The Maul buzzed like it had a pulse.
Not a calm one, either.
A loud, chaotic, glitter-and-neon kind of pulse that thumped through the floors, climbed the walls, and curled into every corner like it was alive. The escalators groaned in rhythm, the arcade machines shrieked in pixelated triumph, and somewhere in the distance, a zombie groaned long and low—probably over a spilled drink or existential dread. Hard to tell.
Jackson stood just inside the entrance, blinking against the flickering lights.
Heath didn't.
"Okay," Heath said, already halfway walking backwards into the Maul like he owned the place, flames flickering brighter with each step. "You made it. That's step one. Step two—distractions."
Jackson adjusted his glasses with his left hand, a little too fast. "Right. Distractions."
You say that like you've never heard the word before, Holt's voice crackled lazily in the back of his mind.
I have heard the word, Jackson shot back.
Could've fooled me.
Jackson ignored him.
Mostly.
"Food first," Heath decided, snapping his fingers. A tiny spark jumped between them and fizzled out midair. "Then we hit the shops. Then—arcade. Gotta rebuild my confidence somehow."
Jackson winced slightly. "Through… games?"
"Through winning," Heath corrected immediately. "Huge difference."
Jackson huffed a quiet laugh despite himself.
And just like that—
Something in his chest loosened.
Just a little.
---
The food court was a sensory overload.
In the most Monster High way possible.
A zombie cashier groaned behind a counter stacked with neon-green popcorn that occasionally popped on its own. A pair of werewolves argued over curly fries that kept trying to uncurl themselves. A vending machine sparked every few seconds like it was trying to achieve sentience out of spite.
Heath inhaled deeply.
"Yeah," he said, satisfied. "This is the good stuff."
Jackson blinked. "…You mean the smell of burning sugar and electrical failure?"
"Exactly."
"Right."
They grabbed food—bat-shaped pretzels with tiny wing details, drinks that fizzed like they were alive, and something that claimed to be nachos but was actively rearranging itself on the tray.
They sat down at a slightly crooked table near the edge of the court.
Heath dropped into his seat like gravity hit him harder than usual.
Jackson sat more carefully.
Always more carefully.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
And that—
That was new.
"You're quiet," Heath said finally, tearing into his pretzel.
Jackson blinked. "I—what?"
"You're quiet," Heath repeated, pointing at him with a fry that immediately caught fire. He didn't even notice. "Even for you."
Jackson shifted slightly.
"I'm just letting you talk."
Heath squinted at him.
"…Nah."
Jackson stiffened.
Relax, Holt muttered. He's not onto anything. He just noticed you're not a statue.
"I mean," Heath continued, shrugging, "yeah, you're usually more low-key than DJ, but this is like… extra low-key. Like, buried-in-a-crypt low-key."
Jackson forced a small laugh. "Maybe I'm just tired."
Not a lie.
Just not the whole truth.
Heath studied him for a second longer.
Then shrugged.
"Fair," he said. "Today's been… a lot."
Jackson nodded.
Yeah.
That was one way to put it.
---
They wandered after that.
Store to store.
Noise to noise.
Distraction to distraction.
Heath tried on sunglasses he absolutely didn't need.
Jackson got dragged into a clothing store and immediately regretted it.
"Try this," Heath said, holding up a jacket covered in studs.
Jackson stared at it.
It stared back.
"I would look like I lost a fight with a chandelier," Jackson said.
Heath barked out a laugh. "Okay, yeah, fair."
They didn't buy anything.
But for a second—
Just a second—
Jackson imagined it.
What it would be like to wear something like that.
To be someone like that.
Loud.
Confident.
Unapologetic.
Holt.
The thought lingered longer than it should've.
---
Eventually, they ended up at the arcade.
Lights flashing.
Sounds overlapping.
Everything loud enough to drown out thoughts if you let it.
Heath leaned against one of the machines, arms crossed.
His flames were still there.
But quieter.
Lower.
Jackson noticed.
He always noticed.
"You okay?" Jackson asked.
Heath didn't answer right away.
That alone made something twist in Jackson's chest.
Heath always had something to say.
Always.
"…Yeah," Heath said.
Then, after a beat—
"…No."
Jackson didn't push.
He just waited.
He'd gotten good at that.
Heath exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.
"I messed that up," he said.
Jackson tilted his head. "Abbey?"
Heath let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah. Abbey."
Silence stretched between them.
Not uncomfortable.
Just real.
"She wasn't wrong," Heath added. "Loud, unfocused, thermally irresponsible? That's basically my whole thing."
Jackson winced slightly.
"You're not just that," he said.
Heath glanced at him.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Jackson said, a little more firmly. "You're… persistent. And you try."
Heath snorted. "Trying didn't exactly help."
"No," Jackson admitted. "But it counts."
Inside, Holt went quiet for a second.
Then—
Not bad, Jackie.
Jackson ignored him.
Mostly.
Heath looked at him again.
Longer this time.
"…You're different," he said.
Jackson's stomach dropped.
"Different how?"
Heath shrugged.
"I dunno. Just… easier to talk to."
Jackson blinked.
That—
That wasn't what he expected.
"Oh," he said.
Smooth.
Heath huffed a laugh. "Don't let it go to your head."
"I won't."
---
They lingered there.
Talking.
About small things.
Classes.
Friends.
The upcoming party.
Holt's party.
Jackson tried not to think about that too hard.
Tried not to think about how close it was.
How everything felt like it was building toward something he couldn't quite name.
And then—
Heath shifted.
Subtle.
But not subtle enough.
"Hey," he said.
Jackson looked up.
"Yeah?"
Heath hesitated.
Actually hesitated.
Jackson straightened slightly.
"I, uh…" Heath started, scratching the back of his neck. His flames flickered unevenly, like they couldn't decide whether to flare up or die down. "There's something I've been meaning to—"
Jackson blinked.
Oh.
Oh.
He knew this tone.
Or at least—
He thought he did.
Heath took a breath.
"When we first met—"
BZZZT.
Jackson froze.
The sound cut through everything.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Unmistakable.
Holt's iCoffin.
In his pocket.
His heart skipped.
Inside his head—
Holt snapped to attention.
Oh, you've gotta be kidding me.
Heath paused mid-sentence, blinking. "Uh… dude?"
Jackson stood up too fast.
"Sorry—I—uh—one second," he blurted.
Heath frowned. "I was literally in the middle of—"
That's mine, Holt cut in, voice sharper now. Don't just stand there.
I know that, Jackson shot back, panic already creeping in.
The buzzing didn't stop.
If anything—
It got louder.
More insistent.
Jackson's fingers twitched toward his pocket.
Wrong move.
Wrong timing.
Heath's eyes narrowed slightly. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah!" Jackson said too quickly. "Totally fine. Just—uh—phone thing."
"Phone thing?" Heath repeated.
"Yeah. Important phone thing."
Wow, Holt muttered. Real smooth.
Jackson ignored him.
Barely.
"I'll be right back," Jackson added, already stepping away.
Heath stared at him.
"…You're seriously leaving right now?"
Jackson hesitated.
For half a second.
Because—
Heath had been about to say something important.
Something real.
Something that—
Jackie.
The buzzing intensified.
Right.
Not optional.
"Two minutes," Jackson said quickly. "I promise."
Heath opened his mouth—
Closed it.
Then sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"…Yeah. Okay. Fine."
Jackson nodded once.
Then turned—
And walked away faster than he meant to.
---
The noise of the arcade faded behind him as he rounded the corner.
His pulse didn't.
It got louder.
Faster.
The buzzing in his pocket felt like a second heartbeat now.
Urgent.
Demanding.
"Not now," Jackson muttered under his breath, ducking into the nearest hallway. "Seriously, not now—"
You think I scheduled this? Holt shot back.
Jackson shoved the bathroom door open and stumbled inside.
Empty.
Thank God.
He gripped the edge of the sink, breathing hard.
The mirror stared back at him.
Same face.
Same eyes.
Same—
Not the same.
Not really.
The buzzing didn't stop.
"Okay," Jackson whispered, fingers tightening against the porcelain. "Okay, just—quick. In and out. No one sees—"
You worry too much, Holt said.
Easy for you to say.
Yeah. It is.
Jackson squeezed his eyes shut.
The heat started low.
It always did.
Then spread.
Fast.
Sharp.
Like something waking up under his skin.
"Not here," Jackson whispered.
Too late.
The buzzing peaked—
And everything tilted.
His reflection flickered—
Once.
Twice—
Jackson's wide, anxious eyes—
Then—
A smirk.
"Okay then," Holt said, straightening up as the shift finished, rolling his shoulders like he'd just stepped back on stage.
He reached into the pocket, pulling out the iCoffin, the screen still lighting up his face.
"Let's see what was so important," he muttered, thumb already swiping across the screen.
And somewhere, far behind him—
Jackson's thoughts lingered.
On a half-finished sentence.
On an apology that never got said.
And on the look on Heath's face—
Right before he walked away.
-----
The Maul was loud.
Not just regular loud—Monster High loud.
Which meant clashing music from three different stores, a zombie groaning somewhere near the escalators like it had opinions about sales tax, and a group of werewolves arguing over claw polish in voices that carried across floors.
And somehow—
Despite all of that—
Heath heard none of it.
Because his brain had decided now was the perfect time to drag him back.
Back to the second day.
Back to lunch.
Back to the exact moment he wished he could burn out of existence and start over from scratch.
He leaned against the railing outside the food court, staring down at the lower level where monsters moved like a blur of color and chaos.
Jackson—Jackie—was a few steps away, pretending to be interested in a vending machine like it personally offended him.
And Heath?
He wasn't seeing the Maul anymore.
He was seeing then.
The cafeteria had been packed that day.
First full week energy.
New monsters trying to find their place.
Old monsters acting like they already owned it.
Same as always.
Heath had been at the center of it—because of course he was.
Leaning back in his chair, flames flickering just enough to be cool without setting anything on fire.
Deuce beside him.
A couple of other monsters crowding the table.
Normal.
Easy.
Comfortable.
And then—
Someone bumped into the table.
Not hard.
Just enough to jostle it.
Just enough to break the rhythm.
"Watch where you're going, Normie."
The words had come out of one of the senior's mouths automatically.
Fast.
Sharp.
Like a spark catching dry wood.
And he agreed with it.
He didn't even think about it.
Didn't look up right away.
Didn't care.
Because that's what you did, right?
That was the vibe.
You called it like you saw it.
And what he saw?
Was a human.
In Monster High.
Then someone at the table next to thiers snorted.
"Wait—what?"
Heath leaned forward, finally looking properly.
And there he was.
Jackson.
Standing there stiff as a gargoyle in a thunderstorm.
Glasses slightly crooked.
Hands pulled in close like he didn't know what to do with them.
Looking like he already regretted walking over.
"A normie in a monster school?" someone else said, laughing.
"Seriously?"
And Heath—
Heath had doubled down.
Because that's what he did.
That's what he always did.
He made it bigger.
Louder.
Hotter.
"He just transferred in," Heath said, jerking a thumb toward him. "My cousin. Jackson."
Even back then—
He hadn't said Jackie.
Hadn't made it softer.
Hadn't made it friendly.
Just—
Jackson.
Flat.
Distant.
Like it didn't matter.
Deuce turned, snakes shifting as he looked Jackson over.
"Your cousin's a normie?"
No judgment.
Just confusion.
Heath shrugged.
"It's a long story."
Which was code for:
Don't ask.
Don't make me explain.
Don't make this weird.
And that should've been it.
It would've been it.
Jackson probably would've just—
Left.
Walked away.
Gone somewhere else.
Found a corner.
A different table.
Anywhere but there.
Heath could see it now.
Clear as flame.
Jackson shifting his weight.
Starting to step back.
Already folding in on himself like he was used to it.
Like this wasn't new.
Like maybe—
It happened a lot.
And Heath—
He didn't stop it.
Didn't fix it.
Didn't say wait.
He just—
Watched.
Until Deuce didn't.
"Hey—nah."
The words cut through everything.
Not loud.
But solid.
Grounded.
Like stone.
Deuce leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.
"We can't just stonewall your cousin like that."
He said it simple.
Like it was obvious.
Like it shouldn't even be a question.
Heath remembered blinking.
Actually blinking.
Because it hadn't even occurred to him that that's what he was doing.
Stonewalling.
Shutting someone out.
"Monster High's about being cool to everyone," Deuce continued, shrugging like it was no big deal. "No matter who or what you are."
A pause.
Then—
"Even if what means normie."
And then Deuce turned.
Looked right at Jackson.
Like he belonged there.
Like there was no question about it.
"Hey, Jackson," he said, nodding toward the table. "Got a spot over here for you."
Just like that.
No hesitation.
No weirdness.
No anything.
And Jackson—
Jackie—
Had hesitated.
Of course he had.
Who wouldn't?
After that?
After Heath?
But then—
Slowly—
He'd stepped forward.
Sat down.
Carefully.
Like he was expecting the chair to disappear under him.
And Heath?
He'd leaned back again.
Crossed his arms.
Acted like nothing happened.
Like he hadn't just—
Done that.
Back in the present—
Heath dragged a hand down his face, flames dimming low and uneven.
"Ghoul…" he muttered under his breath.
He risked a glance at where Jackie once was.
Still—
Trying.
And the worst part?
Jackie didn't treat him like that.
Didn't throw it back in his face.
Didn't act cold.
Didn't anything.
He just—
Moved forward.
Like that moment didn't matter.
Like Heath hadn't basically told him he didn't belong.
Heath let out a shaky breath.
"That was so messed up…"
His flames flickered, then dipped again.
Lower.
Smaller.
Because it wasn't just that he said it.
It was how easy it had been.
How natural.
How normal it felt at the time.
And Deuce—
Deuce had fixed it in, what, ten seconds?
Without trying.
Without thinking.
Just—
Because that's who he was.
Heath clenched his jaw.
"I should've said that…"
Not Deuce.
Him.
Jackson's cousin.
Family.
Family didn't do that.
Family didn't make you feel like an outsider on your second day.
He laughed—short, bitter.
"'Watch where you're going, Normie.'"
The words tasted awful now.
Like ash.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, pacing a little.
"I seriously said that to him."
To Jackie.
Who—
Even now—
Was helping him.
Hanging out with him.
Not holding a grudge.
"Why didn't he just—hate me?" Heath muttered.
It would've been easier.
Honestly.
Deserved.
Instead—
Jackie just…
Stayed.
Tried.
Kept showing up.