Chapter Text
Steam clung to the mirrors, warm water lapping against Shedletsky’s shoulders as he leaned back with a rare sigh of relief. For the first time in what felt like years, he wasn’t immediately covered in ash, blood, or Forsaken grime. Just hot water, soap, and a quiet moment.
He closed his eyes. Let the tension in his wings bleed out. Almost—almost—forgot that the world outside was still a mess.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch-scratch.
Shedletsky’s eyes shot open. “…No. No, absolutely not.”
Thump. Scratch. Scratch-scratch-scratch.
A muffled voice followed, strained with urgency, “Shed—Shed! You alright in there? Answer me, damn it!”
Shedletsky groaned, dragging a wet hand down his face. “Oh my god.”
SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH.
“You’ve been in there too long—humans ain’t supposed to breathe underwater that long, right??” Roblox’s tone pitched high with genuine panic. “You—you're drowning, aren't you?! SHED?”
The scratching became pounding, claws and fists alike.
Shedletsky slapped the edge of the tub in frustration. “I am literally taking a bath, you absolute moron!”
Silence for a beat. Then, uncertainly: “…A bath? Like… voluntarily sitting in water?”
“Yes.” Shedletsky dragged the word out.
Another pause. Then, suspiciously, “You sure you ain’t… y’know. Slipping under?”
Shedletsky pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “Why do I even bother…” before yelling louder, “Roblox, if you scratch my door again, I will throw this entire tub at you!”
From the other side, a meek little huff. Then a reluctant shuffle of footsteps retreating—though not too far, judging by the creak of the floorboards just outside.
Shedletsky flopped back against the edge, exasperated. “…Unbelievable.”
Shedletsky sank lower into the steaming water, letting it lap up over his collarbones, wings stretched lazily against the edges of the tub. The faint sound of Roblox pacing outside was still there, but muted—like background noise. For once, he didn’t care.
He reached for the soap and worked it through his hair, massaging his scalp with a sigh that almost sounded like a purr. “Ohhh, god, finally…” His voice echoed faintly off the tiles. Foam lathered in his hair, dripping suds down his face, and he let it run without a care.
He dunked his head under for a moment, relishing the feeling of warm water rushing past his ears, then came up sputtering with a grin. “I missed this,” he muttered to himself, scrubbing the remnants of Forsaken grime from his curls. “No dirt. No ash. No blood. Just… soap. Actual, real soap.”
He leaned back again, tipping his head so the water rinsed through his hair, eyes fluttering shut. Every little knot was loosening, every ache fading in the heat. He even laughed softly, shaking his head like a dog just because he could.
For a moment, it was just him, bubbles, and peace. No screaming. No nightmares. No one clinging to him like he was their last anchor. Just Shedletsky and his stupidly luxurious bath.
Shedletsky let the water creep up to his jawline, his fingers trailing through the surface as though he were playing with glass. The warmth seeped deep into his bones, dragging the tension out of his shoulders.
His eyes shut, but not from exhaustion—just peace. Real, actual peace.
He thought back, unbidden, to Forsaken. The stench of burning maps, the screaming, the endless cycle of rounds starting and ending. Forty-five minutes—if he was lucky. That was all he’d get between waves of chaos. A pathetic, gasping half-rest with one eye open, body wound like a trap ready to spring. His wings had ached, his throat had been raw, his nerves stripped bare.
But now… now he was stretched out in hot water, steam softening every breath. The silence felt heavy, but not in a threatening way—like a blanket, not a shroud.
He let his head loll against the porcelain edge, hair floating around him, soap still faint in the air. A smile tugged lazily at his mouth.
“Forty-five minutes…” he muttered, almost laughing under his breath. “That’s all I got. And now? Now I could fall asleep in here and not even care.”
His wings gave a slow, satisfied twitch, feathers ruffling as he sank deeper into the tub. Every muscle was unwinding, every scarred memory soothed just a little by the heat. For once, his body wasn’t bracing for impact.
“…I earned this,” he whispered to himself, letting his thoughts blur, the warmth cradling him into something dangerously close to comfort.
“…God, I am never going without this again,” he whispered, sinking down until the water kissed his chin, content in a way he hadn’t been in years.
Shedletsky finally let the water drain, watching the steam curl away like ghosts leaving the room. His smile faded with it.
Dragging himself up, he reached for the rough towel and pulled it tight around his shoulders. His wings flared instinctively at the sudden chill—an ugly, raw reminder that they existed at all.
He scowled.
With practiced motions, he wound the binding straps around them, pulling until the feathers bent flat, compressed against his back. Too tight, but that was the point. The wings twitched and shivered at the restraint, but he didn’t let them. He forced them down, forced them silent.
“Stay hidden,” he muttered, jaw clenched, pulling the last buckle until it bit into his ribs. “Stay gone.”
He dragged on a plain black T-shirt, tugging it hard until the fabric stretched across his shoulders. No sign of feathers. No sign of the grotesque things stitched to his body, the ones that screamed of Forsaken.
He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Damp hair clung to his forehead. The shirt fit. No one would know.
But he knew. He always knew.
His stomach twisted, the same old bile rising. The wings weren’t miraculous, weren’t a blessing. They were ugly. Wrong. Sinful. A mark carved into him, a constant reminder that he wasn’t clean, wasn’t free, wasn’t… human.
Shedletsky swallowed hard, shoving the thought down. He didn’t have the luxury of hating himself out loud—not when everyone leaned on him to look fine. Normal. In control.
He raked a hand through his wet hair, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to him.
“…Just a stupid shirt. That’s all it takes. Nobody sees. Nobody knows.”
Shedletsky pulled the shirt down over his chest, tugging it hard as if the fabric could erase what lay beneath. His wings were bound tight, pressed flat against his back, hidden and suffocating in cotton. They itched. They ached. But it was better this way—out of sight, out of mind. He looked at himself in the mirror for half a second before turning away, jaw tightening. Disgust curled in his chest. No one needed to see.
The door creaked when he opened it. He barely had time to take a step into the hall before—
WHAM.
Roblox slammed into him like a freight train, arms locking around his torso in a crushing embrace. The impact nearly knocked the breath out of him, wings straining against their bindings, but Roblox clung on like a barnacle. His metallic grip was unrelenting, almost desperate.
Shedletsky staggered, caught off guard, but steadied himself with a laughless grunt. “Roblox—what the hell—”
Roblox buried his head into Shedletsky’s shoulder, grip only tightening. He mumbled something incoherent, half static, half words. His whole frame buzzed faintly, trembling in a way Shedletsky wasn’t used to.
“...Grumpy bastard,” Shedletsky muttered, patting his shoulder like one might calm a growling dog. “You missed me, didn’t you?”
Roblox jerked his head up immediately, scowling. “NO.” The denial was sharp, defensive, spat like a weapon. “Of course not. I was just—checking—for—uh, structural stability! Making sure you weren’t—broken or something!”
Shedletsky arched an eyebrow, amused despite himself. Roblox’s grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it grew tighter, the bot glaring with that stubborn refusal to admit the obvious.
“Sure,” Shedletsky said dryly. He could feel the tremor in Roblox’s frame, the way the bot pressed closer like he was afraid Shedletsky would vanish if he let go.
Roblox huffed, muttering, “...Idiot… taking too long… stupid… drowning… ” before cutting himself off, jaw locked.
Shedletsky sighed, soft but not unkind. “Yeah. I missed you too, you needy hunk of metal.”
Roblox stiffened, his face heating in mock outrage. “DID NOT!”
Shedletsky smirked, letting him cling anyway.
The hallway was still filled with Roblox’s grip—tight, stubborn, unwilling to loosen—when the sound ripped through the air.
A scream.
High-pitched, panicked, echoing from the direction of the kitchen.
Both Shedletsky and Roblox froze for half a heartbeat before instinct kicked in. Roblox’s arms snapped off of him, and the two bolted down the hall, wings straining painfully against their bindings as Shedletsky ran. The smell hit them before they even reached the door—burning oil, smoke, the sharp sting of charred metal.
They burst into the kitchen—
—and found chaos.
A small stove fire spat and snapped on the burner, flames licking the edge of a warped pot. The admins were everywhere at once, flailing like panicked children. Reese was waving a dish towel uselessly, fanning smoke into the air. Builderman had a mixing bowl full of water, but looked too scared to throw it. One of the others was standing on a chair screaming like the fire was about to leap across the room and eat them alive.
Shedletsky skidded to a halt, wide-eyed, then blinked. “…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Roblox’s gaze darted between the fire and the flailing admins. “What—what the hell is this?!”
BrightEyes spotted them, eyes wild. “WE HAVEN’T COOKED IN YEARS! I DON’T REMEMBER WHAT I’M DOING!”
“CLEARLY,” Shedletsky deadpanned, before shoving Roblox toward the counter. “Go hit the kill switch on the stove before the whole damn place goes up!”
Roblox obeyed, smacking the off-switch with enough force to rattle the knobs. The fire sputtered, shrieking as oxygen cut off, until it finally coughed out into a haze of smoke. The room filled with the bitter tang of scorched food.
The admins all froze, panting, staring at the extinguished burner like it was a wild animal that had just been tamed.
“…That’s it?” Shedletsky asked flatly. “That’s what had you all screaming like someone got murdered?”
Reese lowered the towel sheepishly. “...We haven’t really… cooked properly… in a long time. We’ve been, uh… living off of pre-packed stuff. Chips. Drinks. Vending machines.”
StickMasterLuke piped up, still pale. “Yeah, we—uh—we kinda forgot how to… y’know… stove.”
Shedletsky stared at them. Then at the scorched pot. Then back at them.
“…Unbelievable.”
Roblox crossed his arms, trying to mask how rattled he’d been, and muttered, “Pathetic.”