Well...After debating whether or not to post this in addition to some of the dark stuff I've done / have been working on, I finally gave in. So...here...have some ridiculous-silly one-sided Starnerve. This one'll be relatively short. Promise.:c Anyone who briefly followed Meltdown might recognize a few lines/scenarios in this one. (Yeah, I'm still mad at myself over that one if you couldn't tell, haha)

For those following Passed On, I promise this had nothing to do with the next chapter's APPALLING delay. I've had this little idea ready to go for a while actually, along with a few other projects I've yet to let surface (was just much too shy to post this :'3 still sorta am gahh). And to those who were hoping this particular update would be the 'dark story' I had mentioned at the end of Subconscious...That one, in spite of a few hiccups, is still on its way! Muahaha.

Anyway...here goes! If you're reading this, hope you enjoy, thanks for stopping by, you're great, I'm great, we're all great, gonna go hide now.

~KQSimply

"Hey Tiff…? I just saw your status on Facebook…is everything okay?"

Riley's voice is very soft and quiet, and that's because Sadness is doing the driving right now. Everybody else gathers around her shoulders as they wait patiently, though with their breaths wedged in their chests, for Tiff's reply.

Tiff sniffles for a while. When she finally does answer, she sounds muffled and moist, like she's talking against a wet cloth that's been pressed onto the mic of her cell. Everybody cringes to hear it. They know her news isn't going to be good.

"…hey…um…no. Not really."
Riley tucks into herself a little, anxiously shifting her eyes. "What happened?"
And then comes the very not-so-good clincher: "M-my boyfriend and I broke up today."
"What? For real? Oh, Tiff…"

Ouch. Everyone in Headquarters hisses through their teeth. Sadness bites her lip and everything about her seems to darken and expand. This is her call to action. She directs a set of faders forward on the control panel. Tiff's every word, snuffle and blubber is amplified. Riley is listening to her very closely with a wide-open heart.

"Y-yeah," Tiff goes on to declare, "it came out of nowhere…he was walking me home, and he suddenly stops in front of my house and gets all quiet, and then he turns and he's all like, 'Oh, umm, we gotta talk', and I mean, yeah, it sucks that we both go to different schools, but since when did that even matter? You and I go to different schools and we're still friends."

"Yeah, yeah. Of course we are." Riley wishes she could hug her through the phone. She'll just have to wait until she sees her again at their next hockey practice. "Is that seriously what he told you?"

"He said that was a huge part of it. He doesn't think we see each other enough. He went on and on about how he needs me in his life but can't get enough of me and it's—" and here, in an idiot's voice: "'Ripping his heart out'." Her voice goes back to normal. "So I tell him, 'Babe, let's fix it, let's work it out.' And he goes, 'I don't think we can. I think we should just be friends.'" And Tiff sobs. "How's that supposed to fix us?!"

Riley snorts as Anger strikes a key on the console. "Well, yeah! Like, what the hell?" And she rolls her eyes as she curls up on her bed. "That doesn't make any sense at all. Ugh. Boys."
"Right?! That's what I thought!
"He's a jerk!"
"Ugh, he is such a jerk! I hate him!"

Anger is starting to really work the console now. He's on a roll. You might even say he was on fire. "Crummy little punk," he grunts, wriggling his fingers above his head to crack a half-dozen joints. "Thinks he can break all the hearts in San Francisco like nobody's watching. Who does he think he is?! I'll show 'em! Tell us his name, Tiff, give us his address, and we'll set him straight for you!"

He's about to slam his palms down onto the console when Tiff wails into the phone again. Everybody withdraws, wincing, and Anger holds his hands up and makes his retreat. Backwards.

"No, wait, I take it back! I love him! I still love him Riley. I do. I really do. I love his stupid little face so much. I love his taste in music, his smile, his kisses, the way they were always so warm and fresh and minty—"

Tripledent Gum—(Will make you smile!)

Everyone can thank Disgust for loudly dismissing the dreaded song from Headquarters before it can get stuck up here. "Um, that is not going to be the soundtrack for the remainder phone call."

Anger sighs, stepping far away from the console while Sadness resumes driving alone. "Eeesh," he groans through his teeth. "This whole 'relationship thing is so dumb. I was just about to agree with Tiff. It sounds to me like the guy she was with really stinks. What's there left to like? Does she love him or not? So confusing."

Fear, standing at the very back of the group, uncrosses his arms and points at Anger with an unusual buoyancy. "And that, my friend, is why your safest bet is to just stay out of it altogether. That's what I'm doing."

It's true.

Fear doesn't like confusion or anything that can result in confusion. Confusion confuses him. He prefers to think with a very level head whenever possible. This isn't always an easy thing for an emotion called Fear to accomplish on a daily basis, but he tries his best, and he likes to think that for the most part he does a pretty good job. In fact, after removing a notebook from his pocket and finding the tally he's made for the number of times he panicked over something this week, he can verify that he's about to break an all-time record in terms of keeping his cool.

On Monday, he had a mini freak-out over the results of last week's biology test. ("First we'll flunk biology. And then we'll flunk grade nine. And then we'll flunk high school. And then we'll flunk adulthood. They don't let high school drop-outs just mosey into the real world! We'll get stuck living with Mom and Dad forever!") The teacher quickly put everything to rest when she handed her paper back – Riley passed it with an B+.

And Joy pat him on the back. ("There, you see? What'd I tell you? I knew all of that studying was going to pay off. You just have to think positive sometimes.")

She was right.

On Tuesday, Riley made the mistake of watching a long documentary about unsolved murder mysteries. And though he's still fairly convinced that Riley's name is going to wind up featured in a documentary just like it someday ("Yep, psycho axe murderer – that's how we're gonna go. I was afraid of that."), he finds relief in making sure Riley checks over her shoulder as she's walking home, and he's decided he's never going to let her shower in the house when she's alone. Ever. ("Psycho axe murderers always go for their victims while they're defenseless in the shower. It's true!")

And Joy cast him a broad, feverish grin, a grin that was almost too good to be true. ("Er, didn't you, uh, didn't you catch the part where they said there are no axe murderers in San Francisco? The rest of you heard it, right guys? Y-yeah. See? We're fine. Axe murders are…um…they're more of a Canadian thing. What with all those trees over there and all.")

Well, he figured she was probably right.

And on Wednesday night, things got a little more serious when he realized two blocks from their house that Riley had lost her keys somewhere. And then Dad wouldn't answer his phone. And Mom was out shopping or at a book club or volunteering or something. Or maybe she was dead. He got worried about that too. And then it started to thunder. "(Oh no! Don't umbrellas attract lightning? Should we put it down? Or does that leave us more vulnerable? W-we're gonna be stuck out here forever, aren't we?! What're we going to do?!")

And Joy shook him by the shoulders before he could run another lap around Headquarters. She forced him to breathe. ("We're going to stop right here at our friend's house and see if her folks'll let us stay over for a while. They'll understand. No problem.")

And...she was right about that too.

Joy is right about most things. Fear listens carefully to her when she makes any suggestions, because 9.9 times out of 10, she's always right.

That's just one of the very many things Fear likes most about Joy.

In addition to her mystic ability to rise above unhappy circumstances with a dazzling smile, she is very talented when it comes to fixing things soon after they become or appear to be broken. She can put a bad situation in reverse; she can turn a frown upside-down; she can manipulate a nasty forecast into something that shines bright.

In short she works little happy miracles each and every day. Fear likes that about her too.

There are other things...lots of other things...but he tries not to reflect on those things too often. She makes his head spin. His heart pound. His breath shrivel up in his chest. It feels a little bit like a bad bout of confusion. The thing Fear doesn't like. Therefore, he has to be very careful when it comes to thinking about Joy in any extended measure.

Or else.

But as he glimpses at the others who are still tucked up close to the console, his eye is quick to seek her out anyway. She isn't difficult to spot in a crowd with thanks to her sparkling aura (which, he admits, he likes too, for reasons he prefers not to think about in any depth because it's - yikes! That was almost too much depth). He finds her standing behind Sadness with her arms folded tightly along the curve of her chest, her lips pressed into a fine line of concern. She isn't saying anything.

Fear wishes she would speak up for a number of reasons. For one, he is sure he can sense a multitude of encouraging phrases lining up behind her painted lips, and if only she would stop biting them, they could break through the dam and change the nature of Riley's phonecall around as easy as one, two, three.

Poof!

Joy is just magical like that.

For another, since Joy's smile has dwindled due to the circumstances, it just makes him feel…oh, how should he put it? He decides it's sort of like having a stubbornly upset stomach. It's like being trapped in a chilly November rainstorm that shows no sign of letting up. Or like losing power, and having no means to light the darkness in front of him or to use as any source of comfort.

It's…bad. It feels bad, he decides, when Joy isn't Joy.

And so he wishes he could do something – anything – to win her smile back. Problem is, Fear's specialty has nothing to do with bringing on smiles or laughter. Not at all. It's practically the opposite. Fear's job is to panic about the future, or stress out over what could be or what might have been, or trigger maddening fight-or-flight responses. Riley doesn't smile when Fear's driving unless, in some grossly uncomfortable situation or other, he has no other choice but to force an awkward grin out of her. That's happened plenty of times, and it's very unpleasant. Necessary! But unpleasant. It lacks the surreal luster that accompanies Joy's driving ability. His is plastic and semi-painful and it makes him feel a little guilty for having brought it on, sometimes.

Fear can only dream up ways he could make Joy smile since he knows by now that it'd be impossible to achieve in reality. Why, if he had the guts, he'd do something extra special for her, like...like...

...Well, he's still working on that one. He's been stuck on it for years. Thinking about it summons those feelings of confusion again, twisting up his spine and clenching his stomach until it becomes a chore to gulp. He's not overly fond of the shocks to his system it causes, or the way it makes his breath pass in and out of him in swift, pathetic spurts. It's doesn't seem healthy.

But the bizarre, drunken lightheadedness that follows, the calming eiderdown folds that blanket, warm and comfort his every irrational thought and reason whenever he studies or thinks about Joy and her irresistible charm...he's rather fond of that.

As a matter of fact, he loves that. And he's not sure what he loves most about it — that after suffering through a long, anxious day, it has mysterious ways of bringing him insurmountable peace, or that Joy, and Joy alone, is often its glowing cause.

Fear is aware that he's staring now, but he can't stop now that he's started. This is something that's been happening to him lately. He'll get thinking about her, and try as he might he won't be able to stop. Having a visual aid right in front of him only makes the task of forgetting her all the more unfeasible. But he figures, for now, that he's safe, so long as Joy doesn't look over her shoulder and catch him gawking at her.

And then Joy looks over her shoulder. She catches him gawking at her.

He startles and his spine locks up tight — he tries to draw his hands tight against his body but forgets about his notepad and he fumbles it — his pen goes flying in one direction and papers shower through the air to his left.

Joy snorts through her sinuses and laughs. "Jeepers. I didn't even say 'boo' this time!"

Ack! She just HAD to call him on it, too, didn't she?

Darn it Joy.

"Didn't think the conversation was all that tense." Disgust props her hands on her hips, her brow askew. She's suspicious. That's very, very bad. Disgust voices all of her suspicions, after all. She's probably got him all figured out. It's only a matter of time before she gives him away, and with Joy standing right next to her...what a disaster that'd be! He'd have to 86 himself in front of his colleagues through sheer will power. It'd be the only way out.

He doesn't want it to come to that. Fear chuckles nervously, utters a "Whoopsie" and sweeps his pen and a small fraction of the notepad papers into one fist in a single windy motion. "Y'know," he gasps as he recovers, his tongue motored by the residual shock of the moment before, "it's looking like you guys are getting along fine without me, and I'm bushed, so I'm just gonna turn in early. Keep, uh, keep doing your thing, Sadness — you're on a roll."

Sadness frowns at the floor over her shoulder. She looks like she's about to suggest something — sheesh! Does she have him all figured out too? — but Disgust cuts her off with a loud eye-roll-and-groan combo as she returns her gaze back to the outside world. "Well, goodnight then. Have fun missing out on all of the juicy details of their breakup."

Fear coughs as he paces backward toward the ramp that'll carry him to his bedroom. "Oh, I will. You know these sorts of situations make me uncomfortable anyway." He hopes that's a half-decent cover-up. It mixes a bit of truth into his lie, which makes him feel just a little more secure.

"We know," grumbles Anger as Fear reaches the bedroom door. "And you always duck out of them right when they start to turn around."

This prompts Fear to peek briefly over his shoulder one last time — and he sees that Joy is slowly joining Sadness at the console. Now the two of them are starting to drive, and Riley is starting to smile as she helps Tiff do the same. The two friends have found a silver lining, and now they're starting to laugh and tease one another.

...See? Joy really can fix anything.

Fear grins to himself as he slips through the doorway and heads for his bedroom. For a while, as he leans against the inside of his bedroom door, he stares blindly at the tangle of loose papers and the half-buried pen in his palms, and he imagines what would have happened if he had just kept his cool out there. What would've happened if Joy had looked at him and he had merely returned her blissful gaze. Maybe, if he was a different Emotion altogether — if he was called Courage, let's say — he could have smiled too, chock-full of charisma and pizzazz and other traits Joy would be just as fond of. He doesn't really want to confess his feelings for her, after all. That's asking an awful lot of an Emotion who is actually called Fear...not Courage.

All he really wants to do was share a smile with her and hold it for a few seconds. Something warm and genuine. Something they can feel, something that might resonate between the two of them. Then he'd be satisfied.

...Well, he figures, at the very least...I guess I did make her smile tonight.

He frowns as he crosses his room and lowers to the edge of his bed.

Uh huh, okay, Conscience, I hear you loud'n'clear. It was at my expense. I didn't go out of my way to make her do it or anything.

He huffs and switches on the lamp on his bedside table. Doesn't like to sit around in the dark for too long.

Yeah, yeah, I KNOW it wasn't something we shared, or anything. I was there too. Jeeze, Conscience, you can be so annoying sometimes.

He smirks to himself, running his hand under his nose.

All that matters to me is that for two seconds, because of something I did, she smiled, and I got to look. So there.

And he closes his eyes.

Can't we just do what Joy says, for once, and at least TRY to think positive?...

...And then he opens them again, sighing to himself.

...Yeah...Fat chance...I know.

He's in for yet another long, restless night. Tomorrow could be different...but Fear worries that it probably won't be.

...Oh, well.