I DO. I MISS HIM SO MUCH. IT HASN’T BEEN THAT LONG YET AND IT STILL HURTS… BUT I WILL HAVE TO LET GO EVENTUALLY.
EVEN IF I DON’T WANT TO.
I WOULD DO ALMOST ANYTHING; BE HUMILIATED, BEG, POUR MY HEART OUT AGAIN. I WON’T DO ANY OF IT, THOUGH. WE WEREN’T IN A FIGHT. WE WERE IN A SPOT I ASSUMED WAS PERFECT, AND HE LEFT REGARDLESS.
I HAVE TO ACCEPT THAT IT IS BECAUSE IT IS WHAT HE WANTED.
WHEREVER VOID IS, I HOPE HE’S HAPPY, AND IT IS IN COMPLETE SINCERITY THAT I SAY THIS.
Not anything fancy, or for decoration; it was simply where he grew plants that would later end up in the food he made. A small hobby. It wasn’t like either of them did not have the all the time in the universe for the small things.
There are fence posts around its perimeter- black with red stripes crawling up the middle. He runs his fingers across the points, letting his hand jump from tip to tip until his hand falls away. He sits against them with a sigh and folds his hands together on his lap and looks at the plants Void had grown. They’re still bright and sprightly.
Wings reaches out, gently flicking at a leaf, and then draws his hand back again to watch it bounce. He tries not to think about the note weighing in his coat pocket. He’s already read it several times.
There’s a little whisper to his left.
He glances that way, startled for a moment before remembering the echo flower he had put in the corner. It’s telling the last things it heard and he shifts closer to listen.
“YOU L-LOOK HAPPY.”
“Of course not.”
The soft thump of someone sitting down.
“WELL, I AM. I THINK YOU ARE TOO.”
Then a small sigh, exaggerated, but holding the smallest amount of amusement.
“Is that so?”
He tears the flower out, down to the roots. They pull up and fling out dirt as they’re torn, reaching out like pleading hands, and he tosses it over the fence posts and watches it disappear. It wasn’t a real one, anyways. Another illusion he created to feel real again.
He keeps going. Tears out a few more of the plants- they’re real. Skellie got them for Void. They can be ripped and tossed into a pile as jagged and unorganized as the turmoil he’s feeling. The pile is mostly green with spots of bright colors- now turning brown from bruises.
He collapses against the fence again and tries not to cry over insignificant plants.
<Waiting for the right time would be a mistake. There’s never a ‘good’ time for these sorts of matters.>
<I could speak to him directly. It’d be the civil thing at least.>
<But I cannot trust my mind. I cannot trust myself to make the right choices. I’ve already been made unsure of too many things. This… relationship was built on a foundation of sand anyways.>
<If anything. It should be expected.>
<It’s time to move on.>
It had been a nice week; he had come back from being dragged somewhere deep in the void. His family had survived an impostor, and he was overjoyed to learn that Void had gotten closer to them.
He’d met a few new people, too. Even if they were still just acquaintances. He visited with Cyprus, twice, once falling off the roof and injuring the both of them and once dancing to an interesting song he hadn’t heard until that day. Sans told him jokes until he couldn’t help but laugh.
Void had kissed him when he came back. He was more affectionate.
It was a nice week, and Wings was happy.
Sans was upstairs sleeping, tucked tight in covers and lulled to sleep by stories; the only person missing was Void. He’d snuck off some time ago, which wasn’t unusual: he liked his personal space, but now it was time for him to be found and dragged to their room to rest.
Wings didn’t find him.
Just a note.
I should preface this letter with the assurance that its not some crude joke. I realize the timing is poor but its not something I can put off for much longer.
If anything, I meant to do this sooner. But for obvious reasons could not.
I’m not coming back. Whatever it was that was between us, it’s over.
Apologizes for leading you on. It was interesting while it lasted.
<Waiting for the right time would be a mistake. There’s never a ‘good’ time for these sorts of matters.>
<I could speak to him directly. It’d be the civil thing at least.>
<But I cannot trust my mind. I cannot trust myself to make the right choices. I’ve already been made unsure of too many things. This… relationship was built on a foundation of sand anyways.>
<If anything. It should be expected.>
<It’s time to move on.>
It had been a nice week; he had come back from being dragged somewhere deep in the void. His family had survived an impostor, and he was overjoyed to learn that Void had gotten closer to them.
He’d met a few new people, too. Even if they were still just acquaintances. He visited with Cyprus, twice, once falling off the roof and injuring the both of them and once dancing to an interesting song he hadn’t heard until that day. Sans told him jokes until he couldn’t help but laugh.
Void had kissed him when he came back. He was more affectionate.
It was a nice week, and Wings was happy.
Sans was upstairs sleeping, tucked tight in covers and lulled to sleep by stories; the only person missing was Void. He’d snuck off some time ago, which wasn’t unusual: he liked his personal space, but now it was time for him to be found and dragged to their room to rest.
Wings didn’t find him.
Just a note.
I should preface this letter with the assurance that its not some crude joke. I realize the timing is poor but its not something I can put off for much longer.
If anything, I meant to do this sooner. But for obvious reasons could not.
I’m not coming back. Whatever it was that was between us, it’s over.
Apologizes for leading you on. It was interesting while it lasted.
W. D. GASTER 