you were everything

Y/N Eats her First Donut

☂ who do I have to kill to get a decent cup of coffee? ☂ 

"Who do I have to kill to get a decent cup of coffee around here?" Five stalks through the house like a buffering old man—half-glitching, half-snarling, rubbing a hand over his sleep-deprived face. He moves with a sharp, mechanical rhythm, powered by nothing but sheer spite and caffeine withdrawal.

The rest of the family stares blankly. No one dares answer.

He's already heading for the door.

"Do you even know how to drive?" Allison calls after him, arms crossed, unimpressed.

"I know how to do everything," he replies, without missing a beat.

And that's all it takes.

Before I can think, before I can rationalize, I'm following him out.

The air outside is sharp, crisp. Five marches ahead, single-minded, uniform wrinkled from sleep deprivation and existential dread. He reaches the car, hand outstretched for the door—

Only for the keys to slip from his grasp.

I flick my wrist. They soar through the air, landing neatly in my palm. I step back, fingers curling around them.

Five exhales slowly, tilting his head. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

His gaze drops to my closed fist, where the keys glint between my fingers. He sighs through his nose, already recalculating.

Then he vanishes.

A whisper of air. A shift in pressure.

In the next instant, he's behind me, fingers reaching—

I don't hesitate.

With a twitch of my hand, I freeze him mid-motion, his arm locked at an awkward angle. His fingers tremble, hovering inches from my palm.

"Fuck," Five grits out, jaw clenching. "Kindly remove your grasp from my hand."

I tilt my head. "Hmm. No."

His muscles strain as I push harder, forcing his arm back to his side.

Five winces. "I'm warning you."

"And I'm warning you—your hand isn't the only thing I can crush."

He stills.

For a fraction of a second, his gaze flickers downward, considering his options. Then he sighs, rolling his shoulders, irritated but unwilling to escalate this particular battle.

"Fine," he mutters. "You can come."

I grin, twirling the keys.

"Glad we had this talk."

_ 

Five slides into the driver's seat without a single word. The car hums under the weight of our shared silence.

I glance out the window for a moment, then back at the sad rock that had rolled under my seat. It's small, smooth, probably just a speck of dirt on the scale of the universe. 

Now, it floats lazily in the air in front of me as I toy with it in my hands. 

"You're not going to talk." It's not a question. It's a fact.