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It’s three a.m, and Test Tube and I are still awake on the roof.
Apparently Lightbulb suggested we come up here, so now we’re chatting and staring up at the stars.
Stars are magnificent. They glitter like works of art, like something that Paintbrush would paint.
Our heads are so tired from the finale and all, and I just want to be held tightly.
I guess I am right now.
Fireflies light up the bushes in the distance, so the plants are illuminated in the darkness. The flashlight Test Tube brought is nothing compared to the brightness of the insects.
We haven’t told Bot or Lightbulb the news yet. We told Paintbrush because they’d keep the secret (I don’t think we’d want the news getting around the hotel.) So far, it’s been working out, but soon we got to tell them. We can’t show up one day saying “oh fuck, guys, she just gave birth to a fucking child. Yay, congratulations, now help us take care of the kid.”
Bot would probably be happy, but they’d say “cool!” or “congrats!” and totally forget about it later. I bet we’d have to remind them.
Lightbulb would help and stuff, but should we drop that heavy of a weight on her?
Or both of them, for that matter? Fuck, we literally found broken pencil sharpeners in Bot’s room months ago – why make them carry more?
It’s like two angels are fighting in my head – one says to be honest, but the other says to be sensitive.
Which angel should I believe? Would the other’s wings fall off?
…
I remember when we found out that Bot had thoughts of suicide.
That they had a plan.
And they almost acted on it.
I hold Test Tube tighter.
We were just supposed to be twenty three.
Now we’re going to be fucking parents again.
Can’t we just be twenty-three?