They've let him down. They know. Maybe they can't really be upset over that, right now. Maybe they won't ever.
"I don't hate you." That, they know, is true. They don't - can't. Maybe they don't hate anyone, with the exception of themself. Maybe they just don't have it in them anymore. "But I can't keep running to you. I can't keep expecting you to make everything better and understand and be someone who can take care of me. You're not that person."
He just...isn't.
He isn't the type of person who saw a conveniently-shaped lamp and thought that maybe, somewhere down the line, he'd need it for a child shaped precisely like them, holding out hope that someone like them would slip-tumble into his life and fill all the gaps and grooves in a life that was empty but for Papyrus. He isn't the type of person who keeps his promises. He isn't the type of person they can look at and hope to remember- anything but the hot-penny cling of blood to the roof of their mouth, the cold pits of dualed eyesockets boring into them, staring them down.
It wasn't enough. They weren't enough.
They weren't someone who could break the loop of his apathy until he realized that he'd be here for a long while yet, and so would they. That his anomalies were here to stay. Nothing about this was unconditional. And that isn't...they know that's not just it.
But it's part of it. And it's a part they were never willing to admit until they were forced to. At long last.
Their expectations...their loneliness...their fear...
For him?
They will put them aside.
"I know you're trying. But...what you are now? I still can't forget what you've been."
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"I don't hate you." That, they know, is true. They don't - can't. Maybe they don't hate anyone, with the exception of themself. Maybe they just don't have it in them anymore. "But I can't keep running to you. I can't keep expecting you to make everything better and understand and be someone who can take care of me. You're not that person."
He just...isn't.
He isn't the type of person who saw a conveniently-shaped lamp and thought that maybe, somewhere down the line, he'd need it for a child shaped precisely like them, holding out hope that someone like them would slip-tumble into his life and fill all the gaps and grooves in a life that was empty but for Papyrus. He isn't the type of person who keeps his promises. He isn't the type of person they can look at and hope to remember- anything but the hot-penny cling of blood to the roof of their mouth, the cold pits of dualed eyesockets boring into them, staring them down.
It wasn't enough. They weren't enough.
They weren't someone who could break the loop of his apathy until he realized that he'd be here for a long while yet, and so would they. That his anomalies were here to stay. Nothing about this was unconditional. And that isn't...they know that's not just it.
But it's part of it. And it's a part they were never willing to admit until they were forced to. At long last.
Their expectations...their loneliness...their fear...
For him?
They will put them aside.
"I know you're trying. But...what you are now? I still can't forget what you've been."