you are what you love [ open ]

[determinedest]

Who: Tim Wright + your beautiful self, and/or Frisk + your beautiful self!
Where: All over!
When: April 7th - April 10th
Rating: PG-13 probably though I'll warn if it goes higher
Summary: Maybe, with what little power you have...
The Story:

[Starters are in the comments. Let me know over here or at arrpee if you want a closed starter or anything! I will match prose or brackets!]

Comments

[postictal]

That warrants something a little more than a silent fuck off.

It warrants a verbal one.

"Seriously?" he snaps, no longer caring that he can now tell exactly who's responsible for this, which doesn't really dampen his ire any. "Fuck off, or, or - hey, y'know what? Never mind. I'll do it."

One more bird for you, pal, just so you understand how much he doesn't want to be told to be goddamn happy, like that's something he's capable of on the regular.

Fuck you.

[punful]

Oh. Now he recognizes that voice. And the anger as well. He looks back over his shoulder.

"oh, hey, ti--"

It's a surprisingly vehement response, even from Tim, and Sans figures it's because he has yet again gone and encroached on something private. He turns around fully, sitting kinda awkwardly with one foot still hanging off the roof.

"wait, don't--i'll go. i didn't know it was you up here."

Let him go. They always leave eventually. You drive them away.

He shakes his head, blinking, then drags himself to his feet.

"i barely heard anything, don't worry."

[postictal]

"It's not about what you heard." Does it matter? Does it matter, when he already knows entirely too much about everything Tim's done and everything he's capable of doing, and apparently just...lets that slide, or whatever?

Yeah. Fucking right.

"Maybe I'll just smile, and that'll make it all better."

[punful]

Not what he heard. Sans frowns just slightly, brow ridges knitting together. He's not just his mistakes, after all, he's the content of himself, his whole being. His whole existence is an offense.

God, it sucks how easy it is to get back into that way of thinking right now. He's not sure if it's the event or not.

"oh."

Now it makes sense. He's never seen Tim smile even once, which...well the physical act of smiling means very little. It has nothing to do with happiness. He knows that much by now. Frisk with their blank face and happiness bubbling underneath, trying to hide it; Chara, laughing loud when they're as far from happy as someone can be.

"uh, that was--that was for me, actually. about me. guess it's contagious. uh..."

Doesn't matter. Nothing matters. Just give up. They all leave eventually. Leave them alone before they leave you.

These thoughts usually actually come from somewhere, but right now it's like they just...are there.

"some...some event, huh."

God, just go, before you make it worse. You always make it worse. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. Should leave, he said he would, and his instinct always defaults to avoidance.

Tim told him to stop assuming shit like that, though. He's supposed to be doing better, right? What's the point? Just--try at least. Ask or something.

"you want me to go?"

[postictal]

"Do whatever you want." He's too tired to care. The rooftop's never an ideal place to be, considering how close he is to hurling himself off it any given day. Events don't make that better. They never make it better. Coming into close proximity with people who - people like him, who are simultaneously too much like him and too far removed for him to be comfortable drawing those parallels, none of it helps.

Some event, huh.

He's supposed to be quitting, some distant part of himself admonishes when he digs the cigarettes from his pocket and lights one up. Ask him if he gives a shit.

[punful]

He nods once.

"okay."

Don't second guess, don't assume. Just go. So he goes, heading off for some other part of the roof.

Better this way.