The possum hadn’t wanted to go to the party in the first place.
That felt important to mention.
Not because the party seemed bad.
Actually, it looked objectively lovely.
String lights hung across the backyard.
Someone had brought tiny cupcakes.
There was a fire pit.
A record player softly crackled old music into the warm summer night.
The kind of gathering people usually described as:
“low key”
Which, in the possum’s experience, was almost never true.
Still…
the Burnt-Out Frog had encouraged him to go.
The Book Dragon said it might be “good for enrichment.”
The Emotional Support Cherries promised there would be snacks.
So against his better judgment, the possum showed up wearing his tiny denim jacket and carrying an emotional support iced coffee.
At first, things were manageable.
People chatted softly beneath the patio lights.
Someone complimented his jacket.
A raccoon offered him mozzarella sticks.
The playlist was weirdly excellent.
For one shining moment, the possum thought:
maybe i AM healing
Then someone brought out a bluetooth speaker.
The music got louder.
More people arrived.
Someone started a conversation circle.
A woman named Ashley began explaining cryptocurrency near the hummus.
The possum felt his soul leave his body a little.
You could almost pinpoint the exact moment overstimulation arrived.
It started behind the eyes.
Then the shoulders.
Then suddenly every sound in the backyard became equally loud at the same time.
Ice clinking in cups.
Laughter.
Dogs barking three houses away.
The horrifying phrase:
“LET’S TAKE A GROUP PHOTO”
The possum stared into the middle distance.
The Burnt-Out Frog noticed immediately.
“You good?” he asked softly.
The possum nodded too fast.
Which was possum code for:
absolutely not
Nobody made a big deal about it though.
That’s the nice thing about emotionally exhausted creatures.
They recognize each other.
A few minutes later, the possum quietly slipped out the side gate into the cool night air.
Outside, the neighborhood felt soft and silent.
Crickets hummed in the grass.
Distant porch lights glowed warm against the dark.
The possum sat alone on the curb holding his iced coffee with both little paws while his nervous system attempted to reboot itself.
Honestly?
It felt incredible.
No talking.
No expectations.
No pretending he wasn’t tired.
Just night air and silence.
A few minutes later, the side gate creaked open again.
The Book Dragon stepped out carrying two cupcakes and a blanket.
No questions asked.
He simply sat down beside the possum on the curb.
The Burnt-Out Frog followed shortly after with mozzarella sticks.
Then the Emotional Support Cherries arrived dramatically in a tiny wagon full of snacks.
Nobody tried convincing the possum to come back inside.
Nobody said:
“Don’t be awkward.”
“Loosen up.”
“Come socialize.”
They just sat together quietly beneath the stars.
A tiny curbside support group for emotionally overwhelmed cryptids.
The possum looked down at the sidewalk for a long moment.
“I always leave parties early,” he admitted quietly.
The Burnt-Out Frog shrugged.
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Really?”
“Honey, I mentally leave before I physically arrive.”
That got the possum laughing.
A real laugh too.
The kind that loosens something tight in your chest.
The neighborhood remained quiet around them while soft music drifted faintly from the backyard beyond the fence.
Far enough away to sound comforting now instead of overwhelming.
The Book Dragon handed the possum a cupcake gently.
Vanilla with glitter sprinkles.
“Thanks,” the possum said softly.
“For what?”
The possum thought about it.
For not making him explain himself.
For following him outside without making it weird.
For understanding that friendship sometimes looks like sitting silently on a curb at 9:47 p.m. holding mozzarella sticks while recovering from accidental socialization.
But instead he just smiled a little and said:
“Everything.”
Above them, porch lights glowed gold against the summer dark.
Inside the party, people laughed loudly over music and clinking glasses.
Outside on the curb, the little group sat quietly together beneath the stars.
And honestly?
The possum liked this part better anyway.
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