped his sunglasses down. He’d clearly gained a newfound boldness ever since Lizzie agreed to give 'them' a chance. "and you know damn well its been longer than a week,"

"Yeah, and I was going to the wedding anyway, you know Gem and I are close," Lizzie shrugged nonchalantly, her resolve firm. Grian could see Jimmy's expression darken at her words.

"I could go with you," Scar said making an appearance with his dumb flamingo socks and stupidly cute grin that definitely didn't give Grian butterflies,

"NO NO NO NO NO!" Jimmy groaned dramatically, pulling a hand down his face in exasperation. "I already have one sibling dating one of my friends, I don’t need another to keep in check!"

"Jimmy, this doesn’t mean we’re dating," Scar responded, turning to Grian with a mischievous wink. "Unless, of course, you want it to."

"Oh, come off it, Scar," Grian rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a smile. "But yes, that would actually be helpful."

Scar’s grin widened, and he clapped his hands together with theatrical flair. “Perfect! I’ll wear the flamingo tie. Or! Should I do the one with the dancing Pandas?”

“Absolutely not,” Grian said, deadpan. “We’re trying to look like respectable wedding guests. Not get banned from future family events.”

“Speak for yourself,” Scar said, already mentally rifling through his questionable tie collection.

Jimmy crossed his arms, pacing now. “This is a nightmare. My best friend is dating my sister. My other best friend is probably going to end up dating my brother. And none of you are taking this seriously!”

“Correction,” Lizzie said, raising a finger. “I am taking this seriously. Joel and I are going to this wedding like normal adults who are, you know, capable of not combusting in public.”

Joel gave her a thumbs-up from across the counter. “And I’m bringing my best small talk. Grian’s aunt won’t even know what hit her.”

“She doesn’t speak unless she’s judging you,” Grian warned. “You’re going to get destroyed.”

Joel looked delighted. “Bring it on.”

Jimmy spun back to Scar and Grian, eyes narrowing. “And you two, you’re really doing this? You’re going to waltz into this wedding all smug and coupley just to spite me?”

Scar blinked innocently. “Spite is such a strong word. I prefer ‘enhance the experience.’”

"we arent going to act coupley”, Grian started, “Scar and I are just friends going to an event together, plus he's giving me an excuse to not talk to my parents, who I haven't seen since I was 18”

Scar elbowed him playfully. “Well, either way, we are going to do the classic romcom slow dance in the garden, right under the fairy lights.”

“That’s not—” Grian started, but Scar was already twirling dramatically in place, nearly knocking over a tray of scones.

“I will sabotage this,” Jimmy muttered, pointing between all of them. “I will.”

Lizzie snorted. “Oh please. You couldn’t sabotage anything, even if you tried.”

Joel, still smirking, reached into the display case and grabbed a muffin. “You all better start prepping. The wedding is in three days. Grian, Scar, go practice your tragic backstory or whatever it is fake couples do.”

“We’re not fake dating, he's just attending an event with me so I don't have to talk to my stupid parents,” Grian said with a scowl.

“Eggsactly,” Scar said brightly. “It's the yeast I could do.”

Lizzie groaned. “Scar, please no more bakery puns.”

“I crust you’ll get over it,” Scar said.

Jimmy covered his ears. “I’m leaving. I’m leaving and I’m taking the last cinnamon roll. This conversation is over.”

Scar looked to Grian, feigning offense. “Rude. And here I was, planning to bring him a slice of wedding cake.”

“You’re all exhausting,” Grian muttered, though his slight smile betrayed him.

"hmm yeah but you like it," Joel laughed grabbing his keys and sunglasses.

---

Back at the cozy apartment shared by Joel and Grian, the two friends were lounging on the plush couch, their attention captivated by the sensational drama unfolding on "Real Housewives." Joel chuckled, leaning back with a grin. "You know bad boys love drama," he remarked, his eyes glued to the screen.

Suddenly, Grian's phone buzzed insistently on the coffee table, breaking the spell of reality TV.

"It's Pearl," Grian sighed, the weariness evident in his voice. "I better take this." He reluctantly rose from the couch and traipsed into the kitchen, the aroma of leftover takeout lingering in the air.

"Hey, sis, what’s up?" he answered, leaning against the counter, his heart heavy with family concerns.

"Hey, G! I just wanted to check in on how you're feeling about the wedding on Saturday," Pearl’s voice was warm but laced with worry. "I know you’re not on the best terms with Mum and Dad, and I hesitated about inviting them. I’m just nervous, you know. I wouldn't blame you if you chose not to go..."

Grian took a deep breath, remembering the difficult family dynamics. "Pearl, it’s okay. As much as we don’t see eye to eye, they are still our parents. Plus, I'll have Scar with me, and he’s annoyingly charismatic."

"Scar? What happened to Mumbo?" Pearl inquired, curiosity piqued.

"Oh, something came up, and he couldn’t make it," Grian explained, absently fiddling with the edge of the countertop. "But Scar said he’d be happy to accompany me."

"Ohh, that’s Lizzie's brother, right?" Pearl remarked, her tone shifting to one of intrigue.

"Yeah, although Jimmy isn’t thrilled about it. You know, since Lizzie and Joel are sort of a thing now. He’s worried that Scar and I might end up together or something." Grian rolled his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"What!!! Lizzie and Joel?! Jimmy must be furious! You have to spill all the details! was Joel smooth?" Pearl’s excitement was palpable through the phone.

Grian chuckled softly. "Oh, not at all. He was such a mess..." The conversation continued, the weight of family complexities momentarily lifted by the bond between siblings.

Almost as quickly as the phone call had begun, it came to an abrupt end.

Grian’s phone buzzed again, this time illuminating the screen with a text from Scar.

What colour are you wearing on Saturday? i need to know if my Jellie tie will match.

He was such a dork,

and suddenly the wedding didn't seem like the nightmare he had initially thought it would be.

Chapter Text

Jimmy had thought this would be a nice job with his buddies, helping Grian get his bakery off the ground while he figured out what the hell to do with his communications degree.

Oh, how wrong he was.

When Lizzie and Scar said they were moving back to Woodland, Jimmy had assumed they’d find their own places. Adult siblings, separate lives, peaceful boundaries, simple.

Instead, they moved into his apartment. After all, it was a 3-bedroom and he was looking for roommates who weren't Joel and Grian, who even after uni decided they wanted to continue living together.

Jimmy looked at their shared calendar, the words GEM AND PEARL'S WEDDING were screaming at him as Lizzie had insisted on writing them and the brightest, most sparkly pen that ever existed, and Jimmy hated to admit it, but he liked it.

His tie was too tight, his suit was itchy, and everything Lizzie was saying about her date with Joel last night was infuriating Jimmy that little bit more.

“He took me to that rooftop bar, you know, the one with the fairy lights and the overpriced cocktails?” Lizzie said, twisting a curl around her finger as she perched on the arm of the couch in the bakery’s break room, completely oblivious to the way Jimmy was slowly sinking further into existential dread.

“The one where they serve everything in jars?” Scar chimed in, balancing a cupcake on his knee like a goblet of wine.

Lizzie nodded, "He even said I could dye his hair on our next date, sure, he said only a green streak, but still!"

"Letting you dye his hair? Bold. I respect the chaos.”Scar Grinned

“You don’t even like Joel,” Jimmy muttered, scowling into his third cup of coffee. “You told him, and I quote, he has terrible customer service with a side of watching Shrek too many times, to which he replied-”

“Bold of you to assume you can watch Shrek too many times,” Scar mocked Joel dramatically. “Yeah, I was there, Jim, and I do like Joel, he makes things fun, like crushing on our sweet baby sister and causing you to spoontastly com-cu-c-c-combooster?”

"Spontaneously combust?" Lizzie offered

"Uh, yes, causing you to spontaneously combust, this is the plot line of a really cheesy rom-com or cringeworthy fanfic written by a 12 year old girl who just discovered Wattpad."

“We’re not in a fanfic, Scar,” Jimmy groaned. “This is my real life.”

“Exactly. And it’s a mess. Which makes it compelling.”

“I think it’s cute,” Lizzie said, ignoring them both. “He’s actually sweet. Once you get past the smugness and the… sunglasses indoors thing.”

“That’s not a phase. He's been like that since before we met him,” Jimmy mumbled.

Before Lizzie could defend Joel again, Grian popped his head in through the doorway, looking unusually polished in a black button-up and the least wrinkled trousers Jimmy had ever seen him wear. “Hey. Are we ready to head to the venue soon? I don’t wanna be late and deal with Pearl’s Wrath again.”

Scar stood dramatically, brushing crumbs off his suit jacket and straightening his tie, which is flamingo pink, obviously. “I’ve been ready since 7 am. I even brought emergency snacks. And tissues. And breath mints. I’m the entire bridal support team in one man.”

Grian raised an eyebrow. “You realise you’re just my plus one, right?”

Scar leaned in with a mischievous grin. “For now.”

Jimmy made a strangled noise. “No. No. None of that. You’re going as friends. Platonically. There will be no dancing. No shared desserts. No lingering looks across the punch table.”

“Wow,” Grian deadpanned. “Tell us how you really feel.”

“Seriously, I don’t need more of my friends dating my siblings. I’m barely holding onto reality as it is.”

“I’m not dating Grian,” Scar said, voice just a bit too innocent. “Unless he asks me nicely.”

Grian opened his mouth to retort, but Scar gave him a wink and disappeared into the kitchen

Jimmy sighed. “I should’ve moved in with Joel and Grian when I had the chance.”

Lizzie smirked. “You’d still be stuck with your best friend falling in love with your sister, though.”

“Why does everyone want to ruin my life?”

“Because it’s funny,” she and Grian said at the same time.

Jimmy groaned and stood, tugging at his collar. “Fine. Let’s just get this wedding over with. But if anyone slow dances under fairy lights, I’m cutting the power myself.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Lizzie teased, linking her arm through his. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re grumpy.”

“I am not cute. I am suffering.”

Scar reappeared, tie around his forehead like a headband. “Let’s go ruin a wedding with our unresolved feelings and questionable life choices!”

"SCAR, you just had your tie on right!!! What happened??!" Grian groaned, fixing Scar's tie.

“Oh god,” Jimmy muttered, looking at the two men. “It’s already starting.”

----

The place was packed.

The sun had just set, casting a soft glow through the trees. Why Pearl and Gem chose an outdoor venue, we will never know. Nevertheless, it was still gorgeous. In the centre of the clearing stood a white gazebo, glowing gently under strings of golden lights. Ivy and pale flowers wrapped around its posts, and lanterns lined the brick path leading up to it, their flames flickering in the dusk.

Wooden chairs sat on either side, waiting in stillness. The whole scene felt hushed and expectant, like something meaningful was about to begin. A promise made. A heart returned. A quiet kind of magic hung in the air.

Gem had insisted on hand-making the table name cards with watercolours and glitter because, as she put it, whimsy builds character.

“It looks like Pinterest exploded,” Scar whispered reverently as they entered, clutching his snack-filled emergency clutch like a sacred relic.

“It’s beautiful,” Lizzie said, her eyes bright as she adjusted her lace shawl. “Romantic. Magical. Hopeful.”

“It’s a fire hazard,” Jimmy muttered, tugging at his tie again. “Too many candles. That one centrepiece is definitely already melting the ribbon.”

Grian gave Jimmy a gentle shove toward the open bar. “Go get a drink before you spontaneously combust. Again.”

Jimmy grumbled but obeyed, making a beeline for the punch bowl like it owed him money. But the second he ladled himself a glass, Joel appeared like a smug gremlin summoned by awkward energy and floral arrangements.

“Jimmy,” Joel greeted him with that irritating, signature half-smile. “Fancy seeing you here. Oh, wait, we work together, and I’m dating your sister. Small world.”

Jimmy clenched his jaw. “Yup. Real small.”

Joel looked him up and down. “Nice suit. It’s giving... best man energy. But like, the kind who loses the rings halfway through the vows.”

“You’re one bad pun away from being drowned in this punch,” Jimmy replied flatly.

Joel just chuckled, completely unfazed. “Relax, mate. I’m just here to celebrate love, eat cake, and slow dance with someone’s sister.”

“You’re testing me.”

“And you’re very fun to test.”

Before Jimmy could come up with a comeback that didn’t involve a felony, Lizzie appeared at Joel’s side as if fate had it out for him.

“There you are,” she said, slipping her hand into Joel’s like it was the most normal thing in the world. “C’mon, they’re doing photos before the ceremony.”

“Catch you later, Jimmy,” Joel said with a wink as they walked away.

Jimmy stared at his drink. “Maybe if I chug this fast enough, I’ll forget that just happened.”

“Or puke and make a scene,” Scar offered helpfully, suddenly at his elbow with a plate stacked with mini quiches. “Either way, distraction.”

Grian joined them, two cupcakes already missing from his plate. “I give it fifteen minutes before you start a passive-aggressive war with Joel using cheese cubes and seating charts.”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “Is that a challenge?”

“It’s a warning.”

“Noted.”

Then the music shifted to something soft, acoustic, and emotional. The lights dimmed. The ceremony was starting. Guests shuffled into their seats, and Jimmy, still nursing a drink and a vendetta, followed his siblings and friends into the soft glow of the main hall, feeling entirely out of place among so much love, joy, and florals.

He just hoped he could get through the night without having a breakdown... or punching his sister’s date in the middle of a slow dance.

Chapter Text

Joel had never really liked weddings.

Too many flowers. Too many expectations. Too many people crying over other people’s happiness like it was contagious. Not that he was heartless, he just didn’t exactly get swept up in the whole eternal devotion and lace-covered chairs thing.

But then Lizzie had shown up in a blue dress that shimmered like magic under the fairy lights, and suddenly Joel was reconsidering a lot of things.

She looked radiant. Radiant and entirely unaware of how much space she took up in his brain. And she’d smiled at him like he wasn’t the same idiot who once spilled an entire tray of croissants on his first week at the bakery.

So yeah, maybe weddings weren’t so bad after all.

He stood beside her now, shoulder brushing hers as soft music played and Grian and Pearl’s grandmother shuffled down the aisle clutching a basket of petals like she was marching into battle. Lizzie leaned over to whisper something about the glitter on the flower crown, and Joel chuckled, his hand brushing lightly against hers where it rested on her thigh.

From across the aisle, he could feel Jimmy’s glare. He didn’t need to look. Jimmy’s brand of disapproval had a distinct psychic weight, like the pressure in the air before a storm.

Joel smirked. Let him stare.

He wasn’t going to apologise for liking Lizzie. She was brilliant. Loud. Odd. Passionate. And Joel, despite his many flaws (or perhaps because of them), liked things that burned bright.

Even if that meant navigating the absolute minefield that was Jimmy’s big brother energy. He didn’t even hate Jimmy, really. He just enjoyed winding him up. The dramatics, the grumpy coffee slurping and the glares that could curdle milk (probably), it was all part of the game.

“Stop looking so smug,” Lizzie whispered, elbowing him lightly.

“I’m not smug,” Joel whispered back. “I’m serene. And emotionally mature.”

She snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. “Right. Emotionally mature people totally start bread fights in bakery kitchens.”

“That was one time. Grian started it.”

“You threw a baguette like a javelin.”

Joel tilted his head thoughtfully. “And I stand by it.”

The guests quieted as the music shifted and the actual ceremony began. Gem and Pearl appeared together, walking down the aisle hand-in-hand like some kind of forest fairies turned up to their own dreamscape wedding. Joel had to admit that it was nice. Beautiful, even. It wasn’t the kind of thing he ever imagined for himself, but watching the way Pearl’s face softened when she looked at Gem... yeah. He got the appeal.

As the officiant started speaking, Joel’s eyes drifted sideways again, to Lizzie, laughing quietly at something Scar had whispered two seats down. She was so alive. So unfiltered. So Lizzie.

He was screwed.

“You okay?” she murmured, catching his look.

Joel gave a small smile, one of the real ones, the kind he didn’t use on customers or in photos. “Yeah. Just thinking about... stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Like... maybe I don’t hate weddings.”

Lizzie blinked, then grinned wide. “That is a terrifying sentence coming from you.”

Joel laughed under his breath. “Don’t get used to it.”

But as the ceremony carried on and Lizzie slipped her hand into his, warm and easy like it belonged there, Joel thought maybe he wouldn’t mind getting used to it after all.

--

The reception was all kinds of messy,

Joel leaned against the railing of the outdoor deck strung with fairy lights, holding a drink that definitely wasn’t his first and watching as Scar attempted to lead a conga line that absolutely no one had asked for. Grian was following him like a reluctant cult member. And Jimmy was at the bar, looking like he’d been personally wronged by every romantic song on the playlist.

Joel took a sip, quietly enjoying the chaos. Weddings had a strange way of shaking people up, everyone pretending they weren’t thinking about love while thinking about nothing else. It was infectious. It was gross. But it was kind of nice.

Lizzie was on the dance floor with Gem, admiring her dress, they were a mess of glitter, lace and sequins. But Lizzie was smiling, and to Joel that was enough,

The music faded to a gentle, swaying melody as couples began to embrace the romantic atmosphere of slow dancing. Joel's gaze followed Scar as he playfully dragged a hesitant Grian to the dance floor, while Jimmy sulked at the bar, nursing his drink with a frown etched across his face.

Joel's eyes locked onto Lizzie's as she gracefully made her way towards him, a teasing smile dancing on her lips. “You don't seriously think you can escape this slow dance?”

“What, and miss my chance to publicly embarrass myself in front of all of Grian's family?” he replied, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Never.”

She tilted her head slightly, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “So, you saying that means you want to dance with me, right?”

“I mean, only if you promise not to step on my toes with your tiny gremlin feet.”

“Rude,” she retorted, already taking his hand and pulling him closer with infectious enthusiasm.

As they melted into the rhythm of the music, Joel felt the anticipation in the air. He wasn't the smoothest dancer; he would readily admit that much. But Lizzie had a way of making it feel effortless. She didn’t require grace; she needed sincerity, and that was something Joel could give her.

Her hands rested softly on his shoulders, while his instinctively found their way to her waist, drawing her nearer. For a blissful moment, the noise of the reception faded into the background, leaving only the warmth of their connection.

Joel’s gaze lingered on Lizzie, and in that magical instant, time seemed to freeze. Though they had only known each other for a little over a month and had dated for scarcely a few weeks, he felt with undeniable certainty that Lizzie was the one.

Did he believe in love at first sight? No, but for Lizzie, he’d be willing to believe in anything.

“I love you,” he whispered, his heart racing as the words hung in the air.

Her cheeks flushed a rosy pink, but the grip she had on him tightened, drawing him even closer until their foreheads nearly touched. The fairy lights above them twinkled softly, casting a gentle glow across her face, and in that moment, Joel couldn’t fathom why it had taken him so long to reach this point, this tender dance, this overwhelming feeling, this enchanting woman.

“I love you too,” she murmured, her voice barely louder than the whisper of the music.

“Absolutely not.”

Jimmy's voice sliced through the serene ambience like a shovel scraping against glass, causing both Joel and Lizzie to turn in surprise.

Joel blinked, momentarily jarred. Lizzie sighed, her annoyance palpable even as she remained still. “Jim, not now.”

“No, I specifically told you no romantic moments under the fairy lights!” he insisted, waving a hand in dramatic protest.

“Jimmy, you’ve had one too many cocktails. Please don’t cause a scene,” Lizzie pleaded, a note of desperation creeping into her tone.

“I HAVE NOT! I don't cause scenes!” Jimmy slurred, swaying slightly on his feet.

“Um, Jim, you’re kind of causing one right now,” Joel observed, meeting Lizzie’s pained gaze.

“Nooo, they’re all just worried about Grian arguing with his parents,” he insisted, waving dismissively.

“Shit, Grian’s arguing with his parents?” Joel exclaimed, concern flooding his voice as his eyes widened in alarm at the thought.

Before they could fully process the situation, Jimmy lurched forward and threw up, the unfortunate culmination of his overindulgence.

“Joel, I’m so sorry. I have to take him home,” Lizzie said, her voice steady but urgent as she patted Jimmy’s back, her compassion shining through in the chaos.

“Yeah, yeah, no worries. Go ahead,” he replied, trying to mask his concern.

Joel walked over to where he spotted Grian and Scar, whose expressions mirrored his own worry.

“Uh, Lizzie’s taking Jim home. He’s had one too many,” Joel said awkwardly, the weight of the moment settling around them.

“I think we should go too,” Grian responded curtly, his tone as cold as the moment had become.

Chapter Text

Grian had never been sentimental about weddings.

He liked cake. He liked food. He even liked love, in theory. But the public declarations? The avalanche of tiny expectations buried under lace and glitter? No, thank you.

Still, watching Pearl walk down the aisle, cheeks flushed and bouquet slightly crooked, he felt something shift. It wasn’t tears, he wasn’t that dramatic, but it was definitely something tight and tender in his chest.

She looked stupidly happy.

Gem was grinning like she’d won the lottery, the raffle and the bake sale. Pearl gave Grian a wink as she passed, sunlight catching the gold in her hair and turning it into a halo. And just like that, he forgave her for making him dress up.

The chairs were full of relatives — some he liked, some he tolerated, and some he wished had RSVP’d no. His parents were near the front; his mum was perched perfectly straight, as if she might implode if she unclenched. His dad clapped politely when Pearl reached the altar, but Grian could see the tension in his jaw.

He’d tried to explain things to them. Tried to tell them how much Gem meant to Pearl, how safe and alive she felt when they were together. But his parents were stuck somewhere two decades behind, where anything unfamiliar was quietly filed under not quite right.

Despite this, Pearl was their favourite, their 'golden' child, and they would do anything, including attending her wedding to another woman, for her.

Unfortunately, they weren't as morally lenient with Grian

He wasn’t the golden child. He was the difficult one. He’d learned long ago that their love came with fine print. It wasn't always an argument; mostly they just… stopped asking. Stopped looking. Stopped seeing him at all.

he loves his sister, really, he does. But she gets their love for free, and Grian only gets it when it's convenient

which is hardly ever

He watched them kiss, Pearl and Gem, grinning and glowing, and he let himself forget the sting for just a moment. Allowed himself to be happy for his sister instead of being bitter and jealous

But then he caught his mother’s face, just for a second. Her smile was polite. Her clapping was restrained. Her eyes were already flicking past Pearl and Gem to fixate on Grian, like she was checking to make sure he wouldn’t ruin it.

Like he always did.

he remembers the night it all went wrong, the night that lingers in his nightmares, making him long for the love he never received.

The argument began in the usual way, it's a cliche, but it's true,

he had come home after going to the drive-in theatre with a friend, B

it was nothing special, just some new horror movie being played through a projector that obviously hasn't been changed since the 70s, the owners desperately want to close the place, heck its been about 30 years since drive-ins were cool, but the teens loved it despite the fact that they never ended up actually watching the movie playing.

Grian should have known he would be the same, that the movie would be drowned out by stifled groans, giggles and the occasional gasp. He should've known that B would leave a mark and that his parents would see it. He should have known..

but he didn't

And when he got home—hair mussed, neck tingling, a rare smile tugging at his lips—he thought maybe, for once, he’d done something right. Maybe being happy could be enough.

It wasn’t.

He hadn’t even made it past the threshold before his mother’s eyes narrowed. Before his father’s voice sharpened. Before the world, so soft and golden in B’s car, turned cold and grey under the harsh kitchen lights.

“What is that on your neck?” his mum had asked, not really asking.

His father didn’t wait. “You’ve got no shame, do you?”

And the thing was, he hadn’t even lied. He could’ve spun a story. Could’ve said it was a bug bite or that he’d fallen asleep on a seatbelt. But he didn’t want to lie. Not about this. Not when it had felt so real. So rare.

So he told the truth.

“It’s from B,” he said. Quiet. Not proud, but not ashamed either. Just… honest.

The silence that followed was deafening,

"Mum, say something," Grian pleaded,

but she didn't, she just cried as his father held her,

"How dare you disgrace our family like this?"

It was a slap in the face, and it confirmed everything,

Pearl had come out a few weeks prior, and their parents just ignored it. But Grian came home with a hickey from a guy, and now he's kicked out

His voice cracked as he said it, raw and barely audible, but it split the room like lightning. "Why is it okay for Pearl but not for me?"

His mother flinched. Not from the words, but from the fact he’d dared to speak them. His father’s jaw tightened like a drawbridge slamming shut.

“Don’t make this about her,” his father snapped. “This is about you. Your choices.”

“She chose Gem,” Grian shot back. “She kissed her in front of everyone. She told you. And you said nothing.”

“It’s different,” his mother whispered.

“Why?” Grian asked, voice rising despite the tightness in his throat. “Because she’s your golden girl? Because she wears dresses and keeps her voice soft and smiles at the neighbours? Is it only okay when it’s her?”

His father stepped forward. “We don’t need to listen to this.”

But Grian stood his ground, even as the words started to crumble in his mouth. “You don’t need to listen to anything I say. You never have.”

That was the moment, he thinks. The one that replays in his head on loop. Not the shouting. Not the suitcase. Not the front door closing behind him like the world had slammed shut. Just that final silence. Heavy. Absolute.

The sound of being let go.

Now, years later, in a garden dressed up like a dream, Grian watches his sister laugh in her new wife’s arms. Watches the crowd erupt in applause. Watches his parents hug Pearl like she’s never done a thing wrong in her life.

And he wonders if maybe she hasn’t. Maybe she’s earned it.

He doesn’t begrudge her the love, only the ease with which she receives it.

His own hands stay folded in his lap. His smile stays fixed and practised. The lump in his throat stays buried beneath layers of old bruises and new apologies he never got.

He loves his sister. He does.

But he can’t help feeling like he’s watching a life he could’ve had through glass. Like a guest at someone else’s dream.

----

He was a few drinks in, just enough for the edges of the world to blur, just enough for his shoulders to finally unclench, when Scar pulled him onto the dance floor.

Grian didn’t resist.

Didn’t overthink.

Didn’t glance over at the table where his parents sat like immovable statues in pastel linen.

Just let himself be dragged into the warm pulse of the music, the fairy lights spinning golden halos onto the grass beneath their feet.

Scar was smiling, god, that smile, and Grian let himself smile back.

The song had slowed, something soft and stupidly romantic, the kind of track you’re meant to sway to, close and careless. And maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the ache of the night catching up to him, but he didn’t pull away when Scar stepped in closer. Their hands found each other naturally. Like gravity. Like habit. Like home.

Grian let his head tip back in a laugh, the sound a little too bright, a little too free.

Must be the alcohol, he told himself.

But then Scar’s eyes softened in that way that made it hard to breathe.

And then Scar was leaning in.

And then, Grian wasn’t sure if it was his idea or Scar’s, but he was leaning in, too.

His heart was thudding. Not with fear, but something gentler. Hope, maybe. Hunger. A wanting he rarely let surface.

Was he about to kiss Scar on the dance floor?

Right here, in front of everyone?

Right here, in front of them?

“GRIAN.”

The name cracked across the garden like a whip.

His mother’s voice, sharp, tight, slicing clean through the moment.

Grian froze.

Scar stilled, lips still parted, inches away, breath ghosting over Grian’s cheek.

The music went on. The laughter carried. But for Grian, the night had slammed to a halt.

He turned, slowly. His mother was standing at the edge of the dance floor, her mouth tight, her eyes wide with that familiar look—not shock, not concern.

Disappointment.

The kind that wraps around your ribs and squeezes.

The kind that says, you were almost something good. Almost.

The kind that says, You always ruin it.

“I need to speak with you,” she said, cold and quiet, like she was barely keeping herself from unravelling.

Grian stepped back. Away from Scar. Away from the warmth. Away from the almost.

He followed her off the floor.

The smile slipped from his face like it had never been there.

Scar followed, though not keen on stepping in.

"You just won't stop until you've disgraced this family completely, will you?" she snapped, "Kissing another man at your sister's wedding? This is supposed to be her day, not yours, to disappoint us again. Like you always do!"

Her words cut deep, sobering him up

"Look around, Pearl's married Gem, everyone accepts them, why would it be any different for me? Why am I the disappointment when I have done nothing but be your son? What makes Pearl so special?!" Grain's voice cracked at the end.

There was a pause. Long and brittle.

Grian’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling too fast. His voice had cracked when he spoke, but he hadn’t looked away. He wanted to be seen. Needed to be heard.

But his father didn’t flinch.

He just stared at Grian, face unreadable, until finally, quietly, like the truth was too tired to shout, he said:

“You’ve been a disappointment since the moment you came into this world.”

There was no venom in his tone. No rage. Just finality.
Like it was a simple fact. Like it had always been true.
Like he’d been waiting for the moment to finally say it out loud.

And that, somehow, hurt more.

Grian froze. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
The night spun around him, colours blurring, lights pulsing too bright.
He couldn’t breathe.

He’d always wondered, in the quiet, aching parts of himself—
If they’d wanted a different son.
If they’d ever really loved this one.

And now he knew.

His mum didn’t speak. Just stood there, her arms crossed tight as if she didn’t hold herself together, she’d shatter too.
But she didn’t defend him.

She never did.

Scar was still lingering behind, eyes wide, fists clenched at his sides, but Grian couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t bear to be seen in this exact moment,
When every bruise that had ever been pressed into his spirit was suddenly on full display.

He turned away from them, his parents, the wedding, the golden lights, all of it, and walked off into the dark.
Because if he stayed a second longer, he’d break.

And he wasn’t sure he had enough pieces left to put himself back together again.

Chapter Text

Pearl and Gems wedding hadn't be as glamorous for jimmy as hed hoped.

Not only had he made an absolute fool of himself, spilling champagne on his shirt, crying during both vows, and trying (and failing) to stop romantic moments under fairylights, but the crowning embarrassment came when he had to be dragged out by none other than his little sister.

Lizzie. All five-foot-two of fury and ferocious big sister energy, despite being the younger sibling by two years.

“I swear to God, Jimmy, if you puke in Gem’s bouquet, I’ll bury you in it,” she’d hissed, half-carrying him off the dance floor while he mumbled something about true love.

Now, with a pounding headache and the distinct taste of regret lingering in his mouth, Jimmy sat slumped at his favourite second-favourite coffee shop: T.I.E.S Coffee.

Grian called it their competition. The place wasn't a bakery; it didn’t sell croissants and didn’t smell like sugar. Jimmy didn’t get how a shop with no cupcakes could be considered “competition” to Bread Bridge Bakery, but Grian insisted T.I.E.S was a threat to their morning rush supremacy.

Still, they made a mean iced mocha, and the seats didn’t hurt his hangover, so here he was. Slouched in a booth, sunglasses on (indoors, yes, and no, he didn’t care), trying to pretend he wasn’t dying slowly under the weight of last night’s poor choices.

“Need a top-up?” came a voice, too bright and chirpy for his current condition.

Jimmy winced. “Ugh, don’t say that word like it’s friendly,”

He looked up.

“Tango!” he groaned, squinting at the grinning barista towering over him with a coffee pot in hand. “How are you this cheerful before noon?”

“Caffeine,” Tango said proudly, topping up Jimmy’s half-drunk flat white with alarming enthusiasm. “And the satisfaction of watching you crash and burn at the wedding. It was like watching a romcom if the main guy was allergic to dignity.”

Jimmy groaned louder. “Don’t remind me. I have bruises from Lizzie dragging me by the arm like a toddler in a supermarket.”

“You tried to slow dance with a potted plant.”

“She was pretty and leafy and gave me more affection than anyone else there.”

“You also tried to break her and Joel up,” Tango added, leaning casually on the edge of the booth.

Jimmy groaned again, this time into his coffee. “Don’t say that like it wasn’t justified.”

“You called it a ‘moral intervention.’ Then threw a breadstick at him.”

“A warning shot,” Jimmy mumbled. “And I missed on purpose.”

Tango snorted. “You missed three times, Jimmy, plus you were halfway across the room.”

“Look, you don’t understand,” Jimmy said, sitting up straighter, rubbing his temples like he could press the headache out through sheer will. “It’s Joel. Joel. I’ve seen that man eat cheese off the floor and once glue his fingers together trying to fix a mug. That’s not someone you let date your little sister!”

“You also once ate glitter by accident and said it ‘tasted magical.’”

“That was one time! And I was five!”

Tango raised a brow. “You were sixteen.”

Jimmy pointed at him. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Oh, I am,” Tango said with a smirk, sliding into the booth across from him. “But also, you’re being kind of a clown about this. You’re not mad at Joel, you’re freaked out because you think Lizzie doesn’t need you anymore.”

Jimmy blinked. “That’s… that’s not true. I’m mad because Joel’s an idiot.”

“Joel is an idiot,” Tango agreed. “But he’s also kind. And loyal. And weirdly obsessed with your family’s garden gnome collection. Which makes him basically perfect for Lizzie.”

Jimmy slumped back in his seat, sunglasses sliding slightly down his nose. “I just… I don’t know. It’s weird. I’m not used to seeing her with someone who actually gets her. It was easier when her dates were all awful.”

“Easier for you maybe,” Tango said, sipping his own coffee. “But Lizzie’s happy. And Joel, Joel looks at her like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

Jimmy glanced away, out the window where the morning sun was just starting to burn through the grey. “I know. I saw that too. Under those stupid fairy lights.”

Tango smiled gently. “You didn’t fail as a brother just because she fell in love, y’know. You’re still important to her. You always will be. But maybe it’s time to stop being her protector and start being her support.”

Jimmy was quiet for a moment, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. Then he sighed. “Ugh. Why do you always have to be right when I’m hungover and vulnerable?”

“It’s my brand,” Tango said smugly. “Barista, emotional coach, keeper of secrets and embarrassing wedding stories.”

“You tell Joel about the breadstick thing, I’ll replace your espresso beans with decaf.”

“Ruthless,” Tango said, standing and patting Jimmy’s shoulder. “But fair.”

As he walked off, Jimmy leaned back again and stared up at the ceiling. Maybe Tango was right. Maybe Joel wasn’t the worst choice after all.

Still. He was definitely threatening him with a shovel at the next family BBQ.

-

The conversation with Tango stuck to him like glitter. Annoying, sparkly, and impossible to ignore.

By the time Lizzie slid into the booth across from him, Jimmy had stirred his coffee six times, stared at his reflection in the lid, and practiced exactly zero of the apologies he meant to say.

She didn’t speak right away. Just stared at him, arms crossed, one brow lifted in that dangerously patient way only sisters could pull off.

“Still alive, then,” she said finally.

“Barely,” Jimmy muttered. “If I had any dignity left, I’d ask you to delete the videos.”

Lizzie sipped her drink, eyes not leaving him. “I did. The ones that mattered, anyway. I kept the plant dance. It’s art.”

Jimmy gave her a weak glare, but it melted quickly. “Listen, Liz…”

“No,” she said, holding up a hand. “I’m gonna go first, okay?”

Jimmy shut his mouth.

Lizzie leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “I know you’re protective. I know it’s how you show you care. You’ve always looked out for me, even when I didn’t ask you to. Especially then. But Jimmy, you don’t have to fight every battle for me.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“I don’t think you do,” she said, gentler now. “I’m not a kid anymore. I’m not thirteen, crying about some boy who dumped me over text. I’m not fragile. And Joel, as annoying as he is, and he is very annoying, isn’t some rebound I’m going to regret.”

Jimmy looked down at his cup. “You really love him?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

And then, after a breath, “He makes me laugh. He listens. He never makes me feel like I’m too much or not enough. That’s rare, y’know?”

Jimmy looked up. Her face was open. Honest. Happy in a way he hadn’t let himself notice until now. And it hit him, suddenly and hard: she didn’t need his approval. She just wanted his blessing.

“I just…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I always saw myself as the guy who’d scare off the jerks. The shield. The big brother. I didn’t think I’d have to figure out how to just… let you be happy without making it about me.”

Lizzie smiled. “You’re still my big brother, Jimmy. You always will be. I still need you. Just not to fight my battles. Just to be in my corner.”

He gave a shaky laugh. “That I can do.”

She reached across the table and took his hand, squeezing it.

“And for the record,” she added, “if you ever actually throw another breadstick at my boyfriend again, I will bury you in the garden.”

Jimmy grinned. “Fair enough.”

They sat there in companionable silence for a while, the city moving around them. His headache was still there, but lighter now. Less doom, more dull ache.

Eventually, Jimmy leaned back and said, “Sooo… does this mean I can give a toast at the wedding?”

Lizzie stared at him. “You’re assuming we’re getting married.”

“Just covering my bases.”

“You’re assuming I’d let you hold a microphone again.”

“I have great material!”

“I’m calling Gem for backup.”

Jimmy smirked. “Tell her I have more breadsticks.”

Lizzie groaned.

But her smile lingered.

And Jimmy’s heart felt just a little bit lighter.

---

Scar’s voice came through the phone, laced with concern.

“Hey, Jim, can you check in on Grian? He had a pretty bad argument with his parents last night,”

Shit.

The weight of those words hit Jimmy hard. He’d completely forgotten about that.

With a renewed sense of urgency, he rushed over to Grian and Joel's apartment, knowing Joel had left with Lizzie. This was his moment, an opportunity to reach out to Grian without the usual distractions.

He knocked twice firmly against the door. Silence greeted him.

He knocked once more, softer this time. “G? It’s me.”

The door creaked open just a sliver, barely wide enough for Jimmy to see a glimpse of rustling movement inside, the gentle scuff of bare feet padding on wooden floorboards. Then, hesitantly, the door pulled back fully to reveal Grian, wrapped in a blanket like a vulnerable, emotionally compromised burrito. His eyes were rimmed with red, and his hair was tousled as if he had been wrestling with his thoughts all morning. He didn’t utter a word; he simply stepped aside and allowed Jimmy to enter.

Jimmy walked in and settled onto the edge of the bed, trying to bring a bit of lightness to the heavy atmosphere. “I brought emergency snacks,” he said, holding up a half-squished bag of chips and a tiny, handmade wedding favor cookie shaped like a dove. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Grian didn’t smile, but his eyes instinctively flicked toward the snacks, a flicker of gratitude. “Thanks,” he replied softly.

They sank into silence for a beat, the room filled with the hum of the air vent and the soft rustling of plastic as Jimmy opened the bag of chips.

At last, Jimmy broke the stillness, his voice gentle. “You wanna talk about it?”

Grian was quiet, too quiet. Then he shrugged, a movement that spoke volumes; it was not a shrug of indifference, but rather the weight of unspoken complications pressing down on him. A shrug that communicated a profound sense of helplessness.

“They said it,” Grian murmured. “They said it out loud. What I always suspected.”

Jimmy felt a pang in his gut as he processed the gravity of those words. “Your dad?”

Grian nodded slowly, his expression pained. “He said I’ve been a disappointment since the day I was born.”

The impact of that statement knocked the breath out of Jimmy. “Jesus, G…”

“And you know what’s worse? I didn’t even argue. I just… believed him.”

Placing a comforting hand on Grian’s back, Jimmy sought to provide a grounding presence. “He’s wrong.”

“Is he?” Grian’s voice wavered, each word dripping with anguish. “Because they cheer for Pearl. They pose for pictures with her and Gem, like they’re so progressive. But me? I’m the mess. The one they look past. The one they expect to screw up. I’m just the family fuck up.”

Jimmy chose silence for the moment, letting Grian spill forth the torrent of pain he had kept bottled up as if it were stitched into his very being.

“I wasn’t even kissing Scar,” Grian added, his voice barely a whisper. “We were just… close. I might have been about to, I don’t even know. But even the possibility was enough to make them explode, like I’d set the whole place on fire.”

“You didn’t,” Jimmy insisted softly. “You didn’t ruin anything.”

Grian turned to him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “It feels like I did.”

For a moment, Jimmy remained quiet, his heart aching for his friend. “Then maybe I’ll just sit with you in the ashes until you feel like standing again,” he offered sincerely.

A shaky laugh escaped Grian, cracking midway through like a fragile glass. “You’re such a sap.”

“Yeah, well,” Jimmy replied with a faint grin, “I cried at the vows and got dragged off the dance floor by Lizzie, so I think we’re both disasters this weekend.”

Grian leaned into him slightly, not quite a hug, but enough to convey gratitude without words, a silent acknowledgment of their enduring friendship.

Jimmy didn’t move, simply remained there, shoulder to shoulder, letting Grian regain his breath amidst a storm of emotions.

Sometimes, being a best friend didn’t mean fixing anything; it meant simply showing up, and staying.

“Oh, and don’t think you’re getting away with almost-kissing my brother, okay?” Jimmy sighed playfully, just as Grian let out a genuine laugh, the sound lifting the heaviness in the air.

Chapter Text

“It’s just a little streak,” Lizzie said.

Joel stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, visibly sweating under the weight of those words.

“A little streak,” he repeated slowly, like he was trying to translate it into a language where it didn’t sound like a trap. “You said that about the glitter incident. And the eyebrow tint. And the-.”

Lizzie stood behind him, grinning like a gremlin with a mission, a towel draped over her shoulder and gloves already snapped on as she cut him off. “Okay, one: the glitter was festive. Two: the eyebrow tint made you look distinguished. And three: that t-shirt said ‘#1 Boyf’ and I stand by it.”

Joel groaned dramatically, sinking into the chair in front of the mirror like a man facing his execution. “Why green?”

Lizzie spun the little jar of dye between her fingers. It shimmered in the light like some kind of forbidden potion. “Because it’s your favourite colour. And because you said, and I quote, ‘I would do anything for you, babe.’”

“I meant like… carry heavy stuff. Kill spiders. Not turn into a highlighter.”

She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “Too late. You’re already my neon dreamboat.”

He groaned, but no matter how much he protested, Lizzie knew he was excited.

“This better wash out,” he muttered, a grin forming on his face.

“Oh, it’ll fade,” Lizzie promised, with the exact tone of voice someone uses when they are definitely lying.

“Define fade.”

Lizzie hummed thoughtfully, brushing the strand carefully into place. “Eventually.”

Joel sighed, resigned but secretly enjoying how gentle her hands were as she worked, how focused her face got when she leaned in to inspect her handiwork.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he grumbled.

Lizzie grinned. “You say that now, wait till you see yourself in sunlight. You’re gonna glow.”

“I better not glow.”

“Like a sexy traffic light.”

“Stop talking.”

She laughed and swatted his shoulder lightly, then bent down again, her voice soft this time. “You trust me, right?”

Joel looked at her in the mirror—eyes bright, cheeks smudged with a bit of green already, and smiling like he’d hung the moon.

He reached up and covered her hand with his. “Yeah. I do.”

She kissed his cheek, then turned the blow dryer on with a flourish. “Good. Because after this, we’re doing matching nails.”

Joel groaned again.

But he didn’t say no.

The dryer buzzed softly, the only sound in the small bathroom as Lizzie worked her fingers through Joel’s hair, warm air fanning out between them.

He closed his eyes.

He didn’t expect to feel… safe.

Because Joel wasn’t used to stillness. He lived in motion—loud and fast and a little reckless. He filled silences with jokes and covered discomfort with ‘swagger’. And yet here, in the quiet hum of Lizzie’s hands on his scalp and the scent of lavender shampoo and hair dye hanging in the air, he felt anchored.

“You ever think about how weird this is?” he said, voice muffled. “Us.”

Lizzie paused, eyes flicking to the mirror.

“How so?”

“I don’t know.” He cracked one eye open. “I used to be the guy who couldn’t keep a plant alive. Now I’m the guy letting his girlfriend turn him into a mossy mermaid.”

Lizzie grinned. “You’re evolving. Next up: skincare routine.”

“I draw the line at cucumber slices.”

“You say that now.”

They lapsed back into a rhythm, the dryer sweeping over Joel’s head, Lizzie’s fingers dancing through his curls with easy familiarity.

He cleared his throat. “My last relationship… she used to tell me I was too much. Too loud. Too messy. She’d try to change things—quiet me down. Smooth the edges.”

Lizzie’s hands stilled for a moment. Then she reached forward, tugged gently at the green-tinted strand she’d just dried. “You’re still loud. Still messy.”

Joel smirked. “Gee, thanks.”

“But I love that about you.” Her voice was softer now. Sincere. “You make everything feel alive. Like life’s not just something that happens—it’s something you grab and wrestle and laugh through.”

He blinked. For once, speechless.

She moved around to stand in front of him, fingers still damp, leaving a faint green smudge on his cheek as she brushed his hair back from his face.

“I’m not dyeing your hair to mess with you,” she added. “I’m doing it because I like you loud. I like you bright. I like the way you show up for people, even when it’s chaotic and weird and not always pretty.”

Joel looked at her then—really looked.

Not just the girl who made fun of him, or the one who outpaced him at Mario Kart and claimed the last piece of garlic bread without shame. But the woman who saw him exactly as he was and didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask him to tone it down. Didn’t want him smaller.

“I think I’m in trouble,” he whispered, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips.

Lizzie arched a brow. “Because of the hair?”

“No.” His smile turned softer. “Because I didn’t think I’d get this.”

“This?”

“This kind of love.”

She leaned in and rested her forehead against his. “It’s not perfect,” she whispered. “But it’s real. And it’s yours.”

Joel closed his eyes again. And in that small, quiet bathroom, smelling like dye and coffee and too many shared jokes, he let himself believe her.

When they stepped outside later, the green in his hair caught the sun and shimmered like summer grass.

And for once, Joel didn’t feel like a punchline.

He felt seen.

“However, I’m not watching Shrek 3,” Lizzie declared with a hint of determination in her voice.

“What? Why not?” Joel whined, his expression one of disbelief mixed with mild desperation.

“Because it’s terrible, I absolutely hate it, and we can skip directly to what can be argued as the best one—Shrek Forever After,” Lizzie groaned, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“Firstly, Shrek Forever After is not the best; that title belongs to Shrek 2. And yes, Shrek the Third does suck, but it’s part of the complete experience of binge-watching the films! We all had to endure disappointment when it first came out, and now, we have to relive that disappointment during a rewatch! Lastly, I literally am Shrek, so skipping the third movie would break my heart,” Joel passionately argued, his brow furrowed with sincerity.

“Joel, you know you’re just going to complain the entire time we watch it!” Lizzie shot back, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Watch what?” Grian said, leaning casually against the door frame, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Oh, and nice hair, broccoli,” he added, nodding at Joel’s new do.

Joel groaned, both annoyed and amused at the comment.

“Shrek the Third,” Lizzie replied with a sigh, shaking her head.

“Oh, never watch that with him; it's absolute torture,” Grian said, shuddering as if he was getting war flashbacks.

“But I literally am Shrek!” Joel insisted, spreading his arms dramatically.

“Joel, if you’re Shrek, then who’s Donkey?” Lizzie deadpanned, raising an eyebrow as she challenged him.

“Jimmy,” he replied without missing a beat.

“What about me?” Grian chimed in, eager to join the playful banter.

“Oh, you’re Puss in Boots,” Joel declared with a grin.

Lizzie snorted. “That tracks. Overdramatic, lots of flair, probably owns a tiny sword.”

“I do own a tiny sword,” Grian said smugly.

As Lizzie and Joel exchanged glances, their laughter bubbled up at the unexpected innuendo, much to Grian's chagrin. He shook his head, trying to hide his amusement while they continued to giggle, the playful banter weaving through the air like a teasing melody.

Joel calmed himself. “See? We’re basically cast and ready for a reboot.”

“You’d actually make a decent Shrek,” Grian mused. “You’re loud, unpredictable, weirdly strong when no one expects it, and you pretend you don’t like people but actually kind of do.”

Joel's eyes narrowed in mock betrayal, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “That’s the nicest insult you’ve ever given me.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable with it. Anyway, Scar’s here,” Grian replied, glancing at his phone with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

“What? That’s strange, he knows I’m staying here tonight,” Lizzie pondered, furrowing her brow in confusion.

“No, actually, Scar and I are hanging out,” Grian said, a grin spreading across his face that was equal parts mischief and embarrassment.

Lizzie and Joel exchanged a knowing glance, their eyes sparkling with unspoken thoughts and amusement.

“Okay then, we won’t wait up,” Joel teased, his grin wide and infectious.

Grian instantly turned the brightest shade of crimson, a flustered expression overtaking his features. “It’s not like that! You know I can’t stand the way he flirts.”

“Hmm, sure,” Joel replied, his tone dripping with playful skepticism.

Lizzie smiled at the two of them bickering, her gaze lingering a little longer on Joel. The green streak suited him, she thought, not just because it matched his chaos, but because it was bold. Visible. Unapologetic.

That streak wasn’t just for fun. It was a declaration.

-_-

Later, when the Shrek marathon was halfway through and Joel was dramatically narrating every line of Shrek 2 with inappropriate emotional gravitas, Lizzie leaned her head on his shoulder.

“You know,” she murmured between scenes, “You’re not a monster.”

Joel blinked. “What?”

“You keep calling yourself that,” she said, voice softer than the room. “In your jokes, under your breath when you think I’m not listening. Like being too loud or weird or passionate makes you bad.”

Joel stared at the screen, the green hue of Fiona’s ogre skin reflecting faintly in the TV light. “It’s just a joke.”

“I know,” Lizzie whispered. “But it’s okay to stop telling it.”

Chapter Text

The last of Lizzie and Joel’s laughter still echoed faintly behind him as Grian stepped out into the cool night air, tugging his hoodie up over his head and squinting into the streetlight glow. He didn’t mind the cold, not really. It was a welcome contrast to the heat building behind his ribs, the fluttering kind, the kind that came with knowing Scar was waiting.

He spotted him almost immediately.

Scar was leaning against Grian’s beat-up old hatchback like it was the set of a music video, arms folded, red hoodie unzipped over his signature chaotic layering of necklaces and vintage pins. His smile lit up as soon as he saw him, that same smile that always made Grian forget how to stand like a normal person.

“There he is!” Scar called out, his voice a little too loud for the quiet street, like always. “Did the ogrelords release you, or did you escape on dragonback?”

Grian snorted. “Escaped. Barely made it out alive.”

“Well, lucky for you,” Scar said, pushing off the car, “I brought reinforcements.”

He held up McDonald's triumphantly, Grian’s exact order, a large cheeseburger with a caramel frappe.

Grian took the bag and drink with a mock suspicious squint. “Okay. What do you want?”

“Maybe I just wanted to see you,” Scar said, tone deliberately dramatic, one brow arched in teasing.

Grian looked away too fast.

Scar noticed.

They started walking, shoes scuffing against pavement, shoulders occasionally brushing. It wasn’t like Grian had planned anything, but he never really had to. Time with Scar was easy, like the universe bent a little to make space for their chaos.

“So,” Scar said after a while, “how’s the old brain?” He gestured vaguely to Grian’s temple, like he could scoop the anxiety out with a straw.

Grian hesitated. “It’s… loud. Still kind of reeling from the whole parent fight thing.”

Scar nodded, more serious now. “Want to talk about it?”

Grian sipped his drink. “Not really.”

“Want me to talk about something completely unrelated and stupid until you remember how to breathe?”

Grian glanced at him, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’d be ideal, actually.”

Scar nodded, accepting the assignment with the dramatic air of a knight taking up a sacred quest. “Okay, so picture this: me, you,a desolate tower in a vast desert. We own the sand and have a llama named Pizza.”

Grian started to laugh, just a little, but it cracked something open.

“And what are we doing with the sand and the llama?” he asked.

“Touring the country. Trading the sand to those who want to make explosives, or you know.. Glass. I give you lilacs and poppies. Eventually I loose the love of my life… Pizza.”

Grian raised an eyebrow. “Wait, what about me?”

Scar bumped their shoulders together. “Oh, you’re already my great love. The llama is just for drama.”

And Grian laughed for real that time. Something warm and whole.

They found a bench under one of those old fairy-lit trees outside a café, one that still flickered in uneven pulses. Scar sat on the backrest with his feet on the seat. Grian stayed grounded, drink resting between his knees.

“Do you ever feel like... you’re too many things all at once?” Grian asked after a while, almost surprising himself with the question.

Scar tilted his head. “Like being a blender left on too long?”

“Random but yeah.”

Scar took a bite of his McDonald's. “All the time. But I figure maybe some people are blenders. Loud, messy, and absolutely necessary when it comes to making life taste better.”

Grian looked up at him. “That’s either incredibly wise or totally unhinged.”

“Why not both?” Scar smiled gently now. “You don’t have to be quiet to be loved, Gri. You don’t have to edit yourself. I like the full volume version.”

Grian swallowed, throat tight. “What if they don’t?”

Scar shrugged. “Then screw ‘they.’ I’ve got a desert, sand and llama with your name on it.”

“That weirdly made me feel better,” Grian sighed leaning his head on Scar’s shoulder,

“Happy to help birdie,”

Birdie

That name brought a warm flutter to Grian’s chest. He hadn’t heard it in a while. Not since before… well, before things got complicated. Before the fights at home, before he stopped letting people call him soft things.

But Scar still used it, He’d heard Pearl call him birdie and it just kinda stuck.

For a long time, Grian had hated the nickname. Not because of what it meant, but because of what it revealed. He was a bird: restless, twitchy, always flitting from one place to the next. He made noise to fill the silence. He built his world from twigs and scraps, projects and performances, always on the edge of flying off or falling apart.

People called him Birdie when they thought he was small and harmless. The name reminded him of who he wasn't. At least birds are free; he didn’t want to be reminded of a life he would never live.

But Scar never said it like that.

Scar never made Birdie feel like a cage.

He said it like it meant something else entirely. Not what he isn’t, but what he can be.

“You know,” Grian said slowly, voice muffled against Scar’s hoodie, “you’re the only one who I let call me that.”

“Really? Not even Pearl?” Scar replied, genuinely shocked,

“Yeah I told her to stop after you started using it,”

“Well then, birdie, I'm honoured.”

—-----------------------------------—
After finishing their McDonalds, the two of them ended up at Scar, Jimmy and Lizzie’s apartment.

The living room was warm, cluttered, and just a little bit magical.

Fairy lights dangled haphazardly along the ceiling beams. A half-dead houseplant sat in the corner wearing googly eyes and a tiny cowboy hat. Someone (probably Jimmy) had left a plastic flamingo in the hallway wearing Scar’s hoodie. The air smelled faintly of citrus, wood polish, and… burnt toast?

Grian raised an eyebrow as he stepped in.

“You sure no one’s home?”

Scar beamed as he kicked the door shut behind him. “Tango dragged Jimmy out for drinks. Lizzie and Joel are off being sickeningly adorable at yours or something. The kingdom is ours, G.”

Grian rolled his eyes at the nickname, but his smile betrayed him. “You calling it a kingdom now?”

Scar shrugged. “Feels right. Jimmy is definitely the court jester.”

Grian snorted. “And Lizzie’s the queen?”

“Obviously,” Scar said, already moving into the kitchen. “And you, my friend, are the mysterious court wizard with secret emotional damage.”

“Oh good,” Grian muttered, flopping onto the couch. “My dream role.”

Scar returned with two mismatched mugs. One said World’s Okayest Barista, the other had a cartoon chicken screaming EGGS! in bold red letters. He handed the latter to Grian.

“What’s this?”

“Rum and Coke,” Scar said, plopping down beside him. “But like… heavy on the rum.”

Grian took a sip and winced. “Scar, this is an act of violence.”

Scar just grinned, raising his own mug in salute. “To surviving weddings, family drama, and acts of violence.”

They clinked mugs. Grian leaned his head back on the couch, letting the burn of the drink warm his throat.

“I forgot how quiet this place could be,” he muttered.

Scar’s grin softened. “Yeah. It has its moments.”

The silence stretched between them, not awkward, but comfortable. The kind that only exists when you’re with someone who doesn’t need you to perform.

“You know,” Grian said after a moment, swirling the drink in his mug, “sometimes I feel like I don’t know how to just… be. Without bouncing off people. Without trying too hard.”

Scar didn’t answer right away. He just leaned sideways, their shoulders brushing.

“I think,” he said slowly, “that’s part of what makes you you. But also…” He tilted his head. “You don’t have to earn being here. Not with me. Not with this lot. You’re allowed to just exist.”

Grian blinked.

That wasn’t the kind of thing people usually said to him. Not even kindly. And certainly not in such a simple, honest way.

Scar bumped their mugs together again. “Plus, I like you better when you’re not overthinking every word. The chaotic gremlin version of you is fun, but this? This quiet Grian? He’s kind of nice too.”

“You’re drunk,” Grian said, though his voice cracked a little.

“Only a bit,” Scar admitted cheerfully. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Grian looked down at his drink, then up at Scar.

“I’m glad I came over.”

Scar’s smile was soft and crooked and just a little tired in the way people get when they’ve been holding up everyone else.

“Me too, Birdie.”

The lights outside flickered as a storm rolled somewhere in the distance, thunder just faint enough to feel like a rumble in your chest. Inside, wrapped in dim warmth and the hum of someone choosing him without asking for anything in return, Grian let himself breathe.

—-----------------

The morning crept in slowly.

Soft light spilled through the gauzy curtains, casting long streaks of gold across the cluttered living room. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon from an old candle that had burned itself out sometime during the night, and there was a blanket of stillness so deep it felt like the house itself was trying not to wake them.

Grian stirred first.

His head was pressed against something warm, no, someone warm, and his legs were tangled in another pair that definitely weren’t his. He blinked, squinting into the gentle brightness, his brain sluggish and cottony.

Scar was still asleep beside him, sprawled across the couch like he’d melted there, one arm draped over Grian’s side and his face half-buried in the crook of Grian’s neck.

For a second, Grian froze.

Then, quietly, carefully, he exhaled.

Right. Last night. The drinks. The comfort. The couch. Scar’s laugh and his words and the way Grian had leaned into him without realising he’d stopped pretending.

He could still hear it, echoing through his chest:
"You're allowed to just exist."

Scar let out a soft snore and shifted, his fingers twitching slightly against Grian’s ribcage before settling again. His hoodie had twisted halfway around his torso in his sleep, exposing a sliver of skin above his hip, and Grian looked away quickly, cheeks flushing even though no one else was there to see it.

His first instinct was to sit up, make a joke, pretend it was all no big deal.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stayed still, just for a moment longer.

It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t a mistake. It was… warm. Real. Something he hadn’t let himself have in a long time.

Scar mumbled something unintelligible and cracked one eye open. He blinked at Grian blearily, lips curling into a sleepy smile.

“Morning, Birdie.”

Grian felt that flutter in his chest again. The one that made his throat tight and his heart beat too fast.

“Morning,” he whispered back.

Scar yawned and buried his face deeper into Grian’s shoulder. “We have any pancakes?”

Grian huffed a quiet laugh. “What, do I look like a breakfast menu?”

Scar’s arm tightened slightly around him. “You look like my favourite part of the morning.”

Grian rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t fight the way his smile crept in, slow and sure.

“Okay,” he murmured, softer now. “But if you want pancakes, you’re cooking.”

Scar groaned dramatically. “You wound me.”

“You’ll survive.”

The room stayed quiet after that, save for the distant hum of traffic and birdsong drifting through the window. Eventually, Grian shifted just enough to grab the blanket that had slipped halfway to the floor and pulled it back over both of them.

They didn’t move for a while.

Because for once, there was no rush. No script. No need to explain.

Just two people, wrapped in the quiet weight of each other.

And in that silence, Grian realised something.

Something that shocked him to his very core

He loves Scar

Chapter Text

Jimmy was in the middle of making a coffee when he heard it.

A crash.

Not the usual kind, like a tray hitting the floor or a customer knocking over the tip jar again. This one had the specific clang of a ceramic coffee mug meeting an unjust demise.

He wiped his hands on a tea towel and poked his head out of the kitchen.

Grian was on the floor.

Not in a dramatic lying-down sort of way, but the kind of crouch that screamed “I am barely holding it together and the tile is the only thing that understands me right now.”

Next to him, a broken mug and what remained of a cinnamon latte pooled on the ground like the blood of a fallen soldier.

“...Mate?”

No response.

Jimmy knelt beside him, cautiously. “G? What happened?”

“I can’t do this,” Grian said, voice tight. “I can’t—I messed everything up, Jimmy, and I can’t breathe and—”

Oh no.

Oh no no.

This wasn’t just stress. This was full-on spiral. Eyes wide, breaths shallow, hands trembling against his apron. Jimmy had seen Grian anxious before, but this was something else. Like panic had taken root somewhere deep and clawed its way up.

“Okay, hey, hey,” Jimmy said quickly, dropping to sit beside him on the cool floor. “You’re okay. You’re safe. What happened? Talk to me.”

“I think I’m in love with Scar.”

Silence.

A beat.

Then another.

Jimmy blinked. “...You’re what?”

Grian looked up, eyes glassy. “He’s your brother, Jimmy. I fell for your brother. You just got used to Joel dating Lizzie and now I’ve gone and made it worse. I broke the whole family tree—”

“Oh my god.”

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t! But he said birdie and made me a drink and smiled like—like he meant it, and now I can’t breathe and I think I’m gonna die here, next to a coffee puddle.”

Jimmy pinched the bridge of his nose.

First Joel and Lizzie. Now this?

“Okay,” he said shakily. “Okay. I need backup.”

He stood, stepped over the spill, and grabbed his phone.

[Incoming Call: Joel]

“Jimmy?” came Joel’s voice, suspiciously chipper for a day off.

“Emergency.”

“What kind of emergency?”

“Your roommate emergency.”

A pause. “...Grian?”

“Having a meltdown. Says he’s in love with Scar. On the floor. Next to a dead latte.”

“On my way.”

—-

[Incoming Call: Tango]

“Jimmy my beloved,” Tango answered, sounding like he was upside down again.

“Get to Bread Bridge right now.”

“Do I bring cake?”

“Bring a therapy voice and a mop. Grian’s down.”

—-

Twenty minutes later, Joel walked into the bakery still in joggers and a hoodie, eyebrows raised, hair still damp from a shower.

Grian was in the breakroom now, curled under the counter with a paper cup of water and Tango doing some weird breathing technique beside him like, “Inhale through the nose, now imagine you’re a calm pigeon on a beach—”

“Scar’s gonna hate me,” Grian muttered from the shadows of the cabinetry.

Joel crouched down next to him. “He won’t, mate.”

Grian squinted at him. “How do you know?”

“Because I’m dating his sister and-”

“Don’t remind me,” Jimmy butted in

“Shut up Jim, because i’m dating his sister and best friends with his brother, i know the guy and he’s totally into you G,” Joel patted his shoulder. “You’re doomed. But in the cute way.”

Meanwhile, Jimmy stood behind the counter, staring blankly at the display case like it had betrayed him.

His best friend was in love with his brother. His other best friend was dating his sister. And Tango had just tried to smudge the floor with eucalyptus oil for “emotional vibes.”

Jimmy exhaled.

“I need a drink,” he muttered.

Tango popped up beside him. “Flat white?”

“I meant something stronger.”

“...I have peppermint schnapps.”

Jimmy blinked. “Why?”

Tango shrugged. “I like options.”

Jimmy took the schnapps shot like a man possessed and slammed the tiny espresso cup down onto the counter.

“Okay,” he announced, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “New rule. No one’s allowed to fall in love with anyone else in this bakery without a permit.”

Tango raised a hand. “Do I need one to fall in love with the concept of ambient lighting?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m screwed.”

From the breakroom, Grian groaned. “I’m not coming out until Scar moves to another continent.”

Joel, still crouched under the counter beside him, handed him a croissant like a peace offering. “Scar literally lives here, G.”

“Then I guess I live here now under the sink. I’ll haunt the pipes. Tell the customers I died tragically in a cappuccino accident.”

“You might be being dramatic,” Joel said gently.

Grian narrowed his eyes. “You’re dating Lizzie. Let me have this.”

Joel winced but conceded the point with a solemn nod. “Touché.”

Jimmy flopped onto the nearest stool like gravity had it out for him. “Okay, but what now? We can’t keep having full-on feelings crises during business hours. We’re a bakery, not a soap opera.”

Tango whispered, “Speak for yourself.”

Jimmy ignored him.

Joel stood, brushing flour off his joggers. “Honestly? You let it happen. You let the chaos in. You lean into it.”

“I don’t want to lean into anything!” Jimmy barked. “I want normalcy! I want a day where no one cries into the banana bread!”

Tango looked hurt. “That was one time.”

“And I still have the emotional scarring,” Jimmy muttered.

Just then, the bell over the front door jingled again.

Jimmy stiffened. “If that’s Scar—”

It was Scar.

Of course, it was Scar.

Carrying a tray of fresh scones and humming a Fleetwood Mac song like he wasn’t the epicentre of romantic turmoil and emotional devastation.

“Oh hey, guys!” he called cheerfully. “Morning!”

Chaos incarnate. Jimmy thought.

Scar clocked the tension almost immediately, eyes narrowing. “Did I miss something? Why do you all look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

Grian, from under the sink, hissed, “Because I’m DEAD.”

Scar blinked. “Grian?”

“Dead, Scar he said dead.” Joel laughed at the absurdity.

“Oh well, hey, dead, how's it going?”

Scar paused in the doorway, holding the tray like it was a peace offering or maybe a shield. He tilted his head, squinting toward the breakroom.

“…Is Grian actually under the sink?”

No one answered.

So Scar walked in like he was just another Tuesday morning, setting the scones on the counter and peeking around the edge of the doorway. Sure enough, there Grian was, curled up like an emotionally unstable raccoon, clutching a croissant and muttering something about international travel.

“Oh no,” Scar said softly. “Birdie?”

Jimmy groaned. “Not that name again.”

Grian’s hands immediately slapped over his face. “I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT.”

Scar’s smile faltered. “You okay?”

“No!” Grian’s voice cracked. “No, Scar, I’m not okay. I’m under a sink, I smell like panic sweat, and you’re just—there—with your face and your Fleetwood Mac and your baked goods and—ugh!”

Scar looked at the others for context.

Joel shrugged. “He’s spiralling.”

Tango offered, “He’s in love with you.”

“TANGO!” Jimmy barked.

Grian screamed into his croissant.

Scar blinked. “Oh.”

Silence.

Long, heavy silence.

Tango shifted nervously and began humming “Landslide” under his breath for ambiance.

Grian peeked out from under his arm, his voice muffled and miserable. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

Scar crouched down, expression unreadable. “Like what? That you love me or that you’re living under a sink?”

“Both!”

Scar paused.

Then, with gentle amusement, “Well, the second one’s kind of iconic. Bit of a statement.”

Grian whimpered.

Scar leaned in, voice soft. “Birdie, I’ve known.”

Another beat.

“You—what?” Grian squinted.

Scar smiled, eyes warm. “I’m not that oblivious. You stare at me like I’m a sunrise. And you get all flustered every time I make you coffee.”

“I get flustered when anyone makes me coffee.”

“Mm-hm. Sure.”

Grian opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at Joel. Looked at Jimmy. Glared at Tango.

Scar held out his hand. “Come on. You don’t have to haunt the bakery plumbing.”

Slowly, very slowly, Grian crawled out and took his hand. His hair was a mess. His eyes were red. He still had crumbs on his cheek.

Scar looked at him like he was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Jimmy sighed heavily. “God, you two are gonna be insufferable.”

Joel patted his shoulder. “Welcome to my world, mate.”

Tango was already scribbling on a napkin. “Okay but hear me out: love triangle AU, but one of them is the ghost of a barista.”

Jimmy grabbed the schnapps again.

“I’m raising the permit fee,” he muttered.

Grian looked up at Scar. “So…you’re not mad?”

Scar gave a light laugh. “Mad? Birdie, I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”

And then he kissed him.

Right there, flour in the air, cinnamon in the breeze, Joel fake gagging in the background while Jimmy threatened to quit.

Tango clapped quietly. “Emotional growth. We love to see it.”

Jimmy, pouring himself another shot, muttered, “This bakery is cursed.”

Scar broke the kiss just long enough to smirk at him. “Baked with love, baby.”

The bell above the door chimed again.

This time, it was Lizzie.

She looked around, saw Grian and Scar still nose-to-nose, Jimmy deep in schnapps, and Tango gently draping a tea towel over the mop like a shroud.

“…What the hell happened in here?”

Joel raised both hands. “I swear I only just got here.”

Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “Do I even want to know?”

“No,” said Jimmy, Scar, Grian, Joel, and Tango in eerie unison.

Lizzie blinked. “Cool. I’ll go start eating the lemon tarts before Grian notices.”

As she passed, she tossed a fond glance over her shoulder at Joel. “You’re taking me out tonight. I need a break from this sitcom.”

Joel blew her a kiss. “You got it, sugarplum.”

Jimmy slumped over the counter, head in his hands. “I am so done.”

Scar turned back to Grian, eyes soft. “Still freaking out?”

“Absolutely,” Grian said, voice small.

“Want me to make it worse?”

“…Not really?”

Scar kissed him again.

Tango gave them a standing ovation. Joel threw a tea towel. Jimmy considered staging a walkout.

And behind it all, the scent of cinnamon, lemon zest, and chaos filled the air like prophecy.

Welcome to Bread Bridge.

No one makes it out emotionally unscathed.

Chapter Text

Joel didn’t usually wake up early on days where he had a late shift.

But something about today buzzed at the edges of his nerves. Maybe it was the leftover dye still faintly staining his fingertips, or the way Lizzie had kissed him goodbye that morning, quick, but soft, like something final and quiet she didn’t have the words for.

He rolled out of bed and blinked up at the ceiling, watching a bit of light filter through the curtain. It glowed just enough to catch on the fading green in his hair. A souvenir from a moment of vulnerability disguised as chaos. A streak that had meant more than it should have. A promise, almost.

He padded out to the kitchen and found the place quiet. Lizzie’s mug was in the sink. Jimmy’s coat was gone. Scar’s headphones sat on the counter, which meant he’d probably gone on another early-morning walk with his camera, talking to birds like they were old friends.

Joel poured himself some coffee and sat by the window, elbows on the sill.

He could see Bread Bridge from here. Even from a distance, the place felt like a living thing. A patchwork of cinnamon-scented mornings, broken mugs, and half-yelled inside jokes. He still remembered the first time he walked in, when Grian had said he wanted to own a bakery.

He and Jimmy had been sceptical at first, but Grian loved what he was doing and it showed in the desserts he made.

Joel sipped his coffee, eyes tracing the edges of the bakery windows in the distance. He could just barely make out the chalkboard sign outside, the one Tango and Scar – despite not working there - kept adding bad puns to when no one was looking. Something like “Donut Worry, Be Happy” or “Scone But Not Forgotten.”

He chuckled softly to himself.

Maybe this was what getting older felt like waking up before your alarm, missing someone who was only a few blocks away, and thinking way too much about baked goods.

He reached for his phone and stared at the last message Lizzie had sent him.

good luck today <3 don’t forget to be soft when it counts

Soft. Right.

He wasn’t always good at soft.

He could be loud and stubborn and dramatic when pushed. His love came out in weird, jagged shapes, jokes that deflected and half-meant apologies that came too late. But Lizzie saw past all of that. She always had. She’d dyed a streak in his hair and called him her neon dreamboat and kissed him like she knew he wasn’t perfect, but maybe he didn’t have to be.

Joel rubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes and stood, grabbing a hoodie off the back of a chair.

Today wasn’t about big speeches or grand gestures. It didn’t need to be.

It was about showing up.

So that’s what he did.
------

The bell above the bakery door jingled.

Grian looked up from the counter. “You’re early.”

“Felt like being useful,” Joel shrugged. “Don’t make it weird.”

Jimmy emerged from the kitchen, flour-dusted and tired. “Did you bring sarcasm or snacks?”

Joel held up a paper bag from across the street. “Both. T.I.E.S. Coffee apologizes for the betrayal.”

As if summoned, Tango burst through the front door half a second later, already mid-sentence. “—and I said, if you’re going to charge $7.50 for an oat milk flat white, at least give me a smile—oh. Joel.”

Joel gave him a look. “You don’t even work here.”

“I work emotionally here,” Tango replied, plopping into a chair near the window. “Also, Jimmy’s here. So.”

Jimmy flushed faintly. “He’s stalking the pastries again.”

“I’m stalking you, actually,” Tango corrected. “But I’ll take a scone if you’re offering.”

Joel smirked and made his way behind the counter, brushing past Grian on the way. “How’s the anxiety spiral?”

Grian gave a pained smile. “Containable. For now.”

Joel eyed him. “Scar avoiding you?”

“No,” Grian said too quickly. “He’s… giving me space.”

Joel nodded, leaning on the counter beside him. “You want advice or honesty?”

“That depends,” Grian muttered. “Does it come with cake?”

“No cake,” Joel said, “but it comes with the wisdom of someone who once dyed his hair for a girl who still calls me Broccoli in public.”

Grian blinked. “So… your advice is ‘be an idiot’?”

Joel lowered his voice. “My advice is: love is messy. It’s loud and weird and sometimes really freaking inconvenient. But if you try to control it too much, you smother it. You and Scar? That’s not something to fix. That’s something to feel. And yeah, he’s Jimmy’s brother, but trust me—if Scar didn’t want to be tangled up in you, he’d already be halfway to the next park bench having deep conversations with pigeons.”

Grian snorted despite himself. “You’re really going all in on the emotional mentor arc, huh?”

Joel grinned. “I learned from the best. Etho once compared heartbreak to soil erosion and made me cry.”

“Jesus.”

Tango, who had clearly been eavesdropping while pretending to eat a muffin, piped up, “You two would make a great advice column. Like Dear Abby but with bisexual panic and gluten.”

Jimmy called from the back, “Stop saying ‘bisexual panic’ in the bakery!”

“Then stop baking things that taste like self-discovery,” Tango shot back.

—

Later that afternoon, Joel found himself wiping down tables while Grian stared at the display case like it held all of life’s answers. The door jingled again, and everyone stiffened slightly.

Scar.

He walked in humming something Fleetwood Mac and cheerful, holding a sketchpad under one arm and a bag of fruit scones in the other.

“Morning, chaos crew!” he called. “What did I miss?”

Joel nudged Grian with his elbow. “Now or never.”

Grian looked panicked. “What if Jimmy murders me?”

“He won’t,” Joel promised. “And if he tries, I’ll throw a croissant at him.”

Scar caught sight of Grian, who still hadn’t moved.

“Oh hey, birdie!” he beamed. “You free to help me test these new scones?”

Grian inhaled sharply, then slowly nodded, stepping out from behind the counter.

Joel watched them disappear toward the back table, Scar already rambling about some idea he had for a community garden.

Jimmy groaned from the kitchen. “I swear to God, if one more person falls in love on my shift—”

Tango sipped his free latte and smiled. “That’s the cost of running a bakery built on emotionally charged carbohydrates.”

Joel leaned back, watching the door swing shut behind Scar and Grian.

He grinned.

Love, he thought, might be loud and messy… but it sure as hell was worth the clean-up.

--

Joel was exhausted by the time he locked up Bread Bridge.

The kind of exhausted that sat deep in his bones, not just from sweeping flour out of corners or keeping Grian from flinging dough during an emotional spiral, but from the sheer effort of feeling things.

Helping Grian talk through his Scar-induced freakout had been like wrangling a hyperventilating goose. Cathartic, sure. Hilarious, occasionally. But emotionally draining? Absolutely.

He rubbed his eyes as he reached the door to his apartment. Maybe he’d take a long shower. Watch something stupid. Crash into bed.

The door was unlocked.

He frowned. Grian usually triple-checked the lock like the ghost of customer complaints would barge in overnight. But when Joel stepped inside, the lights were low and warm. There was soft music playing from the speaker on the kitchen bench, and the air smelled vaguely like something floral, lavender, maybe. Or those fancy candles Scar kept gifting them.

“Grian?” he called warily.

No answer.

Then, from the living room: “Hey.”

Joel froze.

Lizzie stood by the windows, barefoot and radiant, wearing his old hoodie and holding… a ring box?

He blinked. “What—what’s going on?”

She shrugged one shoulder, impossibly casual for someone committing an emotional felony. “Grian let me in. Said he and Scar were going to go loiter in the park and feed ducks or something equally gay.”

Joel stared at her. “Okay. But… what are you doing here?”

Lizzie crossed the room and stood in front of him.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, voice low but steady. “We’ve been through a lot. Bad coffee dates. Green hair. Baking disasters. You trying to win me back with a loaf of banana bread that somehow caught fire after coming out of the oven.”

“In my defense, that oven is haunted.”

She smiled, then took a breath. “I don’t need a big speech, Joel. Or flowers, or fireworks, or kneeling on cobblestone. I just need you.”

Joel’s heart started hammering in his chest.

“I know you love me,” she said. “I’ve always known. Even when you were too stubborn to say it, or too scared to show it the right way. And I’ve loved you through all of it.”

She popped open the ring box. “So. I thought maybe I’d make the first move this time.”

Silence.

Joel’s eyes darted from the box, to her face, and back again.

“You’re proposing?” he asked dumbly.

She arched a brow. “Is that not clear?”

“I mean—yes. It’s just—shouldn’t I be proposing?”

She stepped closer, standing on her toes to kiss him once, softly. “Joel. I don’t need you to be the one who asks. I just need you to say yes.”

His throat caught.

And for once, Joel didn’t deflect. Didn’t joke. Didn’t hide behind bravado.

“Yes,” he whispered, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Lizzie slipped the ring onto his finger. “Good. Because I already told Jimmy, and he screamed into a tea towel.”

Joel laughed, half-choked, half-overwhelmed. “You really just… went for it.”

“I don’t do things halfway,” she said simply. “Especially not with you.”

They stood there for a second, pressed together in the quiet. The weight of the day slipped off his shoulders like a cloak.

“You’re incredible,” he said, kissing her hair.

“I know.”

Feminist icon, Joel thought. Absolute legend.

He grinned. “So, uh, do I get to bake the wedding cake?”

“Only if we want it to spontaneously combust.”

“…Fair.”

Oh how he loves this woman

Chapter Text

Scar caught sight of Grian, who still hadn’t moved.

“Oh hey, birdie!” he beamed. “You free to help me test these new scones?”

Grian inhaled sharply, then slowly nodded, stepping out from behind the counter. His apron was smudged with flour, his curls a little frazzled from a full day of pretending he hadn’t been actively panicking about this exact moment.

“Uh, yeah,” he managed. “Sure. Test away.”

Scar grinned and held up the little bakery box in his hands like it was a treasure chest. “I got raspberry-lavender and chai-peach. Very experimental. Possibly illegal in some states.”

He slid into a booth by the window and patted the seat next to him. “C’mon, G. You’re the only taste tester I trust to be brutally honest and weirdly poetic about mouthfeel.”

Grian sat slowly, palms pressed flat to his thighs like they might hold him steady.

Scar opened the box. “I’m hoping the raspberry-lavender one reminds you of springtime in a meadow but, like, if the meadow also paid taxes.”

Grian snorted, soft, involuntary. “What does that even mean?”

Scar’s eyes crinkled. “You’ll know when you taste it.”

They sat in silence for a beat, the box of scones steaming gently between them.

Scar slid one across to him. “Birdie, you okay?”

Grian’s hand twitched.

And for once, just once, he didn’t dodge the question with a joke. He didn’t deflect, didn’t play the fool.

He took a breath.

“No,” Grian said, staring at the scone like it might detonate. “I’ve been spiralling for two days because I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do about that.”

Scar blinked. “Oh.”

“And I know we said we’d try this dating thing,” Grian continued in a rush, “but then we didn’t talk about it again. And I don’t want to come on too strong or ruin anything but being away from you feels like someone’s taken away my ability to breathe. I’m deeply, hopelessly, unconditionally, and irrevocably in love with you.”

There was a pause.

Scar blinked again.

“G…” he said, voice softer now. “Was—was that a Twilight reference?”

Grian’s entire face scrunched. “IS THAT SERIOUSLY ALL YOU TOOK FROM THAT?”

Scar laughed, bright and unguarded, the kind of laugh that filled the whole café and made the air lighter just by existing in it.

“You just confessed your undying love and quoted a sparkly vampire movie in the same breath,” Scar said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “That’s so painfully you, I don’t even know where to begin.”

Grian groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “I hate it here.”

“Don’t,” Scar said gently.

Grian peeked at him through his fingers.

“I mean it,” Scar continued, voice dropping to something quiet and real. “Don’t hate this. Don’t pull away. I know I make jokes, I know I flirt and deflect and dance around things, but I’m not doing that right now.”

Grian slowly lowered his hands.

Scar leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You weren’t too much. You never are. And if you want to know the truth? I’ve been waiting for you to say something because I didn’t want to mess this up by saying it first.”

Grian blinked. “Wait. You—?”

“I love you too, birdie,” Scar said, and there was no fanfare in it, no dramatic flourish. Just truth, warm and heavy like sunlight through the window. “It’s real. And yeah, it’s terrifying. But I’m in this. All the way.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

Then Grian exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“You’re really in this?” he said softly.

Scar reached across the table and took his hand. “Only if you are.”

Grian grinned, small and stunned, but full of something fragile and blooming. “I guess this means we’re actually dating now.”

Scar squeezed his hand. “About time.”

Behind the counter, there was the unmistakable sound of someone—Jimmy—dropping a whisk.

“Are you kidding me,” Jimmy muttered, “every time I turn my back someone else confesses something.”

Joel peeked around the corner. “Did they kiss yet?”

“Not yet,” Tango called from the espresso machine. “But I’m holding out hope.”

“Shut up!” Grian called, cheeks going crimson.

Scar just laughed and stood, tugging Grian gently to his feet. “Guess we better give the people what they want.”

Grian rolled his eyes but stepped into Scar’s space anyway.

And when they kissed there was nothing loud or flashy about it. Just a warm press of mouths, a hand on a cheek, the kind of quiet promise that didn’t need glitter or grand speeches.

Just them.

Just right.

And somewhere, very faintly, Tango whispered, “This is better than the entire Twilight saga combined.”

The café felt different after that.

Not because the furniture moved or the air shifted, though it did feel warmer somehow, but because Grian suddenly realised that everyone was still staring.

Joel was leaning fully over the counter now, grinning like the cat who got the cream. Jimmy stood frozen mid-cleanup, flour dusting his hands like a crime scene. And Tango had gone suspiciously still at the espresso machine, clearly listening more than steaming milk.

Scar pulled back just enough to smirk at Grian. “Think they approve?”

Grian glanced at their audience. “If they don’t, they’re gonna be finding flour in their shoes for weeks.”

Joel gave him a thumbs up. “You’re welcome, by the way. I’ve been rooting for this since the scone incident.”

“The what?” Scar asked, but Grian just groaned and hid his face in Scar’s shoulder.

Jimmy finally snapped out of his trance. “Okay, great, everyone’s happy, love is real, but can we please get back to running the bakery before I have to explain to customers why the owners are making out next to the pastry case?”

Scar grinned. “Sounds like a selling point to me.”

“It’s not,” Jimmy muttered, but Grian could see the corners of his mouth twitch.

Scar, still holding his hand, tugged him toward the counter. “Come on, birdie. Let’s make the best raspberry-lavender scone batch in the city and completely ruin the competition for everyone else.”

But when Grian bent to tie his apron, Scar didn’t let go.

Instead, he tilted his head toward the door. “Actually… walk with me? Just five minutes.”

Grian hesitated. “We’re kind of in the middle of work—”

“I own you in scones for life,” Scar cut in, “so I’m cashing in five minutes now.”

Jimmy waved them off. “Go. Just don’t come back engaged or something.”

Scar smirked over his shoulder as he led Grian outside. “No promises.”

The late afternoon air was cool, the sky painted in soft streaks of gold and lavender that looked suspiciously like the scones Scar had brought. They walked side by side down the quiet street, their steps falling into a rhythm without trying.

“You really meant it?” Scar asked after a while.

Grian glanced at him. “Which part?”

“The part where you said you loved me. Not the sparkly vampire thing—though, to be fair, that was painfully on-brand for you.”

Grian rolled his eyes but smiled. “Yeah. I meant it.”

Scar’s grin softened. “Good. Because I’ve been holding it in for months. And, for the record, you’re way more dangerous than any vampire.”

“Dangerous?” Grian scoffed.

Scar bumped his shoulder lightly. “You show up in my life with your sharp little wit, your flour-covered curls, and your ridiculous capacity for caring, and suddenly I’m thinking about forever. That’s dangerous. Feels like trusting you with my last life.”

Grian froze for half a step, then smirked faintly. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t shoot you for the drama.”

Scar grinned wider. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t give you the win.”

Grian shook his head, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe. But you love me for it.”

When they reached the corner, Scar squeezed his hand. “Come on, birdie. Let’s go make those scones. And maybe later, you can tell me what chapter of Twilight you were quoting.”

“Not happening.”

Scar laughed, bright and open, and Grian thought—yeah. Maybe he could get used to this.

Chapter Text

If Bread Bridge had a suggestion box, Jimmy would be stuffing it with “NO MORE PUBLIC DECLARATIONS OF LOVE DURING BUSINESS HOURS” right about now.

Because sure, he wanted Grian to be happy. He wanted Scar to be happy too. But he didn’t want to be there, holding a half-whisked bowl of brownie batter, when his brother and his best friend decided to go full rom-com in the middle of the seating area.

Scar and Grian were still in their little post-kiss bubble, hands brushing, foreheads touching, like they’d just invented affection and were testing it out for the first time. They went for a “walk” and were now standing right infront of the bakery

Jimmy cleared his throat loudly. “You two done? Or should I bring out a spotlight and a string quartet?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Scar said without looking up.

Jimmy groaned, retreating behind the counter where Tango was leaning against the espresso machine with the world’s smuggest grin.

“Cute, isn’t it?” Tango said, watching them like he was narrating a nature documentary. “Two souls finally orbiting into the same little gravitational pull—”

“Uh-uh,” Jimmy cut in, pointing a stern finger at him. “Nope. There’s been enough romance in this bakery for one day. Actually, for the rest of the year.”

Tango just smirked, grabbing a rag to wipe down the already clean counter. “You’re just mad your love life isn’t this cinematic.”

Jimmy huffed. “My love life is perfectly fine, thanks. I like my relationships… low-maintenance. And, y’know… not happening in front of customers.”

From the corner booth, Grian called out, “There aren’t even any customers right now!”

“Yeah, because you scared them all off with your declaration of eternal devotion!” Jimmy shot back.

Scar laughed, leaning an elbow on the table. “Aw, c’mon, Jim. Don’t be jealous. You’ll get your own sweeping romantic moment someday.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and when I do, it’s not gonna involve muffins and my brother.”

Tango snorted. “Never say never.”

For a second, it was all just noise, the clink of mugs, the hum of the fridge, the quiet sound of Scar and Grian laughing at some private joke. And Jimmy realised… it didn’t actually feel bad.

Annoying? Absolutely. But there was something steady about it. Like watching a storm finally break and leave behind blue skies.

He wasn’t about to say that out loud, though.

“Alright,” he said instead, sliding the tray of brownies into the oven. “Romance hour’s over. Somebody grab a mop, I think Grian dropped his dignity somewhere near the counter.”

Scar just grinned. “We’ll find it eventually.”

Jimmy doubted it.

Jimmy turned back to the counter, only to spot Joel leaning against the pastry case like he’d been there the whole time.

Which, apparently, he had.

“How long have you been standing there?” Jimmy asked warily.

Joel smirked, sipping from a paper cup he’d clearly brought over from T.I.E.S Coffee just to be annoying. “Long enough to watch Grian and Scar kiss. Twice.”

Jimmy groaned. “Twice?!”

Joel nodded solemnly. “And the second one had, like… meaning. Very romantic. Almost cried.”

“Don’t you start,” Jimmy warned, pointing a flour-dusted finger at him.

Joel ignored him, turning toward the happy couple. “So, when’s the wedding? Are we thinking small and rustic, or big with a chocolate fountain? Because I will need time to plan my speech.”

Scar grinned. “Small. Outdoors. Birds involved, obviously.”

Grian covered his face. “I hate all of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Joel said cheerfully, unwrapping a muffin from his coffee shop. “You love us. Especially Scar.”

Jimmy groaned again, louder this time. “I swear, every single one of you lives to give me ulcers.”

“Aw, you’re just mad you’re the third wheel in your own bakery,” Joel said, leaning over the counter to grab a napkin.

“I’m not a third wheel,” Jimmy shot back. “I’m… the driver. This is my bakery. You’re all just… bad hitchhikers I picked up along the way.”

Tango popped his head up from behind the espresso machine. “And yet, somehow, the hitchhikers are having a better love life than the driver.”

“Uh-uh!” Jimmy snapped, holding up both hands. “Nope. There’s been enough romance in this bakery today. Anyone else even thinks about kissing, I’m hosing you down in the alley.”

Joel grinned at Scar and Grian. “So… third kiss?”

Scar wiggled his eyebrows. “Tempting.”

Grian shot Jimmy a mischievous look, just to watch him squirm. “Maybe later.”

Jimmy let out a long, exhausted sigh. But under it all, he felt that same quiet thing he’d been pretending wasn’t there all day, a little spark of gladness that his brother and his best friend had found each other.

Not that he’d ever say it to their faces.

Jimmy retreated behind the counter, fussing with the milk steamer just so he had something to do with his hands.

Tango wandered over, still holding the half-empty croissant Joel had bribed him with earlier. “You okay there, boss man? You’ve been making that flat white for ten minutes.”

“It’s… artisanal,” Jimmy muttered.

Tango raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure you’re just steaming the same milk over and over.”

Jimmy sighed, setting the jug down. “It’s weird, okay? My brother and my best friend? And now they’re all… happy and kissy and quoting vampire movies like they’re in some indie rom-com?”

“Sounds like a good thing.”

“Yeah, but—” Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s also… not what I pictured, you know? This bakery’s been our thing, Grian, Joel and I’s safe little world, and suddenly it’s full of all this… change. Lizzie’s with Joel. Grian’s with Scar. You’re…” He waved vaguely at Tango. “Here all the time even though you work for the enemy.”

Tango smirked. “Don’t act like you don’t like having me around.”

Jimmy’s lips twitched. “I tolerate you.”

They fell into a quiet moment, the kind that wasn’t awkward so much as… grounding.

“Look,” Tango said, leaning against the counter. “Change doesn’t mean bad. You’ve still got your bakery. Your people are just… finding their people, too. That’s not them leaving you behind, it’s them wanting you in the middle of it.”

Jimmy blinked at him. “Since when do you do the wise talk?”

“Since I realised you’re one of those guys who’ll carry the weight for everyone else and never admit it’s heavy,” Tango said simply.

Jimmy swallowed, looking away. “…Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta keep the wheels on.”

Tango smiled faintly. “Maybe let someone help with the steering once in a while, huh?”

Jimmy didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth tipped up just a little.

Then, of course, Joel called from the other side of the room, “Hey, lovebirds! You done yet?”

Tango leaned closer and whispered, “He’s talking to us now.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. “Uh-uh. Enough romance in this bakery, remember?”

Tango smirked, clearly unfazed. “Fine. I’ll save the big romantic speeches for later.”

“Don’t,” Jimmy warned, but there wasn’t much bite behind it.

They went back to wiping down the counter, the background hum of Grian and Scar laughing in the booth making the place feel warmer than the ovens ever could.

Jimmy glanced at Tango out of the corner of his eye. “You’re… alright, you know that?”

Tango grinned. “Careful, Tim, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Yeah, well,” Jimmy muttered, turning away before Tango could see the way his ears were going pink, “don’t get used to it.”

Tango’s smirk lingered as he took another slow sip of his coffee. He’d hang around a little longer, Jimmy would pretend it was because he needed an extra hand, but Tango knew the truth.

Because the thing was, Jimmy had no idea how obvious it was. How much he gave away in the way his shoulders loosened when Tango was nearby, or how his voice softened when they weren’t in the middle of bickering.

And maybe—just maybe—Tango liked being here for reasons that had nothing to do with the coffee

Chapter Text

The bells rang first, bright and clear and a little uneven, like they’d been strung together by someone who cared more about charm than precision. Which, honestly, was fitting.

Joel and Lizzie’s wedding wasn’t perfect. The flowers were slightly wilted at the edges, the fairy lights flickered in places, and Jimmy had already tripped over the runner twice. But it was theirs. Loud and messy and full of too many people, too much laughter, and just enough chaos to feel right.

Pearl and Gem were at the front, radiant as ever, bickering softly over whether the bouquets were symmetrical. Tango had taken charge of the music, his playlist a chaotic blend of love songs, disco tracks, and whatever he claimed counted as “vibe enhancers.” Grian had almost choked when “Careless Whisper” came on during seating, and Scar had grinned like it was all part of the plan.

Joel stood at the altar with his tie crooked, hair brushed but still faintly tinted green in the sunlight. Lizzie approached down the aisle with flowers in her hair, eyes bright, grin unstoppable. When they met in the middle, the whole place seemed to breathe.

Jimmy pretended not to wipe at his eyes. Grian didn’t even bother pretending. Scar squeezed his hand under the table. Tango whispered something about love being the best kind of fire hazard, and Jimmy told him to shut up, though he was smiling when he said it.

When the vows came, they weren’t polished. Joel rambled. Lizzie laughed through half of hers. The rings didn’t slide on easily. But when they kissed, the applause was deafening, the kind of cheer that made the air shimmer with joy.

It didn’t belong to just Joel and Lizzie. It belonged to all of them.

The bakery. The rival coffee shop. The late-night panics and the stupid puns and the slow dances under fairy lights.

The family they’d made, messy and mismatched and stitched together with love.

The reception was chaos in the best possible way.

The dance floor was already sticky with spilled champagne, the cake had a suspicious thumbprint in the icing (no one confessed, but everyone suspected Tango), and the music alternated between emotional ballads and songs that made the parents leave the room in protest.

Joel, Jimmy, and Grian found themselves shoved into a corner together at one point, three drinks deep and grinning like idiots.

“The Bad Boys, reunited,” Joel announced, raising his glass.

“In a church hall,” Grian added.

“At a wedding,” Jimmy groaned. “We’re washed up, lads. This is it. Peak domestic.”

“We could start a food fight right now,” Joel suggested, eyes sparkling.

“Don’t you dare,” came Lizzie’s voice from across the room.

The three of them snapped their mouths shut like scolded children, then immediately burst into laughter. Grian wheezed so hard he nearly spilled his drink, and Joel clapped Jimmy on the back so hard he choked on his. For a moment, it felt like old times, stupid, reckless, but safe.

“We were good, weren’t we?” Jimmy said, once the laughter softened.

“The best,” Joel replied.

“Still are,” Grian added, quieter this time.

And for once, none of them made a joke out of it. They just stood there, shoulders bumping, the noise of the party swirling around them, knowing they’d always find their way back to this.

Later, when the crowd thinned and the music softened, Jimmy found himself outside under the fairy lights with Scar and Lizzie.

Lizzie had kicked off her shoes, leaning against Scar’s shoulder, her new ring catching the light. Jimmy shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling weirdly sentimental.

“You know,” he said, “for all the grief you both cause me, you’re not half bad.”

Scar grinned. “Is that your version of a toast?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “He’s trying to say he loves us.”

Jimmy groaned. “Don’t make it weird.”

Lizzie stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug anyway, squeezing so tight he almost toppled. Scar joined in from the other side, and suddenly Jimmy was sandwiched between the two of them, groaning but secretly holding on just as tight.

“Fine,” he muttered into Lizzie’s hair. “Love you both. But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.”

“Too late,” Scar said cheerfully. “I’m telling everyone tomorrow.”

Lizzie laughed, Jimmy groaned, and the fairy lights flickered above them like the universe was in on the joke.

Inside, the party drew to a natural lull. The cake was crumbs, the bouquet had been thrown (Scar nearly caught it, much to Grian’s panic), and the band wound down to slower, softer songs.

At one table, all of them ended up crammed together, Joel and Lizzie still glowing with that newlywed light, Scar and Grian tangled up in a corner that wasn’t fooling anyone, Tango leaning half across the table with a smug grin, and Jimmy right in the middle, shoulders squished between them all.

It was loud, messy, imperfect, and it felt like home.

Someone made a joke about opening a wedding-themed bakery, Joel argued that he’d be the mascot, Grian threw a napkin at him, and Scar tried to start a toast with a breadstick. By the time they were done laughing, all their faces ached and their drinks had gone warm.

For a moment, Jimmy just sat back and watched them, his siblings, his best friends, his ridiculous found family, and let himself feel lucky. He’d never admit it out loud, but he didn’t need to. They all knew.

Eventually, the group started to scatter, Lizzie tugging Joel toward the dance floor, Scar dragging Grian outside to “see the stars,” the table thinning until it was just Jimmy and Tango left in the corner.

Tango nudged him with his shoulder. “You know, it’s kinda poetic.”

Jimmy raised a brow. “What is?”

“Everyone’s getting their big romance moment,” Tango said, eyes glinting in the low light. “Joel and Lizzie, Scar and Grian… feels like maybe it’s your turn, Sheriff.”

Jimmy snorted. “Ha. Right. And who exactly is lining up for that?”

Tango leaned closer, his grin softening at the edges. “Well. I can think of someone.”

Jimmy froze, brain stuttering, heart thudding faster than he’d ever admit. “Wait—are you—”

Before he could finish, Tango kissed him.

Quick, certain, and just enough to shut him up.

When they broke apart, Jimmy was too stunned to say anything, cheeks burning hotter than the champagne.

Tango smirked, like he’d just delivered the punchline to the best joke of his life. “Told you it was your time for romance.”

And for once, Jimmy didn’t argue.

The music carried on, laughter spilled from the dance floor, and under the fairy lights of Joel and Lizzie’s wedding, the story of their messy little family came full circle.

✨ The End. ✨