Stanford stood rigid at the other end of the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed in frustration as he argued with his brother. He looked out of place here, as though he didn’t quite belong in the life Stan and Fiddleford had built. There had always been a certain coldness to Stanford—a detachment that Fiddleford had once admired in their days of scientific discovery. But now, it just felt like a wall

Stanley was sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over a newspaper that hadn't been touched in ages, its edges crinkling as he pretended to read. Across the room, Stanford was tinkering with some new gadget, muttering to himself in that way he always did—obsessed, hyper-focused, lost in whatever brilliant plan occupied his mind this week. It had been weeks like this, maybe months, since Stanford had returned from the portal. Stanley had been distant, distracted, his energy completely drawn towards rekindling his relationship with his brother.

Fiddleford stood in the doorway, watching it all unfold with a quiet, building frustration. He had tried to be patient, tried to give Stanley space to work through his complicated feelings about Stanford. But now, standing here in the same kitchen they'd shared for years, he couldn't shake the sting of being ignored. They’d built a life together—a messy, weird, and wonderful life—and now Fiddleford was beginning to feel like an outsider in his own home.

Without overthinking it, Fiddleford moved across the room, silent until he was right beside Stanley’s ear. His breath was warm against Stanley’s skin as he leaned down, his voice low and filled with the kind of frustration he rarely let show.

—I’m frustrated and in dire need of some attention, right now,— Fiddleford murmured, his words brushing against Stanley’s ear.