#< praying this doesn’t alert him of my location sksjdjd /hj

[froggymarsh]

Pixl is not having a good day.

It’s evident from the moment he enters the van- (it’s the only thing they’ve built in this world, they could do all of this outside but the editing equipment would get wet)- the automatic door gets stuck three times before Pixl simply brute forces his way through it. The door protests, fighting rather stubbornly on the middle bit, refusing to slide open, but Pix shoves it open and just as harshly forces it shut, making Zloy wince.

The lights are his next target- he swipes a hand down the wall that nearly shakes the entire van.

“Heya Pix,” Zloy greets, handing over the script. Pixl comes to sit at the table with him. The dark doesn’t bother him, there’s a window on the wall next to them, lighting the entire table through the blinds. And he’s a Zombie- it’s like Elsa, the dark never bothered him anyway.

“Zloy,” Pixl returns, shutting the blinds with a snap. He takes the script and starts looking over it, “we need to invest in some blackout curtains.”

“Can do,” he files that away for later, taps away at his recording software. Pixl makes a frustrated little noise and picks up a red pen.

Zloy doesn’t like red on his edits. It’s a bit too mean.

“Can you edit in blue?”

Pixl shoots him a glare and tosses the red pen across the room. Zloy watches it arc and land, clattering off somewhere under the couch.

“Are you okay?”

Pixl snatches a blue pen and continues his edit, his leg bouncing like mad under the table, “never better.”

“Usually you ask me before you make edits,” he reminds him, trying to keep confrontation out of his voice- he’s not the enemy here, he’s not mad, just worried.

“Just,” Pixl pushes a hand through his hair and gestures at the paper, “spelling. It was bugging me.”

Zloy notes the frustration- that spelling mistakes don’t usually bother him, unless he’s, well.

“No worries.”

They’re quiet after that, falling into the familiar rhythm of editing. Zloy taps away at his recording stuff, carefully setting out and plugging in the mic and making minor adjustments to settings. Pixl’s pen scratches, some harsher than others.

“I really don’t know how to spell this week huh?”

Pixl doesn’t answer.

That’s a bit worrying. Pixl’s always got a quip.

Zloy watches, waiting, taking silent notes- Pixl’s got a death glare on the paper that could rival Zombie Cleo’s. He keeps adjusting his hair, every flavor of unkept crossing his scalp.

His leg is bouncing. He keeps pushing his sleeves up and down like nothing is comfortable. He looks overwhelmed, piecing through a script in ten minutes that would usually take about thirty seconds for him to read through once. He looks an inch from falling asleep and about a million light years from ever touching a bed again. He looks like he might cry.

Zloy reaches over and takes back the script.

“Zloy,” Pixl snaps, almost like a wolf, baring his teeth for a single bite of the word. His pen caught on the paper, leaving a harsh line of blue from the middle to the bottom.

“We’re taking a break,” Zloy returns, no room for argument, pushing up from the table and dragging a chair with him to store the script on a high up shelf.

“But we just started,” Pixl complains, making no move to stop him. His leg keeps bouncing. He yanks his sleeves back over his hands.

“Makes it easier to take a break that way,” Zloy answers, tucking away the script and pulling out a box of the tea Pix likes, “less to clean up.”

“Don’t need it,” Pixl grumbles, glaring down at the table now, “just wanna get this over with.”

Zloy retrieves a kettle next, fills it with water, puts it on a burner. “Want to pick a hermit for us to watch?”

“I don’t wanna watch a hermit.”

“Then someone else?” Zloy pulls out two mugs- gag gifts they made for each other two christmases ago, “c’mon, Pix, work with me here.”

Stony silence. Pixl glares down at the table, eyes glossy with tears. They sit in bubbling silence until the kettle sings- Zloy fills their mugs and puts in the tea bags.

“Decked out is looking impressive,” Zloy tries, keeping his voice light, “and Mumbo’s back, running around on a pig.”

Pixl doesn’t answer.

“We could take a look at Scarland.”

Nothing.

Zloy starts humming the Mumbo AFK song.

When the tea’s ready he joins Pixl at the table again. Tears have dripped onto his sleeves. He looks disappointed by the mug.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

Pixl pokes at the mug, “it’s dumb.”

“The mug?”

“No-” Pixl almost whines, wiping his eyes on one sleeve, “no, just- I’m dumb, I shouldn’t-”

“You’re not dumb,” Zloy interrupts, firm. “What’s wrong? How do I fix it?”

Pixl wipes his eyes again, slumps forward on the table with the energy of a ten year old who’s just been told bedtime is sooner than he wants it to be.

“I’m-” Pixl swallows, runs a hand through his hair again, rests his chin on one arm, “I’m a little too small for a mug. Right now.”

“Yeah?” Zloy asks, pressing gently, “afraid you’ll spill?”

Pixl shakes his head, a dusting of red at the tips of his ears and on his cheeks, “just. Small. A bit. Maybe.”

He clears his throat, folds his arms together. “Just think it’d be nice.”

Zloy nods, takes the mug and walks back to their cabinets, “sippy cup or bottle?”

“Bottle,” Pixl murmurs, then buries his face in his arms.

Zloy hums the affirmative and picks a bottle- one that’s long and clear and lightly patterned with sweet berries and foxes, both red and white. He transfers the tea and screws on the can on his way back.

He gently presses it to Pixl’s arm. Pix grabs it with a mumbled thanks but doesn’t drink yet.

“You’re welcome.”

Silence again, Zloy pulls his chair over, sips his tea and rubs Pixl’s back. He can’t tell if he’s crying or not. He doesn’t think it matters. He’s here, he’s got him.

Eventually, Pixl emerges, eyes red rimmed. He wipes away the wet trails on his cheeks.

“Wanna watch you,” he says, much softer than before.

“Yeah?” Zloy smiles, “we can watch me.”

#not putting this under a read more actually it’s just here now #pixl tag #zloy tag #< praying this doesn’t alert him of my location sksjdjd /hj #drabbles #mcyt agere #recap crew beloved #I don’t know what Zloy sounds like I’m so sorry #I haven’t listened to him talk enough sksjdjdjf