Chapter Text
(✿◡‿◡)
Trophy stared up at the ceiling, his eyes following the spinning fan above him like magnets drawn toward each other.
He'd been staring at it for who knows how long.
Sleep just wasn't coming.
He looked towards the alarm clock at the bedside table. It read 3:02 AM.
The award groaned, deciding to go to the kitchen to get a glass of water.
He pulled himself up before sliding off the bed, the soles of his feet feeling cold against the ever-cold wooden floors.
He grabbed his jacket from the end of the bed, slipping his arms into the sleeves before starting to walk towards the door.
His movements were sluggish, desperate for sleep that wouldn't come to him, yet he still found himself getting up for a cold glass of water.
He rubbed his eyes, letting out another tired groan before slowly making his way toward the door.
(≧∀≦)ゞ
By the time he reached the last step, his weariness was catching up, though Trophy did not want to sleep in the lobby where he could be seen by the other "entitled" residents of the hotel that he had no desire to speak to.
Trophy eventually made his way to the hotel's kitchen, the light already dimly lit, though Trophy wasn't in the mood to question it.
He grabbed a glass from the overhead cabinet and turned towards the sink, starting to fill the glass with water. Trophy was becoming drowsy, his eyes closing yet his mind running through endless thoughts, the glass slowly filling past the rim.
It was until a rough voice spoke that Trophy's eyes shot open.
"Can't sleep either?"
Trophy froze.
He slowly turned his head toward the voice.
Knife was sitting at the kitchen table, phone in hand.
"...What the fuck?"
Knife looked up.
"Morning, goldie."
Trophy stared at him, still trying to process what he was seeing.
"It's three in the fucking morning."
Knife glanced at the clock.
"Yeah. That's usually how three in the morning works."
Trophy blinked.
"...Why are you awake?"
"Could ask you the same thing."
"I asked first."
Knife shrugged.
"Couldn't sleep."
Trophy stared at him for another few seconds before turning back toward the sink.
"Same."
Knife raised an eyebrow.
"Wow. Didn't think you'd actually admit that."
"Shut up. I'm too tired to deal with you."
"Then why'd you come down here?"
Trophy moved the glass away from the sink, careful not to spill the water that had already filled past the rim.
"I was thirsty."
"Sure."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"Nothing."
Trophy narrowed his eyes at him before taking a drink.
He was still exhausted enough that even arguing with Knife felt like too much effort.
Knife noticed.
Usually, Trophy would've already started yelling at him.
Tonight, he just stood there, barely awake, staring at his glass.
Knife leaned back in his chair.
"...You look like shit."
Trophy slowly looked over at him.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"Fuck you."
"There he is."
Trophy looked toward the empty chair across from Knife.
He wasn't sure why he did it.
Maybe because he was too tired to walk back upstairs yet.
Maybe because the kitchen was quieter than his room.
Or maybe he just didn't want to be alone.
He sat down.
Knife glanced at him.
"You staying?"
"Apparently."
"Cool."
"Don't make it weird."
"Wasn't planning on it."
The two stayed silent for a while, well besides the quiet audio coming from Knifes phone.
Trophy was just starring at the glass of water he had in hand, he was too tired to stay awake but too awake to sleep.
Meanwhile, Knife had turned off his phone by now, watching Trophy as the jock was zoning out. He then looked at the cup overfilled with water.
He thought for a bit before deciding to break the silence.
“You gonna keep staring at that glass or are you actually gonna drink it?”
Trophy looked down at the glass in his hands.
“...I was going to.”
“You've been holding it for like five minutes.”
“Have I?”
“Yeah.”
Trophy stared at the glass again.
“Huh.”
Knife snorted.
“You're so damn tired.”
“No shit.”
“Then go to bed.”
“I can't.”
“Clearly.”
Trophy glared at him.
“You aren't exactly one to talk.”
Knife shrugged.
“Didn't say I was.”
“So you just came down here for water?”
“Yeah.”
“That's it?”
“What else would I come down here for?”
“I don't know. Midnight snack?”
“It's three in the morning.”
“And?”
“You seriously eat at three in the morning?”
“Sometimes.”
“That's fucking disgusting.”
“You're just jealous.”
“Of what?”
“My ability to eat whenever I want.”
“That's not an ability.”
“Sounds like someone can't do it.”
"You're a fucking dumbass."
"Mhm, and you're 'miss little goldie locks who can't seem to have his beauty rest"
...
Knife looked at Trophy when he didn't get a responses.
Trophys head was resting on the table, cup sits besides him untouched.
“You always this quiet when you're tired?”
Trophy shrugged.
“Mhmm, usually.”
Knife looked at him for a moment.
“...Thought you just didn't like being around people.”
Trophy went quiet.
“Sometimes I don't.”
“Sometimes?”
Trophy looked down at his glass.
“...Sometimes I just don't know what to say.”
“You always disappear when everyone's around.”
Trophy frowned.
“So?”
“Nothing.”
Knife shrugged.
“Just noticed.”
“...You notice too much.”
Knife ignored the last part, he went quiet for a bit before speaking again.
“You know, you don't have to leave every time people start getting annoying.”
Trophy looked over at him.
“Easy for you to say.”
“Why?”
Trophy hesitated.
“...Because people actually want you around.”
“Not all the time.”
Trophy lifted his head, a bit confused.
Knife shrugged, looking down at his phone for a moment before speaking again.
“I mean, sure, most people probably don't mind having me around now. But back then? Yeah, I was an asshole.”
He paused.
“Wasn't exactly trying to make friends either. I did a lot of shit just because I thought it was funny, or because I wanted to piss someone off.”
Trophy stayed quiet, listening.
“I was pretty damn entitled, too. I'll admit that.”
Knife leaned back in his chair.
“But I've changed since then. Got closer with people I never thought I'd actually get along with.”
He glanced over at Trophy.
“Guess people can change, whether they wanna admit it or not.”
“...Didn't think I'd hear you admit that.”
“Mhm. Now your turn. What's up with you?”
Trophy stared at him for a moment, thinking about what to even say.
“...Everything's just so fucking shitty.”
He looked down at his glass.
“I can't even walk into one fucking room without hearing people talk shit about me behind my back like I'm not even there.”
His grip tightened around the glass.
“And whenever I actually try talking to someone, I somehow end up fucking it up.”
Trophy groaned, rubbing his eyes with both hands.
“I don't even know what the hell I'm doing wrong.”
Knife stayed quiet for a moment.
He wasn't really sure what to say.
Usually, he'd make some stupid comment and get Trophy pissed off again.
But this time, he didn't feel like doing that.
“Maybe you're not doing anything wrong.”
Trophy looked up at him.
“Then why does it keep happening?”
Knife shrugged.
“People are assholes.”
Trophy snorted quietly.
“That's your advice?”
“Pretty much.”
“Wow. Very helpful.”
“I try.”
Trophy rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his face.
Knife leaned back in his chair.
“Seriously, though. You don't have to get along with everyone.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?”
Trophy frowned.
“...What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“You're always worried about what everyone else thinks of you.”
Trophy went quiet.
Knife glanced at him.
“You act like you don't care, but you obviously do.”
Trophy stared down at his glass.
“...Maybe.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then Trophy spoke again.
“Do you ever feel like that?”
Knife looked over.
“Like what?”
“Like... everyone else already knows how to talk to each other, and you're just kinda there.”
Knife was quiet for a second.
“Yeah.”
Trophy looked at him, surprised.
“Really?”
Knife shrugged.
“Sometimes.”
He looked down at his phone before locking the screen and setting it on the table.
“Guess that's why I started hanging around Pickle and Bomb more. Easier when you don't have to think about every little thing you say.”
Trophy nodded slowly.
“...Yeah.”
The kitchen went quiet again.
But this time, neither of them seemed to mind.
The two continued talking for a while longer, eventually going back to their usual stupid conversations.
It was weird.
Trophy didn't think he'd ever actually have a conversation like this with Knife.
Not one where he could just... talk.
Eventually, Trophy looked over at the clock.
5:47 AM.
“Holy shit.”
Knife glanced at the clock.
“Damn.”
“I've been talking to you for almost two hours.”
“Yeah. You talk a lot.”
“Fuck off.”
Knife laughed.
Trophy yawned, rubbing his eyes before looking back at Knife.
“...Thanks, though.”
Knife raised an eyebrow.
“For what?”
“For listening, I guess.”
He looked down at the table.
“Don't expect me to say that again.”
Knife smirked.
“Wouldn't dream of it.”
Trophy rolled his eyes.
“Good.”
He rested his arms on the table, his exhaustion finally catching up to him.
“I'm probably gonna forget all of this tomorrow.”
Knife chuckled.
“Probably for the best.”
“Yeah.”
Trophy's eyes slowly closed.
“...Night, Knife.”
Knife looked over.
“Night, Trophy.”
Trophy didn't respond.
He was already asleep, his head resting against his arms on the table.
Knife stared at him for a moment.
“...Seriously?”
He shook his head, pulling out his phone.
“Can't believe you actually fell asleep here.”
Knife quietly took a picture.
*Click.*
He looked at the picture for a second before smirking.
“Yeah, that'll do.”
He took his phone from off the table before getting up from his chair.
Knife looked down at Trophy, who hadn't moved at all.
He sighed, taking off his jacket before carefully placing it over Trophy's shoulders.
Trophy shifted slightly in his sleep but didn't wake up.
Knife adjusted the jacket so it wouldn't fall off, then stepped back.
“...Idiot.”
He looked down at his phone again, glancing at the picture he'd taken earlier.
A small smirk formed on his face before he turned the screen off.
Knife reached over and turned off the kitchen lights, leaving only the dim light from the hallway.
He stood there for another moment, looking at Trophy sleeping peacefully underneath his jacket.
Then he quietly walked toward the doorway, stopping and looking back at Trophy.
“Night, goldie.”
Knife left the kitchen, heading back toward his own room for the night.
And for once, he didn't regret staying awake.
☆*: .｡. o(≧▽≦)o .｡.:*☆