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⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖
Killing yourself wasn't something that was usually prescribed to objects; most objects with a heart would try to prevent you from doing so. They'd say that it isn't worth it, that you have so much to live for, that you shouldn't do it. You shouldn't kill yourself.
So that's exactly what Baseball went up to the roof of Hotel Hoot to do.
This idea of jumping off the roof sprang from something that happened a few hours prior to this, on the ground floor of the hotel.
"Hey, uh... Nickel?" It was just a regular Friday evening for most objects. For Baseball, however, today was slightly different. Today, he was going to confess to his best friend, Nickel.
The two were always super close, so obviously at least one of them was going to catch feelings for the other. There was a time in season two of Inanimate Insanity, when Nickel had gotten eliminated, that made Baseball realize... yeesh. He needed this stupid little five-cent coin way more than he knew, huh?
It was a little past dinnertime at Hotel Hoot, and almost everyone had finished eating their food, and were now leaving the vicinity. Nickel had gotten up to place his plate in the sink and wash it, when Baseball spoke to him.
"Hm?" Nickel hummed in reply as he scrubbed his plate.
"I, uh, have something to tell you..."
"Shoot, then."
Baseball took a breath. "For a long while now, I've, sort of... liked you. Romantically. And, since we're so close and all, I was wondering if maybe, you..."
He trailed off. Nickel seemed to be looking at him strangely, even putting down the dishes he was washing. He looked sort of uncomfortable, almost like he was...
Disgusted.
There was a very long and awkward silence between the two. Oh no. This was a mistake. He shouldn't have done this. Why did he think it was a good idea? Of course he didn't like him back, of course—
"Sorry, dude," Nickel said awkwardly, almost uncomfortably. "I- I don't like you that way. I... actually kinda like Balloon... Sorry."
Oh.
"Oh," Baseball muttered. He tried not to cry. "That- that's fine! It's not your fault, you don't have to apologize. It's fine— I'm fine."
"You sure? You don't look fine..."
"Yup! You know what, I actually sort of need to be somewhere... yeah. See you later, Nickel!"
"See you..."
He booked it for his room. Once inside, he immediately slammed the door. He didn't even care that he probably shocked the objects in his vicinity. He didn't care at all.
This was stupid. He was such an idiot. Obviously Nickel didn't see him in that way, obviously he didn't like him back. Why did he think he even had a chance with him? Of course he didn't.
He sniffed. It was fine. He was fine. Maybe he could just sleep it off. Yeah... Sleep wouldn't hurt.
And so he slept. Or at least, tried to. In actuality, he lay awake for hours, all his efforts of trying to sleep in vain.
Baseball stared up at the ceiling of his lightless room, the only sound he could hear being the constant tick-tock of the clock that hung on his wall and the hum of the AC, before he decided he was going to do something about his predicament.
Something pretty irrational, in all honesty. But he didn't care. Not like anyone was going to care, anyway. He was practically a nobody, even second-best to his own best friend. It wouldn't matter, because he didn't matter.
♡ ໒꒱ ࣪ ˖
Knife had a bone to pick with OJ. Making him take out the trash in every single part of the area, and in every single trash can in all of the hotel?
He remembered exactly what OJ said— "I'm tired. Plus, you do remember you need to do community service, right?" Wasn't involuntary community service only done by, like, prisoners? Or just people who have done misdeeds in general? What the hell did Knife do?!
Sure there was this time that he didn't wash his plate, when OJ had strictly said that everyone was to wash their dishes after eating, but that was ONE TIME! And it was one singular plate! Why couldn't Trophy, the guy who literally vandalized the side of the hotel once, be the one to do this? Why did it have to be Knife? Still, Knife abided by the laws. He did his part, taking out every trashbag and throwing it in the dumpster at the back of Hotel Hoot. He was 90% done with his job now, and smelled like absolute shit.
Good thing it was the middle of the night, and no one could see, or smell him. He would've killed himself if someone were there.
After about an hour of work, he finally only had one more place to dispose of trash: the rooftop of the hotel. He didn't even know there were trashcans up there prior to OJ telling him, so there probably wasn't much to dispose of there.
The elevator dinged, signalling that he was on the roof. The doors opened, and... Wait, was that Baseball? Why was he up at this ungodly hour? And what the hell was he doing climbing the railings of the... WHAT THE HELL WAS HE DOING CLIMBING THE RAILINGS ON THE ROOF?!
"Uh... dude?" Knife called out to him, concerned, almost making him fall off of the rooftop in the process. Baseball stpped off the railing and turned around. His eyes were bloodshot with tears. He did not seem like he was okay.
"Oh, hey, Knife." he mumbled. "What- what are you doing here?"
"OJ ordered me to throw the trash. Better question: what the actual fuck were you doing just now? What, were you trying to do some parkour or something? On the roof? I don't think OJ would appreciate that." Silence filled the air. Tough crowd, huh?
"Seriously, though," Knife continued. "What were you doing?"
"I... Nothing."
"Nothing? It kinda looked like you were trying to jump off—"
"It's none of your business, dude. Fuck off."
Well that was uncalled for. Knife put his hands up. "Okay, fine, you're right. It's not my business. Just a little word of advice here. Killing yourself... isn't worth it. Believe me, I've tried. But that was before the whole MeLife deletion thing, so I was actually revived after, but that's not the point.
"The point is, there's so much to live for, that ending it all just isn't worth all the things you'd miss out on, man. And... I'd bet a million dollars there are a bunch of people that care about you that wouldn't wanna see you dead."
"As if." Baseball laughed a bitter laugh. "No one cares about me."
"That's not true."
"Name one person who cares about me."
"Nickel does, doesn't he? He's your best friend." Knife said.
"I- I don't care what he thinks. I don't care about him."
Knife raised an eyebrow. "You. The guy who literally became fucking emo when Nickel got eliminated in season two. Not caring about him. Who are you and what have you done to Baseball?"
Baseball huffed. "Dipshit."
"Did something happen between you two? Did you guys, like, break up or something?"
"Break up? We weren't even—" he sighed. "Like I said; none of your business."
"Fine, whatever. I'll fuck off." Knife stated. "But there are other people who care about you, too, you know. Suitcase, Lightbulb, Balloon, heck, I care about you. Did you ever think about that? That I care about you; that I wouldn't wanna see you die?"
"You care about me?"
"Yeah, dumbass, otherwise I wouldn't have said so."
"Dipshit," Baseball repeated, this time with a lighter tone, and he smiled. Knife thought he had a pretty smile.
"Is your bipolar ass seriously smiling when you were telling me to fuck off, like, five seconds ago?"
"I'm smiling 'cause your funny, dude. Funny as in, you're weird."
"Please. My hilarity flatters you. You probably even think I'm hot."
"You? Hot? Yeah, and I won season two of II." Baseball laughed, though his face was quite red. The two smiled at each other for a moment, not a word being uttered. "Thanks, Knife. Also, I'm not sure how to tell you this, but you totally reek. Like, you smell awful."
"Uh, no, I think that's you. Don't you know the saying, 'Whoever smelled it, dealt it'?" The pair started laughing, genuinely enjoying each other's company. The moment was nice and light-hearted—just what the both of them needed.
Baseball yawned. "It's pretty late, I think I'll go to bed now. Thanks again, dude, for cheering me up, and all. See you around?"
"See ya." He got in the elevator, smiling at Knife before the doors closed. Knife smiled possibly the goofiest smile ever back.
Knife stood there alone on the rooftop, still smelling like a dumpster, and still smiling like an idiot. He didn't even know where the trash can that he was supposed to be collecting trash from was.
He caught a glimpse of himself on a puddle on the floor. His face flushed. God, he hoped he didn't look that idiotic the whole time they were having their conversation.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖