Chapter Two-Hundred Eighty-Seven: The Weight of Transition

Chapter 287

The Weight of Transition

Seated quietly across from Tristan’s desk at Trémaux Law Office that morning, Jordi tapped his fingers lightly against the armrest of the plush leather chair. Dressed in dark gray jeans, a black button-down shirt, and black zip-up boots, he sat opposite Tristan, who was clad in a navy three-piece Italian-cut suit, a crisp white shirt, a black tie, and black wingtip Oxfords.

Tristan leaned back in his chair with a calm, composed demeanor and folded his hands over a closed Manila folder.

Tristan: “The investigation into your grandfather’s death has officially concluded, Jordi.”

He said gently.

Tristan: “The authorities have ruled it a clear case of self-defense. No charges will be pressed against you.”

He folded his hands and rested his elbows on his desk. He looked sympathetically at Jordi, who was clearly shaken up.

Tristan: “I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

Jordi drew a breath.

Jordi: “I think this was inevitable. It explains why Grandma left. It doesn’t explain why she didn’t take me with her.”

He hung his head and pursed his lips.

Tristan shifted slightly in his leather chair.

Tristan: “There is one more matter, Jordi… Regarding your old house, I have been in contact with the insurance adjusters.”

He slid a document across the desk to Jordi.

Tristan: “They have reviewed the damages. Given the circumstances and the documentation I provided, they have agreed to a full reimbursement. You will be compensated for the loss of the property.”

Jordi looked up, his Byzantine eyes weary, but a flicker of relief crossed his face.

Jordi: “All right. I don’t need that money, but I can put it in a savings account for Lena should she ever need it.”

Tristan nodded and gazed at Jordi.

Tristan: “How are you holding up?”

Jordi: “As well as anyone who found out his grandfather was being a pervert to his sister and tried to kill him.”

He laughed bitterly.

Jordi: “You have your fair share of fucked up family members in Charlotte and Narcisse.”

He added. Tristan lowered his head.

Tristan: “This is precisely why I asked.”

He mumbled.

Tristan: “I empathize with you, Jordi.”

He said tenderly.

Tristan: “If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

He added. A soft smile touched Jordi’s lips.

Jordi: “Thanks, Tristan.”

Jordi and Tristan both stood up from their chairs. Jordi stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Tristan in a sincere, grateful hug. Surprised for a heartbeat, Tristan relaxed his posture and returned the embrace, offering a silent, supportive squeeze that acknowledged everything they had just discussed.

~

Jordi stepped out of the Trémaux Law Office and walked toward the curb where his 1987 purple Ferrari 328 was parked. He slid into the driver’s seat, the familiar rumble of the engine grounding him as he turned the ignition.

As he pulled away from the curb, the car purred to life, its engine a low, rhythmic growl that vibrated through the chassis. Jordi navigated the midday congestion of downtown Pink Top City, his hands steady on the steering wheel.

Despite the chaos around him, his mind was singularly focused on the task at hand. The legal weight had lifted, but the practical need to update his address on his driver’s license loomed. He scanned the street signs, anticipating the turn for the Palm Tree State DMV. When the sprawling, beige-brick building finally came into view, he guided the Ferrari into a parking space, the engine cutting out with a sharp, metallic click. Sitting in the silence of the cabin, he took a deep, steadying breath, grounding himself before facing the inevitable bureaucratic labyrinth that awaited him inside.

Pushing open the heavy glass doors, Jordi stepped into the Palm Tree State DMV, immediately greeted by the cold, sterile hum of fluorescent lights and the dull murmur of quiet conversations. He walked over to the automated kiosk near the entrance, pressed the button to request a driver’s license address update, and pulled ticket number 42 from the dispenser. Paper in hand, he scanned the row of hard plastic chairs and found an empty seat to sit down and begin the wait.

The digital display overhead chimed softly, flashing “Number 42” in bright red numbers. Jordi stood up, briefly smoothed the front of his black button-down shirt, and walked over to the designated counter. Reaching the window, he handed his driver’s license through the small slot in the glass to the woman behind the counter.

Jordi: “Hello, how are you doing? I need to change my address.”

He began.

Jordi: “I now live at 35 Juniper Street.”

The woman behind the counter, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, barely looked up as she took the card. She tapped a few keys on her keyboard, her expression neutral.

DMV Clerk: “I’ll need proof of residency for the new address. A utility bill, lease agreement, or bank statement, please.”

Jordi cleared his throat and handed her a utility bill and a property deed in his name.

The clerk took the documents, scanned them with a practiced eye, and set them aside. She typed a bit more, the rhythmic clacking of the keys filling the silence between them. Finally, she nodded, pulling a form from a stack.

DMV Clerk: “Everything looks in order. I’ll just need you to sign this confirmation form, and we can process the update to your license.”

Jordi nodded and took the proffered pen. He leaned slightly over the counter. With a steady hand, he signed his name on the line the clerk indicated. He handed the pen back, the mundane motion of signing the paper marking the final step in a day that had felt heavy with transition. The clerk took the form back, stamped it with a heavy thud that echoed in the quiet lobby, and slid it into a folder.

DMV Clerk: “All set. Your address is updated in our system, and your new license will arrive in the mail in two to three weeks.”

Jordi: “Thanks, have a good day.”

He said as he took his license and documents and headed out the door.

~

Returning home, the quiet of his home offered a stark contrast to the sterile, bustling atmosphere of the DMV. The weight of the day—the legal resolution, the confrontation with his grandfather, and the simple, mundane act of updating his paperwork—finally began to settle in.

Jordi knelt to unzip his boots and slide his feet out. He moved to the living room and sank onto the plush sofa. He pulled his legs up, his black sheer socks sliding against the fabric as he shifted to find a comfortable position. Staring up at the ceiling, he let his gaze wander, his mind adrift in deep, complex thoughts about the transition he was living through. The silence of the room was heavy, but for the first time in a long while, it felt like a beginning.

The silence shattered with firm, rhythmic rapping at the front door. Jordi frowned, pushing himself up from the sofa and padding across the hardwood floor. He pulled the door open to find Demetrio standing on the porch, a familiar, commanding presence, while behind him, his maid, Shauna, struggled under the weight of several large, insulated catering bags.

Demetrio offered a knowing smile and stepped aside, gesturing toward the mountain of food.

Demetrio: “My chef, Mario, was adamant that you needed proper sustenance after the week you’ve had.”

He said, his voice smooth.

Demetrio: “He made enough to keep you, your boyfriend, and your sister fed for days!”

Jordi smiled warmly, stepping aside to let Shauna and Demetrio in.

Jordi: “Demetrio, that is so kind of you! You didn’t have to do that for me!”

Demetrio waved his hand.

Demetrio: “I insist. After the kindness you showed me after… Sylvia’s unfortunate death, it would be cruel of me not to.”

He said warmly.

Demetrio: “And if you want to take the week off, take it. I understand completely.”

Jordi nodded.

Jordi: “I’ll take tomorrow off, but I will be back to work on Monday. I just need to straighten some things out, but work keeps me occupied.”

Demetrio nodded, giving Jordi’s shoulder a reassuring pat.

Demetrio: “You’re a kind young man, Jordi.”

He looked at Jordi with a smile, but his eyes were sad.

Demetrio gestured toward the thermal bags, a warm smile spreading across his face as he began listing the dishes.

Demetrio: “Mario made a classic lasagna with rich layers of ricotta and ragù, osso buco paired with saffron risotto, handmade spinach and ricotta ravioli in a sage butter sauce, eggplant parmigiana, a rustic focaccia with sea salt and olives, a side of roasted root vegetables, a fresh insalata caprese, and for dessert, a classic tiramisu.”

As Demetrio spoke, Jordi caught the appetizing aroma of garlic, fragrant rosemary, and slow-cooked tomato sauce drifting from the bags, filling the entryway with a comforting warmth.

Jordi: “Demetrio, this is so… generous of you. How can I thank you?”

He said, hugging the older man, his Byzantine eyes filled with tears. Demetrio hugged him back, patting him.

Demetrio: “You don’t need to thank me, Jordi. You deserve this… You’re one of the kindest and most intelligent young men I have met.”

He sighed.

Demetrio: “...I wish more young men could be like you.”

He admitted, breaking the hug. Jordi shed his tears.

Jordi: “Yes, I wish more grandfathers could be like you.”

~

Fabien stood on his back patio, leaning his forearms against the wooden railing with a lit cigarette in hand. He was barefoot, dressed in jeans, a denim jacket, and a Nuklear Intoxikation Sucks tank top. Nearby, Celeste relaxed barefoot in a hammock, dressed in a jean skirt and a Saraya tank top.

Blair came marching down his backyard. He wore a G.I. Joe shirt, blue shorts, white calf socks, and red sneakers.

Blair: “I need to vent, Fabien! You weren’t on Bungle, so I came here! Why weren’t you on Bungle?!”

He snapped.

Fabien: “Hey, Blair. I dunno, I like to get off the computer sometimes.”

He said wryly, waving his hand.

Blair: “Well, you can’t do that when I am upset!”

He whined.

Fabien: “No offense, buddy, but that’s a lot!”

He laughed.

Blair: “First, Blake mowed the entire lawn and backyard.”

Fabien snorted.

Fabien: “How is that bad?”

Blair: “With his tattoos and stupid haircut, he looks like a criminal! People will think we hire criminals!”

He stomped his foot.

Fabien: “You could… try doing it yourself. Also, wouldn’t it look good to your girlfriend to hire her brother?”

He took a drag of his cigarette. A smile touched Blair’s lips.

Blair: “When you put it that way, it does! I guess I could put up with his criminal look if it means Ashley will date me!”

Fabien laughed and shook his head. He knew Blair was going to ask him to mow his lawn, and he didn’t want to, so he thought of a way to get Blair to agree to Blake doing it.

Blair: “The next thing is… Gramps had Mario make a bunch of food for Jordi and his retarded sister! They don’t deserve it, Fabien!”

He cried. Fabien laughed harder. Does this guy listen to himself? He wondered.

Fabien: “I dunno, man. Jordi was forced to kill his grandfather. He’s shaken up.”

Blair: “Yeah, and that’s not my problem! He can get his retarded sister to do shit for him and stop wasting my family’s time!”

He angrily stomped his foot.

Fabien: “I’m pretty sure her grandfather was killed, too.”

He said dryly, taking another drag.

Blair: “That is NOT my problem!”

Celeste: “Why does it matter, Blair? It’s a few dishes. You can have your chef whip you up some canned ravioli.”

She drawled.

Blair: “It’s the principle of it!”

Celeste: “It won’t… kill you, man.”

Blair: “I strangled my stress ball until it burst! It will!”

He snapped.

Blair: “Also, his sister is a retard!”

Blair did a quick, impulsive little dance on the grass, his red sneakers scuffing rhythmically against the dirt as he spun around.

Blair: “Lena is a retard, a retard, a retard! Lena is fat and retarded, fat and retarded, fat and retarded!”

He sang as he slapped his hands.

Fabien laughed at the absurdity and took one final, lingering drag of his cigarette, the ember glowing bright, before he exhaled a long, thin stream of smoke and crushed it on the ledge, flicking the butt over the fence.

Fabien: “Blair…”

He began.

Fabien: “Celeste and Ashley are good friends.”

Blair: “They are NOT!”

He huffed. Celeste blinked.

Fabien: “Anyway, I overheard them talking…”

He smirked.

Fabien: “Ashley told her she wished on a shooting star that you were a superhero like in your comics.”

He added, trying not to laugh.

Fabien: “I think she wishes you could save her from an empty fridge.”

Blair’s jaw hung open; a smile curled on his lips.

Blair: “A superhero saving them from an empty stomach?!”

He stroked his chin.

Blair: “Fabien, it was nice talking to you, but I have errands to run!”

He beamed and ran away. Fabien threw his head back and laughed, pounding the railing.

Celeste: “Why did you lie, Fab? Ashley and I didn’t speak for a month.”

Fabien turned to her.

Fabien: “A couple of reasons: I wanted to get rid of him for now… and I want to see this train wreck of a superhero.”

He laughed hard.

Fabien excused himself briefly and headed inside, returning a moment later with a cold can of beer. Stepping back onto the patio, he popped the tab open, took a slow drink, and settled back in to join Celeste, whose back was facing him.

Fabien: “Everything okay, mon chaton?”

He asked her.

Celeste: “Yeah.”

She said flatly.

Fabien: “Did I do something to upset you?”

Celeste: “No, it’s not you, Fab.”

She drawled.

Fabien knitted his eyebrows.

Fabien: “You can talk to me, chérie.”

He said softly, rising to brush a few strands from her cheek. She took his hand and grasped it.

Celeste: “It’s what you told Blair.”

Fabien: “You don’t like that I told him to go be a hero?”

He asked and raised an eyebrow. She sighed.

Celeste: “I don’t give a shit about that. I didn’t talk to Ashley in a long time.”

Fabien paused.

Fabien: “I know, mon chaton.”

He hung his head.

Fabien: “Does that bother you?”

He asked softly.

Celeste: “I don’t want to say anything that would cause upset, ‘cause I do that a lot.”

Fabien pursed his lips.

Fabien: “Same, but the fucks I give are gonzo.”

He laughed a mirthless laugh.

Fabien moved over to the hammock, the ropes groaning slightly under his weight as he climbed in beside Celeste. The movement caused the hammock to sway gently, casting a soft, rhythmic motion. He settled in, the fabric molding around them, and carefully reached out to drape his arm over her shoulders, pulling her slightly closer into the shared space. Celeste leaned into his touch, her eyes softening.

Celeste: “They found someone else.”

She said evenly.

Fabien: “Yeah, she was gung-ho about Lazaros, then moved on to Jordi in a day, and you’re telling me she moved on to someone else? Color me surprised.”

He said sarcastically.

Celeste: “It annoys me, Fab. When you bring it up to them, they say shit like they never loved Lazaros, and I was there. They were smitten with him. Lazaros got sick of them because they insisted on moving in with him. Deimos, Tristan, you, and I know Lazaros, and he doesn’t like people moving in. Then they moved on to Jordi, and this all blew up.”

She said with irritation in her tone.

Fabien: “Yeah, I could tell Jordi was never into her.”

Celeste: “The newest one is Madelyn. Remember her?”

Fabien laughed.

Fabien: “Of course, I do. The butter fairy.”

Celeste: “She’s… like a mix of Blair and Lazaros.”

Fabien snorted and inhaled sharply.

Fabien: “Well, she has a type, doesn’t she?”

He muttered.

Celeste: “I don’t wanna explode, you know, but we’ve been seeing each other less and less.”

She drawled.

Fabien paused.

Fabien: “...Unfortunately, sometimes friendships expire.”

He pressed a kiss on her head. Celeste closed her eyes.

Fabien: “When you get new interests, new goals, new lovers, or whatever, sometimes it’s not enough for a friendship to work out, so you drift apart. It’s not because of bad blood; some friendships just aren’t built to last.”

He let his knuckles drag on her arm.

Fabien: “How would you like some beer can chicken?”

He smiled. A smile tugged at Celeste’s lips.

Celeste: “Okay!”

~

Later that evening, the mouthwatering scent of grilled chicken and fried food hung heavy over the patio. Fabien set down a large tray laden with carved beer-can chicken, crisp beer-battered onion rings, golden fries, and a bowl of fresh coleslaw. Tristan and Deimos had joined them, gathering around the outdoor table alongside Celeste.

Deimos pouted, grabbed a handful of fries, and took a bite. He gulped beer and folded his arms across his chest.

Tristan: “This smells delicious. A fine effort, Fabien.”

Tristan said, gracefully cutting into a tender piece of chicken.

Fabien: “How do you like it, chérie?”

Fabien smirked at Celeste, handing her a plate piled high with onion rings and chicken before grabbing a cold beer for himself.

Celeste: “This is fuckin’ delicious, Fab!”

She drawled with a slight smile, taking a crunching bite of an onion ring.

Tristan reached for a crystal glass of chilled sauvignon blanc sitting on the table, lifting it to his lips. He took a slow, deliberate sip, letting the crisp, dry notes of the wine settle on his palate as he surveyed the gathering with a thoughtful gaze. He turned his gaze to Celeste.

Tristan: “Everything okay, Celeste?”

Celeste took a mouthful of coleslaw and sighed.

Celeste: “I told Fabien that it annoys me that Ashley moved on to some weirdo who is like Blair and Lazaros, and we’re talking less and less.”

Fabien patted her back.

Tristan: “To be fair, ever since Ashley and Lazaros ended things—and then Jordi broke it off with them too—none of us have really been in touch with them as much.”

He began and ate a fry.

Tristan: “Why does this annoy you, Celeste? I’ve grown accustomed to them jumping from person to person. It’s their life, and they choose to live it as they deem fit. It’s also out of your control.”

Celeste took a sip of her soda.

Celeste: “Because their latest fling is like a combo of Lazaros and Blair!”

Tristan pursed his lips. Fabien snorted.

Fabien: “She has a type.”

Deimos raised his eyebrows.

Deimos: “Boy fucking howdy. It worked wonders the first two times.”

He said under his breath. Tristan swiveled his head to Deimos. Fabien smiled tightly, trying to suppress a laugh.

Tristan: “Well, Celeste, it seems like whatever friendship you had with Ashley reached its end because your lives, values, and interests no longer align.”

He added.

Tristan: “And this is okay. It doesn’t mean you hate them, or one of you is a bad person, but some people are in our lives for a season, and this is life for you. Sometimes, the people we hold closest are just chapters in our own story, not the entire book. It’s painful when the narrative shifts, but resisting it only prolongs the sting. You’ve outgrown that connection, Celeste, and while that feels like a loss right now, it’s also an opening for someone who actually meets you where you are.”

He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face, before concluding.

Tristan: “Don’t let their choices dictate your peace.”

Celeste paused, taking in what Tristan said, and ate some chicken. She looked up at Fabien with a smile. He smiled back and patted her.

Fabien: “It’s going to be okay, chérie. You have us.”

He nodded.

Deimos: “I’m going to say something to them.”

He interjected. Tristan turned to him.

Tristan: “You will do no such thing, Deimos!”

He reached his breaking point. Deimos slammed his palms onto the table, making everything rattle.

Deimos: “Why not?! They’re treating my friend like shit for some fuckin’ weirdo!”

He fired back.

Tristan: “You will make things worse! You charge in all guns blazing! Deimos, if Celeste wants to mend the bridge, she has to communicate that with Ashley, but I feel this friendship has run its course! Everything has changed after Oakhaven!”

He said as his voice rose.

Deimo: “No, it changed after Jaxon was forced by your fucking uncle to revive your mother because of LENA! I am sick of that fucking twit ruining everything! If Jaxon let her die, you wouldn’t be traumatized by Charlotte!”

He bellowed.

An abrupt, suffocating silence crashed over the patio, smothering the remnants of Deimos’ bellowing voice. Tristan sat utterly stunned, the color draining rapidly from his face until he looked deathly pale. Fabien froze mid-breath, his hand hovering uselessly over his beer, while Celeste sat completely motionless, her eyes wide. Even the ambient hum of the night—the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of the evening breeze—seemed to vanish entirely, leaving only the suffocating, palpable tension of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Tristan: “Deimos…”

He began.

Tristan: “This is NOT Lena’s fault; this is what Narcisse does. He gets inside your head, knowing your weaknesses and exploits them to push his agenda further.”

He said, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. He slid them back on.

Tristan: “You and Celeste told me what was in that hyperbaric chamber… I put my hands over my ears and chose to ignore it and deny the truth. That’s on me for not addressing it when you both told me.”

He said sternly.

Tristan: “Charlotte and Narcisse will both be dealt with.”

He said resolutely.

Tristan: “As for Ashley and Celeste, this is Celeste’s journey. You can support her and be there for her, but she must make the call to salvage this friendship or let it die out naturally.”

He added, furrowing his eyebrows.

Celeste: “Deimos is right that Madelyn is a fuckin’ weirdo.”

She huffed.

Tristan: “Well, Celeste, that is your opinion, but who Ashley decides to see is out of your control.”

Deimos angrily rose.

Deimos: “I never do anything right. Why do I bother?”

Without waiting for a response, Deimos turned on his heel and stormed off the patio toward the open clearing of the backyard. The sheer force of his frustration crackled around him as he pushed off the ground, launching himself into the night sky with incredible velocity. A sudden rush of wind swept through the yard, rustling the grass and swaying the patio furniture in his wake. In a heartbeat, he was soaring high above the tree line, leaving the heavy silence and the stunned group—Tristan, Fabien, and Celeste—far behind as he disappeared into the darkness.

Fabien: “Well, we had another Katsaros tantrum!”

He laughed. Tristan drew a long breath.

Tristan: “Deimos is sore about his fight with Jordi and thinks I am taking sides. It’s not about taking sides, but that he charges into situations and his temper makes them worse.”

He drew a long breath, draining his glass of wine.

~

Later that night, Deimos sat curled in his bed in the stifling quiet of his bedroom. The space was in complete disarray, with clothes scattered across the floor, discarded papers strewn over his desk, and an unmade blanket pooling at his feet. Dressed in a black tank top and dark plaid pajama pants, he trembled as tears spilled freely down his cheeks. He held his tuxedo kitten, Leo, tightly against his chest, burying his face into the soft fur as the raw, suffocating weight of the evening’s argument finally collapsed in on him.

Deimos: “I don’t deserve friends… or anything good. I deserve nothing.”

He wept.

Someone knocked on the door and entered. It was Celeste.

Deimos: “You shouldn’t be here. I don’t deserve friends. I never do anything right.”

He sniffled.

Celeste: “It wasn’t a bad idea, Deimos.”

She sat on his bed.

Celeste: “I think Tristan worries things will get worse because you do blow up at things.”

Deimos heaved a deep sigh.

Deimos: “I don’t like my friends being hurt, especially over a fucking weirdo!”

He blew air through his parted lips.

Celeste: “Fab also said that my friendship with Ashley is dying… I just dunno how to deal with it.”

She curled her legs.

Deimos lifted himself by his elbows.

Deimos: “You expect someone who jumps from person to person and someone who fell in love with LAZAROS to have their head screwed on right?”

He challenged her. Celeste didn’t respond. She looked away.

Celeste: “Remember when you told Ashley and Tristan told Ashley not to move in with Lazaros?”

She asked him. Deimos ran his hand through his black, wavy locks.

Deimos: “...How could I forget?”

Celeste: “...Remember how they didn’t listen?”

Deimos paused.

Celeste: “If you said something to them, why would they listen to you now?”

Deimos looked away.

Deimos: “It’s not about getting them to listen, Celeste. It’s… I want them to hurt as much as they hurt you.”

He admitted.

Celeste: “I feel about Madelyn the way you feel about Jordi and Lena.”

She admitted. Deimos tightly furrowed his eyebrows.

Celeste: “I don’t have to work with Madelyn on a team. You do with Jordi. I think Tristan wants you to keep your anger in check. Think I don’t wanna smash Jaxon’s face in? I always do, but… It’s not gonna change how Jax was shitty to Fab and me. We have to stop Narcisse and Charlotte. I think Tristan wants that. He ain’t pickin’ sides, and Jordi had to kill his grandfather because he tried to kill him.”

She remarked to him. Deimos pursed his lips and ran his fingers through his hair.

Celeste: “You had to do that with your mom holding onto your dead sister. We all got family that fuckin’ sucks, but we got each other.”

Deimos drew a long breath, feeling a bit better.

Deimos: “Thank you, Celeste. I needed that.”

He said earnestly.

~

Late that night, the quiet rhythm of the house settled over Fabien’s bedroom. Celeste rested comfortably on top of him, her head resting gently against his bare chest, her ear pressed against the steady, reassuring beat of his heart. She wore a simple black tank top and black panties, while Fabien lay stretched out in green plaid pajama pants. One of his arms was loosely draped around her shoulders, his fingers lightly stroking her arm in slow, soothing motions.

Above them, the ceiling fan rotated slowly, its blades casting long, lazy shadows across the dimly lit room with each quiet turn. Celeste closed her eyes, letting the cool breeze sweep over her skin and breathing in Fabien’s familiar, comforting scent of his cologne. For the first time all day, the heavy weight of the world outside seemed to fade away, replaced by the warm, peaceful stillness they shared in the quiet dark.

Fabien: “Shake Deimos out of his tantrum?”

He asked her.

Celeste: “Yeah, I reminded him how much you and I hate Jax, but we all gotta work together to defeat Charlotte and Narcisse.”

She replied.

Fabien: “That won’t magically make Deimos not hate Jordi or even Lena. Nah, his beef is from Lena crushing on Tristan, and no one touches his flawless ice prince.”

He snorted.

Celeste: “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

She drawled.

Fabien: “Why do you hate Butter Fairy anyway?”

He asked her. Celeste scrunched her nose.

Celeste: “She’s like a combo of Blair and Lazaros, dressing up all the time as Lazaros did and living in her head like both Blair and Lazaros.”

She explained.

Fabien: “I dunno, I prefer to laugh at her myself.”

He shrugged.

Celeste: “I know Tristan said nothing about her because he’s too nice to say she’s a weirdo!”

She huffed.

Fabien: “Nah, I think Tristan doesn’t know enough—or care enough—to form an opinion on yet another fling of Ashley.”

He pursed his lips.

Fabien: “He has to deal with his family and Deimos’ tantrums.”

Fabien paused and cuddled Celeste close.

Fabien: “...When I felt my friendship with Jordi was dying, I felt the same as you. I was hurt… I was angry. I don’t have a lot of friends, and he was the only one at Danny Donger’s who was nice to me and didn’t just… put up with me.”

His eyelids dipped.

Fabien: “So I anonymously sent Craig his old Danny Donger’s pin-ups and made fun of Butter Fairy in my server. I didn’t get why he was brushing me off. He said bullshit like all we had in common was working at Danny Donger’s, so I learned that’s all I was?”

He laughed bitterly, with hurt in his tone.

Fabien: “We… made up, but… it’s not the same. I just… tolerate him.”

He said as he looked away.

Fabien: “I guess that’s on me for overestimating our friendship, if you wanna call it that.”

Celeste gazed at him.

Celeste: “Your friendship with Tristan is better, though! You stopped hating him!”

Fabien wagged his head.

Fabien: “Yeah, we have come a long way.”

Fabien: “I hope Ashley dates the dashing Blair. That would be so hilarious.”

He laughed.

Celeste: “Blair wouldn’t stop whining.”

Fabien: “Yeah, I know, chérie. This adds to the humor. Nothing makes Blair happy, but I would love to see her and Blair slide down a water slide for toddlers in life jackets.”

He roared with laughter.

Celeste smirked, her eyes gleaming with playful mischief.

Celeste: “Oh, you think it’s that funny, do you?”

She drawled, leaning in closer. With a swift movement, she began digging her nails gently into Fabien’s tummy to tickle him. Fabien burst into a fit of breathless laughter, writhing against her touch as he tried to block her hands.

Fabien: “Celeste! Hey—stop, mon chaton!”

He gasped out between giggles, squirming on the bed.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

She slid down the bed, trailing her hands past his waist, down his legs, and straight toward his bare feet.

Fabien’s eyes widened in sudden panic as he realized where she was heading.

Fabien: “Wait, wait! Don’t you dare! Celeste, no—!”

Before he could pull his legs away, Celeste wiggled her fingers lightly across the arches and soles of his feet. Fabien completely lost his composure, letting out a loud, helpless snort of laughter as he kicked out weakly, his whole body tense with playful vulnerability.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

He squealed, clutching the bedsheets in surrender while shaking with unrestrained laughter.

Celeste watched him squirm, a genuine, soft smile spreading across her face as his laughter filled the room. The tension she had been holding onto all day seemed to dissipate with every breathy giggle he let out. Seeing the man she loved so completely undone, so vulnerable and lighthearted, made the heavy weight of the earlier arguments feel distant, almost manageable. She leaned back slightly, still tracing the sensitive skin on his feet, savoring the sound of his laughter and the relief that finally allowed her to breathe easy again.