Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Floret had his locker open, his head half inside. One arm was braced against the dented blue metal, while the other hand rifled through a chaotic mess that had once been organized but had since become unruly through repeated “I’ll find a spot for it later” moments.

His binders were crammed together at all angles, and flyers for different events were crumpled in the back like a forgotten junkyard. Somewhere in the hodgepodge of papers and mismatched pens was his math notes from Monday. He had written them in red ink because red helped him focus, and they were probably folded neatly, because he had folded them neatly, and yet they were currently playing hide-and-seek because they could smell fear.

Thursday. It was Thursday already. How did that keep happening? 

He tugged out a stack of papers and flipped through them. History notes. English annotations. A half-finished sketch he didn’t remember drawing—no math notes in sight.

He sighed and leaned his forehead briefly against the inside of the locker. Cold metal kissed his skin. He closed his eyes.

Floret straightened and adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie. He was wearing his Cookie Cat one today, the soft one with the Neapolitan stripes going from pink to brown to cream along the arms. It was oversized, the hem brushing his thighs, sleeves long enough that he could tuck his hands into them if he wanted to disappear a little. He’d paired it with white pants, which in hindsight had been a questionable choice given the coffee he’d grabbed that morning.

“Boo!”

The locker slammed shut with a loud metallic crack.

Floret jerked back instinctively, fingers yanking free just in time. His heart jumped straight into his throat, heat flashing under his skin as his gem reacted faster than his thoughts. He spun around on his heel, already reaching for his assailant.

“Oh my stars,” Floret snapped, grabbing the strap of Steven’s backpack and lifting him clean off the ground. “What is wrong with you?”

Steven yelped, legs kicking uselessly in the air before he grabbed at Floret’s wrist for balance. “Jesus, dude—”

Floret took him in automatically, the way his eyes always did before he could stop them. Steven was wearing a black T-shirt under an open gray-and-white flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up as if he weren’t freezing in the early November chill.  A beanie pulled low over dark curls that refused to behave. It shouldn’t have worked as well as it did.

Steven grinned, crooked and unapologetic. “I wanted to see what you’d do.”

Floret huffed, setting him back down with less care than he normally would. “You almost broke my fingers.”

“But I didn’t.”

Floret rolled his eyes, but the tension was already draining out of him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Also,” Steven added, tilting his head, “I saw you pulling into the parking lot with coffee this morning. And you didn’t get me any.”

Floret stared at him, then snorted. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I couldn’t get coffee without your permission, Your Highness.”

Steven crossed his arms. “Wow. So that’s how it is.”

Floret reached out and ruffled his beanie, fingers brushing the curls underneath. Steven squawked and swatted at him halfheartedly. “I’ll get you some tomorrow, okay?”

Steven brightened instantly. “Sick.”

“I would offer you some of mine,” Floret continued, “but you think it’s disgusting.”

“That’s because it is.”

“It’s regular coffee with a little bit of sugar. It’s not disgusting.”

“Sounds pretty disgusting.” Steven shrugged.

“Hey,” Floret said, quieter. “Did you find any more weird notes in your locker?”

Steven’s expression flickered. “Uh. I haven’t checked today.”

He walked a few lockers down and yanked his open. A candy wrapper fluttered out and skidded across the floor. A small sticker followed it, peeling loose and landing face-up. It was one of those shiny apple stickers that teachers handed out.

Steven stared at it. “Surprisingly no.”

The bell rang before either of them could say anything else. They grabbed what they needed and split for class.

Math class passed the way math class always did for him. Slowly. 

Painfully. 

Mr. Portobello droned on about trigonometric functions with the enthusiasm of someone reciting a grocery list, dry-erase marker squeaking as he scribbled formulas across the board. Floret copied them down carefully, even as the symbols swam together. 

Sin, cos, tan. Wait, what was the difference between the last two again?

Somewhere behind him, Chryso sighed loudly every time Floret raised his hand to ask for clarification.

“Didn’t we already go over this like four times?” Chryso muttered at one point, not quite under her breath.

Floret pretended not to hear her.

By the time the bell rang, his head hurt.

He packed up quickly and headed toward the gym. The hallway outside the locker rooms was crowded, but he managed to spot Steven by the water fountain. Steven’s jaw was clenched, and his posture was already stiff in a way Floret had learned to recognize. He looked like a cat arching its back.

Jeff was in front of him.

Floret slowed without meaning to. His steps shortened, instincts pulling him to a stop even before his thoughts caught up. Jeff’s body language was all wrong. He was too close and had Steven backed into a corner.

Floret drifted closer to the wall, keeping his head down and hiding behind a pillar.

“You need to clear this up,” Jeff was saying, “This shit with Daniel.”

Steven scoffed. “Fuck off.”

He turned, clearly intending to leave.

Jeff’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of Steven’s shirt.

Floret felt something twist in his chest.

Steven jerked back on reflex, “Dude, fuckin’ let go of me. I want nothing to do with you and your shitty boyfriend or whatever the fuck you two are.”

Jeff’s expression hardened. The mask slipped just enough for something ugly to show through. “You need to tell your friends Daniel didn’t say that stuff about gems,” he snapped. “His parents are on his ass now because of you.”

Floret’s fingers curled unconsciously at his side.

“It’s not my fault he’s a dickhead!” Steven shot back. “He did this to himself. And he’s having your bitch ass come talk to me because he already tried and it didn’t work. So I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told him. Fuck off.”

A few heads turned, and voices got quiet around them, itching to watch a fight happen.

Jeff laughed, “Nah. That’s not what’s happening here.”

He pulled Steven closer by the shirt, invading his space completely now.

“Everything was fine until you came along,” Jeff continued. His voice dropped low, barely above a whisper, “We’ll tell everyone how you got expelled from your last school, orphan.”

Steven went very still.

Floret wasn’t sure if his powers activated or not, but he was at Jeff’s back in what felt like a nanosecond. He grabbed Jeff by the hood and yanked him back hard enough that he stumbled, grip breaking as he spun around. Jeff looked up, startled, and whatever he saw on Floret’s face made him go pale.

“Go,” Floret said.

“Floret, buddy,” Jeff tried, forcing a laugh. “My favorite track bro. This isn’t what it looks like, we were just—”

“Jeff,” Floret interrupted, voice dangerously calm, “if you don’t get out of here right now, I will get you expelled.”

Jeff swallowed. His gaze returned to Steven, who hadn’t moved, his face unreadable. Then Jeff nodded quickly.

“O-okay,” he muttered.

He backed away, then turned and hurried down the hall, disappearing into the flow of students as if he’d never been there at all.

Floret exhaled slowly, the tension draining from his shoulders all at once. His gem hummed as the energy beneath his skin settled back into place.

Steven was already walking away.

He headed straight for the locker room without looking back.

“Steven,” Floret called, breaking into a jog to catch up.

Steven didn’t slow down.

“You didn’t have to step in,” He said, voice flat. “I was handling it.”

Floret caught up beside him just as Steven tugged open his locker. “Yeah, but I wasn’t gonna just stand by and let him talk to you like that.”

Steven scoffed, shoving his backpack inside.

“Aren’t you still on probation for fighting?” Floret said.

“Yeah. That doesn’t mean I can’t talk my way out of it.” He grabbed his gym clothes and turned toward the stalls.

“Steven,” Floret said, frustration creeping into his voice despite himself. “You were just calling him names.”

Steven didn’t look back. “Get off my fuckin’ ass, Flower Boy.”

The stall door slammed shut with a loud bang that echoed through the locker room.

Floret stood there for a moment, staring at the metal door. He muttered an annoyed sound and turned toward his own locker.

His movements were automatic as he changed quickly. Hoodie folded. Shoes swapped. He tied his laces with more force than necessary.

When he finished, he heard Steven curse softly behind him. “Fuck.”

Floret hesitated, but didn’t turn around.

“Flower Boy.”

“Yeah?” Floret said, meeting his gaze.

Steven stood there in his PE clothes, hair still slightly rumpled and brow furrowed.

“Take my necklace off,” Steven said.

Floret blinked. “Can you say please?”

“No,” Steven snapped. “Take the damn thing off.”

He turned around, lifting his hair to expose the back of his neck.

Floret sighed quietly but stepped closer, fingers working at the clasp. The metal was warm from Steven’s skin. Once it came free, Floret didn’t pull away right away.

His hand lingered.

He rested it gently against Steven’s neck, thumb brushing along warm skin. Without quite thinking about it, his fingers slid upward, cradling the back of Steven’s skull. He tugged lightly at his hair, forcing Steven to look up at him.

“You drive me insane,” Floret murmured.

Steven’s eyes were glassy, and his cheeks flushed pink. “...Uh-huh.”

Floret let go.

He stepped back before his thoughts could catch up to his hands, before he could overthink what he’d done or why Steven hadn’t pulled away. He turned toward the gym doors without another word, forcing himself to walk at a normal pace.

He let his body go through the motions of stretches and warm-ups and avoided looking too closely at Steven. Whatever that moment had been, it would wait. It had to.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

History class lived on the opposite end of the sensory spectrum. Whereas the gym was all loud and sweaty, this room felt hushed and soothing. Floret was fairly certain the decor dotted around the classroom was actual antiques and gem artifacts. Tall windows lined one wall, and Green Zircon had put faux stained-glass stickers on them to dilute the harsh sun. Outside, the trees along the quad bled red and gold leaves, some clinging stubbornly and others drifting down in lazy spirals.

Floret sat beside Peedee at a long table scarred with initials and scribbles of doodles carved by bored hands. Their project materials sprawled between them: a laptop, a battered ecology textbook with a cracked spine, loose notes, and a printed map of the Strawberry Gem Battlefield annotated in Floret’s tidy handwriting.

Their presentation focused on the Gem War and its long-term ecological consequences, specifically the strange, stubborn life that flourished in places where it shouldn’t have. The Strawberry Gem Battlefield stood out like a scar with its abundance of fragaria, and the land itself still hummed faintly with residual energy centuries later.

Butterflies and strawberries dotted every square inch of the field despite the cold weather up north.

It sounded whimsical until you looked closer.

Floret’s hypothesis centered on the light. Not a metaphorical light, but literal photonic residue from shattered gems, refracted and warped by his mother’s attempts to resurrect fallen soldiers. The land, he argued, had absorbed enough of his mother’s essence all those years ago to fundamentally alter the growth patterns and attract organisms uniquely sensitive to energy shifts. He argued that the land had changed due to the history of gems.

Peedee, meanwhile, favored a more pragmatic and human explanation. Butterflies and strawberries were resilient and opportunistic. Hardy enough to exploit the ecological vacuum left behind after the devastation. They filled the niche because they could, not because the land called to them with gem magic.  He argued more in favor of Earth science, rather than gem influence.

Their final presentation didn’t choose a side. It braided both theories together, evidence stacked neatly in parallel columns. Science and history rarely resolved themselves into clean answers.

The problem wasn’t the content.

The problem was Floret.

“You’re doing it again,” Peedee said, not looking up from his textbook.

Floret paused mid-typing. “Doing what?”

Peedee finally glanced over. “You’re taking over. You always take over.”

Floret frowned at the screen. The slides already had a similar color palette, embedded images with captions, and a preliminary data table, despite Peedee not being done with his notes.

“I’m just trying to help.”

“I know,” Peedee said. “But you’re doing the thing where you quietly become the entire project.”

Floret winced. He did do this every time. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, sincerely. “I’m done doing the text. I swear. I’ll just make it look nice. You do the actual content.”

Peedee studied him for a moment, weighing the promise.

“…Okay,” he said finally, hesitant but willing. “But I’m watching you.”

Floret smiled faintly. “Fair.”

He refocused on just the design, fingers moving lightly across the keyboard. So far, the main thing he needed to do was the transitions, which wouldn’t take over the entire project. 

Peedee scribbled notes from the textbook, muttering to himself about adaptive species and something about butterflies being an old trade for the tourist industry.

After a while, Peedee spoke again. “The Halloween party was good this year.”

Floret glanced up. “Thanks.”

“You disappeared upstairs for a bit.”

Floret’s fingers hesitated, then resumed typing. “I just wanted some fresh air.”

“Oh yeah?” Peedee said mildly. “Some fresh air with Steven?”

“He,” Floret said, then stopped. “…also wanted some fresh air.”

Peedee set his pen down. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“About what?”

Peedee blinked at him. “Exactly. What’s going on there?”

Floret leaned back in his chair. “We’re friends. Like. Good friends.”

Peedee stared at him with an expression so blank he could have been carved from marble. “Oh yeah, like how me and Nephrite are ‘good friends’?”

“We are,” Floret insisted. “That’s what he said on Saturday.”

“Oh,” Peedee murmured. “So he likes you too.”

“What?” Floret sputtered. “No. That’s not—I like him as a friend. He likes me as a friend. Why are you being weird?”

“Why are you blushing and getting defensive if you’re just friends?”

Floret crossed his arms. “I don’t think about him like that.”

“What if he thinks about you like that?”

Floret snorted. “I doubt it. Also, he’s dating Connie.”

“Oh,” Peedee said. “Right. I forgot about that. I saw them talking at the party, but she was basically glued to Patricia the whole time.”

“She’s allowed to have friends,” Floret said with a shrug. “Maybe they got into a fight or something, I don’t know.”

“Well,” Peedee said lightly, “if it ever becomes anything, you can tell me.”

“Oh yeah?” Floret nudged him with his elbow. “And are you going to tell me about you and Nephrite? Were you two kissing it up by the fog machine?”

“No!” Peedee yelped, far too loudly.

Their teacher glided past and shushed them with a raised eyebrow.

Peedee leaned in and hissed, “No, Floret, I was not kissing Nephrite at your party. If I were going to do that, which I’m not, I wouldn’t do it there.”

“Uh-huh,” Floret said. “Keep telling yourself that. She’s just the only other gem who understands dorky card game number five.”

“It’s called Tetramon,” Peedee whispered fiercely. “And it’s not dorky. It was ahead of its time. It has a cult following. And it’s a good investment.”

“It’s cardboard, Peedee.”

“Expensive cardboard, Rosebud.”

“Yuck,” Floret gagged. “You know I hate that.”

“I can’t believe your dad used to call you that,” Peedee said. “It’s like calling me Billybaby. Or Billyson. Eh, you get it.”

The bell rang, interrupting them.

They packed up their things. As they stood, Floret repeated, “I’m serious. I’ll only work on the slideshow design.”

Peedee pointed at him. “You better.”

Lunch passed without incident, which Floret counted as a minor miracle. No surprise arguments or awkward silences. He didn’t realize how much he’d needed that until it was over.

Sooner than he expected, trays were abandoned and backpacks slung over shoulders. Steven bumped his hip lightly against Floret’s as they stood, an unconscious habit by now, and Floret pretended not to notice, like he always did.

“Bye, Connie! Bye, Patricia!” Floret called, lifting a hand in an enthusiastic wave.

They waved back, already drifting toward their own hallway, and then it was just Floret and Steven weaving through the hustle and bustle as they headed for Earth Science. The classroom door was shut when they arrived, and their teacher was standing outside. She clapped her hands once to get everyone’s attention as they lined up along the hallway wall.

“We’re set up outside today. Dissections! Follow me!”

A ripple of reaction moved through the class as they filtered back out toward the outdoor classroom. Excitement for some and mild dread for others.

Outside, the lab tables were already arranged in their familiar grid across the courtyard, metal legs digging into the flattened dirt. Autumn air curled cool around Floret’s cheeks, carrying the scent of leaves and distant ocean salt.

Amethyst lounged against one of the tables, with her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. Yellow Diamond stood nearby, impossibly tall as she gazed through the students.

Floret’s brow twitched in concern as to why those two were here, but he didn’t say anything about it.

The gems in the class straightened immediately, shoulders squaring and spines aligning as if pulled by invisible strings. A few of them even saluted their Diamond before taking their seats. It seemed old instincts surfaced, whether they wanted them to or not. The humans were shocked at seeing a gem as tall as her, but their mood was distinctly pure curiosity over subservience.

Steven slid into his seat beside Floret, flashing him a wolfish grin.

Floret rolled his eyes. “What?”

“We get to cut stuff open again,” Steven said cheerfully. “You’re not gonna barf, are you? Do gems vomit?”

“Yeah,” Floret replied dryly. “I’ll make sure to face your direction.”

Steven recoiled. “Gross. Is that your new way of healing me? Honestly, I almost prefer the kisses.”

Floret felt heat rush to his face so fast it startled him. He turned sharply away, pretending to be very invested in the alignment of his notebook and the edge of the table. “I’m not going to throw up.”

“Uh-huh.” Steven reached over and dragged one of the trash cans closer with exaggerated effort, setting it firmly on his own side of the table. Far enough away that Floret would have to lean awkwardly across him to reach it. Or get out of his chair entirely. “Just in case.”

Floret sighed, shaking his head, and flipped his notebook open. He was notoriously squeamish and was certain everyone was aware of that after the frog dissection earlier in the year.

He braced himself for Steven’s commentary to last the entire class.

Then the teacher cleared her throat.

“All right, everyone,” she said, “Let’s get started.”

The chatter thinned around them, and Steven slouched back into something resembling attention.

“Today,” the teacher continued, pacing slowly in front of the tables, “we’ll be working with a gem.”

That alone drew a ripple of murmurs.

“More specifically,” she added, “you’ll be examining and carefully pulling apart a forcibly fused gem.”

She paused, letting her words settle over everyone, then went on in a measured tone. “Before we begin, I want to remind everyone that participation in this lab is optional. If at any point you feel uncomfortable, overwhelmed, or simply unwilling to continue, you may step away and work on an alternative assignment instead. There will be no penalty for doing so.”

Her gaze swept over the class, lingering briefly on the gems. “This topic intersects with real historical trauma. Even if you don’t understand the weight of it, some of your classmates do. Please treat it with respect.”

The reactions split cleanly down familiar lines. Most of the humans looked bored, a few mildly intrigued, waiting for something graphic to happen. The gems, by contrast, went very still. 

“As some of you know,” the teacher continued, “forced fusion was a practice used when the Earth colony was considered a failure by the Gem Empire. Shards from shattered crystal gems were combined against their will, creating unstable composite entities. These fusions experienced constant physical and psychological distress.”

Steven’s posture shifted. The humor drained out of him entirely, replaced by a focused seriousness Floret didn’t see often. He listened closely, jaw set, hands still.

Floret considered teasing him for paying attention for once.

He didn’t.

Instead, his attention drifted to the others. There were a few gems—ones with visible corruption scars—who seemed utterly mortified at the explanation of what a forced fusion gem is, likely hearing about it for the first time. A few of the humans shared their horror as Ms. Fili called upon Yellow Diamond to explain how the experiments were prototypes for something larger.

Floret tuned the lecture out.  He didn’t need to hear about the suffering Yellow had once orchestrated. He knew this history already. Hell, he's part of why they're in this class taking them apart now.

When the mismatched gemstones were finally distributed, placed carefully onto soft pads in the center of each table, Floret swore one of the quartzes was going to faint.

Still, no one left.

Floret’s gaze flicked back to Steven. He’d been watching Floret, apparently, because the second their eyes met, Steven looked away like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

The teacher raised her voice again. “One more thing before you begin. Gems emit a harmonic resonance. We call it a hum. It's an indicator of sentience that a typical Earth gemstone randomly pulled from the ground will not have. Each cut of gem has a different hum, and each of those hums will have subtle shifts in tone based on the individual.”

Several of the humans picked up the artificial gems in front of them and held them up to their ears.

“Gems like the ones in front of you have a much softer hum because they're composed of shards, none of which is big enough to make a louder sound. You can use this to help differentiate between similar colored gems in forced fusion.”

Amethyst raised her hand, already grinning. “I have volunteered today to get poofed so everyone can hear what a whole gem sounds like.”

Yellow didn’t hesitate. She reached out and pressed her thumb down.

Amethyst vanished in a poof of magic and light.

Floret winced even though he knew Amethyst would reform quickly. Probably before school even got out.

Still, it never ceased to unnerve him how… easily the Diamonds could have won. The fact that they didn’t is a miracle.

He glanced up at Yellow Diamond, and she caught his gaze. She waved at him happily, which he returned with a weak and uncomfortable wave of his own. 

When Amethyst’s gemstone reached their table, Floret didn’t even think about it. He passed her directly to Steven. He's held her gem and heard her hum already plenty of times.

Steven clearly wasn't prepared to take her so soon because he almost dropped her onto their table.

“Sorry,” he blurted, fumbling before catching her.

He lifted the gem to his ear. The sound was faint, but Floret noticed Steven humming quietly under his breath, adjusting his pitch, trying to line it up. When he seemed satisfied, he stood and carried Amethyst to the next table, cradling her with both hands like he was scared he was going to drop her for real.

When he sat back down, he flexed his fingers. “I didn’t realize gems were so fucking heavy.”

Floret blinked. “Did you think they’d be light?”

“Yeah,” Steven said, entirely sincere. “That’s what you’re made of, right?”

“My body is hard light,” Floret replied. “The gemstone itself isn’t.”

Steven frowned. “How was I supposed to know? Your gem is on your body, isn’t it?”

Floret snorted. He was almost positive he’d explained this before. Probably more than once.

Once Amethyst was returned to the teacher’s table and the room settled again, the teacher spoke. “All right. You may begin.”

Yellow stepped forward, lifting a pair of tweezers that looked absurdly large in her hands. “Grip the shard firmly at the base. Pull cleanly. Do not twist and do not rush. These are life forms like all of you.”

Steven didn’t reach for anything.

Whereas before he was quite careless with how he handled the dissection subjects—that poor frog—this time, Steven was starkly avoidant of touching anything. He stared at the gem for several long seconds before mumbling, “It sounds… weird.”

Floret glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“Yours doesn’t sound like that.”

It took Floret a moment to realize what Steven was talking about.

He was surprised Steven could even hear how the gem sounded while it was still on the table, and that he'd be observant enough to realize there was a difference between it and Floret's beyond the volume.

“It’s because there are different sounds mixed together,” Floret said quietly. “Each gem has its own resonance. When gems fuse properly, those sounds blend into one. But this…” He gestured toward the gem. “They’re not really fused right. They’re just humming at the same time.”

As Floret spoke, Steven did something unprecedented. He picked up his pencil and wrote something down in his notebook. Floret couldn’t see the words, but he caught glimpses of doodles on the opposite page. One was unmistakably his hair, shaded in with pink highlighter.

He looked away.

“I didn’t realize you paid so much attention to how my gem sounds,” Floret said.

“I only noticed ‘cause I have to sit next to your dumb ass all day,” Steven replied. “You sound like a microwave.”

“You can’t possibly hear my gem under my clothes,” Floret said. “No human has hearing that good.”

“I don’t need good hearing, dipshit. You’re just loud as fuck.” Steven jabbed the eraser end of his mechanical pencil into Floret’s shoulder and wiggled it. “Bzzzz. Bzzzz. That's what you sound like. You're a vibrator.”

“Steven!”

“Oh, so you know what that is? Slut.”

“Stop it, this is serious! Here,” Floret hissed, handing him a pair of tweezers. “Start taking it apart.”

Steven poked at a small pink shard jutting from the gem’s side. “Does this, like… hurt it?”

“No,” Floret said gently. “They’re poofed. They can’t feel anything.”

Steven rotated the gem, searching for a starting point. After watching him spin it around for the third time, Floret reached out, took his hand, and guided it toward a fragment of a Jet gem. “Start here.”

“I knew that,” Steven said, offended, but he followed the instruction without protest. Hesitantly, he plucked the fragment free and set it aside.

Floret wrote quickly on their worksheet, noting the gem type, color, transparency, and weight.

For once, they worked in quiet coordination.

And Floret realized it wasn’t so bad being good friends with his lab partner.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Schtu-ball,” Greg called, voice bouncing around through the storage unit, “can you hand me that gray duffel bag from the top?”

Floret paused mid-reach, fingers hooked around the edge of a warped plastic bin labeled WINTER STUFF??? in faded Sharpie. He balanced with one sneaker on a stack of milk crates and the other wedged precariously against a leaning tower of old concert merch, VHS tapes, and boxes whose contents had long since blurred into mystery. The air smelled like dust and old, mildewy fabric. Somewhere underneath him, something metallic rattled when he shifted his weight.

“Yeah, Dad,” Floret said, already regretting his life choices. “Give me a second.”

The storage unit was less a room and more a geological record of Greg Universe’s existence. Every layer told a story. The bottom strata were solid and stable: amps, crates of vinyl, instrument cases that had survived decades. Above that came the chaotic middle age of his humanity: folding chairs, camping gear, mismatched lamps, boxes labeled IMPORTANT with no further clarification. And then, at the top, mismatched purchases now that Greg was a millionaire.

None of it was expensive by any means, but whenever he saw a yard sale or a good deal at the thrift store, he now had the money to save it from whatever other fate it had. There was a mosh pit of half-off luggage, seasonal decorations, comics that were a far cry from mint condition despite Greg’s insistence that they were going to be worth millions, and even a lava lamp that had probably not worked since before Floret was born.

Floret stretched, rising onto his toes. His fingers brushed a canvas.

One day, he thought, he really should look into what to do about a hoarder, because this was ridiculous.

“Can’t you just fly up there and grab it?” Greg called from the base of the junk pile. He craned his neck, shielding his eyes from a shaft of sunlight slicing through the unit’s open door. “Use your magic floaty powers?”

Floret groaned, shifting his weight again. The crates protested with an ominous creak. “I don’t want to,” he said, voice strained as his chest finally flopped onto the built-in shelf. Dust puffed up around his face. “Pretend I don’t have powers, okay?”

“Why not?” Greg asked sincerely. “When I was your age, I wished I could do what you do.”

Floret hooked his elbow over the shelf and dragged himself higher, legs kicking out for a moment before he found purchase. “Because,” he said, breathless, “if I use my powers too much, I get worse at using them.”

Greg waited.

“And if I get worse at using them,” Floret added, finally wrapping his hands around the gray duffel bag, “I explode.”

There was a pause.

“…Right,” Greg said. 

Floret yanked the duffel free. It was heavier than he expected. He shoved it off the shelf and watched it tumble, bounce once, and land with a dull thud at Greg’s feet.

Then he began the careful climb down, moving slower than he’d climbed up. His knee brushed an old guitar case, and it too plummeted down the pile.

Greg pushed the guitar case against a wall. “You’re too hard on yourself, kiddo,” he said as Floret dropped to the concrete floor. “Let yourself live a little, be irresponsible, and goof off.”

Floret snorted, brushing dust off his white pants. “You should tell that to Pearl.”

Greg chuckled. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” Floret said quickly, already turning toward the door.

The storage unit groaned as Floret pulled the corrugated metal door down. It rattled and clanked until it finally slammed shut, echoing across the row of identical units like a punctuation mark. The afternoon sun felt warm on his face.

They walked toward the van, and Greg slung the dusty duffel bag over his shoulder. It smelled faintly of French fries and amplifier dust, comfort disguised as neglect.

Floret opened the passenger door and climbed in, tugging his seatbelt across his chest.

“Dad,” he said, after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you make me get you the duffel bag if we’re taking your van?”

Greg started the engine. It coughed, then settled into a familiar rumble. “Road trip snacks,” he said easily. “You and your little friend are gonna want some. By the time we get there, it’ll be dark.”

“Hmm.” He stared out the window as Greg pulled onto the road, Beach City rolling by in its sun-bleached colors. “Do you think it would be better if you picked us up from school tomorrow, and then we stayed at the hotel tomorrow night and Saturday night?”

Greg glanced over. “How come?”

“That way,” Floret tapped on the center divider with his nails, “you don’t have to worry about getting us home after the concert. And Steven won’t have to stress about getting back late.”

Greg nodded slowly. “If your friend is okay with that, that would be nice.”

 “Let me call him and ask.”

The phone rang three times.

“Hello?” Steven said, already sounding suspicious. “If this is about homework, I’m busy. And I also didn’t do it at all.”

“It’s not about homework,” Floret said.

“Oh?”

“Okay, so. My dad was thinking... What if, after the concert, instead of driving all the way back, we stay at the hotel that night too? So we would drive out tomorrow after school, stay the night at the hotel, go to the concert, stay the night again, and then leave whenever we want on Sunday?”

There was a pause. Floret could hear a TV laugh track in the background.

“I mean… You guys will buy me food, right?” Steven asked.

“Yes.”

“Like. Real food?”

“Yes.”

“Am I expected to be polite to you and your dad the entire time?”

Floret rolled his eyes. “Only a little.”

Another pause. “Fine,” Steven said. “I’ll let Vidalia know.”

“Okay, awesome. I’ll see you at school tomorrow. Don’t forget to pack.”

Steven scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, okay, Mom. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The line went dead. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked up just as Greg glanced over from the driver’s seat.

“So?” Greg asked.

“He’s in,” Floret said.

Floret leaned back against the seat and hummed as the vinyl behind him warmed from the sun.

“I’m excited,” Floret admitted after a moment. “I don’t even remember the last time we went to a concert.”

Greg kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. “Concerts are better with friends anyway.”

Floret hummed in agreement.

“You know,” Greg said, tapping the steering wheel in rhythm with the radio, “this whole thing reminds me of the first concert I went to with Vidalia.”

Floret turned toward him. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” Greg chuckled, shaking his head. “We didn’t have tickets. Or money. Or a plan, really. But she was mad at Marty and wanted to go out, cause she knew it would piss him off.”

“That checks out,” Floret said dryly.

Greg grinned. “We drove all the way out to this backyard concert that was hosted at an abandoned warehouse after she ‘borrowed’ his car. We parked behind the building and listened from outside at first. Vidalia started dancing in the alley like it was the best night of her life.”

“Eventually, one of the security guys took pity on us and let us sneak in for the last few songs. We were sweaty and exhausted, and our ears rang for days, but on the drive home, we couldn’t stop laughing. It was a really good time.”

Floret chuckled.

“I’ll try my best to make this fun for you,” Greg said after a moment. “For both of you.”

Floret looked at him and stared at the wrinkled lines around his lips from smiling and the crows' feet that started to form at the corners of his eyes. A lifetime of goofing off etched into his face. Floret could only hope one day he could grow old with laugh lines, too.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Greg reached over and squeezed his shoulder, warm and solid. “Anytime, Schtu-ball.”

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