Work Text:
Of every place Parrot would bring him to, he was not expecting a circus. When Derapchu was told by Parrot that he had an extra ticket to see his friend’s performance, he assumed they were a singer or an actor or a dancer. Not to end up in front of a giant vivid building painted in neons and watching Parrot high-five the guy working the ticket booth.
It’s a crowded venue, and all around him he sees people parade sweaters with green and yellow cat paws. In a group to his left, he sees an entire group of people carrying purple lightsticks and talking about how they hope they’ll be picked by “him”. Derapchu feels very out of place in his simple jeans and blue hoodie.
He’s led to two seats near the middle, shuffling through people to get to their spot while Parrot slips his bag from his shoulder and shows him what’s inside. There are lightsticks, and when he looks closer, he notices that one of them has white swirl patterns.
“Want one? My friend gave me some for free,” he offers them up and Derap takes the first one he noticed. The light emitting from it is violet, and the two others in Parrot’s hands are green and pink with cats and roses.
“What even happens here anyways? It’s just juggling and some makeup, right?”
Parrot laughs. “No way in hell. I actually don’t think any of them know how to juggle normally at all.” His face is there for another second, before it gets replaced by dimmed lights and a blackout through the building. All he can see of the people around him are lightsticks.
Derapchu looks around. “Is the power off?” There isn’t the slightest hint of music or dance for almost thirty whole seconds. He almost turns around to ask for help, but Parrot is far too bubbly to be scared.
Then, there’s a sudden click of lights on the stage, stunning all the first-timers including him. There’s a person, standing there in a green and gold bodysuit on a part of a massive flute replica. He balances on one of the knobs, her foot unquavering while he plays a song on her own regular-sized instrument.
“Is this your friend?” He nudges Parrot.
Parrot shakes his head, grinning. “I know her, but we’re not that close.”
Once her song has come to a slow, gradual ending, he does a flip off it and waves the instrument like a baton. Derapchu sees a shuffling behind the black curtains, squinting to try to get more. “Dearly beloved guests, welcome to the Debunk Circus! I am the Chartreuse Cat, and here is my friend, Rosette!”
Then, behind him and rising from inside the flute, a blur flies over the audience in a fast and explosive arc. Pink and lime ribbons fly from the cannon and plastic rose petals are scattered across the audience, of which one lands on his thigh.
They continue flying around, dashing from elevated platforms and hanging off bars like a master parkourist, which probably is their job simplified. They float through the air gracefully, glowing in moving lights and a green mask sparking with glitter.
Brown hair droops down when they swing in the air with only their legs to give the momentum, catching the unmoving metal pole and leaping from it. Finally, they end up on a platform far behind him where he has to crane his head to see. A drumbeat starts from behind the stage and the crowd shifts forward in waves.
The Cat’s flute is nowhere to be found, and neither is the cannon, swooped away by midnight curtains. Instead, she’s at the side of the stage while people wheel out a gymnastics bar in morph suits.
She starts off into a run, hands touching the floor once in a round-off before leaping onto the bar on his hands, stabilizing into a handstand. A few green balls are thrown from Rosette, who’s swung from their platform to a bar above the other, their torso upside down.
People cheer and gasp from beside him, and he does as well. He’s impressed, alright? Parrot next to him cheers more placidly, waiting in anticipation, but Derapchu is here to enjoy the full experience. “Is this what you meant by that they couldn’t juggle normally?”
They toss the lime balls back and forth, the acrobat kicking them up with his feet and the aerialist catching and dropping them while their legs squeeze the metal bar. So many things could go wrong, one of them could miss a ball or Rosette could drop onto the Chartreuse Cat, but they don’t.
“Yeah.”
Music plays but the crowd's glee drowns it out to background noise. The sequence plays out like a loop for another few minutes, before the Chartreuse Cat comes down from her handstand and holds the toys in his hands. Rosette does a flip off the hanging bar and clears their throat, Derapchu finally noticing the attire they’ve chosen to present in. It’s a suit, and while it’s sleeveless and their legs are bare to grip onto metal better, who in the absolute fuck leaps around in the air wearing a suit?
“Now that our act is over, who’d like to see a little magic trick?” At the last word, the lights go out yet again and people, especially near the front, start clamoring and screaming. Parrot starts shaking Derapchu a little, talking about how it’s the best act and how “he’s” trained so much for this.
“I have a little question to ask, so please follow along. If you wish to be included in the mystery, leave your purple lightsticks on. This will involve your face and voice to be recorded, so minors may not participate. If you do not want to be chosen or have a different color, turn your lightsticks off.”
A few minutes of clamoring and blobs of color turning off—Derapchu and Parrot’s lightsticks included at the birdbrain’s advice—the stage lights are shut off with a loud click and a low voice is played from speakers throughout the entire building. It makes him a bit nervous that he doesn't even know where they are.
“I,” he states in a quiet tone, “am the Director. And today, I’ve decided to play a little game.”
Derapchu can’t lie that he isn’t scared, because even though he knows he won’t be chosen and that nobody’s going to get hurt, it’s terrifying to hear a voice that seems to be in front of you and behind you and everywhere.
A violet light blinks to life in front of one of the seats near the front, and people jump back and scream at the tall figure right in front of them, so still and silent that they didn’t even know he was there. The Director stands in front of them in a black morph suit and a cropped sweater with ivory swirl markings, white bands of fabric as the closest thing to color and his hood up.
The speakers still play his voice. “Now, I know everything about you, but that means nothing if I can’t prove it. So, how about we do some sort of challenge? You.” He points at a guy in a black cardigan with a yellow tulip pattern. “Pick a card and place it at the bottom of the deck, and I’ll tell you which you picked.” The Director pulls some cards out from behind his back with one hand and hands a microphone to him with the other, the numbers facing the audience.
The guy with green dreads picks one from the left, and the Director steps back. The lights turn off. He’s disappeared again, not a word to be said and not a sound made until slow music plays. It’s graceful, and kind of reminds Derap’ of the songs Parrot likes.
Another flicker of lights snap on, the Director swinging from a ribbon high above the wooden stage. People scream in disbelief, and Derapchu feels his jaw drop. It’s barely been any time, not even a minute. Unless he’s quite literally a marathon sprinter or has superpowers, there’s no way he could’ve made it up there.
His moves get increasingly more complicated, changing from swinging back and forth with the occasional loop to flipping and hanging from a trapeze bar. The ribbon is wrapped around his tall body and tied off in a bow. His hood doesn’t even come off during the performance, held on by stitches or prayers.
It’s so easy to get tangled or to fall due to the black fabric preventing his skin from properly gripping, but Derapchu knows he won’t. Instead, he lets go of the bar and twirls in a mid-air pirouette, the Director’s hands coming down just in time to grab the trapeze bar flying towards him. It‘s fast enough to spin upside down on its wires, and one last jump to the unlit platform Rosette once stood on has him tugging on the white ribbon, letting it drip down in a heap on the stage.
He’s illuminated suddenly, holding a card that Derapchu has no idea where he even got. The voice, the one that’s everywhere and makes his skin crawl, it speaks. “The five of hearts. Is this your card?”
“It is, what in th-he—the what!” The microphone given to the participant turns on, catching the screams and awe-filled noises from the people around him.
The Director nods. “Of course. I know everything about you.” He flips off the platform, but light does not follow him and the platform flickers out into shadow. Then, he’s right in front of the guy fast enough that it shouldn’t even be possible, hand out and shocking everyone. “I need that back. Wouldn’t want to ruin the magic, hmm?”
He hands it back and the light blinks out, removing him from existence. Derapchu doesn’t even know if he blinked once the entire time, and he can’t stop the words that spew from his traitorious mouth. “Holy shit, that’s hot.”
Parrot next to him rips his eyes away from the performance to gawk at him. “Bro.”
“What? It’s cool.” Derapchu knows he can’t take it back, but he can play it down. He hopes that Parrot can’t see the warmth crawling on his skin.
“That’s my friend. The Director.”
“What?” Derapchu knows he’s being loud when the couple above him frowns a little. His hand covers his mouth and he wants to scream in horror because there’s a difference in thinking that a passing person is attractive, and someone that his friend talks to enough to come to their workplace.
“There’s actually no way.” Parrot tries muffling his chuckles. “You’re actually thirs-”
“Shut up, shut up.” He starts batting at him with the lightstick in his hand, and freaking out. “You’re not telling them shit. Who even is your friend anyways?”
“You’ve literally met him.” Parrot states, and Derapchu has to hide how his body twitches in disbelief because there’s no way he met someone that incredible and they just never happened to mention this.
Derapchu tries talking, but Parrot already knows what he’s about to ask. “No way. Who’s-”
“Nah. I was going to tell you, but it’s funny to see you freak out.” Parrot turns back to the stage. “Figure it out yourself, if you’re so down bad for him.”
With that, Derapchu promises to himself that he needs to figure out who the Director is. Parrot is an ass and he will do anything to stand on the same stage and mock him back. He ignores how cool the Director is or how his heart flutters when he thinks of him.
The lights on the stage flicker along to the music, The Director gripping a metal bar stationary above the stage. Derapchu has no idea who it could be, because this is just a mask put on to perform. What if they aren’t as graceful when walking down the street, or maybe they command attention but only when they do something stupid like when he does?
Derapchu doesn’t know. Parrot has too many friends. He keeps deciphering his identity while he and Rosette swing from bars and the Chartreuse Cat lights various things on fire, but doesn’t get it. It’s at times like these that he wishes he was smarter like Parrot or Jumper.
It makes it so that he spends the rest of the performance enjoying it, but still leaving unsatisfied. He wants to know who is behind that mask. Brains crave challenges, puzzles, and this is his: Finding the identity of the Director.
-*-
Derapchu is seething. His chest twists uncomfortably, and his shoulders are tight so he doesn’t try to do something stupid like knock out the guy in front of him. Not that he could, being five inches shorter and not nearly as fit.
“I’m his best friend. I’ve literally known him since we were kids.” Wifies sips from his drink, lemon iced tea that personally Derapchu thinks is too bitter. It’s Parrot’s birthday, and two months into finding out who the Director is to no avail. He’s gone to nearly half a dozen shows at this point, and still doesn’t grasp even the slightest thread linking the Director to a real person.
He knows that Rosette is really just Wato, and that the Charteruse Cat is Kenadian, a part-time data analyzer. He doesn’t know who the Director is though, the last piece. He can’t even ask his coworkers because Parrot got to them first, swearing them to secrecy just to mess with him.
“Do you even hang out with him? If you’re his best friend, then why is it that I’m the one in his DMs?” Derapchu contemplates spitting in Wifies’ drink, but he thinks that might be more romantic than hostile, especially considering his reputation.
“Well, don’t ask who was in the background of his calls.” His head is held high while they bicker in the pool chairs, the majority of the crowd either in the water or around the edge. Derapchu doesn’t like swimsuits, and Wifies doesn’t know how to swim.
Derapchu smugly brags. “Yeah, big talk. ‘X2 loves to have me around. Yeah, ‘X2, that’s my special nickname for him. Real jealous, huh?”
“Well, I call him darling, but okay.” Wifies shrugs, the shade of a parasol obscuring the sun from his face. Even with the lack of heat though, there’s no reason for him to be wearing a full on hoodie. Derapchu has only a shirt on, and he’s still burning up and sweating.
He finds that arguing with Wifies sucks, because he’ll always win. He even looks good doing so, all poised and proper and intelligent, the bastard. His face is red with anger.
“You suck.” Derapchu watches Wemmbu shoot Squiddo with a water gun from Flame’s back, Jumper carrying her while Spoke grabs a plastic oar and sails around on a pretzel floatie. “Like, so much. Why do you even wear that anyways?”
“Wear what?” Wifies looks at himself, and Derapchu leads him to his sweater. It’s his classic one, gray with a yin-yang symbol over it. He’s also wearing a moon necklace, trailing down and hanging off a silver chain.
“That. It’s like, thirty something. What, do you have some alpha shirt under? Or is the oh-so perfect Wifies wearing his pajamas to a party?”
“Shut up, it’s my work’s merch.” He rolls his eyes. His face is red from the heat. “I had to show up early this morning.”
Derapchu frowns. He doesn’t know Wifies’ job, but he bet it was something dumb and boring, like accounting. What kind of office building has merch, though? “Seriously? What kind of work needs you to come in that early? The party started at noon.”
“Maintenance.” He leaves it at that. Derapchu doesn’t care enough to think about what it means. “What are you doing,” he asks, watching the shorter get up and grab a water gun. He fills it.
The tile is wet against his crocs, and makes slappy noises. His words are fast. “Drenched-Fies say what?”
“Pardon?”
Derapchu shoots him anyway.
-*-
“Please. Like, I am on my knees.” Derapchu says, while standing. He’s begging Parrot, offering cash, giving favors, anything. Still, the other relents.
The sun shines on his face, covering it in shadow. “Nah. This is way too funny. It’s been a month, and you’re so down bad over a guy that you’re asking me about his identity.”
“Bro, I literally just need to know.” He’s unfortunately weirdly obsessed with finding out a guy’s identity, but Derapchu has accepted that he’s a freak.
Jumper delicately handles her brush, taking care to color the yellow bows on her mug. Pangi makes brown swipes on his own, which is a plate with Lukey’s face on it. It’s a ceramic painting class.
Derap’ tries his best to properly handle his trinket dish meant for rings, but the lines are wobbly and uneven, and some of the blue background peeks through. It’s shitty, but he’s trying his best.
On the other side of Parrot, Wifies struggles even more with a mug. He’s attempting to make red flowers with bumblebee-colored pistols, struggling so much as to make a singular circle. He’s barely talking in order to concentrate.
As much as his ego is being filled with the rare sight of Wifies struggling, this is a bit too pathetic for him to take. “Dude, you want help? Like, this is sad.”
Wifies looks up from his work, red ears and frowning face, and relents. He scoots over a bit so Derapchu can loudly drag his chair over, and their hands touch when Derapchu guides the brush around in swirls.
Parrot smiles while painting his bowl of flowers. “Dude, you’ve gone to so many of his shows it’s insane.”
“I’m not insane, you are,” says the insane man. While helping guide the brush around, he notices a few things, the first of which is that Wifies’ palms are calloused. It’s unexpected for someone like him.
He also notices the sweat and wetness of his fingers, but pretends not to. Wifies is nervous, probably over the cup and his wonky strokes. Derapchu notices these things, and moves on. It’s kind of nice to enjoy the warmth from the guy next to him.
Contrary to popular belief, they don’t actually hate each other. If they did, Derapchu would’ve socked him in the face already. It’s just that he’s Parrot’s annoying childhood friend. The two just really don’t hang out outside of group settings.
Derapchu wants to hang out with Wifies more. It’s a thought that he doesn’t know the origin of, and sort of scares him.
“Are you two like, flirting right now?” Jumper comments, and Derapchu scoots away. He furiously denies it, hard enough that Pangi calls him a tsundere, and tries not to smile.
His face hurts from such furious joy.
-*-
Derapchu is yet again, mesmerized. He’s alone, the atmosphere soundless compared to the blare of music. It’s the Debunk Circus again. His mom has stopped asking why he spends so many weekends at the building, and his closet has merchandise hidden in the back.
Something, is that every show has the Director’s little game involved. A card, different every time, would be guessed after a series of acrobatics. Derapchu knows that he is exactly why their circus is so popular, but it’s kind of hard to wrap his head around the fact that such an incredible guy is Parrot’s friend.
Fire, red and dancing, is shot from an arrow. The Chartreuse Cat, or Kenadian, has his elbows curled on the mat. His legs and back are showcased, aiming and firing with his feet. It sticks in the target, setting the thing alight with skill.
The Director is running, his black cloak flutters with movement, and leaps over the flaming target with a quick flip. His back soars, and he flies over the target so high that the white patterns don’t burn into cinders.
Derapchu wonders if he’s ever seen such an amazing person behind the birdcage of normality. Probably not. It’s hard to hide such brilliance.
-*-
He doesn’t think it’s a big thing to sit next to someone at a theme park, but Jumper keeps eyeing them and Parrot won’t stop laughing.
It’s logical when he takes his emotions out of it; Wemmbu and Flame need to be separated because they’ll fight during the ride, so Parrot is riding with the resident purple guy. Ash wants to sit with Squiddo, and Pangi’s busy flirting with Zam. Everyone else is paired up, so that leaves Derapchu and Wifies to sit together for this, and presumably, the next dozen or so rides.
It also means that he sees Wifies grip the metal bar with sweaty palms when the operator locks them in and Mane starts shrieking pre-emptively. Bacon’s trying to get him to shut up before his ears break, and Spoke is loading up his phone so that he can play Bad Apple while Mapicc records.
“Dude, are you scared?” He thwaps his knuckles against Wifies’ arm, and violet eyes widen a little. He’s not tense, but he’s so relaxed that the shuffling that Derapchu thought was him trying to get comfortable is actually shaking.
“Nah, just a little nervous.” Wifies lies. “I don’t like amusement rides.” He’s so obviously afraid it’s pathetic.
An eyebrow raises while Derapchu taps Wifies’ index finger. The metal under it has been warmed and is as damp as the sweat beneath his thighs. “So you’re scared of roller coasters.”
“I’m not, I just don’t like them.” Wifies sneers. He’s meaner than he usually is—must be the fear and heat combined taking a toll on his brain. “I’m not even afraid of heights, I work with them for a living.”
Derapchu is a bit confused, but he rolls his eyes. “It’s okay if you are, you have me, the greatest most amazing—” His words are cut off when they start moving abruptly, and the familiar beat of bum bum bum, ba-da-ba-da bum bum bum starts playing.
He won’t stop twitching, and Derapchu doesn’t really know what to do. They obviously can’t get off, and unprepared for if the other has a full blown anxiety attack. They move upwards in a slow incline, the more fearful of the Lifesteal College alumni whimpering and praying.
“How do I like, stop this? Like, calm you down and shit.” Derapchu starts getting a bit terrified too, because it’s Wifies. He’s supposed to be the smart, competent, kind of snarky guy, not the quaking damsel in distress. It’s a page from a different book shoved into the one he’s reading.
Instead of coming up with another bullshit excuse, he mutters in a deep voice, unable to scream. “I usually wear gloves. ‘M used to pressure.”
Derapchu’s never once seen him wear gloves other than when the sky glitters with daisy petals and his coffee goes cold too quickly, but he doesn’t think about that. Instead, he covers Wifies’ hands with gray sleeves and presses his hands over.
“Is this good?” Their position is a little awkward, but it works and he stops shaking as much. Then, they start going suspiciously slow, and the roller coaster starts to plummet.
Derapchu screams, as do many of the others. Someone starts yelling lyrics to the song ‘Alter Ego’ for some kind of meme, presumably Wemmbu, and Ash starts insulting Zam and telling her that this is the only time she’ll ever experience being tall.
The wind rushes against his face, and his hood flies off his head and exposes soil brown hair. The loud sound of machinery is covered by terror, and Derapchu feels a weight pressing into his arm.
Wifies has his face pressed into his shoulder, something he only really processes when they’re going up and down on bumps. He’s not making a sound and his hands are still on the bar, but they’re tense under Derapchu’s.
He continues pressing them down on gray fabric, even if he loses his grip and his hands bounce up with every turn. Wifies keeps his eyes shut while Derapchu yelps and screams, and his shoulders tense.
When the ride is over, the taller brunet sits absent-mindedly to chill while Spoke rambles about losing his full combo, and Derapchu tries to pretend like his mind isn’t conflicted over the mystery that is Wifies.
He understands what this warmth should mean, he’s not that stupid. He’s had crushes before, he’s even had relationships before—albeit short, middle school flings that only lasted a month or two—and this feels like that. The building affection is finally noticeable to himself, and he doesn’t quite believe it.
Wifies isn’t afraid of heights, but he hates roller coasters. His order at the drink place to the left street is a medium jasmine bubble tea with grass jelly. While Derapchu is bad at art, he’s worse and doesn’t have the precision needed for delicate lines. He likes softer music and can’t swim. His hands are soft in certain areas without the callouses but sweat when he’s nervous. He tries to look like he isn’t affected, but Wifies never walks over grates in the middle of the road.
Derapchu doesn’t know why the stack of papers in the corner of his mind labelled “Wifies” has grown to such an amount. Or why he hasn’t really noticed it yet.
He likes Wifies. Derapchu doesn’t know when it started, but it did, and he has to come to terms with that. Something else though, that nags at himself and makes him bite the inner corner of his lip. If Derapchu likes Wifies, then what about the Director?
He still goes to his shows and tries not to look too much like a dumbass when he gets bamboozled for the dozenth time. The lightsticks are still hidden in his closet and his face still heats when the other does a cool flip.
He doesn’t understand. Derapchu knows damn well he’s not polyamorus, but then what is this obsession with the Director? Why do his lungs swell to accommodate the petals stuck inside them when he sees Wifies? Is it okay for him to have these feelings towards two different people?
And why do they both have to be people I met from Parrot? Derapchu tries not to pout too much at the fact that his best friend keeps having friends that are his type.
-*-
The stupid sun is setting and while it sucks to have the glare on his phone screen and in his eyes, it’s much more preferable to stumbling around like a blind little toddler when the dark settles in.
Derapchu can’t see shit. He’s always had subpar vision, but glasses are annoying and he can still see things, it’s just that he has to get in real close to read. Unfortunately, during the night he has to flashbang all the surrounding apartments otherwise he’ll trip over his own slippers like a dumb chud loser.
His arms raise a little out in front of him, trying to find Parrot and grab his sleeve. Things are shaking already, small twitches of color in the dark amusement park. While the stalls and stands are lit up, fairy lights don’t do anything against the sinking darkness.
He feels someone in front of him, the back of someone wearing a sweater, and reaches for their arm. They’re taller than him, as most of his friends are, and Derapchu switches hands to walk next to them.
“So, why are you grabbing me?” They ask, and he realises that he’s latched onto Wifies. Ugh. Of course, the universe has to do such a thing, and he can’t tell if he’s it’s most beloved or hated.
“I’m basically blind, bro. I can’t see in the dark.” He replies, walking forward. He can hear the chatter of his friends, and they plan to stay until the fireworks come up. He’ll be able to see that for sure, but it’s a little while until that.
“Do you want to go on the Ferris wheel?” Wifies moves his arm and grabs Derapchu’s hand to lead him. “I want to, and you’re kind of stuck with me.” His hands are rough and a bit sweaty, nothing like what every book and every movie says it should be like.
“I thought you hated roller coasters?” Derapchu tries not to focus too much on it, because if he does, his brain’ll explode. Part of the group splits off to watch Block Facts and Reddoons face off to win a plush prize, while the other goes to wait in line. Their fingers aren’t fully interlaced and only a couple are actually sitting in the right places, but it’s fine.
“I don’t like how loud they are.” Wifies comments, and he sounds like he’s looking down at Derap’. “It’s okay if it’s just us.”
He wants every tone in his voice to not be screaming out at him. Without his sight and relying only on the pull of Wifies, he focuses on the slight pauses and huffs of air way too much. “And who said I was going to sit with you?”
“Then let go of my hand.” He says, right as they’re close to the front of the line. Derapchu doesn’t because if he does there’s no guarantee that he’ll ever make it out of this fuckass place, but his colors are dyed in shame. He hates the lack of words he has to describe this moment.
Before he’s really managed to understand really what he’s gotten himself stuck in, the door closes and they’re seated next to each other in the lit car. It slowly rises into the air, looking over the red and white blinks of illumination. He doesn’t know how to let go of his hand, or if he should.
“It’s so pretty,” Wifies mutters, and the sound bounces off the walls and windows. In the light, he can see the redness on his face. It’s sunburnt as hell, the day spent out milling with their friends and resting on benches.
He kicks his feet, swinging them back and forth. “I know. You think the power bill is high?” It’s a stupid decision on a ride suspended dozens of meters in the sky and an even stupider question, but Wifies doesn’t care.
His index finger twitches against the space between Derapchu’s same digit and thumb. “Probably big. I mean, it’d be lighting up a town's worth of area.”
He knows what should happen here. Derapchu will say that he has something to tell Wifies, his face will flush and his pulse will thrum against his flesh. It’ll come out in a quiet and heartfelt tone, just loud enough that Wifies can hear. The other will respond, repeating the same statement and they’ll press lips in a quiet, first kiss. The fireworks will go off in the middle of it, covering the moment in a flash of vibrant pigments, and it’ll be perfect.
He smiles deviously. “Y’know what else is big?” Wifies and him joke around and play like the silence wasn’t a bit too long. Nothing happens, because Derapchu doesn’t know if he can say such things when Wifies is not the only one that occupies his thoughts too much.
The fireworks don’t start until they’re almost off the ride.
-*-
“So, if hypothetically, I had a crush on two people, what would I do?” Derapchu can’t believe he’s doing this. Anyone, literally anyone would've been nicer, but he can’t do nice right now. He needs the best option even if it’s going to make him lose his mind later.
Parrot is confused before realisation and disgust kick in, his face squishing in distaste. “This isn’t about who I think it is, right?”
“What do you mean? It’s a hypothetical!” Derapchu pouts, biting the inside of his cheek before he relents. “Fine, maybe. Shut up.”
His lips press against each other in a grimace. “You’re such a bum. You’re actually such a dumbass. There’s no way you fell for not only a guy whose face you’ve never seen, but also someone else?” He watches Derapchu fumble one of his clicks, resulting in a bit of lost time.
“Fuck you, I need help! I don’t know what to do, it’s not right!” Derapchu sighs while trying to make it through the corn themed boss. The little blue character he plays jumps up and down trying to avoid the attacks. “I don’t get how I can like the Director and Wifies at the same time.”
“Wait, I thought this was about Peentar or something.” Parrot double takes, and in his momentary shock, he gets hit and downed. Derapchu has to save him, trying to get the timing right.
“Peentar didn’t even like me back, bro, get with the times.” The childish confession note was dunked in the trash with a rejection and offer to stay friends, Derapchu cried a lot and got over it, and now they’re friends and nothing else. It sometimes hurts, but he doesn’t care anymore.
“Well, if you like Wifies and the Director, it’s going to be okay.” Parrot sounds a bit hesitant. Derapchu supposes he’s never really dealt in the manners of romance and whatnot. “It’ll turn up fine. I promise.”
“You sure? If either of them fuck me over, it’s your fault for gaslighting me.” His character jumps up and down, swinging its tiny sword at the draining red healthbar.
“I’ll personally sock him myself if he breaks your heart.”
-*-
Wifies grips the tiles, staying low so he doesn’t do anything stupid as he tosses the basketball back down to the grass. As the resident tallest after Flame—who’s off frolicking at a horror pop-up store with Lomedy—he was chosen to grab the stray ball from Wemmbu’s shed.
His sleeves are rolled up, and Derapchu notices that he’s at least a little muscular. It’s annoying how goddamn wonderful he has to be at everything, from academics to sports to blah blah blah. At least he’s better at gaming, but that's not a very important quality.
“Do a flip!” Spoke cheers. It’s a foolish request, one made more as a joke than anything serious.
Wifies proceeds to pause for a second and then jump high into the air, his sweater fluttering with movement and he spins in the air in a flip before landing on his feet. It’s practiced and he doesn’t even stumble as the impact sinks into his legs.
Their friends swarm him with yelling, asking where he learned that and asking for him to repeat it. Pangi starts talking about wanting to clip it, Wemmbu is asking why he’s never talked about it before, and Parrot calls him performative.
Derapchu doesn’t say anything. He’s seen that flip before, the one with the shoulders at that specific angle and the rehearsed professionalism. He knows Wifies exercises a lot, but very few jobs require one to perform acrobatics on the regular.
“I’m not, I just don’t like them.” Wifies sneers. “I’m not even afraid of heights, I work with them for a living.”
There’s no possibility that this is real, not in his head. Things start piecing together. The small mentions of Wifies' job, the callouses when he holds his hand. Same, build, both tall and lanky. Wifies needing pressure to calm down, the Director always wearing a compression suit.
Parrot and Derapchu finish up the boss, collecting gold and gems. “I’ll personally sock him myself if he breaks your heart.”
He. Not they, not plural, Parrot addressed them both as he. Derapchu feels like an idiot. He probably is, because not only has Wifies been dropping hints this entire time, Parrot said that and Derap’ didn’t catch it.
Wifies finally looks at him, the one person who’s been left quiet and isn’t freaking out—at least, freaking out externally. His bashful smile drops, and that alone is confirmation that he is the Director. “Derapchu. Let’s talk inside.”
Parrot, who for once has gained a spot of empathy, distracts everyone and changes their attention when they start looking inquisitive about the two’s conversation. Wifies closes the door, and it’s just them left to have this conversation.
He doesn’t say anything, because who can in this situation? Derapchu is stuck merging two people into one, and he feels kind of… lied to. “You could’ve told me.”
“Well, Parrot didn’t really want me to.” It’s a bullshit excuse.
Derapchu’s fist ball up inside his hoodie. “When the hell have you cared about that? You watched me, for months at this point, come to your shows and glaze you in front of everyone!”
Wifies looks away, down because he can’t handle his mistakes. “And I’m sorry about that. I really am. I… didn’t know how to tell you. I’m sorry.”
“Just tell me straight up!” He’s not yelling, but his voice still raises to be louder. “It’s really not that hard.”
“Shit, I know. Though, what would you even think if I was the Director?” His fingers fiddle with a loose string on the edge of his sleeve. “You can’t tell me that you wouldn’t stop coming because of me.” He’s nervous, his face is reddened, and he is so wrong it makes him look stupid.
Derapchu doesn’t know how to hate Wifies. He hates people of course, the clips of weirdos that run over dogs on the road or the people that make unskippable ads, but it’s harder when he knows them. He has never once hated the man in front of him. Perhaps disliked, of course, but he can’t hate Wifies.
“Dude. I don’t hate you. You suck and you’re an annoying piece of shit, but it’s fine.” He doesn’t and he never has, even in their petty arguments. His hands start picking at the lint inside his pocket. “I like you.”
He doesn’t look surprised, or maybe Derapchu’s just bad at reading people. “Yeah, I heard you talking about the Director. Nothing platonic in there.”
“No, you idiot, I mean I like Wifies.” He walks closer. “Both of you, whatever. Get that through your fucking head.” Derapchu yanks him down. His left hand comes up to put a quick slap of contact on the taller’s face, and half a second later Wifies’ face is grabbed and a quick kiss is planted on his stinging cheek.
Derapchu backs off and steps back until they’re just standing in front of each other. His arms are tucked back in his pockets. “You deserve that. The slap and the… Other thing. We’re dating now.”
He mumbles awkwardly while bringing a hand up to his face. “Yeah, um… Okay. Sounds good. Does… does this mean you’re not mad at me anymore?”
“I’m still kinda pissed, but I get it.” He didn’t want to lose me. I wouldn’t want to lose him either. “You still need to make it up to me, though. Get lower, I’m getting a piggyback.”
Wifies crouches down and Derapchu jumps on, looping his hands around his neck. He notices the hands hooked under his thighs are sweating. He feels a lot taller, tall enough to touch the top of the other’s head. It’s fluffy, like a dog.
“By the way, can you like, forget everything I’ve ever said?” He asks, remembering the way he yapped and gushed over the Director not only in front of all his friends, but in front of the guy himself.
Wifies uses one of his hands to open the door. “Well, it was cute. Next time, if you want to compliment me, tell me directly. Maybe if you bring a purple lightstick, I’ll reveal the nine of hearts in your deck.”
“Bro, why the hell are you sappier than me?”
“That’s literally in my job description. That, and doing trapeze. It was hard not to look at you during my performances, by the way.” Wifies walks into a crowd of people watching Spoke and Mapicc duke it out in a co-op battle, with a warm pressure against his back.