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The sky was clear that night. A few stars could be made out through the shine of the streetlights, though it was only the moon that was as clear as ever.
Two young objects were making their way down the street, one carrying two large bags full of snacks while his friend had a six pack of soda under each arm.
As they were nearing the end of the semester, finals were coming up. No one was happy about that, of course, but Iceberg Lettuce thought it’d be a good idea to host study groups the weekends leading up to them.
That way, everyone could help each other and they’d all be on the same page he had reasoned.
Ink Bottle also thought it was a great idea initially, but was less thrilled when her roommate offered up their apartment for hosting. Even less when the bigger promised that they would provide snacks as well. Of course, only if the others chipped in, but they still were the ones who were physically getting said snacks.
“They better pay us back,” the glass container grumbled as she adjusted the sodas for what felt like the hundredth time. “God, why are these so heavy?”
Iceberg sighed at her complaints, though there was an amused smile on his face.
“I made them pay upfront, remember? There is no need to get dramatic.
He grinned preemptively, already expecting the overly theatrical gasp that followed. Ink Bottle’s voice sounded loud throughout the empty street.
“My dear friend, I cannot BELIEVE that you would ever suggest something as foolish as me being dramatic!”
Iceberg snorted.
“Riiight, you’re the least dramatic person I have ever known in… between you and Plastic Bottle.”
The other paused as she mulled his words over. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again, a thoughtful expression on her face.
“Plastic Bottle is incredibly dramatic though.”
“I know,” he laughed, “somehow even more than you!”
“Hey, I take offense in that!”
He didn’t respond, simply nudged her, as best as he could with a heavy bag in hand. They walked in silence for a few moments before they eventually came to a stop at a crosswalk. There was only one car in sight, at the far end of the street. They could’ve easily crossed. Still, neither of them wanted to cut their walk short, so they quietly waited until the light turned green.
As the pair finally went to cross the street, Ink Bottle spoke up again.
“By the way, wanna know what Plastic Bottle did recently?”
“Oh?” Iceberg turned his attention to her, his interest piqued. “Something dumb, I presume?”
“Pff, worse.”
What happened next felt both instant and like an eternity.
First he noticed the rapidly brightening light, then the screeching sound of out-of-control tires against concrete as he quickly realized that the car he had seen before hadn’t slown down in the slightest, flying down the street right towards them.
The world seemed to blur around them as his brain struggled to catch up. Everything had slowed down in a disorienting way. He looked over at Ink Bottle.
The expression on her face was… varied. Hard to pin down. Shock and terror, but also confusion. Resignation even. There was barely any time to register any of this.
All he remembered was the feeling of fear and confusion.
And then the world turned black.
The first thing that came to Iceberg when he woke up again was a low pain encasing his limbs, as well as a more sharp one on his main body. Slowly lifting his bruised arms, he ghosted his numb fingers over his side, finding what he already expected.
A crack, running all the way from his base to his right arm. Looked extreme, but was basically akin to a paper cut.
The next was a loud ringing in his ear, drowning out everything around him. The ground underneath him was rough and wet, and the grime in the air made it hard to breathe.
It smelled like ink.
Trying to stand up, Iceberg attempted to get his limbs underneath him but faltered as something cut into his hand. Focusing his blurry vision on the offending appendage, he realized he was now holding a large, darkly coloured piece of glass.
For a moment he stared at it, completely out of it. What had he been doing again?
Taking his eyes off of it, he looked around. He was laying at the side of the road, right by the sidewalk. About a few dozen feet away there was a… pile? Of damaged and dented metal, smoke billowing out of it.
A car, maybe?
Individual pieces of metal and glass laid around him, and a dark liquid stained the ground.
As he took everything in his brain started to catch up, confusion slowly giving way to dread.
“... Ink Bottle?”
She was- He had been with her.
Where… where was she?
The air smelled like ink.
His breath hitched, halfway caught between coughing and gagging.
Finally getting his feet under himself, he staggered, trying to look around.
No… no no no, it couldn’t be-
He froze when he saw it. For a moment, everything froze.
And then the world crashed down around him. He wanted to hurl. A few feet away from him was Ink Bottle.
Except no, it couldn’t be her.
Ink Bottle was loud, was overly dramatic any chance she could get and always moving, even in her sleep, and so so full of life.
She wasn’t still. She didn’t look terrified, wasn’t wide eyed and helpless, wasn’t-
She was whole. Not shattered, not slumped sideways on the ground, half of her body gone as ink slowly dripped down the jagged glass onto the pavement.
Tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, he could feel bile crawling up his throat.
A pained, high pitched whine left Iceberg as his body lurched forward, trying to get to Ink Bottle, to get help, to- to do something! His vision blurred, the world around him fading away.
Then his hands suddenly grabbed something, something burning hot and a shock ran though his body, snapping him back to reality.
As his vision focused again he was able to see that he had gotten a hold on Starfruit’s arm, just before she had fallen out of reach.
A flabbergasted expression was on her face.
“Wha- That logically makes no sense!”
A heavy feeling had coiled itself around Iceberg’s lungs.
Starfruit was fine. Logically, he knew she would’ve been fine even if she had fallen off. She would have just landed in the pool, like everyone else.
So if his racing heart and struggling lungs could get up to speed, that would be great.
…
He did his best to keep his voice steady.
“Trust me. You learn a lot of new things as you go.”
Hoisting her up again, he wanted to hold onto her just long enough so that she’d be able to get her feet back under her.
But as soon as he tried to let go, he noticed that his hands had cramped up, trapping his teammate’s arm in an uncomfortably tight grip.
His normally cold palms were unusually clammy.
The air smelled like ink.
“Iceberg, are you okay?”
He looked up into the Starfruit’s eyes, and they were filled with so much… worry, and compassion. They had barely known each other for a few hours.
Iceberg wanted to, he didn’t know.
Scream?
Cry?
Fall to the ground and beg for the world to make it stop? To give him his best friend back?
He didn’t do any of those things, of course. It’s been years, he’s not 18 anymore.
Instead he pried his hands off of Starfruit, directing his eyes towards the goal so he could avoid hers easier.
“I’m fine, I was just surprised.” He rolled his shoulder in an attempt to look unbothered. “Let’s keep going, we’re losing our lead.”
“If you say so…” Starfruit responded, a worried look still on her face. Not that he paid attention to it, already jumping to the next platform.
This wasn’t good. Not at all.
It wasn’t- He needed to get his head into the game. Not get attached.
Iceberg just… didn’t get it. Didn’t understand why he was still reacting like that. It’s been seven years.
“I should be over it,” he told himself.
“I should be fine. I am fine.”
But grieve still crawled like ants underneath his skin and the air-
The air still smelled like ink.