Stiff. Her body felt stiff.

Everything was so unclean in this room. Bags were scattered about; the door handle was rusting; there were creases in the bed sheets that she was now contributing to – everything felt so dirty.

"Soap?"

Everything except her.

Microphone was sprawled across Cheesy's bed, her black jojo boots neatly placed beside it. She had a joyful smile on her face as she looked up, displaying her tooth gap. The musician's deep brown eyes flickered with gold flashes, like a treasure-filled cave waiting to be explored.

"Hm?" Soap forced herself to answer as her hands moved to brush through Microphone's curly hair.

"Can I lay in your lap? Cheesy's pillows are way too soft for my liking."

Soap didn't fully process the statement until it was too late. She had instinctively nodded, only understanding the question when Microphone's hair draped over her thigh.

'A mess. All over the place.'

Her rubber-gloved hands glided through Microphone's dark locks; no knots obstructed her path.

'A beautiful mess. I don't want to clean it.'

She let her shoulders relax as Soap continued to brush her fingers through her friend's hair, humming softly to herself as she did.

'The most beautiful mess. My mess.'

—

Trophy wasn't having the best day. For starters, his dysphoria was acting up and now he felt like trash. Along with that, his mind decided that now would be the best time to go into a depressive episode! Hooray!

Cheesy hadn't texted him. Sure, Trophy had to put in effort too, but Cheesy should want to text him right? He groaned into his pillow and snuggled further into his blanket, wrapping it tightly around his body as a thorn-like feeling snaked around his chest.

"Uhh, Trophy?"

Tissues lingered by the door, ready to leave so that he could meet up with his partners.

"What?"

His voice was hoarse and harsh which shocked Tissues a little.

"Uhm, Cheesy's here. Should I let him in?"

Trophy almost sprinted straight towards the door. Keyword: almost. His whole body felt numb.

"Yeah, do that."

Tissues smiled and opened the door fully. Cheesy skipped in, adorning a patterned button-up and pants. He was dressed to go outside.

"Heya Trophs! I was wondering if you wanted to head to the store with me?"

Trophy was in an oversized shirt and pyjama pants. He was not dressed to go outside. The jock tried to grumble something, but it was all incoherent. However, Cheesy quickly caught on and rushed to Trophy's side.

"Bad day?" he quietly queried.

Trophy felt his face light up like Lightbulb and nodded tiredly. Cheesy stood up, putting a finger to his chin before running out of the room. Normally, Trophy would've used this time to gawk about Cheesy's previous behaviours, but at that moment it felt like every muscle in his body had shut down. Nothing urged him to move, so he just laid there.

Cheesy sprinted back in, lugging a large blanket that was slung over his shoulder and an overflowing backpack in his right hand. The left one held his phone.

"What are you doing, Cheesy?"

It sounded like more of a sigh than an actual question, but Cheesy paid it no mind. The comedian gracefully draped the thick blanket over Trophy before moving to the green backpack that was now placed on the floor.

() () ()

"How's a second blanket gonna benefit me, twerp?"

"It's weighted! Paper told me that they ground you more and help you relax."

Trophy would've fought back with a snarky comment, but realised that Paper was right. He hadn't realised how tense his entire body was until he tried to relax. So he let Cheesy continue working his magic as the boy scattered a couple plushies about. The comedian then sat on the side of the jock's bed, grinning goofily.

"So, how is it?"

Trophy smiled too. He didn't want to admit it, but it was really nice. He felt warm and loved – Cheesy's presence only strengthened that feeling.

"Mm, it's good."

Cheesy's grin only grew as he happily kicked his legs, blushing.

"That's gouda."

Trophy sighed contently, sinking further into the pile of blankets. Cheesy shuffled a little further back onto the bed.

"I'll make you some tea. Herbal?"

Trophy nodded, shooting Cheesy a grateful smile. The comedian slid off the bed and skipped to the kitchen. The jock was grateful for his newfound friend. Well, not necessarily new anymore. It had been around four months since their declaration of friendship, and Trophy was hoping that number would only rise. He turned his head to the side, being greeted with a squishy bee plush – one of Cheesy's favourites. Trophy carefully extended his arms and wrapped them around the plushie before dragging it into the dark abyss that was his dysphoria.

—

"Thanks Mic."

The musician smiled in response, then waved goodbye before closing the door. Soap began to pace about the halls of Hotel OJ, seeking a mess to occupy herself with. No one believed her when she said her hobby was cleaning. For most, it was a chore – something that they'd rather avoid. For Soap – she sought it out.

So when she saw Paper stress-baking in the kitchen while Cheesy brewed herbal tea, she knew she had found her mess.

"Woah Paper, are you alright?" Soap inquired, beginning to clean some spilt flour on the floor.

The assistant manager pulled out his third tray of freshly baked cookies, gently setting them on a clean part of the counter.

"Ah! Sorry, I'm totally fine. I'll clean everything up after I'm done, you don't have to-"

"No, no, It's okay. I was looking for something to clean. Also, you're stress-baking, so I don't think you're 'totally fine'."

Paper sighed, slipping off his worn oven mitts and hanging them on a small metal hook. He grabbed a cookie from what looked to be his first batch before taking a bite out of it. Soap raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I-I guess you're right. I've been nervous- no, stressed about a lot of things lately."

He took another cookie from the batch, this time offering it to the cleaner. She gladly took it, scrubbing with one gloved hand and eating the cookie with another. Paper continued to speak as he hopped onto the counter. Cheesy had hurried off by this point.

"OJ's been occupied with a lot more work lately, a-and we don't really spend as much time together. I'm worried. What if he doesn't love me anymore, a-and he's using work to stay away from m-me or something?"

His grip on his cookie tightened, signalled by the shower of crumbs beginning to drop down to the floor, just like his heart.

"I-I mean, I wouldn't blame hi-him. I'm a mess after all."

That statement confused Soap. Paper was perfectly put together, and all the muck from baking had only dirtied his apron. His hair was neatly tied back into a ponytail, not a single strand out of place. He was nowhere near a mess. Paper noticed Soap's confused expression and pushed his glasses up his nose. The cleaner interrupted him before he could speak.

"You're perfectly clean, though. I don't understand what you mean."

Paper looked down at himself before laughing softly.

"Oh Soap, I-I didn't mean on the outside. It's on the inside."

She was only more perplexed.

"Then how are you meant to clean it?"

Paper chomped another bite from his cookie, attempting to think of an answer. Then he slid off the counter and walked over to Soap.

"You can clean it; it just t-takes a little more effort, is all. It also depends on the kind of mess, how you clean it. Like- Like how you use window cleaner for windows but not tables."

Soap nodded as Paper gestured around the room, trying his best to explain.

"The w-way I'd go about cleaning the mess I'm in right now, is by talking to OJ about it."

Soap smiled, seemingly grasping the unfamiliar concept.

"Oh, alright. I wish you the best of luck!"

Paper grinned and began to load all of his baked goods into a jar for OJ.

"Thanks, Soap. Good luck to you too!"

The cleaner strolled out of the kitchen, now beaming brighter than the morning sun.

—

Trophy hated this feeling. After Cheesy had made him herbal tea, the comedian decided he'd hang out with Microphone instead. This decision upset Trophy for a reason he couldn't quite place. Yeah, he was in love with the little guy, but he didn't care if Cheesy wanted to hang out with his other friends. Not at all! So why did Trophy's stomach feel like it was twisting into the springs of his mattress?

"Tissues- "

Yin-Yang had walked into the room unnannounced, Bomb following close behind. Trophy gripped Cheesy's bee plushie in his fists.

"Wh-What do you dummies want?"

It was a weak insult, but Trophy was too embarrassed to muster up anything else.

"S-S-S-Sorry man, we d-d-d-d-didn't know you were gonna be here-re-re."

Bomb's glitching voice did nothing to console the thoughts running amock in Trophy's scattered brain.

() ()

"Just... leave already."

The newcomers remained still.

"Did you not hear me-?"

" Tissues had been worried about you. We were coming to find him for that reason. "

Yin-Yang sat on Tissues' bed – Bomb lingered by the door. Trophy squeezed the bee a little tighter.

"Spill."

Trophy only realised what was happening when it was too late. Bomb wasn't lingering by the door anymore; he was pulling a chair up to the bed. The Season One veteran looked at him expectantly.

"I'm not gonna tell you squat", the jock spat.

Bomb shrugged, materialising a journal from seemingly nowhere.

"I'll have y-y-y-y-you know, I-I-I am extre-e-e-emely qualified-d-d in the realm of r-r-r-romance."

He opened the journal. Love letters were glued to every page – some from couples that had already been established, some from couples that were just coming to life. Trophy was astounded.

'Maybe he really can- No! Don't give in to the temptation.'

But Trophy was feeling desperate – such an offer felt irresistible.

"Fine. I'm in love with someone and I think it's going to kill me."

The jock threw his hands in the air as he finished, while the matchmaker raised an eyebrow.

"Easy-y, just t-t-t-t-t-tell them."

Trophy scoffed, sinking into his blanket mountain.

"Easy for you to say. You don't even know who he is."

Bomb noted down the accidental reveal of a pronoun. Trophy didn't seem to notice.

"W-W-W-Well, It's best-st to be honest w-w-w-with someone you l-love. He'll a-a-a-appreciate it more in the l-l-long run."

Trophy showed an expression of confusion before noticing his major mistake.

"Oh-"

" Yang!"

The brothers began to shove each other around as they argued. Bomb looked from them back to the blonde.

"S-S-S-S-S-So is it?"

The jock's bright red face spoke the words before he could, prompting the matchmaker to smirk.

" Sorry about Yang, Trophy."

With that, the dual-toned brothers were off, leaving behind Bomb.

"H-Hey, you just-t-t gotta go f-f-f-f-for it man. If Cheesy l-l-loves you back-ck-ck, he'll be th-thankful."

The door clicked as it closed behind Bomb. Trophy was left alone with his thoughts again. As if on instinct, he snatched up his phone and plugged in his headphones. Trophy hit the first playlist that came up on his Spotify and put it on shuffle.

'i still remember

third of December.'

'You've gouda be kidding me... wait.'

()

—

"I would never-"

"Well what if you would? Then what?"

Aggressive shouting echoed through the hallways of the first floor – quite the unfamiliar occurrence. The first floor was like the Garden of Eden; a safe haven in the harsh reality that was Hotel OJ. The inhabitants of this floor were known for their calm and comforting behaviour, being mostly Season 1 veterans. So who could be arguing?

'Pickle? No, he's been preoccupied with Knife. Bomb? He said he was on his way to visit Tissues though... Box? No chance. Yin-Yang? They're already with Bomb. Salt and Pepper? Having their own crisis in the spa room. The Cherries? Doing homework with Test Tube. So that leaves...'

She glanced at the door at the end of the hallway – OJ and Paper's suite. She froze.

'Oh no.'

Suddenly that shrill voice was oh so familiar. It crackled like an old record player as Paper screamed with rage. The comprehension that Paper could feel such a hateful emotion sent a shiver down Soap's spine. OJ's weary voice – always sounding like he'd run a lap around the planet – was panicked and frantic in a way the cleaner had never heard. His voice reminded her of drowning – fearfully agitated yet hopeless. Soap ran down the corridor, noticing that the couple's door was slightly ajar.

"It feels l-like you don't love me sometimes, O-OJ."

"But I-I do! And you know that, right?"

Soap peeked through the crack of the door, noticing that the room had fallen into silence. Paper had his head turned to the side as he shakily clenched his fists. OJ approached worriedly.

"P-Paper, you know that, right?"

A sob; nothing more.

"Paper, of course I love you-"

"But wh-what if you don't?"

His voice cracked as he spoke. OJ was frozen in position, reaching for Paper's arms.

"B-But I do..."

Paper pitifully embraced himself, stepping back from his partner. Soap watched with concern.

"How d-do I know you're not lying though?"

OJ attempted to spit out any words of reassurance that came to mind, but they only emerged as a meagre squeak. Paper didn't take this well, completely turning around and walking to their bed.

"Wh-Why would I lie to you Paper? What makes you think I-I'd do that?"

Paper began gesturing wildly, stuttering over what he wanted to say. Soap could only see his arms through the gap.

"Oh well, I-I dunno-"

"Exactly! You're being irrational, and I mean that in the nicest way it can be taken. You need to calm down and think over-"

"I am calm!"

The cleaner heard a loud crash, instinctively stepping back in fear. Shards of ceramic littered the suite's carpet. OJ stood in place, shocked. She couldn't see Paper anymore.

"...Paper?"

"I-I didn't–"

A stumble. OJ stepped forward but refrained from moving any further when Paper began to grossly sob.

"I swear, I-I didn't mean t-to-!"

"Paper, I'm not mad! It's-"

"N-No it's not okay. It's not-"

"Paper it was an accident. You didn't mean to knock over the vase."

OJ walked over to the beds, now out of Soap's sight. She decided that now would be the best time to 'appear'.

"Is everything alright here, boys?"

Paper sat curled on the bed, peeking through his fingers. OJ leaned over him, moving to guide away Paper's makeshift blindfold.

"Not really. We have a bit of a mess to clean."

Soap glanced over to where the manager had gestured. Half of a broken vase laid by the foot of OJ's work desk – the other half was scattered about the place in pieces. It was a dream come true for the cleaner.

"Oh, I'll–"

Soap cut herself off, her eyes shifting to the couple. The cleaner's gaze shifted back and forth between the mess on the floor and the husbands by the bed. The men looked at her worriedly. Paper wiped his eyes from beneath his glasses.

"You can clean it; it just t-takes a little more effort, is all. It also depends on the kind of mess, how you clean it. Like- Like how you use window cleaner for windows but not tables."

"I have to go", Soap decided, running out of the suite. The couple watched in confusion, but OJ had begun to grow sick of the silence.

"S-So, did the vase cut you anywhere?"

Paper wordlessly nodded, moving his arm to show a newly formed cut on the back of his right hand. OJ grabbed a tissue from the bedside table, gently dabbing at the blood.

"H-Hey OJ?"

Paper longingly watched his husband open a first aid kit from one of the drawers. Gosh, he was so lucky to be where he was now.

"Yes, Paper?"

There was still an uncomfortable tension that hung between the two of them, like a half-draped curtain. Paper grabbed OJ's forearm as the stinging sensation of antiseptic materialised on his hand.

"I l-love you, a lot."

OJ grinned, tenderly wrapping the wound with gauze. Once he was done, he added an extra layer of bandage for safety and gingerly kissed Paper on the forehead, smiling as he pulled back.

"I love you too, Paper."

This time, Paper knew it was genuine, and he couldn't help but smile.

—

Trophy had been playing Heather on loop for the past four hours as he sat under his room's closed window.

It was an unhealthy coping mechanism; he was well aware.

Something about the song resonated with him, whether he liked it or not. For around half of the previously mentioned hours, Trophy had been crying.

Why? He wasn't quite sure about that himself.

The feeling of knowing that Cheesy was out there with someone who was far more compatible with him than Trophy could ever be, was heartbreaking.

'And it is scientifically possible to die of a broken heart. Test Tube told me that once.'

Just that thought made the jock more upset, his tears beginning to overflow all over again, like if the ocean had been kept within a single cup.

'why would you ever kiss me?

i'm not even half as pretty

you gave her your sweater

it's just polyester

but you like her better

i wish i were heather'

He thought of Cheesy. He thought of everything he loved about Cheesy. He thought of how much fun Cheesy was probably having right now with Microphone. He thought about how his stupid feelings could ruin everything that they had. Their friendship would come tumbling like a house of cards in a tornado, like his façade. Trophy hugged his legs close as the instrumental finished.

"Why would you ever kiss me? I'm not even half as pretty."

His voice wobbled as tears fled from his eyes, seeping into the stained carpet of his room.

"You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester, but you like her better."

He buried his head into his knees.

"I wish I were..."

Just as the song prepared for another loop, Trophy was confused to hear the final ending 'click' never arrive. Curiously, he peeked out from where his head lay.

"Hey Champ, what's wrong?"

Trophy screamed in shock, his voice shooting up at least two octaves. His face went bright red as he scrambled as far up against the wall as he could. The jock seemed almost angry at himself for such a reaction.

"Che-Cheesy! Wh-What are you doing h-here?"

He hastily stood up, wiping his eyes dry and faking a smile. Cheesy raised an eyebrow.