Chapter Text
The diner is as always — loud, but not too loud; full, but not exactly full. There are chairs scraping, and low conversation, and the never-ending hum of noises that you have no idea where they come from.
A normal day, as normal as it can be in this town.
You sit there, in a normal day, with your normal way to cope with this madness, even though it just feels like you are doing too much.
The door opens, bell above it giving this tired ring before fading off.
You know it’s Kenny. You notice him before everyone.
You usually do it.
It’s not intentional, it just… happens.
Your attention kind of shifts to wherever he’s moving, like it learned where it should go since the first night you saw him. Kenny steps inside, pauses for half a second before he looks around, orienting himself, until his eyes fall on you.
There’s a softness that comes to his features that you like to see, but you have to constantly remind you that’s nothing more than a friend searching for another friend.
“Hey,” he says, walking over.
You straighten a little too quickly.
“Hi,” you reply. “Hey— hi.”
You stop yourself before a fourth one.
He smiles faintly before he sits across from you.
“You good?”
You nod fast.
“Yep. I mean— yeah, I’m fine. Everything is… town-normal.”
That earns you a small exhale from him.
“Town-normal is not a great category.”
He reaches over without asking and slides your coffee a little closer to himself — that thing that’s smells faintly like coffee, but tastes nothing like it.
“I prefer the old one, horror-movie slide show…” he squint his eyes, trying to remember “… situation?” he tries.
You watch him a second too long before lowering your eyes to your hands.
Bad timing. Always bad timing.
“Horror-movie-slash-emotional-nightmare situation.”
“Yeah,” he laughs quietly. “That one.”
Kenny makes a face.
“Still tastes horrible,” he says, pushing the cup back toward you.
“Don’t let your mama hear it,” you joke.
Your fingers brush as you take the cup back. That tiny contact does something extremely annoying to your brain — and you force it to shut it down because there’s no place for it to go.
You focus very hard on not reacting to it.
You know he noticed it — Kenny always does, he just doesn’t comment on it because, maybe, he doesn’t want to make it worse. Or encourage you.
Silence settles comfortably between you too.
Since the town is still awakening, the diner is at a slow pace and breakfast is still on its way. You have to wait, which means you have to sit there and do nothing to occupy your mind and your hands besides having Kenny sitting right in front of you.
Torture.
“You are staring again,” Kenny says mildly.
You blink, eyes snapping back to him.
“I wasn’t— I mean— I-I was thinking,” you correct quickly.
He raises an eyebrow slightly. He’s relaxed like this — never fully, obviously — but less sharp around the edges, like things can move in an almost-normal way. It feels easy to talk to him like this.
It’s dangerous actually.
“Risky hobby,” he mutters.
You exhale this nervous laugh, “I’ll try to stop.”
“Don’t,” he responds automatically.
And a moment later, because you keep staring at him and— is he blushing?— Kenny adds, “Thinking’s fine. Just don’t overdo it.”
“… okay.” You smile, sip that seriously unenjoyable coffee, “I can do… moderate thinking.”
He stares at you, amused.
“You say that like it’s a skill?”
You purse your lips, fingers tapping the cup. “In my case, it kinda is.”
It gets a real laugh out of him. You still remember the first laugh he gave you, right after some horrible think happened and you made a dark joke that landed wrong to everyone, except for him.
You shush your heart, it’s making those little jumps.
“You’ve been okay, though?” he asks, a little more gently know. “Haven’t seen you much around.”
Yeah, you’ve been hiding. You have a crush on him, and he likes Kristi… and there’s no point and being around him, feeding this feeling that will never go anywhere.
“Yes.” Your fingers tap the cup — one, two, three; one two three.
You add, a second later, “I mean— mostly. I’ve been trying to be useful, so I don’t get in the way.”
Kenny’s expression shifts slightly, and you would give anything in the world to know what he’s thinking. You saw the way he looked at you that first night, like you were trouble about to happen.
“You are not in the way,” he says, like it’s a simple fact.
But you shrug, looking down immediately.
“I just don’t want to be another problem people have to deal with,” you say, softly and gentle, almost absent in a way that sounds like it just slipped out of your mouth.
Kenny doesn’t fill the silence like other people would. If there’s one thing he learned about you is the fact that you don’t need a lot of words, but you do need actions.
You pick on the spoon that sits on the table, even though there’s nothing to do with it.
Your head is down, your eyes are lower.
You put it back because you don’t know what to do and he make syou nervous.
Kenny watches it briefly.
“You’re doing that thing again,” he says.
You blink, looking at him.
“… what thing?”
“The ‘trying not to exist too loudly’ thing.”
You stop, fingers stiffing over the spoon. He’s not harsh and you know he’s not wrong, but every time he points it out, you feel like you are doing something wrong.
Sometimes, you wish your brain just worked like regular brains.
“I’m not doing it on purpose,” you say quietly.
“I know,” he replies.
There’s no judgement on it.
Softer, you murmur, “I’m working on it.”
Kenny smiles.
“You don’t have to do that around me, you know.”
You know you are blushing, and you know you can’t crush all these feelings if he keeps feeding them. Even if it’s not intentional, the way he says it lands differently, and you have a hate-love relationship to the way it makes you feel.
Then, your brain does what he usually does when it doesn’t know how to stay in a moment: it looks for an exit.
Luckly, it arrives for you.
“Hey, sweety,” Donna reaches you, a heavy hand landing on your shoulder. “You got a second?”
Her tone isn’t sharp, but rather pragmatic.
You like Donna because her brain works in a straight line and gets things done.
“Hi— hey, yes. Of course.”
You reply — too quick. Again.
Donna gives you a small, almost approving look.
“Good,” she says. “I need a hand with something.”
“Oh—yes. Okay,” you say immediately. “I can help.”
Kenny watches as you stand.
“You haven’t eaten,” he says.
You freeze mid-step.
“I— I was going to—” you start.
Donna waves a hand lightly, saying in this matter-of-fact tone that leaves room for no doubts, “She’ll eat later. I need her for like ten minutes.”
You latch onto it immediately.
“Okay,” you say, relief slipping into your voice before you can hide it. “Yeah. Of course. I’m coming."
Honestly? Feels easier if you can be helpful enough for people to not notice that you are taking space somewhere. You give this tighten-lip smile to Kenny as you move with Donna, your brain screaming in relief because you don’t have to continue that conversation — you don’t even know how would you if you had to.
Donna falls into step beside you, easy pace.
“You’re always like that?”
You glance at her.
“Like what?”
She shrugs slightly.
“Trying not to take up space.”
It hits you, but not in a dramatical way. More like it reached a part of you that you constantly try to hide. Like, someone saw the ugly part and you are out of ways to hide it.
“I-I just like to be useful,” you mutter, recovering as quickly as you can.
Donna hums in agreement, but it doesn’t feel like the end of it. “Mm,” She just nods. “Fair.”
From the diner, Kenny watches you for a second too long. He exhales though his nose once. Almost amused. Almost not.
“Yeah,” he mutters to himself. “Okay.”