Prompt: "All for Tsum and Tsum for all!" - While NRC is under siege by these mini menaces, one decides to slip away from its caretaker and find better company. Aka. you. (ft. Ruggie Bucchi and Epel Felmeir) Requisitioner: Mina! Warnings: None! Words: 6760! (Purchase: Custom Fiction.) A/N: Hello everyone! We've got another commission to be shared, requested over on my ko-fi! This one comes to you by the sponsor 'Mina!' -- Mina liked the first edition enough that she requested I follow up on the original prompt for Epel and Ruggie! Now, we all know that every bone in Epel's body is a jealous bone. Right? Right. Just putting it out there. If you'd like to make a request of your own. Click: HERE! If you'd like to learn about my medical journey, view my rates, or learn why I'm accepting commissions. Click: HERE!
The after-class rush at Sam’s Mystery Shop finally burned itself out. Normally Ruggie doesn’t mind working for his madol, but he’d missed lunch because of the Headmaster’s latest tsum-based migraine so Ruggie’s patience was thinning .
For the better part of the afternoon, he barely had a chance to breathe between students coming in for snacks, drinks, spare pens, and whatever else they suddenly decide they cannot possibly survive the evening without. Exams are coming up which might explain the daily line going out the door. That, or Night Raven College collectively decided that going all night is impossible without enough sugar and caffeine to kill a horse. Either way, it meant good business.
Thankfully his shift is almost up, and there should be enough time to scramble dinner before he has spelldrive practice.
A few students drift between the shelves, but nobody’s lining up at the register anymore, leaving Ruggie with enough of a lull to finally collect the pile of tip marks tucked beside the till and count what he earned. His tsum sits patiently on the counter beside him, watching with an attentiveness that would almost be admirable if Ruggie didn’t know exactly what it is waiting for.
With the echo of clinking metal, Rugggie dumps the tin out and starts separating the madol into two piles. One in front of his tsum, the other – considerably larger – in front of himself.
“Seventy percent for me,” he says, tapping the larger stack with one finger. “Thirty for you.”
Even though the split was agreed prior to dragging it on his chores, Tsum Ruggie looks far less than happy. It growls at him like a beast, though Ruggie can’t imagine it has fangs large enough to do more than a papercut.
“Not happening.” Ruggie shrugs, taking his share and pocketing it.
A tiny squeak escapes the Tsum and it jumps.
“I don't care what you think that face is gonna accomplish. Seventy-thirty. That’s what I offered and it’s what you get. ”
Another squeak, this one impatient. Ruggie shouldn’t have to share at all really. If anything the Headmaster should be paying him to babysit.
Ruggie glances sidelong at the Tsum, amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth. “What? You want a recount that badly?”
The tsum rolls over its share, scattering the coins as it counts up each one. It’s suggesting that Ruggie’s math is off, but he knows that trick. Slip a coin in your pocket while your boss is distracted and then pretend they miscounted.
Without a word, he picks the Tsum up and shakes it over his palm. “Well what’dda ya know,” he grins as a coin falls in his palm, “I wasn’t short after all, eh?”
Just for that little stunt, Ruggie pockets the coin. If the lil guy is still around by the end of the day then he’ll give it back.
The Tsum jumps off of him and barrel rolls back onto the counter, hackles raised without a doubt. Ruggie doesn’t understand what it plans to do with the money. It’s not like the Tsum will be living here much longer.
Hopefully, at least. For once Ruggie’s trying to be optimistic.
“You don't need to be greedy,” he snickers. “You're not buying anything with it and ya can’t take it home either.”
The Tsum huffs. At least that’s how it seems, with its body inflating and decompressing in one go.
“Exactly. So why are you arguing with me?”
It squeaks.
Ruggie snorts. “What, you think because you helped during the rush, you're entitled to half regardless of the situation?”
The Tsum bounces once in place. Those little ears pin back as its face reddens. Ruggie wonders if this is how he looks when he’s miffed. He’s not bothered per-say when people say he looks unthreatening. Their dismissive attitude just makes striking all the more easy.
“Uh-huh. Thought so.”
He isn’t a monster though.Yet.
Ruggie plucks the madol from his pocket and flicks it back at his Tsum. It jumps to catch it between those nubs it calls hands and perks up. Wow. Now he gets what yo – people mean, when they say he’s easy to please.
“You did help more than I expected, I'll give you that. Customers kept stopping to look at you, and half of 'em ended up buying something because you were hanging around the register looking cute. That's gotta count for something.”
The tsum's little arms lift in what Ruggie can only assume is agreement.
“But I still did most of the work. I rang everything up. I stocked the shelves. I ran orders back and forth.” His grin turns sly. “So the Seventy-thirty stands.”
If it continued to argue, he was going to mention the sunflower seeds it pilfered from the ‘impulse buy’ stand just before the registers. Thankfully the Tsum seems to read his mind and scurries back to admire its coin stack in peace.
Ruggie grins. “That's what I thought.”
The front door chimes before the argument can continue and Ruggie feels his work smile settle back into place without thinking twice. His Tsum has the same idea, making itself smaller in an attempt to look cute and finagle another tip.
Ruggie's ears perk when he sees you stepping into the shop and he just can’t help but switch over to something more genuine. Considering the mess from this morning, he was absolutely sure you’d forget about him while making sure no one else killed their Tsum.
Though maybe he isn’t far off from the state of your uniform. He isn’t dumb enough to tell his partner they look like something the cat dragged in, though he can think it. It’s easy to connect two and two when your eyes warily settle on his Tsum rather than him. You're not here because you suddenly remembered you need a bottle of ink or a bag of chips. You're here to check on them.
Cute.
A little unnecessary, maybe, but nice to have a bit of your worry. If you spent the whole day helping the other guys he would’ve understood but this is far better.
“Well, look who it is,” Ruggie calls, leaning an elbow against the counter. “You come all the way over here just to see me?”
“Mayyybe,” you meet him at the counter, shoulder dropping the second he speaks, “Just checking in to make sure you’re not struggling too much. I figured you’d still go to work even with the Tsum to watch, and thought you might need an extra hand.”
You took a moment to survey the store, whistling low after noting how clean and orderly Sam’s Shop appears.
“Though maybe I was mistaken? Next time I’ll have more faith.”
Ruggie laughs, his teeth whistling just as he catches a whiff of .. paprika? He leans in closer, sniffing the air just to make sure there isn’t a spill in the seasoning aisle. Though it’s too strong to be from an open jar.
The scent’s enough to make him salivate on a good day, though now he just runs the risk of his stomach eating itself.
“Ahh, so that's what this is,” Ruggie clicks his tongue, focusing on the scent of your perfume instead, “you think I need help? Should I remind ya that I’ve basically raised a preschool class of kids back in my hometown? This Tsum? Pshh. Nothin’”
“Okay, okay! I get it. I wasn’t planning to help you for free. With all the marks I’ve paid you to babysit Grim, you’d at least be treating me to dinner.”
“Not free, huh?” He fakes offence, pitching back with his arms crossed, “So now you’re saying we’re not partners, huh? Gonna charge your own boyfriend in his hour of need?”
Maybe he’s being a jerk but it’s worth it to watch you fight to form anything but a word salad. He would’ve treated you to a snack later regardless, and he isn’t one to talk since you give him ten marks an hour to watch Grim on bad days. Even if he’s been putting the money in a joint savings for when you’re both out of this place.
“Still gonna have to pass,” he shrugs, leaning his hip against the counter, “The Tsum’s been carrying its weight.
You raise an eyebrow in question.
“Don't let this go to your head,” he tells the Tsum, though there is a fondness in his voice that makes the warning rather meaningless. “But he's good with customers. People see him, stop to fuss over him, and then suddenly they're buying something they didn't even come in for! We got triple tips today compared to my usual rate. ”
“Well I’ll be damned. Maybe he should stick around then,“ you suggest, barbs from before forgotten as you fluff the Tsum’s hair, “you’re both the most productive trio I’ve checked in on, it seems.”
You seem convinced and the topic dies. Ruggie's gotten good at knowing when someone is worrying about him and when someone actually thinks he’s incapable. With you, it's always the first one.
He doesn't mind it.
Not really.
There is something nice about knowing you're the sort of person who comes looking for him just to make sure he's all right. He hasn’t had much of that in his life. As you chat with his Tsum, which is more-so it squeaking while you fawn over its resemblances to him, the minutes trickle on as Ruggie rings out another student.
“Thanks for shopping. Come again,” he passes off another bag with a practiced smile. Though not a second later, his attention is yanked at by a wave of paprika accompanied by a loud grumble.
Ruggie checks himself, patting his smock down but the sound didn’t come from him. Then he ears it again just in time to catch a flash of golden barrel rolling off the counter top.
“Hey. Don't you—”
The Tsum reaches your shoes and bounces against your ankle, looking entirely too pleased with itself. You glance down, amused, while Ruggie watches with immediate distrust. He knows you strap your wallet to your hip now but still is cautious.
“C'mon,” Ruggie mutters, leaning halfway over the counter. “Leave 'em alone and get back up here.”
The Tsum ignores him, jumps, and grabs hold of the strap of your satchel. In three seconds it shrunk and disappeared into your schoolbag.
“Oi! Get outta there, you menace!”
Ruggie comes around the counter with a hand already outstretched, but you beat him to it. Your fingers close around the Tsum and pull it free of your satchel before it can burrow any deeper, and something else comes tumbling out with it.
A brown paper lunch bag?
Ruggie catches it on reflex, utterly baffled. He has no idea how something so small could hold onto what feels like a good two pounds.
“What’s this?” he asks, reaching over to take the tsum from you.
“Lunch.” You shrug, just as his Tsum tries to make a grab for it again. Ruggie holds the bag over his head, suddenly realizing where that strong, smoky aroma must have been coming from.
“Lunch?”
“I stopped by the cafeteria on my way here,” you explain. “I figured you probably didn't get a chance to eat with all this tsum business happening.”
“...You got this for me?”
“And him.” You nod toward the Tsum struggling against his arm, “it’s no biggie. THink Sam will let you take five?”
You didn't have to go that far. Ruggie feels his teeth itching to dig in and now that he knows he can, there’s no need in getting lost in you as a distraction. Not that he wasn’t grateful. He can go days without a meal if he really has to, but there’s nothing better than a full stomach. Even though he had a plan to take care of himself, this must be one of the perks of having a partner.
The fact that you thought of him sits pleasantly in his chest, and he isn’t keen on letting that feeling go. It’ll stick around long after this sub’s digested.
“Huh,” he says, a little quieter. “Guess you were thinkin’ about me after all.”
You tap his nose. “Someone has to.”
“Careful,” Ruggie snickers, ducking into his collar. “Keep saying stuff like that and I'll start thinking you like me.”
“You'd have to be pretty dense not to know that by now.”
He laughs at that, his cheeks burn as he opens the bag. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of confirmation now and again.
Inside are two pulled-pork subs. The good kind too. Wrapped in tip-foil so they’re still hot and he can tell just by the smell that the meat is going to practically glide between his teeth. Judging from how his Tsum is practically break dancing on the countertop, it’s down just as bad.
Ruggie sucks in a stream of air through his teeth. “Ohohoho, now this is good. Would ya look at these bad boys.”
He lifts one just enough to peek beneath the wrapper, picking up on the layer of provolone between the meat and bun, then darts back at you with a grin. “You know exactly what I like, how I like it, man you are a gift from…I’m so hungry, I can’t even think of who or what.”
“I do.”
“Trying to spoil me?”
“Maybe.”
“Keep it up, then.”
You tap your cheek, leaning close with no words to convey what you want in return.
Ruggie's eyes flick toward the gesture, and he sets the bag down safe on the countertop.
“Oh, I get it. You weren’t here to help at all. I should’ve known.” He snickers, grabbing your cheek. You giggle as he clacks his teeth together. “Can't say I'm gonna complain about having something tasty to sink my teeth into though.”
He never gets the chance. Like a rocket blasting off, his Tsum launches up from the countertop and pushes his face out of the way. Ruggie’s head snaps sideways as it bunts its face against your cheek with a pleased squeak.
“Oi – !”
What’s worse is that you get a buzz from its affection on top of his misfortune. You catch the Tsum by its middle just in time, its little nubs dangling as you hold it in air jail.
“Oh! That’s not what I meant but you sure did the job.Thank you mini Ruggie,” you nuzzle the Tsum’s forehead just before it squirms and scurries straight back to him, dives into the open lunch bag, and disappears between the sandwiches.
Ruggie rushes to snatch the bag, shaking it around like a jackhammer
“You little thief!”
A muffled squeak comes from inside the bag.
“You steal my thank-you kiss, and then you hide in my lunch?! I shared my tips with you!”
Ruggie shakes his head, though he's fighting demons. Apparently thirty-percent and his partner were going to be the fee here. He gives the bag one last shake before dropping it onto the countertop. The Tsum rolls out from within, stopping on its side with spirals for eyes.
“I'm charging you five madol for that. Consider it thief’s bail”
You laugh, and Ruggie glances toward you with a crooked smile. He forgot there was an audience. Not that he would have enacted differently otherwise.
“See what I gotta deal with?” He juts his thumb back at the tsum.
You answer by taking his face in your hands and pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Ruggie goes quiet for a moment when you drag your thumb over the spot afterward.
“There,” you pull back, mischief in your eyes. “Now you got one. Happy?”
“....gimmie another and maybe. He got two so we gotta even it out.”
—
Soon after the store is empty once again. You’ve taken your leave after assuring Ruggie that he is indeed still your favorite Bucchi, and that you would stop by to check on him again in Savanaclaw after doing your homework. All he’d have to do now is have his meal, finish his shift, go to practice, maybe dump the tsum off and then spend the night as it was meant to be.
When the door chimed shut behind you, Ruggie watched after it before turning back toward the register. With nobody around to catch him looking a little too pleased with himself, he doesn't bother hiding it.
“You know,” he says conversationally to the Tsum, which is back to poking around inside the lunch bag, “seeing them actually makes me wonder about something.”
The little creature is already nosing around inside the lunch bag again.
Ruggie grumbles but decides to let it be. Tsum has priorities, he can’t blame it. “You know, you got pretty lucky. Stealing a kiss like that and only getting charged five madol?”
The tsum continues rummaging through the bag.
“Yeah, yeah. Keep pretending you didn't hear me.”
He kicks back against the register, slumping his weight onto it for a bit of reprieve. He rarely gets winded this early, today is just a real kicker. Even worse, Ruggie rarely gets philosophical on the clock or in his spare time. Yet he can’t help but wonder about his tsum after seeing that selfish greed for attention.
““Everyone else gets a Tsum, right? So if there's one of me, and one of everybody else, there oughta be one of them, too ”
He pauses
“Unless there isn't, because they're not from this world.”
The Tsums appeared here from somewhere else, but they resemble people who already exist here. You are different. You came from another world entirely. His Tsum seemed to like you enough, familiar with you even, so is that a good sign? It means you’ll stick around, right?
Or it could’ve been jealousy. Ruggie felt the ick just from seeing something the size of a ragdoll try to snatch your affection. He never cared about that sort of thing before. He doesn’t get jealous when you hang out with anyone and doesn’t think you’d have the guts to stray off.
Though if he was in his Tsum’s position, and he saw another version of himself that bagged someone like you while he had to go without? It would make him a glutton for your attention. Even if it was just for a while.
The hell happened to him? His independence?
He rubs his chin, thinking aloud. “Maybe there's no tsum version of them at all. Maybe whoever makes these things only copies people from the world we’re from.”
He lets out a low whistle.
“Man. That sucks. Everybody else gets their person, but you don't.”
Somehow it’s a fitting ending for him. Ruggie can’t see himself with anyone but you. Can’t picture himself having the patience for them or vice versa. So if there really are alternate realities and this is the only one where you end up ripped from your world?
Ruggie clicks his tongue, shaking the thought out of his head. For the second time today, he tries to be positive.
“Then again, maybe there is one. Maybe there's a little you-know-who wandering around. Y’know, you could save me a lot of thinking if you could do more than just squeak or change your size.”
His imagination immediately gets ahead of him.
A tiny version of you, barely bigger than his hand, running around campus with that same face. The same expressions. Something small enough to scoop up and carry around in his pocket.
Ruggie snickers.
“...That'd be pretty cute too.”
He catches himself smiling.
The shop is empty. Nobody is around to see it, so he doesn't bother wiping the expression away. If he’s wrong and there isn’t another reality where you’ve managed to wrangle him, then that just means he’s lucky to be in this one. Which isn’t something he ever thought he’d say. Yet he’s got two legs, an able body, and he can keep having a ‘tomorrow’ so…yeah, maybe he’s won the jackpot.
Or he’s been twisted into a disgusting sap. Blegh. Blergh. God, no. If there’s someone nearby with a mind-reading Unique Magic, buzz off right now or you’re dead.
“I’m really messed up now, huh? Not that I’m complaining. It’s for the better, right? You get it lil guy.”
Ruggie flops off his perch, fully expecting to see his mini either counting his stack of coins for the sixth time or drooling over the scent of marinated meat. He finds neither. In fact, he finds the counter void of the tsum all together. Ruggie frowns.
“...Huh?”
He looks across the counter. Nothing.
Usually, if he goes this long without paying attention to the little guy, he gets reminded of its existence by a squeak, a tiny body rolling across the countertop, or a suspicious rustling from the impulse-buy display. More than once today, the tsum has somehow managed to work its way into the rack of crisps and emerge clutching a bag it absolutely did not pay for.
“Oi? You in here?”
No answer.
He looks behind the register first, checking beneath the counter and around the stool where he keeps his things. Nothing but a few stray wrappers and a dusting of crumbs.
“C'mon, where'd you go?”
He moves around the counter and peers down the nearest aisle.
Nothing.
He checks between the shelves, behind the low displays, even beneath the little table where Sam keeps the more questionable impulse purchases. The tsum is small enough to disappear in an instant, and judging by what it has already gotten away with today, Ruggie isn't ruling out the possibility that it has somehow climbed onto something it has no business climbing.
He checks the next aisle.
Still nothing.
“Hey,” he calls toward the back of the shop, raising his voice slightly. “You seen my little guy?”
One of Sam's shadow helpers drifts past.
Ruggie points toward the empty floor. “The tsum. Round, striped, annoying. About this big?”
The shadow gives a vague little motion, edges rippling that suggest disagreement.
Ruggie scratches the back of his neck, turning slowly in place.
“Where the hell...?”
His eyes wander back toward the counter. The brown paper bag from earlier is lying on its side near the register, crumpled where it must have been knocked over.
“...oh come on, it isn’t time for lunch just yet.” He reaches in, expecting to pull the tsum out, maybe with a bit more force than necessary. Though there’s nothing inside.
No tsum. No subs. Just air.
Nothing.
Not even a crumb.
Realization settles real quick. “That little shit!” Ruggie hisses, crumpling the bag before throwing it on the counter. Not only did he just get stiffed for the rest of his shift, but that jerk heisted his lunch and stowed away in your bag. Nevermind. He doesn’t feel for that monster at all!
Epel liked Saturdays for a lot of reasons, but lately, his favorite one was simple enough that he didn't bother admitting it out loud: Saturday is, and always will be, “Date Night”.
It was the one night he could count on having you all to himself.
No study sessions dragging on past dinner, no errands for Crowley, no etiquette lessons with Vil, no friends appearing at the last second with some new disaster that somehow became everyone's problem. Even when the two of you weren't doing anything special, even if date night amounted to walking around campus with your hands tangled together and finding somewhere quiet to sit, it was still yours.
Which is why Epel isn’t happy to be sitting outside the Headmaster’s office on a Saturday evening.
Epel stands with arms folded, staring down at the oversized Tsum occupying nearly half his torso. The thing is ridiculous. Pillow-sized, round and soft, with his own face staring back at him and little nubby hands that are currently batting at his shoulders to be released.
Apparently, this ‘thing’ is his responsibility now for the foreseeable future.
And apparently, date night is collateral damage.
"You know," Epel mutters, looking down at the Tsum, "I reckon the headmaster could've found somebody else to dump you on. I didn’t sign up for none of this when I signed my admissions paperwork."
The Tsum narrows its eyes up at him before letting out an angry, high-pitched shriek. Clearly it likes the thought of spending its free time with him just as much as Epel does.
"Don't look at me like that. You know I'm right."
Across from him, you don't seem particularly interested in agreeing. Your attention is fixed entirely on the little creature in his arms, and when you reach out, Epel instinctively adjusts his hold so you can take it. Contrary to how fitful the mini devil was when handed of to him, it takes to you like crumble on a pie.
Epel can’t help but feel a bit miffed at the personality change. Is this how people see him when he gets in your vicinity? Like a tickin’ time bomb diffused?
Maybe he’s just bitter because you’re standing there smothering it, when you should be smothering him instead. He didn’t endure the past six days just for his night to get ruined.
It could be worse. He knows that. You’re not going to ditch him for a pillow that can’t even say it loves you. It's a little version of himself, he should take your cooing as a compliment, not like some actual rival that wandered out of the blue. Still, watching you hug it so comfortably makes something petty and possessive twist in his chest.
He clears his throat to catch your attention, trying and failing to not look like a sulking beau.
"We could just call our date off tonight, if that makes it all the easier on ya. I bet the Headmaster will want you helpin’ out all the others." He says. It’s hard to try and be the bigger man.
Your eyes lift toward him, shifting his Tsum so it sits in your arms. Those aqua eyes squint in a way that makes him uncomfortable. Even if they’re the same as his own. No, especially so.
Epel shrugs, trying to make the suggestion sound casual despite how much he dislikes it. "I mean, I ain't gonna make you babysit this thing with me. That's hardly what I'd call a date. We can make it up tomorrow."
You immediately shake your head, “And you think I want to spend the night checking in on everyone else? What’s one versus what…seventeen? I’m not running errands today. Crowley can just figure it out on his own”
When you say the Headmaster’s name all casual-like, as if he’s the deranged uncle you have to take frozen meals once a week, Epel can’t help but laugh. Not even Vil would dare to say that kind of thing just outside Dire Crowley’s chambers, though Vil doesn’t spend nearly as much time tailin’ the crow as you do.
Even his Tsum finds your disgust funny, though its laugh comes more like a dried out squeaky toy. “Need I remind you that I’ve been looking forward to tonight just as much as you? Just because there’s a little bump – “ His tsum snaps its head up on the word ‘little’. Seems the touchy topic transcends dimensions, “ – ah. You know I didn’t mean it like that! Agh – problem. Just because there’s a problem doesn’t mean we have to cancel. We just have a guest.”
Epel’s not keen on the idea of sharing you, even with another version of himself, and he puts on his best surly look to make it known. It’s Saturday.
Sa – tur – day.
There is no reason a date between two people in a relationship needs a third wheel, especially when that third wheel is a tiny, eerily self-satisfied version of himself. Epel can already imagine it sitting between them at dinner, taking up space on the table, stealing attention whenever you look away from him. And if it somehow gets you to carry it around all evening, he'll be competing with his own face for affection.
There’s a better word for how he'd describe that picture, but he’ll settle on ‘ridiculous’. For Tsum ears.
Yet you don’t budge, and that hopeful look in your eye is dang withering. You take one of Tsum's nubby arms and wave it at him. Honestly, epel’s shocked it didn’t bite you but it looks like his ‘favoritism’ transcends dimensions. Not even three seconds and he gives in.
“Fine. Bring ‘im. See if I care.”
He’s so weak it sickens him, really.
You gasp out of joy and Epel thinks if it wasn’t for that smidgen of pity you’ve got for his ego, you’d be spinning circles with his Tsum at arm’s length.
If ‘it’ makes you happy, then he can adapt. Kinda. Though as you nuzzle its head with your cheek, Epel catches a glimpse of what he thinks is smugness in those beady little eyes.
And if this thing really is a version of himself…Epel has no doubt that he’s going to regret giving in so easily.
—
Pomefiore’s ramparts were not exactly what Epel would call romantic, but he’s trying something new for the sake of keeping the spice of life in your relationship.
It’s drafty for one thing, with the occasional cool breeze slipping through the open arches and stirring the edges of his blankets. Though this is one of the few places in the dorm where he could reasonably expect to be alone with you for more than five minutes. Privacy was damn near impossible in Pomefiore. Epel had roommates, for starters, and the dorm itself was practically fueled by gossip. Second only to Octavinelle.
Epel still remembers the checkerboard incident.
He'd been trying to spend a quiet afternoon with you back when he was still working up the nerve to properly woo you. Fifteen minutes. That was all he managed before four different dormmates interrupted . Snacks, a game, and your company in the lounge. That’s all he wanted and he knew it would be impossible at ramshackle with how many people come and go.
By the third interruption, Epel was ready to throw the checkerboard out a window.
So, as the planner for tonight’s date, he chose the ramparts.
He'd put more thought into the setup than he cared to admit. A blanket spread beneath you, pillows arranged against the wooden beams, snacks tucked into a picnic basket, and sparkling cider chilling beside two glasses. He even found a little stereo and bought a jazz cassette from Sam’s. At first he was going to go for something more lively, but Rook insisted that jazz was the way to go for romance.
And well? Epel’s still learning how to do the whole ‘romance’ thing. So he wasn’t going to question it, despite not caring for the music himself. Arguing with Rook over “amore” or whatever else, just wasn’t worth the breath. He could ramble for hours that Epel didn’t have to spare.
The view, at least, was worth it. The dorm's high vantage point offered a clear stretch of evening sky, with the grounds below gradually disappearing into the dark. It was quiet up here. No gossiping students. No wandering roommates. No summons, so long as you both turn your phones off.
Just you and him. Together.
That was the whole point.
Unfortunately, his Tsum apparently hadn't received the memo when it dropped from the sky earlier. So now its you, him, and his Tsum.
…yay.
Epel sits with his back against one of the pillows, the single throw blanket gathered around his legs. He'd deliberately brought only one. That wasn't an accident. He'd been counting on the excuse of a chilly night to pull you against his side without making a whole production out of it.
Instead, you have the Tsum in your lap and thus you have no need for his lame ‘yawn and stretch’ move. The little thing is basically a living hand warmer, and you seem perfectly happy to keep it curled against you.
And the damn thing looks perfectly content there.
Strike one.
Epel tells himself to reign it in as he sits alone and pops the cork on the cider, but his blood begins to sizzle as you offer his Tsum a sip from your flute. He didn’t even know what a ‘flute’ glass was yesterday! He had to learn all about fine dinnerware when he borrowed a set from Vil! That was a two hour seminar he can’t get back!
If he was a less refined man, the Tsum would be drowning in a cider bath.
Strike two.
Still, he manages to keep most of it contained. Whenever you look his way, his expression smooths out. Whenever you turn to check your phone or adjust the music, however, his eyes immediately narrow at the little creature occupying your lap.
The Tsum never seems bothered or intimidated.
If anything, it looks smug.
Epel is convinced that if those stupid little nubs were capable of holding up a middle finger, he'd be staring at one right now.
Strike three.
The straw that breaks the camel’s back is once you’re all stuck in one mean game of go fish. You’re in it for the fun, though that should’ve tipped Epel off since you’re both equally petty when it comes to anything competitive. It’s one of the things he likes about you.
He’s too in the zone right now to care, because the Tsum’s made this match personal.
The tsum has been hogging your lap all evening, soaking up your attention and generally acting like it owns the damn place, but cards are different. Cards are something Epel knows how to win. There isn’t room for any of this – this tom-fuckery when the deck’s out.
And ohohoh – Epel is winning. Three games in a row and he isn’t planning to stop. Right now the Tsum is going to look at the exact smug face that Epel’s been forced to stare at for the past half-day and it is going to like it.
He leans back against his pillow, cards fanned loosely in one hand, a grin spreading across his face as he surveys the little pile of pairs in front of him.
"That's three," he says, mostly to you, because there's no reason not to show off when he's earned it. "Three whole games. You really oughta be takin' notes over here, sugar. Meemaw’s gonna have us play next time you come by for the holiday."
Whether you find his ego a bit dickish or otherwise, you don’t mention it. That's another thing he likes about you. Rather than dull his flames, you just toss some oil in and get a fan half the time. He’d do the same. If you chose to mouth off at the Headmaster earlier, he’d have been fist-pumping in the background.
Eh. The snap will come soon enough. More importantly, his Tsum doesn’t look happy in the slightest.
Good.
It can sulk.
Epel has spent the better part of the evening being outperformed by a pillow-sized version of himself in the one area that actually matters to him, and he's going to enjoy this while he can. He takes your cards, combines them with his, and taps the deck against his knee as a signal for the Tsum to cough up its share.
Though instead of setting up for another round, the Tsum has a fresh idea of its own.
It hops out of your lap and toddles directly into the middle of your triangle-shaped playing area.
"What're you doing? Done already?" Epel pitches forwards, cocking his brow.
Tsum Epel ignores him and starts hopping to spread its cards out on the floor in front of you. It looks like it's either having a seizure or throwing a temper tantrum, which near sends Epel’s heart to his ass.
That is until its little spiral is over, and the aftermath is what Epel can only imagine is a sledgehammer to whatever chance he had to salvage this night. Though he might’ve already dug that grave with all his gloating.
Thirteen cards nearly arranged themselves at your front in the shape of a heart, all fitting with the theme as heart cards from the deck. King of hearts. Queen of Hearts. Hearts. Hearts. Hearts.
His Tsum took its spot inside the arrangement and squeaked up at you, goading for praise. Epel couldn’t bring himself to look at your face. Not if he didn’t want to punt this thing off the ledge.
Suddenly, every suspiciously bad move from the last three games falls neatly into place. He should’ve known. Meemaw would kick his butt for underestimating an opponent, hells this is how he lost his month’s allowance every time he played poker growing up.
This tiny, evil bastard threw three whole games just so it could get every single heart card and make this ridiculous little display. First two were probably to get a read on Epel’s tells and playstyle, and the third made sure it could collect by always asking for the wrong kinda card so it could draw. Probably guessing who had what as it went.
So now, not only is Epel a loser, but he’s dumber than a tic-tac and he’s been homewreaked.
“Oh that’s absolutely adorable! Epel look!” Oh, he’s looking. Epel grits his teeth and dares to check you from his peripheral vision. As expected, you’re absolutely radiant. A picture that would do his heartrate numbers if it wasn’t tainted by the fact that you’re smiling for someone that isn’t him.
His teeth knock together as he speaks, “Darlin’ I just lost three games to a creature with the brain capacity of a turnip, and you're sittin' there callin' it adorable? Right in front ‘a me?"
He wishes the damn thing would get huffy for getting called cute, but it looks too pleased. It really is his double ‘cause Epel knows he’d be just as haughty. Simping’s worth more than pride, especially if you knock a rival off their pedastal.
He can feel himself losing the fight against his own irritation, especially when you reach down and scoop the Tsum up again.
"Don't you dare—"
Too late.
You cuddle it against your chest, grinning as the Tsum settles comfortably into your arms.
Then you kiss its forehead.
You didn't kiss Epel when you saw the picnic.
You didn't kiss him when he cut you some of that fancy cheese and slipped on the cassette.
You certainly didn't kiss him after he won three games. Even if you let him gloat.
Yet this little gremlin gets one for making a stupid card heart?
On date night?
Epel's pride finally gives out.
"Oh, hell no."
Before you can react, he lunges forward and flops directly across your lap. The Tsum gets knocked out of the way as Epel makes himself comfortable, stretching across you with his arms folded and his head settled squarely against your stomach. Maybe those things really are squeaky toys, because it sure does bounce like one as it rolls away.
Epel doesn’t give you the chance to scold him. He rolls to look up at you and grabs your cheeks with both his hands, pulling you down so you look at nothing else but him.
“I’m puttin’ an ultimatum out right now! It’s me or that thing! Pick wisely an’ remember who helped haul all that dang fertilizer for your dorm’s garden last week.”
You blink owlishly, arms stuck in the air like he’s got you at gunpoint. He might as well with that Tsum launching itself at his side like a bullet. Not that he feels much from it.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m playin’ here?”
Your brows kiss at that, and he sees you biting your cheeks not to laugh.
“It’s literally you! Just mint sized!,” you burst out laughing right in his face, shaking your head like he’d suggested anarchy, “Are you seriously accusing me of cheating on you with yourself?!”
“If the boot fits! You literally just admit it! ”
Hearing it out of your mouth makes him feel a bit dumb, but Epel pushes past how his cheeks burn to pinch your cheeks. You only crumble more, whatever barb you say next is warped by him stretching your face out like taffy.
He only relents when you swat at him, giggles bubbling up like sodapop from your lips as you look down at him. Epel’s jealous tongue is weighted against his teeth, dry as you wipe frustrated tears from his eyes that he didn’t even know were there.
Then you lean down, and his eyes pinch shut. Warmth brushes his nose, the scent of fresh cider and your perfume mixing into something intoxicating as you kiss both his cheeks and end on his forehead.
His entire body relaxes, that blush definitely down his neck now once you pull back and look at him like he’s worth every Saturday for the rest of your life.
A victory that lasts approximately two seconds.
"I pick your Tsum."
Excuse me?
“You’re excused,” you grin down at him, poking his cheeks in a way that makes him smile.
Shite. He said that out loud.
"Fine! I hate both of you."
