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“Do you truly have so little patience that you cannot wait for your silly human to return?” Violet calls from the floor, glittery heel tapping on the rug.
Nox, who's dangling about halfway up a pile of boxes and clutter from a photo box, grunts as he hoists himself up. “If it was your little flower candies, you would be climbing up for them, too.”
The mid-morning sun fills the entire attic with swaths of light. Violet is standing in one of them, her sparkling complexion almost painfully bright. “I would do no such thing,” she sniffs with displeasure. A hint of a smile ghosts her face. “Were my mints out of reach instead of your chocolate, I would be here and you would be there, just as we are now.”
Nox snorts, and reaches for the next ledge. She's not wrong, but that's as close to an acknowledgement of her assumption of his servitude as he's going to give her. He focuses instead on not losing his grip on the cardboard, pulling himself up and over. He's nearly there– the box adjacent to this one should be tall enough to put the card table holding his chocolate hostage within jumping distance.
He would be grateful to Chase for having gotten it for him, had Chase not so rudely (accidentally) left it out of reach.
He steps over the seam between the boxes, and pauses. One is wedged against the other at a slight angle, just enough to form a thin gap between both and the wall. He's not sure if it's morbid curiosity or the need to scope out a hazard that compels him to peer down the hole.
Razor blades swoop from his torso to the bottoms of his feet, scraping nonexistent bones as his eyes focus further and further down, all the way to the floor.
He would fit if he fell in, but only barely.
Nope. Don't think about that. He shoves that intrusive thought in a box with a lid, and forces himself to keep walking.
The card table, unfortunately, is just out of reach, his fingertips only brushing the bottom when he jumps for it. With a huff, he pivots to the stack of books he'd hoped he wouldn't have to utilize. They were low enough that he could reach, but–
“I can see it from here, that stack is going to fall if you try to climb it,” Violet says.
The stack is… precarious. The books hang over the edge, the topmost ones pushed out further, towering like a ledge over his head.
He could reach it though, if he jumped.
“Nox. Are you listening? There is no outcome where that stack does not fall.”
He turns to her. “I could make it fall on purpose, then. Get it out of the way.”
Violet lifts an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Or, if you are at all interested in being sensible, Goldie could give you a boost.”
Nox shoots her a devilish grin. “So could you.”
Her returning glare could cut through glass. Not for the first time, Nox is grateful that she doesn't share the telepathic powers of some of her archetype’s counterparts.
“There is not a thing in this tacky house that could get me to climb up there.” She turns her nose to the ceiling. “Do not cry for me when your ego becomes bruised, I will not come. I am done with this endeavor.”
Violet is right, the stack is unstable at best. Pulling the books down intentionally and controlled is his only option. Hopefully, grabbing them from the corner will angle them away so that they don't land on top of him.
“Clearly we need to have a talk with your humans about organizing their clutter so as not to tempt your impaired judgment,” Violet says.
Nox lines up with the far edge of the spine on the topmost book. “I thought you were done with all this?”
“Honestly. Just ask Goldie to throw you up there instead, if you are truly so inclined to challenge gravity!”
Nox ignores her and jumps, hooking his hands around the edge of the spine. The glossy paperback begins to slide, and he dangles for only a moment before it gives. He lands hard on his back and only just manages to roll out of the way as the first book smacks the cardboard where he was lying. He is not so fortunate with the rest– the whole stack topples, landing at an incline on the first and sliding down, straight into him. He tries to scramble out of the way by stupidly crawling to his knees first, but he of course isn’t fast enough. The books slam into him, knocking him back and towards the wall.
Except suddenly, there’s no longer a surface beneath him, and he’s falling. His stomach swoops and he cries out in surprise, momentum tearing the air from his chest. He throws his arms out for purchase, but there’s nothing to grab, just the scream of friction as his palms scrabble uselessly against smooth, cardboard walls.
He lands on his neck, the impact like a crash of a symbol in his ears and exponentially more jarring. Disorientation pulses in his head, scattering his thoughts so violently that for a moment he can hardly remember where he is. He wheezes, expecting an onslaught of pain before remembering himself.
If he were human, that would have definitely killed him.
He can hear Violet distantly through the ringing in his ears. “See, what did I say!? No one ever listens to Violet.”
His head is spinning, and when he wiggles to right himself, he finds that it's not just vertigo, he's upside down. His eyes fly open and he's greeted by a skylight at the end of a tunnel, impossibly high up, illuminating the tall, narrow space above him.
Panic blooms like ink. Oh God, he fell in the hole. No no no no–
He twists his abdomen, only to realize with horror he’s pinned, his legs and lower torso propped up from the front and his head pushed forward by the surface behind him. He can move his arms, but not enough, they hit the barrier of cardboard millimeters from his torso. He's going to throw up. He's going to be sick.
“Nox? Are you sulking? At least be dignified about this–”
He can't move. He can't breathe. “Violet–” he chokes, wet with nonexistent tears.
Almost immediately, there's a faint scrabble of metal heels on cardboard. Breathe. Don't struggle, don't struggle, it will just make it worse–
“Nox!” Violet yells, closer than before, but still distant. “Nox!”
He can't breathe. He shouldn't have to breathe but he can't he can't– He pushes desperately against the boxes with his core, a keen gradually morphing to a strained cry as the walls refuse to give.
“NOX!” he hears from directly above, and cracks his eyes open. Violet's distant silhouette peers over the edge, a shadow, miles away and out of reach. She disappears just as quickly and his chest seizes. No!– he tries to call out, but it snags on the thorns in his throat and comes out throttled and unintelligible.
“GOLDIE!” she hollers, shrill and almost angry sounding. “BIG GOLD, GET OVER HERE, NOW.”
The clatter of heeled shoes, and then nothing. Nothing but his strangled breaths and the crack of his voice. No racing heartbeat, no rush of blood in his veins to vindicate the terror poisoning him, coursing through his body like acid.
He squirms, a whine peeling through his teeth when it proves fruitless. He can hear voices, but can't make anything out through the mounting roar of panic in his ears. He's pushing the walls again, this time with his arms, but all they do is push back, and he swears the already tiny space is shrinking–
“NOX!” Violet barks through the miniscule gap between the box and the wall behind him, and it grounds him only long enough to remember that he's still trapped in the hole–
“NO, listen to me, Nox–”
“Violet,” he manages to sob, “Violet, get me out, please, please–”
“LISTEN. TO. ME. I need you to breathe, you like breathing, remember? We will get you out, I promise, Goldie is trying to push the box out of the way enough for–”
Nox sucks in a strangled breath, filling his chest with air, but the walls just squeeze him tighter, and tighter yet as he bucks in vain. He's crying now, tearless and dry as he thrashes, babbling senseless pleas to helpless ears. He hears pounding and scraping on the other side of the gap mixed with Violet's frustrated shrieks. The others are shouting, Violet is screaming at them or him, he can't tell, and he can't make any of it out.
He's drowning.
He's going to die, he's going to asphyxiate. He can't move, he can't breathe. He beats on the walls with his fists and heels. His chest hurts, everything hurts and he wants to burst out of his own skin but there's nowhere to go, he can't even move, he can't move, he can't breathe.
The walls are indifferent to his pleas.
· · ─ ⋅ ⋅
As Chase climbs the last step of the staircase into the upstairs hall, the first thought that crosses his mind when he picks up the faint sound of voices is that he really hopes Grandpa hadn't come up here and noticed anything.
The second thought that hits him like a semi truck is wait, that's not normal.
He realizes with a flash of panic as he gets closer to the door that they aren't just being loud, they're yelling. He pushes his bedroom door open so quickly it slams into the wall, and even through the closed hatch, he can tell it's not playful yelling, it's frantic. Adrenaline lights every nerve in his body on fire.
“Guys!?” he calls up without thinking, and it's only his very last drop of calm that reminds him to close the door.
“CHASE!” The unfamiliar shriek stunlocks him for a second before he realizes that it's Violet. “CHASE, HELP!”
“Violet?!” he cries. Fear washes over him like boiling ice. She never addresses him by name.
He sprints the few steps from the door to the hatch and leaps for the cord, yanking it down with a heavy bang. He can hear them clearly now as he fumbles to pull the ladder down, Violet frantically barking demands, overlapped by Silver yelling something to Bronze, Goldie’s incomprehensible shout that sounds like a warcry, and Buddy, who sounds like he's crying.
Chase doesn't think he's ever climbed a ladder faster in his life.
He throws himself through the hatch, stumbling and landing on his forearms on the rug. “What's wrong?! What happened?!” He frantically scans the attic for danger, and finds Violet running towards him, followed by Silver. They're both shouting, but Violet is louder,
“MOVE THE BOX. NOX IS STUCK BEHIND–”
“–NOX IS TRAPPED–”
Buddy's hysteric sobs punctuate the air. Chase is already moving. “Where?! Where is he?!”
He gets two frantic shouts in reply, but what snares his attention is Goldie and Bronze, desperately tugging on a box in a stack of clutter next to the card table.
“MOVE, MOVE!” He skids to the ground on his knees, trusting them to heed his warning and get out of the way. There's two boxes against the wall. Chase grabs the edges of the one not covered in clutter and pulls. It slides easily out of place, and there he is, upside down, head on the ground with his back propped against the other box. “Buddy!” Chase gasps.
Buddy kicks at the cardboard like a caged animal, flopping onto the floor and scrambling backwards. He's hyperventilating, moonstone eyes round as their namesake, face twisted with raw, untampered fear. It digs its nails into Chase's heart and twists so hard that it bleeds.
“Buddy…” Chase reaches for him, carefully, the residual adrenaline making his hands shake. “It's okay, it's over,” he says, and his voice is shaking too. “It's okay.”
He's only inches away when Violet plows through, shoving his hand aside. She grabs Buddy's face with both hands and presses their foreheads together. Small as he is, Chase can see the tremble in his limbs as he falls against her, pushing his face out of her grasp and burying himself into her shoulder.
Chase retracts his hand. Right. They aren't the same size right now, he's… big. Human and threatening. He swallows the sting, overwhelmed by the far stronger ache of wanting to help, to comfort, and not being able to.
He drops from his knees into a slouch and lets out a long, broken exhale. The room is deathly silent now, save for Buddy's strangled noises and Violet's whispered reassurances.
A sudden pressure builds behind his eyes. His mouth twists against his will, and he quickly rubs his hands over his face to hide it. The sounds of Buddy essentially crying in his sister's arms would do that, he supposed. He knows he should go, give them space, but the selfish need to be near consumes him, and he can't bring himself to leave.
“...Chase?” Buddy whispers.
Chase's attention, his posture, the very air in his lungs is yanked towards that voice like a tether. “Yes?”
Buddy is still in Violet's embrace, peering up over her shoulder. Even with most of his face hidden, Chase can see that he looks frayed and fearful, but his eyes no longer stare at nothing. They look at him instead, and Chase's heart squeezes painfully. He wants to reach for him, he wants to reach for him so badly, but–
Buddy leans around Violet, and holds his arm out like a request.
And of course, of course, Chase goes.
Violet, whose arms had moved to Buddy's shoulders, watches Chase apprehensively, but makes no move to stop him. She doesn't even glare defensively when he rests his palm on Buddy's back. His thumb finds his cheek and Buddy melts, sagging into the touch. Violet runs her perfectly manicured fingers through his bangs one last time before stepping back.
“You can stay,” Chase tells her, even as Buddy is crawling into his hand and latching onto his thumb.
The look she throws him, while significantly less disgusted than normal, serves as her answer. She turns on him and struts in the direction of Silver's house.
He instinctually wants to ask her if she wants a lift anywhere, but… he knows better. And he's fairly certain he can see the others through the little window. Besides–
Chase secures Buddy, who slumps into the curl of his fingers, legs dangling. The arms around Chase's thumb tighten as he lifts him into the air.
Though Buddy's breathing has mostly slowed, each exhale carries a violent shudder that rips through his entire body. Chase carefully slides his other hand under Buddy's back, leaving the first to support his legs. He gently presses Buddy's chest to his lips, right where his heart would be, and feels the tiny hitch of breath between his mouth and his palm. Chase holds him there and breathes– a deep, trembling inhale, and a slow, cathartic exhale– before shifting Buddy to his cheek, tucking his legs under his chin with his off hand.
“You're okay,” Chase murmurs like a mantra. Buddy releases a breath like he'd been holding it, loud and shaky, and small metal hands brush over Chase's skin. “It's okay, you're okay.”
He's not entirely sure how long they stay like that, but it isn't until Buddy's breathing evens out and his hands eventually fall from Chase's cheek that Chase draws Buddy back from the pseudo-embrace to look at him.
He looks bone-tired, and out of context, Chase might assume he was falling asleep. He's ragdolled in his hands, gaze drifting slow and languid between his surroundings. Eventually, he finds Chase's eyes.
Chase smiles.
“Hi,” he whispers, warm and full. Buddy blinks at him, as if it had slipped his mind that sitting in Chase's hands and hugging his face meant that Chase himself would be present.
“...Hi,” Buddy rasps, like he'd swallowed the entire ocean. Chase strokes the side of his face with a thumb, and Buddy's eyes flutter closed.
“I've got a playlist of videos with your name on it. And maybe some hot chocolate, once you're up for sneaking into the kitchen.”
Buddy nods, and Chase cups him to his chest with one hand to hold him steady for the trip down the ladder.
“Wait,” Buddy croaks as Chase drops his foot on the first rung. “Is this the playlist of boyband music videos you've been trying to force me to watch?”
“...uh,” Chase sheepishly resumes his descent. “I mean. It doesn't have to be.”
There's a short pause, after which Buddy huffs. “I’m being exploited.”
Chase laughs, “I love you?” He nudges Buddy playfully with a finger, and feels a tiny wiggle against his palm as Buddy readjusts himself.
“I am a prisoner in my own home.”
“You have a personal chauffeur in your own home.”
“Hm.”
Chase steps off the ladder and giggles, post-trauma relief and Buddy's normal sounding responses making him giddy. “I love you.”
“I heard you.”
The warmth in his chest overflows to bursting; I love you, I'm glad you're okay, I'm glad you're here, I'm glad I can be there for you, your trust means the world to me.
But he doesn't want to overwhelm him with sentimental sap, not right now. “Good,” he whispers instead, and gently squeezes once, just enough to simulate a hug. “I'm glad.”
