"Give me one more chance" 🍕🍔

by Gendo_isForsakening

Summary:

007n7 used to run from everything: responsibility, people, feelings, and especially the damage he left behind. But when Elliot someone he wronged years ago unexpectedly comes back into his life, things start to shift.

Not all at once. Not cleanly. 007n7 messes up. He jokes when he shouldn’t. He crosses lines. He makes stupid memes. But somewhere between awkward hangouts, babysitting chaos, and quiet conversations that almost feel like something more, he starts trying to change. For real this time.

Elliot isn’t a toy. He’s not someone you break and expect to come back whole. And if 007n7 wants a second chance at friendship, at love, at becoming better he’ll have to earn it.

A story about messing up, growing up, and the long, painfully human road to becoming someone worth staying for.

Notes:

HELLO!!! This story has alot of bad pacing and alot of personal headcanons on my part so I'm sorry if some characters are going out of character :(

Bad English
OOCs
007n7 x Elliot

Chapter 1: "Hot Pizza Worker"

The first time 007n7 saw Elliot, he was carrying three pizzas at once two on one arm and one balanced perfectly on his shoulder like it was nothing. His apron was stained with sauce, and there was a smear of flour on his jaw, but none of that mattered.

He was hot. Like, really hot. Sharp eyes, subtle scowl, rolled-up sleeves revealing lean arms, voice steady and no-nonsense as he handled a chaotic lunch rush by himself. He moved like he owned the place.

And 007n7? He stopped in the doorway, hand still on the handle, suddenly forgetting why he’d even come in.

Oh no, he thought, heart pounding. I’m in love.

He didn’t even know this guy’s name yet, but it was already over for him. Head empty. Just one thought bouncing around on loop:

“He’s so hot when he tells people to wait their turn.”

And then Elliot turned to him just briefly. A nod. A small, polite “Be with you in a second.”

That was it. That was all it took.

007n7 was doomed.

He didn’t mean to, at first.

Okay maybe he did. But not that badly.

At first, it was just a little prank. A hacked order system, some glitched menus, fake coupon codes flooding in. Funny, right? Make Hot Pizza Guy come out from behind the counter, maybe even yell at him a little. A guy could dream.

But it got out of hand fast. The wires weren’t up to code, the power surged, and boom-

Builder Brothers Pizza went up in flames.

007n7 stood across the street and watched, horrified... and maybe a little in awe.

Oops.

Elliot didn’t smile anymore. At least, not the same way.

They rebuilt the shop new paint, new logo, new fire alarms. Now it had cameras. Corporate cleaned up nice. But Elliot? He looked tired. Not just physically. That deep, sunken kind of tired that comes from being blamed for something he didn’t do and still showing up to work like a damn machine.

The worst part?

He still looked good doing it.

007n7 wanted to scream.

Most people send flowers. Or compliments.

007n7 hacked the shop’s playlist and replaced it with cursed remixes of love songs at 3x speed.

He reordered 100 pineapple pizzas to their address.

He replaced the delivery route map with "Elliot’s Home > My Heart > Eternal Hellfire.”

He once triggered the shop alarm just to make Elliot storm out in his mascot outfit, red-faced and pissed, arms crossed like a disappointed parent.

Every time Elliot glared at him, it felt like sunshine.

Every time he snapped, “What the hell do you want from me?” it was music.

And every time he said nothing at all, just gave that dead-eyed “customer service” stare?

007n7’s heart went feral.

He hates me so much, he thought, giggling to himself behind a VPN wall. This is love.

Elliot was done. DONE.

No one believed him when he said who was behind it. “Why would a hacker target you?” they said. “Maybe you just made a mistake again.”

He trusted people too easily. That was his problem. Used to be, anyway.

Now he knew better. Now, when the menu glitched or the delivery truck GPS rerouted them into a lake, he didn’t scream. He just rubbed his temples, sighed, and added it to the log.

But deep down?

He knew exactly who was behind it.

That freak with the stupid grin and the smug aura. The one who watched him work like he was watching fireworks explode. The one who definitely burned the old shop down but would never admit it.

“007n7,” he muttered, biting into a cold breadstick at the end of his shift. “If I ever see you again, I’m throwing a pizza cutter at your head.”

He screenshotted that line from Elliot’s live rant and made it his desktop wallpaper.

__

Elliot didn’t even realize the store cameras were rolling when he muttered it. He was bone-tired, running on zero sleep and leftover breadsticks, sweeping the shop floor at midnight with one arm and texting his boss with the other.

"If I ever see 007n7 again," he hissed under his breath, "I’m throwing a pizza cutter at his head."

The words left him like steam from a pressure valve sharp, fast, final. He didn’t even mean to say it out loud. But it felt good.

Too bad someone was watching.

Somewhere, Behind a Screen...

007n7 had been watching the live security feed like it was a romcom.

He didn’t even mean to record that part. But the second those words came out of Elliot’s mouth, he let out the most twisted, love-struck wheeze a human throat could make.

He paused the video on Elliot’s pissed-off face eyebrows furrowed, lips tight, murder in his eyes and screen-capped it immediately.

Then he slapped it as his new desktop wallpaper.

Right above the time, glowing in white text from his messy code editor:

“I’m throwing a pizza cutter at his head.” – My husband💖

He leaned back in his gamer chair, hoodie pulled over his head, giggling like an idiot.

“He hates me SO MUCH. That’s basically marriage.”

__

 

It was 11:02 PM. Elliot was locking up.

The last order had gone out 20 minutes ago. The lights were dim, the floor was still kind of greasy, and Elliot’s spine felt like it was held together by chewing gum and spite. He reached for the front door lock

Click.

There was a sound.

Not a normal sound.

A him sound.

“…No,” Elliot muttered.

“You miss me?”

That voice. That smug, condescending, up-to-no-good voice that oozed across his skin like static.

Elliot turned slowly, jaw clenched.

And there he was.

007n7 leaned against the doorframe like he belonged there. Taller by just enough to be annoying. Hoodie half-zipped. Smirk painted on like graffiti. Hands in pockets like he hadn’t burned down this exact building's older twin.

He winked. “You look good under LED lights.”

Elliot didn't blink. “You look like you smell like HDMI cables.”

“Ooooh.” 007n7 grinned. “Say more mean things.”

Elliot deadpanned. “Say hi to my pizza cutter.”

“I knew you meant it,” 007n7 whispered dreamily.

__

 

“Why are you here.”

“Just checking on you,” 007n7 said innocently. “Wanted to see if you were safe. Alive. Still working too hard. Still mad at me. Still insanely hot.”

“You. Burned. My job. Down.”

“There were no casualties. Except my dignity. And maybe your dignity, after I made that remix of you yelling and set it as my ringtone-”

Elliot’s hand twitched toward the counter drawer.

007n7 leaned forward, closing the distance. Just enough that the height difference became annoyingly obvious.

“You looked so serious in that clip,” he murmured. “That glare. That tone. I play it every time I need motivation.”

Elliot shoved a mop handle between them. “Back. Up.”

“I made it my wallpaper,” 007n7 confessed, absolutely deranged with joy. “You're on my screen right now. Every time I close a tab, there you are, threatening me with love.”

Elliot inhaled deeply. “I’m calling the cops.”

“You always say that,” 007n7 said, still not moving.

“I mean it this time.”

“Oh no. What are they gonna do? Arrest me for loving you in very illegal ways?”

“YES.”

Chapter 2: I Hope You Choke On a Pizza Box

Summary:

Cringe warning-

The mop slammed into the counter.

Elliot had had it.

The smug silence. The sing-song hacker nonsense. The fire. The way 007n7 just stood there, always two inches too close, always with that look like Elliot was his favorite TV channel and he’d never change it.

“You think this is funny?” Elliot barked, voice sharp enough to slice through the grease in the air. “You show up here like you didn’t literally destroy my life? Like I’m supposed to just stand here and serve you a pepperoni and a smile?”

007n7 blinked, then slowly leaned on the counter with his chin in his hand, watching like this was the season finale of his favorite soap opera.

Elliot’s hands curled into fists. “You hacked our online orders and sent 62 pizzas to the mayor’s office. You rigged the animatronic to scream ‘GET BAKED’ on repeat. You locked me in the freezer. You-”
He pointed a trembling finger at 007n7’s smug, punchable face.
“-you absolute disaster. I had to PAY for a building you BURNED DOWN.”

007n7 said nothing. Just kept… smiling.

That dumb, weird, strangely fond little smile. The kind of expression people made when their crush called them by their full name.

“Say something,” Elliot snapped. “Anything.”

“…You talk a lot when you’re mad,” 007n7 said quietly.

Elliot nearly vaulted the counter.

“Do you even feel bad? Do you know how many hours I’ve worked to keep this stupid place alive? You think you’re so clever with your little hacker tricks and your-your- whatever the hell you think this is! I’m not your toy. I’m not your project. I’m not some code you can just just debug into liking you.”

007n7’s smile finally dropped.

For the first time since he walked in, he blinked like something had actually hit.

“…I don’t want you to like me,” he muttered.

Elliot stared.

“I just want you to yell at me again,” 007n7 added, looking off to the side. “It was kinda hot.”

Elliot screamed into the void.

___

 

It was a Wednesday. A gross one.

Sweaty, thundercloud heavy, and stinking of half-burnt crust and desperation. Inside Builder Brothers Pizza, Elliot wiped down the soda station with robotic precision, face resting in that dead-eyed service smile he’d perfected over the years. Behind that, though?

Murder.
Rage.
And the faintest whiff of oregano.

He could feel it. That shift in the air. The static cling of hell itself.

“Hey, hot stuff,” a voice drawled from the shadows of the arcade machines.

No.
No, no, no, no-

Elliot didn’t turn. “We’re closed.”

“No, you’re not,” 007n7 said, stepping out from behind the claw machine like a cockroach in human form. “You don’t close for another thirty-eight minutes.”

“I’m breaking the rules today,” Elliot snapped, grabbing the wet rag and slamming it into the sink like it owed him money. “Leave.”

But of course, 007n7 didn’t leave. No. He strutted forward with the confidence of a man who had nothing to lose and no morals to hold him back. The kind of guy who loved being told “I hate you” because he’d interpret it as “say that again but slower.”

Elliot turned just in time to see the bastard toss a bottle of garlic dipping sauce into the air and catch it. With two fingers. Like it was a wedding ring.

“Found this in the dumpster,” 007n7 said, grinning. “Thought of you.”

“Of course you did,” Elliot muttered. “It’s trash.”

007n7 winked. “Exactly.”

Elliot grabbed the garlic sauce, whipped it across the counter, and slammed it down inches from 007n7’s wrist. “If you don’t leave in the next five seconds, I’m going to open this and pour it into your EYES.”

For a heartbeat, 007n7 just stared at him.

Then.

“God.” He exhaled like he’d just had a religious experience. “Say that again.”

Elliot’s jaw dropped open. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Say it slower.”

“GET. OUT.”

007n7 made a small noise that was either a laugh or an unholy moan. “You’re so hot when you’re homicidal.”

Elliot grabbed the pepper flake shaker like a grenade and nearly vaulted over the counter.

Later that night, Elliot would file for a restraining order.
He’d sit in front of a very exhausted court clerk and say:

“He set my mascot on fire. He hacked our POS system to say ‘I LOVE ELLIOT’ in Comic Sans. He breathes weird whenever I speak. I want him legally banned from every pizza shop on the East Coast.”

But by the time Elliot submitted the paperwork?

007n7 had already hacked the system.
And changed it to:

“Elliot & 007n7 – License to Marry (Pending Approval)”

__

[The next day]

Builder Brothers Pizza opened at 11AM.
By 11:03, Elliot was already two orders deep, short-staffed, and seriously considering the life of a hermit in the woods.

He adjusted his apron, checked the monitors
and then the main screen above the counter flickered.

Click.
Static.
Then...

"TODAY’S SPECIAL: ELLIOT’S HOT-N-READY ATTITUDE 🍕"

“What the-” Elliot stared, horrified. The blinking red font danced mockingly, overlaying a looping GIF of him caught on camera last week… throwing a spatula at the drive-thru window. With impressive form.

And worst of all?

The video was captioned:

“When he’s angry 😍 but still my Babygirl 🥺🔪”

“Oh my god,” Elliot whispered, eyes darting to the camera in the corner.

Behind it?

Nothing.

Above it?

Also nothing.

Until a voice came through the wall speaker like a demon possessed:

“Smile for me, chef~”

Elliot screamed.

Somewhere, in a dimly lit basement surrounded by LED monitors and Monster Energy cans, 007n7 screenshot it.

And whispered reverently:
“That one’s the new wallpaper.”

Back at the store, Elliot was losing his mind.

He’d ripped out the HDMI cable, unplugged the main server, and was now pacing by the counter like a hunted animal. "I will kill him. I swear to God, I will grab that smug freak by the throat and-"

He froze.

Because someone had just slid a pepperoni heart across the counter.

Elliot looked up.
There he was.

007n7, standing in a Builder Brothers hoodie (not for sale to the public), hands behind his back, like he hadn’t just turned Elliot’s life into a Twitter meme.

Elliot: “You hacked us again?!”

007n7, fake innocent: “What? Me? Nooo. The screen just… loves you.”

“Get out of my store.”

“Can’t. I’ve got a coupon.”

“There are no coupons.”

007n7 held up a piece of paper with "1 FREE KISS FROM ELLIOT" written in Comic Sans.

Signed:
“The Government.”

Elliot grabbed a rolling pin. “I will beat you with this.”

007n7’s eyes lit up like it was Christmas. “Promise?”

That night, Elliot tried changing the store’s camera passwords.
But 007n7 had already replaced the login page with:

🧡 “Hi Elliot. Did you miss me?”

🔐 Username: sexydeliveryman
🔐 Password: ihate007n7 (he knew you'd use this)

💾 Tip: Don’t bother changing it. I’ll always find you.

Elliot didn’t sleep that night.

007n7?
He fell asleep hugging his monitor.

Elliot’s screenshot is set as his lock screen.

Underneath it, in bold letters:

“When he screams, it’s real true love.”

Chapter 3: Slow-BURN (Pun-intended)

The bell above the door jingled.

Elliot didn’t look up at first. He was halfway through wiping down the soda machine, wrists sticky with syrup, and his shoulders were aching from the dinner rush. The place still reeked of pepperoni grease and teenagers.

He already knew who it was.

That laugh. That dragging footstep. That presence like bad WiFi and gunpowder in the air.
Of course it was him. Again.

“Heyyy, pretty boy,” 007n7 drawled from behind the counter, voice lazy, like he’d been here all along. “Miss me?”

Elliot froze.

He didn’t answer. He just wiped the soda nozzle harder. Not because it needed it but because if he didn’t do something, he might throw it at the wall.

“You’re quiet today,” 007n7 continued, unbothered as usual. He leaned against the counter like he owned it. His hoodie hung off one shoulder, scuffed boots leaving dark prints on the clean tile. “You’re not happy to see me?”

Elliot stared down at the soda machine, face blank. His voice came out calm. Polite. Plastic.

“You can’t be here.”

“Aw, c’mon. We’ve been over this. It’s public-”

“You can’t be here,” Elliot repeated, sharper now. “You’re not welcome.”

A beat passed.

Then, softly too softly:

“I thought we were past that,” 007n7 said.

Elliot looked up. And that was his mistake.

Because the moment their eyes met those annoying, smug, dark eyes something in Elliot snapped. Not loudly. Not like a scream or a slam. More like paper ripping. Quiet. Final.

[FLASHBACK -THE FIRST TIME]
Back then, 007n7 was just some cocky guy with a weird username and a smug grin. He flirted without flirting. Made trouble without ever quite crossing a line.

And Elliot, idiot Elliot thought he was just misunderstood.
He’d smiled. Laughed, even. Given him free cheese sticks once. Said something like “You’re not as bad as you act.”

He remembered the look 007n7 gave him when he said that.

Like someone had just handed him the sun.

💥 Then the shop burned down.
Elliot didn’t even cry. Not when he saw the flames, not when he had to explain to his boss, not even when he emptied out his savings to help cover repairs.
He just kept scrubbing soot off walls and smiling at customers.

But 007n7? He’d stood there, watching the blaze from across the street, smiling like it was a love letter.
Like he'd done it for Elliot.

That’s when it sank in:
It wasn’t a joke.
007n7 didn’t care about the consequences.
He just wanted to be seen.

Back in the present, Elliot finally spoke. Low. Flat.

“You keep showing up like I’m gonna forget what you did.”

“I said I was sorry-”

“No, you didn’t,” Elliot snapped. “You never said sorry. You just laugh. You hack our menu boards. You break in. You leave graffiti in the bathroom and call it art. You-”
He cut himself off.

007n7 raised an eyebrow. “You remembered the graffiti, huh?”

Elliot stared at him. Quiet for a second. Then:

“I was stupid for hoping you’d ever change.”

That shut him up.

Elliot took a slow breath. His hands trembled. He hadn’t even realized he was still holding the rag. He dropped it.

“You ruined my life. Twice.”

007n7 looked down. His usual smirk had faded into something unreadable.

“And you keep coming back,” Elliot whispered. “Like it’s funny. Like I’m the punchline.”

Another silence.

Then 007n7 spoke, and his voice was quieter than usual.

“I didn’t mean to ruin you.”

Elliot flinched. Like it hurt to hear.

“Then why do you act like I’m a game?”

“I don’t,” 007n7 said. But he was lying. He knew he was lying. They both did.

“You’re like a virus,” Elliot said, voice rising now, bitter. “You show up, break things, leave people to deal with the damage and somehow, I’m still the idiot who looks at you and thinks, maybe he means well.”

007n7 blinked. Just once.

Then he smiled.

Not his usual smirk. Not teasing.
Just... sad.

“I only ever wanted you to notice me,” he said, and that was so much worse.

Because Elliot had.
He had noticed.
He’d wanted to notice.

And now all he wanted was for this guy to go away.

007n7 stood there, awkward now. Out of place. Like a glitch in real life. For once, he didn’t have a joke ready.
Didn’t break the tension with some rude comment.

He just turned.

“Guess I’ll go then.”

Elliot didn’t stop him. Didn’t look back.

He just picked up the rag again. Scrubbed the counter until the laminate started to peel.

__

The pizza shop was unusually quiet that morning.

No flickering neon signs. No hacked menu boards screaming "MARRY ME, ELLIOT 😘" in pixelated fonts. No graffiti of stick figures labeled "Me" and "You (Blushing)" under the sauce station.

Just... quiet.

Elliot stood behind the counter, halfway through inventory, when his phone buzzed. Another voicemail.

Unknown number.
Again.

He sighed. Put it on speaker. And pressed play.

“Hey. It's me. Obviously. I’m not- uh. I’m not hacking your speakers today. Or the lights. So. You can stop looking at the breaker panel.”

There was a pause. A shuffle of static. And then 007n7’s voice, low, almost unsure:

“I just... I know I made everything worse. But I’m not here to screw with you. Just figured I’d say good luck on the weekend rush. You’ll survive. You always do.”

Click.

Elliot blinked at his phone.

No weird jokes. No insults. Not even a pun.

Just... a normal message.

He got three more over the next week. And then two letters. Handwritten, scrawled in sharp, tilted lines rude handwriting, but no threats, no flirting, no graffiti. Just simple things.

“Saw your place in a flyer. You’re featured on the front. Told you you were the face of this dump.”

“That drink machine still leaking? Here’s a part number. Found it online. Probably won’t help, but whatever.”

Elliot didn’t know how to feel.

He tossed the first one in the trash.
Read the second one twice.
Kept the third in his apron pocket.

[Elliot’s Thoughts:
“Is he… taking my words seriously?”
“No way. He’s never listened to anyone.”
“But he hasn’t hacked anything in a month…”
“Maybe I finally got through to him.”
“Or maybe this is just the calm before the next disaster.”]

But even suspicion had a shelf life.

After a month of peace, Elliot almost forgot to dread seeing that smug face again.

That was the problem.

Because 007n7 noticed.

He kept showing up, lingering near the shop but Elliot didn’t even spare him a glance. Just took orders, refilled drinks, smiled that tired, dead-eyed smile at the next customer in line.

No tension. No yelling. No fire.

Just cold indifference.

And it was killing 007n7.

He didn’t want a restraining order. He didn’t want forgiveness.
He wanted attention.
He needed something from Elliot even if it was anger.

So he broke his streak.

___

Monday morning.

The shop’s front windows were covered in giant vinyl stickers.
Colorful. Bright. Loud.

They weren’t crude. They weren’t offensive.

They were just…
Every single flyer Elliot had ever handed out.

Copied. Reprinted. Blown up to poster size.
Slapped all over the glass.

There was even a lifesize cutout of Elliot at the door.

Elliot arrived at 9AM, took one look at the front, and nearly dropped his coffee.

He didn’t even make it inside before 007n7 popped up from behind a bench with a greasy grin and a sharpie in hand.

“I was gonna add glitter,” he said, “but I thought I’d be mature.”

Elliot stared. No words.

Just rage.

“…You broke your promise,” he said, flat.

007n7 blinked. “No hacking. No fire. I never said I wouldn’t promote you.”

“That’s not promotion. That’s harassment.”

“Oh please,” 007n7 huffed. “You looked so bored lately. I thought you’d-”

And that was it.

Elliot snapped.

“You thought I’d what? Thank you? You think just because you stopped being a nightmare for five minutes, I’d forgive you? That I’d magically forget all the crap you put me through?!”

007n7’s grin flickered. Gone. Just like that.

“I-I was trying to-”

“Trying? No. You just can’t stand the idea that I’m over it. Over you. You liked it better when I hated you, huh? At least then you mattered!”

It hung in the air like smoke.

And for once, 007n7 didn’t have anything to say.

Elliot turned on his heel. Ripped the cutout of himself off the door, crumpled it, and tossed it straight in the bin.

[That night]
Another voicemail.

Elliot didn’t listen to it.

He just stared at the screen for a long, long time.

Chapter 4: A joke

(A 007n7-centered chapter)

The pizza shop wasn’t on fire.

That should’ve meant things were fine.

But Elliot hadn’t looked at him. Not once. Not even when he tore down that ugly (yet strangely flattering) cutout and dumped it straight into the trash like it hadn’t taken hours to scale and reprint.

007n7 sat crouched on a rusting bench outside the convenience store across the street. Hoodie pulled low. Elbows on knees.
Watching. Waiting.

Elliot didn’t come out for hours.

007n7’s Thoughts:
“It was just a joke. He always yells when I pull stuff like this.”
“He’s yelled worse. Called me worse.”
“Then it passes.”
“Then he moves on.”
“So why the hell does it feel like I killed something this time?”

He flicked his lighter on and off. Not to smoke. Just to hear the click.

He hated the quiet. He hated the feeling.

And most of all, he hated not knowing what he did wrong.

He went back home if you could call the cluttered, dim-lit safehouse with eight routers and an army of monitors a “home.”

The Elliot shrine was still there.
(Okay, not a shrine. That made it sound creepy.)
Just... his favorite photo of Elliot, laminated, slightly crinkled. It was his wallpaper too. He liked looking at it when he was patching code or scanning networks.

Elliot, backlit by a fryer. Hair a mess. In uniform. Dead-eyed but smirking at something off camera. Probably sarcasm.
Probably him.

007n7 smiled.

Then frowned.

Then stared.

“He’s never laughed at one of my jokes.”
“He only glares. Or sighs. Or says, ‘God, not you again.’”
“But that means he remembers me.”
“That means I’m still in his head.”

He didn’t know when that stopped being enough.

He didn’t know why Elliot walking past him like he was invisible hurt more than all the yelling combined.

[Flashback – The Old Dynamic]
“Are you seriously spray-painting the soda machine again?”
Elliot’s voice, sharp. Tired.
“Can you NOT, for once in your goddamn life?”

“I added googly eyes this time,” 007n7 had said, smug. “Give him some personality. Like you.”

“You’re gonna be the reason I lose my job.”

“You say that every time,” he had said.
With a grin.
Because Elliot always threatened.
Always stormed around.
Always cleaned up the mess and moved on.
.
.
.

“So why has this time been different?”

[Present Day – Alone Again]
007n7 sprawled back in his chair. Let his arms hang limp.

He could launch a hundred scripts right now. Shut down the shop’s power. Scramble orders. Set every oven to 999°F just for fun.

But he didn’t.

He just stared at the screen.

Elliot’s face in that old photo.
A still frame from when things were still funny.

“It’s not like I burned it down again.”
“It’s not like I ruined everything.”
“…Right?”

He started typing a message. Then backspaced the whole thing.

Started again.

“Hey. Didn’t mean to freak you out. Just thought you’d laugh. Like before. My bad.”

No emojis.
No dumb puns.

He hovered over “Send.”

Didn’t press it.

He’d wait. Just a little longer.

Elliot always came around. He would forgive him eventually, he always did.
Didn’t he?

Eventually Elliot will have to forgive him. He can't stay mad for long.
I mean it was just a joke anyway.
.
.
.

Chapter 5: He never tried.

He sat at the far table by the window his usual seat.

The one with the view of the counter. The one Elliot always stood behind.

His hoodie was up. His tray untouched. Pizza is getting cold.
Not that he ever came here for the food anyway.

He was here to be seen.

But Elliot…
didn’t look.

Elliot moved like a machine.
Fast. Sharp. Focused.

He handled a rush of three orders at once, took a call while restocking the soda fridge, and rang up a full family’s meal with a smile. The same tired but polite smile he always wore.

That smile used to twitch when he noticed 007n7.
It used to come with a sigh, or a muttered “goddamnit,” or a fake laugh when 007n7 pulled some shit.

Now?
Nothing.

“He used to at least hate me out loud.”
“Now it’s like I’m not even here.”

007n7 tore the crust off the slice with one hand and mashed it into paste with his thumb. No appetite.

He hadn’t hacked anything today.
Hadn’t messed with the lights or the screens or the audio system.

He was trying.

God, he was trying.

At least in his own eyes he was.
But really,
He never did, and he never tried to try.

But Elliot didn’t even flinch when he walked in.
Didn’t acknowledge him when he dropped a tip in the jar.
Didn’t blink when he tapped the counter and said,
“Hey. You look less dead today. New skincare?”

Nothing.
Not even a sarcastic snort.

Just silence.

He watched Elliot serve a family with kids. The way he crouched down to talk to the little one like a real person, not just a noise machine.

He watched Elliot give a homeless man a free slice and refill his drink.

He watched him exist.
Kind, sharp, tired, warm.

And so far away.

“What the hell am I doing?”
“Why do I keep coming here if he doesn’t even see me?”
“Is this what I deserve?”

He left without saying anything.

And this time, he
Didn’t leave a mess.
Didn’t make a scene.

Just walked out.
Alone. And Confused.

[Back Home]

He booted up his old terminal and stared at the home screen.
Elliot’s photo stared back.

Still the same one. Still pixelated.

He reached to change it.

Paused.

Didn’t.

He collapsed into his chair and let his head fall back.

The screen blurred. The weight in his chest didn’t move.

“He really hates me now.”
“Like... for real.”

007n7 let out a sign he still didn’t understand why, I mean usually anyone would just laugh..
.
.
.

The joke was not the only thing Elliot was mad about, it was the fact that Elliot tried to trust him just for him to break it.

Then there was a knock.

A soft one.

Low. Clumsy. Unpracticed.

007n7 blinked.

Another knock. Louder. Two times.

He sat up.

The monitor buzzed with a weak reflection of the doorway behind him.

Someone was standing there.

Small.

Shaped like trouble.

The knock echoed again.

Soft. Off rhythm. Uncertain.

007n7 blinked, half-slumped in his chair, one hand still hovering near the monitor’s edge like he might refresh it. As if that would change anything. As if Elliot would magically ping back.

The photo hadn’t moved. Still static. Still pixelated. Still staring at him like a wound that never healed.

Another knock louder this time.

Annoyed, he pushed himself up. Stumbled toward the door, expecting a package. Or a neighbor. Or some scam artist.

Instead...

It was a kid.

Tiny. Red hair like he'd stuck a fork in a toaster. Black, empty eyes that didn’t blink. He wore a too-bright shirt that said TEAM C00LKID JOIN TODAY not just on the front, but continued along the sleeves, like it was trying to swallow him whole in branding.

He was smiling.

Not creepy.
Not sweet.
Just… smiling.

Like he already belonged here.

“…What.”
“You’re 007n7, right?” the kid asked. His voice was high, confident. Too confident.
“That depends,” 007n7 muttered. “Who’s asking?”
“Me.”
“…Right.”
“I wanna join your team.”

The silence that followed could’ve cracked drywall.

“I don’t have a team,” 007n7 finally said.

“You do now.”

He should’ve slammed the door.
He should’ve told the kid to get lost, call his parents, file a police report, something.

But he just stood there.

Like something about that dumb grin empty eyes and all paralyzed him.

“Okay,” 007n7 said flatly. “What the hell do you want?”

“I told you. I’m your fan! You’re a legend. You hacked Builder Brothers Pizza twice! You took over the whole speaker system and made it play elevator jazz at 900 decibels!”

“That was years ago.”

“Yeah, and it was awesome.”

007n7 rubbed his face. His hoodie felt too warm. His chest felt too hollow.

“…You hungry?” he asked, before he could stop himself.

The kid lit up like a jack-o-lantern. “You got any ice cream?”

“No.”

“Toast?”

“…Yeah.”

[The Kitchen – 11:04 PM]

Coolkid sat with his knees up on the chair, swinging his feet, absolutely destroying a slice of toast like it was fine dining.

He talked the whole time.

About how he found 007n7’s name on an old thread. How he printed out his hacks like comic books. How he once tried crashing his school’s projector system “just to see if I had the spirit.”

The kid was unhinged.

And yet

007n7 kept listening.

Not smiling. Not responding much. But not sending him away either.

“This is so stupid.”
“Why is he here?”
“Why is this the first time the apartment doesn’t feel... unbearable?”

“You ever blow up a soda machine?” Coolkid asked suddenly.
“…No.”
“I did. Twice. Second time on purpose.”

007n7 snorted, barely. A twitch of his mouth. Regret caught him fast right after.

Elliot used to make that face when 007n7 said something stupid. That “you’re a moron, but a tolerable one” look.

That was gone now.

Because of him.

Because he didn’t stop when he crossed the line.
He just kept pushing it.

Because somewhere along the way, Elliot had stopped yelling... and just stopped caring.

“You okay?” the kid asked, through a mouthful of crust.

007n7 looked up.

For a second, he saw Elliot in those black eyes.

Not really, not exactly. Just the ghost of a memory. The way Elliot used to look at him across the counter annoyed, amused, a little fond.

Now?

It was gone.
Maybe he deserved this.

“You sure you wanna hang out with someone like me?” 007n7 muttered, eyes on the table.

Coolkid beamed. “You kidding? You’re the blueprint.”

Chapter 6: “Dad?”

[Later – The Couch]

It’ has been a week since this kid decided to just stay here,

007n7 should have called the cops

But he may or may not be wanted… So that option was scraped

He asked for his parents' number. Or an address, anywhere home.

But

Nothing.

So in the end he let the kid crash in his house, I mean surely he will go away soon? Right?

The kid crashed hard, snoring into the cushions with a napkin stuck to his cheek. He’d drawn something on it.

007n7 picked it up.

It was crude, cartoony. A stick figure of Elliot holding a pizza slice, giving a thumbs up. The drawing was labeled: “FOR THE COOLEST GUYS’ FRIEND (WHO SUCKS BUT IS COOL)”

He stared at it.

Longer than he meant to.

Longer than he wanted to.

Then he looked up at the screen again.

Elliot’s photo still stared at him.

And it hurt this time.

Not the sharp stab of anger. Not even guilt. Just…

A slow, heavy ache in his ribs.

It was permanent.

Coolkid shifted in his sleep, mumbling:
“Dad… I wanna blow up the ice cream machine tomorrow…”

007n7 froze.

“…Dad?”

He stared.

Stared longer than he should’ve.

And that ache in his chest?

It twisted.

‘What the hell is this.
I don’t do... family.
I don't… do people.’

He stood and stared for a long time.

The fan buzzed.

The silence stretched.

The photo on the screen blurred as his eyes did.

And for the first time in months… 007n7 didn’t feel powerful. Or clever. Or cool.

Just tired.
___

C00lkid.

He burned the toast.

Twice.

Which was impressive, considering he didn’t even own a toaster. He was trying to toast it on a frying pan with a half-melted stick of butter and a heat setting that might as well have been “hellfire.”

Coolkid sat at the tiny metal table, swinging his legs, wearing the same “TEAM C00LKID – JOIN TODAY” shirt from yesterday. His eyes black and unreadable tracked 007n7’s every move.

He hadn’t said anything yet.

But 007n7 could feel it.
That question sitting on the kid’s tongue.

The one he’d heard last night.

“Dad?”

And he still didn’t know how to answer that.

“You’re awake,” 007n7 mumbled, scraping char off the bread.
“Didn’t know kids slept like corpses.”

Coolkid didn’t respond. Just kept watching him, expression blank except for the faint smile he always wore unsettling, but still somehow… innocent?

007n7 slid the “toast” onto a chipped plate and shoved it toward the kid.

Coolkid poked it with one finger. “This tastes like suffering.”

007n7 smirked. “Yeah, well. That’s what life is, isn’t it?”

The silence came back.
Too loud.
Too full.

007n7 sat across from him, cracked knuckles tapping the table.

Coolkid tilted his head.

“So… why don’t you talk to your boyfriend anymore?”

The knife in 007n7’s hand slipped. Clattered against the plate.

“He’s not my- what are you talking about?”

Coolkid blinked. “The guy at the pizza place. The one you stare at like you’re about to cry. That guy.”

007n7 clenched his jaw. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know he doesn’t talk to you.”

Silence again.

Coolkid shrugged and shoved a bite of charcoal bread into his mouth. Chewed loudly.

He used to yell at me. Now he doesn’t even look at me.
I thought we were just playing the same game.

007n7 stared at the wall behind Coolkid. Stared right through it. Saw the counter. The smile Elliot wore like armor. The way he used to flinch when he walked in. The way he doesn’t anymore.

He used to laugh.
Even if it was bitter.
Even if it was fake.

Now, nothing.

“Why’d you burn his shop down?” Coolkid asked suddenly, like he was asking why the sky was blue.

007n7’s breath caught.

Coolkid was still chewing.

“Like… I think it’s cool, don’t get me wrong. But like, why? Did it make him love you more?”

That hit harder than it should’ve.

007n7 stood. Walked away. Poured water into a cracked mug and stared at the steam.

“Did I ever even try to be someone he could like?”
“Or was I just breaking things to make him look at me?”

He gripped the counter edge.

He used to think Elliot would always bounce back. That his sighs and eye-rolls were just a part of the game.

But Elliot had limits. And 007n7 had passed every single one.

Now?

Now he had a kid at his table calling him “Dad,” and a burnt-out memory of someone who used to care enough to yell.

Coolkid wandered to the fridge and opened it.

Nothing but off-brand soda and ketchup packets.

“Do you know how to cook?” he asked casually.

007n7 didn’t turn.

“…No.”

Coolkid shrugged. “It’s okay. I’ll figure it out. You figure out the boyfriend thing.”

And with that, the kid walked away like he hadn’t just reopened every wound 007n7 was pretending had scarred over.

007n7 leaned on the counter. Closed his eyes.

He could still see Elliot’s back from yesterday perfect posture, stiff shoulders, no reaction.

“God. I need to get it together.”

__

It was late.

The shop was closed.

Lights dimmed.

Mop bucket still half-full in the back.

Elliot’s phone buzzed once.

He glanced at it.

[Voicemail - Unknown Number]

He stared at the screen for a second too long.

He knew who it was.

Of course he did.

That number had no name, but it still burned into his call log like a scar.

He should’ve blocked it.

Should’ve deleted it.

He almost did.

His thumb hovered over Delete.

But…

“…it’s been weeks.”

“…what the hell does he even want now?”

Curiosity won.

He pressed play.

At first, there was silence.

Then static. Something rustling maybe a jacket. A door. A deep sigh.

Then, finally his voice.

“Hey.”

“Uh. Don’t hang up. Or, like… whatever. You’re not even hearing this live, so. Kinda stupid.”

A beat of silence.

“I don’t really know why I’m doing this.”

“Maybe I thought if I said it into a void, it wouldn’t be real.”

Elliot stayed still, leaning against the soda fridge. The mop water sloshed behind him.

The voice continued lower now. No filters. No snark.

“You ever… mess something up so bad, you start pretending it didn’t happen?”

“Like maybe if you just… don’t think about it, you can skip ahead. Next level. Clean slate.”

“But then you walk in and someone won’t even look at you and suddenly it’s like… oh.”

“You broke it. You really broke it.”

There was a noise on the other end. A shaky breath.

Maybe laughing. Maybe crying.

Hard to tell.

Elliot swallowed. His chest tightened.

He hated this.
He hated this 007n7 more than the loud one.

Because this one sounded human.

And that made everything worse.

“I’m not saying sorry to make you forgive me. I know you won’t. I wouldn’t either.”

“I just…”

“I don’t know what I did, ugh no.. No, I do know what I did wrong.. Well.. kind of”

Another silence.

Longer this time.

“I miss being annoying to you.”

“Anyway. You don’t have to respond. Just…”

“Don’t delete this one right away, okay?”

“Let it rot in your inbox a little. Like me.”

Click.

The message ended.

Elliot didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Just stared at the “Voicemail Saved” message like it was something venomous.

His fingers curled.

He didn’t feel angry.

He felt tired.

He hated that a part of him some awful, quiet part didn’t want to delete it.

He put the phone down.

Walked back to the mop bucket.

Started cleaning again.

But this time?

He moved slower.

Like something had caught in his gears.

Chapter 7: “Nope I’m still me.”

Summary:

Some people never change even when they seem like they did. Even when they say they did.
They never did.
Unless they try.

It had been… what, two weeks?

Three?

Elliot wasn’t counting.

(He was absolutely counting.)

No weird pranks. No hacked lights. No voice from the vents or ceiling speakers saying “you dropped this, king.” No bizarre arguments over sauce ratios or menu font.

No 007n7.

The restaurant was quieter now.

And Elliot told himself he liked it that way.

He did.

He should.

So why did it feel so… off?

He scanned the tables from behind the register during a lull in the lunch rush. Just a habit. Left to right. Back to front. All clear.

Except for the one by the window.

The usual seat.

Empty again.

Not that he cared.

Seriously. He didn’t.

He turned away.

Didn’t look back.

The next day, there was a voicemail.

Unknown number. No transcript. Just a timestamp.

Elliot stared at it for a full minute.

Then stuffed his phone in his apron and got back to work.

He didn’t check it.

Not that day.

Not the next.

But on the third night after close, alone, lights dimmed he sat in the break room and finally pressed play.

“...Hey. Uh. Don’t hang up. Or, well. You can’t. It’s a voicemail. Heh.”

[long silence]

“I didn’t do anything bad this time. Not calling to confess. I just- was wondering if you were okay. You always look okay. I know. I know you fake it better than anyone. But-”

Elliot paused it.

Why was his hand shaking?

He didn’t finish it. Not yet.

He just sat there for a long time, the phone on the table, the screen dark, the silence heavy.

At the counter the next morning, he caught himself glancing toward the door. Just for a second.

Just a flicker of expectation.

But it was a mom with a stroller.

And the silence stayed.

The first voicemail had been weird.

Quiet. Hesitant. Not like him.

Not like the chaos-addicted virus-in-human-form Elliot remembered.

But that was weeks ago now.

And there were more.

Four, to be exact.

He knew it because he checked.

He knew it because he kept checking.

The fifth one came in yesterday.

This morning, after unlocking the front door to the restaurant and flipping the CLOSED sign back over, Elliot sat down in the empty dining room, slid his phone from his apron, and pressed play.

Voicemail 2:

“Okay. That first one was bad. I was nervous. I’m still nervous.”

[pause]

“I came by. Didn’t go in. Just watched through the glass. You were laughing at something. I haven’t seen that in a long time. I look, I’m not saying this because I want anything. I’m not trying to worm back in. You said to stay out, and I did.”

“I just… I miss talking to you. Even when you hated me, we talked.”

Elliot didn’t react. Not out loud.

But his throat was tight.

Voicemail 3:

“I got a plant.”

“I know that’s random. You always said I couldn’t keep one alive. Bet you’re right. It’s already looking a little crispy.”

“It’s dumb, but I named it after you. It just felt right. It’s small. Kind of sharp. Survives a lot. But it still looks tired.”

[pause]

“I’m not sending this for pity. Just saying things out loud because... I never really did before.”

Elliot’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor.

The voice wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t even sad.

It was… honest.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Voicemail 4:

“You ever walk around and realize nobody looks at you like a real person?”

“I don’t mean invisibility. I mean the opposite. People only see what you’ve done. What they want from you. What they think you are.”

“I guess I’m wondering what you saw. Back then. Why you even put up with me for so long. I know I pushed it. I know I was a lot. You didn’t have to take that.”

“But you did.”

“And I still don’t know why.”

That one stung more than Elliot expected.

Because he didn’t know either.

Voicemail 5:

[shorter. breathless.]

“I was gonna stop calling. For real this time. But then I saw your face in my head while I was doing something stupid. And I stopped. I stopped. You weren’t even there, and you still stopped me.”

“So. Thanks. I guess.”

“Sorry. Again.”

Elliot stared at the wall for a long time.

His shift started in ten minutes.

He had receipts to print. Dough to prep. But his body felt like concrete.

Because for the first time in years, he was starting to think:

“Maybe he is trying.”

“Maybe he really is different.”

He didn’t text back. Didn’t call. Didn’t respond.

But that night, when he checked the restaurant’s security camera feed from home

He noticed someone had swept the sidewalk outside.

Not a customer.

Not a city worker.

Someone who didn’t stay.

Someone who just… wanted to help, maybe.

Elliot didn’t tell anyone.

Not about the voicemails.

Not about the sidewalk being swept.

Not about the odd moments where he'd almost smiled at the idea of 007n7 doing something right.

Because that would make it real.

And if it was real… it could break again.

He heard the doorbell chime mid-shift.

Didn’t have to look up to know.

But he did.

Out of instinct.

007n7 stood at the door not inside. Just standing. Fidgeting with a gift bag in one hand. Hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his arms like he was trying to look normal.

Elliot said nothing.

Did nothing.

But he didn’t turn away, either.

After a few seconds, 007n7 stepped forward, placed the bag on the floor near the counter, and backed off.

Still no words.

Just a quick glance like he was checking for something. A sign. A reaction.

He didn’t get one.

And he left.

Elliot didn’t touch the bag for ten minutes.

When he finally opened it, there was a bag of his favorite sour gummies, a laminated sticker with a little pixelated pizza slice on it, and a note.

"Don’t get excited. This isn’t flirting.
Just guilt."

Elliot laughed.

He didn’t mean to.

It was quiet and short and almost bitter, but it was real.

“He really might be trying.”

That thought stuck with him all day.

Through prep, deliveries, inventory.

Even while he cleaned out the fryer an impossible task that always left his sleeves soaked and smelling like oil.

He caught himself thinking,

“Maybe he changed.”

But the universe doesn’t give you peace without a price.

And Elliot knew it.

That night, Builder’s Brother Pizza got a weird review online.

A joke one.

The username was scrambled nonsense.

The image was a low-res MS Paint drawing of Elliot with laser eyes.

The review said:

“Employee looks like he got patched mid-update. 3/10, would not download again.”

It had 400 likes.

Elliot stared at it.

Hands cold.

Not laughing.

He knew who posted it.

No doubt in his mind.

No one else would make something that specific. That stupid. That personal.

It was supposed to be funny.
It was supposed to be a joke.

But it didn’t feel like one.

He didn’t call. Didn’t leave a message.

He just shut his phone off that night.

And sat in silence.

Because the thing about people like 007n7 is-

Sometimes they make you believe they’ve changed.

And then they remind you, with something small and sharp:

“Nope I’m still me.”

Some things never change.

Chapter 8: “It looked fun… so I thought it was okay.”

The post had already blown up before he even checked.

400 likes in 2 hours.

He thought it was funny.
It was funny.

Elliot with glowing red laser eyes, deep-fried to hell, mouth open in pixelated rage captioned, “Bugged NPC on his last straw.”

Classic.

He laughed when he made it.

The kind of wheezing, knee-slap laugh he hadn’t had in weeks.

But the next day?

No voicemail.

No glance.

Not even the usual nod when 007n7 left the gift bag with the cream soda Elliot liked.

Nothing.

"He's probably just tired."
"Maybe he didn’t see it."

That's what he told himself.

But he kept checking.

Opened his old burner account.

Refreshed the post.

Still public.

Still blowing up.

Still tagged with #PizzaRage.

The comments stung more than he expected:

“Why does this feel too real 💀”

“He looks so DONE 😭 who hurt him”

“This the same guy u said cried when someone asked for no olives???”

“It’s not that bad,” 007n7 muttered.
“It’s just a meme.”

But it didn’t sit right.

Not anymore.

Because Elliot hadn’t responded at all.

No groan.

No sarcastic “real mature.”

Not even a block.

Just…

Silence.

He hovered over the delete button.

Then pressed it.

Post gone.

Comments gone.

But it was too late.

He tried to leave another voicemail.

Fumbled the words.

Erased it.

Tried again.

Deleted that too.

The third one stuck.

“Hey. I know it wasn’t funny. Or it was. I thought it was. But not now.
I… messed up, huh?
Again.
I didn’t mean to make fun of you. I was trying to… make you… I-
I don’t even know.
Sorry.”

Click.

Sent.

And the worst part?

He didn’t know if Elliot would ever listen to it.

That night, 007n7 sat at his desk, a half-coded game window open and untouched.

The room felt too quiet.

Not the nice kind.

The kind that made your ears ring.

"He promised he’d stop."

That’s what Elliot had told him, that last real conversation.

“You always say sorry, and then you break it like it was never said.”

And now?

Now it was broken again.

He slumped forward, head against the desk, and whispered:

“Goddamnit.”

And in the doorway, barely making a sound,
stood that same kid.

Red hair.

Black eyes.

A shirt that read: “Team C00lkid. Join Today.”

Smiling.

The kid didn’t knock this time.

He just stood there.

In the doorway. Silhouetted in the hall light. His red hair flickered orange under the cheap ceiling bulb like a cartoon flame.

007n7 blinked at him.

“…You again?”

The kid smiled wider.

“Thought you went to your friends place?”
“Back so soon?”

Didn’t say a word.

He wore the same shirt as before. Red. The letters scrawled across

“TEAM C00LKID JOIN TODAY.”

The writing continued down both sleeves like a warning.

“You just gonna… stare at me forever?”

No answer.

The kid padded into the room on socked feet. Sat cross-legged on the floor. Still smiling.

Like this was normal.

The monitor behind 007n7 whirred.

Elliot’s photo was still the background.

The kid glanced at it.

Tilted his head.

Then looked back at 007n7.

Still grinning.

“Hey,” 007n7 said, voice sharper now. “That’s not a toy, alright? Don’t touch anything.”

The kid looked back at 007n7.

“OKAY!” was the only answer he gave.

His eyes were… weird.

Black, yeah but not empty. More like… they were waiting for something. Like they’d already seen it.

Like they knew.

Hours passed.

007n7 tried to get back to work, but the kid’s silent presence crawled across his shoulders like a second spine.

Eventually, he turned around.

The kid was on the floor.

007n7 supposed he was drawing. But the more he looked closer he saw a completely different object in the kid’s hand. (He thought it was a pencil, or a color pen.)

He was holding one of 007n7’s screwdrivers.

Twisting it in his hands.

“Hey. Hey- give me that,” 007n7 muttered, kneeling. “That’s not a toy.”

The kid let go of the object he was holding, but it seemed like he was left disappointed.

“Awh.. Okay…”

He looked up at 007n7 and added, with no malice, no snark just honest confusion:

“It looked fun… so I thought it was okay.”

[TIMESKIP – LATER THAT NIGHT]

Coolkid had long since fallen asleep, curled up under a blanket on the couch, half-hugging his worn-out Power Rangers plush. The credits of some episode rolled in the background Red Ranger front and center, villains cackling as if the fight never ended.

007n7 gently adjusted the blanket over him and turned off the TV.

The apartment was quiet again.

That same kind of quiet that rang in your ears.

He walked back to his desk, sat down slowly, and let his eyes drift to the monitor. The same meme was still up the one he thought was funny.

It wasn’t anymore.

Elliot’s face was mid-yell, laser-eyed, pixelated beyond belief. Frozen in exaggerated rage. The kind of thing strangers laughed at.

He stared at it now like it was evidence.

He remembered Coolkid’s voice.

“It looked fun… so I thought it was okay.”

And it echoed.

Not just the words.
The meaning.

It hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

Because wasn’t that what he always did?

He thought it was okay.

To joke.
To post.
To poke and prod.
Because it was fun. Because it made people laugh. Because Elliot would forgive him… right?

He thought it was okay.

Even when it wasn’t.

Even when Elliot asked him to stop.

Even when Elliot got quieter. When he started pulling back. When the look in his eyes said more than words ever could.

007n7 leaned back in his chair.

Staring at the screen.

And for the first time, he didn’t see a joke.

He saw himself.

And it wasn’t funny anymore.

Chapter 9: "Voicemail"

Elliot stared at the flashing light on his phone.

One new message.

He already knew who it was from.

The number wasn’t saved, but the area code was familiar. Too familiar. Like a ghost knocking politely at the front door.

He should’ve deleted it.

He told himself he would delete it.

But he didn’t.

It had been three weeks since he’d seen 007n7.

Three weeks of silence. No sudden hacks. No rigged speakers. No dumb stunts in the dining area.

And no letters.

Just that one voicemail.

He finally played it.

[ Voicemail begins. ]

"Hey. Uh. So. It’s me. Obviously."

nervous chuckle

"Don’t hang up- wait, you’re not even listening to this live, this is a voicemail, god- whatever."

"Okay."

brief silence

"I’m not asking for anything. I swear. I’m not trying to be funny. I just- "

"You ever mess up so bad you think, like… maybe the universe should just delete you and start over?"

another pause

"That’s not me fishing for pity or anything. I’m just saying I get it now."

"I didn’t before. I thought it was all a game. Or a joke. Or just something that’d reset like it always does. But, uh..."

"I think I broke something this time."

quiet shuffling

"You don’t have to talk to me. You don’t have to forgive me. I just…"

long breath

"I miss being someone you noticed."

click

[ Voicemail ends. ]

Elliot didn’t move for a long time.

He sat at the employee breakroom table, phone resting on his palm, cold tea forgotten beside him.

His reflection stared back at him in the screen.

“He still sounds like a dumbass,” he muttered.

But something in his chest twisted anyway.

Not forgiveness.

Not even pity.

Just... the memory of what it used to be.

Before things got ruined.

Before the fire.

Before the weight of “never again.”

He didn’t respond.

Not yet.

But he didn’t delete the voicemail either.

Back in his apartment, 007n7 sat at his desk.

The kid was sleeping on the couch, curled up beneath an old blanket, his red shirt half-covered.

The room was quiet.

No reply came.

007n7 didn’t expect one.

But he still looked at his phone every hour like a man waiting for a bus that wouldn’t stop here anymore.

And somewhere in the dark, C00lkid stirred in his sleep

Still smiling.

Elliot didn’t look up the first time 007n7 fixed the soda machine.

The thing had been acting up for weeks. One day it sputtered, another it overflowed. Then, one Tuesday morning before the shop opened, it just... worked.

No one said anything.

But the admin log showed someone had accessed it remotely.

Elliot stared at the log for a while.

Then closed it without a word.

It happened again the following week.

The online ordering system, which used to glitch every time 007n7 got bored, suddenly smoothed out. Faster. Cleaner. Efficient.

Elliot noticed.

Didn’t comment.

Didn’t dare believe it.

Then came the deliveries.

Unmarked packages dropped off at the back door.

New fryer filters.

A missing register part they couldn’t afford to replace.

A stupid custom apron with “Bossman 🍕” stitched in faded red an inside joke 007n7 had no right to remember.

Elliot stared at that one for a long time.

He didn’t wear it.

But he didn’t throw it away either.

"He's trying to be useful now?"
"Why?"
"What the hell does he want?"

Suspicion wasn’t gone.

It had roots. Years of it. Deep.

But the gestures kept coming.

No voice mails now.

No letters.

No fireworks.

Just... him.

Being there.

Elliot didn’t speak to him. Not directly.

But once or twice, their eyes met.

The first time, Elliot looked away.

The second time, he didn’t.

One night, Elliot stayed late to restock and clean.

When he stepped out the back door to toss garbage, 007n7 was there, crouched beside the old alley drain, fixing the busted outdoor camera. Hoodie up. Backpack open beside him.

He froze when Elliot caught him.

Didn’t bolt.

Didn’t grin.

Didn’t say a damn word.

Just looked up with tired eyes and said,

“I’m not here to break anything.”

Elliot said nothing.

But he didn’t tell him to leave.

Inside, behind the counter, Elliot stood motionless as the camera feed flickered to life for the first time in months.

Clean. Sharp. Centered on the back lot.

He watched the screen as 007n7 slung his bag over one shoulder and walked away into the dark.

It was only the beginning.

But the smallest seed of a thought cracked open in Elliot’s chest:

“...Is he actually trying?”

Not a full belief.

Not trust.

 

Just...

Curiosity.

Chapter 10: “You Remember That Stupid Meme?”

It was raining.

Not hard. Just enough to make the neon signs outside glow twice as bright in the puddles. Elliot wiped down the counter in slow circles, already clean. His eyes weren’t on the cloth.

They were on the monitor.

The camera feed.

Back lot. Quiet. Empty.

Then movement.

007n7. Hood down this time. Walking. No rush. No sneak. Just... passing by.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t wave.

Didn’t even look up.

But Elliot watched him the whole way.

“He’s not pulling anything.”
“Not lately.”

He didn’t know if it was good or suspicious.

But he knew it made his chest feel heavier.

Later that night, Elliot unlocked the staff-only door to grab inventory.

A note was taped to the handle.

"I'm sorry about the meme. I really am."

It was handwritten.

Messy. Fast. Regret leaking through every stroke.

Elliot froze.

He knew exactly which one.

That stupid joke 007n7 once posted on every screen in the restaurant.

The one that glitched out the POS system for three hours just to display:

“Elliot is 90% eyebrows and 10% trauma.”

It was funny.

To everyone else.

But not to Elliot. Not that day.

Not after everything.

He never said it, but it stuck. It hurt.

And now after all this time

007n7 remembered.

And apologized.

For a joke.

Not a system crash. Not a fire. A joke.

It hit different.

“He’s... serious?”
“He remembers that?”

The note didn’t try to fix anything else. Just that.

Just one sentence.

Elliot folded it and slipped it in his pocket.

Didn’t say a word.

Didn’t throw it away either.

Three days later, they finally spoke.

Not about the meme.

Not about the fire.

Just... about life.

Elliot caught him outside, under the overhang out back. Caught him not hacking. Just sitting. Hoodie off. Soaked from the rain.

Elliot leaned on the wall beside him.

Didn’t say hi.

007n7 didn’t look up.

Then

“You know I... didn’t mean it like that, right?”

Elliot didn’t answer.

But he didn’t walk away.

So 007n7 kept talking.

“I thought it was funny. I didn’t think-”
“I didn’t know it’d stick like that.”
“You always looked so unbothered. I thought you could take anything.”

A pause.

Then Elliot muttered:

“I always had to take anything.”

Silence.

But not the cold kind.

The real kind. The kind that happens when two people finally stop lying.

“I wanted to be someone you remembered,” 007n7 said, voice low.
“I didn’t realize I already was. For the wrong shit.”

They talked for a while.

Not friends.

Not enemies.

Just two tired people sitting in the rain.

Elliot finally laughed once.

Just once.

At something dumb 007n7 said about a soda machine being possessed.

It wasn’t much.

But it felt like maybe...

Then the lights flickered.

The smell of smoke hit before the sound.

Both of them turned their heads at once.

The back alley glowed orange.

“...No.”

Elliot was already running.

007n7 scrambled after him.

The back door was cracked open. Smoke pouring out. A fire started near the break room. Small, but spreading fast. Alarms hadn’t even gone off yet.

Elliot yanked the extinguisher off the wall.

007n7 froze

And then there was a voice.

Small. Proud.

“Dad! Dad! Look what I did!! I made it cool!”

A kid stood in the doorway.

Red shirt.

Black empty eyes.

Red hair.

Big smile.

C00lkid.

Holding a busted lighter.

Flames licking up the wall behind him.

“...No. No. No no no-”

Not again.

Elliot turned on 007n7 like ice.

The fire wasn’t even the loudest thing anymore.

It was the way Elliot’s face went blank.

The same blank as last time.

Not hate.

Not pain.

Just

Done.

A FEW WEEKS EARLIER

He should've shut the door.

But instead?

He let the kid in.

Because no one's ever called him cool and meant it. Not even Elliot. Not really.

C00lkid sat on the floor and asked questions about old hacks like they were bedtime stories. He pulled up meme templates and made fresh jokes in MS Paint. 007n7 should've felt weird about it.

But honestly?

It was kind of nice.

C00lkid was chaos.

He rewired the TV to play random cat videos.
He tried to microwave batteries "as an experiment."
He stuck a note on the fridge that said "YOU'RE DOING OKAY, DAD... PROBABLY."

It wasn’t... healthy.

But 007n7 didn’t have anyone else.

So when the kid begged to see Builder Brother's Pizza, to see the place from "Dad's Glory Days"... he agreed.

Stupid.

So stupid.

He just thought: maybe Elliot would see he wasn’t the same. Maybe he'd laugh again. Maybe he'd understand.

He didn’t know the lighter was in the kid’s backpack.

He didn’t know the fire would catch that fast.

He didn’t know what he was risking until he saw the way Elliot looked at him again.

Not like a friend.

Not even like a stranger.

Like something already burned.

Notes:

I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE SOB SOB

Chapter 11: "Get Out."

He gestured around blackened booths, singed posters, melted signage. It reeked of burnt cheese, rubber, and betrayal.

"You brought your kid into this.”

Coolkid perked up slightly at the mention of “kid.”

"I'm cool, actually!" he chirped.

Elliot didn't even blink.

"You’re banned."

007n7 stiffened.

"Wait- what?"

Elliot locked eyes with him.

"You. And him. Both of you."

“You don’t come back. Ever.”

“Not for pizza. Not for jokes. Not for apologies. Nothing.”
"I don't want your voicemails. I don’t want your memes. I don’t want your letters. And I don’t want you in my life. Ever."
"I’m done."

There it was.

The silence after.

The breath that wouldn’t come out of 007n7’s chest. The tightness in his throat, where an apology had been forming maybe. Something. But now it wouldn’t fit anymore. There was no space.

Coolkid stepped closer to him and whispered:

"Dad...? Did I mess up?"

007n7 didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.

Elliot looked at Coolkid, finally. One look. Then back to 007n7.

"Take him and go."

No yelling.
No final dramatic words.
Just a slow turn as Elliot walked away from the counter.

As if he was closing the door on something forever.

007n7 stood there for too long.

Even as the sprinklers finally dripped their last.

Even as Coolkid reached up and held onto his sleeve.

Even as the smell of char clung to his jacket.

Elliot didn’t look back.

The air outside was cold.

The kind that crept down your sleeves and into your spine. The kind that felt punishing even though the fire had long gone out.

007n7 walked stiffly down the sidewalk, hands deep in his hoodie pockets, Coolkid trailing beside him.

They didn’t speak.

Not yet.

The silence stretched. Cars passed. Somewhere, music played faintly from a second-story window.

Coolkid finally asked, in the smallest voice:

“…Was that my fault?”

007n7 stopped.

Looked down.

The kid’s eyes were still that wide, empty black. But now they shimmered at the corners. Just a little.

“No. I mean-”
“You didn’t mean to. You were just…”
“…trying to be cool.”

Coolkid looked down at his shirt.

The words “TEAM C00LKID: JOIN TODAY” curled slightly.

“I just wanted him to see how awesome I was,” he mumbled.
“You said he was the best. So I thought if I made him laugh, or something…”

“…I thought he’d like me too.”

They sat on a bench nearby. 007n7 pulled out his phone and stared at the screen.

One voicemail draft still unsent.

One meme stupid, dumb still saved in his gallery. A photo of Elliot standing by the counter, mid-blink, overlaid with "WHEN THE PIZZA IS BLESSED AND THE MAN IS DIVINE 🍕✨"

He used to laugh at it.
He almost sent it.
Then he didn’t.

Now?

He deleted it.

Coolkid looked up at him.

“Dad… are we bad guys?”

007n7 shook his head, slowly.

“…I don’t know.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“I think I just… wanted him to see I could be better.”
“But all I did was remind him why he stopped looking.”

He pulled Coolkid into his side. No big show. No dramatic speech.

Just a quiet:

“Sorry, kiddo.”

And a hand on his shoulder.

Coolkid leaned against him with a small “mmph.”

“Next time… no fire?”
“Maybe like… bring him a sticker or something?”

007n7 snorted weakly.

“Yeah. Maybe stickers.”

Across the city, Builder Brother’s Pizza stood like a hollowed-out corpse.

Caution tape. Scorched tile. A silence heavier than fire ever could be.

Elliot was still inside, scrubbing the counter even though the soot wouldn't come off.

He didn’t cry.

But God, he wanted to.

[Elliot]

The shop still smelled like smoke.

Even after the fans. Even after the fire crews. Even after the manager came down and said, “Just go home, Elliot. There’s nothing left to clean.”

But he stayed.

With a busted mop in hand and an open window to nowhere.

The floor was warped. The wallpaper blistered. His favorite framed receipt (the one with Chance’s chaotic $77.77 prank tip) was curled at the corners, blackened.

Gone.

Just like before.
Except worse this time.
Because this time… he almost believed in someone.

His phone buzzed.

Another voicemail.

From him.

He didn’t listen.

He placed it face-down on the ruined counter, stared at the ceiling fan that no longer turned.

“I really believed… didn’t I?”
“God, I’m such an idiot.”

He wanted to cry. Not because of the burnt down building that he spent his whole life working here.
But because he really wanted to believe that 007n7 changed.

[007n7]

“Okay.”
“Plan A: We rebuild the place ourselves.”
“Plan B: Apologize with glitter glue and stickers.”

Coolkid frowned. “Is there a Plan C?”

007n7 looked around the tiny apartment the whiteboard, the empty fridge, the mess of wires and broken promises.

“Plan C is we pray Elliot has a soul left under all that trauma.”

Coolkid didn’t respond.
Instead, he drew a poorly sketched Elliot on a piece of printer paper, surrounded by pizza slices with angel wings. Underneath he wrote:

"Sorry. I made fire. Please don’t hate my dad."
Signed, Team Coolkid.

007n7 stared at it a long time.

“...That’s actually kind of good.”

[Elliot]

He sat in the alley behind the shop with a bottle of Sprite and half a pack of saltine crackers.

A small part of him wondered if he’d find that meme again the stupid divine pizza joke.

The part of him that used to laugh at 007n7. The part that used to shout at him, not because he hated him, but because yelling felt easier than saying, “Please don’t leave me like everyone else.”

That part was quiet now.

All he could hear was the crackle of memory:

“Yo, pizza boy! Don’t look too hot today. Maybe you need more oven time!”
“I’m putting my mixtape in the jukebox. Don’t stop me.”
“You love this chaos. Don’t lie.”

He thought he'd forgotten those quotes.

He hadn’t.

[007n7]

He didn’t send the voicemail this time.

He sent the meme.

That same stupid, pixelated, slightly warped image.

No caption.

Just the photo.

It delivered.

Then…

Read.

But no reply.

Not even a bubble.

007n7 exhaled shakily.

“I deserve that.”

Coolkid quietly handed him a crumpled sticker from a cereal box. It said “I Did My Best!” in Comic Sans.

007n7 stuck it to his monitor.

Didn’t cry.

But he wanted to.

[Elliot]

He finally replied.

One sentence.

No punctuation.

you and your son are banned

Then blocked the number.

He pressed the power button and slid his phone into a drawer.

He sat in silence for a long time.

Until the silence didn’t feel like silence anymore.

It felt like something breaking.

Notes:

EHHH THIS IS THE ARC I HATED WRITING THE MOSTTT Originally wanted only 1 fire incident but I already wrote down the whole story to change the lore all over again waaa
I'm sorry if this fire scenes don't make sense on why it happened

Chapter 12: Better Than Cool

Coolkid goes rogue.

Coolkid was grounded.

Well whatever grounded meant when your dad was 007n7 and discipline came in the form of “no new passwords to crack this week.”

But he knew he messed up.

Big.

He could still hear the fire alarm. The crackling heat. Elliot yelling not at him, but near him. The way the building breathed smoke like it was alive and furious.

“It was just supposed to be a little cool.”
“Just a little fire trick. For fun.”

It wasn’t fun.

And now Elliot hated them both.

007n7 was asleep face down on a keyboard, surrounded by half-built apology projects and failed memes.

Coolkid crept out.

Backpack, check.
Markers, scissors, glue stick, that same dumb cereal box sticker, and a half-eaten apple.

He took the long way to Builder Brothers Pizza.

The air smelled like ash.
He liked it less now.

The shop was closed. Obviously.
The front windows were boarded.
Signs posted. “Temporarily closed for repairs.”

Coolkid didn’t care.

He snuck around to the back, found the alley where Elliot sometimes sat, and unfolded his plan.

Step 1: Redecoration.
He peeled back the edges of the wood and slipped inside with a flashlight.

The place was worse than he remembered.

Black streaks across the walls. A melted trash bin. One burnt-out pizza costume slumped in the corner like a dead mascot.

But he still did it.

He started drawing.

A mural, kind of. Bad doodles in crayon and Sharpie. Things Elliot liked.

A cat holding a pizza.
A bottle of soda with angel wings.
A weird little cartoon version of Elliot with his apron on and a crown that said “Pizza King.”

And in the corner, in shaky red marker:

“I didn’t mean to be bad. I wanted to be cool.”
“I’m sorry. I hope you fix your pizza heaven.”
Coolkid

Step 2: Rebuild something. Anything.

He found a broken stool and tried to reassemble it with duct tape and bubblegum.

It broke again.

He left it anyway.

“Better than nothing.”

Step 3: Don’t tell Dad.

Back home, 007n7 woke up to a note:

“Out getting milk. Just kidding. Don’t check the cameras.”
Your son, the criminal

He did check the cameras.
And for a while… he didn’t move.

Just stared at the footage.

Coolkid’s tiny body, moving through the soot and dust like he belonged there.

Trying.

Trying so hard.

Trying in a way 007n7 hadn’t done in years.

Doing a gesture for forgiveness. Instead of running away and making up excuses in his head of why he can’t approach him.

He almost smiled.

Almost.

Then he looked at the screen again.

And saw the mural.

And the pizza crown.

And the apology in red ink.

“...Oh hell.”

Coolkid stood outside the boarded-up pizzeria, fidgeting with the corner of his hoodie. His backpack felt heavier than usual. Inside it was something stupid.

A gift.

Well, a drawing. And a button he stole from 007n7’s old stash. One of those programmable voice chips that played a recorded message when pressed. He’d spent all night making it.

The voice chip said:

“Sorry for the fire. Sorry for being the coolest pizza man. Please don't hate me forever. Also, pizza is really good.”
It ended with a fart sound. He couldn’t help it.

He liked fart sounds.

He paced around the back alley, then tiptoed toward the side entrance Elliot sometimes used when taking out the trash.

His plan was simple:

Leave the gift.

Run.

Like a spy. Or Santa. Or Santa if Santa was a ten-year-old arsonist.

But Elliot was there.

He opened the door.

They locked eyes.

And everything stopped.

Coolkid froze.

Elliot did not smile.
Did not frown.
Just… watched him. Like he didn’t know whether to yell or sigh.

Coolkid slowly reached into his backpack.

“Don’t freak out!!”
“It’s not a match or anything!”

He yanked out the folded paper and the little plastic box.

Held it like a peace offering.

Elliot looked at it. Then at him.

Still silent.

“I made this,” Coolkid mumbled, voice smaller than usual. “For the place. I wanted to fix it. I mean I can’t. Like, really can’t. But I thought... maybe you'd laugh.”

He looked down at the button.

Didn’t press it.

“...I didn’t mean to make you hate me.”

Elliot took a long breath.

Then another.

Then, gently, took the drawing from Coolkid’s hands.

It was… colorful.

Messy. Crayon-smeared. A picture of the restaurant, completely rebuilt. Shiny and new. Labeled “Pizza Paradise 2.0.”

In the window, a tiny cartoon Elliot smiled beside a badly drawn Coolkid holding a mop.

Underneath, in huge letters:

“LET ME HELP FIX IT. I PROMISE NOT TO BE COOL THIS TIME.”

Elliot looked at the picture for a long time.

Then looked at Coolkid.

“You’re lucky I’m not a firefighter,” Elliot said. “Because I would’ve sprayed you out of my life by now.”

Coolkid’s ears turned red.

Elliot sighed. Then, very softly:

“But you’re just a kid. And… I think you mean it.”

Coolkid’s eyes lit up.

Elliot raised a finger.
Stern.

“Don’t get excited. This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

Coolkid nodded fast. “Yessir.”

“This doesn’t mean I’m letting your dad off the hook either.”

“Yessir!”

“And I swear- if you ever bring fire near me again, I will punt you into the moon.”

Coolkid saluted. “YESSIR.”

Elliot pressed the button.

“Sorry for the fire. Sorry for being chaos. Please don't hate me forever. Also, pizza is really good.”
fart sound

Elliot cracked just a little. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Coolkid beamed.

"Go home, kid. Before I change my mind."

Coolkid turned and ran.

But this time?

He didn’t feel like the villain.

007n7 was debugging a script when he noticed it.

Silence.

Coolkid hadn’t made noise in hours.

No humming. No tapping on his tablet. No yelling “BOOM” while launching a plush toy off the stairs.

Weird.

“Kid?” 007n7 called out.

No answer.

The house echoed.

He checked the backyard. The closet. Even the kitchen cupboard Coolkid once hid in during a game of "World Domination."

Nothing.

Then he checked the security logs.

Front door opened. Timestamped. Forty minutes ago.

Destination: Builder Brothers Pizza.

“...What the hell are you doing over there?”

His heart thudded a little faster.

He grabbed his hoodie and went out the door.

🧭 At the restaurant – a little too late

The back alley was empty now. No Coolkid. Just a piece of crayon-drawn paper flapping in the wind, caught on the edge of a dumpster.

007n7 recognized the handwriting instantly.

Blocky. All caps. Eager.

“PIZZA PARADISE 2.0 -WELCOME BACK ELLIOT (AND MAYBE MY DAD IF HE DOESN’T BE DUMB)”
“-By: The Real C00lkid 😎🔥”

His stomach sank.

He picked it up. Smoothed it out.

It even had him drawn in the corner. Holding a slice. A tiny speech bubble said:

“I'm tryna be chill fr.”

God, it was awful.

God, it was perfect.

God, it hurt.

He turned it over.

On the back?

Taped there?

The button.

He pressed it.

“Sorry for the fire. Sorry for being chaos. Please don't hate me forever. Also, pizza is really good.”
fart sound

007n7 didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even blink.

He just stared at the wall in front of him like it’d been replaced by something sharp and unforgiving.

“He went behind my back to say sorry...”

He rubbed his thumb over the tape. Carefully peeled it off. Replayed the message again.

And again.

Each time, it hurt worse.

Because it wasn’t just a message.

It was a reminder.

His kid was doing what he should’ve done.

Not with hacking.

Not with noise.

But with something real.

He sat down on the cold step behind the alley and let his head hang.

“You little idiot,” he whispered.
“You did good.”

And that made him feel worse.

Because the one trying to make amends…

Was ten.

Notes:

AHHH YOUR COMMENTS ARE SO NICE AND FUNNY!?!?! I REALLY DO APPRECIATE THE COMMENTS!!!! REALLY MAKES ME FEEL MOTIVATED TO WRITE ♥
:DD

Chapter 13: The Drawing

Some things feel too small to matter. Until they do.

The back alley smelled like soot.

Ash still clung to the dumpsters, and the side wall bore scorch marks that wouldn’t wash off no matter how many times Elliot tried.

The fire didn’t destroy everything.

But it burned enough.

And even now days later he could still hear it crackling in his head when he closed his eyes.

He came out to dump the mop water.

That’s when he saw it.

Tucked behind the gas meter, half-covered in ash, and taped to a charred pizza box.

A drawing.

Crayon.

Bright, clumsy, determined.

At first, he rolled his eyes.

Then he squatted down.

Then he read it.

“PIZZA PARADISE 2.0 - WELCOME BACK ELLIOT (AND MAYBE MY DAD IF HE DOESN’T BE DUMB)”
- By: The Real C00lkid 😎🔥

There was a sketch of Elliot at the counter, smiling. The drawing wasn’t good his arms were way too long, and his name tag said “Eliot” with one L.

But the smile?

It was almost right.

He flipped it over.

The button was still there.

Scorched at the edge.

Like it’d barely survived the fire.

He stared at it. Didn’t press it at first.

But he was tired.

And tired people do stupid things.

So he pressed it.

“Sorry for the fire. Sorry for being chaos. Please don't hate me forever. Also, pizza is really good.”
fart sound

…

Elliot almost smiled.

Almost.

“Dammit.”

He pressed it again.

The message played.

He sat there, crouched beside a trash can, listening to a kid apologize with more sincerity than most adults ever managed.

And it hurt.

Because for the first time… he believed it.

He stood up, wiped his hands on his apron, and stared at the wall.

“You really came back here alone?”

“Behind your dad’s back?”

“To fix this?”

The drawing was still flapping in the breeze.

He folded it carefully and slid it into his back pocket.

He wasn’t ready to forgive.

But he wasn’t throwing it away either.

Back inside the restaurant, he passed by the counter, tossed the mop bucket aside, and slumped into a chair.

Then… he did something he swore he wouldn’t.

He opened 007n7’s last voicemail.

“Yo. I know I’ve said a lot of dumb shit before. And this probably counts too. But if you’re hearing this… just know I didn’t tell him to do that. He did it on his own. And I didn’t stop him. I didn’t deserve that kid. I don’t deserve much. But I’m gonna try not to make things worse. For once.”

Silence.

No fart sound this time.

Elliot closed his eyes.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel rage.

Just something softer.

Like disappointment finally giving way to grief.

The door to the apartment creaked open.

007n7 barely looked up. He was on the floor, hunched over a half-gutted laptop, wires strewn across the carpet like veins.

Coolkid entered slow.

Quiet.

No "sup dad," no dumb one-liner. No sunglasses tonight either.

Just his real face. Red hair tousled. Eyes dull.

"Hey," the kid mumbled, clutching something behind his back.

007n7 didn’t respond. Not right away.

The silence stretched until Coolkid winced.

"I didn’t mean to burn the place again," he said. “It was supposed to be funny.”

Still nothing.

"You were watching me, right? From the camera I left?"

“I saw the drawing,” 007n7 said finally. “And the button.”

Coolkid perked up a little.

Then slouched. “...Did he like it?”

“…He didn’t throw it away.”

Coolkid exhaled. “That's a win.”

A beat passed. 007n7 turned his head slightly.

“You shouldn’t’ve gone back without telling me.”

“I know.”

“You broke your ban.”

“I know.”

"You shouldn’t be trying to fix things I ruined."

Coolkid hesitated.

Then held out the item from behind his back.

It was a tiny plastic “Employee of the Month” plaque with Elliot’s name printed in bold comic sans, clearly homemade. Duct tape still clung to the back.

“I was gonna sneak it onto the counter.”

007n7 stared at it.

Something broke in his chest.

“You really like him, huh?” he asked softly.

Coolkid shrugged. “He made pizza with me once. Didn’t yell at me when I dropped the sauce.”

“You lit the place on fire.”

“I was showing you I could be cool…”

Coolkid’s voice cracked.

“…like you.”

That did it.

007n7 turned fully and crouched in front of him.

"Hey."

"Don't copy me, alright?"

"Don't be me."

Coolkid’s eyes welled up.

"But you're the only one who stayed."

Back at the restaurant…

Elliot held the fake "Employee of the Month" plaque in his hands.

Coolkid must’ve left it in the mailbox.

No name.

Just the tape. And the title.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then set it behind the register.

Not out front. Not displayed.

But not in the trash, either.

He went to the back and dialed a number.

007n7 answered on the first ring.

"Hello-?"

"Don’t talk," Elliot said. "Just listen."

He took a breath.

"I don't forgive you."

Pause.

"But I saw the plaque."

007n7 nearly dropped the phone.

"And?"

Elliot sighed. "…And it was kind of funny. Dumb, but funny."

"And?"

"...And the drawing was cute."

Long silence.

"And?"

Elliot smiled just a little.

“And maybe, maybe, I’ll un-ban your kid one day. Not you.”

007n7 let out a laugh. Giddy. Wild. Hopeful.

“I’LL TAKE IT.”

Click.

Elliot hung up.

He leaned on the counter, rubbing his temples.

“What the hell am I doing...”

But when he glanced at the plaque behind him he didn’t move it.

Didn’t hide it.

Let it stay.

Chapter 14: Redemption Speedrun(Don't tell Dad)

Summary:

If the adults mess it up, maybe a kid can fix it. Right?

Coolkid had a notebook.

A real, spiral-bound, lined-paper, crayon-marked notebook.

He’d labeled it in glitter pen:

🔥 Operation: Make Elliot Smile Again 🔥

Underneath that, in shaky red marker:

(Secret. Dad can’t know. He’d ruin it.)

Step 1: Make a better plaque.
The last one was a rushed joke. This time—laminated.

Step 2: Figure out Elliot’s schedule.
(“Not stalky if it’s for good reasons,” he muttered while watching the restaurant from a bush.)

Step 3: Don’t. Set. Anything. On. Fire.

He circled that one five times.

He had ideas.

Big ones.

Like holding a fake awards ceremony outside the restaurant with confetti (he stole from a party store dumpster), or surprising Elliot with a mural on the alley wall (he couldn’t paint), or maybe making a Customer of the Year coupon book (he only had a stapler and two expired coupons).

He even tried making amends in disguise.

He walked in one afternoon wearing sunglasses, a fake mustache made of yarn, and a trench coat four sizes too big.

Elliot glanced up.

Paused.

“…Are you serious right now.”

Coolkid coughed. “Good evening, sir. I am an adult. I would like to… do taxes. And buy pizza. And not be banned.”

Elliot squinted.

“…Kid.”

Coolkid panicked.

“Please don’t ban my mustache! It has a family!”

He was escorted out.

Gently.

But Elliot smiled.

Just a little.

And Coolkid saw it.

“Progress.”

Back at home, 007n7 didn’t know a thing. Or maybe he did, but pretended not to.

He was quieter lately. Not hacking. Not prank-coding. Not pestering Elliot.

He was watching his kid draw blueprints for “Operation Hug-A-Tron 3000” and didn’t say a word.

But his heart twisted every time Coolkid said “When Elliot likes us again—”

Us.

Still “us.”

Even when Elliot only unbanned one of them.

That night, Coolkid taped a sticky note to the restaurant door.

Just a doodle.

A little cartoon of Elliot with a pizza crown.

Underneath it:
“Best Pizza King Ever. Even better than Italy. Signed, Not Coolkid.”

Elliot found it on opening shift.

Read it. Snorted.

Then stuck it on the register with tape.

He didn’t throw it out.

The next step?

Coolkid whispered it to himself like a sacred vow:

“We’re gonna make a pizza together again.”

Even if he had to earn it one crust at a time.

__

The first time Elliot saw the sticky notes, he thought it was a prank.

He almost tore them down on sight.

They were lined up outside the back alley wall, next to the dumpster. Sloppy little squares in neon colors. Half of them weren’t even sticking right—one was taped on with what looked like gum.

But when he leaned closer, he noticed the handwriting.

It wasn’t 007n7’s.

It was shakier. Spikier. Like a kid with too much energy and not enough spelling skills.

The first note said:

"SORRY FOR MY DAD. HE'S DUMB. BUT HE HAS A GOOD HEART SOMETIMES. I THINK."

The next:

"U LOOK COOL WHEN U ARE MAD. NOT IN A WEIRD WAY. LIKE A RESPECTFUL WAY."

And the third…

was a stick figure drawing of Elliot with a sword labeled “Pizza Knight.”
The pizza oven was drawn behind him. Flames and all.

Elliot stared at it for a long moment.
Then turned away and went back inside.

He didn’t toss them.

That was three days ago.

Now, every time he takes out the trash, there’s a new one.

Some are dumb doodles (“u prob think i am annoying BUT I HAVE A CAPE NOW”).
Some are weirdly heartfelt (“i think you work really hard and u deserve like 50 naps”).

One was just glitter glue on a piece of cardboard that said:

"U MATTER EVEN WHEN U FROWN."

It was shaped like a pizza. Kinda.

Elliot almost snorted when he saw that one.

Almost.

But instead… he hung it inside the back office.

Didn’t tell anyone.

Didn’t even admit to himself why.

He still didn’t trust 007n7.
Not even close.

He didn’t believe in “second chances” or “reformed pranksters” or “sorry I let my kid burn down your business but hey here’s a meme.”

But this kid.

This dumb, clumsy, red-shirted menace who kept accidentally knocking over the mop bucket outside…

He was trying.

Really trying.

And it made Elliot feel something he hated.

Hope.

He leaned against the back doorway one evening, watching the alley wall where the sticky notes fluttered in the breeze.

He heard a noise. A rustle.

He stayed quiet.

A red head peeked around the corner.
Small hands holding another note.
This one had stars on it.

Coolkid froze when he saw Elliot.

Like a raccoon caught with a snack.

"...uh," he said. "Hi."

Elliot didn’t say anything.

Didn’t smile. Didn’t scowl.

He just looked at the kid.

Coolkid hesitated.

Then gently stuck the note up anyway.
Like it was a ritual.

He gave a tiny salute. "Okaybye!"
And ran off like a gremlin.

Elliot stared at the note after he was gone.

It read:

“I THINK YOU’RE NOT AS MAD AS YOU LOOK. MAYBE. BUT IF YOU ARE THAT’S OK TOO.”

He didn’t tear that one down either.

__

[007n7]

He didn’t mean to find it.
He was actually looking for tape. Just tape.
But Coolkid’s backpack was unzipped on the couch and something inside caught his eye—something labeled Operation: Make Elliot Smile Again.
He snorted.
Out loud.
Because what a stupid title. What an over-the-top, corny little—
Wait.
He opened it.
And then he wasn’t laughing.

Each page was labeled like a mission.
Day 1: Apologize with Pictures (don't use the weird ones Dad made)

 

Day 2: Say Sorry Again Just In Case

 

Day 4: Cry if Needed (but not on purpose, that’s manipulative says Google)

 

Day 6: Make him laugh not cry THIS TIME

 

There were drawings. Charts. Graphs.

Stick figures of Elliot with different expressions.

A checklist titled “Signs He’s Not Mad Forever Anymore.”

And on one page… there was a hand-drawn version of the meme.

That godawful, cursed pizza meme.

The one 007n7 made after the fire, thinking it would "lighten the mood."

The one Elliot saw… and went quiet for the rest of the shift.

Coolkid had drawn it, then written under it:

"Maybe this was bad. Dad said it was funny. But I think maybe it wasn't."

007n7 sat down on the couch.

Hard.

Flashbacks hit like bricks.

The “jokes.” The “pranks.” The “come on, you’re not mad, right?”

All the times Elliot didn’t laugh.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t look at him at all.

He thought… Elliot was over it.

He thought time made it funny.

He thought it was harmless.

He thought wrong.

He didn’t say anything when Coolkid came home.

Didn’t say anything when he knocked over the cereal or proudly announced he’d figured out how to “draw abs on Elliot’s stick figure” because “he deserves it.”

That night, Coolkid fell asleep at the table halfway through coloring a construction-paper sword.

007n7 stayed up.

Silent.

And at 3:41 AM, he found himself quietly taping up a banner.

It said:

“U DESERVE TO BE HAPPY EVEN IF UR MAD AT US.”

He didn’t sign it.

Didn’t leave a message.

Just stuck it on the alley wall, below all the sticky notes.

Then he left.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t try to make it into a bit.

He didn’t add glitter. Didn’t draw a joke.

He just stood there for a minute, looking up at it.

Hands in his pockets.

Jaw clenched.

Eyes glassy.

Chapter 15: 'A Letter'

Summary:

007N7 FINALLY DID IT, HE MADE A MOVE?!?!?

007n7 stood outside the pizzeria longer than he should have.

He’d been here for ten whole minutes.

Just… standing.

The letter in his hand was folded so many times it looked like it had been through a war. His thumb ran along the crease again, like maybe if he smoothed it out enough, the words inside would make more sense. Would sound less pathetic. Less desperate.

He had rewritten it four times.

Tried to be poetic once. Regretted it. Tried to be funny the next time. Regretted that even harder.

In the end, all he could manage was shaky honesty. Something raw and bare that made him feel a little sick to look at.

But still, he walked in.

Elliot was behind the counter, counting something. He didn’t look up at first. Just kept organizing receipts like they hadn’t once nearly burned this whole place down together. Like 007n7 was nobody.

“Hey,” 007n7 said, voice way too small.

Elliot finally glanced up.

Didn’t say anything.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t frown either.

Just looked.

007n7’s throat felt tight. He stepped forward, slower than usual no jokes, no big entrance and placed the folded letter gently on the counter between them.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I wrote this. For you. I don’t expect I mean, you don’t have to read it. Or say anything. I just… I wanted to give it to you. That’s all.”

Elliot stared at it.

Still no reaction.

No sigh. No scoff. No “about time.”

He picked it up, barely, like it weighed more than it should. Folded it again, tighter this time, and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

007n7 nodded, already stepping back, already feeling the embarrassment crawl down his spine like cold sweat.

“Okay. Uh. Bye, I guess.”

No answer.

He left.

Didn’t look back.

Later that night, Coolkid paced the living room.

He’d seen the exchange from the side window. Watched his dad walk away with slumped shoulders. Watched Elliot stare down at the letter like it was cursed.

And then nothing.

No shouting.

No dramatic reaction.

No tearing it up or throwing it out.

Just… silence.

But Coolkid knew that look on Elliot’s face.

That unreadable quiet.

That was the kind of silence you gave to something that mattered.

That was the silence of almost hoping.

Elliot had kept the letter in his jacket pocket. Neatly folded. Untouched.

Coolkid waited until the grownups were distracted. Waited until Elliot hung his jacket over the chair. Waited until no one was looking.

And then?

Carefully so, so carefully he slid the paper out.

His hands were smaller, so the fold tore slightly.

Oops.

He unfolded it anyway.

Read every single line.

His heart kicked once. Then again.

At the end of the letter, Coolkid blinked hard.

It was… actually good.

Honest.

Kind of weirdly sad.

It felt different from the usual chaos and half-jokes his dad left behind like candy wrappers.

Coolkid swallowed.

Then nodded to himself.

This mattered.

Later putting the letter back to Elliot's jacket pocket carefully.
With a sticky note inside as well.

_______

It was late.

Elliot sat on the edge of his bed, jacket still draped across his lap, the letter still untouched in the inside pocket.

He hadn’t planned to read it.

Wouldn’t have.

Not after everything.

But as he took the jacket off to hang it properly, something slipped out and fluttered to the floor.

Not the letter.

A sticky note.

Bright yellow, crumpled on the corner.

Elliot bent down slowly.

It was another drawing clumsy lines and a heavy hand with the crayon, red scribbled all over.

It was him.

A drawing of himself.

Standing over a bridge, arms crossed, grumpy as ever.

And underneath?

A tiny figure, waving up from below, holding a sign that read in blocky letters:

“Don’t leave him in the river just yet.”

Elliot stared at it.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t frown.

Just… held it there, fingers pressing into the waxy coloring like it might disappear if he didn’t grip it hard enough.

He unfolded the letter next.

His hands shook more than they should have.

The creases were deep. Torn at the corner where it had been folded one too many times. Like it’d been written, rewritten, carried around, held onto like something heavy.

The handwriting was uneven.

Half the words slanted sideways.

But the message?

That hit straight.

Elliot,

I get it now.

You didn’t hate me for being loud. You hated that I thought you’d always forgive me. That I treated your patience like it was endless. Like it didn’t cost you anything.

I’ve been saying sorry like it’s a cheat code. I never actually stopped to fix anything. I don’t want to be like that anymore. I don’t want you to brace yourself every time I speak.

So I’m not trying to win you back. Not like before. Not with dumb gifts or memes or jokes.

I just want to talk. Once.

Let me do something first.

You don’t have to say anything.

I just… need you there. Just this once. Please.

–007n7

On the back of the paper-

No signature.

No hearts or extra notes.

Just that.

Just a time and place.

Elliot’s eyes stayed on the page for a long time.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t fold it back.

Didn’t toss it.

He just sat there in the soft glow of the lamp, the sticky note in one hand and the letter in the other.

Eventually, the words slipped out in a whisper he wasn’t even aware of saying:

“…Just this once.”

He stood.

No certainty in his chest.

No peace.

Just a decision.

He slid the note and letter back into his pocket slow, careful, like they were something fragile.

Because maybe, just maybe…

Some things were still worth holding onto.

Chapter 16: "I'm sorry"

The meeting spot was quiet, draped in the soft glow of streetlights.
Elliot stood there, no apron, no forced smile just himself, tired and wary.

He heard footsteps before he saw him.

007n7 was already there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, eyes tired but steady. No jokes, no smirks. Just a man carrying regret.

“You.. You actually came!-” 007n7 was shocked to see Elliot actually there. But snapped back to what he was supposed to say and why he even called Elliot here in the first place.

“I don’t know what I thought ‘this’ would be,” 007n7 said quietly, voice low.
“But I ruined it. You don’t owe me anything.”

Elliot’s jaw tightened. He wanted to say so much anger, hurt, betrayal but the words stuck.

“But I want you to know…” 007n7’s voice cracked as he forced the words out. “I loved you. I still love you. Not for show. Not for the thrill. For real. And I’m sorry. I’m so-” he bit the inside of his cheek, eyes burning. “-sorry for every selfish, stupid thing I did just to keep your eyes on me. Just to matter to you, even if it meant hurting you. I know it’s not enough. God, I know it’s not even close. But this… this is all I have right now.”

Elliot blinked, the rawness in that confession shaking something inside him.

For a long moment, they just stood there two fractured people, weighed down by the past but somehow still tethered.

Then, slowly, Elliot exhaled.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Didn’t move away.

He just stayed.

And that was enough.

—

The street was quiet, the hum of distant traffic the only sound.

Elliot stood there, heart pounding, fingers twitching by his side. No apron, no mask just the man who had been burned one too many times.

007n7 arrived quietly, dropping onto the worn bench beside him.

They sat like that for a moment two silhouettes in the soft lamplight, neither sure how to begin.

“Look,” 007n7 started, voice raw, eyes fixed on the cracked pavement. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Hell, I don’t expect you to even want to talk.”

Elliot’s hands clenched into fists, but he said nothing.

“I was a selfish idiot,” 007n7 admitted, voice breaking. “I thought everything was just a game. Jokes, pranks... I thought you’d always be there, waiting, laughing it off.”

He chuckled bitterly. “That stupid meme plaque. I didn’t think it hurt you... but I was wrong. I see that now.”

Elliot swallowed hard. “You don’t get to make it all about how you feel.”

“Yeah, I know.” 007n7’s eyes flicked up to meet Elliot’s. “I was reckless. I hurt you. I broke the one person who actually cared enough to stick around.”

Elliot’s voice was quiet but sharp. “And then there was the fire.”

007n7 closed his eyes briefly. “The fire... I swear it wasn’t supposed to happen. I thought if I could just do something right, fix things... Maybe you’d see I was trying.”

His hands trembled. “But it just made everything worse. And Coolkid... I didn’t stop him when I should have. I failed you both.”

Elliot’s gaze softened, a crack in the armor. “You don’t get a do-over. But maybe... maybe you can try to be better.”

007n7 swallowed. “That’s why I’m here. Not to make excuses. Not to ask for your forgiveness. Just to say-”

He paused, took a deep breath.

“I love you. I loved you for real. Even when I was messing up, I did.”

Elliot’s breath hitched. His voice barely above a whisper:
“Why now? After all this time?”

“Because I was scared,” 007n7 admitted. “Scared you’d hate me forever. Scared I’d lose you for good. But the truth is, I lost you the moment I stopped trying.”

Silence settled between them, heavy but somehow tender.

Elliot looked at 007n7, really looked, and saw a man broken but trying to heal.

He exhaled slowly, his voice steady:
“Okay. Once. We talk. But don’t expect miracles.”

007n7’s lips curled into the faintest smile a flicker of hope.

“Once is all I need.”

They sat together, under the streetlight, two fractured souls stepping into the fragile light of something new.

–

The bench creaked as Elliot shifted, arms folded tight like he was holding himself together with tension alone.

“…Did you ever actually care?”
His voice was flat. Not angry. Just… tired.

007n7’s throat tightened. “Yes. But I didn’t know how to show it. I thought being around was enough.”

Elliot turned, eyes sharp. “Being around? You mean showing up uninvited, leaving chaos, laughing when things fell apart? That was you caring?”

“I know.” 007n7 looked down. “I thought if I made you laugh, you’d stay. I didn’t think I needed to... earn you.”

Elliot’s voice rose. “You didn’t even apologize when it burned down. You just vanished.”

007n7’s jaw clenched. He looked away, ashamed. “Because I knew if I saw you then, I’d make it worse. I always do.”

Elliot stared at him, expression unreadable.

“I hated you,” Elliot said. “For a long time. Every time I had to sweep ash out of the corners. Every time a customer asked what happened to the old place. Every time I saw that stupid glitter glue under the new tiles.”

“…you kept the tiles?”

Elliot glared. “Shut up.”

007n7 bit back a smile. “Okay. Shutting up.”

Silence settled again.

Then, quietly, Elliot said, “You know what hurt the most?”

007n7 nodded for him to go on.

“You made me feel like a joke. Like I was just your favorite thing to mess with. Like I didn’t matter unless you were bored.”

That cut deep.

“I didn’t know,” 007n7 whispered. “I didn’t want you to feel that way. I thought… I dunno, I thought I was being fun.”

“You weren’t,” Elliot said. “You were exhausting.”

“…But you’re here,” 007n7 murmured. “So… something changed.”

Elliot exhaled. “Coolkid changed. That dumb little menace he’s trying so hard it hurts to look at. And for some reason, I saw you in that. Not the you who caused trouble. The you who wanted to do something right.”

007n7 looked stunned.

Elliot didn’t look at him. “Don’t ruin it.”

“I won’t,” 007n7 promised. “Even if we never talk again after tonight, I won’t ruin what he’s trying to build.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
“No jokes. No riddles. Just this.”

Elliot took it. Didn’t open it yet.

007n7 stood up, slowly. “I won’t ask you for anything else. But I meant what I said.”

Elliot stared at the letter. “Where?”

“…The old train station. Tomorrow. Just us.”

Elliot didn’t respond. But he didn’t throw it away either.

As 007n7 started to leave, Elliot spoke, voice low.
“If you joke when I get there... even once…”

“I won’t,” 007n7 said gently. “Not this time.”

And with that, he disappeared into the dark, leaving Elliot alone with the letter and a silence that felt heavier than anything else that night.

Chapter 17: "Old station"

The old station hadn’t run in years. Vines climbed the brick walls. Rust crept across the benches. The ticket booth was sealed shut with a hand-painted “OUT OF SERVICE” sign long since faded by rain.

007n7 sat on the cold bench, staring down at his hands. He'd come early. Way too early. The sun hadn’t even fully risen, but he needed the silence to steady his nerves.

No plan. No performance. No mask.

Just him.

Minutes passed. Then more. Every rustle made him lift his head then drop it again. Nothing. Just wind.

He let his fingers trace the grooves on the bench, trying to ground himself. The last time he waited this long for Elliot, it was for a prank involving glitter balloons and a fake award. He’d laughed for an hour.

Elliot hadn’t.

“Please come,” he whispered to no one. “Just once.”

And then—
Footsteps.

He didn’t dare look up at first. He was scared it was no one. Or worse, someone else. But then the steps slowed. Stopped.

And a voice, hesitant and rough, said:
“…You’re early.”

007n7 looked up.

Elliot stood there, hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket, eyes shadowed with a kind of wariness that made 007n7’s stomach drop.

But he was here.

He came.

“You came,” 007n7 breathed. “I—thank you.”

Elliot shrugged stiffly. “I said once. Don’t get cocky.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They both stood there, silence stretching, thick with history.

“…So what did you want to say?” Elliot asked, voice guarded.

007n7 swallowed hard. “That I meant it. Every word in the letter.”

“No jokes this time?”

“No jokes.”

Elliot nodded slowly. “…Good.”

007n7 fidgeted. “I didn’t realize how badly I hurt you until I saw it through Coolkid’s eyes. The way he kept trying, even when you ignored him. Even when he messed it up. He never gave up.”

“That’s the difference,” Elliot said. “He learns.”

“I’m learning too,” 007n7 said quietly.

“You’re decades late.”

“I know. I just wanted you to know… I loved you.”

Elliot’s eyes flicked up, sharp.

“I loved you back then,” 007n7 clarified. “I love you now. I’m not expecting anything. But I had to say it. For real. Once.”

The wind blew past again. Rustling vines. A distant clatter from the empty tracks.

Elliot didn’t move.

Then finally, he sat down beside him. Not close. But not far either.

“...That was the first time you said that without trying to be clever.”

“I didn’t want to ruin it,” 007n7 whispered.

Elliot looked ahead. “You already did. Years ago.”

“I know.”

“But...” He hesitated. “Maybe… if you keep not ruining it... we could talk again.”

007n7 looked over, hope flickering in his chest.

Elliot didn’t meet his eyes. “Just talk.”

“…That’s more than I deserve.”

Elliot let out a small, reluctant sigh.

“You’re right.”

But he didn’t leave.

And that was something.

They didn’t leave the train station for a long time.

Elliot sat with his arms crossed, staring at the overgrown tracks. 007n7 sat beside him, fidgeting with a leaf he’d picked off the ground, crumbling it between his fingers.

There was a silence between them—not the angry kind. Just heavy. Hesitant.

Finally, 007n7 said, “I used to think silence meant I lost. Like, if I wasn’t the loudest voice in the room, I failed or something.”

Elliot tilted his head slightly but didn’t speak.

007n7 went on, more to the air than to Elliot. “Turns out, being quiet is harder. But it feels more real. Sitting here, not trying to perform or fix everything. It’s… harder. Better, maybe.”

Elliot finally spoke. “You always filled the air. Even when I didn’t want it.”

“Yeah,” 007n7 admitted. “I thought if I kept talking, you wouldn’t leave. Turns out, people leave anyway. Or ban you from their pizza place.”

Elliot snorted, just a little.

007n7 looked over, eyes wide. “Was that a snort? Elliot. Elliot, was that a snort of amusement?”

Elliot rolled his eyes. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Too late. I’m memorializing this moment.” He pulled out a pen. “What day is it? May thirty-whatever? This is the day you officially found me slightly tolerable.”

“I can ban you from this bench too.”

007n7 laughed. But it wasn’t loud. It was soft. Real.

They left the station together. Didn’t speak much. But didn’t split, either.

They ended up at a small overlook by the hill where the old train rails dipped under the bridge. Coolkid once launched a soda bottle rocket off this hill and claimed he "almost cracked the moon."

007n7 had a bag of vending machine chips. He opened it and offered one to Elliot without a word.

Elliot hesitated. Took one.

“Progress,” 007n7 said with mock-seriousness. “First chip shared post-exile.”

“You were exiled because you set a trash can on fire,” Elliot replied flatly.

“That was one time. And technically, Coolkid lit it. I was an accessory at most.”

Elliot raised an eyebrow. “You filmed it.”

“I was documenting his development as a future YouTube menace. Educational content.”

Elliot let out a long breath. Not quite a laugh. But not annoyance either.

They ate in silence for a bit.

Then:

“You ever really regret something so hard you can’t even remember who you were before it?”

007n7 looked at him, caught off guard by the question. Then he nodded slowly.

“Every day lately. I used to think I was fun. Good to have around. Life of the party. Then I realized the party sucked and I was the one who made it suck for you.”

Elliot didn’t answer. Just crunched a chip.

“I wish I could undo it,” 007n7 added quietly.

“I know.”

Later that week, they met again. Same place.

Coolkid had been told to give them space (though he kept trying to hide behind bushes).

They talked about stupid things. Shared stories from the time before the fire. From even further back. Nothing heavy this time.

Then, 007n7 said, “Hey, remember when I tried to meme you into forgiveness?”

Elliot looked over, unimpressed. “That glitter plaque is still under my bed.”

“Did you burn it?”

“No.”

“Frame it?”

“No.”

“Sleep next to it?”

“Don’t push it.”

They both broke into low laughter.

—

They weren’t planning to meet again that week. It just kind of happened.

A familiar routine was forming. Same bench. Same overlook. Same quiet air that wasn’t quite uncomfortable anymore.

But today, Elliot arrived to find 007n7 already there… looking mortified.

Because behind him, struggling under the weight of a lopsided, glitter-drenched cardboard pizza slice, was Coolkid.

It had “BEST BROS AGAIN?? :D” scrawled across the top in thick black marker. A string of LED lights dangled from one corner, already shorting out. It smelled vaguely of glue sticks and melted marshmallows.

“TA-DAAAAA!!” Coolkid shouted, voice cracking from effort. “IT’S A REUNION GIFT!! You guys love pizza! And—uh—you were like, best friends once, right? So—”

He tripped over a root. The whole sign collapsed on the gravel with a puff of glitter.

Coolkid froze. Eyes wide. Lower lip wobbling.

007n7 put his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”

Elliot blinked. Then blinked again.

Then—he laughed.

Soft. Honest. One hand lifting to his face like even he couldn’t believe it.

Coolkid looked between them, panicked. “W-Wait, are you mad?! I didn’t mean to crash the… like… emotional bro hang or whatever—”

Elliot waved a hand, still smiling just barely. “It’s fine.”

Coolkid's face brightened. “Wait. Really?! I did something right?!”

007n7 muttered, “Don’t push it.”

They ended up sitting on the overlook ledge. The sign lay in a broken, glittery pile behind them, LED lights still flickering.

Coolkid asked a hundred questions—most of them ridiculous—but Elliot answered a few.

And when Coolkid finally passed out beside them mid-sentence, cradling a half-eaten granola bar like a stuffed animal, 007n7 looked at Elliot and whispered:

“He means well.”

Elliot didn’t answer. But he didn’t look away, either.

–

It was late. Coolkid was asleep on a bench near the parking lot.

Elliot stood leaning against the side of the overlook, staring out toward the burned-out skyline.

007n7 joined him. Quiet.

“You ever think maybe I was just addicted to the attention?” he asked.

Elliot didn’t look at him. “No. I think you were addicted to being liked.”

007n7 paused.

“You think I ever was?”

Elliot was quiet.

Then he said, “Sometimes. But not when it mattered.”

007n7 flinched, just barely.

They stood in silence.

Then Elliot spoke again, quieter this time.

“You were my escape plan.”

007n7 turned to look at him.

“What?”

Elliot didn’t meet his eyes.

“Work sucked. Life sucked. But then you’d show up. Loud, stupid, reckless. And I got to pretend—for like five minutes—that I didn’t care.”

He shrugged.

“You made it worse later. But in the beginning… I looked forward to you.”

007n7 looked down at his hands.

“I never knew.”

Elliot finally looked at him. Calm. Honest.

“That’s the problem.”

Chapter 18: Elliots idea.

Notes:

TY GUYS SO MUCH FOR THOSE SWEET COMMENTS AND THE FUNNY ONES!!!
Your comments really make me laugh a-lot!!! :D
Sorry for the really late updates been feeling a little-burntout!(it's fine now!)

Been hesitating to write the ending scenes of these past few chapters (especially the upcoming ones) bc its either unsatisfying or really cringy :(

It was Elliot’s idea.

He’d knocked on their door that morning hands in his jacket pockets, shoulders tense like he was ready to back out any second. But instead of bolting, he just looked at 007n7 and said, “Come to the park with me.”

No explanations. No teasing.

Just an invitation.

007n7 blinked. “Like… the park park? With nature? And judgmental geese?”

Elliot nodded. “Yeah.”

Coolkid, who had been halfway through eating cereal with a fork, gasped. “THE PARK?! Like sunlight and responsibility and NO WIFI?”

“We could all use a break,” Elliot muttered, already turning back toward his car.

007n7 threw on his hoodie, still stunned. “Did you hit your head or something?”

“No,” Elliot said. “I just don’t want to be miserable today.”

The park wasn’t anything spectacular patchy grass, rusty swings, a cracked walking path that looped around a duck pond that smelled faintly like regret and bread crumbs. But the air was warm, and the sky was soft blue, and somehow, that was enough.

Coolkid immediately took off toward the ducks, holding out a slice of white bread like it was a peace offering and a threat all at once.

Elliot perched at the edge of a picnic table, arms on his knees, gaze steady but distant. The sun filtered through the trees above, casting soft gold over his face.

007n7 hovered nearby, unsure whether to sit or hover forever.

They didn’t talk at first.

Just watched Coolkid dramatically negotiate with what he dubbed the “goose mafia.”

Then Elliot broke the silence. “He’s weird. But in a good way.”

007n7 smiled faintly. “Takes after me.”

Elliot gave him a look. “So he’s doomed?”

“That’s fair.”

A breeze passed. The ducks screamed in the distance.

007n7 finally sat, folding himself onto the grass beneath the table. He leaned back on his palms, eyes up at the branches but every few seconds, they flicked toward Elliot.

He noticed how Elliot’s shoulders weren’t pulled so tightly anymore.

How his brow had stopped furrowing.

How a smile ghosted across his mouth when Coolkid yelled, “THE POND OWES ME TWELVE DOLLARS!” and tried to challenge a goose to a duel.

“You look lighter today,” 007n7 said softly.

Elliot didn’t respond right away.

Then: “You’re not performing.”

“…Huh?”

“You’re just here,” Elliot said. “You’re not trying to be impressive. Or funny. Or anything. You’re just… here.”

007n7 blinked at the ground. That hit harder than he expected.

“…Was that really all I ever did?”

“You were exhausting,” Elliot said. “But now you’re just… annoying.”

He cracked the smallest grin.

007n7 gaped. “Was that- Was that a grin?”

A pebble bounced off his shoulder.

Coolkid barrelled back to them, holding a broken flip-flop in one hand and a bouquet of leaves in the other.

“I HAVE RETURNED. THIS IS MY SON. I NAMED HIM COOLROCK.”

Elliot snorted. Actually snorted. Then bent forward to help untangle a vine wrapped around Coolkid’s shoelace.

He was calm. Patient. Steady.

And 007n7 just watched.

Watched and realized: this was the version of Elliot he thought he’d lost.

But maybe he hadn’t.

And for once, the silence between them didn’t feel like punishment.

It just… was.

Coolkid eventually got bored of screaming at ducks and decided to stack pinecones into an aggressively unstable tower.

Elliot sat beside him in the grass, passing over the least crumbled ones. 007n7 lingered nearby, half in earshot, pretending not to listen too hard.

“My sister used to do this,” Elliot said, out of nowhere.

Coolkid paused mid-stack. “You had a sister?”

Elliot blinked, like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Yeah.”

007n7’s head turned just slightly. He didn’t speak. Just listened.

“She liked collecting stuff. Leaves. Rocks. One time she came home with pockets full of dandelions and called them her ‘explosion flowers.’”

Coolkid grinned.

“She built towers out of soup cans in the kitchen. Drove my mom insane.”

“What happened to her?” Coolkid asked, blunt as ever.

Elliot rolled a pinecone between his hands. Then gently set it down.

“She got lost,” he said. “A long time ago.”

Coolkid frowned. “Like in a store?”

“No. Just… gone.”

The quiet stretched.

“I don’t remember her voice,” Elliot said, voice barely above a whisper. “I try. But it’s gone. Like sand slipping out of my hands.”

Coolkid scooted closer. “My dad forgets stuff too,” he said. “Like where he parked. Or how to fold towels.”

Elliot huffed a tired sound, almost a laugh.

007n7 stood a few feet back, unreadable.

“But he always remembers me,” Coolkid added. “Even when I’m dumb. So maybe your sister remembers you too. Even if she’s a cloud. Or a jellyfish now.”

Elliot blinked. “A jellyfish?”

“Reincarnation,” Coolkid said seriously. “I saw this documentary where a guy’s grandma became a tree. Then they built a porch on her. Which is kinda rude.”

This time, Elliot laughed for real.

Soft. Honest.

Something warm cracked open in 007n7’s chest.

Later, when Coolkid wandered off to see if ducks accepted acorns as currency, 007n7 sat beside Elliot.

Watched the leaning pinecone tower like it was sacred.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

Elliot shrugged. “Not something I talk about.”

“She sounds like she was cool.”

“She was loud,” Elliot replied. “Louder than me. She could fill a room. Like you used to.”

That hit harder than either of them expected.

Elliot glanced at him. “Difference is… she never made me feel like I had to leave it.”

The words didn’t sting.

They settled.

Like a truth that had been waiting for room to land.

007n7 nodded slowly.

“…There’s something quieter in you now. But it’s not empty.”

“Ha, what is that supposed to mean? Are you trying to be meaningful right now?” Elliot said tilting his head slightly from the responce.

“I mean.. You just seem…. steadier. Ya know?”

Elliot looked at 007n7 for a bit before breaking the silence with a-

“Pft- okay.. Well thanks?..”
“I will take that as a compliment..”
“You aren’t as bad anymore.. too”

And 007n7 realized:

Maybe they both changed.

But this time for the other.

And maybe for once that wasn’t a bad thing.

Chapter 19: New start. New development.

Elliot knocked on the door with his elbow, two iced drinks balanced in his hands.
007n7 opened it with a paper towel in his mouth and a rubber glove on one hand.

“…You’re early,” he said, muffled.

“When am I not?” Elliot replied, walking in like he owned the place.

He set the drinks on the table, then glanced around. “You live like a raccoon with internet access.”

007n7 pulled the glove off with a dramatic snap. “I’ll have you know I cleaned today. That towel was a domestic choice.”

“Sure,” Elliot said, opening the fridge and immediately closing it. “Your milk expired during the Bush administration.”

007n7 peeked over. “Which one?”

Elliot didn’t answer. He just sipped his drink and sat down on the sagging couch like it was a throne.

And 007n7 realized something weird:

Elliot was relaxed.
He wasn’t hovering near the door. Wasn’t eyeing exits or crossing his arms like shields.
He was just… here.
Voluntarily.

“So what’s the occasion?” 007n7 asked. “You finally decide to give me a Yelp review?”

“I took a week off,” Elliot said.

That caught him off guard.

“From the pizza place?”

Elliot nodded. “Manager basically shoved the ‘approved’ stamp at my face before I could finish asking.”

007n7 sat beside him, cautiously. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Elliot glanced over. “Just felt like I needed time. To think.”

“…And you chose to think here?” 007n7 asked, raising a brow.

Elliot smirked faintly. “Don’t get excited. I didn’t say this was a vacation.”

007n7 gasped dramatically. “You wound me. I am the ideal vacation. Sun, sarcasm, and seasonal emotional baggage.”

Elliot chuckled under his breath. He sipped again. Then looked at him directly.

“I wanted to hang out.”

That made 007n7 pause.

“…Like, as friends?”

Elliot tilted his head. “Unless you’ve got a better offer.”

007n7 opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “…Okay, not to be weird, but this feels like a date.”

“It’s not.”

“Are you sure? Because you brought drinks, and you’re sitting weirdly close, and there’s no pizza.”

“I said it’s not,” Elliot repeated, but he didn’t move away.

007n7 grinned slowly. “Right. Definitely not a date. Which is why I’m totally not planning to wear my good socks.”

“You have good socks?”

“They have little swords on them.”

Elliot stared at him. “…Why?”

007n7 shrugged. “So my ankles are ready for battle.”

Elliot laughed actual, full laugh. The kind that made his shoulders shake a little.

Then softly he said, “You’re not that guy anymore, you know.”

“Who?”

“The one who wrecked everything and disappeared.”

007n7 looked at him.

“Feels like I still am sometimes,” he admitted.

“Well, I would’ve left by now if you were.”

That sat heavy. Not in a bad way. Just real.

Elliot leaned back into the couch, quieter now, eyes fixed on the drink in his hand. Something distant flickered behind them something that didn’t quite reach his voice but sat there, under the surface.

Coolkid’s laughter echoed faintly from the other room. Some dumb game. Some chaotic noise.

And 007n7 noticed the way Elliot’s face changed for just a second. Softened. Not sad exactly. More like a memory brushing against his ribs.

Like something that used to live loud in his life had been replaced by quiet.

Elliot didn’t say anything about her.
He didn’t have to.

007n7 didn’t speak either.
He just shifted a little closer not enough to crowd, just enough to be there and reached for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. Without making a thing of it, he tugged the corner over Elliot’s knee like it meant nothing.

Elliot blinked at it. Didn’t pull away. His fingers brushed against 007n7’s knuckles when he adjusted his grip on the drink. Neither of them looked at each other.

Coolkid yelled from the hallway: “I TAUGHT THE VACUUM TO FEAR ME.”

Elliot let out a breath half-laugh, half-sigh and leaned just slightly more into the couch.

That was all.

No speeches.
No “I’m here for you.”
Just shared quiet.

And for once, it wasn’t heavy.

It just… was.

The rest of the day was low-key. They watched terrible movies, argued over popcorn seasoning, and compared scar stories like teenage boys at a sleepover.

Elliot told him about a delivery route where he got chased by a goose.
007n7 admitted he once crashed a bike into a sprinkler because he thought it was “dodging practice.”

They talked about music. About dumb things they used to believe. About what they used to be afraid of.

Elliot didn’t flinch when 007n7 mentioned the fire.
And 007n7 didn’t pull back when Elliot looked him in the eyes and said, “You’re doing better.”

They didn’t need to say it.
But they both knew:

Something had shifted.

Not in a big, fireworks way.
More like a door creaked open, and neither of them was running away from it.

By the time the sky darkened and the city lights blinked on, 007n7 walked Elliot to the door.

“You know,” 007n7 said lightly, “for a non-date, this was dangerously fun.”

“Dangerously?” Elliot echoed.

“I mean, you laughed at least four times. That’s illegal in most states.”

Elliot smirked. “Next time, I’ll bring handcuffs.”

007n7 blinked.

Elliot stepped outside.

And smiled.

“See you tomorrow.”

007n7 stood in the doorway long after he left, heart thudding stupidly in his chest.

Not a date.
But it sure felt like a beginning.

Notes:

TBH I tried mentioning more of the lil sister thing but idk i forget :(
ALSO JS SO YALL KNOW I DO READ THE COMMENTS !!! AND IM REALLY THANKFUL OF ALL THE COMMENTS YALL GIVE!!! :D TYSMTYSM

Criticism is open btw

Chapter 20: New beginning.

Summary:

(Holds place after a week from the previous chapter :D, tho might not be accurate QQ)

Elliot showed up outside 007n7’s place around noon with two drinks in hand and a flat, “We’re going out.”

007n7 blinked, genuinely stunned. “Wait- what- huh?... What's up all of a sudden??”

Elliot rolled his eyes. “You coming or not?”

“YES!- Uhm. Yeah. I mean, yeah, of course I will. No big deal... haha... Lemme just call someone to be in the house with C00lkid!”

“I can wait. It’s fine.”

—

They ended up at a quiet corner of the park the one with the rusty swing set and one bench that tilted slightly to the left. Coolkid had been handed off to a playdate, giving them rare, undisturbed space.

“You asked for time off?” 007n7 asked, still slightly in disbelief as they sat on the crooked bench.

“Yeah. One week.”

007n7 turned to him slowly. “Elliot. Be honest. Did you hit your head?”

“No.”

“Did someone else hit your head?”

“I wanted the break.”

A pause. Then 007n7 asked, carefully, “To do what?”

Elliot sipped his drink. “Sit on a bench. Breathe. Maybe talk to someone I’m not dodging anymore.”

That was... a lot, coming from Elliot.

007n7 blinked. Then grinned. “Wow. So I’ve been upgraded to non-dodgeable. That’s, like, top-tier.”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late. I’m picking out friendship bracelets.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while the kind that didn’t beg to be filled.

Eventually, 007n7 spoke up again. “You know, for a ‘not-a-date,’ this is dangerously scenic. Park bench. Shared drinks. Mild existential vibes. I feel emotionally tricked.”

Elliot gave him a look. “You trick yourself.”

“I’m just saying,” 007n7 said, “if I spontaneously hold your hand, it’s because the weather told me to.”

“No hand-holding.”

“Got it. Mutual eye contact with intense subtext only.”

“No subtext.”

007n7 smirked. “Then I’m just happy to be here. With you. Literally. On this lopsided bench.”

Said too simply. Too sincerely.

Elliot blinked, almost caught off guard.

Then, quieter: “You don’t always need to joke first, you know.”

“I know,” 007n7 said, gaze fixed on two squirrels beefing in the grass. “But I’ve got good muscle memory for hiding first.”

Elliot was quiet for a second.

Then: “You didn’t always use to listen like this.”

007n7 turned his head. “Like what?”

Elliot just shook his head. “It’s not a bad thing.”

And 007n7 let that sit. No poking. No grin.

Just… warmth.

—

They wandered after a while. Took a slow loop around the park, letting the sun slide down behind the trees. Neither of them was in a rush.

Elliot kicked a stray pebble. “You ever think about how weird it is? Knowing someone for years, then realizing you don’t really know who they are now?”

007n7 raised a brow. “That your poetic way of telling me I’m a stranger again?”

“No,” Elliot said. “Just... noticing stuff.”

He gestured vaguely. “You used to talk louder. Walk faster. Now it’s like you’re always half a second behind your own thoughts.”

007n7 tilted his head. “That supposed to be deep, or just insulting?”

Elliot smirked faintly. “Little of both.”

“I could say the same about you, y’know,” 007n7 said. “You used to walk like someone was chasing you.”

Elliot didn’t deny it.

And they walked in silence again, until 007n7 added, softer:
“But now you stop to notice birds that look like middle managers.”

“That pigeon definitely yells at cashiers.”

“His name is probably Gary.”

They both laughed.

Then Elliot glanced sideways. “You’re not as loud as I remember. But you still fill up space.”

That made something in 007n7 go quiet.

Not sad. Not shocked.

Just still.

“…Thanks?” he said, almost unsure.

Elliot nodded, eyes forward. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late. I’m emotionally printing it on a mug.”

Another pause.

“...With birds on it,” 007n7 added.

—

Later, the conversation spiraled into dumb jokes about reincarnated trees, pigeons with job stress, and trees unionizing against freeloading birds.

But underneath all of it, the air was different.

Not a date.

But something else.

Elliot didn’t reach for clarity. Didn’t explain himself.

But his steps slowed, matching 007n7’s without asking.

And when he said, casually,
“Would it be so bad if this was something?”
it came not like a joke, but like a door left open.

007n7 nearly tripped. “Wait. Wait- are you serious?”

“I said if,” Elliot replied, maddeningly neutral.

007n7 groaned. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Maybe,” Elliot said. “But at least you’ll die confused and emotionally invested.”

That made 007n7 laugh, real and full.

The moment didn’t need resolving.

Not now.

They kept walking, gravel underfoot, late light cutting soft through the trees. And 007n7 realized

Even if he never got a straight answer…

This still felt like something beginning.

Notes:

PLZ NOTE IM STILL IMPORVING WITH MY WRITING SKILLS :((
SO IM VERY SORRY IF THESE ARE OOC OR SOMETHING(Plz note I'm open to criticism)

ALL THE CREDITS GOES TO MY BETA READER MY BELOVED GRAMMARLY ♥

Chapter 21: New Beginning pt 2

Summary:

(Takes place not the same day as the last chapter)

007n7 opened the door in pajama pants and a hoodie, hair wild, one sock half off like it was trying to escape. “You’re early.”

Elliot stood on the porch with a bag of snacks and that look he always wore somewhere between judgment and deadpan fondness. “You’re a mess.”

“You say that like you’re surprised.”

Elliot stepped inside like he owned the place, tossed the bag onto the counter with practiced ease. “Coolkid up?”

“Unfortunately,” 007n7 muttered, closing the door with his foot.

Right on cue, Coolkid bolted into the room, sock on hand like a puppet. “This is Commander Toe! He demands cereal and will not be taking further questions.”

Elliot crouched to meet the sock’s level, stone-faced. “Commander Toe. I stand with you.”

Coolkid beamed. “You get it.”

He spun around and launched himself at the couch, leaving the adults in the kitchen.

007n7 blinked, still adjusting. “You really came back.”

“I said I would.”

“Yeah, but… you did.”

Elliot raised a brow. “That’s how saying things works.”

“And you brought chips,” 007n7 added, eyeing the bag like it meant something.

Elliot opened the fridge and grimaced. “You really live like this, huh?”

“It’s called ‘low maintenance,’” 007n7 said, crossing his arms.

“It’s called a science experiment,” Elliot muttered, pulling out a container and staring at it like it might blink first. “This yogurt is a war crime.”

“It’s... aged.”

“It’s growing moss.”

“It’s growing character.”

Without another word, Elliot tossed the yogurt and a few other contenders for biohazard status into the trash. Then he leaned on the counter, arms crossed. “You emotionally attached to this jar of maybe-pickles?”

“It’s… complicated.”

“Like everything with you,” Elliot muttered.

That shut 007n7 up. Not in a bad way. Just he didn’t expect that kind of honesty from Elliot. Not this early. Not in a kitchen that smelled vaguely like pizza grease and regret.

“You want help cleaning it?” Elliot asked, after a beat.

007n7 hesitated. “...Yeah. If you want.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

From the couch, Coolkid’s sock-hand shot up. “Commander Toe says this can only proceed if there is pizza afterward!”

Elliot grinned. “Tough negotiator.”

The next hour passed in organized chaos.

Coolkid narrated the cleaning like a nature documentary. “Observe: the wild fridge beast, defeated by the mighty rag and reluctant bonding.” Elliot scrubbed out a suspicious-looking drawer. 007n7 picked a fight with a bottle of ketchup that exploded on him like a final act of revenge.

“Good news,” 007n7 muttered, wiping his face. “The fridge no longer has a personality.”

“Shame,” Elliot replied. “It had more character than you.”

007n7 threw a rag at him. Elliot caught it without looking.

They found a rhythm, somehow tossing expired food, trading jabs, laughing under their breath like it was normal. Like it wasn’t strange that Elliot, of all people, was here again. Helping. Choosing to be here.

When Coolkid got bored, he roped Elliot into building a cardboard villain lair. Elliot didn’t protest. He just knelt beside the kid, duct-taped together a trapdoor, and asked serious questions about villain logistics.

“So does the base need an escape hatch or just a snack drawer?”

“Both,” Coolkid said gravely. “For dramatic exits and cheese puffs.”

Later, Power Rangers came on, and Coolkid flopped dramatically onto the couch. “RED RANGER SUPREMACY!”

“You only like him because he’s red,” 007n7 said, collapsing onto the opposite end.

“Red is the fastest color. Also, the villains have better outfits.”

Elliot blinked. “You root for the villains?”

Coolkid nodded. “They commit. They accessorize.”

Elliot gave him a fist bump. “Fair point.”

Sometime between episodes three and four, Coolkid passed out sideways, sock still on his hand, his foot resting on Elliot’s leg without hesitation.

007n7 lowered the volume and let the quiet settle.

The house didn’t fall still. But the air softened. Like something had stopped bracing for impact.

Elliot didn’t move Coolkid’s leg. Just leaned back, arms behind his head, eyes half-lidded.

“You’re good with him,” Elliot said.

“He’s a menace.”

“You love the menace.”

“…Yeah.”

007n7 glanced at him. “You’re good with him, too.”

Elliot didn’t respond right away. But he didn’t deflect either. Just let it sit there.

Then:

“I think it’s easier when someone looks at you like you’re safe.”

007n7 froze, not expecting that.

He swallowed. “That’s… not a thing people usually say.”

Elliot’s voice was quiet. “Doesn’t make it less true.”

Silence stretched between them. Not awkward. Not tense. Just weighted with something neither of them knew how to unpack yet.

Finally, 007n7 asked the question that had been festering quietly in his brain.

“…Why’d you come back today?”

Elliot didn’t look at him. Just said, “Some places are loud in the right way.”

007n7 blinked. “You always talk like a cryptic Instagram caption?”

Elliot smirked. “Only when I’m being honest.”

The couch creaked under their shifting weight. Commander Toe slid onto the floor unnoticed.

“You confuse the hell out of me,” 007n7 murmured.

“You’re not the only one,” Elliot said, still staring at the ceiling like it held answers.

And weirdly that helped.

When Elliot stood to leave, Coolkid barely stirred. Just muttered something about “laser beams” and rolled over.

007n7 walked him to the door, more out of habit than anything else.

Elliot lingered there for a beat.

“You coming back tomorrow?” 007n7 asked.

Elliot looked at him. Really looked.

“That a question or a challenge?”

“Depends,” 007n7 said. “You afraid of routine?”

Elliot gave a tired half-smile. “Not if it looks like this.”

The door closed gently behind him.

And for a long time, 007n7 just stood there.

He looked back at the living room blankets half on the floor, cardboard base lit by TV glow, Coolkid asleep in a fortress of cushions.

He let out a slow breath.

For once, the mess didn’t feel like something to hide.

It felt like something worth showing up for.

Notes:

SO CLOSE TO THE END :DD

Chapter 22: The opening for New beginning pt 3

Coolkid had a very specific Saturday routine, and for some reason, Elliot had become a part of it.

“Red’s the coolest one,” Coolkid declared, draped across the couch like a retired action hero. “He’s fast, he’s the leader, and look! That villain’s got spikes for hands. Tell me that’s not awesome.”

“Super practical,” Elliot said from the floor, where he was folding laundry with half a frown. “Bet he can’t even open a Capri Sun without stabbing it.”

Coolkid snorted. “You don’t need water when you’re evil.”

Elliot tossed a rolled pair of socks at him. “Gonna get that embroidered.”

From the kitchen, 007n7 leaned against the counter, cradling a mug he forgot he’d made. He watched Elliot barefoot, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed slotting into the apartment like he’d always lived there. Coolkid treated him like a second couch cushion: familiar, necessary, comfortable.

It was terrifying.

And kind of perfect.

This wasn’t how it used to be.

This wasn’t how 007n7 ever thought it could be again.

Eventually, the Red Ranger beat the villain of the week with an oversized sword and emotional fortitude. Coolkid slumped over mid-victory speech.

“He’s out,” Elliot said softly, already reaching for the blanket draped over the back of the couch.

“Kid runs hard, crashes harder,” 007n7 murmured, pulling it over him.

Elliot lingered a moment, watching Coolkid breathe. There was something in his expression tender, worn, real that 007n7 hadn’t seen directed at him since before everything broke.

He turned toward the patio, and Elliot followed, the door left slightly open behind them.

Outside, the evening air was cool but kind. The sky hung low, streaked with blue-grey clouds, like it was listening in.

007n7 sat first. “Why now?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Why come back?”

Elliot leaned back in the patio chair, arms behind his head, gaze on the clouds.

“Guess I was waiting until I wasn’t angry anymore.”

007n7 blinked. “You were angry?”

“Of course I was angry,” Elliot said, tone even but not bitter. “You bailed. You let everything fall and left me in the wreckage.”

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“I did. I just got tired of showing it to someone who didn’t want to see it.”

Silence. Not sharp just full.

“And now?” 007n7 asked.

Elliot exhaled slowly. “Now… I’ve had time. And distance. And therapy. I still think I’m kind of an idiot for showing up, but here I am.”

“You are,” 007n7 said.

They didn’t say anything else for a while.

But it didn’t feel like hiding. It felt like healing.

After that, Elliot started showing up more.

No plans. No big conversations. Just a knock at the door or a half-text: You guys home? and then he’d be there balancing a bag of snacks, ready to be dragged into LEGO politics and Coolkid’s ever-expanding lore of villains with cool shoes.

Coolkid had adopted him entirely. The moment Elliot entered, he’d start explaining the episode he missed or inventing a better one.

Elliot always listened. Sometimes he corrected him. Most of the time, he just let him run.

He brought snacks, too. Always.

“Got those dumb cookies you like,” he’d say, tossing a bag on the counter. “They taste like regret, but you’re into that.”

007n7 never asked him to stay.

He didn’t have to.

Then came the final day of Elliot’s week off.

The three of them curled up on the couch. Popcorn half-eaten. Coolkid nestled against Elliot’s side in a sleepy pile, sock puppet long abandoned.

By the third episode, he was out cold.

007n7 lowered the volume with practiced quiet.

Elliot shifted carefully, letting Coolkid rest.

“He’s got good taste,” Elliot murmured.

“Debatable,” 007n7 said, lips twitching.

Another pause. Soft. Steady.

007n7 looked over. “So… you like hanging out here, huh?”

“I do.”

It wasn’t said like a confession.

Just a fact.

“You’ve been around a lot,” 007n7 said slowly. “I didn’t think you’d want to keep coming back.”

“I didn’t think I would either,” Elliot admitted.

“Yeah?”

Elliot looked at him really looked.

“I’ve got work tomorrow.”

007n7 nodded, trying not to feel it.

Elliot added, calm but purposeful, “So I figured I’d take you out tonight.”

007n7 blinked. “Out?”

“A date,” Elliot said. No teasing. No smirking. Just… truth.

007n7 stared.

“Oh.”

Elliot raised an eyebrow. “That a yes?”

“No! I mean yes. Yes. Not-not a no. I’d like that. I want that. A lot.”

Elliot smiled, gently pried Coolkid’s socked foot off his lap, and stood. “Then get dressed. I’m not taking you to a place that sells food in wrappers.”

Later That Night

They walked home slowly, side by side under a quiet stretch of stars. Streetlamps cast long shadows. Elliot’s hand was in his.

007n7 wasn’t entirely sure when that happened.

But he didn’t want it to stop.

The diner hadn’t been fancy, but the fries were good, and Elliot smiled the whole time, and it had felt right like they’d been doing this all along without realizing it.

Somewhere near their building, Elliot stopped.

Held his hand tighter.

“I like you,” he said.

Simple. Heavy.

“I think I’ve liked you for a while. I just didn’t want to say it until I was sure I meant it.”

007n7 swallowed.

“I like you too,” he said, voice uneven. “I mean… kind of already said that once, didn’t I? Screamed it, probably.”

Elliot squeezed his hand harder. “Yeah. And you were awful at it.”

“You like that about me.”

“Unfortunately.”

They stood there for a second, the world around them hushed and warm.

Then Elliot stepped back, letting go of his hand but slowly, like it meant something.

“I’m gonna head home,” he said, quiet. “I wanna keep this part for myself before Coolkid fills my inbox with dinosaur facts.”

007n7 laughed, a little breathless. “Right. Okay.”

“But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

And somehow, that was the line that did him in.

Not the hand-holding. Not the confession.

That.

The promise.

Elliot tapped a finger to his chest, just once. “Sleep, dummy.”

Then he left.

007n7 stood in the hallway for a good thirty seconds after the door shut behind him.

Then he made a sound. It was somewhere between a wheeze and a scream.

He hugged a throw pillow. He spun in a circle. He sat down. He stood up. He clutched his own face.

“Holy shit,” he whispered to nobody.

Then he danced.

Badly.

Wildly.

With his whole chest.

At one point, he slid across the floor in his socks and hit the table, and didn’t even care. The joy felt physical. Like it was leaking out of him and had nowhere to go.

Coolkid, somehow half-awake, cracked one eye open from the couch.

“…You win something?”

007n7 stopped mid-dance, flushed and winded. “Uh. Yeah. Kind of.”

Coolkid blinked. “You and Elliot get married yet?”

007n7 choked. “Wha-no!!”

“Oh.” Coolkid yawned. “Well, you should. You’re both lame. It works.”

He flopped back over and was asleep again in seconds.

007n7 stared.

Then smiled. Wide. Soft.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Maybe.”

He sank onto the couch beside Coolkid, still smiling like a fool, looking up at the ceiling like maybe it was listening too.

Tomorrow, Elliot would be back.

Not just as a visitor.

But as something real.

As someone choosing them

over and over again.

Notes:

The end :D
Haha im not really satisfied with how it ends but this is the only thing that has a best out of all my other 5 drafts of this ending, I might make an extra chapter!

Chapter 23: After the credits

Summary:

I LEGIT HAVE NO IDEA HOW KISSING SCENES WORK (not the first time writing them)
SO CRINGE WARNING CRINGE WARNING
GAY MEN WARNING

this is a short bonus chapter bc yall are FREAKS for them to kiss 🙏

It was late.

The kind of late that blurred the edges of time, where the world outside the apartment was all streetlamp gold and quiet hums from distant traffic.

007n7 sat curled on the couch, half-asleep, wrapped in a hoodie that didn’t belong to him.

Elliot’s hoodie.

Coolkid had gone to bed an hour ago after an unprompted fifteen-minute monologue about why the Blue Ranger secretly had the best weapon. Elliot had sat through it with the focus of a man receiving classified intel.

Now, the two of them were alone.

Not for the first time.

But this time, it felt different.

Elliot was next to him, one leg tucked under the other, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. There was an empty mug between them. A plate with a half-eaten cookie. Quiet music played softly from a phone on the armrest, some instrumental track neither of them had bothered to change.

“Didn’t think we’d get here,” 007n7 said quietly.

Elliot didn’t look away from his sleeve. “Where’s here?”

“This. Couch. Hoodie theft. Not freaking out about it.”

Elliot gave a small smile. “You still stole it.”

“It was cold.”

“You have seven hoodies.”

“None of them smell like you.”

Elliot looked at him, slowly. Like he wasn’t sure if he was being teased or told the truth.

“You’re such a disaster,” he said fondly.

“Certified.”

Silence stretched again. Comfortable now. Like a well-worn blanket.

And then, Elliot reached over and gently took 007n7’s hand—like it was a habit he hadn’t realized he wanted to form until now. He didn’t lace their fingers. Just held it.

Warm. Steady.

007n7 looked down at it, then back at him. “Is this a weird time to kiss you?”

Elliot tilted his head. “There’s a not-weird time?”

“Touché.”

He leaned in slowly—slow enough for Elliot to turn away if he wanted to.

Elliot didn’t.

Their foreheads touched first, then noses, and finally—finally—their lips met in the softest way imaginable. Like a question that had waited years to be asked. Like neither of them wanted to startle it.

No fireworks. No strings swell.

Just warmth.

Quiet.

Breath.

When they pulled back, Elliot’s eyes stayed closed for a second longer.

“…You always kiss like that?” he murmured.

“I’ve been practicing on a throw pillow.”

Elliot laughed, low and genuine, and bumped their foreheads together again. “You’re such a dork.”

“But you like me.”

“Unfortunately,” Elliot whispered, and kissed him again.

Slower this time.

Like he had all the time in the world.

And 007n7 believed it.

Notes:

MAY REGRET POSTING THIS CHAPTER!! IM SO SORRY IF THIS LIKE DISAPPOINTS YOU
(wrote this in an hour or more instead of studying for my exam)
IM OPEN FOR ADVICE ON THESE TOO!!

Chapter 24: ART!!!

Summary:

HERE"S A SWEET ASS ART FROM MY DEAR FRIEND agoonize!!

Notes:

GO SUPPORT THEM (if ya want?)
you can find them from their fanfic "From My Yearning, I Found You."
They make really cool art in there "TwoChance brainrot (ART)"
All by agoonize

Notes:

HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS :D