Chapter Text
It's there again. That strange tingling sensation peeking beneath Second's skin.
He's poking at his saucy rigatoni pasta when it strikes him. He bites his lower lip to keep his face from twitching, tries to hide his discomfort— not here, not at the dinner table, not while everybody's watching— and instead redirects his focus on the sound of Red's bright voice, retelling to the others a fight that had broken out earlier in the stables, mimicking the frantic state of his horses and the chaotic ruckus that had followed.
"...couldn't believe it, they all lost their minds! Pshhhheew." Red imitates an explosion over his head, hands swerving in an exaggerated arc, and everyone erupts into laughter. Second joins in, willing a quick nod when Red continues, striking punches in the air; Yellow makes a short, blunt-toned comment and everyone laughs again... Second's mind wanders...
He doesn't recall exactly when the tingling began. Perhaps it had always been there since his creation, perhaps he was born with it. There was a particularly intense event- that day he had woken up, mind hazy and confused, being crushed into a suffocating hug by his teary-eyed friends, all of them simultaneously blurting out worried cries... being sent home, collapsing onto his soft bed, and distinctly aware of the curious buzzing beneath his skin. Like he had just woken some part of him he wasn't aware existed.
That was the first day that it felt real. The first day that Second realized it wasn't just something he could just push away, like he had done countless times before.
Since then, it's only grown more persistent, constantly lurking during movie marathons, sparring matches, late-night conversations with his friends, then afterwards glaring at himself in the mirror to snap out of it, whatever it was. Most recently, it follows him into his dreams, which used to be his only escape from the rest of the world; now, it pokes at him even during sleep, sometimes causing them to be more nightmarish than anything. Rare moments when Second manages to distract himself are short-lived— a wave of fresh nausea often follows, making him regret ever trying to flee from it.
He tries to recall what Blue said about vomiting that one time, about how it began when the body detected something unusual or potentially dangerous, which would cause it to send signals to the brain. How its most recent contents would then be forced out to keep the patient healthy, and how, afterwards, relief would follow. Oh, how he longed to alleviate this weird buzzing. He wasn't sure how much more of it he could stand...
"...Sec? You good?"
Green's voice grounds Second back to reality. Second blinks, and is suddenly aware of how quiet the table has become, four pairs of concerned eyes on him.
He quickly smiles, fighting back the urge to hurl, and waves his hand dismissively. "Yeah. Sorry, can I have a minute?"
Without waiting for a reply, he gets up from the table, walking as casually as he can (ignoring the worried glances he knows they're hitting him with) until he's out of sight, and then he's running, stumbling and shoving open the bathroom door, staggering to the toilet bowl. His knees hit the cold floor, hard, and he's kneeling, his hands clutching the sides; he barely gets a breath in before everything comes out— his gut lurches, he can't stop, retching violently, it feels as if his insides are coming out—
It stops, just as abruptly as it started. Second finally manages a breath, then another, then another, and his arms shaking horribly, his vision slightly hazy at the corners.
And... the sensation's still there.
It hasn't gone away. After all of that, the tingling is now a mad clawing, demanding to be let out. The feeling, still persistent, if not stronger than before, makes Second let out a desperate noise. What was happening to him?
Second reaches for the toilet handle to get rid of the evidence. Just as he pushes down on the handle, something catches the corner of his eye, twinkling amidst the mess he had thrown up. Something greenish-yellow, almost... glowing?
And then, it's gone, washed away like the rest of the unfortunate remnants of the day.
With difficulty, Second forces himself up off the floor— his friends would be suspicious if he didn't get back to the table soon— but the shiny thing pushes at his mind.
Since when was his vomit sparkly?