Everything had felt so still, so right, ever since Azure and Two Time left the spawn behind. It hadn’t been easy—leaving that place meant shedding layers of themselves, walking away from the only life they’d known. But they did it. For each other. For their sanity. And now, even with the cracks still visible in their souls, they were no longer shattered.

Then you came along.

You weren’t just a balm—you were the missing puzzle piece, the final note in a song they hadn’t realized was incomplete. And in a blink, they were on their knees, offering you a velvety box with trembling hands and hearts set ablaze. That day had been magic. And you knew, without a doubt, it had been for them too.

Now, the three of you lived in a rhythm that felt like home.

Two Time was curled up on the couch beside you, their tail thumping lazily against the cushions in sync with the soft narration of an animal documentary. Their hands rubbed slow, affectionate circles along your sides, and their face was buried in your shoulder, letting out a sigh so content it could’ve melted steel.

Then—click.

The front door creaked open.

“I’m home,” came a voice from down the hall. Calm. Deep. Resonant.

You and Two Time shot up like startled meerkats, the documentary instantly forgotten. The TV continued to play a segment about penguin mating dances, but neither of you noticed. You scrambled off the couch, practically tripping over each other in your rush to greet Azure.

Azure stood in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted by the fading light outside. His zipper-like mouth tugged into a rare, warm smile the moment he saw you both. His eyes softened, and he knelt slightly, arms wide open in silent invitation—his signature “welcome home” hug and kiss stance.

You were just about to leap into his arms when—

“DON’T YOU DARE! DIE DI—”

Azure’s clawed hand shot up with the speed of a man who’d done this many times before, snatching the squirming, sentient hat off his head mid-sentence. The living fabric twisted and flailed like a caffeinated sock puppet, its voice muffled as Azure gripped it tightly.

“Wrong day to act up,” he muttered through gritted teeth, dragging the hat over to the coat rack and plunking it down with the finality of someone grounding a misbehaving child.

The hat let out a dramatic gasp—audible, theatrical, and deeply offended.

Azure rolled his eyes so hard you could almost hear them creak. “Remind me to throw that thing in the washer before we shower tonight,” he said, loud enough for the hat to hear every syllable.

The hat went silent. Too silent. It was clearly sulking.

Two Time snorted, their grin stretching into something wickedly amused. “We need duct tape for it,” they said, voice dripping with playful menace. “Or a muzzle. Or maybe a tiny coffin.”

You gave them a look.

They shrugged innocently. “What? I’m just saying. If you want it gone, I can make it gone.”

Azure sighed again, rubbing his temples. “You two are going to be the death of me.”