Work Text:
Regect stood, his foot daring to slip as he neared the edge of the Hole. It felt like time was frozen as no wind passed by, no sun cast its rays upon the ground, or no dialogue rang through his head.
He had recalled the events that had unfolded– a moment of vulnerability, then an argument. After that, he vividly remembered the player pushing him backwards and disappearing into the large gap within the ground.
He couldn't put his hand down, everything felt suffocating as the same scene repeated over and over in his head. He shouldn't have let Ze get that close, nor Moe. It’d all lead back to the same exact route, keeping him trapped in a constant state of fear of letting anyone befriend him again.
God, everything felt overwhelming. It was just Micha, repeated with a guy he should've pushed away. He teleported away to his greenhouse, a familiar place that he only ever wanted to plant carrots in.
Oh yeah, Micha did give him a bunch of those once, right? Must be why he likes them so much.
The area was calm enough to allow him to only focus on tending to his garden, although being near the Hole was quiet as well.
He began walking to an overgrown section, removing the carrots from the dry soil and replanting new seeds. When it came time to water them, he double checked nearly thrice if the dirt really was dehydrated. He moved a water bucket into his inventory, misplacing it onto the block nearby instead of the patch of dirt itself.
Regect quickly grabbed an empty bucket and tried to fix his mess. Seeds had spilled from their planted spaces, flooding his inventory with unnecessary clutter. The best job he did was getting rid of the water, the soil bare without vegetation. He didn't find the activity of placing everything back all over again too interesting as of right now, leaving the dirt blank.
He needed to get everything together, but he could do that later. He didn't even check up on Moe and that should've been the first thing he did.
Teleporting back in front of Wakafonte’s house, he pushed open the door, just to be met with an empty living room. Regect called out for the clown; to no answer. He tried the wizard’s name, nothing either. He had expected at least Maturin to be home, checking in the dining room.
He was all alone again, wasn't he? An overwhelming feeling of responsibility loomed over him, Regect could've done more to stop Ze from jumping into the Hole. He could've ran into the house before Moe disappeared, stopping whatever took her.
Everything rushed back to him, Micha– whom he had constantly tried to keep out of his mind– the Hole, and the things that had occurred just before he entered the abode.
He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound that he forced out. The sounds of the night were muffled as he closed the door behind him, making his way over to the stone stairs everyone called a couch.
He felt like he wasn’t in his own body, watching as he shuffled around the empty space and sat down. Regect stared at nothing for almost an eternity, and when he finally had to fix his posture it felt weird to move, like he was being puppeted, or he should’ve stayed still for longer.
He wished they all wouldn’t argue as much, just for a little more space to balance out the caring parts of their friendship. Maybe then he wouldn’t be overthinking this as hard, maybe he’d feel a bit more fulfilled, like he hadn’t failed at mostly everything.
His eyes stung, tears forming and falling before he could stop himself. There wasn't any buildup, anything he could do to distract himself from crying.
What would Daemon think if he saw his failed creation like this, weak and pitiful?
Stop.
Just stop it.
That's the entire reason Regect's in this mess, anyway.
Regect hiccuped, trying to steady his breathing. Nothing much could be done without every teardrop feeling unworthy.
He was a mess, letting each and every one of his friends go one by one. He didn't do anything about it at all either, best he could do was argue then it’d all lead to him waiting for another person to join the world, to give him a false sense of hope that’d only last until they were gone again.
A drop of water rolled out another one outside, making everything worse. Regect despised the rain. He despised that right after both of his friends disappeared, it rained. He despised that when Micha never came back, it rained. The water trickling down the windows outside made him feel horrible, like his vision was blurred through tears that weren't there anymore.
He needed to stop sobbing, what if someone came home? Something had to distract him. Being a crybaby wasn't one of his strong suits either, considering he was always with someone to cheer him up.
Standing from the couch, Regect hesitantly made his way towards the computer, rubbing his eyes frantically. The screen lit up the shadowed chair. Great, another one of his horrible coping mechanisms should surely get this out of his mind, won't it?
As he clicked on the familiar application, he snapped out of it. What was he doing? Gambling isn't something you do to grieve– hell it isn't even something you're supposed to do at all. Farming always seemed better anyways.
He returned to the greenhouse, where Ze would have most likely been, most likely scolding him for leaving everything when he made his own mess. The seeds from earlier were still in his inventory as he was too lazy to put them away.
He had to hype himself up, since this would be a tedious task of placing something down, accidentally jumping on it, then preparing the area again, all that junk.
────────
A bit of time later, he finally finished. Now what was he going to do? Gamble again? Hell no.
He teleported back to Wakafonte’s house, although it was still raining outside. Moe and Ze would've been sitting on the couch, discussing where their next adventure could've been.
Dealing with the pirate again? More magnet fishing? Maybe Regect could visit those places again if anyone doesn't come back.
He wished they would come back soon. Maybe even having fake versions of them around didn't seem too bad, long as they weren't super evil or something.
God, missing people makes him think in the worst ways. That'd be the worst case scenario. Getting stuck with fake versions of your friends that you’d probably get attached to? Eugh, no thanks.