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iron rusts as the afternoon piles

Summary:

A pair of souls have a conversation on the couch.

Notes:

holy shit actually new cr fic? yeah it’s not very long but whatever

anyways my previous posts may have implied I wanted to leave this franchise behind, but nah.

music to listen to:
mason jar - smallpools (monsieur adi remix)

Work Text:

“Love ya, babe.”

“Pass me the remote, Rolly.”

Energy Drink rasps as Roll Cake runs his hands through their hair. Their breathing fills the room in littering echoes, but neither really minds. Over the years, they’ve simply gotten used to this new sort of exhalation.

“Man, there’s nothing on.”

Roll Cake snickers. “There’s nothing ever good enough for you on.”

“Ha,” they reply with a laugh, pushing themselves up and taking a deep inhale of their tank. They don’t need a constant supply of medicine anymore, but that didn’t stop them from finding comfort in the creeping hose and the alienation of looks, of being part machine more than living being.

“You’re right. Should we go outside soon?”

“Pancake’s still out like a light. We should wait.”

“That’s the perfect time to bolt though. Let him have his rest by his lonesome, and we’re back at the top of the hour.”

Roll Cake rolls his eyes and clicks his tongue. Simply shaking his head, he turns the TV to some law enforcement show.

It sucks.

“Won’t do it. If he throws up or something I wanna be here.”

Energy Drink shrugs, and simply falls onto his shoulder with a sigh.

“Fine by me. But find something good to watch, then, yeah?”

“On DVD or?”

They shake their head. The haze of the afternoon is getting to them. Nothing’s happening, but perhaps that’s for the best.

“Whatever you think…is best…”

Yawning, Roll Cake blinks, looking down at them as they slowly fall slouching, clinging to him. He nearly laughs, but instead cradles them close into his chest, propping them up such that the ventilator doesn’t pop off or become too uncomfortable.

With a carefully and unusually patient eye, he watches them crawl into a fast nap, hand clutched around his waist. The burn scars across their dark skin look like the Milky Way.

Cute, is all Roll Cake can think as he smiles and changes the channel to a public broadcasting channel, talking about some nameless, blameful politician on losing politics.

That soon doesn’t matter as he casts the remote aside, but not before turning the TV off and closing his own eyes. Energy Drink is warm.