[Everything about the month before has been tearing at him, turning him from someone sarcastic and light to just tired, bitter. The fallout from his and Alice's plan had hurt more than he could expect, forcing him to face the reality of his own mistakes and feel the disappointment of the few people here he really loved. And then he'd tried to fix it, to do better and make up for his failure. To make them proud.
He'd screwed that up too.
He didn't make anything right, he set the crew on fire. Everyone was angry and wanted someone to blame, and of course Peter made himself an easy target, too upset with the hypocrisy to realize he was fanning flames. It didn't matter. The ship had long since begun to lose it's shine, and this was just another layer of filth to add to it. No one had ever cared about his kind, he shouldn't be so bitter that remained true.
But none of that was weighing on him quite so much as she was. His hand in what happened to her was a constant thought, always at the back of his mind and waiting to stab at his heart if he lingered on it too much. He kept looking for her, wanting so bad to believe Sans was right and she really would return. That he'd turn a corner and there she'd be, dressed to kill and a tease ready at her lips. He kept turning up at the bar every night, sticking by the door and watching the counter. Hoping against all common sense she'd be there.
But time kept moving on and even his desperate desire to believe in Sans couldn't hold on against facts. J was gone and it was Peter's fault. And he's not been taking it well.
So when he sees a familiar figure in the distance, his first thought it that he's honestly starting to lose it.
He stops, stills in a way he very rarely ever does. Breath frozen in his lungs, muscles locked in place. It feels like dream, it he moves he'll wake up and she'll disappear. If he moves, it'll become the nightmares he refuses to tell anyone he's been having. If he moves, she'll be gone and he's so tired of seeing her go.
She moves first and it kicks him back into gear, stumbling forward in some blind panic to keep track of her. He follows her at an entirely human pace, letting the pit in his stomach grow and grow until it starts to get hard to breathe. Even trying to match her steps, he can't and he's getting too close and he's reaching out for her without conscious thought and-]
J?
[It comes out weak, a whisper of a frightened child in the dark. Too loud and he'll break the moment. He doesn't quite touch her, can't bring himself too. His hand falls back to his side and he waits.
This is going to turn back into a nightmare. She'll turn to him bloody, casting blame. Or he'll wake up, mind too cruel in it's guilt to let him have this.
this is so long, I'm sorry for the novel
He'd screwed that up too.
He didn't make anything right, he set the crew on fire. Everyone was angry and wanted someone to blame, and of course Peter made himself an easy target, too upset with the hypocrisy to realize he was fanning flames. It didn't matter. The ship had long since begun to lose it's shine, and this was just another layer of filth to add to it. No one had ever cared about his kind, he shouldn't be so bitter that remained true.
But none of that was weighing on him quite so much as she was. His hand in what happened to her was a constant thought, always at the back of his mind and waiting to stab at his heart if he lingered on it too much. He kept looking for her, wanting so bad to believe Sans was right and she really would return. That he'd turn a corner and there she'd be, dressed to kill and a tease ready at her lips. He kept turning up at the bar every night, sticking by the door and watching the counter. Hoping against all common sense she'd be there.
But time kept moving on and even his desperate desire to believe in Sans couldn't hold on against facts. J was gone and it was Peter's fault. And he's not been taking it well.
So when he sees a familiar figure in the distance, his first thought it that he's honestly starting to lose it.
He stops, stills in a way he very rarely ever does. Breath frozen in his lungs, muscles locked in place. It feels like dream, it he moves he'll wake up and she'll disappear. If he moves, it'll become the nightmares he refuses to tell anyone he's been having. If he moves, she'll be gone and he's so tired of seeing her go.
She moves first and it kicks him back into gear, stumbling forward in some blind panic to keep track of her. He follows her at an entirely human pace, letting the pit in his stomach grow and grow until it starts to get hard to breathe. Even trying to match her steps, he can't and he's getting too close and he's reaching out for her without conscious thought and-]
J?
[It comes out weak, a whisper of a frightened child in the dark. Too loud and he'll break the moment. He doesn't quite touch her, can't bring himself too. His hand falls back to his side and he waits.
This is going to turn back into a nightmare. She'll turn to him bloody, casting blame. Or he'll wake up, mind too cruel in it's guilt to let him have this.
He still wants to see her.]