eighteen to nine
hey y'all! you know that part of being eighteen where you just want to be a baby for five more minutes? well. this is a fic about that. featuring zimbits outsider pov (from their kid!), all the hurt/comforty vibes, and seriously so much fluff. (background zimbits, 3k, oneshot)
Ellie's first strike is that Dad doesn't even look surprised to see her out of bed. He just looks over from whatever he's doing on his laptop, smiles a little, and says, “Hey, peanut.”
“Hey.” She squishes the carpet between her toes. It was cream-colored once, but Puck and Pie have made it kind of gray. Maybe they'll get a new one once she's gone. “Whatcha doin’?”
Dad sighs. “Work stuff.” He turns the screen toward her so she can see: a stock photo of a smiling chef in a white coat that's cleaner than any she's ever seen him come home in, and above that the words Proper Handling of Dairy Products. It all looks very... corporate. "Gotta get re-certified so I don't—"
“Ew,” Ellie interrupts, in her flattest Valley Girl accent, and Dad laughs.
“Same. Well, lucky me, 'cause the perfect distraction just wandered right in.” He closes his laptop and sets it on the nightstand. “You okay? Thought you were sleeping.”
She shrugs as nonchalantly as she can manage, watches his eyebrows lift. Strike two. “I was trying to, but... um... can I—?”
Thankfully Dad gets it, because his eyes go soft and he pats the bed next to him. “Sure thing.”
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