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Fizz would generally say he’s a morning person. More so than Asmodeus, and when Fizz was young, he was always awake before Blitzø. He doubts that’s changed.
Sure enough, when he shifts slightly, he can still feel a weight next to him on the couch, and he opens one eye to peer into the kitchen, trying to locate the source of the coffee-smell that roused him.
Oddly, Oz is already there, a mug in one hand while scrolling through his phone. He catches Fizz’s eye and smiles, mouthing “Good morning” at him. Instinctively, Fizz reaches up to make sure his cap is in place. It feels a little askew, but it hasn’t slipped off entirely. He smiles back at Ozzie, and mouths a greeting in return.
Blitzø stirs next to him, and for a moment tries to cuddle in closer. Fizz is just resigning himself to being trapped in place for a while longer when Blitzø opens his eyes, blinking blearily up at him. “Fizz?”
“Morning.” Fizz smiles, but he can see the exact moment when Blitzø remembers everything that happened last night; the moment his confusion gives way to misery. “Ozzie made coffee. Do you want some?”
“Fuck yes.” Blitzø pushes himself upright on the couch, though it takes a moment for Fizz to untangle himself from him so that they can both sit up. Suddenly Blitzø freezes, and then looks at Fizz accusingly. “You and Oz have fucked on this couch haven’t you?”
Fizz grins at him and gets up, stretching his arms above his head. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” His prosthetics don’t really get stiff, but he does feel the need to stretch out his back, especially after sleeping tangled up on a couch. And yeah, stretching his back doesn’t require extending his arms to the point where his fingertips brush the ceiling, but that part’s just fun.
“Yes, yes I would like to know. Actually preferably I would have liked to know before I slept on it, but I guess it’s too late for that!”
“Don’t worry,” Fizz says, exchanging a grin with Ozzie this time. “Everything in this place gets cleaned regularly.”
Asmodeus chuckles and brings over two mugs of coffee. “And thoroughly,” he says as he hands a mug to Blitzø.
“I’m suddenly realising just how many surfaces there are in this room.” Blitzø looks between Fizz and Ozzie with the same accusatory expression, and Fizz laughs and extends his legs so that he can nuzzle his face against Ozzie’s before taking the offered mug of coffee.
“Don’t let your imagination run away too far,” he says as he seats himself on the couch again, kicking his legs up on the coffee table and taking a large gulp of his coffee. He turns his attention back to Ozzie, who’s now leaning against the countertop with his own mug. “So! Today’s docket.”
“It was supposed to be a reasonably lazy day,” Ozzie says, lifting his phone in one hand to indicate the messages he’s no doubt sent or received that have changed today’s schedule, and perhaps are also the reason he’s up early. “I’ve still got a few hours off, but then I’m going to be busy. Still got all sorts of mess to deal with from that street brawl last night. You have no idea the reports I’m getting.”
Fizz tuts. “You’ll have to tell me all about it when you get back. Do you really think angels just came waltzing into Lust?”
Asmodeus shrugs. “That's what I'm hearing.”
“Angels?” Blitzø cuts in. “Fucking why?”
“No idea.” Ozzie doesn't appear too bothered by Blitzø inserting himself into the conversation about his schedule. Then again, it's not like they were trying to have it in private. “Extermination isn't on, and even if it was, exorcists ain't got a reason to go beyond the Pride ring.”
“Were they exorcists?” Fizz asks, hopping up from the couch so that he can empty the remaining contents of the metal coffee pot down his throat. “Can other angels even get in hell at all?”
“No idea,” Ozzie repeats. “But their fight made a mess right down the road from the club and toppled a building, so I'm kind of invested in finding out. Plus, I'm sure Lucifer would be interested to know if exorcists are here out of schedule, and going after the hellborn. Or maybe not, honestly, he’s not interested in a whole lot. But in any case, I'm not due to meet with anyone about it for a few hours.” He sets his mug in the sink. “Plenty of time for me to make breakfast while you tell me about your plans for the day.”
“I guess that's my cue.” Blitzø sets his mug down and stands, and Fizz drops the pot he's holding so that he can spring across the room and into Blitzø’s path.
“I think you've got your cues mixed up. You seem to think that was your cue to exit stage right, but that was the cue for you to sit down and let Ozzie make you breakfast, actually.”
Blitzø shakes his head. “Fizz—”
“Come on. You don't want to offend him do you?” Fizz grins.
“I'd be very offended,” Ozzie adds, though it's clear he's just amused. Fizz turns a bright grin on him as well.
“Oh, come on, stop ganging up on me, I only like that when it's in a sexy way.” Blitzø probably wouldn't call his expression a pout, but Fizz would. “Besides, I still have to go get my keys.” That aforementioned expression becomes something far more dejected. “So that I can pick up all my employees on time. I guess I could hotwire my own van…”
“It’s Saturday, Blitzø.” Fizz says. “As far as I’m aware you do still let your employees have weekends off.”
“Yeah, well—” Blitzø answers, then pauses for a second, probably recovering from the fact that he hadn’t actually realised what day of the week it is. “Well, I still need to get my van, before he has it like. Towed or something.”
Fizz sighs and turns to Ozzie again. “You can skip making my breakfast, babe,” he says.
“Fizzie.” Asmodeus gives him a concerned frown, and Fizz immediately waves a hand to head off any further argument. He tries to ignore Blitzø's sudden scrutiny as well.
“No, I mean, I'll eat later. I'll pick something up somewhere or I'll have cereal or whatever.” He stretches again, then starts towards the bedroom. “I'm just gonna go get freshened up and then take a car over to Stolas’ place and get Blitzø's keys.”
“Fizz, I can handle—”
“You can sit your ass down and have some breakfast. Maybe grab a shower if you can stay standing up that long.” Fizz gives Blitzø a pointed look over his shoulder, and drops his gaze down to the foot that Blitzø still isn't quite putting his weight on.
“Stolas might not let you in, babe,” Ozzie points out, even as he pulls out a chair for Blitzø and motions him toward it. “Or his guards might give you trouble.”
“If I need to, I'll call you, Ozzie,” Fizz says. He extends an arm so that he can push Blitzø towards the chair, and doesn’t stop pushing until he basically topples into the seat. “Besides, I’m taking a car, so it’s not like I’ll be there on my own, either.”
Blitzø scowls at Fizz from the chair he's been manhandled into. “Aren't you the one who said I should talk to Stolas?”
“Sure.” Fizz shrugs. “Are you ready to go and talk to him and open up about all of your feelings and all the ways you fucked up and how sorry you are? While also talking to him about the ways he fucked up but without yelling again?”
“Oh, fuck you.” It's said with more resignation than heat, and Fizz has heard far worse.
“That's what I thought.” He pats Blitzø's shoulder and then retracts his arm as he heads towards the bedroom. “It's better if you take the time you need.” Granted, Fizz still only has some understanding of what happened, based on what little more Blitzø was willing to tell him during the sobfest on the couch. But while he knows his friend is far from blameless, some of what he heard, or has figured out, has him rather pissed off at the Goetia prince too.
Blitzø groans and lets his head drop forward onto the table in front of him, but drops the argument for the moment, and Fizz heads into the bedroom. In an ideal world he'd take a shower, or maybe even a salts bath—his pain levels have been rising slightly over the past day or two, and he could probably use one—but he can save that for later.
For the moment, all he does in the en suite is wash off his makeup, which is already pretty patchy—he wouldn't be surprised to find white patches on Blitzø’s clothes or the couch, if he went looking—and brush his teeth. Then it's back to the bedroom to reapply his makeup at the vanity, and get changed.
His choker stays in place, but he changes his shirt and pants; still a collared shirt with three-quarter sleeves, but this one is a pale yellow and has a zig-zag hem that bares some of his midriff. The cuffs and collar are a pale pink. Since he no longer has to worry about maintaining a specific brand, he’s ditched a lot of his more clown-themed outfits, at least for when he’s not performing… but that doesn’t mean he’s about to stop wearing the bright colours he enjoys. Admittedly he’s wearing less green these days, not out of any dislike for the colour, but to make a point. It doesn’t matter if no one else gets the point, because he does.
He’ll still go back to more greens eventually, but for now, he trades his rainbow pants for a two-toned pair in blue and yellow, and accessorises with a pink belt and a beaded bracelet in pink and white, loose enough that it shouldn’t catch on his prosthetics. Even though the black lettering on the white beads is small, he’d never dared to wear the bracelet out of Ozzie’s palace before, but now he can, and it doesn’t matter if someone’s eagle-eyed enough to spot what’s spelled out.
Finally, he trades out his cap for one with yellows, blues, and pinks as well, setting the slept-in cap on one of the many specially designed busts so that it can regain its shape. One quick spin in front of the full-length mirror, and he’s as ready as he can be without a shower or bath.
Fizz emerges from the bedroom to the smell of breakfast cooking, and his stomach rumbles in protest of his decision to leave without eating. It's still an unfamiliar sensation; he'd gotten to the point where he really didn't notice any sort of hunger pangs, and he's only recently started to feel them again as he's been eating more regularly.
But he's hardly going to starve from eating one meal late—not even skipping it, just delaying it slightly—so he tries to ignore the pangs for now. Blitzø is, to Fizz's relief, still seated at the table. Maybe the lure of Oz's cooking is too strong to resist.
“The car is ready, waiting downstairs,” Oz tells Fizz, who beams up at him.
“Thanks Ozzie! Blitzø, don't go anywhere. Unless it's a doctor to get your foot looked at.”
“What is it with you and my foot? Seriously Fizz, is this a thing we need to talk about?” Blitzø has apparently decided to cope with his emotions by being obnoxious again. Fizz doesn't mind, but he does roll his eyes.
“In your dreams, Blitzø. Alright, see you both soon!”
“Hold up, Fizzie,” Oz says, and hands Fizz two toaster pastries on a napkin. “Breakfast on the go. If you make it back early enough I'll cook up something more filling for you.”
“Thanks Ozzie!” Mindful not to drop or otherwise damage his breakfast, Fizz stretches up to give Oz a quick kiss. “Thank you,” he repeats softly, and he doesn't just mean for the food. Asmodeus smiles at him, clearly understanding, and Fizz smiles back before dropping back down to his normal height. “Love you!”
“Love you too, Fizzie.”
He's almost out the door when Blitzø calls his name, and Fizz pauses in the doorway. “Yeah?”
“Can you… can you tell Stolas I do want to talk to him?” Blitzø looks uncertain even asking, but Fizz smiles reassuringly at him.
“Yeah, I'll tell him.”
“Thanks Fizz.”
Fizz nods and gives a last little wave before heading out the door, taking a bite of his pastry as he heads for the elevator.
As is often the case when Fizz rides in one of Ozzie’s cars alone, the drive is uneventful. Fizz finishes his pastries long before they even arrive in the Pride ring, and takes to scrolling through his phone. He does get a text from Ozzie confirming that Blitzø is having breakfast and hasn’t left the mansion, so at least there’s that. Other than that, though, most of what he finds on his feed is related to the dust-up in the streets of the Lust ring. No one seems to have gotten the best pictures, understandably, and he’s still looking for anything even remotely clear when the car stops.
He looks out the window, partially to check out the palace, since he hasn’t been before, but mostly to confirm that Blitzø’s van is indeed still outside. Small mercies. He presses the button by his seat to activate the intercom. “Hey, Joey, you’re waiting here, right? I hopefully won’t be long.”
“That’s what Oz told me, so yes, I’ll be here.”
“Great.” Fizz pushes open the door and bounces out of the car. He knows he’s probably going to drive the van back himself if he can get the keys, but if is the operative word in that particular statement. And even if he is totally comfortable driving the van himself, he knows Oz would definitely prefer if he didn’t, so the compromise is to have the car follow behind him on the way back.
But first things first; getting the keys.
He strolls up to the door with the casual air of someone who’s meant to be there. Surprisingly he only sees the one guard, and he puts on a bright smile. “Hi, I’m—”
“Prince Stolas isn’t seeing visitors today.”
Well, we’re off to a good start, Fizz thinks, but he doesn’t let his smile drop. “Perhaps you could let him know Fizzarolli’s here?” Not that they have any history beyond the incident at Ozzie’s, which probably didn’t endear him to the prince much. But Stolas did help out Ozzie when Fizz was kidnapped, and Ozzie gave Stolas the crystal, so maybe that counts for something.
Nothing that the guard would be aware of, though, and he doesn’t seem inclined to move from his post. “No visitors today.”
“Fine, fine.” Fizzarolli sighs dramatically. “I’ll just tell Asmodeus I had to leave a message. Which, you know, there was a reason he didn’t want to send a text or anything, but if that’s what you want…”
The hellhound at the door wavers slightly, and then seems to relent. “I’ll go and see if he’s willing to talk to you.”
Maybe Fizz feels a little bad for telling the lie, but hey. Whatever gets him inside. He’d rather not throw Ozzie’s name around either, but since they’re public now, he can. And it’s not like he’s making a habit of it.
And if he has to find a way to break in instead, he probably can, but that’s really more Blitzø’s area of expertise; jesters generally don’t know how to pick locks or the like. Plus there’s the avoiding the guards thing, though he still doesn’t see any more around as he waits at the front door.
He sends a text to Ozzie letting him know he's waiting outside to hopefully see Stolas, so that his boyfriend doesn’t start worrying that something’s already gone wrong. Which, well, technically something has in that he hasn’t immediately been let inside, but for now he’ll call that a setback. And if he has to ask Ozzie to come and bang on the door himself, he’s not above that.
But the door opens again, and Fizz looks up from his phone and at the hellhound.
“You can come in,” he says, “and wait in the lobby. Stolas will come and meet you shortly.”
“Great!” Fizz follows the hellhound inside, sending a quick text to Ozzie that he's been let in before sliding his phone into his pocket and looking around. His brow furrows slightly as he notices there's almost no furniture or decor, and what there is appears to be covered up.
“Wait here.” The hellhound instructs, and Fizz gives a casual two-fingered salute.
“You got it.”
There's nothing to keep his attention, really, but he doesn't want to take his phone back out, so he finds himself standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as the guard returns to his post outside the door. He sways from one foot to another, continuing to scan the room for something that could divert his attention, but met constantly with the frankly depressing lack of anything here.
A click-click-click on the stairs is the first thing to finally catch his attention, and Fizz turns to watch Stolas descend. It’s pretty clear even from a distance that he’s hastily put himself together; he doesn’t look remotely close to as good as he had the night he and Blitzø crashed Ozzie’s.
Which, well… Fizz isn’t exactly surprised. From what he’d heard from Blitzø, Stolas hadn’t had a good night either. Two to tango and all of that.
“Good morning, Fizzarolli,” Stolas says as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, and gives a little bow that catches Fizz off-guard.
“Yeah, good morning, Prince Stolas,” he answers, though he doesn’t bow in return. He takes in the dark circles under Stolas’ eyes, the makeup that looks like it was hastily layered on top of a previously smudged application—Fizz has experience with that kind of thing—and the slightly unkempt feathers.
“Stolas is fine. I believe you had a message from Asmodeus? I confess, I can’t imagine what he might have to say to me that couldn’t commit to a text.”
Fizz smiles ruefully. “I did say that to your guard so that he’d let me in, yeah. He wasn’t much interested in hearing me out otherwise.” The smile becomes more of a grimace. He knows, of course, that no matter how famous he could ever become, his name would never command the respect of that of a sin or even another member of the Goetia. Maybe in another thousand years, things might be different, but he doubts it. And it’s not like he’ll be around to see it.
Stolas stares at him, obviously caught off-guard by the way Fizz freely admits to having lied. “I see. Well then, what is it that was so important that you needed to see me that urgently?”
Now that he’s here, Fizz kind of wishes he’d rehearsed this. But the conversation was going to be awkward no matter what, so he continues with his route of blunt honesty now that the lie of why he’s here is already out of the way. “Blitzø’s keys.”
The way Stolas’ put-together façade crumbles instantly at the mention of Blitzø’s name is pretty telling, though not exactly surprising. Still, Fizz can’t help but feel bad as he watches the prince seem to struggle to process the two words, and find his own. “What—what are you talking about?”
“His car keys. When you threw him out last night, his keys were in your room, I guess, so he left his van here,” Fizz explains, keeping his voice as neutral as he can. “I’m just here to collect it.”
“Is—is he alright?” Stolas asks. “It wasn’t my intention to—I didn’t realise he didn’t have his keys.”
Fizz can’t help but soften a little. He hadn’t been working on the assumption that Stolas had intentionally left Blitzø without his van, but he appreciates that concern for Blitzø’s wellbeing seems to have been the first thing on the prince’s mind. “He’s… safe,” he says, not sure how much detail to go into with regards to Blitzø’s mental state, but not wanting to leave Stolas worrying. “He called me to pick him up.”
Stolas gives Fizz a surprisingly hard stare, one that almost has him take a step back. He can’t tell whether it’s because of the expression itself, or how little he expected it. “Forgive me, but… Asmodeus led me to believe that there was significant animosity between Blitzø and yourself. Why would he have called you, and why would you be here now for his keys?” The prince looks down at him unblinkingly.
It doesn’t really bother Fizz that Stolas is apparently aware that he and Blitzø have… a complicated past. He probably made that pretty clear on his own when Stolas and Blitzø were at Ozzie’s, and Fizz is also sure Oz wouldn’t have revealed much detail without checking first. Heaven knows Blitzø won’t talk about his past on pain of death. “Yeah, there was.”
“But not anymore? It wasn’t so long ago.” Stolas doesn’t seem to trust the answer, which, fair.
“Look, if you don’t want to give me his keys, fine, whatever. Have them sent to his office. Fucking inconvenient, honestly, because then someone else is still going to have come back here to get the van, but as long as he gets them back I’m really not bothered. Or, hey, text him.” Fizz shrugs. “Ask him if you can hand the keys over to me. He wants to talk to you anyway.”
Stolas’ expression shifts from distrust to obvious discomfort. “I don’t think that would be very wise.”
Fizz sighs. “One of you is going to have to reach out first, you know. I mean, unless you’re planning on just leaving things like this, which is only going to make both of you miserable.”
“While I appreciate your… advice,” Stolas’ tone makes it clear he doesn’t appreciate it at all, which is also fair enough given that he knows nothing about Fizz, “I don’t think you understand the situation. Blitzø… I care about him, but he—he hurt me.”
Honestly, Fizz doesn’t mean to laugh. The sound escapes before he can stop it, grating even to him, and he claps a hand over his mouth immediately. Too late, though. Stolas looks at him, stunned and clearly upset, as much as he tries to school his expression in the way that royalty tends to do.
“Sorry, sorry,” Fizz says immediately. “I’m not… I wasn’t laughing because you’re hurt, that fucking sucks, genuinely.”
“Then what, pray tell, was so amusing?” Stolas’ tone is clipped with the effort of not sounding upset or angry.
“Just…” Fizz shakes his head and smiles wryly. “News flash, man, you don’t have a monopoly on being hurt by Blitzø Buckzo. Not to make this a competition or anything but I think I miiiight have you beat. You’re not the first and you probably won’t be the last to have to decide if you can forgive him for fucking up real bad.”
“So… you really did hate him, then?” Stolas seems to have relaxed only slightly, less on edge and more just… sad.
“... Yeah? I mean, mostly. It’s complicated. We were really close before I hated him, and sometimes I felt guilty for hating him and sometimes I felt guilty at the idea of not hating him.” Fizz shakes his head, not sure if it’s actually helping anyone for him to be overly honest with the prince, but wanting to make sure he’s understood when he talks about forgiving Blitzø. “It didn’t help that for a long time I thought he did what he did on purpose.”
“Which was… what, exactly, if you don't mind my asking?” Stolas prompts, and Fizz snorts.
“Take a really wild guess.” He extends his legs so that he can wind them around each other in a coil, and then spins on one foot as he unwinds again. He ends with a flourish, both legs back to normal length but with one leg kicked up in the air. Stolas stares at him blankly, and Fizz groans. “Cool as these are,” he says, waving his arms and extended leg slightly before returning to two feet, “I didn't actually decide to have all my limbs replaced just for kicks. I can do really good kicks now, though.”
Stolas’ expression—dawning realisation and horror—might’ve been kind of funny if the situation wasn't also really fucked up. “I–I'm sorry, I didn't–” He doesn’t seem to know where to look; Fizz’s face, his prosthetics, the mottled red-and-white skin that peeks out from under the cropped hem of his shirt.
“Of course you didn't,” Fizz waves a hand to stem the tide of apologies before they can start. “I didn't really tell anyone other than Asmodeus, and I'm sure Blitzø didn't tell anyone. Even if he'd ever wanted to tell you I doubt he would have for, like? The sake of my privacy or whatever.” Maybe that's giving the Blitzø of the past fifteen years too much credit, but Fizz likes to think it's true. “But since I'm talking about it, yeah. We were best friends, and he was part of the cause of the fire and explosion that nearly killed me. And then basically someone made the decision for us that we shouldn't see each other. They let him believe I didn't want to see him and let me believe he never came to see me at the hospital, and I could only draw conclusions with what I knew… Anyway. Fifteen years we hated each other because we didn't get to talk.”
“And now you're… friends again?” Stolas’ tone now is different. Less distrustful of Fizz's intentions and almost more stunned. “You hated him for so long and then just forgave him?”
“I think I would have forgiven him fifteen years ago if I knew the truth,” Fizz admits, and it's something he hasn't really told anyone, not outright. “Thinking that he had never actually been my best friend and never cared about me, that he hated me enough to try to kill me… That was kind of worse than the fact that I was almost killed.” Fizz sighs. “Man, do you have somewhere I can sit down if we're doing this shit?”
“Oh—of course, my apologies. This way.” Stolas turns to lead Fizz through the mansion, and he follows behind, wondering how he ended up talking about feelings with the Goetia prince instead of just getting Blitzø’s keys. Maybe sneaking in would have been easier.
They end up in the kitchen, where there’s a table with two chairs that don't look like they belong there. Stolas pulls one out for Fizz, and waits until he sits down before pulling out his own chair. “Thanks,” Fizz says. They sit in awkward silence for a brief spell, and then Stolas speaks again.
“If you don't mind my asking—”
“Think we might be beyond that point.” Fizz smiles wryly.
“Ah–yes, well–I was wondering what prompted you two to reconcile after all that time.”
Fizz chuckles. “It wasn't exactly a decision we made. I mean, I'm glad it happened, but, uh… well, you know that I was kidnapped sort of recently, yeah? Ozzie told me about how you helped him with that. Thanks by the way.”
“Oh! It was no trouble at all.” Stolas seems genuinely surprised by the thanks, though maybe that's just to do with the unexpected conversation topic in general.
“Still, appreciated. Anyway, uh, I'm… guessing you didn't know that Blitzø was also kidnapped.”
“He what?” Stolas stands up, knocking into his chair as he does. It teeters dangerously but settles on all four legs with a clatter.
Fizz’s smile is a little forced, now. “Yeah. I figured he hadn't said anything. I think he forgets that most people don't spend their time constantly doing insane shit. Just another Tuesday for him. Anyway, he was there, and even though we were definitely still doing the Hating Each Other thing, he was trying to keep me safe. And then, you know, we were going through shit and so of course we handled it like mature adults, meaning that we started yelling at each other, which led to us arguing about the past and… well, he told me it was an accident. Told me he did try to see me afterwards. And, you know, did kind of save me even if it was in a very messy, Blitzø way.” He can feel how his expression has softened, and he’s glad no one else is here to call him on it.
“So… just like that?” There’s no judgement in the question, but the mild incredulity remains. Stolas slowly sinks back into his chair.
“Well, it's kinda hard to really explain how it felt in the moment,” Fizz shrugs. He knows that most people wouldn't really understand how after fifteen years, he and Blitzø could just be best friends again. “I guess I'd just had enough of not having him in my life.” He gives Stolas a pointed look.
Stolas looks away, staring out the window for a long while. Fizz doesn't interrupt, though he is concerned that the amount of time he's spending here will cause Ozzie and Blitzø to worry. Eventually, the prince looks back at Fizz. “I don't know that Blitzø will ever see our… the situation as anything more than sex.”
Fizz sighs. “Look, I don't have all the details, but that's how you set it up, isn't it? I mean, even now you're dancing around the word relationship.”
“Well, yes. But I've been trying to let him know I wanted more than that but–”
“Did you say that? Those words? Or was it just hints that he never acknowledged?” Fizz keeps it to the point; he really isn't here to be a relationship counsellor, and it's hard not to feel like moving from talking about himself to talking about Blitzø is a betrayal to his friend.
“I… I suppose I never said those exact words until last night.”
“Right. So he was trying to keep to business as usual, what he thought you'd wanted all along because that's what you said, and you caught him off-guard and he reacted. Some things shouldn't be a surprise.”
“His reaction was… unkind,” Stolas says quietly.
“I don't doubt that. But according to him, he was trying to talk to you, and you're the one who threw him out.” Fizz sighs, knowing full well this wasn’t a one-sided disaster. “He felt really bad for making you cry.”
Stolas looks away abruptly, like he can't meet Fizz's gaze. “Oh.”
“I wasn't there, and I'm not gonna tell you who was right and who was wrong, or what to do. But he asked me to tell you he wants to talk, so… he wants to talk.”
“Would you try, in my shoes?” Stolas does look at Fizz then. “To… Talk to him?”
Fizz huffs a soft laugh. “Uh, yeah, but I might not be the best example. I mean, you’re the one who said I forgave him just like that. That’s not for everyone, and I get that.” Fizz doesn’t even want to try to explain what it feels like to go from someone being basically his whole world to being the one who carries all of his hatred and anger so that he could lock it away and not deal with it, to being his best friend again, with some things still hanging between them but maybe not mattering. “Like, feel whatever you feel, you're allowed to be hurt by his stupid bullshit. But he's hurt too, and he wants to make things right, but you'll have to decide whether you want that. I'm just here for his keys.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. I’ll go find them.” Stolas gets to his feet, and Fizz smiles at him. But when the prince leaves the room, Fizz can’t help but slump forward and rest his head on the table, heaving out a sigh and trying to release some of the tension in the parts of his body he can actually relax.
He really hadn’t intended to deal with all of this today, or at all, but hopefully it’ll help Blitzø in the long run, even if he probably wouldn’t have appreciated Fizz saying everything he did.
He lifts his head again, pleased to find that none of his makeup seems to have transferred to Stolas’ table, and takes out his phone. There’s a message from Ozzie:
> Everything good?
> yup! Spoke to Stolas and getting the keys now. Be back soon 💜
He tucks his phone away again, and leans back in the chair, casting his gaze around the kitchen. It’s pretty much as bare as the rest of the house, with nothing but the essentials. It’s a little like the kitchen in the first apartment Fizz ever had, but about ten times bigger. Somehow, that makes it even more depressing than his dingy little place.
It doesn’t take long for Stolas to return with the keys. “Here,” he says, handing them over. “I’m sorry, I should have offered you something to drink, or–”
“Hey, don’t worry,” Fizz says. “I didn’t exactly come in here in the most socially polite way or whatever. Besides, I should be getting back.” He spins the keys around one finger. “Sorry for uh, lying to your guard to get into your house. Not really though. He wasn’t gonna let me in.”
Stolas almost smiles, which is something. “Yes, well, don’t take it too personally. He wasn’t supposed to let anyone in.”
“Do I look like just anyone?” Fizz grins, and pushes away from the table as he stands up. “But I can take a hint. I’ll head on out.” His smile drops as he tries to decide whether to commit to what he wants to say. “Listen. You don’t have to take anything I said, you don’t even have to reach out to him at all. If you decide this is it, you’re done, then that’s fine.”
“Fine?” Stolas repeats, clearly not convinced.
“Okay, I mean, it’ll suck, for you and for him, but I’ll make sure he’s okay,” Fizz promises. “I just… if that’s how it goes, I don’t want you to think that the reason it ended isn't because he didn't care. You might want to make him the big bad villain who never gave a shit about you, but it's not true." He casts his gaze down at the keys in his hand. “And it’s… tempting, I know, to have one person to blame for all that went wrong, one person you can bury all the hurt in. But it’s… it doesn’t help, in the long run. You don’t deal with the hurt, and you get the added bonus of feeling like an idiot for loving someone who didn’t care about you and it just… It just makes it worse. That’s one thing I can tell you from experience.”
“I suppose you would be the one with the most experience in the matter,” Stolas says, but there's still a hesitance to his speech, an uncertainty. Fizz isn't sure there's anything he could say to make that better.
“It’s not the same, I know,” he says. “But just… bear it in mind.” He spins the keys again, and walks towards the entryway to the kitchen. “I’ll show myself out. If I ever visit again I promise not to lie about why I’m here.”
“I’d appreciate it.” Stolas doesn’t let Fizz walk on his own, instead accompanying him to the door. “Do say hello to Asmodeus for me, even if he wasn’t the reason for your visit.”
“Sure thing,” Fizz nods. “Take care, yeah?” He means it, too. Fizz might still not be entirely over the way Blitzø has been treated, but overall, Stolas is alright.
“You as well, Fizzarolli.” Stolas closes the door, locking himself away in his empty home again.
Fizz gives the guard a wave and then skips down the stairs and over to the limo. He taps lightly on the window so that Joey will roll it down. “Hey,” he says. “I’m gonna be driving that van over there, heading back to Oz’s mansion. You good to follow me, convoy style?”
“I wasn’t aware that was the plan,” Joey says dryly, looking at him over the window with a vaguely amused expression. “Does the boss know about this?”
“He’ll know about it when we get back.” Fizz grins.
“Fine.” Joey rolls his eyes. “Go on then. But for Satan’s sake, be careful. I don’t need Oz to kill me because you got in a wreck or something.”
“You got it.” Fizz gives a two-finger salute, spins the keys again, and bounces over to Blitzø’s van. Once he unlocks it and clambers inside he almost regrets his decision, and he takes a minute to shove as much of the trash into the backseat as he can before he even puts the key in the ignition. He fires off one last text to let Ozzie know he’s on his way, and starts the car.
The entire trip home, it's hard to shake the image of a cavernously empty kitchen.