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A gentle stir was felt around the well lit kitchen, dust particles dancing through the air as if recently startled. It wasn’t due to anything on Errors part, but perhaps the light steps of his parallel outcode in one of his many temporary bases. He traced the wooden counter top with a phalange as he stood awkwardly in the room. It was domestic, it was eerie, everything screamed that he was out of place.
He doesn’t know why Swap sent him of all people. Maybe he was too sick of Ink to do it himself, that’d be a pleasant surprise. But no, he was worried. Ink hadn’t been around in a while, his friends hadn’t seen him in ages, but they had a sneaking suspicion he was here. The guardian had a habit of being between places-- he could sleep just about anywhere but even then didn't seem to particularly want to. The doodlesphere wasn't a home as much as it was a base with anomalies wandering in and out with ease. This was a place he seemed to go to whenever he was feeling particularly sentimental (which Error didn’t even know was possible), maybe his being here would taint it enough to persuade Ink to leave and do his damn job.
Even the colors suggested his displacement, warm browns and muted colors in carefully placed harmony. His harsh primary colors and stark blacks were distracting. Every piece of the house was carefully placed with extensive planning, you’d think it was a magnum opus of his if it weren't for the fact it was so empty most of the time. Error wonders if in another multiverse, this place might be filled with children. Probably not.
He allowed himself to exist in this space for a moment despite his discomfort. He breathed in and out, distinct herbs noticeable in the kitchen and still air lingering in his nostrils. It wasn’t his taste, but it was nice nonetheless. He leaned on the same counter top he traced earlier and admired the many mismatched pieces of cooking ware-- god, he didn’t even know the guy could cook. Though he supposes that’s also an art form to some people. His drooped eyes swept over the entire spread: bottles of honey, a couple electrical appliances, a magnetic knife rack that seemed a little sparse, and a couple apples in a ceramic bowl that looked freshly picked.
Error helped himself to one, taking a large bite out of the sweet fruit. He was doing the guy a favor, he was inclined to a little taxation.
The apple was reduced to a thin core in a couple of moments and Error directed it to a trashcan that was predictably full and foul smelling. No matter how much Ink put into designing his house, he’d never keep it up to standard.
Error scooped the trash up by its strings and tied it tightly, wincing at the amount of black sludge at the bottom-- gross. With a simple gesture, he opened a portal to an Underfell timeline, one of his favorite targets, and nudged the trash bag into the open hole. Ink could thank him later, for now he was killing two birds with one stone.
Another trash bag was placed into the bin and Errors hands were cleaned with a strong-smelling soap before he decided to turn his search efforts towards the rest of the house. The hallway into the living room and the numerous other parts of the house weren't nearly as well lit, but cozy nonetheless. Error would probably find himself watching a novela on those tweed chairs in the next hour or so.
He was just about to put his bag down when he heard a loud crash: the distinct sound of glass shattering. Error jumped, clutching the doorframe in surprise. His eyes darted around the house for a couple moments, feet already moving when he suddenly slipped and fell hard onto the hardwood floor.
Error winced, looking back to see the puddle he stepped in, slick and black, not like vomit but..
His eyes widened, scrambling to his feet, why was he so frantic? Since when did he care this much? His hands shook as he bounded around the corner of the bathroom door, coming to face a scene that made his stomach turn.
Ink sat on the tiled floor, clutching his bleeding left arm tightly with a soaked rag, doubled over completely and covered in shattered glass. His hazy eyes met Errors with a meek smile, and he shifted to stand up far too quickly.
“I had an accident”, he giggled, almost looking through Error with the same unfocused, dull eyelights.
Error scanned his body, the bleeding knuckles and blood all over the white sink top. He gulped.
“No you didn’t”, he breathed out, “that wasn’t an accident.”
Ink looked to him with an uneasy expression, almost like a guilty dog, “Nothing gets past you, buddy”. He hesitated for a moment, shifting his feet under him, which seemed to uncomfortably absorb all sorts of glass splinters.
Error grasped him by the waist, stepping out of the doorframe, “Sit here” he demanded, gesturing towards the couch. Ink complied, legs crossed as if he was waiting for his dentists appointment. Droplets stained the fabric under him and his eyebrows raised, standing to grab a towel before Error stopped him,
“Hey! Sit down, don’t get up.” He shouted, a plastic bag and shoddy rag under his arm.
Ink cocked an eyebrow, “You didn’t give me a towel, I need to cover my couch.”
The other skeleton stammered for a moment, jutting his free arm out, “I--I’ll get it. You just stay there, I’ll do it.”
“Where are your towels anyway?” a glitched voice rang out, prompting an eye roll from Ink, “Check the right closet!”
A pause
“It’s not there. Why don’t you know the layout of your own house?” a couple more doors were opened, “I don’t live here!” he shouted back playfully.
A soft towel was carefully bunched around Ink’s body, Error crouched down and placed the bag to his side and it took a couple of moments for Ink to register what was happening,
“Hey! you don’t have to do that, I’ll clean it up later. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He tried to stand but sat back down quickly, feeling overwhelmingly awkward.
“I don’t want you to hurt yourself either” Error replied firmly, then stilled for a moment.
Ink suddenly felt much heavier, jaw going slack for a moment before he regained his composure, clutching his arm tighter.
“Ah, um. Thank you.” He smiled slightly, “But still, let me help you.”
Error turned and gave him a look, but then faced him entirely. “D’you have any glass in your foot still?”
He perked up, turning the limb to face himself. His phalanges were, in fact, filled with glass.
Ink gave a small smile, putting it back down to face towards himself, “Not a lot, I got it.”
Error looked at him expectantly, then sighed and bought his foot towards himself, furrowing his brows when he saw the sheer volume of glass shards currently poking his bones in all different angles. Wordlessly, he began picking them out with careful hands.
“Please, I’m okay.” he breathed out, “It doesn't even hurt”
“What, like how everything else didn’t hurt?” he raised an eyebrow.
Ink crossed his mangled arms in frustration, “Yeah, actually. Exactly like that.”
The other skeleton gave a confused look, continuing to pick out slivers with precise hands, “Why-- Why’d you do it then?”
Ink huffed, looking off to the side distractedly, “Dunno, because I wanted it to?”
The implication was there, Sweat beads ran down Errors face, “That’s not--” he breathed, “That’s not okay, Ink.” It was like the room had dropped a couple of degrees.
The shorter skeleton bristled, “What, I’m not going to kill myself so what does it matter?” He cocked his head to the side, “How’s it any different from when you fight me? Was my getting hurt ‘okay’ by you then?”
Error blanched, his eyes darting downwards, “That’s not the same. We-- we don’t do that anymore!” Didn’t he understand that he was just trying to extend sympathy? Why was he being so difficult?
“And it doesn’t matter that it won’t kill you, like that’s-- That’s the worst outcome, it’s still gonna ruin your body!”
Ink raised his eyebrows incredulously, “Oh my GOD, I think I’ll be fine. You act like I can’t just heal myself, I’m not a baby.”
Error grumbled, “Okay! Okay whatever. I just think that maybe, maybe, you shouldn’t hurt yourself despite whatever perceived immortality you consider yourself to have and that you should treat your body well! And you shouldn’t challenge said immortality!”
He let out a sigh, “And I mean if you need better outlets, there’s more you can do than just--”
“No! No, that’s not it.” He interrupted, “I'm not fuckin'— depressed. Or frustrated, or anything! I was just experimenting. And it was a failure, so I'll stop! No harm done."
"How can you say that? No harm done? Do you understand how insane you sound right now?" He pulled the last sliver out, putting it in the plastic bag.
"I don't know, do you understand how much you're blowing this out of proportion? If you hadn't stuck your nose in my business, literally nobody would have known. This has no effect on my magic, or God forbid your perceived notion of my mental health." His sockets were squinted tight, frame stiff as his anger bubbled over.
Error turned back to grab glass out of his bathroom floor, or to avoid Ink's manic gaze, "You talk about yourself like you aren't a person, it's disturbing."
"Okay but I'm not? That's not self deprecation, I just in the most fundamental way am not."
Error paused, words heavy in his mind.
"I don't think that's true."
He doesn't see Ink's expression.
"It's just— your soul. I don't think that's what makes you a person. You've still got like, thoughts and morals and needs. You describe it as a part of you being lost but I think that's just it, a part."
Silence. The bathroom vent droned quietly.
"You don't know what it's like."
Error turned, Ink was gripping the towel tightly.
"I don't feel. I can't feel anything by myself. All I can do is synthesize, and even then it's limited." He looked at his hands, "None of my emotions are real, I just prompt them with my vials."
"Yeah but I think that there's more to it than just your emotions, I see you. You're still alive even if you can't feel things."
Ink stared at him, unconvinced. They weren't getting anywhere.
Error furrowed his brows for a few moments, teeth grit uncomfortably. He hesitated.
"And I do know what it's like. It's not exactly like your situation, but in the antivoid. I feel it. I don't remember what happened, but there's this distinct gnawing I can feel when I'm there. I lose myself." his voice trembled almost unnoticeably, "It's comforting, but after a while I feel like I'm part of it. In a bad way, I mean."
Ink chuckled breathlessly, "See, I hate the antivoid, you're just realizing how evil it is!"
"It's not— It's not evil. It's just like, a force of nature?" He shrugged, "I guess that's part of why it gets me, but— listen, okay, I'm not talking about myself. I'm just saying I get what you mean, and I think your aversion to it points to some individuality!"
Ink rolled his eyes, a small smile forming on his face. He looked warm as the window hit him from behind, skull tinted orange at the sides. He was undoubtedly alive, the blood that was ceasing its flow from his mangled bones was proof of that. His face, though, was so animated, subtle movements that communicated nuance. For as faux as he described his emotions, he mixed them skillfully to the point Error didn't know about his 'condition' until his strings had slipped past his torso, taking purchase on nothing.
Ink knew that as well, describing himself as immortal of all things. Something so inherently vivacious.
"Fine, I'll relent, but still! Even if you think that I'm a real person,"
"Because you are", Error interrupted.
"Oh shush, you." he grinned, "I still think you're making this out to be much worse than it is. If it'll make you happy, I'll stop! I was planning on it anyway."
Error grimaced, "No that's— it's not just the… the cutting." he winced as he said it, "I think you're generally just really self-destructive? Ironically? And I don't really know how to help you with that, and I don't think you see the fault in it. Which is what worries me."
Ink stared at him, something unreadable on his face.
"And I guess I just need you to know that it's wrong to treat yourself like this. It doesn't matter who you think you are, or like, what you think you can handle? I just don't want to see you deliberately hurting yourself in any capacity."
It felt so strange to be saying things like this to Ink, someone usually so lighthearted and self-effacing. It felt even stranger coming out of Errors mouth.
"You're so different now," Ink smiled.
Heat rose to his cheeks, "Wh— don't! Don't change the subject!?"
He was right, though. Things had changed so much between them over the years, it was almost disorienting. The fact that he was relaying some of his deepest thoughts, the fact that he was genuinely invested in Ink's recovery, things he would never have entertained the thought of before.
The other skeleton's grin dropped ever so slightly, eyebrows furrowed like he wasn't sure if he wanted to continue.
"I'm fine, seriously. I'll take what you said to heart just… Don't worry about me."
His eyelights were hazy, and it made Error uneasy. He was worried. He trusted that he made it through to Ink in some capacity, but he was hesitant to leave him like this. He wasn't exactly equipped to deal with the full breadth of Ink's strange view of the world, and the thought of him being the only one saddled with that was uncomfortable. Maybe he'd push him to talk to the stars, but for now he was a bit lost on where to go from here.
"Can I stay the night?"
Inks eyes widened about as far as Errors did, neither expecting him to say that.
"Uh, yeah I guess?" Ink rubbed his neck, "If you want to, sure. I'm not exactly prepared for guests, but it's fine as long as you don't mind the clutter."
Error swallowed hard, why did he say that? It's not like he could back down, leaving his mildly-suicidal friend alone in his house after he hadn't contacted his friends for weeks.
"Yeah! Yeah that's fine, I don't care." He gave a small, tense smile.
By the time the sun was setting, they were sat on Ink's couch a couple feet apart, each bundled in their own blanket. Ink's arm was wrapped tautly in gauze, and had long stopped bleeding, but Error still occasionally glanced at it just to make sure.
A novela was quietly playing on the TV in front of them, but he wasn't very focused on it. His mind was swimming. Error was glad he was here, after simmering on it for a while he decided it was probably the best choice he could have made, but he still couldn't let go of his anxiety. Ink was incredibly quiet next to him, and he wasn't sure if it was comforting or disturbing.
What would happen after this? When he wakes up tomorrow, does he just leave? Does he get Blue to come over and babysit? Ink probably wouldn't tolerate that. He can't stay forever, but he's scared.
He suddenly feels a weight fall on his shoulder, Ink's head resting on him, breathing shallowly. He's asleep, peaceful. Error's heart swelled painfully, frowning at how worn out he looks. It was hard to see earlier, but there's a heaviness to his eyes, a fragility to his frame.
Error hiked the blanket higher up, covering the others body the best he could. It would take a lot, but he did genuinely feel that things were looking up. Despite the anxiety he felt, he was still grateful he was here, and maybe he'd allow himself to feel the slightest bit relieved.