Colette's Spike Airs arrive a week after payday.

Edgar had almost forgotten about it until he walked into the gift shop that morning. Colette was happy. He liked it when she was.

"Hey, hey, hey!" She beamed. "Look what just arrived today!"

"Yeah?" Edgar had asked before looking down to where she gestured.

Spike Airs.

And if he looked closely enough, the edges of some Spike socks too.

The seconds tick by. He feels like he's underwater.

"That's awesome." He glances back up at her. "You finally got 'em! How's it feel?"

"So comfy!" She hops a little for show. "They're really good — man, I can't believe I finally have them!"

"Great!" He smiles. He thought he was doing okay. He thought he wasn't that doomed. "You got 'em!" He repeats, like some stupid person. He stocks the shelves. He breathes. Maybe he needs more or less sleep. Maybe he needs Monster.

He shouldn't be slipping back down so fast, and harder than ever, into the hole of Spike pain. But three months comes crashing back down and pulling him. He shouldn't be slipping back down so fast, and harder than ever, but now he feels stupid and deeply, incomprehensibly painful and wrong. Edgar? Call me Eggar 'cause my heart cracks so damn easily. What a joke. The counter almost looks like a reprieve. He carries himself there after stocking.

He stares at a piece of the wall.

"Hey Edgar, you know what else is super awesome?"

"What?"

"I got more Spike material for my scrapbook too!" Colette says in an awestruck whisper, like a child divulging the secret of a fairy land. Edgar turns with a helpless smile.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah! Good thing, I just happened to come across Spike when I came here this morning! And I got this!" She flips through a couple pages and lands on one with a red petal taped on it.

Spike's red petal.

Edgar resists the urge to grimace. A petal?! That's basically hair fall! He puts a hand to his mouth instead.

"Wow!" He'd ask how she got a hold of it, but he feels too fragile right now. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before resting her chin on her hand. "Oh, Spike... such a cutie pie..."

Normally, this would be only slightly annoying. Laughably sad at worst. Cringe. Not Colette cringe. Edgar is cringe. Can't he stand her being happy? Can't he just stay happy? There's a leech draining him from the inside. He doesn't feel well. He can't tell her that, this doesn't seem like a valid reason to skip work. And what about next time? What about every day after this? He just wanted to live with this. He just wanted to be better than this. Lovable old Spike, looming, eternal, telepathically telling him you got nothing on me. "I'm sleepy," he says.

"Aww. Wanna nap? We still have time." For once, Edgar almost wishes he could make his pain more obvious. He doesn't blame her for not realizing. It's easy to pass this off as his normal doom and gloom character. But what would happen if she knew? He doesn't know what he'd want her to say.

"No," he says, just to spite her in the smallest of ways. He leans on the wall and stares at the door, tears almost leaking from his unblinking eyes until the work day starts.

-

Work was kind of a blur. Transactions were made. One customer tried to get a rise out of him but gave up once they saw the indifference in his empty eyes. It was a distraction.

Eventually, break time came around. The hours felt like they had slipped through a leaking pipe. Edgar leaves the shop in quick strides, dry wind brushing past his face. He picks up the pace until he's running like a possessed man, ignoring everyone until he vaults over some of the more decent stone ledges. He tugs on his scarf to loosen it. He avoids a crowd and jumps, sliding down a stairway railing.

Maybe he should grow some red flowers on his head too.

He lands and the momentum bounces back up from his feet as he keeps running.

Maybe then she would follow him around.

He hops on some empty stone seats. He wants to talk to her. He doesn't know what to say. His body feels tight and loose. Warm. He pushes against the ground.

He hopes she doesn't see Spike again today. He hopes Spike mysteriously disappears. He hopes she grows tired of him. Nothing lasts forever.

He's running on an arch. He imagines that the people walking down below are staring at him in shock. He leaps a few feet higher into the endless sky and lands on a rooftop.

He hopes she sees Spike again. He hopes she's happy forever with all these crazy little pieces of her obsession. He clenches his teeth.

He runs past a view of the Miner Coaster. He wants to hear their screams. He wants to scream with them too.

He screams at the next jump. Rollercoasters are cool, but there's nothing like running around unbound.

Colette is more than Spike. Edgar doesn't know if he's more than this pain.

Maybe he is, but right now he's not.

He lands on another ledge and runs the length of it. He's breathing wildly now, scarf trailing behind him. He shouldn't be wearing it now, but he still does as often as he can. At least his wardrobe is full of jogging pants.

He slides down a pole. Emz is several feet across the area, talking to Poco.

"Hey Emz!" Edgar yells out. She turns, purple hair whipping. He flips her off.

"Whatever!" She yells back. Edgar continues to run, sneakers clapping a rhythm against the tiled ground.

Spike Airs. What a funny thing. How could he have it so bad for someone so obsessed with Spike?

More vaults. A bench. He rolls on an empty table.

Colette is interesting. Colette is fun. She's sweet. She works hard. She's easy to talk to. She's creative. She has a charming devil's smile and the sneakiness of one too. She's hell.

He weaves past a few visitors. He's glad he hasn't ever hit anyone yet. That would be a major headache.

Colette is full of love for Spike. Colette is weird. Colette sings random songs and jumpscares him. Colette knows a ton of facts, hypes up his aesthetic, and gets really excited when she wins games. Colette once hid his phone for the whole day. Colette tries to comfort crying kids. Colette believes in aliens and writes with loopy handwriting.

He sprints along the tree holders. Square tree holder things. Whatever.

His heart is pounding in his chest. He jumps up and manages to climb over a wall. Dive roll. He gasps for air. His hands are cold.

He can't imagine telling her how he's been losing his mind. A twisted pout, seeping with disappointment. Oh, sorry, she'd say, but you know—

He knows. He's not cute like Spike. He's not elegance and grace like Piper. He's not a smooth-talker, and he's not even a nice person. He's brimming with hatred. He's alright. He's okay in his own way, but Colette likes other things and other people.

He turns a corner.

Sunshine through the window on the gift shop counter last week.

I like getting paid.

Her peaceful face, her half-lidded eyes and smirk.

I like you.

He smashes his shin on a railing and lets out half a yell, crumpling to the ground. He freezes, sucking his teeth. Must've messed up the hip lift. His shin throbs. He inhales deeply, holding back more cursing and yelling.

Thank god no one comes running to stick their nose in his business. He places a hand on his shin and slows his breathing. Sweat crawls down his hot skin. Heart rushing in his ears. Wait it out. Wait it out.

-

Shin hits are common. They are also freaking terrible. He had to get a bag of ice from Lou's store and press it to his leg for the rest of the day to calm it down. On the bright side, Edgar is pretty sure he didn't break a bone. And the pain is a small distraction from all his bitterness.

Edgar sits in the locker room after work, inspecting the bruise. It's ugly, as bruises are.

Colette sits beside him. "That looks awful," she says sympathetically.

"Thanks," Edgar says, then laughs. "Well, I am pretty awful."

"Don't say that," she mumbles. "You just made a mistake."

"Thanks." He nods solemnly. "Yeah, don't worry about me, man. Stuff happens." Colette stares at her feet. He stares at them too and — there go the Spike Airs again. It's fine though. It's gotta be fine.

"Do you want a hug?" She says in a tone that's noticeably more cautious than usual. It makes him laugh inside. He's not a kid.

He still wants one.

"Sure, I guess." Colette hugs him. She's warm and her sleeves are soft. He wants to do this every time he sees her. He slowly puts his arms around her, willing himself to memorize the feeling until they pull away.

"Wow. Amazing. Now it doesn't hurt anymore," he drones. She muffles a laugh.

"Yay! I always knew I could be a doctor!" And have her hug other patients like that? No thanks. Kidding. Edgar flattens his mouth and looks away. He feels like he could nurse this bruise forever.

"Hey Colette?"

"Yeah?"

"Random thought, but... have you ever thought that you could be someone's Spike?"

"What?" She pauses for a second before seeming to get it. "Oh. Like, some kids becoming fans of me? Having fans? Is that what you mean?" He shrugs.

"Yeah. Kinda."

"Hmm..." She leans forward. "I think that's pretty sweet. I mean, I'm mostly just the gift shop girl but if people like that then, happy for them!"

"Would it, like... mean much to you?"

"Ah, not really," she says. "I'm a fan of my stuff, and they're fans of their stuff, and if I'm stuff they like, then cool! But I spend ninety percent of time thinking about my own stuff, you get me?"

"Oh," Edgar nods. "Yeah, that makes sense."

"But y'know, if some kid came up and asked me to sign their scrapbook, I think that'd be super cute!" She smiles. "I'd totally do it. And I would like to chat with them."

"Aw, that's nice." It would be cute to see that happen. He might suck at showing it, but he'd be super proud.

Maybe that's kind of what he means to her too. Someone who gets her scribbles and chats and ten percent of her mind. Well, he is her friend, but he's not Spike. Or anyone special, really. It sounds like a dumb and quick conclusion but he's tired.

"I'll get going," Edgar says, standing up. "Sucks, but this will heal up. I'll be fine."

"Okay." He packs his stuff. Locker closed, bag closed, and he makes his way to the door. Colette follows. "Hey, Edgar."

"What?" She doesn't speak for a while. He looks back. She looks weirdly sad.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" He faces ahead again, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, okay. I will."

And it's stupid how she still makes him feel like he's just a little bit special, giving him hope and squeezing his insides. He didn't get to buy a Spike mug (and never plans to — smashing it in his room would probably get Gramps going good heavens Edgar! What have you done here?!), so after stopping by the doctor on the way home, he scribbles a horrible rendition of Spike on the back of year-old math homework in his bedroom, all green and smiling and ugly, and crumples and pounds it against his desk. He tears it up, revelling in the rebellion of thinking Spike isn't even that great, hating the way he still somehow is, drowning in the downside of having feelings for Colette. He curses, and then he cries, and then he showers and cries more, and goes to sleep clutching the sheets, wishing he could just stop aching inside.