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“I love you,” something about those words made him sick. A lump in his throat, the feeling of wrongness beneath his skin, his heart pounding in his chest. It's… no matter how much he swallows, the lump stays there, blocking his airway, and he- he almost feels like he's going to die from it all.
An overreaction, he knows.
“I love you,” and he wants to be able to say those words back the same way he means. Sneeg wants so desperately to repeat them over and over like Clown is. He can, sometimes. But Clown is so… ready to do it. Ready to say it at a moment's notice.
He doesn't understand.
“I'm glad I have you,” and that's easier to respond to. It doesn't make him feel things he shouldn't, isn't feeling like a mountain he has to climb and do barrel rolls in his logic to say back. it comes naturally to him, to repeat it, to stare at Clown like he's the only one that exists. It's natural.
It's easy.
“You're all I need,” that's easier to believe than ‘I love you.’ It's easier to say back. It's easy.
It's easy.
“I love you,” and he wishes, hopes, prays, begs that he could say it in the way Clown says it. He sounds relaxed, unforced, as if it's the easiest thing in the world to say. Natural. He seems at peace everytime he says it, as if there's no other words he wants to say.
Fuck. Fuck why can't Sneeg do that? He's- fuck. How does he… why can't he… does Clown even-
“I-”
“Clown?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you mean it?”
“Mean what?”
“That you love me.”
There.
That was easy. Easier than the words, easier than the thoughts that make his eyes twitch and hands shake. So, so much easier than the way the lump seems to grow more as he awaits his partner's reply.
It's nerve wracking, waiting. He's not one to get nervous - he's the highest level on the entire Realm! - and yet, here he is. Yet, he's waiting patiently impatient for Clown to stop looking at him with confusion in his eyes, his mouth parting enough for his tongue to lock his lips, his breathing pausing before it continues.
Sneeg stares at Clown's maskless face, holding his breath as he searches him for any sort of… anything really. He feels so tense, nerves alight as he waits, and waits, and waits some more.
He feels a hand brushing against his face, and he can't stop himself from leaning into it. It's warm - Sneeg runs exceptionally cold while Clown runs exceptionally hot, a perfect balancing act between them - and nice, and more comforting than any words.
(He did always like being held by his partner. Or maybe it's just Clown he likes. He only hopes that Clown feels the same.)
Sneeg only realizes that it's a bare hand holding him, and he wants to feel sick, or pull away or ask why is Clown doing that when they both know how he feels about touch-
“Stop thinking,” he murmurs, rubbing circles into his cheek.
“I wasn't thinking anything!” But Clown has always been able to see right through him, knows by that ridiculously soft smile and eyes full of devotion.
“Sure you weren't,” he chuckles, interlocking his other hand with Sneeg's. “But I know you, Sneeg, so tell me why you asked that, hm?”
“Ask what?”
“What was it you told me last time? That's right, it was, and I do quote this, ‘I know I shit on you a lot but I do love you, y'know. That's the entire reason why we're together? You can tell me what's wrong.’ So please,” Is that a beg? Has he ever even heard Clown beg? “Tell me what's wrong?”
“I…” Sneeg hesitates, looking away from him, glancing at their hands. He brings it up slowly, closing his eyes as he presses a soft kiss to their fingers, and disconnects them. He brings his gaze back towards his face, and moves to hover both his hands over Clown's shoulders, a silent question in them.
He hears the sharp intake of air, can see the hesitation behind that devotion in his eyes, how the hand on his face twitches and tenses, and Sneeg almost feels bad for asking. But it's over in a blink, Clown slowly releasing the breath and smiling once more, relaxing best he can, before he - and this shocks Sneeg, it really does - drags him in for a hug.
…It feels nice. Just as comforting as the hand was on his face, the hand that seems to be running through his hair, careful of the sensitive horns. He clings to him, burrowing his face in his shoulder.
He's taking any opportunity he can get, okay?
“Do you really mean it?”
“‘Course I love you,” he says after a long moment, humming. “Why wouldn't I?”
“‘Cause I can't love you in the same way,” A beat. “Duh.”
“You're so stupid, Sneeg,” he chuckles, a hand rubbing up and down Sneeg's back.
“Hey! If anyone's stupid here, its-”
“-You, yes, I'm so glad you agree.” Sneeg flicks Clown, smirking at the offended noise he gives. “That wasn't very nice.”
“Says you! Mr. “I’m the most deadly player.””
“That was one time!”
“One time too many!”
“I-” Clown sighs, nuzzling into him. “Yeah, yeah, you can't distract me from what's actually important here.”
“Oh yeah? And what's that?”
“You,” oh. He… really wasn't expecting that. He knows he should've, he doesn't know why he wasn't. Maybe he's further into the self-hatred thing than he thought. Maybe he just wasn't prepared to hear that Clown deems him important the same way he does Clown.
“But I- I can't love you, Clown. Not- not romantically. Not like what you want.”
“Who says I want that?”
“Uhm… society? Myself?”
“Sneeg, look at me,” when did he look away? He doesn't even know. He finds he doesn't know a lot of things anymore. “I love you. I'll say it as much as I need to for you to believe it, and I'll repeat it until even after we die. I love you, I want you, I don't care in what way, or how, or anything. I-”
“There's no way you mean this. I can't give you a romantic relationship, you- you understand that, right?”
“I do,” and there's a desperation he's never heard in his voice. “I do. I love you in whatever way you want me to love you.”
Fuck.
Sneeg knows this. He does. He's known this since Sneeg asked Clown out for a date all that time ago. He's known this since Clown's breakdown over touch. He knows this.
And yet he's still shocked.
How many times has Sneeg said those three words to Clown? Rolling off his tongue like they belonged there, yet never making his heart beat faster or those accursed butterflies in his stomach never appearing? How many times has he said those words to him without a second thought?
So many. Countless even.
He should've known that he wouldn't have cared. He wants to scoff, or pull away, or drag him to their shared bed and sleep this embarrassment of a freakout away, but he won't.
He's comfortable here, in his arms, standing. Feeling better in his own skin and mind, that lump finally disappearing with his next swallow of saliva.
“...I’m glad I have you,” he mumbles, holding Clown tightly. “And I- I love you.”
“I love you so much, you absolute dummy. Now shut up and enjoy the hug, you aren't getting another for a while.”