Chapter Text
It's been a while since Classic left. Left Red to suffer in his own guilt.
Red hasn't gotten over it. All he wants is for Classic to come back, to hold him, touch him, talk to him, pull him close and never let go. But he's gone. He's left him. And Red…isn't taking it very well.
He's getting drunk more often. He doesn't know what to do with himself without the motivation of his sweet boyfriend. He has no direction, no drive. He wants him back. Needs him back. But he just had to fuck up, didn’t he? He had to get drunk, he had to be an ass.
It doesn't help that he lives alone, with Edge having an apartment closer to his job. He'll try to check in on Red from time to time, but being a restaurant owner keeps him busy.
So, being all alone, the skeleton isn't coping well at all. Whenever he gets too drunk, he's started to see hallucinations of Classic, causing him to drink more and more to hold on to the fleeting memory of how things were before.
They talk about everything and nothing. Red talks about every detail of his day, as Classic holds him close in his arms, listening to every word. Whenever Red lets out pained sobs and cries, Classic is there, petting his head and saying everything will be okay. How he's never gonna leave his side.
Then, as the haze of alcohol fades away and Red sobers up, so too does the illusion of Classic begin to fade, like smoke in the moonlight, slipping through the embrace of Red's arms. The warmth of his touch, the whisper of his voice, the weight of his presence, gone. Just like that.
Nothing left for Red but silence, and the distant echo of a voice he once cherished everyday. Of an aching love that will never truly come back.
Sometimes when he's sober, like now, he thinks about Classic, and wonders if he thinks about him too. If he hates him. Or even worse, moved on and forgot about him. As if Red were just a bad dream. Faded by morning, blurred at the edges, and not even worthy of remembering.
Maybe he was just a mere page in his book. Insignificant.
But to Red, Classic is the whole damn story. Every chapter, every line, every breath between the words, the ink that bled into his bones and never quite dried.
But now he's gone, and Red is stuck re-reading a chapter he never wanted.
—
Red. Red Red Red Red Red. He's the only thing Dust can think about. When he wakes up, during missions, when he's sleeping. It's all Red. But Red loves Classic. He'll never be as good as Classic. Why would Red ever pick him? He's broken, like a used toy. He's a copy, like Classic but depressed and addicted to smokes.
He's sitting on his bed, head against the backboard, deep in thought.
That goddamn laugh.
He heard it a couple of months ago, back when Classic was still around. He couldn't even remember what had caused it—probably something stupid. Maybe Dust had tripped over his own two feet or something, he doesn't know. But Red laughed. Because of Dust.
Not just a polite chuckle. Not one of those bitter, forced exhales Red gave when he didn't really care.
This was real. Raw.
It rang in Dust’s memory like a song you couldn't get out of your head. Pleasant, yet infuriating. Maddening. Like a melody, frayed, distant, and worn from being replayed, over and over again.
The way his grin tilted just so. His eyes, crinkling ever so slightly at the corners. For a split second, Dust could have sworn Red actually saw him.
Maybe it was pity.
Maybe it was nothing.
But whatever it was, Dust wanted to hear it again. He needed to be the one to make Red laugh again, just like that.
But even with Classic gone, Red won't give him a chance.
He looks like Classic, but is nothing like him. He's not as funny, as kind, as patient. He's beyond help, and he knows that.
But all he wants is to hear that laugh again. Even if it's at his own expense. Even if it hurts. Anything to bring a smile back to Red's face. Maybe then he won't just be a weed, plucked out and crushed for the sake of a flower. He'll settle for being grass.
Maybe being the shadow Red lets linger at his side is the closest Dust will ever get to that warm, fuzzy feeling of importance.
And that's fine.
It's all he deserves anyhow, is it not?