Edgar hates philosophy.

Not that he hates thinking, because his head is better company than most people, but life is complicated enough without questioning the essence or purpose or meaning of whatever.

So it totally sucks that he keeps agonizing over why he's into Colette, like a pot of water simmering hotter and hotter.

"So stupid," he mutters to himself while playing Clans of Clash on another regular morning behind the gift shop counter. Ten minutes before opening.

"Hmm?" Colette hums beside him.

"Nothing," he grumbles. "This base I'm raiding just has the dumbest cannon placement." It's actually a plus for him. Easy wins are free treats.

Colette was always just his friend. Colette works with him. Colette loves Spike. Colette is crazy. The two of them are just teenagers. His Starr Park career isn't meant to last forever.

He deploys his last troops. Definitely a guaranteed full win.

Why does it hurt so deep? Why does it rake down his insides like nails on a chalkboard? Was he really that desperately lonely after all? One lunch where she chases Spike, and he's hopelessly after her now?

Colette gasps.

"What's up?" Edgar asks.

"Oh my gosh, Edgar, look at this!" He turns to see her phone on Instagram with a picture of Piper in a white dress.

"...Yeah?"

"She's so pretty!" Colette cries. "Look at her!" She double-taps a like and quickly types a comment: OMG U R SO PRETTY AND COOL ILY SO MUCH

Cool.

"Agh, she always leaves me breathless," she says dreamily, laying a hand on her forehead. "Love, love, love her so much!" Edgar makes a small laugh.

"Yeah, she really is pretty. That's a nice picture."

"That's just Piper for ya." She smiles at the picture one more time before continuing her scrolling. Edgar wonders if wearing a white lace dress would make her like him.

That's probably the most desperate thought he's had in the past three months. A real record-breaker.

He feels his breakfast swirling in his stomach as he picks up his phone again. It's not like he didn't know Colette liked brawlers other than Spike. Piper was always high up on the favorites too, and although Spike forever has a special place in his burning heart, the weight of Piper and everything else still threatens to crack his bones. Piper, Barley, 8-Bit, Sandy. There's really no end to it. There's no end to all the things that charm Colette. And on cue, the guilt drips in again. He's not entitled to be the only thing in Colette's mind. He's not even with her in a way that matters. She was just being happy about a pretty picture. Perfect, harmless happiness. Perfect pictures, perfect everything without him. Maybe he's just allergic to joy.

One more battle, he thinks, and rushes into the next enemy base.

-

The Security Office is a respectable building, since it gives Edgar the opportunity to do his business.

Hold up, he's not about to piss on it. Not even in the depths of his despair.

But it's a clean white wall, and no one hangs around here anyway. And Edgar is so tired of everything that before eating his packed lunch, he decides to kick the back of the building.

His shoe collides with the hard wall again and again. He kicks with the ball of his foot, the edge of it, the heel, and straight on. A patch of dirty footprints appear. The rain will wash it off sooner or later.

He lands a hard kick and stumbles back a little. Imagine how funny it would be if he made a crack. He kicks harder.

Stupid Spike. Stupid Piper. Stupid everyone and everything. And most of all, stupid Edgar for thinking he's so special, so important, for being so stubborn and thinking all these things about his friend and the things she loves. Colette would be so horrified if she knew.

"Hey, Edgar!" He stops abruptly, his foot awkwardly sweeping back to the ground. He turns, ready to growl a what do you want?! or get lost! but sees Poco's bright face.

Emz is never gonna let him hear the end of it if he blows up right now.

"What."

"What are you doing over there?" Edgar drags a hand through his hair.

"Uh, you know! I just thought this building would look better with some footprints on it," he drawls caustically. Poco is somehow unfazed.

"What a shame," he says, shaking his head. "Care for a chat?"

"What are you doing here anyway? You got some business with Security?" Poco silently points his thumb to a sign a few meters behind him.

Toilets. Edgar feels stupid.

"Oh."

Well, he could waste one lunch break with Poco.

Sitting on a bench, Edgar stuffs his mouth with a forkful of pork. Poco looks vaguely into the distance.

"Someone passed out during my last performance," he says.

"For real?"

"No," Poco answers casually. "It just seemed like the kind of thing that would make you laugh."

"Wow." Now that gets a chuckle out of him. "I didn't know you were this dark, Poco."

"I try." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Got anything on your mind?" Stupid Spike. Stupid Piper. Stupid life and everything.

"Life sucks."

"Sometimes, it does."

"Heh, when doesn't it?"

"When it doesn't." That was so helpful. His sucky life feels like it's slipping further and further from his grasp with every passing second. "There are different kinds of pain," Poco says.

"I guess so."

"And there are different kinds of ways to make it stop feeling so bad."

Kicking Security. Playing Clans of Clash. Mentally punching Spike until he cries and runs away from Starr Park forever. Sometimes he does it fuming like a machine gun releasing all its fury, and sometimes it's a force like clockwork getting him through the days. Sometimes his limbs fall sluggish and heavy, dragging him into a crushing vortex of bitterness.

There are different flavors of anger. It's a collection that Edgar has learned to savor, even before Colette came into the picture. Sore knuckles and gritted teeth. Slamming doors and lashing out. An acquired taste that lies at the back of his tongue, drips down his throat, and runs through him like blood since day one.

He wants to say that the line between feeling good and feeling bad gets blurry sometimes, but a part of him must know that line well enough to say that life sucks. So he just says: "How do you feel?"

"Oh, me? I'm feeling just fine, thank you for asking." He's never heard Poco's voice sound anything less than bright. Maybe that's just how singers are like? "Kind of tired right now, if I'm being honest. But I'll be up and going soon enough."

They sit in silence for a good while. It's more calming than any conversation could be.

After several minutes, Poco breaks the silence again.

"Mind if I play a tune?" Edgar shrugs.

"'S fine."

Poco unzips his guitar from its case. He poises it over his knees before beginning to strum softly. It's sweet and mellow, and not a tune that Edgar recognizes.

Clear notes bounce off the strings. Poco's voice drifts into the breeze, Spanish words curling and fanning out. It feels like his favorite fifth grade teacher's smile, or ice cream in the summer. Warmth snakes through and tingles his ribs. It's usually weird, suddenly feeling like a small child and really vulnerable, but for some reason it's okay at the moment.

Feeling like this is rare. But like most things, it's stupid. Probably even dangerously more stupid than most things. It makes him want to do stuff like softly try humming along, or swear to let go of his grudges, run back to the gift shop and tell Colette I love you, I wish you'd hold my hand, I never want to miss a second of you, please.

He's so full of anger. Stupid Spike, Piper, life, Edgar, and everything. He doesn't want to feel this way. He doesn't want to hate what Colette loves. He doesn't want to like Colette, when liking her is a big mess full of confusion and pain. He just wants to stay in this blurry space, the closest thing to peace, see her every day and deal with it without talking about hey, I hate Spike. I hate him and the rest of them with all my guts. I wish you'd love me. Now break my heart.

Edgar stays with him for a while after finishing his lunch, just until the end of the song. He awkwardly thanks him without really knowing why.

"It's no problem," Poco says with a cheerful wave of the hand. Edgar gets up to leave.

"Oh, and Edgar?" He stops.

"Yeah?"

"Take it easy, alright man?" He turns back to get one last look of Poco's happy lucky face.

"Whatever man."