Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Firey woke up with his face stuck to his pillow, his hair in every possible direction, and the familiar sinking feeling in his stomach.. Summer boredom. Ugh.
He laid there for a minute, breathing in the air in his too-small bedroom. The sun was peaking in through the crack of his half-tilted window blinds. The fan above him made small clicking sounds as it rotated. Another day, same as the last.
He rolled over, groaning, and grabbed his phone that was wedged between his mattress and the wall. He unlocked it and squinted at the screen. It showed 9:43am. Too early to function. Too late to go back to sleep.
He only checked his email because his mom had asked him to “see if that community college orientation stuff came in yet.” which really meant “Please enroll in something before I lose my mind watching you rot in your room all summer.” He nodded along like he cared, but let’s be honest; he expected nothing important. Maybe a coupon or an ad for film equipment he couldn’t afford. Instead, his eyes landed on a subject line that made his heart drop:
“Congratulations! You’ve been accepted into Objectville Community College!”
He blinked. He blinked again.
Then he sat up so fast he nearly fell off the bed.
There was no way.
That school? That University? The one with the ivy-covered dorms and the glass-domed screening halls and the obnoxiously expensive camera labs? He applied there, but only once. As a joke. As a DARE.
His friend, Gelatin, had shoved the application in his face in the middle of their senior year. They were sitting together at lunch, half their fries being fed to the birds (by Gelatin, probably.) “C’mon, what's the worst that could happen? They laugh at your application portfolio? Submit it, coward.”
And so Firey did, and so did Gelatin just to give him the nerve. He submitted a very rushed portfolio, a blurry self-introduction video filmed in his basement, and his favorite short film; “Ashes of glory.”
An overacted, dramatic mess. Explosions he had made with hair dryers. A slow-mo monologue delivered while lying down in the snow. He thought it was deep. His classmates thought it was a parody. They’d laughed at what he thought was his best work ever.
He never expected to hear back. He’d blocked the memory out, packed it next to every other embarrassing high school moment he planned to repress forever.
But now? Now this email was staring him in the face. A real offer. From a real university. With move-in beginning August 18th.
It was July 10th.
Firey lowered his phone and sat frozen in bed, heart racing.
“Oh no,” hHe whispered. “Oh hell no.”
Because there was no way this was actually happening.
But.. what if it was??
Firey sat there for a long minute, staring at the glowing screen in his hands like it would disappear if he blinked. The words didn’t change. The email was still real. The acceptance was still real.
He needed to tell someone. Someone who wouldn’t immediately start making fun of him, or maybe someone who would, but in a way that made it easier to believe. With shaky fingers, he opened his messages and tapped Gelatin’s name.

Firey: “Hey, so… remember when you dared me to apply to that university last year?”
Gelatin: “Lmao yeah. What about it?”
Firey: “I got in.”
Gelatin: “Wait fr?”
Firey: “Yep. Objectville University wants me.”
Gelatin: “Bro thats huge! Told you you’d get lucky!”
Firey: “Lucky or accident, doesn’t matter. I’m freaking out.”
Gelatin: “You should be proud. This is epic!”
He stared at the screen a moment, then typed one more message.
Firey: “Gonna tell my mom now. Wish me luck.”
Almost immediately, Gelatin replied;
Gelatin: “Good luck. If she freaks out, just tell her I’m a famous theater major and I’ll talk her down.”
Firey smiled for the first time all morning and pocketed his phone.

Downstairs, the kitchen was already filled with the clatter of breakfast preparations. His mom was humming a tune, pouring herself a cup of coffee and adding more sugar than necessary.
Firey cleared his throat. “Mom?”
She looked up, eyebrows lifting. You’re up early.”
He took a deep breath. “So… I got into that college I applied to last year.”
She blinked, almost dropping her mug. “The one you only applied to because Gelatin dared you?”
“That’s the one.”
She leaned back against the counter, eyes wide but calm. “Really? Who did you bribe?”
Firey rolled his eyes. “I didn’t bribe anymore. I don’t even have money. You know that. Look, I didn’t expect it either,” Firey admitted. “But it’s real, and I start in August.”
A pause.
She smiled softly. “Is that what you want? To go there?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”
She reached out and ruffled his hair. “Then I’m proud of you. Even if your movies are the… strangest things I’ve ever seen.”
Firey laughed, feeling lighter than he had in days. He glanced at the clock on the wall. “So, I’ve got about five weeks to get ready.”
His mom nodded, folding her arms. “Five weeks to pack, good luck learning how to cook for yourself without burning the house down.”
He snorted. “That’s gonna be the real horror show.”
She smiled, eyes softening. “It’s a big step, hun. But I know you’re ready for it.. Even if you don’t.”
Firey looked down at his hands, fingers twitching nervously. “I’m scared, Mom. What if I mess it up? What if they realize I don’t belong there?”
She came over and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Nobody knows what they’re doing. But you’ve got guts to even try. That counts for a lot.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.
“Alright,” she said, stepping back with a grin. “Go start packing, time will fly before you know it.”
He turned and headed upstairs, already imagining his cluttered room stuffed into boxes and moving to a completely new place.

The van jerked to a stop in front of a tall red-bricked building labeled Hickory Hall, its wide doors overtaken by vines and plants and a poor student ambassador trying to, and failing, to juggle orientation folders. Firey shoved the door open before the engine even turned off, one foot already on the sidewalk and his face lit up with something dangerously close to confidence.
He wore his old hoodie, frayed at the sleeves, and had a weathered duffel bag slung over one shoulder. His most prized possession, a chunky, scratched up camera, hung around his neck, bouncing against his chest with every step he took. It had filmed his worst projects and his weirdest experiments, and somehow still worked. Sort of. When it felt like it.
His mom popped the trunk and hauled out his second bag, which had a broken zipper and one handle holding on for dear life with the help of duct tape.
Everywhere he looked, something was happening.
Students zoomed by on electric scooters, their backpacks flapping behind them. Someone was filming a dramatic monologue from the top of a recycling bin while another friend held up a ring light with one hand and some sort of drink in the other. Some other group of boys were wasting time throwing sports balls at each other with scary precision. Somebody else was playing a ukulele.. Well, they were definitely trying. It was ear piercing, but nobody seemed to pay much mind. Another person was harmlessly walking a cat in a harness
It was chaos. Firey had never felt so at home until now.
He glanced at his mom, who looked equally horrified and impressed.
“Are you sure about this?” She asked, trying to hide a smile.
“Are you kidding? I’m not even inside yet and I’m already in love with this place.”
His mom laughed and pulled him into a hug. “You’re gonna be okay, fireball. You’ve got your own special, stubborn spark.”
He squeezed her tightly, then stepped back. And just like that, there he was.
And he loved it.

The hallway to Room 314 was narrow and already crowded with a dozen overworked box fans. Posters were lined on the wall, half school-sanctioned, half obviously ripped from the student printers, advertising improv shows, band auditions, and a “Dorm-wide Mario Kart Tournament.”
Firey huffed, adjusting the strap on his bag. His camera kept swimming forward as he walked. He finally grabbed it in one hand like a leash. He scanned the doors.. 310… 312.. 314.. He paused outside the door, took a breath, and slid the keycard through the lock. The door was.. Yanked open from the inside?
“NO. FREAKING. WAY.”
A blur of limbs and hoodie launched toward him, nearly knocking him over. Firey staggered back, only to be grabbed into a spinning hug that left them both breathless and wobbly.
“SURPRISE LOSER!!” Gelatin grinned, eyes basically glowing with excitement. “Roommates! You! ME! Same building! Same room!!”
Firey blinked. “You… huh…?”
“I knew for weeks!! I knew and I didn’t tell you because I wanted to see your dumb face when you walked in!! Mission accomplished!”
Firey shoved him playfully. “You’re such a dick.”
“I know!!” Gelatin said, proudly. “And now you’re stuck with me!!”
The room looked like the inside of a novelty store exploded in a basic college dorm. Gelatin’s side was lit by tangled LED string lights and overtaken by throw pillows, fabric scraps, and a tub of multicolored wigs. A corkboard hung above his desk, already filled with highlighter-scribbled audition flyers, hand-drawn smiley faces, and a photo of him during one of his high-school stage plays.
“So.. did you move in yesterday?” Firey had asked.
“Tecccchhhnically the night before. I bribed the RA with theater tickets.”
“You don’t have theater tickets.”
“I said I bribed him. I didn’t say it was a good bribe…”
“Unreal.” Firey muttered, unable to stop himself from grinning.
Then he heard something, a soft click-click-click of a label maker. He turned toward the other half of the room, where a girl stood next to a drawer tower of color-coded bins, each with a pristine label in a clean black font:
TECH SUPPLIES, SNACKS (NO NUTS), SCHOOL, PERSONAL, the list goes on.
The girl turned and offered a small, practiced smile. Her shirt sleeves were rolled nearly to her elbows, her bed was already made with matching sage-green linen, and her desk setup had a Bluetooth keyboard, a ring light, and a tidy stack of PR textbooks with sticky tabs on every side.
“You’re Firey,” She said calmly. “Leafy, She/her, Public Relations major, digital track! I read your film application last spring!”
Firey blinked. “Wait.. what?”
“I worked in admissions as part of my outreach internship! I remember yours. It wasss… the short film with the talking lighter character, right?”
“You.. remember that one?”
“It was very chaotic, but your storyboards were genuinely solid. Everyone in that office was rooting for you!”
Firey stared, stunned.
Gelatin leaned in and whispered loudly, “She’s our ‘quiet genius’ roommate. She also has at least five color-coded calendars and a taser in her sock drawer.”
Leafy gave him a flat look. “It’s not a taser, its a personal safety device. And it’s in my sock drawer because you keep going through my top one.”
“I was looking forrr… uhhh.. Hair gel…”
“That doesn’t explain why you left a glitter bomb in my hoodie pocket,”
Gelatin grinned. “Marketing.”
Firey laughed nervously and finally let his eyes travel upward to the one remaining bed.
It was the top bunk.
Creaky, crooked, and.. Slightly ominous.
No drawers underneath. No shelf. No room for his camera gear. Just a mattress that sagged a little like it knew what life had in store for it and wanted to give up now.
“So. That’s mine?”
Leafy nodded, apologetic. “We flipped a coin yesterday. You got the rooftop exile. Sorry..”
Firey dropped his duffel bag with a dramatic sigh.
“Don’t worry,” Gelatin said, tossing him a bag of pretzels. “We’ll upgrade you to a trampoline launch pad next semester. Or, y’know, sabotage a freshman and claim their bunk.”
“Tempting.”
He looked around again. Three desks. Three personalities. All completely different.
Gelatin was like an explosion of glitter, theater scripts, and chaotic ambition. Leafy was controlled, calculating, and somehow already juggling three leadership roles. And Firey.. Just felt like a glitch in the system. He got in on a dare and didn’t expect to survive orientation week, let alone live in a triple with two weirdos.
But he didn’t feel out of place. Not exactly.
Firey’s phone buzzed from somewhere deep in his hoodie pocket, and he pulled it out to see a message from his mom:
“You forgot one of your suitcases. Come get it before I leave you to fend for yourself.”
He groaned, turning to his roommates. “Apparently I forgot a bag. I’ll be back in five.”
“Okay!! Bring back snacks!” Gelatin called, dangling upside down on his bed.
Leafy barely looked from her laptop. “If you happen to find a stapler that isn’t broken, bring that too.”
Firey grinned and slipped back into the hallway, the keycard wedged between his fingers and the strap of his camera bag bouncing against his side. The dorm was quiet now, most of the chaos migrated downstairs or into the quad. Outside, he spotted his Moms van idling at the curb. His mom waved from the driver’s seat when she saw him approaching. He grabbed it from the van and walked back to his room.

The suitcase was heavier than he remembered, and the stairwell somehow felt hotter than it did ten minutes ago. He nudged open the hallway door with his shoulder–
And caught a face full of wood.
“GAH-”
The door smacked him square in the forehead and knocked him back a step. His camera swung wildly, hitting his chest.
Firey staggered and looked up to see a shirtless guy standing in the doorway of Room 316, holding a blender bottle and radiating gym energy like it was his major. Which based on the collection of protein tubes behind him, it probably was.
The guy had short hair, a half-sleeve tattoo of stuff he couldn’t make out, and an expression that suggested he’d already written Firey off as annoying.
He had a lanyard on, probably from a gym membership. “Coiny.”
Firey blinked. “Did.. you just hit me with your door?”
“Did you just stand in front of my door?”
“It’s a hallway! You don’t get to have dramatic door exits like you’re on a sitcom!!”
Coiny narrowed his eyes. “What’s with the camera? Film major?”
Firey straightened. “Yeah. Got a problem with that?”
“I mean, only that you guys think you’re changing the world because you filmed something just SoOoO extraordinary.”
Firey scoffed. “And let me guess, you’re a Sports Management major who’s been to the gym more times this week than anywhere else?”
Coiny took a sip of his protein shake, not breaking eye contact. “At least I’m not majoring in editing apps.”
“At least I don’t have the personality of a Gatorade commercial.”
They stood there, staring, tension already hot between them. Firey’s face was hot and still hurting from the door hit. Coiny leaned casually into his doorway like this was his floor.
Firey shifted his suitcase, brow furrowing. “We share a wall, don’t we.?”
Coiny nodded with a smirk. “Try to keep your dramatic monologues down after midnight, kay?”
Firey stared. “That’s not even me. I just got here.. That was probably my roomma- ..nevermind.”
He made a face and turned toward his room, muttering as he went, “Stupid walking protein ad..”
He shoved the keycard back into 314’s lock, suitcase dragging behind him.
Leafy looked up. “Is everything alright?”
“Oh no, just PERFECT. I met our next-door neighbor. Firey muttered, rubbing his forehead. He’s a gym freak with the emotional range of a football.”
Gelatin grinned. “Aww! You made a friend!!”
Firey slammed the door shut behind him with a little more force than he needed.
Gelatin, now dangling halfway off his bed with a sequin-covered sleep mask on his forehead, peeked over dramatically. “Oooo!! Someone’s maddd!! That was fast, do I need to go call your mommm?”
“No, but I might need you to call me a lawyer.” Firey muttered, dragging his suitcase inside.
Leafy spun around in her desk chair, eyebrows raised. “Yeesh.. That bad?”
Firey dropped his bag by his bed and flopped on the bottom bunk to catch his breath. “He hit me in the face. WITH his DOOR.”
“...Unprovoked?” Leafy asked.
“I was just standing in the hallway!! Like a normal person!!”
Gelatin gasped. “No way.. You got jumped by a door jock! Tell me more!”
Firey sat up, rubbing the red spot forming on his forehead.
“Oh oh!! Was he cuteee?!?”
“That’s not the point.”
Leafy hid a smirk behind her water bottle.
Firey glared. “He basically told me to kill myself. He said film majors were pretentious or some shit like that.”
“Oh I like this guy already. Did you get his name?”
“I didn’t ask, but I saw a name tag on some lanyard he had. It said Coiny? I think?”
“Oh he definitely sounds like a Sports major.” Leafy said.
“Oh he is! And I know that because he had some stupid protein shake in his hand and STILL managed to sound like a douche.”
Gelatin rolled over, giggling. “Our floor’s dynamic is already cursed. I love it!!”
Firey groaned. “I share a whole wall with that guy.. This is awful. I’m gonna have to listen to his stupid gym workout videos at 6am. I just know it.”
“Or worse,” Leafy said. “You’ll hear motivational podcasts.”
“He was right. I should kill myself.”
There was a knock at the door just then, gentle and official.
Leafy stood up and peeked through the peephole. “RA announcement.”
She opened it, and a girl handed them a bright orange flyer.
“ORIENTATION - MANDATORY WELCOME EVENT @ 4PM - Meet at the Founders’ Fountain”
Leafy shut the door behind her and held the paper up. “Well, I guess we’re all going!!”
“Woohooo, forced socialization!” Gelatin said with a theatrical sigh.
Firey groaned. “Bet you twenty bucks Mr. Gym-boy is gonna be there too.”
Leafy grinned. “Even more reason to go!!”
Not letting them even get ready, Leafy grabbed Gelatin and Firey buy the arms and dragged them out.

The Founders’ Fountain was already surrounded by an unholy swarm of freshmen and over-eager student volunteers by the time the trio from Room 314 arrived.
It was everything Firey expected and also somehow worse.
The music thumping through the speakers was a distorted remix of the school’s “fight song” laid over a bass drop that vibrated the glass. Streamers had been taped to everything: trees, the fountain, even a confused-looking statue of the school’s founder was now wearing streamers and sunglasses.
Bright orange signs pointed in every direction. Everything for any major was here and everyone seemed to have their own cliques.
“Oh this is a nightmare,” Firey muttered, adjusting the strap of his camera bag.
“Don’t be delusional.” Gelatin said, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “This many people in one place?! It’s like.. An attention buffet.”
“PLEASE do NOT eat the attention like it’s food.” Leafy warned, already scanning the area.
She had her folder of orientation materials neatly tucked under one arm, her name tag laminated and color-coded, and a notepad with event schedules and planned check-ins sticking out of her jacket pocket.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ve got the comms mixer at the tent over by the balloon arch in ten. Then I’m meeting up with the head of the campus social committee to talk about PR campaigns. If I don’t check in by 6, assume the business majors kidnapped me.
“Can I come?” Firey asked, only half-joking.
Leafy shook her head. “You’ll just get bored and start taking shots of iced coffee.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Gelatin was already halfway through a spin, eyeing the orientation stage. “I’m off to infiltrate the theater kids!”
“Or maybe.. Don’t.” Leafy muttered
“TOO LATE BYE!!” Gelatin shouted, twirling dramatically as he disappeared into the crowd.
Leafy adjusted her lanyard again. “Alright, Don’t do anything stupid.”
“No promises.”
She gave him a parting look, a mix of exasperation and quiet concern. “Try to talk to someone, okay?”
“...I make no promises there either.”
And just like that, both of them were gone. Pulled into the color, noise, and energy. The chaos of college life in full swing.
Firey stood still for a moment, alone near the fountain, watching the blur of faces pass by. Everyone here seemed to already be moving and talking to others. He felt like he’d shown up late to a party that started without him.
He adjusted the strap of his camera and walked aimlessly around the edge of the crowd, dodging an RA trying to hand him a bingo card and politely refusing a guy juggling free frisbees with too much eye contact. Finally, he settled near the fountain’s edge and collapsed onto a nearby bench in the shade of an old oak tree.
And then he saw her. She sat alone under the tree just beyond the fountain plaza, cross-legged on the grass, back perfectly straight. A sleek black tablet was balanced across her knees and her stylus moved with such calm precision it looked like she was drawing straight from her brain to the screen.
Her expression was unreadable and her focus couldn’t be shaken. The noise around her.. The music, the chatter, the.. People. (Ugh) None of it bothered her in the slightest.
She wore a dark jacket zipped halfway over a red T-shirt, her long-ish hair clipped back with a metal gear-shaped pin. Her boots looked functional, like they’d been used for more than just the aesthetic. Her energy was sharp, practical, and not interested in nonsense.
Firey blinked. She looked like she’d already finished college and just came back to redesign the campus.
Something about her felt approachable. Or at least less terrifying than the crowd.
He stood, debated for half a second, then approached casually, trying not to trip over his own feet or come off like a lost golden retriever.
“Let me guess,” he said, stopping a few feet away. “Did your dorm already explode?”
The girl glanced up. Her eyes were a pale, steely gray, and they looked at him like she was checking for threats.
“No,” She replied, her voice calm and low. “Not yet.”
Firey laughed, awkward. “Well that’s optimistic.”
She tilted her head slightly. “Statistically speaking, dorm fires don’t usually happen until week three.”
He blinked. “..Yeah, Good to know.”
She returned her attention to her tablet. Curious, he leaned a little to the side to peek. It wasn’t doodles. It was blueprints.. Actual mechanical blueprints. There were annotations in clean block text, detailed views of joints and axles, and sketches of what looked like a prosthetic limb.
Firey blinked. “That’s.. Really detailed. Are you building a mech suit or something?”
“Assistive mobility arm,” she said. “Lightweight, modular, no app dependency. Prototype stage.”
Firey had no idea what half of those words meant, but he nodded like he did. “That’s sooo.. Cool.”
“Mechanical engineering.” she added. “Third gen, Robotics concentration.”
Of course she was a mech engineer. Of course she had a concentration. Firey suddenly felt like the human equivalent of a broken tripod.
“I’m uh… film major.” he offered.
She gave a slow blink. “Cool.”
Was that judgement? Was she being nice? He couldn’t tell.
“I once made a horror short about a haunted blender that possessed a guy and made him try to kill a fish with toast tongs.” He said, trying to be funny.
“Did it work?”
“The short, or the fish?”
“Either.”
Firey laughed. “Yes, And… no. The fish was fine. Plot armor.”
She nodded, perfectly neutral. “Then at least there were stakes.”
Was that dry humor? It had to be. Unless–
“Do you always sound like you’re giving a TED Talk on robot ethics?” he asked, grinning now.
“Only when I’m bored.” She replied. “You’re slightly below bored.”
Firey felt himself light up a little.
She tapped something on her screen, then pulled out her phone, typed for a second, and held it out toward him without looking up. Her voice was calm as ever.
“My number. Just in case your dorm actually does catch fire and you need someone who knows where the real extinguishers are.”
He stared at the phone in her hand for a second too long, then scrambled to unlock his own and enter it in.
“Thanks. Uh… I’m Firey, by the way.”
“Pin.”
She stood smoothly, sliding her tablet into a perfectly packed side satchel and slinging it over her shoulder.
“I’ll see you around, Firey,” she said, already walking away into the mess of color and music.
And just like that, she was gone. Vanished into the crowd with the same ease she worked her tablet. No hesitation. Firey stood there staring at the contact in his phone, thumb hovering over it like it might disappear.
Was he in love?
No. Probably not. Maybe.
A little.
At the very least, he was in awe.

By the time Firey spotted Leafy again, she was flanked by two RAs and holding a map that looked like it had been through war.
She grabbed his wrist
“Come on. You missed half the orientation groups and they’re about to start a tour of the academic building!”
Firey barely had time to respond before he was yanked into a stream of students following a girl with a lanyard and the kind of overly rehearsed enthusiasm that suggested she’d been trained to speak in bullet points.
Leafy kept pace beside him, eyes darting from the guide to her annotated map. “If we don’t get into one of the early tour groups, the building line gets insane. Also, rumor had it the computer science majors rigged the vending machines. I need to check that out. I’m sure Gelatin would appreciate it.”
“I could’ve stayed on the bench and texted you for the footnotes.”
“And I would’ve personally found you and smacked you with this map.”
They rounded a corner just as a familiar person jogged up beside them, a lanyard swinging wilding from one hand and a water bottle in the other. Except this time, he wasn’t shirtless and had on a tacky letterman jacket with a giant “C” on it.
Firey groaned audibly. “Oh no.”
Coiny, annoyingly chipper, gave them a smug look. “Guess who got roped into this for team bonding points?”
“You? Bonding? That’s rich.”
“Not as rich as whatever dream school you thought this was gonna be.”
Coiny leaned around Leafy to smirk and Firey. He made a taunting face at him. Firey made one back.
“Boys.” A voice cut in coolly between them.
They both froze mid-glare.
Pin.
She walked just behind them, arms folded over a notebook filled with sketched-out mechanical components and orientation scribbles. Her expression was unreadable but her tone was calm.
“If I wanted to hear two buffoons try and harass each other with silly childish glances, I would have just stayed home and watched reality TV.”
Coiny blinked, stunned. “Who is–”
“Pin.” She said simply.
Firey straightened up instinctively. “We met earlier.”
“Briefly.” She replied. “But it was long enough to know you need new material.”
He looked like he was trying to smile without admitting he was flustered.
Coiny, meanwhile, eyed her with a mix of surprise and intrigue. “What’s your major, princess?”
“Mechanical engineering. Robotics. I build things that don’t waste my time.”
Leafy eagerly raised a hand. “Can I be you when I grow up?!?”
Pin nodded slightly. “No.”
They continued walking behind the tour group as the guide droned on about historical bricks and fountain legends, but the real show was what was happening at the back of the crowd.
Coiny and Firey kept tossing snide remarks back and forth like dodgeballs. Pin interjected now and then, slicing through both of their egos with surgical precision. Leafy trailed behind them, sipping a smoothie and live-texted everything to Gelatin in the group chat.
By the time they reached the science center, the tour group was in shambles. Half the students had splintered off, the guide was mid-nervous breakdown, and Firey wouldn’t tell if he wanted to fight Coiny or high-five him.
And Pin?
Pin just kept walking like this was all background noise. But once, just once, Firey caught her glancing over at him and smiling, just slightly.
Awkward, tense, and weirdly fun.

The dorm was finally quiet. Well, quiet enough.
Gelatin was snoring upside-down in his bed again, one leg dangling off the side like he’d fallen asleep mid-cartwheel. Leafy's laptop glowed dimly on her desk, her earbuds still in as she whispered to herself, probably rehearsing her Monday pitch for the Student Council PR team.
Firey laid in the top bunk, camera cradled against his chest.
The blankets were scratchy. His pillow was weirdly flat. His body still felt like it was vibrating from the day… too many people, too many names, too many voices that blurred together.
But somehow, it wasn’t bad.
He shifted slightly and turned on the camera. The small screen flickered to life in the dark, casting a faint flow on his face.
He angled it toward himself, framed in slats at the foot of his bed.
Click. Record
He took a breath.
“Day one,”
He smiled, small and tired.
“I have two roommates, which are both insane in their own.. Special. Ways.” He paused as Gelatin mumbled something in his sleep, giving him an odd off-screen look.
“I met this girl who’s way smarter than me, and a guy who might actually strangle me.” He laughed under his breath.
“So, I guess college is going okay.”
He let the silence hang for a second, then something caught his eye.
Through the narrow window across the room, Firey spotted movement… Coiny, just outside the building, headphones in, kicking a soccer ball against the brick wall. It thudded over and over again.
Like he was still burning off steam from the tour. Or maybe he just did that every night. Firey wasn’t sure.
Then, on the sidewalk just behind him, Pin walked by. Same black jacket, Same calm stride. She carried a heavy-looking toolkit in one hand and a tablet tucked under her arm. Earbuds in. Head down. Focused on where she was going and nothing else around her.
Firey didn’t realize he was still filming.
He turned the camera slightly, watching them both through the lens. Two people who couldn’t be more different. Firey lowered the camera to his chest again. He whispered into it:
“This’ll make a great story someday.”
He stopped the recording. Let the camera fall gently to his side.
Outside, the ball kept hitting the wall.
Inside, Gelatin muttered something about glitter cannons in his sleep.
Firey closed his eyes.
Day one.
Done.

Chapter Text

Firey woke up to the sound of humming. Not peaceful, meditative humming… aggressively theatrical humming. Paired with floor creaks and the flap of fabric.
He groaned, eyes barely open, and peeked over the edge of his bunk.
Down below, Gelatin was stretching with one hand in the air and the other clutching what he assumed was a pretend sword.
Fiery flopped back onto his bed and sighed. A few feet away, Leafy sat at the desk with two monitors glowing and three notebooks open. She spoke quickly, like she was mid pitch:
“We’re building brand identity through visibility. Student outreach. Through leadership, think digital but grounded.”
Firey raised an eyebrow. “You… on a call?”
“Nope! Practicing!” Leafy answered, typing furiously. “I have a fake meeting before my real meeting. Helps me feel in control.”
“Do.. either of you ever… NOT do anything?”
Gelatin struck a dramatic pose. “We’re artists, Fiery. We suffer loud and for everybody to hear.”
Firey sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His blanket was tangled around his legs and one of Gelatin's socks had somehow migrated to the edge of his bed.
He reached for his phone, half-hoping for a message, a notification, something to give his brain direction.
Instead, he was met with a flood of alerts.
The campus feed was already flooded with morning content. A kid from his film intro class had posted a moody sunrise timelapse over the quad, complete with soft music and a “Sometimes silence sets the mood” caption. Another reel showed off a dorm room transformation. Fairy lights, terrariums, aesthetic study vibes. Someone else had just launched a podcast called Campus Scandals and already had 500 likes.
Fiery thumbed through it all in silence.
It felt like everything had already found their Thing. Their look, their brand, their purpose. He still hadn’t unpacked yet.
“Great,” he muttered. I’m not even a B-story in my own dorm.”
Gelatin rolled over, his face squished into the rug. “You are the B-story, dude! You’re theeee emotional sleeper hit!”
Leafy swiveled in her chair and pointed her pen at him. “Honestly? That’s your advantage.”
Fiery blinked. “What is?”
“People expect perfection. But perfection's boring. Be weird. Be cringey. Be you.” She smiled, tapping her planner closed. “Make something you.”
He looked down at his phone again, thumbing over the camera app but not opening it.
What was him?
He wasn’t the drone shot kid or a great podcast voice. He wasn’t an aesthetic dorm wizard or a sparkle yoga sorcerer.
But maybe he could be something else.
Or at the very least, something weird.
“Okay,” Firey mumbled under her breath. “Weird I can do.”
He tossed off his blanket and swung his legs over the bunk, nearly stepping on a copy of “Monologue Prep for the Chaotic Neutral Soul.”
Gelatin, now upside down on the floor with his legs resting on the mini fridge, offered a thumbs-up without opening his eyes. “Go forth, weird one!!”
Firey scoffed but smiled despite himself. Leafy was already packing up her binder and shoving a bagel in her mouth.
“Where are you headed?” He asked.
“Pitching a club idea to the student union,” She said through a mouthful of cream cheese. “It’s called ‘BrandU’, helping students develop their presence. You should come sometime.”
“I doubt I’d have much of a presence,” he muttered, digging around for his jacket.
“Sure you do,” She said, grabbing her tablet. And just like that, she was out the door.
Firey stared at the closed door for a second longer than necessary. The morning sunlight hit his camera bag like a nudge.
He grabbed it, slung it around his neck, and pocketed a granola bar.
No plan. No script. No brilliant idea yet.
But maybe if he filmed enough nonsense, something would shake loose.
He stepped out of the dorm, letting the door swing shut behind him, and headed down the hall into the noise and the blur of campus life.

The sidewalk shimmered under the morning sun, wrapping in heatwaves where the bricks cracked and weeds poked through, Firey wandered with no real direction, his camera slung over his neck like it belonged to someone more confident.
His fingers brushed the lens cap as he walked, thumb hovering over the record button.
The problem wasn’t that he couldn’t film. He could. He just didn’t know what he was filming for. He pressed the mic to his lips anyways.
“Campus, Day… four? Maybe five. The concept of time is loose. Much like my grip on this film major thing.”
He aimed his lens toward the quad.
A banana waved at him.
Not metaphorically. A student, fully suited in a banana costume, was handing out neon flyers for something called the “Fruit Forward Movement.” His energy was unholy for 9AM.
Firey filmed five seconds of it and sighed.
Farther along the path, a girl in a beret sat on the edge of the pond, reading Nietzsche aloud to a pair of ducks.
Firey filmed her too.
Then, under a gnarled tree, a guy in a tank top tried and failed to climb into a hammock. His foot was caught and he was kicking like a tangled puppet.
Firey zoomed in. “This,” he said into the mic, “Is student debt personified.”
He kept walking.
The camera dangled against his chest, lens cap swinging and tapping his rubs. He wasn’t even reviewing the footage. He knew it was all nonsense. Funny nonsense, but nothing worth posting.
He passed a bike rack, a sculpture garden, the table where someone was offering tarot readings.
Then he saw someone.
A girl under a maple tree, her body folded into the earth like she belonged there. Oversized blue and green sweater and brown boots tucked beneath her, a flannel blanket beneath her legs. She had two pens and one open notebook. Steam curled from a paper cup beside her.
She looked composed. Focused.
Firey instinctively raised his camera and focused the frame.
He didn’t even realize she’d noticed until she spoke.
“You’re off-center.”
His hands jerked slightly. “Uh.. what?”
She didn’t look at him. Just kept writing.
“If you’re going for rule of thirds, you’re too far to the right. IF you’re going for symmetry, you failed.”
He lowered his camera. “Wow. Thanks.”
She paused. “Also, your mic’s still on. You breathed weirdly into it when you got close.”
He clicked it off with a quiet curse.
Only then did she glance up, just briefly. A pair of dark colored eyes observed behind sharp glasses. There was no malice in them but no softness either. She looked at people the way a person might look at a chessboard.
“I’ve seen you before,” she said. “You’re the guy from the hallway door incident.”
“Is that seriously my campus legacy?” Firey muttered.
She didn’t look up.
“It was one time and barely my fault!”
“I didn’t say it was your fault,” she said, pen still moving. “Just memorable. You made quite the entrance.”
He squinted. “You make it sound like a performance art.”
“It sort of was,” she said dryly. “Just not good performance art.”
“Okay, ouch.” He muttered.
“I’m not saying it lacked merit,” she added. “Just that it lacked intention.”
That made him pause. He wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or impressed.
He adjusted his grip on the camera, then crossed a few feet of grass and crouched nearby. Not too close, just enough to keep her in frame.
She noticed, of course. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Hovering. Kinda desperate for direction.”
Firey blinked. “You just said I was unintentionally memorable.”
“You were,” she replied. “Doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing.”
He sighed, “Are you always like this?”
She finally closed her notebook and met his eyes. “Like what?”
“Detached and mildly terrifying.”
She didn’t smile. “No, I’m worse after coffee.”
That made him snort. “Right, Of course.”
“I’m Firey, by the way.”
“Book.”
He paused. “Is that like… a nickname?”
“It’s my name.”
He gave a faint nod, pretending that clarified anything. “Lit major?”
She took a sip from her coffee cup. “Literature’s useful. It’s full of people making bad choices.”
“Cool,” Firey muttered. “Totally normal thing to say.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. Book, scribbling something in the margins of her notebook, and Firey, shifting his camera for a better angle.
Eventually, he asked, “Can I film you?”
She didn’t respond at first. Just looked at him, long and thoughtful.
“Why?”
He opened his mouth, then paused. “I… don’t know yet.”
Book capped her pen. “Then don’t waste the battery.”
He lowered the camera again, embarrassed.
She stood, folded her blanket with sharp, precise corners, and slung the bag over her shoulder.
“Here’s a free tip, fire kid.” She said as she adjusted the strap. “Sometimes people mistake visibility for meaning. Just because people see you doesn’t mean you’ve said anything.”
With that, she turned and walked away without another word.
Firey watched her disappear into the tree shadows, her pace even.
The camera was still in his hands.
He lifted it again, angled it toward where she’d been sitting, and hit record.
Off-center.
On purpose.

Firey wandered campus for another twenty minutes after Book left, filming halfheartedly, deleting more than he kept. Nothing felt right.
Everywhere he turned, there were people who already knew who they were, what they were making, and how they wanted to look doing it.
He didn’t have a podcast voice or a bullet journal or a color pallet. Just a half-charged camera and a knot in his stomach.
As he passed by the art building, a gust of wind blew the leaves across the sidewalk. Someone was blasting spoken word poetry from a cracked window overhead. Another person walked by with clay-stained overalls and a cigarette tucked behind one ear.
He looked up at the top floor, the rooftop ledge with the graffiti-covered railing, strings of old fairy lights, and a half-broken chair permanently wedged into one corner.
It was kind of legendary. The arts rooftop, mostly reserved for film majors, painters, and theater kids. He’d heard from Gelatin that the door to the roof was almost always propped open, unofficially, or course.
And right now, Firey needed to be somewhere not full of ducks and bananas and judgement.
So he cut through the building, climbed the stairs, and slipped through the rusted door on the rooftop.
It was a lot quieter up here. High above the mess. Just the city in the distance, the quad below, and the leftover smell of acrylic paint and sharpie ink. High above the freshman panic, the over eager club tables, and the constant sound of someone dragging a speaker-on-wheels across pavement.
Firey set his tripod down in the far corner where the breeze didn’t rattle it too much. He adjusted the lens with shaky hands, squinting into the sunlight. His hoodie flapped gently at the edges. He pulled the hood up.
For a second, it almost felt cinematic.
He pressed record.
“This is… a reflection.A document. A film about the space between becoming and being. About the noise inside you that doesn’t sure up, even when–”
He winced. Cringed. Stopped.
Rewind.
“This is a film about change. About identity. About being alone even when you’re surrounded by… ughhh, no.”
Rewind.
“This is me. Raw. Unfiltered. Just trying to.. Just.. Ugh, God.” He pressed his palm into his face. “Kill me.”
Every time he listened back, it sounded worse. Like a teenager auditioning for a play thinking they’re better than everyone else.
“I’m gonna hurl,” he muttered.
A voice cut through the stillness.
“Then do it on camera. That’s get you views.”
Firey whipped around, startled.
Behind one of the rusted rooftop vents sat someone cross-legged in a patch of shade, her pencil hovering mid sketch. He’d met her a day or two prior during some special school event.
Lollipop.
She looked like she’d been part of the rooftop the whole time. Dark purple jacket, black notebook balanced on her knee. Eyes squinted like everything she saw was a punchline she was too tired to explain.
Firey blinked. “How long have you been sitting there?”
“Long enough to witness five takes, two voice cracks, and a truly painful metaphor about becoming.” She replied, deadpan.
He squinted. “What’re you? The rooftop troll?”
She shrugged. “Only to people who drag a tripod up here like they’re shooting a ‘Coming of Age’ movie.”
Firey’s jaw tensed. “I’m trying to make something.”
“No, you’re trying to look like you’re making something.” She shot back. “Big difference.”
“You don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“I don’t ned to. Your monologue sounded like you fed a Tumblr post into a blender.”
Firey scowled, “I didn’t ask for a critique.”
“And yet here we are,” Lollipop said, flipping a page in her notebook. “You’re not making art. You’re just,, leaking feelings into a camera and praying someone calls it brave.”
He crossed his arms. “Wow. You must be fun at parties.”
“Only if the bars open and the artists are honest.”
“You talk like you know everything.”
She looked at him. Really looked at him.
“I know fake when I see it.”
That hit a little too close. Firey opened his mouth, then shut it. Then tried again.
“I just don’t want to be another guy with a camera trying to go viral for doing something stupid.”
Lollipop leaned back against the vent, thoughtful for once.
“You know what’s worse than doing something stupid? Trying so hard not to be stupid that you end up saying absolutely nothing. I’m not saying don’t make anything. Just stop pretending you’ll win an award before you’ve figured out what you’re gonna say.”
Firey looked down at this camera.
“I don’t even know what I want to make anymore.”
“Good,” Lollipop said. “That means you’re finally starting to think.”
He sighed, sitting down fully on the roof, arms resting on his knees. “You’re kind of a buzzkill”
She stood, dusting off her jeans. “You’re kind of a coward.”
Firey laughed bitterly. “Harsh.”
“But not wrong.”
She started walking toward the exit.
“Wait,” he called after her. “What should I make then?”
She paused at the door.
“Make something awful. At least it’ll be honest.”
Firey frowned. “That’s your great wisdom?”
She glanced over her shoulder, expression unreadable.
“You’ve got the face for tragedy and the posture for comedy. Use both.”
She vanished through the rusted door, as casually as she appeared.
Firey sat in silence for a minute. The wind ruffled his hoodie again.
He took down his tripod and put it back in the bag it came from. He needed to get a second.. Or maybe even a third opinion. He climbed off of the roof clumsily and ran off toward his dorm.

The dorm was somehow louder than the campus itself.
Gelatin was lying upside down on his bed, legs handing over the headboard, blasting some 2000s emo-pop playlist and juggling a handful of costume wigs while humming to himself. Leafy was at her desk, surrounded by a rainbow of highlighters and what looked like a fully color-coded weekly PR agenda taped to a wall.
Firey dropped his camera bag onto the floor with a thud.
“I have an idea,” he announced.
Gelatin sat upright, fast enough to bonk his head on the underside of the top bunk.
“YES!” he said, like he'd been waiting his whole life for those words. “Is it a rom-com?! A slasher?! Some sci-fi nonsense?!”
Firey rubbed the back of his neck. “None of that. It’s… okay. You know those painfully dramatic student films? The ones where someone stares into a mirror and says, like, ‘Who am I?’ and then it cuts to a dead tree?”
“YES!!” Gelatin gasped, throwing a glittery scarf across the room. “I love those. They’re awful. What’s the idea? You making one?”
“No,” Firey said. Then paused. “Yes. But, like, ironically. I’m gonna make the worst, most pretentious student film ever. On purpose. Full parody.”
There was a moment of pure silence.
Then Gelatin screamed.
“THIS IS THE BEST IDEA YOU’VE EVER HAD.”
Leafy leaned back in her chair, sipping something from a neon reusable cup. “If it’s gonna go down in flames, I want front row seats.”
“It’s gonna start with a single leaf falling in slow motion,” Firey said, already pacing. “Cut to a close-up of my eye. Then a voiceover. ‘Everything dies… but some things die slowler..’”
Gelatin clutched his heart like he’d just witnessed Shakespeare being reborn.
“YES YES! I’ll cry in the background! Real tears! I’m emotionally unstable on command.”
Firey grabbed a notebook and started scribbling.
“Okay, we need: one sad park bench, a dying flower, a really long mirror monologue…”
“I could throw glitter for emotional ambiance.” Gelatin offered, holding up an entire jar. “Sad glitter.”
“Do we even have a mirror?” Firey asked.
“Leafy has a ring light with a reflective backing.” Gelatin said immediately.
Leafy blinked. “Why do you know that?”
“I know so many things.” Gelatin said ominously, doing jazz hands.
Firey plopped onto his bed, notebook balanced on his knees. He began writing lines for a small script.
Gelatin peaked over his shoulder. “Whoa, what’re you doing now? Is this, like… a book? Are you writing a freaky chapter??”
Firey frowned. “What.”
“You know, like a freaky chapter. Where things get weird. Or spooky. Or hot. Mostly hot.”
“Okay, no, it’s just a fake script.”
“Fake script with a freaky chapter?”
“I’m not writing smut for you.”
Gelatin narrowed his eyes suspiciously, like Firey was hiding something.
Firey sighed and flipped his notebook shut. “It’s just satire.”
“Satire can be freaky,” Gelatin whispered.
Leafy made a quiet noise behind them that sounded dangerously close to a snort.
Gelatin was now spinning in Firey’s desk chair. Leafy had abandoned her PR color codes to scroll through a soundboard app, playing increasingly dramatic violin samples every time Firey read a line of his fake script out like
“The world is too loud to hear the quiet ones scream,” he recited flatly.
#SAD VIOLIN 17 blared from Leafy’s phone.
Firey buried his face into his notebook. “THis is either genius or a felony.”
“I still think we need a scene where you lie in the grass and whisper. ‘I’m not like the others…’” Gelatin says, very seriously.
“Too subtle,” Leafy countered. “He should cry while staring at a leaf. You have to include the leaf. It’s metaphorical.”
“Maybe we should go back to the leaf tree,” Firey said slowly. “The one near the pond. Where I ran into that Lit major..”
“Oh so now we’re getting autobiographical? We love a tortured artist arc.” Gelatin said, winking.
“I’m not tortured.”
“You’re halfway there.”
Firey stood up, slinging his camera over his neck again. “Alright, let’s go make something stupid.”
Gelatin saluted him. “Go forth, king of cringe.”
Leafy raised her reusable cup. “Godspeed.”
Firey left the dorm with his script stuffed in his hoodie pocket and his dignity hanging by a single metaphorical thread.

He returned to the tree.
The same maple tree from earlier, the one where Book had been sitting under, scribbling in her notebook and telling him that being seen wasn’t the same as saying something.
Now it feels different. Sort of heavy.
Firey set his tripod down gently. He stepped back, adjusted the frame. Nudged the angle three times. Slanted the camera ever so slightly for an off-balance visual metaphor.
The branches swayed overhead, thin rays of light cutting between them. He took that as a sign.
“This is so dumb,” he muttered to himself.
He crouched, pulled a small notebook from his hoodie pocket, the same one he’d scribbled nonsense into back at the dorm, and flipped to a scrawled monologue titled; “Leaf: the metaphor”
He lay flat in the grass. One elbow over his head, notebook balanced across his chest, camera lens focused on the leaf above.
He clicked the voice recorder on and cleared his throat.
“Take one,”
He hit record.
The camera zoomed shakily upwards.. Too much zoom, then a jolt backwards, and then caught the leaf just as a breeze started to stir it.
Cut to: Firey’s face. Angled and dramatic.
He whispered with painful sincerity.
“Some of us were never meant to be heard. Only watched, like leaves, breaking from branches—”
THWACK.
Something struck him in the forehead. Hard.
His head jerked sideways. The notebooked flopped into the grass. The camera tilted violently left.
“ACK- what the-”
Off-screen:
“HAHA!! SUCKS TO SUCK!!”
Firey groaned and blinked up at the sky. Standing a few yards away on the sidewalk, another frisbee spinning on his finger like a trophy. Coiny.
Shirtless, yet again. Absolutely not sorry.
Firey sat up, rubbing his forehead. “What is wrong with you?”
Coiny spun the frisbee once more before tucking it under his arm. “You were wide open.”
“I was monologuing.”
“I figured.”
Firey glared at him. “I hate you.”
Coiny gave him a double thumbs up, turned around, and jogged away.
Firey looked at the camera. Still recording.
He lay back down in the exact same spot. He touched his forehead like a wounded warrior. He whispered:
“Pain is temporary, but symbolism is forever…”
He didn’t blink. Just stared upward like he was about to ascend to the afterlife.
Another gust of wind pushed another leaf into frame. It spiraled once, then landed directly on his face.
He left it there.
Firey whispered one final line into the mic.
“Even the fallen get stepped on eventually..”

Back in the dorm, several hours later, Firey hunched over his laptop in the dark.
Gelatin was asleep upside down in his bed again. Leafy had left hours ago to prep for some “branding mixer” she invented.
Firey’s hoodie was grass-stained. His forehead was vaguely tender.
But the edit?
It was a masterpiece of misery.
He added a grainy black-and-white filter. Overlaid dramatic royalty-free violin music. Faded in a single frame of a skull for no reason.
THe final scene, him lying still, face covered by a leaf, lingered far too long. Eleven seconds of silence. Then faded to black.
He titled it in lowercase, because of course he did:
“A film about being misunderstood.”
He clicked “Export” and watched the bar slowly fill. And for a second, he smiled. Not because it was good. Oh, it was terrible.
But that was the point.
The export bar hit 100%. Firey stared at it.
The screen glowed in the dark of the dorm room. The final frame, him lying in the grass, faded in and out like some kind of meme eulogy.
He hovered over his upload options.
Youtube? Too public. Too searchable.
Instagram? Too curated.
CampusHub.
The unofficial student-run server where people dumped weird art projects, rant vlogs, half-baked music videos, and badly edited film assignments. No algorithm. No trending.
Perfect.
He added no tags and no captions.
He hit upload.
The screen flickered once, refreshed, and there it was: The thumbnail, him, flat in the grass, mid-dramatic pose.
Done.
He closed his laptop.
Across the room, Gelatin snored softly with his legs draped off the headboard, hugging a stuffed shark.
Firey peeled off his hoodie, kicked off his shoes, and climbed onto the top bunk.
His brain buzzed a little. Artistic shame, the faint fear that maybe it was too dumb to be funny.
But, it was out there.
And tomorrow could deal with it.
He turned his face toward the wall, let the dorm’s quiet hum settle in around him, and whispered one last thing to himself before sleep hit him like a brick:
“...Please don’t go viral.”

Firey woke up to buzzing.
Not his alarm. Not a text
Notifications.
So. Many. Notifications.
He blinked against the early morning light and fumbled for his phone. The screen lit up like a beacon.
98 unread messages.
23 tags.
47 new followers.
“...What?”
He opened his lock screen. Instagram, CampusHub, even TikTok.
All of them.
**New mentions: @leafguy
#leafguy
**#performancepain
**#midfilmmaestro
#thatleafguy
He sat up in bed so fast he nearly bonked his head on the ceiling.
“Leaf guy? Leaf guy?”
He opened the first post
“This man made the worst film I’ve ever seen. 10/10. No notes.” [Video: Firey, monologuing. Cut to him getting smacked in the face by a frisbee.]
“OH MY GOD.”
He opened another.
“New favorite campus icon: this man crying under a tree about a leaf death while getting decked by a frisbee mid-take.”
Another:
“Was the leaf a metaphor? Was the pain real? Is he okay? @leafguy please respond.”
Another:
“Tag yourself I’m the guy who hit @leafguy with the Frisbee 💀💀💀”
He groaned and flopped back down into bed, clutching the phone to his chest. “I’m gonna die. I should’ve killed myself when I had the chance.”
From the bunk below, Gelatin rolled over with a dramatic yawn. “Congrats, you’re a meme now.”
Firey peeked over the edge. “You saw it?”
“Oh, I shared it,” Gelatin said, holding up his phone.”I made a remix where it cuts to the Mii Channel music right after the frisbee hit.”
Firey covered his face with both hands. “I hate everything about this.”
“You’re trending!”
“I hate that too.”
“Everyone thinks it’s genius! Unhinged, but genius!”
“I–..” Firey paused. Sat up straighter.
…He wasn’t sure what he expected.
Shame? Maybe.
But the knot in his stomach wasn’t just horror. It was adrenaline. A weird spark of pride. His brain was already going: what’s the next move?
He lowered his phone and whispered,
“...’Leaf Guy’, though? That’s the best they could do??”
He slid out of the top bunk, still half in shock, and padded barefoot across the dorm floor. His camera sat on his desk, exactly where he’d left it.
He picked it up slowly.
Out the window, the campus was already awake. Students buzzing across the quad. Someone juggling oranges. Someone else blasted the audio of his voiceover from a portable speaker.
He cringed.
And smiled.
His fingers tapped the edge of the lens. The little red record light blinked once, like a challenge.
Then his phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:
“You’re trending. Meet me. Roof. 5 minutes.”
No name.
No emoji.
Just that.
Firey stared at it. Then looked up at the ceiling.
The rooftop. Again.
He swallowed.
From behind him, Gelatin said through a yawn, “What’s up?”
Firey didn’t answer.
He grabbed his hoodie, slung his camera around his neck, and slipped out the door without a word.

Whatever this was becoming… it wasn’t just a meme anymore.

Chapter Text

The stairwell echoed with every step.
Firey’s hoodie sleeves were bunched into fists, palms sweaty. His camera strap dug into his neck as he climbed, one floor after another, heart rate ticking.
“You’re trending. Meet me. Roof. 5 minutes.”
That was the whole text. No name, no joke, and no warning.
He’d checked the number four times, then five. Then cross-referenced it against all known chaos agents in his contacts. Nothing
By the time he reached the last flight, his thoughts were spiraling.
“It’s probably Coiny. He’s gonna throw another frisbee at my head. Or Lollipop, here to eviscerate my soul for content. Or Book. Or a professor. Or my mom. Or–”
The door creaked as he shoved it open. The early morning air hit him like a smooth smack to the face. The sky was still streaked with the faint blue-pink haze of sunrise and the campus looked peaceful.
Not like it had spent the last 12 hours memeing him into a walking campus gag.
He hesitated at the threshold.
“Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I should just turn around. Maybe It’ll all go away if I ignore it long enough–”
“Hey!! There you are!” A voice called out. “I was starting to worry you’d chickened out.”
Firey jumped.
From behind a rusted rooftop vent emerged a short, sharp-angled guy with a zip-up jacket, round glasses slightly fogged from whatever brew he was sipping, tablet in hand. He had the confident-but-sleep-deprived energy of someone who thrived on digital chaos.
“Uhh…” Firey blinked. “Who are you?”
The guy smiled. “Nickel. Graphic design major. CampusHub mod. Social engagement coordinator.”
He held out a hand. Firey shook it reflexively.
“You’re.. Wait. You sent that text?”
Nickel nodded, already swiping through something on his tablet. “Yep! I saw your video within the first hour. Didn’t even hesitate. Featured it on the community board. Boosted it to trending. Added tags.. The rest kind of handled itself.”
Firey stared. “You did all that?”
Nickel beamed. “I do it for the culture.”
Then, more serious. “And the numbers. Mostly the numbers.”
He turned the tablet toward Firey.
The screen shows CampusHub’s trending page. Firey black-and-white thumbnail, him sprawled in the grass sat at the very top.
Firey’s stomach twisted
Nickel seemed to notice and clapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, you seem overwhelmed. Don’t be! This is awesome for you!”
“I didn’t even mean for it to be–”
Nickel raised a finger. “Intent doesn’t matter. What matters is that people saw something in it. Maybe they laughed, or related, or maybe liked watching you get clocked in the face.”
“Great,” Firey muttered. “So I’m either a joke or a punching bag.”
Nickel chuckled. “Or you’re both. That makes you memorable!”
Then, he leaned in slightly, all friendly grin gone, voice suddenly steady:
“You’ve got a spark. But sparks die fast if you don’t feed them.”
Firey swallowed.
The wind picked up, tugging at the hem of his hoodie. Somewhere down in the quad, someone was playing his voiceover again.
He winced.
Nickel stepped back. “Look, you don’t have to ride the wave. But you should know it’s here. People are watching.”
A long beat.
Then, Nickel handed him a laminated card. Firey blinked at it.
“CampusHub Featured Creator – Temporary Access Badge”
“Congrats,” Nickel said. “You’re official. For now.”
Firey turned the laminated badge over in his hand like it might burn him. He had no idea what to say.
Nickel wasn’t waiting.
He paced a few steps toward the rooftop edge, tapping at his tablet like the numbers were live stock data. “If we move fast, we can milk the next 72 hours. I’ve already queued a mini-feature page on CampusHub. Thumbnail’s gold. Got the quote too,, ‘Pain is temporary. But symbolism is forever.’ Iconic, truly.”
Firey blinked. “I said that as a joke.”
“Exactly!” Nickel grinned, turning back. “You weren’t trying. That’s the whole brand. Earnest cringe. You’ve already been dubbed the ‘Leaf Guy’ of the university. Think about it: merch, collabs, maybe even a Q&A panel at Fall Fest. We lean into it, together!”
He opened a pre-build branding mockup: a shirt design with a tiny cartoon version of Firey laying in the grass under a falling leaf. Bold white font across the top:
LEAF GUY™
SPEAK YOUR SILENCE.
Firey’s stomach twisted again, hard.
“Wait… merch? I haven’t even made anything else. That video wasn’t a film, it was a dumb joke. I’m not some influencer. I’m not even sure I want people watching me like this!”
Nickel raised an eyebrow, still calm. “I get it. You’re an artist, right? Not a ’content creator.’ You wanna keep control, I gotcha.”
He stepped closer, softer now.
“But let me ask you something. How many film kids here got ten thousand people to care? For even a second?”
Firey looked down at his feet. The rooftop suddenly felt higher.
“I don’t wanna be a meme,” He said quietly.
Nickel nodded. “Then make something better. Use the spotlight you have. You don’t have to post again. But this kind of visibility? A lot of people would kill for it.”
The silence stretched.
Firey’s camera bumped lightly against his chest with the wind.
“I’m not ready.” He said finally.
Nickel sighed, but not disappointed. Just… recalculating.
“Okay. No hard sell,” he said, tucking the tablet under his arm. “But keep the badge. If you change your mind, come find me. Just don’t wait too long.”
He offered Firey one last smile. It was still friendly, but something sharp felt under the surface. Like he could see five steps ahead.
“Fame doesn’t knock twice.”
And with that, he disappeared down the rooftop stairs, leaving Firey alone in the chill morning air, the badge still heavy in his hand.
Firey stared after him. Somewhere, from down below, someone shouted his name through a dorm window
He didn’t respond.
He just stood there, uncertain.

Firey checked his phone.
8:56AM.
His first ever college film theory lecture started at 9:10. That left him… just enough time to spiral, panic, and arrive just in time.
He shoved his phone back into his pocket and rubbed his hands over his face. The wind on the rooftop had been brisk, but now it just felt cold. Nickel’s words still echoed in his ears.
“You’ve got a spark.”
“Fame doesn’t knock twice.”
“Use the spotlight.”
Firey wasn’t sure if the last one meant “be bold” or “get used to burning.”
He grabbed the rooftop handle, yanked open the door, and started his descent two steps at a time. He didn’t want to be late. He hated being late, but walking felt better than sitting still. At least if he was in motion, he didn’t have to think.
Outside, the air was humid with that weird morning-not-quite-rain smell. Campus was buzzing in the way it always seemed to be: students darting by on scooters, music leaking from open dorm windows, some guy speed-walking in a graduation gown while talking loudly on speakerphone.
Totally normal.
Except Firey wasn’t invisible anymore. He felt watched.
The moment he hit the main path, a group of students walking past slowed down, whispering loudly enough for him to hear:
“That’s him, right? That’s Leaf Guy?”
“Dude. That’s definitely him.”
“Should we ask him to sign a leaf?”
Firey kept walking.
Another student jogged up beside him, phone out, clearly recording. “Hey! Say the line! The one about being watched like leaves or whatever!”
“I- I’m running late,” Firey mumbled, speeding up.
Just keep moving. Maybe if you act normal, they’ll stop.
A frisbee bounced against the sidewalk next to him. He glanced up, expecting Coiny.
It wasn’t.
It was a random guy. Tall, smiling too wide. “Dude! You caught the frisbee like a camp, by the way. That reaction? Absolute cinema.”
Firey did not catch the frisbee. It caught him in the face.
He managed a weak laugh. “Thanks…?”
He turned the next corner fast and found himself smack in the middle of a campus tour group. Half of them were freshmen. The other half were parents.
A younger guy turned toward his friends and whispered very loudly:
“That’s the guy from the sad monologue video. With the leaf and everything. It’s like… campus canon now.”
One of the parents whispered back, “He looks so small in real life.”
Fantastic.
He slipped out of the crowd and speed-walked along the edge of the quad. That’s when he saw it: someone had printed out a screenshot of his video, the frame where he’s lying flat in the grass, leaf on his cheek. It was taped to a bulletin board. Below it, in big bold letters
SOMEONE CHECK ON THIS MAN
“Symbolism is forever.” –Leaf Guy
Underneath that, scribbled in blue sharpie:
“Please let him film again. I crave more cringe.”
Firey stared at it for a second too long. Was this what it felt like to be known? Was that the right word? Or was it just being seen and mocked in equal measure>
He kept walking, head down.
A girl from the library breezed past with a stack of books in her arms. As she passed, she was quoting his stupid video.
Oh my god.
He turned the final corner toward the film department building, hoping and begging for some kind of normality. The familiar creak of the steps, the comfort of fluorescent hallway lights, anything.
But even there, on the brick outside the front door, someone had drawn a chalk outline of a leaf with the words “He Fell So We Could Rise” scrawled underneath it.
He stared at it in disbelief.
Then at the double doors.
Then at his reflection in the glass: hoodie half zipped, hair messed from the rooftop wind, dark circles under his eyes, camera strap still clinging to his shoulder like it needed him more than he needed it.
“Okay,” he muttered. “Please just let this class be boring.”
He pushed the door open.

Room 302 smelled like dust and dry-erase boards.
Firey slipped into the back row early, hoodie up, hoping to disappear. His camera stayed zipped in his bag. No one had mentioned the video yet. Maybe for now, he could just exist.
Students filtered in with tripods and half of their breakfast. Someone was sketching a storyboard. A kid near the front row was already asleep.
Then the door slammed open.
“GOOOOD morning!!!”
His professor, Dr. Oodle strolled in like he’d been summoned from a broadway stage. White scarf, too many bracelets, and enthusiasm that screamed unhinged.
“Today’s lesson: truth in performance! What is it? And who here is brave enough to film it?”
The class groaned in unison.
“Now, I was going to start with a clip from some sort of popular movie, but instead, I foundddd thissss…”
Firey’s stomach dropped.
The projector flicked on.
Thumbnail: Firey mid-monologue, leaf in the background like a halo.
Title: a film about being misunderstood
The voiceover started.
“Some of us were never meant to be heard…”
Cue the frisbee.
THWACK.
“HAHA! SUCKS TO SUCK!!”
The class LOST it.
Laughter erupted like a sitcom had just nailed its punchline. Even the TA tried to hide a smirk.
Oodle paused the video on Firey’s stunned face.
“This,” he said, eyes wide, “Is unintentional genius. Sincerity interrupted. Commentary via chaos. This is vulnerability with velocity!”
Firey shrank into his hoodie.
“Notice the leaf. The commitment. The fact that he kept filming. This is truth! This is art!”
Someone behind Firey whispered, “Yo, that’s Leaf Guy!”
“I am not.” Firey muttered.
Oodle spun dramatically.
“Leaf Guy, are you here?”
Every head turned.
Firey raised one finger.
“Glorious,” Oodle beamed. “Tell us, what inspired you?!”
“I don’t know. I was… just trying something dumb.”
The video kept looping behind him, leaf, speech, impact, again and again.
Firey stared at the screen. The laughter. The looping video.
He couldn’t move.
He couldn’t breathe.
Is this all I am now?
The kid who made that video? He’d made it as a joke. A satire. But they didn’t see it like that.
They saw him. And they were laughing.
The tightness in his chest crept upward, stiff and sharp like something was caught in his throat.
Firey grabbed his bag and bolted.
Out of the room. Down the hall. Past flyers peeling off walls and vending machines humming offbeat.
He didn’t stop until he pushed open the side door and hit cold air.
His feet stumbled into the grass near the quad, breath hitching. It was too bright. Too open. Too many people.
Someone laughed in the distance. It wasn’t even about him, but it felt like it was.
He wasn’t ready for this. He thought he was. He thought making something, even something awful, would help him feel seen, like a real artist. Like he belonged here.
But now it felt like his worst fear had come true. They didn’t think he was real. They just thought he was a joke.
His breath came faster. Shallower. His eyes stung.
Was this what he wanted? Visibility? Attention?
Because it didn’t feel like a spotlight. It felt like a magnifying glass. One aimed right at all the parts of him he didn’t want exposed.
A leaf skittered on the pavement. He kicked it away.
And then, he cried.
Not the cinematic kind. Not the soft, single tear that rolled down in perfect slow motion.
This was the ugly, frustrated, gasping kind. The kind he hadn’t done in years.The kind that cracked something open inside him and made everything suddenly feel too loud.
His phone buzzed once in his pocket
He didn’t check it.
He just wanted to not exist for five minutes.
But even has he curled into his hoodie, heart hammering, another part of him, the small, stubborn piece that still loved film, whispered:
They saw it.
You made something. They saw it.
And that made it even worse. Because he didn’t know if that voice meant comfort, or pressure.

The sound of approaching footsteps cut through the static in Firey’s ears. Whoever it was had no intention of slowly down for anyone else.
He didn’t look up. Not at first. He just stayed hunched over on the bench, face buried into his sleeve, heart still pounding from the leftover anxiety spiraling in his chest.
“Dude.”
The voice was unmistakable. Flat, rough around the edges, and exactly the last one Firey wanted to hear right now.
“Go away, Coiny.”
“Hard pass.”
There was a pause. A shuffle of sneakers on the path. The faint sound of a sports bottle being uncapped.
“You’re kinda killing the vibe out here.”
Firey slowly lifted his head just enough to glare. “Seriously?”
Coiny stood a few feet away, half-drinking his protein shake, half-judging the situation like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cringe. His gym was slung over one shoulder. His shirt had some kind of aggressive slogan on it.
Firey wiped his face. “You stalking me now?”
“Nah,” Coiny said. “Saw a guy face-down on a bench and thought, ‘Yo, that’s probably the dude who made a sad film and caught a frisbee with his face.’”
Firey groaned into both hands.
“You’re not helping.”
Coiny let the silence hang for a beat. Then he walked over and sat beside Firey, carefully, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to commit to it.
“You’re crying in public, dude. It’s either help or walk away. And I dunno… figured I’d try the harder one.”
Firey sniffled, resting his elbows on his knees.
“You’re not really a comforting presence, you know.”
“Feelings are for the gym,” Coiny said without missing a beat. “You deadlift through the pain.”
Firey laughed, just barely. That was so stupid.
“So what,” he asked. “You gonna lecture me on mental toughness?”
“Nah, you’re already miserable. Mission accomplished.”
The two sat in silence for a long stretch. Not friendly silence, but not hostile either. Like two people quietly trying not to admit they didn’t totally hate each other.
Then—
“HEY!”
Both of them jerked toward the sound.
A figure in a dark green jacket came power-walking across the quad like a missile.
Clipboard in hand. Pins clinking. Eyebrows locked in a permanent state of intensity.
“Are either of you registered to vote in the campus art council elections?”
“No.” Coiny said.
“I… not yet?” Firey offered, caught off guard.
“Tragic,” Taco said, scribbling notes. “I’m running on a platform of anti-sculpture monopolies and curriculum transparency. Here. QR code. Scan it.”
She didn’t wait for them to scan it before turning and speed-walking toward a group of startled graphic design majors. Her presence was like a flash flood, fast, sudden, and slightly overwhelming.
Coiny blinked. “She’s been like that since freshman year.”
“Is she always that intense?”
“Nah, just a lot going on. Taco. Decent girl.”
“..I respect the hustle.”
“Terrifies me, but yeah, respect.”
Another beat passed.
Firey’s shoulders relaxed a bit.
Coiny glanced over. “You good now? Or at least, like… medium-well?”
Firey gave a weak smile. “More like rare. But yeah. Better.”
Coiny leaned back, arms sprawled over the bench, staring up at the sky.
Firey rolled his eyes. But his breath had slowed. His hands had stopped shaking.
He didn’t feel great but he wasn’t unraveling anymore.
The bench creaked as Coiny leaned back and stretched.
“So. What now?” He asked, lazily tossing a pebble toward the nearest tree.
Before Firey could shoot back a sarcastic reply, another voice cut through the moment. Low, even, and unmistakably blunt.
“You’re blocking the sidewalk. Move.”
Both of them looked up.
Pin stood a few feet away, arms crossed, tablet pressed against her chest, earbuds dangling from her collar. Her backpack looked weighed down by something metallic, like robot or project parts. She wasn’t smiling.
Coiny grinned immediately. “Hey, it’s the Tech Queen.”
Pin gave him a look. “It’s Pin. Not the Tech Queen. And I’m not here for you.”
Her eyes flicked toward Firey.
He sat up straighter without meaning to.
“You alright?” she asked.
Firey blinked. “Uhh. Yeah. I mean, no, but kind of? I’m surviving.”
Pin nodded once. “Good. You looked like you were about to spontaneously combust on your way out of what I assume is your film class.”
Firey’s face flushed. “You,, saw that?”
“Please. Everyone saw that.” She said.
Coiny snorted. Pin ignored him.
“Anyways,” she added, “I was going to message you. But since you’re here.. Your video wasn’t terrible.”
Firey tilted his head. “Really?”
She shrugged. “The audio was bad. The color grading made me regret ever laying eyes on it. But, the timing was kind of brilliant. That’s more than most people can do on purpose.”
Firey stared. “Soooo.. You liked it?”
“No,” Pin said, already walking past them. “But I noticed it.”
Firey turned a shade of crimson. Coiny, of course, noticed.
“Whoa whoa whoah,” Coiny said, elbowing him.” Are you BLUSHING?”
“I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
“Shut up.”
Firey buried his face in his hands again. Coiny smirked.
“Hey,” he added after a beat, voice a bit softer. “She noticed you. Not just the video. YOU.”
Firey peeked out from his hands. For the first time since the class, he smiled.
Firey stayed on the bench a little longer after Pin left, watching the space she’d stood in. Coiny had drifted into silence beside him. Eventually, Firey stretched, sighed, and stood.
“I think I should head back.”
Coiny nodded in acknowledgement. “Wouldn’t want someone else to beat you to the next viral disaster.”
Firey elbows him gently. “You’re the worst.”
“You love me.”
“Absolutely not.”
But his voice had more life in it again, and Coiny didn’t call him out for it.

The afternoon sun had fallen into the golden early-evening setting. Firey walked back, across campus, phone vibrating with notifications. He ignored them. For now.
He pushed the dorm door open and immediately heard something crash inside, followed by a high-pitched scream. Gelatin had fallen off of one of his cardboard stages he made for himself to practice.
Firey dropped his bag. “You good?”
Gelatin popped his head up from behind the couch, arms full of paper scraps and glitter glue. “No! Because you said no!”
“To what?”
“To Nickel!” Gelatin said, flinging his hands. “To CampusHub! To being on the top banner! Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get a post on the front page?! Do you know how many ridiculous plays I’ve written for less?”
Firey rubbed his eyes. How did he even know about that? It’s be just his luck if they knew each other. “It’s just not what I want to be known for.”
“You are known for it!” Gelatin argued. “You made something people cared about, even if it was because you got whacked with a frisbee mid monologue. It’s yours now. OWN IT.”
“That’s not art,” Firey muttered, walking over to his desk.
“It is now!” Gelatin shouted, tossing a glue stick at the wall. “You HAD the spotlight. You could’ve said something.”
“And what then, Gel? I become a meme mascot? Some campus inside joke forever?”
“You already are!” Gelatin snapped. “You just refused to take control of it!”
The silence hit hard after that.
Gelatin stared at him, breathing fast. Then scoffed, grabbed his bag, and headed for the door.
“I’ve got rehearsal. Don’t wait up.”
“Wait Gel I’m sor-”
The door slammed shut.
Firey stood in the middle of the dorm, glitter stuck to his hoodie, and the late-afternoon quiet creeping in around the noise Gelatin left behind.
He sat down on his bed, ran a hand through his hair, then picked up his phone. Nickels message thread was still open.
“Maybe I made a mistake.”
He didn’t send it. But he didn’t close it either.
He stared at the unsent message for a long time. His thumb hovered over the screen like the weight of a whole decision was balanced on that blue tiny arrow. He could still hear Gelatin’s voice echoing in his head.
He exhaled slowly.
Firey: “Maybe I made a mistake.”
A full minute passed.
Then two.
Then…
Nickel is typing…
The dots blinked on and off. Stopped. Started again.
And then the reply landed:
Nickel: “You did. 😎 Meet me on the roof in 10. Bring your camera.”
Firey blinked. “Oh god,” he muttered. “What am I walking into now?”
But even as he groaned, he was already grabbing his camera. Something felt shifted in him.
Whatever it meant, he was going.

The wind bit a little harder on the rooftop this time.
Firey climbed the ladder with less hesitation than before, feet finding the memory stress inducing. The sky was darker now and the campus below flickered with windows and phone screens and half-dimmed lights.
Nickel was already there.
He leaned against the same rusted vent as last time, tablet in one hand, cold brew in the other, like he hadn’t moved since their last meeting.
“You came,” he said without looking up.
“You told me to.” Firey answered.
“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to. Not everyone had the stomach for attention.”
Firey stepped closer, his camera bouncing slightly against his chest. “What do you want?”
Nickel finally turned to him, smirking just a little too practiced.
“It’s not what I want. What you want. The spotlight’s already on you, might as well point it somewhere.”
“You’re talking in riddles.”
“I’m talking in metrics,” Nickel said, tapping on his tablet. “Clicks. Shares. Engagement. You hit twelve thousand views this morning. People are parodying your video. Somebody made a remix of your monologue over sad violin music.”
Firey winced. “That physically hurts.”
“Welcome to the internet.”
Nickel pulled up a new tab. A mock-up of the CampusHub homepage glowed on the screen.
At the top: a banner.
Firey’s face, half-shadowed, overlaid with dramatic typography.
“Art of Accident”
Subtext: An exclusive interview with the voice behind “a film about being misunderstood.”
Firey’s stomach turned.
“You wrote this without asking me?”
“I wrote it assuming you’d do the smart thing,” Nickel said. “And to be clear, this isn’t exploitation, it’s framing. You get to take control of the narrative. Your call.”
Firey hesitated.
The smart thing would be to walk away. Shut the whole thing down. But somewhere in the back of his mind, that old voice whispered: What if this is your only chance?
Nickel raised an eyebrow. “So? Do we have a deal or no?”
Firey swallowed. HARD.
He looked over the campus, impossibly alive, then back at the screen.
Then nodded.
“Yeah.” He said.
“Let’s do it.”
Even if it felt wrong.
Even if his gut screamed not to.
Even if, deep down, he already knew this wasn’t going to end well.

Chapter Text

By the time he left the rooftop, the campus had already begun to change around him. It was subtle at first, the kind of shift you feel in your bones before your mind realizes. Like the stillness before a thunderstorm.
He could feel it, an invisible pulse of attention moving through the air. It followed him wherever he went. In the quad, a cluster of students had gathered around a makeshift easel propped against a gnarled tree trunk. Fiery’s chest tightened. The painting was crude, almost cartoonish, bold brush strokes exaggerated his features into a caricature. It was unmistakably him, framed with a crown of autumn leaves.
A pair of freshmen caught sight of him and broke off from the crowd, eager to call out.
“Pain is temporary! Symbolism is forever!” they shouted in unison, their voices bouncing off of the walls.
Fiery’s cheeks flushed hot. He offered a weak smiled and hurried past, wishing he could disappear into the shadows beneath the leaves.
Near the dining hall, the sharp ding of the coffee shop’s order bell was punched with a mischievous grin from the barista. Without even asking his name, she slid a freshly baked muffin toward him.
“Leaf Guy discount,” she said with a wink.
He blinked, caught off guard, then accepted the muffin like it was a fragile trophy.
Everywhere he went, the whispers and stares trailed him like a ghost.
“Leaf Guy!” shouted a voice from across the hall, clear and loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.
“Yo, Firey! When’s the next monologue?”
His phone buzzed nonstop, notifications flooding in faster than he could keep up. Tags, mentions, reposts, videos. People lip-syncing his awkward monologue, creating reaction compilations, photoshopping his face onto ancient statues, movie posters, even superhero comics with cheesy catchphrases.
The world felt like a rapidly spinning snowglobe threatening to crack.
His breath caught in his throat, panic prickling at his fingertips.
Seeking refuge, he slipped into a quiet corner behind the student union, where the scent of freshly cut grass mixed with distant hits of coffee and baked goods. He sank onto a cold metal bench, his camera resting behind him.
His fingers trembled as he scrolled through the endless streams of notifications.
Some of them warmed him:
“Love the honesty!”
“This hits me deeper than I expected.”
“Thanks for making my day.”
Others stung with sharp edges:
“Leaf Guy = Campus Clown”
“What even is this midsummer nightmare?”
A particularly embarrassing clip showed him tripping over his own feet while setting up his tripod, thousands of views and counting. His face was a mix of determination and awkwardness, captions "Symbolism is failing.”
A forced a smile, but the weight in his chest tightened.
Pocketing his phone, Fiery leaned back against the metal bench, eyes scanning the campus. He was everywhere now. Invisible but Impossible to ignore.
He stood up and crossed the quad, student caught sight of him and broke into chants.
One kid proudly sported a homemade t-shirt emblazoned with a crudely drawn leaf and Firey’s smirking face. Another shyly approached, phone in hand.
“Can I get a selfie?”
Firey managed a small, awkward smile, nodding.
Leafy appeared beside him, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.
“You should smile more!”
Fiery nodded absently, feeling the pressure tighten around him.
Nickel appeared, phone in hand, eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Check this out!” Nickel said, swooping through stats. “Thousands of views, shares, engagement rates through the roof!”
He grinned, almost cruelly.
Fiery forced his lips into a smile, though it felt thin and brittle.
He didn’t notice the shadow just beyond the courtyard’s edge.
A figure lingered, concealed beneath a hoodie pulled low to their face. They watched every step, every breath, every moment.
Silent and waiting.
Fiery’s eyes flicked toward the shadow at the courtyard’s edge, but it was gone. Just trees.
He turned back to Nickel, nodded stiffly, and mumbled something about needing to work. Without waiting for a response, he slipped away through the side door.

The common room was a mess.
Golden light filtered in through the windows, warm with the late afternoon sun. Dust floated, yet undisturbed until Firey waved his hand through them while rearranging mic cables for the fifth time. They tangled again anyway. A tripod leaned against a beanbag chair at the wrong angle. A half-full coffee mug teetered on the edge of the cluttered side table beside his laptop, and somewhere under it all, the script sat.
Firey stared at the screen. His fingers hovered over the delete key. He’d written and rewritten the same line three times: “What makes something stick with you?” It was supposed to be the emotional hook. The turning point, but now it felt stupid and forced.
He sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, wishing he could crawl inside the script and rewrite himself while he was at it.
Across the room, Gelatin sat cross-legged on the carpet, surrounded by a growing collection of leaf puppets, scissors, glue, and a few sticks that looked suspiciously stolen from the landscaping outside. He hadn’t said a word since he walked in. Yesterday, actually, since Firey told him,, or rather snapped at him, about how he didn’t want to become the college’s joke.
He was making puppet number five. Its eyes were glued on crooked and its leaf arms dropped, limp. But it sat upright, like it was still trying.
Firey felt a pinch of guilt twist in his chest. He wanted to say something. How do you say sorry for hurting someone who was just trying to help you be less alone?
He didn’t get the chance.
The door swung open with a dry creak.
Pin strode in like she’d been summoned by the god of deadlines. Her backpack hit the couch with a thud and she scanned the room.
“...Wow.” She said, slowly. “This is even worse than I expected.”
Firey blinked, caught mid-tangle with a coiled XLR cable. “Worse than—?”
“Your levels are garbage,” she interrupted, stepping over a rogue boom mic. “Fix your EQ curve.”
“Hi to you too.” He muttered.
She ignored him, kneeling beside the nearest monitor. “Is this your new film you texted me about?” She scrubbed through the timeline with two fingers. “This is peaking like crazy. Your noise floor’s inconsistent. And what even is this transition? It looks like a PowerPoint wipe.”
Firey winced. “Okay, okay, you’ve made your point.”
“Have I?” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Because I haven't even opened the audio folder yet.”
Firey flopped onto the rug. “Go ahead. Roast the whole thing. Might as well light it on fire while you’re at it.”
She looked at him for a moment, longer than she usually did. And her tone, surprisingly softened.
“I’m not here to roast you, Firey. I’m here to help you make something that doesn’t suck.”
He snorted. “That’s… encouraging.”
But she sat down beside him anyway, brushing aside a sheet of scribbled notes. “Let’s walk through it. Show me your worst scene.”
He did. Reluctantly. It was an awkward sat-in-silence monologue, where he talked about leaves falling off trees and change being necessary and blah blah blah. Pin watched the whole thing without reacting. Not even a smirk.
When it ended, she leaned back on her hands.
“Okay, it’s not as bad as I thought.”
Firey blinked. “That’s probably the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it.” She gave a half-smile. “But I mean it. You just need to stop trying so hard to be meaningful.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” she said, scooting closer to the editing controls, “you don’t have to be profound. Just be specific. Talk about your leaves. The real stuff, not the metaphor.”
He frowned, thinking. “The real stuff isn’t interesting.”
“It is,” she said, adjusting the timeline. “Because it’s honest. Everyone’s trying to sound important these days. The only people who actually hit are the ones who stop performing.”
That silenced him.
A long moment passed as they both focused on the screen. She showed him how to rebalance the audio on a voiceover. He cleaned up a jump cut. They argued briefly about whether a handheld shot was charming or nauseating. Somehow, their flow became easy.
Behind him, Gelatin still sat making puppets, quiet and unreadable. But when Firey glanced over again, one of the puppets had moved,, closer now. It had a new smile drawn on it with a black marker. A little crooked, a little sad.
Firey looked at it. Then at Gelatin. The other boy wasn’t looking at him, but Firey nodded anyway, more to himself than anyone else.
By the time Pin stood up and stretched, Firey’s script had more highlights than red lines. His video timeline looked cleaner. His chest felt a little lighter.
“Thanks,” he said softly, watching her pack up.
She paused at the door. “Just.. make it yours, Firey. That’s what people care about.”
Then she was gone.
The golden light had faded, leaving shadows curling in the corners of the room. FIrey sat back, exhaled, and finally, finally hit play.
This time, the footage didn’t make him cringe.
Firey lingered in the common room long after Pin left, the faint warmth of their collaboration still hanging in the air. He packed up slowly. Coiling cables, tucking the script into his bag, brushing crumbs off the mic foam. Outside, the campus lights blinked on, scattering light across the walkways. Laughter drifted in from somewhere near the quad.
He stepped into the cool evening air, crossing the path toward the auditorium. Students filed in under the marquee for the late-night showcase, their chatter blending into a low hum. Firey adjusted the strap on his bag and slipped inside, hugging the wall as the house lights began to dim.

The student film showcase had been going for hours by the time Firey arrived. The lobby smelled faintly of buttered popcorn and warm soda syrup, the hum of voices so constant it felt like the air itself was vibrating.
His name was printed in bold at the bottom of the program taped to the door: Closer: “Detachment” by Firey Blaze. The words landed in his gut like a stone, the last slot of the night, the one they all walk away remembering, for better or worse.
He kept his hood up as he passed through the lobby. Two students standing near the concessions counter recognized him immediately; he caught the way their eyes widened, then narrowed in mischief. One of them grinned and muttered something to the other guy, just loud enough for him to hear: “Leaf Guy.”
Firey moved faster toward the entrance to the theater.
Inside, the room was half-lit, a low glow spilling from the screen as the current film played. He scanned the aisles for an empty seat and found one near the back wall, two rows from the exit. From here, he could slip out quickly if things went badly.
The films kept rolling. Comedy shorts with punchline endings got loud, easy laughs. Abstract montages of paint dripping on glass and whispered narration earned polite hums. Firey tried to watch, but his gaze kept drifting. not to the screen, but to the aisle along the far wall.
Someone was standing there.
They weren’t in the main crowd, just far enough into the shadows that the dim light didn’t reach their face. Hoodie pulled low, hands in their pockets, body still. They didn’t fidget or shift weight like someone waiting for a friend. They just watched.
At first, Firey told himself it was nothing. Maybe a volunteer. Maybe a student waiting for a slot later in the program. But every time he glanced back, the figure’s head was tilted slightly toward him.
The announcer finally stepped onstage, his upbeat voice breaking the heavy quiet that hung after the previous film’s ending. “Alright, everyone, last film of the night! Detachment, directed by Firey Blaze.”
A ripple of chatter moved through the room. Someone in the middle row muttered, “Oh, it’s the Leaf Guy thing,” and a few people chuckled.
The lights dimmed completely. The screen filled with his first shot: a greyscale park bench under a canopy of overcast sky. The sound of wind pushed through leaves, hollow and distant.
"Change doesn’t wait for your permission," his voiceover began, calm but tight. "It just… arrives. And if you’re not ready, it leaves you behind."
The footage moved from the park to a coffee cup rolling across wet asphalt, to lamplight reflecting in puddles. His narration was slow, deliberate, as if each sentence had to be carried out by him. He could feel the entire audience breathing together, hundreds of eyes fixed on his work.
In the corner of his vision, the hooded figure leaned forward slightly. Still in the aisle. Still watching.
The final shot came; A single leaf trembling at the edge of a storm drain, water swirling beneath it. His voice faded away.
Black screen.
Silence.
One second. Two. Three.
Then applause.
It started small, then spread. A few cheers broke through. Firey’s grip on his knees loosened, his breath finally letting go of the tight coil in his chest.
And then—
A slow, deliberate clap. Not in rhythm with the others. Slower, heavier, a sound meant to be heard. It cut through the applause.
The crowd’s mood shifted, some people laughed awkwardly, others glanced around to see who’d done it. Firey’s heart hammered.
He turned toward the aisle, empty. The hooded figure was gone.
The house lights came back up. The audience stood, gathering bags and programs, their conversations mixing into a shapeless wall of noise. Firey stayed in his seat, frozen, trying to spot the heckler among the moving bodies. No luck.
When he finally stood, he avoided the main lobby where people were spilling out in noisy clumps. Instead, he took the side exit into the night.
The air outside was sharp, cool enough to sting the inside of his nose. Streetlights cast yellow light across the empty quad. His shoes scraped against the concrete, each step sounding louder than it should.
It wasn’t until he was halfway back to his dorm that he noticed a faint shuffle behind him. Not close, just far enough back that it could’ve been coincidence. When he turned to look, the path was empty.
By the time he reached his room, Firey shut the door behind him with more force than he meant to. The muffled applause from the showcase was still ringing in his ears, though it was the heckler’s claps that stuck sharper.
He tossed his bag onto the chair, kicked off his shoes, and sat heavily on the bed.
Buzz.
His phone lit up with a notification from CampusHub.
It was a post from @LeafLiar.
A still frame from his final shot. The leaf, the drain, the pull of the water.
Caption:
“Looks good, says nothing.”
Across the room, the camera he’d used earlier sat on the shelf, still pointed vaguely in his direction. The tiny red LED blinked lazily in the dark.
He frowned. He didn’t remember leaving it on. He crossed the room, picked it up, and checked the battery. Low, but not dead. The recording light still going. He flipped through the menu, half-expecting it to be in standby.
It wasn’t.
Footage counter rolling. Timestamp: started while he was at the showcase. He set it down slower this time, the blinking red dot seeming brighter now, like it knew he was watching it back. The room felt smaller.
Outside, someone’s shadow passed briefly across the frosted glass of his window. Too short to be Gelatin, too still to be casual.
By the time he got to the window and looked out, the walkway was empty.

Fiery didn’t remember deciding to leave.
One moment he was still in his room, staring at the blinking red light on the camera. The next, his hands were on the doorknob, and cold night air slapped against his face like it had to keep him moving. The walls had been closing in ever since that red light started blinking. The showcase, the heckler, the hate page, the camera that seemed to have its own will, it all flew around in his head.
By the time he realized he’d grabbed his jacket, his feet were already carrying him across campus.
The night air was cold enough to sting. It pulled his shoulders up and made his breath cloud in front of him, but it was better than the stillness of his dorm. The campus stretched out in quiet lines lit by the lampposts. His shoes crunched on the gravel, the sound being too loud in the emptiness.
He found himself drifting toward the edge of the courtyard, where an old iron bench sat half-hidden under bare branches. He sank onto it, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His hands rubbed over his face, pressing into his eyes like he could rub the images and the noise away.
A voice broke through the fog.
“Twice in one week? This is becoming a pattern.”
Firey glanced up, and there was Coiny. Hands in his hoodie pocket and a smirk tugging at his mouth. No asking if he could sit. He just dropped down beside Firey, their thighs brushing immediately in the small space. The air suddenly felt warmer, which was a contrast to the cold metal under them.
“You look like you got into a fight with your own brain and lost,” Coiny said. He pulled something from his pocket,, a granola bar, slightly crumpled and offered it over. “Here. Before you starve to dead, you look about halfway there.”
Firey stared for a beat, then took it without opening it. “Thanks.”
“People suck,” Coiny said simply. Then, after a pause: “I don’t. Not usually.”
“You smacked me with your door.”
“You stood in FRONT of my door.”
That got him a quiet, unwilling laugh. It was small, but it broke through the tightness in Firey’s chest. Coiny noticed immediately, tilting his head with mock pride.
“See? Still got it,” he said, and bumped Firey’s shoulder with his own. The bump lingered, shoulder against shoulder, just long enough to feel deliberate.
They didn’t speak for a while. Coiny leaned back against the bench, legs stretched out, his arm brushing Firey’s whenever either of them shifted. There was a strange comfort in not having to fill the silence. Firey’s knee bumped against Coiny’s once, then again, and Coiny didn’t move away.
“Guess I’m just collecting breakdowns this semester.” Coiny said after a little bit, voice softer. “You uh.. Wanna talk about it, or..?”
Firey shook his head. “Not right now.”
Coiny didn’t push. He let his hand rest near Firey’s on the bench, close enough that their knuckles occasionally touched.
Footsteps crunched across the path behind them. Firey turned just as Pin came into view, a robotics kit tucked under one arm. She slowed when she spotted them, eyes flicking between the two before she stopped in front of the bench.
“You looked better in your last film,” she said, tone flat but not unkind. “Still too much voiceover, though.”
Firey blinked, unsure if she was joking or not. Before he could answer, she added, “And.. I watched it twice.”
The words hit harder than he expected. His ears felt warm. “Oh.”
“If you want,” she said, adjusting her grip on the kit. “I’ve got better sound equipment you could borrow. Might cleans things up.”
Coiny grinned instantly. “Wow. Big leap from ‘You looked better in your last film’ to ‘Here, have my gear.”
“Shut up,” Firey muttered, though he was smiling now, too.
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Coiny said with mock innocence. “You like her way more than before.”
Firey turned back toward Pin, watching as she walked away down the path. The faintest thread of something, hope, maybe, pulled at him.
When she disappeared into the dark, Coiny shifted, his knee knocking into Firey’s again. This time, Firey nudged back, the motion slow and deliberate. Coiny smirked but didn’t say anything.
Coiny leaned back on the bench, stretching one leg across the space in front of them. His elbow nudged Firey lightly. “Well, that went… well?”
Firey shot him a skeptical look. “You’re not supposed to make commentary while I’m emotionally compromised.”
Coiny grinned. “Why not? That’s when I’m the most helpful.”
“Helpful?” Firey raised an eyebrow. “You mean snarky?”
“Oh tomato, tomato.” Coiny said, bumping Firey’s shoulder again. This one was softer, lighter, but lingered just long enough.
Firey smirked despite himself. “You always make it sound like you’re better than me at everything.”
“I am better than you at everything,” Coiny said instantly, puffing his chest out. “Including subtle emotional manipulation..”
“You call that subtle?” Firey laughed, shaking his head. “It’s a full-on sledgehammer.”
Coiny nudged him again, closer this time. “You know, it’s kinda funny seeing you two talk. Me and Pin used to hang out a lot, remember? Well… I guess you wouldn’t remember. Because I never told you.”
Firey blinked, caught off guard. “Wait… you and Pin?”
“Yeah,” Coiny said, grinning at his reaction. “Back before the thing with the showcase last semester, and before the robotics kids got competitive with everyone else in the school. We used to grab coffee after class, sometimes work on dumb projects together. She built this tiny robot once that could deliver snacks. I helped program it to flip people off.”
Firey stared at him, still processing. “You’re telling me you and Pin were like… friends? I thought you didn’t know eachother. You said-” “She wanted to keep it hidden, but I doubt you’d snitch.” Coiny said, leaning back to their shoulders brushed. “We weren’t besties, but we hung out. Then everyone started getting weird about certain competitions and,, boom,, different sides of the fence. Haven’t had any contact like that in ages. “ Firey looked away toward the path ahead, chewing on the thought. “Huh… I didn’t know you guys ever even knew each other.”
Coiny shrugged, the smirk on his face softer now. “Guess it just never came up. But seeing you two trade comments back there? Made me remember it. She’s not so bad when she’s not in a full robot-nerd mode.”
“Wow, I feel like I’m learning secret campus history or something,” Firey said, still surprised.
Coiny laughed. Yeah, well… lucky for you, I’m on good terms with her now. And with you. I mean, look at us. Bench, cold night, moral support… kinda perfect if you ask me.”
Firey nudged him with his knee, half teasing. “You’re lucky I’m not charging you for emotional labor.”
Coiny grinned. “Please, you love it.”
Their hands brushed as they adjusted on the bench, and for the first time all night, Firey felt the tension in his chest ease, though now, a new curiosity itches at the back of his mind about what else Coiny had never mentioned.
Coiny glanced sideways, a grin twisting into something a little more pointed. “Y’know… She might’ve had a bit of a crush back then.”
Firey’s head snapped toward him. “What?”
“Mm-hm,” Coiny said casually, as if discussing the weather. “Nothing serious, but yeah. You should’ve seen the way she’d light up when she thought I was showing up to robots just to see her.”
Firey shifted uncomfortably. “You’re making that up.”
“Am I?” Coiny leaned back, smirking like he had all the time in the world. “Guess you’ll never know.”
Firey turned away, ears warm, muttering. “You’re the worst.”
Firey stayed quiet after that, staring at the faint fog from his breath. Coiny didn’t push further, but that stupid smirk never left his face. Like he knew exactly what he’d done.
Eventually, the cold started to sink in for real. Firey shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling the weight of his phone there, the half-finished script he’d written some time ago finally dawning on him, and… something else. That nagging tangle of thoughts Coiny had just planted.
They stood, shoulders brushing as they headed back down the path toward campus.
The crunch of gravel underfoot gave way to the buzzing of the main areas ahead, where voices and laughter spilled faintly from somewhere close by. It was warmer there, not from the air, but from the press of life happening out of sight.
Firey felt it before he saw it: the subtle shift in the night, the kind of energy that meant something was going on.
The noise from the street swelled as they stepped into the campus quad. Students drifted past in groups. some laughing too loud, some carrying steaming cups of coffee, others vanishing into dark walkways. Firey checked his phone out of habit.
Another LeafLiar notification. Ugh. He thumbed it open.
"Nice attempt at acting deep today. The bench shots are chef’s kiss cringe."
Underneath, a blurry photo of him sitting with Coiny, taken from a distance.
His stomach sank. That wasn’t just from today. It was minutes ago.
He glanced over his shoulder. Nothing unusual. Just the flow of campus life. But his eyes caught on a hooded figure, standing under one of the lampposts near the vending machines. The person was still, head tilted slightly down, face unreadable.
The post had to be a coincidence. Right?
The next one came before they’d even made it halfway across the quad.
"Bet you’ll cut the part where you sound out of breath. Can’t have the world knowing you’re not flawless, huh?"
Attached: a short, shaky clip. Unedited footage from his project.
Firey’s chest tightened. That draft was on his laptop, in his room.
Coiny said something, probably a joke, but Firey barely heard it. His brain was roaring with questions he didn’t want answers to.
They parted ways outside the dorm rooms, and Firey lingered a moment. That was when he saw the hood again, this time outside through the window by the bike racks near his building. The figure was angled toward him, unmoving, until a group of students passed by. When Firey looked again, they were gone.
By the time he got to his room, his phone buzzed again.
"You bite your lip when you’re stuck on a line. Always have. Cute."
His pulse was a drumbeat now. Someone close. Someone watching.
Firey slammed the dorm door so hard it banged against the wall, making Leafy jump. She was curled up on the couch with her laptop, legs tucked under her, and froze mid-scroll.
“You think this is funny?!” His voice was already too loud for the small space.
Leafy’s eyes darted up. “What? What’s your problem—”
“DON’T play dumb with me!” He stalked forward, dropping his bag with a heavy thud that made the floor shake. “You’re the one who leaked my draft footage.”
Her face twisted in confusion. “What are you even talking about?!”
“Don’t you DARE act like you don’t know!” He jabbed a finger toward her like it was a weapon. “Who ELSE would have access? Who else even CARES enough to dig through my files?”
“Firey, I wouldn’t—”
“WOULDN’T WHAT?!” He cut her off, voice cracking from how hard he was pushing it. “WOULDN’T EMBARRASS ME? WOULDN’T POST LITTLE DIGS FOR THE WHOLE CAMPUS TO LAUGH AT? BECAUSE YOU’VE BEEN ON MY CASE ABOUT THIS PROJECT SINCE DAY ONE!”
Leafy slammed her laptop shut. “BECAUSE I’M TRYING TO HELP YOU!”
He laughed, sharp and humorless. “HELP?! THIS is help? Making me look like a JOKE? Putting my unfinished work online so EVERYONE can tear it apart?”
Her voice rose to match his. “I DIDN’T POST ANYTHING! You think I’ve got time to sit around running some stupid hate page about you?!”
“YEAH, I DO! You’ve been hovering over every little thing I do—”
“BECAUSE YOU KEEP MESSING UP!” she shot back, her eyes flashing.
He stepped closer, their faces inches apart now. “You’re the ONLY one who knows this stuff. The only one who would know what was in that footage. The only one who’d even care enough to weaponize it!”
“That’s NOT caring, that’s called STABBING SOMEONE IN THE BACK,” she snarled.
“Well, guess what?” He threw his arms up. “CONGRATS. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. YOU DID IT.”
“OH, YOU ARE SUCH A—”
“OKAY.”
The word snapped through the air, cutting off both voices at once. Gelatin, who had been lying on his bed pretending not to listen, was now sitting up, his phone abandoned. His brows were drawn tight, eyes flicking between them like he’d just walked into a war zone.
“What the HELL is going on here?”
Both of them whipped around toward Gelatin, but Firey’s glare locked on him like a target.
“Oh, look who decided to speak up,” Firey said, voice dripping venom. “The peanut gallery finally has something to say.”
Gelatin raised his hands. “I’m just trying to—”
“TRYING to what? Play the peacemaker? Like you’re not part of the reason I’m in this mess?” Firey stepped toward him now, shifting his fury toward Gelatin.
Gelatin blinked. “What the hell are you—”
“You think I didn’t notice?” Firey’s voice was rising again, the words sharp and fast. “You’ve been sitting there all week, pretending to mind your own business while you run your mouth to everyone about how ‘Firey’s losing it,’ ‘Firey’s obsessed with his dumb little project.’”
Gelatin’s jaw tightened. “I never—”
“YES, YOU DID!” Firey shouted, cutting him off. “Don’t even try to deny it. You’ve been snickering behind my back since the day we started this semester. You think I didn’t hear you laughing when my footage popped up online?”
Leafy tried to interject. “Firey, this isn’t—”
“SHUT UP, LEAFY!” His voice cracked from the force. “This isn’t just about you anymore.”
Gelatin sat up straighter, shoulders squared now. “So what, you’re gonna pin this all on me?!”
Firey’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “Why not? You’re the one who’s been DYING to see me crash and burn! Every time I screw something up, you’re right there watching like it’s a damn reality show. You’ve been WAITING for me to fail, Gelatin. Admit it!”
“That’s not—”
“ADMIT IT.”
Gelatin slammed his hands on his knees. “You are such a paranoid, self-absorbed—”
“YEAH? And you’re a jealous, two-faced little leech who’s been riding everyone else’s work since the day you got here!” Firey’s words were like acid now. “You couldn’t make something of your own if your life depended on it, so you just hang around, smile, and steal credit when it’s convenient!”
Gelatin’s face went red.
“BOTH OF YOU, SHUT THE HELL UP!” Leafy’s voice cut through, furious now. “You’re acting like children—”
Firey wheeled on her again. “No, Leafy, don’t you start pretending you’re above this. You’ve been feeding him crap about me for weeks, haven’t you?”
Her face went pale. “What—?”
“DON’T LIE!” He pointed between them, his chest heaving. “The two of you! Laughing about my work, rolling your eyes whenever I bring up my film, acting like I’m some pathetic joke. WELL, CONGRATS! You got exactly what you wanted.”
For a moment, the room was dead silent except for Firey’s ragged breathing.
Gelatin’s voice was low now, dangerous. “You know what, Firey? If you’re so convinced we’re all against you… maybe we should be.”
Firey’s laugh was sharp and bitter, echoing off the walls. “Oh, maybe we should be? IS THAT WHAT YOU’RE GOING TO DO, GELATIN? TURN ON ME AFTER EVERYTHING?”
Gelatin’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been acting like a drama queen from the day you walked in here, let’s be honest. You’re paranoid, controlling, and you drag everyone else into your little catastrophe. Maybe it’s time you see what it’s like to have people actually fight back.”
Leafy’s mouth opened, then shut again, the tension radiating off her in waves.
“You’re insane!” Firey shouted, jabbing a finger at Gelatin. “You don’t get to lecture me about paranoia when YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S BEEN MOCKING ME EVERY DAMN STEP OF THE WAY!”
“Mocking you?!” Gelatin shot back, stepping closer. “I haven’t touched a single post, Firey! Unlike someone else in this room, I don’t run around stealing drafts and posting them online!”
Firey’s entire body shook now, rage coiling tight in his chest. “DON’T EVEN TRY TO ACT INNOCENT!” He whirled toward Leafy, voice raw. “You. Leafy. YOU DID THIS. YOU POSTED MY DRAFTS. YOU’VE BEEN FEEDING HIM, FEEDING THEM, EVERYTHING I DID!”
Leafy flinched, shaking her head. “I… I didn’t—”
“LIAR!” Firey bellowed, throwing his hands in the air. “EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM IS LYING TO ME! YOU THINK I’M PARANOID? YOU THINK I’M CRAZY? WELL GUESS WHAT, I’M NOT! I SEE WHAT YOU’RE DOING!”
Gelatin’s hands shot up, defensive now. “Firey, calm down! You’re making it worse for yourself—”
“CALM DOWN?!” Firey screamed, voice cracking. “I’VE BEEN WATCHING YOU TWO, AND I KNOW! EVERY LITTLE SMIRK, EVERY SNIDE COMMENT, EVERY DAMN TIME YOU THINK YOU’RE FUNNY AT MY EXPENSE!”
Leafy’s eyes welled. “You don’t know—”
“I KNOW!” Firey roared, taking a step forward so close they could feel the heat from his chest. “And now I find my private work online, and you have the nerve to sit there like it’s nothing? LIKE IT’S NOTHING?”
Gelatin’s jaw tightened, his own anger flickering dangerously. “Maybe you should stop acting like the world owes you respect! Maybe that’s why—”
“WHY?!” Firey yelled, cutting him off. “WHY AM I THE BAD GUY HERE?! BECAUSE I CARE ABOUT MY WORK?! BECAUSE I TRY?!”
Leafy flinched, biting her lip. Gelatin’s face was red, his fists tightening at his sides. The room was hot with tension, every word was a matchstick threatening to ignite the floorboards beneath them.
Firey’s breathing was ragged, eyes bright with anger, voice trembling with fury and exhaustion. “I trusted you! BOTH OF YOU! AND YOU TURNED IT INTO A JOKE! EVERYTHING I’VE DONE, EVERYTHING I’VE TRIED TO CREATE. YOU’VE MADE IT A WEAPON AGAINST ME!”
For a moment, the room went utterly silent. Even the hum of the dorm’s lights seemed to pause.
Then Leafy’s voice, small but sharp, broke through: “Firey… maybe you’re overreacting—”
“OVERREACTING?!” Firey yelled, louder than ever. “OVERREACTING?! YOU THINK HAVING MY LIFE TURNED UPSIDE DOWN, MY WORK EXPLODED ONLINE, AND PEOPLE MOCKING ME IS OVERREACTING?!”
Gelatin’s lips pressed into a thin line, and his voice dropped, icy: “Maybe you deserve to see what it’s like to be on the outside for once.”
Firey’s head snapped toward him. “DESERVE? YOU THINK I DESERVE THIS?!”
Firey’s chest heaved, fists clenching at his sides. “I’m done!” he yelled, voice raw, shaking from the pressure building in his chest. “I’m DONE with all of this. DONE with the jokes, DONE with the whispers, DONE with YOU!”
Leafy flinched, taking a step back. “Firey—”
“NO!” he shouted, spinning toward the door. “I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to hear excuses, I don’t want to hear apologies, I don’t want anything from either of you!”
Gelatin stepped forward, trying to grab his arm. “Firey, wait—”
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Firey barked, shoving past him and throwing the door open. The cold air hit him like a physical wall, but he didn’t stop. He ran down the hallway, fists clenching, thoughts spinning faster than his feet could carry him.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t check it. Couldn’t. Every vibration felt like another accusation, another secret exposure.
By the quad, the usual campus noise had dulled into a distant buzz. Firey’s eyes darted to every shadow, every movement, every hooded figure passing by. Was that the same person from earlier? Or just a trick of the light?
Another LeafLiar notification appeared on his phone. He didn’t even look, but he knew. It would be petty, precise, and personal. Something only someone who knew him intimately could post.
He pressed himself against a lamppost, heart bumping in his chest. His mind replayed the argument, the accusations, the betrayal he felt radiating from both of them. Everything he’d trusted felt hollow. Everything he’d built felt like it could be ripped away in an instant.
Every corner of the campus now seemed to watch him. Every figure in a hoodie, every student lingering too long on their phone, every flicker of movement in the shadows made him flinch.
Firey’s hands shook as he finally pulled out his phone, thumbs hovering over the screen. He didn’t want to see it, but part of him needed to.
The hoodie ahead didn’t move. Just lingered..
He swallowed, gripping his phone so tightly it dug into his palms. Every notification, every post, every whispered comment in the hallway became a thread tying him tighter to something that was meant to be a joke, suffocating him with paranoia.
And in the back of his mind, he knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Firey staggered through the dimly lit campus paths, gripping his phone like a lifeline. Every shadow felt alive, every flicker of movement was a potential threat. The wind whooshed through the trees, carrying the hum of distant campus lights, and each sound made his chest tighten.
Near the empty library, he froze. A figure stood partially under the glow of a lamppost, hood pulled low. Silent and calm.
Before he could speak, the figure stepped forward and extended a small metallic object toward him. A USB stick. No words. No explanation. Just a steady hand.
Firey’s hands shook as he took it. He wanted to run, to scream, to demand answers, but the tension in the air pinned him in place. He looked up, finally noticing a small badge clipped to the figure’s hoodie. In faint, scratched lettering, it read: “Teardrop.” That was all. A name. Nothing else. Firey’s mind refused to process anything beyond that.
He didn’t go back to the dorm. Not tonight. Not with all the tension there at the moment. Instead, he found a nearby table, far enough from any foot traffic and sat down. His fingers trembled as he plugged the USB into his laptop from his bag.
Folders. Files. Logs. A flood of data that immediately felt like a confession and a trap.
The first document opened: Metadata tracing LeafLiar’s posts. Timestamps, IP addresses, server logs. Every post is meticulously mapped. Every interaction he had assumed was random, now linked together.
Next: Admin logs. Nickel’s account access, edits, approvals, all laid bare. Every post, every comment he had assumed was coincidence, carefully curated.
Then: Monetization details for “Leaf Guy” merch. Screenshots, sales stats, ad revenue. Proof that someone had been profiting from his identity.
Finally, a project doc titled: “Leaf Guy: The Campus Legend”, from Nickel’s account. Screenshots, diagrams, strategies, schedules, an entire project built around him. Every move, every post, every reaction, perfectly orchestrated.
Firey’s chest tightened. His stomach dropped. His hands shook.
“He was behind it,” he whispered, voice barely audible. His trust, his work, even his identity had been weaponized.
The figure of Teardrop remained a few feet away, arms crossed, silent. One slow, deliberate nod. Enough to confirm everything Firey had feared, without speaking a single word.
Firey sank into the chair near the table, eyes wide on the screen, heart thumping in his chest. His mind raced. Every post, every petty insult, every laugh at his expense, it had all been planned.
Nickel.
The name repeated in his mind like a curse. He had been behind it all. The stolen footage. The public mockery. The merch. The social media attacks.
And Teardrop, whoever this person was, they had been waiting at the perfect moment to give him the evidence he needed. A silent witness.
Firey’s hands clenched around the edge of the laptop, knuckles white. Every instinct screamed that the night had shifted. There was no returning to normal. Not tonight. Not ever.
The chair felt cold beneath him, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the screen, the files, and the crushing realization of betrayal. He leaned closer, staring at the evidence, the name “Nickel” burned into his thoughts.
And in the shadows nearby, Teardrop remained.
Firey’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling. His laptop felt heavier than usual, a physical weight pressing down with every failed login attempt. He typed in his CampusHub credentials, each keystroke, tense, hoping desperately that the lockout was a mistake.
Access denied.
He tried again. Locked out. The words glared back at him from the screen, sharp and unyielding, like a verdict he couldn’t argue with. He slammed the keyboard with a sharp snap of frustration, the sound echoing off the empty quad area. His chest tightened, his breath coming shallow and fast. Panic sat in his stomach.
Desperation surged. He scrolled through his old posts, clicking frantically on drafts, trying to delete anything he could. But every attempt was blocked. Permissions denied. Every post, every video, every comment, frozen and public, but worst of all, it was all untouchable. The proof of his life, his creativity, had been stolen and broadcast, and he couldn’t earn it back.
He snatched his phone from his pocket and dialed Nickel. Each ring sounded like a hammer against his skull. Voicemail. He hung up and tried again. Voicemail. Again. And again. Nothing. The silence rang in his ears.
His hands shook, and with a frustrated curse he shoved the phone into his pocket. He shoved the laptop into his bag and bolted toward the dorms. Each step felt unsteady, like the ground could give way beneath him. The campus, normally familiar, now seemed alien.
He froze halfway across the courtyard. A group of students huddled together, laughing. And there it was, a hoodie with a face unmistakably his own. His viral CampusHub expression, twisted into mockery. His stomach ached. His chest tightened painfully, as if the night itself were pressing down and squeezing the air from his lungs.
Regret and humiliation collided in a bitter knot. His thoughts flashed to Leafy and Gelatin. Every harsh word, every accusation he had hurled during arguments, every second he had doubted them. Had he been too quick to lash out? Too suspicious? Too controlling? A sharp, bitter pang of guilt stabbed through him, mixing with the hot embarrassment of public mockery.
A notification chimed from his laptop. He yanked it out, hands trembling, and opened it.
New Email: “Leaf Guy Collab Opportunity – Let’s Talk Q2 Sponsorship.”
His chest felt like it had been crushed by an invisible weight. Hands shaking, he typed a message to Gelatin:
"You were right."
No reply. The quiet was suffocating. The distant buzzing of campus activity felt like a cruel background to his panic. He didn’t even consider returning to his own dorm. That space felt compromised, haunted by the sense of betrayal and failure.
His only thought, his only anchor, was Coiny.
He ran blindly through the dim hallways, feet pounding the tiles, past flickering fluorescent lights and doors that seemed to stare at him. Every echo of his own movement felt too loud, like a reminder of how vulnerable he was.
Finally, he reached the familiar doorway. He pounded on it with trembling knuckles, almost violently. Every second stretched unbearably. The tension in his chest sprung like a living thing, tightening further with each passing heartbeat.
A faint shuffle behind the door. Then, slowly, it creaked open.
Coiny stood there, silhouetted by the dim hallway light, hair mussed from obviously having been laying down, eyes wide and cautious, hand resting on the doorframe. The hallway felt impossibly still.
“Firey?” Coiny’s voice was tentative, unsure, carrying both sleep and concern.
Firey leaned heavily on the doorframe, chest heaving. His throat felt tight, voice raw and cracking as it escaped.
“I… I need your help.”

Chapter Text

Silence stretched for what felt like eternity. The hum of the hallway, the distant murmur of the quad, and the faint rustle of leaves outside were the only sounds. Firey’s hands shook as he gripped the edge of the door, trying to anchor himself while the panic and betrayal from the night rose inside him.
Coiny’s face softened, eyes narrowing slightly in concern. Sleep faded entirely now, replaced by alertness. Firey’s racing thoughts briefly paused at that look. Hope, fragile but real.. He felt even a small tether to something solid, something safe, in a world that had turned suddenly hostile.
And behind the bench, the quad, the sense of being watched lingered. Here, in this doorway, there was a chance, a single, fragile chance, to fight back.
“Come in,” Coiny said quietly, but firmly. His hand shifted, gesturing toward the dormroom’s hallway. “You don’t have to stay out there.”
Firey swallowed hard, chest still thumping hard, but nodded. He stepped past the threshold, shoulders hunched, and followed Coiny into the room. Every flickering light seemed louder than it should have, each creak of the floor a reminder of how exposed he felt.
“Late night?” Coiny asked, trying to sound casual, though his eyes remained sharp, scanning Firey for signs of how bad it really was.
Firey shook his head. “No… I… it’s everything. LeafLiar, the footage, Nickel… I can’t—” His voice cracked, and he trailed off, swallowing back the panic rising in his throat.
Coiny put a hand lightly on Firey’s shoulder. “Okay. Okay. You’re safe here. For now.” Dim lamplight revealed Snowball, hunched over a psychology textbook and scribbled notes, and Donut, rolling out dough for cupcakes that glowed faintly in the warm light. Both paused to glance at them, curiosity flickering across their faces.
Coiny gave a small, hurried smile. “Everyone, this is Firey. He… needs our help. I’ll explain in a second.”
Firey’s legs felt like lead, but he forced himself to step fully inside, closing the door behind him. He could finally breathe, just slightly, though the fear and adrenaline still pulsed through him. Here, among friends, maybe, just maybe, he could start to figure out a way forward.
Firey sank onto the edge of Coiny’s bed, still catching his breath. Coiny stayed close, hand resting lightly on his shoulder, as Snowball leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, studying him with an unreadable expression.
“Start from the beginning,” Coiny said gently. “Slowly. I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Firey swallowed hard. “Okay… okay.” He ran a hand through his hair, voice shaky. “LeafLiar, it’s a page, or someone, posting everything about me. They’ve leaked it. They’ve- They’ve been mocking me- posting private stuff, making it look like I’m… I don’t know… “ His words tumbled out in a rush, panic threading each one.
“Okay man, you’ve got a lot of panicky energy going on.” Snowball said, voice deep and calm, a presence that somehow made the chaos in Firey’s head feel slightly more manageable. “Slow down. Tell us EXACTLY what’s going on, from the beginning. No skipping parts.”
Firey’s words tumbled out in uneven bursts: LeafLiar’s posts, the leaked footage, Nickel manipulating everything, being blocked from his accounts, the sponsorship email landing like a trap. Snowball listened intently, nodding occasionally, but never interrupting.
Donut, meanwhile, had moved closer, setting aside a small notebook he’d been doodling in. “That sounds… really rough,” he said gently, eyes warm behind his glasses. “But we’ll figure something out. There has to be a way..” He had a quiet intelligence to him, able to slice through Firey’s panic and start thinking practically about solutions, but also the softness to make the room feel safer.
After a few minutes, Coiny said, “Show them one of your films. Let them see what you’re dealing with creatively, at least.”
Firey hesitated, fidgeting with the strap of his laptop bag. “It’s… kind of embarrassing. I don’t know if—”
Snowball leaned forward, eyes with a teasing sharpness inside them. “Embarrassment is irrelevant. Show it.”
With shaky hands, Firey opened the file and set it up. The room darkened slightly as the small screen played the greyscale shots, the voiceover quiet but earnest.
When it ended, there was silence for a beat. Snowball chuckled, loud and unrestrained, leaning back in his chair. “Okay… that was gay.” His eyebrows lifted. “I mean that in a good way. Probably”
Coiny shook his head, grinning. “Honestly, Snowball, your taste is terrible.”
Firey flushed crimson. “I.. I-”
Donut smiled softly, patting Firey on the back. “Well I liked it. I can see how much effort went into it.”
Snowball shrugged, still smirking. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking but too nice to admit.”
Firey felt a strange mix of relief and embarrassment. Here were people who could be blunt, supportive, and practical all at once. He might actually be able to breathe for a moment.
Donut leaned over his notebook again. “Alright, let’s figure out the first step. How do we keep you… safe, while also trying to regain control?”
Coiny gave Firey a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “We’re not letting you face this alone.”
The tension in Firey’s chest loosened slightly. It felt like maybe there was a plan forming, flawed but real.
Firey’s hands were still trembling, but the tension in the room shifted slightly as the three roommates started interacting.
Snowball leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “So,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “we’ve got a crisis, and you both look like you’re about to explode. We need to separate the two. Coiny, stop hovering like you’re going to faint if he moves.”
Coiny smirked, shrugging. “I can’t help it. I care.”
Donut chuckled, tilting his head. “And that’s why he trusts you, Coiny. But yeah, Snowball’s right, we need a strategy, not just good intentions.”
Snowball’s eyes flicked to Firey. “And you? You’re allowed to panic, but we’re not going to let it consume you. Got that?”
Firey swallowed hard, nodding. He had the strange feeling that Snowball could read him like an open book, the kind of person who made you feel small but also oddly safe.
Donut leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, playful yet incisive. “Here, let me finish these and then I’ll join you both over there.” He continued working on his food, most likely a project for a class he’s taking.
Coiny laughed quietly. “Look at you, Donut, always the practical genius. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”
Snowball smirked. “Probably still panicking in some corner somewhere. And yet here we are.”
Firey managed a small, shaky laugh. “Yeah… seems that way.”
Snowball spoke up. “Let’s figure out exactly what’s salvageable tonight. Donut, pull your notes, Coiny, get him a drink. Firey, tell us what’s absolutely urgent first.”
As Firey began to speak again, the roommates naturally fell into a rhythm. Snowball questioned, analyzed, and occasionally cracked a joke that was too dry for most to notice; Donut added practical suggestions, breaking complex problems into manageable pieces; and Coiny stayed close, a reassuring presence, bridging the emotional side of the crisis with support and camaraderie.
There was a sense of balance in their chaos. A harmony born from knowing each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Firey realized, amidst the panic and fear, that for the first time in hours, he didn’t feel entirely alone.
Snowball finally leaned back in his chair with a sigh, stretching his long arms. “Alright. I think we’ve pushed as far as we can tonight. Everyone’s exhausted, and we need brains functioning for tomorrow. Firey, you’ll need rest if you’re going to make it through this.”
Donut nodded in agreement. “Yeah. We can pick up where we left off in the morning. Honestly, you’re lucky we’re night owls, or else you’d be sleeping on a bench somewhere..”
Coiny glanced at Firey, whose shoulders slumped, eyes heavy with fatigue. “You’re staying with us tonight. Don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone in charge.” He gave a reassuring squeeze on Firey’s shoulder. “We’ll smuggle you in.”
Firey nodded numbly, too exhausted to think properly, too drained to argue or even process what was happening. His chest was still tight with panic, but that small thread of hope kept him anchored.
Snowball smirked slightly, crossing his arms. “Just… no loud noises if you wake up. And no panicking on the bed, okay?”
Donut gave a soft smile. “We’ll let you settle in. And Firey… it’s okay to lean on someone tonight. Really.”
The three roommates moved to their respective sleeping spots, dimming the lights. Firey, too tired to manage the logistics or even decide where to sleep, found himself following Coiny’s movements. Without thinking, he climbed onto the bed, curling against Coiny. The warmth of Coiny’s presence was grounding, and his hands unconsciously clutched at the fabric of Coiny’s sleeve, seeking a small anchor against the lingering panic.
Coiny let him, shifting slightly to accommodate him without protest. “Just rest, Firey,” he murmured, voice quiet, careful not to disturb the others. “You’re safe here. We’ll deal with everything else in the morning.”
Snowball snorted softly from his bed across the room. “This is ridiculous.”
Donut laughed quietly, shaking his head. “But it’s fine. He needs it.”
Firey’s cheek rested against Coiny’s shoulder, breath coming in uneven little bursts as he gradually began to relax into the warmth.
Coiny let him hold on, sliding an arm around Firey’s back and drawing him in closer. The motion was protective and grounding, not overbearing, but steady, like a lifeline in a storm. “That’s it,” Coiny whispered. “I’ve got you.”
Firey’s fingers twined in Coiny’s shirt, tight enough to leave impressions, yet his body slowly softened, letting fatigue take over. His breathing evened, and though he was still tense under the surface, the physical closeness offered a small, fragile comfort.
Coiny’s other hand rested lightly on Firey’s arm, rubbing in small circles. “No one’s going to get you tonight,” he murmured again, his voice steady, confident. “Just sleep. We’ll handle the rest in the morning.”
Firey’s eyes fluttered closed, his mind too fogged with exhaustion and adrenaline to form coherent thoughts. He muttered something incoherent, too tired to form full words, but Coiny squeezed him slightly in response, as if to say, “I hear you, I’ve got you.”
Minutes stretched into hours. Firey’s small, unconscious movements. Clinging tighter, curling slightly into Coiny, seeking warmth and reassurance were met with a patient, protective embrace. Coiny didn’t let go, didn’t shift uncomfortably; he simply let Firey find a small corner of peace in his arms.
For once, surrounded by the quiet of the dorm and the soft hum of the campus outside, Firey allowed himself to sink fully into the moment. Too tired to think, too drained to fight, he simply held onto the one solid thing he could: Coiny’s presence, steady, unwavering, and safe.
And for the first time in hours, Firey allowed himself to drift into sleep. Too tired to think, too worn to fight, too raw to worry. He simply held onto the smallest thread of safety he had, and that was enough.
The dorm room grew quiet, the soft breathing of four students filling the space, and outside, the campus remained dark and indifferent, unaware that a small war was quietly beginning behind closed doors.

Sunlight flew through the thin blinds, cutting sharp lines across the dorm room. Firey stirred groggily against Coiny, eyelids heavy, body still tangled in the warmth of the night before. Coiny shifted slightly, letting him stretch and yawn without breaking the small comfort of the night’s closeness.
Snowball was already upright, arms crossed, staring at his laptop with an intensity that could make anyone nervous. “Morning,” he said flatly, not looking up. “We don’t have time to lounge. I want logs, IP traces, timestamps, everything we can get on LeafLiar. Coiny, Donut. Wake up fully. We’re solving a crime today.”
Donut rubbed his eyes, pulling his glasses up. “Yeah, yeah… just… where do we even start? I mean, physically, he’s here, but online? Nickel’s a nightmare.” He gave Firey a pointed look. “Seriously, where can you actually hide? Who can’t Nickel reach with his… whatever control he has over the feeds?”
Coiny nudged Firey gently, coaxing him upright. “You’re awake now, and we need your input too. Don’t just cling to me forever, buddy.”
Firey mumbled something, but allowed himself to be dragged upright, still clinging faintly to Coiny’s arm for balance.
Snowball tapped rapidly on his laptop. “Alright. We’ve got partial traces on LeafLiar’s posts, but someone masked the IPs. Password resets are failing. And every temporary account gets flagged almost immediately. Whoever’s behind this knows exactly what they’re doing.”
Donut’s brow furrowed. “So… Do we know anyone who actually does know what they’re doing? I mean someone competent. Engineering, tech… coding savant levels?”
Coiny’s eyes lit up. “I know exactly who.” He shot a glance at Firey. “We’re heading to Pin. She’ll know how to at least start peeling back this mess. If anyone can navigate this digital nightmare, it’s her.”
Firey groaned, leaning against Coiny for support again. “Great. More people. More tech talk. My brain’s still fried from last night.”
Snowball snorted. “Perfect. You’ll survive. Probably.”
Donut giggled, scribbling a few notes in his notebook. “And besides, it’ll be fun. Maybe.”
They gathered their things. Laptops, notebooks, a few granola bars for sustenance, and stepped out of the dorm, the morning sun blinding but energizing. Coiny stayed close to Firey as they walked, an anchor for his friend while the rest of the world threatened to spin out of control.
The campus bustled lazily with students heading to classes, but to Firey, everything seemed sharper, as if someone, some shadow, was still lurking, waiting to pounce. He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder.
Snowball noticed. “Stop looking over your shoulder. We’ll deal with the shadows when we get to Pin.”
Donut laughed softly. “Yeah, unless the shadow brought snacks, he’s not helping anyone.”
Firey managed a weak chuckle, feeling the tiniest spark of relief. With Coiny, Snowball, and Donut by his side, he might just survive the morning… or at least make it to Pin without losing his sanity.
“So,” Donut began, “anyone want to explain what exactly we’re walking into? I mean, besides a tech wizard’s lair of wires and robots?”
Coiny smirked, glancing down at Firey, whose grip on his sleeve tightened. “Just a normal engineering major’s lab, right? Nothing scary. Just computers, robots, and probably Pin giving people attitude.”
Firey mumbled something incoherent. “You make her sound scary…” he admitted.
Snowball snorted. “Scary? No. Competent. Terrifyingly competent. And you’re all about to see how it’s done. Relax, Firey. We’ve got your back.”
Donut laughed, nudging Firey lightly. “‘Relax’ is a relative term. Just don’t faint in front of her or anything, alright?”
As they moved down the tree-lined campus paths, the sun glinting off windows and rooftops, the four of them began to find a rhythm. Coiny kept one hand brushing against Firey’s back, a subtle reassurance as the boy shuffled nervously beside him. Snowball analyzed the route, pointing out less crowded paths, murmuring about strategic shortcuts and quiet spots. Donut, ever the chatterbox, kept conversation light, asking what kind of robotics Pin liked to build, whether Snowball ever tried coding, and teasing Coiny for being unusually coordinated for someone so dramatic.
“You’re just lucky you’ve got Firey attached to you,” Donut teased. “Otherwise, I think we’d have to carry him half the way.”
Coiny shot him a mock glare, and Firey snorted softly despite himself. “I’m not… that heavy,” he mumbled, still clinging unconsciously.
By the time they reached the robotics building, the clang of metal and distant beeps from machinery made it clear that Pin’s team was already hard at work. Students crowded around tables, soldering, testing, and debugging robots, some laughing, others deeply focused.
Firey glanced around nervously, clutching Coiny’s arm more tightly. “I… I don’t even know where to start,” he whispered.
Coiny leaned closer, murmuring, “You just follow me. We’ll figure this out together.”
The walk had done more than transport them, it had given the four of them a chance to bond. Firey felt the faintest flicker of calm: Snowball’s presence was grounding, Donut’s energy was reassuring, and Coiny’s quiet support was a lifeline he could cling to. He felt like maybe he wasn’t entirely alone in this storm.
As they approached the door to Pin’s lab, Coiny gave him a small, encouraging squeeze on the shoulder. “Ready?”
Firey nodded, still trembling, still holding on, but there was a thread of confidence threaded through the fear. He wasn’t just walking into a robotics lab, he was walking in with allies, and that made all the difference.

The engineering lab buzzed with the quiet chaos of half-built robots, scattered tools, monitors displaying streams of code, and the faint hum of irons. The smell of hot metal and electronics mixed with the faint tang of coffee.
Coiny led Firey up to the doorway. “Snowball and Donut are going to wait out there for a bit,” he said. “Pin works best when she’s focused. Less distractions.”
Firey’s stomach twisted, still jittery from the last night’s panic. “Uh… okay,” he murmured.
Pin looked up from her workbench, soldering a tiny circuit board, and raised an eyebrow, her sharp curiosity breaking into a teasing grin. “You’re with Coiny again? Ugh, how do you survive? That’s not what you’re here for. What’s wrong?”
Firey stammered, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s… complicated.”
Coiny rolled his eyes. “Yeah, tell her it’s nothing, just campus chaos.”
Firey felt his pulse spike as he tried to explain, words tripping over each other. “There’s… LeafLiar posts, and… Nickel, and… I can’t log in, and someone posted my drafts…”
Pin noticed them immediately, but she didn’t say a word. Instead, she kept working, moving with deliberate precision, her small smile betraying that she was genuinely happy to see them there. Her focus sharpened, energized not by the panic but by their presence.
For the next fifteen minutes, Firey and Coiny stayed close, watching her work in near silence. The room hummed with the sound of machines and clicking keys, but the atmosphere felt unexpectedly warm, tethering Firey just enough to keep the panic at bay. Coiny’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
Finally, Pin straightened up from her workstation and walked over to them. Her movements were confident, and her eyes sparkled with focus. “Alright,” she said, “let’s see what’s going on. Show me everything you’ve got.”
Firey fumbled his phone from his pocket, unlocking it with shaky hands before passing it over. Coiny, without needing to be asked, pulled Firey’s laptop from his bag and set it on the nearest clear surface. Well, clear enough once he shoved aside a half-assembled gear assembly and a roll of solder.
Pin slipped into her chair, posture shifting instantly into work mode. She connected both devices to her workstation with quick efficiency, cables snapping into place. Her fingers began their rapid tapping across the keyboard, opening terminal windows and network scanners, her face bathed in the blue glow of the monitors.
For a while, only the sounds of typing, fan hum, and the faint buzz of a robot arm filled the air. Pin’s expression was unreadable, brows furrowed in concentration. Then she muttered, almost to herself, “Not random. Definitely not random.”
Firey’s heart lurched. “What do you mean?”
Pin leaned back slightly, spinning one monitor toward them. “These aren’t just trolls posting at random. Look. Whoever’s behind LeafLiar is running a system that intercepts your account activity. Drafts, uploads, even deleted files, they’ve been watching everything.”
Firey’s mouth went dry. “So… they’ve seen… all of it?”
Coiny’s jaw tightened. He slipped his arm around Firey’s shoulders with a small tug, grounding him again. “Hey. Don’t spiral. We’ll figure it out.”
Pin, still focused, allowed herself a glance at them. The faintest grin tugged at the corner of her lips, subtle, but genuine. She didn’t comment, just turned back to the keyboard, her hands moving faster as if the sight of them there gave her extra motivation.
“Alright,” she said, more firmly now. “I can trace the network traffic. Whoever’s doing this left footprints. They’re careful, but not invisible.”
Lines of code streamed down the screen, resolving into a web of IP addresses and relay points. The visual display looked like a nest of tangled wires, red nodes blinking as she highlighted suspicious activity.
Firey leaned closer, eyes wide. “That’s… all connected to me?”
“Yeah,” Pin said, voice flat but steady. “And most of it routes through CampusHub’s infrastructure.” She tapped the screen, zeroing in on a cluster of signals. “Which means Nickel’s not just a bystander in this. Whether he’s complicit or just letting it happen, he’s a key piece.”
Coiny’s eyes narrowed. “That explains why everything points back to him.”
Firey, gripping the edge of the desk, felt the panic rising again. His entire chest felt hollow. “So what do we… do?” he asked, his voice breaking slightly.
Pin leaned back in her chair, arms crossing. She looked at both of them carefully before answering. “First? We secure your accounts. Then… we start digging into Nickel.”
Pin pulled Firey’s laptop closer, adjusting it so the glow lit up her face. She cracked her knuckles and started typing, the sound of rapid keystrokes filling the lab. Most of the people that were working alongside Pin had left by now. Windows stacked and collapsed on the screen, IP traces popping up alongside error logs.
“Okay…” she murmured, half to herself. “Your account isn’t rejecting your password. That’s a smokescreen. Look here.” She highlighted a cluster of requests on the screen. “Someone rerouted your traffic. Every time you try to log in, you’re not actually hitting the server. You’re getting bounced.”
Firey leaned in, eyes darting across the mess of numbers and symbols, none of it making sense. “So… so I’m not just locked out?” His voice cracked at the edges.
“No,” Pin said, her tone even but edged with tension. “This is interception. Whoever did this wants you to think you’re helpless while they play around with your data.”
Coiny cursed under his breath. “Sounds like Nickel.”
Pin gave him a dry look. “Not exactly. Watch this.” She zoomed in on a repeating pattern in the log. “These are two completely different fingerprints. One’s sloppy. Look at the ping times, jitter all over the place. Somebody messing around, probably not thinking about getting caught. That doesn’t scream Nickel. He’s erratic, wants attention, but he covers his tracks.”
She switched windows, pulling up another dataset, cleaner, more compact. “But this? This is surgical. Consistent timestamps, masked geolocation, custom scripts. Someone who knows what they’re doing.”
Firey’s hands curled into fists in his hoodie pocket. His heart pounded like it was trying to break out of his chest. “So Nickel’s not even the one posting my drafts?”
“Nope,” Pin said flatly, spinning the laptop toward him. “Nickel’s the storm. Loud, messy, all over the place. But these… these posts under your name, the scheduled ones, the drafts getting leaked? This is somebody else. They’re quiet but not as calculated. They don’t seem like they know what they’re doing.. That’s why you can see them and not Nickel.”
Coiny rubbed the back of his neck, face darkening. “Great. So it’s not just Nickel. It’s a damn tag team.”
“Not a team,” Pin corrected, her voice sharp as solder. “Two players, two motives. Nickel’s chasing control. But this other person?” She tapped the logs, her brow furrowing. “They’re after something smaller. Probably.”
The words landed like stones in Firey’s gut. He tugged at his sleeve, nails digging into the seam. “But who? Why? I don’t— I don’t even matter that much—” His breath hitched, the panic swelling again, chest tight and air thinning.
Coiny’s hand slid onto his shoulder, grounding him. “You matter. That’s why they’re doing this. Because you’re a target worth messing with.”
Firey blinked hard, eyes stinging. It wasn’t comforting. It was terrifying.
Pin finally pushed the laptop aside and leaned back, crossing her arms. Her expression softened just slightly, but her voice carried the weight of decision. “First step is simple. Forget Nickel for now. He’s a distraction, white noise, if you will. What we need to do is figure out who’s actually inside your account. Expose the quiet one. Pretty sure the rest falls apart after that.”
Firey swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. “But… how? If they’re both careful, won’t they just stay hidden?”
Pin smirked faintly, her confidence filling the room like static before a storm. “Not if we smoke them out. Everyone leaves a trail eventually. You just have to know where to look.”
Coiny’s gaze flicked between her and Firey, jaw set. “So we go hunting.”
Pin tilted her head, eyes glinting with challenge. “Exactly. But make no mistake, this isn’t just some meme war anymore. Whoever this is, they’ve made it personal. Which means we hit back smart.”
The hum of the machines suddenly felt heavier, pressing in around them. Firey sat frozen, trapped between relief and dread. For the first time, he realized: this wasn’t just about embarrassment or clout. Someone was pulling strings in the dark, and they weren’t going to stop.
Pin shut the laptop, the sound grew sharp in the quiet, not so busy lab. “That’s the plan. Now you two need to figure out if you’re actually up for this. If you’re not, you’re wasting my time.”
Coiny leaned against the edge of the desk, arms crossed, a grin growing at his face. “You know.. For someone who says she doesn’t want to waste time, you sure love showing off how brilliant you are.~”
Pin raised a brow. “That’s not the flattery you think it is. That’s just an observation.”
“Call it what you want,” Coiny said, smirking. “Point is, you’re the sharpest one here. You’ve got the skills none of us do. Fiery has the heart, Donut has the brains, and Snowball has… himself. But you?” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “You’re the difference between us flailing around and actually winning this.”
Pin rolled her eyes instantly, but the tip of her ears warmed despite herself. “I don’t do cheer squads, Coiny.”
“Good,” he shot back, grinning wide. “Because we’re not a cheer squad. We’re a team, and you’d be the best damn addition to it.”
For a second, her mask cracked, just the smallest twitch of a smile before she covered it with a scoff. She shoved his shoulder lightly, but didn’t step away. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously right,” he teased, tapping the desk with his fingers. “Come on, Pin, You don’t actually want to sit on the sidelines while some mystery creep runs circles around us, do you? You’re what we need.”
Pin glanced toward Firey, who still looked pale and unsettled, then back to Coiny, who was a lot closer than necessary. Their shoulders brushed, and she still didn’t move away. “...You’re lucky I like puzzles,” she muttered.
Coiny’s grin softened into something more genuine. “So that’s a yes?”
Pin sighed, pretending to be annoyed, but her smirk betrayed her. “Fine, I’ll join you idiots. But only because I can’t stand watching you stumble through this mess alone. This is strictly for Firey and Firey alone.”
Firey blinked at her, surprised. “Wait, really?”
Pin ruffled his hoodie sleeve in a rare gesture of reassurance. “Don’t look so shocked. Somebody’s got to make sure you don’t crash and burn.”
Coiny clapped his hands together. “Perfect! Welcome aboard, genius.” He gave her a quick pat on the back, lingering just long enough to make her swat at her hand with a half-flustered glare.
The lab door clicked shut behind them, the hallway lights buzzing faintly overhead. Coiny shoved his hands in his pockets, the usual cocky swing back in his step. Firey trailed just behind, still shaken but steadier with both of them beside him. Pin walked in silence at first, the tap of her boots against the tile.
Halfway down the hall, two familiar figures appeared from around the corner. Donut was gesturing animatedly about something while Snowball walked beside him with his arms crossed, clearly unimpressed.
“Finally,” Donut said when he spotted them, his voice carrying. “We were starting to think you three had been abducted or something..”
Snowball snorted. “More like they got lost. Figures.”
Coiny rolled his eyes. “Relax, snowcone. We were handling things.”
“Handling what?” Donut asked, narrowing his eyes. His gaze flicked to Firey, who looked away.
Pin cut in before Coiny could fire back. “We’ll explain everything later. Right now, we need to regroup. Somewhere we can actually sit down and talk without people breathing down our necks.”
Snowball shrugged. “Quad?”
“Too many people,” Pin said instantly.
Donut tapped his chin. “What about the half-empty café by the library? No one goes there after eight or so. We’ll basically have the place to ourselves.”
Coiny snapped his fingers. “Perfect. Meet there in, what, twenty minutes?”
Donut and Snowball exchanged a look, then nodded. “Fine,” Snowball muttered. “But if this turns out to be some dumb goose chase, I’m out.”
“Noted,” Pin said coolly. She adjusted the strap of her bag and turned to the others. “I’ve got to grab a few things from my dorm before we meet. Won’t take long.”
Her eyes shifted deliberately to Firey. “Come with me?”
Firey blinked, surprised. “Uh… me?”
“Yes, you,” she said, softer this time, though there was no room for debate in her tone. “You look like you could use a breather, anyway.”
Coiny raised a brow but didn’t protest, just gave Firey a quick clap on the back. “Go on, hothead. We’ll see you both at the café.”
Snowball grunted something under his breath, Donut gave a little wave, and soon the group split. Coiny falling into step with Donut and Snowball, while Pin guided Firey in the opposite direction.
The hallway grew quieter again, the noise of the others fading behind them. Pin didn’t say much at first, just kept pace steady, glancing at Firey now and then like she was making sure he was still with her.
The two of them walked side by side down the dim hallway, their footsteps echoing off the walls. Firey rubbed the back of his neck, awkwardly filling the silence.
“So… you, uh, really think I looked like I needed a breather?”
Pin gave him a glance, lips tugging upward. “Firey, you looked like you were about to pass out back there. Don’t try to act tougher than you feel. You’ve had a long day.”
Firey chuckled nervously. “Guess I’m not hiding it well, huh?”
“You don’t have to with me,” Pin said simply. Her tone was matter-of-fact, but there was warmth behind it.
That made Firey glance at her, caught off guard. Coiny usually teased him back into confidence or cracked a joke to lighten the mood, but Pin’s steadiness was… different. Calmer.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice quieter. “It’s nice, y’know, not feeling like I’m dragging everyone down.”
Pin gave him a small smile. “You’re not dragging anyone down. You just need someone in your corner.”
For a moment, they walked in silence again, but the air between them shifted. Lighter, almost easier. Pin’s hand brushed against his as they turned a corner. Neither of them pulled away immediately, though Pin was the one to finally tuck her hands behind her back, her expression unreadable.
Still, Firey felt his face heat. He wasn’t sure if it was from the accidental touch or from how natural it felt walking beside her like this.
“Coiny’s been keeping you afloat, huh?” Pin asked after a beat, her voice casual but probing.
Firey nodded quickly. “Yeah, he’s,, been there for me. More than I expected, honestly.”
Pin’s gaze softened again, though something unreadable flickered across her expression. “He’s a good one. But so are you.”
They reached the stairwell, the hum of a vending machine filling the pause between them. Firey caught himself wondering, not for the first time, why his chest felt heavier whenever Coiny or Pin said things like that.
They pushed through the stairwell door, the air colder here, tinged with concrete and dust. Firey kept his pace a half-step behind hers, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket.
Firey blinked, glancing over at her. “Huh? Oh– yeah. I mean, it’s been nice. He’s been… I dunno. Solid. Feels like I can lean on him without him making it weird.”
Pin hummed, but her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “That wasn’t always the case.”
Firey rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “Yeah, we’ve had our… uh… moments.” He chuckled faintly. “Guess when things get bad, you realize who you can count on.”
Pin gave him a sideways glance, something sharp flickering there before she covered it with a small smile. “And he’s that person for you?”
“Lately… yeah,” Firey admitted. His voice softened, almost defensive. “It’s not like I don’t count on you too! You’ve helped me plenty–”
Pin slowed just enough that he had to notice, her expression shifting to something harder to read. “It’s fine, Firey. You don’t have to make excuses. I know you two have a… thing.”
“A thing?” Firey repeated, startled.
“You talk to him like you’ve already got shorthand for everything. You fall asleep on him. He carries you around like it’s nothing.” Pin’s lips tugged down the faintest bit before she caught herself and looked away. “It’s… whatever. I’m just saying.”
The words hung heavy in the stairwell, bouncing off the concrete walls like echoes. Firey opened his mouth, then shut it again, cheeks warming.
“I didn’t mean to—” he started.
Pin waved him off quickly, resuming her pace up the steps. “Forget it. It’s not important.”
They reached her floor, the carpet muffling their steps. Pin stopped at her door, key card in hand, but didn’t swipe it just yet. For a second, she just stood there, her back to him, shoulders tense.
“Anyway,” she said finally, her voice clipped, “I’ll just grab my stuff.” She glanced over her shoulder, managing a faint, polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
Before Firey could answer, she slipped the card through and pushed the door open, disappearing inside without another word.
The door thudded softly shut, leaving him alone in the hall.
Firey stood alone in the hallway, staring at the floor. His chest felt tight. He cared about Pin. He had since they’d met here. But the way she’d looked at him, the sharpness under her words, made him realize she still cared what he did. Still cared about him.
And then there was Coiny. The one he could laugh with, lean on without judgment, who had held him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Firey swallowed, heat creeping into his face as his mind ran in circles. Was he leaning too hard into Coiny? Was he pulling away from Pin without meaning to?
He exhaled, rubbing his arms as if that could ease the tension clawing up his chest.
The lock clicked, and Pin’s door cracked open again. She stepped halfway out, bag slung over her shoulder. “You coming?”
Firey straightened immediately, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Sorry.”
He followed her inside, the unspoken weight still thick between them.
Firey stepped through the doorway, hesitating just enough to let Pin take the lead. He stayed a half-step behind, careful not to crowd her, aware of the lingering tension from earlier. The dorm was smaller than he’d imagined, the hallway opening into a compact common space cluttered with textbooks, half-built gadgets, and the faint hum of electronics. A few cables snaked across the floor, and stray notebooks were stacked in haphazard towers on desks.
Pin’s bag thumped onto a chair, and she turned briefly to give him a small nod. “Make yourself comfortable. Just don’t touch anything yet.”
Firey nodded, swallowing. His eyes scanned the room and immediately landed on two other figures.
One was seated neatly at a desk, her posture perfect, fingers moving smoothly over a laptop keyboard. Her hair was short-ish and laying right on her shoulders, her eyes reflected the screen in a soft glow. She glanced up and offered a gentle, warm smile.
“Hi,” she said quietly, voice calm and measured. “You’re Firey, right? I think we spoke a while ago?”
Firey gave a tentative smile. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said, her tone soft but assured. “I’m Taco.”
Across the room, another girl moved energetically between a cluttered workbench and a small stack of schematics pinned to the wall. She paused mid-step, her wide eyes catching Firey’s gaze, and threw her hands in the air like she was opening a show.
“WOAH! Okay, who are you?!,” she said, her grin impossibly bright. “I’m Ruby! Don’t worry, this room MAY look like a tornado hit it, but it’s all my own special system!! Totally under control. Mostly!!” She spun around dramatically, almost tripping over a cable but catching herself with flair. “You haven’t seen a dorm this alive, have you?”
Firey blinked, caught between amusement and mild overwhelm. He let a small laugh escape. “Uh… I guess not.”
Ruby’s grin softened just slightly, and she waved a hand toward him. “That’s okay! Stick with us, you’ll survive. Or at least, you’ll be entertained!!”
Pin, standing nearby, gave a faint smile but didn’t say anything, letting Firey take it all in. Taco, noticing his subtle hesitation, tilted her head at him again.
“Don’t worry.. she’s harmless. Mostly,” Taco said gently. “You’ll get used to her.”
Ruby plopped down on a stool, tugging a stray wire over her shoulder. “Oh, I’m harmless! Except when I’m not. And, uh… watch out for the soldering iron Pin keeps laying around. It bites.”
Firey chuckled again, letting his shoulders relax just a fraction. Pin moved to set her bag down again, and Firey followed her with careful steps, still aware of the delicate tension between them but comforted slightly by the presence of her roommates, one grounding and quiet, the other wildly alive and chaotic.
Pin slung her bag over one shoulder, rummaged through her desk for a charger, then snagged a small notebook she clearly didn’t want to leave behind. Her movements were quick, precise, and Firey could tell she was purposefully keeping busy. Ruby was mid-rant about how a coil of wires had “feelings too” when Pin suddenly turned toward him.
“Alright. Got what I need.” She motioned for Firey to follow, already halfway to the door.
Firey gave Taco and Ruby an awkward little wave as he slipped out after her, the door clicking shut behind them. The muffled hum of Ruby’s voice died, replaced by the soft quiet of the dorm hallway.
For a moment, neither spoke. Their footsteps echoed in sync down the floor until Firey cleared his throat.
“Hey,” he started carefully,, “about earlier. I don’t want you to think… y’know, that I was choosing Coiny over you or something. That’s not what’s going on.”
Pin slowed her pace, but didn’t stop walking. She looked straight ahead, expression unreadable. “I didn’t say you were.”
“Yeah, but…” Firey rubbed the back of his neck. “I felt it. Like– when you looked at us. And I get it. Things between you two have been weird. Since the falling out. But I’m not—”
She stopped abruptly, pivoting toward him with narrowed eyes. “Wait. How do you know about that?”
Firey froze mid-step, the hallway suddenly feeling too narrow. “I– uh–” He shifted on his feet. “Coiny might’ve… mentioned something.”
Pin’s jaw tightened, her lips pressing into a flat line. “Of course he did.” Her tone wasn’t explosive, but sharp and cutting. “He loves running his mouth when it makes him look better, doesn’t he?”
Firey lifted his hands slightly, defensive but gentle. “It wasn’t like that. He just said you two had… history. That it didn’t end great, but it ended okay..? Like you’re not enemies but notascloseasyouusedtobe–”
Pin gave a short, humorless laugh. “History. That’s one way to put it.” She shook her head and started walking again, her steps quicker now. “Funny how he skips over his part of the mess when he talks about it.”
Firey followed, trying to keep pace. “I’m not taking sides, Pin. I just… wanted to understand why things feel tense when the three of us are together.”
“You think you ‘understand’ now?” she shot back, not looking at him. “Because Coiny gave you the highlight reel?”
Firey hesitated. “…No. I don’t. That’s why I’m asking you. I’d rather hear it from you than through him.”
That made her falter, just slightly, but she masked it quickly with a shrug. “Doesn’t matter. It’s in the past.”
But her clipped tone, the way her arms crossed tightly across her chest, told Firey it mattered a lot more than she wanted to admit.
“I’m not trying to push you away.” Firey added.
Pin finally glanced at him, sharp and assessing, like she was deciding whether to let him in or shut the door. “You and Coiny looked… fine. Comfortable. And I’m glad. I just—” she cut herself off, lips pressing into a thin line.
Firey stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. “I don’t want comfortable with him to mean uncomfortable with you.”
Pin exhaled through her nose, the tension in her shoulders easing only slightly. She didn’t reply immediately, letting the silence stretch as they passed a set of windows, moonlight casting long shadows across the hallway.
Finally, she said quietly, “We’ll see.”

The café was quieter than usual, just the low hum of the espresso machine and the clink of mugs echoing off the walls. Firey slid into the booth first, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into himself, Coiny following close behind. Donut and Snowball were already waiting, laptops open, half-drunk coffee crowding the table.
“Alright,” Snowball muttered, fingers flying across his keyboard. “New VPN, fresh burner account. If LeafLiar’s tracking you, this should buy a window.” A beat later, the login screen blinked red. Blocked. Snowball swore under his breath, slamming his fist softly against the table. “Instant shutdown. Like it knows you before you even type.”
Pin leaned over her own screen, jaw tight. Her eyes darted, scanning lines of code. “I’m in the system logs. There are traces of activity threads, but they’re scrubbed almost as soon as they appear. Whoever’s behind this isn’t just clever; they’re masking like professionals.” She leaned back, the glow of the monitor casting sharp shadows on her face. “I can’t get a clean trail. Classic Nickel tactics.”
Donut tapped his spoon against the rim of his cup, breaking the silence. “Firey, maybe you should lie low for a while. Relocate. Different dorm, new IP. It won’t solve everything, but it might give you space to breathe.”
The words hit Firey like a shove. His pulse quickened in his throat, too fast, too loud. His chest tightened. Move? Hide? Start over again? He clenched his fists under the table, nails biting into his palms, but it wasn’t enough to stop the trembling.
“That’s a logistical nightmare,” he snapped, though his voice wavered halfway through. “Even if I move, even if I hide, they’ll still find me. I’ll never get away from this.”
His breathing came quicker, shallow gasps he couldn’t slow down. The low hum of the café grew unbearable. Every hiss of the coffee machine, every scrape of a chair leg against the floor felt amplified, pressing against his skull. The screen’s glow blurred, his vision tunneling. He gripped the edge of the table, but his fingers slipped against the wood, slick with sweat.
“I can’t—” His throat closed. He swallowed hard, chest heaving. “I can’t breathe, I can’t think–”
Coiny didn’t hesitate. He reached beside him, where Firey was, steady hands catching Firey’s trembling ones, prying them gently from the table before they could splinter under his grip. Then Coiny tugged him close, tucking Firey against his side. “Hey, hey, look at me,” Coiny said firmly, his voice cutting through the noise.
Firey shuddered, trying to steady himself, but the panic clawed at his ribs. Coiny’s arm wrapped around him tighter, grounding him with sheer warmth and weight. “You’re not going through this alone,” he murmured, low and steady. “I’m right here. We’ll figure this out.”
Coiny’s arm was still around Firey, the two of them pressed close in a way that steadied the chaos he felt in his chest. For just a second, Pin’s gaze lingered too long. On Firey’s trembling shoulders tucked safely against Coiny, but also on Coiny himself, all the effortless warmth and certainty she’d never been able to summon. Her mouth thinned, something sharp flickering in her chest. She dropped her eyes back to the screen before anyone noticed.
Something caught in her throat. Her jaw tightened in a way that sent a flicker of pain across her featured face before she could mask it. She’d never been that person, never had the patience or the softness, and a small part of her hated that she’d noticed. She made her fingers click rapid fire against the keyboard, her tone clipped when she finally spoke.
“This isn’t someone just messing around,” she said flatly, her voice slicing into the hum of the café. She didn’t look up from the scrolling lines of code, but there was a bite in the words, a little too sharp to be entirely professional. “Nickel is controlling your digital footprint like a chessboard. Every move we make, he’s already thought two steps ahead.”
The others stilled, watching her work. Snowball leaned back in his chair with a scoff that wasn’t quite dismissive, arms folding across his chest as if he were holding himself in place. His jaw flexed, his eyes narrowing on Firey like he was taking the measure of the situation for the first time.
“And LeafLiar isn’t just throwing tech at you, Fiery,” Snowball said finally. His voice had lost its usual bite, lower now. “They know you. They know exactly where to hit. what’ll spiral you fastest. This is psychological warfare as much as it is digital.”
Firey flinched at the phrasing, his pulse quickening so loud in his ears it almost drowned Snowball out. His throat burned as if his panic had lodged there, too heavy to swallow down. Coiny’s arm only tightened, thumb brushing against his sleeve in steady, grounding circles.
Donut shifted uneasily, stirring his coffee without really drinking it. The spoon clinked against the mug. His eyes flicked from Firey to Pin to Snowball and back again, as if searching for someone to contradict what they all already knew. No one did.
The weight settled on them, thick and undeniable. This wasn’t a simple block to outside, a fresh account to spin up. Every attempt had already been seen, countered, locked down. This wasn’t random, it was deliberate.
The group seemed to realize they weren’t just solving a technical puzzle. They were being played in a game they hadn’t agreed to, and Nickel was already winning.
Fiery tried to focus on the whirl of the café’s espresso machine, the soft scrape of mugs on ceramic saucers, anything grounding. The panic had been a storm just minutes ago. But Coiny’s arm was steady around him, weight firm and sure. The warmth seeped through him and, for once, he let himself lean into it willingly. Each shaky breath found rhythm in Coiny’s, the chaos quieting to something he could at least carry without choking.
He listened. Pin’s clipped typing. Donut stirring his coffee. Snowball’s chair creaking and he leaned back and forth. Their voices overlapped, cautious but deliberate now.
“We’re just chasing smoke unless we know who’s actually holding the account,” Pin said, eyes narrowing at the logs on her screen. “The tech’s too layered to be random. Somebody is sitting on the other end, feeding Nickel’s whole scheme.
Snowball cracked his knuckles. “Which means… whoever it is, they’ve got access to Firey’s online identity down to the root. Emails, recovery paths, even location data. Someone with that kind of control isn’t just a pawn. They’re in it.”
Donut frowned. “So how do we trace them without tipping our hand? Nickel wants us chasing shadows. But if we can pin the operator…”
“...we flip the board,” Pin finished, tone clipped but precise.
Coiny gave Firey’s shoulder a squeeze, drawing him back from the fog. “We’ll figure it out. Promise.”
That line anchored Firey better than the latte he hadn’t touched. For the first time since they’d sat down, his heartbeat didn’t feel like it would choke him.”
Pins fingers blurred across the keyboard. She caught something, a signature buried in the logs, faint but repeating. A tether Nickel hadn’t scrubbed. “Got it. There’s a ping buried in the outbound traffic. Not Nickel’s.”
She froze, eyes narrowing. “It’s.. Teardrop’s?”
The name landed like a pebble in water. Quiet at first, the rippling outward.
Donut was the first to break the silence. “Teardrop? You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Snowball shook his head, muttering. “No, it fits. She seems like the type to follow Nickel’s instructions. She’s too quiet and too sharp to be suspected.
Fiery blinked. He only knew Teardrop in passing. The withdrawn girl he’d spotted spying on him around campus. The one who gave him that USB plug-in.
Pin explained it for him. “Teardrop’s a teenager. Skipped a few grades, slipped into college early. Brilliant, yeah, but in her own way. Less Nickel’s theatrics, more shadows. You don’t notice her until she wants you too. Sneaky, but not the same kind of manipulative. She’s observant and patient. That makes her dangerous.”
Snowball leaned forward, tapping the table with one finger. “So she’s the one pulling the account strings. Nickel might be the face of it, but she’s the one with access.”
“Which means,” Pin said, already opening a trace window. “If we can ping her phone through the log signature… we can find her and interrogate her. “
The group leaned in as the trace ran, lines of code reflecting in Pin’s sharp eyes. Firey swallowed hard. His panic wasn’t gone, not completely, but with Coiny’s hand steady at his side and the others pushing forward with focus instead of fear, it finally felt like they had a way to fight back.
Pin’s fingers moved across the keyboard, the traces blinking faster than Firey could follow. Lines of code scrolled by in green and white, a digital map unfolding.
“Got it,” she said finally, voice sharp and satisfied. “Her device is active, and she’s moving across campus.”
Snowball leaned over her shoulder, scanning the coordinates. “That’s… fast. She knows what she’s doing. She’s not just hiding; she’s baiting whoever’s chasing.”
Donut frowned. “If she finishes whatever she’s setting up for Nickel, it’ll be too late. Firey, if you want any chance to stop this, you need to go now.”
Coiny’s hand gripped Firey’s shoulder firmly, grounding him even as adrenaline shot through his chest again. “We’re coming with you in spirit,” he said, voice low. “But this is your fight. You have to move fast. Go.”
Firey swallowed, mouth dry, chest tight. The panic that had gripped him earlier twisted into something sharper now, a mix of fear, determination, and the adrenaline that only comes from being pushed to act. “I… okay,” he whispered. “I can do this.”
Pin tapped a final command, the screen lighting up with a precise location marker. “She’s in the northwest engineering wing, second floor. I’ve cleared a path as much as I can without triggering alarms. Move fast. Don’t let her slip.”
Snowball’s voice added a note of urgency. “Remember, this isn’t a simple chase. She’s clever. Watch every corner, trust your instincts, and—”
Coiny leaned close to Firey, brushing a hand against his arm. “You’ve got this. But be smart. We’ll handle what we can from here.”
Firey nodded, adrenaline finally flooding through him fully. He could feel Coiny’s reassurance, Pin’s calculations, Snowball’s insight, Donut’s grounding suggestions, all converging into a single, clear thought: he had to catch Teardrop before she finished whatever scheme Nickel had set into motion.
With a deep breath, Firey pushed himself upright, following Pin’s lead toward the northwest engineering wing, every step carrying the weight of urgency, fear, and resolve.

Firey’s fingers hovered over his phone as he walked briskly across campus, heart hammering. Notifications kept popping up. LeafLiar posts, each one sharper than the last. The captions had shifted from vague jabs to biting personal digs. One mocked his stammer from last week’s showcase. Another called out his late-night social media habits. The digital echo of his failures trailed him with every step.
His pace quickened, almost a run now, as he rounded a corner near the dorm entrance. A shadow detached itself from the low lamplight.
Teardrop.
She lingered there, hood pulled low, hands tucked into pockets, expression unreadable. Firey nearly tripped over himself, jerking backward. His stomach knotted. Panic flared hot in his chest, adrenaline screaming.
“W-what are you doing here?” he demanded, voice higher than he wanted, his fingers trembling as he gripped the strap of his bag.
She tilted her head slightly, silent, a faint smirk brushing her lips. Her presence was calm yet unnervingly patient.
“Step aside,” Firey said, taking a deep breath to steady himself, “we need to talk.”
Teardrop didn’t move. He realized he was going to have to draw her out, confront her here and now, before she vanished or before the next LeafLiar post hit.
Firey’s chest heaved as he closed the distance, fists trembling. “Why are you doing this?!” His voice cracked, ricocheting off the dorm walls. “Why are you posting my drafts, mocking me, dragging everything I’ve worked for into the dirt? Who even let you– who gave you the right?!”
Teardrop stood perfectly still, her hood shadowing her face, but her eyes glinted faintly under the lamplight. She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned slightly on one leg, tilting her head in that slow, deliberate way that made Firey’s blood boil. A small, mocking smirk brushed her lips. She flicked her wrist toward his phone, as if to say, look at this, it’s all yours now.
Firey’s voice rose, ragged, full of frustration and panic. “Answer me! I want to know why you’re helping Nickel! Why are you controlling my account like it’s some kind of game?! Every post, every comment,, why?!”
He could feel the heat of adrenaline in his chest, the shaking of his hands, the tight knot in his stomach. Every nerve screamed at him to make her speak, to make her give him a reason, but she remained silent, eerily calm, letting his words hang in the cool night air.
His fists curled tighter. “I trusted people! I worked so hard! And you, YOU, are just SITTING THERE, laughing at it ALL!”
And then, a shadow moved across the courtyard. A tall figure stepped forward, calm and unhurried. Not concerned, not alarmed, just… there.
“Whoa, okay, okay,” the guy said, voice easy, almost teasing. “Cool it, yeah? No need to start a fight in the middle of the quad.”
He reached out lazily, placing a hand between Firey and Teardrop, guiding Firey slightly backward. Firey’s shout caught in his throat, the moment of confrontation broken.
Teardrop tilted her head slightly, letting her smirk linger a second longer, her body language mocking yet silent.
Firey’s pulse throbbed in his temples, chest heaving, adrenaline still burning hot. The newcomer, more relaxed than Firey felt he should be, simply raised his hands in a calm, almost casual gesture.
“Seriously, dude, just breathe. Not worth it out here like this.”
Before Firey could react further, the tall guy moved with surprising swiftness. In a fluid motion, he scooped Teardrop up over his shoulder, light, but firm, and turned toward the dorm courtyard. She didn’t struggle; in fact, she let out a faint, amused hum, her smirk still in place even as she dangled over his shoulder.
Firey staggered a step back, chest still pounding. “Wait—who—what—how—”
The guy set her down gently behind a low wall, giving Firey a calm, steadying look. “Hey, chill,” he said, voice deep but easy, lacking any real tension. “I’m Eraser. Older brother.”
Firey blinked, still catching his breath. “Older… brother? She’s—this whole thing—LeafLiar… all of it?” His voice pitched higher at the realization.
Eraser shook his head, letting a small grin tug at the corner of his mouth. “Nah. Not like that. She didn’t hack your accounts. She just… she’s got the account. Said.. or well, wrote, that it was from a friend of hers. She likes to poke, annoy, see reactions. It’s literally just her being… Teardrop. Sisters, am I right?” He let out a small chuckle.

Firey’s panic eased slightly, though the tight knot of adrenaline still pulsed in his chest. “So… she’s not behind Nickel, she’s not– she’s not doing any of the real stuff?”
“I guess?” Eraser said, leaning against the wall casually. “No clue who Nickel is, but TD isn’t as involved in this as you think she is. She just enjoys pressing buttons. That’s it. She’s a teenager who somehow got herself into college early, skipped a few grades, sharp as hell, sneaky as you can imagine, but her sneaky isn’t the same as.. Whatever you think she’s doing. Trust me, she’s more of a chaos consultant than a mastermind.”
Firey ran a shaky hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “So all that panic, all that thinking she’s controlling everything… it’s not her?”
Eraser nodded, expression softening. “Nope. She’s just the wildcard. The account and the posting? Yeah, hers. But anything else isn’t her. She doesn’t have the skill for that.” He turned to her, still over his shoulder. “No offense…” He turned back to Firey. “Sounds like you’re dealing with a pro. She’s more like a nuisance you have to dodge, not a threat you can’t handle.”
Firey’s shoulders sagged a fraction, the tight coil of tension loosening. “I… I don’t even know what to say.”
Eraser gave a half-smile, casual but grounding. “Just… keep your head in the game. She’s annoying, she’s unpredictable, but she won’t actually sink you.”
Firey nodded, the weight of realization settling in. “Alright… I think I understand.”
His chest still throbbed, but a sliver of calm had settled around his mind. He hesitated, then blurted out, voice quieter this time:
“Can… Can you at least tell her to stop? The drafts, the posts… the messages. The stuff about me… it’s too much.”
Eraser’s brow furrowed slightly, though the crease quickly softened into a reassuring expression. “Yeah,” he said, tone firm but patient. “I’ll deal with it. She’s my sister, I know how to handle her. She likes being a little terror, but I can make sure she cools it on you. Consider it… temporarily under control.”
Firey let out a shaky breath, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders loosen. “Thanks… I– I really appreciate it.”
Eraser gave a small shrug, half-smile still in place. “Don’t thank me yet. She’s stubborn, she’s clever… but I’ll handle the annoying part.”
Firey nodded, the mix of relief and lingering panic settling into a sharper, more directed focus. At least now, one piece of the chaos was contained, and he could think more clearly about the actual threat.
Firey’s legs carried him back across campus faster than he realized, adrenaline still simmering from the encounter with Eraser. The evening air was crisp, carrying a distant hum of late-afternoon students and the faint scent of coffee from the café ahead.
As he approached, Donut and Snowball were the first people he saw inside, huddled over a laptop and a half-empty stack of notebooks. Snowball’s sharp gaze flicked up as they entered. “Did you find anything?” he asked, voice calm but tense.
Firey sank into a chair, leaning on Coiny’s arm for support. “It’s partly cleared up. Teardrop? Not actually behind the posts. She’s just.. well, she’s a nuisance. Her older brother, Eraser, dealt with it. But Nickel? He’s controlling everything else.”
Pin glanced up from her screen, eyes narrowing slightly, a flicker of lingering jealousy at the closeness of Firey and Coiny crossing her features. She shook it off, refocusing on the monitors. “Alright, that’s one piece of the puzzle. But the main problem remains. Nickel has your accounts, your image, everything. We still need a plan.”
Donut leaned forward, fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Options?”
Snowball sighed, leaning back. “Campus security. We could get them involved, but it’s risky. It exposes your movements, It might even tip Nickel off.”
“Confronting Nickel directly?” Firey’s voice was small, hesitant. “I… I don’t know if I can. He’s dangerous. We have no idea how he’ll respond.”
“Going off-grid?” Pin suggested, tapping at the keyboard. “Temporary device swaps, hiding offline, maybe. But there are no guarantees. He’s coordinated, smart. And someone like LeafLiar, or.. Teardrop, will notice almost immediately.”
Coiny squeezed Firey’s hand lightly, keeping his voice low but firm. “We’ll figure this out. One step at a time. Don’t let him see you panic, okay?”
Firey nodded, still jittery but slightly steadier with Coiny’s presence. He focused on the screens, the hum of the café around them fading just enough for him to breathe. The group leaned together, each voice and suggestion adding structure to the chaos, but tension remained thick in the air. Every option felt risky, every decision weighed heavily, and the threat of Nickel’s unseen moves pressed down like a physical weight.
Pin leaned forward, tapping commands into her laptop with swift, precise movements. “First things first,” she said, voice sharp. “Offline backups. Every draft, every raw clip, every log from your accounts, download it. Encrypt it. Make it invisible to anyone monitoring your devices. If Nickel tries to overwrite it, we still have control on our side.”
Snowball nodded, adjusting his glasses. “And we’ll need temporary devices. Switch everything over to new emails, new phones if necessary. Make sure the usual identifiers, like IP addresses and device IDs don’t match anything he’s tracking.”
Donut scribbled notes rapidly, glancing up occasionally at Firey. “Physically, we need safe rooms. Places on campus where you can be low-profile, especially while we test the network. Paths that avoid cameras, routes the staff rarely check. Nothing permanent yet, just temporary escape routes.”
Firey’s chest tightened as he absorbed everything, mind swarmed with all the moving pieces. He unconsciously leaned closer into Coiny, who draped an arm across his shoulders, squeezing gently. The pressure grounded him, just enough to stop his panic from boiling over.
Pin glanced at Firey, eyes sharp. “We’re not just patching holes here. Nickel’s sophisticated. This isn’t random trolling. We need to anticipate him and predict his next moves.”
Snowball rubbed his temple, voice steady. “And we stay coordinated. Each of us has a role. One misstep and Nickel sees it immediately.”
Firey finally straightened, shoulders still tense but his mind more focused.
Pin’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. “Alright. Let’s see how clever you really are, Nickel. Let’s find out who’s playing your games and take it apart, piece by piece.”
The group bent over the laptops and notes, the café around them fading as focus tightened. Each click, tap, and scribble felt like a small push against the invisible wall Nickel had built around Firey’s digital life. The plan was forming, tentative but real.
After a long stretch of planning and cross-checking, Firey paused, recalling the card Nickel had handed him weeks ago. Access to the special content creator room. It had seemed inconsequential at the time, a perk, a chance to mingle with other creators. Now, it was a potential lead, a way into Nickel’s own domain.
“I… I think we can use this,” Firey said, pulling the card from his pocket. “It’s the key to that content creator room he mentioned to me a while ago. Maybe that’s where he is now. We could confront him. I,, I know it’s dangerous but.. What choice do we have anymore?”
Pin’s eyes lit up. She liked the challenge. “Good thinking. That could give us a physical location or at least a controlled environment. From there, we can start confronting him.”
Coiny nodded. “Then let’s go. No more waiting around. Time to see what we’re really up against.”
Snowball and Donut packed up their laptops quickly, the tension in the group coiling tight but focused. As they exited the café into the evening air, the weight of the mission settled in, but Firey felt a surge of purpose. This wasn’t just about salvaging accounts anymore. It was about taking the first step toward reclaiming control. For himself.
Together, the group moved down the empty streets, shadows stretching long in the glow of the campus lights. Each step carried them closer to Nickel and to whatever reckoning awaited inside the content creator room.

They reached the door to the content creator room. Fiery swiped his card and the door swung open by itself. Firey walked inside, the others following closely behind him. The LED lights surrounding them were loud and obnoxious. It reminded him of Nickel.
People parted ways in the crowds to reveal Nickel, leaning casually against a doorframe with that faint smirk that made Firey’s blood run cold. He turned his gaze to look at them. “Oh, look at you all,” he said, almost mockingly, “I see you’re finally using that card, Fireball. Too bad it’s too late..” His hand waved vaguely. The bright lights caught the glint in his eyes, sharp, calculating, and almost unreadable.
Firey stepped forward, jaw tight, knees threatening to buckle. He tried to speak clearly, to keep his shaking voice from betraying the panic going through him. “What you’re doing,, it has to stop. You’ve taken everything. My drafts, my accounts, my work. Why?”
Nickel tilted his head lazily, folding his arms with an almost theatrical nonchalance. “Why? Because I can. Because it’s fun to see you scramble. You’re just SOOO predictable. But honestly?” He leaned forward slightly, smirk widening. Nickel being half Firey’s size made this almost comical. “It’s all public now. LeafLiar, the accounts, the stats, it’s all part of the show. And the show’s MINE.”
Pin stepped forward sharply, gaze hard, fingers flexing slightly over her tablet. “You’ve crossed the line. This isn’t just trolling. This is harassment. You’re holding him hostage in his own work.” Her voice was crisp, commanding, but there was an undercurrent of worry that she masked quickly.
Nickel’s smirk widened even more, almost imperceptibly. “Hostage? Cute. You think you can control this?” He gestured toward the array of phones, laptops, and tablets laid neatly on the table, each screen glowing faintly in the dim light. “Everything is already locked. Everything I didn’t want you seeing? Gone. Backups? Deleted. Drafts? Public. Sponsorship deals? Claimed. You’re too late.”
Firey’s stomach plummeted. He could feel his face heating, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He swallowed hard, trying to think, trying to find a loophole, anything to grab onto but the reality hit him like a punch to the chest. Every tether, every connection, every ounce of control had been severed. Nickel had complete dominance over his digital life.
Snowball’s jaw tightened, his normally calm demeanor strained. Donut’s hand brushed his face, voice quiet and tight, full of frustration and disbelief.
“We can’t undo it. Not tonight. Not with him this organized.” He sank into the bench beside them, shoulders slumped, letting the weight of the situation press in on him as well.
Firey felt his nails dig painfully into his palms, trembling hands shaking with frustration and despair. Coiny rested a hand lightly on his shoulder, grounding him physically and emotionally, forcing him to take a breath he didn’t feel he could spare.
Firey’s chest heaved, adrenaline coiling tight around every nerve. The suffocating panic of being completely powerless began to morph into something sharper, hotter, more combustible. His fists clenched until his knuckles whitened, and his gaze locked on Nickel. On the smug, infuriating grin that had haunted his last days. Every mocking post, every stolen draft, every public humiliation boiled into a single, irrepressible surge of fury.
Without thinking, he lunged. His first punch connected squarely with Nickel’s jaw, and the smirk faltered for the briefest instant. Firey’s anger, raw and untamed, fueled a relentless rage. Each hit was a release, a wordless scream against weeks of manipulation and fear. Nickel stumbled backward, desperately trying to shield himself, but Firey’s fury refused pause. Sweat dripped down his forehead, breaths ragged, every strike a punishment for the torment he had endured.
Snowball lunged, finally grabbing Firey by the shoulders, trying to pull him back, but Firey’s momentum was a whirlwind of controlled chaos. Punch after punch rang out, the sound’s of Nickels screams too drowned out by the noise of the room. Blood smudged across Nickel’s cheek, and the chaos drew eyes from down the hall, but Firey’s world had narrowed. Only Nickel, only this release, only the righteous, blinding fury that had replaced weeks of helpless panic.
Finally, Snowball wrapped his arms around Firey, lifting him up with a mix of strength and forceful restraint. “Enough! We have to move NOW!” Firey struggled, fists still clenched, body still trembling with anger and adrenaline, but Snowball’s grip was unyielding. They bolted, running down the hall before anyone could react. Behind them, Coiny, Pin, and Donut followed, breathless, hearts pounding, the late evening around them full of tension and dread and the heavy knowledge that nothing would be the same after this.
They spilled out of the room's stairwell into the cool evening air, lungs burning and legs pumping. Snowball kept a firm grip on Firey, who was still trembling, adrenaline making him feel both invincible and fragile at once. Coiny jogged beside them, hand brushing Firey’s lightly when he faltered. Pin and Donut brought up the rear, their expressions a mix of worry and a bit of proudness.
The campus was eerily quiet around them. Firey’s chest heaved as the fury began to slowly fade, leaving a strange, hollow exhaustion in its wake. His knuckles stung from his own force, his body being a tangle of heat and fatigue. For a moment, he leaned heavily against Snowball, letting himself be held. Letting the physical contact remind him that he wasn’t alone, even as his mind replayed every punch and every flicker of Nickel’s expression.
Snowball finally set him down on a low stone wall near the edge of the quad. Firey sank to the cold surface, burying his face in his hands. His anger had burned so bright it almost consumed him, but now only the heavy dread remained. The campus was quiet, but his heartbeat thundered in his ears, each thump a reminder of how close he’d come to losing himself entirely to rage.
Coiny crouched beside him, voice low and steady. He rubbed Firey’s back, careful and soothing. Pin leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed but tense, eyes flicking between Firey and the distance down the path they had just fled. Donut sat a little further back, quietly observing, while Snowball’s hand remained lightly on Firey’s shoulder, a steady, firm anchor.
Firey’s body and mind felt raw, every nerve ending alive with lingering fear and adrenaline. He knew Nickel was still out there, and LeafLiar’s influence hadn’t vanished, but for now, he had a moment of reprieve, surrounded by people who weren’t just witnesses to his chaos but willing to hold him through it. The weight of what he’d just unleashed and what was still to come settled in his chest like a stone.
Pin finally let out a long breath, shaking her head slightly. “Look… it’s late. We’ve done all we can for tonight. Everyone needs sleep. I think this is over now.” Her tone was firm, but there was an undercurrent of care. “Nothing good comes from exhaustion, especially not with this mess.”
Firey blinked, still shaky, chest rising and falling rapidly. The adrenaline from earlier had begun to fade, leaving only fatigue and the ache of his knuckles. He slumped slightly, letting the weight of the moment press down on him.
Snowball didn’t hesitate. He crouched, wrapped his arms firmly around Firey, and hoisted him up with ease, murmuring, “I’ve got you. You’re not walking anywhere like this.” Firey clung automatically, the physical support grounding him as panic formed into exhaustion.
Coiny and Donut fell in step beside them, flanking the pair as Snowball carried Firey through the quiet campus. The night air felt nice against their faces, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves. Firey’s head rested lightly against Snowball’s shoulder.

By the time they reached the dorm room, Firey’s legs had nearly stopped responding on their own. Snowball gently lowered him onto the bed he shared with Coiny, the blankets warm and soft. Firey immediately curled against Coiny. His exhaustion made him cling tighter than usual. Coiny’s arm came naturally around him, holding him steady, soothing the lingering tremors from the night’s chaos.
Donut flopped onto a chair nearby, still quietly observing, while Snowball gave a final reassuring pat to Firey’s shoulder before stepping onto his own bed. The dorm room fell into a hushed quiet, the chaos of the night replaced by the comfort of sleep.
Firey’s breathing slowly evened, a faint warmth from Coiny grounding him, as if the world could wait outside this room just for a little while.
Firey laid still, the quiet of the dorm pressing in around him. Coiny slept beside him, steady and warm, Snowball and Donut in their own beds and Pin long gone. But he couldn’t. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for his phone, screen lighting up the dim room. Notifications flashed, messages he hadn’t dared to check until now.
Among the usual chaos, one thread made his heart skip: Gelatin. Finally, after all this time, a reply.
Firey: Hey… I didn’t expect a response so soon.
Gelatin: I’ve been waiting. Look, I miss having you around the dorm. Things feel weird without you here. Without us, I guess.
Firey: I know. I feel awful about how I treated you both. I pushed you away. I wasn’t fair.
Gelatin: Yeah, I noticed. You were distant. I get it, you were stressed. But still, I miss you being yourself around here. The dorm feels emptier.
Firey: I never realized how much my panic and paranoia pushed you away. I just got caught up in everything.
Gelatin: I get it. But it still hurt. I want us to be okay again. You, me, Leafy. It’s been lonely without that.
Firey: I want that too. I really do. I’m sorry for letting things spiral. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.
Gelatin: I know. I just missed you. Even when you weren’t around properly, I still noticed. Still cared.
Firey: I care too. More than I realized. I don’t want to push people away anymore. Especially not you or Leafy.
Gelatin: Good. Don’t. Come back properly when you can. We’ll… figure it out. Together.
Firey’s chest tightened. Reading Gelatin’s words made the knot in his stomach twist, half guilt, half relief. He stared at the ceiling, thumb hovering over the keyboard. He wanted to say more, to promise things he wasn’t sure he could yet, but for the first time that night, he felt a small tether back to something real.
Coiny’s steady breathing beside him reminded him he wasn’t alone either. For now, the storm could wait. He had messages to answer, bridges to mend, and maybe a little hope to hold onto.

Chapter Text

Morning light crept through the blinds of Coiny’s dorm room, slanting across the cluttered desks and unmade beds. Firey sat on the edge of the couch, staring blankly at his hands. His knuckles were still raw from last night, small patches of dried blood clinging to the skin. The quiet hum of the campus outside felt unreal compared to the chaos in his head.
Donut was still asleep in his bed, a pillow pulled over his face to block the light. Snowball was sprawled across the other couch like he’d collapsed after a long shift, mouth open, snoring faintly. Coiny was at his desk, absently scrolling his phone but occasionally glancing over at Firey with an expression halfway between concern and annoyance. The silence between them grew heavier until Coiny finally set his phone face-down on the desk.
“You’re gonna make a hole in the floor if you keep staring like that,” Coiny muttered.
Firey blinked, dragging his eyes up. “Sorry.”
Coiny leaned back in his chair, arms folding. “I’m not asking for an apology. Just… talk to me. What’s going on in there?”
Firey let out a rough sigh, rubbing at his knuckles with his other hand. The sting made him wince. “I don’t even know. I thought I’d feel better after… y’know, after hitting him. But I don’t. I just feel… stupid.”
“Stupid how?”
Firey’s voice cracked, low and bitter. “For letting it get that far. I didn’t even notice what Nickel was doing until it was too late. Everyone told me I was finally making it big, and I just— I let him use me. Like I was some… idiot desperate for a spotlight. And I was.”
Coiny’s frown deepened, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I kept thinking I was in control. That I was finally… worth something. But he was pulling the strings the whole time.” Firey hunched forward, elbows digging into his knees. “I can’t stop thinking about how I let it happen. How I let me happen. I should’ve known better.”
Coiny sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “You messed up. Big deal. Everyone does. At least you figured it out before you completely lost yourself. And honestly? You did more damage to Nickel than he could’ve done to you.”
“That’s not what it feels like,” Firey muttered. His eyes flicked to the faint smear of blood on his knuckles again. “It feels like I let him win.”
The room fell quiet again, the distant chatter of morning classes carrying faintly through the window. Firey’s chest tightened, the weight of it pressing down harder. He opened his mouth, searching for something else to say—
The knock came suddenly, sharp and deliberate. Three raps against the wood. The sound made Firey flinch.
Coiny frowned, stood, and opened the door.
Leafy stood there in the hallway, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. She looked tired,, hair a little messy, eyes a little puffy, like she hadn’t slept well. Next to her was Gelatin, who looked the opposite: bright, curious, and a little too awake for how early it was.
“Dude.” Gelatin said, giving a huge, in-disbelief smile before leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. His grin was crooked, half-teasing, half-intrigued. “So, I woke up this morning and everyone’s buzzing about you wrecking Nickel last night. Didn’t think you had it in you, dude.” He tilted his head, eyeing Firey like he was trying to see what was different about him. “You GOTTA tell me what went down.”
Coiny’s expression darkened a little at that, but Firey couldn’t even find words to respond. His chest felt tight at the memory, anger and shame tangling up in his stomach.
Leafy stepped forward, her tone gentler. “I heard too,” she said softly, eyes landing on Firey’s bruised hands before flicking back to his face. “But I wasn’t here to laugh about it. I just… I needed to check if you’re okay. I know things are still weird between us, but..” She hesitated, glancing away. “I don’t like seeing you hurt like this.”
Coiny stepped aside reluctantly, letting them both in. Gelatin wasted no time, dropping onto the couch opposite Firey like he owned it, bouncing once against the cushions. His energy filled the room instantly, contrasting sharply with the heavy silence.
Leafy lingered by the door, clutching her phone like it was an anchor, eyes still shadowed by the remnants of their argument. When she finally moved to sit, she did so cautiously, like she wasn’t sure how welcome she was.
The room felt different now. Fuller, more charged. Gelatin’s restless energy made Firey’s chest loosen just a little, while Leafy’s presence, soft but strained, kept his guilt clawing at him.
Firey swallowed, glancing between them. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to explain that yes, hitting Nickel had felt good, but it had also left him emptier than before. That he wasn’t proud, just tired.
Gelatin leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes bright with curiosity. “So? Spill it, man. Was it like.. BAM, one punch, or did you totally unload on him?!”
Firey’s jaw tightened. His gaze dropped back to his hands. For once, he didn’t have an answer.
Gelatin grinned anyway, rocking back against the couch. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging. You’ve gotta give me the play-by-play. Did he cry? Please tell me he cried.”
“Gelatin.” Leafy’s voice cut through, quiet but firm. She didn’t look at him, though her eyes stayed fixed on Firey, watching the way his shoulders curled in like he was trying to make himself smaller
Coiny exhaled sharply from his desk. “Read the room, dude.”
Gelatin blinked, his grin faltering. “What? I’m just—”
“Not helping,” Coiny snapped
The air went brittle. Firey’s fingers dug into his knees. He could feel Leafy’s eyes on him, and it made his throat tighten.
“I didn’t win,” he said finally, the words scraping out low. “That’s what you all don’t get. I didn’t beat him. I let him use me, and then I snapped. That’s not winning. That’s just losing twice.”
Leafy’s expression shifted, something between pain and recognition, but she didn’t say anything. Gelatin sank back, lips pressed thin, his earlier energy draining away under the weight of Firey’s words.
For a long moment, no one moved. The only sound was the faint whir of Coiny’s desk fan and the muffled noise of students outside.
Then Leafy set her phone down on the table, the screen face-down. Her hands trembled slightly, but her voice was steady. “Firey… maybe you don’t have to keep counting wins and losses. Maybe that’s not the point.”
Firey looked up at her, and for the first time since she’d entered, their eyes met. It hurt to hold her gaze, but it hurt worse to look away.
Firey looked up at her, and for the first time since she’d entered, their eyes met. It hurt to hold her gaze, but it hurt worse to look away.
Gelatin cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Okay, but uh… just saying, Nickel kinda deserved it. Like, yeah, maybe it wasn’t the most productive move, but the guy’s a jerk. He’s been talking trash since day one.” He leaned back, hands up like he was trying to soften it. “I mean, I’m not exactly pro-violence, but also? Definitely not crying any tears for him.”

Leafy turned her head slowly toward him, her voice razor-thin. “You think this is about Nickel?”
Gelatin faltered, glancing between them. “…I mean… isn’t it?”
“No,” Firey said, sharper than he meant to. His fists tightened on his knees, and he forced himself to unclench. “It’s not. Nickel’s just… the excuse. The easy target. I wanted something to punch because I didn’t want to admit—” His voice cracked, and he shut his mouth, looking down again.
Leafy’s hands twisted together in her lap. She leaned forward slightly, her tone softening. “You didn’t want to admit you got hurt.”
The words sat between them, heavy. Firey’s chest ached because she was right. Too right, and he hated that she could still read him that easily.
Gelatin shifted uncomfortably, his usual bounce gone. “Okay… so maybe I was off-base.” He scratched the back of his head. “But, like… doesn’t everyone get taken advantage of sometimes? I mean, it sucks, but… it doesn’t make you weak. Just makes you human.”
Firey’s laugh came out bitter, almost a scoff. “Human. Right. That’s not how it feels.”
Leafy’s eyes softened even more, but there was a steel edge to her voice. “You’re not weak, Firey. You’re just tired of pretending you’re fine when you’re not.” She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure if she had the right to say the next part, but she did anyway. “…And maybe I’m tired of pretending too.”
That cracked something open between both of them.
Gelatin glanced from one to the other, suddenly realizing the air was shifting into something more personal. He raised his hands, backing off with a half-smile. “Uh, yeah. I think I’ll… give you two some space. gonna, uh… check if Donut’s alive anyway.” He slipped out of the area with uncharacteristic quiet, shoving Donut awake from his sleep. He started talking his ear off, leaving Leafy and Firey in the thick silence that followed.
Firey shifted on the couch, shoulders tight, avoiding Leafy’s gaze. Coiny sat beside him, one hand resting lightly on Firey’s knee, grounding him without words. The touch was small but enough to anchor him, and he exhaled slowly, trying to steady the rapid beat in his chest.
Leafy stayed near the edge of the couch, phone forgotten in her lap, eyes flicking between them. “I… I don’t even know where to start,” she admitted quietly. Her voice was soft, tentative, but there was a raw honesty underneath.
Firey swallowed, nodding. “Yeah… me neither. I mean… I screwed up. I pushed you away, Leafy. And I… I didn’t realize how much it hurt.” He let his hands fall onto his knees, open and exposed. “I just… I didn’t know how to handle everything that was happening, and I let it get to me.”
Coiny squeezed his knee gently, a subtle encouragement to keep going. “It’s okay to admit that,” he said calmly, eyes on Firey. “We’re all just… figuring it out.”
Leafy’s lips pressed together, and she looked down at her phone, fingers drumming nervously. “I just… missed having you around. I missed us being whatever we were before the fights and the LeafLiar stuff and everything. And I hated seeing you so… alone.”
Firey’s chest tightened, guilt and longing mixing. “I… I know. I feel awful about it. I treated you both badly,, pushed you and Gelatin away. I let myself get cornered, and I didn’t even think about how that would make you feel.”
Coiny leaned closer, giving him a steadying glance, as if silently saying: you’re safe here, and it’s okay to feel this.
Leafy finally looked up, meeting his eyes. “I don’t want to fight. I just want honesty. And I want to make sure you’re okay. That’s all I care about right now.”
Firey exhaled, a shaky laugh escaping. “I’m trying. I really am. I just… I don’t know if I can be okay yet.”
Coiny’s hand stayed on his knee, and his presence gave Firey the courage to keep going. “You’ll figure it out,” Coiny said softly. “Step by step.”
Leafy nodded, a small smile breaking through her worry. “Step by step,” she echoed.
Firey leaned back into the couch, Coiny’s hand still resting on his knee, steady and grounding. Leafy shifted slightly, moving closer to the edge of the couch but still maintaining a respectful distance, like she didn’t want to crowd him or Coiny.
“I missed this,” Firey admitted quietly, his voice rough from both fatigue and emotion. “I missed having someone to just be here with. Not a screen, not a post, not anything else.”
Leafy’s gaze softened, and for a moment, the tension in her shoulders eased. “Yeah… me too,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Even after the argument… I didn’t stop caring. I wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all.”
Firey swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making words feel heavy. “I know… I just… I let everything happen. I let them take advantage of me. I let myself get dragged into all of it, and now…” His voice trailed off, eyes flicking between Coiny and Leafy. “…I don’t know what’s left for me.”
Leafy’s expression softened further, though her voice carried a quiet firmness. “You’re still you, Firey. You still matter. And none of this changes that. You’ve got people willing to stand by you, even when things are messy.”

Coiny leaned back slightly, still close enough that Firey could feel the warmth radiating from him. “And we’re gonna figure it out, step by step. You don’t have to fix everything tonight, or ever. Just be here, for now.”
For a long moment, the three of them sat in a fragile silence, the only sounds the faint shuffle of Coiny’s phone on the desk and the distant rustle of the quad outside. Firey’s chest loosened slightly, the knot of anxiety and guilt easing just enough that he could breathe normally.
Leafy finally exhaled, letting some of her own tension go. “So,, we start fresh? Just try to be honest, and maybe not let things spiral like last time?”
Firey nodded slowly, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah… start fresh.”
Firey’s smile lingered. It was faint but real. For once, it wasn’t for a camera or a crowd, just for the two people in front of him. And I guess the others who weren’t paying too much attention. Actually.. Gelatin and Donut were gone at this point. Snowball was still passed out though. Firey leaned back against the couch cushion, letting his shoulders sink deeper into the fabric. The weight pressing on his chest wasn’t gone, not even close, but it felt like maybe he didn’t have to carry it by himself anymore.
Coiny glanced at Leafy, then back at Firey. “Guess that’s settled, then. Fresh start.” He gave Firey’s knee one last squeeze before finally pulling his hand away, stretching his arms above his head. “Now all we gotta do is not totally screw it up. Isn’t that fun…”
Leafy chuckled softly. “Yeah, no pressure.”
Firey breathed out, not quite a laugh but close enough. “Easier said than done.” His voice carried more life in it than earlier, even if just slightly.
The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It was something else… something gentler. They sat in it for a moment, the three of them, like they were relearning how to exist in the same space without the world crashing in.
And then, faintly, voices filtered in from the hallway. Laughter, footsteps, the muffled rise and fall of someone joking too loudly. It reminded Firey that beyond this little bubble, life was still moving. Louder, messier, and faster than he felt ready for.
Coiny tilted his head toward the noise, smirking. “Sounds like the rest of campus isn’t exactly starting fresh. You think Gelatin’s already gotten into trouble before lunch?”
Leafy smiled faintly at the thought. “Wouldn’t surprise me. He has a way of pulling people into… whatever it is he does.”
Firey’s eyes lingered on the door. His chest tightened. Not with panic this time, but with something else. A quiet, uneasy curiosity.
He shifted on the couch, almost restless. “Maybe… maybe I should see what’s going on out there.”
Coiny and Leafy exchanged a quick glance, both reading the hesitancy in his tone. Neither pushed, neither stopped him.
Something in Firey’s chest itched. Staying in this room, surrounded by the aftermath of last night, made him feel like he was stuck,, like he’d never crawl out of that moment if he didn’t at least step forward.
So he pushed himself up. His knees cracked faintly, and he smoothed his hands down his jeans, buying a few seconds more. “I’ll… I’ll just check. Won’t be long.”
Coiny opened his mouth, like he wanted to stop him, but closed it again. Instead, he just gave a small nod. Leafy, too, didn’t press, though her eyes lingered on him, worried in a way that made Firey’s throat tighten.
He moved toward the door, every step a little heavier than it should’ve been. The handle was cool against his palm when he grabbed it, the faint chatter from the hall seeping clearer into the room.
“Firey?” Leafy’s voice stopped him, just before he left. He turned, and she gave him the faintest smile. “You’re not alone, okay?”
For a second, he just stared. Then, with a tiny nod, he slipped out.
The hallway greeted him with a mix of voices, footsteps, and the faint echo of laughter bouncing off cinderblock walls. He shoved his hands into his pockets, head down, letting the noise pull him forward.
He wasn’t sure what he’d find, but he knew he couldn’t stay in that room forever.
And with that thought, he started down the hall.

Firey drifted down the hall, eyes scanning the students lingering near doors and leaning against walls. He wasn’t sure what he was even looking for.. just that sitting back in his dorm had started to suffocate him.
The hum of conversation and laughter rolled past him, muffled in pockets. Then—
“FIREYYYY!!!”
Gelatin’s voice cracked through before Firey even spotted him. A second later, Gelatin’s mop of hair appeared bobbing through the crowd, grin wide and uncontainable. “Dude, there you are! Thought you were gonna hide forever!!”
Before Firey could protest, Gelatin had hooked an arm around his shoulder, despite him being a lot shorter than Firey, steering him toward a group gathered at the far end of the hall. “C’mon, I gotta introduce you. They’ve been dying to meet you.”
Firey’s stomach tightened at that phrasing, but he let himself be dragged along.
The group came into focus: Ruby, bouncing on her heels mid-story; Flower, draped in an oversized scarf with theatrical flair; Lollipop leaning against the wall beside her, arms crossed with that sharp-eyed detachment that said she was amused but unwilling to admit it; and a shorter figure,, Bracelety, half crouched, peering under a chair like she’d lost something vital.
“Guys, guys,” Gelatin announced, puffing himself up like a ringleader, “this is Firey. Firey, meet the crew! Ruby, Flower, Lollipop, and uh… Bracelety, but she’s, uh, kind of on a side quest right now.”
Bracelety popped up at that, eyes wide. “Has anyone seen her? She was JUST here!!! I swear she was just RIGHT HERE–” Then, without waiting for an answer, she darted off down the hall, scanning the floorboards.
Ruby clapped her hands together. “Ooooh, hi Firey! I know you!!!” Her smile was infectious, bright enough to make Firey shift on his feet. “SO. Did you really punch Nickel?! Like, actually punch him, with your actual fist?!?”
Firey blinked. “Uh…”
“She means hi,” Flower cut in quickly, swatting Ruby lightly on the arm. She turned to Firey with warm eyes and a smile too gentle for this noisy hallway. “It’s nice to meet you. Don’t mind her.. Ruby’s curious about everything.”
Ruby shrugged unapologetically. “What? It’s a good question!”
Lollipop rolled her eyes. “It’s a blunt question. There’s a difference.” Her gaze flicked over Firey, assessing in that way that made him feel like he was under a spotlight. “But fine. Consider me… mildly interested.”
Flower nudged Lollipop’s arm, leaning in just close enough that the two seemed to occupy each other naturally. Firey caught it, the easy closeness, and felt something loosen inside him. Like he was being reminded people could just… fit together without all the jagged edges, With jagged edges like him, Pin, and Coiny did.
Gelatin, oblivious to the subtlety, dropped onto the arm of a nearby couch. “Told you he was cool,” he said proudly, like Firey was his personal find. “Not just the Leaf Guy! He’s, like, a person! I know, I couldn’t believe it either!”
That last part made Firey’s chest tighten, but for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Ruby leaned in closer, eyes sparkling like she’d been waiting all day to pry. “Sooo, you did punch him, right? Nickel, I mean. Everyone’s been talking about it. Some people are saying you broke his nose. Did you break his nose?! That’d be SO crazy.”
Firey swallowed hard, shifting his weight. “I didn’t— I mean, I didn’t mean for it to—”
“Ruby,” Flower interrupted, her voice sing-song but firm. She laid a hand on Ruby’s arm, giving Firey a reassuring smile that was almost too much. “Let him breathe, okay? Not everything has to be turned into a headline.”
Lollipop let out a dry laugh, uncrossing her arms just to fold them again. “Oh, please. You think Nickel hasn’t already turned it into one himself? I heard him in the student lounge this morning. Nose taped up, spinning it like Firey ambushed him in cold blood.” She raised a brow at Firey, her tone deceptively casual. “Was it, though?”
Firey’s face burned. He felt angry about this. “No! He… He just wouldn’t stop. I told him to quit and he didn’t.” His hands flexed at his sides. “I just snapped.”
Ruby’s smile only widened. “So you did break his nose!”
“Ruby,” Flower chimed in again, though her tone was softened by a laugh. She slipped her arm through Lollipop’s now, almost absentmindedly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “What matters is Firey was provoked. Anyone could’ve lost their temper. I think it’s brave, standing up for yourself like that.”
Firey blinked at her, unsure if she was serious or just trying to smother the awkwardness with sweetness.
Lollipop tilted her head toward Flower, voice low but pointed. “Or reckless. Depending on how you spin it.” Her fingers brushed along Flower’s arm where they were linked, grounding herself even as her words cut sharp.
“Spin,” Gelatin echoed, spinning around, clapping his hands once like he was wrapping up the thought. “See, that’s the problem, isn’t it? Nickel spins everything. He’s like a one-trick pony. Give him half an audience and suddenly he’s the victim of the century!!”
“Yeah!” Ruby agreed, nodding emphatically. “He was telling people you’ve got, like, anger issues. That you’re dangerous.”
The words landed heavier than Ruby intended. Firey flinched, the hallway’s hum dulling for a moment.
Flower noticed. She leaned forward, her smile softening into something more sincere. “Don’t listen to that. People love a scandal, it doesn’t make it true. You’re here, right? You’re trying. That’s what matters.”
Lollipop smirked faintly, though she didn’t disagree. “Besides, if Nickel’s the one bleeding, I’d say the odds of people siding with him are… limited. He’s not exactly beloved.”
Gelatin spread his arms, as if sealing the case. “Exactly! You’re fine, Firey. You’ve got friends now! Can’t say you had those before!” He shot Firey a grin that was too big to argue with.
Firey exhaled, some of the tension easing. For the first time since the whole incident, he didn’t feel like the “Leaf Guy” or the walking mistake everyone whispered about, just another student, sitting in a too-bright hallway, trying to figure it out.
Before anyone could pile more weight onto the conversation, a sharp clack clack clack echoed down the hall. Bracelety bounced back into view, dragging what looked like three stacked lunch trays she’d duct-taped together, a bizarre contraption balanced on top.
“Okay!” she announced proudly, voice booming with the confidence of someone who had never once doubted herself. “I built a mega tray tower! For… uh…” She paused, tilting her head. “…carrying more food? Or maybe for racing?”
Ruby gasped. “Oooh! Oooh!! Can I try balancing on it?”
Lollipop stared. “You’re all unbelievable.”
Flower laughed too loudly, but it cut through the leftover heaviness in the air. “You’re adorable, Bracelety! Look at you, innovating!!”
Firey couldn’t help it. He let out a small laugh too, the sound awkward but real. Watching Bracelety wobble under the tray tower’s weight was ridiculous, but it was also freeing.
“See?” Gelatin chimed in, gesturing toward the scene like it proved his point. “We’re fine. THIS is normal! No scandals, no broken noses. Just chaos!!”
“Chaos is a good word,” Lollipop muttered, though the faintest smirk tugged at her lips. She glanced sidelong at Flower, their arms still looped together.
Firey rose to his feet, shoulders a little lighter. “Yeah… chaos.” He gave a small nod to the group before taking a step toward the hall. “I’m gonna… head out for a bit. Clear my head.”
None of them stopped him. The voices faded behind him as he walked, shoes scuffing the tile. For a moment, the noise almost drowned out the whisper of doubt that Nickel’s gossip had left behind. Almost.

Firey rounded the corner, half-hoping for an empty hallway to collect his thoughts in, when he nearly collided with someone hunched over their phone.
“Hey– watch it,” Donut muttered, steadying himself before finally glancing up. His eyes narrowed just slightly. “Oh. Hi Firey,,”
Firey shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “…Hey.”
Donut didn’t move aside, just stood there. The silence pressed in until Firey broke it. “So… uh. Earlier. You and Gelatin… you left together.” He hesitated, glancing back the way he came. “But you weren’t with him just now. What’s up with that?”
Donut slipped his phone into his pocket, posture stiffening. His usual tone, dry, biting came out quieter this time, like he was choosing his words. “We were together. For a bit.” His gaze flickered down the hall. “But Gelatin has this… habit of dragging in strays. He saw you alone and—” Donut gave a humorless laugh. “—you became his new project.”
Firey frowned. “…Is that what you think I am? A project?”
Donut didn’t answer right away. He adjusted his bag strap, like he was buying time. “…I think Gelatin forgets that sometimes, when he collects people, the ones already around him…” His voice trailed off. “They get left behind.”
The words hung in the air, heavier than Firey expected.
Firey blinked at Donut, caught off guard by how raw that last line sounded. “…He didn’t forget you,” he said quietly. “Gelatin’s… just like that. He doesn’t mean to leave anyone behind.”
“Yeah?” Donut’s mouth twitched, something between a smirk and a wince. “You sound pretty sure of that, but I guess you HAVE known him your whole life..”
Firey crossed his arms, trying not to feel defensive. “I’ve seen the way he talks to people. He actually cares. Even if he’s a little all over the place sometimes.”
Donut gave a sharp laugh. “ ‘A little’? Please. He’s constantly bouncing between everything and nothing. One second he’s gushing about someone’s shoes, the next he’s rambling about an unfinished play he’ll never stage.” His voice cracked with more weight than he meant to show. “It’s like he’s everywhere but here. With me.”
The admission slipped out, and Donut’s face tightened immediately, like he wanted to reel it back.
Firey tilted his head. “…You like him.”
Donut’s eyes snapped up. “Don’t—” He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “…Yeah. I do. He’s cute. He’s infuriating, but he’s cute.” His voice softened, almost pleading. “But what good is that when he’s too busy saving the world one awkward freshman at a time?”
Firey shifted his weight, guilt pricking at him. “You mean me, huh?”
“I mean anyone,” Donut shot back, though not as harshly as before. “You. Ruby. Whoever else he decides needs his attention that day. It’s not your fault. It’s just…” He exhaled sharply. “I’m right here, and I’m never enough to hold his focus.”
The hallway buzzed with quiet, just a fluorescent light flickering above. Firey searched Donut’s expression, finally seeing the exhaustion behind the sarcasm.
“You should tell him,” Firey said gently.
Donut barked out another laugh, this one hollow. “Right. And watch him pat me on the shoulder and then run off to chase the next shiny object? Hard pass.”
“Maybe he’d surprise you.”
Donut gave him a long look, then shook his head. “You’re optimistic for someone who looks like they’ve been chewed up and spit out by this place.”
“Maybe I’m just stubborn.” Firey managed a small grin.
For the first time, Donut’s expression cracked, the edge softening just a little. “…Don’t get used to me spilling my guts like this. You caught me in a weak moment.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Firey promised.
Donut nodded once, curt, before sidestepping him. “Good. Then do me a favor. Don’t make him choose between us.”
With that, Donut walked past, leaving Firey standing in the glow of the buzzing light, uneasy but strangely sympathetic.
Firey stayed where he was, eyes fixed on Donut’s back until he rounded the corner and was gone. The echo of his steps faded, but the air didn’t lighten. It only pressed heavier, like a storm about to break.
That’s when Firey felt it. That creeping awareness of someone else nearby. He turned his head, and there at the far end of the corridor stood Nickel.
Nickel leaned against the wall, arms folded, his posture casual in a way that didn’t match the look in his eyes. His stare was sharp, cold, unblinking. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched.
The fluorescent bulb overhead flickered, shadowing Nickel’s face for a fraction of a second, then lighting it again. Each blink of light made him look a little different. Angry, hurt, calculating. Firey couldn’t tell which was real.
Their eyes locked, and Firey’s chest tightened. Nickel didn’t lunge or sneer. He only tilted his head slightly, as if he were still deciding what to do with Firey.. like the thought of retaliation lingered in the back of his mind.
The silence stretched too long. Firey’s knuckles twitched, curling tight, half-ready for something that never came.
Then Nickel finally shifted. Slowly, he pushed off the wall, his shoes scuffing the floor in deliberate, echoing steps. He walked to the stairwell door, paused for the briefest moment with his back to Firey, and then slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind him.
The hallway was empty again, but the weight of his stare lingered.
Firey swallowed hard and forced himself forward, though his body felt heavy, coiled tight with nerves.
He lingered a moment longer in the empty hallway, his steps glued to the tile. His chest still felt tight, his mind replaying Nickel’s stare like a scratched record. There was no yelling, no blow-up… just that silent judgment, heavier than any punch.
“He’s not done with me. Not by a long shot.” He thought.
Firey dragged a hand over his face, exhaling sharp through his nose. For half a second he wondered if Gelatin had already heard about the stare-down, if the whole group would—
A blur of movement cut across his vision.
“THERE she is!! no, wait, that’s not her– UGHH!”
Bracelety zipped right past him, rubber limbs flailing as she craned her neck side to side, eyes darting like she was chasing a dog. She stopped short a few feet ahead, spun, then ran the other way without acknowledging him.
“Have you SEEN HER?!?” she asked suddenly, popping back into his space like she’d teleported.
“blueish-white hair, sorta winter-y jacket, kinda short>! She was RIGHT here two minutes ago, and then POOF!! IT'S LIKE SHE HATES ME!!!”
Firey blinked at her, thrown off. “Uh… no? Sorry.”
Bracelety slapped her forehead with an exaggerated groan. “Ugh, she’s like… always VANISHING! I swear she’s half ghost!!” And before Firey could respond, she bolted down another hallway, mumbling something about “finding her before rehearsal starts.”
The bizarre burst of energy pulled Firey halfway out of his spiral. He stood there a moment, staring after her, then shook his head with the faintest, reluctant laugh.
As weird as it was, it reminded him of where he was supposed to be, back with Gelatin and his group of theater geeks, who’d somehow made him feel like less of a viral punchline and more of a person again.
Firey adjusted his bag strap on his shoulder and started walking, letting the distant echo of Bracelety’s rambling fade behind him.

Firey slowed at the edge of the common area, pausing just out of sight. He could already hear them before he even rounded the corner. Their voices overlapping, animated and sharp in tone but not quite cutting.
Alright. Just… walk in. You’re not “Leaf Guy” here. You’re just Firey. They’re Gelatin’s friends. They don’t bite… well, maybe Lollipop does. But still.
He rolled his shoulders back, took in a slow breath, and pushed forward.
The sight that greeted him wasn’t what he expected. Gelatin and Lollipop were locked in a mock-serious squabble, standing toe-to-toe like sparring partners.
“I’m telling you, your blocking was off.” Lollipop huffed, folding her arms.
“OFF?!” Gelatin clutched his chest, as if mortally wounded. “Excuse me for not being a human metronome!!!”
Ruby was perched between them, eyes sparkling, practically egging them on. “No, no, keep going, this is so good! Gelatin, make the face you do when you’re pretending to take criticism, but you’re actually about to explode!! Yeah, that one!!!” She clapped like she was at a front-row improv show.
Flower, meanwhile, was tucked into her own corner, chin resting in her hands, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She glanced at Firey the second he appeared, tilting her head knowingly, then back to the “fight” with a kind of serene patience.
“They’re not serious,” she murmured across the room, her tone reassuring, like she was letting Firey in on a secret.
And she was right. Firey could see it now. The exaggerated gestures, the overdone sighs, the smug little smirks hidden between their lines. It was theater, pure and simple.
For the first time since the Nickel stare-down, he felt his shoulders ease just slightly.
Firey spotted Flower sitting quietly on a low wall a few steps away from the group, her sketchbook balanced on her knees. He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath, before wandering over.
Flower looked up, her eyes softening as she noticed him approaching. “Hey,” she said gently, closing her book. “You look… like you’ve got something on your mind. What’s wrong dear?”
Firey sank onto the edge of the wall beside Flower, shoulders hunched, fingers twisting nervously in his lap. “I don’t know how to handle it,” he admitted, voice low. “It’s Pin and Coiny. I like both of them, but it’s messy. Pin… she’s sharp, smart, and I feel like I’ve messed up with her somehow. I can’t tell if she’s still annoyed at me or if I just imagined it. And Coiny… he’s always been steady, solid, the one person I can cling to when everything else falls apart, but I think I rely on him too much. Maybe I’m smothering him, even if he doesn’t complain. This whole Nickel thing just really had me shaken up.”
He swallowed hard, heart hammering. “It’s like… I’m stuck between wanting to be there for them both and not wanting to make things worse. And every time I try to think it through, I just spiral. Worrying I’m reading too much into their reactions, or I’m not showing them the right side of me, or I’m just… messing up again.”
Flower watched him quietly, her gaze gentle but attentive, letting him unravel his thoughts fully. For the first time in days, Firey felt like he could admit the chaos in his chest without fear of judgment, like someone might actually understand the tangle of his feelings.
Flower’s smile was soft, patient, the kind that didn’t push but invited him to keep talking. She leaned slightly closer, her voice quiet but warm. “Firey, I think you’re overthinking a lot of it. You’re worried about how you act around them, how they feel about you, but maybe… maybe you’re just letting your head run ahead of your heart.”
He looked up at her, eyes wide, the nervous tension in his chest loosening just a little. “I don’t know. I just… I feel like I’m messing it all up. With Pin, with Coiny, with myself.” His fingers flexed anxiously. “I don’t want to ruin things, but I also don’t want to hold back when I care about people.”
Flower’s tone softened, almost conspiratorial. “It’s okay to care. And it’s okay to be honest with yourself. You don’t have to have everything figured out right now. Sometimes, the best thing you can do is just be there, and see what happens.”
Firey let out a shaky breath, the words settling over him like a small weight lifted. He could feel the warmth of understanding, the reassurance that maybe he wasn’t as lost as he thought. His shoulders eased, and for the first time in a while, he felt like maybe he could handle the mess of feelings, one careful step at a time.
Flower tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You know,” she said lightly, “sometimes you’re so busy overthinking that you forget you can just breathe. And let people respond to you, not your fears about them.”
Firey rubbed the back of his neck, trying to absorb that. He felt a flush of warmth,, not embarrassment exactly, just relief that someone else was seeing past the chaos he’d built around himself. “Yeah… I guess I just keep feeling like I’m… I don’t know… walking on a tightrope. One wrong move, and I screw up what I have with both of them.”
Flower smiled knowingly. “That’s normal. You care too much not to worry. But trust me, you’re not messing anything up by being… Well, you. Coiny’s solid. Pin… she’s complicated, sure, but she’s not out to punish you.”
Firey blinked, hesitating. “I just… I don’t know how to balance it. I like both of them, but I feel like I’m leaning too hard on Coiny and… maybe Pin’s upset with me. And I don’t want to push anyone away.”
Flower’s expression softened further, a mix of empathy and gentle amusement. “Sounds like you need a safe space. Somewhere you can just be yourself without all the eyes and judgment of the campus watching. Somewhere you can figure out how to care for both of them without feeling trapped.”
Firey’s pulse quickened at the idea. “A safe space…” he murmured, letting the concept sink in. For once, he could picture it, not a viral persona, not a controlled image, just himself among people he trusted. His shoulders relaxed a fraction, and he allowed himself a small, hopeful smile.
Flower grinned. “Exactly. And maybe you should do something a little fun about it. Something that doesn’t require anyone else knowing. A… controlled chaos kind of experiment.”
Firey tilted his head, curious. “Controlled chaos?”
Flower’s eyes sparkled. “Yeah!! Something like… a mini sleepover. Just you, Coiny, and Pin. No campus higher-ups. No audience. Just a chance to be honest, unwind, and figure out what all this emotional stuff is about.”
Firey let out a long breath, the tension in his chest loosening more. “You… you think that could work?”
Flower’s grin widened. “I think it’s exactly what you need.”
Firey nodded slowly. The idea of a sleepover, just the three of them, felt both thrilling and terrifying. He imagined the awkward silences, the little sparks of conversation, and the chance to be honest with both Coiny and Pin without a screen or an audience in between.
Flower leaned back, hands clasped loosely in front of her, watching him carefully. “Honestly,” she said softly, “you don’t have to have it all figured out. You just need to start somewhere. And starting somewhere with people you trust? That’s the only way it’ll feel right.”
Firey’s thoughts drifted briefly to Coiny, imagining the familiar warmth of his presence, his steadying hand, the way he could calm even the fiercest panic with a single touch. Then to Pin. Her sharp mind, the way she pushed him to think, challenged him, and somehow made him feel like he could rise to the occasion. Both feelings swirled together, confusing and heavy, but now tempered by Flower’s gentle clarity.
“I… okay,” he finally said, voice small but determined. “I’ll do it. I’ll… ask them. See if they’re willing to…” His words faltered slightly. “To just… have a night where it’s only us, no one else.”
Flower nodded, her grin encouraging but soft. “Exactly. And just remember, this isn’t about solving everything at once. It’s about giving yourself the space to breathe. Be honest. And maybe have a little fun along the way.”
Firey allowed himself a small laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing more with every word. “Alright. I can do that. I’ll… figure it out.”
With a final nod from Flower, Firey took a deep breath and turned back toward the group, heart thudding in nervous anticipation. It was time to take the first step,, asking Coiny and Pin if they’d be willing to share this small, secret world with him
Firey lingered for a moment, watching Gelatin and Lollipop trade their usual rapid-fire barbs. Their argument was mostly incomprehensible to him. It was full of inside references, theatrical exaggerations, and sharp wit, but he could see the way Gelatin’s eyes flashed whenever Lollipop teased him.
On impulse, Firey interjected. “Y’know., I think Lollipop’s right,” he said, shrugging, even though he had no idea what they were actually debating.
Gelatin froze, his mouth half-open, processing the betrayal, or what he perceived as one. “Wait… WHAT?” His voice was a mix of outrage and disbelief.
Lollipop shot him a sly grin, her eyebrows raised, clearly pleased with the unexpected support. “Finally, someone sees the truth,” she said, gesturing at Firey with mock reverence.
Firey suppressed a laugh, enjoying the brief spark of chaos he’d stirred. Gelatin’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, plotting his next verbal strike, while Firey gave a small, sheepish smile and waved it off.
It was a harmless maneuver, but it made him feel just a little more in control, at least here, with these people, before he had to face Coiny and Pin. After that small victory, he turned toward the hallway, ready to go find them.

Firey drifted out into the hallway, the noise of Gelatin and Lollipop’s bickering fading behind him. The quiet was both a relief and a weight. Too much space for his thoughts to echo around. He rubbed at the back of his neck, muttering to himself as he walked.
“Okay, so… where would they even be right now?”
Pin was usually organized to a fault. If she wasn’t at class, she was probably studying, holed up in the library or tucked into some corner with her laptop open, taking notes no one had asked her to take. Coiny, on the other hand, thrived on being unpredictable. He could be anywhere; the gym, the quad, maybe even skipping out on campus entirely if the mood struck.
Firey frowned. He wanted, no, needed, to talk to them both. Separately, preferably. He had no idea how to handle them together without it blowing up in his face.
His footsteps slowed as he reached the stairwell, hand gripping the railing while his mind spun in circles. Pin first? She’d be easier to find, but harder to talk to if she’s still upset. Coiny’s… Coiny. He wouldn’t care if he showed up out of nowhere. Or maybe he would and just wouldn’t say it…
The indecision gnawed at him. For a moment, he just stood there, caught between the two directions. One path to the library, one leading down toward the gym and rec areas. Neither felt like the “right” choice.
Firey exhaled, frustrated. Why do I make everything feel like a landmine?
He shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket and started walking again, trying to convince himself the answer would come if he just kept moving.
Firey’s sneakers squeaked faintly against the ground as he walked, head down, lost in a spiral of options.
“If I go to Pin… What do I even say? ‘Sorry I made you mad, I swear I didn’t mean it’? That’ll just sound like I’m brushing her off. She’ll see right through it. She always does. And then she’ll give me that look I hate,,” He muttered, mostly talking to himself.
His stomach twisted.
Coiny’s easier. He laughs things off, doesn’t hold grudges the same way. But… maybe that’s the problem. What if he actually is annoyed and just hasn’t told me? What if I’m smothering him?
He reached the end of the hall and stopped, staring at the glass doors leading out toward the quad. Beyond them, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lawn. A flash of movement caught his eye, orange.
Coiny.
He was out on the grass with a few other students, tossing a frisbee around like nothing in the world could bother him. His laugh carried through the door, bright and easy.
Firey froze. A thousand things jammed up in his chest at once. Relief, nerves, longing, the sharp edge of guilt. Pin would’ve been the safer, more structured choice. But now, staring at Coiny, he realized he didn’t want safe. Not tonight.
Alright, he thought, bracing himself. “Coiny first. Before I lose my nerve.”
He pushed the door open. The air outside hit warmer than Firey expected, carrying the shouts and laughter of the frisbee game. He stopped a few steps from the door, suddenly unsure. His eyes locked on Coiny. His hair ruffled by the breeze, grin sharp as ever, throwing the disc with that careless snap of his wrist. Every detail made Firey’s chest feel tighter.
“He looks fine. He looks happy. Why would I go over there and mess that up?”
Firey shifted his weight, one sneaker scuffing against the pavement. He could just turn back. Pretend he hadn’t seen him. Go find Pin instead. But then, as if pulled by instinct, his eyes lingered too long.
Coiny caught the frisbee, spun it in his hand, then glanced up. Their eyes met.
Firey froze, caught like a deer in headlights. But his hand, almost on its own, lifted in a small, awkward wave. Not confident. Just… hopeful.
Coiny’s grin widened. He shouted something to the group, tossed the frisbee back in a wide arc, and jogged over without hesitation.
“Fireball!” he called, sliding the last couple steps to stop in front of him. “Didn’t think you’d be out here. What’s up?”
“Not much,” Firey said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just… wandering.”
Coiny tilted his head. “Classic you. Everyone else is inside doing nerd stuff.” He smirked, but it wasn’t mean, more like the kind of tease he’d thrown a thousand times before.
Firey managed a weak laugh. “Guess so.”
Coiny looked back toward the game, bouncing on his heels like he wanted to rejoin. “Well, hey, glad you came out. Didn’t think you’d peel away from your little film squad. I should probably–-” he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
Something in Firey tightened. If he let Coiny walk off now, he wasn’t sure he’d get the courage again. The words scraped out before he could stop them.
“Wait. Coiny.”
Coiny paused mid-step, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”
Firey’s mouth went dry. He hated how his voice came out low, almost wavering. “I… kinda need to talk to you. Like, for real. Not small talk.”
Coiny blinked, the grin slipping just enough to show he caught the shift in tone. He glanced back at the game, then stepped closer instead of away. “Alright. What’s up?”
Firey swallowed, fingers tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “I’ve been… I don’t know. Overthinking. About you. About Pin. About me.” His eyes flicked to the ground, heat creeping up his cheeks. “I feel like I’m clinging too much to you, and Pin’s been distant. And I don’t wanna mess things up by being,,, annoying, or needy, or whatever.”
Coiny stared at him, jaw working. For once, he didn’t have a joke ready. He crossed his arms, shifting his weight. “So… that’s what’s been eating you? You think I’m secretly bothered every time you hang around me?”
Firey winced. “Kinda. You haven’t said anything, but I’ve been second-guessing it. Like, what if you just don’t wanna deal with me and you’re too nice to say it?”
Coiny’s expression softened a little, though he still looked half-disbelieving. “Firey, dude… if I didn’t wanna deal with you, I wouldn’t. You know me. I’m not exactly shy about telling people when they’re annoying.”
Coiny let out a breath, shaking his head with a little smile. “Man, you really don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re not annoying. You’re kind of the opposite, actually. You make stuff feel easier, even when you’re stressing out.”
That last part made Firey blink. “Easier?”
“Yeah.” Coiny shrugged, like it was obvious. “Like, everyone else is loud or dramatic or whatever, but when you’re around, I don’t mind it as much. Even when you ramble.” He tilted his head, grin spreading wider. “Which, by the way, is really cute.”
Firey froze. His whole body went hot, like someone had flipped a switch inside him. “C-Cute?” The word squeaked out of him before he could stop it.
Coiny smirked at his reaction, clearly enjoying himself. “See? You’re doing it right now. You get all worked up, face turning red, tripping over words. Honestly? It’s hilarious. In a good way.”
“I– I’m not–” Firey stammered, burying his face in his hands for a second. “You can’t just say stuff like that!”
“Why not?” Coiny leaned a little closer, his tone playful but his eyes steady on him. “It’s true.”
Firey’s brain scrambled to find something to say, but all he could manage was a strangled noise, half laugh, half groan. His chest felt tight and light all at once, like he could either melt into the floor or combust right there.
Coiny didn’t let Firey off the hook so easily. His smirk stayed put as he rocked on his heels, like he had all the time in the world just to watch Firey squirm.
“You know,” he said casually, “You’re terrible at hiding when you’re overheating. I mean..” his hand came up again, this time flicking lightly against the edge of Firey’s hoodie, brushing near his collarbone, “look at you. Face red, ears red, practically steaming.”
“I-I’m not steaming,” Firey stammered, clutching at his hoodie like it might shield him. “You’re just,, just being annoying again.”
Coiny leaned closer, lowering his voice in a mock whisper, like he was about to share a secret. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like it.”
Firey’s breath hitched, and that was all the confirmation Coiny needed. He laughed, the sound warm and infuriating all at once. “Oh man, you should see your face. I swear, you’re seconds away from blowing a fuse!!” He reached out and ruffled Firey’s hair, tousling the already messy strands. His fingers lingered a second too long before pulling back.
Firey shoved half-heartedly at his chest, but it only made Coiny grin wider. “Stop it! You’re… you’re impossible!!”
“Impossible?” Coiny echoed, feigning offense, though his eyes sparkled. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think? Especially since I came ALLL the way over here just to talk to you.” He leaned in again, his shoulder brushing against Firey’s. “Most people don’t get that privilege.”
Firey’s brain scrambled for a comeback, but nothing coherent formed. He could only manage a weak, “You’re ridiculous…”
“Yeah,” Coiny admitted with a shrug, still smiling. His hand slid briefly against Firey’s arm, squeezing once before letting go. “But you like me that way.”
Firey froze, the words slamming into him with nowhere to hide. His mouth opened, shut, opened again but nothing came out.
Coiny just chuckled at his silence, clearly savoring the reaction. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to say it.” He straightened up, flashing that same shameless grin. “I’ve already got my answer.”
And with that, he started to step back, like he knew leaving Firey reeling would be the most effective move of all.
Firey, still caught in that dizzy haze from Coiny’s teasing, fumbled for something, anything, that would ground him. His brain latched onto the only half-formed thought he’d been carrying all day.
“Um… hey, uh, so—” His voice cracked, and he had to cough to cover it. “There’s… this thing. I was, uh, wondering iffff… you know, if you’re not busy or whatever.”
Coiny tilted his head, the grin softening into curiosity. “This ‘thing’ sounds mysterious. Should I be worried?”
Firey shifted from foot to foot, his hands buried deep in his hoodie pocket. He stared at the floor like it might supply the words he couldn’t get out. “It’s not… not a big deal. Just, like, a sleepover. Me, you, and Pin. Thought maybe it’d be… cool. Or fun. Or,,, I dunno.” His voice trailed off into a mutter. “It’s dumb.”
Coiny blinked, then laughed, not mocking, but easy and bright. “That’s what you were stressing over? Man, you’re hopeless.” He reached out and flicked Firey’s sleeve, tugging at it lightly. “Of course I’m in. You think I’d pass up a night of watching you trip over your words?”
Firey groaned and covered his face with one hand. “Why do I even talk to you?”
“Because you love me,” Coiny said smoothly, not missing a beat. Then, leaning just close enough for his shoulder to brush Firey’s, he added, “And because you’d miss me too much if I wasn’t around.”
Firey made a strangled noise, halfway between outrage and embarrassment. “…You’re the worst.”
Coiny grinned wider, clearly satisfied. “Cool. So when’s this sleepover? Come on, I need details. Are we talking about movies? Snacks? Midnight conspiracies? Or are you planning some weird bonding exercise that’ll make me regret agreeing?”
Firey’s cheeks burned hotter. He shuffled his feet, hands twisting nervously in his hoodie. “Uh… Probably tonight. I just thought… maybe we’d hang out, talk, just… chill. No, I mean, yes, movies and snacks, obviously. Not bonding exercises, I promise.”
Coiny leaned in a little, hand brushing Firey’s as he gestured vaguely. “You sound way too flustered for ‘just chill.’ This is your big chance to boss me around or something, isn’t it?”
Firey swallowed hard, fumbling for words. “I-I just– thought it’d be nice to… you know… everyone in the same room. No weird interruptions. Just… us. Safe. I guess.”
Coiny’s smirk softened into something warmer, almost affectionate. “Safe, huh? I like that. But hey, if it’s just you getting all worried about planning stuff, I can handle the snacks. And the movies. Maybe even the midnight conspiracies…” he nudged Firey with an elbow “...as long as you’re there with me.”
Firey let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, some of the tension easing as Coiny’s hand lingered near his. “…Okay. That… that actually sounds really good.”
Coiny leaned closer, letting his hand graze Firey’s arm again. “Good. Then it’s settled. You worry about nothing but showing up and not tripping over your words. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Firey’s head swam a little, a mix of nerves and warmth making him feel lightheaded. He nodded, muttering, “Okay… okay.”
Coiny gave Firey one last teasing wink, then turned back toward the small gathering of students tossing a frisbee across the quad. His movements were easy, confident, like he belonged there, and Firey felt both comforted and painfully aware of how flustered he’d gotten just standing near him.
Firey lingered for a moment, watching Coiny laugh as he caught the frisbee, the sunlight catching the strands of his hair. His chest tightened in a familiar, fluttering way, half embarrassment, half something else he didn’t want to name out loud. He shook his head slightly, trying to push the nerves down, but the memory of Coiny’s teasing words, the brush of his hand, the way he’d leaned in… it all stayed.
As he started walking down the pathway away from the quad, Firey’s mind spun with thoughts of the sleepover, of Coiny, and of everything he wanted to say to Pin. The conversation with Coiny had left him strangely buoyant, despite the undercurrent of anxiety threading through his chest. For the first time in a while, he felt like he had some control over at least one thing.. his choice to be honest about what he wanted, even if just with Coiny.
He took a deep breath, letting the air fill his lungs, and headed toward the dorms, trying to steady his racing thoughts. Today, he decided, he would find Pin and figure out if she could join the sleepover too. The nervous excitement twisted in his stomach, but he walked with purpose, letting each step carry him closer to the next part of the plan.
Firey’s mind raced as he wandered the dorm halls, trying to think where Pin could be. Her schedule was unpredictable, but she usually stuck around the engineering labs or the common rooms in the morning. He peeked into a few rooms. Empty. The hum of early activity in the hallways didn’t help. Each closed door felt like a reminder that she could be anywhere, and he had no way to know if she wanted to be found.
On his second try, he checked a study room. No one. Just the faint scent of coffee and solder lingering in the air. He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. Is she avoiding him? The thought gnawed at him, tightening his chest. He hated feeling like he’d done something wrong, hated the idea that she could still be upset with him.
By the third room, his nerves were mounting. The hallway seemed longer, quieter, as if the whole campus was watching him fail. He knocked softly on another door, peered in, a pile of textbooks, half-finished circuits, and… there she was. Pin, crouched over a tiny robot on her desk, focused entirely on her work, hair falling in front of her face.
Firey paused, unsure whether to announce himself or just watch. His stomach twisted. “She’s still upset with me, isn’t she?” He thought. He swallowed, trying to steady his nerves, but the uncertainty gnawed at him. Finally, he stepped forward, tapping lightly on the edge of her desk.
Firey cleared his throat softly, trying not to startle her. Pin glanced up, eyes narrowing immediately. There was a flicker of surprise, but also that unmistakable edge, the subtle tension that told him she was still on guard.
“What do you want, Firey?” Her voice was clipped.
“I… I just wanted toooo uh, check on you. Make sure you’re okay,” he said, voice slightly hesitant. His hands fidgeted at his sides.
Pin’s gaze lingered on him, sharp and wary. She didn’t move or smile, didn’t give the reassurance he had hoped for. “Why? So you can make things awkward again? Or do you want me to scold you for being… clingy?”
Firey flinched at the word, guilt twisting in his chest. “No, I just… I wanted to explain. About before. About everything. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Pin’s shoulders tensed, and she let out a soft sigh. “You always say that. But actions speak louder than words, Firey. I don’t know if you even notice how much you leave people hanging.”
Firey nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He could feel the weight of her eyes on him, still wary but slightly softer than before. “I know… I just–” He paused, trying to find the right words. “I really like you, Pin. I don’t want to make things worse, but I don’t want to just ignore it either.”
Her expression flickered for a moment, something unreadable passing through her eyes. She stayed silent, her fingers lightly tapping against the edge of the desk as she studied him. The tension between them hung thick in the air, and Firey felt both nervous and desperate, hoping she’d at least let him stay and talk.
Firey shifted his weight, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “So… I was thinking… maybe we could, uh… do something low-key. Just the three of us. A… sleepover. I mean, nothing fancy, no one else, just—” His voice trailed off as he tried to gauge her reaction.
Pin didn’t even glance up, continuing to sort papers on her desk with deliberate precision. Her jaw was tight. “A sleepover? You think I’m interested in that?” Her tone was flat, bordering on dismissive.
“I thought… maybe it’d be fun,” Firey said quickly, feeling the words tumble out. “You know, just a way to hang out, keep it… chill. No one has to know.”
She paused for a brief second, tapping a pen against her notebook. “I don’t know, Firey. I have work to do, stuff to finish. I’m not really in the mood for… cozy campouts or whatever this is.”
Firey swallowed hard, trying not to show his disappointment. “I get it. I just thought… Maybe it’d be nice for all of us. I mean, Coiny’s okay with it, and I think it’d help… like, us… just relax a little.”
Pin’s eyes flicked up finally, meeting his, sharp and unyielding. “Relax? You think I need to relax with you two? I don’t know, Firey. I don’t think this is the kind of thing I want to do right now.”
He nodded slowly, trying to hide the sting in his chest. “Yeah… I understand. I just thought I’d ask.”
Firey stepped into the quiet hallway, the weight of Pin’s rejection pressing down on him. He leaned against the wall, pulling out his phone. He hesitated for a second. Coiny’s number hadn’t exactly been something he’d asked for explicitly, but it had ended up saved after a half-joking, half-serious conversation during one of their late-night dorm hangs. He still wasn’t entirely sure why Coiny had given it so easily, but it was there now, and he needed it.
He typed quickly:
Firey: Pin said no… she’s not interested in the sleepover.
He stared at the message, thumb hovering over “send,” before pressing anyway. A few moments later, his phone buzzed.
Coiny appeared at the end of the hall like a one-man storm, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “You texted me, and now I’m here,” he announced, voice low enough to make Firey cringe just slightly. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan to convince her.”
Firey blinked, half-dumbfounded, half-relieved, as Coiny strode closer, clearly ready to go into full negotiation mode. “A plan?” Firey asked cautiously. “What kind of plan are we talking about here?”
Coiny smirked, hands gesturing theatrically. “The kind where I talk, you watch, and maybe, just maybe, we get a yes. But don’t worry, I’ll handle the heavy lifting. You just… stay adorable and flustered. It’s what you’re good at apparently.”
Firey groaned softly, burying his face in his hands for a second, knowing exactly that staying adorable and flustered was probably his natural state around Coiny anyways.
Coiny didn’t even wait for Firey’s reply. He gave him a wink, patted his shoulder like this was some kind of mission briefing, and pushed open the door without hesitation. Firey froze in the hallway. He didn’t exactly have the guts to walk back in after the way she’d looked at him earlier, so instead he inched closer, pressing his hand against the frame and peeking through the small crack Coiny left behind.
Inside, Pin sat cross-legged at her desk, flipping through a notebook, her shoulders tense. She barely glanced up before muttering, “What do you want?” Her voice was still sharp, the kind that made Firey’s chest tighten with guilt all over again.
Coiny, on the other hand, slipped into the room like he owned it, dragging a chair around to sit backwards on it, arms crossed casually over the top. “Relax,” he said, grinning, “I’m not here to start anything. Just figured I’d come talk. Y’know, since Firey’s kind of… nervous about it.”
At the sound of his name, Firey flushed, pressing his forehead lightly against the doorframe. He couldn’t see Pin’s expression perfectly from the crack, but her silence was heavy.
“Listen,” Coiny continued, leaning in slightly, his tone light but persuasive, “he had this sleepover idea for us tonight. Just the three of us. No crowd, no chaos. Just hanging out. Firey’s too awkward to push it, but…” He tilted his head, smirk tugging at his mouth. “I think you’d actually have fun if you gave it a shot.”
From the hall, Firey’s fingers curled nervously against the wood. He could hear Pin shift in her chair, probably crossing her arms.
“You’re serious?” she asked finally, voice flat.
“As serious as I can get,” Coiny said smoothly, resting his chin on his arms, eyes fixed on her. “C’mon, Pin. You know I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it’d be worth it.”
Firey’s stomach twisted, half anxious, half amazed at how easily Coiny slid into the conversation. He could barely get words out around her, and here Coiny was, talking like this was nothing.
Pin set her pen down with a click and finally turned toward Coiny, eyes narrowed.
“You really came in here just to push his idea?” she asked, tone cutting. “Because if that’s the case, you can leave too.”
Firey flinched in the hallway, guilt spiking in his chest. He almost swung the door open to save Coiny from the backlash, but his legs wouldn’t move.
Coiny didn’t so much as blink. Instead, he tilted his head, still perched backwards on the chair like he was perfectly at ease. “I came in here because Firey’s too much of a wreck to do it himself,” he said bluntly. “And because, if you’re being real with yourself, you don’t hate the idea. You just don’t feel like giving him the satisfaction of saying yes right away.”
Pin’s lips pressed into a thin line. She crossed her arms, the movement sharp. “That’s not it,” she snapped.
Coiny raised a brow, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Isn’t it?”
“No.”
“You sure?” He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into something quieter, sharper. “Because I think if you really wanted to shut this down, you wouldn’t still be sitting here listening to me.”
Firey’s breath caught. His palm was sweaty against the doorframe. Pin hadn’t kicked him out yet. That had to mean something, right?
Pin tapped her fingers against her arm, a rhythm betraying her irritation or hesitation. “You’re pushing,” she muttered.
“That’s kind of my thing,” Coiny said without missing a beat, smirk widening.
Firey squeezed his eyes shut, torn between dread and hope. Pin was still cold, still resistant, but she hadn’t ended the conversation..?
Coiny leaned on the chair, folding his arms over like he owned the space. His voice softened just a hair, losing the sharp edge but not the confidence.
“C’mon, Pin. It’s not like we’re asking you to sign up for a reality show. It’s just one night. Three people, junk food, maybe some dumb movies. No cameras, no pressure.”
Pin exhaled sharply through her nose, eyes flicking away. “You make it sound simple, but with Firey it’s never that simple.”
Firey winced from the doorway, her words cutting deep.
Coiny didn’t flinch. He just shrugged casually. “Then let me make it simple. I’ll be there. You trust me, right?”
Pin’s jaw tightened, but there was the faintest pause before she answered. “…Sometimes.”
Coiny grinned like that was a victory. “Sometimes is better than never. And hey, if I’m there, you know I won’t let him screw it up.”
Her lips curved downward, but she didn’t fire back immediately. She shifted in her seat, tapping the eraser of her pencil against the desk. That hesitation told Firey everything,, she was thinking about it.
Finally, she shook her head, voice clipped. “No. I’m not doing it.”
Coiny tilted his head, studying her like he could see right through the answer. “You sure about that?”
“Yes,” she said firmly, but the conviction in her voice didn’t match her restless movements.
From the crack in the door, Firey’s chest twisted. She hadn’t slammed the door shut on the idea, not really. She was considering it, he could feel it. But for now, she was still holding onto her ‘no’.
Coiny leaned in just a little closer, resting his arms on her desk like he was settling in for the long haul. His grin was patient, annoyingly so.
“You know,” he said lightly, “for someone who’s so against this, you sure are taking your sweet time saying ‘no.’ Almost like you’re thinking about it.”
Pin’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “I already said no.”
“Yeah, but you said it like someone who’s halfway to saying yes.” He tilted his head, smirking. “I’ve known you too long, Pin. I can read you like a book.”
She groaned, shoving her chair back with a sharp scrape against the floor. “Fine. Fine. I’ll go. But only so you two will stop bothering me about it.”
Coiny leaned back, satisfied, like he’d just checkmated her. “Good enough for me. Doesn’t matter why you’re showing up, just matters that you are.”
Pin crossed her arms, firmly in place. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not doing this for you. Or Firey.”
“Sure, sure.” He stood, stretching casually before flashing her one last cocky grin. “But you’re still doing it.”
Pin muttered something under her breath, too quiet for Firey to hear, but the way her shoulders slumped just slightly told him Coiny had gotten through to her, even if she refused to admit it.
The door clicked softly shut behind Coiny, and he leaned back against it with a smugness that practically radiated down the hall. His arms folded, and the look on his face said it all before he even opened his mouth.
Firey, still pretending not to be caught peeking through the crack, straightened and shoved his phone in his pocket. “So…?” he asked, even though he knew exactly how it went down.
Coiny’s grin widened. “So, she’s in.”
Firey blinked. “Wait, really? Just like that?”
“Not ‘just like that,’” Coiny corrected, wagging a finger at him. “That was a whole operation. Took skill, persistence, charm,, basically everything you were lacking when you asked her.”
Firey flushed, heat creeping up his face. “I– I wasn’t lacking! I just… didn’t want to push her.”
“Yeah, well, someone had to.” Coiny shoved off the door and gave Firey’s shoulder a playful nudge. “You’re welcome.”
Firey muttered, half to himself, “I could’ve done it…” but the way Coiny smirked at him made it impossible to believe his own words.
Coiny stretched, like the whole thing had been a light warm-up for him. “Well, mission accomplished,” he said casually, already starting down the hall. He tossed a glance back at Firey, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m gonna head back to my room, grab some stuff for the sleepover. Pillows, snacks.. y’know, the essentials.”
Firey blinked, still a little stunned from how quickly everything turned around. “Oh. Uh– yeah. Okay.”
Coiny gave him a quick wink before turning the corner. “Don’t wait up too long, Fireball.”
The nickname made Firey’s chest feel like it was trying to combust all over again. He stood there for a second, staring after him, heart racing. Coiny made it look so easy. Talking to Pin, brushing Firey’s nerves aside, just… owning the whole situation.
Now, with Coiny gone, Firey was left leaning against the wall, wondering if he should grab his own stuff or check in with Pin one more time before tonight.
Firey’s shoes echoed down the hallway as he made his way back toward his dorm. His thoughts spiraled with each step. “Okay, so… best-case scenario: we all hang out, laugh a little, maybe it’s even fun. Worst-case? Pin barely talks, Coiny gets too pushy, and I just sit there looking like an idiot while they wonder why I ever suggested this in the first place.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his nose. “Why do I do this to myself?” He continued to think.
When he pushed open the door to his dorm, the smell of tea and printer paper hit him first. Leafy was sitting cross-legged at her desk, surrounded by a halo of notebooks, highlighters, and sticky notes. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, lips moving as she silently repeated lines to herself. Gelatin’s bed was untouched. He was still out with his group of friends.
Firey slipped inside quietly, tossing his bag onto his bed, half-hoping he could just disappear into the background. For a minute, he did. Leafy didn’t notice him, still absorbed in her work. But eventually, the weight of the thought pressed harder against his chest. He couldn’t ignore it.
“Uh… hey, Leafy?” His voice cracked the silence.
She glanced up, tired but warm. “Mm? What’s up?”
Firey shifted awkwardly on his feet, looking anywhere but her. “So, um… I kinda made some plans tonight. Like… a sleepover thing. With Coiny and Pin.” He scratched his cheek, ears burning. “And, uh, I was wondering if you’d be okay maybe… staying somewhere else? Just for tonight. Could you also let Gelatin know, if you see him? I don’t think he’s coming back yet.”
Leafy’s eyebrows raised slightly, curiosity flickering, but she didn’t say anything right away. The silence stretched, and Firey felt his throat go dry.
Leafy leaned back in her chair, tapping her pen against the notebook. “A sleepover? With Pin and Coiny?” she repeated, like she was making sure she’d heard him right.
Firey rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah… it’s… uh… kind of a long story.”
She tilted her head, studying him. “Since when do you organize stuff like that? You usually act like just sitting in the lounge is too much socializing.”
“I know,” he admitted quickly, ears turning pink. “It’s just… I dunno. I thought maybe it’d be a good idea. Help clear the air a little.” He tried to sound casual, but it came out more like a confession.
Leafy narrowed her eyes for a beat longer, like she was trying to read the subtext, then sighed softly. “You’re so weird sometimes.” She capped her pen and pushed back from the desk. “Alright, I can crash in Book’s dorm tonight. And I’ll text Gelatin for you.”
Relief hit Firey like a wave, his shoulders dropping a fraction. “Thanks, Leafy. Really.”
“Just don’t burn the place down while I’m gone,” she said with a small smile, already gathering her things.
Firey laughed under his breath, but as she moved around the room, his chest still felt tight.
Leafy arched an eyebrow as she slung her backpack over her shoulder. “So… let me guess. This sleepover isn’t just about… movies or snacks, right?” Her lips twitched into a teasing smirk.
Firey froze, his cheeks heating instantly. “W-what? No! I mean… it’s… just– uh… I dunno. We’re just hanging out. That’s all!”
She shook her head, clearly not buying it, her smirk widening. “Uh-huh. Sure, sure.” She gave him a pointed look, clearly enjoying his flustered expression, then added softly, “Don’t do anything too stupid, okay?”
Firey opened his mouth to respond, but she was already heading toward the door, her bag swinging lightly at her side. “I’ll text Gelatin, update him. Try not to make a mess while I’m gone.”
Firey watched her leave, still blushing.
Firey moved around his dorm quietly, a small stack of pillows here, a few folded blankets there, trying to make the space feel a little more inviting. He hung a string of soft fairy lights along the window sill, their warm glow cutting through the harsh morning sun. Each little adjustment lining up the cushions just right, making a small area for snacks and drinks was oddly grounding, giving him a sense of control he hadn’t felt in days.
Once the setup was done, he flopped onto the couch, laptop in his lap. He clicked through CampusHub, half-absently at first, letting the videos play in the background while he scrolled for new updates.
And then he froze. His viral short, the one that had earned him the nickname “Leaf Guy,” was there, framed alongside a dozen other clips. Some were just fan reactions, but others were Nickel’s handiwork. Mocking edits, gossip videos, commentary painting Firey as petty and overdramatic.
Firey’s stomach sank, a familiar mix of frustration and embarrassment tightening his chest. He clenched the edge of the couch, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on the mundane act of watching, but every video seemed to pull at the rawest parts of him: his anger, his shame, and the sense that his own mistakes had been broadcast for everyone to see.
He pressed play on one more video, leaning back, and muttered under his breath, “Why does he always have to make it worse…”
Firey sank deeper into the couch cushions, letting the soft glow of the fairy lights wash over him as he tried to steady his racing thoughts. The videos played one after another, each clip digging at the same raw nerves. Nickel’s editing was cruelly precise: snippets of Firey looking stressed or confused, spliced together with captions that made him seem ridiculous, desperate, even pathetic. The comments scrolled endlessly, a mixture of mockery, speculation, and viral exaggeration that made him want to close the laptop and hide under the blanket he’d just fluffed.
He clenched his fists, nails pressing into his palms, trying to remind himself he had survived worse. Yet the videos gnawed at him, not because they were untrue, but because he’d let himself be caught in the chaos that created them. He had been manipulated, overpowered, and shown up, and every click on the videos reminded him how little control he’d had.
After a while, he muted the CampusHub tab and opened YouTube. He scrolled to familiar channels, mindlessly watching content meant to distract him, while also keeping an ear out for footsteps or messages announcing Coiny and Pin’s arrival. The soft chatter of YouTube hosts and the occasional laugh track didn’t erase the tension, but it was a small reprieve, a way to anchor himself until the sleepover officially began.
Firey leaned back, laptop balanced on his knees, and ran a hand through his hair. He replayed the plans in his head, wondering if the little decorations he’d set up would make them feel comfortable or if his nerves would make the night awkward. Would Coiny tease him? Would Pin stay on edge? Could he even relax enough to enjoy this?
He clicked through another video, then another, letting time pass slowly, trying to calm the anxiety in his chest. Every now and then, he glanced at the door, anticipation mixing with dread. He wasn’t just waiting for them to arrive, he was preparing himself to navigate the complicated tangle of feelings he had for both of them, and to make sure this night didn’t turn into another lesson in losing control.
A soft chime from his phone made him jump, and he realized he had been holding his breath. He didn’t check it, not yet. Instead, he leaned back further, letting the fairy lights’ glow flicker across the laptop screen, trying to imagine the night ahead, rehearsing tiny interactions, small jokes, teasing, and the awkward moments that would inevitably come with having both Coiny and Pin in the same room.

The soft thump of a knock made Firey jump. He scrambled to his feet, adjusting the laptop on the couch so it wouldn’t topple over, and took a deep breath to steady his racing thoughts. The door creaked open, and there stood Coiny, grinning like he’d won some secret victory, balancing an assortment of snacks and drinks in his arms.
“Got everything we need… and then some,” Coiny said, stepping inside carefully, as if the mountain of chips, soda, and candy bars might collapse at any second. He set the pile down on the floor with a soft thud and brushed his hands off.
Firey’s chest warmed slightly at the sight, nerves melting into a mix of relief and excitement. He stepped aside to make room for Coiny to settle in, secretly thrilled to have him here, even if the snacks stole most of the attention.
Coiny dropped down onto the couch beside Firey, elbow brushing his side in that familiar, casual way that made Firey’s stomach flip. “So… ready for the ultimate chill night?” Coiny asked, his grin widening as he nudged Firey lightly.
Firey swallowed, a mix of anxiety and anticipation buzzing through him. “Yeah… I think so,” he murmured, voice quieter than he intended. He glanced at the snacks, then back at Coiny. Tonight wasn’t just a sleepover. It was a test of friendship, boundaries, and… well, feelings he wasn’t sure he could manage.
Coiny noticed the slight blush creeping up Firey’s neck and smirked, nudging him again. His hand lingered a fraction longer than needed on Firey’s shoulder, and Firey felt his heart skip in that familiar, frantic way.
The room smelled faintly of the snacks. Sweet, salty, and somehow comforting, and Firey let himself sink into the couch, letting Coiny’s presence calm some of the nerves buzzing in his stomach.
Firey shifted slightly on the couch, trying to find a spot that felt less awkward with Coiny settled beside him. Coiny didn’t give him much time to overthink, sliding closer until their sides brushed, the warmth of his arm pressing gently against Firey’s.
“Relax,” Coiny murmured with a grin, resting his head lightly against the back of the couch. His hand found Firey’s shoulder again, fingers lingering like they didn’t want to let go.
Firey’s chest fluttered nervously, a mix of excitement and lingering anxiety twisting inside him. Slowly, hesitantly, he let himself lean closer, resting part of his weight against Coiny. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as Coiny adjusted so that their sides pressed more firmly, legs brushing, and Firey’s arm almost instinctively wrapping around Coiny’s midsection.
Coiny let out a soft, teasing hum. He realized just how comfortable he was letting himself be near Coiny.
They stayed like that for a few minutes. Firey’s nerves had calmed enough that he could actually breathe properly, his heart still racing but now in a steadier, more content rhythm. Coiny’s presence was grounding, almost like a tether pulling him out of the lingering chaos from the last few days.
The door swung open quietly, and Pin stepped in, carrying a tray piled high with cookies, cupcakes, and a few other baked goods. Firey’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t heard her knock.
He scrambled upright instinctively, cheeks flaming. “Uh– Pin! I-I mean–” His words tangled as he realized just how awkward the moment looked. Coiny, still leaning slightly against him, gave a teasing smirk.
Pin’s eyes narrowed, a flash of irritation crossing her face, but there was something beneath it. A subtle, almost flicker of curiosity. She set the tray down firmly on the table, the sound of it clattering slightly against the surface, and then perched herself on the opposite side of the couch, arms crossed.
“Figures,” she muttered, though her tone carried more annoyance than anger. “Of course you’d be flirting.” She gestured vaguely at the space between Firey and Coiny. Firey’s heart raced, trying to explain, but no words came out.
Coiny, noticing the tension, didn’t let go of the opportunity to tease. “Hey, Pin. You can join us if you want.~” His grin was mischievous, and Firey groaned silently, wishing he could melt into the couch entirely.
Pin rolled her eyes, but she didn’t respond with a sharp retort. Instead, she picked up a cupcake, spinning it between her fingers while keeping an eye on them both. The annoyance lingered, but the fact that she stayed seated suggested she was willing to let the moment, awkward as it was, play out.
Firey sank back onto the couch, cheeks still warm, and tried to steady his breathing. Coiny nudged him gently with an elbow, smirking. “Relax, it’s just Pin. She’s not going to bite… probably.”
Pin gave a sharp glance at him, eyebrow raised. “You say that like I need to, hmm?” Her tone was dry, but her posture softened slightly as she leaned against the back of the couch, balancing the tray of baked goods on her lap.
Firey swallowed and tried to focus on something else, reaching for a cookie. “Uh… so… you baked all this?” he asked, voice a little shaky.
“Yeah,” Pin said, taking a small bite of a cupcake. “Figured we’d need fuel if you two are going to keep… whatever this is up all night.” She gestured vaguely at Firey and Coiny without looking directly at them.
Coiny laughed, leaning back, still holding Firey lightly against him. “We’ll try not to destroy the couch,” he teased, his hand brushing Firey’s again. Firey squirmed, but Pin caught the movement.
“Hmph. Not that I care, but… you two look ridiculous,” she muttered, but there was a hint of a smirk tugging at her lips.
Firey finally found his voice, quieter now. “I… I just didn’t want you to feel left out, Pin. I mean… I know you didn’t knock…”
“I noticed,” she said coolly, taking another cupcake. “Don’t worry, I can see what’s happening.”
Coiny leaned back, grin widening. “See? She’s fully aware. Firey, you’ve got the attention of a very annoyed, very watchful engineer-slash-baker over there.”
Pin rolled her eyes again but didn’t hide the faint smile forming. She picked up a cookie and held it out. “Here. Try not to spill crumbs all over the couch. I spent too long baking these for nothing.”
Firey hesitated a beat, then accepted it, nibbling carefully. The three of them settled into a tense-but-comfortable rhythm: Coiny teasing lightly, Firey trying not to fluster himself, and Pin keeping an edge of annoyance but softening in small ways. The awkwardness lingered, but for the first time that evening, it felt like a space they could all share.
Firey hesitated for a moment, glancing at the TV and then back at the tray of baked goods. “Uh… maybe… we could play something? Like Mario Kart?” His voice was tentative, but there was a hopeful lilt to it.
Coiny’s grin spread immediately. “Oh, absolutely. Best idea all night. You set it up, Firey?”
Firey nodded, a little flustered, and hurried to the gaming system tucked near the TV. He unpacked the console, plugged in the controllers, and double-checked the cables, muttering under his breath. “Okay… hopefully I remember how to do this.”
Pin set the tray aside, arms crossed, watching him work with her usual expression of skeptical amusement. “Don’t mess it up,” she said, though her tone lacked real bite.
Coiny leaned closer to Firey, resting an arm along the back of the couch. “Relax. Worst case, I’ll beat you and you both will be losers.”
Once the system was ready, Firey handed each of them a controller.
Firey tapped his controller nervously, staring at the character selection screen. “Uh… maybe I’ll go with Yoshi?” His voice wavered slightly, but he couldn’t help a small smile tugging at his lips.
Coiny immediately smirked, scrolling past the options with deliberate ease. “Of course you pick the cautious one. Fine, I’ll go Bowser.” He shot Firey a sideways glance.
Pin rolled her eyes, clicking her way to Princess Daisy. “I guess I’ll be Daisy. Someone has to show you how it’s done.” Her tone was flat, but her eyes flicked to Firey in a way that betrayed her curiosity.
The race loaded. Firey gripped the controller a little too tightly, glancing between the screen and Coiny beside him.
“Watch and learn, Firey,” Coiny teased, nudging him lightly with his elbow. Firey blushed but shot back, “I’ll beat you… probably.”
Pin snorted. “Please. You won’t even survive the first turn.” She flicked a glance at Firey, her tone teasing but sharp. Firey swallowed and muttered, “Maybe… we’ll see.”
The countdown hit zero. The characters surged forward, engines roaring, the colorful chaos of the track spinning around them. Firey’s eyes darted between Coiny’s on-screen Bowser and Pin’s Daisy, trying to keep up while also reacting to the playful jabs from his friends.
Coiny grinned as he bumped into Firey’s Yoshi. “Hey! Watch where you’re going, reckless driver!”
“I’m… I’m trying!” Firey yelled back, cheeks flaming as he slammed on a power-slide.
Pin snorted, zooming past them both. “Amateurs.” She giggled at Firey as she passed, making him sputter and lose a few spots.
Coiny leaned closer, whispering teasingly, “You need me to give you some tips, Firey?” His tone was flirty, and Firey’s hands trembled on the controller. “I… uh… maybe a little…” he admitted.
Meanwhile, Pin’s Princess Daisy zoomed past Coiny’s Bowser, and she smirked. “Honestly, Bowser? You’re too predictable.” Her comment was blunt but carried a sharp edge of teasing, and Coiny shot back with a grin. “Predictable, yeah… but effective. Watch this.”
Firey felt his heart racing. Not just from the game, but from the constant flirty tension, the nudges, the looks. Between Coiny’s hands-on teasing and Pin’s sharp, confident jabs, he barely knew where to focus. Every turn, every item hit, was layered with a mix of competition and flirtation.
The race continued with shrieks of laughter, playful curses, and heated, flirtatious banter. Firey realized that this was the first time in a while he could just… exist in the chaos, caught between competition and the closeness of both Coiny and Pin.
The race barrelled on, a blur of color and chaos across the screen. Firey’s focus wavered, caught between the game and the constant tension radiating from both sides of him. Coiny leaned a little too close, his arm brushing against Firey’s shoulder as he leaned over to snipe him with a blue shell. “Sorry, not sorry,” he whispered, smirking.
Pin, meanwhile, had a mischievous glint in her eyes. She threw a cheeky glance at Firey every time he fell behind, teasing, “You really need to concentrate, Firey… or is your mind elsewhere?” Her tone was light but layered, the words lingering like a challenge. Each time she spoke, Firey felt heat creep up his neck, flustered at how she made him simultaneously nervous and aware of himself.
Coiny wasn’t letting up either. With a playful shove or a brush of his knee against Firey’s, he teased, “You sure you’re focused? Or are you too busy thinking about me?~” Firey froze for half a second, his mind stuttering. The combination of Pin’s teasing and Coiny’s hands-on jabs was overwhelming. He tried to focus on the track, on the laps, on staying in first place, but his thoughts kept drifting. Pin’s smirk, Coiny’s shoulder against his, the way both of them made him feel…
Suddenly, the finish line appeared. Firey blinked, confused, realizing too late that the game had ended. “Wait– what? How? Already?” His hands dropped from the controller, heart pounding from both the game and the tension surrounding him.
Coiny laughed, nudging him lightly. “Time flies when you’re distracted, huh?” He gave Firey a knowing grin, brushing a finger across his arm in a casual, teasing manner.
Pin leaned back, crossing her arms but smirking. “Seems like someone got a little… preoccupied. You might want to pay attention next time, Firey.” Her tone was flirty but cool, and her eyes sparkled like she was enjoying the flustered mess he’d become.
The room was still humming with energy from the game. Firey sank back onto the couch, cheeks still warm, trying to process how flustered he’d gotten. Coiny stretched, his grin spreading mischievously.
“Alright,” Coiny said, eyes glinting, “I think it’s time we step up our game.” He stood and grabbed a few blankets from the couch. “Fort-building contest. Who’s in?”
Firey blinked, unsure if he’d heard correctly. “Fort…building?” he asked, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“Yes! Blankets, pillows, the whole thing. It’s perfect for a sleepover!” Coiny insisted, already draping one blanket over the arm of the couch.
Pin let out a dramatic huff, crossing her arms. “You two are insane. I am not wasting my time building…whatever this is. A child’s fantasy?” Her voice was sharp, but there was a subtle undertone of amusement as she stepped toward the couch, surveying the chaos of blankets and cushions.
Firey chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in days. “I’m fine with it. Sounds… fun.”
Coiny smirked, giving Firey a playful nudge. “That’s the spirit.”
Reluctantly, Pin knelt down with a sigh, dragging a large pillow to the floor. “Fine, fine. I’m only doing this so you two stop pestering me,” she muttered. But even as she spoke, her hands adjusted a blanket, helping shape the first wall of their makeshift fort.
The three of them worked together, occasionally bickering, teasing, and laughing. Coiny’s hands brushed against Firey more than necessary under the pretense of passing pillows. Firey’s face heated every time. Pin, despite her initial reluctance, started to get into the rhythm, the fort slowly taking shape around them.
Firey found himself crouched next to Coiny, tucking a blanket under a couch arm. “You know,” he whispered, “this is actually kind of… nice. Just… us, doing something dumb.”
Coiny grinned, leaning slightly closer. “Exactly. No Nickel, no LeafLiar, no chaos. Just us.”
Pin huffed again but laughed softly at the corner of the fort, brushing a stray pillow into place. “This is still stupid.”
By the time they were done, the room had been transformed into a cozy little blanket-and-pillow fort. Soft light from the desk lamp spilled over the fabric, creating a warm, secluded hideaway. Firey sank into a pile of pillows inside, Coiny right beside him, and Pin sitting on the edge with a small, reluctant smile.
The energy had shifted. The teasing and flustered tension from earlier games had mellowed into quiet comfort. Firey felt safe, grounded, and at home.
The living room had transformed into a chaotic yet cozy nest of blankets, pillows, and cushions. The soft hum of the desk lamp cast warm golden light over the fort, pooling into corners and reflecting off the surfaces of scattered snacks and drinks. The faint scent of cupcakes mingled with the lingering aroma of popcorn, giving the space a strange, comforting sense of home.
Coiny leaned back against the couch, tossing a pillow over his shoulder toward Firey with a playful smirk. “See? Told you this would be better than gaming,” he teased. He in fact, didn’t, but let him think. His hand brushed Firey’s again as he passed the pillow, deliberately lingering, and Firey’s face heated so fast it felt like it might burn.
“I– I guess it’s… fun,” Firey admitted, voice muffled as he tucked himself deeper into the pile of pillows. He felt simultaneously nervous, flustered, and oddly content, the chaos of the last few days momentarily muted. Coiny’s proximity had a grounding effect he hadn’t realized he’d needed.
Pin crouched on the floor, adjusting a blanket over a lamp to act as a makeshift roof. She gave Firey a side glance, her expression still edged with mild annoyance, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement. “You two are ridiculous. But fine… I suppose this is tolerable. Only because it keeps you from bothering me.” Her voice was still sharp, but softer than before, and her hands moved deftly, smoothing out a draping blanket with surprising precision.
“See? You’re already contributing,” Firey said quietly, peeking out from his pillow pile. He watched her work, noting the way her hair caught the lamp’s light, how her small, reluctant smile flickered. His chest tightened slightly.
Coiny, not missing a beat, leaned closer to Firey, dropping an arm casually over his shoulders. “Yeah, look at us. Team Blanket Fort, taking over the world one pillow at a time,” he said, voice low and teasing. The touch sent an involuntary shiver through Firey, and he squirmed slightly, cheeks burning.
Pin noticed, of course. Her eyes flicked from Firey to Coiny and back, a subtle tension knotting in her chest, though she stayed silent. She adjusted a corner of the fort and muttered under her breath, “Unbelievable…” in a way that was more bemused than scolding.
The three of them continued building, teasing each other over ridiculous fort strategies. Coiny pretended to sabotage a wall just to see Firey jump, laughing when Firey squeaked in surprise. Pin occasionally smacked him lightly with a pillow in protest, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her enjoyment. Firey, flushed and flustered, found himself laughing more freely than he had in weeks, the tension of the campus, Nickel, and LeafLiar temporarily forgotten.
As the fort took its final shape, a surprisingly elaborate structure with hidden nooks and draped blankets, Firey collapsed into the soft center, Coiny pressing close, their legs and arms tangled comfortably in the pillows. Pin sat at the edge, propped up on her elbows, watching them with a faint smirk, still resistant but undeniably part of the little world they’d created.
Firey let out a contented sigh, letting himself sink completely into the comfort, feeling the warmth from Coiny next to him and the soft light of the lamp. For the first time in days, he felt safe, cocooned from the outside chaos. Coiny rested his head lightly against Firey’s, voice teasing but soft, “You know, you’re pretty cute when you’re this flustered.”
Firey’s heart stuttered, and he pressed back into Coiny, cheeks burning. Pin’s eyes flicked between the two of them, tension and amusement mingling in her gaze, but she didn’t interrupt, letting them share the space. The quiet companionship, the teasing, the soft laughter, and the warmth of the fort wrapped around him like a shield.
As the night deepened and their playful energy left, the three of them slowly settled into the fort. Coiny pressed closer, draping an arm around Firey protectively, whispering a soft, “You’re okay now,” into his ear. Firey’s anxiousness melted further into comfort, his body finally relaxing after the chaos of the past weeks. Pin leaned back against a pillow at the edge, quietly observing, the sharpness in her demeanor softened by the intimate, safe energy of the room.
The room grew quieter, save for the occasional rustle of blankets or soft exhale of contentment. Firey’s eyes fluttered shut first, finally surrendering to exhaustion, head resting against Coiny’s chest, feeling anchored, safe, and oddly giddy at the strange turn of events. Coiny’s steady heartbeat and Pin’s quiet presence at the edge of the fort gave him a rare sense of stability in the storm that had been his life.

Firey’s small, steady breathing from the center of the pillows was a comforting presence, his exhaustion finally claiming him. Pin settled at the edge of the fort, careful not to disturb him and Coiny, being a makeshift pillow for Firey. The rest of the room was quiet except for the occasional creak of blankets shifting.
Pin let out a small sigh, shoulders loosening slightly. “I… I don’t like how this all happened,” she admitted, voice low, almost lost in the hum of the night. “Everything with you and Firey… the way he clings to you. I’ll be honest. It makes me feel… weird. Left out, maybe? Or maybe like I’m failing to reach him in a way that matters.”
Coiny’s hand massaged Firey’s for a moment. “It’s complicated,” he said gently. “I’ve been struggling too. Keeping up with everything, keeping Firey safe, keeping myself… sane… it’s a lot. I can’t always tell if I’m doing the right thing, or if I’m… letting my own feelings get in the way.”
Pin’s gaze softened, and she exhaled slowly, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her usually guarded face. “I didn’t mean to be cold,” she said quietly. “I’m just frustrated. I hate seeing him hurt, and I hate seeing myself get in the middle of things I can’t control.”
Coiny met her eyes with openness. “I get it. I feel that too. But you’re not… in the middle. You’re part of this. And honestly? I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been scared too, you know? Scared I’ll mess up, scared I’ll let him get hurt again. But we’re all figuring it out together.”
Pin’s shoulders relaxed further, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe… maybe I’ve been too hard on him. And on you,” she admitted. “I didn’t mean to make it all tense. I just don’t want anyone else getting hurt, especially him. He’s been through too much.”
Coiny leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “I know. Me neither. And we can’t always fix everything. But we can be here. Together. For him. For each other. I think that’s enough for now.”
Pin nodded slowly, the tension between them easing. Outside the blanket fort, the world still carried its chaos, but inside, with Firey asleep and the room hushed, they allowed themselves a small moment of peace. A pause to breathe, to trust, and to accept that sometimes, just being present was the most important thing they could do.
Coiny shifted slightly, careful not to disturb Firey at the center of the fort. He glanced at Pin, who was curled against the edge of the pillows, a faint tension still lingering in her posture. “Hey… you want to sleep here too?” he asked gently, voice low. “We can… I don’t know, all pile in together. Firey’s already asleep, and well, it might be nice. All of us, together.”
Pin hesitated for a beat, eyes flicking toward the sleeping Firey, then back at Coiny. “Are you sure that’s okay?” she murmured, a trace of guardedness in her voice.
Coiny smiled softly, nudging her slightly toward the open space beside him. “Of course. You’re part of this too. I think we could all use the comfort.”
Pin finally nodded, letting herself move closer. Coiny adjusted so that she could lie comfortably against him, draping an arm around her. “There,” he said softly, fingers brushing lightly over her hair. “Better?”
She let out a small, almost inaudible sigh, relaxing just a little. Coiny spoke again, quietly, as though they were the only two people in the world. “I know we had that… falling out before. Even if it wasn’t really a falling out,” he added with a teasing lilt, “it felt like it. But we’re okay now, right?”
Pin gave a faint, small smile, her body sinking into his comforting hold. Coiny stroked her hair gently, letting the warmth and quiet settle around them. “It’ll be okay, pretty girl. I’m here. I’ve got you.” he whispered, his voice a soft anchor as her eyes fluttered closed.
For the first time in a while, Pin allowed herself to relax completely, letting sleep take her with Coiny’s steady presence nearby. The fort was warm, crowded, and safe, the three of them, Firey, Coiny, and Pin, entangled in a quiet, protective cocoon, the chaos of the day slowly fading into the night.

Chapter Text

Firey stirred awake to warmth on both sides. At first he thought he’d rolled too close to the radiator, but when he blinked, he realized he was wedged between Pin and Coiny in the half-collapsed blanket fort.
Pin’s hair was a mess against the pillow, her arm slung lazily across Firey’s stomach. On his other side, Coiny was sprawled diagonally, one leg kicked over both of them, mouth half-open in a snore.
“...You’re hogging the blanket,” Pin mumbled without opening her eyes. Her tone was soft, teasing.
Firey looked down. Sure enough, most of the blanket was bunched under his arm. He stammered, “Oh– sorry, I didn’t mean–”
Coiny cracked an eye open, his grin already forming. “Look at us. Like a bunch of marshmallows crammed in a bag.” He nudged Firey’s shoulder with a laugh.
Pin let out a quiet laugh at that, brushing her hair out of her face. “Marshmallows? That’s the best you’ve got?”
“It’s accurate!” Coiny shot back, smirking.
Firey protested, but his voice cracked, betraying the smile tugging at his lips.
The three of them stayed tangled a moment longer, the fort dimly lit by morning sunlight sneaking through the sheets. For Firey, it was awkward, yes, but there was something soft about the closeness, something he wasn’t ready to let go of yet.
Pin eventually pushed herself up with a long stretch, her arm brushing Firey’s chest as she shifted. Her hair was sticking up in odd tufts, and she squinted at the faint sunlight leaking through the sheets.
“Okay… as much as I’d love to keep roasting alive in here, I should probably head back before Ruby sends out a search party.”
Coiny groaned, rolling onto his back with exaggerated flair. “Ughhh. Fine. Guess I’ll drag myself back too before Snowball starts rumors about me ‘going soft.’” His grin cracked through the mess of his bedhead. He glanced at Firey. “Don’t go crying without us, marshmallow.”
Firey gave a halfhearted scoff. “I wouldn’t.” His voice came out smaller than he meant, but neither of them called him out on it.
Coiny pushed himself up and leaned over, ruffling Firey’s hair with a rough hand. The gesture was as teasing as the words, but there was something unexpectedly gentle in it. “You’ll live.”
Pin lingered a second longer by the doorway, her voice quieter, her smile softer than she probably meant it to be.
Then the door clicked shut, and their footsteps faded down the hall.
The fort sagged without their weight, pillows sliding apart, blankets drooping like a wilted tent. Firey sat there, frozen, the absence rushing in too quickly. He pulled the blanket closer, running his hand across the rumpled folds. There were still pockets of warmth, still faint traces of them. If he buried his face deep enough, he swore he could smell Pin’s faint shampoo, the sharp-sweetness of Coiny’s deodorant.
The ache in his chest squeezed tighter.
He flopped onto his back, staring at the drooping ceiling of the sheet fort. His hands pressed against his chest as if holding something in, something threatening to spill.
Last night felt so easy, so real. Coiny’s laugh echoing too loud under the sheets, Pin’s steady presence tucked against his side. But now? Was that closeness real or was it just a one-night accident? A temporary comfort to tide them over before they went back to their actual lives?
The thought hollowed him out.
He sat up, pushing blankets into piles with jittery hands. The fort wasn’t cozy anymore. It looked like ruins. A half-forgotten plaything, left behind when the fun was over. Just like him, maybe.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Stop thinking like that. Stop.
But the silence pressed in harder than the blankets ever had.
Maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe last night was just comfort, nothing more. Friends squeezed together because it was cold, because they were tired. He told himself that over and over, but the words rang hollow. The closeness had felt different. Real. Like for once, he wasn’t just tolerated, he was wanted.
But the more he replayed it, the more fragile it seemed.
His chest tightened, breath shallow. He pushed the blanket away, then dragged it back. His hands twitched against the fabric, unable to stay still.
Stop caring so much.
Stop holding onto things that aren’t yours.
Stop being this pathetic.
The words hammered in his head, ugly and familiar. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ground himself, but even that small sting wasn’t enough to anchor him.
The fort sagged lower, the room heavy with silence.
The silence thickened until it became unbearable. Firey sat up, shoving the blanket away from his chest, and began tugging at the fort’s crooked edges. The sheets came down in messy folds, spilling across the floor.
He stacked pillows in uneven piles, trying to make order from the chaos. It gave his hands something to do, at least. Something other than clenching. Something other than reaching for warmth that wasn’t there anymore.
Every piece he folded back into place felt like erasing proof that it had happened at all. The laughter. The closeness. The way Pin had laid in his own room like she belonged there, the way Coiny’s snore had rumbled through the blankets.
It already felt like a dream he was scrubbing from memory.
“Temporary comfort,” he muttered under his breath, the phrase sharp on his tongue. That’s all it was, right?
Still, his hands lingered when he touched the blanket Pin had pulled over herself. He pressed his thumb against a crease.
The thoughts he had burned, and he forced himself to shake it off, shoving the blanket into a corner.
He looked around. The fort was mostly gone now, reduced to scattered fabric and crooked piles. The room felt bare again, too big for him, too empty.
His chest twisted. Maybe it was better this way. He wouldn’t have to trick himself into thinking he mattered more than he did.
He sighed, running a hand down his face. “Pathetic,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure if he was saying it to the fort or to himself.
Firey gathered the last pillow and dropped it onto the bed. The thud was soft, but in the empty dorm it sounded loud and final. The fort was gone, dismantled into meaningless pieces of fabric. Like it had never been there at all.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the bare mattress, at the dent in the blanket where someone had slept curled beside him. His throat tightened.
If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the weight of them pressed close, the warmth. But memory wasn’t the same as presence. Memory faded.
He rubbed at his face with both hands, muttering under his breath. “Why do I even care? It’s not like… not like it meant anything.” His voice cracked on the last word.
The room didn’t answer. Just silence pressing down.
Then—
The door swung open with a clatter.
“Wow,” Gelatin said, stepping inside and kicking at a crumpled sheet on the floor. “Looks like a tornado came through here. Or did you finally lose a fight with your own blanket?”
Firey stiffened, caught off guard. “It’s– just a mess. I was cleaning it up.”
Gelatin smirked, circling the room with exaggerated care, like he was inspecting a crime scene. “Uh-huh. Sure. Gotta say, though, this is… elaborate, even for you. What was this supposed to be? A…” he waved vaguely at the sagging pile of cushions, “...feelings fort?”
“Shut up,” Firey muttered, turning back to gather another blanket. His cheeks burned.
“I mean, hey, I get it,” Gelatin went on, tone playful but just sharp enough to sting. “Campus life’s tough. Sometimes you need a big blanket hug. Nothing wrong with that.” He grinned, leaning against the wall. “Still, it’s kind of… desperate, don’t you think?”
Firey froze, a pillow half-folded in his hands. “…What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gelatin shrugged like it was nothing, but his eyes lingered. “I dunno. You’re always trying to get people to like you. Building forts, pulling everyone in, cracking jokes, chasing after Pin and Coiny… it’s like you need the attention, or else you’ll–” He broke off with a vague gesture. “You know. Burn out.”
Firey’s throat went dry. He tried to laugh, but it came out brittle. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gelatin lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, relax. I’m not trying to start a fight. I just…” His grin dimmed, words softer now. “I don’t want to see you crash and burn again, okay?”
The silence that followed pressed heavier than the fort had. Firey clenched his fists around the pillow, unable to look at him.
Gelatin glanced once more at the scattered blankets, then pushed himself off the wall. “Anyway. I’ll leave you to your… tornado cleanup.” He didn’t sound like he meant it as a joke this time.
The door shut behind him, leaving Firey with the sting of his words echoing in the room.
Firey stood in the middle of the room, pillow still clutched tight in his hands. His heart thudded too fast for how little had just happened. He tried to shake Gelatin’s words off, but they clung to him like burrs.
Was that concern? Or just another dig?
He replayed Gelatin’s grin in his head, the way it had faltered near the end. It almost sounded genuine when he said he didn’t want Firey to crash. Almost. But then again, Gelatin always smiled when he said something mean. Maybe that was just another way of twisting the knife.
Firey tossed the pillow onto the bed and went back to straightening the rest. He shoved blankets into corners, stacked cushions neatly, yanked the sagging sheet off its thumbtacks and folded it into a square. The room slowly returned to order, but his chest didn’t.
Every movement felt heavy, like he was trying to tidy up his own head along with the mess. But no matter how neat the piles got, Gelatin’s words stayed scattered inside him.
“You’re always trying to get people to like you.”
“It’s kind of… desperate, don’t you think?”
He tightened his jaw. “I’m not desperate,” he muttered to himself, though the room didn’t argue back.
Finally, with everything in its place, he dropped onto the couch. The cushions dipped under his weight, and for a moment he just sat there, staring at nothing. His hands hung uselessly at his sides.
Firey leaned back into the couch, the questions circling in his head until he couldn’t tell if Gelatin had meant to help him or to break him a little more.
A faint crinkle broke the silence. Firey shifted, frowning, and dug between the cushions until his fingers caught on a wrapper. He yanked it free. Pin’s favorite candy brand. Of course.
“Right,” he muttered, tossing it toward the trash. It smacked the rim and plopped to the floor. He groaned. “NBA scouts, please, hold your applause.”
Fishing deeper, he pulled out a bent pen, a bobby pin, and a folded-up doodle-covered paper that looked like Coiny wearing a cape. He stared at it, lips twitching like a laugh was trying to escape but couldn’t quite commit. “Yeah, that tracks. My couch is basically a lost-and-found for everyone but me.”
Still, he laid the junk neatly on the coffee table instead of tossing it. It gave the room a little clutter, a little proof people had actually been here.
After a long beat, he reached for his phone. His thumb hovered over the screen before he opened Leafy’s chat.

Firey: hey, u back on campus yet?
Leafy: Not until tonight!! I had to grab a few things from home. Why? miss me already? :P
Firey: lol. just wondering. feels quiet here.
Leafy: Oh I bet. Hey, did you see that flyer?

Firey frowned, sinking back into the couch.

Firey: what flyer
Leafy: The one on the bulletin board in the union! It’s some kind of student thing. Party or “mixer” or whatever. It says, “meet your classmates, free food + music.” It looked cheesy but maybe fun??
Firey: idk. sounds loud.
Leafy: It’s supposed to be chill! like outdoor games, snacks, nothing wild. Besides… you could use some fresh air.

He stared at the screen, chewing the inside of his cheek. His first instinct was to delete the message, pretend he hadn’t seen it. Parties,, gatherings,, whatever they wanted to call it, weren’t his scene. But Leafy had a way of making things sound less awful, like even the loud parts would feel manageable if she was standing next to him.

Firey: maybe. text me when u get back.
Leafy: Deal. :)

He set the phone face-down on the coffee table, his reflection faint in the dark glass.
“Free food and music,” he muttered. “Yeah. What could possibly go wrong?”
The silence swelled around him again, but it felt less absolute.
Firey sat there a while longer, staring at the ceiling, scrolling aimlessly through his phone without actually seeing anything. The words from Leafy’s texts lingered: free food, music, meet your classmates. The kind of thing normal people just… went to.
He exhaled sharply, shoved his phone into his pocket, and stood. His body felt tight, like he’d been wound up too long in one spot. Maybe moving around would shake something loose.
The hallway outside his door smelled faintly of stale coffee and cleaning spray. His footsteps echoed as he walked, aimless, letting the cool air replace the stuffy quiet of his room. He told himself it wasn’t running away from the mess in his head, it was just blowing off steam.
Halfway down the hall, his eyes caught on something taped crookedly to the bulletin board. He slowed, squinting.
It was one of those flyers. The same kind Leafy had mentioned. Bright neon letters shouted from the page:
“CAMPUS KICKOFF NIGHT!
Games, music, food, and a chance to meet your classmates.
Saturday, 8pm, Student Lawn.”
The paper was splattered with doodles of balloons and badly-drawn guitars, the kind of design that tried way too hard. Firey stood in front of it, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, chewing at the inside of his cheek.
Leafy’s voice played in his head: You could use some fresh air!
His own voice answered back: Or I could sit in my room and not embarrass myself in front of half the campus.
But the flyer just hung there, taunting him. Every time he looked at it, the words seemed to glare louder: meet your classmates.
He rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he muttered under his breath, snatching one of the tear-off tabs at the bottom even though he didn’t need it. “I’ll go. Just to prove I can. Out of spite.”
The hallway didn’t argue back.
With the paper crumpled in his fist, he turned and headed back toward his room, a reluctant plan forming in his chest.

The lawn wasn’t what he expected.
From a distance, Firey thought maybe he’d gone to the wrong place. The flyer had promised games, food, and music like some lighthearted icebreaker, but what he walked into looked more like a carnival run by people who had no idea when to stop.
String lights were draped haphazardly between trees, flickering unevenly like they were about to burn out. A giant rented speaker thumped out bass-heavy music that made his ribs vibrate with every beat. Plastic folding tables sagged under the weight of half-unwrapped chip bags, overturned soda cans, and a sticky punch bowl that smelled like cough syrup.
Students were everywhere. Yelling, laughing, shouting across the lawn. Someone had dragged a karaoke machine outside and was screaming into it with no regard for pitch. Another group had stacked empty pizza boxes into a wobbly tower, cheering every time someone added one more without it toppling.
It was chaos.
Firey stood on the edge of it all, hands still buried in his hoodie pocket, eyes darting from one flashing distraction to the next. The music pounded in his ears, the lights flickered, the smell of greasy food mingled with cheap perfume, sweat, and cigarette smoke. His skin prickled like the air itself was too loud.
He forced himself to step closer, the grass crunching under his sneakers, though every part of him screamed to turn back.
A group of students stumbled past, bumping his shoulder, spilling something sticky onto his sleeve without even noticing. One of them shouted an apology over the music, but it was gone before Firey could respond.
He clenched his jaw. Overstimulating doesn’t even cover it.
The flyer hadn’t lied, there was music and food and people, but the reality felt like a punishment, not a welcome.
Firey scanned the crowd for some kind of anchor, some excuse to stay that wasn’t just spite.
Firey edged away from the thick of it, weaving between a group doing some ridiculous human pyramid and another cluster arguing over which song to play next. He found a small patch of grass by himself and sank down, hugging his knees, letting the thump of the music bounce faintly through him instead of directly at him.
From his spot, he could watch without being part of it.
He spotted Pillow a few yards away, balancing on one foot on top of a picnic table like it was a tightrope, arms flailing dramatically while someone shouted, “You’re going to fall!” Pillow grinned like she didn’t even hear them, clearly enjoying the chaos she was causing.
A little further on, Bracelety darted past, eyes wide, scanning frantically. She clutched a plastic cup in one hand and waved the other around as if trying to flag down a lost friend. Her pace was erratic, her movements sharp and urgent, like she might burst if she didn’t find whoever she’d misplaced.
Meanwhile, Pen was at a nearby table, shoving plastic chips into piles and muttering under his breath. Each time he bet, he lost. Every. Single. Time. He kept groaning, glaring at the cards like they had personally betrayed him, before shoving in more chips and muttering a new wager. A few others he recognized there, others? Not so much.
Firey couldn’t help but let a small, bitter smile tug at his lips. Each of them were ridiculous in their own way, utterly absorbed in their own messes. And yet, he felt some weird, quiet relief in watching it from the sidelines. At least he wasn’t the only one who didn’t belong completely.
He leaned back, letting his hands sink into the damp grass. The music still thumped, the lights still flickered, and the smells were still a little overwhelming but somehow, being tucked in this little corner, he felt a smidge less exposed.
Firey stayed low, scanning the crowd from his little patch of grass. People darted past, shouting over the music, some spilling drinks, others dancing wildly. The chaos was endless, every new movement pulling at his attention like a magnet.
Then he noticed a group huddled near the snack table, laughing so hard he could hear them across the lawn. One of them held up a crumpled piece of paper and kept pointing at it, each laugh sharper than the last. Firey’s stomach tightened. Something about their laughter didn’t feel lighthearted.
Before he could shrink further into himself, one of the group started walking toward him.
“Hey,” the girl said, voice overly sweet, tilting her head like she’d just remembered something funny. “Look who decided to show up. Thought you’d hide in your room all night.”
Firey’s eyes narrowed. Something about the tone. Too soft, too measured, screamed passive aggression. The smile on her face didn’t reach her eyes.
“I– uh, yeah,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice level. “Just… taking a break.”
She stepped closer, still grinning. “Wow, you’re… actually here. I guess miracles happen. Must be exhausting, showing up and… trying to exist around normal people.”
Firey’s jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists in his lap. He could feel heat rushing to his face. They’re making fun of me. Of course they are.
Her eyes sparkled with faux innocence. “I mean, it’s impressive, really!! How you manage to… be so awkward in every possible situation. Honestly, you make it an art form.”
He forced himself to breathe slowly, trying to stay calm. Don’t react. Don’t give them the satisfaction.
“Yeah,” he said tightly, his voice low. “I… manage.”
She laughed softly, leaning closer. “Good. I was worried you’d chicken out. Wouldn’t want you missing all the fun! Or embarrassing yourself more than usual!!”
Firey’s hands shot out, pressing against his knees. “Right,” he said, voice sharp now. “Fun.”
She smirked and added, “And hey, I love how committed you are to sitting by yourself and sulking. Really sets the tone for the night. Inspirational, even.”
Something in Firey snapped. His chest burned and a low, simmering anger buzzed through him like electricity. He could feel his face heating up.
The girl gave a mock salute and stepped back, her grin wary now, clearly noticing the tension coiling around him. She returned to the group, who snickered quietly.
Firey leaned back on the grass, jaw tight, hands pressing against the dirt. He had tried not to let it get to him. He had tried. But his chest was pounding, his fists itched, and his teeth ground together.
“This isn’t over,” he muttered under his breath.
As the girl drifted back to her group and the laughter faded slightly, Firey stayed rooted to his spot for a moment, chest heaving. When he finally judged the coast clear, he slumped forward and buried his head into his knees in front of him, fists gripping the ground
The noise didn’t stop. The music thumped in his skull, drinks spilled nearby, someone shouted over a microphone, and balloons popped in the distance. Students ran past him, arms flailing, yelling at each other, laughing at jokes he didn’t understand.
Every little sound scraped at his nerves. Every movement made him flinch. Even the lights seemed to flicker in rhythm with the pounding in his chest.
“Why did I even come here?” he thought bitterly. This was supposed to be fun?
He ground his teeth against his knees, the frustration rising, a hot pulse behind his eyes. People were everywhere, living, laughing, oblivious to him, or worse, enjoying making him feel smaller. Every glance felt like judgment, every laugh like it was meant at him, even if it wasn’t.
Firey’s fists curled tighter. He could feel the anger thrumming through him, all of it sharpened by the overstimulation, the chaos, and the way he had forced himself into this mess.
For a long moment, he stayed there, head down, body tense, letting the noise crash over him, letting the fury roll through until it became a dull, vibrating ache. Regret settled in alongside the anger, heavy and bitter.
“Never again,” he muttered under his breath. “Next time, I stay in my room.”
Firey stayed pressed against the table, jaw tight, hands clenched, letting the noise wash over him. The music thumped so hard it felt like someone had jammed a speaker into his chest. Laughter bounced off the walls of nearby buildings, clanging against the thrum of the bass. Somewhere close, a balloon popped so loudly it made him flinch.
He peeked over the edge of his knees just enough to see the absurdity around him. A group of students had taken over the portable speaker area, forming a half-circle, singing along off-key with some pop song. One kid was juggling empty soda cans, failing spectacularly, while another tripped over his own feet, landing in the punch bowl with a wet splat. Everyone around them erupted in cheers and laughter.
Firey’s stomach twisted. “How can anyone enjoy this?” he thought bitterly, though his eyes kept drifting to the chaos like a magnet. Part of him couldn’t look away.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone trying to make a connection in the middle of the madness. Bracelety still running around, checking every area she could, her hair sticking out of her buns. She hadn’t noticed him yet, frantically waving at someone behind a stack of folding chairs, muttering under her breath.
A twinge of… something softened in Firey. Not relief exactly, just the faint recognition that he wasn’t completely alone in his absurdity.
He adjusted his grip on the edge of the table and allowed himself a slow, measured breath, though the chaos still vibrated against him like a living thing. Somewhere nearby, Pen was losing another bet at a card table, throwing down his chips in defeat and muttering curse words under his breath. Pillow, meanwhile, had climbed halfway up the flagpole someone had set up for decoration, waving her arms as if she were conducting the entire disaster.
Firey couldn’t help but let a strangled, humorless laugh escape. The absurdity was… unbearable. But at least it was predictable in its own messy way.
He pressed his forehead harder into himself, imagining something absorbing the tension radiating out of him. He let himself just exist there for a few minutes, a silent observer in the middle of a sensory storm, muscles slowly loosening even as his chest remained tight.
Somewhere in the distance, a group of students started chanting, and Firey flinched again, the sound scraping across his nerves. He raised his head just enough to see the flyer from the union again, pinned to a tree nearby, bright and cheerful and mocking in its own way.
“Fine,” he muttered under his breath. “I came. I survived this. That’s enough for now.”
He shifted, trying to find a slightly better position on the grass, hands brushing against the damp soil, feeling oddly grounded despite the chaos. Around him, the party surged and spun, a storm of lights, noise, and bodies, but in his little corner, he existed almost apart from it. Almost.
And then a shadow fell across his view. Someone stopped in front of him. Tall, smirking, leaning slightly on the edge of the table. Firey tensed again, fists tightening instinctively. He already knew that look.
“Hey there,” the voice said, cheerful in tone but seemingly razor-sharp underneath. “Figured I’d find you here. Just taking in the scenery by yourself, yeah?”
Firey’s stomach sank. He could feel the anger simmering, and despite every effort to stay calm, his chest tightened, teeth clenching.
“Yeah,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Observing.”
The person smirked, tilting his head. “Observing, huh? Don’t tell me you actually like this chaos…”
Firey’s eyes narrowed. He opened his mouth, ready to snap, but forced himself to stay quiet. A low hum of fury grew behind his temples, and his fists dug into the grass beneath him.
This was exactly why he regretted showing up.
The student lingered by Firey’s table, fiddling with the hem of their sleeve. Their voice was soft, almost hesitant.
“So, um… you’re just sitting here? Alone?”
Firey didn’t even bother looking up. “Obviously.”
They flinched, but forced a thin smile anyway. “Right. Just… thought it was weird. Everyone else is, y’know, doing something. And then there’s you. Like you’re waiting for the building to collapse.”
Firey’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
They shrank back a little, hands raised like they were about to get smacked. “I didn’t mean—! I just, uh… words come out wrong sometimes, okay? I just meant you look tense. That’s all.”
Firey glared. “Yeah, well, maybe keep your commentary to yourself.”
For a second, the student went quiet, lips pressed thin. They shifted on their feet, staring at the floor. Firey thought that was the end of it.
But then, something snapped.

Their head shot up, eyes burning with a sudden spark that hadn’t been there before. “You know what? No. I’m not the problem here. You sit there acting like the world owes you silence, like everyone’s supposed to tiptoe around you. I was trying to talk, and yeah, maybe I said it awkwardly, but you don’t get to bite my head off for existing.”
Firey froze. The meek, mumbling kid from thirty seconds ago was gone.
They leaned forward, voice sharper now, more confident. “You think you’re the only one who hates being here? Please. Everyone’s uncomfortable. Everyone’s pretending. You’re not some tragic exception, you’re just really loud about it.”
That landed harder than Firey wanted to admit. He clenched his jaw, but the words burrowed in anyway.
The student crossed their arms, standing taller, their earlier nervousness burned off like smoke. “So go ahead, be annoyed at me all you want. But don’t twist my words just because you can’t handle people noticing you.”
For a long, tight moment, neither of them said anything. The party’s chaos thundered around them, but here, at this tiny table in the corner, it was war.
Firey finally broke the silence, his voice rough. “Who even are you, anyway?”
The student blinked at him, their fire having dimmed back down into something quieter. They rubbed the back of their neck. “…Bomby.”
Firey raised an eyebrow. “Bomby? That’s it?”
“Yeah. Just Bomby.” His tone was lighter now, not defensive. More like he was trying to level with him. “I’m Nickel’s partner.”
That made Firey sit back a little. Of course. He’d seen Bomby in passing, hanging around Nickel, though they rarely spoke. Always looked like the type to stay out of drama.
“So what,” Firey muttered, “you came over here just to piss me off?”
Bomby shook his head, almost smiling but not quite. “No. I came over because… well, I heard about your whole deal with Nickel. The fights, the toxic crap between you two. And I just…” He exhaled slowly, choosing his words more carefully this time. “I don’t want to get dragged into it. I figured if we actually talked like people, I wouldn’t have to worry about being caught in the crossfire later.”
Firey frowned, chewing on that. The bluntness was surprising, but it didn’t sound like mockery this time. Just honesty.
“So you… what? Want to be friends or something?”
Bomby shrugged, shifting his weight. “Friendly, at least. You don’t have to like me. Just… don’t treat me like I’m your enemy because of who I hang around with. That’s all I was trying to say.”
Firey stared at him, trying to decide if this was some kind of trick. But Bomby’s expression held steady, not smug, not fake, just… tired, like someone who had no patience for unnecessary conflict.
For the first time all night, Firey didn’t have a comeback ready.
Firey narrowed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. “Right. Friendly.” His tone was sharp, bitter. “That what this is? Some kind of setup? You sit here, play nice, then run back to your little group and laugh about how I fell for it?”
Bomby’s face twitched, caught off guard. “What? No—”
“Yeah, sure,” Firey cut him off, jabbing a finger at the table between them. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your friends watching earlier. One of them already tried making a fool out of me. You really expect me to believe you’re not just doing the same thing?”
Bomby’s jaw tightened, that spark of temper flashing again. “I came over here alone. Nobody put me up to it.”
“Yeah, right,” Firey muttered, looking away. His fists were clenched tight against his knees. He could feel the heat crawling up the back of his neck, the anger mixing with embarrassment. “I’m not stupid enough to fall for that.”
For a long moment, Bomby just stared at him. His expression shifted between frustrated, disappointed, and something else Firey couldn’t place. Something almost… hurt.
Finally, Bomby stood up, voice low but sharp. “You know what? Forget it. If you’d rather stew in your own head than take someone at their word, that’s your problem. Not mine.”
He turned and walked off into the crowd, vanishing between the clusters of students and flashing lights. Firey sat there, still fuming, but underneath it, a gnawing unease was already settling in.
Maybe he’d pushed too hard. Maybe Bomby had been genuine. But he wasn’t about to admit that. Not here.
The music thudded harder in his skull with every beat, the chatter and laughter blending into one suffocating roar. Firey shoved back from the table, the legs scraping harshly against the floor. Heads turned, a couple of people glancing his way, but he didn’t care. He was done. Done with the stares, the snickering, the fake smiles.
He pushed through the crowd, shoulder-checking someone who barked a complaint behind him, but he didn’t slow down. His jaw was tight, his chest burning hot, every step fueled by the need to get out before he exploded.
The second the door swung open and the muffled chaos gave way to the cool night air, he sucked in a sharp breath. Relief washed over him, but it carried bitterness too.
This had been a mistake. Every second of it.
Firey glanced back once, catching the neon glow spilling out of the party, laughter chasing after him like it was mocking his retreat. His fists curled again, but this time he didn’t swing. He just shoved his hands deep into his hoodie pocket and stormed off into the night, letting the shadows of the campus swallow him.
He didn’t want to be anyone’s joke anymore.
By the time Firey made it back to his dorm, the campus was quiet again. Streetlights buzzed overhead, and the hallways felt too bright, too sterile after the chaos he’d just escaped. He shoved the card into the lock harder than necessary, and the door swung open with a creak.
Leafy and Gelatin were both there. Leafy curled up on her bed with a blanket draped around her shoulders, phone in hand, and Gelatin sprawled in Firey’s desk chair like he owned the place.
Both looked up immediately.
“You’re back,” Leafy said softly, offering a careful smile.
“Yeah.” Firey kicked his shoes off and dropped onto his bed with a heavy thud. His hoodie still smelled faintly of the party, cheap alcohol, sweat, and too many bodies crammed into one room. He wanted it off his skin, off his mind.
Gelatin tilted the chair back on two legs, watching him. “Didn’t think you’d actually go to that thing,” he said, voice almost casual.
Firey didn’t respond right away. His expression was flat, eyes trained on the ceiling, but the tension in his jaw gave him away.
Leafy glanced between them, picking up on it but choosing caution. “Well… at least you tried, right?” she offered. “That’s… something.”
Firey huffed, not quite a laugh. He ran a hand over his face. “Yeah. Something.”
The room dipped into silence again, but it wasn’t empty. Instead, it was filled with unspoken things. Gelatin leaned back further, but for once didn’t push. Leafy shifted her blanket, clearly wanting to comfort him, but holding back.
Firey finally exhaled and muttered, “I shouldn’t have gone.” His voice was low, frayed at the edges. “Whole thing was a waste.”
Neither of them said otherwise.
The silence didn’t last long before Gelatin, ever restless, leaned forward in Firey’s chair, clapping his hands together. “Okay, clearly you had a crap night. But hey!! The bright side is, at least you didn’t end up losing your wallet or, like, wake up with sharpie drawings all over your face. That’s practically a win!”
Firey gave him a look, unimpressed. “Yeah. Real win.”
Gelatin’s grin faltered for a second, then came back twice as forced. “C’mon, man, you’ve gotta admit that’s funny. Imagine Pen with a mustache drawn on him. He’d probably take it seriously, start practicing poses in the mirror or something.”
Firey just sank deeper into his bed, staring at the ceiling like he wanted it to swallow him whole.
Leafy tried a softer approach. She scooted to the edge of her bed, her blanket slipping off her shoulders. “You went, Firey. That’s what matters. Not everyone can even take that step, you know? You tried.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Firey muttered. “It was awful. I shouldn’t have bothered.”
“You don’t know that,” Leafy said gently. “Sometimes you just have to give things a chance. Not everything’s gonna be perfect the first time.”
He turned his head toward her finally, expression flat. “Leafy, it was a mess. The people, the noise, the whole thing. Just one giant reminder I don’t fit in. You can’t spin that into something good.”
Gelatin blew out a long breath, flopping dramatically back in the chair. “Man, you’re like… the human version of a raincloud right now.”
“Yeah, well.” Firey pulled his blanket over his head. “Maybe I am.”
Leafy and Gelatin exchanged a look. Neither pushed further.
The air in the dorm went still. Gelatin, usually never at a loss for words, drummed his fingers against the armrest of the chair, then stopped when even that felt too loud. Leafy tucked her knees to her chest, eyes flicking between Firey’s blanket-covered form and the wall.
Neither of them tried again.
The silence stretched. Firey could feel it pressing down on him, the weight of their unspoken worry, yet he didn’t move, didn’t lift the blanket, didn’t say anything to ease it. The more they sat there, the more his chest twisted with guilt and irritation all tangled together, but he didn’t know how to untangle it, so he just lay there, pretending not to care.
Eventually, Gelatin stood. The chair scraped lightly against the floor as he got up. “I’ll… go grab some water,” he muttered, his usual bounce stripped away. He slipped out without waiting for a reply.
Leafy shifted, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders. She looked at Firey one last time, her expression unreadable, then turned off her lamp and lay down in the dark…ish. It was still early afternoon anyways.
The dorm was quiet now, save for the hum of the radiator and the muffled sounds of life elsewhere in the building. But for Firey, it didn’t feel like peace. It felt like he’d managed to chase away even the two people who wanted to be on his side.
And still, he stayed under the blanket, refusing to let himself be seen.

Several days slipped by, each one heavier than the last. What started as a single bad night stretched into an entire week of quiet tension. Firey kept mostly to himself, burying deeper into his blanket cocoon, only leaving for classes when he absolutely had to.
Every morning and every night, he found himself scrolling through CampusHub, against his better judgment. Each time, it was worse. Nickel’s posts, stupid little memes about “leaf guys” and “burnouts who can’t handle the heat” spread like wildfire. The comment sections were packed with laughing emojis, inside jokes that Firey didn’t understand but somehow knew were about him, and dozens of students piling on.
The likes climbed higher each day. Nickel’s side had become the default, funny, effortless, and popular. Firey’s silence only seemed to feed the narrative. In everyone else’s eyes, he wasn’t just the butt of a joke; he was a sore loser who couldn’t take it.
He scrolled until his eyes hurt, doomscrolling through post after post until the words blurred. Sometimes, he caught Leafy glancing at him like she wanted to take the phone away, but she never did. Gelatin tried to distract him with dumb videos or card games, but Firey never bit.
Every day, the dorm felt smaller. Every day, his chest felt tighter.
And every day, the thought of showing his face around campus made him want to disappear a little more.
It was supposed to be a good day. At least, that’s what Firey kept telling himself as he left the dorm, hands jammed in his hoodie pockets, heading toward the park where Pin and Coiny had agreed to meet. Just a casual hangout, nothing complicated. Fresh air. Normal conversation. Maybe it would help clear his head.
But, of course, he was scrolling CampusHub again. He couldn’t stop himself, thumb flicking almost automatically as he walked, the blue glow of the screen pulling him deeper. Post after post, meme after meme, Nickel’s smirking captions. Firey’s jaw clenched, but he kept walking, kept telling himself he wasn’t going to let it get to him this time.
Then he saw it.
Pinned at the top of the feed, already racking up hundreds of likes: a photoshopped picture of him. Someone had taken an old clip from his film project, frozen his awkward expression mid-frame, and crudely pasted it over the body of a cartoon flame holding a wilted flower. The caption read:
“When you burn out so bad, even your friends don’t want you around.”
The comments were brutal, like a flood of teeth sinking into him:
“This is actually depressing… lol, like, poor guy can’t handle basic social stuff.”
“Leaf Guy strikes again 😂 how does someone fail at being a human this hard?”
“Honestly, seeing him makes me anxious. Imagine inviting him anywhere… nightmare fuel.”
“Every time I see this I can’t stop laughing. Can we start a support group for the people who survive being around him?”
“Why is everyone being so nice to him in real life? He’s literally exhausting. I feel sorry for his ‘friends.’”
And worst of all, several tagged classmates he actually knew. People he had to sit next to in lectures, group projects, and workshops. Their laughing emojis and sarcastic remarks made the post feel alive, like a swarm he couldn’t escape.
Something inside Firey snapped. His stomach twisted, heat crawling up his neck, fists tightening around his phone. His chest burned like fire as he tried to tell himself it didn’t matter, but it did. It mattered so much it made his fingers shake.
He stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes locked on the screen. His vision narrowed, the world around him dimming until all he could feel was the heat of rage and humiliation coursing through him.
The park, Pin, Coiny, everything was gone in that instant. All that existed was the post, the comments, and the bitter, searing anger that boiled inside him.
Firey’s thumb hovered over the screen. His breath came sharp and uneven, each inhale pulling the flames inside him tighter, hotter. His phone trembled in his grip, not from weakness but from the sheer effort it took not to hurl it into the pavement.
He took a step forward toward the park, then stopped. His stomach knotted. What was he supposed to do? Show up smiling? Pretend nothing was happening? Pin and Coiny would probably already know about the post. Everyone did by now. He could already hear the phantom snickers, feel their pity, their secondhand embarrassment wrapping around him like a suffocating blanket.
A couple of passing students glanced at him. He must've looked insane, standing frozen on the sidewalk with his face twisted in rage. Their quick whispers and side-eyes only made the heat crawl higher up his neck.
“Stop looking at me,” he muttered under his breath, too low for them to hear. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. He shoved the phone into his pocket, but the words, the images, the mockery burned behind his eyes. He couldn’t push them away.
Instead of heading toward the park, he spun on his heel and stormed in the opposite direction, his footsteps heavy, uneven, fueled by raw frustration. He didn’t care where he was going, just away. Away from the post. Away from the laughter. Away from people.
By the time he realized where he’d ended up, he was in some back corner of campus, far from the neat walkways and chatter. He leaned against a brick wall, finally letting the pressure inside him break loose.
“Why the hell can’t they leave me alone?!” he shouted, his voice cracking from the force. His fist slammed into the wall hard enough to sting.
The sound echoed down the empty corridor. He dropped his forehead against the bricks, chest heaving, eyes burning. His whole body shook, not just from anger but from the exhaustion of carrying it all for so long.
He knew Pin and Coiny were waiting, but the thought of seeing anyone right now made him want to disappear completely.
Firey stayed slumped against the wall, arms hanging limp at his sides. His knuckles still throbbed from where they’d met brick, but the sting was nothing compared to the pounding in his chest. For once, the campus felt quiet. No laughter, no whispers, no clicks of phone cameras. Just his ragged breathing and the faint hum of a vending machine a few feet away.
Minutes bled into what felt like hours. His mind circled the same poisonous loop: They’re laughing at you. They’ll never let it go. You shouldn’t have come here. You don’t belong here.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, breaking the silence.
Pin: Hey, are you close? Coiny and I are already at the park.
Firey stared at the screen, jaw tightening. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, but he couldn’t type anything. Not yet.
A second buzz.
Coiny: Dude, where are you? We’ve been waiting.
His throat tightened. He wanted to answer, but what was he supposed to say? Sorry, I couldn’t make it because everyone hates me and I’m falling apart? He shoved the phone back into his pocket, chest heavy.
But then it buzzed again, longer this time.
Pin: Firey, if something’s wrong, you can just tell us. We’re not mad.
That one made him pause. He closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. He still didn’t move, though. His anger hadn’t burned out, it just smoldered lower, threatening to flare back up at the slightest spark.
The phone stayed heavy in his pocket, buzzing every so often with new pings. Firey didn’t check them. He couldn’t. Each vibration was just another reminder that the world expected him to do something when all he wanted was to shut down.
When he finally pulled it out, his thumb shaking, the screen was lit with notifications.
Coiny: Seriously, man, are you ghosting us?
Pin: We’re worried. At least say you’re okay.
Coiny: If this is about Nickel, screw him. You know he’s just running his mouth.
Pin: We can leave the park and come to you if you want. Just say the word.
Firey’s grip tightened on the phone until the edges dug into his palm. His first instinct was to snap, to tell them to leave him the hell alone. But then another thought wormed in. What if they really meant it? What if Pin wasn’t just being polite, what if Coiny wasn’t just talking tough?
He typed out a half-sentence.. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it,” then deleted it. Then another, “Can’t make it today, sorry,” backspaced that too. His reflection in the darkened screen stared back at him, exhausted, angry, and so small.
Finally, he set the phone face-down beside him. No reply. Not yet.
Another five minutes passed before the buzzing returned, this time only once:
Pin: …Okay. We’ll give you space. Just know we’re here when you’re ready.
That one hit harder than anything else. Firey felt his throat tighten, heat rushing behind his eyes. He hated how much those words mattered and hated even more how much he didn’t believe he deserved them.
The campus had quieted as the afternoon dragged on, but Firey hadn’t gone back to his dorm. He found himself tucked into a backed-up corner behind one of the older brick buildings, where the shrubs grew too thick and no one bothered to sit. His knees were pulled up, arms clamped around them, head lowered like he could fold himself out of existence.
The glow of his phone still buzzed against his palm, but he couldn’t bring himself to look anymore. Every scroll had been another jab, another knife slipped between his ribs. He clenched the device so tightly his knuckles went pale, then hurled it onto the grass. The thud echoed in the little dead-end space, louder than it should have.
His chest heaved. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, hard enough to see stars. “Why can’t you just stop?” His voice cracked against the brick. “Why can’t you leave me alone?”
No answer came. Just the distant hum of students somewhere else, carrying on like his entire world hadn’t just caved in.
The tears hit before he could stop them. At first, it was just a shudder, a breath snagging too sharp, but then it ripped out of him, raw and unsteady. His shoulders shook, his throat burning as ugly sobs forced their way free. The kind he never let anyone hear. The kind he couldn’t bury anymore.
He pressed himself tighter into the corner, as though the bricks could hide him, shield him from every laugh, every whisper, every post. But even here, the voices stuck, repeating in his head until they blurred with his own.
When the storm finally eased, Firey sagged against the wall, drained. His face was hot, wet, and raw. The phone lay a few feet away, screen lighting up with another notification, another comment, another reminder. He didn’t move. He didn’t want to know.
For the first time, he wondered if coming here had been a mistake.
Firey hadn’t moved from the corner, slouched against the brick with his hands hanging limp at his sides. His face still burned, streaked with the mess he hadn’t been able to stop. He barely noticed footsteps until a voice cut through the heavy air.
“Firey?”
He jolted, looking up. Pin stood just a few feet away, her brows drawn, her usual sharpness softened into something quieter. Behind her, Coiny’s eyes widened like he’d just walked in on a crime scene.
“Holy crap,” Coiny muttered, rushing forward before Firey could say anything. He crouched low, scanning Firey like he was checking for injuries. “What happened? Who– who did this?” His voice was tight, protective, like he was seconds away from throwing punches at whoever was responsible.
“No one,” Firey rasped, his throat raw from crying. He turned his head, embarrassed to even be seen like this. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” Coiny’s voice spiked, but it wasn’t anger at Firey. It was fury on his behalf. “You’re literally hiding out here looking like you’ve been through hell. Don’t give me that ‘nothing’ crap.”
Pin lingered a few steps back, quieter, her eyes fixed on Firey with a softer kind of concern. “We… we were waiting for you,” she said carefully, almost hesitant, as if she didn’t want to make things worse. “I thought maybe you got caught up with something, but…” Her voice trailed off, heavy with unspoken worry.
Firey tried to shrink further into himself, wishing he could just melt into the wall. “I should’ve never come here,” he muttered under his breath, not even sure if he meant the corner, the campus, or everything in between.
Coiny heard it though. His expression hardened, and his hand landed on Firey’s shoulder, not gentle, not rough, just steady. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.” His voice broke just slightly at the end, betraying more than he meant to.
Pin finally stepped closer, kneeling down on the other side of him. She didn’t reach out like Coiny did. She just sat there, silent but present, her quiet worry filling the gap.
For the first time all day, Firey felt something shift. Not relief nor safety, but the faintest flicker of something that wasn’t pure misery.
Firey jerked away from Coiny’s hand like it burned. “Stop acting like you care,” he snapped, his voice harsh and cracked from everything he’d been holding in. “You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve got everyone on your side. You’re both fine. I’m the one they’re tearing apart every single day!”
Coiny froze. For once, he didn’t have a comeback. His mouth opened, then closed, his chest rising like he’d just been hit. He masked it quickly, forcing his usual tough edge back onto his face, but his eyes betrayed him. Hurt, raw, stung.
“Firey…” Pin’s voice was low, almost sharp, cutting through the tension. She leaned in slightly, not to crowd him but to ground him. “Don’t turn this into something it isn’t.” Her tone wasn’t cold, but it was steady, the kind of voice that demanded he stop spiraling before he dragged the only people left who hadn’t abandoned him into the storm.
Firey’s breathing was uneven, chest heaving like he might explode again. But Pin’s eyes held him there, unflinching, steady, not accusing. More present.
Coiny swallowed, still crouched beside him, silent now. His jaw tightened, like he was fighting the instinct to snap back, to yell, to defend himself. But he didn’t. He just stayed close, even if Firey had shoved him away.
For a long second, it was just the three of them in that quiet, heavy corner, all of it balanced on whether Firey would break away or finally let them stay.
The silence stretched until Firey’s shoulders slumped, all the fight bleeding out of him. His fists unclenched against his knees, trembling. He kept his head down, voice rough and small when it finally broke the air.
“They…” His throat caught, and he swallowed hard before forcing it out. “They made something new. Pinned it to the top of the feed.” He dragged his hands down his face, almost like he could scrape the memory away.
Coiny leaned in, careful, his voice softer than Firey had ever heard it. “What was it?”
Firey’s breath shuddered. “Someone took my film project… froze me mid-frame, looking stupid. And they pasted it over this… dumb cartoon flame holding a dead flower. Caption said–” He faltered, then pushed it out in a whisper. “‘When you burn out so bad, even your friends don’t want you around.’”
Pin’s lips pressed together tight, her eyes sharp but quiet. Coiny’s hand curled into a fist before easing open again, like he was holding back a reaction just for Firey’s sake.
But Firey wasn’t done. The words poured out in a jagged rush, each one cutting him deeper.
“And the comments,, god, the comments. They were worse than the picture itself..”
He choked out a laugh that wasn’t a laugh at all, burying his face in his hands. “That’s me. That’s how they see me. A mistake. A walking punchline. And I can’t escape it because it’s everywhere I look.”
Coiny didn’t hesitate this time. He rested a steady hand on Firey’s shoulder, grounding him. Pin shifted closer too, silent, but the weight of her presence was solid, unshakable.
For the first time in days, Firey wasn’t holding the wreckage alone.
Pin shifted slightly, lowering herself so she was at Firey’s level. Her eyes didn’t leave his face, but her voice was quiet, steady. “I know it feels impossible right now. But you’re not just… some punchline for them. You’re more than that.”
Firey didn’t respond. He just stayed slumped against the brick, hands curled around his knees, chest still heaving.
Pin reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She stared at the screen for a long moment, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Her usual confidence was tempered with worry. She wasn’t sure what words would actually cut through the tide of mockery.
Finally, she typed. Paused. Deleted. Rethought. Then she pressed “Post”:
Pin: Stop. Seriously. This is pathetic. Firey’s not a joke.
The comment posted instantly, visible to everyone in the thread. She exhaled slowly, but her eyes never left Firey.
Coiny, sitting slightly behind Pin, watched her for a second before pulling out his own phone. His usual swagger was gone. He looked uncharacteristically tense, his fingers tapping nervously against the screen. He scrolled to the post, reread it, and muttered under his breath, “This is… just gross.”
He hesitated, considering how to respond. A direct comment like Pin’s might seem too serious for him, too much. Instead, he opted for his usual blend of humor and edge. A shield, a way to show support without fully exposing himself.
He typed quickly, grinning slightly as he did:
Coiny: Lmao leave Leaf Guy alone, you trolls. Or I’ll literally roast you at the next student meeting 🔥
He hit “Post” and immediately pocketed his phone, leaning back slightly. The grin faded when he looked at Firey, who still wasn’t moving, still slumped in the corner. Coiny’s usual bravado felt hollow here, even to him.
Firey peeked through his fingers at the screen. Relief flickered for a moment, brief and fragile, but then he scrolled the replies. Some laughed off the comments, some thanked Pin and Coiny, but the thread was still alive with people who didn’t care. Their support, while present, felt performative. Like a performance for the world, not a gesture for him.
He let out a shaky, bitter laugh, burying his face in his hands again. “Thanks, I guess,” he muttered, his voice low and raw. It wasn’t gratitude. Not really. Just recognition that people cared, but maybe more about how it looked than about him.
The weight of it pressed down again. Even support came with strings, expectations, or a show for others. Firey felt the sting of it as sharply as the post itself. He sank further into the corner, wishing the world and everyone in it would just leave him alone.
Firey buried his face in his hands again, shoulders trembling slightly. He let the screen glow fade from his eyes, focusing instead on the weight of Pin and Coiny sitting nearby. Both of them had tried to stand up for him. Pin with her sharp, no-nonsense defense, Coiny with his jokey bravado but even as he felt their presence, a gnawing doubt crept in.
Do they even see me?
The thought hit harder than he expected. He lifted his head just enough to glance at them. Pin’s quiet worry, Coiny’s tense energy, they were clearly worried. They cared. But the post, the memes, the world laughing at him, the way support had to be performed. It twisted everything in his mind.
Or am I just a punchline to them too?
He swallowed hard, a lump rising in his throat. What if every word of encouragement, every gesture of care, was just filtered through their own image of him? A version safe to like, safe to protect, but not the real Firey? What if even his friends saw him as the same joke everyone else did, just in a slightly kinder wrapper?
His chest tightened. He wanted to push them away, to test whether they really cared or if it was all just… performance. But as he looked at their patient, hesitant faces, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet.
So he stayed there, curling slightly inward, trapped in the corner of the campus, caught between anger, despair, and the faint, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, they really did see him.
Pin shifted closer, her eyes soft but firm. “Come on, Firey. You’ve been sitting here long enough. Let’s get up, at least stretch a little.”
Firey didn’t move. He pulled his knees tighter, shrugging into himself, a wall of stubbornness.
Coiny crouched lower, leaning forward like he always did when trying to coax someone out of their shell. “Hey, come on,” he said, voice lighter now. “You know what we need? A little distraction. Something to cool off.”
Firey peeked at him, suspicion still lingering. “What, like more memes?” he muttered, sarcasm bitter on his tongue.
“No,” Coiny said, grinning despite the concern in his eyes. “Frisbee. Just us, the quad, some stupid throws. You can scream at me if you want. Maybe even throw it at me. Doesn’t matter. No one else. No cameras. No one laughing at you.”
Pin nodded, stepping slightly closer. “Yeah. We’re not leaving you here. Not like this. You don’t have to talk about it yet, just… move a little. Come with us.
Firey hesitated. His chest still burned with anger and embarrassment, but the thought of staying in the corner any longer, letting the post, the comments, and his own thoughts fester was unbearable too.
Coiny went into his bag and grabbed a frisbee in one hand, waving it slightly. “C’mon, Leaf Guy. You’ve got some fire in you! Use it somewhere else.”
A faint, reluctant smile tugged at Firey’s lips. He didn’t answer right away, but slowly, almost painfully, he pushed himself off the ground, brushing dirt and leaves from his clothes. The corner of the campus felt a little less suffocating as Pin stayed beside him and Coiny tossed the frisbee lightly from hand to hand.
For the first time all day, Firey felt a tiny spark of normalcy. Not all of it was gone. His anger, the hurt, the fear of being laughed at. But maybe he could play again without it crushing him.

Firey fell in step between Pin and Coiny as they made their way across campus. The late afternoon sun spilled over the quad, painting everything in gold and casting long shadows behind the clusters of students. Music blared from speakers somewhere off to the side, laughter ringing in the air as frisbees sailed past, spinning end over end. Groups of friends sprawled on blankets, sharing snacks, tossing balls, or just lounging, completely absorbed in their own worlds.
Firey kept his hands stuffed into his pockets, scanning the scene with a mixture of envy and anxiety. The campus seemed alive, bursting with energy he couldn’t always tap into. He caught glimpses of people whispering and laughing, and a twinge of tension ran up his spine, but he forced himself to keep moving. Pin stayed calm at his side, walking with steady steps, while Coiny’s energy was nearly palpable, bouncing along with every step, frisbee already in hand and spinning lazily between his fingers.
“Relax,” Coiny said, tossing the frisbee from hand to hand. “We’re not doing anything serious. Just a little practice, some fun. You throw, I catch, And Pin judges or whatever.”
Pin shot him a look, but her lips curved slightly. “Or maybe I just make sure no one gets smacked in the face.”
Firey let out a short, shaky laugh. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to remind him that he was still part of this. Still here.
They reached the edge of the quad. The grass was slightly worn from the constant foot traffic, and a few stray frisbees had landed near clusters of students. A group in the middle of the quad waved at them, calling out a friendly “Yo!” as Coiny waved back with his usual flair.
Firey set his jaw and exhaled slowly, gripping the frisbee Coiny handed him. His fingers brushed the smooth plastic, and he felt the familiar weight settle into his palm. The world around him still buzzed with noise, movement, and laughter, but for the first time in days, he felt the barest flicker of focus: just the throw, just the catch, just the game.
Coiny bounced on the balls of his feet, clearly ready. Pin spread her arms, leaning back slightly, ready to judge or intervene if necessary.
Firey took a deep breath, stepping a little further into the open grass. The game was about to start.
Firey’s fingers tightened around the frisbee. The grass beneath his sneakers felt real and solid, and the noise of the campus seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the rhythm of the game. He took a tentative step forward, tossing the disc lightly toward Coiny, who caught it easily, spinning it back in a perfect arc.
“Not bad, Leaf Dude,” Coiny said with a grin, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You’re getting rusty, but you’ve still got fire in you.”
Firey muttered something under his breath, not entirely sure if it was agreement or argument. Pin stepped a few paces back, her arms crossed, eyes glinting with quiet mischief.
“Alright, I’m officially the referee,” she announced. “Any cheating, whining, or general tomfoolery, and I’ll intervene.”
Coiny groaned dramatically. “You’re no fun, Pin.”
Firey rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The disc was tossed back and forth a few more times, each throw smoother, each catch more confident. The three of them started moving in wider arcs across the quad, weaving around the scattered students, dodging frisbees launched from other groups. For a while, it was simple, pure fun. Just catching and throwing, laughing when someone missed, teasing when a toss went wild.
Then it happened. Pin crouched slightly, pretending to measure the distance. Coiny lobbed the disc toward Firey in an exaggerated slow-motion arc, clearly aiming for a perfect gentle catch. Firey lunged, catching it just in time, but before he could throw it back, Pin stepped into the path and, with a perfectly timed flick, smacked Coiny square in the face with the frisbee.
“Whoa!” Coiny stumbled back, hands on his face, laughing and coughing. “Hey! That’s cheating!”
Pin tilted her head, smirk playing at her lips. “Oh, was it? Really?” she said, voice mock-serious. Then she added with a grin, “Pfft, sucks to suck.”
Coiny froze for a moment, recognition flickering across his face. “Wait– what?”
Pin laughed, tossing the disc lightly toward Firey, who caught it mid-stride. “Yeah, buddy. Karma’s real. I’m just her messenger.”
Firey couldn’t help it. A full laugh slipped out. The tension he’d been carrying all week felt a little lighter as he aimed the disc back toward Pin, hitting her squarely in the arm. She yelped, mock-offended, spinning around to chase him. Coiny, recovering from the frisbee strike, grinned wildly and shouted, “Hey! I demand a rematch!”
The game escalated into controlled chaos. Frisbees flew in arcs, spins, and loops. Firey was laughing more than he had in days, his throws gaining confidence, his steps quicker, lighter. Pin would duck under a throw, then launch one back with precision, occasionally smirking at how Firey would flinch just slightly when she aimed. Coiny, meanwhile, became the ever-energetic chaos agent, jumping, spinning, diving to catch impossible tosses, and laughing when he failed.
For a moment, the world shrank to this quad, the three of them, and the spinning discs. No posts, no comments, no Nickel. Just movement, laughter, and connection. The kind of unpolished, messy, and genuine that Firey hadn’t felt in weeks.
By the time the sun dipped lower, casting golden streaks across the grass, Firey was flushed, winded, and smiling wide, the tension that had weighed on him all week finally easing just enough to breathe.
Pin leaned on her knees, catching her breath, grinning at Firey. “See? Not so bad, right? You’re not just a joke, Leaf Guy. You’re… apparently dangerous with a frisbee.”
Coiny wiggled his fingers at Firey, who was collapsing onto the grass. He was both worn out and too busy laughing at the other two. “Yeah yeah, dangerous.. and freaking incredible. But maybe watch out for Pin next time. She’s ruthless.”
Firey tossed the frisbee lightly toward the two of them, a small smirk on his face. He didn’t feel like a punchline with them. Maybe he had just overthought it a bit a few hours ago.
The three of them collapsed onto the grass after another chaotic round of frisbee. Firey lay on his back, frisbee balanced against his chest, grinning faintly as he caught his breath. Pin and Coiny laid beside him, laughing, still energized despite the game. For a moment, everything felt light.
Then, a few yards away, a group of students walked past, tossing a frisbee between them. Firey didn’t want to listen, but a few stray words cut through the air.
“Leaf Guy, man… that guy’s still a mess, huh?”
“Hah, yeah. Can you imagine trying to hang out with him?”
The laughter ran sharp. It pierced through Firey’s fatigue. He didn’t feel sad, he didn’t have the energy left for that, but the weight of it pressed down on him. It was quiet and relentless. His grin faltered, the edges of it vanishing as he let out a long, exhausted sigh.
“Yeah.. We should probably start heading back,” He said, sitting up slowly, the frisbee rolling off his chest. His voice was flat, tired, almost defeated.
Coiny’s brow furrowed. “You wanna go back? Want us to come with you?”
Firey shrugged, not even looking at them. “I guess.”
Pin pushed herself up with a small sigh. “I don’t mind, thanks for asking Coiny.” She glared at him, but not in a serious manner. “My dorm’s boring without people around anyway. And… well, I’d rather not sit alone.” She admitted quietly, almost as if she hated saying it.
Cony’s grin returned as he nudged Firey lightly with his below. “See? You’re not escaping us that easily. We’ll stick near you. I don’t really care if it’s boring. You’re staying on my watch… And Pin’s too, I guess.”
Firey shook his head, managing a weak smile. “Fine, but… Let’s just go. I’m,, I’m done for today.”
Pin and Coiny exchanged a quick glance, a silent agreement passing between them. Together, they gathered their things and started toward the dorms, the sun sinking lower. Firey walked between them, not talking, just letting the quiet companionship carry him forward.
The laughter of strangers lingered behind him like a shadow, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from moving.
As Firey, Pin, and Coiny walked along the winding path toward the dorms, Firey’s mind drifted. The laughter from the quad, the memory of the frisbee game, even the faint warmth of his friends beside him, it all seemed distant, fragile, like a bubble he could shatter with a single misstep.
They rounded a corner and almost collided with Book and Lollipop, sitting on a bench under a tree, textbooks and notebooks spread out around them. Their calm, steady presence radiated a sense of normalcy, the kind that Firey found himself instinctively wary of.
“Hey, you guys!” Book called, waving a hand. “Come sit with us for a minute. We were just taking a break from studying.”
Lollipop smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, come on. It’s nice out, you deserve a break too.”
Firey’s chest tightened immediately. He forced a polite smile and muttered, “Uh… thanks, but we’re just passing through.”
Pin glanced at him, frowning slightly. “You sure? It’s no problem.”
Coiny, ever the buffer, nudged him lightly. “Yeah, Firey. Don’t be weird. Sit for a minute.”
Firey swallowed. He wanted to, he did. But there was a gnawing feeling in his gut, the kind that screamed you don’t belong here, you’ll ruin it somehow. Their calm, steady friendship, the way they laughed softly, the way Book had carefully organized her notes, the way Lollipop was serene and attentive highlighted how loud, messy, and unpredictable he felt in comparison.
He imagined himself sitting there, fumbling over words, looking awkward, the laughter from the quad still echoing in his mind. Every thought, every imagined misstep, piled on top of the last until it became a mountain he couldn’t climb.
“I… uh… maybe another time,” he said quickly, forcing his legs to move before hesitation could freeze him. His voice was tight, almost harsh, betraying the anxiety simmering under the surface.
Book tilted her head, a small frown crossing her face. “Are you okay?”
Firey gave a short, tight nod, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah… just gotta… head back. Later.”
Pin’s hand hovered briefly near his shoulder, like she wanted to offer reassurance, but didn’t. Coiny’s gaze flicked at him, unreadable, but he stayed close anyway.
As he walked past, deeper into the quieter, shadowed part of campus. The laughter of friends, the soft calm of Book and Lollipop, the warmth he felt with Pin and Coiny, all of it seemed just out of reach. The farther he went, the more he convinced himself that this was where he belonged: tucked away, unseen, alone with only his thoughts and the echo of a world that kept reminding him he didn’t fit.
The path grew quieter as he moved farther from the quad, the hum of music and chatter fading behind him. Firey’s shoulders slumped, and he kept his hands tucked into his pockets, letting the weight of the day press down with each step. The campus was alive, but he felt invisible, a ghost moving among others who didn’t, or couldn’t see him.
By the time he reached the dorm, the sun was low, casting long shadows across the brick walls. He slipped inside, quietly closing the door behind him. The dorm was empty and still, lacking the energy that Pin and Coiny had brought. Firey dropped his backpack with a soft thud, letting out a long, slow sigh. Alone in the quiet, he sank onto the floor, head resting against the wall, and let the exhaustion of the day finally settle in.

Back in the dorm, Firey dropped his bag by the door and glared at the remnants of the fort. Most of it had already been dismantled, but a few stray blankets, pillows, and cushions still lay in disarray. Anger boiled up in his chest. Not at anyone in particular, just at the mess, at himself, at the week that seemed determined to crush him.
He began yanking at the remaining blankets, tossing pillows aside, and shoving cushions into corners. Each movement was sharper, louder than it needed to be, the sound of fabric rustling and cushions thumping filling the quiet room.
Then something caught his eye. A piece of fabric tucked beneath a corner of the blankets,, a hoodie. It was soft and familiar, the kind of hoodie only Pin would wear. He froze for a moment, his fingers brushing the sleeve. The smell lingered faintly, a mix of her shampoo and something uniquely Pin.
Firey held it up, conflicted. Keep it? Return it immediately? Part of him wanted to clutch it and never let go. Another part wanted to throw it across the room, to destroy it just to match the frustration he felt inside. His chest tightened as he stared at it, the quiet weight of loneliness pressing down harder than ever.
The hoodie in his hands was a reminder of connection, of closeness he didn’t think he deserved but it was also a symbol of the fragility of that comfort.
Firey sank to the floor, the hoodie draped across his lap, and let the silence of the dorm settle around him. For a moment, he didn’t think about CampusHub, memes, or jokes. He just sat there, caught between wanting to reach out and wanting to hide.
Firey hugged the hoodie closer, feeling the soft fabric against his chest. He shifted on the floor, blankets and pillows crumpling beneath him. The dorm was quiet except for the faint hum of a radiator and the occasional squeak of the building settling. In this silence, his thoughts start spinning faster and out of control.
He pulled out his phone and tapped in Pin’s name. The keyboard appeared, blinking at him. He started typing:
Hey… Uh… I found ur hoodie in the fort. Do u want me 2 bring it back?
He stopped. Stared at it. No. Too stiff. Too polite. Not like her at all. He deleted and tried again.
Hey, ur hoodies here. I… Idk if u want it back. I can bring it l8er or whatever.
He paused. Something about “or whatever” felt wrong. Too casual and too defensive. What if she thought he’d been holding onto it on purpose? His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Surely she wouldn’t miss it, right? She hasn’t even offered to come get it yet.
Then another thought: Maybe she would notice. Maybe she’d check the fort later and realize it wasn’t there. Would she think he’d kept it because he wanted… what? Something he didn’t even understand himself?
He typed another paragraph, full of apologies and awkward half-jokes. He wrote about the fort, the mess, how he’d been cleaning up, how he hadn’t meant to take it. Then he deleted the whole thing. His chest tightened. Why did it feel like just holding this hoodie was an admission of something he wasn’t ready to admit?
Am I being stupid? he thought. It’s just a hoodie. It doesn’t mean anything.
And yet, it did. It smelled faintly of Pin, a trace of her in the fabric. A reminder of last night, of the fort, of laughter that had felt so close and then vanished. Holding it made him remember warmth he hadn’t felt in days and that made him almost panic.
He imagined her shrugging if he texted: “Oh, that’s mine, thanks,” casual and easy. That image both soothed and hurt him. She wouldn’t care much, but he’d care too much.
Do I even get to send this text? he wondered. Do I get to reach out? Or would it just… annoy her?
The phone sat in his hands, cursor blinking, and he thought about every possible outcome. What if she was busy? What if she already forgot about it? What if sending it made things weird between them?
Minutes stretched. He typed another line, deleted it. Typed again. Deleted again. Each attempt seemed to push him further into a loop of hesitation and second-guessing. He imagined Pin reading it, reading too much into it, thinking he was… what? Clingy? Weird? Needy?
Finally, he exhaled slowly, staring down at the hoodie again. He wasn’t ready. Not ready to text. Not ready to face the possibility of her reaction. So he put the phone aside, hugging the hoodie a little tighter, letting himself just hold it for now, even if it meant nothing or meant everything he didn’t know how to say.
Firey stared at the hoodie for a long moment, thumb brushing over the hem. Then, almost without thinking, he slipped it over his head. It was a little loose on him, the sleeves slightly too long, but it settled around him in a way that felt… grounding. Safe, even. He pulled the hood up and tugged the drawstrings tight, letting the fabric cocoon him.
He picked up his phone again, intending, again, to type something, maybe even just a dumb joke about borrowing it until she noticed. But before he could open her chat, the phone buzzed in his hand.
He froze.
Not another meme notification from some group chat. The tone was different. Sharper, insistent. A real message.
For a split second, his chest tightened. A rush of possibilities flashed through his head. Pin? Coiny? Someone from class? Or worse, the campus-wide alert system? He glanced down at the screen, heart hammering in his ears.
This time, it wasn’t noise he could scroll past.

Firey lay back on his mattress, phone hovering above his face, thumb dragging down and down and down through the chat. The screen’s glow painted his skin in harsh light, flickering as images and jokes stacked in endless sequence.
Every time the feed stuttered, he hoped maybe it had finally slowed down. Maybe everyone had gotten bored. But then another wave hit. More blurry shots. More captions.
One photo stopped him cold: it was from behind, his back hunched as he trudged across the lawn alone after the frisbee game. Whoever took it had zoomed in so far it looked stretched and distorted, like a surveillance shot.
“Dude walks like the leaves are his sworn enemies 💀💀💀”
He almost laughed. It was stupid. Ridiculous. He could brush that off. Except the comments underneath piled higher:
“He’s committed to the bit.”
“Walking meme.”
“Does he not realize literally everyone’s in on this??”
“Imagine being him rn. I’d just drop out lol.”
That one stuck. Drop out. His chest squeezed so tightly he pressed the phone to his hoodie just to breathe.
His eyes darted to the group members list. Nearly two hundred people. Everyone in his intro film course. Everyone. Was Pin reading this right now? Coiny? Book? Lollipop? Even Dr. Oodle? He imagined them scrolling, laughing, maybe even adding to it. His stomach churned.
He scrolled faster, desperate. Maybe he’d find someone defending him. Maybe.
And there were a few:
“You guys are being harsh. Chill.”
“It’s just a campus meme, don’t take it so seriously.”
“He’s harmless.”
But even those comments stung. Harmless. Like he was some stray animal, tolerated but never respected.
The cruelty crept back in just as quickly:
“Nah, he wants this. Look at him soaking it up.”
“Leaf Guy spotted AGAIN near the dining hall. Lmfao he’s everywhere.”
“Attention seeker.”
“Pathetic.”
That word repeated so many times it felt less like an insult and more like a label. Something stamped on his forehead. Something permanent.
His phone buzzed again. Another picture. This one hurt the most: he hadn’t even noticed someone holding a camera during the frisbee game, but there he was in the frame. Smiling, just for a second, before the disk flew wide.
And the caption:
“Even Leaf Guy has his happy little leaf moments 😭🍂”
Dozens of people replied with laughing emojis, mocking what had been maybe the only genuine moment of fun he’d had all week. The memory spoiled instantly, crushed beneath a tide of ridicule.
Firey’s hand trembled. He wanted to throw the phone across the room, but his grip stayed locked, as if some part of him believed if he kept reading, he’d find the one redeeming comment, the one person who got it.
Instead, more:
“Man’s basically the campus jester.”
“Mascot idea for Spirit Week: everyone dress as Leaf Guy.”
“Can’t believe he thought people liked that dumb short film. 💀💀💀”
That last one made his pulse stutter. His throat tightened as he imagined Pin reading it, remembering his film, the way she’d smiled politely through it. He imagined Coiny joining in, mocking him like they used to.
He pulled the hoodie tighter over his head, as if fabric could protect him. The smell of Pin’s detergent hit him again, but instead of comfort, it just made him feel worse. It wasn’t even his. He was borrowing pieces of other people just to hold himself together.
And now he was nothing more than a joke.
“Leaf Guy.”
He could practically hear it whispered in the halls, hissed in the dining line, shouted across the lawn. A name heavier than his own.
He told himself to stop scrolling. To shut the phone off. To breathe. But his thumb disobeyed.
Ping. Another photo.
Ping. Another caption.
Ping. More laughter.
Each buzz drilled deeper into him until he didn’t even feel sad anymore. Just hollow, like all the weight inside had been scraped out, leaving only the echo of their voices.
Leaf Guy. Leaf Guy. Leaf Guy.
The buzzing wouldn’t stop. Ping. Ping. Ping. Each vibration rattled through his nightstand, louder than it had any right to be, until it felt like the whole room was pulsing with it. Firey sat hunched on the edge of his bed, staring down at the glow of his phone screen, the light washing over his face in pale, sickly grey. He didn’t even want to touch it, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away either. The messages stacked higher, scrolling so fast it was like watching an avalanche bury him alive.
Another blurry picture. Someone had caught him from behind, walking across the quad. His posture, his awkward gait, his hair sticking out in too many directions. It was all on display. Caption: Leaf Guy migrating across campus. National Geographic voice.
The next one hit harder. Someone had taken a screenshot of his experimental short film, the one that had started this mess, and slapped it beside a meme template. When you try too hard to be deep but you’re just Leaf Guy. Thousands of laughing emojis followed.
The comments beneath blurred together into one relentless stream:
“Bro thinks he’s the main character.”
“Does he not get embarrassed?”
“Somebody tell him to quit film school before we all die of secondhand cringe.”
He tried to scroll past them. He tried to look away. But it was like his brain caught on the worst lines, forcing him to reread them, again and again, until they burned permanent scars into his memory. Each insult stuck like a thorn, pricking deeper every time he moved.
His breath stuttered. He felt his chest pulling tight, like someone had hooked a rope around his ribs and was yanking, hard. He curled his fingers around the phone, pressing the edge of it so deep into his palm that it left marks. Every muscle in his arm screamed at him to throw it, to smash it into the wall, to do something, anything, that would shatter the laughter echoing from the glass. But he couldn’t move. He was trapped between wanting to destroy it and needing to know what else they were saying about him.
It wasn’t just words anymore. It was noise. It was heat. It was pressure. Firey could feel it buzzing through his veins, a wildfire that left him shaking instead of burning. His mind looped the same phrases: pathetic, cringe, attention seeker. He heard them in the cadence of strangers’ voices, in the whispers he swore trailed after him when he walked through hallways. He could see the words hanging above people’s heads when they laughed, convinced it was always about him.
He pressed the heel of his hand into his forehead, trying to grind the thoughts away, but it only left him dizzy. His stomach twisted, churning acid until he felt like he might puke. The room felt wrong, too small, too hot, too loud even in its silence. The air carried weight, pressing against his shoulders until his back hunched like he was trying to fold himself into nothing.
The phone buzzed again, face down on the mattress. He stared at it like it was a living thing, like if he picked it up again, it would bite. His throat ached. His eyes burned.
“I didn’t ask for this,” he whispered, the words shaking as they scraped their way out of him.
It didn’t sound like a statement. It sounded like a question, one he couldn’t answer. His lips trembled around the syllables, as though saying them out loud might somehow change the reality pressing in on him.
But nothing shifted. The laughter still rang in his ears, sharp and endless. The phone buzzed again, and again, each one punctuating the silence like a cruel metronome. He slammed it into the mattress, face down, as if that might shut it up. His body trembled as he gripped the edge of the bedframe, knuckles whitening, jaw clenched so hard his teeth hurt.
“I didn’t ask for this!” he snapped this time, louder, angrier, though the fury broke halfway through into something rawer. The sound cracked in his throat like splintered glass, collapsing into silence that rang just as loud as the shouting had.
He had only wanted to make something that mattered. Just one film. One stupid, imperfect film that could prove he wasn’t invisible, that he had something inside him worth sharing. Now it had been twisted into a joke with teeth, gnawing at his edges until there was nothing left of him but “Leaf Guy.” That wasn’t him, not really, but it was all anyone saw.
And he couldn’t make them unsee it.
The walls of the dorm seemed to close in tighter, the shadows stretching long, crawling across the floor like they were reaching for him. He yanked Pin’s hoodie tighter around his shoulders, the fabric suddenly his only anchor, the only barrier between his skin and the outside world. He buried his face in the sleeve, inhaling fabric softener and faint traces of her perfume, as if he could disappear into the smell, vanish completely.
But the hoodie couldn’t drown out the noise. Couldn’t stop the phantom laughter gnawing in his ears.
Firey’s body sagged forward, elbows on his knees, head hanging heavy in his hands. His breaths came shallow, ragged. He whispered again, softer, a plea no one would ever hear:
“I didn’t ask for this.”
And for the first time, he wasn’t sure he’d ever escape it.
Firey’s phone buzzed again, rattling across the desk with another cascade of pings. His hands trembled as he picked it up, already dreading what he’d see. The group chat wasn’t just filling with blurry pictures anymore. It had exploded into something uglier, meaner, like a wildfire tearing through the walls he’d tried to build around himself.
Someone had screenshotted one of his old posts, where he’d once written, half-joking, half-hoping, that maybe one day people would actually like his films. It was plastered over with a caption in bold letters:
“Don’t worry, Leaf Guy, no one’s watching anyway.”
The laughing emojis poured in like a waterfall.
Another student shared a poorly edited meme of him with giant cartoon leaves taped over his head, crouched in a bush like a scared animal. The caption:
“Campus cryptid sighting: Leaf Guy hiding again. Approach with caution. He burns when cornered.”
The replies were worse:
“Seriously, who even hangs out with him? Is he like… socially contagious?”
“Imagine being that embarrassing and still showing up to class 💀.”
“I’d transfer schools if I was him, lmao.”
Firey’s stomach turned. His chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. His eyes skimmed the screen, hoping, searching, just one kind word, one defense, anything. But it was all noise, all cruelty masquerading as humor. And then, buried in the scroll, came the one message that made his entire body go cold:
“Bet he’s gonna snap one day. Leaf Guy’s totally the type to go psycho. Watch out, y’all.”
For a moment, everything inside him stilled. It wasn’t a joke anymore. It was a threat disguised as prophecy, a label stamped on his back. The kind of thing that clung to you, whether you wanted it or not. He imagined the whispers following him down hallways, the side-eyes in classrooms, the way people would tense if he so much as raised his voice.
Firey slammed his phone down so hard the screen flickered, his whisper breaking out raw, “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ASK FOR THIS!”
The words echoed off the walls of his empty dorm. His voice cracked, sharp and desperate. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, like his body was rejecting the weight of being turned into a caricature, a monster, a campus-wide in-joke he never volunteered to be.
And still, from the desk, the notifications buzzed. The laughter kept coming.
Firey’s hands shook as he picked his phone up again, staring at the endless feed. His chest heaved, and the hoodie, once comforting, now felt like a cage pressing him down. He clenched his jaw and remembered Pin’s voice from weeks ago, patiently walking him through ways to calm himself when anger or panic started taking over.
“Start with your breath,” she had said. “Slow it down, count it, let your chest rise and fall on purpose.”
He lifted his shoulders, inhaled shakily, and counted: one… two… three… four… Then out, slowly, deliberately. One… two… three… four… But the buzzing in his head and the replay of every comment, every meme, every laugh was too loud. His chest still felt like it was being squeezed.
Next, he tried another tactic she’d suggested: grounding. Pin had told him to look around, notice five things he could see, four things he could touch, three he could hear, two he could smell, one he could taste. He scanned the room.
Five things he could see: the corner of the messy fort, the edge of his phone screen, the hoodie draped over his shoulders, a half-empty water bottle, the faded poster above his desk.
Four things he could touch: the soft hoodie, the rough fabric of the mattress, the smooth phone screen, the edge of his desk.
Three things he could hear: the distant hum of campus life beyond the dorm, the soft buzz of the phone, his own shallow breaths.
But when he got to the last step, trying to smell and taste, he realized it wasn’t working. The hoodie’s scent, which had once been comforting, only reminded him of Pin and of how far away real comfort felt. His tongue felt dry; there was nothing to taste but fear.
His fists tightened in frustration. “It’s useless,” he muttered under his breath.
Finally, he remembered the last thing Pin had taught him: counting his anger down. Naming it, acknowledging it, then imagining it as a scale from ten to one. Ten being the hottest, fiercest, most out-of-control rage; one being calm, steady, like he could think again
He inhaled sharply. Ten. The photos. The comments. The laughing emojis. The “Leaf Guy” labels. Nine. Still buzzing. Still biting. Eight. His hands still trembling. Seven. He tried to picture the scale in his mind, watch the anger flow down like water through a thin funnel. Six… five… four…
Three… The shaking was fading slightly. Two… He could finally feel the hoodie pressing comfortingly against his shoulders again instead of crushing him. One… He let his chest release slowly, all the breath he had been holding in one long exhale.
He was still angry. He was still humiliated. But for the first time in what felt like hours, he could think about something else. Just a little.
Firey’s chest still heaved lightly, hoodie clinging to him like armor. His phone buzzed again. He nearly flinched, but this one felt different.
From: Pin
Pin: Hey… how’s it going?
He scrolled, almost reflexively. Another message:
Pin: You okay? Been quiet. Coffee yet?
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Pin’s usual tone. Soft, grounding.. yet still… something felt off. She wasn’t her usual self. These messages were deliberate, cautious, like she was testing the waters.
Firey typed a quick reply.
Firey: I’m… fine. Just… tired.
A pause. Then she replied:
Pin: Okay… listen. I don’t want to beat around the bush. Can you check the trending page on CampusHub?
Firey frowned, brow furrowing. That wasn’t her style. She didn’t usually ask him to do things like that. Usually she would joke, tease, or just distract him from whatever he was stewing over. But this felt serious.
Firey: Y?
He typed back.
Pin: Just check. You’ll see why I’m messaging. I’ll wait.
Firey stared at the message, finger hovering over the screen. He realized there was no preamble, no small talk, Pin wasn’t trying to cushion him. She just… needed him to see it. His chest tightened slightly, curiosity mixed with unease.
He unlocked CampusHub and swiped over to the trending page.

Firey’s thumb hovered over the trending tab, and then he swiped.
The page loaded, and his stomach dropped. Bold, red letters dominated the screen:
“Leaf Guy EXPOSED”
He froze. His chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t just anger. It was dread, pure, sinking dread.
He scrolled. The thread had already exploded with dozens of posts, each building on the last. Old rumors Nickel had started, twisted and amplified, were now written in capital letters and accompanied by photoshopped images and exaggerated stories. One claimed he’d “tried to kill Nickel in the creator room just to get attention.” Another labeled him “the most angry person on campus.”
The comments were merciless:
“How is this guy still allowed to walk around campus?”
“Absolute legend in cringe. I can’t stop watching.”
“Leaf Guy’s social skills = zero. Deadass.”
“Imagine thinking you’re deep when everyone’s laughing at you behind your back.”
Some posts weren’t even remotely subtle. They called him pathetic, attention-seeking, and a “campus joke that won’t die.” They referenced his short film, his awkward interactions with students, his “Leaf Guy” persona, everything amplified into a narrative designed to humiliate him.
Firey’s fingers trembled, hovering over the screen. He wanted to swipe, close the app, shut it all out, but curiosity, dread, and fear held him there.
He whispered under his breath, hoodie tightening around him:
“I didn’t ask for this… I never asked for this.”
Pin’s message popped up again:
Pin: I know it’s bad. I wanted to tell you before you saw all of this, but it’s already trending. Just breathe, okay? I’m here.
Firey’s stomach twisted. He hated the way his chest ached, hated that even with Pin messaging, he felt cornered, exposed, and utterly small. He scrolled further, the thread seemingly endless. Each click, each swipe, was like plunging a knife deeper into him.
And yet… somewhere beneath the nausea, beneath the anger and despair, a tiny spark of defiance flickered. This wasn’t over. Somehow, he had to survive it. Somehow, he had to respond without letting it break him entirely.
But for now, all he could do was sit there, hoodie wrapped tight, eyes glued to the screen, trying to make sense of the campus-wide storm raining down on him.
Firey’s phone buzzed again. Another screenshot, another repost. Another student claiming to “catch Leaf Guy in the wild.” His name had become a trigger, a punchline that could make complete strangers laugh, mock, or roll their eyes without ever knowing him.
Even people he’d never spoken to, never even seen before, were piling on. Comments flooded in:
“Leaf Guy strikes again 😂”
“I can’t believe he’s still walking around campus like this.”
“Attention-seeker level: MAX”
His chest tightened, the hoodie suddenly heavy on his shoulders. Every ping felt like another arrow in a quiver aimed directly at him. He tried to look away, but it was impossible. His name wasn’t just trending, it was weaponized. It was inescapable.
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, rocking slightly, trying to shut out the virtual mob. But even as he sat there, he could imagine them. Students in the quad, in the library, in the cafeteria pointing, whispering, laughing, repeating the same jokes he’d scrolled through a thousand times now. His identity had been reduced to a meme.
Firey’s fingers twitched over the phone. He wanted to throw it, smash it, erase every trace of his existence from this digital arena but he couldn’t. It was everywhere. It followed him. He couldn’t escape it.
He whispered to himself, almost pleading, “I didn’t ask for this… I never asked for this.”
The hoodie felt like the only barrier between him and the world now, and he clutched it tighter. But even wrapped up in its fabric, even with Pin’s earlier words echoing faintly in his mind, Firey felt small, trapped, and completely alone.
Every day, it seemed, the ridicule grew. Every ping, every notification, every passing glance on campus reminded him: his name was no longer just his. It belonged to the laughter, the memes, the cruelty of everyone else.
And for the first time, Firey didn’t know if he could hold on.
Firey’s lips barely moved, his voice nothing more than a rasp.
“…They don’t just laugh. They hate me.”
The hoodie pressed around his shoulders, but it did little to shield him from the pounding in his chest. His fingers hovered over the phone, which was already lighting up again with notifications. Messages, screenshots, memes, even replies to replies. Every ping stabbed at him like a reminder of how far this had spread.
His eyes felt raw. His stomach twisted. He wanted to hide, to disappear into the hoodie, to melt into the shadows of his dorm room and never see the light of campus again. The notifications kept coming, a relentless tide of mockery, ridicule, and cruelty from people he’d never even spoken to. Leaf Guy had become synonymous with contempt, and the realization slammed into him with a weight he couldn’t lift.
But somewhere, deep in the fear and exhaustion, a thought began to flicker. A tiny spark in the corner of his mind whispered, This isn’t going to control me.
He stared at the screen. His hands shook, but his jaw tightened. The anger, the humiliation, the dread, it was all boiling into something sharper and cleaner. He didn’t have to let them win. He didn’t have to be the joke anymore.
The hoodie was heavy, yes, but it reminded him of Pin, of the people who had actually tried to care for him. It reminded him that he still had control over something, over himself.
Firey drew in a shuddering breath, lifting the phone. His eyes scanned the trending thread one last time, memorizing the scope of what he had to face. And then, with a quiet, hard certainty, he whispered:
“This ends now.”
His fingers hovered over the screen. Not trembling anymore, not completely. His chest still ached, but the fear had turned into focus. Whatever it took, he would put a stop to this. He would reclaim himself from the mess that everyone else had made.
For the first time since the thread had gone viral, Firey felt a spark of something new: resolve.
He wasn’t just going to survive this. He was going to fight back.

Chapter Text

Firey pressed his fingers against his temples, trying to calm himself. Pin’s strategies, breathing, grounding, counting down his anger, still lingered in his mind. He had used them and they had helped, but now the fury gnawed at him again, sharp and relentless.
Firey pushed himself up, pacing the small room. “I can’t just sit here,” he muttered. “I have to do something.”
He grabbed his laptop and started scrolling through the campus forums, the old posts, the screenshots he had saved from Nickel’s harassment. His eyes narrowed. It wasn’t just about him. Nickel had done the same thing to others, creating chaos, fear, and ridicule. It was a pattern, a trend that needed to be stopped.
He muttered under his breath as he pieced it together: “This isn’t just a meme… it’s deliberate. It’s bullying, and I’m not letting him get away with it anymore.”
Coiny’s voice popped into his mind, sarcastic but somehow reassuring: “Time to throw a wrench in the works, huh?”
Firey exhaled sharply. “Yeah. Time to throw a wrench in the works.”
He opened a new document, typing furiously: evidence, screenshots, dates, usernames, patterns of behavior. Every post Nickel had made, every cruel edit, every comment that had made students, him included, feel exposed and humiliated.
The plan began to form in his mind. It wasn’t just retaliation; it was accountability. Nickel wouldn’t get away with leaving a trail of online destruction. Firey’s fingers danced over the keyboard, his heart beating faster with each new discovery.
And then, as he worked, an idea struck him: if he could rally students, those who had been quietly affected, those too scared to speak, maybe they could push back together. Maybe… maybe they could make a statement that would actually be heard.
Firey leaned back, chest rising and falling, eyes narrowed. This wasn’t just about being vindicated. This was about taking a stand.
“…Time to shake things up,” he whispered.
The storm inside him had found a target, and Firey was ready to act.
Firey’s fingers hovered over his phone, thumbs poised but trembling slightly. The trending “Leaf Guy EXPOSED” thread still burned behind his eyelids. Each screenshot, each cruel edit, each mocking comment replayed in his mind. His chest tightened, and Pin’s hoodie felt heavier than usual, as if it were trying and failing to shield him from the world outside.
He tapped open the group chat he shared with Pin and Coiny. The screen glared back at him, a small rectangle of safety in a sea of chaos. He hesitated for a fraction of a second. Should I even text them? Then, with a frustrated huff, he typed:
Firey: “Guys… I cant take this anymore. Nickel’s gone 2 far this time.”
He stared at the screen. The typing bubble flickered on and off. Seconds stretched like hours.
Coiny: “Yeah, man I’ve seen it. That guy’s a total nightmare. I mean, wth is wrong with him?”
Pin: “I noticed too. I… uh, I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to approach this without making things worse.”
Firey groaned, dragging a hand through his hair. “Without making things worse,” he muttered under his breath. That was so Pin, careful, logical, precise. He rolled his eyes, but there was a tiny sense of comfort there too. Pin’s carefulness reminded him someone could still navigate this without blowing it up even further.
Firey: “Idc ab making it “worse” anymore. He needs 2 be stopped. He’s done this 2 other ppl too. Ive got proof.”
Coiny: “Finally. About time we do something. What’s the plan? You’ve got all the receipts?”
Firey’s fingers hovered again, and his chest ached from the tension. He wanted to type everything at once, scream into the chat, let all the frustration pour out, but instead, he started methodically, the words coming slow and deliberate:
Firey: “Ive started gathering it all. screenshots, posts, dates, anything that shows what hes done. And its not just me. Hes targeted others 2.”
Pin’s bubble appeared almost immediately.
Pin: “We need to make sure it’s solid… nothing that can be twisted. We can’t let him get away again.”
Firey’s chest tightened further, but not from panic this time. There was a spark there. A tiny, fragile spark of resolve. He read her words again, let them sink in. Pin wasn’t just reacting. She was thinking, analyzing, planning. And somehow, that made him feel less alone in this mess.
Firey: “If we do this, we do it right. We make sure it counts. Im done letting him run wild.”
The typing bubble flickered. Coiny’s reply came almost instantly, full of chaotic energy:
Coiny: “Hell yeah. I’m in. You two got my back?”
Pin’s message followed, measured, steady:
Pin: “Always. Let’s just… plan it carefully. We can’t afford mistakes.”
Firey’s lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the chat. His chest still ached, but something inside him shifted. He didn’t feel entirely trapped. They were with him. They were actually with him.
He typed again:
Firey: “Ok, then lets do this.”
Coiny’s next message arrived with a smirk he could practically hear through the text:
Coiny: “Let’s tear him down… legally, of course. 😎”
Firey allowed himself a short, bitter laugh. “Legal chaos,” he muttered, shaking his head. Somehow, with Pin’s calm logic and Coiny’s chaotic energy, he felt like this mountain of harassment might actually be climbable.
He glanced back at the screenshots he had compiled. Each one, each post, each cruel edit represented months of Nickel’s behavior longer than he’d realized until now. His fingers hovered over the keyboard again. The hoodie on his shoulders felt heavier, yes, but it wasn’t just a shield. It was a reminder: he wasn’t completely alone. He had allies, and he had a plan.
Firey: “Lets get 2 work.”
Firey leaned back in his chair, staring at the glowing screen of his laptop. The compiled screenshots, posts, and evidence of Nickel’s harassment stretched across multiple tabs. Each one made his chest tighten all over again, but beneath the anger, there was a growing determination. He was done being passive. Done letting Nickel run roughshod over him and everyone else he had targeted.
He opened the shared document and clicked “Share” with Pin and Coiny. Within minutes, the chat pinged with notifications.
Pin: “I’m in. Let’s make sure everything is chronological and clearly labeled.”
Coiny: “Already digging through the chaos. 😎”
Firey exhaled sharply, a small smirk tugging at his lips. They were in this with him. He wasn’t alone.
The three of them dove in. Firey started by organizing posts by date, marking which were directed at him and which had been part of Nickel’s broader harassment campaign. Pin’s meticulous notes ensured nothing was overlooked, while Coiny, in true chaotic fashion, added extra screenshots and occasionally commented with sarcastic remarks to lighten the grim tone.
Hours passed like minutes. Coffee cups accumulated on the desk, sticky notes littered the edges of the laptop, and the night stretched on, silent except for the clatter of keys and the occasional exasperated groan from Coiny.
Firey: “We need timestamps 4 every post. I want a clear pattern.”
Pin: “Already on it. If we do this right, there’s no way he can weasel out.”
Coiny: “Man, he’s a nightmare… but we’ve got him cornered. Just wait.”
Firey’s fingers moved almost automatically, compiling, labeling, and cross-referencing. Every now and then, he glanced at Pin and Coiny’s updates, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and disbelief. They were actually doing this. Actually helping him fight back.
By the time the clock crept past midnight, Firey’s eyelids grew heavy. He tried to push through, telling himself that they couldn’t stop now, that the evidence had to be perfect. But exhaustion clawed at him, dragging him down.
Halfway through the next set of screenshots, his head drooped onto the desk. His hands rested limply on the keyboard, and the laptop’s glow reflected softly on his hoodie. The last thing he saw before succumbing to sleep was Pin’s careful notes and Coiny’s chaotic, messy but heartfelt contributions.
Firey passed out there, sitting upright, surrounded by the remnants of their late-night work, determined, exhausted, and just starting to feel that maybe… just maybe… they had a chance.

Firey stirred, groaning softly. His head throbbed, muscles stiff, and the hoodie he had thrown on the night before was wrinkled and warm around him. He blinked against the glow of his laptop, trying to remember where he was and why his neck hurt. Slowly, he realized he was still slouched over the desk, half-asleep, half-exhausted, the document they’d been working on glowing on the screen.
He squinted, rubbing his eyes. The screen wasn’t just the messy, half-filled collection of screenshots he had left the night before. No. It was complete. Evidence perfectly organized, posts labeled by date, patterns of harassment highlighted, notes cross-referencing Nickel’s other victims. Even summaries and brief explanations were included for clarity.
Firey’s eyes widened, and he leaned in closer. “…Pin and Coiny… did all of this?” His voice was barely above a whisper. He scrolled slowly through the document, disbelief making his chest tighten. Everything he had painstakingly started the night before was now a fully formed, comprehensive guide to holding Nickel accountable.
There were Coiny’s notes, scattered with his typical chaotic energy. Sarcastic comments and jokes tucked between serious evidence, little flares of humor to keep things from feeling suffocating. And then there were Pin’s methodical breakdowns, precise and orderly, each screenshot and post annotated, with arrows pointing to connections, patterns, and timelines. It wasn’t just organized; it was brilliant.
Firey leaned back in his chair, letting out a long, shaky breath. He ran a hand over his face, trying to process everything. He hadn’t realized the extent to which Pin and Coiny had put themselves into this, how much they had cared, and how much effort they had poured into making this plan real. His chest tightened again, but this time, it wasn’t anger or panic. It was awe.
He scrolled down to see the threads where Nickel’s harassment had extended beyond him. Other students who had been mocked, targeted, or manipulated. Patterns jumped out at him: the timing of posts, the coordinated cruelty, the little lies and exaggerations Nickel had spun. The document didn’t just lay out what had happened to him; it told the story of a predator who had been hiding in plain sight, exploiting the campus for laughs at others’ expense.
Firey ran a hand through his hair again, feeling the weight of the late night fall away slightly, replaced by a strange, exhausted satisfaction. “…They’ve got my back,” he whispered to himself. The thought made his lips twitch, a small, tired smile forming. They hadn’t just stayed up, they had fought for him, and for everyone else Nickel had hurt.
He leaned forward, tapping through the document again, making mental notes of what to do next. He could feel his pulse picking up, that familiar surge of adrenaline and anger mingling with relief. It was a dangerous combination, but he welcomed it. Finally, he wasn’t just reacting. He was planning, strategizing, and, most importantly, he was no longer alone.
Firey sat back, letting the hoodie drape over his shoulders, and breathed slowly. The exhaustion from last night lingered in his limbs, but his mind was sharper than it had been in days. For the first time since the “EXPOSED” thread had gone viral, he felt like he could actually take control of the situation. And maybe, just maybe, things could change.
“Time to do this,” he murmured, fists clenching around the edge of the desk. The screen reflected his determination back at him. They had prepared, and now it was his turn to act.
Firey slung his laptop under one arm, hoodie still crumpled around him, and trudged down the dorm hallway toward the lobby. Sunlight spilled through the windows, painting the carpeted floor with long, warm streaks, but he barely noticed. All he could think about was the document. The evidence. The way Pin and Coiny had stayed up all night compiling everything. He needed answers. Someone to tell him who he could safely give this information to. Someone official, trustworthy, who could make sure Nickel faced consequences.
As he pushed open the lobby doors, he froze mid-step. Coiny and Snowball were already there, standing smack in the middle of the open space, their voices bouncing off the walls and echoing through the common area. They were gesturing wildly, puffing out their chests, arms flailing like they were in some kind of ridiculous gladiator duel.
“I LITERALLY bench more than you, Coiny! There’s no contest!!” Snowball bellowed, chest puffed like a rooster, voice loud enough to make nearby students glance up in mild annoyance.
Coiny snorted, leaning back dramatically. “Oh, sure, sure. But remember who almost dropped that frisbee on your head a few weeks ago? Yeah, that’s right. Me! Stronger. Faster. Smarter. Unstoppable. Deal with it!!”
Firey rubbed the back of his neck, groaning so quietly that only he could hear it. “…Guys… seriously. Can we not?” he said, exasperation threading his tone. “I’m kind of in the middle of something important here.”
Coiny’s grin widened. “Oh, so now you’re the referee?! Finally someone recognizes the truth of my superiority!!”
Snowball’s glare sharpened. “Referee? I don’t need a referee. I AM the truth!”
Firey pinched the bridge of his nose. His chest tightened. “…This isn’t about strength, or truth, or whatever the hell this is!” He gestured vaguely at their flailing arms and dramatic poses.
Coiny tilted his head, smirking, clearly enjoying the chaos he had created. “What’s the matter, Firey? Too weak to admit who’s stronger?~”
“Yeah!” Snowball added, pointing aggressively at Firey. “You gonna mediate or what?”
Firey threw his hands into the air. “I give up. Just… stop yelling at each other!”
Of course, they ignored him. Of course. Coiny was grinning like he had just won the lottery, and Snowball’s glare was sharp enough it could probably slice through metal. Firey groaned again and flopped into a nearby chair, dragging his laptop onto the table in front of him with a heavy thud.
“…Why did I even come here?” he muttered under his breath, resting his forehead against his arm. But even as he slouched there, he found his eyes wandering to the ridiculous display in front of him. Coiny had now picked up a rolled-up flyer and was mock-lifting it like a dumbbell. Snowball, not to be outdone, was flexing dramatically, pacing back and forth as if they were on some ancient battlefield.
Firey’s lips twitched, though he tried to suppress it. Amid the chaos, he felt the tiniest flicker of amusement. The lobby was loud and ridiculous, and the petty bickering was a strange relief from the relentless pressure of Nickel’s harassment. He could almost forget, for a moment, the thread that had haunted him for days.
“…Focus, Firey,” he muttered to himself, straightening up. He opened his laptop and scrolled through the shared document again. Evidence neatly organized, posts annotated, screenshots cross-referenced. Patterns highlighted. Every victim, every manipulated post, every cruel edit, all of it lined up, screaming Nickel’s accountability.
The contrast between the document’s order and the chaos in the lobby wasn’t lost on him. Coiny had just tossed the rolled-up flyer at Snowball, who caught it with dramatic flair, spinning around and yelling, “Ha! Victory!” Coiny clapped sarcastically. “Yeah, congratulations. You’re strong. You win the petty, useless lobby competition of the day!”
Firey groaned again, rubbing his face. “…I can’t… I just… need to focus.” He tapped his laptop furiously, trying to block out their ridiculousness. But even as he did, he couldn’t help but glance up occasionally, partly annoyed, partly entertained, partly grateful for the absurd distraction.
Finally, he spoke aloud to himself, almost whispering: “…Enough distractions. Time to figure out who actually matters here. Who can help me make sure this gets into the right hands.” His hands hovered over the keyboard, poised to write emails, send messages, or call people. Determination surged through him, mixing with the exhaustion from staying up all night.
Coiny suddenly shouted something about “superior strength” again, Snowball retaliated with an even louder declaration, and Firey let out a long, exasperated sigh. He had a plan. He had evidence. And yet… the world was still absurd. But maybe that absurdity was part of what kept him grounded, keeping him focused.
He rolled his shoulders back, took a deep breath, and muttered: “Alright… let’s do this.”
The lobby remained chaotic behind him, the petty shouting and wild gestures echoing, but Firey finally felt a sense of clarity. Nickel’s harassment had a target now and he wasn’t going to stop until justice was done.
Firey adjusted in his chair, trying to position his laptop so he could get a few minutes of focus. He typed a line, then paused as Coiny picked up a random rolled-up flyer and twirled it like a baton. With a flick of his wrist, it sailed across the lobby. Snowball barely dodged in time, catching it with a triumphant “Ha!”
“Nice reflexes, but can you catch this?” Coiny called, grabbing a nearby water bottle and tossing it gently toward Snowball, who fumbled, nearly dropping it, only to spin and catch it behind his back. “Impressive, but predictable,” Snowball taunted.
Firey groaned, leaning closer to the laptop. “…Guys, I really need to focus—”
“Oh come on,” Coiny interrupted, grinning. “You’re just jealous that I can bench… uh, whatever! How much do you think I can bench, Snowball? Let’s make a bet!”
“Twenty bucks says you can’t throw that clipboard across the lobby without it falling,” Snowball shot back, grabbing a clipboard and raising it like a challenge. “Winner takes all!”
Before Firey could protest, they were off. Coiny launched a small pillow at Snowball, who deflected it with the clipboard, missing the chair Firey had been trying to sit in. Firey ducked instinctively, nearly tipping over his laptop.
“…I am not supposed to be in the middle of a circus!!” he spoke annoyed, fingers hovering over the keyboard. But Coiny and Snowball didn’t care.
“Hey Firey!” Coiny called, spinning around to face him. “What do you think? Who’s stronger? Be honest, don’t chicken out.”
Snowball leaned forward, grinning. “Yeah, come on, Leaf Guy. Don’t just sit there. Your vote counts!”
Firey rubbed his temples. “Guys! Please– I’m trying to get something important done here!”
“Important?” Coiny laughed, tossing another pillow onto the floor for effect. “Pfft. The important thing is watching me throw this at Snowball, and him missing by that much!” He gestured at a tiny gap between Snowball’s clipboard and the pillow.
Snowball shouted back, waving his arms. “You missed! I had it under control! We’re literally showing real skill here!”
Firey slumped further in his chair, trying to ignore them. He typed a few letters, then paused as Coiny grabbed a pen from the floor and started spinning it like a baton. “Bet five bucks I can land this in that trash can from here,” Coiny boasted.
“Fifty bucks says you can’t!” Snowball countered, leaning back dramatically. “Winner gets bragging rights for life!”
“FIREY!” Coiny suddenly yelled, tossing the pen in his direction. It bounced off the edge of Firey’s laptop with a soft clink.
Firey’s hands froze over the keyboard. “…I can’t do this,” he muttered, resting his forehead on the table. “I can’t get anything done.”
Snowball leaned in closer, still grinning. “Oh come on, Leaf Guy, don’t tell me you’re afraid to make a bet. What’s the matter? Lost your edge?”
Coiny spun a water bottle, tossing it lightly toward Firey. “Or maybe you’re just too focused on… whatever that big serious thing is? Y’know, your evidence mission or whatever.”
Firey groaned, flopping one hand over his eyes. “…You guys are impossible,” he whispered. “I… can’t… do… anything.”
They laughed, oblivious, continuing their ridiculous displays. Pillow tosses, clipboard spins, small feats of agility, and escalating bets that Firey didn’t have the patience to track. Every attempt he made to focus on his laptop was met with another shout, a loud clang, or a “Hey, Leaf Guy! What do you think?”
By the time he finally looked up, his document had gone untouched for nearly twenty minutes. His eyes roamed the chaotic scene: Coiny tossing objects, Snowball flexing, students passing by giving amused glances, and Firey’s laptop sitting quietly, blinking at him like a silent, disappointed teacher.
“…I should just leave,” he muttered, grabbing the laptop. “…Maybe the chaos will stop if I’m not here to witness it.”
And with that, Firey stood, laptop in hand, mentally preparing himself to escape the lobby circus so he could finally focus on Nickel.
The pillow flew one last time. Snowball lunged dramatically to block it, but in the chaos, both he and Coiny tripped over each other, landing in a heap of flailing limbs and frustrated shouts.
“You’re impossible!” Snowball yelled, rubbing his elbow.
“No, you’re impossible!” Coiny shot back, pointing a finger as if it were a weapon.
Firey, watching them from the edge of the chaos with his laptop still clutched to his chest, let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “…This is why I can’t get anything done,” he muttered, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Two fully-grown idiots, and somehow the world still survives.”
Coiny groaned, struggling to his feet and glaring at Snowball one last time. “I am never letting you win a contest again,” he spat before storming off, heading straight toward Firey.
Snowball huffed, brushing off imaginary dust from his hoodie. “Yeah, whatever. I’m done with this nonsense.”
Firey leaned against the wall as Coiny caught up to him, flopping down beside him with an exaggerated groan. “Ugh… you would not BE-LIEVE the circus I just survived,” Coiny said, tossing an imaginary pebble at the air.
“I can imagine,” Firey muttered, closing his laptop. “…You ready to find Pin?”
Coiny nodded, eyes narrowing with determination. “Yeah. That’s not going to be hard. She has that ridiculous fixed schedule by now. I mean, predictable as clockwork. She’ll be in the same spot, doing her same thing. We just have to… go get her.”
Firey rubbed the bridge of his nose. “…And then what? Plan the next move against Nickel?”
Coiny smirked. “Exactly. You’ve got the evidence. She’s got the brains. I’ve got… me. It’s a start.”
With a shared glance, Firey and Coiny set off across campus, weaving through students and sunlit paths, heading toward Pin’s predictable corner of the quad. Firey felt a flicker of focus ignite inside him, like a match being struck after days of smothering smoke. The plan was coming together.

It didn’t take long to find her. Pin was exactly where Coiny said she’d be. Perched on a stone bench near the quad, earbuds in, notebook balanced on her lap. Her posture was sharp as ever, one leg crossed, pen tapping rhythmically against the page. Students passed by in waves, but she stayed rooted, absorbed in whatever schedule she was piecing together.
“Like clockwork,” Coiny muttered smugly under his breath.
Firey gave him a side-eye. “You’re a little too proud of that.”
“Hey, I pay attention,” Coiny shot back, before raising his voice. “Pin!”
Pin looked up, tugging one earbud out. Her brow furrowed at the sight of them, and even more when she noticed Firey hugging his laptop like it was a lifeline. “What’s going on? You both look… intense.”
“We’ve got something,” Firey said quickly. He felt the words tumbling out faster than he meant them to, fueled by adrenaline and a simmering frustration. “Evidence. Stuff we can use. I just— I don’t know who to give it to yet.”
Pin shut her notebook with a decisive snap, eyes narrowing in curiosity. “The evidence against Nickel I’d hope?”
“Who else?” Coiny said, plopping down beside her. “You wouldn’t believe the garbage he’s pulled. Or maybe you would.”
Her expression shifted into something more serious, the quiet, focused kind of concern Firey had come to recognize. She slid her notebook into her bag, stood, and brushed off her skirt. “Alright. Let’s go somewhere quieter. If you’ve both dragged me into this, I want to see everything for myself.”
Firey felt his chest loosen, just a little, at her tone. Pin wasn’t dismissing him. She wasn’t brushing it off like another bad day or another overreaction. She was already taking it seriously.
Coiny grinned, relieved. “Knew you’d say that.”
The three of them moved in sync toward the dorm lobby, the campus chatter fading as they ducked inside. Firey carried the weight of the laptop like it was a weapon, his determination sharpening with every step.
This wasn’t just venting anymore. It wasn’t just surviving the latest round of ridicule.
This was a plan forming.
And with Pin and Coiny beside him, Firey finally felt like he had a fighting chance.
They huddled together at a table in the corner of the dorm lobby, Firey’s laptop sitting between them like it held the keys to everything. The hum of vending machines and distant footsteps filled the silence before anyone spoke.
Pin leaned forward, scanning the document. “Okay… we’ve got screenshots, timestamps, links. That’s a solid start. But it’s still messy despite my sorting. No order, no clear thread of how all this connects.”
Coiny squinted at the screen. “Messy, sure, but look at how much he’s done! Firey’s practically drowning in this crap. That’s gotta mean something to whoever we give it to, right?”
“Not if it isn’t organized,” Pin said flatly, clicking through the document. “If we hand this over looking like a rant, no one will take it seriously.”
Firey bristled, hugging his arms. “It’s not a rant. It’s–” He stopped himself, realizing she wasn’t attacking him. She was… right. He let out a shaky breath. “It’s just… I can’t keep up with how fast it all spreads.”
Pin softened slightly. “I know. That’s why we’ll help.” She pulled her own laptop from her bag, already booting it up.
Coiny cracked his knuckles, grinning. “Yeah. Think of it like… uh, like building a case! Except instead of a lawyer, we’re three tired college kids who hate Nickel’s guts.”
Pin gave him a dry look. “That’s one way of putting it.”
They spent hours sorting through everything. Pin created neat folders: “Screenshots,” “Videos,” “Repeated Harassment.” She built a timeline, arranging every post and comment in order. Coiny added side notes. How long it lasted and any overlaps. His entries were messy but useful, peppered with his usual sarcasm.
Firey tried to keep pace, copying links, uploading screenshots, re-reading old comments that twisted his stomach. His jaw clenched tighter every time he saw his face turned into a joke. Firey scrolled back through the feed, his frown deepening with each post. “It’s not just me,” he finally said, his voice sharper than he intended.
Pin and Coiny both looked up.
Firey turned the screen toward her, showing other threads where Nickel had mocked different students. Smaller accounts, people without the same visibility. Their names were buried and their voices were drowned out.
He turned his laptop toward them. “Look. These threads aren’t about me. They’re about other people. He’s been doing this for months.”
The screen showed blurry screenshots of other students, each one warped into a meme with captions as cutting as the ones Firey knew too well. A girl in a lab coat tripping in the chemistry building, turned into “Walking Disaster Barbie.” A guy nervously presenting in class, captioned “Professor Sweatpants.” Another with shaky handwriting on an assignment. Nickel had branded him “Baby Handwriting 101.”
Coiny’s jaw dropped. “So it’s a pattern. He’s not just picking on you. He’s like, a serial jerk.”
“That’s what makes this stronger,” Pin said quietly, her eyes narrowing. “It’s not just harassment. It’s targeted. Persistent.”
“They didn’t get as big as mine, so nobody cared,” Firey said bitterly. “He picks on people who won’t fight back, and when they stop posting, he just… moves on to the next target. I’m just the one he got the most traction with.”
Coiny’s face hardened. “That’s messed up. He’s not just some troll. He’s a parasite.” He jabbed a finger at the screen. “He’s building his whole rep off humiliating people.”
Pin leaned in closer, scrolling carefully. Her jaw was tight, but her voice stayed steady. “This changes things. We’re not just compiling your harassment anymore. We’re compiling a pattern of behavior. That makes it harder for him to argue his way out.”
Firey let out a shaky laugh, rubbing his temples. “Great. So he’s ruined multiple lives. Feels good to be in such… elite company.”
Pin shot him a look. “Don’t do that. This isn’t your fault. It’s his. And the fact that he’s repeated it makes our case stronger.”
Coiny smirked grimly. “Yeah, it’s like he left a trail of receipts for us to hand over.”
Firey stared at the other students’ faces, his stomach knotting. He didn’t know their names, but he knew the hollow look in their eyes, the way their posts stopped abruptly after Nickel turned them into a punchline. He whispered, almost to himself, “I’m not the only one who disappeared because of him.”
Pin reached over and nudged his laptop back toward him. “Then let’s make sure you’re the last.”
Firey leaned forward, staring at the names and faces on the screen like they were ghosts. The air around him seemed to thicken with every new post he scrolled past. He recognized some of them, not well, but enough. A kid from his English lecture who always sat in the back. A girl he’d once held the door for at the dining hall. Someone from the quad who used to juggle during events.
And now… all of them frozen in screenshots, reduced to cruel punchlines, their accounts silent since.
His throat tightened. “This isn’t just me,” he muttered, his voice almost hollow. “It’s never just been me.”
Pin and Coiny exchanged a glance, but stayed quiet, letting him unravel the thought.
“He’s been doing this to people for months. Maybe years. And nobody did anything, because nobody wanted to be next.” Firey’s hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening. “And now I’m the one who got put on blast big enough for it to blow up, so everyone laughs. Everyone piles on. Like it’s entertainment.”
Coiny frowned, his usual easy confidence replaced by something harder. “You’re saying he’s been building his clout off picking targets, one after another.”
“Yeah,” Firey snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut. “And look what happened to them. Most of them just… stopped. They stopped posting. They stopped showing up to things. They disappeared. Just like I almost did.” His voice cracked, the anger spilling into something rawer. “How many people has he broken down before me?”
The room fell heavy. Pin shifted closer, her expression tight, eyes locked on the screen. “Firey,” she said carefully, “this means it’s not just personal. This is bigger. He’s not just picking fights. He’s running a system. A cycle. And it ends when someone finally puts a stop to it.”
Firey dragged a hand through his hair, his breathing uneven. The thought twisted in his gut, not just rage at Nickel, but guilt. Guilt that he hadn’t seen it sooner, hadn’t connected the dots, hadn’t stood up for those students when it was happening to them. He’d been too wrapped up in surviving his own humiliation.
“I should’ve noticed,” he whispered. “I should’ve done something before it got this far.”
Coiny leaned forward, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “No. Don’t start blaming yourself. That’s what he counts on, everyone feeling too powerless to step in. You seeing it now? That’s enough. That’s where we start.”
Firey clenched his jaw, but didn’t argue. Pin placed her hand lightly on his arm. “If you want to take him down, then we’ll do it. Not just for you. For every name on that list.”
The laptop screen glowed between them, evidence piled up like a spotlight on the truth. Firey stared at it, his reflection caught in the glass. This wasn’t just his fight anymore. It was so much bigger. And it wasn’t going away until he chose to make it end.
The silence was thick, all three of them staring at the glowing laptop. Firey’s shoulders were tense, like he was bracing for the weight of every name on the screen to crush him.
Coiny leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. His usual grin was gone, replaced by sharp focus. “Okay. So we’ve got the older stuff. That’s good. Shows a pattern. But if we really wanna nail him, we can’t just rely on screenshots from months ago. He’ll say people moved on, or that they deleted things because they were embarrassed, not because of him.”
Firey lifted his head, his jaw set. “So what do we do then? Wait for him to attack someone else?”
“No.” Coiny shook his head. “We don’t wait. We look. We go around and dig up what’s happening right now. Not just the threads, but what people are still dealing with. Stuff he’s still pulling. If we find something fresh, he can’t wriggle out of it.”
Pin tilted her head, thoughtful. “Newer evidence would shut down excuses fast. Especially if we can get people to talk. Screenshots, yes, but also messages. First-hand accounts. If others come forward, it’ll be harder for anyone to dismiss.”
Firey frowned, his eyes darting back to the names on the screen. The idea of talking to strangers about this, about Nickel, made his stomach twist. But he knew Coiny was right. “And if they don’t wanna talk to us?”
“Then we keep it anonymous,” Coiny said firmly. “Nobody has to put themselves on blast. We’ll do the heavy lifting. We’re not just gathering evidence for you, we’re protecting everyone else he’s been screwing over.”
For a moment, Firey just stared at Coiny. Protective, sharp-edged, determined. It was a side of him that didn’t always come out. Firey felt a flicker of gratitude, but it was tangled with a heavier knot of anger at the situation itself.
Pin’s voice cut in, steady as ever. “We’ll need to be smart. If we show up demanding answers, people will clam up. We’ll need to explain why we’re asking, why it matters. And Firey…” She looked at him carefully. “You’re at the center of this. That makes you the most vulnerable, but also the one people will recognize right away. Some might feel safer talking to you because they know you’ve been through it too.”
The weight of that hit Firey square in the chest. He didn’t want to be the face of this. He didn’t want to be Leaf Guy, let alone the cautionary tale. But if it meant Nickel couldn’t keep doing this… maybe he didn’t have a choice.
“…Fine,” he said finally, voice low. “Let’s gather what we can. The newer, the better. If we’re gonna drag him down, we need to make sure it sticks.”
Coiny slapped the table with a sharp grin, some of his old energy slipping back in. “That’s what I’m talking about. We’ll corner him with his own crap. He won’t even see it coming.”
Pin allowed herself a small, tired smile. “Then it’s settled. We start gathering.”
Firey sat back, exhaling through his nose. It felt like the beginning of something bigger, scarier, and heavier than anything he’d ever done. But for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t just reacting, he was planning.
And this time, he wasn’t planning alone.

Firey adjusted the strap of his laptop bag as the three of them crossed the quad. The sun was still hanging overhead, sharp and glaring, but his nerves made everything feel shadowed, as if someone might notice him at any second.
He muttered, “I feel like I’m about to rob the place.”
“You kinda are,” Coiny said, puffing out his chest like they were in an action movie. “But instead of money, you’re robbing justice. Pretty cool, huh?”
Pin cut in flatly. “That’s not how justice works.”
“It is when I’m around,” Coiny shot back, grinning.
Firey tried to tune them out, reminding himself why he was doing this. Nickel wasn’t just needling him anymore, he was targeting half the campus with his nonstop “jokes,” digging into insecurities, spreading memes and DMs until people cracked. That wasn’t pranking. That wasn’t banter. It was something darker. And Firey had proof now. Or, at least, the beginnings of proof.
The first target was a guy from Firey’s psych class. He sat hunched under a tree, sketchbook on his lap, earbuds dangling. Firey recognized him instantly. Nickel had roasted his art on CampusHub until the guy deleted his whole portfolio. Firey was about to walk over when Coiny hissed dramatically, “Wait. I’ll cover you.”
Before Firey could say don’t, Coiny snatched up a half-empty soda from a nearby table and flung it. It exploded against the side of a trash can with a loud SPLAT. Half the quad turned their heads.
“Coiny!” Pin’s voice cracked, scandalized.
“What? Worked, didn’t it?” Coiny gestured toward the distraction like he’d just pulled off a perfect heist.
Firey exhaled through his nose and slipped away. The conversation with the art student was awkward at first, the guy’s eyes darted around like he expected Nickel to overhear but when Firey admitted he’d been harassed too, it was like a dam broke. Within minutes, Firey had voice notes recorded and screenshots forwarded to his inbox. The guy’s hands even shook a little as he sent them.
When Firey returned, Pin was tapping furiously on her phone. “We need dates, times, usernames, everything logged consistently.”
“On it,” Firey said, though his throat felt tight.
Coiny leaned over her shoulder. “And make sure you put ‘Coiny caused genius diversion’ in the notes. Very important.”
Pin’s eye roll could’ve powered a windmill.
They moved on.
The next student was trickier. Nickel had flamed her in the comments of an essay post until she’d dropped out of the class thread entirely. Firey hesitated, hovering outside the library steps where she sat scrolling her phone.
“Okay, new plan,” Coiny whispered. “I’ll juggle.”
“You’ll what—?” Pin started, but it was too late.
Coiny yanked three frisbees out of someone’s open bag and started tossing them in the air, wobbling dangerously but catching just enough to get a small crowd watching. “Ladies and gentlemen, a master at work!” he shouted, completely ignoring the curses from the frisbee’s actual owner.
The girl Firey needed to talk to looked up, eyebrows raised at the commotion long enough for Firey to slide into a seat beside her. He stumbled through small talk before finally explaining why he was there. At first she bristled, like she didn’t want to be dragged back into it, but then her face softened. She scrolled furiously through her phone, pulling up screenshots of group DMs where Nickel had egged others on to pile insults. Firey took photos, heart pounding, and whispered a thank you before darting back to Pin.
Pin barely glanced up from her notes. “Good. Keep it consistent. This is building a case.”
Firey nodded. “Two people so far.”
“Two too many,” Pin muttered.
By the third student, Coiny had escalated into impromptu arm-wrestling matches with random passersby, slamming their hands into the table while bellowing, “I AM THE STRONGEST!” His antics drowned out the conversation Firey had with a journalism major who admitted Nickel had mocked her articles line by line, turning her quotes into memes. She emailed Firey an entire archive she’d saved “just in case.”
Firey’s phone buzzed with incoming files, each ding weighing on him. With every testimony, his chest felt tighter, not because he was scared anymore, but because he was realizing just how wide Nickel’s shadow stretched. It wasn’t just him. It never had been.
When he regrouped with Pin and Coiny near the library steps, his bag felt heavy with more than just a laptop.
“See?” Coiny crowed, clapping Firey on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “We’re a killer team. Firey’s the sneaky one, Pin’s the brain, and I’m the distraction. Perfect triangle.”
Pin’s arms crossed. “A bit an inefficient triangle. But…” She hesitated, softening just a fraction. “We got what we needed. And then some.”
Firey’s phone buzzed again in his hand. Another file. Another story. His fingers curled around the device, knuckles pale. This wasn’t just about proving Nickel wrong. This was about every student who’d been shoved into silence.
He swallowed, eyes low. “This is bigger than I thought.”
For once, Coiny didn’t joke back. Even he could feel the weight in Firey’s voice.
It was a few days later, and their “evidence runs” had started to become routine. Firey didn’t even flinch anymore when Coiny stole someone’s bag of chips to “lure away witnesses” or when Pin scolded him for the third time in an hour. He was too focused on his phone, skimming through another batch of screenshots, eyes burning from staring at his inbox too long.
“Okay,” Pin said, slowing to check her color-coded doc. “That makes six people with verifiable logs. It’s enough to show a pattern, but if we can get even two more—”
“Shhh,” Coiny cut in, throwing an arm out in front of them dramatically. “Someone’s watching.”
Firey’s head jerked up, and his stomach sank.
Standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, was Bomby. He wasn’t smiling.
For a moment nobody said anything. The sounds of campus life drifted around them. Footsteps, distant chatter, a door slamming shut. Firey’s pulse hammered in his ears.
“…Bomby,” Firey said, his voice tight.
Coiny leaned toward Pin and whispered way too loudly, “Uh oh.”
Pin elbowed him in the ribs.
Bomby’s eyes flicked between the three of them, then to Firey’s phone, the folders of screenshots glowing on the screen. “What are you doing?” His tone wasn’t angry exactly, but there was a sharp edge.
Firey swallowed hard. He hadn’t seen Bomby since the party, since the argument that left Bomby storming off and Firey feeling like he’d lost someone he didn’t mean to hurt. His guilt flared up all over again.
“Look,” Firey started, stepping forward. “I know I messed up. At the party. I–” His words tangled. He looked at the ground, heat rising to his face. “I was a jerk to you. I didn’t mean to be, and I’m sorry. I don’t want that to be the last thing between us.”
Bomby didn’t move. His expression softened just slightly, but suspicion still lingered. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Pin opened her mouth to explain, but Firey lifted a hand. This was his to answer.
“…We’re gathering proof,” Firey admitted, voice low. “Nickel’s been harassing people. Not just me, but a lot of students. We’re putting it together, so it can’t just be ignored anymore.” He hesitated, his chest tightening. “I know you and Nickel are close. But… please. Don’t tell him.”
Bomby’s gaze lingered on Firey, unreadable. The silence stretched. Coiny shuffled uncomfortably, and Pin’s fingers twitched near her phone like she was ready to log whatever happened next.
Finally, Bomby let out a slow breath. “You’ve got guts. I’ll give you that,,” His eyes narrowed. “But if Nickel finds out, don’t expect me to cover for you.”
Bomby’s silence hung heavy in the air, but instead of leaving, he shifted his weight and looked down at the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was low but steady.
“You think I don’t know what Nickel’s like?” Bomby muttered. His fists were clenched at his sides. “I’ve been on the receiving end of it longer than most of you. Always the butt of the joke. Always the easy target. If I said anything back, he’d just double down. So I shut up. Pretended I didn’t care. But I cared.”
Firey blinked. He hadn’t expected Bomby to admit that. Especially not to him.
Bomby raised his eyes, his expression hardened with something Firey rarely saw in him: resolve. “So no, I’m not gonna run to him and rat you out. This? You gathering proof? It’s long overdue.”
Pin’s eyebrows shot up slightly. Even Coiny froze, blinking as if he’d just realized the mood had turned serious.
Firey stepped closer, hesitant. “You… you’ve been dealing with this too?”
Bomby gave a short, bitter laugh. “Every day. Nickel thinks it’s funny. Everyone else laughs along, and I’m left picking up the pieces. You think I wanted to blow up at the party? That was me snapping after years of it.” His voice cracked, just barely. “I’m tired of being the punchline.”
Something heavy twisted in Firey’s chest. Guilt, yes, but also kinship, because he knew that feeling all too well. He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, Bomby. For the way I treated you. You didn’t deserve that. You never did.”
For a long moment, Bomby just studied him. Then he gave a small, weary nod. “I’ll take your word for it. But actions matter more than apologies, Firey.”
Bomby shifted uneasily, tugging at the strap of his backpack. “Look, I’ll send you what I’ve got. Screenshots, DMs, all of it. But don’t expect me to stand up in front of everyone. That’s… not me.”
“That’s fine,” Pin said immediately, already pulling up the shared doc. “Your contribution still strengthens the case.”
Coiny gave Bomby a crooked grin. “And hey, if you change your mind, we’ll save you a front-row seat at Nickel’s downfall.”
Firey’s chest loosened slightly. At least he hadn’t shut them down. Still, the tension was thick as Bomby turned and walked off without another word.
Firey let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “That could’ve gone worse.”
Coiny grinned nervously. “Yeah, he didn’t blow us up. That’s progress.”
Pin sighed, adjusting her files. “We should assume Nickel will find out sooner rather than later. This just got riskier.”
Firey stared after Bomby, guilt still gnawing at him, but with a stubborn spark of determination burning beneath it. He wasn’t backing down. Not now.
As the three regrouped, Firey tucked his laptop under his arm. “We’re building the receipts. But what if that’s not enough? What if people still laugh it off?” His voice carried more bite than he meant, but the exhaustion and anger were bubbling. “We can’t just keep letting this stuff hide behind ‘it’s just a joke.’”
Pin studied him carefully. “What are you suggesting?”
Firey looked past them, out toward the crowded quad, where students drifted in and out of classes, faces buried in phones. His jaw set. “If we want people to care, we need to make them care. Not just about Nickel. About the system that lets people like him keep getting away with this.”
Coiny perked up, curious. “You’re talking big picture.”
Firey nodded slowly. “Yeah. Big picture.”
A spark of focus cut through his frustration. He didn’t have all the details yet, but an idea was forming. Louder, riskier, something that couldn’t be ignored.
Pin closed her notes with a snap, recognizing the shift. “Then we’ll need a new strategy.”
Firey glanced at her, then Coiny, then back at the students passing by. His heart pounded, not with fear this time, but with a kind of resolve he hadn’t felt before.
Whatever came next wouldn’t just be evidence-gathering in the shadows. It would be out in the open.
And soon, everyone on campus was going to hear it.

Bomby’s words stayed with him long after they split ways. I’ve been mistreated long enough. This was long-coming. Firey couldn’t shake the look in Bomby’s eyes. Tired, but sure. It wasn’t just him. Nickel had left a trail of bruises behind, some obvious, some hidden. Firey wasn’t the first, and if nothing changed, he wouldn’t be the last.
By the time he made it back to the dorm, his head was buzzing with unfinished thoughts, jagged and insistent. The shared evidence document sat open on his laptop screen, rows of screenshots and timestamps waiting to be used. But instead of feeling empowered, he felt trapped. Screenshots wouldn’t stop Nickel. Proving things after the fact wouldn’t stop the next meme from spreading before anyone could blink.
He closed the document, opened a blank page.
If Nickel was the spark, the platform and the algorithms fueling it were the gasoline.
Firey thought about how quickly things had spiraled. One joke turned into five, five into fifty. Meme generators spat out distorted versions of his face within hours. AI text bots added snappy, cruel captions people passed around like candy. Every repost doubled the sting. It wasn’t even just Nickel anymore; the whole machine was working against him. And the worst part? People called it “just for fun.”
He clenched his jaw, knuckles white on the keyboard. If AI could spit out hate faster than he could breathe, then someone had to call it out.
The words poured out of him, half rant, half speech:
“How harassment spreads not because one person says something mean, but because dozens join in, boosted by systems designed for clicks and laughs.”
“How AI makes it easier, quicker, more dehumanizing, turning him into a caricature before he can even defend himself.”
“How apathy lets it all snowball, as if hurting someone is entertainment instead of cruelty.”
He typed until the page scrolled and scrolled, his coffee cooling beside him. At the top, he hammered out the headline in block capitals:
STOP THE LEAF GUY CYCLE: Hold AI & Harassers Accountable.
Firey sat back, staring at it. For once, the words didn’t feel weak. They felt like something sharp enough to cut through the noise.
The hum of the vending machine filled the silence until footsteps echoed. Pin appeared in the doorway, notebook in hand, hair pulled back in that no-nonsense way she had.
“That sentence is too long,” she said flatly, striding over and pulling up a chair. She didn’t ask what he was doing, didn’t even look at him first. Her eyes were already scanning the manifesto on the screen. “You’ll lose them if you ramble. Keep it sharp.”
A second set of footsteps, louder, heavier. Coiny barged in carrying an armful of printer paper, grinning like he was late to a party. “Alright, alright, I got the goods! Flyers, baby!!” He dropped the stack onto the table with a thud, leaned over Firey’s shoulder, and read the headline. “Ooooh. Bold. I like it.”
“Coiny, it’s not a sports team slogan,” Pin muttered, flipping through her notes.
“Sure it is,” Coiny shot back. “We’re Team Stick It to Nickel.”
Firey barely heard them. His hand hovered over the post button on CampusHub. His chest tightened, memories of every cruel comment crowding in. But then he thought of Bomby, of the evidence doc, of how much Nickel had gotten away with.
No more silence.
“Done,” he muttered, clicking it.
Pin raised a brow. “That’s it? No hesitation?”
“No.” Firey’s heart was pounding, but his voice was steady. “This time, no hesitation.”
Coiny grinned like he’d just won something. “Then let’s plaster this campus. Bathroom stalls, bulletin boards, stuck to people’s backpacks if we have to.”
And for the first time in weeks, Firey didn’t feel like the joke was swallowing him. This time, he was the one starting something.
Pin leaned over Firey’s shoulder again, finger tapping the screen. “This part,, ‘AI makes it easier, quicker, more dehumanizing’ needs to hit hard, but don’t make it sound like a lecture. People scroll fast. You need punch.”
Firey nodded, hands hovering over the keyboard. “So… more concise? Less… doom-and-gloom?”
“Exactly,” Pin said. She scribbled in her notebook, muttering as she worked. “Try something like… ‘AI spreads cruelty faster than humans can react. Don’t let it turn jokes into harassment.’ Boom. Punchy. Digestible.”
Coiny snorted. “Or… ‘AI is LAME, HUMANS have GAME!’” He waved his arms, grinning like a kid in a candy store. “Catchy, right? Make ’em read it!”
Pin glared. “Coiny. That’s obnoxious.”
“Exactly,” he said with a smug shrug. “It’ll get attention. People hate obnoxious. They’ll read the serious stuff after.”
Firey blinked, then laughed softly. It was chaotic, but it worked. Pin’s precise edits and Coiny’s ridiculous slogans bounced off each other, creating something sharper than either could alone.
He typed the final version, reading aloud as he worked:
“Harassment spreads when clicks outweigh empathy. AI makes cruelty viral. Don’t let jokes become attacks. Call it out. Stop the Leaf Guy cycle.”
Coiny jumped up. “YES! That’s it! That’s the one! And right under it: ‘AI is LAME, HUMANS have GAME!’”
Pin groaned but smirked anyway. “You know what? Fine. Just… don’t ruin the tone for the rest of it.”
Firey leaned back, staring at the screen. The words felt alive now. Precise, angry, funny, and real. For the first time, he didn’t feel like a victim in the feed; he felt like someone starting the conversation everyone else had been avoiding.
“Let’s make this go everywhere,” he said quietly.
Coiny raised a fist. “Hell yeah! Flyers, posts, memes, speeches, whatever it takes!”
Pin nodded, already jotting down a plan. “We’ll hit every corner of campus. Bathrooms, dorms, study halls… if they scroll past this, they’re missing it on purpose.”
Firey’s chest tightened, but not with fear. With resolve. For the first time, he felt like he was fighting back on his terms and for once, the tide might actually turn.
Firey’s finger clicked “post,” and the manifesto went live. His stomach twisted for a second, but then Pin and Coiny were already grabbing stacks of paper and heading for the door.
“Let’s move,” Pin said, voice brisk. “First stop, dorm halls. Make it unavoidable.”
Coiny spun the stack in his hands. “Bathrooms! Bulletin boards! Your RA’s office! Maybe even on the cafeteria tables!! Leave no corner untouched!”
Firey grabbed a few flyers, feeling the weight of them like a kind of armor. For the first time, he wasn’t hiding from the harassment; he was actively turning the tables.
They split up strategically. Firey and Pin went for the dorm corridors, slipping flyers over existing notices, tucking them into cubbyholes, and taping them to every wall they could reach. Pin moved with sharp efficiency, her edits from earlier making the words pop wherever they were posted. Firey followed, making sure each flyer was flat, neat, and impossible to ignore.
Meanwhile, Coiny ran ahead, paper in hand, sticking his over-the-top slogans everywhere: “AI is LAME, HUMANS have GAME!” scrawled in bold letters over every poster and even on bathroom mirrors. Students passing by stopped, read, chuckled, and sometimes gave a knowing nod. Pin shot him a look but didn’t stop him. She could see the chaos was drawing attention, which was exactly what they needed.
By the time they regrouped in the main hall, the dorm was plastered in a patchwork of serious messages and ridiculous slogans. Firey leaned against the wall, catching his breath. Around him, students were already stopping to read, some whispering, some pointing their phones at the flyers.
“This… feels different,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Pin nodded. “Good. They’ll read it. They’ll think. And someone will act. That’s all we can do right now.”
Coiny bounced on the balls of his feet. “And we’re gonna keep going! Cafeteria next?”
Firey looked at the buzzing, distracted crowd of students. This time, he wasn’t the joke. This time, he was the spark.
“Yeah,” he said, voice steadier than it had been in weeks. “Let’s make them see it.”
The three of them set off again, flyers in hand, turning the campus into a living manifesto and for the first time, Firey felt like he was actually being heard.
The next day, the campus quad was alive with murmurs, laughter, and the occasional pointed finger. Firey, Pin, and Coiny stood near the center, trying to gauge the response without looking too obvious.
A small but noticeable crowd had formed. Some students held flyers, reading them seriously, nodding or whispering to each other. A few laughed, holding up their phones to snap pictures. Others just leaned against trees, arms crossed, clearly here to mock.
“Look at this,” one student said, holding up a flyer with Firey’s words. “‘Harassment spreads when clicks outweigh empathy.’ Wow… deep, Leaf Guy.” The smirk was heavy with disbelief.
Coiny puffed out his chest. “That’s right. Deep and real. Take notes, haters.”
Pin muttered under her breath, “Ignore the ones who aren’t listening. Focus on the ones who are.”
Firey felt his chest tighten. Part of him wanted to shrink back, to disappear like before. But then he caught sight of a few students in the crowd, ones who hadn’t laughed, who were whispering, exchanging thoughtful glances. They were listening.
He squared his shoulders and raised his voice just enough to carry over the chatter. “This isn’t about jokes or clicks. It’s about people. Real people. And if we don’t stop this cycle, it won’t be just memes. It’ll be real harm.”
A hush fell over part of the crowd. Not complete silence, but enough for Firey to feel the weight of attention.
Coiny jumped in immediately, louder and more exaggerated: “And remember! AI is LAME, HUMANS have GAME!”
Pin groaned, but the tension in the crowd shifted slightly. People laughed, some genuinely, some reluctantly, but they were still listening. The slogans caught their eyes, and the serious words caught their minds.
A few students raised their hands, hesitating. “So… you mean, like… we should actually call people out if they’re spreading stuff?” one asked.
Firey nodded, voice steadier now. “Exactly. Don’t just scroll past. Don’t pretend it’s harmless. Speak up. Protect each other.”
The group shifted, murmuring among themselves, some snapping pictures of the flyers for later. The balance of mockery and curiosity lingered, but the seed was planted. Firey realized something: for the first time, he wasn’t alone in this fight.
And the quad, buzzing as it was, felt a little more like a place where change could start.
As the crowd around Firey, Pin, and Coiny buzzed, a few figures moved deliberately in the background. Gaty and Two carried rolls of tape and extra flyers, quietly tacking up signage along the edges of the quad for a future event. Two’s posture was rigid, eyes scanning the students like a hawk, while Gaty trailed a step behind, nodding and whispering in agreement whenever Two made a suggestion. Their ease with each other was subtle but unmistakable.
A few feet away, Four and X were doing the same, straightening banners and nudging wandering students back toward the edges of the quad. Four’s expression was sharp, constantly flicking toward Two, while X kept close, chuckling quietly at some of Four’s muttered frustrations. Their easy camaraderie contrasted with the tension radiating from Two.
From where Firey stood, the arrangement was obvious even without knowing the names: Two and Four’s dislike hung in the air like a quiet storm, while the small sparks of alliance between Gaty and Two, and Four and X, balanced it out. Their presence was organized but invisible enough to let the student crowd take center stage.
Even as the flyers fluttered and students whispered, these four kept things orderly, making sure the energy stayed high but didn’t spiral out of control. It was a subtle choreography, a backdrop of adult control that Firey barely noticed in the moment, but the dynamic simmering among them was there, quietly shaping the environment around the protest.
From the corner of the quad, Nickel’s eyes flicked toward the growing crowd. He paused, adjusting his backpack. Pretending to scroll through his phone, but the tension in his jaw gave him away. Slowly, the realization hit: this wasn’t just another meme going around. Firey was organizing, speaking out, taking the stage.
Nickel’s gaze sharpened, scanning the posters, the flyers, and the small but attentive groups of students circling the quad. A slow, cold smile crept across his face, then, in a quick motion, he turned on his heel and bolted, disappearing down a side path before anyone could confront him.
Meanwhile, the students in the quad reacted in different ways. A small cluster nodded and murmured to each other: “Finally, someone’s talking about this.” They held flyers close, whispering about how long this conversation had needed to happen.
Others remained skeptical, whispering, “This is just Leaf Guy begging for attention again.” Their voices were quiet, but sharp enough to carry across the edges of the crowd.
And a louder, rowdier group couldn’t resist the humor of it all. They laughed outright, passing around crudely edited memes of Firey standing at a podium with exaggerated expressions. The papers and phones bounced from hand to hand as the laughter bounced across the quad.
Firey noticed it all, the nods, the whispers, the laughter. His chest tightened, but this time, the nervousness didn’t paralyze him. He realized that some would get it, some wouldn’t, and some would mock, no matter what. The important part was that the conversation had started.
Coiny elbowed him with a grin. “See? Chaos and change! What more could you want?”
Pin rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips. “Focus, Firey. Let’s keep them listening.”
For the first time, even with Nickel gone and some students still mocking, Firey felt the tide beginning to shift. He wasn’t just a joke on the internet anymore,, he was the one setting the stage.
Firey took a deep breath and stepped onto the rim of a nearby bench, the cool stone beneath his sneakers grounding him. The crowd shifted, some craning to see, others murmuring in curiosity or amusement. His heart raced, and for a split second, his voice trembled as he opened his mouth.
“Everyone… I just–” He swallowed hard, and the words came out shakier than he intended. A few students snickered, but he ignored them, letting his hands rest on the stone rim for support.
“I’m tired of seeing jokes turn into attacks,” he continued, his voice growing steadier with each sentence. “Tired of people being humiliated because someone wanted clicks, or a laugh, or… just to feel powerful online.”
The murmurs quieted as his rhythm found its pace. Pin stood nearby, notebook in hand, eyes sharp and encouraging. Coiny bounced on his heels, waving his arms like a hype man, giving Firey the energy he needed to push forward.
“AI doesn’t just make things faster,” Firey said, gesturing toward the posters lining the quad. “It spreads cruelty. Amplifies harassment. Turns a single joke into something bigger than it should ever be. And if we don’t speak up, if we don’t care… it just keeps happening.”
Some students nodded, whispering affirmations. Others shifted uncomfortably, unsure what to make of the serious tone. A group laughed, passing around the memes, but Firey ignored them, letting their amusement slide off like water.
“This isn’t just about me,” he said, lifting his gaze to sweep across the crowd. “It’s about everyone who’s ever been the target of a joke that went too far. Everyone who’s been left feeling small while others scroll past.”
His voice grew stronger, firmer. The trembling was gone. The words were clear, sharp, and alive. For the first time, Firey wasn’t just reacting, he was leading, setting the pace, taking control of the story instead of letting it control him.
Pin leaned over, whispering, “Keep going. You’ve got them listening.”
And for the first time in weeks, Firey believed it.
Firey took a steadying breath, gripping the edge of the bench rim. The quad was buzzing with movement, phones pointed, whispers bouncing across the crowd. He could feel the tension like a physical thing, the energy of students unsure whether to mock or listen. He raised his voice, letting it cut over the noise.
“Nickel isn’t just one person being cruel,” he began, voice trembling at first but gaining strength with every word. “He’s proof of what happens when cruelty gets rewarded. When people laugh instead of speak up. When mean comments are shared, screenshots are reposted, memes are made, and everyone scrolls past without thinking about the person behind it. It starts with one joke, one post, one video, and before you know it, it’s a storm. And it doesn’t stop with him. It could be anyone. Any one of us.”
Some students whispered to each other, glancing around to see who was paying attention. A few pulled flyers from their backpacks, reading aloud passages under their breath, nodding slowly. Others laughed quietly, uncomfortable, unsure whether to join or distance themselves.
Firey shifted, letting his gaze sweep over the quad. “And it’s not just people doing the harm. Technology is part of this. AI systems that spread, amplify, or even create these rumors aren’t harmless toys. They’re tools that turn private moments into public attacks. Faces, words, images taken, twisted, shared. You think it’s a joke, but it’s not. It’s real. It’s happening to real people, and it hurts. It’s fast. It’s relentless. And if we don’t pay attention, it will keep happening.”
Pin scribbled furiously in her notebook, her eyes flicking up occasionally to give him a small, encouraging nod. Coiny bounced on his heels, grinning and pointing toward the posters, drawing attention without interrupting.
Some students’ expressions softened. One girl clutched her flyer and whispered to her friend, “I’ve seen this happen… this is… true.” Another shook his head, scrolling through memes on his phone, muttering, “Guess I never thought of it like that.”
But laughter still rippled through a corner of the quad. A few students shared a phone screen with an exaggerated meme of Firey mid-speech, giggling while others leaned in to copy it. Firey ignored them, letting their amusement fade around him.
“And finally,” Firey continued, chest tightening, “if we laugh, if we scroll past, if we pretend it doesn’t matter, we are all part of the problem. That ends here. It’s not enough to stay silent. It’s not enough to think, ‘someone else will do something.’ We all have a choice. We can choose to protect each other. We can call out cruelty when we see it. We can make sure that jokes don’t turn into attacks. This is our responsibility. Not mine alone. Not just the people being targeted. All of us. Together.”
The quad quieted further, though not completely. A few students stepped closer, voices low but supportive:
“Finally… someone’s saying it.”
“This makes so much sense… I hate how long this has been ignored.”
Others whispered skeptically:
“Leaf Guy’s just begging for attention again.”
“Seriously, it’s not like this will change anything.”
And still, the rowdier group laughed, passing around memes depicting Firey on the fountain rim with exaggerated expressions, adding captions mocking the “big stand.” Their laughter was loud enough that some supportive students flinched, but they didn’t leave.
Firey paused, letting the murmurs settle. He glanced at Pin, who nodded sharply, and Coiny, who gave him a thumbs-up with a grin. The mix of reactions, support, skepticism, and ridicule was palpable, but Firey felt a strange calm settle over him. For the first time, he wasn’t just reacting; he was leading. The conversation had started. People were talking.
A small ripple of students began holding up flyers, showing them to friends who hadn’t seen them yet. Others whispered in circles, debating quietly. The memes still circulated, but now, they were part of the dialogue rather than the only voice.
Firey realized something: it wasn’t perfect. Not everyone understood. Not everyone agreed. But for the first time in weeks, he felt the power shift, he was no longer the joke. He was the spark.
Firey’s words rang out across the quad, steadying with every sentence. Behind him, Pin stood close, arms crossed, posture rigid, but her eyes followed him with sharp focus, glimmering with pride. She wasn’t the type to cheer, not like Coiny, but her subtle nods and the small tight smile tugging at her lips spoke volumes: he was doing it right.
Coiny, on the other hand, was a walking, bouncing loudspeaker of encouragement. Every time Firey hit a key point, Coiny slapped his palms together in a clumsy, overly dramatic clap.
“YEAH! THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!” he shouted after Firey’s speech.
“Coiny!” Pin hissed under her breath, but the corner of her mouth twitched. She couldn’t hide her amusement.
When Firey smiled and waved awkwardly, Coiny practically jumped on the bench beside him, pumping his fists. “TAKE THAT, HATERS! SCROLL PAST NO MORE!”
Some students laughed, either at Coiny or the absurd enthusiasm he brought, while others glanced at Firey with renewed attention. The cheering drew their eyes back to the words he was saying, even if Coiny’s timing was off
Firey took a steadying breath, letting the chaotic energy of Coiny and the quiet confidence of Pin bolster him rather than distract him. He adjusted his stance, voice firm:
“Whether you laugh, scroll, or ignore, you are part of the problem or part of the solution. This ends here. We all have a choice, and we have to choose responsibility.”
Pin gave him a small, sharp nod, and Coiny threw his arms up like he’d just won a championship. The mixed energy of the two friends, Pin’s quiet precision and Coiny’s over-the-top hype seemed to amplify Firey’s presence.
Even as the crowd continued to whisper, laugh, or murmur support, Firey felt it: for the first time, he wasn’t alone. The words weren’t just on a flyer or a post, they were alive, echoing in the quad, bouncing off students’ ears, hearts, and screens alike.
And behind him, Pin’s proud gaze and Coiny’s ridiculous cheering reminded him that, no matter what, he had allies ready to keep the momentum going.
Firey’s words were beginning to resonate. A few hesitant students edged closer, holding flyers in their hands, whispering encouragement to each other. Some nodded subtly, mouthing affirmations. Others lingered at the edges, unsure if they should watch, listen, or quietly turn away. The quad felt electric, like it was teetering on the cusp of something big.
Then, from the far side of the gathering, a figure emerged.
Two stepped forward first, clipboard in hand, moving with precise, deliberate steps. His expression was unreadable, there was no smile, no frown, only eyes scanning the crowd and then settling on Firey. The effect was immediate. The students froze mid-whisper, the air thickening as tension seeped into every corner of the quad.
Gaty followed, a few steps behind, slightly cautious, but her posture mirrored Two’s in subtle ways, as if they were an unspoken team. On the opposite side, Four and X advanced too, keeping a careful distance. Four’s jaw was tight, shoulders squared, radiating a quiet impatience, while X’s expression was just barely softened, curiosity sparking behind a mask of neutrality.
The crowd shifted uneasily. Murmurs ran through students like static:
“Uh… is this… allowed?”
“Are we gonna get in trouble?”
“Should we… stop?”
“What’s going to happen?”
The energy of the protest wavered. Laughter and whispers from the skeptics grew louder in contrast to the supportive nods from those who had begun to rally behind Firey. Every cheer from Coiny now sounded fragile, every supportive murmur from a flyer-holder fraught with risk.
Firey’s pulse hammered in his ears. He froze on the bench for a fraction of a second, stomach twisting. Part of him wanted to back down, step off the bench, disappear. But then he saw Pin standing nearby, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him with that quiet, unshakable confidence. Coiny bounced in place, waving his arms wildly, pointing to the crowd as if to remind Firey that they had support, that they weren’t alone.
Taking a shaky breath, Firey raised his voice again, forcing it to carry over the shifting murmurs.
“We aren’t asking for permission,” he said, voice firm but not shouting. “We’re asking for accountability. Responsibility. Respect. And if anyone wants to stand in the way… that’s your choice,, but the rest of us won’t stop talking about it.”
The quad seemed to pause in that moment. Students leaned in, held their breaths, some glancing nervously at the staff, others to each other. The line between courage and panic was razor-thin.
Two’s gaze swept slowly across the quad, assessing the crowd, Firey, and the environment. Every detail seemed to register. The flicker of phone screens, the whispering circles of students, Coiny’s exaggerated cheering, Pin’s quiet pride. The tension in his shoulders softened just slightly, though his eyes remained unreadable. Gaty gave a subtle nod to Two, reinforcing silent approval without saying a word.
Meanwhile, Four’s jaw tightened, X’s brows lifted, and the subtle smile tugging at Gaty’s lips hinted at alliances and judgments forming quietly in the background. The staff weren’t moving, weren’t intervening, but the weight of their presence stretched across the quad, a mixture of expectation, authority, and silent evaluation.
Students continued to shift uneasily, some whispering nervously to friends, some clutching flyers tightly as if they were talismans. The supportive murmurs were still there, now mixed with quiet anxiety about what the staff might do. Laughter from the rowdy corners of the crowd persisted, but it was edged with caution, hesitant to break the tension entirely.
Firey’s chest tightened, but this time, it wasn’t fear, it was determination. He realized that this fragile moment, this precarious balance, was exactly what mattered. Every word, every flyer, every small nod or cheer counted. The staff’s presence meant the protest could be shut down in an instant or it could gain legitimacy under the watchful eyes of authority.
He glanced again at Pin and Coiny. Pin’s posture radiated quiet support, her sharp eyes silently urging him onward. Coiny’s clumsy cheering reminded him that momentum mattered, even if it was messy.
A brief hush fell over the quad. Students shifted, whispered, some holding flyers aloft for their friends to see. Laughter subsided to smirks. Even the skeptics were listening now, hesitant but attentive.
Two’s eyes lingered on Firey, still unreadable, yet less threatening. Gaty’s small nod reinforced quiet approval. Four’s jaw remained tight, X’s eyes thoughtful. The protest teetered on the edge but now, it was holding. The spark had been lit, fragile yet undeniable.
Firey’s gaze met Two’s across the quad. The clipboard in the adult’s hand seemed heavier in that moment, the silence stretching like a taut wire between them. His chest tightened, not with fear, but with the awareness that every student, every whispering pair of eyes, and every staff member’s gaze was on him.
For a heartbeat, he thought about backing down, about stepping off the bench and letting the moment dissolve. But the memory of the weeks of humiliation, the endless scrolling, the memes, the screenshots, the way Nickel had made him feel small, he shoved it all aside.
He straightened his shoulders, planted his feet firmly on the stone, and lifted his chin. His voice, though slightly shaky at first, cut through the murmurs:
The quad seemed to hold its collective breath. Some students shifted nervously, clutching flyers tighter, while others leaned in, curious and attentive. Coiny banged his palms together in an exaggerated, offbeat cheer, breaking the tension with ridiculous energy. “YEAH! SPEAK IT, LEAF GUY!”
Pin’s arms remained crossed, but her eyes never left Firey.
Firey exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain just enough to stay focused. He realized that holding his ground, meeting Two’s gaze without flinching, was more than a challenge. It was a statement. He wasn’t just speaking; he was standing for everyone who had been silenced, everyone who had been targeted, everyone who had been mocked online.
The quad was still buzzing, whispers and murmurs bouncing across the open space. Firey felt the weight of every eye on him, both students and staff. Just as he steadied himself, X and Gaty moved quietly through the crowd, their presence calm but authoritative.
“Alright, everyone, let’s give them some space,” Gaty said softly but firmly, waving students toward the edges of the quad.
X added, voice low but carrying, “Nothing personal! Just need to keep the area clear!”
Some students hesitated, glancing nervously at Firey, then at the authority figures, before slowly moving away. Supporters lingered at the perimeter, giving approving nods or murmured encouragement, while the rowdy group of skeptics and meme-sharers grumbled as they were gently ushered to the sides.
Two and Four watched silently from opposite edges, observing the dynamic without intervening, their expressions unreadable. The quad’s energy shifted,, the nervous tension faded slightly, replaced with a focused quiet.
When the last student shuffled away, Firey, Pin, and Coiny were left in the center, the noise reduced to a distant murmur. The bench beneath Firey felt steadier now, the space around him no longer crowded or chaotic.
Coiny clapped his hands together loudly, grinning. “See? All eyes on us! Perfect stage!”
Pin rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at her lips. “Finally. No distractions. Now you can actually make them listen.”
Firey looked around at the cleared quad, heart still racing, and realized the weight of the moment. This wasn’t just a speech anymore, it was the first real chance to make the words land without chaos swallowing them whole.
X and Gaty lingered at the edges, subtly supervising, making sure things didn’t get out of hand, their watchful eyes both a barrier and a quiet support. Firey drew a slow, steadying breath.

The quad was quiet now, students pushed to the edges, leaving Firey, Pin, and Coiny standing on the bench rim and pavement, flyers still clutched in hand. X and Gaty lingered nearby, subtly watching, while Two and Four stepped forward from opposite sides, expressions sharp.
“Alright,” Two said, clipboard tucked under one arm. “Let’s have a conversation. All of you,, come with us to the office.” Their voice was calm, almost easygoing, but with an undercurrent of authority. “I want to hear what’s happening here, from the beginning.”
Four, in stark contrast, bounced slightly on his heels, hands twitching at their sides. Their eyes darted rapidly between the trio and the remaining flyers scattered around the fountain. “Ohhhhhh, this is interesting,” they muttered, voice high and quick, almost manic. “Spreading chaos, stirring the pot, huh?! Who thought of this brilliant idea, hm?!” They leaned forward, grinning too wide, gesturing wildly at the flyers, then back at Firey. “Come on, spill! I need every juicy detail!”
Firey took a slow step back, chest tight, but held his ground. Coiny’s hand hovered near his chest, ready to jump in, and Pin stayed close, arms crossed, sharp-eyed, silently assessing the adults.
Two’s tone softened, extending an olive branch through calm authority. “We aren’t here to punish blindly. I just want to understand. Why are you doing this? What are your intentions?”
Four jumped from foot to foot, clapping once sharply. “Intentions, he says! Intentions! Did you mean to terrify people? Or just confuse them? Ohhh, I can’t wait to hear!”
X moved closer to Four, keeping a cautious hand near their shoulder, trying to temper the energy, while Gaty subtly guided the students toward the exit path, giving quiet, firm directions.
Firey exhaled slowly, then stepped forward. “We’re not trying to terrify anyone. We’re asking for accountability. Responsibility. And respect. It’s about stopping harassment,, online, in person, everywhere.”
Two nodded, eyes thoughtful. “Good. That’s what I wanted to hear. Walk with me to the office. We’ll talk this through. I promise you’ll be heard.”
Four, still bouncing, twitched toward the flyers again. “Ohhh, but don’t think you’re off the hook just yet! There’s chaos to dissect! I need to know every move, every post, every meme! Come on, let’s move!”
Pin glanced at Firey, giving him a small nod. “We go, we stay calm, and we explain everything. Don’t let the theatrics rattle you.”
Coiny muttered under his breath, half amused, half annoyed: “Man, this guy’s like… a live wire.”
As the group moved off the bench rim and toward the building, Firey felt a mix of tension and determination. Two’s approachable demeanor promised a fair conversation, while Four’s wild energy made every step unpredictable. Together, they were a perfect storm,, capable of either understanding or chaos.
Once inside, the office doors closed behind them, the murmurs from the quad fading, leaving only the humming tension of the room, and the task ahead: explaining themselves, standing firm, and hoping their words would land with the right mix of authority and understanding.
The office smelled faintly of coffee and old paper. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as Firey, Pin, and Coiny stepped in, the door clicking shut behind them. Two gestured toward the chairs in front of their desk, leaning slightly against it with a relaxed posture.
“Take a seat,” Two said, voice calm but attentive. “I want to understand exactly what happened out there. Start from the beginning.”
Four, in contrast, couldn’t stay still. They paced, bouncing on the balls of their feet, hands twitching at their sides, occasionally snatching up a stray flyer from the floor. “Ohhh, yes! Start from the very beginning! Every detail! Did you have a strategy? Did you plan the speeches? How did you recruit your… enthusiastic minions?” They snapped their fingers dramatically, then waved them toward Coiny. “You! Did you encourage chaos?!”
Firey took a deep breath, keeping his voice steady despite the manic energy. “We weren’t trying to cause chaos. We were trying to start a conversation about harassment, AI amplification, and responsibility. We wanted to make people aware that their actions online and offline have consequences.”
Two nodded slowly, jotting a few notes on their clipboard. “I see. And you feel this is the best way to engage your peers?” Their tone was gentle, inviting explanation rather than provoking.
Pin chimed in when Four leaned too close to Firey, waving a flyer. “We planned to post flyers and speak publicly to reach people directly. That’s all.” She crossed her arms, unwavering.
Four clapped their hands together loudly. “Posters! Speeches! A bench as a stage! Genius! Absolutely genius,, or chaotic genius! I love it! I NEED MORE DETAILS!” They leaned back, rocking slightly on their heels, eyes gleaming, hands gesturing in a flurry.
Meanwhile, in the background, Gaty and X sat on a small couch, quietly playing pattycake, hands slapping together in a rhythmic pattern, almost like a counterpoint to the tension in the room. Every so often, X glanced toward Four, trying not to laugh, while Gaty kept one eye on the group, subtly reinforcing that the students weren’t alone. Their muted game created a bizarre sense of calm, almost like a bubble amid the intensity.
Coiny leaned forward, grinning despite the stress. “Yeah, we had a plan. Maybe it’s a little loud and dramaticcc… but people noticed, didn’t they?”
Four spun around, pointing at him. “Loud and dramatic! Exactly! And what about the reactions? Every laugh, every whisper, every skeptical glance? Did you anticipate the chaos? The tension? The nervous energy?”
Firey squared his shoulders. “Yes, we expected mixed reactions. Some support, some skepticism, some ridicule. That’s why we kept the message clear, and we stayed focused on accountability and responsibility.”
Two gave a small, approving nod, pen moving across the clipboard. “You thought about the outcomes. That’s good. That shows intentionality, not just impulse.”
Four twitched in place, leaning close again. “Intentionality! Yes! But what about the memes? The scorn? Did you enjoy seeing them squirm? Did it feel… powerful?”
Firey’s jaw tightened. “No. The point wasn’t to humiliate anyone, it was to make people think. To stop harassment before it snowballs further.”
Four spun away, arms flailing briefly, then spun back. “Marvelous! I love it! The energy! The performance! The righteous indignation! Ohhh, I could watch this all day!”
Gaty and X continued their quiet pattycake in the background, hands rising and falling in perfect rhythm, almost like a silent heartbeat beneath the chaos. Their calm focus reminded Firey that, despite Four’s antics, there were adults here who were observing fairly, keeping the situation contained.
Two finally leaned back in their chair, clasping their hands over their clipboard. “Alright. I think I understand the situation now. You acted deliberately, responsibly, and with a purpose. That’s… commendable.” They glanced at Four, who was still bouncing in place. “And I can see that you made an impression on everyone, whether they realize it or not.”
Four’s grin widened, eyes sparkling with manic delight. “Ohhh, an impression! Yes! A ripple! A storm! Wonderful! I approve… sort of… very chaotic approval!”
Firey let out a small breath, feeling the tension drain slightly. Pin gave him a subtle nod, Coiny slapped his own knees with excitement, and in the background, Gaty and X’s quiet rhythm of pattycake provided an oddly grounding cadence.
For the first time, Firey realized: the chaos wasn’t the threat, it was the way the adults allowed it to be examined, processed, and understood. And now, the real conversation could begin.
Two leaned forward slightly, resting their elbows on the edge of their desk. Their calm gaze swept over Firey, Pin, and Coiny.
“Alright,” they said evenly, “I need to know exactly who’s responsible for this. Who’s behind the harassment, the memes, the posts?”
Firey’s chest tightened. This was the moment where silence wouldn’t do. He glanced at Pin, who gave a small, steadying nod. Coiny bounced slightly on his heels, eager but quiet, sensing the gravity of the moment.
“We’ve documented everything,” Firey said firmly, opening his laptop. “I’ve kept screenshots, timestamps, the whole trail. It’s all here.”
He leaned the laptop forward, sliding it across the desk toward Two. The dean’s eyes flicked to the screen, scanning rapidly through rows of posts, messages, and images. Firey didn’t flinch, even when Four leaned over, eyes gleaming with manic curiosity.
“Every post, every meme, every AI-generated image,, it’s all here,” Firey continued, voice steady. “You can see how quickly it spread, and who started it. Nickel. He’s the source. Everything that followed. Every joke, every repost, every cruel caption traces back to him.”
Two clicked through a few of the screenshots, brow furrowing as they reviewed timestamps and posts. “I see. And this is all verified? Nothing altered?”
“Yes,” Firey said. “I kept it exactly as it happened. You can cross-check with CampusHub logs if you need to.”
Four leaned closer, spinning in place, snapping their fingers. “Ahhh! The master manipulator! The puppet strings! How delicious! So he’s the one to blame? The chaos originator?!?”
Pin crossed her arms, eyes fixed on Four, clearly unimpressed with their theatrics. “Yes. We traced everything. He’s the one behind the harassment. The AI amplification just made it worse, but he started it.”
Two leaned back in their chair, eyes on Firey. “Thank you. That’s very thorough. I appreciate you bringing all of this forward. It makes addressing the situation much more straightforward.”
Firey exhaled slowly, feeling some of the weight lift from his shoulders. Coiny pumped a fist quietly under the desk, unable to contain his excitement completely.
Four, still spinning slightly, grinned like a wild card. “Ohhh, this is rich! The evidence! The drama! I love it! But… the fun part’s just beginning!”
Gaty and X, in the background, continued their quiet pattycake, oblivious to the chaotic energy of Four but providing a subtle reminder of structure and calm as the adults absorbed the information.
Two’s gaze softened, still serious but calm. “Good work documenting this. We’ll handle the next steps carefully. For now, you did exactly what you needed to do: present the evidence and make your case responsibly.”
Firey felt a spark of relief. He had stepped up, handed over the proof, and now the responsibility for the next move rested with the administration. But the fire in him hadn’t dimmed, it was just waiting to see how the system would respond.

Firey closed his laptop, the click echoing softly in the office. He stood, stretching out stiff limbs, and glanced at Pin and Coiny.
“Let’s go,” he said, voice steady but quiet.
Pin followed immediately, arms crossed, expression thoughtful. Coiny bounded after them, still buzzing with energy, practically dragging his backpack along the floor.
The hallway outside was quieter now, the hum of the quad and distant chatter replaced by the steady thrum of fluorescent lights and empty corridors. Firey walked with measured steps, taking a moment to let everything sink in.
“That… actually went better than I expected,” Coiny said, still bouncing slightly. “I mean, sure, Four’s insane, but Two seemed… normal? Like they actually cared.”
Pin shot Coiny a sharp look, raising an eyebrow. “Normal isn’t the word I’d use. They listened, at least. That counts.”
Firey exhaled, letting his shoulders drop just a fraction. “Yeah… I just–” He paused, glancing down the hall. “I didn’t expect to have to actually hand over all the evidence. I thought it’d feel… I don’t know, terrifying or worse.”
Coiny grinned. “Well, you didn’t freeze. You didn’t panic. You basically walked in, laid it all out, and now they have no choice but to deal with it. That’s kinda heroic.”
Pin smirked, shaking her head slightly. “Kinda? That’s more than heroic, Coiny. You were calm, direct. You actually made them see it.”
Firey ran a hand over his hair, exhaling slowly. “I guess it doesn’t feel like it. It just feels… like one more step. Like there’s still a ton of work to do.”
Coiny tilted his head, shrugging. “Sure, but one step at a time, right? Today was a big one. You started the conversation, Firey. That’s huge.”
Pin stayed quiet for a moment, then said, “You also held your ground. With them,, Two, Four, it wasn’t just about the students. You didn’t flinch when the adults showed up. That matters.”
Firey glanced between them, a small, almost relieved smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah… I guess it does. I just… I just hope it makes a difference. Not just for me, but for everyone.”
Coiny thumped his backpack with a grin. “It will, Leaf Guy. People are already talking. You lit the spark. They’ll follow.”
Pin gave a small nod, silent but approving. “Just… don’t get too comfortable. This is far from over.”
Firey’s chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t fear, it was resolve. He squared his shoulders and continued walking, Coiny chattering beside him, Pin walking silently, eyes scanning ahead. Outside the office, the world seemed bigger, quieter, yet somehow full of potential.
For the first time in weeks, Firey felt like he wasn’t just reacting to the chaos, he was moving forward through it. And that made all the difference.

Chapter Text

The next afternoon, the campus quad was louder than it had been in weeks. What had started as a scattered crowd around Firey’s bench speech had swelled into something harder to ignore. Students filtered in between classes, some dragging their friends along, others lingering on the edges with folded arms and skeptical looks.
A group with hand-lettered signs, messy, but earnest, clustered near the fountain, chanting in bursts. “Accountability! No more cruelty!” Their voices cracked but carried, enough to turn heads from across the lawn.
On the opposite side, hecklers were louder too. Some waved their phones, already livestreaming, their laughter ringing out over the chants. “Leaf Guy’s at it again!” one shouted, his words swallowed in the rising noise. A few people pulled up the memes, the screen glow flashing Firey’s face back at him like a funhouse mirror.
The tension between the two sides made the air feel charged. Students who hadn’t cared yesterday now lingered with nervous interest… was this about to turn into something bigger?
Pin stood beside Firey again, arms crossed, but her eyes scanned the crowd, sharper than before. She muttered, “They’re multiplying. And not just the good kind.”
Coiny, of course, loved it. He cupped his hands around his mouth, bellowing over the noise: “YEAH, THAT’S RIGHT! WE’RE MAKING HISTORY, BABY!” His voice cracked halfway through, but it didn’t stop him from whooping like it was a pep rally.
Firey’s stomach twisted. He felt the crowd pressing in on him from both sides,, the support and the mockery. His throat was dry, but the nervous energy buzzing through him was familiar now, almost manageable.
Someone from the supportive cluster caught his eye, nodding firmly before shouting, “You’re right, man! AI’s screwing people over, and no one’s saying anything!” The words rippled outward, sparking a new round of chants from that side.
But from the hecklers came jeers just as fast: “Cry harder, Leaf Guy! What’s next, ban TikTok for being mean?” Their laughter spread, mean-spirited but loud.
The quad was no longer just a background. It was a battleground of voices.
Firey swallowed hard, glancing at Pin and Coiny. His pulse raced, but he knew he had to decide: step forward again, or let the chaos swallow the message whole.
Firey clenched his fists at his sides. Every shout, every laugh, every chant pulled him in a different direction. He wanted to scream back at the hecklers, to match their volume with raw fire in his chest, but he also knew if he lost control, that’s all they’d see: the angry “Leaf Guy,” not the point he was fighting for.
His heart hammered against his ribs. Pin’s steady presence beside him was grounding. She didn’t say much, but her stance told him she trusted him to rise above it. Coiny, meanwhile, was already climbing halfway onto the fountain rim, egging on the supportive students with wild claps and fist pumps.
“Let’s go, Leaf Guy! Show ‘em what’s up!” Coiny hollered, grinning ear to ear.
The crowd’s noise crashed over Firey like waves, and he felt himself teetering between them. His passion burned. He wanted to tell them all off, to prove he wasn’t some joke meme. But the chaos threatened to swallow his words, and his anger clawed at his throat, daring him to let it spill.
For a heartbeat, he saw Nickel’s smirk in the back of his mind, feeding on this chaos. That thought alone steadied him because if he snapped, if he let fury take the wheel, Nickel would win.
Firey took a slow breath, the roar of the quad blurring at the edges of his focus. He stepped forward onto the fountain rim beside Coiny, lifting his chin. His voice cracked when he first tried to speak, but he pushed through it, forcing his passion to cut through the noise.
“HEY!” he shouted, louder than he thought possible. The crowd stilled, a ripple of silence breaking through the chaos. Some smirked, some leaned in, but all eyes were on him.
His chest still burned with anger, but now it was tempered, directed. He didn’t have to fight them. He had to fight what had made them this way.
The crowd held its breath for a moment after Firey’s shout. He could feel dozens of eyes on him, some sharp with skepticism, others wide with expectation. His chest rose and fell, every inhale straining against the weight of their judgment.
Pin leaned in just slightly, murmuring, “Careful. They’re waiting for you to slip.”
Coiny, oblivious to the tension, slapped Firey’s back hard enough to nearly knock him off balance. “You’ve got ‘em, Leaf Guy! They’re eating outta your hand!”
But Firey wasn’t so sure. He could sense the crowd’s unease,, teetering between listening and laughing. His anger simmered hot in his veins, begging for release, but he knew one wrong word could turn all of this into another meme.
And then, the wrong word didn’t even have to come from him.
“Wow, wow, wow,” a familiar voice cut through the air, smooth and theatrical. Students parted instinctively as Nickel strolled into the circle, his smirk replaced with a broad, faux-friendly smile. He had his phone out, tilted just enough to catch himself and the crowd in frame.
“Look at this,” he said, spinning slowly like a showman. “Campus activism at its finest! Who knew Leaf Guy could rally such a… diverse fanbase?” His tone dripped with condescension, but his delivery was polished, practiced.
The hecklers cheered instantly, relief flooding them now that their ringleader had arrived. “Nickel!” someone shouted. “Say it again!”
Nickel raised his hands dramatically, pretending to hush them. “No, no, let’s be fair. Firey here has a lot to say, right? Very heartfelt, very… passionate.” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just enough to keep the mockery visible. “But passion doesn’t make facts. Passion doesn’t make truth. And passion…” He let the word linger, “doesn’t make him any less of a joke.”
Laughter rippled through the skeptics. Even some of the hesitant onlookers cracked uneasy smiles, caught in Nickel’s performance.
Pin stiffened, her arms folding tighter across her chest. Coiny immediately shouted, “Shut up, you fraud!” but Nickel only laughed, angling his phone closer as if Coiny’s outburst was proof of his point.
Firey felt his jaw lock. Every nerve in his body screamed to lash out, to wipe that smug mask off Nickel’s face. But the crowd was watching, hungry for the smallest slip. If he let anger win, Nickel wouldn’t just win this battle, he’d own the entire narrative.
The silence after Nickel’s words hung heavy, the quad now a stage, the crowd an audience waiting for the next act.
Firey narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to Nickel. “You don’t care about truth. You never have. All you care about is keeping your little spotlight.”
Nickel’s smirk widened, the fake warmth never leaving his voice. “And you care about what, exactly? Making the quad your therapy circle? Come on, Firey, everyone’s tired of hearing about your ‘suffering.’ It’s a campus, not your diary.”
Some in the crowd laughed, but others flinched. Firey’s chest tightened. “This isn’t about me. It’s about the way people like you use cruelty as entertainment and the way people cheer you on for it. You’re proof of the problem.”
Nickel clutched his chest dramatically, stumbling back like Firey had wounded him. “Oh, I’m the problem? Not the guy who turned himself into a meme and then cried when it got too hard? Not the guy hijacking AI discourse for pity points?” He turned to the crowd, addressing them like co-conspirators. “Tell me, doesn’t that sound just a little desperate?”
More laughter, but not unanimous,, some students shook their heads, muttering to one another.
Firey’s voice cracked, but he pressed through it. “You’re twisting everything. I’m not desperate– I’m angry. Angry that the systems people shrug off as ‘harmless fun’ are ruining lives. Angry that people like you profit off turning pain into a joke.”
Nickel tilted his phone for a perfect angle, lowering his voice like he was confiding in the viewers. “Translation: ‘Boo hoo, stop laughing at me.’”
That stung, and Firey almost snapped but Pin’s sharp inhale beside him was enough to keep him grounded. He clenched his fists tighter, channeling the burn in his chest into words instead of rage.
“I don’t need you to stop laughing at me,” Firey shot back, voice steadier now. “I need people to realize that laughing has consequences. That letting people like you run wild doesn’t just embarrass someone, it destroys them. That’s what I’m fighting for. Not me. Everyone.”
The crowd rippled with reactions. Some students nodded firmly, visibly moved. Others rolled their eyes. The quad had split into factions, each clinging to the words that resonated most.
Nickel’s smirk faltered for a flicker of a second, but he quickly regained it. “Nice speech. But you know what people will remember?” He lifted his phone, already streaming. “That you stood on a fountain, yelled about memes, and made yourself the punchline all over again.”
The laughter came louder this time, but mixed with murmurs of support. Firey’s stomach twisted. This wasn’t victory or defeat. It was a battle with no clear winner, only lines being drawn.
Pin leaned closer, whispering, “You hit him harder than he hit you. Don’t let him drag you lower.”
Coiny, of course, just shouted at the top of his lungs, “YEAH, SHUT YOUR MOUTH, NICKEL! LEAF GUY’S THE FUTURE!”
The quad erupted into noise again, Nickel and Firey locked in a silent standoff even as the crowd consumed their clash like theater.
The standoff stretched, Nickel holding his phone aloft like a weapon, Firey standing on the fountain rim with fists clenched. The crowd leaned in, the tension buzzing like static.
Then came the signs.
One student proudly hoisted a neon poster board that read: “DOWN WITH AI – UP WITH PIE”, complete with a doodle of a pie slice giving a thumbs up. Another scrawled sign appeared behind them: “FREE LEAF GUY (FROM HIS OWN DRAMA)”. Someone else had drawn Firey with laser eyes shooting Nickel into space.
“Finally!” Coiny bellowed, pointing at the posters. “They’re chanting my slogan!”
Firey blinked. “They’re… not chanting anything.”
But Coiny had already cupped his hands around his mouth. “AI IS LAME! HUMANS HAVE GAME!” he roared, trying to get it started. A couple of bored students humored him, half-heartedly echoing, “Humans… have game?” like they weren’t sure if it was supposed to be a question.
Nickel seized on the chaos instantly. “See? This is what happens when Leaf Guy ‘leads a movement.’ People are chanting about pie. This isn’t a protest, it’s a comedy show.” He spun his phone, capturing the bizarre signs and Coiny’s loud cheering.
The laughter spread, sharp and cutting. Firey’s jaw locked. His chest was burning again, the pressure of rage coiling tighter and tighter, but Pin stepped close enough that her shoulder brushed his.
“They’re waiting for you to explode,” she whispered. “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
For a moment, Firey said nothing. The crowd shuffled, murmurs rising like heat waves. Some supportive students looked uncertain now, their resolve shaken by Nickel’s performance. Others leaned into the mockery, egging it on. The air felt fragile, like one spark could turn the quad into a full-blown riot, or else snuff it all out completely.
Even Coiny stopped mid-chant, his grin faltering as he realized the mood had shifted. “Uh… too much?” he asked awkwardly.
Nickel smirked, sensing victory in the silence. “What’s wrong, Firey? Out of rants? Out of excuses?” He lowered his phone just slightly, his voice dropping into something sharper, crueler. “Or maybe you’re realizing everyone’s laughing at you. Again.”
The words landed like a stone thrown into a pond. The ripples were instant: gasps, mutters, a couple of students nervously chuckling to mask their discomfort.
The quad was no longer just noisy… it was volatile.
And Firey knew the next words out of his mouth could either shatter him or shatter Nickel’s grip on the narrative.
Nickel’s smirk widened as he twisted the knife. “Everyone’s laughing at you. Again.”
The words echoed, heavier than the laughter that followed. Firey’s face burned, his throat locked tight. For a split second, he looked like he might snap, but then Coiny moved.
His grin was gone, replaced with a hard glare that looked out of place on him. He stepped in front of Firey, shoulders squared, his voice booming over the crowd. “Yea, we’re done here.”
Nickel blinked, lowering his phone slightly. “What are you—”
Crack.
Coiny’s fist connected with Nickel’s jaw, sharp and sudden. The sound cut through the quad like a gunshot. Nickel staggered back, phone nearly flying from his hand, the fake charm draining from his face as the crowd erupted.
Gasps, shouts, and scattered cheers overlapped into chaos. Some students shouted “Fight! Fight!” while others scrambled back in shock. A few even started filming, phones held high to capture every second.
Pin’s eyes went wide. “Coiny– what the hell are you doing?!” she hissed, grabbing his arm, but it was too late.
Nickel steadied himself, his hand flying to his jaw. For the first time, the smug mask slipped, revealing a flash of raw anger. He lifted his phone again, voice shaking with fury. “Oh, this is perfect. Leaf Guy and his attack dog. You’re finished.”
But Coiny didn’t flinch. He planted himself firmly between Nickel and Firey, his voice low but clear. “You’ve done enough. You don’t get to push him around anymore.”
The crowd’s energy surged, half chanting Nickel’s name, half roaring in approval for Coiny. Firey’s chest heaved, torn between horror at Coiny’s rash move and relief that, for once, someone had stood in front of him instead of against him.
The quad was a storm now, teetering between explosion and collapse.
And for the first time, Nickel didn’t look untouchable.
The quad froze for a split second after Coiny’s punch, as if the entire campus had to catch its breath. Then, the tension snapped like a rope pulled too tight.
Nickel lunged, shoving Coiny hard in the chest. “You think you can just hit me and walk away?!” he spat, his phone clattering onto the stone bench behind him.
Coiny didn’t back down. He shoved right back, harder. “You’ve been hitting Firey with your crap for weeks. Guess it’s about time someone hit back.”
That was all it took. The quad exploded into noise. Students surged closer, phones raised, chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!” while others tried to pull back from the circle forming around them.
Nickel swung, his fist grazing Coiny’s shoulder. Coiny ducked low and tackled him, the two of them crashing to the grass with a thud. They wrestled, rolling, fists flying clumsily but with real rage behind every swing.
Pin darted forward, grabbing Firey’s arm before he could react. “Don’t– don’t get in it! You’ll just make it worse!”
Firey’s heart pounded like a drum in his ears. He wanted to stop it, to step in, but his legs wouldn’t move. Part of him was frozen, part of him was terrified, and part of him, deep down, felt a grim satisfaction seeing Nickel finally lose control.
“Get off me!” Nickel shouted, kicking hard and scrambling back to his feet. His jaw was red where Coiny had clocked him, his lip split. He looked nothing like the smooth, controlled persona from minutes before.
Coiny was back up instantly, spitting blood onto the ground. “What’s wrong, Nickel? Can’t handle someone fighting back without a keyboard?”
The crowd roared, some cheering for Nickel, others for Coiny. A chant started up, sloppy and chaotic, but loud enough to drown out any thought.
“LEAF GUY! LEAF GUY!”
Firey’s stomach twisted. They weren’t even chanting for Coiny.. they were chanting his name, turning this mess into yet another spectacle.
Nickel charged again, swinging wide. Coiny caught his arm, the two of them grappling like wild animals. The crowd pushed closer, some students waving their ridiculous signs like they were at a sports game. One even held up a poster that read: “WORLD STAR CAMPUS EDITION” while recording on their phone.
Pin shouted over the noise. “Enough! Stop it, both of you!” She grabbed Coiny’s shoulder, trying to pull him back, but he only snarled, “Not until he shuts up for good!”
Nickel managed to land a blow to Coiny’s stomach, doubling him over. The supporters of Nickel cheered wildly, screaming his name like he was the hero. But Coiny straightened, wheezing but grinning through it. “That all you got?”
For a heartbeat, the fight froze again, Nickel’s chest heaving, Coiny’s fists trembling at his sides.
The silence lasted only long enough for Nickel to spit blood onto the grass and growl, “You’re pathetic, Firey. Can’t even fight your own battles.”
Coiny bristled and lunged again, and this time the crowd surged with him. Students shoved and shouted, phones thrust high, the chaos spinning out of control. It wasn’t just a fight anymore, it was a riot-in-the-making.
Some students tried to hold Nickel back. Others egged him on. Pin shouted until her voice went hoarse, but no one was listening anymore. Firey was caught in the middle of the circle, swallowed by the sound of screaming, chanting, and fists colliding.
Somewhere in the background, whistles blew. The faint sound of authority trying to cut through the madness. But in the eye of the storm, all that existed was rage, noise, and the bitter taste of everything spiraling beyond Firey’s control.
Coiny staggered back to his feet, chest heaving, blood trickling from a split lip. For a split second, he glared at Nickel, but the madness of the quad, the chants, the laughter, and the jeers pressed in like a tidal wave.
“Move!” Coiny yelled, grabbing Firey’s arm and jerking him toward the edge of the crowd.
Pin followed instantly, her eyes scanning for any incoming obstacles. “Coiny, slow down!” she shouted, but even she was swept along by his urgency.
The three of them barreled past stunned students, who parted instinctively, leaving a narrow corridor of open grass and stone. The noise of the quad, the chants, the laughter, the shouts rushed past them like a hurricane.
Behind them, Nickel staggered but held his composure. His phone clutched tightly in one hand, he smirked briefly at the retreating trio, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Authority figures were converging, Two had arrived with Gaty in tow. Two’s expression was tight but calm.
Nickel froze, suddenly aware that the chaos he had enjoyed was slipping from his control. Two stepped forward, blocking his path, clipboard in hand.
“Enough, Nickel,” Two said firmly, voice carrying over the crowd. “We’re going to handle this. Right now.”
Gaty’s arms crossed, but subtly alert, ready to prevent any escape. Nickel’s smirk faltered for the first time, his confidence shaken as he realized the tide had turned.

Coiny ducked behind a tree, panting hard, and Firey and Pin followed, hearts still racing from the near-riot.
“You okay?” Firey asked, glancing at Coiny, who was wiping blood from his lip with the back of his sleeve.
“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” Coiny muttered, grinning despite the chaos. “Just… don’t let him touch you again, Leaf Guy.”
Pin shook her head, hands on her hips, exhaling sharply. “We need to get out of here before the crowd decides we’re next. That was… insane.”
Firey’s chest was still tight, adrenaline coursing, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking back toward the quad. Nickel was now fully surrounded by the authorities, the weight of accountability finally pressing down on him.
For the first time, Firey realized: the battle wasn’t over, but the lines had been drawn, and this time, someone else was in control of the consequences.
The three of them ducked behind a low stone wall, letting the roar of the quad fade into the background. Coiny leaned against the wall, wincing as he touched his jaw.
“Okay… so maybe I went a little too far,” he said, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “But, come on, you should’ve seen it!! His face! Priceless.”
Pin rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips. “Coiny, you almost got us all expelled.”
Firey let out a short laugh, the first real sound of relief he’d made all day. “You definitely went too far. But… thank you. I mean it. You stepped in when I–” His voice caught, throat tight. “I don’t think I could’ve stopped him on my own.”
Coiny waved him off, still grinning but softer now. “Yeah, yeah, don’t get all mushy on me. You would’ve done the same for me, Leaf Guy. I know it.”
Pin nudged Firey lightly with her shoulder. “And don’t forget me. I’m the one who kept you from running into the chaos headfirst.”
Firey’s smile was faint, but genuine. “I know. You two… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Coiny snorted. “Probably be a leaf in the wind… literally. Get blown over by the first meme that comes your way.”
Pin chuckled softly, shaking her head. “And yet, somehow, you’re still standing.”
Firey looked down at his hands, still trembling a little, letting the adrenaline ebb. “Yeah… standing. But it’s weird. I feel like a lot of things are still wrong, but… I also feel like maybe we actually did something today. Something real.”
Coiny leaned back, kicking at a stray pebble. “Yeah. We did. And tomorrow? We just keep doing it. Step by step.”
Pin’s gaze softened, meeting Firey’s eyes. “And we do it together. No matter how ridiculous, or messy, or… dangerous it gets.”
Firey exhaled, feeling some of the tension ease from his chest. “Together,” he repeated. For the first time in weeks, that word felt like it actually meant something.
The three of them lingered in the quiet, tucked away from the madness of the quad. Firey sat slouched against the wall, the cool stone steadying him as his breath finally slowed. Coiny was sprawled in the grass beside him, one arm folded behind his head, while Pin leaned forward on her knees, watching them both with that same protective sharpness she always carried.
For once, though, it wasn’t sharp. It was soft.
“You know,” Pin said, breaking the silence, “for all the chaos back there… I’m glad it was the three of us.”
Coiny smirked without opening his eyes. “Yeah. Not a bad team, huh?”
“Messy,” Pin corrected, a smile curling on her lips. “But a team.”
Firey glanced at them, his chest tightening. Something unspoken sat heavy inside him, pressing harder than the adrenaline ever had. He swallowed, his voice so faint it barely escaped. “...I love you.”
Both Pin and Coiny’s heads turned at once.
“What?” Pin asked, blinking.
Coiny sat up, squinting. “Wait– what did you just say?”
Firey froze, heat rising to his cheeks, his throat suddenly dry. He shook his head, eyes darting away. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter?” Pin echoed, her voice gentler now, but insistent. “Firey, you don’t usually say stuff like that. It matters.”
Coiny leaned in, grinning lopsidedly. “C’mon, spit it out. I know I didn’t just imagine that. You said something.”
Firey pressed the heels of his palms against his knees, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. “I didn’t… I mean, I shouldn’t have..”
“You should,” Pin cut in firmly, though her eyes softened as she met his. “Whatever it was. Just… say it again.”
Coiny nudged his shoulder, trying to lighten it but still curious. “Yeah, man. Don’t leave us hanging. You’ve got us both wondering now.”
Firey’s breath caught. He wanted to disappear, but the way they were both looking at him, earnest, waiting, open, made him realize he couldn’t back out. His heart hammered.
For once, Firey didn’t try to take it back.
The words echoed between them, fragile but undeniable.
“I love you.”
Pin’s mouth opened, then closed again. For someone so sharp and quick-witted, she was suddenly at a loss. She sat back slightly, searching Firey’s face as though trying to gauge whether he meant it. But the raw tremble in his voice left no doubt.
“...You mean that,” she finally whispered. Not a question. An observation.
Firey nodded once, his throat too tight for more words.
Coiny, usually so brash, blinked like he hadn’t expected this to actually happen. His grin was gone now, replaced with something uncharacteristically vulnerable. “You’re not messing with us, are you?”
“No,” Firey said, more firmly than before. His voice cracked, but he didn’t care. “I wouldn’t… I couldn’t joke about that.”
For a moment, none of them spoke. Pin let out a slow breath, her arms uncrossing as the tension in her shoulders eased. “Firey, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you trust us like that. I don’t care what happens with the rest of this campus. This? Us? It’s real.”
Coiny rubbed the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly. “Yeah, and… hey, I give you a lot of crap, but you’re my guy. Always have been.” He smirked faintly, trying to mask the crack in his voice. “Guess I love you too. Just don’t expect me to say it all soft like you did.”
That broke the tension just enough,, Pin gave him a small shove, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling again.
Firey blinked hard, fighting the sting in his eyes. He’d expected rejection, or laughter, or something to break the fragile moment apart. Instead, Pin’s steady gaze and Coiny’s uneven grin held him in place, grounding him.
“Together,” Pin said, voice low but firm, repeating the word from earlier.
“Yeah,” Coiny agreed, this time with no hesitation.
Firey exhaled, feeling the weight on his chest lift just a little. “Together.”
The quad’s noise was still faint in the background, but for now, it didn’t matter. The three of them had carved out a space of their own and none of them were letting go.
The air between them stayed heavy for a moment longer, then Coiny broke it the only way he knew how… by leaning over and ruffling Firey’s hair with a smirk.
“Man, you’re such a sap,” he said, though the warmth in his voice betrayed him.
“Hey—!” Firey swatted at him, cheeks flushing hotter than ever. But when Pin chuckled softly, he didn’t pull away as fast as he normally would.
Pin shifted closer, brushing her shoulder against Firey’s. The contact was casual, but her eyes lingered on him with quiet fondness. “Honestly? I like this side of you better. Brave, honest… even if you look like you’re about to faint.”
“I’m not–” Firey started, but then Coiny leaned in and pressed a quick, playful kiss against his temple.
Firey froze. “Wha–?! Coiny!”
Coiny pulled back, grinning like a kid who’d just pulled the ultimate prank. “What? Too soon?”
Pin rolled her eyes but reached out, her hand finding Firey’s and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Ignore him. He can’t handle sincerity for more than ten seconds.”
“Hey, I can be sincere!” Coiny protested, leaning over again, but this time Pin intercepted him, planting a quick kiss on Firey’s cheek herself. Firey’s face went red all over again, caught completely between them.
Pin smirked at Coiny. “See? That’s how you do it without making it weird.”
“Not weird, just memorable,” Coiny shot back, but his grin softened when Firey didn’t let go of Pin’s hand.
Firey finally managed a shaky laugh, hiding his face in his free hand. “You two are unbelievable…”
“Yeah,” Pin said, her tone gentler now as she leaned against his shoulder. “And now you’re stuck with us.”
Coiny flopped back onto the grass again, hands behind his head, but his foot nudged lightly against Firey’s. “Stuck forever. No take-backs.”
Firey didn’t argue this time. Instead, he let himself smile, small, tired, but real as the three of them sat tangled in warmth and teasing, their chaos softening into something steady.
Coiny lay back in the grass, staring up at the clouds. For a while, the quiet between them was easy,, Firey’s hand still laced with Pin’s, Pin leaning into Firey’s shoulder, Firey too dazed to even process how close they all were.
Then Coiny sat up suddenly, pointing between the two of them. “Hold up. If you two are getting all cozy, and I’m over here just third-wheeling, that’s not gonna fly.”
Pin arched a brow. “Oh? And what exactly are you suggesting?”
Coiny’s grin widened. “Simple. If we’re both dating Firey, then I should probably be dating you, too. Makes it fair.”
Pin snorted, half amused, half exasperated. “That’s not how this works.”
“Sure it is,” Coiny shot back, scooting closer. “You like Firey, I like Firey, Firey likes both of us. Boom. Triangle complete.”
Firey sputtered, caught between laughing and panicking. “Wait, wh—”
Pin turned to Coiny, her eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you like it,” Coiny teased, inching closer until their noses were nearly touching.
Pin rolled her eyes, but her lips curled in a smile she couldn’t fight back. “...Fine. But only because you’re so annoyingly persistent.”
“Ha! Victory!” Coiny crowed, and before either of them could stop him, he threw his arms around both Pin and Firey, pulling them into a smothering hug.
“Coiny—!” Firey yelped, half laughing, half choking as Coiny pressed a sloppy kiss against his cheek. Pin wriggled, mock-protesting as Coiny kissed her forehead with equal enthusiasm.
“Too much, too much!” Pin said through her laughter, shoving at his shoulder, but she didn’t really push him away.
“Never too much,” Coiny declared, holding them both tighter. “Face it, we’re unstoppable now. Campus won’t know what hit ‘em!!”
Firey’s cheeks burned, but for once it wasn’t from embarrassment alone. Wedged between their warmth, caught in their chaos, he couldn’t help but laugh too, loud and unguarded.
And for the first time in weeks, the weight of “Leaf Guy” didn’t feel like it could crush him. Not when he had this. Not when he had them.
Coiny finally loosened his grip, the three of them slumping back against the wall in a messy pile. Firey rubbed at his cheek, where Coiny had planted one of his smothering kisses, and muttered, “You’re like… like a golden retriever with no boundaries.”
Coiny burst out laughing, falling back onto the grass with a dramatic sigh. “Finally, someone sees me for who I really am. Loyal, energetic, absolutely lovable,, what’s not to like?”
Pin smirked, leaning her chin against Firey’s shoulder. “The ‘no boundaries’ part, maybe.”
“Boundaries are a state of mind,” Coiny shot back without missing a beat.
Firey shook his head, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. The tension that had gripped his chest all morning felt a little looser now, like every laugh chipped away at the weight.
Pin tilted her head, watching him closely. Her teasing softened into something more deliberate. “You look lighter. Like saying it out loud actually helped.”
Firey hesitated, eyes darting away, but then he nodded. “It did. I didn’t think it would, but… yeah.” His voice caught for just a moment, then steadied. “It’s not just me against all of it anymore.”
Coiny rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. “That’s because you’ve got us now. And trust me, we’re way scarier than Nickel could ever dream of being. I mean, look at Pin, she could glare a building into rubble.”
Pin narrowed her eyes at him immediately, which only proved his point. Firey chuckled under his breath, the sound quiet but genuine.
“See?” Coiny said triumphantly, gesturing at her. “Weaponized death glare.”
“I prefer ‘focused,’” Pin replied, though her lips betrayed her with the faintest smile. She turned her attention back to Firey, voice lowering. “And he’s right. Whatever happens next, you’re not doing it alone.”
Firey’s chest tightened in the best way. He didn’t trust himself to say much, so he just nodded, swallowing hard. Pin’s hand brushed against his, tentative at first, before she let her fingers slide between his. The quiet weight of it said more than words could.
Coiny leaned in, nudging Firey’s knee with his own, softer this time. “And don’t worry. I’ve got my own brand of backup. Less intimidating glare, more brute-force chaos. But hey, it balances out.”
“You mean it cancels out,” Pin teased.
“You love it,” Coiny shot back, grinning.
“Love might be too strong a word,” Pin said dryly, but her thumb stroked lightly over the back of Coiny’s hand, betraying how much she actually did.
Firey let out a laugh that startled even him, half-shy but freer than it had been in weeks. “Both of you are impossible.”
“Impossible and yours,” Pin countered smoothly.
Coiny threw both arms behind his head, lounging like he was sunbathing. “Yeah, what she said. Yours. No take-backs.”
Firey ducked his head, face burning, but he didn’t argue.
For a while, the three of them just sat there, caught in the quiet bubble they’d carved out for themselves. Pin leaned more fully against Firey, her head settling on his shoulder. Coiny stretched his legs out, his foot nudging Firey’s now and then like a casual reminder that he was still there. The silence wasn’t awkward, it was grounding, steady, the kind of quiet that let them just exist together.
Eventually, Pin lifted her head and squinted toward the quad. “...You guys realize the crowd’s gone, right?”
Firey blinked and followed her gaze. The once-busy courtyard was deserted now, only scraps of their flyers tumbling across the stone paths like forgotten confetti. The faint echo of their earlier chants had been replaced with the hum of campus settling back into its routine.
“Huh,” Coiny said, propping himself up to look. “Guess the show’s over. No encore.”
Firey let out a soft laugh, surprised at how much time had passed. “We should probably head back before someone comes looking for us.”
“Yeah,” Pin agreed, but she didn’t move right away. She lingered at Firey’s side, as though reluctant to break the bubble.
Coiny stretched, then stood, brushing grass from his shirt. “Fine, but we’re walking back as a unit. Team Unstoppable. No one messes with us.”
Pin rolled her eyes but rose to her feet too. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous and yours,” Coiny said with a wink, offering both of them his hands.
Firey hesitated, then took one. Pin sighed but took the other, and Coiny beamed like he’d just pulled off the greatest victory of his life.
And so they walked back together across the clearing campus, side by side. For once, Firey didn’t feel like everyone was laughing at him. For once, he felt like he was walking toward something instead of running from it.

Firey walked between them, still feeling the warmth of their earlier closeness lingering like a secret only they shared. Pin kept nudging him lightly every few steps, smirking as he stumbled, while Coiny retaliated with a gentle bump to her side. Their laughter was low and private, a shield against the still-buzzing quad around them.
For a moment, it felt like they’d carved out their own little bubble, a safe space away from the noise of the campus and the chaos that had erupted just hours ago.
Then Firey slowed, his hand instinctively lifting. “Wait,” he said, voice low but firm.
Pin’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh… wait for what?” she asked, though she noticed the seriousness in his tone and immediately fell silent.
Coiny, usually too brash to notice subtle shifts in tone, stopped mid-step, cocking his head. The faint hum of the campus seemed to fade around them as Firey tilted his head toward a patch of shadowed quad a short distance away.
Muffled voices floated toward them on the evening breeze, too distinct to ignore.
“Oh don’t act like you know what it’s like!” Nickel’s sharp, defensive tone carried clearly.
The three froze.
A calmer, firmer voice followed immediately,, Bomby’s. “Nickel, I do know what it’s like. That’s why I’m telling you. This has to stop before it goes further.”
Pin’s lips pressed together, stifling a snort. “Oh, perfect,” she whispered under her breath. “It’s like watching divorced parents fight over who gets the remote.”
Coiny grinned faintly, though his jaw clenched. “Or arguing over custody of their favorite kid… except the kid’s reputation is hanging in the balance.”
Firey’s eyes narrowed, his fists curling at his sides. His heartbeat sped, but he forced himself to remain still, leaning slightly forward to catch every word.
They shouldn’t be listening. He knew that. All three of them did.
But the words drew them in anyway.
Nickel’s voice rose again, tinged with frustration and the sharpness of someone used to being untouchable. “You don’t get it! Everyone laughs! I’m fine!”
Bomby sighed, the kind of deep, patient exasperation Firey had learned to recognize. “You’re not fine. You’re burning yourself out and hurting people. I told you, you’re doing too much. Stop. Just stop.”
The cadence of Bomby’s voice, calm but unwavering, seemed almost parental. Nickel’s brash insistence clashed against it like a storm against a wall. Firey felt the tension in his chest tighten. The argument was grating, but he couldn’t look away.
Pin’s elbow nudged his side lightly. “Seriously. This is… next-level absurd,” she muttered, though the edge in her voice was tinged with concern.
Coiny’s smirk faltered as he watched, a quiet growl forming in his throat. “I… really don’t like him when he sounds like that,” he muttered. “You hear how entitled he’s being? Ugh.”
Firey exhaled slowly, still crouched just enough to remain hidden. “He’s not going to stop unless someone actually makes him,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
The argument stretched on, back-and-forth, Bomby tending to visible cuts and bruises while lecturing Nickel on his overreach. It was bizarre and intimate all at once, like watching someone care for a person they simultaneously wanted to throttle.
“Divorced parents arguing over… the fate of the entire campus,” Pin muttered under her breath, and Firey chuckled quietly despite himself.
Coiny’s eyes narrowed as he watched Nickel pout and whine, shifting slightly closer to Firey as though preparing for any sudden outburst. “If he tries anything, I’m not letting him near you. Not again.”
Nickel flopped onto a nearby bench, wincing as he rubbed at a fresh bruise on his arm. “This is so unfair! Everyone’s turning on me. Firey’s making me look like a complete joke!”
Bomby knelt beside him, gently inspecting the bruises and scratches. “Nickel… you asked for attention by going too far. You can’t push people endlessly and expect no consequences.”
Nickel pouted, crossing his arms. “It’s not that bad! People are just… overreacting. I can handle it!”
Bomby sighed, applying a small bandage to his cut. “No, you can’t. You’ve been going too far for too long, and now you’re seeing the fallout. You need to stop before you make this worse for yourself.”
Nickel’s voice rose again. “I am fine! You don’t get it! Firey’s just making a big deal out of nothing!”
Pin leaned slightly closer to Firey, whispering with a smirk,
Coiny stifled a laugh, hiding his grin behind his hand.
Bomby’s expression hardened. “Nickel, enough. You’re not thinking straight. Every time you do this, you escalate things. You’re hurting yourself and everyone around you. I can patch you up, but I can’t fix what you’ve done to your own credibility.”
Nickel slumped slightly, groaning. “Ugh, why does everything have to be so dramatic?”
Firey swallowed hard, fists clenched, his jaw tight. The familiar knot of anger twisted in his stomach, but he let it sit. Pin squeezed his arm lightly, keeping him grounded.
Nickel flailed, gesturing wildly at Bomby. “I can control this! I just need people to… to chill! Firey shouldn’t be acting like I’m… like I’m evil or something!”
Bomby’s voice softened, though it remained firm. “Nickel, you’ve been doing too much. You need to step back. If you don’t, the consequences will only get worse, and I won’t let you keep ignoring them.”
Pin nudged Firey quietly. “He’s… actually listening, sort of. Kind of like a kid pretending to sulk in the corner.”
Coiny shook his head, muttering, “I hate him being like this… but it’s almost entertaining, in a twisted way.”
Nickel flopped dramatically against the bench again, groaning. “Fine, fine, I get it! But this is all Firey’s fault too!”
Firey’s chest tightened, and he gritted his teeth. Pin gave him a small, steadying squeeze of his arm. He watched Nickel struggle under Bomby’s calm, firm pressure, and couldn’t help but think: this isn’t over.
Bomby continued, patient but unyielding, tending to the bruises and lecturing at the same time, while Nickel whined and protested in equal measure. The argument stretched on, back-and-forth, with Bomby both scolding and caring, Nickel whining for validation, and the trio observing quietly, half amused, half tense, fully aware of the storm they were witnessing.
Firey stiffened as Nickel waved off the bruises and cuts like they were nothing, the words stabbing sharper than the physical marks. His fists clenched at his sides, jaw tight. “He’s not fine,” Firey muttered under his breath, though no sound carried beyond their little bubble.
Pin’s hand pressed lightly against his arm, grounding him. “Don’t,” she whispered, eyes locked on him. “Not yet. You’ll just make it worse if you jump in now.”
Firey swallowed, his chest tightening, and nodded minutely, though the tension in his shoulders remained taut.
Coiny muttered, barely audibly, his voice low and rough with suppressed irritation. “Pathetic. Can’t even own up to what he’s done…”
Despite the edge in his tone, Coiny stayed close, sliding an arm subtly behind Firey’s back so that if anything happened, he’d be ready to step in. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing at Nickel’s careless smirk.
Still, the knot in his stomach only tightened as Nickel continued minimizing the damage, and the familiar voice of chaos in the distance kept them rooted in place, forced to watch…
The argument between Nickel and Bomby had just hit a particularly loud crescendo when a new voice cut through the air, cheerful, almost annoyingly chipper.
“Coiny! Over here!”
Coiny turned, eyebrows raised. X strode toward them, their usual carefree smile firmly in place but there was a sharp edge of authority behind it. Clearly, “duty mode” was engaged.
“Oh! You’re needed at the office!” X announced brightly, hands on their hips. “Just like Nickel earlier!”
Coiny groaned, throwing up his hands. “Already? I barely survived that first round!”
X’s smile didn’t waver. “Oh, don’t worry. This time it’ll be even more exciting!”
Firey’s chest tightened. He glanced at Pin, who shot him a worried look. Coiny was about to be pulled away, separated from them right in the middle of all this.
Coiny leaned back, trying to make it casual. “Uh… maybe next time, I’ll volunteer to skip?”
“Nope!” X clapped their hands. “Duty calls!”
Firey muttered under his breath, jaw tight. “Be careful…”
Pin squeezed his arm, grounding him. “He’ll be fine. X can’t actually… you know. They’re… limited.”
Coiny crouched slightly to meet Firey’s gaze, trying to inject a grin even though his stomach knotted. “Don’t worry, Leaf Guy. I got this. They can’t scare me.”
Firey’s shoulders relaxed fractionally, though his eyes followed Coiny’s back as X steered him toward the main office. Pin stayed close, whispering, “We’ll handle things here. Just… get through it.”
Coiny waved one last hand over his shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Firey and Pin exchanged one more glance as X guided Coiny away. The echo of the Nickel-Bomby argument lingered around them, and for a moment the campus felt larger and emptier than ever.
Firey and Pin stayed frozen for a moment, watching X lead Coiny off toward the office. The fading echo of Nickel and Bomby’s voices filled the quiet between them like an aftershock of chaos,, until Nickel’s shrill, angry yelling cut sharply through the evening air.
“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING! YOU’RE OVERREACTING!” Nickel screamed, practically vibrating with indignation.
Bomby’s voice remained calm but firm, tending to the cuts and bruises on Nickel as he spoke. “Nickel, you’ve done this before! At your old school, with other people?! The pattern is clear!”
“I DON’T CARE! NO ONE CARES! FIREY IS MAKING ME LOOK LIKE A JOKE!” Nickel roared, flailing slightly as he argued, his entitlement loud and undeniable.
Pin’s eyes widened, and she pressed a hand to Firey’s arm. “Wow… he’s really letting it all out,” she muttered, half in disbelief, half to steady him.
Bomby didn’t raise his voice; if anything, his calmness made Nickel sound even louder. “It doesn’t matter what you think, Nickel. You’ve been doing too much, and the consequences are catching up to you.”
“IT’S NOT MY FAULT! THIS IS ALL FIREY’S FAULT!” Nickel screamed back, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet.
Firey stiffened, fists clenching, jaw tight. Pin’s hand remained on his arm, grounding him. “Don’t… don’t charge in,” she whispered softly. “Not yet.”
Nickel pouted dramatically, gesturing wildly. “YOU’RE MAKING EVERYTHING DRAMATIC! THIS IS ALL OVER NOTHING!”
Bomby shook his head, still calm, still tending to his bruises. “No, Nickel. Every time you push, every time you escalate, it hurts people. And one day, it’ll hurt you too. This stops now.”
Firey’s chest burned, but he let himself be grounded by Pin’s steady presence. They shouldn’t be listening, but the argument, the sheer volume of Nickel’s entitlement against Bomby’s calm, was impossible to ignore.
Pin muttered under her breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
The argument continued to boom across the quad, Nickel shrieking, Bomby scolding, Firey seething quietly, Pin holding him steady, ready for anything.
The quad was quieter now, emptying as students drifted toward their own rooms or off-campus errands. Firey’s hands clutched his phone, scrolling through screenshots almost obsessively. Every image, every distorted meme, every AI-generated caption pressed into him the same realization: Nickel’s harassment wasn’t just a single act, it was a pattern, far-reaching and carefully amplified.
Pin matched his pace, keeping a careful distance. She didn’t touch him yet, giving him space to process, but her presence was steady, grounding. “You okay?” she asked finally, breaking the silence.
Firey’s shoulders tensed. “I don’t even know anymore… I thought I had an idea of how bad it was, but it’s bigger. Way bigger.”
Pin’s eyes softened. “Then we handle it in pieces. You’ve got the evidence. That’s step one. The rest… we take it one step at a time. You’re not alone in this.”
He glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I know. It just… feels like this never ends.”
She bumped him gently with her shoulder. “Nothing good ever comes from rushing. We plan, we act smart, we protect ourselves and the people getting hurt. That’s the difference.”
Firey exhaled, nodding slowly. The tension in his chest eased slightly, though the knot of worry for others remained. They kept walking, letting the campus’ quiet evening calm them just a bit. A few students passed, some shooting curious glances at them, others nodding in silent solidarity. Firey felt that flicker of encouragement but pushed it aside, he couldn’t let himself get distracted.
“Do you think they’ll believe it?” he asked after a pause, voice quiet.
Pin considered, eyes forward. “Some will. Some won’t. But facts don’t lie, Firey. And we have the receipts.”
He chuckled softly despite himself. “Receipts… wow. Sounds like a weird spy movie now.”
She smirked. “Hey, if being Leaf Guy isn’t spy-level complicated, I don’t know what is.”
The dorm building came into view, lights glowing softly from the windows. Firey slowed, shoulders sagging slightly. “Finally. Some familiar ground.”
Pin glanced at him. “Yeah. Ground you can breathe on. Let’s get inside, regroup, and plan. No one’s gonna bite us in here.”
He let out a quiet laugh, the tension easing just enough to allow it. As they approached the door, he noticed the faint hum of dorm life,, the scent of coffee, faint electronics, and the soft murmur of voices through the walls. It was comforting and grounding all at once.
Pin pushed the door open, and a wave of domestic calm hit them. Leafy looked up from the couch, headphones around his neck, eyes curious but relaxed. Gelatin, perched on the armrest nearby, gave them a quick, analytical glance, then returned to organizing his sticky notes.
Donut was sprawled lazily across the floor beside Gelatin, half-watching him arrange the notes, half-nibbling on a cookie he’d snagged from somewhere. His ears twitched at the newcomers, but he didn’t bother getting up, stretching one hand toward them in a casual greeting.
“Hey,” Leafy said casually, “you two look like you just survived a hurricane.”
Gelatin tilted his head. “Or like.. a small-scale war.”
Firey let out a small laugh, letting himself be drawn into the familiarity of the space. “Something like that,” he admitted quietly.
Pin leaned slightly against him, keeping him anchored. “We’re safe in here. Let’s figure out our next step.”
The door closed behind them, muffling the fading sounds of the campus and Nickel’s lingering chaos. For a moment, they could just breathe, and plan, while Donut lazily chewed his cookie and Gelatin meticulously lined up his sticky notes, and Leafy shot the new arrivals a knowing, amused grin.
Firey set his backpack down with a soft thud, fingers still trembling slightly as he pulled out his laptop. Pin leaned over his shoulder, tapping lightly on the table to nudge him forward.
“Okay,” Firey began, taking a deep breath, “before we start, there’s… a lot you don’t know.”
Leafy leaned forward, curiosity lighting up his eyes. “Uh-oh. That’s never a good sign.”
Gelatin raised an eyebrow, adjusting his sticky notes like a shield. “You’ve piqued my interest. Do explain.”
Donut rolled over lazily, ears twitching. “I’m listening,” he said, one arm lazily draped across his side.
Firey swallowed hard and opened the laptop, dragging it closer to the edge of the table so everyone could see. The screen displayed a neat grid of screenshots, timestamps, AI-generated memes, and comments from CampusHub.
“Nickel… has been targeting people,” Firey said slowly, scrolling through the first few images. “Not just me. Not just anyone you’ve seen. There’s a pattern, he’s been doing this at other schools too, spreading rumors, creating memes, even using AI to amplify them. People get hurt, and then it just… keeps spreading.”
Leafy blinked, then leaned closer. “Whoa… that’s… a lot. Are these all, like… legit?”
Pin nodded, sliding a hand across the keyboard to highlight timestamps and source links. “Everything here is verifiable. Firey’s been tracking it.”
Donut pushed himself upright on his elbows, ears perked. “He’s been… planning this? Quietly?”
Firey nodded, a bit of shame coloring his expression. “I didn’t want anyone else to get dragged into it before I knew exactly what I had. But it’s bigger than I thought. I need support… and I need a plan.”
Gelatin leaned forward, inspecting the screenshots with an analytical glint. “The scale is… definitely something... But you’ve got a solid foundation here,, that’s better than nothing!”
Leafy drummed his fingers on the armrest. “So… we’re talking evidence, presentation, maybe even administration? Like a… full-on exposé?”
Pin gave a small nod. “Exactly. But carefully. We don’t want this to backfire. It has to be factual, organized, and clear. No emotional explosions in public, at least not until we have all the pieces lined up.”
Donut shuffled closer, still clutching his cookie. “I can… help? Like… logistics? Flyers? Digital stuff?”
Firey smiled faintly. “Yeah. That would help more than you know.”
Leafy leaned back, grinning slightly despite the tension. “Okay, so I get the gist. Firey’s tracking Nickel. Pin’s helping strategize. Donut and Gelatin and I… we support. Simple enough.”
Pin gave him a pointed look. “Not exactly simple, but yes, you three are critical support. And you’ll need to be careful. This isn’t something you announce publicly until we’re ready.”
Gelatin nodded, giving his notes one last careful adjustment. “Understood. Observation, support, coordination. Got it.”
Firey’s chest loosened slightly. “Thanks, all of you. I… I didn’t want to go through this alone. And having you guys here makes it feel… possible.”
Leafy smirked. “Well, someone has to keep you sane while you’re knee-deep in Nickel’s mess.”
Pin gave Firey’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “See? You’ve got a team. Now, let’s go through everything methodically. Step one: make sure we have a complete timeline.”
Firey nodded, fingers poised over the trackpad, as they all leaned in toward the laptop. Donut sprawled beside Gelatin, Leafy peeked over the screen with wide eyes, and Gelatin meticulously annotated key points with big bright colors.
For the first time in a long while, Firey felt that even in the middle of chaos, he wasn’t alone, and maybe, just maybe, they could make things right.
Firey leaned back slightly, rubbing his eyes. “Okay… so, step one is getting all this in front of the right people. But here’s the problem.. me, Pin, and Coiny already went to Two and Four. We explained everything. Told them exactly what Nickel’s been doing, showed them the evidence… and nothing’s been done yet.”
Leafy frowned, leaning over the laptop. “Wait, nothing? They just… let it slide?”
Pin crossed her arms, thinking. “It’s not that they’re ignoring it. There’s… a lot of bureaucracy. And Four seems like they enjoy chaos a little too much. Two is more reasonable, but even they have limits.”
Gelatin tapped a sticky note with a pen. “So you need a way to compel action. Something undeniableeee and something that makes it impossible to ignore!”
Donut perked up. “You mean… evidence and witnesses? Like, something that proves Nickel can’t weasel his way out?”
Firey nodded. “We’ve already done that, that’s what we submitted to Two.” He leaned forward again, voice low but steady. “We need a strategy. Something that forces them to act, but doesn’t end up backfiring on anyone who’s been hurt.”
Halfway through their discussion, a soft knock at the door made all four of them look up.
Coiny leaned in with his usual grin, though it was laced with relief. “Hey, I just got back from… well, Two and Four. And it went well.”
Firey blinked. “Wait– what? Already?”
Coiny stepped fully inside, shrugging. “Yeah. They’ve read everything. They’re… taking our side. Two actually listened and promised action. Four, well… they’re still Four, but they can’t argue when the evidence’s solid.”
Pin let out a small, satisfied sigh, shoulders relaxing. “That’s… a relief. At least we’ve got some authority backing us now.”
Donut raised an eyebrow. “So… you’re saying Nickel can’t just keep acting like nothing’s wrong?”
Firey shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Not this time. We’ve got the evidence. And now we’ve got people who will act on it.”
Gelatin adjusted his notes again. “Then we just gotta organize it right!”
Leafy leaned back in the chair, smirking. “Execution. Sounds fancy. I like that more.”
Coiny plopped down on the floor, leaning against the wall. “Execution, baby. That’s what this is. And now? Now we watch Nickel squirm.”
Firey allowed himself a small laugh, feeling the tension ease slightly. “Yeah… now we do it right.”
Pin rested a hand lightly on his shoulder, giving him a quiet smile. “Step by step. Together.”
Gelatin’s tablet beeped sharply, breaking the quiet hum of the dorm room. He frowned, glancing down. “Ah… right. I’ve got a meeting with Ruby. Can’t exactly skip that.”
Donut’s ears perked up immediately. “You mean I get to go too?”
Gelatin smirked faintly. “Of course. Someone needs to keep you out of trouble while I’m gone.”
With a quick stretch, Gelatin gathered his notes and tablet, while Donut lazily rolled to his feet, brushing crumbs off his fur. “Alright, alright… let’s make this quick,” Donut muttered, already eyeing the door.
Firey and Pin both waved as the pair left. “Good luck,” Pin said, half teasing.
“Bring back stories!” Firey called after them.
Once the door closed behind Gelatin and Donut, Leafy looked down at his phone and groaned. “Well… speaking of meetings. I have one in ten minutes. Can’t exactly bail on my responsibilities.”
Pin raised an eyebrow. “Busy day for everyone, huh?”
Leafy gave a half-grin. “Yeah, yeah. Someone’s gotta keep the campus running smoothly. Or pretend to.”
He grabbed his headphones and backpack, pausing to give Firey a reassuring nod. “You guys hold the fort here. Don’t let Nickel, or anyone else, mess with your plans.”
Firey nodded, feeling the quiet settle back in. The room suddenly felt emptier with three of them gone, but it also gave him space to focus. Pin leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed but her expression softening.
“Looks like it’s just us,” she said. “Perfect time to double-check everything before we move forward.”
Firey exhaled, sitting down with the laptop again. “Yeah… just us. And for the first time in a while, it feels like we can handle this.”
Pin gave his shoulder a light squeeze. “We will. Step by step.”
Firey glanced at her, gratitude in his eyes. “Thanks, Pin. For… everything.”
She shrugged, giving a small, teasing smile. “Don’t make it weird, Leaf Guy.”

Firey leaned forward, fingers hovering over the laptop keyboard. “Okay… I’ve been thinking. If Nickel’s been using the system, the memes, AI text bots, screenshots, the whole thing to make people look bad… maybe we can flip it. Turn his own tricks against him.”
Pin raised an eyebrow. “You mean… weaponize the harassment back at him?”
Firey shook his head slightly. “Not exactly ‘weaponize.’ More like… expose it in a way that can’t be ignored. We have the evidence. We know the pattern. We know how fast things escalate online. If we can document HOW he’s doing it, step by step, and show it to the authorities, it makes it undeniable.”
Coiny, perched on the edge of the couch with arms crossed, grinned. “Ohhh! I like that. Hit him with his own garbage. Classic flip move. And it’s gonna sting, oh yeah. He won’t know what hit him.”
Pin tapped her fingers against the table, thinking. “So, a sort of… controlled leak. Step-by-step demonstration of his methods. That way it’s concrete. Hard to argue against.”
Firey nodded, scrolling through the screenshots. “Exactly. Everything he’s done, in chronological order. AI-generated stuff, the memes, the reposts, everything. If we can package it neatly, it’ll force action. Two and Four, or whoever else needs to see it won’t have a choice.”
Coiny leaned forward, excitement buzzing in his voice. “And don’t forget witnesses! We’ve got firsthand action, baby. Me, Firey, Bomby… maybe even some of the other students who’ve been hit. Their statements make it airtight.”
Pin leaned closer. “Right. Combine the digital evidence with statements. Nothing he can spin.”
Firey exhaled, finally letting some tension drain from his shoulders. “Yeah… step by step. I just want it to end this time. For good.”
Pin smiled faintly, giving him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “It will. You’re being methodical now. And you’re not alone.”
Coiny reached over, tapping Firey’s shoulder with a grin. “You got me, Leaf Guy. And I’m not letting anyone mess with you while we’re at it. We’re a team, and I’m all in.”
Firey gave them both a small, grateful smile. “Thanks, you two. Seriously. I feel… more in control than I have in weeks.”
Pin tilted her head, smirking. “The best part? Nickel won’t even see it coming. Step by step, evidence by evidence, we corner him. He thinks he’s clever but we have the real story.”
Coiny leaned back, folding his arms with a satisfied grin. “Oh yeah. He won’t know what hit him. And if he tries anything dumb? I’ll make sure it doesn’t end well.”
Firey’s gaze shifted back to the laptop. Screenshots, timestamps, AI captions, and messages all lined up. For the first time, the chaos felt like it had a path forward. And with Pin and Coiny by his side, he wasn’t just reacting to Nickel anymore, he was ready to outsmart him, carefully, strategically, and for good.
Firey leaned back in his chair, watching as Pin opened a fresh spreadsheet and started mapping out the logical steps.
“Step one,” she said, tapping the table with a pencil, “we consolidate all evidence from our school, the screenshots, AI-generated posts, timestamps, student testimonies. That part’s mostly done. Step two, we need corroborating evidence from Nickel’s other schools. That’s trickier, but we can do it methodically.”
Coiny spun around in his chair, grinning. “Tricky, huh? I like tricky. Let’s make it messy… in a controlled way! Chaos is fun.”
Pin shot him a side glance, unimpressed. “Controlled, yes. Messy? Absolutely not. If we make mistakes, it all falls apart.”
Firey rubbed his temples, half-exasperated but secretly amused. “I think the trick is… we let Pin organize it, then Coiny does the flashy part. Screenshots, captions, maybe even screenshots of AI tools Nickel used… all collected and timestamped.”
Coiny grinned. “Exactly! And while Pin’s keeping it neat, I can, you know… add pizzazz. Make it so obvious that Nickel can’t wiggle out. POW! Evidence, chaos style.”
Pin rolled her eyes, tapping on the keyboard. “You mean highlighting patterns clearly, labeling sources, and linking corroborating posts. That counts as chaos, I suppose.”
Firey laughed quietly. “Fine, chaos in the name of justice.”
They set to work. Pin systematically mapped out what they had from their school: memes, screenshots, AI messages, and student statements. Every file got a label, a source, a timestamp. Meanwhile, Coiny jumped around online, combing forums, public posts, and AI-generated memes from other campuses.
“Got one!” Coiny exclaimed, holding up his tablet. “Look at this! He made a meme with someone from Southfield High. Timestamped last year. And he tagged it as ‘funny, nothing personal.’ Hah!”
Pin frowned at him, eyes narrowing. “Hah? This is serious. And that tag… classic Nickel deflection. We need to catalog it, not laugh at it.
Firey intervened, gently resting a hand on Coiny’s shoulder. “We catalog it. Then you can laugh all you want.”
Coiny grinned, leaning in to type the details. “Fine. I’ll behave… for now.”
Hours passed. Screenshots piled up. AI logs were carefully archived. Pin maintained her meticulous structure, color-coding by school, severity, and type of harassment. Coiny occasionally added emojis to highlight particularly egregious memes, purely for his own amusement, but kept the details accurate. Firey acted as the overseer, cross-checking timestamps and coordinating between the two extremes of methodical logic and chaotic energy.
Finally, Firey leaned back, staring at the screen. “We have enough. Enough evidence that Two and Four can’t ignore it. Enough that Nickel’s tricks are clearly laid bare.”
Pin stretched, letting out a quiet sigh. “It’s organized. It’s airtight. And if we present it properly, there’s no way he can spin this.”
Coiny leaned back in his chair, feet on the desk, grinning from ear to ear. “And if he tries? Oh, baby… I’ll make sure it backfires spectacularly.”
Firey allowed himself a small laugh, feeling the weight lift just slightly. “Okay. Step two complete. Step three: actually submit this and get them to act.”
Pin nodded, already typing a checklist. “Step three is all about strategy. Timing, presentation, clarity. One wrong move and it could backfire. But we’ve got the material. We’ve got the team. We just have to execute.”
Coiny leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “And we will execute. Chaos, logic, and Leaf Guy leading the charge. Let’s go get him.”
Pin tapped her pencil against the table, thinking. “Step one is clarity. We don’t just dump this on them. We need to present it logically, chronologically, highlighting patterns and consequences. Two and Four need to see exactly what’s happening and how widespread it is, without room to dodge responsibility.”
Coiny leaned back in his chair, arms crossed with a grin. “And step two? Make it dramatic. Not stupid dramatic, just… you know, enough to make them feel the sting without it blowing up in our faces.”
Firey gave him a sideways glance. “You mean the ‘chaotic flair’ part, right?”
Coiny winked. “Exactly. Step one: logic. Step two: chaos. Works every time.”
Pin rolled her eyes but smiled faintly. “Fine. Logic first, chaos second. Let’s talk specifics. Firey, you lead. You explain the patterns and consequences. I handle the step-by-step breakdown, and Coiny… you keep an eye out for anything Nickel tries to spin, and maybe provide visual emphasis when necessary.”
Coiny puffed up proudly. “You got it, boss. Leave the theatrical flair to me.”
Firey nodded, taking a deep breath. “Alright. I think we should request a formal meeting with both Two and Four together. That way we present a united front. No one can claim we’re twisting facts or misrepresenting things.”
Pin made a note. “Agreed. And we should send the document, clearly annotated. I’ll create a concise executive summary that highlights the main points first, patterns, AI amplification, student impact. Then the evidence follows, detailed and chronologically organized.”
Coiny leaned over the laptop, pointing at a particularly egregious AI-generated meme. “And I can highlight the worst of these… like visual emphasis. Make it impossible to ignore.”
Firey nodded. “Yes. That’s perfect. Pin, you make the structure airtight. Coiny, you make it impossible to downplay. And I… I’ll explain how all this ties together, why it matters, and what needs to be done.”
Pin added, “And we need a plan for follow-ups. Two seems reasonable, but Four… unpredictable. We’ll need to anticipate pushback, questions, maybe even attempts to deflect blame.”
Coiny cracked his knuckles. “Then we’re ready. Let them try to spin it. Chaos meets logic. They won’t see it coming.”
Firey took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the plan settle in. “Okay. Document ready, strategy mapped, roles assigned. Step one: request the meeting. Step two: present evidence clearly and calmly. Step three: force accountability. Step four…” He glanced at Pin and Coiny with a small grin. “…profit. Or at least, justice.”
Pin smirked. “Keep it professional. Justice, not profit.”
Coiny threw up his hands, laughing. “Fine, fine. But a little flair never hurt anyone.”
Firey leaned back, heart pounding slightly but steady. “Alright. Let’s do this. Together. Step by step. No room for Nickel to manipulate, no room for hesitation. We’ve got the evidence. We’ve got the plan. And this time, we’re making sure it sticks.”
Pin nodded, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Coiny grinned beside him. For the first time in a long time, Firey felt ready, not just reacting to chaos, but controlling it, armed with strategy, allies, and purpose.
Finally, they finished the official document:

“Dear Dean Two and Assistant Principal Four,
I am writing to formally report ongoing harassment and defamation carried out by student Nickel. This behavior includes direct targeting of students on campus, online harassment amplified through AI tools, meme propagation, and cross-campus incidents. The evidence demonstrates a clear pattern of abuse, the use of technology to amplify harm, and the real impact on victims. Immediate intervention and accountability measures are necessary to prevent further escalation.

Incident Overview – Our Campus
Primary Target: Firey
Nature of Harassment: Online memes, AI-generated images with captions, spreading rumors on CampusHub, personal insults, and coordinated amplification through reposts.

Timeline of Events:
[Sep 1] – Initial meme posted on CampusHub
[Sep 7] – AI-generated captions added
[Oct 3] – Screenshots collected
[Oct 5] – Multiple reposts across student forums
Impact: Emotional distress, social isolation, ongoing anxiety for Firey; evidence indicates Nickel’s intent to humiliate.
Attached Evidence: Screenshots, AI-generated memes, witness statements, and a chronological spreadsheet.

Cross-Campus Incidents:
Evidence from other schools shows similar patterns:
Southfield High: AI meme targeting a student, timestamped
Riverside Prep: Social media reposts of personal rumors
Greenwood Academy: Coordinated AI text amplification
Nickel’s behavior is repetitive, escalating, and systematic.
Attached Evidence: Screenshots, links, and notes on AI usage.

Methods of Harassment
AI-generated offensive memes and captions
Exploitation of reposting mechanisms for amplification
Peer manipulation and social pressure
Multi-campus targeting

Proposed Actions & Recommendations
Review Nickel’s conduct records and past behavior
Temporary restrictions on CampusHub and related platforms
Counseling/support for victims
Coordination with other schools to address repeated harassment
Education on responsible AI use and online behavior

Conclusion
Nickel’s harassment is not isolated; it is a coordinated, escalating pattern. The evidence compiled is verifiable, chronological, and extensive. Prompt action is necessary to prevent further harm and uphold campus safety and standards.

Attachments:
CampusHub screenshots (annotated and dated)
AI-generated meme files
Witness statements (anonymized)
Cross-campus evidence (Southfield High, Riverside Prep, Greenwood Academy)
Chronological spreadsheet of all incidents”

Firey stared at the screen for a long moment after hitting “send.” The cursor blinked at him from the empty message box, a quiet reminder that the report was out of his hands now.
His chest felt tight, a mix of anticipation and lingering dread. What if they dismiss it? What if Nickel manages to spin it anyway?
Pin, half-asleep, leaned against his shoulder, her head heavy but her hand still warm on his arm. “Hey… it’s done,” she murmured, her voice soft and steady despite her own exhaustion. “You did everything you could. You prepared it. You thought it through.”
Firey gave a short, tense exhale. “I know… but what if it’s not enough? What if they don’t take it seriously?”
Pin tilted her head just enough to press a light kiss against his shoulder. “Then we go again. But for now… breathe. You’re not alone in this.”
Coiny was sprawled across the other side of the couch, snoring lightly, completely oblivious to the weight of the world still pressing on Firey’s mind. The sight made Firey crack a small, shaky smile.
“Look at him,” Firey whispered, more to himself than anyone else. “Completely out cold. Doesn’t care… how do you do that?”
Pin let out a quiet laugh, muffled against his shoulder. “Some of us just know how to survive sleep better than chaos.”
Firey leaned back slightly, resting his head against hers. For the first time in hours, the tension in his shoulders eased, even if just a little. The report was sent, the evidence compiled, and though the outcome was unknown, he had done everything he could.
“Thanks,” he murmured quietly, his voice nearly lost in the quiet hum of the dorm room.
Pin shifted slightly to tighten her hold, her eyes half open, but soft. “You don’t have to thank me. Just… rest, okay? You’ve earned it.”
Firey nodded, letting himself relax into her warmth. Coiny’s soft snoring, Pin’s gentle pressure against him, and the quiet of the room created a fragile bubble of peace. Outside, the chaos of the campus waited, but here, right now, there was calm.
And for the first time in a long while, Firey let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, they could face it together.
He closed his eyes, leaning a little more into Pin, the weight on his chest easing as sleep, if not full relief, crept toward him.

Firey woke to the sound of someone yelling. At first, his groggy mind thought Nickel had barged into the dorm, but the laughter that followed quickly killed that fear.
“GUESS WHO’S FAMOUS NOW?!” Coiny’s voice boomed across the room. “NOT YOU THIS TIME, FIREY!! IT’S NICKEL!”
Firey cracked one eye open, groaning as he realized Coiny was standing on Gelatin’s desk chair like it was a soapbox. Gelatin was right beside him, bouncing with equal energy, grinning ear to ear.
“People are TALKING, dude,” Gelatin said, shaking Firey’s shoulder as if the news couldn’t wait another second. “Like, seriously talking. Half the quad was whispering about Nickel this morning!! Screenshots, AI stuff, everything. You did it, man. You actually did it.”
Pin stirred beside Firey, blinking awake. She groaned softly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. “Do you two ever not yell first thing in the morning?”
“Nope!” Coiny said proudly, jumping down from the chair with a loud thud. “But hey,, you’re gonna wanna be awake for this. The Nickel rumor mill is finally chewing him up for once.”
Gelatin nodded eagerly. “I mean, it’s not everyone. Some people are still skeptical. But a lot of students are realizing, like… ‘Oh wow, maybe this guy HAS been pulling the same shit over and over.’ It’s not just Firey anymore!!”
Firey sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. His chest tightened, but not in the same crushing way as before. This time it was something stranger,, part relief, part disbelief. “So they’re finally noticing,” he said quietly. “Took long enough.”
Pin yawned and leaned against Firey’s arm, still half-asleep but smiling faintly. “Small victories,” she murmured. “You can’t tear down a whole wall at once.. you chip away at it. And look, the cracks are showing.”
Coiny clapped his hands together like they’d just won a championship. “Exactly! First the gossip, then the downfall. Oh man, I should make signs. ‘DOWN WITH NICKEL’... no, wait, ‘STICK IT TO NICKEL,’ that’s better.”
Pin gave him a tired side-eye. “Don’t get too carried away.”
Gelatin laughed, plopping back onto his bed. “Carried away? That’s literally his default setting.”
Firey let out a small chuckle, the weight on his chest easing. For once, the conversation wasn’t about him being the joke. It was about Nickel facing consequences. It wasn’t everything, but it was something. And right now, something was enough.
Firey leaned back against the wall, listening to Coiny and Gelatin bounce off each other like they’d just won the lottery. Their voices overlapped. Coiny shouting about poster ideas, Gelatin already imagining Nickel’s face plastered with captions like “Certified Menace.”
For once, the laughter in the room wasn’t at Firey’s expense. That should’ve felt like a clean victory, but a knot still sat in his stomach. He folded his arms, letting out a slow breath. “It’s good people are noticing,” he admitted, “but this doesn’t mean Nickel’s done. He’s not the type to just give up.”
Pin, still tucked close at his side, hummed softly in agreement. She shifted enough to look at him, her hand brushing against his as though reminding him she was there. “You’re right. He’ll push back. But you’re not alone in this. Remember that.”
Firey’s eyes softened, his chest easing slightly. Having her there, steady and calm, kept him from spiraling into the what-ifs.
Meanwhile, Coiny whooped and nearly knocked over Gelatin’s lamp. “ARE YOU HEARING THIS, FIREY? You’re not the campus clown anymore, Nickel is! Oh man, this is the best turnaround ever.”
Gelatin laughed so hard he nearly fell off his bed. “He’s finally getting clowned back! I thought this day would never come.”
Their joy was infectious, even if Firey couldn’t fully share it. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth despite himself. He couldn’t ignore the risks but he also couldn’t deny it felt good, really good, to not be the only one carrying the truth anymore.
The laughter in the dorm went on for a while. Coiny and Gelatin throwing out wilder and wilder ideas, Pin giving her trademark dry retorts, Firey quietly soaking in the relief of not being the joke this time. But eventually, the noise began to die down, the energy burning itself out into restless silence.
Gelatin flopped backward onto his bed, still grinning. “We can’t just sit here all day, though. Everyone’s buzzing about this out there. Feels like half the campus is trading stories right now.”
“Then let’s be out there,” Coiny said, already grabbing his hoodie from the chair. “See it for ourselves. Take the pulse. Maybe stir the pot a little while we’re at it.”
Pin shot him a look. “We’re not stirring anything.”
“Aw, come on,” Coiny said with a grin, slinging his jacket on. “A little stirring never hurt anybody.”
Firey rubbed the back of his neck, caught between weariness and curiosity. He wanted to stay hidden, to let the noise play out without him, but part of him needed to know what people were saying, needed to see it with his own eyes.
“Fine,” he said finally. “Let’s just… walk. Listen. Nothing more.”
Pin stood, stretching, and nodded. “We’ll keep it measured.”
The four of them filed out of the dorm, the hallways alive with voices and the thrum of activity. Bits of gossip floated past as they walked, Nickel’s name popping up more than once. Firey’s stomach twisted at each mention, but Pin’s quiet hand brushing against his arm kept him steady.
They wove through the campus pathways, past benches packed with gossiping students and bulletin boards now plastered with sarcastic doodles and anonymous flyers Nickel couldn’t have been happy about.
Coiny was eating it all up. “Look at this one—” he snatched a flyer taped crookedly to a lamppost.
Gelatin doubled over, practically wheezing, while Firey gave a weak smile.
Pin shot them both an unimpressed glare, but she didn’t break stride. She stayed near Firey, subtly keeping pace with him even when he slowed. Every now and then her shoulder brushed against his, a quiet anchor in the noise.
Firey’s eyes kept drifting. Not to the flyers or the groups laughing, but to the smaller things. A student scrolling on their phone who muttered, “Nah, I don’t wanna spread that,” before switching apps. Two classmates shutting down someone trying to rehash Nickel’s drama. A little bubble of silence where normally there would’ve been more ridicule.
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
Still, each shift came with a sting. For every person refusing to fuel the fire, there were three more leaning in close to whisper. For every joke made at Nickel’s expense, there was a look shot in Firey’s direction that made his chest tighten.
He tugged his hoodie tighter, eyes down, the sounds blending into a low, heavy drone. His thoughts slipped: They’re laughing at Nickel, but how long before it swings back to me? How long before they forget what he did and remember what I did?
Coiny clapped a hand on his back, jolting him out of his spiral. “Hey, don’t zone out! You gotta hear this one. Somebody said Nickel tried bribing the vending machine with a five-dollar bill.” He barked out a laugh at his own joke. “Honestly believable.”
Firey huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh, but his stomach still churned. The air felt too loud, too tight. His skin prickled with the weight of every voice, every glance.
Pin caught it. She leaned in, her voice low enough just for him. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah,” he said quickly, maybe too quickly. He forced a smile, but it faltered almost immediately. His hands fidgeted with his hoodie strings again.
They turned the corner, the crowd swelling, conversations crashing over each other in a tide of noise. Laughter. Rumors. Shouts. Coiny’s booming commentary cutting right through the middle of it all.
Firey’s breathing quickened, chest tightening. The thought crept back, sharp this time: I need to get out of here.
By the time they pushed open the side doors and stepped into the daylight, it felt like the whole campus was humming. Students leaned against railings, gathered in clusters, laughing, whispering. Firey’s chest tightened,, some eyes darted toward him, some just skimmed past.
He swallowed. Already, he could feel that familiar urge clawing at him, to escape, to find somewhere quiet, somewhere private where the buzz couldn’t reach him.
They reached the fountain at the center of campus, where even more clusters of students lingered, voices rising and tangling together in the open air. Firey slowed again, his sneakers dragging slightly against the pavement. His eyes kept darting around. faces, eyes, laughter, all of it blurring into a hum he couldn’t separate himself from.
A few heads turned, some students laughed, some just rolled their eyes. Gelatin grinned ear-to-ear, clearly thriving in the chaos.
But Firey flinched. His pulse quickened, sweat dampening his palms. Even when the laughter wasn’t at him, it felt like it was.
Pin caught the shift in his posture. She stepped closer, resting her hand briefly on his arm. “Firey.” Her voice was calm, steady, almost clinical. “You don’t have to keep pushing yourself. If it’s too much, step back. No one here is going to judge you for that.”
He swallowed hard, throat tight. “I… I’m fine. Just–” His voice cracked, betraying him. He exhaled sharply, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “I just need… a second.”
Coiny glanced over, tone softening just a fraction. “Hey, man. Do what you gotta do. We’ll keep the circus going without you.”
Firey managed a tiny nod, forcing a half-smile. “Thanks. I’ll, uh… catch up.”
Without waiting for them to press, he turned, slipping past a group of students and toward the side hall of the nearest building. Each step away felt like peeling himself out of a storm.. noise fading, air cooling, the buzz receding into silence.
The fluorescent-lit hallway greeted him with a stark emptiness. His pace quickened until he ducked into the bathroom, pushing the door closed behind him.
Finally, Quiet.
Firey leaned against the sink, breathing hard, gripping the porcelain like it was the only thing holding him steady.
Firey braced himself against the sink, chest heaving, the cold porcelain biting into his palms. For a while he just stared at the water stains on the mirror, letting the fluorescent hum fill the silence.
You’re back here again. The thought cut sharp. A bathroom, hiding from noise, hiding from people. Just like all those times when rumors ate him alive and the only escape was four walls and a locked door.
He shut his eyes, forcing his breathing to slow. But it’s not the same, is it?
Because this time, the whispers weren’t about him. Not really. And he wasn’t helpless. He’d fought back. He and Pin and Coiny had built something solid, undeniable. Evidence. A voice that couldn’t be ignored.
He opened his eyes again, meeting his own reflection. His face looked drawn, tired, but steadier than it would’ve been months ago.
You’re not just surviving anymore. You’re changing things.
The thought settled into him like a weight shifting off his shoulders. He wasn’t just a target waiting for the next blow. He was steering, shaping, making choices that mattered. Even if Nickel came at him harder, Firey wasn’t going to just curl up and take it.
His fingers finally eased their grip on the sink. The echo of laughter outside didn’t sting the same way. He exhaled long and slow, almost a release.
I’m not running. Not anymore.
Firey lingered for another breath, grounding himself in the quiet. His heartbeat had slowed, the frantic edge dulled into something steadier. He straightened, smoothing his hoodie with shaky hands before reaching for the door.
The hallway greeted him again, harshly lit and empty. For once, it didn’t feel like a hiding place. It felt like a threshold.
He walked forward, step by step, until the noise of campus life began filtering back in.. the chatter, the laughter, the echoes of rumor. It was all still there, buzzing, alive. But this time it didn’t swallow him whole.
Firey adjusted his camera bag strap and drew in a breath. He wasn’t walking back to chaos as someone cornered, desperate. He was walking back as someone who had choices, who had already started shaping the outcome.
And as the muffled shouts of Coiny and Gelatin floated faintly from somewhere ahead, ridiculous, exaggerated, so them. Firey let the corner of his mouth lift. He’d face whatever came next.
On his own two feet.

Firey stepped out into the light. The air smelled faintly of grass and concrete dust, the campus alive with chatter that seemed less overwhelming now, more distant.
When he walked out, there came the unmistakable sound of Coiny’s voice, booming and impossible to miss:
“NO, I’M TELLING YOU, IF HE WERE A VILLAIN, HE’D HAVE THEME MUSIC. AND I HAVEN’T HEARD A SINGLE NOTE.”
Gelatin’s laugh followed, bright and goofy, drawing curious looks from a few students as they passed.
Firey found himself smiling despite everything. That was his anchor. Pin’s quiet steadiness, Coiny’s loud defiance, Gelatin’s joy. Together, it didn’t feel impossible.
He adjusted his pace toward them, slow but deliberate, ready to step back into the current.
Firey had only taken a few steps toward Coiny and Gelatin when the sharp, cutting voice came from behind him.
“FIREY!.”
He stiffened immediately, stomach turning. That voice could belong to only one person.
Turning slowly, he caught sight of Four, striding across the quad with long, impatient steps. Clipboard tucked under one arm, pen tapping relentlessly against it like a countdown to something inevitable. Their sharp eyes locked on Firey with an intensity that made it feel like he’d already done something wrong just by existing.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Four snapped, jerking their head toward the quieter pathway lining the edge of the quad. “Walk. Now.”
The chatter around them shifted into whispers. Coiny half-rose from his seat on the fountain rim, fists clenching, but Firey shot him a quick look: Stay. Coiny froze, jaw tight, reluctantly dropping back down as Firey obeyed.
The walk felt longer than it was. Four said nothing at first, only clicking their pen, a rhythm sharp enough to set Firey’s nerves on edge. Finally, when the sounds of campus dulled behind them, Four spoke without looking at him.
“So,” they drawled, voice teetering between amusement and disdain, “I read your little… document.”
Firey’s pulse jumped. He couldn’t tell if that was good or bad.
Four finally glanced sideways at him, a smirk tugging at their mouth. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect… you… of all people to grow a spine and send something like that. Usually, people in your position just curl up and cry until it blows over.” Their tone sharpened, eyes flashing. “Pathetic, really. But you—” they jabbed the pen in Firey’s direction, “—at least had the guts to drag it into the light.”
Firey swallowed, unsure if that was praise or another insult. Maybe both??
“Of course,” Four continued, eyes flicking back to their clipboard, “you gave me the bones of the situation. Now I want the flesh. The details. Every. Ugly. Bit!!” They stopped walking, turning to face Firey fully, pen poised like a dagger waiting to strike. “You claim Nickel’s harassment isn’t isolated? Prove it. Explain how far this goes.”
The demand landed like a gauntlet. Firey’s chest tightened, but there was no malice in Four’s tone this time,, only a strange mix of hunger and expectation. Sadistic curiosity. Narcissistic delight in dragging someone’s pain into the open. And yet, beneath it all, a professionalism that suggested they was listening, that this wasn’t just for sport.
Firey shifted on his feet, steadying himself. “I can… I can tell you what we found. There’s more,, at other schools, even. He’s been doing this for a while.”
Four’s smirk widened, predatory but oddly approving. “Good. Very good. Don’t hold back on me, Firey. If you’ve got dirt, I want it ALLL!”
The pen tapped against the clipboard again, faster now, like a heartbeat accelerating.
Firey’s throat felt dry, but he forced the words out. “Nickel’s not… new to this. It’s not just here. We found posts and stories from his last school. Students who said the same things happened,, humiliation, harassment, even rumors generated with AI tools.”
Four’s eyes narrowed, pen frozen mid-tap. “Go on.”
“He’d find a target, twist something small into a joke, and then push until it wasn’t just him anymore. He got everyone to pile on. By the time his targets realized what was happening, it was too late. They’d already been reduced to a meme.” Firey’s jaw tightened. “I know, because that’s exactly what happened to me.”
Four tilted their head, studying him like a specimen. “So you’re saying this isn’t just cruelty.. it’s a pattern.” Their grin was sharp and humorless. “And he’s gotten good at it.”
Firey bristled at the casual tone, but nodded. “Yes. That’s why I sent the document. Because if no one stops him, it’ll just keep happening.”
Four let out a sharp laugh, startling in the quiet walkway. “You almost sound righteous, Firey. Cute.” They leaned in slightly, lowering their voice, though the edge in it was still razor-sharp. “But don’t confuse me for someone who cares about your feelings. I care about control. Order. The school looking good. Nickel’s antics make me look bad, and I don’t tolerate that.”
They straightened, pen clicking furiously as they scribbled something onto the clipboard. Then, abruptly, they snapped the pen shut and looked Firey dead in the eye.
“You’ve given me something to work with. That’s good.” They smirked again. “Now, tell me… do you have proof that ties all these schools together, or are you just spinning a sob story because you’re still upset about your little ‘Leaf Guy’ moment?”
Firey’s chest tightened, but he kept steady. “We do. Screenshots, testimonies, timestamps. We’ve been gathering them. It’s all attached to the file I sent.”
Four let out a satisfied hum, like a cat playing with a cornered mouse. “Excellent. You’re not as useless as I thought.”
They stepped back, tapping the clipboard against their palm. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll be reviewing this evidence. Thoroughly. And if I find you’ve exaggerated anything, I’ll bury you just as hard as I’ll bury Nickel. Understand?”
Firey’s fists clenched at his sides. He hated the smugness in Four’s voice, but he also recognized the opening he was being given. “I understand,” he said firmly.
Four’s grin widened. “Good boy!” They turned sharply, gesturing back toward campus. “Now get back to your little friends before I change my mind about being civil.”
Firey stood frozen for a beat, adrenaline thrumming, before turning to walk back. He could feel Four’s gaze burning into his back until the sounds of the quad swallowed it up again.
The quad’s noise rushed back to meet him like a wave as Firey retraced his steps, pulse still racing from Four’s interrogation. He spotted Coiny first, standing on the fountain rim now, scanning the crowd like a guard dog waiting for trouble. Gelatin was bouncing impatiently on his heels, and Pin stood with her arms crossed, gaze fixed on Firey the second he came into view.
“There he is,” Coiny barked, hopping down with a thud. “What the hell took so long? I was two seconds from going over there and—”
“Coiny,” Pin cut in sharply, her eyes flicking between Firey’s face and the direction he’d come from. “Let him talk.”
Firey stopped a few feet from them, exhaling slowly. He tried to shake the lingering feeling of Four’s eyes burning into his back. “They pulled me aside. Wanted more details about the document we sent.”
Gelatin blinked. “Wait, like, actually listened? Four?” He let out a nervous laugh. “That’s a plot twist.”
Pin stepped closer, her expression softening. “And? What did you tell them?”
Firey rubbed the back of his neck. “The truth. About Nickel. About the pattern. About the evidence from the other schools.” He hesitated before adding, “They said they’re going to review it. Thoroughly.”
Coiny snorted, throwing his hands up. “Great. Translation: he’s gonna twist it around until it makes him look like the hero.”
“Maybe,” Firey admitted. “But at least they didn’t dismiss it. That’s… something.”
Pin’s hand brushed his arm, grounding him. “It is something. Don’t downplay that.”
Gelatin grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “See? Small victories. Next thing you know, they’ll have Nickel scrubbing toilets as punishment!!”
Coiny laughed at that, too loud and too sudden, drawing a few looks. Firey managed a smile, but the weight in his chest didn’t completely lift. Four had made themself very clear: this was almost over.
Still, as he looked at his friends, Pin’s steady gaze, Coiny’s protective energy, Gelatin’s relentless optimism, he felt steadier than he had walking away from Four alone.
The four of them fell into step together, the hum of the quad fading behind them. For once, their strides felt… aligned.
Firey’s thoughts ran ahead, calculating, planning. He’d never asked for this role, but the others looked to him now, and that weight, while heavy, sat on his shoulders a little more comfortably than before.
Pin walked close at his side, notebook in hand, already jotting down bullet points. “We’ll need to organize the evidence cleanly. If Four really does review it, we can’t give them a single excuse to dismiss it.” Her words were sharp, but her tone was precise.
Gelatin, who usually joked his way out of tension, actually looked thoughtful. “What if we set it up so other students can share their own stories, too? Like… anonymously? If Nickel’s done this before, then more voices will only make it harder for him to hide.” He glanced at Firey for approval, and for the first time, Firey didn’t feel like the younger student was just tagging along, he was contributing.
And then there was Coiny. He wasn’t scribbling notes or suggesting strategies. He was muttering under his breath about “kicking Nickel’s smug little face in” and throwing his fists around like invisible punches. Chaotic, yes. But when Firey caught his eye, Coiny’s grin softened into something protective, instinctive. The kind of loyalty that didn’t need words.
For a moment, Firey let himself see it clearly: they were becoming a trio,, with their pet dog. Oh what? He might as well be. Not just thrown together by circumstance, but bound by choice. Firey leading, Pin sharpening the details, Gelatin thinking from new angles, Coiny charging forward without fear.
But the moment didn’t last.
Because the other truth hovered over them, unspoken but heavy. Nickel wasn’t gone. Not yet. And when he realized how much of his act had been dragged into the open, he wouldn’t just sulk. He’d fight back.
Firey exhaled, jaw tightening. “We’ve got momentum. But we can’t get comfortable. He’s not going to just roll over.”
Pin tucked her notebook against her chest and nodded. “Then we stay ahead of him.”
Gelatin hummed in agreement, then broke into a grin. “Yeah! Besides, if Nickel tries something, he’s outnumbered.”
Coiny smirked, cracking his knuckles with exaggerated flair. “Outnumbered and outmatched.”
The words were bravado, sure, but Firey felt something stronger pulsing underneath them.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel like he was fighting alone.

By the time the sun dipped low, streaking the sky in oranges and purples, the campus buzz had thinned out. Students drifted back to dorms and study halls, leaving the grounds quieter than usual. Firey, Pin, and Coiny wandered off together, following a dirt path that wound to an open field behind the science building. Gelatin had peeled away earlier, muttering something about “needing a brain break,” and none of them pushed him to stay.
The grass swayed lightly in the evening breeze, tall enough to brush their ankles. Firey flopped down first, stretching out his arms and staring at the clouds that were beginning to fade into dusk. Pin lowered herself more carefully beside him, crossing her legs, while Coiny plopped down without ceremony, practically kicking Firey’s leg in the process.
“Watch it,” Firey muttered, shoving him half-heartedly.
Coiny grinned, kissing Firey’s cheek and leaning back on his elbows. “Relax. You’ve survived worse than my shoes.”
Pin rolled her eyes, but her lips tugged into a smile. She reached over and nudged Firey’s shoulder gently, grounding him in a way Coiny’s antics couldn’t.
For a while, they just sat there, letting the cool air settle between them. Then Coiny broke the quiet. “Y’know… we’re actually not doing too bad.” He threw a pebble across the grass like it was a grand gesture. “Four didn’t bite your head off. Students are finally paying attention. Nickel’s probably sweating through his perfect little persona right now.”
That earned a laugh from Pin, short, sharp, but real. “Small victories,” she admitted.
Firey let the words sink in. For once, his chest didn’t feel tight when thinking about the fight ahead. “Yeah. Small, but they matter. Every one of them.”
Pin leaned into his shoulder slightly, a gesture so casual he almost missed how intentional it was. Coiny, not to be outdone, immediately dropped his weight against Firey’s other side with an exaggerated sigh.
“You guys are heavy,” Firey complained, but his voice held warmth.
“Shut up,” Coiny said with a grin, refusing to budge. “You like it.”
Pin smirked, eyes flicking toward Firey’s, and for a heartbeat, everything felt lighter. The teasing, the leaning, the comfort of simply being there, all of it wove into something steady and fragile, a reminder that even in the middle of chaos, they still had this.
The fight wasn’t over though. Nickel was still out there, and tomorrow would bring another round. But in this moment, in this field, with laughter and quiet touches binding them together, Firey felt empowered. Not because he was carrying the weight alone, but because they were carrying it together.
“Nice spot,” Coiny said, nudging Firey with his knee. “Good thinking, flamebrain.”
Firey huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. “I just wanted quiet.”
Pin leaned slightly toward him, her shoulder brushing his arm. “You don’t get enough of that,” she said softly.
The simple touch made him aware of every nerve in his body, though he tried not to show it. Before the silence could grow heavy, Coiny leaned his whole weight into Firey from the other side, grinning shamelessly.
“Careful,” Firey muttered, laughing under his breath. “You’re gonna crush me.”
“That’s the idea,” Coiny shot back, though the way his arm stayed pressed against Firey’s lingered past the joke.
The three of them sprawled together like that, laughter slipping in here and there. Coiny exaggerating Nickel’s possible meltdowns, Pin tossing in sharp corrections that only made Coiny push harder for a laugh. Firey mostly listened, warmth bubbling in his chest at how natural it all felt.
But underneath the jokes, the air hummed with something unspoken. Pin’s hand rested on the grass close enough that Firey could feel its warmth against his own. Coiny’s shoulder pressed snug against him, steady, grounding. It wasn’t just affection anymore. It was something riskier, something that made Firey’s heart skip when he caught Pin’s eyes on him or when Coiny’s teasing softened into a smile that lingered too long.
“We’ve actually made progress,” Pin said finally, breaking the lull. Her gaze turned to Firey, steady and sure. “And that’s because of you.”
Firey shook his head, heat rising to his face. “Because of us,” he corrected, though his voice was quieter than he meant it to be.
Coiny smirked, tilting his head to look at Firey. “Teamwork’s hot,” he said, tone dripping with playful sarcasm, but the way he looked at Firey suggested more than just a joke.
Firey’s laugh was small, caught between embarrassment and something else that fluttered in his chest. For a moment, with Pin’s shoulder against his and Coiny’s warmth pressed at his other side, the fight with Nickel felt distant. There was just this… connection, closeness, the fragile beginnings of something stronger than any plan they could write.
The world would come for them again tomorrow. But tonight, as the sun sank and the field swallowed their laughter, Firey let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this was the end of the battle and the beginning of the war.

Chapter Text

The sun slanted through the tall windows of the campus café, catching specks of dust in the air. The place smelled of coffee, baked goods, and a faint hint of burned toast. Firey sat at a corner table, mug clutched between both hands, staring into the dark liquid as though it held answers.
Beside him, Pin tapped absentmindedly on her notebook, scribbling small reminders and observations she probably didn’t intend to share. Coiny sprawled across the bench opposite, arms crossed behind his head, legs stretched out, clearly ignoring any pretense of decorum.
For a moment, the world felt quiet. Too quiet.
Firey let his gaze drift around the café, watching students move in small clusters, laughing, arguing, scrolling on their devices. Everything looked ordinary, almost mundane. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing here would ever be the same.
A slow exhale left him. “I keep thinking about last week,” he admitted, voice low, almost to himself. “All the chaos… the protest, Four, Nickel, the… everything.”
Pin glanced up, meeting his eyes. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “It was a lot. But you handled it. All of it.”
Coiny, finally leaning forward, smirked. “Handled it? Pfft. You basically threw a match into a gasoline lake and didn’t get burned. I’d call that a miracle.”
Firey gave a small, humorless laugh. “Feels less like a miracle and more like I barely survived.”
Pin nudged his arm gently, grounding him. “You didn’t survive alone. You had us with you. That matters.”
Coiny leaned back again, spinning his straw between his fingers. “Yeah, yeah. And just think!! Nickel’s probably stewing somewhere right now, realizing he can’t just sweep this under the rug.”
Firey stared into his coffee again, reflecting. There was satisfaction in that thought, yes, but also a sharp edge of worry. Nickel wasn’t finished yet, and the exposure might only make him more dangerous.
The three sat in companionable silence for a few beats, the background hum of the café filling the spaces between them. For all the uncertainty ahead, for all the tension still waiting, Firey felt a small spark of steadiness.
He glanced up at Pin and Coiny, who were teasing each other lightly about who had spilled more coffee in the past week. And he let himself smile, just a little. For a moment, the chaos outside didn’t matter. They were here, together, and that was enough to keep him going.
As Firey took a slow sip of his coffee, letting the warmth ground him, Pin’s eyes wandered toward the bulletin board by the café entrance. Her brows furrowed slightly as she leaned forward, squinting at something bright tacked to the cork.
“Hey,” she said, nodding toward the board. “Check this out.”
Firey followed her gaze, Coiny craning his neck over the table like he was trying to catch the first glimpse of a new joke.
The flyer was simple but eye-catching: bold letters at the top read “STUDENT VOICES: SPEAK YOUR MIND”. Smaller text underneath explained that the event was a chance for students to share their experiences, frustrations, or ideas with their peers in a moderated, supportive environment. The poster even promised that listeners would engage respectfully and that no one’s words would be dismissed.
Pin tapped it lightly with her finger. “It’s basically… a platform for people to speak without fear of being mocked or ignored.” Her lips curved into a small smile. “Could be useful. Especially now, with… everything going on.”
Coiny tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “You mean like a safe space for people to drag Nickel and his antics?”
Firey felt his jaw tighten, then relaxed slightly. “Not just Nickel. But yeah… it could help get voices heard. Real stories, not just memes.”
Pin nodded, glancing back at him. “Exactly. And it might even give students a chance to see that they’re not alone.”
Coiny grinned, spinning his straw lazily. “Well, sounds like our kind of chaos. Count me in.”
Firey let out a short laugh, feeling the strange mixture of hope and anxiety coil in his chest. A small step, but maybe the right one.
Firey frowned at the flyer Pin had taken off the board, turning it over in his hands as though the back might contain a hidden escape route. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “Public speaking isn’t exactly my thing. Especially not… this kind of public speaking.”
Pin crossed her arms, her steady gaze fixed on him. “Which is exactly why you should. People need to hear you, Firey. You’ve seen firsthand what Nickel does to people. You have the truth, and it matters.”
Coiny, already standing, pointed at the flyer like it was a battle flag. “Yeah! And besides, if you don’t, you know who will? Nickel. He’ll twist things, make himself look like the victim. Again. Do you really want that?”
Firey groaned, rubbing at his face. “Why do you both sound like motivational posters all of a sudden?”
“Because you’re stubborn,” Pin shot back, though there was a smile tugging at her lips.
Coiny slapped the table with both hands, startling a couple of nearby students. “Alright! We’re gonna prep you like you’re about to march into the Olympics of Speaking!”
Firey looked unimpressed. “That’s not a thing.”
“It is now,” Coiny declared.
The next hour somehow turned into an impromptu “training session” in the quad. Pin, ever practical, guided Firey on how to structure his thoughts: start clear, keep calm, don’t let nerves make him ramble. Meanwhile, Coiny… had his own methods.
“First off,” Coiny announced, throwing his arms wide, “you need a killer entrance. Something like…” He stomped dramatically across the grass, then spun in a circle before striking a superhero pose. “Boom. They’ll be hooked before you even say a word.”
Firey blinked at him. “…I’m not doing that.”
“Yes you are,” Coiny insisted.
“No. I’m not.”
“Yes you are!”
Pin rolled her eyes and shook her head, but her laughter gave her away. “Coiny, he doesn’t need a stunt. He needs to be himself.”
Coiny smirked and leaned against Firey’s shoulder. “Being himself is a stunt.”
Firey sighed, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him with a reluctant smile. “You’re both ridiculous.”
“That’s why it works,” Pin said, her voice softening. “You don’t have to be perfect, Firey. You just have to be you. And we’ll be right there.”
Firey’s chest tightened at that. Maybe he wasn’t ready for this. Maybe he’d never be. But with them beside him? Maybe he didn’t have to be.
Streaks of gold spread across the quad, their “training session” devolved into chaos. Coiny had stolen Pin’s notebook and was dramatically pretending to “coach” Firey by reading fake inspirational quotes he made up on the spot.
“‘Confidence is likeeee… a grilled cheese,’” Coiny declared, striking another overblown pose. “‘If you flip too early, you’ll just make a mess.’”
Pin groaned. “Coiny, that’s not even close to advice.”
“Sure it is!” he said proudly. “It’s philosophy.”
Firey chuckled, shaking his head. “Or maybe you’re just hungry.”
“Ahem,, I’ll take that as a compliment.” Coiny winked, then pretended to trip dramatically over nothing, collapsing onto the grass.
Pin snorted and threw a crumpled piece of paper at him. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m brilliant,” Coiny corrected, laughing from the ground.
Firey watched them bicker, feeling warmth curl in his chest. The laughter, the teasing, it all reminded him that this, right here, was what had kept him standing through everything: the people who refused to let him drown in his own doubts.
Eventually, they all ended up lying in the grass, breathless from laughter. The campus lights flickered on one by one.
“Y’know,” Firey said after a moment, voice quieter now, “I think I get it. It’s not about saying everything perfectly. It’s about saying it like I mean it.”
Pin turned her head toward him, smiling softly. “Exactly.”
Coiny nodded, still sprawled out, hands behind his head. “And if your words don’t land, you can always do a cool spin and superhero pose at the end. Trust me, that’ll fix anything.”
Firey chuckled, eyes tracing the sky. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” Coiny said. “But you’re smiling. Mission accomplished.”
For a long moment, none of them spoke. The wind carried faint laughter from somewhere nearby, and the world felt steady again,, like something broken had finally started to mend.
Firey took a slow breath, letting it fill him. The fear was still there, sure, but it didn’t own him anymore. Not when he had them.
The laughter finally faded into quiet breaths and the soft hum of crickets. For a while, none of them wanted to move. The grass was cool beneath them, and the campus lights shimmered against the deepening blue of the sky. But in the distance, a bell rang from the student center, a gentle reminder that the evening’s ceremony wasn’t far off.
Pin sat up first, brushing stray blades of grass from her skirt. “We should probably go,” she said with a reluctant sigh. “If we’re late, Gaty’s going to give us that look again.”
Coiny groaned from the ground. “Ugh, not the ‘disappointed staff stare.’ It haunts my dreams.” He sat up dramatically, clutching his chest. “Quick, someone carry me. I’m too emotionally fragile to walk.”
Firey snorted, standing and offering him a hand. “Come on, philosopher-slash-lunatic. You can survive a ten-minute walk.”
“Barely,” Coiny muttered, taking the hand anyway and dusting himself off. “You’re lucky I’m loyal.”
Pin rolled her eyes with a smile and adjusted the strap of her bag. “You’re lucky we keep you around.”
They started toward the quad’s main path, streetlights flickering on as they went. The air carried a soft chill, the kind that smelled faintly of pine and warm pavement. Firey trailed half a step behind, his gaze drawn to the subtle glow of the campus ahead, students heading toward the same destination, laughter echoing in clusters.
“Hey,” Pin said quietly, glancing over her shoulder at him. “You okay?”
He nodded after a moment, a small, earnest smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Just thinking.”
Coiny leaned back as they walked, hands tucked into his pockets. “About how epic your speech is gonna be?”
Firey gave a low chuckle. “About how I ended up here at all.”
Pin’s expression softened. “Then that’s the speech you should give.”
For a moment, none of them said anything else. The path curved, and the student center came into view.
Firey slowed, staring at the glowing building ahead. This was it,, the event they’d all joked about, practiced for, dreaded, and prepared him to face.
Coiny nudged him lightly with his elbow. “Don’t overthink it, dude. Just… do your thing.”
“Yeah,” Firey said, exhaling. “Do my thing.”
Pin smiled. “And we’ll be right there when you do.”
They walked the rest of the way together, three silhouettes cutting through the golden light, steady and close, ready to face whatever waited for them inside.

That evening, the quad had been transformed.
Where there was usually open grass and wandering students, now stood a small raised platform with a microphone, some folding chairs scattered in loose rows, and clusters of students buzzing in every direction. Banners with “STUDENT VOICES — SPEAK YOUR MIND!” flapped lazily in the breeze, corners tugged by wind and duct-tape desperation.
The smell of coffee and cheap popcorn lingered in the air. Somewhere nearby, a student club was blasting faint indie music from a Bluetooth speaker, the lyrics half-lost beneath the chatter.
Firey stood at the edge of the crowd with Pin and Coiny, shoulders tense beneath his jacket. He couldn’t tell if his heart was pounding from excitement or dread.
Pin adjusted the collar of her hoodie, scanning the scene with calm precision. “Looks like half the campus showed up.”
Coiny whistled low. “Yeah, no pressure or anything.” He flashed a grin that did nothing to hide the spark of nerves behind it.
They watched a few early speakers take turns on the platform. A theater student performing a poem about burnout, a science major venting about budget cuts, a pair of art students improvising a chaotic but heartfelt duet about roommate drama. The audience laughed, clapped, and occasionally shouted supportive comments.
The whole thing felt… alive. Messy, real, and honest.
Firey shifted his weight, crossing his arms. “I don’t know if this is my crowd,” he muttered.
Pin smiled faintly. “You said that about the protest too.”
Coiny elbowed him lightly. “And look how that turned out! Viral chaos and emotional growth! You’re welcome.”
Firey groaned. “You make that sound like a good thing.”
“It was,” Pin replied. “You changed something, Firey. People are listening now.”
He glanced at the stage again, where a student was currently ranting about the cafeteria food “being a moral crime against breakfast.” The audience was in hysterics.
Coiny snorted. “See? Tough crowd. Just win them over with sincerity and maybe some cafeteria trauma.”
Despite himself, Firey cracked a smile. Small, fleeting, but real. He still wasn’t sure if he was ready to speak again, to risk being mocked, misheard, or dismissed. But looking out at the mix of laughter, applause, and nerves scattered across the quad, he realized that everyone here had something to say.
And maybe… This time, he wasn’t standing alone.
Pin nudged him gently, her voice low but sure. “You don’t have to be fearless, Firey. Just honest.”
Firey took a deep breath, the warm air filling his lungs. Around him, students shuffled, cheered, and whispered, an unpredictable, living current of energy. The stage lights flickered on.
Firey stood a little ways from the platform, just far enough that the microphone feedback and scattered laughter felt like background noise instead of pressure. The breeze tugged at his hoodie strings, the late-afternoon sunlight warming the side of his face. His hands fidgeted with the edge of his note card. Creased, smudged, and already memorized.
He’d rewritten the speech three times the night before. Once after Pin said it needed to “sound more like him,” once after Coiny insisted it needed “more punch,” and a third time at two in the morning when sleep refused to come and every word started sounding wrong.
Now, standing here, all he could think was how small the card felt in his hands compared to the crowd gathering ahead of him.
Clusters of students had claimed spots on the grass, some leaning on backpacks, some filming on their phones, others chatting over half-empty iced coffees. Their faces blurred into one shifting, murmuring ocean.
He swallowed hard. This is fine, he told himself. You’ve done this before. Sort of.
But this wasn’t the protest. That had been heat-of-the-moment anger and adrenaline, the words had poured out before fear could catch up. This… this was deliberate. A choice.
Pin was off to his right, pacing through a set of cue cards like she was the one giving the speech. Every so often she’d glance at him and give a quick, grounding smile. A silent, you’ve got this.
Coiny, on the other hand, was doing his best to psych him up in the least subtle way possible. He mimed dramatic poses, fake-practicing how Firey should “command the stage,” puffing out his chest and gesturing like an over-the-top motivational speaker.
Firey groaned softly, half laughing. “You’re gonna make me lose it before I even start.”
“Confidence, dude! You gotta own it,” Coiny said, grinning wide. “Pretend you’re a rock star. The mic’s your guitar, the crowd’s your… uh, slightly judgmental fan base.”
Pin shot him a look over her shoulder. “You’re not helping.”
“Sure I am,” he said, smirking. “Look, he’s smiling.”
Firey’s grin faded almost as quickly as it came, replaced by that creeping uncertainty again. His eyes darted toward the stage. The mic waiting, the quiet expectation of the next brave voice.
What if it’s too much? he thought. What if they don’t take it seriously, or worse, what if I sound like I’m begging for sympathy again?
He rubbed the back of his neck, pulse quickening. Around him, a group of students laughed loudly at something in the distance. The world felt too loud for a moment, every sound sharp and echoing in his chest.
Pin must’ve noticed. She stepped closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. “You’re not performing. You’re telling the truth. That’s what makes people listen.”
Firey met her gaze, then Coiny’s. Both of them watched him with different shades of belief. One steady and sure, the other wild and loyal.
He took a shaky breath, then another, forcing the tremor out of his voice. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’ll… I’ll do it.”
Coiny whooped, loud enough that people turned to look. “THAT’S MY BOYFRIEND!”
Firey flushed. “Please don’t make me regret this.”
Pin smirked. “Too late for that.”
They laughed softly, and for a fleeting moment, the noise around them felt lighter. Manageable.
The next speaker was wrapping up. The event host scanned the crowd, calling for the next volunteer.
Firey felt the card in his hand. The weight of every word he’d written, and every reason he’d decided to say them.
It was almost time.
Firey sat off to the side of the room, shoulders tight, elbows pressed against his knees. The folded sheet of paper in his hands was beginning to soften around the edges from how many times he’d flipped it open and closed. His mind wasn’t really in the room, it was pacing laps inside his head. Every few seconds, his eyes darted to the stage, then to the crowd, then back to the page, like he couldn’t decide which part made him more nervous.
Pin and Coiny sat nearby, a table between them covered in half-finished drinks and crumpled napkins. Coiny leaned back in his chair, his usual grin dialed down to something quieter, more supportive. Every so often, he’d glance at Firey and flash a small thumbs-up, as if that could singlehandedly melt the tension away.
Pin, on the other hand, was more deliberate. Her posture straight, eyes sharp, watching the people around him. “You’re going to be fine,” she said softly, reaching across the table to tap his wrist. “You’ve done scarier things than this.”
“Yeah,” Firey muttered, a half-laugh escaping. “Like accidentally going viral.”
“That was different,” Coiny said, leaning forward now. “Back then you didn’t choose it. This time, you’re taking control of the story.”
Firey’s eyes flickered toward the mic stand. It sat alone under a halo of light, the kind that made everyone who stood beneath it look exposed, vulnerable, but brave. Around it, students were clapping, cheering, and chatting amongst themselves. The crowd wasn’t judgmental, not really, but Firey still felt like each set of eyes would be waiting for him to say something worth hearing.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “What if it’s not good enough?”
Pin smiled faintly. “Then we’ll cheer anyway.”
Coiny laughed. “Loudly enough to drown out anyone else.”
Firey looked between them, his anchor points in a sea of noise, and took a slow, shaky breath. He wasn’t ready yet, not fully. But he started to believe he could be.

As Firey sat there trying to collect himself, a sudden metallic clatter broke through the low hum of conversation. Heads turned toward the front of the room, where Gaty stood frozen beside a toppled stack of folding chairs. She gave a sheepish wave, cheeks flushing a deep pink.
“Everything’s fine!” she called out, her voice cracking slightly. She bent down and began trying to untangle one of the chair legs that had somehow wedged itself beneath another. “I just… uh,, wanted to test their durability!”
“It’s impressive she’s survived this long,” Pin murmured.
“Barely,” Firey added under his breath, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Next to Gaty stood Two, clipboard in hand, posture unnervingly perfect. Their outfit looked ironed down to the atom, and their expression radiated professional determination mixed with suppressed chaos. Two had the air of someone who had scheduled this entire event down to the second; Room assignments, mic tests, emergency backup pens, and was now watching that plan disintegrate in slow motion.
“Alright everyone!” Two announced, voice bright and authoritative, carrying across the chatter. “Please remember! No food near the stage, and keep the aisles clear! We don’t want another nacho incident like last semester!”
“That was one time!” Gaty called back from the floor, still fighting a chair leg that refused to cooperate.
“And yet,” Two said smoothly, “once was too many times…”
Meanwhile, X zipped between rows of folding chairs like an overexcited golden retriever with a microphone. “Who’s next? Who’s feeling inspired?!” they asked, bouncing on their toes as they handed the mic to a student nervously practicing lines under their breath. At one point, X tripped over the cord, nearly face-planting into the soundboard, but popped right back up with a thumbs-up and a huge grin. “Still good! Still fine! Still intact!”
At the far end of the stage sat Four, slouched in front of the audio setup like a disinterested DJ. They wore a pair of oversized studio headphones and flicked switches with slow precision, muttering to themselves every few seconds. When the applause got too loud, they aggressively dialed the volume down, glaring at the crowd like noise itself had personally offended them.
Coiny leaned over toward Firey. “So, these are the people in charge of keeping this thing organized?”
Pin raised an eyebrow, half amused. “Organized might be a strong word.”
Firey huffed out a quiet laugh, the first real one he’d managed in a while. Between Gaty’s awkwardness, Two’s perfectionism, X’s boundless chaos, and Four’s detached irritation, the event had a messy charm to it. Like a living, breathing reminder that not everything needed to go perfectly to work.
Two clapped their hands, the sound sharp and commanding. “Alright, everyone, let’s officially begin! I want to thank all of you for being here today for our very first Open Voices Student Forum, a chance for everyone to express their experiences, thoughts, and—”
A loud click echoed through the speakers. Four’s monotone voice cut in. “You’re already losing them!!!”
Two blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve been talking for thirty seconds, and half the audience just opened their phones!!” Four said annoyed, adjusting a dial. “You sound like a tax commercial.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the crowd.
Two smiled tightly. “I’m sorry, do you want to handle the introduction?”
“Not really,” Four said, leaning back in their chair. “But someone has to keep this interesting…”
Gaty nervously waved from the floor. “Maybe we could just, um, let Two finish their speech?”
Four ignored her. “You can’t just start an event with a list of rules and your name.”
Two snapped, visibly straining to maintain professionalism. “This is about structure, Four. Order. Encouraging an environment of communication and respect.”
“Right,” Four deadpanned. “Because nothing says ‘open communication’ like you scolding them before they even speak!”
X gasped dramatically and zoomed between them with the mic. “Ohhh, tension! Conflict! Do we have our first speakers?!”
The audience chuckled again, and Two pinched the bridge of their nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “Why did I agree to this?”
Pin leaned closer to Firey and whispered, “They’re like a married couple.”
Coiny grinned. “Nah, they’re like two rival teachers fighting over who gets to run detention.”
Firey watched the exchange with a small, uneasy laugh, but beneath it, his heart thudded. The room’s energy, though chaotic, was alive. The event felt like it mattered.
And soon, he’d have to walk up there and speak too.
Two finally managed to wrangle back the microphone from X, forcing a bright, brittle smile as they straightened their clipboard and addressed the crowd again. “Anyway… as I was saying, this event is about honesty, openness, and giving students a platform to express what’s been on their minds. We’ve all gone through… quite a bit this semester.”
Their gaze flickered briefly across the room, catching Firey’s for a split second. He stiffened, pulse jumping. Did they know something? The mention felt too close, too intentional.
“Some of you,” Two continued, “have been part of important conversations that are reshaping how we handle issues on campus. And while we won’t be naming names…”
Four smirked without looking up from the soundboard. “You basically already did.”
Two shot them a glare that could melt steel. “...we will be focusing on growth, accountability, and the importance of being heard.”
The crowd gave a light, polite round of applause. X joined in enthusiastically, clapping far louder than anyone else. “YES! Being heard! Speaking truth! You guys are amazing!”
Gaty, still nervously adjusting a microphone stand that didn’t need adjusting, nodded along. “We, um, we have a sign-up sheet for anyone who wants to speak. If you didn’t put your name down yet, you can still come up after the first round of speakers.”
Pin leaned close to Firey again. “You okay?” she whispered, reading the tension written all over his face.
He swallowed hard. “Yeah… just nervous.”
Coiny elbowed him lightly. “You? Nervous? Please. You’ve faced worse than this.”
“Yeah, but those didn’t involve a hundred people staring at me.”
Coiny grinned. “Then just imagine they’re all staring at me. That’s how I survive every day.”
That got a small, genuine chuckle out of Firey, but it didn’t last long. His gaze swept the crowd again. Students from all departments filled the seats, whispering, scrolling through their phones, waiting for something interesting to happen. Some faces were familiar, others not. A few looked curious, some skeptical.
He could already feel his stomach knotting at the thought of walking up there, at having to explain, to share something real in front of all these people who might not even believe him.
The murmur of the room faded as the first speaker, a timid design major, stepped up to the mic and began reading off a trembling piece of paper. Her voice wavered but grew stronger with every sentence, and Firey felt a strange pull in his chest. Maybe that’s what this was supposed to be about. Not perfection. Not polish. Just honesty.
Two stood to the side of the stage, nodding approvingly, while X swayed beside the podium, occasionally giving the speaker a huge, encouraging thumbs-up. Gaty adjusted the lighting once, then twice, then overcorrected it until Four snapped, “Stop. You’re blinding them.”
The lights dimmed to a warmer tone. The room felt intimate and closer somehow.
Firey’s knee bounced under the table. Pin noticed and rested a hand over it, steady but quiet. “You’re ready,” she murmured.
He glanced at her, uncertain. “You think so?”
She smiled softly. “I know so.”
Coiny stretched his arms over his head, cracking his neck. “When you go up there, don’t hold back. Say everything you’ve been holding in. You’ve earned that.”
Firey exhaled slowly, tension loosening just a bit. For a moment, he looked at both of them,, his allies, his chaos, his balance.
Then, as the next student finished and applause filled the air, he realized something: he didn’t need to have the perfect words yet. He just needed to mean them.
Two’s voice broke through the noise again. “Next up, we have… let’s see…” They glanced at the sign-up sheet and blinked in surprise. “Firey..”
Firey froze. His heart kicked into a sprint.
Coiny gave a loud whoop and clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s your cue, hotshot!”
Pin squeezed his arm once. “You’ve got this.”
The crowd stirred, murmuring as he stood. Every step toward the stage felt heavier than the last, but behind him, he could still hear Coiny’s excited clapping and Pin’s steady breathing.
He reached the front as the mic buzzed faintly in his hands.
Two gave him an encouraging nod. “Whenever you’re ready.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Firey realized he was.

Firey took a shaky breath, gripping the podium like it was the only thing keeping him standing. The murmurs in the audience died down gradually, but not completely. There were still whispers, faint laughter, someone’s phone notification going off. It didn’t matter. He was here now. He had to speak.
“Um… hey.” His voice cracked slightly, and a few students smirked. He ignored them. “I’m Firey. Most of you probably already know that.” He gave a weak laugh that didn’t quite land. “You’ve probably… seen my face before. Somewhere online.”
A ripple of recognition moved through the crowd. Some students exchange looks, others lowering their eyes. He felt the sting, but he pressed on.
“Yeah,” Firey continued, “I was the guy in that meme. Leaf Guy. The joke that wouldn’t die.” His tone hardened a little. “Except it wasn’t just a joke, was it? Not when people started whispering when I walked into class. Not when strangers tagged me in posts just to laugh. Not when it stopped being funny and started being personal.”
He looked down, swallowing hard before meeting the crowd again. “At first, I thought I could handle it. I told myself, ‘It’s just the internet.’ I figured if I ignored it, it would blow over. But it didn’t. It got worse. It became this… machine. One post turns into ten, ten into a hundred. People who don’t even know you start treating you like you’re not real. Like you’re content.”
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
“I kept asking myself. How does something like that happen? How does a joke turn into harassment? And I realized…” He leaned closer to the mic. “It’s because no one stops it. Because it’s easier to laugh than to think about what you’re laughing at. Easier to say ‘it’s just a meme’ than admit someone’s getting hurt.”
The silence deepened.
“Nic–” he caught himself, faltering, “...someone I used to trust helped start all of it. But this isn’t about him. Not really. It’s about how he could. It’s about the culture that made it possible.”
He straightened, his voice gaining strength. “When cruelty gets rewarded with likes, reposts, and attention, it doesn’t stop. It spreads. It evolves. And now we’ve got AI tools,, systems built to amplify whatever gets the most reaction. Doesn’t matter if it’s true. Doesn’t matter if it’s kind. If it gets clicks, it wins. And people like me? We lose.”
A few heads nodded. Some students shifted uncomfortably. Others listened more intently.
“I’ve seen people use AI to make fake screenshots, fake quotes, fake images, just to get a laugh. But when that fake image is your face? When it’s your name being dragged through it?” His voice cracked again, genuine emotion rising to the surface. “You start wondering if you even exist outside of what people say about you.”
Pin sat at the edge of her seat, jaw tight. Coiny, beside her, whispered something under his breath like, Come on, man… you got this.
Firey breathed out slowly. “There were nights where I didn’t even want to check my phone. Days where I couldn’t walk across campus without hearing someone call out a line from a meme that wasn’t even funny anymore. And I told myself I was overreacting. That I was too sensitive. But now?”
He looked around the room, eyes steady and burning with quiet defiance. “Now I realize the only reason things like that keep happening is because people stay quiet. Because everyone’s afraid of looking weak or dramatic. Because the people who speak up get called ‘attention-seeking’ while the bullies get called ‘funny.’”
He gripped the podium tighter. “But I’m done being quiet.”
That line hit something. The room went still, really still. The faint hum of the AC was the only sound.
“I’m not asking everyone to stop joking around. I’m not saying you can’t make memes or have fun online. I’m saying, think. Think before you post. Before you share. Before you laugh at something that tears someone down.”
He exhaled through his nose, voice lowering to something softer, more personal. “Because I promise you, there’s a person on the other side of that joke. Someone who’ll carry those words long after you’ve forgotten them.”
A pause. Then, quieter still:
“I carried them. For weeks.”
The silence held.
“But here’s the thing,” Firey continued, his tone lifting just slightly. “I also learned something. That fighting back doesn’t have to mean fighting alone.” He gestured faintly toward Pin and Coiny, who immediately looked both proud and flustered. “It means finding people who’ll stand beside you, even when things get ugly. People who’ll remind you that your voice still matters, even when it feels drowned out.”
He smiled, almost shyly. “And I found mine.”
The crowd was fully listening now. Even the ones who’d come to mock him seemed unsure.
“So yeah,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “I’ve been the joke. I’ve been the target. But not anymore. Because now I’m using my voice to make sure this stops with me. No one else deserves to go through this. Not on this campus. Not anywhere.”
He took a breath, then spoke with clarity that surprised even him:
“If you’ve ever laughed at something like this, I’m not asking you to feel guilty. I’m asking you to do better. To listen. To care. To understand that being decent isn’t supposed to be hard.”
He glanced toward the faculty. Two, Gaty, X, and Four all standing near the side. “And to the people who run this place, we need you too. We need systems that protect students instead of waiting for them to break.”
He looked back at the students, his voice trembling but strong. “We can’t fix everything overnight. But we can start right here. With a choice. To stop turning pain into punchlines.”
He stepped back from the mic, but then leaned forward again, voice almost a whisper. “And if anyone here’s dealing with what I did, being humiliated, harassed, or made to feel like you don’t matter, I want you to know something.”
The room held its breath.
“You’re not weak for hurting. You’re not dramatic for caring. You’re not alone.”
He stood there for a beat, eyes glistening, the weight of weeks of anger and fear finally slipping off his shoulders.
Then, with a small, defiant smile:
“And if anyone calls you a joke… make sure you’re the one who gets the last laugh.”
For a moment, no one moved. Then a single pair of hands clapped. Coiny’s, loud and unapologetic. Pin joined in. Then others followed.
Soon, the entire room was clapping. Some hesitant, some genuinely moved, a few just joining because everyone else was. But it didn’t matter. The sound was real.
Firey blinked hard, barely able to process it. He’d expected mockery, awkward silence, not this.
He looked toward his friends. Pin was smiling softly, eyes glimmering with quiet pride. Coiny was grinning like he’d just won a championship.
In the corner, Two looked genuinely impressed, murmuring something to Gaty. Four rolled his eyes but clapped anyway, muttering, “Ugh, fine, I guess that was kind of powerful.” X was already tearing up.
Firey stepped back from the podium, breathless, heart hammering. For once, the noise wasn’t against him, it was for him.
And for the first time since this all began, Firey didn’t feel like the victim of a story.
He felt like the one writing it.
After the applause finally died down, Firey stepped away from the podium, still catching his breath. Pin immediately sidled up, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder. “That was… really good,” she said softly, her voice calm but filled with pride. “You didn’t stumble once. You… you owned it.”
Coiny bounded over, practically bouncing in place. “Dude! You crushed it! The crowd’s eating out of your hand! I mean, they actually shut up and listened, that’s insane!!” He nudged Firey playfully with his shoulder. “And you didn’t even need me to hype you up… mostly.”
From the audience, a few students shouted encouragement. “Finally, someone said it!” one called, while another whispered to a friend, “I… actually get it now. That was… real.” Others nodded quietly, still processing what they’d just heard.
Two approached from the side, notebook in hand, a rare smile on their face. “Impressive,” they said. “You made your points clear without letting emotion take over completely. That takes skill and control.”
Four, standing slightly behind Two, rolled their eyes but smirked despite themselves. “Yeah, yeah… not terrible. Don’t get cocky, though. You still have a lot to prove,” they muttered, tone equal parts sarcastic and grudgingly impressed.
Firey let out a long breath, shoulders relaxing a little. Pin squeezed his arm. “See? People are listening. They’re actually listening.”
Coiny grinned and added, “And if anyone tries to mess with you now, they’re in for a surprise. You just set the bar, man.”
For the first time in a long while, Firey allowed himself a small, genuine smile, feeling the combined support of friends, peers, and even some faculty. The fight wasn’t over, but in that moment, it felt like they had taken a real, meaningful step forward.
As the crowd began to settle, Firey lingered near the podium, letting the energy of the room wash over him. Students he didn’t know approached hesitantly, some offering quiet nods, others timidly saying, “I get it now,” or “Thanks for saying that.” Each acknowledgment felt like a small weight lifting off his chest.
Firey scanned the faces in the crowd, noticing peers exchanging meaningful glances, whispering to one another, and quietly vowing to do better. The murmurs weren’t mocking this time; they were filled with understanding.
Firey’s chest swelled with a mix of relief and pride. This public acknowledgment, seeing others recognize what he had endured and start reflecting on their own actions, was unlike anything he’d felt before. He wasn’t just surviving anymore. He was leading, showing that standing up could make a difference.
He looked at Pin and Coiny, their faces glowing with pride and affection, and realized that while the fight wasn’t over, this moment, this victory, belonged to them all. And for the first time in a long while, Firey felt seen, heard, and understood.
The room had settled into a rhythm, the air thick with attention and quiet anticipation. Firey stepped aside as the first student approached the mic, a freshman, clutching a notebook like a shield.
“I… I’ve been watching all of this online,” the student began, voice tentative. “And it’s… it’s scary. Seeing people’s faces, hearing rumors, even about friends you care about. It makes you feel small. Invisible. Like nothing you do matters.”
The crowd was silent, save for the occasional nod or shuffle of papers. Firey’s chest tightened; he remembered that feeling all too well. The freshman swallowed hard, gaining strength as they continued. “But we don’t have to be silent. Even small voices matter.”
Soft murmurs of agreement spread through the audience. A few students exchanged looks, their expressions thoughtful. The seed of awareness was planted.
The next speaker bounded up, fiery and confident. “You think online cruelty doesn’t reach real life? It does!” They gestured wildly, eyes blazing. “It spreads faster than we realize. And when we laugh or scroll past, we make it worse! I’ve seen friends break because of this, and we have the power to stop it, not with just words, but with action.”
They cracked a few jokes to punctuate the heavier points, earning laughter and light claps. Firey couldn’t help smiling at the timing; the humor softened the tension without diluting the message. Cheeks flushed, heads nodded, whispers of “Yeah…” floated through the crowd.
A third student stepped forward, calm and organized, with a clear folder in hand. They spoke about policy, procedures, and actionable steps, reporting mechanisms, peer-support programs, and systems that could actually prevent harassment from escalating. “We’ve seen it work at other schools,” they said. “We just need the will to implement it here.” Faculty members scribbled notes; students leaned in, jotting down ideas.
Then a quieter, more personal voice took over. A student recounted the story of a friend who had been bullied mercilessly, tying it back to empathy and understanding. “You don’t have to face this alone,” they said softly. “We can stand together.” Sniffles rose from a few students, and Firey felt a lump in his throat. The vulnerability in the room was palpable, tangible, yet comforting.
Finally, a fifth speaker approached, holding a tablet with memes queued up. They grinned. “Okay, we’ve been taking this way too seriously, so let’s lighten the mood… while still remembering why we’re here.” Using humor and playful exaggeration, they illustrated the absurdity of cyberbullying, even slipping in subtle nods to Firey’s experience. The crowd laughed, genuinely, but the laughter didn’t feel dismissive. It was relief, recognition, a shared understanding.
Through it all, Firey, Pin, and Coiny watched intently. Pin leaned slightly against him, her calm presence grounding him, while Coiny whispered ridiculous commentary under his breath: “Dude, that meme reference? Chef’s kiss, classic!”
As the final applause for the last speaker died down, the room buzzed with chatter. Students gathered in small groups, huddled together, sharing stories and ideas. Firey scanned the venue, heart swelling, and in the distance, he noticed something: a large circle of students, standing purposefully in a loud ring. Lights of phone cameras flashed in the distance.

Firey’s heart sank a little as he watched, frozen in place. The circle of students in the distance had shifted into a small crowd, clustering around a commotion near the edge of the quad. Flashes of phone cameras illuminated the chaos in staccato bursts, casting long, chaotic shadows across the grass.
Authorities were moving deliberately, separating students and making their way toward the source of the disturbance. Firey’s stomach tightened as he caught sight of Nickel,, arms flailing, voice shrill, trying to claim innocence that no one seemed to believe.
“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING!” Nickel screamed, his tone rising over the murmurs and camera clicks. “YOU’RE ALL LYING! THIS IS RIDICULOUS!”
Nearby officers held him firmly, their expressions professional but unyielding. One of them gently but firmly repeated, “Nickel, you’re under investigation for cyberstalking and harassment. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”
Firey, Pin, and Coiny exchanged glances. Coiny’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t step forward. This wasn’t their fight anymore. Pin’s hand lightly rested on Firey’s arm, steadying him. “It’s over,” she whispered softly. “The system actually did its job this time.”
Nickel’s protests became more desperate. He kicked at the ground, spun around, and tried to point at the crowd as if they were conspiring against him. “THEY’RE LYING! THEY’RE ALL LYING!”
Nickel’s voice cracked as he fought against the hands holding him back, face flushed red beneath the harsh glow of camera lights. His eyes darted frantically across the gathered students,, wild, angry, and cornered. Then they locked onto Firey.
“You!” he spat, voice raw and trembling with fury. “YOU DID THIS!”
The crowd went still for a beat, the echoes of his words hanging heavy in the night air. Firey froze where he stood, Pin’s grip tightening instinctively on his arm.
Nickel lunged forward just enough to make the officers restrain him again. “You think you’re some kind of HERO!?” he shouted, his voice cracking between rage and desperation. “You RUINED me! You and your stupid little—” His glare snapped to Coiny and Pin, venom dripping from every word. “All of you! You planned this! You wanted to see me fail!”
Coiny took a sharp step forward before Pin caught him by the sleeve, pulling him back. “Not worth it,” she muttered under her breath, though her eyes burned with quiet anger.
Firey didn’t move. His throat felt tight, but he didn’t look away either. The weight of Nickel’s words didn’t pierce like they once would have. They fell flat against the exhaustion and conviction that had settled in his chest.
“No, Nickel,” Firey said quietly, just loud enough to carry over the murmuring crowd. “You did this to yourself.”
The students nearest to them turned toward Firey, whispering. The officers exchanged glances, ushering Nickel toward the waiting car as his shouting devolved into incoherent rage, half words, half noise.
“YOU THINK THIS IS OVER?!” he screamed as he was led away. “I’LL– I’LL MAKE YOU PAY FOR THIS!”
But his voice grew smaller with every step until it was swallowed by the hum of the quad and the clicking of cameras.
Firey exhaled shakily. Pin’s hand stayed on his arm, grounding him. Coiny finally let out a breath he’d been holding, running a hand through his hair.
“Damn,” Coiny muttered, forcing out a weak laugh. “Guess that’s one way to end a speech night.”
Firey didn’t laugh, but a small, weary smile broke through as he looked at his friends, the chaos fading behind them. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “One way.”
Some of the crowd whispered, “Finally… he’s getting what he deserves,” while others quietly filmed the scene, knowing these images would cement accountability.
Firey felt a mix of relief and residual tension. Watching Nickel’s tantrum, the same person who had caused weeks of torment, finally confronted with consequences, was surreal. The energy around him shifted subtly. The circle of students, once hesitant and unsure, now murmured among themselves with purpose, discussing what had just unfolded and what it meant for their community.
Coiny let out a quiet whistle. “Man… that’s a show. I didn’t think it’d actually happen.”
Firey exhaled, leaning a little closer to Pin. “It did. He can’t hurt anyone else like that now.”
Pin nodded, her gaze fixed on the officers leading Nickel away. “And we helped make sure of it. All those people, your speeches… the evidence, the courage… it mattered.”
For the first time in weeks, Firey allowed himself to fully breathe. The noise of the crowd, the flashes, even Nickel’s panicked yelling in the distance, no longer felt threatening. They were proof that the community had seen the truth, that some measure of justice had finally been served.
As the last of the officers and Nickel disappeared into the distance, Firey, Pin, and Coiny turned to each other. Coiny smirked, a little triumphantly. “So… drinks after all this? I think we earned it.”
Pin rolled her eyes but smiled, nudging Firey lightly. “Yeah… but first, let’s make sure everyone else here knows they can speak up too.”
Firey nodded, heart lighter but still buzzing with adrenaline. In the distance, the circle of students began to break apart, conversations sparking as new connections formed. For the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel like he was alone in fighting the tide. It felt like the tide itself was starting to turn.
Firey stayed near the edge of the quad, letting the crowd carry the energy around him. Students whispered, exchanged glances, and pointed toward where Nickel had been taken away. Some murmured in quiet awe, repeating fragments of Firey’s speech or the other students’ testimonies:
“Finally… someone said it.”
“I didn’t realize how bad it was until now.”
“Maybe we can do something about this.”
Others were more skeptical, still processing the drama:
“Is it really over?”
“Was that… too much?”
A few students even laughed nervously at Nickel’s over-the-top tantrum, shaking their heads as they walked past. Firey’s chest tightened at the mix of reactions, relief and tension warring inside him.
Pin stayed close, hand resting lightly on his arm. “Look at them,” she whispered. “They’re noticing. They’re thinking.”
Coiny leaned in, smirking, though his eyes scanned the crowd like a protective sentinel. “Yeah… it’s weird seeing them actually pay attention. But hey, we did it.”
Firey nodded, letting himself absorb the moment. The fight wasn’t fully over. Nickel’s reach had been wide, and the whispers of rumors and AI-fueled chaos still lingered, but right now, seeing students talk, reflect, and process the truth, it felt like the first real victory.
He exhaled, a mix of tension and relief flowing out, and realized that sometimes, change started with small ripples, and today, they’d made a wave.

Firey, Pin, and Coiny started moving away from the quad, the noise of the lingering crowd fading behind them. Firey’s shoulders loosened with every step, the adrenaline from the events slowly giving way to exhaustion and relief.
“So,” Coiny said, elbowing Firey lightly, “you planning on becoming some kind of hero now? Like, cape and all?”
Firey rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, sure. I’ll add it to my résumé: Professional Harassment Fighter.”
Pin chuckled softly, nudging Firey’s side. “I think you’ve already earned a cape. But, you know… you can keep it metaphorical.”
Coiny grinned and spun in a dramatic circle, pretending to toss an imaginary cape over his shoulder. “Metaphorical, shmetaphorical. You need a real cape for real heroics.”
Firey laughed, shaking his head. “Fine. But you two are strictly sidekicks. No heroic speeches for you.”
“Pfft,” Coiny scoffed, “I enhance the heroics. Chaos is my superpower.”
Pin smirked, leaning into Firey slightly as they walked. “I’d say it balances out. Someone has to keep you from going off the rails.”
“And someone has to make sure you don’t get lost in your own hero speech,” Firey teased, smiling at her.
Coiny snorted, walking slightly ahead, then spun back dramatically. “I mean, technically, my job is making everything slightly more dramatic. You should thank me.”
Firey shook his head, laughing, feeling the tension of the day ease a little more with each step. He glanced at Pin, then Coiny, and realized just how much he relied on their energy, their presence, their unwavering support. The war was over. As they were walking together, teasing and joking, just the three of them, felt like a victory all its own.
As they continued down the path toward the restaurant, the area slowly emptied behind them, leaving only the echo of student chatter and the distant flash of phone cameras. Firey allowed himself to relax fully for the first time in days, knowing that, for now, they were safe, together, and ready for whatever came next.
By the time they reached the quieter paths, the late afternoon sunlight was soft, casting warm golden streaks across the campus. Firey, Pin, and Coiny fell into an easy rhythm, walking shoulder to shoulder. The teasing and jokes had dwindled, replaced with a gentle, reflective quiet.
Firey glanced at the empty quad behind them. He could still see remnants of the student circle, scattered small groups quietly discussing what had just happened. It wasn’t perfect; he knew Nickel’s influence hadn’t vanished entirely. There would always be trolls, gossip, and the threat of online cruelty. But seeing students taking notice, starting to talk openly, and even planning action of their own. That made all the struggle worthwhile.
Pin nudged him gently. “You did something important today, Firey. Not just for yourself, but for all of them. And it worked.”
Firey smiled faintly, feeling a weight lift off his chest. “It felt like it worked. But… I don’t know if it’ll last.”
Coiny let out a half-laugh, half-snort. “It’ll last if you don’t let it not last. We’ve got your back. You’re not in this alone.” He grinned and added theatrically, “Besides, if anyone tries to start drama, I’m right there to punch them in the metaphorical face.”
Firey laughed, the tension finally giving way to something lighter. “Thanks… both of you.”
Pin’s hand brushed briefly against his, fingers lacing lightly with his own. “We’ve all been through a lot. You’ve led us through it. That counts for more than you think.”
Coiny, never missing an opportunity for flair, swung an arm dramatically. “And the hero walks into the sunset, sidekicks in tow, ready for whatever chaos comes next!”
Firey shook his head, smiling genuinely this time. “You two are ridiculous.”
Pin leaned closer, resting her head slightly against his shoulder. “Ridiculous, yes, but effective.”
For the first time in what seemed like forever, Firey allowed himself to relax. He wasn’t just surviving; he was part of something bigger. The chaos of Nickel’s harassment, the sleepless nights, the tension, the planning, they had turned it all into change, into awareness, into action. And while there would always be challenges, he had allies who were ready to face them with him.
By the time they reached the restaurant, his mind was starting to quiet down. Firey, Pin, and Coiny paused at the entrance, watching the ebb and flow of movement.
Firey inhaled deeply, savoring the moment. “We did good,” he said quietly. Not boastfully, not triumphantly, just… truthfully.
Pin smiled, nudging him again. “Yeah. You did. And we’ll keep doing it together.”
Coiny plopped onto the steps with a grin. “Yeah, yeah, enough sentiment. Let’s celebrate with food. I’m thinking… maybe the entire menu?”
Firey laughed, the sound warm and easy. He reached for Pin’s hand, letting Coiny fall into step beside them, and together, the three walked inside, leaving the fading sunlight and the buzzing drama behind.
It was a victory, and sometimes, that’s enough to keep going.
Firey, Pin, and Coiny walked to their seats, the energy still buzzing faintly in their ears. The late afternoon sun warmed their backs, softening the tension that had built up over the past few days.
Coiny, still standing, spun on his heels, grinning. “Man, you should’ve seen him! Arms flailing, screaming like a toddler denied dessert! Honestly, I half-expected him to start stomping his feet and throw a tantrum on the spot.”
Firey groaned, rolling his eyes, though a small laugh escaped. “Don’t remind me. I can still hear him yelling in my head.”
Pin chuckled, nudging him lightly. “You should’ve seen Coiny’s face when he first saw it. I thought he might actually try to tackle Nickel himself.”
Coiny puffed out his chest dramatically. “Excuse me! I was considering a tactical intervention, okay? For public safety. Someone had to contain the chaos.”
Firey laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, your method of containment is… what? Hilarious commentary from the sidelines?”
“Exactly!” Coiny said proudly. “Someone had to narrate the disaster. ‘Watch as Nickel performs the iconic flail of entitlement!’ Classic.” He mimed exaggerated arms flailing, spinning in place like a cartoon villain, earning another snicker from Firey and a smirk from Pin.
Pin rolled her eyes but grinned. “I think you’re enjoying this way too much.”
Coiny mock-sobbed, dramatically clutching his chest. “I suffered through it! For the cause! For you, Firey! Someone had to witness the chaos firsthand and provide… accurate commentary.”
Firey shook his head, smiling at his friends’ ridiculous antics. “You two are ridiculous. But… I can’t lie. It does make it a little easier to process.”
Pin leaned closer, linking her arm with Firey’s. “See? Even chaos can have its moments of fun. That’s why we’re here together.”
Coiny spun around once more, tossing an imaginary cape over his shoulder. “And don’t forget,, heroes need sidekicks. That’s me, officially. Chaos and commentary specialist. All in one!”
Firey laughed again, feeling the last traces of tension loosen. Even Nickel’s tantrum, which had been terrifying in its own way, now felt a little smaller, a little more manageable when framed by the ridiculousness of Coiny’s reenactment.
The three of them sat there, teasing each other lightly, joking about imaginary hero duties and exaggerated dramatics, the quiet around them. Firey felt lighter, truly able to breathe, and able to enjoy the company of the two people who had stood by him through everything.