Chapter 40 It was a strong beer, and it was my first time drinking it.

I was dreaming of warm mushroom stew when something small and hard bounced off my nose.

Pfft—!

Another pebble hit my forehead. Then another.

Groggy and disoriented, I squirmed against the warm weight pinning me—Lyn’s arm was slung possessively over my chest, her tail coiled around my leg like a living shackle. Her ears twitched when I wriggled, but she only growled sleepily and yanked me closer, her claws pricking my skin.

Ping!

A pebble struck my bald head.

Gasping, I craned my neck toward the noise—and there, framed by moonlight, were three familiar, grinning faces leaning in over the window frame.

My fellow goblins from earlier today. One of them lobbed another pebble, this time nailing me square between the eyes.

"Oof—!" I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the yelp. Lyn stirred but didn’t wake.

One of them mouthed something exaggerated through the window.

  "GET. OUT. HERE."

Middle one pulled up a bottle, and holding it at his mouth, tipped it back with a waggle of his brows.

I glanced back at Lyn—her face was smushed into the pillow, her whiskers quivering with each soft exhale. If I moved just right—

One clawed hand shot out and slammed onto my shoulder as I tried to slide away.

"Where," Lyn mumbled, her voice thick with sleep but razor-sharp, "do you think you’re going, Green Bean?"

The window creaked.

All three idiot heads vanished with a synchronized thunk of skulls hitting the outer wall.

I froze. Lyn’s grip tightened.

"...Hermit."

"Y-yes?"

"Why do I hear giggling outside my window? Could it be that some goblins are waiting outside?"

A beat. Then, from the darkness beyond came a voice.

"WE’RE NOT HERE!" — "SHUT UP, MURB!" — "I THINK SHE HEARD US—"

Lyn's tail lashed like an irritated whip as she propped herself up on one elbow, her golden eyes gleaming in the moonlight. The tips of her claws dug just slightly into my shoulder—not enough to hurt, but enough to make sure I felt her displeasure.

"Oh, fine! Go. Run off with your new best friends in the middle of the night. See if I care."

She released me with a dramatic flick of her wrist, rolling onto her back and throwing an arm over her eyes like a scorned heroine in a bad play. 

"Why would I want your company anyway? It’s not like I specifically waited until we were alone to—ugh, never mind. You're a goblin, you fellas are notorious when it came to this kind of stuff."

A pause. Then she peeked out from under her arm, ears twitching.

"But if you come back smelling like mushroom wine and mud again, I’m throwing you in the river myself."

Another beat. Her tail flicked.

"...And don’t let Murb convince you to lick another glowing mushroom. That never ends well with you, goblins."

I hesitated for half a second—just long enough for Lyn to let out an exaggerated, muffled "WELL? GO ON THEN!" from beneath the blanket pile.

I scrambled to my feet, nearly tripping over 

"You heard the lady!" One of them cackled, grabbing my wrist.

  "Move it, loverboy—the night's young and our stash isn't gonna drink itself!"

I shot one last glance at the lump of blankets that was Lyn. A single, lashing tail tip stuck out, twitching with barely contained irritation.

"I, uh—I'll be back before dawn?" I tried, wincing as the blanket mound let out a derisive snort.

"Oh, please," came Lyn's voice, dripping with sarcasm.

  "Take your time. I'm sure someone needs to keep my bed warm—oh wait, that was supposed to be you. But maybe you will take a hint better when you take a few shots."

The four of us crouched in the moonlit alley, huddled around a suspiciously sticky barrel that smelled like fermented fruit and bad decisions.

"I’m Brog," announced the first goblin, thumping his chest proudly.

  "I eat rocks sometimes."

"I’m Snik," said the second, whose left eye twitched independently of the right.

  "I once licked a dead frog and saw the moon cry."

"I’m Murb," grinned the third, showing off a mouth missing at least four teeth. 

"I can fit my whole fist in my nose. Wanna see?"

"No, you fool, no one want to see that," the other two shouted in unison.

They turned to me expectantly.

"I’m, uh. Hermit," I said. 

"I… think a mushroom talked to me once?"

They nodded solemnly, as if this was a perfectly reasonable thing to say.

"Anyway!" Brog slapped the barrel. 

"We got bubbly happiness juice! Days hard work, earned it—from the cat-folk for… uh…"

"Digging holes!" Snik said.

"And then filling them back in!" Murb added.

"Very hard work," Brog said gravely. 

"So. We drink. Then we laugh. Then we fall down. Then we do it again! This is fun, happy goblins. We are!"

I stared at Murb as he rattled the barrel. A mysterious liquid sloshed inside, emitting a faint hiss.

  "Is it… supposed to do that?"

"YES," they chorused.

Murb pried the lid off with his teeth immediately, frothy golden liquid erupted like a tiny volcano, drenching us all.

"IT’S ALIVE!" Snik screamed, delighted.

We each took a wooden cup—mine had a suspicious hole chewed in the side—and dipped them into the fizzing barrel.

"To tasty quencher!" Brog declared.

"To fish!" Murb added, shaking a dried sardine like a ceremonial scepter.

We drank and world exploded.

My tongue fizzed. My ears rang. My vision briefly inverted. The ground swayed like a hammock made of jelly. It was a strong beer, and it was my first time drinking it.

"...I can taste colors," I whispered in awe.

"TOLD YOU... offf..." Murb cackled, before face-planting into a pile of fish scraps.

One by one, we toppled like dominoes, giggling uncontrollably as the stars spun overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a very worried cat-woman’s voice yelled, "I knew I shouldn’t have given those goblins the expired beer—"

But we were already too busy trying to lick the moon.

Soon, the barrel was empty.

Not just empty—polished clean, as if it had never held liquid at all. Snik had seen to that. He’d crammed himself inside like a drunken squirrel, licking the interior with single-minded determination before finally passing out mid-lick, his tongue still pressed against the wood. His snores echoed from inside the barrel.

Murb had attempted to eat the last dried fish with the grace of a concussed seagull. Instead of his mouth, he’d somehow shoved it up his own nose before collapsing face-first into the dirt, the fish tail sticking straight out like some bizarre snorkel. Every snor made it flutter.

Brog, meanwhile, had been muttering what I thought were profound drunken gibberish.

  "The sky is wet… the dirt is loud… why do toes smell so good?" But when I turned to respond, I realized his eyes were closed. He was asleep on his feet, swaying gently like a sapling in the wind.

As for me? Well. I had every intention of crawling back to Lyn’s hut. A noble goal. A romantic goal.

Instead, my limbs decided they had other plans.

I zigzagged through the village like a snake with a concussion, convinced every shadow was a friendly doorway. When I finally spotted a cozy-looking hut, I practically wept with relief. "Lyyyyyn," I slurred, dragging myself inside like a half-drowned rat.

It was not Lyn’s hut.

I tumbled back into the alley, landing in a heap next to Murb whose fish-nose let out a wet blurp as I jostled him.

First, I tried to stand up. Mistake. The world tilted violently, and I immediately face-planted into Murb’s fish-adorned nose. He didn’t wake up. Just snorted and rolled over, the dried sardine now lodged even deeper.

Second attempt: crawling. Better. I dragged myself forward like a wounded animal, limbs moving in four different directions at once. Every pebble felt like a knife. Every shadow looked like a very judgmental Lyn.

At some point, I mistook a sleeping goat for a pillow and tried to snuggle it. The goat disagreed. Violently. Now I have hoof-shaped bruises.

The world was still spinning when I finally reached Lyn’s hut. My legs wobbled like jelly, my head pounded like a drum, and my stomach churned like it was full of regret. But I was determined to make it back.

I fumbled with the window and tumbled inside like a sack of wet potatoes, landing in a heap on the floor.

Lyn was asleep, her chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. The moonlight painted stripes across her fur, and for a second, I just stared, drunk and dizzy and stupidly happy to see her.

I crawled toward the bed, my movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Every inch felt like a mile, but I needed to get close. When I finally reached her, I curled up into the tiniest ball I could manage, wrapping my big goblin ears around myself like a blanket.

Safe. Warm. Home.

Just before sleep dragged me under, I heard Lyn let out a soft "Tch."

Then, her voice—barely a whisper, half-amused, half-annoyed, "Even drunk off your ass… this idiot still doesn’t get it. Cute cat girl sleeps next to you, and you do nothing? What goblin are you."

My lips twitched into a dumb, drunken smile and my thump found its way into my mouth.

Then my brain finally shut off, and I passed out—still curled up beside her, still smelling like fermented bad decisions, but exactly where I wanted to be.