BFDI AND II ONESHOT BOOK!

Huddle Up - Team ChickenLeg

It's a chilly night, and Bomb shyly suggests they all huddle together for warmth—mostly because he just really loves physical affection. The team is a little uncomfortable with this, but ultimately they agree and shuffle in closer and cuddle for the night.

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The night was biting cold—colder than usual. The sky above was clear, stars blinking silently in the void, offering no warmth. The challenge grounds were always left exposed to the elements, and with no shelter provided between competitions, the contestants had long since adapted to finding their own corners to rest in. That didn't make it easier, though.

Bomb was curled up at the base of a gnarled old tree, arms wrapped tightly around himself, his breath coming out in small visible puffs. His knees were tucked against his chest, and every now and then he gave a visible shiver, teeth chattering. The bark behind him dug into his back, but the cold was far worse.

Nearby, Pickle had settled against the opposite side of the same tree, acting as an impromptu pillow for Taco, who was already snoozing, curled into his lap like some content little cat. Pickle gently stroked her head as she snored softly, clearly used to this routine.

A short distance away, Salt and Pepper were nestled together as always, forming their own private bubble, indifferent to the rest of the team's struggles. They never really mingled much after hours.

Paper had been eliminated recently... so he wasn't here.

As for OJ, he and Balloon were locked in an argument—something about team loyalty, Balloon's attitude, or possibly both. Their voices, though hushed, carried tension and fatigue, neither of them really in the mood but too stubborn to let the other have the last word.

Bomb watched them quietly, trying to keep from trembling too obviously. He rubbed his hands along his arms in an attempt to generate heat, but it wasn't working. His body was stiff, sore, and cold. He couldn't take much more of it.

"G-Guys..." Bomb finally spoke up, voice small and shaky.

OJ halted mid-retort, turning his head toward Bomb. The moment he saw the shivering mess he was, concern softened his features. "What is it, Bomb?" he asked, stepping away from Balloon's annoyance for a moment.

Bomb looked up at them all with watery, hopeful eyes. "I-It's just... it's really c-cold out tonight... A-And I was thinking maybe... w-wouldn't it be nice if we all huddled up close? Like, together?"

"Like cuddling?" Balloon scrunched up his face, clearly uncomfortable with the thought.

"Well... yeah!" Bomb replied, voice brightening just slightly. "Snuggling up like a big pile of puppies... Ooh, it'd be so warm..."

OJ rubbed the back of his head, awkwardly avoiding Bomb's pleading gaze. "I... I dunno, Bomb. I'm not really the cuddly type."

"I think it's sweet!" Pickle chimed in cheerfully. "I love hugs. Taco and I cuddle every night! Plus— Balloon still owes me a hug! He hugged Pepper earlier and skipped me!" Pickle's tone turned mock-accusatory as he pouted.

"What?!" Balloon snapped. "I never said I was gonna hug you! That was—ugh, that was a one-time situational hug!"

"Well you still did it!" Pickle retorted playfully, clearly more amused than upset.

"I am not cuddling," Balloon huffed, folding his arms and spinning away from the group with a dramatic flair. Leave me out of your fuzzy feelings. I have a game to win. I'm not about to waste time being all... mushy. Is what Balloon thought but didn't say.

OJ let out a tired sigh. Without a word, he shifted closer to Bomb, nudging him gently before settling down against the same tree. "Alright, come here," he said gruffly, opening an arm up.

Bomb's eyes lit up like fireworks. Practically glowing with gratitude, he scooted right into OJ's side, nestling his head carefully against OJ's glass frame. OJ wrapped his arm around him, settling in with a resigned but warm breath.

Pickle followed suit, scooting over with Taco still dozing peacefully in his lap. He rested his head against Bomb's on the other side, forming a growing clump of warmth.

Meanwhile, Balloon sat off to the side, arms still tightly crossed. His pride wouldn't let him move. The cold was biting worse now, and though he tried not to show it, he was visibly shivering. He curled in on himself, burying his face in his knees and hugging them tightly.

OJ glanced over, watching him. As much as Balloon frustrated him—his constant nagging, his rude comments, the walls he built around himself—OJ couldn't ignore that look. The way Balloon got when he thought no one was watching. Lonely. Vulnerable. Lost. This... wasn't the real him, OJ felt. Or at least not all of him.

Without even asking, OJ reached out and grabbed Balloon's wrist, tugging him over with some effort.

"Hey! What do you think you're—" Balloon began to protest, kicking slightly. But the words died in his throat as OJ wrapped his arm around him, firmly, pulling him into the warmth of the huddle.

Balloon blinked. He tensed for a moment. Then... slowly, the tension melted from his body. His arms unwound. He pouted, resting his head against OJ's other knee, the one not occupied by Bomb. His cheeks were warm—though whether from the huddle or the fluster, it was hard to say. He muttered something unintelligible and let his eyes fall shut.

OJ smiled to himself and idly pet Balloon's head. "Like a little hamster," he whispered with amusement. "Finally."

Bomb, now sandwiched in a blanket of friends, looked up with a sleepy grin, eyes sparkling. "This is nice..." he whispered.

OJ looked down at him and gave a rare, soft smile. "Yeah... it is."

"Night OJ... night Balloon... Pickle... Taco," Bomb mumbled, letting out a long breath of warmth and comfort as his eyes fluttered closed.

OJ leaned back against the tree, eyes shutting. "Night, Bomb."

The stars above twinkled on, but the cold no longer mattered. For once, the team was at peace.