Chapter Text
Nothing had been particularly different about that day. For starters, it was Sunday noon. He only took notice about that particular fact after being greeted with a loud banging on his bedroom door. The loud noise had disturbed his dreamless slumber; his body had flinched like never before, causing him to hit his head on the wall. Flakes of paint came pouring down into his weary eyes, reminding him that he really should stop procrastinating and plaster the chipping already.
His mother entered at once, having gotten an unsatisfactory reaction from her son. She stood by the doorframe, arms crossed. The women waited for him to finish rubbing his eyes. Her silent presence lingered for longer than it should have. So much that he could perceive her existence to an exaggerated extent. His chest became heavy as he purposefully held his head down for a few seconds too long.
Now fully awake, Bertholdt became aware of his own heartbeat, and how it beat steadily as it pumped blood into his arteries. One by one, he began to move his fingers over the mattress. The fabric colliding with his fingers; the way the rough carpet felt against the soles of his feet. It was all an agonizing reminder that he was alive. The second his mother and him locked glances, he began to yearn to return to that abysmal state of unconsciousness. Dark, empty, yes. His mind was as desolate as the deepest parts of the ocean. As vacant as the loneliest corners of space.
But it was peaceful.
In his slumber, he was not Bertholdt Hoover. He was not the tall, awkward guy with lanky extremities; he was not the champion teenage violinist who practiced for hours each day; he was not the gifted child who everyone expected outstanding marks from. He simply didn’t exist. The atoms that made up his body would become ones with the uninhabited vacuum; free of consciousness, free of expectations.
Dreaming was only a burden that he did not have the emotional capacity to take on. How could he possibly fall asleep, only to wake up in a completely new reality where everything that felt right during his waking hours, became horribly wrong? Dreaming was for those with a heart of titanium, which he did not have. “Happy place” was the title many gave to that fictional world created by their restless subconscious, filled only with their deepest desires and most cherished memories. Berthold’s happy place had nothing. He would smile at the void, and the void would smile back before engulfing his brain for 7 hours each day.
But on that day, he’d been pulled out of the abyss. Cruelly yanked away from the darkness he found most solace in. And now he sat in shame, shivering in front of his mother. He knew what was about to come. Though it had happened many times before, he could never really prepare for it.
“How old are you, Bertholdt?”
He flinched. He definitely had not been expecting that. Most of the time, he’d be scolded loudly. She would yell at him until he did what he was anticipated to do, and like a dog to its owner, he would follow without any complaints.
“Fifteen…” he mumbled.
“Louder, boy,” she said emotionlessly. “Stop mumbling every time someone speaks to you. How do you expect others to value your opinion if you can’t even speak right? You’re not retarded, you choose to be like this by your own damn will. Now, answer my question.”
“I’m fifteen,” he said, pushing the words out from his chest.
She ventured deeper into his room, swiping some dust away from a textbook on his desk. Wandering around, she took note of every imperfection that stood out to her from within his quarter.
“You’re a young man. Not a boy. Do you think a man like you should be acting like this?”
“What’s wrong with sleeping in? It’s Sunday. Everyone sleeps in during the weekends. No one does anything important today,” he said.
“Not men like you, they don’t. When will you wrap your head around the fact that you’re not like other kids your age? You’re special,” she replied, frustration lingering within her tone.
She opened the blinds, letting the sunlight in. Each ray that seeped into his room felt like a violent laser, desperate to burn every surface it touched. Bertholdt began dressing himself, in the hopes of avoiding any more pep-talks about irresponsibility.
“While they’re out there wrestling each other like mindless pigs, you’re doing outstanding things that no human could imagine accomplishing in their whole lives,” his mother gloated.
Bertholdt dismissed her statement. It was always the same preachy bullshit. No conversation in his household could ever be carried out normally without his parents praising him in the most passive-aggressive way possible. All he could do is sit and listen. He was powerless against their words. Denying it would make him look desperate for compliments, and accepting it would just feed into their obsession even further. He’d learned to shut them out, for his impotence would not help his case, even if his guts ached with rage as they rambled.
“By the way, don’t forget your medication today, okay?” She said.
“Yes mama,” Berthold said emptily.
“Yes mama nothing, I want to see you take it right now,” she scolded.
The floor seemed to vibrate under his feet as his body was possessed by an apprehensive feeling of nausea. His neck began to itch while his mother reached for the two pill bottles on his nightstand. She pushed his water bottle onto his chest; one he always kept nearby in case he got thirsty. Especially in the tyrannical Summer haze; it seemed to mock him every second of his existence by sending hot flashes through his body that almost made him want to faint.
Bertholdt took the pills with his left hand and brought them close to his lips. He pretended to insert them into his mouth, and then took a swing of water. His mother checked that he had indeed swallowed by having him lift his tongue, even going as far as sticking her index finger inside to inspect the walls of his cheeks.
“Good job,” she said with a satisfied smile. Bertholdt received a pat on the shoulder.
His chest stug with guilt. There were very few things he kept secret from his parents. But perhaps the biggest one was his refusal to poison his body with high doses of klonopin and a salad of antidepressants. He was part of that lucky few who experienced side effects like a cargo truck running him over at full speed. He often wondered if it was selfish of him to reject his prescribed medication, which was definitely not cheap. However, having the farmaceutics in his body made him feel like he was trapped in a small metal box, with no holes for air. A box whose walls would gradually decrease in size until his body got compressed into an inhuman pulp. It all came down to deciding between which condition he would rather live with day-to-day. In the end, he chose the feeling of restlessness, like hanging off a cliff with a single tree branch to hang onto, over the living fever dream.
“Is he up?” He heard his father ask as his mother walked down the stairs.
He should have felt relieved that his mother hadn’t bossed him around. However, he was left with a lingering remorse. That sensation only increased after he noticed his knuckles had turned white from camouflaging the pills in his fist.
When walking to the kitchen, he found his father sat at the table, scrolling through some article on his phone. He was immediately greeted with a dry smile from him. Bertholdt only nodded in response before reaching for his favorite cereal from the pantry.
“No, you’re not having that anymore,” his mother said as she took the box from him.
“Why not? I always eat this for breakfast,” Bertholdt whined.
“That’s the problem. You’re putting on a lot of weight. You need to stay in shape, or you won’t be able to run well anymore,” she said.
His father scoffed.
“What’s wrong with you, woman? The boy’s a stick,” his father retorted.
Bertholdt smiled internally. For once, his father was siding with him.
“He won’t be for long if he continues to eat like he’s 300 pounds. Aren’t you worried about his health?”
“He’s on the track team. He burns all the calories he eats, he’ll be fine,” his father grumbled.
“Yeah, but not during summer. He’s spent the holidays sleeping and sitting on that computer of his,” his mom argued. She turned to Bertholdt, handing him a bowl of sliced apples. “Here, sit down and eat.”
Bertholdt obeyed in silence as his parents bickered. He nibbled on the fruit, which only made him realize how much he despised apples.
“Why haven’t you done any exercise all summer long?” His father asked.
Bertholdt was caught off by the question, let alone the fact that his father had decided to address him in the middle of his discussion with his mom. Bertholdt shuffled around in his chair, stabbing his food mindlessly. He laid his head on the table as he stared at the porcelain bowl.
“I dunno. I’ve been busy with violin. And studying, I guess,” he mumbled.
His father turned away from him.
“There you go. It’s not like he’s been completely useless,” he said to the woman. “Speaking of which, are you aware that you have an audition in October?”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Bertholdt began to pray to every god in existence for his parents to shut up about his personal life. He knew all of this. He wasn’t some mindless puppet who just went about his life doing what he was told without being conscious of it. He was mindful of every mistake he’d ever made; every responsibility be it small or big.
“Yeah,” Bertholdt answered.
“And? Have you even chosen your song yet?”
Bertholdt nodded, going back to stare at the pattern on his bowl.
“So? Which one is it?”
Bertholdt sat up straight, throwing his head back to let out a loud groan.
“Caprice number 24, can I leave?” He sighed.
“Seriously? What did Mr. Magath say?” His mother asked.
Bertholdt stood up angrily. Privacy was the only thing he wanted. Nothing more. He never asked for new clothes, or video games, or even money. The only thing he wanted was the right to keep to himself, which somehow, was the one thing he would never be able to obtain.
“He said it’s fine,” Bertholdt growled before spinning on his heel, back turned towards his parents.
“Hey, since according to you, there is nothing to do today, you’re coming with me to get the groceries,” his mom yelled as he escaped the kitchen.
And so, the boy’s mood became foul for the remainder of the day. He spent the afternoon laying on his bed, looking at the posters on his wall. He stared into the printed eyes of those belonging to the members of the bands residing within the posters. He wondered if men like Jim Morrison had ever felt like disappearing from the surface of the planet. Not necessarily dying, but more so… fading away without a trace; vanishing without anybody remembering who you were.
But surely people like that never had the burden of living a life so mundanely stressful as his. They were geniuses, but instead of being praised by their intellect, they were loved for their ability to inspire and create. Something that Bertholdt could never do. He could not fabricate something new from the deepest part of his heart, for the ability to observe did not give him the aptitudes required to make something from scratch. Something that reflected who he was and what he felt.
Which made him podner on a new inquiry: who even was he?
Well, he knew the literal answer. He was Bertholdt Hoover. Menacingly tall yet could not even stand out in a crowd of twenty. Perhaps even the smart kid who did well at school, or the award-winning child violinist. But on the inside– what was there? He may never find out, but, what he did know, were the things that did not live within his soul. No songs, no pictures, no dreams, no wishes. He was unable to interpret any metaphysical concepts without them being written on paper for him to read. He could not draw or paint what he imagined; only what he could see in the world around him. He was a logical being to the worst extreme. Everything needed an explanation that was viable.
Catching a peek of the scenery outside his window, he felt a strong burning inside his core. His backyard, flourishing with beautiful plants and flowers, and in the middle of it all, was a tall tree with a wooden house resting on its large, crooked branches. That used to be his happy place. Now, it was a throbbing memory of the life he once had.
His father had built it for him when he was 7. Like any child, Bertholdt had watched his father work with stars in his eyes. He’d sit at the base of the tree, looking up with wonder and innocence as his father nailed planks into the bark. The minute it was done, Bertholdt had climbed up the ladder, dumbfounded at how polished the house looked from the interior. He would go on to spend many summer nights inside with his father, reading books or looking at the stars. He recalled the radio he and his father had built when he was 10. He had done most of the electrical work, while the man only supervised him so that he wouldn’t burn himself while welding the cables.
Once upon a time, Bertholdt would wake up in the tree house, next to his father. His mother would call them inside for breakfast, where they’d eat french toast with home-made jam and honey. Those golden days when summer had tasted like sweet nectar and clear skies. The heat had even been comforting, as it would caress his skin whenever he’d catch fireflies in the dark, snug nights.
And he’d play his violin inside the house. His parents would sit under the tree, listening to him get excited over mastering particularly complex pieces. He’d peek his head out the window, meeting his mother’s kind smile as she’d blow kisses up at him.
It all seemed to have happened a century ago. He often found himself asking if those memories even belonged to him. When did things change? But there was no point in asking questions to his ceiling.
His mother came to get him at around 5PM. He was dragged to the supermarket against his will, although he didn’t do anything to fight back. The ride to the place was silent, for he did not want to engage in a long conversation about music school or his studies. He put in his earbuds and shut his mind out, getting lost in an endless maze of thoughts as George Harrison’s voice blasted against his eardrums.
He moved like a zombie, following his mother around the vegetable aisle. He held the plastic bags without even being aware of it. The supermarket began to fill up with more and more people. Only then did Bertholdt’s mind decide to jab at his nerves to remind him that he was a breathing organism. He felt a woman’s hand brush against his back on accident. In response, his nervous system did a flip. The crowded place made his heart beat rapidly. His breathing became uneven, so much that it even seemed as though he was out of breath. His muscles tightened, and he became aware of every sound coming from within a 50 meter radius in relation to where he stood. He swallowed hard, shaking his head as he whispered to himself.
‘ Not now, not now, not now ,” he cursed quietly.
The world around him spun like a top. People shoved him aside, trying to reach for various food items; he was blocking the way. His mother pulled him by the sleeve, unaware of the panic that was coursing through her son’s body.
“Mrs. Hoover! Bertholdt!”
The pair turned around, coming face-to-face with a middle aged man accompanied by a young, blonde girl. Berthold’s breathing evened out as he forced a smile and a wave. His mother walked up to the man and greeted him with a friendly hug.
“Mr. Leonhart, how lovely it is to see you,” She said. Then she turned to the girl. “Look at you, Annie! You’re turning into a beautiful young woman. How have you been?”
“Fine, thank you,” Annie replied with no emotion to her voice.
Bertholdt made his way over, sending a shy grin to Annie, who waved back. He was embraced by Mr. Leonhart, who patted his back happily.
“Look at you! It seems like you’ve grown a whole meter over the summer! What have you been up to? It’s been months since you’ve come over for supper,” Mr. Leonhart said.
“I’ve been really busy. Music school is sucking out my soul,” Bertholdt joked nervously.
“Oh I bet, you never get any breaks, do you?” Mr. Leonhart sighed.
As usual, his mom chimed in to brag about Bertholdt’s audition. The tall boy used this as an opportunity to slip away and catch up with his childhood friend. Annie looked as bored as ever. She was kicking around a stray pebble with her foot, not paying any attention to anything happening outside of her personal bubble.
“Hey,” Bertholdt said.
“Hey,” Annie mumbled. “How’s it going?”
“You know how it is. How about you? You haven’t been online lately,” Bertholdt said.
“I went to summer camp. Came back three days ago. I hated it,” Annie said.
Bertholdt leaned to the side.
“What was the camp for?” He asked.
“Martial arts. My dad didn’t check and well… It was a children’s martial arts camp. I was stuck with a bunch of 3rd graders for two weeks,” Annie said, shrugging.
Bertholdt chuckled. He ruffled her hair playfully. In retaliation, Annie punched him in the arm gently. He’d missed her quite a lot. It had been almost 4 months since he’d last hung out with Annie.
The pair had been good friends since middle school, which was around the time Bertholdt had stopped being homeschooled. Often finding himself blaming his social inadaptability on his early education, Bertholdt was glad that Annie had been the first person he’d met. Both quiet, confused children who refused to interact with others, though the two had vastly contrasting reasonings behind their behavior.
It did not take long for them to grow comfortable around each other, or at least, in Bertholdt’s case, to gain trust in Annie. Conversations with her were mostly one-sided. He talked about his feelings, and she listened. As of recent years, she’d started opening up more, and even engaging in deeper discussions.
“What classes are you taking this year? Is your mom still forcing you to fill your schedule with ridiculous courses?” Annie asked.
“Ugh, yes! I’m taking A.P. music theory, physics, calculus, and German language & culture,” Bertholdt groaned.
Annie let out a scuff of disbelief.
“Wow. And all those are A.P. courses?”
Bertholdt nodded.
“Sheesh. Good luck trying to get any sleep. I’m only taking one A.P. class this year, and I don’t think I’ll even be able to pull it off,” Annie said as she pulled a loose string from her shirt.
Annie and Bertholdt left the store, seeing how their parents were deep in conversation. They sat outside on a bench, staring into the parking lot. The sky was as blue as ever. It would not set for another two hours or so. Annie pulled her knees close to her chest, sitting in fetal position as she chewed on her fingernails. Bertholdt stared at her for a good while, how her messy blonde hair obstructed her eyesight from half of her face. Her knees were red and scraped, possibly a souvenir from her summer camp getaway.
“This will be our second to last year. Then… we’re off to college… what do you think about that?” Bertholdt asked.
Annie brushed her hair out of her bouth, tucking it behind her ear.
“Just another year for me. Every day is the same. You and I have never had lunch together. I always sit alone,” she said. “Guess it’s one more year of being friendless for you and I.”
“Maybe not.”
Annie raised her brow, turning her attention to her tall friend.
“You remember the girl I told you about? The one who I talk to at the conservatory?” Berthold asked.
“Yeah, the one from Marley Prep?”
“Mm-hmm. She’s transferring to our school. Maybe we’ll be able to hang out with her. She’s nice. I already see her very often because Mr. Magath wants her to be my accompaniment,” Bertholdt said. “I wouldn’t mind being around her at school too.”
“Is she annoying?” Annie asked.
“No. She’s chill,” Bertholdt replied.
Annie relaxed her posture, sinking into the bench.
“I see. That’ll make three of us then. Alone together.”
Bertholdt nodded.
“Will you be online tonight? We should play something,” Bertholdt suggested.
Annie chuckled.
“I don’t want to play Among Us or chess anymore. Pick something good and I’ll consider,” she laughed.
Her smile, like nothing he had ever seen before. Rare as alexandrite and graceful like a dove. When was the last time a genuine smile had been offered to him? Her chapped lips stretched into a wide, crooked grin as she punched him in the arm. He couldn’t deny it; she was beautiful. The most bewitching soul he had ever met. She was his soulmate.
Nevertheless, whenever he thought about holding her hand or kissing her lips, he could never imagine himself doing it. He’d never understood why. In his eyes, Annie was the perfect girl. Her hooded blue eyes, her hooked nose, her thin hair, her bruised knuckles. She was almost artistic in her appearance. Yes, she was the most perfect woman in the world.
But not for him.
How he longed for the feeling of wanting to be hers. The sensation of being so enamoured it makes you cry. He’d read about it in books. How men fall in love with delicate young women, and you women fall in love for kind, charming guys. It was a beautiful concept. Something so far away, it almost gave the impression of being fictional. And to a certain extent, it was.
Did his parents really love each other? Or were they just together for his own sake? Annie’s father… he wasn’t married. He’d never been seen around town with another woman. And yet he seemed happy. So why was it that every romance novel always portrayed love as a bare necessity? Something crucial that human happiness depended on?
“Say, Annie… what do you want to do after we graduate?” Bertholdt asked.
“Stay with my dad,” she said. “You?”
Berthold sat in silence for a few seconds, processing his answer. What did he want to do with his life? There were so many things, so many opportunities. Yet none of them screamed his name. Wherever he was to end up, he would only be a sheep following the crowd. He’d only be there to study what was previously discovered before. And for what? To land a lousy, low-paying teaching job at some community college? Or to end up like Mr. Magath– a man who wasted his youth in the army only to later discover his true passion– when it was already too late? Bertholdt couldn’t imagine starting his “dream job” at the ripe age of 45. That’s a whole lifetime wasted doing nothing.
“I… go to Harvard perhaps? Or maybe I will join the Berlin Philharmonic…”
“I asked about what you wanna do. Not your parents.”
“Um… die at 30,” he replied.
Annie rolled her eyes.
“Again with this?” She mumbled.
Bertholdt didn’t answer. Annie punched his shoulder, this time with more strength. Berthold whined as the pain hit, rubbing the affected area with his hand.
“What?” Berthold whined. “I’ve told you many times, Annie, what even is there after you turn 30? Daily chiropractor visits? Herpes? That’s so exciting, isn’t it?”
“You’re a real phenomenon. It doesn’t matter how old you are. 30 or 24 or 15, you’ll still feel miserable. It’s all the same. A year is just a way us chimps keep tally marks on how much closer to death we are. It changes nothing about how you feel. If you hate yourself now, you’ll hate yourself then.”
“That’s such a pessimistic philosophy,” Bertholdt said.
“And yours isn’t?”
Bertholdt rested his chin on the palm of his hand.
“Touché,” he mumbled in defeat.
“You really need to leave the house more. You look so pale and malnourished. Are your parents holding you hostage?” Annie asked.
“Kinda.”
She shook her head and stood up. At that very moment, Mr. Leonhart and Bertholdt’s mother walked through the doors with their groceries neatly packed in their respective shopping carts. Annie gave Bertholdt a pitiful glance. She ran a hand through his hair, messing it up beyond repair.
“See ya next week. Your mom will probably want us to walk together on the first day of school,” Annie said before running off with her father.
Bertholdt skipped dinner that night. The feeling of emotional emptiness filled up his stomach more than a five course meal ever could. He felt even lonelier now that he’d finally seen his friend. Those few moments of companionship reminded him of how isolated he’d been for the past months. His house was dark, as his parents refused to waste more electricity than needed. The hallways appeared to stretch for longer than they should, and his footsteps made no sound when he made his way to the kitchen to fill up his water bottle.
He needed something, anything to save him from his despair. It was an excruciating pain that made him feel like he was stuck in a time loop; falling into a hole, coming out the other end, only to trip into the same hole he’d fallen into many times before. He locked himself inside his room, sitting in front of his computer as tears rolled down his cheeks. He stared emptily at the screen, sobbing quietly. A message appeared from his Discord notifications.
a67530286 today at 11:47 PM
Fine. Let’s play whatever u want. U looked miserable today.
Bertholdt smiled to himself, wiping his eyes and nose with the collar of his shirt. With that, he typed back.
berturtle1 today at 11:48 PM
Thank u :) 1 round of among us and then we can play minecraft?
a67530286 today at 11:48 PM
Bed wars?
berturtle1 today at 11:49 PM
ye
a67530286 today at 11:48 PM
Ok. Anyways, what’s the code?
berturtle1 today at 11:49 PM
Haven’t even opened the game give me a sec
He began running the program on his computer, waiting for it to load. It definitely wasn’t his favorite video game, but something about outsmarting 13 year olds on public servers made him feel a tinge of delight. Besides, he and Annie could have good laughs after watching said 13 year olds rage quit after being called “sus” as a joke.
When the game launched, he searched for a server that had enough space for two players. Unfortunately, the only one he could find was titled “ballsack”, and once he joined, there was no going back. He sent the code to Annie, and immediately after, the server filled up to the maximum capacity. Many of the players began spamming “start” in the chat, until the creator of the server finally started the game.
Impostor.
Why was it that every time he opened the game with the intention to play casually and just waste his brain cells, he got impostor? Regardless, he decided to take it easy. He was only there to have fun and cheer himself up. It was working, because the player named “ballsack” also got impostor.
He moved his blue character swiftly across the map, faking tasks like a professional and sabotaging the lights while his partner did the dirty work. He himself even got two kills, one of them being Annie. Not once did anyone suspect them, except for the person playing as cyan, who cried wolf multiple times during the meeting, yet was dismissed by the other players.
In the end, it was a victorious roud, with him and the other impostor having wiped out all of the crewmates. Once the game ended, the chat began to blow up as other players congratulated them on their win. A few had exited the game, and while they waited for the room to fill up once more, Bertholdt decided to engage in conversing with the others.
T3rror1st
Hey, GG, that was amazing howd yall do it
ballsack
1000 iq hehe fr tho that was awesome. We make a good team, blue
Bertholdt grinned, overwhelmed by the stranger’s kindness. He felt pathetic. No sane human being would get so excited over a compliment from someone under the alias “ballsack.”
turtle
Thanks :)
ocean man
literally screw all of u, i told u it was them and yall didnt listen
A new player suddenly joined the lobby, changing their color to orange and picking the cowboy hat as their accessory. The player joined the chat.
JoeExotic
what yall talking about, who tf is ballsack
ballsack
Das bin ich
JoeExotic
please speak american mr hitler youth
ballsack
Damn bitch who hurt u
JoeExotic
no one hoe, start the game
ballsack
no we need more people
JoeExotic
7 is enough, start the game
The other player in the server, who hadn’t shown any signs of life until this point, decided to finally voice their opinion.
Vote Me
start
ballsack
stfu connie
Vote Me
way to doxx me
At this point, Bertholdt had a hand pressed over his mouth to prevent himself from bursting out in laughter and disrupting his parents. His abdomen hurt from the silent wheezing as he watched the conversation go down between these strangers.
a67530286 today at 12:19 AM
You picked the worst lobby.
Bertholdt skimmed through Annie’s message, giggling a bit before returning his attention to the lobby’s chat.
JoeExotic
who tf is white, speak up dude
a
no
Another player joined the lobby, already in the color pink with the angel halo as a hat.
christaL
Hiiiiiiiiii
JoeExotic
Omg stfu
ballsack
hey stop being rude orange
ballsack
Hi pink :)
JoeExotic
the pick me girl and the simp, how cute. start the game.
christaL
Why am I a pick me, what did I do wrong?
JoeExotic
are u one of those “gamer girls”?
ocean man
uhhhh not to be that guy but you’re kinda being an incel, orange
christaL
I can literally kick your butt idc if i get imposter or crewmate
JoeExotic
bring it hoe
Bertholdt hadn’t even noticed the two new players that had joined the lobby. Not until the game started, at least. Once again, he was assigned the role of impostor, alongside pink. And once again, it was an almost clean victory for the pair, except for his partner getting voted out when there were four remaining. He gave himself a metaphorical pat on the back as the victory card was shown on the screen.
T3rror1st
hey what gives, lime? I was literally not sus and u called the first meeting to vote me out, not cool
shawty
your name sucks
crustacean
gg guys
ballsack
yeah gg, you’re so good at being impostor, blue. I kinda knew it was u and pink but that was still amazing
JoeExotic
wtf pink why did u make them vote me out second
christaL
just 4 funsies
turtle
nice job, pink, you’re rlly good
ballsack
hey pink and blue are u two girls?
Bertholdt bit his cheeks to hold in his laughter again. He received an instant message from Annie on discord.
a67530286 today at 12:51 AM
LMAOOOOOOOOOO
turtle
no am boy
christaL
creepy much? anyways Im a girl. how old r u guys
T3rror1st
15 :3
ballsack
16
JoeExotic
49
crustacean
tf??? ballsack kick JoeExotic he’s being toxic
JoeExotic
Im literally a girl im 16 yall are dumb
christaL
stop being mean??????¿¿¿¿¿¿¿
ballsack
bye joe
JoeExotic
No wait ill be nice
ballsack
Youre on thin fucking ice
In the end, they ended up playing a couple more rounds, late into the early hours of the morning. Bertholdt had never had so much fun with a lobby as much as he had with that one. Even Annie had decided to stick around for every single game, though she was not really trying to win or lose. In fact, Bertholdt had believed her to be faking tasks multiple times when in reality she’d just been parading through the map with no real purpose.
Bertholdt checked his clock and held in a gasp when seeing how late it was. If he didn’t get any sleep now, his mother would be furious at him sleeping in two days in a row.
turtle
Guys i gtg :( its rlly late where i live
Ballsack
aww no :(
T3rror1st
yea its super late where i live too, i think im finna dip
shawty
pussy, it’s 3:27am where i live, im sticking around
T3rror1st
Im in the same time zone as u wtf
Everyone in the lobby followed T3rror1st’s statement by typing “same” in the chat. All except for Annie, who was probably already asleep on her desk.
christaL
aww shucks im really gonna miss this lobby :( you guys were so fun to play with
ocean man
Me too :(
ballsack
wait. yellow, brown, and I have a discord server. Yall wanna join to play again sometime?
JoeExotic
thats fucking lame. Im in.
ballsack
just to make sure: none of u are over 18 right? Ion want any creepy mfs in my server
JoeExotic
Im actually 87 sorry for lying
christaL
please make an exception for this stinky old hag
ballsack
will do. here’s the link.
Bertholdt promptly copied and pasted it onto his browser the second it was sent. He said his farewells in the Among Us lobby, and excitedly waited for the new page to load. He felt warm inside, not only because of the temperature, but for various reasons too. He had one week left of summer vacation. And now he had a good way to spend it. Even if his newfound online friends had lied about their ages, he did not care. He finally had people who he’d be eager to talk to and interact with. It was exactly what he’d been crying out for. A distraction; something to bring even the tiniest smile to his face.
Bertholdt looked through the channels on the server, laughing at their titles. He guessed that most were inside jokes between the three friends. He took note of the fact that the main one was titled “Reiner’s Brothel” followed by a cocktail of out-of-context emojis.
MY DRIP today at 3:34 AM
Welcome. B4 u guys do anything just tell us your first names bc im not addressing any of u by “L1vingAb0rt1on” or shit like that
L1vingAb0rt1on today at 3:35 AM
rude. im Ymir aka JoeExotic
QueenChrista3 today at 3:35 AM
my name is christa :·) also wth is that username Ymir
L1vingAb0rt1on today at 3:35 AM
art
G3noc1deB0mb today at 3:36 AM
Eren
DrugstoreCowboy21 at 3:36 AM
Im jean and holy shit your name sucks even more on here
G3noc1deB0mb today at 3:37 AM
Drugstore cowboy? Srsly? Thats fucking dumber, look whos talking
potato girl today at 3:37 AM
Im sasha hehe welcome to our server
avatar aang today at 3:38 AM
Connie and what she said ^^^^
MY DRIP today at 3:40 AM
Im reiner nice 2 meet u guys. Im changing everyone’s names btw, is there anyone else who hasn’t said anything?
Fire_Fish today at 3:40 AM
Im armin xD
At last, Bertholdt began clicking his fingers against his keyboard, with the most idiotic smile plastered across his face. He discerned that Annie hadn’t yet joined, which confirmed his theory that she had in fact fallen asleep.
berturtle1 today at 3:41 AM
I’m bertholdt :)
MY DRIP today at 3:42 AM
aight cool, well, welcome! Hope we get to know each other n shit, if u wanna add ppl just send them the link
Everyone’s atrocious usernames had been changed.
Eren today at 3:43 AM
Thanks dude! GN everyone, talk to u soon ig
Armin today at 3:45 AM
Gn guys, twas fun playing with u
They exchanged their goodnights, and the majority of the new members went offline. Bertholdt was about to do the same, until he received a message through his private chat. His heart started doing flips as he read the text one too many times.
Reiner today at 3:50 AM
Hey, Bertholdt, right? Hope you don’t find this creepy, but you’re the best impostor I’ve ever played with. U seem cool hehe, lmk if you wanna chat.