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Floofty is struggling to tolerate the presence of the intruder. They’ve grown up separating the space they inhabit into neat, separated boxes to distinguish comfort from discomfort, and peace from senseless chaos: home, for example, is for all that is familiar, school meanwhile for all that isn’t. There are more nebulous areas, like the occasional hiking trips their mother insists they take together to “strengthen character”, which almost always turns into her having to carry the younger Fizzlebean on her back for a good portion of the trip back to the car. Floofty themselves hates the whole process in silence, from the way they end up smelling to how much dust and dirt settles into their pelt to how poorly their otherwise flawless lungs take in concepts such as “exercising” and “walking uphill”, but at the same time they have become quite attached to the collection of desiccated insects and animal bones growing from their findings on such ventures.
The both of them seem to have taken after their father’s lack of physical performance and bookwormish nature, but that has never stopped their mother from trying. A healthy mind resides in a healthy body, after all, as she so loved to repeat to her unsporting children. Floofty understood the logic behind her actions, and therefore tolerated these family trips to the best of their abilities, content to know that whatever pain they were going through, they would be sharing it together with their father and brother, and it would ultimately be worth the effort.
Regardless, their home has always been for family alone. Their parents don’t invite coworkers or friends over, for reasons they don’t bother to tell their children, and both of them have no siblings, hence why the only relatives that occasionally visit are their grandparents, and only during the holidays. Home is an inviolable sanctum to the four of them, with each having a room for themselves, a place to unwind and leave behind all the chaos of the outside world.
Or, rather, home was an inviolable sanctum, until that acid green fuzzball that Snorpington calls his “best friend” so rudely intruded upon it, disrupting the usual quietude of their abode with his too-loud voice and elephant-like sense of grace, seemingly hellbent on knocking all the knick-knacks and memorabilia scattered throughout their house all over the place whenever he visits and make a mess of everything he touches. He’s an insufferable mar in their otherwise perfectly quiet family life, and one that Floofty was asked to tolerate and, even worse, look after .
“We are as surprised as you are that your brother is so taken with him,” their father had taken them aside, once, with a slight grimace upon his face. He, too, was a creature of habit - all of them were, to various degrees. They could tell that allowing the intruder in was as taxing to him as it was to them. “But it’s doing Snorpington good to have him around, and according to the teachers, the kid’s parents aren’t around and he sorely needs the company. Not everyone can be as efficient as you, dear.”
When he described their school life as “efficient”, he meant “isolated”. Their classmates never liked them, with their too-complex vocabulary and bad temper, as well as their interest in things considered unsavory for their age, such as knowing the names of all the bones in one’s paw before everyone else learned how to read. One of the other students had tried to push them around in the school hallway once, and they had bitten the little thug hard enough to draw blood and spit out a mouthful of fur, and ever since then the other kids went from being amused by their perceived eccentricity to being scared shitless of them. It’s all fine and dandy for Floofty, who found that none of their classmates were worth anything as a conversational partner anyway. Their lonely scholastic life seems to still be an element of great distress to their teacher, though they can’t quite fathom why.
Once Snorpington had been inserted in the scholastic system as well, Floofty had assumed that with all the elements he shared with them personality-wise and his occasional inability to speak in front of strangers, he would find himself in the same situation. Instead, since the first day of kindergarten, he’d become attached to the hip with the tiny menace that now plagued their household. Seeing them play together made them feel some weirdness in their chest, something that they didn’t know how to address, so they avoided the sight of the two of them as much as possible. It was easier once, when they only occasionally caught glimpses of them when coming to retrieve Snorpington from kindergarten, but now that they are in grade school together and Floofty has been deemed old enough to babysit their brother and his “friend” the two times a week he comes over to study, they can’t quite avoid it.
It’s a bearable situation, on those days where the pest keeps out of their way and is too busy disassembling their living room to bother them.
“Hey, Floofters?”
Sadly, that’s something that the pest in question doesn’t seem to be able to stop himself from doing.
“That’s not my name, you tiny imbecile,” they snap, closing the book they were consulting. It’s one of their mother’s textbooks on grumpus anatomy, and it’s proving to be a bit too verbose even for them. “Actually, avoid referring to me in any way possible. I have matters to attend to, and you’re stealing away from my precious free time.”
Lacking any respect for their sacred personal space, he barges in ignoring their words and makes sure to slam the door close behind him, then climbs to sit on their bed next to them, holding up a notebook to their attention. It’s crumpled, several papers hang inside by a thread and the cover is scribbled all over. It looks disgustingly childish.
“I need help!!” he practically screams in their ear, hanging on to their arm as they try to get him to stop touching them . The notebook is shoved in their face hard enough that it ends up smacking them in the forehead.
They wave it away and try to put distance between them and the pest, pushing his face further away from them. It goes on like that for a handful of seconds, a desperate push and pull between Floofty and a runt half their size, and they imagine it looks quite comedical from an outsider’s point of view. He’s surprisingly strong for his age, but size wins over brawn at the moment being, and Floofty manages to push him off the edge of the bed. He falls on his behind with a pained hiss.
“Cease this nonsense this instant!” They order him, feeling their temper rise. “Haven’t your parents taught you any manners?”
They bite their tongue, immediately realizing the faux pas they made. The kid doesn’t reply, just stares at them. For a moment they’re terrified that he’s gonna burst into tears and that they’re gonna have to explain to their parents why they terrorized their brother’s one and only friend, but instead he breathes in and out loudly, once, and mutters an embarrassed “sorry”. He then patiently waits for Floofty to calm down and put their precious textbook away from potential danger.
“Expose your problem or leave, pest.” They eventually spit out.
“Sorry.” He repeats again. “It’s just. I have that thing where I can’t read well, uhhhh whatsitcalled, it’s a really stupid sounding word…”
“You mean dyslexia?” They ask, immediately cursing themselves for even giving the kid any more attention. He gives them finger guns as a reply.
“Yeah, and the teacher never says anything, but she gets a face when she reads my stuff. We have to make up sentences for tomorrow, and I did it! But I’m afraid they’re all wrong. Can you check them?”
Floofty scoffs. “Ask Snorpington for help, then. Or your legal guardian. I am neither of those, and I have my own studying to attend to.”
The frown he’s sporting doesn’t quite fit his face, which is always sunny to the point of idiocy. “Snorpy is my best friend in the whole world, but he doesn’t get what’s wrong and he doesn’t want me to be sad.” He seems to be done, but then adds, at a lower volume, as if he’s ashamed, “my Nan just rewrites it again for me, said she’s tired of the teachers calling her again.”
Floofty doesn’t know the pest’s grandmother, but they can’t fathom having to deal with a grumpling with this much energy on a daily basis at their age, let alone as an old person.
“But! Snorpy says you’re like, suuuper clever and you know soooo much stuff and you always win over him when you play those smart people board games together. He said not to ask, cuz’ you’re so mean-”
“I am.” They reply. He ignores them.
“-and all the other kids at school say you’re like, an evil witch-”
“They’re right. I even eat little bothersome grumplings for breakfast.” They show off their most off putting smile. Again, he doesn’t seem particularly taken back.
“-but everyone thinks I’m stupid - well, Snorpy doesn’t, but he doesn’t count. No one wants to tell me why I do it wrong, and I dun care that you also think I’m stupid, I want to try to do it right.” He’s holding his homework so hard in his paw that it creases further, if possible.
That stops them for a moment. They can’t believe that, of all things, makes them consider it. They don’t do pity, they never even help Snorpington with his studies, and for all their limitless access to their parents’ library and having read over the subject a couple times, they’re not a speech therapist and their knowledge of dyslexia is superficial. If the educational system is already failing this kid, there’s no guarantee whatever they try to do will stop that in any way. Furthermore, if they cave in even just once, they’re gonna have him come bother them every time he’s having a hard time with anything.
They are in no way obliged to lend in a paw to this intruder.
Still though, there’s a part of them that understands what he's attempting to say about people treating him in a certain way because of the way he is. The pitying look the teacher gives them when they spend recess reading instead of playing with others, or the way they never seem to click with anyone that isn’t immediate family. They can’t imagine what it would be like to struggle with something that comes as naturally to them as reading and writing, and to have no one to count on to help out.
“Here’s what I’m gonna do.” They retrieve the notebook from the pest’s hands, eyes skimming over the first written exercise. They can already see several spelling mistakes just from the first two sentences. “From now on, whenever you’re here, we’re gonna do an hour of tutoring together. You will need to have already completed your homework beforehand, and they will need to be readable. In exchange for this service, you will make sure to never bother me at all other times, and you will keep your chaos strictly limited to Snorpington’s bedroom. Do we have a deal?”
The kid mumbles something about how he “doesn’t mean to make a mess”, but when he meets their eyes a few seconds later, there’s a light of determination burning in them. “Deal.”
He holds out his hand, and they grasp it. Their hand hurts a bit afterwards: this grumpling is really strong for his age
“I’m not gonna be nice. I’m not one of your teachers, I’m gonna get angry and be mean if I think you’re slacking off.”
“I know.” He says, beaming. What a weird kid. They find themselves smirking back to him in response.
“Good. Just a moment.” They get up and go to their closed bedroom door, tearing it open. Sure enough, Snorpington falls face first to the ground with all the grace of a newborn horse. His glass skitter away and he holds his nose moaning, a look of pure resentment on his face. A typical expression of siblinghood.
“And as for you, you’re going to help . Your friend, your responsibility. Get up and bring your own work here, we’re gonna go over it together.”
In the end, the tutoring serves well in keeping both of them still and stopping the both of them from plaguing Floofty with noises for some time. They even throw in a little praise and their good behavior, and the pest smiles so hard that Floofty can’t help but wonder if his face hurts. When his grandmother comes over to retrieve him, he even says goodbye to Floofty using their proper name.
Perhaps it will take time to accept the intruder’s presence into their home life, but they could get used to it, they think.
“I knew you’d make a baller teacher some day, Floof-sib.”
Professor Fizzlebean is quite used to intrusions upon their office outside of the proper meeting hours, but it’s usually hysterical university students begging for help or more time on their assignments, Triffany coming in with coffee and a new story from her dig sites and, on much rarer occasions, Shellsy Woolbag, who occasionally takes part in their microbiology classes just to have something to bicker about over drinks afterwards. This time, though, it’s someone much more surprising: their brother-in-law, with a nickname that they can’t quite scrub from his vocabulary and that has grown on them, in the years since the Snaktooth expedition.
“Chandlo. Come on in,” they welcome him inside with a nod, and he shuts the door behind him. He’s carrying a rather sizable pile of papers with him, the kind that would have less athletic people huff and puff to carry around. When he drops it on their desk, the comical thud makes the prestigious wood it’s made of creak. “As my first ever unwilling student, it’s kind of you to say.”
“Oh, dawg, remember those reading sessions back in third grade? Snorpy was so scared you were doing it just to use me as test subject for your weird potions. Yo, remember your potions phase?”
Floofty does, sadly, remember when they used to mix whatever liquid they found in their parents’ medicine cabinet and their fridge in the hope of making medicine better tasting. They accidentally drugged themselves more than once, and ultimately resulted in their mother hiding everything vaguely medicinal from them for entire years.
“What do you need?” They ask, pointedly avoiding his reminiscence. Middle school was a weird moment for everyone, and they shouldn’t have to justify themselves in front of someone they had the displeasure of third wheeling for most of their life. They were told that their scathing speech on the matter at Snorpy and Chandlo’s wedding left the former mortified for weeks afterwards, while Chandlo just laughed to the point of tears whenever he was reminded of it.
Chandlo pats the pile of papers like one would an old family pet. “This baby is my final dissertation. Worked on her for months, poured so much sweat and tears in it, you have no idea…” Floofty can’t stop themselves from the disgusted grimace that comes on their face: they sincerely hope he’s being metaphorical. “...and now that it’s all done, I want you to be the first one to read it.”
Their breath gets caught in their throat. The hand that was reaching to retrieve the first page from the pile to skim it retracts slowly.
“...Why me? Don’t get me wrong, I would be delighted to do it-” they look away from him to adjust their goggles better on their face, trying to hide how shaky they feel at the moment. They doubt it works: Chadlo has always been keenly observant in the matter of other people’s emotions. “-but surely, you’d rather give my brother the honor, instead. He surely would understand whatever your dissertation is about much better than me.” In the back of their head they can hear Snorpington scold them that mechanical engineering and civil engineering are two completely different fields, an old discussions repeated over and over again during dinner.
“Naw, see, way I see it if it wasn't for your help, I dunno how good my reading n’ writing would’ve gotten, like, ever . My Nan tried, bless her heart, but she didn’t get that my brain didn’t work right for it.” It’s weird, seeing someone usually so carefree look so serious. They’ve never been able to nail down people’s expressions in a consistent manner before, but with someone as expressive as Chadlo, it becomes easier. They can tell this is a matter of utmost importance to him. “And Snorpy probably knows this whole thing better than me by now, so he can wait a bit to read it. I want you to be the first, since you’re a real professor now and all that.”
Their mouth trembles slightly, and disastrously, they realize that they feel close to tears. Of all days for their traitorous body to decide to revisit their stance on feeling emotions, this must be the worst one to pick.
“Ah.” they blink once, twice, hoping to get rid of whatever moisture is pushing against their eyelids before he can notice. They must be getting old, getting so emotional over something like this. “Then so be it. I hope you don’t expect a treatment of courtesy just because you’re family: I have been told time and time before by my students that I am quite the ruthless supervisor.”
Chadlo laughs that full body laughs of his, and in that moment, the mental picture he had of the joyful runt that used to haunt their childhood home and the grown man they had learned to respect and appreciate as if he was their actual brother overlap, in a way that makes them feel too small for their body. Their first student, indeed.
“Do your worst, Floof-sib.”