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Gangle, for the first time that she could remember, woke up in a bed that felt safe. Her stringy limbs were wrapped around the other’s warm, mis-matched ones. They were bundled up in her bed under a thick comforter. Their combined body heat and close embrace made her heart race. The windows were still dark. Gangle’s eyes were heavy as she cracked them open. Even if they didn’t need to sleep, it was nice to get some. Especially if it meant…
She looked over at Zooble. Their abstract face looked relaxed, eyebrows finally untensed. Gangle felt themself smile softly. They looked peaceful. They had only grown closer to her from when they fell asleep. Their parts for the day were smoother than usual — Gangle found it hard to believe it wasn’t on purpose. To ensure they were comfortable for her to hold. She leaned the edge of her mask into the crook of their neck. She would have held them either way.
She lied there, taking in it all. Still, something in her itched. She wanted to sit up and do something. Get some water or stretch or whatever. It was easy to untangle herself from them with her ribbon limbs, sitting up and stretching her arms over her head. They looked back, and then her heart broke a little. Zooble had attempted to nuzzle into the space where Gangle once was. She hastily stuffed a pillow into her place, which settled them. She didn’t know why she was in a rush to do… something. She didn’t know what. But she wanted to stand up.
Tossing aside the covers, she drew her legs over the side and looked up at the wall.
She was met with her own reflection.
That… was her, right?
Her ribbon-hands drifted to her mask. She could have sworn she was wearing her comedy mask. She made sure she was wearing it tonight. She shattered the old tragedy mask herself.
But her reflection said otherwise. Those familiar tears stubbornly stuck to her face.
This wasn’t right. She was with Zooble; it just felt wrong to wear her tragedy mask. This was far from a tragic moment. She was in love. That was the furthest possible thing from tragedy.
Gangle carefully removed the mask and set it down on the floor. There. Easy as that. Now, she could go back to bed with them, assured that she was in a bright mood.
She glanced at her reflection one last time —
What the hell?
The mask on the floor. The mask on her face. Her eyes darted back and forth between the two.
They were both tragic.
They pulled off another mask. That one was also a tragedy. And another. And another.
This wasn't happening. Gangle's breathing quickened. Why couldn't she take it off? This wasn't happening. Were they stuck like this?
She rose to her feet, but her spindly legs were still recovering from waking up. They faltered, and she crashed to the ground, painfully cracking a few masks in the pile around them. She yelped in surprise, landing on her hands and knees as another one fell from her head and broke. Still, her eyes in the mirror remained downturned. She ignored the movement in the bed behind her. She needed to get the mask off.
Her breathing was erratic, and she rose once more, slipping off mask after mask and letting them shatter against the floor, even as the pain made tears well up. Each one that she tore off was like ripping flesh. The area around them was covered in porcelain shards that crunched under and cut into her feet as she shifted her weight.
Oblivious to the ruckus she was making, Gangle let out a sob. No. This wasn't happening. She was supposed to be happy. Why couldn't she just be happy? What was wrong? What on earth did she do? Her ribbons clawed at the mask futility. There was something wrong with her. There was something wrong; she was supposed to be happy, this was supposed to be happy, but she could never lie back and let good things happen —
“Gangle, stop!”
She was spun around from behind mid-rip, and firm hands held her shoulders. She was bewildered, her breath hitching for a moment before recognition lit up like a light bulb.
“Hey,” Zooble exhaled, panting. They took in her state for a moment. Carefully, they took the half-off mask and eased it back onto her face, rubbing their thumbs over her tear-stained cheeks. “Hey. Deep breaths, okay?”
She forced herself to take in air, as per their request. She tried to look over her shoulder at the mirror, but they held her in place.
“Don't worry about the mask,” they murmured. “Just calm down. You're scaring me, Gangle.”
She cautiously leaned her head against their chest, her own rising and falling quickly. She didn't want to scare them, but she was panicking. This had never happened before.
“I-I can't take off my tragedy mask.”
They gently pulled her back in the direction of the bed. They held her hands and guided them over the broken porcelain, back to the soft bed. Back to safety. They sat down next to her, arms wrapped around her frail body. Her own arms snaked around their waist, tucking her head under their chin. They were supposed to be happy, and now they had ruined the moment. She always ruined it by getting upset. Why couldn’t she just be happy and stay happy? Even if Zooble was comforting her now, it was hard to believe they would always be so patient and willing to deal with her mood swings. Nothing even happened! She did this to herself for no reason.
They remained holding her close. She was crying, and it made their chest ache. What happened? They woke up to her frantically smashing her masks over and over. They’d never seen her so self-destructive.
When her sniffles began to quiet, they finally pulled back to look at her. A pile of ribbons and porcelain. Delicate and beautiful. They leaned back onto her bed, mumbling a quiet “c’mere” under their breath to her. Gangle quickly took up on their offer and pressed herself against their side. She tried to tuck her hands close to her chest, but they took them again, and she slowly untensed like a flower in bloom. Her breathing began to even out.
“… Does it hurt when your masks get smashed?”
She didn’t respond for a moment. They needed to be able to properly articulate themself, rather than spewing out whatever came to mind first.
“Kinda…?” she whispered. She hid her face in Zooble’s neck. “A-A little. Just a little sting. Most of what I feel is more of a phantom pain — w-when it shatters. And I’m usually more focused on the pain of getting hit in the head.”
“So it does hurt?” they questioned.
She took a moment, thinking about their words. She could tell they were implying something. Asking something without saying it. She was never good at reading between the lines.
“Yes? What’re you g-getting at?”
Zooble took a moment to just hold her. Even though they had fallen asleep next to them, they couldn't get enough of just… her. Holding her. Feeling her warmth. Hearing her voice. Feeling her warm breath on their skin. Her when she was happy. Her when she was upset. Realizing, over and over, holy shit, I love this woman.
They sighed. She had a way of softening all their sharp edges that no one else could manage.
“I…”
They tried to say the words. I love you. Why did you do this? What do you mean when you say those things? Why don’t you know that I love you?
“… Nothing. I just want you to calm down and go back to bed. I want you to be happy, Gangle.”
“But my… my comedy mask…”
They almost scoffed. But they knew she was fragile right now, and scoffing would make it worse.
“You need to stop trying to fight the masks,” they urged. “Trying to force them to change clearly doesn’t work, and it just hurts you in the process. They don’t define you. You can still be happy while wearing the tragedy mask. And you certainly don’t need to constantly wear the comedy one because you think you’re unlikable otherwise. We all saw how that went.”
Looking back on that adventure made them wince. They had sat there and flipped burgers for hours, watching Gangle slowly get more and more entrenched in whatever the hell that plastic mask had done to them. Everyone had found her energy annoying, but she had clearly been hurting.
“None of it’s your fault, y’know.”
She was still for a while. They almost thought she had fallen asleep until they heard her softly say:
“I love you, Zooble.”
Neither of them had quite said those words yet. Neither of them had acknowledged why they were suddenly teaming up on every adventure, why Gangle was getting confident enough to stand up for herself against Jax, why they were sleeping in each other’s rooms and showing each other their art and sharing their warmth in the dark of night.
“… I-Is it okay for me to say that…?”
They huffed. “Don’t worry about it, Gangle. I love you, too.”
Zooble pulled the blankets back up over both of them. Their hands ghosted over the edge of her face, and they smiled softly at how she leaned into the touch. Her breathing was slow again.
She was content to fall back asleep like this.