Skip yawned as the bus rolled to a stop, stepping off and shuffling towards home. It’d been a long night–ten hours on their feet, all go-go-go the whole time. Now, the sun had just begun to creep up over the horizon and their day had come to an end.

At least they had a three day weekend coming up.

The four-days-on three-days-off pattern worked for Skip, even if the night shift meant they started their day as everyone else was ending theirs. Long days meant fewer days, they were content with that.

On the other hand, coming home to a house divided…that was getting wearisome.

A large cardboard box sat on the porch when they arrived, Pearce’s given name printed on the label. Based on the size, it couldn’t just be a couple outfits–there had to be a lot in there. Skip pushed the box aside with a foot, opened the door, and waltzed inside.

Giggles echoed from the kitchen when they walked inside. At least Grace and Pearce had been in a good mood lately–though the tension still stood, there’d been fewer shouting matches, just bickering.

In the kitchen, Grace was in her high chair, bits of breakfast on her face. The smell of breakfast mingled with something more foul, though, somewhat muting the pleasant food smells.

“Package,” Skip said, maneuvering around them and wrinkling their nose. “Grace needs a change.”

“I know,” Pearce said. “Hasn’t been an hour yet–I decided it could wait till breakfast was over.”

“Jerk,” Grace said, but her lips were played up in a half smile.

Glancing at the stovetop, Skip saw the scattered remains of pancake preparation. “Any left?”

With a flourish, Pearce reached to a plate covered in a tea towel and yanked the cover away, revealing a stack of fluffy pancakes. “I thought you might want some.”

“I thought you might want some,” Grace corrected, rolling her eyes. “I told Pearce to make extra.”

“Thanks,” Skip said, retrieving a fork. Breakfast for dinner.

“Whipped cream if you want it,” Pearce added, sliding the can over to Skip.

Coating the pancakes with cream, Skip left the kitchen, getting away from the mild stink coming off Grace and heading to the living room.

More giggles. Even a little laughter echoed from the other room.

“Be right back,” Pearce said, walking up, past Skip, to the front door.

He towed in the box, picked at the tape with a fingernail, and ripped it open. Curiously, Skip looked over from the couch, though they didn’t ask what it was.

“Let’s see what she thinks of this,” Pearce said, pulling the first plastic-wrapped parcel from inside. Skip saw fabric, though the specifics of what they were looking at weren’t immediately obvious. It looked like clothing, maybe, or possibly a pillow–until Pearce removed it from the plastic and unfolded it, revealing a onesie that seemed to have a pillow crammed in around the bottom, comical bulk.

Raising an eye, Skip asked, “How’s she going to walk with that on?”

“That’s the secret,” Pearce snickered. “She’s not. Oh, Baby Gracie, I think it’s time for your change!” The last part of his words were projected across the house, not for Skip’s benefit but for Grace’s.

He whisked the outfit away, and the sound of amused protests and complaints echoed from the kitchen to the living room.

Setting aside the pancakes, Skip got up, looking through the other contents of the package. “Hmm.”

It was, without a doubt, not just cutesy clothing. Pearce had ordered in full-on BDSM wear, albeit BDSM wear with a juvenile coat of paint. They spotted a spreader bar, some sort of chest harness, booties–all told, probably three or four ways just to keep Grace from walking.

While they finished up breakfast-dinner, Pearce led Grace by the hand through the living room, up the stairs, his expression triumphant, hers annoyed but in a way that implied she really didn’t mind.

Skip ate the rest of their pancakes, dealt with their dishes, and went to bed.

…

“HEY!”

Skip sat up, blinking blearily. Their alarm hadn’t gone off, but Grace’s shout didn’t discriminate–even if she intended it for Pearce, it still woke Skip up, even with a fan, white noise, and blackout curtains protecting their daytime sleep.

Checking their phone, they saw it was almost five PM - just about time to wake up anyways. Getting to their feet, they yawned, sighed, pulled on a pair of baggy pants.

“Pearce!” Grace called again. “Open the door!”

Her tone wasn’t amused anymore. Great. They’re bickering again. Exiting their bedroom, they glanced down the hall.

Grace sat on the ground, legs splayed. She didn’t have on the pillow onesie thing–instead, there was a pink-painted spreader bar forcing her to crawl, and her actual clothes were a striped set of footed pajamas.

Pearce threw open his door. “I just changed you, you got a bottle–what?”

“This onesie still has a tag,” Grace said. “And you were ignoring me.”

“I’m allowed to take a twenty minute nap,” Pearce complained.

Not my problem, Skip said, walking past.

The argument continued, loud enough that the two of them could be heard throughout the house, but Skip put on headphones and shut it out, preparing their dinner-breakfast. They put on an extra helping, too, anticipating Brains’ arrival home from work a few minutes later.

“Morning,” Brains said.

“Evening,” Skip replied. “What’s up with the bet?”

“Argument a couple days ago,” Brains said, peering at the bubbling soup on the stove. “You want the short version or the long one?”

“Short one,” Skip replied, answering the unasked question as well. “There’s enough soup for two.”

Brains pumped his fist just a bit in soup celebration, then explained, “They’re escalating since neither were looking like they’re going to back down. Pearce ordered a bunch of extra crap to mess with Grace, Grace is going to be more of a brat to try and wear him down. Maybe we’ll see this thing finally come to a conclusion here soon.”

Skip shrugged. “You’ve already swept the betting pool on duration, now it’s just a matter of who wins.”

“Want to go double or nothing?” Brains suggested. “New bet on how long this’ll last, now that they’re escalating?”

“If Melody’s on board,” Skip replied.

Brains checked his phone while soup simmered. As it finished, and Skip dished out the dinner, Brains supplied, “She’s in. Her bet is five to ten days before they fall apart. She’s sticking with the same winner.”

“Under,” Skip said, sliding a bowl across to him.

“You think so?” Brains asked, blowing on his spoon. “I’m going over.”

“I figured you would,” Skip said. “Just taking the option that’s left. Plus, you didn’t see what was in that box. When are they just going to fuck already?”

Brains choked on his soup. “W-what?!”

“You don’t see it?” Skip shrugged.

“No I don’t see–they hate each other,” Brains shot. “You see how much they argue?”

“I didn’t say it was healthy,” Skip replied. “But it’s there. They don’t hate each other.”

Brains shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Ask Melody,” Skip suggested.

They didn’t need Brains to believe them, but Brains was a good friend, and he deserved a solid, straightforward answer. He sent another text, and they ate together in silence until his phone dinged and–“Melody says, ‘oh yeah, they’re totally going to fuck’. Does everyone know this except me?”

“Everyone except you, and Grace, and Pearce.” Skip picked up their now-empty bowl, walking over to the sink to rinse it out.

“Hmm.” Brains rubbed at his chin. “Okay. New bet?”

Skip blinked. “No.”

“Come on,” Brains said. “If you all think it’s so inevitable, surely–”

“Crossing a line, Brains,” Skip said. “That’s too personal.”

He sighed. “Thanks.” A few moments passed, and he added, “Can I ask about it, though?”

“Sure,” Skip sighed, as they began to clean up from dinner. “What’s got you confused?”

“How can you tell?” He asked, leaning back. “Like…how is it that you all figured something out that they don’t know and I didn’t notice?”

“That’s complicated,” Skip said, avoiding the longer answer.

Brains shrank back, took a breath, and shook his head. “‘That’s complicated’ is what people say when they don’t want to explain shit to me.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Skip rubbed at their temple, considering how to answer. “You know we’re all fucked, right?”

“Right.” He tapped his chest. “Wasters for life.”

“Grace is a big ball of neuroses and she’s got a stick up her ass about everything, and Pearce–let’s just say we tried to get high on adderall once in high school and he sat down and did his homework.” Skip leaned up against the counter, resting on their hands. “And both of them are stubborn, and stupid. They can’t get over the superficial stuff. We’re all friends for a reason, but they’re both so fundamentally incapable of introspection that they can’t just sit down and figure out how they’re feeling. They have to blame someone else, and they’ve picked each other.”

“Okay, I follow all that,” Brains nodded. “But how does that lead to the two of them fucking?”

“Because you don’t get that mad at someone for being inattentive if you don’t want their attention,” Skip said. “And, well…just listen.”

They pointed up at the ceiling. Brains paused, listening, and heard another giggle echo down from the other side of the house.

“They like each other, even if both of them are too dense to realize it,” Skip said. “When they’re not both in their heads, thinking that they hate each other for reasons they haven’t really stopped to consider, they’re almost sickeningly cute. Plus, like…okay, this is crass, but Pearce just bought a bunch of fetish wear for her. Let’s not ignore that part.”

Brains sat back. “Huh. Thanks for filling me in.”

“You’re welcome,” Skip said, smirking. “And by the way–I’m not going to place a bet on it, but if I were, I’d say two weeks.”