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baconsoupforthesoul · 5 years

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The Ink Demonth- Day 25- Lonely

I’m Watching the Sea

A/N: Ah man, I have been waiting for this day for so long in order to write this one. Ever since I saw this lovely piece from Doberart for the Bioshock au, I’ve been dying to write a little something for it, and this prompt was just perfect. I’ve been listening to I Cover the Waterfront for WEEKS thinking about writing this one-shot (which you can listen to for yourself here). Ross in this au belongs to @doberart and making brief cameos in this are @inkspottie’s Henry/Alpha and @trashboatprince’s Delta. And just a heads up, I refer to Dober’s Henry as Ross except for when I switch to Linda’s point of view, cause it would be kind of weird if she referred to her husband by their last name. Hopefully, that’s not too confusing. I’m actually pretty pleased with this piece, so I hope you enjoy~

A giant squid ideally drifted past, it’s large eye peering in through the window at the abandoned lounge where Ross and his newfound companions had chosen to rest for the night. Not that Ross could even be sure it was truly night, this far under the ocean. He doubted the few clocks he had seen since returning to Rapture Studios were accurate. Regardless, they weren’t going to be making any more progress today. Since he had run into Henry, Delta, and Bendy, Ross found that they were able to take on more of the splicers and searchers that constantly crossed their path but they also seemed to attract more of them too. They were all exhausted, each one sporting new injuries from the various denizens of this forsaken studio. There wasn’t a single part of Ross that didn’t ache, and the various cuts on his face throbbed painfully. They had been lucky to find this lounge when they did, all four of them exhausted from their hellish trek through the studio. Henry had collapsed on the first open couch he saw, and Ross could see the tuffs of his light greying hair from where he was sitting. Delta was snoring away on another coach to the right of him, with Bendy curled up on his lap like a cat. But while the other three had no trouble falling asleep, Ross couldn’t seem to get his tired body to rest. It was probably for the best, as while they had barricaded the doors, they would never be truly safe in Rapture.

Ross rubbed a tired hand over his face as the soft sounds of a nearby jukebox filled the air. The real reason he couldn’t rest wasn’t out of a need to keep watch, but because he couldn’t stop thinking of the reason he had returned to this cursed studio in the first place. Linda, his wonderful wife and honestly the best thing to have ever happened to him, had been kidnapped by his former ‘friend’, Joey Drew. When Ross finally found the man, he was going to wring the man’s damn neck for going after Linda. The last thing Ross wanted was for her to see this awful place, full of so much despair and depravity. All Ross wanted to do was gather his wife up in his arms and never have to see Rapture again. But he didn’t even know if his wife was safe, or what Joey could be doing to her right now. While Linda was usually more than capable of handling herself, Joey was a true monster and Ross hated to think what he might have up his sleeve.

As Ross stared out at the seascape, lost in thought, a familiar song started playing on the jukebox.

“Away from the city that hurts and mocks

I’m standing alone by the desolate docks

In the still and the chill of the night~”

Ross’s hand fell from his face as he turned to where the music was emanating from. He knew this song, it was one of his and Linda’s favorites. Ross felt his whole body sag, the weight of missing his wife heavier than it had ever been.

“I see the horizon, the great unknown

My heart has an ache, it’s as heavy as stone

Will the dawn coming on make it light?~”

Ross turned his gaze back to the window, the lights from various neon signs lighting up the seafloor. Despite how ruined this place was, the view was still something to behold. Ross wondered just where Linda was right now, and if she could see this view too. Were they staring out at the sea at the same time? Ross had no way of knowing, but he kind of hoped that was true. He prayed that wherever his wife was that she wasn’t hurt and that he would be with her soon.

“I cover the waterfront~” Ross found himself softly singing along to the song, as he watched the seaweed outside slowly sway with the ocean currents. “I’m watching the sea~” As Ross sang along, a little head perked up and Bendy’s tail flickered as he opened his eyes. As the Little Devil blinked, his eyes went from ominous white voids to simple pie cut eyes, and he looked over at Ross from across the room.

“Soldier Dad?” Bendy’s voice was heavy with sleep as he rubbed one of his eyes and let out a huge yawn.

“Sorry Bendy, did I wake you up?” Ross turned his gaze over to the Little Devil and smiled sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to be so loud, I’ll keep it down.”

“It’s okay.” Bendy carefully climbed off of Delta’s lap. Delta’s forehead wrinkled and he frowned in his sleep but showed no other sign of wakefulness as the Little Devil scampered over to Ross. “Your singing voice is nice,” Bendy commented as he pulled himself up onto the couch next to Ross.

“Heh, thanks, Bendy.” Ross smiled down at the devil and rubbed the space between his horns. “You should get some sleep though, we’re gonna have a hell of a day tomorrow.”

“Mmmmmm,” Bendy hummed in contentment and snuggled up next to Ross. “I’m ready for dream time, Mr. H,” Bendy murmured before his eyes slowly shut and he drifted off.

Ross’s gaze softened as he looked down at the sleeping devil, holding him close, before turning his eyes back to the window. “Heh, me too kid, me too.”

—

The cityscape beneath the depths of the sea was truly a sight to behold. It was too bad Linda couldn’t fully appreciate it as she was being held against her will. Linda let out a weary sigh as she approached the large window overlooking the studio. While what little she had seen of Joey’s penthouse was certainly luxurious, Linda wanted out of this damn place as soon as possible. She remembered from what her husband had told her that Joey was a snake and after having met the man personally she couldn’t agree with him more. She turned her head slightly to glare back up at the balcony where Joey was enjoying a lavish meal while nervous butlers waited on his every need. A couple of spliced up bodyguards stood behind him a few more covered every exit to Joey’s penthouse. The guards were merely extra muscle though, from Linda could tell Joey was a force to be reckoned with all on his own. While she hated sitting and waiting around here, there was little she could do until she saw an opening.

Linda turned away from her captor in disgust and back out at the ocean. She pressed her hand against the cool glass as she watched a shark cruise by and a giant squid drifted down into the ocean’s depths. Where was her husband in this labyrinth of a studio? Joey had taunted her earlier, saying that they had spotted him on some security camera footage and that he had placed a huge bounty on his head. Joey had sneered at her and said that her loving husband would most likely be dead by morning but Linda hadn’t risen to his bait. She knew her Henry, and he could take care of himself just fine. She was certain he was alive somewhere out there, but she knew the danger he faced would be grave. Was he hurt? Was he lost? Linda hated to think of how worried he must be right now, especially after seeing the state their house was left in after Joey had abducted her. The poor man had already been through so much, with both escaping this awful place when he was younger and fighting in the war that swept the world not long afterward.

As Linda stared out at the city, lost in thought, a familiar song came over the radio. Her eyes widened in recognition. While she loved this song, her heart ached hearing it now. It only reminded her how much she missed her husband, his warm smile, his arms around her. She bit her lip, trying to remain stoic. She didn’t want to give her captor the satisfaction of seeing her breakdown, even if she felt like she was dying inside. She had to stay strong, even find a way out of here if she could. She knew Henry would come for her, but she wasn’t content to sit around while he risked life and limb to save her. She was going to make Joey regret kidnapping her and dragging her husband back to this hell a second time. For now, though, she had to be patient, wait for the right moment to throw a wrench into Joey’s plan. As the music went on, Linda let it wash over her, praying that her husband was safe and that she would see him again soon.

“Will the one I love…

be coming back to me?~”

#the ink demonth #bendy and the ink machine #batim #henry stein #bendy #linda stein #henry x linda #joey drew #spacy writes #bioshock au #doberart #inkspottie #trashboatprince #I'm tempted to do a follow up to this #where it's ross and linda after they escape rapture #and they're happily dancing to Beyond the Sea #cause that's another song from bioshock that I love #not sure if I'll ever get around to writing that #but hopefully I will at some point

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marie-lamb-b · 5 years

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The Ink DeMonth. Day 9: Favorite Ship.

No one should ever croos paths with an angry, frustrated, livid Music Director. Guess say Wally was just unfortunate…

Well, kinda pretty late ^^U

I still can’t say is my fave/fave ship, but is the only one I’ve been able to think about the last month and a half, so I guess they’re just growing on me~

And sorry, I got carried away. This thing has over 8.4K words and I honestly didn’t expect this to be so long Dx

But if you still are willing to take a look, enjoy it!! ^3^

(Trigger Warnings: Foul language, Verbal humiliation, Implied homophobia)

Day of rage

This was a bad day. Bad, bad, in every single sense. Bad sleeping, bad morning, bad breakfast, bad trip to work. Bad, annoying, frustrating. Everything. Was. Bad.

Being usually moody and gruff was one thing; being faced to a severe writing block and frustrated all over every single note he put on paper was way another level of anger. And it was better for anyone in the studio to stay away from him, as his mood was so tense that he was even able to tell the president himself to go fuck himself.

If only Wally didn’t disturb him…

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, FRANKS. WHY DO YOU HAVE TO BE SUCH A MORON!” The oh, so unfair scolding could be heard from the music department hall. “You can’t even do 1 single fucking thing right!” Norman flinched as he walked off the infirmary, Jack hiding behind him. “But no, of course you can’t. why would I have thought you could?!” Even the window from his office trembled with how loud the frustrated musician was being.

“Mr. Lawrence, I’m sorry. I just–”

“I DON’T WAN’T ANY OF YOUR EXCUSES, KID!” He cut him off, not wanting to hear anything from the poor janitor about whatever fault he had committed. “Now I want you to stop meddling here around and GO TO DO YOUR FUCKING JOB!” He sentenced with a rage fist smashing against his own desk, making it shake and sending down to the floor a pile of sheets and paperwork precariously balanced; right were the janitor’s mop and dirty water was laying.

The fall was as in slow motion for the wide eyes of the young man, and he acted quickly in hopes of saving the musician’s hard work. Albeit for his misfortune, the sole idea he concreted to successfully save the fluttering sheets was to kick away the bucked and mop, causing quite a mess at the other side of the man’s office.

For a second, he could have felt pretty pride for his quick action in such a desperate moment. But the musician did not allow such instance, as he was the closest to literally fuming out of rage over the janitor’s reaction.

This day started bad, and was about to get worse for the younger man.

“THE FUCK HAVE YOU JUST DONE!” Sammy shrieked, and Wally flinched.

“Mi– mi– mister Lawrence, I– I…” He stumbled on his words as he dropped in the floor, picking up clumsily the papers the other man just threw with his rage.

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR A SINGLE SHIT FROM YOU!” His voice thundered, and Wally froze in the spot. “Get. Out. Of my office.” He hissed rather menacingly.

“Bu– But Mr. Lawrence, I have ta clean up tha–!”

“GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!” He sentenced violently, and Wally stared with panicked eyes. “I don’t want to see your goddamn face! Ever!”

And just like that, every bit of air escaped of the janitor’s lungs as if he was knocked. He felt his eyes starting to sting, and for a much sharp hearing, even could be perceived how his heart just broke.

Numb, in attempt to hide the pain the man’s rage caused over him, Wally simply stood up, leaving the papers he got to pick up on the desk, tilting his cap as to hide his stare in its shadow, and turning around towards the door, reaching for his mop and bucket in the process.

“Understood, Mr. Lawrence.” He said low and quietly as he left, leaving the enraged man panting with his glare lock on him even through the window, as if making sure the janitor won’t ruin anything in his departure.

Once he was absolutely out of sight, Sammy paced by his office, only to slip on the soapy water of the damn bucket that stupid boy left unattended, falling back and hitting his head hard. He let out a painful grunt; he should have let the boy to clean up before kicking out the poor janitor…

*-*-*-*-*

“What’s wrong with Wally?”

“I have no clue at all…”

“Didn’t you hear all that shouting from Sammy’s office?”

“You should never cross path with that man when he’s in such bad mood.”

“That guy is the front-man of any anger campaign.”

“Wally didn’t deserve such treat. He was just doing his job!”

“Well, what could be done? He was just the one being there to receive the blow. Wrong time and wrong place, I guess…”

“Wait, did Sammy hit the boy?!”

“Don’t take my words out of context!”

“Whatever happened, it doesn’t matter now. It’s not like any could fix what’s already done…”

*-*-*-*-*

The word spread easily around the studio, and soon pretty much everyone –except those too busy to get out and chat– knew about the raging music director and the poor janitor that was there to serve as punching-sack for the former.

But even if they all wanted to catch in the last of the studio’s savory rumor, no one really expressed real, earnest concern, as the young man, listening to all of their bickering, trying to asking him something about further details, wouldn’t mind them. He just passed by, complying with his duties, and left with no more than a couple of courtesy words. No one really cared, as no one really knew how deep this was really affecting the janitor, except for Norman.

The taller man made his way towards Sammy’s office, easy going. Any other rage day he would just avoid the man, not willing to be involved in unnecessary quarrels, but the heartless way he treated the young janitor actually made him set up his mind. Not like he was up for a senseless fight with that man, after all, that’s right what he pretended to callback into that man: sense.

Reaching the musician’s door, he knocked to make his presence noted. “Hey, Sammy. How you doin’?” Only a muttered growl he received as answer; obviously wasn’t the right question to ask, but he couldn’t care less. His sight wandered to the office’s surroundings, and he locked his stare in the wet spot that took over the entrance zone of the room. “Mind to explain why’s wet all the place?”

“Because that stupid kid kicked his bucket there.” Sammy grumbled. Now that Norman was seeing clearly he could notice the man’s back was pretty much soaked. Definitively wasn’t going to touch that topic.

“Why would he do so?” He inquired again, earning a soft growl easily compared to a dog which food was taken off its muzzle. “Sorry to tell I didn’ get a word of you say.”

“I SAID,” He rose his voice, quite loudly. “How would I know how that moron’s head does work? He just did it.” He stated dryly, though Norman knew better, and a slight wobble in his tone was one of hiding things.

“…Yeah, sure, because he loves make you angry and get in your bad side.” He retorted, waiting for another of the same tone from Sammy but only silence lingered, leaving space for him to insist. “Seriously, why did so?”

“…because some sheets of mine almost fell over the bucket…” He admitted, his voice lowered.

“Almost?”

“Ok. They FELL over the bucket. He kicked it out of the way.” And slouched over his desk.

An appreciative hum, and Norman kept inquiring. “Why did ‘em fell?”

Silence; shoulders hunched, almost as if trying to turn as tiny as he could.

“Sammy…”

“I DROP THEM! Happy?” He finally turned to face the projectionist, red face but at this point could be said it was more over shame than rage. He was panting, trying to keep his rage façade, but Norman only shook his head in disapproval.

“And even though you called out on the boy as if he really was just horsin’ around only to piss you off.” And Sammy turned back over his desk, gripping his hair in frustration but struggling to not voice it out loud. He heard Norman clicking his tongue in reprehension before leaving. “That boy don’ deserves you…”

Sammy’s head shot up at the phrase, but when he turned to ask the projectionist what he meant the man already left; actually, already was half way the hall near the organist room, never turning back and holding his hands behind.

What did he just say? What did that even mean?! Ugh, that only made him feel confused and that turned only in more anger. Just perfect, now he won’t be able to focus in his already useless task.

*-*-*-*-*

No. Wrong. Trash. Piece of shit! Nothing came out right! At this point not even the sheets Wally rescued for him were useful anymore, as now they were part of a steadily growing pile of crumbled rejects all over the floor.

So now he just was there, head against the desk, swallowing back every urge to shout out loud even the deepest of the growls. Vain attempts that were interrupted by the delicate sound of the squeaking hinges of his door. He peeked over his shoulder and started to shot daggers to the unwelcomed visitor.

“So– so– sorry, Mr. Lawrence, but I can’t find–…” Wally stammered, feeling the scorching glare of the man as if was carving holes through his skull. He still wasn’t forgiven… “Ah… Nevermind, Mr. Lawrence. I’ll just look somewhere else. Sorry fer interrupting ya…” And with no more fanfare than a soft mournful murmur, he left.

The door closed softly and the steps of the janitor marching away were quiet. Sammy just watched him through his window, reaching to see the young man meeting with the projectionist at the end of the hallway. Some words were exchanged; a sag on the younger’s shoulders, lying his head on the elder’s chest, to finally be held on a side hug and be leaded out of sight by the taller man.

And as he watched, Norman’s words resonated in his mind again, turning him again thoughtful, for it to be turned in confusion, to it to be turned in anger again.

He had no time for such senseless shit.

He got back over his desk, rather abrupt must say, and he tumbled his empty mug down the table. Lucky him, it fell on the trashcan where a pile of discarded sheets lied. He lunged to pick it up, but a clinking sound caught his attention.

Wally’s keys…

*-*-*-*-*

Ugh, this was pointless! What a waste of precious time, and still can’t go and get a single. Fucking. Note written down. How could be so hard deciding between a F sharp and a G flat?

Worst of all, his head was starting to pound heavily. He really needed a coffee.

He straightened up in his chair, ready to call the janitor as he usually prepared his coffee around the noon (what kind of services did Joey put him on charge, he still didn’t understand). But he froze as he recalled the events of the day. Could he call him to ask him his usual just like that? And think on the matter felt like a punch to his pride, but something else clenched in his chest.

Deliberating, he almost made up his mind: if he wanted a coffee, he’ll need to go to the break room, meaning he’ll need to get out of his office… and that’s just aside of all those chit-chattering employees that always liked to meddle their noses in whatever wasn’t their business. Ah, he wasn’t in the mood to tolerate any of that. But in the other hand, if he didn’t he wouldn’t get his coffee, and gosh, he really needed it…!

…

Well, he better got through those bothering pests just for a while; luckily everyone noticing his mood there won’t be a soul who’d dare to do more than step out of his way.

And so he stood up, and reluctantly he abandoned his office.

*-*-*-*-*

“C’mon, Wally. We can’t help you if you don’t tell what’s happening!”

“Nothing’s happenin’, Ms. Campbell.” Wally answered quite monotonous. “Ya don’ need to worry yerself, but thanks for tha concern.” His smile was polite but notoriously strained.

He was cleaning the tables from the breakroom. It was soon to be noon and with it comes the lunch break and he was commanded to clean it all up before and after lunch there.

“But surely there’s something I could help, ain’t it?”

“I appreciate yer offerin’ but fer real. I just havetta end cleaning this up–…”

Everything went silent when the door squeaked open, and whoever was there doing whatever just froze at the sight of the music director. He stood up there, feeling their fearful but scrutiny stares, and he scorned in response, descending the flight of stairs.

“I– ah…” Wally stammered, but released a sigh. “I finished cleanin’. I’m outta here…”

Tilting his cap down once again, he picked up his cleaning tools and left the room rather quickly, nearly tripping over the musician but avoiding him at a safe distance in the end.

Sammy just looked at him, although too tired for glares this time. Shrugging it off, he made his way to get some coffee, being joined by Susie in the process.

“Rough day, eh Sammy?” She teased a little, but he just huffed. “Why don’t you stay and have lunch with us? It’ll help your soul! …You do have a soul, don’t you Lawrence?”

Although the musician was on the verge of fuming, he just limited to heavily sigh by his nostrils and turn to her with the most constricted face he could muster.

“My soul is pretty much contented with just coffee, thank you very much.” He turned and started to look around the counter. “Ugh, where is the cream? Isn’t there anything in this god dammed place?”

“What are you talking about?” She questioned as started to stab the jar of clustered sugar with her spoon. “With how cheap Joey is, we are pretty lucky to have sugar here! Although I’d like the guys stop to using their wet spoons when taking it. Gosh, this is so hard!” She hissed as she kept stabbing the jar, and when a few grains got stick to her spoon, she took it in her mouth and then kept stabbing. All under the watchful presence of the horrified music director.

Besides the display of shameless ill-mannered Susie, he couldn’t help the train of thoughts that flooded his mind. Wally always prepared his coffee with cream and two sugar cubes… Sure, the first time he told him as a joke that’s the way he drank his coffee, but he always made his cup that way since. How could he, if they barely had that watery coffee with taste of socks and that jar of stone they pitifully called sugar grains?

Susie stopped, seeing him frozen in spot, seemingly staring at the jar she held in her hands.

“You want some?” She offered and that seemed to take him off his thoughts, as he looked at her, then the jar, and then he shook his head with disgust and a new gruff.

“Forget it. I’ll just have it black.”

And after preparing it, he left.

*-*-*-*-*

Definitively didn’t worth it, that beverage tasted as bad as he thought: as sweat soaked socks. How he could recognize such flavor, better now question it too deeply, as it only made his already insufferable headache to worsen.

The only thing in his mind was to return to the comfort of his messy and littered and wet office as soon as he could. But when he was about to turn the corner leading to his office’s hallway, he couldn’t help but hear a distressed sob.

Curiosity poked and he stopped his pace; the mopping came from the recording room. He stood on the inner threshold, he could hear it, but no one was there. At least not that he could see.

“Why do I even keep tryin’? He hates me!” Was that Wally?

“No, he don’. You just found ‘im in the worst moment possible, that’s all kid.” Oh, so they were at Norman’s booth.

Sammy stayed close to the threshold, out of sight. What were they talking about?

“No, Mr. Polk. It’s not tha first time. Today was tha worst but…”

“Kid, with all honesty, he treats everyone like trash. It’s not somethin’ against you, I’m sure of that.”

Were they talking about him?

“But… but all I ‘ave done for ‘im? I just– keep tryin’ and tryin’ but I’m no more than a fly on tha wall for ‘im!”

“You know how oblivious he’s. An elephant could be dancin’ tap right next to ‘im and he wouldn’t notice! And if he do, prob’ly he would just shot daggers thru his eyes before even question why there’s an elephant in his office.”

Ok, he wasn’t that oblivious, although he’d never been in such situations to argue back. At least that last joke did make the young janitor to release a chuckle, albeit weak.

“Heh, yer probably right…” Silence, barely his hiccupping sobs could be heard. “I’m not like an elephant, do I?” He sounded fearful.

“Neh, you’re not. First place you’d need a trunk sticking outta your face!”

“Mr. Polk, ya know what I mean…!” Barely above a whisper, it was hard for Sammy to catch what he said; not impossible, just hard. But a tight silence followed that statement.

“…No, kid. You’re not…”

Knowing Norman’s personality only fluctuated between a bad timing jokester, easy-going, severe paternalist or straightly intimidating, it was strange to find him being so comprehensive and supporting– at least by what he could take by his soft and quiet voice.

He stood a little longer in there, but the only thing that broke the silence was the hiccupping sobs of the janitor. Sobs that were product of a distressed boy– man, that only was doing his job and had a little accident that actually was the musician’s crew fault!

Did he really shout that bad to him? By the time he already forgot what he said to the poor janitor. Was that bad? Was he so out of his mind to made him believe he hated him?

I don’t want to see your goddamn face! Ever!

Oh, gosh… did he really said that?! No surprise he believed Sammy hated him. And Wally also said about things he tried before, what did he mean? What else had he tried?

Wait…

Why was he thinking all of this? Goddammit, Sammy. It’s not like it mattered!

But then why he felt his chest so clenched and his throat so tight?

Everything was so confusing and annoying!

Just annoying…

He gave a last glance to where the booth was located, and with a sigh and soft steps, he made his way back to his littered, soaked, messy office with a cold cup of watered, tasteless, sock-flavored drink that couldn’t even be called coff–

Between what he expected from what he remembered, what he found could be called having got into another dimension, one of tidiness, organization, even bright dimension. Every sheet of paper he discarded was taken away, and a new pile of blank sheets lied on his desk. There was no more a wet spot, but a spotless, clean and shiny floor. Even the keys he found earlier in the trash can were no longer there, taken. But what baffled the musician more was the steaming mug just in the middle of his desk; the cream still as a lump atop, slowly sinking in the beverage, and two bright sugar cubes aside, ready to be dropped in the hot drink.

Glancing between that mug and the one he brought from the break room, he slowly approached to his desk, taking seat and leaving the later next to the other. He dipped his pinkie in the steaming one; hot indeed, but the cream made it smooth. And the sugar… the only sugar the rest of the studio crew could get in here was from that clustered jar, so how was that he could have pristine sugar cubes? Or more like, if Wally was the one making it, how was that he had those…?

The brightly clean office, the new stack of paper, the steaming coffee…

He still made all of these things even when he believed Sammy hated him…

He shouted at him, he mocked of him, treated him like he was an idiot, an illiterate child, as if he was too dumb to notice anything around him, like how the world worked, how people worked…

…or more like how Sammy worked…

He slouched in his desk, clasping his hair tight in his fingers as he let the steam hit his face.

Norman was right. Wally didn’t deserve him.

*-*-*-*-*

Can’t say it got easier along the day, although he could manage to not drop a piece until the entire sheet was useless scrap and that actually made the littered pile– now appropriately thrown in the can instead the floor– to be smaller in the last 6 hours of works versus all he threw away in just the first three.

By the time most of the studio members were already gone, the ones remaining were just busy with the last tasks of the day.

Regardless, what Sammy was currently doing hardly could be called a task, as he remained thoughtful for nearly two hours already. He tried to distract himself with the music, with his compositions, but no avail, and these thoughts lingered in his mind shouting to be noticed, and so he did.

At this point he couldn’t even give himself the privilege to feel angry, irritated and frustrated over those ideas that didn’t leave him alone, as he was worn down, too tired to try even, and so those ideas just settled in him.

Not like he was going to admit it anyways…

A knock on his door and a jerk from his side due the suddenness; Norman was there.

“Hey Sammy, work time’s over.”

There were so many things that Sammy could answer, from his usual sarcasm with something like ‘don’t you tell me’, to just flip off his middle to the man with not even bothering to turn around. But his rage storm had simply worn him down, and now he barely gave a mute shrug as an answer, sinking deeper on his desk.

Norman glanced around. He knew Wally took his chance to clean up this office while the music director was out, but he had never seen it lasting almost as pristine by the end of the day. There were still crumpled sheets on the trashcan, but curious was that it was actually used as trash can instead of littering the whole floor as he did in the morning. It almost seemed like he was being careful about the work of the janitor.

“Huh, this place looks neat!”

“What do you want, Norman?” He finally snapped.

“Just makin’ sure how you doin’. You had a really tough day after all.”

“Sure that’s all…” He muttered and laid his head on the desk flatly. “Nothing else you want to mom me about?” Alright, he opened the chance to drop it.

“You should go and apologize with Wally.”

And despite his weariness, he couldn’t help the grunt to form in his throat as he turned to the man.

“Why do you care so much about that? It’s not like if you were his dad!” And the way Norman shook his head, so filled with disappointment, actually hit him hard.

“I wish I would be. That kid really ‘ave had a tough time.”

“Yeah, sure, because is so hard to swift a broom from side to side.” He turned back, quite ashamed even if he wasn’t going to admit it. Such answers were the ones that most naturally came even if he didn’t mean it by the time.

“I can’t believe you still don’ get it.” Norman finally walked in, and that cornered feeling was dreadfully palpable, even if the musician still refused to look at him. “After all this time, with all the things he done for you…”

“Where do you want to get with this?”

He paused his march, right behind of him. His towering shape projected a shadow that lunged over his reduced figure in the chair.

“Sammy…” The man swallowed hard, feeling the sweat trickle down his forehead. Why he felt so nervous over the projectionist? “Sammy, stop it.”

“Stop what?” He said back, albeit his voice betraying his so called steadiness.

“Just stop bein’ such an oblivious idiot and look at Wally for the first time in your damn life! Can’t you see the boy is dyin’ for you?”

As if a rope tied to his chest tugged him forcefully, he felt the air in his lungs abandoning him for an agonizing moment, as he shot up and shoved away his chair to turn and face the man standing behind.

He… wasn’t as close as he thought, but that look so full of disapproval still burned him coldly.

“Wha– what… do you mean?”

“Really still? Haven’t you noticed how he usually like to spend more time here ‘round, despite he’s the sole janitor in this whole goddamn place? Or how he seems to smile widely at you?”

“That means anything, he’s always smi–”

“What about that coffee that he always make for you? I saw you goin’ to the break room, you can’t be so blind to not notice there’s no cream nor fancy sugar cubes up there.”

Sammy kept his mouth shut, barely could stand that accusatory stare from the man in front of him.

“What about the way he always shrug off every time you mock of him or yell at him, givin’ you a smile and respondin’ to everythin’ you ask ‘im to do?” Norman kept talking, and Sammy couldn’t help but glance aside, casually seeing the aforementioned janitor getting into the organ room, pipe-cleaner in hand and his cap still tilted down hiding his frown. Sammy felt his chest tight, the weight of shame barely bearable. “That kid’s no dumb as you think he is, but he’s still willin’ to do anythin’ as long as he could see you around. But to be honest, I could think he’s a fool myself for bein’ so invested in you.”

Sammy side-glanced the man in his office, trying his best to straighten up his face but was too constricted to look natural.

“Why… are you telling me all this?” He hesitated, but asked anyways.

“Becos I’ve seen the boy. All this infatuation thing has gone since quite a time, longer than I got to know, and the more time it pass, the more he drowns with no knowin’ if his efforts really worth the shot– or shots. So I tell you, so you now can go and ground his mind where it has to be. So go! Tell ‘im you’re not interested, shatter his heart, I don’ really care. But the less the kid deserves is a closure, and only you can give it to ‘im.”

With that final statement, Norman left his office, walking away and out of sight. And once he was sure he was all alone again, he allowed himself to sit back in his chair, askew for shoving it and conveniently looking to the hall, where the door that lead to the organ was kept ajar, where the man the projections was talking about just a moment ago was located.

He hunched, gripping his head on his hands as once again those thoughts about the young janitor flooded his mind. The so many times he called him idiot, moron, stupid, too immature to understand, that he was too childish with that smile always stuck on his face, how he couldn’t understand how people worked…

…seemed like all of this time he was the one that couldn’t understand it…

Was he really such a disgusting person?

Why even would Wally like him… after all he had done to the poor kid…?

*-*-*-*-*

Wally was cleaning up the pipes of the organ. It was the best he could do by now as he waited for the people to finally leave the studio– and maybe then he could go and enclose him in a forgotten room and cry out loud what he had been bottling up the entire day. At least he knew this task was quite demanding, polishing the pipes in and out, taking off every bit of dust and the pipes would look as bright as new. Yeah, this would keep him perfectly busy–

The hinges squeaked open to then the door be pulled shut, eating away every bit of light right before the lights up were turned on. Steps behind; someone was approaching.

“Wally…” Oh, great. Just when he thought he could last until he left at least…

“He– hello, Mr. Lawrence!” He weakly greeted, not daring to turn behind as his eyes were already stinging. “Do ya need somethin’ I could help?”

“Actually…” Swallow back your pride, Lawrence! “I needed to talk to you…”

“Oh…” He muttered so eloquently, as he lowered his arms and gripped on the edge of the massive instrument. “And what is it?” He didn’t dare to look at him.

“I–…” A bite of his own tongue, hindering his speech. “I… I just…” C’mon, only two miserable words! “Ah! I’m sorry, ok? I shouldn’t have treated you that way. It was unfair and the accident wasn’t even your fault, and you… don’t deserve the way I treat you. I’m… I’m sorry…”

Deep and slow breaths, Franks. Deep and slow. Don’t quiver.

“…Thanks, Mr. Lawrence. I… accept yer apologize…” He managed to say rather flatly. But he felt him, he was still there. How long would he be able to resist…!

“Aren’t you gonna say something else?”

Oh, God. What he meant?! Say what?

“I, ah… I’m… sorry, Mr. Lawrence. I shoulda been more careful with all them stands and I–”

“No, not that! I already said that wasn’t your fault!” He cut him off, and Wally felt cornered. What did he mean? “Really, nothing to say?” What did he want?! “Could you at least turn around?”

Wally felt his blood run cold. Face him?! He couldn’t do that too quickly or else he would burst with all the emotions he had kept inside. So he took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes with his forearm’s sleeve, and slowly, ever so slowly, he turned back, never releasing his grip on the edge of the organ.

Well, there he was, albeit cap still tilted and shadowing his face.

“Take off your hat, please.” The janitor whimpered, as he knew it wasn’t a request but an order. He took it off, revealing finally his distressed countenance. “Really you have nothing to tell me?”

“I– I– I, ah, I’m… Mr. Lawrence, am so– sorry, but I ‘ave no idea of what–”

“Norman told me.”

Wally shot wide open his eyes, panic crawling up from the bottom of his stomach. He felt it, as his heart skipped more beats than he could notice and the air abandoned his lungs as if he received the worst blow he could ever resist.

“So?” He started to walk, getting close to him.

“Mi– mister Lawrence, please! No– no need to fuzz about it. I– it– it’s not what ya think!” He tried to placate, but with every step closer the more cornered he was. “I– it’s nothin’, for real! Please, I promise I don’ bother ya anymore!” He was standing right in front of him, an arm away. And he couldn’t control any longer the tears prickling down his eyes and the whimpered high pitch of his voice. “I– I– I’ll stay away from ya, I promise! But please don’ tell Mr. Drew, I know I’m disgustin’ but please I don’ wanna lose this job! I’ll stay away, I promise! P– please don’ tell ‘em, don’ tell anybody! I won’ bother you anymore but please–…!”

“Wally.” Sammy cut his rant off as he grabbed his hand… gently… “Wally, stop it. I didn’t come for it so don’t need to worry about it. I came to know…” He lowered his stare, fixing it onto the hand he was holding. “…to know if that’s true…” He looked back at him, and though his prominent frown never abandoned him, Wally could tell, even with his racing mind, that those eyes never had looked so… soft, even concerned.

The silence stretched for a while, and though the musician showed an amount of patience he had never done before, those eyes, soft, sweet, concerned, frown eyes still begged for an answer. But the janitor’s eyes were drowned in tears and his throat was tightly closed, so the only response he could give was a whimpering nod.

Sammy sighed, and his look wandered to anything around before returning to the young man’s face.

“Why…?”

He swallowed heavily, but his mouth was too dry still. “I– ah, I swear I don’ know. If even I could make it work right, dunno, looking for Ms. Campbell instead, but I–”

“That’s not what I’m asking!” He said rather louder, and the janitor flinched whimpering. Sammy recoiled, lowering his volume. “I mean… why… me? I… I haven’t treated you with anything but despise, insulting you and even making mock of you…! Why then?”

“I don’ know… I don’ know, I swear! I just… saw you tha first time and though–… I thought ya were–… I just… wanted to make ya happy somehow, I don’ know! I just–…” tears upon tears, his cheeks were a constant waterfall. His mind was already racing and his heart beating painfully with fear; how could he articulate what he never understood in first place?

“Wally…” Sammy called him; the weight of guilt and shame was already lead in his stomach, and seeing him so distressed didn’t do any favors to him. “Wally, stop crying…”

“I can’t…” his voice wasn’t above a whisper. “I can’t…! I can’t, I’m scared…!”

“Of what?” Silence, only interrupted by the janitor’s whimpering. “Why are you scared?”

“Of ya knowin’…! Knowin’ tha truth and tell ‘em! Of them thinkin’ I’m a deviant, a mistake! That ya– that ya’ll really– really hate me for this!” His sobs were cutting his voice, hiccups between his words. “That ya beli– believe I’m a– a freak! That ya– ya hate me for re–e–al!”

He couldn’t help it anymore, and his cry just burst with the same shock of a little child lost and afraid. His hand holding his cap was so tight that almost hurt, and he fought to not grip the other man’s hand as hard or worse. His legs were wobbly, he just wanted to plump himself right there and recoil to a dark narrowed corner, to be left alone with his grief. But Sammy didn’t allow it, not with the way he was looking, nor with the way he held his hand, nor with the way he reached with his arm behind him and pulled him in a tight hug, releasing his hand to be able to engulf him, pulling Wally’s head onto his shoulder and muffling his sobs as he stroked his hand on his hair, and trying hard to keep together all of those pieces the janitor was tearing apart from himself.

“Wally, no. I don’t hate you…” He never heard his voice so low and soft, and him talking so close to his ear made the goosebumps to mix with his already shivering body. “I can’t even think about it; with all you’ve done for me… but… I’m the one who can’t notice the elephant dancing…”

Wally barely could believe it; Sammy Lawrence, the Sammy Lawrence, tried to humor him! But albeit his efforts, he couldn’t do more than just sigh as a weak imitation of a laugh with a wobbling frown.

“The truth is…” The musician continued. “…that I… I really can’t get relationships… I just can’t…! Not even as a child, not even making friends. I always kept my mind straight forward and whenever I was teased about if someone liked me, I just booked it, just thinking that they were a bother. But now, with all that you’ve done for me, all you’ve been through for me and what Norman told me… I just… I can’t believe I’m so oblivious! And treating you the way I did… I’m so sorry I never had idea. I really am.”

They stood that way, Sammy making sure Wally would calm down eventually as he stroked his hand up and down through the janitor’s head and neck, even downer to his back. Time didn’t matter, he just wanted to make sure he’d be okay. And when he felt the young man’s hiccups recede and his shoulder no more damp than it already was, he pulled him away, enough to be able to see his swollen red and tired eyes, but keeping him close as he held him by his shoulders.

“Wally?” The man mentioned felt so tired, exhausted, he didn’t think he would be able to react to anything the music director could throw at him anymore; perfect instance to be dropped gently.

“’m okay, Mr. Lawrence…” He held the man’s wrist, ready to pull him off him when the bomb was dropped. “Thank ya. I really appreciate yer apologize and all ya been with me, for real, but… I know what comes now, so if ya–”

“You know?” Sammy questioned, not allowing him to drop his hands from his shoulders. “Franks, I didn’t come here to tell you a lousy story of why I don’t hang out with people. I didn’t come here to tell you a sad story of my childhood, nor I spent half an hour in my office trying to think of a way to tell you I’m sorry for you to just shrug me off in the end.”

Wally’s tears stopped from how dumbfounded he was. The idea of not being all opened a new race of thoughts as the same time he found himself frozen in spot, trying to articulate anything, mind begging for an explanation, but only able to mumble incoherently, fear rising up his throat as his eyes widened in growing panic. Signs luckily caught by the musician.

“Wally. Wally, stop it. I told you, I didn’t come for it. So better stop it and listen… please.” He added as trying to placate the sever tone he used to use, as he held the younger man steady. “Wally, I came… I just… What I’m trying to… Arg!” Sammy roared frustrated, tensing up and not noticing how tight his grip on the janitor’s shoulder was getting.

“Mir– Mister Lawrence, yer hurting me…!” He hissed as his knees wobbled, in the verge of bending as to escape the grip but unable as the musician held him on spot, almost pinned.

“It’s just… I… AGH! Iwanttogiveyouachance!” There, he said it. and as quickly as his words tripped out of him, he let go of the janitor and turned, mumbling through a hand that muffled his words– if there’re even words.

Wally had to pause to make an effort to process the phrase in its individual words. And even though he wrote and rewrote his sayings on his mind, it still didn’t allow him to take the weight of such sentence.

“Mr. Lawrence, I’m sorry, but–”

“It’s ‘Sammy’.” He interrupted, catching off ward the even more dumbfounded janitor. “Stop calling me ‘Mr. Lawrence’. I told you, I want to give you… a chance… You don’t have to keep the formalities.” Sammy added as he slowly tuned once again to the young man, standing on his statement as firm as he could. But seeing Wally broken on tears once again wasn’t what he expected. “Wally?”

“No… No, I can’t…!” He cried out muted, not allowing such statement to sink in him

“What? Why not? What do you mean?” He reached Wally’s arm but he shoved away, retreating until he hit the organ keys, shaking.

“This is wrong… This is wrong…! I can’t let ya, this is wrong!”

“Why are you saying that? Who says so?” He approached him, but Wally flinched as he shook his head in denial.

“Everyone… everyone says… they will talk, they will judge… they will tell Mr. Drew and then will be all for us! They will kick us out, that would be all for yer career, and I can’t let that happen!”

“Then they don’t have to know.” He finally held him, stopping his trembling head as he cooped his cheeks with both hand, gently forcing him to lock stares. “You are the best knowing what happens around and what not. No one will be able to say anything without you noticing.”

“That’s not how it works. The one they talk about always is the one who knows at last!”

“Then what about Norman? He knew and he didn’t say anything to anyone before. He knew about you and you do trust him, do you?” Sammy waited for Wally to nod at least. “Don’t you think he would alert you in case of anything?” Another jerked nod.

“It’s too much of a risk. Ya could lose everything!”

“Would I lose you?” The silence from the janitor stretched fearfully, only interrupted by his hiccupping sobs. “Would I?” Wally’s jaw clenched as his neck jerkily started to move side to side, prompting his head to shake in negative. “Then I’ll take the risk. I don’t want to see you wearing yourself for me and still acting like, like a jerk around you. You… don’t deserve that. And if this is what I should do to at least return a part of all you’ve done for me…” A pause; Sammy sighed flickering his stare and breathed deep, gathering his own courage as he locked his eyes on the janitor’s ones. “…then I want to be with you. And don’t start with all those things of ‘is wrong’ or ‘you can’t’ or ‘people’ll talk’. I’ve never gave a damn to what they say and I won’t start now. If you want to, we can keep formalities in public. But…” He released his wet cheeks as now he was looking for Wally’s hands to hold together. “…from now on, I want you to know that I’m with you, Wally. And better get that in your head ‘cos I don’t pretend to change my mind this far, got it?”

And he stood there, holding his hands as they got tighter and tighter on his grip, shaking as reflection of all the janitor’s body. Sammy studied him thoroughly, expecting any other sign from him that could replace his tears. But again, against anything expected, hiccups of a repressed cry started to leak from the young man’s throat.

And as Sammy’s unsteadiness grew, Wally let out his cry out loud, no more barriers holding it in, and bereaved wails broke through his vocal cords, all while he parted his grip on the musician’s hands and threw his arms around the man’s shoulders, clenching his fits around the back of his shirt, afraid of letting go, as if this very moment, this very man, could slip from his embrace and reality would come to mock of such a ludicrous fantasy of him. But no, he was real, he stood there, prevented him from fall back and over all that, he… accepted his feelings. He was willing to be together, to be with him.

“Hey, Wally, now what’s the problem?! I thought this would make you happy somehow? Why’re you still crying?” He asked puzzled and still quite reluctant to such unprompted contact.

“I– I do! I am! Sorry, it’s just… Sammy, I love ya so much; I’ve loved ya fer so long…! I can’t… please, tell me yer not lying, tell me this’ real! Please…!”

Love… the weight of that sole word suddenly made it feel way too much real for Sammy, whose thoughts and movements slowed as he tried to let that sink. Oh, gosh, he wasn’t just a silly infatuated boy, he meant it! How long had he been suffering this hard for him, if he even deserved such affection? That only made him feel more of an idiot than he already assumed; one thing was hear that from someone else not involved, but another entire level was to hear that from the main source. He… he really was deep down on his heels for him, and Sammy couldn’t give the chance to screw this.

“This… this is real, Wally.” He finally said quietly as his arms engulfed him too, comfortingly, reassuringly. “I’m not… I’m not lying, I’m with you now… I am for real…”

That was the last statement of the musician, allowing the silence be filled by the cries of his companion, which were slowly subsiding though he never let his grip to loosen. All the while he gently stroked his mess of a hair, careful of not tugging it too hard, and pressed his cheek against the janitor’s neck, somehow dumbfounded of himself as he never had been so gentle before, let alone touchy. But that only remained as a buzzing bug in the back of his mind, as new questions started to brim in the frontline, as what he should do to not mess this, or if he will ever be as deserving of so much affection as the young man invested in him, or what his natural fragrance would be under all those chemical smells he sported thanks to his job. Cinnamon and honey was the first thing in his mind albeit random as he really hadn’t felt such… was it too soon to smell and guess?

“Wally? Wally, my boy, where are you?” The voice of the head of the studio, so gleeful and charming as only a severe boss voice could sound, thundered from behind the door, making both of theme to go as still as statues, hoping for no intromissions in the room.

“Sorry, mister Drew, but he’s kinda bussy right now.” Norman voice intercepted the first one, to what both new lovers shared a glance full of concern.

“What do you mean? An hour has passed since work time’s over and still there’s a lot of things that left!”

“Didn’ you hear the rough day the boy had? He already did everythin’ else he had to, just give ‘im some time and I make sure he’s done with everythin’ else.”

Silence stretched but no footsteps; seeming like he wasn’t going anywhere for a while. Until a sigh was heard.

“Will you make sure he’s done with all of his tasks? I don’t want him waddling around because some lost keys.”

“Don’ worry boss, I’m sure he’s already on check to do that.”

“Alright, I trust–…” He felt silent, why was that for? “Did… did Sammy leave already?” He questioned, seemingly having looked to the empty office.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he’s in the restroom. Y’know, too much coffee can really do effects inside if you don’t eat properly.”

Again the silence outside stretched, but inside Wally was fighting for retain his giggles in, earning a side glare from the foretold man that, curious enough, didn’t burn even half of what they used to.

“Alright, then remind Wally to go and check the toilets whenever he finishes, okay?”

The last part seemed to fade as footsteps joined to the outside noises, fading as they progressed and out of earshot finally, allowing them to finally break the silence.

“That’s a close one…” Wally released first, shaking fearful yet quite excited against the risk proximity.

“Yeah, luckily Norman was there to–…” Sammy halted in his words as realization hit on his self. “Does this… does this mean that Norman heard us all along?”

Wally stared at him, as confounded as him while he tried to process the statement, though swollen eyes didn’t allow him to focus properly.

“No, I wasn’t. I just passed by the last part of your chat tho, very movin’. Now, would you two lovebirds get outta there? I don’t think Joey will eat another ‘xcuse if you take any longer than already.”

The last part sounded faded, distant, but how quiet the projectionist’s footsteps used to be was hard to tell if he already left. Their only indicator was the silence reigning once again, one that was cut by the giggles of the janitor and a humorous roll of eyes from the musician.

“You know, now that I think so, is weird not having heard your laugh in the whole day. It really fills the spaces.” Sammy complimented as Wally earned a darker tone on his face, tenderly looking at the man. “Okay, we better keep moving before anyone else notices.”

He spun on his heels, ready to go, but a hand was trapped, laced with the other’s one. Wally’s giddy face had his stare lock on the act, cheeks still warm though no longer from the tears; and he walked to be right next to the man– his man, contemplating the height difference as his own chin barely reached his shoulder. His goofy smile, so pure and now incontrollable, raised along the rest of his features to see the music director’s eyes, so compassionate as never before, and even a lopsided smile creeped up to his face.

“Sorry, it’s just… I never thought this could really happen…!”

Sammy just watched him, watched as he never did before. And with eyes fluttering and lips puckered, he bent a little, enough to reach his cheek once again, only that this time giving a soft and tender kiss on his side, leaving the young man completely stunned.

“Well, seems like it is happening.” He humored right when he parted from his side, releasing his hand as well and walking towards the room entrance. “Now better get things done, Franks. If Joey already came once he surely will come back to check you have it all done. Understood?”

He stood still for a while, holding the doorknob but not quite opening it yet. He looked over his shoulder, eyes half lidded as he gave the janitor a last glance. And with a contained huff, a slow close of the eyes and a tender smile, he gave a solemn bow with his head to his new couple before abandoning the room.

Wally couldn’t be more flustered.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

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pipesflowforeverandever · 5 years

Text

The Ink Demonth, Day 15: Time Travel

I borrowed @aceofintuition‘s Joey Drew, “Snowy”, again for this alongside my own, “Gingie”. This drabble is based on an RP we did together some months ago. You can tell by the length how much I enjoyed writing it.

Summary: An old man with blue eyes steps into the page of someone much younger with dreams ahead he still can’t see.

Word Count: 2942

The aging man heard the ring of the café door as he stepped in, the gentle sting of coffee immediate underneath his nose and its faint taste on the edge of his lips. His eyes glanced around at a world seemingly tinged brown like a yellowing photo, the soft, warm hues evident everywhere on this sunny autumn evening. There was a record playing somewhere as the sweeping of a broom scuffed next to the counter that caught the silver fox’s attention, but his light wrinkles crinkled a bit more as interest in the cleaning was brief; he was here for something else.

Someone else, he found as a shade of reddish-orange caught his gaze, and he felt lured closer just like a curious fish in the sea.

The young man had his back to him, a briefcase shadowed by his side as it leaned against the leg of a chair. He was the brightest thing in the room, like he lit it up the same way a candle does the spare, dusty bedroom; everything around him just seemed to follow suit to his cream sleeves and tan-brown pants. His cup of gold-tinted tea rippled as he bumped the table, reaching down for a hardcover book with pages sticking out in much the same way the case did.

The newcomer, still standing, allowed his ice blue stare to cling as he walked past the busy, seemingly ditzy boy. Or…well, “boy” as an accurate term is determinate on how old one is when perceiving it. The redhead certainly wouldn’t consider himself a boy at the ripe old age of 22, but someone without a line of color left in their grey hair would, and the mysterious person letting his black cloak rub past the seats as he made his way to the window was such a someone. It wasn’t until he sat down that the distracted kid had finished lugging up his notebook and felt his expression still at the appearance of someone he didn’t expect to see again.

After all, Joey had lived here for years, and most unusual folks he spied on in the park didn’t show up again somewhere else. Not in the same day.

The stranger was beautiful, with hair styled almost impossibly in a large swoop from the left to the right side of his head; the end of it had a distinct wave, and it all looked dyed as if steeped in moonlight for nights on end. His brown skin shone with the glow from the window, leaves falling from the tree just outside it past a pair of irises that would put the finest crystal glass to shame.

The aspiring artist with already pinkish skin felt it become pinker, heat nibbling at the top of his cheeks and the tips of his fingers and knuckles. The pages laid across his desk were undoubtfully familiar; what were the chances that he had seen them as he strolled past to the booth? In his panic, he calculated it to be high; even if the old man refused to look back at him, he must have known.

He’d find out many, many years later he didn’t, but the wrong assumption made the right thing to do. It was inevitable anyway, in a certain sense, as sketching strangers in the park without them noticing was a practice that can’t eventually go undefeated.

And Joey, even when he was young, was a man proactive in his introductions. Perhaps a bit more on the shy side than he would be running a studio, but still someone that would rather talk than let silence rule the day.

And so he did.

“G-good ev- afternoon! Sir!”

The silver-haired man lazily blinked and glanced to the side at the youngster who was hardly taller than him even when the former was sitting and the latter bouncing to the tips of his scuffed shoes. A grown man, perhaps, but Joey would always be teased for never growing an inch more. The blue-eyed man evaluated him, another set of honey eyes flickering slightly but constantly with nerves that had a shaky smile to match at the corners of his mouth. He noted there was no mustache above his lips, but still sideburns and glasses to accessorize his head.

He played dumb. “Hey.” The newcomer’s voice was deep with two accents coming together, one a southern drawl and the other the unmistakable hint of someone accustomed to speaking Spanish. “…What can I do for ya?”

Yes, of course, he had noticed the ginger staring at him from afar some hours ago. Yes, of course, he was going to enjoy seeing him squirm for a reason to cover it anyway. Truth be told, he was surprised that the kid came up to him in the first place; he figured it would be up to him to initiate a conversation, if one was going to happen.

But that had always just been Gin, it turned out. The old man tried not to smile at the idea of it, so there was just a twitch on the left side of his mouth.

“I- I was just!” Joey held his hands in front of his chest, chin turned down to restless, fiddling fingers. What could he even say?! ‘Oh, I’m so sorry for sketching you without even talking to you first’? No! He wasn’t even sorry! …Just sorry he got caught.

It was only then he supposed maybe he hadn’t been caught, as he assumed. The realization it was far too late to back out felt like a push on his back to keep spitting out words and hope they make sense.

“I…I hope this doesn’t come off in the wrong way, my good man!”

Said good man raised a brow as the other squeaked his way around the situation.

“But- but you made for a lovely inspiration!” Joey kept grinning until it hurt his face, as he looked at the stranger for any sort of reaction.

“…Beg your pardon?”

Oh.

“I! I simply!” Come on now, confidence! Only thing left to save him now! “I’m an artist! And I do life studies! And you simply are just FAR too interesting to ignore!”

And in both excitement and fear, the old man felt himself involuntarily tilting his head back as a book was shoved into his personal space, pages flicking until it fell to the last ones before the rest of the book seemed orderly. And there, indeed, was his own face.

In awkward silence, his wide eyes flicked back to look at the others’, just to see the ginger in the same sort of anxiety inducing panic that he was before- perhaps amplified. He blinked again. Somehow, he still wasn’t used to this kind of attention, even if he knew he should have known better.

Gin was a weird kid.

With the young man waiting, seemingly, for him to react first, the stranger gently gripped the book and pulled it away so it was at a better angle for his eyes.

And although he knew he was avoiding the growing need for a pair of glasses, the old man also understood at a glance this was something special.

“How about…” the older man drawled with as much patience he could muster, trying to begin a proper conversation, “…’Y pull your stuff over here? ‘Magine your back hurts from standing up so straight.”

With that, he had to try not to chuckle as he saw the kid realize his stance and overcorrect, abruptly adjusting where his limbs were in relation to his body before scrambling to bring his things spread across the table in an armful. They were spread once more before the other next to the window, and it didn’t take long for him to try to forget at least a bit of the horrible introduction that just happened.

It almost felt like he was evaluating his portfolio, with a bright-eyed new artist waiting with a bounce in his seat for commentary on the accumulation of his work and skills.

So he was the kind of guy to pour himself out without even knowing if the other person was an artist or not- just someone he…wanted to approval of. The old man supposed there was something there he was supposed to think about in relation to his friend, but didn’t have the attention to word exactly what as he plucked up a random sketch- a seemingly candid one of a rabbit tucked behind a thin bundle of flowers.

“These are nice,” the old man commented with a sharp but approving glance over. “Y’ got a real eye for detail, here, kiddo.”

It still didn’t cross the youngster’s mind that the whole ‘I’ve been drawing you’ thing was pushed aside so easily for a reason. He had been watching him back for even longer; no explanation was needed, and he couldn’t improvise a realistic response anyway as if he was surprised.

“I’m…an artist, sir,” Joey repeated again, somehow steadier this time but calmer. “I just draw what I see. And I quite enjoy it! I just-“

Joey interrupted himself with a hum that trailed off, in some way not wanting to finish that thought. The other man pursed his lips.

“Just what, kid?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“…Can’t really drop all these drawings on my lap and call whatever you want to say about them nothing, you know.” His tone was dry but the meaning was sincere, a tinge of softness in his voice, a kind of understanding a bit too familiar to put aside.

As such, after a few more seconds of fumbling, the shy young man simply nodded in agreement.

“Now…” the older continued, setting the held page down to pick up another, “…What do y’ wanna do?” The question was taken with a bit of shock, but he continued as easygoing as before. “What do you…wanna make with all this? What’s the dream, kid?”

It did feel like a dream, Joey inwardly agreed. He plopped himself onto a total stranger and found himself without hesitation being probed about what it meant to him. And usually Joey had answers! He could go on and on and on without taking a single breath about what it meant to him to create things, about wanting to do things for others to see. But he always said so unprompted; now that it was actually asked of him aloud, he found himself floundering on what to say.

“I…”

The old man tried to pretend he wasn’t staring at him, wasn’t so invested in the answer that he couldn’t hear anything else.

Joey exhaled and folded his hands on the table, thumb smoothing over his own skin in restless ponderance- a good emotion for a matching time in his life.

“I would…love if I could, somehow, use my art to…make people happy.”

Now that was something he had never considered, but there it was- spoken by none other than himself. He briefly bit his lower lip and looked out the window, perhaps avoiding making himself look at his art and the man that was now- unbeknownst to him- clearly staring with intent.

“I…want to do what my mother always believed I could do. You see- see, she told me I had a special kind of magic that matters to other people. That I’m so bright that…I can make others bright too, just by making them smile.”

It was so, so hard for the stranger to withhold his smile for just a second longer.

“But I…don’t quite know how that can be done!”

Joey’s eyes flickered back, and the nervous smile had returned; in spite of his optimism, it was like putting a blanket over the unsure, tumultuous waves of the sea.

“Then you try something out.”

The response, as quiet as it was spoken, was still strong and unexpected, and so Joey felt himself gasp. His honey eyes widened, and his whole head turned to attention.

And now- now he was letting himself smile. The man opposite of Joey knew that he was looking this time, and that it was when it mattered.

“You keep tryin’, no matter what. And piece by piece, something will come together. Just like when you figured out how to draw, right? Assumin’ you were normal and learned things as you went instead of being perfect on the first go.”

With his lips lightly parted, the young man in awe of someone who could- for all he knew- been spouting motivational nonsense without knowing a lick about art…was entirely believable.

It was the right thing at the right time, regardless.

Those brown irises had eyelids fall over one second more, returning to his own creations with a new perspective. The lines seemed more purposeful, the shapes more unique. It was something flawed and yet flawless, just as he had always seen anyone else’s art.

The old man was quickly becoming satisfied with the rare feat of making Gin stunned enough to shut up. He thought about leaving right then and there, as if this was all he had come to see and do, but he was once again the person between them surprised when the redhead stood up first, scooping up the papers in his arms. The young man forced his eyes away but towards the end of the collecting finally met his again, a twinkle there that made the silver haired wanderer feel more at home than he had been this whole time.

“Thank you,” he muttered, words slick and airy with what could only be relief. “Thank you.”

He stood up straight, adjusting his hold on his things until they were more orderly and less likely to fall away. “I…do hope to see you in town again.” His grin was fading in and out with each phrase, but the feeling was so pure, so freed, that an excuse wasn’t needed. “Apologies for…not…asking first!” he chuckled, buckling at the knees briefly.

The other man chuckled back, the sun setting behind the glass. “No problem.”

A wonderful, awkward pause filled the space between them, the conversation ending as it started with one sitting down and the other standing up. Joey didn’t know that the other person would have as much a reason to try to treasure this moment as he did. Eventually, he took a step backward and slowly turned around through the now near empty café, towards the front door and the streetlights beginning to be lit.

“Oh!”

And he spun right back around, much to someone else’s bemusement.

“What…-” the redheaded scamp asked with hesitation, “-Is your name?”

Looking him up and down, having forgotten to introduce himself too, the fellow with moonlit hair and a black coat leaned his arm around the edge of the booth and took a moment till he smirked.

“Mr. Flores.”

The man with sideburns and glasses nodded, mouthing a ‘right’ before abruptly turning back and leaving the room. Mr. Flores watched the brightest splash of color in this world stained like aged paper walk out his life, looking forward when he would walk back in. With he himself looking like he was out of place and dyed with blues- with an indigo tint in his clothes and the cyan like glittering water under his eyelids- decided it was his time to leave, too.

The suitcase Gingie had forgotten was reverently taken by the handle before disappearing in a portal, the rim of which shimmered blue, too.

The old man ducked out and into the room of another person, someone who he had grown old with. Nighttime had fallen and the shadows of unlit halls looks like ink thin and seeping into the wallpaper. What he surely knew was yellow now seemed a bit on the cooler side, and someone he had just seen looking like the fire of the sun in daytime now seemed like wax of a candle extinguished, in his cream shirt in the dark and top hat hung up on the coat rack. Gingie, his red hair looking paler as strands of it turned white, glanced up from a paper held between his fingers. His gaze was soft, mischievous, and made Snowy feel at home.

“Mr. Flores,” the other Joey smirked.

A hand came to hold his back, the two old men together with more winkles and greyer hair than when they first met- for either the first time or the second time. Snowy scoffed, grinning wide.

“You weren’t supposed to remember till I brought it up to ya!” he lamented humorously. “Wasn’t supposed to be that I just…show up after accidentally running into you in the past, then you suddenly know too. More dramatic than that!”

Gingie scoffed right back. “It seems like you and I have exchanged some…traits over the years. And here you were always teasing me for being the one to portal into your life first.”

Snowy sighed through his nose as a rosy hand cupped the side of his face, tilting into it with hooded eyes.

“…Nah.” Then the toothy grin came back, devilish. “You were as much of a chicken with its head cut off as ever.”

And to that, the other pursed his lips, still holding his cheek. “And you were as subtle as ever.”

Basking in the moonlight of the time Snowy was really from, Gingie pulled him closer, their silhouettes seen through the window if one was looking- their faces becoming one shape and the outline of their bodies shining like the glass under the stars, frost around them like a picture frame as snow began to fall. The lost suitcase was set down and very likely forgotten for yet another several decades.

#the ink demonth #bendy and the ink machine #batim au #gingie #snowy #tak writes #batim fanfiction #fluff #time travel

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baconsoupforthesoul · 5 years

Text

The Ink Demonth- Day 8- Peace

Finally at Peace

A/N: This one-shot takes place after inkspottie’s wonderful fic, Monochrome Madness. If you haven't read it you’re missing out as it is one of my all-time favorite Bendy and the Ink Machine stories. This au and version of Henry belong to @inkspottie and I hope you enjoy~

Henry…Henry, my dear…It’s time to wake up…

Henry slowly opened his eyes as sunlight peeked through the blinds of his bedroom window. He turned his head to the empty spot next to him. Figures he would dream about her, considering what day it was. Henry sighed, wiping a stray tear off his face as he sat up. He stretched out his arms as his wings fluttered. It was crazy how much has changed since this time last year. On the first anniversary of Linda’s death, he had been an absolute wreck, staying almost the entire day in bed and only leaving the house so he could visit her grave. Now, well he had acquired horns, a halo, and wings for one thing. But most importantly, he wasn’t alone anymore. After returning to his former workplace that had been turned into an inky prison, he had managed to escape with most of his friends as well as his toons, Bendy, Boris, and Alice. Taking care of the toons gave him back the purpose in his life that he had thought he had lost with Linda. He had also formed a tight-knit support system with his former coworkers, each of them helping one another overcome the horrors they had experienced back at the studio. So, while the loss of his wife felt heavy in his chest, he didn’t feel like he was going to fall apart at the seams.

The smell of coffee pulled Henry from his thoughts though as he got up and walked out of his bedroom. As he entered the kitchen he was surprised to see Alice pouring out a cup of coffee, Boris scoping scrambled eggs onto four different plates and Bendy staring expectantly at the toaster.

“Mornin’ Henry!” Boris looked up at him with a friendly smile. “We made you some breakfast! We hope it tastes alright. And don’t worry, we have Bendy making the toast since that’s hard for him to screw up.”

“Hey!” Bendy protested, crossing his arms. “Just what’s that supposed ta mean?”

“It means the last time you tried to cook anything you almost blew up the kitchen,” Alice told him as the toast popped out of the toaster. “Now see if you can butter that without setting anything on fire, hmmm?” Bendy stuck his tongue out at the angel before going off to prepare said toast.

“Thank you.” Henry signed, smiling warmly at his toons. “You didn’t have to go to all the trouble.”

“Don’t you worry about it, Henry,” Boris said as he set the food on the table.

“Yeah, we just wanted to to a little something for you since… we know what today is…” Alice’s voice trailed off as she looked down at her feet. That’s right, Henry had explained to the toons earlier this month that this was the anniversary of Linda’s death and that it might sour his mood a little bit. He just didn’t want any of them to worry about him, he didn't expect them to go out of their way like this. He didn't want to bother anybody else with his grief.

“Are… are you feeling alright Henry?” The former animator looked over to see Bendy giving him a concerned look as he set the plate with the toast on the table. Henry realized that he had been lost in thought for a second and that his halo had dimmed and his winged were drooping. Even though he was no longer a toon, the new appendages he had gained still made him more of an open book then he would have liked.

“I’ll be okay,” Henry told him honestly. “Let’s eat, this food looks delicious.” Bendy still appeared concerned but took a seat with the rest of them as they dug in. The eggs turned out fantastic and Henry made sure to heap praises onto all of his toons for the meal.

“Aw shucks Henry, you’re making me blush.” Boris chuckled as he rubbed the back of his head.

“I’ll take care of the dishes,” Bendy announced as he cleared up the table.

“You better not break anything,” Alice warned him, a teasing smile on her face.

“Get off my case, Alice!” Bendy called back to her as he placed the dishes on the counter and started filling up the sink.

“I’ll help you dry them.” Henry signed before grabbing a towel.

“I can do it, Henry!” Bendy protested but Henry just chuckled. “You just go… rest or something, I don’t know.”

“I’m not sick Bendy.” Henry let out a huff of laughter. “I want to help. It keeps my mind occupied.”

“Okay… if you say so.” Bendy pulled up a footstool and started scrubbing the dishes. The two of them worked in silence for a moment, while Boris and Alice idly chatted at the table.

“Are ya… are ya gonna visit her grave today?” Bendy asked nervously, a little afraid to breach the heavy subject. Henry nodded as he placed a mug in the cupboard. “Would… would you mind if I came with you?”

“Of course not.” Henry signed before reaching over and rubbing Bendy in between his horns. Bendy leaned into the touch and gave his creator a small smile.

“Is it alright if we come to Henry?” Alice asked from across the room, turning around in her chair to face Henry with her hands gripping the back of it.

“We can all go together,” Henry told her after he had put the last dish away. “We’ll leave in just a moment, there’s just one thing I have to do first.”

As the toons got ready to head to the cemetery, Henry went out back and snipped a couple of the sunflowers from his garden. He remembered Linda showing him how to make a proper bouquet when she used to work at her flower shop but Henry still doesn’t think he can do them any justice. Still, he did his best as he wrapped the flowers with green tissue paper and secured them with a ribbon. By the time he had finished, the toons were all waiting by the car. The drive to the cemetery was unusually quiet. Henry was used to whenever he drove the toons anywhere to hear them either singing to the radio or having Alice and Bendy argue while Boris laughed at their antics. Henry felt uncomfortable under the stares they were all giving him as if they thought he was about to burst out into tears at any moment. It was to be expected though, he knew they were just concerned about him. He just wishes this day didn't have to make them feel as sad as he did.

After Henry pulled up at the cemetery, the toons slowly exited the car and followed their creator up the hill to the final resting place of Linda Stein. Henry clutched at the bouquet in his hand as he remembered the last time he had been here. He had been a broken man, sobbing at her gravestone, wondering why it had been her time and not his. Standing her brought back so much of Henry’s grief as struggled to keep himself composed in front of his toons. Suddenly, he felt a hand slip into his and he turned to see Alice holding his hand. Boris rested his head on Henry’s shoulder as he hugged him from behind. And Bendy latched onto Henry’s leg, squeezing it tight as he rubbed his cheek against him. The former animator managed a smile as he wiped the moisture from his eyes. “Thank you.” He signed with his free hand, hoping all three of them could see it.

“I really wish we could have met her Henry.” Alice’s voice quivered. “I’m sure she was wonderful.”

“Do ya… do ya think she would have liked us?” Bendy asked, sounding unsure of himself as he looked up at Henry.

“She would have loved you. All three of you.” Henry told him and Bendy sniffed, wiping away a stray tear of his own. Henry bent down and picked Bendy up, wrapping the little demon up in a hug. Bendy sniffled into his shoulder as Boris and Alice joined the impromptu group hug. Henry really wished Linda could have been alive to see the toons. She would have absolutely adored them and he was sure that the toons would have been just as charmed by her.

“Would you like a minute alone here Henry?” Boris asked as he and Alice finally let go. “I mean, we didn't really know her so if you want a moment alone with her, we’d understand.”

“I’ll just be another minute. I’ll meet you all back at the car.” Henry signed after he set Bendy down. Boris and Alice nodded as they made their way down the hill but Bendy still looked unsure.

“You gonna be alright, old man.” Bendy looked up at Henry with concern.

“I will be, I promise. I won’t take too long.” Henry leaned down and gave Bendy one last hug before the little demon scampered off after his friends. After the toons had left, Henry knelt down in front of the gravestone, placing the bouquet in front of it before rubbing his hand over Linda’s name.

“So much has happened since I was last here.” Henry signed as the wind whipped around him, ruffling his hair and feathers. “I was so lonely after you died, my love. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I still miss you, every day. Not a day goes by I don’t wish you were here.” Tears trickled down Henry’s face but he made no effort to wipe them away as he kept on signing. “But after so long, I’m not alone anymore. I hope you can see the toons from wherever you are, I know you’d love them with all your heart. And I have everyone else too now. Sammy, Susie, Wally, Norman, Tom, and Allison. They’re all still recovering from their time stuck in the studio but they’re all doing better than ever. I feel so blessed to get to spend time with all of them.” Henry looked up at the sky, it’s endless blue stretching to the horizon with only a few clouds drifting by as the sun beat down on him. “I’ll always miss you, my love. But… I feel at peace now. I hope wherever you are, that you’re at peace too. I love you, Linda, I love you so much.” Henry took a deep breath as he tried to compose himself. The wind whistled by him again and for a split second, he felt as if someone had pressed a gentle hand to his cheek. He quickly looked around and touched his face but nothing was there. Chalking it up to the breeze, Henry got up, stretched out his wings, and walked back down the hill to his family.

#the ink demonth #bendy and the ink machine #henry stein #bendy #boris the wolf #alice angel #linda stein #henry x linda #monochrome madness #little errand boy #post monochrome madness #spacy writes

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