Chapter Text
When he finally hears it, Sam didn’t expect it to happen the way that it did.
With the remaining courage, he had in his ramshackle shell of a man, attended the Banquet at Bad’s request. He was hopeful that they might be able to put the Egg cult behind them. Even if he had his suspicions, and had taken the extra precautions in case his suspicions were validated, he still had the hope that he might have his friends back.
But he hadn’t expected to see Ponk there.
Ponk with the ruby red vest tucked into black dress pants, a long-sleeve dress shirt underneath the vest that was the same color as the bandages wrapped around what used to be his left arm. Ponk with the dark red eyes, heavy bags underneath his them as cold glares directed themselves towards Sam. Ponk with the red vines that curled up and down the bandages, reminiscent of blood dripping down a freshly cut wound. Ponk, the same as Sam had remembered him, yet different at the same time.
The air is tense, but for the sake of the banquet and the guest, they interact when they have to, voices strained and gazes avoided. When Sam’s hand brushes against Ponk’s, handing the other his armor, Ponk flinches and Sam quickly pulls his hand away. When their eyes meet, Ponk’s gaze is cold and Sam is the first to look away, guilt rising into his chest. Sam speaks softly, Ponk aggressively, both of them acutely aware at how uncomfortable the other guests look around them, but neither of them seemed to be bothered.
Ponk shoos Sam away, Sam’s leather armor in his arms, not interested in carrying their conversation any further, and Sam respects it and leaves, carrying himself about the banquet as he tries not to think about things going wrong or about Ponk for that matter. Because with those thoughts came anxieties, worries, and emotions, all things Sam was trying so hard not to feel.
He knew he had fucked up.
He knew that he didn’t have the slightest chance in getting Ponk back. It was too late for that now.
But when Ponk got up onto the table to give a speech, one that was hostile and petty, directed at Sam and Sam only; when Ponk threw the ghast tear at him, staring him down before he silently turned away without another word, Sam couldn’t help himself.
Eyes locked onto Ponk, ghast tear in his hands, Sam muttered a statement that stayed as true as it had always been.
“You look so beautiful right now.”
It’s under his breath, it’s a simple slip of the tongue. A true statement as it’s always been and quiet as it always was.
It wasn’t meant to be heard by anyone, it wasn’t meant to be a way to ‘win’ Ponk back. No, it was just a simple utter, a simple fact, full of that same longing and love that was first whispered under what was now a rotting lemon tree.
Something so quiet, so genuine, and in the moment, something that was meant to be a secret, hidden away in the vault of the Warden’s corrupting heart, something of that sort was never meant to be heard.
But Ponk heard it.
He heard it as clear as his favorite color, as loud as the sounds of explosions raining down around him. He hears it and it stops him in his path, a single step away from his seat at the table, his body tense as the words repeat again and again in his mind.
He wants to cry. He wants to fall to his knees on the table and cry, shoulders shaking as he sobs, finally breaking underneath the weight of all the conflicting emotions he’s been feeling up until his point. For those words only further fueled his quiet desires to have Sam back, to have things back the way that they were. Because Foolish was right, even after everything, Ponk still couldn’t let him go.
He wants to scream. He wants to turn around and scream at Sam, to shout, “How could you?” and douse him with beet soup before throwing the empty wooden bowl at his stupid, handsome face. For he was sure he hated Sam. After everything that Sam put him through, everything Sam did to him, Ponk wanted to hate him. So why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t he hate Sam fully?
He wants to run. Run far away from the Banquet, from the Egg, from Sam. He wants to run far away from his problems and build a small hut, forgetting anything ever happened. He wants to run as far as his legs could carry him, leaving the home he’s come to hate behind, hiding from everything he once used to love.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he clenches his fist and takes the final step back into his seat, red eyes avoiding Sam’s gaze. For he could still feel those emerald eyes looking back at him, he felt that gaze since Sam had arrived, a stark contrast to the cold, emotionless haze that took one of his canon lives and his arm.
He stares down at his hand, Bad’s words sounding like incoherent muttering as Sam’s words repeat again and again in his head.
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful…
What was so beautiful about him?
Was it that Sam liked Ponk without an arm? Did he like that Ponk was with the Egg now? Red eyes and vines coming down his left stub, was that what was beautiful? Was it the fact that Sam thought he’d put Ponk in his place? Was that what was so beautiful?
Sam never called him beautiful. Ponk had never heard Sam call him such. Occasionally Sam had called him pretty, cute, handsome, but never...never beautiful.
Ponk inhaled sharply, pulling himself out of his thoughts, looking straight ahead now, Sam in the corner of his eyes. He can see that Sam is still looking at him, but he is unable to really read his gaze. He doesn’t want to look at him, doesn’t want to see him and try to figure out what Sam was thinking. He tells himself for the fifteenth time that day that he wants nothing to do with Sam.
But the statement haunts him, it hovers over him like a thick fog and suddenly Ponk feels sick to his stomach. For he doesn’t know what he wants, or how he feels. Because after everything, deep down he still wanted to be with Sam. He knew that’s what the Egg was dangling over his head, confident that it would eventually get Sam on its side.
No matter how many times Ponk denied it, locked it away, beat it with a supreme baseball bat, it was still a fact. Just as much as the one Sam had muttered, the one that Sam had been muttering since that time underneath the lemon tree.
Ponk was beautiful.
But the tragic thing about it was that when Sam said it, that when Ponk heard it, nothing was beautiful about them anymore.
For what was meant to be, was until it wasn't.
Beautiful, beloved
I’ve lost you
Beautiful, beloved
If only you knew
Beautiful, beloved
With your crimson eyes, oh sweet cherry wine
Beautiful, beloved
I loved you