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Snow drifted down in lazy spirals outside the wide glass windows of Roblox HQ, each flake flashing silver whenever it crossed paths with the starlight or the colorful glow leaking out from inside the building. The world outside looked still, gentle, untouched, while the inside was anything but.
The HQ was alive.
Not the usual weekday buzz of keyboards clacking or faint laughter from someone who discovered a bizarre new bug on the platform. No, tonight was loud, warm, chaotic in the best way. A full-blown Christmas celebration had taken over the entire main floor, and everyone had been roped into it…whether they wanted to or not.
Laughter spilled out from the wide-open kitchen area, where trays of gingerbread cookies had already been mysteriously eaten down to crumbs. The “hot cocoa station”, originally planned as a small side table, had expanded into a full-blown chocolate fountain situation after someone (likely Shedletsky) thought marshmallows needed a more “interactive experience.” Bright red and gold tinsel lined railings, monitors, chairs, and even a few unfortunate employees.
Shedletsky sat on the couch in the center of the room, a piece of fried chicken in hand, because of course he did, and leaned back as he admired the massive Christmas tree in front of him. A real pine tree, not a plastic one. They had all helped decorate it earlier in the day, and its branches drooped under the weight of ornaments shaped like classic Roblox avatars. Some were goofy, some were stylish, and at least one was slightly haunting if stared at too long.
But something didn’t feel right.
He scanned the room. Brighteyes by the snack table. Stickmasterluke eating something he definitely shouldn’t. Doombringer and Clockwork standing in a corner like smug kings.
But one person was missing.
Builderman.
Shedletsky frowned. Sure, Builderman wasn’t the most social person in the universe, more of the “quiet observer” type, but on Christmas? Christmas?? Even the introverts cracked a smile for this! And Builderman loved Christmas. Or…used to.
A weird tug formed in Shedletsky’s chest.
After a minute more of scanning the room, Shedletsky pushed himself off the couch.
“Yo Shed, getting more chicken?” someone asked.
“Nope,” he said, brushing crumbs off his shirt. “Going to check something.”
He didn’t elaborate. Half the HQ was used to his cryptic exits anyway.
He wandered off through hallways decorated with garlands and half-dangling paper snowflakes. He checked Builderman’s office first. Lights off.
Meeting room? Empty except for an abandoned Santa hat.
Lobby? No. Unless Builderman had suddenly turned into a coat rack, he wasn’t there.
It wasn’t until he retraced every hallway twice, occasionally opening supply closet doors and accidentally startling interns, that the final option clicked.
The balcony. Top floor. The quietest part of HQ. Away from lights, noise, and overly enthusiastic holiday cheer. Builderman always retreated to quiet places when overwhelmed.
It had to be.
After excusing himself from yet another attempt by someone to hand him a gingerbread man shaped like an oof head, Shedletsky hurried up the stairs to the last floor. The stairwell grew quieter with each step, until eventually he could only hear faint muffled laughter from below and the steady hum of the building’s heating.
When he pushed open the door to the rooftop balcony, a wave of cold air hit him. Snow brushed against his cheeks like soft taps, the night sky stretching endlessly above, scattered with stars like someone had spilled glitter over black velvet.
And there, leaning against the railing, surrounded by the soft hush of winter...
Builderman. The glow from the HQ windows framed him in soft gold, but he didn’t seem to notice. His breath puffed evenly in the cold air, little clouds disappearing into the night. He looked calm...too calm.
“Hey, Buildsy!” Shedletsky called, stepping onto the balcony. “Why aren’t you coming to the party?”
Builderman turned slowly, almost startled. “Oh. Hi, Shed. I…don’t really like loud spaces. Maybe I’ll come down later.”
Shedletsky walked over, hands in pockets. “Mind if I join you?
“No, it’s okay,” Builderman said with a small nod.
So Shedletsky leaned against the railing beside him. They stood there, shoulder to shoulder but not touching, staring out into the snowy silence.
Minutes passed, not awkward, just quiet. Peaceful. It was rare, honestly. Shedletsky wasn’t exactly known for silence.
Eventually, Builderman’s voice broke through the stillness.
“So why aren’t you at the party? Out of chicken?”
“Hah. No,” Shedletsky smirked. “I just didn’t see you there and thought something might’ve happened.”
“Hm.” A vague, emotionless hum.
Another long pause.
Shedletsky tilted his head slightly. “Hey Buildsy…if you don’t mind me asking…you okay?”
Builderman froze.
Really froze. Not just startled, completely still, like his body forgot how to move. His eyes stared at the snow-covered railing, unfocused, lost in some far place Shedletsky couldn’t see.
“Builderman?” Shedletsky said gently. “You spacing out again.”
Builderman’s throat tightened.
He shouldn’t say it.
He shouldn’t burden anyone with it.
He shouldn’t tear open wounds that never healed.
But Shedletsky’s voice, quiet, genuinely worried, broke something open inside him.
“I… I’m sorry, Shed,” Builderman murmured. “I haven’t been feeling well.”
Shedletsky didn’t interrupt.
Builderman swallowed hard, breath trembling.
“Ever since Telamon disappeared, things have felt… wrong. Empty. Like something was torn out of me and I still haven’t gotten it back.”
Shedletsky’s heart clenched painfully.
Builderman continued, eyes shining.
“And then you showed up. And you look like him. And act like him. And every day I see you and I…”
He shook his head, voice cracking.
“Every day I cling to this stupid hope that maybe he’ll come back.”
He breathed in sharply, a soft, wounded sound.
“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to hear this.”
He turned to leave.
He didn’t get two steps...
...because Shedletsky grabbed his wrist hard.
Builderman stumbled, nearly falling against him.
“Hey! What was that for-?”
“Builderman,” Shedletsky said, voice low, serious, trembling just a little. “That’s enough.”
Builderman’s eyes widened.
“Every time I see you,” Shedletsky whispered, stepping closer, close enough that Builderman could feel his breath on his cheek. “you look like you’re one bad day away from collapse. You barely sleep. You barely eat. You’re carrying everything alone.”
His grip on Builderman’s wrist tightened.
“This has to stop.”
Builderman’s breath caught.
No one talked to him like this.
No one saw him like this.
“Why…why do you care so much?” he whispered.
Shedletsky swallowed hard.
Dangerous.
Too close.
Too honest.
Because he couldn’t say I care because I’m Telamon.
He couldn’t say I came back for you.
He couldn’t say I never left you, not really.
So instead, voice thick, he said “Because I can’t stand seeing you like this.”
Builderman’s eyes softened, a shimmer of hurt and longing mixing together.
And then-
A tear slid down his cheek.
Then another.
And another.
He tried to wipe them away, but his hand shook, and then suddenly all the years of silence, burying, pretending-
Broke.
He collapsed forward, hands gripping Shedletsky’s T-shirt, sobbing into his shoulder.
Shedletsky froze for half a second, because Builderman’s body pressed against his, warm and trembling, but then instinct took over.
He wrapped his arms around him tightly.
Tighter than a friend would.
Tighter than someone indifferent ever could.
“Hey…hey,” he murmured, voice low and aching, “it’s okay. I’ve got you. Just breathe. Let it out.”
Builderman clung to him, fingers curled in his shirt like he was afraid Shedletsky would disappear too.
“You’re not alone,” Shedletsky whispered into his ear. “Not anymore.”
Builderman’s sobs slowly quieted, breaths turning shaky instead of desperate.
The snow fell around them, soft and slow, sticking in their hair, melting on Shedletsky’s eyelashes. The city lights shimmered, painting them in gold and silver.
When Builderman finally pulled back slightly, their faces were still close. Too close.
His breath hitched.
Shedletsky didn’t let go of his waist.
“You…really care,” Builderman whispered.
Shedletsky’s heart pounded so hard he was sure Builderman could feel it.
“I do,” he breathed. “More than you know.”
Builderman’s gaze dropped to Shedletsky’s lips for a fraction of a second.
A tiny moment.
A dangerous moment.
A moment that could change everything.
Shedletsky leaned in, just barely, before catching himself, freezing, jaw tightening.
No.
He couldn’t.
Not until he told him the truth.
Not until Builderman knew who he really was.
So instead, voice shaking, he whispered. “I’m sorry I let you feel alone this long.”
Builderman blinked, confused. “What do you mean...?”
Shedletsky shut his eyes, the words almost slipping out.
I’m Telamon. I’m right here. I never left you.
But he swallowed them down, painful and raw.
“Nothing,” he said softly. “Just…don’t disappear on me again, okay?”
Builderman hesitated…then nodded.
“Okay.”
Shedletsky gave him one last squeeze around the waist before letting go.
“Come on,” he said with a small smile. “There are cookies downstairs with your name on them. And hide-and-seek, which I’m obligated to win.”
Builderman laughed, a small, real laugh.
“Alright…let’s go.”
The warmth of the main floor hit them as soon as they stepped inside. Laughter greeted them. Music swelled again. Someone shouted “GUYS LOOK! IT’S BUILDERMAN!” when they saw him.
Hide-and-seek began immediately.
Builderman hid terribly. Shedletsky found him in seconds, each time leaning in too close, teasing him, their hands brushing too long when he tagged him.
Builderman’s heart raced every time.
Later, back by the Christmas tree, Builderman sat beside Shedletsky on the couch. Their shoulders touched. Builderman didn’t move away. Shedletsky didn’t either.
Presents were opened. Cookies eaten. Cocoa spilled.
And through it all, Shedletsky stayed close. Protective. Watchful. Warm.
Builderman glanced at him once, catching Shedletsky already looking.
Their eyes met.
Something deep and unspoken passed between them.
Something that felt like...
I’ve missed you.
I’m right here.
Why didn’t you tell me sooner?
Why can’t I?
Not yet.
The night wound down in glowing warmth, laughter still echoing through the HQ hallways.
And for the first time in years, Builderman didn’t feel empty.
He felt…held.
Seen.
Wanted.
Christmas had never felt so beautiful.