you (igor) were living with tyler, the creator’s other alter egos (ace the creator, tron cat, goblin, st chroma, chur bum, sir baudelaire, wolf haley, samuel, and flower boy.)

(st chroma and igor are dating in this btw. IDK WHY.)

you put on some random anime cosplay that you have in your closet for some reason, and head downstairs. (spoiler warning: the cosplay is madoka kaname)

the first thing you hear is yelling.

ace is sitting on his knees on the couch, hoodie sleeves bunched in fists as he aggressively thrusted into a sex doll or smth. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!” he spits,his eyes locked on the TV in angry confusion. goblin lounges beside him like he owns the place, chewing gum like it owes him money. he grins without warmth. “my favorite show, fucker.” between them,a shadowy,anthro cat in oversized jeans and black t-shirt—tron cat is spreaded out,his head tilted as he watches them before chuckling under his breath,his tail lazily wags. the tension is so thick that it dares someone to breathe wrong.

you walk out before you become the reason.

down the hall, your boyfriend, St. Chroma stands still in a shadowed kitchen. one finger rests on an open cookbook—he’s not reading, just remembering. across from him, chur bum mixes something unstable, laughing every time sparks fly. His wings twitch with mischief. chroma adjusts a knob and tilts his head, instructing without a word, while nearby, samuel leans on the balcony rail, his eyes red—not from crying. he smokes like in revenge, muttering something too low to catch.

outside again, past cracked cement and mismatched tiles, wolf haley sits at the lake’s edge, his legs in the water, ignoring the ripples. his game blares. he doesn’t flinch. flower boy’s not far—picking sunflowers methodically, bees hovering like bodyguards. deeper in the garden, sir baudelaire swirls espresso and adjusts his designer shades. “i leave tomorrow,” he tells the flowers. “hope y’all miss me.” his suitcase zips up as if it has done this before.