One more night

"Scottie?" you ask some time later, when they're finished harassing you with aloe vera gel and have reluctantly conceded to settle down on opposite ends of the couch so you can rest your head in Dex's lap and your feet in Scott's. "What was that drink you got the stuff to make?"

Scott picks up your phone from where it's lying awake on your bare belly and pauses the music—instead of Hamilton, Scott put on the Division Bell after both he and Dex vetoed the former when they figured out that what you really meant by listen to Hamilton was, listen to the song Hurricane on repeat. "The lime and mint and all? Just a mojito. Why?"

"Would you make me one of those with—" you begin

"—are you actually joking right now?" he says, at the same time that Dex swats you on the shoulder and demands, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Oops. Maybe you buried the lede there. "Sorry. I meant, without the rum part?" you explain. "Like can I have some of that minty lime stuff with a super cold Sprite?"

They trade a glance and after a second Scott nods and stands up. "Sure. Be glad to."

As soon as Scott disappears into the kitchen Dex lets out a sigh with all kinds of unhappiness packed into it, but it doesn't sound like a contemptuous or actively angry sigh. He doesn't say anything, though. He just keeps idly stroking your hair.

It might just be that you're, well, catastrophically drunk, but you feel a subtle difference in the overall vibe since that moment earlier when Scott's mask slipped pretty hard. He hasn't called you Bridgy in ages, and maybe it's because it's too close to Dex's Birdie or occasional Budgie, or even Budget, if he thinks you're being too fuss-budgety about something. Tonight has lent you some heretofore inaccessible sense of nuance to their dynamic of recent months. You perceive now, for the first time, that Scott feels bad—really bad—about something. And whatever Dex is pissed at Scott for, it seems big enough that he maybe wouldn't have accepted an apology if it were offered. But for the first time he seems more sad and defeated than he does righteously angry.

"Teddy?" you whisper, and he pauses in messing with your hair and looks down at you. "Are you still super pissed at me?"

He shrugs. "Don't worry about it, Birdie."

"I am kind of worried, though," you whisper. "I'm worried it's like whatever Scott did and you're just over me too."

Dex looks down at you with a pained expression. "What made you decide he even did anything, honey? I'll get over this thing tonight. I just..."

You're so curious what he just, that you almost regret it when Scott come back just then with a little tray and three glasses. He sets one on the coffee table for you, hands one to Dex, and takes one for himself. "Ours are the regular kind with rum," he tells Dex. "I'm probably not supposed to just say this, but I'll just level with you anyway—I'm pretty stressed out sitting here with you. Probably definitely going to say the wrong thing. Might as well take the edge off so it feels less shitty when I do. But if you don't want one I'll finish that and make you one like hers."

"Believe me, I want it," Dex says. You're watching him close, so you see his eyes lingering on Scott before he shifts his even gaze down to you. "No armistice shit, Birdie," he says gently. "We're going along with your one night thing. That's all."

"He's right, babe," Scott agrees when you make a face at Dex, picking up your feet so he can sit down, and then replacing them on his lap once he's seated. "Don't give him shit about it."

"Thanks," Dex says to him, and Scott nods.

You sit up enough to take a sip of your fancy Sprite. It's really good. Really, really good. You were so thirsty, too. You sip down about half of it and let Dex put it back on the table for you, then settle back against them both while they nurse their own drinks.

"This is really good, actually," Dex offers after a minute.

"Thanks," Scott says. "Kenesha taught me. It's kinda dumb that I'm proud of something stupid like crushing some fucking mint but it really makes me feel like it's the special touch, or something." He laughs a little awkwardly.

Dex shrugs. "It's the little details."

"I guess, yeah." Scott shrugs uncomfortably. "I mean, hey, at least my hands smell nice."

"Lemme smell," you say, and he gives a little huff of amusement and holds his right hand over to you. "Minty," you pronounce it, predictably. You can't see Dex's face, but you see Scott looking at him with a mildly humorous expression. "Yup," he agrees politely, taking his hand back.

There's a brief silence, during which nobody says anything, and you consider asking them to put some music back on, except you don't want them to play Division Bell anymore since its whole theme feels just mournful as shit to you right now, and you can't think of any other albums except every Kate Bush record and whatever the last Roxy Music album was with the weird bird. You're not in the mood for Roxy Music and you like to listen to Kate Bush on your own. So instead of prompting one of them to pick something, you decide to break the silence.