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Fear usually didn’t like having the night shift.
Not because he disliked watching the dreams the studio came up with — not exactly.
But because there could always be the occasional accident.
And when that happened, he panicked and slammed the wake-up template before he could think twice.
Riley’s fear…
…always had a way of triggering his.
Joy and the others never blamed him, of course. Still, they gently reminded him that it was part of the job.
So he accepted the shifts.
Reluctantly.
Having a partner helped, at least. That had been more his request than theirs.
The newer emotions weren’t used to the routine yet, so it gave them a chance to learn.
He just hadn’t expected his first shift with Anxiety to be so…
Quiet.
She sat curled in on herself on the couch — eyes wide, mouth shut, arms wrapped tightly around her legs.
Her back was rigid.
Her shoulders hunched like she was bracing for something that hadn’t happened yet.
On the dream screen, the scene was mostly harmless.
Riley skated slowly across the ice beneath a soft purple night sky. The rink shimmered like glass, smooth and endless.
Somewhere in the distance, applause echoed.
Too far away to be real.
But just close enough to feel important.
Fear shifted uneasily in his seat.
Dreams like this were tricky.
Calm on the surface…
…but always one slip away from turning into something worse.
Beside him, Anxiety followed every movement Riley made.
Every tilt of her hands.
Every glide of her skates.
Every time Riley’s blade scraped the ice, Anxiety flinched.
Every time Riley smiled, Anxiety’s grip tightened around her knees.
But she didn’t say a word.
She barely even looked like she was breathing.
Fear glanced between her and the screen, his own chest fluttering nervously.
The last thing he wanted was another spiral.
Especially at three in the morning.
He cleared his throat.
“Uh… Anxiety? Would you like some hot chocolate?”
He was fairly certain Sadness hadn’t finished it all earlier.
And Envy had been getting better at keeping the kitchen organized.
Mostly.
For a moment, Anxiety didn’t react at all.
Then — barely — the corner of her mouth twitched.
That was enough encouragement.
Fear nodded and carefully stepped around the control console before heading toward the kitchen.
Headquarters felt strangely quiet without Anger’s snoring or Embarrassment’s muffled muttering from the corner.
A minute later, Fear returned, carefully balancing two steaming mugs.
Anxiety didn’t look up when he handed one to her.
She simply wrapped both hands around it immediately, fingers pressing into the cup like she was afraid it might disappear.
Fear sat beside her.
Close.
But not too close.
On the screen, Riley wobbled slightly on the ice.
Just a tiny stumble.
Nothing dangerous.
Nothing real.
Anxiety sucked in a sharp breath.
Before Fear could react, Riley caught herself, laughed softly in her sleep, and continued skating.
The dream shifted.
The rink slowly melted away, transforming into a glowing lake of memories — warm and gentle instead of sharp and cold.
Fear released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
He risked a glance at Anxiety.
Her shoulders had lowered, just a fraction.
Her hands still clutched the mug, but her knuckles weren’t white anymore.
Her breathing — barely noticeable before — had finally steadied.
“…See?” Fear murmured quietly, more to himself than to her.
“She’s… okay.”
Anxiety didn’t answer.
But she tilted her head slightly toward him.
Just enough to show she’d heard.
They watched the dream in silence for a while.
Then, inevitably — because the universe clearly had a sense of humor —
Fear sneezed.
Loudly.
The sound echoed across Headquarters.
Anxiety jumped nearly a foot into the air, hot chocolate sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her cup.
Her eyes went impossibly wide.
Fear froze.
“…Ah.”
On the dream screen, Riley stirred slightly, rolling over in her bed.
Then she settled again with a soft sigh.
Anxiety stared at Fear.
Fear stared back.
Then, slowly, her lips pressed together…
…and the tiniest, most reluctant smile appeared.
Fear felt something warm bloom in his chest.
Something that had nothing to do with fear at all.
He raised his mug toward her in a quiet toast.
She tapped hers gently against it.
And for once—
Neither of them felt quite so scared.