Chapter Text
It had been a month since Riley’s panic attack at hockey camp. One long, strange month since the confrontation with Anxiety, since everything in headquarters, and in Riley, had shifted.
The days that followed hadn’t been easy. At first, the emotions had felt like navigating a maze with missing walls: uncertain, delicate, and surprisingly quiet. But over time, things had settled into a new rhythm. Riley’s days were steadier now, calmer even. The mood in headquarters had reflected that, too. Everyone had found a place in this strange new balance. The newest arrivals in headquarters, Envy, Ennui and Embarrassment have all integrated with minimal issues. Even Anxiety, though quite shaken from the events of a month ago, seemed to be adjusting to the best of her ability.
Joy stirred in her bunk, eyes fluttering open. A drowsy hum buzzed in her head as she blinked through the dimness. The quiet, rhythmic sound of her fellow emotions snoring filled the shared sleeping quarters like a soft lullaby. Somewhere, Anger grumbled in his sleep. Sadness was little more than a lump under her thick blue blanket. Ennui’s phone glowed faintly from beneath her hand, hanging loosely off the edge of her bunk as she let out a prolonged sigh even in slumber.
Joy turned her head toward the digital clock that blinked quietly beside her.
2:08 AM.
“Heheh,” she chuckled softly, rubbing her eyes.
“Guess it’s not my night tonight.” she thought to herself.
Having immediately decided that she wasn’t going to sleep again, she sat up in bed, legs dangling over the edge of her bunk, letting her body adjust to the cool air. This wasn’t the first time she’d found herself awake at an ungodly hour. The truth was, Joy didn’t always sleep much. Oftentimes she found her own energy building and bubbled over, and no amount of counting dreams or doing loop-de-loops in her own head would help.
“Wonder how Envy’s doing at the console.” she whispered to herself.
She giggled silently as she pictured Envy stuffing her face with a giant bowl of popcorn that she would have all to herself.
“Maybe I could go for a midnight popcorn feast too.” Joy thought cheekily.
She stood and padded quietly through the shared sleeping quarters, making sure not to wake anyone. Her gaze swept across the familiar scene, until she stopped short at the sight of Envy’s bunk.
Envy was there. Sound asleep.
Wait a minute.
Joy tilted her head, puzzled. Envy’s mouth hung open as she snored softly, her bright hair spilling like teal ivy over her pillow.
“Envy…?” Joy’s eyes narrowed in confusion.
“But she’s supposed to be…?”
The fog of sleep lifted a little more as Joy straightened up and scanned the rest of the sleeping quarters. Everyone else seemed to be accounted for, well, almost everyone.
One bunk was empty. Perfectly made and completely untouched.
The orange one.
Joy’s brows knit together.
“Anxiety?”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the name felt weighty in the silence. She took a tentative step closer, just to make sure she wasn’t imagining it. But no, Anxiety was nowhere to be seen. Her blanket was folded, her pillow without a single wrinkle. Not even a trace of her presence.
That was strange. Anxiety rarely left the sleeping chamber unless she was taking Dream Duty herself. She was always so paranoid about keeping to a solid sleeping routine, to the point where she famously invented her “be in bed ten minutes after Riley falls asleep” rule.
Joy stood there for a few moments, chewing her lower lip. Her mind swirled with curiosity.
She glanced one last time at Envy who was now turning on her side, still asleep, still dreaming. Joy then slowly turned toward the exit and slipped out.
She made her way silently through the hallway, her glow illuminating the place like an oversized firefly. She could hear snippets of Riley’s dream sounding from downstairs. If Anxiety had taken Envy’s place on Dream Duty, Joy wanted to know why. Also, if she was lucky, she wouldn’t have to eat popcorn on her own.
She walked softly through the hallway, casting one last glance over her shoulder at the door that led to the peaceful room full of dreamy snores. Her friends slept on, blissfully unaware of the slight tension creeping into the night.
Joy placed her foot on the cool metal of the staircase. She lingered for a moment.
Then, without a word, she headed downstairs.
She tiptoed carefully down the curved staircase, her bare feet making the faintest whisper against the smooth floor. The glowing walls of headquarters shimmered softly in shades of blue and violet, casting elongated shadows across the room. Everything was still and silent, save for the faint hum of the console, Riley’s late night adventure, and the occasional distant rustle from a dreaming mind.
Joy kept her footsteps deliberate and light. She didn’t want to wake anyone upstairs, especially not Anger. The last time he was woken up by loud noises, he strangled Fear.
As she rounded the final step, Joy’s eyes scanned the dim space. The control panel gently blinked as it processed Riley’s dream, a colourful swirl of images on the screen showing a giant bowl of cereal being shared by two dinosaur-dog hybrids, both wagging their tails aggressively. Joy let out the faintest giggle at the absurdity.
“Dream logic at its finest.” she thought.
But something else quickly pulled her attention away.
Peeking out from behind the big red couch near the console was a familiar tuft of orange hair.
Joy froze mid-step. She tilted her head slightly, trying to get a better look without making noise. There was no mistaking it, that mess of wild orange could belong to only one emotion.
“Anxiety…” Joy breathed quietly to herself.
She looked toward the far corner of the room, where Anxiety’s beloved “Special Chair” usually sat, her safe haven. The oversized massage recliner was empty. Untouched. Joy’s confusion deepened.
Then Joy heard something she wasn’t expecting to hear, barely audible, soft and uneven.
A sniffle.
Then another.
Then quiet whimpers.
Joy took a step closer. The noise was unmistakable now. Sniffing. Sharp and quiet, like someone trying very hard not to be heard. It wasn’t the kind of sniffing that came from allergies or a stuffy nose. It was the kind that was aimed to be contained, hidden, discreet.
Joy’s smile faltered. Her eyes softened as her brows pinched ever so slightly. A quiet concern bloomed in her chest. She never heard Anxiety cry before…
This was brand new to Joy, completely alien.
What she was hearing now sounded like sadness.
Loneliness.
Pain.
Joy didn’t want to startle her. She approached slowly, carefully stepping around the couch, her voice low and gentle like a breeze slipping through a crack in the door.
“…Anxiety?” she tried.
“GAHHHH!”
Anxiety shot straight up from behind the couch like she’d been launched by a spring. Her wild hair bounced while she was mid-air, eyes wide with shock, hands flailing defensively.
“Aah!” Joy yelped in surprise, instinctively hopping back with her arms up.
“Shhh! Shhh! You’ll wake the whole crew!” she whisper-shouted, waving her hands frantically.
Anxiety froze mid-breath, her hands clamped over her mouth. Her pupils darted nervously around the room before she exhaled sharply through her nose, curling inward. One of her hands seemed to be clutching onto something rather tightly.
“S-sorry, Joy,” she stammered, voice a soft squeak.
“I didn’t know, I wasn’t expecting you to…”
“No, no! I’m sorry,” Joy cut in at the same time, waving her hands again awkwardly.
“I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like I did. I just…”
“...I dunno, if only I paid more attention…”
“...was curious since Envy’s upstairs…”
They both stopped, realising they were talking over each other. The silence that followed felt as awkward as it did inevitable.
Joy coughed gently into her hand and forced a sheepish smile.
“So, uh… what are you doing down here? D’you feel like a late night dream binge?” she nodded her head in the direction of the big screen.
Anxiety took a shaky breath and sat up a little straighter, though her arms still curled tightly around her midsection.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said honestly.
“And Envy… well, she was out for the count when I got here, so I figured I’d carry her upstairs and take over Dream Duty.”
Her voice sounded low and hoarse. Very unlike her.
Joy tilted her head, a little frown forming.
“Oh…well that’s really kind of you. You know, she’ll really appreciate that in the morning.”
Anxiety nodded.
“Knowing her though, she’d probably whine that she didn't get to finish and I guess…feel important, heh.” she chuckled awkwardly.
Joy studied her for a moment, then gave a quiet chuckle of her own.
“She’ll be fine, besides, us insomniacs gotta stick together, right?” She raised her hand into a hesitant fist.
Anxiety stared at it, confused at first, then slowly reached out her own trembling fist and bumped it gently against Joy’s.
“Y-yeah. I guess so.”
A silence fell between them again. It wasn’t hostile, just heavy.
Joy glanced toward the screen. Riley’s dream had shifted slightly, now the two dinosaur-dogs were barking at each other over the giant bowl of food, their tails still wagging furiously. A soft, involuntary smile tugged at her lips.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something else.
Anxiety’s hands. Clenched tightly. One folded over the other, as if she were hiding something small and fragile inside. Her knuckles were pale, and the edges of something she couldn’t quite identify peeked out from between her fingers.
Joy didn’t want to bring it up just yet. So her voice trailed on to something unlikely to offend.
“So…since you’re not the only one having slumber issues…”
She slowly sat down on the couch beside her, eyes on the screen.
“I guess I’ll snag a seat with you. I mean, if you don’t mind.”
Anxiety hesitated. Then, silently, she nodded.
“Sure, not at all.” she replied.
They sat together in the dim glow of the console, watching Riley’s dreams flicker across the screen, the two figures sharing the quiet, tangled space between worry and warmth.
Joy stole a quiet glance at Anxiety beside her. In the low light of the console, she could see it, subtle at first, then unmistakable. Anxiety was trembling. Not just a slight shiver, but a full, body-deep quiver she was clearly trying to suppress. Her shoulders tensed with every breath, and her fingers gripped that mystery object in her hand with each passing second. Joy’s heart sank. It wasn’t the usual jittery energy Anxiety carried, it was something rawer, heavier. Even now, Anxiety was doing her best to look composed, but the shaking betrayed her. She was unraveling, slowly, silently, right beside her.
Joy couldn’t sit in silence any longer. The trembling girl beside her, the way Anxiety clutched whatever it was she was clutching like it was anchoring her to the moment, it gnawed at her.
She turned her head gently, careful not to startle.
“Anxiety?”
“Yes, Joy?” came the reply, soft and a little too mechanical.
Anxiety didn’t turn her head. Her voice was level, too level.
Joy hesitated, choosing her words carefully.
“What do you have there? In your hand?”
Anxiety’s posture stiffened, just slightly. Her eyes remained fixed on the dream screen, and she responded a beat too quickly.
“Oh, um… it’s nothing. Just a speck of glitter I caught earlier. I’m… waiting to…put it in a jar.” She nodded faintly, as though validating her own story.
Joy scratched her head.
Glitter?
She raised a brow, crossing her arms as a warm, playful smile tugged at her lips.
“You collect glitter?” she asked, eyes narrowing with gentle disbelief.
Anxiety finally glanced over. Their eyes met.
She was caught.
With a sigh that seemed to pull her shoulders even lower, Anxiety uncurled her fingers and opened her hand.
There it was, some crumpled, well-used tissues. Small, damp, and fragile in her trembling palm.
Joy’s smile faded. Her heart squeezed in her chest. She felt the weight of it instantly, not the tissue, but what it meant. What it had absorbed.
“Oh, Anxiety…” Joy said quietly, unsure where to land between lighthearted and sincere.
“That’s not glitter, unless glitter cries too.” She chuckled weakly, trying her best to find something reassuring to say.
“But that’s okay! Crying’s normal! Super healthy, actually! You know, like… like a brain cleanse! That’s what my time with Sadness has taught me.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she winced.
A brain cleanse? Was that seriously the best she could do?
Anxiety just looked at her, her expression completely neutral as if Joy had just told a joke in Mandarin. Her lips pressed together like she was holding something in. The awkwardness throbbed in the space between them.
Joy cringed and ran a hand through her hair.
“Wow. That was…a mouthful, huh?”
Anxiety stood slowly, careful not to look directly at Joy. Her eyes were glossy but dry now, her voice flat.
“I’m… gonna make myself a coffee,” she mumbled.
She didn’t wait for a response. She didn’t ask if Joy wanted anything either. She turned from the couch and walked away toward the corner of headquarters where the old kitchenette was on standby. Her footsteps were soft, but there was a weight in every movement, like each step was heavier than it should be.
Joy remained seated, watching her go with a worried look. The quiet hum of Riley’s dream continued in the background, dinosaurs barking over breakfast, but it felt a thousand miles away now.
This wasn’t just a bad night of sleep.
Something deeper was unraveling in Anxiety, and Joy had no idea how to reach her.
At least not yet.
But she knew she couldn’t ignore it.
Not anymore.
Joy trailed behind Anxiety as she crossed the room. The kitchenette in headquarters was tucked into a quiet corner, its muted lights humming to life as Anxiety approached. She moved automatically, retrieving the coffee mug from the top shelf, one of her many orange ones, and placing it beneath the coffee machine like she’d done this over a hundred times.
Maybe more.
Joy lingered a few steps behind, watching the slow, deliberate motions. The way Anxiety stood, her shoulders hunched tightly, her arms pulled inward as though trying to shield herself from the world, even in her own home. Her back remained turned.
Joy took a breath and stepped forward.
“Hey…” she began gently.
“I know I kinda… crashed the moment back there. And I know I’m still pretty…rusty at this whole ‘comforting’ thing.” She winced as she said it.
“I mean, jeez, Sadness is so much better at it than I’am, she just…gets it. But I… I really wanna understand. I wanna help you. If you’d just…tell me what’s going on, Xy.”
Anxiety didn’t answer.
The coffee machine sputtered and hissed quietly, filling the mug drip by slow drip. Steam curled upward like a whisper between them.
Joy tried again, forcing a smile into her voice.
“I’ll do everything I can.”
That got a reaction. Just not the one she’d hoped for.
Anxiety tilted her head slightly without turning around.
“Xy?” she said flatly.
Joy perked up.
“Yeah! Like the xylophone! The musical instrument? I thought it was kind of cute! Like, peppy and fun.”
Anxiety exhaled sharply, the sound teetering between a sigh and a scoff.
“So is that…another one of your nicknames? Like Weewee.”
Joy blinked.
“Oh, well…yeah! Nicknames are fun! Unless you don’t like it…?”
“I don’t.” Anxiety interrupted with a tired voice, finally turning slightly.
“I’m sorry, I’m just not in the mood for… branding.”
The coffee machine beeped softly as it finished its cycle. Anxiety took her mug, cradled it in both hands, and finally turned to face the emotion talking to her.
Joy stood still, uncertain.
“Anxiety… I can’t pretend I’m not worried about you.”
There was a pause.
Then Anxiety spoke, her voice low and hoarse.
“Joy, I haven’t slept in four days.”
Joy’s mouth opened slightly as the weight of Anxiety’s confession hung in the air.
“Four…? Four days?”
“You probably haven’t noticed but this is the fourth consecutive night where I took over someone else’s Dream Duty,” Anxiety continued, staring into her mug, avoiding eye contact with Joy.
“Fear, Sadness, Disgust…and now Envy. I send ‘em off to sleep and…then I step in. I figured if I was gonna be awake anyway, I might as well make myself useful.”
Joy’s hand covered her mouth.
“But…why? That’s not healthy, you shouldn’t…”
“I know,” Anxiety said sharply, then softened.
“I know it’s bad for me. But ever since…hockey camp. The panic attack. Everything that happened between you, me…and Riley…” Her voice wavered.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. My head just keeps playing it back on loop. And every time I close my eyes, I can hear you guys. Banging on the glass of that jar I bottled you up in.”
She took a shaky sip of her coffee.
“I feel ashamed, Joy. Ashamed for what I did to you and for what I did to Riley. So I don’t sleep. I just… stay up.”
Her eyes remained distant, locked on the swirling coffee in her mug, like it held all the answers she couldn’t find.
Joy had no words.
She couldn’t find the right ones.
She just listened.
And the silence between them swelled with something fragile and real.
Joy took a slow step forward. The distance between them, just a few feet, felt like miles. Her hands fidgeted awkwardly in front of her, unsure what to do with themselves. Her voice, when she spoke, was gentler now, careful, like she was walking on a tightrope.
“Anxiety,” she began,
“I know you’ve been carrying a lot. I can see it. And… I want you to know that I forgive you.”
Anxiety didn’t move.
Joy pressed on, her voice gaining strength with conviction.
“I mean it. Everything that happened…it was hard. But it happened over a month ago. And we all learned something from it. We grew. You grew.”
Anxiety shifted slightly, lips parting to speak, but Joy continued, rushing to get the words out.
“I forgive you for everything. Riley would forgive you too.”
At that, Anxiety froze.
Her shoulders stiffened. Her head moved slightly, just enough for Joy to notice. Slowly, ever so slowly, she looked up at her from her coffee mug.
Her expression wasn’t soft. I wasn't grateful.
It was cold.
“How can you know that?” Anxiety’s voice was low and steady, but something trembled just beneath the surface.
“How can you know that at all?”
Joy’s heart skipped. She didn’t answer.
She couldn’t.
She just stood there, unsure, unsettled, as she took in the look on Anxiety’s face. Her brows were drawn tightly, a furrow deepening between them. Her lips were pressed in a flat, bitter line. Her hands, still wrapped around her mug, were shaking now, tiny ripples forming in the hot coffee.
Joy suddenly felt afraid.
Not terrified, but uneasy in a way she’d never felt around any of the other emotions, not even Anger in his loudest moments. This was different. Something was building in Anxiety, something heavy and dark that Joy couldn’t name.
Anxiety took a breath, steady but sharp.
“It’s easy for you to say that,” she said, each word weighed with restrained force.
“Being the…permanently positive emotion that you are.”
She looked away again, off to the side this time, at nothing in particular.
“I’m glad you’ve personally moved on from it all,” she said quietly.
“But I haven’t.”
Joy felt her throat tighten. Her own hands now hung still at her sides. The usual brightness in her chest, her endless reservoir of optimism, sputtered uncertainly. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The darkness in Anxiety’s words, the self loathing, the punishing language.
It was jarring for her to listen to.
Anxiety turned again, making her way back to the console, back to the red sofa. She moved past Joy without another word.
Joy wanted to stop her, to reach out, to say something, anything at all but no words came.
As Anxiety approached the console, she paused in the middle of the room. Her steps had slowed, her expression unreadable from behind. Then, almost as an afterthought, she turned back. Her face was half-shadowed by the dim glow of the dream screen.
There was a flicker of something in her eyes. Not just sadness. Not just anger.
Something Joy had never seen before.
“Thank you for trying, Joy,” she said, her voice even again.
“But I think you should get some sleep. I’ve got a job to do.”
Anxiety was about to turn around again when she paused. She spoke one more time, quiet but sharp.
“And…please don’t ever call me ‘Xy’ again.”
Joy was taken aback again. Her heart sank deeper at the unexpected words.
She had no choice but to nod faintly, her expression too hollow to manage a smile. She watched as Anxiety turned back to the console, her mug still trembling slightly in her grasp.
She continued to the console without turning around again. The dim light flickered across her orange frame, casting long shadows on the floor. Something about her walk, her posture, the way her silhouette leaned forward slightly, it felt foreign.
As if it wasn’t really her.
Joy remained in place, watching the quiet storm drift away from her, uncertain if she’d just lost something fragile. Or if she’d just seen something start to break.
Joy gave a small, uncertain smile and whispered,
“Goodnight, Anxiety.” She began to turn away, her footsteps light and slow as she headed toward the stairs.
The weight of the conversation lingered in the air, thick and heavy, pressing against her chest.
Just as she reached the first step, she paused. Something pulled her gaze back.
Anxiety never sat back down on the sofa. Instead, she was standing off to the side. Her figure was tense and rigid. The soft glow from the screen cast flickering shadows across her face. In her hand, she held the mug of coffee, the same one Joy had seen trembling moments before. Without warning, Anxiety’s arm shot forward. The mug smashed against the wall with a violent crash, ceramic shards scattering across the floor, and dark, steaming liquid splattered in every direction.
Anxiety didn’t know or care if her outburst was witnessed. Joy’s eyes widened, heart aching at the raw, unfiltered emotion displayed so suddenly. Anxiety’s shoulders shook, but no tears came. Instead, she seemed almost hollow, as if the rage was the only thing holding her together.
Joy took a quiet step back, swallowing the lump in her throat. She turned and continued up the stairs, her footsteps echoing softly behind her.
As she disappeared back to the sleeping quarters, a sudden chill swept through the room, a cold wind that wasn’t there before. Anxiety shivered involuntarily. The air felt heavy, dark, as if a foreign presence had settled around her, clinging like a shadow to her very being.
For a moment, she stood still, alone with the silence, and with the cold.